aj :)

me simping in technicolor ; twenty-one ; she/her ; requests are open

[mangayeager]

                                          ᴍᴀɴɢᴀʏᴇᴀɢᴇʀ ɪs ᴛʏᴘɪɴɢ...

♡ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

♡ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴇ

♡ ʀᴇᴄᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋs

© ᴀʟʟ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀɴɢᴀʏᴇᴀɢᴇʀ. ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ.

[rnikage]

⟢ HYDRANGEAS IN THE SPRING ┊ SAE

✦ synopsis. sae is a bad soulmate; you're not any better. but somehow, you two make it work.

✦ content. 11k words. soulmate au, slice of life, coming of age, self-inflicted injury, <- you can feel your soulmate's pain and reader does that to get back at sae (he lowk deserves it idk), getting together, fluff, angst with a happy ending, banter

✦ foreword. disclaimer that this was written by someone who despises itoshi sae. at least i did before i finished this fic. /stares into the distance/ happy birthday, sae. this will never happen again!!!!!!

You were eight when you thought you hated your soulmate.

It began in your knees—a bright, clean sting that made your crayon drag an uneven line of maroon across the paper. Then your ankle throbbed, your shoulder ached, your fingers stiffened as if you’d been clenching them too long. You stared at your small hands in bewilderment.

By the time your mother called you for dinner, the aches had dulled to a heavy pulse. You told her your body hurt for no reason, and she only smiled.

“That’s your soulmate trying to say hello,” she said, drying her hands on a towel before cupping your face. “You must be feeling what they feel. Isn’t that wonderful?”

You frowned. “They hurt me.”

She laughed softly and pressed a kiss to your nose.

“It means you’re connected. Soulmates share something sacred—pain. What we hide from everyone else, they’ll always see.”

You didn’t understand. You thought it was stupid. If someone was your soulmate, why would they let you hurt?

Still, the pain came and went in waves. Skinned knees, twisted ankles, bruises that never showed. You got used to wincing for no reason. Sometimes you’d mutter, maybe you should be more careful, as if the stranger on the other end could hear you.

When you turned twelve, it became less about scraped skin and more about something deep and shapeless—a pressure behind your ribs, a loneliness that sat heavy in your throat. It came without warning. Some days, you’d be laughing with your friends, and suddenly you’d want to cry for reasons you couldn’t explain.

You told your mother again. She just said it meant your soulmate was growing up—that pain changed as people did. You went to doctors, too. They told you nothing was wrong and maybe nothing was at all. But you learned to live around it, to stretch your fingers when they ached like they belonged to someone else, to lie in bed and wait for the quiet to come back.

Sometimes, before you slept, you’d wonder what kind of person they were—the one who hurt this much, this often.

You imagined they must fall a lot. Maybe they didn’t care about their own body the way you did. You promised yourself that when you met them, you’d tell them to be careful. You’d tell them that their pain made it hard to draw, hard to run, and hard to breathe sometimes.

But the years went on, and you never stopped hurting.

You just learned to call it living.

By the time you turn fourteen, the pain has settled into the rhythm of your life. It comes and goes like the weather; some dull reminder that somewhere out there, someone is still running and falling and fighting the world with their bare hands.

You stop complaining about it. You stop waiting for it to stop.

Instead, you join the volleyball team.

At first, it’s just to fill your afternoons—an excuse to be too busy to notice the phantom ache that accompanies you like a shadow. You learn to dive and sprint and spike until your arms throb and your knees burn. The other girls laugh when you groan about the drills, but the pain feels good. It’s real. Most of all, it’s yours.

When you stagger home after practice, you think to yourself, See? I can hurt too. If your muscles ache enough, maybe you won’t notice the other ache underneath—the quiet one that doesn’t fade with ice packs or sleep.

It works until you dream of a boy you’ve never seen before.

He stands in a wide, gleaming hall where everything is alight with movement—wheels clicking over tiles, a woman’s voice echoing over some unseen speaker. Light pools against glass walls, and the air smells faintly of metal and rain.

His face is blurred at the edges, swallowed by distance as people drift past him in waves. Somewhere in front of him, a smaller figure calls out, reaching out with a chubby little smile.

The boy hesitates, just once. Then he keeps walking.

When you wake, your cheeks are wet. Your throat aches like you’ve been shouting, though you don’t remember making a sound.

For a while, you stare at the pale strip of dawn leaking through your curtains. The ache in your chest isn’t sharp, but it takes the shape of something missing. You can’t name it, but it feels too large to be yours.

When your mother knocks, you tell her you’re calling in sick. She leaves a glass of water by your bed, and you spend the morning tracing the ceiling cracks with your eyes.

It was just a dream. Just another trick of the bond.

But even when you close your eyes, you can still hear it—the murmur of a place meant for departure, and the echo of footsteps that never turn back.

You don’t remember when the ache turned into hatred.

Maybe sometime between the late-night practices and the mornings you woke up feeling like someone had scraped you from the inside out. Maybe it was when you realized that it didn’t matter how hard you trained, or how many bruises you earned for yourself, your soulmate’s pain was always worse.

You try to ignore it, the same way you always have. You focus on the court, on your team, and the satisfying smack of the ball against your palms. But even in those moments, there’s that flicker of something else beneath your skin.

It happens just before a match point.

You’ve been serving strong all game, riding on muscle memory and adrenaline. Interhigh season is always the most anticipated run of the year. The light in the gym is harsh, the air thick with heat and sweat. When the whistle rings throughout the court, you toss the ball, step forward, and something inside you shatters.

Not pain. Not the kind you were used to.

It’s worse.

A hollow sound, deep and gutting, like a sob echoing through an empty room. A flash of helpless rage, of despair so wide it swallows you whole. It slams through your ribs, floods your lungs, blinds you. Your knees hit the floor before you realize you’ve fallen.

You could take a twisted ankle or a bruising arm. Anything but the pure misery carving itself into your chest.

The noise around you is distant now—muffled shouts and sneakers squealing on varnished wood. You can’t breathe. You can only feel it—the weight of someone else’s ruin pressed into your chest.

They’re breaking.

And they’re taking you with them.

When you come to, the world is sterile white. Your throat is raw, your eyes swollen. A nurse sits beside you with clear worry creasing her brow.

“I didn’t find anything wrong physically,” she says softly, as if that should be comforting. “No signs of fainting, no heatstroke either.”

You stare at your trembling hands. They don’t even feel like they belong to you.

“My soulmate,” you whisper.

“Hm? What was that, sweetheart?”

You swallow hard. “…My soulmate is the one doing this to me.”

The silence stretches into something poignant until you see a flicker in her eyes—recognition, maybe even pity. She takes your shaking hands in hers and squeezes gently, as though she understands more than she can say.

For a moment, you remember your mother’s words from years ago: Soulmates share something sacred—pain. What we hide from everyone else, they’ll always see.

You want to laugh.

Because if this is sacred, then love must be the cruelest religion in the world.

Since then, you’ve turned your body into a weapon.

Not because you loved the hurt, but because you want it to mean something. You want it to land back where it came from. Twofold, threefold, tenfold. Just so they can feel a fraction of what you’ve had to live with.

So you trained until the edges of you were raw. You practiced serves until your shoulder ached in protest. You dove for every ball as if the court were a battleground, and you could bury your soulmate under the weight of your bruises.

Your teammates started to notice the shape you were taking. They called you relentless behind your back, admiring and alarmed in the same breath. Even your coach sat you down once after practice.

“You look like you’re running on a grudge,” he said. “Relax. Play smart.”

You merely smiled at him like he was naive.

At home, your mother watched you stitch ice around swollen ankles and wrap your wrists every night. She worried the way mothers do, and sometimes she said the practical things— eat more, sleep earlier—and other times her worry came out like superstition.

“Soulbonds aren’t cruel on purpose,” she said once, as she pressed a bowl of soup into your hands.

You wanted to spit at the word soulbond. But she looked at you with the same small faith she’d used to kiss your scraped knees when you were a child, and the words stayed in your throat. You let her think what she needed to think. You let her hold the story that made your pain seem like destiny. It made her sleep easier.

Inside you, the resentment calcified. You stopped imagining a face when the ache sharpened. You pictured instead an absence to fill with pain—a space you could punish. You served harder. You hit harder. People started worrying about you more and more, but you stopped caring.

Just like your soulmate never did.

So when Interhigh championship folded into the last set, you were all teeth and motion. You were a machine wrecking itself in the name of not being helpless. Every spike was a declaration. Every block a small, furious sermon.

You played like a monster. You didn’t listen to rhythm; you listened to vengeance. The opposing captain kept receiving your powerful strikes—and you snapped after her, lunging for one last impossible return.

You hear it before you feel it: a thud, followed by a sound like a twig breaking under strain. Your knee folds the wrong way, and the pain blooms in your bones with a clarity that makes everything else stupid and small. The world tears into a single bright, reeling point that has taken root beneath your knee pads.

You stay conscious long enough to see the scoreboard change, your team’s chance sliding out of reach. You try to bite back the scream but it pours out of you anyway. Someone is already at your side. Your teammates’ faces are splintered into horror as the bench dissolves into chaos. You feel hands under your thighs and shoulders, feel a stretcher, hear someone call your name like a curse.

They carry you out of the gym as the court lights throw long strips across your face. When they strap you down, the pain in your knee flares white-hot, and you bark out a laugh—a sound full of spite and something like triumph.

It’s directed at the faceless thing that had been living in your bones all your life, at whatever shadow had been siphoning you dry. It was neither poetic nor clean. It was everything you’d been holding in for years, finally thrown like a brick through fragile glass.

I hope you feel this, you muse.

Hope it haunts you forever, bastard.

The diagnosis doesn’t surprise you.

A partially torn right ACL. Not as catastrophic as it felt when you collapsed. Therapy is recommended over surgery, and recovery is more than possible—if you care enough to walk yourself through it.

You nod when the doctor explains the regimen, and sketches out the months ahead in words like commitment and discipline and hope. You thank him because that’s what people do when someone delivers bad news kindly. But the whole time, you’re staring at the light glinting off his pen, thinking how small the words sound compared to the noise inside your head.

He calls it an injury. You call it closure.

Because the truth is, you never loved volleyball. You loved what it gave you—a place to pour the pain until you could almost believe it was yours. But now the ache in your knee is constant and heavy and real. You no longer have to chase it. It follows you. It anchors you.

So when your coach calls a team meeting and everyone gathers in the school gym that still smells faintly of resin and defeat, you already know what you’re going to say.

They’re all crying before you even finish.

One of your fellow seniors grabs your hands with red eyes and snot trailing down her face. “You’ll come back next year, right? When we’re all in high school?”

You just smile. Because you’ve already learned what happens to people who believe in futures.

“I’ll try,” you lie.

You leave your uniform neatly folded in the locker. The air hums with nostalgia you can’t feel.

After that, your life condenses into a series of small, sterile routines: Class. Therapy. Home.

Your world is smaller now, quieter without the shriek of whistles and sneakers scraping against the floorboards. You walk with a brace that squeaks if you move too fast. You’ve learned the names of all the physical therapists on your rotation, and which ones actually care enough to look you in the eye when they ask how you’re feeling.

The pain in your knee overshadows everything else—it’s your own brand of suffering, your own proof that your body doesn’t need the pain of your soulmate to betray you.

One afternoon, while waiting for your session, you find yourself sitting in the hospital hallway beside the vending machine that only takes coins. The walls are a muted beige, designed to soothe patients into docility. Across from you, two men are talking in low voices.

“…that kid, what’s his name again?” one says, scrolling on his phone. “The boy genius?”

“Oh, right. Sae Itoshi,” the other replies. “The one who went to Spain. He’s only turned sixteen, hasn’t he? There’s an article about him here, says he’s—”

You don’t catch the rest.

Your therapist appears in the doorway, calling your name with that practiced cheer reserved for patients who’ve stopped believing in progress. You push yourself up with a wince, your knee throbbing in familiar protest.

For a brief moment, you think about that conversation you caught in your periphery, about the name Itoshi, the word Spain. They mean nothing to you. Just noise in a waiting room, another life orbiting somewhere far from yours.

You don’t know that if you’d lingered a few seconds longer, you’d have heard the rest of it.

“…suffered an injury last week, poor kid.”

But you’re already limping toward the therapy room, where pain feels simpler because at least this time, it belongs to you.

By the time you turn seventeen, the world has grown softer around the edges.

The sterile white hallways, the shrill whistle of matches, the sharp clarity of ambition—they’ve all faded into memory, dulled like the faint scar that curls around your right knee. Sometimes, when you run your fingers over it, you can still feel the echo of what it cost you.

But you healed. Everyone said so.

Your doctor smiled at you after the last check-up, and said you were lucky—that it could’ve been worse, you could’ve lost more. But he didn’t know there are some pains you don’t come back from. You just learn how to walk differently with them.

You never rejoined the volleyball team in high school. You couldn’t; not after that. But some afternoons, when the last bell has long faded and the court lights glimmer against the twilight, you linger by the open doors of the gym to watch the life you could have had.

You tell yourself you’re fine. You even almost believe it.

Time has made you quieter, but also gentler. You don’t hate the world the way you used to. You don’t even hate your soulmate—whoever they are, wherever they might be. Because hate is a heavy thing to carry forever. Somewhere along the way, you just… set it down.

Maybe that’s why the ache faded for a while.

It’s been months since you last felt the throb of their pain through the bond. No sudden stabs beneath your ribs, no lingering bruises that weren’t yours. Just silence.

You’d like to think they learned to take better care of themselves—that, somehow, across the great, invisible distance between you, they’d understood what you’d been trying to communicate. You imagine them finally learning how to live in a way that doesn’t bleed into someone else’s body.

It’s foolish, even if it comforts you.

But then you start waking in the early hours with a heavy heart, the same way it used to be before everything went wrong. The first few times, you tell yourself it’s nothing—a dream, a memory, the phantom pull of something long gone.

But it happens again. And again. And again.

Calling it pain doesn’t sound right. It’s heavier than that. Loneliness, maybe. Despair so deep it feels like falling through someone else’s chest.

You’ve learned to expect it the way other people expect the sunrise. While you’re rubbing sleep from your eyes, your soulmate must be winding down, thinking too much in the dark. You’ve come to accept that your mornings belong to their nights.

Until one day, they don’t.

You lie awake one evening, staring at the ceiling as the quiet presses in from all sides. It’s unbearable, this heaviness that doesn’t belong to you. You twist in your sheets, bury your face into a pillow as though you can smother the feeling before it swallows you whole.

But it lingers. It crawls under your ribs and throbs with every breath.

Finally, when you can’t take it anymore, you whisper into the dark:

“What happened for you to hurt this much?”

One day in the summer, your best friend Ayane drags you to what she dubbed as "the most anticipated soccer game in the season." Her good-for-nothing boyfriend Oliver got her two tickets to see it, and you’ve since learned how to say yes to things you don’t care about.

She’s beaming in her U-20 jersey, hair tied back with a ribbon that matches the team colors, and well, you’re just there to keep her from embarrassing herself too much.

“You’re going to love it,” she insists, tugging your wrist through the stadium gates. “The Itoshi brothers are facing off!”

You squint at her. “The who?”

Ayane stops in her tracks, turning on you with a look people reserve for the hopelessly uninformed. “You seriously don’t know? Sae Itoshi? The prodigy from Spain?”

“Can’t say I do.”

She groans. “Just watch, okay? You’ll see.”

You let her lead you to your seats, halfway up the bleachers. The air hums with thousands of voices and the metallic buzz of excitement before a kickoff. You’ve never really cared about soccer, or their prodigies, but Ayane’s joy is infectious, so you let yourself be pulled into it.

The teams spill out onto the field and under the floodlights. The U-20 squad walks with confidence that comes from reputation alone. Blue Lock, the ragtag team of challengers, looks hungry and reckless. You’re scanning the crowd when the announcer’s voice cuts through:

“—and the star midfielder of Japan’s U-20, Itoshi Sae!”

The moment he walks out, something inside you twists.

You don’t know what you expected from a name like that, but it wasn’t him. He moves like gravity bends a little closer around him, like the air itself has learned to make way. Under the lights, his hair burns a deep maroon, a color that shouldn’t exist outside of fever dreams, and when he glances toward the stands, the cameras catch his face.

For a moment, you forget to breathe.

Those eyes—clear and sea-green, detached in a way that feels almost cruel—meet the lens, and your chest lurches like someone’s hooked a hand inside it and pulled.

You press a hand to your sternum, the way someone might if they’ve just been struck. It’s not new, this sensation, but it’s never been this immediate. This real.

Ayane’s voice is distant, muffled by the roar of the crowd. “See? I told you he’s insane—! Hey, are you okay?”

“…Just got dizzy for a second,” you tell her, forcing a small laugh. “Not used to crowds this big, I guess.”

She narrows her eyes, clearly unconvinced, but the referee’s whistle pierces the air, and the game begins before she can press further. You use the distraction to ground yourself—the roar of the stadium, and the buzz of tension that climbs higher with every second.

You focus on anything but the ache still coiled tight in your ribs.

The U-20 defense moves like a single organism. At its center is Oliver, cutting off every pass before it even happens. He slides in clean, rises smoother, barely sparing a glance at the forward he just stopped cold.

Ayane screams beside you, practically shaking your arm off. “OLIVER! DID YOU SEE THAT?! OH MY GOD! THAT'S MY BOYFRIEND!”

You laugh, startled and captivated by how loud she is. But when your eyes stray past Oliver, catching on the faint gleam of red hair just ahead, the pang in your chest returns.

Itoshi Sae.

There’s something surgical about the way he plays. When the ball is with him, every motion is precise, pared down to intention. He threads passes through impossible spaces like it’s a reflex. While everyone else is fighting to prove themselves, he’s simply… existing—as though he’s already proven everything he needed to, years ago.

His teammates know this. You watch as he receives a pass with the ease of someone bored by difficulty, shifts his weight once, and sends the ball slicing across the pitch like a whisper turned into a blade.

The crowd gasps. You do too, though you’re not sure why.

The camera finds him again with a glint of sweat on his jaw. Under the lights, he looks almost unearthly. Too composed. Too controlled. You wonder, for the first time, if a person can be built entirely out of restraint.

Ayane grabs your arm again, nails biting through the fabric of your sleeve. “Look—look!” she squeals, half out of her seat.

You follow her gaze. The U-20 offense has surged forward. There’s a narrow opening; just a breath of space at the corner of the penalty area. Sae’s there before anyone else can react. You see the line of his body as he draws back his left leg, smooth and devastating, and then—

The ball arcs cleanly into the net.

When the crowd roars, it’s deafening. The commentators explode into praise, Ayane’s screaming into your ear, Oliver’s name is somewhere in there too—but all you can do is stare.

And feel the way your leg aches as though you were the one who made that shot.

It shoots from the ball of your foot to your calf, ricochets up your knee like a firecracker going off in old scar tissue. You jerk back in your seat because you know this pain. You’ve felt it your entire life. It’s the sharp, buzzing ache that once wrapped itself around your bones until you wanted to tear it out.

No way.

You scramble for logic. Maybe you’re projecting. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, or your own fraying nerves. There’s no way Itoshi Sae is at the other end of your soulbond. The thought alone feels absurd, too big to fit anywhere inside you.

The roar of the stadium dulls to a distant rush. You sit unnaturally still, watching every movement, every calculated pass, every sharp pivot. The way Sae glides across the field feels like he’s already five steps ahead of everyone else.

You barely register the crowd losing its mind as the Blue Lock players push back against the U-20 with reckless brilliance. None of it matters. Your pulse thrums in your throat; your entire focus narrows to a single maroon blur. If this is some cruel joke from the universe, you want to catch it in the act.

Then, like fate baring its fangs in your face, it happens.

It’s a small thing—so small anyone else would miss it. Sae doesn’t use his dominant left foot this time. The angle’s too tight, the defense too close. So he pivots, draws on his right leg, and sends the ball spinning to a teammate with effortless precision.

And the world lights up in your knee.

The familiar, sickening pull rips through the scar like an old wound being split open. You choke on your breath, clutching your leg with eyes wide. The agony burns through you like hellfire, and you have to keep absolutely still to not make Ayane worry.

On the field, Sae keeps moving, calm and flawless to everyone else, but you see the truth tucked in between his strides—a ghost of a limp. Familiar. Personal. Something you’d only recognize if it’s lived inside you before.

“No fucking way,” you whisper despite the roar of the crowd, your heart beating just in time with the ache in your knee. But the truth is here, right before your eyes.

It’s him.

It’s always been him.

It’s one thing to know your soulmate is a football prodigy. It’s another to know what to do with the information.

You go home after the match without saying a word—to Ayane, to your mother, to anyone. You don’t even remember the train ride, just that the crowd’s cheers are still ringing in your ears when you lock your bedroom door and collapse in front of your laptop.

You type his name into the search bar before you can stop yourself.

The results are endless. Headlines, photos, clips of his goals and passes edited to cinematic soundtracks. You scroll through them like someone trying to understand a stranger wearing your heartbeat.

Every article says the same thing: Genius midfielder. Prodigy from Japan. The youngest to debut overseas. Cold. Arrogant. A machine made flesh.

They talk about how he left for Spain at fourteen, how he turned down endorsement deals worth millions just to “focus on soccer,” and how he’s rumored to hate interviews because he thinks most journalists aren’t worth his time.

And yet… you can’t stop scrolling.

Because nothing about him on that field looked empty. Detached, maybe. Controlled, yes. But you’ve felt the kind of pain that hollows a person out, and this—this doesn’t look like that.

The person in the photos doesn’t match the one tied to you by pain and sleepless nights. The world paints him as a monster of precision, a boy who traded his heart for discipline, who doesn’t feel anything except victory. But you know better. You’ve felt him. The quiet agony that used to hum through your bones wasn’t born from pride or perfection. It was loneliness. It was exhaustion. It was someone who hurt enough to make the universe take notice.

You scroll until your eyes sting. Clip after clip. Headline after headline. And still, you don’t find anything that resembles the person your body recognizes. In fact, you would have scrolled indefinitely until you find an article buried deep in a sports blog dated only a few days ago.

“Though originally scheduled to return to Spain following passport renewal, sources say Itoshi Sae has shown interest in Japan’s Blue Lock project and may remain for the foreseeable future.”

You stare at the words until they blur.

Then you close the tab, shut your laptop, and lie back on your bed. You trace the old scar on your knee with your thumb with a quiet exhale.

You stare at the ceiling as the ache behind your ribs starts to simmer again. You don’t know if it’s yours or his anymore—only that it’s still there, pulsing in time with a stranger’s heartbeat.

For a moment, you almost pity him.

Because no one that brilliant should have to bleed this much just to shine.

“Come on, it’s Oliver’s birthday this weekend,” Ayane pleads over the phone one day. “He’s renting out a place in Roppongi. It’ll be fun!”

You nearly drop your pen. “As in Roppongi Roppongi?”

“Yes, duh.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Ayane, that’s underage drinking.”

She laughs like you’ve told her a joke. “Please. We can totally pass for twenty.”

“That’s not the point.”

“The point is,” she cuts in, “you’re coming with me. I’m not going alone.”

You open your mouth to refuse, but the image of Ayane in some too-short dress, hanging off Oliver’s arm in a district known for everything your parents warned you about flashes in your head. The thought of her going there alone knots your stomach.

You sigh. “Fine. But I’m not dressing up.”

Ayane cheers like she’s just scored a victory. “You never do!”

When the fated day comes, the summer night air is thick by the time you reach the station. You’ve done exactly as you promised—plain shirt, long, flowy skirt, and sneakers. Something you can run in, if it comes to that. The district is alive with neon lights bleeding into the pavement, and the smell of asphalt and alcohol hanging in the heat.

Ayane arrives two minutes later, already dazzling under the street lamps. Her top is cropped within an inch of its life, her skirt definitely illegal in several prefectures, and her lipstick a dangerous shade of red. You take one look at her and wordlessly hold out the extra jacket you brought.

She blinks. “What’s this for?”

“You,” you say flatly. “Because I don’t trust your shitty boyfriend to have one.”

Ayane laughs, throwing her arms around you. “You’re the best. I knew you’d have my back.”

The bar Oliver rented out is small but expensive-looking—black marble counters, low lights, the faint thrum of bass curling through the air. A banner that says HAPPY BIRTHDAY OLIVER!! hangs crooked above the bar, surrounded by a few too many bottles already opened. It’s a place that reeks of money and pretense.

Oliver spots Ayane first and breaks into a grin. “There’s my girl!”

You hang back as she runs into his arms, watching the way he leans down to kiss her like he’s performing for an audience. You’ve met him twice before—once at the mall, once outside a karaoke bar—and both times, you left with the same impression: charming in that slippery, practiced way people use to get what they want.

“You remember my best friend, right?”

Oliver turns his head, and his grin sharpens. “Of course. Hard to forget.”

You force a polite smile. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says easily, eyes flicking down and up in one slow sweep that makes your skin crawl. “Didn’t realize Ayane’s best friend was this cute before.”

Ayane laughs, swatting his arm. “Stop, you’re embarrassing me.”

You smile tighter, knuckles whitening around the strap of your bag. The only reason you don’t clock him right there is because it’s his birthday—and because Ayane’s eyes are too bright, too happy to ruin it for her.

For now.

You tell yourself you’ll stay for an hour. Two, if Ayane needs you.

The bar hums with too much bass, too much laughter, too much everything. You pick a corner stool by the bar, the farthest one from the music, and order a glass of water despite the bartender’s confused look.

“Just water?” he asks.

“Just water,” you repeat, because someone in this place needs to remember sobriety exists.

The glass comes slick with cold. You press it to your lips, scanning the crowd over the rim. Most of Oliver’s guests look familiar only because you’ve seen them before, sprinting across the field or on Ayane’s phone screen when she’s bragging about her boyfriend’s team. A few wear the U-20 crest on their jackets, half a drink away from spilling secrets they shouldn’t.

You search for red hair and don’t find it. The relief hits embarrassingly fast.

Good. You can handle Oliver. You can handle athletes pretending they aren’t below drinking age. What you can’t handle is running into him. Not when you still don’t know how to breathe around the truth that binds you together.

So you do what you came here to do: keep an eye on Ayane.

She’s radiant, spinning between tables, laughing too hard at Oliver’s teammates’ jokes, her borrowed jacket tied loosely around her waist. You track her like a tether. It’s easier to focus on her than the haze pressing in from all sides, and the faint burn of spilled alcohol staining the air.

You were an athlete once. You remember the discipline that came with it. So seeing top-level players like Oliver chugging liquor like it’s water makes something in you recoil with disgust. It’s all so loud, so far from the quiet hum of purpose you grew up with.

You’re so busy staring at Ayane’s outline through the shifting crowd that you don’t notice someone sitting beside you until a voice cuts clean through the noise.

“Water,” he says to the bartender.

You glance sideways—just polite enough to acknowledge, just careful enough not to engage—and then your breath catches mid-sip.

For a moment, you’re not sure if it’s the lighting or your brain short-circuiting. But the color of his hair gives him away before anything else—the unmistakable maroon, muted in the bar’s dim glow. Then his side profile, sharp and unyielding, with a face cameras adore and people call cold because they don’t know what else to name it.

Itoshi Sae is less than five feet away from you, sitting like he has every right to be there.

Your first instinct is to look away. Your second is to bolt. But neither comes fast enough; the world’s already narrowed to the sound of his voice and the distance between you that’s suddenly too small.

You’ve imagined meeting your soulmate a hundred different ways, but none of them included the faint smell of gin in the air, or the buzz of a bad pop remix vibrating through the floor.

Yet, here he is.

As real as the ache still hiding behind your ribs.

For a while, neither of you say anything. You’re both just two people sitting side by side, pretending the air between you isn’t crackling. Sae isn’t even looking at you; his gaze drifts over the crowd with the same detached calm he wears on the field.

You try to focus on the chaos—Oliver laughing too loudly, someone clinking shot glasses, Ayane half-dancing with a drink she probably can’t handle—but the awareness of him presses against your skin like heat.

You don’t notice you’ve been fidgeting until his voice cuts through the noise.

“Are you an athlete?”

You blink. No greeting. No introduction.

For a second, your brain refuses to catch up. What kind of question is that? Does he know who you you are? Who Ayane is? He wasn’t supposed to be here at all—you’d assumed he only joined the U-20 squad for that Blue Lock match. So what is he doing in a Roppongi bar surrounded by temporary teammates and cheap neon light?

And why is he talking to you?

You clear your throat, trying to find your voice somewhere between disbelief and the faint tremor under your skin. “I used to be. Why’d you ask?”

Sae hums before taking a measured sip of his drink. His sea-green eyes flick toward you for the briefest moment.

“I saw your knee brace.”

The words land like a punch.

You freeze as your breath snags in your throat. Your skirt covers it—you’d made sure of that. He shouldn’t have noticed it at all unless…

Your foot had been propped on the rung of your stool earlier.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks before you can stop it. “Oh, yeah. It’s an old injury. Started acting up again, so I—uh—thought I’d wear it just in case.”

Sae only hums again. He doesn’t press. He doesn’t even look like he’s listening, eyes half-turned back toward the crowd. But nonetheless, you can feel the pull. That silent, unspoken thread that vibrates between you like a heartbeat neither of you can claim.

Does he know?

Does he know about the pain he carved into you without ever touching you? Does he know about the dream you tossed aside just for the sake of getting back at him? Does he know that your pulse has been sprinting ever since he sat down?

…Will it even matter if he does?

But despite how carefully you both preserve this silence, it doesn’t last.

It starts with a tremor at the edge of the crowd—raised voices, the scrape of a chair, a glass shattering somewhere too close to the music. You turn instinctively, catching sight of a woman you’re certain wasn’t there before. She’s older than the rest of you, mid-twenties at least, her dress short enough to make a statement and her heels sharp enough to follow through on it.

She looks furious.

“What the hell, Oliver?” Her voice cuts like a blade. “Who is that brat?”

You follow the direction of her glare and your stomach drops.

Of course she means Ayane.

Oliver’s got an arm around her shoulders, grinning that easy, careless grin he’s always had—one that looks good in photos and terrible everywhere else. But the second the older woman opens her mouth again, even he can’t smirk his way out of it.

“I thought you said I was the only one,” she snaps. “You told me you weren’t seeing anyone else!”

Ayane blinks, her expression freezing halfway between confusion and horror. “He told me you were just an old friend!”

You can almost see the headache forming behind Oliver’s eyes. He exhales, palms up, like he’s trying to settle a pair of unruly pets. “Ladies, come on. Can we not do this here? It’s my birthday. Let’s just relax, yeah?”

The woman’s response is to swing her purse at him.

It hits his arm with a sharp whack that makes the nearest table burst into laughter. Ayane lets out a shocked noise and suddenly she’s throwing herself forward, nails and all. The crowd erupts. Phones come out. Someone yells, “Do it again!” and that’s all it takes for the bar to devolve into complete chaos.

You’re already on your feet, cursing under your breath. “For god’s sake—Ayane!”

You wedge yourself between them, grabbing at her arm. She’s stronger than she looks when she’s drunk, all flailing limbs and misplaced fury.

“She called me a brat!” she slurs, trying to kick free. “She called me—”

Her kitten heel catches your knee.

Right where the brace is.

The pain flares white-hot, so sudden you almost see stars. You stumble back, hand flying to your leg as your breath hitches in your chest. The world narrows to a single throb—deep, familiar, and cruelly precise.

Ayane and the woman are still shouting. Oliver’s pretending to mediate but mostly just shielding his face. The rest of the bar watches like it’s free entertainment.

You steady yourself on a nearby table with gritted teeth, willing the pain to ebb. But across the room—

Sae shifts.

He hasn’t moved much since the chaos started, still seated at the bar, one hand curled around his untouched glass of water. But now his jaw tenses. His fingers flex once before sliding down to his right knee.

He doesn’t look at you right away, but you feel it all the same—the pulse that jumps between you, invisible but undeniable. That same echo of pain, the aching flicker that kept you company in late nights and early mornings.

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, breathing through the sensation. When your gaze finally meets his across the crowd, you realize he felt it too.

Neither of you say anything. The connection speaks for itself.

Like an ache that doesn’t know it’s supposed to heal.

By the time the night’s noise fades behind you, Ayane’s half-asleep on your shoulder, and her breath smells like peach schnapps and regret.

You keep an arm wrapped around her as you guide her down the quiet street, her heels clicking unevenly against the pavement. She’s clutching your jacket to her chest like a security blanket, mumbling something incoherent between sniffles.

“I told you those shoes were a bad idea,” you murmur, mostly to fill the silence.

She lets out a wet laugh. “You told me Oliver was a bad idea.”

“Well,” you say softly, “I wasn’t wrong.”

“Yeah. You were right.” Ayane sniffles, her voice cracking halfway. “He’s the worst. I can’t believe I fought someone over him.”

You glance down at her. The smeared eyeliner, the reddened nose, the faint scratches tracing her arm.

“You’re not the first person to make a bad call while drunk,” you tell her. “Just—maybe don’t date guys who drink under twenty next time.”

“Okay,” she says, small and sincere, leaning more of her weight against you. “I promise. No more shady guys.”

“Good.”

“I’ll stay loyal to my soulmate instead.”

You nearly trip over your own feet. “What?”

Ayane giggles weakly, eyes half-lidded as she looks up at you. “Isn’t that what you’re doing? Waiting for yours?”

The words hit harder than they should. You open your mouth, then close it again. There’s nothing to say that doesn’t sound like a lie.

“You’re drunk, Ayane.”

“I’m observant,” she mumbles.

You don’t answer. By the time you reach her house, her head’s already lolling against your shoulder again. You manage to get her up the steps and ring the doorbell with your elbow. The porch light flickers on.

“Go to bed, okay?” you say, gently pulling your jacket from her hands once she’s inside.

She nods. “’Night, soulmate girl.”

The porch light flickers once, then fades. The street settles into stillness.

Each step back crunches against the gravel, the weight of the night pressing down heavier with every breath. You’re still thinking about Ayane’s words when the car comes into view. Black, sleek, and idling at the curb.

Sae’s elbow rests on the window frame, head tilted slightly, sea-green eyes following you even before you reach him. The streetlight turns his hair to copper, and makes his expression even more indecipherable.

You clutch your bag tighter, unsure what to do with the sudden awareness crawling up your spine. “You didn’t have to wait.”

His reply is instant. “You shouldn’t walk alone at night.”

There’s no softness in it—just that same flat certainty he probably uses to tell people how to play football. Like facts are things you obey, not argue with.

You huff out a quiet laugh, too tired to hide your annoyance. “You really didn’t have to—”

“I’m already here.”

“…Do you always talk like that?”

He doesn’t answer.

You shake your head and reach for the back door anyway, but his voice cuts through the still air before you can slide in.

“Don’t treat me like some drive for hire.”

Your hand freezes. “Excuse me?”

His reflection catches yours in the rearview mirror, eyes narrowing just enough to be infuriating. “Sit in the passenger seat.”

You stare at him for a beat. “Are all geniuses this bossy, or is it just you?”

Nothing. Not even a smirk.

You sigh, muttering under your breath as you circle to the front. The leather creaks softly as you sink into the passenger seat, refusing to look at him. For a moment, neither of you speak. The engine hums low, the city outside blurring into quiet shapes through the windshield.

It takes you a minute to realize he’s waiting for you to tell him where you live.

You clear your throat, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel. “Uh—left at the next corner. Then straight for a few blocks.”

Sae doesn’t say anything, but his hand finds the gearshift, movements smooth and practiced. The car groans forward and the city lights slide past in streaks of white and amber. It’s quiet. So much that it leaves lots of space for thought.

You glance sideways despite yourself.

His sleeves are rolled just enough to show the sharp line of his forearm, a silver watch glinting whenever the light changes. The pinstriped shirt and tailored slacks fit him a little too well; even his posture radiates precision. Everything about him feels controlled—down to the way his fingers rest on the wheel like they own it.

Your eyes trail to his face before you can stop them. Strong jaw. Unbothered expression. The faintest crease between his brows that might mean irritation or focus. You can’t tell the difference anymore.

And then his gaze flicks toward you.

You tear your eyes away immediately. Great. Perfect. Exactly how you wanted to spend your night—getting caught staring at your soulmate like some lovesick idiot after watching your best friend brawl in a bar.

“So you’re the one who’s been giving me a hard time.”

You blink. “What?”

Sae doesn’t look at you. “Do you know what that injury of yours cost me back in Spain?” His tone is maddeningly calm, almost conversational. “A place on the starting roster. I could’ve snagged it earlier if you’d just taken better care of yourself.”

You gape at him. “If I’d taken better—? Are you serious right now?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

Something hot snaps inside you. “You— You think I wanted this? You think I asked to feel your pain every time you got tackled or twisted your knee chasing a ball halfway across the world?”

Your voice cracks, but you don’t care. The words spill out like they’ve been waiting years to escape. “It’s not just the bruises, Sae. You think I don’t know what it’s like when your chest feels so empty, you want to die? When it feels like you’re running on fumes just to keep going? You think I don’t feel that too?”

His knuckles tense on the steering wheel. A muscle in his jaw shifts, the only sign that your words have hit somewhere close to home.

You lean back, the air between you buzzing with everything unspoken. “Don’t you dare act like this is all my fault. I’ve been carrying your hurt for as long as I can remember.”

The car slows to a red light. Sae clicks his tongue once, before turning his head toward you.

“Then stop feeling it,” he says flatly.

Your pulse spikes. “Then stop causing it!”

It comes out sharper than you intend, breathless and shaking. Your heart’s pounding so hard it almost drowns out the traffic outside. You hate the way he makes you feel. Cornered. Small.

Alive.

Sae studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable under the glow of the stoplight. For a second, you think he might snap back. But instead, his gaze softens like a shadow easing off a wall.

“You shouldn’t let it control you,” he says finally.

But it’s never been about control. This thread between you has been cutting into your ribs since you were children—something beyond control or reason. You even promised yourself, if you ever met him, you’d tell him to be careful.

But there’s nothing careful about Itoshi Sae.

The light turns green. He looks away, one hand shifting back to the wheel.

“Try to rest,” he murmurs, eyes forward again. “You’ve had enough for one night.”

You want to argue, but you don’t. Instead, his car rolls on as the city unfolds around you, and for once, the silence doesn’t feel entirely unbearable.

Itoshi Sae is the most demanding person you’ve ever met.

You learned that the same night he dropped you off. He didn’t even wait for you to say thank you or slam the car door shut in righteous fury. Instead, he shoved his phone into your hands and said:

“Type your number.”

You blinked, certain you misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Your number,” he deadpanned. “Put it in.”

You stared at him, completely lost. After everything you talked about, you’d expected him to want nothing to do with you. Honestly, you were fine with that. What could you possibly offer a man who already had everything?

Your thumb hovered awkwardly over his phone screen. “Why?”

Sae rolled his eyes. “So I can tell you to stop being a nuisance. In case you decide to start crying or whatever on your end of the bond and it distracts me in the middle of a game.”

You gaped. “Crying? Excuse me—”

“Just type it in.”

You did, mostly because it was easier than arguing with him again. He snatched the phone back without another word, saved the contact, and drove off before you could tell him to fuck off.

That was that.

That night became the blueprint for your so-called relationship: a tangled mix of snark and irritation, stitched together by a soulbond neither of you wanted.

Days passed. Then weeks. You don’t hear from Sae aside from the headline about him renewing his passport and flying back to Spain.

You tell yourself you didn’t care. Not about him, not about the dull ache that settled under your ribs whenever the bond went quiet again. It isn’t longing. Just... background noise.

Until one afternoon, while you were buried in notes for your midterm, your phone buzzes.

World’s Shittiest Midfielder: can you stop

Me: ?

Me: stop what

World’s Shittiest Midfielder: that

World’s Shittiest Midfielder: you’re picking at a scab on the back of your foot

Me: ...you’re bothered by THAT?

World’s Shittiest Midfielder: i’m in the middle of a meeting. cut it out.

You grin. Then, out of pure spite, you dig your nail under the edge of the scab and rip it clean off with a yelp in surprise.

World’s Shittiest Midfielder: what the fuck is wrong with you

Me: consider it payback for the car lecture, genius.

Three dots blink for a moment before vanishing.

You leaned back in your chair, smiling to yourself despite the sting in your heel. Maybe this was your new normal—occasional cross-continental bickering with a world-class footballer who happened to share your pain, your pulse, and your bad habits.

You could live with that.

Probably.

You don’t hear from Sae for weeks after that.

No texts, no calls, no late-night complaints about phantom paper cuts or the occasional pulled muscle. The quiet is almost disorienting. You’re loath to admit, but you’ve gotten used to the constant static of his irritation.

But then, summer fades, and your mother falls ill right when the heat finally breaks.

The days start shortening, and your world follows suit. Between lectures and two part-time jobs, your life blurs into a rhythm of running between work, school, and the hospital. You learn the names of every nurse on the night shift, the brand of the bitter coffee from the vending machine downstairs. You start sleeping in chairs.

You don’t think about Sae much. Except when you feel that familiar hollow ache in your chest flare—like the bond itself has turned brittle with all the grief you’re carrying.

When your phone buzzes at midnight, you almost ignore it. But the screen lights up with an international number, and your stomach sinks. You swipe to answer, pressing the phone against your ear as quietly as you can.

Sae’s voice cuts through, cool and irritated as ever. “What the hell’s going on with you?”

You close your eyes. “Hi to you too.”

“I’ve been feeling it for a month,” he goes on. “Whatever it is—it’s unbearable. If this is you spiraling again, I’d rather quit soccer than deal with another second of it.”

You huff out something that might be a laugh if it weren’t so broken. Your gaze drifts to your mother, her face half-hidden under the hospital’s dim light.

“Are you done?”

Sae exhales through the receiver. “Do you want me to add more?”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. A small, bitter smile tugs at your lips. “I wish I could stop hurting, Sae. I wish I could rip this stupid soulbond out so neither of us has to feel each other anymore.”

Your throat tightens, but the words don’t stop. “I wish my mom’s soulmate didn’t leave her too early. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to watch her slowly die alone.”

The silence rings so loud in your ears, it almost stings.

Finally, he asks, “What do you mean?”

You wipe your tears with the back of your sleeve, voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s nothing, Sae. I’ll get my shit together soon. Good night.”

“Hey—”

You hang up before he can finish.

The phone slips from your hand and lands in your lap. The heart monitor keeps its steady rhythm beside you, and for a moment, you pretend that’s enough.

You’ve been seriously considering dropping out.

It’s your last year of high school, but the two part-time jobs you’re juggling aren’t enough to cover your mother’s medication for long. When you bring it up to her, she cries—hands trembling as she clasps yours, pressing her forehead against your knuckles like she’s praying.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry the burden has to fall on your shoulders.”

You shake your head so fast it almost hurts. “It’s not a burden, Mom. I love you. Of course I’ll do everything I can to keep you alive.”

And you mean it. Even if it means pressing pause on your own life for a while.

That afternoon, while she sleeps soundly beside you, you’re back to scrolling through job listings—anything that’ll pay more than your current shifts. The glow of your laptop makes the room feel smaller. You’re trying not to think about how much longer you can stretch your savings when the door opens.

It’s one of the nurses. She’s usually kind but careful, always wearing that look of pity that makes your stomach twist. Today, though, her face is lit up.

“Good news,” she says. “Your mother’s outstanding balance has been paid in full.”

“…What?”

She nods. “And the referrals to the specialists you mentioned—those will be billed to the anonymous donor. You can start arranging for further treatment right away.”

You stare at her for a long second, half-suspicious. “This isn’t a scam, is it?”

“Not at all.” The nurse laughs softly. “You can check the billing records yourself. Everything’s been processed. Would you like me to contact the specialists on call?”

Your eyes flicker to your mother—the frail rise and fall of her chest, her once-strong hands now folded weakly over the blanket. The woman who taught you there was something sacred in pain. You don’t even think twice before nodding.

“Yes. Please.”

Later, while your mother is surrounded by a new team of doctors, you find yourself staring at your phone, thumbs hovering over a contact name you just thought of changing last minute.

Me: you didn’t have to do all that.

Me: how did you even know where to wire the money, asshole…

Sae: ?

Sae: what are you talking about

You huff out a laugh. He’s a terrible liar. But the grief that’s been curling in your chest for weeks finally loosens a little.

Me: whatever

Me: thanks, genius

Me: i might owe you one after all

Sae: i’ll fly back to japan next week

Me: so soon? could’ve sworn you just tried to run me over with your car

Sae: if you want to pay me back, treat me to dinner on the 10th. that’s my birthday

Me: you’re booking a flight for a birthday dinner????

Sae: i’m just collecting what i’m owed

You laugh, too loud for a hospital room. A doctor glances over; your mother does too, but you don’t apologize.

Because for the first time, your heart stirs at the thought of Itoshi Sae—not in anger, but something dangerously close to affection.

It’s already mid-autumn, and you’ve missed the first few weeks of your last year—something that would’ve wrecked you months ago. But now that your mom’s treatment is covered, and she’s stable enough for you to leave her bedside without guilt, you can actually breathe again.

Ayane nearly tackles you the moment you step into the classroom. She insists on helping you catch up, piling notes and worksheets on your desk like a one-woman rescue mission.

Halfway through reviewing algebra problems, she blurts out, “By the way, I was the one who told Sae about your mom.”

You blink. “You—what?”

Ayane pouts, twirling her pen. “Sorry! You were burning yourself out on both ends! Someone had to do something.”

You stare at her, horrified. “Ayane.”

“What?” she says, lips twitching. “Who am I to keep your soulmate from knowing something that important?”

The words hit you like a bullet.

Oh god. She knows.

Heat floods your face instantly, and you drop your pen, burying your head in your textbook.

“He told you about our soulbond?”

Ayane grins like she’s watching her favorite drama unfold. “Don’t give me that look! That’s Itoshi Sae! Your soulmate is a literal football superstar, and you’re shy about it?”

You groan. “Please shut up before I evaporate on the spot.”

Her laughter rings out across the study hall, drawing a few looks your way. But she eventually lets you off the hook, mumbling about how “soulmate privilege” should come with bragging rights.

The rest of the week passes in relative peace. You start feeling like a normal high school student again. But then your phone buzzes that evening while you’re eating dinner in the hospital room with your mother.

Sae: flight just landed.

Sae: hope you didn’t forget about tomorrow.

Me: yeah, yeah.

Me: all you’re getting is cheap katsu curry though

Me: no complaints or i’ll poison your food

Sae: 👍

You snort softly, shaking your head. The sound draws your mother’s attention. She’s sitting up, eating her soup with a bit more color in her cheeks than before.

“Who are you texting?” she asks, her tone light but curious.

You freeze. Then, without thinking, you tell her, “You’ll meet him soon.”

The words hang in the air like smoke. Your brain immediately short-circuits.

What the hell did you just say?

Your mom just smiles, completely unaware of your internal meltdown.

Later that night, you curl up on the couch you’ve claimed as your own, the room dim except for the faint glow of the monitors. You tell yourself you’re only staying up because you’re not tired.

But when the clock hits midnight, you unlock your phone, open your messages, and type before you can second-guess it.

Me: happy birthday, genius.

You are eighteen when Itoshi Sae asks you to be his girlfriend.

Except he doesn’t really ask, and you don’t really answer.

It happens on graduation day.

The sky is painfully blue, the kind that almost hurts to look at, and the air smells faintly of cherry blossoms drifting in from the courtyard. Your uniform is crisp for once, the pleats sharp and the ribbon tied neatly beneath your collar.

Your mom is sitting in the front row, clapping like her hands might fall off, eyes shining with pride that makes your throat ache. Beside you, Ayane is sniffling onstage—mascara already smudged, clutching your hand so tightly you can feel her nails through your sleeve.

When the principal finally announces your class, she lets out a watery laugh. “We actually did it,” she whispers, voice wobbling.

You bump your shoulder against hers. “Told you we would.”

It’s true. You made it.

Through the sleepless nights, the part-time jobs, the grief that used to gnaw at your ribs. What’s more is that the soulbond that once felt like a chain doesn’t drag anymore; it just hums quietly, a familiar weight you’ve learned to live with.

Sometimes, when Sae’s overseas, you forget it’s even there. Other times, you feel the faint pulse of him through it, steady and distant, like a heartbeat echoing from another world.

Having Sae as a soulmate doesn’t hurt anymore.

Not even the seven-hour time difference can stop you from blowing up his phone with inane messages when you’re bored: screenshots of terrible memes, blurry photos of your mom’s cooking, voice notes of Ayane snoring during class. He replies more often now, though he’ll never admit it.

Sae: stop sending me things when i’m in training.

Me: just thought you needed motivation.

Sae: you’re insufferable.

Me: you love it.

Sae: shut up.

You’re not really sure what to call whatever this is.

Friends? More than friends? Something in between?

Sure, maybe you had fun during his last visit to Japan. Maybe your mom had taken one look at him and said, “He’s polite. I like him,” which was suspiciously high praise. (She still doesn’t know he’s the one who paid her hospital bills, and you plan to keep it that way.)

Maybe you’d kissed the corner of his mouth in the hospital hallway before he left for his flight. Just a soft, nervous brush of lips, quick enough to pass for gratitude. You hadn’t looked back to see his reaction, but you felt it. The bond flared hot in your chest, pulsing with something wild and new before settling back to stillness.

That was months ago. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. You told yourself you didn’t mean anything. At least, not to Itoshi Sae.

So why the hell is he ambling by the school gates like some sort of delinquent?

He’s standing under a blooming cherry blossom tree like he walked out of a commercial for expensive cologne. He’s wearing the same pinstriped shirt from Oliver’s birthday last year, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark slacks tailored too perfectly for someone who insists he doesn’t care about appearances.

Behind him, his poor manager Dabadie looks seconds away from a cardiac arrest, scanning the crowd like the paparazzi might materialize from the bushes.

He’s not supposed to be back in Japan this soon. He’s not supposed to be here at all.

You break off from your mother, who’s busy chatting with Ayane’s parents, and march up to him, clutching your diploma to your chest.

“What are you doing here?” you ask in an attempt to sound casual. “You usually tell me about your visits like I should be grateful you’re gracing Japanese soil again.”

Sae doesn’t rise to the bait. He doesn’t even blink.

Instead, he gestures toward Dabadie—who looks immensely relieved to be acknowledged—and takes a bouquet from his arms. It’s a gorgeous arrangement of hydrangeas the same blue-green shade as his eyes. Nestled in the center is a small velvet box.

He holds it out to you.

“Congrats,” he says simply.

You blink at him. Then at the flowers. Then back at him.

“You…what— Sae,what is this—”

He just smiles, and you begrudgingly take the bouquet because, well, what else can you do? The velvet box wobbles slightly between the blooms, and when you open it, there’s a necklace inside. Silver. Simple. The pendant bears a single kanji.

His name.

You stare at it for a long moment. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he says, hands in his pockets. “You say that a lot.”

Before you can respond, your mom swoops in. She lights up when she sees him, linking her arm with his like they’ve known each other for years.

“Sae-kun! You came all this way! Oh, you shouldn’t have,” she gushes, eyes sparkling. “You look thinner—are you eating enough?”

You’re… stunned. The cold, snarky Itoshi Sae, looking almost sheepish under your mother’s fussing. He’s actually letting her straighten his collar.

Dabadie appears at your side, lowering his voice. “He arranged for a celebratory lunch at his favorite restaurant. Don’t worry about the expenses.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Of course he did.”

Later, in the car, the flowers rest between you. Your mother is engrossed in conversation with his manager at the front. Sae reaches for the necklace box, wordlessly lifting the chain from its cushion. You hesitate only a second before turning your back to him. His fingers brush your skin as he fastens the clasp, warm and careful.

For a moment, the bond hums—steady and bright.

You glance at him over your shoulder. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” he says flatly.

And you realize, in that quiet stretch of spring sunlight, that there are still so many things you don’t know about him. You don’t know why he carries so much pain that goes beyond soccer. You’ve never even met his brother or his family. You don’t know what made him decide to show up here and now.

But you do know that he likes salted seaweed with his rice. That he’s weirdly fixated on athletes’ butts. That he has an inexplicable fondness for seagulls.

There’s so much you don’t know about Itoshi Sae.

But when the car slows to a stop outside the restaurant and you catch the small, absentminded smile on his stupidly pretty face, you think maybe you have all the time in the world to learn.

The hydrangeas in your lap rustle softly as you smile.

“Hey, Sae?”

“Hmm?” He glances over as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “What is it?”

“...I’ll pay for dessert.”

That earns you a faint laugh—one that makes flowers bloom inside your chest as he flashes you a rare, but beautiful smile.

“Deal.”

✦ afterword. YAY YOU MADE IT TILL THE END!! THAT SAID! we have a few post-show notes i'd like to go over with you lovely people here <3 thank you for reading! i loved writing this more than i thought i would hic... sniffle... it would mean the world to me if you let me know you liked it!

[wiserion]

The Prince and the Pauper

rich loverboy! gojo and fem! reader

summary: You had always heard a weird, mocking voice in the back of your head telling you that the things were going to end just like that between you and Satoru. The Prince and the Pauper. You were destined to eventually drift apart.

Or not?

tags: AU, angst to fluff, breaking and making up, classical disparities, insecurities, gojo is a certified loverboy and a yearner as usual. mdni! eventual smut, p in v sex, soft emotional sex. nobamaki cameo!

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT! PLEASE HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BLOG!

word count: 13.9k

author's note: hi everyone!! this is not the oneshot i wanted to finish in may, but i had some ideas brewing for quite a long time, though the concept is not really original. happy ending won, soooo enjoy and let me know your thoughts! art in the banner by @/yamada_souko. dividers are mine.

Looking back, you realised you had never got it easy for Satoru.

The tale as old as time: the Princess and the Pauper. Or, in your case, the Prince and the Pauper.

And you couldn't put it in a better way.

Satoru Gojo — the Prince of the campus, the heir to the Gojo Enterprises, the man who would get the business world in the palm of his hand, the captain of the university basketball team, whose face was plastered all across the campus, the president of the Alpha Delta Nu, so on and so forth. You got the gist. The crowd parted before him, the Universe shifted itself to accommodate his presence: he walked in every room as if he owned it, which he pretty much did — ruling every place with a charming grin and a quick wit. Guys were wishing to be like him. Girls were dying to be beside him. He barely granted anyone more attention than needed — keeping people at arm's length, except for a couple of his friends. Of course, you didn't belong to them. Not like you desperately wanted to. You were well aware of the hierarchy of the university: people like Satoru Gojo rested at the top, eyeing the crowd down. People like you? Scrambling to get to the middle. If you were lucky enough.

One spring day, you realised that either Satoru Gojo didn't know about those unspoken rules or couldn't care less about them. Because you couldn't come up with a plausible explanation for why he suddenly started pestering you. Or, in his eyes, flirting.

It began rather innocent: him accidentally bumping into you, flashing an apologetic grin; asking for a vacant place at the cafetery at your usual table in the corner, the one where the noise cut down a little and you had a better view on the students — naturally, that place become the center of everyone's attention, because wherever Gojo was, the crowd followed; helping you to get a book from the highest shelves in the library and then crushing your study sessions; waiting for you after the classes just to walk you out to the next campus with an excuse that it was on his way (it didn't. Business majors classes were hold in the corpus 20 minutes away from yours).

At first, you politely declined every single invitation to a frat party or a match. Then you tried to ignore him, but your disinterest would even more pique Gojo's attention. After this, it turned into clipped, gritted-out "no's". You even attempted to talk to his friend, Shoko Ieiri, the girl you shared the Advanced Chemistry class with.

"I don't think there's something I can do," she would murmur, eyes firmly set on some sample through the microscope, when you turned to her as a last resort. The sigh that left your lips was truly desperate. Shoko's gaze softened a tad as she looked up finally, since your presence kept looming over her like a tiny, grumpy cloud. "Satoru can be pretty stubborn, unfortunately. Especially, when he's pretty set on something."

"Yeah," scoffing under your breath, you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. "Unfortunately for me. Am I another check mark on his to-do list? I just don't get it." The pencil in your hand almost snapped from the strength of your grip.

"Listen, I am not in a position to advice your something or anything," Shoko's lab chair screeched — the sound annoyingly loud in the tense silence of the lab — as she turned to face you fully. The irritation at her words flared up in you, but you forced yourself to listen to her. If not her, then who?! "But you might try to hear him out. He's not that bad of a guy."

Grimacing at her, you turned to return to your own table. "If he's not that bad, he would've taken a hint long ago."

An indifferent shrug was the only response you got.

After talking to Shoko, Gojo's pitiable attempts at "courting" you had weakened severely until coming to a complete halt. You couldn't believe your luck. But what annoyed you even more than Gojo himself was the way you would jump at seeing the familiar spark of frosty white hair in the crowd; the way your heart would do a little flip at the sound of his distant chuckles. The way the loneliness would engulf your usual table in the corner of the cafeteria without his company: you subconsciously craned your neck to see him, for all his persona and the impossible height were impossible to miss, and slumped in your seat, when he didn't happen to stroll in with a familiar effortless grace in his stride. In the quietness of the library, after the countless hours of studying, you could basically hear the grin in his voice as he handed you a couple of blueberry muffins and the bergamot tea from your favourite bakery — you didn't have the slightest idea how he managed to find out your usual order — and tapped on your nose, remarking that you actually should eat.

Somehow, Satoru Gojo annoyed you enough to...like him. Managed to creep under your skin like an itch you couldn't get rid of.

Or… didn't want to?

***

One basketball match changed everything.

"Sorry, sorry, oh— sorry again," you mumbled awkwardly, navigating through the crowd and somehow managing to balance two beer cups on your way to your seats.

"Geez, finally, where have you been?"

Rolling your eyes at Nobara, your bestie slash roommate slash the only person who made your university life not so miserable, you handed her the cup and tried to shout through the cheerladers' voices, the endless roaring of the crowd and the music coming loud from the speakers.

"There was a line!"

"Huh? What?"

"THERE WAS A FUCKING LINE!"

She took a sip from her cup with a satisfied nod and grimaced at you. "Don't scream at me."

Her audacity stole your voice, and you slumped down in your seat, huffing rather indignantly.

"Hey, don't pout. Sorry for that." Nobara lightly elbowed your side and opened a pack of salted peanuts, offering you a truce.

"Can't believe I agreed to go with you," a light grumpiness coloured your voice as you drank from your own cup.

"Aw, that's because I am awesome and you love me so, so much," she chirped gleefully and planted a kiss on your cheek. With her head on your shoulder, Nobara sighed dreamily at the sight of Maki Zenin — the manager of the university's basketball team. "She's so cute, isn't she?"

Meanwhile, Maki gestured widely, screaming something at her phone (not very pleasant as you might assume from your seat) and threw her bag at a guy in front of her. The guy followed her figure with puppy eyes.

Your lips twitched with a barely concealed smile that you hid behind another swig. "An angel, truly."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

Her words fell on deaf ears because at that moment, some airy melody rang from the speakers, followed by the joyful voice of the commentators to finally announce the start of the match.

Swallowing nervously, your eyes darted across the court, and the moment your gaze landed on the tall figure with stark white hair, your heart galloped at a racing speed.

"Who are you gawking at, huh?"

Gojo might've really had the eyes on the back of his head — he wasn't called Six Eyes for nothing, some weird sixth sense that you assumed related only to the basketball court — because that very moment he turned around and briefly scanned the audience. His eyes widened in surprise as he spotted you: the bright blue of his gaze and the joyous smile that broke on his face caught you so off guard you nearly dropped the cup. Like he was happy to see you there. Actually happy.

You offered Gojo a shy wave — a subtle move of your fingers — that only made his grin wider. Then, Suguru Geto tapped on his shoulder, and he quickly turned back.

Your hand fell limply to your side.

"Babe, what the hell was that?" Nobara hissed, jerking her chin towards the players gathered around for the last guides from the coach Yaga. "Have you just casually flirted with Satoru Gojo? Don't you hate his lungs?"

The next words came in a breathy voice. "I don't know anymore."

Your knowledge of basketball was rather... limited, but you dutifully roared along with the crowd the moment your university scored yet another point. The people's excitement was contagious, seeping right into you as well and lacing your voice with joy. You booed at the judge when he gave advantages to the rivals, screamed at the top of your lungs and held your breath at the last quarter. Your team went neck-and-neck with the other, and every point was crucial. You could see it in the way the player's uniform was drenched in sweat, their hair stuck to their temples, and laboured breathing. The stakes were too high.

The scorebox showed the fifteen seconds left — mere moments for you and the whole eternity for those at the court. Your eyes drifted to Gojo, as driven to him by some unknown force. His sharp gaze quickly darted from one teammate to another, calculating the last opportunities to score. And then...it found you amidst the sea of spectators. Cheeks flushed, hair a total mess, chest expanding with deep breaths. A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he took you in. Adorable.

But for you, the moment Gojo's gaze landed on you felt completely different — resembling more of a bolt of lightning that sent every nerve in your body on fire. You couldn't hear your own thoughts with the blood pounding at your temples.

Gojo barely tilted his head, nodding towards the basket and mouthed.

"This is for you."

He dodged one guy, then the other with perfect dribbling — you barely saw anyone in their element as much as Gojo was at the basketball court — and finally went for a shot.

Time seemed to stop moving in the gym of the Jujutsu University. The hundreds of eyes watched the ball cutting through the air with an impeccable trajectory.

Until it went through the net without hitting the rim and sealed the win.

You barely released a shuddering breath when Nobara crushed you in a hug, her beer mercilessly spilling on you both, but no one gave a damn. The crowd erupted with an ecstatic cheer and rose to their feet right then and there. The commentators were on the verge of crying, judging by their voices, but your world narrowed to one particular person. Gojo's teammates ruffled his hair, patted his back, and hugged him by the shoulders; someone even put him in a playful headlock, to which he responded with a wide grin.

A tight knot in your chest slowly seemed to loosen a bit.

Gojo found you later, at the party.

You stood a little away from the crowd, watching Nobara laughing with Maki Zenin near the bonfire. The light painted her auburn hair in copper tints every time she tilted her head, and judging by the way Maki's gaze lingered on her form, she noticed that too. A little smile curled your lips at the sight of lovey-doveys.

"Your friend has a crush on Maki, huh?"

Putting a can to your lips, you mumbled absent-mindedly, "She's pretty obvious."

"They both are, actually."

A light brush against your shoulder finally caught your attention. You lazily shifted your gaze, only to gulp at the sudden proximity to Satoru Gojo.

He stood beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, watching the rest of the party unfold with a faint smirk on his face. Standing there, existing, like he wasn't the one who flipped your world upside down a couple of hours earlier.

A forced smile made your cheeks hurt as you tumbled out nervously, hastily wiping your mouth, "I am— I, I mean, congratulations! You did so great! I don't understand much about basketball, but you—," your worried your bottom lip for a second before breathing out, "you were magnificent."

At your words, Gojo finally turned around. His grin softened into a gentle smile that showcased a pair of dimples on his pale cheeks. The firelight danced on his hair strands that seemed more ivory tinged now.

"You think so?"

"I do!" A sudden feeling of boldness flooded you as you stepped forward and reached for his arm to show how sincere you were. Or maybe it was just a beer.

Gojo immediately cast his gaze down and slowly wrapped his long fingers around your wrist. You gulped, but didn't look away from his face. The gods clearly spared nothing in sculpting it, otherwise you couldn't explain the sharpness of his jaw, the plumpness of his lips and the prominence of his cheekbones.

No one had a right to be that beautiful. Satoru Gojo wasn't aware of it.

His thumb pressed just a tad against your soft skin to feel an erratic pulse beneath it, but you did not attempt to pull your hand away. On the contrary, it felt strangely...natural.

"I am glad you were there." A gentle murmur hit you harder than expected.

Breath bated, you searched Gojo's face for any hint of the usual theatrics and grandeur until you saw none.

"You are?"

"Yeah".

The words about the last shot were on the tip of your tongue already, but they quickly died at the sight of shimmering blue in his eyes as Gojo finally looked up and released your hand from his grip.

You already missed its warmth.

"Listen, I knew I was a jerk towards you. Crowding and flirting and so on. I know, I know," a self-deprecating chuckle left his lips as the ironic roll of his eyes followed. You watched every expression, soaked it like Gojo was about to disappear again from your life. "I am not proud of this, I admit. I want to apologise to you for this."

You parted your lips to answer, but Gojo cut you off with a slight shake of his head.

"But I am not going to apologise for my feelings," his voice grew stronger, rising from the gentle murmur to the steady tone, eyes boring into you with an unsettling intensity that left you speechless. The people's cheerings fade into the background, and that chilly evening, thick with emotions so deep you couldn't name them, enveloped both of you in its bubble.

"I meant everything. I do like you. I like the way you smile when you finally grasp the concept you've been studying. The way your voice goes all that animated when you talk about the book you were reading. That little sparkle in your eyes when you saw the last cherry pie in the cafeteria...I love it all. And that shot was for you. I really meant it."

"I am gonna ask you just this once, and if you reject me, I will step back and never bother you again. You have my word," the weight of Gojo's promise would almost physically pin you to the ground, if not for the desperation lurking behind his gaze, darting between your eyes and your lips. He forcefully tore it away to glance right into your face. "Will you go out with me?"

You didn't believe what you were about to say. But hey, that day was already weird enough. You offered Gojo a crooked smile. "Yeah."

"Just one date, you won't — ", he blinked in surprise, a light frown crossing his handsome face. "Wait, what?"

You stifled a laugh and nodded, stepping closer, until you felt the hard planes of his chest. "I will go out with you."

A slow, almost dopey in its joy, grin curled Gojo's lips, until a small disbelieving chuckle left him. "You will? Just like that?"

Now you couldn't contain a smile either. "Just like that, Gojo."

A whoop full of happiness cut through the air and the noise of the party that slowly came to its eventual end as Gojo swept you off your feet and twirled you in a bone-crushing embrace. Your laugh was the prettiest sound Gojo had ever heard.

"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I swear you won't regret it!"

Satoru Gojo kept his promise. And many others he whispered in the dead of the night to you beneath the star-spilt sky. His hand was a steady anchor amidst the stormy life that awaited both of you. His voice offered you peace of mind when the world was a little too harsh for you. His fingers traced reverently the silk of your skin every time he shared a night with you. His gaze was the first you searched for in every crowded room. His arms had become the safest place in the world.

Satoru memorised the way you organised your life, but you were more than happy when he eventually disrupted your usual order. Not because he was doing that on purpose. Rather, since that was Satoru: he was too big for your world, and you didn't want him to shrink himself into someone he wasn't. Dimming Satoru's light was the last thing you wished.

He had learnt by heart the things that even you didn't pay attention to: for example, your toothbrush always had to face the door — Satoru wordlessly turned it the way you preferred; your favourite plant was Zamioculcas that he made sure was always watered visiting you; you usually carried a few packs of wet cat food for the stray babies in your enormous bag — he ordered large boxes, so you wouldn't run out of them; your drink of choice was Margarita that you shared only while hanging with Nobara — Satoru learned on his way to pick you up; you hated the loud harsh sounds, and Satoru was the first one to whisper sweet nothings to you and rub soothing circles against the small of your back until you calm down. In other words, he made your life easier.

You, on the other hand, only added more difficulties to his. Satoru never told you that, not even mentioned in any way that you were somehow different from him. But some things didn't have to be pointed out to catch your eye.

Like his Prada glasses, which cost like your monthly rent or two. Satoru could leave them somewhere without batting an eye. Or the luxurious gifts he would get you out of nowhere just because you barely glanced at something while strolling. That warmed your heart, yes, but the cheque that Satoru couldn't care less about startled you. You stayed in the lab until you almost fainted from fatigue just to finish the project before the deadline to get an extra payment to spend on the gift, since you were adamant that the relationships were about taking and giving in equal measure. Not to mention the one social gathering he invited you to, just off-handedly, before the day it actually happened; you drained your bank account to look presentable by his side, and lived on the instant ramen the entire month after. Maybe if you had accepted Satoru's offer to live together, none of that would have happened, but you learned the hard way to rely only on yourself. Luckily, the iron argument sealed the deal: your tight schedules at the lab and his as a pro basketball player didn't match well.

The Gojo family was another... topic. While no one said anything directly to your face, you noticed the way their brows knitted in confusion for a fleeting second, eyeing you up and down. Sensed the baffled glances and fake, saccharine sweet smiles behind your back, questioning the fact of your presence. No. Your existence. The mere raise of the brow from one of Satoru's distant cousins at the sight of your shoes — the ones you borrowed from Nobara, who got them after the Fashion Week in Paris, albeit last year's Dior collection — had you doubting your entire life.

Complaining had never been on your list, though some thoughts did cross your mind. You made sure not to voice them, stoically listening to all the hushed whispers. Not once did your smile falter in front of them. It was the least you could do for Satoru. You knew he didn't have a lot of joy in standing up for you every single time, so, eventually, the gatherings got shorter, the invitations came rather rarely, and the calls, already small in number, would always leave him in a bad mood. The sound of your name appeared quite frankly between the gritted words and heated yells.

"Don't worry, baby," Satoru's lips always found the crown of your head in the reassuring kiss when you asked him what was going on. The bitterness in his voice poisoned your already tired, insecure mind even more. He was a master at hiding his emotions, but never from you. "I got this."

A strained smile — the corners of your lips lifting just barely — was your usual answer.

"Of course."

Satoru then offered you a quick grin that never reached his eyes. His large hands cradled your face in the gentle, trembling grip, and the faint murmur would twist yet another knife between your ribs. "I love you. I love you so much. You know that, right?"

Leaning into Satoru's palm like a kitten, seeking warmth, you bit inside of your cheek not to cry. Your hand came up to cradle his hand against your cheek just to memorise the way it perfectly engulfed your face.

"I love you."

Not to dwell on the way you voice cracked, akin to ice beneath one's feet, you simply moved forward to capture his lips in a kiss, until all you could taste were tears. Yours, his... Did it matter anymore?

And then, under the pale moonlight coming from the lone crescent peering right into the bedroom of his large penthouse, your gaze drifted unabashedly over Satoru's face, taking in every flutter of the long, snowy eyelashes. Every breath that left his lips. Every faint twitch in his expression, and even every tiny snore. Your finger tenderly traced the bridge of Satoru's nose, making its way to the perfectly sculpted mouth and down to the sharp cut of his collarbones. Committing each pale freckle and beauty mark to memory.

For you knew that night would be your last one.

Satoru loved you, and you loved him. He loved you fiercely, with the force so burning it could rival the Sun itself. It was only fair for you to step back and let him shine. Not to drive another wedge between him and his family. You loved Satoru enough not to burden him with your presence. He should soar up in the sky, not stay chained on the ground by the dead weight of you and waste his time knocking some sense into his parents.

A muffled sob escaped your throat as you pressed a small kiss between his collarbones. The next thing you felt was Satoru's strong arm curling around your waist to pull you against his strong chest. The faint smell of musk still clung to his skin, but you had never revelled in it as you did now.

"Why aren't you asleep, baby? Something's wrong?" Satoru's voice came in a deep, throaty tone that would usually have your toes curling.

The edge of the blade dug deeper into your heart, drawing blood.

"Nothing, love. Just some weird thoughts, that's all."

A boyish grin adorned his face — so handsome even in the middle of the night — as he lightly flicked your forehead.

