i know that zuko sleeping on his scar is talked about a lot and consequently, zuko sleeping with his scar up with people he trusts (aka iroh) is talked about a lot.
but the fact that in CANON we see zuko fall asleep TWICE with his scar up with KATARA is so crazy to me
just the fact that there are two separate occasions where we see zuko asleep near katara and both times, his more vulnerable side is up.
- swords were about chapter 1-2. since i made minor arcana generally about what arthur/player goes through and which characters he meets, this is like a showcase for it. and all ace cards will act like intros to the chapters.
- i chose all characters according to the cards meanings but i wanted to show how arthur evolves with them as well, so as we finish chapter 2, swords are also ending with thomas downes :')
- next suit will be cups, chapter 3, water. all green and coral like rhodes and the characters we meet in it!
✴︎ summary: aka sugar daddy! gojo. when you accompany your friends to a bar rich men and women frequent, you catch the eye of a certain white-haired rich man, who is more than willing to spoil you -- in more than one way.
✴︎ contents: 18+, a lot of smut, fluffy, sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, virgin!reader, fingering (f!receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), but w/ feelings, semi-public sex, sex in a changing room, lingerie, nipple play, first time sex
✴︎ wc: 9,065
This had to be the dumbest idea you had let yourself be convinced to do.
You sat in a bar, nursing a soda instead of a drink (because it was all you could afford), and you glanced at your group of friends who had all split off to chat up a different man. And meanwhile, there you were, at the bar alone.
Your friends had seen a video or article online with a list of places that rich men tended to frequent, and after another dinner of instant ramen and looking at your dwindling bank account, you let yourself be dragged along to this bar.
You were surprised how easy it was for you all to be let in, but you supposed young clientele also helped to attract the rich ones the bar was really after. It was the perfect place to find a sugar daddy, or mommy. In your case, you were hoping to just find someone who would pay your bills month to month and possibly your tuition. But now you were just hoping someone would talk to you, much less anything else.
You had sat here for about twenty minutes, and not a single person had approached you — you had felt a few men and women alike eye you, but none had spoken even a word to you. Heat crept up your cheeks and insecurities bit at your nerves as you stirred your drink absentmindedly — you were such an idiot— you should have just stayed in today, snuggled up in bed and watched Netflix—
“Mind if I sit here?” And your gaze snaps from your flat soda, ocean blue eyes stopping your breath in its tracks, his lips curled in all too tempting smile, and his snowy locks just tousled enough to look natural.
“Not at all,” you manage to say, surely you were gonna catch flies if you didn’t pick up your jaw off the floor. He was gorgeous — as he slid into the stool beside you, his baby blue button up showed off his toned physique, his sleeves rolled up, as he looked over the menu.
“Can I order you a drink?” a smile on his lips as he offered you the menu — non-presumptuous and didn’t order your drink for you — was he even real?
“Just another soda, I don’t drink often, and I’m the designated driver for tonight,” though, as you glanced at your groupchat, you didn’t think many of your friends would be making it back tonight, at least not with you.
“A woman after my own heart— two sodas please,” he ordered, “I’m not a huge fan of alcohol either. I prefer things that are sweet,” and his gaze slides over your body, “are you?”
And you flush, trying to look nonchalant as your drinks arrive, “Take a guess,” and he hums, as he takes a careful sip of his drink, eyeing you.
“Oh sweetheart, I don’t guess — I intend to know,” your eyes snap to his, playful mirth in his eyes, “and if you have a price, I’m more than willing to pay it,” he places his platinum credit card on the bar, sliding it to the bartender, “start a tab for me and the beauty right here,” he flashed a wink at you.
Even though this is exactly what you had come “You don’t have to—“
“But I want to,” he leans forward, his lengthy fingers brushing against your hand, giving you ample time to withdraw, but you don’t, your fingers intertwining with his, his thumb rubbing against your knuckles, “you deserve to be taken care of, sweetheart,”
You bite your lip, “and how do you know that? You don’t know me,”
And he tilts his head, a wry grin on his face, “I know enough, baby, and I know that I want to be the one to take care of you,” he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing it against your palm, “now what do you say? I’m sure we can reach an agreement that you’d enjoy,” and his other hand brushes your thigh lightly, “and that I’d enjoy as well,”
Your lips part as you stare at him — he could have anyone he wanted, that much was clear — the wealth, the affluence, not to mention his charm and looks — but he wanted you.
And who were you to say no?
He dropped you home that night, having his driver fetch your car for you after. You both sat in the back of his town car, his hand resting on your thigh, as he spoke to you, his breath warming your skin, as he leaned against you. He didn’t ask to come in or to take you to his place, instead he helped you out of his car, walking you to your apartment’s doorstep. His fingers resch inside his coat pocket, and handed you his business card, his personal number scrawled on the back.
His fingers ghost over your jaw, as he tilts your chin up, the low buzz of the overhead light drowned out by your heart thumping against your ribcage, “Call me, ok?” And you nod wordlessly, breath hitching as he drew close.
“Good girl,” he smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, “I’ll talk to you soon,” he winks, before heading back to his car, “you won’t regret it.”
But here you sat, staring at his business card the next morning, the only proof that what happened wasn’t a dream, as you lie awake, staring at the number typed into your phone.
Satoru Gojo.
How do you do this? Hey it’s the person you hit on at a bar and propositioned to be a sugar baby?
But you couldn’t get him out of your head — it wasn’t just the money, he was…smooth.
Fuck it.
You go to text him, but fate is cruel, and you hit the call button by mistake. You end the call quickly, and contemplate throwing your phone out the window, when your phone starts flashing with the exact number you had called.
Double fuck.
You panicked, as it rang, then taking a breath and picking the call up, “Hello?”
“Gotta hand it to you, sweetheart, didn’t think you’d be so bold to call me,” Satoru is chuckling over the line, the sounds of the road in the background, and it was clear he was driving somewhere, “but it’s a pleasant surprise,”
“Is it?” you ask, and he hums, a noise that sends heat across your cheeks.
“Very,” he cuts to the chase, cutting over any of the silence that could linger, “could we have dinner tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“I don’t like to waste time when it comes to things I want,” and you’re glad he can’t see you — your knuckles pressed against your lips, “are you free?”
“I am,” you say slowly, “but I wanted to ask, after dinner what would the expectations be?” You had no idea how any of this worked, what the arrangement would be, or how it would be handled.
“There are no expectations except for your time,” he says, “we can take this at your pace, your rules, your limits - we are getting to know each other, and we both happen to want more, I’d be more than happy to make that happen,” and his words nearly make you shiver, “does that sound good, princess?”
“Perfect,” you murmur, and he chuckles, “what time—”
“7:00 PM — I’ll send a car for you. I have your address noted, and I have a little dress picked out for you if you’re comfortable with that?”
