kash

He’d beg to have you again, but he knows he can’t – he knows he needs to stay distant, to be your friend. One night where he let down his guard and whimpered an “I love you” was enough – you both were tipsy, and you were cummin’ too hard to hear it, the little confession.

The next day you were back to normal, but he’d felt you quiver around him, he’d watched you drool as he drilled his cock mean into your hole – tip bruising that cute cervix. Pulling out was a tragedy – but he was happy that fucking condom snapped, sadistic as it was for sweet, nerdy Satoru Gojo.

He wished he could have filled you with all those creampies.

“I made everything weird, yeah? That night-”

“No! No, no, it’s not that. I just…” You trail off, and he feels his heart hammering, pulse racing with nerves. “I need to tell you something.”

“Is anything wrong!?”

“No, yes – well…” You sigh again. “I’m coming over if that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

“Maybe um, smoke some weed first? Have a drink?”

Satoru pauses. “How bad is the news?”

“Just get… relaxed first.”

*****

“You’re… pregnant?” He manages to ask, eyes locked onto you as you pace back and forth in his living room. “You’re sure?”

“I need an official test, but yes,” you keep pacing now, shaking your head, sighing. “I was ovulating, I should have known better. Ugh! And now… Toru, you don’t have to help if I keep it, okay? I don’t want you thinking I like did this to get something, like because you’re rich or-”

“Excuse me?” He stands now, walking to you, gripping your shoulders gently, turning you to face him. “When would I ever think that about you?”

“But so many women would fucking do that to you,” you whisper, eyes full of tears. “And I know you’re scared of that. I know it’s why you’re cautious with dating anyone.”

That’s part of it.

The other part is he compares them all to you.

“I know it’s an accident, fuck I’m just as responsible, I was more than happy to fuck you without one,” you flush then, and he clears his throat. “Sorry, I know we aren’t supposed to bring it up.”

“Hard not to, now,” you sigh, letting him cup your face. “I’m so sorry. Really, I know you have so much on your plate, and-”

“Stop apologizing.”

“You’re taking this way better than I thought,” you admit softly, letting him hug you, sinking against his warmth. “I thought you’d panic, or worse… hate me.”

“I’d never hate you,” he whispers, his mind rushing a million miles a minute – of course it’s scary, and of course he has no clue about kids at all. He doesn’t even know what you’ll wanna do, but fuck if he won’t support his best friend – the girl he’s been pining for secretly for years.

He sure couldn’t bring any of that up now, not when you need support, when you need him to just be there.

“We need to make a doctor’s appointment, yeah?”

“I already did,” you sniffle, and he swipes your tears. “Do you wanna come with me?”

“Of course I do,” his brows draw together. “You’ve known me since we were babies almost, you really think I’d let you do this alone?”

“I knew you wouldn’t, but to resent me,” you trail off now, emotions burning in your throat. “I really always wanted one. Not now, but, I did.”

“Yeah, me too,” you blink a bit. “Didn’t know that?”

“You never talked about it to me,” you sniffle again, nausea suddenly hitting you, making you sway a bit. “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna…” you rush off then to one of his bathrooms, not one of your finer moments, and as a best friend always does, he holds your hair while you’re sick – it’s not like he hasn’t done it at high school keg parties, or the beginning of college for you – but it’s been a while since you’ve needed it. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, please,” he sighs now, standing. “I’ll get you something for your tummy, you have a toothbrush you can use under the sink, okay?”

“Thank you, Toru,” you hang your head as he walks out, soon you’re on his couch with your legs over his thighs, you all frequently sit like that – but now everything is different. He’s got you nibbling on saltines, and a ginger ale – he’d door dashed them so fast you were surprised.

Then you found out it wasn’t doordash – it was just Ijichi.

Poor Ijichi, really, but you suppose he’s paid well to be at Gojo’s beck and call all the time.

“Eat it,” Satoru commands quietly, studying you. “It’ll help.”

“I’ll throw it up again.” You nibble, little teeth marks on the cracker as you try to chew it a bit. “I keep getting sick.”

“How will you grow a baby if you don’t eat, hmm?” His words hit hard, the sweetness in them, the way he’s looking right at you. “Chew.”

“Yes sir,” you mumble, chewing again.

“Swallow.”

“Don’t say that!?” You’re choking almost on that cracker now as he snorts, smirking just a bit and leaning close.

“Oh, why not? Mind somewhere?” He teases, as if it’s just another day, and watches you get all flustered, playfully shoving him. “Perv.”

“Me!? You got me pregnant!”

“Well, you told me to keep going.”

“You little shit,” he shoves the ginger ale can in your hand again, narrowing those baby blues.

“Drink.”

“Just don’t say swallow, god,” he snorts and rolls his eyes a bit, leaning back on the couch, you see it’s getting dark outside now. “I need to head back soon.”

“Just stay,” it was normal to stay, before that night, before you knew how good his lips felt on your shoulders, his teeth sinking into the nape of your neck, cock railing your cunt from behind.

It was not normal anymore.

You look at his lips, wondering what it would be like to press yours on them, they were soft on your skin, but things were so hasty you both didn’t do that. Probably for the best, they were too plump and glossy, unfairly pretty like all of Satoru Gojo was, really, best you don’t even think of it.

“I should go,” you finally manage to say, and Satoru frowns. “I really have a lot to do tomorrow with work.”

Work.

He forgets you have your summer job, concern hitting his features then. “In your condition?”

“I’m barely pregnant, silly,” you playfully push him again, standing now. “I will see you at the appointment?”

“Of course,” he hugs you a little too long at the door, he can tell you’re fucking terrified as you hug him back, but…

Satoru’s not upset, at all actually.

Instead, he orders anything and everything a baby could need, and a million baby books, studying everything there was to know, picturing it all.

No, he was…

Excited.

Terrified but fucking excited to think of it – of the one girl he’s always loved carrying his baby, but he tries to rein it all in, the last thing he needs to do is pressure you either way with any decision. So instead, when you text him the details and a little good night with a heart, he simply writes back –

See you then. Night, sweetheart 

Before studying again like a little psycho all night – by the time your visit comes, Satoru Gojo is an entire fucking expert on everything pregnancy related, in fact. What else was a best friend for, really, if not to support you with everything?

And if in the next week he jerks it hopelessly to the thought of fucking you and cumming in you, well…

He can’t really help that.

*****

The next week

The gel is cold against your skin as the doctor spreads it across your stomach with the little wand, your shirt slid up to your chest, showing a tummy still mostly flat.. Gojo sits beside you, his hand clenched in yours, his face paler than usual despite how supportive he is being.

You've both been quiet since arriving at the doctor, even in the back of his car as his driver brought you, there was not much said. He tried to lighten the mood by showing you videos of dumb things, but when it didn’t work, and he knew you needed the quiet? He gave you it, just keeping a hand touching your thigh the entire ride.

Comforting, he was comforting you – as the reality of this situation was sinking deeper with each passing moment.

A baby.

Would you have it? Would you keep it? Part of you has always loved kids, but you never expected to be a mother yet, especially not being married or at least with someone. Not your best friend – and was he still going to be that? Would he resent you for your decision, would-

"Alright, let's see what we can find," the doctor says, moving the wand across your belly and thankfully cutting off your thoughts. “Hmm… let’s try here.”

You stare at the screen as he delves lower, pressing a bit on your pelvis – your heart is pounding so quickly you can hear the blood rushing in your ears. There's just static for some time, and you feel yourself getting sick as Satoru watches with you, seeing the shape of your uterus right on the screen.

Fuck - what if something’s wrong!? What if…

“Hey,” Satoru smiles at you, feeling your panic – he’s always known you so fucking well, and now is no different. He runs his thumb across your knuckles softly. “Hear that?”

“No I…” There it is.

A flicker. A tiny, rapid fluttering on the screen, and the sounds, little whooshes quickly echoing in the room, it’s so fast, you can’t take what it does to you in that moment, feeling tears in your eyes. “See?”

“A heartbeat…” You whisper, he grins all big, his teeth white and bright, that smile fucking ruining you.

Another pregnancy symptom?

Apparently being too fucking horny – and being around Gojo made everything a million times worse. Did he have to be so attractive? Did he have to smell so damn good? Did he have to hold your hand like this with his pretty blue eyes glittering, like he’s got it all together when you don’t?

How were you ever just his friend before, you always had something for him, sure. High school crush, college crush, puppy love – but through it all you always knew that friendship was the most important thing. Yet now you know what it’s like for him to grip your hips, to hold you, to bend you over and break you apart on him. To have his body on top of you.

How could you forget it when you’ll be seeing him constantly for years?

"That's the heartbeat," the doctor says with a smile, shaking you out of your heated thoughts. "Strong and healthy. Looks like you're about ten weeks along."

Tears spring to your eyes as you turn to look at Satoru, seeing his own are affixed now to the screen, his lips slightly parted. He looks from the screen to your stomach, then back again, his expression one of pure awe.

"Is that… that’s the baby?”

“Yes, it’s hard to see this early,” the doctor takes a few pictures, it’s a tiny, moving little thing, so small it’s hard to tell.

“That's our baby,” you whisper, then curse softly. “I mean…”

“Shh,” Satoru murmurs, his own heart hammering so fast he almost feels faint. He was of course nervous, but seeing it and seeing you – the girl he’s loved as long as he can remember? He can’t help his dopey fucking grin. “It is.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, all pretty, flushed cheeks, blushing when Satoru offers to clean the gel off your tummy and you sit up, it squishes just a bit, making you curse. “Ugh, already.”

“You look perfect,” he says it before he can stop himself, his hand moving gently to wipe your skin clean, you look down, thighs pressing together, as his eyes flick to yours. “You’ll be pretty, all pregnant.”

“No way, my mom got huge and I will too!”

“So? It’s part of that,” you frown again. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” He tilts your chin as you slide your shirt down.

“What’s going on in your mind right now?”

“That I’m selfish, self centered to think of my body,” you pout a bit. “Stretch marks, titties getting so big, tummy huge. God, my ankles will too! My friends have all been so miserable, ugh. And I should worry less about that, and more about how I’ll raise this damn baby. Am I…”

“Shh,” he kisses your temple now, and you lean against him, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re in your early twenties, pretty normal to be worried about your body changing, I don’t think that’s selfish. Okay?”

“You always make me feel better,” you snuggle against him, loving this too fucking much, inhaling his scent, feeling his warmth.

“What are friends for? Besides… getting you pregnant I mean.”

“Satoru!”

“Well…” You snort and shove at him, shaking your head. “When’s the next appointment?”

“Two weeks for a physical type check… do you…”

“I’ll be there.”

*****

The next physical went great, and Satoru’s been reading even more baby books – you’d decided to keep it and had let him know it was his choice, of course, if he wanted to be involved. Because this was both your choices.

Of course Satoru did.

There was no world he’d ever let you do this alone and not support you – though he doesn’t tell you exactly how excited he really is, he is so nervous in these moments, especially knowing how scared you still are. So he tries to be comforting, reassuring, there for you.

He was right there on time, taking you there, and fuck he looked good. He had on this sweater that was so soft you wanted to snuggle against it, that cologne in your senses, almost making you salivate.

Fuck.

As if you didn’t want him before, at three months pregnant it was worse than ovulation, it was like you needed to cum constantly. You’d played with your pussy every day to avoid this, to hope that you could act normal with him, but when he’d brushed this tiny stretch mark on your skin and smiled?

When he’d murmured cute.

When he held the door open for you, sliding in and talking about everything he’s researched on babies? Well, that’s when it’s almost fucking impossible to control, thighs pressed together with your hands between them, as if you can keep yourself from touching him somehow on the drive back.

You're impossibly quiet in the back seat of his sleek black car, Ijichi drives Gojo everywhere, you’re not even sure Satoru can drive – there’s no point really though. You don’t blame him one bit, but it was always pretty fucking cool in school to get those rides home with him – memories twist and blur just a bit as he brushes a lock of your hair back, smiling at you.

You shift uncomfortably, trying to discreetly press your thighs together even more, to not just straight up whine out from the friction, but it's no use. You're so  horny it hurts, your panties soaked to all hell, your clit pulsing with need, literally twitching from his proximity.

What sort of pregnancy thing was this? This wasn’t in a book.

"You okay, sweetheart?” Satoru asks softly now, glancing over at you. "You've been squirming, are you uncomfy? I think cramps can still happen – and your back can hurt from it. I can rub it?"

“No! I mean!? No!? I mean…” You curse, shaking your head. "I'm fine is all I meant!”

“Fine?” You nod quickly, making him sigh. “Am I being too touchy with you? Offering to-”

“No, no. God I appreciate you so much, never,” you mumble, shaking your head. “It’s not that at all.”

“Okay…” He exhales now.

“You thought that?”

“You’re so tense around me,” he brushes his hand against your thigh softly. “Like you’re clenched up, I worried I…”

“No… I’m just… not okay.”

"What's wrong?" he asks, brows furrowing just a bit. "Are you in any pain or anything? I need to know if you are."

"Not exactly," you admit, your cheeks flushing, burning fucking hot, god is this car just hot!? Is his skin burning!? "It's just... I'm really... uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable how? I can turn up the AC, and you can lean on me?”

You hesitate a bit, he’s being so fucking sweet, and you feel like a deviant right now. Your brain is on nothing but how long his fingers are, how good they’d feel inside you, fuck when you’d been together you’re not sure he touched you much. He had slipped them in for a moment but you were so needy you had begged him to put it in.

Oh and that stretch.

But they’re long, and they’re thick, thumb brushing your thigh. You sigh, shutting your eyes again.

“You know you can tell me anything, yeah? Known you since the fucking fifth grade, now is not time to get shy.”

“Right…” You take a shaky breath. “It’s embarrassing."

“Okay, how?”

"I'm horny," you blurt it out, watching his own blush, cursing a bit. "Like, painfully horny. I feel like I will jump you, straddle you, fuck your hands are so big and… Satoru, were they always this big!?”

“Were they…” He laughs nervously. “What?

“Were they always this big – and why do you smell like that?” He blushes brighter as you lean forward, your hand covering his. “I’m going to lose it, I can’t act like this, but it’s like I’m going to die if I don’t cum. I’m wet from nothing.”

Oh fuck.

He can’t take that, looking at you as you lean forward, your tits are right in his view, that sleeve falling off your off shoulder sweater, showing too much of your pretty skin. He swallows nervously, it takes everything not to just drag you on his lap and pump you full of cum.

God, what would your nipples look like dripping milk? How big and full would your tits get? He feels like he’s the pervert, and you’re over here worrying, he can see it as you pull back just a bit.

"Oh. That's... that's a thing? With pregnancy?” He tries to act calm, cock throbbing.

"Apparently," you mutter, shifting again. "And it's fucking awful right now, I am not trying to be… distant, okay? I…”

The car hits a bump and you whine out.

“Ugh!” You cover your face, Satoru is quiet for a moment, then clears his throat, taking your hands down slowly, making you look at him. “This is embarrassing!"

“Nah, it’s… just…” He swallows a bit, nervous as his fingers wrap around your delicate wrists. "I could... I mean, if it would help... I could help you out. As a friend if you um… want? As… a baby daddy… friend or-"

You blink then. "What?"

"Just... to take the edge off I could help you feel better," he murmurs, his cheeks still slightly flushed, eyes dark. "I helped you get in this state, I could at least help you with this, to make you cum, hmm?”

“Make me cum?” You’re trembling a bit at that. “Like and… it’s fine with you?”

“Is it fine with me,” he laughs a bit, shaking his head, tilting your chin up. “You askin’ if I have a problem making you cum for me?”

“I just,” you bury your face against his chest, his hand slipping up your thigh achingly slow. “Make me cum how?”

“You keep staring at my hands, do you want my fingers inside you?” You suck in a breath, burying your face again, feeling his thumb brushing your skin. “What else is your best friend for, hmm?"

“Satoru,” you laugh softly, biting down on your lip, peeking over at the partition. “Would he hear?”

“You were loud,” you gasp and playfully shove at him. “I’m kidding… kind of. You really were.”

“I’ll be a little quiet,” you whisper. “You were loud too.”

“Brat, tch,” you giggle, and it feels perfect.

Satoru is your best friend.

Satoru got you pregnant.

Now Satoru Gojo’s fingers are sliding up your thighs, his fingertips tugging at the waistband of those leggings, you love wearing them lately, with your body already changing just a bit. “Are you sure you want me to?”

“Yes,” you whisper, a hand slipping up his chest, shaky just a bit as his fingertips slip lower. “Helping me as my friend.”

“Best friend.”

“Best ever,” you whisper – delusional – nodding so he has the okay, his fingers are just a bit hesitant at first, gently tracing the edge of your panties before slipping underneath, finding you. “Mnh!”

You gasp as his fingers brush against your folds, already slick with arousal, embarrassingly so in fact – so wet the squelch is loud as he darts it up your slit, Satoru moans softly, looking into your eyes and slipping lower. His fingertip dips in, and even more slick drips out, your panties already sticky, he lets out a little hum, running them up, studying you.

"Fuck," he murmurs, voice breathy. "You weren't kidding, you’re soaked, sweetheart, hmm?”

You shake your head in response, spreading your thighs wide for his fingers to explore you, he finds your clit easily, circling it gently and all teasing, making you whine out in frustration before applying more pressure, drawing patterns like he had that night months ago.

“Satoru!” You whisper it, trying to keep quiet as you arch against his hand, a desperate whine escaping your lips again, hands gripping at his sweater too tightly.

"Like that?" he asks, his voice soft, god does he have to sound like that? You’re trying to keep it together, but the faster his fingers rub your twitchy lil clit, the worse.

"Yes, y-yes like that I…. mhm!”

He knows your body, he has no problem sliding two in deep, curving up and letting the heel of his palm graze your needy clit, squishing noises even louder as he watches you, waiting for you to fall apart for him.

“So wet,” he murmurs, moving faster. “You’re close, hmm?”

You nod quickly, letting him lean forward – as if he may kiss you, just hovering a centimeter away as he works your cunt, lifting his chin and looking down at you, eyes hungry and bright blue.

“Then cum, let go,” he whispers, and you do it like on command, earning his soft, murmured praise, orgasm rushing through you until you’re high from it, resting your face against his neck.

“Toru,” you breathe out, eyes shutting, the orgasm so much better than what you can do yourself.

"Better?" he asks softly, pulling his fingers back just a bit, eyeing that slick and moaning. “Fuck…”

"Much better,” you mumble, seeing that amount of slickness and panicking. “Oh god sorry…”

“For what? Being soaked?” He smirks a bit. “No need.”

“I um…” He sucks your cunt off his fingers, making your lips part at the filthy little act, something you’ve never seen with any other partner.

He just tasted your cunt, his cheeks hollowing.

“I um… you uh…” Words. Use words. “I… th-thhank you?"

"Anytime," he says with a small smile, chuckling a bit as your flavor hits his tastebuds. “What sort of friend would I be if I let you hurt like that?”

“Right, you’re winning the best friend – baby daddy award,” he snorts, and the two of you act fine, act as if this was just that.

You’re both too fucking scared to admit what it really is.

*****

A month later

You're staying over at Gojo's place again – it's become more frequent since the pregnancy was confirmed. The two of you spend a lot of time together, preparing a bit or just enjoying each other’s company. You had to tell your families, which was not an easy conversation, especially with Satoru’s parents.

They’d been appalled quite frankly, Satoru was supposed to marry who they wanted him to, they were anything if not distant and terrible as long as you knew him. You’d held his hand that night during that dinner, and asked if he wanted you to stay over again, quiet as you both drove home.

“You don’t have to,” he murmured softly, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine, I expected much worse.”

“I still want to,” you had said, kissing his cheek, your eyes fluttering shut, his hand had instinctively touched your tummy, getting rounder now, something so intimate and sweet it almost broke you.

You hated going home alone.

There were plenty of rooms – but tonight you couldn’t just sleep in one, tossing and turning until you got up in the middle of the night, peeking to see Satoru asleep, sprawled across his bed with his lankly limbs – the sheets tangled around his waist. You watch him for a moment, you’ve seen him asleep countless times, but everything lately has felt so different.

“Toru?”

“Hmm?” He opens his eye and turns, peeking at you. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

His voice is all raspy with sleep, making your heart flutter. God he’s even cuter, leaning up in the dark, brushing a hand through his hair with a sleepy smile. “Could I sleep in your bed?”

“You want the comfiest one, hmm?” He teases, holding up the blanket for you to crawl in beside him. “Come closer.”

“You sure?” He nods, tugging you against him and sighing, burying his face in your neck. “Will it be too much?”

“No, not at all,” he feels so good, he’s so warm, his body against yours. “Get some sleep.”

But sleep still eludes you, you instead can’t stop thinking of how badly you crave not any kind of food or drink like a normal pregnant girl.

You’re craving Satoru.

God, thinking of that hardness pressing against you in your mouth, to taste him for once, feel him harden on your tongue and pulse. Swallow him down, suck him till he’s whimpering, cumming over and over?

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, hmm?” He teases you again. “I feel your brain whirling over there.

“I’m having an odd craving,” you mumble, turning over to him now, he raises a brow at you, yawning.

“I’ll order whatever, what is it?”

“You can’t order it,” you bite your lip now, and he laughs.

“You want me to make you cum again?”

“No.”

“No?” You slide down the bed, gently pulling back the sheets a bit, and his breath catches in his throat. He's only wearing boxers, and you can already see the outline of his cock, thick and growing, a little dark spot where pre is slipping. “Oh you… you’re craving…”

“I really want your cock in my mouth.”

Is Satoru fucking dreaming!?

He wonders as he blinks rapidly at you, your fingertips trailing his abdomen, making them tense. “You want my cock in your mouth?”

“Yeah, that sounds insane. I want…” You sigh. “Cum.”

“Cum!? Is that even safe!?”

“I don’t know, that’s not in a book!” You pull back now, sighing. “God I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, don’t go,” he catches your wrist quickly, tugging you against him. “I would never turn down your mouth, you fuckin’ kidding?”

“You sure?”

“Am I sure,” he shuts his eyes, trying not to act as eager as he really is, and completely failing. “In what world does anyone turn that down? Especially from you.”

“You want it then?” You whisper, reaching out to trace the length of him through the soft fabric, he whimpers just a bit, the sound making you ache.

“You really wanna suck me till I cum? You don’t want like… ice cream with pickles or something?” You laugh softly, shaking your head, and he tugs you more, your hair falling against his skin, brushing his thigh. “Yeah, go ahead then, sweetheart. You can suck me any time you need.”

“Oh can I?” His hand brushes your hair back reverently as he tugs his cock out, he’s close to telling you he’s in love just when you kiss his flushed tip, tongue lapping to grab a little bit of white.

“Anytime,”he murmurs again instead, watching as you gently take the tip of him into your mouth, hot and wet. “Fuck…”

“Mnh,” you’re aching as you eye him, and his hand entangles gently into your hair, easing your head down so you can taste him – clean and slightly salty with the white coating your tastebuds. You moan softly as you take more of him in, your tongue swirling around to hit his frenum, making his hips buck up.

“God… so this is really your pregnancy craving?"

You hum around him in response, which makes him groan, thickening in your mouth as you move up and down, reaching for your pussy and touching it, letting him fuck into your throat, pausing then.

“Is it too much?”

You pull back with a messy pop, shaking your head. “I want it.”

“Fuck you’re pretty like this,” he whispers, his hand gentle but firm on the back of your head as you work him with your mouth, taking him deeper with each pass until he's hitting the back of your throat, and you’re gagging on him. “Takin’ me like that? So fucking good, doin’ s’good I…”

He’s mumbling, stuttering as he fucks your throat – just like you were dying for, making you suck harder, aching to taste all of him. Him whispering your name as you drool down his balls, his tip gliding past your uvula, while your fingers fuck in and out of your needy cunt.

“You’re touching her?” He asks softly, you hum in response, he’s lost at how good your throat feels, how tight with every little gasp. “Sucking me has you that needy, hmm?”

“Mhm,” you suck even harder, and he fears he won’t last long, not when you’re cumming, shaking and your throat is contracting, his thick length stretching it so good.

“Want all of that cum in your throat?” He whispers hoarsely, you moan again, eyes looking up under your lashes as he holds your hair in a ponytail. “I’ll give you all of it, then, sweetheart.”

He is not quiet when he cums, no, Satoru Gojo moans – husky and fucking loutd as his hips buck up, and he’s busting his creamy release. It’s spilling down your throat, and you greedily swallow every drop, slurping it all as he gently fucks your throat a few more times, whining out, sensitive.

You take your fingers of your cunt, slick and messy, sucking him up and down, still semi hard, eyes locked on his.

You just sucked Satoru Gojo’s cock.

Your friend since fifth grade.

You pull off, a thick string of saliva and cum dissolving from your licks, as your little pink tongue then gently licks him clean.

“You’re so perfect I…” He trails off, swallowing nervously and then tugging you up. “C’mere.”

You gasp as you land on his chest, and he wraps an arm around you, kissing your lips, tasting his own cum right off you.

You haven’t even kissed Satoru yet.

That’s what’s insane, you’ve gotten pregnant, you’ve fucked him, came on his fingers, but it was as if you both knew the kiss would ruin you, and it does, desperate, needy and sweet. How his hand tangles in your hair, and his lips move, plump and soft against yours.

That’s when the inevitable fact hits your heart – you didn’t just crave cum in your mouth, you wanted to make him feel good, wanted him to fall apart for you, his tongue glides on yours and you can’t help but sigh into his mouth. You lean up a bit, hands on his chest, a smile so big and goofy on his face you melt.

“So, was that just a craving?”

“Were your fingers just helping a friend out?” You ask, he laughs and shakes his head, cupping your face.

“What do you think?” You bury your face nervously, letting him hold you against his body, your heart racing.

“I think everything is insane. And scary and… I don’t ever, ever want to lose you, Satoru.”

“You won’t,” he whispers, kissing gently across your cheek, to your temple, but the words still don’t make it from his lips.

I love you.

It’s like they’re stuck, until you’re fast asleep, and he murmurs them like he did that night you conceived your baby.

*****

It goes on like that, sucking Satoru for your oral fixation, and fuck he’s not complaining, but soon it’s not enough, neither is you letting him finger you when you’re aching. You’re so sexy with your tummy swelling, and your tits so full, your face is glowing and your goddamn eyes are glittering.

You are sinking to your knees after work at your place when he halts you, shaking his head, making you pause.

“Oh um, not today?”

“You stand here,” he says instead, kneeling and making you blush, looking up at you under his snowy lashes. “I want to taste you this time.”

“Toru, you c-can’t… I’m getting big already and-”

“You’re perfect,” you melt when he gently slides up your dress, groaning when he sees your slick, pretty pussy. “Call it my pregnancy craving.”

“You got ‘em too, hmm?” he laughs softly, tickling your skin.

“Why don’t you sit down and spread your thighs,” you obey him – how can you not – sitting at the edge of the bed, eyeing the reflection of you both in your mirror for just a moment, the sight as filthy as it is sweet, worshipping you when he kisses up your inner thigh. “Good girl.”

“You can’t just say that, Toru,” he doesn’t know what it does until this very moment, when he spreads your plump lips, watching the slick pool down, so fucking pretty. His hand brushes up the curve of your tummy, tongue gathering that mess and drinking it with a greedy bob of his Adam's apple. “Mnh!”

“Fuck,” Satoru’s lost now – hand adjusting his straining erection, his other slipping higher, squishing a tit, feeling the weight of it in his palm as he looks up at your body, your face, head falling back.

You’re too pretty pregnant.

All he can think is how he’s almost glad you are right now, he knows it was an ‘accident’ but he’s so fucking happy, having you with him all the time, having your touch, your nearness. Seeing all the changes and knowing in this way the two of you are connected, a toxic little thought nagging at him that he’d love to do it again, next time on purpose.

Maybe he’s very happy pulling out didn’t work, and that the condom broke, when his fingers press into your thighs, and he’s greedily slurping at your cunt now. All gentleness lost as your flavors hit, ones he’s had little hints of at best, watching you suck him was amazing, but Satoru thinks he loves this just as much if not more, drinking your cunt up as you tremble, as you fall apart.

“I’m c-close, fuck I’m…” You’re pressing your thighs on either side, he pulls back, your wetness making his face glisten.

“Hold ‘em open,” he murmurs softly, you prop your feet up on the bed as he sinks further onto the plush of your rug. “Just like that.”

“I’m spread wide though…”

“And you were when I got you this way,” he grins as you blush. “You wouldn’t let me touch you, it was just – in me.”

“Well I wanna say it again,” you admit softly. “But also…”

You tug his hair, bringing his face against you, his moans vibrating on your messy, sensitive clit. Satoru slides two fingers in and fucks them in your hole, slick and drooling onto the carpet with every thrust, his mouth sucking your little clit inside it. A few more flicks and hums, and you’re shattering, cumming so hard you squirt all over him, soaking his shirt.

“Fuck…” He looks at you in wonder, you gasp, covering your face.

“Oh god!? I’ve never…”

“Good,” he is possessive then, as he stands up, sliding your dress until it’s off you completely, leaning forward and kissing your lips. “I’m glad if I made you first.”

“Are you getting possessive of your ‘friend’?” You tease – you both know the word is nonsense at this point, but you’re also scared to say more.

That you’re in love with him.

“Maybe I am…” He admits, his voice breathy and sensual, as you taste yourself, the sweetness from his mouth mixing with your own flavor, addictive. “Maybe I wanna pump you full of me, hmm? Maybe I’ve been wanting to.”

“Then do it,” you whisper, eagerly tugging down his zipper, seeing just how hard and thick he is. “Cum in me.”

“Fuck, seriously!?” You giggle a bit at that, nodding. “What position though? Can you… be on your back? Can you…”

“You didn’t read that part, hmm?” You tease him then, laying back and seeing how his eyes darken, his pretty tip leaking. “I can, but no weight on the tummy at this point so…”

“Got it,” he whispers, hands on your hips, standing between you as you lay there, thighs wide, your mess dripping in rivulets still from your thighs, when his tip hits your slit you both take a breath.

“Ah!” You’re so sensitive during this stage of pregnancy, you almost cum from a rub, embarrassing as it was to squirt on his damn face, you can still see where you soaked his shirt as he leans down, careful not to put weight on you. “Sensitive…”

“Yeah, are you, baby?” You nod quickly, he keeps rubbing it, like to torture you, kissing you while holding himself up and standing, achingly sweet even as his fat cockhead is going faster between your folds. “Yeah you are – gonna cum like this, hmm? Like that night?”

“You r-remember?” You mumble, losing control of your senses, clinging to his biceps, nails pressing over his shirt, Satoru sighs, kissing you again, as you feel your body tense up.

“Of course I remember,” your eyes meet, and you can’t help but shatter with another glide of his tip against your slit, impossibly more squirt spraying him. “God you’re wetter than before. Is that even possible?”

“In me, fuck… stop teasin’ me…” You are already cockdrunk from his tip, and he knows it – smirk on his handsome face. “Toru!”

“Lemme take my time, know how long I’ve waited?” You can’t answer, not when he glides his cock in, careful when in three thrusts he bottoms out, waiting for you to adjust. “Feel so fuckin’ good… you’re soaked…”

“Mhm,” your thighs tremble, he is easing back, his hands trailing down your changing body in a way that should make you nervous.

But you just want more.

“Beautiful…” He whispers, easing back and looking at the mess with every slow stroke, how your puffy lips are moving around his thickness, coated his raised veins till they’re glittery. “Look at you, sweetheart. These tits, so full, I can’t wait till there’s milk dripping.”

You whine out then, eyes rolling back as he begins to move, standing and lifting you just slightly, angling your hips so his cock can rub right on your sweet spot, hitting the little sponginess of it over and over in sweet little kisses. You shatter again, and again, cumming so much you get dizzy, your ears ringing, his cock filling you and stretching you more than you thought you could take.

He’s whispering your name in a way that’s nothing like ‘a friend’ or even a baby daddy, the way he says your name as he rests a hand on your ribcage, the other on your hip, fucking into you? It’s filthy, it’s loving, it’s everything and anything but how he’s said it your whole life, and yet…

It’s still the way he said it the day he met you.

When he first learned your name, the two of you became friends, and he shared his lunch with you because you forgot to make your own. The way when he took you home after school, and when he’d hold open that umbrella, the two Satoru Gojos meld – that one, and this one, a man fucking you up, holding you, his shirt half slid up from your hands.

“Off, off,” you tug impatiently and he laughs, doing just that, letting you touch his abdomen, his chest, gripping his obliques when he starts to move faster. “Ah!”

“Y-you okay, sweetheart?” He manages, pausing then. “Am I too…”

“Love it,” you mumble instead, shaking now. “Love it, please… more…”

“I’ll give you anything when you ask so sweet,” he eases out and you gasp, scowling at him. “I’m just going to make you more comfy, don’t you glare at me.”

“I said more and you… oh…” He’s gently putting a little pillow underneath your hips now, and you sigh, lashes fluttering. “That is better.”

“Mhm, impatient girl,” he glides back in, hitting your spot even better, every drag of his tip having you closer and closer. “You sure you want my cum? You wanna be so full of me it drips out all day?”

“Yes,” it’s automatic, your answer, Satoru whines out then, his cheeks all flushed, his eyes lidded and heavy – you feel him pulsing inside, he’s so big in your slick, messy walls. “Please… cum inside I… mnh!”

“Fuck,” Satoru gives you just that – all his milky cum, coating your walls in white, trembling as you milk him for every drop.

Oh, and when he sees that mess pouring from your pretty cunt? Well he can’t help but fuck it back inside, but this time with you on your knees, your head resting on the bed as he holds your body up. Watching the thick coating of his own white release slipping down his cock, his balls heavy again.

He gives you more of it – more of him, desperately whimpering in your ear, cum getting fucked back inside, whispering those treacherous words that you didn’t hear last time. But this time you do, you turn your head, drool spilling, eyes all fucked out – Satoru swipes your drool as he busts his load deep in you again, three now just getting fucked deeper, slipping from the mess you both are.

“You l-love me?” You mumble, brows drawn together. “Is that like… just talk during it or…”

“I love you,” he whispers again, a little louder, seeing your eyes glimmer. “Not just because I’m buried inside you and pussy drunk, no. I do love you. God I do.”

“I love you too, Toru,” you whisper, letting him kiss you, drinking his sighs and moans in as he gently rocks his still hard cock inside, in the stuffed full, creamy mess he’s made of you. “I love you too.”

It’s whispered over and over, when he’s showering you, helping you shave, being so gentle and sweet – like he wasn’t just railing your pussy, like he wasn’t fingering his cum back in. No, it’s perfect, the way you can finally not call Satoru Gojo just your friend anymore.

*****

You had a baby with your best friend by accident – but it’s anything but a mistake, in fact when you’re holding her in your arms and smiling at her, seeing the same blue eyes you’ve loved your whole life? When Satoru’s making a bottle downstairs and you’re rocking in the chair in the nursery he had made?

When she’s all milk drunk later in your arms and Satoru is laughing at her little face, brushing her cheek with his thumb? You know it was all for some reason, even if it’s a little too soon, and even if you’re not fully ready yet – you know it’s perfect here, having him kiss your head, sighing and looking at her.

“She’s so cute like this,” he says softly, brushing some of her downy hair that’s forming, you ease the bottle and she is still sucking. “She needs a binky?”

“Mhm,” he hands you one, and you slip it in her mouth, grinning all big up at Satoru now. “She looks so much like you. I’m not sure my genetics tried.”

“Well, I do have Gojo genes,” he’s all puffing his chest, you can’t help but giggle, before wincing a bit at the pain. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Still sore,” you admit, he gently takes her and places her in the pretty little bassinet, swaddling her up tightly before coming to you, helping you up. “Thank you… Toru, thank you for everything. I was scared at first, but…”

“I was too,” he admits, peeking down at you – still so beautiful, but the strain of having her has taken it’s toll. You’ve got dark circles, and your color isn’t all back yet, he picks you up before you can stop him.

“Toru!”

“You’re taking a nap.”

“I can walk!”

“I know,” he holds you anyway, you yawn and bury your face against his neck, lashes tickling his skin. “I love her so much.”

“I do too,” you admit, giggling. “So much I almost want another.”

“Another, hmm?’

“Not any time soon!” He just grins as he lays you down. “You deviant, don’t even think about it for at least two years!”

“Sure, I wasn't thinking about it at all,” he sighs as he sees your nipples dripping though, thumb brushing over one, tasting it. “Oh it’s sweet.”

“You little freak,” you tease, but you let him have just a taste, a little flick of his tongue before he tugs up your top. “Take a nap with me.”

