NanaChi

99 liner Ig I really need to state my age in bio even tho it's uncomfy

[liahcharms]

𖥔 ݁ ˖─ not a lot, just forever.✦

The mission in space was every physics teacher's wet dream. And yet, when you found yourself alone on a spaceship, dread filled your mind. Fortunately, it turned out you weren’t quite alone. As a weird creature you’ve met by accident seemed to be quite happy in helping you finish a mission and keep a warm company.

𖥔 ݁ ˖pairing: ꒰ Alien!Gojo Satoru x Physics teacher!Reader ꒱

𖥔 ݁ ˖content/warnings: ꒰ MDNI 18+ : fluff, fluff, fluff : also a bit of angst : mutual masturbation : use of sex toys : happy ending : women in stem, doomed to never being able to touch each other : prepare some tissues : space : aliens : Satoru is a brat in every universe : alien's D : mates and mentions of mating ꒱

𖥔 ݁ ˖WC: ꒰ 15k ꒱

𖥔 ݁ ˖ notes: This story is based on the movie Project Hail Mary. Shoutout to @indiewritesxoxo whose story The One That Got Away inspired me to write a space-based fanfic!

dividers by @diviniyae art by daichichirou on tt

"Miss, what's the space like?" a little girl with round frames asked you once during the class.

What's the space like? You wondered for a moment, with similar glasses resting on your nose.

Little models of planets swirled under the ceiling, clashing against each other with warm beams of sunshine curling around their painted bodies. The classroom stilled with silence, heavy and curious, marked by a dozen little eyes glancing up your furrowed forehead.

"Unfathomed," slipped almost in a whisper. But the kids were too young to understand this word, so you tried again. "It's endless, deep, mesmerising, silent, like–"

"Like a night?" a boy from the first row asked, playing with the wooden spaceship, all the children in the class had just finished painting.

You chuckled, playing with your own little toy, brushing the little silver window with a thumb.

"Much, much quieter," the spaceship landed on your desk, right next to the little, soft ball painted like Earth. Your eyes shimmered as you looked around the class of a dozen munchkins. "What do you hear while sleeping?"

Something began to coil in their little Einstein heads, with soft foreheads furrowed in thought. A flicker of an idea – a spark, their young minds were yet to discover and nourish throughout their lives.

You watched them with a smile, something warm spreading beneath your chest. Not everyone was born to be a teacher, with the day-to-day tiring work of preparing materials for classes, conducting lessons and checking all the foolish assignments that neither you nor the children liked. The education system truly was a shit hole from the very first steps those young minds took.

"Miss, that's a silly question," a little girl without one front tooth giggled. "We can't hear anything while we're sleeping!"

You hummed softly as you picked up the small earth ball. It yielded gently beneath your fingers, and the woollen toy, crocheted by your mother herself, felt pleasantly soft against your skin.

The bell would ring soon, and the afternoon sun was high in the sky, creeping through the tall, clean windows into the small classroom. Summer break was almost here, and the sweltering heat lingered in the stuffy air, filled with children's coughs and soft breathing.

"Exactly," you said, sitting on the desk and tossing the ball into the air. "That's what space is like. You can't hear anything."

"But what if I close my ears?" another boy said, pressing his hands to them. "I can't hear anything now, miss!" he screamed, setting off a wave of sweet giggles from his classmates.

The small green ball flew his way, and the boy caught it in one hand, scowling. "Hey, miss, that's not fair!"

"That was not, I do admit," you slipped off the desk, walking around the classroom. All small pairs of eyes followed you like puppies. "But you see, in space, there would be no need to cover your ears, because there is no air or matter for sound to travel through. Even when you're sleeping, there's always something out there, right?" Your eyes met a few nodding Einsteins before drifting towards the window. "You can hear the crickets singing under your window and the wind swirling between the leaves. But in space, there's nothing. Simply an empty, endless realm stretching beyond our comprehension."

A few droplets of sweat coiled on your temple, and you quickly brushed them with a thumb. Glasses sat crookedly on your nose, hair slipped away from a pin-up, and so you pushed them behind your ear.

"Miss, the space sounds so scary," the girl with round frames sighed. "I don't want to be an astronaut anymore."

You chuckled, coming to the previous boy and stealing a soft lump of earth from his sticky fingers. "The space may feel lonesome if you're there alone. But now, astronauts usually go in groups." The ball landed back on your desk, brushing gently against the wooden spaceship. "But even if you were alone, I think the view would be worth the night spent in loneliness."

And as it would soon turn out, nothing was worth the years spent alone. On the huge spaceship, with endless darkness spreading across the little window and years spent somewhere doing God knows what.

"The sun is dying," the government envoy had said. "Can you help us save the world?"

She caught you right after one of the classes, with a half-empty cup of instant noodles and cheeks peppered with crimson chilli-oil kisses. Arrived with a tall, muscular man and a printout of the PhD dissertation, placing a copy on your messy desk.

Your forehead crinkled, eyes landed on a neat, Times New Roman formatted title, An Analysis of Water-Based Assumptions and Recalibration of Expectations.

"That's not mine," you mumbled, going back to the cup of noodles. You hadn't eaten anything for a whole day, and your stomach was already pressed against your spine, with hunger twisting your weary mind.

"That's your name, isn't it?" she said, pressing a neatly trimmed nail against the smaller letters beneath the title.

You didn't even spare her a glance and simply shook your head. "No, I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

Both she and the man sighed, rolling two small chairs from the children's desk to sit in front of yours. With eyes fixed on your face, grimacing in ignorance, and a few locks of hair slipping into the cup.

"I'm Yuki," she said, crossing her legs before looking at the man with the dullest, most bleary eyes you have ever seen. "And that's Choso. We're from a… well. Now you only need to know that we work for NASA."

And that meant one thing – trouble.

Seeing your utmost disinterest, she continued in a warm tone. "Listen, we know your dissertation was a fantastic breakthrough that the supervising committee didn't appreciate. But–"

"A small correction," you interrupted, with eyes still glued to an almost empty cup. "They did not not appreciate me, but completely failed me. My research was proven wrong, and I spent almost five years chasing something that was never there. So no, it wasn't a breakthrough or anything."

Her long fingers clenched into a fist, and a tongue nervously filled a creamy cheek. "Listen, in our current world situation, we believe that your research wasn't pointless. The hypothesis that life can exist without water–"

"Which was ultimately proven that it cannot," slipped in a whisper, gaze still following anything but those two.

"Right," she sighed, staying shockingly patient. "But the thing is, it actually may."

And for the first time in the past five minutes, you finally looked at her. With eyes hidden behind librarian-like glasses, a white shirt neatly pressed against your body, and chilli oil still coating lower lip. You brushed it quickly with a tissue before clearing throat.

"You have five minutes."

But Yuki needed just a second.

"There are some… microbes, the nature of which we aren't yet sure, that are slowly eating the sun. If we don't do something, in thirty years the global temperature will drop enough to kill every life on Earth."

A long, heavy silence stretched between the three of you, though she was the one doing the talking. The man in a suit sat in silence. He was rather handsome, with dark hair falling long down his neck and purplish under-eye bags framing his deep, doe-like eyes.

Feeling your eyes fixed on his face, Choso wriggled in place. "We believe that you are one of the few scientists who can help in research on those microbes."

A deep sigh slipped past your lips as you took off your glasses and closed eyes. A pulsing headache was filling your mind, weighing down an already overstimulated brain. A few short strands of noodles clung to the bottom of the plastic cup, looking up at your weary eyes, pleading to go home.

You finally murmured, throwing the cup into the bin, "I don't see how that's my problem. I'm just a physics teacher, the academic environment pushed me away, and I believe there are many more qualified scientists for this role."

Yuki's forehead furrowed, lips pressed in a line. "Not your problem? The world is dying, and you think it's not your problem?"

You could almost see a grey smoke drifting above her head, eyes shining like two coffee beans. Golden hair brushed against her suit-covered breasts, with a few straight strands sticking to soft cheeks. She appeared magnificently commanding, exuding a dominant aura of someone beyond the law. Even sitting on a small children's chair, you felt goosebumps cover your bare shoulders.

You leaned back in a chair, the hard backrest digging into your spine. "I just don't understand why it should be me. This," you pointed at a three-hundred-page dissertation, "was just a foolish fantasy of my younger self. And trust me, I felt how stupid it was," your eyes fell to your fingers, playing with a soft, earthy ball. "No one treats me like a scientist anymore."

And then, Yuki stood up.

Suddenly, reaching over the desk right to your shirt, before pulling you closer with a single move. Eyes fixed on yours like a deadly viper, and a sweet note of heavy perfumes hit your nostrils.

"Try it," she gritted through her teeth. "Accept my offer till I'm still begging. I don't want things to get messy, but I really need your help on this one."

And so, feeling rather threatened, you nodded swiftly and followed the kind smile that lifted up her lips.

Now, three years later, reflecting on that time, you never felt as happy and alive as you did then. Surrounded by the world's most exceptional scientists, working on alien, new microbes – the freshest discoveries in current scientific research – spending days and nights fuelled by bitter coffee, sitting in the labs.

The time didn't matter, as long as you could work on your research. To once again feel like a valuable input to the academic environment and a student from your PhD days, when the world was most beautiful under the microscope and while collecting the newest data.

Your heart raced during the meetings as your fingers carefully noted each idea, each plan that other scientists put forward. The greatest minds in the world, flooding your own with plans and speculations you could've never thought of. Your brain fired multiple times a day, always running, always getting fed with new questions and solutions.

Why is the sun dying?

How can we stop it?

How to produce enough fuel to go all the way right to the sun?

Is that even possible?

But then it was revealed that an alien microbe was composed entirely of water, and your world collapsed. Because it finally confirmed the very point you've been secretly trying to reject for years, proving to you that cells cannot survive without water.

Your heart broke, and a wave of shame washed over your spine. The shame connected to your younger self, foolishly believing in a greatness of discovery no one has ever made. Something worth the international conferences, massive grants, Nobel Prize, and yet, you needed a single, alien cell, something not belonging to the human world, to finally prove those old geezers from your committee right.

The white, big lamp of the lab flickered; darkness spilt over the endless night. Nothing but a faint buzz of mosquitoes filled the lab, hitting the window again, and again, and again. Hungry and relentless, looking at your body hunched over the failed experiment and slightly trembling lip.

You haven't noticed someone else's presence until something cold and wet touched your cheek. Turning the head around, you noticed a can of soda and Choso's pale fingers wrapped around it.

"Thanks," escaped in a whisper, as you took the drink.

He nodded, sitting on the stool right next to you. Your lab partner, who's been through your highs and lows for the past few weeks. The biggest encouragement and life support, always reminding you to eat well and drink something other than a third coffee in a row. He was another government body, Yuki's closest friend, yet – you liked him.

He felt the most normal here, and thus, your head rested on his shoulder, while hair covered the slightly wet cheeks.

"Are you crying?" he asked quietly.

Your head shook, and a second later, a loud sniff rolled. Choso chuckled, offering a tissue.

"Thank you, Cho," you mumbled, trying to hide the streaming tears behind the wide glasses.

He nodded, waiting for you to calm down a bit. The white lamp buzzed quietly, and the screen of the computer shone bright with your PhD dissertation. The thick letters of the title, with your name written right below.

Three hundred pages of bullshit born from your silly dreams. The Nobel Prize? Dear heavens, you barely deserved to be part of the current team.

"That's not the end of the world, you know?" he said, then pressed his cheek with tongue. "Hm, no. It actually is."

You laughed disgustingly, with a snort slipping out of your nose and another wave of tears streaming down your face. "I'm sorry," slipped almost silently. "I'm sorry, I proved you all wrong."

Choso sighed, looking at your sorry state. He pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear and brushed away a single tear with a soft thumb. "No, you didn't. Now that we know what it's made of, you can think about another solution."

But there isn't another solution, you wanted to say, and instead bit down on your lower lip. The words bubbled in your throat, but a thin thread of hope still pulled at your heart. A faint wish that maybe this discovery wasn't a disaster. That the alien cell, made almost entirely of water, could somehow help with the mission.

That you could still prove yourself as a true scientist.

"Hey," Choso whispered, turning your face towards him. Deep, warm eyes shimmered with kindness as he offered a soft smile and gently pinched your cheek. "You are one of the smartest people I have ever met. I'm sure you can figure this out. Yuki believes in you. I believe in you." Staring into his eyes, you nodded with a pout. He chuckled and opened your soda with a quiet hiss. "Alright, let's call it a day and get back to it tomorrow. We still have time."

But the fact was that – you didn't.

And it was painfully obvious in how Yuki glanced into your lab every few days, asking about progress and results in halting the spread of alien microbes on the sun. Her neatly plucked eyebrows furrowed whenever you shook your head, and a short, stressed sigh escaped her rosy lips.

Try to hurry up, she would usually say, pulling a not-so-comforting smile.

Weeks went by, and everyone's stress increased. Yuki decided to set up a deadly mission, sending a team of astronauts to collect data personally.

The catch? They wouldn't return.

While there was enough fuel to reach the star teeming with alien microbes, there wasn't enough to return. Their goal was to collect the microbes, find a way to stop them from consuming the sun, and send all the data back to Earth.

The first time you heard about it, your knees almost buckled. It sounded outrageous, absolutely crazy, and the chance of finding someone mad and healthy enough to meet the requirements perfectly was already impossible.

And as it turned out, you were wrong.

The four astronauts were more than willing to sacrifice their lives for the greater good – to venture into the vast, endless space and perish there, in the company of strangers and eerie silence. To become saviours on a mission that could save the entire world.

Except, there was a risk the mission would fail.

Except, no one knew if they wouldn't lose their lives for nothing.

Because if that happened, if it turned out that all the money and sacrifices the government has invested in it would go to waste, the world would truly descend into shambles.

You stood against it from the very beginning, but Yuki had already decided. And so there was nothing left to do but help the spaceship travel the twelve light-years towards the only star that was also dying, devoured by an alien microbe.

One hundred and thirteen trillion kilometres.

An unimaginably vast distance a simple mind could not grasp, yet you had to find a way to make it work. To figure out how to gather enough fuel to propel the massive, metal spaceship through every single kilometre.

And after a few weeks of getting yourself filled with coffee and nights spent outside the NASA base, gazing up into the endless darkness, you finally got it.

"The alien microbes possess unimaginable power," you said in one breath, looking like a madwoman. With hair twisted into a messy braid, hands shaking from too much caffeine, eyes glimmering as if possessed by Einstein himself. Your fingers gripped the black marker before drawing another black dot on the whiteboard. "You see, what we can do is allow the engines to feed the alien microbes into a reaction chamber and boil them to the point of natural breeding. This way, the cells will multiply and multiply, allowing us to use them in a much more efficient way," the black marker swooshed all over the board, drawing a crooked picture of the spaceship.

At least thirty pairs of eyes, seated in a conference room at NASA headquarters, stared into it with furrowed yet hopeful gazes. Yuki and Choso, among them, tried to understand the point you were making. The crazy discovery you had made mere hours earlier, before quickly asking for a meeting.

"Our ship doesn't need turbines, generators or heat exchangers, because there's no conventional fuel. It works as a sort of ship driven by light energy–"

"That's impossible," someone among the other scientists interrupted. "You cannot fuel a ship of such dimensions with light alone."

You nodded, whispering like a psycho under your breath, head buzzing with numbers. "Yes, you cannot do it with the sources we have here, on Earth. But," you turned back towards the whiteboard. "Our ship is not like the others, and the microbes allow us to actually use the light force as a fuel. Look, for every action there's an equal and opposite reaction. Newton's third law, we all know it, right?" A few heads nodded in unison. "Well, our ship will emit light in one direction, while Newton's law will push it in the other. I know it used to work only in theory, but with the amount of power packed into a single microbe, we can use it for our good. In short, the alien power goes into the ship, the light comes out, and we can move forward."

A long, heavy silence filled the room as you finished your little drawing. Black lines coated the board, crossing the black dots and twisting around the childishly drawn ship. You pushed your glasses up your nose and tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear.

That was it. Nothing else could've been done on your side. If none of the scientists and governmental bodies believed your crazy plan could work, there was no other way to put the ship on a direct course towards that star.

Yuki sighed and looked around nervously. While people whispered, shook their heads, or took notes, no one offered you a warm nod or made direct eye contact. But it also seemed that no one else had a better idea.

"Are you sure it can work?" Yuki asked, a heavy gaze lingering as warmth crept up your cheeks. "It's over a hundred and thirteen trillion kilometres. Are you sure the ship can be fuelled only by this alien microbe?"

Something weighed on your heart. Fear, panic, years spent believing you weren't good enough to become a real scientist. Those snickers from the PhD commission stating your research was useless. The rejections from one scientific conference after another, as no one wanted to accept your proposals.

Days spent on crying and staring at your dissertation, as if looking at it long enough would suddenly make it all worth it.

And then, under the cold light of the conference room, with thirty heads staring at you in blank mimicry, you needed to make a decision.

The one that would soon turn into a weight on your life.

"Yes," finally slipped. Strong and confident, as you corrected glasses slipping off your nose. "I can make it work."

But then…

But then the catastrophe came.

The betrayal.

Yuki apologising with utmost sincerity. Choso sitting quietly in the corner of her office. Three men keeping your body down.

From the moment you saw the space crew, one thought kept lingering in your mind. You dismissed it with a casual "they'll figure it out" wave, ignoring the instinct that indicated something was off – something that should have been clear from the start.

Why didn't the space crew have the scientist?

And a day before the departure, you finally discovered why.

"I'm sorry, I'm really so so sorry," Yuki said, trying to calm your wriggling body. The man's hands dug deep into your spine, keeping the hands and knees in place, with a cheek pressed to a dirty carpet. "We don't have any choice, and you wouldn't agree if I asked–"

"Of course I wouldn't!" you screamed, trying to bite the soft hand that reached towards you. "It's a fucking suicide! I'm a simple teacher; I can't go to a fucking space–ah, can you be a bit more gentle?!" But the men's fingers were already wrapping your hands with a thick rope. "Yuki, you can't do it to me!"

The woman didn't say anything. She merely opened her office door and beckoned someone inside. Wearing a white robe and holding a syringe between their fingers.

Your mind raced, breathing became almost impossible, and your throat clenched as you fought the sudden urge to vomit on the carpet. You tried to meet Choso's gaze, but he sat in the corner with his head in his hands, avoiding your gaze since you entered the office.

"Choso," you cried, as the doctor came closer. Long, thin needle shimmered under the office's cold lamp, sending a shiver down your spine. "Choso, l-look at me. You fucking coward, you bastard!" Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as the man sat like a stone figure. "You knew about it from the beginning, right? How could you do this to me?!"

Deep, warm eyes that you spent days gazing into finally looked up. Slightly wet, a bit hazy, while taking in the miserable state you found yourself in. Your glasses slightly crooked, lying a bit away from teary face. A few strands of hair sticking to your cheeks, arms twisted painfully behind back.

His fingers dug into the leather chair, as if trying to force himself to stay back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't… I couldn't bring myself to tell you…"

"That I'm going for a fucking suicidal mission?!" you interrupted, still trying to kick the men off your body. "I thought we were friends! I trusted you! And you simply sold me away?"

Yuki shivered, her gaze shifting between coldness and heartbreaking warmth whenever she looked at your writhing body. She slipped her trembling hand into the pocket of her jeans before giving the doctor a small nod.

"N-No," you cried, when the man in white bent down. A sudden, sharp pain washed over your body, tickling the ends of your fingertips. "Please, I d-don't want to, I can't…"

And then, a weariness slowly filled your mind, lulling it into a deep sleep. Your body relaxed, eyes half-closed, as if weighted by the countless sleepless nights you had spent in labs.

The men lifted you up, keeping your head steady, but you didn't feel a thing. Your feet felt funny, light, as if blending into feathers. Some hushed voices started to argue, someone's warm hand brushed your cheek, and a heavy, musky smell filled your nostrils.

And before you lost consciousness, a silent save the earth sneaked into your ear.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

"Amazing," a low sigh slipped past your lips as you watched a massive ship slowly follow yours.

Monstrous, at least twenty times larger than the spaceship you called home for the past three years, which couldn't be contained within the small window you looked through. It appeared incredibly bright, almost as if it were made of glass, yet you couldn't see anything beyond the thick walls.

It's been shadowing you since yesterday, and it has been following you since yesterday, regardless of how long you travelled or how fast you went; it remained right there. Always in your line of sight from your window, constantly mirroring every move you make. 

It was… fascinating. To say at least.

A little frightening? Sure, as you were alone on a ship, with the crew long gone and drifting silently through the vast emptiness of space.

But still – fascinating. It marked the first time a human saw an object outside Earth. Majestic and otherworldly, it looked somewhat familiar yet vastly different. A faint cosmic glow shimmered on its diamond-like walls, casting short beams through your solitary window, as if attempting to communicate. As if the creature within tried to contact.

Still drifting slowly, you bit down on your lower lip. "Maybe I should stop?" you thought out loud, as another flicker of light hit your window. "What if they'll attack me?"

But at this point, already being alone on an impossible, suicidal mission, it seemed that an alien attack would be the least of your problems. In fact, maybe it would even sweeten your life a bit, and before meeting death, you would still have a chance to make the first human contact with life outside Earth.

"Okay," You took a deep sigh, pulling down the engine handle. "Let's see what you want from me."

Your ship stopped, and the monstrous glassed vehicle followed right away. With your forehead pressed to the window, you waited.

And waited, waited, till ten minutes passed and the ship stood still. Your tongue pressed against the soft cheek as you walked back and forth, awaiting any sign of activity. Yet, the vast galaxy outside remained tranquil, a gentle glow reflecting off the smooth, wall-like surface of the enormous ship. It lacked doors and windows, being just a glassy, shimmering exterior that–

"Oh no," your throat tightened as it drew closer. And closer, closer, swooshing towards you, something long slowly sliding out of the ship's tall wall. "Oh, that's bad, fuck."

A panic squeezed your heart, thoughts rushed through a tired mind, and there weren't enough cuticles on your nails to bite them all. The window was too small to see the thing clearly, but it seemed to be heading straight towards your ship's door. A long, shining tube swooshed closer and closer until your ship suddenly vibrated, as if gently brushing against a foreign object.

Your fingers fidgeted with the plush fabric of the shirt, while droplets of sweat made your glasses slide down your temple. With unsteady legs, you cautiously moved toward the astronaut's suit and started pulling it over your body. The zipper felt heavy under your touch, and the bubble-shaped helmet was more suffocating than usual. The oxygen backpack almost doubled your load as you headed toward the door, with heavy pounding in your chest.

Your heart was always perfectly healthy, and yet for the first time in your life, you tried to remember all the possible symptoms of a woman's heart attack.

Chest pain, severe shortness of breath, nausea, radiating pain in the neck and jaw, you counted in your mind, marking each and every sign in your current state.

"Fuck, okay," trembling, glove-coated hands squeezed the handle of the massive, metal door, before you pushed it. It opened with a low, soft creek, inviting you into the endless tunnel filled with darkness.

To your surprise, gravity worked here, and thus you dropped heavily onto the hard floor. A soft oh filled the helmet as you lifted the flashlight a bit higher. Something shimmered at the end of the darkness, yet you weren't sure what.

Your steps didn't echo from the thick walls as you slowly approached the entrance to the alien ship. Thoughts clashed painfully in your mind, questions rose one by one as you breathed with a squeezed chest under the weighty kilograms of a spacesuit.

How many of them were there?

What did they look like?

Were they friendly?

How quick and painful would your death be?

Your mind tried to ignore the last one, as the chance of a cardiac arrest before meeting an alien seemed much more likely. Fingers clutched the flashlight tighter, feet moved carefully, one step after another, sticking to the tunnel's crooked surface.

"Hello?" Your voice bounced off the walls, lined with terror. "Whoever you are, I come in peace!"

Oh, what a cheesy line, you thought, biting down on your lower lip.

After a few steps, the glimmering thing came fully into view, and only then did you notice it was a thick glass wall. Or at least something similar to glass, with a hard surface that stopped you from going any further.

Glove-clothed hand touched it, helmet bumped against it, as you tried to light the darkness spilling behind it.

"Hello?" slipped a bit louder, with your fist knocking on the glass. "Anyone there?"

A silence, dull and endless, filled an eerie tunnel. Looking back, you took a note that your spaceship was still there – safe and sound – and you let out a deep sigh. It's not as if it would suddenly float away, but–

A heavy thump suddenly shook the tunnel's floor.

Your head snapped back, breath hitched, fingers squeezed with a tremble around the flashlight.

"H-Hello?"

The light reflected off something towering and shimmering, slowly moving toward you in a relaxed, unhurried manner, nearly as tall as the tunnel itself. A bluish halo beamed off the creature's body, filling the dark space with a soft aura.

You stepped back, trying to direct a flickering beam straight at the thing coming your way, but your hand trembled too much. The heart was on the verge of stopping, and dread haunted the mind as it drew closer, revealing its height. At least two and a half metres, brushing the ceiling of the tunnel's crooked walls, filling the narrow space with its wide body.

And when the light caught on their face… oh.

The pale blue skin shimmered softly under a luminous glow. It appeared unnaturally smooth, soft, and a sudden, foolish wish to brush it with your thumb swirled inside your mind. White, snowy hair touched the handsome forehead, while nearly inhumanly pale-blue eyes gazed down at your spacesuit-covered body. You looked tiny and short in comparison, with a gloved hand once more resting on the glass wall.

The creature was dressed in a white suit, clinging tightly to its body and digging deep into the hard muscles bulging under its skin. Alien's head tilted, knees bent down, and within a second, it found itself on eye-level with you.

White lashes decorating endless, luminous blue fluttered, as if trying to take in the terror twisting your face.

"⊑⟒⌰⌰⍜," a low, manly voice crept past the glass.

Your eyes bulged like two porcelain plates, fingers pressed closer to the wall.

So he was a man.

Well, you could already figure that much based on his looks, but the warm tone slipping under your bubble helmet was evidence enough.

Your mind didn't register the language at first, but when his soft brow travelled up, and lips curled in a smile, you thought that maybe he was awaiting an answer.

"Oh, um," you took a step back, waving your hand clumsily. "Hello."

The creature's head tilted again, and he mimicked your gesture.

You blinked twice, still struggling to believe the situation you're in. "Uh, okay, what now?" you whispered. "I am..." You pointed at your head and said your name clearly and loudly. "What about you?"

"⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑ ⊑⟒⍀⟒," the creature said, and a wave of different sounds and tones once again hit your ears.

You sighed, pressing tongue against your cheek. "Right, it's not going to work."

He looked at you, and you looked at him. You, with a slightly furrowed forehead and your mind rushing through all the possible ways to communicate with the alien. He, with lips curled cheekily and pale eyes fixed on your face.

"I wouldn't mind your cooperation, you know?" you mumbled, but he tipped his head left and right, like a curious puppy.

"⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⟒⍀⟒," the same sounds once again slipped past the glass wall.

His head was tipping and tilting, and a second had passed before you finally understood that he wanted to say something.

"What? I don't understand," you said, mimicking his movements.

And thus both of you were shaking and tilting your heads, going over and over the same ⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⟒⍀⟒, and I don't understand.

His brows furrowed as if irritated, and large hand touched his chest. He took a deep breath – first and second – then pointed at his head and finally at yours.

Oh.

"You want me to..." you gestured as if removing the helmet. A quiet chuckle escaped him, and eyes glinted. "But I can't breathe here."

He didn't understand and thus pointed at your head once again. "⏁⏃☍⟒ ⟟⏁ ⍜⎎⎎."

Your head shook. "Whatever you say, I cannot take it off. Because I will…" Your hands slipped up to your throat before a wave of trembling convulsions bent your body. It wriggled, shook, before, with a theatrical cough, you fell down the crooked floor.

The creature was staring at you with a furrowed forehead and a gentle flicker of amusement coiling in his spectral eyes.

"Not the best first impression, I know," you muttered, swiftly standing up. "My point is, I can't breathe without it."

But it seemed he either didn't understand or was simply relentless in his pleadings. As the long fingers hit the glass wall, pointing right at your head. Another deep breath slipped past his lips, and he nodded, as if trying to say it was fine. Whatever he filled the tunnel with, you could breathe here.

And thus, the thought of what if slipped quietly into your mind.

What if he was right?

What if he really did fill your half of the tunnel with oxygen?

But what if he was wrong, and the moment the helmet would go off, you would die in inhumane suffering?

Light blue eyes shone with anticipation, lips curled into an encouraging smile, and a finger pressed harder into the glass wall.

You took a deep breath, feeling the droplets of sweat coiling at the nape of your neck. He seemed to be a highly intelligent creature, with the ability to communicate as well as you and a rather comprehensive understanding of the differences between your species. For some reason, trusting him felt almost natural, and the assuring look of his spectral gaze made you drop your head with a sigh.

When fingers hooked on the helmet's edges, your heart was nearing its death. Chest squeezed painfully, eyes closed till the eyelids dug deep into your balls. The sweat was now dripping down your spine, wetting the nape of your neck and shirt that clung to your body under the heavy spacesuit.

"Okay," you whispered, both to yourself and him, and it seemed that he was rather amused by the agony twisting your mind. When he chuckled, your brows furrowed. "Don't laugh. There's a rather big chance this air will burn me from the inside."

And so it happened – your fingers slowly unclasped the neck ring, allowing the pressurised seal to loosen with a soft puf. The bubble helmet was lifted unhurriedly, as if your lungs were still trying to grasp the rest of the oxygen swirling inside it.

With still closed eyes, you took the first breath. And the second, and the third, and then, looking back at the alien, a sweet, loud scoff slipped past your lips and flushed cheeks.

"⌇⟒⟒, ⟟ ⏁⍜⌰⎅ ⊬⍜⎍," he chuckled, pressing his forehead to the glass wall.

Still in shock, you stepped closer, also touching the warm, crystal surface with your brows. "Sure, whatever you say."

You looked at each other for a while, with beaming smiles and foreheads almost brushing as you leaned in, a rather intimate gesture. It seemed that the first meeting with another species broke down some specific walls for both of you. The curiosity and fascination with one another blurred the lines of proper manners, breaching all the careful first steps you surely should think of.

His eyes flickered, suggesting a new idea had just come to him. He raised a finger and gestured for you to stay put. After your gentle nod, he vanished into the darkness of the tunnel, leaving you alone with your thoughts swirling in your mind.

Five minutes passed, then ten, and as you sat on the crooked floor and took off the heavy spacesuit, he finally came back, with something gripped by his hand.

You looked closer, noticing the collar-like device and a small earplug. He placed it inside his ear while wrapping the collar around the pale neck. A faint, crispy sound filled his side of the tunnel, and milky brows furrowed as he pressed onto the device in his ear.

And then, with a gesture, he asked you to say something.

"Um," your head tilted, and he sat right in front of you, waiting with a soft smile. "You are rather pretty for an alien."

His fingers still pressed the small device, and after a second, cheekiness flickered in his eyes. "Am I, question? You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

To say you froze in shock would be an understatement.

Your lips parted, eyebrows nearly touching hairline, as body leaned forward before your hand pressed against the glass wall. You didn't know whether you were more surprised by either his ability to speak your language or the casual compliment that caused your cheeks to heat up.

"You can…" You shook your head, barely breathing. "But how is it…"

He pointed at his ear. "This device recognises your language," then gestured to his neck. "And connects with this. Whenever I speak in my language, this collar converts it into yours."

A soft ah slipped past your lips, eyes fixed on the thin, crystal band made of a sort of rubber material. Your finger brushed the glass wall, as if trying to feel the device beneath it.

Your brows furrowed when another issue started to bite into your curiosity. "But how do you know my language? How did you build this translator? Our species never made contact."

He sat closer, pressing his forehead to the glass again. At this point, you started to wonder whether it was a sort of typical signal from his species, carrying a special, unknown meaning. And when he beamed with joy, you noticed little white droplets shining faintly, sprinkled around his cheeks. Was this an equivalent of a blush?

"You didn't with us," he pressed a finger to yours, and only then did you see the true, monstrous size of his hand. "But the Reds had been studying you for years."

The reds…

"Oh gosh!" A gasp ripped out of your throat as you covered your mouth with a hand. His head tilted. "The Reds, you mean, Martians?"

"Why are you shocked, question?" he asked, carefully eyeing as you quickly stood up and started walking back and forth between the walls.

Your mind pulsed, trying to comprehend everything that had happened over the past hour. The strange spaceship, the first-ever human contact with life beyond Earth, the final confirmation that aliens did, in fact, kidnap people and conduct experiments on them.

"I'm shocked, because humans never made any contact with life outside our planet," you said, biting down on a fingernail. "How long have you known the Reds?"

A low hum slipped past his lips, and smooth, blue forehead creased. "Five hundred years, I say."

"What?!" Your knees buckled as you once again sat in front of him, with hands and forehead and breasts pressed tightly to a glass wall. "Five hundred years? How is that possible? Are your planets close to each other?"

His head shook, but forehead remained wrinkled. "Humans are very underdeveloped."

You chuckled softly, noticing small, adorable language mistakes the translator made here and there. It's still, robotic voice muffled the creature's deep tone, and something squeezed your heart, as you surprisingly discovered that the honeyed warmth of his tone wrapped your mind in a rather pleasing manner.

"Yes, it seems so." Your head turned, with flushed cheeks pressed to the wall. "But till now I had no idea how far behind we are."

He stayed quiet for a moment before tapping gently on the wall. Your eyes slipped back to his, noticing the droplets sprinkled across his face, radiating adorably like flickering stars.

"My name is Satoru," rolled quietly, as the shimmering dust coated his cheeks ever wider. "Your name, question?"

When you said it slowly, he nodded, still tapping on the surface. Right against your pressed hand. "That's a very beautiful name."

"Yours is not bad either."

He hummed, as if in agreement.

Your head grew heavier and heavier, and the warmth was gently trying to coax you into sleep. As you yawned, Satoru's ghostly eyes carefully followed the exhaustion clouding your forehead.

"Are you tired, question?"

His throat bobbed when you giggled. "You don't have to add a question at the end of each ask, you know?"

You assumed that, because of his grammar rules, he needed to emphasise the difference between normal sentences and inquiries. You've noticed that his language sounded much more melodic than yours, yet it lacked the upward pitch humans use.

"But I am tired, thank you for asking." Looking over your shoulder, you've noticed that your ship was, fortunately, still there. "How about I go to sleep, and we'll get back to our talk in a few hours?"

You slowly stood up and grabbed your heavy spacesuit. Glasses slipped off your nose, and hair stuck to still-warm cheeks, as you lifted up the flashlight and… oh.

It seemed that you missed the sudden sorrow deepening between Satoru's brows. Eyes widened in panic, big palms plastered to the wall with lips just slightly opened, as he looked with a fearful expression at your attempt to move away from the wall. From him.

"Satoru–"

"Can you please sleep here?" His voice trembled, although the translator's robotic tone remained unwavering.

You looked around the tunnel, feeling the crooked ground bending beneath your feet and the dark walls emitting a deep, earthy smell. "I don't think that's a good idea, Satoru." A warm smile lifted your lips as you turned towards your spaceship. "But don't worry, I'll be back. Sleep for a bit, and before you'll notice, I'll–"

"Please," the anxiety filling his shaken voice stabbed right through your heart. "Please let me watch you sleep."

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing him in the same position. With hands pressed against the wall and eyebrows furrowed deeply.

"Watch me sleep?"

He nodded. "I… I didn't watch my crew sleep. The crew died. Satoru has been alone for the past forty years." Your lips fell open, but he quickly added, as if afraid you'd refuse again. "I watch you sleep, you won't die."

Seeing his face – filled with anxiety, pure fear, and misery – you could only smile softly and nod. As the mere thought of this man spending over forty years in space all alone tore your heart apart in the most inhumanely painful way.

"Yes, okay," barely pushed past your lips, before you cleared your throat. "Just let me bring my stuff."

You quickly changed into pyjamas, gathered a few blankets, a pillow and enough water for the night, before going back to the warm tunnel.

And then, as you drew closer to the glassy wall, you noticed a slight change in its shape. As during the five minutes you were gone, Satoru had prepared a special shelf for your body to lie right next to him. With his own feather-like blanket, he lay on his side, waiting for you to slip into the long space and hug him.

You giggled, filling the space with your own things. "That's quite intimate, Satoru."

His body was much taller than the width of the tunnel, and thus, he curled his legs a bit before trying to get even closer to you. "What does intimate mean, question?"

With head hitting the soft pillow and blanket covering your body, you turned his way. Nothing but a thick crystal wall kept you away from brushing noses with each other.

"It means that you're trying to be romantic with someone," but then you thought he might also not understand what romantic means. "Hm, it's when you do nice things for a certain person that you wouldn't do for anyone else. For example, make a special bed to be closer to someone."

A soft crease wrinkled his forehead, and the peacefulness of his eyes told you that he was deeply thinking. "I wouldn't do it for anyone other than you."

The sincerity beaming from his eyes was enough to assure you of the innocent truthfulness of his words. So you sighed, nuzzling deep into the pillow, hoping he didn't notice the warmth on your cheeks.

"That's very romantic, you know? Something you would say to your special someone."

"To your mate, question?"

You hummed, softly closing eyes. His presence somehow made your body tingle with a pleasant warmth, allowing the sleep to haunt your mind in a much softer, calmer way. In a way, you didn't feel for a long, long time, spending days in loneliness and a maddening need to feel someone else's warmth again.

You couldn't feel Satoru's heat, yet your heart fluttered fondly as his gaze truly watched you sleep.

"Yes, although humans don't mate."

"Why, question?"

When you giggled – sweetly, kindly – droplets coating Satoru's cheeks lighted up. Solely for a second, but it was enough to make him slip closer, and closer, and closer, till the glass wall was digging painfully into his body, and his heart still rushed your way.

You bubbled something under your nose. An answer he could not hear. With your lips falling open and a crystal string of saliva dripping down the soft pillow.

His finger pressed against the glass, as if wishing to brush it away.

And when another five minutes passed, a soft snoring filled your side of the tunnel. Breath calmed down, and body drew closer to his. Trying to curl into his – big, burning hot, utterly dangerous for yours.

"I watch you sleep," he whispered, brushing the glass with your pressed cheek. "You never die."

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

Satoru was much more intelligent than you expected.

It's not that you treated him as beneath you, but the true power of his mind exceeded your expectations.