You hold your burning cheeks, “Sounds too good to be true,”
And he hums, “Well, perfect,” he echoes you, “because that’s what we both are.”
The car is prompt when picking you up, and your roommates help you get ready — thoroughly jealous when they see a selfie the two of you had taken that night. And then the doorbell rings, and the three of you are rushing towards the door.
“Tell us everything don’t miss a detail,” your roommates yell-whisper, “hot, charming, and so rich? I hate you,”
And you shush them opening the door, as Satoru stands in a blue button up, simple slacks, and a grin that made your knees nearly buckle, “Well I am rich, she ain’t lying,” he offers you a bouquet of flowers — your favorites, all arranged perfectly, “and I’d like to think I’m the others as well,”
“Satoru, they’re beautiful,” you inhale their scent, before you furrow your brow, “how did you know—“
“Lucky guess,” he smiled, fingers finding your own, “I guess we have the same taste in flowers, beautiful — great minds,” and he plucks the flowers and hands it to your roommates, “please take care of these, and I’ll be sure to take care of your gorgeous friend,”
And he’s whisking you into the car, opening the door for you, as he slides in beside you, his arm sliding behind you, “do you mind?”
And your heart squeezes, he’s so close, you could smell his cologne — a musky, amber smell mixed with his own scent — his strong arm brushing against your back, and as you peered up at him, a smile on his parted lips, as he stared at you with his cerulean gaze.
“Not at all.”
God, you were in trouble.
“How’d you like this to work, sweetheart?” And you nearly choke on your drink at his blunt question, dinner now finished, as the two of you wait for dessert, his lips curled in his perfect smile as always, “I just want us to have an understanding, so I don’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable,”
You shake your head, “No, you’re right,” dinner had gone on fine — the restaurant he picked was impeccable, the prices must have been astronomical (not a single price on the menu itself), and the atmosphere of the corner booth gave the perfect illusion of privacy, “we should talk about it,”
The financial aspect is simple enough — he offers a stipend that was more money than you could fathom and even consider accepting — but after discussion, you settle on him paying for your tuition and other educational needs as well as a monthly stipend.
“But this doesn’t include anything I choose to treat you to,” he smiles, fingers toying with the hem of the dress, making you almost shiver under his touch, “like this dress or this dinner,”
“Fine,” you smile, gaze still shying away, “there’s still the matter of what I do for you,” you bite your lip, swirling your drink in its glass, “I’ve never done this before,” you admit, tucking a stray strand behind your ear, and he tilts his head.
“Nooo, I would have mistaken you for a pro,” he teases, and your cheeks flush, as you sip your drink, mostly for bravery — that was true, you had never done the sugar daddy thing — but that wasn’t what you meant.
“I mean that too, I’ve never had this sort of arrangement, but,” you toy with the napkin spread across your lap, “I’ve also never…been with anyone before,”
And he pauses mid-sip of whatever fruity drink he had ordered — more juice than alcohol (he didn’t prefer the taste of liquor), “At all?”
You flush, swallowing thickly, as your eyes looked down at your lap, “I’ve been on dates, but never beyond hand holding — I’ve never let it get beyond that,” you never had much an interest, and the people you were interested in had never truly reciprocated— until, you glance at Satoru, now.
He sets his glass down, his lips curled, “but with us — you think there’s a chance that—“ and you squirm under his gaze, “of well—“
And his gaze softens, “You never have to feel obligated to do that — no matter what we agree on for what I can do to help accommodate you, I don’t want you to feel like I’m paying a price for your body,” before he adds with a cheeky smile, “unless that turns you on,”
You huff a laugh out, chewing on your lip, “I appreciate that, but,” you finish the rest of your drink, before sliding closer in the booth, your thigh pressing against his, “I want to know what it’s like,” and you lean forward, all too close, but he dares even closer.
His fingers find your jaw, tilting your gaze up, “And you’re sure, Princess?” his breath warms your lips, and you can smell the sweet smell of his drink on his, “there’s no rush,”
“Who said anything about rushing?” you murmur, and you don’t know if it's the intoxication from the alcohol or from Satoru Gojo himself, but your lips graze his first, barely even. Your lips parted as you brushed your lips for a moment, before sliding away a centimeter, “Satoru—”
But his lips find yours again, fingers cupping your cheek gently, thumb gliding along the soft slope of your cheekbone, “You’re right, you’re not something to be rushed,” he murmurs, words as smooth as velvet, “you’re something to be savored,” and his lips slide against yours, swallowing your gasp as he deepens the kiss with the tilt of your heads, before he’s pulling away, allowing you a moment, “does that mean I’m your first kiss?”
And you nod, with kiss ruined lips parted and chest rising and falling, eyes half lidded with pleasure and excitement — all of which makes him want to kiss you breathless, kiss you silly until you have no thoughts but of him, “I’m sure I’m not yours,” you tease, a small smile on your lips, but a slight anxiety about your inexperience lingering in your words.
He only chuckles, wrapping his arm around you to draw you closer, one hand cupping your jaw and the other sliding through your locks, “But you’re the only one that matters, sweetheart,” and he’s kissing you again, and your lips begin to learn the dance he was teaching you, as he steals your breath and sense in one fell swoop. And when his tongue asks for entrance, he swallows your gasp with a smile, as you part your lips for him. And you swear you almost hear him murmur, “good girl,” between fevered kisses and touches.
Now, his body leaning into you, pressing you against the plush leather of the booth, his hand rested on your thigh now, toying with the hem of the very same dress he had bought you, “Satoru,” you sigh, as your lips finally part a moment, foreheads resting against each other. His eyes take you in, kiss bitten red lips, your cheeks flushed.
His lips kiss your cheeks, and then your forehead, “I think I should take you home,” his thumb rubs against your lips, pulling at the bottom one.
“What about dessert?” and he shakes his head.
“There’s only one dessert I’m craving at the moment,” he murmurs, crystal eyes lidded with lust, as he cups your cheek, “and I wouldn’t be keeping my promise if I indulged, now would i?”
“And if I offered…dessert?” and he makes a noise — a cross between a hiss and a sigh, before shaking his head.
“I want to do this right,” he murmurs, “I know this isn’t a relationship, but it’s like one — and I want you to enjoy it, and if we rush into things, you may end up getting hurt, and not in the enjoyable way,” he pinches the soft flesh of your thigh teasingly, “let’s get you home, princess, and we can plan our next outing, and our next step,”
And you rise, as he helps you out of the booth, as the waiter comes over, “Have you changed your mind about dessert?”
