Nee Nee

22 years old… yo mama. just my thots :)

[madamechrissy]

the king's mistress runs into the arms of the enemy prince!

You were the King's secret lover, and he is going to be married to another, a beautiful, perfect Princess in fact. You, just a lowly maid and servant can't bear to see the love of your life with another, even with his 'generous offer' to stay a mistress. So you rush off to the neighboring prince and seek employment dick elsewhere - with a man the king utterly hates! what could go wrong?

cruel! king x maid! reader x mad! prince

patreon series- chapter three is out now! preview below <333

"And spin," the instructor says softly, yet with that authority, having you do exactly as they bid. “Hold hands… again, spin. Step.” 

Your eyes are focused on your feet beneath you, biting your lip and concentrating as much as you can, until you hear the Prince clear his throat.

"Eyes up here," he murmurs quietly, a little more serious than the prince usually can be. "You can do it, can't you? Look me in the eyes?"

"Yes, " you falter a bit as you meet his gaze, stumbling as the Prince catches you like its pure reflexes. “Of course I can.

"Should I give you a good lashing with every step you miss?" You swear you're mishearing him - so quiet it was only for you, a murmur against your earlobes.

"What did you say, your highness?" He smirks a bit, lashes flickering when he pulls back, tilting his head so that it leans low over you. "Surely I misheard!” You hiss, as his sister is giggling and running off from the instructor, holding onto her skirts.

"Hmm, perhaps you did not mishear," you almost squeak when his hand glides to your hip, pressing in and making you almost audibly moan. "Keep focused, or you’ll get them."

Focus, focus, focus.

How can you focus when this prince is ruining your psyche? When he is making you imagine such lashings? Oh, you’ve had your ass beat by the king during sex, as he shoved your head down against the bed, cock gliding in and out, until your ass was littered with handprints.

Had he ever just punished you though, no – you can’t act as if the thought doesn’t absolutely intrigue you though.

“Lashings,” you repeat quietly, smiling a bit in this way that fucks him up. “Do you give lashings to your help? I thought you to be a kind Prince.”

“I would make an exception to see it bounce just so,” he whispers, the instructor is gone now, the little Princess had run off through the halls, leaving the two of you quite scandalously alone.

You can’t figure him out, this Prince.

He’s so sweet and then he says he’ll thrash your backside, he frolics through the halls like a boy, but he’s ultimately and utterly a man, in every single way. “Oh, you’d start lashing the help?”

“Only this one particular maid,” he’s chuckling and making you misstep. “Just this one.”

“Excuse me! You’re truly going to!?” He’s grinning all devious.

“You would hate that, I take it?”

“Um…” Your cheeks are burning up. “No, I would take them if you gave them your highness, who am I to say no to a Prince?”

“Mmm, I’d really enjoy knowing you’d want such a thing as my hand prints on your backside,” you’re going to die, really.

“You’ll torture me more?” He just raises a brow, fingertips slipping up your back, where the dress is bare, touching your skin softly.

“Perhaps I’m mad.”

“Perhaps I am too,” you mumble, deliberately faltering again, making his chest rumble in laughter against you. “Ah, whoops!”

****

this story has made me so happy with everything going on <3

[toodymcdoody]

fratjo x nerdjo x reader (???)

-.-.-.

“You need to stop this charade,”

It’s spoke plainly, filled with boredom and disappointment. It doesn’t sound like a joke, like when his friends finally caught onto this current running gag on campus.

“What ever could you be talking about?”

He’s trying to hide his guilt. It’s small but it’s a good sized pit in his stomach, reserved for you and what any other emotions you make him want to hide.

“Gojo,” he sighs, taking a seat next to you on the couch “you cannot keep pretending to be twins. If one more girl asks me about ‘Toru’ and ‘Sato’, I am genuinely going to crash out,”

“It’s my alter egos,” he lays nonchalantly, head thrown back, arm put behind you and the other rubbing his face. “People love it! A little freaky nerd on the side, a frat guy who loves to bottom, and you,”

A pause, he peeks one eye open and smirks.

“You get me all to yourself. Best of both worlds,”

He starts moving before you can react. His face a few inches away from yours but the tension makes it feel like your lips are almost touching. You keep your eyes on his. Knowing if you glance at his lips, he’ll have won this secret battle yall have.

“I don’t want best of both worlds if I’m sharing,” you scoff.

“Who says you have to share anymore?”

[bambismoon]

apocalypse - prologue undergroundboxer!kuna x reader [soulmate au]

series masterlist

∞︎︎

you had come to the conclusion that your soulmate was either a felon or a cold-blooded murderer. 

you were leaning more towards the latter. 

there were only so many times you could wake up with sore ribs and aching knuckles before starting to consider homicide as a genuine career path for your soulmate. 

you were sixteen years old when you began feeling what he felt and he rarely felt happiness. 

at sixteen, you remembered clinging onto hope, faith that things would change for the better. 

at nineteen, you tried denial. optimism even. maybe he just had niche hobbies? 

now, at twenty-two, exhausted and running on three hours of sleep and an unhealthy dependence on caffeine, you had finally settled on acceptance. 

your soulmate was batshit crazy, absolutely insane.

the realization came to you somewhere between waking up at three in the morning because someone was being beaten up and nearly throwing up on the marble floors of your bathroom after feeling a wave of adrenaline so violent, it couldn’t possibly belong to a sane person. 

you blamed him for the dark circles under your eyes, as well as the chronic irritability, insomnia and the emotional damage too. 

“hey sunshine!”

you glanced up from your kitchen island to see shoko freely walking into your apartment as if it was her own. which, considering the amount of time she spent there, perhaps it was. 

“you look awful.” utahime voiced from beside her as she walked towards your fridge, pulling out a bottle of coconut water, “devils dick wouldn't let you sleep again?” 

you stared blankly out at the city skyline stretching beyond the floor to ceiling windows, morning fog curled between skyscrapers while the city below came to life beneath streaks of pale sunlight, almost pink. 

“yes,” you replied bluntly, taking a sip of the black coffee in hand, “unless i’m the one suddenly developing anger issues and an overwhelming desire to commit aggravated assault.” 

shoko snorted into her matcha at your words, though a thin layer of concern blanketed her eyes as she watched you.

you felt it before you saw him, the soft fur brushing against your ankles as you looked down at the familiar tuft of brown, “hi, ani.”

the cat purred against you lowly, circling your feet once before making his way towards the porcelain bowl filled with his breakfast. 

it was a bit sad how your cat was your one companion in the vast penthouse you resided in. technically, the house belonged to your parents who were overseas so often, it was entirely in your possession alongside an absurd monthly allowance and very little supervision. 

most people your age would’ve killed for this kind of freedom. 

a luxury apartment in the middle of the city, prestigious university and a future already carved out neatly in front of you. 

from an outside perspective, your life was perfect. 

except for the stain beneath the surface of everything. him. 

a constant you despised, yet he was all too impossible to ignore. 

most soulmates exchanged softness through their bond. love, warmth and peace. 

you exchanged pain, phantom bruises and what you were fairly certain was unresolved psychological trauma.

“how bad was it?” shoko questioned as she sat on the stool by the island.

you considered the question for a moment. 

truly, last night wasn’t his worst night but it wasn’t his best either. 

“my left thigh kinda hurts.” 

“ooh,” she winced, “that’s new.” 

“yup. he’s branching out,” you brought your cup up to your lips, “lucky me.” 

the soulmate bond manifested differently for everyone, but emotional and physical sensations were universal. tiny things passed between soulmates all the time, including stress, exhaustion, happiness and lust. 

utahime once told you soulmates were a blessing. 

you’d nearly laughed in her face. did she know what a blessing was? 

“maybe he’s in jail.’ shoko offered lazily as utahime immediately shot her a look. 

you looked up at the girl. jail? 

you almost hoped he was, that way the chances of meeting the son of a bitch were practically down to zero. you didn't want anything to do with the sadistic motherfucker. 

your friends found your situation significantly sadder than you did, mostly because all of them had experienced their bond the way it was intended. 

warm, soft and disgustingly tender.

utahime met sora during your graduation trip to greece. it was in the middle of a beach club and you distinctly recalled the way utahime went all quiet, the way they couldn’t look away from each other despite utahime always swearing that fate had handcrafted him specifically to irritate her. 

you don’t remember how they progressed, only that they did. more than you could even imagine.

shoko met percy during your welcome week in freshman year, all anxious minds and bright eyes. you remembered the way shoko used to continuously rub the bridge of her nose because she claimed her soulmate wore the heaviest glasses on earth. then there he was. tousled hair, thick-rimmed glasses and all. 

they’ve been inseparable ever since. 

sometimes, you felt like the worst person alive because you resented them, just a little bit. 

not because they were happy, but because they got softness where you got violence. 

if you closed your eyes, just for a moment, you could recall exactly when you'd first felt him.

while walking through the school hall in first year, the most overwhelming sense of fear overcame you. real and true terror, practically paralyzing you in place. dread that was raw and sharp, crashing into your ribs hard enough to steal the air right from your lungs. 

then came the pain, something you’d grow all too familiar with. 

pain that only got worse with age. 

you found yourself continuously trying to make sense of the colossal question mark that was your soulmate. who was he? what was he so afraid of? why was he in constant pain? 

still, you learned the rhythm of him. 

it was embarrassing, honestly. you knew things about your soulmate that no stranger should know. 

you knew he preferred sleeping on his back because his shoulders were always too bruised to lie on comfortably. you knew he clenched his jaw till his molars hurt when he was furious. you knew he rarely slept through the night and how he carried exhaustion like it was stitched into his bones. 

and worst of all, you knew exactly what his anger felt like and it was ugly. not explosive or wild in a dramatic sense but controlled. 

it sat low in your stomach like a rock, dangerous and waiting. 

sometimes, in the middle of lectures, your chest would suddenly tighten for absolutely no reason and you’d know instantly. 

those were the worst days and they happened more often than you’d like. 

your body would grow tense hours before it even happened, as if it already knew what was coming. your pulse would spike and adrenaline would drip into your bloodstream until your own fingers twitch with restlessness. 

then came the impact. a burst of pain and the metallic taste of blood in your mouth that you could never see. 

panic used to fill you at the sensation and now, you’d barely flinch. 

“again?” utahime would whisper from beside you during your labs. 

you’d simply nod. 

apparently, your soulmate enjoyed fist fighting at eight in the fucking monring. truthfully, you didn’t know what scared you more. the violence itself or how used to it you’ve become. 

because despite everything, the resentment sitting bitter on your tongue every time he dragged you into another sleepless night, you still found yourself searching for him constantly. 

in crowds, trains and crossing busy streets. but you never felt his presence around, so you knew they were futile attempts.

you hated that too. the way your body longed for someone your mind already decided was a monster. the devil reincarnated. 

sometimes, late at night, when the city outside your windows finally quieted down and the skyline blurred into soft hues of orange and pink, you’d feel him lying awake. 

always restless and consistently pained. 

there was something deeply unsettling about sharing insomnia with a stranger. 

you’d feel him shifting endlessly beneath bedsheets, the tension in his shoulders and agitation under his skin. occasionally, the dull ache of old bruises blooming across muscle. 

those nights left you exhausted and you always tried to ignore it at first, but one night, half-asleep and irritated beyond relief, you wrapped your arms around yourself beneath your comforter with a frustrated little sigh. a weak attempt to offer him a semblance of comfort. 

go the fuck to sleep. 

the effect was so immediate, it had your heart growing erratic. 

you felt him still, completely and truly. a calm settled over your chest like a balm on wound. 

after that, it became routine. 

you’d discovered a hack of some sort. 

to get through to him, you have to act as if you are him. 

you’d taken up yoga with hime because it seemed to ease his sore muscles. 

some nights, you’d feel him spiraling so violently with anger so strong, it crawled beneath your own skin. on those nights, you’d sit on your balcony overlooking the starry night enveloping the skyline in a deep blue. a case of markers in hand along with an adults coloring book. one of those complex ones with multiple minuscule shapes.

and color, you did. because it seemed to soothe him. 

you knew it because you could feel it happen in real time. 

the slow loosening of tension beneath skin and the steadying of his heartbeat. then the exhaustion would finally pull him under. 

it felt strangely intimate. 

though it started selfishly because you wanted the rest, you soon began doing it for him. 

sometimes, you wondered if he knew it was you. 

if he realized that the sudden calmness swallowing him whole at three in the morning belonged to somebody else. 

if he knew his soulmate sat forty floors above the city in pretty pink pyjamas and color stained hands trying to soothe a rage she didn’t understand. 

the thought made your chest ache because you knew he knew. 

despite how badly fate had screwed you over, he was still yours. 

and somehow, horrifyingly, you were still his. 

despite it all, he still felt so unbearably human. 

most nights were spent peacefully from that day on, for the most part. 

you could tolerate him now but there were still quieter nights where he couldn’t sleep. 

the bond grew restless during those hours, tension humming beneath your skin like static. you’d feel him, his exhaustion weighing heavy in your own bones despite the fact that you’d done absolutely nothing all day besides write up your report. 

“he’s awake…” you mumbled one night, shoko glancing up from where she sat on the couch in your room, typing up her essay on her laptop despite the deadline being three hours ago. 

“again?” shoko huffed, “does this guy not sleep?” 

you simply hummed once because sometimes he does. when you help him sleep. 

it was all too intimate in the worst way possible. 

at times, you felt like he lived beneath your skin more than inside his own body. 

when you wrapped your arms around yourself, mumbling a go to sleep, somewhere across the city, your soulmate listened. 

one emotion you both felt was the soul-tying loneliness. 

you understood loneliness, grown up and made friends with it. 

it seems he did as well. he dealt with his in a different way than you did yours, though. 

it happened late one night when you were halfway through your night routine. 

at first, it was subtle, a warmth against your lips. 

your movements slowed instantly, fingers hovering near your face as confusion knitted your brows together. what the fuck?

then came another sensation, this time featherlight touches across your jaw. 

your stomach dropped because what followed was the most excruciating pain you’d ever felt, exploding through your body so suddenly, your serum bottle slipped from your hands and shattered across the bathroom floor. 

and you collapsed with it. 

a gasp tore from your throat as agony spread violently beneath your skin, hot enough to make your vision blur. it felt all wrong, burning and suffocating. 

you knew exactly what was happening. 

he was touching someone else. 

you remembered shoko mentioning it once after utahime drunkenly asked too many questions about soulmate bonds during freshman year. 

physical intimacy with someone who wasn't your soulmate caused backlash through the bond. 

“apparently, it feels awful,” shoko stated, “super painful.”

awful? that fucking liar. 

this wasn’t just awful. you felt like you were burning. 

you curled against the cold marble tiles, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach as another wave of pain hit hard enough to drag a broken sound from your throat. it felt like being split apart from the inside out as tears blurred your vision. 

“stop…” you whispered shakily, though you didn’t know who you were talking to anymore. 

him? fate?

the pain built as you continued to feel touches that weren’t yours, warm skin that wasn’t yours. 

someone else’s hands against him. 

it made you sick. 

humiliation mixed violently with heartbreak until you could barely breath through it, till you sobbed against yours hands. 

messy and continuous tears soaked your sleeves as you sat on the bathroom floor, fury and devastation clawing through you so violently, you didn’t knwo what to do. 

“i hate you!” you choked out as your lungs burned. 

you felt the sudden stillness instantly, followed by a hollow feeling in your gut.

it hit your ribs so unexpectedly, your chest caught. 

guilt. real guilt. 

your expression twisted immediately. that sick son of a bitch. 

that only angered you more. 

you dug your nails into your palms hard enough to break skin and pain shot through you then, wanting him to feel it, to hurt the way he always made you hurt. 

you slammed your first against the tile once, twice then again as your knuckles split open eventually but you barely noticed. 

then suddenly…warmth. 

you went still, breathing shaking unevenly as the sensation wrapped around you in an unfamiliar fashion. 

it was a pair of arms, strong as they held you. 

your breathing stuttered as you processed what was happening. 

was he…hugging himself? like how you would? 

he was holding himself because he didn’t know how else to reach you, to console you. 

your anger cracked slightly at the edges because for the first time in years, he felt close. not in his usual worrying or irritating way.

and no matter how much you hated yourself for it, you leaned into it. 

because after all, you were just as lonely as he seemed to be.

after that day, even following his piteous attempt at comfort, you were vengeful. 

gone were the nights you’d hold yourself, him, to sleep. gone were the late night drawings or the yoga classes, the massages for his sore muscles and the relaxing teas. 

gone was your gentleness along with any semblance of hope you had clung onto like snow on mountains. 

you fucking hated fate. 

∞

“maybe he’s dead.” shoko offered as you glanced up at her from the blaring screen of your laptop, illuminating your face in the darkness.

utahime shot her a look as you sighed gently. 

you weren’t sure if her words were meant to console you but you weren’t sure they did. 

you hated him, yes, but did you want him dead? 

the thought sent a pang up your chest. no, you didn’t.

because you hadn’t even met him yet. 

where all your friends had already fulfilled their bonds, you were left pondering the possibility of fate playing a sick trick on you, 

“i mean, with all the fights he gets into, i wouldn’t be surprised.” shoko continued, her words trailing off as she caught utahime’s glare. 

you shook your head once, ignoring the tightness beneath your ribs, “if he was dead, who the fuck am i feeling every day?”

shoko hummed once, as if pondering the thought, “maybe he’s in hell!”

now, that seemed probable. 

rain tapped gently against the windows while blond played softly in the background as you returned your attention back to the half-finished page in front of you.

it was oddly peaceful in a way you weren’t used to. which meant he was either asleep or unconscious. 

honestly, both possibilities reassured you equally so. 

“you need to leave your castle, princess.” utahime smiled mockingly from her place on your carpeted floor as you rolled your eyes gently, fingers pausing atop your keyboard. 

“why?” you muttered, thumb absentmindedly rubbing soft circles against your wrist. 

“um, because of human interaction?” shoko dropped onto your bed, arms and legs starfished across the plush white sheets atop your king sized bed. 

you rolled your eyes once more, “and you guys are…?”

both girls grumbled at your response making you smile softly, looking back down at your laptop as ani purred from his place curled at your feet. 

you did leave your home! how else would you shop? or attend your lectures? or get your sixth coffee of the day?

“there’s a party downtown tonight.” shoko grinned at you genty, practically soft-launching the idea as you scoffed once. 

“ew.” 

“don’t say ew with that stupid face like you’re old!”

“m’not old,” you shrugged, “i’d just rather do anything else.”

shoko huffed, sitting up on your bed before walking towards your place on the couch, "you always do anything else! you’ve been so down recently, just let us help!”

you almost wanted to laugh. a party wouldn’t help by any means. 

instead, you swallowed quietly, looking back down at your laptop. 

he had been strangely distant lately, ever the rage-filled psychopath, but quieter somehow. you didn’t know if you liked it or not. 

“c’mon,” utahime pleaded, “just one night!” 

before you could answer, you felt it again. 

a rush of adrenaline flooding your veins so suddenly, your jaw clenched. 

the room went quiet as utahime’s expression shifted, “devils dick?”

you sighed inwardly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. 

it was a familiar feeling, hot and electric and so fucking alive beneath your skin. you didn’t want to wait for the pain to follow. 

“okay.” 

the girls exchanged a look. 

“okay?!” shoko exclaimed with a grin as you sighed gently. 

“that’s what i said.” 

her squeals were met with silence as you tried to calm your-his-breathing. 

there was this weird feeling in your gut, deep and carved in stone, like tonight was significant. 

it felt almost damning.

∞

an - just a little glimpse into this worlddd! no kuna in this yet so :( but u guys will meet him ch1 !! also this is prob gonna be a shorter seriessss like 6-8 parts!

anyways lmk what u guys thinkkkk and if u want more of this au!

also wanna say i read a fic like 7ish yrs ago on here from @/stuckonspidey, i dont think they're on here anymore but they had a soulmate fic that inspired this that i wrote a while ago sooo credits to themmm i remember loving that fic smmmm! :)

[gojosmoonlight]

Yuta x reader- angst part 3

part one & two

warning: emotional cheating

buy me a coffee :) i really want to save up for a computer :)

You lay on the couch, staring blankly out the window as rain poured into the backyard. The soft tapping against the glass had become the only sound filling the empty house. It had been three days since you last spoke to Yuta.

He’d called countless times, texted even more, but every notification only made your stomach twist tighter. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer him, not when you still didn’t know how to process what happened, and definitely not when there was a chance he’d confirm your worst fear.

Yuta hadn’t come home.

And you hadn’t left the house long enough to risk seeing him.

Deep down, you knew exactly why you were avoiding him. You were terrified he’d tell you the truth, that he chose Maki. He wanted a divorce. The thought alone threatened to shatter whatever pieces of you were still holding together. A tear slipped silently down your cheek as your chest tightened painfully. Not only had your husband betrayed you, but so had someone you considered a friend.

A knock from the front door echoed through your house. Your head lifted slightly, waiting for another knock. If it was urgent, they’d stay, if not, they’d leave...please let them leave.

Knock, Knock, Knock

“Fuck.” You groaned as you shoved your feet into your slippers. “Coming!” 