“All right,” he is tired too, just trying to keep wide awake for you, but when he cuddles you to him, and feels you against him, he can’t stop his grin.

He got his best friend pregnant by accident – but the next time will absolutely be on purpose.

patreon <3 comms

Then final grades are released. 

And suddenly? The soaked clothes, the coke, the club, the ultrasound shaking in his hand, the mochi, your lips on his—all of it has found a new place to bleed. 

His fucking GPA. 

Gojo just stares at the screen, sitting there at his desk in the quiet wreckage of his room with his laptop open in front of him and the number glowing back like an accusation. 

This has to be a mistake, is his first thought, because he does not get grades like these. He never has. Not in high school or college, not even in the classes he barely respected enough to attend with any sort of genuine consistency. No. Never.

There are plenty of things people misunderstand about him, and for the most part, he lets them. It’s easier that way. Play the part of the frat boy. Let them think he’s just rich, that he coasts along life. Let them think that the face, the name, the money, the effortless charm means there isn't a brain underneath the performance. 

That assumption has always served him fine. Girls don’t care that he could destroy a finance case study in one sitting. His brothers didn’t need to know he could skim fifty pages before class and still debate circles around half the room. The professors, though, figured it out eventually. The wealthy international student from Japan, the pretty frat boy asshole who everyone assumed was an idiot, is actually intelligent. Very intelligent. They are always quietly surprised when they realize that, as if intelligence looks strange on someone so attractive and careless.

Even you didn’t know the full extent of it. You knew he was quick-witted, obviously. Sharp in that annoying way that made him impossible to argue with. He was clever, strategic, cruelly observant when he wanted to be, you know all of that from experience. But, you had zero idea about the substantial fact that he is rather a genius, despite the role he plays. 

He never told you, not directly at least. He didn’t offer it up like it was something precious worth knowing about him because the thought of you looking too closely at him, well, another version of him he didn’t know how to explain, scared him shitless.  

He blames his silence on the possibility that intelligence, much like everything else in his life, had never felt entirely his. No, that belonged to his family first—the Gojo name. Proof of his usefulness and that he is capable of being handed an empire that he never asked to inherit. 

Though, Satoru figured he shouldn’t feel too bad for withholding this information from you. He never told anyone, never corrected anyone, either. Being underestimated is useful when you’re arrogant enough to enjoy proving others wrong. But this? This is wrong in a way that makes his skin sting bitterly cold. 

He refreshes his Canvas page once, then twice, like the big fat 68% on his Microeconomics final might rearrange itself out of embarrassment…To his dismay, it doesn’t. His perfect 4.0 GPA is now tainted, the A+ he formerly had has dropped to a B- because of the exam that was worth more than half of all the other assignments combined. 

He leans back in his chair and drags both hands over his face, pressing hard enough that colors spark behind his eyelids. His room is still a disaster from the last few days; clothes on the floor, empty water bottles by the bed, the faint sweetness of your perfume still clinging to fabric he should have washed but refuses to, the mochi you had gifted him has since been eaten, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to throw out the box—it’s there on his nightstand, close to him while he sleeps so that maybe he’ll dream of you and not the other shit that’s been haunting him. On his desk, half-hidden beneath his notebook, the corner of a sketch peeks out. 

Your eyes. Again. 

He looks at it and immediately wants to rip the paper in half. Because, God—they look too real, alive almost. Your lashes, the shape of your gaze, the softness at the corners that he has no business recalling in this much detail. 

He had drawn them during a lecture he didn’t listen to, then again at three in the morning. Then again after checking his phone and finding no reply from you. Yeah…you never did reply to that text he sent on his shitty night out. That was probably for the best anyway. Hope is a dangerous thing for a man like Satoru Gojo. So, he’s better off like this. 

Though, it had only started with drawing your eyes. But then, your eyes morphed into a page of your mouth. Your neck with your own initial where his chain used to be. The tilt of your head in his passenger seat when you admitted that you missed him too.

He had told himself this was just something to do with his hands, which is a lie, obviously. Apparently, grief does not just ruin sleep, appetite, dignity, and, subsequently, your life. Apparently, it also digs up old graves, hands you a pencil, and tells you to start sketching the girl who left you. 

Satoru lowers his hands and looks back at the grade. He uselessly tries to convince himself it’s fine. People bomb finals all the time. He’s seen other students cry in library bathrooms during finals week, walk out of exams looking shell-shocked, email professors with desperation seeping through every word. That’s normal college misery shit. But, he can’t be normal about this. 

He’s not supposed to be the guy who lets a breakup crawl into his coursework or the guy who rereads one stupid birthday text until four in the morning instead of reviewing for Microeconomics. He’s not supposed to sketch your face in the margins of his notebook while the professor explains material that will absolutely be on the final. And he is definitely not supposed to glare at one question for seven minutes because the word “future” appeared in the prompt and suddenly all he can think about is a folded ultrasound tucked behind his ID. 

A bitter laugh leaves him before he can even think to stop it. Of course you would find a way to ruin accounting too. Except it’s not really you who ruined it, and that realization wipes the disbelieving smile off his face. He did. He ruined it. He ruined everything.

He sat in class and didn’t listen. He opened practice exams and saw your face instead of numbers. He spent nights drawing when he should have been studying; drinking and snorting coke when he should have been sleeping, then lying awake sick with the guilt when even heavy intoxication couldn’t get his head quiet enough to rest. 

This grade isn’t bad luck. It’s only just more evidence, another exhibit in the case of how badly he’s unraveling.

Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have flushed the Adderall—

His phone buzzes on the desk and he glances at it too fast, pathetic muscle memory snapping his attention toward the screen. The notification didn’t come from you, though a small part of him wished it did. Rather, it’s an email from the registrar and three texts from Ryan’s dumbass. 

ryan: grade drop yet?

ryan: bro if i failed mirco econ im killing myself ong

ryan: also you alive? you dipped outta class hella quick 

Gojo flips the phone facedown. The fucking guy can’t even spell micro right and is wondering if he failed?

Damn…guess I’m not one to talk. 

He doesn’t bother texting him back. He can’t talk to Ryan right now. Can’t hear some joke about finals or GPA not mattering when you’re hot and rich and inheriting your family’s multi-billion dollar company anyway. No, he can’t stomach that, because none of this is small. 

A 68% is not small. A B- is not small. A less than 4.0 GPA is not small. 

Not for the family he is flying home to tomorrow.

Home. 

He’s always hated home, but now even more so. 

His mother will ask as soon as she sees him before she asks about anything else. That is the first real blade of panic sheathed between his ribs. 

She will ask because she always does. His grades don’t exist privately, they aren’t something he can just hide and lie about like other students can. Nothing about him exists privately. His transcript is more than just school. It’s proof of discipline and control, and that the future heir to the Gojo company is still worth trusting with everything his family has decided he’ll run. 

A slip is not a slip in that house. A slip is a symptom, and his parents love hunting for causes.

Because this is not the first time his grades have slipped. The last time they did, his parents found the cause rather quickly. Drawing. Except it was only that. It wasn’t drawing and the loss of you and the life he almost had. 

It was only a slight dip of his grades. A microscopic imperfection, really. But in the Gojo household, imperfection does not stay small for long. Satoru remembers it all too clearly.

He was nine then, maybe ten. Young enough that his feet didn’t fully touch the floor when he sat in the stiff armchair by his father’s office window. Naive enough that the pencils in his hand felt more important than anything else in the world. Innocent enough to believe that if something made him happy, that happiness must be allowed to exist somewhere in his world. 

He had dreams then. 

Small ones, stupid ones, probably even impossible ones. The kind of dreams children form before adults teach them what lineage costs and what is expected of them. He used to think maybe he could draw forever. Maybe he could make beautiful things for no reason except the simple fact that he liked making them. He could become an artist, oh, or an architect, or anything other than the pre-decided thing his family had already built a life around him becoming. 

How silly he was to think such things. How silly he was to have even dreamt at all. 

He can see his father’s study when he shuts his eyes. Dark wood, pale winter light. The smell of paper, leather, and ink filling his senses. His mother standing near the desk with one of his sketchbooks open in her hands, turning the pages slowly with the same calm attention she gives documents littered with errors.  

His father stands beside her. Neither is angry in the way you’d expect. They never show emotion openly. They don’t yell or slam doors. They don’t ask their son why he’s been staying up late drawing buildings and nameless faces and mythical creatures in the margins of his workbooks. They don’t ask why he hid the art under his bed or why his fingers are always smudged gray at the tips. 

No, they don’t give a damn, honestly. They only care about cold, hard facts. They simply present the evidence. His math marks had slipped. A few points lower than they wanted. And they found the answer hidden beneath his bed. 

Sketchbooks, charcoal pencils, ink pens. A book on figure drawing, another on architecture. Cheap tiny things, most of them, bought secretly and tucked away like treasure. 

His mother turns another page. On it is a portrait of the housekeeper who used to sneak him warm milk when he couldn’t sleep. Her name was Emi. She had gentle eyes and a soft voice, and once, after discovering one of his drawings folded into a textbook, she smiled at him like he had handed her something precious. 

“You’re very good, Satoru-sama,” She had whispered. 

He had never forgotten that. It was about the only words of encouragement he had ever received. Though he pretended not to care, he proceeded to draw her until two in the morning that same day. 

It wasn’t perfect by any means. The eyes were a little too wide, the shading clumsy around the lips, but he had worked on it all night because he wanted to get her smile right. She had looked at the sketch when he finished it and covered her mouth with one hand. 

“You made me look kind.”

“You are kind,” Satoru had answered. 

Now his mother stared at that same drawing without an ounce of emotion, “She bought these for you?”

Satoru’s throat tightened as he looked at the sketchbook, then at his father, then down at his knees, “She said I should practice.”

His father’s face didn’t move an inch, his mother slammed the book shut, “That was not her place.”

Something cold moved through Satoru then. Confusion at first, unable to comprehend how something given out of grace can become wrong just because an adult has decided it is. 

His father steps forward and picks up one of the pencils from the desk, “Satoru,” He said, voice even, “Your marks have declined.”

Satoru looked at the pencil instead of his father’s face, “O-Only a little.”

His mother’s gaze sharpened. A little, in that house, is not a defense. A little is proof that he doesn’t understand the capacity of what is expected of him as the only child of the Gojo family. 

“This,” His father noted, lifting the pencil slightly, “Is why.”

Satoru’s hands curled in his lap, “...It’s just drawing.”

“No,” His mother snapped, “It’s distraction.”

The word landed with certainty, like once she had named it as such it could no longer be anything else. His father broke the pencil in half right after, the sound was so small, yet Satoru flinched anyway. Then, his mother began placing the sketchbooks into a black trash bag one by one. 

He watched all of it, because they made him watch. That is the part he remembers most. The witnessing, the instruction of it. His mother’s pristine, white sleeve brushing against the dark plastic bag. His father gathering the art books from the desk. Pages disappearing, hours disappearing. Small, private pieces of himself being discarded like they are garbage.

His parents always handled his happiness like paperwork. 

“You are not a boy who gets to waste time dreaming,” His mother informed. 

His father adds, colder somehow, sounding almost bored, “Dreams are for people with nothing expected of them.”

Satoru doesn’t cry. Not there. Not in front of them, he couldn’t. He just sat very still while his mother took the sketchbook with Emi’s portrait and placed it in the bag too. He thought, stupidly, childishly, that maybe she’d spare that one because it’s good. Emi assured him it was. The eyes were almost right, the smile was sweet, he spent an entire night fixing the shading on her cheek, and he adored it.  

But his mother spared nothing. By dinner, all the art supplies had been removed from his room. And by morning, Emi was gone too. None of the other staff said the word fired in front of him, no one had the heart to. He caught her in the entryway with her coat on and her bag clutched in both hands. She bowed deeply to his mother, then his father, then, finally, to him. 

She didn’t look at him long, which made it worse. Because even at nine years old, Satoru understands shame. He knew that she was leaving because of him. Since she bought him the pencils and books. She encouraged him to keep going. Because he loved something too obviously and someone had been kind enough to help him love it. 

He wanted to say I’m sorry. 

He wanted to beg, please don’t go. 

He wanted to tell his parents it wasn’t her fault, that he asked, that he wanted them, that he was the problem. 

But his father’s hand rested lightly on his tiny shoulder in silent warning, so Satoru said nothing. Emi bowed one last time, then left. Later on, that night, he cried in the bathroom with the faucet running. Quietly, ugly, and soundless into the sleeve of his silk pajamas, teeth pressed hard into the fabric because even then he knew better than to be heard. 

His chest hurt with it, his throat ached. He sobbed until his round, pale face felt swollen and hot and humiliating. 

It wasn’t because of the pencils or drawings, entirely. He now understood something. 

Love is not something he is allowed to have. Real love, the gentle kind that sits beside his bed with warm milk and tells him he’s good at something no one else cares to even notice. Buys him cheap pencils and art books and whispers that he should keep going, looking at the things he made with his own hands and treating them like they matter. 

No. 

Love like that—softness like that, does not belong in a house like this.

He imagines that his parents love him, maybe, in the surface level way people like them know how to. Through discipline and expectation; expensive clothes and private tutors and language lessons and posture perfected with a hand anchored between his shoulder blades. Their version of love shines through reminders of what he owes, who he is, and what will one day be his whether he wants it or not. 

But Emi, she had loved little Satoru differently. In small, careful gestures that to the average person are the bare minimum, yet to him, meant everything. And his parents tossed her out too. 

That is what hurts most—losing Emi. The only person in that house who had ever made love feel like gentleness instead of surveillance.

So Satoru learned the lesson clearly with her removal and the banishment of his hobby.

He cannot love things. He cannot dream things. 

Dreams require wanting. Wanting requires softness. Softness creates weakness. And weakness, in the Gojo household, is corrected until nothing living remains. 

So he stops, slowly. Children seldom kill parts of themselves so cleanly. He stops drawing first, then stops talking about things he wants, then eventually, stops wanting anything that fails to fit the shape of what is expected of him. Instead, he gets better at his studies because intelligence is useful, according to his parents. He learns how to be charming because charm, in the right situation, is a useful skill too. He also becomes beautiful, bored, and unobtainable, because, once again, those are useful. 

Years pass, and the lesson follows him into adulthood. Girls come easy because he does not love any of them. Sex leaves him unfulfilled since it does not beg for any tenderness. Frat parties are a performance in which nobody at Sigma Chi bothers to learn anything real about him. 

Satoru Gojo can be adored without ever being known, he can be wanted without being loved. He can fuck girls and feel nothing afterward, which is fine, preferable even, because feeling nothing has always been safer than feeling the thing he was taught he shouldn’t. 

Oh, but then…you happen. You happen, and at first, he doesn’t recognize or understand it as love. Why would he? Love has never brought him anything good. 

So when the feeling blooms within his chest, big and ugly and fucking impossible to ignore, he funnels it into the only concepts that make sense to him. Lust, possession, control. He thought, mine. 

Mine, mine, mine. 

The word feels similar enough to love when you have never been given anything softer to compare it to. 

He never knew how to love you gently, so he loved you with the kind of desperation as someone trying to keep the last warm thing in a freezing house. With both hands, too tight, so afraid of losing you that he made himself into the very thing that pushed you away. 

Then he loved you—actually loved you. 

Too late, obviously. Badly, too, but truly. Truly enough that losing you cracked open the same sealed, repressed place in him where the desire to draw had been deeply buried. 

Perhaps, that’s the sickest thing of all. You did not only make him love again. You made him dream again. 

Of course, his dreams stemmed out of greed first. He dreamed of making you his, keeping you, tying you to him so tightly that nothing could ever take you away. A dream of a future with you and a baby and a terribly confused idea of love. Twisted and poisoned by every lesson his family ever carved into him, but it was a dream nonetheless.

A dream of you and a family that is warm, human, and entirely his. And now look.

He loved drawing, and it was taken. He loved Emi, and she was taken. He loved you, and he lost you too. 

Now, he sits here alone in his room at USC, twenty-one instead of nine, staring at a mediocre grade with sketches of your face half-hidden beneath his notebook, and the old wound splits open all over again; bleeding through every layer of him he thought has scarred over.

Maybe his parents were right. Maybe dreams really are for people with nothing expected of them and love is only for people who can afford feeling it in the first place. 

Last time his grades slipped, they found the drawings and blamed Emi. This time, he already knows that they will find and blame you.

And the next morning comes quicker than Satoru would’ve liked. He walks out of Sig Chi with his passport, one suitcase, one carry-on, and every ruined part of himself carefully zipped inside. 

The car waiting outside is not one he called for, that alone is a bad sign. A Black Mercedes sits quietly at the curb, sent by his family of course, because even from across the Pacific Ocean, they can reach him and replace his choices with arrangements. His Porsche 911 GT3 stays parked where it is, useless, Carrara white, and too Westernized, while some Japanese driver in a dark suit takes his luggage from his hand like Satoru is already less of a person and more of an itinerary. It almost makes him laugh. 

“Van Nuys, Gojo-sama?” The driver asks. 

Satoru looks out at the early morning light, glittering pale over Greek Row; dawn has just started to break, “Yes.”

The ride to the private airport is particularly silent, save for the low hum of the Maybach and the occasional tick of its turn signal. Los Angeles slips past in pieces—palm trees swaying in the breeze, traffic despite the hour, glass buildings that look too perfect to be real, countless strip malls; ordinary life carrying on, stupid and indifferent, whilst Satoru sits in the backseat with his phone clutched in his hand and thumb hovering over the Canvas app like hopefully the Microeconomics grade has changed overnight out of pity. 

Horribly, it hasn’t. 

68%.

A stupid B fucking minus. 

His stomach turns as he locks his phone and then unlocks it again almost immediately. How pathetic. He checks his messages, saddened to see that there is still nothing from you, yet why would there be? You left that corny-ass birthday night text on read, and honestly, you were right to. He should be grateful that you ever even acknowledged him that night at all, let alone left him with a gift and a kiss he’ll forever remember. 

Halfway to Van Nuys, his mother texts and whatever sorry shit he was thinking about you, vanishes. 

mother: Lunch will be ready when you arrive. Your father and I have seen the transcript update.

Satoru reads it once. Then again. Then a third time because his brain refuses to process the words in the correct order. Of course there is nothing about having a safe flight or any lingering belated birthday affection or even a simple Oh, how are you, Satoru? We’re so excited to see you. We missed you. 

He could gag at the mere thought of either of them showing any sort of fondness, yeah as if. There’s a greater chance of hell freezing over. And as he sits there, stirring over the fact that his parents only give a fuck about the fact that he’s slipped, a painful sharpness pricks beneath his ribs. 

Oh.

This again.

He has not felt it in years. He used to get them more when he was younger, before he learned how to turn fear and distress into arrogance and performance, swallowing every unwanted emotion down, but his body remembers it distinctly. His chest tightens first, like a hand closing slowly around his heart, causing him to shift in the leather seat and inhale deeply through his nose. Yet the air doesn’t go anywhere; it stays trapped. 

He tries again, and still, nothing. His heart kicks once, hard enough that his hand twitches against his thigh, then again, then faster. Satoru looks out the window as if the highway requires his full attention, pretending that he’s not aware of every inch of his own body. Yeah, because there’s totally no phone in his palm open with a text from his mother, or ultrasound in his wallet, or sketchbook in his carry-on; your eyes drawn over and over, shoved between pages like some dirty secret. 

His lungs feel too small, which is stupid—obviously they aren't. He knows what breathing is, he’s actively doing it, his body is pulling air in considering he’s still alive. Though the air doesn’t land correctly despite it. His fingers start to tingle, he closes his hand into a fist, opening it almost as soon as does. The tingling has begun to spread anyway, crawling beneath his skin like static. His mouth goes dry, the road tilts strangely, only for a second, and his stomach lurches so hard that he has to swallow against it. 

“Everything alright, Gojo-sama?” The driver asks.

Satoru’s head snaps up too fast. For one horrifying moment, he thinks he might actually tell the truth; he may say no.

No, pull over. 

I can’t breathe. 

Take me back. 

I don’t want to go home.

I’m dying. 

Instead, he gives him a smile through the rearview mirror, small, yet perfect as always, “Yeah…Fine.” 

The words leave him with ease, though his body knows he’s lying through his teeth. And by the time they reach the private terminal, his pulse is hammering in his throat. Van Nuys is too quiet, of course it fucking is. There’s no obnoxious crowds to blend into, no TSA lines, no screaming children, no gate agents mumbling out boarding groups—no, being privileged and flying privately means that there are only the soft voices of people catering to him like he’s royalty rather than a kid on the verge of breaking down. 

The jet waits beyond the glass windows and Satoru stares at it for exactly three seconds too long because the room bends on him. Although, to everyone else, he is probably still standing there like himself—tall, pretty, expensive, faintly bored. But inside his skull, something there slips sideways. The edges of the airport lounge blur, sound pulls away from him, muffled and distant, as if everyone is speaking underwater. 

His heart no longer is beating. Now, it’s punching. He presses a hand to the center of his chest on instinct. Shit. This is bad. 

Bad, bad, bad. 

Really fucking bad.

A staff member mentions something about departure time. Satoru doesn’t hear the middle of the sentence, he only catches his name at the end, “Mr. Gojo?”

“I need the bathroom,” He says, urgent enough that the woman blinks and immediately, he’s moving. 

Walking, not running, that would be way too embarrassing and he already feels mortified. He follows the discreet sign down a short hall and pushes through the bathroom door with one hand at his throat. The door shuts behind him and the moment he’s alone, the mask drops so abruptly it feels physical. His first breath comes in wrong, a thin, broken inhale that scrapes high in his chest and gives him nothing. He braces both hands on the marble sink and tries again, desperately. 

Nothing. Again. Absolutely nothing.

“Fuck,” He whispers, eyes brimming with tears. 

He bows his head, white strands falling forward, fingers spread against cold marble. His chest feels locked, sealed shut, like there’s a band around his ribs and it’s pulling tighter with every breath he fails to take. 

He can’t get enough fucking air.

One hand flies back to his chest, palm pressing firm over his heart as if he can somehow hold it in place. It’s beating too fast, too loud; his entire body has gone hot and cold simultaneously, sweat gathering at the back of his neck while his hands numb. 

He thinks, right then and there, that he’s having a heart attack. The years of abusing bullshit coke have finally caught up with him. But then he thinks, no. This is much more humiliating than that. 

Panic attack. 

Somehow, that’s worse. Because he knows this. He knows this feeling, and it’s still happening; his knees threaten to give.

“No,” He grits out.

Hating himself for how pathetic it sounds he turns the faucet on full blast, water crashing into the sink, loud enough to cover the pitiful, uneven way he’s breathing. The act is out of muscle memory, maybe, or rather, childhood memory. Running water has always been useful for hiding things that should not be heard. 

Satoru grips the sink again, inhales and—no. Another inhale…No. 

No air gets through. 

His reflection stares back at him from the mirror, pale under the luxurious lighting, blue eyes glassy, mouth parted, one hand still pressed to his chest like a boy who has forgotten how to function. Now, he hates himself even more. 

He loathes that his body is doing this here of all places. In a bathroom nicer than most people’s apartments, minutes away from boarding his family’s private jet, over stupid grades. But if he’s being honest it really is more than just the grades. He’s panicking over his mother, over going home, over you, over the baby, and truly, over having a life so fucking privileged nobody would ever believe it could feel like a cage. 

His vision starts to turn gray at the edges, he bends forward and gags once into the porcelain sink. Nothing comes up. Everything he does yields a whole lot of nothing, except shame.

“Stop…” He whispers, voice shaking with the word.

He forces his eyes shut, but behind them he sees the black trash bag and mother’s white sleeve. He sees Emi bowing in the hallway, then your initial at your throat where his chain used to be, the ultrasound in his back pocket, his mother’s text. He sees every horrible thing that’s caused all the distress.

This time, the sound that escapes him is not a sob, though it’s close. Miraculously, the noise is uglier, smaller, a broken airless whine he barely can recognize as his own. He clamps a hand over his mouth and for a few seconds, Satoru can’t do anything but stand there with the faucet running and his mouth covered, trying to breathe around the fact that he has nowhere to put all of this. There’s no version of himself that is even allowed to carry such a thing. 

His whole body jolts when a polite knock on the door snaps him back to reality, “Mr. Gojo?” A voice calls from the other side, “My apologies for the interruption, but the crew is ready whenever you are.”

If he could gather any air at all, he’d laugh at that. He has never once been ready for any of this. Catching another glimpse of himself in the mirror, he instantly notices that his eyes are wet—God, fuck…no. I can’t be seen like this. 

Doing his best to erase his almost-tears he turns the faucet colder and splashes water over his face twice, then once again until the shock of the temperature gives his body somewhere else to focus. His breathing is still shallow and fast, but it’s quieter, at least. Quiet enough to pass if nobody looks too closely at him.

Though, nobody ever does. It’s both a blessing and curse. 

Today, it is definitely the former. 

Satoru dries his face with a hand towel so soft it’s insulting, then grips the edge of the sink one last time. He breathes in…out. His lungs hitch with each breath, but he straightens anyway. When he opens the bathroom door, his expression is back where it belongs. Pretty, cool, bored—the Satoru Gojo everyone loves. 

“Sorry,” He says to the attendant, voice smooth as silk, like the last five minutes were just a figment of his imagination, “Had a long night.”

She smiles sweetly, relieved to have an explanation that costs her absolutely nothing to believe, “Of course, Mr. Gojo.”

He walks past her toward the tarmac, one hand in his front pocket, fingers numb, heart trying to claw its way out of his chest. The jet waits, so does home, as does his family, and somewhere behind him, on a campus he is leaving for nearly a month, you are still gone. 

Stepping up and inside the jet, it is exactly as he remembers it from August, before junior year and ever meeting you. He’s met with cream leather seats, polished wood paneling, soft lighting, a glass of water already placed in his cup holder, condensation beading down the sides; a folded blanket rests on one of the seats, a warm towel is offered to him by a flight attendant who bows slightly and says his name like it means something special. 

Gojo-sama.

The title follows him into the cabin and settles over his shoulders heavier than any jacket he’s ever worn. Here, now, that name is the only one that matters anymore. 

Satoru thanks her in Japanese, taking the towel because refusing would require more energy than accepting, wipes hands that don’t feel entirely his, and sits near the window because that is where he always sits. Out of habit, mostly. 

The door seals and his chest tightens again. Here we fucking go. He thinks, humiliatingly, that the whole thing is about to restart right there in the leather seat with two flight attendants and a pilot close enough to hear him fall apart. His hand curls around the armrest, fingers digging into the seam, and he forces himself to breathe through his nose. 

In…out…that’s it. 

“Would you like anything before takeoff, Gojo-sama?” The attendant asks.

A few lines, maybe. Or anything to take my fucking mind off works. 

Oh, a different family too.

How about a version of myself that doesn’t ruin every good thing I touch?

He says none of his thoughts aloud, however, “No, thank you.”

She disappears, silent as a ghost, leaving him alone in the cabin with the sick luxury of being taken care of by people who don’t know him at all. That has always been the strangest part of wealth. The world will arrange itself around your comfort while never once asking if you are okay. 

The plane begins to move, slowly at first, then faster, rolling over the private runway while Los Angeles remains beyond the oval window. Satoru watches it all blur—the hangars, tarmac, low buildings, the dry California light peaking through morning clouds. His phone sits heavy in his pocket; his wallet sits heavier. His carry-on rests near his feet with the sketchbook inside it, buried beneath a folded USC hoodie like hiding it there makes him less insane. 

He thinks of you somewhere across the city. 

Maybe still asleep. Maybe awake. Maybe walking to get coffee with Blair. Maybe packing your stuff to go to Boston. Maybe already home. Probably wearing that little initial necklace and not thinking about him at all. 

The jet lifts, his stomach drops as the ground falls away, and he watches as Los Angeles becomes small enough to hopefully forget. The city flattens into grids, roofs, and tiny threads of freeway; USC disappears almost instantly, swallowed by clouds and the kind of money that can remove him from a place before he’s ready to leave it. 

Satoru presses his head back against the seat. He should sleep, he knows that. He barely slept last night or the nights before that, really, and the time difference is going to fuck him worse. He should close his eyes, drink water, possibly take one of the melatonin tablets his mother’s assistant packed in the side pocket because even his exhaustion is something they prepare for. 

He closes his eyes and immediately, there’s your face. It’s not the full thing, no, that would be too much mercy for he who deserves none. He only sees your mouth in his car, lower lip parted against his. The soft, broken way you kissed him like you knew you shouldn’t, but did so anyway. Then your throat—that dainty necklace, specifically. 

His eyes shoot open; the cabin is primarily quiet, except for the sound of humming engines. His hand moves before he fully permits it to, reaching down to unzip the carry-on and pull out the sketchbook. 

The sight of it in this cabin makes his stomach twist, because it doesn’t belong here. Or maybe it does. He’s unsure of which he’d rather it be. The cover is plain leather, expensive in the way all his things are, but not obviously so. He had bought it off campus weeks ago without giving it much thought, back when the first sketch of your eyes had happened like an accident and not a relapse. In here, it feels like something illegal in his lap. 

Ridiculous. A fucking sketchbook, and he’s holding it as if it may explode if he opens it incorrectly. 

He flips it open anyway, and your eyes stare back at him on the first page. On the next page is your mouth, then your hands, and then it keeps going; the curve your cheek turned toward his passenger window, drawn directly from memory with a precision that makes him want to throw the fucking thing across the cabin. 

There are pages he doesn’t even remember starting or finishing, pages from nights he doesn’t remember even surviving—your neck, your lashes, the crease between your brows when you tried not to cry, the small pendant resting against your skin. His thumb pauses over that drawing. 

He had hated that necklace the second he saw it. Well, no. He had hated what it meant. 

It meant you had filled the space he left behind with yourself, that the hollow at your throat had not stayed empty and waiting for him like he wished it would be. You had, instead, found some symbolic way to say, I belong to me, and Satoru had no right to be angry about it, which of course, made the anger burn sharper. Now, looking at the sketch, he only feels tired. 

Tired, and ashamed, and so fucking lonely that it feels childish. 

He turns the page—blank. For a while, he just stares at it as his pencil rests in his hand; the feeling of it there is so familiar it almost hurts more than the B-. His fingers remember things his mind spent years rejecting; the soft drag of graphite against paper, how to build something living out of lines.

He also tells himself that he will not draw you again. He’s done with that. He’s already drawn you too much, leaving behind a multitude of evidence, turning you into a thing his mother could find and name. 

So when the pencil touches the paper, what he first draws is nothing recognizable. It’s only a line, then another, then a curve of a wrist. Your wrist, perhaps. The way your fingers looked holding the mochi box on his birthday, careful and tense, like the act of giving a gift weighed more than it ever should. He draws the box next; the little fold of the packaging, followed by the angle of your thumb and a tiny shadow beneath your nail. 

He fucking hates himself for remembering, yet he keeps going. 

At some point, he puts his headphones in, and what would play other than The Neighbourhood? 

A few weeks ago, he would’ve skipped it so fast his thumb could crack the screen; avoiding them after you left because the songs made him think of you too clearly. Sweater Weather alone had been enough to ruin his whole damn night once, which was particularly embarrassing considering he’s supposed to be a grown-ass man and not some lovesick loser getting emotionally fucked by a song everyone knew in high school. 

But then, somewhere between grief and heartbreak, the avoidance became something else. A ritual, of sorts. 

He started listening to them because the songs reminded him of you. You used to play them whenever you slipped into his passenger seat at night, singing along to each and every word as he drove off. He would pretend not to notice, only to eventually learn the words from your mouth by kissing them out of you while one of their slow, miserable songs played through the speakers. 

And after a while, the songs stopped feeling borrowed. He began recognizing the openings before the lyrics came in, started knowing which ones he likes more than others, and playing them when he wasn’t even trying to torture himself. It’s still not usual shit, of course. Left to his own devices, Satoru Gojo listens to whatever is deemed cool to fit the image—Bass-heavy rap in the Porsche, house music at frat parties, anything loud and obnoxious enough to make his thoughts shut the hell up. 

He’d never even think to put some shit like The Neighbourhood on. Every song sounds like it was made for yearning after someone you’ve lost and ruined. Though, maybe that’s the point.

The Neighbourhood doesn’t feel like Sig Chi, or coke in bathrooms, or girls leaning into him while brothers shout his name. It feels like you, so much so that he can still feel your mouth smiling against his when he kissed you before the song could end. 

So he lets it play, because it keeps you close in one of the only ways he’s still allowed to have you. And with your music in his ears, your face under his hand, and the Pacific stretching endlessly beneath him, Satoru allows himself to become fully, pathetically immersed in the act of missing you.

The plane climbs higher over the ocean, and Satoru draws you in pieces because a whole version of you would probably kill him. He tries convincing himself that it is only habit, but that’s an awful lie. It’s grief finding an old language. A language he had been forced to forget, and somehow, horribly, you had taught his hands to speak again. 

One of the attendants comes by once with more water, fruit, some neatly arranged bento box he doesn’t touch. She glances at the sketchbook for half a second too long before kindly looking away. Satoru slams it shut with haste, though her face doesn’t change at all. She was trained better than that. 

Still, heat licks up his neck, “Would you like me to clear this, Gojo-sama?” She asks, gesturing to the untouched food.

“Yeah,” He answers, “Thanks.”

He waits until she disappears behind the partition before opening the sketchbook again, slower this time, pissed with himself for being startled. He feels nine years old again, like someone is about to take it from him. Like his mother’s white sleeve is going to appear between the seats and start tossing pages into a trash bag. 

No one comes and the cabin remains as quiet as it was. Satoru looks down at the page and realizes then that he has drawn your eyes too soft. He considers fixing them, but doesn’t. Because that is how you looked at him in his car when you whispered that you missed him too. 

Angry, yes. Hurt, definitely, but soft anyway. 

That might be the part he doesn’t know to forgive you for—the softness.

You had every right to be crueler. You could have looked at him like he was the worst thing in the world. Instead, you gave him his favorite mochi and kissed him and told him that you missed him, then still left because apparently you had managed to learn how to love someone without surrendering your spine. 

He draws until his hand aches and Los Angeles is long gone. Until the version of Gojo who exists in California starts clipping off in pieces. His Dodgers cap is already packed away, the USC hoodie folded in his carry-on shoved beneath clothes he will not wear in Japan because he’d be chastised for it. His rings are off except for the single one his family approves of. His hair has been pushed back more neatly, though he knows he will fix it properly before landing.  

The boy from California, the one who can get drunk and stupid high in a frat house, making entire rooms chant his name, is being stripped away slowly by altitude and distance. 

And hours later, when they begin their final descent, Satoru has stopped pretending he’s not afraid. 

The captain announces Tokyo in a voice too calm for how he feels inside. The cabin lights shift, attendants preparing for landing. Outside the window, clouds break apart, and Japan appears beneath him in gray-blue stretches of land and sea. 

Satoru stares at the sketchbook still open in his lap, your face stares back—unfinished, because he can never find it in himself to complete it. 

He looks at it for a long moment, then closes the cover with a carefulness he cannot explain. His hands move before his pride can stop them, sliding the sketchbook into his carry-on, but then he hesitates. The front pocket is too obvious of a placement, the top of the bag is too easily accessible. He unzips the larger compartment and shoves it beneath folded clothes, though that is still not enough. He takes out a dark jacket, lays it over the sketchbook, then presses the whole thing down like he’s burying a body.

It’s dumb, really. He’s a twenty-one year old man now, not a little boy. Yet, he can’t stop himself from acting like one. 

By the time the jet touches down at Haneda, your face is hidden underneath two shirts and a jacket, shielded away like the prettiest contraband to grace earth. Satoru sits back, jaw tight, and peeks out the window as the runway rushes past. 

Tokyo receives him how it normally does, without ceremony. It never needs to make a spectacle of taking him back like California does. 

It always knows he’ll return. 

“And it seems the world-famous Gojo Satoru has missed! He missed! Oh—what a blow for the Japanese team—hey Mech, can we get a close-up of who he was pointing at before missing the goal?”

As requested; the wedding replays the moments before Gojo’s missed goal: his look of determination, his deep breath, his arm raising for mere split-seconds to point…straight at you. And then it’s cutting to you outright laughing at the missed goal.

Fucking laughing.

Gojo himself pauses to watch the unfortunate sequences of events from below. 

“Aaaaand that’s half-time, folks!”

He immediately feels a wave of adrenaline strike him - nearly knocking him over at the force. The molten lead sensation floods every corner and crevice of him, and it makes his fingers tremble, it makes an unexplainable heat rise to his cheeks. Where the hell was this energy when he needed to score that last goal?

