a stranger mistakes Sukuna for just another man checking you out at the bar
The bar is packed, but the music’s just loud enough to keep the mood alive without swallowing conversation whole while warm, low lights flicker off every glass and the polished mahogany, painting the room in a soft, golden haze. Over by the high-top, you’re wedged between Shoko, Yuki, Utahime and Akari, laughter bubbling out of you so hard you nearly spill your drink.
A few meters away, Sukuna emerges from the back hallway, drying his hands on a paper towel before tossing it into the trash. He’s halfway to the booth where Gojo, Toji, Suguru, and Choso are already arguing over something stupid, but the second your laughter cuts through the noise, his dark crimson eyes snap to you, and he freezes mid-step.
Tonight, you’re absolutely breathtaking. Maybe it's the way the warm light catches in your hair, or the dress that fits every curve just right, or maybe it's just you. All he knows is that you look so beautiful that watching you feels almost unfair.
He just stands there, massive and completely still, his face softening into open admiration as he drinks you in.
Next to him, a man leaning against the end of the bar catches the moment the huge, inked brute suddenly goes still. Curiosity flickers across his face as he follows Sukuna's line of sight across the room, and the second his eyes land on you, his eyebrows shoot up in appreciation. He takes a slow sip of his drink, then slides a little closer to Sukuna, nodding toward you like they’re already in on some joke.
"You noticed her too, huh?" he asks with an easy grin, sounding entirely too sure of himself.
Sukuna doesn’t bother to look at him. His gaze stays glued to you, watching you laugh with Shoko, and a small, proud tilt curls at the corner of his mouth.
"Hard not to," Sukuna rumbles. "She looks way too damn good for a place like this."
"Right?" the stranger says, taking another slow sip of his drink, clearly taking that agreement as an invitation to keep talking. His gaze drags over Sukuna’s massive build, the plain shirt, joggers, and face tattoos, and a cocky smirk appears on his face, like he’s already decided he’s got the upper hand. “Hottest woman in here, hands down. Gorgeous, carries herself well, and that smile… I was just about to head over, buy her a drink, see where the night takes us.”
Sukuna finally turns his head, sizing the man up with calm, almost lazy interest. He’s objectively handsome—tall, impeccably groomed, his shirt tailored tight over a sharp, well-built frame. He looks like the type who’s used to getting whatever he wants and moves through the world with the confidence that says he’s never had to fight for attention.
"Yeah?" Sukuna rasps, amusement flickering in his eyes as the man keeps embarrassing himself.
"I mean, c'mon, look at her," the stranger continues, sipping his drink. "She looks like she’s got real standards. Probably has a great job, drinks the good stuff. She needs a guy who knows how to keep up with her and actually treat her right."
Leaning back against the bar, Sukuna crosses his massive arms over his chest, thoroughly entertained by the sheer audacity of it all. Listening to a complete stranger explain what kind of man his wife needs is absurd enough that he's more than happy to let him keep digging his own grave.
"Yeah, she’s something else alright," Sukuna drawls. "You really think she'd go for you?"
"Oh, I know she would," the man replies, adjusting his cuff with a smug grin. "I've got the job, the car, the looks. Women like her know a good thing when they see it."
A deep, amused huff rumbles out of Sukuna. If this idiot so much as crossed a real line, he’d snap his neck without a second thought. For now, though, watching this polished suit walk himself straight into a wall is way too funny to interrupt.
"You've got it all figured out, huh?"
"Hey, confidence gets results," the stranger says, grinning. “Tell you what—friendly wager.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his leather wallet, fishes out a crisp, high-value bill, and slides it across the bar between them. "This says I'll have her number and a kiss before the night's out."
Sukuna tilts his head, a wicked smirk slowly spreading across his face.
"Alright,” he says. “Mind if I go first?"
The stranger gives Sukuna one last once-over, lingering on the intimidating ink on his face, the back of his neck, and the lines wrapping around his wrists and biceps. To him, Sukuna looks like someone who got lost on his way home from the gym, or maybe a prison, though he’s a little too well-kept for that. He lets out a dismissive chuckle, already certain there's no way a woman like you would give a brute in joggers the time of day.
"Go right ahead, man," the guy says, waving him on. "Show me how it's done. No chance in hell you're pulling her."
"Watch," Sukuna says simply, pushing off the bar and walking across the floor, his massive frame cutting right through the crowded room.
Over by the bar, you're mid-sentence when a broad, warm palm gently taps your shoulder. You turn around, and the moment your eyes land on your husband, your whole face lights up.
"Hey," you breathe, the sight of him instantly making your cheeks flush warm. He looks stupid hot tonight, towering over everyone around him.
Sukuna steps in so close that your back presses into the edge of the bar, his body boxing you in until there's nowhere else to go. He pulls his phone from his pocket, unlocks it, and hands it to you, leaning down until his mouth hovers right at your ear.
"Can you look up that Korean place we went to, like, two months ago?" he rumbles, his voice low and soft against your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver racing down your spine. "I can't remember the name."
"Oh, so now you need me?" you tease, but your fingers are already flying over the screen. "Yeah, hang on…"
Across the room, the man at the bar narrows his eyes, watching you take Sukuna's phone without a hint of hesitation and immediately start tapping away. He smirks, swirling the melting ice in his glass, already convinced he's seen this play before. Classic move, he thinks, assuming you're just typing in a fake number to get the giant out of your personal space. He's already rehearsing his opening line for when Sukuna walks away empty-handed.
You hand the phone back to Sukuna, a triumphant little smile tugging at your lips. "Found it."
“Thanks, baby,” Sukuna murmurs, sliding the phone into his pocket.
His palm reaches up, fingers gently catching your chin, and he tilts your face up to his. Leaning down, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, sweet, unhurried, and so deliberate it makes your heart skip a beat. When he pulls back just a breath, his crimson eyes catch yours, gleaming with smug, mischievous heat. A knowing smirk tugs at his mouth as he shifts his weight, about to step away.
Across the bar, the guy rolls his eyes, muttering, “A polite peck? That doesn't count for shit—"
He doesn’t even get to finish the thought. The second Sukuna starts to pull away, your hands fly up, and your fingers twist tight into the front of his shirt. You yank him back down, but even then, you still have to rise onto your toes, stretching just to reach him. Your mouth crashes into his in a kiss that’s deep, intense, and filthy enough to strip away any composure he might have had left.
A low, surprised rumble vibrates against your lips before Sukuna's arm snaps around your waist and his other hand finds the nape of your neck, pulling you flush against his chest. He only deepens the kiss, his thumb digging into your hip while you cling to his shirt just to keep him close.
The stranger hasn’t moved at all, his jaw practically welded to the floor. His eyes are wide, blown out in pure shock, watching as the gorgeous woman he’d been so sure about just yanked a terrifying brute down for a kiss that leaves nothing to the imagination.
"What the fuck..." he mutters, staring in disbelief. "No way he actually pulled that off..."
Toji passes by on his way to the bathroom and hears the words. Without even slowing his pace, he just glances at the man’s stunned expression, lets out a dry, wheezing chuckle, and deadpans over his shoulder, “That's his wife, moron."
By the time your grip loosens and you drop back onto your heels, your breath is ragged, lips flushed and tingling, and you’re staring up at your husband with nothing but shameless, unfiltered adoration.
Sukuna’s thumb drags slowly across your lower lip, tugging it just a little, while a broad, utterly satisfied grin stretches across his face.
“Good girl,” he rasps, lowering his voice, and the praise sends a jolt right between your legs.
"Every fucking time," Shoko groans from the side. "One drink and you're attached to him again."
"You say that like I'm complaining," Sukuna chuckles.
"I fail to see the problem either," you chirp with a shameless grin.
Shoko shakes her head at you, then looks at your husband. "You know, I used to have a lot less patience for you. It's annoying how much harder you've become to stay mad at."
Sukuna just snorts at that.
"Anyway," he says, giving your waist one last squeeze before glancing at the rest of the group. "You girls joining us at the booth?"
"Yeah, yeah, we'll be there in a minute. Now shoo," Yuki says, waving him away. "We've got gossip to catch up on first."
Sukuna just lifts his hands in mock surrender, huffing an amused laugh as he turns on his heel and heads back toward the stranger waiting at the end of the bar.
“Easiest money I've made all week,” he drawls, picking up the bill. He gives the stunned man a small nod and walks toward his friends at the booth.
thinking back to kinktober when I wrote simon riley fucking a pumpkin. he definitely finishes deep inside the mushy plant, watching it ooze out while mixed with pumpkin guts. it makes him hard all over again, and he goes in for a round two (which definitely doesn't turn to another round after that).
okay, so maybe he has something wrong in his head because he fucked it until he was shooting blanks, and the cum to pumpkin gut ratio was eye opening.
what better way to put it to use than to bake it into a pie and give it to his favorite girl? the one who runs that plant nursery down the street. it's only fair since you're the one who sold him the pumpkin seeds to begin with, gave him advice on how to grow a plump pumpkin, perfect for fucking with his thick cock—he didn't tell you that part.
simon was not one for baking, but he felt pretty proud of himself when you moaned around a bite of the pie, muttering about how its the best thing you've tasted. the sound of your satisfaction made his cock chub up in his jeans, aching with the sight of you unknowingly consuming his cum. denies a slice for him, saying something about how it's specially made just for you.
gojo used to think he liked everyone. even the pretty popular girls that just used him for help on their homework and the frat idiots who only invited him to parties because he was friends with geto. he was a good person. the kind of guy people went to when they needed something. a gracious genius with a heart of gold.
and then he met you.
annoying attractive you.
stuck in a study group together and forced to watch you twirl your hair around your finger while you leaned over to look at whatever nanami was typing on his laptop. chirping away clueless at his locked jaw, indignation bubbling up as you proudly presented an incorrect fact about digimon, eyes glittering with excitement gojo couldn't resist the urge to squash.
"erm, actually-"
he expected you to look crushed when he systematically explained every single thing wrong with what you just said. but no, you just nodded along, thanking him with a perky chirp that sent a stab of embarrassment through his carefully crafted mask. pushing up his thick glasses with a huff, grumbling a you're welcome he really didn't mean.
you pissed him off.
and he couldn't even pinpoint why.
maybe it was the way you didn't care about being wrong. all those interests you seemingly shared that you couldn't even get your details correct about. or how sweetly you smiled at him no matter how much of a dickhead he was when he mocked you for it.
but the only thing that made him feel remotely better was watching the cracks in your cute facade start to form with each consecutive jab, how the light in your eyes dimmed and your lips started to curl down when you saw him, the way you began to leave study sessions early or sit as far from him in class as you could. excusing yourself from conversations, chewing on your bottom lip whenever gojo opened his mouth.
geto told him to stop when he accidentally knocked your books off the table.
nanami called him an asshole when he pointed out that your notes were kinda sloppy.
he might've dropped it. only showed up to the study group when you weren't there. shut his mouth and stewed in his irrational irritation when you bent over to pick up your glittery pen in some ridiculously short skirt.
but then he had the cruel misfortune to be assigned your partner in a project worth far too much of his grade for him to not give a shit. and you, of course, wouldn't take the fucking hint when he said he'd rather do it by himself than risk you screwing it up.
he couldn't stand you.
the last place on the planet he wanted you to be was in his dorm.
so, uh, how the hell did he end up like this?
your glossy lips wrapped around his throbbing cock, his swollen tip ramming into the back of your throat as he threaded his fingers through your hair, his glasses nearly falling off his face as he fucked your mouth. one hand on his keyboard as he attempted to focus on the work at hand, even though his eyes kept drifting to where you were tucked beneath his desk.
"i-is this all you're good for?" he groaned, gritting his molars as he pulled you by your loose ponytail, tugging you back and forth, nearly whining at the greedy way you were sucking and slurping around him.
you couldn't speak.
but he took your weak moan as a yes anyway, the reverberations rolling through his body as his abs reflexively tightened, itching for a quickly impending release.
fuck. it wasn't fair.
you shouldn't look so pretty like this. so goddamn gorgeous with a mouth full of him and drool leaking from the corner of your mouth, rolling down your chin as you eagerly serviced him.
"is this your part of the project?" he sarcastically mumbled, struggling not to stutter when you were taking him so perfectly. tongue pressing up against his pulsing veins, letting out little gagging sounds when he fucked you faster.
"mm," you whimpered for him, and he was cumming down your throat before he could so much as warn you, thick ropes of it spurting out as he let out a filthy groan of your name.
sure, he could probably finish the project in a few hours. but maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing if it, uh, took a couple days to complete.
"stupid girl," he muttered under his breath, his voice almost cracking as he sucked in ragged gasps.
Yuji was fourteen years old when he met his grand uncle, Sukuna.
It was at his grandpa’s funeral. The sixty year old man was a towering figure with a gaze that could make anyone cower in fear. For a brief moment, Yuji was terrified of living with this man. His life had already taken a drastic turn after witnessing his grandpa take his final breath. How much more will change when he’s living under the roof of someone he barely knew?
But then, after the funeral, Sukuna had placed a firm hand on his shoulder, squeezed it in a comforting manner and said: “Let's get you home, brat.”
After that, Yuji was as close to Sukuna as he used to be with Wasuke.
Sukuna had his own way of raising him. He was strict when he needed to be. He never discouraged Yuji from being who he was. He pretended to be annoyed by his sunshine attitude but never told him off for it.
But Yuji also noticed that his grand uncle was a lonely man. Sometimes he would catch him staring off with a brief distant look before replacing it with his usual frown.
---
“He needs to get laid.” Nobara said bluntly.
Megumi paused from taking a sip of his coffee and made a face.
“Nobara, I'm serious.” Yuji muttered while chewing on the straw of his slushy. “I'm just worried about him.”
“Then set him up on a blind date.” Nobara whipped out her phone, pulling up a dating app and showing it to her friends. “Here. Seen some old ladies looking for a good time. Make his profile. I'm sure someone would message him.”
“I don't know…” Yuji said, unsure.
“When was the last time you've seen him with someone?”
Yuji looked up in thought. It's been four years since Sukuna took him in.
“…Never.”
“Exactly.”
---
“Uncle, look up!”
Sukuna, busy writing in a journal, looked up to Yuji and heard the sound of him taking his photo.
The elder man raised his eyebrow. “What are you doing, brat?”
“Nothing.” Yuji's smile stretched in a way that was too suspicious as his grand nephew waved at him and backed out of his study.
Sukuna merely narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Oh, there was definitely something going on.
---
“I knew it. You were up to something.”
Yuji flinched as his phone was snatched out of his hands.
“W-Wait! Uncle Sukuna—!”
“What is this?” Sukuna sneered, his wrinkles and frown lines even more prominent as he stared at the phone.
Ryomen Sukuna. 64. Single. With the photo Yuji had taken earlier—of him in his study, sitting on his desk, the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone and eyes looking up at the camera.
“Brat.”
“I can explain!”
And the explanation Yuji gave him was not enough to cool him down. Yuji was sure he was about to get reprimanded by Sukuna in a way that not even his grandpa would think of.
“You dare interfere with my life?” Sukuna growled in a low, dangerous tone. “Delete this now.”
Ping!
Sukuna looked down at Yuji's phone. The mail icon on his profile showing a “1”.
Yuji was next to him, reaching over to press the icon. Opening the chat.
“Good evening.”
It was you. 60 years old. Your profile picture was a cropped family photo from a gathering. You were wearing a long, simple dress, a serene smile on your face, the crinkle in your eyes highlighting the soft lines on your forehead. Your grey hair tucked into your favorite hairstyle.
You were beautiful. Sukuna admitted.
And Yuji saw it. He saw the brief look of interest in his grand uncle's eyes and begged him to consider.
---
Sukuna had had his fair share of relationships. One night stands in his twenties. Something serious in his thirties. A few flings his forties.
But then his boredom took over. Sex was a chore. Flirting didn't interest him. He chose to ignore all the advances. Women batting their eyelashes, biting their lips, winking at him—he simply didn't care anymore.
But then Sukuna turned fifty and he felt off. He had achieved everything a man his age was capable of achieving in life and more than that. Yet, something felt missing.
It wasn't until he hit sixty and adopted his late brother's grandson when Sukuna realised something.
He was alone in this.
He was all alone in raising Yuji.
That's when the loneliness crashed into him.
Sukuna dealt with it the only way he knew how to—bury it deep within his mind and never think about it.
But the brat saw through him and despite Sukuna's reprimand for his actions—he found himself inviting you to coffee after a few exchange of words.
---
“Well, we're here—oh my god, grandma! There he is!”
You playfully glared at your granddaughter and shook your head exasperatedly, telling her to not point at people.
It was only fair that you fussed over her a bit since she was the one who set this all up. Your profile on that silly app on her phone and she eagerly showed you pictures of men around your age.
Alas, you think you are responsible for this too.
You always told your granddaughter to grow up surrounded by people who loved her. You knew what loneliness was. When you were a teenager, the father of your son had left you right after you gave birth to him. You juggled two jobs to raise your son in your twenties and thirties. But all that struggle paid off in your forties as you peppered his face with tearful kisses while sending him off to college with all the money you had saved, as you witness him marry the love of his life and welcome your beautiful granddaughter into this world.
But, despite the life you have lived, the aching gap in your heart left by that man was never felt. Your granddaughter saw it and urged you to look for love again. She wanted you to be happy just like her parents.
You always smiled at her, telling her that your time had passed to find love. But she was stubborn and persistent, telling you all the ways you could find someone for yourself. That these days it was easier.
So you reluctantly agreed to a dating profile.