It was pouring out, the thunder rattled deep in the sky. Who could be out here in this weather? 

You opened the door to find Megumi standing on your front porch, shoulders slightly hunched as he tried to avoid the rain pouring from the dark sky above. He was the last person you’d expect at your door… especially in this weather. Megumi had been there that night. He heard every word, saw every look exchanged between you and Yuta, and witnessed the ugly aftermath that followed. There was no hiding anything from him now.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, forcing a weak smile onto your face.  “What are you doing here?”

Megumi shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie before pulling out a slightly crumpled envelope. “This is for Yuta-san,” he said plainly. “I didn’t know if he was home or not.”

Your expression immediately faltered.

The realization almost hit Megumi immediately. He shifted in his feet uncomfortably. 

“He’s not here,” you admitted quietly, eyes dropping to the floor. “Honestly… I don’t even know where he is.” A shaky sigh left your lips. Saying it out loud somehow made the emptiness in the house feel even worse. He wasn’t here; it felt so lonely not having any support or someone to talk to.

“Have you tried asking Satoru?” Your voice cracked near the end of the sentence, exhaustion and heartbreak bleeding through no matter how hard you tried to hide it. Right now, all you want is to crawl into a hole and disappear from the world for a while.

Megumi studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked bluntly. “You look like shit.”

You laugh, but a sob was mixed in there. You shook your head no, trying your best not to cry. You knew that was Megumi’s fucked up way of trying to make you feel better.

“Listen, I feel like an asshole. I completely forgot that he wasn’t here and I’m not really good at comforting people,” Megumi admitted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, “but… do you need a hug?”

A weak laugh escaped you despite everything. “Honestly? That would be nice.”

Megumi stepped further into the house, shutting the door behind him before slipping off his shoes. Without another word, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around you. Quickly, you embraced him back; it was the most comforting thing you felt in weeks. You melted into the embrace almost instantly, exhaustion weighing heavily on your body.

Years ago, Megumi probably would’ve frozen at the thought of physical affection. But over time—mostly thanks to Yuji—he’d grown more comfortable with things like this. Hugs didn’t feel awkward to him anymore. Neither did laughter or openly caring about people. He’d learned how to be honest with his emotions instead of burying them.

“What’s going on?” he asked quietly.

You pulled away after a moment, quickly wiping at the tears clinging to your lashes. And for the first time since this entire mess started, someone was finally asking how you felt.

Not Yuta.

Not Maki.

Not whose side to take.

Just you.

Your chest tightened painfully at the realization.

“I think Yuta’s having an affair.”

“What?” Megumi’s eyes widened immediately. “With who? Did you catch him?”

You shook your head, arms wrapping around yourself again.

“It’s… complicated.”

“Wait? Are you talking about the party the other night?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, staring down at your hands. Your voice had lost all the heat from before, replaced by something smaller, uncertain. “He didn’t physically cheat on me, though. That’s why I keep thinking maybe I’m overreacting.” You swallowed hard. “They’re friends. And after everything they went through… maybe they just need each other.”

Megumi scoffs, “That’s bullshit.” The bluntness made you look up.

Megumi’s expression stayed flat, but his voice sharpened.

“We’re friends.” He gestured between the two of you. “Do you think I’d ever act like that with a married woman?”

You opened your mouth, but he didn’t let you answer.

“Because I wouldn’t. Not if I respected her. Not if I respected her marriage.”

His words landed hard.

“That’s not fair to you,” he continued. “And don’t let him twist this into some trauma bond excuse. We’ve all been through hell.” His jaw tightened. “Remember the Shibuya Incident? We survived that, too. Does that suddenly mean you and I get to be all touchy and overly attached because we shared something traumatic?”

Your voice came out small.

“No.”

“Cheating can be emotional, too.” Megumi’s brows knitted together. “Let me ask you something,” he said quietly. “How do you think Yuta-san would react if he walked in on us like this? Do you think he’d be angry?”

“He’d lose his mind.” You crossed your arms, irritation bubbling in your chest at the realization that Megumi had a point.

“Exactly. So you’re not crazy.” Megumi tilted his head slightly. “They can call it friendship all they want, but it feels like there’s something underneath that label. That pisses me off. I hate him for that.”

“I don’t know…” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe I’m just overreacting.”

“Wait.” He lifts his hand, cutting you off from speaking. Megumi looked back at the door, his face frowned for a few seconds. He turned back to you, his face still unreadable. He scoffs softly, the corner of his mouth lifting into a faint smirk. “Don’t move.”

Before you could question him, he caught your arm and tugged you closer. One arm slipped around your upper back, pulling you flush against him until his face hovered only inches from yours.

“Just play along for a few seconds,” he murmured.

“What? Megumi, what are you doing?” you laughed softly, confusion laced through your voice. Laughing tended to help you during high-stress moments. 

Your chin rested against his shoulder as he held you close. Megumi was never the type to play stupid games like this, which only made the situation feel stranger. For a moment, you stayed still, hyperaware of the warmth of his touch.

Why is this comforting? You were no better than Yuta. 

Your mind started wandering….Then it hit you. A suffocating wave of cursed energy swept through the house. Your smile instantly faded.

The front door creaked open, and despite it all, Megumi didn’t let go. Your husband stood there, frozen in the doorway. The fury written across Yuta’s face was impossible to miss.

Megumi leaned closer to your ear. “See?” he whispered. “He doesn’t like it either. You have every right to be upset. We’re just friends, right?”

He finally pulled away, turning toward Yuta with lazy indifference, hands slipping into his pockets.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Yuta snapped.

“Relax,” Megumi replied coolly. “I was just delivering an envelope.”

Yuta’s eyes flicked between you and Megumi, tension tightening his jaw.

“I need to talk to you—alone.”

Megumi glanced at you, silent but steady. You were frozen in place, your heartbeat loud enough that it felt like it was echoing through the entire hallway. Everything had happened too fast for your mind to fully catch up. Yuta’s cursed energy flooded the house; it was suffocating and unbearable to feel. 

“It’s fine,” you choked out, forcing a small, brittle smile. “You can go.” The last thing you needed was Megumi getting hurt over something that has nothing to do with him. He was only proving a point, and it turns out that it was a valid point. 

Megumi didn’t hesitate. As he brushed past Yuta, he pressed the envelope into his chest. “This is for you.” There was a faint edge of resistance when Yuta grabbed it, but he took it anyway.

Before leaving, Megumi paused just long enough to look at you again. “Call me later. Let me know if you need me.” Then he stepped out, the door shutting behind him with a heavy finality.

Now it was just you and Yuta. The silence in the house felt suffocating.

“What was that?” Yuta’s voice cut through it first. His gaze sharpened as he stepped further inside. “Why was he that close to you? Has he been staying here?”

You rolled your eyes immediately, irritation flickering through the exhaustion. “No.”

You walked past him into the living room, refusing to look at his face any longer. Deep down, you were feeling all types of things. Your mind was racing from that interaction. Too many emotions were flowing through your body. 

Your body dropped onto the couch, the only thing that had been holding you together these past few days.

“I’ve been calling you,” he said, following you. There was still a hint of anger in his voice. 

“I’ve been avoiding you,” you replied flatly. 

“I know,” his voice dropped, the air around him shifting, his cursed energy sinking low and heavy, like the weight of everything he hadn’t said yet finally catching up to him.

You finally looked at him. “What are you doing here?” 

Finally finding your voice, now you don’t feel as crazy as you felt these last few days. After that interaction, you now have all the confirmation you need. 

Yuta stood in the middle of the room, shifting uneasily on his feet. The tension in his posture gave away how much your distance was getting to him, how much seeing you like this unsettled him.

“I’m leaving town,” Yuta said after a long pause, swallowing hard. His voice came out lower than usual, careful. “There’ve been a few special grades spotted in Osaka. They’re sending me there to check it out.” His eyes lingered on you, searching your face for something—anything. “I wanted to see you before I left.”

You glanced at your folded hands in your lap. “Okay.” It was simple, short, and forceful. Truthfully, it was the only thing that you could think to say to that.  

 He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to continue.

“(Y/N), I know I was wrong,” Yuta admitted quietly. His voice carried the weight of something he’d been rehearsing over and over in his head. “I should’ve told you sooner. I’m not sorry I got caught,” he admitted, voice rough and unsteady. “I’m sorry I hurt you like this. That’s what’s eating me up. It was dumb, completely avoidable. I wouldn’t be standing here begging for your forgiveness if I didn’t love you. You’re my person, (Y/N). I’m so scared of losing you.”

You sat there in silence, listening to every word the man you loved most was saying. It almost felt cruel, like some twisted irony, because if he truly loved you, he wouldn’t have put you in this position to begin with. As Megumi said, cheating can be emotional too. 

“I’m not ready to talk about this, Yuta. Everything is still fresh,” you said quietly, your voice drained.

He didn’t argue.

Instead, he walked over and sat beside you on the couch. Close. Too close. Close enough that he could reach you without even trying.

His arm lifted, hesitating for only a second before he wrapped it around you and pulled you into him.

Your body went rigid the moment he touched you. It wasn’t that you didn’t recognize him—you did. Every part of him, every familiar detail that used to make you relax instantly. That was the problem. You used to crave this. Now it felt like your chest was closing in. 

It wasn’t the same anymore; it wasn’t as comforting as Megumi’s hug earlier. This felt forced.  Yuta noticed the change immediately. His grip softened slightly, but he didn’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, quieter this time. “I just… I don’t know how to fix this.”

You shifted slightly under his touch, creating just enough space to breathe.

“We can’t just fix this overnight,” you said, voice steadier than you felt. “It’s going to take time. We have to rebuild trust.”

You swallowed, staring down at your hands. “I love you. I never stopped loving you,” you admitted, and your voice cracked on the last word. “I just don’t know how to navigate this. I’m angry one minute, and the next I’m just… sad. Give me time, Yuta. I need to process everything. I need to make sure I’m making the right decision.”

His brows pulled together slightly.

“The right decision?” he repeated.

“Yes.” You finally looked at him. “As I said, I’m not sure how I want to navigate this.”

“Then talk to me,” Yuta said quickly, leaning forward a little. “How can I help you navigate it?”

A breath left you, shaking your head.“For one, you lied to me for three weeks straight,” you said, voice tightening. “You’ve been emotionally cheating on me, too, Yuta. This isn’t something small.”

His expression flickered.

“I know you want things to go back to normal,” you continued, voice quieter now, heavier. “But it won’t. I’m hurt.”

The words hung in the space between you like something fragile that had already shattered.

Yuta went completely still. For once, he didn’t interrupt. Didn’t try to explain. He just sat there, silent, as the full weight of your words had finally settled in, like he was only now understanding that there was nothing he could say to fix this in one conversation.

His words had stayed with you. The way he’d cut through your excuses like they were nothing. He hadn’t tried to comfort you with empty reassurances or make excuses for Yuta. He’d just told you what it looked like from the outside, and somehow, that honesty had grounded you.

You’d always known Megumi was protective of you in his own quiet way. He checked in. He noticed things. He stayed nearby when something felt off.

But now it felt different. Sharper. More obvious. Like whatever had always been there was no longer something he was bothering to hide. 

The room stayed quiet for only a second before his phone buzzed in his pocket. His hand moved toward it instinctively. Your eyes dropped to the motion. Yuta froze the second he noticed you watching.

“Who is it?”

Yuta glanced at the screen, his expression tightening.

“Maki Zenin.” He shoved the phone back into his pocket.

Your eyes narrowed immediately. Anger bubbled in your gut. You couldn’t escape her, no matter what you did. She was ruining you and your marriage.

“Give me the phone.”

His hand froze. For a moment, it looked like he was going to argue, but the look on your face stopped him. Without a word, he reached into his pocket, pulled it out, and placed it in your hand.

You answered before he could change his mind.

“Yuta?” Maki’s voice came through, softer than you expected.

Your grip tightened around the phone.

“Maki,” you said, your voice sharp with bitterness, “What exactly is your obsession, Yuta…a married man?”

The line went silent.

“The audacity of you confessing your feelings to someone’s husband is pathetic. Let’s make one thing clear—you had your chance, and you lost it.” Your chest rose with every breath, adrenaline burning through you. “He’s my husband. And you? You’re acting like a homewrecker. So I’d advise you to back the fuck off, Maki. Stop with the phone calls, the messages, the secrets, the private talks. I’m sick of it, Maki. Yuta and I are one. It’s fucked up that I even have to explain this to you.”

There was a stunned silence.

Then another voice cut in, faint but unmistakable. “Maki… did you really do that?” Panda’s muffled voice came through the speaker.

Your stomach dropped. The adrenaline that had been fueling your anger twisted into something colder. Then another voice, calm, clipped, and all too familiar.

“(Y/N), you’re on speakerphone.” Nanami’s voice came through clearly. “We were debriefing the mission. We only called to confirm when Yuta was arriving.”

You turned slowly toward Yuta, horror and humiliation mixing in your chest as realization hit all at once. Yuta only stared ahead, like he wasn’t here. The look on his face was unreadable; it almost scared you.

On the other end, Nanami cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m sure the two of you have a lot to sort out. We’ll leave you to it.”

The line clicked dead.

Yuta didn’t move. He didn’t say anything. He turned his head and stared at you, the phone still in your hand, while the weight of what had just happened settled over both of you.

“Yuta?”

He didn’t look at you. “I have to go.” The words were flat, strained. He stood so abruptly the couch shifted, grabbing his jacket off the armrest before heading straight for the door.

You shot up after him, anger flaring all over again as you followed his every step.

“Where are you going?” you snapped, catching up just as he reached the front door. “To check if Maki is okay?”

Yuta’s hand froze on the doorknob.

His shoulders tensed before he turned around, and when he finally looked at you, there was something raw in his expression: frustration, shame, and something close to desperation.

“Why, (Y/N)?” His voice cracked, more pleading than angry. “Why did you have to tell everyone our business? Why couldn’t this stay between us?”

You stared at him, stunned for half a second before disbelief hardened into anger.

“Don’t put this on me.” You took a step back, your voice sharp enough to cut. “You’re a married man. You should not have been entertaining another woman in the first place. You started this. I was just telling her to stop obsessing over my husband. I didn’t expect her to be on speaker.”

His jaw clenched. “I’m trying to fix this!” he shouted, the force of his voice bouncing off the walls.

“You can’t fix this.”

The words hit harder than either of you expected. Yuta’s expression changed instantly, his eyes widened, filled with disbelief and hurt.  Like something inside him cracked. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his breathing uneven. “I made a mistake,” he said, quieter now, but no less intense. “I admitted that. I came here to tell you the truth because I wanted to fix what I broke.”

“I’ve known the truth for years now, Yuta.” You said firmly.  

His silence told you enough. And that hurt worse than any answer. Yuta looked away, his chest rising sharply as if he physically couldn’t stand there and hear it. Then he turned back toward the door.

You watched him, your throat tight, but your voice came out anyway. “So that’s it? You yell at me for reacting to your betrayal and then walk out?”

His hand stayed on the knob, but he didn’t open it. For a long moment, he just stood there. Then, without turning around, his voice came low.

“I’m leaving because if I stay, we’re only going to hurt each other more tonight. I’m sorry for making you feel like you were always second. I’ll see you after Osaka.”

And before you could answer, he opened the door and stepped out, leaving the silence behind him louder than the argument itself.

“Fuck you!” You shouted at the door, your chest rising and falling with anger. It felt good to scream and feel any emotion other than sadness. 

Yuta didn’t turn around; he continued to walk until his shadow disappeared into the heavy rain. 

“Fine.”

A frustrated huff escaped your lips as you crossed the room and dropped onto the couch. Your hands trembled with anger while you searched between the cushions for your phone. It vibrated from the other side, lighting up with a text from Nanami that you immediately ignored.

Scrolling through your contacts, your thumb paused on a familiar name. Without giving yourself time to reconsider, you pressed call and lifted the phone to your ear, waiting for the line to connect.

“Hello.”

“Hey, do you mind if we talk?”

The voice on the other end came out low, “No, do you want me to come over?”

“No.” You swallowed hard, glancing around your living room. “I need to get out of this place.” 

“Okay, I’ll be here.”

“Thank you, Megumi.” 

tags:@alebrasil0101 @onlytenkos @istr4wberri @velvetsbakery @angelicarlert @trasshy-artist @saltedfart @ellqm @camelliablossomss @shesafreakygurl @camelliablossomss @alebrasil0101 @saltedfart @onigiribowl @saltedfart @hiqhkey @trasshy-artist @ruthlesslywhimsicalmentor @shellseasdiscoparty @shannxnbrxwnn-blog @marixxi @chanyeolchannie @shmd-nora @kvmariiii @justmare @starringrcll @ellqm @chicaaaaaquedices @733164

[v3is]

SYNOPSIS   ᯓ★   After months of cold shoulder from your boyfriend, the relationship finally comes to an end when a Reddit post spiraled into your best friend’s orbit, and the poster? Your own boyfriend. The embarrassment and shame brought onto your name began tumbling when he thinks you will come back —like you always do, he quotes— to him. However, this time your best friend had a plan in mind to prove your snobbish ex-boyfriend wrong. To set you up with her friend . . . Who is also going through a messy break up scenario of his own.

PAIRING   ᯓ★ nerd! gojo satoru x fem! reader

TAGS   ᯓ★ does not follow the original jjk plot . suggestive content . no smut (it is implied that gojo and the reader had sex, but will not be described) . gojo and the reader are in their 20s . pokemon lover gojo . gojo is a middle school student teacher . cursing . mentions of sex . naoya cameo . romcom stuff . fake dating . mentions of cheating (not done by gojo or the reader) . shoko cameo . suguru cameo . loneliness . slow updates

TAGLIST 𐔌 0 / 50 , open 𐦯  ᯓ★   . . .

NOTE   ᯓ★   divider credits to @kthice & art credits to @dewbiscuits   , logbook div made by me (raaaahh) ⟡   this is a rewritten version of my old CAITA, there will be a lot of changes in the plot because I didn’t like the original one when I reread it. Just a little reminder that this one will probably take longer, especially with my thesis and graduation coming up. Then I would actually have to find an actual full-time job and not internships (j#b, ew). Anyways, I really hope that everyone will like the new version of CAITA. Thank you for following the story up until this point sjkjkdjdkjs, enjoy!

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ℘rologue ， chapter one ， chapter two ， chapter three ， chapter four ， chapter five ， chapter six ， chapter seven ， more to be added ♡

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა side stories . . . tba

© v3is, 2026 ﾒ do not copy, reconstruct, or upload on another platform + do not feed my works into AI.

[wiserion]

KOMOREBI. PART 1.

ex! situationship ceo gojo x florist! fem reader

summary: Years passed since you saw Satoru Gojo in your life — your situationship, who slipped away from your life like nothing had happened. Like you were nothing to him. Or, maybe, on the contrary, and you were his everything? What would happen if you suddenly met him at your flower shop?

tags: mdni! situationships, exes to lovers, reconciliation, some angst, some fluff, mutual pining, YEARNING, like A LOT. you fell first, he fell harder and it drove him crazy. panic attacks, floristry, some themes about rediscovering your life passion, the reader is kinda insecure. eventual smut: dry humping, fingering, emotional sex, a little bit of size kink, creampie, oral sex (f receiving).

word count: this part is 12.5k. total: 35k (bear with me here...).

author's note: this is officially the biggest thing i have ever written! and my first time ever writing smut. you've been warned. it should've been one post but tumblr's limits...art by @/boom_sate225. dividers are mine.

you might like listening to the playlist

part 2

This day started as usual.

Your phone alarm rang sharply at 6 a.m., jolting you awake. With a groan, you tapped to hold it and rolled over to have the last minutes of peace and serenity. The bed was warm, the pillow was comfortable, the blanket embraced you in the softest of hugs… Slowly, you drifted to sleep once again.

Only to hastily scramble to get ready an hour later. 

"Shit, shit, shit," you cursed under your breath, trying to pull your pants on. A glance at the clock — 7:30; you must've been the fastest person in the world at that moment— totally a record.

Miraculously, you still had time to stop by your favourite bakery, which conveniently hid between the stalls with flowers and newspapers, to grab a coffee and a pastry. The street bustled with people at that hour: one man barked orders into his phone, with another gentleman, probably his assistant, hurriedly trying to keep up with the boss's pace. A pile of files in his arms dangerously leaned toward the ground.

Poor guy.

Your polished shoes clicked on the pavement, each step dripping with determination as you hurried to the bakery. You could’ve smelled its tantalizing scents even from a distance — cinnamon, cardamom, vanilla, and chocolate intertwining in a mouth-watering mix. 

"Slept in, huh?" A barista, a tall guy with soft eyes and kind of a weird hairstyle of ponytails, observed you quietly and handed your order: a hot bumble with caramel syrup and a ham-and-cheese croissant. Your stomach growled at the scent of the pastry, and you gave the guy a quick smile. If you remembered it right, his name was Choso.

"Kind of, yeah," you swiped the card and quickly grabbed your order before you would drop dead to the overwhelming delicious scents in the bakery. You almost downed the drink in a few large gulps. "Thanks and bye!"

"Have a nice day, miss!"

