Tartarus

20s • Middle Eastern• she/they

[nuhahani]

Hello, I’m moving blogs—here’s why.

I need to get this off my chest because it's been weighing on me for a while. A couple of months ago, I accidentally came across a Toji x Megumi fic on AO3 that involved explicit content with Megumi as a child. It made me absolutely sick. I reported it immediately, but it's been stuck in my head ever since.

For context — I wasn’t searching for anything remotely like that. I was looking for JJK omegaverse fics (specifically Gojo x Geto, because they’re both adults and that’s my favorite ship). I came across one that listed Toji x Megumi in the tags, and the summary literally said Toji was 30 and Megumi was 7. I thought, “there’s no way that’s real,” clicked out of disbelief, skimmed it, and immediately reported it — along with several comments that were praising it. It honestly made me sick.

I've written for JJK in the past — headcanons, fluff, and adult fics involving adults — and I've always been clear about those boundaries. But after seeing something like that, I just can't bring myself to write for the fandom anymore. It really changed how I feel about contributing to that space.

That said, I'll still be reblogging appropriate JJK content here and there, and my multifandom smut and adult-character work will continue on my other blog. I'm just drawing a permanent line when it comes to writing for JJK specifically.

Fiction isn't a free pass to create or normalize depictions of child abuse. That's not "edgy" — it's disgusting. I know I can't control what others post, but I can choose what I support and participate in — and I'm choosing to step away from that corner of fandom.

I just needed to say this out loud because these are conversations that need to exist. Thank you to everyone who has supported me and waited for updates on certain fics. I’ve already moved blogs and have been actively writing for different fandoms. I will no longer be writing specifically for JJK, and I hope you all understand.

[delavegaaaaa]

CW: Dad's best friend!Dick, age gap (Dick is in his 50s, Reader is in her late 20s/early 30s), office oral (f!recieving), semi-public oral (m!recieving), slight cum eating?(f!&m!), semi-public car sex, slight voyagerism, unprotected sex (wrap it or Wrap it up!), mentions of birth control and pregnancy (Dick is panicking), breeding kink, finger sucking, thigh riding, panty stealing.

1.3k DCU GARDEN

Dad’s Best Friend!Dick Grayson, who bends you over his desk when you stop by the office to visit your dad. Reports and files long forgotten as he thrusts his tongue into your sopping cunt. The office door was locked, the blinds drawn on the windows, eating you like a starved man. How did he get to this? He doesn’t know. One moment, you were stopping by to say “hi” after dropping off a folder for your dad. Next, he’s breathing your pussy in as if you were his lifeline. His stubble scrapes against your skin on his mission to leave as many hickies as he can on the back and insides of your thighs. He can’t get enough, your juices too sweet, smearing all over his chin—too pussy drunk to care his next meeting was in thirty minutes. 

He knew if your dad caught the two of you in this position, HR would be the least of his karmic punishments. At least his welcome home for the holidays gift made you forget about your recent breakup. Only when he's satisfied with the number of orgasms he's drunk from you does he come to kiss you.

His cock was visibly strained in his pants, painfully bulging as you grinded your ass against the fabric. The moan he let out went straight to your abused cunt. Your juices dancing like sugar on his tongue. Spinning you around, he sits you on his desk, hands gently clawing at your thighs before pulling your jeans back up. Right in time, since someone came to ask if Dick was planning to attend the meeting. 

Dad’s Best Friend!Dick Grayson, who keeps his mic off on Zoom meetings so his colleagues and your dad can’t hear the disgusting sounds of you sucking his cock under the desk. He’s trying his best to keep his face straight, but God, he’s so close. The way your tongue wraps around him, so warm and wet, sliding up and down his length as you take him deeper.  

He thanks whatever higher power there is that another person said something incompetent. Hiding his face in his hands, his eyes rolled back as he ever so subtly thrusts up into your mouth. You could feel the vein in his length pulsing against your tongue as his tip hit the back of your throat repeatedly. What he would’ve given to fuck your face right then and there. As soon as his meeting ended, he slammed the laptop closed, fucking your throat until he came.

Your mouth pulls off with a 'pop' as you swallow a sweet and salty mixture. Dick didn't care if he'd just finished in your mouth; he wanted to know how he tasted on your tongue. His fingers teasing, rubbing your clit as you fuck yourself on his thigh, soaking your panties as you did. He reminded himself to collect those from you later.

After you left his apartment, he rubbed the lacy fabric on his dick. Using the area most covered in your slick to stroke the tip of his cock. He didn't think it was possible to cum as much as he did without you there. He sent you a text telling you to stuff them in his mouth next time.

Dad’s Best Friend!Dick Grayson, who shows up at your parents’ house for a party thrown by your dad. He brings your mom a bottle of wine and an extra bottle of whiskey for his best friend. In hindsight, he wished he’d stayed home and told everyone he was sick. Your skirt was just short enough, hugging the curves of your ass as the supple skin of your upper thighs peeked out. The sight made it hard to control his growing erection. He was detertmined to stay seated all night-that didnt happen.

He'd gotten a small revenge by softly nibbling on your neck when pretending it was too loud to hear you speak as he passed by. Of course, he also took the opportunity squeeze your ass when no one was looking. When you started to tease him by ever so lightly brushing against his groin as you moved by him to get something, he nearly lost it.  

The night carried on smoothly until your dad asked you to make a liquor store run and volunteered Dick to go with you. Now he’s in the backseat fucking you. Your legs on his shoulders as he pounds into you, whispering praises in your ear that make your walls fluttering around him. The leather material of the seat clung to your back.

In his defense, watching you bend over to grab liquor on lower shelves pushed him over the edge. The windows had fogged enough for droplets to run through Dick's ecstasy-covered handprint. Your nails raked into his back, leaving long, possessive lines on his skin. Your phone's buzzing in the front seat, another missed call asking where you’re at and if you’re okay. 

Dick can’t help it as he flips the position and puts you on top to ride him—not before grabbing whichever phone was receiving the call. Gesturing to you to be quiet as he answered the call from your dad. 

“Hey, yeah, she just ran back in to grab a couple of other bottles. We should be back in thirty minutes.” The devil smirked as he put your phone on speaker, repositioning himself under you to go deep. You tried so hard not to make a sound as you continued riding him. His free hand pinched your nipples as you struggled to hold it in. 

The calm in his demeanor made your heart race with anxiety; it was as if he was teasing you, even more risking more than just losing you. His cock abused your sweet spot at a steady pace; your lower abdomen coiled at the familiar sensation. You were so grateful when he finally hung up the phone, his hands pushing your hips down harder. “That was close, sweetheart. Your old man almost heard you cum on my cock.”

Dad’s Best Friend!Dick Grayson, who forgot to check if you're on birth control before painting your soft, gummy walls with hot, sticky ropes of semen. He loved seeing his cum dripping down your thighs as you got redressed for the drive home. Watching you rush to the closest bathroom before anyone at the party could see the white liquid rush down your leg, went straight to his dick.

Not once in his life did, he ever believe that one day he’d be panicking over the possibility of you getting pregnant. Much less that he’d be fucking you the rest of the night across the hall from where his best friend was sleeping. That didn't stop him from filling you back up behind the locked door of your old room. He traced your lower belly as incoherent mumblings left his lips, pressing firmly on your naked body underneath him.

Dick had you sucking on his fingers to keep you quiet, and when that didn’t work, he put a hand over your mouth as fucked you senseless. Your muffled moans intoxicated his thoughts. His best friend’s daughter, now an addiction he had no intention of quitting. He really should feel more ashamed of his actions and how it would destroy his best friend to know that Dick pulled out to tease your clit with cock. How he tapped the tip against your throbbing wet cunt, watching your perfect hole clench around air before slamming back into you.

None of that mattered when he was deep enough in you to fuck your cervix, rubbing your sensitive clit—telling you how good you feel and how pretty you look, crying on his cock. The guilt he felt before washed away as you cum on him again. The inevitable consequences would be dealt with later. Now, he just needed you closer.

@delavegaaaaa this was way longer than i planned for it to be. I spend a(n) (un)healthy amount of time thinking about fictional men and the power of their dicks. Anyway, DO NOT REPOST, FEED TO AI, OR PLAGIARIZE MY WORK. This is my only blog.

[delavegaaaaa]

𝓦𝓪𝔂𝓷𝓮 𝓑𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓪𝓼 𝓗𝓸𝓰𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓼 𝓢𝓽𝓾𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼

If parent-teacher conferences didn’t exist at Hogwarts before, they certainly do now. Good luck Bruce with all 12 thousand of the letters sent home. Learn about the Wands here and here!

CW: dark humor, slight angst (Damian), Bruce may be recieving a howler soon

Also, wrote this last night after I breaking my pinky toe. So if my editing isn’t great, I apologize in advance. The AO3 (writers) curse has gotten me I guess.

DCU Garden

I solemnly swear that I am up to no good

Jason Todd: Soul of Hufflepuff

Best class: potions

has a brown barn owl.

Was nearly put in Slytherin but the sorting hat changed it's mind last minute (probably for the best)

He keeps getting Howlers from Tim at breakfast.

Both Jason and Tim we’re spoken to and lost house points after the last Howler caused Jason to light Tim’s dorm on fire

He’s a metamorphmagus.

Professor McGonagall loves him

He wishes Slughorn would forget he exists

Can often be found in the greenhouse or by the lake.

Really loves Puffskeins.

Professor Sprout sent a letter to Bruce asking him to remind Jason that the Puffskeins in the greenhouse cannot be "borrowed" even if they "willingly followed him"

They're still trying to retrieve them all from the Hufflepuff common room..... its been a month

Dumbledore has high hopes for him

Co-Captain and Seeker on the quidditch team

Wand is Vine Wood, Dragon heartstring, 12 ½" length, Rigid.

Dragon Heartstring: powerful, capable of flamboyant spells, prone to accidents, learns quickly, can bond strongly, occasionally flirts with Dark Arts

His Patronus is a Niffler

Attended the Yule Ball with a Gryffindor (Dick insisted he and Jason get ready together)

Excelling in Charms and DADA

Failing History of Magic

Rumored to be a Parseltongue after word got around he could open the chamber of secrets.

Professor McGonagall sent a letter on Dumbledore's behalf, asking it this is a new development or something Jason could always do....

Dick Grayson: Heart of Gryffindor

Prefect

Best class: DADA

brought a Toad to Hogwarts, he named it Tim Todd the Toad. Tim Todd keeps escaping. Damian's threatened not to give him back.

The sorting hat didn't even touch his head before screaming "GRYFFINDOR"

Doesn’t understand why his brothers keep running away from him in the halls.

Chaser on the quidditch team

Professor Snape absolutely hates him.

He may or may not have stolen supplies from the potions storage room.

Brings a giant sign to support Jason and Tim during quidditch games

The recent letters sent to Bruce were from two different professors.

McGonagall informing Bruce how pleased she is with Dick's progress in his academics and thanking him for volunteer chaperoning on the third years Hogsmead trips

Snape sent a letter home informing Bruce how much of a menace Richard is and he will NOT be checking the ceiling for the potions stockroom door as the boy suggested. Unfortunately he cannot fail Dick just for being insufferable.

Snape notes that if his eldest son put that much effort into potions class than he might finally achieve a mediocre level of potential

His Patronus is a stag

Wand is Acacia, phoenix feather, 11”, unyielding.

Phoenix Feather: extremely rare, shows initiative, hard to tame, allegiance hard-won, capable of the greatest range of magic

Had too many people ask him to the Yule Ball, one girl asked him How to ask Jason

Excelling in History of Magic and Muggle Studies

Failing Herbology

Mildly terrified of the Augurey on castle grounds

No, he doesn’t know how his name got added to the goblet of fire

Tim Drake: Eye of Slytherin

Head Boy

Best class: transfiguration

brought a Grey owl to school.

Was nearly sorted into Ravenclaw, it was very clear why the hat chose Slytherin after

Captain of the quidditch team, position is beater

Frequently argues with Professor Snape

is actively sabotaging the other houses for points.

Madam Hooch wants him to go professional.

Wand is Hawthorn, Thestral hair, 10”, unyielding.

Thestral Hair: potent but tricky, requires acceptance of death, difficult to master, fits morally complex wizards

Madam Pomfrey has sent another letter home to Bruce about speaking to Tim on discontinuing his "research" on "improving broom aerodynamic".

It's the third time he's jumped off the astronomy tower this month, she's tired of fixing and regrowing his bones.

His Patronus is a ferret

Asked and went with his crush to the Yule Ball, even Professors couldn't stop talking about it

has a Pheonix feather from Dumbledore's office after the headmaster gave him a cryptic message when it was reported by Snape that Tim had been suffering from nightmares.

Snape complained it was disrupting his nightly routine

Excelling in Arithmancy and Herbology

Failing Divination and Astronomy

Unintentionally adopted a Demiguise

Probably making polyjuice potion somewhere in the bathroom.

Damian Wayne: Prince of Ravenclaw

Best class: Care for Magical Creatures

brought a black cat to Hogwarts.

Ended up fussing at the sorting hat after it took too long to decide between Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Hufflepuff

His animagus is also a cat.

Professor Lupin gives him hints and clues to more challenging topics in and out of class.

Thinks Mrs. Norris is a snitch

He has a soft spot for Professor Trelawney.

Wand is Snakewood, Baskilisk Horn, 11 3/4”, Rigid.

Basilisk Horn: extremely rare, strong potential for Dark Arts, demands precision and mastery

Was asked, on Hagrid's recommendation, to help care for the dragon's during the Triwizard tournament

Can often be found with Hagrid in his free time.

He really loves the Unicorns in the forest

Went to the Yule Ball solo, left early after he got bored

Excelling in Astronomy and Divination

Failing Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies

His Patronus is a Thestral

Hagrid has sent several letters to Bruce the promising future Damian has in magizoology but it's very cute and slightly concerning that he convinced the unicorns he was their prince and now they follow him everywhere

No one knows why the creatures in the Dark Forest trust him, he says they recognize greatness

Has a bowtruckle named Ed (Edmund) who sits on his shoulder all day. Yes, Ed does steal things from Filch’s office.

Occasionally uses his Time Turner to torment Tim

Mischief Managed

Tbh I gave Jason my wand, the one you get from the official Harry Potter website quiz. My Patronus is some strange feral chicken (pheasant) but at least I got my favorite house, Slytherin 🥺.

Do NOT REPOST, FEED TO AI OR PLAGIARIZE MY WORK. This is my only blog.

[delavegaaaaa]

Invasive Plant:

Lowkey, Damian's whole personality can be summed up as: will survive through any means including chewing through cement.

High chance he'll die if he drinks tap water though

[akiisks]

Complete version 😭🥹

[kingkaisen]

DOCTOR, DOCTOR!

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Being a surgeon is hard enough, but dealing with attractive men who can’t seem to get enough of their pretty doctor? Well . . .

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY || MINORS DNI — multi! jjk x surgeon! reader (separate) ft. sukuna, choso, gojo, nanami, toji, & geto, very tiny amounts of smut, mainly just suggestive, fluff, some angst, modern au, mentions of injuries and blood.

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I don’t know much about the medical field, so there will be some inaccuracies!