And then one day, your granddaughter skipped over to you, showing you a candid photo of the most handsome man you had ever seen.
The longing in your heart only deepened.
---
You walked towards the man you were supposed to meet.
He was standing outside the coffee shop you agreed to meet him.
You haven't felt this nervous since you were a high-school girl shyly gazing at your crush from afar. He didn't even look like he was 64—tall, broad shouldered and muscular. The only way you could tell he was around your age was his slicked back white hair with a hint of pink streaks and the wrinkles donning his tattooed face.
“… Mr. Ryomen?” You called out softly.
Sukuna turned towards you, red gaze locking with your own as he finally took in your apparence. You were wearing a long sundress with a jacket, pearl earrings and necklace and clutching a leather purse in your hands.
That cropped family photo didn't do justice to how pretty you actually were.
You smiled politely at him. “Good evening.”
Sukuna cleared his throat and nodded. “Good evening.”
Then there was an awkward silence. Neither of you knew what to do.
You tugged at your bracelet.
“I'm sorry if this awkward, Mr. Ryomen. It's just—” You breathed out before admitting softly: “It's been far too long since I've done anything like this.”
Sukuna hummed, one hand slipping into his pocket. “It's… been a while for me as well.” He admitted stiffly but the way your shoulders relaxed in relief made his nervousness melt away.
You chuckled. “Far too much has changed these days, hasn't it? I never expected to meet you on these... apps.”
“Ha.” Sukuna snorted, his lips tilting in amusement. “I usually stay away from this nonsense but my brat of a grand nephew insisted and made my… profile.”
“Oh!” You gasped. “My granddaughter made mine!”
Sukuna found himself chuckling. “Ah, that would explain the girl standing behind you. She's been watching us with far too much enthusiasm.”
You turned to see your granddaughter standing across the road. She grinned and waved at you. You playfully gestured for her to leave.
“Don't mind her. She's just excited.” You said, turning back to him.
“Not at all.” Sukuna smirked. “I'm quite sure my grand nephew hasn't left either. If you spot a pink haired brat around here, just know that he's mine.”
You glanced around and easily spotted the pink haired boy with a black haired boy and a brunette girl watching the two of you. They tensed up when your gaze landed on them and quickly looked away, pretending like they didn't see you.
You burst into a hearty laughter.
“Oh, these kids.” You stated, but with a tone full of affection.
“Hmph. Tell me about it.”
You smiled at him, feeling a little bolder. “We can go inside and talk more about it, Mr. Ryomen.”
Sukuna smiled. Your heart leaping at just how handsome he was.
He stepped forward and opened the door to the coffee shop for you. “Just Sukuna is fine.”
“Sukuna.” You said, blushing softly when he placed his large hand on the small of your back and guided you inside. “Your name is lovely.”
Sukuna's gaze and smile softened at that. “And so is yours, petal.”
Simon likes to joke about the age difference between you two. And by joke, we’re talking about jokes that are too real to be jokes.
He knows that the age difference makes people side eye or do a double take. He’s aware that he receives strange looks when he tells people that his partner is twenty years younger than him.
It wasn’t intentional; it wasn’t like he was specifically scoping out someone younger than him. He wasn’t a goddamn creep, cut him some slack.
The two of you connected over something entirely so dumb. He had caught you staring at a cereal box at a grocery store with the most disgusted look on your face. “Can you believe they changed the design on the box?” you had asked him.
And all he could do was stare down at you with the flattest expression imaginable. Here you were, a stranger, speaking to him like you came in the store with him. But he played along, “Wouldn’t be the first. You’re too young to know what the first design looked like.”
Since that one singular conversation, his life has changed; a complete switch. Instead of his usual “Leave-Me-Alone-It’s-Bourbon-Saturday,” his weekends now consist of date nights with you.
Or “Taco-Mondays” (because Taco Tuesday was so overused in his mind), had now become “Simon gets to spend Mondays trying out new restaurants with his new partner.”
He felt young again; remembering that life was more than gunshots and gun wounds. Or that summer wasn’t just a long mission in the middle of a country he’s never been to but rather, a long weekend getaway while the sun burns the fuck out of his back.
“You got daddy issues,” Simon randomly said as he laid ontop of your beach towel. His sunglasses covered his eyes, a blob of sunscreen was on his nose, and his arms rested by his sides like he was ready for the summer heat to wash him away.
The beach was full of people; all setting up their little spots and kids running away from the gentle waves. You stared down at Simon, whom looked too comfortable tanning. Since when the fuck do men like him tan? Apparently, since he started dating you. “That came out of nowhere,” you replied, glaring down at him.
“Just saying, love. Not everyone wants to date a man who looks like he could be your father’s friend,” Simon replies without a second thought. He didn’t move— you barely noticed his lips move. That’s how serious he took his tanning.
A quiet scoff escaped your lips as you glanced over at the water, the small waves bringing in sand before throwing it back. “Yeah, it’s really not my fault you’re like… fifty and past your prime,” you joked back. “You probably have to pop a viagra to get it up before we fuck,” you added with a shit-faced eating grin.
It’s become a running joke of who could make who feel more uncomfortable at this point.
“Hey,” Simon began and finally shifted. “First of all, I’m not fifty. And second of all—“ he propped himself up with his elbows before turning around to lay on his stomach, “my dick’s twenty years older than you and you take it well, so.”
synopsis: a story in which a depressed satoru gets sent to the future and sees just how bright it eventually becomes. meanwhile, you're reminded of how much of a brat your husband used to be when you first started dating.
cw: MDNI, time travel, smut w/ a touch of angst bc we LOVE plot, satoru's actually so mean at first lol, dad!jo (him and reader share a daughter together)
notes: hiiii we got 6.5k words for this one ❤️ comm for the lovely @sadlittlecucumber i hope u like!!!!
song rec: drag path — twenty one pilots
Satoru’s life ended up being a fucking bummer.
His best friend’s a mass murderer. Shoko’s gone off to do her own thing with medicine. Nanami left to go become a banker or whatever. Ijichi’s… Ijichi. Oh, and Haibara’s dead. Everyone who’s alive seems to have moved on— so should Satoru, honestly. But times proved that to be quite difficult.
He’s starting to understand where Suguru was coming from with the whole exorcise-absorb mantra. Except for him, it was exorcise and destroy, leaving every cursed site he’s stepped foot on looking like god himself decided to hit the reset button to obliterate the place.
Nobody says anything about it. He’s probably the closest thing to a god. Despite having tried his hardest all throughout his youth to fit in and act as if he was just like everyone else, people were still terrified to fuck with him.
And despite the chaos he’s constantly surrounded by— mainly from his own doing— the days still find a way to bleed into each other, morphing into a never ending cycle of boredom and violence. It’s quite the combo. The higher ups are lucky he’s too tired to plot anything behind their backs.
He’s exhausted.
The past is too blurry. The future’s too bleak.
Gojo was bound to fuck up sooner or later. The thought of him finally snapping like Suguru did, dangling in the back of his mind, taunting him.
He didn’t snap. It’s so much worse than that. At least in the eyes of the arrogant boy who got bested by, what he assumed to be a grade two curse because of how pudgy and stupid it looked. The thing that caught him lacking looked like a fucking blob fish that struggled with crippling anxiety, how the hell was he supposed to know that it could mess with timeof all things?
One moment he’s laughing at the way it looks, the next he’s in the complete dark.
That was the first time he’s smiled in months, by the way.
“Huh?” Satoru huffs out, trying to look around before eventually realizing that he has a blindfold on, and rips it off in annoyance. “Don’t tell me that thing knocked me out,” he begins to grumble to himself. It’d explain why he had a blindfold on… but then he realized he was in a completely different outfit, one that you didn’t put on someone who was currently in rest and recovery.
He highly doubts Shoko would even change him, anyway, at least not for this.
“Oh hey, you’re home.”
Home?
He looks around, and all he knows is this isn’t the dorm he’s continued to stay in after graduation, purely due to the fact that he was already out on missions for up to 18 hours each day. Not to mention that the penthouse he was currently standing in was too clean to be his. Too warm. Way too comfortable.
You already knew there was something deeply off in those first few seconds of looking into his eyes. This wasn’t your husband— this was the hot mess you met and still fell in love with all those years ago.
You tilt your head to the side, more curious than cautious, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he snorts, literally the worst liar ever. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know,” you hum, holding eye contact long enough to leave him feeling a bit unsettled. “You tell me.”
First of all, who the fuck do you think you are speaking to him like that?
Second, who even are you?
Something big and shiny on your finger catches his attention, then he looks at his own hand that has an equally shiny band around his ring finger.
Fuck.
“Honey–”
Satoru physically cringes at the pet name, giving himself away once again.
“I’m not Satoru,” he blurts out, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I mean, I am, but I’m not— FUCK– some fuckin’ curse blasted me into the future, and I need to go back.”
Well, that was quick. He’s always quick to fold under pressure when it comes to you— it’s something he’s unaware of though, as he fights back the urge to start pacing back and forth.
There’s a light smack from your mouth when you go to open it, only for the words to never even come, let alone die out. Nothing about this surprises you. This is not the craziest thing that’s happened since you’ve met Satoru.
Your lips thin into a smile as you take a deep breath, knowing you had no choice but to accept your new circumstances.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He raises a brow at how you just… accepted it.
“Yeah… I believe it.” You respond flatly, then point at him, casually motioning your finger up and down. “Your attitude kinda sucked when we first met.”
He grimaces, taken aback by the statement. “No, it doesn’t–”
“You also liked to argue, too.”
“Okay— whatever,” he waves a dismissive hand, not at all interested in hearing what else you had to say. At this point, it just sounded like you wanted to shit on him, something he actually doesn’t have any fucking time for right now. “You’re a sorcerer… right?”
“No.”
“Christ.” Satoru sighs, turning on his heel. “You’re fuckin’ useless—“
You scoff, more humored than offended. “Where are you going?”
“To figure this shit out!” he snaps, throwing his arms out as he turns around to face you.
“Okay,” you shrug, still way too calm for Satoru’s liking, as it pisses him off even more. “If you don’t get it all figured out tonight, you can always come back. We have a guest room.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, as if that was the dumbest suggestion he’s ever heard. “I appreciate the offer.”
–
“Yaga” Satoru storms into the principal’s office, ignoring all his cursed stuffed animals, but noticing what he’s done with his hair. “What the fuck happened to you?”
The principal's brows pinch together, wishing he had locked the door to his office. Satoru fucked with him enough today by showing up to a meeting 20 minutes late with some sugary frap in his hand, and now he’s storming into his office, insulting him out of nowhere.
“Actually, nevemind.” Satoru waves a hand to stop him from even answering his question, reminding himself not to get sidetracked right now. “Look, I need your help. I got sent into the future by some curse, and I need to get back.”
Yaga inhales sharply. “What are you even talking about?”
“Exactly what I just said! I’m from 2009! Not whatever age I am now—”
“31.”
Satoru throws up a little in his mouth. “Send me back.”
Yaga lets out a long, disappointed sigh. It’s always something with Satoru. Always. Having to deal with the younger version of him was a painful reminder that he’s been dealing with his bullshit for well over a decade now. Nothing surprises him anymore.
“Let me see if some other windows would be willing to help look through the library. I’m sure you’ll be able to find information on what kind of curse you got hit with.”
“Thank you,” Satoru groans, still not very pleased by everyone’s reactions thus far, but grateful that he can at least get somewhere with Yaga… unlike a certain somebody.
Hours later, he finds himself at the school’s dusty, unkept library. It looks worse than it originally looked before he walked in. Books sprawled everywhere. Research papers were scattered all over the tables and floor. Assistants running around in every direction, more than half of them terrified at the total 180 in Satoru’s attitude.
“W-we can’t find anything,” Ijichi says, too old to be acting this scared in Satoru’s opinion.
He hums, elbows still resting on his knees, not bothering to sit up. “Hey, Ijichi?”
Ijichi gulped loudly, managing to annoy the world’s strongest sorcerer even more. “...Yes?”
“How are you even more incompetent now than you were before?”
“I tried my best! I swear!”
“Well, it’s not good enough— I’m still here!” he snaps at the nervous wreck of a man. Thank fucking god Ijichi listened to him and just became a window. He sucks at it too, but at least it’s easier for this dumbass to avoid death. “God— what the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”
“This is just one of the libraries, there’s more! And some in Kyoto too, that we’ll have the Kyoto branch check out.”
“Do whatever you need to do. I’m just letting you know right now that if I'm not back by tomorrow, you better watch the fuck out.”
The threat is followed by complete dead silence, aside from a certain someone's breath catching in horror.
“Me?!” Ijichi squeaks out.
The sorcerer doesn’t bother answering that and instead walks away, grumbling something insulting under his breath, just in complete and utter disbelief over how Ijichi truly hasn’t changed.
—
You figured your husband would eventually come back, so you set some food aside for him, and now you’re sitting at the dinner table, trying not to laugh at the pout on his face as he picks at his dinner with the chopsticks in his hand.
“Is the food good?”
“Sure.”
“I can warm that up for you, if you want?” you ask, barely trying to hide your amusement.
“No thanks,” he curtly responds before shoving another piece of karaage into his mouth. He’s known to have a sweet tooth, but chicken karaage’s probably his favorite food, savory wise. You almost want to tell him that he’s allowed to enjoy food even if his day hasn’t gone the way he had planned. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring.”
Your lips twitch, threatening to break out into a fit of laughter. “Right, sorry.”
“Mommy…? Is Daddy home yet?”
Oh great. As if the day couldn’t get any worse— now there’s a child.
“Yeah,” you respond in a tentative tone, shooting Satoru a look that screams ‘behave or else’, and even though you are currently a stranger to him, it intimidates him enough to behave for the time being.
A little girl, no older than 4 years old, walks into the kitchen and Satoru’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head upon seeing his daughter. It’s pretty obvious she’s his with her baby blue eyes and stark white hair. Her facial features are entirely yours, though. It’s strange to see.
“Hey… kiddo—” he awkwardly says, not really sure how to address the little girl. You clear your throat, mouthing ‘princess’ when he looks at you, because your daughter also happens to have her dad’s attitude. “I mean princess.”
It’s hilarious how unnatural it sounds right now when he was the one who started calling her that the moment you two took her home from the hospital.
“You pomis to wead bedtime stowie,” she starts to pout— same exact way he does.
“Did I?” He gives the girl a sympathetic look, albeit fake.
“Yeah,” she frowns as she walks up to you, giving him the world’s nastiest side eye. “Liar.”
Why is that the one word she’s able to enunciate correctly? She didn’t even stutter.
“Yeah— I was a little busy with work today,” he murmurs, as if she knew what that even meant. With the glare she was giving him, he doubted she’d even care if he broke down what work and the importance of it was. “Maybe mommy can read to you tonight?”
Sai wasn’t having that.
Satoru spent the end of his night reading her favorite book to her. Multiple times. He almost asked if it was some form of punishment for not upholding a promise he didn’t technically make himself, but decided against it in fear that she’d make him read it one more time. Sai fell asleep… eventually. Despite there being no way to prove it, he knows that the little girl forced herself to stay up out of pure spite.
But still, he finds himself smiling as he thinks about his nightmare of a future, not wiping it off quickly enough when you lightly knock on the guest bedroom door.
“Here’s some jammys for the night.” You smile back as you walk up and hand him a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt, both neatly folded up. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in your work clothes.”
“Oh uh— thanks.” He clears his throat and forces out a laugh, pushing through the embarrassment of getting caught smiling to himself.
You’re giving him that look again. The one that’s mixed with amusement and a bit of fondness, where you look like you’re about to start making fun of him, but never do. Satoru would rather die than admit it makes him nervous.
“What?”
There’s a small pause as your smile grows. “Do you like your kid?”
“She’s weird.”
“Yeah, no— you wouldn’t believe who she got that from.”
“Fuck off.” A laugh easily slips through his lips this time, unable to stay serious at the thought of her inheriting even just a quarter of the traits he had as a child. Then it grows quiet again as he realizes she probably has the freedom to be a kid.
He wants to ask, but you beat him to it with a statement that answered the question he had in mind.
“Your duties as her father don’t end just because you managed to time travel by the way,” you say playfully, though he knows you’re being dead serious.
He can only guess what other horrors that little girl will subject him to for the rest of his time here. To put it simply, she’s not afraid of Dad.
For once, somebody doesn’t look at him as a god to fear.
—
It’s been over a month.
Ijichi and the rest of the windows are just as useless as they were when they first started trying to find answers. All that’s changed is that Nanami knows, and doesn’t seem to be too thrilled about the fact that he is now involved.
But still, the search for the fix to his predicament continues, turning every library and warehouse upside down. That’s all they could really do— aside from asking the elders for assistance of some sort.
Over his dead body.
Knowing they’d most likely do more harm than good, everyone’s agreed to keep this all a little secret from them.
So all that’s left to do, or rather forced to do, is to be patient. It’s hard. Satoru doesn’t do patient— he’s the type to snap his fingers and have a solution magically appear right before his eyes. You can only imagine how difficult it’s been for him to accept that he can’t immediately get what he wants right now.
Not to mention the fact that he had to continue working throughout all of this, but that wasn’t very surprising.
Now, what was surprising was learning that he has his weekends completely to himself. If anything, he assumed he’d just work more as time went on, but no. Turns out he threatened to kill the higher-ups if they didn’t let him have that when you two got married.
Satoru looks over your body once.
Twice.
He totally understands his future self.
He looks again for a third time, and you just so conveniently turn around, showing off your cute, frilly little apron covered in flour streaks.