You sped up to hop in your bus, the one that left the station at 7:35 sharply and arrived at your work exactly at 7:57.

“Sorry,” you murmured apologetically as you bumped into one lady, who only huffed in irritation, without sparing you a single glance. You fought the urge to grimace at her.

Slowly, you made your way to a lone window seat that wasn’t usually occupied at this hour. Mentally, you had long ago declared it your own and would sigh inwardly if other passengers, obviously, not aware of your claim, sat there.

This time, luck was on your side. You quickly fished a book — something to kill time and occupy your mind, besides the usual routine you were clearly drowning in. Your grip on the book tightened: not the best time to delve into and psychoanalyze your life as you tried to lose yourself in yet another magical fantasy world…

“Oh no, my fair lady,” a mysterious knight’s voice drawled, the voice muffled by a half-opened visor. Isabelle thought her heart almost jumped from her chest right into the knight’s hands. “I am here to rescue you.”

Isabelle could almost hear playfulness sipping in the knight’s tone, and it brought a quick grin on her face. Oh, her future husband would be enthralled when the morning would carry him the news about his precious wife-to-be, who would appear to be missing…”

You scoffed softly and reached for a pencil. Faint scribbles adorned the empty margins of the book, a carefully crafted tapestry of your thoughts and emotions. 

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure, if I were Isabelle, since…”

A sudden honk pulled you back to reality. The bus suddenly jerked forward again, and a string of muttered curses from other passengers wafted to you through the irritated crowd. Someone bumped into you, causing the pencil to fall from your grip. 

“Ah, shoot it,” you huffed under your breath and bent over to take it back.

And then, as you looked up, you saw it.

A sudden flash of white hair.

Your insides got cold in an instant. The surrounding world ceased to exist around you for a moment or for a small eternity; you weren’t so sure. The pencil almost snapped in half in your hard grip as a thousand thoughts rushed through your anxious mind.

“What the hell is he doing there? He shouldn’t be there— no, he is not supposed to be there, in your city! You fled there, and he had the entire Tokyo! What if he saw you? Worse, what if he saw and now wants to talk to you? Shit, shit, shit!”

Your eyes nervously darted to the exit — only to see that the white hair was already missing. You blinked. Blinked again. No, not even a sight. You slumped in relief against the seat and closed your eyes. 

What was going on with you, really? Is he the only man in the world with hair colour like this? Could’ve been some cosplayer! Yeah, that must be it!

Or not?...

Deep down, you knew the right answer. You could’ve recognized the silvery tone of his strands if you were a thousand miles away from him. You ran your fingers through them countless times, memorized the way they caught the moonlight and looked like spilt silver under your gentle touch.

With a long sigh, you put the book in a bag. The phone caught your eye, and you froze at the sight of the display.

8:17.

Memories engrossed your tired mind to the point you missed three stops.

“This day couldn’t get any worse,” you thought, rushing through the maze of irritated people, totally indifferent to your inner turmoil.

Oh, how wrong was that.

***

Flowers had always brought you peace and serenity.

Ever since you were a kid, your mom’s garden welcomed you with a warm embrace, shielding you from the cold touch of reality. Nothing could hurt you there; a few scratches were a fair price for solitude and tranquillity. Sitting under sakuras, amidst the vivid blossoms of magnolias, peonies, and tulips, quietly observing the nature you were surrounded by, you had learnt to see beauty in every soft petal, dew drop on the branches, foggy morning mist, or sunrays, shyly sipping through the branches. 

Or maybe you were just a lone kid with a good heart and rich fantasy, and that gave roots to your need for escapism. Who knows.

You would like to think you still carried that fragile ability to see something precious even in the most mundane things, but you knew nothing would be as breathtaking as it appeared in childhood. Adulthood had long sharpened and hardened you into someone a child you would hardly recognise.

Sometimes you wondered what she would say when you looked at her now?

Your hands were still covered in stitches, calluses bubbled on your fingers, and the dirt seemed to be permanently itched under your nails, but the excitement from your gaze had long given in to exhaustion.

When did a person lose the sparkle that once ignited their entire being? When adulthood falls so hard on your shoulders that you don't even have a chance to take a breath?

You had never thought you would be one of these gloomy people. Especially surrounded by the beauty of nature, as you wished for as a kid. But fate had other plans for you: the florist’s job found you in the middle of rediscovering yourself once again, rather than you finding it, and the rose-coloured naive dreams about designing bouquets, arrangements, and organising events quickly shattered, leaving invisible scars that later would scream of burnt-out. 

Surely, amidst the usual routine, you found your own moments of enjoyment. Designing was your main passion, and seeing the fruits of your work, happy smiles and gratitudes from the customers, was worth scars, hurt knees, and sprained wrists. You were glad to bring people warmth and steadiness in the middle of the storm, which some events might look like. Shame the rest of the job was way more demanding, mentally and especially physically.

You were cauterizing stems, which actually was Nobara's work, but Utahime seemed so worked up that morning that you didn't dare to poke a dragon any more and decided to shield your friend from the boss's wrath. When Nobara sauntered inside the room, you gave her a glance, already preparing yourself for an inevitable round of investigation.

"So," she drawled with an all-knowing smile, a mischievous glint flashed in her eyes as she leaned on the table next to you. Still not touching the stems. "How was your date yesterday? Tell me everything!"

Ah. Yes. Your date.

Partially, the reason you were late to work. Not even in the inappropriate sense you sometimes wanted it to be.

Your grip on the pruning shears tightened. You tried to deflect.

"Nothing worth talking—"

"Oh, come on! I've been dying to hear everything! Spill the tea!"

Nobara was really relentless when she was in a mood, so after a couple of seconds, you decided to end your suffering as quickly as possible. Like ripping the band-aid off.

"That was fucking awful."

You could swear Nobara's nose twitched like a hound that scented the blood. The corner of your mouth lifted in amusement.

"I swear, all these date apps, blind dates, so on and so forth are not my type of thing,"  you murmured and sighed, looking around the room for any clue that could've helped to solve a mystery of human hearts. "No, I am serious!"

You told her everything. How you matched with a guy on a goddamn Tinder, who seemed…adequate at first sight. That you felt like something almost clicked in that unexplainable way, when you just…know.

You really hoped after him and dozens of unfruitful attempts to meet your fate spontaneously, and let Cupid’s arrows pierce you, your dating apps would result in something. However, with every swipe, weird dialogues and unambiguous hints at the end of coffee dates, your confidence that the male loneliness epidemic had been really justified only grew further. Yesterday’s attempt should’ve been the last one before locking yourself in a tower (your apartments), with only a jester (another 2000’s romcom) to keep you company. Sounded like a perfect plan.

“Everything was fine, before that jerk started asking whether I was like these females—”

“Ew,” Nobara grimaced. “Females? That’s a red flag already. Might be one of these podcast guys. They are all beyond saving.”

“I know, right? Should’ve told him to fuck off right that instant. Anyway,” you snipped a poor rose’s stem with more force than necessary and continued. “These females who like to invite poor men to the fanciest restaurants and make them pay!”

Nobara gasped, thoroughly scandalized, handing you a lighter.

“He did not!”

“Oh yes, he did. And that’s not even the worst! Then he asked when I would be ready to quit my job, because his wife and the mother of his children shouldn’t work,” deep-buried irritation from the godforsaken dinner slowly started to bloom in your chest, so you didn’t even notice you were holding the lighter near the stem longer than usual. Luckily, Nobara intervened before you almost set the flowers on fire.

“Hey-hey, gimme that,” she snatched the possible tool of destruction from your hands and quickly put the stem in a vase. You blinked in surprise and slumped on the nearby chair with a long, exhausted sigh.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she flashed you a warm smile and then added, barely audible. “Was my task, anyway. So, you were saying?”

“Yeah, right,” you dragged your hand over your face, “after we left the restaurant, the asshole offered to give me a ride.” You drawled the last word, double entendre clear in your voice, as you stared at Nobara with a telling gaze.

She, of course, understood. Slowly dragged her gaze from the flowers and stared back at you. A murderous glint flashed in her eyes. The lighter only added to her dangerous image.

You sighed once again and murmured, staring at the ceiling. “So, that was it. What’s even worse is that he seemed so nice and gallant and—,” you gestured vaguely before dropping your hand in desperation. The next words felt like shards; tears stole your voice. “I am not cut out for the relationships, clearly. Maybe something is fundamentally wrong with me, I don’t know! All this staff”, you drew a sharp exhale and angrily wiped your nose, “is not for me. I am way better alone”.

Hearing your voice, so uncharacteristically broken, Nobara kneeled in front of you. She squeezed your hands.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Believe me. All these men are assholes that do not even deserve the strand of your hair!”

“Uhm, Nobara, flowers there—”

“Ah, fuck these flowers,” she waved dismissively. “I’ve got a bigger potential catastrophe on my hands,” you snorted at her words, and a big, bright grin broke on her face. “You are smart, pretty, kind, and just so wonderful! These guys? They can suck my—”

“Nobara!”

“Okay, okay,” Nobara rolled her eyes and leaned in closer, her grin morphing into a conspirational smile. Your eyes narrowed playfully. “Tell you what? We finish here, and I am taking you to that new mall, finally making you buy that slutty dress I’ve been talking about for days, then we crash into my flat, order whatever you want, and re-watch “Love Actually” for the hundredth time! How’s that?”

You couldn’t help but smile genuinely at Nobara’s suggestion. It was impossible to brood with her around. 

“That sounds perfect.”

Your thoughts drifted to the morning once again. Something in your guts was telling you that you were right initially. Or maybe it was more of a wishful thinking, because his image would haunt your mind every failed date and every sparkle you misguessed as the beginning of something new. And yesterday was particularly shitty. 

You weren’t that obsessed with your ex-situationship. So what if even after all the months you had been apart (though you doubted whether you could truly say that; you never had been together), he was the only person who had lit up your whole world? Pfft. Every girl had a story like this.

At least you hoped so. Stupid Gojo.

Despite all the things that happened between you (and did not), you couldn’t bring yourself to hate Gojo. His stupid white hair, ivory under the sunlight; a stupid grin that broke his face anytime you would say something funny, and that chuckle, Gods,  that fucking chuckle of his was your biggest reward and the strongest undoing. 

Then you would remember the way he ended both of you, destroying the root before your love could even blossom, and the urge to punch him would multiply drastically.

Just like now.

You were in the middle of preparing the next customer’s order and racked your brains on where to put a couple of black tulips, so they would look presentable enough. Then you struggled with the overall composition, the wrapping paper didn’t work much, you cut your ring finger and —

Stop that.

You took a deep breath. In and out. In and out. 

That was it. The effect Satoru Gojo had on you.

“I definitely should get over this guy,” you murmured in the void, not addressing anyone in particular, but Nobara heard it. She turned around sharply, the large heart box with roses dangerously swaying in her hands. Her narrowed eyes seemed to pierce right through your soul, through the pregnant pauses, creeping between the endless conversations about your love life, the sadness you carried in the unsaid words.

She saw the raging storm in your weary eyes, and her glare softened immediately, lips parting to tell you something only Nobara could tell — but in the moment, the doorbell in the main hall rang obnoxiously loudly, and she hurriedly headed upstairs.

Your gaze dropped to the bouquet. The black tulips in the middle caught your attention immediately. A satisfied grin tucked in the corner of your mouth. 

The flowers were pretty. Gorgeous. The fragile beauty of nature wrapped in the softest of touches. Nature’s most delicate gift. They didn’t hurt anyone. Not in the way people do, at least.

Nobara’s voice called you suddenly, pulling you back to reality. Your brows furrowed slightly: her voice sounded strangely strained. You headed up as well. 

“My mother loves black tulips.”

“Really? Huh. That’s rare. Not everyone even thinks about what flowers they like.”

“Nah, she thinks about everything. And more. Like you.”

“Do you think this ribbon fits well, or should I find the lacy one? I am not quite sure.”

Your gaze flicked to Nobara, and then—

You rooted to your spot. The poor bouquet almost fell from your weakened hands, but that was the last thing that was on your mind.

Not when Gojo Satoru was staring back at you.

His eyes searched for every expression on your face, every bat of the eyelashes, every flicker of colour in your eyes, every twitch of your lips, soaking it up with the intensity that could rival the wanderer's thirst in a desert. Looking, dazing, gawking, drinking in your features. Like he wasn’t sure whether he should grab and kiss you till he got his fill or just admire from afar, like the most exquisite flower under the glass.

He stared. And stared. And stared.

And gods, you stared back. 

His hair caught the sunlight, giving him an ethereal look, and you swore to God, the blue of his eyes brightened even more, though now his gaze seemed to carry more weight. You remembered them flashing with the charm and the mischief; it was still there, though you couldn’t help but notice adulthood setting into his features.  Your gaze drifted over his frame, clad in a dark blue suit (probably worth your month’s rent), greedily fixing the broadness of his shoulders, the tight pull of the fabric on the chest, the little mole between his collarbones, peeking out from the unbuttoned shirt. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Why was he here?” An anxious thought beat against your ribcage with a deafening thump-thump, suddenly twice its usual size. “He wasn’t supposed to be here! And found me!”

Deep down, you knew. Of course, Gojo could. You moved to another city, not the other hemisphere.

But it was Kyoto. A fucking metropolis!

Gojo was from Kyoto.

You fixed all the details almost unconsciously, committing his features to your memory as if he were about to vanish right this second. Neither of you dared to move; silence wrapped around you like a thick blanket, trapping you in its suffocating confines.

Nobara’s gaze flicked between Gojo and you, but luckily, she didn’t ask anything. Must’ve been obvious.

“You go back. I’ll handle it,” she whispered to you, and the strange spell cast on your room was dispelled. You gave her a quick, unsure grin.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

Nobara opened her mouth to protest, but your pleading look silenced her. With the last suspicious look at Gojo, she disappeared into another room.

You stood behind the register, trying to look as professional as ever. Trembling in your hands and the waver in your voice were a dead giveaway, though. Gojo’s eyes briefly flickered to your frame. His eyes softened almost imperceptibly. 

“So, long time no see, Gojo. How’s that been?”

Gojo grimaced slightly but didn’t comment on you using his government name. Instead, he just stepped closer to the register, as if unsure whether he could approach you.

That startled you. Gojo was never about hesitance in any way. 

“It’s been…okay,” he answered vaguely, and you couldn’t help but notice his timbre deepened. Tone smoothened, became richer. The Kyoto accent was back. You remembered how he desperately tried to sound more like a Tokyo guy.

Stop. 

What on Earth were you thinking? 

Focus.

“We’ve decided to reopen the Kyoto branch, and Gramps wanted to make me in charge of it.” You felt his gaze on you, and its intensity sent shivers down your spine. You nervously tried to issue him a receipt, but the terminal seemed to stop working at the most inconvenient moment ever. Heat slowly crept your cheeks. 

"... and I've got a lot of things to look through and deal with a bunch of old fossils," Gojo continued, grimacing at the mention of old men who were probably a part of the shareholders' board. You noticed he told about himself rather vaguely, almost indifferently, as his own life couldn't feel less interesting.

You dreaded Gojo's next question. Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask—

"And how have you been?"

A strange kind of desperation laced Gojo's voice. As if he knew he had no right to ask that, but just could not help it. His Adam's apple bobbed with effort, and if you paid more attention, you would've noticed the flex of his fingers.

You forced a strained smile, your heart did a stupid little flip.

"I...am doing alright," you gestured vaguely around the shop as if it could've answered his question. However, Gojo's gaze was glued to you, searching, observing, examining the fatigue that was deeply etched into your features, the light dust of pink on your cheeks, a nervous smile hiding at the corner of your lips, and a small cut on your chin. You were even more beautiful than he remembered. Was it ever possible?

"It's for your mom, right?" you blurted out before even thinking, earning a surprised look from Gojo. Your eyes widened; probably, he thought you were a stalker or just a lunatic for asking that. 

Nervously, you explained, fingers fumbling with the ribbon. "I remember you told your mom liked black tulips." Gods, why did you ask that? Is there really a kind of question for your ex-situationship at your first meeting?

Your heart beat anxious staccato against your chest. You prayed the ground would swallow you whole as Gojo remained silent.

Slowly, his initial shock and confusion melted into an undeniable affection, and he smiled, a soft, quiet smile that reached his eyes, crinkling at the corners.

You released a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Yeah. She still does. That's for her. I...," Gojo's smile faltered a little, "she flew from Tokyo for some business, and I am gonna meet her. I asked my assistant to pick a flower shop close to it. With good reviews, of course,” his gaze quickly swept the surroundings, landing on various arrangements, bouquets and vases. Strange tightness coloured his tone, and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion.

"Ah. I see."

"Yeah."

So, he didn't stalk you. Good to hear.

A loose strand of hair fell over your forehead, and you put it back with an annoyed sigh. Gojo's gaze followed it with a tender ache; you thought you imagined it. 

Gojo's lips parted slightly, and then he abruptly closed his mouth again. A little frown formed between his brows. 

"Listen, I know it's not the right moment, but I would like —"

You swallowed anxiously, but in that second, his phone rang. Whoever that was, you were beyond grateful for a little respite after everything that had just happened.

Gojo Satoru.

Your something. Your almost everything. Your childhood wish for a friend. Your teenage longing for love. Your yearning to be seen.

Your invisible string draped over months and cities. Forever snapped.

Or?

"Ijichi, I told you already," Gojo's voice came out way too harsher than it was with you; a mask slipping back on his face, "I'm busy with something right now."

Annoyance flushed in his eyes as he listened to a hasty voice on the other side of the phone. He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"Uh-huh. I got it. Be in five minutes."

The anxious voice, Ijichi's, as you presumed, mumbled something back, but Gojo didn’t pay attention.

Silence wrapped around you once again, unsure and hesitant. You took a deep breath, on the verge of blurting something about maintenance or a sudden supply of birthday cards, or anything, before Gojo's voice cut through the mess that your head was, softer than you ever expected.

"It was nice seeing you."

You rehearsed words suddenly seemed meaningless. A look of surprise crossed your face at his words, and before you could articulate your confusion in somehow coherent words, Gojo already left with a curt nod. The bell jingled obnoxiously loud, and you slowly took a deep breath.

Gojo's cologne was still lingering in the air, enveloping you in his scent.

Lost and confused, you slumped in the nearest chair behind the register, brain short-circuiting on what had just happened. Something you had never dared to think about in your dreams. Gojo was tucked in the deepest corner of your heart; you rarely allowed yourself to truly reminisce about what you were and never became.

And you couldn't shake the feeling he wanted to ask you something before the call. 

Or were you just making things up? Wishful thinking?

***

The day when you met Gojo was as clear as ever in your mind. No. When Gojo met you. Really met.

You had seen Satoru Gojo all the time at the campus: his frosty white hair impossible to miss, laugh booming loudly in the university halls, enough for people to turn their heads, all sharp grins and snarky remarks — confidence walked hand in hand with him as he basked in the attention. He moved like a person who had never forced himself to be small. To fit into some box. People orbited around him, inevitably driven closer by his overwhelming presence: planets pulled closer by the gravity of the Sun. 

You, on the other hand, were one of the satellites, surfing through the vast expanse of university life.

Naturally, your paths with Gojo didn't cross very often: sure, he was in your periphery all the time, effortlessly catching your attention with his jokes and... everything; you shared a couple of classes and had a bit of awkward exchanges in the library over behavioural theory of management. You weren't even surprised: for all Gojo's lack of discipline in the classes, he really had a sharp mind.

Sometimes he gave you a bright grin in greeting, to which you answered with a short nod, putting on an air of confidence, despite the frantic beat of your heart and the speed at which your palms got sweaty.

So, as it was etched in the laws of the universe, you quietly observed Gojo from afar, not daring to collide with his orbit more than needed. Burning in the Sun's light would bring long-lasting scars.

Oh, how right you were.

This shouldn't have happened. He should've just walked past you like many others on that rainy day, when you were standing right next to your stall, teeth chattering as the coldness embraced you in its harsh hands. Your gaze quickly swept the surroundings — the majority of students had already left their standings. No wonder, with the weather like that, who would've been foolish enough to stay at the volunteer fair?

You were. Though you preferred to think of yourself as responsible and kind. 

A deep chuckle pierced through the monotonous cacophony of the rain, and inevitably, your gaze landed on Gojo. He was hanging out at his friend's stall, helping to put things in the boxes. Geto, if you remembered it correctly. Surprisingly, he was also helping one of the city's animal shelters. You tried not to dwell on his charity box, which showed way more promise than yours.

You were so focused on not freezing to death at that point that you didn't notice Gojo walking to your stall. The bag with his volleyball (because of course, Gojo was ridiculously good at everything) uniform hit his leg with every step.

He stood right in front of it, a curious grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked ridiculously handsome, even with a silly umbrella.

Gojo kept examining the various brochures about the shelter, pictures of cats and dogs, seeking their homes. His gaze softened imperceptibly. 

Meanwhile, your world just tilted off its axis.

"Hi," you gave Gojo a nervous smile.

He looked up immediately and hummed in acknowledgement. "Hi."

An awkward silence fell upon you. Your brain short-circuited as you anxiously tried to scramble for the right words, but they just flew out of your mind right then. Nothing. Blank screen. Error.