⚕️ — 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

“There is no reason whatsoever as to why my surgical patients have to suffer due to your incompetence. They’re post-op. Post-op. These people have been freshly cut open, and they need enough medicine to manage their pain.” You strode down the brightly-lid hospital hallway. The two nurses at the receiving end of your anger struggled to keep up with your quick pace. “After I visit with Mr. Sukuna, I’ll be stopping by Mrs. Mura’s room, and that poor woman better not be in tears again from a lack of quality care when I get there.”

“Y-Yes, doctor.” The nurses nodded. They scurried off as you stopped outside an oak-colored wooden door.

You knocked twice before opening it, entering Sukuna’s hospital room with a fake smile to disguise your anger.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sukuna.” Approaching the man propped up in his bed, you folded your arms across your chest, and he smirked up at you.

Briefly, you turned to face the slumped-over inmate guard dozing off in a recliner chair in the corner of the room.

“Sir? Would you mind stepping out for a moment?”

The guard snapped awake at the sound of your voice, nodded, and yawned, rising to his feet as he dragged himself out of Sukuna’s hospital room. After all, the prisoner was chained to his hospital bed, so it would be perfectly fine for him to waste some spare change visiting a few vending machines for a couple of snacks, right?

“How are you feeling?” You asked Sukuna once you both found yourselves alone.

“Drop the act,” Sukuna paused. He grabbed his white remote and muted the television displaying old reruns of boring game shows. “Tell me what’s got you upset.”

“Something that is much too inappropriate for me to discuss with a patient.” You let your face fall into a frown.

“Even your favorite one?”

“My favorite?” You raised your eyebrows, smiling softly as you pressed a button on the side rails of Sukuna’s bed, lowering him just a bit. “You and your ego.”

“I’m just sayin’, if you’ve got a problem with someone, y’know I’ll take care of it for you.”

You leaned over Sukuna, shining your pen light into one of his eyes. “See? Comments like that are exactly why your left wrist is handcuffed to your bed.”

“Relax, I’m just messin’ around,” he gave you a sly smile.

You pulled away from him briefly. “No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” Sukuna’s eyes slowly trailed over your body, taking in the sight of you from head to toe. “Just say the word, pretty girl.”

“First of all,” you paused, your voice stern, though you could hardly fight off the strong urge to smile. “Drop the nicknames already. Second of all, how are you supposed to take care of my problems while you’re cuffed, under constant supervision, and healing from an arm fracture? A complicated and complex one at that. I was operating on you for quite some time. I’m guessing your violent behavior led to it.”

Hunger lingered in Sukuna’s gaze. He had no appetite for the bland, half-eaten hospital food getting old and stale on a discarded tray on the other side of his bed.

No.

He was starving for the gorgeous surgeon in front of him right now. And after having all the time in the world to lie around and think, think, think, it dawned on him that, perhaps, his growing affection wasn’t one-sided.

“A complicated surgery your excuse for not discharging me already? I think someone likes having me around.” The tip of Sukuna’s tongue darted out briefly as he licked his bottom lip. You turned your head away from his piercing stare, suddenly overcome with shyness.

“Don’t get all embarrassed now,” Sukuna teased.

It was rather odd. Lying to patients — or, as you preferred to think of it, temporarily withholding the truth for their own benefit — was a skill all doctors had to learn. By now, you had considered yourself a master at doing so.

Until it came to Ryomen Sukuna.

Oh, he could see right through you . . . could destroy your detached, professional, tough attitude that one needs to have to survive the medical field and reduce you into nothing more than a shy girl with a crush. A crush on her own damn patient.

“You know what? After I finish examining you, I’m gonna work on getting you discharged first thing tomorrow,” you said, leaning over him yet again. Your penlight shined into his other eye.

Sukuna’s gentle breath patted against your face as he mumbled, “constantly examining my eyes even though my arm was the problem. You’re looking for any reason to get close to me, doc.”

The bright light seized with the click of your thumb. Though your eye exam was done, you hadn’t yet pulled away from him.

“I’m just doing my job. You’re making it more complicated than it needs to be, which is why I can’t support the decision to discharge you just yet,” you said.

“You think I believe that? Let me show you how well my arm’s healing up.” Sukuna’s injured arm was in a cast, but he wouldn’t let that hold him back. One second, you were leaning over Sukuna, and the next, he was grabbing your leg and pulling you over his lap, making you straddle him.

“I can toss you around just fine. But I’ll let you keep up with your little act,” Sukuna gripped the collar of your white coat. “After my eyes, you always examine my mouth, right? Tell me what you think, doc.”

With the hunger of a starving man, he connected your lips. A little gasp of surprise escaped from you. Sukuna was quick to use that opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth and swirling it around yours. Your breath was minty — he could taste it. If he wasn’t currently swallowing your soft moans while moving his mouth against yours, he would have teased you over freshening your breath before coming to visit him.

You broke the kiss a while later due to a lack of air. Damn your lungs. They felt as if they were on fire by the time Sukuna leaned back, a sly smirk on his face.

“Examination go well?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“It’s . . . um, just as I thought.” You stammered, pausing to breathe. “You’re displaying certain symptoms that have me concerned. We might need to keep you here for an extra day or two.”

Sukuna smirked yet again. Shaking his head in disbelief, he said, “If you wanna keep me here, you better take those scrubs off right now.”

“But we could get caught-”

“Just shut up and come sit on my face.”

⚕️ — 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

On what was a late Wednesday afternoon, you tossed your empty cup of coffee into a nearby garbage can. The next surgery on your chaotic schedule was meant to be a simple procedure done on a young man’s knee, and according to his pre-op lab work, his vitals were just fine. Ideal blood pressure. Quite healthy. No behavioral issues.

So far, so good . . .

Until you walked into his hospital room.

It is rather expected for surgeons to introduce themselves to their patients before an operation, which is why you entered Choso’s dark room to begin with and flipped on the lights.

But, when the unfamiliar man’s dark brown eyes landed on you, they widened. His cheeks and ears darkened to a pinkish shade of red, and he began to cough. The ice water he was sipping on nearly spewed from between his lips.

You rushed over worriedly, yet calmly.

“Keep coughing, don’t hold the water in or you’ll continue to choke.” With one hand, you grabbed the plastic cup on his overbed table, holding it to his mouth. With the other, you eased him forward, ready to give his back a couple of blows if necessary, but rubbing it soothingly in the meantime.

Eventually, his light choking session came to an end after he spat the water out, and no drastic measures were needed.

However, his skin hadn’t returned to its previous pale shade. His cheeks and ears were much too red for your liking.

After a brief introduction and overview of the operation — all talking on your part, not a word from him — you gave him a serious glance.

“Would it be alright for me to check your vitals myself? I know your nurse already did so, but you still seem a little flushed. I’m sure it’s from the little choking mishap, but I would still like to double-check.”

He nodded, avoiding your gaze and staring only at the white blanket draped over him. You removed the stethoscope from around your neck.

A quiet or shy patient was nothing usual. Beyond that, he was probably embarrassed about what happened, along with the general anxiety that builds up within most people at the idea of having surgery.

Therefore, you spoke as softly as you could, pressing the cool, circular end of the stethoscope against his chest.

“Take a deep breath for me,” you said.

You checked a few different areas before pulling away from him, hanging your stethoscope underneath the collar of your white coat.

“You have a rapid heartbeat. Is this a regular occurrence?”

“No.”

His heart rate should have calmed down by now had it been related to the water incident, you thought.

“Well, I’d like to check it again in a couple of minutes. We might have to consider scheduling you for an ECG if nothing changes. Have you experienced any palpitations, dizziness, or shortness of breath?”

Choso looked off to the side at nothing in particular.

“Only . . . right now,” he mumbled.

“Oh, I see,” you smiled gently, though he couldn’t see it. You were certain he’d stare directly into the sun just to avoid looking you in the eye. “Nervous around doctors, I understand.”

“I’m not usually nervous around doctors,” Choso fiddled with his folded fingers resting in his lap. He scratched one thumb with the other, breathing unsteadily.

You hid your confusion and concern behind an expressionless face, one as blank as a new canvas.

Tightening the blood pressure cuff around his muscular arm was your next move, one made in a thick awkward silence. The fact that he was in seemingly great shape only worsened your worry.

After all, those who exercised regularly were known to have a resting heart rate lower than the average person. Not higher.

You weren’t a fool.

From the very moment you took your first pre-med undergraduate course, you were taught time and time again that even those who took exceptional care of themselves could become victims of several illnesses. You’ve witnessed it yourself. Seen or performed tumor removals, cracked open chests, or sliced into the stomachs of countless amount of people who seemed healthy. Or tried their hardest to be that way.

Was that the case now? Was this seemingly healthy guy unknowingly suffering from some sort of heart condition?

Those were the questions running through your mind when the screen monitoring his blood pressure blinked red. The cuff released a puff of air as it stopped squeezing his bicep.

“Elevated blood pressure,” you said.

Removing the cuff, you darted your eyes down to his face.

“You shouldn’t be concerned. I’m fine,” he scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t need any tests. I’m just nervous. Not because of the surgery or because you’re a doctor, but you’re . . . pretty.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Reaching down, you gave his fidgeting hand a reassuring squeeze.

Being that his vitals appeared normal when being checked by someone else, then perhaps, he was telling the truth.

“Thank you,” you pulled your hand away. “Just to be safe and test your theory, I’ll have you sit here for a few minutes, and I’ll send a nurse back in to recheck everything one last time. If it all looks good, no ECG. How does that sound?”

For the first time since your arrival, Choso’s chocolate brown eyes met yours.

“That won’t work,” he mumbled. “Even if you bring in someone who isn’t you, I will still be thinking of you in a few minutes, so my heart rate and blood pressure will still be high. I’m sorry.”

⚕️ — 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

Seeing Satoru Gojo among your scheduled appointments for the day was a certainty, just as the sun would rise in the morning and the moon would shine at night.

His operation was quite a while ago. It was a smooth surgery, and yet, here he was, sitting in the waiting room of the tall, fancy building with your name on the outside — you had established your very own private practice.

Despite being a surgeon on the younger side, you had accomplished what most surgeons wouldn’t dare to dream of accomplishing until their late 40s, if they could accomplish your level of success at all.

You had a wall full of framed degrees. Certificates. Awards. And it certainly wasn’t easy, from the accelerated programs and sleepless nights to being disrespected by your older male colleagues. You couldn’t count the number of times someone had mistook you for a nurse, even as you wore your white coat. There were even patients who refused your care in preference for your less-accomplished, less-skilled, male fellow doctors.

Despite the trials and tribulations, your hard work paid off, thank goodness.

That was why you groaned with annoyance upon discovering that Satoru Gojo was among your list of patients, and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

Because, damn it all, you wouldn’t ruin your remarkable career and reputation by falling for a patient . . . especially because he refused to stop being your patient.

— ⚕️—

“You again?” You stepped into the examination room, eyeing the white-haired man.

“Did you miss me?” Satoru grinned.

“You’re never gone long enough for me to miss you,” shutting the door behind you, trying your hardest to conceal your emotions, you asked, “What seems to be the problem now, Mr. Gojo?”

“Ya know,” Satoru paused. He slumped back in his seat. “I never understood why I have to tell the nurse all of my issues just to have to repeat it all again when you come in.”

“Considering how much you enjoy talking, I didn’t think you’d have a problem with that.”

“I’d rather just talk to you.” His goofy smile widened. “Anyway, I’ve been dealing with some stomach pain, and my incisions feel all sore.”

“You mean the incisions that healed up very nicely several months ago?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “And regarding your stomach pain . . . you booked an appointment with me instead of the gastroenterologist I referred you to because?”

“‘Cause you were the one who performed my surgery, unless I’m crazy and remembering stuff wrong.”

Satoru rose from his seat, heading for the examination table without you having to tell him. He knew every move you were going to make. After all — after many pointless visits because, apparently, these appointments were the closest he could get to going on a date with you — he knew the routine like the back of his hand.

You approached him. It was difficult to find the courage to look him in the eye — god, that lovesick gaze of his always made your heart skip a beat — but you stared at him sternly regardless, hoping he would take your words seriously . . . though, truly, you didn’t want him to.

“Satoru, this many follow-up appointments almost a year later aren’t-”

“What are the rules against a doctor dating a patient?”

Your eyes widened.

Your heart didn’t skip a beat. It skipped several.

You were certain it was going to give out, that you would go from being a doctor to being a patient.

He was being serious. There was no hint of playfulness behind his tone. Satoru’s love-filled gaze darted from your eyes, down to your lips, and back up to your eyes again.

“Mr. Gojo, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that just now,” you cleared your throat, taking a step back, breaking eye contact with him. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” He asked with false innocence.

His long finger was suddenly hooked around the belt loop of your pants. He pulled you closer, closing the distance between you both. His soft, gentle breath patted against the skin of your cheek.

“Aw, you can’t even look me in the eye, how cute,” he teased, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh my goodness, just lay down already,” you mumbled. “Let me take a look at your stomach.”

“Yes ma’am,” Satoru grinned widely. He earned yet another eye roll from you.

You had hoped that officially starting his physical exam would, perhaps, break the building tension between you both. But no.

Your skillful hands were inspecting the faint and tiny incisions along his fit body, tracing over his lower abdomen.

“Like what you see?” Satoru said. “Don’t be shy, now. You can go lower than that if you want.”

“Once again, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” You pulled your hands away, and Satoru sat up. “Your incisions look fine, of course. But I will, for the thousandth time, be referring you to a gastroenterologist to run some tests regarding your . . .” you paused, giving him a look of disbelief, “. . . stomach pain.”

“Fineee, I’ll stop coming here,” Satoru said.

“Really?” You raised your eyebrows, but not in excitement. You were skilled in speaking without revealing your true emotions through your tone — years of telling sad families about an unfortunate diagnosis or death or a loved one required that form of expertise — but right now, you couldn’t hide your sadness as you spoke.

“You almost sound disappointed, sweetheart.” Satoru smiled, pushing himself off of the examination table. He started walking towards you, and you didn’t have the courage or desire to step away. “Anyway, I pieced it together just now. If doctors can’t date their patients, then I just can’t be your patient anymore. Is that what it’ll take for me to finally be able to snatch this coat off of you?”

“Mr. Gojo-”

“Or, I could do it right now.” This time, Satoru hooked his fingers around your chin, raising your head until you had no choice but to look him in the eye as he spoke. “What’s wrong? There aren’t any cameras in here out of respect for patient privacy, right?”

“Let me tell you something,” you frowned. “I’m a very hardworking woman who follows the rules. It took a lot of blood, sweat, and tears for me to get where I am now, and I won’t . . . I can’t ruin it by . . .”

Satoru’s thumb stroked your cheek as he listened to your words. When you suddenly stopped speaking, he mumbled, “What’s the matter? I’m listening.”

Truth be told, your words trailed off into nothing because the beautiful man before you made a thousand different questions and concerns swirl around in your overworked mind.

There was no denying his sheer lust. It was written all over his face. But there was love within his gaze as well. And though you couldn’t see your own face right now, you knew you were staring back at him with the same amount of love.

“Stop coming here. If you stop being my patient, just as you said, then maybe, we can go on that date in a couple of months.”

