[mortisoculo]

Moth. I write in my spare time.

JJK:

No Quiet Animals Left Alive: suguru x reader yakuza au Walking Zero: suguru x reader//satoru x reader canon divergent fix By Your Sword: knight geto x princess reader x king gojo

Star Wars:

For the Damaged: kylo ren x knight of ren reader canon divergent (DNF)

dividers @honeyluvsw

[ladiablesse]

i do think it’s interesting how people generally seem more inclined to refer to ICE as nazis rather than modern day runaway slave catchers. bc that’s what it feels most reminiscent to me of. ofc the two are intrinsically linked given that the US inspired nazi germany which inspired the US again and so on and so forth. but still idk slave catcher feels more accurate to me.

[ladiablesse]

i think the thing that bothers me about the urge to refer to them as nazis is that i think white americans love to act like what is happening right now isn’t the most american shit ever. ICE is as american as the trail of tears as minstrel shows as jim crow as lynch mob postcards as cointelpro. stop trying to outsource what’s happening. this is what america always has been and always will be

[mmelete]

The Tumblr Experience

[indiewritesxoxo]

only ones who know

interlude: nocturne | previous chapter | chapter index

stealing someone's heart is the hardest heist of all to pull off - what happens when yours is caught between the man trying to save you and one who swears you don't need to be saved?

synopsis: sneaking into penthouses to steal jewels in your spare time is fun - until a certain white-haired CEO catches you. but instead of sending you to the slammer, he strikes a proposal to suit both your interests. the only problem? it looks like your fiancè-to-be has a few secrets of his own up his sleeve, ones your former superhero fling is determined to dig up

paring: hero!Geto x thief!Reader x villain!Gojo

content: mdni, angst and fluff, modern superhero AU!, fem-bodied reader (loosely inspired by black cat!), this chapter is from gojo's pov, FLASHBACK!!, backstory from college - up to this point, toxic friendships, jealousy, satoru is INSANE LMFAO, spoiled selfish satoru, sci-fi elements, superpowers, mentions of injury, betrayal, so much emotional hurt lol, lots of hatred and loathing LMFAO, sneaky scheming gojo is here

gojo art by ash.eko on ig + geto art by @aransmind + dividers by @bronzewasp I did my best to proofread so sorry if I missed anything :p

Satoru Gojo got everything he wanted.

He learned that lesson before he knew how to walk. Ingrained in him, probably etched into his DNA or hardwired into his brain before he knew what thinking even was. He was born with it. Blessed with brains and beauty and most importantly, money. With that came power. Influence.

People listened when he talked. Obeyed.

The rest of the world was just waiting for him to take it. Ready to be shaped as he saw fit. Redesigned to his taste.

He wasn't like everyone else.

Until him.

Suguru Geto was nothing like him. But he wasn't like the rest of them either. Didn't fit in with those pathetic people, pawns to be placed and pushed around as he pleased as long as he satisfied whatever selfish wants and petty personal desires they only spoke to him for.

He didn't remember the first time he noticed him. In the back of one of his advanced chemistry classes? Studying in the library? In the corner of a frat party?

Satoru supposed it didn't matter - but the presence of the dark-haired dork who hid behind hoodies and thin glasses had started to bother him. Like something stuck to the soles of his shoes, making every step uncomfortable around him. Sticky. Stalling him when he should be focused on the way forward.

He couldn't figure it out at first, and that only irked him more. Every problem he ever had was easily solved. Solutions had never been in short supply until his issue was only that was this irrational.

Was it how quickly he answered questions in class? Or how girls would flock and flirt with him and not just for test answers or thinking he'd be an easy fuck? How he turned them down with just a casual smile like he was too good for sloppy hookups?

He was used to being alone. Solitude was sort of part of the deal. Went hand in hand with sitting on the very top. It wasn't like he was hated. Or even disliked. Popular actually, number fucking one in all of his classes, phone constantly buzzing with texts and messages he rarely bothered answering. He never saw the worth in wasting his time making friends with losers who'd only ever want things from him.

And yet, people liked him. The guy who didn't even have anything to offer them. Nothing except his presence.

And they all thought that was enough.

Satoru simply didn't get it.

Something had to be wrong with him. He was fucking sure of it.

"Hey," he greeted, sliding into the seat across from him in the library, long fingers nudging down the textbook Geto's nose was buried in. He didn't even startle though, like he somehow knew he was coming, just lazily flitting his dark eyes up to him.

"Hey."

Where was the gratefulness? The whole 'Wow, I can't believe you're really talking to me!' part?

"So, like, do you ever do anything other than study?" Satoru asked, attempting to bait any kind of reaction out of him by yanking the book away.

But he couldn't.

Geto's grip on it was too tight. Didn't budge an inch when Satoru gave it another hard pull.

"Are you ever not a dick?" He bluntly asked, catching Satoru completely off-guard at his open dislike. The plain disdain in his eyes as they narrowed into thin slits and tugged his book back free from him.

It wasn't like Satoru had never been called names before.

But usually it was closer to light teasing, or from people who were just jealous of him. Not...this.

"You think you're not one?" He defensively scoffed, even if it was just him poorly projecting on someone who wouldn't buy it anyway.

One of Geto's brows arched up just above his glasses, calling him out - and then ignoring him again. Acting like he wasn't there and going back to reading his book.

As if he wasn't no one.

Just another nobody that would go on to work some shitty job and scrape by to survive while a throne was waiting for Satoru to sit on it after graduation rolled around.

"I was just going to invite you to a party at my place tomorrow night, asshole," he scoffed, shoving his chair back to leave, already plotting our ways to make his life hell on campus. Considering how far he'd have to go until anyone that spoke to Suguru Geto would basically be committing social suicide.

Stewing silently in his classes the next day, forcing a crafted smile as he fiddled with his pencils until they snapped.

But to his surprise, Suguru showed up.

Walking through his front door in a sweater, hair sloppily tied back from his face as he greeted a few people with small waves. Walking over to his kitchen, grabbing a beer and glancing around like he was still better than this even if he didn't flinch at the bitter taste when it went down his throat.

Satoru was walking over before he could stop and think about what he was going to say or do, maybe scoff and ask what the fuck he thought he was doing here after dismissing him before.

But Suguru's sly stare had zeroed in on him before he'd fully stepped in the kitchen, holding up his solo cup with a bored expression, "Thought you'd have fancier stuff."

On an incredibly rare occasion in Satoru's life, he considered that he might have been wrong.

No one else ever talked to him like that. Looked him straight in the eyes and still stood tall.

Suguru was like him.

And it didn't take long for him to realize maybe he'd been mistaken on his whole 'didn't need anyone' attitude too.

That a friend might be nice.

He pulled out the nicest stuff he had, some expensive bottle of wine his parents had gifted him when he moved in, popping it open and pouring it in his solo cup after he dumped the leftover beer down the sink drain.

And somewhere between getting drunk to drag him into convoluted conversations, arguing about ethics just to end up chuckling and letting him crash on his couch once the night was over.

Suddenly, he realized he didn't mind Suguru being in second place as long as he was in first.

He started sitting next to Suguru in class, trading notes and studying together, discussing science and stupid shows he'd never admitted out loud to anyone he ever watched before.

Weeks passed.

Months. Semester after semester until senior year was starting, and Satoru asked if he wanted to take the spare bedroom in his luxury apartment instead of staying in a slummy dorm again.

Suguru hesitated, and Satoru was hurt.

Who the hell wouldn't want free fucking rent in a place he could actually walk around in?

And still, Suguru said no. To him.

The first cut. More than just a little nick from paper. Not quite a stab.

Not yet.

He didn't understand it. Laughed it off and cracked some joke asking if Suguru really thought he'd be that awful to live with. Suguru just shrugged it off though, said that he was the one that would be a terrible roommate.

He figured out the why only a few weeks later.

At another party, drunk off his ass as he bit back the resentful words that threatened to roll off his tongue every time he turned and saw Suguru laughing with someone else. Distracting himself by watching someone somehow more wasted than him stumbling around, grimacing at their sloshing drink and sloppy walk until they tripped, hitting the glass window pane hard enough for a sick crack! to ring out through the room.

And then it broke.

That was when everyone else started looking, only catching the moment Suguru managed to catch them, grabbing them by their wrist before they could fall out the seven-story drop. But Satoru had seen what they missed.

Suguru had been on the halfway across the room when the his head hit the window. And in just a split second, he was there in time to save his life. Pull him back up like it was a stuffed animal instead of a stocky hockey player who probably weighed more than him.

Everyone else clapped their hands on his shoulders, told him that it was lucky he was there, talked about how crazy adrenaline was when Satoru knew he saw something that shouldn't even be fucking possible.

Suguru recognized the suspicion in his eyes, but he didn't say anything until Satoru had shooed all the drunk assholes out of his apartment and told them the party was way past over when his living room was being cooled by the autumn breeze outside instead of his air conditioning.

Sitting down in the corner of his couch like he was fucking exhausted, sweat dripping down above his brows.

"Can I trust you?" He asked, like he didn't know the answer.

"Duh," Satoru tried to grin, be the version of himself he'd grown into because of him. Less serious. Less stressed.

"I'm not exactly normal," Suguru murmured, scrounging in his pocket to pull out a multitool thing attached to his keychain. flipping out the blade of a knife in it. It wasn't particularly big, or even sharp, but he dragged it over the tip of one of his fingers to slice it open. Blood bubbled up from the cut, and then two seconds later, he wiped the skin clean. Completely clean.

No wound in sight.

Satoru stared at it, every logical part of his brain calling bullshit while the emotional half of him wanted to believe what he was saying.

"It's, uh, sort of a long story, but it's like my body's constantly on hyperdrive, I guess?" Suguru attempted to explain, but Satoru still couldn't get himself to speak. Reaching over and grabbing the knife before lightly dragging it across the back of Suguru's hand, deep enough to really draw more than a pinprick of blood this time only for his skin to start patching it back up a couple moments later.

Holy shit.

"I go around the campus at night," Suguru admitted. Bangs hanging down in his face as he exhaled and hung his head down, hands scratching at the denim of his jeans. "Some of the sketchier areas. Try to stop anyone from getting like, attacked, or mugged."

He nearly laughed at the idea his best friend was some secret superpowered vigilante going around kicking ass in the middle of the night without anyone knowing.

Dropping the knife and standing back up, heading straight for the kitchen to make himself a drink despite how shitty he was at handling his alcohol.

"You're serious?" Satoru said, as if he hadn't seen it for himself. Still trying to reject what wasn't rational.

"I don't fully understand it," Suguru cleared his throat, running his fingers through his hair as he tried to seem nonplussed. "I sorta thought maybe going into bioengineering might help me start to figure out why."

"I could help you," Satoru offered without thinking. Threw out the four words, unsure if he was saying them as a friend. Or as a scientist who found a subject he found interesting.

Suguru was special.

Maybe even more than him.

If he was being honest, he fucking hated it. Couldn't stand the idea that someone else had an advantage he didn't. But he tried to hide it.

Went as far as to build him a suit to wear on his patrols, lifting some blueprints from his father's tech company to figure out how to get the materials for it just right. Pulling all the strings, clapping his friend on the back after he tried it on for the first time - just to be the one peeling it off after he missed making a jump from one rooftop to another, wincing at the blood underneath only for all the skin to be unbruised and unbroken a day later. Bones that healed before he could probably fully even felt how broken they were.

Satoru managed to talk his parents into buying him a small building turned laboratory ten minutes from campus.. The perfect place to run every test they needed. To quantify the data, put it down somewhere safe while they tried to unravel what made him, well, him.

Distracted from his studies, although still managing to keep up his grades when he wasn't at his new desk, pouring over the details and picking apart blood samples and sequencing DNA - comparing it to his own for reference.

Pretending he didn't feel fucking inferior for the first time in his life.

But it wasn't always easy.

Lounging back in a cozy corner of their favorite bakery, a mutual friend flipping through her lecture outlines and sighing as she muttered about how much her coursework sucked while Suguru ordered something at the counter.

Satoru's blue stare slid over to watch - just to catch the cashier bat her lashes and attempt to give him her number.

Suguru did what he always did. Politely declined, lips pressed together as he held the hand that wasn't holding his coffee up with an apology.

Walking back as if nothing had happened, sitting in between him and Shoko only for Satoru to stand back up next. Making a show in sauntering back over to the cashier, acknowledging that she was cute, he guessed, grinning as he stuck out his hand to introduce himself. "Satoru Gojo."

"Um, hi?" She blinked. "Can I get you something?"

"Sorry about my buddy back there," he paused, jutting his thumb back to a probably annoyed Suguru. "I'm throwing a party this-"

"I really have to get back to work," she interrupted him, nodding towards someone queueing up behind him, giving him one of those smiles that screamed forced professionalism.

Another little cut.

Vaguely recognizing how wrong it seemed things had started to go for him when Suguru was around. Last week, he'd even fucking scored higher than him on their exam.

But he shoved it down. Drowned the bitter taste on his tongue by chugging his ridiculously sugary coffee on the table when he returned, feigning feelings that didn't fit right on his face.

"What does he have that I don't?" Satoru complained, even though he knew. Turning it into a joke so he didn't have to deal with the resentment burning underneath his skin.

"Suguru's suave," Shoko dryly muttered, dark circles under her eyes as she skimmed over her notebook, underlining something without even looking up at either of them.

"You're sleazy," Suguru teased, smirking as he brought a cup of black coffee up to his lips.

Satoru had somehow managed to work up a reputation as a playboy without actually sleeping with anyone in college. It was easy to flirt. He knew what they wanted to hear and how to say it.

But he couldn't imagine actually fucking any of them would feel much better than his own fist. Shoko would say he was emotionally constipated. Suguru would say he was just stupid.

Both were probably true.

It didn't change how little he was actually interested in getting laid though.

"You wound me," Satoru dramatically sighed, collapsing into his chair with a hand over his heart.

Suguru shrugged his shoulders, returning his stare to his own notes, and Satoru felt his face sag, annoyed at how little attention he was getting from his own friends. Annoyed at how the balance in the universe had began shifting, slipping further and further away until he was no longer what everything was orbiting around.

Shoko checked her phone with a groan, shoving her stuff in her bag before standing. Exhaling in a bored breath, "Gotta dip, guys."

Satoru watched her leave, leg bouncing beneath the table as he glanced back at the cashier still subtly trying to check out Suguru.

"Sooo," Satoru started, and Suguru was scoffing before he could finish.

"What?"

"What kind of girl are you waiting for then?" Satoru hummed, grinning as he leaned over and flicked his forehead. He swatted his hand down, throwing him a glare that didn't reach his mouth.

"I'm not waiting on anyone," Suguru casually answered.

He had to laugh out loud at his friend's fake nonchalance.

"You want a damsel in distress," Satoru guessed, and something in the little pinch of those dark brows made him think that he wasn't so far off. "Wanna save some pretty girl and feel like her hero."

He wasn't even trying to sound derisive, but his lip was curling up in a smirk, a jagged edge to his taunting tone slipping in.

But he recovered, nudging Suguru with his elbow and leaning in, "So noble, Suguru."

"Shut up."

The next cut was deeper.

The day before his birthday, spending it hunched over his computer when he discovered it.

Checking and re-checking their data, making sure it was really what they'd been looking for, just for Suguru to walk through the door, key still jingling and a present in his hand only to pause when he saw the expression on Satoru's face.

"I think I found it," he breathlessly said, gesturing him over to show him the massive spread of papers - highlighted and underlined and scribbled all over. "What makes you, y'know, different."

Better.

Suguru's eyes darkened behind his glasses, scanning over everything with a look that he couldn't place. Couldn't figure out. Was he not drawing the same conclusion?

His jaw locked, shoulders tensing as he dropped the present in Satoru's now-empty chair, still holding onto his keys in one hand while the other traced over the lines of his what appeared to be mutated genome.

"Do you realize how many doors this will open?" Satoru excitedly asked, already brainstorming the seemingly endless opportunities his DNA could offer them. Of course, getting some of the experiments and research past any ethics committee would be difficult, but Satoru was sure he'd be able to buy them off. Everyone had a price. "How huge this fucking is?"

Gene therapy, medicine, cures, fuck, if he could figure out how to splice this in with anyone's DNA, then-

"Do you think this is a good idea?" Suguru asked, stopping Satoru in his tracks.

"What?" He blinked.

"What if this is just like, some, type of cancer? Or you know, what if it's used for the wrong reasons?" He added, brows drawn together in deep contemplation. Hesitating as he stepped back. Stepped away from what they'd been working for.

"Suguru," Satoru huffed.

"Can I have some time to think about it?" Suguru didn't let him finish. "You've barely been sleeping. Maybe we should both step back for a little while."

Satoru said nothing for once. Bit the inside of his cheek until it bled trying to hold his tongue. Watched his best friend walk out the door, a present left behind like he didn't even give a shit if Satoru opened it.

Frustrated, he picked the stupid thing up, storming over to toss it in the trash can before returning back to his desk, recollecting and reorganizing his work.

Whatever.

Regardless of what Suguru said, he refused to stop now.

It probably would've taken a team a couple years to do what Satoru managed in a few months. Only sleeping a few hours at night, skipping classes only to show up when he turned in the assignments he paid someone to pick up for him and ace exams, only allotting himself a few hours a week to study for them.

No more parties. No more pretending.

Barely even speaking to Suguru, vaguely replying to texts that he'd been busy, stressed with their final semester. Lying to him that maybe it was for the best they took a break on their little project.

He was always going to catch on eventually.

But of course, it had to be at the worst possible fucking time.

Satoru had synthesized a serum, of sorts, something that theoretically, once injected, would mutate only a select handful of genes.

The needle was hovering over his skin, his fingers shaking as he braced himself to break through, the door swung open, and the only person who could stop him walked in.

"What the fuck are you doing, Satoru?'" Suguru hissed, storming over at that infuriatingly fast speed of his to snatch the syringe away from his arm.

"Give that back," Satoru snapped, ice cold anger freezing the air over as his best friend stared at him like a stranger.