It’s Sunday— you’ve been baking sweet treats all morning, and he wishes he had been a little nicer to you. Especially a couple of days ago when he snapped at you.
You had found him sitting alone on the balcony, head in his hands from yet another day of failure.
“Hey… any good news?”
“No,” he said impatiently. “If there was, I wouldn’t fucking be here right now.”
“Fair enough.” Your voice took a dip as you looked at the ground, allowing yourself to feel a little hurt for a moment before trying to lift the mood again. “Well… me and Sai stopped by your favorite bakery and got you the cookies you like if you wanted some—“
“No— no,” Satoru cut you off. “I don’t want your fucking cookies. I don’t want to do a family movie night where all we watch is Ms. Rachel. I don’t want to read some book about a mouse trying to become a fucking painter over and over again. I don’t want ANY of it. I want to fucking go home— what part about that do you not get?”
You tried to stand as straight as possible despite your shoulders growing heavier, pushing against the small frown threatening to carve itself across your face. You forgot how mean he used to be, at least during that first year of dating him. It only stings more because the man you married would never raise his voice like that, and you remind yourself that this isn’t him.
After a long pause, he looked up at you and immediately felt guilt wash over him.
“I didn’t mean that,” he tried to meet your eyes as he began to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I just— fuck. I didn’t mean any of that—”
“It’s fine.” You forced yourself to look at him again and smile. “I’ll uh… give you some space.”
The one thing about Satoru is that he doesn’t apologize. Like ever. So, one could only imagine how painfully awkward it was later that night when he knocked on your bedroom door to say he was sorry. It didn’t help that you were in a paper-thin silk slip, skin glistening from the lotion you rubbed all over it— he spent half his time trying not to stare at your tits. Had you been anyone else, it wouldn’t have felt as genuine.
But thank fuck he apologized, you probably would’ve spent all day ignoring him.
You raise a brow, and his cheeks start to pink. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing, you just–” he awkwardly gestures at your entire body, “there’s flour all over you.”
It almost sounds like he’s offended by it. He kind of is. You keep your foot on his fucking neck— he doesn’t even know why he came out here.
“Oh, right— 'cause messes have always bothered you,” you lean over the island ever so slightly. The pink on his cheeks darkens as you do, unable to control his eyes from drifting down to your cleavage. And while he’s not exactly ashamed of looking— you are his wife after all— he can’t help but be a little flustered.
He’s always had a thing for milfs.
Especially when said milf is talking about messes— he knows a couple of places he could make a mess on right now.
“Nah,” he rests his elbows on the marble counter as a playful grin stretches across his face. “This is nothing compared to how I like it.”
You tilt your head, a small laugh escaping you as you rest your chin over your palm, curious to see where this conversation will get you.
“How do you like it?” you ask, as if you didn’t already know how filthy and depraved he could get when he’s alone in a room with you.
And you fucking miss that.
He opens his mouth to respond.
Then you hear your daughter whimpering about waking up alone. It’s nothing new, and you revert back to mom mode as you watch her turn the corner and waddle towards you.
Satoru, on the other hand, is not used to this. The slightly bruised laugh he lets out just barely masks his desire to fucking scream. What a fucking cockblock— no wonder you only have one kid.
His kid completely ignores his existence as she wraps herself around your leg, continuing to whimper despite no actual tears streaming down her cheeks. “I had a nightmawh.”
Meanwhile, there’s Satoru, who has yet to wake up from his very own nightmare. He internally sighs, then attempts to grab her attention because it doesn’t feel very good watching her give it all to you. “You wanna share a muffin with daddy?”
It’s starting to sound more natural.
“Y-yeah,” she sniffles.
Minutes later, she’s sitting on his lap, absolutely demolishing the blueberry muffin they ended up splitting— a complete 180. He couldn’t be mad, even if he tried.
His little girl was a dream.
—
Month two. Ijichi is still as useless as ever. He stopped complaining to you about him, though. You noticed he doesn’t talk about going back to his original timeline all that much anymore.
It’s not like Satoru’s given up hope, he’s just more present, as if he finally realized that wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to send him back any faster. He’s unknowingly more like his future self— laid back, not a care in the world.
He’s even sleeping in for once. It’s not that hard though when Sai’s gone for the day. She seemed to care more about getting the hell out of the house with her grandparents than greeting her father a good morning. You didn’t push her to, either— figuring Satoru needed the sleep. He always does.
It’s too bad that his phone started blowing up at around 10:00 am. Unfortunately for you, he left his phone in the living room, leaving you to get up and grab it since the master bedroom was the closest room to it. With how thick the walls are, you doubt he’d even hear it.
With a long sigh, you rise from bed, rubbing the sleep off your eyes as you snatch the stupid phone off the coffee table.
The snores coming from Satoru reach your ears before you even open the door. You have to hold back a laugh as you walk in and take a look at him. Face down, his long limbs sprawled over the bed, messy white hair sticking out in all directions.
You reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, surprised infinity is off.
“Toru?” He stirs a bit, and you cautiously attempt to wake him up again. “Toru— someone’s been trying to call you for the past 10 minutes now.”
He lifts his head, eyes still sealed shut as he murmurs, “Who?”
“Uhh,” you look at the screen, unsure of who it might be. “Your contact name for them is nerd.”
You know it’s not Ijichi because his contact name is “courage 🐶” in his phone. Someone else must've annoyed Satoru for him to change yet another contact.
Satoru shoves his head back into the pillow and groans before taking the phone off your hands.
It’s Nanami. He, of all people, should know now is not the time to be blowing up his phone right now because he is fucking sleeping. It’s a Saturday for fucks sake.
Satoru sighs and accepts the call, grumbling into the phone. “What?”
Nanami cuts straight to the chase, as he would rather be doing anything else right now.
“How long are you planning on hiding your secret from the higher-ups?” he asks in a clipped tone.
Satoru rubs his eyes, too tired to return the same sense of urgency his friend seems to have at the moment. “Forever.”
“Don’t give me that.” A vein pops up on the side of the usually stoic man’s forehead. “They asked me about you this morning. They know something’s up. I can’t keep covering for you if it means my own safety’s on the line.”
“You really haven’t changed, have you?” It’s more of a statement than a question.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean—“
“You’ll be fine,” Satoru cuts him off. “They’re always up my ass anyway. I doubt they’re even suspicious. They just don’t know how to mind their own fuckin’ business. Seriously. You’re worrying over nothing right now.”
“I swear to god Gojo, if you—“
“Kay’ good night.”
Click.
Nanami’s probably fuming right now, but he’ll get over it. Satoru wanted to enjoy this. Lying in a comfy bed, surrounded by nothing but peace and quiet. He closes his eyes and stretches a bit, then rests his hands behind his head.
He would’ve forgotten that you were still sitting at the edge of the bed had you not lightly cleared your throat. One eye opens to look at you, then closes. The last thing he wants to do is share the reason why Nanami had been blowing up his phone all morning.
“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here.” You cross your arms. “What was that all about?”
“Nothin’,” he easily says. “Just Nanami being Nanami— the guy’s a fuckin’ stickler for no reason.”
“That’s a little rude, no?” you chastise him.
“So is waking me up.”
“Sai wakes you up all the time, though.”
“Sai’s a ball of sunshine,” he says, quickly coming to her defense. “Not a grown man with depression— where is she by the way?”
“She’s spending the afternoon with my parents.”
Both eyes open this time, and stay open. “Why didn’t you go with them?”
“No way,” you wave a hand. “I need a break, too.”
“Yeah, no— I’m sure,” he agrees, feeling flustered all the sudden.
And Satoru being Satoru, he doesn’t do a very good job of hiding it, once again forgetting that you can read him better than anyone else can.
You smile, scooching closer, “You good there?”
“Yeah, m’fine,” he murmurs, trying not to shift around too much.
“I can take care of that, you know.”
“What?”
“That.” You look down at the boner he’s been trying to hide since finding out it’s just you two here.
“That’s not—“ His brain straight up short-circuits. “You don’t think that’s weird?”
“No.” You continue to inch forward, getting closer to him. “Do you think it’s weird?”
“No— never,” he shakes his head, answering a little too fast. “Fuck— won’t future me get mad?”
“Not at all. The most he’d probably do is make me show him what we did.”
“Make you show him?” he repeats after you in disbelief.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, that’s— that’s fuckin’ hot.”
Minutes later, you’re leaning forward with your hand wrapped around his base, and his breath catches as you start to slowly pump his cock.
“Feel good?”
His lids lower as he hums, “yeah— keep going.”
You lean forward, letting a string of spit fall from your lips to the tip of his cock, letting it mix with the precum that was already beading down from it. The wet sounds of you stroking him begin to grow, making the heat in between your legs start to pool.
“Can I sit on it?” You look up at him, batting your lashes as you innocently ask.
“Please,” he blurts out, just about ready to start begging you to.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as eager as him after all the weeks spent pretending like you don’t notice the way he stares at you. Lustfully. The slip you’re wearing happens to be extra short today, so you forego stripping down and practically pounce on him. Your soaked panties grazing over his rock-hard length as you straddle him, letting yourself get comfortable while Satoru grows impatient.
His hands find themselves planted on your hips and pull you down. A low groan escapes him as he grinds you against him. “God— fuck me. Please.”
“Well, since you’re being so sweet—”
You reach down, hooking a finger into the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side. He’s already lining himself up with your entrance, teasing your hole as he runs his tip through your folds, collecting all the slick. His lips part as he watches in awe at how damn wet you are.
His head tips back as you lower yourself, groaning and rambling to himself as if you weren’t there to hear it all.
"Fuck. You’re so hot.” His words come out strained as he watches you start to take him inch by inch, slowly working yourself open. “So fuckin’ tight, too.”
“Mmm— forgot how big you are.” Your voice is all soft and breathy from the fullness, nails slowly digging into his abs as you bottom out.
It takes a minute to adjust— it has been 3 months after all. But then you finally roll your hips, and Satoru almost starts singing praises at how good you are at that— lifting your hips all the way up and throwing them back, taking all of him.
"Fuck yeah– just like that," he breathes, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Feels so fucking good."
You murmur back a measly, “kay,” already dizzy from the stretch. You’re able to keep up the pace on your own for a bit, until you feel his grip on you tighten and the sounds of skin slapping against his start to grow as he starts to help you out.
You wouldn’t exactly call it help though, not when he ended up doing all the work— holding you steady while he practically bounces you on his cock, pulling more and more moans out of you as the head of his cock repeatedly kissed your sweet spot with almost no effort.
"You take it so good," he groans, pupils blown wide as he starts to feel himself lose control, snapping his hips up a little harder than the last. He wants more, he always wants more— so he pulls you forward and pulls your straps down far enough for your tits to spill out. "Perfect fuckin’ tits. Been thinking about these for weeks."
You let out a surprised gasp as he pops a nipple in his mouth with no warning. You fully believe him with the way he starts sucking and swirling and flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud, all while snapping his hips up harder.
He pulls back with a pop, looking up at you for approval. “Was that good?”
“Mhm.” There’s a fucked out expression on your face as you weakly nod. “Harder.”
“You want me to fuck you harder?”
“Yeah.”
Something in him snaps. Eager to please you, he flips you over and folds you underneath him— grabbing the back of your knees and pinning them to your chest so he can drive his cock into you deeper.
“Better?”
He drives his hips forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs. “God— yes.”
“I can’t— fuck— can’t believe you’re all mine, can’t believe I get to have you,” he starts to ramble as the sounds of him absolutely pounding into you fill the room. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect— all of you.”
He crashes his lips into yours— the kiss is messy, powered by hunger. Satoru’s always been overwhelming, but it’s been years since it’s been this emotionally intense. He fucks you like he needs you, like he’s been waiting for you all his life.
Your walls begin to squeeze and flutter around his cock, pulling another groan out of him. “You close?”
“Yeah,” you whine, feeling the pressure begin to coil. “Keep going.”
He’s close too, you can tell by how sloppy his thrusts have grown, no longer trying to control himself as he starts chasing after both of your releases. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck and fucks you faster, harder— balls slapping against your ass with each lewd wet squelch.
Your orgasm hits you hard after one particularly rough thrust. Scratching at his back as a cry tears through you, and it only goes straight to his dick, not even realizing just how overstimulated you are from the way he drills into you.
“Fuck.” It’s just one word that comes out of his mouth after realizing how hard he’s about to fucking cum. He bites into your shoulder as his balls start to tighten, squeezing his eyes shut as he braces himself.
When it happens, it’s a lot. He shoves himself deep inside of you, unaware of all the weight he puts on you as hot spurts of cum begin to flood your walls. Slowly grinding against you, letting your tight pussy milk the rest of him.
You’re wrecked by the end of it. You both are— lids tired and heavy, bodies sore and out of breath.
And in the end, you just let yourself fall asleep, unaware of the soft kiss pressed against your temple as he watched you.
—
It’s month three, and Satoru doesn’t want to go back.
What was the point? It’s not like he had anyone or anything to go back to. Jujutsu Society never crumbled from him getting shot into the future. Would it really be that bad if he just never went back and continued on with his life from here?
He hasn’t uttered a word about it out loud, but the way he completely stopped asking Yaga and Ijichi for updates was telling of where he was at mentally.
Acceptance.
He likes his life here.
You’ve come to your own conclusion after these last three months.
No wonder why he was so hot and cold when you were trying to get to know him. Satoru got a little taste of genuine comfort, only for it to be ripped away from him sometime before you two actually met. It explains all the times you wondered why he even tried with you, despite being too emotionally inept to even be in a relationship. He probably went through the beginning of your relationship thinking you could disappear at any second.
With that being said, he can’t stay here. As much as you’d love to continue being the source of comfort for this version of Satoru, he needs to experience the last year he spent alone before meeting you. He needs to feel cautious around you. He needs to try and fail at opening up a handful of times before getting comfortable with the idea of truly being vulnerable with a person. Getting over that element of fear he had towards getting close to others is what made him a husband and father— he couldn’t just skip that part of his life.
You have no idea how you’re going to tell him that, though. You’re not one to kick a sick puppy, especially one as cute as him. He’s so happy here with you and Sai that the thought of doing so makes your chest ache.
He’s having a tea party with Sai right now, limbs way too long to sit in the little stool she pulled up for him to sit in. He drinks imaginary tea from the plastic pink cup she hands him, and your chest aches some more. You force yourself to look away before the tears start.
You’d do the next 11 years all over again if you could.
“Hey, Honey?” Satoru calls out to you.
There’s a pause before you whip your head around— it’s been months since he’s called you that. There’s nothing but warmth and fondness in his eyes as his gaze meets yours. “Why is Nanami’s number saved under ‘nerd’ in my phone?”
He’s back.
“I don’t know,” you laugh, despite the tear falling down your cheek. “You tell me.”
—
Satoru didn’t want to believe it when everything around him went dark once again. It’s not until his feet touch the ground with a soft thud and he finds himself back in his messy, cold dorm when reality slapped him across the face.
Something between a sob and a gut-wrenching scream rips from his throat. Grabbing the round shades he had hoped he’d never have to fucking wear again, he rips them off his face and sends it crashing into the wall, breaking into a hundred little pieces. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give himself a chance to even breathe or think before raising his hand and releasing a purple orb with just a flick of his fingers.
Impulsive. Reckless. Deadly.
Satoru was fucking devastated.
Nobody knew what triggered him that night. All they knew was that the east wing of the school looked like it had been hit by an asteroid by the time he calmed down. He didn’t speak to anyone for a good two weeks following the incident. Everyone wants to think he was lucky the explosion didn’t have any casualties, but then they remembered who he was: Satoru fucking Gojo.
God’s don’t get punished, nor do natural disasters— it’s hard to tell which one he was at this point.
One Year Later
“If it’s that small of a curse, why are you sending me there?” Satoru continues to argue with one of the new managers over the phone.
It wasn’t that small of a curse. It was a grade one. But still, given the sorcerer’s title as a special grade, he was overqualified for the job.
“I’m sorry, we just don’t have anyone available to take on the case at the moment.” The young woman continues to apologize over the phone. “I think we might have a grade 3 available for the job. I- I can check—”
“Save it.” Satoru cuts her off. He wasn’t that heartless to push the case off to some 15 year old. That’s exactly how Haibara died. “Send me the address.”
The mission was nothing short of an inconvenience for him. He liked a challenge when exorcising curses, and the damn thing didn’t even put up a fucking fight. He traveled 2 hours to get here just for that? Unbelievable.
He wasn’t ready to leave and sit on a train for another 2 hours just yet, so he decided to walk around the town for a bit.
It was a cute place, a little quiet. Kinda boring. That’s never a bad thing, though. Lots of mom and pop shops, a few coffee shops scattered around, one of which he decided to try. A little sugar’s always good, at least to him.
The smell of vanilla and roasted coffee beans hit him as he walked into the place. There was a decent amount of customers inside. Not too much to feel crowded, but enough to stay busy. He keeps his eyes on the menu the entire time. The line moves fast, and he figures out what he wants just in time.
“And what can I get started for you today?”
His eyes are still on the screen, reading the item off the menu.
“Can I get a white chocolate mocha frappuccino, with an extra pump of…” his words die out, and his eyes widen as he finally looks at the girl taking his order. “Hey.”
“Hi.” You laugh at the way this stranger loses his train of thought. “Extra pump of white chocolate syrup?”
“Yeah.” He exhales, unable to rip his eye off you as you write the words down on the plastic cup with a sharpie.
“Name for the order?”
“Go– Satoru,” he corrects himself. “It’s Satoru.”
He’s a little awkward, but you still find him quite charming and smile. “Alright, Satoru. Your order should be ready in about 10 minutes.”
