The Space Between Messages (Ch. 37)
A/N: smut-heavy, 18+ only, for the love of god, MDNI!!
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“You’re telling me,” Emily drawled, wicked delight flickering in her eyes, “Sugar Daddy Satoru chaperoned your sister’s dance, saved you from those lethal heels, and massaged your feet?”
You cleared your throat. “Well, he was technically warming my feet.”
Her brow lifted, “That’s worse.”
“It’s not like that,” you insisted quickly, waving a hand as if that could erase the implication. “He was just—He’s always been very… protective ”
"Mhm..." she lifted her mug with solemn ceremony, taking a small, deliberate sip of her coffee, “Marry him.” She said, like it was the most logical conclusion in the world.
You swallowed, your coffee suddenly tasting sharper than it had a second ago. “… it was just spur-of-the-moment.”
The words felt flimsy the second they left your mouth.
Emily didn’t even blink. She just stared at you over the rim of her mug, unimpressed. “Did you sleep with him?”
And when you really thought about it, that was what unsettled you most. The tension had been suffocating. The intimacy staggering. But he hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t rushed. He’d simply stayed—steady and patient.
Emily set her mug down with a soft clink. “That’s not casual. That’s husband material.”
“It’s not that simple, Em.”
Your gaze drifted to the silver-framed photo on the coffee table. Suguru’s arm was wrapped around you, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he smiled. That was before everything. Before the jujutsu world swallowed him whole. Before he became a memory instead of your future.
Kai knew the man in the picture was his papa. He knew he wasn’t here anymore. But you kept the details soft, gentle. He was six. He only needed the good parts.
“He was Suguru’s best friend,” you whispered.
Emily’s teasing melted instantly. “You loved him, he gave you Kai,” she said, reaching for your hand, “But you’re allowed to keep living.”
As if on cue, your phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with his name. “Gojo.” It had been buzzing nonstop since the spring dance. You hadn’t answered a single one.
“Why don’t you give him a chance?” Emily squeezed your hand gently. “Maybe start by answering his calls.”
Your chest tightened. The conversation felt eerily familiar—like something you’d already lived through in a dream. And in that dream, things spiraled. Whipped cream. Breathless confessions. A line you weren’t sure you were ready to cross. You shook your head, refusing to believe it.
Just then, the pitter-patter of small feet announced Kai’s arrival. He stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Mama,” he mumbled, “I’m hungry.”
You scooped him up, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Morning, monster. Did you brush your teeth?” He shook his head.
Emily made a show of pinching her nose. “I can smell it from here, champ!” she teased.
And it was happening. The dialogue, exactly like you remembered it from your dream now.
“You okay?” Emily asked, her playful smile fading.
“Yeah,” you responded, your voice strained.
“Go brush and I’ll make—”
Pancakes almost slipped off your tongue. Nope. Not pancakes.
You knew that for Kai, that would involve whipped cream, and that was a risk you were absolutely not willing to take.
“Breakfast,” you finished, deciding on eggs. Eggs were safe.
He scampered off down the hall.
You stood and moved toward the fridge, pulling out the carton of eggs.
A sharp knock echoed from the living room before you could even grab a bowl. Emily, ever the helpful one, rose to get it.
She opened the door, and there he was. Satoru Gojo, looking like a storm contained in human form. Emily let him in, her expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. . He stepped inside, his eyes finding you instantly.
“There you are,” you heard him say, the words carrying a strange, heavy weight.
“S…Satoru,” you stammered, your fingers tightening against the countertop as you turned to face him.
“You’re hard to reach,” he said smoothly, his gaze unwavering. “I was starting to think you changed your number. Or blocked me. Which would’ve hurt, by the way.”
“You can’t just show up here,” you said
He tilted his head slightly. “Apparently I can.”
Just then, Kai burst out of the bathroom, face damp and bright.
“It’s Gojo-man!” he announced proudly.
He trotted over, tugging your shirt, whispering loudly, “Mama… he looks like Kakashi-sensei.”
A slow grin tugged at Satoru’s mouth.
“Kakashi?” he mused. “Masked, devastatingly talented, unfairly attractive. Honestly? Accurate.” (leans closer to Kai) “But I’ve got better eyes.”
Kai beamed. “Mama, can we have pancakes? With lots of whipped cream?”
Your stomach dropped. “I don’t think we have any whipped cream, bud.”
“Yes we do!” Kai darted to the fridge and proudly held up the can.