Satoru hands him his card, paying off the tab without even a glance at the receipt, “Yes, I had something far more sweeter and satisfying,” he winks at you, as he pockets his card again. He escorts you to the car, hand resting on the small of your back, his side pressed to yours, as if he was afraid you’d slip away any moment.
The car ride home was spent with quiet conversation and stolen kisses, your hand slid up his thigh to tease him, as his lips slide over a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, both of you moaning lowly, as he stares at you with lidded eyes, “You sure you’ve never done this before?”
“Promise,” you flush, a rush of pride settling into heat as you saw the way he looked at you, before your lips find his again, “but you make me never want to stop,” and he growls lowly, leaning forward his hand snaking around your waist to nearly pin you down on the seat.
“Say more words like that and I may lose the hint of self control I have,” he groans, and he’s kissing you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth again, as you slide your hand into his hair, finding smoothness underneath his white locks — an undercut, fuck.
“Maybe I want you to,” you murmur, and he pulls back to look at you with his crystal gaze, dark pools of lust that made you shiver, his fingers digging into your waist.
“Don’t tempt me,” and he’s about to kiss you again, when the driver clears his throat, and the two of you glance out the tinted window and realize you have arrived back home. And the fact of the matter was the car hadn’t been moving for quite some time.
You bite your lip, “Do you want to—”
And he kisses you softly, his fingers tracing over your jaw, “I want to, but we should take this slow,” he presses another kiss to your cheek that only serves to make me pout, “it will be worth it,” and he leans in to kiss your other cheek, but you turn your head to meet his lips in another kiss, making his breath catch, as you pull away with a smirk. His lips parted, as his gaze darkens, “such a tease, princess — I was thinking you were an angel that I was corrupting, but maybe you’re the one doing the corrupting.”
“As I should be,” you grin, before pulling open the door, moving to slide out of the car, “call me?”
“If I don’t, I can always count on you calling me first,” he teases with a wink, “I’ll call tomorrow, dream of me, ok?”
“And if I don’t?” and he laughs, leaning forward with that smile that always made your heart stammer in your chest.
“Oh, you will.”
“Satoru,” you whined, “can we—”
“So impatient,” Satoru chides, chuckle rumbling from his chest, voice deliciously raspy from the makeout session they had just had, “forgot how needy you are, baby,”
And how could you not be? Splayed across his lap, your back pressed to his chest, thighs spread across his now very damp slacks, your dress riding up on either side as his hands slid up your bare legs, his touch teasing enough to have you on edge, your panties growing more drenched by the moment.
“I need—”
“You don’t know what you need,” Satoru murmurs, as his fingers brush your hair aside, “do ya, baby? You just want—” and his fingers finally tease your inner thigh, “more, don’t you? Such a greedy little princess,”
“Only for you,” and that makes him groan in your ear, his lips pressing a kiss behind it, before sucking at your earlobe, “please, Satoru,”
“We have a shopping trip planned, baby, gotta get you some new clothes for our little vacation, don’t we?” He hums, his fingers toying with the edge of your panties, “especially since you keep ruining all of yours,”
“You’re the one ruining them, baby,” you pout, your lips pressing wet kisses along his jaw, “I know we promised to take it slow, but please, I’ve been so good— don’t I deserve a little reward?”
He hums, two fingers pulling and snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin, “Let’s go shopping and I’ll see about your reward, Princess,” and your lips purse, as he chuckles, lips pressing against yours, “don’t worry it will be worth the wait.”
And it was.
That was how you ended up in this particular predicament, pressed against a changing room wall, the black dress he had insisted on you trying on for him, hiked up around your waist, as his thumb pressed against your puffy clit.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, pretty baby?” Satoru coos, his finger beginning to press against the growing wet patch on your panties, “wanted to reward you, and you look so pretty and perfect in this dress, how can I resist?”
And a whine leaves your throat, and he tuts, “Not so loud, don’t want the other shoppers to hear what we’re doing,” and his fingers finally pull aside the crotch of your soaked underwear, “you’re so fuckin’ wet, baby, you sure this pussy is a virgin?”
“Satoru, please,” and he pulls your lips into a sloppy kiss, all tongue and teeth, right as his finger finally sinks into your needy cunt. He swallows your moans eagerly, as his thick finger curls against your gummy walls, reaching places you were never able to by yourself.
“So fuckin’ tight, sweetheart, gonna break my finger, how would I fit my cock in this tight cunt?” And he drags his bulge against your ass, making you gasp at the size of it, “Gonna have to stretch it out, make you nice and loose for me,”
“Fuck,” you whisper, and he’s grinning as his lips press sweet kisses against your neck, his finger pumping in and out slowly, your slick squelching as he does, finger brushing against that spot that has your knees nearly buckling, “Satoru, I—“
“Already gonna cum, baby?” he’s humming, while your lips try and fail to pout, mouth falling open in a silent moan as your walls flutter around his finger, as he fucks you through your orgasm.
But he’s not stopping, as your hand reaches for him, he’s caught you by the wrist, a second finger sinking into your dripping cunt now, “not done with you yet, pretty baby, I know you got more left for me,” he’s scissoring and stretching your walls - curling his fingers just right so he hits that special spot of yours. And it isn’t long until you’re cumming again, his hand covering your mouth, muffling your moan as you ride his fingers.
“Satoru, please,” you’re nearly crying from the overstimulation, but you’re refusing to use your safe word, as he guides you and him to the seat in the fitting room, sitting on his lap right across from the mirror.
“Look at you, all fucked out and pretty for me,” his fingers under your chin forces you to look at yourself —- your cunt dripping and spread open, his fingers plunged inside you still, your slick dripping down his hand, “so perfect for me,” he murmurs, “think you have one more for me?”
His fingers move slowly, parting your walls, making you gasp, “Too sensitive,” you whine, but he’s sliding your lips against yours again, as his fingers begin to push into you, “Satoru,”
“C’mon baby, this is your reward,” he’s grinning against your lips, “just relax and enjoy it,”
And you don’t know how many more times he makes you cum. By the end, the dress you’re wearing was ruined, damp from the cum dripping down your thighs, “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it,” he’s cleaning you up, before sliding your underwear back into place, “now let’s find some other clothes for you, baby — need to get you out of this dress now, don’t we?”
“Do you want to stay over?” Satoru murmurs, his lips pressed to your neck, making you pause, “I’d stay over at your place, but with your roommates we’ll have an audience,” and he adds, “unless you’re into that,”
And you roll your eyes, before smiling, “what would staying over entail?”
“Anything you’d want it to,” he’s kissing your cheek, and then your jaw, and then your lips,“I just want to wake up with you — maybe make breakfast together, maybe a little more if you want to,”
“That sounds perfect,” and you knew just what you wanted for breakfast.