“Awesome. Thanks,” he nods rather pathetically, then goes to sit in an empty corner of the shop with only one thought in mind:
He has 10 minutes to come up with what to say to get your number.
Summary: Simon overhears you say his dick is small.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Consensual freeuse. Traffic light safe word system. Your boyfriend fucks you rough (but lovingly) while you’re on the phone.
Word count: 3.1k
You were being a good friend.
It really was as simple as that—a woman you’d known for over a decade now was going through the worst breakup of her life, and she needed your support. You’d offered that support without hesitation, thinking nothing of the fact that you were in the healthiest of relationships yourself. You sure as hell never would’ve imagined a conversation like that could lead to this.
“His dick was huge, too,” your friend groaned across the line. You heard a shuffling of pillows and a soft thump, and you pictured her punting one off the bed.
You were lying on your stomach in your own bed several hundred miles away, holding your phone to your ear and trying to bite back a slow-growing grin.
“Couldn’t have been that big,” you hummed.
Again, your best friend groaned as if she were in pain.
“No, I’m telling you, the guy was fucking massive, hon. Just hung like a…a goddamn horse. I’m gonna be sick.”
“You can find another monster cock someday.”
“I don’t want to, though! It was so good.”
“You know, a big dick isn’t everything.”
Now you were trailing a finger over the embroidered edge of a pillowcase, trying your hardest not to think of the man who’d just slipped out of your sheets thirty minutes prior. Right before your friend had called with her devastating news, before you had been obliged to join the I-Hate-All-Men tirade of the century, you’d been getting put through the mattress by your boyfriend—a man who didn’t lie, or cheat on you, or steal, or shatter your heart into a million pieces.
A man whose dick was considerably bigger than most.
Simon was probably already three beers deep with his buddies at the pub down the road, the same lopsided, happy-go-lucky smile on his face he always wore when you and him had just had a quickie before he left home
Suddenly, the tail-end of a sentence snapped you out of your reverie, your friend’s tone loud and a little shrill:
“—easy for you to say!”
You blinked. “Easy f—wait, what?”
“Simon Riley. Love of your life.” You could imagine the woman snapping fingers in front of your face if she had been with you then, as if to say, Ring a bell? “Don’t even try to act like he isn’t a crazy good lay. And huge.”
Your cheeks heated at the accusation. Hell, you’d probably mentioned to friends in passing that your boyfriend was an altogether generous lover, a caring man in every respect, along with a couple other vague intimations about his prowess that would leave a whole lot more to the imagination than not, but this? You hadn’t even touched on anything about his size.
Normally, you wouldn’t engage in that kind of talk—at least not to that level of detail, revealing intimate facts.
But your best friend was hurting, and it seemed like she needed something to feel better in the moment.
So, shortly, it slipped out before you could think better:
“Simon’s not even big.”
Your mouth clamped shut as soon as you said it.
Liar, every fiber of your being hissed at once.
(Shut the fuck up, I’m helping a friend out)
“No way. You’re full of shit,” she giggled.
(Well, yes)
“Nope.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
You swallowed hard. Already hating yourself as the silence across the line stretched on and you knew your friend expected you to elaborate, and then you did.
“Honestly, it’s pretty, um…small. And—And that’s OK! Like, nobody’s perfect. The sex with him is still so great, and if anything, it’s nice not having such a big dick to worry about, y’know? So don’t feel like dating a smaller guy is so bad. You can still have amazing sex.”
You tried to end it on a positive note—the message you meant to get across, which was that the girl could be happy with a guy of any size and she didn’t need to stay hung up on her stupid ex—but it fell flat, even to your own ears. Clearly, you’d dropped a bombshell.
“But he is just…such a big dude. You’d think—”
“No, I know, Simon’s tall,” you interrupted hastily. Wincing. “But like I was saying, you can still do a lot with an average-sized dick. Or—Or even a tiny one.”
“It’s tiny?!”
Fucking shit.
“No, no, no, not tiny! I mean, not that…tiny. He’s fine.”
Your pulse was pounding so loud in your ears you could hardly hear yourself think. Or breathe. Or lie. Or try to piece together the most incoherent string of words that came out a little something like, ‘Seriously, uh…Simon’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever dated, and um…dick size doesn’t even really matter. The big ones hurt. I mean, the guy’s not huge, but not tiny, and—’
“Well shit, lovie, how fuckin’ little are we talkin’ here?”
At the rumble of a voice by your other, phone-free ear, you nearly jumped and catapulted your device across the room. You would’ve yelped, too, had it not been for a big, broad palm clamping over your mouth. As a familiar weight and breadth and scent settled over your being—a body coming to lay on top of you from behind—your friend continued to chatter on the line, clueless.
“OK, OK, I get it. Love a guy of any size. And Simon’s not perfect—even though that fucker’s about as delectable as you can get in every other way…”
While the woman’s voice faded off into a far-distant hum rattling off Simon’s best qualities and lamenting the odds she’d ever find a man quite so wonderful, you were confronted with several of these same features at once: his wide, muscular chest blanketing the back of you entirely; his stubble tickling the cusp of your cheek as he leaned in close; his strength pinning you to the bed and only loosening the grip around your mouth a little; and of course, there was that voice again, lower—
“Too bad about my microdick, huh?” Simon chuckled.
“—and I bet he knows how to use it!” your friend went on, not hearing a word of what was going on with you.
“Hey, uh—hey, I’ve gotta go. I think I—” you started.
As soon as you did, though, you felt the pressure on your spine soar to new heights. You let out a low whine.
Simon was crushing you now.
Your friend cut in, “Yeah? You OK?”
Before you could attempt a reply, the hand that had once been covering your lips lowered to just underneath your chin; Simon squeezed your throat.
Playfully, he made clear by nipping at your earlobe.
“No need to stop on my account,” he murmured.
So, rushed and more than a little flustered now, you made up some excuse on the phone about mistakenly hearing the doorbell, and you let your friend forge on. You dropped the phone onto the bed by your pillow.
Then you turned your head, the rest of your body immobilized by the heft of your boyfriend’s weight on your back, and you finally, finally got to meet his gaze.
Behind you, Simon was smirking.
His whole demeanor betrayed amusement.
It wasn’t every day the man got to hear his dick was the size of something much smaller than it actually was, you reckoned. Still, he deserved an explanation.
“S-Si…” You tried to grit out a whisper, deflated by his weight and forced to hide your words from your friend.
Never mind the fact that your boyfriend looked, smelled, and felt just as irresistible as he had when he left home less than an hour ago. A simple, all-black ensemble fit him like a second skin and accentuated every mouthwatering ridge of his body, most visible to you in the glimpse of his bicep you caught under your chin. He was warm. Solid. Drenched in that dizzyingly potent sandalwood aftershave that you liked so much.
You’d never tapped the ‘mute’ on your phone so fast.
“Shit, Si, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean— I only said it— she’s going through a breakup right now, and I just t—”
Simon hit ‘unmute,’ followed by ‘speakerphone.’
He leaned back.
“…but what reeeally fucked me up was how he acted after. Like, couldn’t even look me in the eye, the dick…”
Your friend prattled on—back to sinking neck-deep in a story of how shitty the dating scene was and how she should’ve given up ages ago—while you flitted your gaze to your phone. You stared in awe, wondering why the fuck Simon had decided to tap those buttons in a moment like this, and questions started to bubble up.
At the same time, you heard the clink of a belt buckle.
Simon knelt behind you. He straddled your ass, and when you tried to sit up, he pressed a palm to the center of your back. He moved about it all swiftly.
Finally, the quietest, quickest hiss, ‘Si, what the fu—’
“Spit.”
That part, he said too loud. But the man didn’t seem to care much at all as he reached with his other hand and stuck his upturned palm under your face, waiting for it.
“What did you say?” your friend cut in presently.
Your face stung with embarrassment—at just the prospect of being found out by someone who had no concept of what was going on—that you forced it out:
“N-Nothing. Keep going.”
You spit in Simon’s hand like he’d told you.
Your phone couldn’t have been resting more than two or three inches from your face on the bed, and the space in general was small. There wasn’t a lot to be done by way of masking your activity, other than to simply hang up the fucking phone, but it didn’t sound like discretion and decorum and being considerate were at the top of Simon’s list of priorities right now.
Still, you felt a press of his lips against the back of your neck before he mumbled, “Remember our safewords?”
You did.
‘Yellow’ to slow down, ‘red’ to stop.
It wasn’t often you had to use the words with Simon, but from time to time, in particularly heated and impassioned moments, you appreciated the safety net.
And freeuse was something relatively new to you both—just accepting him in and letting him have his way with you at random points during your day, casually.
It didn’t make it any less tricky, or jarring, when the man next pushed inside you, bottoming out in one go.
Your sleep shorts tugged to the side, lying facedown underneath this massive, hulking man, you had only to grit your teeth and feel yourself stretched to full capacity with the shove of Simon’s bare cock in you.
“Oh, fuck,” you let out, hoarse.
“No, right? It was so gross, honestly.”
Amidst the airing of your friend’s mile-long list of grievances against her ex, your boyfriend settled his full, thick, demonstrably larger than average dick in your body until it felt like he was scraping your lungs.
You clawed the sheets and squirmed under him.
“That feel tiny to you, sweetheart?” Simon’s mouth was right next to your ear now, whispering filth while your walls stretched and squeezed to accommodate him. Warmth leaked out from where you connected.
You shook your head weakly, barely able to breathe.
It somehow made it even wilder and more maddening to have your senses deprived—Simon behind you, restricting your movements, with you obliged not to make a sound at the pleasure he was inflicting on you.
Your hips pinned to those pretty, floral-patterned sheets and your pussy made to gape in a perfectly wide ‘o’ around Simon’s whole cock, you felt helpless.
Stretched.
Protected, still.
Simon hadn’t even withdrawn to get a full stroke in, and he was already caressing your cheek with the backs of his knuckles, giving you more time to adjust to him. His tip kissed your cervix, and a heat sank in.
“Sweet dove’s still sore from earlier, yeah?” he murmured. “Didn’t think I gave her that much…”
But he did, of course.
“—couldn’t even make me cum—” your friend went on
Simon always gave you enough.
Just as your walls preemptively clenched around that slick, hard length and the man started to stir, rolling his hips against your ass in the shallowest of movements, your lips parted on a half-moan. Your chest constricted
“—it must be so much better with Simon, isn’t it?”
Suddenly, your boyfriend took a fistful of your hair.
In a murmur again, close to your ear:
“Go on, then. Don’t be impolite.”
“S-So, so good,” you rushed out. Those thrusts finally picked up, and Simon fucked you quietly into the bed. You sucked in another strangled breath, and trying your hardest not to moan, “He’s fucking…incredible.”
“I bet,” your friend laughed.
More shit-talking of men ensued.
Simon returned to his original, dominant position blanketing your body completely with his own, forearms planted on either side of your head on the bed and your phone resting inches away from you both. His cock pounded a furious pace inside you, precum and spit and your shared fluids easing the repeated slide. You gripped the sheets tighter, and Simon did the same with his ironclad hold in your hair.
Then his cock slid in higher, a little to the left, and the tip of him hit that special, tender, mind-numbing spot.
You felt the grin against the side of your face before you heard him chuckle, quiet as anything but elated.
Simon was the only guy who’d hit your G-spot before.
He hit it again. And again. And again, shaking the whole bed frame with the force of his thrusts. He kissed your neck and let your head loll back on him. While your friend chattered on, he did what he did best
“That’s a good girl,” he praised. “Gonna come f’me?”
You nodded, head bobbing against his softly.
If there were any moment for retribution, now would be it. If Simon were even the slightest bit the spiteful, insecure type, he probably would’ve taken the opportunity to make you beg for him—tell him how huge his cock was and how lucky you were to get it; how terrible it was to lie about a thing like size. It was.
But Simon didn’t, opting instead to give you pleasure. And he got plenty from you, too, you could tell by the breaths that were growing more and more ragged against your neck and the frantic stutter of his hips.
He was so big it was as if you could feel him in your throat. With every thrust that pushed you closer and closer to the edge, and with every twitch of every inch stuffed inside you, you feared you might not be able to conceal the sounds from your friend for much longer.
Your jaw unhinged on another wide-open, noiseless moan that probably made it look like you were in pain, and at the same time, your friend carried on over the phone, laughing about this loser’s goofy fucking face.
“Yellow?” Simon panted into your ear.
In other words, did you want him to slow down?
You shook your head no. Let him pelt your insides with the force of those hard, merciless thrusts and carve a path clean through your body in a way that only he ever could. He molded you to him perfectly. Tenderly.
Crescents digging into your scalp from how tightly he held you to him, you felt Simon twitch and keep beating your G-spot while you writhed under him, “You wanted a big dick, yeah? Don’t run from it now.”
It was in those words—paired with the obvious stretch and the depths your boyfriend was able to reach with his cock, how lovingly he fucked you while controlling your pleasure—that you broke. You couldn’t hold it in.
At the last possible second, Simon offered you his free hand to cover your mouth, knowing how loud you were liable to get, and you let out a muffled shriek into his palm. You grit your teeth and whimpered and kind of despised how high-pitched and needy you sounded, but you knew Simon loved it, almost as much as he adored the slippery wet noises your body and his made when he was emptying the contents of his balls into your cunt and fucking you senseless through all of it.
You finished as close as you were when you’d started, Simon’s chest glued onto your back. You both were breathing heavily, senses reeling from your highs. Simon’s cum stayed plugged in you with his thick cock holding it there, and the heat burrowed to your core.
You blinked, and you smiled contentedly at the warmth
Simon planted kisses wherever he could find bare skin for them to go, along your jaw and on your cheek and over your ear, like he always did after you two had sex.
“Wasn’t too far, was it?” he whispered. “Know I’m—”
“—big,” you giggled, barely louder than a breath after his hand had slid from your lips and cupped your face.
Then you went on, as the haze in your mind was starting to clear the slightest bit, and you remembered why you were here in the first place, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything about your size, Si. I’m—”
“—going to bed!” your friend announced suddenly.
Your attention and Simon’s snapped back to the phone
With all that had been going on over the last couple minutes, you’d almost forgotten the woman was still on the line at all. She’d been talking before that, right?
“I— OK. Yeah, no, that’s fine,” you said, stupidly. Then, regaining a bit more of your composure, “I’m so sorry about everything that’s been going on with…him. You deserve so much better, and you will find better, OK?”
That sounded coherent enough.
You would call again tomorrow. Really listen and be there to offer more helpful advice than you’d done tonight—this was more about letting her vent, anyway.
So, reaching for the phone and expecting to hear your best friend chirp a quick, simple good-bye at any second, you lifted your hips back against Simon. You angled his still-hard dick inside you and pushed him deeper through the sticky warm mess he’d just coated your walls with, and you bit back a smile when he grunted. You met his eyes over your shoulder, and you felt his grip on your chin flex. His gaze sharpened.
But, before he could smirk and murmur in your ear something like, ‘Round three can be arranged if you really want it,’ your friend cut in again over the line.
Her voice rang louder, and a little lighter, too, this time.
“Goooooodniiiiiiiiiight, hon, I love you so, so much!”
“I love you, too. Night!” you answered reflexively.
Then, your friend added, as swift as anything:
“And goodnight to you, too, Simon! Glad to hear that microdick’s being put to good use, happy for you two!”
Before you could say a word, she laughed and hung up.