"Is this what I think it is? Do you even realize how dangerous this could be? We don't know-"

"Do you think I'm stupid enough to inject myself with something if I didn't think it'd fucking work?" Satoru dared, cocking his head to the side and about to snatch it back only for Suguru to move it away. "Do you think I'm wrong?"

Satoru hated it. Hated hated hated the fucking fact he knew he wouldn't win unless Suguru gave in.

That someone was simply more blessed than him.

"Yeah," Suguru snapped the syringe. Liquid dripping down his hands and spilling out onto the floor. "I do."

He threatened to drag Satoru out, demanding he just go back to his apartment and sleep off the insane idea. His turn to pretend that they were still friends. That this was still something they could come back from.

As if the car ride back wasn't filled with silence.

Sitting back on his couch in stale air, a movie droning on in the background. Suguru was trying to babysit him. Buy himself time by sticking around like he wasn't doing just fucking fine with his absence before, shrugging and saying he'd just sleep on the couch as if it hadn't been months since the last time they'd just hung out.

And by the time Satoru managed to make it back to the lab the next morning, someone had broken in. Stolen most of his research. Months of papers and planning and carefully notated experiments that all went poof!

Kinda fucking obvious when there was only other guy with the goddamn code and key to get in and thought he knew so much better. Who had the ability to sneak out and back in fast enough without waking him up.

And who, was for some irritating reason, was still on his couch when he got back home, slamming the door shut while Suguru stared at him with that condescending stare. He slowly stood up, maybe sensing the fact he was about to be kicked out.

"You had no right-"

"Hate me then. Be pissed," Suguru dared, standing firm as if he didn't give a shit how Satoru felt. Had he ever? "I'm not letting you kill yourself with this stuff."

Satoru scoffed, shaking his head and pointing a trembling finger towards him, "You're full of fucking shit."

"I'm trying to save-"

"You just want to be the only one who's special," Satoru accused, disgust dripping from his voice. "Do you think you're actually some kind of hero? Should I have made you a fucking cape too?"

"I'm leaving," Suguru calmly said, and it only made him angrier.

"You don't give a shit about saving anyone," Satoru added, shaking his head. Fist clenched by his side as he resisted the urge to actually fight him. "You just care about feeling like you did something."

He caught the way Suguru's jaw tightened, the tendons in his neck going taut as he turned a little.

But he didn't take the bait.

"If you really wanted to help people, you'd see why we-"

"Satoru," he interrupted, cutting him off as his hand reached for his doorknob. "We both know why you really wanted this. I'm not going to watch you do it."

Suguru and his stupid fucking savior complex.

He left without another word.

But he was wrong.

And unbeknownst to him, he moved half of his samples and syringes filled with his serum to his father's lab a week beforehand to check the the mixture.

He couldn't beat Suguru with raw strength. Maybe with money. Revoke his scholarship or make sure no decent graduate school accepted him. Although, that wouldn't be much fun to destroy him like that. But with this?

Satoru would come out on top.

Holding his breath as he injected it in, pressing down on the plunger and hoping that this wouldn't kill him if only to avoid proving his former friend right. Wincing at the sting before pulling it back off, swabbing at the spot and putting a bandaid over it.

Who would have guessed the next day there would be no bruise?

Well, Satoru, but even he hadn't been certain of what side effects it might come with. He knew he should've spent more time testing it on lab rodents, seeing if it induced anything months-in to mice or if it might be cancer like Suguru warned.

In the end, the effect wasn't one Satoru had planned for at all.

But telepathy certainly suited him better than some fickle super strength.

It sucked at first.

The constant migraines from the never-ending stream of in er monologues around him. Struggling until he learned how to dampen them, to drown out the sound until he learned how to control it. It felt sort of like tuning a radio, switching frequencies almost until he turned directly into someone else's thought.

And with a few well-placed words, it didn't take all that long for him to learn he could override them too. A casual sentence or two was all it would take, as long as he was actually in contact with them. Controlling people with just a hand on their shoulder and a couple words.

Too easy.

He tried to make little games for himself. Limit himself behind arbitrary rules to keep it interesting. Only reading people's thoughts if he was touching them. Trying to convince someone to do what he wanted anyway without using his new ability, just to prove that he didn't need it.

Didn't need the friend it came from.

He was far fucking better than him now.

Suguru graduated not that long later, not even showing up to the ceremony.

Satoru went on to graduate school, taking on internships and putting out research papers on other topics, pretending to be interested and entertained by the boring business politics of his father's company he knew he'd be inheriting sooner or later.

Although, it ended up being sooner.

Turning into a CEO at twenty-five, stepping into shoes that were frighteningly easy to fill after a life of being pushed towards it. It was an accident, the cops said. But while Satoru stood at the front of his father's funeral and some old cranky asshole he hardly recognized as his father's former competitor came up to shake his hand, he quickly realized it wasn't.

Seeing himself through someone else's eyes, realizing that he was nothing but a fresh fool that they could take advantage of. An idiot in a position of power.

Satoru smiled at Naobito Zenin, thanked him, and made a mental note to make sure he'd get something far fucking worse than an accident.

It distracted him.

For a little bit, at least. Kept him preoccupied digging into their past while he cleaned up the corruption in his own company, firing more than a few people and starting a new department devoted to his, ah, special interests.

It has been just another day. Walking down the street, his phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder, absorbed in listening to his assistant yapping and groaning when he saw him.

Suguru going down the street, coffee cup in hand and stupid glasses he didn't even need perched low on the sharp slope of his nose. About to walk right past him and-

He didn't turn. Didn't look.

Leaving him for the second time.

The worst part?

He didn't even think about him.

Satoru read his mind, breaking his own rules only to find out the asshole was fucking thinking about how hungry he was.

He couldn't forgive him.

Not when the only person he truly thought was his friend tried to completely fuck him over, walking around now like he forgot about it, walking past him like nothing had happened.

Satoru didn't let him completely slip away.

No, now he was watching Suguru's life play out from a distance, under his palm without ever realizing it. Eyes twitching in annoyance watching him go work for the fucking Zenins.

Maybe it was low on the list of crimes and offenses Suguru committed, but it still stung. Even more when he picked up a newspaper off someone else's desk that same way to see a headline theorizing over the identity of a mysterious masked crusader trying to clean up the streets at night.

He wanted to ruin him.

But how did you steal from a man who had nothing?

You give him something to care about.

He thought about it for a while, feet propped up on his table while he stared outside the sprawling windows overlooking the city he started to consider taking too. Should he help him get a different position, maybe something higher up only to humiliate him there later? Pull some strings and wreck his next research results at his current one with the Zenin's in the middle of the night?

Boring.

Not a single spark of satisfaction.

Suguru wouldn't give a shit over some minor setbacks like that. Not when he was still parading around in the fucking suit Satoru made him playing hero almost every night.

His phone buzzed on his desk, a motion activated camera alert coming from his closet. Satoru laughed.

Smirked at the sight of some cute cat burglar rifling through his stuff, trying it on without a care.

You were it.

And the more he looked into you, the more perfect you were. Semi-adopted by the Zenins with your real father imprisoned for them, wronged and burned by the world, and stuck underneath their thumb without a choice. Going out at night to rob the rich, pilfering from safes and snatching whatever you wanted whenever you wanted it.

Satoru liked that about you.

But he knew Suguru would fall for you. Think he could save you.

You even already worked for the same company - although for all of Satoru's stalking snooping, he was fairly sure you hadn't crossed paths.

Fixing that was easy enough. Tipping off Suguru's informant with the cops about a potential theft, offering some measly reward for catching you.

The ring you'd taken was turned in. Suguru offered some cheap apology to the cop that the thief had slipped away, but a few months later, he was fucking you.

Midnight meetings under the moonlight, heated exchanges caught between love and hate. And even with you, Suguru didn't commit to more.

Moron.

Satoru waited. Kept his distance. Planned out every last detail while he was swept up in some secret affair. Sucking up to Naobito Zenin as if the geezer didn't utterly disgust him, casually bringing you up to confirm his assumption that he was clueless to what exactly his adopted daughter turned assistant got up to after hours.

When he suggested that the two of you get married, some symbol of their companies working together, the old man bought it hook, line, and sinker.

Satoru just wasn't so sure that his own feelings regarding the matter had remained, ah, impersonal.

He was only supposed to use you to get to Suguru. But somewhere along the way, he'd grown...fond of you. Found something about you magnetic, making him wonder why he really had to know what kind of shampoo you liked and what your favorite foods were and all the asinine details that were suddenly cluttering his notes.

Actually meeting you only made it worse.

Only made him realize that he couldn't fail. Couldn't fuck this up and lose you. You saw through him. Tilted your head to the side and murmured snarky things with that sharp tongue of yours. Still let him kiss you, touch you, looked at him like maybe he wasn't just some pretty playboy who got lucky in life.

But time was ticking. He almost ran out of the samples he'd originally saved, just before he could finish perfecting the technology he needed to use them with.

And you were here to answer every prayer.

Getting him access to Toji. Distracting Suguru without even realizing it. Making him use up all his energy chasing after you.

Suguru's pretty little jewel thief was his now. Precisely how he planned.

Both of you blissfully unaware to how easy it was to move every pawn across the board.

He stored up all his anger, sealed it in somewhere deep inside of him, saving it for the right moment. Meticulously setting a stage for some final performance, planting seeds to watch them sprout.

Now everything was nearly ripe, almost ready to be plucked.

Sure, he had to do some shitty stuff to get here. Things he was sure you'd never forgive him for. If you knew.

It wasn't like he wanted to use his powers on you. He loathed how it felt, the rare moment of guilt that would seep in after your stare went all glassy. But you just wouldn't fucking stop thinking about Suguru.

Satoru knew he crossed the line a couple times in other areas too. Manipulating everyone else around you to try and get that dickhead out of your mind.

He just had to make sure you'd never find out.

Satoru needed you. But you needed him even more.

Once he stopped to wonder, while you were nestled asleep against his chest, lashes fluttering softly as your fingers curled around his bicep to hold onto him, would he still have met you if it hadn't been for Suguru?

What shape would his life had taken if they had never fallen out? If Suguru had stayed by his side, went through with submitting their research and discoveries, hadn't fucking wrecked everything back then?

Would he have stumbled into you at one of the Zenin's party he still would've had to attend? Would you have rolled your eyes at him when he tried to hit on you just to begrudgingly give him your number?

Or would you have picked Suguru then? Ran into him at work in the elevator, falling for each other without him to interfere?

Satoru told himself it didn't matter. He picked his path. And Suguru would be reaping what he showed soon.

You looked so pretty it made his chest ache, big tears welling up in your eyes, damp streaks left across the blush on your cheeks as you looked at him to help you.

Ready to entrust him with what you'd been keeping hidden for someone who never deserved you. To tell him that Suguru had passed out, probably beg him to not tell anyone about his secret identity.

He couldn't fucking wait for Suguru to wake up and see that you chose him.

That soft gleam in your eyes solely reserved for Satoru now. It was his name on your lips, his cologne on your skin, his hand interlaced with yours and his goddamn ring sitting on your fourth finger.

Satoru Gojo always got everything he ever wanted after all.

a/n: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated <3 thank you for reading !!! :3

taglist: @inthedarkshadows000 @marrymenanami @faerie-soirxx @you-transfix-me @levislug @sukuxna0 @nylve @madamechrissy @msheds0519 @armani78 @ourfinalisation @monster-effer @celloccino @aspiring-bookworm @aldebrana @keliskamo @r0ckst4rjk @myahfig4 @sukunadckrider @itadorisrealgirlfriend @okayiamkassandra @starriesworlds @sugurusfavemonkey @chsuguru @universal-s1ut @erintaro @daymarenightdream1 @umbrellafulloffrogs @wil10wthetree @huuuhwhaat @reixtsu @ureuphoriasworld @dazed-lavender @stonerpersona @meeeegaaan @lovystar @cherriee-ee @k4yluvr @starlightglimmersworld @evilari111 @sunboikyo00 @howmanytimesamigoingtotrythis @erencvlt @enhasrii @leaario @serenequeen16 @experiencingm @sleepykittyenergy

[o6frog]

my suguru ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

[to00fu]

happy birthday gojito

[linusbenjamin]

True Detective 1.01 — The Long Bright Dark

[mortisoculo]

Chapter One: The Weight of Things.

You knew you weren’t supposed to be climbing the apple tree. And most certainly not in a dress. 

How many times was it now? 

You kept climbing. Shoko called up to you from below, though you didn’t quite catch what she said. Only the vague sound of her voice over the rush of spring wind rustling bright leaves as you navigated a branch while holding onto your skirt.

Taking a pause as you stood tall, peering through the canopy and out into the orchard and the forest beyond. Taking in a deep breath, warm spring air, fresh and full with the smell of garden blooms. It really was a nice day.

Well, until you saw a head of blond hair accompanied with raven and the deep jade of your little brother. The three boys cross through the orchard gate, the older two trailing behind an anxious Naoya.

He ratted you out.

Your face pinched in annoyance, your hand tightening on a thinner branch near your shoulder. Regretting letting Naoya come out with you and Shoko on your break from reading lessons.

Well, you suppose it was better it was them than your nursemaid. Though the thought of her bellowing a colorful array of curses at you from below did amuse you. 

You stilled your climb long enough to peer below as Shoko gave a lazy wave out towards the approaching boys. Watching as she turned and pointedly looked back up into the branches towards you with a smug smile. Clearly wanting to see how this was going to turn out.

You scowled at her, unsure if she could see the expression from below. She always did like to stir the pot and then watch to see what happened. 

Naoya’s voice carried across the orchard pitching high with anxiousness, “I just don’t think she should be up so high! Gertie is going to take the switch to her if she catches her!”.

You scoffed. 

Gertie was all talk. She always said she was going to give you the switch but never did. You weren't betting on that changing now.

“Well, if she doesn’t listen to her nursemaid I don't know why you think she's going to listen to us. Though, I suppose we should try.” Came a grumble you knew all too well.

The blond. Kento Nanami, son of a Count, and a perpetual sourpuss was always trying to ruin your fun. And the fact that Naoya personally went to fetch him only made you want to rebel further.

There was always a bit of satisfaction to be had seeing Nanami get his breeches in a bunch. Today would be no different.

The real problem was going to be the third member of their front. Unlike Nanami, Geto was unpredictable. One minute impassive and the next moving.

You never knew quite what spurred him into action. Sometimes it was over the smallest things, other times it took more of a push. Either way he always seemed to be empathetic to whatever cause he decided to rally for.

Which, telling by how pitched Naoya’s voice had gotten, your brother was more than likely already on the edge of tears with worry for your safety at the hands of your nursemaid, Gertie. And depending on how Geto was feeling, Naoya’s blubbering may encourage him to physically retrieve you from the tree himself in order to soothe an inconsolable Naoya. 

It sounded fun in theory, making Geto scramble around the boughs and branches of the large apple tree in hopes of catching you. But a part of you knew better. Your dress—the bane of your existence—would eventually cause you to either slow down enough for him to catch you or worse, you could fall.

Hopefully, Geto would be content to let Nanami verbally exhaust himself as you refused to budge. Eventually you would come down but only when you felt like it. Or well—maybe if Naoya started to actually cry. You did have a bit of a soft spot for your half-brother. 

“You know you’re not supposed to be climbing the trees, especially in the orchard!” Nanami bellowed a bit too loud, “What if you hurt the tree or fall! Come down!” “Don’t yell at me!” You called back, crouching barefoot on the bough, careful to keep your hand wrapped around the thinner branch above you. Half hanging as you leaned forward just enough to peer down at the four of them below. “Piss off!” You stuck your tongue out and blew. Spittle catching on the breeze and spraying enough below for Nanami to wipe at his face in annoyance. “That’s not very lady like of you.” He grumbled as his hand smoothed down his face. Forcing himself to take a deep breath before he spoke again, “Stop playing around before you get hurt!” “No! I don’t want to.” You pulled yourself upward, using the thinner branch as a pull point and stood once more. Your skirt billowing out around your calves as another gust shook the canopy. “See, I told you she wouldn’t listen to me.” Nanami grumbled again, this time followed by a whine from Naoya and the sound of Shoko trying to soothe him. “Please come down. You’ll get in trouble!” Naoya cried, moving closer to the trunk and placing his hands on the bark. Shoko’s hand clasped gently on your brother’s thin shoulder, urging him back from the tree. “Okay, I think that’s enough, Princess! Come down before your poor brother cries!” Shoko called, perhaps growing bored with how things were going. Not enough action and far too much whining from Naoya. You sighed loudly, “Fiiiineee. Just let me go up one more branch and I’ll come down.” Already pulling yourself towards the next branch, bunching your skirt higher. The breeze catching your shift. Nananmi gave a gasp, “Good heavens! Oh, I shouldn’t have looked. My eyes!” He cried out and prompted you to peer over the branch as you shifted your skirt around your hooked leg. Seeing him covering his eyes with his hands and shaking his head. You gave a snicker as Shoko barked a laugh at his expense. Already teasing him for how red his face was. Your eyes catching on Geto for a moment, his arms crossed watching you with slightly narrowed eyes and a frown tugging at his lips. You pulled yourself up anyway. The branch dipping from your weight. The next hand hold was out of reach, too far to use in order to steady yourself and forcing your arms out to keep in balance. “Okay! You’ve had your fun now come down before Gertie comes to fetch us!” Shoko yelled. “Yeah! Okay–just—” You took a step forward, feet angled and arms still out in a balance. “Let me go a little further out! I want to see if I can see the lake!” Taking another step forward, the branch bending with your weight and making you pause for a moment. You peered forward, angling your head to allow you to peek through the hollow in the canopy. All you could see were the tree tops further away.

And sure enough, there it was. 

The lake. 

Though you had to squint and crane your neck to the left, you could make out the edge of one of the banks and the absence of trees. “I see it!” You called out, giving a joyful laugh. Finding it amusing how worried they all were that you would fall. You were perfectly fine. Perfectly capable of keeping your balance–even in a stupid dress.

Another gust blew through the canopy, harder and causing the branches to sway. Your arms adjusting and feet shifting. Too much. The crack happened before you could even turn around. Your arms flailed uselessly as the singular thought jolted through your mind. Oh no. Someone screamed as you fell through the thinner edges of the branches, catching your skirt and skin with an uncaring sting. Not even enough time to yell out in surprise.