Gojo’s eyes remain fixated on you like two frozen-over lakes- made only brighter, not warm, in the face of the Sun.

As you’re finding yourself at the edge of those lakes, you wind down that laugh of yours- that stupid, gorgeous laugh of yours. It makes his heart ripple. And then with a soft smile upon your lips, you’re mouthing an apology. Instead of backing from those stone-cold lakes, daring to dip a toe in. Mocking, surely.

Fuck.

Gojo feels his clenched fists unfurl.

And his irritation.

He doesn’t suppose that you’re feeling guilty in the slightest - but what sort of world-famous sports reporter would you be if you got caught laughing at the star player? 

And Gojo Satoru is the star player—mind you. He’s just…having an off day? It’s exactly 45 minutes and 22 seconds into the quarter finals of perhaps the biggest football tournament in Gojo’s life: the FIFA World Cup. Japan has been facing off against an opponent they’d already been told would be a tough match to beat, with the odds stacked 79% against them- it just surprised Gojo that that 21% included him, too.

After all, he’s motherfuckin’ Gojo Satoru (don’t quote that).

With his signature white hair- and his ‘twinkling’ blue eyes- and that dimple at the corner of his smile. See that dimple? That dimple’s insured for ¥2,000,000.

But it wasn’t just fanfare and his dashing good looks. There’s no football without Gojo Satoru, and there’s no Gojo Satoru without football.

Ever since he was a young kid, the game just seemed to…call for him. 

Just starting out as some stupid sports channel he’d put on in order to avoid having to do his chores; then he’d started watching. Then he started paying attention. Then he started remembering their names and collecting his pocket money to buy some markers and a red, red t-shirt. He still remembers sprawling the t-shirt out on the floors of his cramped living room, and scrawling on Akers 10. Gojo Satoru was raised by Michelle Akers, Alessandro Del Piero, Roberto Baggio, Homare Sawa, and Jay-Jay Okocha as much as he was by his parents.

And then he’d started playing. 

He’d begged and begged his parents to get him a football for Christmas- even going to do extra chores around the house to butter them up.

And once they caved - making him promise not to play inside - Gojo had stumbled out to the playground faster than his legs could keep up. Although he remembers thinking that he’d make them- he’d make them keep up.

He admits he wasn’t instantly amazing - just slightly above average, if anything. But kids on the playground used to think he was the coolest thing.

Wanting to become a professional footballer? Every kid wanted to become a professional footballer at that age. So he’d gather the teams, he’d assign their roles, he’d play with them until the streetlights turned on and the crickets started chirping - except the only difference between Gojo and the rest…was that he wouldn’t go home. Refused to.

Not until his parents had to come down and physically drag him back home.

Until then, Gojo would kick and kick that damn ball as long as he had to to become good enough. Until his feet had to fuse with that damn ball, if it had to.

In middle school they adored him just as much.

The best football player and he’s got dimples to boot? 

He won’t lie - Gojo understands why he was called out for a confession at least thrice a week throughout the entirety of middle school. His grade, lower grades, and even some in the grade above. Manga club captains and school presidents- and some friends of friends not even going to this school. Some of his friends. Most…who’ve never even talked to him. 

And he doesn’t regret not letting any of that ‘sweet Spring love’ that his father always talked about blossom. He just wished his middle school-self had a bit more tact when rejecting girl after boy after girl.

Although he admits that the attention was nice- and those onigiri they brought him after practice was a sweet touch. But Gojo could never quite understand—what did they see in him?

He was hot, yes. He was talented. He was smart. He was funny- yes. But he just wasn’t…like the heroes that he looked up to. Not yet.

Gojo Satoru could never quite understand how he could love another as much as he loved football.

Sometimes when the confessions and the onigiri got a little too much, he’d go to the school rooftop and kick his ball around until the bell rang. Sometimes he’d simply sit and stare off into the distance—what was love? If we should love another as we love ourselves, then perhaps one doesn’t need it? Who said love had to be a person, not a dream?

Around this time, Gojo applied for the local junior football club.

He smoked them all- hah!

Then high school rolled around and here people started giving him looks - still dreaming of becoming a professional footballer? Wasn’t that child’s play?

Popularity was measured, at least for most guys, by how many girls you’d banged or whether or not you’d actually tasted beer. He himself wasn’t one to subscribe to such notions - but the status quo meant that people started…distancing themselves from him.

Reaching for him- if only to point at him like a party trick. Maybe throw a volleyball at him during gym classes, or puncture his football.

They actually did puncture his football.

He beat that boy until his knuckles bled - Gojo had gotten a temporary suspension, of course. He didn’t argue with the punishment. He thinks they went so lenient on him because it was his first offense.

But when he came back, it was even worse. There goes that freak still obsessed with football- isn’t he just going to get his dreams crushed? Isn’t he going to wake up? Grow up? He didn’t need them. He didn’t need a single fucking one of them.

Gojo threw himself into playing football more than ever around these years; until every bone in his body seemed to ache, and he always tasted metal from how hard he’d grit his teeth. He imagined their sneering, snickering faces at the end of the goal and kicked and kicked and kicked that fucking ball. And it was also around this time that he’d gotten the offer.

The offer.

He was glad to leave it all behind.

He was the youngest player in Japan to get a national team offer - oh, he remembers how nervous he’d been then, walking, wondering whether they’d look at him like they all do - and the second-youngest in the world to join an international club. He was an express - and damn expensive - pick for Real Madrid, and the only Japanese player to make a first-team appearance. He was the youngest player to win a major tournament at the UEFA European Championship. He was the youngest Japanese football captain leading them into the FIFA World Cup- and the only one to lead them into the quarterfinals. Not to mention his rabid fan club and his four-time title as the world’s prettiest striker!

But fuck, man. 

All that…for this.

Today, Gojo Satoru was having an off time. And he’s blaming it on you—was that necessarily fair? 

Hm…not likely. But nothing matters when he’s in the zone and he’s supposed to keep his eyes on the football- but they keep somehow drifting to you.

Fuck again.

This was on him, he knows. He knows. And yet-

And without a single word to any of his teammates or Coach Yaga…he’s marching straight over to you. Behind him, he hears Yaga’s choked-up call of his name and his teammates’ confusion. 

The cameras follow him with every step he takes- of course they do, he’s Gojo fucking Satoru. In the distance he can practically hear the tension tighten, as the commentators mention something about him, as the big screen zooms in on his steadfast path, as you’re turning around to see him nearing and your eyes widen.

For a mere split-second - before your hand tightens ‘round your mic, and you’re immediately holding it towards him at the ready.

“And here we have the star player-” It amuses Gojo how your lip tightens around that little phrase you just have to say when referring to him. “-Gojo Satoru’s…best friend in the distance—can the camera capture Geto Suguru during his pre-match stretches?”

The. Fucking. Audacity.

Gojo’s mouth drops as the camera hastens to focus on that damned Geto next to Coach Yaga behind him. He isn’t even the one that came up with those stretches! He stole them from Gojo-

Pointedly—he coughs into his fist.

And then you’re turning towards him with a faux-shocked expression on your face. Lashes fluttering. Those glossed lips of yours dropped into the perfect ‘oh’.

Gojo gets the urge to mimic the exact same expression - and just his luck, the camera’s turning to him at that very moment. There’s a small smirk at the edge of your lips as you’re bringing the mic up to your lips.

This wasn’t his first match interview with you.

Not in the very least. 

Gojo was the greatest in his field, and you were (admittedly) the greatest in yours. So it was inevitable that the two of you would meet- match after match, interview after interview, you’d fired your questions away at him.

And sure…there were the usual ones he already scripted for. But you’d quickly climbed up the ranks for asking on-the-spot questions specific to each player, to pick their brains - and in Gojo’s case, to make him squirm.

You asked him about his elementary school nickname as ‘The Strongest’ (which he later adopted as his actual field name so hah- jokes on you!), and his affinity for sneaking sweets into his strict athlete’s diet (Yaga lectured him after that one…jokes on him), and his utterly barren love life.

For someone so flirtatious, one must wonder why he’s never seen out and about with anyone. Maybe he’s simply football-sexual?

That particular interview had racked up quite a few (…million) views across various social medias as Gojo had turned red and stuttered - the first time someone had managed to get the chatterbox to pause - s-something about well, if you really want you can date him-

But he digresses. The point is that Gojo has had interviews with you before - so this should be a piece of cake. Really. Actually…Gojo’s first ever professional interview was almost with you- but that’s a story for another time.

“—and we’re live at the FIFA World Cup Quarterfinals with Gojo Satoru, Captain of the Japanese team.” You’re plastering that camera-ready smile of yours; though honestly he finds your priggish one more- “It’s your first time at the FIFA as a team captain. How are we feeling today, Gojo-san?”

His heart leaps a little at the honorific. “G-good. Good.” And then at the little raise of your brows - did Gojo Satoru just fucking stutter? Again? - he’s instantly shaking his head free of…whatever. Splashing on his own irresistible smile- dimple? Check. “Oh- y’know me, sweetheart. I’m always good~”

“Is that so?” You ask. “I’m glad to hear that. Because it seems like we’re going to need all the confidence we can get, Gojo-san. Tell me—what changes might the defense have to see in the next half if we’re going to beat the opponent’s two-point lead?”

“Well, I can’t share every secret here now, can I~?” Gojo chuckles. “But just know that we’re going to make good use of Geto in the next half- I know Coach Yaga has some good plans for him.”

You nod. “Speaking of- how is Geto Su-”

“We’re talking about me.” Gojo whines. And he’s sure that this part of the interview is going to get clipped to hell and back—but it doesn’t matter when you’re smiling…like that. When you’re throwing your head back and gesturing at that Japanese jersey of yours- number 4?

Geto Suguru.

“My apologies, I do tend to be favorable towards defenders.” You hum. “But I see you’re rather defensive yourself today, Gojo-san. What changes might the strikers have to see for this next half-”

“Nothing.”

That makes you pause. Your smile falters, though you manage to salvage it. “Erm- my apologies, I didn’t seem to hear you over the crowd. Did you say nothing?”

“I did.” And for how priggish you might act - you’d never amount to his sheer levels. His haughty hair flip that sends a few fan club members fainting in the front row, “Absolutely nothing. I’m perfect.”

“Oh-”

“I’m Gojo Satoru, don’t you know? Neeeeext question~”

“Yes I…I am aware.” You mutter under your breath. “Unfortunately.”

“What did you just-”

“But whilst we absolutely erm- adore your confidence, Gojo-san, one really does start to wonder with the two point lead…” You have a fire in your eyes - for how much you might be exasperated by him, it was undoubtable that you needed this win, too. “And I have only one more question for you: will we win?”

He pauses at that.

Just a split-second.

It’s a fleeting moment, yet it seems to hold the world. You’re not letting your gaze waver from his, and he’s not letting his gaze waver from yours. That fire in your eyes? It’s spreading across his own cheeks and then down his neck, across every inch of his body and coiling around his heart. And who’d have thought…that the great Gojo Satoru was flammable?

Gojo shoots a quick look down at himself to make sure that he’s not actually- before then wrapping his hand around the mic handle. He doesn’t exactly take it from you - just keeps his fingers resting on top of yours, and you’re not letting go either..“Nah, I’d win.”

Someone’s breath hitches- either yours or his.

He’s leaning in - down -so close that his lips are nearly grazing the grille. 

Gojo keeps his summer lake-blue eyes directly on you as he speaks—“And if I do…how about I get to take you out on a date?”

“You what-” Around you, cheers are erupting. And you’re wondering just what might have been shown on the big screen, only to realize that it was…the two of you. Glamorously displayed for millions of people to see.

You wonder if he can hear your heart race.

You wonder why he wasn’t paying attention to the thousands of people nearby that were chanting ‘say yes, say yes, say yes-’

“So, Miss Reporter?” Gojo cocks his head, a smile upon his lips. “What’ll it be?”

You’re biting down on the inside of your cheek- and it’s only too late that you’re realizing it’s to keep yourself from mirroring that world-famous smile. “Yes.” Your heart leaps.

And you’re sure that Gojo heard you- you’re sure of it. But he’s taking the mic completely now, and turning it upon yourself—“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said…” Something akin to…adrenaline? Something akin to…excitement? You didn’t know what name to put on it, but it’s making it difficult to keep your voice exactly steady. “-yes.” Thank goodness it was just a one-word answer.

Gojo smiles wide.

And as the commentators recite the entire interaction in various languages, Gojo’s hearing a call of his name from the coaches’ bench. Realizing that he’d nearly spent the entire break with you- he’s throwing a dazzling smile your way - and several flying kisses at the fans - before making a break for it. 

Reaching Coach Yaga, Gojo’s ducking his head and listening to every word the older goalkeeper has to say. There’s a fierce look of concentration on his face—

“You’re staring~” Shoko, from behind the camera, croons. “He really is even better-looking in person, huh?” She’d long since known about the little tension between you and Gojo Satoru- not any kind of good tension, that is. You’d just somehow gotten on his nerves as much as he got on yours.

And you shake your head free of any suggestions that Shoko might put in it. “I wasn’t staring-”

“Mhm.”

“I was just imagining the look on his face after he loses that bet.”

Shoko smirks. “That’s if he loses that bet.”

“Well…”

And then you’re glancing at him once more. Gojo was now jogging in place and doing a few warm-ups before the second half of the quarterfinals started.

Because for all that talk- Gojo Satoru wasn’t going to win that easily, was he?

Was he?

.

.

.

“It’s incredible—Japan has won! The Japanese team has really won!” The commentator’s voice booms across the stadium, making it shake with sheer excitement. It was contagious. The taste of victory was often sweet. “Gojo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals—!”

2-3 to Japan.

All the way from 0.

And you knew the scores - you watched the game unfurl before your very eyes. And yet - surrounded by it all - you stand stunned.

From your right, you’re feeling Shoko euphorically shake you. Her camera equipment nearly slips out of her hands before she’s back at it and recording close-ups of the players’ tearful reactions. 

Most of them had surrounded Gojo and were crushing themselves together in an embrace. They’re pushed so far together that you could only make out a flash of white hair and an uproarious distinct laugh. The microphone damn-near slips out of your hands.

“I repeat, folks—Gojooooooooooooo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals for the first time in history! It’s a momentous occasion for the underdogs- Gojo Satoru and his Unlimited hat-trick, everybody.”

They’re replaying those historic moments on the big screen: when Gojo dribbled past four players to strike his first goal of the match, just two minutes into the second half of the game; when Gojo upset the game by drawing the score 2-2 with a goal from the 18-yard box, a goal that went around the fucking goalkeeper; when Gojo finished with a flourish with a head-butted goal just over the goalkeeper’s shoulder, at the 89th minute.

At that last goal, he’d pointed right at you- a hatrick. A hatrick.

“Who’s gonna win?” He’d mouthed, as his teammates were drawn to him in embrace like magnets flying across the field.

You’d simply rolled your eyes.

It was a match for the books - and for generations of footballers just like him to watch and rewatch and watch. And maybe…just maybe they’d buy their own blue t-shirts and scribble down: Gojo 66. Around you, reporters were already chattering about Japan’s succession into the semi-finals—could these underdogs actually have a shot?

Japan had risen from an impending bitter defeat- and that very same Gojo 66 was breaking free from his teammates and flouncing across the field. And the MVP - surely - beamed as he lapped up the attention; running across the pitchside and blowing sappy kisses to his fainting fan club. He’s getting thrown a water bottle- and wastes no time before tearing it open and letting the cool water run on top of his head. Water making his jersey stick to him even more so.

Long legs slightly shaking from fatigue. Blue eyes brighter than ever. If there was one word to describe him, then it would be- dazzling. His skin glistened with sweat, and small droplets of water like diamonds - his jersey was practically glued to him—a part of him, in every single possible manner. Celebration seemed to cling to Gojo just as tight as that jersey did.

And Gojo then catches sight of you watching him- and runs. Runs. 

To you.

And stops right before you.

“So…” He pants out, and makes sure to flash a quick smile at the rolling cameras. “-about that date…?”

You sigh.

But you can’t help yourself- you chuckle.

“Fine.”

“Fuck yeahhhh—!” And then Gojo’s darting back onto the field in celebration - his team engulfs him once more, and before you know it he’s being thrown into the air. Cameras shift between his ecstatic celebration, and your more muted watching, because honestly…you had no idea what to say. What to do.

You just bagged yourself a date with Gojo fucking Satoru - and you hadn’t even thought you’d be able to tolerate him just about an hour and a half ago. 

But that earnestness in his eyes…

You wonder if-

Nope. And then you’re watching Gojo threaten to take his jersey off and throw it somewhere into the crowd - you’re sighing and wondering just how you’re going to get through this. When a mic happens to be shoved into your line of vision—and you’re just about to take it and get ready for your post-match interviews, when-

“Ah ah-” Shoko tuts, amusement lacing her tone. “The interviewer holds the mic. The interviewee answers the question on how it feels to be the future girlfriend of the MVP of the match? Japan’s pride and unofficial prettyboy?”

“Terrible.” You state, extremely seriously. “In fact, I’m considering breaking up with him this very second.” Well…partially seriously.

Shoko faux-gasps. “After a hatrick like that? Why?”

You’re waving breezily. “I’ve always been more of a Geto or Modrić fan myself. Strikers aren’t my thing.”

“Well they’re about to be your thing because you’ve got a date with one-” Shoko checks her watch. “-in just a few hours.”

It’s sinking in. And although you don’t regret saying yes- “Fuck, the fan clubs are gonna kill me.”

Shoko nods. “I won’t disagree with that. I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”

“Shoko- darling- sweetheart- you’re supposed to disagree to make me feel better.” 

She shrugs. “You’re a reporter- give ‘em hell. Whack them with your mic or something.” She’s then finally handing you the mic—and you’re smoothing out your suit with a sigh. “But until then- try not to kill Gojo Satoru. We need him for the semi-finals.”

“No promises.”

And as Shoko and the rest of your team start counting down until you’re On Air again, you’re stealing a fleeting look behind at Gojo Satoru. It seems he hadn’t tired of the fan service yet- and now actually had taken off his jersey and thrown it at the fan clubs- was that a brawl up there in the stands?!

He catches your eye and sends you a flirtatious wink.

And a flying kiss.

You mean to swat it away- but then you’re rolling.

.

.

.

“Shoko- what does one wear to a date with a football star?”

“I don’t know, ask the Akinator.” 

“Shoko, that’s…actually I should have done that.” It seems that all around you was defeat: having the team you were rooting for win the quarterfinals for the FIFA World Cup, scoring a date with the MVP of the match, getting a promotion and a bump in your paycheck all because of it? All in all, you were having a terrible day. 

And not to mention- you hadn’t even begun to check your social media—according to the way that Shoko had painted it: the football side of the Internet had crashed into your little circle of the Internet, and then it’d been set on flames and trampled with cleats five times over. And that’s not even beginning to dive into Gojo’s stan Twitter…the horror…

The edits. The speculation. The articles. The fanfiction- out of curiosity, you’d searched a few up.

And you’d have to say…that they were very…descriptive. @tonycriesaboutfootball you were looking at her.

All in all- it’s safe to say that your little agreement had caused a little break in the Internet.

And here you were: cooped-up in your humble hotel room for the match. On the phone was Shoko <3 your biggest help since after the match and right now- gathering your thoughts…and your look…and yourself. After putting her on video call—the two of you worked together to sort through your suitcase and find something half-decent for some fancy schmancy date.

In the end, you’d decided on a chic outfit you’d actually planned to wear when reporting the FIFA World Cup Finals.

And nevermind how much you protested and lamented and complained about how expensive shopping for another dress is going to be, Shoko had simply replied- “Just get your millionaire athlete boyfriend to buy one. Take his black card, duh?”

Ah…

And right now you were simply putting in the final touches- slouched over your hotel vanity. 

She disappears from the screen for a minute and comes back wielding her chunky laptop. “About 21% of people think this is a PR stunt…18% think you two won’t actually go on the date…and 44% think that this is true love and both of you can bear their children. They also may or may not be camped outside the restaurant.”

You take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Hell yeah…“And the other 2%?”

“Ah- well they’re out for blood.” Shoko casually closes her laptop. “Ready?”

You shudder. “As I’ll ever be. Do I look okay?”

“You look good enough to eat- now go.”

Someone from what you assume to be Gojo’s team had actually approached you after the match - something about exchanging numbers, and then letting you know the details about the date. And around 5PM that evening, you’d just been getting off of a final few interviews from another match- when they’d texted you.

He’d texted you.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): guess whooOOoooooOooOOO~? (⌒▽⌒)☆

You: ?

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): hehehe you have three guesses. clue no. 1: i’m hot asf. clue no. 2: i’m even hotter wwwww. 

You: I’m blocking you.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): waitヽ(O_O )ﾉ

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): wait nooooooooooo 

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): don’t block me ( ◣∀◢)ψ

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): i was jokinggggggggg

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): it’s satoruuuuu ☀(▀U ▀-͠)

You: Ah, of course. 

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) added to your contacts.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) changed to (Foot)ballz.

You: Hello, Satoru-san.

(Foot)ballz: hehe

(Foot)ballz: no need to be so formal with me when we’re going on a date~ (͡o‿O͡)

(Foot)ballz: i’ll come pick you up at your hotel so just lmk where you’re staying!!

You: You just want to find out which hotel I’m at, you perv…

(Foot)ballz: I’VE BEEN CAUGHT (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)

Ultimately you ended up sending your location to the ridiculous man - however you’d expected Gojo Satoru to text like…it certainly wasn’t this. But you found yourself tolerating it, for the most part.

You suppose.

And once you’re done spritzing on some of your favorite perfume, your phone lights up with a new message.

(Foot)ballz: here ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝

With a small huff of laughter, you’re grabbing your things and heading out.

The car parked outside was anything but inconspicuous. 

And you don’t exactly know what led you to think that in the first place—because when has Gojo Satoru ever wished to fly under the radar? 

What was sprawled across the hotel porte-cochère was a gleaming red feline of a vehicle; that type you’d see on the covers of car magazines, or parked outside stadiums with fans surrounding it. Many, many fans. It had all those sorts of curvatures and indents that made it built for speed just like the athletes that owned these types - spoiler wagging behind it, bumper pawing forward, iridescent tyre rims catching the light and showing off. Even stopped outside the hotel, it purred as though impatient to get back on the prowl once again.

From the driver’s seat, Gojo Satoru is opening the door and standing tall- and your breath catches in your throat. 

Gojo had cleaned up nicely. He was dressed in a form-fitting suit—such a dark blue that it was nearly black. The velvety fabric draped around his trim waist, flaring ever-so-slightly where his broad shoulders were- it made him look so much more handsome than was fair. His long legs were covered in the same fabric, and at the ends peeked out shoes so polished they were almost painful to look at- you wonder how long he spent on that…

That usually-messy hair of his had pushed backwards, and on his face were semi-opaque round sunglasses. On his face was a smile.

Where a celebrity often wished to blend in, Gojo stood his six-and-a-something feet high above the rest.

In seconds, Gojo’s reaching inside the car and pulling out a massive bouquet of red roses. Thus he crosses the short distance between you both in two strides, and gently hands them to you- you take it with bated breath. “This is…”

“I know I know-” Gojo cocks his head with a smug smile. “I’ve outdone myself.”

And without further ado, he’s tipping the valet well - the elderly man catches your eye, and you’re shrugging at him helplessly - and helping you inside the car. “You look gorgeous, by the way- although, of course you always do and this isn’t just me saying-”

“Gojo.” You smile. “Shut up and get in.”

He wastes no more time.

“D’you like the car?” Gojo asks as he buckles up, “It’s a Ferrari F80. I was thinking of buying this here as a little congratulatory present for myself- you’re the first one in here besides myself.”

“Seriously?” You ask. And he holds your gaze earnestly. “This is amazing.”

His smile flashes as he sets his hand on the wheel. “Then buckle up, sweetheart. We’re gonna be the hottest couple in town.”

“Not a coup- oh.” He speeds away.

.

.

.

“GOJO- GOJO—LOOK HERE—! GOJO IS THAT YOUR PARTNER?”

“GOJO HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THE HISTORIC WIN TONIGHT—DID HAVING YOUR GIRLFRIEND THERE HELP?”

“GOJO HOW DO YOU MAINTAIN THE TITLE OF PRETTIEST STRIKER FOUR YEARS IN A ROW?”

That…last one Gojo actually stopped to give a thorough answer.

And as for the rest, he’d given those paparazzi a coy smile and a wink before diving into the restaurant with you. The maître d’ quickly helped you get escorted to your private table.

The restaurant was…fancy. Right. That was one way to put it.

Another way to put it would’ve been: it was the type of restaurant that you honestly would’ve talked shit about with Shoko, then spent the next hour scrolling through its pictures. Then you’d catch a glimpse of a menu…and have immediately turned your phone off. Because in no conceivable world would you attend a restaurant of that high a price, for portion sizes no bigger than the meat rations you’d given yourself during your impoverished intern days.

And yet, here you were.

Gojo Satoru seemed to fit right in amongst the decor- the abstract artwork on the walls that looked like phalluses, the lights on the walls that also looked like phalluses, and the bowl of oranges upon every table - like a piece of the furniture himself. You don’t doubt that such a place was as casual as walking into a fast-food restaurant for him—but for you…let’s just say that whilst sports reporting jobs may pay high - especially for someone of your ranking - it wasn’t phallus-restaurant level quite just yet. 

“So uh…what did you say the name of this place was, again?” You ask Gojo after he’d ordered…whatever he was having. You’d gone with the same primarily because you didn’t want to butcher the pronunciations of the menu.

“Hm?” Gojo delicately folds his napkin. “Big D’s, why?”

You’re biting back a laugh, “No reason.”

He sends you a look. “And um…how was your day?”

“What are we, an old married couple?” Though there was something strangely…jarring about having the world-famous football player - the very same one you’ve rolled your eyes at or been forced to interview about a million times over - speak about something so…mundane with you. What else could you have expected? Maybe to talk stats, maybe updates on his fan club—maybe what ranking he’s surpassed now. You sigh. “But if you must know, the usual- oh, although I did get to interview Gakuganji for the first time in a while today—so that was fun.”

“Gakuganji Yoshinobu?” Gojo’s interest clearly piques. “Oh, he’s a legend. Did you know that since retirements he’s taken up-”

“Electric guitar.” You nod eagerly. “And he’s damn good at it, too.”

“I was thinking that after my retirement I should take up writing or something.”

“You seem like the type to never retire.”

And so the conversation…had strangely enough flowed- not something you would have expected from the haughty football player, but it was a pleasure nonetheless. And it had been about two hours into the conversation - currently on the topic of whether sharks were misunderstood - when the two of you looked down at your empty plates—and servers that seemed to be flitting about literally every table…but yours.

“Do you think they forgot about us?” You whisper to Gojo.

“Maybe they were so stunned by my devilish good looks that-”

“Okay.” And with a semi-fond smile upon your face, you’re standing up in your seat. Gojo’s mirthful expression drops—but before panic can start setting in, you’re gesturing for him to stand up as well. So you weren’t going to leave him in the phallus restaurant…you surprised even yourself with that. “C’mon- I know this great place downtown that sells the largest pizza you’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, please.” Tipping the servers, you two darted out of Big D’s through the back entrance where no paparazzi roamed. And into a night that was wild and untamed, you snuck into the darkness between stars and created light of your own—you copped a few good slices of pizza, greasy and not half-bad for the price, before walking down shadowed alleys where no one could find you. Almost no one. A few pictures snapped here and there- surely it couldn’t do much harm?

Oh, who were you kidding.

You could see the headlines forming already - had this been anyone else, you’d have been the one writing it. But tonight…“Everyone’s going to think we’re dating after tonight.”

“I know.” Gojo had replied, half of his profile illuminated by the neon shop signs. The two of you were walking around the less-nicer parts of town, or so one would say…how strange it is that where things are discarded and dilapidated, the lights shine the brightest and the moon seems to sing softly tonight. “But strangely enough- I don’t mind.”

“Getting dating rumors?”

“Getting dating rumors with you, I mean.” Gojo’s saying- before he coughs into his fist and attempts to amend. “Although, of course, you’d be lucky to get dating rumors with the Gojo Satoru~”

“You mean the Gojo Satoru who’s never gotten a dating rumor in his life?” You scoff. “Y’know before tonight they were calling you No-game Gojo?”

Gojo’s gasp is so loud that it startles passerbys.

In order to soothe him, you’re forced to buy this grown athlete ice cream. He asks for three scoops with extra sprinkles, and the two of you walk together - close but not touching - down by a nearby waterfront—the river around the massive city and pulled it into a tight embrace. You yourself felt the strange coil of something at the pit of your stomach.

“Did you really mean it?”

Gojo, who’d been eying your own ice cream cone, startles. “Hngh?”

Sighing…you hand him your final bite. “Did you really mean the thing about not minding dating rumors with me?”

“I did. Why?”

“No…just thinking that if I had to get dating rumors with anyone- at least you’re not the worst option.”

“Awwww-”

You smirk. “Although, Geto would have been-”

“Let me have this moment—”

His pinky finger grazes yours as you two walk.

.

.

.

The door slams behind you.

And following right behind it, Gojo’s doing the same to you.

He has his hands clutched at your waist, and his mouth down your neck - leaving hot, slimy strings of spit wherever he’s pepperin’ the most filthiest kisses. You’re moaning as you let yourself get engulfed in Gojo Satoru’s wave of need—molten desperation shooting through your veins.

There’s something wet forming at the in-betweens of your pretty legs- and it seems as though Gojo almost has a sixth sense. Because he wastes no time before sliding a hand down your front and cupping your throbbing pussy through your dress. “Mmm-” He grunts off against the side of your ear. The hot breath sends goosebumps skittering down your exposed skin. “And who are you this wet for, sweetheart~?”

“Mmm, dunno.” You bat your lashes up at him. “Probably the best player on the team.”

A priggish smile toys at Gojo’s lips, and he’s leaning ever-closer to you. “And just who might that be?”

You’re pulling Gojo down as though this was a secret just between the two of you - and the man eagerly reciprocates closing the distance between you. You’re basked in his likely maddeningly expensive cologne as he leans in—“Geto Suguru, of course.”

And Gojo’s letting out just the softest surprised gasp—

He leans backwards with slightly-parted lips, and you’re getting the feeling that no one’s ever said anything like that to him before. Gojo’s eyes sweep down where your pretty body is pressed up against him- and before you know it, he’s crashing his lips onto yours. “Mmm—” He’s lappin’ at your moans- and the edge of your bottom lip. There’s a squeaky noise that’s being let out as Gojo tastes the lipgloss slathered on your maw. “Cherry.” He notes.

You’re stringing your fingers into his pure-white hair.

With the pad of his thumb, Gojo wipes off the remnants of glossy make-up on his mouth. “You taste sweeter than you are, y’know that?”

And with your fingers twisting into his hair so that he moans- you’re dragging him right back to you. “And you’re better when you shut up.”

Eventually, you’re backing him into your bed.

The hotel room wasn’t all that spacious, and it’s only a few hasty strides before you’re preparing to push him onto the mattress—

But Gojo’s reflexes are too quick. And he’s flipping the two of you around so that it’s your back that’s coming into contact with the springy bedcoils, falling onto the cloud-like bed with the MVP of the match. Mr. Hotshot Gojo Satoru himself.

Gojo smirks as he hovers above you. “Wanna hear a magic trick? I know exactly what you’re thinking about, pretty girl~” He husks.

And you’re letting out a gasp as his lips come kissing down your neck once more. You can’t help it - you’re arching into him already. “And what’s that?”

“Me.” 

As he chuckles, you’re rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“Oh?” Gojo raises one of his white brows- like a challenge. If there was anything he was weak to—then it was a challenge. And maybe you, but…you didn’t need to know that just yet. “Then let me be clearer…you were thinking about me—” As he speaks, his dominant hands are exploring your body - starting at the right side of your tits, and massaging for a few moments before switching to the other one. “-running these trained hands everywhere on your body like this, weren’t you?”

Your heart leaps to your throat- and down there. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

He chuckles. “And then you must’ve thought about my fingers- I did have a little stint as a goalkeeper—” Through your fabric, he’s pinching your left nipple and you moan. “-did you know that?”

“I did.” You admit. Your reporting habits left you investigating every single nook and cranny of these footballers’ careers and lives.

“And then maybe these spectacular abs- I have them insured, did you know that?” The urge to roll your eyes is immense—but you’re more focused on the way that the world-class player was shuffling his body purposefully down yours, letting the button-up underneath his suit push against your core- you’re feeling his abs. As though he could read your mind, Gojo flashes you a devilish smile and keeps going down- “Or these arms.” Down. “Or these thick thighs. Heh.” Dooooown.

All the way until he’s between those tremblin’ legs of yours. At least his face was.

“But most of all…how about this glorious face?” Gojo shoots you his camera-ready smile inches away from your clothed cunt—pearly-white teeth and dimple to boot. “And I know m’fucking pretty- but I get the strange feeling that I’d look even prettier between your legs.”

And just as he’s about to lean in-

You’re sitting up and putting a hand on his shoulder. Stopping him.

Gojo looks up at you with a face full of concern. 

But you’re merely shaking your head. “You’d be hard-pressed to think that I’d let you get all the bragging rights.” You scoff. “Get up. Let me sit on your face.”

His blue, blue eyes gleam in delight. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

“Shut up and get over here.”

And you’re sure that Gojo murmurs something about ‘making him shut up’ (you’d be more surprised if he didn’t) and yet within seconds you suddenly have his 6’4 toned frame stretched-out beneath you.

With your knees making the mattress upon either side of his head dip, straddling him, you’ve straddled the two of you into an oh-so-perfect 69 position - but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Looking underneath you, you notice that the white-haired man has hunger consuming every inch of him, with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth slightly-ajar, licking his lips as he fucking chases your clothed cunt—

“But just ooooone thing.” You’re placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back down- Gojo lets out a cracked whimper. He stares up at your clothed cunt like the gates of heaven above.

“Yes, my demanding girl~? More demands? Isn’t having the great Gojo Satoru underneath you and begging for your pussy enough?”

“Hmm, nope.” You pop the ‘p’. Without wasting more time, you’re fumbling with Gojo’s outrageous dress pants until they’re managed off. What’s revealed to you first is his v-line that stands out—moving with every one of his impatient bucks; then his bulging boxers; then looooong smooth legs, toned from so many years of training. And then you’re almost done. “How about a bet that whoever makes the other cum first gets a reward?”

“A reward?” You’re not turning to look at him- but you don’t need to to know that Gojo’s eyes were probably shining by now. “What kind of reward?”

“Hmmmm, how about…” You suggest. “The winner gets to decide the position for se-”

“I’m in.”

And that’s all that’s being said before Gojo reaches up n’ pushes your dress up. He titters as he takes in the way your pussy was oh-so-wet being outlined against your underwear—that already-thin fabric hugging to your pretty lips n’ soaking wet for him already.

“What’s that about not being so wet?” Gojo hums. He makes the loudest noise as he leans in and presses a great big smooch right on top of your sopping lips. You’re keening out sweetly on top of him- he didn’t even know you could sound that sweet-

“You said that out loud.” You’re grumbling behind at him. “Don’t tell me you’re pussydrunk already, hotshot?”

“Awwww—” Gojo’s spankin’ that swollen exterior of your cunt. “You think I’m hot?”

And now about that damn evening dress obscuring his view- ah, he knows…

Soon enough, you’re hearing a rip-rip-riiiiip—! that makes your blood grow cold. The sensation of cool air biting into your skin is registering in your brain - and then only the realization that Gojo had just fucking ripped your best dress- “Now, I know that isn’t what I think it is.”

“Ah…” He grunts distractedly. Before reaching down to his dress pants and pulling out something dark, sleek, and cash-cold. “Buy yourself whatever you need usin’ this, sweetheart.”

Gojo reaches forwards and stuffs his black card between your pretty drivelling lips. And then he’s divin’ nose-deep between your legs and eating you out with the panties on—letting his looooong luscious tongue zigzag across your slit and accumulate every wad. Once he’s done stealing every drop of slick leaking out of you, Gojo wastes no time before slippin’ aside your panties using his tongue, then making your inner lining feel eeeeeevery coarse tastebud of his taking over you.

It’s just so much.

You’re arching your back and letting out a prolonged moan - or at least you’re attempting to. But what’s really coming out instead are a few muffled sounds as the black card holds firm between your lips.

Your eyes widen.

How could you let yourself be swayed by Gojo Satoru’s black card, of all things…?!

Spitting the black card out, you throw a glare at Gojo. “D-don’t think you’ve won the bet just because you’ve gotten a headstart.”