And as it turned out, he was in the same situation as you – researching the alien microbes that were also eating his sun. Except that his species discovered the problem forty years before yours, and thus a wave of panic washed over your mind. Because if a creature like Satoru couldn't find the solution to the problem that apparently touched not just Earth but the whole universe, you wouldn't do it either.

One difference between you and Satoru was that, as an engineer, he could actually do things himself. Simply produce them, with all the glassed walls and tiny models of planets made from a strange, gluey substance that rolled off his fingers. He wasn't a scientist like you, so when he heard that you were the "brain" of the crew, his eyes flickered. 

"We can work together," he proposed, already considering the path to the only planet not consumed by alien microbes. Since it wasn't infected, it suggested there was something in its atmosphere that enabled it to withstand the lethal bacteria. "You will be the mastermind of the entire operation, I will develop the sources. Also, I have spent forty years here, so I know how to navigate."

His eyes were fixed on creating another little planet, rolling the gluey strings between his pads, moulding them into a ball and waiting until the substance dried into a crystal orb. After a few days, your glassy wall had advanced enough to have a small opening for a shelf where you could exchange little presents.

Although you forgot that Satoru's atmosphere was close to boiling lava in temperature, when your hands accidentally brushed, a nasty, red bump was left on the skin of your thumb.

He put the ball on the shelf and moved his hand away so you could grab it.

"Which planet is it?" you wondered, brushing the crystal surface.

He tsked – something he learnt from you mere hour ago – and mumbled. "The earth, of course."

A scoff escaped your lips, and warmth spilt over the heart. "We're not that small."

"I believe you are."

"And we have more greenery."

He wondered, this time building a small spaceship. Your spaceship. "I would like to see it."

Some things have become clearer after spending the past few days in Satoru's presence. His planet was one of the closest to the sun, wrapped in a dense atmosphere that protected its inhabitants from being burned alive. As Satoru said, the days merged with the nights, and it was always rather dark – hence the pale, almost spectral eyes he and other inhabitants had. There was little to no greenery, and the water system had long been sustained by technologies developed by engineers like him.

"A lot of sand", he once said, and you wondered whether it would look like anything close to the climate of Arab countries.

His head tilted then, and eyes flickered with curiosity. "How do Arab countries look, question?"

You tried to describe the endless desert plains, the crimson sun, the curling droplets of sweat on your neck, and the nights filled with beaming joy as best you could. The feel of warm sand under your feet, sea brushing the skin sweetly and fresh dates melting on your tongue in sugary pleasure.

He listened, with eyes following the curve of your lips and fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

"I would love to see it," he muttered, poking the glass wall with his finger. "It sounds beautiful."

You giggled, following the pale blue of his skin. Soft and shiny, it reminded you more of a region bitten by cold than of the merciless atmospheric temperature of over two hundred degrees Celsius.

"You're rather pale for someone living right next to the sun."

He scoffed, with fingers still creating the small spaceship. In the meantime, you leaned against the crooked tunnel's wall, with a laptop on your thighs, trying to plan the route towards the only "safe" planet.

"I'm not pale. I'm blue."

"That was a joke," you shoot him a glance, seeing the irritated squint of his eyes. "It means that the thing I say is supposed to be funny. You should laugh."

A low, awkward chuckle rolled off his lips, and you couldn't help but burst out laughing. Satoru knew how to express his joy, but it seemed he didn't quite possess the humour you did.

The moment has passed, and a comfortable silence stretched between the two of you. He was mapping the galaxy, while you tried to work out whether your ship still had enough fuel to travel that far. It would take you months to reach that planet, but there seemed to be no other choice. After that mission, the fuel will run out, and you, just as planned, will die here – somewhere in the embrace of endless space.

A low sigh slipped past your lips, catching Satoru's attention. "Are you tired, question?"

Your head shook, and a few strands of hair fell loosely from a pinup. "I would love to invite you to my ship. There's a room where we can watch movies and stuff. I'm sure I can find something about Egypt."

And so…

You've also learned over the past few days that Satoru took everything seriously.

In the most genuine and firm understanding of this word.

Two weeks have passed since your meeting. One morning, as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dressed in nothing but panties and a loose shirt while brushing your teeth, a deep, gravelly rumble shook the entire spaceship.

Your heart leapt into your throat, eyes bulged, and you dashed out of the room with wet hair and bare feet. With all the prayers you've learnt as a child repeating in your mind over and over again, as you run towards the entrance of the ship.

Did you somehow get unsealed from the tunnel?

Did something hit the ship and cause the irreparable damage that would cost you your life?

Fuck, did–

But when you finally got into the room connected with an entrance, with toothpaste smeared all over your cheek and glasses falling crookedly off your nose, a low gasp slipped past your lips.

"Satoru?!"

Because the pale-bluish creature himself stood in the middle of your spaceship, locked in a…

"And you're in a ball?" Like a hamster, wanted to join, but he probably wouldn't know what a hamster is.

Standing right in front of you, fully upright, with long legs wrapped in a white suit and a muscular back bulging under the stretched material – he appeared even more monstrous than usual. A creature over two metres tall, looking all over your place with amusement shining in his eyes, his gaze following all your dirty panties spread across the floor.

"Yep, so I won't die in your atmosphere," long fingers knocked the crystal ball, before lips curved in a cheeky smile. "Can I smell it, question? I want to know how your body smells. Put it to the shel–"

A sudden warmth had hit your cheeks, and throat tightened around the remnants of the toothpaste. "Absolutely not! It's very not polite of you to ask such things."

He started walking around in a large ball that barely fit the corridors of your spaceship, its hard walls brushing against each and every machine, piece of furniture, and console on its way. He strolled freely, dropping different comments here and there, while you followed him and picked up all your clothes.

"So dirty," he snapped, pushing a loud scoff from your throat.

"I didn't expect the guests!"

But he ignored you, as your bedroom appeared somewhere within the line of his sight. Blue cheeks shone with crystal droplets, and white, fluffy hair almost stood on end with excitement. Before you could stop him, long legs swiftly moved towards your bedroom, taking in every little, dirty, detail – more panties, a small mattress, a few books lying scattered all over the floor.

"Is that our nest, question?" He looked around before parking his ball next to your mattress. He sat down, leaning against the floor, and finally shot you a look. "I like it."

With a deep, weariness-filled sigh, you returned to the bathroom, cleaned yourself, and re-entered the bedroom. Soft light reflected off the glistening droplets on his cheeks as he probed the fabric of your panties with his finger. Only then did you realise that the ball, despite being firm, was quite flexible, enabling him to slide his fingers through its surface, which was covered in a sticky, shimmering coating that shielded his skin from the oxygen.

You took the material away from his curious gaze and pushed it back into your bag.

"Satoru, what are you doing here?" slipped rather harshly as you sat down on your bed.

He seemed to be confused by your tone, tilting the fluffy head with a furrow. "Are you mad, question?"

You knew that getting angry with him, while he was still learning to recognise human emotions, was silly. Stupid, even, and you felt as if you were shouting at the poor puppy. Except that this puppy was much taller than you and probably weighed twice your weight.

With a sigh, you fell back on the mattress and covered your face with an arm. "Sorry, I'm not mad. Just… surprised. I didn't expect you would come up my ship."

He tried to roll closer, but the space was too small to allow him any other movements than going back and forth from the entrance to your mattress. So he stayed in place, trying to observe the expression on your face.

"I can't see you like that," he noted.

Another thing you've learnt about his species was how important contact and intimacy are. Not even sexual ones, but rather a simple need to always be with someone. To communicate while looking right into their eyes, to feel their skin on theirs, and to follow the movements of their lips. To feel the presence of another creature next to them, even if the only thing you did was sleep next to each other.

So another sorry slipped past your lips, and you sat again, showing Satoru your face. He slightly lightened up before pressing a hand to the crystal ball.

"You said, and I quote, I would love to invite you to my ship," he noted with utmost seriousness, and you rolled your eyes. "So I came."

Well, he was right. You did say that, and you did wish there were a way to bring him into your ship. Travelling together would be much easier if both of you were on one ship, so amidst the pure chaos and shock he caused, you quite enjoyed the fact that he could live here.

With you.

"Okay," your hand pressed to the ball, filling half of his palm. "But we need to set up some rules first. First, we don't sleep in the same bedroom–"

"But I must watch–"

"Satoru," you interrupted him, seeing the pale eyes slip into the sorrowfulness. "You have excellent hearing and even more excellent sight. I'm sure you can watch me sleep while staying next door." A grim twisted his face, and a low mumble filled his little bubble. Too quiet for the translator to catch, so you chuckled sweetly, seeing his brattiness surface. "Okay. The second rule – you can't sniff my panties. It's something… reserved only for mates."

And, well, if that didn't fire him up – with eyes suddenly beaming in excitement and droplets twinkling one by one, like a tiny mingling stars. You felt as if you had challenged him, and thus quickly added. "And because we are not mates, you cannot do it. It's too intimate."

"I want to be intimate."

A sudden flush hit your cheeks, and warmth spread beneath your chest. "No, Satoru, you don't understand. It's about sexual intimacy. Something you share while…" saying it out loud felt like giving a biology lesson to elementary school kids. "Mating… with your special someone. When you, well, have sex and stuff. Do you know–"

He chuckled low, a sly smile lifting his lips. "I know what mating is."

Something in your lower belly bubbled, seeing him like that. Tall and strong, spreading a slightly possessive and dominating aura. With eyes full of bratty cheekiness and something, something, slightly sensual dripping from his voice.

"Well, so you know that we can't do it," You moved back, taking your palm away from the crystal ball. "Let's work on our plan and try to find a way to save the world."

And with a slight dissatisfaction, Satoru finally agreed.

But the next months spent in his presence were… interesting. To say at least.

Every day brought new surprises, which sometimes ended with your body blushing from head to toes, sometimes him getting shy and flustered, while still trying to keep up the cocky demeanour.

He was nothing less than excellent when it came to engineering and helping with the travel itself, also being an amazing companion for the long, daring journey.

Soon he resigned from constant stay in a ball and filled the interior of your spaceship with long corridors of crystal, making himself at home. Whenever you were – he was right next. Be it a bedroom, control room, kitchen or…

"Satoru!" You quickly covered your breasts with your hands, seeing him walking into the bathroom with the most casual demeanour.

A plate of some weird substance, he was always eating for supper, and a white suit half unzipped, showing off his muscular, blue chest. He leaned against the door, spectral eyes slowly following your naked body. From legs up to hips, staying longer on the gentle swell of your ass and the mould of your pussy, before going up, and up, to the breasts covered by your trembling fingers. "Sweetheart is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

"Sweetheart" because he really wished to call you something human pairs use for each other. Even though at least three times a week, you needed to remind him that you, in fact, were not a pair.

A muffled, surprised scoff escaped your lips. You pointed to the exit with one hand, forgetting it was clutching one of your breasts. When the silky swell smoothly slipped from your grasp, bouncing gently before his eyes, he moved closer, already pushing a finger through the stretching wall.

"Can I–"

You smacked it, once again showing the exit. "Satoru! You can't walk on me while I'm naked."

"Why, question?" he asked, relentlessly trying to get closer to your body. With a finger poking the wall, that unfortunately couldn't stretch enough to even brush your skin. "Come a bit closer."

Something in your belly bubbled, warmth spread across your chest, and a single, dirty thought of letting him touch you bloomed in your mind. After all, sexual needs and anatomy were among the things all researchers wished to know about foreign species. And because Satoru was of the same, curious kind as you…

"It's too early, out!"

His head tilted, and lips curved into a foxy smile. "It's eight in the evening."

"No, I mean, we're not close enough to do such stuff."

He knocked on the crystal wall. "Sweetheart, but I can't get closer."

Oh god.

You sighed, finally letting the other tit bounce softly too. Leaning against the small shelf, you glanced at him with a frown. He, however, looked anywhere but into your eyes. Rude.

"Our relationship is not on that level…" yet. "What you want to do is too intimate. Sexual." And then, a sudden curiosity spiked your mind. "Satoru, how does the… mate thing look like among your species?"

His eyes finally slipped up to yours. "We choose one mate for a whole life."

Well, that was rather clear.

"What about the, you know…" You gestured awkwardly, partially at your still naked body.

"The mating," he finished. But as if feeling the spike in your curiosity, with round eyes ogling his naked chest and slipping shyly towards his hips, he bubbled a low chuckle. "Come closer, and I will show you."

What a brat!

With the last tsk and a dirty look shot his way, you turned back towards the mirror and finished your quick, morning "shower". Even while using rinseless soap and water pouches to clean your body, you still felt Satoru's presence behind you.

Deep blue eyes following the curve of your body, back muscles working beneath the soft skin, and when you bent over to rinse your face, a sudden, sharp breath escaped his throat.

You didn't have to look back to know that he was looking straight at your pussy.

"It's wet," he mumbled, coming closer. And closer, until his finger once again tried to evade the stretching wall, too short to even brush the swell of your ass.

You hummed, trying to hide an embarrassed warmth kissing your neck. "It's a natural lubrication. It usually happens when a woman is…" oh fuck it. "Excited."

He seemed charmed, completely bewitched, and some part of you wished the difference in temperature between your bodies wasn't over two hundred degrees Celsius. As the moment Satoru's hands touched your skin, you weren't sure whether calling it the third-degree burn would be enough.

"Why is sweetheart excited, question?"

With your body leaning forward and hands resting on the shelf, you looked back, eyes slightly hazy, wetness dripping down your thigh. A silken droplet swirled down your leg, and Satoru's always oh-so-attentive eyes, of course didn't miss it.

"I want the taste," he mumbled, and only then did you notice a bulge, trying to rip free from beneath the white spacesuit covering his hips.

You took a deep breath, bending yourself lower and lower, till he could clearly see your cunt shining with silky wetness.

"I'm excited," you started, voice dripping with sensuality. "Because of you."

As if awaiting this exact answer, his eyes, for just a second, ripped themselves away from your soft pussy and looked up. To cross with yours – slightly teary, a bit too warm.

"I want to–"

You turned around, once again leaning against the shelf. A low groan escaped his throat, as he no longer could see your pussy in its fullness. The little pout twisting his lips made you giggle, but a tricky, dirty thought has slipped into your mind.

"How about this?" You took a step, then another, until you stood right in front of him. Much closer than before, but not close enough to let him brush your skin. "I will let you touch me. Watch me…" You coughed, feeling this wind of bravery leave your body as quickly as it had come. "Masturbate. And you'll let me do it too."

Satoru's lips fell open, eyes sparkled in excitement. "I thought the intimacy was only for mates. Are we mates then, question?"

"Let's call it friend with benefits."

His eyes narrowed. "We don't do such things with friends."

You scoffed, pushing your hip to the side and biting the inside of your cheek. "Well, we do, so you can either accept it or not."

And seeing that this time his bratty stubbornness wouldn't work, Satoru nodded.

A few minutes later, you found yourself in the most embarrassed, going-straight-to-the-grave position you could imagine. With elbows supporting your body on the bedroom's mattress, legs spread open, and pussy pressed against the crystal wall. The slippery juices coated the surface, making Satoru breathe much, much harder than before. With fingers wrapped around the biggest, most monstrous cock you've ever seen.

You needed a moment to take in the sight that sprang up in front of your eyes after he took off the rest of the suit. Massive, veiny shaft, with a swelled protrusion at his base, probably used while mating. The blue skin was peppered with similar droplets sprinkled on his cheeks, and shimmered faintly whenever he looked down at your cunt.

Small and fluttering, with your hole squeezing around nothing and clit swelled from excitement.

The penetrative gaze of his made you warm up even more. "Satoru, touch me," slipped like an order.

His long finger brushed the crystal wall and pushed – gently, carefully, till he felt a soft button under his pad and heard a low moan escape your lips.

He dreamed of feeling the gummy structure of your pussy. To roll the clit between his fingers, without any surface protecting his body. To lower himself down and smell, lick, taste the dripping cum that in his mind was sweeter than anything he had ever tried.

And it should be noted that he had quite refined taste buds.

His other hand pumped his massive cock in slow strokes, enjoying the sight spreading in front of him much more than the feeling of his fingers wrapped around the dripping shaft.

"Does it feel good, question?" He asked, hearing another moan fill the small bedroom.

"Y-yeah, ahh, try to make gentle circles," slipped faintly, as you started to roll nipples between your fingers.

His thumb pressed against your clit harder, making your feet curl and legs spread even wider. As if trying to invite his massive cock, that would surely rip you in half.

Maybe the fact that you couldn't touch each other wasn't that bad. Because if he somehow found a way to fuck you with this size, you sure would feel it up in your throat.

And thus you enjoyed the sight spreading in front of your eyes – his beefy thighs bulging whenever you jolted under his thumb, pearly cum dripping down the blue skin, long fingers squeezing the veiny meat as he still oh-so-carefully rubbed your clit.

"It's getting wetter," he noticed, biting the inside of his cheek. "I want to taste you."

His low voice made your body melt under his fingers, forcing your thighs to spread wider and wider, while chasing the pleasure bubbling in your belly. Your hole fluttered around nothing, and a sheer sight of his cock spun your mind in crazy wish to get yourself stretched around it. To feel every vein scratch your tight walls, till the drenched head would kiss your swelling womb.

"Fuck, wait, I have an idea," you backed out, crawling towards your bag.

Crazy, stupid, nasty plan slipped into your head, as you took out a mid-size, creamy dildo. With a sucking pad at the end, and a slightly curved head. It wasn't yours, as you somehow found it among the things… oh well, does it really matter? It was clean and had been bathed in antiseptic spray multiple times; thus, using it was not disgusting at all.

But when Satoru saw it, his breath hitched. Eyes slipped down to his cock, and forehead furrowed. "Why is it so small, question?"

You chuckled, sticking it to the crystal wall. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that's the average size of a human's dick."

He followed your body as you once again spread your legs open and brushed the silicone cock through your folds a few times. Drenching it all in your juices, and Satoru, since learning the meaning of jealousy, felt something unpleasant bubble in his heart. Because he wished to be the one making your pussy flutter around his head and push it inside, till your sugary walls would clamp around his fat cock.

Your forehead furrowed, eyes glistened from prickling tears as his thumb once again landed on your clit. But this time, the pleasure was twice as intense. With a silicone dick stretching your tight pussy and his finger rubbing you in slow, maddening circles.

"I could make you feel better," he groaned, hearing another pitched moan slip past your lips. "This pathetic thing is not worthy to be inside my sweetheart."

With rising irritation, he pressed your clit harsher. Till a tremble washed over your body and back hit the mattress, as you rolled your cunt to feel the dildo go deeper. But Satoru was right – his cock would indeed make you feel better.

Your hands slipped up to your breasts, pinching the hard buds and chasing the maddening pleasure bubbling in your lower belly.

A deep frown creased Satoru's forehead, and he gently squeezed your clit. "I can't see your face."

"R-right, sorry–ahhh," A cry rolled off your tongue as you once again leaned on your elbows. "Satoru, it feels so good, mhmm."

His cock was more flushed than before, with a cherry tip spilling the heavy, thick droplets all over his hand. He pumped it madly, never once taking his eyes off your lovely face. With pleasure twisting your brows and teary eyes fixed upon his.

"S-Satoru, I, fuck, I'm going to cum," the silicone cock kissed your cervix, smooching it wetly with hefty, gluey cum sipping from your hole.

You tried to imagine getting split open on his cock. Being filled by his cum, with creamy saps stuffing your swelling womb and pumping your belly full. Getting manhandled by his muscular arms and wide back, as he would fold you into a mating press and push into the mattress. Till each and every spring would painfully dig into your spine.

So with a final cry, you came.

With a loud cry, spine arching into the sweetest curve, and a sprinkling of sweetness gushing all over his thumb, although it was a true pity that he couldn't feel it. Your body trembled and lips fell open, seeing a furrow cloud his forehead and fingers tightening around his cock.

And then, an idea slipped quietly into your mind.

"Wait a minute, don't cum yet," you muttered, taking a pair of panties lying on your bed. With a single, dirty move, you rubbed them against your drenched folds, gathering all the creamy cum and honeyed sweetness.

Satoru… dear heavens.

When a flimsy material landed inside the shelf, quite similar to the one he installed in a tunnel, Satoru's fingers snapped forward and snatched it. He brought it closer to his nose, lips, feeling your precious wetness and the rich flavour burst right onto his tongue, as a low, primal groan escaped his throat.

"Mhmm, s-so, ahh, tastes so sweet," a muffled cry was almost incomprehensible with your panties filling his mouth.

The head of his cock pulsed, massive balls constricted whenever his tongue took another lick of your fresh cum and eyes… oh, eyes stayed on you.

On your breasts coated in sheer sweat, thighs still spread open and a little, minx smile twisting your lips. Satoru was sure he could cum only at the sheer sight of your angelic face, and thus, after a few more harsh pumps and muffled cries, he came. Loud and heavy, with creamy ropes shooting all over his glimmering skin and fully emptying everything he has been keeping far too long.

What a waste, you both thought, wishing it landed somewhere far, far sweeter and warmer. Deep inside your womb, preferably.

A moment has passed, with a small bedroom filled with your heavy breaths and shy glances, looking everywhere but at your cum-coated bodies. With a faint cough, you finally closed your thighs and covered yourself with a blanket.

Blooming loveliness crept up your cheeks, and suddenly looking at Satoru required far more courage and calm than it had merely thirty minutes ago.

Before you could ask whether he needed a towel, his low voice spoke first. "Are we mates now, question?"

He said sheepishly, lifting your panties with a finger.

You groaned and fell on a mattress with his chuckle tickling your burning ears.

You didn't want to destroy this moment, even though you knew your mission would end with you dying in space. That he would go back to his planet safely, while you would float and float and float, while eventually dying of hunger.

And so, sharing this sweet moment of intimacy, with warmth spreading beneath your chest, you nodded. "Yes, Satoru. Let's become mates."

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

The next few months were filled with nothing but joy.

With movies playing on repeat in the small, cinematic room, Satoru watches each of them with his lips agape. Enjoying the landscapes of Earth, you could project them into a closed space, with a blue sky spreading across the ceiling and tall Scottish plains stretching beneath your feet.

With the golden sand of Thai beaches shimmering in the sun and coconuts falling from the palms, the chirping of birds perched high in the lush trees of the Amazon Forest, and the endless plains of the Sahara Desert.

When you joked that the three pyramids in Giza you were just looking at were believed to have been built by aliens, he only hummed and nodded as if in agreement. A scoff rolled off your tongue, and his head snapped towards you.

"Why are you nodding? Of course they weren't!"

Plush, bluish lips curved in a sly smile. "Is sweetheart sure, question? It looks like something we have on our planet."

An unbelievable shock crossed your face as you stared at him, speechless. "No, you don't!"

"Yes, we do."

"You're fucking with me."

His head tilted. "I thought we can't fuck."

You rolled your eyes, resting your head against his shoulder. Or at least against the crystal surface he was pressed against. "Forget it."

"I can't, my memory is excellent."

And that was indeed true, as Satoru seemed to remember every single thing you said or did over the past few months. The plan you devised to obtain a sample of the planet's atmospheric gas to discover why it was immune to deadly microbes was etched into his mind with meticulous precision.

Truly mesmerising creature he was, especially as he also remembered which buttons to push, to make you cum faster.

What you had also discovered was that Satoru loved to talk about your future.

Particularly during the late nights, when you were curled up under the warm blanket, lying on a mattress in a dimly lit room, with him cuddled up against your side.

He couldn't brush your soft cheek pressed against the wall, but it was fine.

For the look of your lovely face, he watched with warmth blooming in his chest, was enough.

On such nights, when both of you longed for each other's warmth, he enjoyed dreaming. Of you returning with him to his planet, building you a small, private island with oxygen, and fulfilling all your wishes. You teaching the children of his species physics – as you did on Earth – and him continuing to serve as the most valued engineer on his planet.

Of you and him living together in a small seaside cottage, spending days loving each other and lying on the soft beach till darkness would spill over the ocean's horizon – the only his planet had, the one he was ready to fully give into your hands. Having sex all day and night, to which you responded with a sweet, faint giggle, as sleep slowly slipped onto your eyes.

"And how would we do it, hm?" you mumbled, pressing against the crystal wall.

A soft furrow haunted your forehead, and he imagined calming it with a gentle roll of his thumb. "The atmosphere of my planet allows us to use a special technique," through the glass wall, he traced the curve of your lips. "It wraps my body in a thin barrier, but I would be able to touch you," soft lips touched to the point where your nose pressed. "And kiss you. And hug you, make love with you, although we wouldn't have children."

You understood why and giggled softly, slowly opening your sleepy eyes to meet the endless, pale blue. "You really want to get even closer, huh?"

It was a joke, and yet a warmth bloomed behind his spectral eyes, forcing your heart to skip a beat. His hand pressed to the part where your chest met the wall, before he leaned his forehead against "yours". "If I could, I would make you live inside me. So nothing in this universe would ever rip us apart."

A faint oh rolled past your lips as you bit on the soft inside of your cheek. "Satoru, I don't know how long your species live, but… I don't have as much time as you think."

A sudden panic swelled behind his eyes, and thumb slipped out of the crystal wall to brush your lower lip. "My best friends have been mates for the past hundred and sixty years. How many can you give me, question?"

Something ripped through your heart. Cut it with painful slashes, till a crease on your forehead deepened. "Not a lot, Satoru. Maybe seventy years?"

His thumb paused, an ache spreading across the vast, pale blue plains. "I've lived three hundred years without you," he said, warm lips pressing into the wrinkle between your "brows". "I won't survive another seventy."

But the endless honeymoon couldn't last long.

For there was a reason why both of you found yourselves in space. Why the mission was tagged as suicidal, and why there wasn't enough fuel to get you back to Earth. And while Satoru's dreams indeed sounded tempting, you knew that it simply wouldn't work out.

For you breathed oxygen, and he needed ammonia gas.

Your body stayed cool at thirty-six degrees Celsius, while his was burning up to over two hundred.

He was three hundred years old – you twenty-seven.

But he didn't have to know all of that. Over the past twenty-seven years, no one had made you laugh, enjoy, and love life as much as he did. Even if those brief moments of happiness were only meant to last a few months, they were enough.

After the mission, he could go back safely to his home, and you… well.

And you would need to watch him die.

It was truly unpredictable, and none of you could foresee how the situation would turn out. You finally arrived on the planet, prepared to collect the necessary samples of the antidote. You didn't know, however, how dense its atmosphere would be.

How the wind would violently hit your ship, tossing it sharply left and right as you stepped outside in your spacesuit and carried Satoru's sampling device back onto the ship.

He told you to leave it. When you almost fell off the ship, he begged you to come inside. Hit the wall with hands, screamed right into the speaker inside your helmet, pleaded to leave the sample and just come back.

But you simply couldn't do it. Because leaving it here, after Satoru spent decades in space trying to seek the solution, would be simply foolish. Egoistic, and thus, after a few harsh currents, you grabbed the box filled with antidote cells and went back to the ship.

But then, it started spinning. And spinning and spinning, wish wind smacking it in violent currents, and you found it almost impossible to get back onto the normal route. Every single light inside the control room shimmered red. Satoru tried to calm you down, but there was nothing he could truly do from behind the glass wall.

You pushed and flickered every button, every controller, but after one sudden, brutal tug of the ship, your face hit the console.

Eyes filled with red, a nasty crack came from the nose, and the gaze became a bit hazy. You tried to push one last button that would help the ship get away from the planet's strong current, but you were simply too weak. With blood slowly covering your whole face and belts still pinning you to the chair.

Satoru shouted something, but you couldn't hear him clearly. Was it because of the red lamps and an alarm filling the control room? Or maybe because of the sudden sleepiness that blanketed your eyelids?

His fists hit the glass wall, spreading the dull echo around the control room. A soft sweetheart sweetheart sweetheart rolled past his lips, but you simply had no energy to look up. As if you did, the sigh of his trembling, panicked face would rip your heart apart.

His large fists wanted to break through the wall, eyes looked at the blood dripping down your face, body filled with helplessness and desperation, trying everything in his power to get close to you.

With a single finger, you still strained to push that last red button. To get the ship back on track, at least allow Satoru to be safe, and finish the mission that would help save his planet. But your body couldn't handle the gravitational force caused by the spin, which pressed you into the console. The slow crushing of your lungs, mind filling with fogginess, throat crushed beneath the flickering buttons.

So with a soft, almost inaudible I'm sorry, your eyes closed.

A second has passed, a minute, with mind registering the crying alarm and… and a shatter of glass.

A sudden pain washed over your body – burning and stinging every nerve. Someone lifted you up, carefully, slowly, trying to wrap you in blankets and clothes, anything to keep you from the lethal touch.

Quiet, you'll live, sweetheart will live, sweetheart, sweetheart, keep your eyes open, amid violent waves of coughing and painful moans, filled the corridors of your spaceship. When your eyes opened a little, you saw nothing but thick steam evaporating from something. 

Someone.

"Satoru?" slipped out in a whisper as, from beneath the curling steam, a blue, familiar face looked down at you, wet-cheeked. "Satoru, no, y-you'll die–"

"Shhh, sweetheart, it's okay, it's okay, sweetheart will live," he repeated like a mantra, hugging your wrapped body closer to his.

Fiery skin burned through the thick layers of blankets, leaving burns all over your bloodstained skin. Your body hit something, and before you noticed, an automated medical care robot soon filled your vision. The mechanical arms pressed the oxygen mask to your face before an IV needle slipped beneath the skin of your arm.

"Satoru," you mumbled weakly, trying to find those familiar, pale eyes.

And he was right there, offering you the most painful, heart-tearing sight. Tears ran down his cheeks, white steam curled tortuously from his body, and gaze slowly grew weaker. He could barely breathe, yet still stood right there.

Over your barely warm body, making sure that you would live.

"I watch you–"

"No, S-Satoru," barely pushed through your squeezed throat. With crystal tears swirling in your eyes and fingers trying to push him away from the table. "Go back, p-please, or–"

"No, I watch you sleep." his fingers grabbed the hem of your shirt. "You won't die".

You were too weak to fight him. In too much pain, with your head pounding, skin burning from his touch and anaesthesia slowly kicking in.

And so, with a last look into the eyes your heart laughed for, you fell asleep.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed. How long you stayed under the mechanical clutches of the medical robot.

How long Satoru needed to suffer, to make sure you would be alive.

But when you finally woke up and ripped yourself away from the needles, he wasn't there.

He wasn't in your sight, but something else, something burned, marked the floor. Dark traces of blue dust led further inside the spaceship. Still weak, with the last traces of blood dried on your cheek, you followed them, your heart pounding. And a little grain of foolish hope bloomed inside your heart, fresh tears already swirling in the corners of eyes.

The ship was back on a normal route, carrying you through the galaxy at a slow, peaceful pace. Thanks to Satoru.

The blue dust led you through the control room, down into the basement, kitchen, bathroom, and finally to the bedroom, as if he tried to, for the last time, see every part of the ship. Just to make sure everything was working. That after waking up, you wouldn't have to bother yourself with anything.

And so another wave of crushing sob bubbled in your throat. A pain ripping you open as you entered your shared bedroom and saw him there – curled on the mattress, the upper part of his body already slipped inside his crystal corridor. As if he didn't have the strength to crawl in fully. Too busy watching you sleep.

"Oh, Satoru," a cry finally escaped your throat, as your knees bent beside his body. "You fool, so stupid, you're–oh!" A hysterical lament filled the small bedroom as you touched his cold body. "Satoru, how c-could you leave me alone?"

Face, always beaming with so much warmth and joy, lay in dead silence. With your loving, blue eyes closed behind the curtain of white lashes and lips more pale than usual.

Gathering every last ounce of strength still boiling in your body, you brought his ball back. In such a tight, ammonia-filled space, the chance of his recovery was much higher.

Opening it was almost impossible, so you cut a hole big enough to, with pain ripping through your muscles and sweat dripping down your spine, somehow push him inside. And then you glued the walls tight, with a prayer dripping off your lips, and your body cuddled into his crystal ball.

"I'll watch you sleep," you whispered, brushing the surface with his pressed cheek. "You won't die."

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

The sun spilling through the curtain tickled your cheeks. The chirping of birds made you sigh deeply, and the gentle sea breeze coated your skin with soft kisses. The shoulder, the soft line of the spine, the slightly sweating neck, with a salty fragrance slipping sweetly into your nostrils.

You tried to stretch, waking up your stiff body from a deep slumber, but something locked you in place.

Something heavy and long, curling around your waist and pulling you closer to another stony wall.

Or, maybe you should say, stony chest.

Looking over your shoulder, you've met with a cheeky smile curling your husband's lips and still-sleepy, pale eyes. He pulled you closer, until your head found itself under his chin and your legs entangled with his.

"Good morning," you giggled, turning in his arms. "Did you sleep well?"

Satoru hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The thin barrier wrapping his body glimmered under the spilling sunlight. After years on his planet, you no longer needed a translator to understand his language. And so you kissed his blue neck, tracing the kisses up, and up, along his jaw and chin, until finally locking your lips with his.

"Apologies, I didn't watch you sleep."

You chuckled, biting gently on his lower lip. "Were you that tired after last night?"

"Mmm," a soft, satisfied hum escaped his throat when you felt something hard poking your belly. "Forgive your husband, he didn't realise he had a tigress and no wife at home."

You chuckled sweetly, forcing his lips to curl in a sly smile.

"Does my wife need anything? Do you want Suguru to lower the temperature?"

Tracing the sharpness of his jaw, up to the curve of his lips, your head shook. "No, it's warm enough. Maybe you can ask him to lower the birds' chirping a bit. I think they're a bit louder than yesterday."

He nodded, pulling you even closer. Till your bodies tangled in one, and a slow, peaceful pounding of his heart beat against your breasts. "Mhm, sure. But let's sleep a bit longer, and then you can jump on me as much as you want, hm?"

So with the last, soft kiss between your brows and heart swelling from feeling the heaviness of your body on his, Satoru allowed you to cuddle into his muscular chest and watch him slowly slip into a deep slumber.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

I cried on this movie five times, 10/10, will never watch again.

[liahcharms]

and baby, you're all that I want

When Marquis Gojo Satoru goes missing after the bloody fight, the entire empire is in uproar! Until his loyal soldiers accidentally discover him living in a small village working as a... noodle seller? And he has a wife?!

pairings: Gojo Satoru x Reader

content/warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, inspired by drama, Gojo yearns to have a family, domestic life he deserves, pregnancy, marriage

WC: 5.5k

a/n: loosely inspired by Chinese drama Pursuit of Jade 逐玉！

idk who the artist is, pls help!

Two men walked through plains and meadows under the scorching, merciless sun. Their full armour weighed heavily on tired shoulders, and horses were getting more tired each day. They barely had any water, and milky buns long gone stale, with their usual soft dough crumpling under their touch.

They've been looking for their general for six months already, with the hunt being fruitless from the very start. Marquis Gojo Satoru fell on the battlefield alone, with all his other soldiers getting bowled like wild deer. Since that cursed night – no one has seen him. The most powerful general in the entire empire, with the emperor himself paying in pure silver just to find his most precious warrior.

That's why Suguru – his strategist – and Nanami – most devoted general – decided to walk the vast plains of the empire, just to find their Marquis. He wasn't dead, surely, as not many things could hurt his almost divine body. As if created by the Jade Emperor himself.

Built like a boar, with the strength of a thousand men, Gojo Satoru was the strongest one in the whole empire. Surely he must've been kept hidden, with hundreds of men trying to conceal the Marquis from the world and use him as a future leverage.

Could someone from a traitorous clan kidnap him?

Maybe his wounds after the fight were truly too severe, and he just wasn't strong enough to break free?

Whatever the reason was, Suguru and Nanami were dead-set on finishing their mission.

After a half day of walking, they stepped down the mountain, following a gentle brook that let their horses drink to the brim. Both men cleaned themselves up a bit and ate last, stale buns, dreaming of having even a simple bowl of noodles.

Thus, imagine how joyous they were upon seeing a little village, hidden deep between the mountains with nothing but tall trees and a wide river spinning through it. If Suguru didn't lift his head up while drinking from the brook, surely he wouldn't notice it. Low, wooden roofs were almost fully obscured by lush forest, and nothing but a gentle, white smoke curled around some dirty chimneys.

Food!

Both men almost run that way, with stomachs squirming in hunger and sweat dripping down their backs. Nanami dreamed of sitting down with a drink and meat, while Suguru foolishly wished that the villagers would know something about their Marquis.

After all, the battle was not that far away from here, and there was a chance that someone might've seen a wounded soldier wandering around the meadows.

When their horses passed the small, wooden gate, the little child immediately ran up to them.

"Can I pet, can I pet?" his small hand reached out towards the raven horse, brushing its massive leg gently before Suguru could even nod.

He got off the mare, squatting down to be on the same level as a kid.

"Tell me, boy, do you have any nice restaurants here in the village?" he asked, and the child hummed.

"Of course we have! The best noodles in the whole region, pretty lady!" he chirped, oogling Suguru's long hair smooching his cheeks.

Nanami scoffed, while Suguru only smiled gently. "Well, could you maybe take us there? You see, these two soldiers are very, very hungry."

The boy didn't seem to care about Suguru's pressure on the soldiers and simply nodded. He left the horse and pointed a finger at the small, two-level house, with multiple people sitting outside on little stools and grey smoke twisting around its roof.

"Thank you, dearest," Suguru said warmly, placing a sliver coin in the boy's hand.

Well, it should help his family last for at least a month.

"Do you think someone may've seen him?" Nanami asked while tying the horses to the fence outside the small restaurant.

"I hope so. But firstly, let's eat. I'm ready to collapse any second," Suguru mumbled, passing the wide-open doors.

The inside was rather simple but homely, with multiple families chirping joyfully over their noodles. The delicious smell of spices immediately hit Suguru's stomach, and long-withheld hunger suddenly became even worse.

They sat at the small table near the open window, enjoying the serene view of the slowly running river, with a few children playing at its crystalline water. Their laughter filled the stuffy air, and the gentle wind brushed Suguru's tired cheeks, bringing him a slight comfort. Birds chirped sweetly, and passing girls giggled under their noses, seeing two handsome, strange soldiers sitting politely in the restaurant.

And while they were waiting, with minds enjoying the peacefulness of this place, someone's voice suddenly brought them back.

"What can I get for you, gentlemen?"

Suguru turned his head, ready to order a bowl of spicy noodles and–

Oh.

