⋆ Business Student ⋆ She/Her ⋆ Asian ⋆ INFJ ⋆ the friend who comes with subtitles ⋆
I like
Gojo Satoru | Watching Anime | Skincare | Reading | Baking | Drawing | Rain | Cats 𓃠
♡ Inbox is always open! Feel free to drop your asks ♡
⋆ Masterlist
⋆ Recent: Pizza date with Satoru
⋆ ao3
♡ Happy Reading!
⋆ This Blog is 20+ only; Minors do not interact
⋆ Not Spoiler Free
You have been warned!
pairing — one night stand!satoru gojo x fem!reader
summary — six months ago, you left satoru gojo's apartment before sunrise, thinking you'd never see him again. now, trapped in a beach house for a weekend with mutual friends, you're forced to face the man who doesn't seem to remember that night—or does he? between shared walls, heated touches, and games of pretend, you're starting to think maybe one night wasn't enough after all. but in a house full of friends, some things are better left in the past… right?
word count — 9.5 k
genre/tags — beach house AU, summer romance, one night stand to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, tension, awkward reunions, friends gathering, miscommunication, beach vibes, satoru is a little menace in this one
warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, alcohol consumption, all characters aged up (mid 20s), language
author's note — hi everyone ! this fic came out of nowhere, and i literally wrote it in three days, but i really love the idea and the summer vibes in this one, even tho i wrote it while it was literally snowing outside, but somewhere on earth it's summer rn, so why not post it lol. hope you enjoy this mess of a summer romance story as much as i enjoyed writing it ! <3 (credit/art)
masterlist + support my writing
The last person you expected to see in Okinawa was Satoru Gojo.
Yet there he was, lounging on the deck of the beach house like he belonged there, white hair catching the sunlight as he laughed at something someone had said. Your heart tumbled over itself as memories of that night six months ago flooded back unbidden.
"You okay?" Maki nudged you with her elbow. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
More like the ghost of past bad decisions. "I'm fine," you managed, gripping your weekend bag tighter. "Wasn't expecting so many people."
The beach house was supposed to be a simple weekend getaway with close friends. But somewhere between planning and execution, it had turned into a "friends of friends" situation to fill the eight-bedroom house Okkotsu's family had offered.
"Yeah, Yuta's cousin's boyfriend invited some people to fill the space," Maki explained, completely unaware of your internal crisis. "That's Satoru over there, by the way. He's actually pretty fun once you get past the whole—" She gestured vaguely at all of him.
You wanted to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both. Because you were already very familiar with how "fun" Satoru Gojo could be.
Six months ago, you'd met him at a bar in Tokyo. He'd been charming and gorgeous, all easy smiles and playful banter. One drink had turned into several, flirting had turned into kissing, and kissing had turned into...
Well.
You'd slipped out of his apartment before dawn, leaving nothing but a lipstick stain on his collar and a dip in his pillow. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. You weren't looking for anything serious, and someone like him definitely wasn't the settling down type.
Now, watching him chat lively with your friends like the universe's cruelest joke, you wondered if you should have at least left your number.
"Girl," Maki waved her hand in front of your face. "You sure you're okay?"
Before you could answer, Satoru looked up. His eyes met yours across the deck, and for a moment, your heart stopped.
But there was no recognition in those sea blue eyes. No hint that he remembered the way you'd gasped his name in the dark, the way his hands had traced every inch of your skin, the way he'd whispered "stay" against your shoulder just before you'd fallen asleep.
He just smiled politely, the same smile he’s probably giving everyone else too, and went back to his conversation.
Right. Of course he didn't remember. You were probably just one in a long line of one-night stands for someone like him. The thought shouldn't hurt as much as it did.
"Come on," Maki said, tugging you towards the house. "Let's get settled in before the others arrive.”
Up close, the beach house was even more impressive. A sprawling three-story mansion of white stone and floor-to-ceiling windows that caught the afternoon light like rippling water, a wraparound veranda with a cozy sitting area led to a private path down to the beach, lined with swaying palms and colourful flowers.
Inside, the house opened into a huge room with soaring ceilings and an open floor plan that made the space feel endless. Ocean views followed you everywhere through the massive windows, and the whole place smelled of salt and lemon.
"The bedrooms are upstairs," Maki said as she led you up a floating staircase. "Most of them are on the second floor, but there are two master bedrooms on the third."
The universe, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor. Not only did you have to spend the weekend pretending you didn’t know how Satoru's brows draw together when he'd cum, but your room ended up right next to his—the two largest bedrooms on the top floor, sharing a wall and a connecting balcony. Of course.
Your room was bigger than your entire apartment in Tokyo, with a king-size bed draped in soft white linens. One wall was entirely glass, offering an unobstructed view of the ocean, while the other walls were decorated with pictures and minimalist art.
"My god, the view’s amazing!" Maki gushed and threw open the balcony doors. The sound of waves immediately filled the room, along with fresh, salty ocean air. "You can see the whole beach from here."
But you were too busy staring at the wall next to you, where a door that must lead to Satoru's room was hidden behind a cupboard. You could hear muffled movement from his room, the sound of his laugh drifting through the wall that suddenly felt far too thin and your mind helpfully supplied memories of other sounds he could make, and you wondered if it was too late to fake some sudden illness and go home.
"Yeah," you said, dropping onto the edge of the bed. "Amazing."
Maki flopped down beside you, bouncing slightly on the plush mattress. "I know I've been here like five times already with Yuta, but it never gets old." She rolled onto her stomach and rested her chin on her hands. "Usually it's just us and his family, maybe a few cousins. This is the first time we're doing a friend group thing."
You tried to focus on her words instead of the sound of suitcases being wheeled into the room next door. "How long have you and Yuta been coming here?"
"Since we started dating three years ago. His family does this whole summer tradition thing." She smiled. "First time I came, I was so nervous I barely left the room. Now it feels like a second home." She sat up, crossing her legs. “And since his parents said we could use it this weekend, we thought why not invite friends.”
Through the wall, you could hear male voices chatting and laughing, followed by the sound of a door sliding open. Probably the balcony doors. Your shared balcony. Where he could walk past your windows at any time.
“You’re okay with this, right? Yuta’s friends are actually really fun once you get to know them. Especially Satoru, even tho he can be a pain in the ass.” Your stupid heart tumbled over itself once more at his name. "And single, if you're interested. I could—"
"No!" The word came out louder than intended, and you heard the conversation next door pause briefly. Lowering your voice, you added, "I mean, no thanks. Not really looking for anything right now."
Maki gave you a strange look. "You sure you're okay? You've been weird since we got here."
"Just tired from the drive," you lied and stood up. "Maybe I'll take a quick shower before everyone else arrives."
"Okay..." She didn't sound convinced but got up anyway. "I should go find Yuta anyway, make sure he's not letting Satoru destroy any of Yuta's mum's favourite vases."
You waited until she left before falling with your face first onto the bed with a groan. Perfect. Not only did you have to spend the weekend next door to your one night stand who might or might not remember you, but now your best friend was trying to set you up with him.
Through the wall, you heard Satoru laugh at something, the sound familiar enough to make your chest ache.
It was going to be a very long weekend.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
You'd barely finished unpacking when Yuji burst into your room without knocking. "Hey! We're setting up a net for beach volleyball. You in?"
"Ah, I don't really—"
"Everyone's playing!" He was already on his way back to the door. "Even Megumi, and you know how he is about fun."
Before you could form a proper excuse, Maki appeared behind him. "Come on, it'll be fun, the sun is out and it’s better than hiding up here all afternoon."
And that's how you found yourself trudging down to the beach, trying to convince yourself this was fine. Totally fine. Just a fun game of volleyball with friends. Nothing to worry about.
But then the boys started stripping off their shirts. It was like watching some ridiculous scene out of Top Gun as they all shed their shirt in the afternoon heat. But it was Satoru who made your brain go silent completely.
He pulled his shirt off, and suddenly you were having vivid flashbacks to exactly how that toned chest felt under your hands. The sun caught his hair like a halo, and when he stretched his arms over his head, the muscles in his back shifted in ways that should not make your knees so weak, but here you were, rooted to the spot, your pulse racing as if it had a mind of its own.
"You're staring," Maki whispered next to you.
"I'm not," you said, even though you definitely were. How could you not? It was like someone had taken every beach volleyball scene from every summer movie ever and combined them into one ridiculous moment.
Teams were forming, and with an uneven number, you volunteered to sit this round out. Not that you were particularly eager to participate in the first place. You were perfectly happy watching from the safety of your beach towel, where the risk of accidentally brushing against Satoru's unnecessarily perfect body was thankfully minimized.
The game started, and it quickly became clear that everyone was taking it way too seriously, as Satoru and Yuji seemed to be in some sort of competition to see who could spike the ball more impressively.
"Show off," you muttered to yourself as Satoru delivered a rather dramatic jump serve, the ball landing dangerously close to your foot. But he must have heard you, because he caught your eye with a wink that made your stomach flutter. "Like what you see?"
"I've seen better," you said before you could stop yourself.
His eyebrows shot up and a slow smile spread across his face. "Have you now?"
Oh god. Were you flirting? This was definitely flirting. You needed to stop staring at the way sweat was making his skin glisten and focus on... literally anything else.
"Pay attention!" Nobara yelled, and Satoru barely managed to dodge the ball she'd spiked directly at his head.
The game continued, growing more competitive with each round. You had to admit, it was entertaining watching your friends become more and more dramatic with each point. One of Yuta’s cousins and Yuji had some sort of rivalry going on, while Maki and Nobara were trash-talking each other.
But it was Satoru who kept drawing your attention. The way he moved was almost unfair and you found yourself following the drops of sweat as they made their way down his neck, remembering how that skin had tasted under your tongue.
"Incoming!"
You looked up just in time to see the volleyball heading straight for your face. Before you could react, Satoru dove in front of you and caught the ball just inches from your nose. The movement sent him sprawling across your legs, his face entirely too close to yours.
You blinked at him for a few moments, then whispered, "Thank you.” But the words came out too soft, almost like they had that night in Tokyo when he'd helped you into a taxi and then convinced you not to take it and instead come home with him.
Time seemed to slow, the crashing waves and voices of the others fading into white noise as Satoru's eyes met yours. For a moment, something flickered in those blue depths—a flash of recognition, perhaps even remembrance.
His breath caught, barely noticeable, and his hand on your leg tightened ever so slightly. You watched his eyes, saw the exact moment his gaze dropped to your lips, and suddenly you were back in that Tokyo bar, both of you caught in that same magnetic pull.
"You're welcome," he said, his voice so low that only you could hear it. There was something in his tone, a hint of question, like he was trying to place a hazy dream. His thumb brushed against your skin, possibly by accident, possibly not, sending shivers up your spine.
The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring, thick with shared memories—memories you weren't even sure he had. Then someone yelled "Dinner!" from the direction of the house, and the spell broke.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
The sun was setting by the time everyone had showered and gathered around the huge dining table on the deck. Fairy lights twinkled overhead and the sound of the waves could be heard in the background as the chaos of fifteen people trying to organize a meal unfolded.
You'd taken extra care getting ready, telling yourself it was just because of the salt and sand, not because of the way Satoru had looked at you on the beach. You'd chosen a light summer dress that happened to be the exact shade of blue as his eyes—pure coincidence, of course—and had let your hair dry naturally in the sea breeze.
Yuta ended up ordering way too much from the local seafood restaurant, you concluded as you surveyed the spread of food on the table.
You ended up squeezed between Maki and Megumi, which should have been a relief. Instead, you found yourself very aware of Satoru sitting directly across from you, his hair still slightly damp from his shower, wearing a loose white linen shirt that he should really button up and stop teasing the entire table with glimpses of his toned chest.
"Pass the crab?" he asked, and when you handed him the plate, your fingers brushed. The contact sent a shiver through you, and you could have sworn you saw his breath catch. But then he was turning to laugh at something Yuji said, and you were left wondering if you'd imagined the whole thing.
"—and then he just fell face first right into the sand!" Yuji was saying, gesturing wildly with his chopsticks. "You should have seen it!"
"We were all there, literally two hours ago," Megumi deadpanned.
"The game was rigged anyway," Nobara said, reaching for another plate of grilled shrimp. "You can't put Mr. Perfect over here on a team and expect it to be fair." She jerked her thumb in Satoru's direction.
"What can you do?" Satoru said, his eyebrows knitted together, but a grin played on his lips. "I just happen to be naturally gifted." And then his eyes caught yours once more across the table.
Heat crept up the back of your neck as you remembered how he'd felt when he'd sprawled across your legs, his skin sun warm and slightly sandy. How his touch had lingered just a fraction too long to be casual.
Something had changed in his expression, so subtle that anyone else might have missed it. But you'd spent hours that night memorizing his faces. His smirk when he had you right on the edge, his soft smile when you were trembling beneath him, the way his eyes darkened just before he—
Maki snorted. "Yeah, sure." And you looked over at her, breaking the eye contact before you could do something stupid like climb across the table and find out if he tasted as good as you remembered.
When the dinner was over, Nobara suggested to play drinking games, truth or dare to be specific, to which "What are we, fifteen?" Megumi commented but Maki already chimed in with "Never ever I ever" and so it was decided.
Your stomach dropped. The last thing you needed was a drinking game where people confessed their secrets. Especially with the way Satoru kept looking at you, like he was one memory away from connecting dots you really didn't want connected.
"I think I'll pass," you said, pushing your plate away. "The sun really did take it out of me."
You gathered your plates and the sound of the others setting up their drinking game followed you into the kitchen—Yuji's voice carrying over everyone else's as he argued about rules, Nobara shouting something about "no questions about exes," and Megumi's long drawn out sighs.
A salty ocean breeze swept into the kitchen through the open wall of windows overlooking the water as you rinsed your plate. "You know," a voice came from behind you, making you jump, "I was starting to think you hate me."
Your heart skipped a beat. You didn't need to turn around to know it was Satoru—would recognize that voice anywhere, had spent months trying to forget how it sounded when it was rough after he’d cum. But you turned anyway, finding him leaning against the doorframe and the kitchen suddenly felt so much smaller.
"What?" The word came out embarrassingly breathless.
"Let me rephrase, for someone who doesn't hate me, you're doing an impressive job of avoiding me."
"I'm not avoiding you.” You turned back to the sink. "I'm doing dishes."
"Sure. The dishes." His voice got closer, and you could feel the heat of him just behind you. "Though I have to wonder why someone would work so hard to avoid someone they've never met before."
Your hands stilled under the running water. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You've barely looked at me all day." He was close enough now that you could smell his perfume that had lingered on your clothes for days after that night. "Want to tell me what I did to deserve the cold shoulder? Because usually, I at least remember if I've pissed someone off."
Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it, but at the same time the irony of his words made you want to laugh. "You haven't done anything," you said, which was technically true. He hadn't done anything wrong. Except maybe be too good in bed and then forget about it entirely.
"No?" His voice dropped lower, and you could feel his breath on your neck. "Then why—" He cut himself off. "Wait. Have we met before?"
You spun around, hands dripping water onto the floor. The motion brought you chest to chest with him, trapped between his body and the counter. "No," you said, too quickly, way too quickly. "Definitely not."
"You sure about that? Because you seem familiar—"
"Must just have one of those faces."
He moved closer still, one hand braced on the counter beside your hip, effectively caging you in. "Is that so? Because I’m sure I’d remember a pretty one like yours." You felt your breath catch in your throat, every nerve in your body screaming. He was going to kiss you, wasn't he? You should probably do something. Like move. Or breathe.
But then he simply stepped back, his smile widening. "Sorry. Must have mistaken you for someone else,” he said and the loss of his warmth felt like whiplash, leaving you cold despite the summer heat that still lingered in the air. You watched him retreat towards the door, casual as anything, like he hadn't just turned your world sideways.
Through the open door, laughter spilled in from the deck, breaking the spell that had held you captive. Satoru paused in the doorway for a moment, silhouetted against the warm light from outside, before disappearing back into the noise of your friends.
You stayed at the sink, trying to convince yourself that the heat in your cheeks was just from the summer air and ignoring the way your heart refused to settle in your chest. What had just happened? You had no idea. But one thing was painfully certain.
This weekend was going to be a long one.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Next morning, you decided to get up early and have your coffee on the beach before anyone else was awake. Sleep had been hard to come by anyway, with too many thoughts of certain one night stands keeping your mind racing.
Dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon, painting the sky in orange and gold watercolours and the ocean stretched out before you, quiet and calm, each small wave catching the early light like diamonds.
You'd wrapped yourself in an oversized cardigan against the morning chill, bare feet buried in sand that was still cool from the night before. And of course, because the universe hated you, that's when Satoru appeared.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, settling into the sand beside you without invitation.
You clutched your coffee mug tighter. "Something like that."
"Yeah, me neither." He stretched his long legs out in front of him, and you definitely didn't notice how his shorts rode up slightly, definitely weren't thinking about how those thighs had felt under your hands. "Keep having these weird dreams."
"Oh?"
"Mmm." As he turned to look at you, the rising sun painted his profile gold, catching his eyelashes. There was something different about him in this light — softer somehow, more like the man who'd asked you to stay than the one who'd cornered you in the kitchen last night. "About a girl in a black dress. Red lipstick. The most amazing laugh I've ever heard."
Your heart stopped.
"Funny thing is," he continued casually, "I can never quite see her face in the dreams. But I remember how she tasted. How she felt pinned beneath me. How she clenching around my fingers. How she said my name when she—"
"Stop," you whispered.
"Why?" His voice was softer now. "Because you don't want to talk about that night? Or because you thought I wouldn't remember?"
You stared at the ocean, unable to meet his gaze. "You didn't seem to yesterday."
"Don’t be stupid. I recognized you the moment you walked into the beach house."
Your coffee nearly slipped from your hands. "What?"
"Did you really think I wouldn't remember the girl who stole my favourite shirt on her way out the door?"
Heat flooded your cheeks, you totally forgotten about the shirt. "Then yesterday, in the kitchen—"
"I wanted to see how long you'd keep pretending." He smiled, the bastard had the audacity to smile at you when he revealed that he was playing you the whole time. "You're cute when you're nervous, you know that?”
"You're mocking me."
"Mocking you?" His eyebrows rose. Then he leaned closer to you, but you still refused to look at him. "I spent six months trying to find the girl with the kind of laugh that makes you feel drunk just hearing it, who left before I could ask for her number—"
"It was just one night," you interrupted.
"Was it? Because I distinctly remember asking you to stay."
"I couldn't."
"Couldn't? Or wouldn't?"
You finally met his gaze fully, and immediately wished you hadn't. Because he was looking at you the same way he had that night. He was enjoying this, wasn't he? Playing with you, teasing you, making you feel like a flustered schoolgirl.
"Does it matter?" you asked.
"You're really a bit slow, aren't you?"
You wanted to protest, to tell him exactly what you thought of his arrogant everything, but then Maki's voice carried across the beach, "Breakfast! Come and get it before Yuji eats everything!"
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
The breakfast table was just as chaotic as the dinner the night before. Fifteen people crammed around the table had that effect, especially with Yuji already piling his plate high with pancakes while Nobara complained about him taking too many.
You'd barely settled into an empty chair when Satoru slid into the seat next to you, as if he hadn't just admitted that he'd been playing jokes on you the whole day before.
"Can you pass me the syrup?" he asked innocently, but there was nothing innocent about the way his thigh pressed against yours under the table.
You handed him the bottle without looking at him, trying to focus on pouring your coffee without spilling it everywhere. Which was made all the more difficult when his hand found your knee under the table.
"So what's everyone's plans for today?" Maki asked, passing around a plate of fresh fruit.
You tried to concentrate on the conversation, you really did. But Satoru's hand was inching higher up your thigh, and your brain was shorted out. You kicked him under the table, aiming for his shin.
He didn't even flinch, just smiled wider and continued whatever conversation he was having with Megumi about later activities, all while his fingers danced along the hem of your shorts. You felt a sudden surge of heat, definitely not from the summer sun.
"You okay?" Nobara asked suddenly. "You look a bit flushed."
"Fine!" Your voice came out higher than intended as Satoru's fingers skimmed just slightly under the edge of your shorts. "Just... hot."
"It is pretty warm this morning," Satoru agreed, his tone perfectly pleasant even as his thumb pressed into that sensitive spot on your inner thigh that he somehow remembered. The bastard. You kicked him again, harder this time.
"Did someone just kick the table?" Maki looked around suspiciously.
"Must have been the wind," you said stupidly.
You grabbed his wrist under the table, intending to push his hand away, but he just interlaced his fingers with yours and kept them there on your thigh. It was like he was asserting dominance, staking his claim, and you were suddenly trapped.
"Hey, are you sure you're okay?" Yuji asked through a mouthful of pancakes. "You're acting weird."
"Totally fine," you managed. "Just didn't sleep well."
"Hmm, me neither," Satoru chimed in, his voice all false innocence. "Must be all these weird dreams I keep having." You dug your nails into his hand in warning, but he just squeezed your hand in response, his grip tightening.
"Dreams?" Nobara asked.
"Oh, you know," Satoru began thoughtfully, "the kind that keep you up all night, thinking about... things that got away."
You were going to murder him. Slowly. Possibly with the butter knife you were currently gripping way too tight.
"That's... weirdly poetic for you," Maki said, raising an eyebrow.
"You wouldn't want to know,” he replied, and you felt his fingers inch just slightly higher once more, making you jump and bang your knee on the table.
"Jesus, what is wrong with you two this morning?" Nobara asked, looking between you and Satoru.
Under the table, you finally managed to grab his hand in yours and hold it still. But that backfired when he started playing with your fingers instead, his thumb brushing across your knuckles in a way that made you gasp. You definitely wanted to kill him. Right after you figured out how to breathe normally again.
"So, beach day? I wanna go snorkelling," Yuji said, thankfully drawing attention away from whatever was going on under the table, and everyone agreed. JJust then, Satoru freed his hand from yours and placed it back on your knee before trailing it up your thigh.
Okay, nope this had to end now.
"I need more coffee," you announced abruptly, standing up so fast your chair scraped against the deck.
"I'll help," Satoru offered, already rising.
"No!" The word came out too sharp, making everyone look at you strangely. "I mean, I'm good. Thanks."
You practically fled into the kitchen, your skin still tingling where he'd touched you. Through the window, you could see him chatting with the others, looking completely unaffected while you were here trying to remember how to make your heart beat normally.
When is this weekend going to end?
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
"You sure you're okay?" Maki asked, swimming up beside you. "You've been weird all morning. Is the sun too much?"
"I'm fine," you said for what felt like the hundredth time today. "I’m not used to be around so many people."
The water was crystal clear, stretching out in various shades of blue that seemed to go on forever. Everyone had eagerly jumped into snorkeling, with Yuji and Nobara already in a heated competition about who could spot the most fish.
You adjusted your mask for the tenth time, trying to focus on anything except how good Satoru looked in just swim shorts. He was a few meters away, the sunlight catching the droplets of water that clung to his ridiculously toned shoulders.
My God. You needed distance. You needed space to breathe, to think, to do anything other than stare at him.
"If you say so." Maki didn't look convinced. "But tell me if something’s bothering you, okay?"
If only she knew. "Sure."
"Guys, come look at this!" Yuji called from where he was floating near some corals. "Rainbow fish!"
Everyone swam over to where he was pointing, and you had to admit, the sight was beautiful. Countless colourful fish swam through the coral, creating a vibrant palette under the water.
You followed the fish as a sudden pressure against your calf made you flinch. Satoru. He had brushed against your leg. It could have been an accident, a mere consequence of the crowded water, but somehow, it felt like anything but. You knew better. Nothing about Satoru was ever accidental.
You drifted slightly away from the group, desperately needing to put some distance between yourself and Satoru. The vibrant corals blurred into streaks of colour as you swam further from the group, the shouts of Yuji and Nobara fading.