“Oh?” Gojo coos. “I think I’ve won the bet regardless by how much you’re stutterin’ and whining like a slut on my tongue.” He’s spitting every syllable out against your pussy- literally. He’s drizzling a splash of saliva that he’s using a hand to smack- to smear across every inch of your sodden lips.

You let out a sudden whine, and he laughs.

“Was I wrong~? Mmm- shell me. Who’s the bwest—?” Muffled by his burning-hot kisses.

And you won’t let yourself be bestest just like that, would you? Especially not when he sounds so silly already drunk on your pussy?

In sultry seconds, you’re spittin’ out his damn black card and dragging Gojo’s boxers down. By how much he’d been showing through his bulge…you’d already assumed that he’d be massive.

But Gojo was…really massive.

Mentally you’re counting about eight or nine inches- seriously. And each of those inches were fat and throbbing, the girth of a Coke can and the length of something you’re sure would leave you unable to walk. At least for a week.

As though somehow sensing what you were thinking; Gojo’s thickened tip pulses. Grows even pinker.

“Cock got yer tongue?” He giggles wetly. “Why’re you stupefied, huh? Looks like m’gonna win~”

From the top of his shaft, he’s ooooozing out a constant source of precum—and you’re leanin’ in to sweetly kiss away the syrup that clings to his tip. Just the softest kittenish kiss- but it’s enough to make the football player yelp from underneath you.

His toes curl. His hips buck up without him even seeming to realize - and Gojo lets out an echo of your name - like a prayer - as his fat tip sticks inside your mouth. “O-ohhhh, now you’re playing dirty, sweetheart.”

“M’just doing the same thing you’re- mmm, doing.” You answer- purposefully keeping your mouth on Gojo so that the vibrations shoot up his veins.

“Tch- yeah.” Gojo admits. “But s’only fun when you’re the one getting all drunk on my tongue-” And just because he’s babbling away doesn’t mean that he’s stopping his ministrations for a single second - he’s lavishing and lavishing the tight rim of your hole with his tongue. Licking. Lingering. Letting the top of it hook inside and stretchin’ you out just a little bit more. “Why can’t I be the one to have all the fun—?”

“Do you always have to win?”

“Yes.”

As ridiculous as that sentence sounded, it doesn’t surprise you that it came out of Gojo’s mouth.

The very same mouth that’s becoming more n’ more feverish on your cunt - as some form of revenge, you suppose. Gojo’s grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek and using it to drag you deeper into his mouth.

His jaw unhinges. His nose pushes against your skin. 

He’s sucking onto every tender spot of your pussy- eventually resting his pinkish lips on your hole and shoving his tastebuds in so deep. “Tch- this is my fuckin’ win—and this should be my pussy, girl.” Deeper. “C’mon. C’mon. Forget sucking my cock- just fuck back in t’me, sweetheart.”

“F-forget? Sneaky…you just wanna win.”

You can feel him smile against your cunt. “Awww, you know me so well—”

“So selfish, Satoru.” You huff. 

“Ohhhh.” And he’s shivering- wracking with something primal all the way head-to-toe. “Call me that again~”

“Satoru.” You’re plopping your mouth over his puckered, pretty head- he was just so cutely needy.

It wasn’t something that you’d expected over the hotshot player. Even though Gojo Satoru might not look like it upon first impression—his cock was so sensitive, so very honest with you that it almost gave you secondhand embarrassment to see. The moment you’re putting your mouth on him n’ starting to suck, he’s spurting out the sweetest honeyed wads of precum here n’ there. The moment you’re leaving him- Gojo throbs even angrily bigger and shuffles his hips to chase your warm mouth.

One of your hands reaches down to squeeze at his balls - so plump and perfectly-shaped. It was annoying that everything about him seemed to be handcrafted by the heavens themselves.

And you’re massaging his most sensitive spots using the mountain of your palm, grinding him against your hand every time your mouth sucks on him. You’re repeating this sequence a few more times. 

But he’s not holding back either - Gojo’s now started using the side of your waist as a handlebar, almost.

And he’s grabbing you hard- dragging you onto his awaiting mouth even harder.

“Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart- sweetheart.” He repeats like a broken record player. All whilst his tongue was open and ready—he hones it at the tip, sharpening, so that it can probe even deeper. Slithering it inside again and agaaaaaain until you’re soaking all down his face. “Mmm- again, sweetheart.” Gojo whispers, feeling the mess start to trickle down his chin. “C’mon- Satoru needs to hear you say his name when you cum.”

“Satoruuuuu—oh.” You’re gasping. “But you’re not winning before I do-”

 He’s immediately reaching for your throat with a vicious thrust of his hips.

You’re relaxing that muscle there so that he can delve deeper into your velvety cavern- the tresses of his veins scrapin’ against the roof of your mouth. Breathing through your nose as you have to win this. You fucking have to. It’s the competitiveness that’s getting to the both of you—and you’re moving in a fucking frenzy.

A stalemate.

Every zap of electricity, both of you reciprocate it twofold.

With your thighs wrapped around his head, with Gojo’s cock shoved down your throat. And the two of you move in synchronous tandem - you with the rapid bobs of your head, slobberin’ all down his plump inches—and him eatin’ away like a ravenous fucking wolf between your legs. The both of you were starved. 

But you have to realize…that a draw just isn’t enough for Gojo Satoru.

Because Gojo Satoru was a competitive motherfucker.

And without warning; he swipes three slick-buttered fingers ‘round the orifice of your cunt. ‘Round and ‘round a few times. Before he’s then letting them sliiiiiiiip in—he replaces his tongue with those long fingers of his that just manage to stretch you out so right.

You’re removing yourself from Gojo’s cock with a lecherous pop! Just to gasp n’ moan away as Gojo opens you up using his fingers.

“How about it now?” Gojo coos. He elongates his words- and something about it just makes your limbs twitch—as he’s probin’ inside in loooooong yearning thrusts with his seemingly never-ending digits. Again and again. “How about you say- ngh- ‘Satoru you’re the best~’ and maybe I’ll go easy on you when I win?”

Gojo mocks your voice by pitching it about a zillion octaves higher and making himself sound ridiculously flirty.

You scoff, embarrassment sizzling across your skin. “You fuckin’ wish.”

“Now, that’s not very nice~”

And he wasn’t going to play easy. He reaches his fingers back- then slams! them down all the way till the knuckles. The curvaceous tops of his digits were slightly thicker than the rest of him—so he’s able to drive apart your sticky walls n’ stick himself into every hidden spot and crevice. 

He was filling you up sooooooo good - “Oh p-please…” Tears drizzle down your cheeks. “That feels so good-”

“That’s not what I wanted you to say…” Gojo had amusement laced into his every syllable. “C’mon- tell your Satoru that he’s the best.”

“S-Satoru—” No—you can’t give up so easily. And lazily…you’re instead slobberin’ down his thick, vein-covered shaft instead. You can’t even take him in by now, because you were too afraid a sudden graze of Gojo’s fingers along your tender spots would leave you scramblin’ for air.

Speaking of tender spots…

“Y’know I’m real close to the goal.” Gojo trundles. Those long lashes of his flap, as though innocently. “Real close. I could just…” 

“O-ohhhh, fuck-” All three of those fingers are slippin’ around your g-spot - you get the impression that he was missing it on purpose, and it made you nervous over just what he might have planned next. Fuck he was massaging the softest areas of your cunt’s channel. “You’re bluffing.”

“By how much wetter you’re getting…” He smirks. “-I think the fuck not. C’mooooon the world’s strongest striker is eatin’ your pussy out, and you can’t even be nice?”

“N-no-”

“I sure can be.” The area of Gojo’s knuckles were practically gluuuued like adhesive to your cunt’s folds. His other hand lifts off of your hips- starting to knead your swollen nub—you’re starting to see stars as Gojo toys with your clit. “But only if you admit m’the best. C’mon, tell me I’m the best- tell me…and I miiiiiight just go a little easier on you.”

“S-Satoru…” It’s inevitable - between the constant probing, the suckling ‘round wherever he could reach, the targeting of your clit - that you’re about to reach your high. It’s simmering right underneath your skin. “Oh no-”

“Oh yes.” Gojo’s eyes glimmer with delight. “Close, huh? And what do you have to say—?”

“Satoru—” You knew that you’d have to do this if you wanted a satisfactory orgasm- Gojo would’ve gladly left you high and dry just to prove a point. “Y-you’re the best…”

The words feel sickeningly sweet leaving your tongue.

But just as soon as they’re rollin’ off- Gojo probes deeply into your g-spot. Hitting that exact area of nerves dead-on. And your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave - it’s burning hot and feels more blissful than anything you’ve ever felt before. Anything.

You hate to admit it, but you’re seeing stars as you cum on Gojo’s tongue.

And he has the audacity to giggle- giggle, pussydrunkenly. “Mmm, you think I’m the best, sweetheart?”

“Yeah…” You breathe. “When you shut up.”

Immediately, you’re pushing back into Gojo’s mouth - shutting him up. His mouth drops open for you on instinct. His cock’s floooooding silver, satiny spurts of precum at the mere act of being used—your walls fluttering around his tongue. Sucking him up. 

Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “G-goal…”

Your jaw drops.

His fingers are tunnelin’ straight to your g-spot during every peak of your high - those twinges of extra pleasure that he’s managing to prolong using his fingers, his mouth, his other set of digits kneading your pulsing clit. And what’s driving you even further past that tipping point is the way that Gojo whispers ‘goal, goal, goal, goal’ every time he strikes your g-spot.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

There’s no use trying to make him cum soon afterwards—you’re too drunk on your pleasure, and Gojo’s attempting to squeeze his thighs together to keep himself from cumming. Once your clit’s properly massaged, he uses that hand to squeeze his thickened hilt and prevent anymore beads of pearly-white from leaking.

Fucking unfair. 

By the time you’ve ridden through your high - you’re well and fully wrung out. Struggling to catch your breath. Struggling to stop your limbs from shaking- sensitively.

He’s left you oh-so-sensitive.

Gojo Satoru hadn’t even had to fucking try to overstimulate you—he’s just that good with his fingers. He’s just so flexible with his tongue. He’s just so-

“Is this some sort of subliminal? Why are you whispering those to my cunt?” You ask him. And it’s with a final squelch! - and Gojo whispering for a goal once his fingers detach from your g-spot - that you’re managing to untangle yourself from his ravenous mouth.

Though it wasn’t for a lack of trying from his part—Gojo chases after your drippin’ wet pussy like a bee chasing his beehive. Were you the Queen or were you the honey? He’s having a hard time deciding, as Gojo finally sits up on the bed- dazedly.

“Woah-” Now sitting opposite him, you steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay there, Satoru?”

His cock twitches. For both your dignities, you pretend you don’t see that. 

“You’re fucking asking me if I’m okay—?”

Using that same helping hand you’d lent him- Gojo flips your positions around so that now your back’s facing the creaky hotel headboard. And then you’re both shuffling down the mattress, so that you’re being bent into-

“A mating press.” Gojo grins. His eyes twinkle with something so…dark. “Since I won our little bet, I choose the mating press- oh, and that’s not all.”

To your astoundment, Gojo suddenly stands up and flounces off the bed. He scans for something on the floor- “Give the great Gojo Satoru one second.” And then saunters up to your open suitcases of clothes as though they were his—it doesn’t take long for Gojo to find what he’d been looking for. 

And you’re feeling embarrassment curdled with something akin to an unfamiliar shyness start to rise in your chest. Because in Gojo Satoru’s hands…was his own jersey.

“You had Geto’s jersey.” He smirks. “I knew you must’ve had mine in there somewhere, too.”

“Someone should teach you not to go through others’ things.” You huff, crossing your arms.

“Oh, my apologies.” Gojo says, sounding utterly unapologetic. “How about I make it up to you? Arms up, baby.”

And, well, a bet is a bet.

You’re raising your arms and letting Gojo take off the rest of your clothes. Before you know it, the Gojo 66 jersey on you—one you’d never even admitted to Shoko that you’d bought. In your defense, it was a buy-one-get-one-free deal that they’d been doing for the FIFA World Cup- but you doubt that Gojo would be open to hearing about your transaction history right now.

Not when he’s admiring the look of his name - his last name - emblazoned against your back. The look of his team’s colors rising and falling with every deep breath.

Your hardened nipples looked so pretty against the athletic fabric that he can’t help but reach out and pinch—

“Change of plans.” Gojo grunts- breathless, as if he hadn’t planned to say this. “We’re doing it doggy style so I can look at my name across your back while I hit it from behind.”

You grumble but you’re changing positions anyway. “Ever heard of the story of Narcissus, Satoru?”

“Are you the river because you’re so wet, or…?”

“No, don’t worry- that dried me up enough.”

He temporarily shoves a knee between your legs. “Lies.” Smirking.

You’re on all fours now. And Gojo shrugs off whatever else is left of his garments- and his rock-hard abs press into your back from behind, practically gluuuued skin-to-skin. A line of goosebumps shoot up your spine at the sudden feeling of him pressing into you—and Gojo takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss up your back.

All the way sloppily to your shoulders.

Your neck.

“Mmmm—and this is my win, isn’t it?” He rasps against your skin- there’s a…slightly crazed tone in Gojo’s voice that you’d never heard before. You shiver. You nod. “Mhm- then this is going to be how a winner fucks, sweetheart.”

In the time that you’d been distracted by Gojo’s incredible body, his ruby-reddened cock had slipped between your legs. There, Gojo had been keeping his length cushioned by your pretty, pretty legs.

Only now was he lettin’ his drivelling tip sliiiiiiide down your slit- giving you an experimental stretch along your first rim. “And yer wearing my name, aren’t you~?” It makes him fucking blush - out of everything…this is what breaks him - to see Gojo 66 and the blue jersey against your skin. You can’t help but nod again. “Then you’re doing to- fucking- take it- like a winner, sweetheart.”

Between each word, Gojo pauses to give a thorough slashing of his thickened cock.

He’s not even fitting in all the way at first- just the globular tip.

Just that decadent girth; where his shaft had flared out massively - all blushing red and plastered in precum - and then honing out into a perfect point to just dive right into you. Gojo’s length also had a slight curve reaching towards the top of your cunt—and he was built oh-so-perfectly to itch at your sweetest spots inside.

Not that you were going to admit it, of course.

“Cock got your-”

“You already used that line, Satoru.” You’re grumbling- though it’s a proper task to keep your voice steady in front of him. To pretend you’re not as affected as you really are.

And Gojo notices. Of course, Gojo Satoru notices. “Y’know…you might not be honest.” He titters in your ear. And then he’s shovellin’ in a few more thick inches—you’re feeling the near-spherical end of his shaft slip inside without too much resistance. You just wanted him so badly. “But this pretty cunt sure is. And what do you think she has to say about me?”

“I-I don’t need to—”

“She’s saying…”

Gojo trails off. Though not without reason.

Almost that very instant, he’s un-velcroing his chiselled abs from your back. A soft whimper leaves your lips as you’re startin’ to miss him already. Already.

But Gojo’s merely pattin’ at your utterly stuffed pussy. You only had a few inches of him pushed inside and throbbing inside you, but your cunt still struggles to take him. “Needy girl. Be patient for a fuckin’ minute- sheesh.”

And then he’s tugging at your jersey.

You’re looking up in confusion.

Then he’s pulling at your jersey—

And only too-late are you realizing that Gojo has that hem of your - his - football jersey bunched up. Using just a single one of his hands, he’s twistin’ his fingers around the velveteen fabric and trapping you right along with it—then he’s dragging you- just by the hold he has on your jersey. He falls back on his haunches.

And he’s taking you right along with him.

Now you’ve got your arms lifted off the bed- in a praying position…except Gojo’s fat cock was drilling into you from behind. With your ass cheeks against his pap-pap-papping hips, with his thick meaty thighs kneading into yours.

His hips are pushing and pushing and pushing—wielding his cock into yours so deeply, so furiously, that it’s as if the man’s entire body has been set alight. 

Raw desire runs through his veins instead of blood- and Gojo’s letting out such an animalistic growl- “S’my fuckin’ name on you…”

His mouth waters- waters at the mere notion.

Shit, what an effect you had on him. Maybe all that adrenaline during interviews was…

Gojo’s never felt so utterly drunk than he was in this very moment—pussydrunk. Like the most intense of alcoholics chase their vise, he’s chasin’ the back of your gooey cunt. Every thrust manages to scrape his pumping veins against that snug channel of yours, every thrust manages to push him a little deeper than he already was. What a wonder he’s managed to fit in the first place.

You were just so fucking tight and heavenly that it’s as though you were sucking Gojo’s sanity - and soul - right out of him.

“My fucking name.” He repeats. Breathless. Gojo thwacks! his extremely tight balls against the front slit of your cunt. More beads of syrupy slick end up leaking out of you—n’ they’re pouring down Gojo’s vast shaft. “My fucking number on you.”

“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re clawing for a lifeline: anything. Your only hope is to bend your arms behind your head- and start clawin’ at Gojo’s own sweaty scalp instead. 

As he rams in again and again and again—your poor ass cheeks were stinging.

Gojo’s almost all the way bottomed-out now. It makes your back arch, and your throat bubble over with moans instead of answers. “Fuck-”

The audacity that he has…no one but Gojo Satoru could have. He’s mocking your moans- “Satoru, fuck~” Before rolling those azure eyes of his and emptyin’ every inch of himself into the back of your pussy. “Yeah, yeah- fucking you is exactly what I’m—oh.”

Oh, was right.

It was exactly right.

Because just then Gojo finally - finally - bottoms out. He’s gotten all of his inches happily trapped between your gorgeous legs.

And it’s not just that.

Just then Gojo’s breath hitches.

Just then Gojo thinks he can’t breathe- his entire upper half collapses on top of yours—and you’re being pushed back into a regular, sloppy doggy position. Gojo’s letting shivers run amok across his skin, Gojo’s letting his handsome features twist into something of pure euphoria as he bottoms out- how can it feel this good?

This fucking good?

And in the time it’d taken the self-proclaimed world’s best striker to shatter on your pussy- you’d gathered yourself up.

At least to the point where you can look at Gojo over your shoulder and smirk. “Pussy got your tongue, Satoru?”

He frowns. “Har har—very fun- fuck, don’t squeeze me like that.” Gojo’s eyes flutter shut- on the edges of his lashes, you think you’re seeing tears. “I th-think I might cum.”

“Just that from a winner?” You’re tutting. “I thought you were the strongest, Satoru.”

“I-I am-”

“Then wouldn’t the strongest also have incredible stamina?” You’re looking at him—Gojo’s peripherals are glazed-over with a thick layer of lust. His hair was a mess. His lips were kiss-bitten. There’s a sort of unleashed hunger within him that makes you wish for him to ravage you…You pout. “And here I was hoping we could go- all night.”

He shivers at the words - cock pulsating deep inside you.

But you’re not done just yet. “But ah…I suppose if you can’t, then maybe Get-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - not even your thought - before Gojo’s hips are pinning yours down. His upper half is cushioned against you. His bodyweight fully keeps you delightfully trapped- as Gojo’s starting to fuck you like an animal. 

He pushes you into the mattress.

He fucks you into the mattress.

His thrusts deeeeeep and loooooong—all the way from the slick-embellished top of his shaft, and then down, down, down until you’re feeling your cunt struggling around his incredibly thick base. The scruff of Gojo’s white pubic hair pushed n’ pulled against your pussylips-

Grinding.

And before you could even register the different sensation, Gojo already has one of his hands looped underneath you. The calloused tips of his fingers are instantly finding your clit, like magnets find one another, and he’s teasin’ that sweet nub. Again and again—tuggin’. “I c-can’t believe…” Gojo chokes out eventually.

“What was that?” You’re asking with a pointed clench of your sopping wet lips. 

And the man above you instantly shudders. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, girl.” He somewhat snaps- but rather than irritation it’s simply pure need in his words. Gojo pinches your clit. “It doesn’t matter h-hoooooow many times you clench- or just hooooow pussydrunk you’re getting me…”

You’re keening as he swabs your g-spot several times.

“But I- won’t- forget- whose- jersey- is on- you—” Gojo says between thrusts.

Every one of his movements was getting more n’ more erratic by the second- sweat drenched every part of him, and a curtain of his white hair obscured those laser-blue eyes. Locked in on his target: you.

Gojo’s touch is searing as he’s pinching your clit once again—“But just in case this pussy does- heh, get too rowdy…how about you remind me?” Your eyes are jerking open at his words. What does he…“Because it feels fucking gooood wearing the winner’s jersey as he fucks you, huh? Huh?”

Your lips quiver. Pressure was building at the pit of your stomach. “Y-yes…”

“Oh yeah? What does it say, then?” The team captain whispers. He’s using his dexterous fingers to twist your too-sensitive nub, and you’re whimpering.

“Fuck-”

“I already told you before- oh. M’already fucking you.” Gojo’s mirthful grin spreads across his face. He had that pussydrunken look about him as his hips accelerated. Even more. “But that’s not the- hah, question. What number is it?”

“S-six six…” You’re letting out in a defeated gust of air.

“Mmmm, good girl.” Maybe because you’re being such a good girl - Gojo takes the time to lazily and lethargically draaaaaaag his vein-covered cock wherever he felt like you were the most delicate. His zig-zagging patterns were getting outlined deep, deep inside you—and you’re shivering as he inches close to your g-spot. “And what name?”

He can’t stop himself from nudgin’ himself just a little closer and puuuushing down hard and thoroughly on that nerve-covered spot. “O-ohhhhh, fuck, there-”

Gojo’s face contorts - his brows furrow, his jaw drops. “Tell me the fucking name, sweetheart~”

“Gojo Satoru.” Barely even audible.

He leans in with an exaggerated smirk. “What was thaaaat?”

“Gojo Satoru- fuck.”

“And how many goals did I score today, Miss Reporter?”

You’re clawing at the pillows by now. “Th-three—!”

“Oh yeah?” Gojo hums. “M’gonna double it tonight.”

You don’t need to wait too long to find out exactly what Gojo meant- because in mere split-seconds, he’s reeling his hips baaaaack and snappin’ them. Once from the very blushin’ tip-top and down to the hilt. “Goal.” He whispers as he grazes past your g-spot - activating the white-hot pleasure from your cunt to your brain - and striking his target of your cervix. “H-heh.”

“Yellow card for being such a dick.” You whisper.

“Oh, but you love a winner’s dick.” He counters. And it’s barely three seconds later that you’re feeling another forcefield of carnal vibrations that set your teeth on edge—“Oh- and goal.”

Saliva puddles on the pillow in front of you. The hotel headboard has your nail marks on it- dammit.

Gojo repeats- faster this time. “Goal- oh, look at that…a hatrick.” His voice is on the verge of shattering- “Can we make that double hatricks?”

“O-oh my god, Satoru-”

“It’s captain.”

And then he’s pumping out those final few thrusts—hands a blur upon your throbbin’ clit, hips a blur between your legs. That jersey bearing Gojo’s name was drenched in sweat and stuck to you like a second skin- “Goal.” It’s radiating the heat that your body was giving off. “Goal.”

It’s displaying that number and that name so proudly. So fucking proudly.

And for that last and final score of his—Gojo’s bending down until he’s able to press his mouth against the area between where your shoulderblades should be. He kisses that spot. He licks his name on your skin. “Goal.”

And it’s inevitable that you’re crashing into your high as one.

Gojo holds you closely as incredible bursts of pleasure make your cunt convulse- you’re practically keeping him glued to your walls. It just felt too good to let him go, even if it was just to fuck you through your high. And it’s by pushing past that little resistance that Gojo’s managing to probe his rounded tip into you- to press those invisible buttons of yours that prolong your high.

More and more and more. This was an orgasm even better than your last one- and you hadn’t even known that’d be possible (not to boost Gojo’s ego).

Counting underneath his breath, he times the exact moment of your euphoria peaking—and then he’s bangin’ his rock-hard tip right on time. Bruising the back of your pussy.

White-hot pleasure was sizzlin’ just beneath your skin every time he did—and you felt as though your heart was beating too fast for you to keep up with. It’s a pounding drum in your ears, your chest…and your pussy.

Wrapped so vehemently ‘round Gojo’s own twitching cock.

He was pumping out wad after wad of looooong white cum that sticks to the inner lining of your pussy. Groaning. Grinding. Pleasure was tingling at the tips of his fingers, and all around him- soon enough you’re feeling a few tears of bliss splatter down your back. “You’re…” You just barely manage to breathe.

Gojo humps your behind like an animal- just shaking at the sheer force of his high. Gojo hums as he collects the droplets on the tip of his cock, and starts fucking it into your deepest depths- inside. Inside and inside.

It was just so warm and gummy inside you. Spreading. Seeping. 

Overspilling.

There wasn’t to be a single ounce wasted.

Gojo’s fingers alternate between rolling over your clit n’ helping push the excess amount of cum frothing around your entrance back inside. Some of it was currently forming a ring around his hilt, and he’s swiping it away using his thumb—popping it inside his mouth. “N-not bad for a guy you hate, huh~?”

Your eyes are shooting open. “Hate?” You frown. “I’ve never hated you, Satoru.”

And that makes the smile slip off his face. “Huh? But I always thought…you always asked me those probing questions and-”

“Satoru, that’s because I’m interested in you…as a player. Of course.” You’re admitting somewhat shyly. The two of you were past your orgasms by this point, and Gojo had taken to spooning you from behind whilst his cock was still inside. “I thought you hated me-”

“Me?” Gojo gapes. “When have I ever hated you? I flirt with you all the fucking time-”

“You flirt with everyone.” You huff. “But it’s just…that time after you’d gotten your offer for the national team. I don’t know if you remember, but it was my first interview then and-”

“Of course I remember.” He interjects.

Something warms in your chest. “But then- why didn’t you show up?”

“Pardon?”

“You promised you’d do your first interview with me- and I promised you’d be the first athlete I interviewed.” There’s a sadness in your tone - not overwhelming, just missing what might have been. “I waited and waited for you, but you never showed up.”

“You waited for me?” Gojo gasps.

“Yeah? I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the field-”

“I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the media room.”

You stare at Gojo. Gojo stares right back.

You sort of want to laugh- no wait, you’re laughing.

And he’s following right after. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

“Mhmmm, but first how about you pull out, Satoru?”

“Aw, man.”

“And then next I’ll let you put the black card in my mouth while you fuck me.”

“Fuck yeah.”

.

.

.

Eight years ago.

“Are you new here?”

Gojo startles.

The Japan Football Association (JFA) had a meeting room…as Gojo Satoru supposes that all football headquarters do.

He wouldn’t know.

But outside was the waiting room. 

He also wouldn’t know whether other places had such purgatories- but then again, he digresses.

It was a hallway with two rows of chairs pushed against either side of it—gleaming plastic chairs that sat emptily - and strangely ominously - before photographs of some of the JFA’s most famous recruits. Gojo felt a strange sense of pride and fear soar up in him as the only chair occupied—perhaps mirror images of all the great players that had sat in them years prior.

Well, as the second chair occupied.

So focused on reciting his name, his age, and his position to himself - things that should come as naturally to him as breathing, now strangely so foreign in this stuffy waiting room - he hadn’t noticed you until you actually spoke to him. Which…you must forgive him.

Everything tends to slip Gojo Satoru’s mind when he thinks of football: people, places, eating and sleeping. 

And yet…with your soft call- he turns to you. There’s an instantaneous and mad urge for Gojo to flash his best, most flirtatious smile that’d gotten him voted as Most Handsome Boy for every year of elementary school and middle school. And yet, the memories of high school come rushing to him unbidden—and Gojo’s suddenly tampering it down.

Expressionless. “Yes?”

“Don’t do that.” You huff. You looked about his age- and by the uniform you were wearing, it didn’t seem that you were another recruit. He wonders what you were doing in such a place. “That smile of yours is so pretty- did you know that you have a dimple?”

“I…” Gojo watches as you point at the edge of your left lip. He reaches a hand up to feel for that very spot, softly smiling—just for the experiment. “Oh- I suppose I do.”

You shrug. “Win ‘em over with that smile, I tell you. You’re Gojo Satoru—the youngest recruit for the team, aren’t you?”

He feels his heartbeat pick up. “I don’t know…I hope so.”

“Tch- don’t be silly.” And it shocked Gojo just how casually you’d waved away his uncertainties - as though they were mere annoyances, like easy-to-catch mosquitoes, and not blood-thirst buzzards. “The interview’s basically a formality. The entire building’s talking about you. Gojo Satoru: the youngest recruit in Japanese football history, the football prodigy from a small town in Hokkaido, the new generation of Japanese football.”

The more you spoke, the more Gojo’s eyes widened. The more he held his breath.

“You’re like the Luffy of football right now, man.” You smile. “Have some more confidence- you’re Gojo Satoru.”

At the time, he hadn’t known how to respond to that. So he’d simply asked—“And are you…”

“Not a player.” Turning to the chair on your other side, you pulled out a notebook and a pen, an audio recorder, and a camera. “I’m an intern for the sports reporting department- it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do when I was young.” And he watched in something he’d later come to recognize as awe as you stared at the photographs of players in much the same way he did. “All those photographs? All those articles? It’s because of reporters—and if I can’t play on the field, maybe I can write the field’s stories, y’know?”

You sigh. 

And he simply keeps on staring like a buffoon.

“Everything that happens on that field is a tale to be told.” And as Gojo’s awkward silence stretches, your smile turns sheepish. “Or- something like that…I don’t know it’s just-”

“Don’t do that.” He interrupts. This time, there’s a faint smile on his lips—and you could see the dimples. “Be confident, erm…”

You share your name.

He repeats it like a winning scorecard, a legendary play, maybe a last-minute unexpected goal. Extremely unexpected.

And from inside the meeting room, there’s a call of his name. Gojo’s jerking up to his lanky feet and looking at you- you shoot him two thumbs up. He nods.

He turns.

And he’s just about to enter through those doors that could very well change his life—

But, Gojo Satoru turns back.

He looks at you and flashes you that too-handsome smile. The first sight of it seems to shock you. “How about if- when I get back you can be the reporter to get the first-ever exclusive interview with the Gojo Satoru~?”

You blink. “I’d like that.” Surprise melting from your expression and letting you smile. “I’d really, really like that—oh, shit, I should get my good camera for the photos- good luck—!”

And with your cheerful tone echoing down the hallway, Gojo huffs out a chuckle. He’s almost at the meeting room door when he realizes that he hadn’t exactly gotten a time and place for this interview - and who knows how long this meeting will last - but when he’s looking back you’re already disappeared. 

Ah, that’s fine. He supposes.

He’ll find you anyway.

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru’s first-ever professional interview was alongside Coach Yaga with some veteran reporter he now can’t remember the name of.

Your first-ever professional interview as a sports reporter was with the long-retired striker, Gakuganji, who’d taken time out of his busy electric guitar shredding schedule.

The two of you shouldn’t have drifted apart.

But then again, the two of you shouldn’t have found each other either. We are all parallel lines of the same football field; untouching and unceasing—not unless there’s bound to be a—goal

Gojo Satoru was face-to-face with the goal.

He takes a deep breath.

He points.

He kicks.

He scores.

There’s a second of silence before anything happens - like the brief yet somehow deafening pause before a rocket takes off. And just as loudly—the cheers of fans, Japanese and non-Japanese supporters alike, erupt raucously until the very frame of the stadium seems to rattle itself. They were crying. They were jumping. They were cheering themselves hoarse, because—

“Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! For the first time in history, Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! Gojo Satoru has done it again—!” 

1-2 to Japan.

To say that the match had been close would be the understatement of the century; but you suppose you’ll write all about it in some exclusive article. Later.

Right now, your gaze was fixated on the flashes of white n’ blue barely discernible through the explosion of confetti. As what seemed like hundreds of members of the audience break through the bars and run to the embracing team, there’s only one that’s untangling himself free from the embrace and running straight—to you.

You’re in Gojo’s strong, sweaty arms before you even know what’s happening.

“And is that Gojo—?! Our MVP Gojo is breaking free from his team- running to the lovely lady, eh? All because of that bet. And here we have more celebrations from—”

His face pushed into the crook of your neck, and his chest hammering against yours- “We did it.” Gojo pants - and you’re vaguely aware of Shoko zooming in on the scene with a cackle. “We did it, sweetheart.”

You’re pulling back slightly from him and smiling. “I always knew you could.”

He kisses you and he’s never meant anything more.

A/N. WHERE’S MY GOJOOOOOOOO?? Anyways ugh I’d been SOBBING during Modrić’s final match.

It’s been a few weeks since you left your last job, since you left Gojo. In that time, you’ve been incredibly busy; applying for jobs and moving. Unfortunately, a lot of your things had to be put in storage because there wasn’t room in your parents’ home for it all, so that’s cut into your savings. Funds were already running low and now they’re almost non-existent. On top of that, the job market has been completely atrocious.

You’re beginning to feel like the places you’re applying for immediately chuck your resume into the bin. The memory of Gojo telling you how bad your application had been always ringing in your head whenever you open the document to edit it. You know for a fact you’ve improved upon the formatting, and you have more actual experience now but the doubt still lingers.

The biggest pitfall for you is that you haven’t put Gojo down as a reference, not wanting them to call him up and rub it in his face that you’ve left his company. You’re not stupid though, you put down Nanami. So far, he’s told you he got one call and it was the one interview you had. It… didn’t go over so well. Living back at home should be more familiar but everything is overwhelming and you ended up late and, yeah, it just didn’t go well.

Luckily, you’re not completely unemployable, only in the field you actually want to be employed in. You managed to get a job at a pretty popular café, it makes your head spin on the particularly busy days but you’re not exactly here for the vibes so you make do. Some customers are horrendously rude, but people tend to be like that wherever you go.

Currently in the last hour of your shift and all you can think about is going home but then again, your parents aren’t exactly delightful company at the moment. They mean well but all they do is question you about what you’re doing and when you’ll get another job and asking about things they don’t need to be asking about.

Sometimes after work, you’ve taken to wandering around. Buying a little treat and sitting in a park to savour it, after the first time you’d realised why Gojo does it so often. Speaking of Gojo, he texts every now and again and you can never bring yourself to reply with any substance. After your one-night stand, things are awkward and you feel guilty.

Off in space and thinking to yourself when you’re brought back to the present. One of the last people you’re expecting to see standing right in front of you. Considering this café is fairly close to his company, you shouldn’t be too shocked to see Geto. He’s looking back at you like he’s just as surprised, that is until his expression falls into the usual pleasant smile he wears.

“Well, hello there,” his voice a deep, delightful contrast to the way you feel.

A small breath in and then you plaster your fake work smile all over your face, “Hi, what can I get for you today?”

“If you’re working here then I’m guessing you really did leave Satoru.”

The way he ignores your clear desire to keep this interaction short annoys you, “Can you please just tell me what you want?”

“What I want?” leaning in a little closer to the counter between the two of you, “I’d like for you to work with me.”

“I’m not interested in this little dance, Geto, just order before you hold up the line.”

“Your customer service skills could use a little work,” he jokes.

There’s a twitching in your eyebrow that’s starting to make itself known, your patience has been significantly cut into lately. You’ve been beaten down too much and him being annoying while you’re working the only job that would accept you, it’s seriously pissing you off.

Geto must notice because he backs off a little, “Triple shot espresso,” finally ordering.

“Size?”

“Biggest you got.” While you’re punching in his order, he asks, “What time you getting off?”

Glancing at the clock behind you before mindlessly answering, “Another half an hour.”

“I’ll wait for you, come to my table when you’re done.” He walks away after that, not really giving you a chance to refute him since he actually was shamelessly holding up the line.

Thirty minutes go by and you’re clocking off. Sure enough, Geto waited for you. Still sat at a table in the back corner of the café, laptop open in front of him and his coffee long gone. Though you’re hesitant, you’re also curious so you sit down across from him. Lounging on the chair a little unapologetically, tired after being on your feet all day.

Getting straight to the point, “What do you want?”

“Hold on,” he replies without looking at you, eyes firmly on his screen.

You watch him type away, clearly caught up in whatever work he’s wrapping up for the day. You’re bored and your curiosity is dwindling but the alternative is going home and you’re not quite ready for that yet.

Speaking again, “You know this café does have a closing time.”

“I’m aware.” Ghost of a smile on Geto’s lips at your snarky comment. “Do you have this much attitude with Satoru?”

“I’m being quite polite with you actually.”

Him bringing up Gojo makes your heart tug, it feels like you’re betraying him just by sitting here.

The soft tap of Geto’s laptop shutting draws your eyes to his, he tilts his head at you, “You alright?”

“I’m glorious,” it’s a little too sarcastic for what you read as genuine concern. “Sorry, I’m fine, just wondering what exactly you want from me?”