Satoru smiled. “Deal. I’m pretty impatient, but I can wait years for you if that’ll make you more comfortable. You should know by now there’s no getting rid of me.”

“I won’t make you wait years. I can be impatient sometimes as well.” You couldn’t help but match his smile with one of your own. “Let’s give it six months.”

“Six months,” Satoru said in agreement.

“Well, if that’s everything,” you started to head towards the door, then suddenly, you halted your footsteps.

You turned around. Rising to the tips of your toes, you planted a soft, quick kiss on Satoru’s cheek. His cheeks and ears couldn’t help but become a deep shade of red as he blushed.

“Six months,” you mumbled.

Satoru’s movements were fast; his lips were on your cheek before you had a chance to turn away.

“God, you’re the cutest,” he said.

Though kissing each other on the cheek was risky — planning to date a former patient in half a year was as well — you couldn’t help but admire your quickened heart rate. There was something quite thrilling about breaking the rules every now and then.

⚕️ — 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

“Wow, I never thought I’d see little Kenny in my hospital.”

A bright smile graced your face as you stepped into the lavish room — though it was a hospital room, it seemed more suitable to view it as a hotel room with additional medical equipment.

“Well, when I decided it was time to schedule my carpal tunnel surgery, I was searching for a surgeon, and I saw your name appear. After I got over my initial surprise, I thought, why not go with my former best friend? Even if she used to be pretty clumsy during our childhood.” He gave you a smile as bright as your own. It occurred to him then, as his cheeks grew sore, that he hadn’t grinned so widely in quite some time.

“C’mere,” you approached his bed, leaning down to hug him and press a gentle kiss upon his cheek. “I’m gonna take great care of you.”

“I know you will. You always have,” the blonde-haired man whispered.

Something small, yet soft was being squished in between you both. He thought it was part of a pillow that had gotten caught in your embrace, but when you pulled away, his eyes darted down to the stuffed, light-brown teddy bear in your arms. It had a red heart in its grasp with cursive white letters that read: Get Well Soon!

“This is only one of the many, many things I plan to buy you from the gift shop,” you handed the stuffed animal to him. He took it, flipping it around in his hands.

God, he hadn’t noticed it when you walked in, so occupied with memorizing every detail of your gorgeous face and how it had changed since he last laid his eyes upon it. Even now, he couldn’t snatch his eyes away from you. The subtle smile pulling at the corners of your soft lips . . . your glistening gaze . . . even your nose was precious to him.

“Someone’s still a little sweetheart I see. Thank you,” he put the stuffed animal down next to him. “I intend to return the favor. I have a lot of missed birthdays and holidays to make up for.”

Kento’s long legs shifted underneath the blanket as he moved them to the side, making enough room for you to sit down on his bed.

“You and me both,” you paused, sitting in the spot he made for you. “I guess I can’t call you little Kenny anymore, can I? My goodness, you’re much taller than me now. When did that happen?”

Your childhood friend let out an airy, brief laugh. His hand scooped up yours. His thumb graced your skin, and he said, “I outgrew you right before we lost contact. I don’t expect you to remember, though. We were already starting to drift apart by the time that happened. But, more importantly, I think I have a more pressing question. When did you decide to become a surgeon? I’m proud of you.”

With a little hum, your eyes darted off to the side. Fighting off the bittersweet memories of growing up with Kento Nanami was an impossible task. What started out as a friendship formed in kindergarten over splitting peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sharing toys so drastically became a forgotten bond by freshman year of high school, when your closeness amounted to nothing more than waving at each other in the hallway.

No more sleepovers. No more snack sharing. No more innocent hand-holding.

From best friends to acquaintances, just like that.

And when circumstances led to your family moving to a different town quite far away, you and Nanami lost contact completely.

From acquaintances to strangers, just like that.

“We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?” Your tone was laced with nostalgic sadness.

Cold air hit your hand when Kento released it — your skin craved his warmth. But the man did not release your hand without reason, as the hand that was formerly holding yours now rested against your soft cheek. He gave it a little stroke with his thumb, then moved your head back in his direction.

He hadn’t seen your eyes in years. He’ll be damned if they dare gaze at anything other than him right now.

“Well, catching up now is as good a time as any. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Talk to me.” Kento moved his hand away from your face. Cold air returned to your skin like an unwelcomed guest. “Are you married? Have any kids? How are your relatives?”

“No, no, I’m . . . I’m much too busy to start a family. Haven’t had much time to check up on anyone else either,” You replied. Your somber demeanor vanished. A heartwarming smile reappeared, and rather playfully, you poked Kento’s chest. “But what of you, sir? How are you these days? I must say I wasn’t very pleased to see such an advanced case of carpal tunnel. You’re too damn young.”

Kento caught the hand you were jabbing him with. His large hand wrapped around yours, and he held it. Warmth.

“Well, I’m a businessman. My job is so taxing, it’s no wonder I ended up with carpal tunnel. But I make good money from it. I’m in the same boat as you, though. Unmarried. No kids.”

“Considering how handsome you turned out to be, I’m assuming it’s voluntary?”

He nodded. “Much like you, I’m just too busy.”

You couldn’t help but glance down at your locked hands. Despite the years upon years that have passed since he last felt your skin, his touch wasn’t foreign. It was all too familiar, almost as if Kento Nanami never left your life to begin with.

“I always thought you would be the person I’d end up marrying.” Your words were soft, barely above a whisper.

“So did I. Our wedding was my favorite thing to daydream about during class.” Kento brought your hand to his lips. His kiss was a gentle one, and the previous warmth that came from his touch transformed into a burning heat running through your veins. If he kept this up, this gentle love, you were certain you’d combust into flames.

“I should leave now,” you mumbled, preparing to get off of his bed, though you hadn’t yet found the courage.

Kento couldn’t help but notice how your eyes wouldn’t meet his as if they found the mopped floor below oh so interesting.

“Look at me.”

It took a while. Much longer than he would have liked. But eventually, you gave in to his demand and your eyes found his, though your glistening gaze was, once again, filled with sadness.

“I know this is the first time we’ve seen each other in a long time and the circumstances aren’t ideal, but you don’t have to mourn our past, because I don’t intend on letting you get away from me again. Do you understand me?”

Your sad eyes widened. “You’re saying-”

“I’m saying I want you back in my life, if that’s okay with you.”

You knew the serious expression on Kento’s face well. He meant every word.

“I assumed we’d go our separate ways once again after this surgery . . . that I probably wouldn’t see you again until you needed a hip replacement in your late sixties,” you couldn’t help but let a single tear fall down your cheek.

A low, brief chuckle came from Kento. He leaned forward. Reaching out, he cupped your cheek, stroking the tear away with his thumb.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Come here.” With the hand that was resting on your cheek, Kento guided your head towards his chest as he leaned back against the hospital bed. Your upper body now rested on top of him. His thumb continued to stroke your wet cheek.

“Forgive me for saying so, but as soon as you walked through that door, I knew I wanted to start daydreaming about marrying you once again.”

“Good,” you smiled. “Because I was thinking the same thing.”

“I won’t get you in trouble for holding you like this, will I?” Kento asked, though he couldn’t think of anything worse than letting you go.

“Don’t stress about it. No matter what anyone says, I run this hospital. I can do what I want. Including this.”

Suddenly, you leaned up to press a kiss on his cheek.

“But I better get going,” you said. “It’s almost time for your surgery.”

You started to rise into a sitting position, but Kento’s large hand cupped the side of your face, halting your movements.

“Wait,” he darted his soft eyes down to your lips. “It’s too soon for this, but I need to do it anyway.”

Kento’s lips met yours in a surprise kiss so loving, so passionate, it took your breath away — there was nothing left except that familiar warmth and the feeling of his lips moving against your own. You truly didn’t know if the kiss lasted five seconds or five minutes because when he pulled away, it still felt like it was much too early.

“That kiss didn’t happen too soon,” You uttered breathlessly. “I’ve waited years for that.”

You staggered as you rose to your feet. Leave it to Kento Nanami to make you go weak at the knees.

Dragging your hands across your coat and scrubs to ensure they weren’t oddly twisted or wrinkled, you said, “Now I’ve really gotta go. But I look forward to slicing into you!”

⚕️ — 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

“You’re awake.”

It was the voice of an angel. Had to be. But, as Toji’s blurry vision cleared as he blinked, blinked, and blinked — he made out the sterile environment devoid of color and packed to the brim with machines that were wired to his battered limbs — he realized he was in a hospital room, not the afterlife.

“Welcome back,” you smiled.

Toji felt your thumb gently stroke his forehead. Your touch was so comforting. So soothing. It calmed his initial urge to panic as a result of the massive wave of pain and confusion that hit him as soon as he opened his eyes.

“Toji, you’re alright. You were in a construction accident.” Another voice spoke up, but Toji’s eyes didn’t bother searching for the source. They were on you — the pretty, unfamiliar woman with the voice of an angel, smiling at him.

— ⚕️—

It took several days for Toji to regain the strength to move. Talking was a lost skill to him for weeks.

God, were head-to-toe injuries painful. His nurses informed him — when he could manage to stay conscious, at least — that unsafe conditions led to him falling from a dangerous height while working at a construction site. Most people would have died instantly during an accident like that. If they were lucky enough to survive the initial fall and aftermath of collapsing debris, then they more than likely would have died on the operating table.

But Toji, however, had a brilliant surgeon who operated endlessly for hours upon hours to save his life. Brilliant.

Was it you? The pretty, unfamiliar woman with the voice of an angel who smiled at him when he first awakened? Just where did you go?

You suddenly walked into Toji’s room as if his thoughts had summoned you.

Before you could speak, he asked, “You the one who saved my life?”

“I am. My surgical team and I worked very hard. I’m glad you pulled through. How are you feeling?”

“Took you long enough to come check on me again,” Toji ignored your question, speaking with a soft, tired smile. “Haven’t seen you since I woke up. Was starting to think my mind made you up.”

“Actually,” you paused, approaching the side of his hospital bed. “I came by almost every night to check on you. You were just fast asleep. You can thank our pain medication for that.”

“Hm . . .” Toji’s eyelids were growing heavy. He spoke over the beeping vital monitors and IV pumps. “Guess I owe you one for . . . saving . . .”

He was fast asleep.

You smiled down at his face, which, although bruised and bandaged, was still quite handsome.

As you walked away, you heard the black-haired man mumble in his drug-induced state, “. . . so goddamn pretty.”

—⚕️—

The following physical therapy-filled weeks were rather difficult for a man like Toji. The struggles he endured were not only physical, but mental as well.

After all, he prided himself on having such an athletic build and insane strength — the amount of pounds he could lift with ease was startling.

But for a while, he was no longer the man who could haul just about anything with very little effort. He was a man who needed assistance to stand up. To walk. And his spirit was crushed, even well after he regained those lost skills and was deemed recovered enough to be discharged.

He was rather certain that if it wasn’t for a certain angel sticking by his side throughout his two-month hospital stay, he wouldn’t have found the strength to keep going.

—⚕️—

Toji Fushiguro found himself at a local, quiet bar more often than he’d like to admit. Most times, a wave of self-hatred washed over him every single time he grabbed a seat and ordered a drink, but not today. Today, he was happy to walk into the bar, because you were there.

“Can I buy you a drink, doc?”

You looked up from your phone screen to find your former patient standing at the side of the little table you occupied.

“Toji?” You smiled. “Wow. It’s refreshing to see you outside of the hospital.”

“And without a hospital gown on, I bet,” a little smirk pulled at the vertical scar on his lips. “It’s nice to see you without that white coat on, ‘cause that means I’m no longer in that hospital, even if the coat is pretty hot on you. Who knew I’d have a thing for doctors.”

“Aren’t you straightforward?” You gave a little laugh, then nodded at the empty seat across from you. “Sit down. Join me.”

As Toji pulled out the chair opposite of you, he said, “I was kinda worried, thinkin’ I wouldn’t see you again after getting discharged.”

“Really? I figured after seeing me every day for . . . how long has it been, two months, right? I assumed you’d be sick of seeing me.” You took a sip of your water. Condensation coated the cool glass.

“Sick of the hospital, yeah, but not you,” Toji propped his elbow up on the table and rested the side of his head in his hands. “Anyway, about that drink. Get whatever you want. It’s on me.”

“Toji, you know you don’t owe me for saving your life. It’s my job.”

“I don’t care. I owe you one. But an overpriced drink wasn’t how I was gonna pay you back anyway.”

“Hm?” You raised your eyebrows. “How were you going to pay me back, then?”

“I’ve got a lot of ideas. One of them involves you comin’ home with me. Another involves a nice dinner, whichever you prefer. Though if you really wanna know what I think, I think you should pick both.”

You waited for any sort of indication that, perhaps, the handsome man was joking. But you knew Toji quite well after spending much time with him, and he never bothered with being dishonest or secretive about his feelings.

Hospital food tasted like crap? He said so. Exhaustion lingering within your eyes despite your professional smile? He pointed it out.

You gave him a smile, shaking your head in disbelief. The chair scraped against the floor as you got up to leave the table.

Toji wasn’t surprised to see you leave. He expected to be turned down, having been your former patient. Pursuing any sort of relationship probably disinterested you due to moral and ethical-

“Aren’t you coming?”

Toji turned around. You stood there patiently, having halted your footsteps a short distance away from the table.

“Huh?” He blinked. So you were interested. Another small smile couldn’t help but grace his face. “What about that drink?”

“Forget about it,” you waved him over. “I like what you came up with more.”

“Oh yeah? Which idea?” Toji asked, rising from his seat.

“Both.”

“Then let’s go, angel.” Toji grabbed ahold of your hand, guiding you towards the exit. “I hope you like Italian food. And my version of physical therapy.”

⚕️— 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

Sharp intuition and good instincts were valuable skills one needed in the medical field. As one of the most skilled surgeons in the hospital, the best of the best, according to your peers — and, well, your low mortality rate — your skill set was rather exceptional.

There was, however, a drawback to having good instincts. It was the impending doom you couldn’t shake when your gut told you that something was off.

Though your incredibly long shift had come to an end, you hadn’t yet left the hospital. After all, today, your surgeries were all brief and complication-free. The ER wasn’t too chaotic. Even your coffee tasted extra pleasant today.

Things were going well. Too well.

Your time working as a surgeon had taught you one thing: a peaceful day working in a hospital was a bad sign.

And those good instincts of yours? They told you not to leave just yet.

Many nurses darted their eyes at you curiously, silently questioning why you hadn’t yet run out of the building once your shift was over. Free time was all too rare for a surgeon, so why, just why, were you hanging around in the ER, leaning against the counter of the nurses’ station?

You were taking a tentative sip of your beverage when a car arrived outside of the ER’s automatic sliding seethrough doors.

A man stepped out, not wasting time with trivial matters such as shutting his car door, and he swung open another car door. You couldn’t see what he was doing exactly due to the distance. Not until he stepped into the ER with an unconscious, blood-covered girl in his arms.

“Sir?” You called out.

The dark-haired man didn’t respond. He was in a state of shock.

You and your medical team rushed to find a gurney, ready to assess the girl in his arms, but he wasn't ready to let go of her just yet.