“Princess,” he hissed, his ocean blue eyes half lidded as he stared at you between his thighs, “this isn’t what I meant when I said I’d make you breakfast,”
And you pressed a kiss to his weeping tip — you never expected a cock to be so pretty — but why wouldn’t it be on Satoru Gojo? If a higher being existed, it gave with both hands when it came to him — the tip was flushed red, every vein and curve was perfect, and it was so long.
“Well this was exactly what I had in mind,” you grinned, your tongue flicked against his slit, collecting the pearl of precum resting there, “couldn’t wait to taste you, Toru — if I couldn’t have you fuck my cunt, I might as well have you fuck my mouth,”
He swallows thickly at your words, adam’s apple bobbing, crystalline pools clouded with lust, “Careful what you wish for, Princess,”
“I’m always careful,” you suckle at the swollen tip of his cock sloppily, drawing a moan from his lips. It was clear you were inexperienced — your lips and tongue were clumsy, your fingers grasping at his base were unsure, but the heat in your eyes only made all of your inexperience all the more arousing, “tell me what to do,”
And Satoru swallows thickly, eyes fluttering down at you, as his lips slowly curl, “start by sucking at the tip, slowly at first,” and you do just as he says, all too eager, making him liable to cum on the spot, “now trace the slit at the tip with your tong—” and he grunts as you’re already doing as he says before his sentence is done, “good girl,” and the praise sends a wave of heat through your body, your needy cunt growing wetter by the second.
“Now, want you to slide my cock into your mouth, mind your teeth,” he warns, “no rewards for bad girls who bite my dick — that’s a lesson for a different day,” he adds with a wink, making you hum around his cock, making it twitch, as you take more of his length, slowly sliding it further into your warm mouth.
He’s grunting, holding himself back from fucking your mouth then and there — there would be time for that, but right now, he needed to teach you right.
He was a teacher — first and foremost.
“Just like that, pretty,” he’s moaning, his fingers gently gripping your head, guiding your mouth up and down his cock, “that’s it — fuuuuck—” and he’s hissing when your fingers toy with his balls, as your tongue traces over his veins, forcing every muscle in his thighs from having you deep throat his cock then and there, “now can you—”
And you suck at his cock, lips wrapped around, as you stare up at him, eyes lidded with lust, thighs pressed together, as you slurped at his cock, your tongue flicking at his slit, “baby, you sure you’ve never done this before?” and his hips begin to stutter against you, making you gasp around his length, “so fucking perfect for me, baby — know what I like without even trying,”
And how is he this fucking close already? Is he the virgin or are you? His hips roll into your mouth shallowly, your fingers finding what couldn’t fit in your mouth and stroking it, all while his fingers grasp at the mussed sheets below him, “fuck, sweetheart, ‘m s’close,” and you’re only re-doubling your efforts, cheeks hollowing around him, “you don’t have to—“ but you suck at the tip, tongue laving at his length, and he’s spurting his load down your throat.
His head falls back, as his hips stutter into your mouth, fingers tugging at your hair, drawing a moan from your lips. And his half lidded eyes falling to your lips around his cock, his cum slipping down the corner of your mouth as you continue to swallow.
“Fuck, baby,” he’s panting, hissing at the sight of you as you pull your lips away from his length, strings of his cum and your spit connecting your mouth to his cock, “such a good fucking girl,” he says, nearly a growl, “my good fucking girl,”
You’re smiling up at him, watery eyes, as your tongue darts out to clean up his release from your mouth, making his breath catch, “You taste so good, Toru,” and god, you’re so cute — he wanted to spoil you, buy you the whole world and more, and he catches your thighs rubbing together — but first—
And he’s manhandling you, fingers sinking into your thighs and he’s flipping you onto your back, his chest still heaving, sweat glistening on his forehead, and a grin on his lips.
“My turn,” he murmurs, sliding his lips against yours, tongue tasting his release on your mouth, before kissing down your body, before he’s settling between your thighs.
—he was going to have his breakfast.
The semester wore on and Satoru became more and more busy with work. His messages became few and far between, and your time together dwindled to nothing. Although he still sent the stipend each month, you found your thoughts wandering to him far too often — daydreams between paragraphs of reading and review for an exam that you didn’t particularly care about.
This should be the dream right? Money for essentially no effort. You had long forsaken the days of ramen noodle dinners and scraping by on your loans — you should be happy. You could go where you wanted, do what you wanted — but why was the only place you wanted to be was with Satoru? You pulled out your phone, refreshing the notifications over and over as if it would change the outcome — but it didn’t — still no new messages from him.
Was he really busy with work? Anxiety begins to creep into your mind — or was he busy with someone else? Had he been hanging onto you on the back burner — waiting for someone better to come along? You open Satoru’s text chain — the last message sent was your own — and you chew on your bottom lip.
Were you about to break your own rule about double texting?
You type — Hey, just wanted to check on you. Been thinking about you a lot.
You delete it. Is this desperate? What if he thinks you’re desperate? You’re running your hand over your face, pressing your knuckles against your lips.
Fuck it. You type the same message and send it.
Oh, it’s worse. Texting and having to wait for a response is worse — and now you simultaneously want to constantly check your phone and also chuck it in a lake. You lay back on your bed, turning and burying your face in your pillow.
What the fuck were you doing?
Several hours pass, and you place your phone in the kitchen, as you sit in your room, trying to focus on studying for your exams, instead of thinking about whether Satoru texted you back or not. You finally allow yourself a break at dinner time, and wander out, spotting a few texts from Satoru. Your heart squeezes as you pick up your phone and check.
Hey baby, is that your way of saying you miss me?
Because I miss you too.
When’s your last exam?
You bite back a smile — it’s on this Friday — I’ll be done at 6:00 PM.
He types, and then stops, then types again, and then stops. Then he sends a simple “ok.”
And you don’t hear from him again, which only makes the rest of the week a delight to get through. You’re sure you scraped by on your exams — Friday didn’t come soon enough, but it had arrived. You stretch as you leave the exam hall — bundled up in your jacket, as you make your way back to your apartment. But only, you're not the only one outside the building.
Satoru stands, leaning against the side of the car, eyes on his phone as he stands in a long deep gray winter coat, a cream sweater underneath, looking utterly too perfect. He glances up, cerulean blue eyes finding yours, lips curling in a smile that you hoped was only reserved for you.
“Hey, sweetheart,” and you’re holding yourself back from running, quickly walking over, and he’s closing the gap as well, pulling you into his arms, his arms sliding over your jacket — “is this all you’re wearing? We need to buy you a warmer coat,”
“Satoru,” you’re shaking your head at his priorities, your fingers sliding over his front before sliding them under his jacket, “what are you doing here?”