The water a bit away from them was deeper, a darker shade of blue. As you peered down, you noticed the sandy ground was dotted with small stones, and a different kind of life seemed to thrive here. Sea anemones swayed gently in the current, and schools of silver fish, smaller than the ones near the reef, darted in and out of the anemones.
You floated on your back for a moment, gazing up at the sky, a vast expanse of pale blue flecked with fluffy white clouds as the sun warmed your face. It was so peaceful, and you were happy for the small pause amidst the chaos of the house.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
You startled at Satoru's voice right behind you, nearly inhaling water through your snorkel. He'd somehow managed to swim up without you noticing, and now he was close enough that his arm brushed yours in the water.
"What are you doing?" you hissed, pulling your snorkel out.
"I know a better spot.” He nodded towards a more secluded area around the curve of the beach. "If you're interested."
You glanced back at the others, but they were all absorbed in whatever Yuji had found. "I don't think—"
"Come on," he said, already swimming away. "Don't you trust me?"
"Not even a little bit." But found yourself following him anyway.
He led you around a small outcropping of rocks, the current tugging gently at your fins, to a quieter part of the reef. His hand on your arm gently guided you through the water. The water here was somehow even clearer, as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a breathtaking underwater scenery with colourful coral formations that created a labyrinth of archways and caverns with small fish swimming in between.
"How did you—"
"I came here earlier this morning," he said, treading water close to you. "While you were pretending to ignore me after breakfast."
"I wasn't—" You cut yourself off as he dove under the surface, the sunlight playing across his back as he swam deeper.
You followed him down, your breath taken away by the sight. This part of the reef was like something out of a documentary. Swarms of tropical fish swirled around you in ribbons of colour, and the coral itself seemed to shine in the filtered sunlight.
When you surfaced, Satoru was watching you with an annoyingly knowing smile. "Worth following me?"
"It's alright," you said, trying to sound unimpressed even though you were anything but.
He laughed. "You're still trying to play hard to get?"
"I'm not playing anything."
"No?" He swam closer, close enough that you could see droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes. "Then why did you follow me here?"
"To see the fish.”
"The fish." His voice was amused. "Sure. That's why you've been watching me all morning?"
"I have not—"
"You know," he cut you off, moving even closer, his body brushing against yours in the water. "You're pretty when you get all flustered. Just like that night in Tokyo. Same flush you had when I made you cum three times.”
Ha? Had he been keeping count or what? You frantically tried to replay that night in your head — there was the first time against his apartment door, then on the kitchen counter, and... oh god, he was right. The bastard had been counting. The smirk on his face told you he knew exactly what you were thinking about.
You splashed water at him. "We are not talking about Tokyo."
He wiped water from his face, grinning. "No? Should we talk about this morning instead? About how you nearly jumped out of your skin when I touched your—"
You dunked him mid-sentence.
He came up spluttering, pushing wet hair from his eyes. "Okay, I probably deserved that."
"You definitely deserved that."
But he laughed, and despite yourself, you found yourself laughing too. There was something infectious about him, something that made it hard to keep your walls up, dissolving your defenses with unnerving ease, like mist beneath the morning sun.
"We should head back," you said finally. "Before they come looking for us."
"Probably," he agreed, but made no move to leave. Instead, he floated closer, until his chest pressed against yours. "Or we could stay here a bit longer. I could remind you of all the other ways I can make you wet."
Heat flooded your body. "Satoru..."
"Yes?" His hands found your waist under the water, pulling you flush against him. One thigh slipped between yours, and you had to bite back a gasp at the friction. "You know, I still remember exactly how you sound when you're trying not to moan my name."
"We can't." But your body betrayed you, arching into his touch as his fingers skimmed along your ribs, dangerously close to your breast.
"Can't?" His lips ghosted over your lips, his thumb tracing circles on your hip under the water in a way that made you think of how those fingers had felt inside you. "Or are you afraid you won't be able to keep quiet this time?"
Before you could answer, Nobara's voice carried across the water. "Where did you guys go?"
You pushed away from him quickly, already swimming back towards the group. "Coming!"
"This isn't over," he called after you, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
"It never started!" you shot back, but you were smiling too.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Satoru spent the rest of the afternoon driving you absolutely insane.
After snorkeling, he'd positioned his beach towel suspiciously close to yours, spending an unnecessary amount of time applying sunscreen to his chest and arms. His movements were deliberately slow, borderline pornographic, fingers sliding over muscle in a way that had you remembering exactly how those muscles had felt flexing under your tongue.
You knew without a doubt he was putting on a show for you—every movement a reminder of how those arms had looked braced above you as he'd fucked you against his apartment door, how they'd felt pinning your wrists to his sheets.
During lunch, he'd somehow ended up next to you again, his bare thigh pressed hot against yours under the table like this morning had taught him nothing. Except this time, his hand didn't just rest on your knee. It spent the entire meal tracing patterns up your thigh, fingertips dancing dangerous close to where you'd been aching for him.
Your breath caught every time his hand "accidentally" slipped under the hem of your shorts, remembering how those fingers had curled inside you, how they'd made you beg.
The afternoon beach volleyball rematch was even worse. He kept finding excuses to touch you—steadying you with a hand on your waist when you stumbled in the sand (the same way he'd gripped your hips while taking you from behind), reaching around you to grab the ball (his breath hot on your neck like when he'd whispered how good you felt around him), his chest pressing against your back, closer than needed (making you remember how it felt to be pressed between him and that apartment door).
But dinner? Dinner was pure torture.
He'd shown up freshly showered, hair still damp and tousled in that way that made your fingers itch to grab it (like you had when he was between your thighs), wearing a dark blue linen shirt that he hadn't bothered to button properly once more and spent the entire meal finding new ways to make you squirm.
He'd catch your eye across the table and slowly lick sauce off his thumb, making you remember exactly how that tongue had felt when he'd spread you open. When passing dishes, his fingers would brush against yours unnecessarily long, making you shiver. At one point, he'd stretched his arms above his head, his shirt riding up to reveal his lower abs that had you gripping your fork so hard your knuckles turned white.
He knew exactly what he was doing, too—you could tell by the smug look on his face throughout the whole dinner.
Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice anything amiss. They were all too busy with their own conversations, completely oblivious to the way he was systematically dismantling your sanity with nothing more than glances and touches.
Every time you thought you'd gotten yourself under control, he'd do something else — run his fingers through his hair the same way he had when you'd been on your knees in front of him, or bite his lip in a way that had you crossing your legs under the table. By dessert, you were a mess of sexual frustration and murderous impulses.
He was enjoying this, the bastard. Testing your control, seeing how far he could push before you broke. And the most infuriating part?
It was working.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
After dinner, everyone wandered into the living room in various states of food induced laziness. You'd barely managed to claim a corner of the big couch when Nobara disappeared into the kitchen, returning with an armful of wine bottles and a certain look in her eye that spelled trouble.
"No one move," she announced, setting the bottles on the coffee table. "I have an idea."
"Your ideas usually end with someone crying," Megumi commented from his spot on the floor.
"Or arrested," Maki added helpfully.
"Or both," you muttered, trying to ignore how Satoru had somehow appeared in the armchair closest to your corner of the couch. He'd rolled up his sleeves during dinner, forearms on full display, and you were having a hard time not staring at his fingers. Fingers that you knew from experience felt so good in your mouth to keep you from—
"Never have I ever!" Nobara's voice cut through your dangerous train of thought. A collective groan rose from the group.
"Not again," Megumi said, already trying to get up.
"Sit your ass down," Nobara commanded, pushing him back down. "We're bonding."
"We bonded plenty last night," you Yuta tried, but Nobara was having none of it and before you knew it, everyone agreed.
"Okay, I'll start easy," Yuji said, clearly excited despite his earlier protests. "Never have I ever cheated on a test."
Several people drank, including Satoru—and you, okay let’s be real.
The questions started innocent enough. Never have I ever broken a bone. Never have I ever been arrested. Never have I ever dyed my hair. But as the wine flowed, the questions got progressively more suggestive.
"Never have I ever kissed someone of the same gender," Maki said, and half the circle drank. "Never have I ever faked it," was Nobara's contribution, and several people groaned but drank.
You were starting to feel a bit hazy, the wine making everything feel warm and soft around the edges. Which was dangerous, because Satoru kept looking at you like he was remembering exactly how you'd sounded that night when you definitely hadn't been faking anything.
"Never have I ever," one of Yuta’s cousins announced then, "had sex with someone in this room." For a moment, no one moved. Then Yuta and Maki drank, of course. And then Satoru raised his own glass slowly and took a long sip.
"Who?" Nobara shrieked, looking around the circle. "Satoru just drank, so someone else here has to—" Her gaze swept over everyone suspiciously.
"Someone's lying," Maki sang, already tipsy enough to find this hilarious. "Come on, fess up!"
You kept your face carefully neutral, even as you felt Satoru's eyes burning into you. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not this time.
"Maybe it was before any of us knew each other," Yuji suggested, but Nobara shook her head.
"No way. Look at his face!" She pointed accusingly at Satoru. "He's got that look. You know, that 'I know something you don't know' look."
Satoru just smiled lazily from his armchair, swirling the wine in his glass. "Maybe I just like keeping you all guessing."
"You're a dumbass," Nobara said, but the group's attention was already shifting as Yuji launched into the next question, something about falling asleep at work.
You released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, but made the mistake of glancing at Satoru and he gave you a look that sent a shiver of heat through you over his wine glass.
God, you were going to murder him. Slowly. Painfully. Preferably with the very wine glass he was currently smirking into.
Who did he think he was, just casually drinking like that, nearly exposing everything? He could have at least warned you, given you some sign he was about to blow up your secret. But no, he'd just taken that deliberate sip, probably getting hard on watching you squirm as you tried to keep your poker face.
That sick bastard.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Sleep was impossible. You'd been tossing and turning for hours, replaying the day's events in your mind—from that moment in the ocean to his deliberate almost-reveal during the game. The walls of this fancy beach house seemed paper thin at night, every small sound amplified in the darkness.
That's how you heard his door open around 2 AM, followed by quiet footsteps heading downstairs.
You waited a few minutes, telling yourself you were just thirsty, that going downstairs for water had nothing to do with knowing he was maybe down there. The wooden steps creaked softly under your bare feet as you made your way down.
Silvery moonlight streamed through the massive windows, creating silver patterns on the marble countertops of the kitchen. Satoru stood at the island, drinking water from a glass, looking unfairly handsome in just sleep shorts and a wrinkled t-shirt.
"Couldn't sleep?" he whispered when he spotted you.
"What's your game, Satoru?" You kept your voice equally low, padding closer. "That thing earlier? During never have I ever?"
"Game? I'm not the one who was afraid of drinking".
"Because unlike you, I don't feel the need to announce our business to everyone."
He set his glass down, turning to face you fully. "Our business? So you admit there's something to announce?"
"That's not—" You caught yourself before your voice could rise. "What are you trying to achieve here? With all the—" you gestured vaguely, "touching and teasing and almost exposing everything?"
He stepped closer, and suddenly the kitchen felt way too small, even though it was like three times the size of your Tokyo apartment. "Maybe I just want everyone to know that night wasn't as casual for me as you seem to think it was."
You felt the weight of his words settle in the quiet kitchen, heavy with meaning you weren't prepared to unpack while moonlight caught his features in a way that made him look softer, almost vulnerable.
"What are you talking about? It was only one night."
"Was it?" He moved closer, until you had to tilt your head back to keep eye contact. "Because I remember asking you to stay. I remember waking up to an empty bed and spent the next six months thinking about why you left."
"I... you were just saying that in the moment. People say lots of things in the moment."
"Do they?" His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face. "Is that why you ran? Because you thought I didn't mean it?"
You swallowed hard, trying to ignore how your skin prickled where he'd touched you. "Satoru..."
"You know what I think?" His voice dropped even lower, barely a whisper in the quiet kitchen. "I think you're scared. Not of me, but of the fact that you wanted to stay too."
"That's not—" But the words died in your throat as his thumb traced your jawline.
"Then why are you down here?" He was close enough now that you could feel the heat of his body against yours. "If it was just one night, just something casual, why did you follow me down here in the middle of the night?"
The counter pressed against your back—when had you started backing up?—and Satoru's arms came to rest on either side of you, caging you in. Position achingly familiar, reminding you of how this all started six months ago.
"I was thirsty," you said. You did not even believe yourself as you said it.
His laugh was barely a breath against your skin. "Liar."
And then his mouth was on yours, and god, you'd forgotten how good he was at this. His lips were soft but demanding, one hand sliding into your hair while the other gripped your hip, forcing you close against him. You gasped into the kiss, and he took the opportunity to deepen it, his tongue against yours in a way that made you forget your own name.
It was different from that first night—less urgent, but somehow more intense. He kissed you like he was trying to prove a point, like he was laying claim to every moment you'd denied him these past six months. His teeth caught your lower lip, and you had to bite back a whimper, too aware of the sleeping house above.
"Still want to pretend this is nothing?" he whispered against your mouth, and you could feel his smile when your only response was to pull him back down for another kiss.
His hands slid down to grip your thighs, lifting you onto the counter. You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him closer as his mouth moved to your neck, kissing your throat just the way you like it, just the way he somehow remembered.
"Someone could come down," you breathed, even as your fingers tangled in his hair.
"Then I guess you'll have to be quiet." His teeth grazed your skin, making you shiver. "Think you can manage that? Because I distinctly remember you being quite vocal last time."
You tightened your grip on his hair in return, but that just made him groan softly against your throat. "You're stupid."
"Mm, that's not what you said in Tokyo." His hands slid higher under your shirt, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. "In fact, I remember you saying some very different things—"
You cut him off with another kiss, partly to shut him up and partly because you needed his mouth on yours like you needed air. His fingers teased along your ribs, your back, your thighs, touching you everywhere except where you desperately wanted him to.
But then his fingers found the edge of your underwear, and you had to bite his shoulder to keep from moaning as he slid his fingers inside you, making you cum all over his fingers in seconds—just like that night in Tokyo.
You were done, dizzy, breathless, clinging to him as he stripped your shorts and underwear down your legs. He pushed one leg up your chest as he lowered you back down onto the marble kitchen counter, your other leg still wrapped around his waist. His forehead pressed against yours as he thrust inside, hard, slow, perfect angle—just like that night in Tokyo.
He tossed you around, manhandled you, fucked you against the fridge, threw you onto the couch and fucked you there too. He whispered your name, his voice husky against your ear, every letter a caress, even as he picked up pace, even as his hand closed around your throat, even as you bit into the pillow below to muffle your screams as he made you cum again. Multiple times. In various positions. Using his own cum as a lube for the next round—just like that night in Tokyo.
Afterwards you laid outside on the veranda in a big chair you both shared, gazing up at the stars scattered across the deep velvet sky, countless and impossibly bright. A second later his lips found yours and another second later you were on top of him, underwear pushed to the side and your head thrown back as he watched you chase your release on his dick—just like that night in Tokyo.
And his hand found yours, intertwining your fingers as he ate you out on the stairs just before you wanted to go back to bed, but he wouldn't let you, making you cum again before he carried you off to the laundry room to fuck you one last time for sure good mesure—just like that night in Tokyo.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Morning came way too early, sunlight streaming through windows you'd forgotten to close. Every muscle in your body ached in the most pleasant way, reminding you of exactly how many surfaces you and Satoru had christened last night.
Yeah. You were definitely going to be feeling this for days. You winced slightly as you sat up — apparently kitchen counters weren't the most ergonomic choice for certain activities, or the stairs, or the laundry room, or... Okay, we get it.
When you finally made it downstairs, moving perhaps a bit more strangely than usual, Satoru was already at the breakfast table. Because of course he was, looking absolutely perfect and fullyfull rested in a fresh shirt, casually sipping his coffee like he hadn't spent half the night making you bite down on your fist to keep quiet.
"Well, someone looks rough," Nobara commented as you lowered yourself carefully into a chair. "Too much wine last night?"
You caught Satoru hiding a smirk behind his coffee cup. The bastard didn't even have the decency to look tired.
"Something like that," you muttered, reaching for the coffee pot and trying not to wince at the stretch. Your thighs burned in protest of the movement, and you could swear you saw Satoru's smile widening at your slight grimace.
"Must have been some wine," Nobara said, eyeing you suspiciously. "I don't remember you drinking that much during the game."
"Are you sure you're okay?" Yuji asked, looking concerned. "You're walking kind of funny."
"I'm fine, really," you managed. "Too much wine, that’s all."
Maki, who sat next to you, leaned in closer. "Your 'too much wine' is showing," she whispered, pointing to your collarbone. Your hand flew to your neck, suddenly remembering all the attention Satoru had paid to that area—especially that moment on the stairs when you'd begged him to finish what he'd started before anyone heard them, while he sucked a very dark bruise right above your collarbone.
You quickly buttoned up your cotton shirt higher, but from Nobara's growing grin, it was too late. But thankfully, no one commented on it.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
The rest of Sunday passed in a lazy haze, with everyone moving a bit slower thanks to varying degrees of wine headaches. Most of the day was spent sprawled out on beach chairs, hiding behind sunglasses and drinking coconut water that Yuta swore would help with hangovers (but, in fact, did not).
You dozed on and off under an umbrella, trying not to think about how your body still ached in several places from the night before, and enjoyed your last day in Okinawa before you'd return to work on Monday.
When evening rolled around and it was time to pack up, the house became a chaos of suitcases and forgotten phone chargers once more. You were struggling with your bag next to your car, trying to figure out the best angle to lift it into the trunk without stressing your still sore muscles, when Satoru suddenly appeared and took it from your hands without a word.
"I can manage," you protested, but he was already lifting it into your trunk with an effortless ease that really shouldn't be as attractive as it was.
"I'm sure you can," he said, closing your trunk with a soft thud. "But maybe I just want an excuse to do this."
Before you could ask what 'this' was, he pressed a small folded piece of paper into your palm. You opened it to find a phone number written in his surprisingly neat handwriting.
"Since you didn't stay for it last time," he said softly.
"What makes you think I'll use it?"
"Because this time, you want to stay just as much as I want you to." He leaned closer, his voice dropping so only you could hear. "Besides, I believe we still have a few surfaces in my apartment left to explore."
You shoved his shoulder. "Stop."
He caught your hand before you could push him again. "Use it. Please?" His voice held a note of softness, an unexpected tenderness that made your heart ache with a strange longing. You nodded, tucking the paper safely into your back pocket.
"Still not announcing anything to everyone tho," you warned as Maki called out that they were ready to leave.
"Yet," he said with an eye roll. Then, before you could react, he pulled you in for one last kiss. It was slower, deeper this time, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you, as if he was afraid he might forget the feel of your lips.
"Someone could see us," you whispered against his lips, even as your fingers curled into his shirt.
"I don't care," he murmured, one hand sliding down to your waist to draw you closer. "Let them see." He kissed you again, shorter this time but no less intense. "Besides, they'll find out soon enough when I take you to this little ramen place in Shibuya I've been wanting to show you."
You pulled back slightly. "Oh? Someone's confident about getting a second date."
"Third, technically," he said. "If we're counting Tokyo. And that thing against the washing machine last night."
"Those don't count.”
"Then I guess I'll have to make the next one special. Maybe dinner first. Then I can show you my apartment. Properly this time, not just the entrance hall and kitchen counter."
"Is that your way of asking me out?"
"That's my way of saying I'm not letting you disappear for six months again." He pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Use my number this time, yeah?"
"Satoru!" Yuji's voice carried across the driveway. "Stop making out and help me with these bags!"
Satoru laughed against your lips, stealing one more kiss before reluctantly pulling away. "Think about it. The ramen place. My apartment. All the surfaces we haven't used yet."
"Go help Yuji," you said, pushing him away even as you smiled. "Before he comes over here."
"Call me," he said, walking backwards with that stupidly handsome smile. "Or I'll just have to show up at your office. Make a big scene. Maybe bring flowers. Really embarrass you in front of all your coworkers."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me!" He finally turned then to help with the bags, leaving you to shake your head, your lips still tingling from his kisses.
The drive home felt different somehow. Every now and then, your hand would drift to your pocket, fingers brushing over the folded paper with his number, making sure it was still there as the familiar roads back to Tokyo stretched ahead.
The beach house grew smaller in your rearview mirror until it disappeared completely, taking with it the memories of lazy afternoons under the summer sun and heated nights. But other things lingered—the ghost of his lips against yours, the warmth of his hands, the way he'd looked at you like you were something worth waiting for.
Maybe you'd call him tomorrow. Or maybe you'd wait a day or two, just to prove you could. But knowing you, you'd likely message him the moment you set foot in your apartment.
A smile tugged at your lips as you pulled onto the highway, the setting sun painting the sky in strokes of rose and lavender. Whatever happened next, one thing was for sure — this weekend had changed everything.
And maybe, just maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing.
masterlist + support my writing
author's note — and that's a wrap on our beach house summer story ! thank you so much for reading :)) & thank you again to @/nanamis-baker for beta reading !!
for anyone wondering, yes, she kept the shirt. and yes, he definitely noticed when she wore it to their first proper date to that ramen spot in shibuya.
if you enjoyed this fic, please feel free to leave a comment or reblog. it means so much !! until next time. stay thirsty hydrated, my friends <3
ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here.
Every time I think I have accepted that gojo isn't coming back gege drops something new and I get disappointed when I don't see any hint of my blue eyed princess's return 🫠
summary — he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart — and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.
word count — 11.5 k
warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, substance and alcohol abuse, dark and themes, unhealthy relationships, codependency, trauma, medical content and mentions of death, illness, abuse, and blood. full trigger warnings available on the masterlist. reader discretion is advised.
previously — unable to watch satoru turn to his abusive family for help with naoya's massive lawsuit, you're heading to his party against satoru's wishes, hoping to find something, anything, that might help his situation. but what happens when satoru decides to crash the party? and what will you find in that locked room?
author's note — hello lovelies, welcome back !! this chapter picks up right where we left off, but through satoru's eyes this time. also important note: this chapter contains a brief mention of SA concerning a background event not related to any of our main characters. as always, please mind all trigger warnings. and now enjoy the chaos <3
series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad
<- prev chapter | next chapter ->
I saw her the moment I stepped into that goddamn party, and everything inside me went still.
Like that moment right before you drown, when the water first fills your lungs and the world goes quiet. Terrifying and so still.
She stood there under those cheap neon lights, looking scared and yet so beautiful—beautiful in that terrible way that makes you want to destroy something, that makes you want to tear it apart just to prove it's real.
Every fiber of my being screamed to go to her, to grab her and get her the hell out of here. Away from this place, away from him, away from all of it.
But I couldn't move. Couldn't let the mask slip, not here, not with all these eyes on me. So I plastered on that easy smile and played the part of the mildly annoyed professor who just happened to crash a student party.
As if my skin wasn't crawling with the need to use again, veins begging for something—anything—to take the edge off. As if the mere sight of her didn't make me feel like someone had reached into my chest and ripped my fucking heart out, her next breath away from something I might regret.
She looked up at me with those pretty eyes of hers, and I saw the guilt there, swimming just beneath the surface. And for one horrible moment I thought, Good. Let it pull her under like it's pulling me. Let it fill her lungs the way fear is filling mine.
I almost hated her then — for lying to me again and again, for doing stupid things behind my back again and again, for making me feel this goddamn helpless again and again and again and fucking again.
But what lay beneath was worse. Because I knew why she was here. Always trying to save me, even if it meant throwing herself into the deep end, drowning right alongside me. And that's the worst kind of torture, isn't it?
Watching the person you love cut themselves open on all your broken pieces, bleeding themselves dry, yet still reaching for more. And that thought made me want to scream.
"We'll talk about this later," I said, forcing that easy smile back onto my face though everything inside me was screaming to get her out of this goddamn house before she got herself into more trouble. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need a drink."
I pushed past her, shoulder grazing hers, and I had to clench my fists to keep from turning back. Had to bite my tongue until I tasted blood to keep from saying something I couldn't take back. She had no idea what she did to me. Or maybe she did, and that was even worse.