Gojo didn't seem to notice your mental struggles, still glued to the stall.

Just when you were about to finally introduce him to the shelter you had been volunteering for, he suddenly reached for the wallet and threw bills in the charity box. A lot, one would say.

You blinked. Blinked again. Maybe you were hallucinating from standing all day in the cold. 

"What the hell are you doing?" You blurted out, and deep crimson painted your cheeks in embarrassment. 

What the hell were you doing? 

Who on Earth would say something like that to a person, willingly donating to your stall?

You hoped he wasn’t very petty.

Instead, his white brows knitted in confusion. He took a step back to examine the box before dragging his gaze, the brightest of blues, to you. 

"Donating, I guess?"

"Yeah, no shit," you scoffed. Backing wasn't an option by this time. "That's like...a lot."

A look of realisation crossed Gojo's face, before a cracking bright grin, as if the Sun finally peeked through the heavy clouds. Suddenly, the cold didn't bother you as much as before.

"Ah, it's nothing. Really," he drawled lazily and nodded at the photos again. "Besides, it's only for the good."

He was kind of insane, you thought. But hey, who would've said no to the charity money? Especially if you did less than expected at this fair.

"Then... thank you," you breathed out in relief, but immediately grimaced at how empty and basic it sounded. Quickly, you added. "Really, thank you! It would do a lot for the shelter, and —"

You reached for a simple box, adorned with a colourful ribbon, resting among others, to gift him. Nothing much, but you spent your whole evening preparing them.

"There's a postcard, a cap and a mug!" You shrugged casually, fingers toying with the ribbon, and handed the box to Gojo. "A token of appreciation, if you wish".

He examined the box with a sharp look, and for the moment, you felt really silly. His long fingers curled around the box, brushing briefly against yours — a warm touch, despite the rain, sending sparks of electricity up your arm.

Did Gojo notice that too?

He almost left, and you almost could breathe in relative calm, when something must've popped into his mind, and he abruptly stopped in his tracks. 

"Wait...are you this girl from the management class? The one with the old Gakuganji? Sitting on the left side, third row?" His eyes briefly scanned your face. You felt like a butterfly under his piercing gaze. "We talked about Mayo's behaviour theory in the library, remember?"

Remember. Did you remember.

Did you remember him.

The carefully constructed unreachable image of Gojo in your head seemed to have its first cracks. You had never thought he would ask if anyone remembered him. You had never thought he would remember your place at the lecture. The Sun didn’t simply bother to pay attention to the satellites.

Gojo might’ve interpreted your stunned silence in a completely different way.

“I mean, your hair is…different. And the hood,” he gestured vaguely, and you quickly put the lone strand behind your ear. 

“Yeah, uhm, that’s…that’s me.”

Gojo didn’t answer this, studying your face with intensity that might’ve pierced through your entire being. As if he were searching for an answer to a particularly tricky question only you could give him. 

Or maybe it was just an effect of his eyes — a shade that certainly shouldn’t exist in the world, putting all the world’s blues to shame. He was still stuck around your stall, as if glued. As if he didn’t want to leave. 

You didn’t even dare to think about it.

“Why are you alone? Aren’t the stalls supposed to have two volunteers? Suguru told me.”

You sighed, reminiscing about how Nobara almost coughed her lungs out today, but her stubborn ass somehow insisted on coming with you. Eventually, it ended with you locking her up in the dorm room.

“They are. I should’ve been there with my friend. She fell ill.”

A mischievous glint flashed in Gojo’s eyes as he arched his brow. “Really fell?”

“Really, really. Nobara’s not like that.” You scoffed at his implications and crossed your hands on your chest.

Gojo’s face sobered. “Nobara? Kugisaki? The lead cheerleader?”

You nodded.

He nodded back. “Yeah, she’s not.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. What the hell was going on there? Why did he, Gojo Satoru, out of all people, stay by your lonely stall and ask you weird questions?

Creepy. 

Gojo’s gaze flicked to the sky, just as the deafening sound of thunder boomed out of a sudden, then back to your face. The rainy pit-patter against the stall’s shade intensified, pulling you out of the strange daze to hastily pack the stuff back. The framed pictures landed in the box with awkward thuds as you threw them in the box. How you were going to take all of the stuff back to the dorm remained a full mystery.

You picked two of them with a grunt, and the hair fell on your forehead, obscuring the view. The box on the top dangerously slid down, earning a string of curses and a couple of desperate groans from you, when a pair of strong hands suddenly took them from your weakened hands. The rain didn’t help the situation at all.

You almost slipped, losing balance, but quickly stabilized yourself, gripping the same very pair of hands. There was no objection. From the person, obviously.

Gojo’s gaze pinned you to the ground when you looked up. His messy white fringe fell on his forehead (you felt a strange itch in your fingers to brush it away), and some strands, wet from the rain, stuck to his forehead. The soft brightness of his eyes was gone, replaced with something darker and more intense, you weren’t sure you could name it. You just stared back and wondered if the lost people in the oceans saw that exact shade of blue before drowning in their unforgiving waves.

You never saw Gojo that close, obviously. You didn’t know his lashes were so long and soft, fluttering with every breath he took; his nose was crooked just a fraction, and pale freckles dusted his cheeks. 

You swallowed, not daring to step back, and just froze like a deer in the headlights.

Maybe that was the way goddesses crafted the invisible strings. A whim, a caprice of fate, looking down at the people and deciding to grant their hearts the greatest wishes, just to weave them forever into the endless canvas of the universe. 

Little did you know that it was he who got rooted to the very spot. Froze. Stilled. Whatever. Gojo’s entire universe had just fallen off the axis and flew towards hell. The black hole, one might say. With such clarity that he was, honestly, surprised that no one saw it. 

That was the day when he first saw you. Really saw. The lone girl near the animal shelter’s stall, who observed people dismissively walking past her with an understanding and forgiving look. Whose entire face lit up when she talked about the rescued dogs and cats, to the people who would actually come up to the stall. The kind smile that transformed her face into a painting of the finest craft as she gifted the gift boxes. Who stubbornly chose to stay at the fair in the rain and cold. All alone, because her friend got sick. And, naturally, he walked to you, drawn like a moth to the flame.

A shot of electricity shook through Gojo’s body. The ground dropped away from his feet. The biggest fuckass tsunami hit him and filled his lungs with you, you, you. 

That was scary. That was dangerous. You were dangerous. 

The sudden clap of thunder above pulled you out of this strange haze. You stepped back; Gojo blinked — a storm in his eyes gave way to a warm sea breeze.

“They are heavy. I’ll walk you to the dorm.”

Your cheeks heated up, and you quickly babbled.

“There’s no need, really. I am okay—”

You almost flinched at the particularly deafening sound of the thunder and threw your hands up, answering with a weak grin.

“Seems like I do not have much of a choice.”

Gojo only chuckled.

His shoulder lightly brushed against yours the whole time to the dorm, sending light sparks up your arm even through the hoodie. You noticed how he subconsciously fell into step with you. Gojo gave you his umbrella, with some Digimon on it, and at first, you tried to shield him from the raindrops as well, but Gojo was so tall that your arm quickly hurt.

None of you said anything, besides light humming from Gojo’s side, and it felt strangely…nice. You expected desperately scrapping for words to fill the uncomfortable silence between you, but there was no need. Maybe you still existed in that small babble, where time stopped and held you in its tight embrace.

“So, that’s me,” you nodded at the doors and made a grab for the boxes.

Gojo frowned. “They are heavy. Come on, let’s get inside.”

Nobara certainly would ask you questions about how Gojo ended up in their room. You realized that you didn’t want to share this strange moment of...whatever it was with Gojo, with anyone else yet. Besides, she was still sick.

You forced a smile. “Thank you a lot, but I am fine. Really. And Nobara’s sick, so…”

Gojo blinked in confusion, but seeing you weren’t going to step back, nodded. He handed you the boxes back, which made you almost double over under their weight.

“See you at the lectures,” he waved to you, a charming grin curled up on his lips, and you found yourself smiling back. For a couple of moments, you watched his tall figure retreating, mulling over whether you should ask Gojo what the hell was going on, thank him properly or just say anything. You were so nervous, you could barely hear your own thoughts with the blood roaring in your ears.

Your gaze quickly dropped to the box, the shelter’s logo immediately caught your eye, and the idea popped into your mind so fast your anxious mind had hardly registered it. 

“Hey, Gojo!”

He stepped in his tracks and turned right that instant at the sound of your voice. Like he had been subconsciously wishing for it. His eyes seemed so bright, burning you with their electric blue.

God. What had you done? What were you going to do now? Your suggestion seemed so utterly stupid. Maybe Gojo would get tired of your hesitance and walk away?

“Yes?”

Oh, fuck. He was still standing there, head tilted in curiosity. You swallowed. There was no backing down now. Your grip on the boxes tightened. 

“Come to the animal shelter this weekend,” you blurted out. His eyes widened slightly, but you continued. “Your donation was the biggest. There’s a prize for it!”

For a long, painful second, you were sure he would come up with some polite excuse to decline it. To your biggest surprise, a big grin broke on his face.

“I’ll be there. See you.”

You watched Gojo walking away, still not quite believing what had just happened.

The days leading up to the weekend were filled with nervous excitement. Even when Gojo came for your number to text you about it, anxiety was still buzzing deep in your bones.

Turned out there was no reason for it. 

He actually showed up. That time. And many others.

You met at the shelter countless times — Gojo was more than welcome there. Your awkward, occasional conversations in the library turned into full study sessions, when both of you were glad to just share a bit of space. You learnt each other’s coffee orders by heart, favourite books, movies, shared favourite quotes, and had endless conversations under the starry sky about everything and nothing all at once. He would usually point at the bunch of stars and come up with the most ridiculous constellations and histories about them. You couldn’t remember a single moment when your cheeks didn’t hurt from smiling with him, a warm feeling blossomed in your chest every time his lips curved into a soft, gentle grin, the one you had already learnt was reserved only for you. All your camera film was filled with him, but you never complained.

You had never felt anything like that before; your heart was filled to the top with unspent, unrestrained love, so, naturally, it overflowed and flooded everything.

Maybe that was it. Maybe you loved Gojo so fiercely and desperately that it scared him. You never questioned or tried to define your relationship with him — you both were so happy that you thought that taste of honey would linger on your lips forever, living in the warm, miraculous daze forever. For Gojo, whose entire life was carefully built around expectations — the grades always had to be perfect, his future predetermined, written up to the smallest detail the moment he was born, the weight of his family's prestige settling heavily on his shoulders — being with you was a breath of fresh air. He didn’t have to put on any front: a star student, a team captain, the Gojo heir…he was just Satoru with you. And maybe he got a little bit too used to the fact that you simply took everything he offered to you, without asking for more. Without demanding. Without expecting. And when his heart started to jump every time he saw you, his chest tightened with a loving, tender ache at the sight of your smile and all his thoughts gravitated to you wherever he was, Gojo knew he was gone. Completely. 

He didn’t know how to love someone that much. Selflessly, unconditionally, handing his heart on his palm. The painful vulnerability that came with your love stripped him bare, to the bone, exposed the deepest corners of his heart and soul — something he didn’t even dare to look at himself. And that scared him. No amount of hiding his horror of being loved behind the usual mask of a fool could hide it. So he did the best he could for both of you. At least, that was what he thought. 

Left you.

He sincerely thought that was him protecting you from the inevitable break-up. He didn’t know how to love. He didn’t know how to be loved. 

Turned out Gojo just protected himself.

Slowly, your dates shortened, turning into quick meetings and then vanished completely with his weak excuses. Calls postponed, messages left on delivered. He gradually slipped away from your life, leaving a hole so big you didn’t know whether it was even possible to fill with something, someone else who wasn’t him. He ripped your heart and took it with him.

What was even worse was that despite everything, you couldn’t even bring yourself to hate him. Despite taking away your air with him. You cried yourself to sleep on countless nights, threw yourself into studies, volunteering, working, and everything that could even remotely help you to find closure. You were so lucky to have Nobara by your side — wordlessly, she picked up the shards of your shattered heart and carefully glued them together.

Over time, you grew tired of seeing your own sad, tear-filled gaze in the mirror, the sorrow in the bags under your eyes, hollow cheeks — solitude etched into your soul. You didn’t deserve it. If he weren’t the one, then be it. You couldn’t let a man define all your future.

With strange calmness and melancholy, you blocked him. Moved to another city. Got to work in a flower shop, something that you discussed with Gojo a lot of times. Took up hobbies. Squeezed yourself into bustling, busy Kyoto life as much as you could. Met other people, despite how much you wanted to hide in your shell.

Got over Gojo. At least, you thought you did, safe for times when your mind naturally went to reminisce about him after failed dates; for the fingerprints of him were all over the pages of your life.

Only for everything to return after meeting him today.

***

Saying that Gojo didn’t cross your mind the next days would be a lie. 

You wish you were a liar.

Why did he happen to visit your flower shop? Was it really random?

And more importantly: would he visit again?

The one part of you, young, naive and endlessly romantic, built sandcastles and told you that she wanted it to happen. The other, sharpened by adulthood and the cruelty of the world, destroyed them without batting an eye and told you not to be foolish. The second voice sounded suspiciously like Nobara’s.

You were too scared to trust the girl with the dreams way bigger than her, living in a fairytale, where princes would always find their way to princesses, fight all the dragons and have their happily-ever-afters.

You couldn’t afford to think about it. Closing off, guarding your heart like Cerberus wasn’t an option either, so you did what any reasonable, mature grown-up would do: bury yourself in work.

The large shipment of items, flowers and vases among them, had just been delivered to the shop, before one of your most frequent customers’ jubilee, so you were in dire need of all hands available. As a cruel joke of fate, Nobara was on the other side of the city, and Utahime argued with the suppliers, who messed up an important order again; her angry voice cut through the relative serenity and silence in the shop. Honestly, totally understandable.

Your back hurt from standing for God knew how long, a band-aid on your left hand had already asked for mercy, and the strain in your neck screamed for relief. You tried not to pay attention to the tightness in your shoulders; the exhaustion gave you a much-needed escape from your own mind. 

The bell chimed in greeting; your head snapped up to greet a client, only to be met with a familiar flash of snowy hair.

Your heart skipped a beat, and light pink dusted your cheeks. 

The little girl sheepishly peeked out of the window in her sandcastle.

“Didn’t expect you to see you here, yet so soon,” you mumbled in greeting, hastily wiping your hands off the apron and, unconsciously, clasping them behind your back. For some reason, you didn’t want Gojo to have a look at your scratches. Not when he was dressed to kill. Probably you.

You dragged your gaze from his figure and stood behind the register. The familiar position gave much-needed strength to deal with the headache Gojo Satoru was. Like you were the one in control. 

You didn’t quite recognize your voice, all sharp and business-like, when you asked him.

“How can I help you?”

Gojo didn’t answer you straight away. His gaze swept the surroundings — scattered boxes, vases waiting to be filled, a bunch of balloons —  until it landed on you. Something tender and endlessly fragile flashed in his eyes, but he quickly masked it. 

“I am here to talk to you and your boss, Miss Iori. I’ve been told I have to wait a bit —”

“...and if you are gonna sell me ranunculi instead of peonies once again, when I specifically asked for the fucking peonies,” you both turned your heads towards Utahime’s office, her voice gradually rising in pitch as she spoke. You swallowed. “I am gonna stick them all up in your ass and —”

You quickly exchanged glances with Gojo. His lips curled into a full-blown grin, the amusement dancing on his face, so unrestrained that you forgot what all the fuss about was.

“She’s a little busy now,” you chuckled in return. 

“I see,” Gojo finally turned to you, with the same smile he once stole your heart, and leaned on the register, his long fingers lazily drumming against the surface. 

“Actually, it’s even better. I want to talk to you first,” Gojo’s voice, soothing around the edges, dipped to that tone you were all familiar with. Deep and sweet, thick as honey, dying on your tongue in dizzying aftertaste.

“You see, we’re going to have an event soon, and among everything we need florists, obviously.” He flashed you a quick smile, but seeing confusion written all over your face, quickly schooled himself. Gojo glanced around the shop once again: the holiday postcards seemed to pique his interest way more than your reaction, then his gaze drifted to Utahime’s office once again, and finally, he dared to look at your face again. 

“And?”

“I want you to be the main designer of the event.”

Gojo’s words didn’t catch you completely off guard. Deep down, you wanted that day not to be a strange accident. Longed to see him again. Needed to allow yourself a moment of foolishness. 

A beat of silence passed between you, charged with the heaviness of unspoken words and feelings, deep buried inside to a point you doubt whether you both had even happened. Otherwise, why didn’t you ask him straight away to find someone else? Go from your sight and never return? 

Why didn’t you have the strength to resist his gravity? Was it even possible? To deny the Sun its power, when the burns still echoed in your heart with raging ache? 

Gojo’s eyes were glued to your face, desperately seeking any clue his expression might hand him. His voice dropped to a desperate whisper.

“I am not going to force you into anything. If you don’t want to deal with this,” the sudden wavering crept into his voice; a grimace briefly crossed his face, “dealing with me, I understand that. But I want to ask you not to do it. You’ll have all the creative freedom you want, all the communication will be handled by my assistant, and we won’t even meet, unless you want it. I promise. Just…just don’t reject the offer because of me. Please.” 

Your gaze narrowed, steel slipping into it. As much as the sapphires of his eyes urged you to surrender, to capitulate, to yield, your dignity screamed in objection.

“Why are you so adamant about this? Why do you want me to do this?”

His lips curled into a small knowing smile, bitter around the edges. His finger lightly tapped on the bunch of receipts, eyes drifting to the forgotten band-aid on your hand. The tightness in your shoulders didn’t go unnoticed either. 

“I think you need it. To feel in your place once again.”

How.

How did he manage to dig into your chest and rip your heart, revealing all the quiet battles you had been fighting? After all those years? Making you seen, even now?

But why did he think he still had a chance to tear you apart? To open apart old scars, the ones you were slowly stitching together?

The sudden anger bloomed bright in your chest, dipping all your words in venom.

“You promised me a lot of things, Gojo. I don’t quite remember you keeping them.”

A sparkle of icy fury flashed in Gojo’s eyes, and his jaw tightened. You didn’t allow yourself to flinch as he stared right into your eyes — the swords clashing in a deadly dance.

You dug your nails into your palm hard enough to leave crescents.

“Come on, say something. Give me a reason to hate you.”

The anger in his eyes slowly melted into an ache until guilt flooded the blue of them. Gojo stepped back with a sigh. His fingertips twitched as if he wanted to reach you, but then stopped halfway.

“I know I had hurt you. And believe me, this is not how I imagined us having a conversation like this,” Gojo’s gaze caressed your features, memorizing them, as if it would be his last chance to see you at all. Miraculously, you hold yourself from giving in to the apology and regret that laced his voice. You weren’t ready to face everything once again. Your heart was still bleeding for him. “If you want to talk about it — “

A subtle shake. “I do not.”

“Okay. Okay. I understand. Then just think about what I said. Please.”

Your gaze dropped. You wanted to hate him. You wanted to look right into his face and say “fuck you”, among many other things you were desperate to cry out. To scream, to push, to take him apart like he once did to you.

But you couldn’t.

You didn’t notice Gojo left the shop until the annoying doorbell chirped right through the haze of your mind.

Exhausted, you dragged your hand over your face and slumped into the nearby chair, deep in thought.

***

Utahime didn’t urge you to anything, and while you were grateful for that, the answer she hoped for was visible in the tight set of her shoulders as she looked through the bills, the tired sigh that would escape her every time she dealt with the suppliers, not to mention the rude customers. The jubilee was the last big event before the usual dry period.

Your inner scales gradually tipped towards Gojo’s offer more and more, with every strain in your neck, headache pounding with deafening force at your temples and endless scratches on your palms.

One evening, with you and Nobara crashing on your couch, you finally felt the scales tipped in Gojo’s favour. As the days blurred into a limitless working routine, where the only light was his words, whispering in the back of your exhausted mind with more and more annoying insistence, you found yourself eventually thinking about his offer more and more.

“So, you gonna text him or what?” Nobara mused, swirling the wine in her glass, sitting with her legs tucked. The Friday evening downed at you with a startling surprise.

You mindlessly twirled a business card that Gojo left for you at the register the day he visited the shop. Strangely, it completely slipped out of your mind. A quick brush of fingers against the plastic — an elegantly written GOJO SATORU caught the light — until it hit the coffee table. Nobara reached for it to examine.

“Whoa, as cocky as ever.”

“Well, he’s the CEO or whoever,” you murmured dismissevely and took a gulp from your own glass. The liquid bloomed bitterly at the tip of your tongue, and you put it away with a sigh.

Even wine didn’t help. You slowly tilted your head back until it hit the back of the couch. 

“Okay, let’s look at this from the other side,” Nobara discarded the card somewhere and sat cross-legged. You cracked one eye open, and the sight of her business-like expression almost made a groan slip your lips. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

When Nobara was in a mood, nothing in the world could stop her. You slowly straightened, but her next words made you choke on your own breath. 