“What I’ve wanted from the beginning, I’d like for you to work at my company.”

“I don’t really want to work for you just so you can one up Gojo in whatever feud you’ve got going on.”

“Loyalty is a good trait to have,” he sits back a bit more, adding, “However, I genuinely would like for you to work with me,” hand waving a little, “Satoru’s reaction would merely be an added bonus.”

“For you maybe,” you sigh.

A single brow raising at you, “If you’re so upset, why did you leave?”

“Is it relevant?”

“It might be.”

Your tongue clicks at him, “It’s not.”

“Whatever you say,” he relents, choosing not to push any further. At least, not on that topic, “So, about my job offer?”

Another sigh, “Can I think about it?”

He’s now wearing an expression that reads satisfaction, “Sure, though I expect a solid answer the next time I see you.”

“If that’s all,” moving to get up.

He stops you by saying, “You don’t want to keep me company a bit longer?”

“I’m sure you have actual friends to keep you company, Geto,” you chuckle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home. Today has been a long day.”

Home isn’t where you really want to be but you’re tired and you need to be alone to think. You really want to make some substantial savings, enough so you can move out of your parents’ house and you’re not going to do that on a casual wage. Something steady with a contract, full-time hours, that’s what you need. And that’s what Geto’s offering you.

All you feel lately is guilt and it’s starting to make you touchy. This isn’t even your fault in the first place, your circumstances are the result of someone else’s poor decision making and you have no one to talk to about it. It’s pointless thinking about that right now, you need to be thinking about your future and what will benefit you in the long term.

The next time you run into Geto is only a few days later, you have a feeling it’s not an accident on his behalf, but it hardly matters since you don’t have a way to contact him. Again, he waits for you to finish up work. The wait a little longer than last time, you feel bad but he seems fine working in that same corner.

By the time you’re off the clock and across from him, his laptop is already closed and he’s clearly waiting for you to give him your official answer. You’re worrying your lower lip with your teeth; you’ve thought about this over and over for the past few days and you still aren’t sure on your response. You know what you want to say, and what you’re going to say, you just feel conflicted.

Finally opening your mouth to say, “I have one question first.”

He shuffles in his seat, “Sure.”

“Why?” Letting the one word settle before clarifying, “Why do you want to hire me so bad? There are plenty of people more qualified and far less reluctant… You know, people who apply for the job.”

“I can’t tell if you’re modest or dense,” arms crossing over his chest, “did you not notice that Satoru’s dealings were significantly improved by your hiring?”

“I’m not that modest, of course I noticed but he’s terrible with rich assholes and that tends to come with the field,” you point at him, “you don’t have that problem, you’re not exactly kind but people seem to look past it since you’re all pretty faced and polite smiles.”

Gojo has a bad habit of saying how he feels, mocking people in a blatantly obvious way when he’s pushed a little too far. Geto, from what you’ve noticed, isn’t too far from having the same low tolerance but he’ll soften his face and insult you in an underhanded way you might not immediately notice.

“Regardless, you were a valuable asset to his company, and I feel you’d be just as valuable to mine. Your name isn’t unknown you know? You’re heavily attached to him, people recognise you. That’s not worthless.” He looks like he’s growing a little bored trying to convince you of your appeal, swapping directions. “I’ve answered you; I expect you have an answer for me?”

“I’ll work for you,” rubbing at the back of your neck, “but I’m going to be clear that I’m still hesitant, I feel—”

“—Guilty?” he finishes, “Don’t, it’s business. Making it personal never ends well.”

“Big words from a guy who has a personal rivalry with his former best friend.”

“I’d describe it more as friendly competition.”

You scoff a little, “Yeah, I’m sure you would.”

“How about instead of talking about the past, we celebrate your employment?”

Scepticism all over your face, “And why would I do that?”

“To humour me and my good mood.”

“I don’t really like to mix personal and business.”

His eyes squint at you, chin resting in his palm atop the table, “You never got personal with Satoru?”

Flashes of the last time you were with Gojo running through your head makes your skin heat up some. “No, I didn’t.”

“Alright,” he’s grinning, and you can tell he doesn’t quite believe you. Hell, you don’t believe you.

You pull your bag onto your lap and look through it, scavenging through it to retrieve the resume you’d printed off after you’d decided you’d say yes to Geto. It’s a little wrinkled as you hand it over to him.

“That has my contact details on it.”

He takes it from you, looking it over a little judgementally, “Thanks, I’ll be in touch.” And because he can’t help himself, “Have you been applying to jobs with this?”

“Oh my god, come on,” you whinge a little, “it is not that bad!”

A stifled laugh sounds from him, “Touched a nerve there, huh?”

“Shut up,” grumbling isn’t professional, but you don’t care right now, “email me all the information I’ll need, unless you’ve changed your mind after seeing my resume.”

“Hardly,” tucking it away into his laptop case, “you’ll be hearing from me.”

Working for Geto isn’t like what you expected, you aren’t quite sure what you were expecting but it’s not what you got. Maybe in your head you were thinking he’d be more malicious in his actions, or that he’d be trying extra hard to get private information about Gojo’s company out of you but that’s not the case. It’s the same work you did for Gojo, it’s actually a little easier considering Geto doesn’t sneak off or show up late.

On your second week now and while you still have bouts of guilt, you’re beginning to feel better. The pay doing wonders for your attitude, not a huge increase from working with Gojo but compared to the café it is. Unfortunately, a non-insignificant amount of the money you make goes to payments like the storage unit, bills, debt. Moving out is still in the distant future.

A part of you was holding onto hope that maybe if you saved enough, you could move back to the other side of the city and work for Gojo again. That’s starting to look unrealistic now, saving enough will take too long and even though he said he wouldn’t, he will have to hire someone else.

The rhythmic sound of the pen you’re tapping against your wooden desk is a telltale sign of unrest. One that doesn’t elude Geto as he walks past your desk, stopping in front of it and reaching over to gently pull the pen from your hand.

“Some people might find that annoying,” he spins the pen over his fingers fluidly.

Spinning your chair around for emphasis as you reply, “Good thing it’s just me here then.”

“You’re not that far from my office,” his head tilts back towards his door only a few steps away, “I’ve been listening to this noise every day for the past two weeks, do I need to distract you with more work?”

You shrug, “I’m a multitasker.”

“I’ve noticed.” The pen is placed back on your desk.

“Are you on your way somewhere or was I just bothering you?”

“I’m a multitasker too,” he grins, “you first, and then the printer room.”

“Shouldn’t I go?” you fix him with a curious stare, “What’s the point in having a personal assistant if you don’t let them assist you?”

“I thought you might be incredibly busy with your pen.”

“You’re hilarious,” raising to your feet, “I’ll go to the printing room for you.”

You’ve started to walk off when he calls after you, “Don’t get lost.”

The response he gets from you is a quick look back with an unimpressed expression. Since working here, you’ve gotten lost one time. It was embarrassing because you had to email him to come find you, too nervous to stop anyone from working. Now, every time you go off somewhere, he’s bringing it up. Hilarious.

When you’re done with your small trip, you gingerly knock on Geto’s door. Entering once he makes a sound of acknowledgement and striding in to place the papers down in front of him. You need to talk with him about a couple things, so you sit down in one of the chairs across from him, legs crossing.

His gaze flicks up from the papers he’s just received to you, “Can I help you?”

“You have a meeting tomorrow before midday.”

“I remember.”

“Also, there’s a woman who keeps emailing and calling, trying to get ahold of you.” You’re trying not to sound nosey but you’re pretty sure you’re failing, “It’s becoming almost as concerning as it is distracting.”

Face scrunching in distaste, “What does she want?”

“I’m pretty sure she just wants you.”

“Normally she wants something specific.”

“She won’t talk to me.” The woman has gotten increasingly more aggressive in her pursuit of Geto. When you’d initially picked up the phone to talk with her, she seemed incredibly offput by the sound of your voice. “Who is she?”

“A valuable client,” answering simply, then adding, “eccentric and a tad obsessive but valuable.”

“Right, okay.” You nod at him, you’re not quite sure how you feel about that but what you do know is that it’s becoming inconvenient. “Well, can you deal with her then? She’s distracting and also getting to be a little rude.” You’re sugarcoating it, she’s getting nasty.

“Yeah, I’ll handle it.” His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose like he’s getting a headache just thinking about talking to her.

“Is her business worth it?”

“Unfortunately.”

You leave him alone after that, too tempted to ask more questions and not wanting to upset him over it. It’s none of your business, you don’t need to know about him and his interpersonal relationships.

By the time that you’re supposed to be going home, you find yourself moving slower. Not ready yet, so you stay at your desk. Going through emails and drafting responses for tomorrow. It’ll make things go a bit quicker in the morning at least, so that’s a bonus.

It’s not until Geto leaves his office that you realise he’d been staying later too. Stopping by your desk as he slips his coat on, “Why haven’t you left yet?”

Hesitating before replying, “I just… had some work I had to get done first.”

“I know that can’t be true,” slight laugh from him, like the idea of you being behind on work is ridiculous.  

“Well, it is,” pouting a bit.

You can feel the way he considers you, his eyes scanning your movements as you pretend to be incredibly busy with work you’d neglected. Eventually, he hums like he’s come to a decision, “Wanna have dinner together?”

That stops you and you find it a little odd how you consider it, “Sure.” Logging out of your computer and packing your things up. It’s not like you’ve got anywhere to be and dinner with Geto sounds more appetising than dinner at home.

“Great,” you both walk to the elevator together and he adds, “I’m guessing that work is gonna have to wait until tomorrow?”

“Fine, you caught me,” relenting, “I’m just incredibly meticulous.”

He hums, a little amused but clearly not buying it. “I’m sure.”

“Hey!” you take offence, “I am meticulous.”

“I know you are,” the elevator dings and you both step on, “I also know you’re lying.”

“You can’t know that.”

“‘Course I can.”

Muttering back, “I think you’re lying.”

“Ah, you think,” he grins.

“Do you get a kick out of annoying your employees or something?”

“You’re the only employee I annoy.”

Choosing to ignore the idea of being special in any sort of way and replying, “If you keep lying like this your pants are gonna set on fire.”

Brow raising to you, joking, “Is that a threat?”

“If you’re not careful,” another ding signalling your arrival at the basement.

Still smiling, “Noted.”

You follow him off the elevator and walk to his car together. It’s sleek and black and far out of your price range. It feels weird just sitting in it, like you’re doing something wrong. It must be showing on your face because Geto raises his brow in question.

“You okay?”

“Yep,” and you briefly consider not continuing your sentence, “your car is super fancy, it feels like I’m somehow sitting in the seat weird.”

He laughs at that, “Now that you’re mentioning it, you are sitting a little odd.”

“Okay, it’s not nice to poke fun,” buckling yourself in, “your stupid car is stupid.”

“I thought it was fancy?”

“I regret talking to you.”

“I don’t.”

The car ride is spent bickering back and forth in a similar fashion, it distracts you enough that you don’t really notice where he’s taking you until you’re in another parking garage. You really should’ve paid more attention.

Brows furrowing as you take in your surroundings, “Where are we?”

“My apartment’s garage,” he says matter of fact.

That spins you, “What?”

While your brain is catching up, Geto’s stepped out of the car. When you don’t immediately get out, he walks to your side and opens the door for you. He doesn’t get a second to speak, you’re immediately asking.

“What are we doing at your apartment?” And despite your reluctance, you exit the vehicle, “I thought we were getting dinner?”

“I asked if you wanted to have dinner together,” the car door closes, “I never said where.”

“You got me on a technicality,” he’d make good fae.

“Don’t worry,” he guides you through the garage, “I’m a good cook.”

“Yeah, you better be after tricking me.”

Credit where credit is due, he knows his way around the kitchen. You get the luxury of observing him work, you had tried to help but he sidelined you when you’d almost cut yourself. A total fluke by the way, you’re more than capable. He hadn’t listened to your excuses though and banished you to the other side of the counter.

His movements are confident; he knows what he’s doing. Sleeves rolled up his forearms, so they don’t get dirty. Sturdier than you would’ve pegged him for. His long hair is pulled back into a ponytail, keeping it out of the way. It’s swishing slightly as he moves and it amuses you, he has very nice hair.

Watching him dish up dinner, you absentmindedly comment, “You’d make a good housewife.”

He pauses before replying, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was meant as one.”

“Would you be a working husband then?”

“Naturally,” you take your plate, eyes tracking him as he moves to sit next to you at the countertop, “I’d be a very good husband.”

He’s smiling like he finds you to be exhausting, “Eat your food.”

Dinner is good and you say as much while eating, it’s been a while since you’ve eaten something so tasty. Geto really would make a good partner, the fact he’s spent all day at work and still came home and cooked a whole meal shouldn’t be impressive, but it is. When you’d relayed this to him, he’d told you that you’re too easily impressed and maybe that’s true.

After you’ve both eaten, you’re relaxing on the couch together. The conversation is casual and you don’t have to try too hard to think of something to say. Any lull in conversation isn’t awkward either, the both of you seemingly comfortable in the others presence. It’s nice.

For the first time in a while, you’re feeling good. Not overthinking anything and just allowing yourself to be in this moment.

“By the way,” you start after another pause in conversation, “I’ve been meaning to mention…”

Hum of acknowledgement from him, signalling you to continue.

“I feel underutilised.”

“In what way?”

“At work,” you clarify, “you’re so on top of things, I barely feel like I’m helping.”

“You are,” he smiles, seemingly endeared by your concern, “immensely.”

Eyes rolling at him, hardly satisfied, “Geto—”

“—I’m serious,” he says your name. “Things have been running smoothly for me, you’re incredibly meticulous,” it’s a slightly mocking tone, reminding you of your earlier words.

Your head falls to the back of the couch, looking at him out the corner of your eye, “I’m not someone who can be placated with empty compliments.”

“No, I didn’t think you would be,” he continues smiling gently.

“Seriously.” You turn your head to look at him properly, “Are you hiding work from me or something?”

He drops his head onto the couch and faces you, mirroring your pose, “It’s only your first couple weeks, I had to go a little easy on you.”

Doubt is written all over your features, “I don’t know if you’re that kind.”

“You really have a low opinion of me,” his hand raises and clutches over his chest like you’ve wounded him.

You shrug back, “I think it’s significantly improved after dinner.”

“Oh, is that all it took?” He chuckles.

“I’m easy to please.”

“I wonder about that.”

A quiet falls over the both of you, still facing each other. It feels as though you’ve gotten closer to him and you can’t tell if he’s the one who moved or if it was you. The hand Geto had on his chest moves to the side of your face, sliding down to your neck. It’s an impossibly long and drawn-out moment where you’re not quite sure what he’s going to do or what’s happening between the two of you.

All your thoughts dissipate as soon as he leans in and kisses you slow, tentative. Focusing only on how his lips feel against yours, soft and careful. You kiss back and it has him responding eagerly. Moving closer to you, other hand on your waist.

His thumb strokes under your chin to encourage you to tilt your head back for him, you comply. Mouths slotting together hotly, his tongue swiping against your lower lip to ask for entry. You’re mindlessly granting it, stifling down a small shiver as he licks against your own tongue.

You’re looping your arms around his neck and he’s welcoming it, hold on your waist sliding to your back and pulling you closer into him. The longer the kiss lasts, the needier he gets. Turning from soft and sweet to hot and messy. Sucking on your tongue a little as he pulls back.

And even though he pulls back, you don’t have a real chance to speak because he’s back on you in a second. It’s intoxicating and all consuming, head filling with fog pleasantly. Involuntarily mewling against him when he nips you and it’s only spurring him on.

Grabbing you and placing you on top his lap, your pussy warm over his erection. Able to feel just how aroused he’s getting. Geto grunts a little when you shift, lowering yourself onto him a bit more. He embraces the pressure though, grip on your hips tight and slightly rocking you.

Small grinds down onto him making the both of you moan into the kiss, breaths coming harder and intermingling. You find yourself wishing he didn’t still have his hair up, wanting to run your fingers through it. His fingers slip upwards, playing with the hem of your shirt, tickling along your exposed skin.

Completely caught up in the moment, rutting down into him as he swallows your moans. His hips moving up slightly to meet yours, clearly just as lost in this as you. It’s your phone buzzing in your back pocket that pulls your attention. Reluctantly pulling back because it might be important, your eyes linger a little on his shiny lips.

Then you’re tugging your phone out of your pocket, still sat on top of Geto. “I’m sorry,” you’re still a little breathless, “It might be important.” You don’t mention it could be your parents.

He hums back at you, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. Eyes a little glassy as he watches you read your phone screen. He doesn’t miss the way you still as your eyes glance over it.

The message is from Gojo, and you’re immediately hit with a whole slew of complicated emotions. It simply reads, ‘Do you have free time soon?’

Geto’s head tilts at you, he can feel the tone shift. Removing his hands from under your shirt, and asking, “Are you okay?”

You blink a couple times and look back to him, “What? Yeah, I’m fine!” Removing yourself from his lap a little awkwardly, “But… I think I’m going to go home for tonight.”

“I didn’t—”

“—No! You didn’t do anything wrong, Geto, honest.” You don’t want him to think he’s upset you. “I just… think this happened a little fast, I’m sort of dealing with a lot right now and the last thing I want to do is rush into something with you… my boss.”

“I understand,” he nods slowly, standing up as well, “I want you to know, that wasn’t my intention bringing you here.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” you smile, trying to add a bit of levity.

His head tilts a little lower to fix you with a serious look, “It wasn’t.”

“Okay, though I may still hold this over your head at work,” walking with him to the door, “maybe even get a raise.”

“Don’t push it,” he snickers, “especially not when you were all too eagerly rubbing—”

You push his side, “—Don’t you push it.” Lingering a bit at the entryway, “I hope we’ll still be able to work together.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course we can,” he rubs the back of his neck, “I was too hasty… it won’t happen again, unless you want it to.”

The appreciation you have for Geto only grows with how chill he’s being about this. “Thank you for dinner, I had a nice time.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” he smiles and it feels genuine, “I can drive you home?”

“No, that’s okay.” you don’t want him knowing you’re living with your parents, and you think you might need a little distance for now, “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

A single nod, “Get home safe.”

The whole trip home, you can’t stop thinking about what happened. About Gojo messaging you, his timing is impeccable really. There’s still a lot of things you’re feeling and rationally you know you’re not betraying Gojo in any way but the heavy weight on your chest remains regardless.

The next day, you’re sitting at your desk tending to your work. A little worried that things will be awkward with Geto, not having had the chance to have a full conversation with him today. Though, that’s not unusual for you both so you’re not sure if you’re overthinking it or not.

Wondering if things will be okay between the two of you today when he stops in front of you. Hands in his pockets, waiting patiently for you to acknowledge his presence.

Your eyes scan the time and then you’re telling him, “You’re going to be late.”

“We’re going to be late,” he corrects.

A little confused by that, “Huh?”

“You’re coming with me, come on.”

That certainly throws you for a loop, but you don’t get much of a chance to be confused, following after him. It wasn’t frequent that Gojo took you with him to meetings, not that it’s unusual or anything. If you really thought about it, you’d have to say that Gojo might be the unusual one.

You are thankful that things do seem to be normal between Geto and yourself, he’s not icing you out or anything. Everything seems to be the same and you feel like you relax at the realisation, breaths coming a bit easier now. The lingering discomfort is coming from your current setting, rather than your relationship to your boss.

Meetings are always uncomfortable for you, left feeling out of place and in the way. You’re not expected to contribute anything or do anything at all really. So, you take notes, writing down everything you can as it’s brought up. It’s come in handy a couple times, now it’s just a habit. It gives you something to do, makes you look busy and attentive, instead of uncomfortable and uncertain.

Jotting down most things said, not really paying much attention to what exactly it is you’re writing. Repeating down someone’s words when Geto leans over to say, “Yeah, make sure you get that down.”

Breathing out an amused sound at it when you realise the unimportance of what you’ve written, ‘People need to understand the vision.’ Fairly inoffensive but not really worth your ink.

You mutter back at him, “Pay attention.”

“But I’m getting bored,” he grins.

“Not my problem.”

You’re trying not to pay too much attention to him, not wanting to encourage his behaviour or get distracted yourself. These past couple weeks have you softening towards him, he’s a good boss and he cares about his company a lot. Annoying sometimes but you suppose you’re used to that.

You can’t afford yourself getting swept up in him, he’s far too appealing and you already know how good of a kisser he is… and these are exactly the kind of thoughts you were trying to avoid by not paying him much mind.

The rest of the meeting wraps up fairly smoothly, despite Geto’s attempts to entertain himself by bothering you every now and again. You’re busy chastising him when you’re walking through the lobby, “That was totally unprofessional, Geto. What if they decide they don’t want to work with you anymore?”

“Don’t overreact, I wasn’t that bad,” he nudges your side lightly, “plus, they love me.”

“You sure are full of yourself.”

“Should you be talking to your boss that way?”

“Absolutely,” nudging him back, “I need to make sure you’re kept in—”

Words dying off all at once because you’re very suddenly faced with Gojo right in front of you. Blinking up at him dumbly, not even sure if he’s really there. All the guilt you’d been ignoring flooding you at once, head very quickly feeling light. Why is he even here?

Geto talks before either of you do, trying to smooth over the awkwardness, “Good afternoon, Satoru.”

Gojo doesn’t even react, addressing only you, “What are you doing here?”

“I… I’m here on business,” you mumble out, having a hard time keeping eye contact. Your heart is racing in your chest, and it feels like there’s a lump in your throat.

“What brings you here, Satoru?” Geto asks the question you both want the answer to, though you imagine he’s curious for a different reason.

“Business,” he replies, clearly aware that him being here threatens Geto’s position with this company.

“Well, we don’t want to hold you up,” you force a smile, “we’ll be on our way.” Attempting to find an out from this conversation.

Gojo doesn’t let it happen, “Ah, I don’t think so,” he grasps your hand, “I’ve got time before my meeting, we need to talk.”

“I’m kind of on the clock, Gojo.” His hand around yours is warm, it’s a contrast to the cold chill running through the rest of your body. “And you’re probably running late already,” your smile feels sad, but you push through it, “we can talk another time.”

Giving his hand a single squeeze before slipping from his hold and shuffling quickly to the exit. This big building now feels suffocating. You don’t even check to see if Geto’s followed you out, mind only focused on getting to the car. That’s a second time now, a second time where you’re actually enjoying your new job and working for Geto without the shame tugging at the back of your brain. Only for it to slam into you all at once. Some luck you have, it’s almost like the universe punishing you or something less dramatic.

You’re resting against the side of the car, waiting for Geto to catch up. Feeling on edge, like you might cry. The last time you’d seen Gojo in person, you’d been wrapped up in his arms kept warm and safe. To be so intimate with him only to fumble over your own words and act so cold after, you feel stupid.

Eyes fixed on your shoes like they’re the most interesting thing in the world, seeing Geto’s own coming into view when he approaches you.

“You doing okay?”

“You’ve been asking that a lot lately,” looking to him, “how about you?”

By the look on his face, you can tell he doesn’t understand why you’re asking. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, I was just asking cause… you know,” rocking side to side on your feet, “if Gojo’s here then it means they might choose to—”

He waves a hand dismissively, “—Eh, I already knew they were probably gonna do something like this.” Mouth pulling to the side as he says, “I can’t tell if they’re bold or diabolical, booking us both in around the same time.”

You add, “Probably both.”

“You look sad,” his comment is decidedly not needed but he made it anyway, you suppose he doesn’t want to talk about himself.

“Just… overwhelmed, I wasn’t expecting to run into Gojo. No offence but it feels dirty to work for you sometimes.”

It’s painfully silent for a moment and you wonder if you did offend him. Concern gone when he asks, “Did you need a hug or something?”

Glare pointed, “No.”

A chuckle leaves him at your distaste, “Then get in the car and let’s leave.”

You had half expected for Gojo to text you again after you’d run into him, but he didn’t, phone suspiciously silent. It has you more on edge than if he had tried calling you. Still thinking about it the next day, wondering if maybe you should reach out to him first this time and take him up on his offer, just get it all over with.

To be honest, you don’t even know what you were expecting. If you’re working in the same field with him, you were obviously going to run into each other at some point. Were you hoping he’d never find out about you working for Geto? Was that realistic of you? Should you even feel guilty? It’s not personal, you just really needed money and Geto happened to show up when you were sick of applying for jobs.

You’re choosing to chalk your guilt up to the fact you slept with him before you’d left, you don’t… regret it but maybe things would’ve been easier for you if you hadn’t. The amount you think about that night is probably bordering on excessive. The memory of his big hands on your body still firmly planted in your mind, along with the way his lips felt against yours.

A new kind of guilt travels up your spine, kissing Geto after having been with Gojo feels weird. If Gojo hadn’t messaged at that moment, would you have gone all the way with your current boss. What ifs don’t exactly help your situation, but you may be spiralling a bit.

A familiar, soft hum sounds from nearby, “Hm, you’re slacking off.”

Your response is automatic, “You can’t talk,” and then you’re registering just who had said that. “What? How did you even get up here?”

Gojo grins, pulling one of the chairs against the wall to the front of your desk. Sitting down in it casually, like he’s not shown up completely unexpectedly. “It’s amazing how far you can get when you act like you belong somewhere,” quickly adding, “and are willing to lie.”

He really does have a great sense of time because Geto’s not here, having gone out earlier for some secret meeting he wouldn’t disclose to you. The idea that Gojo might have had something to do with that briefly crossing your mind before you shake it.

“You got time now?” His arms crossed at you.

“I’m literally in the middle of my workday.”

“Oh please,” he grumbles. “You were daydreaming.”

Flipping it back on him, “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Sure, but I thought seeing you was more important.”

Unable to help the small giddy feeling that runs through you at that, it’s not like he ever prioritises work over his whims anyway but still. You change the topic, feeling sheepish asking, “How have you been?”

He’s refusing to give you a direct answer, “How do you think I’ve been?”

“Gojo—”

“—Oh, it’s ‘Gojo’ now?” evil grin on his face, “It was ‘Satoru’ when I was balls deep inside you.”

Your lips purse at that, caught off guard and not quite sure how he wants you to respond. Turns out you don’t need to because he carries on.

“Why are you working here?” he’s pouting now, “Suguru sucks, I’m a much better boss.”

“You know I didn’t want to leave,” you sigh. “I ran into him a couple weeks ago; he offered me a job again and after thinking about it… I took it.”

“Is this why you won’t reply to any of my texts?”

“No…”

“You’ve been hurting my feelings, sweetie,” still pouting, “had me wondering if I’d done something wrong.”

You answer quickly then, “No.” Settling back into your seat, “Things have just been a bit… hard for me lately. None of it is because of you.”

“Then can you tell me what the hell is going on with you?” Gesturing at nothing frustratedly, “I know you put Nanami down as a reference, why wouldn’t you put me? You know, your former boss.”

“I felt it would be cruel.”

He softens at that, his brows unfurrowing. “I’m taking that to mean you at least care about me.”

“Of course I do.” The thought of him walking around thinking you don’t care for him hurts you… a lot. You can’t exactly blame him though, to him, you’ve probably been frustratingly secretive and evasive.

“Are you happy here?”

Hesitating a bit before replying, “Yes.” Because you are… happy here. Or at least, you’re happier here compared to the café.

There’s a look on his face that tells you he’s seeing right through you. “Your position is still open.”

“You need to fill it.”

“I’m not going to.”

“That’s stupid.” And it is stupid, but your heart skips a beat.

Raising to his feet, he stretches his long limbs, “I don’t think so.”

You’re standing up instinctively, intending to walk him to the elevator.

Gojo’s rounding your desk though, standing in front of you, “I intend to keep it open until you come back, I told you that.”

“And I’m telling you that that’s unrealistic.”

He cups the side of your face and smiles, “Don’t care.” Then he pulls you in for a hug, holding you for a few moments before speaking again, “I’ve gotta go, I don’t wanna be here when Suguru gets back.”

“How did you even know he was out?” If it comes out accusatory that’s because it is, pretty certain now that he’s done something.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”

You start, “Gojo—”

“—Ah,” cutting you off again, “I’ll see you later.”

And you’re sure that he kisses the top of your head before walking off. As you watch him leave, you half hope he’ll come back but that’s just selfish. You know if you told him everything, he’d help, he absolutely would. But you’re not going to put him in that position. Neither being his former employee nor one night stand entitles you to asking for financial help.

After he leaves, you take your break. Not getting to see Geto beforehand, you don’t really want to at the moment. Feeling incredibly cut open and raw, on the verge of telling everything to the first person you see because the weight of it all is getting to you. It has been for weeks.

There’s a utility closet on the floor below yours that doesn’t get utilised much and you’ve taken to hiding out in there when you need to be alone. The slightly dusty items keeping you company as you wallow, it’s truly the only time you get to be by yourself. At home has your parents and when you’re at your desk you’re, well, working. The streets are filled with people, on the weekend and during lunch. So, this small closet has become a great safe space.

If you tried, you could probably cry. You wonder if it would make you feel better. Instead of doing that, you find an old broom and turn it upside down, resting it against some shelves in front of you. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a pad of sticky notes and a pen. Crudely drawing down a face, trying to make it look as approachable as you can. Then you stick it onto the broom.

“I should probably name you,” humming in thought, “You will now be called… Dusty.”

Dusty’s sticky note face flutters to the ground as soon as you finish the sentence, and you try not to take it personally.

“Okay, I know it’s not the best name but it’s the best I’ve got.” Picking up the bit of paper, you stick it to Dusty once more, running your fingers over the sticky part a few times in hopes it’ll coax it into staying this time.

Once you’re satisfied, you back off until you’re resting against the wall opposite him. “Maybe feeling like I’m talking to someone will help.” Gesturing at the broom, “That’s where you come into play, Dusty.”

You take in a slow breath and breathe it out before starting, “I miss my old life,” shuffling on your feet a little because it feels weird to say out loud, “I miss my coworkers and… Satoru.” Head thumping back against the wall, “The worst part is that I have no one to blame but myself… and I guess my ex-roommate situationship… sorta.”

You get distracted with an anger you’d stuffed down ages ago, only to be pulled from it very suddenly when Dusty falls to the ground with a loud clash. It causes you to jump. The image of Dusty face down on the ground resonates with you though. Emotionally in the same state as him.

Huffing out a small chuckle, “Yeah, I feel the same, Dusty.”

Your phone ringing in your pocket draws your attention away from the broom before you can prop it back upright. Geto’s caller ID scrawled across the screen, pausing for a moment but ultimately picking up. He is your boss; you should pick up even if it is your lunch break.

Beginning to slide down the wall to sit when you answer, “Hello?”

 “Where are you?” Always so straight to the point.

Eyes fixed on Dusty, “…On my lunch break.”

“So… the sounds I’m hearing from this closet are just my imagination?”

Pausing again, glancing at the closed door, “…Yes?”

He hangs up the phone at that, choosing to just walk into the closet. Immediately faced with the sight of a sad broom on the floor and then over at you sitting awkwardly against the far-right wall.

“…How was your meeting?” Your smile is uncomfortable on your face.

Geto looks to the broom, then to you, then back to the broom. “Bad,” walking into the room and picking up Dusty. Miraculously—or maybe not so much—the sticky note face is still there, and he points at it quizzically, “You do this?”

“No, that’d be weird.”

A soft laugh leaves him as he places it back down. Then he moves to sit beside you on the floor. The sight of his expensive suit resting against a dusty closets wall and floor tickles you a little. You both don’t speak, just sitting in each other’s presence.

You get curious though, “Why was your meeting bad?”

“Wasn’t real,” he grumbles, “Satoru set it up, I’m guessing this is a little taste of revenge for stealing you away. Wasting my valuable time.”

The idea of his time being valuable but making space to sit on the floor in this room with you is amusing. At least now you know why Gojo had such good timing and didn’t stick around. You’re not going to tell Geto about that though.

Choosing to change the topic again, “How did you even know where I was?”

“I’ve seen you head to this floor before a few times,” he shrugs, “I got curious, imagine my surprise to find you in here talking to a broom.”

“Of course, the one time I do that I get caught.”

“You were talking to the broom then?”

“His name is Dusty,” correcting him jokingly, “and yeah.”

He offers, “Do you want to talk to me instead?”

“Not really.”

Laughing a little at your immediate response, “I’ll try not to take offence.”

Gesturing across the room as you say, “If I wanted to talk to an actual person I wouldn’t be talking to a broom.”

He corrects you this time, “Dusty.”

You snicker at that, “Right. Dusty.”

Geto doesn’t force anymore information out of you, he just stays with you while you consider things. Maybe the fact that there’s no pressure is the reason behind why you decide to open up to him a bit. “I’ve been having a hard time financially; it’s why I had to leave my job and move here. I’m living with my parents.”

“Satoru doesn’t know?”

“Nope,” your head turns to look at him, finding him already looking back at you, “I was worried he’d do something drastic.” A bitter laugh leaving you, “I’m already in debt, I don’t want to owe him too.”

Watching you for a bit and then asking, “How bad is it?”

“Bad.” Sighing as you look forward again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, you didn’t do anything.” Ghost of a smile on your lips directed at him.

“I could—”

“—No, you couldn’t.”

“Okay, then in that case, I’m here if you want to talk about it some more.”

You face him once more, he’s closer than you thought, and everything feels tense. Geto’s eyes flick to your lips and you’re reminded of what happened just the other night. Head flipping forward before anything can happen.

Oddly enough, you think kissing him that night brought you two closer together. Though, you don’t know if that’s the same for him. The quiet is nice, it doesn’t feel so pitiful with him here beside you.

Despite yourself, you start talking again, “I had a roommate.”

“Hm?”

“Before I moved,” you sigh, “I had a roommate, an old friend sort of. Our relationship was… complicated.” Your legs draw up and you tuck your knees to your chest, “He moved out last minute and made it hard for me to stay in the apartment.”

Geto’s brows draw up, “You don’t know where he is?”

“Nope.” Lips down turning, pissed off at the memory, “Just left a shitty note and ran off.” It’s not the full story but it’s more than anyone else has gotten up until now.

After a moments pause, Geto asks, “Have you tried looking for him?”

“There wouldn’t be much point,” shrugging, “he doesn’t want to be found and it’s not like I’d want him to be my roommate again,” you laugh a little.

Geto doesn’t laugh, “I’m assuming he owes you some money though.”

More than some, “Sure but I’m pretty certain he’s not going to cough it up even if I did find him.” You stand up now, “Don’t worry too much about it Geto, what’s done is done.”

He gets to his feet as well, “It might be worth looking for him.”

“Nah,” you crack your back, done talking about this now.

A bit of regret is creeping up your spine, you don’t enjoy talking about these kinds of things and oversharing with your boss is not the move. In saying that though, it was nice to share even if it was just a bit. There’s so much you’ve been keeping to yourself for so long, for someone to listen felt good even if you’re feeling a little exposed because of it.

As if Geto can sense your unease, he says unprompted, “I’m worried about the meeting yesterday.”

You look to him, choosing to stay quiet because he doesn’t seem to be finished talking.

“I think they’ll end up going with Satoru and that’s frustrating for a multitude of reasons,” he sighs, “I’ve been trying to deal with them for some time now, to have them look elsewhere in the final hour…” he trails off before finishing, “What’s done is done though.” Repeating your words back at you.

“I get the frustration,” you offer a smile. You’d seen how annoyed Gojo got whenever Geto got business with a company he’d been working. To see the other side is a little weird, especially since you find yourself still rooting for Gojo. “Thanks for sharing.”

“Yeah, you too.” He places a hand atop your head, and pretends to be stern, “Now get back to work, breaks over.”

“Yessir,” you reply stiffly and with a curt nod.

The pair of you leave that stuffy closet and head back upstairs to finish off the rest of the workday.

The end of your third week working with Geto is the same as it has been. You’d been worried that confiding in him like you did—or even the kiss—would change your working relationship but things have been smooth. If you had to make note of anything changing, you’d say that you both seem to be closer now.

Typically, when you open up to people in similar ways, you’re later flooded with regret. Asking yourself why you’d shared so much, with Geto it’s not so bad. He’s hard to read though, sometimes you find yourself watching his expressions extra close to try and see how he’s feeling but it’s not easy at all. You’d hate to play poker with him.

You’re just about running low on things to make yourself busy with when Geto’s asking you to come into his office. Entering hesitantly, suddenly feeling a whole lot like you’re being called into the principal’s office for some reason.

“Our last meeting…” he starts, “you were taking note of everything said.”

“Yeah.” Nodding back.

“Could I look at them?”

“Sure,” you turn to head back out, stating as you go, “though I don’t know how helpful it’ll be.”