Oh!

His knees went weak, and if not for the stool, he would surely fall miserably on the wooden floor. Blood immediately rushed to his head, fingers started to tremble, and if Nanami didn't grab his hand, it would surely curl around Gojo Satoru's neck.

Because why, dear heavens, the Marquis himself was standing before him perfectly fit and cheeky, with healthy rosiness blooming on his face and muscular body dressed in simple, commoner robes?

"M-Mar–" he stood up, but Satoru quickly pushed him back down.

The smile wasn't coming off his face, but his voice rolled out low and irritated. "Why are you here?"

"Why are we here?" Suguru almost burst. "Marquis, what do you mean by why are we here?!"

He couldn't quite believe it – the Marquis, man announced by the ministers themselves as surely dead, was, in fact, looking as if resurrected. His eyes, usually hued in deep ocean colour, looked rather... alive. Light and shiny, resembling the cyan paint spread over the canvas, soft and wet, glimmering under the warm beams of sunshine. His always so pale skin brimmed with healthy rosiness, usually suitable for most dearest birdies. Wet forehead was tied with milky cloth, keeping the snowy hair away from the brazen eyes.

Creamy robes hugged him loosely, with a few chilli oil stains bussing its grainy material.

He looked so... not noble. Not Marquis-like.

But much happier.

"Marquis, if we could talk–" Nanami started, but before he managed to finish, another voice chipped in.

Loud and angry, with a tired sigh and in the company of a fat finger knocking on the wooden table. "Hey, pretty boy! I ordered seconds a while ago!"

Suguru straightened up, jaw visibly tensed. He was ready to pull out his long sword and cut the man on the spot. "How dare you to talk to Ma–"

But before it, Satoru quickly smacked the back of his head.

"Sure thing, just give me a minute," he chirped politely, and Suguru almost fainted.

Never in the thirty years of his life has he ever heard the Marquis being polite to... anyone. Truly.

And so obedient at that, with a gentle smile curving his lips and a little nod of his head. The man, however, didn't seem to be satisfied, rambling under his breath and throwing a few curses every few seconds.

Six months ago, Suguru would see his head rolling on the wooden floor, with a Marquis slashing it off in a single, clean cut.

But now? Now his massive hand was keeping Suguru in place, not allowing him to stir up any trouble.

"You both eat first. I'm sure you must be hungry," he said warmly, patting the shoulders of his most reliable commanders. "We'll discuss it later."

"Marquis, but–" and, once again, before Nanami could finish, the rude customer decided to strike again.

"Pretty boy, I don't see you walking back to the kitchen for my seconds!"

Satoru sighed. His palms squeezed their shoulders, long fingers digging deep into the armour. Suguru, for a fleet moment, saw this familiar frown and blue veins popping on the Marquis's forehead, as if ready to burst with a merciless fury.

He's going to strike, Suguru thought. He won't let that bastard trash his good name.

Satoru rolled up the wide sleeves of his creamy robes, tying them with a thin rope around the elbows. Bulging muscles of his forearms glistened in sweat, with the sun cruelly smooching his pale skin.

And when he thought that Marquis, finally, finally, will deal with a man, another voice filled the heavy restaurant's air.

"Hey! Stop being rude to my husband unless you want to deal with me!"

It drove Suguru into the wooden stool, with its honeyed sweetness marked by an authoritative tone. Not many people were able to put someone into their place solely with a voice, but a fragile woman who came out from the kitchen, with a heavy chopper in her hand – could.

Husband?

Suguru's head started to spin. He looked up, seeing Marquis's lips curving in a gentle smile. Eyes cheeky, like two pale moons, while glancing back at the woman storming through the small restaurant.

"Think you can bully my husband while I'm here?"

Man's cheeks washed in embarrassment before he coughed. "My apologies, miss. If I knew he was your husband–"

"Even if he wasn't, you shouldn't be rude! He's too polite and won't harm a soul, but me?" she took a step, but Satoru quickly grabbed her. "Try me!"

She surrounded herself with an imposing aura, although standing next to Satoru, her head barely brushed his chest. Hair curled around the hearty face, with a light robe and dirty aproan hugging warmly plush hips.

"What a menace," she scoffed loudly, cleaning the chopper with a cloth, before glancing up at the Marquis. "And you should get more assertive. Must you always be so obedient?"

Obedient?

"Stop acting like a pushover, what if someone attacks you, hm? We have lots of bandits these days, and I won't always be there to protect you."

Pushover?

Protect Marquis?

Suguru sighed, grabbing his head. It pulsed with a malicious headache, and the more you talked, the more he felt like fainting.

"My dearest," Satoru smiled, looking down at your fuming cheeks. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you look with this little crease on your forehead?" he lifted up a thumb, placing it right between your eyebrows.

He started massaging it in gentle circles, rolling a sweet giggle out of your lips and finally getting rid of the frown.

"There she is," he whispered, cupping your cheeks stained in reddish oil. "My beautiful, ferocious wife. You need to stop threatening everyone with a chopper. What if one day you come upon imperial soldiers?"

You tsked, nuzzling into his warm hands. "I'll chop them too, if they try to bully you."

Suguru just couldn't listen to it anymore. Not only the intimate tension between Marquis and... you... was unbearable, but he also simply couldn't comprehend the sudden change that bloomed inside the most ruthless, powerful general of the empire.

He coughed quietly, finally getting your attention.

"Oh," rolled politely, before you quickly hid the chopper behind. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, too many people like to bully my husband and, well, you know how it is..." your hand unconsciously waved with a chopper again, and Suguru barely dodged its sharp steel. "Sometimes the wife needs to step in. You see, my husband is a scholar, so he's, hm, the more compliant one in this marriage."

Nanami laughed, but Suguru quickly threw him a cold stare.

He brought back a polite smile to his face, still slowly massaging the buzzing temple. "Miss, my friend and I have travelled a long way to meet with Mar– your husband. I hope you don't mind, we'll take him away just for a moment."

Your eyes bulged in surprise, looking up at Satoru's warm gaze.

"I didn't know Satoru had... friends," you giggled, hearing a soft scoff coming from your husband. "Of course you can, but eat first, please. You sure must be tired. If you wish, you can stay a few nights in our house too. Right, darling?"

Satoru grimaced when you looked back at Suguru, and his eyes narrowed. "Sure, baby. If that's what you want. But aren't you rather busy, my dear friends?"

It sounded like he was giving Suguru a choice, but the coldness of his gaze and slowly shaking head were enough to convey that both of them were forbidden from agreeing with his wife's idea.

Suguru, however, was furious as it was, and if staying a day or two meant taking Marquis down to size – he would be more than happy to do it.

Before Nanami murmured that they are, in fact, rather busy, the strategist quickly chirped in.

"My precious friend, I would be more than happy to stay under your roof," he said, standing up and bending down politely your way. "Miss, we're grateful for your priceless hospitality."

You giggled, waving gently with a chopper. "There's no need for courtesy. Stay as long as you want," your eyes moved back to Satoru, his arm curling around your waist. "Darling, just remember to pick up the vegetables from Fang's restaurant. Oh, and Miss Hua needs to write a letter to the magistrate, help her with that too, hm?"

You chirped while Satoru was looking down at your rosy face with a bizarre caress behind his serene eyes. As if gazing on the most precious, loveliest little nymph. In fact, he looked as though he wasn't listening at all, with fingers climbing up to your plush cheek, and a thumb brushing over the red, oil stain.

"Right, and come back before supper. You know that at that time I usually–"

"I know, the little brat makes her mommy nauseous," he smiled softly, and Suguru suddenly lost his appetite.

Wait a moment.

"Little brat?" Nanami chipped in first, with brows almost brushing his hairline. "Mar– Satoru, do you mean that your wife is..."

You looked at them, then at Satoru, then back at them, with a little tsk and hand patting his shoulder. "Truly! You didn't even tell them that you're going to be a father? What a good friend you are."

There was a second of silence, with Satoru trying to coo you sweetly and Nanami standing there like a log. With a slightly hazy gaze and mind trying to comprehend how a Marquis – the strongest man in the whole empire – got himself entangled not solely in a marriage with a commoner, but also in parenthood. His bloodline was precious, and his family would surely not accept the child whose mother was a simple noodle shop owner.

But then the three of them heard a loud thud, and a dark shadow of a man slowly hit the wooden floor.

Suguru, finally, fainted.

❀ ❀ ❀

He woke up a mere hour later, with a wet compress on his forehead and skull buzzing from the heat. The air felt sticky, like honey, sliding down his coarse throat and cumulating somewhere deep in chest. His head felt heavy, and warm beams of sun slipped through an open window, brushing his slightly wet forehead.

He noticed that heavy armour was removed from his body and replaced with thin, navy robes, with wide sleeves and a narrow, open collar.

The smell of boiled meat went straight to his stomach, although he wasn't in a restaurant anymore.

No, this room was neat and brimming with warmth, although rather small. The soft bed dipped under his weight as he slowly stood up. The wooden floor was cold against his feet, and he noticed a small table right in front of him, with a bowl of cold noodles and a cup. His knees hit the floor, and when eyes looked inside, he noticed a weird, lush mixture of herbs – probably something to help with overheating.

He inhaled noodles in a few seconds, with salty soy sauce dripping gently down his throat and into stomach, finally filling it with a delicious, homemade meal.

Suguru felt like crying, tasting something carried as if straight from the heavens. Something worthy of an emperor himself, with a perfect seasoning and spongy texture bouncing under his teeth.

The herbal mixture followed next, and he saw a small milky candy wrapped in paper, right next to the cup. When the bitterness of a drink struck his mind, he immediately took the candy and chewed on its creamy sweetness.

Although the meal made him a bit lazy and he wanted nothing more than to return to bed and sleep like a baby – the case of Marquis still hasn't been closed.

So he stood up, dusting off his knees and quietly went outside, covering eyes from the sun. It seemed that the restaurant was right below, with a few customers pottering around and your sweet laughter once again filling his mind. Going down the wooden stairs, he noticed your small figure through the window – with half-pinned-up hair brushing your cheeks and a warm smile, when another customer hummed deliciously over your noodles.

Your eyes met his lavender gaze, and you gasped, quickly going outside to meet his pale face. "Are you alright–"

"Suguru."

"Right," your hand landed on his cheeks, squeezing it softly as if kneading a bun. "You look much better now. The travel must've been tiring."

You took him by surprise, but something warm spread in his chest, feeling your gentle caress and thumb brushing over the rosy skin. Not many people treated him kindly, with care, and he tried to suppress an urge to nuzzle into your hand.

"If you're looking for Satoru, he went with your friend that way," you pointed a finger towards the small hut on the other side of the river. "This village is not big, so surely you'll find him somewhere."

Suguru nodded, still tracing the softness of your hearty face, with the kindest eyes he had ever seen. Truly, no noblewoman could be compared to the loveliness you carried like a second skin.

He strolled around the sandy paths, kicking the little stones that rolled under his feet. Curious villagers oogled him shyly, and each time he nodded politely, sending humble smiles and greeting a few children on the way. They followed him around the village, with little heads sweating under the sun and chubby hands reaching out for long, raven hair brushing his hips.

The smell of jasmine flowers filled the air when he crossed the small bridge, and a few petals slipped away from the fragile branches. A young girl laughed cheerfully in the house next door, and two old men sat calmly near the river's bank, trying to catch the splashing fish.

The village truly was... calm. Serene, almost idyllic, as if painted by the gods themselves, with the peaceful faces of the villagers and their cooing voices greeting Suguru on every corner.

He finally noticed a flash of snowy hair and quickly moved its way.

Satoru sat in the garden with a young woman and a little boy snuggling on her lap, while Nanami... dearest. Nanami was fixing the roof.

Never in his life would he have thought of seeing the first army general nailing the wooden planks with such a focus.

"I also want at least two taels of silver," the woman sighed, and Satoru politely wrote down her request. "But one is also enough. If that bastard decided to leave me, then let him pay."

"Two taels may be too much, but I'll try to bargain for you. Let's see," Satoru muttered, placing neat characters one under another. Little brush scrubbed slowly against the delicate surface, and only Suguru knew how skilled a calligrapher the Marquis was.

Truly taught by the best masters in the whole empire!

But the woman couldn't care less, for she never learnt how to read, and small characters reminded her of nothing but cute little bushes. Bending and curving under Satoru's steady hand, before he finished the letter and left it to dry under the sun.

His light eyes noticed Suguru's figure, and their cheerfulness was immediately replaced by a stroke of irritation.

What a bastard!

"Thank you, Satoru, I truly don't know how to repay you," the woman said shyly, gripping the letter in her hands.

The boy wriggled on her thighs, tugging on his mother's loose hair. Satoru lifted up a hand and pinched his chubby cheek, rolling a little giggle out of his lips.

"No worries, it's nothing. Just come to me when they reply, and I'll read it for you."

Nanami finished his little job too, and all three of them strolled outside through the wooden gate. Suguru didn't say anything for a while, taking in the rosy cheeks of his Marquis and oogling with curiosity all his exchanges with the villagers. They strolled around, picking up side jobs Satoru supposedly did every day – placing an order for vegetables and getting freshly delivered ones, checking the assortment for a little pharmacy, or giving short reading lessons to the local children.

People greeted him with this kind glimmer in their eyes, and kids hugged his legs, placing little stones, flowers and candies in his hands. He thanked them each time, ruffing silky hair, pinching their chubby faces and hiding every little, dirty stone in the sleeves of his robes.

On their way back to Satoru's house, Suguru finally managed to ask.

"Marquis, are we going to discuss it or just ignore the fact that you faked your death for six months?"

Satoru slowed his pace before finally stopping. Three men stood near the bridge, with light petals of the jasmine tree falling down on Satoru's milky hair. With no villagers around, he finally sighed.

"I didn't fake my death," he murmured, sitting near the riverbank.

The sun was slowly setting over the tall mountains surrounding the village, with tender hues of purple and pink and orange brushing the evening sky. Birds were slowly preparing for sleep, and villagers coming back from work in the fields. Big ox strolled behind them, tugging a little cart loaded with fresh fruits.

Satoru's eyes glanced up, reflecting the last rays of tangerine beams.

"After that battle, I fell into the river. The water must have thrown my body on the bank, because she saved me and took me back to her house. When I woke up, she was already there – tending my wounds and trying to stuff me full with noodles," he laughed warmly, as if remembering the first days spent in your presence. "I really wanted to heal up a bit and go back, but..."

Nanami and Suguru sat next to him, looking up at the fragrant jasmine branches hanging over the river.

"But I couldn't. You both know I never wanted to marry and have a family, but back there, after hearing her laugh the first time, something panged in my chest."

"Maybe your wound has opened," Nanami mumbled, and Suguru pinched his arm.

Satoru laughed, eyes still tracing the changing sky. "After meeting her, I finally understood what it truly means to be happy. To seek the next day and live in peacefulness, with nothing but her touch waking me every single morning."

Suguru hummed, remembering how warm you felt when your hand pinched his cheek. So kind and lovely, as if you honestly cared about this stranger you've met just an hour ago.

"She was constantly worried about people gossiping about her marriage, so I decided to use this chance and marry her. She wanted a husband, and I wished for nothing but to stay with her as long as I could," he continued, taking a white jasmine petal off his head. "But she was constantly afraid I would leave her one day, so to prove my devotion..."

Oh dearest god.

Suguru almost fainted again. "You decided to trap her with a baby? Are you crazy?"

He was crazy. So, so miserably crazy, and Suguru could see it in his eyes. In his hands, grabbing your waist in an almost possessive manner, and his always oh so gentle gaze, as if nothing else but his dear wife mattered in this world.

"I didn't trap her... well. At least she doesn't feel that way," he coughed, smiling like a fool. "She always wanted to have a family, so I decided to give it to her. What's wrong with it?"

"Marquis, are you hearing yourself?" Suguru almost hissed. "Just a year ago, you declined the most beautiful women offered to you by an emperor himself. And now you're telling me you decided to marry a simple commoner after knowing her for a month?"

"Well, he never offered me her," Satoru giggled. "And it was a week. She asked me to marry her after a week."

"She asked you?"

"Yes."

"And you agreed? Just like that?"

"Of course, it was love at first sight."

Suguru looked at Nanami, as if trying to make sure he wasn't the crazy one here. That Marquis truly went mad, and he lost all his senses.

Maybe while falling down, he hit his head? Maybe you bewitched him and forced a marriage?

But no one in this world could possibly force a tyrannical Marquis to do anything. Well, at least that's what Suguru have thought.

"Marquis, does it mean that... she doesn't know who you are?" Nanami asked, and everyone suddenly held their breath.

Including Satoru, who scratched his head sheepishly.

Oh.

Oh!

"She doesn't. You didn't tell her?!" Suguru once again almost shouted, and Satoru quickly shushed him.

"How could I? She thinks I'm a simple scholar who can do nothing but sweet-talk and read," he brushed another jasmine petal, and Suguru noticed a bit of worry behind his ocean eyes. "If she knew my real rank... There's a chance she would leave me. She's alone in this world – no parents, no family. If revealing my situation would mean losing her, I'd rather live as a commoner."

Suguru couldn't simply comprehend the weight of his words. For living as a commoner was everything people of their sort feared. To lose a status that could save your head in turmoil times such as this one was almost like a death sentence.

And Marquis was ready to do it solely for a fleeting tenderness.

"Does it mean you're not planning to go back?" Nanami asked quietly. "Do you want to stay announced as dead?"

Satoru was silent for a few minutes, with rays of sunshine slowly leaving his face. The moon lurked shyly from between jasmine branches, reflecting his wandering gaze. Suguru has never seen Marquis so quiet, so calm. As if his soul truly healed up from all the bestiality he needed to suffer just to float above anyone else.

The cold, sharp Marquis was no longer here, replaced by a man who tasted love for the first time. He was like a child learning how to walk, but at the same time, constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure his mother was watching over him.

And for Satoru – it was you.

You showed him the kindness of this world, and life deprived of the wrath he has felt for such a long time.

Marquis didn't say anything, but stood up instead and laughed under his breath. "It's almost supper time, let's go back. My wife always gets nauseous around this time, so I'll be the one cooking."

Suguru and Nanami simply nodded, following the Marquis back to the warm house.

They found you in a kitchen, humming softly and cutting the vegetables. The restaurant was already closed, and nothing but a soft beam of candles and a little buzz of crickets filled the small room.

Suguru has only now noticed your little bump, and he smiled when Satoru hugged you from behind.

"Sorry we took so long," he murmured, placing a wet kiss on your cheek. "There was simply too much to talk about."

You hummed, nodding head softly, till a few strands slipped away from your pinup. "It's okay, Satoru. Spend as much time as you need," you said, before looking up towards two men standing in the doors. "The room for you is ready. The supper will be, as soon as Satoru starts cutting the meat."

Marquis laughed, taking a heavy chopper and a fat piece of flesh. Suguru has never seen him in the kitchen, so he looked with pure curiosity at the way the iron blade slashed the tender meat.

What a bizzare sight, truly!

The supper wasn't anything special, but sitting together, talking and drinking – well, aside from you, of course – was the first time Suguru saw Marquis so relaxed.

Cheerful, free, with his head lying softly on your thighs and smooth locks caressed by your fingers. He was getting drunk faster than usual, babbling carelessly under his breath and peppering your little swell with kisses, till you flushed like the sweetest cherry and pushed him away. He joked and laughed, reminiscent of the days spent in royal academia with Suguru and Nanami (apparently, all of them met there, absolutely not on the battlefield) and delighted himself in stories about your first meeting.

About the moment he opened his eyes and saw an angel itself, to which you flushed feverishly and mumbled oh stop. Drunk Satoru was like a teenage boy boasting about his first love, and Suguru couldn't help but feel warmth spreading all over his chest every time Marquis peeked up at your lovely face.

When the night came, and it was time to part your ways, Suguru...

Dear heavens.

Suguru wished for nothing more than to be anywhere but right next to your room. For he heard everything.

Every sloppy kiss, every giggle, every shuddered breath of yours and silent Satoru, we can't, they're going to hear us. But Marquis, who was nothing if not madly in love, promised that don't worry baby, they won't, it will be fine, just let me taste you.

Fortunately, it seemed that you slapped his nosy hands away, because for the rest of the night, Marquis stayed silent.

Suguru and Nanami decided to stay for a few more nights, enjoying the idyllic charm of the village. Nanami would help in fixing the houses after the recent flood, and Suguru devoted his time to helping Satoru teach local kids. Marquis was the only person in the whole village who could read and write, thus local folks gladly attended his short, daily classes.

When Suguru came, the kids took a deep breath as if charmed by the gentleness and vigilance of his face. Satoru liked to fool around with little brats, but Suguru immediately put them in place, imposing a harsh, hour-long lesson as worthy of the most prominent strategist in the whole empire.

They sat with focused foreheads and beams of sweat glistening on their temples, while chubby fingers tried to draw clean, straight strokes.

Later that evening, Satoru told him that children liked the new pretty lady teacher, and you burst out in the most melodic laughter he's ever heard.

During the days, they fooled around, helped at the restaurant and did odd jobs for villagers, but the nights...

The nights were always reserved for you and Satoru.

And Suguru never dared to impose this gentle time between the two spouses, closing himself and Nanami off in the bedroom.

But he heard every little word rolled intimately between the two tender souls.

He heard the soft creak of the mattress as Satoru shifted closer to you, as if even sleep demanded less distance between your bodies.

He heard your quiet laughter, muffled into pillows, as though you didn't wish to disturb your guests.

He heard of your simple dreams and plans and all the worries you seemed to always have at the back of your mind.

He heard your quiet I love you and his trust me I love you more, followed by a silent kiss.

He heard the gentle splash of water shifting in the tub, followed by your quiet hum, almost absent-minded, while Satoru moved around you with careful hands.

He heard the faint press of lips against your temple.

The whispered goodnights that always sounded like promises.

And sometimes, he heard nothing at all.

Just silence.

But he knew that even during the most hushed nights, Satoru was always keeping you close – to his heart and soul and eyes. For he has never seen anything more precious than the peacefulness haunting his wife's forehead. And if a little, worried crease would appear between your brows, his thumb would gently massage it away. Lips would kiss it off, and you would snuggle up even closer, as if your body unconsciously yearned for your husband's touch.

There was a special kind of intimacy between the two lovers, whose odd fates and minds mixed in one lifeline. A bond most could be jealous of – in the way Satoru seemed to have you at his fingertips and you somehow always curled around them, floating near like a little goddess.

If Satoru was a believer, he would pray to nothing but the giggling eyes of his wife.

A few days later, when they were getting ready for the road, Suguru would look back at the young couple with a swelling heart.

For Marquis, who suffered enough in his short life, deserved nothing more than to gleam under the warm sun like a fair child, with his bright laughter forever carried through the mountains and meadows of the great empire.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

I know, I know, I'll start writing the Alexander the Great Satosugu... just let me be happy for a moment before diving into the angst.

permanent taglist: @mellyrally @1cckedheart @ham-star @indom-itus @satorupied @msheds0519 @a-dizzle777 @man1cslut @naxinomi @getopilleds @shittypunkbarbeque @urgirl-jijiiii @mariaflor873 @wiishies @d34dg1rl101 @disaster-rose @levisotakugf @yailuxe @palanggaaa @sapph22 @magicalpeenpoo @nanadexth @chloesfinalproject @oranges334 @iluvgetosuguru1 @satorussolace @lejit @bokenessa @siigyn @tojiswifeyugh @nonchalantnova @sufferingarousal @gentlemonstersworld @tojiswifeforlife @ohio-gyatt-mega-sigma-rizzler @glimmerngrime @sara-the-wannabe-poet @ambsbr @millyrossa @annacandydream @pearlydays @wolverinesgirll @nanarchysworld @lifesharddicksharder @koreluvvspring

[honeyoftheisle]

Rereblogging some of my favorite fics.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Selfish Things

Pairings: Sick Soft!Ryomen Sukuna x Foreigner Wife!Reader

Summary: Before Sukuna was the feverish husband sulking in your lap, he was the college kid who joined a baseball team over one sarcastic comment, forgot a whiskey-vodka kiss by a fountain, and then tried to win you back with coffee at five in the morning. Two years, one startup, one furious Kaori, and one war with Wasuke later, he still let you feed him okayu while pretending being loved was a punishment.

Context: This is a prequel to “Chopsticks/No Tattoos” in the same modern human AU. Sukuna has no tattoos here; the reader is a foreign wife who met him during college abroad, and this covers their messy, almost-love-arranged marriage, the two-year stability test from her parents, and the early tension with Wasuke before the softer domestic present. Also, Wasuke’s attitude toward Reader is written as family prejudice and old guilt, not as something the story agrees with. Kaori is there making his life difficult on purpose because she has sense and no patience. WC: 4.3K.

Warnings: SoftKuna · Baseball Player Sukuna · Flirting · Past Parental Death · Childhood Parentification · Cultural Tension · In-Law Prejudice Toward A Foreign Spouse · Implied Xenophobia · Family Drama · Alcohol · Drunken Kissing · Miscommunication · Feverish Husband · Sickfic · Comfort Food · Adult Language · Mild Hurt/Comfort · Domestic Fluff.

A/N: Based off this request. Glitter magenta dividers are mine, and engagement banners are from @saradika-graphics. Images all from Pinterest/Manga.

Sukuna’s fever patch slid off his forehead for the third time and landed against your knee, making him grunt into your thighs.

“Stop moving,” you murmured, pinching the patch by one corner before setting it back over his brows.

“Your legs are uneven.”

“Excuse me!”

“Stop fidgeting, woman,” he muttered, eyes shut, cheek pressed against your thigh, one heavy arm hooked around your calf as if you might escape with the good soup pot and his soul.

On the low table, the okayu cooled in a bowl. It was simple in the way sick food should be: rice cooked soft enough to forgive the body.

You’d cooked it the way Wasuke showed you three weeks after the wedding, stiff beside the stove as though sharing his dead wife’s recipe with the foreign girl his eldest son dragged across an ocean counted as state treason. Rice soft, egg ribbons thin, ginger grated fine, scallions at the end, and sesame oil after the heat died. After that, Wasuke had looked at the pot, grunted, and left.

Sukuna had eaten two bowls that night and acted angry about the scallions.

Now he opened one eye when the steam reached him.

“That smells like hers.”

You kept your fingers in his hair, working through the damp midnight bordeaux spikes with the diligence of a woman who had learned that Ryomen Sukuna accepted care best when he could pretend it was against his will. “The version you made for me was saltier.”

“I was six when I learned it.”

That was how his mother always appeared in him now, practical and plain.

Sukuna had been six when he first started cooking for his brothers: rice for Jin, who was four and already chaotic, while three-year-old Choso sat in a high chair in a house still full of loss. Wasuke used to work until the last train and came home to three boys asleep near a lukewarm pot. Eso and Kechizu came later, two more boys folded into the family because Wasuke had never learned how to refuse a child at the door, even when he had already failed the ones inside it. Sukuna grew tall out of obligation, learned prices before jokes, learned where the clean towels were, learned which brother cried from hunger, which cried from jealousy, which one got carsick, and which one lied about homework with crumbs on his face.

You had heard pieces from Jin, more from Kaori, and almost all of it from Choso after plum wine at New Year’s. From Sukuna, you got a broken button sewn onto Jin’s kindergarten shirt, a burn mark from miso soup, Choso asleep under the table during entrance exams, and Wasuke pushing university forms across the table until Sukuna left for college abroad with Choso, two suitcases, and a face that made strangers change paths.

You saw that face during orientation, across a lecture hall filled with people pretending they understood finance. He looked bored, beautiful, and furious at the slow procession of intro slides.

The first time you’d spoken near Sukuna, you were at the court, half annoyed, half overheated, watching a guy brag after missing every shot.

“Very inspiring,” you said to your friend. “A man can fail in public and still develop varsity lore.”

Toji had coughed to hide a laugh.

Sukuna’s head slowly turned in your direction, his attention locking onto you while you walked away without noticing.

The next day, he joined the baseball team, because sports were one of the few things Wasuke had taught him properly, and dragged Choso and Toji with him under the excuse of networking, which sounded fake even before Toji looked at the sign-up sheet and said, “I came here to get a degree, asshole.”

Sukuna signed him up without asking.

Choso lasted one practice before the coach quietly moved him into scorekeeping because he treated every missed catch like a personal family disgrace. Toji, irritatingly, had good form. Sukuna, meanwhile, had worse form at first, but he made up for it through pure spite. He practiced for more than six months with his knuckles taped, his shirt stuck to his back with sweat, and his jaw clenched whenever anyone suggested he take a break.

Years later, Choso once got wine-drunk at dinner and confessed the truth over his third glass. “He thought you had a thing for athletes.”

Sukuna had promptly shoved garlic bread in his mouth.

That season, Sukuna won the final game and walked off with the MVP trophy.

He stood under the field lights afterward, broad-shouldered and mean-looking, still breathing hard while his teammates yelled around him. You remembered pretending to look at your phone because staring at a man like that in public felt humiliating, especially when his eyes would catch you.

That night, at a frat party with cheap beer in red cups and glitter stuck to every available surface, he found you by the kitchen counter.

You were reaching for a drink when his hand appeared beside yours, palm braced on the counter, taped knuckles close enough for you to see the dried blood.

“You said that thing about folklore potential.”

You blinked up at him. “Pardon?”

Toji snorted from behind him.

Sukuna looked over with the slow, dangerous focus of a man deciding whether killing his only friend was worth it.

Toji grinned and left with his beer.

Sukuna turned back to you.

“You said it during last semester’s festival,” he said, trying to help you recall. "Courtside. Some guy missed every shot, and you called him living proof that men could fail in public and still develop folklore.”

Your mouth parted a little. He remembered the entire thing.

The party sounded far away for a second, music thudding through the wall, someone laughing too loudly near the fridge, and the counter slippery under your fingers. He stood close enough that you caught the heat coming off him, his natural musk under the cologne. His eyes dropped to your lips and came back up like he did it on purpose.

“You were listening?” you asked, voice softer.

His mouth moved, barely a smirk. “You said it like a challenge. I hate leaving those alone.”

That was annoying. So, so annoying.

The worst part was that he looked beautiful while saying it, tall and bruised from the game, dark hair still damp near his temples, sleeves pushed up because his knuckles had started bleeding through the tape again.

“You joined a whole team over one comment?”

“I won, didn’t I?”

“You bled for my approval?”

His eyes stayed on your face. “Did it work?”

Your drink touched your mouth, but you forgot to sip. “Depends how often you plan on embarrassing yourself.”

“For you?” His gaze dropped again, slower this time, and his mouth softened around the shape of the answer before pride could ruin it. “I could make time.”

That was the first time you saw him smile with his eyes.

It changed his face in a way you hated instantly. He looked younger under the bruising neon lights and the cheap kitchen bulbs, less carved out of spite, and almost pleased with himself in a boyish, reckless way that made your stomach dip. The same man who had cursed at teammates all season now stood in front of you with bloody tape around his knuckles and his ears turning deeper merlot red because you had noticed him.

“You practiced six months for one line I said courtside?” you asked, sipping your drink finally.

He looked down at his cup, then back at you, as if honesty had cornered him worse than any opponent had.

“I wanted you to look.”

The words came out rough, simple, and almost irritated, but his face wasn’t cooperating with him.

He wanted this badly, wanted you badly, with the strange open hunger of a man who had spent his whole life measuring rice, money, time, train schedules, younger brothers’ homework, old grief, and every practical need before his own, only to stand in a crowded kitchen and reach for the first selfish thing he had chosen purely because he wanted it.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He silenced it without looking.

“It’s dangerous, you know,” you whispered.

“What?”

“Wanting attention this badly.”

His thumb rubbed over the rim of his cup, slow and distracted. “Only if it’s yours.”

The kitchen noise seemed to thin around his words. People were screaming the lyrics on the dance floor, someone shouted near the stairs, Toji argued with someone in the hallway, while Choso called Sukuna’s name from another room, probably over the ride back, the late hour, or some responsibility waiting to drag him by the collar.

Sukuna heard none of it and chose poorly for once.

He leaned close enough that his breath reached you before his hand did. “Come outside.”

“You ordering me around now?”

His mouth twitched, but the look in his eyes stayed hopeful in a way he had no practice hiding yet.

“Come outside,” he said again, quieter. "Before I remembered I have a dorm to get back to.”

So you did.

The fountain sat in the middle of the courtyard, loud under the campus lights, turning the water silver where it broke over the stone. People kept passing behind you in loose groups, jackets half on, everyone too wrapped up in their own world to care about the tall man following you with a gaze that stayed fixed on your back.

Even in heels, you had to tip your chin up when he stepped close.

That pleased him for some reason.

You saw it in the slow drop of his lashes, in the way his mouth curved before he caught himself, and in the faint flush sitting high on his cheekbones from whiskey, game, and the reckless thing that had finally broken loose in him tonight.

His hand found your waist first, careful through the thin fabric of your top and large enough to make the touch feel possessive even while his thumb moved with almost shy restraint.

The first brush of his mouth was warm and rough with whiskey, softer than his face had promised.

You tasted the bite of it on his tongue when he kissed you again, and he tasted the vodka on yours with a low breath that slipped into your mouth and made your fingers tighten in his shirt.

The fountain sprayed mist against your bare ankles. Sukuna angled his body closer, broad shoulders blocking the light as if the entire campus could go around him.

He kissed like a man trying to learn greed in real time.

Slow at first, almost measured, his lips and tongue moving over yours with the same stubborn concentration he brought to every impossible thing he decided to conquer.

Then your hand slid up his chest, over the cotton, and your nails caught lightly at the base of his neck.

His control slipped there, fingers flexed at your waist, and his breath left him harder. The next kiss turned deeper, warmer, and less polished, carrying the sharp sweetness of vodka and the smoke of whiskey until the party, the courtyard, the passing students, and the fountain all blurred into background noise.

You smiled against his mouth because he was so tall and broad and still bending to you, because his hand had started firm and ended careful, and because the dangerous boy with blood on his taped knuckles kissed you as if he had spent months working up the nerve and had finally found a way to be selfish.

Sukuna felt the smile and chased it.

His mouth followed yours when you leaned back for air, drunk and beautiful and almost boyish with wanting, the fountain light shifting over his face while his fingers pressed into your waist, as if he had to check that you were real before he let himself kiss you again.

“You do this often?” you asked.

“Win games?”

“Corner women beside fountains.”

His thumb brushed your lower lip. “You came outside first.”

“You followed.”

“You looked back.”

The answer caught in your throat because you had.

He leaned in slowly enough for you to move, and you hated him for that too, for giving you room while looking like a man who hated asking the universe for anything. His mouth brushed yours again, testing, warm with booze and victory, then again with less patience when your fingers curled into the back of his hair.

You remembered his arm tightening at your waist.

You remembered laughing against his mouth because his knee hit the stone rim when you tugged him closer.

But by morning, he’d forgotten.

You avoided him for weeks so aggressively that people started avoiding you too.

By finals week, the vending machine ate your coins at two in the morning, and you wrapped your hand in a scarf so the punch would leave less evidence.

A large hand caught your wrist.

“University cameras.”

You whipped around, ready to commit another felony.

Sukuna looked at the scarf around your fist, then at your face. “Pathetic technique.”

“Fuck you!”

“I’ll take the fine.” He dragged you behind him and hit the machine’s side with the heel of his palm.

The canned coffee dropped with a clunk.

You tried to pay him through Venmo.

He ignored the phone. “Coffee. Five.”

“I have exams.”

“So do I.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

His eyes narrowed. “You hate me.”

The cold coffee sweated against your palm. “You kissed me and ignored me the next day.”

His face changed. “I kissed you.”

“Congratulations, memory champion.”

He stared at you for a long time.

“Do-over,” he said, finally letting go of your wrist.

“What—”

“Coffee. Five. I’ll be sober. Then your parents.”

Your brain went smooth. “My parents?”

“I’m serious about you. Let me prove it.”

You agreed because you thought he wouldn’t show up.

But he showed up.

On Friday, he showed up in a nice shirt, hair still slightly wild, carrying sweets your father liked and tea your mother pretended she understood. Your parents were wary until he spoke about graduate plans, housing, money, distance, flights, paperwork, and what kind of life he intended to build. He made his love sound like post-college logistics.

When your mother asked whether this was a love marriage and whether the two of you had been seeing each other for a long time, Sukuna glanced at you once.

“It can be. I’ll arrange it.”

Your father had laughed first, loud and surprised.

Your mother had stared at him over her teacup. “You are very arrogant.”

Sukuna sat across from both of your parents with his spine straight. “Useful trait for marriage.”

That earned him another cup of tea.

Your parents liked him more than they wanted to. Your father liked that he spoke plainly about rent, savings, visas, health insurance, and work. Your mother liked that he watched your plate, noticed when your tea cooled, and moved the sugar nearer without turning it into a performance for his own ego. Still, liking him and handing you over to him were two separate matters.

Your father gave him two years.

“Build something stable. Let her finish her postgraduate work. Then, depending on your situation, we will discuss marriage properly”

Your mother had been gentler, speaking of long work hours, lonely wives, and marriages that became houses shared by two tired strangers and asking if that was the silence women were expected to survive just because everyone called it adjustment.

Sukuna listened without interrupting.

When she finished, he looked at you for half a second, then back at them. “Two years.”

During those two years, you pursued your postgraduate degree, and Sukuna built his life as though he had taken your father’s condition personally. He worked, studied, pitched, saved, fought suppliers, buried Choso in spreadsheets, and sent your father practical updates other men would have found humiliating—lease terms, funding status, tax paperwork, projected income, emergency savings, and health coverage. He broke the future down into numbers because that was the only language cautious parents trusted.

Your parents softened by inches.

And during those two years, Wasuke did the opposite.

He ignored calls, rejected video chats, called the idea foolish, and referred to you as “that girl from far away” with the tone of a man describing a storm coming toward his roof.

In his head, Sukuna had already sacrificed enough of his childhood raising Jin and Choso in the gaps Wasuke left behind and learned how to become useful before he became tall.

So to Wasuke, his eldest son deserved a Japanese wife who understood the house, the language, the duties, the old rules, the rituals, and the invisible work.

A woman who would take care of Sukuna properly, because Wasuke had failed to do it when it mattered.

That was the only part he’d admit to himself.

The uglier part came out through mutters about culture, distance, manners, food, family obligations, and whether a foreign daughter-in-law could truly fit into their house.