“It’s not like he’s gonna confess that he was a massive jerk and ask for your hand in marriage.”

You spluttered, heat rising your cheeks. “Nobara!” 

The small decorative throw pillow landed on her face with the precision of a sniper. She huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Just saying. Not like that’s ever happening.”

A silence fell upon both of you, while you chewed on your bottom lip, musing over Gojo’s last words, which still lingered in your heart with a dull ache. 

Nobara narrowed her eyes and cocked her brow in a silent question. You swallowed and gave in with a sigh.

“He tried to talk to me that day,” you paused, choosing the next words, fully aware of Nobara’s glaring daggers in you. “Just admitted he hurt me, but I wasn’t ready for this whole conversation. Like, at all. You know what I mean, right?”

You slowly dragged your gaze to her, only to meet her softened gaze, full of sympathy. Wordlessly, she opened her arms, and you fell into her embrace. A quiet sniffle escaped you as you buried your face in her hoodie. Still without saying anything, Nobara brushed a lone hair strand behind your ear.

She indeed knew what you meant. 

When she held you in her arms, after Gojo ghosted you, brushed off like you never ever happened in his life. When she was by your side without even asking, dragging you back to the world, where Gojo was no longer a part of you. When she helped you to stand on your own once again. 

Nobara knew. You knew. Creeping between the cracks of things you never said. 

“I don’t know what to do.” Your voice got muffled by the fabric, but your best friend heard you all good. She patted your head with a soft, melancholic smile and murmured.

“I think you do, sweetheart.”

You went still in her arms, before mumbling something affirmative, and pulled back. Your fingers nervously trembled as you typed Gojo’s number.

“I won’t let him get me this time.”

Nobara watched you with a serious face, chin resting in her palm, elbow digging into the plush of the throw pillows. God, she hoped you were right. Not like her, or you would survive another heartbreak by Gojo Satoru. This time, it might come crushing even more.

She moved closer, your thighs brushing against each other’s, as she peeked at your screen. Her eyes briefly scanned the text before giving an approving nod.

You exhaled sharply before anxiously hitting the send button.

The three dots appeared in your chat alarmingly fast. Like Gojo had been chained to his phone, waiting for your text. You slowly exchanged glances with Nobara.

“He’s typing something.”

“Thanks, Sherlock.”

You threw her an annoyed glance. “Shut it.”

Not even a minute had passed since your own message when the phone dinged with a notification from Gojo. 

Gojo

22:54

Hi. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to text at all. Of course, my offer is still up and will be. Told you it’s yours. We can meet on Monday to discuss the details, if you’re free.

“Oh, he’s so sweet, it’s disgusting,” Nobara fake gagged and reached for her long forgotten wine. You didn’t dignify it with a response.

You

22:56

yeah, monday works for me. what about 2 p.m.?

Gojo

22:56

Totally fine. See you then.

You watched three dots appearing and disappearing in the chat, and your grip on the phone tightened with each passing second.

Gojo

22:58

Good night.

Your heart did a stupid flip, totally not needed and surely out of place. You shouldn’t have this reaction to Gojo Satoru. Shouldn’t!

With a sigh, you blocked the phone and stared up at the ceiling, mulling over what Monday would bring to you.

***

The clock in the Gojo’s reception barely hit 2 p.m., when his secretary, a tall blonde woman with a polite smile, invited you into his office. Honestly, you regretted not asking to meet you at least at a neutral territory the moment you stepped into the cold, pristine walls of the Six Eyes Corp. The ride in the elevator felt endless, your anxiety rising with each passing second, and the sight of an entire horde of managers and support staff running around didn’t help.

Corporation shmorporation. 

Wait. Would you become another cog in this soulless capitalism machine the moment you agree to Gojo’s offer?

You didn’t have time to think through it properly, opening the door to his office.

It was bigger than the reception, but not as enormous as you imagined. The first thing that caught your eye was the panoramic windows, with the entire Kyoto spread before your eyes. The walls were adorned with beautiful paintings: you squinted your eyes to examine them, which probably belonged to the brush of some niche Japanese artist. His workplace was surprisingly neat, especially given the way you remembered Gojo, when you both were…were. The laptop, a bunch of papers to be signed, pens in a holder, and…wait for a damn minute.

A mug. A simple mug just near a stapler. Slightly cracked, the logo rubbed off, but the image of a winking cat was still visible. 

Blood pounded in your ears, while you tried to get a grip on your anxious thoughts. You took a tentative step closer to observe it better, but there was no point in it. It really was the same mug you gifted him at that fair. A prize for the biggest donation. His donation. Gojo kept it in his room, and you drank from the mug more times than you could count. He would often joke that it was his favourite trophy.

And he kept it. On his table, in his office, where he ruled the world that this corporation was. Why?

Why? Did he think of you? Did he recall that fair? The shelter?

Ironically, Gojo didn’t notice you. His back was facing you as he talked to someone over the phone, looking at the city beneath his feet. You allowed yourself a moment of shameless gawking at his back in the crisp white of a button-up. His voice was clipped, words short, and exhaustion laced his words. You felt bad for intruding this place for a moment, especially when his shoulders dropped, as he ran fingers through the hair: the clear white of it catching the light in a way that stole your breath. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up, exposing the map of the veins on his forearms, muscles slightly flexing with every move. You swallowed and quickly looked away.

He finally acknowledged you with a slight tilt of his head and dismissed the call with a quick “Not now. Busy,” gesturing for you to take a chair.

You carefully sat, fingers fumbling with the strap of a bag to get your notebook, as Gojo slumped in his chair, which screamed The Big Boss™. He hooked his thumb in the tie with irritation to loosen it, and your gaze briefly flicked there. You smiled sympathetically.

“Rough day?”

“A bit.”

Your grip on the notebook tightened. “We can reschedule, I don’t mind.”

Gojo’s white brows knitted together in confusion, and he immediately straightened up. “No, why would we? I am peachy.”

Your shoulders dropped in a shrug. “Okay.”

“Wanna some coffee or tea? I hope Mei Mei offered you something.”

“Ah, yeah, I’ve just had coffee. Thanks.” Yes. Coffee was a totally plausible excuse for your fidgeting.

“I see.”

Inevitably, you kept sneaking glances at Gojo, pulled closer by the gravity. He twirled the pan between his long, pale fingers, checking something on the laptop, his eyes briefly scanning the screen. Then suddenly he looked up, catching you red-handed just mid-gawking. You briefly dropped your gaze back to the notebook, while his lips curled into a little smug grin. You cleared your throat, the business-like mask slipping on your face. 

“So, I’ll need to know what exactly the kind of event it is going to be, a venue, and a budget at first. If you have something specific in mind for the design, I’ll also be glad to hear.”

Gojo’s grin softened as he listened to your questions, head tilted, a dreamy gaze caressing your features. You looked so charming, sitting all serious in his office. 

Only when you cocked your brow in an attempt to hurry him did he realize he was shamelessly staring at you all this time. Well done, Gojo. Very professional. He quickly typed something on the laptop just to avoid your gaze.

“It’s gonna be an annual charity event for our foundation. They used to be hosted in the Tokyo branch, but this year the board decided to hold it there, in Kyoto.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you ran a foundation”.

A smile broke on Gojo’s face, and he hummed. “Well, a lot of things changed since —” he abruptly cut them off, probably having realized he sounded kind of insensitive. You hold your breath, “since I became the CEO.” 

You breathed out and marked something off in your list.

“I see. That’s…that’s really good. I am glad things are taking on a better turn.”

“Me too.”

Gods, that was so awkward. This really should’ve been a call. Gojo, however, either didn’t notice this strange atmosphere or simply decided to ignore it. He examined you with his bright blue gaze, head tilted to the side. A curious smile played on his lips, and you hated that he was effortlessly charming even now. Always had been. You pressed a pen to your lips. His gaze flicked there, as if hypnotized.

“What about the venue?”

“The hotel next to the main building. We have a partnership with this chain, so it’s kinda a mutual offer. You should’ve seen it on the way here.”

Oh yes, you did. The said building screamed luxury, not the grotesque hyperbolized one, but something way quieter. The kind that clearly told you would’ve been odd there. 

Okay, you thought. You would be working there, not catching glimpses of visitors and the staff.

Another mark in the notebook. 

“Budget?”

Gojo waved his hand in dismissal. “Unlimited. The floor is yours.”

You arched your brow, humming. You didn’t have a lot of luck in encountering your exes, who wanted you to work for them with an unlimited budget. “What if I asked for, I don’t know, Juliet Roses?”

He hummed in return, fingers drumming against the wood of the table. Then leaned slightly in, amusement lacing his tone as he drawled.

“I don’t understand much about that. But sure, whatever you want.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, earning a deep chuckle from Gojo. Teasing the guy who had more money than you would ever be able to make wasn’t as funny as you thought.

After this, you discussed the setting, a couple of specific ideas you already had outlined and some technical details. Gojo tried to crack some jokes, but you weren’t as enthusiastic about them as he was, so he quickly put on a business guy mask on. At the end of the meeting, your mind buzzed quietly with all the information, but a familiar feeling of excitement flooded you: hours of brainstorming, crafting, and creating waited for you. A big heartfelt smile broke on your face as you packed your things back into the bag. 

Gojo offered to walk you back to the elevator, and you didn’t find any excuse to refuse him. The silence stretched between you, not unnecessarily heavy, but you wouldn’t call it comfortable. Your gaze swept the surroundings, landing on a couple of managers, who were stealing sneaky glances at both of you and whispering something to each other with sharp smirks. 

Ugh. Like you were back in the university once again, meeting dumbfounded gazes of students, the moment they eyed you up next to Gojo. 

He was humming something to yourself, completely unbothered, leaning on the wall with the air of confidence that suggested he owned this whole world. And he surely did, if the world closed in on this corporation.

You quickly looked over your shoulder. “Didn’t it bother you?”

He stopped humming, eyes briefly flickering to your face. A lopsided grin curled his lips. “What are you talking about?”

Ah, as usual. He didn’t even notice the gaze, the whispers and the gossiping. Again, the sun didn’t bother to pay attention to satellites. 

You wordlessly glanced at the girls back and stared at the elevator. Gojo watched you with his head tilted and followed the direction of your gaze. The moment his eyes landed on the gossiping managers, his jaw tightened, and the steel crept into his voice. “Ah. I see.”

Your head snapped towards Gojo, and without much thinking, you grabbed him by the wrist. “I didn’t mean anything, let them be — “

“Hey, Chloe!” His voice boomed across the hall, causing one girl to nearly drop her binder. You could see her swallowing with effort even from this distance. A charming smile tugged on the corner of his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes, as he drawled in a deceptively sweet voice. “I presume you already finished the monthly report, since you have plenty of free time?”

The crimson crept up Chloe’s cheeks as she gripped the binder tighter, babbling. “No, Mr. Gojo, I was merely —”

His smile turned more wolfish as he tilted his head. “Then get your friend outta of here and do something useful.”

Chloe briefly exchanged glances with her friend before quickly making their way to the offices. Gojo watched until their figures disappeared and turned to you with a mischievous smile.

“Nah, it doesn’t.”

You couldn’t help but smile in return. “They are gonna talk even more, you know.”

His shoulders dropped in a lazy shrug, but his gaze fixed you with its usual intensity. You forgot how the sharpness of it used to make your breath bated.

“There’s nothing to talk about. Unless?”

Your heart stammered against your ribs at the innuendo in his tone. Inevitably, you remembered the mug from the shelter on his table, and while you were debating whether to bring it up or keep your mouth shut, the elevator behind finally dinged. A sign, hah?

You hastily stepped forward just to hide from Gojo when his fingers brushed against your wrist. 

“Wait — “

“You look beautiful today.”

“I like your blouse, this colour suits you.”

“You curled your hair, right? I love the way they frame your face.”

The blue of his eyes pinned you to the ground as if you were a butterfly. Gojo’s lips parted, but the words never came, and slowly he let your hand go, letting the crowd in the elevator swallow you and take you away from him.

He inhaled slowly and stared at the ceiling.

What was the name of those flowers?

***

The next days passed in a blur as you started planning the event. Honestly, you hadn’t felt such a wave of excitement since…a long time ago. You didn’t blame your flower shop and Utahime, hell, you never could, but turned out when your hands weren’t constantly covered in all sorts of scraps, knees hurt from standing so much and back almost breaking from carrying the vases, you enjoyed your job well more. 

Gojo kept his promise and didn’t contact you until it was absolutely necessary. However, you couldn’t hide the way your heart would skip a beat wherever he appeared at the venue or when he sent you a little emoji at the end of his texts. You told yourself not to live in illusions, but it became increasingly harder with his gaze caressing you, when Gojo thought you didn’t pay attention. The strange, tender ache in his eyes made your insides churn with some unspeakable feeling you weren’t ready to name at all, and for the sake of your mentality, you decided you would pretend it was a simple curiosity. The mug on his office table whispered insistently that you were wrong. You stubbornly shoved the thought away.  

Gojo didn’t overstep, keeping your relationship on a faint, barely non-existent line of business partners and past acquaintances. Though sometimes he couldn’t help himself and…mishaps indeed happened. 

For example, on your first day at the venue, you were greeted by an elegant bouquet of Juliet roses and pink hydrangeas. The florist in you critically examined the bouquet and admitted it was too your liking, but the thought that it was for you didn’t even cross your mind (tell about originality — giving flowers to the florist), when Gojo happened to peek in and noticed the bouquet didn’t move an inch. 

“Is something wrong with the flowers? I thought you liked these roses.”

Too engrossed in your files, you didn’t even catch his words, staring mindlessly at the screen of your laptop, until a shadow loomed over the table and you begrudgingly had to look up. You stared at Gojo in confusion.

He nodded at the bouquet. “You didn’t like the flowers?”

Your brows knitted in confusion as you followed the direction of his gaze. “No. The composition is really good. I like the way the hydrangeas frame the roses. Juliet roses! The guy doesn’t play about his date,” you chuckled and added immediately. “Or the lady. Either way, the flowers are nice.”

A beat of silence passed between you, enveloping you in its warm embrace. A light pink dusted Gojo’s cheekbones, and he murmured in pretend nonchalance.

“So you didn’t check the card?”

Now you felt completely dumbfounded and slightly irritated that Gojo kept distracting you from the work at hand. “No, why would I —”

Your gaze briefly flicked to the flowers at one of the tables and back to Gojo, who kept eyeing with his usual intensity, stripping you bare of any defences. Then it hit you.

This bouquet was for you.

“Oh”, you murmured nervously, and forced a quick smile, involuntarily straightening up in a chair. Now you couldn’t wait to read the card. “I-I am sorry, I just thought. You know.” You twirled a pen between your fingers, mulling over the next words. There was a little excitement in telling your ex-situationship that you weren’t used to flowers. Usually, when the guys heard about you being the florist, they joked, “Then you are probably tired of seeing them,” as an excuse.

It stopped amusing you on the third date. On the fifth, you resisted the urge to smack them. On the tenth, you silently prayed they would shut up. 

You muttered as politely as you could. “You didn’t have to, Gojo. Thank you.”

A strange melancholy lacing your voice didn’t go past Gojo. His tone hardened. “If you liked them, then I absolutely had to.”

He hated it. He absolutely hated the way your face dropped, sadness crept into your usual bright tone, and the smile became a little too tight around the edges. Despised how you automatically assumed the flowers weren’t for you. Hell, who else were they for?

And the thought of him being the reason you doubted yourself drove him insane to the point of keeping him awake in the night, browsing through your old photos; he couldn’t bring himself to delete. Not only as a memory of what he lost but as evidence of his own cowardice. 

He tried to keep you at a distance, letting the contract and the strict confines of the agreement define you. He thought it would be easier this way. 

But there was nothing easy about either of you. Never was. And in the end, he gave up. The lines blurred between you so hard that he couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

© wiserion. do not modify my work in any way (copying, translating, ai feeding, etc.)

[mirkoluvs]

★ BOYFRIEND TEXTS WITH FRAT GOJO

frat!gojo x fem reader

notes: i think the jjk college au is the best thing to happen to society since frat eren… anyway, ask and you shall recieve !

nerdjo version —> continued

© mirkoluvs. please do not copy, modify, or repost on other platforms. thank you

[toodymcdoody]

fratjo x nerdjo x reader (???)

-.-.-.

“You need to stop this charade,”

It’s spoke plainly, filled with boredom and disappointment. It doesn’t sound like a joke, like when his friends finally caught onto this current running gag on campus.

“What ever could you be talking about?”

He’s trying to hide his guilt. It’s small but it’s a good sized pit in his stomach, reserved for you and what any other emotions you make him want to hide.

“Gojo,” he sighs, taking a seat next to you on the couch “you cannot keep pretending to be twins. If one more girl asks me about ‘Toru’ and ‘Sato’, I am genuinely going to crash out,”

“It’s my alter egos,” he lays nonchalantly, head thrown back, arm put behind you and the other rubbing his face. “People love it! A little freaky nerd on the side, a frat guy who loves to bottom, and you,”

A pause, he peeks one eye open and smirks.

“You get me all to yourself. Best of both worlds,”

He starts moving before you can react. His face a few inches away from yours but the tension makes it feel like your lips are almost touching. You keep your eyes on his. Knowing if you glance at his lips, he’ll have won this secret battle yall have.

“I don’t want best of both worlds if I’m sharing,” you scoff.

“Who says you have to share anymore?”

[mintmatcha]

I need someone who has a crush on me but also I have a crush on them and also we dont date and it tears them up inside

[mintmatcha]

@shigarosie and yeah sero is so cool about it. he never pushes the idea of a relationship, never does anything more than harmless flirting.

but the look in his eye when your new boyfriend throws an arm around your shoulder is so incredibly pained-

[shigarosie]

[mintmatcha]

And. and the night he decides to fight through that sickness and kiss some girl at the bar. is the night you show up. freshly single. because all you could think about is sero that whole time-

[shigarosie]

You leave before he can see you. Before you can see him pull away and awkwardly tell her to have a good night because try as he might, he just can't bring himself to take anyone home with him.

You don't see each other for months. When you finally do, it's by chance. An accidentally bump into each other at the coffee shop. You have a new haircut, a breakup staple, and he's got a new piercing and it's not a huge change but it's significant enough that it feels weird. You used to tell each other about these things before they happened. He kind of feels annoyed that you haven't reached out to him in a while but he also can't blame you when he pulled away first. And it takes a few awkward attempts before you sink back into the ease of knowing each other and joking around a little. And just when Sero's about to ask if you've fully called it off with your boyfriend, someone comes over and you remember oh. Yeah. You're here on a first date. And suddenly you both feel sick all over again

[mintmatcha]

you feel doomed to circle each other.

you two end up at a mutual friends wedding, neither of you given a plus one. It's fun, of course, and after a couple drinks, you find yourself slow dancing in his arms, joking like normal...

[toodymcdoody]

“Just a kiss,”

“Just a kiss? Singular?”

Satoru usually loved when you got bossy. Just, not right now. Right now, he wanted to eat your pussy.

“Ok, two kisses!”

He nods his head solemnly and starts to pull your panties to the side. Normally you wouldn’t mind, you’d let him go to town if you could but there’s a home that needs to be cleaned.

You use your hand to push his head back when you notice his tongue peeking out.

“Nah uh! No tongue,”

“No tongue?” He sounds as if he’s genuinely upset, and he may actually be.

“Either two kisses, no tongue or one kiss with tongue,” Negotiations are expected in a relationship with him, and you’ve gotten really good at them.

He pouts and leans his head against your thigh.

“What if I do two kisses with tongue and you get loved on by your boyfriend,” he places quick kisses around your thighs while you think.

You’re usually good at working around Gojo Satoru, but he looks at you with a cute little smile.

Who were you to deny him?

[bfbkg]

THREE DAYS (3.2k)

— bakugou katsuki x reader

synopsis: your ex-boyfriend misses you desperately. he broke up with you by the way!

warnings: angsty, crying, kissing, grinding, suggestive, yn's in her underwear at one point, mentions of violence, obsessed bkg

someone is in your apartment.

your fingertips are rubbed raw and your knees are about to buckle from exhaustion from your long shift at work but every muscle on your body stands on edge. it’s not like you can see someone is here in the darkness, but you can tell something is off. you fight within yourself whether to take your shoes off and once you decide off because you mopped yesterday, it feels like it reveals a lot about you as a person currently.

you’re just tired, cannot be fucked for an assassination attempt and perhaps that is why you drop your keys on the counter to grab the rolling pin from your drawer.

“come out. i know someone’s here. i’d rather just die than get jumpscared,” you say. there’s nothing, then a shift of a shadow by your television and there’s a rush of wind by your face. your body gets slammed against your front door as the rolling pin is pulled from your hand.

you scream, only able to make out this figure as being a foot taller than you and almost triple you in width. dressed all in black.

your vocal chords are about to scratch your throat until a gloved hand lands on your mouth, silencing you immediately.

“it’s just me.”

with all the strength you can muster you push the man off you and only because he chose to, does he move away from you. two whole steps.