When you walk back, Geto’s patiently waiting for your notes. Taking them from your extended hand and immediately flicking through them. His brows pinch a little as he glances over everything you had written down.

“You’ve used some shorthand,” glaring at it a little like that will make it more readable for him, “I don’t recognise it.”

“It’s not real shorthand…” you look away, feeling a little shy, “it’s just so I can read it back… I only do it when the conversation is going too quickly.”

“Sit down,” he points to the chair to your side.

Now you really feel like you’re in trouble, sitting down as he said.

After a moment, he looks up from the pages and looks you over, “Why are you sitting like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like a kicked puppy.”

“I’m sitting normally,” arms crossing in front of you, “why do I need to stay in here?”

“So you can decipher these notes,” finally cracking a smile.

You feel yourself physically relax at his smile, “You were there for the meeting, Geto. You should remember what was said.”

“I was distracted,” shrugging it off.

“You were bored.”

Grinning a little wider at you, “That’s what I said.”

You roll your eyes at him but move the chair closer to his desk so you can better assist him in his reread. You weren’t wrong in doubting the usefulness of your notes. They’d spent a good chunk of the meeting repeating themselves and refusing to communicate properly what they were looking for. The idea of Gojo sitting through a meeting with them is funny, you can’t imagine he’d behave. It brings into question why Geto feels like they’re going with Gojo over him.

After you’ve gone over everything, Geto groans and relaxes further into his chair. “They’re so uncooperative.” Sighing, “The meeting was just as unproductive as I remember it being.”

Joking with him a little, “You’re not so confident they love you anymore?”

“Way to kick a man when he’s down,” but he smiles a little, clearly not hurt.

“So,” you prompt, “what are you going to do now?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” His fingers are tapping rhythmically on the desk, a familiar tune you can’t quite place. It then stops suddenly, “By any chance, were you still working for Satoru when they reached out?”

You pause a little at his question, giving him the benefit of the doubt by answering, “We reached out to them but never got a substantial response.”

That piques his interest a little, “What did—”

Before he can finish asking, you shut him down professionally, “—I’m not at liberty to discuss details pertaining to my previous employment.”

“Of course not,” he smiles politely.

“If that’s all,” you plaster a pleasant look on your face and wait for him to speak.

“Yes, that’s all. Thank you,” he says your name and with that you leave his office.

The whole interaction is painted with the quiet fact that you both know this has done damage to your budding friendship. It hurts more than you thought it would, now questioning if he was just buttering you up to be able to ask you questions like that without any push back. Even if you didn’t feel loyalty to Gojo, you’re a professional and you wouldn’t talk about a company’s inner workings after leaving.

Of course it happens when you were just thinking about how nice it felt to open up. And maybe it’s still true that talking to someone was good, it’s just now laced with a severe distaste and faint feeling of betrayal. Whatever, this was your own blunder, just another in a long list of things you’ve messed up recently.

You’re choosing not to think too hard about it, you need this job. It just means you won’t be trusting him anytime soon. This sucks. You’ve not been having an especially easy time making friends here and to have the one person you thought of as one seemingly use you for information… sucks.

Just a few more hours and you get to clock off and go home for a whole couple days. The weekend looks especially welcoming now, your parents will be gone for a bit, and you’ll get some down time. Having an empty house sounds so good, you’ll be able to exist in your space without them asking questions you can’t or don’t have the answers to.

That weekend you were so looking forward to flies by in the blink of an eye. Though you did get some time to indulge in some hobbies you’d been neglecting, you even sat in the lounge and watched a movie. Truly, your life is so exciting lately.

It’s unfortunate that it’s already Sunday though, your parents will be home later in the evening, and you’ll have to get yourself emotionally ready to go into work tomorrow. You don’t know if you’re ready to see Geto, unsure how you’ll react now that you feel used. You’d truly believed him when he said he was hiring you for you and not because of your connection to Gojo.

You’re in the middle of your evening routine when there’s a knock at the door. It has you pausing and considering ignoring whoever it may be but then it comes again and you relent. Heading towards the door and opening it a crack. The sight of Gojo on your doorstep truly stuns you, mouth opening at him because how does he even know you’re here?

He leans down, apparently pleased with your shock. “You gonna invite me in, sweetheart?”

You’re not sure if it’s such a good idea but you’ve missed him so much, so you’re stepping to the side and opening the door more for him to step inside. He enters easily, slipping his shoes off before wandering further into the house.

You follow after him, deciding a little late to be a good host. “Would you like some tea?”

“Sure,” he replies chirpily, finding his own way to the kitchen and sitting at the table.

The decently sized kitchen feels much smaller with him in it, his frame making the chairs look ridiculous. Choosing to ignore the way your heart races in his presence, you silently make two cups of tea. Piling sugar into Gojo’s, remembering that he can’t drink it without.

Placing the cup down in front of him, you ask, “How did you know to find me here?”

The only response you get is a smile and the view of him taking a sip of his tea. You groan a little at his reluctance, but if you had to guess, he probably just annoyed it out of Nanami. Moving, you sit down across from him and nurse your own mug.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you,” he states plainly, “I’ve missed you.”

It comes easily to him but saying you missed him as well is hard for you and you can’t really understand why.

Gojo doesn’t let the silence linger long, “How’s Suguru treating you?”

He meant it conversationally but it’s just another sharp reminder that you’ve gotten close to someone who probably doesn’t care much for you at all. “Good.”

When you look up from your tea, his eyes are looking back at you. It’s hard to keep eye contact so you look back to your warm drink, “I– uhm,” you shift awkwardly, “I miss working for you though.”

Reply fast and exactly what you expected, “Come back.”

“I can’t, I really want to,” you look back to him, holding his gaze firmly, “I didn’t leave because I wanted to, Gojo. I had to uproot my whole life; I’m living with my parents.”

“Tell me why then,” he frowns at you, frustration bleeding through his tone, “why did you leave? Why are you living here? Why won’t you just let me help you?”

Your brow twitches, “Am I supposed to ask my boss for financial help? Am I supposed to complain about my personal issues to you and hope you whisk me away and fix them all? I’m an adult, Gojo, and I have no right to ask that of you.”

“You were always more than just an employee to me,” he says your name, “You slept with me and you still didn’t give me any sort of explanation.”

“It was a one-night stand,” you brush it off, trying to lessen it. That’s how you’ve been rationalising it to yourself for the past couple months.

“Not to me,” pointing at you accusatorily, “and you can’t really believe that.”

“Gojo—”

“—I’m sick of not knowing, I’m sick of worrying about you,” his arms fold stubbornly, “I’m not leaving until you tell me everything.”

“It’s not exactly something I want to talk about,” especially not after recent events. You can tell by the expression on Gojo’s face that he’s serious though, and you can do without your parents coming home to see this stranger in their house. “The short of it is that I had a roommate, he moved out without notice, I couldn’t afford my apartment anymore, I moved home.”

Not satisfied, asking, “And what’s the long of it?”

“If I tell you everything, you’re just going to pity me and try to fix it all.”

“Is that so bad?”

“Yes! I don’t want to owe you too, Gojo.”

He doesn’t miss it, your phrasing catching his attention, “Too?”

“I may or may not be in debt.” In this specific moment, you’re finding the ceiling to be very interesting.

Your name comes sighed from him, “What kind of mess have you gotten into?”

“I didn’t get myself into any mess, thank you very much.” You’re finding yourself backed into a corner.

Instead of forcing your hand, Gojo suggests, “If I promise to not do anything you don’t agree to, will you tell me what’s really been going on.”

At his offer, you look him over carefully. Quietly deciding if you should or shouldn’t. Maybe at one point in your life, he was just your employer, but he became much more than that pretty quickly and you might’ve been tricking yourself by pretending otherwise. You really have missed him so much and you can’t find it in yourself to keep pushing him away.

You find that his suggestion gives you no reason to hide anything from him. You’d only been worried about what he might do, not what he might think of you. So, you’re relenting. “Fine, but you have to promise,” you hold your hand out across the table, “pinkie promise.”

Gojo can’t hide the way he softens at that, faithfully raising his hand to wrap his pinkie around yours to seal it. “I promise.”

You nod like it’s some sort of binding spell and pull back. Exhaling softly as you begin, “My roommate and I had a complex and sometimes difficult… relationship… we weren’t dating but we’d been more than friends. I’d known him for a long time, it’s why I trusted him to live with me.”

The way Gojo looks is displeased already and you can’t quite pin down why but you carry on, “At some point I guess he got really into gambling,” you shrug, “he put me down as his guarantor without my knowledge. Obviously not legally but he wasn’t gambling legally so I suppose it hardly matters.”

Gojo’s frown deepens, cutting in to ask, “And he moved out after that?”

“Yeah, I guess he got too far in over his own head and felt like he had to run.” It’s taking a lot for you to tell this story; it’s been a while now since this happened and you’ve not told anyone all the details like this. Ever. “He left a note behind, but it didn’t say anything about where he was going or if he’d come back, or even if he’d pay me back.”

There’s a pause from you but that’s not the end of your story and Gojo doesn’t interject again, so you keep talking. “I started making the payments for him, I mean there’s not really anything else I could do in that position. Eventually my savings ran low and the apartment was expensive by myself, so I resigned and moved home.”

Your finger traces the rim of your mug, “It looked bad for a moment though, finding a new job was hard but that’s when Geto showed up at the café I was working at and offered me a position with him.” Risking a glance up as you add, “It didn’t feel… right, working for him but I’m not exactly in the position to be worrying about that stuff right now.”

Gojo looks the angriest you’ve ever seen, you almost can’t recognise him. He takes in a controlled breath to calm himself and he relaxes a little. “I’m glad you finally told me.”

And you can tell that’s not what he really wants to say but he still means it, “I wanted to tell you so many times, Gojo. It’s just… I’m not exactly proud of this and I didn’t want you to offer me money.”

“Oh, I’m still going to offer,” he replies immediately, “if you ever decide you want me to pay the debt, I will.”

“No,” your gaze is unwavering. “Not only will I feel like I owe you, It’d be you paying for him and that doesn’t feel right. You don’t get to fix this for him.”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” he points out.

“Yeah, but at least I knew him.”

“At least I can afford it.”

“Okay, ouch.” You huff a small laugh despite the accurate jab. “Now I’m definitely declining your offer.”

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “Tch, you’re still stubborn.”

You ignore his unneeded and obvious comment, “How have you been, Gojo? Really?” You never did get a straight answer.

“Bad, my whole company is imploding because my favourite employee left.”

“You’re so full of it,” you call him out, “from what I can tell you’re going to get that big deal soon.”

“Oh?” he grins, “Suguru not feeling so sure of himself anymore?”

Standing to your feet and collecting the mugs, “You both have to leave me out of this feud you’ve got going on, I’m a professional.”

“Both of us,” his eyes track your movements, “what the hell has he been asking?”

“It’s nothing,” walking over to the sink to wash up, “Gojo I’m serious, leave me out of this.”

“Did you tell him the same thing?” he’s gotten up himself, standing right behind you. Both his arms cage your sides and leave you trapped facing the sink.

You’re trying to ignore the body heat radiating off him, focusing closely on how you rinse your mug. His face is so close and if you turned even a little to the side it’d become much more intimate than your heart can take.

“I told him I can’t discuss information about my previous employment.”

He hums low, “I bet you were all professional about it too.”

Placing the mugs in the drying rack, you turn around so you’re facing him. He’d refused to move back, letting you brush against him as you’d turned. “What are you doing, Gojo?”

“If I said I’m trying to seduce you, how would that make you feel?”

Truthfully, you don’t dislike it, but you can’t ignore the feelings of this being too soon. “You don’t want to do that.”

His head tilts at you, “I don’t?” Hand reaching up to caress your cheek.

The comfort you find in him is immense, feeling a weight off your chest by finally getting to tell him everything. You’re hesitant to start anything with him though, you’ve only just gotten to see each other for longer than a moment. Not to mention, you’d kissed Geto only a week ago.

When he leans in, you place a hand over his mouth, “I’m serious, Gojo.”

The intensity in his gaze tells you he’s communicating the same thing.

You rush out, “Geto and I kissed.”

A hand reaches up and grabs your wrist, pulling it away from his mouth. His only question, “Why?”

“I don’t really know…” you look away from him, “I was at his place, and we kissed… it didn’t go any further than that.”

As of right now, you and Gojo aren’t anything to each other but former employer and employee—and one-night stands. So, you aren’t really sure why you felt like you owed him that information, but it felt wrong to withhold it.

“So… you won’t kiss me because you kissed him?” He hasn’t stepped back, still invading your personal space.

“I’m saying you don’t want to kiss me because of that.”

“That’s odd,” he murmurs. “Because I could swear I still want to kiss you.”

That stumps you, deciding to be blunt, “You’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m furious.” He touches you so gently, holding your hand, “Just… not at you.”

And since you’re on a roll of honesty, “I’ve missed you.”

“Good.” His eyes search yours, both hands holding your face, “Because I’ve missed you like crazy.”

His lips on yours are familiar and have you melting all too quickly, hands clutching onto his shirt as you meet his needy kisses. He’s not taking it slow, too desperate to. Immediately kissing you messily, tongue meeting yours. You hum against him, letting him guide your kiss hotly.

You’re pressed back against the countertop; he’s moved in closer even though there wasn’t much space between the two of you to begin with. One of his hands move from your face to slide down your body, grasping your hip firmly. A small sound resembling a moan passes from you to him and he swallows it down greedily.

Hand now on your back and gliding under your shirt, resting against your bare skin. His direct touch lights something aflame inside you, knees nearly buckling from how much you’re enjoying just a kiss.

Now that he’s finally got his hands on you, he’s so touchy feely. Hands groping all over your body, both sneaking under the waistband of your sleep shorts and palming your ass. You’re gasping against him over it, breaking the messy kiss.

A string of saliva connecting your lips still, it snaps when you talk, “Gojo, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Enjoying the moment?” He lets his lips trail lower, tickling against your cheek, then down your neck. His hands still firmly planted on the globes of your ass.

“You might be enjoying it too much– hff—”

Gojo’s pulled your cheeks apart, tips of his fingers grazing your wet pussy through your panties. Your forehead collapses against his chest and your hands clutch at his shirt harder, legs very quickly getting wobbly.

“Go easy on me,” he speaks into the top of your head, “I haven’t had the chance to touch you in fucking ages.”

Using his middle finger, he traces and prods at your hole. Chest vibrating with a pleasant hum at how wet you seem to be. Playing with you just to work you up, you can’t help but think of it as a kind of punishment for avoiding him.

Breaths coming faster, “We’re not doing this in my parents’ kitchen.”

“And what exactly is it we’re doing?” He teases further, just to embarrass you for assuming anything.

You look up to him, chin resting on his chest as you shoot him with a glare.

“I don’t know what you’re hoping that will do,” he presses a kiss to your lips, “but you’re really turning me on.”

And just as you’re about to shove some expletives his way, he’s nearly penetrating you through your underwear. Mewls leaving you at the friction, more slick dripping from you and coating your panties.

“Fuck– okay, fine,” he caves without any further complaint from you, “where’s your room, sweetie?”

It takes quite the effort for you to nod in the correct direction, “Over there.”

Finally, he removes his hands from your pants, holding your hand as he drags you over to where you signalled. “It’s cute,” he comments once inside.

The walls are still painted a slightly too bright pink, old posters you hadn’t taken down still plastered on them. The furniture is a little outdated, you’d gotten everything new when you’d finally been able to move out and that’s all in storage. Your bed isn’t even meant for more than one person.

Muttering back, “Shut up.” Your parents had painted the walls when they’d found out they were having a girl and never let you change it, even as you matured. The posters you’d kept up because you’re still you.

“I didn’t say anything bad,” he chuckles. His eyes fix on the bed, “This is gonna be a tight squeeze…” he purses his lips and then smiles, “though I suppose it was last time too—”

He grunts as you jab him in the side, “Not a necessary comment.”

“I disagree,” Gojo turns to you grinning, “but we can agree to disagree.”

His hands are all over you again, tugging at your shirt as he walks you back to the bed in the corner. Mouth slotting over yours after he’s pulled off your sleep shirt, met with your bare breasts because you weren’t expecting visitors. At the sight of you, he’s distracted. Groping at your tits, pinching your nipples.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he says low, staring at your boobs instead of you.

You’re trying to ignore how worked up he’s getting you, “You’re such a– hah– romantic.”

“Tonight I’m seducing you,” he pushes you down onto the bed, “tomorrow I can be romantic.”

Your pants are next to go, yanked down your legs, along with your panties. Left completely naked on your own bed while he’s fully dressed, it hardly seems fair. He’s leaning over you just as you’re about to complain about it, then your words are hard to vocalise when he’s got his mouth around your nipple. Tongue flicking at you cruelly, relishing how you jolt each time he does.

The old bed creaks under his added weight and your squirming. His eyes heated as he looks up to keep eye contact with you, two fingers slipping inside your hot cunt as he continues licking and sucking at you. Biting at you gently when his digits are as deep inside you as he can get them. The moan you let out is embarrassingly sinful, your hand coming up to smother down the noises escaping you.

Gojo finally lets your nipple go with a lewd pop, “I was right,” his fingers crook upwards and stroke against the spot he knows drives you wild, “it’s gonna be a tight fit.”

And he’s laughing at his own joke but all you can do is mutter back a half-hearted, “Pervert.”

He doesn’t dignify it with a response, feeling it’s already been pretty well established how he gets over you. Moving his attention instead to your other nipple, sucking and biting hickeys around it before enveloping it in his mouth. Not letting up on how he’s fingering you open, scissoring apart his fingers.

Keeping you open just to savour how you drip fresh slick down his digits and onto the bed spread. It’s pitiful how on edge you already feel, he knows your body so well. Remembering exactly how to touch you to rile you up.

Thumb sliding over your clit, rubbing messy circles around it. He’s avoiding touching your sensitive nerves directly, teasing you carefully. It’s completely frustrating, he could have you cumming in ten seconds flat but he’s not letting you. Instead, he’s carefully building your orgasm up but never pushing you over that ledge.

Bright eyes looking through full lashes at you, mouth coming off your nipple. He makes a show of it, giving you a final harsh lick, tongue hanging from his mouth as he retreats. It’s hot and makes you whimper a little, though that could also be his fingers fucking knuckle deep and stroking your weak spot.

He’s grinning at your reaction, “Have I said how much I’ve missed you, I can’t remember?”

“I think– hng– think you mentioned it,” it’s hard to keep focus on him. Your high so close, if you just ignore how condescendingly he’s smiling at you, you could—

“Close?” Gojo asks.

You nod back quickly at him, biting into your lower lip. Then, he cruelly pulls his fingers from you. Leaving you a panting mess craving for your release. Your thighs rub together, trying to make up for what you lost but it can’t compare even a little bit.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” lips on yours, kissing you deep before continuing, “but I feel the need to tease you a little extra, since you left me and all.”

He does, however, grace your eyes by removing his shirt. Torso just as toned and enticing as the last time you saw it. His belt comes undone next, popping the button on his pants but not doing any more than that. Returning his attention back to you.

Hands gliding up and down the sides of your body, ever the clingy type in how he pulls at your soft skin. It’s while he’s palming at you that you tell him, “You don’t have all night for this,” informing him, “my parents come back tonight.”

“How scandalous,” he’s amused despite the ticking clock.

“Gojo, I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” his hands push your legs apart, wide, “and I was too. You hurt my feelings so I’m gonna edge you a little.” Before you can whine about that he says, “Just a bit! I’m not gonna leave here without fucking that divine pussy of yours, I swear. I’m not crazy.”

Humming happily as he runs a thumb between your folds, pressing into your clit. Circling it directly this time, focusing his touch straight on your sensitive nub. You’re squirming on the bed over it, wanting to shut your legs and being unable to. Gojo’s got himself firmly planted between your open legs and making it difficult for you to do anything but take the overwhelming pleasure.

And then he stops, looking around the bed as he mentions, “Your bed really is tiny.”

You’re shaking from your almost high, but you still manage to bite back, “It’s– hff– it’s not tiny you’re just a giant– ah!—”

He’d climbed off the foot of your bed while you were talking and tugged you down to the edge of it by your ankles, effectively cutting you off. Able to feel his breath against your dripping cunt, it’s making you needier.

“You’re so pretty,” mouthing against your inner thighs as he rambles, “I can’t even sit in my office without think about you. It’s cruel, really. I get hard at the memory of that night and can’t leave my office because I can’t fucking stand.”

He dives headfirst into your pussy after that, licking at you crudely. His tongue slithering inside your gooey hole. Just as good at this as you remember him being, slurping at you and letting it drip all over his face.

Gojo’s eyes roll a little, having desperately missed the taste of you. Moaning into your cunt, he can’t help but get carried away. Your squirming and whining only spurring him on, sucking on your clit. Not able to leave your hole unfilled for long though, tonguing you again. Making out with your pussy lips obscenely.

Getting so caught up in it that he’s almost forgetting that he’s meant to be edging you. Feeling the telltale shudders running through you and pulling away, eyes amused as he watches your hole twitch around nothing. You’re clawing at the sheets as you whimper sadly at the loss.

“Mm sorry,” you whinge at him, because you really are but you also don’t want to take anymore edging.

“Barely heard from you,” his fingers circle around your entrance, “only a few replies– do you know how much I held back from texting you and when I did I only sometimes got a reply.” Those fingers stretching you open again, “So mean to me.”

You’d apologise more, maybe even try to explain yourself but he’s finger fucking you stupid and it’s making it hard to form a coherent thought. Barely even coming down from your almost high and he’s immediately touching you again. This cycle is going to kill you, feeling like your nerves themselves are vibrating. Desperate ache beginning in the pit of your stomach and buzzing down to your sensitive cunt.

Thoughts are all fuzzy in your head as he reaches so deep inside you, not caressing you like he was earlier. Properly fucking you with his fingers, palm slapping against your clit. The harshness of it feels so damn good, urgently needing it deep and quick.

You’re begging before you even register it, “Please, Gojo– hnn– please let me cum– hah– I’m so sorry– hng!– I’m sorry!”

He bites your inner thigh in response, hard enough to leave a mark and make you mewl. Then he sucks over it, finally laving over it with his tongue as he parts. “I know you are,” he faux pouts.

And since he seems to be on a cruelty streak tonight, he continues driving you crazy for a little bit longer than the times before. Dangerously close to the precipice, back arching meanly for it. Only to be let down once more, his fingers ripping from you so callously at the very last second.

It’s agony, tears filling your waterline. You’re even sitting up straight this time, lower lip quivering as you sulk down at Gojo. He’s smiling pleasantly at you, resting his head on your thigh and looking up like he’s not the mastermind behind your current torture.

Glibly adding, “You know, this is more a punishment for me,” nosing at your soft skin, “I love watching you cum– I love making you cum.”

Threading your fingers through his hair, you tug back and frown at him. He can only grin back at you, apparently exactly where he wants to be. You whine at him, “You’re being mean.”

“You don’t have to cry about it,” he reaches up and swipes a thumb high on your cheekbone, wiping away a tear.

“I’m not crying because you’re mean,” tugging on his hair a little harsher, “I’m crying cause I’m frustrated.”

“I know,” he laughs breathlessly, and with how you’ve pulled his head back further, you’re able to see his throat bob as he swallows, “It’s kinda cute of you.”

“Gojo—”

“—Mmm,” his face pulls in distaste, “I liked it better when you were calling me Satoru.”

You hate how attracted to him you are right now. Pulled back by his hair, eyes alight with mischief and mouth formed into a large smile. His canines are on display in a way that makes you shiver. He’d just sunk them into your skin no more than a few minutes ago and the thought turns you on further.

“What ya thinking about?” His question coming singsong and lilted.

You’re feeling spiteful though, so you don’t answer, “Nothing.”

“Such an evil woman,” he overdramatises, but leans forward, raising as he goes. “So mean to me,” your hand releases him and he presses kisses to your lips over and over, continuing to talk as he does, “doesn’t call, doesn’t text, refers to me unfamiliarly, won’t tell me what she’s thinking about.”

You’re letting him complain, getting lost in his kisses as he does. Wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him a little closer and kiss him a little deeper. Preferring he keep his mouth open only to swallow down your moans, not wanting him to pull back anymore.

While he’s kissing you, he uses his middle finger to delicately circle your clit. Moaning back at you when you let slip a pitiful, little whimper. Beginning to get hypersensitive from all his teasing. He was already able to get you close quickly, it’s even worse with all this edging.

Clinging to him a little more desperately the closer you get, hoping that maybe this time will be different. Maybe he’s done teasing you and even though you won’t be cumming on his dick you will finally get to cum.

And just as you’re stuck in your delusion of him forgetting why he’s doing this to you in the first place, he stops. Hand leaving the warmth of in between your thighs and the slick of your drooling cunt to hold your face. Greedily sucking on your tongue and all your moans, the sad moans of an almost orgasm engulfed by him.

When he pulls back, he does his best to comfort your shaking form. Soft pecks over your cheeks, kissing away some of your tears, “That was the last time, I promise.”

“It has to be,” you sound pathetic even to yourself, “I can’t take anymore.”

“I know,” he coos at you, “and you’ve done such a good job.”

Gojo parts from you completely, standing back so he can pull off his pants and boxers. His dick bobbing under its own weight, leaking precum profusely. It’s now that you realise just how much he’s probably been holding back.

And holding back he has been. Gojo’s damn near driven himself to insanity with all this edging. Close to cumming in his pants a few times just from touching you and getting to hear you moan again. Feeling deprived of you for so long that he can’t believe he actually managed to pull off playing with you without caving first.

“Lay back for me, yeah?” he nods back at your bed, “we’re gonna do our best to make this work.”

You have nothing snarky to say, feeling uncharacteristically docile as you slide back on the bed. Gojo appreciates it deeply, not knowing if he can prolong this much more. Climbing on the bed after you and parting your legs with his warm hands.

There’s no more preamble, quickly stretching you open on the head of his cock. Hissing through his teeth at how wet and creamy you are around his sensitive tip. His head falls back as he sinks deeper and deeper inside your gooey hole, inch by delicious inch. Rumbling moan pouring from him, unable to hold it back.

It’s been so long and he somehow feels bigger than last time, he’s splitting you open obscenely. It’s making your head spin, the overwhelming pleasure of him stuffing you full so satisfying you’re getting lost in it.

Then, while Gojo is biting back a whine, you’re cumming around him and he’s whimpering pitifully. Your plush walls hugging him tight and sucking him in needily, begging him for his whole dick. Obviously, he grants it, slamming the rest of the way inside and relishing in how your pussy bulges around him.

“Hah– I wasn’t even fully inside you yet,” he’s as breathless over it as he is happy, “that’s– fuuck– that’s hot. You’re so fucking cute.”

You’re still shuddering and shaking through your first and most powerful orgasm. Mind completely free of any kind of coherent thought. Only registering how fucking good you feel, how stuffed you feel and how good it is and how full your pussy is and—

Gojo taps the side of your face, “Stay with me, sweetie. I haven’t even started moving yet.”

Eyes blearily looking back at him, lazy ecstasy plastered all over your expression. The sight of you fills him with a kind of cuteness aggression, his hips slamming into you harshly as he leans down to crowd against you. Wrapping you in his arms and hugging you tight as he fucks you stupid.

His pelvis slapping against you fills the room with the slickest and lewdest sounds you’ve heard. The both of you moaning at each other, his name repeated from you over and over as he sheathes himself in your snug warmth repeatedly.

No coherent words come from you, nothing other than Satoru’s name. You can’t even be sure you’ve stopped cumming, feeling so high on the pleasure that it doesn’t feel like it has an end or a beginning anymore.

“Satoru– hng– hh—” Anything else you try to spit out isn’t understood, not to you anyways.

Though, Gojo seems to understand you fine, “I know, pretty,” he speaks against your ear, and it makes you shake, “you’re doing– hng– doing so good for me, sweetie. Taking it so well.”

He can’t stop his movements, it feels far too good to want to anyways. Your tight cunt squeezing so lovingly around him, it’s got his brain all fuzzy with lust. You respond to him so well, every time he moves, or speaks, you react in a way that’s intoxicating to him. The idea of you leaving again quite literally agonising to him.

Letting the insecurity get the better of him but doing his best to not let on. “If you ghost me again after this,” he nips your ear, pulling back to look you in the eyes and stilling his hips. Trying to show just how weighted his words are, “I won’t be nearly as relaxed about it next time.”

“Mm– hah– I– uhm I’m not gonna,” your legs wrap around his waist and tug him in impossibly closer, “Satoru, I promise.”

His dick twitches inside you, “I’ll be holding you to that.”

Kissing you after that, as if to seal the promise. Stifling down the pair of your moans when he starts fucking you again. It’s wet and sloppy and desperate, you’re trying your best to meet his thrusts but every time you try, his own hips slam you back down onto the bed. The very loud bed, creaking as he fucks you stupid.

Gojo’s feeling clingy tonight, so he keeps hugging himself to you despite his desire to see how he’s opening up your little hole. Just knowing you’re spilling slick all over his cock, no doubt a creamy ring at the base of his shaft.

“You’re– hff– you’re gonna message me back now, aren’t you?”

“Uh huh,” you hum back, trying to focus on him but your mind keeps slipping back to the overwhelming pleasure.

“Gonna let me– hng– let me take you out,” especially sharp thrust, “go on a date with me.”

That catches your attention, stumbling out, “You wanna– hnn– go on a date with me?”

“Of course I do,” he groans, like it’s so obvious. “I want to date you, regularly.” He grabs you by your chin and angles you so you’re looking at him straight, “Which is why you’re going to message me back.”

“I will– ngh– I will.”

He uses his hold on your chin to nod your head up and down. “I know you will.” Moving back so he can raise to his knees, he adds, “Now, let’s do something about that time limit.”

Shooting you an amused grin and then grabbing your hips, manhandling you and angling your hips upwards a bit. Using his hold on you to fuck you down onto him as he thrusts forward. Roughly thrusting into you and using his newfound leverage to his benefit. He even gets to watch how he shoves himself inside you, getting the glorious view of your greedy pussy taking him in so well.

He was so right too, you’re dribbling arousal all around him. Cock coated in a white sheen, both your fluids mixing together and making an indecent mess. It makes him deliriously happy to see how you’re connected, his heart hammering in his chest with excitement. You’re such a pretty thing, completely perfect to him.

If you disappear on him again, he’s going to do something drastic. He’s not thinking about that right now though, not when he has you in his hands and gets to fuck you until you’re squirming and whimpering his name. Devolving into a mess in his hold, he should try edging you again sometime. The payoff is huge, you’re not even aware of the little orgasms you’ve been continuously having while he fucks you.

The thrusts he’s delivering to you truly have your world tilting on its axis, you’d thought he had you a mess before but now you feel insane. It’s like he’s doubled his efforts; you can’t exactly pin down why. Brain not functioning well enough to properly understand the time limit he’s referring to. Officially dumb on his dick.

Drunk on pleasure, cock ramming into your g-spot regularly. It feels like his tip kisses your womb with how deep he’s reaching inside you. Stimulated so deeply that you’re panting and grinding yourself down against him. Back arched upwards further, even with him holding you up by your hips.

With a few more weighted thrusts and heavy drags of his thick cock, you’re cumming again. Your moans aren’t even audible at first, the force of your orgasm that strong. Tears pricking at your waterline again, crying from how fucking good it feels to let go and cum so hard. You can’t hear anything but the blood rushing through your head. Vision going a little fuzzy as you indulge in your high.

That very high of yours, triggers Gojo’s. Finally letting himself succumb to the immense ecstasy running through his veins. He shudders and shakes through it, pulling you tight to his pelvis as he dumps his load deep inside your womb. Overstuffing your cunt with his spend, delighting in how he fills you to the point it’s leaking out back around him. Memories of the last time he came inside you flashing in his mind and pulling a whine from him.

You go limp soon after, only jolting with shocks of the come down. Gojo hums happily as he slips his dick from you, laying your lower half back down gently onto the mattress. Then, because he’s a pervert, he pushes on your lower stomach and watches as more of his cum drools from your pussy hole.

You’re far too lazy and docile to fight him on his actions though, busy basking in your bliss. Stretching yourself out like a cat and moaning at it. Gojo leans down and takes your lips with his, kissing you slow.

Pulling back and saying, “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. You and I both know I could keep going.”

You roll your eyes at him and he smiles. Then he shoves his arms under you and holds you to him, flopping over so he’s on his back on your mattress with you on top. It’s the only way you can both semi-comfortably rest on the small bed together. You enjoy this part, the part where he holds you for a little bit. He feels warm and safe, just like last time.

After a moment, you remember the reason why you can’t stay like this. Raising your head to look at him, “You can’t stay.”

“Just another ten minutes,” he wraps his arms around you tighter, whinging.

You urge, “Satoru—”

“—Mm, I like that,” he all but purrs, happy with your use of his name.

“Seriously,” you shove at his shoulder, “you cannot stay here.”

“Fine,” groaning with his displeasure, “but I fully expect that next time we do this, it’s an all-night thing.”

You don’t get to protest in anyway, his lips shutting you up with a deep kiss. It lasts for a moment, Gojo gets a little carried away with it. He does relent though, grumbling a little as he gets to his feet and begins to get dressed again. Dick already hardening by the time he’s pulling his pants up and buttoning them. Hissing a little as he does, he wasn’t kidding about being able to go again.

Since he’s up and you’re a little wobbly on your feet, you ask, “Can you toss me my clothes?”

“It’d be a shame though.” He tilts his head at you.

“Shut up,” you point at him, “or do you want me to walk you to your car completely naked?”

“You gonna see me off, sweetie?” he tosses you your clothes to change into, “how hospitable you’re being this evening, pussy and a sendoff.”

“You’re the worst,” you grumble. And even though you know you’re going to regret it, “Could you grab me some clean underwear? They’re in that top drawer,” indicating to the dresser in the corner with a nod.

He does so without further comment, at least no further comment until he’s rooting through it. Pulling out a blue lacy pair and holding them up, “These are cute.”

“I am not wearing such a nice pair,” you inform. “I’m still full of your cum, I don’t want to ruin such an expensive pair.”

“I can only get so hard, sweetie,” he singsongs but finds a comfortable and boring pair for you to change into.

When you’re both dressed, you walk him out to the front of the house on shaky legs. Regretting it a little bit because you won’t have him for support on your way back. At his car, he collects you into a big hug and then a final kiss.

Pulling back and reminding you, “You’re gonna message me and we’re going on a date.”

Feeling flustered all of a sudden, “I remember.”

“Just checking, you were kind of occupied when I brought it up.”

You push him away at that, “Whatever, just go home and be on time for work tomorrow.”

“That reminds me,” he looks at you pointedly, “Don’t kiss Suguru anymore.”

His comment jolts you a little, gaping back, “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good,” he nods, “I don’t like sharing.”

With that, he goes on his way. You’re left hobbling your way back into your parents’ house with a mess to clean up. Your relationship with him is still a little confusing to you but you suppose you’re dating now? You can’t help but have some trepidations about that but there’s also a thrill of excitement. Already finding yourself wondering when he’s going to message you…

α.η. yaaay it's done ! thank you to everyone who stuck around and waited patiently for this second part ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

i'm sorry if you wanted to be tagged for this, i unfortunately don't do that :< i hope all who wanted it find this though ♡ thank you all for reading and i hope you all enjoyed ! hopefully more to come if this performs well hehe (๑•̀؂ <๑)✧

For the past handful of years, you’ve been working at a large marketing company for the CEO as a personal assistant. The job is what it is and the pay makes up for any sort of… eccentricities from your boss. Despite this, it can’t change the fact that you’re struggling to pay rent and need to move back in with your parents.

You were coping before but your roommate… the guy you were… it’s complicated. Anyways he moved out and now things are just too expensive for you at the moment. It doesn’t help that anywhere else close to work is in the same range for rent, stupid fancy company in a stupid nice area. It’s frustrating because you’re attached to this job but it’s not feasible anymore.

So, as much as you’re unwilling to part from your current position, something has to give and you’ve chosen to resign. Steeling your resolve, you walk into Gojo’s empty office and gently place your two weeks’ notice on his desk. Lingering for a short moment, remembering your first day here and how intimidated you were by him.

It was never your plan to stay here so long in the first place but it’s nearly been five years now, maybe it is time to move on to something different. Think positive, you just have to think positive and things will be good. You’ll get a new job and you’ll make new friends and your boss will be kind and maybe not as weird.

Exiting the room, you sit back at your desk that’s located outside Gojo’s office. It’s hard to focus when you’ve got so much on your mind but sometimes you think that he wouldn’t get anything done if you weren’t around.