KINKTOBER 4TH — webcam
stalker!simon riley watching you through your webcam
cw — stalking, unknown voyeurism, mention of drugging food.
simon was sick for it. corrupt and immoral, downright sinful. it was possibly the worst thing he's done, but not the worst, sickening thing in his mind.
you, poor, unsuspecting you, were being watched. not through placed, hidden cameras. not through the small slits in your blinds, or front across the neighborhood.
you, innocent you, were being watched through your own cameras. the ones you refused to cover up with tape on your laptop, the one you take pictures with. the one you complain about not working, taking it to get repaired just to be turned away when it suddenly works again.
you figured it was because it was old, though not more than a few years. really, it was just because simon was watching you.
and he's been watching you for a while.
he just can't help himself. with the knowledge of programming and computers from his time in the military, he uses it to his advantage to keep an eye on his favorite girl, without your knowledge, of course.
he doesn't remember when his obsession with you came to be. maybe when it was when he caught sight of you taking out your trash one morning, deciding almost immediately that you had to be his.
it started simple. getting your number to gain access to your devices, then your phone camera, then laptop, and lastly, security cameras around your house you use when you need house sitters.
it spiraled soon after. he spent nearly every waking moment watching you, almost mirroring your routine in obsession. like you two were experiencing the day together.
when you slept, he di,d too. when you ate, he prepared meals (bonus points if he plays the 'i cooked too much food, here's some' card) and ate, too. when you showered, he watched with aching boner.
when you delve your fingers into your tight cunt, moaning with syrupy sweet sounds, he jerked his cock. head thrown back as he tried to imagine his rough, calloused hands as yours. it didn't quite work.
he watched you live life, and experienced it with you on the other side.
maybe one day you'll take notice to the man on the other side of your camera, and his filthy, debauched antics. a true recluse you've turned him into.
maybe one of those meals will end up being laced with a little something so he can finally claim you as his.
but for now, he's content with watching from afar with busying himself with finding out how to gain access to your car's remote app.
aww im glad that u (all) liked that blurb!! didnt expect the vitriol in ur guys’ reactions but ykw? samesies <3 oki uhh so heres something quick and simple
cw: fivesome (but they go in order, also simon doesnt properly get a turn im sorry 😞); f!reader; subspace; builds up into consensual noncon; unrealistic sex; rambly as hell and its set up messily; wc is 3.6k :’3
(you tell them it’s a wrong send, and that it’s meant for johnny so they all said, “oh damn. welp,” and leaves you and johnny to go at it all night long teehee <33) (jk) (unless) (no ok im jk)
johnny fucks you first. the guys didn’t complain, and trickled into your room, ready to fall to whatever place they could sit down to watch. johnny laughs, and tugs you towards him, gently slapping your hand away when you try to cover yourself up with your shirt, and tells them, “watch me.”
not us, but me. like you’re a nameless hole whose only worth is to be fucked, and somehow that… doesn’t deter you at all.
instead, you ignore the warmth flooding in your cheeks and the stares that drag on your body, and focused on johnny’s smirk and his crooning words and his wide palms roving over whatever sliver of your skin he can touch. he positions himself in between your legs, his fatigues an uncomfortable sensation against your oversensitive skin.
he doesn’t care. he drags down his zipper and frees his cock from his briefs, before swiping his palm on the inside of your thigh, gathering the excess lube glistening there to use it as oil for his prick. your nose scrunches when he brings his hand to give himself a quick tug, foreskin peeling from the head to show off how flushed it is.
he crawls until he’s on top of you, and throws out, “let me show ye how to fuck ‘er, yes?”
you don’t even realize the words are for the rest of the squad because he’s already slipping his cock in your cunt, slow and careful, and you keen because yessss—
this is the delicious burn you’ve wanted. oh god oh god—
it didn’t even take johnny long before you’re cumming, your throat spasming at the scream that rips itself out from within you. your hips rise from the bed, your body jolting, unable to ground itself at the breaking euphoria that forced shockwaves to raze your synapses.
you fall on the bed limply, satiation filling you up in lapping waves. johnny pulls out and fucks his fist and sprays his cum all over your stomach. he musses it up, rubbing his palm against it like it’s a damn lotion, and lathers whatever inch of your belly he can cover.
it’s gross and weird, especially as the recollection that you’ve had an audience hits you, but then johnny’s stepping back and moving away. you try to shut your legs close, but someone’s already shuffling in, taking up the space that johnny had carved out.
you stare up at your captain, shock filling you up. he doesn’t ask with words but he quirks his brow up, waiting, and you don’t know what it is, but you give him a nod before ducking your head to the side.
which was a mistake, you learn, because you make eye contact with kyle; kyle who is—was—slowly rubbing himself through his pants, his palm gliding over his chub. his eyes are blown wide and he looks ravenous as he meets your gaze.
you hiccup, feeling cornered and delighted at the same time, but then john’s rubbing his cock along your messy folds, using the mess you and johnny made to lube himself up, and you mewl, tearing your eyes away from kyle to meet john’s stare head on.
he looks… calm. not teasing nor hungry, but poised with forced grace like this is another mission, and he has willed his full body to sync together so that not even a stray strand of hair will falter and miss a beat.
you don’t know how to position that with yourself, not like you needed to dwell on it any further because john’s already thrusting in. like johnny, he is careful, but he is more cautious, pushing inch by inch without even a ragged breath like he’s scoping out your reaction before he could let out his.
god, why’s everything so difficult with him—even now, speared with his cock, you still don’t know how to react. it’s like you’re a recruit all over again, dawdling underneath your CO’s scrutiny. it’s jarring, terrifying, really, but then john’s drooping onto you, his head tipping down to nuzzle close to your jaw, and this level of intimacy is what rips a moan out of you. it is drawn out and high-pitched, and so, so utterly debauched.
you hear more than see john’s pleased laugh, his breaths coming out in puffs that brush against your neck in a ticklish manner. the moment drags on—nuzzles and quiet huffs, and slow rocks of his hips almost like he’s taking his time to savour you; to allow you to get used to his size because he’s so different from johnny.
johnny is thick, but john is long. he is reaching deeper than you have ever known, and it’s so overwhelming that you begin to cling to him, in need of any way to ground yourself down from the slow-racing pleasure.
you don’t know how long he’s got you like that, but then he’s pulling back and away, and, “nonono, please. please, sir—”
“shh, i’ve got you,” he rumbles, still so utterly quiet that it forces out the tears faster, and you know something’s changed because john is looking at you with a proud smile, all tactile as he manhandles you to your side, before disappearing behind you. you feel your head being lifted then dropped onto something harder than your pillow, and it is only the smell of ozone that lets you know that john had pillowed your head with his arm, while the other snakes around your waist to pull you closer to him.
you stare at the expanse of your room but everything looks like they’re appearing underneath a hazy filter, so you blink your eyes to clear them from that mist but it remains unchanged. you feel heavy, all of sudden, like you’re submerged in water, wading through the ripples. floating.
you try to look at the others but all you see are blurs of colours, and you know this should terrify you, you know something’s happening in your mind, but you feel so good. so happy. so you fold into yourself, accepting the haze with a keen because john’s fucking back into you.
it is still so utterly gentle, like love-making, and this makes you sob because the euphoria is dizzying and overwhelming. it is something you haven’t felt before—johnny fucks you like a man starved; john fucks you like he’s trying to meld himself into you. or you into him.
it is so drastically different, and you were made to navigate the changing tides. but you can’t, not when john—
“fuck!” you scream, thrashing in his hold, but john ignores your voice as his heavy hand falls on your cunt with consistent smacks.
you feel lightheaded, untethered, and this is what pushes you to the edge. your orgasm is cataclysmic. it’s like having the fabrics of your reality collide until you are a supernova, bright and burning and so, so, so ecstatic.
you don’t even know how you came down from that high, but when you wake up, john’s already pulled out and your thighs feel extra sticky. you sniffle, turning to accept the quick kiss he leaves on your cheek. he pulls away and you watch him sink back to the lone chair in your room, and only then do you realize he’s still in his uniform. still in the fatigues.
it makes you extra vulnerable somehow and you twist, trying to find anything to cover yourself with, but your shirt’s been thrown to the floor, far from your reach, and your blankets were kicked off the bed.
you grumble, shyness encroaching again now that there’s no one to monopolize your attention, but a movement from the corner of your eyes makes you jolt. you turn, forcing your eyes to focus, and you blink in surprise because you are sure that kyle wasn’t there before—close to your shelving that is stuffed with little knickknacks and souvenirs brought to you by the boys when they take on separate missions that don’t require your involvement.
the same shelving where you’ve plopped your charging vibrator on. the very same one that is being held up by kyle.
“kyle?” you ask, unable to say any more with how wrecked your voice has become. but the call echoes like a gunshot in the suddenly stifling room, and they all look at you as one. like it didn’t matter if kyle was the one holding the wand because they all knew what they want, and it is to see you be fucked with it.
excitement fills you up despite the throbbing exhaustion settling in your bones, and you wonder if they could scent it with the way the pressure in the room grows heavy, almost bladed—ice shards against still waters.
kyle moves towards you and your eyes track the wand, almost hypnotized by it, and watch as he drops it on the mattress to shuck off his clothes. it is only then do you turn to him, hungry in the way you devour how he moves, how he breathes, how he unbuckles his belt.
his trousers come first, then his shirt. kyle is a catastrophic wonder—seeing him naked like this makes your core throb, aching need stretching in the yawning of your stomach, because he is so beautiful, terrifyingly so.
he reaches for your waist and drags you so you’re laying on your back again, your legs sprawled out on either side of his hips. he looks down at you, his eyes crinkled in his smile. he looks so charming, boyish and youthful, and he makes you thrum with quiet desire because you feel safe even when you’re bare before him.
you feel particularly cherished, like you are the apple of his eye.
“you’ve been so good to us, love,” he murmurs, but in the silence of everyone, his voice bounces off the walls, seeping into where the others are, watching raptly once again.
you nod, not knowing what else to say. kyle chuckles, the sound trickling like quiet chimes, and you wonder if he’s doing this for you—talking to you in whispers to give your body time to come down from the tremors, or filling you up with something other than a cock because johnny had come in scathing, and john had pierced you with something consuming, and kyle—
kyle is trying to distract you.
you’ve forgotten about the toy, sitting there so innocently. it’s out of your reach, tucked preciously close to kyle’s left leg the way he treats all his smaller guns—never straying beyond his person, and hovering close. you’ve once asked him if it wasn’t more comforting to have it on him where he can feel its weight and kyle had looked at you with that soft smile like you’ve uttered something so delightful, before telling you, “there’s a certain pleasure in having it displayed.”
like a promise and an assurance—he will always be faster; the one who is more in control.
and today, kyle is treating the wand with the same vehemence.
you didn’t even know you were already shaking your head until kyle had cupped your cheek, quiet sounds of comfort rumbling from his chest.
“don’t worry,” he says, eyes blazing with a terrifying promise. “all good girls have to be rewarded.”
kyle doesn’t fuck you with his cock right away; instead, he’d bent over and took a nipple into his mouth. it makes you gasp, back arching at every wet suck. there is pleasure to derive, but it is so muted that you begin to settle back into your mattress, waiting, almost in bated breath because kyle has yet to reach for the wand.
you jolt when he finally uses his hands, stomach tensing in anticipation. but still, kyle doesn’t reach for it, and instead he swipes a finger to your slit. your pussy’s still so sensitive so it makes you buck, a sharp animalistic sound tearing from your throat, and kyle takes advantage of the sudden change in the pace.
he slips in two fingers in your cunt, curling to poke at your walls, before fucking them out—he lifts up and sucks your other nipple—and punching them back in. it’s a wet slide, each thwaps ring in your head, and you moan, clawing at kyle’s back because how could he make you feel good just like this?
it’s almost a laughable parallel—just an hour ago, you had been in the same position, with your legs parted open and two fingers fucking in, while your other hand flicks at your nipples because you had so desperately wanted any form of orgasm. god, it didn’t even need to feel ecstatic, just something that’d rip your aching need into quiet tides. and now here you are, spread open with kyle mirroring every flick of his fingers and every pinching sensation on your nipples, and he is making you feel good.
how dare he. how dare he give you unadulterated pleasure with just his fingers? how could you ever go back to masturbating now that he’s even triumphed over your previous failures, showing your body that there are ways to make your toes curl without a cock nor a toy?
how dare he—
“no!” you whine, circling your hand around his wrist when he pulls out. you were so close; its tendrils spreading all over your body in the wake of your encroaching orgasm. you thought you were going to be rewarded? kyle promised. he said so!
“oh, love,” kyle coos, breaking through the swirling turmoil in your head. “i’m not done yet, i promise.”
you have to bite your bottom lip to stop the sob that is lodged in your throat as you watch kyle give his cock a pump before lining it up with your cunt. unlike johnny and john—and the reminder that they’re there, with simon, makes you jolt for a quick second—kyle doesn’t press in slow nor gentle.
no.
kyle punches everything in. you scream, the sound guttural as you are filled so quickly and so deeply, leaving you to feel the sudden crescendo of your pleasure. your body spasmed—because there was nothing else that could explain the sensation of having all your synapses sing with a ripping pleasure—before you black out for a second.
you come to the feeling of kyle’s hand mapping your belly, digging just enough that his fingers dimple your skin. you are still stretched and stuffed, and the remnants of your pleasure fire up again.
he flicks his eyes up to you with a smile. “came so soon f’r me, love.”
your only response is a gurgle. it makes kyle laugh.
“that must mean y’r ready for something else, yeah?”
a confused whimper bubbles from your throat. kyle just snaps his hips in reply, rendering your mind shut again. you hear him shuffling against the sheets, his free hand reaching for something you cannot see, and you feel your mind pressing at its edges, trying to retrieve the memory of what it is he is looking for because you know what it is, you’re sure.
buzzing noises fill your ears, the sound ricocheting around the space, and your body locks, recollection slamming into you. you tear your gaze away from the far wall to look at kyle.
you wonder what your face must’ve looked like because kyle begins to croon.
“i’ve seen this from a homemade porn video.” he shrugs at the incredulous expression on your face. “and i’ve always wanted to try it because sweetheart, they didn’t press it on her clit.”
what—
kyle moves, his body rippling with ease. you don’t notice but the boys crowd in, interest bright in their eyes. only ghost continues to be rooted in his spot, and it is only his head tipping to the side that lets the others know he’s just as interested.
kyle presses the toy on your belly. your nose scrunches in displeasure because it just feels like you’re being massaged incorrectly, but he keeps shifting, hunting, and it’s weird because kyle’s still in you so what—
you gasp, eyes widening at the odd sensation. kyle freezes, his body curling into something predatory, and digs your wand there on your—
“no way,” johnny laughs, and you want to snarl at him to go away but you can’t because he’s right.
no way.
kyle had pressed the vibrating bulb of your toy just below your belly and slightly before your upper pelvic area—kyle had pressed the toy on your womb.
the pleasure is new, uncharted, and it is petrifying because you’ve never felt this way before. you didn’t even know it was possible to stimulate yourself there, but kyle’s already resuming the pace he’d set, fucking his cock in deeply almost like he wants to feel the buzz from within.
you begin to sob but the tears feel different this time. they’re still out of pleasure, but the swirling surprise melts the euphoria into something frightening. you don’t even realize you’ve begun to babble.
“no more!” you hiccup, weak fists thumping against kyle’s chest only to be restrained by john and johnny, each man pushing them down with their own hands.
everything feels too scary, all of a sudden. this pleasure of yours is bigger than you have ever expected and it’s building up too fast and too soon, and still, kyle remains unfazed.
“i’m scared! i’m scared, kyle please!”
your words turn into unintelligible warbles, and kyle just says how you are so adorable like this.
“y’r pussy’s going stir crazy, baby,” he croons amidst your tears and you want to scream at him, to be mad and say something mean, but you feel so utterly lost in the bubbling bliss.
it is something you’ve never felt before; it’s almost like you are relearning your body at this very moment—like kyle is unmaking you, and remodelling you, and you feel this cathartic bloating of your orgasm.
kyle sees the moment you succumbed to the enveloping terror of your euphoria, and it’s like he’s been waiting for this moment because he begins to fuck you faster. deeper. his pelvis meets the plush of your ass with every thrust, while he digs the toy further down your flesh.
how could the vibrations ripple past the fat, you don’t know, but your orgasm is building, peaking—
it breaks with another scream tearing from your lungs. this one is much stronger than the previous ones, and enveloping because it feels like your whole body has shut down in the wake of your release.
your mind splinters, your body falling limp like your strings have been cut loose, and kyle turns forgiving again because he shuts the toy down and throws it away. he pulls out and only then do you feel the trickle of his cum sliding out of you.
he leans in, brushing his nose over your cheek. then, “just one more, little bird.”
kyle slides off the bed, but so do john and johnny, and you hiccup, still sobbing, still floating from the world-shattering climax, when simon greets you.
he is quiet for a while, watching as you catch your breath. you couldn’t even stop yourself from sniffling, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes to stain your already blotchy cheeks. he grunts, hand falling to brush unimaginably soft touches across your body, observing.
waiting.
“was’it?” you finally bite out because you know simon—you know ghost—and there is something that’s sitting on the tip of his tongue that he so desperately wants to spit out.
simon grumbles, rolling his eyes.
you groan, growing impatient. “tell m’.”
but he still doesn’t talk, choosing instead to manhandle your body until it is close to him. you want to tell him to give you a minute; that you’re still so sore and tired, and kyle just fucked you mindless that you need a goddamn break, so, “s’mon, no…”
he grunts, palming along your waist, then your hips, before it stops on the fat of your ass. he grabs a handful.
“won’t you let me fuck this hole instead,” simon finally replies.
your heart lurches to your throat, and you’re not the only one surprised because johnny’s bounding in close, excited, chatting simon’s ear how he wants to go next, “please, LT?”
you want to tell him to ask you, not simon, but simon’s already giving his assent with a huff, chirping how johnny’s so impatient—a master and his dog—before they turn to you again.
it is only then do you realize that simon hadn’t been asking for proper permission; it was all formalities because he was not going to settle for anything that isn’t yes.
anal sex hasn’t been something you are really interested in; no amount of porn and online anecdotes can change your mind, but simon’s gaze is heavy. it’s final.
before you can even reply, john’s already throwing something to simon. he catches it with ease, and only when simon flicks his hand do you recognize it to be the lube you’ve chucked away in your anger when this whole night started. kyle returns with the wand.
you lay there, on simon’s lap, seeing them flanking you for this… corrupting.
“okay,” you muster, trying to stake even a semblance of control.
thankfully, they ignore the shaking of your fists or the way your chest begins to heave in your morbid anticipation. simon laughs, and swoops down to nip your cheek.
“good girl.”
whew whyd it become a long ramble of smut??? it was supposed to be a john n johnny centric fucking bc of the prelude but alas, i needed to write a semblance of dark!kyle so here we are <3
temp taglist bc yall are animals (affectionate)!!!: @getosuguswhore @slut-lmao @mxtokko @imjusthereforkonig @bratzdolly4 @mabelwinters @stars4sar @sergeant-jasper @spiceywawa @j0r-d1e
CONTENT: a story in which the bond you share with your boss is as exciting as it is confusing. [tw: MDNI, explicit smùt, mild crack, rom-com vibes with a smidge of angst, satoru being a little shit, office șex, breedıng kınk, piv şex, squırting, creampıe, backșhots] word count: 6.2k
notes: little comm for ms. @madamechrissy 🤭 i hope u enjoyed it bby
When you’re as rich and attractive as Satoru Gojo, the world is basically your playground. It was clear on your first day of working as his personal assistant that the man did whatever the hell he wanted and gave no fucks while doing so.