Serves you right. Your body clattering down so fast that you didn’t even hear Nanami and Geto jolting in surprise and scrambling forward. Their arms out with the intention of catching you only for you to crash down onto both of them. A tangle of limbs and your now very ripped dress. Groans and hissing from all parties involved. Your ribs ached from where you had thudded into Geto’s shoulder and Nanami swore loudly as he tried to shove your knee off of his waist. You blinked, jarred and unsure of what had gone wrong. You had climbed up to that branch at least three times last spring and it held you just fine. “Are you okay!” Shoko was already grabbing at you as the two boys laid under you in a wincing daze. Her hands roaming and grabbing at your arms to give little testing squeezes to see if anything hurt with additional pressure. You could only nod, still trying to figure out how exactly you managed to land precisely on Geto and Nanami both. Shoko pulling you away from the tangle and only ripping your dress further. There was a sniffle, your eyes cutting upward to see Naoya holding back tears, face pinching like he was trying desperately not to cry. 

Geto and Nanami finally shoving off the other enough to stand on their own. The patting sound of Nanami already trying to brush the dirt from his clothes and the sucking inhale of him about to spiral out into a spiel you already knew the words to. That was stupid. You’re stupid. I told you to come down. You never listen. What if you had died or got hurt? What if you hurt us? You broke a branch and your clothes are ripped and you are going to be in so much trouble when Gertie sees you. Etcetera. Etcetera.  All of it cut short as a wet wail left Naoya, forcing you to scramble out of Shoko’s grip and nearly tripping over your ripped skirt in an attempt to reach him to get him to stop crying before someone heard. Your hands pulled him to your body as his arms wrapped around you. His face crammed into your chest as he sniffled and shook. Mumbling almost incoherently into your clothes.  You tried to shush him. Kept explaining that you were okay as your eyes kept making quick sweeps around the orchard. Paying to God that no adult would come out to reprimand you. Sadly, God was apparently not taking prayers today. You suppose the only reason why you hadn’t heard her behind you was because you were so busy trying to shush Naoya into silence and too preoccupied looking further out into the orchard to miss her hollow thuds on the ground. What you did notice was her rather alarming thick hands wrapping around your bicep and yanking you so hard you nearly fell back. And the silence after. Followed shortly after by the shrill shrieking of a woman who had very much had it with your bullshit. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” 

This was in fact, not, an opening for you to speak. That, you knew.

Gertie jerked you swiftly to her body with the force of a mule and promptly began to all but drag you towards the gate of the orchard and past a very satisfied and dirty Nanami and a clearly not at all surprised Geto. All while Gertie hurled every curse she knew at you. A still blotchy faced Naoya and a barely holding it together Shoko trailing behind as you were accosted towards your fate. The promise of a swift paddling to your rump. Though you couldn’t help but be amused that she did not use a switch. -14 Years Later-

The wood at the far corner of the royal demesne was far more overgrown than you remembered it years prior. Thick  moss and dense canopy that seemed to nearly choke the sun from reaching the forest floor. Leaving only dapples of the midday spring sun to guide your path towards the old ruins. It had been a happy mistake when all of you had managed to stumble upon them years prior. Stone structures older than the current castle. Crumbling and slowly consumed by the ever hungry forest. 

Only one building seemed to stand and even it was falling to the annals of time. 

Pointed vaults in the ruined ceiling. Allowing a pool of light to fill the space and with it the small denizens of the forest made root on the stone. Ferns and moss filled the main chamber where the stone in the ceiling had fallen inward. Window sashes devoid of covering or glass. The few remaining doors within were either rotting or falling from their hinges. 

It had a quiet kind of holiness to it. A place that didn’t invite but always welcomed. 

The only remaining hint of what the place was before its abandonment was largely based on rumor and speculation. Perhaps a temple at one point?

But you suppose that would depend on the nature of the person coming across the old stones and broken buildings. Naturally someone who dedicated their life to the dogma of the church would view the old ways with a sort of disgust you would have for an ill mannered dinner guest or child. They didn’t know any better, sure. But that didn’t mean you could stomach watching them continue to eat with dirt stained fingers and food in their teeth. Naoya had been nervous. Clinging to your side or hovering anxiously near Shoko. Nanami was more concerned with getting caught past the boundary of the allotted ‘roaming area’ and Shoko was only curious to see how far you could push Nanami and Naoya out of their comfort zones. 

Geto had tagged along in the quiet way he did most things. Like a shadow. Neither agreeing or disagreeing with anyone’s take on the ruins. His main concern, it seemed, was ensuring that you didn’t get yourself killed or anyone else for that matter.

But seeing him standing on the foundation of one of the buildings, head tilted back and peering into the canopy with a gentle sort of wonder, you knew he was just as interested in the place as you were. There was a sort of fervor in his eyes whenever the five of you would manage to escape training and tutoring to make the trek. They way the amethyst of his eyes would lighten into a warm lilac even in the shade of the trees. 

You walked the broken pillared path, your horse tied to the first pillar, content to remain outside of the ruined road. Mulling around in the deep green and plucking at vegetation with floppy lips and soft eyes. Clearly unbothered by any curses. 

The last time you had visited as a group had been nearly four years prior. Before everything changed. Before the Rebellion. Before the crown began pulling boys like Geto, Nanami, and Naoya out of the training yard and onto the battlefield.

The Pauper’s Rebellion had started on the far reaches of Eirenhal. One of the smaller vassal states, Dzen. 

A large farming community in the vale near the borders of the Kingdom of Solgrad. The first failed crop yield had been brought on by blight. Peasants going hungry as nobles made demands of rent and taxes regardless. The excuse of maintaining borders and the military outposts dotting the edges of Eirenhal. Increased taxes to pay back war debts. Grumbling turned into resentment of greedy nobles. Hollow promises of continued support by Dzen’s citizens faded. Something that would only intensify as the hard winter months rolled through the vale. 

Women and children starving through what would later be called The Long Winter. Rumors that the local nobles had only padded their own coffers as Dzen’s people suffered. 

And then came the conscriptions. 

Men and able bodied boys were swept unwillingly from Dzen and thrown into far off posts for the military. Leaving many already struggling families destitute. The crops that had managed to flourish over the warm months were left to largely rot in the fields. Not enough hands to cull the very wheat that the nobles, and by proxy, the crown demanded. 

The spark came as the frost began to creep. 

A widow in one of the smaller villages unable to pay an ‘emergency tithe’ with a single sack of grain left to feed her and her children over the coming winter. The collector had been met with pleas of mercy. Promises of doubled payments once the ground became warm. 

Pleas became cries of outrage. A mob of disenfranchised villagers rallying behind the widow and her children. Resulting in the death of the collector by an angry mob which only grew as the citizens raided the tax office. Freeing debtors and burning all records of payments owed. Then came Sir Ryomen Sukuna. A war hero in his own right, afforded his title from his effort in the War of Thorns ten years prior. The cries of Dzen echoing through his own given lands, cries that were answered by him and his own militia. Mercenaries, lower nobles, and the remaining boys and men of Dzen banned together to fight back. 

It should have been quelled swiftly. But the fighting was only ignored by the crown—until it was too big to continue to ignore. 

Four years. Four years of fighting. Boys turned into soldiers, cities set aflame, and your future signed away for reinforcements from Solgrad. A kingdom saved, a daughter sold, and a new alliance forged. Probably a fair enough trade if you asked the Crown. You stepped carefully over the rubble of one of the pillars. Stone covered in thick verdant green moss, scattered across the ruined road. Still moving forward towards the remains of the last standing building in a place that didn’t care whose bed you would be warming in the coming summer. 

The lantern on your belt gave a slight clack at your side as you moved through the forest and further on the ruined cobbled stone road. Your eyes caught the peak of the building ahead of you. Still not quite swallowed by the trees. Consciously trying not to think about what was going to happen in the coming days. You didn’t sneak out of the castle to ruminate on being carried off and married to the newly crowned King of Solgrad.

By the time you reached the fern and moss covered building the forest had only grown darker. The trees here were dense in most places. Casting deep shadows where the sun couldn’t penetrate through the canopy. 

You reached for the lantern, unhooking it from the leather strap on your belt and lit the mirrored backed candle inside. A narrowed beam of candle light pushing the darker edges of shadow back as you stepped fully into the building. 

It looked much the same. Still the rotting wooden doors and pool of light from the collapsed ceiling. 

You navigated the rubble strewn across the stone floor, aimlessly looking around the interior. You weren’t exactly sure what you were hoping to find. You had combed the building with the others time and time again. 

The only thing that had gone unexplored was the back stone stairwell that led down deeper into the building. And that had only gone unexplored because the whole lower level was flooded enough to prevent anyone from going past the first couple of steps. 

Not that that had exactly stopped you from stepping down the steps and even stepping down far enough on the stairs to sink your feet into the dark water. A part of you hoping that if you moved closer, stepped down far enough that maybe there was a way to see into the dark pit and satisfy your curiosity. 

Of course, even with Shoko’s teasing urging to press further into the water and Naoya and Nanami’s anxious demands to come back up, Geto was the only one to step down and place a hand on your shoulder. Pull you back from sinking further into the watery abyss with an unshakeable calm that made you reconsider plunging in. 

You hadn’t realized that you were already weaving your path to that very stairwell. Passing a door that had been pulled mostly from its hinges and sagging with rot. It was darker in the smaller chamber despite the sashes in the walls that once held windows. The candle light only gave enough light to allow you to peer three or so feet in front of you.  

You didn’t know what you were expecting as you continued to walk towards the stairs. It had been flooded for years. Realistically it would be flooded still. But as the light of the candle glowed and your boot hit the edge of the stairs, it was completely devoid of water. 

You bent slightly at the waist and stretched your arm out with the lantern in hand. Squinting as you peered into the damp park below. Your lips tugging into a thoughtful frown. 

Strange. What happened to the water? 

You hummed softly, straightening and already preparing to step onto the slick stone steps. No sense in over thinking where the water went or how it was gone. And especially not the why. 

You padded carefully down the winding steps, one hand braced onto the damp stone walls while the other held the lantern in front of you. Your eyes glanced between the steps and the darkness as the candle light pushed against it, careful of your footing. The sound of water dripping slowly further ahead and the smell of wet stone filling your nostrils. 

When you reached the floor below a long narrow hall had been lined with the same rough stone as the stairwell. Sectioned reliefs in the stone where torches would have been placed to light the passage were evident from where you stood. 

You moved forward without much pause. The steady slow drip of water from the stone ceiling and your boot falls on the floor the only sound within the cool damp passage. Your arms moved the lantern to peer at the walls, looking for a possible way for so much water to escape or enter the passage but finding none. 

There was a single door at the end of the hall. Narrow soaked wood with a rusted handle, partially open. Almost inviting you inside.

You gave the door a hesitant push, hands sinking into the pulp mush of the water logged wood but opening just enough to allow you to squeeze through. Arm raising once more to shine light into the new section of the unexplored area. 

A smaller rounded room, still lined with rough stone and the growing presence of roots from the trees above having broken through cracks to drink from the water that had once flooded the space. Remnants of workspaces and old tarnished sconces in the small rounded room. 

Your face pinched in thought as you continued forward. 

There didn’t seem to be much space for storage. There were no other chambers leading off from the main passageway, naturally making you doubt that this was used to store goods. The purpose of the space was answered within a couple more feet of walking. 

Niched vaults lined the walls. Some still carefully sealed while others had burst open from roots or crumbled from time and water. Bronze plaques tarnished green with the remnants of lettering long faded away. When you peered into one of the broken vaults with the lantern raised high, all that remained inside were strewn stained bones and bits of soggy cloth. 

After the brief pause you turned back to keep moving forward. Your boot falls echoing in the silence. The ceiling sloped as you moved further below, curiosity winning out over apprehension. A part of you wishing that someone else was there to see what you were seeing. 

As the walls narrowed and the vaults that held the dead began to grow smaller and increasingly unmarked by plaques the ceiling lifted once more. Arching up into a sharp point of a stone threshold, forcing you to carefully step over the stone lip where perhaps there had once been a door and onto the landing on the other side where the dark concealed what was beyond. 

As your lantern revealed the short distance in front of you, a short slope of stone steps. Just as slick as everywhere else, though there was some sort of algae clinging to the stone, as if this place had been submerged far longer than the rest of the catacomb. 

Carefully stepping further into the darkness, the steady bubble and trickle of water grew louder as you descended deeper into the dark. Your boot finally hitting a mostly flat natural stone slab. Your arm gave a sweep of the lantern as you peered around the large open vault, your breath hitching involuntarily. 

The chamber seemed to be, from what you could see, naturally formed. No hint of man carved stone, though the walls were largely a sinus tangle of roots that made you feel more inside of a beast than a cavern. The smell of earth and damp stone was sharp. Your eyes tracing the closest chord of tangled roots to a slightly bubbling pool of water just past the natural shelf of stone flooring. 

A natural spring at the center of the chamber. A shadowy jutting shape at the center that forced you to adjust your eyes to the dim light from your lantern. Carefully moving closer and finding a stone causeway leading towards the platform in the center of the spring. A soft glow seemed to cling to the edges of the stone, casting hazy blue light into the water. 

You crossed without further thought, pausing to peer over the lip of the causeway and into the soft glow in the water. Some sort of plant life submerged and caused the glow as the water bubbled lazily from the crystal clear water. So clear that you couldn’t be sure how deep it really was. Making a mental note to be careful on the edges.

Moving once more towards the platform at the center. 

At the heart of the platform atop the raised slab lay a pile of soggy decaying near-pile of cloth covered bones. The bones themselves were tinged in a gray-green. Algae that had tried to bloom on the bone but couldn’t quite manage to take root. 

Lifting the lantern higher and peering closer, you could see some sort of design that had been stitched into the fabric, most of it worn from time and water. Your eyes moved upward to peer at the toothy grin of the skull. There was no crown or jewelry adorning whoever this was. Though it seemed clear that whoever they were was important enough to get an entire chamber to themself. 

Your eyes roved lower, peering carefully across the draping of decaying fabric and to where the hands had been crossed carefully over the belly. Boney digits sunken into the empty cavity, something caged under the laced fingers. Eyes narrowing as you lean forward, casting more light with your hand. 

A dagger. 

The hilt was unassuming. Tarnished bronze streaked in green and black corrosion. The blade seemed perfectly intact, not at all touched by time. A gleam of copper, bright and warm—almost glowing in the candle light. 

As if it still remembered the flicker of the flame cast from above. 

You gave a quick glance back to the grinning skull of its owner, lips pinching in thought.

It wasn’t yours to take. But it wouldn’t hurt to touch it, right?

You reached, finger gently nearly touching the hilt, hovering for a moment in hesitation. A strange warmth pressing against your skin. The candle light on the blade seemed to shimmer in a long shifting streak—like the blade was breathing. 

Like it was waiting to be touched. 

Your finger grazed the hilt only barely. Answering the strange silent invitation. 

It melted under your touch. 

Not like heated wax of metal in a forge. It dissolved in ribbons, peeling away from itself and away from the skeletal fingers of its owner and towards you. Your mouth opened, maybe to gasp or scream, but no sound left you as your eyes watched the dagger disappear from sight. 

No pool of metal, no flurry of dust, or rise of steam. It was just gone. 

You stepped back, body finally able to move. Eyes blinking rapidly as the slight clatter of skeletal fingers clacked together and sunk further into the drenched fabric. Darting from every viewable angle, searching wildly for where the dagger went. Nearly causing you to stumble over the edge of the platform and into the spring. 

You stilled, lifting your palm and lantern in the same fluid motion, peering at your flesh with wide eyes. Turning your hand over and then back to your palm. A strange ache in the hand, a weight that shouldn’t be there. Not exactly painful. But like you had been holding something too tightly for far too long. 

You flexed your fingers. Opening and closing the digits in an attempt to shake out the strange sensation. 

And then as you lowered the lantern, eyes still focused on your hand, your elbow brushed against something at the belt of your breeches. Drawing your attention to your hip. 

The dagger sat in a sheath of worn leather attached to your belt like you had put it there. 

But you hadn’t. 

“What the fuck?” You breathed as your hand scrambled to undo the loop of the sheath, to remove the strange weapon. 

You pried it off with a shaky haste, lunging forward and slamming it back onto the same slab as the skeletal remains of its owner. Stepping back once more. Eyes glued to the weapon with your hand raised. Mentally telling it to stay. 

Moving back a step after a breath. It hadn’t moved from the stone slab. Brows furrowed and eyes still locked. But when you turned your head to watch your footing before backing up further, it was gone once again when you looked back at the slab. 

Back on your belt. 

What the fuck? What the fuck? Whatthefuuck?

You repeated the motion. Ripping it from the belt, slamming it back onto the slab but this time you rushed back onto the causeway. Nearly running away from the center slab and back towards the door. “No thank you!” You nearly sang out in an anxious breath with your free hand where the dagger had sat on your belt. Trying to block it from returning. 

Once you reached the end of the causeway and the dagger hadn't returned, you kept moving at the same pace. Making it clear that whatever the hell that dagger was, you didn’t want a damn thing to do with it. 

If it was what you thought it was—you wanted nothing to do with it. 

Relics weren’t something you came across in the day to day. And they were certainly not something you of all people should suddenly have. If you showed up with a relic that refused to part from you after a slight disappearance—. 

You cringed at the thought. 

You wouldn’t be the only one catching hell. The head of the stables would as well. 

He always turned a blind eye when you came dressed in breeches and boots to snag a horse. Neither of you saying a word to the other. A silent agreement. You let me take this horse and I don’t say anything about you stealing from the kitchens or the smithy. 

Not that you cared. But the idea of him being in trouble didn’t sit well with you. 

You kept moving back through the catacomb, crossing the pointed threshold, hand still clamped at your hip. The dagger still hadn’t returned and you nearly slowed. About to take a steady slow breath of relief. But when you reached the rounded room before the rotting door that led back into the long passage, there was a shift at the other side of your belt. 

It was back. 