“what the fuck katsuki!” you growl, clicking the light switch beside your head and everything becomes visible, “get the hell out of my home!”

you hate him. you think. you hate his job and his job is so intertwined in his identity that it’s just easier to hate him. he’s in black boots, a black overhead hoodie and black cargos. ever the shadow despite the blonde peeking out under his black cap. he doesn’t have a mask on but you can assume it’s stuffed in his pocket. his gloved hand swipes his hood of his head as he throws the rolling pin onto your sofa. you’re faced with red rimmed eyes, slightly puffy like he’s been… crying?

you dated bakugou katsuki, also known as the country's number two hero dynamight, for not even a year. eleven months on the dot before he broke up with you. yes, he broke up with you, with the audacity to appear in your apartment a month later.

“w-wait. fuckin’ wait,” he breathes, dragging his cap off his head and it only makes your chest constrict.

you loved him. you loved him more that you could verbalise. in another world, you’d drag him into your arms, have him lay his head on your lap like you did months ago as he talks about his day. now, you’re trembling at the sight of him.

“you can’t break up with me and then break into my home. i was about to shit myself!” you squawk, flinging your arms up in the air. 

he’s still beautiful, the beauty spot on his neck and the one right behind his ear. he’s got a light stubble on his jaw that is new but attractive all the same. his eyes are hard for you to look at though, filled with too much emotion. you can’t even handle your own.

“i just wanted to check if you were good. wanted to speak to you.” bakugou’s scratches his head hard enough to draw blood under his nails.

you scoff, folding your arms. your body is happy to see him, serotonin levels boosting at just his presence. your head knows better. 

“don’t you have your little guards report back every detail about me? you know i’ve been working, i went to the cinema last week and i got chinese food from the place around the corner.”

“had to go back because you forgot your spring rolls.” he mumbles, stepping in closer to you.

everything about bakugou screams intimacy to you. like his hand belongs on your waist and yours on his neck. he’s the right size for you to hug and feel safe from all angles. you couldn’t forget his kisses either. the harsh nibbles on your thighs and the full presses into your cheeks.

“what are you doing here?” your face is deadpan. he can’t make you go through debilitating levels of heartbreak, calling off work, wallowing in depression for him to appear whenever the hell he wants. 

“i missed you. i needed to see you.”

you grit your teeth, “katsuki.”

“i fuckin’ know i shouldn’t be here but i can’t sleep, i’m useless on the field. i’m goddamn hollow without you.” he drags his palm down his face and his anguish with himself is apparent.

“you made your decision. you can’t break into my home.”

bakugou growls, bending over with his hands on his knees. it’s like he’s about to be sick, his chest heaving as he takes deep breaths. then he stands up, steps right into your personal space.

“stop acting like this is a normal fuckin’ break up. stop acting like i chose this and this didn’t need to happen.”

you refuse to look at him. everything about him is still stored fresh in your head. the last time he was here, you ordered in and watched a movie. then he pleasured you on that very sofa before lifting you to your bedroom.

“katsuki, stop.”

“i could never be a normal fuckin’ boyfriend for you. i said this from the beginning.” he pushes, half like he’s trying to convince himself and half because you refuse to see this.

a tear slips from your eye and you’re quick to wipe it away.

“okay, so you’ve seen me, i’m doing fine. can you leave now?” 

two palms are placed on either side of your head against your front door. you can hear him sniff your hair but he doesn’t make a move to touch you.

“i can’t put you in danger. there are people after me, they were going to be on you next.” he breathes into your ear, forcing you to listen.

you clench your eyes shut. that side of your ex boyfriend’s life terrifies you. you couldn’t handle half the blood and gore he’s seen in his life, the constant fight for not only his survival but the worlds. you were meant for a normal life, simple, with a husband that comes home from his boring desk job.

“i couldn’t put you through that. if somethin’ happened to you when i wasn’t around. i’d never forgive myself.” every word is pulled from the back of his throat. deep, guttural.

he’s close enough to kiss, to slide your cheek against his.

you breathe away the fear at the real possibility of death, craving how he nudges his head with yours like it’s an innocent reprieve. a sliver of contact to take the edge off.

“then why are you here again? isn’t this putting me in danger?” you whisper.

bakugou drops his head to your shoulder, shaking.

“‘m weak. feels like i’m constantly suffocating, i wake up every day with a fuckin’ migraine.” 

his nose presses into your neck and all you can manage is a single finger in his belt loop. it’s like the fog in your mind is clearing, thoughts coming in a language you can understand instead of constant wonder about this man. 

“i know how it feels,” you murmur, laying your head on his. you tug once on the belt loop and he steps in closer to you.

“yeah? sorry, sweetheart.” 

it’s an apology that means nothing since he won’t change his mind but it’s all he can say at this moment.

his breath tickles your neck at every syllable, your body sparking alight with want.

“exes always end up crawling back. i’m not even surprised,” though you jump when two gloved hands land on your waist and bakugou presses his body into you against the door.

his body shakes with an exhale and you feel it run through you.

he feels like biting down on your neck, for you to see this isn’t a normal situation. though he pulls off your neck, staring down at you with narrowed, piercing eyes. you hold eye contact, you even keep his hips pressed against you with his belt loop.

“i’m not like your other dumbass boyfriends who couldn’t handle your ass,” he curses in your face though it only makes your eyes drop to his lips, “i left to protect you.”

“and you came back to make yourself feel better. that’s not protecting anybody, is it?” you taunt and you test the waters by looping your arms around his neck. 

bakugou’s always struggled to hide emotion on his face. everything he feels is always served up on a plate to whoever is around, no cutting around corners, no assumptions needed. who he is, is what you get. 

which is why you know, despite the fact you’re pushing at him for a reaction, his love for you over powers that. it’s you, a random civilian who was never supposed to cross paths with this pro hero who has the abilities to fight the strongest, can take him down all at once.

“fuck off,” is all he can manage. a watery, stunted one that lacks any punch.

bakugou’s eyes laze, nose twitching, teeth biting at his bottom lip before letting go. he’s all pent up and the last time he remembers feeling normal was the morning of the day he found out someone’s put a hit out on dynamight. he really shouldn’t be with you right now.

he pinches your hip when you roll your eyes. you can tell that he wants you, a kiss, to fuck you against this door.

you reward him with a hand on his cheek, one he snuggles into without breaking eye contact.

“dynamight can save the world, time and time again but can’t save his girlfriend. he lets everyone live their lives, everyone else is able to be happy but him.” you murmur, brushing your thumb over his lips. you drag his bottom lip down, studying his row of bottom teeth before letting it snap back up.

he goes to bite at your thumb but it’s back at his cheek.

“it’s my duty to keep everyone safe,” he presses his cock into your stomach and your next breath is only full of delight, “it will always be my duty.”

you’re acting like a bratty child, like this is a disagreement on how he stacks the dishwasher. your hand drops from his cheek, instead it lays flat on his torso.

“whatever, katsuki.” you huff, “you made your choice. you fight for the world but not me.”

he growls, “i will fight for you. i’m takin’ a precaution, you’d hate a life always lookin’ over your shoulder because of me. i’m used to that shit, prepared for it.”

“the only people over my shoulder are your stupid hero friends following me around to watch me cry. that is because of you.” 

he’s about to touch your face with his gloves and you stop him immediately. “take them off.”

he pulls them off one at a time, with the pinch of his fingers.

“so sensitive,” he grunts, but you notice how he relaxes when his hands find your cheeks. rough calloused fingers moving down to circle your neck because you’re all covered up otherwise. he wants to touch your body. he takes a deep breath, “i’m fine with makin’ you cry if you’re not gettin’ killed.”

“you’re scared, katsuki.” you push, “too scared to even try.”

he dips his head to lean into your mouth. his lips brush against yours, “if it keeps you safe then call me a pussy, i don’t give a fuck.”

“you’re letting them win. you’re not fighting back!” you whine but he sucks up your last word by pressing his lips against yours.

he moans instantly, turning his head and opening his mouth. you do too, sliding your tongue down his throat and dragging him closer by his neck. it’s a lot. from not seeing the man for weeks to having him so close. you both always worked together, understood without anything verbal needed.

you jump and he catches you, letting your legs circle around his waist.

“wait!” you say, pushing him off you. it leaves him blinking at you slowly, licking a stripe across his bottom lip. you just need a second because one kiss and you're scrambled.

“you wanna say more bullshit to me? go on, baby.” his voice is so easily laced in arousal. one kiss and he looks fucked.

“i hate you,” you say, punctuating your retort by yanking him back to your face.

he moans, rolls his hips into your centre for some friction. it only makes you wetter, makes you want to scream at him.

“i love you too,” he whispers, filling your neck with wet kisses, “i love you so much, that i need to let you go.”

you tilt your head, fingers fiddling with the buttons of your blouse.

“you’re weak and a liar,” you stutter, voice fluttery when he begins to hump you against the door, “if you loved me you would fight anyone who gets between us.”

bakugou laughs, helping you out of your blouse to leave you in your purple cotton bra. you’re beautiful, so terribly beautiful.

“you don’t want to see what i’ve seen, baby. what if you’re tortured, kidnapped? all because i fuckin’ love you?” 

it’s like he’s in purgatory. so close to heaven, feeling you, just having you near him. but he knows that once this is over, once he’s away from your soft tits and your wandering hands, that this memory will be another form of torture for him.

“then don’t let that happen, dynamight.” you snarl, chest heaving as he takes a breast from your bra cup and sucks on your nipple, “c-can’t be that hard for a hero.”

you suck the air between your teeth harshly, when he bites a little too hard on your breast, “stop pissin’ me off. i’m not changin’ my mind.”

your face scrunches in disgust, as he stares at you from your chest, “i’m not letting a loser fuck me.”

that pushes him to the edge. weak, scared, a loser, a liar. where has his fight gone? his drive he had from when he was younger?

“you’re so fuckin’—,”

you tap his arm snootily, “put me down. i’m gonna get ready for bed and you’re leaving.”

he grinds into you purposefully, his cock at full mast, thick against your centre. “no. i don’t know when i can see you again—,”

another two taps on his bicep, “now katsuki. and never come back.”

it is the same sickness from before that floods him. the constriction of air in his throat, the ramming hammer against his skull. 

he drops you to the floor and you stare at him as you unbutton your jeans. leaving you in your mismatched underwear. purple bra and navy and white striped panties.

“get out of my sight.”

he can’t. he just can’t leave you again.

“i can’t have you die because of me.”

“then don’t.”

bakugou blinks as you balance on one foot to remove your socks. you throw them in a pile with the rest of your clothing.

“it’s not that fuckin’ easy.” he wants to pull his hair out in chunks.

“then make it easy. why do i have to spell it out for you?” 

can he make it easy? kill the villain who’s put a hit on him. what if another comes up? he can kill them too.

“d’you still want me?” he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets as you circle around him, to make your way to your bedroom.

“what?”

“d’you still love me? you loved me before.”

it feels like punching a glass case when he asks. necessary to get your heart but causes him to bleed nevertheless. 

before feels like years ago even though it was a matter of weeks. you know the answer like the back of your hand, it’s what wakes you up in tears in the middle of the night and what makes you sit in silence for hours.

“yes. you made me happy, katsuki.”

he cards his fingers through his hair, “you’re willin’ to be with me knowing that people will wanna kill you ‘cause i love you?”

your heart skips a beat. “that won’t happen though. you’re strong and brave. people respect you like a leader and you work according to the truth.”

you’re standing barefoot, in your underwear, bearing yourself to him as he’s fully clothed, backed into a corner. you were right earlier, he is scared, absolutely terrified but nothing can be worse than you not being in his life. nothing can be worse than not trying. to have you believe in him when he doesn’t believe in himself.

bakugou nods, grabs his hat to shove back onto his head. “i’m gonna do better, baby.” his boots are thick yet silent as he storms towards you. an arm sliding around your waist and his other holding your head how he wants. “give me a week and i’ll sort it.”

“i’m not waiting another week for you.”

it’s the audacity that makes him want you more, has him curling his body into you, the pads of his fingers burning where they touch your skin. he slips a hand down your back, resting right over your ass.

“give me five days. i’ll sort it in five days.”

a mission to capture a villain, he knows little about and have him killed.  

you shake his hand off your cheek, “three. if you love me, make it three.”

from your ass, he grabs your thigh, hitching it at his waist. “i’m a fuckin’ idiot to think anyone’s gonna be after you. it’s gonna be you that kills me.”

you play with the hair on the nape of his neck and you reward him with a smile that makes his cock ache. he misses you. an insane amount.

“i’ll see you in three days, ‘tsuki.”

he lays a kiss on the flesh of each breast, then one on your mouth. a wet peck with a smack.

he untangles from you slowly like each movement is hellish but he knows exactly what’s on the other side of this. him being able to crawl into bed beside you. kissing down your whole body. his head between your legs. living life with you. 

he walks to your front door backwards, unable to take his eyes off you. you revel in his attention, your hands behind your back, head tilted with a small smile.

“fuck. i’ll see you in three days. no more.”

while likes are appreciated, reblogs, comments and asks mean the world! i delete comments asking for another part. thanks xox (saying that, this might have a part 2, MIGHT)

wanna read something else?

[reignpage]

Synopsis: in which popular girl!reader is done with shitty players and wants to try the newest delicacy: virgin nerds. It’s game on to seduce the physics student, who seems more than ready to abandon his life of celibacy.

But their arrangement only works if they’re both on the same page. What happens when one expects a little more than sex?

Is it game over?

Chapter THREE: now that you've, somehow, reeled him in, the game begins as any relationship does: with a date. and sex. and another date. and more sex. but also something a little more?

Content: smut (p in v, masochism, femdom), mean girl!reader, sexually promiscuous!reader, mean friends, angst in parts, mostly fluff and smut, not proofread - pls let me know if you spot typos! Word Count: 9.4k

Chapter TWO - Masterlist

“So,” Jeanette begins, stirring her blueberry iced matcha with a sly grin, “this is your new man.”

You roll your eyes, and refuse to answer. This bitch has seduced three of your boyfriends before just to see if she could, and she probably would have slept with more if you hadn’t warned them all that she had gonorrhea. She doesn’t, as far you know, but she might as well with how disgusting you found her. 

Sensing tension, Satoru, who’s sitting beside you, gives his best smile and says, “Yep. I’m Satoru Gojo, third year Physics student. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Eleanor laughs so loudly everyone in the entire cafe turns to look. “Oh my god, she’s dating a nerd. Did you hit your head on the way down to rock bottom?”

Eyes narrowing, you ask, voice razor sharp, “Is there something wrong with nerds?”

Brittany pipes up, attempting to diffuse the tension with a question directed at your boyfriend. “Satoru, tell us what qualities attracted you to our bestie over here.”

She’s the only one who knows of your little challenge with her. The other two only know that you’ve started seeing someone new and it’s more serious than any other relationship you’ve ever had. They probably don’t believe you — you know them well enough to know that they think this is another one of your new phases. 

They’re not wrong, but you’re intent on proving them wrong. 

The fact that Satoru showed up to meet them at all is already a huge step (most of your exes only got acquainted with their tits and vaj, and behind your back). You lasting a couple more months with him would be miraculous, and they’d never be able to say another thing about your poor tastes in men. Especially since none of them had ever had a boyfriend for longer than one month, at least not without them cheating. 

You bet they’re aware of that.

And they’ll try their very best to sabotage you. 

‘Keep your wisps about you,’ you warned him before entering the cafe. 

‘Wits, babe, and yeah, don’t worry about me. I’ll be on my best behaviour,’ he replied.

The words ‘it’s not you I’m worried about’ almost left your glossy, perfect lips but you kept it in. You didn’t want to frighten him.

Satoru has an arm resting on the back of your chair. He rubs your shoulder, an act they all notice. Casually, he answers, “Boy, where do I begin? She’s really funny. I like that she’s honest and never holds back her thoughts, that she has a great sense of style and isn’t afraid to be adventurous, and she’s sweet and kind. I’m really looking forward to getting to know her even better.”

That was such a good answer, it stuns them all, you included. No guy’s ever had so many nice things to say about you. You give him a grateful smile, one which he returns. Sure, he probably doesn’t mean it, but the fact that he could conjure up any qualities at all meant a lot. 

Most guys usually point to your fantastic head game and mean arch. 

Brittany gives you a look of approval. He’s won her over already. Now, for the other two. 

Eleanor purses her lip, refusing to admit defeat with the first line of attack. And Jeanette scoffs; she’s not the kind to hide her thoughts and opinions at all.

Cue evidence A: 

“You mean, she’s blunt and tactless, dresses like a whore, and has nothing going on in her head.” She turns to you, plastering an innocent smile. “No offence, babes. You know I meant that as a compliment.”

She didn’t, but you don’t call her out on it. Instead, you say, “Yeah, maybe he meant that. Doesn’t change the fact that he likes me though.”

Satoru chuckles, sipping on his caramel frappe with extra caramel, which he offers to you and sips some more when you turn it down. “I meant it exactly how I said it. I genuinely like her — she keeps me on my toes. There’s really no one like her.”

That phony ass smile tightens, eyes flicking between you and Satoru as if the bitch’s searching for cracks, for flaws, and weaknesses to exploit. She leans forward, pushing out her cleavage. “Wow,” she says, dragging the word out. “You’re really…articulate.”

You feel your jaw tighten immediately. There it is.

Her gaze lingers on him a second too long, basically eye-fucking him. 

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as her type. But I guess opposites attract.” A beat, eyes flicking to you, then back to him. “You ever thought about dating someone a little more…low-maintenance?”

Your snort slips out before you can stop it. “Oh my god, Jeanette,” you say, flat. “Do you hear yourself?”

She doesn’t even look at you. Just bats her lashes at Satoru, dismissing you like background noise. “I’m just saying. Some girls can be a lot. I’m sure you’ve noticed.” 

Heat flares sharp and familiar in your chest — anger, yes, but also something uglier. 

Sure, maybe he’d like someone who doesn’t take exactly an hour to do their makeup, doesn’t brush their hair exactly a thousand times because you’d seen Barbie do it, and matches her thong to her shoes, but that person isn’t ever going to be her.

The cunt takes a pharmacy-load of vitamins and supplements every morning, and has weekly visits at her ‘dermatologist’, though you all know that’s just code for ‘plastic surgeon’. If she was dropped off in the middle of the sea, she’d float. God, you wish someone would drop her off in the ocean; you’d pay big money.

Eleanor hums in agreement, stirring her drink leisurely. “Yeah. She’s always been…intense.” Her eyes rake over you, sharp and assessing. “I’m surprised you’re handling it so well.” She smiles, all teeth. “Guess miracles do happen.”

“Sorry,” you say coolly, “should I start dimming my personality to make everyone else more comfortable? Is that the new trend? At least, I have one, Eleanor; I don’t make it a habit of following whatever Gwyneth Paltrow and Kylie Jenner are doing.” 

Their smiles sharpen, just as Brittany sighs. “Can we cut it with the catty drama? I haven’t had my daily orgasm yet, so this is bad feng shui.”

Satoru’s hand tightens slightly on your shoulder — grounding, reminding you he’s here. He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t bristle. Doesn’t rise to the bait. Whereas the few men that had reached this stage usually agree, or excuse themselves to the bathroom, with one of these cunts not-so-discreetly following behind.

He simply looks at Jeanette, calm as still water.

“I actually really appreciate her intensity,” he says evenly, adjusting his glasses so they can all see his eyes clearly. “She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to say it. Most people, on the other hand, hide their intentions behind pretty words. My girlfriend just comes out and says it. That’s not a flaw, not at all.’” His thumb shifts, warm, reassuring. “I think it’s the most refreshing thing ever.”

For half a second, you forget how to breathe.

Not because he defended you — plenty of men have done that, albeit badly, loudly, and in a way that invites you even more scrutiny later. But because he did it like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t a favour. Like you were worth defending without theatrics. Like he would do it again and again and again. 

Jeanette blinks.

Once.

Twice.

“Well,” she says lightly, recovering fast, laughter brittle at the edges, “if you ever get tired of that, I’m way more chill.” She tilts her head, hair cascading over her shoulder and down her cropped white cardigan that barely clasps. “And I’m always free.”

You feel the familiar surge of anger again, sharpening into something that could kill. Before, she would have the decency to do it behind your back, letting you find out from the lingering scent of her perfume on their skin, or glitter all over their car seats, or more blatant, by her bejewelled thong under their pillow. Now, she’s doing it right to your face, no more subtexts. 

Your mouth opens, ready to knock the cunt down a peg or two, or all of them. 

But Satoru beats you to it. 

“No, thank you,” he replies pleasantly. “And I’m not interested.”

No bite. No edge. Just a fact, delivered like a solved equation.

Jeanette lets out a laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes, tapping her acrylic nails on the table to calm the growing sense of humiliation that darkened her eyes. “Relax, I’m joking.”

“I’m not,” he says, smile as pleasant as it’s always been, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. It reminds you of the smile he used to show you, back before he remembered your name.

Eleanor clicks her tongue, rolling her eyes. “Wow. Someone’s whipped.”

Smiling sweetly, slow and deliberate, you drawl, “Jealous, Nora?”

“You’ve changed,” Jeanette says, accusing. “You used to be fun, used to have standards.”

You shrug, unbothered on the surface, though something inside you twists. “I still am. I just don’t tolerate bullshit as much anymore.”