Love and hate tangled together in my chest until I couldn't breathe. Because that's what she does to me — makes me feel everything at once, until I can't tell what's real anymore. Until I can't tell if I want to love her or ruin her. Until I can't remember which one would hurt more. Who I was before her. If I was anyone at all.
And it hit me then, as I left her standing there, all defiance and reckless stupidity and so unbearably precious it physically hurt—this must be what they mean when they say love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Because I loved her so much it felt like hatred. Hated her so deeply it could only be love.
Always on the razor's edge. One wrong step, and we'd both bleed out. Maybe we already were.
When was the last time I even went to a party like this anyway? Years ago, probably. Back when I could still pretend I had my shit together. Before I understood what it meant to love someone so consuming that self-destruction became a form of worship.
I needed a drink. Maybe ten. Maybe something stronger.
Bass thundered through the floorboards as I shouldered my way deeper into the house, some shitty pop track slamming in my skull. Or maybe that was just the rage still burning in my bloodstream.
Sweaty bodies pressed in on all sides, but I barely noticed, lost in the chaos raging in my head. Lost in the desperate need scratching at my throat to turn back, to find her, to make sure she hadn't slipped away like every other good thing in my life.
I ordered vodka. First sip burned, but not enough. Never enough to wash away the fear, to forget that she was here, in this house, with him. The same bastard who'd tried to—My grip tightened on the glass. Yeah. Definitely needed something stronger. Here's hoping these kids still remember how to party.
"Professor Gojo! No way!"
A group of my students appeared beside me at the bar, their faces flushed with alcohol. Aoi, of course—that kid was everywhere. And Miwa, looking starstruck as always. Just my fucking luck.
"Is this what you all do instead of studying for my exams?" I asked, letting that easy smile slide into place.
"Come on, Prof, we've been killing ourselves over your damned hard exams," Miwa chimed in, all bright eyes and alcohol courage. "We deserve a break."
I let myself slip into the familiar role. The cool professor. The guy everyone wants to hang with. It was easier than I expected, letting their drunken energy wash over me, cracking jokes, making them laugh. Almost enough to wash out the withdrawal that made it nearly impossible to think straight. Almost enough to forget why I was really here. Almost.
Aoi was rambling about something, but I wasn't listening. Instead, I turned slightly, catching her gaze across the room. She looked at me like she wanted to kill me. Funny, how we wanted the same thing sometimes.
My woman. My stubborn, reckless, absolutely infuriating woman. Even now, with me watching her from across the room, I could see that defiance bright in her eyes. Even now, even here, in defiance of everything I'd asked of her, she stood her ground.
It was admirable, really. And sometimes, that very defiance made me want to break her. Perhaps only to prove I could. To prove she wasn't in control. Perhaps because I was terrified that I wasn't. That I never was.
It's terrifying how thin that line is.
"See? Fucking legend!" Aoi raised his beer, at something I said, I think. I can't remember. Something clever, probably. Something that fits the role. "To the coolest professor on campus!"
I raised my glass, I think. I can't remember. And that's when I caught sight of them by the front entrance. Suguru walked up to her, still standing where I'd left her, and cradled her face in his hands, tilting it up to meet his gaze. My god, could he be any more obvious about it?
I knew that look in his eyes. Had seen it countless times before, during all those long hours in the lab when he thought I wasn't paying attention. The way he'd lean in close to check her work, his hand lingering on her shoulder a moment too long. The way his eyes would follow her every move.
My best friend, in love with the love of my life. What a sick fucking joke.
He was examining her face now, probably making sure she was alright, being the good, caring friend he always was. His thumb brushed across her cheek, and something violent stirred in my gut. Because she didn't pull away. Of course she didn't. She never did, not with him.
They looked good together, standing there in the dim light. The brilliant researcher and his gifted student. No addiction between them. No sharp edges that sliced you open if you got too close. And I hated that.
I watched as she placed her hand over his, the gesture unbearably tender. Watched as he smiled down at her, that gentle smile he reserved only for her.
And just for a moment — one single, agonizing moment — I let myself picture a world where I hadn't reached her first. Where she'd chosen him instead. The better man. The one who'd never drag her down into his own personal hell.
The thoughts spiraled darker, louder, until I could barely breathe through the noise. Glass creaked under my grip. I needed a fucking pill. Needed something, anything, to make this stop. To make everything just fucking stop.
"Professor?" Miwa’s voice. "You okay?"
More students crowded the bar, blocking my view of them. One of them—what was his name? Third-year, not a complete idiot—shoved another beer into my hand. I chugged it in one long pull, their chatter fading to background noise.
"Well." That voice. That fucking voice. "Look who decided to crash my party after all."
I turned, meeting Naoya's scarred face with a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. "Zenin. Quite the gathering you've got here."
"Indeed." He signaled the bartender. "I gotta say though, I'm surprised to see you here, Professor. Don't tell me you're playing chaperone tonight?"
His words stripped away any pretense. He knew. Of course he fucking knew why I was really here. Not that I'd been particularly subtle about it.
"Just felt like reliving my youth," I said, taking the drink he offered. Anything to keep my hands busy, to keep myself from finishing what I'd started with his face.
Zenin's smirk widened, the scars pulling his flesh into something even uglier. "Ah yes, the good old days. Back when teachers knew their place and didn't go around screwing their students."
The fake smile slid off my face, the glass creaking in my grip as I pictured how easily his windpipe would crumple under my hands. How satisfying it would be to watch that smirk disappear for good.
"Careful, Zenin. Your face is already fucked up enough as is. Would be a damn shame if something happened to what's left of it."
He laughed, the sound grating on my last nerve like nails on a chalkboard. "Always so protective. But tell me, Professor, does she know the real reason you're here? Does she know about the—"
"Enough," I bit out.
"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" His eyes flicked across the room, landing on her. The way he looked at her made my vision bleed red around the edges. "She really is something else, isn't she? Too bad I didn't get a chance to get her alone that night—"
My hand lashed out before I could think, fisting in his collar. The fabric bunched in my grip as I hauled him close enough to see my own fury reflected in his eyes. "You fucking—"
Then Suguru was there, his hand slamming down on the bar between us. Silent, steady—a wall between me and a one-way ticket to unemployment. He didn't say a word, just fixed me with that look. The one I'd explicitly asked for earlier. Stop me before I do something I'll regret.
Fuck, I was really starting to regret that request right about now.
Then I felt her—her touch impossibly gentle as she laid her hand on my bicep, the heat of her skin seeping through my shirt. She leaned in close, "Satoru, can we talk for a minute?"
Her soft plea sliced through the haze, and suddenly I became acutely aware of the deafening silence that had fallen over the room, of the countless eyes boring into us.
I uncurled my fingers from Naoya's collar one by one, even though everything in me screamed to finish what I'd started. To paint the walls with whatever was left of his face. But I couldn't. We both knew. So I stepped back and followed her.
─── ·✧· ───
She led me through the crowd, her fingers still wrapped so gently around my arm. We pushed our way past the prying eyes, down a hallway, until she found what looked like an empty office. Probably belonged to Naoya's father, judging by the dark wood and that rich people smell.
For a moment, we just stood there, neither of us willing to shatter the fragile silence. Moonlight sliced through the blinds, turning everything silver and strange, like we were underwater. Maybe we were. I wasn't sure anymore. Her hand slipped from my arm, and suddenly I felt cold.
I collapsed into the chair behind the desk, the leather groaning under my weight. She stood silhouetted at the window, arms wrapped tight around herself, and I had to look away. Had to focus on something else, because I knew one glance at those eyes and I'd break.
My fingers found the pill on their own. Out of habit, really. Without thinking, I snatched up the silver letter opener next to me and crushed the pill beneath it, watching the powder scatter across the polished wood like fresh snow. I bent down and let the burn fill my nose, sear through my brain, numbing everything in an instant.
When I looked up, she was staring. Always fucking staring, with eyes that flayed me to the bone. And she did it so effortlessly. Saw through everyone around her with that unnerving precision. Or maybe she saw through everything so clearly because she looked for the very things she wanted to hide from others.
"That's new," she said. Not an accusation. I was glad it wasn't.
"It's faster."
I averted my gaze and sank deeper into the chair, letting my head fall back against the headrest as warmth flooded my veins and the ceiling blurred and shifted above me. And then everything went soft around the edges, like looking through frosted glass.
A long exhale escaped my lips. Finally—fucking finally—the constant noise in my head, all that shit I can't shut up—the love, the hate, the fucking terror of it all—it faded to a whisper. The world got a little quieter, a little less sharp. A little more bearable.
For one perfect moment, I could actually breathe. Could almost convince myself I was in control. That this wasn't killing me. That I could walk away if I had to. That I wasn't fucking terrified of losing her. Of becoming him. Of everything.
I groaned, fingers raking through my hair, pulling, needing the pain. My hands were shaking again. Or maybe they never stopped. I couldn't tell anymore.
"You're angry," she said.
"No shit. What gave it away?" I scrubbed my hands over my face. "You showing up here after I specifically fucking told you not to? Or me nearly rearranging Zenin's face again?"
"Satoru—"
"Don't." I squeezed my eyes shut, fingers yanking at my hair again, trembling worse now. From the drugs, the rage, the fear, who the fuck knew. It all bled together these days. "You have no idea what he'd do. If something happened—" I stopped. Couldn’t continue.
"I'm not alone," she said, like that made a difference. "Maki, Yuta, Toge—they're all with me. We're being careful."
"Careful?" I sat upright, forcing myself to meet her gaze. "There's nothing fucking careful about this! It's reckless! You shouldn't even be—"
"I'm doing this for you—"
"Don't." I cut her off. "Don't make this about me."
"But it is!" She stepped closer, eyes blazing. "What, you expect me to just stand by and watch? While you fall apart?"
"This isn't your problem to fix—"
"Like hell it isn't!" Another step. Her eyes seared into mine. "I can't fucking take it anymore. You're in this mess because of me. Because you protected me that night. So don't you dare tell me this isn't my problem to fix."
I stared at her, something in my chest fracturing. "You think that's why I'm doing this? Because I feel obligated?"
"I think you're trying to protect me, like you always do."
"Then don't make me protect you all the goddamn time!" I shoved up from the chair and braced my hands on the desk. "I beat him within an inch of his life that night. I would've killed him if—" My throat closed around the words. "And I'd do it again. In a fucking heartbeat. That's what scares the shit out of me. What I become when it comes to you."
She went still.
"And if he hurt you again," the words scraped out of me, "I—I don't know what I'd do. So please. Just please don't make me find out."
I said the words I'd been turning over in my head for what felt like eternity. Don't make me find out, don't put yourself in danger, don't break my fucking heart. Which really meant break me all you want, just don't leave. I wouldn't survive it.
Her gaze dropped briefly to my hands, and she said, "You done?"
Her question threw me. Done? God, this infuriating woman. But then I followed her line of sight and saw my hands clenched into white-knuckled fists around the desk’s edge. I slowly released them, my knuckles cracking in the sudden stillness.
I slumped back into the chair, exhausted, defeated, throwing an arm over my eyes. "God, I fucking hate you." The way she stood there, unflinching, unafraid—it made me insane. "I hate that you make me feel like this—so fucking terrified all the time."
"You don't hate me," she said.
"Sometimes I'm not so sure anymore," I answered.
How does it never get easier, I wondered. Loving her. Needing her. It just cuts deeper, spreads further, until I'm drowning in the ache. Until I can't breathe without feeling it in my lungs. And yeah, I hate her for that sometimes.
I couldn't look at her. I knew she'd be there, unyielding, waiting, enduring everything I threw at her, as she always did. Never breaking. Maybe that's what I hated most.
"You're so fucking stupid," I breathed, but it came out wrong. Too soft. Too much like 'I love you'. Too much like 'Please don't leave.'
"I think that's mutual." She crossed the room then and leaned against the desk, arms folded over her chest. "I'm sorry I lied to you."
I lowered my arm and looked at her. "No, you're not."
"I am sorry for worrying you," she tried again, and I almost believed her, wishing desperately that she'd never have to worry about anything the way I worry about her. "Go ahead, say it. Tell me how stupid I was to come here. I know you're dying to."
"Why would you think that?"
She kept her eyes fixed on the floor. "Because it's true. I make the wrong choice every fucking time."
I watched her, this brilliant, stubborn woman that I love so much, beating herself up over choices that weren't really choices at all—just impossible situations with no right answers. Like there was ever a right answer. And sometimes she reminded me so much of myself. As if I hadn't spent years doing the same thing, and probably still do.
But seeing her do it—it was like staring into a mirror and seeing not just my reflection, but the reflection of everything I hated about myself.
"I think that's mutual," I echoed her words back to her.
With a heavy sigh, I pushed up from the chair, gripping the edge of the desk for a second. Then I reached for her, hands landing on her hips, tugging her close, needing her close. My lips ghosted over hers. Hesitant. Unsure. When she didn't pull away, I kissed her. My hand came up to cradle her face, thumb skimming her cheekbone as I deepened the kiss.
"Alright, what's the plan?" I murmured against her mouth.
She told me about the locked room upstairs and her plan to get it. So calm. She told it so calm. Like it was that simple. Like this wasn't the most insane thing I'd ever heard. But I knew she'd go through with it no matter what I said.
"You seriously think I'm gonna let you anywhere near him with alcohol involved?"
"No," she said. "I think you're going to help me."
"Times like this, I'm really feeling that age difference between us," I said, but we both heard the resignation in my voice. The moment I'd already lost this fight.
"So you'll help?" she asked, ignoring my comment.
Before she could celebrate her victory, I yanked her closer, fingers twisting in her hair. With a sharp tug, I forced her head back until she had no choice but to meet my gaze, her throat bared. Our eyes locked, and I saw the instant her breath hitched.
"On one condition."
"What's that?"
"When we get home, you're gonna make it up to me for all the stress you've caused. Got it?"
"Is that really how you want to play this?"
"Oh, love, I think we're way past propriety at this point."
A shiver ran through her — one that made me almost smile. I could feel her pulse racing beneath my fingertips, could feel the way she melted into me despite herself. It almost made this whole mess worth it.
"Now then." I pulled back just far enough to look her in the eye. "let's have some fun, shall we?"
─── ·✧· ───
So, here's the fun story about how I ended up playing beer pong with my arch-nemesis (besides Sukuna, that is) against my future lovely wife and some chemistry nerd who wouldn't shut up about covalent bonds. Not exactly the Saturday night I had in mind.
I mean, here I was, standing next to Naoya — yeah, the same guy whose face I'd rearranged a few months back — trying to aim at red plastic cups while you were absolutely wiping the floor with us. Turns out that whole '10 years of grief training in alcoholism over your dead father' wasn't just a cute phrase you threw around. Who would've thought?
But really, trying to out-drink an opioid addict? That's like challenging a fish to a swimming contest. Except the fish is in heavy withdrawal. So like, with no fin. Not my finest analogy. I blame the alcohol. What was my point again?
Anyway. Most annoying part? This chemistry department kid with these wide, bright eyes wouldn't stop talking to you about molecular structures. And you were actually entertaining him. At a party. About electron transfers. Of all the insufferable things.
"So if you consider the aromatic compounds—" he was saying, and I swear on my medical license, I didn't mean for the ball to hit him. And I definitely didn't mean for it to hit him that hard. Pure accident, really.
The ball bounced off his shoulder, effectively shutting him up. They both turned to look at me. "Molecular restructuring in organic compounds? Really?" I shrugged. "At a party?"
She shot me that look. You know the one. The classic 'I-can't-believe-I'm-sleeping-with-this-idiot' glare. It's become quite familiar these days.
"Trouble in paradise?" Naoya said beside me, and I briefly considered rearranging his face again. For symmetry's sake, of course.
But then she bent over to pick up the ball, and suddenly organic chemistry was the furthest thing from my mind. I definitely shouldn't have let her leave the house in that skirt. Though knowing her, she probably wore it just to torture me.
"Getting distracted, Professor?" she said, straightening up with that little smile that never fails to make me want to do wildly inappropriate things to her in very public places. She leaned across the table, deliberately tapping one of our cups with her finger, giving me her most innocent eyes. Because apparently, driving me insane was her new favorite pastime.
"Me?" I lifted the red cup she'd tapped to my lips, taking my sweet time with the drink, my eyes never leaving hers. "Never."
And somewhere in the haze of beer and the way she was looking at me, I tried to remember why the hell we were even here. Oh right—something about stealing keys. Real professional operation we've got going here. The medical board would be so proud. Their star surgeon, reduced to playing beer pong as a distraction tactic.
Naoya's keys were right there on the table, practically screaming to be grabbed. But between her legs in that skirt and the way she kept biting her lip every time she lined up a shot, I found myself giving fewer and fewer shits about saving my career and more about how quickly I could get her alone. Priorities. I clearly had them. Alcohol might have scrambled them a bit, I guess.
I caught a glimpse of Suguru standing off to the side of the beer pong table. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes darting back and forth between me and her like he was watching the world's most stressful tennis match. I really owed him one for putting up with this shit.
Near the chemistry kid, a girl approached who looked a bit like Higurama's intern—though I wasn't entirely sure. She looked different, wearing makeup and dressed up. But that couldn't be her. She'd avoid places with flashing lights because of her epilepsy. I must be seeing things.
Then Naoya, because clearly this shitshow wasn't enough of a disaster already, decided to "level up the process." He snapped his fingers at a passing bartender, and before I could process what the fuck was happening, there was a tray of perfectly lined up tequila shots on the table. Complete with cinnamon and orange slices, because apparently, we're keeping it classy while trying to get my future wife drunk.
"New rule," Naoya announced, his scarred face pulling into what I can only assume was meant to be a grin. "Next shot I sink, you drink both. Beer and tequila."
I glanced over at her, my gut churning. Not from the alcohol—it'd take a hell of a lot more than this to get me there—but from the way she met Naoya's challenge with a nod. That stubborn tilt of her chin that always meant trouble. My palms started to sweat.
Of course, Naoya's ball dropped perfectly into her cup. Because the universe really does have a sick sense of humor.
Watching her reach for both drinks, I found myself wondering what the medical board would be more pissed about — me playing drinking games with students, screwing one of my students, or the fact that I was seriously considering murder. Again.
Then, by some physics-defying miracle or sheer dumb luck, the chemistry kid actually landed a shot. He looked as shocked as the rest of us when the ball plopped into Naoya's cup. But it was her next shot that really got my attention — perfect arc, clean landing, like she'd been doing this her whole damn life.
"Drink up, Professor," she said, but there was something different in her voice.
She reached for the tequila, and then—fuck me—propped one leg up on a nearby beer crate, the motion making her skirt ride up just enough to flash a strip of skin above her tights. Wait. Those weren't tights. Those were fucking stockings.
My brain short-circuited as I realized she'd been walking around all night in stockings. Actual stockings, with what I knew had to be a garter belt hidden under that criminally short skirt. The same spot where she was now deliberately sprinkling cinnamon.
The sight of that exposed sliver of skin between stocking and skirt made my blood boil. When the hell had she even bought those? Had she worn them just for tonight, knowing they'd make me lose my goddamn mind? Was she trying to get herself killed?
Because right now, watching her purposely dust cinnamon on that band of exposed skin, I wasn't sure if I wanted to murder her or fuck her. Probably both. My mouth went dry, and it had fuck-all to do with the alcohol.
"Well?" She tilted her head, all innocence except for that knowing look in her eyes. "Coming to get your tequila?"
Like she had to ask twice. Yet I hesitated. With all these people watching? What was she playing at? It was reckless, careless, like she was deliberately trying to expose us. It was power play, a challenge. And I knew, that she knew, that I couldn't resist.
A slow smile spread across my face as I sank to one knee before her, the crowd fading into a blur of noise. All that mattered was her—the way her breath hitched as I gripped her calf, the way she tensed as she realized that I made a whole show for her (poor girl didn’t expect that now, did she?)—the feel of her skin on my tongue.
I took my sweet time with the cinnamon, letting my tongue glide over the exposed strip of flesh, feeling her shiver. My teeth grazed her skin, just enough to draw a soft gasp from her lips. If she wanted a show, I'd give her a show. And part of me wanted to shove that skirt higher, to chase that taste of salt and cinnamon further up her thigh until—
Focus. Fucking focus.
I straightened, stepping into her space. She held an orange slice in one hand, the shot glass in the other, and I couldn't help but notice how her pupils had blown wide, how her chest rose and fell just a little faster than normal.
I plucked the orange from her fingers with my teeth, my lips brushing her skin, then took the shot glass, using the movement to press closer, my mouth right by her ear, "What exactly is your plan here?"
"Create distraction," she breathed back.
God help me, but it was working. I was definitely distracted. Whole damn crowd was distracted. And watching her play this game—watching her play me—was probably the hottest and most infuriating thing I'd ever experienced. And I'm pretty sure everyone could see I was hard too.
"You're distracting the wrong audience," I whispered before knocking back the shot.
In the midst of trying to control my homicidal urges over those goddamn stockings, she caught my eye and subtly jerked her head. I turned, making it look like I was just checking something, and spotted them—Zenin, Okkotsu, and Inumaki hovering on the other side of the table behind Naoya, waiting for their chance.
Right. The keys. The whole reason we were here. I almost forgot.
The game continued, the tension building with each shot. We were down to the last round — winner takes all. That's when she decided to really test my patience.
"Let's make this more interesting," she announced, her voice carrying over the crowd. "Losers jump in the pool." A pause, then because apparently she was hell-bent on giving me a coronary. "No clothes."
"You wouldn’t dare," Naoya scoffed.
"Try me," she replied.
I shot her a warning look. She subtly chewed on her bottom lip, meeting my gaze with an unnerving calm, perhaps her way of saying everything's gonna be okay. It did little to ease the knot in my stomach.
One shot left. If she made this, Naoya and I would be stripping down for a midnight dip. If she missed—
I tried not to think about her in that pool. Tried not to think about those stockings getting soaked. Tried not to think about murdering every sorry bastard who might lay eyes on her. Either way, this woman was going to be the death of me. If I didn't kill her first.
Naoya landed his shot, fucking prick. I missed mine for obvious reasons. Chemistry kid missed too, leaving everything on her shoulders. The ball left her hand, arcing through the air in what felt like slow motion. It circled the rim, then rolled away.
The crowd went wild. Naoya's victory smirk made me want to punch his face in. I glanced over at her, wondering for a second if she'd missed on purpose. But there was no time for that.
"Well?" Naoya's voice. "I believe the losers owe us a show."
"The game wasn't exactly fair—" I started, but she cut me off.
"Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted, Naoya?" She turned to him, her words sharp. "To see me undress without having to drug me first?"
The crowd went dead silent. Naoya's scarred face contorted into something ugly. "Watch your mouth, little girl. You're not as untouchable as you think."
"And you're pathetic," she spat back, then turned away from him. "At least I get to choose when I undress, right?”
She started walking toward the pool, each step deliberate, commanding. I followed, caught between pride and sheer terror at what she was about to do. At the edge, she turned back to me.
"Don't," I pleaded, but she was already reaching for the hem of her skirt. It fell, revealing the dark lace of her stockings. Then her top followed, and I stepped closer, trying to shield her from the leering eyes.
"This is insane." But my protest died as she stood there in only black lace, and then I saw them—the bruises from the fire still painted across her waist and ribs. Dark purple and yellow marks that hadn't yet faded, cruel reminder of how close I'd come to losing her.
The sight sobered me instantly. Something twisted in my chest, sharp and painful. The bruises I'd carefully tended to, the ones that still made her wince when I changed her bandages—on full display for this crowd of drunk idiots, turned into a spectacle.
"Please," I begged, my voice barely audible. "Don't do this."
She met my gaze, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I’d reached her. But then that smile—the one that sealed my fate—touched her lips. "Sorry, Professor," she whispered, and then she was gone, falling backward into the pool, taking a piece of me with her.