Kaori tried to reason with him for months.

Then she gave up and became the exact daughter-in-law from Wasuke’s most traditional daydreams, except with police training, a baby on her hip, and the patience of a very focused woman.

If Japanese wives were so naturally suited to saving households, then Kaori would show him what that looked like at full volume.

She corrected him at dinner.

She corrected him in the entryway.

She corrected him during video calls with Eso and Kechizu, who had just moved abroad for university and kept joining family calls at ungodly hours with instant noodles and the kind of confidence only boys living alone for the first time possessed.

Wasuke would start one of his speeches about family values, and Eso would say from a dorm room several time zones away, “Dad, I ate cereal from a rice cooker yesterday. No foreign woman wants me.”

Kechizu, wrapped in a blanket with his hair sticking up, would add, “Aniki’s foreign wife sounds advanced. Can she teach me laundry?”

Kaori would smile with all her teeth. “Look at your useful Japanese sons.”

She corrected him while holding a sleeping Yuji against her shoulder with one hand and pointing a rice paddle at him with the other.

She told him Japanese women were human beings, rather than household appliances gifted by the municipal office after marriage registration.

She told him she had married Jin, which meant the family already had one Japanese wife with opinions, a badge, and access to handcuffs. Then she added that they should all stay humble until Choso brought someone home, since, with their luck, he might choose a Japanese husband and make Wasuke learn new vocabulary at his age.

Jin wisely stayed silent because Kaori looked just about ready to arrest the entire family tree.

Choso worked himself raw beside Sukuna until the startup received its first funding, partly because he believed in the business and partly because he understood that Wasuke respected proof more than pleading. Eso and Kechizu sent useless encouragement from abroad, mostly memes, pictures of terrible dorm food, and one voice note of Kechizu saying, “Brother, become rich fast. Dad will get calmer when money appears.”

Sukuna played it once accidentally during a conference call and regretted letting them have phones.

Only after the funding came through did Wasuke answer properly, voice rough through the speaker.

“Bring her home.”

That did less than Sukuna thought.

After the wedding, the house accepted you on paper before it accepted you in practice.

Sukuna left before sunrise, came back with tired eyes, and still put himself between you and every sharp thing his father almost said.

Wasuke lasted ten minutes in a room with you before inventing errands. He watched your hands in the kitchen, your shoes near the genkan, your Japanese at dinner, the way you folded towels, and the way you soothed Yuji when he cried.

Every small difference became evidence until Kaori started making his life hell on purpose.

Yuji had already been little during the long marriage negotiations, and after you moved to Japan, taking care of him became the first thing that made the house feel less hostile.

You learned street signs, trash days, family recipes, Kaori’s coffee, Choso’s favorite saucepan, and the exact way to hold Yuji against your hip when he got sick. You learned which conversations stopped when you entered and learned how long you could sit downstairs before Wasuke’s silence made the room feel smaller.

Sukuna noticed everything.

The fight finally came after dinner one night when Wasuke said something mild enough for guests and cruel enough for family.

Sukuna set his bowl down.

The whole table went still.

“You had me raise your children,” he said, voice flat. “Jin, Choso, Eso, Kechizu. I cooked for them. Bathed them. Packed their bags. Took Choso abroad because you could barely look at the house after she died. I did everything useful. I wanted one selfish thing, and you still found a way to make her pay for it.”

Wasuke’s face went stone cold.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’ll take her and leave.”

Your hand reached for his arm, but he caught your fingers before you could soften the blow for him.

The house had heard Sukuna angry before. Everyone had heard Sukuna angry.

This was different. He was quiet, planned, and already half done in his head.

Kaori folded her arms. “You see this? I’ve been warning you.”

Jin whispered, “Kaori.”

She kicked him under the table.

Wasuke stared at Sukuna, then at you, then at the demon named Kaori, then at Yuji asleep with his cheek mashed against Choso’s shoulder, and something in him finally seemed to understand the shape of what he was about to lose if he kept mistaking stubbornness for authority, or at least who he’d get stuck with.

He calmed down after that.

Very slowly and very poorly, with all the grace of an old man swallowing a nail and the pride of a man who would rather die than call it an apology.

Sukuna’s work hours eased, and the house adjusted by inches.

Wasuke began buying vegetables you liked. Choso started buying you more of the good tea. Kaori stopped hovering near you during every family meal, though she still watched Wasuke like a prison guard. Yuji called you ‘Auntie,’ then forgot your name entirely for one week and called you ‘my one’ because Sukuna had said it once while half-asleep on the couch. Sukuna mildly scolded him for the bad grammar.

And Wasuke, who still struggled to stay in a room with shame, began staying fifteen minutes.

Then twenty.

Then long enough to let you know that Sukuna’s mother grated the ginger finer.

The marriage had been arranged in the stupidest way, by the only man in it who had already fallen before you knew his name.

A cough dragged you back.

Sukuna turned his face deeper into your lap, heat rolling off his skin. “Stop sniffling.”

You blinked hard and wiped under your eyes. “You’re awake?”

His eyes were still closed beneath the fever patch. “Barely.”

You reached for the bowl and stirred the porridge. “Sit up.”

He cracked one eye open. “You enjoy ordering me around too much.”

“I learned from a tyrant.” You slid a hand under the back of his head and helped him up.

He complained through the whole movement and then opened his mouth when you lifted the spoon.

After the first bite, his gaze dropped.

You knew better than to look victorious.

“Too much ginger.”

“You finished two full bowls at breakfast.”

“I was being charitable.”

“You stole Jin’s lunch too.”

“Jin breathes too much. He can eat air.”

You fed him again, and this time his hand closed around your wrist, holding the spoon steady after he swallowed.

For a second, he looked past you into some small kitchen years ago, where a child stood on a stool and stirred dinner for boys who had already lost more than they understood.

Then his thumb moved once over your pulse.

“She would have liked you,” he said, rough, trying to sound irritated by the admission.

Your throat tightened.

From downstairs, Yuji shrieked, “Auntie! Uncle Ryo’s face looks like spicy mentaiko!”

Kaori yelled, “Yuji, indoor voice.”

“It is indoor!” Yuji shouted back, deeply offended. “Yuji is inside!”

Wasuke’s voice followed, dry and pleased, from the dining room. “Good. Fever might season him into a decent person.”

Sukuna shut his eyes. “Pack my bags.”

“You say that every day.”

“I mean it every day.”

You carefully changed the fever patch on his forehead. “Did you eat Wasuke’s pickled daikon? He was looking for it earlier.”

“No..”

“He made extra for you this morning.”

Sukuna rubbed his forehead. “It was poisonous.”

“Then why did I catch you licking the container clean on the kitchen camera?”

“I was checking for poison.”

Downstairs, Yuji yelled again, “Auntie! Grandpa said Uncle looks like a boiled crab!”

Kaori’s voice arrived like judgment. “Father.”

Wasuke muttered something about weak modern men and ginger compresses.

Sukuna opened his eyes, fever-bright and deeply offended by affection. You lifted another spoonful before he could argue himself into a worse temperature.

He ate it.

Then he settled back into your lap, dragging your hand onto his hair as if every soft thing in this house belonged to him by conquest.

“Five more minutes,” he muttered.

“You have been here an hour.”

“Your lap is improving.”

Downstairs, Yuji started chanting for ice cream. Jin attempted a police voice and lost control of the room in seconds. Choso said something that made Kaori laugh. Wasuke complained over everyone, louder than the kettle.

Sukuna exhaled against your knee, heavy and warm.

You kept combing your fingers through his hair until his grip around your calf loosened again.

On the table, the okayu waited, still warm enough for a second bowl.

A/N: Let me know your thoughts?

Chopsticks/No Tattoos | Masterlist

Tiny Okayu/Sick-Day Rice Porridge Recipe

Okayu is a Japanese sick-day rice porridge: soft, warm, gentle, and very easy to customize.

It is lovely when you feel sick, tired, sad, agitated, or married to a man who pretends soup is an attack.

Take 1 cup cooked rice and simmer it with 2–3 cups water or broth until the rice breaks down and turns soft, creamy, and porridge-like.

Add salt to taste.

If you want it richer, stir in a beaten egg near the end.

If you want it warmer, add grated ginger.

If you want comfort, add sesame oil, scallions, pepper, chicken, tofu, mushrooms, vegetables, chili oil, butter, ghee, soy sauce, or whatever your household would put in sick-day food.

Basically: rice + liquid + patience.

Make it plain, make it spicy, make it like your own culture’s comfort food.

The point is that someone cared enough to stand over a pot for you.

For my Indian baddies, eat khichdi.

[to-orrr]

here are some more cats 🍓

[yenayaps]

Rose Garden Dreams; Torn At The Seams

Pairing: FireLord!Zuko x RoyalAdvisor!Reader

Content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor. [tw: MDNI, angst/fluff/smut, apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit tho, we’re already married in his head] wc: 4.8k

m.list | chapter one | next chapter

“You want me to do your hair?”

His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “Yes, precisely.” 

You sigh as you step into the man’s chambers, walking up to the vanity that’s more fitting for a queen, in your opinion. If only people saw this side of the fire lord. Zuko, the pretty boy. He has zero insecurities over the scar his tyrant of a father left on his face, but he’d faint at the sight of seeing too much hair shed on the marble floors of his bathhouse. 

“When you decide to have me summoned like this, do you ever wonder, hm— what would her father think?” you ask as you grudgingly pick up the boar bristle brush and begin to brush his hair. 

“I do,” he dryly responds. “I like the way you do your hair, though, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell on me. You wouldn’t want me getting in trouble, right?” 

Zuko might be the fire lord, but he still has to watch his relationships with the other clans in this nation— especially with a certain hot-headed strategist that just so happens to be your father. You can only imagine his outburst upon learning that his daughter is playing with the lord's hair, rather than playing your role as his advisor. 

Most fathers would be pleased by the information— not yours, he’s a little more… strict. He already doesn’t like him from a joke made over a decade ago, suggesting you’d make a fine concubine, which wasn’t taken lightly. 

Your father threatened to usurp the throne, sending a chill running down a then 21 year old Zuko’s spine.

There was no way in hell he’d hand you off to the imperial palace to become a concubine. You’re the only child of his that inherited firebending. If your father had it his way, you’d be a warrior, for fucks sake. 

Lord Zuko may have a dry sense of humor at times, but you have your doubts about how much of a joke that statement was, especially with how much he likes to bug you throughout the day.

Perhaps another conflict should erupt— the man has too much time on his hands. Maybe then you’d fulfill your fathers wish of finally working in the military— put your talents to use, as he’d say. 

But would Lord Zuko allow the gentle hands running through his hair to commit such violence? Or would that be when he’d draw a hard line with the aggressive strategist? 

As progressive as he is, you sometimes wonder just how much it extends to you. Even as children, he’d go easy on you during trainings. He’s only grown softer with you as the years passed. Despite not being a concubine yourself, you wouldn’t be surprised if he saw you as one of the flowers in his garden— one he’s not allowed to touch. 

You slide the hair stick through his headpiece, securing the top knot he had you redo. It looks the same, but you hold off on making a comment. “Is that better?” 

“Much better.” His eyes meet yours in the mirror, lips curving into a sly smile. “Now— what are we doing today?”

We. You hate how much he likes to emphasize that at times. 

“Well,” you sigh. “Aside from the usual council meeting, nothing much. Perhaps you can visit one of your concubines today… for once.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Are you saying I don’t fuck my concubines enough?” 

“Precisely,” you say almost mockingly. 

It’s all they ever complain about, and honestly, you’re sure you would, too, if you were one of them. Having to wake up and sit around all day, waiting for a man who never comes. And on the rare occasion that he does, he doesn’t stay long. He’ll show up, fuck the shit out of you for a couple rounds, then leave right after. Allegedly. 

“Don’t you want an heir?” you ask. 

“Depends,” he hums. 

With the way he’s looking at you, you can already tell what it depends on, and it has nothing to do with his current concubines. Lucky for you, he never gets the chance to actually say it because he gets interrupted right after, putting a conversation you’d rather not have to a screeching halt.

“The council is waiting for you, my Lord.”

—

The silk district was notoriously known for two things: brothels and bandits. It was the wild, wild west compared to the other districts in the capital due to high crime and the growing wealth gap. The governments always kept a watchful eye on it, which was never enough in your opinion. 

Are you surprised to hear that an entire brothel, including the madame, was discovered to be slain and robbed in the early hours of this morning? Absolutely not. 

“Send more military officers to patrol the area,” the chamberlain says without hesitation. “We’ve been too lenient with them. If they want bloodshed, we’ll give them bloodshed.”

Yikes, he wants to rule the area with an iron fist when they’re already clearly struggling. You can’t help but think of how much of a dictator this guy would be if he were in Zuko’s place. 

You make eye contact with the lord, who’s sitting at the end of the table right next to you. In that brief moment, he notices the concern in your eyes and gives you a subtle nod. 

“Perhaps we can send more public aid?” you suggest. “They’ve been testing out a new rehabilitation program in Republic City as well. I’m sure the Silk District could benefit from—“

“Nonsense,” the chamberlain cuts you off, wondering why you’re even here right now— he thought you only assisted in matters within the court, not outside of it. “I-“

“Careful,” Zuko interrupts the man rather playfully as he continues to read through the scroll. “That’s the military strategist’s daughter you’re speaking to.” 

The comment makes you nearly roll your eyes, knowing the only reason why he said it was because you’re having to constantly remind him yourself when he gets too close. 

The chamberlain, however, straightens up immediately. You have no idea why it took him this long to realize it. He’s been here for nearly over a year, but at least he knows now. The chamberlain can be quite rude at times, you wouldn’t want him to slip up with your father in the room. Not only would that earn him an earful of insults that are as creative as they are hurtful, but it’d also be embarrassing on your part. 

That old man embarrasses you enough when he’s around. Following you around like a lost puppy after meetings, asking if you’ve eaten and if your superiors are treating you right, while side eyeing the fire lord himself. You’d agree so yourself that he has too much power in the court. He enjoys holding it over everyone’s head even more. It’s sickening, really.

You look at the chamberlain, who is now pouting, and offer an apologetic smile. “May I continue?” 

“Yes, of course,” the old man nods, struggling to hide his shame.

Always one for games, Zuko finds himself suppressing a laugh, which in turn makes the chamberlain’s slouch worsen. He’s grown to find more and more amusement in his daily tasks, a trait his father would definitely disapprove of— good thing he’s not here anymore. 

The rest of the meeting went by as smooth as it could be, with the fire lord, of course, praising the chancellor in the end for being so well behaved, pretending to wonder what could’ve changed his usual demeanor. The usual teasings, all while you once again found yourself thinking of how light he’s become. Even after receiving such upsetting news, he stayed calm while finding a solution. 

A humane one.

No longer the grumpy, angsty boy you grew up with. He’s actually quite charming. But you keep that to yourself.

The palace grounds are empty, as they should be during the afternoon. Everyone’s off either eating, napping, or tending to duties such as cooking or cleaning. It’s quiet, surprisingly peaceful. Your footsteps echo throughout the breezeway as Zuko defies the basic etiquette of walking ahead of you as a ruler should. Instead, the bastard walks a little slower than you. If given the opportunity, he’d turn it into a mini competition of who could walk the slowest, up until you both come to a full stop, with him looking at you all smug. 

“Your chambers are this way,” you remind the said bastard as if he’d already forgotten. 

He doesn’t bother to look back as he responds, walking down a gravel path leading directly to the flower garden. “How about we take a detour today, hm?”

You watch him for a moment, waiting to see if he’d stop. He doesn’t, and you shouldn’t be surprised by it. You’re able to catch up with him in just seconds given his slow pace, this time not bothering to walk behind him as he’s clearly in the mood to be extra stubborn today.

You’re all alone and away from the hearing distance of anyone else, yet you still choose to speak quietly as you start to gently tease the man. “What a surprise to see the king taking some time to enjoy his garden.” 

He lets out a soft laugh that fades into a hum. “Only around a select few.”

“Oh, wow,” you pretend to be impressed. “How charitable.” 

“It’s an honor that you think so,” he says, placing a hand over his chest to add to the theatrics, trying not to laugh once again. “Tell me, when was the last time you walked through here?”

You hum as you walk further into the sprawling garden filled with wooden arches covered with green vines and flowers in full bloom. “Can’t say I actually remember when.”

“That’s a shame. I had the gardener plant new rose bushes,” he murmurs. “Wanted to ask what you thought of them.” 

“I think they’re lovely,” you admit, softly pinching a petal, rubbing your thumb over the velvety skin.

He smiles. “I figured.” 

They were your favorite after all. 

Why is he like this? The garden’s already filled with enough flowers. A new section wasn’t needed. 

Again, he’s just bored.

In an attempt to keep the conversation from getting any more personal, you change the subject. “Are you looking forward to your trip to Republic City?” 

At the end of the meeting, it was decided that he’d visit with the purpose of getting more information about the new rehabilitation program the city was rolling out. While the chancellor wanted to take a more aggressive approach, he decided to take a more peaceful route. It’s admirable how hands on he’s chosen to be since taking his father's place. 

“Mhm. It’ll be nice catching up with some old friends while I’m there—“ he cuts himself off and looks at you with slight suspicion, “you’re going, right?”

You never said you would, nor did you want to, honestly. It’d be nice to take a break. “I’m sure you and some of your subordinates can handle it.” 

“Weren’t you the one who came up with the idea, though?” his tone slightly clips as he reminds you. 

“I was,” you respond tentatively, taking back your thoughts from earlier as you look him in the eyes. 

This man looks like he’s about to throw a fit. 

Zuko opens his mouth again, already knowing he shouldn’t be this pushy towards you, of all people, but he is far from perfect. 

So with a forced smile and all the resolve in the world, he murmurs, “you’re going.” 

You smile back despite feeling an annoyed heat creep up your neck, heart starting to pick up. “Alright.” 

—

Imagine being the fire lord, a literal ruler, and getting the cold shoulder from your own advisor. Every answer is so curt and clinical, and it’s going to drive him up the wall. 

Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. Apologies, my lord.

Give him a fucking break.

As if you weren’t punishing him enough, you went ahead and had two of his concubines “accompany” him on the trip. It’s not like he can say no to that, either, since it’s considered to be one of his duties. Not to mention they both come from high-ranking families that would not be very pleased to hear of their neglect. 

So now he has to deal with two spoiled, pent-up brats hanging on him during the entirety of this flight, all while trying not to glare at the biggest brat of them all— you, as you sit directly across from him, reading probably what’s some pathetic romance novel.

This is fucking ridiculous. You haven’t looked at him once since you first sat down.

You’re no better than him. There was a strike of lightning in the direction you walked off in, and given how it was a perfectly sunny day, he’s pointing his finger at you for the damages done in the east wing, despite keeping his mouth shut on the matter. Complain about being dragged to Republic City all you want, but you still have it better than most. If you really did have it that bad, you would’ve been punished for such an offense. 

Like, seriously? Blowing shit up, like a fucking child— a terrifying one, to be frank, you are absolutely your father’s daughter— just because you had to do your job? Grow up. His grandfather’s statue was shattered in the midst of it all, thanks to you. You’re lucky he never liked the bastard.

In protest, you’re dressed like a noble's daughter rather than a member of the court. Wearing the finest silk and adorned in gold imported from the Earth nation, quietly refusing to represent your actual nation as you claim to be representing your clan— proof that you have enough power on your own to be acting like he’s actively denying you of basic human rights.

As if he even cared about your attire. Be his guest! You look fucking hot. Someone might even mistake you for one of his concubines, and he might just not correct them, since you think you’re more petty than he is.

Zuko gets pulled out of his thoughts when Concubine Aika speaks, still leaning against him and rubbing on his chest. She asked what book you were reading, which is when you finally looked up from it. 

“It’s sort of an adventure novel.” You look at the cover, speaking to her with a certain warmth you’ve been depriving him of. “It’s about a girl escaping an abusive orphanage once she turns 18 and follows her journey for the next 10 years.”

So now you’re fantasizing about leaving him? Good luck with that. 

“You look troubled, my lord,” the woman to his right, Concubine Saiyo, says. She’s leaning against him as well, now tracing her fingers along his jaw. “Are you alright?” 

“M’fine,” he murmurs, trying to fix his face as he takes a sip of sake. “It’s been a long flight.”

“There’s a private cabin you can retreat to, if you’d like,” you suggest, going back to your little book, missing the way you just made the lord’s eye twitch. 

“I know,” he says. 

It’s his airship. 

Without warning, he gets up from his seat. Was it a little rude? Perhaps. But surely the two women beside him could understand what feeling hounded could do to someone. They don’t, they do their jobs and get up as well, which he understands. However, Zuko’s not in the fucking mood right now and waves a dismissive hand. 

“No need,” he curtly says, making his way to the back of the airship. “I just want to close my eyes for a bit.” 

. . . . . .

The trip starts off strong with a banquet being held in honor of the fire lord's arrival. 

Contrary to Zuko’s wishes, nobody’s stupid enough to mistake you for one of his concubines. At least not within the circle of people you’re mingling with tonight, who all recognize your family's crest engraved on your hairpin. 

They were an ambitious bunch that spread all over once Zuko came into power— reaching amongst the highest positions within the military, medicine, and even education. 

Funny enough, your position in the court was nothing special in comparison to some of your relatives’ achievements. Some are even bothered by the fact. Being the first of all your cousins to master the art of firebending, being your grandfather's favorite solely for bending lightning with the same grace as he did in his prime, all while excelling in your studies. 

All of that potential, just wasted on being the lord’s “pet”. 

You don’t have much of an opinion on the disappointment some of them have expressed in the past, though it would’ve been nice if their words had stayed behind closed doors. You didn’t want to hear any of it. If you truly wanted to make use of that said potential, you would’ve worked directly under your father as his subordinate. 

Maybe it was the result of growing up feeling like you were enough. You have nothing to prove, and quite frankly, you’re content with having a role that really only requires you to share your opinions with a ruler that shares the same ideals as you… for the most part. 

If only he’d also agree that you two spend way too much time together. 

Luckily, you’re not required to be by his side tonight since you’re attending the banquet as a representative of your clan— something Zuko had no clue about until the moment you stepped onto the airship, which had him looking like he was about to blow a fucking gasket. He absolutely sucks at masking his frustrations. You’re surprised his concubines still had the courage to cuddle up with him. He looked like he was 2.5 seconds away from throwing you off the ship mid-flight. 

Zuko would never do that, by the way, but you’re sure he was daydreaming about it. 

But even then, with all the distance between you tonight, you can still feel his eyes on you. Just watching and waiting for you to do something he didn’t like. Very masochistic considering how he wouldn’t confront you if you did end up doing something wrong in his eyes. 

You spend the entire night avoiding eye contact, which isn’t too hard given how all you’ve done is catch up with old peers from school and relatives who’ve decided to move here to start new lives. 

The relatives you got along with, that is. 

You were enjoying yourself. Truly. Until Sokka called you over to their table. 

Funny how Zuko wasn’t looking at you then and was instead stuffing his face with spicy dumplings, then downing it with whatever liquor was in his cup. 

You walk over with two thoughts running through your head— please don’t let this man be as drunk as Sokka and Aang, and don’t let this be a conversation about how work was been. Sokka tends to ask those things at the wrong time, despite his heart being in the right place. 

This time around, it’s not Sokka.

“How’s our flaming hot lord treating you?” Aang asks, throwing an arm around a very drunk Zuko, who’s laughing his ass off over the avatar’s words for once. 

Your lips may have twitched a little, as well. Only because Aang gave even less fucks when in an inebriated state. 

“Oh, you know— the usual.” You let out a lighthearted laugh, and only you notice the way Zuko’s face momentarily drops. 

The air around him quickly screams ‘don’t fuck with me’, then settles back into something more suitable for someone who’s already had half their water weight in alcohol. 

“C’mon, you can do better than that,” Zuko forces out a laugh, leaning back in his seat. 

You laugh a little harder. “Can I?”

“Yeah, you can.” 

Sokka lets out this weird, giddy gasp because he loves drama, and cuts in. “Are you two fighting?”

“No.” 

“No.”

You and Zuko look at each other after shutting down Sokka’s question at the same time. The fake smiles you’re wearing are not helping your case at all. 

“Where’s Katara? I’ve been wondering where she’s been this whole time,” you ask in an attempt to keep the energy between you from getting any more awkward than it already is

Aang grows a little pale— the instant karma feels nice. “She’s a little sick tonight.” 

There’s a bit of fear in his voice. She’s totally pregnant. Not that you say that. Instead, you just point in some random direction behind you. “That’s terrible— my cousin actually just mentioned a bug going around. I hope she feels better soon.” 

“Thank you,” the man lets out a sigh of relief, allowing himself to be delusional for just one more night. 

“What about Toph?”

“Home. Asleep.” Sokka rolls his eyes. “She’s like a little old lady now. You’ll see her tomorrow, though, she’s been volunteering at the center.” 

“Volunteering or beating everyone into submission?” Zuko murmurs, and they all erupt in laughter. “She probably runs that place like the military.”

You find yourself starting to zone out as the conversation moves on to a different topic. You’d like to blame some of the wine you’ve been sipping on throughout the night for that. Everything starts to melt together— the live music, the endless chatter in every which direction. The only thing that pulls you out of it is seeing another one of your cousins who had just arrived, waving at you, and you don't shy away from taking that as an opportunity to excuse yourself. 

Aang and Sokka were as kind as usual when you said your goodbyes. Zuko, on the other hand, was harder to read through the pathetic excuse of a smile he gave you. One only meant to save face. 

If only he knew just how much worse he makes things sometimes. Although they’re rare, this isn’t the first fight you two have been in. Perhaps you have been a little petty towards the man, but it’s not you who grows so frustrated at someone’s anger that you begin to hold a grudge yourself. 

You arrive back to your room in the early morning with the regret of not cutting yourself off from the drinks sooner than you did. You wouldn’t say you were drunk, but you were definitely tipsy as you started to shed layers of clothes and jewelry to get in the hot bath that had been prepared prior to your return. 

Aang may be childish at times, but fuck was he a great host. Or maybe it was Katara who had all of these amenities set up for you. Candles and bath salts— you could die a happy woman right now as you settle into the stone tub, taking deep breaths, letting your muscles relax. 

Twenty minutes in, you hear rattling and heavy footsteps that seem to hit the ground with more confusion than the determination an attacker would usually have. It forces you to leave the warmth of your bath, slipping on a robe. Getting hit with annoyance rather than fear may be a little foolish. Overconfident, even. But there’s still alcohol running through your veins, and you aren’t the pride and joy of your clan for no reason— you can absolutely hold your own in a fight. 

When you walk out of the bathroom, you come face to face with exactly who you were thinking of.

“Fuck,” he looks away for a moment, regretting his decision thinking it was okay to just walk in. 

Zuko didn’t think you’d be bathing, for some odd, stupid reason. Judging by the fact that he’s still wearing his usual day clothing and his hairs not up in a bun, it’s safe to assume he went straight here after leaving the banquet. 

You let out a long sigh. “God— what are you doing here?” 

You don’t even sound mad— just disappointed that you have to see him once more before you lay your head to rest, which slightly hurts the man’s ego. Truth be told, he came here to argue with you, but even in his drunken state, he’s finding it quite difficult to do so since he looks like a fucking pervert now. 

“Your comment from earlier— what the hell was that about?” Zuko sounds more wounded than anything right now. 

You cross your arms, leaning against the door frame that connects the room to the bathroom. “What comment?”

“The usual,” he says with air quotes. “Do you not like me anymore or something?”

“You’re seriously asking me that right now?” Your face twists, just dumbfounded at this point. “You ask me that as if I don’t work for you?”

He scoffs. “So what, you’re saying I’m not your friend now?”

“I mean, yeah— you are, but I’m still your subordinate at the end of the day,” you attempt to spell it out for him, trying to get it through his brain that he can’t just act like you two are a pair of besties. 

But he just continues to argue with you. 

“Really? ‘Cause last time I checked, people don’t fight their superiors.” 

No, they do not. You’re not sure why you even tried to make that an argument, the line between you has blurred a long time ago. 

“You know what, just— forget it.”

The thing is, you're not the best at taking accountability. Most of the arguments you’ve had with him have been swept under the rug after a while. Zuko's not having that right now, though.

“Hm— actually, no— I don’t think I will,” he stubbornly says. “You have been punishing me for fucking weeks now and now you just want me to forget it?”

Punishing him?

You roll your eyes, muttering “oh my god” under your breath, not even bothering to look him straight in the eyes anymore as you walk to the nightstand and pick up a small jar of body cream. 

“We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” you say dismissively, rubbing the jasmine-scented cream into your hands. “I need to go to sleep, and so should you, honestly.”

It doesn’t matter how well he can handle his alcohol— he reeks of it. 

“I’m trying to talk to you right now so I don’t have to deal with your attitude tomorrow,” he says, as if he hasn’t had an attitude himself the last couple of weeks. 

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to,” you murmur back. 

What feels like minutes pass after your pathetic attempt to settle your issues with him. At first, he just lets out a sigh, trying to keep his composure, but then he laughs under his breath. 

“So that’s it?” he asks in a condescending tone. “We’re all good now?”

“Yes. Goodnight, Zuko,” you hum. 

More silence follows after. You can just feel his eyes on you despite still facing away, now reaching for some hair oil, waiting for him to leave.

He never does. Even after working the product into your hair, you have yet to hear the door to your room close, making you grow wary. 

There are many things telling you not to turn around at the moment— your blurred mind and tensed body. But even you make mistakes, lots of them with Zuko, and so you finally turn around. 

His lips are on yours. 

You don’t know how long he’d been standing directly behind you, you never even heard his footsteps. All you know is his hands are snaked behind your neck and he’s kissing you and you’re letting him.

It takes you a moment to realize you’re kissing him back— too focused on how soft his lips are, how his tongue glides across your lower lip before slipping inside, so commanding yet so gentle. 

Then you sober up— pressing your palm flat against his chest and pushing him back so you two can look at each other, eyes wide and filled with instant regret.

“What the hell was that?” you try to snap at him, but the sharp edge was dulled from the start, already fearing what’ll change between you from this moment forward. 

“I— fuck,” he stutters, taking another step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Immediately, you cut him off. “No, you shouldn’t have and you know that.”

“I know.” It sounds like a plea coming from him as his chest tightens. “I’m sorry.”

Even you start to look apologetic, which breaks his heart a little since you did nothing wrong. The one who crossed the line was him, after all. “You should go. You’re drunk.” 

He opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it shortly after. There was nothing to say. 

And so he slowly nods and turns around, still in shock by his own actions as he begins to walk away, leaving you to deal with the aftermath of what the fuck just happened on your own. 

This was going to be the longest work trip of your life. 

notes: i hope u guys enjoyed this first chapter!! this was supposed to be a oneshot but then ideas kept popping up in my head and i thought, why don't i just turn this into a longfic like defiance lol. the plan is to follow these two around throughout a couple arcs, with the first one being them trying to navigate their feelings and attempting to go back to normal while trying to fix the shit show in the silk district.

TAGS ARE CLOSED

All rights reserved © 2026 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[feyrinnn]

breaking ꒰no contact꒱ with ex!gojo

You and Satoru broke up for a reason, you keep reminding yourself.

But even months later and, ehm… other people later, you find yourself staring at his contact picture, typing and deleting the same message over and over again.

How are you even supposed to break no contact? Is there a good way of reaching out to your ex without coming across as desperate or delusional?

"I miss you" your fingers type.

Delete.

No way you're starting with that – even if it is the truth.

"Hope you're well" …you groan before you even finish typing that one, the little sound of each letter disappearing managing to piss you off even more.

You had heard it enough times already. A monotone soundtrack to every little memory of Satoru, both good and bad, that jumped to your mind without warning the longer you stared at his handsome picture.

It felt ridiculous to miss him that much. You had tried so hard to move on – maybe just to prove a point too. Because otherwise you’d have to admit what he knew all along.

You shouldn’t embarrass yourself like that, you decide with a long sigh, ready to lock the device.

But suddenly – three little dots appear on the screen.

satoru: just send it already i can't take it anymore

Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, and it takes everything in you to not throw the phone across the room and hide from sheer embarrassment.

Then it pings again.

satoru: hellooo?

Fuck.

Was it too late to change your number and move to a different country?

You sigh, finally typing a message you actually send.

y/n: how long have you been watching the screen

Three dots.

satoru: like 10 minutes

You let out a silent scream, heart hammering in your chest.

This is the worst possible scenario – time to deflect.

y/n: why the hell did you have my chat open anyway

Three dots again…

satoru: princess I've been waiting for this moment for months

Your cheeks heat up with something other than embarrassment this time.

y/n: you're an idiot

You know he’d practically be able to hear your pout through that text. But then–

satoru: that guy you were dating finally fuck up?

You let out a small chuckle at his honesty. And yeah, fuck up was putting it lightly, but you didn't exactly want to get into how every man since Satoru had been a complete disappointment.

You sigh, biting the inside of your cheek to try and force back the smile that tried to form on your lips.

y/n: guess you could say that

Satoru was typing again, three dots appearing and disappearing. Maybe he was the one deleting the messages on the other side now.

You could almost picture him – that wide cheese eating grin, celebrating his prophecy coming true. You hated how right he was about the fact you wouldn't find anyone better than him.

The overly confident bastard he was.

But the message you received wasn't smug at all. If anything, it made your heart ache with that familiar comfort no one but him seemed able to give you.

satoru: did he hurt you?

You felt a tightness in your throat as you typed out a yes. It's not like you were ever in love with the guy – you hadn't really been in love with anyone since, well… since the man you were texting right now.

White haired, blue eyed, handsome Satoru Gojo, shining so bright he overshadowed everyone in his wake, including you.

But how could anyone else even compare?

satoru: are you ok?

You bite your lower lip, reading and rereading his text. Yes that guy proved to be an asshole, but what was really making your chest hurt wasn't that short lived situationship – it was how much you missed Satoru.

Missed his stupid jokes. Missed the way he'd easily pick you up and place kisses all over your face. Missed cuddling on cold nights, laughing at the dumb movie he chose, baking cookies for lunch when his adorable pout convinced you it was healthy.

What was the use of lying, anyway?

y/n: i just really miss you

There. You finally admitted the truth you had been trying to conceal for months now.

And his response came so fast you wondered how his thumbs could type so quickly.

satoru: ill be there in 10

You laugh – Satoru easily lives a half an hour away, but you fully believe him.

How did you ever think you’d get over Satoru Gojo?

(important) DO NOT MESSAGE YOUR EX – unless he is satoru gojo, of course

permatags @madamechrissy @mercipourleveninx @septembermoonchild @plaguecxlt @nanamitiddiechomper @kekeanna266 @amazedfor @dogggggggblog-kaye @literallyadarling @dawnsoblivion @chewiebee @iquitfindingausername @valberryboos @pwd54gr54 @raendarkfaerie @bbfawns @itimisu @sapph22

art by @/hanare_615

[feyrinnn]

breaking ꒰no contact꒱ with ex!gojo

You and Satoru broke up for a reason, you keep reminding yourself.

But even months later and, ehm… other people later, you find yourself staring at his contact picture, typing and deleting the same message over and over again.

How are you even supposed to break no contact? Is there a good way of reaching out to your ex without coming across as desperate or delusional?

"I miss you" your fingers type.

Delete.

No way you're starting with that – even if it is the truth.

"Hope you're well" …you groan before you even finish typing that one, the little sound of each letter disappearing managing to piss you off even more.

You had heard it enough times already. A monotone soundtrack to every little memory of Satoru, both good and bad, that jumped to your mind without warning the longer you stared at his handsome picture.

It felt ridiculous to miss him that much. You had tried so hard to move on – maybe just to prove a point too. Because otherwise you’d have to admit what he knew all along.

You shouldn’t embarrass yourself like that, you decide with a long sigh, ready to lock the device.

But suddenly – three little dots appear on the screen.

satoru: just send it already i can't take it anymore

Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, and it takes everything in you to not throw the phone across the room and hide from sheer embarrassment.

Then it pings again.

satoru: hellooo?

Fuck.

Was it too late to change your number and move to a different country?

You sigh, finally typing a message you actually send.

y/n: how long have you been watching the screen

Three dots.

satoru: like 10 minutes

You let out a silent scream, heart hammering in your chest.

This is the worst possible scenario – time to deflect.

y/n: why the hell did you have my chat open anyway

Three dots again…

satoru: princess I've been waiting for this moment for months

Your cheeks heat up with something other than embarrassment this time.

y/n: you're an idiot

You know he’d practically be able to hear your pout through that text. But then–

satoru: that guy you were dating finally fuck up?

You let out a small chuckle at his honesty. And yeah, fuck up was putting it lightly, but you didn't exactly want to get into how every man since Satoru had been a complete disappointment.

You sigh, biting the inside of your cheek to try and force back the smile that tried to form on your lips.

y/n: guess you could say that

Satoru was typing again, three dots appearing and disappearing. Maybe he was the one deleting the messages on the other side now.

You could almost picture him – that wide cheese eating grin, celebrating his prophecy coming true. You hated how right he was about the fact you wouldn't find anyone better than him.

The overly confident bastard he was.

But the message you received wasn't smug at all. If anything, it made your heart ache with that familiar comfort no one but him seemed able to give you.

satoru: did he hurt you?

You felt a tightness in your throat as you typed out a yes. It's not like you were ever in love with the guy – you hadn't really been in love with anyone since, well… since the man you were texting right now.

White haired, blue eyed, handsome Satoru Gojo, shining so bright he overshadowed everyone in his wake, including you.

But how could anyone else even compare?

satoru: are you ok?

You bite your lower lip, reading and rereading his text. Yes that guy proved to be an asshole, but what was really making your chest hurt wasn't that short lived situationship – it was how much you missed Satoru.

Missed his stupid jokes. Missed the way he'd easily pick you up and place kisses all over your face. Missed cuddling on cold nights, laughing at the dumb movie he chose, baking cookies for lunch when his adorable pout convinced you it was healthy.

What was the use of lying, anyway?

y/n: i just really miss you

There. You finally admitted the truth you had been trying to conceal for months now.

And his response came so fast you wondered how his thumbs could type so quickly.

satoru: ill be there in 10

You laugh – Satoru easily lives a half an hour away, but you fully believe him.

How did you ever think you’d get over Satoru Gojo?