“Well, my project finished up earlier today, so I spent the day preparing a little surprise,” he’s tilting your chin up, leaning down to brush his lips against your jaw, and you shiver — most assuredly not from the cold, “we’re going on a trip,”
“A trip?” you blink, utterly too distracted by his lips placing wet kisses up and down your jaw, nearing your lips, but always stopping short, “where—”
“A hot spring — I thought we could use some rest and relaxation,” his lips hover right over your own, his thumb dragging down your bottom lip, “and some privacy — I reserved us a private hot spring,” and his palms slide down to your hips and squeeze, “just you and me,”
“That sounds amazing — wonder what else you have planned,” your lips lean up and brush against his, making his curl into a smile, and your heart stirs — god, you didn’t care about the money, about the amenities, about the dates — he could have just taken you for a walk and you’d be happy by his side, “I missed you so much, Toru,”
And he’s kissing you again, his hand sliding back to hold the back of his neck, deepening the kiss before he pulls away. You’re panting as he does, lips kiss bitten red, “I did too, baby, it was so difficult being without you — kept thinking about seeing you. I had to hold myself back from seeing you the minute you texted,” he’s sighing, “but that’s why I thought this weekend would be perfect — spend it just with each other, no distractions,”
“Toru,” you murmur, “I need to tell you something,” you can’t hold back — you need to tell him, you need him to know, and his lips press into a pout, forehead wrinkled, “I think I have feelings for you — more than what our relationship should have,” your cheeks flush, eyes falling to the ground, and you watch your breath warm the cold air, “I don’t know if you feel the same or if we should stop, but I needed you to know because I—”
And his finger rests against your lips, eyes nearly shining in the moonlight, “You really mean that, sweetheart?” and you swallow the lump in your throat, before nodding. And he grins, before his lips find yours in a bruising kiss, pulling you impossibly closer, wrapping you in his jacket as he presses himself against you, “I have feelings for you too — I have for a while,”
“You—do?” you manage between kisses and breathes, and you look up at him with wide eyes and parted lips — and you’re so impossibly cute — he has to hold himself back from taking you against his car then and there — “Satoru, please—”
“I do, I do, sweetheart, you said you’ve never done any of this before, well I’ve never done half of the things I’ve done with you,” he murmurs, a chuckle caught in his words, “do you think I’d plan a trip like this for just anyone? I’ve never even engaged in this sort of relationship before — until I saw you,”
You pause, mouth agape, “So you’ve never had a different—”
“You’re my one and only baby,” he teases, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead, “and worth every cent, second, and effort I’ve used,” And you bite back a smile, eyes slightly glassy, “what?”
“I thought — I don’t know, when I hadn’t heard from you, I thought you had found someone else, that you were going to leave, and it just seems so silly now,” you shake your head, but he’s cupping your chin, meeting your gaze.
“It is silly, baby,” he’s pressing another kiss to your lips, “because I’d never leave you — and I’m not planning on it, are you?”
“No! No, of course not,” and he laughs at your eager reply, making your cheeks hot, as he’s burying his face in the side of your neck, “Toru—”
“At this rate, you’re gonna make me fall for you, princess,” and your fingers card through his hair, grinning as kisses your neck, and you make him look at you — pale skin flushed from the weather or your touch, it could be either.
“That’s the plan.”
“Was this part of your plan?” Satoru’s voice is caught, as looks at you — oh and he could look at you forever.
Your innocent lips painted pink, a perfect accent to the light cerulean lingerie that you had wrapped yourself in. The lace and see through panels left almost nothing to the imagination, but at the same time, hid just enough. You were a present ready to be unwrapped — and you wanted him to do the unwrapping.
“You tell me,” you chuckle, twirling a strand of your hair between your fingers, letting your legs spread further apart, making him drop the bouquet he was holding, “nothing to say?”
It had been a few weeks since your trip away and you had been hinting at wanting to finally have your first time with Satoru. But each time, he always ended up fingering you or sucking you off — he was hesitant, he didn’t want you to regret your choice.
But how to explain that you could never regret him? Well, this was the only way to think of — a hammer instead of a gentle hand.
And his gaze grows lidded, mouth dry, as he steps forward, “sweetheart—“
“You kept saying you wanted our first time to be special, but you don’t get it—“ you reach out and tug him closer by his tie, “my first time will always be special if it’s you,” you kiss his jaw, smiling, and he’s wordless as he stares at you, hesitancy eating away at your confidence “but if you don’t want—“
And he’s got you pinned under him, knee pressed between your thighs, his fingers sliding up and down your exposed skin of your sides, his perfect lips curved in a smile, “I guess we’re really not understanding each other, baby,” his lips ghost over the nape of your neck, as he inhaled deeply, before pulling back, his thumb now dragging over your lips, “I want you — badly,” and his fingers tease the fabric of your lingerie, “you don’t know how many times I’ve come close to giving into you, to wanting to just fuck you like I’ve dreamed about, fantasized about — but, I guess I was waiting for a perfect moment that didn’t exist — since every moment with you is special, right?” He teased, making you flush.
“I want you too, Toru, so bad,” you rub yourself against his knee, “I can’t wait anymore, are you gonna fuck me or—“
His knee grinding against you cuts you off with a whine, “don’t tempt me so much, sweetheart, we gotta do this right,” his lips find yours again, all tongue and teeth, as he swallows your noises and more with pleasure, his knee rubbing against you in earnest, “gotta prep you right,” he murmurs reverently.
His lips trail from your lips to press wet kisses to your jaw, and his fingers part your thigh further — and you let him with ease. And his lips tease the edge of your lingerie, “it’d be a shame to take this off, so maybe I’ll just take you in it,” his mouth closes over your clothed nipple, teasing it through the fabric, making you gasp, “but then again, I wouldn’t be able to see your body without any obstructions. Decisions, decisions,”
And he’s snapping the shoulder strap against your skin, as he pulls his knee away, the dark damp patch on the fabric, “Plesse, Toru, I need more—“ and his lips curl, as his fingers tease your clothed cunt, two fingers dragging right down the slit. The wet fabric barely doing anything to stop the press of his pads against your sensitive folds.
“So wet for me already, sweetheart? I’m flattered,” he grins, leaning down to inhale, before a soft moan leaves his lips, “your scent is as good as you taste,” making you keen against him at his words — you could never grow used to the sight of him between your thighs, his blue irises fixed on your cunt.
“Just for you, Toru,” and he bites back a groan, his gaze half lidded with lust, “only for you,”
He can’t wait anymore.
He kisses up your body, teasing your bellybutton with his tongue, dragging his mouth up your abdomen until he reaches your lips. And he kisses you again, lips burning against yours, stealing any coherent thought with only a brush of his lips or a stolen touch of your thighs. But now his lips reach the waistband of your lacy panties, giving another broad lick, tasting you through the soaked material, before he’s sliding two fingers inside the elastic tugging it down your legs.