You gave a cry, jolting slightly. Already switching the lantern to your other hand and frantically ripping the dagger off again. Letting it clatter to the stone floor and slipping back through the door. Moving to a full sprint. The bounce of the candle light flickering inside of the glass windows of the lantern. 

By the time you reached the stairs—nearly tripping as you climbed back up, your hand catching on the wall and scraping your palm—a sharp hiss gusted between your teeth as you regained your footing. You were panting heavily, swallowing down spit with force as you returned to the top of the stairs.

You kept moving, needing to put more distance between yourself and the darkness below. Shaking your head, vowing never to go back down into that stairwell again. You only stopped once you entered the main chamber—the familiar lush green ferns and moss-covered stone, sunlight beaming through the broken ceiling.

You bent forward, hands on your knees and the rough cloth of your breeches, forcing yourself to suck down greedy gulps of air. Your face flushed, body slick with sweat, a deep chill setting into your bones. The need to stand in full sun and feel warmth again almost drove you to run.

To flee the ruins, mount your horse, and ride at a full gallop until you could pretend none of it had happened.

And then—something shifted at your hip. Something firm brushing your leg as you straightened.

Your eyes widened. Your hand moved instinctively to your belt.

Soft leather.

A nervous laugh escaped you as your eyes closed with the very real and sudden realization—you were stuck with this thing.

“Of course.” Another laugh. Bitter. Resigned.

You were stuck with this.

Just like you were stuck with everything else.

Fuck.

divider: @honeyluvsw

[satoruined]

poly!satosugu x reader

oh, what a blessing it is to wake up with the ones you love.

morning sneaks in through the window with the litheness of cat feet, sunlight filtering through the curtains in pale, intangible ribbons that catch on drifting dust motes. the overall lightning carries the nostalgia of a kodak film, as if the universe itself paused to preserve this moment.

ever the early riser and habitual breakfast-maker, your lover is already awake—though he has made no attempt to abandon the warm nest of blankets. suguru reclines on one elbow, palm cupping his cheek, a serene, almost regal posture reminiscent of classical portraiture. long obsidian hair spill over his broad shoulders, gleaming like fresh ink against the white futon, each strand rimmed in a subdued golden glow. you steal a moment simply to admire his beauty before turning your attention to your other lover, still conked out.

between you, sprawled across the sheets with limbs akimbo, satoru sleeps with his mouth slightly open, a faint line of dried drool tracing his lip. one arm flings above his head, the other draped across your midsection. the sight is both as endearing as it is angelic.

it amuses you how someone who thrives on three hours of sleep—thanks to his six eyes—can completely abandon his usual rhythm when he’s with the two of you, indulging in this rest.

suguru lifts his head, and your eyes meet. something ineffable passes between you, a lifetime condensed into a single look. and the way he looks at the two of you! so plainly adoring, smitten, utterly enthralled, as if sunlight exists solely to illuminate you—leaves you physically weak. your heart melts into a warm, viscous puddle of honey for both your boys, and you can only assume your expression mirrors the love-struck wonder in his.

your hand reaches over toru , and suguru threads his fingers through yours. he leans in, so close that a stray lock of hair tickles your nose, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before dipping lower to plant his lips on satoru’s temple.

oh, what a blessing it is to start your mornings with the ones you love.

satoru stirs then, a soft groan and an elbow nudging your side as he rotates onto his back, utterly unbothered by the world. both of you glance down, amusement blooming as he stretches luxuriously, long limbs entangling with yours and suguru’s.

“we should get up,” you yawn, valiantly attempting the role of responsible adult despite having no intention of moving. suguru scoots closer, resting his forehead against yours.

“five more minutes.”

(if that means you’re switching roles, you can safely assume his five minutes will stretch to thirty. possibly an hour.)

you are more than fine with that.

[mortisoculo]

By Your Sword

pairings: knight geto x princess reader x king gojo

synopsis: in a kingdom fraying at the seams, a reluctant princess is promised to a foreign king crowned too young and hardened too fast. burdened by duty and the ghosts of war, her path crosses once more with a knight she thought lost—and a relic that refuses to be left behind. as whispers of the old gods stir beneath the roots of forgotten ruins, three lives move inexorably toward one another. some ties were never meant to be severed. some things were never meant to be found. content: MDNI, extreme violence, eventual dubious content, eventual smut, graphic descriptions of gore, fluff, angst, pining, jealousy, extreme possessiveness, obsessive behavior, political drama, depictions of war and famine, shitty men galore

divider: @honeyluvsw divider: @pixopix

chapter list:

the weight of things

[indiewritesxoxo]

fast as you can

round one: shadowboxer | chapter index

I'll be your girl, if you tell me it's a gift

synopsis: your on-and-off again relationship with the current wdc has been the talk of the grid since you started writing songs about him - blissfully unaware he's the bane of another driver's existence. suguru geto has spent the past three years wishing for what ryomen sukuna already has. who will come home with the trophy this year? and more importantly, who will come home with you?

pairing: mercedes driver!Geto x singer!Reader x redbull driver!Sukuna

content: mdni, smut + angst, f1 au, but minimal f1 knowledge needed to understand, obligatory not based on real people blah blah, HEAVY PINING AND YEARING!!, multiple povs, so much jealousy, oral sex (f! receiving), finger sucking, casual hookups, situationships, reader being messy already, suguru wants us so bad lmfao

"I'm fuckin' starving."

Greedy hands gripped your hips, dragging you down to meet the warm mouth murmuring filthy things between your thighs. His tongue lapping up your slick, diving in for a proper taste as he groaned your name into the pussy he loved to call pretty.

Tethering your fingers in his still slightly sweaty hair, tugging hard and throwing your head back as you tried to drown the voice of reason in your pleasure.

You were probably the poster girl for poor decisions.

Why else would you be spending yet another evening sitting on top of a man who was by no means your boyfriend instead of actually getting work done in the studio for your next album?

Inspiration?

That was what you told your manager. You told your friends you only came for closure, like they hadn't heard that shit a thousand times before. Signed autographs for the fans and said it was just for the love of the sport when you were caught watching him race.

It wasn't because you loved him.

Sukuna would never let you anyway.

This was purely physical. Mostly.

He was your muse and you were his...something.

One of his rough hands dragged over your body, making a pit stop to squeeze one of your tits before he was stuffing two of those thick digits of his in your mouth to muffle your moan.

You sucked hard on them, feeling his knuckles press against your teeth, thighs shifting down to force his tongue deeper inside you. He made some gutteral sound, deep from his throat eating you out like it was the best thing he had all week.

It probably was considering the first round of the races were this weekend - and he'd be spending the next few days swept up in the whirlwind of press and practicing and qualifying before the actual grand prix.

Sukuna's body was tense underneath you, shoulders taut and fingers digging in too hard even as you grinded down just to get his sharp nose to nudge against your sensitive clit. The fingers in your mouth pressed down on your tongue, trying to pull some new whimper or whine out of you like he could devour your need and turn it into fuel for himself.

You didn't mind being his stress relief. He was yours.

Someone you called when you wanted a break. You gave the relationship thing a try once, after almost a year of heated hookups and late night calls, but it crashed and burned harder than he had back when he was just a rookie starting out.

Besides, you were both busy. And wasn't this more convenient?

There were boundaries. Rules.

Sex and sleeping in were fine. Showing up to support each other at shows and races? Perfectly acceptable. But admitting any sort of feelings or playing house like an actual couple?

Penalties would be applied.

He could sleep with other women. He did. And you occasionally brought home a rockstar or two, or some hotshot actor who starred in one of your music videos.

The jealous fucks were better afterwards anyway, when he had something to prove with his mouth and his cock, like he was trying to get first place on your body.

You weren't sure where this hookup exactly fell.

Not everything that started sour ended up sweet - and right now mid-bite, you couldn't tell how he tasted. What would linger on your tongue later.

You met Sukuna before your debut album was even released a couple years ago. Tagging along with the guy you were sorta seeing while he tried to impress you by introducing you to the drivers. Sukuna had told him to fuck off and get out of his face. Then he asked for your number.

By the next morning, you had broken up with your then-boyfriend and woke up in Sukuna's bed instead. Love bites littering your skin and panties practically torn on the floor and a funny feeling fluttering in your stomach when you studied the chiseled face of the man whose arm was strewn over you.

You tried to slip away without disturbing his sleep - but he just yawned, blearily blinking at you before asking a question that had been stuck in your head since. "Wanna do that again?'

Again had led you back to him more times than you could count. Chained to an affair you knew was never going to be good for you just because your common sense checked out the second his skin was on yours or he murmured something only for you to hear.

So despite the fact it had been almost a month since the last time you'd seen him, hardly exchanging a few texts here and there when you were preoccupied with your latest project, you still answered when he called at two in the morning. Gruffly inviting you to come stay in his hotel room - promising that he already got you passes for everything this weekend.

You had laughed a little, asking if you were supposed to pay him back with sex, and while he grunted some irritated reply back about just wanting to see you, you didn't exactly believe him.

Neither of you would ever actually say you missed each other.

But that's what his mouth wrapped around your clit sure felt like, his tongue swirling over with unspoken affection.

Sukuna's phone buzzed.

Once, twice, and on the third vibration, he was lifting your hips with an annoyed groan, sliding his fingers from your mouth.

You climbed off his chest, already looking around for where your clothes were left on the floor. You knew how this went - whoever was calling would have something to say that would distract him or drag his attention away for the rest of the night.

"Where?" He grumbled behind you, and you just sighed, walking over to unzip your suitcase, only giving yourself a few seconds to grimace before you glued a smile back on.

It was the nature of your not-relationship.

Disappointment and disaster seemed to go hand-in-hand when it came to him. You never knew what he was really going to say or do, and no matter how hard you attempted to prepare, to be ready for it, he still swept you off your feet and ensnared you again.

Managed to drag you back into the same place, barefoot and naked in a foreign country while you fumbled to get ahold of your feelings once more.

Rummaging through the clothes you hastily tossed in, custom-fit dresses mixed in with lingerie and casual clothes, a couple heels and sandals shoved in that you had to toss out before Sukuna groaned again.

"Fine."

You knew Sukuna well enough to know when he wasn't pleased with what he was hearing.

Pajamas, then, you guessed? You were tempted to grab his suitcase and shuffle through it for one of his t-shirts to wear, but his loud footsteps were approaching, and he poked your ass.

"They want me to go to some party," he grumbled, and you shrugged your shoulders. Letting his chest press up against yours, his warm breath on the nape of your neck. "Wanna go?"

You never said no to him.

Even if the club he brought you to was obnoxiously loud and over packed. Even if in the first twenty minutes, you somehow managed to lose him once another driver spotted him and dragged him into a conversation about the press interviews they had to do tomorrow by the bar.

Parties had never been your scene. You preferred to spend your free time somewhere more...serene, you supposed. But a shot or two (or three) helped. It burned when it went down, but it dulled the night's edges, distracted you from the invisible weight bearing down on you.

You pulled down the dress you decided on, one that glittered under the dim lights, the little rhinestones reflecting them every time you moved. People kept talking to you, strangers and acquaintances and even a few fans, some requesting autographs and others just asking to dance or buy you drinks.

The driver for Aston Martin, the one whose name you could never remember, had tried to slip a hand under your dress, but all it had taken was a single snide remark that you'd tattle to Sukuna to send him scurrying back between the mass of bodies.

Although, you still hadn't managed to spot the pink-haired asshole anywhere.

Someone tapped your shoulder, and you twisted around, nearly spilling the martini currently in your hand.

It wasn't Sukuna. But you didn't mind this particular interruption.

The heat in your chest had sparks, the warmth from the alcohol and the atmosphere spreading everywhere else as you locked eyes with a familiar face.

Suguru was dressed too nice for a place like this, the sleeves to his button-up rolled up to reveal the pretty veins bulging in his forearms.

He smiled at you like it was the most natural thing in the world, his hand sliding from your shoulder to skim down your arm, only stopping when the edges of his fingertips were grazing over your own.

Most of the other drivers were terrified to incur Sukuna's wrath on the tracks and off of them. Not Suguru. He was probably the closest thing you could call to a friend here. You didn't have that many - so you tended to treasure the handful of people who actually treated you like one.

And he was the kind your eyes would scan every room searching for.

He was the one of the few who really tried to talk to you, to get to know you, outside of Gojo's attempts at flirting meant solely to get under Sukuna's skin. Suguru saved you seats and offered snacks, remembered the last thing you said to him - even if you hadn't seen him in weeks.

You'd never tell Sukuna, but Suguru was probably your favorite driver on the grid. You couldn't help how your attention drifted to him on the track, cheering a little louder when he took the podium and popped the champagne. He was just as talented as Sukuna too, just in a different way. Driven and intelligent and put-together, articulate in and out of interviews instead of raging half the time.

"Hey," he slyly grinned at you, lips twitching up as his dark eyes dragged over you.

Or maybe that was your imagination thinking something so small meant anything more.

"Hi," you smiled back.

"Been a while, huh?" He hummed, the defined line of his jaw clenching as he stepped closer to be heard.

"How have you been?" You asked, enjoying the way he leaned down to listen to you more than you probably should.

"Better now," he murmured softly.

"Yeah?" Your stupid heart stalled for a beat when you realized he was barely a few inches away, his chest nearly pressed against yours as the people passing by forced him closer. "Excited to be back in your car?"

You'd been around enough guys like him to know that nothing else could really compare to racing. They breathed it, bent and shaped their whole lives around it.

Everything else was just filling space. Including you.

Suguru's lips twitched for a moment, the cornes turning down before he shrugged.

"Sure," he said, and you didn't know what to say when there was a hint of disappointment in his voice. Maybe he was nervous?

You would be too if you were the first seat of a team that was dying to take home a world championship trophy, desperate to prove yourself when you were up against a fucking machine like Sukuna who seemed oiled and built purely for this sport.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you still didn't see him. Had he left? Got swept up with another girl in a tiny dress after too many drinks?

You couldn't breathe for a second, throat starting to shut before you shoved down your feelings and returned your attention to Suguru.

"Do you wanna dance?"

Suguru was struggling not to cum in his pants.

Your back was pressed against his chest, your perfume going straight to his fucking brain and making every thought he had fuzzy as he fought the impulse to feel you up when his hands were already perched on low on your hips. Fingers flexing and holding steady to your front as you melted against him, head resting on his collarbones as you hummed along to some song he didn't know.

Four songs in, and you had stayed glued to him, connected by clothes more than actual skin.

If he had more than two brain cells left to rub together that weren't totally devoted to you, he might've realized it was the one thumping through the club. Paid attention to anything other than the shape of you against him, the heat of your skin wrapping around him in a bubble he knew would pop sooner or later.

He sincerely hoped you couldn't feel his cock throbbing inside his pants, pulsing every time your ass grinded back against him.

Did you notice what you were doing?

Or were you just as oblivious to that as you were to him?

"Suguru," you slurred a little, lashes fluttering as you looked up over your shoulder at him, leaning more of your weight on him. God, you looked so fucking gorgeous. Your makeup was a little smeared, mascara smudged and eyeliner not as sharp as it was supposed to be, soft eyeshadow shimmering as your glossy lips parted again.

But you didn't say anything, just stared for a moment.

"Mhm?" He managed, even though it was deep, more like a grunt than a real response.

"Did you miss me?" You innocently asked, and he knew you meant as a friend. That was all you were. But it still struck him in the heart, drove a fucking knife in it that he knew he couldn't remove without risking bleeding out here on the dance floor.

You being here was already more than he could take.

"Of course," he answered automatically.

But you didn't seem satisfied, a little pout pushing together on your lips that did not help his situation down south.

"You didn't call me," you pointed out.

"Did you want me to call you?" He asked, eyes narrowing out of reflex rather than intentionally. He assumed you were here with Sukuna, coming back into the fold the same way you always did - on his arm. Where he'd have to watch that prick put his hands all over you or pull you away. Wait for your next single to drop and know it was written about the man who had everything he wanted.

Your shoulders shrugged up, like the answer was yes, but you couldn't actually say it out loud.

For a fraction of a second, he let himself think that maybe you weren't. That just maybe, you were here for him.

"I won't tell Sukuna if you don't," you giggled, and he had to hide the hurt he actually felt.

It wasn't hard.

He'd been doing it since the day you met him.

Back when he thought he had a realistic chance to win you over.

"I'm not scared of him," he muttered under his breath, but you only laughed again, airy as you shook your head a little. He stilled, his body not moving as you kept going, hips shifting in time with the music.

You were clearly tipsy. And even just dancing with you felt like he was taking advantage of that.

He wanted to get you out of here. Back to whatever hotel room you were staying in before someone else did what he wouldn't. Would Sukuna give a shit if you were drunk? Or would he just take an easy win?

"Can I tell you a secret?" You half-whispered, and the little rasp to your voice made him too fucking horny to do anything other than nod, all the air abruptly sucked out of him waiting to hear it.

"A secret?" He repeated, like even the word something intimate you shared.

"I'm really rooting for you," you murmured, a pretty gleam in your eyes when you grinned at him.

"Just in this race?" He heard himself ask, straining to get the question out.

"Always," you promised with a little wink. Your fingers reaching down to clasp over his hand, squeezing softly like you were trying to get him to keep dancing with you.

He knew he'd be replaying this moment in his head for the rest of the night. How your ass pressed against his bulge, the scent of your shampoo and the heat of your skin, that look in your eyes and the delicate feel of your fingers on top of his.

"The fuck are you doing?" An irritated voice called out, and you were being pulled away, a possessive hand on your waist as you let out a frustrated groan.

"What? I'm just having fun," you pouted, looking back at Suguru with an expression that he couldn't decide was apologetic or some weak appeal for assistance.

What could he do?

He wasn't the one you chose.

Suguru didn't even know if you knew you had a choice. Was he ever really an option for you?

Sukuna wasn't looking at you though, fixing his seething stare solely at Suguru.

"Don't fuckin' touch her again," he grimaced, glowering like if he looked hard enough, he could burn holes through him. Talking about you as if you were just a pretty possession, something that only belonged to him.

Maybe he'd get fined if he touched his car, but there weren't any regulations when it came to you.