"Your head will hurt from all the overthinking. Head so tiny, yet so many thoughts. Come here," Satoru let a shuddering yawn and tucked your head under his chin, nuzzling gently against your hair. "Better?"

Biting on your lip, you prayed to all the gods that Satoru wouldn't hear the tremble in your voice. The steady beat of his heart lulled you to sleep, but you knew you wouldn't close an eye that night. "Yes."

"Try to sleep, okay?" Satoru's finger came to play with a lone strand of your hair. The smile in his voice was evident. "And if you don't, just wake me up. We can talk or watch that documentary you mentioned earlier. I mean, did Tyra really not take any accountability?"

You gathered any ounce of your strength not to fall apart right then and there.

"Of course, Toru. Go to sleep now."

He sighed in mock exaggeration. "Always so bossy."

His chest rose steadily under your cheek. His skin felt warm under the weight of your palm. You registered it all subconsciously, clinging to every part of Satoru.

And only when his breath fully evened, you allowed yourself to whisper to the night.

"I love you. And I am so sorry."

***

You sincerely thought you were a nice girlfriend for scheduling your breakup over the weekend. Waited until Satoru finished showering and emerged all smiley and happy from the bathroom. Waited until he recalled all the TikToks he sent to you in the early morning, not even knowing you already had blocked him on all the socials. Waited until he dug in the last breakfast you cooked for him — fluffy pancakes with strawberry jam.

"Babe, this is so delicious," Satoru hummed, pointing a fork at you. "Are you sure you didn't wanna become a chief? I mean, this is the gift from the heavens."

"I think we should break up."

Satoru paused mid-way, mouth still open. He slowly closed it and heaved a hollowed chuckle, chewing on the pancake with more force than necessary. "Very funny, sweets. An excellent joke."

Straightening in the seat, you furrowed your brows in confusion. Weren't you clear enough?

"I said we should break up."

That time, Satoru finally stopped chewing and slowly lifted his gaze at you. The electric blue pierced deep in your soul as he pressed again, "And I said it was an excellent joke."

"Satoru," the movement of your throat was sharp as you fumbled with words. "I am not joking."

The desperate flex of his fingers caught your attention immediately when Satoru curled them into a fist before taking a deep breath. The smile that carved into his lips was as sharp as the knife.

"Care to explain why?"

A thousand thoughts twirled in your mind those days like a restless whirlpool, each of them seemingly worse than the previous: "I don't love you anymore", or "You suffocate me with your love", and the traitorous "I cheated on you."

All of them lie, of course.

So, you settled on offering Satoru the least you could do — the truth.

"We just don't work out, Satoru. It's better to break up before — "your voice was so tiny and fragile, Satoru thought he was hallucinating: his worst nightmare coming to reality, " — things get more serious."

The loud, screeching sound of the chair being pushed away, followed by a self-deprecating, disbelieving laugh, filled the room. You glanced up at Satoru only to find him pacing around like a caged animal. Your words punched him right in the gut.

"We don't 'work out?' Before 'things get too serious', huh? Sweets, that's gotta be a joke. The most shitty, not funny and cruel joke you have ever pulled on me, but okay," he nervously carded his fingers through the white hair, before walking to you. "Tell me this is it. Please."

You cast your gaze down, not able to see the way his eyes frantically searched your face for any hint of a joke and hear the crack in his voice, usually so steady and certain. A rock, a lighthouse in your stormy ocean.

The shake of his hands was violent as they came up to frame your face. You choked on a heavy sob, trembling like a leaf with the tears blurring your eyes so hard you couldn't see anything.

"But we were —, are working just fine. Have I done something wrong? Is it because of me? Just tell me what to do, I swear I'll fix everything!"

"It's not about you, Satoru. Never has been. It's about me."

His white brows furrowed in confusion. "You? What about you? But you are perfect for me," he chuckled almost tenderly — a small sound frayed around the edges — that only ripped your heart out. "You listen to all my stupid jokes, know how many sugar cubes I put in my coffee, and put the curtains down because you know how sensitive my eyes are. You stayed with me at the hospital after the injury and cheered for me the loudest." His voice rose just a tad to coax a smile from you. "You have never told me how to be someone I am not. Always seen me, not the Gojo heir. Not the star player. How can it be about you? No one in the world knows me as well as you do. Like —," his gaze swept across the room like something might've helped him to talk you out, "like your last Christmas gift, huh? That premium card you swore you just stumbled upon in the store, but I knew better how much it — Wait."

Satoru's smile slowly died as the realisation downed at him like a wicked joke of fate. "No, no, no, no. That can't be it. Is that because of money? My status? I told you countless times that it doesn't matter to me! What I have is yours." His voice dipped into the fragile, almost sacred warmth that he reserved only for you. "All I have is yours."

You couldn't do that anymore. Not even in the wildest thoughts did it occur to you that breaking up with Satoru would hurt that badly. It rather resembled a never-ending torture.

He never understood it. Growing up in a family that barely made ends meet. Pouring your blood, sweat and tears into studies to get a tuition fee waiver, because there wasn't any other option for you to get into the university. Scraping by taking double shifts at the cafe. Fighting tooth and nail over the place in the chemistry lab.

And never would.

Pushing Satoru away, you closed your eyes in defeat before forcing yourself to look back at him. He didn't dare to mutter a word, watching your face twist with pain as you shouted.

"It matters to me! It matters to me, Satoru, how fucking inferior I feel next to you!"

Something in his gaze faded away. He didn't recognise his voice when it came in a short, fractured breath, devoid of all strength.

"What?"

A violent sob rattled your frame as you hid your face in your palms. You cried and cried and cried until your chest tightened with pain, and you managed to utter hoarsely. "Every time I get into your home, or every time someone sees me besides you, I want to run and disappear into the cave. Don't you see that, To — Satoru?" No. He wasn't your Toru anymore. "I am like, dunno, a disastrous glob of ink on Monet's painting. A patch of dirt on the Versace gown. A bling-bling amidst Graff's and Harry Winston's. Well, you get it. Something to wipe away or hide in the closet. Someone who doesn't deserve to stand by your side."

"I don't get it," Satoru dragged his hands over his face and shook his head, letting out a humourless laugh. His eyes flashed with a weird gleam. "Did my parents or anyone at that point say something to you? Because if they did, I fucking swear —"

"No one said anything to me, Satoru! It doesn't matter. Because they say it to you —"

"And as I said, I don't care — "

"BUT I DO!" The rise of your voice to a frenzied cry startled both of you. Satoru stared at you with a gaze so desperate that a kiss of the gun would've been more merciful. You fiercely wiped your snotty nose — hell, you must've looked so ugly — and walked over to cup his face. He watched your every move as if you were about to disappear. In a way, you were going to.

"I do not want anyone to say something about me to you. I do not want you to fight with your family over me. I want you to be happy. Do not be torn between me and the world you belonged to."

Satoru wanted to shake you by the shoulders just to knock some sense into your head, scream and shout what a total bullshit your words were, but instead, he got rooted to the spot by your doe eyes. His stomach twisted at your next words.

"You'll meet a beautiful, smart, and kind girl, who wears pearls that cost more than I will ever be able to make, plays Brahms at the family gatherings, and who doesn't turn red in the face, while asked about favourite Japanese modern artists. Well, now I know plenty." You couldn't help but huff a tiny chuckle. Nothing twitched in Satoru's face. "And you will fall in love with her, and your whole family will like her. Everything will be just fine."

Satoru couldn't believe what was happening. Nothing in his life could ever prepare him for the pain that would follow with your leaving him. It didn't feel real. Probably, never would.

He slowly tilted his head down and rested his forehead against yours, whispering, barely audible. Like every word cost him a fortune. "Please, baby, please. I swear on my life, I will do everything. Just don't leave me. I don't —," Satoru's hands slip up your face as well, but you closed your eyes in defeat. Any ounce of strength left in your body evaporated. His arms fell to his sides as he croaked out helplessly. "I don't know who I am without you."

"You are you, Satoru. Always have been and always will be. A brilliant, wonderful, kind boy with a golden heart. And I..I am just me," you pressed your lips in a thin line before forcing a smile. "But I will work on it. As I said, it's all because of me."

"You don't get it." Somehow, Satoru's lifeless whisper hit you harder than any scream would. Because Satoru never raised his voice at you. Even now. There was a hunch to his shoulders that you rarely saw, if ever, as he turned from you and gripped the edge of the table. "I want to marry you. To become your family. But guess that doesn't matter anymore. Before things get too serious, huh?"

The room spun around you as you knitted your brows together, slumping in the nearest chair. Marrying… you?

But, on the other hand, it didn't change anything. You were still miles away from each other, standing on opposite sides of the societal hierarchy.

"I am so sorry, Satoru," words clawed up your throat as you shook your head.

Satoru finally turned around, and the dimmed, utterly devastated blue of his gaze tore you apart at the seams. "You are not sorry. If you were, you won't be leaving me now."

You didn't have enough in you to counter this. Words seemed meaningless, slipping like sand through your fingers.

"Please, Satoru. Let us go. It is for the better."

You had never seen an expression that hopeless and defeated on his handsome face.

"Is that what you want?"

"No," you wanted to scream, to shout, to cry out loud. "How can I possibly want to leave you? I have to. For both of us."

The silence stretched thin between you for so long, Satoru sincerely thought you didn't hear him. He stepped forward only to see you giving a short nod, almost cruel in its curtness.

After all, he never denied you everything. Even that. Even if it killed him from the inside.

Standing by the door with your bag, you couldn't help but steal a last glance at him. You parted your lips to say goodbye, but nothing even remotely plausible came to your mind. Satoru sat on the couch, shoulders slumped and gaze fixed on the floor. His name left your lips for the last time.

"Satoru."

His head snapped up as if he had been waiting for it that entire time. Maybe you changed your mind?

"Yes?"

That fragile hope in his tone twisted your insides.

"I love you."

Before he could answer, you slipped out of his apartments. And his life.

***

These months, the four agonising months, marked by Satoru's absence in your life, had sucked. Mildly put.

You sincerely thought you were doing the right thing — well, still were — breaking up, sparing his life from your presence, but it didn't mean it hurt any less. In a way, it was the opposite.

Pushing the love of your life away and then grovelling in the silence of your small apartment after putting on a brave face and assuring everyone that you were okay sucked. Crying yourself to sleep sucked. Feeling your heart breaking to pieces each time your gaze stumbled upon something that instantly reminded you of Satoru — like a photo on the fridge, his note with a smiley, kissy face between the pages of your comfort book and the tome of the manga he was reading — sucked. Walking around the places you used to hang out sucked.

What sucked even more was the fact that Satoru's presence seemed to linger everywhere. His laugh haunted you while you were lounging on the couch. The look of pure happiness on his face was ingrained in your mind while you were walking in a familiar park. And when your eye caught sight of a ball? Didn't even mention it. Perhaps that was your punishment. Now you were subjected to a lifetime of loneliness.

Still, you tried to do the thing you promised Satoru the final time you saw him. Attempted to go out of your shell. Took on some hobbies. Had a lot, a lot of time for self-reflection (given that you were free most of the evenings when you didn't throw yourself into work). And took small steps to discover what made you whole.

What and not who. That realisation sank on you with the force of a tidal wave. Kept you awake in three of the morning. Occupied all your thoughts until you finally, finally, were getting used to it. Still, there was a lot to be done. You only wished for Satoru by your side, though. Were you allowed to think about him, after all?

The revelation, of course, only made your mind drift to Satoru even more. How was he? Was his injury getting better? Did his father officially appoint him as the next CEO?

Gods. You sure had no right to worry about him anymore. Not after breaking both of your hearts. An utterly desperate and lifeless look on his face flashed every time before your eyes when you closed them.

You dragged your feet back from the nearest combini: Friday had finally marked the end of a long, exhausting week (not like you had many left, huh) and you treated yourself with sushi and a bottle of wine. There was nothing you wanted more than to run a bath and put Sex and the City on, rotting under the blanket. It would've been thousands of times better if Satoru were there, but alas...

A few raindrops fell on the asphalt, successfully putting the train of your miserable thoughts to a halt, and you hurried to the entrance of your block. Quickly fishing a pair of keys, you glanced up from your bag as something caught your attention in the periphery, and you got immediately rooted to the spot.

You would recognise the set of those shoulders, now slightly hunched, everywhere. A grey hoodie did nothing to hide his figure. White tufts fell over his forehead under the hood, and something twisted viciously in your chest at the sight. Your fingers twitched with the urge to feel the silk of that hair under your touch.

You took a deep breath, trying to take a rein over your hammering heart, and stepped closer, calling the man out softly. Rather hesitantly.

"Satoru? What are you doing here?"

Satoru went rigid for a moment at your voice. His shoulders tensed even more. Your throat clogged up.

But then he turned around and smiled. A tiny, almost pathetic lift of his lips, and he offered you a small wave. Just like the one you gave him at that basketball match.

"Hi, ba —" Satoru immediately corrected himself, wincing just for a second. His smile wavered, as did your composure. "Hi."

The effort that took you not to drop your things right then and run into his arms was only between you and the gods.

"Hello to you too." Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stepped forward. That totally wasn't the way you imagined that meeting would go.

"What are you doing here?" You prompted again, trying not to sound either harsh or desperate. Desperate to hear his voice. See his eyes. Look at his face.

"Just... was going around. Stumbled at your place. You still live here." Satoru lifted one shoulder in a nervous shrug, and his little smile morphed into a quick, uneasy grimace.

You didn't question those stalker-ish tendencies, but the doubt was clearly evident in an arch of your brow, because Satoru instantly raised his hands in surrender.

"No, really. I guess my legs just carried me there. Some memory, you know," he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but then sighed, seeing your suspicion. "Come on, sweets. If I had been stalking you all that time, I would've done it way more discreetly."

That brought you some relief. "Guess you would've."

His Adam's apple bobbed with an effort. "Can we, uhm, talk?"

Something in your guts was telling you had a pretty good sense of the way this talk would go. You weren't sure it was the right time and way.

Casting your gaze down, you worried on your bottom lip before breathing out, "I'm — I'm not sure this is a good idea, Satoru."

"Please", his voice took on a pleading edge. You closed your eyes for a brief moment. "I just want to know how you are. That's all."

He was lying. And he knew you were well aware of it.

But, in the end, wasn't that what you wanted?  To see him, at least? Well, here Satoru was.

Thunder roared somewhere in the distance, and you were pretty sure that soon you both would be drenched to the bone.

"Besides, you don't want to get me standing under the rain, do you?" An amusement curled Satoru's lips before he let a humourless chuckle. "Have some mercy on your ex-boyfriend."

That sounded like a slur coming from Satoru. You glared at him. His smile turned even sharper.

Torn between the current state of your... relationship, and the fact that Satoru was standing right in front of you, you completely didn't know what to do. You didn't part your ways that badly. And you had never wanted to be that person who would resent his ex and scowl at every mention of them.

Because that was never true. You loved Satoru. And, judging by the yearning lacing his gaze and the nervous flex of his hands as he awaited your response, he still loved you, too.

After minutes of debating, with the rain intensifying, you finally gave in and nodded towards the entrance.

"Get in."

Satoru's wide smile now resembled more of a child's on Christmas.

"Yes, ma'am."

The weight of Satoru's gaze, burning a hole in your back, felt rather physical. The tension in your kitchen threatened to suffocate you both, while you busied yourself with making tea and a gigantic cup of hot cocoa for Satoru.

You placed the drink in front of him, and Satoru shot you a small, curious grin.

"Whoa, marshmallows."

"Yeah," you still absent-mindedly bought them at the grocery store. Habit. "You know, three years of always getting your marshmallows weren't in vain."

Satoru looked at you as if he seriously considered offering himself as a sacrifice at your altar.

Damn those puppy eyes.

Rubbing your palms up and down your thighs, you cleared your throat and offered an awkward smile. God, you wanted the ground to swallow you. "So, uhm, how have you been, To — Satoru?"

He pressed his lips together and leaned back in his seat, right hand on the back of it, like he was incapable of sitting straight. Well, some things never changed.

Satoru didn't look at you, instead glancing out of the window at the heavy rain, drumming against the windows.

"Not so good."

You immediately dropped your gaze, hugging the cup with sea ​​buckthorn tea. The scorching liquid might've burnt your hands a little, but it was nothing in comparison with the sharp pain in your chest.

Licking your lips, you forced yourself to look up at Satoru. He was still staring at the rain like it held something only visible to him. The muscle in his jaw jumped.

"I am sorry, but —"

Satoru released a long sigh and turned to you. You almost flinched at the sight of his eyes — usually so bright blue, flashing with mirth and charm, now reduced to the lifeless, dull grey. Under the better light, you also noticed the dark bags under Satoru's eyes, the hollow in his cheeks and even the light stubble. You had never seen him like it. Like he aged ten years or more in those months.

That was all because of you, right?

Tears filled your eyes so fast you couldn't even blink them away, when you felt salt on your lips.

You wanted to apologise once again, but then Satoru leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, feverishly running his fingers through the white strands. Were you a little crazy, or even his hair seemed more…ashy?

"I am not gonna lie, I have never felt more awful and pathetic and miserable — well, you get it, in my entire fucking life," he waved his hand dismissively, and you closed your eyes just for a fleeting second, because you couldn't afford even a moment of not looking at him. That talk went even worse than you imagined. "But after you left, something has…changed."

You sat upright and drawled hesitantly, "Like…what?"

He huffed a humourless chuckle, and his eyes flashed with a weird, almost malicious glint. Your insides went cold.

"Well, I just told my father that he can suck my dick —"

You slowly covered your face with one hand. That was not good. Very, very bad, actually.

" — if he even for a moment thinks I was going to marry one of the girls he and my grandfather suggested. And then he started threatening to cut my trust fund off, blah blah, blah. Like I've ever given a single fuck about it."

Something in his tone was telling you that wasn't everything that had changed.

Satoru's voice sharpened in a way that could cut even the hardest steel.

"That was okay. Nothing I've heard before. But when he started talking about you," his voice dropped to a whisper and dangerously cracked. You couldn't hear it anymore. "That's where I draw the line. He knows that. Now everyone knows that."

A loud groan left you as you dropped your head in your hands.

"What have you done, Satoru?"

He just rolled his eyes. Harsh and sharp. "What I should have done, obviously. A long time ago. Tell all of them to fuck off."

"Oh —"

"Mildly put," Satoru scratched his head with a mild grimace. "And then got kicked out of the house. Trust fund cut off, obviously."

You couldn't believe what you had just heard. Satoru might've thought that his words would somehow soften you, so you could coo at him or whatever. But never did he expect you to slam your fist against the table and grit throught your teeth.

"Have you fucking lost your mind?"

Satoru blinked in shock, watching you suddenly stand up and turn from him, your hands curled into fists by your sides.

"What?"

Taking a deep breath, you tore your gaze from the windows and threw your hands in the air.

"Are you an idiot?"

Well, that kind of hurt. "I don't understand."

"Satoru." Oh no, he knew that tone. That only meant you were seething with rage. There were no means of escape, especially as you loomed over him. "So let me get it straight. You fought with your entire family, they kicked you out of the house and left you with no money."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"All because of me!?"

Satoru didn't like the way you said "me". As if you were something not even worth mentioning. The dirt beneath his feet.

"Satoru, we are not together! I am not your girlfriend anymore, I am not even in your life! We don't even talk! You can't throw your life away because of me! That's stupid!"

"Well, maybe I am stupid, hasn't it occurred to you?"

"Satoru," your voice trembled on the edge of tears. Why didn't he understand you?! "I am serious. This is serious. This is your life! This is all you have— had, especially given you can't damn play with your injury now!"

Satoru didn't answer you. You only saw the way he swallowed with effort, and the look of utter longing on his face told you everything.

You helplessly slumped back in your chair and hid your face in your palms for a small eternity. Satoru didn't dare to interrupt. He just watched you, soaking up every feature as if you were about to kick him out of your apartment forever. That was an option. You were pretty pissed.

He attempted to soothe you, "But there's something good."

You slowly glanced up, and Satoru almost snorted at the look of total disbelief in your eyes. "Such as?"

Satoru quickly stood up and kneeled between your chair, taking your hands in his. Cold as usual. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed your palms with his thumbs. As usual.

"I mean, you said it yourself, sweets. That is all I have known for my whole life. Rich kid, golden youth, spoilt guy born with a silver spoon in his mouth, all that stuff. I thought maybe it was it? My chance to find myself, huh? I don't want to be their toy to boss around all because of money."

Something crawled up your skin and twisted sharply in your chest as you breathed out, "What do you mean?"

Was he serious? So you both were doing the same thing all that time?

Satoru squeezed your hand harder and gave you a crooked smile.

"Just been here and there. Doing…some stuff."

You tilted your head in a silent question. He chuckled breathlessly and shook his head.

"Don't laugh, okay? I am teaching some kids basketball at school."

"Oh," your lips curled up in a tender smile as something warm bloomed in your chest. "That's really nice. You like it?"

"Yeah," Satoru's answer was immediate. And for the first time that evening, you saw a familiar spark in his eyes. "Kids can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but they are really cute. Listen to me, call me Gojo-sensei. Kinda gets in your head, you know."

A small snort escaped you, and the wide grin broke on his face. Oh, how he missed that precious sound.

"Where do you live now?"

"Crashing Suguru. He's not particularly happy when I drown my misery in another pint of strawberry ice-cream — "

Your smile slowly disappeared.

" — when he brings in some girl, but I bribe him with dark chocolate. You know he can't live without it."

"That he can," you uttered in a strained voice. Satoru's grin wavered as well, and he hesitantly reached to tuck the lone strand of your hair behind your ear. His hand trembled a little.

"What about you? There are boxes everywhere," he leaned back with a soft murmur, glancing around your apartment with packed staff around. "Moving out?"

Your heart suddenly felt twice its size, thumping violently against your ribs. "Uhm, yeah. Moving out."

"Where?"

Well, that was it. You squirmed in your seat, and Satoru's hand slowly fell to his side. He just waited.

"Eh…France."

He pinched his brows together with a slight frown and repeated incredulously, "You are moving to France?"

Satoru's sharp blue gaze seemed to pierce through you. Unable to meet it, you looked away.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Sighing deeply, you stood up and leaned against a kitchen counter, hugging yourself. Satoru immediately rose to his feet.

"That was a pretty much hard time for me too. Not delving into details, but…yeah. I felt like shit. Everyone was dating someone, or building a successful career, or, I don't know, just doing something meaningful," you gestured vaguely and combed your hair with a shaky hand. Satoru just stared at you like a lone, kicked puppy. "While I willingly kept fucking my own life over. Cooped yourself in that place. Left the love of my life."

Something in your face softened at the last words. Satoru forgot how to breathe.

"And that certainly shouldn't be…in vain, whatever. I told you I was going to work on myself, and I kind of do. Step by step, but I am going there."

"I still don't understand. I am happy for you, really am, but why are you leaving Japan? What about your mother, your job?"

What about me?

"My department's had its financing cut. My presence is not required anymore, as they said. I am just working the last two weeks, and that's it."

"Oh. I am..I am sorry to hear it."

"As for my mom," you didn't seem to hear Satoru's words at all, staring somewhere past him. "You know, she's never really cared that much about me anyway. She'll survive."

As cruel as your words might've seemed, you were right. Your mother was an…interesting woman indeed.

Satoru desperately cling to anything that could make you stay here like a lifeline.

"What about Nobara?"

Surely, you couldn't leave her. You two had been together from the first time he saw you at the university campus.

"Actually, she was the one who offered me that."

"Huh?!"

"She's recently been promoted at her job to the French edition of their magazine. Fashion weeks, runways, photoshoots… You know her, she's been ecstatic about it. So, when she asked me about it…I said I would give it a thought. I mean, it will be a nice fresh start, won't it? I don't have anything left here, so…why not? Gotta take risks, something like that."

Satoru couldn't believe his own ears. That would've been his nightmare coming true, if not for the fact that his worst one already was real. No. He wouldn't let you go that time. That was the stupidest thing he had done in his life, and if he had to beg…well.

The worst thing that you seemed pretty confident about it. But looking closely, he saw your hands trembled a little by your side, and your gaze darted nervously around. So, there still was some chance.

He ran his fingers through his hair. The gears seemed to work nonstop in his mind as he glanced around for any clue or sight for support. Until…

He weakly breathed out, "I am going with you."

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "You what!?"

Satisfied with your reaction and his genius mind, Satoru smirked lazily, "I am going to France with you."

Did you stare in The Office or something? Was there a hidden camera to look at?

Helplessly blinking, you finally managed to utter, "Excuse me? You going to France? With me?"

"I know, I know what you are thinking. He's crazy, an idiot, proper name, last name, backstory stuff, but hear me out!" Satoru walked to you and squeezed your shoulders, his eyes frantically searching your face for a hint of understanding. You still stared at him as if he had just announced he was going to fly to the Moon, no less. "You broke up with me because, citing "you felt inferior to me," right?

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you gave him a flat look. "Correct."

"But I am not superior in any way to you now! You're discovering yourself, me too, so why don't we do that together? Start everything from scratch? Including," his Adam's apple bobbed with effort as his hands slowly slid down your figure to rest on the dip of your waist. Your skin tingled at the contact. "Including us."

Blood defeaningly roared at your temples, and your heart jumped right into your throat. Wouldn't it be strange and weird? Getting back together after you pushed him away? After breaking both of you?

One of Satoru's hands drifted upwards to cradle your face, while the other pulled your figure closer to him. Your head spun at the sudden proximity. His thumb delicately traced the line of your jaw and settled on the apple of your cheek.

"How is that stupid and weird, if I love you?" Shit, had you been musing aloud? "And you love me."

You parted your lips to answer, but then Satoru tilted his head down just a bit, and it was enough to feel the faintest brush of his lips against yours. With knees slightly trembling, your hand flew up and twisted the fabric of his hoodie for support. Your tongue darted out to lick your lip for a mere second; it was enough for Satoru's gaze to flick there and stare at your mouth as if hypnotised.

"Or you don't?" You almost leaned in for a kiss when he suddenly pulled away, despite being a breath away from devouring you. You gulped and lifted a pleading gaze at him — and not like the look on Satoru's face was any better. A strange kind of bitterness settled in your chest at the shakiness of his voice: he really doubted it. Well, you gave him a good reason to, didn't you?

It baffled you. No. Weirded out in the worst way possible.

So, instead of answering, you simply stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his. A feathery, almost invisible, but it was enough for Satoru to release a groan and kiss your back.

You forgot how to breathe. The room spun around you, and if not for Satoru's hand holding at your waist, you would've collapsed for sure. The familiar sense of heat shot through you as you boldly slid your hand up Satoru's toned shoulder, grazed his undercut — wait, did he actually whimper at that or what — and ran your fingers through the silky white hair. The months of raw longing, poured in that kiss, laced every brush of your tongues, stifled moan and impatient tug with desperate want. Damn, you almost forgot his lips slotting perfectly against yours, his gently nipping at your bottom lip, and his hot, raspy breath fanning over your cheek when you pulled away before delving in again and again.

Blinking away dizziness, you managed to gather your bearings together just to mumble, "Does it count as an answer?"

Satoru's chest rose up and down as if he had just run a marathon, and he slowly shook his hand in response before tilting your chin up. His eyes resembled more of a stormy ocean than a breezy sea, but his hold was as tender as always.

"I love you, Satoru. Still am and always have been. I told you the same when —," you swallowed the lump in your throat, "— when I left you." Voice sinking into a small, almost miserable whisper, you went on, "And I am sorry for that, so damn sorry, you didn't deserve it."

"No, no, no, baby, stop it," now both his hands cradled your face as his gaze gently caressed every twitch in it, every shift, every freckle and mole. "You did what you felt right to. I accepted that, even though it was the hardest thing in my life. Believe me or not, I felt so stupid and shitty and miserable for letting you go, but I had to respect that. I only wish I had noticed you feeling that way sooner," he ended with a small, bitter smile, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose before gently nuzzling it. "Missed you so, so much."

As much as you wanted to lean into Satoru's touch again with no care in the world, you felt the need to apologise for once again, "No, Satoru, but — Maybe if I told you that instead of going away, we wouldn't be apart these months. I am sorry."

"Stop that," his voice cut you off, not firmly but enough to shut you up. "Really, stop. I am not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. And maybe I need that too. Shook me good to realise what things really mattered in life."

A sad sigh left your lips when you remembered what happened between Satoru and his family. Yes, they were jerks, but you never wanted to be the reason for the wedge between them.

"But hey, now we're two psychos together, trying to figure out what to do with their life! Together, right?" Satoru's gaze carefully searched yours, and as you nodded enthusiastically, his face broke into the brightest grin possible. Maybe only rivalling the one he gave you when you agreed to go out with him at that bonfire party.

"Love you, love you, love you," you murmured between kisses, nuzzling against his jaw, eliciting shaky moans. Your hands slid under his hoodie to feel the hot skin under your palms, but the sudden roaring of the thunder made you jump.

"Oh, fuck."

Satoru wanted to tease you at first, but he quickly bit his tongue, remembering that noises like that still scared you. You mindlessly gripped his hoodie tighter, pressing your frame against his for comfort. His hand cradled the back of your head, and he tucked it under his chin, whispering soothing words.

"Maybe you wanna lie down or something?" Whispering into your hair, Satoru pressed his lips against the crown of your head as another tremble shook your body at the particularly frightening sound. His gaze briefly flicked at the sky through the windows. "Yeah, not getting better soon."

Without further ado, you sighed in response and gripped his hand to walk to your bedroom. In every other situation, his hands would've been on you in a second, but not now. Especially given that you had just gotten back together.

Your bedroom hadn't really changed: your favourite stuffed plush bear sat over the sheets, guarding your sleep; a stupid lava lamp that Satoru once gifted you was still on the bedside table, not to mention the horde of houseplants (he sadly noticed the absence of some) at the windowsill. You hadn't packed the bedroom stuff yet, though a couple of boxes obediently waited in the corner.

After all those months, Satoru's presence felt kind of weird in your bedroom, but now, with his hands enveloping you in an embrace, you had never felt happier.

You both stayed up the whole night: gods, you almost forgot how easy it was to talk to Satoru. He told you more about the kids he was teaching, the school, and that he tried to do some modelling photoshoots. It turned out pretty good. "Might be a nice gig," he shrugged nonchalantly, but you noticed his eyes sparkling with mirth.

You filled him in on the work drama, places you visited in your attempts to go out of your shell, hobbies you tried — his eyes widened at the mention of drawing and pottery, and he demanded to see your works the first thing in the morning.

You snorted quietly. "I don't think they are anywhere as good as your photos."

Satoru huffed under his breath and lightly nudged your shoulder. You both lie face to face now, smiling and giggling like a pair of students you once were. You felt as if you were floating in happiness.

"Come on, baby, don't be shy. I am positive they are nice."

"No, Toru, they are not. Believe me, my first flowerpot was disastrous." You turned a bit and waved at the deformed blob of clay, hiding in the corner. Satoru followed your move: his lips pressed into a thin line at the sight of a poor thing.

"Uhm…well, it's not that bad." His shoulders shook with a barely suppressed laugh, and you rolled your eyes good-naturedly.

"It's okay, you can laugh."

The laugh he let was truly thunderous, and even you, the mighty creator, couldn't help but laugh alone.

"Babe, I am sorry, it's just looking at me like I have to end its suffering," after some time, Satoru finally wept some tears and breathed out weakly with his hand on his stomach. You both looked at the hopeless blob. "Why do you keep it, anyway?"

Sighing in response, you murmured, "Dunno. I can't bring myself to throw it away."

Satoru just hummed in response and settled back against the pillows. "Will you take it to France?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention, and you just shrugged indecisively. The light mood you had slowly evaporated. After some minutes, you rolled back to face Satoru again, only to find him already watching you closely.

"Were you serious?"

He tilted his head in question; his hand came up to brush a hair strand behind your ear. "About what?"

The next words came in a hesitant whisper.

"Moving with me to France."

Satoru's thumb traced your bottom lip before he dropped his arm to the side. Shrugging casually, he lifted a steady gaze on you. "Are you still thinking about moving there?"

You swallowed nervously before nodding. "Yeah."

"Then I was serious too. We're dating again, it's only logical then."

You couldn't fight with that argument.

"Guess it is. I just…," you lifted one shoulder, still doubtful. "Can't believe you do that for me."

And he couldn't believe you questioned it. But instead, Satoru just blinked at you and muttered in the most serious tone possible.

"I told you I was going to marry you. Yes, I still want to. I wasn't joking and trying to hold you back in the heat of the moment —"

You wordlessly glanced at him.

" — okay, I did, but I was serious. And still am. Hell, baby," the mattress dipped under his weight as Satoru scooted closer. "You're the only thing — not a thing, person, I mean, you're the most serious I've ever been about anything and anyone in my life. I swear. Where you go, I follow."

His voice cracked at the last words, and you let a shuddering breath, cupping his face.

"Are you sure? What will your family say? Job? Suguru?"

Satoru lifted a corner of his lips in a small grin, recalling the same arguments he used to talk you out of moving.

"I am pretty sure I can find something there. Isn't this a part of discovering yourself, too? It could be pretty fun. Who knows, maybe I have some secret talent for pastries. Not just eating. Baking! Plus, I know French," he beamed at you like the Sun. You couldn't help but grin back. "It's a little rusty, though."

You both snorted, but then a frown crossed Satoru's face, and his tone turned more serious.

"Suguru…he'll understand. We still will be talking, right? Not as we used to, but…hey, now I will have an excuse to send him even more stupid memes."

"I am sure he will be ecstatic about it."

"He won't have any choice, heh. And my family…honestly? I don't really care. We both said everything we wanted to each other. I do not see any sense in bowing and scraping."

Your face crumpled in a grimace as you recalled that you were one of the reasons that entire thing happened, and hunched your shoulders. "Still sorry about it."

"And I am still saying you shouldn't be."

Minutes passed between you in a relative silence, interrupted only by the car noises and distant humming of the refrigerator as you stared at the ceiling. Finally, you turned to look at Satoru. Moonlight painted his features in an even more breathtaking way, highlighting the sharp jawline and illuminating the blue of his eyes.

"So…we are really going to France."

Satoru smiled at you — the gentle one he saved only for you — and reached for your hand to interlace your fingers slowly.

"We really are."

***

The morning sun crept through the blinds, bathing a bedroom in a soft, ethereal light, and its beams lazily caressed your face in feathery kisses. As your nose twitched at the sensation, begrudgingly, very begrudgingly, you blinked and reached for your phone. It came to life with a faint buzz; you tried to focus your bleary gaze on the time and sighed in relief as you still had half an hour before the alarm.

A careful attempt to sink back into the sheets didn't go unnoticed by the whole mountain of heat and muscle beside you. Satoru's arm snaked around your waist with an energy too restless for a sleepy man.

"Where are you going to, huh?" His voice, still deep and thick with sleep, felt like a pure sin against your nape. A shudder ran through your body as he gently nuzzled the soft skin there and pressed his lips against the point that shouldn't drive you crazy like it did. "Morning, ma choute."

Amusement curled your tone as you breathed out a chuckle, "Your favourite word, huh?"

Instead of answering, Satoru hummed something unintelligible against the curve of your neck, nosing it, while his lips found your pulse point.

"Can't help it. Not my fault if it fits you perfectly. So sweet," his head went into a dizzy, hazy state at the whiff of your chocolate shower gel and something so uniquely yours. "So soft." The hand that rested leisurely on your belly lazily drifted upwards to cup the tender swell of your breasts. Your breath caught in your throat as you arched into Satoru's touch with a quiet, sleepy moan.

"Ah, Satoru…"

When your voice dipped into that syrupy bedroom voice, laced with so much want, Satoru never could help himself. His hips bucked involuntarily, eliciting a surprised gasp from you, as you felt the throbbing of his length against your backside.

Your hair fanned over a pillow like a halo, catching the bright light, and Satoru's heart skipped a beat. He gently bit down on your pulse point, and as your gasp rose in a tone, he quickly soothed it with a lick of his tongue.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Can't believe you're mine." The heat crept up your body all the way to your cheeks, not only at the way Satoru rolled your nipple between his fingers, palming at the soft skin there, but at the bewilderment in his voice. As if he were actually shocked.

Another moan left your lips as you closed your eyes in the utter pleasure, coursing through your body and tightening your insides into the sweet knot. Subconsiously, you pushed your trembling thighs back against his front, to which Satoru responded with a low hiss.

"You're in a teasing mood today, huh?"

A sharp pang of disappointment shot through your body when his hand left your chest.

"Satoru…"

"Shh, patience, baby. Good things come to those who wait, don't they?" You almost whined at the loss of the contact, but then his hand — god, that hand — wrapped around your throat with a light grip, just enough to turn your face and capture your lips in a lazy, unhurried kiss. He licked at the seam of your mouth, and you immediately opened it, granting Satoru access. Your tongues lazily tangled, exploring each other; you slid your free hand down his toned pecs, sharp abs and wrapped it around the already hard cock. Giving it a few unhurried pumps, you heard Satoru moaning unbashfully against your mouth.

"Oh, fuck, yeah, keep going, love. Just like —, oh, just like that."

You fondled his balls with a sly smirk, to which he responded with a sharp, almost desperate cry, and…stopped.

"Hey, baby," the pout was evident in his voice, "That's not fair. Like totally not fair."

With a smirk widening, you turned just a tad to see his half-lidded gaze darkening with lust. "Haven't you just preached to me about patience, Toru?"

Satoru's head hit your shoulder as he let a groan, followed by a disbelieving laugh. "Vixen. You drive me crazy, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah, yet you're still not inside me." After rolling your eyes impatiently, you finally heard the sheets rustling. Your insides clenched in anticipation.

Laughing quietly, Satoru kissed your shoulder, pulling you closer against his front. His hand slid under your hip, lifting it for better access, and hoisted it over his own. You almost whimpered as the thick head of his cock nudged your already wet entrance.

"Look at tha-a-a-t," the heat flooded your body even more at the cocky tilt in his voice and the way his fingers lightly grazed your folds. "For someone so soaked, you have a pretty big mouth running, ma chérie."

You attempted to glare at Satoru, but it ended rather poorly with the way your eyes were glazed with desire. Giving you a smirk, not even trying to hide his arrogance and smugness, he hastily fisted his cock and aligned it with your entrance, slowly yet surely filling you up inch by inch.

"F-fuck, you're so tight," Satoru's hot whisper fanned over your jawline as he pressed heated kisses up to your mouth. "So warm, so good, so p-perfect — babe, don't clench me like that, f-for me."

Your lips parted, forming almost a perfect "O" in its shape at the burn of the stretch, and the first loud moan tore from your chest, when Satoru finally gave you a shallow roll of his hips.

"Sa-Satoru, yeah…"

With no hesitation, you reached behind and tugged at the soft white tufts above Satoru's undercut, pressing his head into your nape to seek even more contact until your bodies fused in a messy, unintelligible tangle of limbs, needy touches and wanton moans. His hips built a slow, languid rhythm, moulding your insides into the shape of his cock; each thick vein and ridge of him against your velvet walls made your mind swim in pleasure, so overwhelming it drowned every coherent thought. One of his hands snaked up to squeeze your breasts, eliciting more shaky whimpers from you.

"Love you, love you so fucking much, you don't even, ngh, under-understand, shit, y-yes," Satoru slurred against your cheek after yet another sloppy kiss, his tongue darting to taste the salty skin as you literally cried in ecstasy when he hit that sweet spot inside. You were completely sure he would never let you forget this. His moves gradually lost their rhythm, giving in to a raw, primal desire. A string of desperate whimpers spilt from your lips, and you turned your head to muffle these cries in the pillow.

Wrong move.

Seeing it, Satoru's lips curled into a sharp smirk. He quickly wetted his fingers and dragged them down to press quick, tight circles on your clit, and with all the stimulation, your body jolted in pleasure. Heat, shameless and urgent, built at the base of your spine, coursed through your veins and lit every part on fire. His cock twitched inside you at the way you breathed out his name with such desperation that put all the prayers to shame.

"Give it to me, baby. Be a good girl, yeah? Cum for me."

Your thighs shook violently, which was a telling sign that you were close; he feverishly rutted against yours, rubbing your clit in quick motions, panting against the curve of your neck. His eyes rolled in pleasure as your cunt fluttered around him, coating his shaft in juices, and with a shameless guttural groan, he cummed too.

The sound of your name, spilling from Satoru's lips like it was the only word he knew, brought tears to your eyes. Of love, of longing, or devotion, you weren't even sure.

Satoru was still in you, behind you, wrapping you in his arms and scent, when you awkwardly tried to turn around. He lazily blinked at you — the blue of his eyes resembled the glimmering waves of the Mediterranean Sea, which lapped the shores of the city that had become your home. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you lean in to press a quick, almost chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. They twitched with a soft grin.

"Someone's awfully sweet. Good morning, I guess. Really good, that time. What if — "

Before Satoru finished, your hands framed his face, and you kissed him again, taking your time. He released a quiet, unexpected sigh and melted into it immediately, giving you all the reins. Sweet and soft, your tongue swept over his plump lips and explored his mouth, until you both pulled away to catch your breath. Resting your forehead against his, you muttered quietly.

"I love you."

Satoru didn't answer you right away; instead, he cupped your cheek, his thumb grazed the soft skin under your eyes, and he murmured back.

"I love you more."

You didn't want to delve into the endless fight of who loved whom more, so you just settled against his chest with a soft sigh. Satoru tucked your head under his chin and gently ran his fingers up and down your spine.

"How are you feeling? Wanna cuddle a little or go showering?"

"I wish we could cuddle more, but Nobara and Maki are coming in…very soon, actually."

Satoru stilled for a moment and released a groan, reluctant to let you go and leave that bed, jutting his bottom lip in the biggest pout known to the Universe.

"Is it today? Do we have to go with them, baby?"

"Yes. Toru, we promised them to show the Fine Arts Museum. Maki didn't visit it last time they were in Marseille because it was shut for some renovation. Apparently."

"Geez, I was hoping for a round two. And maybe three in the shower. Besides, we were there with Suguru last summer." His hand slid down to squeeze your butt in the last attempt to persuade you, but you stood your ground. With great effort.

"Satoru, no. We don't see them often. Get up."

Saoru's hand that reached to pinch your side as you hopped off to get to the shower, limply fell to his side. He groaned as his head hit the pillow, but as the sounds of water running filled the space, he enthusiastically got up and padded to the bathroom. He could be pretty…convincing when he wanted to.

Indeed, an hour later, Nobara suspiciously eyed both of you up and down — your hair told her everything she needed to know. Satoru didn't even try to hide a big dopey grin that screamed "I just got laid by the most gorgeous woman in the world". You elbowed him. Hard. His smile got even wider, so you sent him to help Maki with their suitcases.

"You know, I am so happy for you." You gave Nobara a cup of scorching latte, just the way she preferred. Her lips curled into an amusing yet soft grin. "No, really. You both look radiant."

She laughed heartily, nodding in gratitude; however, her gaze was fixed on your front yard. You followed the direction and chuckled as well, seeing Satoru and Maki trying to coax Nobara's cat — a fluffy, totally spoilt Persian named Lady — out of the carrier. She only hissed in response.

"Yeah. Me too. She's…I don't know how to explain it. But I am so happy she agreed to move here. The same is for you, by the way. Provence does wonders for both of you. Even Gojo."

You rested your elbows on the table with a melancholic sigh. Yes, the start of your journey in France was quite turbulent: a total mess with language, documents, fighting with landlords over the rent, and taking up any gigs for money…It only helped that you had some of it saved. Endless hours of work, tears and efforts poured into building your new life finally got its fruits: at one of the fashion shows, Nobara introduced you to the famous photographer, who instantly fell in love with your works. And Satoru…

"Phew, finally," the front door opened, revealing beaming Satoru with Lady in his arms, who…purred in content. Nobara's eyes widened in shock.

"Lady, what? He's a man! Have some dignity!"

"Can't help it if I am that charming," he scratched the kitty under her chin. "Even cats know that."

"That's, unfortunately, true." You squeaked in delight at Maki's tired voice and jumped into her arms. After a few solid minutes of hugging, you finally released her as she begged you to show her the bathroom.

"So, Gojo," Nobara drawled in a voice too casual. Satoru exchanged brief yet pointed glances with you. Lady cracked one eye open and yawned, staring at her catmom. "Do you have, by any chance, some calissons left?"

In Nobara's language, that meant she had been dying to taste them, but she would never admit it to Satoru. "Don't tell him, or his ego would grow even bigger!"

So you just happened to drop that you wanted to have those candies, and of course, Satoru whipped some up: they just waited to be baked. Judging by his cocky smirk, he already figured both of you out.

"Why do you call me Gojo? She's a Gojo too, you know?" The oven beeped a couple of times when Satoru put the tray with callisons inside. Nobara only rolled her eyes and hugged you with a grin.

And Satoru once decided to try his hand at the things that he loved the most in the world (after you, of course): sweets. In particular, pastries. To put it concisely, baking. It took a lot, a lot of time and years of learning in culinary academies under the guidance of chiefs, before he could finally name himself the one.

Marseille greeted you with arms open, the fresh scent of pastries lingering in the air, mesmerising views and the centuries of history ingrained in its walls. You left Paris after you realised it was high time to move forward, and since you mentioned a couple of times that you wanted to live in Provence for some time, Satoru started to look for a home and a place for his own bakery. His own thing. That he built only by himself, with no family barking and ordering him around. He and you. And Satoru could've never been happier for it.

You indeed had never made it easy for him. But now, seeing you laugh with your friends, among the paintings, with the sun casting a soft, almost amber glow on your figure, Satoru realised he would rather have things difficult with you than easy with anyone else. Because you were worth it.

You were worth everything.

© wiserion. do not modify my work in any way (copying, translating, ai feeding, etc.)

[indiewritesxoxo]

faking it

everyone has a price - even suguru geto

synopsis: with no friends and a wallet full of cash, you concoct one last idea to make your final semester one to remember. paying everyone's favorite pretty playboy to pretend to be your boyfriend to complete your college bucket list before you start the life your family is forcing you into. but you might be buying far more than you bargained for.

pairings: broke!Geto x rich!Reader x dropout!Sukuna

content: mdni, angst and fluff and smut, college au, fake dating, pining, yearning, falling in love, jealousy, hurt/comfort, piv sex, drunk sex, oral (m! + f! receiving), car sex, making out, drinking and parties, piercings/tattoos, complicated feelings, regret, healing, more tags in each part

art by @aransmind !!

bank statements

first transaction | loose change | iou | (rain) check | splurge

scammed | refund | declined | debt | last check

ink | overdraft | closed

bought | bank | cleared

statement | empty | broke

...

[rawjutsu]

the babysitter

pairing: megumi x fem reader

summary: you babysat little thirteen-year-old megumi once upon a time, but now, ten years later? you spot him at a club looking way too hot to be your awkward kid from the past. you try to play it cool but end up lowkey embarrassing yourself with some accidental flirting. plot twist: he’s actually a new intern at your job, and suddenly the vibe’s all kinds of heat. after a lot of teasing, tension, and some seriously awkward moments, one night the heat finally breaks—and megumi proves he’s way past kid status.

cw: age gap (4ish years), time skips, power dynamics, sexual tension, piv smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, teasing, 7.9k wc

the coffee table was covered in greasy pizza boxes — cheese for megumi, pepperoni for you and tsumiki, who was currently flopped upside down on the couch like a melting popsicle, humming to herself with her slice dangling over her face.

you were cross-legged on the carpet beside megumi, pink nails tapping your phone calculator while he aggressively stabbed his pencil at a multiplication worksheet like it had wronged him in another life.

"this is so stupid," he muttered, brows furrowed. “why can’t i just use a calculator like everyone else?”

you gasped, hand on your heart like he’d just offended your ancestors. “excuse me?! megumi fushiguro, did you just try to commit math blasphemy in front of me?”

he stared blankly. “...what?”

you giggled and leaned over to squint at his half-erased answers. “babe, what is this? did you write ninety-nine for nine times nine?”

his face immediately flushed. “shut up.”

you grinned and, without thinking, ruffled his hair.

he jerked away instantly. “don’t do that,” he said, cheeks flaming.

“oh my god,” you laughed, “you’re so dramatic. you didn’t care when i did it when you were nine.”

he didn’t answer, jaw tense, pencil gripped like he wanted to snap it in half. his bangs shadowed his eyes, and he’d gotten taller since the last time you saw him — lanky, a little awkward, but starting to grow into it. thirteen looked weird on him. it made him seem older than he was and younger than he wanted to be.

“ah, y/n! you have no idea how much we needed this, thank you so much for babysitting last minute,” mrs. fushiguro exclaimed, cheeks rosy—probably from a little too much wine.

mr. fushiguro just grunted in greeting, wandering over to play-wrestle with megumi and swipe one of his slices.

you popped up with a bubbly little wave. “hi! don’t even worry about it, the kids were angels.”

megumi looked personally insulted by that.

tsumiki chirped from the couch, “we made megumi do math and suffer. it was awesome.”

“doing math on a friday night is illegal,” megumi groaned, still hunched over the table.

“you’re just mad you thought nine times nine was ninety-nine,” you sing-songed while slipping on your shoes.

mrs. fushiguro laughed, digging through her purse. “so, y/n, do you have a boyfriend yet? you’re too cute to be single.”

you laughed, flustered. “not yet, i’m focusing on school right now—finals season is killing me.”

mr. fushiguro emerged with a mouth full of pizza. “that’s good. boys your age don’t know their head from their ass.”

you laughed again, but then megumi grumbled something behind him—loud enough to catch everyone’s attention.

“what does she need a boyfriend for? she has me.”

no one said anything for a second. then mr. fushiguro broke the silence by yanking megumi into a headlock and cackling.

“so you’re into older women now, huh? gotta type already, little man?”

“dad, shut up—!”

“oh, megumi,” his mom added, shaking her head with a smile, “i think y/n needs another seventeen-year-old to call her boyfriend. not a middle schooler in minecraft pajamas.”

you giggled behind your hand, careful not to hurt megumi’s feelings. even tsumiki was giggling watching her older brother get oddly flustered.

“speaking of,” his mom continued, “y/n, can you just double check that tsumiki brushed her teeth? i need toji to look at something in the garage.”

toji blinked, pizza still in hand. “i thought we were doing that tomorrow—?”

tsumiki was already tucked in by the time you padded back into the living room. megumi was standing awkwardly by the hallway now, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants, gaze fixed on the floor.

“hey,” you said gently. “you good?”

he nodded a little too quickly. “you’re not gonna come over anymore, right?”

you blinked. “what?”

“my mom said... tsumiki doesn’t need a babysitter anymore.”

you tilted your head, smile softening. “yeah, she’s getting big. you both are.”

he didn’t reply. just scowled at the floor like it had offended him. you reached out and tugged playfully at his sleeve.

“i’m gonna miss you, gumi,” you said, voice bright but fond. “who else is gonna argue with me about math and threaten to burn my worksheets?”

he mumbled something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch.

you leaned in with a teasing grin, smacked a big pink kiss to his cheek, and said, “you better not forget about me, okay? ‘cause i’m definitely not gonna forget you.”

then you were grabbing your purse and heading for the door, heels clicking cheerfully as you called over your shoulder—

“and stop growing! next time i do see you, you might be 2 heads taller than me.”

megumi stood frozen in the hallway, cheeks burning, hand lifting to touch the faint imprint of your lipstick.

ten years later

the club was packed—sweaty bodies grinding to half-broken trap remixes off today’s top hits, the floor sticky with spilled cocktails and too much cologne. you were deep in the chaos, laughing with your friends between flirty little conversations that ended in free drinks. not trying to pull. just dancing. vibing. glowing.

you were tipsy and stunning—lip gloss poppin', hair perfectly messy, dress barely hanging on. living your life.

and across the dance floor—

“...megumi?”

he freezes like you slapped him. blinks once. twice. because you’re not supposed to be here. you live in a memory, in warm pizza boxes and butterfly clips and highlighter-pink hoodies. you are softness and warmth and the scent of strawberry body spray from the early 2010s. but now—

now you're grown. glowing. sultry. moving your hips to the beat in a way that has no business being legal. and your mouth is still glossy, and megumi is not okay.

you light up. slap some poor guy’s hand off your ass and practically trip your way toward him—your heels clicking like fate. he’s standing by one of the high-top tables, drink in hand, frozen like he’s seen a ghost with a bbl.

you fling your arms around his neck without hesitation, your tits fully pressed to his chest like it’s nothing, giggling in disbelief.

“oh my god—you're drinking?! my baby is drinking?! stop itttt.”

he stiffens. “you—you don’t have to call me—”

“megumi,” you interrupt, dramatically clutching his shoulders. “i babysat you when you still had spider-man sheets. i used to wipe your nose.”

“you absolutely did not—”

“i did! you were like—‘math is stupid’—and you had crusty eye boogers, and now you’re here drinking, looking all…” your eyes drag over him and you wiggle your fingers teasingly. “...grown.”

you pull back just enough to really look at him—and your giggle falters.

because oh. oh.

he’s tall. and broad. and sharp-jawed and annoyingly sexy in that quiet, effortless, completely illegal kind of way.

you blink. "you got hot."

megumi’s brain blue-screens.

"no—i mean—you’ve grown up! that’s what i meant. i used to babysit you!"

you don’t seem to realize how close you are. you’re swaying into him, arm still slung over his shoulders like you’ve done it a thousand times. fingers casually toying with the ends of his hair like it’s your right. like you’re not wearing a backless dress that megumi is painfully aware could slide off with one wrong move.

you, still blissfully unaware, play with the little chain around his neck now. “you work out too, huh? i knew you’d be tall. i remember thinking that when you were like thirteen—‘this kid’s gonna grow up and be hot.’” you laugh like you didn’t just casually ruin his entire night.

megumi stares at you, eyes wide, face absolutely flaming, hands clenched so tightly around his drink it’s a miracle the glass hasn’t shattered.

and then—

“y/n!” a voice calls from the crowd. “there you are!”

yuki slides in out of nowhere, arm snaking around your waist like a protective older sister on a mission. her eyes flick from megumi to your hand on his chain to the way you’re basically draped over him and then back to megumi, whose expression is screaming please kill me right now.

she leans in and stage-whispers, “why are you flirting with a college freshman?”

you blink like she just spoke elvish. “what?? i’m not! that’s—megumi!”

yuki’s brows lift. “...uh-huh.”

“i used to babysit him!” you laugh, slapping megumi lightly on the chest for emphasis. “isn’t that so funny?!”

megumi is dying.

yuki smiles. but it’s tight.

poor kid. he's standing there, stunned, blinking after you like you just set him on fire and walked away.

yuki sighs to herself.

he definitely had a crush on you.

still does.

yuki disappears into the crowd with a look that says good luck, kid, and you're already turning back to megumi with a dazed smile.

"sorryyyy," you giggle, fanning yourself a little. "she’s protective. but isn’t that cute? that she thought i was flirting with you?”

megumi makes a noise in the back of his throat. it might’ve been a laugh. it might’ve been his soul leaving his body. “yeah. cute.”

you don’t even hear him. you're sipping your drink and swaying to the beat again, head tilted, body language loose and open like you belong in the music. the lights shift pink, then blue, then strobe white—each flash catching the sparkle of your jewelry, your glitter gloss, the sweat on your collarbones.

megumi is trying not to look. he is failing.

“god,” you huff, “i feel so old lately. but you—” you gesture at him vaguely. “you’re making me feel ancient right now. you were a child the last time i saw you, and now you’ve got arms and stubble and shit? not fair.”

you set your drink down and stretch dramatically, your chest pushing out and tits practically falling out . you don’t notice the way megumi’s eyes drop—don’t notice the flicker of panic on his face as he forces himself to look away and adjust the front of his pants like he’s trying to pass it off as casual.

he clears his throat. “you don’t look old.”

you beam at him. “aw, thanks, baby.”

baby. oh god. he nearly chokes on his own spit.

the way you say it—so casually—makes something in his chest seize up.

"megumi," a voice calls—bright, amused. it’s another guy his age with pink hair, followed closely by an even bigger and muscular guy with a black man bun. "you good, man?"

pink hair’s eyes flick between you and megumi and light up. he elbows the bigger guy. "yo, he’s so not good. look at him. dude’s malfunctioning."

"i used to babysit him," you offer quickly, like that explains anything. like that makes this less weird.

the big guy snorts. pink hair looks delighted.

"cool," pink hair says. "you babysit all your kids like that?"

you shove at his arm playfully, cheeks hot. megumi is still dead silent, jaw tight, hands in his pockets like if he moves them he’ll do something very illegal.

before you can say anything else, yuki materializes behind you, tugging your wrist. "babe, drink. let’s go. enough flirting"

you squawk, "i was not flirting—he’s megumi! i used to babysit him! and he’s, like, twenty-three now!"

yuki glances at megumi—still stiff, still watching you like you’re made of sin—and hums. "right. poor kid."

you let her drag you away, sipping your drink, heart beating a little weirdly fast. but by the time yuki hands you another daiquiri you’ve long forgotten about your run-in with the kid you used to babysit ten years go.

monday rolls around and you’re in the breakroom, adjusting the office keurig like it’s your sworn duty. your mug says "boss babe, brat edition" in obnoxiously cute pink font, and you’ve just finished swirling your creamer in when yuki sidles up beside you, designer sunglasses still perched on top of her head and an overpriced latte in hand.

“god,” she sighs, “i can't wait for the interns to get here. i’m gonna make them do all my paperwork while i take an extra lunch.”

you laugh into your cup. “it’s barely 9am and you’re already planning your escape.”

“self-care,” she shrugs.

a few more of your coworkers filter in, sleep-deprived and carrying folders. you greet them cheerfully, air-kissing a few cheeks and wishing people a good morning like the workplace princess you are. the heels, the lip gloss, the iced coffee—you’re basically the human embodiment of a good linkedin headshot.

you swipe your tablet from your desk and strut your way to the main conference room, where your poor baby interns are waiting for their intro training—which is just twenty soul-sucking slides of hr compliance and outdated office etiquette. it’s tradition. you consider it a hazing ritual.

you push open the door with a practiced smile, ready to greet the sea of nervous college grads with something cute and perky—

and then you see him.

seated near the middle of the u-shaped table setup, black button-up slightly wrinkled, blue lanyard slung around his neck.

no. way.

your heart stutters, and you blink hard like your brain short-circuited. you double-check the clipboard in your hand like it might say surprise! that boy from the club is also your intern now!

but it doesn’t.

and he’s definitely here. megumi fushiguro. sitting tall and tense, jaw tight, eyes wide.

you don’t even realize you’ve said it out loud:

“…megumi?”

the room falls silent. every intern is now watching you two like this is a k-drama scene.

his mouth twitches. he looks like he might simply evaporate into the floor. “...hi.”

you blink again.

hi??

you’re pretty sure your brain melts a little on the spot. this is the same guy you saw at the club three nights ago—the same guy whose biceps you complimented while slurring something about spider-man bedsheets.

and now he’s here.

wearing slacks.

in your intern orientation.

“oh my god,” you murmur. “you didn’t tell me you were interning here.”

“you didn’t give me a chance,” he says, and you swear—he sounds almost smug.

your mouth drops open a little. you blink at him, stunned and pink in the cheeks, and then remember yourself—right, there are ten other baby employees staring at you, and you’re supposed to be the confident one here.

you clap your hands once, forcing your professional smile back on. “okay! welcome everyone, let’s get started, we’re gonna have so much fun!”

you turn to the screen, clicking your little presentation remote like your life depends on it, and you feel megumi’s eyes burning into your back.

and all you can think is:

this can’t be happening.

tuesday

you’re humming to yourself in the elevator, scrolling through your phone, when the doors slide open and bam—in walks megumi.

alone.

you grin.

“well, well, if it isn’t my favorite little intern.”

he visibly stiffens. “you’ve gotta stop saying that.”

“what? that you’re my favorite?”

“that you used to babysit me.”

you laugh and lean your shoulder against the elevator wall, eyes dragging over him shamelessly.

“sorry,” you say sweetly. “i’ll stop... once i’m no longer picturing those spider-man sheets.”

he groans under his breath.

and you? you don’t notice the way his gaze flickers down to your legs, or the way he’s biting the inside of his cheek when you tilt your head just so.

that night, you’re washing your face and trying to unwind when the memory hits you like a truck: the club.

you groan into your towel.

because yeah, tuesday morning you were all smug and flirty in the elevator, but now you’re remembering just how unhinged you were the first time you ran into him again—like three months ago, at yuki’s birthday thing. loud club, slutty dress, way too many tequila shots. you’d been dancing on him. had your hands on his shoulders. called him “grown now” with a wink. maybe even touched his jaw.

and he just stood there all cool and quiet with that unreadable look on his face while you were acting like a full-blown cougar in heat.

“jesus christ,” you mutter to your ceiling. “i babysat him.”

no wonder he looked at you weird this morning. he probably thinks you’re some thirsty, washed-up ex-babysitter with a weird age gap kink.

you bury your face in your pillow and scream internally for a good thirty seconds.

and maybe that’s why, when wednesday rolls around, you start dialing it back.

you were just trying to get coffee. you swear that’s all you were doing.

but then megumi walked in, sleeves rolled up, forearms all veiny and pretty, with his messy black hair pushed back like he didn’t even try—and your brain short-circuited.

the boy you used to babysit is now a fully grown, hot, adult man. and your body is reacting accordingly.

he mumbles a tired “morning” as he reaches past you to grab a mug, and your breath catches because—what the hell. when did his voice get that deep?

you back up a little too fast and end up knocking over the sugar packet holder. classic.

“you good?” he asks, one brow raised.

“yup,” you squeak, scooping up the mess without looking at him. “totally good. just—coffee. haven’t had coffee. haha.”

he watches you for a second, lips twitching like he’s holding in a laugh.

normally, you’d swat at his arm. tease him. call him a brat.

but instead, you keep your eyes fixed on your mug and tell yourself to get it together.

because this is megumi. you used to babysit him. he probably sees you as some weird big sister figure and here you are practically blushing because he said "good morning."

besides—he’s 23. fresh out of college. probably into girls who go to music festivals and do their skincare routines on tiktok. not a tired 28-year-old corporate zombie whose back hurts when she sits down too fast.

even if he is disgustingly good-looking now. even if he smells like sandalwood and makes your stomach do somersaults.

“okay,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than to him. “we’re dialing it back.”

and you do. you don’t touch his arm. you don’t mention his spider-man sheets. you don’t call him baby megumi.

you grab your coffee and walk out like a respectable adult woman.

and megumi watches you go with the faintest frown on his face.

thursday 

something’s off.

you’re quieter today. still sweet, still smiling, but... distant.

he’s not imagining it. you used to bump your shoulder when you walked past, used to throw him little teasing jabs, used to light up when he said something dry that made you laugh.

now?

now you’re polite. reserved. a little stiff.

and megumi has no idea what the fuck he did.

he finds himself watching you, trying to pinpoint when the switch flipped.

it’s not like he didn’t notice before—how pretty you are. how funny. how you make a stupid office feel like something warm.

but now, it’s like you’ve put up a glass wall. you’re still right there, but out of reach.

and he hates it.

he catches you in the break room again, smiling too tightly while pouring your coffee.

"you’re avoiding me," he says before he can stop himself.

you blink, startled. “what? no, i’m just busy.”

“you’re not busy right now.”

you glance at him, then look away quickly. “i figured you’d want some space. i’ve been kind of... annoying.”

annoying? he wants to shake you.

instead, he just clenches his jaw and mutters, “you weren’t.”

but you’re already slipping out the door with your coffee, head ducked.

and megumi’s left standing there, wondering if he imagined the whole connection. if he hallucinated your teasing smiles and flirty comments and the soft way you looked at him on tuesday.

he pulls out his phone, types out a text to tsumiki.

her: “wait you saw her again???” him: “she works here.” her: “megumi. omg. did you tell her you had a massive crush on her.” him: “no.” her: “does she still wear the glittery lip gloss???” him: “yes.”

he sighs and closes the thread.

friday 

someone in marketing shouts it out first: “drinks after work? to celebrate the new interns?”

everyone’s murmuring agreement. even your boss nods.

you nudge megumi’s arm with your elbow, slowly grinning. “coming out with us?”

he hesitates.

you tilt your head. “come on. you should go.”

“for what?”

“get to know some of us outside our desks and business casual wear”

“i already know you.”

“megumii.”

“…fine.”

later that day, yuki catches you lingering by the copy machine and immediately clocks the way your eyes flick toward megumi when he walks by.

“you good, girly?” she says under her breath.

you wave her off. “fine.”

“you’re not flirting with your baby intern anymore.”

“i was never flirting.”

she arches a brow. “babe.”

you sigh. “he’s just... not a kid anymore. i realized that.”

yuki hums. “and that’s a bad thing?”

“it’s just weird, okay?” you hiss. “he’s 23. i’m almost 28. i used to make him chicken nuggets.”

“okay but now you want him to rail you into next week.”

you gasp. “yuki—”

“tell me i’m wrong.”

you don’t.

happy hour rolls around, and the bar starts filling up with tired salarymen and even more exhausted hourly workers. your office has a long table pushed together in the back, half your coworkers already crowding around with drinks in hand while the rest hover near the pool table.

you chew the inside of your cheek, debating whether or not to get megumi a drink. he’s over by the bar, laughing at something one of the other interns said, posture easy and relaxed.

you weren’t exactly avoiding him. you were just… setting boundaries. for yourself. trying to be normal. professional. and now, being in the same dimly lit bar as him—tipsy and tired and way too aware of how stupid hot he is—feels like a terrible idea.

yuki slings an arm around your shoulder and groans dramatically. “can you please just fuck him already?”

you choke on your beer. violently.

“yuki!” you whisper-shout, eyes wide as you glance around to make sure no one heard your deranged little menace of a friend.

she just takes another swig from her pint and leans in closer, lowering her voice but still way too loud. “what? you’ve been eye-fucking him since before you even knew he was working here. and you're too naive to notice he’s been eye-fucking you back.”

“i have not been—wait, he’s been what?”

yuki deadpans. “are you serious right now? if you would stop spiraling for like two seconds, you’d see it.”

she grabs your chin, gently but with intent, and turns your head toward the bar—right where megumi’s sitting.

he’s looking at you.

his gaze flicks away the second your eyes meet, but not fast enough to pretend he wasn’t staring. his ears go pink. he says something to the intern beside him, but his whole body shifts like he's been caught.

your stomach swoops.

still, you shake your head. no. nope. nothing’s going to happen. first of all, you work together now. that’s inappropriate. second of all, you used to babysit him, which is… arguably more inappropriate. megumi probably thinks you’re a freak. he’s probably this close to reporting you to hr.

so, you do what any sane, responsible adult would do: avoid him for the rest of the night.

you play pool with the accounting team, gossip with the customer service reps, and keep your eyes anywhere but on megumi—no matter how many times yuki throws you the world’s most pointed looks across the table.

eventually, people start trickling out. one by one. then in pairs. then in carpools. you’re settling your tab and sipping on some watered-down coke when someone slides into the seat next to you.

you look up—and of course it’s him.

megumi. looking warm and flushed and slightly buzzed. his hair a little messy. his shirt rumpled at the sleeves.

“hey,” he says, voice soft and low.

you blink. “hi.”

he’s close enough that his thigh brushes yours every time he shifts.

you’re acutely aware of it.

the warmth of his body. the clean, faint scent of sandalwood and laundry detergent. the occasional flex of his forearm as he nurses his drink.

you’re not even drunk. that’s the worst part.

you’re just buzzing. nerves and want and something heavy curling low in your belly.

“can we talk?”

your stomach dips. you nod once, trying to look normal—cool, even—as if you haven’t spent the past week panicking over every interaction you’ve had with this man.

megumi glances around, then tips his chin toward the hallway leading to the back patio. “out there?”

you follow him outside, where the noise from the bar softens into a low hum behind the glass. the air is cooler out here, a soft breeze carrying the faint scent of street food and cigarette smoke. there’s no one else around.

megumi leans against the railing, arms folded, gaze fixed somewhere out in the distance. you wait, heart beating in your throat.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he says finally, quiet but direct.

you blink. “i haven’t—”

“yes, you have.”

you pause. then sigh, leaning your back against the railing beside him. “okay. maybe a little.”

he turns his head toward you, jaw tight. “did i do something wrong?”

the way he says it—so genuinely unsure—makes your chest ache a little.

“no,” you say quickly. “god, no. you didn’t. i just…” you trail off, chewing your lip. “i’ve been trying to be professional,”

“i guess i was just scared i was making you feel weird or something this week,” you continue in a murmur, “with all the teasing.”

megumi nods. “i admit, maybe telling half the office i used to wear super mario underwear was a little much at first, but… it’s you. so it’s okay.”

you glance over. “you sure?”

he looks at you for a long beat. then, quietly:

“i’m not thirteen anymore.”

and oh.

it’s like something in the air cracks. sharp and electric.

you laugh, light and disbelieving, because what the fuck kind of answer is that. “yeah, no shit, megumi. i noticed.”

his gaze drops—slowly. from your eyes, to your mouth, then down to your thighs, crossed tightly under the table.

“did you?” he says, voice low.

your breath catches.

for a moment, neither of you say anything. the bar chatter fades to a background blur. you can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the thrum of something heavy and unspoken between you.

you don’t look away.

“why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

megumi huffs a quiet laugh, one that doesn't reach his eyes. “you really don’t get it, do you?”

“…get what?”

he leans in, just slightly. enough to brush his knee against yours. enough to make your pulse stutter.

“i used to wait up on the couch just to see you when you came to babysit. stayed in my room late on purpose so you’d come knock and say goodnight. i used to think about you every fucking day for years.”

you freeze.

your heart is a runaway train in your chest. “‘gumi—”

he smiles, soft but a little self-deprecating. “i used to have dreams about you when i was, like, fifteen. woke up so hard it hurt. and now you’re here. looking like this. wearing pencil skirts and calling me your favorite.”

you stare at him.

he’s not even teasing. he’s dead serious.

and suddenly you can’t breathe.

you feel hot. your skin prickles with awareness. your thighs clench under the table and you don’t know what to do with your hands.

“is this…” you swallow, trying to keep your voice level, “is this you flirting with me?”

“no,” he says simply. “that was me telling you i want to fuck you.”

your jaw drops. you blink once, twice. you’re pretty sure the earth shifts on its axis.

he glances down, then back up. “if that’s not what you want, just say so.”

you don't say anything.

you can't.

because the truth is, your entire body is screaming yes. every nerve ending has been wound tight all week and now he's just offering himself up like this? looking like that?

you scramble to think, to act normal, to not do something that’ll land you in hr monday morning.

but then he says, softly—

“you’re not my babysitter anymore.”

and that’s the last fucking straw.

you grab your purse.

megumi blinks. “wait—”

“come with me,” you say, voice low and tight.

“…where?”

“away from the bar.”

you grab his arm, weaving through the crowd like you’re on autopilot. the second you step outside, you yank him around the corner into the alley behind the bar—hidden from view but still close enough to hear the bass thumping through the walls.