(important) DO NOT MESSAGE YOUR EX – unless he is satoru gojo, of course

permatags @madamechrissy @mercipourleveninx @septembermoonchild @plaguecxlt @nanamitiddiechomper @kekeanna266 @amazedfor @dogggggggblog-kaye @literallyadarling @dawnsoblivion @chewiebee @iquitfindingausername @valberryboos @pwd54gr54 @raendarkfaerie @bbfawns @itimisu @sapph22

art by @/hanare_615

[v3is]

TO BUILD A HOME

ⓘ SUMMARY ，in all your life, people have condescend you, treating you as nothing but an obstacle in the way. so, why does one of the most popular fraternity member treating you as . . . well, you. however, your happiness doesn't last long when you realize that he's just indulging in his friends' laughter and admiration in an exchange for your already tarnished reputation.

ⓘ PAIRING ，frat! jo x fem! reader

──── ⓘ TAGS : 13k ，satoru's a dick but he changes in later part lolz, cursing, angst, fluff kinda at first (?), non curse au, doesn't follow the jjk plot, sukuna and suguru cameo, dickhead rich kids stuff, corny flirting from satoru, reader and satoru fights a lot (one sided), satoru's egotistical, mentions of bullying (sukuna bullying u he doesn't directly... no physical stuff), u slapped satoru in reflex, long oneshot (maybe this is p1, was gonne make it a one part thing... change of plans so its a twoshot) · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · art by @/hanamisoo_ on ig!

You've always wondered how life turned out this way. Back when you were younger, you've always dreamt of making friends, being the non-popular but well known person, the smart girl who aces all her test and will graduate with a magna cum laude. Then again, you were young, and dreaming isn't a sin.

It just happened to hurt more when nothing you dreamt of come true. Barely no friends to talk to, well known for all the wrong reason, a "used to be" smart girl who fluctuated into nothing but Cs and Ds and barely passing by with an additional point essay.

When your mother had passed away when you were 12 — your father spiraled into debt. His credit cards eventually got blocked, the both of you were barely passing by, sometimes you eat nothing but rice and water. He eventually passed after an illness gone too bad to be cured, but even if it was possible, you knew he wouldn't have chosen to live. You knew that him dying was what he wanted.

It just happened to be that all his problems are now yours. His friends —who now don't think of him as friends because of the debt— refused to let their kids near you, apparently in their eyes, your family was nothing but a fraud. Honestly, anger was an understatement. Then again, you do understand where the title 'fraud' was coming from. It wasn't the easiest after the two left.

Micro-managing three jobs all at once while you enroll in a community high school, barely getting sleep, body running on caffeine. It was utterly, tremendously horrible!

You studied hard for a scholarship and landed one in a fairly known university an hour away from where you live. It was a hard month, drowning your nose into books filled with a mix of numerals and alphabets, and you almost got fired twice because of it. None of it matters now that you had resigned and moved to a different place, way cheaper, and less money to spend.

You've never thought of college life as depicted in the movies — but, to your surprise, people in this university . . . seem to rely a lot on their social status. The rich, of course, rules everyone here. Whatever they do, everyone follows, everyone laughs, everyone averts their gaze away. Surprising, it was political. Most of the board members of the university were from rich families, so it was no wonder that the university fear them.

Then there's the middle —average— status students. The not rich, but not poor ones. Nobody minds them, they don't try to appeal to anyone and live their life like normal people would. The rich don't mind them, but they don't like to be dumped into a group with them, because according to their ways, it was a punch to the ego.

Lastly, there were the poor ones. You, included. There weren't much people in this status, how do you know? Well, one, it's a prestigious university. Two, if it weren't for your scholarship, you would have to pay at least a decade of your past three jobs. Three, people in this status were considered as "the black sheep", the ones to take the bait and suffer the consequences on their own. You knew after the first semester here, the ugly way.

In a way you never expected. For 6 months since you first came in, you tried to lay low. You try not to earn attention from the people around, you go through classes, leave after it ends, go work, go home, sleep, repeat. What you never expected at all was to tarnish one of the fraternity boy's car — you didn't intend to, and if you narrow your eyes, you didn't really do anything.

No scratch, no messed up paint, nothing. He just happened to assume that you've tarnished it because your hand landed on his car while you were trying to catch yourself from a fall. It was just supposed to be a little leverage for you to catch your weight, but you end up getting accused of ruining his hundred thousands of dollar car.

Sukuna Ryomen — the girl who showed you around, apparently appointed during orientations day had told you a bit about the fraternity boys. You remembered something along the lines of, "The dreamiest, sexiest, most jaw dropping body boys around campus."

You don't dare ask her about it, but she just rambled on. You remembered the name Sukuna Ryomen come out of her mouth for being the most boisterous party holder. He makes the party, everyone on the rich side is automatically invited — while middle class people are only allowed when one of the frat members invite them. The poor ones are strictly forbidden from entering the frat house during parties. Who made that rule? Sukuna Ryomen.

You just "tarnished" his car, and now every single person in campus knows about you. Not in a good way, but as the poor person who ruined his brand new sports car. Gosh.

Now, everywhere you, people's head turned, whispers erupted in a way you hoped that they were talking about the poor girl who managed to land a very hard scholarship — but, of course, no. You can't even walk to the cafeteria without people suddenly putting up their bags onto the vacant seats. You thought this was supposed to be college, not high school anymore.

From the corner of your eyes, you could see Sukuna and his group of friends. The fraternities. You never knew why the concept of frat boys are a thing, surely they could have done so much better. Like, a book club maybe? Or a spelling bee? Mathematics? Yes, it's pretty boring, but surely it's better than intimidating people on campus ground.

And as far as you go, you remembered the prices of the cafeteria food being affordable. However, today, the prices had spiked up five times than the usual. You shook your head nervously, asking the lady standing behind the counter with a meek voice, "Is there a mistake with the price . . ? Why is it so far up compared to yesterday? I bought the same thing, can you please help me check?"

The lady gave you a look of pity. She sighs out softly, "Sorry, your students number was listed this way, I'm afraid it's out of my control — you can try checking with the head of the university regarding prices. We're just inputing what is listed in the computer," it seemed that she knows what was happening — but downright refused to talk about it because she knew that she was forbidden to tell you.

You weren't stupid, this kind of things isn't the first rodeo. Clearly Sukuna had done this, and if not him then maybe someone under his commands. Stupid. And there goes your lunch savings. It was embarrassing to stand there, holding the tray of food when you couldn't pay for it at all. Putting the tray down felt even more shameful when people behind you decide to ash you down with their quiet laughter. Well, it wasn't quiet if you could hear it.

And so, you spent the rest of the day hungry. Only being able to tase something once you reached your part time workplace. Sometimes, you thank your boss for actually giving out snacks and actual "heat up" bento stocked up in the fridge.

"Hoo, you work here, huh?"

Just your luck. Fuck my life, you'd like to yell out right now if losing your job was out of the box. You couldn't understand why Sukuna Ryomen had showed up right in front of you along with another frat boy you were aware of —Gojo Satoru— standing there with a sly smirk. Sukuna dropped a couple cans of beer, a few packs of gums and mints, chips, and . . . a few boxes of condoms for God knows what.

You scanned them with awkward silence, "Do you need a bag for these—"

"Use your pretty little head," Sukuna leaned on the counter, taking out his card, "course I need a bag for these. Do I look like I want people to know I just bought condoms, eh?"

What a dick. You chant to yourself, plastering that sweet smile on your face that's special for customers spawned from hell, "That'll be—"

He cuts you off, "You know what? Since you touched my brand new car the other day," he points out, pulling his card back from your fingers, "you can go ahead and put this in the house, yeah? That's the least you could do since you're too broke to pay for my shit. You can afford beers, gums, and condoms, right?"

Before you could say anything, he was halfway through the store, already reaching out to grab the handle of the door. You caught your breath and call out to him, "No, I can't pay for beers, gums, and condoms," Sukuna halts, looking over his shoulders.

You weren't half lying when you said that — money clearly isn't your strongest area, and the bill had add up to at least a good 200 gram of wagyu steak. Why did he have to choose those brands anyways?

Satoru nudged him out of the door considering the fact that there were a couple people watching them from afar, "Leave this here for you, yeah?" he pulls out a bill from his wallet and left it on top of the basket stack before following Sukuna's steps.

You thought that would be the end of it all. The second you stepped into campus ground, the whispers grew louder — no, they weren't even making it subtle that they were shit-talking you. These people spoke and made sure that you heard every single thing about it.

How pitiful this, serves you right that. How about considering shutting up and study? Your grip on your bag strap never faltered until you reached into the first class of the day. The class felt more hollow than usual. Before everything with Sukuna happened, people didn't actually mind sitting next to you — but, the dirty look you get now when they were forced to sit there was humiliating, almost.

You felt small in this moment. Like, nobody was on your side just because you lacked the money to defend yourself. Had you came here with a bit more money, a bit richer, would Sukuna still of react that way? Or would he have brushed you off like you did nothing wrong.

"You."

Your head rose from the short slumber of 'what ifs' when your professor called out on you — he had never called out on you before, not on anyone. He specifically said that he'd rather continue teaching rather than testing his students, so why was he calling to you now? Looking side to side, the looks from students around you confirmed that your professor was indeed calling out to you.

" . . . Me?" Your voice was slow and unsure. Maybe it was the fear of getting judged just for confirming.

Your professor looked dissatisfied, his eyes narrowed, "Yes, you. I am pointing at you, correct?" You nodded, already feeling the heat of embarrassment sloshing on your cheeks, "The Tsar had sent out orders to the governments of different provinces of the empire requiring each of them to send his quota of artificers and laborers to assist to build the city. This, they could do with ease because in those days, all the laboring classes were little better than slaves, and most entirely at the disposal of nobles, who were deemed their masters. In the same manner, he sent out agents to all the chief cities in Western Europe with orders to advertise for carpenters, masons, engineers, ship-builders, and person of all other trades that are likely useful to help build the city. These men were to be promised good wages and very kind treatment, and were to be at liberty at any time to return to their homes."

What the fuck was he talking about? You fiddled with the edge of your book, folding the pages anxiously as he looks at you, "Peter the Great in 1859 has an attitude towards foreign workers described in the passage I just read before differs most strongly from that of which of the following states during the period 1450-1750? A, the Songhai Empire in West Africa. B, the Tokugawa shogunate in Japan. C, the Qing Dynasty in China or D, the Safavid Dynasty in Persia?"

What. The. Fuck. Internally, you were panicking at the sudden question. You were unsure of how the topic of World War had suddenly turned into . . . this. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you mumbled out, more of questioning him, "A?"

"Incorrect. The Songhai Empire and the Savafid Dynasty relied heavily on foreign trade to support their economy, this indicates that they are willing to cooperate with foreigners. On the other hand, the Qing Dynasty also engage in foreign trade — hence, the answer is B. The Tokugawa shogunate in Japan," he explains out roughly, scribbling on the whiteboard, "the passage describes Peter the Great offering to provide good wages and kind treatment to foreign workers, especially high skilled ones who assisted in the construction. This attitude is generally positive and consistent with his eagerness to accept foreign influence, especially Euro-pean influence, in order to modernize Russia. This attitude differs strongly from that of the Tokugawa shogunate, which adopted isolationist stance, expelling most foreigners from Japan and closed off Japan to foreign trades. Also, forbade Japanese citizens from traveling abroad. Thus, B is the correct answer."

He finished with a sharp look towards you before speaking in a gruff tone, "Read your books well next time or leave my class."

Everyone is such a dick in here. You mutter to yourself, looking back down onto your notebook in annoyance, ready to just storm off and die in a ditch. Maybe getting too excited about college applications don't always turn out well — you just wanted to crawl away and disappear right now.

When class ended, you stood up, not bothering to pack. Your books hung in between your armpit as you walked down the hall, timidly looking down. Guess, you should have watched where you're going. The next thing you know, your books were sprawled all over the floor, a soft curse escaped under your breath as you bent down to pick it up.

"Watch where the fuck you're going," doesn't take you a good look to know who it was, by the voice, you just knew you bumped into trouble. Sukuna's foot trampled over the cover of your AP History book, his crude laugh echoing when he walks by. Then more foot trampled over your belongings, your fingers twitched at the sight of your now dirty book. At least they didn't step inside.

Your fingers clawed on a book, huffing. As you went to grab the second book, another hand beats you to it. Looking up, you met Gojo Satoru's cerulean eyes. He has a cheeky smile on his face, "You alright?" He questioned like he cares, but you knew people like him all too well.

" . . . Yeah," you don't bother thanking him, immediately jolting the book out of his fingers like he's toxic.

"You're welcome," he spoke, sarcasm lacing in his voice.

Your shoulder tingled when he brushed by you with that sweet smile of his that never left from earlier. He connected back with his group of friends, laughing like he didn't just stop to help you pick up a book, the hell is this now?

Satoru briefly glances at you over his shoulder, his feet continued to bring him further away from where you stood, brushing the covers of your books. He turns to focus on his friends, "Party is gonna be awesome, can't fucking wait," Sukuna sipped on his energy drink, skipping slightly, "I call dibs on—" Satoru had lost interest then.

He knew Sukuna would talk about the new girl he's inviting to the frat house tonight. The condoms he bought the other day solely for this matter, Satoru hasn't invited anyone. Sure, he's had flings here and there every once in a while. Sure, he's had sex with different girls he doesn't bother remembering. Though, it's been at least half a year since he last slept with someone.

"You good?" A friend of his —Geto Suguru— nudged him. If Satoru were to be honest, he'd choose Suguru to hang out with rather than Sukuna.

While Sukuna's a tornado wagering down the halls with total confidence and boisterous chaos, Suguru was silent. Quiet chaos, he doesn't bother people who done him no wrongs, but Satoru does know that Suguru tends to pretend to be sweet when he's seething. A double face, not that it's any of his business.

"Just peachy, no worries."

Suguru raised a brow, he knew Satoru better than anyone. They had spent their whole high school together — they're practically two peas in a pod, "Sure? You look worse than 'just peachy'."

Satoru shrugged, "Just noticed that (Name) girl."

"The one who ruined—"

Satoru never understood why they used the word 'ruined'. He took a good look at that car and it still looks as new as when Sukuna got it, that guy just wants a reason to fuel his dickhead-ness, "Yeah," he forced himself to answer, "her."

"She's in some deep shit."

"Right?"

"Who's in some deep shit?" Sukuna asks, looking over his shoulder from the front of the group, "And why the fuck would you notice that . . . low class bitch. How do you even know her name?" It was on her nametag at work, Satoru couldn't blame anyone for looking at every single details around him. He's always been that kind of person.

"Eh, just thought she fucked up bad," Satoru shrugs his shoulder sheepishly, "it was pretty rad."

"I'm still not satisfied," Sukuna grins, almost like a maniac. Satoru's so accustomed by his shit now that he wouldn't be surprised if Sukuna turns up in prison tomorrow — or even worse, dead, "you should fuck her up."

Satoru retracts back, "Beat her up . . ?"

Sukuna rolled his eyes, "No, mess with her. Coddle her, then break her heart, it'll feel pretty fucking good," Satoru knows this type of stuff is what the pink haired love most — he's lost count of how many girls have fallen for his charms, only to be disappointed then.

"I'm not interested—"

"Not interested? Or scared?"

See now, Satoru wasn't the type of person to back down. Especially when it involves his ego, "Scared? Pfft, the fuck do I get from this?" He mutters out, wanting something physical wise to be returned to him for doing whatever the fuck this is.

"Whatever the fuck you want, I could buy," a new car sounds awesome, or maybe a new PS5? Oh, a private jet maybe? Sukuna's money is relentless — his parents own probably one of the biggest electronic company in Japan, and Sukuna's the heir to it. Of course, he has the money and power to rule over this campus, not to mention the fact that his parents are the top one donators for events.

Satoru smirked, "Could do that. No time limit?"

"Eh, just make her feel all high and then drop her, don't care," Sukuna waved his hand, walking away. Satoru has seen his fair share of dickheads, but Sukuna has got to be at the top of the list.

That should be fairly easy.

Work has been hell. First, a lady blamed you because she didn't bring the right amount of money, somewhere along, she told you it was completely your fault and that you humiliated her. Second, you burst a water bottle inside your bag, didn't know how that happened. Lastly, Gojo Satoru paid you a visit.

This time, he was alone. He drops down a few packets of chips and a cold water bottle right on the counter, you'd like to retort, "No condoms like your friend?" But, it would just spiral everything worse.

"So," he started.

Uh-oh.

"I saw your water burst," what? How did he even know that? You cleared your throat, "the door was open and I saw. Bought you another one, and the chips too."

"Um, why?" You muttered out unsure.

He doesn't say a word but slipped a bill onto the counter with a smile on his face. Satoru looks around and tapped on the bill, "Text me."

He left without another word — prick. Just as you pulled the bill, a piece of small paper fell from under it. And of course, a series of numbers were written on top of it, his number, you assumed since he said to text him. Honestly, you didn't bother with it and let the paper rest there until closing hours, where you crumpled it and tossed it in the bin.

Because, what made him think that you'd text him when his friends are complete dickheads? Somewhere deep in your mind, you knew he was just pretending to be nice. There is little to no chance that he's genuine, and you wondered what his intentions really are.

Sex? A kiss? Money? Or is it still because of that stupid fucking car of Sukuna?

Anyways, it didn't matter now. After all that, all you wanted to do was to transfer away — if money wasn't the reason, you'd totally be in a different place right now. Surely, your time will come, right?

The place you live in currently wasn't even a living area, it was a space people use to fuck. Sex workers mostly, so most of your nights were filled with the raging sounds of skin against skin, the loud curses asking for more, and different pitches of moans from left and right. At this point, you weren't even in a place to complain because the owner lets you have the room for a good price, and who were you to judge these people when you don't know anything about their lives?

Your bed wasn't even a bed. It was makeshift one, a thin mattress and under it was a piece of wood so you could just plop down with ease. Thankfully, the room has its own bathroom and a little kitchen by the corner, it wasn't much; but it was enough.

While brushing your teeth, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You looked . . . older, and more tired. The dark circles under your eyes were worse than high school despite the fact that you were juggling three jobs in the past, and now you were juggling one job with a dozen of dickheads on your ass. No, actually — if you think about it, it's not even a dozen, the whole campus was on your ass.

Wouldn't this be considered as illegal? Professors shouldn't even be involved just because you couldn't defend yourself from some frat boys you were sure they shit talk about too. Your skin was rougher on some parts, and there were a few rashes from scratching earlier, it will disappear, hopefully. Spitting out the toothpaste, you touched your face, feeling the soft patch under your fingertips.

Sometimes, you wondered if your parents hadn't died, would you still be living in that not too big house in the very nice neighborhood, with nice neighbors, and a small yard on the back? Would people still look at you like you mattered? Or was it just another play because your world's still colors and sparkles — unlike now.

Sleep was an escape, only if you could do it longer. After work, you spend most of time tossing and turning, if this bed wasn't so thin, maybe you wouldn't feel your back aching and actually get a good night rest. But, no, this was all you could get by. And by the time you got some sleep, the alarm blared, reminding you of the mystery ahead.

Whenever you turned around the corner near campus, you find yourself taking deep breaths and chanting a mantra to be patient — being patient is so much better than spending a whole life in jail. You try to tell yourself that once this was all done, you go find an old rich guy, take his heart, and make him give all his assets to you. Boom, rich. Then again, somewhere deep in you, you knew that this was just a way for you to remind yourself to go on and keep living.

"You never texted me."

Not even inside campus grounds, yet. You pretend it was just the wind and continued walking. Satoru pops a smile and matched your steps with ease, damn his long legs, "So, I waited all night and never got one. Did you intend to do that or were you just too shy to text me?"

Your steps slowed down into a halt, "Do I even know you?"

Satoru shook his head, "Why'd you think I gave you my number, sweetheart? I want you to know me, and I want me to know you," he points at your head, "so? Why'd you not text me?"

"Because I didn't see a number," you lied through gritted teeth.

He cocked his head, "Oh," no, Satoru's not stupid, of course he knows you're lying. He saw it with his own eyes that the paper had fallen and you left it there — no worries, he left after, "let's rephrase that, sounds a bit bland. How about, to prevent that from happening again, you put your number in my phone. Or mine in yours, your choice."

"Don't have a phone," you mumbled.

"Lies, people have phones—"

You pulled out the old flip-phone passed down from your former grandmother, which managed to shut him up deliberately, his blue eyes looking in awe at the device, "Oh, you actually meant that, are you that broke?" He spoke in a sympathetic tone that made you despise him even more, "I can buy a new phone for you—"

"Absolutely not, do I look like I need a new phone?"

He looks at you, "Um, yeah. Who still uses . . . flip phones? Unless, you're ninety or dead," okay, he's an obnoxious little brat who's obviously choking on daddy's money, his parents are to blame!

"Leave me alone, Jojo."

Satoru blinks, "Gojo," he corrects, "I prefer Satoru, or baby works too."

"Jojo it is."

You've never noticed that he sits in the same AP History class as you do — no wonder he followed you in, his steps matches yours. People stared you down, girls especially. Burning in jealousy at the sight of you walking beside what they thought is one of the hottest person on campus. And right then, you'd already decided that you're utterly more fucked than before, "Can you . . . not sit beside me?"

"Why not? I'm trying to flirt, can't you give me a chance before deciding?" He puts his chin on top of his palm, looking at you.

You grumbled, moving away slightly only for him to follow your movements, inching his body closer to yours, "I am uncomfortable with you being so close to me, can you move away?"

Satoru inched slightly away with a teasing smile. Your professor, today, decided it was another day to humiliate you even more, "(Name)," he calls out to your name, surprising that he even knows it to begin with, "In Philosophy of Manufactures, steam engines furnish the means not only of their support, but of their multiplication. They create a vast of demand for fuels and while they lend their powerful arms to drain the pits and to raise coal, they call into employment multitudes of miners, engineers, shipbuilders, and sailors and cause the construction of canals. Therefore, in enabling these rich fields of industry to be cultivated to the utmost, they leave thousands of fine arable fields free for the production of food to man, which must've been otherwise allotted to the food of horses. Steam engines moreover, by the cheapness and steadiness of their action — fabricates cheap goods, and procure in their exchange a liberal supply of the necessaries and comforts of life produced in foreign lands."

You scratched the back of your head, his words already leaving your brain. Worse, you don't even know what he was talking about, "The passage I just read is best seen ad evidence for which of the following? A, the implementation of the factory system led to increased demand for skilled laborers. B, the limited supply of fossil fuels led to innovations in transportations. C, the rise of industrial technology improved living conditions for all members of society; or D, the development of machines led to increased agricultural production and population growth."

God, all you wanted to do now was to throw a book straight to his bald head and call it a day. As you were about to shoot and try your luck, a tap on your thigh under the table made your eyes look slightly to the paper Satoru was holding, 'D'.

It wasn't much of a help when you're skeptical about it too, but at this point, you'll take it. With a slight tremble in your voice, you answered, "D?"

To your surprise, your professor looked fairly satisfied. He nods his head and turns towards the whiteboard, "D is correct. The passage I just read claimed that advances in transportation and mechanical production allowed for more intensive agricultural cultivation, thus D is correct. Good job, (Name), I expect a lot from you."

The burden on your shoulders visibly lifted up and you coaxed yourself to look at Satoru, who had a smile on his face, proud of himself, " . . . Thanks," you mumbled out, as much as you hate it, he did just save your face from another round of humiliation.

"No problem, sweetheart. I guess I get a free pass to sit next to you from now on then?" He whispers softly, with a cheeky smile.

"Don't push your luck."

"Won't stop trying."

Satoru is a leech. You could see his group of friends sitting in another corner, but they didn't seem like they cared about Satoru sitting away from them; which made you suspicious about the whole thing. Satoru seemed to notice, clearing his throat, "What class do you have after this?"

You shook your head, "None."

"Sweet, wanna hang out?"

"Got work."

Satoru puckered his lips, "After work then?"

"Too late."

"The Weekend?"

"Rest day."

Satoru chuckled under his breath at your vague answers, he was honestly confused to why you weren't affected by his charms like all others would, "I'm free whenever," because you're rich, why can't he just understand that he's practically saying that he's so rich so he doesn't have to break bones and work all night long, "so, just shoot me a letter. I can write my address—"

"My flip-phone can text fine," you retort back a bit offended.

"Well, why didn't you say so, input my number then," he scribbled down on your notebook, his writing is messy, like him, "text me for real this time, yeah?"

No, you did not text him. You didn't know why you'd text him — his friends are a group of bullies, and he probably is one too! You stood by the counter of the cashier, tapping on the metallic surface in a random tune, "So, I've received no texts so far from you, sweetheart."

"I don't have anything to ask you, nor am I interested in texting you," you replied back, ringing his sandwich and energy drink.

"Why? Is it because I'm Sukuna's friend?" He was smirking widely, like he knows it's part of the answer.

You narrowed your eyes at him, "Yes, that's one. Two, I know you want something from me, I just don't know what. Three, you're not as . . . charming as what people portray you to be, anyone who is friends with bullies and douchebags makes them the same. And all three points to you," he blinks, suppressing his smile from growing wider.

Satoru finally laughs, "You haven't even gotten to know me."

"Don't need to, I judge books by the cover, and your cover isn't really the best—"

"I can name a few books with shit covers that has treasures inside," he offered in a challenging tone, you furrowed your brows in annoyance, "one—"

"I don't need a fucking list, you're holding up the line," Satoru looks back to see nobody standing behind him, "fuck off."

"Ouch, harsh."

He slides the sandwich and energy drink towards you, "I don't need your pity."

Satoru raised a brow, "What's your definition of pity?"

"You, giving me these—"

Satoru cuts you off, "Pity. Noun. The feeling of sorrow and compassion caused by the suffering and misfortunes of others. Example, he looks at me with pity because I just lost my wallet," he defined with a lop-sided smirk, "and I," he slowly spoke again, "don't feel sorrow because you have a shitty life — I actually do care for you, you're different. Unlike people on campus who flocks over my extremely good looks, you actually hate me. And it's fresh, this is not pity, it's love."

You grit your teeth, "There's a borderline difference between love and lust, and you seem like the type to sugarcoat your words to lay a girl. Is that what you're trying to do? Did your jerk of a friends tell you to do this just because you helped me pick a book up the other day? Do I look fucking cheap to you?"

Satoru shrugs, "Believe what you want, all I'm saying is that —" he gestures to himself then at you, "I'll try my best to earn your trust, then I'll officially court you after, cool? And who cares about what they say, I'm probably not going to talk to them after we graduate anyways."

You look at the sandwich, "I ate."

"Then eat more."

"Can't."

"Heat it up for tomorrow then, breakfast, silly," he flicks your forehead, making you stare at him in an uncanny way that he raised both his arms in defense, "personal space, got it."

"You bring it home or I throw it away," Satoru raised his brows, grinning, "I'm serious, Jojo."

"Gojo. Let's start there . . . Gojo," his finger flicked to himself, "(Name)," his finger flicks towards you, "not so hard, right? Gojo and (Name)."

What the fuck does he want? You asked yourself internally. Frankly, you've stopped listening to what he has to say after 'Gojo and (Name)', the smile on his face burnt the already raging fire in you. You just wanted to wipe that off his face, "Alright, I'll make one thing clear, I am not interested in you nor do I want anything to do with you."

"Like I said," he sighs, "I'll try my best. Which means, I'm not gonna stop until either you do trust me — or I get tired, a man can't always run, you know?"

Does he think saying that made him look cooler? You cringed back slightly, "Go home."

"Yes, ma'am. Also, bring home the sandwich, I'm not taking it home!" He waves his hand, walking out of the store.

"Morning!"

You would have turned back and leave if you know another way to reach campus — turning around the usual corner, you never expect to see Gojo Satoru leaning on the wall, air pods stuffed in his ears. He wore a bright yellow colored hoodie and a grey jogger. In an instant, you were left silent, not knowing what to say.

"I'll just pretend you said hi back, alright, let's go to campus—"

You brushed by him, walking inside the gates. Satoru huffed, swinging his bag over his shoulder, "C'mon, can't we at least speak like normal humans? Or are you seriously going to ignore me the whole time I'm trying to talk to you?" He walks beside you.

No matter how fast you try to go, he was matching your speed with ease. Quietly whistling a tune you assumed was the melody from his air pods. Thankfully, you got no class with him today — so, he was left stranded outside your class, "Thematic and Social History 201 on Thursdays, got it," he calls out to you.

You halt, a feeling of dread like a blanket over your shoulders. Fuck. Now he knows where you go to on Thursday, "Don't worry, I'll just have to slip out faster than usual," you reassured yourself.

No. By the time the class ended, even being the first one to escape it doesn't make Satoru lose sight of you. In fact, he had already been waiting outside since half an hour ago because his professor ended class earlier, bouncing his head to the beat. The second the door pops open, his eyes were intently looking for you.

You walked the other direction and he pushes himself off the wall, excusing himself through the sea of humans, "Excuse me, sorry," he slithered his way to your side, a sly smile on his face as he leans down close enough to your ear, "boo!"

The sight of your jolting body made him giggle, "What the fuck is wrong with you? Can you stop bothering me?"

"I'm not bothering you, I'm trying to earn your heart," he shrugs.

"You're patronizing me."

Satoru clicked his tongue, "Patronizing. Adjective. Apparently kind or helpful but betraying a feeling of superiority or condescending. Example, I occasionally experienced patronizing attitudes from teachers around," he defines again, how annoying, "I'm not patronizing you, I'm teasing you — it's my love language. Teasing."

"Don't define it."

"Since you insist. Teasing. Adjective. Intended to provoke or make fun of someone in a playful way. Example, Gojo Satoru's teasing (Name)(Last Name) to show her his love," he grins. A stupid grin, "if I perchance, shower you with gifts, and expensive items, or luxurious vacations, would you go out with me?"

See now, the topic of financial stability made you feel ashamed. You knew he wasn't (probably) intending on going that way, but something in you just wanted him to leave you be, "Expensive items? Luxurious vacations? Gifts? Am I that cheap to you that you think my trust could be earned by burning money? Huh?"

Satoru held back a smile, "Well, no. But, that's my other love language, giving gifts to my significant other. And I'm trying to make you one, in case it's not noticeable."

"Yeah? It's pissing me off, I get it, I'm poor, you're rich. Wow, money," you mutter.

Satoru finally clicks the puzzle, "Oh, I'm not trying to go that way. You need to understand I don't give a flying fuck about my woman's money . . . because I'm gonna be paying for you anyways, that's how I do it," he smugly said as if it was something to be particularly proud of.

"How egotistical," you rolled your eyes, pushing the doors to the cafeteria open.

"Egotistical. Adjective. Conceited or absorbed in oneself, in other words, self-centered. Example, he is so full of himself, he's egotistical! Arrogant. Adjective. Having an exaggerated sense of one's own importance or abilities. Example, Gojo Satoru's not arrogant, he knows his worth and he doesn't look down on (Name)(Last Name)."

"What's the difference?" You mutter, grabbing a tray.

"Example, an egotistical person will talk about his hobbies only. However, an arrogant person will come up to them and tell them that their hobbies are stupid, that's the difference," for a fraternity boy, usually laced with stupidity and haughty, Gojo Satoru doesn't lack in anything (you hate to admit), "and I'd like to remind you that, I, Gojo Satoru will never tell you that your hobby is stupid."

For awhile, you forgot about the raise of prices on your student number. Sukuna probably was the main reason — Satoru noticed the way you were about to put your tray back onto the stack, "I'll pay, grab anything you want. I want you to not skip lunch just because you touched someone's car and he thinks you ruined it."

Your head turned towards him, "So, you're admitting that I did nothing and all I've received the past few weeks were straight up menace and bullying?"

Satoru shrugs, "Between you and I, yes."

"And you've said nothing to defend me at all? Even when you admitted you wanted to get to know me? How cool of you, and no, I don't need you to pay me. I can feed myself, thank you," you swat his hand away, putting the tray down and leaving the line.

Satoru bit the inner of his cheek, already feeling the frustration bubble up. Why were you being so hard?

"What the hell was that?"

Suguru appeared right by his side, holding a tray. He had pushed himself to the middle, where Satoru was. Satoru grumbled under his breath, "Nothing," but nothing sounded like something.

"Mhm, guess you won't be getting that perk from Sukuna—"

"Yes, I fucking will. She's easy, I'll just have to say stuff, sugarcoat words, and boom, she'll fall for me in no time," Satoru found himself rambling out to his best friend, even if, a part of him maybe did want to get to know you better. He was just too scared to admit the fact that his friends would probably make fun of him for being interested in someone like you, "thank God, there's no time limit."

"Break a leg."

You end up sitting in a store nearby, eating a sandwich that felt stale — for a cheap price, you weren't surprised. This was so much better than eating rice with water. The sun was shining brightly contradicting your mangled feelings; somehow it felt like the sun was taking part in assaulting your feelings. It was humiliating to say the least, your skin burnt, but you will take every second of it before you find yourself in that damned hellhole of a campus where everyone thinks of you as an obstacle because Sukuna said so. His car doesn't even look good!

Thursdays were officially your most hated day. You've got a total of three classes from 8 to 5. This probably meant a higher chance of Satoru following you around with his tail wagging — which is the worse case scenario.

Walking back into campus felt like a chore, you just wanted to go in a hole and stay there for the rest of the day. Halfway down the hall, someone tapped on your shoulder, you turn back, ready to accept the fact that it was Satoru. But, no, this time, it wasn't. It was a girl — whom, you don't recognize at all. She has a small smile, "Hi."

" . . . Hi."

She has got no business to be talking to you, either she's here to make fun of you, or she wants something. You wait for her to speak, "I'm Professor Hanami's student assistant, you're in his AP History class, right? He told me to find you. I tried asking about your schedule to the information desk, and they told me you have a class in a bit, they wouldn't give me your phone number since it was private information. I was hoping to find you before then, been walking around non-stop since before," she waves her hand, "anyways, he's telling me that he wants you to participate in a competition with two others. He'd like to talk to you right now."

A competition? Me? You asked yourself. However, you were ready to decline when she pulls you down the hall, jogging. You try to halt her into a stop, "I'm not interested in a competition," you tell her.

But, she doesn't seem to care. And you were starting to think if this is true, why was she so adamant? Plus, you've never actually seen her in AP History, "I've never seen you in AP History."

The girl looks back, "Oh, yeah. Because I'm not really his student assistant. Sukuna paid me to do this, sorry about it. You seem like such a sweet girl, but my reputation is on the line," she pushed you inside a room.

It was empty. And it stinks of time long ago, the cobwebs on the corners of the ceiling seemed to show how the room had been stuck like this for a while now. The soft click from the lock told you that you'll be stuck in here for a while, so why not just enjoy it? Someone will eventually find out and open the door for you, right?

Wrong. When the fourth hour passed by, you began wondering if someone did hear you knock on the door; or they prompted not to care after hearing because in a way, they were probably too scared to open the door because Sukuna pointed the girl to do this. You couldn't blame her, he was a prick for gosh sake.

The small rectangular window that poured a bit of light in began to dim, which signified the sun setting. The room gradually grew darker by the passing second, and you sighed, trying the switch. Flipping it up, then down, then up again, then down — in a way, you're trying to convince yourself that the switch was malfunctioning and that it will work the third time. Third time's the charm, right?

Again, wrong. Third time is in fact not the charm. The light was completely busted. You felt the growing puddle on the back of your shirt from how humid the room is, fanning yourself. In the first hour, you contemplated in calling the cops, but honestly, you'd just have more attention to yourself, and the whole campus would probably find out. You thought these kind of things only happen in movies or drama series, this is stupid. Rich people are stupid.

Your flip-phone was not a good use. Your contacts only had three people in, your boss and two of your co-workers, none which you could ask for help from. Though you did send a call to your co-worker asking to cover a shift and that you will cover hers tomorrow because you were stuck in a room — she doesn't believe you at first, but the blurry picture you sent her made her worried. She was asking if she should come, but you didn't want to bother her and said no.

When the room grew pitch dark, the dim light from the window being the only source of light. You walked right under the light, pulling your bag open. You fished out a notebook and flipped to the latest page, there was Satoru's number right on top, still messy and still intact.

Your thumb began punching in his number. Much to your annoyance, maybe you do need his help right now. The call went through, ringing once, ringing twice, thrice— then, "Hello?" his voice was bland and unwelcoming.

"It's (Name)."

The he beams, "Ah, seems like you finally used my number for a good use. What can I do for you sweet thing?" For someone who was deemed as Sukuna's friend, he's sure clueless of what the pink hair does daily.

"Are you still on campus?"

"No, why would I? It's like . . . nearly six, the last class ended like an hour ago. Why? You wanna hang out or something?" He teases out, singing his words like all of this is fun. Well, he doesn't know the predicament you're in, can you blame him?

"I've been locked inside this room for hours."

" . . . What?"

"Like . . . at one, I think. I was walking to class and this girl came up to me saying she's Professor Hanami's student assistant, she said he wanted me to join some kind of competition, I was about to say no but she dragged me away. Told her I've never seen her in AP History and . . . well, she kinda just threw me in here," you fessed up, "nobody opened the door even when I knocked."

It was hard to keep it together because why were you in this predicament to begin with? Surely, touching a car shouldn't mean this kind of attitude from everyone on campus? The other line was silent for a bit, and for a second, you thought that he had hung up on you, "You're serious? Right?"

" . . . Why would I be lying?"

"Can your flip-phone send locations?"

"No."

"I'm coming, wait," he muttered, hanging up.

You sat under the moonlight, looking up the ceiling. It took another half an hour for a call to come up, you accepted it, "Hello?"

"First floor?"

"Yeah. It's an abandoned room or something — it stinks here," you add.

"Knock on the door for me."

You stood up, walking to the door and your knuckles rapped against the smooth surface. The other line was filled with rustled noises, and then he perks up, "Hear you, I'm coming, wait there."

The door bursts open, and Satoru stood there like he had just ran a marathon. With ragged breaths, he stepped towards you. His expression contorted into one of anger as his hands gripped your shoulders, shaking you lightly, "Why didn't you call for help sooner?"

"Sukuna told her to do it, you could have been a part of it," or maybe you just forgot you had his number.

"Don't bullshit me, you know I don't fuck with his ways. I told you before, why didn't you fucking call me, (Name)?" He angrily questions you.

You mumbled, "I forgot I had your number."