"Don't be like that," you complained. "We were dancing, not-"

"I don't care," Sukuna snapped, and Suguru saw the way you flinched, falling back into back into his hold.

You frowned, and Suguru felt himself doing the same as you looked back at him again. Mouthing a sorry as if you were responsible for what that asshole said or did.

"See you this weekend," Suguru soberly said, and Sukuna's thick brows knitted together, thinking he was speaking to him.

His mouth opened, ready to snarl something nasty back, but you sighed, lacing your fingers with his to tug him back.

"Sukuna," you said his name, and he stopped.

You just sort of had that affect on people.

"Let's just go back to the hotel," you murmured, and he hated how fucking stupid he felt for ever thinking you would trade Sukuna for second best.

Even his own team principal would switch him for Sukuna if he could.

Why would this year with you be any different?

div by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

a/n: suguru fr about to pull the 'he lashes out with unecessary anger and borderline violence' line already guys

[mortisoculo]

god forbid a girl gets an idea for a knightxprincess fic with heavy political tensions and two fucking idiots who can't admit they like each other coupled with heavy obsession and possessiveness that results in bloodshed. *sigh* guess i'll get to work.

[indiewritesxoxo]

DORKY GUYS FINISH FIRST!

gojo loves to treat you like a princess! there's only one little problem - you've never actually met him :\

synopsis: he's been your biggest supporter since you first started your career as a camgirl! so when he has the opportunity to meet you in-person instead of just through his screen? gojo will do (and spend) anything to make you his!

pairing: nerd!Gojo x camgirl!Reader

wc: 10.7k

content: mdni, SMUT!, camgirl, rich nepo baby gojo gifting you a dildo molded after his dick, masturbation, heavy yearning and pining, gojo is absolutely OBSESSED, kissing, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering + finger sucking, unprotected piv sex, mentions of birth control, cowgirl, creampie, loss of virginity, happy ending

a/n: this was a commission for @sadlittlecucumber !! gojo art is by @/to00fu + div by @/thecutestgrotto

blu3yedbigd1ck sent $XXX.XX

blu3yedbigd1ck: Use the blue one for me pretty? 

You giggled. Giggled. And Gojo was pretty sure if he jerked off any harder, his dick was going to fall off. Some painfully tight thing throbbing in the pit of his stomach, aching as your delicate hand reached out and wrapped around the pale blue dildo – one he had ordered and shipped to the PO box you posted. Custom-made, of course, perfectly shaped and sized to match his, down to every vein and ridge. 

“This one?” You tilted your head to the side, batting those beautiful lashes of yours as you teased him. 

He groaned, balls tightening as he struggled not to cum from the sound of your voice alone, his other hand trembling as he typed on the keyboard.

blu3yedbigd1ck: Please baby

“Anything for my favorite fan,” you murmured, spreading your thighs further apart, showing him a full view of those pretty folds of yours while you guided his (fake) tip to the edge of your entrance. Slowly starting to slide it in, a lewd squelch ringing out as his grip on his self-control started to slip. “Toru.” 

His breathing hitched, some deep strangled noise torn from his throat right as your face scrunched up in pleasure, bottom lip quivering as his length stretched you out. His name on your lips – one he asked you to call him once in private chats. The warmth coiling in his core had reached his face, cheeks flushing as if you could see him when he snapped. Pale fingers furiously stroking faster as he finished far before you were even close, ropes of sticky white cum about to shoot out when-

He woke up. 

Just a wet dream. For the third time this week.

That was what he got for falling asleep to saved screen recordings of his favorite camgirl. Especially the one where you unboxed that special gift of his, beaming all pretty in 4K quality as you read the note he included in the box, thanking him by name. 

He’d been watching your videos and livestreams for years now. Since you first started, back when you were only at twenty viewers and he occupied ninety percent of the chat. You were popular now, his messages now just a drop in a sea of men yearning after you or dropping lame lines like nice tits. 

So, of course, when you opened up the options for VIP memberships – he signed up before you even mentioned the perks. He had more money than he could ever spend anyway, courtesy of the last name and ample banking accounts he was born with. The boring position he wasted his days at and the long meetings he sometimes snuck out of to watch more videos of you locked in a bathroom stall. 

Not a single penny was wasted if he was spending it on you. 

Buying pretty lacy lingerie for you to wear on your next stream. Sending in requests to see you in different positions or using different toys. Getting personal chats from you – sometimes even little recordings of your soft voice saying good morning. 

Gojo probably replayed that one a hundred times getting ready, running his fingers through his hair to comb it and tossing on a fresh t-shirt and a pair of jeans from his floor after a fast shower, already running late to join Shoko and Suguru for their usual weekend brunch. Racing to make it there, sweat sticking to his arm pits by the time he pushed open the doors to some small hole-in-the-wall diner, the smell of bacon hitting him as he eyed a thick stack of pancakes on the closest table. 

“Over here,” Shoko dryly called out, a flash of movement drawing his stare over to where she was sitting next to Suguru in a corner booth. 

Gojo half-jogged to join them, mouth open and ready to offer an excuse before Suguru’s judgemental stare dragged over his sorry state. 

“You’re late,” he commented. “Jerking off to her again?” 

His friends didn’t understand.

Didn’t think that it was actually you, at least, messaging him. 

Shoko called him a creep for having a crush on some stranger he’d only seen through a screen. Suguru, though? He was a bit more…creative.

“No,” Gojo defensively said, blushing hard as he slid in the booth across from them.

“Sorry, were you speaking to your AI girlfriend?” He deadpanned, cocking his head to the side. Goji heard it all before, most commonly when they went to the gym together to work out – which he admittedly only started doing when he started privately messaging you.

“She’s not-” Gojo huffed. “I-I-”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, not really believing him either as he stammered out weak protests.

You were real. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, his entire face lighting up as he read the chat. He’d changed your contact to something more intimate, even though logically, he knew it was probably cringy and Suguru would be sure to tell him as much if he ever saw it. 

princess <3: toruuuuuuu

princess <3: how are you today? 

His fingers were hurrying to type a reply, clumsily hitting letters just to have to furiously erase and fix his typos before he hit send. 

blu3yedbigd1ck: Dreamed about you last night. 

Suguru reached across the table and snatched his phone, dark brows furrowing as he scanned over the messages before his nose scrunched up in disgust. 

“God, dude, could you not have picked something less creepy?” He groaned, tossing it back to him like he might have to pour bleach in his eyes out if he read any more. “You might as well have told her you jerked-” 

Buzz. Buzz.

You already replied. 

He was ignoring the rest of Suguru’s lecture, looking down at his lit-up screen to see your flirty replies back.

princess <3: oh yeah?

princess <3: what position? 

His dick was getting hard again. 

Straining inside his underwear as he shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. Trying to hide the fact he was about to be sporting a bulge as he stared dumbly at your little contact photo, unable to convince his own thumb to move to type.

But then bubbles popped up, and you were sending a third message. 

princess <3: i was actually thinking about u too

That meant something, right? It had to.

“He's not even fucking listening,” Suguru complained, and Shoko was saying something back, pulling out cigarettes from her purse with a sigh, but he couldn't bother to look up. 

Glued to the rectangle in his hands as a picture popped up in the chat. 

There was nothing lewd about it, a perfectly innocent photo of you smiling in a pretty blue sweatshirt – and it somehow made it so much more intimate. 

Blushing as you sent something else, trying to suppress his stuttering and swelling heart as it pounded inside his chest. 

princess <3: your favorite color? 

blu3yedbigd1ck: My favorite everything.

“Can you pay attention for like, two minutes?” Suguru groaned, and Gojo had to shove his phone back in his pocket, palms sweaty as he tried to focus on his best friend. Suguru was sighing, nodding towards the waitress walking over. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, wiping his hands off on his jeans before glancing over his menu. 

But even half a plate of pancakes later, sipping on soda while Suguru talked about his problems with women – ones with warm bodies that had actually been in his bed – he was barely listening at all. Just nodding along, readjusting his glasses up the bridge of his nose and licking the syrup off his fingers. Shoko had stepped outside, her outline visible through the window as she leaned against the wall, the last of a cigarette dangling from her lips as small puffs of smoke floated past. 

“You know,” Suguru sighed, dragging Gojo’s back from his daydream about being at a place like this on a date with you. What would you order? Would you sit across from him? Slide into the booth next to him and lean your head on his shoulder? 

“Huh?” Gojo blinked, gripping his fork a little too tight. 

“I was just saying I could probably hook you up with someone,” he said, thick fingers wrapping around the handle of his coffee mug, one brow arched as he tried to assess Gojo’s reaction. 

“Nah,” Gojo shrugged, the idea of going out with any girl that wasn't you making his skin crawl underneath his shirt. “Not interested.” 

Suguru’s jaw clenched, ready to call him a moron when Shoko strolled back in, easily reading the situation. 

“He said no?” She asked, as if she'd been expecting it. 

“I mean, I just don't really have time for a relationship right now, y’know-” Gojo started bluffing, trying to make it sound casual.

“You're too busy talking to a girl who probably uses a chat bot to talk to twenty other guys online,” Suguru sarcastically finished for him. 

“She's not like that,” he protested, an ugly feeling stirring up in his stomach. 

“You pay her to talk to you,” Suguru reminded him, and even though he was right, it still stung. “Wouldn't you rather be with a girl who likes you for you?” 

How was he supposed to explain that he didn't care if you only wanted him for his wallet?

Gojo only wanted you. 

But Suguru’s question stuck in his head. Stayed there for the rest of the day, going back home to stare at his chats with you, all the ones where you listened to him rant and ramble about his favorite games and shows, asking questions and exchanging interests. Looking back through the photos you sent him and the few he scrounged up the courage to send back. It was never his whole face, just part of his eyes or his hands. Most of the pictures he sent were of his meals, desserts he made or bought from his favorite sweets shop. 

Did you think he was annoying?

Just a loser in love with you? 

He turned his phone off, tossing it on his nightstand next to the tissues and lube as he collapsed on his bed, pulling the pillow down over his face as he groaned into it. Even when his eyes were shut, he still saw you behind them. 

And the moment his phone started ringing with the specific notification he set to know you were streaming, he was sitting back up, scrambling to grab his laptop and switch to the tab always reserved for you. 

It was funny how fast he forgot about everything else the second he saw your pretty face blinking back at him. Sitting up straight in a computer chair this time, no longer in that soft blue sweatshirt and instead in a barely-there nightgown that didn't leave much to the imagination as you greeted people joining the chat. 

blu3yedbigd1ck: Hi beautiful

He hesitated, before adding a definitely absurd number of heart emojis he hoped would catch your attention. 

“Hi there,” you hummed, face lighting up – and he held onto the hope it was directed towards him. “I have a little announcement to make today.”

You twirled a loose strand of hair around a finger, looking into the camera like you could see him through it. 

“In honor of my latest milestone,” you started, smiling so pretty it was practically blinding. Struck with cupid’s arrow as he stared hopelessly at his screen, spit pooling in the back of his mouth and hanging onto your every word. “I wanted to host a very special celebration stream.” 

The chat was already going crazy. Message after message being spammed, people sending in requests, emojis, compliments and complaints before you even announced what it’d be. Your eyes flickered over to where the chat was, reading the messages like you were waiting for one. 

His fingers were already flying across his keyboard.

blu3yedbigd1ck: You know I’ll be there. 

It was probably his imagination, but your face relaxed more, features brightening as you tilted your head to the side.

“One of my lucky top three spenders will get invited at the end of the month to join me on stream,” you softly said, and his brain stopped working. 

Your words jumbled up and echoing in his head, pulled apart and pieced back together as he struggled to make sense of it. 

Join you? Like, actually, meeting you? And if it was on stream, did you mean-

“Our winner will get to pick whatever they want to do with me,” you winked, before starting to rattle off a few rules and regulations you were obligated to – mentioning that you'd cover the costs of the plane ticket but that they'd have to pass a background check, blah blah blah – but Gojo was still stuck on that first sentence. 

Anything he wanted? 

Would you really take his virginity? Let him fuck you into those pretty pink sheets of yours until it was stained with your tears and his cum? 

(Even if he was probably the one that would end up crying?)

You didn't say it was a competition. 

But it immediately came apparent it was one after the donations started flooding in. People desperate to make you theirs. Losers like him itching to feel you for themselves. 

Gojo had to fucking win. 

He had watched almost every stream of yours. Even ones where you worked with other cam girls or guys, but he didn't know if he'd be able to stand his own jealousy if he wasn't on top. 

Or the one underneath you for this. 

The other assholes in your chat wouldn't appreciate you as much as he would. Wouldn't worship your body how he would. Adore every little twitch and tremble they earned. 

Gojo was fumbling to grab his wallet off his nightstand, flipping through to find his credit card with the highest limit. His fingers were shaking as he typed in the information, barely listening to you talk about how you would donate a portion of the proceeds to some charity, just clicking away before sending an exorbitant sum your way. 

A flicker of pride shot through him at how wide your eyes went when you saw it, suddenly stammering as your breath hitched in your throat. 

“To-” You stopped yourself, catching the nickname before it could slip off your tongue. “You guys don't have to donate that much, I’m-”

He sent another one just to see the way your lips pressed together as you shut up.

Other people were sending in donations too, but it wasn’t like they could match his. Could measure up to him. 

Although some of them tried, a few annoying contenders attempting to catch up when you shifted back to your more normal streaming mode, switching to a different camera and getting settled on your bed. A toy between your thighs, one that sucked softly on your clit as you threw your head back and filled his room with sounds of your breathy moans. 

But his eyes were skimming over the chat, scared that his spot as top donator would be replaced. Honestly, it was the first time in fucking forever that he didn’t have his hand down his pants when watching you, too stressed that he might lose an opportunity he didn’t know if he’d ever get again. 

He was fucking sweating, white strands of hair sticking to his forehead while he listened to you whine, prettily panting as he squinted at someone complaining that he was probably someone spending his daddy’s money to win. 

Which okay, wasn’t totally untrue. 

But they’d do the same if they were him. 

He’d do anything to be with you. 

Even if Suguru thought he was a moron. Even if you were only interested in him for money. Even if the most he’d ever realistically get with you was one night – and that was if he was lucky. 

But luck was one of the few things he did have. 

Fortune favored him – and after a few weeks of sending in donations every time he thought someone else might manage to usurp him, despite your private messages pleading with him that he really didn’t need to, that he was already in the lead, he couldn’t stop himself. 

“Satoru,” you said his name like you were scolding him. “I told you-” 

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” He changed the subject, listening to your little huff on the other end of the phone call you asked him for. Another little perk of his VIP membership. Sometimes, he sort of felt more like a sugar daddy, although he didn’t think the kind of guys that did that were usually twenty-something virgins who had never actually experienced the touch of a woman. 

“Well, no,” you sighed, and he was already picturing what face you might be making. Were you pouting? Pushing out your bottom lip? Were your brows kitted together? 

What kind of faces did you make when no one was around to see them? 

“You can order yourself something,” he muttered. There was a brief pause, and he just knew you were still fighting to find something to argue with him with. 

Did you not want him to win? 

“I just don’t want you to not be able to eat,” you eventually said. 

It took him a few seconds to process what you were saying. 

That you, of all people, were concerned about him. 

That was what Suguru didn’t understand. He didn’t know you. Didn’t get that you weren’t solely selfish or greedy. You cared. 

“Sweetheart,” he lightly chuckled, heart soaring. “I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” You asked, voice lilting like it never did in your streams. It wasn’t practiced or put-together. This version of you, one he couldn’t even see, was somehow more real when it was raw like this. “You’re already like, way ahead of everyone else, y’know, I just-” 

“I want to take care of you,” he quietly interrupted, awkward and nervous as he barely managed to not stutter. 

Gojo meant it. 

And he’d make sure you’d see it. Sooner or later. Still making sure his username stayed at the top in every stream until the end of the month crept closer and closer. Until he was anxiously tapping his foot on the floor of his bedroom, cock aching in his boxers as the moonlight drifted in through his window while he watched the strap of your lingerie slip off your shoulder. 

He held his breath, heart thrumming loudly inside his chest as he waited for you to say it. Hoping for you and hating himself at the same time for being so pathetically attached to someone so out of his league. 

“I’m going to message our winner of our little contest privately once the stream’s over,” you said, a gleam in your eyes he imagined was only for him as you addressed the audience. 

He was pretty sure the seconds stretched out into hours once his screen went dark after you ended it. Staring down at his phone and choking on his own spit, desperately willing for a new message to pop up. 

One did, but it was from Suguru, asking if he was busy. 

Suguru: Can I drop by? I’m like five minutes from you  

Gojo grimaced, ready to throw his phone on the bed, replaying what you’d first mentioned when you announced it. You just said one of the top three spenders, didn't you? So what if the guy in second place got it? Or even third? 

Fuck, he should’ve paid more attention, shouldn’t he? 

Now there was no fucking chance-

princess <3: soooo are you doing anything on the 30th?

He almost screamed. Or squealed. Or whatever the most manly version of crying in relief was, all the tension in his body suddenly snapping like a rubber band as he read and reread your message. 

Gojo won. He won.

blu3yedbigd1ck: Just tell me the time and place and you know I’ll come.

And cum. 

He paused, thumb hovering over his screen as he practically hyperventilated, freaking out inside and thankful you couldn’t see his face right now as he stood up just to pace. Did he sound suave? At least a little cool and collected? 

princess <3: promise? 

princess <3: send me your information? 

He still couldn’t believe this was fucking real. That it was really happening to him. He still hesitated to type it out – wondering what you would do once you had his name. What would a background check reveal? 

That he was a dork who rarely left his apartment outside of his responsibilities or the occasional hangout with his only two real friends? That he collected Digimon figurines? 

He sent everything over with a fear that you’d find something out that would make you change your mind. Maybe you’d think he was just a loser riding on his family’s name like most other people did. 

Or you-

Someone knocked on his door hard enough he froze and hit send on accident. His message with his full name in it immediately marked as seen, his cheeks heating up as he forced himself to look up as the pounding outside continued. 

“Hey, put your dick up and answer the door,” Suguru called out. 