“y/n, i’m sorry— i didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, i just—”

you don’t let him finish.

your hands fist in the collar of his shirt and you drag him down into a kiss so heated it nearly knocks the wind out of you both.

megumi freezes for half a second—just one. then he’s moving like he’s been waiting for this all night, hands snapping to your waist and yanking you flush against him. you moan into his mouth, high and breathy, already addicted to the way he’s gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

your fingers roam down his chest, tracing every dip of muscle through his shirt until you reach the waistband of his pants.

he shudders. his breath catches.

you break the kiss and pant against his lips, eyes glittering.

“you’re a great kisser, ‘gumi.”

megumi huffs a laugh and presses his mouth to the underside of your jaw. “wish i could say i learned from the best.”

you blush. blush. at him.

looking away, you clear your throat. “do you… wanna come back to my place?”

megumi lifts his head. his eyes are dark. focused.

“i’ll drive.”

the ride to your apartment is tense and silent—at least, on the surface. but his hand stays glued to your thigh the entire time, his thumb stroking just shy of your inner leg. every red light feels like a test. every brush of his knuckle makes you want to drag his hand higher and make him feel how wet you are already.

by the time you unlock your door, you’re trembling. not from fear—but from anticipation. from knowing this is real.

inside, the door clicks shut behind you.

and suddenly, you hesitate.

you falter. your confidence wavers, like the reality of it all is just now hitting you.

“so, wanna drink something?” you murmur, leaning back against the kitchen counter, fingers tapping lightly on the cool surface, heart thudding with that familiar anticipation.

megumi edges closer, voice low and rough, “no, there’s something else i want way more.”

then, without warning, he’s got you caged in—arms wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you flush to him. but this kiss? it’s nothing like that frantic, desperate one at the bar. this time, he’s slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the curve of your lips with his own.

your legs coil around his waist, heels slipping off as he lifts you onto the counter effortlessly.

he nips your bottom lip softly, making you whimper, hands trailing up your skirt, skin warm against your thighs. meanwhile, your fingers fumble clumsily over the buttons of his shirt, eager and trembling.

he hums against your mouth, kisses getting messy and urgent, swallowing your moans like they’re his oxygen.

finally, his hands find the place you crave most—spreading your thighs wider, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. he smirks against your lips when he feels your knees shake under his touch.

you gasp when his thumb grazes your underwear, just barely brushing over your soaked clit.

“fuck—you're soaked,” megumi groans, breath hot against your skin.

you giggle, breathless, “can you really blame me?”

his eyes flash darker. “no. but i want to hear you say it anyway.”

you part your lips, about to answer, but then his fingers slip beneath the band of your underwear and stroke your slit once—slow, deliberate, teasing—and your brain just short-circuits.

“oh—fuck,” you breathe, hips bucking into his hand. “megumi—”

“you’re soaked for me,” he murmurs, nosing at your jaw. “and i haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

“then touch me properly,” you whimper, shameless now, thighs trembling.

megumi lets out a low groan that vibrates against your neck. “don’t tempt me.”

but he does.

he pushes your underwear aside and slides two fingers into you in one smooth motion, the stretch making you keen as your walls clench tight around him.

“fuck—‘gumi—”

he groans again at the nickname, curling his fingers until your eyes flutter. “you always say my name like that?”

you nod, delirious. “only when i’m about to come.”

he smirks. “good. gonna make you say it over and over.”

you cling to him, nails scraping his shoulders as he pumps his fingers steadily inside you, thumb finding your clit like he already knows your body better than you do. you’re panting now, hips rolling into his touch, desperate for more.

“look at you,” he murmurs, watching your face like he’s memorizing every twitch, every gasp. “so pretty like this. s’like you were made to fall apart in my hands.”

you whimper, thighs trembling against the counter as his fingers curl just right inside you.

“you always look this good when someone touches you, or is it just me?” his voice is low, rough, and just the tiniest bit smug.

you don’t answer—you can’t—not when his thumb circles your clit again and your hips jerk, chasing the pressure. but he knows. he can feel your body answering him.

“you’ve been acting so shy all week,” he mutters, leaning in to kiss along your jaw. “thought maybe you didn’t want me. but this?”

he fucks his fingers into you a little deeper. you gasp.

“this says otherwise.”

your fingers tighten in his shirt, dizzy from how fast he’s unraveling you. “megumi, i—”

“i’ve wanted this,” he breathes. “since that night at the club. since the second i saw you again.”

you moan when his tongue traces the shell of your ear.

“wanna hear you say it,” he growls softly. “tell me you want me too.”

you nod frantically, panting, “i do—i do, i just—fuck—was trying to be normal, and—”

“fuck normal,” he mutters, cutting you off with a kiss, all tongue and heat and claiming. “i don’t want normal. i want you.”

his fingers curl again, knuckles deep, hitting something devastating inside you. you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders, your back arching off the kitchen counter.

“you’re so close, aren’t you?” he whispers, thumb rubbing relentless circles over your clit. “been teasing me all week like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. wearing those little skirts. biting your lip. looking at me like you wanted me to ruin you.”

“i wasn’t—!” you try to argue, but your voice breaks into a moan, heat pooling low in your belly like a rubber band about to snap.

he chuckles darkly, and fuck—you feel it more than you hear it. “no? then what’s this?” he presses deeper, watching your thighs tremble.

your breath stutters. “megumi—please—”

and that does it. that makes something snap in him. the sound of his name falling from your lips all soft and desperate.

“go ahead, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. “let go. i’ve got you.”

you fall apart with a strangled cry, legs shaking, his name breaking again and again from your mouth. he watches the whole thing—soaking in every twitch, every breathy whimper, like it's the most sacred thing he’s ever seen.

when your hips twitch from oversensitivity, his touch finally eases—but he doesn’t move away.

instead, he lifts his fingers slowly, admiring how soaked they are, before sucking them into his mouth with a low groan.

your jaw drops. “megumi—!”

he grins, and for the first time since you reunited, you see it—the boy you used to babysit peeking through the man he’s become. all teasing eyes and smugness and deep, aching affection.

“taste better than i ever imagined,” he says.

you blink. “what?”

his smile softens—just a little. “you heard me.”

you’re still dazed, but you manage to breathe out, “you’ve…imagined this?”

megumi leans in again, hand sliding gently to cup your face.

“i’ve dreamed about this night for years.”

your heart stutters in your chest. “you have?”

“every time i ran into someone who reminded me of you,” he murmurs. “every time i walked past some girl wearing strawberry-pink lip gloss.”

his thumb brushes your bottom lip, gaze flicking down.

“but none of them were you.”

you melt—just a little—before he grabs your hand and starts backing toward the hallway.

“come on,” he murmurs, eyes darkening again. “i’m not done with you yet.”

you let him pull you toward the bedroom, heart pounding, thighs still trembling, a little giggly with disbelief.

“megumi—what are you even—?”

he shoots you a look that shuts you right up. “i just made you cum on my fingers. now i wanna do it with my mouth.”

you whimper.

he grins. “yeah. that’s what i thought.”

he peels the rest of your clothing off you, shedding off his own as well, then lays you out gently on the bed like you’re something precious—until he gets between your thighs. then it's like he changes.

megumi kisses down your inner thighs slowly, reverently, hands strong and sure as they wrap around the backs of your legs to pull you closer to the edge of the bed.

“spread for me,” he murmurs against your skin. “wanna see how pretty you are like this.”

you shiver. “megumi—”

“mm-mm.” he glances up through his lashes, mouth just hovering over your soaked panties. “say it again.”

“...megumi,” you whisper, already breathless.

“no,” he says, nosing at the fabric. “gumi. like you did at the bar.”

your breath hitches. “gumi…”

he groans low in his throat, almost like it hurts. “fuck. you have no idea what that does to me.”

and then he’s pulling your panties down in one fluid motion, tossing them somewhere behind him, eyes glued to your dripping pussy like it’s the first real thing he’s ever seen.

“you’ve been wet for me all week, haven’t you?” he murmurs. “bet you were soaked every time i brushed your arm. every time you ran from me.”

his breath fans against you, and you squirm.

“i—i wasn’t trying to tease you—”

he grins, all sharp teeth and dark eyes. “you did anyway.”

and then he dives in.

tongue flat, slow, devastating—lapping through your folds like he’s savoring every fucking second. you cry out, thighs already twitching around his head, but he just groans and presses in deeper, locking your hips down with his arms.

“fuck, gumi—!” your back arches.

he hums against you, and you feel it everywhere. the vibration, the smugness, the feral little edge in it.

“shit—shit—you’re so good at this—”

megumi pulls back just long enough to say, “you think i didn’t practice for this?”

you stare down at him, wide-eyed, lips parted.

“dreamt about this too,” he pants, mouth already glistening. “used to jerk off thinking about how you’d taste. how you’d sound when i had you like this.”

you whimper, hips canting up—and he grins.

“yeah. just like that.”

his tongue circles your clit, soft at first, then rougher, alternating between slow, torturous laps and quick flicks that have you gasping, sobbing, clawing at the sheets.

“you’re—fuck, gumi—you’re so good—nngh—so good at this, holy shit—”

you swear he moans into your pussy, the praise going straight to his cock. one hand leaves your thigh to slide two fingers back inside you, curling just right, stroking you in perfect rhythm with his mouth.

“want you to cum like this,” he murmurs against you. “all over my tongue.”

you shake your head, barely able to speak. “i—i can’t last—if you keep going like that—”

“then cum,” he growls, low and hungry. “fucking cum for me, baby.”

you fall apart with a sob, hips jerking, thighs clamping around his head—but megumi doesn’t stop. he rides you through it, drinking every drop, licking you like he’s memorizing the taste.

when you finally slump back onto the mattress, panting and twitching, he kisses your inner thigh, then your hip, then slowly crawls back up your body.

“still want that drink?” he teases, smirking as he presses his forehead to yours.

you stare at him, dazed. “i’m gonna die.”

he snorts. “not yet. i haven’t even fucked you yet.”

you're still trying to catch your breath, back pressed to the mattress, chest rising and falling with every shaky inhale. your thighs are slick, still trembling from how hard you came, and megumi’s mouth is shiny with you, lips parted as he pants softly against your inner thigh.

he crawls up over you, body caging you in, and you think you might actually melt into the bed with how warm his weight feels hovering there—how safe.

his face hovers above yours, and you expect another kiss, more filthy teasing—but instead, he pauses.

his thumb brushes gently over your cheek. “are you sure you want this?”

the words are soft. careful. not just asking for permission—he’s giving you the chance to change your mind.

and fuck, that nearly ruins you more than anything else tonight.

you nod, voice barely above a whisper. “yeah. i want you.”

he stares at you for a long second, like he’s etching you into memory. then you ask, just as softly, “do you?”

there’s not even a beat.

“i’ve wanted this since forever.”

it’s quiet. barely more than a breath.

and something in you shatters—your heart, your restraint, whatever filter you had left. your fingers grip his jaw and you pull him down into a kiss so deep you feel it in your toes.

“then show me,” you whisper against his lips. “please.”

he doesn’t hesitate.

one hand snakes between your bodies, and he lines himself up, the head of his cock thick and hot as it brushes against your entrance. he watches your face as he starts to push in—slow, deliberate, careful despite the way his jaw clenches from the effort of holding back.

you gasp, arching into him. “megumi—”

“you’re so fucking tight,” he groans. “shit—you feel unreal.”

he buries himself to the hilt in one long stroke, and you swear your brain short-circuits. he’s thick, stretching you just shy of too much, and you swear you see stars.

he leans in, breath hot against your ear. “i’ve thought about this. every night for years.”

you whimper, arms tightening around his shoulders. “you—fuck—you’re really good at this.”

megumi lets out a dark laugh, cock twitching inside you. “i’ve been dreaming about this night since i was sixteen,” he breathes. “no way i wasn’t gonna be ready.”

and then he moves—pulls his hips back and thrusts in deep, setting a rhythm that’s slow but devastating. every drag of his cock is perfect, angled just right, like he already knows your body better than you do.

you choke out a moan. “oh my god—”

“i wanna ruin you,” he grits, snapping his hips a little harder. “wanna fuck you so good you forget every guy before me.”

you whimper, thighs wrapping around his waist. “you already did.”

that breaks something in him.

he growls low in his throat and starts pounding into you, the soft start giving way to pure, feral want. he shifts your legs higher, hits deeper, and suddenly you’re clawing at his back, gasping his name like a prayer.

“mine,” he growls. “you’re mine now.”

“yours,” you sob, head falling back. “i’m yours.”

he sets a punishing pace, the bed creaking under the force of his powerful thrusts. you can only hold on for dear life, nails digging into his flexing biceps as he pounds into you mercilessly. pleasure builds in your core with each drive of his hips.

his hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, rubbing harsh circles that send sparks through your spine. your whole body tightens.

“‘gumi—fuck—i’m gonna—”

“i know,” he grits, never letting up. “give it to me, baby. wanna feel you fall apart around me.”

you shudder.

"i want you to cum inside me," you plead, spreading your thighs wider in clear invitation. "i want to feel you fill me up, ‘gumi. please."

his jaw clenches as he battles with himself for a moment before finally giving in with a strangled curse. it only takes a few more thrusts before he's coming undone.

"fuck, yes," he groans, hips stuttering as he floods your depths with his hot seed. you clench around him, milking every last drop as your own orgasm crashes through you.

you both slump into a sweaty pile, tangled limbs and ragged breaths filling the quiet room. megumi’s fingers trace lazy circles on your back, warm and steady, as he presses a soft kiss to your temple—his lips feather-light against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“you okay?” megumi murmurs against your skin.

you stay quiet, too out of it, your skin still tingling where his hands roamed, thighs sticky and trembling, breath coming shallow and uneven.

“shit, i knew it. i went too far—fuck,” he rushes, sitting up, searching your face for any sign he messed up.

slowly, you turn to him, sore but smiling, eyes shiny with unshed tears, lips swollen and gloss-smudged. you meet his panicked gaze.

“i’m good,” you whisper, voice raw but sure. “really, i’m more than good.”

he exhales shaky, collapsing back against you, nuzzling your neck, lips brushing over his mark. “fuck, you scared me,” he murmurs.

you pull him down beneath the sheets, arms wrapping his neck. he follows, head on your chest, breath warm and heart still racing.

“you know,” megumi says softly after a moment, “when i said i’ve wanted this forever, i meant all of it—the nice, quiet parts, too. just holding you like this.”

you laugh, slipping a leg over his waist, skin sticky and warm, pulling him impossibly close. the humid night air clings to you both, mixing with the faint scent of sweat and his cologne. “well, you’ve got me now. heads up—i’m kind of addicted to cuddles.”

megumi smiles, that soft, goofy grin that makes your heart flutter, the warmth of his chest rising and falling under your hand. “that sounds perfect.”

before sleep sweeps over you both, you add with a teasing smirk, “not bad for a rookie.”

he freezes, blinking up at you. you grin.

“rookie?”

you shrug, biting your lip like you’re holding back a laugh. “cute, a little clumsy, but with a whole lot of fire. lots of potential.”

his jaw drops a little—you catch the twitch in his eye.

“you’re messing with me.”

you sit up a little, brushing your fingers through his tangled hair, cool against his warm skin. “baby,” you tease, voice soft and playful, “remember, i’m older and wiser.”

he blinks again, still dazed.

you lean close, breath ghosting over his ear, warm and sweet.

“and just wait. tomorrow, i’m gonna show you what you’ve been missing out on.”

megumi’s eyes go wide, stunned and utterly captivated—as if you just handed him the keys to heaven.

you giggle, pressing a kiss to his forehead, snuggling deeper into his heat and the soft rustle of the sheets around you.

[uzugeto]

suguru geto’s guide to: cunnilingus ft. cuck gojo | 18+ MDNI.

satoru gojo was a good boyfriend. a great boyfriend even.

while your girlfriends were trying (and failing) to convince theirs to do the bare minimum, your boyfriend was off buying a purse you’d mentioned once in passing. spending a couple grand daily without so much as batting an eye.

satoru brought over an extra coffee and your favorite pastry whenever you were pulling a particularly long studying sesh in the school library. there was hardly anything that went unnoticed.

but there was only problem in your relationship.

satoru gojo could not make you cum to save his own life.

piles and piles of books all focused around anatomy and female pleasure were stacked on his bookcase next to his neat lil’ collection of comics. he’d read them multiple times—to the point where he could probably recite each one back to front and front to back.

and still, he couldn’t manage to put what he’d read into action. every time he slid your panties down, salivating just at the sight of your glistening folds (after almost thirty minutes of foreplay), he froze.

his hands grew clammy, sweat beaded up on his forehead like he’d just ran a marathon, and his tongue started to feel like lead. everything he read left his mind and he ended up lapping at your cunt like a desperate dog until you pulled him off with a small, reassuring smile.

and now, you weren’t even entertaining the idea. “‘toru, it’s fine. i’ll just get my vibe to help me out or something,” you told him before he could even kneel down. satoru felt his heart drop to his ass.

satoru dropped back on his knees, staring at you like you’d offended him and his bloodline in one go. “you’re seriously gonna let a clanker-” he spat out the word with such disdain before continuing with his rant, “-into our bedroom? into our safe space and abode? i mean, seriously, think about the environment and the battery power required to power that thing. soon enough you’ll replace me with a robot and-”

you stopped him before he could continue with his rambling, “do you have a better idea then?”

“actually yeah, give me a second.” before you could respond, he darted off. locking himself in the bathroom and pulling his phone out like it was urgent.

it was.

his fingers flew across the screen, dialing the only number other than yours he had memorized by now.

he didn’t give the other man a chance to speak, immediately talking like he was recruiting geto for the military. “suguru i need your help. i feel like she’s about to dump my ass.”

a yawn left the other man’s lips, “okay woah, slow down,” the sound of sheets rustling sounded next like he’d just woken up, “why do you think she’s gonna break up with you?”

“because i don’t know how eat pussy!” satoru whined, louder than he intended to. “can you come over and teach me, pleaseee? i’ll pay you.”

“teach you how?”

that was surprisingly.. less resistance than gojo was expecting. “can you eat out my girlfriend?” he knew how ridiculous it sounded, but he was desperate. “i’ll learn by watching you.”

the line went silent, suguru seemingly considering the offer for a couple seconds. “and your girlfriend’s okay with all this?”

“…..yeah.”

“i’ll be right over in twenty then.”

twenty minutes later on the dot, suguru was settling in between your thighs, pulling your legs to dangle over his broad shoulders. the little ‘s’ anklet satoru had got you dangled almost mockingly. looking up at you before he asked, “this okay with you?”

you turned to look over at satoru, over in the cuck chair in the ‘corner of shame’ as he so called it, but suguru quickly brought your attention back to him, gently biting on your inner thigh. “i’m asking you. i’m not asking your idiot of a boyfriend. is this okay?”

“yeah, it’s okay,” you responded almost immediately, feeling a shiver run down your spine as suguru crawled up, tilting your chin up. his kiss wasn’t desperate like satoru’s were, but it was still hungry. his tongue traced the seam of your lower lip before he coaxed your mouth open, tasting you like you were a divine fruit.

one of suguru’s hands moved down, pushing your lace panties to the side with ease. “oh f-fuck,” you whined into his mouth, hips bucking up into his fingers as he started to rub your folds, spreading your slick like jelly on bread.

“there we-” suguru murmured, pushing two fingers inside of your dripping cunt, “-go. took it so well for me, just relax,” he all but cooed in your ear, fingers moving in a torturous pace as he thrust them in and out. in and out, slow and steady.

admittedly, it was a little hard to relax when your boyfriend’s big blue orbs were staring at what seemed to be your soul while he dutifully took notes. scribbling down what exactly had you making the most noise, what you seemed to enjoy that he didn’t do.

but you leaned back, allowing yourself to get lost in suguru.

suguru dropped back to where he was once before and where he belonged: face to face with your cunt. but he ignored your desperate attempts of bucking your pussy in his face, choosing to start off on your inner thigh. each brush of his lips, each kiss, felt like a mocking tease the more he avoided touching where you wanted.

“please,” you spoke up. suguru’s eyes darted over to yours, a shit-eating smile on his face as he leaned forward. breath hitting your cunt, your walls clenching at nothing.

“please, what?”

“please eat me out, i need it, need you, please,” you babbled despite the chuckle that escaped the man’s throat. satoru wrote that down enthusiastically—you’d never begged for him like this. if anything, you asked for him to stop.

suguru gives your thigh one last teasing bite before his tongue swiped across your folds, your slick overwhelming his taste buds. “you’re mmmf, missing out toru. she tastes like heaven.”

of course, satoru knew that. a pathetic whine left his lips as he watched suguru’s eyes practically roll back with each taste, eyes practically hyper focused on everything the man was doing. suguru spread your legs even wider, the tip of his tongue flicking against your entrance before he delved in.

“o-oh fuck, sugu!” a loud moan left your lips, fingers digging into his scalp as he started to eat you out like a man starving. saliva and slick dribbled down from his lips to his chin, the tip of his nose prodding against your throbbing clit.

satoru gojo didn’t bother even trying to keep up with his notes.

his notepad was left discarded, cock straining against the thin material of his digimon boxers. satoru didn’t free himself though, he didn’t deserve it. but he did palm himself through his sweatpants, giving himself just the slightest bit of pressure to feel some sort of relief.

“tastes so good, such a shame satoru can’t make you cum,” suguru let out a muffled groan against your cunt, each one sending a vibration shooting up your spine. his lips latched onto your swollen clit, sucking and swirling his tongue against the sensitive bud while his fingers thrusted in you once more.

“don’t stop, fuck- sugu, fuck, gonna cum, gonna cum.” you sounded so pretty when you weren’t faking your orgasm. your back arched off the bed, toes curling and desperate babbles left your mouth—all in desperation to cum.

“there we go, take what you deserve,” suguru cooed, your orgasm washing over you like a wave almost instantly. you soaked his lips and chin, and yet, you laid back against the bed with a satisfied sigh.

suguru got up from his spot, walking over to the cuck chair. he tilted satoru’s chin, immediately met with the sight of the flustered man before he leaned in. being so generous as to give him the divine taste, spit dripping down satoru’s skin the messier the exchange got. satoru let out a moan, fingers digging into the man’s shoulder to pull him impossibly closer.

and just as quickly as it’d started, the raven haired man pulled away. “alright, hope that helps,” suguru announced before leaving, the door slamming shut behind him. leaving you panting and clenching the bedsheets like it was nothing.

and leaving gojo unsure if the cum dripping onto his underwear was from the sight of you being pleasured or from being kissed by his best friend.

[eclipsiee]

older!bf suguru geto (maybe slight mischaracterization?)

-older!bf geto who asks for your permission almost all the time during sex. “honey” his breath hot on your lips as he parts your legs, his fingers gliding across your underwear, slowly circling your clothed and soaked clit. “can I touch you here? is that okay? hm?”

-older!bf geto who keeps a picture of you in his wallet so whenever he’s away and missing you he has something to look at. Also if he gets totally drunk/can be sober, he’ll whip out the picture and just ramble on about you.

-older!bf geto who listens to all of your interests and what you like. Though he’s a bit on the older side and has no clue what you’re talking about he’ll be supportive and help you collect anything that has to do with your interests.

-older!bf geto who praises you any chance he gets. “that’s my good girl.” “you’re such a smart girl.” “my perfect, perfect baby.” “I’m so proud of you.” “you did a good job, honey.”

-older!bf geto who over caters to you so much. “did you eat today?” and if you say no he’ll have you sit in the kitchen whilst he fixes you up something. If you’re sick he’ll drop everything to be with you and help you heal. If you’re off in public he’ll tell everyone you two have to go and then he’ll run you a warm hot bath and sit in it with you, your back against his chest.

-older!bf geto who’s very overprotective over you. it may come from a deep sense of insecurity whenever he sees you chatting it up with someone your age. it takes you awhile to reassure him.

-older!bf geto who spoils you rotten that you got used to not hearing the word ‘no’.

-older!bf geto who despises your sleep schedule, he’ll wake up in the middle of the night and see you doomscrolling and force you to put the phone down.

-older!bf geto who uses his tie from his suit to bind your wrists together and fuck you relentlessly whilst whispering in your ear how good you’re taking him.

-older!bf geto who handles arguments with ease, you’ll be the brat and he’ll let you have your brat moment before he bends you over his lap and spanks you until he decides to stop making you count.

#needthatseniorcitzen!! oh em gee I wrote this bc of the song “my moon my man” wait that song turns me on actually it’s so fucking good😩.

[lvrs4nxna]

AISHITE, AISHITE, AISHITE.. ⤷ warnings/tags: heavy ooc, fem!reader, yandere!yuji x megumi x yandere!reader, itafushi, unhealthy obsessive + possessive tendencies, mentions of violence, murder and death, lowk sadistic!reader, use of cigarettes, aged!up characters, non-sorcerer!au, college!au, sweetheart!yuji (in a way…), manipulation (not directed towards megumi/yuji/reader), online stalking, non-established relationship, not proofread, TOXIC BEHAVIOR!!!

you, best friend!megumi and best friend!yuji had been friends since childhood, all meeting during the summer of 2009. Yuji had fallen out of the tree you were napping against, and Megumi just so happened to see the entire incident carry out. (he kinda laughed)

your childhood nicknames had stuck throughout. You would always be [n/n], ji and gumi to each other for the rest of your lives. You’d tear through anybody else who’d call you that other than the two

you had been best friend!yuji and best friend!megumi’s caretaker for longer than they could remember. Giving up your lunch whenever they’d forget, walking on the edge of the sidewalk when you’d walk home together, patching them up after fights- speaking of fights…

best friend!yuji had always been way too overprotective over the two of you. He’d get into countless fights (with most of the time it ending with megumi joining in) if anyone dared to even mention either of you in a negative light.

the habit carried on into your teenage years, with best friend!yuji becoming more.. violent. All fights would end with the other having at least one broken bone, if not then bloodspill was certain.

best friend!megumi eventually stopped joining in when he realized best friend!yuji’s fights becoming more consistent. He was always the one to make up random excuses for poor yuji just to get him out of trouble.

you had always watched the two of them somewhere off to the side, either a cigarette or an umbrella in hand depending on the weather. You’d always end up pulling the two away from altercations, or at the least making sure their fights would never go too far.

best friend!megumi began noticing how you’d always seem to let Yuji drag out the fight before stopping him. Everytime he’d glance over at you, there’d always be something reminiscent of a smile curling at your lips as you watched on.

best friend!yuji who’d follow you two everywhere. And when you’d say everywhere, you meant everywhere. He’d always have one hand tugging at either one of your sleeves as you went around carrying out whatever errands you had that day.

you never seemed to mind whenever yuji followed you around like a lost puppy, but megumi could never shake the feeling that he was always there, even when he was alone.

best friend!megumi who found himself between you and best friend!yuji all the damn time. It didn’t matter if he was sitting, walking, standing- he was always in between, listening to you two go on and on about whatever gossip was stirring that week.

best friend!yuji who became more clingy when you got to college, scarily clingy, even. Anyone would’ve thought yuji was dating you with the way he’d rest his chin on your shoulder and wrap his arms around your waist as you talked to somebody.

maki and yuta came up to you once, all curious. They had caught you staring at megumi and yuji with dead eyes, but they brushed it off. Kinda.

“[Name], are you dating anybody?”

you responded ‘no’ with a smile that honestly scared them. They swore they heard you mumble ‘not yet..’ under your breath.

best friend!yuji who’s get weirdly jealous whenever either of you talked to anybody else. You’d get a ton of sass and even more eye rolling from him, but it would all disappear whenever the person would leave school mid semester. Odd.

best friend!yuji was the first one to tell you when he found out megumi had started dating some girl. Your eye twitched in repressed anger, jaw clenched. You ended up calling to cancel a hangout guys had planned that night, but yuji also ended up being busy anyways.

best friend!yuji yandere!yuji, who you ran into while.. “taking care” of best friend!megumi’s girlfriend. What was her name again? Hana… something. You didn’t care.

You two ended up staring each other down by the lake. You ended up staring each other down, blood all over Yuji’s clothes, soaked trash bag in hand, and Hana half submerged in the water.

“Holy shit, Ji! I almost slapped the shit out of you.. What the hell are you doing?”

Yuji winced. “Uh… it’s not what it looks like?…”

“Whatever… just get over here. Let me help you.”

And once again, everything came full circle. Just like when you were kids, you were his caretaker. He was inexperienced anyways, it wouldn’t hurt to help him, right? Especially since you were doing it for the same person reason…

best friend!megumi who came running to the two of you, actually crying. He cried in your arms for hours, with Yuji rubbing his back as he sobbed. It really did hurt you to make your poor baby cry, but what you had done was for the best..

best friend!megumi who started feeling really left out when he saw you two whispering to each other a lot more. The only problem? Any friend he’d try to make would disappear within a week, so his only option was to talk to your group of close friends for the time being.

yandere!yuji who hated the idea of best friend!megumi ending up with anybody else other than you two. Sometimes he wished he could just knock him out and hide him away from all the horrors of the world, but you’d flick his forehead whenever he brought it up. Not because you didn’t want to, but because it way too risky.

yandere!yuji who you’d get into physical fights with. Just because you were working together, that didnt mean you wouldn’t get jealous of each other. You’d often win though, so he’d always end up sitting in time out with a stab wound to the side while he watched you take another pest out.

best friend!megumi finally confronted you two about how he didn’t appreciate being pushed to the side.

Yuji was stupid felt bad lying to him, but you were a quick thinker, so you just told him you started a side job together.

You two reassured that you loved him all the same (maybe to an unhealthy amount. sheesh.)

He was your main focus. You two were in love with him and his thoughts, so you could listen to him go on and on for hours…

best friend!megumi who sat in front of your shared TV, watching to the news. Something about a string of disappearances, all from the college the three of you went to. He found it odd that you two would come back to the dorm late at night, but it was just your job, so he didn’t think much of it. Or did he?

yandere!yuji who’d insist he do all the dirty work. He couldn’t ever let his princess get blood all over, right? When you did carry out your ‘acts of violence’, it would end with you sitting on his shoulder. When you asked why, he responded with a wide grin, telling you he didn’t want you to get your shoes dirty.

best friend!megumi who found that his stuff had started going missing. He was doing laundry once while you two were out, and found 20 of his hoodies at the back of your closet, folded all neatly. A mix of his cologne and your vanilla-scented self lingered on his articles of clothing.

yandere!yuji who cried a bit when you scolded him for almost getting you caught. He had allegedly ‘missed a spot’ when cleaning up the crime scene, leaving a tiny blood splatter for the cops to find. He actually got onto his knees, hugging you by the waist, begging for forgiveness as he stared up at you with his obnoxious doe eyes.

you had began to use other methods to ‘remove’ other people from his life. yandere!yuji didn’t have the heart to, but you certainly did. You’d let rumours about people float around, something for people to chew on. They’d eventually withdrawal on their own, and that meant you wouldn’t have to get your hands dirty.

best friend!megumi once found you two sleeping on the couch in the dark, your phone still unlocked in your hand. He had taken it from your limp hand, planning to charge it for you. He froze when he found that you two were scrolling through his Instagram following list. He wasn’t one to accuse, but he was starting to suspect that you two were stalking him online.. he shook it off as you two just trying to keep him safe. And you definitely were (in a way..)

yandere!yuji who’d every morning, without fail, would ask megumi how he slept that night. Both you and yandere!yuji knew that he had struggled with nightmares since childhood, so checking up on him was nothing out of the blue. He’d almost always lie, but no worries, you’d watch him every other night anyways.

best friend!megumi who got into a fight because someone had accused him of flirting with their girlfriend. He was winning of course, but the thought of somebody laying their hands on him pissed you off, so you cut their hands off had a nice talk to get them to stop.

yandere!yuji who once returned home at 4am holding a tiny black pouch. Megumi had fallen asleep in your lap, so he wasn’t awake to see.

“Ji, what’s that?”

He tossed you the bag, your eyes widening as you opened it carefully.

“It’s the eyes of the guy who was ogling at gumi today.”

although slightly messed up, you secretly liked it when you were sick, because it just meant best friend!megumi would have to stay home and take care of you. He’d stay at your bed side, and you’d just gaze at him lovingly whenever he turned away to grab a thermometer.

best friend!megumi was scared of the two of you sometimes. The way your eyes would snap towards him when he brought up the topic of dating could scare off death itself. Saying anyone else’s name felt like a sin on his tongue, it felt like he had to keep his guard up all the time now.

both you and yandere!yuji were definitely sick in the head. You’d carve out your own heart for best friend!megumi, and yandere!yuji would break his own bones just to amuse him. He was the stars, the sun, and the moon for all you cared.

but… you’d do anything to keep him around, right?.. Positively. Absolutely. Anything.

a/n: pls don’t cancel me 🙁 do we fw this or nah 💔

divider by @cursed-carmine

©lvrs4nxna - all rights reserved. Do not republish, translate, steal, or feed my work to Al.

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[pika-toru-deactivated20260505]

˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙— you’ve had crushes before and you’ve had relationships before. you’ve also had sex before, perfectly enjoyable sex with perfectly nice people, and none of it ever made you feel like this. it’s as if your entire nervous system has been rewired to respond only to gojo satoru and someone took your baseline level of horny and cranked the dial so far to the right it snapped off.

contents. gojo x fem!reader • smut smut smut • reader is just unbelievably horny for gojo • as he is horny for her but yk • nothing extraordinary •art by @tiyu0710

you were in the middle of a grocery run, staring blankly at a shelf of instant ramen while your brain served up a completely unsolicited, high-definition memory of gojo’s hands. not even doing anything particularly scandalous; just the way he’d wrapped his fingers around your wrist the night before to pull you closer on the couch. the effortless strength of it, the way his thumb had brushed over your pulse point, pressed against it, stayed there.

you’d stood there in the noodle aisle for a full thirty seconds, face burning, until an old lady asked you to move so she could reach the soba.

that was when you first started to suspect something was off or maybe not off, exactly, but… different.

you’ve had crushes before and you’ve had relationships before. you’ve also had sex before, perfectly enjoyable sex with perfectly nice people, and none of it ever made you feel like this. it’s as if your entire nervous system has been rewired to respond only to him and someone took your baseline level of horny and cranked the dial so far to the right it snapped off.

it started subtly; date one, date two, the usual butterflies. but by the time you officially became a thing— gojo satoru looking at you like you’d hung the moon and asking if you wanted to be his with that ridiculous, lopsided grin— something clicked over in your brain and ever since, you’ve been living in a state of low-grade, or honestly sometimes high-grade, constant want.

it’s not normal. you’re sure of it. you think about him constantly. not in a sweet, romantic way, though there’s plenty of that too— you think about the way he laughs with his whole body, the way he remembers every tiny thing you’ve ever mentioned, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

but alongside all that, there’s a running undercurrent of pure, unfiltered need. you’ll be at work, typing an email, and suddenly you’re remembering the sound he made last night when you bit his lower lip. you’ll be brushing your teeth and catch a glimpse of your own reflection and wonder what he’s doing right now, and whether he’s wearing that black sweater that makes his shoulders look impossibly broad, and whether he’d pick up if you called, and what his voice would sound like if you told him exactly what you were thinking.

you’ve never been this person. you used to roll your eyes at friends who couldn’t stop talking about their partners’ hands or jaws or the way they said certain words. now you get it. you really, really get it.

the worst part— or the best part, depending on how you look at it— is that he knows. of course he knows! gojo satoru misses nothing. those six eyes of his aren’t just for show, and it’s like he can read your mind with a single glance. you’ll be sitting across from him at dinner, trying very hard to focus on your pasta, and he’ll tilt his head like a fox, that little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, and say, “you’re thinking about something interesting. care to share?”

and you’ll choke on your wine because yes, yes you were thinking about something interesting, specifically the way his belt looked this morning when he was getting dressed, and how easy it would be to unbuckle it with your teeth.

you never say it and you don’t have to. he always figures it out anyway.

it’s like he has a sixth sense for when your thoughts have gone south. you’ll be sitting in his apartment, supposedly watching a movie, and your focus will drift from the screen to the way his thigh is pressed against yours on the couch. and suddenly you’re not thinking about the plot at all— you’re thinking about how it would feel to climb into his lap, to push him back against the cushions, to kiss him until neither of you can breathe and ride until there’s no strength left in your thighs and hips and after that too. you’ve barely shifted your weight when his arm comes around your shoulders, pulling you closer, and his lips brush your ear as he murmurs, “you keep looking at me like that, we’re never gonna find out who the killer is.”

then he’s kissing you, deep and slow, and the movie becomes background noise very, very quickly.

the thing is, it’s not just that he notices. it’s that he’s always, always ready to do something about it. no matter the time, no matter the place. you’ve tested this theory more times than you care to admit, sometimes accidentally, sometimes… less accidentally.

three weeks into dating, you texted him “need you” at 2 a.m., half-asleep and not thinking straight. he showed up at your apartment fifteen minutes later, hair still messy from sleep, blindfold askew, and didn’t leave until sunrise.

you learned your lesson. or rather, you learned that there was no lesson— he would come no matter what. a single suggestive message, a voice note that went on a little too long, a photo that showed maybe an extra inch of collarbone. he was like a heat-seeking missile locked onto your desire, and he never, ever let you wait.

it’s not just the late nights, either. gojo has no concept of “inappropriate time or place,” or if he does, he simply doesn’t care. you were in his car once, parked outside a convenience store while he ran in to buy gum, and you spent the three minutes alone thinking about the way his hands looked on the steering wheel. long fingers, elegant knuckles, hands that could kill curses or hold you open like a promise. by the time he got back, you were squirming in your seat, and he took one look at your face, dropped the gum in the cupholder, and said, “back seat. now.”

in the parking lot, in broad daylight, when anyone could have seen. you didn’t care. you still don’t care.

another time, you were at a crowded bar with some of his coworkers— shoko and nanami and a few others you didn’t know well. you’d been on your best behavior all night, sitting close to gojo but not too close, laughing at his jokes, pretending your leg wasn’t heating up from the warmth of his leg pressed against it under the table. but then he’d ordered you a drink and you suggested he try it after you did, he’d picked it up and taken a sip, right where your lips had been, lipstick stain and all, and held your gaze the entire time.

that was all it took for you to feel it like a physical jolt, a hot flash of want that went straight from your chest to somewhere much lower. you tried to play it cool, took a long drink from his glass just to return the favor, but your hands were shaking a little and you knew he noticed because his foot hooked around your ankle under the table.

“bathroom,” he mouthed at you, not a question. “now.”

you followed him like a woman possessed. nanami raised an eyebrow as you passed. you didn’t even have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed.

the bar bathroom was cramped and smelled like bleach and cheap air freshener, and gojo had you up against the locked door before you could say a word, his mouth on your neck, his hands already pushing up your skirt.

“you have no idea,” he breathed against your skin, “what it does to me when you look at me like that. like you’d let me take you right there on the table in front of everyone.”

and the worst part was that he was right. you would have. you would have let him do anything.

his fingers found you beneath your underwear, and you were already soaked— had been since he’d taken that sip from your glass, if you were being honest with yourself. he let out a low sound, part laugh, part groan, and pressed his forehead against yours.

“fuck, baby. you’re dripping. and you sat through an entire round of drinks like this?”

“shut up,” you gasped, because his thumb had found your clit and was circling it with that infuriating, expert precision. “satoru, please—”

“please what?” he asked, all innocence, even as he pushed one finger inside you, then two. “use your words. you know i like it when you use your words.”

“please fuck me, sato— right now. i don’t care if someone hears.”

that dangerous, gorgeous grin split his lips and he pulled his fingers out just long enough to unzip his pants. you heard the familiar sound of his belt buckle, the rustle of fabric, and then he was lifting you, your back against the door, your legs wrapped around his waist, and he was pushing inside you in one long, slow stroke that made you see stars.

you came apart against him in that dingy bathroom with your hand clamped over your own mouth to keep quiet, and when you finally surfaced, dizzy and breathless, he was looking at you with something so soft and so smug at the same time that you wanted to hit him and kiss him in equal measure.

“stop staring,” you managed.

“you’re beautiful,” he said simply, like that explained everything. maybe it did to him.

he hadn’t finished— he rarely did before you, always so focused on your pleasure first— so you slid down his body, ignoring his half-hearted protest, and knelt on the filthy bathroom floor. you looked up at him, at the way his chest was heaving, at the blindfold tugged up above his forehead and the way his pupils had blown wide, and you took him into your mouth.

he swore, loud enough that someone outside definitely heard, and his hand fisted in your hair. not pulling, just holding as you worked him with your tongue, with your lips, with your throat, until his breathing turned ragged and his hips started to stutter.

“baby, i’m gonna—” he warned, but you didn’t pull away. you took all of him, swallowed everything he gave you, and when he finally went slack against the door, he looked down at you with an expression of utter devastation.

“i’m marrying you,” he said, voice hoarse. “just so you know. that’s happening.”

you laughed, rearranging your clothes, and he helped you up and steadied you when your knees buckled. “you’re ridiculous.”

“i’m serious.” he kissed your forehead, your nose, your lips. “you’re it for me. you know that, right?”

and in that moment, with the smell of bleach and sex in the air and your lipstick thoroughly ruined, you believed him.

you’ve tried, once or twice, to figure out why this is happening. why you can’t seem to think straight around him, why your body responds to his presence like a key turning a lock. you’ve told yourself it’s just the new relationship energy, the honeymoon phase, the rush of dopamine and oxytocin and whatever other brain chemicals are flooding your system. you’ve told yourself it’ll fade. it has to fade. no one stays this horny forever.

but then he’ll laugh at something you said, head thrown back and eyes crinkled behind his blindfold, and you’ll feel it again: that wild, desperate wanting that has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with him or with the way he makes you feel seen. with the way he holds you after, soft and careful, like you’re something precious. with the way he whispers your name when he thinks you’re asleep.

maybe it’s because he’s gojo satoru, and everything about him is overwhelming— his power, his presence, the sheer force of his personality. maybe it’s because he chose you, out of everyone, and that knowledge sits in your chest like a live wire. maybe it’s because he’s so good at this, at reading you, at taking you apart and putting you back together, at knowing exactly what you need before you even know it yourself.

or maybe you’re just gone for him. completely, irreversibly, head-over-heels gone.

you think about this as you’re getting ready for bed one night, brushing your hair in front of the mirror while gojo sprawls across your mattress in nothing but his boxers, scrolling through his phone. he looks up when he feels your gaze, and his lips curve into that familiar, knowing smile.

“what?” he asks.

“nothing,” you say. “just thinking.”

“about?”

you set down the brush. walk over to the bed. climb on top of him before you can talk yourself out of it, straddling his hips, your hands flat on his chest. he drops his phone immediately— doesn’t even look where it lands— and his hands find your waist like they belong there.

“about how it’s not normal,” you say quietly, “how much i want you. all the time. every second.”

his smile softens into something realer. his thumbs trace circles on your hips. “you think i don’t feel the same way?”

“you can’t. it’s not possible.”

“baby.” he says it with a sigh, like you’ve said something both ridiculous and heartbreaking. “i think about you constantly. when i’m training, when i’m on missions, when i’m supposed to be paying attention to anything else. i’ve canceled plans just because i got a whiff of your perfume on my jacket and couldn’t think about anything except getting home to you.”

you stare at him. “that’s not—you’re just saying that.”

“i’m not.” he sits up, and you squeak as he adjusts you both until you’re in his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically. “you wanna know something embarrassing? the other day, during a briefing with the elders, i had to excuse myself because i got hard just remembering the noise you made when i fucked you against the shower wall.”

“are you—are you serious?”

“they thought i was sick.” gojo’s grin is sheepish and unrepentant all at once. “maybe we’re just both insane.”

you bury your face in his neck, half mortified and half wildly, stupidly turned on. his arms come around you, solid and warm, and he rocks you gently, not quite a thrust, just a slow, soothing motion that makes your breath catch.

“see?” he murmurs into your hair. “there it is. you’re thinking about it again.”

“you can’t prove that!”

“i don’t have to prove it. i can feel it.” his hips press up, just slightly, and you gasp. “you’re already wet. just from talking about it and sitting in my lap.”

you want to deny it, but your body has never been able to lie to him. not from the very beginning. you feel exposed and seen and loved in a way that should terrify you but doesn’t, not anymore.

“wait,” you said, pulling back just enough to look at him. “i need—i need to know. are you really the same? is it really this intense for you too?”

he looked at you for a long moment. then he reached down, took your hand, and pressed it against the front of his pants.

he was hard. straining against the fabric, hot even through his clothes, achingly, obviously hard, inches away from pressing against your core. when you wrap your fingers around him through the thin cotton he hisses through his teeth.

“does that answer your question?” he asked, his voice was strained.

“toru,” you whisper.

“yeah, baby?”

“shut up and fuck me.”

he laughs, bright and delighted, and flips you both over so that you’re pinned beneath him, his weight a comfort. “see,” he says, ducking his head to kiss the corner of your mouth, “that’s exactly what i’m talking about. you get it.”

his mouth travels down your body— your jaw, your throat, the hollow between your collarbones. he pushes up your sleep shirt and latches onto your nipple without preamble, and you arch off the bed, a broken sound escaping your lips. his free hand works your shorts down your legs, and then his fingers are back where you need them most, circling, teasing, dipping inside just long enough to make you whine before pulling away.

“so impatient,” he chides, but there’s no heat in it. his voice is thick with want, with the same desperate need that’s been coursing through your veins all day. “you’ve been thinking about this since this morning, haven’t you? since i kissed you goodbye. i could tell. the way you held onto my shirt a little too long.”

“yes,” you admit, because there’s no point in lying. “yes, okay? i thought about you all day. i thought about you during my lunch break and i couldn’t even eat because i kept remembering the way you taste. i thought about you in the elevator and i had to cross my legs because i was so wet just from thinking about your hands.”

his eyes darken and his breathing becomes heavier with every inhale and exhale. he strokes himself with his fist and your mind generates a picture of you making him cum just by talking to his ear about your filthy thoughts. “k-keep going.”

“i thought about you—” your voice breaks as he pushes inside you, finally, and you forget what you were going to say. all you can do is cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders, as he sets a rhythm that’s punishing and perfect.

“you thought about me what?” he prompts, his voice strained now, his composure cracking at the edges. “tell me. i want to hear every dirty thought that’s been running through that pretty head of yours.”

“i thought about you fucking me in your office,” you gasp at the sharpness of his thrusts. “on your desk. with all those photos of the students on the wall. i thought about whether you’d be quiet or whether you’d let everyone hear what you do to me.”

he groans out a deep, guttural sound, and his pace increases. “fuck. that’s—that’s so specific. have you really been thinking about my office?”

“your chair, too. the big one. i thought about riding you in it while you were supposed to be doing paperwork.”

“i’m never going to get any work done again,” he says, and there’s something wild in his voice now, something unhinged. “you’ve ruined me. you know that? you’ve absolutely ruined me.”

he flips you onto your stomach without pulling out, and the new angle makes you cry out. one of his hands presses between your shoulder blades, holding you down, while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. he’s fucking you like he means it, like he’s trying to brand himself onto your very cells, and you’re so close you can taste it.

“come for me,” he says. “come on, baby. let go.”

it’s not a gentle thing, your orgasm. it rips through you like a storm, makes you cry out loud and wordless, makes your whole body clench around him so tight he swears. you keep moving through it, keep lifting your hips to meet his, and the overstimulation makes your vision white out at the edges but you don’t want to stop, you can’t stop, you need—

“i’ve got you,” he mumbles into the skin of your neck. his movements slow momentarily before picking up speed again as he approaches his own climax.

every thrust hits that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes. his face is buried in your neck, his breath hot and uneven, and he’s saying things— filthy things, sweet things, things that don’t make sense anymore because he’s too far gone. one of his hands has slid down your body, fingers pressed against your clit to

“so good,” he gasps. “so fucking good. you feel like heaven. you feel like coming home. i’m not gonna last, baby, i’m sorry, i can’t—”

“then don’t, sato,” you moan, watching him with a dazed look. a satisfied smile curls on your lips as you lift yourself on your elbows to look at him properly. “come for me. i want to feel it.”

his eyes go wide as he buries himself as deep as he can go and goes rigid above you, and you feel him come— the pulsing heat of it, the way his hips stutter and press and hold, the broken sound he makes against your shoulder. it goes on forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds, but either way you’re right there with him, your second orgasm crashing over you before the first one has fully faded.

for a long moment, neither of you moves. the room is silent except for the sound of your breathing, slowly evening out. eventually, he pulls out and you feel the evidence of what you’ve just done dripping down your thigh, and somehow even that makes you want him again.

you lie in the dark with your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. his fingers trail up and down your spine, lazy and soothing, and you feel the last of the tension drain out of your body.

“hey,” he says quietly.

“mm?”

“i think it’s normal. for us, anyway.” his voice is soft, almost shy, which is such a rare thing from him that you tilt your head up to look at his face. his blindfold is long gone, and his eyes are bare, that impossible blue reflecting the streetlight through the window. “i think when you really love someone, when they’re really yours, your body just… knows. and it wants. and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

you reach up and touch his cheek. “you really think so?”

“i know so.” he turns his head to kiss your palm. “now go to sleep before you get any more ideas. i’m old. i need to recover.”

you laugh, the kind of full-body laugh that makes your ribs ache, and he grins down at you like you’ve given him the whole world.

you fall asleep like that, wrapped around each other, your leg thrown over his hip and his hand resting on the small of your back. and if you wake up two hours later with that same familiar heat building in your belly, and if he wakes up too, already hard against your thigh, already reaching for you in the dark—

well. that’s just normal. for you two, anyway.

.

.

.

the next morning, you wake to sunlight streaming through the curtains and the smell of coffee. gojo is already up, which is unusual— he’s typically the one you have to drag out of bed, complaining about how warm you are and how you’re his personal heated blanket and why would he ever want to leave.

you find him in the kitchen, shirtless (of course), making what looks like an unnecessarily elaborate breakfast. there’s pancake batter everywhere, and he’s wearing some of it on his chest, and you should probably be annoyed but all you can think about is licking it off.

“good morning, beautiful,” he says without turning around. “i could feel you staring from across the room.”

“i wasn’t staring.”

“you were absolutely staring. don’t deny it.”

you walk over to him and wrap your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your face between his shoulder blades. his smell is intoxicating. “i hate you.”

“you love me.”

“i do,” you admit. “unfortunately. it’s very inconvenient.”

he turns in your arms, flipping the pancake with the shake of the pan (show-off) and cupping your face with the other. “the feeling is mutual. now sit down and eat. you’re going to need your strength.”

“why?” you ask, even though you already know the answer.

his grin is sharp and promising. “because as soon as you’re done, i’m taking you back to bed. and i’m not letting you leave it until you can’t remember your own name.”

you sit down and eat your pancakes. you do your best to ignore his foot sliding up and down your ankle.

they’re delicious.

he keeps his promise.

🏷️ taglist: @ethezreal @astutetwilight @unforgivemn @sunnydayqq @lalawlrd @koral-pink @secretsofchance @raendarkfaerie @kingraspberry12-blog @xznyana @indom-itus @ihatemynewbangs @eilishsgf @satorukitsunee @chewiebee @kixtkaxt @thegirlwhowaited5everok @sparqvls

[ an. this is an old draft i finished and edited, hope you guys like ]

[indiewritesxoxo]

THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY

he loves you through wormholes and back!

synopsis: it was just supposed to be a routine mission. but when things start to go wrong and time starts slipping through his fingers, gojo realizes a little too late he might lose you too.

pairing: astronaut!gojo x f!reader x teacher!choso

wc: 14.8k

content: mdni. HEAVY ANGST. smut. character death. inspired by interstellar, time dilation, sad ending, hurt no comfort, unprotected piv sex, teasing, kissing, gojo is so incredibly in love and obsessed with reader, accidental pregnancy, twins, pining, yearning, complicated emotions, misunderstandings, choso is also a lovesick puppy dog, video messages, gojo cries and throws up, moving on, absolutely sadness and despair

art is by @to00fu !! div by @tsumiinum !! this was an incredible commission to write for @dayanim <333

“You’re literally the prettiest girl on the planet.” 

You giggled, your mouth curving up into a painfully cute smile as his palms spread your soft thighs further apart. Perfect face tilting to the side as you arched an eyebrow, “Just this planet?” 

“All of them,” he easily chuckled, pressing a peck to the inside of your exposed thigh, admiring the expanse of your bare skin, completely naked in his sheets. Sprawled out like his favorite feast, waiting for him to devour. 

If he could, he’d swallow you whole and take you with him to space. 

Pack you up and bring you with him. 

But unfortunately, NASA probably wouldn’t approve of him stowing you away on his final official mission before he moved to a different position. 

“I don’t want you to go,” you pouted at him, running your fingers through your hair as he returned to dotting more kisses up to your hips, down to just below your belly button, trying to memorize the way your skin felt on his lips. 

“I know,” he sighed, struggling to justify why he was going to you when he could hardly convince himself these days. “It’s just six months.” 

A routine mission. 

It was far from his first. He knew how it would play out. Shoko and Suguru would join him on the crew, so at least the time wouldn’t totally drag by. He hadn’t planned to join, but with what they promised to pay for it, it was sorta hard to refuse. Especially when he was still saving for a wedding and a house down payment. 

Still, considering the fact that he’d only just gotten back from one less than a year ago, he knew that it wasn’t just him it was hard on. 

“It feels like forever,” you complained, a crease between your brow as your hand shifted to cup his cheek, lift his face up to look at you. The cool band of your engagement ring resting on his skin reminding him of the promise he made to you when he popped the question. That he’d give up exploring the reset of the universe if you’d be his wife. “I’m so tired of missing you.” 

“Baby,” he frowned, heart slamming into his rib cage at the disappointment he detected in the lines of your face. 

He didn’t want to do this to you. Didn’t want to be the guy that wasn’t there for you. 

But this was all just temporary. Soon he’d have secured a future where you could both permanently settle in a beautiful little house with a big yard for mini-yous and mini-hims to run and play. 

Climbing back on top of you properly as you huffed at him, caging you in underneath his muscled arms, not stopping until your bodies were connected, skin-on-skin, his forehead resting on yours as your eyes met his. 

“Don’t baby me,” you defensively murmured. 

“But you’re my baby,” he pouted back at you. Your body shivered a little, thighs pressing together before he used his knee to nudge them further apart. “And you’re gonna be my wife when I get back.” 

He liked the ring of it. 

His wife.

All his. 

He proposed to you the day he got back from his last mission. Maybe he should make it a tradition and marry you the day he returned this time. 

Skip the whole big wedding he talked you into the past few months in favor of a courthouse ceremony. Maybe drag Suguru back after the landing to be the witness. 

You made a face, nose scrunching up and lips parting like there was something you wanted to say, but you stopped yourself. 

“This is my last mission,” he reminded you, a weak attempt at reassurance as his thick cock rubbed against your clit. Your breath hitched, getting caught in your throat as he dragged it over the sensitive bud. 

“You said that about the last one,” you reminded him, and he didn’t have an argument to counter it. 

“Well, I mean it this time,” he muttered softly. He wasn’t particularly good at being soothing. Spectacularly bad, sometimes, actually. But you still stayed. 

Still smiled at him when he sucked at being what you needed. 

The moon hung heavy outside the window, a thick crack running across the glass pane as the night sky filtered through it and bathed the room in soft light. The apartment you shared wasn’t much, pretty shitty honestly, but it was just a stepping stone. A way to save money for when you’d really need it. 

Soon, you’d have the best. 

“Besides, I can’t leave again once you start having my babies,” he teased, moving a hand down to your stomach, feeling your soft skin. Dreaming of a future where you’d be waddling around his kitchen pregnant, trying to decide if he’d prefer a boy or a girl – only to land on wanting both. 

“So you’ll be here for them and not for me?” You huffed. 

“I just want to make sure I make a good life for all of you,” he replied, struggling to sound confident when you were looking at him with a faint hint of hurt shining in your eyes. 

You wanted to believe him. 

“Uh-huh,” you exhaled. 

He supposed he’d just have to remind you another way that you had his heart. That even if he left the planet for a few months, he’d always have to return back to you. 

His home. 

Your thighs opened up for him, letting him shut up all those awful thoughts with a kiss as he pushed the first few inches inside your pretty pussy. Felt you sucking him in, losing himself in your warmth as he pushed past that first ring of resistance. Filling you up until you were stuffed full, your head tilting back, lips parting in his favorite moan — his name falling from them in broken little gasps.

“Satoru,” you whined, wiggling under his weight as he leaned down to start trailing kisses across your jaw. Down the delicate skin of your throat, sucking greedily just to see what other sounds he could draw from you. 

“Mhm, sweetheart?” He hummed, pausing to drag his tongue over all the sore spots he’d left, tempted to sink his teeth back over them, to leave little bruises just so you’d have to keep thinking about him even when he was planets away.

“I don’t want you to go,” you huffed, forcing the words out between little whimpers, your body shivering as his cock slowly thrusted in and out, deliberately taking his time to stretch you out. He hesitated mid-pump, lips still pressed just above your collarbone as he tried to come up with something that would make it better.

“I don’t want to either,” Gojo softly admitted, kissing you again as if it would cure the ache in his heart or the one in yours. 

There was a moment of silence, seconds slipping by with tension that wouldn’t dissolve, and he wasn’t sure if he should keep thrusting or pull out.

But then your hips shifted, and his cock twitched, and he was already readjusting, palms moving to push your soft thighs against your chest with his cock still keeping you plugged up. 

And really, you couldn’t blame him for how pretty you looked in a mating press. 

Fucking you faster, the wooden bed frame creaking and bumping into the wall with every rough thrust, each harsh snap of his hips against your skin as he plunged his cock in and out, in and out.

Watching your face screw up in pleasure, lashes fluttering and nails scrambling for purchase in the sheets as his thumbs dug into your thighs. Holding onto you, keeping you firmly pinned between him and the bed, like he could imprint every ridge and vein inside you, supposing he’d just have to be satisfied with leaving the shape of both of you on the mattress. 

“I love you so goddamn much,” he murmured, chest constricting, heart racing as the pressure built and mounted in the pit of his stomach. Some invisible thread being pulled tighter, or maybe it was just himself, wrapped around your finger without you even realizing it. 

Ready to break just thinking about not getting to hear your voice every day, not getting to touch your skin, like he wasn’t still buried inside you.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice quivering as you looked up at him with glossy eyes. 

He kissed you hard, teeth nearly bumping into each other as his tongue slipped past your lips. Tracing over your canines, tasting the hint of toothpaste on your tongue. The remnants of the candy-flavored lip gloss you’d been wearing earlier too. 

You were returning his fervor, squeezing down on his cock like you were trying to suck him dry like he wasn’t already struggling not to cum. 

He had to hurry to shift his hand, fingers rushing to find your clit, rubbing rough circles over it just to swallow every cute moan of yours that tried to escape. Cock twitching and aching for relief that he refused to give it, keeping an iron grip on his restraint as he waited for that familiar tremble, for you to really clamp down on him as shudders wracked through your body. 

Until you were crying his name in his mouth, whimpers muffled as he soothed you through your climax, rolling that sensitive bud between his thick fingers, only breaking the kiss to purr in your ears that it was all going to be okay. 

“That’s it, baby. Just cum for me, okay? It’s gonna be fine,” he promised, his voice cracking on the final word as he came with you. Finishing with warm spurts of cum filling you up, each thrust pumping more into you as he groaned your name, head collapsing into the crook of your collarbone. 

Sweat making your skin stick to his, your breathing mixing together as you both came back down to earth from your high. 

“Fuck,” you murmured, trying to shift underneath him, roll out from his heavy body. 

But he refused to budge, burying his face deeper into your neck just to smell your soap and shampoo, nuzzling his nose against your neck. 

He didn’t want to let go. 

And for a second, part of him considered cancelling. Backing out of the mission, coming up with an excuse or calling out sick. They had back up astronauts. 

They had a few people, perhaps not as qualified as him, but still acceptable, on standby that could take his spot. 

He might get fired. Shoved back to some bottom-tier desk position. 

But he’d get to stay with you. 

Would get to spend the next six months sleeping like this instead of alone in a spaceship compartment. 

“Satoru,” you softly said his name, shifting as he finally released your thighs, letting you lay them back down more comfortably – but still kept you caged in. 

“Can’t I just lay here for a while longer?” He groaned, jaw tightening at the idea that this was the last night he’d get this. You.

Cock still twitching as the last of his cum leaked out, some of it starting to spill down your thighs as he refused to take it out. 

You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching a spot behind his ears, sifting through the silky strands with a long sigh. “Sure.” 

That was just who you were. 

What you’d do. 

You gave him what he wanted. 

Even when you didn’t like what he asked for. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t be sorry,” you replied gently. “Just be sure you’re coming home.” 

“The stars can’t keep me from you,” he promised, moving to leave another kiss on the tip of your nose as you rolled your eyes at him. 

But you giggled, and that was good enough.

“Let’s get married when I get back,” he suggested. 

“We already-” 

“Like, the same day, sweetheart,” he insisted, lips curling up in a smile as he snagged your left hand, bringing it to his lips so he could press a kiss to your engagement ring. The big diamond glittering in the moonlight, accented with small gemstones that same shade as his eyes set in a white-gold band. One you picked out with him once upon a time. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed, shaking your head like you weren’t grinning at the idea too. “Didn’t you want, like, the whole huge wedding?” 

“I just want you.” 

Gojo could make it six months if it meant you’d be waiting there for him when he got back.  

He just didn’t think everything would go to fucking shit in sixteen weeks.

Clinging to the same dream of you, the same memory his brain had chosen for comfort as he opened his eyes for another difficult day in a long line of them. 

Waking up to a window that only overlooked the cold, dark expanse of space instead of the familiar city. Missing your warmth in bed – trading it for a sleeping bag and a stiff compartment that they somehow still hadn’t figured out a better alternative for despite how advanced their rocketships had become. 

Sure, they could figure out how to simulate gravity inside the living areas now. But no, getting a good night’s rest was still impossible. 

They were only supposed to be running a supply drop off. Sending equipment to a planet a few other astronauts were previously sent to, one they’d recently started establishing a settlement on. Shoko was planning on staying behind there to be their medic – but he was supposed to return with Suguru.

It wasn’t the only habitable planet that had been discovered. There were a few, all being explored, data being collected and catalogued by various astronauts like themselves, sent back periodically and retrieved by relief missions like the one they were on. 

All just a galaxy away. 

It meant going through a wormhole to get to them, but according to all the calculations and the previous voyages, it was safe. 

Risky, sure, but it’d been done before. 

And to be fair, getting through it hadn’t been the problem. 

The problem was they were just outside the orbit of the wrong fucking planet. 

Whether one of them had bumped into the navigation system, inputted the wrong thing at the wrong time, or maybe some internal error was to blame, it didn’t matter. 

No, a more pressing issue had presented itself. 

A distress signal was being sent up. 

Someone was below – and begging to be rescued. 

“I have a bad feeling about it,” Suguru murmured, scowling at the screen as if he could make the message go away just by glaring at it. 

“You always have a bad feeling,” Shoko hummed, dark circles under his eyes as she scanned the data on her screen. 

“I think we should just continue to the correct planet. It’ll be a waste of fuel and time,” Suguru scoffed, ignoring her as his fingers flew across the keyboard, inputting either calculations or coordinates.

Satoru reclined back in his seat, fiddling with a pencil as his friend glanced up at him like he was looking for support here.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the one who wants to save people?” He asked, cocking his head to the side just to get a scoff. He’d known Suguru most of his life. Went to school together, graduated from the same program just to end up colleagues too. Between both of them, Suguru was always the altruistic one. The guy who thought of everyone else before himself – even if he was looking down at them from his moral high ground half the time. 

“Not if it means putting our mission at risk,” he argued, lips pressed together in a thin line. “Or us.”

“The last reported conditions there seem fine,” Shoko shrugged as she directed their attention back to what little data had been collected so far. 

Most of the planet was made of water, a massive sea dotted with a handful of islands, some mountain ranges that rivaled the highest peaks back on Earth. Two fellow astronauts were supposed to have been there for the last nine months. 

“Yeah, that’s why they’re sending a distress signal,” Suguru sarcastically grimaced. 

“You really want to just leave them?” Gojo asked, not sure how exactly to feel about it himself. Not wanting to totally throw away Suguru’s hesitation – but reluctant to just leave another astronaut stranded. 

“There are other people counting on us,” Suguru insisted, and Satoru knew he was right. Knew that you were counting on him to come back in one piece. “We can just send a message back to Earth and let them decide.”

Suguru knew as well as he did that doing that would most likely mean death to whoever was sending the distress signal.

It would probably be months before they sent another ship up.

And given that they didn’t have the data to know how fast or slow time passed below. No way to know when the signal they were receiving had started.

There was a heavy pause, all three of them weighing whether or not to take the gamble — and imagining what it’d feel like to be the one stuck on the planet praying for someone to come save them.

“I think we should check it out,” Satoru eventually spoke up, although he wasn’t exactly excited about it. 

He just wasn’t sure he could stomach the alternative. If he could handle coming back home to you and telling you the truth.

Risk you leaving him like they were about to leave the stranded astronauts.

“The extra data they have would be useful,” Shoko pointed out, tilting her head appraisingly. “If we needed to, we could bring them back to the other settlement.” 

“Two minutes,” Suguru begrudgingly gave in, irritation pricking in his voice as he stood up, rubbing his temple. “We shouldn’t spend more than ten on the surface when we don’t know how much time we could lose. Get there, see what’s salvage, get the fuck out.” 

Whether it was data or people, they’d just take what they could and leave. 

There was a chance that the relative time on the planet was off. That even just an hour on the planet could be the equivalent to a year back on Earth. 

“Yeah, agreed,” Satoru waved him off, watching him walk off, probably to start preparations for landing. 

He told himself it was the right thing to do. 

That it was what you would expect from him. 

He stood up too, walking around to one of the communication terminals they set up – where they could send and receive messages. 

You’d sent a couple videos, unofficial ones, of course, something he arranged in advance when he agreed to join the mission – that he’d be able to contact you and you’d be able to do the same. They were short, just a few minutes of you updating him on life back on Earth. How you were doing, how wedding planning was going, murmuring that you missed him in a soft voice before leaning in to kiss the camera. 

But a new one was waiting for him as he popped his headphones in to listen, leg bouncing nervously as it loaded, automatically smiling when your face popped up. 

“Hi, Satoru,” you greeted, but then you awkwardly looked down, fiddling with your fingers out of frame like you were shy all of a sudden. Biting your bottom lip, the skin there already broken like you’d been busy chewing it. 

He wanted to touch the screen. 

Caress your cheek and ask you what was wrong. 

“I, um, was gonna wait until you came back. But, uh, I don’t think I can keep it a secret that long,” you breathed, eyes glancing up at the camera like you were imagining him on the other side of it. 

And then you were picking something up, holding it out in front of you as the camera refocused and- 

Holy shit. 

“Surprise,” you excitedly called out from behind the tiny onesie in your hand. “You’re going to be a father.” 

A baby. 

He was going to be a father.

His brain stopped working. Shock freezing him in place as you peeked out from behind the onesie like you could see his reaction. Pride glimmered in your eyes as you grinned, his entire world sitting in front of him a galaxy away. His future wife and child just waiting for him to return.

“I wanted it to be a surprise, but it’s been so hard holding it in,” you continued, and he craved you even more than he had in the past few months combined. Dying to pick you up and press kiss after kiss to your lips, your cheeks, your stomach.

Aching to wrap his arms around you and start talking about baby names and nurseries, to take you out shopping for baby furniture and be there for your appointments. 

“There’s something else,” you said, reluctance creeping in. Glancing down at your lap again before pulling up a second onesie. 

No. You surely didn’t mean…? 

“I’m having twins,” you announced, a little awkward like you started second guessing how he’d take it. “Are you surprised?” 

It didn’t take his brain long to calculate the fucking odds of that, but his mind had a hard time accepting it, discomfort coiling in and mixing with the exhilaration in his stomach at the idea of you back in bed, carrying his babies, while he was up in fucking space. 

Unable to be there for you. To rub the lotion on your stomach, to sing terrible impressions of lullabies to them, to drive you to the doctor and hold your hand throughout all of it. 

You didn’t seem too bothered, or maybe just too excited to show it, holding up the ultrasounds next, proudly showing him baby A and baby B, talking about how you should find out their genders in just a couple weeks. 

“You better be back before I have these two,” you murmured into the camera, fixing him in a serious stare, your eyes shining in the fading daylight drifting in through your window. “Don’t make me go to the hospital alone.” 

Never. 

He’d fucking be there. 

“I love you, Toru,” you spoke softer, hesitating over actually hitting the button to stop recording. “Please don’t do anything stupid.” 

He’d already done something stupid by saying yes to coming here, hadn’t he? 

Still, he plastered on his best smile, sitting awkwardly in front of his own camera, recording you a message back. Making you a million promises, telling you how proud he was of you, how thrilled he was to be a dad. Selling you dreams of a life he was desperately trying to buy for your future family of four. 

“We’re, uh, about to go down to a planet to check out a distress signal, but, it’ll be fine, baby,” he informed you, hearing how stiff the words came out as he forced his palm to press down on his thigh to stop his leg from bouncing. “It’ll just be a quick pitstop before the supply drop, promise.” 

He paused, having to clear his throat, his tongue suddenly dry as he made himself look directly into the camera. 

“I’ll come back for you.” 

Gojo didn’t want to admit Suguru might be right when he had to sit with the heavy feeling in his stomach after he shut the camera off and sent the message back – knowing it would probably be a couple days before you saw it.

But it would be fine, wouldn’t it?

In a year, he’d be waking up in bed with you, laughing about how worried he’d been while you each held one of your babies. This would just be a memory. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. Staring at the screen long after it shut off, replaying your voice in his head, itching to really hear it, to feel it on his skin, to touch you instead of just clinging to a digital copy of you.

“You ready?” Suguru’s voice called out to him, and he snapped out of his daze. 

Found his mouth opening, about to say no.

Tell him he changed his mind. Say he was wrong and that they should just save their fuel. 

But if you knew, if they knew, that he’d left someone to die just to come home to them sooner, would they look at him the same way? 

Would he be able to look his children in the eyes? 

He swallowed hard as he glanced towards the doorframe Suguru was standing in, slowly nodding instead of saying what he really wanted to. “Yeah.” 

Gojo wanted to believe that between their three-person crew, they’d be able to handle it. 

He just hadn’t realized that only two of them would make it back to the ship. 

𖥔 ݁ ˖

“You should move on.”

It didn’t matter how many people said it. How many times your therapist pleaded with you to put the past behind you.

You couldn’t let go of him.

Six months turned into six years without Satoru.

The one thing you were terrified of had come true.

You lost him.

Didn’t even have the fucking confirmation of his death. Just a gravestone with an empty casket, a plot picked out for you next to it — even if you’d never get to be buried by him. 

Wasn’t that the funny thing about taking risks? 

You always know what could happen. You just never think it will happen to you. 

It’s always someone else. 

Until it’s not. 

Until you’re the one waiting for a phone call you’ll never get or a knock on the door that will never come. 

“It’s not exactly like men are lining up to date me,” you muttered into the phone, tucking it between your ear and shoulder as you frowned at your reflection in the mirror, reaching up to fix a stray hair just for your still-shiny engagement ring to shimmer in the sunlight. Swallowing the lump in your throat before you turned away, nearly tripping on a toy. “With the twins-” 

“Guys like MILFs,” your friend teased in your ear, and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you bent over to pick up the stuffed bunny and toss it in an overflowing toy basket. 