The splash echoed in my ears like a gunshot, and I was already shrugging off my jacket, ready to either dive in after her or use it to cover her when she surfaced. A cold, hard fury settled in my gut. Naoya was going to pay for this.
The crowd roared as she surfaced, her hair plastered to her face, water tracing the curves of her body beneath the soaked lace. Our eyes met across the distance, me standing at the pool's edge, and I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment. Something flickered across her face—regret maybe, or shame—before she looked away.
Hell broke loose. Bodies crashed into the water, sending waves across the pool. Even Naoya stripped off his shirt and dove in, reveling in the attention. The whole party seemed to shift to the pool in a matter of seconds — clothes flying, drinks splashing, the pristine water turning into a churning mess.
Perfect distraction.
But I barely registered any of it, my world had narrowed to her. I watched as she climbed out, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the concrete, practically sprinting past me, her gaze fixed on the floor, while water dripped from her hair, her skin, the dark lace clinging to her form.
Behind her, the pool had turned into chaos — exactly what she'd planned, I realized.
I gathered her clothes from where they'd fallen and followed her inside. I caught a glimpse of Okkotsu's quick movements near the discarded clothes by the pool.
Well played.
─── ·✧· ───
Her dripping form drew curious eyes as we moved through the foyer. Each step felt like a penance—hers for the recklessness, mine for letting it happen. Heads turned, conversations died, the sudden silence punctuated only by the soft drip, drip, drip of water from her hair.
Kento’s face flashed past, but I barely registered him. No doubt he'd give me shit about it at the university later, like he didn't already know something was up with me and her.
I wrapped my jacket around her shivering shoulders, fighting the desperate urge to reach for the opioids hidden in my pocket. Withdrawal, guilt, and fury burned together in my veins, making me want to crawl out of my own skin.
I stepped in front of her, partly to block all those eyes on her, partly to hide how bad my hands were shaking. None of it was worth it. Not the keys, not avoiding my parents, none of it. How did we end up here? How did I allow things to get to this point?
Upstairs, she dressed quickly, water still dripping from her hair, leaving damp patches on her clothes.
"Are you cold?"
"I'm okay," she said, avoiding my gaze.
She was shaking. I could see the goosebumps on her arms. "You're shivering," I said and reached for her, but she pulled away.
“I’m fine, really.”
Despite her words, I pulled her close. She didn't resist this time, tilting her face up to mine. Her eyes were bright, and for a second, I thought she might cry. The world could have been watching, for all I cared. If those tears fell, it would be my undoing.
And then I thought of everything she'd done, everything she'd had to do—for me. My twenty-four-year-old student, forced to protect me from my own damn parents, to beg for my own money. Because I’d hit a guy who tried to hurt her. Why was it all so fucked up?
The high was long gone, leaving this gaping hole. My limbs felt heavy, detached, like they belonged to a stranger, unable to reach out and fix what I’d broken. And we were so far from where we started.
"You're disappointed," she finally said. She wasn't asking.
"We should leave." Because I couldn't bear to watch her sacrifice one more piece of herself for me.
"You can leave."
Before I could say anything back, Zenin came bursting into our corner, Okkotsu and Inumaki right behind her, her eyes all lit up. "That was fucking insane!" she yelled, waving something around—Naoya's keys. "But it worked! I can't believe it actually—" She stopped short, finally noticing the tension between us.
The win felt empty. Yeah, we got what we came for. But what did it cost? Looking at her, still shivering a little in my jacket, I wasn't so sure it was worth it. I was supposed to protect her. Instead, I just kept watching her throw herself in the fire for me.
Some professor I was. Some man I was.
Strange how winning can feel so much like losing, especially when you realize you're not the one paying the price.
─── ·✧· ───
I stayed outside Naoya's room, playing lookout. At least that's what I told them. Truth was, I couldn't stand being in there, couldn't bear being near her, watching her fight my battles while I was barely holding myself together.
The itch under my skin had spread, making my whole body crawl with invisible insects while she did the dirty work. Even after everything, she was still trying to save me.
And I was still letting her.
I slid down the wall, my head hitting the floor. How did we end up here? What the fuck were we doing? What the fuck was I doing?
I'm thirty-five years old, for fuck's sake. Why was I acting like a goddamn teenager? I should've stopped her, shouldn't have let her leave the house to begin with, should've been the adult. But instead, I let it happen, standing by and watching where it led. Again.
This whole situation was insane. We were in too deep, and I knew it. But I couldn't seem to find my way out, couldn't seem to stop this trainwreck we were on. It was like I was watching it all happen from outside my own body, powerless to change course.
What kind of man was I? What kind of professor? I was supposed to be her mentor, her… something more. Instead, I was dragging her down with me.
I thought back to that night, the one that started it all. The night I found her in the lab, working late, hunched over her microscope. She looked up at me with those eyes, those damn eyes that seemed to see right through me. And I was lost. I knew it was wrong. I knew I should have walked away. But I didn't. I couldn't. Drawn in. Consumed.
And now, here we were. Trapped in this fucked-up situation of our own making. I wanted to blame her, to say it was all her fault for being so reckless, so damn stubborn. But I knew that wasn't true. I let this happen. I didn’t stop it. But why?
I could replay the events in my mind, frame by frame, but the crucial moment, the point where I should have intervened, remained a blur. It was as if some part of me had wanted to see where this ended.
Music still drifted up from downstairs, the bass thumping through the walls. It felt wrong, out of place. Like we were in a different world, a fucked-up one, while everyone else was living their normal, happy lives.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it all out, trying to pretend, just for a moment, that this wasn't happening. That we weren't here. That everything was okay. But it was happening. And I was in it, and I knew I couldn't hold my breath much longer.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking. Kept seeing things in the corners of my vision. Shadows that shouldn't move but did, faces that weren't faces at all. The wallpaper breathed. In and out. In and out. Like a lung.
Stop it. Just stop all of it. Make it stop. But it won't stop, can't stop, because she's in there right now, digging through his things, trying to save me save me save me why won't she just stop trying to save me?
Everything felt wrong, sick, twisted. Too bright and too dark all at once. My skin didn't fit right anymore. Nothing fit right anymore. God, I needed a goddamn fix.
A cough. I pressed my hand against my mouth. When I pulled it away, my palm was red.
Huh. That's new.
I stared at the blood, watching it pool in the lines of my hand. It looked wrong somehow, too dark, too thick. The longer I stared, the more it seemed to move strangely, crawling along the creases of my palm.
Was blood supposed to move like that? Like it was alive? Like it was trying to tell me something? I couldn't remember anymore. I couldn't remember a lot of things lately. The blood kept moving, kept spreading.
Maybe this was it—maybe I was finally losing whatever scraps of sanity I had left, sitting here on a dirty floor watching my own blood drip down my palm.
A part of me wondered if he'd been right all along, that I was becoming him, the very thing I’d always feared. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be better, different. Not this—huddled on a filthy floor at a college party, watching my blood move as if in psychosis, while she risked everything for me. Again.
The door handle turned. Shit. I wiped my palm against the dark carpet, smearing the blood into the fibers where it vanished like it was never there. I scrambled to my feet just as they emerged. She moved quickly, shoving something beneath the waistband of her skirt. Before I could speak, she grabbed my arm.
"Let's leave." There was something like panic in her voice. "I'll tell you outside."
I gripped her hand, my own pulse quickening, and we went downstairs and pushed through the mass of drunk students. But then the music cut abruptly, plunging us into a moment of strange silence before panicked voices filled the void.
"What the hell—?" Okkotsu’s shout cut through the din from behind us.
Then I saw the flashing lights—red and blue strobing through the windows. Fuck.
"Cops!" Someone shouted, and the whole house erupted into chaos as people scrambled in every direction.
"Everyone freeze!" A voice boomed through the foyer. "Nobody moves!"
We reached the entrance as two officers shouldered their way through the front door. The bigger one looked like he benched trucks for fun, taking up almost the entire doorframe as he planted himself there.
"Listen up!" he bellowed, one meaty hand resting on his belt. "Party's over. Nobody leaves until we check IDs."
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
I felt her tense beside me, those things hidden in her waistband might as well have been burning her skin. I could practically feel her panic.
"Look, officers." I stepped forward, forcing my voice into something professional. "There seems to be some confusion—"
"No confusion here," Truck-Bencher cut me off, the scar on his lip twisting as he frowned. "Got noise complaints, reports of underage drinking. Everyone stays put."
"I'm faculty at the university. These are my students and they're all over twenty-one. You're wasting everyone's time—"
"Nobody leaves until we say so."
"You really want to process IDs for over two hundred students?"
"You telling me how to do my job?" He shifted closer, chest puffed out despite me having two inches on him.
Withdrawal crawled beneath my skin like insects, each bite feeding the rage that built vertebra by vertebra up my spine. "Depends. Are you actually doing it, or just power tripping?"
"Back the fuck up." His hand dropped to his belt. "Last chance."
I felt her fingers digging into my arm, trying to pull me back. But the rage was a living thing now, burning away anything resembling sense or restraint. "Or what?"
The punch came fast. I dropped, and heard the sickening crack of bone against flesh—not mine. Some poor student next to me. For a heartbeat, everything stopped. Then chaos.
Bodies everywhere. Screaming. Shoving. Radio static cutting through the roar. Her hand in mine as we pushed through the surge. Her friends somewhere behind. Everything blurred. I can't remember when she let go of my hand.
I just remember the scream. Different from the others. Then her voice, "Get her on the ground!" I shoved through the mass of bodies. Saw the girl on the floor. Ice flooded my veins.
I knew that face. Higurama's intern. My patient. My responsibility.
I dropped beside her, my hands shaking so violently I could barely feel them. Her eyes rolled back. Withdrawal made everything too sharp, too bright. I couldn't think. Couldn't—
Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. It was her voice. Fingers gripped my arm. "Satoru, look at me." I met her eyes. Steady. Unnerving. "Focus."
Everything snapped back into place. My phone was in my hand before I realized I'd moved. "This is Dr. Gojo from Jujutsu Medical. Twenty-six-year-old female, epileptic, pre-seizure presentation. We need immediate assistance."
My voice was mechanical, professional. Inside, my mind screamed. Why was she here? Had she been drinking? Were her meds interacting with something? I should know this. Should be better than this. Should be fucking better.
Nausea rose in my throat and I'd never felt more like a failure in my entire fucking life.
Behind us, the fight continued to rage. A man’s voice bellowed, trying to restore order. Then Suguru was there, kneeling beside her, his hands gentle as he cradled her head. He murmured something, soft and low. The tenderness in his movements caught me off guard.
"The ambulance is taking too long." His voice cut through everything. Before I could process it, he had her in his arms, head protected against his chest and moved.
─── ·✧· ───
I can't remember how we got to the hospital.
Everything blurred into fragments. Flashing lights, squealing tires, the weight of everything crushing my chest. Each breath scraped like broken glass. My hands wouldn't stop shaking until I swallowed three pills. Maybe four. I lost count.
The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright, too harsh, making my skull feel like it was splitting open. I wanted to crack my head against the wall.
Some part of me was still moving, still speaking in that detached doctor voice — rattling off medical history, medications, possible interactions. Years of training overriding the screaming in my head. But they never trained us for this.
Never trained us for how guilt tastes like acid in your throat while watching your mistakes breathe shallowly on starched white sheets.
They taught us to make clean incisions, to suture arteries, to restart hearts. But not how your own heart would seize when you recognize the face on the floor. Not how your girlfriend’s hands would be steadier than your own worthless trembling ones as you fumbled for your phone, your throat closing around the words "this is my fault", "please" and "I'm sorry."
Didn’t prepare us for withdrawal turning your hands into treacherous strangers while someone seized at your feet. For the shame that festers in your gut as you come down, struggling to remember basic fucking dosages through the need scorching through your veins.
They never warned us how love would carve you open worse than any scalpel, making you both butcher and victim, instrument and incision. Never warned us about loving someone while you’re falling apart. How it feels like drowning in open air, your chest cracked wide and your beating heart wrenched out into daylight, desperate and terrified and somehow still pumping, still fighting, still so fucking afraid.
Higurama's intern lay still now, the steady drip of the IV marking time like a metronome in the silence. I watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, my mind replaying the medications, the dosages, searching for the mistake I must have made. There had to be one. There was always one.
Perhaps he was right about me after all. Funny how even now, even here, I could still hear his voice so clearly.
"You okay?"
She sat across from me, swallowed by my spare clothes—an old t-shirt and sweatpants that draped loosely on her frame, a blanket draped over her legs. Anything was better than those clothes from before, those fucking stockings I'd personally thrown in the trash.
"Satoru?" she tried again. "You okay?"
I couldn't bring myself to answer.
"Talk me through her meds again," she said, resting her head in her palm. Her eyes, piercing and unwavering, never left my face as she waited.
I rubbed my temples, trying to focus through the exhaustion. "Standard anticonvulsants. Levetiracetam, 500mg twice daily. Added phenytoin after the first seizure." I fell back into my chair, scrubbing my hand over my face. "She couldn't tolerate the Levetiracetam, so I switched to Topiramate, 500mg thrice daily."
She was quiet for a moment. "Side effects?"
"Minor. Tremor in her extremities sometimes, but nothing she couldn't handle. It was working." I paused. "It was supposed to be working."
"EEG results?"
"Showed mild abnormalities. Nothing that would explain a seizure this severe." I scrubbed at my face again, harder this time. "I should have seen it. Should have caught something."
"Satoru." Her voice held that gentle firmness I knew so well. "You did everything right."
"Then why did she seize?" I stood abruptly, the chair screeching against linoleum. I turned away, unable to bear her gentle gaze. Outside, dawn was breaking in shades of grey. No color, no warmth, just an endless stretch of concrete and clouded sky bleeding into each other. "If I did everything right, why is she lying here?"
"Because sometimes that's just how it goes. You know this better than anyone," she said. "Medicine isn't perfect. Neither are we."
My reflection stared back at me, ghostly and distorted in the glass. Dark circles, stubble, hair a fucking mess. A doctor coming down from a high while his patient lay in a hospital bed.
"I should have increased the dosage earlier. Run more tests. I should have—"
"Seen the future?"
"I should have been better."
"You are already the best," she said, but it felt like a lie to me. "But even the best can't control everything."
Higurama's intern stirred slightly in her sleep, and we both fell silent, the moment stretching taut between us. I dragged myself back to the chair, sinking down with my face in my hands.
"You didn't do anything wrong," she whispered, leaning forward to brush a stray strand of hair from the girl's forehead. "Sometimes life just happens, and all we can do is be there to pick up the pieces."
I wanted to believe her. God, how I wanted to. But the truth sat like stones in my stomach.
"I hate this," I whispered.
"I know."
Silence.
"Do you blame yourself?" she asked quietly.
"How can I not?"
Because it's stupid, you know this. I could feel them in my bones, the words forming on her lips before she could speak them. "How did that ever change anything?" I said before she could start.
She leaned back, the chair creaking slightly. "Do you think we are terrible people?" she asked, her voice so soft I almost missed it.
I turned to look at her then, really look at her. Even exhausted and worried, wearing my old clothes, she was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Like a drug I couldn't quit, a high I'd chase until it killed me.
And what did that say about either of us? That I wanted to crack her open, crawl inside her skin and nestle myself in her marrow? Wanted to consume her, devour her, until there was nothing left but the two of us, fused together in the most depraved way possible?
It was as if we were always meant to find each other. But it was a penance, for both of us.
"I think I am what I am because of you," I finally said.
And it was the truth. She'd molded me, shaped me, just as I'd shaped her. We'd ruined each other for anyone else, stripped away the innocence and left only the filth and grit behind.
Her hand fell from her face, her eyes meeting mine. "And I am what I am because of you."
"Does that scare you?"
"I think one gets used to it."
"Yeah," I said finally, my voice rough. "I guess you do get used to it. Until you don't."
She frowned, but before she could voice something, Suguru stepped inside.
He said we should leave, and maybe that was for the better anyway, though I couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was an edge to his voice. Anger, perhaps. But I couldn't blame him. Not really.
I grabbed her things, my hand finding its familiar place at the small of her back as we headed for the door. Suguru's voice followed us down the corridor. "What did you find in Zenin's room anyway?" he asked, as if it were something to be discussed in the doorway.
I walked ahead.
I didn't need to hear again about the unconscious women on the Polaroids.
─── ·✧· ───
Too quiet.
He was never this quiet.
"How bad is it?" I asked, perched on the edge of the exam bed where the paper sheet betrayed every nervous shift of my weight with stupid crinkles. Pale morning light filtered through the blinds, casting thin stripes across the linoleum floor.
I'd coughed up blood again earlier this morning. More than last night. The metallic taste had filled my mouth before I even opened my eyes. I'd stumbled to the bathroom, careful not to wake her—she needed the rest after we spent the whole damn night at the police station.
I stared at the red running down the drain. Way more than there should be. I'd blamed it on stress and alcohol last time. But now? It meant my liver was probably failing faster than I'd thought. Coagulation system breaking down, blood vessels becoming fragile. Textbook end-stage.
I called him then. He was still at the hospital, had slept there while looking after Higurama's intern. His face had gone pale when he saw me walk in. Guess I looked as bad as I felt.
We ran tests. All of them. Blood work, chest X-rays, the works. And now here we are. I watched him reading what I assumed was my death sentence, waiting for him to finally look up, while the clock on the wall ticked away the seconds.
But he kept his eyes fixed on the test results, holding himself with the careful rigidity of someone handling explosives. Another bad sign.
"Suguru."
He exhaled slowly, finally meeting my gaze with eyes that said everything before his mouth could form the words. "You should have started treatment sooner. We talked about this months ago."
"Yeah, yeah, I know." I tried to wave off his concern. "What do the results say?"
His fingers tightened on the papers until the corners creased. "Your liver enzymes are through the roof. AST over 1000, ALT even higher. Bilirubin's climbing while albumin's dropping. Your PT/INR values—" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Your liver is failing, Satoru. Not just damaged anymore—failing."
I let the clinical terms wash over me. The doctor in me understood the implications perfectly. The addict in me wanted to laugh at the irony.
"Well," I said, forcing lightness into my tone, "guess I should have listened to you sooner, huh?"
Suguru's expression hardened. "This isn't a joke. Without immediate intervention—" He caught himself, but I could read the rest in his eyes as clearly as any lab report.
Without immediate intervention, I was dying. Fitting, really. That my body would choose to betray me just when I'd finally found something worth living for.
"How's the withdrawal going?" Suguru asked, setting down the test results.
"Managing." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to ignore how even that simple movement felt like too much effort. "Reduced the hydromorphone gradually. Down to about 5mg now."
"Satoru." His voice carried that familiar note of frustration, the one I'd heard a thousand times before. "You need to stop completely. Not reduce—stop. Your liver can't handle any more strain."
"I'm trying," I snapped, then immediately regretted the harshness. "Sorry. I know you're trying to help."
Suguru pulled up a chair, sitting down with a heavy sigh. "We need to start treatment immediately. The protocol won't be pleasant—high-dose corticosteroids, immunosuppressants, possibly plasmapheresis if things get worse."
"Sounds fun."
"It'll be brutal," he continued, ignoring my sarcasm. "The side effects alone—you'll need to be monitored constantly. Multiple blood draws daily, frequent imaging. And absolutely no narcotics—your liver won't survive it."
I absorbed this, the clinical reality of what lay ahead settling into my bones. "So basically, I get to feel like shit while you stick me with needles and watch me suffer."
"That's about right. But it's either that or start planning your funeral."
"At least you're honest." I attempted a smile that felt more like a grimace. "When do we start?"
"Tomorrow morning. I'll admit you tonight, get you set up in a private room," Suguru said, already reaching for admission forms.
"Monday morning."
He looked up sharply. "What?"
"I have a family dinner on Sunday," I shrugged. "Can't skip it."
"Are you insane?" Suguru's voice rose to fill the small room. "Your liver is failing, Satoru. This isn't something you can postpone for a damn dinner party."
"Monday morning," I repeated firmly. "I gave my word I'd be there."
"Your word won't mean much if you're dead."
"I can manage two more days."
"No, you can't." Suguru slammed the test results down with enough force to make me flinch. Since when is he always so fucking tense? "Your numbers are critical. Every hour we delay treatment increases the risk of complete liver failure."
"Monday."
"For fuck's sake, Satoru—"
"I said Monday. I need to do this, Suguru. Please."
He stared at me for a long moment, jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding. Finally, his shoulders slumped.
"Fine. Monday morning, first thing. But if you show any signs of deterioration—any at all—I'm admitting you immediately. And no alcohol at that dinner. Not a single drop."
"Deal."
"I mean it, Satoru."
"I know," I said, trying to inject some levity into the heavy atmosphere. "You can do all sorts of things to me on Monday. Not like I have much on my schedule anyway."
"So Yaga has exempted you?"
"Temporarily relieved of my teaching duties until further notice." I tried to keep my voice light, but the words still choked me. "Apparently, licking your student's leg in public view isn't considered acceptable behavior. Who knew?"
"Everyone would have known that."
"Most people were too drunk to remember anyway, or too busy dealing with the police raid afterwards to care." I shrugged. "Silver lining?"
"This isn't funny. Do you have any idea how serious this is? Your career—"
"My career?" I almost laughed. "In case you missed the memo, my liver's failing. I think my career concerns just got bumped down the priority list."
Suguru fell silent.
"Besides," I added, "maybe it's for the best. Can't exactly teach while going through treatment, can I?"
"Yaga doesn't know about your condition?"
"No, and he's not going to. As far as he's concerned, I'm just taking some time to... reassess my professional boundaries."
"And when he asks why you're not fighting this?"
I sighed. "Let him think what he wants. I've got bigger problems right now."
"Like a family dinner you're insisting on attending despite being on death's door?"
"Exactly." I flashed him a grin, this one a little more genuine despite everything. "See? You're getting it."
"You're impossible."
"That's why you love me."
"That's why I'm going to enjoy sticking you with needles on Monday."
"Kinky."
His expression sobered, eyes searching my face. "You should tell her."
The mere mention of her sent a knife twisting in my gut. "No."
"Satoru—"
"I said no. She has enough to deal with right now. This stays between us."
Suguru shook his head but didn't argue further. He knew me too well to waste his breath.
"I will," I added softly, more to convince myself than him. "When I'm a bit better."
"This will kill her."
"I know."
Silence.
"I'm sorry," I finally managed. "For being an asshole. For everything. And... thanks for coming to the party with me."
"You already apologized."
"I mean it." I met his gaze. "You've always been there, even when I didn't deserve it."
Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of the friendship we'd shared before everything got so complicated. Before I'd dragged us both into this mess.
"Just don't die on me," he said. "I've invested too much time in keeping your stupid ass alive."
I pushed off the bed, steadying myself against the sudden dizziness that threatened to knock me over. "See you Monday."
"You're a stubborn idiot," he called after me. I didn't disagree.
I stopped at the door, turning back. "Hey, what's going on between you and Higurama's intern anyway?"
Suguru stiffened slightly. "Nothing. Just concerned since she's my patient now too."
I studied him, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze shifted slightly left—his tell when he wasn't being entirely truthful.
"Sure," I said, too exhausted to push it further. "See you Monday."
As I walked away, I wondered if he knew how obvious he was. Then again, who was I to judge? I was hardly an expert at handling matters of the heart.
─── ·✧· ───
I paused outside our apartment door, my hand trembling on the handle. Withdrawal clawed through me, a living thing twisting my gut. Each breath was a struggle, my lungs constricting as if they'd forgotten their purpose. Just breathe, idiot. In, out. You're almost there.
Relief flooded through me the moment I opened the door. Her shoes were there, neatly arranged next to my scattered ones. Her coat on the hook. She was home.
Strange how that simple fact could lift the weight crushing my chest, made breathing a fraction less painful. No matter how bad things were, coming home to her felt like breaking the surface after being underwater too long.