Your fingers curled around it.
Satoru leaned down conspiratorially. “Pancakes with whipped cream? That’s visionary thinking.” (dramatic nod) “You’ve got leadership qualities, kid.”
From the table, Emily watched silently, sipping her coffee with infuriating smugness.
You cleared your throat. “Satoru, this isn’t a good time.”
The humor faded from his expression.
Your pulse stumbled. “Goodbye?”
Special grade, you realized instantly.
“Oh,” you said softly, your eyes finally meeting his.
Emily read the tension perfectly and immediately scooped Kai up. “Hey champ. McDonald’s? My treat.”
Kai gasped as though she had proposed a trip to the moon. “Oh yes, Mama, can I please? I want a happy meal and to play in the ball pit!”
You shot Emily a glare, though there wasn’t much heat behind it. Turning to Kai, you forced a small smile. “Of course, my love.”
Emily’s grin turned positively wicked over Kai’s head. “We’ll be back later,” she sang, implication dripping from every syllable. “Way, way later.”
She winked—and just like that, they were gone.
The click of the lock echoed louder than it should have. The silence that followed wasn’t just quiet; it pressed in on you, thick and suffocating, like the air had been vacuumed out of the room.
Satoru hadn’t moved from the doorway. He didn’t need to. His presence alone filled the apartment, heavy and impossible to ignore. His gaze tracked you carefully—the way your shoulders trembled, the way your fingers curled around the whipped cream can like it was something solid to hold onto.
“Is everything alright?” you asked, setting the can down with a soft clink.
“Special grade curse,” he replied with a shrug, as if he were commenting on the weather forecast. “You know. Light cardio.”
Your stomach tightened. “Satoru… be careful.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Please. It’s basically a cakewalk. I’ll be gone a few weeks.”
“Oh.” The word felt painfully small.
Another step, crowding into your space, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “After I heroically rescued you from the tyranny of high heels and provided elite foot-warming services, that’s all I get?”
You tried to steady your breathing.
He leaned down slightly, voice dropping just enough to make your pulse stumble. “Not even a kiss for good luck?”
You blinked at him, then folded your arms. “Oh? I didn’t realize the strongest sorcerer needed luck.”
His grin softened—just a fraction. “It’s not about what I need,” he murmured, closing the last inch between you. “It’s about what I want.”
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, even as your heart betrayed you.
He was close enough now that his warmth wrapped around you.
Your thoughts spiraled. You needed to stop this. Before another line blurred. Before it became something you couldn’t undo. Before it meant something—for you, for Kai. Before it tangled itself too tightly with the memory of Suguru.
Warm fingers slipped beneath your chin, lifting your face before the spiral could pull you under.
“Wasn’t about to skip town without one last look at you,” he murmured, his thumb stroking the line of your jaw, his gaze dropping to your mouth like a promise.
Your breath hitched. He grinned, slow and knowing. “And I know you’re too stubborn to admit it…” His fingers slid down, settling right over your frantic pulse. “But this?” He pressed down, just enough to make you gasp. “This is all for me.”
Your heart felt like it might burst.
His fingers didn’t stay there. They drifted—slowly, intentionally—down the column of your throat to your collarbone, tracing the delicate curve before continuing down your arm. He trailed along the sensitive inside of your arm to your wrist, then back up again, mapping you like he had all the time in the world. Your breath hitched when his hand finally settled at your waist.
“Satoru,” you managed, a fragile whisper.
“Y/N,” He leaned in, his lips barely ghosting over yours.
Then he kissed you, a slow, lingering press that was both a question and an answer, a silent affirmation of everything that had been building between you.
His hand tightened at your waist as he deepened the kiss. When his tongue brushed the seam of your lips — asking — you let out a shaky breath and opened for him.
He pulled back slowly, your breathing uneven, the space between you heavy with everything unsaid.
You met his gaze, and the stunning blue staring back at you was so disarmingly beautiful it felt almost dangerous to linger.
“There it is again,” he breathed into you, pressing soft kisses along your neck before trailing back toward your mouth.
“W-what?” you asked shakily.
He paused just enough to look at you.
“That look,” he murmured, “The same one from the janitor’s closet.”
His lips lingered at your pulse before drifting lower, “You were so flustered..."
“...Eyes wide,” he said against your skin, amusement threading through his tone, "Like I was the only person in the world.”
You could feel the smug curve of his smile against your skin.
“You’re so full of yourself,” you managed, though it came out softer than intended.