You gave him a sympathetic, but urgent look. “Sir, you need to let us help her. Can you tell us what happened?”

No response.

The man himself was bleeding from his head.

“Sir,” you tried yet again, speaking softly. He didn’t look at you until you touched the bloody hand he had hooked around the young girl’s shoulder. “I promise I will try my best to help her. I need you to trust me.”

He blinked a few times as if coming out of a daze. He placed the girl on the gurney.

— ⚕️—

It was a car accident. The man, who was named Suguru Geto, sat in the waiting room for hours, refusing medical attention for his own injuries. The young girl he carried into the ER was one of his adopted daughters.

Operating on her with the information a nurse passed on to you in mind gave you the strength you needed to push through your exhaustion — to save a young girl on the brink of death.

“I need you to stay strong for me, Mimiko,” you mumbled against your surgical mask, putting down one surgical tool and grabbing another — your scalpel. “Your dad’s waiting for you, sweet girl.”

Though the girl was unconscious, you continued to speak to her throughout the operation.

You couldn’t help it — perhaps believing it mattered on a subconscious or even spiritual level.

When the surgery came to an end, you gave Suguru an update, informing him that Mimiko was stable for now and that he could visit her soon.

“Thank you.” A shaky, relieved breath escaped from between his lips, and though he was happy to hear the news, he started to cry. Tears were streaming down his face, mixing with the blood on his skin — he couldn’t help but break down over the situation, now that it was partially over.

You wasted no time in grabbing a seat next to Suguru.

Wrapping your arms around him, you held the stranger, rubbing his back soothingly.

“It’s alright,” you whispered kindly.

Suguru pulled away from you after a couple of minutes. You gave him a smile. However, it didn’t take long for the corners of your lips to dip into a frown.

“Mr. Geto, your forehead.” You rose from your seat. “You need stitches. Please let me help.”

It took a moment, but he eventually nodded and got up as well.

You were well within your rights to go home, to pass off this mundane suturing opportunity to someone with less responsibility within the hospital, but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

You were going to stick with this family throughout their entire healing process.

For a while, you treated Suguru’s wound in silence — beyond the general bustling hospital noise.

“You seem tired. Am I keeping you here past your shift?” Suguru suddenly spoke up.

You were silent for a moment, uncertain of how to respond.

“I’m just glad I was here, Mr. Geto.”

“Anyone who saves my daughter’s life can call me Suguru.” He stared down at the dried blood on his hands. “While you were still in surgery, a nurse gave me an update. She told me how hard you were working, and that you were speaking to Mimiko as if she was your own child.”

“I was. I like to talk to all my patients during surgery. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

“Not at all, why would it? I appreciate it. You seem very caring.” Suguru would have smiled if he had the energy.

“Tired and caring, hm?” You grinned softly, finishing the last stitch.

“I’m sure I will come up with more adjectives in due time.”

Your smile widened, and even Suguru managed to give a tiny grin.

— ⚕️—

Suguru Geto approached you in the hospital hallway during your lunch break a few weeks later, on the day his dear daughter would get discharged. The man who you came to know after seeing him and his family on nearly a daily basis tapped your shoulder.

“Hm?” You turned around, and your eyes darted down to a packaged baked good in Suguru’s hands.

“What’s this?” You asked.

“Consider it a personal thank you for taking such great care of my daughter.” Suguru held out the tiny box, and you took the pastry.

“Oh, Mr. Geto, You didn’t need to do this for me. I was just doing my job,” you grinned.

“Your job was to save her life. To talk with her about her hobbies and interests . . . to comfort her . . . that was going above and beyond.” Suguru stared at you with sincerity and respect. “She’s been rambling on and on about you non-stop. I know you’re a busy person, but she said she’d still like to see you even after getting discharged, should you ever have the freetime.”

“Of course. She’s a sweet girl — both your girls are,” looking down at the sweet treat in your hands, you said, “and this looks amazing. You’re too kind, Suguru!”

“Believe me, I’m not normally a kind person. But you deserve every bit of kindness I might be able to spare.”

“A single father to two girls he adopted, who bakes pastries for other people? Sure seems like you’re pretty kind.”

Suguru stepped closer. He leaned down a bit, as far as he could without raising any suspicion from nearby medical staff and guests, and he whispered into your ear, “You just don’t know me very well. But I was thinking about how much I’d like to change that.”

“How so?” You whispered back.

Suddenly, Suguru stepped away. He grabbed your wrist, leading you towards the on-call room he fully intended on sneaking you both into.

You could hardly put the pastry down and lock the door before his lips were on yours hungrily. His hands were busy pulling off your white coat, your top, and undoing the drawstrings of your scrub pants.

His mouth made its way down to your neck. He sucked and kissed at your skin, all the while his hand snaked their way into your underwear.

“Remember when I started to cry, and you held me?” He asked softly, his breath patting against your skin.

“Yeah,” you replied. “I remember.”

“I think I should return the favor,” he paused, his fingers finding your clit while his other hand held you against his bigger frame. “Let me hold you while you cum.”

🩺 — @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @thequeenofcurses @he11okitty-mari @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @kxmorrx @iwanttohitmyself @ellaumbrella1 @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @deadrevenge @koikohib

[kingkaisen]

END OF OUR WORLD

♡ — 𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒: There was an outbreak. Towns were evacuated, shelters were overrun, and danger lurked around every corner. As if that wasn’t bad enough, you were “forced” to endure what was, apparently, the end of the world, alongside your annoying ex-boyfriend, Satoru Gojo.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY MDNI || apocalypse au, heavy angst, smut, fluff, lovers to one-sided enemies to lovers again, time skip, toxic relationship, killing, death, hunger, vague mentions of trauma. Satoru is pathetic for reader, as he should be!

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 11k :)

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Happy late Halloween! || artwork by @/3-aem, divider by @/firefly-graphics.

By the time Satoru Gojo’s cracked wristwatch flickered to 8:30 PM, a couple of the fellow citizens from his town had emerged from their cars.

Some tried to walk along the highway to find the source of the traffic jam. Others simply wanted some fresh air after sitting in their cars for hours upon hours.

By 11:47 PM, many people had gathered outside their vehicles. They mingled with other families and groups leaving the city, everyone tugging their coats around their trembling bodies — trembling from fear, not the cold weather — all while trying their hardest to both pass the time or figure out what, just what, was keeping them from driving forward; keeping them from running away from the horrifying hell that broke loose in their beloved hometown.

It was 12:15 AM when Satoru glanced over at you in the passenger seat, displeased to see that your eyes were wide open, staring at the moon.

“What happened to getting some sleep?” Satoru questioned.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” you turned over in the uncomfortable seat until he could see nothing except the back of your head. “Which will be any day now by the looks of things.”

“You think I’m gonna let that happen?” Satoru ran a hand through his messy white head of hair. “We’re gonna make it to the refugee center, don’t you worry. I’ll get you there even if it kills me. If traffic hasn’t gotten better by sunrise, then we’ll just . . . abandon the car and start walking. Cardio’s good for the heart, so they say.”

Are you stupid? You want us to walk around with no protection, knowing that those things are out there? I’d rather stay trapped in the car! And I don’t think living off saltine crackers for who knows how long is good for the heart, so screw cardio. Now isn’t the time to make jokes. God, you annoy me.

That was what you thought. That was what you wished you could spew out verbally, but you only shifted a bit, and said, “My safety isn’t your responsibility, Satoru. Not anymore.”

“Are you being for real? You think that with everything going on right now, everything we just witnessed back home . . . you think that us being broken up matters in the grand scheme of things? Baby, come on.” He stared at the back of your head as he spoke. When seconds of silence passed, he tapped his hand against the top of the steering wheel and sighed out of pure frustration. “If I see one of those fucking monsters attack you, I’ll just let it happen since you’re my ex-girlfriend, and that apparently matters in a life or death situation. That’s what you want, right?”

You still didn’t respond. Not for a long time. There was a book in your hand, and you clenched it tightly.

The chatter and footsteps from outside the car felt uncomfortably loud in the midst of that unsettling quietness.

Say something, Satoru thought, resting his elbow on the driver’s seat door. You turned around in your seat. Your blanket fell from around your shoulders, drifting down to your waist.

“You’re missing my point, as per usual. I’m trying to figure out, why me? We broke up three years ago. Three years. And our town? It got overrun two days ago. Everyone had to grab food and water and their loved ones and get the hell out as quickly as possible. So why did you take the time to find me? Out of everyone else in your life, why’d you show up at my doorstep, desperate to save your ex?”

“Because I still love you more than anyone else in my life. Isn’t that obvious?” Satoru smiled sadly.

Your eyes met his for the first time in what felt like three years.

“What? Did you think I was going to say something different?” Satoru stated as if his earlier confession was an obvious fact: The sky is blue. Two plus two equals four. And I’m still in love with you.

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” you mumbled, and rolled over in the seat yet again. “Don’t get any mixed ideas. The second we get to the refugee, shelter place, whatever- we’re done. One hundred percent finished. We’ll part ways for good. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Satoru unfolded a piece of ancient work unbeknownst to most of society due to the arrival of technology: a map. “Loud and clear.”

— THREE DAYS LATER —

The Safe Place, as some called it, could more accurately be named a madhouse.

Traffic never moved forward. Many fellow stuck civilians had all gathered on the highway, Satoru among them, and agreed that they all had a better chance of dying than seeing the countless amount of cars piled up along the roads finally start to move forward.

And, eventually, just as water was starting to become a memory and the first signs of dehydration had your head spinning — the summer heat you walked in for days did you no favors — you all stumbled upon a crowded, one-level building with people spilling out of the doors, fighting for their right to retrieve whatever was inside. Food. A bed. Clean clothes. Water.

All the things you so desperately wanted.

Armed guards prevented the massive wave of people from entering the shelter. But getting shot didn’t seem as scary as not being allowed entry to some, and they still tried to fight their way inside.

“I have three kids! Please, please let us in, sir,” one woman cried.

You and Satoru were further back in line, and you could only make out the back of her messy head of hair, but you heard the guard she argued with quite clearly.

“We’re at max capacity. Hell, past that now, lady. There’s nothin’ I can do for ya, ‘m sorry.”

His words sparked a wave of panic. All at once, people began to shout. To push forward.

“What do you mean you’re full?”

“You’re going to leave us out here to die like animals?”

“Let us in!”

“We have a right to live, you piece of shit!”

The unsettling bodies were pressing against yours, pressing you and Satoru together, so much so that it became hard to breathe. One man roughly knocked you off your feet as he made his way past you in line. Large hands caught you before you hit the ground and became the new stomping mat of the riot slowly starting to come about.

Satoru straightened you up. He gripped your shoulders to steady you, and he said, “We gotta get out of here now.”

“And go where?”

Satoru could barely hear your response. But he didn’t have to. He knew you, and he knew you’d ask the most logical question there was to utter amidst the chaos.

“We’ll find-”

His words, which held no meaning anyway, were interrupted by the sound of two gunshots, followed by a fresh explosion of shrieks and cries. People ducked instinctively.

The guard who shot one person in the chest and another in the stomach did so as a way of sending a crystal clear message: calm down and stop trying to enter the shelter, or this is what you’ll get.

Your ex-boyfriend’s blue eyes started to flicker at various things, and you knew what he was doing. He was thinking. It was the face he made while grading poorly-written student essays, or figuring out the best way to apologize to you after showing up an hour past the date-night reservations you made, seeing you stand outside of a fancy restaurant, having eaten without him, a book in hand because you knew he’d screw this up. You were all alone.

All of the guards are distracted right now. I could sneak her in. No . . . if she gets caught, they’ll shoot her. Not to mention she could get trampled just from trying to make it to the front . . . shit.

But where would we go? See if we can find a car and avoid that mess of a highway? Pray the next town over wasn’t somehow hit with whatever the hell ours was hit with? What the hell is going on? No one knows, not really.

Large, skeptical hands turned you around and started to guide you out of the chaotic crowd. It wasn’t easy. Satoru used his height to his advantage, but even he nearly stumbled and fell over more times than he could count.

Your ribs ached from elbows unintentionally slamming into them. The thumping in your head? Well, that was for a number of reasons. Getting hit, being thirsty, and coming to terms with the reality of the situation: there was nowhere for you to go.

—

“I’m just saying. I haven’t seen any dead people. Are we sure this isn’t one big social experiment?” Your words were soft, and without amusement.

Satoru might not have remembered what kind of flowers you preferred, but he recognized the tones of your voice, and you weren’t speaking out of disbelief, rolling your eyes as you chalked it all up to a conspiracy theory, but out of desperate hope.

The smoldering flames of the dying fire that sat between you and Satoru illuminated that very hope in your eyes as you continued to speak.

“J-Just think about it. We all saw the news go on and on about this disease. Next thing we know, everyone in our town is panicking and fleeing, but . . . I just think that for all this outrage, I’d have seen a dead person come back to life and start eating people by now with my own eyes.”

“I have.”

It seemed as if the darkness of the night that surrounded you both, so unsheltered among the side of the open road, had grown all the more dark. Over a day had passed since you both tried to enter the madhouse- no, shelter. It was a shelter.

The neighboring town was still as clean and polished as it had been a week ago, when Satoru strolled down the people-filled streets in his car on the way to his favorite dessert shop.

The only difference was that, now, the only souls that seemed to linger around were his and yours. Not even the souls of the dead that had started to rise, apparently.

Satoru summed up that bittersweet luck to the fact that this town more than likely evacuated before yours did. All of its citizens were, perhaps, the ones who crowded the refugee camp, so much so that the people of your town weren’t allowed entry.

And you had a point.

If it wasn’t for the fact that, before Satoru arrived on your doorstep several days ago, he saw what he saw, he might have found truth in your accusation.

“Who turned? Was it your parents? A friend?”

“A student,” he mumbled.

“Oh.”

Satoru thought that little hum of yours marked the end of the conversation, and the sounds of crackling wood filled the silence for a moment. Then, you continued to ask, “What happened?”

His jaw clenched.

Why would you ask me that? He thought.

“It’s not really a subject for polite conversation,” Satoru said with a seriousness that was quite unusual. Even during past arguments when you begged and prayed and pleaded for him to listen, listen, and listen. To wipe that smug smirk off of his face and fucking listen, never before had he seemed so cold. All the light left his eyes, as if he were the one who died, and not his student.

“All you need to know is that it’s real, just as dangerous as they say, and . . . I don’t think . . .” he paused, as if to choose his next words carefully. “I think that, come sunrise, we should prioritize finding weapons just as much as food and water. It might even be more important.”

“What? No way. Weapons are important, but it’s been days since the so-called outbreak, I haven’t seen one, so . . . maybe they aren’t all that common. We might have a better chance of coming across a wild bear, so I think the knife I grabbed from my kitchen will be just fine. Food first.”

“Your dull knives could barely even chop through an onion. If that’s all the protection we have, we’re as good as dead.”

“Okay, since you’re an expert on apocalypses," you yawned, lying down on the cold, hard patch of grass beside the road, “why didn’t you think to grab any weapons before grabbing your ex?”

“I’m a high school teacher, not part of the military. What weapons did you think I would’ve had?”