His eyes softened, "You idiot . . . Did you even know how fucking worried I was? You were stuck here for what— six hours? Almost six? Doesn't make it any better. You were here alone, what if I nobody opens it until tomorrow? Huh?"

Your brows furrowed, you didn't need a lecture. All you want to do now is go home, get a cold shower, and sleep. You had missed two classes because of his friend. And the only reason why you called him was you were forced to, or you would probably be stuck here until tomorrow. Or worse, the next few days, "I don't need a lecture."

"I just saved you. You're welcome."

"So, you wanted something in return? Name it, I'll give it to you—"

He snaps at you, "That's not my fucking point and you know it. My point is that you could have called me sooner and you could have been out! You worried me, that's my point," he looks at you from head to toe, "and look at you. Look how tired you look, how sweaty you are. I'm walking you home, no questions. I don't care what you say."

"I can walk home just fine."

"Nu-uh, not after what happened," he grabbed your bag, swung it across his shoulder and grabbed your wrist, "I gave you my number for a reason. Yes, I want to get close to you, but I don't want you to feel like that's the sole reason why I gave you that. I want you to rely on me and call me whenever you need help without thinking that I want something in return."

His thumb brushes over your wrist gently, "Please?"

Immediately you pulled your arm away from his grip, "Don't touch me. I don't like getting touched," he still stood close to you, keeping a good small space in between, "and . . . thank you for helping me."

Satoru didn't know if he was more surprised at the fact that you were still as stubborn as ever or the fact that you said thank you to him. He parts his lips slightly, but nothing comes out, so he just nodded his head as he walks alongside you, "You haven't eaten, I assume?"

You shook your head, "I got instant ramen."

"Uh-uh," he shook his head, taking out a handkerchief from his pocket and wraps it around his hand, "technically, the cloth will be touching you — so, I'm not the one— yeah, well you get me. I'm not touching you, so don't pull away," he grabbed your hand again.

"Why do you have a handkerchief —"

"I get sweaty. And it's a drag if I have to use my shirt to wipe my sweat all the time," he said.

"Jojo—"

"Gojo," Satoru clarified with a small smile as he brought you out of the campus building, "and I'm bringing you to eat. What are you craving? Steak? Sushi? Sashimi? Ramen? Wagyu? Burgers? Mention it, I'll treat you to anything."

You mumbled incoherently, "Don't need you to treat me. I can cook."

"Yeah, instant ramen? No."

You tried to pull your hand away from his grip, but his grasp on you was tight. Satoru whistled softly as he brought you down to the nearest ramen shop, it was crowded considering it's almost dinner time. He sat you down in the bar seat, taking the honor to order for the both of you. Then he faces you, "I'll talk to Sukuna about it."

"About what? Him locking me in that room? I'm fine," you retort back, "and for the record, I don't have the money to fix his car—"

"There's nothing wrong with it. He just needs a reason to make fun of you, and that's unfair," he sighs softly, pulling his handkerchief away, "listen, I'll talk to him and tell him to stop whatever the fuck this is. Hopefully, it will knock some senses into him. I'm afraid his audacity has been shoved up so far up his ass that the cops don't really scare him anymore."

"Yeah? Tell me how it goes," your voice was laced with sarcasm.

"Sarcasm. Noun. The use of irony to mock. Example, (Name) used sarcasm to show that she doesn't believe that I'll talk to Sukuna," he grins sheepishly, "I'm gonna prove it to you. No worries."

"Are you going to define everything I say?"

Satoru looks at you, "Everything. Pronoun. All things or a current situation. Example, (Name) asked if I was going to define everything she says, but to answer you, no, I just do it when I feel like it," he shrugs.

"How do you even know all these—"

"I studied."

"I died," you mutter.

A sly glint appeared in his eyes and he said again, "Died. Verb. Past tense of die, shows when a person, animal, or plant stops living. Example, (Name) said she died, in reality she's still alive — maybe she is dead inside," you rolled your eyes at his example, looking down at the table.

Satoru noticed the sudden change and blew out a soft sigh, "Does this all bother you?"

"The defining?"

"Sukuna," he clarifies.

Who am I kidding? Your face contorts into one of disbelief, "Yes, it is. It bothers with my daily life and my academics, if you haven't noticed," yet again, he's not surprised by the sarcasm lacing under your voice . . . and the slight annoyance too, "and to think that everyone can't do anything just because his parents contributes a lot to the university. If I were to tell my testimony here, I promise you it's gonna be the end of this school and his reputation."

"Think he'd be scared of that? People have tried, you know?"

Were you surprised? No. Were you intimidated? Maybe. However, you masked your worry with anger, "So, what? Everyone should bow down to him every single time? Like you? You keep licking his shoes like he owns you—"

"I'm not scared of him," Satoru cuts you off, offended.

"So?"

He cleared his throat, "It just happens to be that . . . I need this diploma for the occupation I'm aiming for, and if he were to hold a grudge on me, he'd definitely suspend my diploma," in other words, Sukuna is a big dick, "I'm not scared of him hurting me. I'm scared of him suspending my diploma."

"But, you got money."

"Why would I waste money to fight over my diploma when I can just study well? That dick's going to spend how ever much money until I give up," He muttered, "I can use the money for different things. Plus, his parents contributes more to the campus — they'd definitely choose him over my family."

"Who's them? The campus?"

Satoru rolled his eyes, "Well. Duh, silly. The campus."

"You got the money to transfer, why not?"

"It'd be a waste to start from the first semester."

Satoru watches as the old man served you the first bowl of ramen before eventually serving his. The steam brushes over your face like a gentle caress, and your mouth started visibly watering at the sight of the creamy bone broth. Not everyday that you could get a taste of savory, rich, and creamy broth like such — the most broth you've eaten was salt broth mixed with water and rice.

Even it tasted like heaven. As much as you hate to admit, you wanted more of this, being able to eat what people normally eat without feeling guilty of actually spending money. Satoru stared at you, "You know? I actually just ate dinner, wanna have some of mine?" You looked at him slowly, eyes narrowing, a piece of noodle stuck in between your lips, "I swear, not doing this to make you like me, I'm just really full. I'm not much of a big eater."

"You play basketball."

"It doesn't mean that I eat much," he snarkily replied back to you, a smirk appearing on his face, "please? Or I'll just throw it away—"

You immediately shook your head, "Give it to me."

"Listen, I need you to stop fucking with her—"

"What?" Sukuna yelled, the music in the background clearly drowning the voice belonging to Satoru on the other side of the line, "Can't hear ya' dude, shoot me a text or something."

Satoru scowled, ending the call. His thumbs moved in a rush.

Gojo Satoru: Stop fucking with (Name), makes it harder for me to get close to her, since she doesn't trust me Sukuna: That's part of the challenge, ps ur rich enough for a new porsche Gojo Satoru: Why waste money when u can buy it for me? Sukuna: Haha, sick fuck Gojo Satoru: Told her I'll make u stop fucking with her, just for a couple of months bro, for my porsche Sukuna: Whatever lol

Satoru grinned, giddy. Knowing that 'whatever' means Sukuna was agreeing — even annoyed. Satoru had dropped you off approximately ten minutes ago, the apartment you lived in was disgusting. Horrendous, he wondered if people actually could find peace in that cramped space. Not to mention, the very thin walls. It was lively even at this hour, the more doors he walked by, the more he gets disgusted.

How could you even live in this hell? Satoru remembers the days his maids come with noise cancelling headphones the second it starts getting too noisy, whether it being the rain or just windy. He did ask you if you could sleep with all the . . . lewd noises happening. You bluntly put out that you were somehow accustomed to sleep with those, they were practically white noise to you now.

Satoru felt a pang of guilt when he looks back over his shoulders. The worn out building looked abandoned from where he stood, and if it weren't for the lights to signify life, he would have thought it was abandoned in the first place. But, he shook his head and continued walking back home.

He had the call log still stuck to the top of his logs, other than your number, all the other rows were occupied by either Suguru or Sukuna. He tapped long enough on your number to press on the edit contact, naming it after you, "(Name) porsche". Eliciting a smile on his lips at the thought of a brand new car.

You stood by the railing, eyeing his back. Just seconds ago, you tried calling out to him but stopped when he had already disappeared into the night. Satoru had took off jacket and forgotten it during his very short stay, apparently the noises were too much for him that he had decided to leave quickly, chugging his tea down. In the heat of moment, the thought of his jacket left his mind.

I'll just give it to him tomorrow.

Actually, you thought of calling him. But, opted not to because he would definitely make fun of you for calling him after he had just dropped you off. For the first time, you slept an actual sleep — maybe it was the ramen that helped you, instead of the store's leftover goods that are way too close to the expiry date or a few days ahead of it. They were delicious nonetheless.

When the sun spilled in through your window, you awoke from a deep slumber. For the first time after so long, you were refreshed. Remnants of time stocked in your body still aching — but, you were definitely a bit livelier than yesterday, or the week before. You brushed your teeth, narrowing yourself at the sight of your reflection. Still the same, but somehow different if you squint the slightest bit.

"Morning, cutie."

You walked by Satoru, "Don't call me that."

"You're not telling me to go away," he follows you, "have you accepted me? Have I been promoted to friend status? I told Sukuna to stop bothering you, have I been promoted to bestie now?"

You scoffed softly, "No."

" . . . Friends, then?"

You pondered a bit before sighing, "No, we just talk. Is that even considered as friends—"

"Yes, so we're friends," he pumped his fists slightly, "we can start hanging out then. Mind if I start bombarding you with texts and calls? Actually, I think I prefer calling rather than texting—"

"I don't use my phone a lot."

Satoru grins, "Considering you can't really do anything with it, if I was in your shoes, I wouldn't use it as much too," he bluntly puts out, as if indirectly saying how the flip-phone you owned practically is up to no use, "can I bring you to class?"

"No," you rejected.

You never understood why he was so intent. For the next few weeks, he continuously trailed after your steps. Even waits for you outside the door of your classes, and shows up at your work place, buying sandwiches and rice bowl sets along with different beverages, only to give them to you. To this point, you still don't understand why he was doing that. Surely, he's got a motive, right?

"I told you, I want to court you. So, if you feel comfortable enough to let me in, I'll gladly do it," you stare into his eyes. He doesn't waver at how intensely you seem to be looking into his eyes, unblinking. Satoru stands there right outside your apartment with you, "so, I'll wait as long as possible until you say yes."

"I don't like people who party."

Satoru shrugs, "I'll stop."

"And I don't like piercings."

"I'll get rid of them."

"And I hate people who smoke."

"I'll get rid of them. I'll stop smoking."

"And drinking."

"Haven't drank in weeks — actually, ever I started chasing after you," he smugly said.

It was the truth. He had stopped appearing in Sukuna's party (with a side note that he texts them to say that he's with you, and they understood why). He hasn't drank alcohol along those weeks, and as much as he wanted to, he thought that the car was more important than some cheap ass alcohol off from the convenience store.

"Okay."

Satoru raised a brow, "Okay as in . . ?"

"We can start slow, right?"

He couldn't actually believe the fact that you were agreeing to him, after weeks of chasing and rejections. You had finally agreed. Technically, he still had to show you and ask you to be his girlfriend, but this makes it so much easier now that you're actually cooperating, "Really . . ?" He made sure.

You look away, "I'm not good at this. It's the first time someone's actually chased after me, so I'm sorry if it's not up to your expectations."

Satoru felt his heart ache, " . . . Don't worry, we could go slow," he murmured, a tinge guilt actually washing over him.

But, he shook his head, "I'll . . . see you tomorrow then?"

You nodded, waving, "See you tomorrow."

He watches you walk inside the building. Until you finally disappeared into the elevator, he fishes out his phone.

Gojo Satoru: She said she'll let me court her, ur totally buying me the porsche lol Sukuna: Good for u

For some reason, the smile slowly faded away at the sight of Sukuna's text the longer he stares at it. The wave of guilt slowly blanketing him like a cocoon, Satoru shoved his phone into the depths of his pocket before he walks home.

More weeks go by. Satoru noticed the change in you, the way your smile grew wider the more time you spent together. If he were to be specific, he'd stop showing up in Sukuna's party for the past month he's been hanging out with you. His piercings were all out. He had threw his cigarettes away. And he hasn't drank alcohol the whole time.

"Listen, all I'm saying is that, you look pretty in that outfit. No fingers crossed, no strings attached," he compliments the sight of you in that beautiful outfit he had gotten in the mall — in his defense, he thought that it would look great on you, so he bought it.

"How much did it cost?"

Satoru scoffed, "Didn't see the tag. Just bought it."

"You're crazy."

"For you," he winks, "do a little spin."

You complied, a smile on your face. He stared in awe, smiling at you, "I should bring you more outfits often. You look fucking crazy, in a good way. In a you look fucking beautiful way," your cheeks felt warm at his compliment, "alright? Let's go."

Ever since he started courting you, he has made it his job to provide. Even when you forced him not to — he forced you back that he insists. In a way that he has suddenly paid for your electric bills, water bills. God knows how he knew the number, but it all came back paid every month, never a day too late. In a way he sends you food and drinks at random times of the day to your apartment. In a way he sends you random pictures, that you can barely see through your flip-phone. Believe me when he tried to buy you a more modern phone, and you had to physically restrain him from doing just that.

In a way he's suddenly out of your door holding bouquets of flowers that you never thought you'd receive from anyone. In a way that he whispers sweetness and delight to make you feel important. Satoru had shown you love in so many different ways that you had forgotten about what it felt like to be lonely.

"Satoru?"

"Mm?" He asks, chin on your head.

"Why me?"

Satoru was blank in flash. What was he supposed to answer? That he wanted a new porsche from Sukuna? He chuckled, his chest vibrated against your back gently. His hands were flat against your stomach, "Why I chose you? Or . . ?"

You nodded, "Why do you choose me? There are so many girls out there that could match you—"

He shushes you softly, rubbing the skin under your shirt. Satoru shook his head, "I chose you because I want you, you don't see me as just a pretty face and sex. You see me as me, and that itself means a lot to me — people flock to me for money, for my face, for the sex. But you? It took me weeks to actually earn your trust and months for you to fully trust me to take care of you. Even then," he breathes out softly, "you still never let me pay for anything unless I do it quietly. I like that. I like giving, but not when people ask for it. You never ask for anything, and I want to just . . . take care of you."

You look up, Satoru pressed a kiss to your forehead gently, "I'm glad that we're each others' first real ones then," Satoru's smile faltered slightly, but he forced them to rise up.

Satoru buried his face into your hair. Refusing the fact that he's starting to feel guilty about this. Does this car really balance your real feelings towards him? Was it worth the exchange? You squirmed slightly, "You okay?"

Satoru hums softly, "Mm, why'd you ask?"

"Just worried."

Worried, he thought. Has his past significant other ever been genuinely worried for him? He knows that they were with him mostly for his money — and yet, he still stayed. Satoru's has grown so accustomed to the fact that people in his life stay only for 3 things: face, money, and dick. And if he thinks about it, it's pretty sad.

"Don't worry about me, baby. I'm just thinking," he chuckled softly against your skin, shutting his eyes.

"Thinking about?"

"You."

You groaned, "You're so cheesy."

"That's 'cause I love you," he coo softly, his fingers inching under your shirt, "you love me anyways," he grin, digging your fingers into your sides, pressing on your flesh almost in a cheeky way.

You laughed loudly, "Hey, no tickling!"

Days have been brighter ever since he was by your side. Satoru wouldn't admit it directly, but ever since he hung out with you, he had put more time in his grades and less on spending his money on useless things like party needs and alcohol. He'd say that this was totally the best outcome he could get from this.

Satoru frequently spends his days in your worn out apartment. Actually, if you take a good look, it doesn't look half bad as when you first moved in. He had taken the time to paint the walls so it looked brand new, and while the paint dries, he brought you to his house. Apparently, he lived hours away from his parents because of work — though, they visit sometimes. Satoru had learned and remembered your schedule, and while you were gone, he added some additional things into your apartment.

Whether it being a new dresser, a new simple bedframe, and a new fluffy mattress that doesn't hurt your back when you lie down on it. He even bought new bedcovers for you. And he'd gotten all that done in barely four hours in a day. Smaller things such as utensils, accessories, and simple labels he bought before he comes by your apartment.

It doesn't even look like the cheap apartment you bought at first. At first, Satoru offered you space in his house — asking you to move in with him, but you blatantly refused and told him that it would be a burden. He doesn't even feel like you're making any sense. You? A burden? He'd love to laugh.

"Baby, what do you think about this?" He raised a little picture frame, "I wanna put our picture in it. In your room apartment, by the television."

You took a glance at the frame, "Oh, the baby blue one is cuter. Matches you, I like it."

He wastes no more seconds and grabbed a couple of the blue colored ones, only leave one left on the shelf. You walked down the aisle with him, "I'm glad I decided to give you a chance."

Satoru froze on his spot, watching you walk down the aisle with a big smile as you check out different things. His heart fluttered gently at the sight of you — since when have you been this beautiful? His fists opened and closed a few times. His steps slowly followed yours, " . . . I'm glad you gave me a chance too."

He doesn't remember when the last time he felt like he's had this much fun. With a big smile, he follows you.

For the next few months, Satoru had completely forgotten about the whole porsche. Anytime Sukuna or Suguru sent a message, asking him to drop by a party, Satoru declined with a made up excuse. First, it was him under the weather, then it was him not feeling like parties, then it was him having to travel hours away to meet an old friend. Then, Sukuna finally realized that they were just made up excuses.

"You know, funny thing is that you told us that you had to drive hours away two days ago —" Sukuna smirked, scrolling through his phone, "why were you with that loser? Decided to ditch us for her, eh?"

Satoru looks at Sukuna, " . . . And if I did?"

"Downgraded. Could've had that hottie from the marching band," Sukuna reminded of the girl whom he had invited — and not to mention, who seemed to be interested in Satoru very much. Satoru couldn't give a shit about her, he doesn't even remember her name to begin with. To top it off, she had tried to flirt with him all night and her jokes were ridiculous. It was obvious that she's trying to get into his pants all night, every time he moves away, she followed.

"Think you have fallen?"

Satoru blinked, looking at the apple slices that you gave him this morning. Soaked in salt water to prevent it from oxidizing, he didn't know what to say. Has he fallen? How does he know that? Satoru bites into the apple, letting it crunch under his teeth, "Fallen for what?"

"Her."

Sukuna was relentless, smirking. He knew the answer damn well, but he wanted to hear it directly from Satoru. He's a prick, and he knows it, "I don't know," Satoru replied.

"That's what confused people say," Satoru glares at him.

"The fuck do you want me to say?"

"Can't hurt to be honest."

"And so what if I love her? Why the fuck does it matter, huh?" Fuck Sukuna, and fuck that diploma if he were to sabotage it — Satoru had the money, and why should he give up either when he can actually earn both.

Sukuna lets out a loud cackle, "Her? Out of all people?"

"Yes, her out of all people."

Sukuna raised a brow, "Yeah, what will you say if she finds out about the whole bet, huh?" He threw an arm around Satoru's shoulder, "Think she'll stay around once she finds out you're datin' her for the brand new porsche?"

Satoru froze, "She doesn't have to know . . . That's all in the past, I love her for who she is," he muttered out, munching on the apple, "you guys wouldn't mind if I invite her to the frat house to party, right?"

Sukuna stood up, "Don't mind. You know who'd mind though?"

Satoru stays quiet, as if asking him to continue. Sukuna stared at someone behind him with a sly smirk, "Her, probably."

Satoru looks over his shoulder slowly, his cheek puffed out from the apples he had been shoving into his mouth relentlessly. His eyes widened at the sight of you standing there with a tray of food — that he paid for every month through your student number, so you could get the food you needed during your free time, "(Name), hey baby," he stood up, shutting the lid of his —your— lunchbox, leaving a couple of apple slices inside.

Sukuna left with his friends —and Satoru's— cackling loudly. Satoru wiped his hands on his pants, stepping towards you to help you with your tray. But, you stepped back, "Really?" You asked him, your eyes were filled with betrayal and resentment.

You knew you hadn't gone crazy because the last time you checked, your ears were working just fine. Initially, you were trying to find him to spend your free time together, d found you was the truth Satoru had kept silent throughout the past few months while you were together — you knew something was wrong, but you gave him a chance anyway. Screw his sweet talk and actions.

Satoru's eyes stared into yours, waiting for you to speak. You didn't, you put the tray onto his table and walked out of the cafeteria. Satoru was frozen, the apples were a mush on his tongue. After a few seconds, he chased you out of the cafeteria, catching you right out side the lobby, "(Name)," he breathes heavily.

You pulled your hand away in anger, "I knew something was fucking fishy about you, I stayed anyways. Fuck you, Gojo."

The use of his surname instead of the usual 'baby' or 'Toru' made his heart ache. His hand shoots out to grab your hand again, but in reflex, your palm swung against his cheek. The action itself shocked you as well, his face was strewn to the side. Satoru said nothing, but he slowly coaxed his head to turn towards you with a solemn look, and for a second, you thought that he was angry.

"I deserved that," he whispered, guilt lacing in his voice, "I wanted to tell you. I knew you'd get angry and it'll change everything we worked on — I didn't want you to leave me, so I figured that I should just keep my mouth shut and go on like nothing happened . . ."

Your brows furrowed, your palm stung. Looking down at the red skin, you bit your lip, "I didn't mean to do that."

"It happens, I'm okay," he murmurs out softly, reaching out for your hand yet again. But, the second you pulled it away out of his line of sight — he understood that he was crossing a boundary, so his hand went limp and fell back to his side, "can I explain?"

You clenched your fists, "Explain what, exactly?"

"Why I did this—"

"For the brand new porsche, I get it, congratulations on your new car," he grit his teeth in annoyance when you implied on it, "don't ever come near me again, I wish I never gave you a chance. Should've known you're just like them!"

His heart sank when you said that. And he watches you walk down the street, turning around the corner where he always waits for you. This time, he was rooted to where he stood — he doesn't chase you, he doesn't know if he deserved to. His feet wouldn't move, and the sting on his cheek was a constant reminder of his fuckaroo.

By the next two days, a box was delivered to his house. It sat there on his porch. Satoru doesn't remember ever ordering anything, but when he slit the tape open with a box cutter, his heart races just a little quicker. The box was filled with the accessories he had bought for your apartment, starting from the smallest trinkets he used to silently sneak in on your shelves to the biggest frames.

He never expected that he'd actually see a whole television, deconstructed shelves, and an actual mattress on his porch. In a fit of disbelief, he reached for his phone, dialing your number. On the third call you answered him, "What?"

"Why?"

"Why did I return your things? Because I'm petty—" You were cut off by his words.

"I bought them for you."

"To earn my trust so you could get your porsche, I'd say you didn't buy it from the heart, Gojo. Let's just make one thing clear, don't ever talk to me again from this point on," Satoru bit his lip in anger, "it was a mistake. And this shouldn't have happened, I knew you were just messing with me. But, this was disappointing because I genuinely thought you liked me, you know?"

Satoru mutters out, "I genuinely love you. I don't care about the fucking car, I just want you, please," his fingers were hurting from how hard he was gripping the phone, "please, (Name). Can we please talk about this?"

"Whatever electrical and water bill you paid for me, I will give it to you back by cash. And the paint money, and my lunches, I'll need time to return it all. But, I'll have it sent to your house," your voice leaves no room for an argument, and then you hung up.

Satoru stood there for a little while, his lips trembled at the hanging tone. What the fuck just happened?

© sashinemis, 2026 ﾒ do not copy, reconstruct, or upload on another platform + do not feed my works into AI.

[v3is]

𐔌՞꜆.  ̫.꜀՞𐦯 ִֶָ𓂃 as a first time dad, satoru doesn't want his son to grow up like he did.

note. art creds @/hunnismoker on ig — that fanart of baby satoru being so lonely and crying actually made me bawl guys, I'm being so serious right now bcs he's so small omg 😭 i think it's the period hormones as well, but . . . yk what . . . let's just get on with this

Satoru grew up in a house full of loneliness. Sure, they made sure he had a roof over his head, stock of food to keep his tummy full, clothes to keep him warm. But, was it worth it when all was done was to solely keep his heart beating for the sake of the clan and not for the love he sought?

When he first got the job to teach — he gave them everything they could need. Especially, the fact that Satoru could see himself in some of these kids, his kids now.

Satoru talked about having children of his own with you, his wife. You told him you'd understand and that he should take his time to think of this, because having a kid was not for the weak. And to think that he thought that he'd be a bad father, you strongly rejected the thought just because Satoru refused to think that what he's done for his students were much lesser than what they deserve.

Eventually, Satoru convinced you that he was ready for a family. So, from there, your son — Aiko Gojo, meaning child of love. Satoru specifically chose that name because he wanted his son to know that he grew up so full of love that Satoru hopes his son will pass it on to his own family.

Being a jujutsu sorcerer meant having to be ready for any kind of mission. Despite the fact that Aiko has been barely able to do anything on his own, Satoru still tries to be present no matter how busy he gets. Sitting by Aiko during tummy time, getting puked on during a burp session after lunch, getting a foot to the face during playtime. Satoru loved everything.

"Hey, buddy," he spoke softly, carrying Aiko from out of his crib. The 3 month old still able to do the little crunch, "did you have a good baby nap? Daddy thinks so, because you are a stinky little baby. We need to get you changed."

Aiko lets out a soft giggle, his little fingers grasping the air as Satoru works to change his diaper, "Oh, you're really stinky. Did you dream of the toilet? Daddy's going to teach you not to trust the toilet, it's evil."

Even when he had missions, Satoru tried his best to come home before Aiko's bed time. Which . . . is quite impossible most of the time, so he spends a couple of minutes just whispering to the sleeping baby. Father-son bonding, he said.

"How long are you going to sit there, 'Toru?" You question with a small smile, watching him reach inside through the gaps of Aiko's crib, "Did you wash your hands?"

"Of course I did. I'm the best daddy ever," Satoru whispered, letting Aiko's small fingers unconsciously grip onto his finger, "oh, look at him. He has such a strong grip, he's going to be the strongest boy ever."

"Okay, let's go."

"Five more minutes, please?"

People would think that he's such an absent father just by judging his occupation, in reality? He's the best father a kid could ever ask for. What Aiko wants, he gets. Although, you did have to discipline him on how to teach Aiko the right things, because you were positive in this state, Aiko would grow up a spoiled kid.

"Aiko, baby. When daddy said no, why did you still do it?" Satoru sternly said, at least tried to be stern as he used the baby wipes to clean Aiko's little hands, "do you think mommy would be happy when she finds her flowers all messy? Say sorry to mommy and go give her a hug."

Aiko's lips juts out the slightest bit and Satoru was a goner, carrying the toddler into his arms, "I know, baby. But, mommy really loves those flowers, and she's going to be so sad if you mess them up, 'kay?" Satoru's voice turned gentle, his finger prodding at Aiko's chubby cheek, "Let's go say sorry to mommy, okay?"

Satoru never had this . . . whole gentle parenting agenda when he was young. He's been left to cry alone after a training session, despite the fact that he needed comfort— nobody was there to give him just that. You were in the living room when the two came in, Aiko teary eyed, and Satoru with a nervous grin.

"What happened?" You asked, not looking at the duo.

"Um, so . . . Promise you won't get mad?" You look at them, the remnants of dirt still under Aiko's fingernails. The wet wipes used to clean his hands were crumpled in Satoru's grasp as if trying to hide it from you, "You're already mad."

"What happened to my flowers?"

Satoru looks at Aiko, then at you, "We kinda ruined it."

" . . . We?" You narrowed your eyes.

Satoru sighed, "Aiko played with it, but I disciplined him. I can plant you new ones—" he stopped when he noticed how you were more focused on the TV, "are you listening?"

You waved your hand, "Don't worry about the flowers, I'll replant them again."

Aiko looks at Satoru, "Mommy no angry?"

Satoru huffed, "Mommy no angry, baby."

As Aiko began growing older, Satoru told him more about the jujutsu world. Although, if Satoru were to be fairly honest — he wouldn't want his only son to dive deep into the jujutsu world. You watch Satoru explain what he does daily, Aiko very much interested, much to Satoru's dismay.

"Daddy go pow-pow?" Aiko asks, punching on the broiled salmon, "I want to pow-pow too. I am good."

"No, daddy doesn't go pow-pow," Satoru grimaced, "daddy's a nice man."

You chuckled softly, "Daddy protects you from the bad guys, don't listen to him. He goes pow-pow everyday so we can be safe," curse you, Satoru looks at you with a sweet smile, "what? I'm just saying."

"So, daddy liar!"

You laugh, "No. Daddy's not lying, Aiko should just focus on playing his broom broom and watch Paw Petrol, okay?" You pat his head.

Aiko nods his head, "Okay, mommy."

Now that Satoru has his hands full with the new first years, especially with Sukuna's vessel— he wasn't as frequently at home as before. Aiko couldn't decipher the fact that his father was rarely home anymore. At first, Aiko thought that his daddy had grown to hate him.

But, it was definitely far from that. Satoru had his hands full with the king of curses inside one of his student, and if he could be home more, he surely would be.

Coming home late one day, Satoru wanted nothing more than to sleep. He was about to bid his son a good night, even when Aiko was asleep— habits never die. But, Aiko was sitting up on his bed, looking at the door, eyes wide awake, "Daddy?"

Satoru blinked in surprise, "Baby, why aren't you asleep? It's past your bedtime," he whispers, shutting the door.

"Because, daddy don't love me anymore," Aiko sniffled, curling his fingers into his blue colored blanket. At the blunt statement from his son, Satoru struts to the bed, sitting on the floor, "daddy never home to play anymore. You hate me."

Satoru could feel his heart break at the sniffle, you did give him a heads up about Aiko's feelings for the past week. Satoru wanted to come back earlier, he really does. And Aiko is only three years old, the toddler doesn't even understand the concept of hate yet. Satoru opens his arms, "C'mere, buddy. Give daddy a hug."

Aiko crawled towards Satoru quickly, wrapping his arms around Satoru's neck. Another sniffle broke, echoing out in the dark room, "I know daddy hasn't been home a lot. I've been training your brother and sister to be better."

"I have brother and sister, like Egumi?" Aiko looks up at Satoru, teary eyed, reminding Satoru of Megumi.

"Well, yeah. I'll bring you to meet them sometimes, okay? They're very nice," Satoru chuckled, pressing a kiss to his son's head, "daddy will be back home early tomorrow, okay? Let's play something then. Then, I'll put you to sleep, or you can come sleep on daddy's big bed!"

"Really?" Aiko smiled widely.

"Mhm, daddy promises."

When the next day comes, the three first years were adamant on making Satoru train them. However, Satoru waved sheepishly, "Can't, my son's looking forward to playing with me. Promised him I'll be back early."

Yuuji gasped, "You have a son . . ?"

Nobara shook her head, "You have a wife?"

Megumi scoffed. Out of all three, only he knew of you and Aiko— after all, you did take care of him when Satoru took him years ago. Satoru smirked, "You guys never asked, see you tomorrow."

Aiko was overjoyed at the sight of him, little legs moving quickly along the hall, "Daddy!"

"Hey, buddy!" Satoru felt the air knock out of his lungs when Aiko jumped onto his chest, hanging like a little critter, "Have you been good to mommy today?"

Aiko nods, "We baked cookies for you!"

"You did?" Satoru was awed, walking toward the kitchen with Aiko in his arms.

You showed him the half-burnt cookies, "We lost track of time because we were watching," Satoru giggled, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, "we hope you like it though, it's you."

The only thing apparent in the cookies were the two blue colored dough— which were supposed to be his eyes, now almost cooked golden brown (not), "Wow, that's me. Did you do this?" His finger points at the batch of messy cookies. Does Satoru care about the burnt cookies? Or the cookies that don't resemble him at all? Or the fact that they were . . . cooked to fuck that the second he took a bite, it crumbled even more than the sands in the sahara?

Aiko nods happily, "You like it, daddy?"

"I love it."

This was the best thing Satoru could ask for in life— and he was glad that Aiko got everything he never got back when he was young. That itself relieved him.

© sashinemis, 2026 ﾒ do not copy, reconstruct, or upload on another platform + do not feed my works into AI.

[indiewritesxoxo]

say you don't

today's episode of...who the fuck did I marry? (literally)

synopsis: so you woke up next to the hottest man you've ever met. except, you've never seen him before and he swears he's your husband. and the more you talk to him, the less certain you are he's even human. what'll break first? him? or your sanity?

pairing: eldritch-esque entity!gojo x f!reader

wc: 7.3k

content: mdni, DARK CONTENT, angst, light smut, gojo is an entity masquerading as a human lol, but he's down BAD for you, basically God!Gojo has no concept of any kind of societal norms and is pathetically in love with you, technically kidnapping, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, gojo gets everything he wants and that includes you, Geto guest starring as fellow gaslighter LMFAO, some slight body horror (occasional extra eyes and limbs), wet dreams, fingering, touching, casual affection, mentions of taking meds (that aren't actually needed), reader is convinced she's going crazy, messed-up dynamics, some codependency

a/n: this was a super special commission from @specialgradefckr that was SO fun to write!! hope you guys enjoy too <3

The man sitting across the table from you was not your husband. 

It didn’t matter what the shiny gold ring on his finger said – or the glittering diamond on your own. His mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out. Pretty pink lips parting, the bright white teeth behind them opening wider, the sharp tips of his canines catching the bright sunlight streaming through the window of an apartment you’d never been in before. 

You weren’t even sure he was human. 

Or if you were still asleep. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” He cocked his head to the side, but he couldn’t even get that right. You guessed it was supposed to be cute (well, it kinda was) but it was angled too far, his ear nearly touching his shoulder.

The newspaper in his hands was upside down. The coffee in front of him was half sugar. He hadn’t blinked once in the past two minutes. 

You might not have picked up on that if his eyes weren’t so blue. It wasn’t the same shade as the oceans or the sky. Nothing in nature matched what was staring straight at you. They shimmered, brilliant and burning, intensely focused on each little twitch of your face. 

Spit was pooling in the back of your throat, pulse pounding in your ear as you smoothed down the hem of a thin slip you definitely didn’t own and certainly hadn’t dressed yourself in the night before. No, you just tossed on a ratty old t-shirt before crawling into your own bed, pulled the comforter over your body and crashed. When you woke up, you were here, wherever here was, with no fucking clue how you got here. Or who he was. 

With him half on top of you, sturdy arms wrapped around you and the prettiest man thing you’d ever seen purring good morning in your ear. Kissing your cheek like you and hugging you tight like you were some stuffed toy he always slept with. 

You pinched the back of your hand under the table. Hard enough for your nail to break the skin. You weren't dreaming. 

So he was, for better or worse, real. 

“I should go,” you cleared your throat, glancing down at the almost untouched plate in front of you. Pancakes, apparently, although you’d personally never had any that were so…spongy. You poked it with a fork when he first set it down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stomach it. 

“Is my cooking not good enough for you?” He quizzed, stark white brows scrunching together like it was a problem he had to solve. Like you were. 

“It’s just, whatever this, uh, weird roleplay thing is-” 

He blinked. 

One eye at a time. 

“What do you mean?” He frowned as you stood up, dropping the newspaper he wasn’t reading to stand too. 

You stepped back, only glancing away to mentally calculate how far away the front door was. 

“I should go back home,” you slowly reiterated. Not that you had any way to get there. You didn’t have your phone, your wallet, your keys. No clue how fucking far you were from your place. 

“This is home.” 

You shook your head slowly, left hand closing into a fist, but it just reminded you of the ring on your finger. Five carats, set in white gold and glimmering while you reflexively looked down at just another detail that didn’t add up.

“No,” you muttered. “This-”

You blinked, and you were on the couch. It was softer than yours, didn’t creak when you shifted, missing all the spots and stains that came from people actually sitting on one. It scratched something in the back of your brain, bothered you for a reason you couldn't name as you sat up and looked around to confirm your suspicion. 

“I'm worried about you,” Satoru murmured, carrying a glass of-

Wait. 

How the hell did you know what his name was? 

Was it on something you’d seen without realizing it? On his phone when you were waking up? On a diploma or piece of mail somewhere your brain had subconsciously picked up on? 

He placed the drink on the clean coffee table in front of you. There was only a small vase with a few white-and-blue flowers stuffed in it as decoration on it. No coasters in sight. And somehow, no scratches or water rings staining the light wood finish either. 

“Who are you?” You asked, hearing how hoarse you sounded. Scared. 

You didn’t want to take the water – but all you could think of was how sore your throat was, reluctantly reaching over to take a sip. 

“Your husband?” He insisted, firm and a little sarcastic, like it should be obvious. 

“I’m not married,” you scoffed, even if the weight of the ring on your finger got heavier by the second. “I don't even have a boyfriend.” 

He made a soft sound, a coo, humming like this was still normal. 

And then it clicked. 

It had to be a prank. Probably pulled by one of your asshole friends who heard you complain one too many times about how sick of being single you were – or maybe even part of a shitty show that would only get aired on an absolutely unethical network. 

“Are you an actor?” You asked, and he laughed, as if you made a joke. “It's not fucking funny. Did someone pay you? Or-”

“I'm your husband,” he echoed, like it was one of the only lines they'd given him. 

“Seriously, are there cameras somewhere?” You started to stand, but your legs felt like jelly. Not quite limp, but unsteady on your feet as you took a step forward. But you bumped into the corner of the table right as he grabbed your arm to steady you, water spilling on the carpet, the cup remaining intact and rolling under the couch.

The only stain on it. 

“Cameras, baby? Really?” He dismissed, innocence you didn’t believe in shining in those big blue eyes. 

“That’s not a no,” you pointed out, looking up and around from the furniture to the corners of the room for any blinking lights or objects out-of-place. 

But nothing stood out.

Except for the fact there wasn’t a single personal item in sight. No photos or signs. No bookshelves stuffed with albums of memories or even shoes or socks left forgotten on the floor? 

“I mean, it doesn’t even look like anyone lives here,” you kept going when he didn’t deny it, gesturing to what could be a stock photo for a bachelor pad. “I mean, you didn’t bother photoshopping a single photo of us? That’s just lazy-”

He slid a photo album across the table you were pretty fucking sure had just been empty.

You stopped, stared blankly at the clean black leather, uncracked. Shiny as he flipped it open to the first page. 

And there you were, in a white wedding dress you’d rather die than wear, one of those poufy princess ones you couldn’t believe actually existed. Your mouth fell open, mid-exhale as your fingers trembled to flip through yourself. 