“Mm,” he hummed softly. “And yet…”
His hand slipped beneath your shirt like it belonged there, palm settling warm against your stomach, fingers spreading slowly — testing, teasing.
“You’ve been mine since that second, Y/N,” he murmured.
The audacity. The unbelievable, infuriating ego of this man. You should’ve shoved him away for the arrogance alone, but instead, your pulse betrayed you, because some part of you remembered that moment too. And how it had felt like falling.
Another teasing drag of his fingers upward, just enough to make your breath stutter.
“I’ve just been waiting,” he whispered near your ear, “for you to catch up.”
His mouth was everywhere — your lips, your neck, the curve of your collarbone — open, claiming, intoxicating. Each kiss lingered just long enough to leave you breathless.
You felt yourself slipping.
His hand, already beneath your shirt, slid slowly upward, deliberate and warm, unraveling you inch by inch.
There was no suppressing it anymore.
His scent wrapped around you, rich and warm, blurring every line of reason.
…Had he been right? Had some part of you always been leaning toward him?
For a dangerous second, it felt true.
Your mind screamed at you to stop — but your body hadn’t caught up yet.
No. This was wrong. It had to be.
“S-Satoru… wait,” you stammered, pressing weakly against his chest.
His hands stilled—but didn’t leave you, he stepped back just enough to search your face.
“Do you want me to stop?” His voice wasn’t just low—it was amused. Like he already knew. Like he could see straight through you.
You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t look at him. All you could do was shake your head, a frantic, silent denial.
“Good,” he murmured, “Cause I’m done waiting,” the smug satisfaction in his tone sending a fresh wave of heat through you.
He lifted you onto the kitchen counter like you weighed nothing—because to him, you didn’t. The granite was cool against your overheated skin, but his hands were warm, big, everywhere at once. They moved from your thighs to your hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there before sliding upward beneath your shirt with lazy confidence.
One hand left your waist, tangling into your hair, fingers curling at the base of your skull as he tipped your head back to kiss you.
Deep. Claiming. Slow enough to steal the air from your lungs.
Your breath hitched as his other hand continued higher to the clasp of your bra. “Let’s fix this.” One smooth flick—effortless. Of course it was. He tugged the straps down your arms and pulled the lace free from under your shirt, discarding it on the floor.His eyes never left yours as he slowly lifted your shirt, exposing your bare breasts to the cool air of the kitchen.
An overwhelming wave of self-consciousness washed over you. You’d always been insecure, and after Kai… the stretch marks, the C-section scar… you instinctively moved to cover yourself, your hands rising to shield the evidence of your body’s journey.
He caught your wrists before you could.
“…Are you seriously trying to hide from me?” he asked, brows lifting in disbelief, amusement flickering in his eyes.
“From me?” he repeated softly. “I have the Six Eyes. I see everything.” His thumb brushed over your pulse as he leaned closer. “And there’s nothing here I’d ever look away from.”
He didn’t give you time to respond. He dipped his head, precise and intent. Instead of avoiding the marks you hated, he traced them slowly with his tongue, deliberate and possessive. When he reached your scar, he bit gently beside it—a quiet, claiming gesture that made your back arch.
A soft, helpless sound escaped you, your hands tightening in his hair. Your thighs pressed inward instinctively, body reacting faster than your thoughts could keep up.
He pulled back just enough to watch your reaction, eyes dark with satisfaction. His hands slid up your sides again. “Try to hide from me again,” he added casually, “and I’ll take it as a challenge.”
He straightened slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before that familiar, dangerous grin spread across his face again, hand drifting toward the whipped cream can sitting innocently on the counter.
The look in his eyes gave him away instantly.
You narrowed yours. “Don’t.”
“You know,” he mused, picking up the can and weighing it in his palm, “people say I have a sweet tooth.”
He gave it a deliberate shake, the sharp hiss rattling through the quiet kitchen.
“I prefer to think of it as… refined taste.”
He sprayed a perfect white swirl on each of your nipples. The shocking cold made you gasp and jump. He hummed in approval, clearly pleased with himself.
“Stay still,” he murmured, voice dropping, playful arrogance melting into something heavier as his gaze darkened. “I worked hard on the presentation.”
He stepped in closer, one hand steadying your hip as he leaned down. His mouth was warm — infuriatingly warm — against the cool contrast, his tongue slow and deliberate as he tasted the mess he’d made.