“. . . So with all that being said, I’m sure you can understand why I need you to start dressing in a way that’s more. . . fitting for your stature.”
“Yeah,” you nodded and lightly smiled, feeling a sense of warmth start to creep up your neck. “I understand, Mr. Gojo.”
The thing about Mr. Gojo? He had to be one of the most charming individuals you’ve ever come across. He knows how to make you feel special, even when he’s calling you an outfit repeater with no sense of style at the moment.
He’ll soften his gaze, speak with words coated in a thick layer of honey, flash that million dollar smile of his— every demand that came from him sounded so sweet, it was sickening.
He let out a pleased hum. “I knew you would.”
“It’s just– I don’t,” you cut yourself off with a nervous laugh, the sense of warmth you originally felt quickly morphed into embarrassment, “I don’t have anything else to wear.”
“No?”
For a split second, his voice drops. Even if it’s just for a moment, it doesn't fail to leave you a bit unsettled given his history of losing his mind whenever things didn’t go his way.
“N-no, Sir,” you shrink in your seat, “I’ll have to wait until my next payday to go shopping.”
“I see.” His lips curl back into a smile after realizing he’s going to scare you off, as that wasn’t his intention here. He looks at the door real quick, then back at you. “How about this, then— you remember that department store I had you pick up a suit from once, Damian’s?”
Your eyes widen once you realize where he’s going with this. “Oh! I don’t think that’s n—”
He plants his elbows on top of the desk, leaning forward and cutting you off with the simple, yet powerful act of clearing his throat.
“Why don’t you give them a visit this weekend, yeah?” He pauses for a moment, as if he were daring you to interrupt him again. You don’t. He laughs. “Yeah— why don’t you give them a visit. I’ll reach out before the day ends so they know to expect you. Better yet, I’ll tell them exactly what I’m looking for and have them pull whatever pieces fit the idea I have in mind, that way you won’t have to think too much into it.”
“But Mr. Gojo, I can’t afford that,” your voice nearly breaks telling him that.
Satoru doesn’t even know why you bothered telling him— he already knows. If you haven’t already forgotten, he’s the one that pays you. How hard is it to get you to stop dressing like a fucking nun? He’s had it with the god damn turtlenecks.
He lets out a sigh, fighting to keep his cool demeanor despite his dwindling patience. “Which is why I’m sending you to Damian’s, they have my card ready to go on file.”
The wheels in your head continue to turn, wondering why he’d even offer you this much. Wondering if this is even appropriate. It’s been over three months since you started working for him and not once have you heard of an allowance meant for office attire. Now he’s sending you to some high-end department store to pick out new clothes, on his dime, since your clothes don’t ‘fit your stature’. Whatever the hell that means.
“I don’t think I can accept this…” you look down at your feet and murmur, and Satoru nearly rolls his eyes.
You can and you will.
Satoru watches you freeze and realizes he just said that outloud, making him let out a laugh in an attempt to make himself sound less crazy.
“Ahem— sorry, what I meant was…” he stalls, leg lightly bouncing as he thinks of what to say, then decides to make this a company thing, rather than a him thing, “if the company’s requiring it, then the company should pay for it, right?”
His words disarm you enough to nod. “...Right.”
“Perfect,” he chirps out. “That’ll be your assignment for the weekend then.” He leans back in his seat, looking quite pleased with himself. Looking at the clock, he notices it’s a quarter to five, and takes the opportunity to kick you out of his office before the air between you grows awkward again. “Well, now that it’s settled, why don’t you wrap up for the day?”
You glance at the clock. “Uhhh… yeah, sure! Was there anything else you needed before I clock out?”
There was a lot that Satoru needed, like for you to stop sounding so eager when asking if he needed anything else from you. You have no idea how painfully hard that makes him.
“No, thanks,” he responds in a strained tone. “Enjoy your weekend.”
“Thanks! You as well, Mr. Gojo.”
You give him one last smile as you rise from your seat and begin to walk back to your desk that’s just outside his office. It’s not until your hands on the doorknob, ready to turn it, when he stops you one last time.
You brace yourself the moment you meet an unfamiliar pair of eyes, just glimmering with amusement. Satoru then proceeds to throw you off in a way that almost feels ceremonious with how he never quite gave you the chance to get back up.
“I know it’s just a little favor, but you know how people can be sometimes. So for both of our sakes, let’s just keep this between us to avoid any confusion, yeah? It can be our little secret.”
Something in that low, velvety voice of his told you it was just the beginning of many secrets you’d be sharing, but it still managed to lure you in.
And so, you said yes— marking the very beginning of something that was just as confusing as it was thrilling.
. . . . . .
Being a man of his stature, Satoru has to really watch himself in public— watch what he says, who he says it to, what he does, and where he does it. Which is why he frequents places the public didn’t have knowledge of, let alone have access too. Places that allowed him to let loose.
Though, in your honest opinion, just because someone can let loose, doesn’t mean they should. Especially someone like Satoru, who does a shit ton of coke and treats it like a fucking free for all.
His idea of a good time is often a violent one. You wish you were kidding, there’s nothing that gets him going more than being in the middle of an all out brawl— just grinning from ear to ear while drinks and punches get thrown in every which direction as music continues to blast in the background.
The first to call you is his driver Ijichi, who’s aware that your job consists of tasks that went way beyond the professional scope.
The next is the county jail, because you are Satoru’s emergency contact.
An hour later, you’re patching your boss up in the middle of his penthouse at 3:00 A.M, when you should be asleep like most people are on this side of the world.
“Sorry you got ripped out of your sleep for this,” he boyishly mutters as you dab the corner of his mouth with antiseptic. Lucky for him, the cut’s small, and should be gone by Monday morning. It’s his knuckles that are all scraped up. But then again, he doesn’t interact with many people at the office to begin with, and the ones that do get paid enough not to ask.
“Are you actually sorry, or are you just saying that?” you murmur back.
“Let’s just say I’m grateful that it's you that’s cleaning me up right now.”
“As opposed to who?”
“I dunno,” he chuckles, looking at you through heavy lidded eyes that you refuse to meet. “Don’t even wanna think about anybody else’s fingers on me.”
“How sweet,” you boredly say, dabbing a bit of ointment on the small cut. “Maybe you can extend that kindness to everyone else for the rest of this weekend? So I don’t have to, you know— pick you up from jail… again.”
“What if I only like being sweet to you?” he murmurs.
He doesn’t make you feel special anymore.
For how close of a proximity you have to the man’s personal life, you already are special, and it’s something he constantly reminds you of, even during times it’s not necessary. In the midst of all the confusion it leaves you with, you’re reminded of a line that’s been completely blurred, and you’re not quite sure who’s at fault here.
Satoru may be pervasive by nature, but you’re still here. Somehow there’s still a part of you that wants to please him despite all your irritation.
“Well then everyone’s out of luck and I’m out of sleep.” You sigh as you close the first-aid kit.
He watches as you get up from the couch to put it back in the cabinet, eyes tracing over your body throughout the entirety of it. You may not be in the tight skirts and high heels he has you in during the day, but he found himself enjoying off-duty sweats and slippers just as much. Shamelessly, he doesn’t take his eyes off you when you start walking back towards him, but you’re used to it at this point.
“Y’know you can spend the night here if you’re so tired, right?” he teasingly asks, but you know there’s a part of him that’s more than serious about it.
“No thank you.” You throw your purse over your shoulder, typing away at your phone as you try to book an uber. “I’m sure your silk sheets are great, but they’re no match for mine.”
To no one's surprise, you got out of his penthouse fast. You’ve gotten pretty good at dodging him in situations that could easily end with you on your back, splayed out right underneath him.
Believe it or not, he actually respects that— the self control and all. Especially with the way you’ve almost given in to him a couple times. It didn’t need to be said for him to know. He’s seen the needy, defeated look in your eyes during the times he’s gotten too close. It’s a look that screams ‘get away from me before I do something stupid, please’. A sweet girl you are, really.
But what would happen if he kept going and finally closed that distance?
Sometimes, he thinks he’d be nice to you. Be all soft, put you on his lap, whisper sweet things in your ear while his hand slowly slid down your stomach. You’d begin to hold your breath the moment he went past your waist and it’d finally catch once his fingers found themselves in between your thighs, slipping right in between your folds.
He’d kiss on your neck, pull moans from you as he drew little circles over your clit, making your legs tremble once he finally slipped inside and started curling in.
Then there’s times he thinks he’d be rough with you. Make you start crying from how fast and hard he made you cum from just his fingers alone. Bend you over the nearest surface and tease you with the thick head of his cock, rubbing it over your slick folds until you beg him to put it in.
He’d pull your hair back, make you look him in the eyes while he fucked you senseless, pump you full of so much cum that it’d continued to leak out of your poor pussy the very next day.
Bonus points if you two had to work together that day.
But for now, a man could only dream, or rather imagine, as he starts to fist his cock to the thought of you for who knows how many times now.
. . . . . .
There’s something mildly embarrassing about going to Damian’s with Satoru after being sent here all those months back to pick out new work clothes. Only because he specifically told the stylist to only pull items that were tight fitting and showed a decent amount of cleavage.
You’re sure if that asshole hadn't done that, you would’ve walked into the department store without a second thought. As if it couldn't have gotten any worse, that same stylist is here, and she’s looking at you with the same amount of concern you’d give to someone who’s being put through the ringer from extreme work conditions.
You technically are, given all the extra shit he has you do, like picking him up from jail at 2:00 A.M. You’re not exactly planning on leaving anytime soon, though. Don’t ask why. You’re not so sure of it yourself, either.
Satoru was here to try on a few different suits that just came in. And you’re here because unless you’re working on anything that’s considered incredibly important, you go wherever he goes.
Just as he was able to go off to the fitting room, the poor stylist asked a question she really shouldn’t have asked. She had good intentions when asking if you wanted to see some of the new pieces they had for Spring, and then Satoru made some comment about grabbing whatever you wanted and putting it on his card.
And then this poor girl looks at him with all the confidence in the world and asks, “If you’d like, I can pull a few different pieces from the racks like last time— tight fitting, low cuts, and neutrals, right?”
You didn’t have much of a reaction upon hearing that, it was already clear he had requested those things the last time you came here.
Satoru, however, just stood there and stared at this girl as if she had just ruined his fucking life.
It is not often he's left so appalled that it’s rendered him speechless, but there he was just staring at her with nothing but anger and betrayal in his eyes. She looked like she wanted to cry, and rightfully so. You were honestly scared for her.
“I think that’d be great,” you cut in, trying to break the tension, only to feel Satoru’s nasty glare get directed towards you instead once he realized you were trying to save her. “We’re here for less than an hour, though, so maybe just pull some skirts since the weather's starting to warm up.”
“Y-yeah! Of course.”
You watched as she quickly scurried away, then turned to find your boss just now deciding to follow the tailor, still looking absolutely fucking pissed that she just outed him like that.
Maybe you should tell her to hide once she comes back with those skirts.
. . .
Satoru might not be one to talk right now given how his goal a few months back was to get you to start dressing just a tad bit sluttier while still looking appropriate enough for work, but he didn’t give a shit. That woman had no tact whatsoever.
Who says something like that? You’re clearly his fucking assistant, there was no need to out his preferences like that.
It fucked up his entire mood for the hour… not that it stopped him from going ahead and having all the suits he tried on sent to his house. But just as he was getting ready to let it go, he saw something else that managed to make him do a double take.
It’s exactly what you think it is. Which is why he’s walking straight towards you and whoever the hell you’re talking to.
You didn’t know Rei existed up until two minutes ago, and tried to do him the favor of wrapping up the small conversation he tried sparking up with you once you caught a glimpse of a certain someone walking your way.
It didn’t work and now Satoru’s standing in front of you two, making you brace yourself for whatever sequence of words is going to come out of his mouth since he’s already in a shitty mood from the stylist snitching on him for being a pervert.
“You can leave now. Bye,” he simply says to the man, nodding towards the exit.
There’s a moment of silence. His reaction wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, but it still adds weight to the air around you. Rei was understandably left scrambling, not that Satoru noticed, he was too busy looking at you like he was tired of you disappointing him.
And your eyes widened, as if you were asking him, what the fuck did I do?
“Excuse me?” Rei finally managed to ask.
The displeased look on Satoru’s face stays as he briefly turns his attention to Rei. “You’re excused. Goodbye,” he says, casually dismissing him again.
“I’m sorry,” the man laughs from pure disbelief, “are you her boyfriend or something? Because you could’ve just said—”
“I’m not,” Satoru cuts him off with a tone that’s still surprisingly calm.
He wouldn’t say he’s calm— disassociated is more like it. All the words Rei throws at him just swarm around his head like a bunch of little gnats, and he steadily loses his patience since he’s already told the guy to fucking leave. Eventually, he closes his eyes and lets out a long, deep sigh.
“You know what?” Satoru suddenly cuts him off and proceeds to make him an offer— one that makes your jaw drop. “If you want her number so fuckin’ bad, then fine. You can fight me for it.”
“Satoru?!” you immediately scold the man.
“What the hell is your problem, man?!” Rei says at the same time as you.
“Oh, wow.” Satoru looks at you, then points a finger at Rei. “He doesn’t even want to fight for you.”
At that point, the man storms off, muttering some stuff under his breath about people and wondering what the fuck was wrong with them, leaving you to deal with whatever sudden mood swing your boss was having today.
It didn’t just start within the last hour. This has been going on all day and started when he almost snapped at one of the interns for running into him this morning when turning a corner too fast. You don’t have much patience for him, though.
“Ijichi’s already waiting outside for us,” you casually inform him and turn your heel, taking a step forward to walk away.
“That’s it?” The lack of acknowledgment makes Satoru snap. “That’s all you have to say?”
You stop and turn again, taking a good look at Satoru as you try to come up with more to say, which is hard given how you just watched him agree to let someone have your number if they fought him.
Yet all that comes to mind are the lines that you’ve blurred with the man.
“Do you want me to walk on eggshells around you, too, just like everybody else has today?”
“...No.” It’s not much of an answer with the way he mumbled it, but at least you were able to reroute the guy.
You softly sigh. “Alright, then… let’s go.”
. . . . .
The air’s been stale between you since that day.
You have no idea what’s gotten into him, neither do you want to ask. And it’s not that you don’t care— of course you do. It should've already been made clear by now that you care about Satoru more than you should.
At first, you wonder if it’s some sort of rough patch. Then you realize that isn't normal in professional relationships, leaving you with more questions than answers because nothing about your relationship is professional.
You run around all over the place for him, picking up his suits and sometimes even him at 3:00 A.M when he’s too drunk or high to drive home. As if that didn’t cross the line enough, he treats you like his friend. A really jealous friend, at that. He’ll do things like cockblock you if a man tries to talk to you when he’s around, sometimes even threatening to fight them.
It’s been three weeks of silence.
He didn’t even bother saying goodbye to you when you clocked out for the weekend yesterday. It wouldn’t have been a bad thing at all with your last boss, but something about getting just a simple hum from Satoru left you feeling stupid.
So what did change with him? It might be better if he listed all the things that didn’t.
He still jacked off with you in mind— that probably won’t ever change, at least not for a while. He still keeps an eye on you.
It sounds bad, but it’s really not.
He just has surveillance over your apartment building, not your actual apartment. He also has the security team keep an eye out whenever you walk to and from your car, before and after work. Just basic safety stuff. He might have a tracker on your car, but never looks at it.
Unless he’s drunk, but that doesn’t count in his head.
So then what changed?
Probably the new sense of shame that only seems to unveil itself when you’re around. He’d rather you not have a front row seat when it comes to all of his less… desirable qualities anymore. He is far from perfect— very fucking far from it.
Was it too late for that?
Probably.
It still made him feel just a little bit better about himself, even though he’s been rotting away on the inside from keeping his distance.
. . . . . .
Staying late at the office is a rare but unavoidable occurrence.
It happens. Some work gets prioritized over others, leaving small tasks to multiply and pile up. Today is one of those days Satoru is forced to push a main project aside and tackle all the little ones.
He considered taking on all of it by himself, but was reminded why he avoided the work in the first place just an hour into his day. It was all so boring and tedious. It would’ve driven him up the wall had he not handed off a portion of it to you.
But even then, there were a couple moments he spent wallowing in self-pity, looking out the window with thoughts of throwing himself off the top floor of the high rise. He fucking hates this and hates how he has no one but himself to blame for all the procrastination he’s done.
The office feels like a different world once everyone’s gone. It may feel comfortable for your boss since he has his own office, but your desk right outside of it gives you a front row seat to a corporate wasteland. Muffled chatter gets replaced with the sounds of the fluorescent lights buzzing above you. Air vents thrumming as they recirculate the cold, stale air.
The clock says 8:48 p.m once you finally finish your last task of the day. As happy as you are to finally leave this place, you grow nervous at the thought of entering your boss’s office to let him know you’re finished and heading home. Whatever camaraderie you had with him is non-existent at this point. Everything with him just feels awkward now and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you haven’t already started looking for new positions.
You lightly knock on the door leading to his office and don’t enter until you hear a tired hum on the other side of it.
Aside from the lamps next to his desk and next to the sofa you see when you first walk in, every other light is off, allowing the moonlight to peek through the dim space. It’s actually quite peaceful with his view of the city’s lit up skyline.
Satoru's eyes must hurt. He has his reading glasses on, framing the tired lines and dark circles under them.
“I’m all done for the day,” you say, carrying a stack of papers as you walk up to him and setting them down on the oak wood desk he’s half leaning on.
He doesn’t look at you.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, sounding just as drained as he looks.