Gojo grabbed his pajamas from where he’d left them on the floor earlier, hurrying to pull them up his legs before groaning at the realization it didn’t have any pockets. You hadn’t replied yet, but he couldn’t bring himself to just leave his phone on his bed, gripping it tightly in his palm as he hurried to go see what Suguru wanted. 

His best friend was waiting outside the door for him, leaning against the frame and holding out a bag with to-go boxes. 

“Hey,” he greeted, praying Suguru wouldn’t notice or comment on the bulge he was still sporting. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Suguru muttered, one pierced brow arching up suspiciously as he still noted how pink his face was. 

“Nah, just, um, watching stuff,” Gojo lied, like Suguru wouldn’t be able to see through him. As if in the ten years they’d known each other, he hadn’t figured out what face he made when he was hiding something. 

“Me n’ Shoko are worried about you, dude,” Suguru sighed, holding out the bag for him to take before running his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “You never want to go out or do anything anymore.” 

He had a point. 

Gojo was getting addicted to you. 

He wanted to tell Suguru that he was better than okay, that he was about to go out and actually do someone for the first time in his life. But he also knew what Suguru would have to say to that. 

Suguru would tell him precisely what an awful idea he thought it was – scold him and say he was getting scammed. 

So instead, all he did was grin, clapping his hand on Suguru’s shoulder and shrugging.

“Don’t worry, man,” he chuckled. “I actually just made some plans to go on a little vacation soon.” 

He just left out that it was to see you. 

It took a few days to sort out – you wanted to buy him plane tickets and book his hotel for him. But when you mentioned that he was closer than you expected, sending an address that was only a couple hours away, he said he’d handle it. 

Why bother taking a plane when he could just drive there? 

Be able to actually drive you around in his own car once he got to your city, y’know, if you were interested. Besides, he could always pay for his own accommodations – make whatever arrangements he needed without feeling like he was being a burden to you. 

You protested, but Gojo won in the end. 

He always did. 

And on the 30th, he was waiting outside your door, one hand clutching a bouquet he spent thirty minutes struggling to pick out in the closest floral shop, and the other hesitating to actually knock.

He tried to hype himself up. 

There were two condoms in his wallet, two gift bags hooked over his elbow, one stuffed full of lingerie in shades of white and blue. The second was something a bit more personal, in a much smaller bag. A gift he wasn't sure you'd even want, half-convinced you would just toss it in the trash once it was all over. 

Gojo almost lifted his hand back to finally do it, to tap on the thick wood, but then he started agonizing about what to say when you answered. 

‘Hey, it's the guy who pays your rent every month?’ 

God, no, that made him sound like an asshole. Desperate. Which, yeah, he was the latter, but he didn't want you to think that. 

Should he try to act more like Suguru? Girls liked him. Could he pull off the whole quiet and contemplative thing? 

The door opened before he could keep deliberating. 

You were somehow prettier in person. 

Standing there in a cute little dress that was practically sheer, a loose cardigan hanging over your frame that didn't conceal the way the slip clung to you underneath it. He recognized it almost immediately as one he purchased for you, his favorite color even better when it was on your skin. 

“Hi,” you half-whispered, and he could almost convince himself you were looking forward to meeting him too. 

“Hi,” he breathed back. 

Way to go. 

“Do, um, do you wanna come inside?” 

“Yes,” he bluntly answered, and the tension in your shoulders relaxed, laughing a little as you opened the door wider. He was pretty sure his face had to be red, his filthy mind jumping to both meanings as he tried to get his feet to move and take him past the threshold. 

He was staring at you, and you were staring at him. 

Your soft eyes searching over him, studying him with an expression he wished he understood better. Dragging over his tall frame before returning to his face, like you couldn’t wrap your brain about it being him. 

“It’s kinda silly, but I feel like I already know you. Can I still call you Toru?” You slowly asked, and he was finding it hard to stop himself from bouncing in place at how your voice washed over him. Syrupy, almost sugary, getting stuck on each syllable. “Or do you prefer Satoru?” 

“You can call me anything you want,” he said before he could stop himself, hating how much of a fool he already felt like in front of you. Stiffly holding out the flowers for you to take, which you also took longer to accept. 

“Thank you,” you smiled, stepping aside so that he could come in. He only managed to step forward when your stare shifted down to the bouquet. He hoped he got it right. Hoped he picked your favorites, and too sheepish to ask. 

It wasn’t that he was timid, because he wasn’t, really. Just flickered from overconfident to sure he was being stupid. 

“I don’t even think I have a vase,” you laughed a little, like you were trying to ease the tension simmering between you. 

Was it just the awkwardness hanging there? Or something else?

“Do you want me to go get you one?” Gojo genuinely offered, wondering if he did something wrong already but you shook your head. 

“I’ll figure something out,” you insisted, your free fingers reaching out to brush against his arm – and suddenly he was wishing he hadn’t worn a long-sleeved shirt. “Don’t leave.” 

You didn’t need to tell him twice. 

He'd go where you want. Do what you want. 

Gojo couldn't stop staring at you, fantasizing with you in front of him over this domestic feeling in this chest. The casualness in your steps, padding barefoot over to the joint kitchen area attached to your living room. You started rummaging through cabinets, grabbing an empty glass pitcher and filling it up with water from the sink before stuffing the flowers inside. 

“They're pretty,” you complimented, leaning over to sniff the delicate petals. 

“Not nearly as pretty as you,” he replied, and you made a sound he had never heard before. A squeak? A squeal? 

Something small and light and twinkling and so goddamn cute he stopped breathing for four full seconds. 

“I can’t believe you’re actually real,” you exhaled, chest rising and falling just as fast as his was.

He blinked, struggling to figure out what that meant.

You saw his reaction, lips twitching up in a sweet smile like it was a good thing. 

“I was kind of scared to get my hopes up,” you confessed, and Gojo felt a cold shard of fear being driven into his heart. Did he disappoint you or-? “But you’re way hotter than me.” 

“You can’t just say stuff like that,” he half-whined, his hand reaching up to hide his mouth under his large palm. As if you wouldn’t be able to see the blush creeping up on his cheeks. 

He never thought he was unattractive. But he was awkward, uncomfortable when it came to actually going on dates or at the idea of an actual relationship with a girl. He talked too loud, too fast, was the kind of know-it-all most people called annoying. 

Maybe you liked his face, but he was really just paying you to tolerate his personality. 

“Why not?” You giggled again, moving the flowers before walking back over to him. Tenderly grabbing his fingers before guiding his hand down like you wanted to look at him. Pinching his chin between your smaller fingers, tilting his head from side-to-side like you were appraising him. 

Gojo could smell your perfume from here, and he was pretty sure his eyes actually rolled back in his head. It was intoxicating. You smelled like candy, but he bet you tasted even sweeter. 

Completely frozen, stuck there as he stared down at you, blue eyes bulging as they zeroed in on the gorgeous little gleam in yours. Your manicured nails digging into his skin, not enough to cut, but to apply enough pressure to keep him still. 

“It’s kinda hard to believe a guy like you is actually interested in me,” you freely admitted. Before your brows scrunched and you corrected yourself, “My streams.” 

“A guy like me?” He asked, and you swallowed hard this time, avoiding your stare. 

“You know what I mean,” you murmured. He didn’t. 

“Tell me anyway?” He tried to tease, mouth twitching up in a smirk he hoped was charming. 

“Fishing for compliments?” You grinned back, letting go of his chin to briefly cup his cheeks, patting it a little before you turned away. 

But your eyes flickered back to the bags he was still holding, like you were silently trying to ask what they were. 

He sat both down on the closest piece of furniture, an armchair that looked like it was barely used. 

“Are those for the stream or-” 

“Just for you,” he answered, and he was pretty sure he’d be chasing the feeling flooding his chest watching you beam back at him. 

“Can I open it now or is it for later?” You followed it up, pulling off your cardigan and throwing it over the back of the chair. 

It was just your shoulders, more of your arms, but it made him feel like he was seeing something holy, like he should be on his knees worshipping you or taking photos as if you were some piece of art he’d been admiring for so long from afar. 

“Whenever,” he shrugged. 

Was he being off-putting? 

For a guy who always talked too much, who could never get himself to shut up, he suddenly seemed unable to come up with anything to say when all his words got choked up in his throat. 

“I guess I’ll save it then,” you muttered, even though you looked like you were itching to open them now. It was better this way, though, he was barely functioning as it was. He wasn't sure his brain would still work if you offered to put on a fashion show for him in the new lingerie he bought you. 

“O-okay,” he stammered, already flustered simply at the thought. 

“So, um,” you paused, briefly biting your lips before jutting your thumb behind you. “Do you want to see my room?” 

He dumbly nodded, feeling like a fucking moron making this more awkward as he trailed after you down the hall. You tried to fill the silence, casually asking questions he dutifully answered, his eyes constantly drifting back to you despite how interested he was in every part of your life he hadn't been privy to before as you pushed open your bedroom door. 

It was weird viewing it from this new angle. Able to note new things he’d never gotten a glimpse at. It made him feel special, as if he was sharing this secret with you – although an annoyingly logical part of his brain wanted to suggest you film from a proper set instead of the intimacy of your actual bed. 

“I cleaned up before you came,” you hummed in front of him, sitting in the spinning chair by your desk, turning on your computer and starting to adjust the settings for the stream. 

“You didn't have to do anything for me,” he quietly said, toning himself down into something he hoped was more appealing to you as he examined the little trinkets on your desks. Stuffed animals you kept out-of-sight on stream. 

“I'm, uh, also on birth control, so as long as you're clean, you don't have to wear a condom,” you added, a hint of anxiety bleeding through, as if you were seeking his approval. 

“Um, I'm, uh, clean,” he said, turning away so you didn’t notice that he was hard just from the idea of sex with you. 

“Satoru,” you spoke his name like it was something precious. Pronouncing the syllables like you were really his friend. “Are you nervous?” 

“Is it that obvious?” He chuckled, reluctantly looking back at you to meet your sympathetic stare. “I just, I’ve never…”

Gojo couldn't finish, couldn't stand to tell you he was a virgin. 

“Been on camera before?” You asked, innocently tilting your head, coming to the wrong conclusion. “It's okay, if you don't want-”

“I've never wanted anything as much as I want this,” he bluntly interrupted. “You.” 

“Oh,” you half-whispered, hiding a smile by looking down before you gestured to your streaming setup. “Guess we should get started then?” 

He watched practically in awe at how you turned it on the second the stream was running, chirping as you greeted everyone in chat, taking a minute or two to make sure most of your audience was there before waving him over and introducing him as the winner. 

That's what he was, right? He had done it. Made it here. About to lose it all to you – in the same bed he'd been dreaming about doing it for so goddamn long. 

Your hands slid up his arm, squeezing his bicep as you pulled him close. 

“Our special guest has never been on camera before, so you guys better be nice,” you warned, pouting in frame as you leaned your head against him. “It's his show tonight.”

Whatever he wanted went. 

You looked up at him before you switched over to the bed, guiding him there. A tripod was set up, ready to capture every dirty detail and broadcast them. Two fingers poked his chest, getting him to sit on the edge, before you giggled and pushed him back further. 

And suddenly you were straddling him, your soft thighs on top of him, your weight shifting and readjusting as you wrapped your wrists around his neck, playing with his soft undercut. 

He was fucking terrified to touch you. Scared that it would shatter the moment and he’d realize this was just an illusion, another dream he’d wake up from. 

But then you sighed, going to grab one of his hands, guiding it towards your waist, wrinkling that pretty slip of yours as you tilted your head so sweetly. Blinking at him with disbelief that mirrored his own, before you were whispering under your breath, “Hold me.” 

“Bu-” He didn’t get more than a single syllable out.

“I want you to,” you murmured, pushing your bottom lip out in another pout. 

His heart swelled, and before he could stop himself, he was leaning up to kiss you. Lips crashing together in an admittedly clumsy connection, too aware of the camera currently focused on both of you to direct all of his own focus solely on you. But then your tongue was suddenly in his mouth, tracing over his teeth, and he was pretty sure his mind melted. 

All his other kisses were drunk ones at parties Suguru and Shoko dragged him to, sloppy and messy, but this was different. You were different. 

It felt fucking magical. The softness of your lips, the taste of mint on your mouth, like you had brushed your teeth before he came over. Sucking on his lower lip, a warm buzz spreading inside his chest at how right this was. One of his hands caressed your cheek, his thumb dragging over your soft skin while his other fingers sank deeper into your waist. 

Trying to pull you closer, forgetting about how this was being filmed in favor of kissing you harder. 

Gojo didn't want it to end. 

He could feel his cock starting to grow, throbbing and aching already underneath the heat of your body, the weight of you on top of him. 

God, he was glad he started lifting fucking weights over the last year – because it was easy to lift you up. 

He flipped the positions, hearing all the air get knocked out of you when your back hit the bed. Hair splayed out underneath you, lips parted in surprise as you looked up at him. 

“What are you going to do to me?” You asked, not scared or nervous, teasing him as you propped yourself up on your elbows, like you wanted another kiss. 

Gojo couldn't help but oblige, leaning down to press his mouth to yours again while your words repeated in his ears. 

How many nights had he spent asking himself that question? Debating over what he’d do if he ever found himself here? 

Take out that custom dildo and take you both ways? Press your thighs to your chest in some mean mating press? Do it doggy style? 

“Come on, baby,” you purred, sifting your fingers through his hair as you peppered his face with more kisses. “Tell me what you want.” 

All he could think of right now was how much he was dying to taste you. 

“I wanna eat you out,” he confessed, coming out hoarser than he intended, his voice just as raw as his heart felt, throat constricting at the idea of you on his tongue. 

He pushed you higher up on the bed so he wouldn't have to be on his knees on the ground, spreading your thighs apart with those huge hands of his. Forcing himself to take it slow, palms traveling over your skin in time with his lips. Kiss after kiss, admiring each pretty inch of you before he was face-to-face with the thin lace thong hardly keeping anything covered. 

Gojo ripped it off like it was nothing, dropping the little fabric to the floor while you let out a small surprised gasp. 

He bought it – so why couldn't he break it too? 

The camera hadn't captured precisely how pretty your pussy was in person. Already wet for him, glistening and goading him into doing something about it. 

“You're soaked,” he commented, swallowing the spit pooling in the back of his mouth as his eyes drifted up to you. 

You made a noise, almost like a whine, shifting your hips and arching them up as you pushed your bottom lip out. “Yeah?”

Gojo wasn't always great with social clues, but he saw it for what it was. An invitation. 

One he was more than happy to accept. 

Diving in to deliver messy kisses, mouth open as his tongue dragged inside of you – copying the same methods he’d spent the past six months studying in porn scenes, desperate to make you cry out his name. 

Until you forgot about the cameras too, so lost in his tongue and his hands that you couldn't remember your own name. Or that he was simply a loser with too much money to spend. 

Because if he was just some guy you met on the street, would you ever really let him do this? 

Let him wrap his mouth around your cute clit, sucking on it and swirling his tongue over it, painting his own name with his tongue while you twitched? Let him slot two thick fingers inside your dripping cunt, scissoring you open with steady strokes? 

He counted them out, tested out what spots you seemed to like the most and made a mental note of them for later. Even if Gojo was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to think of anything once his cock was actually inside of you. 

He was already painfully hard, dick throbbing and pulsing for relief as he rutted into your mattress mindlessly. It creaked under your combined weight, but your own moans were louder. Pitchy and airy, filling the room as you tugged harder on his roots. Keeping him close, refusing to let him stray from the task. 

He groaned into your sensitive bundle of nerves as your nails raked over his scalp, the vibrations making you whine right there with him. His fingers crooked, curling just enough to have your back arching up, hips trying to work them in even deeper as you chased your climax. 

Your thighs closed around his head, holding him hostage there, but honestly? He didn’t mind. 

Gojo would live here if he could. Breathe you in and sustain himself with this alone. 

He dragged his tongue back over your clit, and you made a sound that almost made him cum. Maybe that was just a habit though, years of training himself to finish when you did, the noise immediately registering as your resolve crumbling and giving into the urge to cum just from his mouth and a couple fingers. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, y-you-” 

You sounded desperate, and Gojo decided he'd never heard anything hotter than that. The cute little stuttering, the raw mantra while his tongue tugged you closer to overstimulation, still working on that pretty bud until you pried him back with another pull of his hair.

“You said whatever I want,” he reminded you with a pout that matched yours. 

After a stunned pause, you relented though, eyes wavering and wide as you reluctantly started laying back down, but Gojo just chuckled, climbing back on top of you fully, tempted to tear your dress off too so he could feel your skin. 

Kissing your mouth again, knowing you could taste yourself on his tongue when he slowly slipped it between your open lips. 

Gojo could barely bring himself to part from you, his warm breath on your skin, his nose nudging against yours. 

“What do you want to do with me?” He returned the question, holding out the reins for you to take. 

Because more than anything, he wanted to make you happy. 

You giggled, grinning up at him as your fingers traced over his side, slipping underneath his shirt. 

“Take your clothes off,” you instructed. 

He listened better than any dog did. Standing up to strip quickly, proudly showing off the muscles he only bothered growing for you, wondering if the lamps in your room lit them well for the cameras. 

Your eyes raked over him with appreciation that made his pride flare even more, his fingers fumbling to unzip his jeans and drop them to the floor. You were sitting up now, still breathing a little hard from cumming before. Eyes going wide the second you saw his bulge in his boxers, the damp spot against the thin white fabric from where pre-cum was already leaking. 

“Fuck, you’re-” You didn't let yourself finish, voice dying out as his boxers hit the floor next. 

Big? Huge? Pretty? 

He hoped it was one of the above. Gojo had probably spent too long online browsing the average size of penises, but he was pretty sure his should exceed expectations. 

It wasn't as thick as some he'd seen in porn, but it was long, at least. Besides, he'd seen you satisfy himself with the fake one he sent you enough times so shouldn't the real one be even better? 

“Like it?” He asked, hope plaguing his tone. Really trying to ask if you liked him. 

“Mhm,” you nodded, soft and low as you skimmed your hands over his thick thighs. “Get on your back.” 

You wanted to trade spots again. 