He didn’t rush. He took his time, savoring every second, drawing it out just to feel the way your body responded. When he sucked harder, a sharp jolt of pleasure shot straight to your clit, pulling a breathy moan from your lips. Your fingers slid into his hair, holding him there without conscious thought.
By the time he finally pulled back, any hesitation had melted away. Your hands moved over him with growing confidence, slipping beneath his shirt and flattening against his chest. Warm, solid muscle shifted under your palms as you traced the firm planes of his torso. Your nails grazed lightly across his stomach, and when he inhaled sharply at the touch, a spark of boldness flared inside you.
“Off,” you breathed, tugging at the fabric. “Take it off.”
“Oh?” he murmured, amused. “Getting bold now?”
A low chuckle rumbled through him, but he obliged, dragging the shirt over his head and tossing it aside.
“You’re staring,” he said softly.
“You’re impossible,” you shot back, though your hands were already roaming again, exploring the heat and strength beneath your fingertips.
He let you look. Let you touch. His gaze never left your face, watching the subtle shifts in your expression as your hands mapped his body.
“Like what you see?” he asked lightly, though the edge in his voice betrayed just how much he enjoyed it.
Instead of answering, you surprised even yourself.
Suddenly bold, you leaned in. Your lips brushed just beneath his collarbone before trailing lower, slow and deliberate. You kissed the firm planes of his chest, then down the defined lines of his stomach, your tongue flicking out to taste warm skin.
His reaction was immediate.
A sharp inhale tore from him — almost a gasp — his head tipping back slightly as his muscles tightened beneath your mouth.
The sound of his voice—unsteady for once—sent a dangerous thrill straight through you.
A low groan followed, deeper this time, vibrating through his chest. One of his hands slid to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair — not forcing, just holding, like he needed something solid to steady himself.
Then, in one smooth motion, he lifted you from the counter. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as his mouth claimed yours in a deep, possessive kiss. He carried you toward the bedroom without breaking contact, laying you back gently against the mattress.
A can thudded softly onto the nightstand.
You stared up at him, breathless, as he tugged your pants down, the fabric whispering over your skin until you were left in nothing but your panties. He stripped off his own pants, leaving only his tight briefs. The unmistakable hardness beneath the fabric pressed against your most sensitive spot as he leaned over you, caging you in.
You gasped at the contact.
Reaching up, he untied the blindfold from around his neck with a quick pull.
but he was already guiding the soft, familiar fabric over your eyes, plunging you into darkness—where every touch, every breath, felt sharper and infinitely more intense.
“Don’t think,” he commanded, his voice thick with desire as he secured the blindfold behind your head. “Just feel.”
You felt the brush of his lips against your breast, the wet heat of his tongue circling your nipple. You felt his mouth travel down, down, down, leaving a trail of fire across your stomach. You felt the sharp, delicious scrape of his teeth as he gripped the waistband of your panties with them, slowly, torturously, pulling them down your legs. The cool air hit your heated flesh, making you shiver.
You heard the faint hiss of the whipped cream can a second before the shocking cold hit your clit. You jolted, a sharp cry tearing from your lips. “Ah! Satoru!”
And then he was on you. His mouth sealed over you, his tongue delving into the sweet mess he’d made. He ate you out with a feverish, desperate hunger, his hums of pleasure vibrating through your core.
“Mmm… so good, Y/n… His words were muffled against you, but they sent a jolt straight to your core, "you taste so fucking good.”
“Ngh… Satoru… " you whined, your hands flying to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you held him to you, "please…”
Satoru hummed again, pleased, giving your clit one last lingering suck before moving lower. His mouth latched onto the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, sucking hard, drawing the flesh between his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. The sharp sting made your hips twitch restlessly.
Then he went back to his feast, nudging your thighs wider as his mouth returned to your core. The sharp sting of the hickeys was a delicious counterpoint to the wet heat building between your legs as he ate you out with a single-minded focus that made your head spin.
He eased one long finger inside you, then a second, curling them expertly.
You cried out his name, your back arching. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure building so fast it terrified you. You could feel yourself clenching around him, your inner muscles fluttering uncontrollably.
“mm… Good girl” he groaned, his voice a dark, encouraging rumble. “let go for me, Y/N.” The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth on you filled the room, mingling with your desperate moans. You were so close, teetering right on the edge, when he suddenly pulled back.
“Wait,” he panted, and you whimpered in protest.