You doubted they’d like one still in love with their babies’ father. 

Still holding out hope he’d show up with that stupid smile and wrap you in a crushing hug. 

Even if the rest of the world thought he was dead. 

When the government had declared his ship missing and him deceased. Cut you a check for it even though you weren’t technically Satoru’s spouse yet since you had his babies. A little boy that could be his clone and a girl that looked a little too much like you.  

Their check had been enough to get you out of your crummy apartment, to move the three of you in a small house in a quiet neighborhood. 

Suguru’s mother had ended up moving next door, offering to babysit and watch them during the day so you didn’t have to send them to daycare. Helping you raise your children while her child was still out there in space somewhere. 

She didn’t talk about Suguru with you. And you never spoke of Satoru. 

But you knew she understood anyway. Coped with it the same way you did. Skirting around their existence like it would lessen the hurt. 

“I know a guy who-” Your friend started, and your stomach lurched at the thought of being set up with someone who couldn’t come close to the man you were supposed to marry. 

“Look, I’ve, uh, gotta go get the kids. Their teacher wanted to discuss Apollo’s behavior. I guess he bit someone,” you muttered, heels clicking as you slung your purse over your shoulder and snagged your keys. 

She was disappointed, mumbling a goodbye that you tuned out, hitting end and dropping your phone in your bag with a sigh. 

You wondered what Satoru would’ve thought of it. 

If he would’ve laughed at his son picking fights at school or if there was a stern side to him buried somewhere beneath his goofy grins and cheesy jokes. 

You tried to pick out names he’d like. Even if sometimes it stung a little to think about. 

Apollo and Artemis. 

After the space missions. He’d think it was cute. Probably dress them up like little astronauts and kiss their foreheads, promising that he loved them way more than just to the moon and back. Paint stars on their ceiling and hang planets up on strings in their nursery. 

To be fair, you had done it in his place. 

Worn one of his old t-shirts as you bit your lip and bent over your swollen belly to get all the corners, carefully standing on a ladder to hang everything on the ceiling, standing in a nursery full of furniture you built yourself a month after his return date came and went. 

The last thing you heard from him was a video message where he promised he’d come back. If you shut your eyes, you could still see that look on his face, the flicker of nervousness that flashed across it as his mouth curled down into a frown before he admitted that they were about to go check out a distress call. 

And then nothing. 

NASA never told you if they had any additional information on it. But the conclusion they came to was obvious. 

Their mission was a failure. And your husband was forever missing. 

Somewhere you’d never be able to reach. 

You snapped on the twins' first birthday. You hadn’t even managed to bring yourself to throw them a party when Satoru wasn’t there to take the photos, to pick them up and blow out the candles for them. 

Carrying them next door to Suguru’s mom’s place, asking for her to watch them for a few hours just to come back home and rip down every stupid space-themed piece of decor you’d once painstakingly picked out. Throwing them all in a big, black trash bag before running out to the store to grab tarps and more paint. 

You didn’t stop until the entire room was drenched in shades of blue and green, alien toys traded in for sea animals.

At least the ocean was on Earth. 

It wasn’t like they were old enough to understand. 

But you couldn’t fucking stand the idea of losing them too. 

You had kept both their convertible cribs in your room since the day you brought them home from the hospital, unable to sleep without them in the same room. The crippling fear that you’d some intruder would sneak in and snatch them if you weren’t right there to stop it didn’t actually go away until they were big enough to toddle and talk. 

Now they were old enough to be in school, no longer babies, no longer toddlers, big enough to ramble on about what they learned every day, bicker over their toys and pick them back up before they went to bed. 

And Satoru had missed all of it. 

Every first they experienced tainted by the never-ending reminder that he wasn’t fucking here to see a single one. 

And like an idiot, you just kept recording message after message, setting up a camera and trying not to cry as you recorded yourself talking about the twins, showing them off to someone who should’ve been by your side every step of the way. You still had a few contacts with his old colleague, one who promised he’d send them all up anyway. 

Just in case Satoru was still out there in space. Still trying to come home to you.  

There wasn’t a single day that passed yet where you didn’t think about it. 

Him. 

But it appeared your attempts to keep him alive, to teach your kids about their dad, weren’t going so well when you replayed the voicemail you’d been left an hour earlier requesting you come in for a meeting after school was over when you picked up the kids. 

The soft voice on the other end apologetically explaining that Apollo had gotten in an argument with another kid to defend his sister, that no action was being taken, but that he’d still like to speak with you in person over it. 

You stared at the brick building of the elementary school, readjusting your purse as you swiped away another message from your friend sending you contact details of a man you certainly were not going to contact, steeling yourself for an uncomfortable conversation as you walked through the door and went into the office to get a visitor’s pass before you started navigating through the halls to look for the twins’ class. 

Suguru’s mom handled most of the pick ups for you, kept them at her place until you got back home from work in the evenings. 

Your boss had been annoyed that you’d taken off early, but you had to put them first. You were the only parent they had. 

You heard Artemis first. Her soft giggle twinkling as your steps picked up, her brother’s grumpy voice scolding her as you stopped just outside an open classroom door, pausing as you looked inside and saw sitting cross-legged on the floor with another boy who looked a couple years older, a bunch of toys dumped out between them on a carpet with the alphabet on it. 

“Are you their sister? I thought their mom-” A low voice spoke up, your head snapping over to see a dark-haired man stepping out from behind a desk. Warm brown eyes scanning your face as you stiffly shook your head.   

“I’m their mom,” you interrupted him, swallowing hard as you pushed your sunglasses back up in your hair before holding your hand out to shake. 

His hand was surprisingly soft when he took it, gently shaking it a few seconds too long before awkwardly letting go. 

“I’m Choso, their teacher,” he said, and you forced a small smile.

“I, uh, know,” you muttered, averting your stare back to where they were playing. 

“Yuji’s my little brother,” he added, pointing out the boy playing with yours, plucking out a toy from the pile and handing it over. 

You wondered if it would be awful to just ask him to go ahead and skip all the polite niceties, that you didn’t need them. 

“Sorry for making assumptions,” he awkwardly apologized, his dark eyes dragging over you again. “You just looked like you’re around my age, and I guess I forget sometimes that it’s normal for us to have kids of our own now.”

You blinked at him, trying to decide what to make of his slightly nervous rambling just for his mouth to open again.

“I wasn’t trying to comment on your appearance or anything, I mean, you’re beautiful-” His lips abruptly shut, cheek flushing pink in a painfully familiar way.

Your chest hurt.

Ached at the thought that Satoru was no longer the last person to call you beautiful.

“Um, thanks,” you murmured, looking at your outfit a little self-consciously. Wondering if he was just saying that to make you feel better or if he really meant it. You didn’t think you looked terrible. But without Satoru around, you’d sorta forgotten what it felt like to look in the mirror and see something pretty when you were struggling to survive most days. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, glancing down to the ring on your finger. Your throat started to close, palms getting clammy as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t realize you were married.” 

“I’m not,” you answered, a little too quickly as you folded your arms across your chest. Putting your left hand underneath your other arm as if it would make you stop thinking about it. Him. 

“Oh, um-” 

“I was engaged to the twins’ dad,” you explained, watching them giggle and pretend to eat the plastic food with their new pink-haired friend. “But, uh, he passed before they were born.” 

People usually asked too many questions if you told them the whole story. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he apologized, face falling the way everyone else’s always did. Regret etched into the soft lines of his face, nose scrunching up as the tattoo across his nose crinkled. “I had no-”

“It’s fine,” you lied, waving it off like Satoru didn’t still cast shadows across your thoughts. “So, um, what happened with Apollo? Is he in trouble?”

“No, no, one of the other kids tried to take a toy from Artemis, and he stepped in to stop it. I actually wanted to speak to you about him having a hard time making friends outside of her,” Choso spoke softly, obviously trying hard to pick his words carefully. “I was thinking of recommending they get put in different classes next year to help them socialize.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek.

Torn between immediately shutting the idea down and trying to argue against it before second guessing whether or not your parenting was actually just fostering codependence. 

Satoru would know what to do.

But he wasn’t here.

And all the decisions were yours to make.

Artemis was the outgoing one, inherited her father’s personality even if she pretty much got your face. Bright and brilliant, easy charisma that shined even at her small size. Apollo was reserved. Serious.

Scowling if he wasn’t with his sister, grumbling at the world like he already realized how it screwed them over.

“They’re just five,” you muttered, glancing over at where they were still distracted with his brother.

“Well, I guess we can see if there are any changes throughout the rest of the school year. I, uh, coach a boys soccer team on the weekends. He’s welcome to join, if you’re interested,” he said, running his fingers through the ends of his hair. 

You guessed if it meant your twins wouldn’t be split up in school, you’d sit on the sidelines to watch little kids try and fail to kick a ball across a field. 

Not that he was that happy about it when you told him he’d have to spend his Saturday morning in a soccer uniform with kids he barely spoke to before instead of playing with his toys at home. 

Choso grinned when you first showed up, one of those crooked ones that gave away his surprise when he saw you setting up fold-out chairs for you and Artemis. Even jogging over to tell you he was happy you came, squatting down to get on Apollo’s level to ask him if he knew how to play. 

He didn’t.

To be fair, after watching a single game, it was clear none of the other kids did either. 

Still, you left it with a schedule of practices and games stuffed in your purse, a couple of them circled and marked for your days to bring snacks and juice boxes for the team.

You told yourself that you were being an active parent. 

Showing up to every single school event. Refusing to miss a single soccer game even when Apollo spent half of it plucking weeds from the field to give to you afterwards. 

Taking him to play dates with his new soccer friends before taking Artemis to sleepover with her school friends, juggling their new social lives with your own work. 

And somewhere along the way, you supposed you’d made a new friend in their teacher too.

He went out of his way to talk to you at every game, greeting you at their school stuff with a shy smile and considerate questions while he updated you on how they were doing. 

The kids loved him, coming home chattering about what he planned and taught them during the day, complaining whenever he was out sick and they got stuck with a substitute. 

Wasn’t it normal to like someone if they made your children happy? 

Smile back when they spoke to you? 

Find your thoughts lingering a little on their dark-haired teacher when your son excitedly exclaimed that Choso promised to be his soccer coach next year too, your stupid heart stalling for a second when Artemis casually dropped that he helped her make a mother’s day card for you as she stuck it to the fridge with a magnet. 

You definitely didn’t pick them up from school yourself more often, swearing to Suguru’s mother that you were just trying to spend more time with them. 

But eventually, the school year wrapped up. 

You couldn’t really comprehend why some sliver of you was disappointed by that. 

Still, you suspected that it wasn’t just because Satoru wasn’t here to see it. 

A strange flutter in your stomach stirring watching Choso pass out printed graduation certificates to the class, plastering on a bright smile as Artemis proudly bounded over to show you hers. Toothily grinning as you sat and clapped for her in a cramped chair, a paper plate with a tiny slice of pizza in front of you as the other parents tried wrangling their own kids. 

Apollo was half-sitting on your lap, sneakily stealing your pizza after he polished off his own plate, enjoying their classroom party just to start bickering over which mini cupcakes they each wanted, eyeing the boxes Choso hadn’t given out. “Are you excited for next year?” You asked, barely able to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at their arguing. 

“No,” Artemis smiled immediately flipped into a frown as she flopped in her seat, folding her arms across her chest. “We’ll have to get a new teacher.” 

“Don’t be a baby,” Apollo huffed at her. 

“S’not fair, he’s still your coach,” she whined back, right in time for him to show up, holding out a plastic container with cupcakes to let them choose. 

They were quick to snatch them, thank yous muffled when they stuffed their mouths the next second, but to your surprise, he held out the box for you to pick too. 

“I, um, got enough for the parents too,” he awkwardly said, eyes hesitantly flicking up to meet yours as you chewed the inside of your cheek before accepting. 

“Thanks,” you murmured softly, selecting one with purple frosting as he smiled softly at you. 

It was nice of him. 

This was nice, actually. 

A classroom of sugar-fueled kids and hastily strung up party streamers wasn’t exactly where you pictured you’d be spending your afternoon a decade ago. Being a single mom had never been a part of your plans. 

But it wasn’t terrible. 

You loved your children. Loved being their mom. 

Maybe you could learn to love your life too. 

You stayed behind once the party wrapped up to help clean the classroom with a few of the other parents, stuffing greasy and frosting splattered plates into trash bags while the twins excitedly caught up with Yuji after his teacher dropped him off after the bell rang. 

“Hey,” a quiet voice startled you, your head snapping back to see Choso stiffly standing next to you, nervously raking his fingers through his hair. 

“Hi,” you breathed back, just as awkward. “The party was great. I think the twins will miss you next year.” 

You didn’t want to consider if you would. 

“They’re great kids. I know they’re gonna succeed some day,” he earnestly said, your mouth curling up as you nodded. 

You didn’t really mind if they succeeded or not. Wouldn’t hold them to the same standards their dad once held himself to. 

All you really wanted was for them to be happy. 

“Thanks, um, seriously,” you swallowed hard, throat constricting as you thought about how much Apollo had started to come out of his shell thanks to him. 

Choso’s intense stare swept over your face, scanning over your features like he was searching for something there.

His eyes were dark. 

Not blue. They didn’t shimmer, didn’t sparkle when the sun hit them. 

But they were deep. Warm. 

“I’m glad I got to meet you,” he started, speaking slowly like he wasn’t sure if he should even say it. “Getting to know you, um, it’s been great.” 

“Yeah, it has,” you agreed, actually meaning it too. 

He stepped a little closer, taking a deep breath as his gaze settled on your face. “You can like, slap me if I’m out of line here-”

“I’m not going to slap you,” you intercut, biting back a laugh as his brows knitted together seriously. 

“Would it be totally inappropriate to ask you on a date?” 

𖥔 ݁ ˖

Their mission was fucked. 

Suguru was dead. 

Body stuck on a planet of water and waves, left behind with the other astronauts that had died long before they even received their distress call. 

Swept under a fucking tsunami, unable to make it back on the ship on time in an attempt to save a stupid fucking data recorder. 

Now they had neither. 

The ship had been damaged in the process too, fuel wasted and plans derailed as they barely managed to get it off the planet before all three of them ended up as corpses. Water corrupting important systems as Gojo slammed his fists against the hard metal frame of a door, throwing off his helmet as Shoko said something his brain refused to process. 

Grabbing his arm to pull it back before he could fuck up his suit. Telling him to just take it off and cool down before he damned both of them too. 

Like his best friend wasn’t gone. 

He’d never get him back. 

No one would. 

Gojo just had to leave his body there for the tides to take. What the hell was he even going to say to his mom? How was he supposed to tell her that her son wasn’t coming home? 

He barely managed to get his suit off, stripping down and throwing it on the ground without giving a shit about proper protocol, storming off to his private compartment to stop himself from losing it in front of the only other person up here now. Shoko said something about getting everything back on course, but he wasn’t listening as he turned his back from her.

God, he felt like he was going to fucking hurl. 

The edges of his vision kept blurring, going in-and-out of darkness as he forced himself to change clothes, sitting hunched over the edge of his bed and burying his face in his hands, replaying the look on Suguru’s face when he realized he wasn’t going to make it. 

Rewinding and searching for some other way to change the past as he screwed his eyes shut. 

But he couldn’t save him then and there was no way to save him now. 

He wished you were here. 

Wished you’d wrap your arms around him and run your fingers through his hair and promise him that it would still be okay. That Suguru wouldn’t blame him. 

That his best friend was somewhere better. 

Even if everything scientific in his body swore that there was no better place waiting for him. 

Gojo pushed himself back up to his feet, jaw locked tight as he walked back over to the one piece of you he still had access too, tapping away at the controls to see if you sent any videos while he was out there making the worse fucking mistake of his life. 

Foot impatiently tapping against the floor as he reclined his head back against the floor, wishing that he’d never even come on this mission in the first place – if he hadn’t, Suguru wouldn’t have even answered the distress call, would he? 

He’d still be alive, and Gojo would be with-

The computer let out a beep, interrupting his thoughts as the screen came to life, loading everything up as he sighed with relief. 

Seeing your smile, hearing your soft words might not heal him, but it was the only thing he could think of to help the raw wound of loss ripping through his chest. 

Until the automated computer voice made an announcement right as he popped his headphones in.   

Loading messages from the past eleven years. 

No. No no no no no.

It was wrong.

It had to be fucking wrong. 

The computer had to be fried. Some water must have somehow gotten in it and fucked with the wiring and-

Before he could even hit a single button, try to troubleshoot, there you were in front of him, your hand on your swollen stomach, scowling in the camera as you asked where the hell he was. Fear creeping in your pretty voice that no one had heard anything from any of them – reminding him that he promised to come back. 

He did. He would. 

The small lump in his throat getting bigger and bigger as the video auto-played into the next one, where you were obviously about to pop, filming in a space-themed nursery, your anger twisted into worry, telling him that you didn’t want to do this alone. 

Begging him to not make you. 

Gojo froze. 

Shoulders stiff as he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks, stunned as his own brain short-circuited, the guilt swimming in his stomach threatening to drown him as you ended the message. 

Part of him wanted to hit stop. 

Like if he paused it now, he would be able to freeze time and somehow make it back to Earth in time to not miss any more of it. 

But his fingers weren’t fast enough. 

And the next frame came with the audio of a baby crying. 

Two babies. One swaddled in blue and the other in pink. Their names on knitted hats he already knew Suguru’s mom must’ve made, a strangled sob escaping him before he even realized he was crying. 

The twins. His twins. 

Sleepily yawning and opening their eyes just a peek, enough for him to see his son had the misfortune of inheriting his looks while his daughter came out like a miniature you. Someone else was recording you in the hospital bed, but you were talking to the camera like it was him, face soft as you giggled that he would probably bawling harder than the babies when he realized he missed this. 

Suguru’s mom laughed behind the camera. 

He was. 

Tears falling freely as the videos just kept playing. One after another. 

His children were growing up without him. 

From tiny and fragile bundles to bumbling toddlers to fuck, full-sized little kids. 

In what? Fifty minutes? 

Five entire years of their life, condensed down to a handful of clips. The first steps he missed, the birthdays and holidays and father’s day he’d never get back. 

They didn’t even look at the camera half the time. Too busy playing and giggling and laughing while you did your best not to cry in front of them. They didn’t know him. 

Their father was barely more than a fucking video camera being pointed at them. 

And you, god, his pretty, perfect you. 

Still sending him these even when you had to think he was fucking dead. 

Dark circles under your eyes and a hollowness to your face that only got worse over the years. Exhaustion in your expressions as you spoke to him like you didn’t think he was listening. 

You mostly updated them on the kids' life. Skimmed over the details of a job you obviously didn’t like. Told him how Suguru’s mom had basically become their grandma. Sometimes Artemis would be on your lap, squinting at a book or playing with a toy while you talked. 

His girls a wormhole away. 

Gojo wanted to scream. Shout at the world to stop fucking spinning for a while so he could make it back to you. 

But five years turned into six, and six turned into seven, and he watched in horror as it started to set in that he was losing you too.

What if it was too late? 

What if you moved on? What if your life had no room left in it for him by the time he made it back to Earth? 

The twins were already in school and playing sports and clearly didn’t miss the man they’d never met. 

Would you stop missing him too? 

He didn’t know how many videos he watched. Guessing the time jump between each one based on how much the twins had grown in the background. 

You looked more mature now too. More put together, hair styled differently, no longer bare-faced when you turned the camera on, in a different room that obviously belonged to a house that wasn’t his home. 

Toys weren’t scattered around everywhere in the background anymore. But sometimes the twins would run through with one of their friends, some pink-haired kid that seemed to come over often judging by the way you barely blinked when they passed behind you. 

Gojo felt like a stranger. 

Some creep looking in the window of a happy family and thinking it should be his. 

“Mom,” Apollo whined, trying to tug on your sleeve as his shaggy white hair hung around his shoulders, attempting to drag you away while you were in mid-sentence. “Me and Cho made a cake. Come try it.” 

“Sure, honey,” you softly said, cringing a little before glancing back at the camera apologetically before signing off. 

Was Cho one of his friends? One of yours? 

He didn’t actually want an answer. 

But the next video seemed to clue him in on one anyway. 

You were wearing a shirt that was too big for you. The collar of it stretched out, your hair mused and down as you softly spoke, like you were trying not to wake someone up. 

It wasn’t Gojo’s shirt. 

An awful feeling settled in his bones. One that etched deeper with every little off detail he noticed. 

A pair of men’s shoes in the background. A watch left on your desk, barely in frame. The Cho the twins occasionally chattered about affectionately. 

Who apparently was taking them to soccer games and science museums like he should be doing right now if he heard them correctly.

Gojo didn’t want to believe that you were dating again. Even if he knew that it would be the normal thing to do. 

Completely reasonable for you to move on after not hearing a word from him in nearly a decade. 

But the idea of you loving another man, letting him into your life, letting him take his space-

He puked. 

Head between his knees as he got sick on the floor, throwing up a mixture of salt water he swallowed earlier and the freeze dried breakfast he had this morning. Funny, wasn’t it? He’d lost over ten years with you and his best friends in just a day.

An hour on that horrible planet had cost him a decade. 

Body wracking with shudders as he coughed and spit, wiping the back of his mouth just in time to look up at you while those pretty lips of yours pressed in a thin line. Sadness shining in your eyes, frustration and disappointment you rarely let show evident in your trembling frame. 

“It’s hard to keep hoping for you,” you admitted, reaching out to shut off the camera, and he desperately wanted to scream for you to not give up, to just fucking wait. 

But then the computer chimed in that there was one video left the second the screen went black after you ended it. 

His hand reached out, desperate to touch you, desperate to stop you, but your world was spinning faster than his was. 

And your face was back on screen, something inside him wilting and withering at the realization that another year had probably passed for you, maybe even two, more that he would never be able to get back. 

A few more faint lines were etched by your eyes, subtle creases left as a sign of all the time he missed with you. But you looked healthier. Happier. 

His beautiful girl sitting there and smiling at him instead of screaming like you should’ve been. Cursing his name for not coming home sooner, scolding him for being a piece of shit that should’ve stayed on Earth.  

“Hi, Satoru,” you spoke softly, fiddling with your hands. “Been a while since I’ve made one of these.” 

He was terrified to know how long.

“The twins are good. They’re gonna be ten next month,” you continued, not looking directly at the camera as you talked. “They’re both smart, like you. Apollo’s been more into soccer than school these days though.” 

He wanted to see him. See both of them. 

Hold them too, know his children outside of the information you would tell some distant relative, even if that was all he felt like right now. 

“Artemis wants to be a scientist when she grows up. She sits on the sidelines of his games with her nose buried in books,” you told him, a little smile reflexively curling up on your lips just from talking about them. “I wish you could see them. Wish you were here.” 

His chest hurt. 

Gojo didn’t know he stopped breathing until his body forced him to suck in a breath, lungs screaming for air as he stared at the woman he was supposed to marry. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. 

The mission should’ve been routine. Simple. 

Suguru should be setting up the navigation. He should be begrudgingly agreeing to being his best man and coming to the courthouse to witness the rushed ceremony. 

“Sometimes,” you started, swallowing hard as your gorgeous eyes welled up with tears that threatened to spill out. “I dream of you. Us. Back in our old apartment in the creaky bed and the broken window. I wake up thinking I’m still there.” 

The hard lump lodged in his throat was threatening to choke him entirely, the taste of bile still on his tongue as his nails digging crescent moons into his palms as he watched your mouth quiver. 

“The government declared you dead a few years ago. One of your old colleagues came by one day, said that no one really knew for sure what happened, just that you missed the supply drop. Used a bunch of big words like I was too stupid to understand that the bottom line was that you weren’t coming home. Tried to make me feel better about it too,” you bitterly scoffed at the memory, resting your chin on your knees as you exhaled. On the brink of crumbling just recalling it, “Told me that you might’ve settled on a colony on a different planet or got stuck in some fucked-up time dilation. That you might still be alive out there somewhere.” 

If his throat wasn’t already raw, he would’ve screamed at the screen that he was. 

Wanted to beg you not to fucking believe whatever bullshit everyone else was feeding you and believe in him. 

“You don’t feel dead,” you added. Sniffling a little, using the back of your hand to rub underneath your eyes. “Maybe it’d be easier to move on if you did.”

Even his relief was tainted by guilt, ruined with his own worry that he was ruining your future by wishing you’d be stuck on him forever. 

“My therapist thinks I’m wasting my life waiting on someone who’s never coming back,” you murmured, speaking to him more like you were talking to your diary than truly believing he was going to hear any of it. “But how am I supposed to tell her I’m scared that some day you will, and I won’t be here?” 

Everything hurt.

His body, his heart, his soul. 

Aching for everything he’d lost. Everything you lost because of him. His own kids growing up without a fucking father because he was an idiot who put a career before his family. 

The life he’d spent years carefully building towards lost because he miscalculated. 

“I know it’s not fair, but fuck, thinking about you moving on with another girl, or fucking starting some colony up in space and having kids with someone else, makes me wanna throw up,” you admitted, clueless that he had just puked at the idea of someone else being the stepfather to his twins. 

You hadn’t even confirmed-

“I’m being a hypocrite,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands to hide the fact you were crying — and that’s when it hit him.

The engagement ring on your finger wasn’t his.

Smaller. More subtle. A different cut and style. 

No. You couldn’t-

“I’ve, um, been dating a guy for a few years. He’s sweet. Everyone loves to tell me how much you would’ve liked him,” you admitted, twisting the ring around your finger anxiously like you were confessing a sin. He didn’t like him. Already hated whatever bastard had snuck in and swept you off your feet. “They keep saying that you’d want me to move on.” 

What a load of fucking shit.

The last goddamn thing he wanted was for you to move on. The idea of you marrying another man was enough for him to gag again, bile rising from his stomach as he struggled to stop it. 

“I still love you,” you shrugged a little, guilt of your own etched in your face as his eyes stung with more tears. “I just love him too.”

Gojo would take getting stabbed over hearing those words from your lips again.

“Choso said maybe it’d make me feel better to make another video for you, y’know, get everything off my chest,” you exhaled. “I’m just so tired, Satoru.” 

Okay, well, that kind of felt like being stabbed. 

Knowing that this was all his fault and you were the one bearing so much of the burden. 

“I know you’re probably never going to see this, but you’d want me to be happy, wouldn’t you?” You asked, eyes big and wavering as you struggled not to sob, reaching up to play with the silver chain of your necklace tucked under your shirt. “Would you hate me for choosing someone who cares about me and our kids?” 

He could never hate you.

Even if you married ten other men while he was gone.

He would just always hate the man who got to call you their wife. Jealous of whichever one got to take family photos with you and take you on vacation and sleep next to you every night. 

Gojo wanted to be that guy. Wanted to get down on his knees next to you now and dry your cheeks, kiss your mouth and murmur anything you wanted to hear just to make you feel better.

“I’m getting married in four months,” you murmured, wiping the tears away from underneath your eyes, mascara smearing on the back of your hand as you sniffled. “At that chapel we picked out. The one with the pretty hydrangeas out front.”

No no no. 

He could still make it. 

Couldn’t he? 

If they skipped the supply drop entirely and went straight back through the wormhole? 

Hadn’t he lost enough? 

Gojo refused to let you slip through his fingers a second time. No matter how fast the hourglass was running out of sand. 

You stood up, walking out of frame for a few seconds as he heard the sound of something unzipping. And then you came back, holding out something white and-

A wedding dress. 

“You never got to see me in one, so I thought-” You didn’t finish your sentence, just swallowing hard as you draped it back down on furniture just out of sight. 

The camera barely focused on your body as you peeled your clothes off, his breath hitching at the intimate sight of you slipping the dress on, struggling to zip the back by yourself before walking closer. 

You looked like an angel.

And Gojo sorta wished he was dead. 

Stuck in the stunned shell of his body as he watched the way the dress clung to your chest and flowed to the ground, his heart thrumming loud enough he was sure it was about to break through his ribcage. 

And then a noise in the background startled you. 

The thud of a door shutting. The excited clamoring of children, a girl giggling as a man said something he couldn’t quite make out. 

Your face scrunched up, a million different emotions flashing across it as you both heard it at the same time. “We’re back, baby.” 

Another man was calling you baby. 

Footsteps echoing down a hallway he’d never gotten to walk down, your own body rushing over to block the door before it could open. 

“I’m trying my wedding dress on, Cho,” you called out, lips pressing together in a pretty pout. “It’s bad luck if you see.” 

“Yeah? We brought back your favorite takeout, want me to put it in the fridge or-” he started asking, his voice deep, gravelly. 

“You can leave it out,” you replied, your voice softening as you spoke to him. “I’ll be out in a minute.” 

You glanced back at the camera, guilt returning the second your stare hovered over at it. 

And before Gojo could even really appreciate what a beautiful bride you made, you were rushing to get out of it, biting your lips before stuffing it back into a garment bag, putting your clothes back and returning to your seat. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, fingers trembling as your hand reflexively reached for your necklace again. “I wish things were different.” 

It could be.

It would be. 

Even if a little voice in the back of his head suggested that you might not leave your current fiancé for him if he made it back in time. 

That you might choose the man that had actually been there for you all this time. 

Behind you, there was a knock on the door. 

“Can I come in now?” 

No. 

This was supposed to be private, a one-sided conversation that was for his ears only, but you were glancing back over your shoulder. 

“Yeah,” you quietly answered. 

Gojo almost wished your fiancé was ugly. That it would make it easy for you to pick him instead.

But of course, he had to be annoyingly attractive, dark hair hanging around his shoulders and bangs that reminded him of the best friend he just damned as he casually walked over to you, concern etched into his sharp face as he leaned in to press a kiss on the top of your forehead. 

“Everything okay?” He asked, but then his eyes shifted and he noticed what you were filming. “Oh, baby.” 

The sound of someone who knew you were hurting. Who cared. 

“I’m okay, really, I’m just saying goodbye,” you murmured, like they both couldn’t tell how close you were to breaking down. 

“I’ll give you a few minutes,” he spoke gently, his touch lingering on your skin like it really was his now. “Apollo and Yuji want to go spend the night with one of their friends.” 

Gojo wanted to strangle him. 

Fly through the space and stars just to give him a black eye for just how casually he spoke about his son. 

Although some sliver of him was well fucking aware that Choso had probably been more of a dad to Apollo than he’d ever gotten to be. 

“That’s fine,” you shrugged, nodding a little as your body relaxed, tension lifting from your shoulders the longer you looked at him. 

Gojo hated that he could see that you really did love him in your eyes. 

See that familiar glimmer shining in them as you looked up at a stranger instead of him. 

Choso left the room, but his presence didn’t. 

You stared at the door for a few moments after it shut, but you didn’t say whatever you were thinking. Kept it bottled up before you eventually looked back at Satoru. 

Not that you could even see him. 

You thought you were talking to a ghost. 

That’s all he’d become to you. To his children. A phantom haunting rooms he’d never entered. Lingering in empty spaces he should’ve been. A spectre living in the shadows of your heads. 

“I miss you,” you murmured, reaching for the button one last time to shut it off. “I don’t think that will change. But I can’t keep believing you’re coming home.” 

No. Please no. 

He was.

“I love you, Satoru,” you half-whispered, choking the words out. “Goodbye.” 

The screen went dark. 

His reflection staring back at him. Cheeks wet with tears that wouldn’t stop, breaking down as he fell apart, nausea swirling as he forced himself to stand and step around where he’d thrown up, pacing the floor as his brain struggled to work through a problem he didn’t know how to solve. 

He went back to the console, frowning when he tried to start recording to send a message back out to you, to beg you to just give him a little more time, but nothing happened. 

Body and brain barely working together to frantically tap buttons, staring at what data was available to see if he could find when the transmission was received. 

A faint flicker of hope stirring when he realized it had only been two days ago. 

You weren’t married yet. 

Maybe there was time.

And even if there wasn’t, he’d do his damndest to get there and wreck your marriage if it meant winning you back. 

He was a wreck, stumbling out of the room to rush to find Shoko, nearly tripping on his own feet as he found her by the controls, her neat brunette brows scrunching together in disgust when she saw the state he was in. 

“What the hell-” 

Gojo wasn’t sure he was even speaking in full sentences when he started rambling about time dilation, about how they already missed a goddamn decade, her mouth curling down into a tight frown as he got into the details of how they needed to go home now. 

“We don’t have the fuel,” she deadpanned, drawing his attention to the data on screen. “We can make it to our supply drop, but unless they have some there, we’ll probably be stuck on their settlement until another crew comes along.” 

That wasn’t a fucking option. 

They had to make it.

But even when he spent the next forty-eight hours crunching the numbers and calculating different ways to return, he still came to the same conclusion – Shoko was right. 

And still said ‘I told you so’ when he said fine to going to the planet for the supply drop, figuring that at least if the load was lighter, he might be able to make what they had left stretch. 

He was barely showering. 

Barely eating. 

Manic energy getting him through the long days and longer nights to avoid the dreams that would only mock him for all his failures. 

They were just filled with your face, with Suguru’s, of children that called another man dad. 

Filling his notebooks with different calculations he was desperate to get right this time. 

Skin crawling with the fear that he’d fuck this up and lose you forever. 

He didn’t get to mourn Suguru. Couldn’t mourn the years he missed. 

Not if he didn’t want to miss the rest of them. 

By the time they made it to the next planet, he was a wreck. Practically shoved in the shower by Shoko to get cleaned up before they landed, feeling ill when he was forced to get his suit back on, praying to whatever higher power might be out there to let there be fuel. Let him go home to his family. 

This planet wasn’t full of water. Wasn’t one big ocean. 

Landing in a lush green field, not far from real buildings, actual structures erected, fellow scientists rushing out to greet them as Shoko worked fast to unload the supplies with their help.

Gojo knew he probably sounded like a lunatic rushing to get his request for fuel out as soon as possible, counting the seconds in his head as he hoped that they weren’t months passing for you back home. 

“I need to get back to my fiancée, my kids, please," he begged, pleading without caring how pathetic it came out when everyone here had given up their lives on Earth in the name of science and research. 

“I’m sorry,” their de facto leader apologized, an astronaut he once grew up looking up to frowning at him as he glanced around at their simple setup to search for anything that could help him. “We don’t have any. There’s going to be another supply drop in a month, more people coming to live here. You could probably go back with them if-” 

“No,” he accidentally interrupted, the word ripped from the back of his chest as he recoiled. 

It couldn’t end like this. 

He’d be too late if he stayed.

“Satoru,” Shoko hissed, pulling him back as his breathing got ragged, on the verge of a panic attack. 

“Shoko, they don’t-” 

“I know,” she cut him off, swallowing hard as she fixed him with her steady stare. “Look, I’ll stay here. You take the lander back. Without me and all this stuff, the fuel should last.” 

“You want me to leave you?” He asked, automatically shaking his head no at the absurd suggestion. 

“I don’t have anyone waiting for me back on Earth anyway,” she shrugged.

He didn’t have the seconds to debate it. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, his chest already aching at the idea of being alone on the ship. 

“Go get your wife back,” she huffed. “Name one of your next kids after me.” 

“Deal,” he breathed, throwing her arms around her in a rushed hug before he had to sprint back to the lander. 

Both his best friends left behind on planets he knew he’d never get back to. 

And still, he wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to make it back to the one they came from. 

He wasn’t even meant to be the navigator. 

Wasn’t supposed to be the one frantically typing in coordinates and rushing through checklists to get back home. 

Struggling and squinting at the consoles, breathing heavy when everything was inputted, running the numbers again and again.

He should make it.

Although, his current path put him at landing in some random field in the middle of nowhere, NASA would probably be rushing to get there once they realized it was one of their landers. 

If only he could send out a fucking transmission. 

He tried to figure out why it wouldn’t work, fiddling with it almost every day in failed attempts to fix it and rewatching your videos when his energy threatened to run out. 

Gojo hadn’t cut his hair in months. That was something Suguru usually helped him with. It was nearly touching his shoulders, looking like a stranger in his reflection in the fogged-up mirror on the occasions he’d make himself shower and scrub his skin until it was practically red.

But maybe you liked men with longer hair now. Wouldn’t mind the fact that he changed too. 

When he slept, he made it to the chapel just in time, rushing through the double doors right when the officiant asked if anyone objected. 

He would whisk you away, dip you down and kiss you, fingers sinking into the silk of your wedding dress as he begged you to still be his. 

Some part of him felt like it was all light years away. 

Up until Earth was outside his window, his heart thrumming at the thought of you down there, sharing a bed with someone else while he was fighting so hard to come back to you. Did he fuck you as good?

Make sure you finished every single time? Dot your face with kisses and carry you into the bathroom? Make all your favorite foods and worship the ground you walked on every day? 

Gojo didn’t know if he’d be able to handle knowing.

But fuck, if it meant he’d still get to have you, he’d share you with that asshole. 

Gojo still couldn’t send a transmission, had no way of actually notifying anyone when he got in the lander, flipping switches and changing settings as he got behind the controls. 

Shutting his eyes for a few seconds as he set the coordinates, palms sweating as he clutched the controls. If his math was right, today would be the day you were supposed to be standing at the altar. 

He could do this. 

Failing wasn’t an option.

Not after everything that had brought him here. 

“I’m coming home, sweetheart,” he murmured, a little aware that he had probably lost it if he was talking to himself up here. 

But he hoped you could feel him. 

That even if you were wearing your wedding dress right now, you would be able to sense him somehow. Clinging to the hope that yours hadn’t completely faded yet. 

The landing fucking sucked. 

Hitting the ground too hard, his head snapping forward fast enough he was pretty sure he had a concussion or whiplash, body bracing for the impact as it skidded to a stop in a corn field an hour from that chapel he just toured with you last year. Even if it’d been more like twelve to you. 

It still didn’t stop him from rushing to get out, nearly kissing the ground as he stumbled out. Sucking in the fresh air as he glanced around, his legs trembling as he forced himself to keep moving, well aware he definitely looked like shit even if he tried to clean himself up before his, ah, crash landing. 

“Are you okay? What the fuck is-” 

Gojo grimaced as he glanced up to find someone who pulled over on the side of the road, a stranger squinting at him and the wrecked lander in disbelief. 

“Uh, could you give me a ride?” 

Maybe the universe had decided to cut him some slack. Give him a helping hand as he sat in the passenger seat of a beat-up truck, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes as he noticed the new phone in the cupholder. 

“Do, uh, you mind if I make a couple calls?” He asked, the distant sound of sirens echoing as they put mile after mile away from the lander – and inched closer and closer to you. 

“Sure,” his new friend shrugged, using his face to unlock his phone at the next stoplight and passing it over. 

Gojo still had your number memorized. 

Even if you didn’t pick up the phone for him. 

No voicemail box set up either, just the generic ‘please leave a message at the beep’ he didn’t have it in him to oblige. He hurried to dial one of his old contacts from NASA he remembered, not sure if Ijichi would pick up either. 

But they did. 

“Hello?” Ijichi croaked, almost sounding like he just woke up, or maybe was sick. 

“Hey, it’s, uh, me,” he said, tapping his fingers on the side of the window. “I sorta crash landed. You guys are gonna want to send someone out to take care of clean up.” 

“Satoru?” 

“Yeah, it’s, um, been a bit, hasn’t it?” He awkwardly chuckled, rambling off the coordinates twice, sure that Ijichi was scrambling to get them down before he exhaled. “Look, I’ve got a wedding to crash. I’ll check in later.” 

Gojo hung up before he could get caught up in any more stupid space bullshit. 

He was finished. 

Ready to spend the rest of his years devoted solely to you and his twins. 

Would you be happy to see him? 

Let him pick you up and press kiss after kiss to your mouth and promise that you missed him? 

He’d spent so long daydreaming about it that he didn’t really know what to do when the truck pulled into the very much empty parking lot of the chapel. 

Was he too early? 

Too late? 

Walking up to the double doors and pulling them open to find barren pews illuminated by stained glass windows. He walked around like an idiot, something pricking at the back of his brain that he wouldn’t listen to as he looked outside at the cemetery next to it. 

He didn’t have a real reason for going back out there. 

Just some invisible string tugging him there as he held his breath, searching for proof in the last place he wanted to find it. 

And there it was. 

Sitting underneath a willow tree waiting for him. 

He stared at the gravestone. Your name etched into the stone – with another man’s last name attached to it. 

His knees gave out. Collapsed underneath him as a broken sob racked through his body, hitting the hard ground as his body surrendered to the pain. Fat tears rolling down his cheeks, sucking in shallow breaths as he cried for the life you had. 

The one he hadn’t been there to give you. 

You couldn’t be- 

Someone tapped on his back. 

He turned fast, shaking as his eyes landed on your face. His pretty girl, probably a good twenty years older than him, aged like a fine wine as your mouth fell open in a surprised gasp. He reached out, fingers trembling as he nearly touched your cheek from his position on the ground, but you froze.

“Dad?” 

It wasn’t you. 

Artemis tried helping him up, tears springing up in her eyes as she immediately hugged him, his brain fractured as he realized that his daughter was here. His daughter was older than him. How much time had passed? How fucking off was he? 

“Oh my god, it’s actually you, when I got the call, I didn’t think-” 

“Artemis?” He breathed her name, wishing he’d gotten the opportunity to say it to her a million more times. “You’re-” 

“Holy shit, I have to call everyone,” she grinned, her smile hurting his chest when it looked so much like yours. “Apollo isn’t gonna believe it. You know, you’re already, like, a great grandpa thanks to him, by the way.” 

Every word was a fresh punch to the gut. 

A great grandfather. 

He never even got to be a father. 

Missed his kids growing up, getting married, having kids of their own, and even them having kids. 

“How long has it been?” He asked, his voice raw, broken chords of disbelief as Artemis' face twisted up, looking behind him as it struck her that he hadn’t known any of it.  

“Since you left?” She awkwardly spoke, tilting her head as she scratched the back of her neck. There was a wedding band on her finger. Did your husband walk her down the aisle? “Um, about fifty years?” 

Four months had been forty years. 

Gojo couldn’t stop himself from crying again, wiping away his cheeks faster, ashamed of what he’d done. 

A fool masquerading as a man. 

Artemis awkwardly wrapped an arm around him, trying to soothe him as she used her free hand to send texts like he couldn’t see through the tears. Sobs wracking through him as the dam inside him broke, reduced to rubble as he fell apart. Painfully aware that he was only inches away from you, and still no closer at all. 

He’d never hold you again. Never touch you again. 

Wouldn’t get to see your smile or hear your laugh, feel the warmth of your affection. 

His children wouldn’t need him. 

For a while, his daughter just sat there with him. Let him cry until he managed to halfway collect himself, his eyes swollen and sore as he struggled to breathe, body aching and stomach starving despite how sick he felt every time he looked up and saw your grave. 

“She passed away last year,” Artemis muttered. “She’d been sick for a while.” 

God, he felt like he was going to die right now. 

Figured it would hurt less than hearing about everything he missed. 

“She talked about you a lot. Made you out to be a big hero,” his daughter smiled softly, obviously trying to make him feel better. You should’ve turned him into the bad guy. “I actually work at NASA. God, she was pretty pissed at me when she found out I even applied, but I promised that I wouldn’t go to space so, uh-” 

It seemed like she inherited his ability to shove his foot in his mouth, her lips clamping shut as she realized that maybe this wasn’t the time. 

“Apollo’s a teacher now,” she abruptly changed the subject, and he didn’t know what to say.

Just staring at her in shock, unable to form proper sentences when he thought he was coming home to a preteen – not a fully grown woman who looked so much like you it hurt to breathe. “Oh, there he is.” 

He looked over to see his son was walking down the path with an old man, talking between each other with furrowed expressions. 

Watched the shock register on their faces when they saw Gojo there. 

He didn’t know what to say when they finally approached, the thick silence and tension simmering in the air as he stared at Apollo. 

Strands of silver in his white hair, blue eyes burning with emotions he didn’t blame him for. Resentment. Reproach. 

“You’re-” 

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he heard himself say, voice cracking painfully. 

“Yeah,” his son huffed, arms folding across his broad chest. “Us too.”

“Apollo,” the older man next to him scolded, giving him a fatherly look that seemed so natural on his face before throwing Gojo a look that was almost like ‘kids, right?’ “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Choso.” 

And despite the fact he had to be in his seventies now, Gojo still sort of wanted to hit him.

Rip the golden band off his finger and start a fight over the fact he’d gotten to spend decades with the love of his life. 

“Was she happy?” He asked instead, hollowed out, no strength left in him to stand. 

“She was,” Artemis softly confirmed, patting his shoulder like he was a child. And he wondered if she had kids too, or if even his son’s children were older than him now. 

“She missed you,” Choso added, more mature than Gojo suspected he would ever be.

Because right now, he was filled with hate.

Anger and rage boiling and burning under the surface at the injustice of all of it. At everything he missed. Everything that should’ve been his that ended up in the hands of someone else because he was too stupid to hold onto you tight enough.

He hated Choso. Hated space. Hated the universe. 

Mostly though, he hated himself.

“We should go get some food,” Artemis artfully pivoted away, trying to tug him upright. “You’re probably starving, right?”

Gojo thought he nodded, not that he was totally in tune with his body, dazed as he tried to sort through the thousand thoughts flooding through his mind.

Numbness creeping in now that he knew it had all been for nothing.

“Before I forget,” she murmured, taking off a necklace he hadn’t noticed her wearing. The thin silver chain weighed down by two rings dangling at the end. The engagement ring he once gave you – and a plain band of white-gold. “Mom always wore it. She told me she bought the band for you before you were supposed to come back and could never bring herself to put either of them away.” 

She dropped it in his palm, his pulse pounding in his ears at the proof you never fully gave up on him. One last thread of you in his hands as he automatically unlocked the clasp and put it on himself, the weight of it sitting over his chest and tethering him back to reality.

To the two children he made with you standing in front of him now he was still lucky enough to meet. 

Artemis interlocked her arm with her brother, laughing at something he said before immediately beginning to bicker about where to eat at, who to call next.

Giggling about their sister, his throat closing at the confirmation you had another baby after him. That you lived a full life he’d only get to see second-hand. Through photos and stories instead of in person. 

Apollo grumbled something under his breath, throwing a glare back at Gojo, still protective over you after you passed. Artemis just elbowed her brother though, tossing the hair back over her other shoulder that reminded him of you.

And some depressing part of him wondered if that’s what you and him would’ve looked like together one day if he stayed. 

He would never get to know. 

His eyes drifted back to your grave. And then the one next to it. 

His name etched next to yours. A plot you must have purchased for him back when you thought you’d never get his body back. 

A loving fiancé and father. 

Gojo was grateful he would at least get to be buried next to you one day. 

You spent your life missing and mourning him.

He supposed it was just his turn. 

a/n: reblogs + comments are always appreciated :3

[lokissweater]

birds of a feather . ۫ ꣑ৎ .

{olympic figure skater!satoru gojo x olympic figure skater f!reader}

summary: you and satoru have known each other since childhood, two little birds navigating through life together as you shared one dream in common— to win gold at the olympics, you both a figure skating pair as you moved and performed and fell in love as the years went by, both balancing off a trembling tight rope and holding on to keep each other in place, a silent agreement that if you indulged and fell into the depths of the truth of what you were, you’d run the risk of losing your careers and each other, yours and satoru’s biggest fears. but you’re growing, and it’s getting harder to hold back… especially for satoru— that trembling tight rope on the verge of snapping in two.

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, childhood best friends to lovers trope, cursing, DIABOLICAL ANGST BUT WITH HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE!, mentions of death and loss, mentions of injury and blood, FLUUUFFF, satoru loves loves loves you, SMUUUTT, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it y’all), creampie, pussy eating, dom satoru, pussy drunk satoru, DIRTY TALK, pet names, figure skating, the olympics, true love <3

word count: 22.3k (I KNOW PLEASE GIVE ME A CHANCE PLEASE—)

authors note: YYYOOOUUU GUUUYYSSS THIS ONE IS MY BABBBYYY AND IM CRYING NOW WRITING THIS LMFAOAOAO. i hope you all love it seriously i GLADLY worked day and night writing this and i’d do it all over again just to see y’all happy :) THANK YOU for your support it is UNREAL, and like always, I LOOVEEE YOUUU MWAAHHH <333

you first met satoru when you were six at the skating rink.

he was only a year older than you, both of your mothers coincidentally signing you up for the same youth ice skating lessons for beginners, meeting and chatting it up seeing as you and satoru were the youngest in age out of the rest of the parents there and their children, you both automatically put together by your coach and separated from the older kids to do warm ups.

and even though the age difference was only a year, satoru at first treated you like a little helpless tiny thing who needed assistance in everything— the cute pink ribbons in your hair doing you an injustice and further implementing the image of a little girl who had no clue of what was going on around her, thinking you were cutesy and he was determined to be your little knight in shining armor when the time came.

until he saw you skate.

what satoru didn’t know, was that you were a prodigy— related to one of the most famous ice skaters in olympic ice skating history, akira, as her talent was blessedly passed down to you through your fruitful system and the lucky processes of genetics— chosen as you barely even had to be taught, you catching everything right away by the coach without any sort of slip and fall… unlike satoru who was clumsily struggling to even glide through the ice without wobbling.

and little satoru was astonished by you and your talent, his first impression of you drastically changing by the end of the first lesson as he shakily slid across the ice over to where you were, patiently doing little turns on the ice while you waited for your mother to finish up talking to another lady (it was satoru’s mother).

“hi!” he had greeted you, a huge goofy smile on his face as you slowed down and looked at him, returning a shy smile of your own.

“hi.”

“i’m satoru!” he extended a hand, eyes shooting wide as he suddenly lost his balance and slipped forward, on the brink of face planting on the ice as his hands quickly flailed out and gripped the edge of the rink to save himself.

you giggled, tiny hands reaching and holding his arm steady as he tried to regain his balance.

“are you okay?” your shy voice asked, and he grinned through his wobbling.

“yeah! i’m okay! don’t worry!”

but he still couldn’t stabilize himself.

“maybe we should sit on the bench?” you suggested sweetly. “so you don’t fall…”

“okay!”

you gripped him as hard as you could (which really wasn’t a lot for a six year old) and slowly moved with him on the ice, supporting him until you were both out of the rink and seated on the bleachers.

“what’s your name?” he chirped, his hands clutching on the edge of the bench as he leaned forward and looked at you kindly, legs swinging.

“y—y/n.”

“nice!” he cheesed, looking at you. “i saw you skate. you’re really good!”

“t—thank you.” you mumbled, shy and alarmed that a boy was talking to you.

“when did you start skating?”

you looked at him confusedly. “um.. today?”

his eyes bulged.

“hah?! today?!”

you jumped at his outburst, cheeks pink as you quickly nodded.

“wowww!…” he gushed with stars in his eyes. “that’s great! i saw you doing turns and things. i can barely move on the ice… it’s slippery.”

“well—” you peeked up at him shyly. “my—my aunt taught me some stuff… but not a lot.”

“you have someone in your family that skates?” he asked excitedly with huge blue eyes. “how cool! hopefully i can catch up to you and at least move…”

“that’s okay...” you smiled. “i know you will.”

“really?!” he gushed again before leaning back, nodding his head cutely. “if you think so, then i know so!”

and you giggled at him, your timid wall slowly crumbling down at his bubbly and kind personality as he was a chatterbox and talked to you about anything that had to do with olympic ice skating— him knowing so much about it and nearly screaming his head off and panicking when he found out that your aunt was none other than akira, now knowing exactly why you were so good at skating in the first place.

satoru looked up to you. so much so that it was comical— seeking your approval over the following years during lessons and not even listening to the damn coach himself as he listened more to you, wanting you to teach him how to do bunny hops or backward crossovers and giving a big fat attitude to anyone else who tried to coach him, whining and snoring away until you and your little bows skated over to him to teach him.

and because of that you spent a lot of time with satoru in and out of lessons, even more than you ever spent with your own friends at school as you clung to him at all times— him cheering and encouraging you on when you were shy in certain situations, and you teaching him everything you could about skating and bringing him little bags of strawberry gummy puffs since he had the biggest sweet tooth you had ever seen, you both cemented and stubbornly attached to the hip with neither wanting to let go.

and when your mother’s planned a little playdate at the local outdoor ice skating rink on a chilly december day— an enormous christmas tree sitting tall and glorious by the rink with twinkling star-shaped fairy lights and jingle bells surrounding the plaza, you and satoru spinning each other around and dancing and giggling over the murmur of classic christmas songs, they saw the potential… an idea sparking in their heads amongst their cooing and picture taking.

you and satoru were both originally put into the ice skating world to train and be independent professional skaters, olympic athletes to be more specific when the time came.

but that concept quickly changed the second you met.

now— you and satoru were an olympic ice skating pair, the subject materializing when your mother’s pulled you out from those simple ice skating lessons (you both already way past getting the basics down since your skill combined with you teaching satoru had you both surpassing the class) and paying for a professional couples figure skating coach to get you guys started now and early.

and the both of you were over the moon, especially satoru, as he absolutely adored you and begged his mother literally every fucking day if he could go over to your house or over to the ice skating rink with you to dance, you doing the same and the two of you crying and wailing on the floor whenever times wouldn’t work out and plans fell through, your mother’s having to give in and drag you to each other’s houses so you would both stop crying.

when akira found out you were officially figure skating, she nearly drove into the side of a building speeding over to your house from being out of the country for so long competing.

“is it true?!” she burst through the doors, your mother rolling her eyes after being startled half to death over her bizarre behavior. “is my little niece gonna be a figure skater like me?!”

you gasped excitedly upon seeing her, getting up from your spot on the rug and running over to akira’s open arms, leaving your coloring book and crayons behind as she swung you around.

“she started when she was six you know that…” your mother grumbled, folding various kitchen towels.

“but you just told me now that she’s not independent!” akira countered, setting you down and holding you out at arms length, eyes wide and eager. “—but partner figure skating! like me!”

she shook you. “where is he?! your partner! is he here? is he your age? is he nice?”

you perked up and looked over to the kitchen. “oh mommy! satoru should come and meet—”

“his name is satoru? oh my goodness how cuteeee!” she cooed, pinching your cheeks. “is he handsome? do you like him? do you have a crush on him—”

your little cheeks blazed as your mother threw a kitchen towel at her.

“she’s eight aki! jesus christ.”

“love has no limits.” akira wiggled a finger, and you giggled.

your mother called satoru’s place soon after, his mother excitedly conversing over the other line about how the akira was finally back in town and how satoru was gonna lose his mind once he saw her— you knowing he was the biggest fan and sometimes told you facts during lessons that you didn’t even know about your own aunt.

and when they finally did arrive, satoru was stiff— frozen in place with tight arms at his sides by the living room as his alarmed big blue eyes looked at akira with a sickly pale face, you snickering behind him.

“hi satoru!” akira greeted, leaning down with her hands on her knees to look at him at eye level. “it’s nice to meet you! y/n tells me you like my skating?”

“u—uhuh.” he responded dumbly, and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from laughing, knowing satoru would cry and whine about it later if he heard you.

“that’s great! i’m happy you skate too… and with my niece i should say!” she spoke kindly, ruffling his snowy colored hair up and standing upright, placing her hands on her hips and looking like a straight freaking superhero in satoru’s eyes. “you wanna compete in the olympics?”

“uh huh.”

a laughing breath hurled from your throat and your cheeks puffed up like a squirrel, clasped hands still over your mouth and face going red from how hard you were trying to keep it in.

“that’s what i like to hear.” she smiled, a shiny impressive one as satoru still stood there in a stuck daze.

“work hard okay? the both of you. so you can catch up to me someday, yeah?”

your hands slowly fell from your mouth then, eyes filled with admiration and determination as you both eagerly nodded, looking at each other hopefully.

“you think—” satoru stammered, looking at akira. “you think we can… win three gold medals like you?”

“oh absolutely!” she shrugged. “i don’t doubt it at all.”

you and satoru gushed, glittering little eyes as you stared up cutely at akira, her giving you both a silly grin.

“how long have they been doing partner work?” she asked your mother suddenly, watching the way you and satoru chattered then excitedly about the actual possibility of competing for the olympics someday.

“mmm, i wanna say for about a year and a half? maybe two?” she looked over at satoru’s mother, who nodded in agreement. “they’re with a couple’s figure skating coach right now.”

akira hummed and shifted her gaze back down between the two of you.

“i’m training them from now on.”

both mothers froze, eyes wide as they stared at her.

you and satoru hadn’t even realized what she said, still caught up in your little bubble of the olympics and metals and competitions until your mother caught your attention.

“did you hear?”

you shook your head. “hear what!”

“akira wants to coach you and satoru.”

his jaw dropped and he nearly passed out on the floor, you quickly grabbing his shoulders as he reeled over.

“are— are you sure?” your mother continued, looking at her sister now. “aren’t you busy? i thought you were only here for the weekend.”

she waved her off. “i need a break from skating for a little… at least until the next olympics.”

akira turned to you then and smiled warmly. “and i wanna coach my little niece and her new buddy! if that’s okay?”

“yesyesyesyes!—”

both you and satoru bounced up and down and cheered, arms up as you tackled and hung off of akira like a jungle gym, her laughing and smiling big at your enthusiasm.

akira was the most important figure in your life, right next to satoru as she became a mother figure to the both of you as well as your mentor.

and training with her was not easy— your age not an excuse at all whatsoever in her eyes to not learn proper figure skating moves and technique, saying it would only serve you right in the end if you started adapting your bodies to it now rather than later.

and like most things, akira was right. but even though practices were grueling and tough to the point where you had to drag satoru across the ice to get up, she always tried to make them fun in the end— cracking jokes and teaching you guys silly little tricks that you could do with each other on the ice that she figured out over her years of skating with her partner, taking you both out for ice cream frequently after and telling you of her travels competing around the world, the people she’d met, and the titles she’d won— all things that were you and satoru’s ultimate dream as you listened eagerly.

by the time you were twelve and satoru was thirteen, it was obvious you guys were meant to be olympic athletes together.

“you need to pick your leg a little further up on the spin, toru.”

he stuck his tongue out. “says who.”

“says me.” you poked his cheek. “and i’m pretty sure aki told you before she left too.”

“yes ma’am!” he nodded, gliding a bit further away from you on the ice before picking his momentum up and reaching you, him bending his knees and wrapping his arms around your torso as you both went into fast spins, one leg extended for the both of you as your arms gripped over his shoulders— practicing the routine akira had given you for your upcoming competition.

“yeah like that!” you smiled, spins gradually slowing down and satoru coming back up from his bend until you both stood still on the ice. “good job toru!”

he grinned and ruffled your hair. “thanks!”

“mhm!” you responded, turning and skating away to the edge of the rink to hide the blush that was rising in your cheeks.

“what?!” he whined. “where are you going? do i stink?”

“no!” you laughed, shaking your head. “just the usual sweat and B.O.”

“aw no!” he quickly skated to the edge of the rink and out before flying for his duffel bag. “i hate being a man i hate puberty this is ridiculous—”

“i’m kidding im kidding!” you called from across the ice, cackling when he stopped and whipped his head over, glaring at you. “you’re fine toru— not stinky.”

“well you’re stinky for putting me in distress how about that?” he huffed, an eventual smile playing at his lips as he put down his duffel bag and went inside the rink again.

akira was currently on her way to compete at the olympics for her fourth gold medal in partner figure skating, you and satoru having no doubt in your minds that she was going to absolutely clear everyone else there and get it, as she’s never gotten silver or bronze or anything lower than that.

“when do we fly to see aki again?” satoru called from across the ice, gliding to and fro in figure eights. “don’t say tomorrow morning because i haven’t started packing yet heh… oops.”

you giggled. “it is tomorrow morning, dummy.”

“no!” he stopped and shoved his hands in his hair. “i haven’t even started planning my outfits! oh i was gonna take so many pictures what am i supposed to do now—”

you laughed loudly and skated back over to him, hands wrung behind your back as you looked at him cheekily. “you’re silly toru. outfits for what? literally just show up.”

“it’s not everyday we leave the country y/n!” he whined. “i wanted to sport my best and look cool, dang it.”

you playfully rolled your eyes and lifted your hand, patting his head.

“i’ll show up in pajamas and you show up in yours, and we’ll call it a day. hm?”

he grinned.

“matching? or seperate? and what color? plaid?”

“toru!”

he laughed and skated past you, nudging your shoulder with his in the process. “i’m just messing with youuu, matching obviously!”

satoru came back around, reached up and straightened the ribbons in your hair, little white bows sitting pretty as a blush rose to his cheeks when he was done.

“wanna run it three more times and call it?” he suggested. “i wanna make sure i get what you told me down before we go.”

you smiled and quickly nodded, taking satoru’s extended hand and skating together to first position.

watching akira win gold in person for the first time in your life was an experience you’ll never forget.

and she did it fucking beautifully.

with every precise move, with every articulate angle you and satoru screamed and yelled like crazy people in front of the rink while waving around your countries tiny flags, cheering with fat tears rolling down your faces when she successfully landed each time, holding each other so tight with mushed up cheeks throughout her routine with her partner and still in anxiousness when the time came for revealing final scores.

no one could skate like her. absolutely no one as she speedily glided across the ice and spun, prepped herself for the hardest most impressive turns you had ever seen in your life, and performed a quadruple axel rotation in the air all on her own— things that have always earned her the highest scores for three successive olympic years.

and four now— because when akira and her partner stepped up on that podium, you and satoru had to basically be yanked back by your mothers with the way you both tried to jump over the edge of the rink to her, her standing there like a beacon of light on the first place podium, a gold medal hung rightfully around her neck with flowers in her arms as she smiled so so big and happily, her eyes not once leaving you and satoru.

eventually when the ceremony was over, amongst all of the buzz and the crowd roaring and picture taking— akira quickly skated over to the two of you and leaned on the edge of the rink.

“akiiii!” you both wailed and flung your arms around her neck, her giggling and hugging you both back as best as she possibly could despite the mass amount of bouquets in her hands.

“did i do okay?!” she yelled over the noise.

you both pulled back and looked at her like she was insane.

“did you do okay?!” you gawked.

“aki— you won a fucking gold medal!” satoru yelled.

“HAH!” she laughed loudly. “don’t say that word in front of your mommy satoru she’ll chop my head off and kill me!”

you both giggled uncontrollably.

akira leaned her head in then and you and satoru followed through, all three foreheads resting against each others.

“listen to me for a second.“ she started. “you guys are birds of a feather, okay? you need to stick together and fly together as one.”

she let you both go and dropped the bouquets she was holding on the icy floor before placing a hand on yours and satoru’s outer cheeks, bringing you in. “don’t fight. don’t separate. don’t leave each other. you need to keep each other and what you have safe.”

you both quickly nodded, tears funnily gathering at the corners of your eyes at what she was saying, and she smiled.

“yes partner figure skating is about chemistry and technicality, but it’s about love… and sometimes just that. without genuine love, nothing will click.” she let your cheeks go and grabbed her shiny gold medal, holding it up. “this will be yours. i promise you.”

akira put down her medal, wiping both yours and satoru’s wet cheeks. “birds of a feather. stick together. keep each other safe. do you understand?”

the two of you sniffled and nodded.

“and i need to stop cussing in front of you guys during practices, don’t i?!” she smiled warmly, and you and satoru shook your heads frantically.

“no keep doing it!—”

“it’s funny please!—”

ever since akira told you that, it became you and satoru’s thing.

before and after every competition, with every hello and every goodbye at the beginning and end of the day, throughout the hours randomly whenever you both felt like it, you’d lock pinkies and reiterate ‘birds of a feather’ before kissing your thumbs and locking your promise in place— another one of the many other ways you’d show that you loved each other.

but whether it was platonically or romantically remained unknown until you both hit high school.

perhaps it had always been romantically… that you weren’t exactly sure of. but the way you and satoru had been treating each other since you were literally the age of six, made the technicalities of what it was blurry and a little confusing— for you couldn’t even remember when it was that you started loving satoru.

maybe it was that very first day when he skated over to you, wobbly and clumsy with a cheesy smile.

and as if it wasn’t already confusing enough of what the two of you were, the way you acted made it ten times worse.

but you’d been that way since forever— embracing each other a little longer than you should, innocently kissing each others cheeks and heads and hands, calling each other pet names and being each other’s dates to every single school dance—

but it was all harmless. not a single bad thought behind it and doing it like a reflex.

it was like you both were line balancing across the thinnest tight rope known to mankind— flimsy and unsteady, always on the verge of toppling over and falling completely into the darkening depths of the truth of what you were, but catching each other just before you did to regain balance back on the rope.

neither of you said it, but if you and satoru ever dared to be anything more than friends, and if something were to happen where you had to break up— you’d lose your first love, your best friend, and your entire career all in one.

the consequences were too drastic— you both knew that.

and you didn’t want to break your promise… so you acted blind to it.

by the time you were seventeen and satoru was eighteen, akira started training you for the international skating union competition to earn a spot for the olympics.

well— she actually started when you were about fourteen, but as the years progressed, her coaching and critiques got increasingly more difficult and nitpicky as well as the moves she taught you, wanting you both to build endurance to it and perfect it so that by the time you reached the age requirement for the olympics— it would be easier to train for it and be formidable competitors against the other pairs.

you and satoru wanted to be olympians more than anything else in your lives, and akira knew just how important this was for the both of you— making it her absolute mission to help accomplish solely that as she saw herself through the two of you.

your dreams were just like hers, and she respected and nurtured the fact with everything that she had.

“up! aaand up! and take her— throw— land oh shit—”

just as you had landed a semi complex throw jump, you lost balance and landed right on your ass, sliding across the ice on your side.

it was rare when you fell, and you absolutely despised when you did.

“fuck!” satoru quickly skated over to you and knelt down. “are you okay?!”

“why can’t i land that man?” you whined, covering your eyes.

akira smoothly traveled over to you both.

“it’s okay! we just learned it today sweets like— right now… you’ll have it down in the next five minutes.” satoru smiled softly, carefully helping you up on your skates and checking you over.

“don’t overly punish yourself, y/n.” akira reached and pinched your cheek. “i love that you’ve always been so serious about your technique, but you have to leave room for error my love or else you’ll choke yourself out.”

satoru ran a soothing hand along your back and you smiled cutely up at him, his heart jittering so much from it that he had to quickly retract his arm.

you nodded, always taking satoru’s and akira’s words seriously like inscriptions to a stone wall. “okay!”

he grinned and kissed the side of your head before taking your hand and leading you to first position like always.

akira smirked.

“are you guys together yet!” she blurted from across the ice and you both choked as she skated over.

“are we— are we—” you stammered.

“what?” she breathed out, placing her hands on her hips. “are you at least in love?”

satoru’s blue eyes bulged open with a furious pink tint to both of your cheeks.

“aki!” you whined, embarrassed. “stop it—”

“have you guys at least gone on one date?”

satoru pouted. “no.”

“i’m—” you played with your fingers. “i’m going on one today—”

“you’re what?!” he whipped his head in your direction, eyebrows furrowed.

“yeah…” you looked at him. “i’ve never gone on one and some guy at school asked me so i— i just thought—”

you thought it’d do you some good, since the one you wanted you couldn’t really have.

“are you actually..?” satoru trailed off, an unfamiliar strike of something in his chest making him a little upset.

but he knew damn well what it was.

“but—” akira stared at you wide eyed, pointing at satoru. “but it’s— it’s supposed to be—”

“aki!” satoru quickly grabbed her arm and lowered it, eyes snapping to you next. “is it that one guy you told me about? from your english class?”

“uh huh.” you fidgeted. “he asked me again and i felt bad saying no so i— said yes…”

satoru swallowed, nodding.

“oh you big dummies!” akira groaned. “we’ll talk about this later or else i’m gonna go into fucking cardiac arrest from frustration—”

she skated off to the edge of the rink and out, leaning on it from the outside with her head dramatically hung.

you both got into starting position, but you faltered when you noticed satoru was oddly quiet and stiff.

“…toru?”

he blinked down at you. “huh?”

“you okay?”

“oh!— yeah.” he smiled weakly. “i’m fine baby.”

“you sure—”

“what time is your date?”

you gnawed at the inside of your cheek. “it’s a bit after this... i told him to just give me time to shower and get ready.”

“if he can’t accept you stinky then he’s not for you.” he shook his head in distaste. “he’s already failing in my eyes sweets absolutely flunking. maybe you should cancel it? yeah i say cancel it—”

you laughed, heart in your throat as your eyes gleamed up at him. “i can barely accept you stinky so i wouldn’t blame him—”

“hey!” he placed an exaggerated hand on his chest. “it’s not my fault i literally put my heart and soul out on the ice just for you to skate all over me—”

you gasped offendedly. “i don’t skate all over you—”

“do too!”

“do not!”

“do to—”

“you guys!” akira called. “you know i love it when you guys love on each other it makes me so happy and envision your wedding but right now we have to grind!”

you both froze up and snapped your heads in her direction with red faces, whining.

“aakkiii!—”

you practiced what you had of the routine a couple of more times, a few new moves and jumps added after each run until akira called it a day upon noticing you and satoru were practically sweating your asses off and messing up several times out of exhaustion.

“good job today you guys!” she smiled, patting you both on your shoulders. “i feel like the next time we meet we’ll have the choreography down... from there we just need to perfect it and you should be good for the next competish, okay?”

you both nodded and thanked her, sweet smiles on your faces as she reached up and pinched a side of both your cheeks.

“my little babies.” she cooed. “oh how you’ve grown! you guys were so little when we started now satoru is huge man jesus christ—”

she lifted her hand and reached up to measure satoru’s height from his forehead, her passing it over the top of her head and eyes widening at the huge gap.

he laughed and puffed up his chest. “i got big and strong too aki see?” he flexed an arm. “see? eh?”

“that you did!” she laughed brightly, ruffling up his hair. “the strongest.”

you giggled and skated over to the edge of the rink to pack up, internally panicking a little that you guys went overtime and it was almost time for your date.

“satoru..” akira whispered, looking over her shoulder to make sure you weren’t listening. “what’s going on? you still haven’t asked her out? i thought you said you were gonna do it.”

“no..” he mumbled. “but we can’t. and she knows that too so— so what am i supposed to do—”

she gawked. “do you not see what’s happening?! she’s gonna go on a date with someone else! off with this stupid fear you guys have already seriously.”

“we caan’tt aki.” he pushed sadly. “it’s too risky.”

“but it’s not though!” she threw her arms out. “you guys have known each other since practically birth i feel like if it wasn’t meant to be you would’ve separated by now!”

satoru gnawed at his bottom lip in thought, eyes trained to the way your bows moved in your hair as you swung your duffel bag over yourself, smiling softly once he realized you had kindly packed his things for him too as you sat on the bench and waited for him to take you home.

akira sighed.

“it’s not my place to tell you guys what to do… but love has no limits. you know that.”

he nodded, smiling weakly at her as they skated out of the rink and prepared to lock up, akira hugging you both goodbye with a family kiss to your cheeks and you separating ways with her for the day, but not before her reminding you guys of practice tomorrow and that she loved you over her shoulder.

satoru was dreading you going on your date as he drove— the both of you normally talking about random things like always but his mind unable to stray from the fact that you were actually giving some random dingbat a chance.

it was rare when either of you would talk to or date other people, never even as your heads have always been so focused on figure skating and competitions… but also on each other— taking care and loving one another that you never needed anybody else since you were everything to satoru and satoru to you, and you were both confident that absolutely no one could ever step up to that level.

so why were you going on a date?

but he shouldn’t be like this. he knew that. there was a silent agreement between the two of you to never fall off that thin tight rope and keep each other balanced. and you were allowed to see and date whoever you wanted— something that he probably should do as well to try and get over the fact that you’d never really be his.

satoru pulled up to your driveway and shifted his gear into park.