“As much I love your lingerie — it needs to go,” and he’s sniffing the fabric with a small moan, before pocketing it with a wide grin, “for now,”
“Toru, those were expensive—“
“I know, my money paid for them,” he winks, making you shiver with a graze of his teeth against your inner thigh, “I’ll buy you as many as you like, as long I’m the only one taking them off,” his warm breath makes your cunt twitch as his fingers part your pussy, stretching out your walls — so fucking tight, “s’pretty, all for me,” his thumb brushing against your clit, making you whine, “so needy, pretty girl — you need my cock that bad?” He’s thumbing your chin, making you meet his gaze and his cock throbs — you were already so fucked out — chest nearly heaving, your breasts nearly escaping their cups; your lips parted with pants and soft moans; and your eyes fixed on him, lidded and needy — it was enough for him to cum there and then.
Was he the virgin or were you?
“I’ll give you my cock, baby,” his tongue finally licks up your cunt, savoring the taste of you on his tongue — sweetest thing he’d ever had — “but I’m going to have your cunt first,”
You’re a mess — moaning and twitching as your fingers grasp at his snowy locks, white strands between your fingers bury him deeper in your aching warmth, thighs nearly suffocating him — and he wouldn’t want to die any other way, honestly. Fuck, how is he so good at this? Two seconds, and you’re ready to squirt all over his face — the way his tongue drags against your insides and flicks against your clit, before sliding back into your sweet cunt, making your walls twitch around him.
And he can’t help but grind against his sheets and mattress, surely leaving a stain on his pants — but fuck, he couldn’t help it. All he couldn’t help it — all he wanted to was sink into you, bury himself deep inside, until he made you cum over and over — but he wanted this to be good for you.
It’s when his lips close around your clit and suck as your fingers sink into you once again and fuck you open when it’s all over for you. You’re moaning unabashedly now, your back arching and your legs trembling as you cum hard, his name on your lips in an almost scream, as he only eats you out through your orgasm, tongue lapping every drop of your release, as you come down from your high. Intense pleasure ebbs away to slight twitches and heavy pants, as you look down at him with fucked out eyes, his face absolutely covered in your glossy release, as his pink tongue darts out to collect the rest, back of his hand taking care of the rest, your cunt convulsing at the sight of him.
“Know it was good, but didn’t realize it was that good,” and he’s leaning up, sliding off the bed to strip off his jacket before undo the buttons of his shirt’s cuffs, fingers deftly undoing his button-up now, “so perfect for me,” and he’s pulling his phone from his pocket, as he leans down to part your thighs for him, his gaze dark with lust as he snaps a few pictures of your leaking cunt, “such a pretty princess cunt,” and you hear the clink of his belt as he undoes it, your gaze lifting as your eyes raked over his defined abs and muscles, following all the way down to his v-line and below…
Fuck.
You knew he was big — hell you could barely fit him in your mouth, but how the fuck was he going to fit inside you? And your nerves come back full force, but mixed with an excitement — an excitement and a relief that your first time — your first time would be with someone you loved, would be with someone that the word ‘love’ failed to encompass your feelings for.
Even when he was a teasing ass.
“Like what you see, baby?” he’s grinning, as he drags his engorged tip against your fluttering walls, smearing his pre-cum against yours, groaning as he watches it mix, “fuck, been dreaming about this for so long,” as he leans over you to press a kiss to your sweet lips, the lust mixing with love — an entire ocean of love that threatens to drown you if you look for too long, “are you sure?” the words are said with such concern, such care, such gentleness that it almost makes you want to cry — but you don’t know why.
“I am, always, when it’s you,” and your fingers find his cheek, as you lean up to kiss him, his lips curved in a smile reserved for you.
“Don’t go getting all soft on me now, sweetheart,” and you laugh.
“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you, old man—” and you gasp as he presses the tip against your entrance, waiting for your go-head to push in — but that doesn't mean he couldn’t make you eat your words.
“What was that, baby?” it’s his turn to laugh and yours to pout, before you’re pulling him close again.
“Satoru, please—” and your gazes meet again, and there’s no need for any more discussion. He moves slow, lining himself up, making sure he is lubricated enough to slip into you.
“If I’m hurting you—-”
“I’ll scream,” you tease, and he snorts.
“I’d like to see you screaming for a different reason, but that works too,” and he’s leaning down to capture your lips once more, as he sinks into you slowly. Your lips part in a gasp, your expression twisting with the discomfort you felt, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t tolerate, and his eyes meet yours, as you give a nod, and inch by inch, he fits himself in you — until he finally bottoms out.
You both groan, his fingers running through your hair, “So fucking perfect f’me, sweetheart,” and he’s not moving, letting you get used to him filling you up, “I know, it’s so much, isn’t it, baby? But you’re doing so well,” and his lips met yours again, as the slight discomfort ebbs away, all you feel is want, want as his tip finds your cervix, want as you feel your walls meld to his shape, and want when you hear the low groan stuck in his throat, “good girl, my best girl,”
And you can’t help the desperate whine that parts your throat, “Please, move,” you nod, and that’s all he needs for him to pull back and thrust back in, pulling gasps and moans from your pretty lips.
“That’s it, baby,” he grunts, as he falls into a rhythm, “fuck, your cunt is practically sucking me back in — getting the feeling you don’t want me to stop, sweetheart,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your neck, in contrast to the dirty squelch of your cunt and the slapping of your hips with his as he fucked you.
It felt so good.
Your fingers find purchase on his neck, fingers dragging through his white locks and undercut, drawing him impossibly closer, as his lips close over one of your nipples, licking and sucking as he thrusted into you. And he’s guiding your legs around his waist, and your legs pull him ever closer — ever deeper — as he groans against you. He presses sloppy wet kisses along your collarbone, his groan vibrating against your skin.
“Look at that, pretty girl, taking me so well,” he’s grunting, as he looks at where you two meet, watching himself sink into you over and over, “g’nna make you only want this cock — no one else’s — all mine,” and you’re so close — your head buried in the nape of his neck, and he could hear every pant, moan, gasp right as it left your mouth, “such pretty noises — never made these noises for anyone else, have you, baby? Just f’me,”
And you nod, eyes fluttering shut, “Close, s’close,” pleasure building, like a coil ready to snap, you can’t find the words — “I’m—“
“Cum on my cock, Princess,” his fingers press down against your clit, rubbing and that’s it, “let me make you feel good,”
Your walls clamp down hard his dick twitching in your cunt, a low groan leaving his lips, as he fucked you through your orgasm, and his hips stutter against you, low moans leaving his lips.