Dog bounded up to greet me, tail whipping back and forth, before darting off toward the bedroom. Smart boy knew exactly where to find her. I kicked off my shoes, let my jacket fall where it would, and followed.
She was there, sprawled across our bed in a sea of papers, bathed in the warm light of the bedside lamp. The sight of her stole what little breath I had left. Hair messily pulled back, drowning in one of my old t-shirts, completely lost in whatever she was reading. Beautiful. It was a beauty that made my heart ache.
Without a word, I crawled onto the bed, dragging myself up until I could rest my head on her stomach. I paused, remembering the bruises on her midsection. But before I could pull back, she gently tugged me closer and I surrendered, resting my head against her warmth.
I wrapped my arms around her waist and her fingers found my hair instantly, like they belonged there, gentle strokes that made my eyes flutter closed and I thought, this was home. This was peace. Even as my body screamed for relief, even as guilt gnawed at me, here with her, I could almost believe everything would be okay.
"What are you reading?" I mumbled against her shirt, already knowing the answer. Why did she still throw herself into this project? Did it even matter anymore? But I already knew that answer too. Distraction.
"Research papers. For our project." Her fingers never stopped their magic. "Everything okay at the hospital?" I wondered for a second how she knew where I went, but then she said, "Antiseptic smell."
Did I always smell like that? Like the harsh, sterile scent of the hospital? I hated it. Hated how it seemed to cling to my skin no matter how many times I scrubbed my hands raw. Hated the way it reminded me of sickness and death.
I hugged her tighter, breathing in her familiar scent as that was so unlike the clinical smell of the hospital as I crafted the lie. Yeah, everything's fine, I told her. Had to check on something with a patient. Normal stuff, nothing to worry about. Standard procedure.
But even as I spoke, the guilt in my stomach twisted. The truth was, I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep going like this. I could feel myself slipping, losing my grip on the things that mattered most and I couldn't help but wonder if I'd even make it to the end.
If I'd be there to witness the results of our research, to stand by her side as we perhaps do something great. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drown out the intrusive thoughts, focusing on the feel of her beneath me, the steady rise and fall of her breath.
Her fingers paused momentarily in my hair, and I knew she sensed something off. She always could read me too well. But then she resumed the gentle stroking.
"You'd tell me if something's wrong, right?"
"Of course," I whispered, another lie to add to the growing pile.
I tightened my arms around her waist, as if by holding her close enough, I could somehow make up for my betrayal. As if loving her fiercely enough could somehow balance out the pain I was about to cause her. Monday felt both too far away and not nearly far enough.
Desperate for a distraction, I asked about how it went at the police station. She said it was fine, her friends were with her as they'd needed to clarify their statements, she explained, her fingers still weaving through my hair. Everything had been too hazy right after the party.
She mentioned they needed me to verify my own statement again too. I bit back the urge to say that they'd likely have to come to my hospital bed for that. Instead, I just hummed in response. Whatever it took to make that little shit pay for what he'd done.
"He won't hurt anyone else," she added. "We'll make sure of it."
Something about her struck me as odd. How could she be so unaffected by everything that had happened? Like we didn’t just discover that Zenin Naoya was—
"You're so calm about it."
"And what would you have me do?"
I didn’t know. Maybe I should be grateful that at least one of us could keep it together.
I turned my head, pressing a kiss to her palm. I wanted to tell her how proud I was of her, how sorry I was for dragging her into this mess, how I feared the rumors that would follow her through university halls. How fucking terrified I was. How much I loved her. But it all just crowded in my throat, tangled with all the other truths I couldn't voice.
Instead, I just held her tighter. "I'm sorry," I whispered.
"For what?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Or lie again. I clung to her, as if she were the only thing keeping me from falling apart, pressing my face into her stomach, trying to blur myself into her very being. "Satoru,” she winced, a small sound escaping her lips. "You're hurting me."
"Please," I pleaded, tears pricking at my eyes. “Just… bear it for a moment. Please.” But then, a sudden tickle rose in my throat, and I sat up abruptly, he movement sending the room spinning.
"You okay?" she asked, sitting up as well, her hand cradling her side.
"Yeah," I managed, before another cough clawed its way out. I stood, turning away from her, my hand coming up to cover my mouth. When I pulled it away, blood glistened on my palm.
"Satoru? You sure you're okay?"
"Everything's fine." I curled my fingers into a fist, watching red seep between my knuckles. "Just need some water."
I should call him again. Should probably head to the hospital right now. Every logical part of my brain screamed at me to seek help, to stop this madness before it was too late.
But Sunday's dinner loomed in my mind. One last chance to fix things with her, to make things right before everything inevitably crumbled around us. Just two more days. I just needed to hold on for two more days and then I could let the chips fall where they may.
Even as blood painted the back of my throat red, I clung to that desperate hope, that foolish notion that I could make this right. I knew I was being stupid. Reckless. Playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun.
But then again, what did it matter anyway?
<- prev chapter | next chapter ->
author's note — welcome back, i hope this wasn't too intense, even tho i went through all stages of grief writing this chapter, but i'm quite happy with how it turned out. hope you all survived seeing things through satoru's eyes once more. writing from his perspective is always both challenging and thrilling in some strange way.
quick note, as this is somehow not obvious to some people: i understand that this story deals with controversial topics and might not be everyone’s cup of tea but this is purely fictional work, and i'm just here to enjoy a stupid little hobby. i am not looking for criticism. if the story makes you uncomfortable, feel free to block me and move on.
for those following the spin-off: yes, this chapter runs parallel to remedies and reasons chapter 04 ! if you want to see how certain events played out from a different angle, definitely check out the suguru spin-off.
and i want to thank you all for your incredible support. your comments, messages, and theories continue to blow me away. seeing how deeply you connect with this story and catch all the little details i sprinkle throughout brings me so much joy. your thoughtful analyses and wild speculations make writing this stupid story so much fun !! :''))
also a massive thank you to @/nanamis-baker who beta reads all these chaotic chapters, listens to my rambling about plot points, and talks me down whenever i'm convinced everything i write is terrible <3
& second quick note about the alcohol consumption in this story: while it's serve the narrative of the story, please remember that alcohol is toxic to the body and brain, with no "safe" amount. please be mindful of your health and wellbeing.
next chapter we'll be back to our regular pov as we deal with the aftermath of... well, all of this. until then, take care of yourselves ! and as always, thank you for joining me on this chaotic journey and being patient with my slow updates <3
ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here !
Summary: You went on a mission without informing anyone, and well, Gojo is mad.
Content: 18+ mdni, Angry/Makeup sex, unprotected sex, edging, overstimulation, Gojo's blindfold being used, choking, oral, and other stuff!
Word Count: 6.4k
a/n: I've been itching to write this for AGES, and now I finally had the time to do so! I can't wait for you to enjoy it! 🤍
Satoru's voice echoed through the room - not a shout, but a guttural roar. "How could you be so reckless?!" The words reverberated off the walls, shaking the very ground you were standing on. You stood toe-to-toe with him, nostrils flaring, your defiance burning in your eyes.
"Me? Reckless?" you shot back, mirroring his volume. "Satoru, it was my. mission!" Each word was punctuated with a jab of your finger towards him, desperate to break through his wall of anger. You waved your arms wildly towards your body, “Besides, I am not even hurt!”
You could feel the icy intensity of Satoru's eyes burning into you, even though his blindfold covered them. Not just anger, but a raw possession radiated from him. His rapid breath seemed to be laced with physical manifestation of his fury and worry, and a surge of curse energy crackled in the air between you.
He didn't respond to your words. Instead, he moved towards you. Each menacing step Satoru took sent a tremor through the room, causing you to step back. The floorboards groaned under his weight, the sound similar to terrified whimpers.
The air buzzed with emotions that transcended simple anger. It was raw, primal, and laced with something you couldn't quite define. His powerful frame loomed over you, blocking out the warm glow of the living room light, casting his shadow over you. You stepped back, your feet coming to a halt when you felt the cold wall brush against your back.
When he stopped just a hair's breadth away, your breath hitched. You could smell the faint, familiar scent of his cologne and something else - something musky. You both stood frozen, locked in a silent battle of wills.
The tension in the air was so thick it felt like suffocation. He moved his arms, caging you between his muscular chest and the rough wall. You were trapped, not just by physical force, but by the intensity radiating from his very being.
"You went on a damn mission alone without even informing anyone!" His voice was a low growl against your ear, a storm brewing beneath the surface. It wasn’t just anger in his words - his words were laced with a raw, dominating edge that sent shivers erupting all over your body.
"A dsmn special grade mission, for God's sake!" he roared, the words a physical blow that vibrated through your chest.
This was impossible. Dealing with a special-grade cursed spirit solo was reckless, yes. You knew that. But Satoru was being overly protective. You were a grade-one sorcerer, trained to handle such threats. You weren't a fragile doll he could keep locked away.
Fury burned in your eyes, a mirror image of his own. You shook your head, defiance hardening your features until your jaw ached. Your fists clenched so tight your nails dug into your palms, drawing a bead of blood that you just ignored.
"The mission was an emergency," you spat, your voice barely above a whisper despite the roiling anger within you. "And I am not as breakable as you think –"
"Cut the bullshit!" he snarled, cutting you off with brutality. His voice had dropped to a dangerous purr, sending a shiver down your spine that wasn't entirely from anger.
"I care only about the fact that you went ahead with it without even telling me," he continued, his voice low and dangerous. He was so close, you could feel his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.
The air between you pulsed with a raw, electric current, drawing your bodies closer despite the anger simmering between you.
You opened your mouth to argue, but the words wouldn't come. This was ridiculous. Satoru was being ridiculous. There was no way to escape his dominance, or was there?
Suddenly, in a move fueled by a mix of anger and a desperate need to assert yourself, you did something unexpected. You reached up and cupped the back of Satoru’s neck in your hands, tilting his head down to meet yours.
The kiss that followed wasn't a gentle one - a lover’s kiss. It was a clash of wills disguised as intimacy, fueled by your anger. Pouring your emotions into the kiss, you tried to communicate what he wasn’t willing to understand. You grabbed the front of his shirt, the fabric crumpling in your fist as you yanked him closer. Your lips met his in a battle for control, a fierce collision that sparked something electrifying within you.
There was a desperate need inside you - a simmering desire for something more that you were very familiar with.
Despite his initial shock, Satoru returned the kiss with equal fervour. His hands, previously braced against the wall, reached for you with a possessive hunger. One hand slid down your back, tracing the curve of your spine with a searing touch that made your head tilt up, deepening the kiss. The other hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek, a silent demand for submission.
But you wouldn't submit. Not now, not entirely. You met his force with your own, pushing back against his kiss, your tongue a weapon mirroring the fierce need you felt deep in your core. A low growl rumbled from Satoru’s chest, a sound both primal and urgent.
The tension in the air changed and became something far more dangerous, fueled by your cursed energy and frustration. The kiss became a dance, a push and pull for control. Satoru deepened the kiss, stealing your breath away and weakening your resistance. You fought back, nipping at his lower lip, drawing a gasp from him. The taste of blood, metallic and sharp, ignited a new kind of heat between you, a heady mix of aggression and need.
The room faded away, replaced by the urgency of the moment. You were lost in the kiss, consumed by the raw emotions swirling between you. It was a fight, a dance, a desperate yearning all rolled into one. And as the kiss deepened, as both your anger and your desire reached a feverish pitch, you broke away, gasping for breath.
You looked at Satoru, taking in the rapid rise and fall of his chest against your fist. A beat of heavy silence stretched between you before Satoru spoke, his voice a husky rasp.
"Not so breakable, huh?" he murmured, repeating your words, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. It wasn't a question, but a statement accompanied by a hint of amusement. A slow smile spread across his face, causing the hair on your arms to rise up.
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, caressing the shell. "How about we put that to a test?" he whispered, the words soft like the calm before the storm.
With that, he threw you over his shoulders effortlessly, his strength leaving you breathless. A gasp escaped your lips, both from the sudden movement and the unspoken challenge hanging in the air.
Satoru’s hands caressed the back of your thighs, massaging the muscles as he made his way towards the bedroom. The touch almost felt like an apology as anticipation filled the air.
Not even bothering to turn the lights on, he roughly tossed you onto the bed, with your back pressed against the cool sheets. His eyes were blindfolded, yet you could clearly picture the storm brewing in his cerulean eyes.
"Show me you mean it, then," you said breathlessly, your voice laced with challenge.
A slow smirk spread across Satoru's face, a hint of danger flickering in his voice as he replied, "Careful what you wish for, darling." Without wasting another moment, he was on top of you. The weight of his body was a powerful press that pushed you to the bed.
His hand gripped the back of your neck with a rough urgency before his lips met yours again, finishing what you started in the living room. Your hand tangled in his hair, pulling at the roots, the soft fabric of his blindfold a frustrating caress against your fingertips. Your other hand reached for his back, nails digging into the hard muscles as they travelled down, pulling him impossibility close, the heat of his body mirroring the fire burning in your core. Your fingers brushed against the hem of his shirt, slipping inside his shirt before lifting it up. You craved to feel his skin against yours
But Satoru was quicker. He grabbed your hand by your wrist, long fingers curling around it before pinning it to the mattress beside your head, keeping your hand in place. His touch was electrifying, a mix of frustration and raw awareness.
"Take it off," you mumbled against his lips, the command laced with barely contained anger. Satoru pulled back a fraction, his lips hovering a tantalising distance from yours. A slow smile played on his lips, his voice a husky purr. "So eager, huh?"
He didn't wait for a reply. Instead, his lips trailed down your jaw, his lips peppering wet kisses along the bone. A searing kiss landed on the pulse point at your neck, the heat of his breath igniting a fire within you. You moaned - a sound that was desperate for more, much more.
Satoru chuckled at your frustration, the sound clinging to your skin. He rained kisses down your neck and chest, moving your shirt away to trace the length of your collarbone. His teeth brushed against it, before he sucked hard, his teeth sharp against your skin, leaving his mark.
He went on, his lips moving with a slow, deliberate purpose over the barrier of your clothes. Each kiss felt like a tease, a promise of what was to come. His free hand slipped under your shirt, the fabric bunching beneath his touch, a flimsy obstacle that only heightened your growing desire.
"These are getting in the way," he murmured against your skin, referring to your shirt. His hands, strong and sure, began a slow exploration beneath the fabric, sending sparks flying wherever they touched. You arched your back into him, a whimper escaping your lips as he brushed against a particularly sensitive spot.
The frustration was a delicious torture. You wanted him to rip the clothes away, to feel his bare skin against yours. But a strange pleasure arose from this slow, deliberate undressing. It was a battle of dominance, and for now, Satoru was the victor.
With a sigh that was half frustration, half surrender, you let your head fall back to the mattress. You knew you wouldn't win this fight, and in truth, a part of you didn't entirely want to.
Your shirt was bunched above your chest as Satoru worked off your bra, his fingers reaching behind your back to unclasp the material before sliding the straps off your shoulder. Cold air hit your bare chest as you felt a tightening sensation, your nipples pebbling up.
Satoru’s fingers danced over your buds, the touch feather- like, causing a soft whimper to escape your lips, a sound you couldn't quite control. He smirked at your desperation, “what is it, love?” He asked, “Want more than this?” as if to show what you could get, he pinched your nipple, causing a sharp gasp to leave your mouth.
“Fuck - Satoru I -” A strangled gasp escaped your lips as Satoru's lips brushed against your nipple, a whisper of heat that sent shivers down your spine. Then, teeth scraped against the sensitive peak, before he left a sharp bite on the skin. His tongue darted out - a wet caress soothing the sting. It was a delicious ache, a thrilling sensation that left you breathless.
He moved down your chest, savouring every inch of your body. Each nip, each suckle, left a raw ache in its wake, a desperate yearning blooming within you. You wanted more - more of this intense, bordering-on-painful pleasure that pushed you to the edge.
"Satoru," you gasped, your voice breathless - thick with desire and a hint of something darker. "Don't stop." The words were a plea, as you arched your back - an attempt to get more of this sensation - more of him.
“Don't worry, love” he said, before leaving a kiss right over his mark on your chest, “The night is still young.” Pain and pleasure clouded your senses, and by the time Satoru was done, your chest felt raw and so sensitive.
The world narrowed down to Satoru; the feel of his lips against your skin as he left a hungry trail down your body, devouring every inch of your exposed flesh till he reached the waistband of your pants. You felt a tug at the fabric, your eyes widening as you realised his intentions.
"Wait!" you gasped, the word barely escaping your lips before there was a sharp rip. The sound echoed in the tense silence as Satoru tore your pants down the seam in a single, swift motion before removing the material and discarding it.
Heat flooded your face, a mix of fury and something else entirely. You opened your mouth to protest, but Satoru cut you off.
"Don't worry, love," he murmured against your thigh, before nipping at the skin of your inner thigh, "I'll get you something new. Hated them anyways."
Before you could even process his words, Satoru's strong hands parted your legs, settling between them. His hot breath brushed against your stomach as one of his hands wrapped around your thigh, keeping it open.
He didn't waste time. With a swift movement, he pushed your panties aside, his lips replacing the cool, wet fabric. The sudden shift in sensation was electrifying. A gasp ripped from your throat, a sound that mingled with a desperate moan. "Fuck, ‘Toru," you breathed, your voice thick with desire and a touch of surrender under his touch. Your hips instinctively bucked upward, seeking a deeper connection with his touch.
You could feel the smugness radiate from him. “Eager, are we?” He asked, before his tongue darted out and slowly traced the length of your slit, gathering your wetness, leaving a trail of saliva. Satoru then focused on your clit, sucking and licking, sometimes even biting it while his fingers teased your entrance, drawing agonising circles around it.
Your eyes squeezed shut, a throaty moan leaving your chest. You knew Satoru was just getting started, but it already felt so intense - you could feel your orgasm building.
He continued this, but the pressure kept changing. Sometimes it was just a tender touch - a feather-light brush of his lips. The other times it was a hard, deliberate suck on your clit, his teeth nipping at your most sensitive spot. It was hot and cold, frustrating and maddening.
Your hands fisted the bed sheet by your head, the force enough to rip the expensive fabric.
Just as your core clenched, the first tremors of release building, Satoru's focus shifted. His mouth focused on your entrance as Satoru stiffened his tongue before plunging into you. His thumb tracing light, small circles over your clit, the touch a fleeting brush - never giving you what you wanted, but showing you what it could be. Testing you, testing how far you’d go before you broke. It was a constant reminder of what you craved just out of reach.
Your hands snaked down your body, a desperate attempt to claim the pleasure that danced just out of reach. Your fingers twitched towards your clit. But before you could find solace, Satoru's grip tightened on your wrist. He yanked your hand back, pinning it against your stomach.
Satoru pulled back a little, blowing softly on your clit, the cool air a world away from the heat you felt, giving rise to goosebumps all over your skin. He left a soft kiss on your inner thigh as his finger continued their torturous dance over your heated skin.
Your toes curled and dug into his clothed back, urging him closer - to do something more, but Satoru wasn’t deterred. He kept teasing you, keeping you balanced on the knife’s edge.
Your senses were overloaded, the feathery touch of Satoru’s fingers on your skin so different from the firestorm building within. His silky hair brushed against your inner thigh, the ticklish sensation enhancing your pleasure. You arched your back, trying to escape the delicious agony, but Satoru kept you in place, his muscular arms tightening around your thigh.
"Satoru!" you gasped, your voice a desperate plea laced with a hint of something wilder. A single, sharp moan ripped through your throat, held back by a dam of rising pleasure that threatened to burst. You were close - so close.
Your hand, shaking with a strong need for release, reached out and tangled itself in his hair, your grip tight. You knew it would hurt - it had to. "What are you trying to do?" you hissed, the words laced with a breathless urgency.
Satoru pulled back, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, caressing it, “Patience love,” he said softly. “I am trying to show you something here.” with that, he left one final kiss on your clit before he started pulling away.
Your heels dug into his back, to prevent him from pulling back, but Satoru just pulled himself back, letting go of your hand before grabbing your ankles, pulling you down until you were teetering on the edge of the bed, your breath catching in your throat.
You pushed yourself up on your elbows, your clit throbbing, so desperate for a release. But before you could do anything, your eyes darted to the man in front of you. Moonlight glinted off his face, highlighting the wet glossiness on his lips. His hair, a tangled mess mirroring the tangled emotions between you, obscured the blindfold that had slipped a little. Despite the anger, despite the unresolved words, a raw truth hung in the air. He looked beautiful, even when he was a mess.
Satoru reached for your shirt that was bunched up over your chest. He pulled it over your shoulder, the soft fabric scraping against your burning skin. With ease, he manoeuvred your arms behind your back, before he took the discarded fabric and wrapped it around your wrists, twisting the fabric with cruel efficiency, transforming it into a makeshift handcuff.
A new wave of heat flooded in your core, accompanied by shock and a new challenge. "Oh really, Satoru?" you hissed, lifting your head to look at his face. “Did I intimidate you so much you had to tie me up?”
Satoru's grin promised both danger and exquisite pleasure. His hands moved to lift the blindfold, revealing eyes that encased a storm. The moonlight glinted off the sapphire irises, causing them to glow, but it was the rim around them, a ring of raw, unbridled desire, that stole your breath. It spoke of a hunger that mirrored your own, a hunger that was far greater than the anger simmering between you.
Somehow, in that single, electrifying moment, Satoru looked more dangerous and more tempting than ever before. His eyes invited you to fly too close to the sun- an invitation to a dance on the edge of control, and you were ready to take flight.
After the blindfold came off, he leaned down, his lips brushing against your earlobe as he whispered, “Oh love, you will not just be tied up.” With that, he lifted his blindfold over your head before lowering it down, covering your entire world in pitch darkness.
The sudden absence of light intensified the heat radiating from Satoru's body, his every breath a ragged whisper against your ear. You could feel him move away - the heat of his body disappearing, before he settled down on the bed beside you.
His hands were on your thighs, pulling you so that you were straddling his lap, the strong muscles of his thigh hard against your sensitive skin. His hands were on your back, caressing the curve of your spine, his nails dug into your skin. A gasp escapes your lips - a mixture of pain and arousal - as wetness flooded between your legs. You were sure your back had the crescent shape of his nails branded into it.
“You want to cum right?” he asked, as if he wasn’t painfully aware of your needs.
You kept your mouth shut - not giving him the satisfaction he craved, but the tremble of your body against his - desperate for a release - gave away enough. “Ride me, darling.” he murmured, “Take whatever you need.” The words were a taunt - a challenge - one you were willing to take.
With that, he settled back, leaving you to do what you pleased; well, it wasn’t like you could do much. You settled yourself against the bulge of his pants, hissing as it rubbed against your throbbing core, the texture of his pants feeling oddly smooth. But you paid it no mind as you began rocking your hips back and forth, reigniting the flames in your core.
Your back arched, your head tilted back and you moved your hips against him, throaty, deep moans leaving your lips. Yet, something was different - weird even. You have done this countless times in the past, yet why was it so different this time?
Your fingers itched again to toy with your clit - to get the friction you craved, but there was nothing you could do.
Frustration gnawed at your senses, reaching its peak when you could feel nothing, even as you increased your pace. Your thighs burned with exertion.
Satoru's hands were a constant presence on your back, tracing a lazy path over the length of your back. A sharp sting on your nipple jolted you; Satoru had pinched it - hard - you realised. “What is it, love?” Satoru asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “You seem to be having some trouble, hmm?”
You could see nothing, yet you could feel Satoru's eyes on you as a frustrated whimper escaped your lips. He was enjoying this - enjoying every damn second of your desperation.
“Satoru you-” just then it dawned on you. Why it felt as if you were riding nothing - why it had no texture, no form - because it was nothing, it was just emptiness.
Satoru was making you ride his infinity.
Your eyes widened behind the blindfold, a strangled cry erupting from your throat at the realisation. He was doing it on purpose - of course he was! Getting you worked up and needy, begging for him.