“That old baseball bat in your garage, your kitchen knives which, apparently, are oh so sharp and cool, um . . . a leg off of your dining room table, anything. But, you were too focused on being a hero, hm?”

“Alright, I get it.” Satoru rolled up the sleeves of his dirty, unbuttoned blue shirt. “You wish I left you behind, you don’t want anything to do with me, blah blah blah-”

“See? You’re a grown man saying blah blah blah, dismissing my feelings, and you wonder why I’d rather take my chances on my own.”

“You know, I didn’t drag you out of your house and force you into my car. You came out of your own free will.”

You frowned. “Well, I’m not an idiot, am I? I’m forever pissed at you, but I’m not stupid enough to turn down a ride out of a town falling apart. I thought that once we found a safe place, it would be safe enough for us to split up, but that didn’t work out, sooo here I am, still stuck with you until we do find a safe place and I can say goodbye to you forever, because, like I said, I’m not an idiot.”

It was silent for a moment. You wanted to break eye contact with him. Let your words reign true, that was it, that was that.

But you could only stare at the sadness suddenly possessing his dirty face. The corner of his lips pointed downward. His eyes glistened as if tears would fall from them with the simplest blink. “You hate me that much?” He whispered. “Were you that miserable with me?”

“I wasn’t miserable with you, I was miserable without you. You were never there when I needed you.”

“I’m here now.”

“I don’t need or want you now.”

“Yes, you do.” Satoru darted his gaze down to the dying flames. “You just admitted that you need me until you find a safe place. You’re using me, and I’m just gonna let you, ‘cause I know if I don’t, you’ll die.”

“You think I’d die without you? The high school teacher who couldn’t even remember to call me back, show up for dates, or that it was my birthday until late at night when you finally would piece together why I’d been rolling my eyes at you all day long? Please. Being with you for now is better than being alone, but I’d do just fine without you. Always have.”

You rolled over then, but the conversation wasn’t quite finished. Satoru’s voice that sounded from behind you took on a tone so dark, so low — it was almost frightening.

“You really don’t get it. Guess it’s ‘cause you haven’t seen it before, yeah? People are getting sick, slowly dying, slowly losing every part of themselves, but not all at once. They come back from the dead and can still kinda piece together who they are at first, but all of that gets overshadowed by this desire to eat people. I went to check on my student who hadn’t been to school for a while. Our families are close and whatnot, so I was worried about him. He was sick. Everyone thought it was the flu. But when I showed up, he was sitting at his desk, dead. Chest wasn’t moving. He was just . . . dead. And you know how good of a student he was? Even though he was sick, he was still trying to finish his essay. I saw the stupid pieces of paper underneath his head. He, uh, he was dead, but, after a while, we saw him start to move. I thought that, maybe, his body was just naturally trying to fall out of the chair, ya know? Oh, was I wrong. He stood up. His eyes opened, he turned around, and he came straight for me. I had to . . . anyway, after, I thought it was weird that, even though his parents and sister were closer, he came straight for me. Then, I looked down, and I saw that his essay was in his hands. He might have been trying to eat me, but I think . . . I think in Megumi’s mind, he thought he was just giving his teacher his essay.” Satoru saw your body stiffen as he recounted his tale. His misery. “Point is, it took all of my strength, his step-mom’s, and his dad’s, to get him off of me, and he had been freshly turned for not even thirty seconds. I can’t imagine the strength and bloodlust of one that’s been turned longer. So, for you to say you don’t need or want me because of relationship drama that no longer matters in the face of all this goddamn bullshit is ridiculous.”

You wanted to move your body, as the hard ground you tried to imagine was your warm bed had started to make your bone ache terribly, but despite the warm weather, it felt as though your limbs were frozen. His words, paralyzing.

“You treated me like shit when all I tried to do was love you. What happens when I’m the one slowing you down? What happens if we’re low on food and there isn’t enough for both of us? You keep saying it doesn’t matter anymore, but you expect me to believe the man who always forgot about me will have my back now?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to bed.”

Despite your words, you rose from the ground, messy boots scraping against the rocky grass as you started to walk away.

“Woah, woah, where are you going?” Satoru hopped up.

“Just further down the road. I think you and I could benefit from a little distance,” you said, stepping away from him.

He reached out to grab your wrist. “Now you’re just being stupid-”

“Oh, fuck off, Satoru! I’m an adult, I can do what I want!” The explosion of anger scared you more than it scared him. The rise of every bit of heartbreak you still hadn’t yet healed from had bubbled to the surface, and you snatched your wrist away from him as if his touch burned your skin. “I bet you’re happy about this situation because you have a chance to force me back into your life and treat me like your little fucking pet again, but you know what? Here.” You reached for your bags. By now, your supplies and his supplies had become one, mixed together in either bag, because, well, you were together, after all. But you started to toss everything that he claimed as his out of your backpack. “Take your stale crackers, your fucking clothes, your stupid photo album, just take it all back. I’m done.”

You slung your bag over your shoulder, not bothering to close it.

He tried to call your name, tried to grab ahold of you, but you wouldn’t have it. And he couldn’t force you to stay put, could he? You were no longer his.

Satoru stared at the fire well into the night, long enough for a reasonable amount of time to pass in which you’d hopefully cool off.

It was no different than sitting on the couch, waiting until you unlocked the bedroom door after one of his great, big, fuck-ups.

He stood and started walking. It was quite dark beyond the small fire he created. The only other light that guided his path shone down upon him from the full moon, but it was barely enough.

He didn’t expect you to come back to his spot. You said you were going to sleep. But he couldn’t even blink properly out of the pure anxiety crawling up his throat over not knowing your whereabouts.

I’m just gonna check on her, get yelled at probably, then I’ll go back to my spot, he thought.

But with every step he took in the direction you stomped off in, he only saw trees. The road. Grass. The moon. The stars.

Never you.

He called your name quite a few times, but nothing came of it. Only chirping crickets answered him.

—

Walking was a great way to work through one’s stress, so they say. That was how you found yourself entering the abandoned, picturesque town in the dead of night, around two or three miles up the road.

You couldn’t remember entering an abandoned library. Perhaps, with the cloud of anger hanging over you, you no longer thought about the state of the world. You only knew a library or bookstore was often your source of comfort during dark moments, and much to your surprise, the doors to this one opened with one tug of your arm.

There was an awkward maneuver of slinging your bag around and digging through it to fetch your flashlight — the moon and stars no longer able to service you, not in here — but you got it, flicked it on, and there it was.

A countless amount of dusty novels that were left behind by their townsfolk in search of food or medicine. You grabbed one without bothering to check for the author or an eye-catching synopsis. Anything would do. Absolutely anything.

The carpeted floor seemed cozy enough. Warm enough. You sat down nearest one of the bookcases, shone your flashlight upon the inked words, and started to read.

Half an hour had passed before you were awakened by the sounds of groans and growls. You dozed off while reading. Waking up in a rather disorienting state with complete blackness surrounding you made you forget what kind of noises you heard. You only remembered that you heard something.

“‘Toru?” You called out softly.

Some noises sounded human. As in, the poor soul making those noises hadn’t yet been too far gone. But some had. Some were no longer capable of making noises that resembled the person they once were. But in truth, as you grabbed your flashlight and shone it forward, the small herd of people — no, these weren’t people — they were monsters. Animals. Dead. Hungry. Able to rip you apart limb from limb, and they made their way into the library through the door you forgot to shut behind you, and started to approach you.

“Oh my god,” you cried, tossing your trembling hand over your mouth.

You started to scramble to your feet. No time to search for that dull kitchen knife.

“Run!”

The shout belonged to Satoru. You knew it. But you couldn’t pinpoint his location, not daring to snatch your flashlight away from the ungodly things headed right for you.

Going through the entrance was impossible — that was their way in.

Your only hope was for another exit — it was a public building. There had to be another.

With your unwelcomed company on your tail, you tried to find a door, an exit sign, anything, but you could barely breathe. Barely think.

Being afraid was an understatement.

“Don’t stop moving!”

The shout came from above you, towards the right. You saw him.

The library building itself was rather beautiful, as it had two floors, the second with an all-around balcony that let one browse for more books, while also peering over onto the first floor. That was where Satoru was. Watching the entire thing from above.

He tried tossing books, dying plants — even a reading chair — over the balcony to draw them away from you, and it worked for some, but not all. Not most.

He would have kept going, but then, you shouted, amidst your aimless running, “they’re behind you!”

Those words would have, should have, sent a wave of panic through him, making his knees want to buckle, create the urge to throw up his insides, or drain the color from his skin. And while those things happened, it wasn’t because you alerted him to his own company on the second floor, but it was because the moonlight shining through the windows of the library allowed him to see the herd start to back you into a corner.

“No.” The cry slipped out from between his quivering lips.

You cried his name. Not his full name, but the nickname you adored whenever you felt needy or frightened. He thought it was because of your impending doom, but in truth, it was because he was about to meet a similar fate.

He felt hands grace the back of his shirt, but there were too many around him, just as there were too many around you.

Just too many.

You watched as Satoru vanished into the herd grabbing at his clothes and limbs, unable to fight them off.

And he watched as your figure vanished, and the other herd piled on top of you. And they started to feast.

— FOUR YEARS LATER —

The world no longer resembled the civilization or society it once knew. Overgrown grass and vines had started to climb most buildings, and said buildings were all trashed, abandoned, and picked apart by desperate survivors.

But the people — the last of those who hadn’t been eaten or turned — they were worse. Empty shells of the person they used to be before the world went to shit.

That was the reason why you treated every stranger like an enemy. As far as you were concerned, they were.

The woods were peaceful today. Leaves were changing colors, representing the arrival of the fall season. The thought of trying to survive another winter sent a shiver up your spine, but you couldn’t worry about that right now.

Only on how to make it to tomorrow.

If my traps didn’t catch anything, that’ll mark day three of going to sleep hungry, you thought. Nothing new, I suppose.

Suddenly, you heard a leaf crunch.

You drew your gun instantly, gripping the small weapon with both hands.

A figure moved past one of the trees, catching your eye, and they were much too fast to be one of those damned monsters. It was a human.

He appeared in front of you — or rather, in front of the barrel of your gun — in an instant, halting his footsteps, startled, as if he hadn’t expected to run into anything or anyone out here in the woods, as if the world was still a somewhat safe place.

“Drop it.” You said lowly to the unfamiliar man, eyeing the knife in his right hand.

“There’s no way-”

“I said to fucking drop it!” You cut him off, stepping closer. One wrong move, and you’d fire a bullet in his head.

“Okay, okay.” The man tossed the knife to the ground, but he never snatched his eyes away from you. And they weren’t necessarily filled with fear, but rather, shock. “It’s me, Satoru. Don’t you-”

“Turn around.”

“Please, you gotta recognize-”

“Turn around.” You grabbed him, turning him around yourself. And he let you. Despite the advantage he had in strength and height, he didn’t fight. You chalked it up to you being armed. “Shut up and don’t move,” you ordered.

You gave him a quick, one-handed pat down before removing the bag he carried.

You cautiously stepped away from him, his back still turned, and you opened it, dumping out the nonsensical items that fell onto the orange leaves and dirt.

He has nothing of value, you thought, flipping through his belongings. What would I kill and rob him for? A book and a photo album?

Suddenly, the man spoke.

And it was a call of your name.

Your eyes widened, and you rose to your feet to see him turning around, his hands in the air.

You were quick to press the gun against his chest.

He took a step back. “Easy, easy-”

“How the hell do you know my name?”

Sadness as clear as day was evident in his eyes. His ears and cheeks had gone red. Whatever was upsetting him had wrecked him so much so, he looked like a kid, or a kicked puppy. “Because it’s me. Satoru Gojo. We dated years ago, remember? I got you out of your hometown when the outbreak started four years ago. We got separated, and I thought . . . I can’t believe you’re alive. Please, baby, you gotta believe me. You gotta recognize me,” a tear rolled down his cheek, not a result of being close to death, but from being forgotten. He nodded at the book of photos on the ground. “Look through the photo album.”

You had seen your fair share of crazy, unstable individuals, but he seemed somewhat normal. His words were unsettling, as if they rattled some buried truth within your core, creating butterflies or nausea — you couldn’t tell the difference — in your stomach.

So you did as he instructed.

You crouched down, gun still in hand, and flipped it open.

There were pictures of the man with people who looked like him. People who didn’t. And someone who looked like you. She had your features, but she was clean. Grinning. Her eyes hadn’t yet grown dark. You, before it happened.

There were more photographs, and every single one forced a memory into your head at an unforgivable pace. Birthdays. Car rides. Pictures he took of you without your knowledge.

You laughed sadly, shaking your head. “I, um . . . I don’t rule out any weird shit nowadays, but if I remember correctly, the man in these pictures got eaten alive. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“No, I didn’t die. I’m here,” Satoru approached you. “There was a-a door behind me. I was able to open it, go down some stairs, and leave. I came around the building, but you were gone. All I saw was them dining on someone and your shoe, all covered in blood and, I heard you call me ‘Toru, which you only do when you’re scared. How the hell are you alive? How?”

You rose to your feet. “Shoe fell off. Dead guy on the floor behind me. Just tossed him at them and ran for it. No big deal.” You started to walk away. “Bye.”

“Wait, what?” Satoru grabbed his backpack and tossed his dumped belongings inside before he jogged in front of you, making you halt your steps. “You’re leaving? I thought you were dead for years, and you thought the same thing about me. We can’t just go our separate ways now, c’mon.”

“Just because we knew each other once doesn’t mean we still do.” You clenched your gun as some sort of warning. “So get out of my sight before I change my mind about letting you live.”

“Please, baby-”

“Don’t call me that. My memory’s working just fine now. I didn’t want anything to do with you then, and that same logic applies. You’re traveling out here with no food or water. Your clothes aren’t torn to shreds. T-shirt looks pretty clean. Your hair looks like someone trimmed it up for you recently. I’m willing to bet you found a nice group of people to settle down somewhere with, and you haven’t known true struggle since this entire thing started.” Your hands started to tremble. There was anger glistening in your eyes, so intense, he didn’t recognize it as you continued to speak. “And you think . . . you think I’m going to follow you anywhere? No. I’ve been tricked like this a coupla times, Satoru. Too many people who were up to something inhumane have done and tried to do the same fucking thing you’re doing now, and I’m not falling for it again. Now leave. I’m keeping this gun pointed in your direction until you’re so far away, I start to forget about you again.”

“I would never, ever hurt you. I’m begging you to believe me.”

“Seems like you’re begging for death to me-”

There was another leaf crunch. Multiple.

I knew it, you thought. This was a setup. His people are here.

You saw the figures moving in the distance. And in an instant, you felt like that girl from three years ago, one who was all lost, alone, cold, hungry, and trusted the wrong group who approached her.

But not again.

You pushed Satoru down, only able to do so because he too had turned to inspect the noise, and once he hit the ground, you ran into the ever-changing trees.

Your footsteps only came to a halt when you heard those familiar groans and growls.

It wasn’t his group.

Guilt started to swirl around in your stomach, and you turned, but not to help. To watch, unsure of what you were hoping the outcome would be.

Satoru managed to get to his feet and grab his knife.