It felt so right. Pleasure washing over you as your toes curled, your eyes nearly rolling back, as you came. And he can’t stand it much longer —
“Where—“ he groans, your slick cunt too much for him, your cum drenching him, “I’m close—“
“Inside, please, I—“ and he gives a shaky chuckle.
“So greedy, baby — want my cum too?” He kisses you, long and soft as he moaned your name far too loud, his warm, thick load spilling inside you, as he fucked it inside, “look at that, filled you up so good,” as he finally stills inside of you, as he eases out, groaning as he watches your mixed release slip from inside you and trickle down his balls, “s’good, so perfect for me,”
He grabs a towel to clean you up, gently cleaning your thighs, murmuring sweet nothings. Before he leans down to press a kiss to your reddened lips.
“Are you okay?” He runs his fingers through your hair, and you nod, as you cup his cheek.
“I’m perfect,” you sigh, as he curls up beside you, burying his face in the nape of your neck, “and you?”
“What’s more than ‘perfect?’” And you snort, before he’s leaning over you, “what?”
“You’re such a dork,”
“But I’m your dork, your very rich dork, who loves to spoil you,” and you laugh, pulling him close.
“Just mine,” and he’s kissing you again.
“Just yours.”
And you find yourself at that same bar you did many moons ago.
You nurse a soda, instead of a drink, because you didn’t care for the taste of alcohol. Habits die hard with the company you kept. You felt the gaze of several people on you, but none of them approached — and you didn’t mind one bit.
“Mind if I sit here?” And you smile, stirring your soda with its straw, not bothering to look up at the sound of this very familiar voice. The same voice that had woken you up with several kisses to your neck this morning.
“Not at all,” you reply, as you slide over his fruity drink — some concoction that is utterly too sweet — “you’re late,”
Satoru sighs, swirling his drink in its glass. “Well, the business partners were particularly chatty. I think they knew we had dinner plans,” Satoru sips at his drink, pouting, as you comfort him with a chaste kiss to his cheek, “how’d the job interview go?”
“I think they might give me the offer,” you smile, but you shrug, leaning against the surprisingly not sticky bar counter, “I’m not too worried either way,”
“I told you don’t have to work—“
“And I told you I want at least to work part-time to contribute something,” you remind him, as you lean close, fingers lacing with his with a squeeze, “don’t worry we will spend a lot of time together,” and he’s still pouting.
“That’s not enough,”
“Plenty?” And he relents, murmuring something about “that’s better,”, “where are we going for dinner anyway?” You raise an eyebrow, “such secrecy tonight,”
“I have to keep you on your toes, sweetheart, can’t have you losing interest,” he smiles, as his fingers reach into his pocket, and you roll your eyes, unimpressed.
“Never,” you roll your eyes, as he leans over and presses a kiss to his neck, and he’s finding your lips, fingers brushing your cheek, panting as he parts, “I know you’re trying to avoid the question.”
And he only offers a grin, before he’s holding a ring before you, “take a guess,”
You stare at it, blinking, your fingers covering your mouth, “Satoru—“
“I told you a long time ago here that I wanted to be the one to take care of you — and now I’m asking to take care of you forever,” and you can’t help but grin, “I’m sure we can reach another agreement — as long as you let me call you my wife,”
And you’re already pulling him into your arms, lips sliding against his, as he melts into the kiss, “is that a yes?”
You laugh, offering your hand, “put the ring on me,” and he does, sliding it onto your finger, smiling.
“You won’t regret it,” and you kiss him again, pressing your forehead to his.
“I know,” because saying yes to marrying Satoru Gojo was surely the smartest idea you’ve ever had.
✴︎ a/n: s/o to @laneysmusings for being the best beta reader, and i was truly possessed with the idea of having gojo take care of me and hearing mei mei say that he's "so rich" and he's like " well, she ain't lying." I also didn't listen to agora hills while writing this fic, but i used all the edits of gojo to that song as insp for the title and header lol.
SUMMARY: The routine that you and your best friend have is perfect; walking to school together, getting each other through your studies, and then hanging out with no grown ups around in your favorite hidden place.
CONTENT WARNINGS: this part is pretty clean tbh, just suggestive thoughts between the reader and satoru but this part is mostly sfw
INFO: wc: ~2k — taglist application — series masterlist — main masterlist — series playlist — minor do not interact! this post contains mature content! this is available on ao3.
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Your mother, next to you, works diligently like clockwork. She hands you dish after dish for you to dry and her words don’t cease for a moment – has you wondering how one human being can possibly go so long without stopping for air. You exhale and must catch yourself every so often from rolling your eyes while she goes on and on about how a proper Catholic girl should act, what one does and doesn’t. This isn’t out of the ordinary, as she usually takes the fact that she’s got you hostage during morning chores to hit you with lecture after lecture. You can’t really find the point in it though. You’re a model student and follower of faith. You can’t honestly say that you’ve ever sinned once in your life – although we are all sinners. With the stress that your family has had you pinned under since the day of your birth, you couldn’t fathom disappointing them in any capacity. Honestly, no one would suspect you of falling out of favor either. With a priest, a devout one at that, for a best friend; how could you?
“And you know, a proper lady should-” You’ve gotten pretty good at tuning it out. Eventually, the two of you finish polishing the dishes to a spotless gleam, meaning that the morning chores that the women of the house are assigned are complete. You’re a bit ahead of schedule and, normally, mommy dearest would take advantage of the extra time to cram in some housework that doesn’t need doing. She gives you a sympathetic look and pats a damp hand on your clothed shoulder. “Why don’t you get ready for school a little early today? The house looks fine.” You smile at her mercy (your knees cannot handle scrubbing anymore floors) and thank your mother. She shoos you off muttering about how Satoru will be around soon to escort you to school anyway and that you can’t have him waiting around outside today. What will the neighbors think? She worries.
Vanity isn’t encouraged in the slightest so when she says to go get ready for school, that’s exactly what it is. You imagine that other girls (who can go to secular schools) spend their mornings finding ways to make themselves look more attractive and doing their hair in more elaborate ways. You’d love to see it fan across your pretty face, but a proper lady wears it up. It’s important to look feminine – but not too sexual. Your mother's mantra echoes throughout your head relentlessly even when she’s not around. It’s like you’ve been successfully brainwashed.
A quick glance out of the window would prove that the weather is getting better, as the months wind down and winter melts into spring. The school year is ending, and you’ll start your fourth year soon. White hair and long lashes to match flashes across your vision. Satoru always shines in the sunlight so brightly. “Y/N.” He approaches you, his nickname for you always in his greeting. You’ve been friends with Satoru since infancy. He may be a man of the Church now, taking the vows directly after high school and joining the priesthood but, to you, he hasn’t changed at all. “Mrs. L/N didn’t work you too hard this morning, did she?” Your exhaustion must show on your face and you try to straighten yourself up as well as you can – your homeroom teacher is gonna love reprimanding you.