“thank you toru!” you smiled sweetly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“you’re welcome.” he murmured. “can i— can i come in with you? and hang while you get ready?”

you quirked a brow. “i thought that’s what we were already doing silly.”

“okay well invite me woman!” you both got out of the car and walked up the steps to your front door. “you can’t just assume. what if i was busy? what if i also had a date? hm?”

you gave him a sly grin as you twisted in your keys to unlock the door. “do you?”

“… no.”

you giggled and pushed open the door, the both of you immediately clasping your hands over your mouths to keep your laughs in at the sight of your mother sprawled out on the couch dead asleep with drool coming out of her mouth, the tv softly playing in the background as you quietly shut the door, went up the stairs and into your room.

satoru sat on your desk chair lazily while you quickly hopped in the shower to get ready for your stupid date, staring at the framed photographs on your nightstand that all consisted of you and him over the years, smiling softly at his favorite— a picture of the two of you when you were babies, cheek to cheek with huge smiles at the park as you held ice cream cones in each of your hands, satoru more than sure akira was the one who took that picture.

the sound of your door clicking shut pulled him from his thoughts as you walked in, drying your pretty hair with your little fuzzy towel and throwing it in the hamper once you were done.

“oh! i was gonna show you! i got these ribbons the other day—” you got down on your knees and looked under your bed, sticking a hand in and pulling out a white box as you picked it up and shuffled with your knees closer to satoru— sitting back on your ankles.

“—i was running out of ribbon so i got these!” you held up the box and satoru took it, examining the various pastel colors with warm eyes. “some of them are polka dotted and i thought that was cute.”

“it is sweets!” he agreed.

satoru loved the ribbons in your hair, and you’d always wear them without fail because you knew just how much he did.

“i wanna start wearing bows too.” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you giggled.

“are you saying you wanna steal my brand toru?” you picked up a blue roll of ribbon from the box, a color that matched satoru’s eyes. “thought you were an honest man?”

he gasped. “i am an honest man! is it not obvious enough when i help you with your math homework? when i sacrifice my dignity and text you answers during your tests?”

you giggled and unrolled a strand of ribbon. “not when you eat all of my sweets that you actively dig through my room for—”

“but they’re always the strawberry gummy puffs!” he whined. “they make me a slut.”

you playfully rolled your eyes and stood, grabbing your little scissors and snipping off a piece of blue ribbon from the roll, stepping in front of satoru and leaning.

“watcha doing?” he asked, placing his hands on your waist.

“i’m putting a little bow in your hair before i leave!”

he hummed. “don’t think it’ll look as good on me as they do on you.”

you blushed, taking little pieces of white hair from the top of his head and wrapping the ribbon around, tying it the same way you’ve been doing for yourself since you were the age of nine.

you took a step back once you were finished and laughed. “you look cute toru!”

he raised a silly brow. “do i still look big and strong?”

“big and strong and pretty—”

“please don’t go.”

you stilled.

“what?”

satoru looked down, his bangs hiding his gorgeous eyes as he did.

“on your date.” he mumbled. “don’t go.”

you placed your hands softly on his shoulders, and his hold tightened a little around your waist.

“why?”

“because like i said if he doesn’t accept you stinky then he can’t have you when you smell like vanilla—”

“toru...” you spoke sternly, softly. “why not?”

you didn’t know why you were pushing it so much… maybe you were trying to see if you could get it out of him— if he had the will to actually say it unlike you…

and you hoped to god he would say it.

he slowly lifted his head and propped his chin up on your tummy, a sour expression on his face as he puckered his lips to the side like a little fish.

“dunno…” he muttered, his gaze flickering to yours and a sense of guilt swarming his chest at the uneasy look you had, his face relaxing as he sighed.

“sorry.” he smiled sheepishly, pulling back and letting go of your waist. “i’m kidding you have every right to—”

“m’not going.” you mumbled as you slid your hands away, looking down and playing with your fingers.

“huh?” he furrowed his brows. “no baby go you should go—”

“i don’t want to.”

you never did in the first place. you had foolishly thought that letting someone else in like this would be good for you and help you establish some sort of… barrier with satoru so you weren’t always suffering so fucking much.

but you were absolutely stupid for that.

all you’ve ever wanted was satoru, and doing something to pull you away from the type of relationship you had with him (whether platonic or romantic you had no freaking clue), was not only hurting you, but hurting him.

you didn’t need anyone else, truly. all you needed was satoru and his silly smile and dramatic antics— to spend time with just him and skate and eat dinner together after practices every night while watching horror movies, laughing so much over his screams that your stomach hurt while he whined about how you were making fun of him.

that’s all you needed… just satoru.

regardless if there was something more in question.

“you don’t want to?” he repeated softly. “why?”

“you know why, toru…”

you had said it so softly he barely caught it, but he did, his breath hitching in his throat.

that was the closest you two had ever gotten to acknowledging it.

you both were silent for a moment, the soft murmur of your tv downstairs filling the void as you looked at each other, tense and waiting for either of you to say something… anything.

but it was like the gravity of the foreseeable consequences settled onto your shoulders, and the pair of you could only sadly smile.

satoru stuck his pinky finger out towards you then.

“birds of a feather?” he murmured.

you breathed out a little through your nose and looped your pinky with his, nodding.

“birds of a feather.”

he kissed his thumb and you did the same before locking the promise.

for the rest of the night, you and satoru watched a bunch of shitty unknown movies to try and see who would break and laugh first— you feeling bad that you had to cancel so last minute on that guy from your english class, but not regretting it at all as you watched satoru scarf down two slices of pizza in one sitting and nearly throw up, you almost falling off the bed from laughing so much and him having to catch you midway down and pull you back up, saying that he was your hero and therefore you should give him your last stash of strawberry gummy puffs as a reward.

it was nearly two am when you and satoru finally settled down, both sprawled over each other on the bed as you stared up at the ceiling and talked about literally anything that came to your minds— stubbornly fighting off sleep for whatever unknown reason in the dark.

“you know this is aki’s last olympics right?” you spoke softly, your arm propped up as you watched the way satoru played with your fingers.

“yeah..” he replied. “i don’t really know how to feel about that.”

“me neither.” you shook your head. “but she said it came at a perfect time because she’d been wanting to retire for a while.”

and now it was yours and satoru’s turn to try and fill the legacy she had built.

he hummed, delicately interlacing your fingers together as the outline of it through the darkness made you blush and smile, the nooks between his digits blessedly made entirely just for you as your fingers slotted perfectly in each spot every time.

and satoru silently vowed for the millionth time in his life that he would always be your hero and keep you safe, a promise that was already tied into your birds of a feather contract, but needing to repeat it to himself anyways while he listened to the sound of your voice talk about your excitement for the upcoming olympics.

and my god were you excited, the both of you— looking forward to seeing akira gracefully take home her fifth fucking gold medal like she always did with no repercussions, seeing her fans and the mass amounts of support she got every year with bouquets and teddy bears and picture taking, but also looking forward to spending even more time with her— for not just practices… but for forever, even more than you already did now as you two were greedy and just loved akira.

you were looking forward to forever, the three of you.

until akira’s accident.

“oh my god i’m gonna throw up—”

satoru hurled over just as you both stepped onto the bleachers at the olympic arena, you laughing and placing supporting hands on his shoulders as you followed your mother and satoru’s to your designated place by the front.

“toru i told you you’d make yourself sick if you didn’t leave that damn dessert table alone.”

“there were cinnamon rolls baby. cinnamon rolls how on earth could i possibly just walk by a platter of cinnamon rolls—”

“okay!” you giggled, carefully leading him to sit down and ruffling his hair once you settled. “i get it! you love cinnamon rolls.”

“not as much as i love you—”

“yuck!” you stuck your tongue out and pushed him away by his cheek, him laughing loudly as he shooed your arm away and grinned.

“toru— this is the last time we’re gonna be sitting here in the bleachers watching aki.” you mentioned. “isn’t that fucking nuts?”

“now i’m gonna cry and throw up.”

“no!” you giggled and nudged his shoulder. “then you’ll make me cry.”

he smiled and leaned over to plant a quick kiss to your cheek, reaching up and fixing the bows in your hair before looking straight ahead, his sparkling blue eyes staring at the rink.

the crowd roared suddenly and a mix of big and tiny flags of several individual countries waved in the air as you and satoru jumped and screamed when akira glided out with her skates and glittery dress, a huge dazzling smile on her face as she waved at the crowd, her eyes scanning around quickly before they finally landed on you and satoru.

as if she wasn’t already smiling enough, it grew bigger at the sight of you both practically over the fucking rink calling her name, her blowing you both a kiss and connecting her hands together to form a little bird, fluttering it up funnily and making you laugh before spinning around and going to starting position with her partner.

“oh she’s gonna wipe again.” satoru breathed out. “wipe absolute buttcheeks.”

you cackled as you both watched her routine— incredibly fast paced and technical, filled with spins and throw jumps and lifts as she made it known that it was her last year and wanted to leave with a mark, you and satoru absolutely mesmerized by the choreography as a dramatic symphony of a classical piece drummed through your ears by the speakers.

each move was executed beautifully, you and satoru at the edge of your damn seats as akira’s partner lifted her by the arms to settle over his shoulders into a split formation— halfway through the routine already.

“maybe we could do a move like that for when we compete!” you suggested over the music. “i feel like technically it could—”

a hand flew over your mouth as you watched akira topple and slam to the ground upon coming down from her split lift, the spinning blade of her partner slicing through her abdomen as her head nastily collided with the ice— the crowd screaming in terror.

“oh my god!—” your chest moved frantically and you and satoru looked at each other, horrified faces as you watched the backside of her limp body on the ground surrounded by paramedics, her partner hovering over her in complete and absolute distress.

and there was so much blood.

blood that pooled all around her figure and stained her shimmering dress, blood that wouldn’t stop fucking spreading as a stretcher finally made it out on the ice.

“baby.” satoru’s voice shook. “why isn’t aki moving.”

“i— i don’t know—”

“aki!”

you both snapped out of your shocked daze and screamed over the rink and jumped, shoes slipping against the ice as the two of you tried to reach her through your panicked tears and calls, security speeding through and pulling you both back as you watched the paramedics lift her frail body onto the stretcher and away from the rink.

“that’s—” you sucked in a sharp sob. “that’s my aunt please let us go—”

“you need to stay out of the rink—”

“fuck you!”

satoru shoved security away and grabbed your arm, wishing you had your skates on as you both practically crawled over to where akira was being carried out, not giving a single shit about the way your mothers yelling demanded you back as security had to literally pull you and satoru by the ankles, further and further away from the scene and away from akira until the only thing left was her pool of sickly crimson blood in front of you, you and satoru wailing.

akira died at the hospital later that night.

the collision of her head against the ice brought such blunt force trauma that it caused irreversible brain damage, and with the amount of blood that she was already losing from the laceration of the blade— those elements combined didn’t give her a single fighting chance at survival, her fate sealed from the moment her body hit the ground.

it was completely unexpected… an incident like that had never happened in not just olympic partner figure skating, but figure skating competitions as a whole— the severity of the situation so grave that the complex move akira and her partner performed that led to her death was banned from the olympics moving forward.

and you and satoru were fucking ruined.

ruined and crying and clutching over her arms and hands at her hospital bedside, it scaringly cold and stiff and not her usual warmth at all as you couldn’t accept that this was your reality, that akira had left you both all alone after not only her initial familial love that you’d gotten since birth, but after nearly a decade of giggles and skating, her picking you both up from school and cussing up a storm because it made you and satoru laugh as kids, buying you ice cream and taking you out for beach days because she said the sun was good for your skin, harassing you and taking a million pictures of the two of you as she uttered over and over again that love had no limits— your dream of forever with her cruelly severed over the sport you all loved most.

yours and satoru’s mentor, friend, your fucking mother figure— was gone.

your aunt was gone. your own blood.

the entirety of that bullshit situation sort of settled into your minds by the time her funeral came— painfully holding back tears as your family members gave their speeches and final wishes before the lowering of her casket, you and satoru not saying a single word throughout the entire thing until it was just you and him standing in front of her grave site— your mothers waiting for you in their cars.

you both chose not to give speeches. you couldn’t.

“toru.” you sniffled, drowning in your tears as satoru strained to keep his back, lips pulled into a thin line.

“yes pretty.”

“this is so fucked.”

satoru breathed out a weak laugh and let a couple of tears slip down his cheeks, wiping them with the sleeve of his black suit as he grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers, squeezing it.

“diabolically fucked.” he responded.

there really wasn’t much you could say at that moment in time, the two of you staring at the carvings on her tombstone as the wind softly blew over the petals of her flowers and letters, the day cloudy and cold and just fucked as you silently choked back sobs and whimpers, satoru lamely trying his best to stay strong for you— be your hero as he pulled you into his chest and squeezed you with everything that he had, nose buried in your hair as his tears fell and dampened a few strands.

“birds of a feather, toru.” you spoke softly, both of your frames shaking as the saying itself came from none other than akira.

he firmly nodded, lifting his head and kissing your cheek twice hard before looking at you.

“birds of a feather sweets.” his red teary eyes made your heart ache. “you can’t leave me too, okay?”

you scoffed and wiped your eyes, a sad smile on your face. “i could never… you know that.”

it didn’t really get easier from there, as everything in your lives reminded you of akira.

and though your mother was grieving the loss of her sister, she wanted to be left alone, and the only person that really understood the level of mourning you were on was satoru— him always there in the blink of an eye when you would call him in the middle of the night crying your eyes out while he held you, or when broken sobs wrecked through satoru’s trembling body as he cried into your chest while you held him and vice versa, endless amounts of ‘i miss her’s’ and ‘bring her back’s’ as you took turns depending on the day rolling on the floor unable to physically breathe over the loss as you tried to anchor each other back to normalcy, wondering how the world could be so cruel and continue spinning when you’d just lost half of your hearts.

but it did. it continued to spin and turn and carry on as you and satoru day by day tried to patch over what happened, be there for each other and heal each other as you graduated high school and caught up with satoru in college, still together and still in your stupid limbo of ‘is there something more’ except worse, and still inseparable three years later after akira’s passing.

it didn’t hurt any less, but the days definitely got easier… some harder than others as the time you spent with her became cherished distant memories, feeling eternally grateful for the way she raised and took care of you, for the work she had done, and for the legacy she had built for figure skating olympians around the world.

and because akira was so good and taught you both just as so, satoru and you had a little name of your own as you’ve been sweeping competitions since the age of thirteen, ninety eight percent unbeatable and competitive as other pairs always knew who you were the minute you stepped onto the ice, eager and curious to see if you would make it into the olympics when the time came just like your mentor had done.

some deemed it cheating— unfair due to the fact that you had a four-time gold medalist olympian training you since childhood, but that assumption quickly diminished after her passing when you both continued to wipe competitions and take trophies home purely based on your talent.

and you both agreed to continue your careers without a coach, a decision that didn’t even need to be thought twice over— and you were twenty and satoru twenty one when the time drew near to try for the olympics.

finally.

“my legs are gonna fall off and my balls are gonna droop to the icy floor if you don’t give me a kiss right now.”

“toru!” you giggled loudly, pushing his face away as he puckered up his lips and made obnoxious kissy noises, pulling you in by the waist. “toru focus we’re on a time crunch—”

“time crunch where?” he whined, stomping his blade down on the ice. “we’ve been at it for so long already i’m cold i’m thirsty and i think we should go to that cute christmas festival patch thing you told me aboouuttt!”

“right now?” you asked. “i don’t know toru… i had a set goal for us tonight and if we don’t get it—”

“oh you damn perfectionist.” he scowled, letting you go and quickly skating to starting position. “fine.”

you gave him a knowing smile and skated over to his dramatic sulking figure, kissing his cheek softly and wringing your arms around his neck, pulling him in.

“let’s run it three more times and then we can go to the festival, okay?”

he jumped up like a little kid, eyes hyper and wild. “really? honestly? truly?”

you nodded, gleaming up at him.

“is this a prank?”

“jesus toru you’re making me think i’m keeping you hostage here with how excited you are—”

“yiiippeeeee!—” he grabbed your upper thighs and lifted you before spinning on the ice, the both of you laughing as he roughly turned until he gradually came to a stop, big goofy smiles on your faces as he did so.

satoru loosened his hold as you slowly slid down against his body, faces close and lovesick as his half lidded eyes looked at you, lips stinging to plant directly over yours after so many years of hopeless pining and avoidance, still refusing to acknowledge the situation, but it glaringly obvious at this point.

“what?” you whispered, your eyes fixed on his lips as your blades touched the ice again.

he softly shook his head, blue eyes greedily drinking in your pretty face as he retracted a hand from your waist and brushed his palm over your hair adoringly, hand raising to cup your cheek gently.

was he about to…?

you swallowed, hands gripping his black t-shirt as you waited… anxious, hoping that he would do what you thought he was about to do.

but satoru squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace and quickly kissed the corner of your mouth before turning his back to you and skating to starting position— leaving you incredibly dumbfounded and disappointed.

satoru’s skin felt like it was on fucking fire as he looked at your stunning doe eyes blinking at him from across the rink, heart pulsing uncontrollably as you slowly skated to him and got into position, neither of you uttering a word about it as you ran the choreography three more times like you had agreed on.

you and satoru have had plenty of moments like that… but lately?

it’s been borderline dangerous with how close you’ve gotten to breaking your unspoken rule.

by the end of practice you and satoru excitedly packed up for the christmas festival, more or less stumbling out of the doors of the rink and locking up before throwing your things in satoru’s car and speeding off to the main plaza, cheesy dorky smiles on your faces as you babbled on about all of the things you were gonna do once you got there.

“the s’mores stand! the s’mores stand!” satoru whipped his head comically back and forth between you and the snowy road. “we have to go there and get five nothing less and maybe more—”

“wait! i wanna get some of that hot chocolate we got last year!” you quickly reached and gripped his shoulder. “the one with the chocolate bits in it! and the whipped cream! and the drizzle—”

“oh fuck yeah how could i forget?” satoru made a turn, the shining glimmering lights of the festival and christmas trees coming into view and riling you both up in pure exhilaration. “i gulped down like four cups of those and then threw up in a bush.”

you laughed loudly and shook your head. “i forgot about thaaaattt! toru you always shove shit in your mouth and throw up we have got to work on that—”

“no we don’t!” he cheesed, reaching over and patting over your hair— the smooth ribbon of your thin bows sliding underneath his palm. “i love sweets even if they hurt me. what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. where there is no struggle there is no strength—”

“the only strength i see is a man hunched over puking his guts out.”

“hey!” he pouted, pulling into the lot before parking and turning off the ignition, the both of you hopping out of the car and locking it as you walked towards the main entrance. “and i’ll do it again so what.”

you giggled and interlocked your fingers with satoru’s. “silly silly.”

the festival was lively— huge decorated christmas trees everywhere you went as twinkling fairy lights adorned every corner and direction of the lots premises, several open stands that continuously wafted chocolate and cinnamon and vanilla throughout the entire night that had satoru practically floating through the air following the scent, kids giggling and running around as the soft familiar tunes of christmas music hummed in the background.

“what do you want for christmas, sweets?” satoru asked while chowing down a giant s’more.

“a kiss!” you quipped, giving him a cute silly look as you blew a bit of air over your steaming hot chocolate.

he stopped chewing.

“really?” satoru spoke with his mouthful. “i can literally give that to you right now c’mere—”

“no toru!” your cheeks buzzed a vibrant pink, completely flustered. “you’re supposed to say a big fat no!”

“now why the fuck would i do that...” he grumbled, shoulders slumping from disappointment as he took another big bite of his dessert.

you giggled, looking at him apologetically before standing on your tippy toes and licking a bit of melted chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

and he blinked at you, dumb and still as his cheeks copied the same exact shade as yours.

my god.

you were about to turn him into a freak.

“okay now you have to kiss me.”

“why?!” you laughed. “you had chocolate on your face! i was helping you out.”

“yeah right you little minx.” he scarfed down the last bit of his s’more and threw his little paper tray in the trash can behind him, putting his hands together and shaking off excess crumbs. “that’s actually the most torturous thing you have ever done to me.”

“dramatic!” you exclaimed, laughs escaping you and increasing as you watched satoru’s flustered face pout and glare at you.

you breathed in deeply and settled down, standing up straight as you took a tiny sip of your hot chocolate and smiled. “now i feel bad.”

“you should.”

“can you forgive me?”

“not unless you kiss me.”

“toru!”

“what?!” he pushed. “baby it’s only fair! really! just once and that’s it. a harmless peck nothing more we aren’t doing anything crazier.”

you gnawed at your bottom lip in thought.

technically he was right… it was just one little peck, entirely harmless and cute and wouldn’t have you both falling off of that thin tight rope you guys were still balancing off of.

this would only shake it a little… but then you’d be fine! right?

you were too far gone in the considerations of his proposal as you looked at his absolutely breathtaking blue eyes and face, somehow looking even more angelic as his pinky cold cheeks and nose and scarf covered neck did nothing but make you fall deeper in love with him than you already were.

how someone could look as good as satoru was beyond you.

“just—” you peered up at him. “just one peck okay?”

his eyes widened.

holy shit.

“yes!” he breathed out. “yes yes just one.”

“toru.” you spoke sternly. “i’m serious.”

he frantically nodded, arms already snaking around your waist and bringing you in.

you both couldn’t believe it.

you were about to have your very first kiss.

the two of you leaned in then— softly, timidly, afraid as satoru’s chocolate breath fanned against your nostrils and filled your lungs, lips coming closer and closer until they met in a simple, solid, tiny harmless peck.

satoru felt like his veins were about to pop and explode at the feeling of your delicate soft lips finally on his, the feeling actually fucking unreal as his fingertips went numb and his body tingled all over.

but it quickly became clear that it was not just one harmless peck.

because when it was supposed to be the time for you both to pull away, you and satoru only opened your mouths and kissed deeper— eyelids blissfully closed as your lips smacked so slowly and tenderly, the two of you actively relishing in the moment and just drinking each other’s mouths in as they moved and shifted, deep breaths through your noses as you daze-fully made out with the faint fuzzy sound of jingle bells and christmas music growing increasingly distant.

you tasted so sweet. just like he’d imagined.

but the moment came to and end when you both snapped your eyelids open in realization and released lips, pupils frantic and wide as you searched each other’s eyes for any sign of anger since you both had slipped up and did way more than just a peck.

but there was nothing. obviously there was nothing like that as your shoulders relaxed simultaneously and bashful smiles crossed your faces.

“you taste like chocolate.” he grinned.

you bit your bottom lip in a smile. “so do you.”

“twins.”

“uh huh.”

“i love you.”

you stilled.

you’ve told each other that thousands of times for years, since childhood.

you’ve always said you loved each other and have both known it was laced with those unspoken feelings you had, and you accepted that for as long as you could remember.

but somehow… in someway… it just felt different this time around. profound. more serious.

“i love you.” you responded.

satoru smiled softly and leaned his forehead against yours, basking in each others authentic infatuation for a moment before pulling away.

“can i get another s’more—”

“no!”

satoru ended up getting his second s’more, and you surprisingly ended up partaking in satoru activities and downed three fucking cups of that hot chocolate you loved so much, your tummy full and about to literally burst, but not really giving a shit as you and him were having so much freaking fun— buying little christmas trinkets from the santa shop and building tiny snowmen in the snowy play area filled with a bunch of kids (satoru literally making a tiny dick for one of the snowman and you immediately destroying it and wacking him), even skating in the rink but purely just for enjoyment and not a single thought of what you do professionally crossing your minds.

you stayed there until it was nearly closing time, money absolutely spent from all the things you bought, but your souls happy and warm as you happily walked to the car so satoru could take you home.

on the drive there, you showcased all of the trinkets you both had bought, a particular one catching your eye that you remembered you hadn’t shown satoru yet.

“oh! i got this one—” you dug your hand in the white plastic bag and pulled out a little snow angel, beautiful and glossy as the angels face blushed and smiled. “at the santa shop!”

“it’s cute baby!” he smiled. “for you?”

you shook your head. “i got it for aki. for the next time we visit her.”

his heart softened, nodding.

you and satoru tried your best to visit her grave as often as you possibly could, sometimes nearing four times a week to pay your respects and chat with her for a little while, filling her in a bit on your lives to bring back the feeling of what it was like to just talk to her in any way you could, like you had the fortune of doing once before.

“it kinda looks like her.. doesn’t it?” he questioned, pointing to the figure.

“it does right!” you expressed. “that’s why i got it… it reminded me of her.”

“she’ll love it.” he grinned, gently running the pad of his finger against your cold cheek before turning his attention back to the road.

you and satoru didn’t mention the kiss again as you were funnily still in shock over it, but the butterflies in your stomachs and the sole memory of it did more than enough as you climbed into bed with an already snoring satoru, him sleeping over for the night (when was he not) as you nudged your way under his arm and cuddled yourself in his chest, his slumbered state pulling you in like muscle memory.

you both only had two more practices left before the international skating union competition. once there, you and satoru had to land a spot in the top three chosen by the national olympic committee to earn an official spot in competing for the olympics, a task that was already vigorous and exhausting and nerve wracking, but one you both were more than ready for.

general admittance to competing in the olympics was essentially fourteen years in the making, one that wouldn’t have been possible in the first place if it wasn’t for akira.

“i think we should add a spin to this lasso lift.” you suggested, you and satoru taking a break from running the routine and standing by the bleachers during practice— watching a recently recorded take of your choreography to point out mistakes that flew under your radars.

“a spin?” he asked. “how sweets.”

“so when you lasso me around into the lift—” you rewinded the video and pointed. “since you’re holding me up over your head and we’re balancing with our hands, i say you maybe push me up to kind of like— propel me to do a triple rotation spin back down.”

“and then from there i catch you?”

“yeah!” you nodded. “and we’re traveling across the ice.”

satoru pursed his lips. “that’s kind of hard… you sure?”

“we’ve done worse toru.” you laughed. “i feel like this would give us more points.”

“oh it definitely would.” he nodded. “okay baby.”

“yay!” you cheered. “let’s practice the lift and propel on the mats first because if not i’m gonna eat shit.”

satoru laughed and sat down on the bleachers with you, quickly taking off his skates before standing and kneeling in front of you, untying your laces and slipping your skates off for you as you cutely smiled, him feeling like your little hero and knight in shining armor even if it was for something so minuscule.

he loved doing things for you.

in the middle of you and satoru practicing the move on the mats, your mother came in through the front doors of the ice rink.

“hi!” she greeted, holding up two wide rectangular boxes. “your costumes came in!”

“oh thank god!” you breathed out, satoru setting you down on your feet before you both ran to see. “i thought they weren’t gonna come in on time!”

“are they cool?!” satoru tumbled out. “do they scream please let me in the olympics?!”

you snorted and shoved his shoulder playfully as you unwrapped your boxes, your eyes shining in delight at the sight of your rhinestoned pale baby blue dress, a shade you purposefully picked out as it matched the color of satoru’s eyes— you lifting it with your fingertips from the box and gushing.

you turned it around and held it up against your frame as satoru pulled his top out— a white, tight long sleeved low cut v-neck button up that you already knew was gonna hug his yummy biceps so good, the thought of it making you bite the inside of your cheek as he checked over his black slacks.

your mother clasped her hands together, holding it to her mouth as her eyes gleamed over the two of you.

“i can’t believe it’s happening now.” she spoke softly, you and satoru diverting your attention to her and smiling. “for so long it was always just a distant thing you know? but now it’s here. actually.”

“fuck i know right.” you responded.

“language, y/n.”

“but i’m twenty!” you whined, pouting as satoru snickered behind you.

your mother rolled her eyes and cupped yours and satoru’s chins under her hands.

“good luck next week, alright? i know you guys will sweep.” she pushed. “make aki proud.”

the smiles on your faces grew, nodding as she squeezed your chins and released.

“oh! satoru—” your mother picked up her jacket and swung her purse over her shoulder. “your mom won’t be home for the night her trip got extended until tomorrow… you can sleep over at our house if you want so you’re not over there alone? or y/n can stay with you?”

“oh okay!” he spoke kindly. “thank you for letting me know!”

she smiled and nodded, hugging you both goodbye before leaving the rink.

your head whipped in his direction.

“toru if i sleep over at your house we can watch horror movies and actually scream as loud as we want without worrying about waking anybody up.”

his eyes bulged open. “oh my god you’re right! dibs i get to choose—”

“fuck!—”

by the end of practice you and satoru mastered the addition you added into the lasso lift, performing it beautifully on the ice over and over again until it was like simple reflex, calling it a day after a while and packing your things up to drive to satoru’s house.

you both took turns stepping in the shower to get rid of the sticky sweat that lingered on your skin, changing into comfy pajamas after as you tiredly settled in satoru’s big comfy bed— him flicking through his selection of horror movies and debating which one to pick.

“do you wanna watch something gory or just horror.”

“gory!” you perked up. “i need to work on not being so queasy.”

“but you seem fine when i throw up?”

“that’s because i’m used to it.” you laughed, head resting on his shoulder as he picked a movie and threw his remote somewhere across the bed, his arm coming to wrap around your tummy and pull you in.

it wasn’t like the selection mattered anyways, because fifteen minutes into the movie you were already falling asleep, hand resting on satoru’s torso as he continued to watch it— for some reason still wide awake even after skating for hours.

your sleepy sudden movements from your hand made him weirdly stiffen and relax every single time, your brows furrowing at the feeling and eyes fluttering open when he wouldn’t stop doing it.

“toru… are you still ticklish?” you mumbled sleepily.

he stiffened again.

“no.” he answered softly. “why..?”

you lazily grinned.

“youuu suureee?”

terror struck him as he sensed exactly what the fuck you were about to do.

“please spare me please spare me—”

you jumped on him and tickled his entire upper body, satoru laughing and gasping as he smacked your hands away and twisted and turned, his strong grip making it hard for you to tickle him at one point as you stubbornly swung a leg over his waist and settled over his lap, attacking him while he yelped and screamed.

“baby!” he gasped. “baby please! have some mercy is this how much i mean to you?!”

you giggled and finally stopped, hands retracting as you settled them on your hips. “that’s what you get for lying to me.”

“i was lying for my safety.”

“uh huh.”

you both grinned, satoru’s eyes occasionally flickering down to you straddling his lap with your pretty plushy thighs and blushing, trying to keep his gaze on yours to refrain himself from doing something a little too mental and weird.

but it was too fucking late, because it took no time at all for the blood to rush to his pathetic dick and harden.

surprisingly though, you were the one that was mental— the feeling of his cock against your clit undeniable as the uncomfortable shifts of satoru’s waist only stimulated it against your little nub and made you bite down hard on your bottom lip, shaky breaths leaving your mouth as it was getting harder and harder for you to restrain yourself from satoru’s godlike existence.

and your body was just not listening as you timidly rolled your hips over his crotch— your short shorts criminally thin as you felt just how big satoru’s length was, mouth watering as your palms timidly settled over his chest for stability, grinding on his cock harder.

satoru’s eyes were blown out as he watched you do something so— so lewd, his mind wandering if you were fully and properly there as something like this was absolutely breaking your unspoken rule, and you were more strict about it than he was.

but he didn’t want you to stop. god no.

at this point, you and satoru were off that metaphorical tight rope and hanging on by two hands— having both failed at keeping each other balanced as you rolled and rolled your hips deliciously on his dick, his chest quickly rising and falling at the feeling of your warm pussy over his groin and at the sight of you using him to get yourself off.

your little needy mewls made his hands tremble as he threw his head back on the pillow, eyes pathetically fucked out over something so simple.

“fuck me..” satoru groaned, hands coming up to rub over his face as his hips lifted to meet your grinding.

him doing that broke you out of your haze and you stiffened, satoru taking his hands away from his face with pinched brows at the sudden halt.

what happened?

“okay!” you laughed nervously, an alarmed expression as you swung your leg off of his lap and scrambled under the covers, pulling it completely over you as you shamefully looked anywhere and everywhere but satoru.

but he was out of it.

undoubtedly out of it now that you did what you did… wanting more, wanting all of you as he snatched the covers off of your frame and you squeaking as a result.

“why’d you stop.” he whispered, thumb raising to trace your bottom lip.

“i don’t— i don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“yes you do—”

“absolutely not—”

“i want you.” he cut you off. “i want you bad and i know you want me too so let’s just— let’s just do this once, okay? once please just to see what it’s like and it’ll never happen again.”

your eyes remained wide as you looked at his desperate frantic ones, his hands already kneading at your waist and thighs.

he was entrancing you into his proposal again, exactly the same way as when you both kissed for the first time at the festival as he leaned down and nibbled at your jaw, slotting himself in between your legs.

“do— do what?”

“fuck.” he mumbled, rolling his hips down on your pussy rough and you gasping at the sensation of his big cock against your clit again.

you whimpered as he rutted into you, hands flying to squeeze his biceps as his wet mouth moved down to your neck, licking and gnawing as he waited for your response.

“but isn’t that—” you stifled a moan. “isn’t that too far toru?—”

“please baby please.” he picked his head up and looked at you. “just once i swear once so we see what it’s like and get it out of our systems and never do it again. i promise.”

he needs to kiss you right fucking now.

your eyes fluttered closed as he continued to hump you, licking your lips as you weakly tried to look into his eyes.

“you swear?” you breathed out. “swear it just once and that’s it—”

“i swear i swear i swear—”

“okay then fuck me toru please—”

satoru nearly cried as he ripped himself away from you to frantically pull off his shirt and pants, him slapping your hands away when you tried to take off your own clothes as he wanted to do it himself— lifting your shirt over your head and downright tearing your shorts in half as he flung them down and across the room, your little pink bra and panties set actually turning him into a complete mess as he hovered back over you and shoved his tongue in your mouth.

you still tasted just as sweet as he remembered.

“been dreaming of—” mmpf— “kissing you since you let me, sweets.”

“yeah?” your lips moved sloppily with his as you snuck a hand in your panties and dipped your fingers in your pussy, collecting your arousal. “you missed me toru?”

“uh huh.” he breathed hotly against your lips, hand coming to slide underneath your bra to cup your bare tit. “every fucking night i’d jerk my dick dry thinking about it.”

his words made your clit twitch as you pushed him off your lips.

“open your mouth.”

satoru did as told without a peep and opened it with his tongue out, your hands coming out from your panties as you reached up and slipped your fingers in his mouth, his lips closing in and sucking everything you had to give him as he salvaged up your arousal.

“fuck—” he released your fingers. “is this from your pussy baby?”

“mhm.” you moaned.

your arousal was even sweeter.

“my god—” he grabbed your wrist and licked a long stripe up your palm. “you dirty fucking thing m’gonna have to taste for myself and see.”

you gasped. “what?”

satoru sat up and pulled your wet panties down your legs, biting down on his tongue hard at the sight of your angelic bare cunt before him, slick and shiny and pretty as you unclasped your bra and spread your legs for him— eager and ready and not a single other thought in your brain besides the one that was screaming for satoru to stick his dick inside you.

“toruuuu!” you whined. “quit staring and fuck me.”

his cock pulsed.

“patience sweets, i wanna taste you first.”

you expected satoru to just lower himself down and shove his head in between your thighs, but you were dead fucking wrong as he stood, grabbed your waist and yanked you high up, sitting you on his shoulders as you squealed and gripped his hair.

“wait toru isn’t this uncomfortable i—”

he scoffed. “fuck no. i’ve been lifting you my whole life baby this is nothing.”

your speech lodged itself in your throat as you felt his tongue lap at your folds and clit, slobbering and filthy as he ate and scarfed you down just like his usual daily sweets, you by far his absolute favorite as he slurped your little pussy up and made you squeal and moan.

satoru walked over to the wall and leaned you up against it, taking your thighs off of his shoulders and placing his hands underneath as he propped you up and spread your legs wider, your jaw dropping at his slimy tongue flicking and him slabbering his mouth side to side rapidly until your legs shook and you saw stars.

“toru—”

he grunted, tongue prodding at your hole and you jumping.

“i think— i think i’m gonna cum and i—” pant “i don’t wanna—”

satoru separated his mouth from your pussy with a squelch and looked up, smiling big.

“too bad!”

“but—”

he spit on your cunt and you gasped.

“i said too bad.”

he dipped back in and fully devoured you as you mewled, messier as he slushed his tongue all over and you’d never experienced something like this, something that felt so fucking good as you started cumming all over his face in record speed regardless of how hard you were trying to hold back.

“yummy.”

he let go and you dropped down as he quickly caught you, turning and throwing you on his bed as he climbed over you— wrapping a hand around his cock and jerking as he kissed and swallowed your lips up again.

“you want me to make love to you or fuck you?” he slopped against your mouth before pulling back, yours and his eyes fluttering open to look at each other.

your legs were still shaking by the eat out he gave you seconds before, finding it hard to get your words together as his handsome deluded face stared at you.

“i— um—”

he placed his lips next to your ear.

“you want me to fuck you like my wife or fuck you like a little slut? or both?”

“both toru please—”

he grinned, coming back up as he parted your legs further open and lined his leaky tip with your hole.

“i can do both!”

satoru pushed himself in and you choked, hands clasping over your mouth as you felt him bully his big cock through and leave you a blabbering crying mess under him— his chest heaving at the warmth and softness and stickiness of your cute gummy walls, his years of imagining and theorizing how you’d feel wrapped around his dick all completely debunking themselves at the real feeling as you whimpered and clenched your hole.

“jesus christ—” he shivered, swallowing thickly as his trembling fingers settled on your waist, him slowly reeling his hips back before pumping in. “you’re— you’re warm.”

you dropped your hands and wiped your cheeks as you hiccuped, the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of your walls incandescently euphoric as you embarrassingly already felt yourself wanting to cum again when he had just stuck his dick inside of you— you wanting to ride out this moment for a bit longer and not finish so quickly like you had done on his mouth.

“am i being too mean pretty?” he huffed, thrusts now quick and curt as he gripped your bouncing tits and pinched your perking nipples, the sight of your little tears shamefully turning him on.

you frantically shook your head and tried to clear your brain. “n—no!—”

“good.” he smiled, a little crazed as he let go of your boobs, placed his hands on the backside of your thighs and pushed your knees up to your chest, picking up speed as you squealed and whimpered, utterly taken aback by how rough satoru was being considering the fact that he was such a goofy and kind and loving person on the daily.

oh… what years worth of pent up sexual frustration can do to a man.

satoru whined as you milked his dick, wheezing as he hammered his hips up and slapped against your skin, your body jolting and bouncing uncontrollably as his bed squeaked loud and obnoxiously.

thank god his mother wasn’t home.

“i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this—” satoru babbled, his critical thinking out the fucking window as he just tumbled out totally random but honest confessions as your ears eagerly drank up every word and made your hole tighten.

“yeah?” pant “f—for how long baby?”

“for so long—” he whined loudly, fucking you faster as your mouth hung open and you gripped his wrists for support. “you’re everything i’ve ever w—wanted—”

“i— i’ve only ever wanted you toru— fuck! you’re big.“ you moaned, loving the way a huge deranged smile spread across his face as his hips pistoned into you and his hands pinned you down.

“cum on my dick baby please cum on my dick i want it i want it—”

your toes curled and you squealed, vision flashing white as you let out a high pitched scream at the intense buzzing feeling, your bodies hot and sticky and wet as satoru leaned over and shoved his lips in your ear.

“can i— can i cum inside?” he choked through gritted teeth as he came close to spilling his seed. “please i wanna cum inside—”

“but m’not on the pill—”

“please please baby i beg you—” hah! “i don’t wanna cum anywhere else—”

your eyes fluttered shut at his words and you quickly nodded, his hand cupping your face as he thrusted in one last time and pumped his cum entirely inside you without an ounce of hesitation for the consequences, his horny mind actually crazed and solidifying that there was no fucking way in hell he was gonna accept just friends from this point forward.

what a stupid thought.

“mmm…” you slowly moved your hips a little, feeling his cum all inside your ravished walls as you licked your lips. “your cum feels hot toru.”

not even warm, hot as it slushed and moved inside you with every movement you made, some of it dribbling and coating your outer folds as you bit your bottom lip into a smile and craned your head up to his neck, nibbling and giving satoru tiny kitten licks as he trembled and struggled to stay afloat and not give out his upper arm strength— trying to prevent himself from squishing you.

satoru pressed a soft tender kiss to your cheek then before sitting up and delicately sliding his dick out, running a soothing hand over your tummy as he did so and giving you a lazy smile.

he suddenly raised his pinky to you.

“birds of a feather?” he murmured, other hand running from your stomach over to your thighs now as he just lovingly felt you up, you smiling with rosy cheeks as you linked your little pinky with his.

“birds of a feather.”

you both kissed your thumbs and locked your promise, deciding then that you should probably shower once more before getting into bed to officially sleep— but deciding to shower together as you softly and steamily made out under the misty hot running water, body and mind relaxed as you just swallowed in the ambience of each other, you both not only holding on to your metaphorical tight rope with one hand now, but it actually on the verge of snapping as a whole and sending you both free falling.

and for the next couple of days, you and satoru were feral.

years and years of doing fucking nothing with pure restraint and fantasizing did a number on you both as any chance you got you were making out on your bed, his bed, and even in satoru’s car after your lectures— your hand teasingly going lower and lower until you’d shove a hand in his pants to pull his dick out and pump, your body leaning across the console and mouth going down to bob and suck as he moaned and pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail to guide you and your pretty bows and fuck your mouth just to hear the sounds of you choking, eyes from time to time frantically looking around to see if no one was around as you blowed him.

and you did that basically all of the time for the next three days until the final practice just before the international skating union competition, satoru physically unable to leave you alone and unscathed as he constantly pinned you down to eat your pussy or suckle on your soft tits, his hand tightly clasped over your mouth in your room when your moans would get too loud as he fingered you, his long fingers squelching and abusing your cunt until you were finishing all over his hands again and again.

but you two having actual sex didn’t happen again apart from that night— satoru a man of his word since he promised you would only do it once… unfortunately. but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do other things, right?

except by the final practice, satoru was absolutely fucked off at the fact that neither of you had brought up the potentiality of being more than just friends, especially after doing all of those lewd acts.

he was so sick of it.

and so were you, quite frankly, but instead of being completely over it like satoru, you were afraid… afraid of what could happen and the possibility of losing him if you both indulged, if you let yourselves put your freaking careers on the line.

and satoru was the one person you couldn’t bear to lose. not ever.

“we look good sweets!” satoru cheesed, rotating around in the ice rinks dressing room mirrors as you had your costumes on for dress rehearsal and refinements, both of you glittering and shiny and looking like a professional ice skating pair as you examined yourself, readjusting your straps and hugging your torso.

“cold.” you shivered. “maybe i should’ve had it as a long sleeve… shit.”

he laughed and placed his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down quickly to create frictional heat as you smiled at him gratefully. “nah, it’s cute like this! you’ll warm up once we run it a few times on the ice.”

you nodded, the both of you walking out of the dressing room and to the rink, skillfully putting on your skates before pushing yourself on the ice and gliding across.

“can you show me the uh—” satoru looked to the side in thought once he was on the ice in front of you. “the part where we skate in unison and have our arms up in an L? it’s in the chorus of our music—”

“oh!” you nodded and skated a bit away from him to demonstrate.

“i just wanna see if my form matches yours and we look clean.” he smiled. “and then show me the triple axel after that.”

you gave him a cute thumbs up and pushed yourself off, gliding gracefully and smoothly across the ice as satoru was supposed to be watching you to try and fix his form, but finding himself transfixed once again by the way you seamlessly skated with no sense of struggling effort— arms poised and flowy as your dress moved and fluttered with every twist and turn until you gradually propelled yourself up into the triple axel and landed correctly without a slip or wobble.

the level of difficulty and technicality you skated reminded him of akira— but your style, your movement, and the way you carried yourself was entirely your own.

you made figure skating look beautiful.

you were beautiful.

you slowed down on the ice and skated over to satoru.

“were you able to see? did you match me?—”

“you skate just like her.” satoru spoke softly, and you faltered.

he didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about, as you always knew.

“you’re just saying that.” you pursed your lips to keep yourself from smiling, or crying, you didn’t know.

but a compliment like that meant the absolute world to you.

“i’m not.” he shrugged, skating over to you and taking your hands as he glided with you to starting position. “you always have baby. and i know that’s what you’ve always wanted. i’m sorry i don’t say it enough.”

your eyes softened. “toru that’s not something to be sorry about at all…”

satoru was so kind.

you both skated together and ran the choreography a couple of times, spinning simultaneously and satoru lifting you again and again throughout the routine and still performing your lasso spinning lift successfully, arms around his shoulders and faces close as the wind whipped through both of your costumes and hair from traveling across the ice at such a speed before coming to a sudden choreographed halt at the end of your number.

you had slid down satoru’s body to plant your blades back on the ice when he had enough.

“please stick your tongue in my mouth.”

you choked on your spit and slapped a hand over your mouth.

“toru no! absolutely not we can’t anymore okay—”

“what are we.”

you froze.

“huh?”

“what are we.” he repeated, eyes dead locked on yours and hard. “are we together? are we not? are we friends? what are we—”

“we’re— we’re friends toru—”

“oh fuck no.” he let you go and created a little bit of space between you. “don’t give me that shit we’re not friends.”

“w—well we can’t—”

“i’m your man.” he stated firmly. “i’m your man i’ve been your man for years and i’m tired of avoiding this sweets! it sucks!”

“we’re putting everything at risk if we do toru we can’t!”

“i’m your man.”

“no you’re not—”

he cut you off. “your mouth has been on my dick. we’ve had sex. we’ve kissed we’ve made out we’ve told each other i love you if that doesn’t tell you that we’re together then what the actual fuck?!”

“oh my god toru i know i know!” you groaned, hugging yourself as you anxiously looked at him. “what happens if we break up? huh? what do we do?”

he shook his head. “we won’t.”

“you don’t know that.” you laughed bitterly. “if that happens we lose each other satoru understand that. we break birds of a feather, we ruin our careers, and we ruin us.”

“first of all—” he started. “our birds of a feather promise is to stick together, keep each other safe, and not seperate or fight, is it not?”

“it— it is—”

“so do you really think if we continue to keep each other in this fuck ass limbo of friends that we aren’t already breaking that?” he threw his arms out in emphasis. “we have never been just friends. i’ve known you for fourteen fucking years and we have never been just that.”

you blinked back tears.

“i promise you baby—” he slid closer to you and cupped your cheeks. “that we won’t leave each other. i will fight and try every single damn day to make sure that that shit never happens even though i already know it won’t because you’ve been made for me since birth and we haven’t separated since we’ve met.”

satoru wiped your cheeks. “but i also promise you, that if we continue as just friends, we will break. we’re gonna string each other along so fucking much that we’re gonna go absolutely insane and drive each other away. that is for certain.”

“but— skating—”

“i don’t give an ever living fuck.” he spat funnily and you laughed through your tears. “skating is nothing without you. all the trophies and medallions and the god damn olympics itself with that gold medal is nothing without you. i would give that shit up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you in my life in exchange.”

“and i would do the same for you toru!” you sobbed, his arms immediately wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you in as you sniffled and hiccuped into his chest, him kissing the side of your head repeatedly and soothing a hand down your back.

“don’t cry pretty i didn’t meant to make you cry...” he mumbled, cheek mushed up against your head as your shoulders shook, a huge disgusting pit of guilt in his stomach. “fine it’s okay we can be just friends for a bit longer please don’t cry—”

“no!” you sputtered, pushing him back a little to face him. “i don’t wanna be just friends anymore either toru… it hurts me so much.”

“it does?” he asked softly and you nodded.

“it hurts me too.”

satoru wiped your remaining tears again and fixed the little bows in your hair, a soft liberated smile on his face as he reached down to cup your cheeks and bring your perfect lips to his, kissing you lovingly as the both of you felt like you could finally rest and stop ridiculously hiding your love in the shadows after so many years.

the thin tight rope that you had both been toppling over and rebalancing and holding onto to keep the other from falling, had finally snapped in two, and you and satoru were now in the darkest depths of the truth of what you both were.

except it wasn’t dark at all.

it was light and airy and heavenly, and you wondered why you had been so afraid when there was nothing to be afraid of in the first place, since the one you were falling with was satoru.

silly.

he pulled apart and looked at you, his striking blue eyes and white fluffy hair especially beautiful.

“tomorrow—” he began. “we’re gonna absolutely destroy everyone else there and land a spot in the top three, and then after i’m gonna take you out on a nice dinner and buy every single fucking dessert off the menu, and then i’m gonna ask you to be my girlfriend. okay baby?”

you giggled then, the brightest rosy cheeks on display from the both of you as you eagerly nodded and threw your arms around his neck.

and tomorrow could not come soon enough, because not only were you looking forward to making your dreams a reality and competing against other figure skating pairs from around the world and the olympics itself, but also the thought of officially being satoru’s after years of wishing on little stars and day dreaming about what that would be like for hours on end.

until the moment was here. happening.

the indoor arena was electric and rowdy the minute the competition commenced, you and satoru in absolute awe of the energetic atmosphere as many individuals in the crowd waved their banners or screamed their loved ones names, an ambience very similar to the olympics as you both watched pair after pair perform their hardwork and dedication on the ice, goosebumps on your skin as you fidgeted and jittered.

out of twenty of your countries competing pairs, only three of you would be chosen for the olympics.

and you hoped to god you and satoru would be chosen.

“we’re almost up baby.” satoru patted your head, sitting on a bench in your designated area. “i think it’s two more pairs then it’s us.”

you nodded, nerves closing up your throat as your eyes darted over the rink.

satoru frowned.

“hey.” he placed a hand on your thigh, suddenly wanting to rip your nylon tights off so you could actually feel his skin on yours. “you nervous sweets?”

you nodded again, and he gave you a silly grin.

“don’t be! you’re literally akira the second. we’ll be fine!”

you laughed lightly and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“and even if we don’t land a spot, that’s fine too.” he kissed your head. “it’s our first year anyways… we’ll know the game for next time and we’ll try harder.”

you picked your head up and smiled at him, his words settling your nerves just as soon as the last remaining pair took their places on stage, yours and satoru’s turn right after.

what you didn’t know, was that satoru was just as nervous as you.

but he knew you needed a rock and someone to comfort you— wanting to swoop in like a little hero and save you again… so he kept it hidden.

“fuck i almost forgot!” satoru jumped up and dug into his duffel bag, pulling out a roll of pale baby blue ribbon that matched your dress exactly. “you told me you didn’t have ribbon that matched your costume so i went and tried to look.”

he held it out for you cutely on his palm.

“does this one match?”

you picked up the roll, astonished and mushy inside that satoru actually went out of his way to find this specific ribbon color for you because you had expressed how unhappy you were with the darker shade you had, your eyes looking up at him in complete adoration.

“oh my goodness— thank you toru!”

you quickly undid the bows in your hair and slipped off the former ribbon, digging through your duffel bag for scissors and cutting off pieces from the new ribbon before looping them through your hair and tying, not needing a mirror since you’ve done it for as long as you could remember.

satoru’s cheeks went pink as he looked at your new pretty bows.

“does they look okay?”

“beautiful.” he responded, pecking your lips before taking your hand and leading you to the entrance of the rink.

“okay—” you breathed out. “this is it.”

“what kind of food do you think they’ll have at the dinner place we picked—”

“toru!” you giggled. “not now!”

he smiled sheepishly at you before leaning his forehead against yours.

you stuck your pinky out.

“birds of a feather?”

satoru grinned and looped his pinky with yours.

“birds of a feather baby.”

you both kissed your thumbs and once again, locked your promise.

the announcer over the speakers iterated your names and your country as you and satoru glided across the ice poised and graceful with your arms up, waving at the crowd and giving your mothers a special frantic wave before moving to starting position, unknowing of the way several other pairs and the judges themselves murmured about your reputation and your association with akira.

and you hoped she was watching over you both now. somewhere.

the music begun, contemporary and lyrical as you and satoru slid across the rink, already impressive and entertaining as you performed moves and lifts right off the bat, the sounds of your blades scraping against the ice oddly keeping you in time with your choreography as the number went on.

and you and satoru were feeding off of each other, the chemistry undeniable to a strangers eye that had no idea of your story as you conveyed passion through your expressions, each technical movement bleeding with the fact that you both had been olympic level trained since the age of fourteen and fifteen.

you were halfway through your routine now, the lasso lift coming up next as satoru harbored in his strength so he could properly propel you into that newly added spin.

you skated around him and he lifted you up into the air, the crowd cheering and excited at your beautiful remarkable forms.

except satoru’s hands were slippery.

why?

nerves. he quickly deemed it nerves as he had no time to deliberate since it was almost time to propel you up into the spin, his mind already racing over the fact that the slip in his hands was hindering his strength to keep you up there, and he worried that if he pushed you up, it wouldn’t be enough and you’d come tumbling down— hurting yourself.

but satoru had zero time to decide again as he went with protocol and pushed you up as hard as he possibly could and prayed you would go into your triple axel spin successfully and that he’d catch you.

but the minute that he did, the force yanked him back and his skates flew up in front of him, you falling down and your thigh hitting something sharp before you both went slamming to the ground— sliding apart from each other on the ice.

the crowd screamed and gasped in terror, sounds you were all too familiar with to what you heard three years ago filling both your fuzzy minds as satoru struggled to get back up, his head turning slowly around to see if you were okay and just sore like him—

until he saw your limp body on your side, your back to him with blood slowly pooling out on the ice and staining your pretty blue dress.

satoru scrambled up and skated straightaway in a panic to you before sliding on his knees as he reached you, turning you over and paling as he saw you were unresponsive and out fucking cold.

“baby?“ he shook you. “hey— baby—”

nothing.

why weren’t you answering him? why weren’t you awake?

his brain flashed images of akira’s body the day that she died, suffocating deja vu as the way you looked when he saw you like that on your side was a carbon copy of her from three years ago, his chest picking up speed as you continued to lay limp even after he shook you desperately numerous times like a madman.

and why was there so much blood?

blood that looked sickly bright red against the white ice, blood that stained his sleeves and shirt and hands as he held you up and supported your head, and blood that wouldn’t stop fucking oozing out of your leg as he trembled.

“hey— hey can you hear me?” satoru tapped your cheek rapidly, shaking you gently again with horrified eyes and still not getting a response.

“fuck! why is this happening this isn’t supposed to happen—”

how could he be your hero? how could he stop the blood and wake you up? how could he— how could he fix this how could he take it all back how could he fix this—

“no no no baby please—” he sobbed. “not like aki baby not like her man—”

he shook you again, your head lolling to the side as if— as if you were—

no.

“baby— birds of a feather right? birds of a feather we have to stick together you can’t— you can’t leave right?” he cried, chest heaving and vision blurry and you just felt so cold.

“you’re not leaving you’re not leaving me please not like aki please god—” he cradled you up to his chest in his arms and rocked. “you can’t leave me you’re all i know and i don’t wanna know anything else please baby—”

satoru’s frantic repeated heartbroken wailing echoed throughout the arena as the crowd erupted and moved around in hysteria, him still rocking you in his arms as he turned his head with terrified bloodshot eyes to look at both of your mothers, yours hunched over in a fit of screams and cries as his had her hands in her hair in utter disbelief and tears.

“fuck what do i do!” he sobbed, legs shakily standing as he slipped one arm under your back and the other under your knees, picking your limp body up as he saw a huge group of paramedics run over to him on the ice as he carried you over.

“help—” hic! “h—help me please—”

why couldn’t satoru be your hero when it mattered most?

several of them lowered the stretcher and took you from him, laying your lifeless self on it before hoisting you up and swiftly carrying you away, all of it horrifyingly and painfully similar to akira’s inevitable death.

were you gone?

satoru looked down and saw your baby blue ribbons on the ice, wet and stained with blood, once perfect bows in your pretty hair when he had you awake and breathing.

were you breathing? had you hit your head?

he couldn’t remember.

he couldn’t remember anything but your unresponsiveness, the way your skin was colder than the ice itself as he picked up your ribbons and looked at them in his hands— and the way your blood stretched over for what looked like miles and was still there.

in front of him. taunting him.

was the world so cruel as to take you too?

it wouldn’t. it couldn’t.

you’d never done anything wrong. you’d never treated anybody indifferently as you were sweet and beautiful and talented, always in servitude of others— in servitude of him as you taught him how to ice skate when you didn’t need to at six years old, you already kind and gentle at that young age when you could’ve easily shooed him away like a little bug and told him to fuck off.

and throughout your life too, as he was well aware he was an annoying dramatic piece of shit that whined and cried and ate your stashes of sweets all of the time— but you always just giggling and looking at him with adoration in your eyes, with your cheeky smile, with the little ribbon bows in your hair he loved so fucking much.

oh how he wished he didn’t always take your sweets at that moment. how he wished he wasn’t always an annoying blockhead and made you mad at times with his persistent personality and neediness as he stood there frozen in the rink staring at your blood— dark now and dull, wishing it was him instead of you.

you were knocked out for five days at the hospital.

you and satoru also didn’t make it into the top three at the international skating union competition.

you should’ve, as your score was already higher than any other pair there and only halfway through the routine too— but that’s precisely why you got knocked out.

if you had finished your number, you would’ve landed in the top three, but it ending halfway cut off the opportunity for accumulating more points, and eventually another pair surpassed your halfway score by two points.

but satoru didn’t give a shit. fuck the olympics and fuck the international skating union while your body laid still on the hospital bed for hours on end, him refusing to leave your side as he sat there and stared off into space with nothing in his head but hatred for himself as it was his fault that this happened and his blade that sliced you— eyes red and sunken and tired and refusing to eat or drink.

you had hit your head on the ice, but thankfully the trauma wasn’t anywhere near the severity of akira’s, it only inducing a strong concussion and sending you flying out of consciousness upon impact.

but it was the loss of blood that was the problem.

you had lost so much, too much of it.

it made you weak and frail and unable to do much and satoru worried that that’s what was going to take away your fighting chance of survival.

“you should go home satoru…” your mother sighed, standing by the door of your hospital room, her own eyes red and swollen.

he shook his head no silently.

“she’ll still be here… you need to eat something or sleep please. you look awful.”

satoru smiled weakly and shook his head again.

“m’fine.”

your mother pursed her lips to the side and she sighed again, nodding.

“i’ll come by early in the morning, alright?”

he hummed, giving her a tiny wave as she left and closed the door behind her.

satoru had brought a roll of pink ribbon from your little white box in your room, unrolling the pieces he chose and lifting his hands, taking the ends of your hair and trying to tie little thin bows the way you always did, but huffing softly in irritation when they just looked like shit.

he undid the one he was working on and settled for feeling the material of the ribbon between his thumbs instead.

satoru brought you bouquets everyday too.

sometimes three at a time as he continuously swapped out old flowers and replaced them with new ones, changed their water and poured fresh quantities into each vase to keep them alive, and often picked some more from the hospital garden when he went down to get some fresh air for a minute— the least he could do for nearly killing you.

and satoru had a lot of time to think while he waited for you to wake up— bitter and resentful at the world for letting him sit there healthy while you were out, so much so that he started thinking stupid shit like how he wished you would’ve forgotten him and dismissed his yapping dreams about ice skating when you met so you would’ve been an independent skater instead, so you then wouldn’t have gotten hurt by his idiocy and you wouldn’t be laying in a hospital bed like you were now.

or swapped places. him instead of you so he could beat up the fucks that took akira away and beat up zeus or— or aphrodite or whoever the fuck that was responsible for keeping him from you so he could come back to you… unsure if you were doing the same thing as he stared at your resting face.

you should’ve just left him behind.

but he was sleeping when you woke.

arms propped up and crossed next to you on the hospital bed, his cheek mushed up on them and face to the side as you blinked your eyes open and was straight up confused, not a single memory of the incident flitting through your mind… until it did.

and it hit you bad.

your mind reeled with a pounding headache, tears prickling your eyes at the events that plagued through your mind— a part of you knowing there was absolutely no way you and satoru made top three and gutted about it, feeling shaken from the memory alone of you falling and hitting the ice.. but grateful.

grateful to be alive, for you knew akira wasn’t as lucky.

was it because of her that you had lived? had she pulled some strings to change your fate?

your eyes trailed down to a sleeping peaceful satoru, your gaze softening at how tired and broken he looked, bags dark and purple as he snored away next to you, your hand lifting and delicately settling over his fluffy white hair as you smiled that he was here next to you— caressing.

satoru shot up wide awake then as you jumped and retracted your hand, the both of you alarmed and frantic.

“baby?” he grabbed your hand and felt around it, feeling warmth for once as he stood up straight and shoved back one of the sleeves of his hoodie.

“you’re awake? are you actually?—” he pinched his arm hard over and over and you giggled.

you giggled— the sound filling his ears and lifting an undeniable dark ton off of his shoulders as he relaxed, tears automatically brimming his eyes.

“i thought i fucking killed you sweets.” his voice shook, arms gently coming around you and pulling you into an embrace.

“killed me?” you frowned. “toru what are you talking about—”

“oh god you have amnesia—”

“no!” you laughed. “what do you mean by almost killed me? you didn’t do anything.”

“i did everything.” he spoke flatly. “i fucked up that lasso lift. i pushed you up too hard and we fell. i cut you with my blade i made you bleed—”

“toru that was an accident.” you pulled back and your chest hurt over the devastated look on his face, wiping his tears and kissing his nose. “remember— aki’s partner felt just like this and we had to tell him too it was an accident. you can’t control something like that. at all. it’s just unfortunate circumstance.”

“i know but i still feel like—” he wiped his eyes and swallowed. “i still feel like i could’ve done something different. it should’ve been me and not you and i should’ve—”

“toru don’t even don’t think about things like that.” you shook your head. “there wasn’t anything you could’ve done, baby. and that’s okay.”

you gently scooched over on the bed and patted the spot next to yours, satoru immediately climbing and settling in, clinging on to you as he placed his head on your chest with his arm firm but careful around your waist, suddenly feeling how exhausted he actually was from the days he spent restless.

you couldn’t have imagined the pain satoru must’ve gone through waiting for you to wake up. you didn’t know how he even fucking managed as you would’ve been torn into bits and pieces not knowing if he was going to live or not, looking at his limp bloody body the way he had to look at yours and it reminding you of the event that brought you both the most trauma and grief.

you couldn’t believe you almost went out the same way.

satoru confirmed your thoughts later and filled you in on the results of the international skating union competition, rubbing salt into the wound a little more upon learning that you landed fourth, nearly there as you couldn’t help but cry a bit in your hospital bed when he told you that you could’ve had a spot, satoru hugging you and reassuring you that you’d both have your shot at it in the next four years.

your family was relieved that you were awake, tons of people piling in and giving you sweets and food that satoru hungrily eyed and gawked over, you laughing and passing him the ones he particularly enjoyed most as you conversed with your relatives.

and recovery was thankfully easy— doctors orders being just you taking it light and being careful not to bonk your head against anything, as well as taking care of the laceration on your leg— changing the bandage frequently every morning and night, satoru insisting he help you with that and with many other things that you needed as he tried to make up for what he still thought was his fault.

two weeks had gone by of just rest and peace and no figure skating, thinking you and satoru deserved this break, but also secretly petrified of stepping on the ice again after what had happened— neither of you wanting to hurt the other as you avoided the topic of training for the meantime at all costs.

“maybe we should work at a water park.” you suggested one day, the two of you seated on a park bench through the chilly mid january air as you shared a plate of chocolate drizzled strawberries you got from some nice lady and her fruit stand. “be lifeguards!”

“oh hell no!” he spoke with his mouthful before swallowing, readjusting the black round sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “you think i’m gonna be fine with watching random old men savoring after my wife in her little red bikini while i’m off saving some drowning kid? oh no thank you. let the kid drown.”

“toru!” you laughed, smacking his shoulder. “okay then what else?”

“janitors.”

you shrugged. “i like to clean. sometimes.”

“and your entire body is covered in those jumpsuits no stinky old men looking at—”

satoru’s phone buzzed against his jeans and he paused and pulled it out as you giggled, him barely glancing at the caller i.d before answering.

“hello?”

you mindlessly carried on plopping strawberries in your mouth and chewing.

“this is he…. oh hello! yes! how are you?”

you eyed satoru quizzically at his sudden formal change in tone, his eyes glued to the cement below.

“uh huh… really? o—okay! no yes for sure! thank you so much for the opportunity!”

opportunity?

you slowed your chewing and nudged his shoulder gently, wanting him to give you some kind of sign as to who it was on the other line.

“okay, we’ll keep in touch! thank you again!”

satoru slowly removed his phone away from his ear as the other line went dead, staring at his screen and you curiously leaning over only to see his call history log, a random number at the top.

“holy fuck.”

“what?!” you leaned in closer and tried to catch his eyes with yours, his shocked wide gaze slowly flittering to your face.

“that was the national olympic committee.”

you froze.

“shut the fuck up.” you covered your mouth. “toru what did they say what did they say—”

“one of the pairs that made it in the top three got disqualified.” he spat out quickly, shooting up and digging his fingers into his hair as he walked back and forth slowly in disbelief, spinning to face you. “i— i don’t know why i didn’t ask but we got bumped up.”

silence.

“we—” your chest rose and fell erratically, eyes darting around as satoru knelt down and grabbed your hands.

“baby we made it.” he tightened his grip. “we’re competing in the olympics—”

you squealed and jumped up and down and pulled satoru in, the both of you comically bouncing off the walls as you wailed and cried and blabbered on about how you couldn’t believe it and how a chance like this was even given to you, satoru lifting you and spinning you around but stopping and freaking out and apologizing profusely over your injured leg, you shaking your head and laughing, kissing him in return.

“we can’t avoid skating toru.” you spoke once you and him had settled down. “it’s literally what brought us together… and what brought us to aki. and even from you spinning me around like that it reminded me how much i missed skating with you.”

“i feel the same sweets.” he smiled, big and bright and handsome as he leaned over and kissed your rosy cheek. “i miss lifting you up and catching a glimpse of your ass underneath your—”

“toru!”

even though you and satoru were finally on board and accepting of bringing skating back into your lives, it wasn’t to say at all that the fear itself went away when you tried to do lifts or spins in the air with each other— apprehensive and scared as you practiced on the mats way more than necessary before moving choreography to the ice, satoru multiple times chickening out and needing a moment as he was petrified of hurting you again, and you glued in place at the thought of falling and slamming on the ground when you had just survived mostly unscathed.

but this wasn’t the time to be afraid over that anymore, and if akira were here, you both knew she’d smack you upside the heads and tell you to move… to get on the ice and do the sport you both loved and cherished most.

to finalize your dream and make it a reality.

and throughout the month that you and satoru spent before the commencement of the olympics, you trained like never before— no excuses as you worked tirelessly day and night with sweat literally dripping from your faces until every single goal was met and beyond, until every single throw from satoru was perfected and until every axel from you was delivered.

sometime during this month too, satoru finally got to take you out on that romantic candle lit dinner like he promised and asked you to be his girlfriend, him giddy and grinning the whole time and literally spoiling the moment as he meant to give you a chocolate dessert plate that said ‘will you be mine’ in chocolate syrupy letters, but accidentally eating it and smearing the words when he confused your plate with his, smacking his forehead repeatedly on the dining table as the silverware clattered— muttering about how dark it was and how he couldn’t fucking see, but you laughing so fucking much and clutching your stomach that your makeup smudged up at the corner of your eyes.

satoru was reminded again how much he loved you that day, because anyone else would’ve gotten tremendously annoyed and called him an idiot, but you…

you just giggled. giggled and hiccuped like always while he stared at you softly.

the love you and satoru shared stretched far beyond the concepts of what a platonic and romantic relationship was.

the love you and satoru shared was sacrifice. genuine sacrifice and yearn and absolute unadulterated love as you both without another thought would drop your careers for each other, would swap places if it meant the other would be safe from harm’s way, and would endure years of swallowing and pushing back feelings if it meant just keeping one another in your lives forever.

because that’s what birds of a feather was for to begin with.

a promise to stick together. a promise to keep each other safe.

a concept so pure and devoted that it translated onto the ice like no other pair when it came time for the olympics.

“you ready sweets?” satoru breathed out as you both stood in front of each other by the outside of the rink with interlaced fingers, shaking each other’s jitters out. “no matter what happens, we’ve already come so far and done so much, okay? we’ve done what we needed to do.”

“mhm!” you quickly nodded, satoru leaning down before you both rested your foreheads against each other’s with massive smiles on your faces, thunderous cheers echoing throughout the giant arena totally drowned out in your ears as you stared into satoru’s sparkling blue eyes.

“make aki proud.” you repeated softly, and he nodded, you hoping once again she was watching over you both.

you both stuck your pinkies out at the same time and looped them together.

“birds of a feather?” satoru beamed.

“birds of a feather.”

and you kissed your thumbs before sealing your promise.

you both watched the pair that you were going right after perform their routine, beautiful and difficult as you gnawed at your bottom lip in distress.

“toru…”

“yeah baby?”

“some of these pairs are crazy good…” you spoke over the music. “i’d honestly be happy with getting in the top twenty i don’t know if we can—”

satoru scoffed and shook his head, a sly smile as he looked over the rink with his arms crossed.

“nah, we’d win.”

and just like akira had done in her final olympic year— in her final moments, you and satoru made it known that it was your debut, that you had been hungry and desperate for this moment since the ages of six and seven, that you’d been raised and trained by a four-time olympic gold medalist for a decade as you executed the most technical and intricate moves and turns, you and satoru moving as one on the ice and identical as he took your hands and glided on the ice with you, raw emotion in your expressions that read love so clearly that it was impossible to miss.

with each lift, with each time satoru took you in his arms and spun, and with each time he simply held you close and tenderly to his chest as his blades scrapped across the ice with your pretty bows in his view— were all reminders for the two of you that partner figure skating was nothing without satoru and nothing without you.

the privilege of having another way to convey just how much you loved each other through the language of artistic expression and skates and ice, through the feel of each other’s skin, was one you nurtured and looked after and loved as the wind whipped through you and satoru due to the speed of your skates, performing quadruple axels like nothing while dropping the jaws of other figure skating pairs.

and because of this fact alone, how you both truly appreciated each other’s entities and had the indescribable power to correlate that into competitive sport—

was the reason why you and satoru won gold that day.

you and him, on your knees, gripping and hugging one another so hard and crying tears of joy as you both had come so far and gone through so much to get to where you were now, your dream now a complete and total reality as you stepped up onto that podium during the medal award ceremony just like akira had done— representing your country excellently with a big fat gold medal hung over your necks and a big fat kiss from satoru as he lip locked with you up there, flashings of cameras and bouquets and teddy bears scattered all throughout the ice in dismay.

“i love you!” satoru yelled to you over the roaring as you waved at the crowd, your mothers crying and blowing their noses and taking pictures from the edge of the rink as you and satoru cackled and pointed at them.

“i love you, toru!”

“no like seriously!” he put his waving hand down. “i wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. thank you for recognizing that i have love and dreams too baby and for not forgetting about me even when i’ve been the most annoying dipshit of your life.”