The world was a frustrating blur of darkness and incomplete sensation. The phantom friction only amplified your desire, making you squirm against the sensation.
Satoru reached out, trailing his fingers down your folds, a slow, deliberate path that sent shivers down your bound arms. Every brush sent a wave of pleasure straight to your core, a promise of release dangerously close. But then, he'd withdraw, leaving you burning with a frustrated heat - Satoru's touch was a cruel tease, determined to push you over your limit.
"So close, aren't we, love?" he gently kissed your cheek, the touch as soft as a butterfly’s flutter. You could practically feel the smirk playing on his lips against your cheek.
"Satoru," you growled, the warning clear in your voice.
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. "Feeling impatient, hm?" he cooed, his fingers brushing your inner thigh with a whispering touch, causing you to hiss and pull back slightly, but Satoru’s strong hands stopped you.
“You should look at yourself right now,” he breathed against your neck, his words dripping with amusement as he described what you were unable to see. “Looking so pretty like this, riding nothing but air,” He sucked on your pulse, drawing a gasp out of you. “Making a mess all over me.” his fingers brushed against your core again, as if to prove his point.
Just after those words left his mouth, Satoru flipped you over so that you were on the bed with him on top. Without any warning, his fingers plunged into you and you groaned - finally, you could feel something - something tangible.
Satoru’s long fingers pumped inside you, his thumb drawing tight circles on your clit. Your wetness immediately coated his fingers. His fingers curled and twisted, the movement promising an intense release. Your breath came in short pants as Satoru quickened his pace, adding another finger inside you, stretching your walls. Your back arched to give him better access, encouraging him to go deeper.
“Fuck, Satoru, don’t hold back,” you panted, knowing he needed a little push. “Oh, not even planning to,” Satoru replied, twisting his fingers inside you, brushing against all your stops, the pressure delicious against your muscles.
Your impending orgasm finally greeted you, igniting every cell in your body in its wake. You were screaming or crying - you didn’t know, as Satoru continued pumping his fingers into you, elongating your release.
But he didn’t stop once you were done. Satoru pumped his fingers inside you as he increased the pressure on your sensitive clit, bringing you so close to another intense orgasm. Your eyes rolled back into your head behind the blindfold. Your legs shook, your bound fists clenched behind your back as another wave of pleasure took over you, chants of Satoru’s name leaving your lips.
He went on, his fingers gliding in and out effortlessly. HIs long, slender fingers sent shivers down your spine with each deliberate stroke. Lost in a haze of pleasure, breathless whimpers and groans escaped your lips as your body arched for more. Undulated pleasure took hold, wave after wave washing over you. You felt yourself melting, boneless - a pile of blissful surrender under his touch.
By the time he was satisfied, you were a mess. Your core was so sensitive - like a live wire, a bundle of exposed nerves. Your throat ached as pleasure coursed inside your vein, making your skin burn. Satoru held you close against his warm body as you struggled to catch your breath, before he leaned down and whispered, “We aren’t done yet, love.”
“But Satoru -” you began, but Satoru placed a finger over your lips, silencing you. “Shh, you have got some more in you - I know it.”
With that, he moved away, the rustle of fabric greeting your ear. He was undressing, you realised. The situation felt weirdly ironic. Here you were sitting on the bed, completely bare for his eyes - at his mercy, yet you couldn’t even see him.
As if sensing your thoughts, Satoru said, “Don't worry, sweetheart,” his hands brushed against your ankles, “You'll get what you want soon.”
You parted your legs, giving Satoru the space he needed as he settled closer to you, the mattress shifting under his weight.You could feel his tip against your sensitive core, a hiss leaving your lips as you lifted your hips, trying to get more of him.
Satoru moaned at the sensation, a sound that resonated through you. He pressed a hand on your lower stomach, forcing your hips down before he reached back, undoing the bonds of your hand.
A sigh of relief left your lips as you reached out, ignoring the stiffness of your muscles. Your hands found his broad shoulders, pulling him closer.
Satoru's warmth enveloped you, his cologne a heavy presence in your senses. His tip brushed against your clit. Satoru used his cock to gather your wetness, before he found your entrance, plunging into you with a force that left you breathless.
Satoru’s pained hiss filled your ears as your walls clamped down around his sensitive length, eager for all of him. But before he completely settled inside you, Satoru stilled, moving inside you with short, shallow movement. He moved deliberately, each thrust a calculated tease designed to send you spiralling.
The frustration that had been simmering all night boiled over, coursing through your veins. You had enough of his teasing, and with a surge of newfound power, you wrapped your legs around his hips, hands gripping the back of his neck. In a smooth motion, you flipped the two of you, taking control, Satoru still nestled deep inside.
“What are you doing, love?” Satoru questioned, the sudden change in positions taking him by surprise. You moved over him, your walls squeezing around his length, causing Satoru to moan. “Taking what I need, honey” you answered breathlessly, using his own words against him. Your hands travelled up his chest, brushing against taut muscles, before moving over his shoulder and wrapping your hands around his throat. You squeezed his neck, the touch powered by the anger and frustration you felt all evening.
A moan ripped from Satoru’s chest, the sound vibrating against your hand as your hips pistoned against his. His hand tightened on your hip, providing stability to your thrusts. His other hand, a searing brand, traced a path up your side, sending shivers cascading down your spine. Reaching your blindfold, he paused, his fingers lingering on the cool fabric before he lowered it, the fabric hanging around your neck.
The darkness lifted, revealing Satoru. His eyes burned with a desire and need that mirrored the simmering anger in your gut. His hair was a mess of damp tendrils clinging to the flushed skin of his face. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, mirroring your own. His chest heaved with short, ragged breaths, evidence of the effect you had on him. Your gaze finally landed on his lips, where a smirk played.
This fucker was enjoying this.
Your grip around his throat tightened, watching as his skin turned a deeper shade of pink. You quickened your pace over him, your head thrown back in a gasp as intense pleasure coursing through your body.
Satoru’s grip on your hips tightened further, controlling your movement, making you bounce on his cock. A gasp escaped your lips as his other hand found your throat and squeezed, a shocking contrast to the gentle brush of his thumb against your pulse point. For a moment, the world narrowed to his touch, the pressure building a delicious tension in your chest.
“So pretty, love.” His words were like fuel, feeding the growing fire of pleasure inside you. His eyes raked over your body, lingering on your chest - the reddened patches of skin, each one a map of his touch. The marks he left burned under his gaze, like flames dancing over your skin.
His hand left your throat and the pressure on your throat vanished, replaced by a gasp as you gulped in air, your pace becoming frantic. The room was filled by the sound of moans and skin slapping against skin.
You felt your orgasm building, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to crash over you. With a gasp, you arched your back, tightening around Satoru's hardness. A hiss escaped his lips as his grip on your hips tightened further. His nails dug in, drawing sharp, red lines across your skin, his desperate urgency that mirrored your own.
Satoru’s finger reached down, travelling between the valley of your chest, over your stomach before reaching your aching clit. His finger danced a maddeningly rhythm over your bud, each circle a deliberate tease. Anticipation coiled tighter with every caress, a pressure building in your core that threatened to explode. “Cum for me, love,” he murmured, a barely concealed tremor in his voice. When he flicked and pinched your clit, a gasp ripped from your lips.
The dam broke. Pleasure surged in a white-hot wave, crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your walls spasmed, clenching down on Satoru with a pulsing intensity. Your back arched so high you felt bone strain, your breath a ragged cry clawing its way out of your throat. You crawled at Satoru’s chest, leaving red, angry marks all over his glistering skin.
The aftershock of your release left you breathless, clinging to Satoru for support, your face buried in his chest. But before you could completely bask in the afterglow of your orgasm, Satoru shifted. With ease, he flipped you onto your hands and knees.
He shifted behind you, leaning down to press a kiss on your sweaty temple. His voice was a low rumble against your ear as your eyes met. "Enjoyed that, sweetheart?" He smirked, but the glint in his eyes held a different promise. He hovered at your entrance, the tip of him a torturous brush against your heated core.
"Because," he continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "it's my turn now." Without a warning, he plunged into you again, this time from behind, taking control over your body.
You whimpered - it felt too much. But it also felt so good.
Satoru leaned down, his hands cupping your throat, pulling you towards him. He placed a kiss on your forehead, his hands digging into your lower back, urging you closer. A shudder wracked your body, the aftershocks of your release battling the building heat within you.
"You're doing so well," he rasped out. "Just one more," his lips moved against your cheek, a hint of desperation lacing his voice. "Can you manage that, love?"
Exhaustion gnawed at your limbs, but the raw desire in his voice was impossible to resist. You could only nod, your body already betraying your mind as he surged back into you.
His hand reached for the blindfold hanging around your neck, grabbing it. You sucked in a breath, a thrill shooting through you, already knowing what was about to come. Satoru’s hand twisted around the blindfold, tightening it, cutting off your oxygen. Your blood rushed to your face as his other hand grabbed the front of your hair, his fingers digging into your scalp, tugging at your roots.
He used the blindfold and the grip on your hair to leverage your body, controlling your movements, moving you back and forth on his cock. Tears welled up in your eyes, a mix of overwhelming sensation and exhilaration. Your body moved instinctively against his, lost in the delicious friction he had created.
Satoru's grip on your hair intensified, pulling your head up. “Fuck love, you take me so well” he groaned. his movements became erratic, fueled by his own rising desire. His gasps filled the space between you, mirroring your own quickening breaths. You could feel the frantic beat of his heart echoing against your back
A surge of heat flared low in your abdomen, spreading outwards in a delicious wave. Your walls instinctively clenched around him, mirroring the tightening grip of his hand around the blindfold. You squeezed your eyes shut, overwhelmed by a tsunami of sensations - the press of his body, the unrestricted sounds of his pleasure, the exquisite friction building within you and the way he filled you.
Your orgasm finally took over you - over every muscle in your body, leaving a white - hot fire burning in its wake. It felt as if your senses had stopped working, the intensity of your release replacing everything. Your breath hitched in your throat, replaced by a guttural moan that tore from your lips.
Satoru hissed behind you, his movement becoming jerky as his length pulsed inside you, “So close - love” he choked out, gasping, before you felt his warm cum filling you up. He shuddered, his body mirroring yours as his own orgasm greeted him.
Satoru continued pumping into you, pushing and burying his release deep inside you - where it belonged. He pulled out, using his cock to gather the cum and wetness leaking out of you, before pushing it back into you, stuffing you up completely.
He held you close, his ragged breaths mingling with yours. The world faded away, leaving only the press of his body and the aftershocks of pleasure reverberating through you. “See what you do to me?” he asked, still pulsing inside you, before pulling you in for a kiss.
Satoru's fingertips traced lazy circles over your bare back, his fingers cool against your heated skin. You nestled deeper into his chest, the crisp scent of fresh bed sheets and his bodywash calming your senses.
"You did so good today, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. You could hear the tenderness, the unmistakable pride lacing his words - You knew he wasn’t just talking about the events that took place moments before.
Confused, you lifted your head, meeting his gaze. The question forming on your lips died in your throat as he pressed a finger against them, a playful glint in his sapphire eyes. "Let me finish, okay?" he asked, a soft smile playing on his lips while his eyes pleaded you to remain quiet - to let him say what he was thinking.
Your hand instinctively wrapped around his, a silent invitation for him to continue. His other hand brushed through your damp hair, still wet from the shower. "Taking on a special grade curse all alone? Without even a scratch?." His voice hushed with awe, "You're incredible, love."
A blush crept up your neck. You knew you were more than capable - you had trained hard to reach where you are today - but hearing it from Satoru sent warmth through you. You knew he wasn’t saying it just for the sake of it - he genuinely meant it. "It wasn't that big of a deal," you said, trying to deflect his praise, ignoring the warmth blooming in your chest.
He chuckled, a rich, rumbling sound. Then, his expression turned serious. "Seriously, though, next time something like that happens, just let me know, alright?” he asked, cupping your face, your eyes meeting his. “Even a quick text would do."
The playful glint returned to his eyes. "Besides," he added, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face, "it wouldn't be any fun if I don’t show up every now and then, saving your ass"
You couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet room. You playfully yanked his arm “It was just once!” you said, the laughter still bubbling out of you.
But you knew he was right, knew he just wanted to be there for you, to offer his strength when you needed it most. "Alright," you conceded, a smile gracing your lips. "Whenever something like this happens again, I will let you know."
He squeezed your hand, the warmth spreading through you. "Good," he said, before pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your temple.
Your eyelids felt heavy - the day’s fatigue finally caught up to you. You nestled in Satoru’s arm as sleep pulled you into its comforting embrace.
a/n: Ahhh, writing smut is always SO difficult but so fun lol. I hope you enjoyed this!
Heyyy🥰 I‘m loving your Whisper of the Petals series. Did you discontinue it?
Heyy! Thank you so much for supporting the series, it means a lot to me <33
Now, did i discontinue the series? Not really. I know it's long long overdue for an update and I am really sorry for it, and I have gotten soo many asks about it but it's just that I am low on motivation to continue it and I am trying to find my motivation back.
Every time I pick up the series to continue it all I see is flaws and it just feels so random?? Like why are they falling in love so randomly lmaooo. Idk, maybe it's just me but I have changed the plot like a gazillion times yet I am not completely satisfied with it?
But on a positive note, I am getting back to writing again. I took a break to prepare for my entrance and masters and I have another exam coming up in 4-5 days but I am just so sick of studying and honestly I missed writing. So right now it's gonna be a silly little smut lol, but hopefully it will help me feel motivated again! Sexualizing men for motivation let's go!!
I revisiting the draft for ch3 of WOP and I am really happy with one scene but the other scenes feel like such a disaster I think I'll rewrite the whole thing because editing it will be a bigger nightmare.
Plus i have been reading lots of stuff here and there like you know, essays, fics, some books and anything that counts as reading material so I guess that's why I see all the flaws because I feel like I am reading quality stuff and when I compare it with my writing it just doesn't feel like it. But hey, that's something I can improve you know.
I have another entrance test in January, but I am hoping I can update the series before it. Maybe it will be a smaller chapter, I will have to see where I can fit the chapter break, but I'll try my best!
Thank you so much for reading the series so far! I hope I can work around whatever block I am having and complete the series soon!
I feel like this one is so true 😂 it's coming, right? They are going to be happy right?😆
And like I like to do quizzes several times to see if they keep the same answers. Well, apparently not, but this is still so true, so I am putting this answer too. I feel like I changed only one response and got a totally different result 😅
having a crush on your brother's best friend is bad enough. having that best friend look better at every family dinner is just cruel. but worst of all? he's noticed your not-so-subtle staring.
It should be illegal how Satoru Gojo manages to look better every goddamn single Christmas dinner.
You watch him over the rim of your glass as he throws his head back laughing at something your aunt just said, the sound rich and warm like honey. And it doesn't help that he's rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, giving you a perfect view of his unfairly handsome forearms.
Your grip tightens on your glass as he runs a hand through those perfect white strands of his, and you catch yourself wondering, not for the first time, if they're as soft as they look.
It's been like this for years now — ever since your brother Suguru first brought his college roommate home for the holidays, Satoru's own family being overseas.
Now he's practically part of the family, showing up to every gathering with that infuriating smile and those stupidly blue eyes that seem to find you no matter where you are in the room.
You deliberately focus on your plate, stabbing a potato with perhaps more force than necessary. But your eyes, the traitors, keep drifting back to him of their own accord. It's frustrating, really.
Almost impossible not to notice the way his white hair falls just so over his forehead, or how his jaw flexes when he's deep in thought, or the way his throat moves when he takes a sip of wine.
Not that you're looking at his throat.
You're not.
(You totally are.)
And then, because the universe hates you, he catches you staring.
Those blue eyes lock with yours across the table, and his lips curl into a faint smile that makes your stomach flip. You nearly choke on your wine, quickly averting your gaze to study the tablecloth like it's the most fascinating thing you've ever seen.
"Stop staring at my best friend," Suguru whispers as he passes behind your chair.
Shit. Was it that obvious?
After dinner, you escape to the back porch, needing some air that isn't thick with the scent of cinnamon and Satoru's cologne. The winter night is crisp and clear, your breath forming little clouds in the darkness.
You're not surprised when you hear the door open behind you, or when the familiar scent of cigarette smoke wafts your way.
"Those things will kill you, Suguru," you say without turning around.
"That's what I keep telling him," Satoru's voice chimes in, and you turn to find them both strolling onto the porch, your stomach dropping. Suguru takes another deliberate drag of his cigarette, maybe just to spite you both, while Satoru wrinkles his nose.
"Speaking of things that might kill you," Satoru says, "how's that final year of college treating you?"
You try to focus on the question, but it's difficult when the porch light is hitting his eyes just right, making them look impossibly bluer and you have to resist the urge to melt under his gaze.
"It's fine," you manage, aiming for nonchalant. "Just trying to survive my thesis."
"Ah, your thesis." His lips quirk up in that stupidly attractive way of his. "What was your topic again? Something about modern interpretations of folklore?"
Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You mentioned it exactly once, months ago, during summer break. You hadn't expected him to remember.
"Japanese urban legends and their evolution through social media," you correct him, trying not to read too much into the fact that he remembered at all. "Though at this point, it's more like about my own evolution into madness."
Suguru snorts, flicking ash off his cigarette. "Please, you're the only person I know who actually enjoys research. I've seen your color-coded spreadsheets."
"Some of us like being organized," you shoot back.
As if on cue, your aunt's voice carries from inside. "Suguru! Can you come help your father with something?"
Suguru sighs, crushing his cigarette under his heel before heading inside, leaving you alone with Satoru. And suddenly the porch feels much smaller than it did a moment ago.
Great.
"So," Satoru says, shifting closer until his arm brushes yours. "Going to tell me why you've been watching me all night?"
Heat floods your cheeks. "I haven't—"
"You're not as subtle as you think," he interrupts. "I can feel you glaring holes into the back of my head whenever I'm around."
"I don't glare," you protest weakly.
"No?" His voice drops lower as he steps closer, backing you against the porch railing. "Then what would you call it?"
You swallow hard, trying to ignore how good he smells up close. "Curious observation?"
He laughs, the sound sending warmth spreading through your chest despite the cold. "Is that what we're calling it now?" Then his eyes flick up. "Would you look at that?"
You follow his gaze to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the porch ceiling, definitely not there earlier today. You're going to kill your mother. Or your aunt. Or your cousin.
Maybe all of them.
"We don't have to—" you start to say, but Satoru's already leaning in, moving into your space with that casualness he's always had, like being this close to you is the most natural thing in the world.
"I've been waiting for an excuse to kiss you since sophomore year," he murmurs. "Please don't ruin this for me."
Oh.
Oh.
His lips meet yours before you can process that confession, soft and warm and tasting faintly of the mulled wine from dinner. Your hands find their way to his chest as he cups your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he kisses you like he's been thinking about it for years.
And the truth is, he has.
When you finally break apart, his forehead resting against yours, you say, "Suguru's never going to let us live this down."
"Worth it." Satoru smiles, stealing another quick kiss. "Though I should probably thank him for the mistletoe."
"You knew?"
"Of course I knew. Who do you think helped him put it up?"
You smack his chest, but he just catches your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Merry Christmas to me," he says with a wink.
And despite yourself, you can't help but smile back. "Merry Christmas, you idiot."
I JUST READ YOUR GOJO SMUT IT HAD ME💦 IT WAS SO HOT AND SEXY 🌶️🌶️ HAD ME DREAMING ABOUT GOJO SATORU MAKING ME RIDE HIS INFINITY AND THAT 🍆 IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT IT WAS THAT HOT 🥵🥵🥵
I am your biggest fan now 😻😻 WRITEN ON ROCKS. YOUR GOJO IS HOTTEST
How are you doing? When will you be writing more hot Gojo smut?
Hello! This ask made my day 😭 and omg you have no idea how much I wanted to experience his infinity too when I was writing that scene 😂🫶
Hmm about more hot gojo smut, I do have a threesome (gojo, reader, geto) half written in my draft. It was supposed to be published during kinktober but real life is lowkey kicking my ass ahaaha (nothing concerning though) so I am not able to work on my writing much 🫠🫠 but I think I will try to sneek out an hour or two here and there and finish that fic and publish it because it is gonna be hot too 🫣 (though i don't really know how to write threesome lol)
So so happy to know that you enjoyed my work, I hope i am able to post more of my work soon for you to enjoy!
satoru's been hopelessly in love with you for years, but can only confess when you can't hear him. but someday—maybe someday soon—he'll tell you for real.
"How do these look?" you ask, slipping on a pair of noise-canceling headphones and striking a pose. "Be honest."
Satoru, who's been trailing behind you in the electronics store for the past hour without complaining like the best friend he's always been, looks up from the speaker he's been fiddling with. "You look good in anything."
"No, for real." You turn to check your reflection in a nearby screen. "Do they make my head look bigger? I feel like they make my head look bigger."
He snorts, reaching over to adjust the headband. His fingers brush against your temple, and you try not to think about how many times those same hands have absentmindedly played with your hair during movie nights, or how he still unconsciously reaches for you whenever he laughs too hard, just like he did when you were kids.
"That's what you're concerned about? The size of your head?"
"It's a valid concern."
"Your head is perfectly normal-sized," he assures you, his fingers lingering perhaps a moment too long as he fixes the fit. "Though I suppose all that overthinking has to go somewhere—"
You shoot him a look, but there's no heat behind it. Fifteen years of friendship has made you immune to his teasing — well, mostly immune.
You're not quite immune to the way your pulse quickens when he's standing this close, or how he still smells like that same cologne he's worn since high school, the one you helped him pick out for his first date with someone else while ignoring the weird ache in your chest.
"I really need good ones for studying," you say, checking the price tag. "My roommate talks way too much."
Satoru winces at the price. "Expensive. But they're supposedly the best."
"Worth every penny if they can block out her ramblings." You adjust the fit, immediately noticing how they muffle the noise of the shop. "Oh wow, these are actually incredible. Say something so I can test them properly."
"What should I say?"
You arch an eyebrow at him. "Anything. Just need to check if they work."
His expression shifts then, melting into something tender as his lips move. Even though you can't hear the words, something about the gentle way he's looking at you makes your heart flutter strangely in your chest.
"These are perfect!" you say, pulling them off, trying to ignore the way your pulse has picked up. "I couldn't hear you at all. What did you say?"
Satoru leans against the display counter, chin propped in his hand as he watches you fiddle with the headphone cord, a fond smile playing at his lips. "Nothing really," he murmurs, but there's something soft in his expression, something unguarded that makes your heart skip.
You pause, catching the way he's looking at you — like you're something precious, something more than just his best friend of fifteen years. "Satoru?" you say softly.
He seems to catch himself then, straightening abruptly as a flush creeps up his neck. "Ah, yes. Should we, uh." His voice comes out slightly strangled. "Should we get these paid for? Before they close?"
"The store closes in two hours."
"Better safe than sorry." He's already heading for the checkout, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.
What you don't know — what you couldn't hear through those noise-canceling headphones — were three words he's been trying to say for years. Three words that slipped out so easily when he knew you couldn't hear them, when the safety of silence gave him the courage he's never had before.
"I love you."
Simple. Honest. Everything he's wanted to tell you since he was seventeen and realized his best friend was the love of his life. Everything he's been too afraid to say, too afraid to risk losing you.
But for now, those words remain caught in the space between silence and sound, in the safety of a moment you couldn't hear. Maybe one day he'll find the courage to say them again, when you can actually hear him.
summary — on a frost-bitten december morning, you watch satoru gojo prepare for his fated battle with sukuna with infuriating calm, like he isn't planning to sacrifice himself for the greater good. you've spent years being his secret, clearing battlefields for him and stealing kisses between missions, but now you're faced with the most brutal truth. that sometimes the cruelest curse isn't the one that kills you — it's loving someone who belongs to the world before they belong to you.
word count — 5.4 k
warnings — heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of blood and violence, implied death, unhealthy relationship, sad ending
author's note — this has been rotting in my drafts since the final jjk chapter dropped, and i finally dragged it out into the light bc i'm procrastinating uni. fair warning, this is pure angst with zero comfort, just two people breaking each other's hearts because sometimes love isn't enough. anywayys, happy reading <3
masterlist
Winter had never felt so much like an ending.