With great skill, with great, unwanted practice, he stabbed the hungry, dead bodies circling him in their skulls. He’d yank it out, blood would spew, and he’d do it again, and again, all as if it was a simply as washing dishes, blood soaking his clothes instead of soapy water.

Once the last one hit the ground, you turned away, only to come face to face with one that wasn’t among the crowd Satoru slaughtered.

You killed it rather easily with the knife you kept tucked in your belt loop.

But, by then, Satoru was within your line of sight, unsmiling.

His blood-covered chest heaved from exhaustion. But you couldn’t help but assume anger was also a reason.

He took a step in your direction. His blue, wide eyes locked with yours.

Suddenly, he charged.

You thought he was coming for you.

He was fast, fast enough to let you know that if he wanted to hurt you, he truly could have, so long as you didn’t have your gun. What a horrifying realization.

But when you felt a rough hand grace your shoulder from behind, you realized just as Satoru stuck his knife in the head of another zombie what his true intentions were: saving your life.

There was no time for thanks or for arguments, as more of them started to appear, ruining the atmosphere of the woods you once found peaceful.

You and Satoru ran alongside one another, making your way into the nearest town.

—

Perhaps it was guilt. Perhaps it was the curiosity of wanting to know the person whom you couldn’t remember until today.

But you hadn’t yet told Satoru to leave your side well after you escaped the herd, and as you both broke into an abandoned retail store for shelter, you were the one to speak first.

“I thought those were people. Your people. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said simply, moving in through the front door behind you.

“I also didn’t consider helping you once I realized they weren’t,” you shone your flashlight over the broken candles and glass. “I was fine with letting you die.”

“It’s okay.”

“But you came back to save me.”

“That’s what happens when you’re still the person I love most in the entire world, I take it.”

His words made you turn around, shining the harsh light in his face, but he continued, even with a little smile upon his blood-covered face. “And I’m the person you hate the most, still.”

You put your backpack on the ground nearest a shelf of scented lotions. “It’s getting late. We can move some of these display tables and shelves and block the door, spend the night here, and go our separate ways in the morning.”

“Where are you headed?” He asked, starting to clear off one of the tables.

You didn’t answer. You only stared at him with great suspicion.

“Hey, I’m only asking because you were wrong about me not knowing what it’s really like out here, but you were right about me being with a group. I found some old coworkers and students of mine. We lost a lot of people, but some of us are still holding on, tough bastards. You might even recognize some of them from back home, you know. And, well, we don’t have an all-you-can-eat buffet going, but we do have food and clean water. Clothes too. Soap.”

You nodded in the direction of the singular soap bar left behind on one of the shelves. “And so does this place.”

“You need a group-”

“No!” You suddenly shouted, making Satoru halt his movements all at once. “Never again. People are worse than those fucking monsters. Now stop begging me, or else I’ll shoot you. I’ll shoot you and think nothing of it, swear I will.”

Satoru didn’t say another word after that. He only helped you block the doors, watched you go through the picked-over store merchandise, and wondered what the hell happened to his ex-girlfriend. But he’d never ask.

—

The festering tension had died down after you both cleaned your bodies with the very little water you could allot for bathing, and the bar of soap you found.

However, today felt like Christmas. Because, underneath the counter that formerly served as a register, there was a protein bar. You imagined that it belonged to an employee who liked to sneak snacks when their managers weren’t looking, but it didn’t matter. It was here.

Old and expired, but better than nothing.

You unwrapped the stale, nutty bar, and split it in half, handing some to Satoru.

“I’m all good here,” he shook his head.

“So confident you’ll make it back to your group safely that you’ll pass up on food now? You’re just as stupid as you were when we got separated.”

“Why would I take away food from someone who doesn’t know where their next meal will come from?” Satoru looked at you. “I mean, I know where mine is. Next meal, next bath, we even have mattresses . . .”

“What did I just say?”

“Nah ah, no shooting.” Satoru waved his finger at you, grinning. “You brought it up this time, baby.”

“It amazes me that you’re still alive,” you rolled your eyes, biting into your dinner.

“Shocks me too,” Satoru’s face took on a somber expression you could barely make out within the darkness. “Especially after I thought I lost you for good. I was kinda looking for ways to die, you know? I’m one lucky fool.”

“Why do you say things like that?”

“Huh?”

“Losing me couldn’t have impacted your life that much.” You took another bite, your last one before saving the rest for later. “I don’t understand you. If I was . . . if I am . . . the person you love most, why’d you treat me that way? Why did the world have to end for you to finally see me?”

Satoru sighed, but not out of annoyance. “I guess I took advantage of having you in my life. I thought that I could be an idiot, and you’d stay. I was one of those people who thought that the only bad things someone could do in a relationship was cheat or hit their partner, and so I figured, since I wasn’t doing any of those things and just missed a few dinners and anniversaries, then you and I were fine. See? A goddamn fool. But I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You shrugged.

“Yes, it does. I was wrong to tell you it didn’t matter back then. And you’re wrong to say it doesn’t matter now, ‘cause it does. Yeah, we’re living in hell, but I was putting you through hell long before now, and I didn’t realize it. I’m going to risk my life and say this one last time, but I need you to come back to my camp with me. I can’t just walk away from you come sunrise.”

“No.”

“Then let me come with you.”

You widened your tired eyes. “Are you crazy?”

“Yes. So, whaddya say?” He smiled.

“I won’t let you give up on something as rare and as precious as your little safe place for me.”

“Fineee,” Satoru shifted his position, hitting his backpack as if fluffing a pillow before lying down on it. “Then I guess you’ll just have to kill me. I mean, I’m just gonna follow you no matter where you go, I swear I am, so . . .”

“Just . . .” you paused. “Just shut up and go to bed.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The drastic drop in temperature throughout the night was the first sign of an approaching winter. Finding warmer clothes was on your eventual to-do list, but damn it, as you shivered, you couldn’t help but wish you had prioritized it.

What the hell is the matter with me? I’ve survived too long to act like an idiot now. I blame Satoru, you thought as you started to rise, thinking that even lighting a few of the abandoned candles might have offered a little bit of warmth, when suddenly, you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist.

Satoru pulled you close until your back hit his chest.

Only when he felt your body stiffen did he realize — did he remember — holding you close wasn’t something he was allowed to do. Not anymore.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I saw you shivering and-” Satoru whispered from behind you. “Nothing but instinct. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Your response was surprising. He expected another death threat. But he didn’t question it. Instead, he stroked the back of your cold hands with his warmer ones.

It wasn’t long before he heard a couple of sniffles rather than snores.

“Are you crying?” He asked softly.

“No,” you sniffled. “Shut up.”

“What’s wrong? Talk to me.” What a stupid question. Most people cried every day, if they lived to see another day.

“I just haven’t been held in years. I don’t remember the last time I even hugged someone.”You snuggled closer against him, and Satoru’s heart started to melt. “It’s no big deal. Just go to sleep.”

— TWO DAYS LATER —

He meant what he said. Satoru Gojo was on your heel like a lost puppy. And though your journey was a far cry from the luxury he was used to — access to basic necessities in truth, but a luxury four years into the end of the world — he never stopped grinning. Never complained. He bore it all with a smile: the hunger, the dirt, the exhausting walks, running for his life, killing, killing, killing.

“I changed my mind.”

Your words broke a comfortable silence, one that accompanied the gorgeous view of the autumn trees from the cliffside hill you both sat upon, nearest the fire he roasted a piece of fish above. It was so beautiful, watching the sunset. Breath-taking. So much so, Satoru hadn’t fully grasped your words until you spoke again, claiming the spot next to him.

“I’ll go back to your camp with you.”

“Really?” Satoru tried to hide the excitement and relief he felt, but it was impossible. He was nearly jumping out of his boots.

“I feel guilty,” you shrugged, then eyed his state. His messy hair, dirty clothes, ripped pants — which would have been fine had the world been normal and fashion trends mattered, but out here, when one needed all the warmth they could get, ripped clothing was a disaster waiting to happen. “It’s been two days, and you’re already a mess, Satoru. If I can’t get you to give up on sticking with me, then, camp it is. I can’t stand feeling like I’m killing you slowly.”

“Can’t stand it, hm?” He grinned, pleased with the fact that wasn’t always so obvious: you cared about him. “I’m glad you changed your mind, but if I die out here, it’s on me, not you.”

You gave a hum in response. You couldn’t help but fidget with your fingers. After all, the idea of being in another camp with other people frightened you more than anything else nowadays. But the idea of having access to things you once took for granted? The idea of, maybe, just maybe, being able to talk to someone or have a meal that was somewhat decently sized — the idea of being around him? With him?

You couldn’t help but stare at him for a while. He looked up, catching your gaze, though you tried to slickly flicker your eyes down at the fish.

“How many fish were you able to catch?” You asked.

He smiled, deciding not to comment on your lingering stare. But, oh, how he wished it lasted longer. “Just one for now. I’ll give you the bigger half.”

“No, split it evenly.”

“You got it.” Satoru pulled the cooked fish out of the fire. With a cleaned knife, he split it, but the portions were drastically uneven.

He gave you a piece of fish so big, you had to wonder, for a moment, if he had bothered to cut it at all.

“Here you go, your half of the fish,” he said.

“This looks like a bit more than half,” you held it up, inspecting the hot meat with a little smile.

“Huh? I can’t hear you.” Satoru hid his tiny portion in his big hands as he moved it to the side of a log, as if to prevent you from comparing, but then, he noticed something. Something as rare as a shooting star. “Was that a smile? Did I just see you smile?”

You tried to wipe the grin off your face and turn away from him.

“Nuh uh, don’t turn away, I wanna see it again.”

“Absolutely not.” You placed the fish down on the log in front of you. You couldn’t eat just this second, not when butterflies were swirling around in your stomach.

You started to fidget with your hands again. God, this was silly. You felt like a giggly schoolgirl rather than a survivor of the apocalypse, much like you once did when you first met all those years ago, when he was the guy at the bookstore purchasing a few copies of the mandatory novels his students had to read for those who were less fortunate and couldn’t get access to them as easily. He wasn’t allowed to do that. Hell, he wasn’t even an English teacher, but he did it anyway.

Then he saw you. Purchased the three novels in your hand for you all the while wondering if he should take up the part-time job as a bartender he had been eyeing lately, all to keep up with the book shopping habit of the girl he had just learned the name of. That day, he spoke to you in ways that had you acting similarly to how you did now. A lovesick fool.

Suddenly, you felt fingers press against your waist. A couple of days ago, you would have sliced the hand of anyone who dared to touch you that way, but around him, you could relax. You could breathe, and just be.

“Satoru!” You whisper-shouted, choking back the urge to giggle as you flinched.

“You’re still ticklish?” He did it again, and there it was. The sound that was a foreign concept for anyone nowadays. A laugh.

“Yes!” You giggled. “It’s not something that just goes away!”

He looked for any signs that you wanted him to stop, but when he saw that your eyes were practically begging him to keep going, as if the windows to your soul showcased what you so desperately needed — affection, a good laugh, some sort of happiness — he gently, yet swiftly, got you onto your back, practically straddling you as he continued to tickle your sides.

“Oh, I-I’m getting you back for this,” you gasped for breath, laughing, playfully trying to swat his hands away, but not really putting in any effort. “Just you wait!”

What came next was a result of his love and affection for you, a result of seeing you laugh and smile and him thinking, she’s so beautiful.

Satoru leaned over and kissed your cheek.

You froze. He froze.

“Shit, I’m sorry. It was, um . . . instinct again,” he blushed. He was starting to move away from you, but you suddenly grabbed hold of his wrist.

“Wait, it’s fine,” you were unable to look him in the eye as you said, “you can do it again.”

Soft lips pressed against your skin yet again, lingering, wanting more.

He moved his lips a little closer to your jaw.

“Can I kiss you here as well?” He whispered with an eagerness he tried to hide, but failed to.

“Yes.”

“Where all can I kiss you?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere.”

His other hand cupped the side of your head. You found yourself leaning into his palm, all the while his lips trailed kisses along the side of your neck.

“Satoru, don’t tease me. It’s been too long.”

“I won’t baby, promise.”

—

For the first time in years, your skin knew something other than bruises. Hickeys decorated it as if Satoru wanted to mark you as his.

He pulled your naked frame closer to the fire for warmth, used his bag as a cushion for your head, and one hand gripped your ass in a way that made every thrust feel that much deeper, and his other held you against him, as if your body touching the floor of the woods was a sin.

His thick cock pumped in and out of you with a familiar rhythm he remembered you once loving. Pretty moans slipped from between your lips in such a way that he almost hated the idea of kissing you, but he dreaded the idea of not doing so even more. It took you by surprise — his mouth melting against yours, shutting you up in the best possible way, but he too moaned when your wet tongues started to swirl around each other.

“Can’t hold it long,” he whispered into your mouth, though the warning wasn’t needed, as the way his hips bucked with loosening restraint was a telltale sign that he was about to cum. And if you remembered one thing about Satoru Gojo, it was that he liked to make a mess, pump you full over and over again until he was certain your warm hole had milked him dry.

He gave another thrust, one that had you both seeing stars, and not the ones that glistened in the sky behind his messy hair, but the ones that came when he angled his cock just right.

“Mmm, right there, oh god,” he moaned, pulling his hips back before driving his cock in again. “You like it too, huh?”

His hand released your ass, and instead, gripped the surrounding grass as if the ground itself could ground him.

“Fuck,” he swore, and quickened his pace. “Cum for me, baby.”

“Please, please, Satoru.”

You begged for something, you didn’t know what exactly, but it wasn’t long before a rather powerful orgasm washed over you. Your toes curled, sweat dripped across your forehead, and that explosion of pleasure knocked every bit of sense out of you as your nails scratched up his muscular back.

He didn’t stop, though. Your thrashing frame was only held against him tighter by his other arm. Chest to chest. All you could feel was him. Him, him, him. And as you came, he returned his lips to yours, claiming your mouth with his own, swallowing your moans, all while fucking you through your orgasm.

His own came next. But first, he pressed you against the ground. He then hooked his hands underneath your knees, raising them, pumped and pumped and moaned and pumped some more, all until he finally fucked you and himself silly, so silly that he wasn’t certain he’d ever stop cumming. You felt too good.

No part of you ever had to wonder if Satoru only wanted sex. Not when, afterwards, he held you close, exchanging soft, sweet kisses with you as if you two were a happy couple warm in a bed.

“No, I’m serious,” Satoru laughed softly. “I am-I was a teacher, but I can’t tell the difference between a crocodile and an alligator. I mean, who cares when you should be running away from it anyway?”

“You can tell by, um, their snouts, I think. Oh, did you know moose are way bigger than most people think they are?”

“I did, yeah. I also heard there’s this huge debate over whether or not dinosaurs are bigger or smaller than the media portrays ‘em to be.”

“Have you heard the theory about dinosaurs having feathers?”

“I remember some students of mine talking about that. Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Your mindless, simple chatter went on, on, and on, well into the night when you both fell asleep in each other's arms, safe.

—

Satoru awakened to the rising sun, fading smoke from a long-gone fire, forgotten, cooked fish, and you, frowning down at him.