If it was edited, he’d done a good goddamn job at it. 

His arm was around you, fingers flexing against your waist and a beaming smile across his mouth. No glaring issues or missing fingers to point at. But the flowers in the vase were almost identical to the bouquet in your hands in the photo.

You pulled one free from the plastic, flipping it over to find a date on the back. Almost a full year ago. 

“What is this?” You asked, but the bite in your voice was gone. 

“Our wedding pictures, pretty girl,” he answered, and his bottom lip pushed out like he felt bad for you.  

You didn’t know what was worse, the pity on his face or the pride in his voice.

Each photo was more perfect than the last. The lighting, the shadows, your makeup, his suit, all the tiny details that might give the deception away in order and as expected. Not even a stray hair in sight. 

Your family was in them. Standing in the background or barely in frame, friends laughing and drinking and toasting to a marriage that just materialized. 

“You wanna call someone and ask?” He offered, a calm expression on his face, and you couldn’t help but think he’d done this before. 

“Where’s my phone?” You felt weak, your brain getting foggier as you tried to organize and collect all the information being splayed out in front of you. 

He dug it out of his pocket, and you wanted to protest – tell him that it was weird as shit that he had it. 

You held your tongue though, trying to think of who wouldn’t go along with a prank like this and would actually come clean if they knew someone who would. 

It was kind of hard when your homescreen was him though. 

A candid too, one that looked like it’d been taken in a restaurant somewhere, across the table from him with a candle burning and casting warm shadows on his unnaturally pretty face. 

Your thumb still unlocked it though, and all your contacts were still there – even if there were also now a thousand more photos of him clogging up your storage when you scrolled through. 

It took five phone calls to convince you that something was very, very wrong.

Family members, friends, even a fucking coworker, and they all thought you were the one pranking them. Chuckling at your discomfort, asking how Satoru was, inviting you both over for dinner before your panicked pleas for them to tell you the truth twisted their amusement to concern. 

When the last one hung up on you, you couldn’t even look up.

Just stared down at the smile on your screen, the first full squeeze of fear taking hold in your heart when he said nothing either, waiting for you to look up at him. You could feel his eyes on you. Oppressive and heavy, almost as if some invisible force was pressing against you. 

“I think we should schedule another appointment with your psychiatrist,” he hummed, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, like he really just wanted what was best for you. 

Which, according to him, was an emergency session with a man you’d also never seen. 

You had a psychiatrist already – an appointment you always kept. Every three weeks, curling up on a couch and complaining about work and your friends and venting about everything that bothered you from stupid to significant. 

But he was about half a foot shorter and balding. Not another absurdly attractive guy who shouldn't know your name and still somehow did. 

You blinked at him. 

He stared back at you. 

The clock ticked – your appointment time slipping by in silence when you refused to speak at first. 

You broke first. Glanced out the window at the barren trees outside, wind blowing a brittle chill and frosting the edges of the glass. Shifting seasons. “Weird weather we’re having, huh?” 

“Is that what you’d like to talk about today?” He cooly replied, a sharp edge of sarcasm cutting through the tension.

You shrugged, not that you expected him to answer back with anything actually helpful. 

It was summer last night. The heat had choked out the ac in your apartment, your skin sticky and slick with sweat when you fell asleep, mumbling under your breath it was too fucking hot before you got under the covers

That was the first thing you’d noticed this morning. Your first clue. Eyes still closed and thinking that it was freezing – that your ac must have somehow fixed itself.  

The weather was wrong outside. The man on the other side of the door kept saying he was your fucking husband when you knew he wasn't. And the rest of the world seemed to be in agreement. 

“What brings you back so soon?” Your new psychiatrist asked, one hand firmly gripping a ballpoint pen while the other pushed a thin pair of glasses higher up his nose. How were you supposed to answer when you didn't even remember seeing him once? 

Rationality hadn't quite let you, your brain suggesting reasons you didn't fully believe. Maybe your old one quit, some family emergency or last-minute thing and this was just a replacement he'd forgotten to tell you about. 

You looked over the diplomas proudly displayed on the wall for a Suguru Geto. You made a mental note of the name, one you were sure you’d be searching and scouring the internet for later to see if any of them were real and he was actually an accredited doctor. 

God, that really did sound fucking insane. 

Genuinely suspecting the fact a (hopefully) licensed psychiatrist was just another paid asshole fucking with you? 

There was a calendar by the diploma closest to the windows, and even though the days hadn’t been marked off, it was still on the last month you remembered. You pretended not to notice, shifting your stare back to him. 

What the hell had happened in the past twelve hours? 

“I’m not crazy,” you preemptively said. It wasn't very convincing coming from someone sitting on this side of the desk though. 

“Did I say you were?” He smiled, but it was sly. He reminded you of a fox in a funny way, casual remarks coming off crafty. A hint of cruelty hiding underneath his polished, professional surface. 

“You’re staring like something’s wrong with me.” 

“What would be wrong with you?” He returned your statement with another annoying question, your scowl coming easily as you picked at your cuticles in your lap. 

“I don’t think anything is,” you argued back. Except he wasn’t arguing – he was just setting traps and waiting for you to walk into them. 

“Then why are you here today?” 

Because you fell asleep and somehow in eight hours you’d gone from your bed to living a stranger’s life? Even worse, becoming a stranger’s wife? 

“Why don’t you tell me?” You frowned, eyeing the thick folder he pulled out when you walked through the door, one he quickly closed before gesturing for you to sit. 

“Your husband started bringing you here before for, ah, memory issues for the past year,” he soberly said, like his seriousness could make up for the fact he was full of shit too. 

You almost scoffed. A year? No fucking way. 

“Memory issues?” You repeated, daring him to elaborate and dig them both in a deeper hole. 

He cleared his throat, eyes narrowing like he’d decided on a different approach since the current one wasn’t working. 

“We could start considering inpatient treatment,” he started to suggest, a flare of panic seizing your chest at the thought of a future spent in grippy socks and stuck with needles. 

“No,” you swallowed hard, shaking your head and quickly turning to where your husband was waiting on the other side. Even if you didn’t know him, couldn’t remember a fucking thing about him and didn’t have an explanation for any of it, he wouldn’t let that happen, would he? 

“How about this? I'll write you a new prescription then and schedule a follow-up in a few weeks to see how you're feeling,” Suguru smiled at you, but it was cold. 

“Sure,” you returned his fake smile. 

It wasn’t like you had another choice. How hard would it be to flush pills anyway? 

“Mind sending your husband in for a few minutes?” Your possibly-fake psychiatrist asked, and you could feel your brow twitch, threatening to betray your suspicions. You weren’t all that familiar with privacy laws, but it still felt like a breach of confidentiality. “I would like to discuss a few details of your care plan.”  

Care plan – like you were some troubled child that needed nurturing and hand holding instead of actual answers. 

Stuck sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair out in the hall while they chatted behind a closed door, unable to hear what they were talking about. Just that the man you were supposedly married to looked thrilled walking out, leaning down to kiss your cheek and promise to pick up your favorite food on the way home. 

You figured out two answers of your own about him in the car. The first being he was a really bad driver. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed on the way there, but you guessed you’d been busy staring out the window trying to discern whether or not this was just a really weird vivid dream or not. But now? Paying full attention to the way his hands were positioned on the wheel, the complete and total lack of awareness he had for anyone else on the road? 

It was ridiculous. 

He rear-ended someone five minutes into it. Completely crushed the back of her bumper, about to drive away until you hissed at him to stop and give the other driver his insurance information. He cocked his head to the side like he didn’t really understand, but he got out of the car anyway – in the middle of the busy road and blocking all traffic behind him. 

The woman he hit was pissed, short hair bobbing in the wind as she started shouting at him while you attempted to hide your face in the passenger seat. 

Until your husband just grinned at her, pointing at her probably totaled car and casually chuckled. That was all it took for her to freeze, mouth hanging open, cheeks blushing when he took another step closer. 

“I think that was your fault,” he hummed, and she nodded. 

“I must’ve stopped too fast,” she said it like she hadn’t been screaming three seconds ago, her eyes glittering like he was a goddamn celebrity who was so kind to grace her with his presence and hadn’t just hit her car. 

“Yeah, you should be more careful,” Satoru cooed, all condescending and still somehow charming, clapping a hand over her shoulder and squeezing before getting back in the driver’s seat.

You stared at him, and he just looked to you for approval. 

“Do you always get what you want?” You asked, too surprised to even frown. 

“Pretty much,” he flashed a smile. What, was it just pretty privilege? 

That the world bent around him because he thought it should? 

You weren’t sure when you started to bend too.

Just that the proof (and inconsistencies) started piling up – and started burying you beneath it.  

He knew everything about you – things you never told anyone else. Not just the easy stuff like your favorite color or food, but what hole-in-the-wall restaurants you liked to order it from and what day you liked to do your laundry on. Could recite off when you were born and what you got for your fifth birthday, collected memories of yours like coins or stamps he wanted to save. 

Any way you tried to slice it, he was either the most sentimental man you ever met or a stalker. 

Maybe both. 

When you asked for the marriage certificate, he pulled it from the shelf on a bookcase in his office. When you wanted to know what college he graduated from, suddenly there was a degree hanging on the wall. If you questioned how long you’d been dating, tried to pick apart his timeline, he pulled up the messages between you from as far back as your first date. 

“You don’t trust me,” he pouted, pushing out his bottom lip too far as he tossed his phone on the couch. 

You bit your own lip. Looked at the floor so you wouldn’t have to find something wrong with his face. 

“Why me?” You asked instead. Why couldn’t he go pick some other girl to torment? Get a divorce and unbind his life from yours? 

“Would you believe me if I said it was love-at-first-sight?” 

You didn't really believe anything he said. 

Even if he always had an answer (or an excuse) at his disposal.

But other stuff stood out, getting ready for work a few mornings post your psychiatrist appointment just for him to furrow his brows and station himself by the front door to ask where you were going. 

“My job?” You huffed, slipping on your shoes. All your clothes had come with you here, half his closest stuffed full of them, your shoes set up on a nice little rack by the door. There were a few things you knew you hadn’t bought, frilly and flimsy and all in that unnatural shade of blue, but you ignored them. 

Foolishly tried to kid yourself that pretending they weren't there would make them go away. 

“You don’t work,” he casually replied. 

“I do,” you insisted, trying to push past him before he stopped you with a firm hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Sweetheart,” he tried to sound kind, but there was no mistaking the authority in it. “You quit six months ago.” 

He guided you back to the kitchen table, sat you down softly before walking over to one of his dark cabinets. Pulled out something from the top shelf and returned to you like he was every ounce the devoted husband he was pretending to be. He handed it to you, something you were sure was supposed to be a show of trust. 

The pill bottle was clear. Thick, almost translucent, white label stretching around with pretty blue pills rattling inside when you shook it. 

Simple instructions printed neatly below your name to take two a day with food. 

“I’ll make you breakfast, baby,” he promised, waiting for you to open the cap and take two. Part of you wanted to accuse him of just not being able to open the child-proofed caps. 

You slowly did, feeling ill already, although it was hard to tell if it was from the idea of eating his cooking or taking the pills. 

He waited for you to put them in your mouth, stood there while you let them sit on your tongue.

“Don’t make me check,” he chuckled, a low warning you could tell he meant.  

You swallowed. 

And still, through the side effects and brain fog they seemed to bring on, you clung to the edges of your sanity, the logic remaining. Enough that when he was distracted typing away at his laptop, you were trying to text former coworkers, your old boss, anyone that would know anything more. 

But none of the messages were ever marked delivered. And when you looked up your former place of employment, you discovered everything about them had been scrubbed online, completely wiped. Like it never even existed. 

And when you managed to slip past him four days later down the stairs and out into the parking garage, you couldn’t find your car. 

The days dragged on - no job, no distractions. Just him and the cocktail of prescription drugs to coast on. 

His work schedule wasn’t kind to you. Allowed him to ‘work’ remotely, although he barely seemed to be in his home office, usually too busy bugging you. Half the week he never even stepped foot in there at all. But they never fired him. Never seemed to pester him to finish projects or demand for more of his time. 

You, apparently, were the most difficult part of Satoru Gojo’s life.

“One kiss?” He pouted, pointing to his cheek and leaning against the wall by the office door, an easy grin on his face.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” you excused, itching to walk away for the few hours of peace you got a day.

“Later then,” he shrugged, still unbothered, like he had all the time in the world. 

He liked to take you shopping after work or on weekends, doll you up in dresses and treat you to overpriced restaurants where he always seemed to score free meals or desserts every time. Although, the first time, he accused a waiter of flirting with him (and eventually you) just for asking questions about what he wanted to eat, demanding to speak to a manager. Squinting and scrunching his nose up like ‘is the food to your taste?’ was the equivalent to asking what color underwear he was wearing. No one listened when you tried to apologize for him. Paid any attention to you saying it was fine. The waiter was fired and your food was comped. 

People stared when he passed by. Men asked him about his cologne and his clothes. Women told you how lucky you were to lock him down.

As if it had ever been your choice in the matter.

Sometimes, you'd slip. Forget that you should be fighting this. Instinctively reach out for his hand in crowds in public, offer him bites of your food, roll over closer to him in bed on cold mornings. And somewhere deep inside, you knew it wasn’t right, but you seeked his comfort anyway, soothed yourself with his freezing hands and warm voice like it’d make your skin stop crawling, like it’d scrape away all the paint and varnish covering up the ugliness hiding underneath your relationship. 

You always snapped back to what was left of your reality eventually. 

It was after you pulled back that it would be there, the unsettling discomfort of his stare when you turned away from him. 

It was the worst in the mornings.

Crawling out of the sheets first, leaving him with his legs tangled in the blankets. He only ever slept in his boxers, his chest bare and rising slowly. It took too long to fall, like he was faking it. Mimicking sleep like he was imitating something from a movie.

And even when his eyes were closed, long white lashes fluttering, you could still feel them watching. 

His body, however pretty, however perfect, felt more like a shell, a casing containing something too big for it. A man who’d never been told no – and knew how to make sure it was never an option for you.

Not when every day you teetered closer to crazy, swallowing pills you didn’t need, sitting next to Satoru on the couch with a strong arm slung over your shoulder, stuck in a never-ending routine of brain-numbing domesticity. 

You couldn’t even lay in bed and sleep in late. 

The sky outside his window never seemed to get lighter until you got out. Your phone was always out-of-reach – Satoru didn’t confiscate it, but you conveniently could never find it once night time rolled around. He never had watches around either – even though he seemed like the exact sort of asshole that would own a Rolex and brag about it. 

You might’ve called him out. Confessed your suspicions, made a whole fucking list of them to shout at him, scrutinize every tiny detail and demand answers. Until you started seeing the eyes and were forced to reconsider the growing possibility that you were the problem here. 

He was talking – he almost always was. Telling you some convoluted story you were pretty sure was the plot of a bad tv movie he must’ve watched while you were sleeping, one you had overheard blaring from the bedroom, the volume also perpetually stuck too loud. He never left the remote out for you to change it either. 

Your stare had been fixed on the tv anyway, nodding along bored until you caught a glimpse of it out of the edges of your vision. Right below his cheek. An extra eye, just as bright and observant as the other two. It blinked, and you turned.

But it wasn’t there anymore, and Satoru was staring at you innocently, head tilted to the side like he was pleased to have captured your attention at all.

“Everything alright, pretty girl?” He purred, reaching out to place his hand over yours. You didn’t pull away, couldn’t convince your body to move when the surprise had left you practically paralyzed.

You tried to sleep it off. 

But they kept popping up. Behind you in the mirror. When he was making breakfast. On his hands and face and even once on his back. The second you looked, the moment you tried to look directly at it, it was gone, dissolved back into normal skin like it’d never been there at all. 

And then came the ones in places they couldn’t be. 

On the walls and in the furniture. Constantly being watched whether you were alone or with him. 

You used to think you could get used to anything. 

But the paranoia never ended – and you were starting to question if maybe he’d been right this whole time. How much of this was him? And how much was in your head? 

“How have you been doing since the last visit?” Your psychiatrist asked, fixing you in the same cold stare as last time. You hadn’t wanted to come back, but Satoru insisted – and despite all your digging, you couldn’t find any proof he wasn’t who he said he was. 

“Fine,” you lied. 

You were one string away from unravelling. On a short tether ready to snap with one more eye, one more changed memory or crooked detail that didn’t match up.

“Have you remembered anything? Any flashes? Images?” He asked, like someone who had a degree probably would. 

You shook your head, the urge to claw and scratch and fight this slowly seeping out. “Um, no.” 

“Well, we can talk about something else then,” he smiled, and it still didn’t reach his eyes. He shuffled through the folder in front of him. “How about your family then? Or maybe your friends?” 

Your mouth had started to open, to dismiss the idea of talking about the one area of your life you still considered somewhat private until a name he shouldn’t have known left his lips. Until he continued to mention more information you only ever told your old psychiatrist about. 

“I think I’m done today, actually,” you muttered. You brushed down your skirt, standing up and hurrying over to the door to twist the knob just for it to bump into something on the other side. 

Satoru had been listening in. 

But he didn’t condemn you for ending your session early. Just wrapped a strong arm around your shoulders and brushed your hair out of your face before asking if you wanted to go out to eat or pick something up. 

Suguru Geto would never be able to give you the help you needed.

You didn’t think help like that even existed. What god would be able to overwrite your husband when it seemed like he was the one who made the rulebook? Who never did wrong and always got precisely what he wanted? 

In a weird way, there was an odd comfort in being with him. He didn’t make you feel crazy – even when you threatened to throw his shit out the window and cried yourself to sleep when you did toss his stuff out just for it to reappear in the same spots. He just cooed that it was okay, promised that it would be better soon, pressed faint kisses against your shoulder blades and down your skin like his touch could make the world stop spinning. 

Something was seriously wrong with him and you.  

You were both bad at pretending to be normal. 

Maybe you didn’t remember him. Maybe you hallucinated the eyes on the walls and the secrets buried in his skin. But here he was, sitting on the couch while the sun was still out watching a girl get her back blown out with a fucking notepad in his lap. 

Squinting at the screen while she got backshots in 4k Ultra-HD, her gasps and moans the soundtrack while he made unintelligible scribbles on the page. Pants on, fully clothed, not even fucking erect or hard or anything.  

If he noticed you behind him, he didn’t say it. 

“You're not jerking off,” you dryly commented, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Do you want me to?” He glanced over his shoulder, sincerely asking. 

You stared at him, lips parting as you tried to formulate what the fuck you were supposed to say to that, your own eyes shifting down to where the notepad was suddenly gone, his hand already tugging down his zipper and about to pull out his cock. 

Maybe you would've said no, but you shut up the second you saw it. And really, it was kind of fucking absurd. 

Even more than the situation itself was.

Bigger than what the guy on screen was packing, like someone copy-and-pasted what an ideal one was supposed to look like, vein throbbing and pre-cum leaking around a pretty pink swollen tip. As if it hadn't just been soft and hidden under his jeans a handful of seconds ago. 

“I'm, um, going to bed,” you awkwardly stammered, jutting your thumb down the hall. 

Sleep washed over you here. Like a hand pushing your hand under waves until you were forced to suck water into your lungs. 

But you never drowned. 

You dreamed of being somewhere vast, where the dark stretched out endlessly in each direction. Outside, you guessed?

Except there wasn't a sky. No ceiling. Just space – cold and cruel but not empty. Eyes were everywhere. Instead of being on CCTV, you were being captured from every goddamn angle by the same unblinking blue eyes that haunted your days. You used to think two was a lot. That it was all he needed to see though you. 

Here there had to be at least two hundred. 

All watching you splayed out for their viewing pleasure. Pale hands held your wrists in place, veiny arms and thick fingers tracing and groping you. Squirming against (into?) him while another set of palms spread your thighs. His touch seared. 

Burned into your soul with each pattern he painted and pressed along your skin and inside you. It wasn’t like he had a face, or like you could hear his voice. But you knew it was him all the same. 

And you didn’t resist. 

Didn’t want to. 

When dreams had blended into your waking world already, what was so wrong about letting yourself have him like this? The rest of your life was wrong anyway. You closed your eyes, rested your head back for another hand to hold it up, fingers petting your hair while another set did the work of spreading you open and stretching you out. 

It didn't feel like fingers though, not when each touch was pure energy, electricity that raced through you and back down, pressure building and cresting just to come back twice as hot with each pump of something thick and hard thrusting inside you. It curled cruelly, reached places you never could on your own, invisible and intoxicating as it dragged you close to your climax just to rinse and repeat. 

Being rearranged and remade into something that fit him better. That felt better.

Time didn't exist. It could've been five minutes or five hours. Lost in the void of him while he lost himself inside you. 

You could've lived in it. 

But your life had taken on its own dreamy shape, one that bordered on fantasy. 

The sheets were damp. Thighs soaked and slick. 

“Sleep good, sweetheart?” He prodded when you woke up to the sun shining through the window, a lazy arm slung over your side. Deceptive. You knew if you went to slip out, if you pulled away too soon, his relaxed grip would turn into a harsh squeeze, holding you against him until you whined that it was hard to breathe. 

You were about to turn around to look at him, but his fingers groped your tits and when you started to count how many there were on you, there were too many. 

In your panic, you elbowed him, pulling away before he could fully react. 

And you saw it. 

Not just a glimpse. Not a flash. 

But a full second where there was an extra arm attached. 

It was gone again by the next blink. But you'd seen it, and it felt like everything shattered again. 

“You-” You started, pointing at where it had been. 

“I what?” Satoru dared you to say it. 

“You had another arm,” you accused, voice trembling. 

“You must have missed your dose yesterday, huh, beautiful?" He crooned, still smiling at you like it was okay you just implied he was a fucking shape shifter or alien or some fucking creature charading around as your husband. 

He'd pull documents out of thin air the same way he made an entire limb disappear. Convinced people to give him whatever he wanted for free with just a wink or a purr. 

How easy would it be for him to do the same to you? 

“I'm not crazy,” you said it again, but you weren't so confident. 

Because whether it was real or not, pieces of him, thoughts and images and daydreams, had all started to seep through into your heart. Consideration or codependency, although maybe that was just you coping. Telling yourself that it wasn't some fucked-up form of lust or love. 

There was too much you couldn’t reconcile from reality and the world he was trying to convince you of. 

Something had to snap - and it was you. 

And still, he tried to act like everything was normal, tried to hold your hand in the waiting room and took you to the conveniently-available doctor. 

Suguru Geto tapped his pen against his desk. 

And you tapped your nails against your leg. 

“I think my husband isn't human,” you admitted. Said the big bad words that had been bouncing around in your head out loud. “I don't really know what he is, but-”

“You do realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?” Suguru dismissed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. 

“I know,” you nodded. 

You'd come up with a list of theories on the car ride here while Satoru promised to prove how much he cared about you. An alien disguised as a human? Some freak stalking you? That one didn't explain the arms or the eyes. The dream you guessed could've been all you, spurred on from seeing his cock. 

“One moment,” Suguru held up his finger, and you figured this was it. He'd call the psych ward and you'd have white walls to look forward to instead of the cool blue of Satoru’s bedroom. 

He stood up, walked towards the door where Satoru was waiting outside. Offered you another professional smile before stepping out. 

Your file was left on his desk. 

It took you two seconds to snag it, flipping through it, half-expecting it to be normal. To be another piece that you'd be left wondering if it was fabricated. But no, most of them were in familiar handwriting, notes taken by your previous psychiatrist, signed and dated precisely how you remembered. 

Suguru was a fraud – and your husband, whoever (or whatever) he was, was too. 

His office was unfortunately on the third floor, too far from the ground for you to make an escape through the window. So, you did the next stupid thing you thought of, pressed your ear against the door like you'd hear anything that would fix the anxiety churning in your stomach. 

Your brain was trying to block out the information you found, to hit erase and rewind the clock on today. You felt fuzzy, thoughts slipping away before you could fully hold onto them. 

“You really fucked this up,” your pretend psychiatrist grunted, irritated as you tried to blink away the fog, to drag your mind out of the haze and back to clarity. “I told you this would happen. Just scrub her memories and then add your own.” 

“I want her to like me for me,” Satoru whined, and the next blink made the world around you sway. 

“You're an idiot,” Suguru scoffed at him. 

“Am not,” he argued back. “I'm intelligent, attractive, attentive, shouldn't that be good enough?”

“Not when she doesn't know you,” Suguru retorted. 

You felt like you were going to pass out.

“Well, you said she started to figure it out so-” 

You didn't mean to make a sound, but your knees threatened to buckle, and you had to lean against the door to stop yourself from falling. They immediately stopped talking. The doorknob jiggled, and then opened, Satoru catching you before you could collapse.

“There's my smart girl.” He poked your nose, one long finger pressing softly against the cartilage as he chuckled. Like an owner playing with its pet. 

A kid testing the limits of his toy would probably be closer. More accurate.

A vein throbbed across Suguru’s forehead, annoyed at how this was playing out. You guessed he was like him too. Something that was out of your understanding, too much for you to fully conceive, under the cover of human faces and fucking around with someone like you because they could. 

“What are you?” You bluntly asked, unable to pretend to not know. To act like you hadn't been listening. 

“Your husband.” 

You wondered what he'd do if you asked for a divorce. Although, here, in his arms, with him looking at you like he loved you, like in spite of everything else that was real, you didn't want one. 

What vows had he sworn? 

For better or worse? In sickness and health? Human or not? 

“Fix this.” Suguru didn't ask. Demanded. 

Satoru frowned, but there weren't any frown lines. Barely even a crease between his brows either. An emotion he hadn't mastered well in this body of his. 

“I could just reset her,” he grumbled, unhappy at the prospect. 

You barely had any strength left – but you scraped together enough to shake your head. You didn’t want to be fucking reset. 

“No,” you hoarsely said. “Don't.”

Satoru’s face immediately brightened, grinning and pulling you closer, squeezing too tight again, until you hit his chest twice to get him to stop. 

“Sorry, Suguru,” he shrugged. “I do what my wife wants.” 

You fiddled with your ring in the car on the way home. For the first time, it felt like yours. Or maybe, you'd just accepted it as part of you. Let go of the pieces of you that didn't fit anymore. Shed those parts of your skin like he stepped into this one. 

“What do you want?” You asked as he ran a red light. 

“You,” he easily answered. 

“You could've asked me on, like, a date,” you grumbled, resting your head against the window. 

“Do you want to go on a date now?” He quizzed, cocking his head to the side at the correct angle this time. Learning, adapting to acting his role out. 

“I want to go home,” you murmured. 

The image in your head wasn't your apartment anymore. When you thought of bed, you thought of his. 

And when he parked the car (and managed to scrape the front bumper against the concrete wall), he still hurried around to open your door for you, to hold your arm to steady you. 

Took off your coat when you got back inside, got down on his knees to take your shoes off. 

“You know you can ask me for anything, right?” He hummed, and there was something unsettling at the thought he could actually conjure up anything he wanted. 

But being scared was exhausting. 

So you didn't say anything when he followed you to the bedroom. 

You stripped off your clothes, one piece at a time, methodical, precise. He stared, reverent. The lump in his throat bobbing as he took small steps forward. 

“Do you love me?” You asked, unsure. 

“You're the only thing I care about,” he reassured, fingertips settling slowly on your hips, one-by-one too. Dipping into the flesh, feeling it for himself and breathing in your air. His eyes glowed. 

Literally. 

A bright gleam that hurt to look at, burning into you with a dangerous intensity. When he spoke, his voice reverberated into your core. “Do you love me?” 

“You're all I have left.”

[indiewritesxoxo]

snapshots

a handful of moments you'd been convinced you were doomed to be stuck in Satoru Gojo's orbit forever - or a handful of ones where he realized he was stuck in yours

pairings: gojo x f!reader x geto

content: MDNI, angst and fluff and smut, childhood friends-to-lovers, crushes, teasing, gojo is so in love it's not even funny, heartbreak, emotional hurt/comfort, eventual smut, threesome, loss of virginity, breakups/makeups, piv sex, oral (m! + f! receiving), fingering, everyone is bad at feelings, complicated relationships, happy endings

scrapbook entries

page one . . .

playground bully | tutoring session

page two . . .

rainy day | happy birthday | prom date

page three . . .

lifeguard duty | long distance

page four . . .

hotel room | goodnight kiss (i) | goodnight kiss (ii) | tennis match

page five - full spread!

spilled drinks

page six . . .

empty seat | lost cause | morning, after(i) | morning, after (ii) | missed chance

page seven - full spread!

double date

page eight . . .

old friend | bad idea | secret letter(i) | secret letter(ii) | secret letter(iii) | night out | two kisses

page nine - full spread!

shattered illusions

page ten . . .

not friends | something worse | not lovers | something better

page eleven . . .

borrowed | blue

page twelve . . .

picket fence | playground kiss

alternate ending . . .

last chance

art by @dinneratgios + divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[actuallyyoshiki]

I’ve got a soft Naoya fic idea! You’re childhood friends who were betrothed at a young age due to clan negotiations. It’s a young love situation, so you two don’t mind and grow up acting like an old married couple. The reader and Naoya are more like a match made in heaven than a political union. Maybe you could give us insight on what it’s like living the not-yet-married sorcerer life.

SYNOPSIS: You and Naoya are not yet husband and wife, but you live as though you are. two hearts shaped by duty, bound now by choice. And in the quiet moments between breaths, you wonder if love has always been this soft.

TAGS: Naoya Zenin x reader, arranged!marriage, hints of possessiveness, childhood friends to lovers, betrothed since childhood, fluff?, established relationship (pre-marriage), young love.

Wc: 2k

The day starts slow, as it often does with him.

The pale gold of dawn spills across the tatami in delicate, molten ribbons, slipping past the paper shōji to paint soft light over the rumpled futon you share. Outside, the cicadas are still silent, and the wind has not yet found its way into the trees; the world feels hushed, suspended.

Naoya lies on his side facing you, one arm tucked loosely beneath the pillow. A lock of pale hair has fallen across his brow, almost touching his lashes. His breathing is slow and even, lips parted just slightly, and for a moment you simply watch him, chin propped on your hand.

This has become the shape of your mornings. His warmth seeping into your side, the smell of fresh linen and his faint cologne lingering from yesterday, the slow stretch of silence you’ve long stopped trying to fill with words.

He shifts after a while, lashes fluttering, and a soft sound escapes his throat as he blinks the light from his eyes. They’re molten-gold in the sunlight, hazy with sleep, but even half-lidded they hold that sharpness that belongs only to Naoya Zen’in.

“You’re staring,” he mutters, voice rough with sleep.

“Mm. Am I?” you murmur back, amused.

His gaze flickers over your face—your mussed hair, the faint crease on your cheek from the pillow—and something softer than sleep clouds his expression. “You do it every morning.”

“Maybe I like looking at you,” you say lightly.

He gives a quiet huff, rolling onto his back and draping an arm over his eyes, but you catch the faint lift of his mouth. “You’re impossible.”

after a beat of silence he suddenly added “You talk in your sleep,” Matter-of-fact.

You blinked blearily. “…I do not.”

“You do.” His tone was dry, but there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes that betrayed his amusement. He reached out to brush his thumb over your temple, sweeping away the stray hair that had fallen there. “Kept mumbling my name. Over and over.”

Your face heated instantly. “I did not—”

“You did.”

There was no arguing when he was like this, and he knew it. He leaned down to press the lightest kiss to your forehead before pulling back, as though nothing had happened.

The silence that followed was comfortable. His hand found yours under the futon and stayed there, his thumb absently drawing little arcs over your knuckles.

After a while, he said, “The veranda needs repainting. I’ll have the carpenters come by next week.” Then, so casually it nearly passed you by: “It’ll be yours to deal with, eventually. This house.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t look at you when he said it, only shifted to stretch his arm over his head and added, “So don’t ruin it.”

You stared at him, heart beating too hard for how offhand his tone was. “You’re… giving me the house?”

He gave you a faintly exasperated look, like you were missing something obvious. “What else would I do with it?”

You couldn’t find an answer to that. So instead you decided to just change the subject.

“Tea?” you offer, quietly.

“Make it the good kind,” he says, his voice is gentle, unguarded, like it only is when the day is still young and no one else is watching.

-

The engawa boards are cool beneath your feet when you slide the shōji open, letting the scent of dew-soaked pine drift in from the garden. The sun is still low enough that the shadows of the maple branches dance across the veranda like lace.

You bring the tray out slowly, careful not to spill a drop of the fine green tea he likes best. The steam curls between you in thin ribbons.

Naoya leans against the wooden pillar with an idle grace, yukata slipping open at his collarbone. He accepts the porcelain cup from your hands without looking, gaze fixed on the garden pond below as koi cut lazy arcs through the water.

“They keep asking,” he says finally, voice quiet and flat, though not without weight.

“Who does?” you ask, settling beside him.

“The elders. About when we’ll set the wedding date.”

You watch the koi flick their tails in the sunlight. “And what do you tell them?”

“That I don’t like being rushed.” A pause. “And that it’s none of their business.”

That draws a soft laugh from you. “They probably loved that.”

“They hated it,” he corrects, finally glancing at you. His eyes catch the light like liquid gold. “But I don’t care.”

You have been promised to each other since you were children— two seven-year-olds standing stiffly while the adults around you smiled with tight mouths, telling you this was for the good of the clan. Back then Naoya had scowled, declaring he’d rather marry his sword. You had hit him on the shoulder and called him stupid.

And yet he still brought you persimmons from the market the next day, cheeks pink, claiming they were “extra” and he didn’t want them to go to waste.

Years later, the air between you feels like this: warm and steady, with his knee brushing yours and neither of you pulling away.

“Would you rather marry someone else?” you ask softly, half teasing, half not.

“No one else could survive me,” he says, and you smile into your cup, because you know that means no.

-

By noon the sunlight is sharp and white, the roof tiles hot enough to shimmer.

The market was alive in that soft, midsummer way, cicadas buzzing, children darting between legs, the smell of grilled mochi wafting between the colorful stalls.

Naoya walked half a step ahead of you, as he always did, though his hand lingered at your back, fingertips brushing just enough to keep you close. He never seemed to notice he did it.

Vendors called out prices and greetings, and Naoya ignored almost all of them, except to occasionally stop and buy something for you without asking. A sweet dumpling here, a tiny comb carved from cherrywood there.

You lingered by a stall hung with yukata in every shade imaginable. Soft indigo, pale plum, warm ivory patterned with tiny gold chrysanthemums.

Naoya followed your gaze, then stepped in front of the display, scanning it like he was inspecting battle plans.

“That one would wash you out,” he said, pointing to a pale green.

You blinked. “I didn’t say I wanted one.”

“You were looking at them.”

“I was looking,” you said, “not buying.”

Naoya made a soft noise, dismissive, and plucked a deep plum yukata from the rack. “This one.” He held it up against you, squinting slightly. Then he frowned and put it back.

You watched him move through the colors with an intensity that was almost comical, his brow faintly furrowed.

Finally he held up a warm ivory one patterned with faint gold chrysanthemums, the very one you’d been secretly admiring— and said, “This. It suits you. Like early autumn.”

“…Early autumn?” you echoed, amused.

“Calm. Subtle. Pretty.” He said it offhandedly, as though it weren’t praise, and turned to tell the stall owner to wrap it.

Your heart fluttered traitorously.

As the vendor folded the fabric carefully into paper, Naoya said, “We’ll have to plant more chrysanthemums next spring. The garden’s too empty without color.” He glanced at you briefly, then back to the flowers painted on the yukata. “Which colors do you want?”

You stared at him. “You’re… asking me, about the garden?”

“It’ll be yours,” he said simply. “Eventually. Might as well start planning it how you like.”

Something in your chest went soft and unsteady.

By the time you return to the Zenin estate, the cicadas are screaming in the pines and your sleeves are damp from the heat. Naoya carries the shopping basket himself despite your offer.

“You spoil me,” you tease.

“You’re supposed to be spoiled,” he replies, not missing a beat.

-

The house is heavy with quiet when you return. Sunlight filters pale and warm through the bamboo screens, drawing gold bars across the tatami.

You change into cooler robes and curl up in the library alcove with the windows open to the breeze. Naoya joins you without a word, sitting close enough that your shoulders brush. His hair is damp from rinsing off the heat, the faint smell of pine soap clings to him.

You’re trying to read, but he makes it impossible, his chin resting on your shoulder, breath slow and even. Arm wrapped around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest.

“You’re fidgeting,” you murmur, flipping a page.

“You’re ignoring me,” he counters lazily, pressing a single warm kiss to the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, smirking when you stiffen.

“Because I’m trying to read.”

“Read later.” He gently plucks the scroll from your hands, sets it aside, and tips your chin up with his fingers. His gaze softens, just a fraction. “Be here now.”

So you stay there with him instead, listening to the slow sweep of the wind through the trees, the soft click of bamboo wind chimes on the porch, his breathing steady and close.

At some point you doze off curled against him. When you wake, your head is leaning against his shoulder, and he’s threading his fingers gently through your hair with an absent look on his face, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

-

By night the air has cooled. The engawa is still warm from the day as you sit side by side, legs dangling over the gravel garden path. Lantern light pools golden on the wooden boards, flickering on the still pond below. Fireflies blink among the azaleas like wandering stars.

Naoya sits with his elbows on his knees, gaze far away. After a long silence he speaks without looking at you.

“When we were kids,” he says, voice quieter than the night insects, “I hated the idea.”

“Of marrying me?” you ask, half-smiling.

“Of having someone chosen for me, being told who I belong to.” He pauses. “But… I don’t hate it anymore.”

Your breath stirs.

“I can’t imagine not belonging to you,” he adds softly, like he’s saying it to the air, not to you.

The sound of your heart drowns out the crickets. You don’t reply, just quietly slip your hand into his beneath the hem of his sleeve, hidden from the world. He squeezes once, gently, and neither of you let go.

-

The house settles around you as the hours drift past. Lanterns dim. Tatami cools. The distant frogs start their low, sleepy chorus.

You fold the futons side by side while Naoya washes up. He emerges in loose nightclothes, hair damp and uncombed, eyes soft from exhaustion. You’re brushing your teeth when he appears behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist, swaying you gently from side to side until you laugh with a mouth full of foam.

Later you lie facing each other in the dim light. The lantern’s glow pools amber across his cheekbones. His hair spills in soft waves over the pillow.

You reach to tuck a stray lock away, and he catches your wrist, turning your palm up to press a slow kiss to the center of it. Your chest aches at the tenderness.