You watched frost creep across the windows of your shared apartment, each crystalline pattern forming like cracks in glass, spreading slowly but inevitably.
Outside, the world lay hushed under winter's blanket, everything soft and serene. Birds traced lazy patterns against a sky so blue it hurt to look at, and fresh snow made everything clean and new.
It was the kind of morning that belonged in fairy tales, the kind poets write about when they want to capture peace in words. Strange, how you'd never imagined death would choose such a beautiful day.
You watched Satoru move through his routine, each gesture precise and unhurried. White hair caught the pale sunlight as he smoothed it back, his reflection in the mirror handsome as ever before he adjusted his clothes, and put on his blindfold.
You'd watched him prepare for countless missions before, but this felt different. This felt final.
The normality of it all was almost cruel — how he could stand there, getting ready like this was just another day, just another fight. Like the sun wasn't rising on what could be your last morning together.
The clock on the wall ticked steadily forward, each second falling like a stone into still water. Time felt strange, both rushing too fast and moving too slow. You wanted to grab the clock's hands, force them to stop, to give you just a few more moments in this morning that felt like borrowed time.
"You're staring," he said without turning around, a slight smile playing at his lips.
"Can you blame me?" You were curled up in the window seat, tea growing cold in your hands. "It's not every day your— whatever we are goes to fight the King of Curses."
He turned then, and even through the blindfold, you could feel the weight of his gaze. "Whatever we are?" There was amusement in his tone. "After all this time, you still don't know what we are?"
"Well, we're not exactly big on labels," you pointed out, trying to keep your voice light despite the heaviness in your chest. "Secret relationship and all that."
"Ah, but that's what makes it fun, isn't it?" He crossed the room to where you sat, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. "The sneaking around, the secret meetings—"
"Satoru." You caught his hand. "How are you so calm about this?"
He tilted his head, considering. "Would you prefer if I was panicking?"
"I'd prefer if you showed any emotion at all about the fact that you're about to fight Sukuna." You stood up, setting your tea aside. "You've been acting like this is just another day, just another fight, but it's not. You know it's not."
"I think I've shown plenty of emotion," he said, pulling you closer with a playful smile. "Just last night, if I recall—"
"Don't." You pressed a hand against his chest, keeping him at arm's length. "Don't deflect. Not today."
The smile faded from his face, replaced by something more serious. "What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to tell me why you're so calm. I want you to tell me why you're not worried." Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed on. "I want you to tell me why it feels like you're saying goodbye."
He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing patterns on your wrist where he still held it. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than before. "The world needs to move forward. It needs to find someone stronger."
"What are you talking about?" You pulled back slightly. "You're the strongest there is."
"Am I?" His smile was gentle, almost sad. "Or is that just what everyone needs to believe?"
"Satoru—"
"The world has relied on me for too long," he continued. "They've made me their symbol, their savior, their stupid hero. But what happens when I'm gone? Who protects them then?"
"You're not going anywhere," you said. "You're going to win. You always win."
He cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. "Sometimes winning isn't about surviving. Sometimes it's about making sure what comes after is better than what came before."
"That's not funny."
"I'm not trying to be funny." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'm trying to tell you that whatever happens today, the world will keep turning. It will find new leaders, new protectors. Maybe even better ones."
"I don't want new protectors," you whispered. "I want you."
"Ah, but you've always had me," he said softly. "Ever since that first mission together, when you told me my head was too big to fit through doorways. Do you remember?"
You huffed. "You were showing off, making everything more complicated than it needed to be."
"I was trying to impress you."
"You're always trying to impress me."
"But it's working, right?"
You pressed closer to him, breathing in his familiar scent. "You know it is, you idiot."
He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest. For a moment, you both stood there in silence, listening to each other's heartbeats. The familiar rhythm brought back memories of how this all began, of the first time you'd been close enough to hear his heart race.
For loving Satoru Gojo had always been the most beautiful and dangerous thing in your world.
It started in blood, as most things in your world did. A mission gone wrong, cursed spirits thick in the air, the metallic taste of death sharp on your tongue. You’d seen him fight before—who hadn’t?
But that night was different. That night, you saw him bleed.
A special-grade curse caught you both off guard. One moment, he fought three curses at once like some untouchable god, and the next, he was crashing through three buildings, blood gushing from his mouth.
Something in your chest cracked at the sight — not from the impact of being thrown back yourself, but from seeing him, the strongest sorcerer alive, look so terrifyingly human.
You remembered how his blindfold had been torn, those devastating blue eyes meeting yours across the wreckage. Blood trickled down his chin, his usually perfect hair matted with debris, and yet he smiled. That damn smile that made your heart stutter even as cursed spirits attacked you from all sides.
“Trying to steal my spotlight?” he’d joked, wiping blood from his lips as he stood. “I’m the only one allowed to look cool here.”
You wanted to strangle him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to scream at him for making jokes when he could have died. You did none of those things. Instead, you cleared the area, giving him the perfect opening he needed to obliterate the special grade.
Later, after the dust had settled and the reports had been filed, he cornered you in the darkened hallway of Jujutsu High.
“You’re angry,” he said, not a question but a statement.
“I’m not angry.” You were furious. “I’m just wondering how someone who’s supposed to be the strongest can be so fucking reckless.”
He stepped closer, backing you against the wall. “Worried about me?”
“You wish.” But your voice shook, betraying you. Because you had been worried. Terrified, actually. The image of him lying in that wreckage, blood staining his white hair red, had burned itself into your mind.
“Liar,” he whispered, and then his lips were on yours.
Everything they said about Satoru Gojo was true — he was overwhelming, all-consuming, impossible to resist. Kissing him felt like being struck by lightning, like being unmade and remade in the space between heartbeats. You broke apart, both breathing hard, and reality came crashing back.
“Fuck,” you summarized eloquently.
He laughed, the sound low and rich. “That could be arranged.”
“Satoru.” You pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his heart race under your palm. “We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re you. Because I’m me. Because there are a thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea.”
“I’m only hearing excuses.” He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Not actual reasons.”
And that was how it started — with blood and curses and kisses in dark hallways. With terrible ideas that felt too good to resist.
Keeping it secret was both easier and harder than you expected. Easier because everyone already knew how Satoru was — flirtatious, tactile, always pushing boundaries. No one questioned when he draped himself over your desk during meetings or appeared uninvited in your office and stayed for hours.
Harder because every moment felt like a lie of omission. Harder because you had to watch him walk into danger again and again, had to maintain professional distance when all you wanted was to grab him and never let go.
You stole moments where you could find them. Quick kisses in empty classrooms, heated encounters between missions, quiet nights in your apartment when the world thought he was somewhere else entirely.
It ate at you sometimes. Not because you wanted to announce it to the world, but because each moment felt borrowed, stolen from a future you might never have.
Every time he left for a mission, every time he faced another curse, you wondered if this would be it. If this would be the time your last memory of him would be a secret smile across a meeting room, a cryptic message that no one else understood. But then he’d come back, always with that insufferable smile, usually with some ridiculous story about how amazing he’d been.
He’d find ways to touch you in public that looked casual — a hand at the small of your back during briefings, fingers brushing as he passed you documents, his body angled toward yours in crowded rooms like a sunflower seeking light.
And the worst part? The absolute worst part was how good he was at pretending. How easily he maintained his public persona — the untouchable, unbeatable Satoru Gojo, who flirted with everyone and meant it with no one.
Sometimes you’d catch him looking at you in meetings with the same expression he gave everyone else, and for a moment, you’d wonder if you’d imagined everything between you.
But then night would fall, and he’d show up at your door with takeout and that soft smile he saved just for you. He’d kiss you like he was trying to apologize for every moment he had to pretend you were nothing special, like he was trying to prove that this, the two of you, was the only real thing in his world.
You never talked about the future. How could you? In your line of work, tomorrow was never guaranteed. Each mission could be your last, each kiss could be your goodbye. The closest you ever came to acknowledging it was in the desperate way he’d hold you after a close call, in the way you’d trace his features in the dark like you were trying to memorize them by touch.
Some nights, when sleep eluded you both, he’d tell you about the weight of being the strongest, about the exhaustion of being everyone’s last hope.
He’d whisper his fears into your skin — not of death or defeat, but of failing those who believed in him. Those were the moments when the great Satoru Gojo disappeared, leaving just Satoru, just a man who carried the world on his shoulders and made it look easy.
You lived for those moments. The quiet ones, the real ones, the ones where he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive but just yours. Just as you were his.
You carved out your own little infinity in the spaces between battles and duties. A secret world where his laugh wasn’t for show, where your touch wasn’t professional, where you could just be the two of you without the weight of expectations and reputations.
But infinity, as it turned out, had limits. Even his.
Looking at him now, preparing to face Sukuna with that same causality he brought to everything, you wondered if this was how your story was always meant to end. If all those stolen moments were just preparing you for this — one last morning, one last smile, one last chance to pretend tomorrow might come.
The world needed someone stronger, he said. But you needed him. And maybe that was the cruelest curse of all — loving someone the world needed more than you did.
"Promise me something," you said then.
"Hmm?"
"Promise me you won't just give up. Promise me you'll fight to come back."
He pulled back slightly, reaching up to remove his blindfold. His striking blue eyes met yours, intense and clear.
"I promise," he said, "that everything I do today will be for a better tomorrow."
"That's not what I asked."
"It's the only promise I can make."
"Stop." Your voice turned sharp, anger finally breaking through. "Stop talking about tomorrow. Stop talking about the future and the next generation and whatever noble sacrifice you think you need to make. I don't care about any of that."
"Don't you?"
"No, I don't." You grabbed his jacket, fingers twisting in the fabric. "I don't care if the world needs someone stronger. I don't care if the next generation needs to step up. I care about you, you impossible man. I want you here, alive, with me. Is that so wrong? Am I not allowed to be selfish when it comes to you?"
"Huh." He caught your hands in his, but didn't pull them away from his jacket. "And here I thought you understood me better than anyone."
"Don't." You tried to pull away, but he held firm. "Don't you dare try to make this about understanding. I understand perfectly. But you're wrong. You don't have to do this."
His smile faltered slightly. "It's not that simple."
"It is that simple!" Your voice cracked. "You're choosing to make it complicated. You're choosing to walk away, to... to what? Make some grand statement about the future? Prove that the world can survive without the great Satoru Gojo?"
"Someone has to."
"But why does it have to be you?" The words burst out of you, raw and desperate. "Why do you have to be the one to show them? Why can't you just fight to win, to live, to come back to—" You cut yourself off, biting back the words that wanted to follow.
"To you?" he finished softly.
"Yes," you said, dropping your forehead against his chest. "To me. Call me selfish, call me short-sighted, I don't care. I want more mornings like this. More everything. More of you, being insufferably calm and making terrible jokes and acting like the world isn't ending when we both know it might be."
He was quiet for a moment, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. When he spoke, his voice was gentler than before.
"I can't promise to come back." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But know this, every moment with you has been worth fighting for. Worth living for."
You pulled back enough to look at him, really look at him. "Then fight for more moments. Fight to make more memories. Fight to come back to me, not for some greater purpose or stupid sacrifice, but because you want to."
"And if I told you that wanting isn't enough?"
"Then I'd call you a liar." Your voice turned cold. "Because you're Satoru fucking Gojo. When has anything ever been impossible for you? When have you ever let anyone tell you what you can't do?"
"This is different—"
"How? How is this different? Because it's Sukuna? Because it's the fate of jujutsu society? Or because you've already decided how this story ends?"
His hands tightened on you, and for a moment, just a moment, you saw something flicker behind those blue eyes — doubt, fear, longing, you couldn't tell. But then it was gone, replaced by that same calm certainty that made you want to scream.
"Because I can't protect everyone—can't protect you if I allow myself to believe in a tomorrow," he whispered.
The gentleness in his voice, the soft way he delivered words meant to cut, made you want to tear the world apart. It was so perfectly Satoru — to break your heart like he was doing you a favor, to wound you with a tenderness that felt more cruel than any violence could be.
"I never asked you to protect me," you said finally. "I asked you to stay. There's a difference."
"Is there?" His hand came up to cup your face, shaking ever so slightly, betraying the calm he fought so hard to maintain. "Because every time I look at you, all I can think about is how many people would use you to get to me. How many would hurt you just to prove they could touch something I care about."
"So your solution is to what? Die nobly? Make sure there's nothing left for them to use against you?"
"My solution is to make sure the world doesn't need me anymore." His thumb brushed across your cheek, catching a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "To make sure you don't need me anymore."
"That's not your choice to make. You don't get to decide what I need. You don't get to martyr yourself for some greater good and pretend it's for my protection."
"Then what would you have me do?" For the first time, there was a hint of frustration in his voice. "Ignore my responsibilities? Pretend I'm not who I am?"
"I would have you fight like you want to come back!" The words ripped from your throat. "Fight like there's someone waiting for you after. Fight like you love me as much as I love you!"
The confession rang out between you, and the moment it left your lips, you realized you'd never said it before. Through all the stolen moments, all the secret touches, all the nights you'd spent memorizing each other's bodies — you'd never actually spoken those words aloud.
You'd both danced around it, implied it in every action, every look, every unfinished sentence, but neither of you had ever dared to make it real with words.
Until now. Until you were angry enough, desperate enough, terrified enough to let it slip from your heart straight past your defenses.
"Love?" His voice was barely a whisper.
"Of course I love you, you idiot." Your voice equally quiet. "Why else would I be standing here, begging the strongest sorcerer alive to be selfish just once?”
He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, maybe a sob, his fingers tightening on you. "Don't," he whispered, and for the first time that morning, his voice was shaking. "Don't make this harder than it already is. Don't say things that make me want to—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "That make me want impossible things."
"Impossible? Since when does Satoru Gojo believe in impossible?"
"Since I realized loving you means putting you at risk." His thumb brushed your cheek, the gesture achingly gentle. "Since I understood that staying alive isn't the same as keeping you safe."
"I hate this." You shook your head. "I hate how calmly you can stand here and talk about sacrifice like it's inevitable. Like there's no other way."
"Would you prefer if I fell apart?" His smile turned sad. "If I raged and cried and promised things I might not be able to keep?"
"Yes," you admitted, your hands coming up to cover his where they still held your face. "Because at least then I'd know you want to stay as much as I want you to."
"Oh, my love." The endearment fell from his lips like a confession. "Wanting to stay has never been the question. The question is whether I can live with myself if I do."
"And what about whether I can live with myself if you don't?" Your voice broke. "What about whether I can forgive myself for not fighting harder to make you stay?"
"This isn't your fight."
"Like hell it isn't." You pulled back. "You think I spent months learning to clear battlefields just so you could take center stage? You think I perfected my technique to complement your infinity because I had nothing better to do?" You dug your nails into your palms, throat tight with fury. "I've been fighting alongside you since before you ever kissed me in that hallway. Before you ever decided I was worth protecting. Don't you dare tell me this isn't my fight when I've spent years making sure you had the space you needed to be great."
He was quiet for a long moment, studying you. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost reverent. "And that's exactly why I need to go. The world doesn't need more people making space for me. It needs people who'll fill that space themselves."
You recoiled like he'd slapped you, hurt burning in your chest. "Is that what you think I've been doing? Making myself smaller for you? Made space for you because I was afraid to reach higher?" You stepped closer, deadly calm now. "I made space for you because that's what you do when you love someone."
His lips twitched into a smile. "So you do understand me."
"Don't pretend those are the same thing."
He was quiet for a moment. Then, instead of answering, he pulled you into a kiss that tasted like goodbye. Like all the tomorrows you'd never have, all the moments you'd never share, all the promises neither of you could keep. You kissed him back with everything you had — all your fury and fear and love condensed into this one perfect, terrible moment.
His hands tangled in your hair like he was trying to memorize the feeling, yours gripping his jacket as if you could keep him here through sheer force of will. When you finally broke apart, hearts pounding, foreheads pressed together in the space between one heartbeat and the next.
"I'll hate you," you whispered against his lips. "If you don't come back, I'll hate you for the rest of my life."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, and for once, his smile held an edge of something raw, something that looked almost like pain. "No, you won't."
"I will." Your fingers tightened in his jacket. "I'll hate you for making me fall in love with someone who was always planning to leave. I'll hate you for every morning I wake up alone, for every mission briefing where someone else stands in your place, for every year I have to leave flowers on your grave."
"You'll move on. You'll find someone—"
"Fuck you," you cut him off, the words sharp enough to draw blood. "Don't you dare tell me how I'll feel. Don't you dare stand here and plan out my future without you in it."
"I'm just trying to—"
"To what? Prepare me? Make it easier? There's nothing easy about loving you, Satoru Gojo. There never has been. But I chose it anyway. Every day, knowing this moment would come."
"Would you prefer if I said goodbye properly? If I made it messy and painful and real?"
"I'd prefer if you stopped pretending this is just another mission and show me something that tells me this is killing you like it's killing me."
The silence stretched between you like a chasm. For just a moment, beneath his careful composure, you caught a glimpse of the man behind the name — vulnerable, conflicted, maybe even afraid. But he buried it quickly, like he buried everything that might make him waver from his chosen path.
You'd always known this about him, hadn't you? Known it from that first bloody mission, from every fight where he'd put himself between the world and destruction.
Satoru Gojo was a man built for sacrifice, shaped by duty and power into something that could never truly belong to just one person. You'd fallen in love with him anyway, foolishly hoping that maybe love could be enough to make him choose differently.
But watching him now, seeing the gentle finality in every movement, you understood with crushing clarity that this was always how it would end. No amount of pleading or anger or love could change what he'd already decided.
He'd made his choice long before this morning, probably before he'd ever kissed you in that darkened hallway.
"Keep the tea warm for me," he said finally, stepping back. The words were casual, almost playful — exactly the kind of thing he'd say on any other morning. But that's what made it cruel. Even now, he was trying to soften the blow, pretending this was just another goodbye, just another mission.
You didn't say anything as he walked to the door. Didn't wish him luck or tell him to be safe. The time for those platitudes had passed.
Instead, you watched him pause in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. For a moment, you thought he might turn around, might drop the act and let you see something real. One last true moment before the end.
He didn't fully turn, but his voice carried back to you, soft and achingly sincere. "I love you. More than anything." A pause. "That's why I have to go."
The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You'd never expected them, had made peace with the silence between heartbeats where those words should have lived.
You'd imagined them differently, in all the quiet moments you'd shared — whispered against your skin in the dark, laughed into your mouth between kisses, murmured sleepily on lazy mornings. Not like this. Never like this.
How cruel, that he would finally say them now, when they felt more like a funeral rite than a confession. A parting gift from a man walking towards his own chosen end, making what should have been beautiful feel like another wound. The words you'd never dared hope for now hurt more than a lifetime of silence ever could.
Your throat burned with all the things you wanted to scream at him — about how love should mean staying, about how he was breaking your heart while trying to save it, about how dare he make those words sound like goodbye when they should have been a beginning.
"I hate you," you whispered.
He made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been something more broken. "No, you don't." The certainty in his voice felt like another wound. "You love me. You said so yourself."
"I'll hate you." Your voice hardened with each word. "I'll hate you so much it'll make you wish you'd stayed."
His hand tightened on the doorframe, knuckles white with tension. For a heartbeat, you thought you'd finally cracked his composure. That he might turn around and choose you over duty, love over destiny.
He didn't.
The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded like an ending.
"But I'll wait for you anyway," you whispered to the empty room, hating yourself for the truth in those words.
The truth was, you'd always known it would end like this, known that loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who belonged to the world before he belonged to you.
But you'd been naive enough to hope. Foolish enough to think that maybe, just maybe, love could be enough to make him choose differently. That your selfish desire to keep him alive and whole could outweigh his selfless need to reshape the world.
The morning light cut across the empty room, highlighting the space where he'd stood moments before, and you wondered about the cruelty of it all.
Was it wrong to want to keep him here? To ask the strongest sorcerer alive to choose personal happiness over humanity's future? How many would suffer because you'd asked him to be selfish just this once?
But then again, how many had already been saved by him? How many times had he bled and broken and pieced himself back together for a world that only saw him as a shield, never as a man? Didn't he deserve the chance to live for himself, just once?
If love died today, buried six feet under noble intentions and greater goods, then maybe hate was all you had left. And wasn't there something pure in that? In hating him with the same intensity you'd loved him? In letting that hate fill the spaces he left behind, burning away the softness until all that remained was sharp edges and bitter truths?
The world needed Satoru Gojo the symbol, the untouchable god of jujutsu. But you'd needed Satoru, just Satoru, the man who brought you tea exactly how you liked it and kissed you like you were his everything. The man who was walking away, leaving you with nothing but memories and the taste of hate on your tongue.
Was it selfish to think your love was worth more than the world's need? Was it cruel to measure the weight of one heart against humanity's future?
Love and duty were never meant to be weighed against each other like this, weren't meant to be choices that tore a person in two. And perhaps that was the real tragedy — not that he was walking away, but that you'd let yourself believe he wouldn't.
You'd known how this story would end from that very first kiss. Had tasted it in every goodbye before a mission, felt it every time you waited anxiously for his return, seen it lurking behind every smile that never quite reached his eyes.
Loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who was always meant to be sacrificed. You'd just been naive enough to think sacrifice could look different, that it didn't have to end with you here, choking on love turned to ash in your mouth.
Your fingers traced your lips where those three words still lingered like a curse. The tea was getting cold on the windowsill. You should pour it out, make a fresh cup. Should start preparing for a world where Satoru Gojo was just a memory, a legend, a story of sacrifice and strength. Should learn how to breathe around the thorns growing in your chest where love used to live.
Instead, you stayed frozen, caught in the space between what was and what could have been. Because maybe he was wrong. Maybe the world didn't need someone stronger. Maybe it just needed him to come back. You certainly did.
But it was too late for maybes now. He was already gone, walking toward a destiny he'd chosen long before he'd chosen you. And you were left here, caught between hating him for leaving and loving him for exactly who he was — a man who would always choose the greater good, even when it shattered both your hearts.
But perhaps the cruelest irony was that in trying to protect humanity, he'd forgotten he was human too. That in becoming everyone's shield, he'd forgotten shields could break. That hearts could break. That yours was breaking.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, indifferent to your pain, indifferent to the way your world had just walked out the door with a smile and a promise he might not be able to keep.
You'd wait anyway. Even knowing how the story was meant to end, you'd wait. Because that's what love was — not just the beautiful parts, but the ugly parts too. The waiting. The hoping. The hating.
The choosing to love someone even when they choose something else. Even when that love turns to poison in your veins.
Even when they choose the world over you.
The tea had long gone cold when you finally moved, muscles stiff from standing still for so long. You'd sworn you wouldn't watch. Had promised yourself you wouldn't be there to see him die for his greater tomorrow.
But your hands were already reaching for your jacket.
Because that was the thing about loving Satoru Gojo — even when it turned to hate, even when it felt like acid in your throat, you couldn't look away. You'd watch him fight Sukuna. Watch him smile that infuriating smile as he chose the world one last time.
After all, you'd already promised to hate him if he didn't come back.
The least you could do was be there to keep that promise.
author's note — thank you for reading this little piece of heartbreak. i was very unsure if it will ever see the light of day but i finished it now bc i was in the mood for pain. if you enjoyed, i would greatly appreciate a reblog or comment. hope your heart isn't too broken <3
ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!
(I removed other reblogs because it was getting too long, hope that's alright!)