“Someone frowning the morning after isn’t a good sign,” he said, sitting up, yawning. “And here I remember someone cumming all over-”

“Aht, aht, aht. Enough.” You coughed. I can’t believe that’s your first sentence as soon as you wake up. But I’m frowning because it just hit me that you didn’t pull out. I’m imagining the worst-case scenario.”

Satoru rose to his feet, stretching his sore limbs. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss his mattress. He could only hope his friends didn’t give it away, thinking he was dead and long gone — not that he’d blame them.

“At the camp, we have a doctor there, goes by Shoko. I’m sure she could help with all kinds of scenarios,” Satoru’s face was blank, unrevealing to what scenarios he could have been imagining.

You scratched the side of your head. “What else do you guys have?”

“Books.” Satoru, who reached into his backpack and waved the red, thick novel at you, continued, “More than this one you’ve been eyeing.”

“You’re joking.” Your eyes widened a bit.

“No joke, baby. We’ve got everything from classics to shitty romantasy.” He put the book back in his bag, making a mental note to hand it to you later on once you both could settle down once again. But right now, you had to keep moving. “But, uh, I don’t think anyone’s been breaking into any libraries since this all started, ‘cept you, of course. Why don’t you have any?”

You stood, grabbing your belongings, including the uneaten fish. “I’m always on the move with limited space. The only things I can afford to carry are what I need to survive. Plus, the last book I had fell into a river. I didn’t get to finish-” you cleared your throat. “To finish-”

False alarm. There wasn’t a little something caught in your throat. It was a full on coughing fit.

“Here, drink some water,” Satoru hurriedly reached into his bag for his bottle. “Sit down.”

It was hard to hear him over your own coughs. But he sounded calm. Probably because you both instantly ran over every scenario in your head that could result in such a coughing spell from you, but as far as you both could remember, you hadn’t been bitten. You weren’t infected. You were healthy.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m fine,” you said, shaking your head at his offer of water. “People cough sometimes. Let’s keep moving.”

—

There came a point during your trek through the ruins of a city with skyscraper buildings in which Satoru was ahead of you.

“So, about the book in my backpack, I’ll give it to you, but, in exchange, I want you to call me ‘Toru at least ten times a day. You only do it when you’re scared, but I wanna hear it more often. How does that sound?” He said with a grin.

But when his annoying behavior wasn’t met with a response, his smile faded.

He turned around to face you, and that’s when he saw it. The way your limbs trembled. The way your chest heaved.

“Baby?” He called out with great worry.

You suddenly collapsed.

Your body hit the ground hard, much too fast for him to catch you. He rushed to your side, falling to his knees and ignoring the ache such a move shot through his legs.

“Baby, wake up. Come on, wake up.” He shook your shoulder.

Just as his hand touched your cheek, your eyes snapped open.

“Wh-what . . .”

Your words were nonsensical. You looked around, rather startled, and felt Satoru press his hand against your forehead.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re burning up.” He sat you up, but the movement made you flinch. Satoru figured that, perhaps, it was because of your fall. Until your hand gripped your shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“There’s an ache in my shoulder.”

If something was wrong, I would’ve seen it last night, right? Satoru thought as he slowly removed your clothes, just enough to see you from behind. I would’ve seen it last night.

The back of your shoulder was exposed to him.

Or, rather, the big, festering wound was. It was red. Angry. Infected.

The same conditions were more commonly seen around bite marks, so much so, it was difficult to remember that scratches from those damned monsters were just as deadly. Having to slice off the hand of his pink-haired former student just to save his life, all because he had gotten bit just along his palm and he needed to act quickly to stop the infection from spreading sealed the memory of the symptoms into Satoru’s mind forever. And he was seeing it yet again.

But he couldn’t slice off this body part, not that it would help. You had been infected for too long, and he knew it, because as he stared at the scratch that, in itself, was barely visible to the naked eye, he remembered where it came from.

“The other day. After we reunited,” he whispered in shock. “There was one of ‘em behind you. I killed it, but it must’ve scratched your shoulder. I wasn’t fast enough. No, this can’t be happening. I just found you. I just found you. No . . . no, we can fix this.”

You started to tremble. “It’s just a scratch, maybe I’ll be fine if I just take some antibiotics or . . .” You shook your head at your own words. You knew that wasn’t how this worked. You laughed bitterly. “It’s just a scratch. I’m going to die . . . from a scratch. I’m gonna die-”

Satoru was in front of you in a flash. He cupped your face, though he was the one with tears streaming down his cheeks. “Look at me, baby. Shoko, that doctor I was telling you about, is brilliant. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. If we hurry, maybe we can get to her in time, and she can do something.”

It was wishful thinking. An idiotic mindset. You sniffled. “‘Toru, I don’t know.”

“We have to try, yeah?” Satoru helped you adjust your clothes and guided you to your feet. “Come on, let’s go. Can you stand up?”

—

You walked for a while until walking became difficult.

Satoru carried you for a while until even resting against his back became difficult.

It was night time, the woods as dark as ever, when you started coughing again. This time, blood came with it, spewing from between your lips and across Satoru’s shoulder, decorating his shirt in red specks.

The coughing was endless. He stopped walking, lowered you against a tree, and pulled out his water.

Your only responsibility was to drink as many sips as you could while he built a fire. You watched him do it, his brows pinched in dread and concentration. Perhaps, realization as well.

Satoru appeared in front of you again, able to see your face clearly now, and thus, your bloodshot eyes, dried, blood-covered lips, and sweaty skin.

“I don’t wanna die,” you whispered.

He could barely hear you. You didn't have enough energy to speak properly. He knew — he knew — even if Shoko could do something — and she couldn’t, or else Yuji Itadori would still have both hands, Nobara Kugisaki would still have an eye, and Kento Nanami would still be alive — you would never make it back to the camp.

He wasn’t certain if you’d make it through the night.

And the thought of that made him wish he was dead, because he couldn’t fucking stand it.

Satoru gently pulled you close, holding your trembling frame against his chest. He too was shaking. Kissing the top of your head, he said, “I’ll hold you the entire time. I promise.”

“But I’ll hurt you. I’ll-I’ll kill you,” you cried softly, soaking his shirt. “I don’t wanna turn into one of those things. Please don’t let me. Kill me before then.”

Suddenly, Satoru heard familiar groans and growls in the distance.

He leaned you back against the tree, eyeing the direction it came from as he pulled out his knife.

“Stay right here, I’ll be right back.”

“No,” you tried to reach for his shirt with the intent to tug on it and stop him, but you missed him entirely, swiping at the air instead. “I should handle it. I’m dead anyway. ‘Toru, please-”

You started to cough again. Blood spilled out onto your chin, and that was all the confirmation Satoru needed to know you weren’t strong enough — not that he’d let you do it to begin with.

He left to the heartbreaking sound of you weakly calling his name.

The last thing he wanted was to leave your side, but based on the noise, it was only one, and he’ll be damned if you were eaten alive whilst you were already dying. No. he’d make your death as peaceful as possible. Hold you the entire time. Stroke your skin and-

Satoru thrusted his knife into the head of a zombie. This one, though, was a big guy. It was just as tall as he was — well over six feet — but not only did it have the crazy strength that all of those dead creatures possessed, but he had over a hundred pounds on Satoru.

And Satoru’s horrid mental state and lack of concentration didn’t do him any favors. Thus, while he was able to kill it, he didn’t account for how close he was to the edge of a hill, nor that the zombie would fall forward onto him, and send him and itself rolling down the hill.

—

An explosion of pain made his limbs feel like they were on fire. It was a bad fall into what was seemingly a pit at the bottom of that damned hill he rolled down. His head ached, there was blood from him smacking his skull against the ground, but that wasn’t nearly as bad as the weight of that dead thing on top of him, crushing him, and putting pressure on his badly twisted ankle.

Getting out of this pit would have been hell even if he didn’t have the extra obstacles of being injured and trapped.

But he had to get out.

You needed him.

—

It took over an hour.

It was hell. Climbing, crawling, grunting in pain. But he made it to the top of the hill, and upon seeing the flickering flames from the fire he created to keep you warm, he ignored the pain shooting through his body, and half walked, half dragged himself back to you.

He saw the book first.

It was on the ground, flipped open. He almost smiled at the thought of you seeking it out and reading it as best as you could in your condition, as you had been eyeing it since your great reunion, but hadn’t yet asked him for it.

He stepped closer, and that was when he noticed that some of the pages were in fine condition, but once you seemingly made it to page twenty, the inked contents were ripped. Page after page. Nearly shredded. Each one more destroyed than the last.

He heard something rattle.

Satoru darted his eyes over to you. You were digging through his backpack, unaware of his approaching footsteps.

“ . . . ‘Toru,” you called out in a voice he didn’t recognize.

Suddenly, your trembling hands started to pull things out of his bag one by one. You grew more angry, more dissatisfied with every item that wasn’t the one you seeked, tossing things against the ground as you groaned angrily, until finally, you pulled out what you wanted.

His photo album.

He called your name softly, and you froze.

And when you turned to face him, he knew he lost you.

The light in your eyes was completely gone. You smiled at him, but not lovingly. Your blood-soaked teeth shined as you grinned with hunger, that same blood dripping, dripping, dripping from your chin, and just before he could break down and cry at the sight, you launched at him.

It was quite funny. Alive and somewhat well, you had forgotten all about him during the four years you thought he was dead. But in this condition, dead and bloodthirsty, part of you still remembered the man you currently tried to devour. Your dying self must have missed him terribly, coughing up blood as you knew you were going to turn into one of those horrid things, and there was no one by your side.

You died alone, waiting for him. Reading to keep yourself company.

Just as you once did while you waited outside of restaurants for him.

And now, you had been clenching that photo album. All because, even while dead, you wanted ‘Toru.

Tears streamed down his face as he pulled you between his legs, held your wrists with one large hand, then held your head, snapping jaw and all, against his chest.

He broke his promise to hold you earlier. But maybe, if he held you now . . .

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Satoru cried. He released your head for a moment, and you bit his hand, ripping his flesh, but it didn’t matter.

With his bleeding, infected hand, he felt around your hips for the gun within the holster of your pants.

You gave a mixed noise; it was inhuman, the groaning and growling all of those monsters made, but there was something else there. A cry of his name underneath it all.

As tears clouded his blue eyes, blurring his vision, Satoru pressed the gun against your head.

He couldn’t speak anymore. It was too much.

Therefore, he thought, I love you.

The bullet was fired through your skull. Your body went limp in his arms, blood drenching his clothes in such a disturbing way, it freed his mind of any doubts he might have had about his next move.

But there weren’t any, truth be told.

Don’t be scared, you won’t be alone, baby. I’m coming with you, he thought.

When he pressed the hot gun that burned his temple against the side of his forehead, he fired it, as he knew he wanted to die with you from the moment he realized your fate upon looking at your shoulder.

After all, he swore that he’d follow you anywhere, and the brain matter that spewed from his head just before his dead body collapsed on top of yours devastatingly proved it so.

what did you think? I’d love to know!

[delavegaaaaa]

Invasive Plant: would they let you lick Texas road house butter off it

18+ MDNI Just like the TikTok trend

Dick: He probably suggested the idea before you could. A gentleman in the roadhouse, a freak when his boners out.

Jason: and you paid the whole bill ?? He’s in heaven (again). So excited he’d probably forget and end up between your legs instead. At least the butter got used

Tim: he might choke while he’s eating, but he’d get the check before your ready with rolls an extra butter to go

Bruce: does he know what Texas Roadhouse is ? Probably not, but with when you look at him like that… I hope you’ve gotten rid of your gag reflex 🤍

[sshrubit]

𓆩❤︎𓆪 MDNI. 18+. college au. CHEATING? (talking stage). best friends. dirty talk. piv. creampie. raw. not proofread. might not even make sense. AAAAAA

suguru likes to reassure all the girls he has talked to that his girl best friend is someone who they shouldn’t view as a threat.

afterall, you are like that annoying friend that suguru has been glued to since high school. every interaction you have with him ever since high school is just pure platonic.

no one, not a single soul, would think there’s anything going on between you two anyways.

“heyyy, why are you calling?” suguru answered, clutching his phone on one hand.

the other? fingers digging in the flesh of your hips as he thrust inside your pussy.

you looked up at suguru whose unfazed—his rhythm never flails, phone in his ear as he watches his cock enter your wet cunt.

“hmm? hold on let me put you in speaker since i am doing something,” suguru said on the line, pressing something on his phone before settling the device on your lower abdomen. “hear me?”

“yeah, i can hear you—anyway, what i am saying is why did you stop reaching out to me?”

a woman’s voice.

you are familiar with that voice. a girl suguru had introduced once to you, one of his talking stages. the same girl who glared at you when suguru made you tag along.

well, she got the right to do so.

suguru picked up the pace a little, his palms settled on the back of your thighs—opening your legs much wider.

one of your hands flew on your mouth to cover the noise you are about to make. your back arched as you feel suguru’s hips snapped to yours.

“you’re the one who did it first.” suguru answered, tugging your hand away. he leaned over to your ear, “don’t stop it, let me hear you”

suguru placed a quick peck on your cheek and smiled before going back to that pace that he knows always makes you loud—as if he’s testing you.

“you know i only did that because you won’t cut your girl best friend off,” you heard the girl from the other line say. “that’s all i am asking for, geto”

“oh, yeah?” suguru replied as if he’s stopping a grin from spreading on his pretty face. “you know i can’t do that—i’ve been best friends with her for so long.”

his hand grabbed his phone, making you propped on your elbows. suguru placed the speaker of his phone near your sopping cunt as he fucks you faster and deeper, catching you off guard.

“ah—! sugu—” you moaned out loud, collapsing back to the sheets as your heads spin around from the way his cock punches your cervix.

you are sure that the girl can hear that wet, obscene sound of your pussy as suguru fucks his cock inside you.

but lucky for you, that woman on the other line is too busy ranting about how suguru shouldn’t have a girl best friend if he’s serious about her.

“yeah, yeah—” he said, “let's just talk after class tomorrow.”

suguru clicked the end call and threw his phone in bed. “so annoying.” he mumbled.

“calling and all that—interrupting me from fucking my girl best friend? hope she hears the sound of the best pussy”

your back arched, pussy clenching around his cock. “fuck—mm, sugu, ngh—”

“does she really think i’m letting you go?” suguru scoffed, hips snapping to yours. “fuck—why would i ever let go of a pussy this pretty and obedient?”

your legs locked around his hips, pulling him closer. “you’re gonna cum, angel? gonna cum on your best friend’s cock?”

you nodded frantically, nails raking on his back. “yesyesyes—”

“go on, cum on my cock—yeaaah, fuck—i’m cumming inside, okay? gonna fill up my best friend’s pretty pussy—yeaaah, that’s it—fuck—!”

your teeth clamped on your lower lip as suguru buries himself deep. your body cling on his—locking him there.

“ah, fuck.. i need to cut that girl off..” you heard him murmured.