“Sleep,” he murmurs, pulling you in.

“Only if you stay here,” you whisper, eyes slipping closed.

“As if I’d leave.” His voice is quiet, but firm. “You’re mine.”

And you drift off like that— his arm snug around your waist, his breath warm against your hair, the faint chirp of crickets outside your window.

It has always been this way, and perhaps it always will be. Two hearts that grew together like intertwined roots, promised long ago, but kept together by choice. Two lives wound together so tightly that they don’t know where one ends and the other begins.

.

More Naoya Zenin here, and other characters.

[acideathr]

⚔︎ blood and silk

+. 𖥻 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗦 ˚♧

chapter 1: vow of chains

published: 05/12/2025

chapter 2: house of thorns

published: 05/12/2025

chapter 3: winter's silence

published: 06/12/2025

chapter 4: masks at the table

published: 06/12/2025

chapter 5: quiet defiance

published: 07/12/2025

chapter 6: weight of obedience

published: 07/12/2025

chapter 7: wife of the clan

published: 08/12/2025

chapter 8: fevered pride

published: 08/12/2025

chapter 9: seasonal festival

published: 09/12/2025

chapter 10: behind closed doors

published: 09/12/2025

chapter 11: cracks in the golden cage

published: 10/12/2025

chapter 12: whispers of rebellion

published: 10/12/2025

chapter 13: price of disobedience

published: 11/12/2025

chapter 14: flawless performance

published: 11/12/2025

chapter 15: man behind the monster

published: 12/12/2025

chapter 16: house of rumours

published: 12/12/2025

chapter 17: storm season

published: 13/12/2025

chapter 18: silence between heartbeats

published: 13/12/2025

chapter 19: what men fear most

published: 14/12/2025

chapter 20: marriage of shadows

published: 14/12/2025

chapter 21: spring echoes

published: 15/12/2025

chapter 22: whispers in the corridors

published: 15/12/2025

chapter 23: fragments of stress

published: 16/12/2025

chapter 24: proper courtship

published: 16/12/2025

chapter 25: possessive claim

published: 17/12/2025

chapter 26: woman in crimson

published: 17/12/2025

chapter 27: mirror conversations

published: 18/12/2025

chapter 28: scent of jealousy

published: 18/12/2025

chapter 29: fracture in the mask

published: 19/12/2025

chapter 30: loneliness consumes all

published: 19/12/2025

chapter 31: footsteps in his absence

published: 20/12/2025

chapter 32: scent you shouldn't have

published: 20/12/2025

chapter 33: test of patience

published: 21/12/2025

chapter 34: threaded fates

published: 21/12/2025

chapter 35: calm before the ruin

published: 22/12/2025

chapter 36: night the lanterns went out

published: 22/12/2025

chapter 37: heir who lost his wife

published: 23/12/2025

chapter 38: blood on the ground

published: 23/12/2025

chapter 39: confession of a broken man

published: 24/12/2025

chapter 40: the year turns

published: 24/12/2025

[nemisuki]

he likes the quiet ones || satoru gojo x f!reader, jjk drabbles, pure fluff, 401 words (◡̀_◡́)ᕤ

so we all know how clingy satoru is... but imagine him having a crush on the quiet student—who he swears is the girl of his dreams.

you're the complete opposite of him; calm, composed, and rarely speaking unless necessary. you intrigued him. he just didn't know when that curiosity turned into something more intimate.

"ah—there you are!" he grins, shamelessly wrapping his arms around you from behind, chin resting against your shoulder—clinging to you like some sort of leech, "did you just return from a mission? you should've taken me along! i wanted to see my cutie in action~"

you quietly hum, unfazed by his touchy nature, "hi gojo-san..."

he immediately pouts, "i thought i told ya' to drop the 'san' part—it's too frickin' formal! matter of fact, just call me satoru!"

you slowly nod. he smiles, hesitantly letting go, but only to walk in front of you, continuing to chat your ear off, all while walking backwards, "you should've saw me today—i'm this close to perfecting my technique! maybe now we can finally do a mission together! oh and why don't we stop for some boba tea after?! don't worry your pretty little head, my treat!"

the boy leans closer, icy blue orbs boring into your own. he smirks, now acting more coy, "are you swooning for me yet—" he halts, the words getting caught in his throat as he notices the sympathetic look in your eyes.

his breath hitches as you slowly reach out, in a rare turn of events, gently patting his head, fingers combing through his white locks of hair to offer him some comfort.

a feeling he never knew he craved... up til now that is.

you smile softly, shockingly enough to him, "you must be tired then—just don't overdo it... satoru."

his eyes briefly widened, heart rate spiking up at his name exiting your mouth. god damn it. he was the one who suggested it—so why does he always get so tongue tied when it comes to you? how lame...

he's blushing, ivory skin tinted with pink as he slowly leans into your touch, embarrassingly avoiding your gaze; only yearning for more, more and more of your affection, "yeah... i know."

he peeks at you from behind his glasses, taking your kind gesture as a green light to continue, "so about that date..."

you slowly blink, tilting your head with confusion—what’s this about a date?

➤ navigation || part 2 ᢉ𐭩

[lunaekalenda]

older!boyfriend gojo who usually waits for you resting his body against his luxurious car, outside of university, losening his tie after a formal meeting with other CEOs. who doesn't look back to all the girls that look at him with interest and adoration, who brushes off quickly any of them that tries to ask for his number. whose eyes are fixed on you as soons as you step out of the university building. hands grabbing your designer bag - his gift- and focused on not falling with those heels you insist in using to be around your tall man - he thinks you look cute on them, but he prefers when you need to get on your tiptoes to kiss him.

older!boyfriend gojo who insist on taking you to pricey, exclusive restaurants on your dates. who takes you shopping before every single one of them. who makes sure you have an appointment at your nail saloon, hairdresser and makeup artist. even when you've told him plenty of times you can do all that yourself, he knows how tiring studying can be, specially during your specialization, after almost seven eyars of hard work. he doesn't want you to do anything by yourself, but wants you to relax, and enjoy the date.

older!boyfriend gojo who avoids taking you to any meeting but the ones with his adoptive son. he's popular, but not in the good sense, among other entrepeneurs and rich guys, so he doesn't wanna expose you to that. instead, he takes you to have dinner with his son, megumi, to who you're more than his dad's girlfriend. megumi found in you the figure he always missed: someone to reach in case he needs it. like an older sibling, you'll listen to megumi rant about anything - even about his own dad. - and you'll help him during hard times. he really appreciates you, and he's happy gojo found you, even when he still thinks he's a dork.

older!boyfriend gojo who always leaves the bed first. he'll leave a lovely kiss on your forehead before his warmth disappears. you'll find him in the kitchen, humming some song, with his pyjama pants hanging from his hips and his hair messy from sleeping. he'll take you in his arms and take you upstairs again, jokingly angry at you for leaving the bed before having his incredible breakfast. he'll punish you by tucking you back in bed, covers up to your neck and attacking your face with pecks and soft kisses.

older!boyfriend gojo who doesn't really understand why you would go walking to uni when you have him. wherever you need to go, he'll stop anything he's doing to take you there. he'll drive you, it's comfier, quicker, easier. but sometimes he can't convince you, and he'll end up cancelling his whole schedule to be able to walk around the city by your hand. he'll often joke about his desire to have a dog to walk with you and, who knows, maybe a stroller to push.

older!boyfriend gojo who isn't jealous, but won't take his face away from your neck after seeing how that classmate - that reserved, blonde guy - looked at you during your explanation of that monet painting. he makes sure to shake his head under your accusations, but will kiss you hungrily inside the car to make you stop mocking him.

older!boyfriend gojo who texts like a man his age would, but it's starting to pick up your habits. all those sarcastic emojis, the memes and the abbreviations. now, you'll also have to explain geto - his best friend, and basically your brother in law - what bffr means after your boyfriend texted it to him without any type of explanation - because you doubt he knows what it means.

older!boyfriend gojo who isn't pushy, but drops hints casually during your daily routine. checks the price of a baby tableware set, points at a pair of tiny pink sneakers, finds himself staring at a couple with a toddler. he knows you're still young and it's a big step, but he wants to make sure you know it's something he desires. not having a kid, but to be a dad.

[nadin2003]

🕊 Nadin’s Hope: A Mother, A Memory, A Future

Hello, my name is Nadin. I’m from Gaza. I’m a graphic design graduate, a wife—and now, a mother.

I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small studio, of creating art that told stories. I used to think about colors and fonts and the future.

Then, the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.

On October 22, 2023, I learned I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husband’s family home, killing 25 members—his mother, siblings, nieces and nephews—entire branches of our family in seconds.

We were displaced twice. Everything was gone—home, safety, routine, rest.

A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib, no celebration—not even stillness. But she arrived, quietly and beautifully. In her eyes I saw something I hadn’t felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.

Now, our days are shaped by decisions that could dismantle the future we are trying to build together.

Today, Israel’s government is discussing plans for a full military occupation of the Gaza Strip, including Gaza City and southern regions. The stated aim: to eliminate Hamas and later hand governing control to allied Arab forces—not Israel—but with no clear path to peace or normalcy.

The humanitarian fallout is devastating. More than 61,000 Palestinians have died in this war; hunger and malnutrition are rising sharply. Hospitals in north Gaza have shut down, and 193 people have now died of starvation, nearly half of them children.

Aid remains blocked, water is scarce, and many risk dying of hunger or disease long before future promises arrive.

We Don’t Know What Comes Next There’s no clear path forward—only uncertainty for our daughter’s life and our ability to survive another day.

Nadin’s Hope: Rebuilding Life for a Mother and Child

My name is Nadin, and I’m a mother from Gaza.

How You Can Help I’m asking for support—not for comfort, but for survival:

Help us meet basic needs so we can breathe, heal, and preserve a world for our daughter.

Support us as I try to stand again on my own feet—even a glimmer of stability matters.

If you’ve read this far, thank you. If you can give—thank you. If you can’t—just sharing this post is a lifeline I will never forget.

[madamechrissy]

you belong with me

You were friends with him from birth - the boy across the street, Satoru Gojo. However, you lose touch in college, but finally you're going to the same school! You have a love letter written, but you find Satoru - the football captain - is dating the top cheerleader. And she hates you. You're the girl who doesn't really get noticed, the girl in the bleachers playing the clarinet, watching Satoru score a touchdown and kiss his girlfriend. It hurts, but you try to stay uninvolved, but you're watching the boy you knew hurt. Can the two of you have a friendship anymore, and does he feel the same way as you?

pairings - football star! gojo x band geek! reader

warnings - light angst, college au, mutual pining, lost friendship, friends to lovers, Satoru's dating a bitch named Sarah, she gaslights our pookie </3 mentions of manipulation, popularity issues, reader is a lil band geek (I gave her glasses sry if that's not immersive but some of us are blind lmao) eventual smut, sexual tension.

This is absolutely based on the T Swift song <3 Part of @indiewritesxoxo series event! there will likely be four parts of this ;)

art by @/Jan on X!

part one

You've been in love with your neighbor Satoru Gojo for as long as you can remember.

You've also been his best friend even longer - there are photos of Gojo kissing your cheek at three years old in an album your mom has somewhere. You both practically grew up together, and shared everything - whether it was his most precious Digimon cards, or the cutest Pokemon figures you could find.

Endless movies on the weekends, mall trips in high school, hitting the comic cons as you grew on to college, and that's when you both really drifted apart a bit.

College.

Satoru went to the dorms at a University where you stayed home with your family doing community, but every holiday he would come back, and the two of you caught up on old times.

Now you finally got into the same university, so you were excited to spend more time with your best friend.

Yes, you love him, and no doesn’t know. His friendship was just too important to you, the one that survived every breakup he had, and the one you had too, every tragedy and loss, he was there.

Yet it all changed, when you realized Satoru Gojo wasn't really the sweet nerdy boy you grew up with, no he was a football captain, and he happened to be dating the head of the cheerleading team. Your first meeting with her was... interesting to say the least.

"Hey sweet- I mean hey," Gojo corrected himself, earning a glare from the pretty brunette on his arm, smiling abashedly at you now. "This is my best friend since like birth."

"Oh, I've heard about you," she said, holding a hand out with a nasty little sneer. "I see you’re in marching band, so cute, you and your little flute, hmm?"

You blink a bit, almost stepping back like you were smacked, standing in the field surrounded by everyone practicing for the game tonight. You look at Satoru who is frowning just a bit, the light hitting his pretty blue eyes and reflecting, you get lost in them for a moment, before taking her hand.

“It’s a clarinet.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” she's snickering.

Her nails are elegantly done, yours are fucked up and chewed from nerves. She has pretty rings on all her fingers, really all of her is gorgeous, including her form in the little cheer outfit that showcases it all. It's no wonder he'd find her beautiful, she is.

Yet something about her...

"Aren't you going to say hi back?" She snaps, you blink a bit, and Satoru clears his throat.

"She's shy," he says, smiling affectionately at you and patting your head, like you're a little puppy. "How have you been? I miss you."

"I miss you too, um..." you hold your clarinet with both hands, nervously pressing on the little silver buttons. "I'm sorry, my head is in outer space. It's lovely to meet you too."

She smiles, this cold one that doesn't quite meet her eyes, before clinging to Satoru tightly, kissing his cheek, he wraps an arm around her, and the sight of his big hand on her waist almost makes you sick. Why?

You've seen Gojo with several girls over the years, he was very popular once he got to about junior year of high school, but you stayed very much the 'nerd' friend. That was okay though, with Gojo you just could be her, you could be the girl playing clarinet versions of pokemon songs as he played his guitar terribly, until you both made such a ruckus your parents yelled at you all.

He was just a little different with her, you see his tense smile as she trails her hand up his jersey right in front of you, showcasing a hint of sculpted abdominals that makes your heart race. You avert your eyes, but Gojo grips her wrist, pausing her touches quickly.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly in her ear. “Not here.”

“Why?” She giggles, usually Gojo enjoys her touches of course, but it’s just rude to do it especially in front of a friend he hasn’t gotten to hardly see in months.

God you look cute too, in this little blue band uniform and an insanely tall black hat that clips around your chin. You have a new pair of glasses he notices, you’re about as blind as he is, though Gojo wears contacts due to the football playing, he still has his own glasses at night. They’re a cute blue, bringing out all the shades in your eyes.

Your cast down eyes, currently. He suddenly feels a longing to know how you’ve been, he’s been shit at keeping up with you back home. Studies, football, friends and endless frat events, it all has been too much, sometimes he barely gets time to do the little things you and him used to do, to enjoy his time.

Her touch hits again, so he firmly removes her hand, kissing it and smiling. She was clingy as fuck lately, but if he didn’t give her attention she just tended to be so spiteful and mean, he tried to keep up with it.

“You’re so cute,” she giggles now to him. “You all knew each other for years?”

“Mhm,” you say softly, eyeing their hands now, averting your gaze again. “Since we were in pull ups.”

“You remember that picture where you’re wearing pull ups on your head?”

“Hah, that was you!”

“Nope,” Gojo is grinning and so are you, his girlfriend tugs away, glaring right in your direction, making you freeze up.

“You two are awfully close,” she says now, scoffing as she studies you up and down. “What could you have in common?”

“Um…” You aren’t used to this, someone scrutinizing you – you are socially awkward at times, but your friend group is diverse. “We have a lot in common.”

“In what world?”

“Sarah,” Gojo says softly. “You’re not being very friendly.”

“Well you don’t need to hang out with girls at all,” Gojo blinks a bit, white brows drawing in confusion. “I’m sorry, but you don’t.”

“You have plenty of male friends.”

“Not ones who eye fuck me.”

You gasp, blinking back tears and stepping back then. “Seriously!?”

“Well she is,” you feel tears slip down your cheeks now, and she laughs just a bit. “Aw, are you crying?”

“You’re just very rude,” you manage to say then, sniffling a bit. “I don’t even know what ‘eye fuck’ means, but I wouldn’t disrespect a relationship. I need to finish practicing, good to see you Gojo.”

You run off and Sarah is all over him again, arms wrapped on his neck – what was once attractive feels suffocating, he glares down at her. “The fuck is that, aren’t you miss popularity? I’ve never seen you be mean to a girl.”

“She clearly has it bad for you, and I don’t like competition,” she says with a shrug, but then pouts. “Are you mad at me, Satoru?”

“I’m irritated,” her eyes fill with tears then. “You should just trust me.”

“I do! I don’t trust her, she just looks at you like… like she’s in love,” he sighs, shaking his head. “She does.”

“She’s important to me, I want you to get along with her, okay?”

Sarah glares a bit then, trailing her fingers down Satoru’s chest. “Oh? I should get along with her?”

“It means a lot, she’s very close to me,” he eyes you then and wants to disentangle himself, to hug you. It’s been months and he was so excited for you to join his school, only for your first impression to be terrible.

But Sarah is his girlfriend and it’s been a year together. He usually thought she hung the fucking stars in the sky, he’s never seen a side of her like this.

“I can’t help but be jealous, baby,” she says, lips against his ear. “How can I not be, when I have the hottest guy in school?”

“Uh huh,” her teeth nip his ear as you catch his gaze, eyes unreadable, quickly focusing on setting up your music book and stand. It topples over and crashes, a couple people help you, but Sarah laughs.

“She’s a clumsy thing, huh?”

You are, but it’s cute. The amount of times he’d cleaned up your cuts and helped your bruises was hard to count, but you just were that way – uncoordinated, where Satoru was the picture of coordination. It always balanced itself out, he’d catch you before you’d just careen over something, and you were a little better at school, you’d always helped him study.

A big reason he got university was his family of course, but also the grades you helped him get. You not being able to go immediately had hurt him, he can’t think of all the nights he missed you – he’d spend time away from the frat parties just to text you in his room, smiling.

If Gojo admits it to himself, he used to have a terrible crush on you, so bad in fact it was hard to even date other girls, without comparing it to his best friend. But he never wanted to ruin what both of you had, so he never acted on it. He still can feel it, the way his heart raced when he saw you again, how happy he fucking was, but that made him feel terrible.

He was dating Sarah after all.

A fact he was happy about until she was not nice to you.

“I didn’t tell you, I started taking the pill,” Satoru blushes at her bold comment in the middle of a fucking full field.

“Okay… um…”

“We could not use protection tonight, there’s an after party,” she giggles again, and he pulls back. “You’re blushing!”

“You’re talking about that right here? We can talk about that later, okay?” He tilts her chin up now. “After party, huh? You really wanna go, I was hoping to catch that movie before it’s over.”

“The Digimon movie? Gojo, you can’t be serious.”

You overhear a bit of their conversation as you’re cleaning your instrument, preparing the reed, your friend Shoko is setting up her sax, smiling at you. “Baby, you good?”

“I think so,” you murmur, looking back where Gojo is. “Do you know his girlfriend well?”

“She’s a bitch,” Utahime snorts in laughter right next to her. “She is!”

“You’re savage,” Utahime says, prepping her instrument as Nanami looks at them with a raised brow. “Do you like Sarah, Nanami?”

“No, but bitch is rather… crude,” he mumbles, smiling at you then. “How have you been? We missed you.”

“I’m doing really good, I’m so excited to be back with you guys,” he ruffles your hair like Gojo did, it’s how they treat you, like the cute little best friend. “Nanami, you're playing drums now?”

“Mhm, I still play the sax a bit though.”

“He taught me a lot,” Shoko blows into it a bit, and you swoon.

“Oh that’s sexy!”

They all laugh a bit, and Gojo hears it, looking longingly at his group of friends that everyone considers ‘band geeks’ and of course Shoko and Hime are very ‘theater kid’ as well. Gojo at times doesn’t feel like he fits into the ‘jock/frat’ thing aside from his friend Geto on the team with him. He loves sports but of course his parents really were the reason he got into it.

They’re at every game, so excited, he can’t break their hearts and not do it, plus Gojo really does enjoy football, and the thrill of being the best at it.

Yet part of him wishes he was over there at that moment.

“Please come to the party? We’ll even invite your little friend!” Gojo frowns a bit at that. “I’ll apologize, okay?”

“Please,” she kisses his lips, pressing her breasts against his chest. “Mmm… I like that perfume.”

“I bought it for you,” she giggles and then bounces off. “Let me make it right!”

Geto comes up to Gojo then, tossing him a foot ball, Gojo catches it with one hand, letting it fly back – the bright lights kick on as the dusk sets, tonight is the big game and they’re all trying to get a little practice in. “You see she’s here, right?”

“She is,” Gojo smiles. “I missed her.”

“Me too,” Geto tosses it back in the air with a whirl, Gojo catches it despite looking at you again. “So… I think I might ask her out.”

“Huh!?” Gojo misses the next catch, landing right in his face. “Shit!”

“That was an easy toss, you good?” Suguru runs over, Gojo winces and touches his nose. “Distracted much?”

“I guess,” his heart hammers in his chest, at the thought of anyone really with you but especially his other best friend. “What do you mean, ask her out?”

“I have always liked her,” Geto admits, rubbing the back of his neck and smiling at you, earning a cute wave of your fingers and a smile. “I never asked her back in the day because I was so convinced you were in love with her.”

“I… huh!? You… I…” Satoru can’t say a word then, just focusing on you, trying to hear what Sarah is saying.

“So I’m sorry I came off so rude, I just love Satoru so much,” she says, you  look down. “I didn’t realize you’re just his friend. Like a sister to him and all!”

Kill me now.

It’s all you can think as she talks, and your friends around you tense. “It’s so obvious now he doesn’t like you that way, I was just being silly.”

“Uh huh,” you bite down on your lower lip, looking back at the pretty girl who’s bent down, hands on her thighs, eyeing Nanami.

“Hey there Ken.”

“It’s not Ken,” he mumbles, she just giggles, flirtatious as fuck, surprising you considering she has fucking Gojo. 

“Why’d you quit football, hmm?”

“Interfered with my studies more than band,” he ignores her now, you can’t help but smile as she glares at him. “Don’t you have cheer to do?”

“Well I am the captain, so I decide when we do anything,” she giggles again. “Two captains together, isn’t it romantic?”

“Like a shitty 2000’s romcom,” Shoko chimes in, Sarah glares, but Shoko just smiles at her. “What are you doing over at the ‘band geeks’ as you call us?”

“You’re nasty as always,” she crosses her arms, stepping too close to you as you sit on the bleachers. “Anyway, I want you to come to the party tonight, as a show of my amazing good will and all.”

Everyone snorts in laughter.

“Um, nothing to apologize for,” you say softly, eyeing Gojo, who has his gaze affixed on you both. Surely he’s just looking at Sarah, and you’re being foolish. You have to get along with her, if she’s important to Gojo, you can’t let dumb feelings make you act up. “I’ll be glad to go tonight.”

“Yay!” She claps her hands, grinning all pretty. “Oh I’m so excited to get to know you, girl to girl. You can spill details about young Satoru hehe.”

You smile, attempting to be friendly, but something about her gives you a terrible feeling. You hope it’s not just your jealousy. “I’ll see you there, then.”

“Perfect, bye losers, by Ken.”

“Not fucking Ken,” he glares as she blows him a kiss, running off, Shoko rolls her eyes.

“That’s Satoru’s girlfriend, huh?” You ask softly, they all sigh and nod. “It just seems nothing like him?”

“He’s changed,” Shoko says. “Not inside – he’s still a nerdy little shit, but outwardly he’s… just different.”

“I see,” you murmur, watching as he talks with Geto, but Sarah throws herself into his arms, legs literally wrapping his hips. He almost stumbles back, catching her with his long fingers pressing into toned thighs. “They’re very um…”

“Gross?”

“Affectionate,” Nanami snorts a bit. “They seem cute together.”

“Uh huh.” Clearly, Sarah is not popular with them, but you see Geto run up then, looking handsome in his uniform, you stand and he hugs you tightly.

“Suguru!”

“It’s been forever,” his amethyst eyes light up a bit as he smiles at you. “How have you been? You look great.”

“Oh! You’re so sweet,” you flush, wondering how Gojo thought you did look, he didn’t say of course. But with a girl like Sarah all over him, you’re sure he doesn’t see you as anything but a ‘sister. It stung, but she was right. “You look great too. I can’t believe you and Satoru are football stars.”

“He’s definitely more the star, but I can’t wait to see you perform.”

“Aww!” You grin all pretty at him now, pushing up your glasses a bit. “I am excited to see you both play.”

“Are you going to the party?”

“I am, I’ve never even been to one so I’m nervous. Will you be there?”

“Mhm,” he kisses your cheek, it warms underneath his lips, making your tummy fill with butterflies for a moment. “All right, see you there then.”

It’s quiet, but Shoko is smoking a ciggy, ignoring the band directors scowl at her. “He likes you.”

“Me!? No way…” Geto waves as if on cue, Gojo is trying to disentangle Sarah off of him. “He’s single?”

“He is,” Utahime chimes in. “And he does totally like you. Honestly, I thought Gojo did forever.”

“No, we’re just friends…” You feel it then, blue eyes taking you in from across the field, you tremble a bit when your eyes lock, and he gives you a small smile.

Just friends, that’s all you two were.

It was a dumb thought that you’d magically come see him and you’d both fall for each other, as if he’d see that you were the girl for him, the one who has always been there. Yet now you see he’s moved on so much, you’re not sure how you and Gojo can even be friends like you were ever again, let alone the entire love confession you’ve written fifteen different times that’s sitting in your bag.

Of course he has a life, you didn’t even know about his girlfriend probably because you don’t do social media, considering you catch her taking a selfie with him and throwing the peace sign while she kisses his cheek. A little spark of envy hits, but you shove it down.

You have to be happy for him.

****

The game went amazing, of course Gojo got the last minute touchdown and everyone is cheering his name when he steps into the frat party, they’re all chugging beers and jumping up and down, dancing in a sea of bodies underneath flashing lights. At first this sort of thing overwhelmed Satoru but he eventually got used to it, though there were moments he’d just dip out and seek quiet.

Sarah is every bit the life of the party, everyone – aside from his friends – loves her, she lights up the room when she spins in, cheering for Gojo. “Look at my man, of course he won!”

“Gojo, Gojo, Gojo!”

He smiles but a bit of the attention gets to him, he can’t help but search for you in the crowd, curious if you came, his heart hammering when he sees you alone by the kitchen, sipping on a drink. You’re just wearing a little shirt and jeans but you’re so fucking cute, just the way the jeans hug your body makes him realize you’ve really changed since you were younger.

He shouldn’t be just staring at you, he looks up and smiles, waving then, earning your little wave back, and Sarah’s scowl.

“Satoru baby,” she leans up and kisses him, earning the oohs and ahhs of the entire party. “Don’t make me jealous.”

“I was saying hi,” she pouts now. “I thought you were gonna try to get to know her?”

“Well of course I am, she’s so… quaint.” She snickers and so do her little group of friends. “Isn’t she cute wearing… are those sneakers? Aww!”

“She’s precious,” her friend agrees. “We should all say hi.”

“Yeah no, she’s too shy to talk to that many people,” he says, earning a look from his girlfriend again. “Seriously, be nice to her.”

“You’re very protective, it’s all cute – like a big brother.” Sarah kisses his cheek, her hand slipping under his shirt, touching his back. “You’re gonna be the cutest dad, aren’t you?”

“Dad?” Her friends giggle more.

“She’s gonna make you a daddy.”

“Don’t call him that, bitch,” she shoves one of her friends as Satoru just frowns, eyeing you again, wanting to talk to you so badly. “Come on, let’s take shots!”

“I’ll be a minute,” he murmurs. “You all go ahead.”

Sarah and them run off, and he finally makes his way over to you, standing over in a corner nervously looking around, but your face lights up so pretty when you see him, so pretty his heart stops for a moment. Were you always this gorgeous, this effortlessly pretty?

Of course you were, but maybe he didn’t always notice.

“Satoru!” You hug him then pause. “Shit sorry…”

“No, please it’s okay,” he hugs you back against him, but you feel eyes all over you, especially his girlfriend and her group, even though the hug is friendly you feel too much pressed against him. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“You shouldn’t call me that,” you murmur, pulling back and looking at him. “She’ll get mad.”

“That’s what I always called you,” he sighs then, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry I’ve lost touch, I meant so many times to call you.”

“You’re just really busy, it’s okay,” you realize how close you are, you can inhale that familiar scent of him, the cologne filling your senses. It felt too good, that brief moment in his arms. “You’re so good at football, it was insane to see. I’m so proud of you.”

He pauses.

Fuck that feels good.

People expect him to be good at everything, but here you are, little tendrils falling out of your pony tail that he aches to curl around his fingers, your eyes lighting up behind those lenses. You always were proud of him though, whether it was him getting an A or him horribly playing guitar.

Perhaps you were his original cheerleader.

“I bet you killed the clarinet too,” he says, smiling down at you. “I know you always did so well in high school.”

“Thanks, I um… I missed you…” You trail off, sipping the rest of your drink, wincing a bit.

“Strong huh? Want anymore?”

“Yes please,” he takes your cup and you follow him over, the music blaring and pulsing through your body, a little lightheaded from the alcohol. “Anything yummier?”

“I’ll make you something sweet,” he smiles, inclining his head for you to follow him, he leans down and snatches up bottles then. “I remember you like cherry.”

“I do! Do I get a special drink?” He winks, far too charming then, mixing you up something in your red solo cup, slipping into the fridge to grab some cherries.

“I hate that jungle juice shit as much as anyone, I never drink it,” his fingers brush yours when he hands you the cup, making you both pause for a moment. He clears his throat then, rubbing the back of his neck. “Try it.”

“Okay,” you let the sweetness hit your tongue, just a hint of warmth from the alcohol he’d put in. “Oh, it’s yummy!”

You pull back and have a little drop of cherry red on your lips, he swipes it off with his thumb before thinking, making sure it doesn’t stain that white tee shirt. But the moment he does, you both falter, the soft touch of calloused fingers on soft skin – you step a little closer, and so does he, like something magnetic drawing you both.

“It was gonna spill,” he murmurs softly, your nipples press up underneath your shirt, he struggles not to notice, not to slip his finger into your mouth and watch you suck it. “You still wear the same gloss.”

“Y-yeah,” he swipes your lips with his thumb, making your heart pound in your chest, warmth spreading all over, before someone stumbles in, and he quickly drops it, gulping his drink down.

What the fuck was that feeling?

You’d hugged Gojo a million times, and of course as you got older you felt those butterflies, you felt this longing when he kissed your cheek for more, yet nothing compared to that moment in the kitchen. Like all that noise faded, and it was just you and Satoru.

Versions of you that existed long ago.

“I am sorry she was rude,” he says softly, you shake your head. “She was, and I won’t have anyone being rude to you, even my own girlfriend. Okay?”

“It’s not your fault,” you look down at the liquid in your cup, avoiding those pretty baby blues, lest you get lost in them. “She’s beautiful.”

So are you.

He almost says it, but hates himself for the thought, feeling horribly unloyal, he didn’t realize the moment he laid eyes on you again it would all come flooding back. But even worse than before.

“Yeah,” he doesn’t know what to say then, awkwardly standing next to the girl he’d shared his life with. “You look… you’re… um you…”

“I… what?”

“You’re very… since you…” What the fuck is wrong, why can’t he just say that you look good? It wouldn’t even be wrong to say, it’d be too little really, you’re always so fucking pretty since he could remember. Your pretty smile and your little head tilt, but now with you biting on that lip?

He shouldn’t say it then because it’s not good enough.

He can’t think all this shit, no wonder Sarah is mad. Maybe she knows just looking at him the feelings he had.

“You’re very… I…” He can’t say shit then, stuttering when he sees Sarah dancing, and giggling around with one of the men on the team. He pauses then, frowning.

“I’m what?” Your words aren’t heard then, Gojo excuses himself, leaving you to turn and look curiously.

“The fuck are you dancing with him for?”

“Well you seemed occupied,” she says, smiling all mean. “I figured I’d have some fun too.”

“I was talking.”

“You were staring, not paying attention to me,” he scoffs and walks off then, making her run after him. “Satoru!”

“She’s a bitch,” you hear Suguru’s voice then, you turn and laugh a bit. “Sorry, that's a derogatory term. She’s an evil bitch.”

“Much better I guess,” you giggle, and Suguru holds out his hand then.

“Wanna dance?”

“Satoru, come back!” Sarah’s chasing Satoru out front, she always plays this sort of game with him, upsetting him by flirting, and then making it up. “Seriously, I was just upset, okay?”

“You always do this shit,” she turns him and tugs him down for a kiss, but he pauses, pulling back. “Seriously, it’s fucked. I was catching up with a friend of twenty years and you’re grinding on someone?”

“I just got so jealous! You look at her like… you don’t look at me that way!” He scoffs, shaking his head, making her yank him down again. “Satoru, can you blame me? I love you so much, I just get so angry when you ignore me. And then it makes me act that way.”

“You’re blaming me?”

“No, I just want you to understand,” she slips her hands up his chest, tears filling her eyes. “I love you so much, and I want you to love me the same.”

“I do love you, but you hurt me like this all the time? The fuck, it needs to stop okay?”

“It will, I promise,” she blinks back tears, making him feel terrible then. “You just make me act so crazy, that’s all. I can’t help it!”

He sighs, she’s kissing him, over and over.

“Please forgive me baby, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Right,” he usually falls at this point – it’s a cycle. Sarah does something fucked up, makes him feel responsible, then bad, then he’s trying to make her feel better. Although Suguru has tried to warn him, it still has its effect. “Sarah don’t cry, I was just upset, yeah?”

“Oh thank goodness,” she’s smiling now, all brightly like she’s happy as fuck again. “Let’s dance together, okay! Just us.”

“I…”

She’s dragging him in, but he comes to see you in Suguru’s arms, awkwardly attempting a dance, you’re fucking adorable as you try. Suguru’s guiding you a bit, his hand on your waist, but you hopelessly have no rhythm. He’s not sure what it is, but the sight of his friend’s hand on you, and the way you smile at him? Something bites him about that.

But it can’t.

Sarah’s all over him, making a spectacle as she does, and you just give him a sad little smile across the smoky, crowded room, one he returns, before she can catch him and lose her shit again.

“She seems mean to him,” you say to Suguru softly, blushing a bit when your ass brushes against his thighs, and he wraps an arm around your waist.

“Yeah, she’s fucking horrible,” he murmurs, arm wrapping you tighter. “It’s not just you she’s mean to. But especially him.”

“So why does he stay with her? When she acts like that?” Suguru sighs, you turn a bit in his arms, facing him now.

“I don’t know, he could have whoever he wants,” he frowns and shakes his head a bit. “He’s changed a lot this year being with her, it’s like he doesn’t smile the same way anymore. It’s fucked up, but what can you do, telling him to leave her just makes him more defensive.”

“I see,” you turn your gaze off Gojo now. “He does seem different. Is he still… is he still our Gojo?”

“He is, somewhere in there,” he muses softly, dipping you and making you giggle. “Look, you do have some rhythm.”

“Barely any!”

You have fun that night in Suguru’s arms, laughing and losing yourself, trying to ignore how badly you wish you could hug Satoru, seeing him so miserable with her.

But it wasn’t your place.

“Oh my god, good night girl!” Sarah waves as you and Suguru head out the door, coming to you and kissing your cheek.

“Oh, good night Sarah.”

“Stay the fuck away from him,” she whispers so quietly, you still, frowning as she pulls back with a grin. “Gojo loved seeing you!”

“Uh huh,” Satoru walks up and hugs you then, tugging you a little close, his entire demeanor just down, it breaks your heart. “Toru…”

He almost breaks down in that moment, just burying his face in your neck, inhaling that scent so soft and sweet, memories flooding his mind, a thousand things blurring at once. He hugs you a little too long, like you’re the only comfort there is, before pulling back, looking at Suguru who has his hand on the small of your back.

Why does he hate that so much?

Why wouldn’t he want his two best friends to get together? Not like there was anyone good enough for you other than Suguru really.

“Let’s all like do a double date,” Sarah chimes in, you tense, Satoru sees it clear as day. “It could let you two catch up! I mean you’re almost siblings, right?”

You look down, Sarah’s clinging to Gojo again.

“I’m down for a date,” Suguru says, you smile thankfully at him. “Are you?”

“Yeah, that may be fun,” what a lie. Sarah is fucking terrible and seeing your best friend Satoru like this hurts. But you do want to be near him. “Let’s plan something.”

When Suguru takes you home, you can’t help but enjoy the warmth of his hand on your thigh, and the sweet kiss he plants on your cheek. You also can’t help but think of that look on Satoru’s face when Sarah danced with someone like that, and the expression when he came back in.

You look at the love note you wrote him, tears falling and blurring the ink.

Toru,

I’ve waited my whole life to tell you three simple words, ones that just never came out right, and now I worry it’s too late. We’ve drifted apart so much, but I want you to know that I…

I love you.

Those are the words, the brutal ones stuck in my heart, the ones I’ve said as a friend so many times, we both said it, right? ‘I love you’ before we went to bed, staring at each other through our windows and laughing. Little kisses and hugs good night after studying together, hugging you tightly during a scary movie.

None of those felt like ‘friendship’ to me, and I wonder if you feel the same, or if I’m fucking it all up. I don’t know if I’m making any sense, because when it comes to my feelings for you, it’s like it all gets thrown out of the window. Words don’t form correctly, not when I can’t stop rambling about the million things that make you so special.

It’s everything about you.

I miss you, I miss us, and I love you. I love all of you, Satoru Gojo, and if this ruins it all I’m sorry, but I can’t go another day without you knowing.

You fold it back up, tossing it on the desk of your dorm, the brand new one you’re not used to, you miss home, you miss Gojo, you miss everything how it was.

You miss dreaming that there was a world he could be yours.

Satoru that night keeps thinking of calling you, texting you, apologizing for barely spending time the first time he sees you in months, but he doesn’t get much time. Sarah is all over him in every sense of the word, from sucking his cock like she has no gag reflex, to riding him, to whispering all sorts of things in his ear.

Something doesn’t feel exciting about it tonight, and he descends further into a guilt that he’s not even really present during sex. She seems to still enjoy it, Satoru’s not going to have her not get off, it’s not who he is, but his mind is all over. When she’s laid in his bed curled up, sweat slicked on her skin, all he can think of his you – the girl with her clarinet smiling shyly.

His best friend.

part two soon!! - sry if your name is Sarah omg lol <3 and YAY for having eyesight almost back!!