“A little.” But a proper lady doesn’t dare complain and especially not to a man. “It’s not so bad.” She fake smiles at any given opportunity – must be feminine. And Satoru usually believes it. Still, sometimes you must catch yourself. You can’t be authentic around him anymore. He’s not just your best friend anymore. Every time your mother catches you calling him by his family name or given name, that’s a good way to get a slap on the wrist. He must be called father now; although he’s adamant about you calling him by either of his names when the two of you are in private. It’s too weird having you call me father, Y/N, he’d insisted the first time your mother got on your case about respecting a man of the church. The two of you start on the path that usually leads through the woods and past the river - eventually landing you at the school.
Gojo was worried about not being able to be the one that gets to escort you to school every morning. He’s a year older than you so he finished his education first, but the church assigned him to teach bible studies to children over ten years old every morning, so he gets to go there regardless. Sometimes the two of you see each other in the halls, coming back from classes so, essentially, nothing has changed between the two of you (save for the forced formalities in the presence of your mother). The sun warms your skin as the two of you make your way through the woods, having extra time today affords such a luxury. He towers over you at roughly six feet and three inches, so Gojo blocks the sun from you sometimes, but his presence is always welcome with you. “Your homeroom is gonna be a bitch. I caught a glimpse at her lesson plan yesterday and, yikes.” You can feel your friend easing into his regular personality, now that he knows the two of you are really alone. Your house is considered out of the way, so this path is always pretty neglected.
Your hand flies up to worry at your forehead. “I did not wanna hear that!” You groan. This day just got started and you’ve already been beaten. Your friend beams at you, all pearly whites – a smile that could get you through a hundred Mondays. The only reason you’ve bothered to stay in school this long all thanks to his support. The two of you enter through the closer entrance (the back of the school) and navigate your way through the halls. “You’re the smartest girl here, Y/N.” Satoru assures you calmly. “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about it. If I could finish school, you definitely can.” And a small part of Gojo wants to give you a hug, just to reassure you.
The two of you haven’t had physical contact with each other since you were at least ten, then the parental warnings to never touch the opposite sex started coming – and neither of you wanted your souls damned straight to hell so you listened – but the urge to comfort you is almost too powerful sometimes. The hallways bustle with chatter. At least fifty girls, all wearing the same uniform as you, whisper about the tall and handsome Gojo right next to you but his eyes stay glued to his best friend. “Maybe we can fit in some studying right before,” He mumbles. “You still have like twenty minutes – unless you wanna use that to decompress.” Daggers are thrown at you before long. Why is she standing so close to him? They’ll wonder. It’s not like they (or anyone) know how good of friends you and Satoru are with him having to go to the boy’s campus while he was still in school. Things probably look compromising and, fuck, if you aren’t terrified of disgracing your family. You distance yourself far enough from your friend so that it could be considered decent.
“I’m fine, actually. I need to de-” You stutter, eyes darting about the hallway. “Decompress like you said.” He can read you like his favorite book, cover to cover, but Gojo doesn’t press you. Just nods as a farewell before heading off into the direction of his classroom where he’ll have to teach the kids. I’ll see her at after class, he thinks. The two of you usually meet in the meadow nearby the school, goofing around and joking without people breathing down your necks and analyzing your every move – just searching for an inkling of sin… searching for sin that’s never been between the two of you.
Your classes are just as brutal as you prophesied but you manage to scrape by with passing marks. The day drags on, which is not out of the ordinary, and you go about it in your reliably ordinary way. Classes that you allow to hold you hostage. Classmates that you could never consider friends. The school day holds no surprises, and it flutters by just as it usually does – leaving you to wonder why you live this way. Do you live the same day over and over again because you’ve been told to? The walk to the empty field always proves to be enough time to ask yourself this question but never enough time to provide an answer.
You find yourself standing behind the building alone, swatting at mosquitoes while you wait for Satoru. The wind hits your face in comforting waves, providing relief from the sun. You allow yourself to shut your eyes, letting the dread for returning home leave your head space; thanking Gojo for lying to your parents about you having fake mandatory tutorial sessions after school so that the two of you could sneak away to the meadow for unsupervised moments. “Y/N!” He calls behind you. You catch Satoru rounding a corner and settling into a jog to meet you. “Didn’t keep you waiting, did I?”
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks, dark shades on the bridge of his nose to protect his eyes from the sunlight. “Not at all.” Summer is only beginning but it feels as though it’s already in full swing, waves of solar energy hitting the two of you as you trek down the cobblestone path that leads to the open field. Most of the time, you nap while Satoru reads a book (often taking the time to memorize scripture) or you’ll sketch whatever you see fly or hop by while he takes the nap but you both let the sun drain you today. You find yourself resting the back of your head against the trunk of one of the few trees that can be found while he relaxes his body on the incline of the hill next to you.
The sun never ceases its attack on the two of you, prompting Satoru to allow his shirt to ride up on his stomach to save a sliver of skin from being overheated. He does it to make himself more comfortable, not thinking much of the action but from the moment his hand shifts to push the fabric up to the moment it moves back up to brush his damp bangs out of his face, your eyes are glued to his figure. There’s something cathartic about every inch of skin your best friend lets you see. You remember swimming with him, while he was shirtless, when the two of you were like eight. The burgeoning abs he’s sporting are nothing short of proof that… the two of you aren’t kids anymore. Your knees involuntarily squeeze together. Satoru is becoming a man. You busy your hands with the hem of your blouse, anything to distract yourself from the feelings you’re having. His eyes are still shut. There’s no way he could see the curious wheels turning in your head as you allow your thoughts to be dictated by temptation.
Cicadas begin to cry around the two if you as the afternoon fades on. “We don’t have to hang out here every day,” You start, shaking your head in attempt to knock those thoughts out of your head. “If you’re too uncomfortable in the heat.” It’s a flimsy excuse and you know it. It’s not that you don’t want to spend time with your best friend. You just don’t know how to do that anymore. He only hums in response, laziness sinking into his muscles. Satoru mumbles that he doesn’t mind, sounding as if he’s about to pass out any minute now. And, unbeknownst to you, Gojo allows himself to daydream about you just as often as you dream about him. The closeness between the two of you began to feel thicker as the years went on.
He cracks an eye open when he’s certain that you’re looking away from him, several moments passing the two of you by as if you’re frozen in a painting that depicts two lovers in the spring. The hem of your skirt has grown wrinkled with the way you let your hands idly tangle in it, allowing his imagination to run in circles just as well. A bit of the skin from your thigh is available for his eyes to peer at, but only for a shameful moment. “I want whatever you want.” He finishes the unresolved conversation off with sincerity.