Satoru nods along, cutting in, “It’s one of my favourite things about her.”

Eleanor snarks, “You only say that because she sucks your disgusting, virgin dick.”

“Fuck off, you stupid cunt,” you snap, nails digging into the palms of your hands. “If you say another shitty thing about my man, I’m going to report you to the school for fucking the Dean.”

The whole cafe quietens.

She flinches back like she’d been slapped, and thankfully, she has enough shame to keep her mouth shut. So does the Bitchier to her Bitch.

Finally, Brittany, who’d remained mostly silent and watching, laughs. “I like this one. He’s smart and sweet and a fighter. Good for you, babes.”

Glossy lips stretching into a victorious grin, you press a kiss to his cheek to punctuate your win and declare loud enough for all of them to hear:

“He’s great in bed too.”

The morning meeting in the cafe ends pretty quickly after that, not that you’re remotely upset by the fact. You’d been counting down the seconds till you could get away from those vapid, shallow bitches, which is an unfair assessment, you must admit, because you’re just as vapid and shallow and bitchy. Perhaps more so. 

What he must think of you, to be surrounded by hateful mirror copies.

“H-hey, s-slow down — my dick’s not going anywhere.”

“Shush,” you tell him.

Back behind the bike shed no one ever uses, you’d shoved him to the brick walls and torn down his pants so you could mouth at his marvellous cock. Satoru holds your hair back from your face, hips rutting forward despite his words. 

His cheeks are flushed. Glasses foggy already. And by god, he looks good enough to eat all mussed up and flustered because of your mouth. 

Satoru groans out, “You look positively stunning. Hngh, love this lipgloss on you, makes your lips look so juicy.”

Every vein, every ridge, every drop of pre — you feel it all.

He doesn’t cum in your mouth. 

Instead, he brings you up and spins the two of you around. Your cheek presses against the rough surface and you curse the fact that you’re likely to break out from it. The orgasm better be worth it.

“You got this wet from sucking me, Diapers?” he asks, sucking on the skin on the curve of your neck.

Mewling, you reply, “Yes. I’m so wet, so horny. Fuck me good, Toru. Need it so bad.”

Fingers finding your clit from the front as fingers push inside your cunt from behind, you’re immediately prepped for his cock with expert skill. Satoru’s clearly gotten very comfortable with your body; he finds the spot and rhythm you like so quickly, anyone would feel humiliated at how rapidly you start gushing around the long, slender digits.

Soon, he replaces those fingers with his condom-covered cock and your eyes roll to the back of your head at the incredible stretch.

“Always so fucking tight.” His teeth are gritted, fingers digging into your hips and definitely leaving bruises you’ll get wet over when you see them in the mirror later.

“So big,” you breathe out, hips pushing back to speed up the process of filling you up. “You’re so fucking big, Satoru!”

He swears, “You can take it.”

The two of you fuck each other like animals — just pure beastly movements, chasing highs, all while the threat of people stumbling upon you looms over your sweaty, grinding bodies. Maybe that’s what you two like, maybe that’s what gets you so close to the edge so hastily.

Your moans are muffled by his hand, preventing you from screaming his name. 

“Hey, you okay?”

You snap out of your thoughts. Satoru is staring down at you, a slight furrow in his brows. The two of you are walking through campus, having gotten out of your system the need to feel each other and get any tension out of your bodies. He has classes, and you have retail therapy to attend.

Without needing to ask, you know he’s referring to how quiet you’ve been since you walked away from the bike shed with your cum dripping down your thigh. There’s no reason to lie to him; he probably guessed it already. 

Nodding, you say, “I was just thinking about how shitty my friends are, and how I should be embarrassed and ashamed, I don’t know.”

His friends had been so kind, so patient, and welcoming. They didn’t make you feel small at all, didn’t try to tear you down, or undermine Satoru in front of you. That said a lot about him, and a lot about you. 

Cradling your face and stopping you from walking further, he smiles reassuringly. “Hey, I liked them.” 

You give him a blank look. He grimaces. 

“Okay, fine, I didn’t — they’re mean and catty, and I hated every second we spent with them.” Pausing for a second, he musters a half-hearted, “But Brittany seemed nice!”

Your cheeks are smushed in his hands, and your words come out a little garbled when you say, “They suck, I know. I’m just sorry they made you uncomfortable. They had no right saying horrible things about you.”

Satoru shakes his head. “No, baby, I hated them because they said horrible things about you. I can’t believe anyone would say things like that about their friends. I was so mad for you.”

He really does look mad. Or as mad as you imagine he can get. Mostly, he just has a pout on his lips. Although, he does mimic karate chops like he’d ever actually get violent, towards anyone, much less women. Still, there’s sincerity in his voice, and in his eyes, and it steals your breath.

Getting on your tiptoes, you kiss his pout away. 

“Woah,” he says, touching his lips when you part. Satoru blinks at you, disbelieving, and you wonder if he hated it. “That was my first kiss,” he marvels aloud. “That’s our first kiss.”

As you pick at a small ball of lint on his sweater, you ask quietly, “Is it too much? I know we’re not really dating, but I thought it was okay.”

He smacks his lips to yours, and again, then once more. Satoru’s smile brightens his entire face and you have to squint against its luminosity. “Are you kidding? I’ve been wanting to kiss you since forever — I thought you didn’t want to.”

Truthfully, you reveal, “I didn’t want to at the start. I thought boundaries would be good, even though we’re fucking. Now, I want to.”

Satoru wonders, “What changed your mind?”

You press close, peering up at him through your false lashes. “You. How you defended me in there, how you kept your cool, and said all those nice things about me. Men don’t tend to do that, not unless they want to get in my pants.”

Wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug, he swings you two side by side. People walk past; neither of you care about the looks they give you. Satoru shrugs. “I just told the truth. We haven’t known each other long, but I genuinely think you’re a cool person. Don’t let them get into your head.”

Why is it so easy to be so openly touchy with him, to talk and say how you’re feeling? How is he so casual, so easygoing, like being this close with you comes naturally to him? 

It sends your heart racing.

Satoru pecks your lips again, licking the gloss that sticks to him. “Alright, I gotta head to class. Come over tonight? I wanna start the next Lord of the Rings film with you. I’ll talk you through the ingenious cinematography, but also we’ve got a lot of kissing to catch up on. I want to kiss until my temperamental mini me salutes you.”

You smile. 

“Sounds fun.”

.

.

.

You fall into a natural routine, coming over to his place after classes every night. 

On Monday, you watch the most recent episodes of Star Trek. 

“Star Trek’s not Star Wars?” you ask, grinding down on his body. 

Satoru’s arms are wrapped around your body, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he peppers wet kisses there. Softly, he mutters, hips rutting upwards, “No, baby, they’re both sci-fi but -hah- completely -ngh so tight- different universes.”

Cockwarming was your condition to watch something nerdy, one which he readily agreed to. 

Now, all inches of his cock is lodged tightly in your pulsing pussy. All your clothes are still on, dirtied by your combined juices. It’s hot and humid in the air around you, though neither of you seem to care. 

“I don’t get it,” you say, guiding one of his hands to your tit. He gropes reflexively, flicking your nipple through the material of your shirt. “There’s over fifty seasons of this? Why?”

Cock throbbing, he moans right into your ear. “I-I don’t know, but gosh, I love when you ask questions. Your voice is so pretty. I could cum from listening to you.”

You bite back a smile, hips lifting up and up until only his tip remains. “Yeah?” Then you slam your body down, cockhead prodding your g-spot harshly and kissing your cervix. 

Satoru gasps. “Fuck!”

His whole body spasms, and searing cum soaks his condom, and you think, it’s a shame that he’s wearing one to begin with. 

Weakly, he grumbles, “Meanie.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff. “You love it.”

Satoru kisses your cheek, hand creeping around to rub your clit. “Guilty.” 

On Tuesday evening, you’re forced to finally get started on your own Lego set: the orchid set.

You picked it because it looked elegant on the box, pretty petals and delicate stems  — something that should have been effortless. The reality, however, is a scatter of tiny plastic pieces across Satoru’s coffee table, each one apparently designed to test your patience, which admittedly has always been very frail. 

In your defence however, you’ve never built anything like this before, and your long, glossy nails keep clicking uselessly against the studs instead of gripping them, sending the tiny things scrambling away from your fury.

Satoru helps you — he picks out the pieces you’ll need, organising them into piles as instructed by the booklet. Sitting behind you on the floor, his legs are stretched out on either side of your hips, the instruction booklet open and neatly flattened. He’s maddeningly calm about it, already sorting the pieces into little colour-coded piles, because of course he does. 

He looked like you kicked his dog when you just emptied the bags onto the table.

“Okay,” he says, nudging a green piece toward you, “you’ll want this one next.”

You squint at it, pinch it between two fingers, and promptly drop it. “Oh my god,” you groan. “Who are these even made for? Ants?”

His chuckle isn’t condescending, but if it had been, you would have shoved a piece down his dick hole. Satoru reaches around you, his arms encasing yours as he guides your hands. His fingers are warm, steady, and everything yours aren’t. 

“No, no,” he murmurs, adjusting your grip. “You’re a space away. If you miss a layer here, you won’t be able to add the leaves later.”

You do as he says, clicking the piece into place at last. The small, stupid satisfaction makes you huff out a breath. It’s probably been hours at this point; your neck is sore from looking down for so long.

“I hate this, Toru,” you complain, letting your weight fall back into him. His chest is solid at your back, familiar already. “My eyes and neck hurt. How can you do this for hours and years and not develop a hunchback?”

“I know, I know,” he coos, immediately brushing the crown of your head with a gentle kiss. One hand stays steadying the base of the orchid whilst the other rubs slow circles into your shoulder, exactly where it hurts. “You’re doing really well though. Let’s get to step ten and take a break, alright? I’ll massage your neck for you.”

And, despite yourself, you go back to building.

But after an important piece is ‘lost’, you two get distracted fucking against the glass of his floor-to-ceiling window, and fogging it up so bad, the only clear bit is the imprint of your bodies joined together.

On Wednesday, he teaches you how to play Mario Kart.

You start off sulking on his sofa, controller heavy and foreign in your hands, legs tucked up beneath you, and bracing for boredom. Naturally, it’d been his suggestion. You wanted to go shopping, but he said shopping is for girls who go to their classes, and girls who skip get to be punished with only the best game in the entire world.

Of course, you thought he meant sex so you agreed. 

Nerds never mean sex.

The game boots up with cheerful little chimes that already feel patronising. You tell him, flatly, that you don’t do racing games, that you hate losing, and that if a cartoon turtle shell hits you, you might scream.

Satoru just laughs and settles beside you, thigh warm against yours. “That’s half the fun,” he says, nudging you with his elbow. “Okay. Peach or Daisy?”

“Obviously Peach,” you scoff. “I’m not a peasant.”

“Correct answer,” he nods solemnly. His hands cover yours, adjusting your grip on the controller. “Accelerate with this. Throw with this. We’re on 50cc so things won’t be too fast. Once you finish in the top five, we can move onto the faster versions.”

Rolling your eyes, you shrug him off. “I’m not a baby; I can figure it out on my own.”

Undeterred, he grins and pecks your cheek, like he can’t help but find you cute. “Whatever you say, sweetiepie. Alright, we’re a-go.”

The countdown starts. You immediately panic.

You jerk the controller too hard, veering straight into a wall, and let out a shriek that echoes through his living room. 

Satoru doesn’t tease you, not even a little; he reaches over and steadies your hands, his own wrapping around yours again. You pretend tingles don’t explode where he touches. “Okay,” he murmurs, leaning close, his mouth near your ear. “Breathe. Pretend you’re chasing after Jeanette, and once you catch up to her you’re going to turtle her so hard she crashes.”

“Oh, she’s going down.” Glaring at the fat spiky turtle on the screen, you shuffle on your seat, bracing to kill a bitch. It even looks like her.

And then, finally, you get it. You get into a groove, learning to lean into the curves of the track and anticipating the ramps, the attacks from behind, and knowing when to utilise power ups so you can catch her. You drift accidentally, then on purpose. When you overtake the Bowser, your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyes not leaving the screen. “Did you see that?”

You feel his grin rather than see it when he says, “I did. That was perfect — you’re a natural.”

Your chest warms, something smug and pleased unfurling under your ribs. You don’t even realise you’re smiling until your cheeks ache. “Of course I’m perfect. I’m coming for you next, nerd.”

“That’s so hot,” he mumbles before he shakes it off and says, “You’re on!”

On Thursday, you paint your toes on his bed as he taps away on his laptop, doing nerd homework or something. He warned you before you came over that he might be too busy to be very fun, but you told him you didn’t care, you just wanted company.

True to his words, he’s been typing away for two hours now, occasionally getting up to write equations on his whiteboard and kiss you when he figures it out.

It surprised you to find out he does homework shirtless — he says thinking hard overheats him. Somehow, Satoru had made being studious hot, and you often spend much of your time under his desk and between his legs, sucking him to get yourself off. Well, he gets off too, of course, but it’s mostly for yourself.

Unfortunately, you’d already used up your blowjob privileges tonight so you have to leave him to it.

Whatever. 

Your phone chimes. You read the message and type a reply. “Hey, Toru?”

“Hmm, baby?”

“Yuji finally got a date with the girl he likes from high school. Pretty cool, right?”

“Yeah,” he replies absentmindedly, keyboard tiptapping. Then he pauses. Turning in his seat, he looks at you through his glasses. “Yuji? Date? Girl? How do you know all of this?”

With a shrug, you blow on the paint on your big toe, being careful not to move too fast or too much, in case your entire progress is lost and you have to start over again. “He ran into me on Monday, when I was skipping class. Asked for my number and we’ve been chatting since. He wanted my advice and insight to bag a girl. And you know me, I’m so charitable I couldn’t say no.”

Satoru spins a pen between his fingers, thinking hard about something else other than equations. “You’ve been helping my friend out?”

“Uhuh — someone had to since you’re all clueless with women.”

He pushes his chair back and strolls over to you. His abs are all you can see as he towers over you. When you peer up, he’s grinning devilishly down at you. That look spells trouble, and orgasms. Your fanny flutters before you can even tell her to start revving her engines. 

The nerd’s got awful timing though.

Hand trying to shove him away, you firmly say, “Satoru, no. Wait until my nails are dry first.”

Shaking his head, he kneels down in front of you. “Can’t. I’m thirsty now.” 

In a flash, you’re yanked to your back, bouncing slightly. He grips your ankles tightly, throwing them over his broad shoulders all whilst his eyes are fixed on what’s between your legs.

You stare up at the ceiling, defeated. Panties pushed to the side, you can only sigh when you feel his tongue urging your clit out of its hood. “What about your nerd homework?”

Satoru huffs, practically making out with your cunt. “It’s just homework, babe. Don’t worry; I’ll get it done. Worry about cumming on my face and quenching your boyfriend’s thirst — I’m practically dehydrated.”

Another chime on your phone. You read it, growing breathless quickly with how expertly he laps up your growing wetness. “Yuji wants to treat me to lunch, to thank me.” He sucks on your clit, hard. You squeal. “Toru!”

When you glare down at him, you’re surprised to find him glaring right back at you through his glasses. No, at your phone. Petulantly, he mumbles, “Tell him you’re busy.”

“He didn’t even say what day yet.”

“Tell him you’re busy all days, everyday.”

Smiling wryly, you ask, “Busy with what?”

Two fingers worm their way into your pussy, unhesitating as they curl up and prod that gummy spot inside you. The squelches he wrings out brings heat to your cheeks. Satoru’s words vibrate right against your clit, and your back arches: “Busy with your boyfriend.”

You laugh, running your hand through his hair and keeping it out of his face. “I didn’t realise you’re the jealous type.”

He shakes his head, thrusting his fingers faster inside you just to hear your breath stutter and to feel your legs quiver. Satoru kisses your inner thigh. “I’m possessive,” he corrects. “I don’t like to share. Not even with Itadori.”

“Yeah?”

“Hmm. I didn’t like sharing my pens, my dino erasers, Transformer toys, and I definitely don’t want to share my girl and her perfect pussy with anyone.”

SLURRRRP!

When you finally cum minutes later, he climbs up your body, peppering kisses up your torso, spreading your own juices over your skin. Oddly, you don’t mind it. 

Glasses removed and thrown to the side, Satoru whispers against your lips right as his cock begins prodding your entrance, “You’re mine. All mine.”

You don’t correct him.

On Friday, he gets a break from school work. Dark circles have begun surfacing under his eyes — courtesy of how you’ve added more things on his plate, you’re sure — and you decide action must be taken to keep your boyfriend’s face looking flawless.

Sitting on his lap, in his bed, you apply one of your clay masks on his skin, making sure to spread it nice and thin. Meanwhile, you have to keep replenishing the cucumber slices on his eyes because Satoru won’t stop eating them.

“Stop,” you whine. “It won’t work if you don’t have the cucumbers.”

Satoru’s chuckle is restrained; the clay’s already hardening, making it hard for his mouth to move. Still, he manages. “The effects cucumbers have are pretty limited to calming puffiness, mostly due to their coolness, so it’s more of a temperature thing than a vegetable thing. You could put ice on my eyes and it’ll do the same job.”

You smack his chest. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

His thumb brushes your hip bone under your panties. He says, “Sorry, baby. Pop one last cucumber into my mouth and I’ll behave.”

Replacing the two missing over his eyes and sliding one onto his tongue, you get back to work, clipping his hair back so it doesn’t stick to the mask. 

You’re so focused on coating every inch of his face, you don’t realise sneaky hands are inching you further and further down his body by the second until a hump is bumping against your clit. You moan.

“Ugh, Satoru, you said you’ll behave,” you complain, though your hips are beginning to move on their own.

He stops hiding the control he has over your body and is now openly dragging you back and forth on his clothed, and very hard, cock. His cockhead catches on your panties through the two layers, and already you feel a wet spot forming on your gusset.

“I know, I know,” he says, groaning so loudly the vibrations rushes through your spine and sparks in your clit. “I just couldn’t help myself — I could feel how warm your pussy was on my skin and that was all I could think about. I deserve punishment, I understand. Do what you must — slap me, pinch me, mark me up — I’m all yours.”

Your hand comes up to wrap around his neck, and you squeeze only hard enough to feel his cock throb under you. “Pain whore,” you drawl.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The smile in his voice gives him away. He ruts up into you, hastening the humping. Satoru’s tone shifts quickly, and he pleads, “Faster, baby. Wanna cum in my boxers. Want to make a mess.”

Bracing yourself on his abdomen, you rub yourself on his dick, faster and faster until you’re mewling above him. “And who’ll clean it up?” you ask him.

“Me,” he answers quickly. Frustrated, he snatches the cucumbers and throws them in his mouth. His dazzling eyes find you immediately, and his gaze softens. “You’re so -hngh- pretty,” he breathes out. “So, so pretty.”

“I know.”

The two of you cum together, shuddering and spasming. 

The cucumbers are finished before the mask’s ready to wash off.

Saturday starts off with his face between your legs, cleaning up the juices you couldn’t be bothered to clean up when he fucked you to sleep the night before. You’d never been eaten out more by a single guy than when you started dating Satoru, and no one’s gonna find you complaining any time soon.

“Hit me,” he rasps, sleep still coursing through his voice.

“Alright, hotshot. 5-Down. ‘Composer of the “Enigma Variations."’”

Satoru licks a stripe up your slit, humming as he mulls over your taste and the possible answer. “Elgar. Easy.”

He does the NYT crossword every morning, something to wake up his brain, he explained. You like waking your brain up with a pretty outfit, Clueless intro style, but to each their own. He insisted you read it out to him so he could test his multi-tasking skills, and who were you to say no when you’re getting your pussy ate out of the deal?

You scan further down the grid. “23-Across. ‘What might be raised in a toast?’ Eight letters.”

He grins lazily, fucking his fingers into your pulsing entrance so you can hear your own lewd squeeeelching! “Spirits — double meaning. It’s Saturday. They love that.”

“Oh God,” you gasp out, chest caving. 

Of course he’d be good at crosswords, and of course he’d be so cocky over it. Ever since he’s learnt just how to make you cum in less than ten minutes, he’s been insufferable. Sometimes he calls himself a sex god, and you have to remind him he’s only fucked one person. 

SMACK!

Your hips jolt. Your eyes glare down at him. Where did he learn to slap your clit to get your attention?

“Focus, Diapers; I’m not letting this pretty pussy go until I’ve completed the crossword.”

“Fuck you.”

Satoru leaves a wet kiss on your clit, slobbering all over it and chuckling when it begins to flutter under his obscene touch. “We’ll get to that in a bit,” he promises.

He winks and dives straight into your pussy.

“NGH!”

On Sunday morning, you head down from his room to find him whipping up breakfast. He spots you and beams. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Have I graduated from Diapers now?”

“Never.” Satoru shakes his head, giving you a hug so tight one would think he didn’t spend an hour rutting inside you that morning. “How did you sleep?”

Sitting on the island, you watch him, specifically his back muscles flexing with every movement. Casually, you answer, “Fine. I’d sleep better if you stopped hogging the blanket and kicking me in your sleep though.”