You’d gotten a text earlier about how he had an early meeting but you know he doesn’t, he’s probably just left the office to go get himself some sweets. He won’t be back for a while either because he’s going to sit in a park or somewhere quiet and eat the evidence before he gets back to the office.

Why he even bothers to lie to you at this point is beyond you but you’ll ignore it because sometimes you want to be alone for an hour too. Unlike him though, you simply don’t have the luxury of doing that on company time.

When he does get back to the office he stops by your desk and smiles at you like he wasn’t just shirking his responsibilities for the better half of the day. He waits very impatiently for you to acknowledge him, and you continue typing at your computer like he’s not there.

Gojo eventually speaks up, “Saying good morning to your boss is the polite thing to do, by the way.”

You hold up a hand while you finish up your email and send it off, only then do you look up and raise a brow at him, “Morning? Gojo… it’s nearly midday and you’re only just now coming into the office.”

“I told you I had a meeting,” he pouts because he knows he’s caught. “And how many times have I told you to call me Satoru?”

“If you had a meeting it’d go through me because no one trusts you to show up to the ones you agree to.” You look back down at your computer and continue working, ignoring the second thing he said.

Sighing dramatically at you, “You’re so mean to me.”

Not even looking up at him when you retort, “If I were nicer to you would your job get done?” He doesn’t answer and you add, “That’s what I thought.”

“I’ll get all my work done so quick you’ll be embarrassed about doubting me.”

“Uh huh,” as he walks off you call after him, “you’ve got chocolate on your tie.”

Gojo pauses, looks down to his tie and then uses his finger to try and swipe it off, “No, I don’t.” He scuttles away into his office.

It’s then that you’re remembering the letter you’d put on his desk and you decide it’s time for your break. Sneaking away, you hide a few floors down in the employee break room. Your hands cradling a cup of tea that was hot but has now gone cold in the time you’ve been holding onto it. You’re staring blankly at it, not knowing how you’re going to face Gojo when he’s read your resignation.

He’s a bit of a drama queen and you’re not sure… you don’t even want to leave so having him fuss over it might make you feel worse. Oh, but what if he doesn’t care. What if he doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t feel like you’re all that important to him. That might be worse. You’re in a hell of your own making.

You’re brought from your spiralling thoughts by a hand on your shoulder, jumping at the touch and looking up to see Nanami. His face is as stoic as ever but his eyes are laced with a mild concern for you.

You talk before he can ask, “I’m fine, just daydreaming.”

A sound of acknowledgement comes from him, not believing you but pacified enough to move on and make himself a cup of coffee. Not facing you when he says, “Gojo’s looking for you.”

Frowning, “What? How do you know?”

He sits down across from you and plainly states, “Because I walked past him and he asked where you were.”

A small grumble leaves you, it’s just not possible to avoid him for the whole day and even if you could, you couldn’t do it for two full weeks.

“What’s going on?”

Your tea is too cold to drink now and you push it away, “Do you really want to know or are you just being polite?”

He takes a sip of his coffee like he’s giving himself time to think about his answer, “…I want to know.”

“I have to resign,” is all you say.

Nanami nods, “Well, that explains the frantic look on his face.”

Scoffing at him because that sounds ridiculous, “I left the letter on his desk and then hid.”

“You can’t hide forever.”

“I can try,” you smile, “he’s always showing up late and sneaking out anyways, I’ll probably be able to avoid him.”

The look on his face conveys severe doubt but he doesn’t comment on your words, “Why are you leaving?”

“None of your business.”

“You’re the only reason why communicating with Gojo is bearable, you leaving is going to be a nightmare for so many people.”

Your eyes roll at the sentiment, “Well, gee, I’ll miss you too.” A silence falls over the two of you and you explain, “I gotta move home for financial reasons.” It’s not everything but you don’t feel like spilling your guts to him right now.

“Ask for a raise,” he shrugs, “you deserve it.”

“It’d have to be one hell of a raise,” you fold your arms on the table and lay your head on them.

His tone comes out monotonous, “There there.”

Mumbling against your arms in reply, “You’re such a comfort, Nanami.”

“I know.”

The clicking of heels alerts you to someone else in the room but you don’t bother lifting your head to look. Not that you need to, the voice letting you know it’s Shoko, “Gojo’s looking for you.”

“I’m aware,” you sigh.

She sits down next to you, “If you’re hiding from him, this was a poor choice because I’m pretty sure he’s on his way here.”

“Have I got time to run?”

There’s a hand on your head, a tight lipped, “No,” coming from above you.

Ah, you’re caught. Sitting up, you smile at Gojo like you’ve not been hiding from him, “Gojo, is there something you need me for?”

He doesn’t bother trying to get you somewhere private, “Why are you resigning?”

Shoko asks, “You’re resigning?”

Sighing out a tired, “Yes,” before getting to your feet and walking out the room.

Immediately, Gojo is hot on your tail, “Why? Why are you resigning?” He keeps pestering you despite the fact you’re not answering, “Is it something I did? Have I been a bad boss? Do you want me to show up on time more?” A pause, “Is it because I never bring you back any sweets? I’m sorry! I just get so excited to eat them…”

Your foot taps impatiently as you wait for the elevator, arms folded and feeling frustrated by him. “It’s nothing to do with you…” he’s generally a good boss, a bit odd but he’s a good person and you’re quite attached to him, “though, you should be showing up on time.”

“Are you really not going to tell me why you’re leaving me?”

“I think my letter covered it.” The elevator dings and his presence is felt looming over you as he follows you in.

“Your letter didn’t cover shit,” he grumbles, “it was all that polite corporate speak.”

“It’s not a big deal, Gojo.” Your eyes meet his properly for the first time and he looks so genuinely hurt, it’s making this harder for you. “It’s nothing you did, nothing the company did. No one did anything, it’s just time to move on.”

“I literally cannot survive without you.” He blinks, “My company is going to go bankrupt without you and then Suguru’s will be number one, is that what you want?”

“If Geto’s company is ever number one it’s because he shows up on time and doesn’t ignore calls from clients.”

He scowls. “They should be calling you anyways, the old bastards only call me because they enjoy pissing me off.”

“Poor, poor, rich boy,” you say, looking away from him.

Gojo’s brows pinch up. “There’s nothing I can do to make you stay?”

“Nope.”

The pair of you walk off the elevator together and he’s still closer than necessary, like you’re going to disappear at any minute. “I’ve got two weeks to change your mind,” he singsongs.

It’s been a few days since that awkward conversation with Gojo and he’s been in the office every day… on time. You thought maybe the first day was just a fluke but then he kept showing up and staying. His behaviour is unpredictable at the best of times but this is the first time in the five years that you’ve been here that he’s shown up on time for multiple consecutive days.  

Whatever, you’ve just been ignoring him and continuing your work. At least you would be but he’s not giving you anything to do. Suddenly, he’s interested in doing everything himself and actually staying on top of things. If this is his way of getting you to stay… it’s not working. Not only do you have nothing to do but you’re worried that he’s fucking things up.

A few hours since you’ve been in office and you’re officially bored, staring blankly at your quiet inbox. This isn’t going to work for you, you get up and walk into Gojo’s office. He’s tapping away at his keyboard and you’re a little surprised by the focus on his face.

Pursing your lips as you stand in front of his desk, feeling conflicted on whether or not you should disturb him when he’s like this. There’s papers spread out on the surface beside him, his usually clean desk now messy.

“Gojo, I’m still your assistant until the end of next week,” your voice is gentler than how you feel, taking pity on him.

He doesn’t look to you, eyes firmly on the screen. “Not if I can convince you to stay.”

“I don’t know how many times I have to say this,” you take a step closer, “but my resignation has nothing to do with you, so there is nothing you can do to change my mind.”

His eyes meet yours then, he looks tired.

Continuing to add, “All you’ve done is make me redundant, stop stealing my work and do your own.”

“I won’t hire anyone else.”

“The board will make you.” Tilting your head at him, trying to add some levity, “And there’s no way you’re not messing things up.”

He points at you, “Hey! I’ve been very diligent.”

“Which you won’t be able to keep doing long-term.” Reaching up, you tap the tip of his finger with your own.

That has him deflating, falling back into his chair and humming at you, “Okay, have all your stupid and tedious work back.”

“I will.” You glare at him as you lean over to pick up the papers off his desk.

Shuffling through them, you can see they’re a bunch of companies reaching out and trying to set up meetings or sending through complaints. Things you usually handle before he sees because it’s not worth his time.

“So much of that stuff shouldn’t be coming to me.” He’s leaned in closer, annoyance clear on his expression. “It shouldn’t even be going to you; they should be communicating through the team they’re dealing with.”

“Yes, well, a lot of companies overestimate their importance to you.” Picking through the stack quickly, you pull out the papers that are solely for him and put them down on his desk.

His brow raises to you, “Now, where did they get that idea?”

“Who knows?” You smile politely.

His people person skills are severely lacking, especially when it comes to dealing with formalities. You may or may not be making up for it.

“I’ll get back to you about these.” Hand shaking the papers, “Do not even try sneaking off, I’ll need you here while I sort through this mess you’ve no doubt made.”

“I told you I’ve been diligent.”

“And I have absolutely no reason to doubt that.” Turning to leave before stopping. “You should keep coming in on time and staying the whole day, it’s nice.”

Gojo’s groan is heard as you walk back out his office.

After you took back your workload, Gojo decided to try and make you stay through other means. It’s almost as flattering as it is distracting. The very next day and he’s taken to pulling a chair in front of your desk and sitting with you. His arm holding up his head, chin resting in his palm. It’s got you on edge, he’s just watching you. Eyes tracking your every movement, silent like he’s maybe trying to think of something to say.

“Is there something you need, sir?” Phrasing it in a certain way in hopes of reminding him he’s your boss with his own work to worry about.

“Nope.” The singular word popped back at you.

Looking to your screen, you pull up his calendar, “So… you’re all prepped for the meeting later today at three?”

It’s silent and it prompts you to look at him again. The reply you’d been expecting comes only when your eyes meet. “I’m so prepared,” his smile is easy-going and you don’t feel the same.

“Are you sure? Because you’ve just been sitting here doing nothing.”

“Don’t worry about what I’m up to.”

“All I do is worry,” you glare at him, “it’s like my whole job.”

Obviously able to tell you’re growing a bit exasperated now and switching to flattery, “And you’re very good at it.”

“I could be better at it if you’d be a more willing participant in your own company.”

“Bleh,” he pulls his head back and waves his hand at you, the expression on his face disgusted.

You ignore the fact that you don’t find him as annoying as you probably should and change the topic, “Well, while you’re here doing anything but your job, I have some applications you can look through.”

“Applications?” He looks at you curiously and takes the papers you’re handing him.

There isn’t an answer from you as he reads them, his face scrunching up more and becoming annoyed as he realises what it is he’s looking at.

“Resumes?” Gojo’s voice has lost its chirpiness, coming a bit strained, “I didn’t know we were hiring.”

“I know you won’t do it yourself, so I put up an advert yesterday,” you point at the resumes he’s holding, “those are the best applicants.”

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“I can’t stay, Gojo. It’s out of my control.”

It’s his turn to glare, it’s the first time he’s been this angry with you. You still won’t tell him why you’re leaving because you’re embarrassed and also, you’re becoming a little concerned that he’d actually give you an insane raise. You can do without that guilt.

“Fine.” He eventually says.

A breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding leaves you, “Thank you.”

He starts going through the pile, “This isn’t an entry level job,” he flicks away that applicant. “No references,” another chucked. “Wouldn’t be able to put up with me,” that one is crumpled. “This one’s messy,” gone. “This person has put under hobbies ‘organising’,” he squints like he’s weirded out before deciding, “trying too hard,” ultimately it’s chucked too. The rest of the pile discarded in much of the same manner.

You’ve watched him in disbelief, blinking at him, “They all had better resumes than I did.”

“I didn’t want an assistant before you and I won’t want one after,” he shrugs.

Fingers rubbing into your temples, “How did I even get hired when you’re this picky.”

“You’ve raised my standards,” he praises you, “and your resume was so ugly looking that I wanted to see who sent it in.”

You gape at him, shocked, “That’s why I got the interview!?”

“And you got the job because you put up with me during,” his tone has softened again, “you adjust to your surroundings well and it impressed me, even if your resume didn’t.” He thinks for a moment, “Well, your resume actually did impress me but only because it was awful—”

“—Stop,” holding a hand up, “I can’t believe you hired me because you hated my application that much.”

“Don’t leave me,” leaning in on your desk, “I don’t think I’ll ever see a resume that ugly ever again.”

Grumbling and falling back into your chair, you cross your arms. “I knew I shouldn’t have worked here.”

He grins and stands to his feet. “Don’t show me anymore applicants, they’ll immediately get thrown away.”

“Gojo—” You call after him.

“—Bye bye now.” He’d cut you off, done with this conversation and the direction it was headed.

It’s Monday again and you’re concerned about what Gojo’s going to pull this week. Last week he’d obviously stolen all your work rendering you redundant and stared at you disconcertingly for nearly an hour before revealing he’d hired you because of your shit application. He also brought you back various treats every time he left the office, not to mention the insane amounts of praise he kept sneaking into conversation.

It's not something entirely new from him but he’s taken to doing it far more often lately and you hate how much you don’t hate it. His compliments making you a little flustered every time, you weren’t aware how much you liked being reaffirmed until he started doing it so obviously and frequently.

Apparently, he must’ve caught on to you not hating it because he’s not stopped. The grin on his face self-satisfied every time he does it, pleased by your reactions. You don’t know if your heart is going to make it through this week but it’s your last, so you don’t have much of a choice either way.

In the lobby, you run into Shoko. Greeting her with a small smile, “Good morning.”

“Morning, quitter,” she smiles back.

“Ouch,” you hiss jokingly.

Her head tilts at you, “Ah, you lasted five years, it’s impressive really.”

“I’m not resigning because of him,” you roll your eyes.

The rumours in the office have been abundant to say the least, everyone blaming your leaving on Gojo. You correct people every time but they either don’t believe you or are too excited about gossip to let themselves really hear you.

“You’d be the first,” sucking on her teeth as she recounts, “I think there was… five? six? Before you. They all quit because they couldn’t put up with him.” She pauses. “Though, he didn’t hire them personally.”

“Didn’t you hear? He only hired me because he hated my resume.”

“Good luck finding another job with it then.”

You chuckle at that. “I’ll miss you, Shoko.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she brushes you off, “if you really were gonna miss me, you wouldn’t be quitting.”

“For someone who’s so unamused by Gojo, you sure sound like him sometimes.”

She side eyes you, “Take that back.”

“Nope!” You laugh as you walk away.

At your desk, the first thing you do is pull up Gojo’s calendar. Double checking that you’re remembering the itinerary for today properly. He’s got a meeting just before midday with a large company, you’ve been trying to secure a meet with them for months and they finally caved. Taking them on as a client would be a huge win for the company and it’d bring Gojo joy because he knows Geto has been trying to secure a deal with them too.

Competition isn’t something you invest a whole lot of your time in personally but you can’t help but feel happy when Gojo ‘wins’. This week is going to be gruelling; it’s getting harder to ignore how much you enjoy your job. You thought it wasn’t going to be such a big deal. It’s a job, you do it and if you need to, you find another.

Everyone here will be part of what you miss though, you won’t get to work alongside Gojo anymore… Pushing down those feelings of affection, you start your day how you often do and check your inbox. Seeing the first emails coming through as soon as business hours are official always amuses you as much as it pisses you off.

The sound of a soft tap on your desk startles you, it’s just Gojo but you’re still not quite used to his early (on time) arrivals. He’d set a coffee down for you, expression bright as he smiles at you.

You reach for the drink, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he singsongs. “Feel like staying?”

“Because you bought me a cup of coffee?”

“Among other things.”

You’re thinking of how to answer him when he yawns and stretches his shoulders back. He seems tireder than usual, “You been sleeping okay?”

He takes the opportunity to whine, “No, my favourite employee is leaving me.”

“That must be agony for you.”

“It is,” eyes sparkling, “it’s awful, I wish she would just see reason.”

Instead of replying to that, you remind, “Don’t forget your meeting at eleven.”

Dropping the pleading look, he replies, “How could I forget? Stingy bastards took forever just to agree to meet.”

“Try to have a better attitude when you talk with them.”

“You know what would make my attitude better?” Grin on his face showing that he’s clearly plotting something.

“Dare I ask?”

“You basically did.” He points at you and then himself, “You come with me.”

A range of emotions go through you at that but it’s mostly reluctance, “Do I have to?”

“I’m your boss… so, yes?” Not waiting for your reply. “Be ready by ten-thirty.”

It’s going to be a long week indeed.

By the time ten-thirty rolls around, you’re in the garage of the building with Gojo. He’s guiding you towards his car and you’re confused, “Where’s Ijichi?”

“I don’t know,” his answer is dismissive.

“Should we wait?” you frown and look at your phone, “…I don’t want you to be late.”

Clicking on the keys, the car beeps as it unlocks, “We’re not gonna be late.” He moves around to the driver’s side and opens it, stopping before getting in when he sees you’re not moving. “Get in.”

Incredulous look on you face, “Can you even drive?”

“That’s so insulting, I’m a fantastic driver.”

You’re sceptical but get in the car anyways, not willing to be late because you were squabbling with your boss.

“Why am I coming with you?”

He hums, “Because I have a surprise for after.”

“Couldn’t you have just picked me up after the meeting?”

“No. If I have to go then you do too.”

Grumbling back at him, “You’ve never made me come before.”

“If I leave you in the office you might run away before Friday,” his tone carries a playful lilt.

“You’re so dramatic.”

By the way, he is decidedly not a fantastic driver.

The surprise he was talking about was lunch, he’s taken you out for lunch. You’re overwhelmed and feel underdressed, it’s a nice place that you definitely cannot afford.

Just as he’s about to walk inside, you grab his sleeve and pull him back, “Gojo, I can’t afford lunch here.”

He snickers at you, “You thought I’d force you to a meeting with me and then take you out to lunch and make you pay?”

You say nothing.

“Seriously? What do you take me for?” A hand rests over his heart like you’ve wounded him.

Frowning at him, “I’m… I’m also a little underdressed.” Wearing business casual doesn’t feel appropriate for here.

“You look great,” he compliments, “you always look great.”

It feels like your skin grows hotter just from that simple compliment. You can’t linger on it for too long though. From just off to the side of Gojo, you spot Geto and you know this lunch is going to be on the rocks. “Please remain calm and remember that you just got new clients and how nice that feels.”

About to ask what the hell you’re going on about when Geto makes himself known, hand on Gojo’s shoulder. “What a coincidence, Satoru.” He smiles politely, nodding his head at you in acknowledgement.

You’ve always been neutral towards Geto, if you had to describe him in a word, you’d say he’s gracious. But you’re not stupid, you can tell he enjoys pressing peoples buttons. If you didn’t know any better you’d think it was merely an accident but you do know better and you can tell he does it because he gets a kick out of it. He’s similar to Gojo in that way.

“Suguru,” Gojo gives a tight smile. “What are you doing on this side of town?”

Oh, he’s already annoyed by his presence.

“This and that,” answer kept vague deliberately. “You guys about to have lunch?”

“Yes.” You answer respectfully, not forgetting your manners.

At the same time, Gojo lies, “No.”

“Perfect,” Geto ignores Gojo’s lie, “I’ll join you.”

From what you know, Gojo and Geto used to be close friends working at the same company before Gojo moved up. Geto left after that and started his own company. Usually, Gojo isn’t so annoyed by him but he’s been a little extra touchy about things ever since you put in your resignation.

“That sounds great,” you reply before Gojo can. Geto walks in ahead of you both and you tug on Gojo to get him to lean down. “It’s just lunch, we’ll both survive.”

“I’m not so sure,” he mumbles back.

It’s awkward, incredibly so. Geto knows that Gojo got the client they’ve both been angling at and it’s all grins with hidden meanings and sly jabs. It’s hard to enjoy the food when you’re stuck observing this disaster of clashing egos.

After a lull in the conversation, Geto suddenly says, “I heard you’re quitting.”

You’re taken aback, you didn’t realise that company gossip would travel so far, “Yes… I am resigning.” Putting emphasis on the last word because you don’t appreciate the attachments to quitting.

Gojo’s tense, you can tell.

Geto pushes past your slight attitude. “May I ask why?”

“You may ask,” you smile politely, taking a page out of his book.

He doesn’t even blink, “Well, if you’re looking for a new job I’d be happy to take you off Satoru’s hands.”

Gojo scoffs at that, “She’s still my employee, you know?”

“From what I hear, not for much longer.”

You hate that you even semi consider Geto’s offer, he’s unfortunately closer to your parents’ home so you could live there and travel to his company. It’d upset Gojo though and you don’t know if you have it in you, even if it is just business.

Stopping their bickering with a simple refusal. “I’m fine, thank you for the offer.”

“It doesn’t expire,” Geto pushes, “if you change your mind, you’ve got a job with me.”

“I want to remind you I’m a personal assistant, Geto, not some highly sought-after marketing whizz.” You can’t understand the push for you, other than he knows it’ll piss off Gojo and you don’t play those games.

Clearly, not one to be shaken so easily, “Oh, I wouldn’t sell yourself so short.”

“Alright, I’m done being all civil now,” Gojo stands up abruptly, “We’re leaving and you can pay the bill for pissing me off, Suguru.”

“Gojo,” you scold him lightly but he’s not budging, “I’m very sorry, Geto,” standing up as well, “lunch was nice.”

Gojo grumbles, “Don’t apologise for me, I’m not sorry.”

Geto ignores Gojo and replies to your last statement, “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

“Over my dead body,” Gojo points at him.

And then you’re being tugged out of the restaurant, following after an uncharacteristically angry Gojo. It’s not like he’s especially polite and he’s always had little jabs with Geto but it always seemed more like a friendly rivalry to you. To have this kind of reaction isn’t usual and you don’t really know how to approach talking to him now.

It’s not until you’re back in the car that he’s huffing, “Can you believe that? He tried stealing you out from behind my back… in front of me!”

“It’s just business, don’t let it get to you.” You mean it as a comfort but his eyebrow twitches.

He starts the car and mutters, “Not to me.”

Today is your last day. It’s been a busy week so Gojo didn’t bother you as much, anytime you spoke it concerned work. Well, that’s not completely true, he was still trying to get you to stay and begged a little but otherwise.

You don’t feel ready to leave, you know all you’d have to do is say you want to stay and Gojo would welcome you with open arms but you can’t make it work… not right now. It’s already been hard on you physically with all the moving preparations and now it’s hard on you emotionally. You don’t think people usually feel this much regret about resigning, shouldn’t you be all relieved or something.

After work, you and your empty apartment have a date with lots of alcohol. Drinking before you move may not be a great idea but you thought living with a guy would be a good idea and look how that turned out. Fuck him. This situation is so draining and unfair and you wish you could go back and change things but you’re stuck with the cards you’re dealt.

It’s quitting time soon, the hour hand on the wall across from you slowly inching towards six. Your riveting clock watching is interrupted by Gojo standing in front of it, “Could you go down to the employee floor and give this to Nanami?”

He hands you over a file and you take it without complaint, what’s another few extra minutes on your last day. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

You’re restless, caught between wanting to get out of here and not wanting your last day to end. The elevator dings and opens to the employee floor, when you step out you’re confused by how dark it is. It’s borderline scary, you’ve seen enough scary movies to know that you don’t stay on an empty and ominous dark floor.

About to turn around and head back for the elevator when the lights flick on and people jump out at you. You don’t have a physical reaction aside from a slight jump, only staring blankly and screaming on the inside. Taking in your surroundings you realise it’s a bunch of familiar faces standing underneath a shoddily painted banner that reads ‘we’ll miss you’ with a very small ‘quitter’ written under that. It’s like it was added last minute in pen and you have a feeling Shoko did it.

Gojo runs up from behind you, “Holy fuck, we have so many stairs,” he looks to your face and then at everyone else, “did she scream?”

Nanami answers him, “No, she’s just been staring like that the whole time.”

Gojo moves to stand in front of you, asking, “You okay? Did we get you too good?”

Everyone starts murmuring and you’re very suddenly overwhelmed by all the emotions you’ve been stuffing down all week. Tears slipping from your waterline and trailing down your cheeks before you can stop them.

“Woah, what’s wrong?” he’s fussing over you, “Hey, I’m sorry, we just wanted to send you off properly.”

You use the back of your hands to wipe at your face, “Sorry, I need a moment.” Pushing the file Gojo had given you towards him before running off to hide in the bathroom.

Taking deep breaths, you try to calm down but it’s hard when you’re also dying of embarrassment. It was really nice of them; you weren’t expecting anything so to have so many people set up a going away party was really sweet but it’s just another reminder of your shitty situation and your reluctance to leave.

A soft tap on the door alerts you to someone’s presence, “Can I come in?” Gojo calls.

“No,” you call back.

It’s quiet and then he says, “I’m gonna come in anyways.” True to his word, he enters the bathroom but he doesn’t say anything more.

Unprompted you apologise, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I didn’t mean to cry,” sniffling, “I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he walks in closer to you, placing a hand on top of your head. “If you’re so upset you could always stay.”

You laugh a little bitterly at that. “I’m fine now, I’ll come out and we can celebrate.”

“I can send everyone home if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“No, I want to say goodbye to everyone,” you look up to him, “thank you for doing this.”

“Of course,” he tucks his hands into his pockets, expression a little shy, “I couldn’t not give my favourite employee a send-off.” His upper body moves in a little like he’s going to share a secret, “I wanted to do something bigger but Shoko told me not to.”

A smile is on your lips at that, it’s so like him to want to go big. You owe Shoko for that advice, if he’d done something grand you’d be even more embarrassed than you already are. “Let’s go back.”

It’s not rowdy, it’s an office party so it’s mostly mingling and eating some snacks but it’s nice and it beats the hell out of getting drunk alone in an empty apartment. Nanami is the only one you’d given a reason as to why you’re leaving and he’d kept it to himself so you get a bunch of questions but you field them all pretty easily.

Your eyes keep finding their way back to Gojo before you feel a pang of guilt or sadness and you look away. Things slowly die down as more and more people head home and before it becomes too obvious, you slip away back upstairs to your desk.

Gojo’s office is left slightly open and you walk inside; it’s dark. The only light entering the room is coming from the surrounding building lights. You move to stand in front of the large window and look out to appreciate the view. You’re going to miss this part of the city.

“You’re not planning on robbing me on your last day are you?” Gojo asks from the door.

Getting over the shock of him suddenly appearing, you joke, “Are you kidding? I’ve been robbing you blind since my first day here.”

He crosses the room to stand beside you, “Only cause I let you.”

“What a gentleman.”

“I’m gonna say it one more time,” he looks to you, “stay.”

You don’t know how to answer him so you just lean in and hug him.

His arms wrap around you, “This isn’t very professional of you.”

“Cause you’re so professional,” you murmur back, “also you’re not my boss anymore.”

The both of you don’t say anything, just holding each other. Probably far too intimate for a working relationship but… you really needed this. It’s nice, he’s big and warm and he holds you gently. It’s giving you a lot of comfort and at the same time it’s making you want to cry again.

“I’ll miss you, Gojo.”

“I think you’ll be the first to.”

“Not true.” As much grief as everyone gives him, they’d still miss him.

He laughs a little and lowers himself so his lips are by your ear, “I’ll miss you, too.”

A shiver goes down your spine at his voice and you pull back to look at him. His face is close to yours and your eyes linger on his lips. Doing your very best to look into his eyes, you say, “Don’t ruin the company just because I’m gone.”

“I wouldn’t want to ruin all your hard work,” he grins.

You roll your eyes and move to untangle from him. He doesn’t let you. “What are you—”

Gojo’s closed the gap between the two of you with a kiss, a large hand cradling the side of your face. His thumb strokes high on your cheekbone as his lips implore yours. It doesn’t take you long at all to react, hands grabbing onto his jacket and kissing him back.

It’s overwhelming, his kiss all consuming. Almost like he’s been waiting for the perfect opportunity to kiss you like this. Lips insistent on yours, his body coming closer with a single step forward. His hand on your face tilts you up, thumb trailing to the hinge in your jaw and pressing.

You’re opening your mouth to him more and he sighs happily, licking to deepen the kiss as much as he can. It’s dizzying, mind slowly slipping of focus the longer he holds you. Your body shudders against your will because it’s never felt this good to be kissed before.

Pushing back on him, afraid you’re about to lose your mind and all he’s done is kiss you. Gojo pulls back with a suck of your tongue and your legs nearly falter, small whine leaving you. He’s stopped but he’s not moving back, hand still on the side of your face, the other having moved down to rest on your hip.

“You want me to stop here?” He asks, thumb pulling on your lower lip teasingly.

“This isn’t really—”

“Appropriate?” He asks, closer than he was before, lips almost touching yours, “Like you said… I’m not your boss anymore.”

Fuck it.

You’re the one to close the gap this time, kissing him again. It’s messier than before, an even more heated exchange and you’re realising he was being gentle with you a moment ago. Mood suddenly changed as it feels like he’s aiming to devour you whole.

He spins you so your back is against the cold glass of the window, his lower body pressing close to you. Able to feel his erection, it’s scandalous and making you tingle. You wrap your arms around his neck and he moves his hands down lower, sliding to your lower back. His fingers twitch against you like he’s holding back from touching you more.

Lips parting again so he can trail his kisses lower, burying his face into the side of your neck. Teeth nip at your flesh and you gasp, “Gojo!”

His smile reaches his eyes, “Something to remember me by,” he laves over the mark with his tongue.

Your heart twinges when you realise that your close relationship with him is ending and suddenly you’re asking, “Leave another?”

Gojo laughs a little breathlessly at that, “Hah, don’t have to tell me twice.”

He leaves another mark at your request, and then another lower down before trailing back up, his nose brushing against your neck until his lips meet yours. Words coming mumbled as he keeps kissing you, “You smell so fucking good.”

“Just shut up…” you grumble back, “and kiss me more.”

You know he wants to make another smartass comment but you're shoving your tongue in his mouth to keep him quiet, he seems to be right where he wants to be though. Hands growing bolder as he grabs your ass and tugs you closer, grinding his erection against you.

Breaths coming heavy as you comment, “Pervert.”

“If I were a pervert…” he hums happily, “I’d do something more like this.” One of his hands is off your ass and slipping into the front of your pants, fingers swiping through your folds over your underwear.

A gasp leaves you, fingers digging into his shoulders as your knees grow weak. He’s prodding at your hole through your panties, almost penetrating if it weren’t for the material of them. It’s cruel, your arousal seeping into your underwear providing a slick glide for him to slide up to your clit.

“My,” he comments as if he’s shocked, “aren’t you a little too wet over a few kisses?”

“You can’t talk,” you pout, skin warming.

His eyes are bright with mischief. “Don’t be embarrassed,” finger carefully circling your clit and keeping you on edge, “it’s cute.” Sliding back to your dripping hole, “Though…” teasing you there too and then trailing back to your clit again, “you being embarrassed is cute too.”

“Are you– hff– gonna tease me the whole time?” You blink up at him.

“Probably.”

Hips rocking slightly, needy for him to touch you more, “Aren’t you being unreasonable?”

“I don’t think so.” He’s purposefully avoiding giving you what you’re seeking.

Your head falls to rest against him, hands gripping his shirt. Pleasure that feels just a little too distant running through you, making you weak and frustrated. Legs shaky to stand on with how antsy you’re getting. You should’ve guessed that he’d be a tease by how he acts regularly.

On the brink of asking him to touch you properly when he slips his hand under your panties, fingers immediately sliding inside your weeping cunt. You’re left gasping out a pathetic moan as he borderline whines. Clinging to him desperately as he angles his digits to hit the sweetest spots inside you. Slow in his pursuit, like he’s learning what gets the best reactions from you.

Gojo’s control is slipping, the tight grip you have on his fingers making it hard to think. Not to mention just how hot and wet you are, he’s not sure how he’s going to last fucking you when you feel this divine around his fingers alone.

Moans tumble from your lips and you struggle to stifle them back down, trying to rock your hips against his hand for anything more he’ll give you. It’s messy, dripping down into the palm of his hand, no doubt ruining your panties in the process. The sound of him finger fucking you obscene and too loud. Your skin is hot and you’re embarrassed from just how horny you’ve gotten, whimpering as he crooks his digits up and hits something sweet.

“Fuck– come over here,” Gojo pulls his fingers from you and tugs you over to his desk. He lifts you to sit on top of it effortlessly, hands tugging your pants and underwear off in one go. Movements rushed, impatience clear.

He’s sitting back into his desk chair and rolling forward a bit, hands resting atop your thighs. You ask him, “What are you doing?”

The answer comes incredibly blunt, “I’m gonna make out with your pretty pussy while you sit on my desk.” All smiles as he pushes your thighs apart, “I’m gonna think about this view every time I sit here from now on.”

Tongue boldly licking through your folds and making you squeal, your hand threads through his hair for something to hold onto. Quickly discovering just how good at this he really is, sliding his tongue inside your cunt and slurping at you lewdly.

Gojo eats you like a man starved, fingers digging into your plush skin as he holds you open. Your juices drip down his chin and onto his desk and all he can think about is how good you taste and how cute you are when you twitch around his tongue and how he’s probably going to get hard just thinking about this later.

Of course, he’s also going to be playing the whines and moans you’re letting out on repeat in his head later too. Finding everything about you completely endearing, even more so in your dishevelled and aroused state. To have you melting under his touch is almost too much for his poor heart to take.

Your lungs seize in your chest at how good it feels, his nose grinding into your clit with how close he’s pressed his face into you. If you had any higher brain function in this current moment, you’d be concerned if he could even breathe.

It’s getting harder and harder to sit still, desperate to move your hips in response to his stimulation. You’re falling back onto your elbows, hoping to leverage yourself better to rut against his face but he’s stronger than you anticipated. As if in punishment for your impatience, he pulls his tongue from you and trails it up to your clit. Licking it gently before wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

The feelings that run through you are immense and head spinning, feet kicking at the shock of it. Your elbows shake and give out, back bowing up in response. Hand reaching back for his head, tugging on his hair which only has him moaning against you. The vibrations have your hole twitching. Ever observant, Gojo stuffs two of his fingers inside you. Hitting all those perfect little spots he’d found earlier. Apparently having learnt a lot about your body in a short time.

“Gojo– hng– you gotta stop– hff– I’m gonna—”

His eyes look up to you, glinting mischievously. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Mouth off you long enough to say, “I’m not gonna stop.”

Almost as soon as his lips are back around your clit are you cumming; twitching and writhing through the high flooding your senses. All sensitive and whingey as he keeps fucking you with his digits. You can’t hear anything but the blood rushing in your head, feeling as though you’re floating.

That is, until Gojo pushes you dangerously close to overstimulation. His mouth off your clit, only to stuff his tongue back inside your cunt along with his fingers. Stretching you open as he eats you in a completely debauched manner.

“Too much– hnn– Gojo.” You push back on his forehead and he relents. “Perv.”

“Sorry sorry.” He grins, looking a little less than sorry about it.

He keeps your thighs open, admiring the way fresh slick drips from you entrance. He really wants to lean in and tongue your hole some more but he’ll refrain, diverting his focus to kiss your inner thighs. Sucking hickeys into your skin as much as he can, starting on the left before moving to the right. Getting a little too into it and biting your thigh a couple times, you twitch and whine at it and he doesn’t miss the way your pussy clenches around nothing in response.

Gojo gets to his feet and leans over top of you, pecking your cheek before kissing you deep and slow. It’s not hurried, taking his time to explore your mouth carefully. You don’t even realise he’d been unbuttoning your shirt at the same time until he’s moving away and opening it. 

Hands quick to grope your tits over your bra, “Hmm… this is pretty,” he comments, fingers slipping under the strap and pulling back just to let it snap! back against your skin.

“Gojo!” you chastise, voice coming a little breathless.

He doesn’t even bother to take your bra off properly, just pushing it up and over your tits so he can gain direct access to your nipples. Head ducking back down to leave more marks on your soft skin, licking over your nipple to see what kind of reaction you’ll have. He’s not disappointed when you moan and tug at his hair.

Moving to rest his forehead against the valley between your breasts, he hums out, “You’re so perfect, from head to toe.”

“Don’t think flattery will get me to stay,” you joke, feeling bashful and trying to change his focus.

“How about a really good dick down?”

“Aren’t you a little too self-assured?”

Gojo stands up, shucking off his jacket and then beginning to unbutton his own shirt, “Ask me that again after we fuck.” He shrugs it off his shoulders and lets it fall to the ground.