“you’ve never been that to me my god toru! where is this coming from?” he hopped off the podium once you two were given the all clear and he held a helping hand out for you to take, you doing so and carefully stepping down.

“reeaally?” he cheesed, cheeky and silly as his big pearly white smile made your cheeks flush. “so you love me then?”

“i literally would not be with you if i didn’t—”

“hooray!” he cheered, throwing his arms up as flower petals flew from his bouquets and around. “my girlfriend loves me! and we’re gonna have rough passionate olympian sex in our hotel room—”

“toru!—”

the love you and satoru shared wasn’t something silly like ‘i like you, you like me.’

it was call me when you get home.

have you eaten yet?

here, let me help you.

whatever you need.

yours and satoru’s souls were exactly the same— blended, intertwined, and stubbornly knotted together as no amount of tug and pull could unravel you both apart, satoru finding over the years that loving you was like muscle memory from the moment he met you, his nerves and reflexes gravitating him towards you on the ice that first time even when he knew there was a huge chance of him slipping and falling, but not being afraid of it at all as long as he just got to you, convinced he knew you in another life as you just felt so familiar the moment he saw your pretty little face.

and you’re so glad that he did get to you… that he stayed with you.

fourteen years of ice cream trips and sleepovers and horror movies from the moment you were teeny tiny babies to adults, experiencing the hardships of your teenage years of loss and grief, to then adulthood and college as you had the privilege of learning to navigate it with another being that was just like you, two little birds with no sense of direction other than to each other.

and it was all thanks to one woman and one woman alone.

“i honestly believe that if she was there, she would’ve brought one of those confetti poppers with dye in it and set it off.” you commented, you and satoru sitting on the grass at her grave site as you leaned your head on his shoulder and his head on top of yours, having literally just come off the plane from being at the olympics— your countries olympic button up thick jackets adorning your figures as your gold medals gleamed radiantly against the sun.

“i wish she was there.” satoru hummed, and you nodded softly in agreement.

“me too… but i’m sure she was! as a little birdie.”

he chuckled, finding your hand and interlacing your fingers as you stared at her tombstone like you’d done so many times before already… except this time it was bittersweet, you having accomplished what the three of you had strived so hard for at last.

“i miss her.” you murmured. “i miss her cussing.”

your eyes flickered down to her peace offerings, the little snow angel trinket you had gotten her still pretty and glossy and her as it sat happily on her stone platform.

satoru picked his head up and kissed the top of your head, propping his chin up on it.

“i miss her too baby.” he responded softly. “everyday.”

“but— i can’t thank her enough for giving us the bullets to fire with for skating.. y’know..” you ran the pad of your index finger along her tombstone, rough and scratchy as you traced little hearts along the edges.

“and she brought us closer together, did she not?” satoru pointed out.

she did.

a woman who was clumsy and loud and erratic with the biggest potty mouth you had ever heard that was passed down to you and satoru in the blink of an eye… but man did she know what love was as she taught it to you and reminded you both of exactly what it was each and every day.

you and satoru had accepted the fact that your hearts would never be whole again, for akira had taken half of them elsewhere and into the depths of the unknown.

but you were okay with that. completely and utterly okay with that.

for love had no limits.

you wanted her to keep it, as you and satoru stitched the remaining halves of your hearts together to create a new whole, as there was no one else you both would rather have that part of you with them forever besides akira.

and yours and satoru’s stitched up hearts grew increasingly bigger and fonder even after a couple of years later, even after winning three more olympic gold medals, you and him back at the same place in front of akira’s grave like always, sitting and laughing and chatting— but with two little baby toddlers that were half of you and half of satoru as they blubbered on about ‘mama aki’ and her trophies, a delicate twinkling ring on your finger and a golden band around satoru’s as your little family had a picnic over her final resting place.

“papa!” your son exclaimed, satoru immediately turning his attention to him in the midst of scarfing down a turkey sandwich.

“yes my offspring?”

you playfully glared at your husband.

“why do your eyes look scarier in the day?”

“HAH!” you slapped a hand over your mouth to hush your cackling, satoru’s face absolutely taken aback and offended.

“they do!” your daughter giggled. “they do! they do!—”

“baby do something!” satoru whined, shoulders slumping as he threw his head back. “i’m being bullied by five year old’s!”

you giggled and kissed his cheek, his pout quickly turning into a soft little grin as his face flushed pink.

“but your papa’s eyes are pretty you guys! and they match yours!”

“mmm— nope! scary!”

your two twin toddlers giggled uncontrollably as they thought being mean to their dad was the funniest thing in the world, you laughing with them as satoru flopped back dramatically and completely laid down on the grass with his eyes looking straight up at the bright sky.

“s’okay.” he spoke flatly. “if even my pretty little wife thinks my suffering is funny i’ll just burn my eyes to a crisp—”

“toru!” you slapped his knee. “too graphic in front of the kiddies.”

“but my suffering!—”

“mommy mommy!” your daughter tugged at your sleeve and pointed to the top of akira’s tombstone, a cute perfect white and brown bird perched up on the edge and peering curiously at the four of you, the creature not alarmed whatsoever of your children’s sudden movements as they scrambled to get closer to it.

satoru propped himself up with an elbow and stared before you both locked eyes, knowing growing smiles on your faces as he fully sat up— leaning and planting a gentle kiss to your forehead, letting it linger.

aki.

and it was like you and satoru were reminded again of your promise that you still told each other every day.

a promise that consisted of your years together… of your love, of your undying fervor of sticking together, of your need of keeping each other safe…

of birds of a feather.

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[starzzintheireyes]

“study” break ;)

pairing: yuta okkotsu x afab reader

synopsis: yuta’s your sweet, smart, dedicated tutor, assigned to help get your grades up. you’ve got other plans that are a little.. off-syllabus.

mdni,nerdy!yuta, smut, kissing, f!ngering, swearing, orál (f receiving), chok!ng (m receiving), creamp!e, yuta’s inexperienced, whimpers a lot, she calls him a good boy, corruption if u squint 😜,black-coded reader, wc: 7.2k

a/n: wrote this after smoking and i think i discovered some things ab myself LMAO (need submissive yuta so bad 😖) enjoyy ֯݁კ🎀 ྀི𓈒

“-and then if you arrange it like this, you can isolate the variable a little easier. See what I mean?”

No, not at all. Not one bit.

Not that it’s rocket science, or even mildly confusing. It’d all be pretty straight forward if you’d actually been listening for the past 10 minutes, but, as per, you haven’t.

Your chin’s propped in your hand, you’re nodding along at all the right times, eyes on the paper just enough to make it look like you’re locked in, but it’d be a lie to say, your attention isn’t… snagging.

On his hands, for example– that’s always where it starts. He’ll be taking you through some problem, pointing at the printed numbers so you can follow, but then the pretty silver band glints just right and suddenly you can’t look away from his long, ink-smudged fingers, at the veins that pop a little when he grips his pen tighter to underline something. Yuta’s got beautiful handwriting, and he writes precisely, like he actually cares whether you can read it back later or not.

Then naturally, you follow the trail up his wrists, then to the slight bulge of his forearms where his sleeves are pushed up, the way they tighten slightly when he leans in.

And he does lean in. A lot. Close enough for you to see how his thin, black lashes dare to kiss his cheeks when he looks down, darkening the shadows under his eyes where the moon’s kissed him. Close enough that his voice, already so soft and calming, drops a little, somehow even softer, more focussed.

“... then if you substitute it back in here–”

Your eyes drag up to his shoulders, at the way they hunch slightly when he’s concentrating. Then you’re staring at his face; dark brows drawn together, faintly peach tinted lips parted as he talks, pausing to think through everything he says, how best to help you understand.

He’s so pretty it’s unfair. It’s unfair that you aren’t sitting on his face right this second.

“... and that should get you to the final solution. Make sense?”

You blink at him.

“Hmm,” you hum, looking at the jumble of numbers and symbols on the paper. “Could we maybe take a break?”

His eyebrows raise a fraction. You don’t normally interrupt so blatantly “Oh, yeah, sure! Is everything ok? I know I can go too fast sometimes.”

And yet, your problem is quite the opposite, actually. Yuta Okkotsu is too fucking slow.

Too cartoonishly oblivious.

Your interest in Yuta was piqued long before this arrangement even started. It was one day last term, the day you had no choice but to admit to yourself that you were actually, genuinely struggling, and not in a cute way, in a if I don’t get my shit together, I might fail this class, way. You stayed behind after the lecture, a little embarrassed, a little annoyed, waiting to have a word with your professor, and there he was, right at the front.

You found yourself hovering by as he helped some other student, something about his soft-spoken, yet focussed tone pulling your attention. The girl was nodding along to his every word, blushing a little; clearly she had a little crush. But he didn’t do the boy thing, didn’t flirt or linger, just quietly checked if she understood. Once she said yes, he smiled, and your gaze caught on that barely there dimple, the kind creases at the corners of his eyes.

A week later, your professor was recommending a tutor for you.

“He’s one of my best PhD students, so I have him help out with tutoring undergrads, free of charge. I’ve recommended him to a few others like you, and they all improved massively. He’s lovely. You’ll be fine.”

That same evening you’d found him in the library, headphones on, a gentle frown on his face that gave his otherwise boyish features a slightly mature air.

You knew of the stereotypes, how postgrads liked to steer clear of younger students, how they found them obnoxious and immature. But it didn’t deter you- there was something unassuming about his hunched posture that put you at ease.

You tapped him. He flinched.

“Oh! Uh… Hi,” He said, looking a bit embarrassed by his own jumpiness. “Can I help you?”

Oh, he was adorable. Too adorable for his own good.

You had to have him. Somehow, some way. You decided then and there: you’re going to ruin this kid.

It’s been three weeks since then. Three long weeks of scheming, of inappropriately flimsy cami tops, and tight little “pajamas” (as if you’d ever wear something that sexy to bed.) Three weeks of leaning over way more than you needed to, pitching your voice up and acting confused about things you definitely understood, for no reason other than to distract and stall. Three weeks of ‘accidental’ brushes, of dubious leg taps, of ridiculously high AC and ridiculously hard nipples. Three weeks of hour-long sessions every other day.

A whole hour, which always ended in his unceremonious departure, and you secretly mourning all the far more exciting ways that time could have been spent.

But alas. Yuta would rather talk about made up numbers.

At first you thought he was faking it; playing dumb, pretending not to notice. So you turned up the temperature; ditched the bonnets, lathered on your lipgloss, pushed your breasts against him as you hugged in greeting.

You thought it was working. You swore you caught him looking at you a second too long sometimes, and then suddenly not at all, like he was forcing himself not to.

But it must have been wishful thinking, because when you offered him a homemade cupcake and a hot cocoa after that evening’s session, he politely — always politely— declined.

You figured then, that he’s just cripplingly shy, and even if that’s the case, you can work with it.

Over the last week you’re beginning to suspect that he might actually just be fucking stupid.

“No, you’re good,” you reassure, trying not to let your frustration bleed through your sigh. “It’s just been a long day. I’ve got a bit of brain fog. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not,” he says, his dimple faintly winking at you again. “I’ve got some studying to catch up with anyway.”

Then he reaches into the folder on the side, takes out another piece of paper, and starts scribbling down God knows what.

You stare at him. This is insane.

“You know, maybe you should take a break too.”

He barely looks up. Your eye twitches.

“Oh, I’ll be fine. I’ve got a quiz this week, so-”

“Yuta.”

Oops. That was definitely a little more pointed than you meant it to be, but honestly, you’re not even trying to be smooth anymore. You’re just trying to see some kind of breaking point– his or yours, you’re not even sure if it matters.

Finally, he hesitates, pen hovering just above the page. Those stormy grey eyes glance in your direction. “Uh, yeah?”

“I’d really love it if you stopped working for a sec,” You start softer this time, trying to ease him in before you start playing hard. “You know, it’s been three weeks, and I feel like I’ve barely gotten to know you.”

Now he’s thrown. You see the confusion flicker across his face, his eyebrows pulling together with genuine uncertainty. As if it was so shocking that you might actually have an interest in what he had to say besides fucking equations.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Um.”

There’s a beat and you can see him mulling it over in his head.

Then he nods. He’s incapable of rudeness, even the accidental kind. “Yeah, I guess that’s– er, that’s fair.”

You watch, almost fascinated, as he realigns himself in his seat, back straightening. His fingers tighten around his pen for a second before finally, he places it down.

“Well, uh.. What do you want to know?” He asks, like it’s an interview.

Can he really be this prim and proper all the time? Even in private? Maybe he’s just too sensible to flirt.

You tilt your head, studying him as if you haven’t already spent most of the session doing precisely that.

“Anything,” You shrug. “Everything.”

He looks a little alarmed. You pull back a touch. “Like… I don’t know. You part of any clubs? What do you do in your free time? You know– when you aren’t doing such a good job of tutoring me?”

At last, you get a small huff of breath, an almost-laugh.

“Uh… I mean, I study a lot. Engineering’s quite a demanding course,” he admits, looking into his lap. “I’m not really that interesting–”

“Oh, shut up.”

His eyes flick to yours, surprised. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t lie. You must do something,” You press, leaning an elbow on the desk. Your chin is in your palm again, but this time you’re fully looking. No pretense, no quickly looking away— fully staring at him. “You got hobbies. Everyone does. Friends? Are you in some secret society?”

His mouth twitches slightly. “Uh, no. No secret society," he says. “I have friends, sure, but we usually just.. Chill. Nothing crazy.”

“Mhm.” You let it breathe for a second, looking out of the window, at nothing in particular. Then slowly, intentionally, you let your gaze drift back to his face. “Girlfriend?”

His reaction is subtle, but you catch the way he blinks, eyes flicking away from yours.

“Oh– no. I don’t,” he says, trying to roll one of his sleeves up further, but there’s nowhere left to go.

Shocker.

“Really?” your tone lifts somewhat artificially .

He nods, more certain this time. “Yeah.”

“Huh,” You say, like you’re considering that. You tilt your head. “That’s surprising. You’re cute.”

Now he does look a little flustered. You wonder if he realises that his ears are turning pink.

“Oh,” he says, stiffly. Gives a tight nod. “Thanks.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No,” He blurts, way too quickly. “I– uh–”

“ – Don’t swing that way?” You finish for him. “I figured. You should consider it. You’d be popular.”

That earns you another half-laugh, although this one sounds shakier, and suddenly, so is his eye contact.

“I mean,” He says, directly into the desk. “It’s just– well. I guess I don’t really think about… Uh. That stuff.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That ‘stuff’? You mean, like dating?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” He says, pausing, and then, because he likes to be precise, he adds, “Not right now.”

“Oh, sure,” You smile lightly. “I get that. Sometimes it’s better to skip the drama and just focus on school..”

There’s a brief silence, but you let it breathe a little. Give him some recuperation time before you start with the heavy hitters. You can probably wait a little longer, but impatience gets the better of you.

Here goes.

“What about casual?” You say, in the same cadence one might ask for the time.

He coughs. “Oh, that’s—um. I don’t– uh..”

“Friends with benefits, fuckbuddies,” you drawl, nonchalant as anything. “You know: casual. No strings.”

Complete silence.

Yuta has gone deathly still. This isn’t like his usually calm steady focus; he’s actually stuck, a deer in the headlights. You watch his fingers curl against his notebook, knuckles faintly tense, eyes darting all over the page. Poor guy doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“It’s really…” He starts, then the words get stuck in his throat. He swallows. He tries again. “I’ve never really–”

“Never!?” You’d like to think you’re controlling your excitement, but the speed at which his head snaps up makes you think you might be failing. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer but…” Stop smiling. ”—are you…”

He shakes his head quickly. “No!”

“Oh.” Bummer.

“Not never, I– I just don’t– it’s not really something I–”

“Think about?” you echo, softer now.

“Yeah.”

You watch him like a hawk, but he doesn’t once look in your direction. His gaze is trained downward, like he’ll spontaneously combust if he dares to make eye contact with you.

You lean even further forward, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Try it now.”

His posture stiffens immediately. “Try what?”

“Think about it, I mean,” you say, like the idea just suddenly came to you. “Let’s say– hypothetically– there was someone who was interested in, uh, that kind of engagement. With you. Would you say no?”

“I– “ He falters, voice getting smaller. “I mean– I can’t really say. I guess that would depend.”

“On?”

He shrugs uselessly. “A lot of things. My schedule. The person– “

“The person,” You smile. “Obviously. You have a type, right? Let’s talk about that.”

“You know, maybe we should get back to-”

“Well, let’s say there’s a girl,” You cut him off smoothly, gesturing like you’re discussing the weather. “You know her well enough. Cool, pretty, fat ass,” you add that last part just to see him shift in his seat. Whether it’s true or not, it works. “One day, you’re chilling and she’s dropping hints. Asks you if you want to stay a little longer. You’d say…?”

“Well, I mean,” He starts, clicking his pen furiously. If he was anyone else, you’d call this stalling. “I’d um.. Probably ask what she wants to do?”

You laugh. You can’t help it. Of course he would.

“You can’t be fucking serious,” you snort, shaking your head.

“I am,” He insists, laughing a little himself, still a touch of pink lingering in his cheeks. “I just– I mean, I wouldn’t want to assume.”

“Oh definitely not. Can’t have that. God forbid you assume,” you mutter, sarcasm barely hidden.

He lets out a small breath, something between embarrassment and defensiveness. “I just think it’s better if we’re clear.”

You’re at your wits end. Exasperated. Once again, you find it hard to believe he’s not making this hard on purpose. But fine. Since he wants clarity so bad.

Your chair screeches abruptly as you stand up, marching right up to him in two smooth steps. Then you lean against the table, pleasantly aware of the way your thighs are spreading against its edge. Yuta’s got nowhere else to look, and you can see the moment he short-circuits, looking up at you like you’re about to deliver some divine punishment. Or blessing.

You fold your arms under your chest, staring down at him, straight faced.

“She wants to fuck you,” you state, loud and plain. “She wants you to fuck her. She wants to fuck. I wanna fuck. You.”

His eyes grow to the size of mini golf balls. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Oh,” is all he says. The silence stretches as you stare at him, and he looks at quite literally anything else, lips crumpling as he swallows nothing.

Then, he moves. Sudden and clumsy, gripping the arms of his chair. There’s a loud scrape as he pushes back, a sudden wince when he stands too quickly and his knee bumps the underside of the desk.

“You know, we should—uh— probably—” he starts, already half turned, retreating.

Your hand shoots out without you thinking.

You catch his wrist.

He stops.

“Yuta,” you start, voice soft. You can’t see his face but you know he’s tense- you can see the way his back rises and falls with a slow unsteady breath. “You.. you don’t want to?”

There’s a pause. Long enough for your hold to loosen. Something faintly unpleasant turns low in your stomach.

But then he turns, painfully slow, until he’s facing you. Now he’s close. Closer than he’s ever been before, so close you can make out the little moles on his neck, the specks of dark blue in his tired eyes.

He looks down at your hand on his wrist, then back to your face.

“It’s not that, it’s just—“ he’s barely above a whisper. “…I don’t know,” His other hand flies up to the back of his neck. “I’m… not good with this, uh..kind of thing. Clearly.”

He’s so shy, he can barely get the words out, all his sentences fading out at their end, like he’s somehow hoping you won’t hear.

“That’s okay,” You murmur, letting yourself smile. “I don’t mind. I like that you’re kinda awkward.”

He lets out another nervous chuckle, but his breath stutters halfway as you slowly bring his hand up to meet your face.

“Y-Yeah?” He asks, voice tight as he watches you press a tentative kiss to the inside of his wrist.

“Yeah. It’s cute.” Your climbing arousal has your voice dropping to a gentle purr. “I like a lot of things about you, Yuta. You’ve got really nice hands,” you kiss one of his knuckles and he sucks in a breath. “Has anyone told you that before?”

The look on his face when he realises what you’re about to do is priceless. His mouth goes crooked, shock gives way to something… visceral, flickering in those soft, dark eyes. It only makes the moment all the more rewarding when you slide his slender index finger between your lips.

“N-no,” His voice trembles as he whispers, prompting a muted giggle from you. You suck soft and mild, rolling your tongue once, twice around his finger, before pulling off him with a crude ‘pop’. He shudders at the sound, and when you glance down, you’re pleased to discover you’re having the exact effect you intended.

His eyes follow yours, then quickly dart away.

“You liked that?”

He’s too embarrassed to say anything, but then again, he doesn’t need to. His erection’s talking for him.

“Good,” you murmur, still holding his hand. “Let’s find out what else you like, hm?”

It’s almost imperceptible, so fast that if you blinked, you’d have missed it; the fleeting, but sure flick of his gaze to your breasts.

You grin.

“My tits?” You cock your head, teasing. Yuta is trying, and failing, to stop looking at them. “Yuta Okkotsu: tits guy,” you snicker. “Who’d have guessed?”

His smile is small, sheepish, hesitant.

“You can touch, you know,” You urge, moving his hand a little lower down so that it’s hovering just above the curve of your breast. His other hand comes up naturally, like there’s some invisible magnetic pull that he can’t quite resist. But just as he’s about to make contact, he gets a hold of himself, stopping abruptly.

His eyes meet yours again, and the genuine concern in them, his silent plea for confirmation; it just melts you.

“Go on,” you nod sweetly.

And then he’s cupping your tits like they’re made of liquid gold, like if he’s too rough you’ll spill. A low hum comes from your throat when he applies gentle pressure, slowly, slowly kneading the swell of flesh.

“Holy shit. You’re so soft,” he mutters, and it sears something in you. You’ve hardly heard him curse. “Is— is this okay?”

But now you’re the one who’s short on words. All you do is nod dumbly, your back instinctively curving up to meet him as best you can.

He squeezes, a little firmer this time, his thumbs grazing over your nipples and there’s that delicious friction, the sure brush of fabric over the sweet spot. A broken little sound floats from your mouth before you can stop it.

His motion stills. You swear you see the tiniest curl at the corner of your mouth.

Then pain. Your eyes snap shut. Two short electric zings that travel right through your middle and down to your clit, transforming into pleasure somewhere along the way.

He pinched you.

When you open your eyes again, he’s not looking down anymore. His hands work automatically but he’s watching your face, watching your eyes, your mouth, combing for a reaction.

“Y/N.”

“Mhm?”

“Have you..thought about this a lot?” he asks, but there’s a rasped edge to his words now, voice tinged with craving.

“I have, yeah,” you breathe. It feels good to be able to admit it after all this time, to have him grope you just as you like, his touch just as careful, but far more certain, than you’d imagined. “You’re just so fucking cute. ‘Specially when you’re teaching. It’s all I can think about. ”

He pulls away for just a moment, only an inch, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Then there’s a shift, and it’s blatant.

Something darkens in gaze. He’s focussed, utterly concentrated, like if he takes his eyes off of your you might poof into thin air.

“You.. you mean that?”

That’s all it takes. There’s something so earnest about the question, something that reaches right inside you and tugs on that thin string of restraint that’s been somehow holding you together these past three weeks. And as it unravels, your hand slides into the back of his head, the other fist curls into his hoodie, and you pull down– hard– and kiss him.

Clumsily, to start with.

All urgency, too much pressure as if you’re trying to make up for all the lost time in one go, your lips moving against him without a sure rhythm; just greed and unhoned lust.

He doesn’t move right away. There’s some hesitation, his brain catching up. It’s only when your tongue laps pleadingly at his bottom lip that he seems to come to you. To here and now.

The flip is immediate. You gasp into him when you feel his hands grasp the fat of your thighs, decisively easing them apart and slotting himself squarely between your legs. Then his palms run up your sides until he finds the small of your waist, and pulls you flush against him, so that you can feel his erection poking at your lower abdomen.

He tilts his head, chasing a better angle, and at long, long last, Yuta Okkotsu is actually kissing you. Not just reacting but pressing his soft lips against yours with a quiet hunger that makes you shiver in his hold, his fingertips dig into you gently like he’s anchoring you, or himself, or the both of you.

In all of your dirty daydreams, you’d been so consumed by your own heedless lust that you’d never considered that Yuta’s would be this… present. A little frenetic, maybe, but it’s endearing, the way his hips twitch without him meaning to, so that the hard curve in his jeans bumps against your clit just so, where your panties are growing a damp spot, no doubt. And those little sounds of his, not quite moans, not quite grunts, but just quiet breathy sighs, something on the edge of a whimper.

He’s losing it, you think, when he drags his hand across you chest, groping with a newfound confidence, hard enough this time to a moan from your lips.

Oh, fuck, I’m losing it.

And you are. Losing restraint, losing patience. Losing your mind a little.

His hoodie; you tug twice at the hem, an impatient, silent demand: you want it gone, right now. For the first time, Yuta obeys without hesitation. He breaks the kiss, pulling back enough to grab it, dragging it up and over his head in a smooth motion, his hair flopping back into place a second later a little tousled from the action.

He’s already surging forward again, hands reaching for you–

But you stop him.

“Wait,” you instruct, fingertips at his chest.

He stills, reluctantly. You hold him there, arm’s length, and properly take him in.

He’s lean, in that unassuming way, but there’s way more definition there than you’d have ever guessed. Subtle from afar maybe, but when you’re this close it’s unmistakable. His shoulders are broader than they look under his usual layers, collarbones sharp, dotted with a few more of those gorgeous little moles that scatter down across his toned chest. When he fixes his posture, the muscles flutter with quiet strength.

He’s blushing again. You’d be able to tell even if his face was covered; the pale skin of his neck is faintly flushed.

“...What?” He asked quietly, voice uneven.

“Full of surprises, aren’t you?”

He blinks. “I am?”

“Hiding all this under your baggy sweatshirts and nerdy little jumpers…” You gesture vaguely, heart swelling at the way his fingers curl and loosen at his sides. It’s so easy to make him nervous. “You a secret gym rat or something?”

He gives a half-hearted shrug, “I train a little. Nothing much.”

“Yuta,” you deadpan, eyes grazing over him again. “You have abs.”

“Nah, that’s just ‘cause I’m skinny,” he murmurs, lightly amused. “I'm pretty small right now… at least compared to my goal.”

Oh God, he has a goal. You’d pinch the life out of his cheeks right now, if you weren’t entirely too horny for wholesome.

“Hm,” you hum instead, lazily feeling up the bitable curve of his bicep. “Well, I happen to be a big fan of your slutty little waist. So don’t start none of that bodybuilding shit, m’kay?”

That earns an airy chuckle from him. “Yes ma’am.”

If only he knew how that sounded in your ears. Although, it’s looking like he’ll soon find out.

“Good.”

Your fingers skate down his frame dragging over the ridges of surprisingly firm torso, over his belt and right down to where the fabric of his jeans is pulled taut. You only so much as brush against what you think is his tip, and he’s already shuddering against you.

“Y/N,” he breathes, voice cracking. “W-wait—“

But you’re determined, working at his zipper with such fervour that he has to physically grab your hands to get your attention.

You look up to meet his endless pupils, blown wide so that there remains just a thin ring of slate coloured hue.

“I—,” he pants hoarsely, his hair slightly tousled from your exploration. He swallows. “— I wanna try something first. Wanna … taste you,” His eyes dart away as he adds, with a soft neediness, “Please.”

Electric pleasure spikes between your legs so sharp that you worry for a second that you might actually come.

“Oh. Okay,” you blink, grounding yourself. He’s killing you. “Okay. Er.. have you done it before?”

“Only once,” he answers, but he’s already disappearing from view, lowering himself kneeling. You lean forward, because you can’t stand to miss a second, relishing in the way those round eyes gleam up at you, utterly reverent, utterly devoted.

“I mean—“

“I can learn fast. Trust me” He insists, already sounding a little dazed, his long fingers working at the waist band of your shorts. You wriggle your pelvis to help him, and before you know it the pink fabric is sliding down past your knees, and is soon left dangling at your ankle. All that remains is soaked, see-through cotton which he peels away with delicate precision until you feel the slight cool air on your hot core, and finally you’re completely bare. You hear his breath catch at the sight.

“...You okay there?”

He doesn’t respond right away, and for a moment you’re convinced you really have broken him.

Then he clears his throat.

“You’re…” He starts, but he’s barely talking to you anymore. One of his deft fingers merely slides between your folds, just about nudging your clit. You jerk so suddenly that you almost feel bad for startling him, until you look down and realise he hasn’t so much as flinched. “You’re soaking,” he mumbles. He’s got that same distantly focussed expression as when he’s talking you through equations, although this time it looks far better, because.. Well.. he’s between your legs.

“That’s all you,” you coo, steadying yourself with one hand flat against the desk behind you, whilst the other finds home in his hair, gently ruffling it. “It’s that voice of yours. Gets me all wet and worked up.” You flash down a grin upon hearing what sounded like a failed attempt at holding back a moan. “Pretty ain’t it?”

Your only response is a wordless nod, and you’re realising that when he’s in this state, you’re not likely to get many words from him at all. His mental processing is hijacked.

You feel the pad of his finger circle your clit with brutal slowness, and any last bit of patience you’ve been clinging to dissipates at once.

“Your mouth, babe,” you almost groan. “Need your mouth.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay.”

He’s cautious, to start with, naturally. At first there’s just soft fleeting kitten licks, his tongue darting out at the luckiest angle. All the build-up has left you almost embarrassingly sensitive, each flick sending a little static jolt right to the knot that’s clenching low in your stomach.

A good start, considering his inexperience. But you need more.

“Why don’t you try– fuck– kissing it?” You encourage letting your hand fall to caress the underside of his jaw. “Kind of like how you’d kiss me?”

That does the trick.

As if your words were some sort of spell, suddenly he just gets it. You let out a surprised squeak when he suddenly wraps a lithely muscled arm around your hips, scooting you closer to the edge of the desk, deepening his own access. Somewhere, you’re not sure if it's your doing or his, or a joint effort, your legs end up hooked over his shoulders. He pulls away, takes a breath, and then quite literally falls head first into your pussy.

“Oh,” you gasp, when those soft lips close around your clit and he sucks. Gentle, but insistent. Your head tips backwards, and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from yelping as his tongue presses zaps of pleasure right into you. “Oh, God. Like that. Yes, yes, just like that. Shit.”

Apparently emboldened by your praise, Yuta gets the bright idea to slide two fingers; the middle and ring ones, you can tell by the cool sting of metal, down your warm plump folds, pressing firm against the opening, before pushing inside. The pressure as he starts to thrust careful yet deliberate, has your upper thighs trembling,

“You taste amazing, Y/N” you hear– no– feel Yuta sigh against you, the tip of his nose bumping your clit just right, the subtle vibration skittering through down your inner thighs. “I love it. Love this so much.”

Then that gorgeous mouth is working over you again, and with every dizzying second, the rabid desire in your core grows wilder, and sharper, and the edges of your mind grow fuzzier and fuzzier.

You try to slow your breathing, try to squeeze your stomach tight and slow down the pending crash, but just as you think you’re controlling it, you notice that your moans are now being harmonised with. You try to look down— your abdominal muscles aren’t functioning at their best this second, but through your blurred vision and the difficult angle, you can just about see his furrowed eyebrows, the soft sweep of his lashes, and if those pleased little hums of his are anything to go by, it’s clear he wasn’t lying; he really does love this.

The thought alone has your grip on his silky strands tightening, your broken moans rising in pitch as need twists through you, twisting and twisting until, all at once, the pressure becomes too much.

“Oh my fucking God-“

Your hand flies to your mouth. You bite the fleshy part of your hand, just under your thumb, but don’t quite manage to suppress a short, shaking, shout.

Your orgasm is unforgiving. It rips through you in a sheer wave of euphoria, and for a second every muscle in your body goes limp, your chest heaving. Yuta’s tongue strokes you softly through each ebb of pleasure, and time sort of blurs until your back on earth.

When Yuta comes to stand again, his face is glistening . His breathing almost matches yours.

You peer at him through wet lashes.

“‘Only once’ my ass,” you mumble, every word still shivering. “There’s no way that was your second time giving head. I don’t believe you.”

His shiny lips spread to a toothy grin.

“I’m glad you think I’m lying,” He says, so cheerily it borders, arrogant. “But I’m not.” He’s leaning over your shaking body, in his eyes there’s a hungry gleam. He’s smug, you realise, a smile of your own coming on.

“Oh, yeah?” you whisper, genuinely taken aback by this newfound confidence. You might actually have ruined him. “So, what– natural talent?”

Is there a pussy-eating gene? Do genes even do that?

Oh shit. Is this what dumbification feels like!?

“I don’t think so,” He laughs quietly, the boyishness creeping in again. “You made it easy to learn. You’re er… pretty.. Responsive? I just listened, I guess.”

It could just be the work of the magical fairies that float around your mind and make everything all gooey after an orgasm, but you’re pretty sure that’s the sweetest thing a guy’s ever told you during sex. Completely honest, undressed of ego, just a boy doing his best to learn your body.

You have nothing to say. You just cradle his face close to yours and kiss him. Not frantic and careless like before; this time your lips are lazy, doting. He melts into you, letting you taste your own salty sweetness on his tongue.

“You’re too fucking precious,” you smile, pulling away. His eyes flutter closed when you peck his nose. “You did such a good job, Yuta. So good to me. How am I gonna reward you, hm? We can do anything you want.”

He blinks. “Anything?”

“You’ve earned it, don’t you think?” You run a hand over the firm plane of his chest, then drift finger over the dark wispy hair leading you right to your prize. “I can suck you off, let you come down my throat. Hm? Would you like that?”

You bite your lip, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly, his grip on your upper thighs tightening as if by reflex.

“Well, maybe we could…” he starts, then stops. Looks up to the ceiling and starts again , and starts again. “I mean, if you’re comfortable with it— it’s completely up to you, of course.. ah, shit. I’m making it weird—“

“You wanna fuck me, huh?”

A beat. Two.

Then he starts rambling.You sigh.

“It’s fine, w-we don’t have to-“

“Babe,” you interrupt, firm and sure, “Respectfully—,” You hook two fingers into the waistband of his jeans and draw him in, his eyes widening with surprise. “— I need you to shut up and get these off. Now.”

He visibly short circuits, mouth opening and closing like he’s forgotten how to produce noise from it. But sure enough, something settles. He draws in a ragged breath, and you miss the heat of his hands when he moves them to his zipper, fingers making deft work. You think about sitting on your hands but not quickly enough to cancel out your more pressing instincts- to reach into his briefs and pull him free yourself.

So you do.

The good news: his dick is just as pretty as the rest of him. The better news: he’s bigger than one would guess, looking at the rest of him.

“Goddamn,” you rasp a laugh once you’ve found your breath again, cradling the weight of his warm cock in one hand. “Good for you.”

Poor guy; he’s so hard it looks like it must hurt. You watch a little glistening pearl roll down his glossy tip, so deep a red that it more closely resembles the slight maroon of an early bruise. His muscles ripple, flexing involuntarily as you ghost a finger over the fat head down to the thick root, tracing the most prominent vein like one would a map.

“You okay?” you ask, letting those puppy eyes hold you for a moment.

“Yeah,” He says softly. You quirk an eyebrow; his twitching face and heaving chest suggest otherwise. “Yeah, I think so.”

His dick jumps when you wrap your fingers around him, and you can see him physicall fighting the urge to fuck your hand, hips punching forward, chasing you. Both of you watch with bated breath as you line him up with your entrance, and you’re suddenly choked with pure want.

He’s moaning well before his tip kisses your pussy. Then you’re hit by a drugging wave of sensation as he sinks into you, and—

“Oh fu-uck,” he rasps, the word broken by the tiniest sob. Suddenly he’s collapsing into you, breaths shivering out of him as his forehead falls against your shoulder. “Ah, shit! Wait—“ his pitchy sighs send pricks all over your ear, his face buried in your neck. “Oh, fuck, Y/N, ‘m gonna—“

“Shhh-sh-sh,” your voice is silvery and calming, and you try your hardest to fight the reflex to squeeze around him. Your hand curves into his nape, gently combing the hair there. “No, you’re not. Not yet. I need you to hold it. You can do that for me, can’t you?” You press a kiss into his hair. “Just go real slow, yeah?”

For a couple seconds he just stays there, panting hard into your ear, his fists balling and loosening on either side of you, like he’s trying to grip through the table.

But, he manages to draw back, just barely. He just sort of drags his face upwards until his forehead bumps gently against yours, and you get to see his pupils dilate, his breaths gradually getting back to a less concerning pace.

“O-okay,” he whispers, so close that he almost kisses you as he says it. You watch his eyelids grow heavy, his jaw clenching as he grabs the underside of your thighs, holding your legs up for better access so that your feet are dangling. He nods, more to himself. “Okay. Alright.”

And then he’s filling you, stretching you— slow, decadent like you said — and the pleasure forces your eyes closed. You just lean back, one palm flat against the table, the other still tangled in his hair, and let yourself take it. Take him.

“Mhm. That’s good, Yuta,” you sigh, as he finds a gradual rhythm. He’s still quivery, hips stuttering once every slow careful thrusts, but he is, undoubtedly, fucking you. It’s tender and luscious and you can’t keep yourself from fluttering around him, can’t fully bite back the wringing gasps. Neither can he, choking out little moans. “Talk to me,” you urge.

“Feel so good.” He sounds vaguely drunk, shy smile a little wonky from lust. “God, Y/N, so fucking good. You’re so w-warm, shit.”

There’s the slightest growl to that last part, and the novel sound makes something crack in you. You don’t even realise that your hand has snaked back down to his neck, until he whimpers again, and your eyes snap open to see your fingers around his throat, and his lips slightly parted and his eyes fluttering closed.

“You like that, Yuta?” You grip, dragging him down to meet you for a clumsy, wet kiss. “Like when I choke you like this?”

His lip is red and a little swollen from your biting, and his nose bumps yours when he nods rapidly.

“I-I do,” he stammers. Your airy moan coalesces into a dark laugh.

“You’re nasty,” You grin, letting your hand slide down the hard planes of his torso, slithering around to his back. “Such a good boy, aren’t you?” You prompt, just for the thrill of hearing him gasp—

“Fuck— I mean, yes, shit, yes,” He goes in for your neck, licking at your skin as hips start to meet you with more force. you writhe against him, rolling your hips as best you can. “Tell me what to do, Y/N. Wanna make you feel good.”

“Deeper,” you command. “More. Need more of you Yuta.”

Actually, you’re pretty damn full, to be honest. But seeing the tortured bliss on his face makes it easy for gluttony to override the physical limitations.

You’re asking for a lot, you know, and yet somehow, he delivers. Grits his teeth, holds on tight and thrusts, hard, and the spike of pressure pushes some incoherent sound out of you.

You hold onto him, fingers digging into his lithe muscle. Your breath hitches, as that riding tide of relief begins to show itself again. And still he fucks you harder, rutting his pelvis into you like he’s in heat.

“Fuck, please,” he chants, pressing into you with such force that your abandoned pens jump and rattle against the table, sheets of paper drifting to the floor. “Oh God, I—“

His words get swallowed up by some strangled sound when the first, tight flutterings of your impending orgasm start. His strokes are getting messier too, and you revel in his rising whines.

“Shit, I’m gonna come,” He pants, his body becoming rigid against you. He drops your legs, finds the curve of your hips and squeezes, and you respond by clamping around him. You can see the instant his panic blooms, thrusts becoming uncontrolled. “W-wait— I need to—“

His eyes screw shut as he attempts to pull out. But you’re stubborn, rocking back desperately, chasing that ache.

He’s almost crimson in the cheeks. “Shit—wait, let me—“

“Inside me. I’m on the pill,” You manage to rasp out, peering at him through one half open eye. He’s right on the edge. Of crying, or coming or both, you’re too blissed and his face is too crunched up to tell. Hopefully, it’s one of the latter. “Please.”

“B-but I—Oh fuck—“

“In-side,” you hiss through clenched teeth, grabbing both sides of his head and yanking him close to your face. His eyes grow wide when you groan, “Don’t you fucking dare pull out.”

And then they drift closed, and his eyebrows pull up at their centre and he’s moaning, burrowing deep inside you like he’s trying to touch your spine with his throbbing cock, and you feel that delicious, liquidy heat pump into you.

You watch him utterly fascinated, an ache in your chest so intense that soon you’re shuddering too, and suddenly that ache is all throughout your tummy and your legs and you’re gasping for air as you come sharp, hard.

There’s that woozy, giddy feeling again. The room is wobbling a little, but you can feel Yuta slowing inside you, hear his breathless, trembling laugh. When you find the strength to open your eyes, he’s still slumped against you, murmuring something into the hollow of your shoulder.

“I— fuck. Sorry,” He breathes, and you watch intently, enjoying the slick sound as he slowly glides out of you, still just about hard, his cock shining and glazed with his own come. In his absence, you feel the creamy substance trickle slowly down your walls, which are still riding out the last few spasms. He’s transfixed on the lewd display, obsessed with the sight himself spilling out of you and into a tiny pool on the desk.

“For?”

He forces his sleepy gaze to your face.

“Well,” He starts, bashful smile creeping back in. “Probably could’ve been… uh… neater.”

“I don’t think you could babe,” you snort, playfully tapping his cheek. “Anyway, we’ll work on that. Next week.”

Yuta lets out a short helpless laugh, dragging a hand over his face. Defeated in the best way.

“This is crazy.”

You just grin.

With the way he’s looking at you though, still flushed, still a little undone, waiting until next week already feels optimistic. Might be best to have an emergency session at the weekend.

Strictly academic reasons. Obviously.

*****

when i die there better be 5 subby freaks waiting for me at the pearly gates. amen 🙏🏾😌

[uzugeto-deactivated20260427]

★ INTERWEBBED ★

you hated suguru geto, a brilliant college student who didn’t have to lift up a finger to get nearly perfect scores on every exam he took, didn’t have to fix the lighting of his photos or adjust the angles. but when you’re forced to work on a project with him, you come to realize his life isn’t as perfect as it seems.

★ PAIRING: spider-man! geto suguru x bio major! fem reader

★ CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. smut. a little bit of banter. mentions of blood and injury. fem masturbation. voyeurism. male masturbation (suguru’s jerking off next to your window :p). edging. dry humping. cunnilingus (suguru eats the puh upside down). unprotected p in v. doggy. some aftercare. angst. main character death (clock tower scene from tasm 2).

★ WORD COUNT: 9.8k

★ A DIVINE NOTE: still super proud of how this turned out so i hope you enjoy the read <3 spider-man geto fanart by @/aransmind.

part one of into the geto-verse

you had big dreams in the world.

your mother claimed you’d come out the womb with a white coat on and a stethoscope in hand, your father would show off your awards, your medals, your trophies to whoever would listen about how brilliant his little girl was. teachers would vie against each other in hopes it’d be their classroom you’d step in, in their classroom that you’d excel and shine in.

since you’d turned seven, you knew what you wanted to be. it was an innocent career fair, of all things, a way to show kids what type of jobs they could pursue. firefighters, vets, police officers, office workers, and more showed up to talk about their experiences and answer all types of questions.

turns out dalmatians weren’t a complimentary perk of fire fighting. huh.

what really captured your attention, however, had been the doctor that showed up. her display hadn’t been as showy as the other people that went up before—there had been no flashy powerpoint with three hundred transitions, no kind of gift for listening in. just a realistic figure of a brain and a dream.

“hello everyone.” her voice was warm, gentle as she spoke. but she wasn’t talking down to you, like most adults tended to do. you liked her already. “i’m here to talk about my job as a doctor. i specialized as a neurologist at tokyo tech and i’ve just started as an attending.” most of the kids next to you were either doodling on the margin of their notebook, drawing stick figures and eyes, or they were simply just not bothering to pay attention.

but you leaned forward in your seat, your back straight as a pin as you watched intently. “this part of the brain’s called the cerebellum.” she points to the back of the brain, underneath the cerebrum. “it acts sort of as a little brain and it’s responsible for controlling your movements. most of the cases i get are either from trauma or a tumor, my most complicated one was actually five years ago…”

since then, you’d been determined in what career you wanted to pursue. there wasn’t any moment of self doubt, of waking up one day and realizing you’ve been chasing after a dream you no longer want to do. it started off simple, cutting up your plush animals and pretending to do surgery on them, stitching them back to health (and stabbing your fingers 3000 times in the process).

throughout middle school, you started as many preparatory ap courses you could take, piling up more and more work onto your load until you’re eventually buried in books. pre-ap algebra, pre-ap history, pre-ap english, you were doing it all.

that workload only intensified during high school. while many of your classmates were enjoying their last couple teenage years, you were buried in sat prep books and collegeboard textbooks that weighed your backpack down by twenty pounds.

when you weren’t at school, you were either at the library or going out to volunteer with cleaning up a beach or helping out at a soup kitchen. getting more than the necessary hours to fulfill your requirements, padding your resume into making you the ideal candidate. into making you one they just simply couldn’t refuse.

doing sports you never would’ve entertained under normal circumstances, joining groups you had a semblance of interest for to have something to list on your college application. stretching yourself out to fit into every slot you’ve signed up—to make it to every team meeting, every volunteering session, every tutoring session. exhaustion weighed heavily in your bones, dark circles practically engraved underneath your eyes.

tokyo tech’s prestigious, hard to get into if you weren’t legacy or had enough money to pad the university’s board. their university was essentially a feeder school into some of the best medical schools in the country. but you managed to get in, with a 4.5 gpa, a list of extracurriculars trailing almost a mile long, and a hefty stack of recommendations (after begging for months).

there was nothing in your way to getting into medical school. if you were determined in high school, you were much more determined now. practically living in and out of your school’s café, fueled by caffeine and spite to go through whatever mcat prep book you could find and still get your assignments done at least three weeks prior to the due date.

and yet, your intro to neuro professor seems keen on destroying that very goal. you’re certain of it.

“good afternoon class.” the class falls silent upon dr. yaga’s arrival, a couple students managing to trickle in as inconspicuously as possible before he shut the door. there was no room for tardiness, no room for any bullshit in his class. many dropped out before he’d even finished going through the syllabus first day.

his footsteps echoed through the auditorium, each one purposeful and determined. the promethium sparks to life, this week’s powerpoint up on the screen. “we will be working on a group project—” a chorus of groans erupts from the back, though a stern glare from dr. yaga has them quickly shutting up.

you’re not much of a fan either. people usually take too long to organize, to figure out what they want to do, just to end up doing a half assed attempt of what’s supposed to be their part of the project. or they usually make you feel like you’re intruding when you do go to ask to be a part. needless to say, you’re already dreading it.

“i will be selecting your partners for this assignment and it involves studying injuries to the brain and how it affects each function. for example, concussions, contusions, strokes, inflammation, each one of your groups will be responsible for choosing one and what part you want to focus on.

you have a month to work on this assignment before you have to present. i don’t care how you divide the work amongst yourselves, i need everyone to work equally on the project though.” hands shot up immediately after he was done speaking, an exasperated sigh leaving your professor’s lips.

most of the questions are repeats of what he’s already stated, his annoyance clear with each one he has to answer. “alright, if that’s all, i will now be assigning you to your groups. there will be no changes done to this, so don’t bother asking.” the last line’s directed towards you.

he starts off listing off names, the people in question already starting to move to their designed partner. chairs scrape against the floor, conversations are whispered while everyone’s slowly starting to get their space set up. your ears perk up at the mention of your name, leaned over against your desk to hear him clearly. there’s not many options left, but you hope it’s a decent one at the very least.

anyone but naoya zen’in at this rate. you’re not certain you’ll make it to graduation inside of a prison cell.

“suguru geto.”

the pencil in your grasp snaps between your fingers, pieces of splintered wood splattering across your once pristine workspace.

—

you don’t have a reason to hate suguru geto, not really. he hasn’t done anything to personally offend you or your bloodline, hasn’t done anything but meet your competitive streak with a simple, calm smile. with an easiness you could only wish to achieve in this lifetime.

it was infuriating, nonetheless.

the way suguru geto never had to bury his face into a book, never had to study, never had to show up to class with anything other than a mechanical pencil and a pink eraser to achieve the same things you did.

everything came naturally to him.

photography? the rule of thirds was practically encoded into his dna, lighting and background perfect around his subject each and every time. breaking the rule came just as easily, the man capable of creating perfect symmetry without focusing too deeply on the subject.

biology? suguru geto didn’t need to show up to class unless he needed to do a quiz, mastering the function of each organ without needing to open up a textbook. finishing up two hour quizzes in twenty minutes, labeling the humerus, femur, radius, and ulna without a bit of hesitation.

making friends? he didn’t even have to try to engage in conversation, people just naturally gravitated towards him like planets to the sun. wanting to talk with him, wanting to listen to him, they all just wanted a chance to be able to be around his proximity. it was almost a cult-like following.

everything you needed to work on, that you needed to pour energy and effort into, he excelled in.

“okay, now go on and meet up with your group partner. exchange contact info, talk to one another, figure out what you want to do, all that.” professor yaga retreats from the podium over to his desk, taking a seat in front of his computer. the projector shuts off, leaving everyone to whisper amongst themselves.

you don’t stand up, slowly putting your stuff away. opening your backpack up at a snail’s pace, putting your laptop inside. suguru stands up from his spot at the top, quickly descending to the front. “hey.” he approaches your desk, taking a seat next to you.

geto inches closer to you, placing his laptop and notebook in front of him. in a sea of overwhelming axe body spray and dior sauvage, he’s calming. a velvety, warm aroma of sandalwood and bergamot makes itself known as he leans in, the scent lingering long after he’s pulled away. you hate yourself for how much you like it.

you clear your throat, forcing yourself to focus. there’s no need for introductions, no need to act friendly, “so i was thinking we could do the effects of stroke on the motor cortex and how it affects muscle movements,” you don’t hesitate in speaking up, watching as suguru already starts to type it up in a word document. at least he’s efficient.

“sounds good, you wanna meet up today?” geto looks up from his laptop, amethyst eyes meeting your own, “i know you’re busy and all. don’t want to intrude on your schedule.”

you were busy. you had to finish up studying for a quiz and finish up another project before this afternoon. but you suppose you could spare a few hours, if only for your grade. “we’ll meet up at the library at four pm. don’t be late.” you don’t give him a chance to respond, leaving right after the clock hit 12:30. he’s left scrambling to pick up his stuff while everyone else follows suit.

—

you’re already at the library by the time suguru geto steps in through the doors. sitting at the second floor on a table near the window, not enough for the sun to scorch your body, but just close enough where the space feels warm, that it feels like a blanket’s engulfed around your body. there’s a textbook in your hands, a notebook decorated in pink and blue highlighter next to you.

you almost look approachable from this distance, completely at ease in your element. lazily flipping through the pages, skimming through each paragraph before you’re annotating a couple notes down. suguru doesn’t go up just yet, taking the time to admire you from afar. how the sun he knows that as soon as he steps up, you’ll have your guard back up again.

the smell of caffeine makes you raise your head, looking over to see suguru placed a cup in front of you. “didn’t know which one you preferred so i settled for vanilla with three sugars,” he explains, taking a seat right in front of you. he's quick to take out his stuff, setting down his cup of tea next to him.

“thank… you.” your lips twist awkwardly as you force the words to come out, feeling a physical pain in your chest, even if they’re nothing more than a whisper. suguru seems to hear them all the same, giving you a curt nod. it’s disgusting, it’s humiliating, and it’s really fucking good??

bringing the cup to your lips, your taste buds are engulfed by the sweet taste of vanilla and creamer. it’s better than the coffee you’re used to from the watered down excuse from the student lounge.

suguru pretends not to notice the little pleased smile on your face, choosing instead to bask in it for as long as you’d allow him to. it’s the only time you’ve looked like you tolerated being here.

“are you capable enough of explaining the motor cortex while i take care of the research or do i have to do everything?” and just like that, your attitude returns. like you’ve suddenly remembered you’re supposed to hate him.

his eyes narrow as he meets your sudden glare, “i’m capable of doing the bare minimum, yes.” pulling out his notebook, you’re instantly drawn to the very detailed illustrations on his journal, his handwriting neat and precise. suguru skims through his notes on the primary motor cortex, long, slim fingers trailing behind the page with each word he reads.

nothing about him is sloppy, you’ve come to notice. his hair’s carefully tucked away from his face, his clothes are without creases, even his converse are miraculously clean. you force yourself to look away before he notices your lingering gaze, staring at your computer.

silence clung onto your quiet space of the library, only the sound of your taps against your keyboard echoing around the space. you’ve been scanning through abstracts for what seems to be an eternity, trying to find articles worth using in your project. the words start to mesh into one big times new roman blob.

the sun’s set by the time you’ve finished your session for the day, students trickling out the doors one by one. a few still linger on the tables, the sharp fluorescent from their computer screen only highlighting each and every one of their exhausted features.

rubbing a hand over your eyes, you’re forcing yourself to stay focused. to keep reading the paragraph in front of you—hemiparesis, studies show recovery after stroke is most effective in the first three to six months, neuroplasticity… “you want something to eat?” the question breaks you out of your stupor, looking up to see geto starting to pack up already.

he expects a protest at first, a why the hell would i endure more than necessary with you? but to his surprise, you merely shrugged, “sure. i get to pick the place, though.” you’d be stupid not to bank in on a chance to get free food, especially when you can hear your stomach growling in the silent halls of the library.

—

suguru wholeheartedly expects you to drain his pockets, expects you to pick an expensive restaurant where reservations are a three month wait, where the menus don’t have the prices next to them, and chandeliers glisten overhead in dizzying glamour.

but you settle for a small ramen shop not to far off campus, tucked away in a corner. it’d be hard to miss if you weren’t looking for it. a bell chimes overhead upon your arrival, the rich scent of broth and vegetables permeating through the air with each step you took inside.

one of the shop owners stepped out from the back, approaching you with a tight embrace. “we’ve missed you around here. you don’t show your face too much anymore,” she jests with a small, wistful sigh. you’ve been neglecting coming over, often finding yourself too tired to make the walk over, resigned to cooking yourself cheap ramen.

she doesn’t seem to linger on it for too long—turning to look over at geto, a bright smile immediately taking over her features. she doesn’t hesitate in embracing him in the same tight hug, “ooh, you finally got yourself a boyfriend. he’s real handsome.”

the idea nearly makes you recoil in your spot. “he’s not my bo-”

“thank you onēsan,” geto’s quick to interrupt your previous protest, a shit eating grin on his face when you turn to look at him. if looks could kill, he’s certain he’d be six feet under right now. but, alas, you’re not that powerful (yet), so you simply follow behind the two over to a small booth in the back.

the lights are dimmed down, the shadows playing over each crevice of his face. it’s too warm, too intimate. “what would you like to order?” you don’t need to flip through the menu brochure, “i’ll get your tsukumi soba, please.”

geto spends a few seconds scanning through the menu, reading over one side before flipping it around. “your beef yakisoba, please.” she takes away your menus, retreating into the back to get the noodles started up. ambient music plays in the background, your fingers tapping against the table. it’s still for a minute, quiet.

he breaks the silence first, gesturing to the space around you, “so can i ask why you picked this place?”

you purse your lips, pretending to be deep in thought before uttering, “no, you cannot.”

“alright then.” geto’s not sure why he expected another response to you, why he expected that one dinner would be enough to change your mind about him.

you merely raise a brow, unimpressed. “do you give up so easily on your endeavors?”

“no,” he’s quick to defend, “i just don’t want to risk making you uncomfortable.”

you can’t believe you’re letting suguru know you on a more intimate level, already regretting the words before you’re even speaking. “i chose this place because the owner’s been kind to me—” he perks up like a puppy at the information, so much for being nonchalant (he couldn’t be even if he tried), “—i came here when i didn’t have anything other than five bucks to my name. and even though the business isn’t doing so well, she covered the rest for me that day.

“i haven’t been here in a while. but i like to come whenever i have a little extra money and i have the time to.” you don’t add your father had been nearly laid off from his position at the time of the incident, leaving you scrambling to figure out how to pay rent on time, much less worry about an actual meal. the old woman had extended a hand of kindness where you weren’t expecting any.

geto clears his throat, “thank you for letting me know this little slice of you. it’s nice knowing you as something other than the valedictorian with a grudge.” you let out a noncommittal hum in response, watching as the old woman walked over with your food. you were welcomed by the earthy scent of the noodles, the aroma wafting throughout the table.

you could feel your mouth start to water before she even finished putting the plates down. “enjoy,” she tells you both, once again leaving you completely alone. there’s no rush when it comes to eating for either of you, no sense of urgency to get out. you blow on your noodles, twisting them around your chopsticks before taking a bite.

“so, are they up to your palate?” why you were making conversation with geto, you didn’t know. but nevertheless, you couldn’t exactly take the words back once they’d left your lips.

“they are. better than what i’m used to.” you savor each drop that lands on your tongue, each bite of the egg yolk that you take. it’s just the right amount of runny, the taste melding in perfectly with the broth. geto makes a few comments here in between about how good the beef is, how the noodles taste, and for once, you don’t find yourself wanting to smash a keyboard over his head.

you even make a few remarks yourself, about the different kinds of noodles that the shop offered. like you were already planning out to come here with him again. the thought should’ve been unsettling, should’ve been straight of your worst nightmares, but it wasn’t all too bad.

geto doesn’t hesitate in leaving a hefty tip behind when the check comes, earning a bright smile from the old lady. it seems she approves of him.

“do you want me to walk you back home?” he speaks up once you make it out of the shop, lingering on the street. it’s dark outside and you still had a long way to walk back home—but it’s just what you need. being in close proximity with geto has messed with your head enough, made him seem tolerable for one afternoon.

“i’d rather take my chances getting kidnapped,” you retort, already starting to walk away. he doesn’t linger for too long, walking away in the opposite direction. the walk back home is brisk, only a few cars passing by on the street, a nice chill in the air. it doesn’t take long for you to reach your building,

you’re certain you see a figure swinging away from the same direction geto had just headed in. you amount it to exhaustion, to your mind playing tricks on you. stepping inside your apartment, you’re welcomed to complete darkness—both of your parents already off to bed.

following suit, you drop your backpack off on the floor and get changed into your pair of pajamas as quietly as you can. you’ve barely managed to get into bed, to snuggle underneath your warm blanket, when your phone buzzes.

a message from geto.

geto: i hope you didn’t get kidnapped on your way home.

you: i’m sure that you’d be delighted to hear that, less competition for valedictorian after all.

geto: fair point. but then i’d have to do this project all by myself :(

you: i’m sure you’d be able to figure out if you rubbed your last two brain cells together

geto: i’m sure. good night.

—

as begrudging as it becomes to admit, you slowly start to get comfortable to having suguru around. to having your designed meet up at the library every monday and wednesday at four, being greeted with a warm cup of coffee and a kind of patience a saint would be jealous of.

it’s ridiculous. suguru doesn’t stoop as low as to meet your biting remarks with one of his own. he simply treats it with a calm smile, with a, “yeah, i’ll get that done.” when you bite out an order to do something.

“you’re more capable than i gave you credit for,” you remark, opening up the powerpoint to find that he’d settled on picking a nice theme. he’d picked up on where you left off last night with ease—sorting out your scrambled mess of notes into something feasible.

it was weird having someone you didn’t have to constantly be explaining yourself to. weird, but nice.

“well, you set a high bar. i, at least, have to make the effort to be worthy of working with you,” he retorts, reaching over. a quiet laugh escapes you, a sound he wants to bottle up just so he knows he’s not imaging it.

“your efforts are greatly appreciated.” you’re not sure when’s the last time you’ve been such at ease working on a group project. maybe never. you’re usually too stressed out trying to pick up where everyone else is lacking. plugging your earbuds on, you get back to reading through an article on motor functions.

“you should send me that playlist. for motivational purposes, of course,” suguru speaks up when you’re finished for the night. amongst corny science memes (from his part) and photos of cats he’s found on the street, you send him your playlist. showing him a glimpse of your soul—or at least what you like to listen to.

of course, it’s in alphabetical order. he finds himself playing each song, carefully listening to each of the lyrics. wondering what your thoughts were when listening, how you related to each one. your mind was a complex cavern, one that he intended to explore fully.

and across the city, you find yourself thinking about every interaction you’ve been having with him lately. about how he’s changed his brand of pencils to pentel 0.5mm in case you’d ever ask for one, the way his touch makes you feel like your body’s been electrocuted, how he’s memorized your coffee order by now.

you’re thinking too much about it, aren’t you? definitely. no way in hell you’re starting to develop feelings for suguru geto. you hate him. you hate him. you hate him.

and yet, why can’t you convince yourself of the fact?

“you’re acting weird. you okay?” suguru doesn’t hesitate to call you out, noticing you’ve been all too quiet during your session today. no biting remarks, no jokes, just silence. at first, it was comforting. now it just seems unsettling.

you nearly jump out of your seat, having been staring at the same word—and—for the past five minutes. you clear your throat, nodding. “i’m alright.” he’s not convinced but he lets it go. maybe you’re just having a bad day. you’re grateful he doesn’t try to ask any more questions, but… you miss the conversation.

fuck, you’re screwed.

—

suguru: can’t show up to our library session tonight, try not to miss me too much ;)

you’re not sure why you almost feel…disappointed at the news. it’s not like you wanted him to see that you’d put in more effort into dressing up today—that you’d ditched your (very comfortable) hoodie and sweats for a pair of jeans and a nice blouse you’d gotten on a discount rack. that you’d put on a dab of mascara and tinted gloss.

absolutely not. you didn’t care.

with nothing else to do around campus, you decide to head back home. flipping the tv on, you quickly come to find out each news channel’s covering the same segment—a giant lizard terrorizing the city while spider-man swings from building to building before jumping into action.

the hero picks up a decent looking buick, the expensive car practically weightless in his arms, tossing it over. it pierces through the air like a bullet, cameramen at the scene quickly panning their cameras to the zooming vehicle going at what seems to be a hundred miles per hour. it lands.

and spider-man misses. tossing it a mile past the point where the lizard’s crawling up a building, the car crashing into nothing but a mess of glass and debris. police sirens speed closer to the scene of the crime, thick clouds of grey smoke from the impact clouding up the atmosphere.

that’d be your last straw, you think. coming out of a late shift only to find your car completely totaled into smithereens. without so much as having some kind of insurance it’d be covered under.

luckily, it’s not you.

with that thought, you shut your tv off. choosing instead to work on some assignments, to work on converting radon mass into mols, to filling out equations that had more symbols than numbers on it. the hours pour over slowly, sun fading away into the shadows as night takes over.

there’s a knock on your window. you live on the third floor, that’s enough to unsettle you as it is. no one could get up here without using the fire escape, and that seemed like too much of a hassle just to rob you. right? another knock followed after the first, forcing you to get up from your spot.

shoving the curtains to the side, you’re met with the sight of spider-man outside your window. his suit’s ripped and tattered, exposing slivers of a blood streaked gash running down his chest. his chest heaves with each ragged and hoarse breath that leaves his lungs, a sharp pain digging through his ribs.

he leans against your windowsill, clutching a hand tightly against his stomach. his other hand reaches up, swiping at the constricting mask concealing his identity. black hair falls in long waves once its freed from its confines, a face you’re too familiar with meeting your gaze.

suguru. he leans his head back, a smear of blood marking his cheek. he’s never looked as hot as he did now—bleeding out and groaning at your windowsill. “hey, nice to see you again,” he lets out a breathy chuckle, “room looks cozy.”

there’s about a million questions bubbling in your head. how’d he manage to go to school and be the city’s hero? how’d he deal with the burden placed on his shoulders? still, there’s no time for you to be surprised. you have to act quick before he loses any more blood.

easing him into your bed, you get out your suturing kit with 140 pieces inside. pulling on a pair of gloves, you’re quick to get out what you need. a nylon needle, a silk piece of thread, some alcohol pads, and an advil just in case. “why’d you come to me?” you bring yourself to ask, pulling away at the sopping latex fabric.

it falls to your bedroom floor with an unceremonious plop, blood smearing onto your hardwood floors. you’d clean it up later. for now, you focus on evaluating the wound. the slash cut deep enough where stitches were necessary, but it seemed straight forward for the most part.

“you’re the only one in our program i trust not to drive a needle through a vein and stab me half to death,” he responds after a bit, his breathing labored as your hands squish the wound together. trying to make some sense of the ragged edges you’re trying to line up, of where you needed to poke the needle through.

“high praise,” you murmur, blood seeping and dripping from the rag you were delicately rubbing against his skin. cleaning him up as gently as possible, trying to avoid hurting the gash any more than necessary. any more than you needed to before the next step.

silence settles over your room as you draw the needle through his skin, piercing just deep enough to ensure it’d be sealed properly. forcing your trembling hands to steady, you get to work. sliding the needle through his skin, tightening the thread against each edge of the gash with each knot you do. it’s not perfect—you know that much, but it’s enough for right now.

“are you okay?” you’re the first one to break the silence tonight, gently wiping away at the streaks of crimson marring his scarred skin. blood dribbles and pours from the gash, quiet winces leaving his lips when you happen to press too hard.

a disgruntled, frustrated sigh leaves his lips, “no. the lizard escaped from me at last minute and i have no idea how to start looking for him.” taking your gloves off, you’re now faced with an incredibly hard decision. figuring out what suguru was going to wear.

you’re sure he’s bound to get questions if he walks out in a spider-man costume, digging through your cabinets to find something. an old pair of sweats that’s been too big and an oversized shirt. that’s good enough. “thanks.” suguru takes the clothes from you, quickly sliding them on.

“i’m sure you’ll find him. you’re nothing if not persistent,” you reassure, swiping away at a hair that covered his face. lightly, you dragged a clean rag through his cheeks, wiping away ruby colored streaks in three swipes. his gaze goes to your lips, your breath catches in your throat.

you’re too close. you should pull away, should tell him to leave and go back to studying. instead, you lean into the kiss. slowly and tentatively pressing your lips against his own, one of your hands coming to rest on his shoulder.

bruised hands settle on your waist, tugging you closer against his body. his lips brush against yours with all the patience in the world, the taste of him intoxicating up close. nothing else—not the city of new york, not the lizard—mattered. his lips locked against yours like a missing puzzle piece, slotting against yours perfectly.

“is this why you’ve been acting weird towards me?” suguru breathes out when he pulls away, forehead resting against your own. the proximity, of being mere inches apart, has heat rising up your neck, up to your face. everywhere you turned, he was there.

“yes,” your response comes out as a breathless whisper, his fingers drawing small lines against your arms. there’s no rush to the moment, no rush into pulling yourselves apart. a shiver runs down your spine as his touch ghosts even higher, leaving you wanting more.

hinges creak against themselves as soon as your bedroom door’s swung open, your father standing in the doorway. his eyes immediately narrowed at the sight of suguru plopped down on your bed, the two of you too close for comfort. you quickly scooted away, putting on a few inches of distance.

it wasn’t enough to erase his intrigue. with an exasperated huff, he rubbed a hand over his temples, “do you want to tell me why there’s a guy over this late? and with your door closed?” not particularly, but you figured it wasn’t as much as a question as an accusation.

“he…uh…” oh no, you hesitated. your father’s brows merely furrowed while you scrambled to find any reasonable excuse to have suguru geto in your bed at 10 pm. c’mon think think think. he’s getting suspicious.

suguru can practically see the wheels turning in your head, his teeth biting down on his lip to keep himself from snickering. your eyes dart from one corner of your room to the next, to your bed, to your nightstand before you take hold of the shut laptop next to you, blurting out, “he came to work on our project!”

“out!” your father exclaims just as soon as you’ve finished trying to find an excuse, “project my ass, we use the front door in this house for those.” he storms off into the living room, presumably to continue to continue watching his late night soccer game.

suguru let out a quiet laugh, leaning over to press a small kiss on your forehead. it doesn’t feel like enough after your admission, feels too small. but, it’s what you’ll have to make do for now. “for someone so smart, you sure are a bad liar, pretty girl.”

you’re left alone again.

you can’t focus on your project. the blank screen on your monitor burnt into your retinas, blinking cursor on the screen taunting you with each second that passes.

you can’t sleep either. you’ve tried. tossed and turned from one side to the next, throwing your leg over one of your prized plushies to no avail. you try counting sheep, you try listening to calming asmr in attempts it’d still your racing mind. nothing works. frustration boils deep in your gut, your thighs rubbing against one another.

you don’t think about suguru as just the guy you once hated and are now starting to develop a crush on, but you see him as spider-man too. see the responsibility that he takes on to protect the city, to ensure that people feel just a little bit safer walking down the streets while keeping up with school. while still managing to get you your coffee every day without so much as a protest.

the more that you get to know about him, the more that you realize that you’ve already fallen for him. tonight—that kiss—had just cemented the fact, your mind lingering on how soft he’d been. how gentle and reverent he’d treated you, being patient without treating you like you couldn’t handle it.

with a resigned sigh, you slowly began to trail your fingers down your navel. dragging your fingertips against the sensitive flesh, picturing geto’s long, digits as your eyes flutter shut. imagining his soft, plush lips making their way down your body the same you are, with an amount of reverence and tenderness.

you don’t dip your fingers inside your cunt just yet, rubbing yourself through the thin material of your panties, sliding your fingertips against your clothed slit, slowly starting to drip through the thin material. your fingers move up, rubbing at your neglected clit in small little circles.

deep in the back of his mind, suguru knows he’s not supposed to intrude on such a private moment. and yet, he can’t bring himself to leave.

he can hear footsteps up to five miles away, can hear every whispered conversation, and yet all he can focus on is the way your breath picks up, the sound of your cunt squelching around the fingers. on your rapid heartbeat thumping against your chest, on the whisper of his name that you thought left your lips into the dead of night.

wait, what?

“oh, fuck, suguru.” a breathless whisper leaves your lips, his ears perking up underneath the mask. he can practically taste you on his tongue with how intense the scent penetrates through your bedroom walls. his cock throbs in the latex, precum smearing onto the costume. that’s enough to get him sliding the costume down to his mid thighs, leaving him nearly exposed.

anybody could look up and see the city’s hero jerking himself off on the side of a building. that should’ve been enough to stop him, to make him wait until he was in his room. but no, instead, he wraps his hand around his shaft, thumb smearing precum alllll the way down to the base.

you are all that consumes his thoughts, his very being.

pushing your panties to the side, you dip two fingers inside your cunt with a wet little shlickk. all the while picturing suguru’s thick fingers instead of your own, picturing how’d he finger you. he’d start slow—just to tease you. so you decide to slowly start pumping your fingers in and out, slick dripping down to your knuckles.

suguru starts off at the same pace you’re going, timing his own orgasm to your own. soul ties and the such. his fingers wrap tightly around his cock, fist slowly dragging uppp and downn the shaft. he rubs at his swollen cockhead, smearing precum over his fist and his dick.

“o-oh fuck,” a hushed moan leaves your lips, your fingers curling about a inch in. you’re hitting your g-spot with each thrust of your fingertips, back bowed into an arch. would he let you cum? maybe if he was feeling kind enough. you rub at your clit, pushing yourself to reach your peak only to let it slip through your fingers right at the precipice.

when you do let yourself cum to the thought of it being on suguru’s fingers, of imagining him bringing them up to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them and tasting you fully, you soak your fingers and sheets underneath with a shuddered little moan.

suguru isn’t faring well outside of your window either.

sweat dribbles down from his forehead, heavy load of cum covering his hand and stomach. he leans his head back, listening to your racing heartbeat slowly return back to normal. he wipes his hand off on the side of his costume, zipping it back up before reluctantly heading back home.

so much for hating him.