You stand there, waiting for him to say anything else before coming to the conclusion that maybe it was time to move on to a new company, because you are too far gone.
Stupid.
The long day you two have had wasn’t a reason to think he’d give you more than he has lately, let alone something to get your hopes up over.
Just standing in front of him makes you feel pathetic— you shouldn’t feel like that.
You open your mouth to say goodbye for the night, since he won’t, but instead say something entirely different that leaves even you shocked.
“I’m putting in my two weeks.”
You haven’t even sent out any applications.
Satoru’s eyes darted up at you while staying in place. “What?”
Despite not having the right, he did not fucking like that. The cold tone of his voice made you want to cower down and take your words back, but there was no turning back.
You push through the nerves as you repeat yourself in a professional manner. “After some consideration, I’ve decided I want to take my career in a different direction and that would require me to step down from my position.”
The overly corporate tone does nothing but put a glare on Satoru’s face, one that deepens as you continue to spew, what he considers, a bunch of bullshit from your mouth.
“I’d like to thank you for the opportunities the company has given me, of course. I’d be more than happy to train my replacement.”
“You’re not training anybody,” he scoffs, standing from his seat as he starts to go through literally every stage of grief. “What the fuck? No? No. You’re not fucking leaving— absolutely not. Fuck that.”
Your eyes widen in disbelief over how entitled he is. He’s been treating you like a second class citizen for weeks and now he’s not letting you leave? “That’s not your choice to make.”
“I don’t care,” he says delusionally. “You’re not fucking leaving.”
“Yes I am.” You raise your tone. “You can’t just fucking keep me here—“
“Where are you going then, huh? Since you seem to have found a place so much better,” his immaturity inevitably shines through as he cuts you off.
“That’s none of your business!”
“It’s not, but you owe me that much,” he begins to argue.
Your face twists in disgust. “I don’t owe you anything. I— how can someone be this selfish?! You’ve been giving me the cold-shoulder for weeks—“
He cuts you off again. “So that’s what this is about?!”
For someone that’s been ignoring you for weeks, he’s very expressive, especially when he argues. His pupils will be blown out, he’ll look at you in disgust, talk with his hands, pace around the room, then get in your face. This time is no different.
“You’re leaving ‘cause I won’t give you attention? I thought you didn’t fucking want that!” He throws his arms out, voice resounding through the room.
You pause, mouthing a ‘what?’ to yourself in complete disbelief. Leaving someone angry and confused is one impressive skill— Satoru has clearly mastered it.
“When have I ever said that?!”
“It was written all over your face!” He shouts back, almost as if it was something that hurt him. “I figured you were getting tired of me so I backed off!”
“Seriously? That’s your definition of backing off?” You have to stop yourself from laughing at how ridiculous it sounds. “Backing off is stopping the 1:00 am calls on the weekend— not completely disregarding me.”
“I went back to being your boss—“
“Yeah, a really shitty one.”
“I was always a shitty one.” He barks out a laugh. “The only reason why you’re mad now is because you’re not getting anything out of it anymore.”
Satoru doesn’t mean that.
Not that you’d know.
He tends to reject anything that brings him even just the slightest bit of discomfort, all while hating rejection himself. Watching you try to quit has made it one hell of a combo for him.
If he was just someone you simply had to tolerate, then whatever you gained from it was not worth your time. But he spoke with enough conviction to render whatever response you had useless.
“How the hell do you expect me to stay after saying that?” you genuinely ask. “I’m tired of not being treated like real person and now you’re being a fucking asshole.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I—“
“No. Save it,” you say in defeat as you start to walk away.
“Where are you going?” he asks, still having the audacity to sound irritated.
“Leaving— have fun finding a new replacement. I’m not staying for another two weeks.”
He lets out a bitter laugh. “Well if you’re not coming back would you at least finally admit you felt something between us?”
You stop and let out a sigh. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” he says, taking a couple steps towards you.
“No, there wasn’t.”
“Alright,” he huffs out a laugh. “I get that you’re mad at me and everything, but there’s no point lying about now.”
“I’m not lying about anything.”
“I don’t believe you,” he blandly says. “You wouldn’t have stayed as long as you did if there was never anything there. Be honest with yourself for once.”
Just as you’re about to deny it for the third time, you hesitate. “Just forget it already.”
The sight of you walking away for the second time feels entirely different from the first time for Satoru. No more confusion or panic, all that’s left is certainty. Perhaps a little amusement, as well. “No. I don’t think I will, actually.”
It happens fast.
You hardly process being spun back around, then you’re stunned again by a pair of lips crashing into yours. It’s messy from the start and he’s breathlessly apologizing against you with each rough kiss.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that. Please.
And you forgive him, because there’s really no point in lying anymore. Not when you’re kissing him back. Desperately, at that— filled with just as much need. His hands start to roam, clothes start to scatter, leaving a trail that leads in the direction he took you in.
He always thought he’d put you on the desk.
The couch shifts erratically, moans pour into the room with each thrust. Satoru’s pressing down on your back and deepening the arch he put you in, bottoming out over and over again.
“Good job, baby,” he drones, mesmerized at the sight of you helplessly stretched around his thick cock, covering it in a thick coat of your slick.
It took some working up to. The moment he sat you down on the couch, he buried his head in between your thighs and tongued your clit— dragging it over that sensitive little bundle of nerves until you couldn’t see straight. Then it was his fingers. Working not one, but two of his long digits into your cunt, curling them into a little spot that had you gushing all over him.
Now he’s fucking that same little spot to no mercy, making your toes curl as the thick head of his cock catches it. “Oh my g-god— Satoru– fuuck!”
“Mmm I know,” he grabs your hair and pulls you back up against his chest, not letting up as he gets right in your ear. “Say my name again.”
His balls slap against your clit with each thrust, leaving you a gasping mess. “S-Satoru.”
“Again.”
“Satoru!” you cry out.
“Sounds so fuckin’ pretty coming from you,” he hums, licking a stripe up your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “You like getting ruined on the couch like this?”
Shamelessly, you nod. “Mhm.”
“Yeah? You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?”
“I have,” you admit. “A lot.”
“So honest tonight,” he grins, “so have I— thought about kissing you, fucking you, putting a baby in you.” A hand snakes down your belly until his fingers reach your clit, drawing little circles. “You really wouldn’t be able to get away from me then, huh?”
“That’s fucking insane,” your attempt to complain dies out into another pathetic moan.
“I fucking know,” he laughs, pulling your hair back even more so you can look him right in the eye while he fucks himself even deeper into you. “I think you might like that though since you’re squeezing around me like crazy.”
And you have no idea how to respond to that, you’re so fucking close. It’s taking everything in you to hold yourself together while he just tears you apart with each snap of his hips, rubbing fast circles over your clit.
“How bad do you wanna cum again?”
It’s been three times already, each time harder than the last. Your own body betrays yourself when you answer his question. “So bad.”
He hums sympathetically, though the look in his eyes seems to be the complete opposite of that. He keeps the same dizzying pace, pushing you further and further to edge until you’re finally gushing around him, again. He watches as tears of pure pleasure start rolling down your cheeks, trembling and letting out choked moans as he continues fucking you into overstimulation.
“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, letting go of your hair and wrapping his arms around your waist, keeping your back flush against his chest while he starts chasing against his own release. “M’so fuckin’ close. You’re gonna take it all, right?”
“Yeah,” you weakly nod, nails digging into his forearms, steadying yourself as best as you can.
“Shit— good girl,” he exhales, snapping his hips against your ass even harder, thrusts growing sloppier. “Here we go.”
The groans that spill out of Satoru are just downright sinful. There’s nothing but desperation in his tone as he holds on tight and starts pumping you full of his cum, shuddering as you milk his cock for all that he has.
You’re spent by the time you come back to your senses, with his arms being the only thing keeping you up. And yet, as you lay limp in his hold, he says something that, at the time, sounded like a threat with how entranced he seemed.
“Don’t think I’m done with you yet, princess.”
—
It’d been months since the night he finally broke his silence with you.
No, you don’t work for him anymore. You quickly found a new job just three weeks later. One with better pay and normal hours. Easier, too.
Looking back, he truly was a shitty boss. A conniving one that always took up your time. You guess you just never saw it because a part of you always liked it— better yet, liked him.
Good thing he’s a better boyfriend than he is a boss.
You were reluctant to start a relationship with him at first, the thought of him taking up even more space into your life lingering in the back of your mind and threatening whatever little peace you had left. But surprisingly, he went from being a conspiring little bastard to…
“I just have one request tonight.”
You’re in the middle of doing your makeup when his sudden presence pulls your attention away from it. You look at a slightly reluctant Satoru through the vanity mirror, raising a brow and waiting to hear what exactly that request is for tonight.
“Can you wear something that shows your tits more?” Immediately you scoff, and he’s quick to defend himself. “What?! It’s our anniversary!”
You’ve been with him for an entire year now, and he just seems to grow more and more pathetic as the time passes. He’s in nothing but boxers, begging you to show off some cleavage, for fucks sake.
“You see my tits every night,” you scold him.
“And I want to see them some more tonight, too.”
You scoff. “Sato—“
“Please,” he cuts you off with a beg. There’s a bit of a stare off shortly after, with him looking at you like some lost puppy and you inevitably give in, like you always do. He’s hard to say no to when he gets like this.
“Fine.”
He smiles and walks up to you, leaning down to give you a quick kiss, careful not to mess with your lip liner. “Love you.”
“I love you, too,” you softly say, before barely scolding him again. “Now go put your suit on, you’re the one that said the driver was gonna be here soon.”
“Yeah, whatever— he can wait,” he waves a hand, lazily walking up to the sea of suits he has in your shared closet.
“Hey, Satoru?”
“Hm?”
“If we’re even one minute late, I’m putting on a fucking turtleneck.”
sneaking around with best friend!geto is all fun and games until pretty girls start feeling up his biceps at the bar :(
“someone jealous?” gojo snickered in your ear, slinking up by your side as he waved the bartender over to order another obnoxiously fruity and brightly-colored beverage while you nursed your own suddenly bitter drink.
“yeah, you,” you sarcastically muttered, refusing to feed into his (correct) suspicions that you were sleeping with your mutual friend. the year you’d spent between geto’s sheets didn’t make you his girlfriend though.
not that you ever asked to be either.
“come on,” he goaded, his hip bumping into yours as he cocked his head towards where geto was currently getting groped by a manicured hand. “i know you want to pry him away.”
“so you can grab him next?” you teased, trying to deflect as you twisted around just for his hand to cage you in between his broad frame and the bar top. his pretty blue eyes were fuzzy though, pupils blown wide as you realized that maybe what he’d been sipping on tonight weren’t mocktails after all.
“nah,” he grinned, white teeth glinting as he leaned in lower. “think i’d rather grab you.”
“how much have you had to drink?” you exhaled, eyes drifting down to his glossy lips, lingering there a little longer than they should.
“enough to want a taste of you,” he shamelessly smirked at his attempt to be seductive, his palm sliding up your side as if it always had a place there.
you’d never taken any of his flirting seriously.
but maybe you should’ve.
considering whether or not imploding your situationship over sleeping with your other friend as gojo’s fingertips gracefully slipped down to disappear underneath your dress.
“you’re touching something of mine,” a honeyed voice interrupted with a drawn-out huff, but gojo didn’t pull away.
and a new idea blossomed, your mouth curling up as you glanced between the two men too busy glaring at each other to notice the sparkle in your stare.
what better way to punish your man by showing him just how swiftly a certain someone else would swoop in to steal you?
“boys,” you hummed, clicking your tongue. “don’t you know how nice Paris is right now?”
when your boyfriend, boxer!yuji breaks the silence about his love life during a WIRED interview.
"VERY, VERY TAKEN." — ITADORI YUJI
PLOT. after years of keeping your relationship private, yuji decides to finally confirm to the entire internet that he is indeed very, very taken during WIRED's the web's most searched questions interview.
WARNINGS. fluff, lots of kissing, i don't really understand boxing hahaha, yuji is aged up to be in his mid-20s, established relationship, sneaking around, fem reader, mentions of potentially getting married, not proofread
CHARACTERS. ITADORI YUJI.
WC. 4.6k
masterlist
art creds :: angrymiloras on x
a/n: this one's for the lovely @blossybee whose birthday is today!! happy birthday, love, i hope you have the sweetest day, and i really hope this little fic is able to make you smile. thank you for reading my stories and for sticking around for so long. 🤍
Morning settled over the city in soft shades of blue and gold, sunlight only just beginning to spill between buildings. The roads were unusually forgiving for once, with only the occasional taxi humming past and the distant clatter of a delivery truck echoing somewhere down the block.
Parked beneath a row of trees just far enough from the hotel entrance to avoid unwanted attention, your car felt like its own little pocket of time, blissfully detached from the schedule waiting for the man occupying your passenger seat.
Yuji had been saying goodbye for the better part of ten minutes, and you were beginning to suspect he had no intention of actually leaving.
His lips found yours again with the same absent-minded ease they had all morning, his hand cupping your cheek as though he'd forgotten he'd kissed you less than thirty seconds ago.
He smiled into it before pulling back only far enough to rest his forehead against yours.
"I really have to go," he murmured, sounding painfully sincere despite making absolutely no effort to move away from you.
His thumb continued tracing lazy circles beneath your ear, completely undermining whatever determination he'd tried to put into the sentence, and when your eyes flicked toward the passenger door, he followed your gaze for all of half a second before looking back at you instead.
A laugh escaped before you could stop it, quiet enough that it stayed between the two of you.
"You say that, but I don't think I've actually seen you attempt to leave." You replied, unable to hide the grin tugging at your mouth
Yuji blinked once, glanced down at his own hand still comfortably wrapped around yours, then looked toward the untouched door handle.
"...Huh." The realization settled over him with exaggerated seriousness, and his brows knitted together.
"I guess I haven't."
"No, yet you've been announcing your departure every two minutes," you giggled, shaking your head as you brushed a flattened strand of pink hair away from his forehead.
"I don't think that's on purpose."
"Oh?"
"I think..." He paused, pretending to consider it with all the gravity of a man solving a complicated equation before his expression dissolved into a sheepish smile.
"...I think my body just doesn't want to cooperate."
"You poor thing. So tragic."
"It really is."
His face carried such exaggerated misery right up until he leaned forward to steal another kiss, smiling against your lips before he'd even finished it.
The sound of your laughter filled the car again, muffled by the space between you, and Yuji laughed too, his shoulders shaking.
"You. Are. Impossible," you whispered between each kiss, smoothing the collar of his hoodie where it had twisted sometime during the night.
"I've heard that."
"Usually from your manager?"
The mention of him earned exactly the reaction you'd expected as Yuji let out a long, defeated groan before dropping his head dramatically onto your shoulder, the full weight of him leaning against you as though the conversation alone had exhausted him.
His arms slipped loosely around your waist, completely content to remain there while the rest of the world continued moving without him.
"Don't even mention him this early," he mumbled into your shoulder.
"If Kondo finds out I wasn't in my room last night, he's gonna schedule even media training before breakfast just to punish me."
You couldn't help smiling into his hair.
"That's hardly a punishment."
"It is if you're famous." He groans into your jacket.
"Well, you chose this career. You also signed sponsorship contracts." You remind him teasingly.
"I chose boxing. And I didn't read half of them."
"...Yuji."
"I was excited and overwhelmed!"
Your hand came up to cover your face as another laugh escaped you, and when you peeked through your fingers, he was already smiling back at you with absolutely no embarrassment whatsoever.
He never tried to defend the more ridiculous parts of himself.
Outside, another handful of cars appeared on the road, pedestrians beginning to drift along the sidewalks with coffees in hand and headphones over their ears. The city was waking up, little by little, and with every passing minute the chances of someone recognizing the world's newest boxing champion only grew.
Your fingers found his jaw almost absentmindedly, brushing over the faint shadow where bruising had nearly disappeared after his last title defense.
His skin was warm beneath your touch, and he instinctively leaned into your hand, eyes slipping shut for a brief, contented second.
"So," you asked softly, "when do I get to steal you again?"
Yuji opened his eyes, and almost immediately you watched the guilt settle across his face.
He hated disappointing you, even when there wasn't anything to apologize for.
He sighed through his nose before leaning back against the seat, his head tipping toward the ceiling as though reading today's schedule off the upholstery.
"We've got roadwork at the gym first thing, then conditioning." He counted each item on his fingers without looking at them.
"Coach wants extra rounds on the pads after that because apparently my right hook's been getting lazy, then media training, then the sponsor shoot with Kensei Athletics, then there's a hospital visit with the kids this afternoon..."
He winced before even reaching the end of the list.
"...And Kondo booked dinner with the federation tonight." He finally looked back at you, offering the smallest, most apologetic smile.
"So... probably late."
"As always," you murmured with familiarity, the words carrying the easy acceptance, already having learned that loving a professional athlete also meant sharing him with cameras, coaches and calendars.
His shoulders slumped immediately.
"I'm sorry."
The apology came quietly and it almost disappeared beneath the hum of the air conditioning.
You reached over without thinking, taking his hand before he could withdraw into that unnecessary guilt of his, your thumb brushing over the calloused skin across his knuckles.
"Yuji. I wasn't complaining."
He looked up.
"I know..."
"No." You smiled gently. "I mean it. I knew what I was signing up for when you decided to go pro. You were amazing, and this was bound to happen and you deserve it."
Yuji inclines his head, not meeting your eyes as he remains unconvinced.
"Although you're exhausted, I know you're happy. And I happen to like seeing you happy."
At that, he meets your eyes as you watch his expression soften so completely that it made your chest ache.