He was trying to focus, to stop himself from saying or doing anything stupid or giving away just how inexperienced he was when he laid flat on your bed. Pre-cum smeared over his pink tip, throbbing at the open air, glancing over at the camera, seeing the chat flying by on the screen behind you before you were positioning yourself just over his cock. 

You didn't look. 

Your eyes were only on him. As if the rest of the world didn't exist. Didn't matter anymore. 

His hands were shaking a little as he reached for your slip, and you helped him pull it off over your head. Breasts bouncing, your body so much fucking better when he actually got to experience it, to feel your skin under his palms as he ran them over your waist. 

There wasn't nearly enough time for him to feel all of you. Torn between making frantic attempts at cataloging you and making the most of the moment while he had it, but you seemed to sense what was brewing inside of him. 

Knew how to shut up the voices inside his head. 

Your hips sank down, one of your hands resting on his chest to steady yourself before you started taking him in. His tip catching at your entrance at first, but then you readjusted again, wet enough that you didn't need lube for him to nudge inside and-

He shattered. 

Sanity splitting into a million tiny little pieces the second he felt your warmth wrapping around him, the tight rubber band of desire inside him threatening to not just snap, but dissolve into straight bliss as you took him in a single rough thrust. Going from nothing to everything all at once, your walls sucking him in. 

Nothing could compare to you. 

All those times he fucked his fist suddenly seemed futile. Just a pale mockery of what the real thing was like, groaning loudly and throwing his head back as his fingers dug into your hip. He tried to mind his strength, stop himself from bruising you, but he could barely control the guttural sounds coming from the back of his throat. 

“Isn’t he cute?” You asked, and his eyes were scrunched too tight to see what face he was making, even if he was sure you were finally acknowledging the rest of your audience. He rolled his hips up, feeling his tip nudge and grind against what he guessed was your cervix, that sweet little spongy spot that had you gasping. He finally cracked his eyes open, thick lashes fluttering at the sight of your gorgeous body grinding down on him. Your nails ran over his chest, tapping over his heart. “My pretty boy.” 

If tonight was about him, then maybe you wouldn’t mind him asking you to call him that again.

“Promise?” He asked, his voice wavering and thick as his brain continued to short-circuit. 

“Pinky swear,” you smiled, a cute crinkle next to where your makeup was beginning to run. Your usual waterproof mascara had been traded in for something that smeared, like you wanted him to see what a mess he made you. 

Gojo grinded up, getting a little more comfortable, holding onto you like you were his last tether to reality, even if it still seemed fake. At his fingers dimpling your flesh, you whined, pushing down until he was completely buried inside you, the muscles in your thighs probably aching from how spread they were. 

His cock practically jumped inside you. 

Warm pleasure swirling inside him, fraying the rope of rationality he couldn’t believe he was still clinging to. And just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, couldn’t hold out, you started to bounce. 

Sliding up-and-down on his thick shaft, letting his ridges and veins drag along your insides, slow at first, but steadily speeding up while he started desperately crying out your name. Not on purpose, just babbling, his thoughts all foggy and dazed as he gripped your waist and tried to help you. 

Lifting you up and bringing you back down, muscles working to copy the moves he thought he’d be better at, wishing he’d worn a condom so it wasn’t so hard to not snap. 

Gojo refused to cum. Scrunched his eyes shut as he buried his face in your skin, brain flashing any unappealing images he could conjure up and desperately failing to hold himself back. 

“F-fuck, you’re so-” He groaned, and you were huffing, leaning forward, pressing your chest against his, skin on skin, your breath on the inside of his neck as your lips left a light kiss on his collarbone. The new angle somehow forced his cock in even deeper, your walls clamping down. 

“I’m so what?” You teased, sucking softly, like you were trying to leave a hickey. To mark him as yours. Trailing kisses up to the hard line of his jaw, murmuring softly where he’d be the only one to hear. “Look at me, Toru.”

Gojo looked, and he came. 

Thick ropes of cum filling you up, a raw sound ripped from him as he thrusted up uselessly inside of you. Your eyes were gleaming, practically fucking glittering with his reflection in them, lips parted and glossy, your hands on his body and your heat on him, all the simmering sensations driving him fucking crazy as he stopped fighting the impulses burning him up inside. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he started rambling, rattling off every word he could think of that fit you as you continued to ride him raw. “Gorgeous, p-pretty, cute, sweet, i-irrestible-” 

“S-says you,” you stammered back, face flushing as your own focus slipped. 

His fingers slipped between your connected bodies, finding your swollen clit, still sensitive from your first climax, almost distressed as he attempted to get you to cum at the same time as him. Wanting you to feel as good as he felt. 

Rubbing circles over it now, putting as much pressure as he could, feeling you respond to him with more broken breathing. 

“C’mon,” he grunted, his other hand sliding around to wrap around your back, holding you tight and close, locking you into this position. “Cum for me, please.”  

Was begging unattractive? Pleading for you to join him in this intimacy? 

Either way, you started trembling, thighs shaking hard as you made some sharp little squeak, whimpering in response as you nodded. 

Catching his lips in another kiss, moaning into his mouth like it would do anything to muffle the sound. He swallowed it anyway. Devoured each noise as his own cum continued to leak out inside you, his cock still hard as it nudged against your cervix again. Dampness dripping down your thighs and onto him, probably some getting on your sheets too. 

“That’s it, fuck,” he murmured, assurance he didn’t know was meant for you or himself. 

“You wanna keep going?” You half-whispered in his ear, lips grazing against his skin – but he shook his head. He liked overstimulation, could probably fuck you for hours, but he wanted to do it in privacy. 

Where it was just you and him – where the audience wouldn’t get to see him crying into your skin. 

“Turn it off,” he muttered back, and you nodded, leaving another kiss on his forehead before you slid off of him. His arms fell limp to his side, blue eyes hazy, the world blurred around the edges and tinged with leftover pleasure. 

He was still trembling, shaking as his spent cock throbbed on his stomach, staring up at your beautiful figure as you shifted off of him. 

“Didn’t he do a good job?” You hummed, addressing the chat, back to your casual persona. “Maybe I should keep him.”

It was a joke, something meant to make the mood light – but he wanted so fucking badly for you to keep him. He’d chain himself to your bed if you let him. 

You were saying something else, talking about your next normal stream while you said goodbye – and he was reminded that after this, you would both go back to real life. Regularly scheduled programming. 

Gojo still sort of felt like a virgin. Utterly inexperienced when he watched you switch off the camera, his stare flicking from the shape of your legs to the way your tits lightly bounced leaning over the computer screen. Scrolling through something on your computer before you glanced back at him, offering a smile that almost felt shy. 

“So,” you said, but you didn’t finish your thought.

“That was-” He tried to finish it for you, but it hung out in the open, too many words to choose from that fit. Fantastic? Amazing? Unforgettable? 

“Great, yeah,” you nodded, as if you were on the same page. Filling in the blank with one of your own. “Really great.” 

“Uh-huh,” he breathed, for once in his life, lacking the ability to say what he wanted. 

To tell you how much it meant to him. 

“Did you get a hotel?” You asked, holding your own breath as you fiddled with your fingers. 

“Um, no, I, uh, drove here,” he stammered out, palms sweating as he sat up in your bed. Only to accidentally dipped his fingers in his own cum stains, immediately lifting it up and looking around for something he could wipe it off with. 

You giggled a little, light as you walked back over, getting down on your knees to lick the cum off. He almost came again just from the image alone, cock twitching between his sticky thighs. 

The feel of your tongue dragging over his knuckles, sucking until they were clean and the lewd pop! when you pulled them out.

“Do you want to stay the night?” 

“Yes,” he quickly answered again, cheeks heating up with embarrassment as he cringed at the neediness in his voice. 

“We should probably, like, shower first,” you softened, smiling up at him. “But we could watch one of those movies you told me about?” 

Nothing had ever sounded so fucking good. 

But the morning after managed to be even better. 

Waking up with you nestled in his arms was a feeling he suspected he’d spend the rest of his life chasing. The morning sun drifting in through your pretty lacy curtains. The quiet sound of your breathing. How cute your cheek looked squished on his bicep. The softness of your thigh when you had slotted in between his own. 

He couldn’t even blame his morning wood on testosterone. 

Gojo slowly snuck out from underneath you, making sure to fix the pillow underneath your head and tuck you back under the blanket before snagging his phone from his jeans on the floor. Padding silently over to your attached bathroom, trying his hardest to shut the door as quietly as possible before flicking on the light and the exhaust fan. 

He had more missed messages than he could scroll through the group message between his best friends. It appeared they had somehow managed to figure out that his ‘vacation’ was really just a guise to be with you. Maybe they used his spare key to get in, found his printed out travel plans on the counter or saw any of the messages left up on the computer. 

Suguru: Fucking answer asshole. 

Shoko: he’s probably asleep

Shoko: or dead lol

Suguru: I might kill him if he isn’t. 

Oops? 

He sat down on the closed toilet seat, muscled thighs spread out as he ran his fingers through his hair. He hesitated, brows scrunching together as he tried to figure out what to say before settling on announcing his big news. 

Although, maybe he should’ve said something other than: Guess who's not a virgin?

Gojo held his breath, nervously tapping his foot on the tiled floor while he waited for the … to pop back up once his message was immediately marked as read.

Suguru: Not funny. 

Shoko: ? 

Suguru: Where tf are you? 

There was a light knock on the bathroom door outside, and Gojo half-jumped up, his still-hard cock springing up at the same time and smacking into his abs just as you called his name outside. 

“Satoru?” You yawned, all soft and sweet. Need was pooling back in his stomach, hot and swirling despite him trying to cool it back down with the reminder you were probably just being nice. Only checking on him like a good host would. 

“Um, yeah?” He answered, his hand hovering over the door knob as he hesitated to open it. Would you judge him for being hard already? 

“Are you okay in there?” You asked, and he almost winced at the earnestness in it. You cared. Even if he was a dork and a loser who had never touched another woman before you. Even if he collected Digimon figures and was more comfortable playing dungeons and dragons than putting his dick in you. “Did I do something-”

“N-no,” he forced out, swinging the door open too fast, panicked by the hint of sadness in your voice, hitting his, uh, most sensitive area with it. 

Gojo almost crumpled, a pained moan escaping as you slipped through the crack of the door to see what was wrong. 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t-” You started rambling, reaching out like you were going to pat his penis. 

“It’s okay,” he groaned, still wincing at the dull ache. 

Your frown deepened as you noticed his phone in his hand, but he was already waving it like it would explain itself.

“My friends were worried for me,” he muttered. 

“Oh,” you blinked. “Do they-”

“I’ve told them about you,” Gojo added, sighing as he ruffled his fingers through his messy hair. “Like, a lot.” 

“Good things?” You asked, rolling your shoulders back like you were getting more comfortable around him. 

“Just that I’m completely obsessed with you,” he chuckled, cringing again when it came out less like a joke and more like a truth.

That’s what it was, though, wasn’t it? 

Your eyes were on him, your lips just slightly parted like you had something to say and just couldn't work out how to say it. 

Gojo hesitantly met your stare, wondering if he was meant to say something, before you abruptly blurted out a question he never thought he'd hear from any woman. 

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” You practically squeaked, more high-pitched than you intended, blinking fast and glancing away like you were skittish. The girl who was happy to show off every sensitive spot on camera suddenly shy around him.  

“A date?” 

Was it really your fault for falling for a guy like him? 

You didn’t know when it started. Or well, that wasn’t exactly true. You did remember the first message he ever left for you. It was your third-ever stream, still uncomfortable around the camera as your fingers rubbed over your clit. He called you gorgeous. 

He came back for the next stream. And the next. 

Actually, he never really left. 

Dropping compliments and donations like it was nothing to him, your number one supporter who would shout his approval from the rooftops. He made you smile, lips curling up the second you saw his name in chat – and eventually in your messages too. 

From the first kiss, you knew you didn't want to kiss anyone else. 

Wanted to spend every morning waking up with him, curled against his chest or sifting your fingers through his soft strands of hair. 

You were greedy. You’d always known that. 

But that was probably part of the reason it worked so well. 

Gojo wanted to spoil you. To take care of you, whether it was tucking your hair behind your ear or buying you presents. Physical and emotional and material, fuck, even spiritually, he fulfilled every need or want – and somehow left you still craving more of him. 

He was a little dorky. Giving you lingerie that he thought you liked just to sneak in a second bag with a digimon keychain, stuttering through an explanation that he had one too, that he thought it would be cute if you both had virtual pets together. 

But you wouldn’t want him any other way. 

It didn’t stop with just one date. Your weekends now spent with him in your bed or on your couch, hand-in-hand going out shopping or listening to him ramble about his latest hyperfixation. He asked you to be his girlfriend in the middle of a movie, his head in your lap while you combed through his pretty white hair, looking up at you like a cute puppy dog. Cuddling one of your plushies against his chest, a new one he you were pretty sure he only bought because you said it reminded you of him. 

Satoru sighed into your skin now, fingers skimming over your arm as he pulled you closer into the street. Pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he murmured something about how starving he was.

You glanced up at him, still a little in awe that a guy as handsome as him was with you. And that he’d never actually been with another woman before either. He confessed he’d been a virgin before you took it after a couple weeks after sleepy sex, humming that he was your responsibility now. 

One you happily accepted. 

“Do you think your friends will like me?” You asked, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You were both supposed to meet them for brunch, assuage some of their fears that he was turning into a recluse. 

“I know they will,” Satoru promised, kissing the top of your head now. 

You paused in front of the restaurant, one he insisted you’d love, trying to work up the nerve to meet people that he’d told you so much about. The skeptic and the smoker, his closest friends – and ones you so badly wanted the approval of. 

Your phone vibrated in your purse, pulling it out to see it was bank calling. Probably to check that the deposit you were trying to put down on a new studio to film at. Satoru had suggested it – and said that he wouldn’t mind starring in a few more videos after how many donations the one he did with you got. 

“Shit,” you frowned at your phone. “Go ahead and order for me? This will just take a few minutes.” 

You didn’t realize that his friends might have thought he totally lost it until you walked in and overheard the conversation going on. 

“What’s next?” The guy sitting across from him sarcastically drawled. “Something will come up and she’ll have to leave before we see her?” 

“No,” Satoru protested, but he wasn’t done. 

“You can’t seriously expect us to believe that-” 

You tapped on his shoulder before he could finish. 

Dark hair almost hitting you as he swiveled back, jaw dropping the second he saw you standing there. 

“Hi there,” you smiled, holding your hand out to introduce yourself while he squinted at you as if you were some shimmering apparition. 

“You're real?”

“Did you think I wasn't?” You giggled, tilting your head to the side as Satoru stood up from the booth, hurrying over to slip an arm around your waist and guide you back to the seat next to him. 

“What do you see in him?” The girl, Shoko, deadpanned, poking at the food on her plate and staring between the two of you like she was trying to solve a puzzle.

“He’s your friend, too,” you laughed, shrugging your shoulders and leaning against your boyfriend. “I think Satoru’s sweet. And funny-” 

“You think he’s funny?” Geto echoed, like you just said something simply absurd. 

Satoru just grinned, squeezing you tight as his brilliant blue eyes flickered between you and his friends. 

“Do I get to say I told you so now?” 

[iamsoclone]

stream watch party at my place (灬^ 艸^)

[mortisoculo]

<<previous_________________________ Chapter 3: Frequency of Survival

By the time you both arrived back to the overpass, even before rounding the curve, the smell of blood was evident.

Itadori’s companion was still fighting. The residuals of his cursed energy thrumming like the slow beat of a heart. The deep crimson black mist seeping through the area. 

There was a familiar weight to it, a chord of resonance with your own. Grief laced with devotion, a wound that never had a chance to heal fully. 

Compared to Naoya's, it was pleasant. 

But the rat had been saturating the area with his own cutting glitch of electric violet and steel blue, all of it drenched in superiority. Entirely visually and sonically infuriating. 

A sound like a high pitched ring, nagging and unceasing. Buzzing in and out of your ears. Fucking gnat.

But when you both finally went around the edge of the pillar, Naoya didn’t seem to be fairing nearly as well as he had been when you Fracture Stepped through the space earlier. 

There was blood everywhere and the dark haired man was far more determined to win than Naoya was at the moment. Not when he looked so sick.

His skin was dull, eyes a bright shade of fever pink. His body looked oddly sluggish as he tried to crawl on the asphalt. Generally an odd sight for someone whose whole shtick was speed.

You gave a slight pause to your stride. As soon as Okkotsu rounded the corner dragging Itadori’s body the Blood Manipulation user froze instantly. The once steady beat of his Cursed Energy suddenly kicked up erratically.

You turned to look at Okkotsu, eyes flicking back to the dark haired man. He would need to be incapacitated for this to sell. 

But Okkotsu already seemed to know that. He kept moving forward, still dragging Itadori behind him. His arm raising with a fluid motion, his fist cracking into the man’s head, sending the Blood Manipulation user reeling from the force. 

Watching as the dark haired man collapsed to the asphalt, hard. 

Okkotsu only kept his stride, moving past Itadori's crumpled companion. Heading to Naoya on the ground, his body clearly feeling the effects of something.  Maybe the blood?

You watched as Okkotsu kept his grip on Itadori’s hood. “Looks like you’re hurt, Naoya.” His hand already beginning to rise and freezing momentarily as Naoya peered up at him.

The blonde's face pinched with anger and pain. Indignant of needed rescue. Of being viewed as weak.  Unsurprising to you but clearly catching Okkostu off guard.

You moved to the side. Leaning against the concrete wall and allowing a shoulder to press into the cold surface as you watched Okkotsu ask if Naoya would like for him to heal him. Naoya's disdain for the pity on Okkotsu's face not lost on the teen in the least. Forcing him to ask before doing. The harmony of Okkotsu’s cursed energy striking discord once more. Making it very clear to you that, yes, he knew Naoya was not a good person. The thought of healing Naoya causing his soul resonance to spike in conflict.

And Naoya, for all his stubbornness and unjustifiably inflated ego, wasn't stupid. He didn’t say anything as Okkotsu crouched to heal him. Okkostu making sure to position his body so Naoya wouldn’t be able to get a clear view of Itadori. His hood still in Okkotsu’s grasp.