You felt the bed shift as he moved, and then the blindfold was gone. Blinking against the soft light of your room, your eyes found his. They were feral, burning with an intensity that stole your breath. His hair was damp with sweat, his lips swollen and glistening.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough. “I want to see you come undone.”
He slid his fingers back into you, his thumb circling your clit as he leaned down to kiss you. You tasted yourself on his tongue, a sweet, musky flavor that made your head spin. “Satoru… God, Satoru… ngh…”
“Y/N…” His gaze held yours, unwavering, as he whispered, “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this…”
The orgasm hit like a detonation—blinding, explosive. A scream tore from your lungs as your body convulsed beneath him, wave after wave wracking through you. He worked you through it, fingers relentless, mouth brushing praises against your skin until you collapsed boneless against the sheets.
You were exhausted, spent, but he gave you no time to recover. You looked up and he was over you again, briefs still on, the hard length of him dragging against your oversensitive folds.
“You didn’t think we were done, did you?” he growled, teasing and predatory. He thrust against you, the friction maddening.
“Ngh… ah… Satoru… t-take it off,” you panted.
“mm.. Bossy. I like it, ” He chuckled, a dark, triumphant sound.
“Sh-shut up,” you gasped, pulling his face down to yours.
He kissed you, smirk obvious against your lips as he finally shucked his briefs. A second later he was hovering over you, the thick, blunt head of his cock nudging against your entrance.
He leaned close, mouth brushing your ear.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, low and deliberate as he pushed forward—slow, measured—watching every flicker of your expression as he eased inside you. “I want to hear it.”
“You,” you choked out as he filled you inch by inch. “a… all of you.”
A low, satisfied hum vibrated from his chest as he sank deeper, savoring the way your body clung to him.
His mouth moved down your collarbone, leaving marks in his wake before drifting to your breasts. His breathing turned ragged against your skin as he thrust into you. A loud sound escaped you as he shifted his hips just right.
“Fuck, California girl…” he breathed, the curse slipping out half-laugh, half-groan, like even he was surprised you could unravel him like this. “…You feel—hah—unreal.”.
He leaned closer, brushing his lips against yours, barely kissing you. “Guess that makes sense,” he added, smugness threading through every word. “The strongest deserves the best”
“God,” you gasped “you’re in…” he thrust harder “sufferable.” Your complaint dissolved into a moan.
His pace picked up, sharper now, deliberate. “So… fucking… tight” he panted “
He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back into you in one swift, powerful motion that stole your breath.
Suguru had made love like a promise. Satoru moved like a confession dragged out of him by force — raw, unfiltered, years of restraint snapping all at once. And God help you — you let him.
“Nghh! Satoru!” Your nails dug into his back, scraping against his skin as you held on. You bit down on his shoulder, the sharp, salty taste of his skin a desperate anchor against the tidal wave of sensation.
He set a relentless pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. “When you moan my name like that,” he panted, “it’s a problem. A very, very good problem.” His hand slid down to grip your hip, holding you in place as he pounded into you.
Your voice was thin, breathless, pleading. “T..too much." You whimpered.
He leaned down and swallowed your moans with a kiss, his tongue claiming yours as he pushed you right to the edge.
“This… ngh… is what happens…” he snarled, words punched out with each punishing thrust, “When you—fuck— screen my calls—”
“Sa… toru,” you gasped, the syllable tearing from your throat as your eyes rolled back, the world dissolving into a blinding, white-hot flash behind your lids.
The sound of his name on your lips makes him pant, his own control wavering, “Fuck, that’s it… hah… mm…” A guttural groan tears from his throat, his rhythm faltered, his body going rigid as his own orgasm crashed over him.
He buried himself deep inside you with a final, powerful thrust, his body shuddering as he came, pulsing his release into you. He collapsed against you, panting.
With effortless strength, he shifted, flipping you until you were sprawled across his chest. Your skin was flushed, your limbs heavy, his heartbeat pounding wild beneath your ear His fingers traced idle circles along your spine.
“Maybe answer the phone next time,” he murmured into your hair, smugness returning—but thinner now, softer. “’Cause I’m not letting you slip away again.”
The words settled over you, heavy and certain.
As the intensity slowly ebbed, the haze of pleasure gave way to something quieter—sharper. Reality crept back in, steady and unavoidable. The rush drained from your veins, leaving clarity in its place. Your shoulders tensed. Your fingers curled faintly against his chest.
“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low against your hair, his hand continuing its slow, grounding path along your back.
You hesitated, swallowing.