[noisylovepatrol]

Jujutsu Kaisen

[cherryflavouredsushi]

| teenage dirtbag??? |

in which reader convinces Jjk teens! to sneak out for a party!!!

notes!! im cooking rn but i think somethings burning but I cant tell what it is. anyways alot of people are excited for Diwali stuff!! thats coming in this week WITH!! jjk men the stuff ive been doing are more teenage stuff yknow like I dont think Geto would own a vape i fear it be called monkey things or something. im normally super busy on weekends so thats why this took a bit anyways I have alot of ideas but firstly im making a introduction today TRUST!!!! sorry for the yap kiss kiss guys

[crumplstiltskin]

[the-impulse-to-love]

the hell is this guy doing!!!

ref + og

[m0thmansdad]

@wolftoken

[winterrbluess]

We all go a little mad sometimes (sleep deprivation got this out of me)

[delavegaaaaa]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓦𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓹𝓽.2

Pairings: fem!reader x Jason Todd

Summary: You and Jason were dating at the time he died, now he’s been back for several years. At the great planning and constant supervision of Bruce, your paths had yet to cross again. That was until there was no one left to call in for backup one night except you. Now you must learn to live alongside the ghost of the man you spent years trying to get over.

Content warnings: angst, hurt no comfort, best friend Dick Grayson, antihero reader

All characters in their 20’s. Inspired by The Love You Want by Sleep Token. This is the final part.

2.2k words

Part One Here

MASTERLIST DCU MASTERLIST

The gala was finally coming to an end with a closing speech from Bruce thanking the attendees. Jason didn't bother to listen; the alcohol had fogged his brain just enough that he decided it was the perfect time to break into the Batcave. Because that idea always ends well, doesn't it?

He wasn't concerned about whether the others had noticed his Irish goodbye; they wouldn't follow anyway. Unease filled his chest, hardening in his throat like clay. The feeling worsened with each step, through the halls and stairs, until the doors stood before him. There was no turning back once he stepped through. He'd fought, killed, hell, he'd even died. So why did his plan scare him this much? What was classified in your file that made the universe give him so many warning signs? 

The doors opened, letting the cool air kiss his fevered state. He was alone inside. The soft glow of the comm room screen hummed in rhythm to the tightness in his chest. Using Barbara's remote, Jason pulled your file back up. In the corner, the word Recruitment taunted him. Everything in him screamed to stop. Jason couldn't help it—he really wanted to be good. 

Three floors above, you had managed to slip out of the ballroom early, sending your date home alone with the excuse that you had too much wine and weren't feeling well. The halls, much to your surprise, were empty. You had fully expected to find others sneaking off to make out with random guests away from everyone. Maybe even the little one hanging on the chandelier overhead, but the only sign of life came from the echo of your heels on marble floors. 

There had been times when your assignments meant no sleep for days, periods of your life where insomnia fed off you like a vampire. The past 24 hours proved that, if you just let it, you could sleep through a landslide—if not the world ending.

Reports filled the laptop back at your apartment, all the times Red Hood had literally been under your nose. The request you put in with the League to access Jason’s information was being processed; no one there seemed to be rushing to approve your wish. Drained didn’t begin to describe how you felt. If the floor were to swallow you, it might've been a mercy you could never repay. 

Down the twists and turns of the long hall, Bruce's private study was unlocked. Inside all was left as Bruce had intended, except now you disturbed the air—grabbing a whiskey decanter from a tray on his desk, you poured yourself a glass. You had always loved the large terrace doors. They gave a perfect view from the desk to look out over the estate grounds. 

Now they offered a view of the moon, full and bright, its desire to be seen from the shadows taunting you. You had kept the lights off, allowing moonlight to fill the room. Tentatively, you poured a second glass, placing it on the desk behind you. Time moved in ways you could only describe as an hourglass of never-ending sand. How long had it been since you entered the room?

“I always wondered why you kept me so close. Most wouldn’t question it, but it just doesn’t make sense to keep a killer under contract.” Leaning against the cool wood surface, your arms crossed over your chest tightly. Eyes heavy as you cradled the whiskey glass in one hand and yourself in the other. Your mind slipped into a haze as you stared into the vacant space.

Bruce wouldn’t have left the gala before his guest. You imagined that empty ballroom and all the times you had to retrieve Damian from the ceiling, hide from Dick with Tim and Steph in between patrols. They all knew yet never spoke a word. Where your relationship with each of them went from here was unknown. Not that you felt this place was the permanent destination for you or your career. Your friendships with them swung in limbo; stage three of limerence.

A soft click told you the door had been handled with care in its' closure. His cologne caressed your nose, making you scrunch your face ever so slightly. He learned long ago you had no interest in anything that wasn’t in your paycheck—killing included. When it involved Jason, Bruce was unsure if backup would get to him in time, even in his own home.  

“Your thoughts are too loud, Mr. Wayne. I have no intention of ending your life tonight.”

His tux jacket hung on the chair in front of the desk; he took a seat as if he were getting ready to settle in for the night. He studied you as your free hand fiddled with the pendant on your neck. Bruce never took you in; he never saw all your years growing up. From the times he did witness, this was a side of you that felt human. 

"Why keep Jason a secret?" Your voice was so eerily calm that it raised the hair on his neck. Against his best interest, he cleared the whiskey in the glass, warming his body on the way down. 

"Public safety." He said after a pause—a lie heavy enough to sour the alcohol that still burned his throat. Under normal circumstances, the man’s apprehension would have fed your amusement. Now, under moonlight and whiskey lies, your conscience was left torpid. You knew exactly what he was referring to. 

Tingles danced along your lips as your drink rushed down. Just a small sip to keep your blood circulating, to keep your focus elsewhere. "I did what needed to be done. You couldn't have a civilian like that unsupervised— God knows you couldn't have a Robin with a body count. That left the League as the only option, right?" 

Warmth welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over. Memories of Jason's hand in yours, the touch of his calloused palms. Sneaking out the third-floor fire escape of your parents’ apartment just to go on dates with him. A faint smile flashed across your face as you recalled him turning bright pink when you kissed the scars that freckled his cheeks, as his eyes crinkled. The sound of his boots on the fire escape echoed in your mind. The sinking tension in your chest deepened, fingers tightening on the glass. 

"You took someone’s life." Bruce was never one to hide his disapproval of your actions, even if he played a role in your continuum. His gaze never graced your direction. 

"He deserved it." It never ceased to surprise him how far your disregard for the situation that occurred four months after Jason's funeral, went. How easy it was for Jason to be worthy in your eyes without having to earn your vengeance, a disposition you wondered if Bruce could understand. 

"You hunted him like a dog. Grayson couldn't even identify the body when he found you." He poured himself a second glass and then a third before letting it remain on the desk in front of him. "You have your methods. I knew, based on that alone, there would have been a trail of bodies if you knew about Jason being thrown into the Lazarus pit. Damian’s mother might've been next." 

Bruce didn’t fail to catch a glance of how your lip twitched at the mention of Talia. Arguing with Bruce was equivalent to playing chess in a game of moral corrosion. You knew he was trying to play at your adoration for the youngest member. Contempt etched its way into your heart. Thanks to the blood of a clown on your hands, thousands of Gotham's citizens got to live semi-normal lives—all it took was four months tracking places he frequently appeared, five aliases, and a trail of fake intel, and you had found him. 

"Losing Jason was a tragedy for all of us, but—" You weren't in the mood to be lectured. The sound of faint footsteps stopped just beyond the door. You chalked it up to a side effect of your exhaustion. A psychological warning sign of your stress index, no one would've been in this part of the manor anyway. 

“You have a savior complex that borders on sociopathic behavior, Bruce. Turning a blind eye to my crimes doesn’t change the fact that you can’t replace Jason.” You stirred the liquid gold remnants in your glass. There was too much you wanted to say. Too much you desperately wanted to scream at him. You swallowed it all, your poise was slipping. “Just because you refuse to take lives doesn’t make you a hero.” 

Bruce stared at his own whiskey glass, untouched on the desk. His jaw went slack, and the numbness set in. A small tap outside the study went ignored. 

“All this money and not a single therapist on your calendar or in this house. Clearly, you must have all the answers.” You scoffed incredulously. “How do I grieve the living?” 

Your hands grew stiff; fingers and toes grew cold as your body temperature dropped. Tingly anxiety rushed through your veins, closing in on your lungs as you began to waver—an unnatural flaw compared to your normalcy. The man to your side slipped back into the comfort of his avoidance as you set your glass next to his. His gaze landed on the scar painted across the inside of your right forearm and wrist. Next to the lipstick stain on the glass, the healed imperfection added to the paradox by design. Bruce and Dick had covered your crime—nothing came without its cost.

Outside the study door, finished with his impulsive curiosity, stood Jason. His shirt ruffled, bowtie undone as it rested on his neck. It didn't take long in the Batcave for him to learn the hard way that curiosity killed the cat. Images of your file had been confirmed by reticent conversations behind closed doors—conversations that made choices for him. The soft taps of your heels moved in his direction as your voice withdrew from the rising confrontation. He was paralyzed where he stood, unable to pull his mind out of your existence. He tried so hard to remember anything—every laugh, every scar, every word—but guilt crawled back, leaving sticky residue he could never scrub off. 

The feeling that made him want to crawl out of his skin and boil his flesh until it no longer bothered him. It was a psychological sensation that became a parasite to his daily life. 

Even as he listened through the door, his body ached for a touch that would never reach him. It was too much information for him. Cool air rushed past him as the door opened, pulling him from his trance. There you stood, divine in your own right, staring straight at him. He took in the small smudges of mascara, the faint pink of your nose—details that hadn't been there earlier. An unnerving desire to hold you consumed him—his mental restraint had met its challenge. 

You excused yourself, shifting your gaze elsewhere, when a calloused hand wrapped around your scarred wrist. It was too much—watching his expression contort back and forth in his futile effort to understand. In this light, Jason could see the little white lines on your arms and face with clarity. Years of injuries and stories lining your supple skin, tales of battles he would never hear. He ran his thumb over your wrist—over the imperfection that almost took your life four months after his, holding it a heartbeat too long. Mapping it out in his grasp, as if it were worthy of memory, as if he was worthy of being remembered. 

His eyes softened. For a moment, he looked like your Jason. The one who used to sneak up the fire escape in the rain to see you. You wiped that memory aside; it wasn't something you needed anymore. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but the words weren't coming to him. Gently, you removed his hand, fingers trembling against his warmth. Every fiber that screamed at you to stay—to help him, to hold him, to erase the years of absence—but you knew the cost of ghosts who woke up starving. One final taste of him…

"I have to go. Goodnight, Jason." Turning quickly, you waited until you were completely out of sight to loosen your composure. You hated how he looked at you like that. An ocean of tears washed your makeup down your once rosy cheeks. The click of your heels faded into echoes—the only living proof you had been there. The commotion down the hall you’d come from could be heard falling on deaf ears, along with the broken sound of your name being called. You found it best to keep that talk to a dangerous minimum; everything left unsaid would eventually be lost. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the trajectory your life would take when you met Jason. When you were young, you believed in love forever and that any minor obstacle felt like the end of the world. Now turning your back on the past, you understood that two truths could coexist: your world didn't end when he died— and it didn't end when he didn't come back either. It ended when you realized some loves, no matter how vivid, were only meant to live in memory.

tag list: @rae-akarui @asapkeepmerockyyy @yyiikes @derangedangel

[sunsetagain]

After the gods of twilight fell, all that remained was a thick dusting of gold on someone's lashes.

"You want to see if my tears are made of gold? All right, I'll cry for you next time."

Inspired by Alexandre Cabanel's The Fallen Angel

[kissbabie]

❤︎ ໋𓈒 cheating on his girlfriend with you !

you know it’s wrong to fuck your childhood best friend, especially when he has a girlfriend, but with the way his cock is impaling your tight hole right now, all logic leaves your brain as you’re reduced to a dumb, cockdrunk slut who’s slurring words together and begging for more.

“shit, your pussy’s so tight, baby… should’ve done this sooner..”, he grunts, to which you can only reply with moans and strings of incoherent babbles, like “uh huh, uh huh—! love your cock so muccchhhh…

you’ve been in love with him forever, but he seems to have never noticed. in fear of losing your friendship, you ultimately decided not to say anything, but it absolutely killed you when he got a girlfriend.

although tonight, he was surprised to find you in your home, crying while whining about how much you want him, and considering how he’s been getting so annoyed of his girlfriend, it doesn’t take much effort for him to rip your clothes off and stretch you out on his dick. truthfully, he’s always loved you as well, but he just never knew how to bring it up.

which is how you ended in your current predicament, or rather, position. he’s got your legs folded up to your chest, cock pistoling in and out of you at a rough pace as he watches the way his dick forms a bulge in your stomach, groaning at the mere sight of your tiny hole being all fucked open by him. you’ve came so much already, and he’s so pent up that he’s been going at it for what feels like eternity.

“gonna break up with her, i swear… i swear baby… you’re so much better than her, pussy’s so warm… just wanna stay inside forever— mm, you want that? fffucckk, needed you for so long..” he pants, rambling on and on as he loses himself in the feeling of your warm cunt wrapped around him, your walls fluttering and twitching as you squeeze him so well.

whenever he fucks his girlfriend, it’s a huge risk because he almost, always, moans your name before he stops himself just in time. he really only cums when he closes his eyes and thinks of how you would look, taking him in your mouth or squirming while he pounds you and makes you take everything. when she’s asleep afterwards, he gets hard again thinking of you and how pretty you are. it’s a chore to even engage in intimacy with his girlfriend, because he feels nothing for her and everything for you, and it pisses him off to no extent when the girl underneath him is her and not you. so now that he’s finally got you, the one he’s been in love with for years, he doesn’t plan on letting go.

“ ‘m so full,” eyes rolling back as you whine. “feels so good—! so deep.. can’t—!”

he slams into you harder. “god, been wanting this pussy for years.. came inside her while thinking it was you taking all my cum, thought about you while fucking my fist.”

“huh—! me?” you sob, barely able to speak. “then why— why’d you stay with her?”

“.. didn’t think you wanted me.”

“i always wanted you!” you whimper. “thought about you while touching myself.. wanted to feel you inside me so bad..”

he mutters, “yeah? had to fuck her in the dark to pretend it was you.”

“i didn’t— didn’t know! hnghhh.. ‘s not fair.. should’ve been me taking all your cum.. not her.. only want you to fuck me on your cock—! don’t want you filling anybody else up, only me..”

“yeah, baby?” he whispers. “don’t worry— shit— ‘m gonna fill you up so much, okay? you want that?”

you hastily nod your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. “please, please—! need it, wanna feel you fill me up, have it leaking ‘cus it’s too much..”

“want me to fix it, huh? shit… don’t worry, okay? gonna stuff this pretty pussy until all that pain goes away..”

his thrusts are rough and start getting more sloppy, until he finally cums, burying himself in you and filling you up just as he promised. he’s panting, groaning while your pussy clenches around him as ropes of hot, thick cum fill you up. he whines, loud and voice cracking as he whimpers “fuck, i love you— i love you, baby, i love you..”

you’re in such a daze, feeling him pumping his cum endlessly into you. in fact, the both of you are so messed up and drunk on each other right now that you don’t even realize the way his phone lights up with text messages from his girlfriend, asking him where he is, to please come home, and that she loves him.

for this req

© 𝒌issbabie | don't copy, steal, or translate any of my work