Okay I may have kinda cheated with the mood thing because I have that picture saved, downloaded, printed and pasted on my desk so ofc it's the first thing that shows up lol. Here's the second one though:
Too lazy to tag right now, so tagging everyone! Please feel free to join in 🫶
summary — satoru's on a mission to get you into the halloween spirit, and he won't take no for an answer. he's taken you to the town's spooky festival, and plying you with every sugary treat and pumpkin spiced sugary drink he can find. but you draw the line with the haunted house. but knowing satoru, he'll find a way to make it happen.
word count — 4.6 k
warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, friends), penetration, public setting, chance of getting caught, oral (male receiving), satoru gojo is always his own warning.
author's note — hey lovelies, i hope you all have the best time this autumn. and to get even more into the spooky spirit, i wrote a little oneshot sidestory for symptoms and causes couple. but you can read it as a standalone without knowing the main story. and for everyone who reads s&c, this happens sometime after chapter 16 (i guess). happy reading and a spooky time <3
series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad
"I don't wanna go," you said.
"Aw, come on! It'll be fun!" Satoru insisted.
"I doubt it."
"You're so lame sometimes, you know that?"
"And you're irresponsible. We can't just ditch work to—"
"Already handled it," he interrupted, taking a big bite of his cinnamon roll.
"Handled what?"
"Cell migration, documentation, report's done, and I even got a head start on the paper. You might wanna give it a once-over later, though."
"Wait, what?" You stopped dead in my tracks, surprise momentarily eclipsing your exhaustion.
"You're the better writer when it comes to this scientific stuff."
"No, I mean—"
Satoru suddenly stopped too, turning to face you. He grinned, a big bright smile from ear to ear. He was hell-bent on getting you into the Halloween spirit, and you reluctantly agreed to go to the Autumn Festival with him, indulging in cinnamon rolls and pumpkin spice lattes.
Every second, he shoved a new treat into your hands. Try this, try that. Pretty sure you were on the fast track to diabetes after this afternoon.
But you'd drawn the line at the haunted house.
You starred at him as the flickering pumpkin lanterns that lined the path of the crowded streets cast soft shadows across his features, making him even more handsome, as if the night itself conspired to make him even more captivating.
"You finished all that already?" you asked, a hint of disbelief in your voice.
"Yeah," he said, taking another bite of his cinnamon roll. "I wanted us to have some fun in between all the lab work."
You stared at him for a second longer, the bustling activity around you fading into the background. Your heart melted a little as his signature grin lit up his pretty features.
Seeing him so carefree and childlike was new, like he was genuinely loving every second of this—the cheesy traditions, the sea of orange, the cinnamon scent that hung heavy in the air. Like for the first time in forever, the weight of his past had lifted from his broad shoulders.
"This must have taken your hours," you said, still not quite getting over how much effort he must've put in.
"Eh, a few hours here and there." He sauntered closer, peering at you over the sunglasses he wore with a baseball cap to keep a low profile. Getting caught out with your professor would've been all kinds of scandalous, after all. "Totally worth it if it means I can spend more time with you."
"We're together all the time."
"I meant outside the lab," he clarified.
"Satoru, we live together."
"Yeah, where all we talk about is work, biochemicals, brains, and how much plastic surgery Naoya would need to be pretty again."
"Don't tell me you don't love that topic," you said dryly, as a chill autumn wind rustled the leaves at your feet.
He tilted his head, his large hand coming up to cup your cheek, his warmth seeping into you. He looked at you with those soft, mesmerizing eyes, making it impossible to deny him anything.
"Okay," you finally relented with a sigh. "Let's go to that haunted house. But just so you know," you added, "I don't scare easy."
He just smiled, smug as ever. "Oh, we'll see about that."
Moments later, you were at the haunted house, Satoru's arm draped casually around your waist. He already had tickets for the two of you, like he just knew you'd give in. Smug bastard indeed. You stepped into the creaky foyer, seemingly one of the only few people there.
The air was thick with the scent of dust and decay, and an eerie silence hung heavy in the dimly lit corridors. Satoru reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours.
"Don't worry," he said. "I'll protect you."
You let go of his hand. "I don't need protection," you said before taking the lead and striding into the first room.
The first few rooms were predictably eerie, with cobwebs draped across worn furniture and ghostly figures lurking in the shadows. Flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, creating an illusion of movement in the stillness.
"Not even a little bit scared?" Satoru asked.
"Nope," you replied, popping the 'p' for emphasis.
"You're really killing the fun here, you know."
He made his way around a corner, and suddenly, a black figure sprang forward, catching him off guard. Satoru jumped slightly, his heart pounding in his chest. "Ah, fuck," he said, trying to regain his composure. "Stupid thing." He pushed the figure aside with his arm and went into the next room.
"Oh, I'm having fun," you said with a smile.
"Don't laugh.”
As you ventured deeper into the house, the scares became more elaborate, the atmosphere more oppressive. The air grew colder, and a sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach. Maybe it was a little bit scary after all.
Then, a blood-curdling scream echoed from the room ahead, and you and Satoru whipped around, but nothing was to be seen.
"You know, I was hoping for something different when I had the idea to come here.”
"And what kind were you hoping for?" you asked, pushing the spiderwebs out of your way with disgust, the silky strands clinging to your fingers.
"The kind where you cling to me and scream at every little thing," he said, following your lead.
"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"
He grinned. "Well, I can't deny that would be enjoyable."
The next room was pitch black, the only sound the distant dripping of something liquid. Your heartbeat quickened as you stepped forward, the darkness seeming to swallow you whole. Suddenly, a cold hand grabbed your ankle, and you let out an involuntary yelp, jumping closer to Satoru.
Satoru quickly pulled you close, his strong arm wrapping around your waist as he steadied you. "Not scared, huh?" His voice was a deep rumble in his chest, and you could feel the vibrations against your back.
You pulled away from him. "Shut up. I'm not scared. Just... startled."
He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Mhm, sure. Whatever you say, love."
"Let's just keep going," you said, marching forward into the darkness.
But Satoru wasn't about to let you off that easily. He caught up to you in a few long strides, his hand finding yours in the darkness. "You know," he said, "if you need me to hold your hand, all you have to do is ask."
You scoffed, but didn't pull away. "I think I can manage."
"Oh, I'm sure you can. But where's the fun in that?"
Satoru suddenly tugged on your wrist, pulling you flush against his chest. Before you could react, his soft lips were on yours, insistent and demanding.
For a moment, you stood frozen, your mind reeling from the unexpected turn. But as his lips moved against yours, his tongue teasing the seam of your mouth, you found yourself melting into his embrace, your body molding to his like it was made to fit there.
Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the firm planes of his pecs beneath his shirt, before pushing his baseball cap off his head, letting it fall to the ground forgotten.
His silky, white hair fell down into his forehead, the soft strands brushing against your skin as you tangled your fingers in his locks, deepening the kiss. He groaned against your mouth, the sound sending heat straight to your core, igniting a fire in your veins that only he could quench.
His arms tightened around your waist, pressing your body impossibly closer to his. The haunted house faded away, the eerie sounds and spooky decorations forgotten as you lost yourself in the feel of him.
His tongue delved into your mouth, exploring, tasting, with a skill that never failed to leave you weak in the knees. His large hands roamed over your back, leaving trails of fire in their wake, even through the fabric of your sweater.
"You know," he said between heated kisses, his voice a low rumble that you felt in your bones, "I kinda like this side of you."
"What side?" you asked, breathless.
"The side that is scared, the side that needs me.”
"Because you need to be needed?"
"Needed by you, yes," he said, his blue eyes dark, before he walked you backwards until your back hit the wall, his body pinning you in place. “Always by you. Only by you.”
His lips left yours, trailing hot, wet kisses along your jaw, down the column of your neck. You tilted your head back, giving him better access.
"Satoru," you breathed, your fingers tightening in his hair.
"What happened to being able to manage on your own, hmm?"
You tugged on his hair, bringing his lips back to yours. "Shut up and kiss me."
"With pleasure," he murmured, before capturing your lips once more in a searing kiss that stole the breath from your lungs.
You lost track of time as you kissed, your bodies intertwined, hands exploring, breaths mingling. It was only when a particularly loud and high scream echoed through the haunted house that you broke slightly apart, chests heaving.
"We should...probably get out of here," Satoru said, his voice rough, his gaze fixed on your lips.
"Why leave?"
His lips twitched into a smirk. "Yeah, why indeed."
Satoru took your hand, his long fingers intertwining with yours as he pulled you down a darkened hallway, away from the main path of the haunted house.
He tried a few doorknobs until one finally gave way. Peeking inside, he tugged you into what appeared to be a dimly lit storage room, filled with discarded props, old furniture, and cobwebs that looked a little too real for comfort.
As soon as the door closed behind you, he had you pressed up against it, his hard body pinning you in place as his lips found yours again. Your hands roamed over his muscular back, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath as the kiss deepened, your puls racing.
In one smooth motion, he hoisted you up, his large hands gripping your thighs as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you further into the room, never breaking the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours.
Distantly, you registered a lone flashing red light in the corner, what seemed to be a security camera. Satoru noticed it too.
Tearing his lips away from yours with a muttered curse, he set you down gently, your body sliding against his in a way that made you both shudder.
He strode over to the device. With a sharp tug, he disabled the camera and tossed it aside carelessly, before turning back to you with a heated look that made your core clench with need.
His hands found your waist once more, pulling you flush against him. His lips crushed on yours, the kiss hungry, desperate, all tongues and teeth.
Your hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel his skin against yours. Satoru shrugged out of the fabric impatiently, tossing it aside without a second thought before his hands slipped beneath your sweater. His thumb brushed over your nipple through the thin lace of your bra.
You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. Your hands found his belt buckle, undoing it with deft fingers before popping the button of his pants and sliding down the zipper.
You could see the outline of his hard, thick cock straining against the fabric of his boxers, begging to be freed.
Sinking to your knees, the hard floor cold against your skin, you looked up at him through your lashes. His breath hitched as he realized what you were about to do.
Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down slowly, teasingly. Satoru's cock sprang free, hard and thick and perfect.
You wrapped your hand around the base, giving him a few slow, deliberate strokes as you maintained eye contact, watching as his blue eyes darkened.
Satoru's head fell back, a guttural groan rumbling in his broad chest, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Fuck, your hand feels so good," he panted, his fingers threading into your hair, gripping just tight enough.
You leaned forward, your tongue darting out to lick the bead of precum from his tip, the salty-sweet taste of him on your tongue.
Satoru hissed, his hips moved forward slightly, needing more. You wrapped your lips around him, taking him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his shaft as you savored the feel of him heavy against your tongue.
"Fuck, yes, just like that," Satoru praised, his grip on your hair tightening as you began to move your head, taking him deeper with each pass until the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat.
You hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard as you worked him with your tongue, tracing the thick vein on the underside of his shaft.
Satoru's moans filled the room, echoing off the walls, his hips rocking forward to meet your mouth, fucking your face with shallow thrusts.
"God, you take me so good, love," he groaned, his words dissolving into a low, drawn-out moan as you took him particularly deep. "Fu—Fuck.” He fell forward slightly, bracing his hands on the wall behind you.
You sucked him harder, your hand working what you couldn't fit in your mouth, twisting and stroking in time with your tongue.
Satoru's breaths were coming in short, sharp pants now, his thighs tensing under your free hand. You could tell he was close, his cock twitching against your tongue, the taste of his precum becoming more intense.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum.” His deep voice strained and rough. "You're gonna make me fucking cum."
But just as you were sure he was about to come, Satoru's hand tightened in your hair, pulling you off him. You looked up, confusion in your eyes as you met his heated gaze.
"What's wrong?" you asked. "Was it not good?"
Satoru shook his head, a strained, breathy laugh escaping him. "Fuck, no, it was perfect. Too fucking perfect. I just..." He paused, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control. "I can't come like this. Not this time."
He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your slick lower lip. "I need to cum inside you. Need to feel you around me."
A shiver ran down your spine at his words, need pooling hot and heavy in your belly. Slowly, maintaining eye contact, you ran your tongue along the underside of his cock, flicking over the sensitive head. Satoru hissed again.
"And not like this?" you purred, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his weeping tip, your tongue swirling along the slit.
"Fucking tease.” His large hand fisted in your hair, dragging the head of his cock along your tongue, shuddering at the sensation, before reluctantly pulling away. "Why you gotta make this so hard for me, huh?"
He helped you to your feet, spinning you around and pressing you against the wall in one swift motion. His hands roamed your body, sliding over your waist, your hips, before swiftly undoing your pants and shoving them down.
Satoru’s large hand roaming over your ass, the other sliding between your legs, his long fingers pushing your underwear to the side and brushing against your dripping core.
He pressed against your swollen clit, making you cry out and arch your hips back into him. "I can't fucking wait anymore,” he said.
His hands then gripped your hips, turning you to face the wall. You braced your hands against the cool surface, biting your lip. You felt the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance, teasing you.
With one smooth, hard thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, stretching you just right, drawing moans from both of you. "Oh, fuck," you gasped, your nails scrabbling at the wall as you adjusted to the sudden fullness.
"My god, why do you always feel so fucking good," Satoru panted, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his hot breath fanning over your neck as he gave you a moment to adjust. "So tight, so fucking perfect. Like you were made for me."
"Move, Satoru," you breathed, very well aware that you were literally in the storage room of a haunted house and could get caught any second. "Fucking move."
"You're really not gonna let me enjoy this haunted house, are you?"
"Do you want to get caught with your pants down or what?"
"Then you'd better be quiet, love," he said. "Or I might just have to gag you with my fingers."
"You're impossible," you groaned, pushing your hips back against him, desperate for friction. "Just fucking move already."
Satoru didn't need to be told twice. He set a hard, deep pace, his hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the small room.
One hand gripped your hip hard enough to leave bruises, while the other worked your clit, driving you closer to the edge with each skilled touch, each deep stroke of his perfect cock inside you.
You could feel your orgasm building, coiling tight in your lower belly. "Satoru, I'm close," you gasped, your nails scratching against the wall as you tried to find purchase. "Fuck, Satoru."
"Not yet, love."
Quickly, Satoru's hand closed around your hip, spinning you around and lifting you up effortlessly like you weighed nothing. You clung to him, breathless and dizzy as he walked you over to a nearby table, sweeping aside the dusty props and cobweb-covered decorations littering its surface.
He sat you down on the edge, your legs automatically wrapping around his trim waist to pull him closer, desperate to have him inside you again.
Satoru's warm hands slid up your thighs, over your hips, coming to rest on your waist as he leaned in to kiss your neck. "God, you're so fucking beautiful," he breathed, his lips brushing your skin. "Did I tell you how lucky I am to have you?"
"Satoru, we're literally fucking in a haunted house, maybe save the love confession for later?"
"You really are no fun during spooky season," Satoru groaned, his cock twitching against your thigh, leaving a trail of precum on your skin. He reached between your bodies, lining himself up with your entrance before thrusting forward, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, deep stroke.
You threw your head back, a moan escaping your lips at the maddening feeling of him filling you so completely. Satoru set a steady pace, his hips rolling against yours, the new angle allowing him to hit that spot inside you that made you feel like you were flying and falling all at once.
"Fuck, you feel so good around my cock," Satoru panted, his forehead resting against yours as he moved, his breath mingling with yours.
Your nails raked down his back, urging him on, wanting him deeper, harder, faster, consequences be damned. Satoru obliged, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more urgent, the rickety table creaking beneath you with each powerful surge of his hips.
"Touch yourself," Satoru growled, his voice strained. "I wanna feel you come around my cock."
You did as he said, your hand lowering between your bodies to find your clit, your hips bucking up to meet Satoru's thrusts as you chased your release.
"That's it, love," Satoru encouraged, his eyes dark as he watched you. "Just like that. Fuck, you're so hot when you touch yourself."
His thrusts became more frenzied.The table creaked and groaned beneath you, threatening to collapse at any moment, but you didn't care. You were too far gone.
Your fingers moved faster, more urgently, as you felt your orgasm building. Satoru's eyes never left yours, his gaze burning with a fierce intensity as he watched you. His lips were parted, his chest heaving, and his forhead was slick with sweat.
Suddenly, your body convulsed, your muscles contracting around Satoru's cock as you came. His eyes squeezed shut, hissing through his teeth as he felt your muscles clamp down around him.
"Ah, fuck," he moaned. "What are you doing to me?" His body tensed, his muscles straining as he fought to hold on, to keep going, to make it last. But it was too late.
He thrust once, twice, and then he was coming, his cock pulsing inside you as he emptied himself, filling you with warm sticky cum. As the last of his cum dripped out of him, his body relaxed, his chest heaving with exertion.
His forehead dropped to yours, his eyes closed in bliss as he savored the aftermath. "Fuck," he panted, his voice barely audible. "You're going to be the death of me."
“You wanted to go to that haunted house,” you said. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as he caught his breath.
He laughed. “Yeah, you’rer right.” His cock was still hard, still buried deep inside you, and you could feel his cum dripping out of you, a slow, sticky trickle.
He smiled, a lazy, sated smile that made your heart skip a beat. "God, I can't get enough of you." He was just about to lean in for a kiss when a sharp knock on the door startled you both.
Your eyes widened in panic.
"Hello?" a gruff voice called from the other side. It had to be a staff member.
"Oh, shit," you hissed, frantically grabbing for your clothes.
"I'm sorry, but this area is off-limits to guests," the voice called again, sounding more irritated.
Satoru quickly pulled his pants back on and finished buttoning his shirt, then reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pulled you close to his side and towards the door.
With his free hand, Satoru unlocked the door and flung it open, plastering on his most charming smile. Before you stood a grumpy middle-aged man who reeked of cigarettes and had dark circles under his eyes.
"Our bad, man," Satoru said smoothly, fishing out a few crisp yen bills from his pocket and pressing the money into the staff member's hand. "For the camera," he added with a wink.
The man looked at the bills, then back at Satoru, confusion written all over his weathered face. Without waiting for a response, Satoru dragged you out the door after him, brushing past the bewildered staff member.
He led you quickly down the hallway, his grip on your wrist firm as he navigated through the winding passages. You didn't stop until you were outside the haunted house, the chilly night enveloping your flushed skin.
"Well, that was a close one," Satoru chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Haunted houses aren't so bad after all, huh?"
You leaned forward, hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath, your legs still shaky. "Shut up.” You swatted at him halfheartedly.
"Wanna head back to the festival?"
You made your way back to the festival, hand in hand, his baseball cap and sunglasses back in place.
You strolled through the stalls, taking in the various decorations and trinkets on display. Jack-o'-lanterns grinned toothily from every corner, their flickering candles casting an fiery glow on the revelers' faces. The scent of cinnamon, roasted almonds, caramel and the earthy smell of fallen leaves wafted through the air.
Suddenly, something caught Satoru's eye and he tugged you towards it. It was a cute little stall decked out in shimmering black and orange, laden with an assortment of whimsical accessories. Pointy witch hats adorned with glittery stars, vampire fangs that glinted in the light, and masquerade masks decorated with shimmering sequins and feathers.
Satoru's eyes sparkled with childlike wonder as he rummaged through the collection, his face split in a wide grin. He plucked something from the display and held it up. "Hold still for a sec.” He tilted his head as he considered how it might look on you.
In his hands was a cute headpiece, twisted black wire interwoven with tiny, glittering bats and shimmering autumn leaves that seemed to dance in the breeze. He placed it gently on your head, his fingertips grazing your temples as he adjusted it just so.
"There," he said softly. "Absolutely beautiful."
You quirked an eyebrow at him. "Is that so?"
"Mhmm," he hummed. "In fact, it looks so good on you, I might just have to fuck you again, but with that on top this time."
As if on cue, the stall owner fumbled with a display, sending a cascade of glittery masks tumbling to the ground with a clatter. You shot Satoru a pointed look, your eyes screaming, 'See what you did?'
"Ah, sorry about that." Satoru called out to the flustered vendor, flashing her a charming smile as he pressed a generous wad of bills into her hand. "Keep the change, yeah? For the trouble."
Before the poor woman could respond, Satoru had whisked you away, his laughter ringing out like music in the crisp night air.
Moments later, you found yourself with a generous glass of spiced pumpkin wine in hand, Satoru having snagged two mugs from a nearby vendor.
With the decorative headpiece perched atop your head and the overly cute Halloween mug in your hand, you probably looked like the biggest Halloween fan around. "I'm starting to think you're actually enjoying this.”
He grinned. "Really? What gave it away?"
Just then, something caught Satoru's eye, and he came to an abrupt halt, nearly causing you to slosh your drink all over yourself. His gaze fixed on a colorful shooting gallery booth. Rows of stacked thimbles painted with witches, ghosts, and pumpkins enticed passersby to try their hand at winning a prize.
Satoru grinned at you and before you knew it, you found yourself participating in yet another classic Halloween fun activity with him. He smirked, rolling up his sleeves with an air of confidence. "You ever played before, love?"
"Hmm," you hummed, stepping up to the counter and setting your pumpkin spice wine aside. The attendant passed you each a toy rifle, and you took your positions.You rolled your shoulders and lifted the rifle.
Satoru’s first volley of shots went wide, but he managed to hit 3 out of 5, the thimbles clattering as they toppled over. "Warm-up round," he said with a nonchalant shrug, his competitive streak already showing.
He turned to you with his signature grin, but it quickly morphed into an open-mouthed gape as you proceeded to hit all 5 with nonchalant precision, barely even pausing between shots.
You blew imaginary smoke from the barrel of your toy gun, a smug smile playing about your lips as you reached for your forgotten wine. "You were saying?"
Satoru blinked at you, his mouth open. "Okay, remind me never to piss you off again.”
"You know I'm never letting you live this down, right?"
"Yeah, I figured as much," he said, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought back a smile. He grabbed you around the waist, pulling you flush against him as he captured your lips in a kiss.
A pointed cough from the attendant broke you apart. "Your prize, miss?" the man prompted, gesturing to the array of plushies and plastic trinkets.
"Oh, I think I'll let the loser choose," you said airily, shooting Satoru a wink before walking away.
As the night wore on, you lost yourselves in the simple joy of each other's company, sharing laughter, playful challenges, and stolen kisses amidst the twinkling lights and paper streamers.
By the time the festival began to wind down, you were exhausted, your cheeks aching from smiling and your sides sore from laughter. Satoru pulled you close, his arm draped around your shoulders, as you made your way toward the exit and back home.
Maybe Halloween festivals weren't so bad after all.
author's note: hello again, sorry i've been quite offline these days, but i hope the short story made you smile (or whatever reaction you had to it lol). this should take place after chapter 16 but yk i haven't written that yet haha. so just imagine a happy satoru for this, after a huge burden got off his shoulders.
have a great day or night whenever you read this and and an even more great halloween and holiday season <3
OMG!!!!!!! I feel so special 🥹 I LOVE my new tag thank u bb 😩🤍
Aaaand honestly i feel u cause i am a master student as well :) I’m writing my dissertation rn & It’s the most challenging part for me cause yk we have r ups & downs lol
So definitely take ur time and pls don’t forget to take breaks sometimes because it’s not healthy to be stressed all the time (it wasn’t mentally healthy for me so yeah…)
And about WOP updates do whatever you like and we will DEFINITELY love it (obviously lol)
Love u 🤍
That freaky obsessed over WOP anon.
You're so sweet I'm glad you loved your new tag haha 🫶
And oh my god you are doing masters that's so great!! And I can understand, getting a degree can be super tough, and sometimes I wonder if it's worth it or not. Like maybe I don't want to delay dealing with life anymore just give me the damn job at this point that would be better🥲
But I also want to be DISGUSTINGLY educated and well-read yk?
Oh and Thank you so much for your concern! I am taking breaks when I need to but tbh I can't afford too many breaks rn 😭 also, I hope you are taking care of yourself and aren't straining yourself too much!
And thank you for the support, you don't know how much it means to me! 🫶 I'll still try to update it as soon as possible though!
Sending you lots of love! I hope your dissertation doesn't stress you out too much! ✨🌷