“I’m terrified, Satoru… of going back to that world,” you confessed, unable to mask the tremor in your voice. “And of what it could mean for us—for Kai. If the higher-ups discover the truth… if they turn it into something political. Or something dangerous…”
His arm tightened around you without hesitation.
“Hey…” he murmured softly.
You looked up at him at the gentle shift in his tone.
His beautiful cerulean eyes searched yours—steady, warm, certain. One hand slid from your back to your cheek, thumb brushing along your skin in a slow, reassuring caress.
“They wouldn’t dare,” he said, leaning his forehead against yours for just a breath. His gaze softened, but the resolve in it never wavered. “They wouldn’t dare touch what’s mine.”
The words weren’t possessive in arrogance—only protective. Certain.
And then he kissed you again.
Deep. Anchoring. A promise pressed into your lips as his hand cradled your jaw.
For a moment, everything else disappeared.
Then—Your phone buzzed against the nightstand.
Satoru leaned sideways just enough to squint at the screen, white hair falling into his eyes.
ETA 20 min, make sure you’re decent 😉
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
His hand tightened instinctively at your waist again, pulling you closer like he could physically hide you from the universe.
“Fuck,” you mumbled into his chest.
“Satoru, you’ve— I—” you shoved at him lightly. “You gotta go. Kai’s on his way back.”
You scrambled off him and bolted for the bathroom, twisting the shower handle on full blast like you were diffusing a bomb.
“Want me to join you?” his voice drifted from the bedroom, sinful amusement threading through every syllable.
You froze for half a second.
You knew exactly where that would lead.
“Nope. Nope. Absolutely not,” you called back, slamming the door shut.
You took the fastest shower of your life, scrubbing like you were erasing a crime scene. When you emerged, breathless and dressed, Satoru was leaning against the doorframe — fully clothed, hair perfect, looking unfairly composed.
“Pity,” he said, eyes dragging slowly over you. “I would’ve loved to.”
You ignored him, scanning the bedroom like a paranoid detective. You snatched up discarded clothes, grabbed the whipped cream can from your comforter like it personally offended you, and ripped the sheets off the bed in one aggressive motion.
He watched with lazy amusement.
“Aw,” he said lightly. “You’re cute when you panic.”
You glared at him, shoving his shirt into his chest. “Okay. Okay. I think I got everything.”
The two of you moved to the living room, sitting in a stiff, electrically charged silence just as a sharp knock echoed through the apartment.
“Mama!” Kai burst in first, launching himself at you. “I went to McDonald’s and ate all the chicken nuggets!”
“Wow,” you managed weakly. “That’s… impressive.”
Behind him, Emily stepped inside — and immediately clocked the vibe.
Her gaze drifted past you, landed on Satoru, then flicked back to you, and down to the floor by the kitchen counter. A tiny, lacy piece of evidence you’d missed. Your bra. Your blood ran cold, mortification washing over you in a nauseating wave.
Emily’s lips curved into a wicked, satisfied smirk.
Satoru followed her gaze. In one smooth, almost invisible motion — faster than humanly reasonable — he bent, scooped it up, and slid it into his pocket without breaking stride.
“I’d better go,” he said, his tone maddeningly casual as he drifted toward the door like this was all just a polite afternoon drop-in.
“Yep,” you croaked. “Yeah.”
You couldn’t exactly kiss him goodbye with your son clinging to your leg like a barnacle.
His hand settled on the doorknob.
You frowned — and then saw his name.
Heat crept up your neck, blooming hot across your cheeks as you opened the message.
Gojo: Feels illegal to leave without kissing you.
You swallowed, fingers hovering over the screen while your pulse thudded traitorously in your ears.
Across the room, he hadn’t turned around yet — but you knew he was waiting.
You typed back before you could lose your nerve.
That slow, devastating smile curved over his shoulder.
Gojo: Interest will accrue.
You almost dropped your phone.
“I’ll… be in touch,” he added lightly.
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Or,” he said, voice soft with amusement, “you can try screening my calls again.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Absolutely not.”
He gave a lazy, two-fingered wave and was gone, leaving you to face your best friend’s triumphant stare.
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Which Gojo line lives rent free in your head?
“You’ve been mine since that second.”
“There’s nothing here I’d ever look away from.”
“They wouldn’t dare touch what's mine."
“Interest will accrue.”
Voting ended onMar 2
Fanart credits — Pic 2: @lyly15.zz (Instagram). Pic 1: artist unknown.