—

you avoid suguru geto completely after that.

it wasn’t that hard in the grand scheme of things. sure, you were both confined to the same building for most of the day, but you avoided taking any main hallways you were certain to find him in. avoided lingering in the lounge for too long, hiding away in the back stairwell and doing some assignments. it’s quite nice the few times you get lucky and there’s no one making out underneath.

and sure, you had a few classes together, but you avoid being in your usual spots. go up to sit in the back instead of the front, in one of the far right wings of the auditorium where even the professor’s surprised when they take attendance. you don’t linger too much after class either, immediately leaving upon dismissal with your head down.

but even then, you supposed you should’ve accounted for how to avoid him at your own home.

“do i have to keep showing up to your house all bruised and battered for you to spare your friendly neighborhood spider-man five minutes?” suguru pops his head in through your window, sliding his mask off once he was inside.

you raise a brow, leaning in closer to take a look at the ‘wound’ he’s whining and pouting about. it’s a simple cut across his cheek, already starting to heal from his enhanced abilities. “you came over for this?”

“yes. i’m dying, doc,” he deadpans much to your dismay. you gesture for him to take a seat on your bed, watching as he makes himself at home amongst your plushies. taking a hold of your kit, you stand in between his legs to clean up the cut.

that’s not good enough for suguru.

“what the—” his hands take hold of your waist, easing you down onto his lap. your thighs rest upon either side of his own, your ass pressed directly on top of his lap. moving forward slightly, you grind yourself against him, a quiet moan leaving your lips upon feeling the tip against your clit.

how very unprofessional of you.

you force yourself to stay focused, taking his face in your hand. purple eyes glimmer underneath the pale moonlight, meeting your gaze as your fingers brush against the ‘bruise.’ slowly, you dab on a little bit of antibiotic onto the cut before plastering on a hello kitty bandaid on his cheek. “perfect.”

neither one of you moves. suguru’s hands stay splayed against your waist, holding you tightly against his body. trying to keep you there as long as possible. you let him, your fingers ghosting across his face before you reluctantly pull your hand away.

this time, his hand cradles your cheek, “i haven’t been able to stop thinking about your lips since the last time i’ve seen you. thinking about kissing you again.” he didn’t kiss you like he had last time, gentle and patient, no, he kissed you like he was desperate (which he, admittedly, was).

your hips swivel as you grind yourself down on his hardening cock, feeling each ridge against your dripping cunt. heavy breaths leave your lips the faster you start moving against him, the more you feel his tip prodding into your clothed pussy. “this feel good?” he questions, his hands moving up your nightshirt. cupping your breasts in between his hands, rubbing his thumb around your nipples.

“y-yeah, feels good,” you nod, head thrown back and back arched. your nails dig into his shoulders, using that as leverage as you move yourself against him. his lips move down to your neck, leaving kiss after kiss as he trails his way down. he slides your shirt off, tossing it to one corner of your room.

“can i taste you, please?” you nod, expecting him to get down on his knees and get in between your legs. to start slowly kissing his way up your legs before making his way to your cunt. but no, you watch as he crawls up to your ceiling, sticking it it before hanging upside down.

a thin, white string’s clutched between his fingers, keeping him in position. suguru hangs off your roof with relative ease, onyx strands cascading onto your silk sheets. he leans forward, his free hand swiping at the slick dribbling from your puffy folds.

syrupy strings cling onto his gloved fingertips, tongue enveloping around the latex to taste every last drop. “need to taste all of you, spread out for me,” suguru uses his free hand to spread your legs apart, your ass up in the air as you settle into an arch, “there we go. just like that, princess.”

he delves in like a man starving, his tongue swiping across your slit, lapping up every drop of your essence. your fingers tightly wrap around your sheets, hips moving back to meet his eager mouth. he’s unabashed with each swipe, with each lick to your sopping pussy.

suguru takes one of your folds in his mouth, spit slobbering over the sensitive skin to mix with the syrupy slick dripping onto his tongue, starting to make out with your lower pair of lips. “fuck, you’re so good to me, wanna stay here,” he’s already pussydrunk, each babble leaving his lips like water.

while nothing about him is sloppy, the way that he’s making out with your pussy certainly is. he takes note of what makes your heart run faster, what makes you react to adjust what he does. no reaction you make goes unnoticed.

you gushed around his mouth and chin like a running faucet, your essence smeared all over his face. suguru slid his tongue in and outt of your cunt, his nose nudging against your sensitive clit with each push. “so, so good sugu,” you whined against him, eyes rolling back. each swipe of his tongue, the desperate way he ate you out, had you inching closer and closer to your orgasm.

“mm, i know, i know,” he coos, jaw falling slack as he buries his face in between your legs. he alternates between making out with your folds, tracing his tongue across each one, and thrusting his tongue in and out of your hole. suguru licks up a broad stripe up your cunt to your clit, the tip of his tongue drawing a small circle onto the nub.

blood rushes down to his head, almost making him feel high off the taste of your cunt. his lips latch onto your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the nub. “fuck, fuck, sugu, just like that!” your praise only serves to spur him on, your orgasm the only thing on his mind.

two of his fingers dip inside your cunt, filling you even better than you’d imagined just a few days ago. suguru curls his fingers perfectly, drawing out desperate moans from your lips with each prod against your g-spot. he continues sucking around your clit, pleasure building up deep in your gut.

his fingers spread you open, pearlescent slick dribbling down his gloved fingers. your hips move on their own accord, pushing them even deeper as you chase your orgasm. “gonna cum, gonna cum,” you babble, smearing yourself across his face and fingers. your own couldn’t compare to this, not by a long mile.

“that’s it, come for me, take what you want from me,” suguru’s words unraveled you like a birthday present, your orgasm hitting your body in waves. shudders rack through your body, your legs shaking as your release spurted out of you, coating his mouth, chin, and nose. he’s quick to lap up at the drops lingering on his lips, wrapping his mouth around his fingers. sucking them off completely, a moan leaving his lips at the taste.

suguru made quick work of sliding down the rest of his costume, letting it fall on your floor. his cock slapped against his stomach once released, tan at the base with a couple veins running up the thick shaft, tip a reddish pink and dripping drops of precum. a slight eight inches if you had to go off on estimate.

he moves to his spot behind you, wrapping a hand around his shaft. slowly starting to swipe it up and down your folds, tip nudging against your sensitive clit. “i thought it was fuck me, c’mon sweetheart, tell sugu how much you hate him

“fuck y—” his cock sinks in completely, lips parting into a moan while your walls clench around him, tightly wrapped around his shaft like a vice. suguru doesn’t move just yet, even as you push your hips back for some kind of friction, “come on, finish your sentence. don’t be rude.”

you’re too desperate to form a cohesive thought—blurting out the first thing on your mind, “oh fuck me, please!”

“with pleasure, sweetheart.” he pulls back in one swift motion, hips snapping against your own when he thrusts back in, curve of his cock dizzying as it hit every single spot that had your toes curl. "ah ah ah, fuck, don't stop!" suguru doesn’t start off fast, but he starts off deep—letting you feel every inch he was stuffing inside. your cunt dripped around his shaft, squelching as your slick mixed in with the drops of precum dribbling down.

“like this?” he has the audacity to ask, his hands gripping onto your waist as he fucks into you. your ass jiggles back against him with each shove of his cock, balls smacking against the back of your thighs. he starts to move faster, pounding into your cunt like he wanted to imprint the shape of him into your walls.

“j-just like that!” you respond, head buried into the sheets in front of you. the grip you had on your sheets tightens tenfold, body jerking back and forth. that just won’t do. he raises your head up from its hiding spot, turning your head to kiss you. it’s sloppy, it’s desperate, and it’s more teeth and tongue than anything.

it’s perfect.

“keep your head up, wanna hear every little moan,” he babbles behind you, reveling in every little ah! ah! ah! that left your lips, moans mixing in with the sound of skin slapping against skin. your eyes roll back, drool leaking from your lips with every inch he drags across your cunt.

suguru plants one of his feet up on the bed, the position allowing for him to thrust even deeper. his tip kissed your cervix with each punishing thrust of his hips, each vein and ridge rubbing against your walls deliciously. one of his hands moves down in between your legs, rubbing desperate little circles around your clit.

you clamp down around his shaft, your release quickly building up. suguru feels his own approaching, balls tightening up, but he’s determined. determined to make you gush around his cock before he spills his load. your legs tremble and quake, orgasm hitting you much more intense than last time.

your release dribbles and spurts around his shaft, a creamy ring at the base as he pulls back. his hips stutter while he tries to maintain his pace, abs clenching the longer he tries to prolong his orgasm. “come for me, suguru, fill me up.” that’s enough to drag a strangled moan from his lips, a thick load of cum painting your walls white.

suguru remains still for a second before gently pulling his softening cock out, watching as you all but collapse face down onto your bed. “where do you keep your rags?” he moves across your bedroom, heading over to the bathroom.

“second cabinet on the right.” he grabs a few, making sure to get one wet enough to clean up between your legs. he takes the opportunity that your parents aren’t home to leave your bedroom, going over to grab a water bottle.

“here, take a sip.” he holds it up against your mouth, your hands reaching out to take hold of it. a moment of stillness, calm settles over your bedroom as he lightly rubs the rag against your skin, wiping away the milky trails of cum dribbling down your cunt and thighs. you close off the bottle, setting it aside on your nightstand.

“my photography class is making me submit my portfolio for my final, wanted to know if you’d be my model for tomorrow,” he speaks up, settling next to you. he wipes the sweat away from your forehead with a clean rag, just as gently as he’d done before. your body feels sluggish and limp, melting into his embrace as he wraps a hand around your stomach.

“that sounds nice. i’ll show up around three,” you whisper before succumbing to sleep, one of your own arms wrapped around his chest. even if suguru wanted to move (which he didn’t), he couldn’t move with how tightly you were holding onto him. it was the nicest sleep you’ve had thus far, the most relaxed you’ve allowed yourself to be.

the walk over to his apartment was quiet, the city still with each step you took. the trees rustled with each light breeze that passed, birds chirped a melody in the distance. for once, there weren’t any police sirens or honking cars out on the street.

maybe that should’ve been your first sign something was wrong.

—

the quiet before the storm never seems to last for very long, does it?

you never made it to his apartment. never sent a text message saying you couldn’t make it, no kind of explanation. suguru had been waiting for hours now, unwilling to accept the fact he’d simply been ghosted out of the blue. sure, you’d done that before, but his gut told him otherwise.

turning his tv on, he was greeted by the sight of the lizard. he’d regenerated faster than expected, all the effort that suguru put into fighting him the first time diminished into nothing but cheap headlines. but that’s not all that he sees. when the camera pans in, focusing on the lizard’s scaly hand, his heart drops to his ass.

“come out, come out if you want to see your girlfriend again, spider.” each taunt only makes his blood boil, watching helplessly as the lizard dangled your limp body from side to side. dropping you, gasps erupting from the public watching, before his tail wrapped around your body. “you know where to find me.”

pulling the mask on to defend the city had always felt like an obligation, some kind of punishment for sneaking out during a field trip and getting himself bit by a radioactive spider. but this time, it felt more like necessity. adrenaline pumped through his veins, pushing him through each building he swung and pulled himself off of.

of course, the lizard couldn’t have made things easy enough for him. sneaking through the clock tower, he came across a machine set to go off in thirty minutes, containing a vial full of lizard dna. if the average person would so much as inhale even a speck of air when it went off, they’d immediately face the effects.

effects that their body wasn’t suited to take, effects that their body would reject until their untimely demise. the countdown ticked, 30… 29… 28… and right at the same time spider-man made his appearance, the lizard decided to give him a choice. the city of new york or you.

spider-man was a hero revered for his ability to think fast on his feet, for his ability to swing into action with the best possible solution.

but suguru was fucking scared.

he could hear his heart thumping in his ears, his breaths coming out in short little wisps. even one little second was too much to waste, a second that could’ve to save you. to save the city of new york. the machine doesn’t take long to deactivate, only needing the vial to be removed. with a quick swipe, he was ready for action.

he couldn’t afford to hesitate now. suguru tossed himself off the clocktower’s peak, diving straight towards where you were helplessly flailing around. your hands clawed at pure air, reaching out for a final salvation to no avail. his wrist flicked forward, a silken web extending out to your chest.

four strings extended from the original web, a hand reaching out towards your body. you flailed helplessly in mid air, hearing people gasp and scream right behind you. you couldn’t focus on them, couldn’t focus on anything but suguru. the air feels cold, too loud in your ears, your vision blurry. the ground seems so close, and yet so far away. like you’re falling in slow motion.

suguru was so close, he was nearly there. his fingertips grazed against your skin, reaching out to take hold of your hand. just as soon as he thought he’d assured a tight grip over your body, you slipped away from his fingers. the web connected to your body, a second too late.

the memories behind your eyelids weren’t ones about your academic achievements, about a party you skipped to get your pre-sat score higher. no, you got painful reminders of everything you didn’t get to do. that you didn’t get to go out on a date with suguru, that you didn’t get the chance to get to know him better, that you’d die and no one would know you as anything other than the girl with a tight stick up her ass. you’d never be able to do those things, either.

never get to feel the warmth of the sun against your face again, never get to feel the softness and tenderness from suguru’s touch. that one, you think, hurts the most.

CRACK.

he felt it before he heard it. felt the moment your heart went silent, the moment that spider-man failed you. still, he persisted. there must be something he could still do, anything at all.

he can’t afford to lose you, he just can’t.

his hands hooked underneath your legs when he got close enough, cradling you close to his chest. “hey,” his voice cracks, tears welling underneath his mask. “open your eyes, please. talk to me. say you hate me, say you love me, say anything.

“just… come back to me. please.” guilt seeps in through the open wound with a vengeance, a reminder you wouldn’t have been in this predicament if he wasn’t so careless. if spider-man hadn’t allowed himself to feel a smidge of happiness, you’d still be alive.

you had many dreams in the world. and that’s all they would be, just dreams.

—

WHERE IS SPIDER-MAN?!

article published by the daily bugle, 2026

spider-man. the man we seek out to solve most of our problems throughout the city whether it be the simplest of bank robberies or a giant lizard wrecking havoc amongst the city.

he has shown up time and time again in our time of need, in times where everything was once thought of as a lost cause. but one has to wonder, how good is this dependence?

the webbed vigilante has left us to our own devices, having gone missing for months now. we are completely helpless, doubting our finest officers that put their lives on the line to keep us safe. this sick hero’s been working on his own merit, on his own accord without any policing, to ‘protect’ the city.

but recently, there haven’t been any reports. any sightings of the masked hero since the fight against the lizard three months ago. nothing against the villains that he, himself, is responsible for bringing into our city. one has to wonder just where is spider-man?

[hotties4gojo]

AISHA’S GETO-CENTRIC FIC RECS

a collection of my favorite geto suguru fics i’ve read over the years that i want to spotlight, consisting of pieces that include fluff, angst, smut, and more. fics are divided by series/oneshots/drabbles. please heed all warnings & give all included authors their very much deserved flowers! shamelessly plugging my own geto fics as well :p i’ve marked superscript next to authors to indicate if they’ve been included multiple times in this post!

series:

best friend!geto (ongoing?) by @fricks ; i’ve reread all of the entries in this series so many times that i could beam this shit onto the back of my eyelids and reread them all over again just like that. i adoreeee geto’s characterization here (fricks is a geto expert truly) he’s such a charming little shit and the witty convos between him and reader are just tew good. i can’t decide on a favorite part cos they’re all amazing IM SERIOUS. THIS IS MY LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA PLEASE DONT BURN IT DOWN!!!!

dishonorable (complete) on ao3 ; regency/bridgerton aus are always divine and this fic is no exception. duke geto and reader’s chemistry is too good 🚬 love how they want to strangle each other yet they flirt with each other in the same breath. duke geto take it out its hurtingggguuuhhhh

six degrees of separation (complete) by @starmapz ² ; i read this yeaaaars ago so imagine my surprise when i dug this fic up again and realized trish wrote it 😭 the angst in this has stuck with me for YEARS . geto loves so hard and that facet really shines in this fic. the entire thing is incredibly true to his character as a whole and serves as an amazing analysis of his character. how am i even allowed to read this masterpiece without a price? like wdym this is FREE?

strangers (ongoing) by @yenayaps ; this fic will hit you hard cos jfc this is a truck of ANGST. i’ve never wanted eternal happiness and peace for two people so badly in my life. geto and reader have grown distant after a miscarriage and are in the process of learning & choosing to love each other again, and it makes me wanna bawllll. their arguments and thoughts are so grounded and feel incredibly real, making this fic all the more immersive and making the angst pack a few extra punches. i think about the diabolical restaurant scene once a month at least 😭

no. one party anthem (ongoing) by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; this rockstar suguru right here is one i would suck right off the bone like hes a box of chicken wings. girl dad? charmer of the year n hes slick wit it too? THE PINING THE CHASING THE GROVELING THE TRYING TO BE BETTER FOR READER??? top tier truly. indie always shows out with her various geto series and this has gottaaaaa be one of the best. the angst and smut here are unparalleled. that hotel sex scene STAYS living in my head (gif of the duck smoking and shaking its head with a satisfied smirk). im forever rooting for geto in this fic IDGAF!!!!

meow or never (complete) on ao3 ; geto’s little shit of a cat (aptly named gojo) gets reader’s cat pregnant and chaos ensues. geto wants reader’s cookie so bad lmfaoooo just like gojo with reader’s cat… this whole fic is genuinely SO hilarious. super domestic, fluffy, and very slice-of-life too!

fwb!suguru (ongoing?) by @eraserbread ² ; elly’s prose is to die for and her word choice is so unique too so her works are always a treat to the soul. the way she writes geto.. mm… truly a five course meal. need geto and reader to communicate and stop trying to win the nonchalant-off (they’re both failing to be nonchalant). i’m shaking them. god i wanna smash these two together like barbie dolls 😢 (😏). let me get my wallet because it must be illegal to read this piece of art for FREEEEE?

lazy sunday morning and whispers in the library (complete) on ao3 ; going from domestic intimacy and first times in the first fic to some freaky exhibition shit in the second fic… yeaaaah this is my bread and butter. geto is SO romantic and sweet in these installments, especially the first part 😪 this geto needs to be in my bed by yesterday or i’m hanging myself by the ears on the nearest tower

smoking with stoner!getou suguru (complete) on ao3 ; been a while since i’ve read this but geto is slick and sexy ass motherfucker in this fic. his dialogue had me cheesinggggg I WANT HIM BAD BRAH! the exposition here is so lively and perfectly immersive, idk how to explain it but its SUCH a vibe. gojo and toji are total clowns in this fic lmfao the shit they were pulling in the background had me ctfuuuu. this fic is a certified fave

the roommate part 1 & part 2 (ongoing?) by @kenzieluvsnanami ; call this puth british with the way roommate geto is innittttt 🇬🇧 the way geto is written in these makes me nut untouched and on the spot… this man is a sexy ass fiend and ykw i like them crazy just like this. ESPECIALLY when it’s geto. love his cheekiness and tomfoolery here lmfaooo he’s entertaining asf

sometimes i peep on the handsome dad next door (complete) on ao3 ; the dilf suguru to beat all sugurus 🙂‍↔️ every time there was so much of a mention of either 1. his gray streaks or 2. how he interacts with nanako and mimiko, i started shaking like a little rabid dog on steroids. reader is such a freak in this LMFAOOJTKWHR just like me fr… i too would wake up at 5am just to watch geto get dressed 🤤 he’s so hot and assured and confident in this fic and it makes me wanna jump his bonessss. his and reader’s relationship and build-up is something you don’t wanna miss out on!

darling (complete) on ao3 ; the second i saw black reader x musician geto i knew this would be toe-curling. AND IT IS! op did such a lovely job of portraying the hard of hearing reader here. i adore how geto and reader use each other as inspiration for music and for writing, and seeing their arrangement develop into a relationship is so worth the read c:

breathe me in on ao3 ; fwb!suguru in this fic… i gotta light a blunt every time i think of him. i was sold the second he asked reader to come over not for sex but to cuddle and to have someone simply there with him. geto is soooo sensual to his core here like every thing he does and says feels like honey… and he’s SO smooth jfc. so fine. my sweetheart AND my little shit :,) the smut here is toe-curling

the ethics of relationships (complete) by @gojonanami ; i typically don’t read prof/students but this fic is just one of those onessss and if you haven’t read it then you’re missing out 🙂‍↔️ that’s how yummy this whole five course meal is. i’ve harassed so many friends with the link to this fic LMFAO i just want everyone to read this BAD… i’m due for a reread because it’s been a WHILE but so many scenes in this fic stand out in my memory. super good overall!!

brat (ongoing) by @kunareads ; producer geto and pop star reader you are so very famous to me! reader is such a vibe in this fic and it makes her relationship with geto all the more fun & enticing. their dynamic feels like snorting a line of coke in the best way possible but also i need these fools to communicate asap 😣 the formatting of this fic is SO fun and feels super interactive/immersive!!

vault boy (ongoing) by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; fallout/apocalypse au!! if u havent gotten into fallout, indie makes the universe easy to understand. geto is such a sweetie pie in this fic and his humanity is devastating… MY POOR BABY :( i wanna hide him away in a bunker. speaking of bunkers, give me one to shack up with him in and we’d repopulate the entire world in just a few years TRRRRUST 🤣✌🏽

oneshots:

#INTRO2MUNCH101 by @satorena ; another situation where i read a fic years ago and became mutuals with the author later on (haiii serena). this fic is comedy fawking golddddd no joke but its also hot as hell. serena is too good at building up the chemistry between geto and reader (#welovemeanreadersbtw) and i love how desperate geto is here, he wants that cookie BAD. his fake nonchalant shit had no one fooled and every time reader called him out i was ctfu. the smut had me writhing brah WRITHING (and giggling profusely for many reasons)

rock you up on ao3 ; TA geto and professor reader is an unmatched dynamic brah YALL DONT EVEN GETTTT HOW MUCH I FUCK WITH THEM ANDDD THIS FIC… submissive geto was a very exciting surprise HEHEHEHEEEE i love seeing my man getting his shit rocked <3 the banter here is too mfing good and is something this writer very much excels at!!

why suguru’s wife is the best cook in the world! by @yunamoona ; a super good take on geto and his relationship with food AND the cutest meet cute to ever meet cute… yeah this is a banger. repeating what i said in the comments but when geto ate reader’s cookies i was smiling at my phone like a freak, because sometimes all it takes is just the act of kindness/love to be able to guide you down a path of healing :,) i love this fic sm. it’s one of a kind

what if you’re just someone i want around (i’m falling again) on ao3 ; post-jjk0 fix it fic where reader is assigned to watch over geto 😣💔 < the sound of my heart shattering. you can feel geto’s jadedness and bitterness radiating through the screen due to how vivid and deeply thoughtful each scene is written out. but despite it all, geto is such a sweetheart and lover to his core 😢

i’m afraid that’s just the way the world works (but i think that it could work for you and me) on ao3 ; an au where geto never defected and years later, reader and geto take in nanako and mimiko. such a heartwarming fic all around. i love my miminana forever and ever and they deserve the world

bed chem by @nanamiskentos ; this is sexy AND fucking hilarious, what MORE could you ask for. suguru had me curling my toessss in this fic jhtjwhrjsi his dialogue has me hot and ready like lil caesars. the descriptions here make me wanna lick my screen and digest every single word. best believe i’m cleaning my plate every time i reread this

it’s true i never write, but i would gladly die with you by @summer-oil ; post-defection fics where geto and reader used to be friends always destroy me in the best way possible :,) and ugh the prose here… no words can describe how beautiful and impactful it is. oh geto you yearner…

the haunting by @starmapz ² ; if you like horror fics this is absolutely the fic for you :3 if geto were my ex… shittttt i would crack him again and take him back too. this fic is a perfect blend of hot smut, angst, and unsettling horror. i can’t say much else cos of spoilers but the ending had me GAGGED

it will come back by @hellowoolf ; ballerina au with instructor geto and ballerina reader!! their push and pull in this fic had me reading with my hands (and puth 😣) clenched… the chemistry is SO buzzy and so loud. the smut is mfing fantasticcccc and the build-up to it is EXCELLENT. dialogue is on point toooooo everything geto says makes me giggle

top of the class on ao3 ; if my TA was as pretty (and pathetic) as geto in this fic, i’d crack tf out of them too 🤭 love the switch-up in the power dynamic here and how reader sooo effortlessly has geto wrapped around her finger

ghostface pussy killer by @saintkaylaa ; one thing about me is i loveeee a good fic where one chases the other and then they fuck nasty 😣 the aphrodisiacs being involved makes the stakes sm more intense (and hotter 😏). i’m obligated to reread this everyyyy october because this fic is peak

the best kind of remedy by @reignpage ; santa can i please get herbalist geto under my tree for christmas 🙏🏽 preferably naked and already oiled up 🙏🏽 stoner geto is absolutely and 100% my kryptonite everyyyy time and he’s extra sexy asl in this fic. DREAMY SIGH. the smut is so buzzyyyyy

a guide to hooking up by @thedivinegeneral ² ; this is a certified hood classic iykwim. every time this fic pops up on my dash or in my memory, i just HAVE to reread it. jade is really and truly the god of managing to make fics perfectly fluffy, hilarious, and smutty like whewwwww… geto and reader here are so special to me I LOVE THEM DEARLY 😣😋

how to baby trap marry your best friend! by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; FUCK MY BABY DAD ALRIGHT!!! i love idiot best friends in love bro like just put the crush in the bag and pop the questionnnnn, the yearning in this kills me in the best way possible! the first time they have sex and take pictures of each other is forever branded in my head cos its tooooo hot 🚬

lessons in love on ao3 ; oh to fall in love with dilf geto and to retire with him… whimsical sigh. such a comforting slice of life fic. if my future partner isn’t this sweet and devoted and understanding, i don’t want em! geto here is really the perfect husband 😋

cry for me by @bunnieeteeth ; coach geto and figure skater reader! really cannot say much about this fic for the sake of spoilers, but also because i genuinely have no words for how this fic makes me feel. just wow. trust me when i say that this fic will have you sitting up in your seat and staring at your phone in shock. i want geto and reader to get together so bad but at what cost 💔

the torture of small talk with someone you used to know by @betterinvienna ; rockstar geto (and your ex) and photographer reader how you’ve both moved me and changed me irreversibly. geto is a first class yearner with a ticket straight to piningville because ohhhh my goddddd he wants reader back so mfing bad . he’s losing the nonchalant war #chalantking and i’m happy about it! such a good angst & hurt/comfort fic. i love exes fics. EVERY SINGLE SONG IS ABOUT YOU… WAH…. 😢😢😢🥺🥺🥺🥺

the practice of kissing by @lovelivision ; we all cheer for kissing practice fics!!! geto is such a mouthwatering tease in this fic ughhtksjrns i have got to fuck him . he’s such a cocky little shit but also sososo sweet with reader and so accommodating… his duality is unmatched!

praisekink4praisekink by @cherrys-wrld ; cherry always excels with writing familiar and cozy domesticity even during intimacy… dreamy sigh. geto is such a romantic WHY ISNT HE REALLLL (edit: i will update the link when this gets reposted!)

golden brown by @sixxels ; princess reader and knight geto you will be my undoing… the forbidden love here really packs a punch because they’re so desperate to be with each other and so in love, but they have to comply with the system :( i teared up while reading this fic. please never hurt me like this again (DO IT.)

ghost of you by @suguruss1ut ³ ; this fic is my 13th reason ☹️ post-defection geto and reader who still love each other despite geto’s actions/ideals is lethal. so lethal. this fic had me rolling around in bed thinking about it for dayssss after finishing it… it’s so heartbreaking UGHHHH 💔

#THE PARTY AND THE AFTER PARTY by @screampied ; lock me in a room with stripper!geto for about an hour (please trap us together longer though.) and he’s walking out pregnant god willing. whole fic had me twirling my hair and checking my wallet for extra cash to toss geto’s way

you & me by @getosurya ; perfect perfect perfect hurt/comfort after an argument between geto and reader. despite everything, they love each other sm and it bleeds through each and every action of theirs… this fic is so tender and reassuring that it makes me melt :,)

geto’s bride by @thedivinegeneral ² ; the effect that this fic has had on me actually needs to be studied because why am i so charmed by chucky doll geto to the point that i’ve sent this fic to multiple friends individually 😭😭 this shit had me CRYINGGGGG cos of how fucking funny it is alllll the way through lmfaooohtkwhrj and imagining certain scenes had me cracking up. i am such a sucker for sub geto in this fic… MAKE HIM WHIMPER!!!!

simply ear-resistible! by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; bunny geto is the cutest fucking thing to ever existtttt 🥺😭 even if he has a massive attitude LMFAO. him retaining a few bunny traits/habits after returning to his original form actually makes me want to chew on his cheek. reader and geto are TOOOO cute here and i want the best for them :]

maw on ao3 ; there are no words to describe this fic or how it makes me feel without my description/thoughts majorly falling flat. i simply cannot do this fic justice… PLEASE READ IT.

ask me to bleed (for you i will) on ao3 ; post-defection geto and non-sorcerer reader who works at a bakery… another fic that is my 13th reason lowkey. this is another fic that i cannot do justice nor summarize my feelings for properly but i am once again urging you all to read this

purrrfect surprise by @suguruss1ut ³ ; do you like men who crawl on all fours while wearing cat ears?? look no further cos this is the fic for YOU!!! i love me some sub geto and this fic is pure peak. need him desperate justttt like this

drabbles:

(i’ve written so many summaries/thoughts already that i won’t be doing so for these fics. titles are all pretty self-explanatory for the most part, and these are all super good short reads!! 🫶🏽)

emo!suguru and his pretty pink princess by @epicderpface

suguru + independent gf by @satoruined

mornings with suguru by @hayajiku

sub!suguru wax play by @bluukive

arcturus beaming by @oporotheca

love, as if it were carved in stone by @go6jo

tutor!geto getting overwhelmed by @eraserbread ²

suguru volunteers to model for your art class and you didn’t expect him to have such a perfect dick by @gojosconsort

afterglow by @feyrinnn

kissing suguru by @sugurusbadhabit

binded bunny by @meowguru

domain expansion: unlimited creampies by @suguruss1ut ³

lost in the sauce (you) by @fushiguho

childhood friend!suguru by @digitalro

dividers © sweetestpeacreates.

[gitopi]

​🇼​​🇪​❜​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇩​​🇴​​🇳​​🇪​. - ​🇾​.​🇴​.

SYPNOSIS: For some reason, your boyfriend never wants to spar with you. He always goes easy, specifically and exclusively on you, and it's irritating. So when you just about reach your limit, he does too.

PAIRING: yuta okkotsu x reader

Genre: one-shot

Warnings: suggestive themes, choking, yuta being irritated :D, reader playing around too much.

AN: Yeah as soon as the dub dropped for ep 12 I watched it, and well that clip of Yuta saying "we're done" has been on loop for the past 12 hrs :)))

WC: 1k

Watching Yuta train wasn’t anything new to you at all.

But after seeing him earlier, sparing hand to hand with Panda, something was just different about it.

Was it weird to be hyperfixated on the way your boyfriend fights? Probably. Whether it was or not though was completely irrelevant.

You wanted to try too.

It wasn’t fair. Yuta never agreed to spar with you. On the times he did, he wouldn't go all out and it frustrated you to no end. You weren’t fragile and you could hold your own.

It’s not like you think that he doubted your abilities, but as if he was well aware of his and thought he would hurt you. The mere thought of accidentally punching his girlfriend in the jaw wasn’t something Yuta wanted to imagine. After all, besides the fact that it put a sour taste in his mouth, he also knew it wouldn’t be a very pretty sight afterwards.

It was irritating to say the least, but no matter how many times you asked, he wouldn’t let up on the subject. In his words, “he’d never put his hands on you, no matter what.” And usually that would’ve been such a reassuring comment, but not when you’re begging this guy to take you seriously.

Every time you spar together, he would let you win, and it was so obvious. If it wasn’t for the fact that his hits didn’t or barely connected to you, maybe it could’ve really been passed off as such, but he barely tried to hide it.

You so much as touch him and he’s exaggerating the whole thing. Whether that was dramatically falling on the ground, or holding his cheek like you broke his jaw.

Yuta would seriously let you leave him black and blue before he ever seriously hit back. It never got that far on your end though, because you would walk away 5 seconds later irritated because he was just letting you get the upper hand.

So while the rational part of your head would’ve told you to leave him alone, the stubborn part of you wanted to push him until he actually would take you seriously. You were very confident in your abilities, him going easy on you was doing nothing but bruising the ego you’d worked so hard to live up to.

The only way you were going to have a chance at finally sparring with him for real was now.

It was obvious that Yuta had been slightly irritated all day. That could be seen with the way he’d rolled his eyes a few times after breakfast, said a smart comment, and the most obvious sign, keeping to himself most of the day.

It was a given that at these times, you wouldn’t bother him unless you desperately had to. He never asked you too, but you knew he also needed to decompress with some time to him.

Not today though.

If anything you were determined to get on his last nerves. As crazy as it sounded, you wanted him to snap. Maybe then he wouldn’t treat you like some porcelain doll.

That was why you were already making your way down the hall to his room, mentally preparing yourself for what you were about to do.

You opened the door so fast it almost flew off the hinges. Yuta looked up, watching as you made your way across the room until you were at the foot of his bed.

He rolled over from his side onto his back, placing his phone down next to him. He was propped up on his elbows. “What's up?..”

All Yuta could do was watch as you folded your arms, your knees touching the edge of his bed. He was in some lounge clothes, and with the way he took a deep breath before speaking was all the reassurance you needed that he was actually not in a great mood.

Your voice was nothing like the way you intended to sound. “You never take me seriously.”

He blanked out for a moment, skimming his mind for what you could possibly be referring to. Not that he needed a verbal answer anymore though, because when he finally focused back up, you were on his lap, pulling him by his blue t-shirt. Your hand was on his collar, pulling him into an upright position, your eyes were only inches apart.

A hand held his jaw in place, eyes cold. “You never take me seriously at all, Yuta. It’s humiliating. How about you spar with me, for real this time.”

The look on your face was so smug. You’d got him like this, even catching him off guard. Maybe you weren’t so far behind him after all.

You were so confident. He’ll give you that.

Next thing you know, you were laid down on your stomach at the edge of his bed. You felt something wrapped around your neck, firm and tight. Your gaze immediately snapped to the mirror across the room on the wall.

He had you in a headlock.

Any attempt to speak went completely out of your head the moment you made eye contact with him.

A weight pressed against your back, leaning down against your ear. His voice was serious, eyes sharp, locking with yours in the mirror. “We’re done.”

Yuta’s forearms flexed with the position he held you in. You could see all the lines in them in the mirror, along with the light coming in from the sun.

The firm hold he had on your neck was slightly loosened by your hands pulling him back. It was as if a switch flipped inside of you. It was clear you were committed to this. You wanted to piss him off.

“No, we’re not.”

He raised a brow in the mirror, looking you up and down in your reflection. You could feel the way his breathing sped up in your ear, his lips pressing against your lobe. “No?”

He was being so sarcastic, your mouth was agape as you held eye contact. “You really wanna be humiliated, huh?..”

Before you even realised it, you were being tugged backwards, now seated on his lap. Your back was to his chest, while he maintained the headlock he had you in.

“Fine then. Have it your way.”

@texas-bitch-yee, @hioriiii, @megssleepygirl

cracking pissed off yuta would go crazy but anyways yee haw

AN: comments are appreciated ♡

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------All photographs, lyrics, quotes, are not mine, credits reserved to those individuals..

[gojoest]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

━━━ synopsis: fate has a strange way of birthing love. you married gojo satoru to stay close to his father — an arranged union built to conceal a scandalous affair. but somewhere between the lies and the silence, another secret began to stir quietly in your chest. one that did not belong to his father at all. 

━━━ content warning: MDNI, fem! reader (she/her), arranged marriage, affair, infidelity, love triangle, age gap (late 50s vs late 20s/early 30s), reader’s age isn’t necessarily specified but she’s written with late 20s/early30s in mind, unreliable narrator, original characters (satoru’s parents: gojo akihito & gojo saori), falling in love, sexual themes but no explicit content, alcohol consumption in a few scenes, reader is drunk in one scene, flashbacks, character death, murder, twists, there’s a specific fire scene that is heavily inspired by the manhwa “betrayal of dignity”, pregnancy, angst with a happy ending, ask to tag if something triggering is missing 

━━━ pairing: gojo satoru x fem! reader ; gojo akihito (oc) x fem! reader 

━━━ word count: 20k+ (…idk what happened there tbh) 

━━━ author’s note: hello guys! this is the idea i first mentioned back in october and it’s finally coming to life! it’s the longest thing i’ve ever written so please be gentle and kind — to me, to the story, and to reader. i did my best to proofread while editing but apologies in advance for any typos, inconsistencies or mistakes that might’ve slipped through! i hope you enjoy the read ♡

Love can make you do crazy things.  

Sometimes it’s a silly behavior that you exhibit, one that isn’t akin to your usual self, one that makes you a bit of a fool. 

You find yourself taking detours to “accidentally” bump into someone. Your heart races at the sight of them, and you disguise your longing behind an awkward ‘What a coincidence!’, but what you really mean is ‘I really wanted to see you! I couldn’t stay away.’ It’s harmless — charming, even. 

But what happens when love blooms where it shouldn’t? When it takes root in poisoned soil, nurtured by secrecy and betrayal — can it still be called innocent? When the heart wants what it shouldn’t, when desire threatens to unravel lives and twist fates — is it still harmless? Still endearing? 

No. The fool knows better — but doesn’t care. 

Blinded by love, reason is cast aside. Judgment dulls. Morality slips through desperate fingers. The choices no longer belong to conscience; they belong to longing. 

Science says that falling in love mimics a drug high — dopamine rushes, rational thought hijacked, impulse overrides consequence. You become addicted. You crave. And in that craving, you’d do anything to have it. No matter the cost. 

-- 

The air in the room is thick. With the windows shut, the scent of sex lingers — trapped between the four walls of the hotel room, clinging to your skin and his. Your bodies lie tangled, worn out and still close. 

“Nobody saw you come in, right?” the whitehaired man beside you breaks the silence, voice low but tender. His breathing has steadied, back to its usual calm rhythm. 

You tilt your head, cheek still pressed against his damp chest. His hand, which had been trailing lazily along your bare back, moves up to cradle your neck — gentle, almost instinctive. Like he’s trying to spare you any discomfort, even now. It makes you smile, the way he always trembles for you. 

“No, no one saw me”, you murmur. “It’s not like this is the first time.” 

“It’s the first time since you got married”, he replies, his tone quieter, more guarded. 

“Is this why you’re so tense?” you let out a feeble laugh. “Nothing’s changed, really — except now we’re both married...” the smile on your lips slowly fades. Your lips part, more words caught behind them. 

...not to each other though — you want to say, but you don’t. You don’t want to break the moment. It’s been too long since you last had this. 

“Actually”, he trails off, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. 

At times like this, you’re reminded, again, how large he is. He barely shifts beneath you, just stretches one arm to grab the pack, the other still wrapped around your waist. He lights a cigarette with practiced ease, tucks it between his lips, and inhales deeply.  

“There’s one thing that has changed”, he says, smoke curling from his mouth. 

“Oh?” 

“I see you every day now.” 

A faint smile touches his lips, softening his blue eyes. He kisses the top of your head, gaze lingering on you. 

That’s right. You do see each other every day now. It’s the consequence of living under the same roof. 

“But even so, moments like this... they’ve become rare. That bothers me.” 

The warmth leaves his voice. His eyes grow distant, pale and cold. “Seems like he is keeping you too busy. Maybe he’s starting to like you.” he speaks in a dull voice. 

“You think so?” 

“He’s around the house more, with you. He used to be gone all the time. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” His tone hardens. “He wasn’t supposed to act like this.” 

You let out a dry, uneasy chuckle. “Maybe he’s taking after you. Maybe I bewitched him... just like I bewitched you.” 

You don’t mean it. It’s just a tease, but the words land wrong.  

“Don’t joke about it”, he mutters, exhaling sharply. His brows furrow, tension creeping back into his features. “That’d be... problematic.” 

The man beside you is Gojo Akihito — your lover. The former head of the Gojo Clan. He is also the father of your husband. The current head of the clan — Gojo Satoru. 

...you only meant to lighten the mood. But just like his plan —  

It’s not working. 

-- 

Rumor has it: The clan head, Gojo Satoru, is completely enamored with his wife. 

It has become the talk of the mansion.  

“Did you see”, one maid whispers, nudging her colleague as they set the long dining table. “He brought her flowers, again.” 

“That’s nothing”, another chimes in, lowering her voice. “The other day he asked me how to make omurice. Said he wanted to learn it properly.” 

The first two maids lean in, wide-eyed. “And? What happened?” 

“I went into the kitchen early next morning”, she continues with a conspiratorial grin, “And there he was. Apron and everything. Cooking omurice from scratch. Said it was for his wife. Even served it on a fancy plate — with flowers from the garden. I think he picked them himself.” 

The maids collectively gasp, hands covering mouths, eyes sparkling. 

“He’s completely smitten”, one sighs, nearly swooning. “I heard he turned down every arranged match before her — didn’t even consider them. Then out of nowhere, he agrees to this one without a second thought.” 

“At first, I figured he just caved from the pressure”, another adds. “You know how the elders kept pushing. I thought he married her to shut them up.” 

“But now? Look at him. That’s not obligation. That’s a man in love.” 

A round of dreamy sighs circles the table. 

“Remember how he used to show up maybe once every couple of months? Only if something serious needed his attention?” 

“Now we see him every day”, one nods. “And if he’s not home, it feels... weird.” 

“He always comes back”, says another. “No matter how late. And the first thing he does is go see her.” 

“That’s not all”, the first maid says, lowering her voice even more. “The other day, he came home with a wound.” 

“No way. Him?” one of the others gasps. “He’s untouchable — who even got close enough to land a hit?” 

“Exactly. And do you know what he did? He let her clean him up. She asked for the first aid kit, and he just... smiled. The whole time. Like it didn’t hurt at all.” 

A chorus of quiet squeals follows, full of awe and disbelief. 

“He let himself be struck just so she’d fuss over him?” one whispers, covering her mouth. “God, he’s hopeless.” 

But before the fantasy could grow any richer, a sharp voice cuts through the air. 

“If you’re done gossiping”, Akihito says coolly from the doorway, “Perhaps you could focus on the work you’re actually being paid to do. Call everyone when dinner is ready.” 

The maids freeze, spines straightening, heads bowing in rapid succession. “Y-yes, sir. Our apologies.” 

Akihito didn’t linger. He didn’t need to. 

It wasn’t their chatter that irritated him. It was what they were whispering about. What they were seeing — what he couldn’t ignore. That’s what got under his skin. 

--  

“Good evening, wife.” 

You blink at the mirror just as a bouquet of forget-me-nots is gently laid in front of you on the vanity. Satoru leans in behind you, his reflection appearing over your shoulder, smiling. “You look beautiful, as always.” he murmurs against your ear. 

You shift slightly in your chair, but his hands land softly on your shoulders, holding you in place — not forcefully, but firmly enough to suggest he’s not letting you leave just yet.  

“Want me to brush your hair?” 

You sigh and meet his eyes in the mirror. “I can do it myself.” 

“I know”, he says smoothly. “But I want to.” 

Persistent. That’s one thing you’ve learned about him in the month you’ve been married — Satoru always gets what he wants. If you said no now, you wouldn’t put it past him to slip gum into your hair just so you’d have to ask for help. 

Just like he did with your slippers. 

He wanted to put them on for you one morning — for no reason other than his own mischief, you’re sure — but you refused. Later, fresh out of the shower, they were gone. All of them. Every pair. Oh no, we’re out of slippers! Guess I’ll just carry you — he said with that shameless grin of his. And he did. Said the floor was too cold. Couldn’t let his wife get sick, after all. He carried you around the house all morning. Then, right before leaving to run some errands together, he knelt, slipped your shoes on like some smug prince, and you let him — half amused, half annoyed. 

The bastard always wins. 

“Fine”, you relent now, sitting back. 

“Don’t worry”, he says, picking up the brush. “I’ll be gentle.” 

So far, nothing about this marriage has matched what Akihito told you. It was supposed to be nothing more than a formality. He reassured you countless times that his son would not even glance at you — let alone lay a hand on you; that you would probably just see him just once, on your wedding day, and that would be the end of it. But so far, Akihito was wrong about everything. 

He’s never home, huh? — You see him every day. 

He won’t touch you, huh? — Then why does he look for every excuse to be close? Going as far as to get himself injured on purpose and come back without healing himself so you’ll tend to him... Why does he always find a reason to touch your arm, your hand, your back? Why... Maybe, he wants to get in your pants? That must be it... right? Why else would he try so hard to make things work? It’s not like you two married out of love. You could’ve just quietly existed as his wife on paper; he certainly doesn’t have to bother making you an actual part of his life. 

Sure, he is a huge tease. But it’s not the annoying kind. It’s... disarming. You hate to admit it, but there’s something about him. A pull. A quiet magnetism that makes you want to lean in instead of pull away. And sometimes, you forget — forget why you came to be his wife in the first place, that this was never meant to be more than convenience serving the purposes of a scandalous affair. 

Until you remember. Until you look at him and see shadows of Akihito — the resemblance too striking to ignore. A younger version of the man who changed everything for you. 

You sigh, unable to keep your thoughts from wandering. 

“Did I hurt you?”, Satoru asks, suddenly pausing mid-stroke. 

You glance at his reflection. For just a second, there’s something soft in his expression. Worry. “No”, you say. “Just thinking.” 

“About?” 

He continues brushing, careful not to let the bristles graze your skin. Instead, his hand absorbs the pressure — the motion surprisingly tender. Then his hand drops. Light fingertips brush your neck. Two fingers lift your chin, tilting your head back until your eyes meet. “Thinking about someone else while I’m this close to you?” he asks, brows furrowed. His tone is calm, but the edge in it isn’t playful. It’s sharp. Serious. 

“Jealous?” you smirk, trying to deflect. 

He places the brush down and leans in. His head hovering over yours. There’s barely any distance left. When you both breathe out a veil of warm air falls and fills the tiny gap left between your faces. “Very”, he says quietly, his face deprived of the usual grin. “Makes me want to do terrible things to the man in your thoughts.” He’s not joking. Not even a little. 

“I was thinking about you, actually”, you reply. It’s not technically a lie.  

Not accustomed to such intimate closeness with him, heat starts to spread across your cheeks, your heartbeat acting peculiarly too. The nearness is too much. You share a bed, yes — but neither of you has ever dared cross the middle. Not yet. Why beat so fast suddenly, heart? Must be the fact he’s looming over you like this that is making you uncomfortable. Trying to break the tension, you joke. “If you’re planning on doing terrible things to yourself, make sure you don’t die. I’d hate to be widowed so young.” 

His expression falters. For a second, you see it — genuine surprise. It’s satisfying. He blinks, once, twice, head pulling back slightly, fingers at your jaw trembling with something unspoken. But it doesn’t last. He recovers quickly. 

A breathy laugh escapes him as he leans in again. “You were thinking about me? What, something dirty?” 

You scoff. “You wish.” 

“I do”, he replies instantly. “And don’t worry — you’ll get there soon enough.” 

The audacity. 

“What makes you so sure I’ll get there”, you shoot back. He grins, guiding your face back toward the mirror. “If you can’t see it up close...” He taps the glass. “Just look there. I’m kind of a masterpiece.” 

“The only piece you are is a piece of work”, you mutter, turning your head with a huff, your hair brushing against his face. You expect a quip in return. But he goes still. Sniffs. 

“Hmm... What’s that smell?” He leans closer, nose buried briefly in your hair. “I didn’t know you smoked.” 

You freeze. Akihito’s cigarettes. You didn’t wash your hair after the hotel. Damn it. 

“I don’t”, you reply, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. 

“You smell like cigarettes.” 

“I was with a friend earlier. She smokes. Maybe that’s why.” you lie. 

Satoru watches you carefully through the mirror. “Good. You shouldn’t smoke”, he says at last, straightening up. “My wife has to live a long life. With me.” A smile tugs at his lips. A playful smirk, back to normal. 

You try to summon a sharp retort. Something clever. But all you manage is a tight, fake smile as your heart thunders in your chest. You were almost caught. 

Then— 

Knock-knock. 

“Dinner is ready, sir. Madam.” one of the maids calls from outside. 

“Hai-hai~”, Satoru casually yells out. “We’ll be down in a minute.” 

-- 

The dining room is too quiet. The kind of quiet that isn’t peace, but tension — stretched thin between the four people who sit on the table. It makes the softest sounds feel sharp. Or maybe it’s just in your head, considering the situation. 

It’s tradition, apparently — whenever everyone is home, meals are eaten together. Your least favorite part of the day. Understandably so, given the circumstances: you willingly put yourself here, fully aware you’d be sitting across from the woman whose husband you’re secretly sleeping with, and beside the son you’re technically cheating on — with his father. 

You sit beside your husband, Satoru. Across from you, Akihito — your lover, your secret. Next to him is Saori, your lover’s wife and husband’s mother — regal and silent, her expression unreadable as always, like she’s wearing a careful mask. 

No one speaks when the food is served. Just the mechanical act of eating, a silence that presses against your ribs like guilt. Your appetite has all but vanished since becoming the bride of the Gojo Clan, your stomach perpetually knotted with remorse. Sometimes even water feels repulsive. You often catch yourself wondering why you’re even doing this. Is it really love? You begin to question the choice you made, weighing it with a heaviness that never seems to lift. 

Then, as always, the silence shatters. Satoru reaches over, casual as anything, and plucks a bite of greens from your plate with his chopsticks. “Yours always taste better”, he grins, dropping them in his mouth. “Must be the way you chew”, he says with a mouthful.  

A small, soft laugh escapes you before you can catch it. There he goes with his silly antics again, you think. He somehow always knows how to tug you out of your head, whether you want him to or not. 

Akihito’s chopsticks pause mid-motion. His eyes narrow, barely, but you feel the weight of it. “Interesting”, he says, voice low and smooth, but with a faint edge. “I thought you never touched your greens.” 

Satoru doesn’t look away from you as he chews, slow and deliberate. “Tastes change.” 

The air thins. You take a sip of wine to steady your hands and avoid meeting Akihito’s eyes. You can feel them — heavy, disapproving, and not very kind. 

“They do”, Akihito replies after a moment, setting his chopsticks down with a soft click. “Although not always for the better.”  

You want to look at him, to read what he’s really thinking — but you don’t dare. Sometimes it feels like even a glance might betray you. Especially now, as Satoru shifts slightly in his seat, angling himself subtly closer to you, as if rising to meet some unspoken challenge. 

“I suppose it depends”, Satoru says lightly, the smile still playing on his lips. “Sometimes, watching someone savor something — it can spark a craving in you too.” He smiles at you then — softly — and something flutters in your chest that has no business being there. Then, he adds, with just enough weight to sharpen the air again. “But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, old man? How tastes change over time.” 

You freeze, just for a moment. Akihito doesn’t blink. His tone stays dry, his face unreadable. “Was there a point to that?” 

Satoru leans back slightly. “Just that, at your age, I’d expect you to be less surprised when people... shift.” 

Across from you, Saori finally lifts her wine glass. She doesn’t drink — not yet — but she swirls the red liquid slowly, her gaze shifting from father to son like she’s watching something she’s already seen before. They clash often, you’ve noticed. Not loudly, not outright — but it’s always there. A push and pull beneath the surface, a cold war of words and glances. 

Sometimes, you wonder if Satoru knows about the affair. He says things — subtle, but cutting — that make you pause, that make you think he might be more aware than he lets on. Maybe that’s why he’s pursuing you so intently — just to prove a point to his father. But then, there are moments when his gaze softens when he looks at you, when his touch lingers just a second too long. He goes out of his way every day just to be near you. And in those moments, it feels too sincere to be a game. You start to think he might actually mean it. That he’s not just chasing you out of spite — but because he truly wants you. 

You reach for your own glass again, taking another sip of wine, as if it might wash away the tension thickening by the second. But it doesn’t. Setting the glass back down, your hand lingers at its base. Your fingers brush against Satoru’s hand that rests on the table between you two. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, his pinky curls beneath yours — just enough to be felt, not seen. You don’t pull away. You know Akihito sees it. You feel it. The tick in his jaw is barely visible, but you notice it. 

“I’ve been seeing you around way more frequently, Satoru. I hope marriage hasn’t dulled your focus”, he says, his voice smooth and pointed. “There are more important things than... comfort.” 

The irony, you think. The words sound like a joke to you, coming from the same man who orchestrated your marriage just to keep you closer and see you more freely. You barely manage to swallow a scoff. 

Satoru leans back in his chair, unfazed. “You’d be surprised”, he says lightly. “Sometimes comfort is the only thing keeping people from falling apart.”  

“It’s rare”, Saori speaks at last, “to see affection in this house. Perhaps we shouldn’t discourage it.” Her words are gentle, kind — at least, on the surface. But they carry the weight of something unspoken, a quiet complaint from a woman who has never been loved by her husband — not in the way a lover is. 

The silence that follows is anything but gentle. Her words hang in the air, delicate yet heavy, like the last note of a song no one knows how to follow. No one speaks. Not right away. You watch Akihito, wondering if he’ll respond — if he even knows how. But his expression remains unreadable, carved from habit more than emotion. Then, without looking at anyone in particular, he speaks, as if the comment never touched him at all. “I meant to tell you”, Akihito says, cutting through the quiet like a blade, “The elders requested a meeting with you tomorrow morning.” 

Satoru’s glass of water stills halfway to his lips. “Can’t”, he says casually. “I’m taking my wife out.” 

You blink. That’s the first you’ve heard of it. 

Akihito’s expression doesn’t change, but the muscle in his jaw tightens — just once, sharply — as he exhales through his nose. “You can reschedule”, he says. “The clan elders don’t appreciate being made to wait.” 

Satoru shrugs. “Neither does she.” He doesn’t even look at you when he says it, but the weight of it presses into your ribs like heat. 

The silence that follows is tight, full of things no one says. Saori watches Akihito this time, her gaze sharp as cut glass. Her husband is acting odd. And she notices everything. 

--  

Gojo Akihito was a man carved from discipline. Now in his late fifties, he was a figure both respected and quietly feared. When he entered a room, silence followed. Backs straightened. Conversations halted. People instinctively adjusted their posture — as if simply being in his presence demanded their best. His presence was weighty, not in a menacing way, but with a gravity that commanded reverence. His name alone held power — spoken softly, carefully, like it belonged to someone who mattered more than most. And he did. Shaped by the will of the elders, Akihito had been molded into the ideal head of the Gojo Clan: composed, unwavering, and dutiful. Obedience had been stitched into his bones from childhood. He was taught not to dream, but to serve. To lead with strength and never stray from what was expected. 

His path had been set before he could walk it — become strong, inherit the clan, marry a chosen wife, produce an heir. And he did. His talents bloomed early. Power came easily to him, and with it, authority. He married Saori, a woman selected by the elders, and fulfilled his role without resistance. Love was never part of the arrangement — but respect was. Even in the absence of affection, he treated her with dignity. They never became lovers — much to Saori’s quiet sorrow, for she had loved him from the very beginning. After they conceived Satoru, he never touched her again. As if it had been part of a duty — fulfilled, then forgotten. 

When he stepped down and passed the title of clan head to his son, Akihito did not fade quietly into the background. His voice still carried weight, often more so than of the current leader. To many, he remained the pillar of the clan. The rock. Unmoving. Unshakeable. Dependable. But even stone erodes, given time. Even the strongest man can change. Even a rock, under enough heat — can melt. 

-- 

Akihito wasn’t supposed to be here. The streets were too narrow, too loud, brimming with color and life in a way that felt foreign to him. He was meant to be elsewhere, at a meeting across town — another empty ritual of clan maintenance. But his driver took a wrong turn, and instead of rerouting, Akihito had stepped out, needing a walk. Needing air. Needing space from the weight that always clung to his shoulders. That’s when he saw you. 

At first, it was nothing. You were just a figure in the crowd — young, distracted, smiling faintly at your phone, coffee in hand. But something about you… stopped him. You passed by without noticing him, and the moment stretched too long. Something about you felt familiar, though he couldn’t place why. A detail misplaced in time. A memory from a life he never lived. He turned — just slightly. Just enough to watch you go. You entered a nearby café tucked between cramped buildings. Small. A little worn. Too cozy, too youthful for someone like him. He should have kept walking. But he followed you inside. He told himself it was curiosity. That he needed a moment to sit, make a call, kill time. But deep down, even then, he knew. He picked a seat in the corner. Three tables away from you. 

He returned the next day. And the next. It was irrational. Dangerous. He wasn’t the kind of man who indulged temptations. His life had been a masterclass in restraint — each step measured, each emotion disciplined out of existence. But you… You sat in the same spot each day, sipping a drink, sometimes reading, sometimes just staring out the window with that faraway look that seemed to see something no one else could. He wondered what you saw. He wondered what you wanted. He wondered what it would feel like to be the thing you looked at that way.  And he hated himself for it. 

You didn’t know who he was. You didn’t know that the man sitting a few tables away had once been the most powerful figure in one of Japan’s oldest sorcerer clans. That he had blood on his hands and responsibilities that still echoed through every inch of his life. You didn’t know that his marriage was nothing more than a political alignment. That he had followed every rule. Sacrificed every selfish urge. That he had never, in over fifty years, been in love. Not until now. 

On the third day, he stopped resisting and made a decision. He stood up, walked to your table, and asked — “May I sit?” 

-- 

Three tables. He was sitting three tables away from you — again. Just like yesterday. And the day before that. Today made the third. 

You’d noticed him immediately. How could you not? Tall, impeccably dressed, white hair, broad shoulders, and unmistakably refined. You guessed he was in his fifties, but he wore it well — almost too well. Dressed in a designer suit, he looked out of place in this cozy, slightly run-down café filled with students and twenty-somethings. Yet, there he was. 

Each time you stole a glance, he was gazing out the window, never once meeting your eyes. But something about him — his presence, the stillness in the way he sat, the ghost of a smile on his lips — kept drawing your attention. Maybe you were imagining things. But, perhaps, was he there… for you? Just as you started telling yourself it was all in your head, he moved. Ah, he’s leaving— 

No — he wasn’t. He was walking toward you. 

Your breath caught. Your eyes widened as he came to a stop at your table. 

“May I sit?” he asked, voice smooth but low, as if careful not to disturb the air between you. You blinked, pulse rising. “Why here?” you asked, managing a dry smile. “There are plenty of other tables, including the one you’ve been using for the past few days.” You motioned toward his old table. “I like the view better from here,” he replied calmly, and took the seat without waiting for permission. 

The view, of course, was you. He had resisted the pull for two days. But today, Gojo Akihito gave in. In his fifties, for the first time in his life — he fell in love. And for the first time… he broke a rule. 

-- 

He didn’t touch you. Not for weeks. Not inappropriately, not even in passing. His interest was always wrapped in respect, laced with a restraint that was somehow more intoxicating than overt desire. He spoke little, but with purpose. He listened like it was sacred. Asked questions no one else had ever bothered to. You told yourself it was harmless. That you liked the attention he was giving you. That you weren’t doing anything wrong… with a married man. It’s just a connection — nothing more. But the way he looked at you… like you were something precious, something rare, he had no right to touch but desperately wanted to — it stirred something in you. 

When he kissed you for the first time, it wasn’t impulse. It was quiet. Measured. Like a man saying a prayer before stepping into hell. And you let him. After that, the pretense faded. You started meeting behind closed doors…  

You were in love, yes. Or maybe, looking back now, you only thought you were. Not the way he was. You were free, while Akihito was chained to a life he could never escape. The deeper Akihito sank into you, the more you floated above him. Untethered. Capable of leaving. And that was what terrified him the most. He needed something stronger — something permanent — to bind you to him. 

One year into your affair, Akihito proposed something unthinkable. 

“An arranged marriage?” you gasped, your voice cracking in disbelief. “To your son?” You tried to push away from him, stepping out of the bathtub, but he caught your wrist and pulled you back in. 

“I miss you too much when you’re away”, he murmured against your shoulder. His breath was hot. His arms wrapped around you from behind, pulling you close, anchoring you to him in the steaming water. “Not knowing when I’ll see you again — it’s unbearable. And knowing it won’t be tomorrow? I hate that.” 

You sat between his legs, your bare back pressed to his chest, steam rising around you like a veil. His head dipped to the curve of your neck. You said nothing. Your lips trembled with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, with a sob that didn’t quite leave your throat. 

You spoke every day. But meetings were rare. Always discreet. Always in motion. Hotels changed with every rendezvous. Different rooms, different names, different times of arrival. You booked separate rooms but only ever used one. Because what you shared was a scandal. And the walls, anywhere, could talk. He was the former head of the Gojo Clan. A public man. A married man. And in the Gojo Clan, divorce was taboo. Unspoken but absolute. Marriage ended only with death. 

“It’s madness”, you whispered. “You’d just… hand me over to another man like that?” 

“I’m not handing you over”, he said, voice low and tired. “It’ll be just on paper. You know what Satoru’s like — he’s obsessed with his work. Sorcery is the only thing he’s ever cared about. He won’t touch you.” He paused. He knew how it sounded. But to him, it made sense. He was convinced this was the best way to keep you close. Satoru, as far as Akihito knew, had no interest in romance, no time for love. If you married his son, your place in the clan would be secured — and so would your bond to him. Even if you tried to leave him one day, you’d still be part of his world. Divorce, after all, was never an option. “Think about it”, he continued. “We’d be able to see each other more freely. People wouldn’t question it if we were spotted together — we’d be family. It would raise fewer suspicions than what we’re doing now.” 

You stared into the steam, into nothing. “...fine.” You caved. 

Neither of you knew then just how flawed the plan truly was. The flaw had a name: Gojo Satoru. 

-- 

Back in your shared bedroom, you close the door behind you and turn to face Satoru. He’s already tugging off his jacket, tossing it carelessly over the back of a chair. You squint at him, arms crossed. “What was that earlier?” He pauses, one sock halfway off. “Hm?” He looks up at you, eyebrow arched in that maddeningly innocent way. 

“‘I’m taking my wife out’”, you echo flatly. “We made no such plans.” 

He chuckles — a low, amused sound. “Ah. That.” Straightening up, he begins rolling his sleeves to the elbows, wandering toward the bed. “I was too distracted by your beauty when I got home, I must’ve forgotten to tell you.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Tell me what exactly?” 

“That everyone wants to meet you”, he says, as if it’s obvious. 

“Everyone?” you eye him. 

“My students. My colleagues. Most of them think I made up this whole marriage thing just for attention.” He grins like it’s the most absurd idea in the world. “So tomorrow, you’re coming with me. I need to show them that my wife is, in fact, a very real, very stunning person~” 

You blink. “So you didn’t just blurt it out to get out of meeting the elders?” 

He scoffs and flops onto the bed, arms behind his head. “Please. I don’t need an excuse to avoid them. I’ll meet them when I feel like it — not when they demand it.” Of course he would say that. “Besides”, he adds lazily, “I figured we could hang out a little after. Grab a bite or go somewhere. A proper date.” 

You stare at him. “A date?” — “Yeah”, he shoots. “You know, two people spending time together on purpose because they want to?” 

“Satoru”, you sigh, “you don’t have to bother with this kind of thing. This is an arranged marriage, let me remind you. We’re not... required to play house.” He tilts his head, eyes glinting with mock curiosity. “Who said couples in arranged marriages can’t go on dates? That’s a rule now? If it is, I must’ve missed the fine print.” 

He’s relentless — in a strangely charming way. Always pushing, always poking. And the worst part is... he knows you don’t exactly hate it. You glance away, shaking your head. “Alright”, you say finally, “fine” — and he immediately beams like he’s just won something. And maybe he has — in his own strange way. Satoru doesn’t need much to feel victorious. But there’s something you have noticed — how a yes from you is usually worth a trophy in his world, even if you offer it begrudgingly. 

You watch him for a moment, unsure what to make of the warmth blooming quietly in your chest. It’s not love. It can’t be. Right? But it’s something. A softening, maybe. A flicker of possibility. Your fingers absently toy with the edge of your sleeve. That strange flutter you’ve been ignoring — the one he keeps coaxing out of you — is getting harder to deny. What exactly are you doing? — you ask yourself. 

And then your phone buzzes in your pocket. You fish it out quickly and glance down at the screen. 

Akihito: Come to the guest house. 

Just like that, reality presses its weight back onto your shoulders. It doesn’t look like Satoru noticed anything, but your hands are already closing the message, hiding the screen like a child caught with stolen sweets. “I’m going to the kitchen”, you say, too quickly. “I want something sweet.” 

Satoru sits up a little. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll get—” 

“No.” You cut him off, maybe too fast. “I’m not sure what I want yet, so I’ll just look around.” His gaze lingers on you for a moment. Something unreadable flickers there — brief, sharp, gone too fast. Then he leans back on his hands, still smiling. “Alright, my picky little bride. Don’t be long.” 

You force a light laugh and slip out the door. 

-- 

Akihito hears your knock — light, familiar — before the door opens. You’re still in your dinner clothes, but your hair is looser now, lipstick faded. You look comfortable, relaxed — and he does not exactly like that. You step quietly, and he lets you come to him without saying a word. For a moment, neither of you speak. 

He looks somewhat tense, but the air between you is still warm with memory — earlier today, your skin beneath his hands, your lips murmuring his name into a hotel pillow. And yet. “I’m sorry for calling you over like this”, he says finally, his voice low. “I just needed to see you.” 

You smile faintly. “You saw me at dinner.” 

“Not like this.” His eyes search yours. “Not alone. Not without... him.” 

You stiffen slightly — not defensively. Just aware. Akihito gestures to the seat beside him. You sit.

“He’s not the same”, he murmurs after a pause. “Satoru. He’s changing.” 

You don’t respond at first. You fold your hands in your lap. 

“You know what he used to be like? Detached. Cold. Always disappearing on missions. He never gave a damn about what anyone thought of him — never entertained sentiment. And now?” He scoffs softly. “Flowers. Cooking. Holding your hand under the table like some infatuated schoolboy...” 

Your mouth opens — then closes. You can’t find the right words. 

“You saw it too, didn’t you?” he asks quietly. “At dinner. The way he looks at you.” 

Your gaze falters. Not guilty — not quite — but cautious. “He’s just playing the part, Aki”, you say eventually. “He’s always been theatrical.” 

Akihito shakes his head. “No. That wasn’t an act.” There’s no bitterness in his voice. No anger. Just... disbelief. Like he’s watching something slip through his fingers that he didn’t expect to lose. “Before you came into his life, he never stayed home. Never cared about meals or traditions or people. He never had time for anything... personal.” 

You look down. 

Akihito studies your profile, as if memorizing it. The curve of your brow, the slope of your cheek. “I know I’m the one who suggested this arrangement”, he says, and his voice is more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. “I told myself it was the best way to keep you close. Safe. But now...” He trails off. 

You reach out, take his hand in yours. “I’m still yours, Aki”, you say gently. “You know that.” 

“I want to believe that”, he murmurs. You squeeze his hand. “You can.” 

But your voice falters, just slightly. Just enough for him to notice. His eyes flick up to your face. There’s no accusation in them. Only fear. The quiet, creeping kind that lives under the surface of a man who’s spent a lifetime being in control. 

“I know he’s not you”, you add softly. “I know why I said yes to this. You don’t have to worry.” 

Akihito nods slowly. But his silence stretches too long. You lean your head against his shoulder, and he kisses the top of your hair. Grateful. Reassured — or trying to be. But the weight in his chest doesn’t lift. Because for the first time, he isn’t sure if the threat is outside of what you have... or is growing inside it. 

-- 

“Don’t worry, they don’t bite”, Satoru chuckles, watching you fidget with your sleeves like you’re about to walk into a job interview. You shoot him a dry look. “You say that like you’re not the worst of them.” 

“Me? I’m the warm-up act. They are the terrifying ones”, he teases, nodding toward the lounge room door. You roll your eyes but don’t stop playing with your cuffs. 

“You’ll be fine”, he adds, nudging your elbow gently. “Just flash that charming smile and pretend I’m not hovering behind you like a lovesick fool.” 

“You are hovering.” 

“I’m setting the scene”, he grins. “For dramatic effect.” 

You scoff. “I’m not scared, you know.” 

“Of course not”, he nods solemnly. “You’re just fidgeting because you’re excited to meet my fan club.” You shoot him a sideways glare. He leans over, voice lowering just a touch. “They’re going to love you”, he says, softer now. “They’ve never seen me with someone like you.” 

“Someone like me?” 

“Someone who makes me behave.” 

You don’t get the chance to press him on that. He throws the door open before you can respond — and the room instantly freezes. Chairs creak to a halt. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. All heads turn. A spoon hovers midair. A can of soda stops halfway to someone’s lips. Even the air feels like it’s holding its breath. And all of it — every flicker of curiosity, disbelief, and blatant awe — is aimed squarely at you. 

“Guys”, Satoru announces, all flair and no shame, “This is my wife. Try not to scare her off.” You manage a composed smile, offering a polite nod. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

The reactions come in like dominos. 

Yuuji blinks so fast he looks like a malfunctioning cartoon. “She’s real. She’s actually real.”

Nobara lets out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my god, she’s gorgeous. How is he married to her?” 

“There’s definitely something wrong with her”, Megumi mutters, arms crossed.

“Blink twice if you’re being held hostage”, Maki deadpans without missing a beat.

Even stoic Shoko lifts her eyebrows, taking a slow drag of her cigarette. “I genuinely thought he made you up.”

Ijichi bows at the waist, glasses fogged slightly from the tea steam. “Gojo-san speaks of you often. I assumed it was... metaphorical.” Nanami says absolutely nothing. Just closes his eyes and exhales, a slow, pained breath that says this is beneath me, but also of course this is happening. 

Meanwhile, Geto is the picture of calm. Reclined on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, he simply smirks and raises his hand in greeting. “About time you dragged her here, Satoru.” 

“Don’t encourage him”, Nanami mutters without opening his eyes. 

You can’t help it — you laugh. A light, genuine thing that breaks the awkward spell in the room like shattering glass. The tension in your chest uncoils slightly, and Satoru beams beside you. 

“Oh god”, Nobara groans. “Even her laugh is gorgeous. This is unbelievable.” 

“Do you need help?” Megumi asks again, completely serious.

“She’s under some kind of spell, huh?” Yuuji whispers. “Do we do something? Help her?” 

“No need to rescue her”, Satoru says smugly. “She married me willingly” 

“That’s even worse”, Nanami mutters. 

“You guys are insufferable”, you finally say, smiling despite yourself. 

“You’re perfect for him then”, Shoko hums. 

“Alright, alright, don’t scare her off on her first visit”, Geto says, rising from the couch. He strolls over, offering his hand. “I’m Suguru. Satoru’s better half.” 

“Hey!” Satoru protests. 

You shake Geto’s hand. “Pleasure.” 

“It really is”, he replies smoothly. “Though we may have to talk about your taste in men.” 

“I’ve made peace with it”, you reply with a smirk. The room erupts into scattered chuckles. Even Megumi snorts. Satoru clutches his chest. “I feel so betrayed.” 