"You never make this hard." He smiles.
"Maybe I should. Don't tempt me."
"I'd cry." He laughed under his breath before bringing your joined hands to his lips, pressing a slow kiss against your knuckles, lingering just long enough to make your heart squeeze.
"I'll make time," he promised quietly. "Even if it's just dinner. Or coffee. Or twenty minutes in a parking lot."
You smiled.
"We're getting pretty good at parking lots."
"We're professionals."
"I think professionals actually leave them eventually."
"...That's a good point."
You tilted your head toward the windshield where, sure enough, more people had begun appearing outside the hotel.
"You really should go before this street gets busy."
He looked at the passenger door with genuine consideration before letting out the most theatrical sigh you'd heard all week.
"I was hoping you'd argue." He jokes, as you shake your head at his antics.
He smiled so brightly it was almost unfair, then leaned across the center console one final time, cradling your face between both hands as he kissed you slowly, like he intended to carry the feeling with him through the rest of the day.
When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling so softly that it was impossible not to smile back.
"I love you." The words slipped out with the same easy honesty.
"I love you too," you whispered, brushing your nose against his. "Now get out of my car before your manager realizes you're not in your room."
That, apparently, was finally enough motivation.
With the exaggerated reluctance of a child, Yuji reached into the back seat for his black hoodie, tugging it over his head before pulling a cap low across his forehead.
The familiar black mask disappeared over the lower half of his face next, transforming the smiling boyfriend beside you into the anonymous figure who could slip through a hotel lobby without immediately drawing a crowd.
His hand landed on the door handle before he stopped again, turning back with eyes full of unmistakable mischief, his free hand lowering the mask down.
"...One more?"
You stared at him for a long moment before breaking into another helpless smile.
"You are unbelievable." You complain with no serious bite, making him shrug.
"I've been told."
"I wonder by who."
"My very patient girlfriend."
"Formerly patient." You snark playfully at him, watching him pout.
"Still current girlfriend, though?"
You rolled your eyes so dramatically it made him laugh before leaning forward to give him one quick kiss.
"There. That's your final one."
Still grinning, he finally climbed out onto the quiet sidewalk. He shoved both hands into the pocket of his hoodie, glanced around to make sure no one was paying him much attention, then looked back through the passenger window.
Even with half his face hidden, you recognized the smile in his eyes immediately.
He lifted a hand in a small wave before disappearing toward the hotel entrance, and just before the revolving doors swallowed him whole, he looked back over his shoulder one last time, checking to see if you were still there.
You were.
By the time you made it to the office, the quiet intimacy of the morning already felt like it belonged to another lifetime.
Your mood was already on edge when you found yourself missing Yuji a little extra today, and now your inbox had reached triple digits before you'd even finished your first cup of coffee and two meetings had been added to your calendar without so much as asking.
You didn't mind it.
It was comfortably ordinary, a welcome contrast to the whirlwind that came with dating someone whose face seemed to be plastered on every billboard and sports magazine in the country.
"You survived Monday?" Maya asked as she wandered past your desk with a stack of folders balanced against her hip.
"Barely," you replied, not taking your eyes off the spreadsheet glowing on your monitor as you corrected a row of figures.
"Ask me again after lunch."
"I'll bring snacks if the answer's still no."
"Then I'm definitely saying no."
She laughed as she continued toward the conference room, tossing you a playful salute over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner.
A few minutes later someone else greeted you on their way to the printer, another colleague paused to ask whether you'd looked over the latest proposal yet.
The office carried on around you, busy without feeling chaotic, and before long you found yourself slipping back into the familiar routine.
Your fingers moved almost automatically across the keyboard, attention fixed on the report filling your screen as you rewrote an awkward paragraph for what felt like the fourth time.
Every now and then you reached for your coffee without looking, only to remember it had gone cold nearly an hour ago.
With a quiet sigh, you stretched your shoulders before absentmindedly reaching for your phone, intending to do nothing more than check the time.
A notification banner caught your eye before the lock screen had fully loaded.
WIRED uploaded a new video.
Ordinarily, you would've ignored it.
The internet was flooded with celebrity interviews these days, and while WIRED's autocomplete series was entertaining enough, it wasn't exactly something you'd drop everything to watch. You'd usually save it for the train ride home, or forget about it entirely after a long day at work.
Your thumb was already halfway to locking your phone again when the thumbnail finally loaded.
It took your brain exactly half a second to process the familiar pink hair hidden beneath a black cap.
Your eyes widened and you tapped the notification before you could stop yourself.
Yuji Itadori Answers the Web's Most Searched Questions | WIRED
The thumbnail showed Yuji holding the signature white autocomplete board with the biggest grin on his face, one eyebrow raised as though he'd already read something ridiculous before the cameras had even started rolling.
A laugh escaped under your breath, earning a curious glance from the coworker sitting opposite you.
"You okay?" he asked.
You looked up a little too quickly, instinctively locking your phone before the thumbnail could give away exactly what had stolen your attention.
"Hm? Oh—yeah." You cleared your throat, forcing your expression into something that resembled professionalism despite the smile already threatening to betray you. "Just... remembered something."
He accepted the explanation with an absent shrug before returning to whatever spreadsheet had held his attention a moment earlier, leaving you alone with the notification still glowing against your lock screen.
Your eyes immediately dropped back to it.
Yuji had told you he was doing interviews so that part wasn't surprising.
Ever since winning the championship belt three weeks ago, his calendar had become almost impossible to keep up with.
Every evening phone call seemed to begin with an apology because he'd spent the day bouncing between television studios, photoshoots, sponsor meetings and press conferences before finally collapsing into bed, usually still half awake enough to mumble that he missed you before falling asleep mid-conversation.
WIRED was just another interview.
But it wasn't the interview itself that caught your attention, it was the questions.
Your thumb hovered over the notification as your curiosity steadily grew, because if there was one thing you knew about WIRED's autocomplete series, it was that the questions came from the internet itself, built from whatever people had searched often enough to end up on that little white board.
You found yourself wondering what strangers wanted to know about your boyfriend.
You should wait.
You had work to finish, emails to reply to, and a meeting in less than forty minutes. The interview wasn't going anywhere, and there was absolutely no reason you couldn't watch it over lunch like a responsible adult.
You stared at the thumbnail for another few seconds anyway.
...Lunch was over an hour away.
Absolutely not.
Pushing your chair back as casually as you could manage, you stood and slipped your phone into your hand, smoothing the front of your blouse as your eyes instinctively drifted toward your manager's office.
The blinds were still half drawn, the door remained closed, and the rest of your team looked far too invested in their own screens to notice you quietly slipping away.
"I'm just running to the restroom," you called to Maya as she reappeared carrying yet another impossible stack of paperwork.
She barely looked up.
"Mhm."
You walked at a pace that you hoped looked entirely normal, resisting every urge to hurry until the restroom door finally swung shut behind you.
The moment it clicked closed, all pretense disappeared.
You practically speed-walked to the last stall, locked it behind you and lowered the toilet seat before sitting down, your excitement bubbling over into a grin that felt almost embarrassingly giddy.
"Please don't let anyone walk in," you muttered to yourself, already digging your earphones out of your pocket.
Your fingers fumbled just enough to make you huff impatiently before they finally connected, the familiar chime sounding in your ears.
The thumbnail filled your screen again.
Yuji smiled back at you from behind the white autocomplete board, completely unaware that somewhere across the city, his girlfriend was hiding in an office bathroom because she couldn't even wait until her lunch break to watch him answer questions from the internet.
Your thumb hovered over the play button for barely a second before pressing it.
The buffering circle spun for only a heartbeat before disappearing, replaced by the familiar white backdrop of the WIRED studio.
The set was exactly as you remembered from countless other interviews—minimalist, bright, nothing more than a chair, a camera, and a white board covered in white autocomplete strips.
It was designed to keep all attention on the person sitting in the middle of the frame.
Yuji looked almost painfully out of place beneath the studio lights, dressed in nothing more than a charcoal hoodie and faded jeans. His stylist had clearly tried their hardest with his hair and you smiled before he had even spoken.
"Hi," Yuji greeted, lifting a little wave toward the camera before immediately laughing under his breath. His shoulders relaxed as someone behind the lens greeted him back, and you watched that familiar nervous energy melt away the same way it always did whenever people smiled at him.
"I'm Yuji," he continued, shifting the white board onto his lap. "I'm a professional boxer, and today..." He glanced to the side to reread the cue card before grinning sheepishly. "...I'm answering the internet's most searched questions about me."
He paused for a moment, looking directly into the camera as he smiles.
"I hope everybody was nice."
A producer behind the camera laughed.
"I wouldn't count on it."
Yuji's smile faltered ever so slightly, his eyebrows lifting with genuine concern before he let out a tiny, defeated sigh.
"...Oh."
Your hand flew to your mouth before the laugh escaped, muffled behind your fingers as you leaned back. It had taken less than thirty seconds for him to remind you why interviewers adored him.
He never tried to be funny, he simply was charming.
"'Is Yuji Itadori..." Yuji reached up and peeled away the first strip, squinting at it with exaggerated concentration before reading it aloud.
"...actually a boxer?'"
His forehead creased immediately, and he looked off-camera with the most bewildered expression imaginable, as though he genuinely wasn't sure how to answer.
"I..." He blinked once before looking back toward the lens. "I really hope so."
Laughter rippled through the studio, warm and immediate, and Yuji couldn't help laughing along with them, scratching the back of his neck as though he'd embarrassed himself.
"I mean," he continued, still smiling, "I've been getting punched in the face for almost ten years now, so if I'm not a boxer..." He shrugged helplessly, his grin widening. "...I've made some really questionable life choices."
The producer laughed loud enough that it echoed slightly through the microphone.
"I think that's a safe yes."
"Okay, good." Yuji nodded with exaggerated relief before peeling away the next strip.
"'How tall is Yuji Itadori?'"
He frowned.
"Why does everyone ask this?" His eyes flicked toward someone off-camera, searching for an answer that clearly wasn't coming.
"Do I look short on television?"
A producer immediately answered.
"The internet says you're shorter than your official stats."
"What?" Yuji actually sat up straighter in his chair.
"I'm six foot three."
The producer laughed again. "People don't believe you."
Yuji looked absolutely devastated. "I've stood next to measuring tape."
He pointed toward the camera as though pleading his case before continuing, completely committed now.
"I slouch." He gestured toward himself.
You buried your face in your hand, your shoulders shaking with silent laughter as another employee wandered into the restroom outside your stall.
The sinks ran for a few moments and the paper towel dispenser whirred.
"'What weight class does Yuji Itadori fight in?'"
This time, his expression settled into something more thoughtful, and the athlete in him surfaced almost immediately.
"I'm a light heavyweight," he explained, resting one elbow against the arm of the chair as he spoke.
"So before every fight, there's a pretty strict schedule with nutrition, hydration, training... all the boring stuff people don't usually see."
He smiled knowingly.
"But the worst part isn't the training. It's the food."
The producer chuckled as Yuji sighed dramatically.
"I start dreaming about cheeseburgers three weeks before weigh-ins."
Your lips curved despite yourself because you know he was speaking the truth.
You'd once watched him spend twenty minutes describing, in painful detail, the first meal he planned to eat after making weight, only for him to order something completely different because he'd spotted garlic bread on the menu.
He peeled away another strip.
"'How hard can Yuji punch?'" He looked genuinely puzzled.
"...I don't know. I've never punched myself."
The producer snorted. "...Good. "I think that would've complicated things."
He looked back at the question again before smiling sheepishly.
"I guess...you'd have to ask the people I've fought." A tiny pause followed and his smile faded just enough for guilt to creep across his face.
"...Actually...Maybe don't." He rubbed the back of his neck.
The producer tilted their head.
"Why?"
Yuji shrugged.
"I don't think they'd have very nice things to say about me."
Another wave of laughter filled the studio, though Yuji only smiled bashfully, looking down at the board with pink creeping across the tips of his ears.
You couldn't stop smiling.
He was exactly the same person he'd been before the championship.
He reached for the next strip.
The tiniest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he'd even spoken, softer than any expression he'd worn so far, and suddenly you weren't watching the world champion anymore.
You were watching the man who'd kissed you goodbye in your car less than three hours earlier.
"'Is Yuji Itadori single?'"
He read the question quietly, almost fondly, before shaking his head without a second's hesitation.
"No." The answer easily and instinctively, and his smile only deepened as he looked back toward the camera.
"...Very, very taken."
Your heart forgot how to function.
Heat rushed into your cheeks so quickly that you pressed the back of your hand against them on instinct, staring at your phone with wide eyes as though he'd somehow managed to look directly at you through the screen.
You knew this was coming.
You'd talked about it.
Weeks ago, curled together on his couch after another exhausting press day, when somebody online had declared him the nation's boyfriend beneath yet another viral edit.
He'd frowned. "I don't like that."
You'd laughed then, nudging his shoulder with your own.
"You don't like being the internet's boyfriend?"
He'd looked at you as though the answer should've been obvious.
"I'm already somebody's boyfriend." You'd teased him for pouting over strangers on the internet, telling him he didn't owe anybody details about his private life, and he'd agreed almost immediately.
"I know." His thumb had absentmindedly traced circles over your wrist while he'd thought about it, his gaze fixed somewhere across the living room before quietly continuing.
"But...we've talked about getting married someday." He'd smiled. "I think people should probably know there's already someone in my life."
You remembered asking why it mattered and he had shrugged in simplicity.
"So people stop trying to find one."
The memory settled warmly in your chest as the interview continued.
Someone behind the camera spoke again, their curiosity clearly piqued now.
"So...not single."
Yuji smiled.
"No."
"You've got a girlfriend?"
"I do." The pride in those two words was so effortless that your eyes immediately stung. He simply sounded happy, not trying to show off or give the idea of a grand announcement.
You could almost hear the producer grin from the behind the camera as he personally asked the next questions.
"Who is Yuji Itadori dating?"
Yuji laughed softly, glancing down at the board before looking back toward the camera with a smile so impossibly fond that your heart melted all over again.
"I'm dating someone..." He paused briefly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as though just thinking about you made him happier. "...who is completely out of my league."
He laughed under his breath. "I honestly still don't know how I pulled that off."
You didn't even realize you were smiling until your cheeks began to ache.
The video continued playing in the corner of your screen, Yuji already reaching for the next autocomplete strip while the producers laughed at something else he'd said, but your attention had wandered completely.
Your thumb drifted almost absentmindedly toward the side button, freezing the frame on the exact moment he'd admitted, with an almost embarrassingly fond smile, that he was "very, very taken."
Click.
The screenshot landed in your gallery, and you stared at it for another second before laughing quietly to yourself.
"...You're unbelievable."
There wasn't a single polished expression on his face, completely devoid of his carefully practiced media smile or the charming grin meant for magazine covers.
It was simply your Yuji.
The same smile he wore every time you surprised him with his favorite coffee after training, or every time he caught you already waiting outside the arena after one of his fights.
You both had cherished those moments as it wasn't something the cameras had captured.
Your fingers were already opening your chat with him before your brain had a chance to argue.
The conversation looked exactly as it always did.
Voice notes he'd sent while walking into training because he'd forgotten what he'd wanted to tell you by the time he got home.
A blurry photo of a stray golden retriever he'd befriended outside the gym.
Your heart softened all over again.
You attached the screenshot.
A grin spread slowly across your face as your thumb hovered over the keyboard.
you are so unbelievably whipped 😭
You hit send before you could overthink it.
The message had barely left your phone when the familiar typing... indicator appeared.
You blinked.
"...He's using his phone?"
You glanced automatically toward the time in the corner of your screen.
He was between the training he mentioned earlier so he really wasn't supposed to be texting you right now.
The typing bubble disappeared.
Returned.
Disappeared again.
You could almost picture him.
Probably scrambling to get his boxing gloves off, stubbornly using his teeth because he didn't want to keep his phone down, completely oblivious to the increasingly impatient people around him.
Your phone buzzed.
Yuuujiii 🍪
guilty.
Another message appeared before you'd even opened the first.
Yuuujiii 🍪
absolutely whipped.
no shame either.
Your laugh escaped before you could stop it, quiet enough that it echoed softly against the tiled walls of the restroom.
You shook your head as another notification slid onto the screen.
Yuuujiii 🍪
I thought I was being pretty subtle too.
You covered your mouth with one hand, shoulders trembling with silent laughter.
subtle??
You typed back quickly.
you smiled like they asked if you'd won the lottery
The typing bubble returned almost instantly.
Yuuujiii 🍪
...i kinda did.
Your smile faltered as your face got warmer, watching him just saying things that made your heart fold in on itself as though they were the most ordinary observations in the world.
Another message arrived.
Yuuujiii 🍪
also...
The typing stopped for a moment.
Started again.
Yuuujiii 🍪
you called me whipped like it's an insult.
You raised an eyebrow, already smiling as your fingers hovered over the keyboard.
because it is supposed to be. A playful one.
Yuuujiii 🍪
not when it's for you.
You stared at the screen.
Then, despite every intention of teasing him again, you found yourself smiling like an idiot instead.
Your fingers rested against the keyboard before finally typing the only thing your embarrassingly full heart could manage.
you're too cute for this world yuu.
Three little dots appeared almost immediately.
Yuuujiii 🍪
then i guess you got lucky with me👀
Your forehead dropped gently against the cool stall door with a quiet groan, equal parts amused and hopelessly fond.
"...You're lucky you're cute," you murmured under your breath, smiling so widely it almost hurt.
As if he'd somehow heard you through a phone, another notification lit up your screen.