“My bad,” he says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “I’ve always been told I’m an active sleeper.”

A ping on your phone drags your attention away from his perfect body. You frown. Sukuna’s texting you — he never texts first. It’s been two months since you last spoke to him, and all the conversation was just him asking for reimbursement for the singular bite you took of his sandwich, that broke asshole. 

He sent you a dick pic and asked if you’re free anytime this week. Wonder what he wants, you think sarcastically. You leave him on read. 

Satoru plates the food, serving it up in front of you. His brows are furrowed and he wonders, “Everything okay? You look like you’re going to stab someone with a butter knife; please don’t let it be me.”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing.”

The nerd in front of you has never sent you a dick pic. He rarely ever texts you first to ask to fuck actually; he mostly sends you memes, tiktoks, or simple messages asking how your day was. It’s you who sends him nudes, who gives him your location so he knows where to find and fuck you.  

Usually you’d find it offensive if a guy wasn’t being aggressive with his expression of attraction to you, but Satoru is starting to make you think sending nudes unprompted in the middle of the day isn’t normal. 

Weird.

As he scarfs down his food, you suddenly ask, “What’re you gonna do after we break up?”

He blinks, then gulps his food down. “Woah, that came out of nowhere — uh, I guess I’ll go back to my usual routine. Haven’t visited the Robotics Society in a while.”

“What about girls? And sex?”

Satoru tilts his head and ponders for a second. “I don’t know; I haven’t really been thinking about it. I’ll probably go with the flow, see what I want when the time comes.”

That’s not quite the answer you wanted. Well, actually, you don’t know what answer you wanted. Maybe you wanted him to confirm that he’s going to be seeing other people so you won’t feel that you’ll jump into someone else’s bed immediately after. Or maybe…you wanted the opposite.

“Why do you ask?”

You shake your head. “No reason. Thanks for the breakfast, Toru.”

.

.

.

You don’t see him for a couple days after that. 

Satoru texts everyday — multiple times, actually, practically every hour. He asks if he can see you, maybe after class, for dinner, or at his place. If he’s done something wrong, offended you, if it’s some kind of sex play and if it is then it’s partially working. But you don’t reply. You don’t really know why you won’t respond; it’s not like he said anything wrong. 

When your phone chimes again, Brittany groans out, “Text him back already, oh my god.”

Sipping on your matcha, you wave her off. “Mind your own business.”

She fixes you a look. “It is my business when you won’t put your phone on silent.”

So what if you like to know when he’s texting you? Is that a crime? 

It was her idea to see you, something about how she was starting to forget what you looked like. And you did want to see her, to hang around someone who understood you because she, more or less, shared the same flaws. You just wanted to be around someone more your speed, someone not so infuriatingly perfect. 

“You’re doing it again,” she notes.

“Doing what again?”

Leaning forward to meet your eyes and steal your attention from the window leading into the campus, Brittany explains, “It. Self-sabotage. I thought Gojo was fixing that habit of yours, the one that leads you to make bad decisions.”

Dismissively, you huff. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you should be replying to the poor guy.” Then she sighs, leaning back into her seat. A strange look passes on her face, something akin to disappointment and it makes your skin crawl. “He’s different to us, to the guys we date; he’s normal, smart, and sincere. I could tell that much from one look at him. You’re probably breaking his heart every time you don’t reply to him.”

The thought of him sitting around, waiting for you to read his messages, sends a pang through your chest. You swallow it down. “Fine, whatever, I’ll text him back later.”

Brittany rolls her eyes at your tone. 

A silence settles over you two, leaving the chaotic mingling of other peoples’ conversations to fill the space between you. Usually, you two would be gossiping about Jeanette and Eleanor, the dumbass guys you let sleep over, or whatever happened at the last frat party you attended. Now, all you want to talk about is Satoru.

About how he drools in his sleep and pretends it’s your pussy juice in the morning with pink cheeks, how he can go from cuddling you so tightly that you think you might pass out to kicking you away as he mumbles about some physics equation, and how he fights sleep to begin with because he wants to stay up as long as he can talking about his day to you.

But you won’t, because she’d question you on it, ask a very important question that you don’t think you can answer right now, or ever.

Not one to stay silent, Brittany pipes up again, musing whilst admiring her new acrylic nails. “You know, I’m surprised you’re leaving this guy on a short leash. Rich kids are always in vogue.”

You frown. “How do you know he’s rich?” 

You’ve figured as much — his apartment speaks for itself — but she couldn’t have seen his apartment. 

Brittany looks at you like you’re an idiot. “Um, babes, everyone knows. He’s a fucking Gojo.” She sees nothing clicking in your eyes. Exasperated, she groans and explains further. “You know, like the Gojo Foundation. They own hotel chains around the world.” 

When you just blankly blinks, she sits up, brows furrowing.

“Girl, his name’s on almost half of the buildings on this damn campus. It’s on the library, for goodness’ sake. Actually, forget it, how could you possibly know what plaque is on buildings you never visit.”

Satoru’s just normal rich, like the other guys on campus who wear designer clothes and live off their parents’ money. He’s not a chair ball or whatever the word is. If he was, you’d know.

“You’re probably mistak––”

“Is that him right now?”

You follow her gaze through the window. A white-haired guy in a sweater and thick-framed glasses stands outside, talking to someone. 

A girl.

Before she can stop you, you practically sprint out of the cafe and into the open air.

“Satoru?”

Blue eyes slide over to your approaching figure. It is him; you’d know those eyes anywhere. He straightens up. “Oh, hey.”

“Don’t hey me — who the fuck is this bitch?”

The girl cocks a brow, inhaling her cigarette leisurely and blowing the smoke right into your face. You waft it away, hardening your glare and feeling like clawing her smug face till she’s disfigured. She’s pretty in an alternative way, in a way that said she doesn’t spend hours primping and wearing anything she wasn’t uncomfortable in. And that sets your blood boiling.

She asks, “Satoru, who’s the crazy woman giving me death glares right now?”

“Excuse me?” You’re seething. If this was a cartoon, you’d have smoke fumes leaving your ears. You take a step forward, about to teach her a lesson about who exactly you are.

Satoru beats you to it. 

“She’s just a friend, Sho. I’ll explain later. You should probably go; you’ll be late to class.”

They’re standing so closely their hands are practically brushing against each other. Why was he with her to begin with? Since when did he have friends who are girls? Aren’t nerds supposed to be a stumbling, bumbling mess around women? Aren’t you the one exception because you’re just so pure of heart?

‘Sho’ chuckles and waves goodbye to the both of you, though not before she drawls, “Be careful, Satoru. She seems scary.”

Why the fuck did she look you up and down and chuckle? And why didn’t he tell her you’re not scary at all, even though you are because you purposefully chose stiletto shaped nails for clawing?

Panting with anger, you turn your wrathful stare to him. “You did it again.”

Satoru scratches the back of his neck and grimaces. He knows exactly what he did and he doesn’t jump to apologise. Instead, he makes an excuse: “She’s a longtime friend. She’ll have more questions if I say you’re my girlfriend.”

“But I am your girlfriend. What’s wrong with letting that skank know?”

His brows knit together. “Don’t call her that. She’s a good friend of mine.”

“I’ll call her whatever I want, because you’re my boyfriend.”

“Your fake boyfriend,” he reminds you. You step back like he struck you. Satoru sighs and reaches for you. “I’m sorry — this isn’t how I wanted this to go. I missed you. Where have you been?”

He looks just as you remember: perfect skin, gorgeous eyes, muscular but lean frame hidden under bulky sweaters, and beat up converse. His smell is clean, like the detergent that clings to the clothes you bring over to his place, and it’s so distracting. 

The tension in your body doesn’t disappear, even as he hugs you to his chest, swaying you side to side and nuzzling the top of your head. 

You push back, and say, “Let’s go to the janitor’s closet.”

When the door closes, he’s shoved onto it. Your lips slam into his, not wasting a single second to deepen it. Satoru hadn’t fought you; he just smiled, like it relieved him to know you were still the same.

Tongues wrestle against each other with breathy moans. His hands are all over your body — squeezing your hips, your ass, your tits, holding the back of your head to keep you right where he wants you.

“Missed this,” he groans. “Missed you so bad.”

His knee slides between yours, bumping right up against your pussy. You hump it, delirious with his warmth, the hardness of his body, and the soft texture of his sweater.

Your hands make quick work of his belt, unbuckling it and freeing his cock. 

Satoru’s fingers slide into your thong from under your skirt. He gasps. “You’re soaked. Fuck.” He smears your wetness around, using it to glide and ease his sudden rubbing of your clit. Whines leave your lips and he greedily swallows it all. 

Overwhelmed, you tell him, “Put it in already.”

“But you’re not prepped enough,” he argues, fingers pushing inside your cunt despite your words. 

You pull them out and say, “Now, Satoru. Fuck me already.”

When you use that tone — the one that renders him all stupid and dopey — he can never say no, so he nods.

He lifts you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his hips. With your back pressed against the door now, he pushes inside. You both moan. The stretch stings, bringing tears to your eyes. It’s been a while, and your pussy’s complaining.

“So fucking tight,” he grits out, glasses fogging up. “ I think I might cum early.”

“Don’t you dare, Satoru.”

As soon as he bottoms out, he’s pulling out to ram back inside. You almost scream. He’s fucking you so hard you almost see stars. There’s something unforgiving about his hips, the way they don’t slow down, don’t care about how sore you’re going to be later. 

It’s a far cry from how clumsy and uncoordinated he was a couple weeks ago. 

Satoru whines, “Feels so good. Missed this so much.”

You missed this too, missed his strong arms carrying you so easily, firm hands holding you like you’re priceless, lips sucking on your neck to taste your skin, clumsily stumbling over to your mouth where you exchange moans. 

In this moment, you kick yourself for ever having put a pause in fucking him; it’s a crime to leave this majestic dick unsucked and unfucked. Truly. They should lock you up in his bed to be fucked all day and night, that’ll teach you.

“I don’t like seeing you -hngh- with other -hah fuck!- other girls,” you confess, whispering right into his ears.

Playfully, he asks, “What about when we –mmm loosen up, baby, thaaat’s it- break up?”

The door rattles on its hinges behind you. There’s no doubt that if anyone’s walking down the hall, they’d know what was going on inside, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s filling you up so good after days of not seeing him, not when his fat cockhead’s prodding your g-spot and kissing your cervix with his leaking tip.

There’s nothing classy about this hookup; it’s all grunts, grinding, and groaning. You’re two animals seeking quick and shallow release.

You can feel every inch of him, every ridge, every vein and it’s fucking wonderful.

It takes only a minute or two for you to reach your high.

You pant in each other’s mouths, legs weak and bodies shaking. Satoru kisses you, smiling dopily. Back on your feet, you both fix your clothes up. 

He frowns, spotting the milky drop trailing down your thigh and curses under his breath. He grabs the roll of tissue off the shelf and wipes it up. “Fuck, baby, I’m sorry. I forgot to put a condom on. Will you be okay? Do we need to go to a pharmacy?”

“No, it’s okay,” you tell him, yanking him up from between your legs. “I’m on the pill.”

Satoru exhales in relief and leaves a kiss on the inside of your wrist. “Do you want to head back to mine?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you ignore his question and ask your own, “What if we don’t break up?”

“Huh?”

You pace the length of the floor, which is not very long at all. Hands fiddling with each other, you say, “Earlier, when I said I don’t like you with other girls, and you said, what about after we break up — what if we don’t? What if we just keep doing this, but like for real, and not fake? We just keep dating and break up when we want to? And then there’d be no other girls, just me. Just you and me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, a serious look on his face. “That’s not what we agreed on.”

“I know,” you quickly cut in, scratching the inside of your wrist. “But agreements can change, y’know? Who’s to say ours can’t?”

Leaning against the door, he mulls your words over. He takes too long though, and every second that passes has you itching and itching more. Why is he taking so long to think? Why doesn’t he have an immediate answer? He wants the same thing, right?

Who’d pass you up when so many men would die to have a second with you? 

Unable to help yourself, you end up blurting out, “Why don’t you buy me gifts? And not just Legos and takeaway, like proper gifts? Clothes, jewellery, bags.”

Satoru blinks, then he stands taller. “Is that what this is about? My family’s money?”

You shake your head. “No, no, of course not. I’m just asking because that’s what people in real relationships do, right?”

And you weren’t lying. His family’s name didn’t matter to you; you only just found out today, and you’d made up your mind days ago. It’s just been nibbling away since your best friend brought it up — the idea that there’s lines and lines of girls wanting him, that as soon as you let go, he’ll be snatched up because he’s a hot commodity on the dating market.

It’s too late though. Your careless words have hardened something in his gaze. You sense it immediately, the way he doesn’t look at you like you’re his friend, like you’re back to being that stranger following him in the library. Chest clenching, you step forward and no more when Satoru doesn’t immediately open his arms to you.

Slowly, dragging the words out as if you should know this better than he does, he reminds you, “We aren’t in a real relationship. You wanted to show your friends you can be with a ‘nerd’ and I wanted to cum.”

You stumble back. 

Weakly, you mutter, “I know, but that’s what I’m saying — let’s make it real.”

“Why?” he immediately asks.

“Because…” 

Satoru doesn’t relent. “Why should we make this real? I mean, technically, this should’ve ended as soon as you proved to your friends you can happily date ‘nerds’, right?”

He keeps staring at you, waiting for you to string the words together, even as your eyes dart around. He fills up the closet so much that you think you’re running out of room to breathe. Has he always been that tall? 

“Why?” he asks again, placing so much emphasis on the word you can actually feel its weight sinking and causing cracks in the ground.

A little dizzy with the heat of his unblinking attention, you finally admit, “Because I think I’m in love with you.”

His shoulders drop. He takes his glasses off and runs a hand down his face. He makes an exasperated sound, as if you’ve just said the most ridiculous, unserious thing in the world and he can’t fathom what you’re thinking at all.

“What about you?” you find the strength to ask, and cringing immediately when your mind registers the childish, hopeful tone of your voice. “A-aren’t you falling in love with me?”

“Stop, stop, stop,” Satoru begs, hands coming up to maintain the distance, almost like erecting a shield. “You’re not ‘in love’ with me. You’re not. You can’t fall in love with someone you look down on, someone you’re using, someone you would never even talk to if not for all of this.”

Anger sparks inside of you suddenly. You snap, “Don’t speak for me. I know what I feel.”

He asserts, “No, you don’t.” 

Then he laughs, but there’s no humour in his voice. 

“You’ve never properly let me in — we’re always at my place, I don’t even know where you live, you’ve got me down as ‘Hot Nerd’ in your contacts, and just today, you’ve been ignoring me for days. That’s not love. You just think it is because I’m the only guy you’ve been with that hasn’t been a complete asshole to you.”

“That’s not true,” you mumble.

Satoru continues, “You’re not in a position to be in a real relationship, let’s face it. This whole thing started off as an ego thing; you wanted to prove to your friend that you can bag any man you want, and it happened to be me. It could have been anyone else.”

The way he speaks about you makes you feel dirty, like you’re some cheap whore. It reminds you too much of the way your exes have looked at you, have talked about you to their friends, most of whom would then grin at you like they were next. Your knees wobble.

You feel chastised, and you hate the feeling so much you feel bile rising in your throat. Voice trembling, you ask, “You don’t want a real relationship with me?”

“We do have a real relationship,” Satoru starts, taking a deep breath to gather his thoughts, or maybe to get a good grasp of patience. “We’re good friends, besides all the sex.”

“But don’t you want to be more than friends? Don’t you want to date me for real?”

Satoru’s shoulder drops in disappointment, and you know it’s because he was hoping you’d see where he’s coming from and drop all of this already. You wish you could too, but something about the tight confines of this closet makes you feel brave, makes you feel like it’s now or never. 

Honestly, he answers, “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

“What about Toru? A-and his strict wife, and their movie theatre?”

You don’t know why you bring them up, and he doesn’t either. 

Blinking, he says, “They’re toys. What do they have to do with anything?”

You’re grasping at straws, you know it, and maybe later, when this is all over, you’ll think about walking into oncoming traffic in shame at how low you’ve sunk. Even at the very worst relationships you’ve had, with the most toxic men that you somehow wanted the approval of, you’ve never laid it all out on the table, never admitted weakness so quickly. What happened to you?

“Do you think…” your voice trails off with a crack, and there’s a rash forming on your skin now from where you’ve been subconsciously scratching. “Do you think you can fall in love with me? Like I’ve fallen for you?”

He sees your skin and he reaches for your wrist, but you snatch it away. You don’t want his pity, you want his answer, you want his love.

 “You can’t be in love with someone you look down on,” Satoru repeats, voice barely above a whisper now, like it was advice he wanted you to desperately take.

He turns around and opens the door. Cool air rushes in and you have to hug yourself for warmth.

Uncaring to hide the bitterness in your voice, you spit out, “Are you talking to me or to yourself?”

He doesn’t answer.

And that’s the last you see of Satoru Gojo.

[toodymcdoody]

guys lots of things happening: none of them are good.

i don’t have the money to do all the college graduation things. which. it’s only a certification. i should get over it. but i really wanted to bc i didn’t walk for highschool (it was my choice not to, i hated that place and everyone in it). but i really wanted to for this certificate but its so expensive ($200 just for the cap and gown, not including this fuck ass “graduation fee”).

we might be moving out of my childhood home bc it’s becoming too expensive.

which means i need to pick up more shifts at work but no one is letting me. or when they do ask i’ve got plans already. or it’s too much of a late notice.

so i’ve resorted to having to sell some of my things. which is fine. my bedroom is cluttered anyways.

i’m just struggling a lot rn.

i’m trying to be chill about it tho and not spiral.

[toodymcdoody]

also. like i know my mom and bf would help pay for my graduation fees in a heart beat. but i can’t ask that of them.

we’re going on an anniversary trip to washington and he’s paying for everything (i’m like, chipping in on a few things). and just had to get his car fixed (almost a band).

and my mom was just talking about money struggles with the house.

i just couldn’t ask either of them for that.

[toodymcdoody]

guys lots of things happening: none of them are good.

i don’t have the money to do all the college graduation things. which. it’s only a certification. i should get over it. but i really wanted to bc i didn’t walk for highschool (it was my choice not to, i hated that place and everyone in it). but i really wanted to for this certificate but its so expensive ($200 just for the cap and gown, not including this fuck ass “graduation fee”).

we might be moving out of my childhood home bc it’s becoming too expensive.

which means i need to pick up more shifts at work but no one is letting me. or when they do ask i’ve got plans already. or it’s too much of a late notice.

so i’ve resorted to having to sell some of my things. which is fine. my bedroom is cluttered anyways.

i’m just struggling a lot rn.

i’m trying to be chill about it tho and not spiral.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Where’s the YA protagonist teen girl and her two boyfriends that are supposed to save us from this mess anyways

[what-even-is-thiss]

The dystopia books lied. The teen throuples aren’t coming to save us.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Save me teen dystopia love triangle

[what-even-is-thiss]

Teen dystopia love triangle save me

[toodymcdoody]

“Just a kiss,”

“Just a kiss? Singular?”

Satoru usually loved when you got bossy. Just, not right now. Right now, he wanted to eat your pussy.

“Ok, two kisses!”

He nods his head solemnly and starts to pull your panties to the side. Normally you wouldn’t mind, you’d let him go to town if you could but there’s a home that needs to be cleaned.

You use your hand to push his head back when you notice his tongue peeking out.

“Nah uh! No tongue,”

“No tongue?” He sounds as if he’s genuinely upset, and he may actually be.

“Either two kisses, no tongue or one kiss with tongue,” Negotiations are expected in a relationship with him, and you’ve gotten really good at them.

He pouts and leans his head against your thigh.

“What if I do two kisses with tongue and you get loved on by your boyfriend,” he places quick kisses around your thighs while you think.

You’re usually good at working around Gojo Satoru, but he looks at you with a cute little smile.

Who were you to deny him?

[andypantsx3]

DECEIVING THE DUKE : TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: When Camie Utsushimi elopes on the eve of her society debut, scandal threatens to destroy the family’s prospects. It’s up to you, a maid, to impersonate Camie throughout the Season, long enough that her elder sister can make a match. The only trouble? Lord Shouto Todoroki is also intent on making a match—and that match, quite impossibly, appears to involve you. TAGS/WARNINGS: regency au, class differences, hidden identity/identity porn, aged up characters, eventual smut, fem pronouns + afab reader NOTES: Part of the Romancing the Reader collab with @ofmermaidstories and @cat-slippered. Now with mouthwatering art from the incredible @volatilematters. LENGTH: 30k, STATUS: COMPLETE

part i : In which a debutante goes missing and a scheme is hatched.

part ii : In which a ball is attended and snacks are thrown.

part iii : In which a handsome duke appears and an escape is foiled.

part iv : In which a duke comes calling and a resolution is formed.

part v : In which sculptures are mocked and feelings are realized.

part vi : In which a gift is given and a close encounter occurs.

part vii : In which passions are exchanged and a scandal is discovered.

part viii : In which an identity is exposed and a journey is undertaken.

part ix : In which a promise is made and a future awaits.

READ ON AO3