But Naoya wasn’t paying attention to Itadori in the slightest.

His eyes were glued to you. Full of outrage and disgust at your appearance. The high pitched whine only intensified as his teeth gritted. The annoying whine growing louder as Okkostu wasted his own Reversed Cursed Energy healing him.

You yawned. Not bothering to cover your mouth, blinking slowly and returning Naoya’s stare. Making it clear that you weren’t planning on cowering.

That the mere sight of him made you bored.

Watching as the color slowly began to creep up his cheeks.

Naoya shifted, lifting himself up and forcing Okkostu to duck walk backwards. Protest already on his lips as Naoya moved to stand. Aiming to snipe and posture at you. Make a real show of everything.

Typical. Okkostu quickly clamped his mouth shut, his dark eyes cutting to you as you continued to lean against the concrete. Not bothering to straighten or stand fully. Unbothered.  

Naoya was simmering fully now with most of his strength returned, teeth gnashing with curled back lips. “What the fuck are you doing here? Who let you out of your cage, bitch?” He stopped short though, coming too close with your still tightly bound cursed energy. His eyes flickering with remembrance and quickly darting to look around. Searching for The Orbit Rings.

The electric violet of his Cursed Energy blanched. Steel blue peeling back as the high pitched whine strangled for a moment. Proving to you that he still had enough wits about him. Despite being in the throws of his own self righteous fury.

He would only press his luck so far.

“I was sent by the Higher-Ups to ensure that Okkotsu completed his task.” You blinked lazily, still leaning against the wall, arms crossing with a slight adjustment of your shoulder. “And to take care of any problems.” Your expression remained flat, carefully controlled but refusing to return the pleasant mask fully. 

He sneered but his cursed energy was stuttering after a pause, still unsure if you were lying. Trying to mentally weigh if the Higher-Ups would allow you such a position. Or rather such freedom.

“You left me with-” He inhaled sharply, top lip curling further, his eyes shifting to look back at the stirring dark haired man behind you. “That thing. You knew what the fucking abomination was as soon as you saw it, and yet you let me proceed without warning!” 

Truthfully, you didn't. Sure something was off about the man, but you hadn't wasted the time doing further search. Too busy chasing after Okkostu and Itadori. But he didn't need to know that.

Your brows quirked upward, fighting a smile, “Well, you seemed like you had it handled." Craning your next from side to side, stretching. "Dogs are trained to follow commands and stay on task, you know.” You closed your eyes, taking an inhale. Opening them slowly and staring directly into his as you spoke, “He isn't my objective, nor are you and your safety.”  

His lips twisted, another sharp stutter, electric violet shrinking back as steel blue surged forward in defense. The whine was starting to fray, trying to find footing. “You shouldn’t be here. You should not be allowed to be here.”

You tsk’d softly, “And yet—here I am.” You gave a sigh, mocking sympathy, pulling away from the wall with a lazy push.  “I guess you just aren’t important enough to be privy to that information.” 

His cursed energy flared at the blatant insult “You fucking bitch.” he hissed, spittle flecking his lips. His cursed energy was vibrating, the whine pitching higher. Near the brink of explosion. 

“Naoya.” Your voice was flat, your head dropping slightly, eyes cutting upward further to look at him. The corners of your lips quirking upward. You relaxed the leash on your cursed energy. Holding it near the baseline, still held tight but not quite as tight as before. A warning and a reminder. “Are you going to become a problem?”

It would be a lie to say that a part of you wasn't absolutely giddy about this. There was always something satisfying about grabbing a puffed up man by the proverbial balls and squeezing. Reminding him that you could crush him at any second.

The weight of your cursed energy drifted like a dense fog, reaching towards him but restrained enough that it didn’t quite reach. Only licking at the edges of his own shifting fractal edges, threatening to push further.

His lips pressed, jaw tensing, the exposed area of his neck tensing. Reconsidering as his nostrils flared. Another stutter in the whine, another withdraw into the mosaic cracks of his Cursed Energy’s pattern. His eyes snapping past you for only a second.

The dark haired man was moving to stand behind you. You could feel his intent shifting rapidly as he recovered from the stun of Okkotsu’s fist to his head. He was grief stricken and quickly shifting to rabid anger. The growing thrum of a beating heart. Ramping as he began to shake the fog from his head. The intent was clear. Retaliation. Revenge.

You turned your head, peering over your shoulder as Naoya continued to wrestle with his own perception of your status within the hierarchy of the Jujutsu world versus the possibility of survival in confrontation. Trying to still figure out the validity of your claim and waring against himself on if he should react and escalate.

If it was worth potentially dying just to knock you down a peg.

Your eyes focused on the shape of the dark hair man’s soul. The color of the world draining away. Sound muffled to only background noise as you focused. 

A mangled homunculus. Two souls. The original dim, human. The second was almost blob-like, dripping but not unsteady. Inhuman.

One fused to the other. The inhuman soul being stabilized by the human portion.

You peered closer. All sound and color blanking out. Leaving only the two souls housed inside a single body.

The alien portion seemed to have been formed with intent but the graft to the original soul was messy. There was an almost childlike haste to it, as if done on a slightly measured whim. Like smashing two different colors of Play-Doh together and hoping they stick.

A toddler playing at being god.

Listening carefully to the shift between the souls. Picking up on that sound you heard earlier that, with some coaxing, may cause an accord. Creating a nearly full resonance between you.

Soul familiarity.

Not in the sense that you knew each other or were of the same origin in relation to body. But in the sense that the weight of your souls were equivalent. Two souls with the ability to harmonize, allowing communication and empathy between the two. Synergy.

For you and the not-quite-a-man, this chord was grief and devotion.

“Hey.” You spoke to him, drawing his attention, his eyes shifting, locking with your own. Wild and fraying with rage and grief.

Already concentrating on making the strike. Absolute Clarity tugged on a string, striking a harmony in frequencies for a moment.

Conveying a message. 

If it had to be put into words, ‘safe’ would be the closest one.

Watching as his hand lifted to press against his temple. The tight grit of his teeth. Reeling not only from the sight of a downed Itadori but the manipulation of the chord and resulting harmony. 

His disorientation seemed to steady once more, body sagging slightly with ease. The crimson black mist of his Cursed Energy settling closer to the pavement. 

Understanding the harmony. Accepting it. 

You turned back to Naoya, his face still pinched but it was clear he had made a choice. Intelligence winning over ego. Survival over pride.

It didn’t mean he was happy about it though. You watched as he gave one final sneer of disgust, he would let this go for now. But once he cleared the area he would ask questions. 

That was fine. You and the others would already be out of reach before he could have his answers. 

Thank you bureaucracy.

He ‘tch’d’ as he turned, looking back to Okkotsu, his interest in you already gone for the moment. Aware that he wouldn’t be able to bully you into submission and any further pushing would be risking his life. 

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep a close eye on her.” He nearly spat at Okkotsu. His eyes cutting back to you one last time to give a final leer. “The bitch bites.” 

You gave a smug smile, still not rising to his obvious bait. You would let him have that jab. It didn’t hurt anyway. Not from him.

“You’ll tell them that Itadori is dead?” Okkotsu asked, his eyes returning to the soft doe like expression. Still guarding the barbed wire under the silk wrapping. Equivalent to the way you kept your own cursed energy bound tight. 

Placating. 

Naoya huffed, his head turning away from Okkotsu swiftly, “Fine— yeah, whatever.” You watched as one of his hands clenched into a fist at his side. Still not happy with how any of this went.

Humiliated. 

A sudden shift in his cursed energy, electric purple taking the forefront again, creeping along the edges of the fragile mosaic. A tell. He was about to utilize his technique.

You watched as he snapped forward. Gone physically and leaving only the blur of his afterimage. If you needed to, the shape of his Cursed Energy would be easy to track now. Updated in your mental catalog. 

You sighed softly, turning back to the dark haired man, still standing frozen behind you. Unsure of what had just happened. “He’s alive, just unconscious for now.” You let the words fall with ease. Watching as relief washed over the man’s expression.

You could hear Okkotsu shifting behind you, hefting Itadori upward more than likely. Something that had been bothering him the entire walk back. The single out of tune chord in his strained harmony folding back into its frequency. 

Your eyes watched the dark haired man for a moment, his eyes watching you back just as carefully. He didn’t speak, still trying to gauge your place in all of this. Who are you? Why are you?

“Are you able to walk? Would you like some support?” Your voice was softer, empathy taking its rightful place over the cold calculation and blunt speech. Taking an easy step forward and stopping. Like approaching a wounded wild animal.

Let him see you meant no harm.

He was still hesitant. Unsure even with the familiar ring of resonance in frequencies.

“We need to keep moving, I need to know if you can keep pace. I don’t want to have to leave you behind.” It was the truth. Itadori could use all the allies he can muster. The road ahead would be more manageable that way.

His nostrils flared slightly at that, exhaling a huff and cutting his eyes back to Okkotsu. More than likely looking at Itadori. He gave a stiff nod, still unsure but the possibility of being separated from Itadori swung the discomfort to the back burner. 

You stepped forward fully, walking towards him, his eyes watching your movement. He didn’t flinch once you wrapped an arm under his armpit. He smelled terrible, like days old sweat and body odor mixed with old blood. 

That was okay. You’d certainly smelled worse.

He shifted his weight, leaning more on you as you looked back to Okkotsu. Rika lingering behind and to his left, watching, always watching. “I’ll follow your lead.” You gave a slight nod. Passing back the reins. 

Okkotsu’s brows furrowing slightly, shifting Itadori’s weight on his shoulders in preparation to keep moving.  But he lingered for a beat longer, still puzzling. “Who are you?” He finally asked after another moment of silence passed between stagnation and movement. 

“We can discuss that later. Let’s keep moving for now. The window is getting narrower the longer we linger.” Your head motioning forward.

Movement was crucial. Keep going. 

His lips pinched but he turned to move. The man’s weight shifting as you began to walk. Your arm wrapped around his ribs, lifting him just enough to steady his walk forward as you both followed Okkotsu and Rika.

Watching as Rika’s attention shifted once more, her gaze evident. Even if she was still concealed. She only took a moment to peer back before shifting back to watching over Okkotsu’s shoulder. 

------------------*------------------

You were walking at a slightly slower pace than you liked. But the dark haired man was starting to lean on you less over the trek across the damaged landscape of Shibuya.

The day was already shifting closer to dusk as you progressed closer to the barriers placed on the outskirts of the district. Moving through the ruined city quietly as possible.

Okkotsu stopped, still maintaining a healthy distance from the actual edge of the concrete barriers further ahead and out of sight.

Itadori’s companion had already broken contact with you, walking on his own. Limping slightly but otherwise fairing well enough. The smell of him clung to you like a shroud. Pungent and sharp.

You came to a stop as Okkotsu peered around the area, setting back into motion as he shifted Itadori on his shoulders. Itadori was still unconscious and probably growing heavier over the course of the trek. Okkostu moving towards the shell of a ruined building.

There was enough rubble and remaining ruined wall to put some separation between the outside without limiting visibility. Leaving enough of a clearing in the center to allow for a moment of rest without major clean up or adjustment. 

Not at all a bad place to take a pause.

You followed behind, stopping only to wait for the dark haired man.

He was still moving slowly but not quite as slow as he could have been. You let him proceed first. Following behind as your eyes scanned around the area before entering fully. Looking for anything that may cause an issue later. 

Any curses that still lingered this close to the barrier were pointedly avoiding moving in any closer. Not only due to you but Okkotsu and the other man as well.  The three of you a solid tangle of "fuck off" energy.

You stepped inside the nearly hollowed out structure as Okkotsu sat Itadori down gently. Tugging off the younger boy’s jacket and then easing him back onto the floor. Draping the ruined uniform jacket over him like a makeshift blanket. 

The dark haired man stood awkwardly. Unsure of what he should do.

You watched as Okkotsu began to pick up splintered pieces of wood within the area. The orchestral shift of his cursed energy still clinging to that strained harmony. 

Calm but weary.

You moved. Aiming to gather pieces of concrete, clear now that Okkotsu was planning to start a fire. Your eyes shifted to the dark haired man as you moved to a squat. Hands working through a large crumbled pile of rubble mindlessly. Watching as Itadori’s companion shifted with restless energy.  “Help Okkotsu gather wood if you would like to be helpful.” You suggested gently. Wanting to keep him busy. Focused.

He nodded, joining the teen on the hunt for wood as your hand slipped under the rubble and began to feel blindly for smaller chunks. Dragging them out as you came across them.

Once you had a good enough pile, you used the side of your foot to slide them across the floor. Kicking them towards the center of the cleared area and began to arrange them into a stacked circle. Adjusting the stack so nothing would fall into the fire once it was lit. 

After several more minutes they brought back enough wood to hold a fire for more than a few hours. 

Good, you didn’t want to linger here too long. 

Leaving in the dark was the better option. Itadori, hopefully, would wake up soon. His Cursed Energy had been nearly muted through the trek but still there.

A good sign.

You began arranging the wood to allow air flow, stacking them into a slight lattice shape, the smaller splinters sitting in the center of the framework.

You would need an accelerant to get the fire going. Most of the wood was from shattered furniture. Any varnish or coating would hinder the catch of flame to the wood underneath. 

“This wood won’t take flame without an accelerant.” You called to Okkotsu as he was checking on Itadori, drawing his attention. “Too many chemicals on top and even then, she’s going to make a lot of smoke. You okay with that?” 

He shifted, thinking. “The temperature is going to start to drop once the sun sets, the fire is going to be better for Itadori–” He inhaled slowly, “I’ll go search for something.” 

You sniffled slightly, “Gas is going to be the quickest option, find some cotton and soak it. It’ll be easier than finding a suitable container that won’t be eaten by the gas.”

He gave a nod, shifting to look back at the dark haired man, their eyes making contact. Clear that he was giving silent instruction to watch over Itadori while he was away. “I’ll be back shortly.”

You moved away from the makeshift fire pit, moving to one of the crumbling walls far enough away from where the dark haired man was hovering over Itadori. Making it clear that you had no intent of coming any closer. 

You moved to sit, drawing your legs up slightly and leaning against the wall. Watching out the other side of the building as you waited for Okkotsu to return. 

A silence falling between you. 

You eased your head back to the wall, taking slow breaths. Still listening to any shifts in Cursed Energy around you. The only sound of shifting was Itadori’s companion as he took a seat next to unconscious salmon haired teen. 

“What should we call you?” You asked casually, breaking the silence, not bothering to look at the man. He didn’t answer right away. Still a little weary. You turned to make eye contact already aware that he was looking at you. 

“Choso.” He finally answered under the pressure of your gaze. 

You hummed. “That’s a nice name.” You took a moment before giving him your first name in return. Listening to him test out the sound once and then nodding. Turning back to your nearly absent watch and silence.

Okkotsu returned moments later. A soaking ball of fabric dripping slightly in one hand. You stood with ease, instructing him to squeeze it out onto the wood and then wrap it over a longer piece of wood. Already fishing in your pocket for your lighter. 

It's been years since you quit smoking but old habits never die you suppose. 

You gave a test flick. Watching as the flame sparked to life and then letting it die before making a gimmie motion with your hand. Not wanting him to light the makeshift torch with gas still on his body. 

Burns never healed nicely even with reversed curse technique. 

You took the rough wooden torch and flicked the striker with your thumb and then pressed the flame to the cloth while holding everything as far away from your body as possible. The torch angled parallel to the floor. The muffled ‘wompf’ of the fabric catching in one go. A small burst of heat on your exposed skin, thankful it hadn’t spread fast enough to burn you.

You quickly tossed it onto the pile of wood. The wood mirroring the same method of combustion as the torch, only at a larger scale. Warmth blasting outward with the catch.

You took a step back and returned to your previous position, pocketing the lighter before sitting back down. Watching as Choso shifted to sit between you and Okkotsu. His eyes watching Itadori, a hum of anxiety in his cursed energy.

“He’ll wake up—trust me—he’s in there. He just needs some more time.” You tried to ease his tension.

Itadori’s soul was still seated inside of his body. His cursed energy still reconnecting. It was stronger than an hour ago but there was still some time left before he would fully wake. 

“How do you know?” Choso’s voice surprised you, causing your attention to return to him, the worry was still evident in his tone. And now in his expression. Brows knitted and mouth set into a slight frown.

“His cursed energy is already reknitting through his body. I can see and hear it, it’s already stronger than before. Okkotsu managed to heal him before he could begin to drift.” It sounded so simple when you said it. As if the mechanics of soul attachment were as simple as putting a bug in a jar and slamming the lid on. But souls were anything but simple. In theory, reseating the soul was as simple as snapping in a puzzle piece. Soul’s like an anchor and the body is the perfect anchor. The problem isn’t in the containment. It’s the communication between the anchor and soul that causes complications. If the body is too far gone or damaged then the soul can not properly settle. The soul can’t start the rethreading process without a survivable vessel. Fortunately, Okkostu made sure to quickly heal Itadori’s vessel before the soul could even leave its dock. 

Choso’s cursed energy seemed to ease at that, settling once more. He pushed a slow exhale, sighing with relief. 

But Okkotsu shifted beside him. That singular string out of tune once more, drawing your eyes towards him this time.

Rika’s position shifted to linger between Okkostu and Itadori, once more locked onto you by extension of Okkotsu’s own emotions. Still concealed even now. The weight of her eyes and the shift of her own Cursed Energy the only indication that she had shifted.

Protective and uneasy.

His brows were furrowed, leaning further on his makeshift chair of rubble, elbows resting on his legs, “You can see it?” There was heavy suspicion in his voice laced with skepticism. Dark eyes that searched for even a hint of bullshit.

You nodded, “Yes. Is that not what I said?” you gave a placating smile and a subtle tilt of your head. 

His face pinched further, the light of the fire casting shadows across his features. Deepening the furrow of his brow and casting crescent shaped darkness under his eyes. “You need to start explaining, now.” 

[pfpanimes]

☆ gachiakuta • enjin.

♡ like or reblog if you save/use.

[gabbyp09]

[preacherboyd]

Rust + hands on hips