“Get in line”, Nanami mutters again. 

“Come on”, Geto waves you over. “Sit. Eat something. Let us dissect your personality in peace.” As you move to join them, Satoru’s hand brushes your lower back — a barely-there touch. Protective. Familiar. You glance at him. He’s still smiling like the sun — blinding and hard to read beneath the surface.  

You ease yourself into a spot between Suguru and Satoru on the long couch. Plates and cups shift around. The lounge settles into casual chaos again, but it’s warmer now — less like scrutiny, more like curious acceptance. As conversations spark up around you, you feel it — a brush at your side. Subtle, deliberate. Satoru’s hand slides across the space between you on the couch. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even look your way. But under the table, his fingers quietly reach for yours. At first, you don’t respond. The chatter of the room covers the rapid thrum of your heartbeat. It feels like everyone might notice, even though no one’s looking. And still — slowly — your fingers curl around his. 

You glance sideways at him. He’s still grinning and bickering with Geto about who’s ageing better — but there’s a flicker in his eyes when they meet yours. Something warm. Something that longs. And Satoru doesn’t look like he’s letting go of your hand anytime soon. 

-- 

Even after leaving the school and walking toward the car, Satoru hasn’t let go of your hand. Not once. And, truthfully, you haven’t tried to pull away either. His hand is warm and steady, fingers loosely laced with yours like it’s always been this natural. “They’re very chaotic”, you say as you walk side by side, the late afternoon sun painting golden highlights into his white hair. “But adorably so.” 

Satoru gasps. “How come you never say that about me?” 

“I do say you’re chaotic.” 

“Not that part”, he pouts, dragging your hand slightly as he walks. “Say I’m adorable too.”

You glance up at him with a smirk. “Why make me lie now?” 

He clutches his chest like you just wounded him. “Unbelievable. And here I was, thinking we were having a romantic moment.” 

“You pouted like a toddler five seconds ago. That was the opposite of romantic.” 

“That was endearing, thank you very much.” He sighs dramatically, unlocking the car with a flick of his keys. “One day you’ll realize just how lucky you are to have married me.”

You chuckle. “I’m still trying to figure that out.” 

As the engine hums to life and the radio kicks in with something mellow, he steals a glance at you. “You liked them, though?”

You nod. “They’re all... a lot. But in a good way. I liked them. They like you, too — though it’s hilarious how some of them thought I was a figment of your imagination at first.” 

“That’s fair”, he shrugs. “Even I sometimes think you’re too good to be real.” You don’t reply to that — partly because it’s sweet, partly because it makes your stomach twist in ways you’re not ready to admit. 

-- 

Instead of taking you to a fancy restaurant, Satoru pulls the car up near a quiet park tucked into a tree-lined stretch of the city. It’s not crowded, the evening air is crisp, and the swings creak gently in the breeze. 

“A date doesn’t have to be complicated”, he says, hands behind his head, strolling beside you. “This used to be my favorite spot when I ditched meetings.”

You laugh. “What a responsible clan head.” 

“Oh, terribly irresponsible”, he agrees proudly. “Now — race you to the swings!”

You both make a break for it, laughing as your shoes hit gravel. You get there first, narrowly beating him (because he let you), and triumphantly claim the left swing. Satoru sits on the other — except, the chains creak loudly as he settles in, clearly too tall and too big for the tiny seat. 

“God, you look ridiculous”, you say between laughs.

“Hey”, he grins. “Let me have my moment.” He tries to swing but his feet keep dragging on the ground. You get off and try to push him but fail spectacularly. “You’re too heavy!” you exclaim. He snorts. “I’m muscle and grace, I’ll have you know.” 

“Lift your legs then! That’s the only way this will work.” 

“If I lift my legs, the swing will snap and we’ll both die.”  

You dissolve into laughter, arms over your chest as you watch him try — and fail — to get any lift. “Hop off now”, you say. “It’s your turn to push me.”

He gets off, and you take over. He starts pushing you gently, and you find yourself relaxing, head tilted back toward the sky as you glide back and forth. You don’t notice how quiet he’s gone until the swing slows and you look back to find him watching you — softly, openly, with none of his usual teasing in sight. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask. He shrugs. “You look happy. I like seeing you like this.” 

Your heart stumbles. And just like that, the real world catches up — Akihito, the marriage, the plan... Guilt prickles under your skin. You’re not supposed to feel this warm around Satoru. Not this content. He notices the shift in your eyes, tension in your smile. “Hey.” He walks in front of the swing, kneeling slightly to meet your gaze. “Where did you go just now?” 

You open your mouth — but you don’t know what to say. There’s too much. You’re not even sure what you’re feeling anymore. Satoru doesn’t push. He simply lifts a hand to brush your cheek with his knuckles, gentler than anyone would expect from a man like him. “If you’re scared”, he says, “I’ll wait. But I’m not stopping.” 

You should say something — anything — but you don’t. Instead, you lean forward without thinking. Just a little. Just enough. And he meets you halfway. You kiss. It’s soft. Uncomplicated. Barely a breath long — but enough to make your stomach flip and your thoughts scramble. You pull back just as fast, cheeks feeling hot, and suddenly shoot up to your feet. 

“I—uh—I’m going to head to the car”, you stammer, already backing away. “Give me fifteen minutes. Just... wait, okay? Don’t come right now.” Satoru blinks after you as you run off, flustered. A slow smile spreads across his lips. He lifts a hand, touching his fingers to where your lips met his. “Why shy away like this now?” he murmurs to himself, chuckling. “It’s not like this is our first kiss...” 

His smile lingers, a little softer now. Almost nostalgic. He watches the direction you went, lost in thought. Because only he remembers. You’ve kissed before. But back then, you didn’t know who he was. And you still don’t remember. 

-- 

Satoru remembers it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. The memory came rushing back the moment he saw your picture — the proposed match for the arranged marriage. The others in the room kept talking, formalities piling up like a tide of obligations, but he barely heard a word.  

It was you — the girl who stole his first kiss. The girl he never managed to find again. 

It happened years ago, sometime past midnight. He had just wrapped up a mission — a dull one, barely worth remembering — and was wandering the streets of Tokyo, eating red bean mochi with one hand and scrolling his phone with the other. Still in uniform, still buzzing from leftover cursed energy, still too wired to sleep. As he strolled past a row of late-night bars and clubs, the music leaked into the street like fog. Somewhere between neon signs and cigarette smoke, he spotted you — a girl slumped on the curb outside a nightclub, arms wrapped around your knees, head lolling sleepily to one side. You looked like you were dozing off. Alone. Vulnerable.  

He kept walking. At first. But something didn’t sit right. There were a few guys loitering nearby — drunk, leering, the kind of men that don’t need a reason to ruin someone’s night. One of them peeled away from the group and started approaching you, calling out something Satoru didn’t care to hear. He stopped at a vending machine, fingers patting his pockets as if he were looking for coins — but really, he was watching. Calculating. When the guy crouched beside you and reached out to brush your hair behind your ear, Satoru moved. Fast. “Sorry I took so long”, he said loudly, slinging his jacket over your shoulders in one smooth motion as he stepped between you and the stranger. 

The man froze. 

Satoru didn’t raise his voice, didn’t flare cursed energy — just looked at him. Cold. Unblinking. Dangerous. The guy got the message. “I was just making sure she was okay”, the creep stammered. 

“Yeah”, Satoru said flatly. “She is. Now leave.” He didn’t have to say it twice. Once the guys scurried off, Satoru crouched beside you, tilting his head. “Hey. Not a great place for a nap, you know?” You stirred, muttering something incoherent. “I’m serious”, he said, nudging your shoulder lightly. “It’s not safe out here.” 

“Can’t walk”, you mumbled. “Not sure if I’m spinning, or everything else is.” 

He blinked. “That bad, huh?”

You squinted at him through half-lidded eyes. “Are you a cop?”

“No.”

“A kidnapper?”

“Definitely not.”

“Hmm”, you leaned your cheek against your knee. “Guess you’ll do.” 

Satoru stared. “What does that mean?” You reached and tugged his sleeve, and with surprising strength, pulled him to sit beside you. Then, without warning, you laid your head in his lap. “What are you—?” 

“You’re warm”, you sighed, nestling closer. “And you smell nice. But I kind of feel like throwing up.” 

“Please don’t”, he said instantly, trying not to panic. “This is my favorite outfit.” 

You giggled. “You’re funny.”

He looked down at you, at the way your hair fanned across his thighs, at the curve of your sleepy smile. “What are you even doing out here alone?” he asked. 

“I lost my friends”, you mumbled. “Or maybe they lost me. Who’s to say...” 

“You got a phone?” 

You held it up proudly. It was dead. “Perfect”, he sighed. 

Eventually, when it became clear you weren’t going to get up willingly, he gathered you into his arms and stood. “Alright, mystery girl. I’m getting you somewhere safe — where’s your place?” 

“Wait, wait”, you slurred, squinting suspiciously at him. “I don’t know you. I can’t just tell you where I live!” 

“You’re literally unconscious on the sidewalk and I’m carrying you like a bridal bouquet. I think we’re past that point.” 

You didn’t answer. Your head lolled onto his shoulder. He sighed, glanced around. He didn’t know your name, didn’t know where you lived — but you looked about college-aged, and the university campus wasn’t far. It was the best guess he had. So he started walking.  

Halfway there, a group of girls came jogging down the sidewalk, calling some name (yours). They looked frantic — until they saw you in his arms.  “Oh god”, one of them exhaled. “We’ve been looking for her everywhere!” 

They reached out to take you, but you lifted your head groggily, blinking at him like you’d just remembered he existed. You took off his sunglasses and placed them on his head, then cupped his face in both hands, surprisingly gentle. 

“You’re pretty”, you said. 

He blinked. 

Then you leaned in and kissed him. It was soft and quick. “Thank you”, you whispered. “For keeping me warm.” 

And just like that, your friends pulled you away — you still wearing his jacket, him still too stunned to speak. He stood there long after you were gone, fingers pressed to his lips, dazed. “What a weird girl”, he muttered. 

But he’d already fallen for you. 

He tried to find you after that, of course — visited the area again, lingered by the campus, even asked around in his own way. But your name, your face... all of it had vanished like a dream after waking. Until years later — when he saw your photo again. And this time? He said yes without hesitation. 

-- 

The days begin to blend. Soft, warm mornings. Laughter over late breakfast. The rustle of flower petals against your cheek as you wake — a new habit Satoru’s picked up. You open your eyes to a fresh bouquet on your pillow, tied together with a silk ribbon and a folded note tucked inside. 

Roses are red, violets are blue, don’t open the curtains, I’m watching you ;)  S. 

You roll your eyes but smile. By now, your phone is full of messages from him — some voice notes, some texts. Some completely random, like: 

Voice message — 9:07 AM 

Hey, I found this stray cat that reminds me of you. They ignored me when I tried to pet them and just walked off. Thought that was kinda romantic~  

Text — 10:12 AM 

Do you miss me or are you pretending I don’t exist again? Be honest. I can take it. (Don’t be honest) 

Sometimes he’s halfway through a mission and still finds the time to send you a photo of some stupid little charm at a shrine that “looks cursed like you” — and by the time he returns home, you’ve forgotten how silence used to fill the rooms before he came. 

You start leaving notes back. Hiding snacks in his coat. One time, you sent him flowers — as a joke. A massive, bright pink bouquet delivered right to the faculty lounge at Jujutsu Tech. 

Yuuji nearly dropped his drink when he saw it. “Sensei, I thought you were the man in this relationship... but I guess you really shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.” 

Satoru beamed as he held the bouquet. “Listen, Yuuji, I think she’s got me on a leash. And honestly? I don’t mind it.” 

Geto didn’t even blink. “You’ve always liked being domesticated.” 

Nanami groaned in the distance. “Please take your romance outside school grounds.” 

Your life with him feels like a sitcom at times. Like you’ve somehow fallen into a slice-of-life version of your own story. And strangely, you don’t hate it.

But not all lives move at the same pace. 

Akihito watches it unfold from the shadows of his own silence. This was not part of the plan. You’re playing your role way too well to his liking. Are you humoring Satoru’s peculiar behavior for the sake of keeping the peace... or is there something more to it?

He feels the distance stretching. You reply to his messages slower now. When he calls, you sound distracted — not cold, just... somewhere else. Sometimes when he walks by your and Satoru’s room, he hears his son’s voice talking to you and it cuts deeper than he expects. Laughing. Teasing. Talking to you in a tone Akihito used to think was only his to use. 

He remembers your last few moments together, how they’ve been growing shorter. More careful. Your touches — once confident, rooted in secret familiarity — now come with hesitation. Like you’re aware of something new. Something blooming in the cracks you didn’t plan for. You were slipping. And for the first time in a very long time, Akihito doesn’t know what to do. 

He doesn’t confront you. He won’t. Because even now, he trusts you. Even now, he tells himself you would never betray him like that... But still — he’s left staring at the space beside him that used to be filled by you, fingers curled into fists he won’t raise, breathing through a storm he never thought he’d have to weather. 

--  

Evening settles softly across the room like a warm blanket. The lights are dim, casting a gentle golden hue over the shared bedroom you’ve both slowly grown used to — not just as a space, but as a kind of quiet haven. You sit on the bed with your knees tucked close to your chest, absently flipping through some old magazine you already checked out twice. Satoru is nearby, sprawled across the foot of the bed, fiddling with his phone but mostly stealing glances at you. The silence between you is easy now. Not empty, not awkward — just comfortable. 

Still, something hangs between you, unspoken but undeniably there. It’s been lingering ever since that kiss in the park. You haven’t kissed again since, but your touches linger longer now — a brush of fingers as you pass something to him, the slow curl of his hand around yours when you walk beside each other. Close, but careful. 

Tonight feels different. 

“Do you ever miss the chaos?” you ask, not looking up from the page. “Before we... whatever this is.” 

“Before we became a domestic power couple?” Satoru teases, stretching out with a dramatic sigh. “Tragic. I used to be wild. Now I fold your laundry.” You laugh. “You don’t fold my laundry.” 

“I would. For the record. If it meant you’d smile like that.”  

You glance at him now, and his expression softens when your eyes meet. The air changes. It’s in the way he shifts, propping himself up slightly on one elbow. There’s something different in his gaze — not just affection, but hunger veiled by hesitance. You feel it too. That same flutter deep in your belly. The nervous kind. The kind that tastes like anticipation. He moves closer, slowly, watching you for any flicker of hesitation. When he reaches out, his fingers brush lightly along your jaw, his thumb barely skimming your cheek. You don’t move away.

“You’ve been looking at me like that for a while now”, you whisper.

He smiles, a little crooked, a little shy — rare, for him. “Yeah. I’ve been... trying to behave.” 

Your lips part, but you don’t speak. Satoru leans in, and this time, when he kisses you, it’s slower than last time. Less impulsive. More reverent. His hand cups the back of your head gently as he pulls you closer, tasting your breath as if he’s been craving it every day since the last time. And then he pulls back. Breath shaky. Eyes shut. You blink, still dazed from the kiss. “Satoru? What are you doing?” 

He exhales a slow, uneven breath. “Waiting for you to slap me.”

You stare at him. That rare vulnerability in his voice knocks the breath right out of your lungs. “Why would I slap you?” 

“I didn’t ask. I didn’t warn you. I just... kissed you. Again. I told myself I’d wait until you wanted me.” 

You hesitate only for a heartbeat. Then, you lean forward and take his face in your hands, gently pulling him back into you. Your lips find his, and this time there’s no pause. No retreat. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize you. Every angle. Every sound you make. Your hands find their way under the hem of is shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin, and he shivers beneath your touch. You break the kiss long enough to whisper, “Come closer.”

His forehead rests against yours. “Only if you want me to.” 

“I do”, you breathe, voice trembling but sure. “I want this. I want you.” His arms tighten around you, and it’s slow, almost reverent, the way he lays you down — like you’re something sacred. Clothes are shed without urgency, and his hands trace the lines of your body like he’s reading scripture. The rest unfolds in quiet gasps and whispered names. It’s not just desire — it’s need. Familiar, frightening, warm... 

...when it’s over, the silence that follows is different from all the ones that came before. You lie beside him, heart still racing, his fingers lazily tracing circles along your arm. He doesn’t speak. He just watches you, memorizing the curve of your lips, the way your chest raises and falls. And for a moment, you forget every plan. Every lie. Every secret. For a moment, it feels like love. The kind that sneaks up on you — quiet, uninvited, and impossible to ignore. You lie tangled together, your head tucked against his shoulder, his hand tenderly caressing your bare skin. Hearts still thudding. 

Satoru is the one to break the silence, his voice light, teasing (as usual). “So... You really don’t remember me, huh?” 

You blink, lifting your head just enough to glance at him. “What?” 

“Brutal...”, he laughs. “And here I was, thinking I made a lasting impression that night.” 

You narrow your eyes, unsure if he’s joking. “What are you talking about?” 

“Nahh, I get it — you were pretty drunk”, he says, dragging the words out like a cat playing with mouse. 

“Oh god—” You sit up suddenly, sheet gathering around your chest. “Don’t tell me we’ve hooked up in the past and I don’t remember it?” Satoru bursts out laughing. “No, not like that.”

You squint at him. “Then stop being so cryptic and tell me!” 

He stretches, hands behind his head, smug and insufferable. “Let’s just say… you were outside a bar. Alone. Slumped on the curb. And I saved your life.”

You blink again. He continues, barely hiding his amusement. “Some creep tried to hit on you. I intervened, obviously. You asked if I was a kidnapper, told me I smelled nice, then fell asleep in my lap.”

Your jaw drops. “No way.” 

“Oh, there’s more,” he says with a mock-serious nod. “You called me pretty. And you kissed me.”

You gape. “You’re lying.” 

“I’m not,” he says, lips twitching. “And you stole my jacket, by the way.”

Your eyes widen. Something flickers at the edge of your memory. “Wait— that was your jacket?”

Satoru raises his brows, clearly enjoying himself. “Yep.” 

“I always wondered where it came from”, you mumble, stunned. “I kept it for years. I thought maybe someone just… gave it to me out of pity.” 

“Well, I did give it to you”, he says, softer now. “But it wasn’t pity.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, absorbing it all. “I can’t believe it. That was you.” 

He shrugs one shoulder, like it’s no big deal — but his voice betrays him when he says, “Yeah. I looked for you, you know? Went back to that street, hung around your supposed campus. Thought about that stupid night more times than I’d ever admit.” 

You gasp. 

“When your photo showed up in the marriage proposal packet?” He looks over at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “I said yes before they even finished reading your name.” 

You stare at him, stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

He smiles, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Because you didn’t look at me like this before.” You lean in, heart heavy with something warm and aching. “How do I look at you now?” 

“Like you might not disappear this time.” 

-- 

You slip into your nightgown, your skin still tingling with traces of warmth and tenderness. The sound of water runs in the background — Satoru in the shower, humming something off-key. A lazy smile plays on your lips as you step out of the bedroom, quietly padding down the hallway. You tell yourself it’s just to grab snacks. Maybe a drink. Something to soothe the afterglow that’s left your heart both full and aching. 

But as you reach the kitchen and flick on the soft underlight, your body seizes.

Akihito is there. Standing in the low light like a phantom, glass in one hand, his other curled into a loose fist at his side. The bottle of whiskey beside him is nearly half-empty. He doesn’t speak right away — just stares at you, and it’s a look you’ve never seen on him before. Not like this. There’s pain, yes. But buried under that is something sharper. Something raw. 

“Akihito...” you breathe, barely more than a whisper. He doesn’t answer. Just brings the glass to his lips again, slowly, as if buying time — or trying to keep himself from saying what’s already clawing its way up his throat. Akihito, huh? You used to call him Aki... 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes narrowing slightly as he steps forward. You don’t move — not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t quite dare. He stops in front of you, closer than comfort allows. The scent of whiskey and something tired hangs on him — disappointment. His eyes flicker over your face, and you know he sees it. The softness in your cheeks. The haze still lingering in your gaze. The warmth that isn’t his. He knows. Of course he does. But he wants to confirm, one last time. 

His hand reaches toward you, swiftly lifting your nightgown to brush his fingers against your cunt, bare, still wet and sore. You flinch, instinctively stepping back — but his free hand snaps around your wrist. He withdraws his fingers, bringing them close to your face, then slowly rubs them together. Smearing the slick, laced with remnants that don’t belong to him. “You slept with him”, he says, low, flat. No question. Just a quiet accusation. 

Your breath catches. 

He leans in, close enough for his words to brush against your skin. “Do you love him?”

Before your lips can part, before your heart even finds a beat, a new voice breaks the silence. 

“Hey, I was looking for y—” Satoru enters the room, still damp from the shower, water clinging to his chest, a towel slung low around his waist, another in his hands as he rubs it through his hair. The moment he sees his father, he stops mid-step. His eyes lock at his hand around your wrist. His tone drops, his jaw clenches. He immediately yanks his hand away from you, then his eyes dart to the whiskey on the counter. “Old man, did you get drunk enough to mistake my wife for yours?” 

Akihito doesn’t answer right away, but he tenses. For a moment, he seems to fold in on himself — trying, perhaps, to remember who he is, and who he’s supposed to be. “I lost my balance for a second”, he mutters. Then without another glance at either of you, he brushes past and disappears down the hall. 

The silence he leaves behind is deafening. You’re frozen. Like glass on the verge of shattering. Guilt crawls under your skin like a fever. You want to scream. You want to run. You feel like you’ve betrayed them both. 

Satoru looks at you. His expression softens the moment he sees your face. “Hey...” voice gentle now. “You okay? You look a bit... pale.” He tries to joke, but there’s a note of worry breeding into his words. “Did I... maybe go a little too hard on you back there?” A faint smirk, halfhearted. His eyes, though, are searching.  

You force yourself to nod, to smile like you’re fine. “No. I’m okay. I just—” you glance toward the hallway, “I got startled. I didn’t expect to see anyone else awake.”

Satoru doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he doesn’t push either. He just reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch almost reverent. “Next time, tell me”, he says softly. “I’ll walk you around the house like a proper husband.” 

You laugh — weakly, but you manage it. Neither of you says what you’re thinking. Neither of you asks the questions hanging thick in the air. But both of you feel it. Something has shifted. And in the stillness that follows, all you can do is hold your breath and pretend it’s not already slipping out of your control. 

-- 

The soft creak of Akihito’s footsteps disappears into the silence of the hallway as if he is retreating from more than just a room. By the time he reaches the bedroom he shares with Saori, the burn in his chest has settled into something heavier, duller. She is already asleep, curled into herself beneath the silk sheets. He doesn’t even look at her. Akihito pours himself another drink from the decanter near the dresser, the sound of the liquid filling the glass louder than it should. His hand shakes as he brings it to his lips. He has lost count of how many glasses he had tonight. 

He believed he was in control, never imagining, even for a moment, that you might be the one to falter. He sits on the edge of the bed for a while, nursing the bitterness on his tongue, trying to down what feels like the unraveling of everything. His grip tightens around the glass until his knuckles turn white. And eventually, the weight of it — the whiskey, the pain, the loss — pulls him down. He settles in bed, fully clothed, eyes open to the dark. Only when the alcohol dulls the sharpest edges of his thoughts does sleep finally claim him. 

Saori wakes sometime later — hours, maybe. She doesn’t know what stirred her at first. The clock ticks quietly. The room is still. But then she hears it. A soft sound. A broken voice. Akihito. At first, she thinks he is awake, whispering. But when she turns to face him, she sees the tight lines on his brow, his face twisted in restless dreaming. 

...a name falls from his lips like a prayer. Your name.

“Don’t leave me...” He shifts, face turned toward her, eyes shut tight. His voice cracks in a way she has never heard before. “I love you... please... don’t go...” 

Saori doesn’t move. She doesn’t breathe. For a long moment, all she can do is stare at the man she spent more than half her life beside. The man who kept so much from her. Until now.

Everything made sense to her now. All of it. The proposal of a random girl — a nobody, by traditional standards — as a bride for the clan head. His obsessive oversight of your marriage. His silence. His sudden, inexplicable shifts in mood. All the times he came home reeking of another woman. And now this. 

She sits up slowly, placing her hand on her lap as the cold realization settles deep into her bones. Her husband has never said her name like that, even in dreams. A sharp, unfamiliar ache blooms in her chest. It isn’t jealousy — though that is part of it. It is grief. For a marriage that never really belonged to her. For a love that was never hers to begin with. She turns to look at Akihito once more. His lips move soundlessly now, breath uneven. Vulnerable in a way he has never let himself be when conscious. Saori whispers, her voice nearly a breath, “You poor, stupid man...” 

And she doesn’t know whether to feel pity, rage, or heartbreak. So she sits there — in the dim quiet, beside the man who is dreaming of someone else — and tries to remember what it feels like to be chosen. 

-- 

The morning sun spills through sheer drapes. Saori sits before her vanity, back perfectly straight, hands folded in her lap as the house attendant brushes through her hair. She stares at her reflection — still, expressionless. But her eyes, always sharp, betray thought in motion. There’s no puffiness in them, no redness, no sign of the long night she endured beside her sleeping husband and the dreams he whispered into the dark. Not a trace of it reached the surface. Because Gojo Saori does not falter. 

She was raised for this life. Trained from the moment she could walk and speak — in manners, in posture, in etiquette. In silence. In sacrifice. She was chosen for the Gojo Clan as if born for it, bred for it. A perfect match to elevate status and maintain lineage. An ideal bride, by design. Not merely beautiful, but refined. Not merely obedient, but poised. Regal in her restraint. And still, he never loved her. Gojo Akihito, the man she married at twenty-one, gave her everything a wife could ask for — wealth, status, a name that carried power. But not his heart. Never his heart. She spent years trying to earn it anyway. With devotion. With loyalty so fierce it could have moved mountains if he had only looked her way and seen her properly. 

But last night... Last night, in the hush of the sleeping room they shared for so many years, he spoke someone else’s name. Not once. Not carelessly. Lovingly. 

Saori meets her own gaze in the mirror — unwavering, unflinching. She should’ve wept, perhaps. Cried the way lesser women might. Collapsed into trembling disbelief or broken rage. But she had no time for that. No space, in the skin she wears, for such indulgence. Her family name was teetered on scandal, and she bled too much grace into this place to see it torn down now — not by a girl’s foolishness, not by a man’s longing. Gojo Saori was, above else, a guardian of the image. But the image was beginning to crack. And she was ready to protect what needed protecting.  

--  

You sit at the table, eyes tracing the rim of your teacup, steam curling softly into the morning air. You haven’t taken a sip. You haven’t touched your plate. Your stomach is tight, twisted with guilt... especially after last night. 

Satoru is full of light and ease, as he always is — grinning, teasing, tossing playful remarks into the stillness like stones skipping across a glassy lake. His hand brushes yours casually, fingertips lingering just long enough to warm your skin. It’s comforting in a way, how unchanged he is. But his energy doesn’t reach you this morning. You smile when you’re supposed to. You answer when he prompts you. But your mind is far away — caught between the memory of last night’s warmth and the echo of Akihito’s voice, flat and cracked with disappointment. 

Akihito sits quietly, as he always does, but today his silence feels heavier. His fingers press against the bridge of his nose, slow and methodical, as if trying to will away a migraine. He hasn’t touched his food. His presence across the table burns into you like a brand. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, but you can feel his restraint like a tremor in the room — barely contained, always building. 

Saori is a vision of composure. She lifts her teacup with perfect posture, takes delicate sips, and sets it down with the precision of someone who has performed this same ritual every morning of her life. Her face is unreadable — not blank, but too measured. There’s something behind her stillness, something coiled. But you can’t tell what. She gives nothing away. 

Satoru leans in toward you with a lopsided grin, voice dipped in mischief. His hand brushes your arm again, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he senses how fragile you feel. “You’re awfully quiet today”, he points out. You blink, startled — his voice snapping you out of your spiral — and you force a breath, a small smile. He’s trying to bring you back. The way he always does. “I didn’t get much sleep last night”, you manage, voice low and tight. 

“Tired, huh?” he echoes with a soft laugh, leaning in closer. His voice drops to a whisper, just for you. “Guess that’s what happens after a long, productive night... right?” 

Your heart stumbles. The words land like a thunderclap, disguised as a joke, but sharp enough to cut through your skin. His wink is lighthearted — harmless in his mind — but you freeze. You don’t laugh. You can’t. The knot in your stomach coils tighter, shame rising in your chest. You drop your gaze and press your lips together, every nerve on fire. 

Then comes the sound. A sharp, sudden crack. 

Akihito’s hand clenches around his teacup — or what’s left of it. Porcelain shards glint, splintered across the table and floor. His palm is cut, a slow trickle of blood winding through the lines of his hand, but he doesn’t seem to feel it. He stares at the broken cup like it’s something far away. His shoulders tense, jaw clenched. A man unraveling slowly — but silently. 

Satoru turns toward him, his gaze casual, almost detached. He says nothing. 

Saori moves immediately, her composure untouched as she rises and then immediately kneels beside him without ceremony, inspecting the wound with clinical care. Her voice is even, steady. “Are you alright?” Akihito doesn’t respond. His eyes are still fixed on the broken shards. His breath is shallow. Hollow. You wonder if he even knows where he is. Saori retrieves the first aid kit from the cabinet, her movements smooth, practiced. She tends to the cut with quiet precision, wrapping the bandage around his hand in silence. She doesn’t look at you, not directly — but her awareness is piercing. You can feel her watching, even when her eyes aren’t on you. 

You try not to flinch under the weight of it. 

Satoru watches you now. Truly watches you, and only you. There’s concern in his eyes, but beneath it, something darker — a flicker of something unreadable, as if he’s seeing straight through you. 

--  

You walk Satoru to the front of the estate, the morning sun slowly warming the stone path. He lingers, reluctant to go. “Are you sure you want me to leave?” he asks, searching your face. “You’ve been... kind of out of it all morning.”

You manage a smile, reaching up to smooth a hand through his hair. “I told you, I’m just tired.”  

He’s clearly unconvinced. “Then let me stay. I’ll take the day off, we’ll snuggle in bed, watch trashy movies, eat junk food — whatever you want.” 

“No”, you cut him off gently. “They’ll chew you out for skipping another day because of me. I’m fine, I promise. I just... need a little time to myself.” 

He watches you for a moment longer, visibly debating. Then he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. “You better call me if you change your mind. Or even if you don’t. I just want to hear your voice.” 

“I will”, you say, trying to mean it. 

“You won’t”, he mutters. “But I’ll pretend to believe you.” 

You watch him walk away until he’s out of sight. And then the weight returns, heavy and unforgiving. You turn and head back toward your room, your steps slow. You were planning to reach out to Akihito — to talk, to finally be honest. At least with him. You need to say the words out loud. 

Halfway to your door, one of the maids appears at the end of the corridor, bowing her head respectfully as she approaches. “Lady Saori has asked if you would join her for tea in the garden”, she says. 

You blink. “Tea?” 

“She’s waiting for you now”, the maid adds.  

Your stomach twists. This is a first. Saori has never invited you anywhere, never initiated anything outside of polite formality. And now — tea? You murmur your thanks and change direction, heading toward the garden with careful steps. When you arrive, Saori is already seated beneath the wide shade of the cherry blossom tree. Everything is picturesque — the porcelain tea set arranged perfectly, delicate sweets on a lacquer tray. Not a single detail out of place. She looks up as you approach, her posture composed, her expression mild. 

“Hello again”, she says, gesturing to the seat across from her. “Please, sit.”

You lower yourself slowly. “Thank you.” 

She pours the tea herself. No attendants. No distractions. Just you and her. “We’ve never had the chance to talk”, she says, tone pleasant. “Just the two of us.” 

You nod faintly. “I guess not.” 

She picks up her cup, takes a small sip, and sets it down again. “Satoru seems happy.”

You glance at her, cautious. “He is.” 

“I can tell. He’s always been bright, but lately there’s something different. Something new. He’s softer. His laugh is more genuine.” She offers a smile. “He clearly cares for you — deeply.” 

Your mouth goes dry. “Thank you.” 

She hums softly, and then — without a change in tone — asks, “And how are things between you and my husband?”

The question hits you like a stone dropped into still water. No warning. No shift in expression.  

You stiffen, staring at her.

She doesn’t look away, “Not well, I imagine?” voice still calm. 

“I—” 

“I don’t want to hear it”, she cuts in, quiet but firm. 

Silence settles like a weight. Her voice remains calm, but the steel beneath it is undeniable. “I am not blind.” 

You lower your gaze. 

“I see the way Akihito looks at you. I see what it’s done to him.” Her fingers rest gently on the rim of her teacup. “And I know the kind of woman it takes to twist a man like him into something unrecognizable.” 

You flinch. 

“I won’t let this continue. I won’t let you unravel this family from the inside out. If you stay on this path, you won’t just break Akihito — you’ll destroy Satoru too. He’s already too attached. Too invested. And when this blows apart — because it will, like all secrets do — do you really think he won’t be the one to bleed for it?” 

You look up at her, heart pounding. Her words feel like nails driven into your spine. There’s no venom in her voce. No raised pitch. Just control. Cold and deliberate. “I’m giving you a choice”, she says. “You leave. On your own terms. Or I will make sure you have no terms at all.” 

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. What can you even say? What are you supposed to do? Argue? 

“Think it over”, she says, lifting her teacup again. “Before it becomes something you can’t come back from.” Then her eyes meet yours one last time — still poised, but with a new edge. “And don’t even think about telling Akihito we had this conversation.” she adds softly. “Unless you want Satoru to know about it too.” 

-- 

You barely make it back to your room before your legs give out. The door shuts behind you and you crash onto the bed, your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a scream. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but it’s useless now. The dam is breaking. Your shoulders shake, and the sob that leaves you is hoarse, pulled from a place so deep it feels like you’re splitting open. 

Everything was falling apart — like a chain of dominoes tipping one after another. One thing went wrong, and the rest followed, collapsing in swift, inevitable sequence. The worst part? The love blooming quietly in your chest. There’s no use pretending anymore. You can try to lie to everyone else — maybe even try to lie to yourself. But the truth is carved into your every glance, every touch, every breath, every unspoken word between you and Satoru. You love him. But you’re not allowed to have him. Not after this. Not when the damage has already begun to spill over the edges.  

You sit in the stillness for a while, until your tears run dry and resolve begins to settle in their place. There’s one thing left to do — the thing you intended before everything spiraled. You need to speak with Akihito. You pick up your phone and type out the message. 

Meet me in an hour. I’ll send you the location of the hotel. 

Then you get up, dress in silence, and leave. 

-- 

The room is quiet when he arrives. Akihito steps inside and finds you standing by the window, framed in soft, diffused light. There’s something different in your posture — something heavier. He doesn’t speak right away. He just looks at you, then takes a step forward. 

He dropped everything and came to you. Still hoping. That small, foolish hope still flickers in him — that maybe, despite everything, you’ve called him here because you’ve come back. He reaches for you, arms out as if to hold you again. But you step back. 

“No”, you say, voice tight. “We can’t do this anymore.” 

His hands drop to his sides. “What?” his voice barely comes out. You swallow the lump rising in your throat. “Aki... we can’t.” He stares at you. Then — a bitter, hollow laugh escapes him. “So that’s it?” His voice cracks. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you? And all this was for nothing?” 

You close your eyes. The silence answers for you. He paces away, running a hand through his hair, then back again. “God”, he mutters. “I thought this was the perfect plan. I thought — if I couldn’t have you publicly, I could at least have you close. Through him. Knowing he wouldn’t want you, wouldn’t touch you. Knowing that you loved me...” He looks at you now, eyes sharp with grief. “But I was wrong about both.” 

You wrap your arms around yourself. “This was a terrible idea from the start, and you know it”, you whisper. “I should’ve never agreed. I should’ve never let it get this far. I wish I’d never—” 

“Don’t”, he snaps, suddenly raw. “Don’t say you wish you never met me. Don’t.” 

Your breath hitches, but you don’t take it back. His voice lowers, thick with disbelief. “You don’t really mean it... right?”

Your silence cuts deeper than any answer.

He lets out a sharp breath, like it hurts, and moves to step toward you again, in utter denial of what’s unfolding before his eyes. 

“No”, you say, firmer this time. “Please. Just let this be the end.” 

You reach for the door. He follows. For the first time, you leave the hotel room together — not like all the other times, not hidden, not careful. You’re walking away, and he’s chasing you, hand reaching desperately for yours. 

“Wait—!” 

Akihito’s hand closes around your wrist just as you step onto the sidewalk, his grip tight, desperate — like holding on could somehow undo everything unraveling between you.

And then you hear it — a familiar voice calls your name. 

“...is that you?” 

You freeze. Shoko stands a few feet away, dressed in her uniform. Her gaze flicks from your face to where Akihito’s hand still clings to yours, and her expression changes in an instant. 

And just like that — in the space of a single day — everything you’ve tried to keep buried begins to rise. Crashing, all at once, to the surface. 

-- 

The sun is long gone by the time Satoru returns, the estate cloaked in stillness. He steps inside, calling your name softly. When you appear at the end of the hall, barefoot in the dim light, something in him settles — and then, just as quickly, something else begins to stir. You look like yourself, and yet... not. Your smile is soft but distant, your eyes shimmering in a way he can’t place. “I’m home”, he says, shrugging off his jacket. “Missed me?” 

You nod, walking up to him. You press a hand to his chest. “Little bit.” He smiles and leans down to kiss you, and when your lips meet, he feels it — the way you cling just a little tighter, hold just a little longer. It’s like you’re trying to memorize the way he tastes.  

Later, in your shared room, the lights are low and the silence is velvet. You’re already in bed when he returns from the shower, his white hair damp and tousled, towel slung loosely around his neck. He slips in beside you, cold fingers brushing your arm. You shiver, not from the chill — from the weight of what’s to come.

“You said you needed some time for yourself this morning, but you’re still like this”, he murmurs, pulling you close. “I don’t like it.”

You nestle against his chest, pressing your cheek to his skin. “I’m okay now.” 

There’s something in your voice that makes him pause. But he doesn’t push. Instead, he wraps his arms around you tighter, grounding himself in the curve of your spine, the warmth of your breath against him. 

“You smell like cotton candy”, you whisper.

He chuckles, nose brushing the crown of your head. “It’s that new shampoo. Smells fancy, huh?”

You don’t answer. You just reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers with his like it’s the last time... “Will you stay with me?” you ask softly.

“I’m not going anywhere.” he breathes.

“Good”, you murmur, voice barely above a breath. “Then, come closer.”

Satoru tilts his head down to look at you, a flicker of unease moving behind his gaze. “Of course”, he says. “Where else would I go?” 

You pull him down to kiss you again. Deep. Slow. There’s no teasing. No games. Just something desperate threaded through every movement. Like a goodbye wrapped in silk. When you make love, there’s no rush. No fire. Just the quiet rhythm of two people trying to suspend time — to stretch a moment into forever. You whisper his name like a prayer. He kisses your temple like he’s stealing a promise he doesn’t know he’s about to break. 

Afterward, you lie tangled together, your head on his chest, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles on your bare shoulder. Your breathing evens. Sleep comes to you quickly — a peace you haven’t known in a while.  

But Satoru doesn’t sleep. He watches you in the darkness, his blue eyes searching your face, as if trying to decode something written there. Something unsaid. You’ve never look so peaceful. And, honestly, that’s what scares him. His chest tightens. Something in his gut whispers that he’s missing something. That he’s not seeing the full picture. That maybe... you’re slipping through his fingers.

“Why do I feel like I’m losing you?” he murmurs, barely audible, brushing a thumb along your cheek. You stir, but don’t wake. He leans down and kisses your forehead — gentle, reverent. “I love you”, he whispers into your hair. And for a moment, he lets himself believe it’s enough to keep you. 

-- 

A week passes. The Gojo estate buzzes with preparations for the annual celebration — Saori and Akihito’s wedding anniversary. As always, Saori is at the heart of it all, composed and efficient, orchestrating every detail with practiced grace. Akihito, on the other hand, remains distant. Detached. You barely see him around the mansion. Not a word has passed between you since that day at the hotel. It feels like he’s quietly disappearing — withdrawing, piece by piece — and yet, an uneasy weight sits in your chest. Something feels off. Unfinished. 

One afternoon, as you help Saori sort through invitations, she brings it up — casually. “Have you made up your mind?” she asks, her eyes never lifting from the stack of envelopes. You pause, fingers brushing the edge of an envelope, and answer softly — almost absently. “Who knows.” 

-- 

Morning light filters through the sheer curtains. You’re already awake, lying still in Satoru’s arms. His breath is warm against the nape of your neck, one arm draped lazily around your waist, holding you in place like an anchor. Carefully, you ease out from under his arm. He shifts but doesn’t wake. Bare feet touch the cold floor as you rise and stand in the light, allowing yourself one last look. He’s lying on his back now, hair a tousled against the pillow. Peaceful. Vulnerable in a way only sleep allows. Your chest aches. 

In the bathroom, you splash cold water on your face and lift your gaze to the mirror. Your eyes are red. Hollow. The skin beneath them bruised with fatigue. But beneath the weariness, there’s something else — resolve. When you return to the room, Satoru is stirring. He squints at you with a sleepy grin. “Come back”, he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “I sleep better when you’re here.”  

You smile softly. “Can’t. You know today’s the big day.” 

He stretches like a cat, arms reaching above his head, the sheet slipping down to his hips. “Ugh. Right. Completely forgot about that”, he groans and then rolls onto his side. You manage a quiet laugh. As he nestles back into the pillow, you linger in the doorway. “I love you.” you whisper — quietly, so quietly he won’t hear. Then you close the door behind you. And with that, the countdown begins. 

--  

The Gojo estate is nothing short of magnificent tonight. The garden glows beneath a canopy of paper lanterns, warm amber light spilling across the sea of guests. Tables are dressed in fresh flowers. Soft music hums in the background, blending into murmured conversations and the gentle clinking of glasses. Tonight is a celebration of image — Akihito and Saori’s wedding anniversary. Saori is elegance incarnate, her smile as polished as the pearls at her neck. Akihito stands beside her, composed, offering polite nods and minimal words. Together, they are the picture of grace. But the image is just that — a facade. There’s nothing worth celebrating. Nothing real about the harmony they pretend to share. 

Across the garden, Satoru floats through the evening like a disruption in the symmetry. Dressed in a loose gray suit, tie nowhere in sight, he laughs too loud, drowns juice from a champagne glass, and teases the elders with casual disrespect. No one bats an eye — it’s just Satoru being Satoru. But those who know him — really know him — can see it. He’s restless. His eyes keep scanning the crowd. At first subtly. Then, with growing urgency. You’re not out here. You slipped away earlier, saying something about fixing your dress. But that was over thirty minutes ago. Long enough for the knot in his stomach to tighten. Long enough for his laugh to start sounding forced. 

He leans toward Shoko, who’s sipping wine with a bored expression. “Have you seen her?” 

“Nope”, Shoko replies, unbothered. “Didn’t she say she was heading to the bathroom?” 

“Yeah”, Satoru’s fingers drum against the table. “But how long does fixing a dress take?” 

Across the garden, Akihito and Saori stand side by side as guests gather for the toast. She leans in, whispers something. He nods — but his gaze flickers, briefly, toward the house. 

An elder raises a glass. “To love. To strength. To bonds that stand the test of time.” 

Glasses rise.

Clink.

Applause follows. The illusion holds.

Until— 

BOOM. 

A thunderous crack splits the air. The ground shakes. Heat pulses across the garden like a wave. Screams erupt. From the left wing of the estate, fire bursts through the windows — a wall of flame swallowing the air. Smoke billows thick and choking. Music cuts out. Plates crash. Glass shatters. 

Satoru’s glass falls from his hand and explodes against the ground. Something sharp drives into his chest. He knows — you’re still inside. But before the thought is fully formed, he’s already running.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” His voice cuts through the chaos as he barrels through the guests. 

Akihito starts to follow, face pale, but Saori grabs his arm. Her gaze then snaps to her son. “Satoru, STOP!” she cries — but he doesn’t hear.

To Satoru, the world is silent now. There is only the roar of the fire and the pounding of his heart. He bursts through the estate doors, sprinting toward the source of the flames. He forgets his technique. Forgets his own safety. Forgets everything — except you.

“Please, baby— please, my love— I’m coming, please— Don’t do this to me, please—”, he keeps chanting.

The deeper he goes, the more warped the hall becomes — blackened, unrecognizable. He reaches the kitchen — but it’s empty. Panic claws up his throat. He turns, runs to the nearby bathroom. Kicks the door open. Heat smacks him like a wall. Smoke clogs his lungs. He pulls his sleeve over his mouth and steps inside.  

Then he sees it — someone collapsed near the sink, limbs sprawled. Still. His heart stops. He nearly slips as he rushes forward, dropping to his knees beside the figure. Burnt and unrecognizable. But the dress — what’s left of it — is familiar. The color. The delicate trim. There’s a necklace around the neck, half-melted, but unmistakably yours. “No”, he whispers. “No, no, no—” 

His hand hovers over your body. His throat tightens. Everything around him is heat, noise, pressure, but in his ears, there’s only silence. Like the world just folded in on itself. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tears hit his lips — salt and ash. “I was just with you...” he whispers, almost childlike, broken. “You were laughing with me a moment ago...” He leans in, presses his forehead to your shoulder, and breathes raggedly. Body shaking.  

Behind him, voices start to echo. Footsteps. Shouting. Geto is coming to pull him out. But Satoru doesn’t hear any of it. He doesn’t move. He can’t. For the first time in his life, it feels like he’s lost. 

-- 

The fire was quickly contained. The Gojo mansion still stands, its structure untouched. Only the left wing of the first floor bears the marks of the fire. The investigation concluded that the fire was caused by an overheating motor in the bathroom’s ventilation system, a tragic accident. Only one life was lost: yours. 

Your funeral was two days ago. A private ceremony. Satoru didn’t speak during it. He barely moved. Just stood there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his eyes hidden behind the blindfold. Quiet. In a way he’s never been. 

Now, days later, the world still spins — people still laugh, they breathe, they live. But he’s still here. In the room that was once your shared bedroom. Alone. He sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the chaos of your things scattered around the room. Your belongings — still as you left them — seem to scream your absence. He can’t bring himself to touch them. Not yet. Not ever. The book you were reading, the bottle of perfume on the nightstand, your lotion, your earrings, the brush on the vanity, and your nightgown — neatly folded on your side of the bed. It all kills him. The maids are prohibited from entering the room. He’s made sure of it. The silence of the space, with all its untouched remnants of you, is his alone to bear. 

He buries his face in your pillow, hoping to catch even the faintest trace of your scent. But it’s long gone. A strangled breath leaves him. Then another. And then... he breaks. His hands shake as he scrolls through his phone, endlessly flipping through old texts. Rereading them. The messages that still feel so alive — your voice echoing in his mind. One voicemail stands out. The one you left days before the accident. He presses play. 

“Satoru, stop leaving the toilet seat up! I’m too sleepy in the mornings to notice, but my butt definitely doesn’t appreciate an unexpected ice bath.” 

He laughs. Just once. And then, he breaks again. Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world, curls into himself, his body crumpling into fetal position. He cries. Not quietly. No. He cries like he’s been holding it in his entire life, like the ground beneath him finally gave way and left him with nothing to stand on. No air. No reason. 

They say he’s doing fine. Around others, he smiles. He jokes. He walks with that same easy confidence, says the right things, acts like nothing’s changed. But Geto and Shoko know better. They see it in the way he visits your grave every day. The way his shoulders stiffen when someone dares mention your name. The way his hands tremble when they’re not stuffed in his pockets. He’s unraveling. Slowly. Quietly. And still, no one knows the truth. Not yet. Not even him. 

Only Shoko does. 

-- 

You follow Shoko into the morgue at Jujutsu Tech, each step slow and soundless. She doesn’t speak. Just moves steadily toward a counter, where she sets a folder down. Her back remains to you. The silence stretches long and taut. Then— 

“I wasn’t sure what to make of what I saw earlier”, she finally says. “But the fact that you followed me here... it confirms my suspicions.” 

You try to speak, but no words come out. Only a shaky breath escapes, heavy with guilt, regret, and everything you’ve been holding in for far too long. Shoko turns to face you. Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes are sharp.

“You look like you want to say something”, she says. “So say it.” 

The words stumble out at first, fractured and raw. But then they come faster, pouring from you. You tell her everything — the affair, the reason behind the arranged marriage, the lies... everything. And the worst of it — that somehow, in the wreckage of it all, you fell in love with Satoru. You nearly choke saying it aloud, the weight of the truth crushing in your chest.

Shoko listens in silence. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t interrupt. When you finally stop, she speaks with her usual stillness. “Why are you telling me this?” Then, sharper, “Why not tell Gojo?” 

“No”, you say quickly. “I can’t... I won’t do this to him.”

She tilts her head, gaze narrowing. “You already did”, she replies flatly. “Whether you tell him or not doesn’t change that.” 

Your throat tightens. “I know... and I need you to help me.” 

“Help you?” she repeats. “Why would I?” 

“Because I don’t want him to hurt, not like this.” 

There’s a long pause. Shoko just watches you — assessing, weighing. Then she steps closer, her voice low. “But he will hurt. In a way I’m not sure he’ll ever come back from.”

You meet her gaze, desperation burning in yours. “Please.”

She says nothing, but something seems to be shifting in her. 

“There’s something that will hurt him less than the truth”, you say. “I need you to find a body. Someone who resembles me. Imbue it with my residuals — only you can do that. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Her arms cross slowly. “You want me to find a corpse?” she asks. “You want me to help you fake your death? Is that it?” 

You nod, eyes dropping. “He’ll be better off thinking I’m dead than knowing what I’ve done.” 

“You’re underestimating him”, Shoko says, shaking her head. “You don’t know what you mean to him. This isn’t mercy — it’ll destroy him.”

Her words cut like glass, but you close your eyes. “Please”, you whisper. 

“When?”, Shoko asks, and you blink. “When do you need the body?” she repeats, rubbing the bridge of her nose. 

-- 

(One month later) 

You moved away. Far away. To a small village tucked in the mountains, hidden in a forgotten corner of the country. It’s quiet here — the kind of quiet that doesn’t demand anything from you. No one knows your name here. Not your real one, anyway. You rent a modest cottage, barely furnished, but clean. You wake with the sun, tend to your tiny garden, then walk to the local pub where you started working just enough to get by. It’s simple. Monotonous. A life carved from necessity, not desire. And yet, every night before bed, you check your phone. One conversation always sits at the top of your inbox: Shoko. 

Your last message was three days ago. 

You: How is he? 

Her reply came the next morning. 

Shoko: Still breathing. Don’t ask for more. 

You didn’t. You never do. 

-- 

(Back at Jujutsu Tech) 

Satoru has just returned from a mission, and it’s clear he’s not himself. He’s sharp, but off. The usual cocky confidence has slipped into irritation, and he drifts through the halls with his mind elsewhere. Distracted. A clipboard hangs loosely in his hand, and he’s on the hunt for Shoko — she’s supposed to fill out a report. 

These days, he only drops the act around her. Or Geto. Or, of course, when alone. When he’s not pretending, he’s quiet. Drained. Nothing like the Gojo Satoru everyone knows. 

As he nears the morgue, he slows. A muffled voice cuts through the silence behind the door. It’s Shoko, on the phone. He’s about to knock when he hears it. 

Your name. 

Satoru freezes. Is he finally losing his mind? But then, there’s more— 

“...you need to stop asking.” 

A pause. Then, softer— 

“He... He doesn’t talk about you still. He’s not okay. But you knew he wouldn’t be.” 

The world stills. He doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. It’s like his mind is short-circuiting. Did he hear that right? His grip tightens on the clipboard until it creaks beneath his fingers. But then, it comes again. 

Your name. 

He stands there, stunned for a moment, before his body moves of its own accord. The door opens with a slow creak.

Shoko looks up, and she sighs. “...I have work to do”, she says quietly, and ends the call.

Satoru steps inside and shuts the door behind him. He throws the clipboard aside. He is not smiling, and he’s no longer wearing his blindfold. And for the first time in a month, his eyes are fully visible — different, bottomless, rimmed in red — and they are fixed on her. “Care to explain?”, he says, voice low, flat. 

Shoko doesn’t play dumb. She doesn’t lie. She leans back against the wall, her posture shifting to something almost resigned. She exhales, a soft sound, like she’s been waiting for this moment. She knew it would come. And for the first time in weeks, Satoru’s eyes — his grief-clouded eyes — are lit by something else. Hope. 

“She’s alive.”, Shoko says. The words hang in the air between them, and Satoru’s world shifts. He doesn’t react at first. Just stands there, trying to process her words. 

Finally, his voice cracks — barely audible, barely more than a whisper, like something fragile. “You let me bury her.” 

Shoko’s gaze softens for a moment, but then she sighs, a sound that’s more exhausted than regretful. “She said it’d hurt you less.” 

“Less?” He laughs once, a shar, disbelieving sound. “Less than what?” 

“The truth.” The words come from Shoko with unflinching clarity. “She had an affair with your father.”

Shoko waits. For a reaction. For anger. For questions. For anything.  

But Satoru doesn’t blink. He only asks one question. “Where is she?” 

-- 

The Gojo estate still stands. The first floor — once scorched by fire — has long since been renovated. But beneath the surface, the scars of the past remain. For those who know, it’s impossible to forget what was lost. Akihito sits in the living room, staring down at the floor, his expression hollow. The once commanding patriarch is now a broken shell. His hands tremble as he takes a sip of his drink, his gaze unfocused, consumed by grief. He hasn’t spoken much in weeks. Every time he tries, his voice cracks. The loss of you has shattered him. Sometimes he tells himself it was better this way — better to lose you to death than to watch you belong to someone else. Even if that someone else was his son. For a moment, that thought would make it easier to breathe. But then again, what did it matter? You were gone. And something in him knew — the fire wasn’t an accident. He suspected Saori. Maybe she found out. Maybe she did this to you. Should he kill her? But that wouldn’t bring you back. And besides... the clan. He still had a duty to do. 

Saori sits nearby, her gaze fixed out the window, her lips curling into a faint, satisfied smile. Her eyes flicker to Akihito for a brief moment, but there’s no sympathy in them — only contentment. After everything, she believes fate has finally righted itself. She watches him fall apart with quiet detachment, a sense of calm in her stillness. At least now, he is more hers than he is yours. “Perhaps it was fate”, she murmurs softly, her words for no one but the walls. Akihito’s eyes remain distant, his thoughts far removed from her voice. He’s too lost to hear anything she says — too far gone to care. 

Then, the door opens. Satoru enters, no grand gesture, no announcement. His presence fills the room immediately, thick and heavy, like an impending storm. Akihito doesn’t look up. He doesn’t need to. He knows why his son is here — he can feel it in the air before he even steps further in. Saori glances at Satoru, her eyes narrowing slightly, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. She rises without a word, understanding that this conversation isn’t for her. She leaves quietly, walking past her son with only a brief, knowing look.

The door clicks shut behind her. 

Akihito slumps lower in his seat, but he doesn’t look at his son. He doesn’t need to. The way Satoru stands there, rigid, fists clenched, eyes dark and filled with fury. Akihito feels the weight of it, heavy in the room, before he even lifts his head to look at him.

“You know”, Akihito says quietly, his voice hoarse, a statement rather than a question. Satoru stands still, his jaw clenched tight, eyes burning. He doesn’t answer. The air between them crackles with the unsaid. Akihito presses on, his voice low, laced with a tremor. “How did you find out?” 

Still, Satoru remains silent. His fists tremble at his sides, his breathing shallow, ragged. The words catch in his throat, a clash of fury and hurt. When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse and strained, as though forcing each word past the tightness in his chest.

“You broke her.” he spits, finally. “You broke the one thing most precious to me.” 

Akihito flinches, the weight of the accusation landing heavily on him. His gaze hardens, but he can’t meet Satoru’s eyes. There’s nothing to say. His son is right — he did break her. And by doing so, he broke his son as well. 

Satoru steps forward suddenly, his movements swift and calculated. The space between them closes in an instant, and Satoru’s eyes, wide with intensity, burn through the silence as he towers over his own father. There’s something primal in the air now — a rawness, an energy that could consume the entire room, the entire estate, if left unchecked. Akihito doesn’t react, he just sits there, knowing what’s coming. He accepts it. The man he once was, gone. And this son — this powerful, broken son — is the reckoning he’s been waiting for. 

“Do you have anything to say?” Satoru’s voice is barely containing the storm inside him. His hands shake, still clenched tightly into fists, but there’s a note of something darker in his gaze — an edge that suggests the breaking point is near. Akihito looks at him, pained, defeated, but remains silent. The words don’t come. 

The sound that follows — sharp and violent — could be a fist crashing into flesh or a bone snapping under pressure. It’s unclear, too quick to pinpoint. The air itself seems to shatter with it.

Satoru turns without another word, leaving the mansion. His hands are covered in blood.

Behind him, a scream shatters the silence. Saori’s scream, high and frantic, echoes through the halls. Saori doesn’t know it yet, but her time is coming too. Soon enough. 

-- 

Satoru knew. He had known for a while. It wasn’t a dramatic discovery. It was quiet and accidental, in fact. It happened early into your marriage, when you were still distant with him — polite but clipped. Somehow always guarded. He thought it was the nerves at first. Shyness. The weight of tradition. But then a month passed, and you still wouldn’t meet his eyes unless it was absolutely necessary. Still flinched when he reached for you. He could handle awkward beginnings, of course — especially for you. He wasn’t expecting a fairytale, you didn’t even remember him. But what he couldn’t handle was not knowing you, the way that you never let him in. 

So he did what a curious man with too little patience like himself might do. He followed you. Not out of suspicion of course. He thought if he observed you from a distance, he might’ve learned things you weren’t ready to tell or show him. Your habits. Anything. And then, one afternoon, he watched you enter a hotel. Alone. Odd. 

Ten minutes later, his father arrived. Very odd. 

Satoru waited. Two hours later, you walked out. Head down, hair slightly mussed. You didn’t see him. Shortly after, Akihito exited the building, adjusting his coat, wearing an expression Satoru had rarely seen on him — satisfied, secretive. And that was it. He didn’t even use his Six Eyes at first. Part of him didn’t want confirmation. Part of him hoped it was just a coincidence. But shortly after, he let his technique drift over your form. And there it was. Residuals. His father’s cursed energy. All over you. 

...and everything began to click. Your stiffness. The arranged marriage. His father’s sudden interest in choosing his bride. How Akihito had spoken of you before the engagement with just a touch too much fondness.  It wasn’t an arranged marriage; it was a cover. You weren’t his. You were his father’s. 

Satoru never confronted you, never let on that he knew. He just watched. Watched the way you disappeared for hours and returned with a soft look in your eyes that was never for him. Watched the way Akihito seemed lighter after seeing you. Watched the lie of a marriage unfold, thread by thread, every day. He never blamed you, though. He thought, maybe this was fate’s twisted way of bringing you back together. Yes, he could’ve easily destroyed it, could’ve exposed the affair and made the clan turn against Akihito. But that would’ve meant the clan turning against you as well. And Satoru never wanted to ruin you, he wanted to keep you.  

So he waited. Watched. Loved you in silence. And when he caught glimpses — that maybe you were beginning to see him, not just the son of the man you loved, that you were starting to change — that was all it took. He clung to that.

Because the thing about Gojo Satoru is that, when he wants something — really, truly wants it — he doesn’t stop. Not rules. Not family. Nothing can stop him.

You had been stolen from him once — the night on the curb, when fate gave you to him and then ripped you away before he could even ask your name. Then it happened again. His father got to you first.

Now, he wasn’t going to let you be taken away from him for the third time. No matter what. Even if it meant choosing heart over blood.

If you had faked your death and disappeared because you believed you couldn’t exist in a world with both of them, then all he had to do was remove the one standing in the way. To keep you. 

-- 

You’re wiping down the tables at the pub, preparing for the new day. Half-focused. Letting the repetitive motion ground you, steady your nerves. Trying not to think about the ghost of him that’s never really left you.  

The door creaks open behind you.

“We’re not open yet”, you immediately call out. Politely, without turning around. “Please come back in an hour.” 

Silence. Neither a response, nor footsteps indicating that the person is leaving. You glance over your shoulder, ready to repeat yourself, but the words catch in your throat. 

Satoru is standing there, leaning against the doorframe. “Won’t you make an exception for me?” he says softly. It’s meant to sound like him — teasing, light — but his voice gives him away. It’s quiet, fragile. Like it might crack if he tries any harder to keep it steady. 

The rag slips from your hands. You freeze. Then slowly, you turn. But you don’t meet his eyes. You don’t dare. “Why would you come here?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. It’s not a question of how he found you. The answer was simple. Shoko. 

He steps forward, slowly. “For you.” 

“For me”, you echo under your breath, more to yourself than to him, a bitter laugh escaping you. “For me, huh?” you repeat.

“For you.” — he says again, with no hesitation. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shrink, as if you could fold into nothing. As if it might protect you from the weight of what he’s carrying in his voice. “Did you ever consider that maybe I didn’t want to be found?” 

“I did”, he says. “I considered a lot of things, actually.” He pauses before he takes another step, and then adds, “But the fact you did something so reckless... made me consider that you cared more than I imagined.”

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You don’t understand—” 

“I do.” He cuts in gently. “You thought if you stayed, you’d destroy us both.” 

You finally look up, meeting his eyes for the first time, and something inside you threatens to cave, the devastation in him nearly buckling your knees. “I did something unforgivable.” 

He exhales, like what he’s about to say is so obvious it needn’t be said out loud. But he does it anyway — “I was ready to do anything for you.” 

“Even if what I did was truly terrible?” 

“Even then.” 

He takes another step, and then another, until the distance between is gone. Until he’s close enough to touch. You want to move. To put space between you, but your feet don’t listen. And his presence — it roots you in place like gravity.

“You could’ve told me everything”, he murmurs. “You should’ve told me.” A pause. “I already knew.” 

“What?”, your breath stutters. 

His eyes darken, and a faint, bitter smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “I’ve known for a while.” 

“But... Shoko... didn’t Shoko—” 

“It wasn’t her.” He shakes his head. “I found out myself.” He falls silent for a moment, like the memory stings to recall. 

“And you never said anything?” 

“I had my reasons”, he says softly. “Just like you had yours.” He lifts his hand — the lightest touch — and tilts your chin up. The gentleness nearly undoes you. You try to speak, but the words tangle with the sob building in your chest. It slips out instead — small, broken. His fingers brush beneath your eye, catching the tear before it falls. Even as his own hand trembles. “One word from you would’ve changed everything”, he whispers. “I would’ve burned everything down to keep you safe. Happy.” 

You slowly break under the weight of his words, forehead falling to his chest. You feel the tension in him — not anger, not judgment. Just ache. His arms wrap around you. 

“You were always my girl”, he breathes into your hair. “Even when you didn’t know it. Even when you were his. From the moment you fell asleep on my lap outside that club, you were mine.” 

You tilt your head up, lips trembling. “I’m... I’m really s—” 

“Shh.” 

He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, the warmth of him seeping into your skin. “I know.”

And then, his lips charge closer — you meet him halfway into a soft, slow kiss. One that is both an ache and a release all at once.

It hurts to want him this much. It hurts to know what you did. It hurts to know that he still looks at you with so much love, even when he knows it all. It hurts, that despite everything, it’s still you.  

-- 

You never thought you’d find peace again. Not truly. But now, the mornings are calm. The nights are quiet. The days pass without dread — light, easy, almost gentle. You and Satoru settled into this small life together, tucked away from the rest of the world. 

He left it all behind — the clan, the title, the crushing weight of being the strongest. Here, he isn’t Gojo Satoru, head of the Gojo Clan or the face of sorcerer society. Here, he’s just Satoru. Your Satoru. The one who wakes up beside you each morning, arm draped around your waist, murmuring sleepy nonsense into your ear. The one who insists on cooking breakfast and makes an unspeakable mess in the kitchen. The one who still leaves the toilet seat up just to hear you scold him — and grins when you do. 

Your belly is growing now — small, round, and full of promise. Sometimes he speaks to it like he already knows who your child will be. Sometimes he rests his head there and falls asleep. Other times, he lies awake with his hand on your baby bump, eyes full of wonder and fear, whispering that he hopes he’ll be good enough — for both of you. 

There are things left unspoken between you. You’ve never asked what happened after he left the clan — or more accurately, what happened before he left. You suspect the truth, of course. There’s no way not to. But you don’t press. And he doesn’t offer. 

Still, you think of Akihito sometimes. It’s impossible not to — he was a turning point, a fire you walked through to become who you are now. And sometimes, in the right light, Satoru looks so much like him. The same build, the same jawline, the same eyes.

But you know better. He’s nothing like him. Akihito, for all his love, always chose the clan in the end. His desires may have been selfish, but they were always entwined with duty. He loved you, yes. But he never chose you. Not truly. 

But Satoru did. He always chose you — even when it broke him. Even when it meant walking away from everything he was. Even when it meant taking a life — his own blood — to protect yours.

When he said, “I was ready to do anything for you”,

...he really meant it. 

[planetchoso-deactivated20260506]

HOT DILFS AT YOUR CAMPUS LIBRARY!

summary: stressed!single dad!suguru works at your campus library warnings: 18+, MDNI, oral (f!receiving), p in v sex, creampie art by @/nik0ru_art on x, found on pinterest. we are so back!! (this is the new account for @/cherrys-wrld, i did not steal this post)

stressed!single dad!suguru who’s the father of two lovely girls. Twins, in fact, named Mimiko and Nanako. They’re six years old now, and they run him ragged. He works as a barista and a librarian just to make ends meet. His shoulders are perpetually slumped, and his dark circles look more like craters than anything. He's overworked, underfucked, and the only things keeping him from feeling like a complete and utter failure are his two little girls.

stressed!single dad!suguru who’s turning 28 and feels like he’s accomplished nothing this year. It’s not that he views raising his daughters as worthless. It’s the complete opposite, in fact. He’d do anything for his girls, even putting his own goals on the backburner. It’s been three years since the girls’ mother walked out on them. He had to leave his original job in order to be there for them more. 

stressed!single dad!suguru is pulling an overnight shift during exam season at the university he works at. The library is massive, and he’s in charge of helping students specifically looking for biology textbooks. Enter you, a graduate student at the university. You’re in the final stages of completing your masters, and you desperately need to find a specific research article only available in hard copy in the library. Thankfully, Suguru is there to help you out.

stressed!single dad!suguru who blushes the moment you walk up to the service desk to ask him for help. It’s been so long since he’s felt the familiar flutter starting up in his chest, and he’s so lost in studying your features that you have to repeat yourself. He shakes himself out of his trance and searches the name of the article in the database. 

stressed!single dad!suguru who eagerly helps you comb through the shelf for the journal you’re looking for, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye every so often. It’s not usual to get someone near his age asking for his help in here, and you’re just so beautiful. You end up finding the article before he does since he’s so distracted by you. You thank him profusely, though, before bustling back to your study room to get to work.

stressed!single dad!suguru who thinks about you for the next week after he meets you. It’s stupid. He knows that. He hasn’t felt so infatuated with someone since he was a teenager. He’s embarrassed and certain his feelings are unrequited until you come walking into the library one day asking for him. He watches with wide, dark purple eyes as you approach him. Nothing could prepare him when you ask him out on a coffee date as a thank you. Seems like you were thinking about him just as much as he was you.

stressed!single dad!suguru who has a friend from high school, Nanami, come over to watch the girls. He has his own son, Yuji, who’s the same age as the twins. Suguru’s internally panicking, trying to rush around and get ready. What do people even wear on dates nowadays? It feels like it’s been a decade since he’s had to impress someone…god, maybe it has been. He has to shut that line of thought down before he starts spiraling about the passage of time.

stressed!single dad!suguru who settles on a black turtleneck and gray slacks with a subtle plaid pattern on them. As he looks himself over in the mirror, he silently thanks god that he still does his calisthenics every morning. He’s a bit bulkier now than he was when he was younger. He fills his shirts out a bit more, but he looks like a man now.

stressed!single dad!suguru who’s borderline giddy as he heads to the coffee shop to meet you. His stoic face reveals nothing about the nerves thrumming under his skin, but he stumbles in the doorway when he catches sight of you waiting for him in the coffee shop. He rushes over to join you at your table. 

stressed!single dad!suguru who blushes when you smile at him and can barely form intelligible responses once you start flirting with him. He always prided himself on being smooth and quick-witted, but he’s extremely out of practice. You don’t seem to mind, though. If anything, you seem more and more infatuated with him as the date goes on.

stressed!single dad!suguru who somehow manages to secure a second date. And a third. And a forth. Suddenly, you’re his girlfriend, and you don’t even mind that he has kids. He’s started smiling more now, and the day don’t seem quite as long between seeing you and taking care of the girls.

stressed!single dad!suguru who doesn’t put out until you’re official. It’s not that he’s not into you. Fuck, no. He’s so attracted to you that he’s had to take cold showers just from reading your good morning texts right after he wakes up. He just needs to know that you’re as in it as he is.

stressed!single dad!suguru who doesn’t waste anymore time after a particularly intense dinner date. The girls are having a sleepover at Nanami’s place, and he’s got you in his bed before he even realizes it. He kisses you like he’s trying to give you his life force. It’s messy, but it’s the best kiss either of you have ever had.

stressed!single dad!suguru who traces his way down your body slowly, mapping every inch of you with his mouth and hands. He’s desperate to get off, but he needs to feel you and know you so fucking badly. He’s been dreaming about the taste of your cunt on his tongue, and he’ll die if he doesn’t get a taste.

stressed!single dad!suguru who’s got your legs hiked over his shoulders and his head buried between your thighs until you’re shaking and crying out under him. He doesn’t stop until the lower half of his face is covered in your slick and there’s a puddle of drool and arousal pooling under your ass. 

stressed!single dad!suguru who’s got a fat cock and strong thighs to pin you open. His hands are so big and strong, grabbing your waist and holding you down as he thrusts into you. He starts slow, but it’s not long until the built up desire between the two of you has you rutting into each other at a quickening pace. 

stressed!single dad!suguru who kneels between your legs and lifts your lower body up off the bed, just to fuck into you better. You’re starting to understand how he became a father so young. He’s so intense that it’s mind-numbing. Thankfully, you’re on birth control, so you don’t have to worry about the stringy precum sticking to your gummy walls. 

stressed!single dad!suguru who cums deep inside you, despite his desire to pull out. He finishes with a pathetic whimper pressed against your neck, slowly pulling out and collapsing next to you. His arms hook around you and cradle you close to his body.

stressed!single dad!suguru who brushes your hair out of your face and presses kisses along your cheekbones. He’s so tender, his touch achingly delicate as he wipes you down and dresses you in one of his oversized shirts. He curls up in bed next to you that night and holds you so close that your hearts start beating in sync.

stressed!single dad!suguru who makes you strawberry crepes in the morning. He asks you to move in with him a few months later and starts looking for engagement rings after you graduate. He’s not letting you slip through his fingers. He’s sick of falling behind and letting things fall by the wayside. Besides, you’re so good with the girls…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having a few more after all…

all written content belongs to @planetchoso! do not reupload, translate, or feed my work into ai. i do not own the original characters or the art used above.

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