You knew he was well built but seeing him shirtless is making you realise just how well built he is. All broad shoulders and toned abs, it’s a little hard to stay focused when you’re this horny and he’s that hot shirtless. Happy trail leading out of his pants to his belly button making your mouth water and you’re suddenly remembering that it’s rude to stare when you look back into his eyes.

Though obviously, Gojo takes it as a compliment. Large grin on his face at your blatant ogling. “Like what you see?” He asks.

“I didn’t say anything,” you turn away from him.

“You didn’t have to,” he laughs, “the hearts in your eyes said enough.”

“Oh, shut up.”

He starts unbuckling his belt, “Your pouting will only turn me on more.”

Sitting up as you tease, “You’ve got some weird kinks, huh?”

“Not at all, it’s just that I could get off to anything about you,” he replies smoothly.

You really shouldn’t find that as flattering as you do. “Not appropriate for the workplace, Gojo.”

“Getting tongue fucked on the CEO’s desk isn’t exactly appropriate either but here you are.” He reaches into his pants and pulls his cock out, hissing, “Plus, as you pointed out earlier, I’m not your boss anymore.”

There would definitely be some remark you’d make to that but your focus is kind of caught up on how big his dick is. You knew from it digging into you earlier that he was… well-endowed but to see it now is a little scary.

You point at it accusatorily, “There’s no way I’m taking that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he laughs. “Don’t stress so much, it’ll fit.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him as if to ask, ‘you sure?’

“The foreplay wasn’t just for fun,” Gojo purrs, “though I definitely did have fun playing with your pussy—.”

Your hand slaps over his mouth, “Do you need to be so vulgar?”

He nods wordlessly from behind your hand, eyes bright with his enjoyment of this interaction.

You take too long to remove your palm and he’s licking it, your reaction immediate as you pull back with a grimace. “Ew, what the hell?”

“Ew? My tongue was literally in your mouth not five minutes ago,” his eyes roll at you.

“This and that are different things.”

“Uh huh,” brushing you off, “Open your legs more, I’m gonna blow my load before I even get inside you at this rate.”

Your legs cross at that, “Say pretty please.”

Gojo leans down and rests his hands on the desk either side of you, eyes level with yours, “Pretty please open your legs for me, sweetheart?”

There’s a bit of a begged tinge to his voice that makes you cave immediately, parting your legs again. He grabs your hips and pulls you closer to the edge of the desk, humming happily,  “Thank you.”

The head of his cock is dragged from your clit to your opening and back again, sliding himself through your folds a few times just to make you desperate. Ignoring the fact that you’re already desperate, needy for him to fill you to the brim.

“Stop being a tease.”

“I thought you were worried about it fitting?” He asks.

Your retort is fast, “I thought you were going to give me a good dick down?”

“I believe I said a really good dick down,” notching the head at your pussy hole, “but I’ll forgive you this time.” He doesn’t push in immediately, instead leaving a chaste peck on your lips before he murmurs against them, “Deep breath.”

About to tell him he’s ridiculous and something about his ego being heavy to carry around when your lungs are struggling, the initial slide of his cock entering you making all air knock from you. Nails clawing at his forearms either side of you, not even able to make a noise as he splits you open.

Stopping not even half-way to give you a second to breathe, “I told you to take a deep breath.”

“Hnn– I– hng—” You can’t even reply yet, stopping your attempts to fill your lungs with air.

Gojo’s head dips as he looks at where you’re both connected, “Fuuuck—” he tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling, “I’m gonna cum too early if you don’t relax.”

He’d already held off on cumming just from touching you a couple times, finally being inside you is driving him crazy. Not even at the half-way point and his dick is twitching like crazy, your cunt sucking him in greedily and clenched so tight around him. You’re still panting and struggling to wrap your head around the stretch of him and as cute as it is, it’s also a massive fucking turn on that’s making his life harder.

You’re falling forward into him, head resting on his chest, hands clinging to him desperately. Managing out through moans, “Why– hff– why is your dick so huge?”

Breathless laugh leaving him, “You’re being really cute.”

“Shut up.”

“Getting cuter.”

He wraps his arms around you, lips pressed to your ear. With the movement his cock slides just that bit more inside you. The sound of his soft, needy whine is ringing in your head and making you twitch. Practically creaming around him already, it’s embarrassingly early to be this much of a mess but he’s worked you up so much and you can’t help but fall deeper into the pleasure.

Desire is overflowing from you and you have no idea what to do with it, holding onto him tighter as a result. Turning to the side, you kiss him wherever you can, it doesn’t take long at all for him to dip and kiss you back hard. Getting lost in his lips, wishing you could somehow pull him even closer.

While distracted, Gojo takes the opportunity to fuck the rest of the way into your tight pussy. Your mouth is dropping open with a whine, feeling the tip of his dick against your cervix has you trembling. You can’t tell if you’re imagining it but you’d swear you can feel the thump thump! of the veins on his cock throbbing against your walls.

He lowers you down onto the desk but the movement has him shifting inside you and you’re whining again, back arching against the wooden surface. You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the need to cling to him even more.

Gojo’s head tucks into the crook of your neck, his words coming out mumbled, “Ooh, you’re gonna have me dreaming about this.”

“You– hng– you have to move.” You can’t take any more of this slow pace, your pussy begging you—and him—to be fucked.

His face comes into view, expression struggling to stay cool, “You need to keep your legs open nice and wide for me then.”

Pout making its way onto your face immediately because you really want to keep him this close but you also really want to do what he says. “This better be worth the embarrassment.”

“It will be.”

He’s pulling away from you at the same time that you’re parting your legs, hoping you’ll get away with resting your inner thighs against his hips. Clearly, that’s not satisfactory enough for Gojo because he’s grabbing behind your knees and pulling your legs further apart. Manhandling you lewdly into a position that exposes you to his greedy eyes.

Sighed moan leaving him, “You’ve got such a pretty cunt.”

“You’ve– ah– got such a dirty mouth.” A laugh moves through his chest at your retort and you don’t understand why you’re feeling butterflies over it.

“I’m gonna move now, sweetheart.”

“Please.”

The heavy drag of his cock pulling back gives you a visceral reaction, fingers digging into his desk, looking for something to hold onto. Every inch of him rubbing up against something delicious with each one of his movements, no matter how small. Tuned into every sensation you’re experiencing and feeling so sensitive with it. You’re feeling everything, pussy creaming around him at it, clearly in love with his dick.

On the other hand, Gojo’s losing his fucking mind about as much as you are—if not more. His cock throbbing, pulsing inside your hot cunt. Even though he’s going insane over how sweet your pussy is, he’s still pausing when he’s pulled out. Watching how your hole twitches and convulses around the head of his dick. Fresh slick dribbling from you and sliding down his shaft, he’s not sure he’s ever going to be normal again.

Slamming his hips to yours in one movement and as soon as he starts, he can’t stop. Repeatedly fucking into you over and over, his eyes glazing over as whimpers spill from him. You’re not doing any better, whining and grabbing onto whatever’s closest, obviously needing something to keep you grounded.

He’s bullying your womb with his tip and you’re so close to cumming, only a few more thrusts and you’re finishing around him. Surprised by your own high, hips meeting his to ride it out. Teeth digging into your lower lip as your eyes roll, too involved in yourself and the pleasure to be embarrassed.

“God– hah– you’re already?– fuck!” Gojo can’t believe it, his heart hammering in his chest at how you cum. Your pussy sucking him in divinely, begging him to keep stuffing you full.

In your fucked out bliss, you slip up, “Satoru– hmf—”

It’s the first time you’ve used his given name and his brain short circuits, everything inside him excited and he can’t help himself. Whining pathetically as he cums, not a hint of shame from him. Caught up in how pretty his name sounded coming from your lips, a little slurred in your messy state.

Not able to stop his thrusts either, your mixed cum drooling down the sides of his cock as he keeps fucking you. Keeping you both on cloud nine to the point of overstimulation. The pair of you buzzing and lost in each other. Everything is hot and messy and feels so fucking good.

His brain is stuck in a loop of your pitiful voice calling for him. “You’re unbelievable– hnn– you should stay– hah– don’t leave.”

“I can’t– ngh—”

“Breaking my heart,” he sulks, hips slowing to a steady rut.

You can feel tingling all the way down to your toes. “That’d– hff– be more believable if you weren’t balls deep inside me.”

He finally stops, pelvis flush to you. Looking down his nose as he replies,  “I’m multidimensional.” Sliding his hands from your legs to your waist, “And still horny.”

His dick slips from you and then he’s using his hold on you to flip you over so you’re face down on the desk. Taking a second to admire the way his seed drips from you before plugging it with his fat dick again. Shiver going down his spine, gaze trailing up your body. Disappointed by the lack of skin showing, you’re still wearing the unbuttoned shirt he neglected to properly remove in his impatience.

Touch gentle as he slides the sleeves down your arms, initially going to take it off but changing his mind at the last second. Instead, wrapping your wrists in it haphazardly and turning it into a makeshift restraint.

When you realise what he’s done, you struggle a little against it and then huff. Forehead resting against the wood, cunt overstuffed, and now restrained in your arm movements. You feel a little helpless and it makes your insides flutter.

Gojo checks in, “You good, sweetie?”

“Pervert,” you mutter in response.

“What was that?” Fingers unclasping your bra, sliding his hand over where it’d been fastened.

“I’m good,” you reply.

He pats your ass, smiling to himself, “Then this pervert’s gonna fuck you again.”

Pace instantly brutal, angling his hips so his dick drills into your weakest point. Already having figured out your body far better than you ever have, driving you to the brink of crying from how overwhelmingly good it feels.

You have nothing to hold onto, hands trapped behind you and forced to stay there. It’s got you squirmy, unable to ground yourself with anything and it’s manifesting as you wriggling and your toes curling. Panting and writhing below Gojo, digging your nails into the cotton of your shirt as a pitiful replacement for something sturdy.

Gojo groans, hands holding you still, his fingers digging into your plush skin. “Stay still, pretty.”

“Can’t– ngh– can’t help it.” Your eyes wet from unshed tears.

He moves one of his hands up to the back of your neck, putting just enough pressure there to stop your wriggling. Immobile under him now, taking what he’s giving you. Your pussy shaking around him, consumed by him and his presence. Trusting him wholly in this moment to do what will bring you both the most pleasure, a kind of trust you’ve not given to anyone before.

There’s a creamy ring around the base of his cock from your mixed cum, a sight that makes him even more aroused. Everything you do, everything about fucking you, is only working him up even more. Thinking he’s gotten as horny as he can possibly get only for you to whine, or call his name, or twitch, or pulse around him. Causing him to fall deeper and deeper into his own insanity, borderline unhinged from how you’re making him feel.

Everything feels so much more heightened now that you can’t take it out on the furniture, brain zeroing in on exactly where his tip is hitting or the sounds he’s making for you. The soft whines and moans from him are causing your brain to fry, tingling all over and smiling a little dumbly at how he sighs your name.

It feels so good, too good, it’s almost a little scary just how good it feels. Like you’re going to fall apart at any second and you have no idea of knowing when, kept on edge and waiting for the final thrust that will do you in.

Gojo can’t believe what’s in front of him, able to feel you so vividly but still feeling like he’s dreaming because it’s just too good to be true. But you are here below him, your pussy is crying around him and begging for more. It’s real and it’s heavenly and he’s greedy for more.

“You’re so pretty,” he sighs, “so pretty– hff– and smart and your cunt sucks me in so fucking nicely.”

Managing to pant back at him, “Don’t talk.” Your pussy betrays you though, jumping at his praise.

“Why not?” Soft laugh leaving him, “Feels like you like it.” He hums softly, hand tickling down your spine, “It’s– hah– like how you got flustered by me complimenting your work.”

You’d almost forgotten that, all his words of affirmation and the kindness he’d spilled in an attempt to get you to not resign. It didn’t work but it definitely did make you feel all fuzzy inside. “I don’t know what you’re– ah!– talking about.”

“I think someone has a thing for praise,” he giggles. “That’s okay, I can give you all the praise in the world.”

“I don’t,” you deny poorly. It’s hard to sound convincing when you’re full of his cock.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” you can hear the smile on his face, “you’re doing– haa– such a good job, pussy taking me so well. Being real nice to me too, all wet and needy.”

It’s fucked up how easily he reads you, it shouldn’t be allowed. “Stop– hm– I’m gonna cum if you keep—”

“—Gonna cum because you like being told what a hot cunt you have and how great it is to fuck.”

He’s so annoying, so persistent, so stubborn, and so good at getting you off. You’re cumming around him as he gives you his nasty version of a compliment, moans loud and embarrassing. It’s the hardest you’ve ever cum and it’s knocked the wind from your lungs. A mess of shivers and whines as you ride it out. His cock prolonging your high because he’s not stopped fucking you.

Gojo’s head tips back, eyes watching how you’re squeezing around him, “Fuck– fuck– oh my god– hah– that’s it, cum around me juuust like that.”

It feels fantastic, your bliss washing over you. It won’t stop feeling good, brain all mushy and thoughtless as you barely register his words. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, holding his own orgasm off through sheer willpower alone. “Satoru… you– hng– you gotta cum, please?”

“That’s not fair,” he whines.

You’re not playing fair. He’s trying his absolute hardest to prolong this moment, wanting it to never end and here you are asking him so very nicely to cum. He couldn’t possibly deny you, not when you’re so placid and sucking him in so lovingly. Pussy practically begging him for another one of his heavy loads.

Voice calling to him again, “Please, I want it.” And you do, you want to hear how his moans get even more pathetic as he finally lets himself go.

Not even all the way through your sentence does he fold for you, hands slamming down onto the desk as his hips jut forward, filling you to the brim with his achy dick. His pelvis keeps you so close to the edge of the desk, the wood digging into you.

Your hole flutters around him at his pretty moans and he feels every second of it, his sensitive cock reacting to it. “You feel sooo fucking good– ngh– I can’t take it, you’re killing me, sweetheart.”

He’s panting from above you, trying to catch his breath as his body shakes from aftershocks. The both of you twitchy messes, all heavy breaths and soft jerks. Your body is all limp on the desk, brain fuzzy and not thinking much of anything aside from how delightful everything feels.

In his hazy state, he manages to remember that you’re still restrained. Struggling a little to untangle the mess he made of your shirt and freeing your hands. Your arms fall to your sides, all lazy and fucked out.

Gojo slips from you and sits back onto his desk chair, taking you with him. Your head flops back onto his chest as you whine in protest but you’re too weak to stand. “Your cum is gonna get all over this chair.”

The laugh that he lets out vibrates against you, “It’s fine, I’m sure the owner won’t mind.” His big hands come around to your front, pulling your bra off properly before cupping your tits in them.

“The owner is a weird pervert.”

He’s playing with you, groping your tits how he pleases, “Oh, you’ve met him? Should I be jealous?”

You continue going along with his bit, “No, he’s some lazy guy who never shows up on time and always sneaks out to blow off work, I’d never have sex with him.”

“Wow, lucky I’m not him,” he tilts your head to the side and kisses you deep. Humming softly against you as he licks at your tongue. When he pulls back he asks, “So, was it a really good dick down or what?”

Your eyes grow wide and your skin heats up, “I refuse to answer that.”

“Because then you’d have to stay,” he grins back, arms moving to wrap around you.

There’s a quiet that goes over the both of you, “I can’t.”

He tucks his head into your neck, asking, “Are you finally going to tell me why?”

“If I told you why you’d want to help and I’m handling it on my own.” There’s a lot you can’t manage to tell him and needing to move is only the tip of the iceberg.

As much as he wants to argue back or push more information from you, he accepts your words, “There will always be a place here for you, I was serious about not hiring anyone else.”

These are your last moments with him, him being kind to you after giving you the best sex of your life and you can’t even be completely honest with him. Instead of mourning the moment before it’s over though, you let yourself be here. Held by him and warm.

𝒂ﾉ𝒏. thank you sm for reading !!! i'm sorry it took me so long to finish it 🥲 my writing speed fluctuates rapidly, i am who i ammmm. ngl i got most of this done ages ago and got stuck on the smut. ANYWAYS,, i have ideas for a second part with a little bit of angst and dramaaa but only if people want it smile ◡̈

also if it seems unrealistic to what working in marketing is like #sorry i've never worked corporate. i'm studying psych and worked as a lifeguard so i've got NO CLUE 😛

edit 20 / 06 : i am in the middle of writing a second part for this ! i am so happy you guys liked this fic so much and i've been having a lot of fun writing for it. i unfortunately will not be doing a taglist i'm sorry </3 i hope you guys keep an eye out for when i eventually post the next part though ! <33

PART TWO

Shoko was the biggest mess of the three of you, sobbing unwaveringly while her whole body trembled. You couldn't blame her - for some reason she’d become the sadistic focus of the other man, known as Jogo. If he wanted to inflict terror upon the three of you, it was always Shoko who found herself at the receiving end of his wrath, and as such her throat was terribly bruised along with her right eye, where he’d struck her hard across the face. 

You were the only one who hadn’t been hit, at least not yet, but you weren’t sure it could be counted as a blessing. Mahito seemed to have taken a liking to you in a way that he didn’t extend to the other two, always reaching out for you and playing with your hair, stroking your face, running his fingers along the bare skin of your thigh. It made you sick, and each time you tried to draw away he would pull you back firmly with a wide smile, like it was all part of some game. 

At first, you weren’t sure what their actual plan was, for the two intruders had broken in and tied you up, only to sit back and smoke weed for a while, leaving the three of you shivering and incapacitated, waiting for whatever was coming next. You supposed that was probably all part of the game - a ploy to send your imagination running wild with thoughts of what they might do to you. 

But once they were done smoking their joints, their game had really started. 

“Okay, you.” Mahito was pointing his gun at Yuki, staring down at her easily. “What’s a secret that you’ve been keeping from these two?” This was the third or fourth question of that manner that the men had levied that evening, seemingly finding joy in causing strife between you all and lashing out with violence when you tried to lie or refused to answer. 

It was a little sickening to think that you’d been playing truth or dare earlier that afternoon, and now you were being forced to play it at gunpoint. It wouldn’t have surprised you to find out that Mahito had been skulking around the whole time, listening in on your interactions with your friends and building this encounter based on it. 

“I don’t have any,” she said firmly, grunting as Mahito slapped her once more.

“Wrong answer.” He clicked the safety off the gun. “Come on, lie again or try to back out and I’ll pull the trigger. It’s only her that I need in working condition.” He jerked his head in your direction. “There must be something, maybe you fucked her boyfriend or something?” 

Yuki sneered at the implication, but the hatred dissipated the moment she remembered her situation. Her dislike for Sukuna seemed rather petty and insignificant in the face of this new violence. 

“Fine.” Yuki turned to you with an earnest stare. “I tried to get Sukuna to break up with you when I first found out you were dating. Sorry, I know you want us to get along, but I hate the guy. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is about him, but he’s bad news and I don’t want to watch him ruin your life with his bullshit. Sue me.” 

Mahito watched the exchange carefully, eyes lightening up with a cruel glee, only to pout when you offered no dramatic reaction. Even if you hadn’t known the details, it didn’t surprise you that Yuki had tried to intervene - you’d been sure they’d shared some terse words that morning you’d all gone out for brunch, the tension at the table upon your return from the bathroom had been palpable. 

“It's okay, I get it,” you said evenly, more than willing to let it go. Yuki had your best interests at heart, and she wasn’t wrong to be skeptical over some of Sukuna’s more possessive qualities considering the break-in stunt - even if you generally found his nature more charming than concerning. 

“How boring. That’s all?” Mahito asked, switching his focus to you. “She tried to break up your relationship and it's just okay? Get mad about it!” You glared up at him, unsure how he could be so dense as to believe that you’d turn on your friends in this situation. It was pointless to get mad at Yuki right now, all that mattered was living through the evening unharmed. 

“That’s all,” you mumbled, drawing a sigh from the blue haired man. 

“Okay, then how about you, sweetheart?” He asked, edging closer and caressing your face with the barrel of the gun. You flinched at the cold touch of the metal, trying to stay calm in the face of it. You were worried that panicking would just annoy the intruders and cause them to put an end to you early. 

Or perhaps they’d cause harm to one of your friends in a bid as punishment for freaking out. You didn’t want to be the cause of anyone’s suffering. 

“What’s a secret you’ve been hiding? Share it with the class.” 

Just like Yuki, you found yourself unsure as to what you might say, for there weren’t really any secrets you’d been keeping from the both of them. But in a bid to get things over with sooner, you turned to Yuki with a heavy sigh. “Sukuna broke into my house a few weeks ago to have sex with me in the middle of the night to fulfill some kink of his. I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d go crazy about it.” 

“What the fuck?” She asked, suddenly enraged as if forgetting the situation for just a moment. “He broke into your house? That’s so fucked up, why would you keep dating him after that?.” 

“We talked it out,” you responded quickly. “He just got carried away and he thought I’d be into it too. He said it won’t happen again.” 

“Right, because he’s so fucking honest all the time.” 

“He’s good to me,” you argued. 

“Really? Because what you just described makes it sound like he raped you.” 

Immediately you were rearing back, your eyes wide in disgust, like Yuki had poured cold water over you. The words were unpleasant, a sickening feeling twisting within you to hear her describe it in such a manner. You’d never viewed Sukuna’s actions in such a way. Sure, he’d crossed a line in that instance, but sex with him had never been anything other than a pleasure. It was always something that you wanted, and if you ever told him to stop you had the utmost confidence that he would stop. 

Yuki disliking him was one thing, but to cast such incorrect judgement over your dynamic had a spark of hatred igniting itself in your chest. 

“That’s not what I’m saying, at all. God, not everything is black and white, Sukuna isn’t the root of all evil, and I’m so sick of you treating me like a baby all the time. Let me make my own decisions and you can bitch about me to Shoko in private when you don’t agree with them,” you spat. 

“Oh, is that what you do about me?” She asked. “Talk about me behind my back rather than to my face?” 

“Sometimes, yeah. When you're being like this.” Your words hung heavy in the room, and Yuki fell silent, shaking her head and diverting her brown eyes to the ground.

Mahito burst out laughing. 

“Yes! That’s the kind of thing I was talking about!” He waved the gun at Shoko. “Now you!”

Shoko seemed a little bewildered. Of the three of you she was flagging the most, struggling to keep her eyes open. It was clear that there was significant damage to her neck, and even as she hesitated to find an answer, Jogo was striding over and putting his cigarette out on her shoulder, pulling a fearful yelp from her lips. 

“Stop it.” Yuki hissed, only to be ignored by both men, who continued to urge Shoko on for an answer, rubbing the gun up against her temple. 

“Come on, quickly now. Don’t want us to put a bullet in your skull, do you?” Jogo asked. 

Shoko shook her head fearfully, biting down on her lip for a moment before taking a shuddering breath. “I slept with Choso a few months before you guys got together.” She confessed, keeping her gaze forward, seemingly terrified of casting a glance at Yuki.

You couldn’t keep the shock from your face, because you hadn’t known that. And based on the sheer guilt in Shoko’s eyes, you were certain this was the first time she’d told anybody.

“It- it was back when I didn’t know what I wanted and I was still exploring things. Me and him hooked up at a party. I knew that you liked him but I was drunk and things just kind of happened. Sorry Yuki. I should’ve told you.” 

“Oooh, now that’s spicy!” Mahito exclaimed, glancing over at your blonde friend. You weren’t sure at first that she’d even registered it, seemingly processing too many things at once, as if she’d reached some sort of saturation point. But after a few seconds she breathed out a deep sigh and looked at Shoko. 

“It was before we were dating?” 

Shoko nodded earnestly, eyes still fixed in front of her. 

“That’s fine. It’s just- why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Cho tell me?” 

Shrugging, Shoko stumbled over her words, clearly struggling to formulate a coherent answer. “I don’t know. I guess I just felt like you’d be mad at me? You’d told me you were crushing on him and I still- fuck- sorry.” She trailed off. 

There was more silence, before Yuki shrugged, turning her head away from the both of you. “Sure, whatever.” 

“Girls and their drama huh?” Mahito cut through the silence. “Why can’t you all just get along like me and Jogo here? Always bitching about each other’s boyfriends, it's sad.” You stared at him blankly, eager to point out how sexist such a statement was, but unwilling to risk your life for such a correction. 

Right now, all three of you needed to get it together. Sure, the evening’s revelations had been far from ideal, but it didn’t matter. You could squabble about that stuff once you were safe - none of it mattered if you were going to die tonight either way. 

Twisting your hands in your bindings, you observed the area. You were still in the living room, where the two of them had come barrelling in through the window. If you were able to free yourself you could leap out the way they’d come in, or alternately make a run for the internal door and hope you could lose them in the maze of corridors that made up Satoru’s house. 

Unfortunately, you weren’t convinced that all three of you would be able to break free at the same time, and you weren’t about to sacrifice the others for the sake of your own freedom. It wasn’t fair. 

But still, there had to be some way out. 

“Come on, Yuki, is it?” Mahito asked, crouching before her. “Don’t you wanna hurt these girls for what they’ve done? Tell me which one you’re angrier at, and I’ll inflict a wound on them to make sure they don’t forget it.” 

Shoko whimpered, and immediately you were sitting bolt upright, breathing quickly as Yuki said nothing, her eyes still trained on the floor. 

“Pick one, or I’ll shoot them both in the head.” 

Panic flickered in Yuki’s brown eyes, the threat leading to her swiftly raising her head, glancing between the two of you. Shoko had started sobbing, Jogo’s arm wrapped threateningly around her shoulders, his hand stroking the side of her face with a cruel affection. You were calmer on the surface, eyes staring at her pleadingly, hands trembling a little behind your back. 

Yuki spoke your name softly, guilt and hurt present in her expression before she dropped her head again, hiding beneath a mane of blonde hair. 

You couldn’t say that you really blamed her. With the state that Shoko was in, and the pain that had already been inflicted upon her, Yuki would be wrong to suggest that she should be on the receiving end of any more suffering. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t terrified for yourself, quivering as Mahito approached you, drawing a blade from his pocket. 

As he drew closer, you flinched back, trying to escape from his grasp. You were no match for his speed or strength, letting out a cry of fear as he took a seat on the floor, pulling you forcefully into his lap. “Shhhh. Calm down,” he hummed, his lips pressing against your hair in an action meant to comfort you. It filled you with nothing but revulsion, tears bubbling up in your eyes as he pressed the knife up against your arm. 

“What should I cut into her, Yuki?” He asked. “I’m quite the artist, you know?” 

Yuki said nothing, refusing to look at you. Tears were dripping down onto the floor beneath her, tremors wracking her body. For all of Yuki’s strength and confidence, it had amounted to nothing. She was just as scared as the rest of you, held at bay by a singular gun, unwilling to act like a hero and have her life stolen from her. 

“No ideas?” Mahito asked with a pout. “I suppose I could write whore since you clearly are one. Enjoying your boyfriend breaking in to fuck you? That’s depraved. Bet you’ll like what I’m going to do to you later.” A sob escaped you, fresh horror making itself known in the pit of your stomach. You wanted to vomit. 

“Please, don’t.” You rasped. 

“No? Too bad you don’t get a say in the matter, sweetheart. We came here for some fun, you’re not depriving us of it just because you’re a stick in the mud.” He paused, giving you a look over. “Now, where should I cut you - any preferences on this matter, Yuki? You’re the one doing this to her.” 

“Stop it.” She mumbled weakly, her face still averted to what was happening before her eyes. “Just leave them both alone.” 

“No, no, no.” Mahito waved his blade haphazardly, before showing her the gun holstered in the top of his jeans, momentarily stowed away to allow him more control with his knife. “I told you already, it's the knife, or I shoot them both in the head. There’s no other option. So understand that you are doing this to her, and watch it happen like an adult.”

Mahito snapped his fingers at Jogo, who seemed reluctant to release Shoko from his hold. Clearly he was subservient in this little dynamic that they had going though, because he moved over to Yuki and wrenched her head back with a fistful of hair, forcing her eyes to meet your wide, frightened ones. 

“Mmm, where to put it…” Mahito mused, your body jolting as his fingers found the hem of your shirt, pushing it upwards and trailing the knife up your stomach until it reached the bottom of your bra. “How about here?” He asked, tapping the space between your two breasts. “Then, anyone who fucks you will be able to see what you are plain and simple. You like that idea, Yuki?” 

She shook her head vigorously, more tears streaming down her cheeks. The apology in her eyes was clear, and you found yourself sobbing too. You wanted to be in Sukuna’s arms, wanted to cling to him for all eternity, safely cocooned within his grip where nothing bad could ever happen to you. 

But Sukuna wasn’t there, and there was no one else who would come to your rescue. 

“Stay still.” Mahito cooed, “if you move about I’ll make a mess and then you might really be in trouble. You don’t want me cutting too deep by mistake.” 

A pained cry ripped from your lips as Mahito made his first incision in the valley between your breasts, a long line of a ‘W’ cut into your sensitive skin, blood beading and dripping down onto the band of your bra. You and Sukuna had done knife play before, and it was nothing like this. With Sukuna, you felt safe, certain that he knew your limits - the knife would prick but never truly cut. 

This was something different, something revolting. 

You retreated within yourself, and somewhere in the distance you could hear your own voice begging him to stop. Perhaps you could hear Shoko and Yuki’s too, all pleading tearfully while Mahito added another line to his creation, your body jolting painfully with the careful movements of the knife. 

Whether or not you were thankful that he only made it through two lines of the first letter before something happened, you weren’t quite sure. Because a big part of you would’ve chosen to have the word whore branded permanently on your chest over what transpired in those next few seconds. 

Somehow, in the short time that Jogo had been preoccupied with Yuki, Shoko had wrenched her hands free of her bindings. And while the two men were distracted with you, she took her chance and made a bolt for the door leading further into the house. 

She’d stumbled when leaping to her feet, and the moment she’d set off at a run, her feet had caught on the rug below, sending her careening onto her hands and knees for a second before recovering. 

It was too many mistakes to make. 

Mahito’s knife clattered to the floor, grazing your thigh with a cut as it fell past you. His pistol was in his hand in an instant, a shot firing before you had time to prepare for it, leaving a disgustingly loud ringing sound in your ears, muffling much of what followed. Mahito still held you, and the two men were arguing about something incomprehensible, but all you could do was stare at the blood stain on the white door, eyes wide in horror. 

There was a body laying beneath it, one that had finally stopped quivering. This wasn’t the first time you’d seen a body, not even the first time you’d seen one covered in blood at the sign of a violent death, but that didn’t leave you any better equipped to cope. You emptied your stomach on the floor beside you, barely hearing Mahito’s complaints about how disgusting that was. 

It wasn’t something you could help. 

Desperate panic built within you, and you found yourself looking to Yuki, who seemed to be in the midst of a panic attack. Her breaths were coming out ragged, sobbing aloud in a way you’d never heard from her before, a look of pitiful defeat present in her usually lovely chestnut eyes. 

“Why- why are you doing this?” You sobbed, surprised at the sound of your own voice. “She didn’t deserve that, y-you were cutting into my skin like you wanted, you didn’t need to-” you cut yourself off, not knowing what more to say. 

You thought you might throw up again. 

Mahito grinned, wiping a tear from your cheek. “It gets real boring out here, sweetheart. What better entertainment is there than playing with a bunch of pretty girls until they break? Killing is entertainment, and she was too panicky to be useful for much else.” 

Noticing the horror in your expression, his grin only spread further. 

“Not all things need any deep profound meaning, you know. I love the blood and the suffering! There’s little more to it.” 

There was nothing for you to say, tears rolling down your cheeks as you stared at Shoko’s lifeless body spread across the floor. Her blood was seeping out and staining the wood beneath her, her life gone in a single instant, one which you and Yuki had been powerless to prevent. You felt pathetic, your hands flexing in their bindings, regretting agreeing to go along to Satoru’s holiday home, wishing you’d had a nice quiet weekend in Sukuna’s apartment like your boyfriend had wanted. 

“You good to keep an eye on that one, Jogo? I don’t wanna wait much longer. The punishment games aren’t as fun when there’s only two.” Mahito’s gaze was fixed on you with deep lust, his fingers crawling up the length of your arm. 

“Sure, whatever. I’ll watch her while you have your fun, then we’ll do the usual.” 

“Great!” Mahito stood up, throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. 

You couldn’t find it in you to struggle, your mind practically shutting down as Mahito stepped over Shoko’s body to head out into the corridor, like she was nothing more than an obstacle in his path. 

Like she hadn’t been someone you loved.

—

Sukuna had been beset with the chilling feeling that something was wrong. 

It had started just after they’d left the butchers, when he’d shot you a quick text to ask if you wanted anything from the liquor store. Usually, you were quick to reply to him, very rarely leaving your phone on silent, so when a few minutes passed by without you even reading his message, a hint of concern ignited within him. 

He’d tried calling you then, since the rest of the boys had already bought what they wanted, and Sukuna didn’t want to leave without knowing if he should pick you something up, but the phone rang out, going straight to voicemail, and that really worried him. 

Now, to his credit, he did try his best to reason with himself that everything was probably fine. You were likely just caught up chatting with the girls about one thing or another, perhaps you’d left your phone upstairs, or maybe you were watching some movie with the volume turned up so high that you didn’t hear the ringing of your cutesy mobile. 

But he couldn’t quite shake the anxiety from his chest. 

He cursed himself for even attempting to cast his worries aside once the boys made it back from their walk to find the house eerily silent. The window of the living room was smashed inwards, leaving shards of glass all over the wooden floor, and the menu screen for the Ferris Bueller DVD was drenching the whole room in bright white. 

“What- what the fuck?” Satoru hissed. 

The four of them were frozen outside, staring in through the window at the empty room. In the artificial light, Sukuna could just about make out blood staining the sofa, and more flooding the floor behind it. Amongst that partially obscured pool, he could make out what looked like a hand peeking out from behind the couch, and his heart dropped. 

He didn’t wait to consult with the others in their state of shock, and gave little thought to the fact that whoever had done this might still be in the house. Instead he made straight for the window, heart pounding in his chest as he leapt gracefully through the gap, vision shaky but still fixed on that small hand partially shrouded in darkness. 

It couldn’t be you. It couldn’t be. 

It wasn’t. 

Rounding the side of the couch, he stopped in his tracks at the site of Shoko. She was cold, motionless, her brown eyes still open. Blood was dripping from a gunshot wound straight through her skull, leaving her brown hair sticky and matted. There was still a flush to her cheeks, suggesting that whatever had transpired hadn’t taken place all that long ago. 

This wasn’t the first dead body Sukuna had seen - in that area he would consider himself more than experienced. He’d disemboweled Ryu, had smashed Yorozu’s head in with a hammer, had gone so far as to actively torture Kashimo before finally disposing of him - and yet, none of that had made him feel sick like the sight before him.

Shoko had been a good friend of yours. She was a person who Sukuna liked - a good influence on you, someone that would always leave you happy after you’d gone to hang out with her. 

She didn’t deserve what had happened to her. 

But more to the point, whoever had done this to Shoko currently had you, and that thought made him want to vomit. 

He had to find you. 

There was the sound of glass crunching, and Sukuna glanced over at the boys making their way in behind him. They all looked freaked out, and Satoru’s eyes widened in horror as he finally reached Sukuna’s side, letting out a strangled yelp of horror. “Shoko! Oh fuck.” He was down on his knees in an instant, pouring over her as if he might find a pulse if he tried hard enough. “Quick, someone call an ambulance! Suguru - take my phone, oh shit.” 

Suguru was already dialing 911, whilst Choso was standing with hunched shoulders, his expression riddled with terror. It was clear he was going through the same spectrum of emotions that Sukuna was, full of pity for Shoko but focussed on the fate of his own girlfriend who was absent from the room. 

“Yuki-” he mumbled. “I’ve gotta find Yuki.” 

“Do you have a gun?” Sukuna asked Satoru, his voice eerily calm. Internally he was panicking, seething at the idea of someone hurting you, but he wasn’t the type to get frazzled, especially not when he had so many executions on his hands already. 

“What-” 

“These fuckers are probably still here. Do you have a gun here?” 

Satoru nodded. “There’s a cabinet in the kitchen. I’ll show you.” He slowly rose from his position beside Shoko, letting Suguru watch over her while he spoke with the police, asking for immediate support along with an ambulance - not that medical help would do much for Shoko at that point. 

Hurrying into the kitchen, they avoided making too much noise, eager to have the advantage of surprise over any perpetrators. Internally, Sukuna was screaming. He wanted to go on a rampage around the house - tear doors off their hinges and scream at the top of his lungs. But he wasn’t stupid, any warning given to the person or people who had done this could lead to your death. 

He would be nothing but calm and careful. 

It wasn’t clear if the same could be said for Choso, who was visibly shaking while Satoru unlocked the gun rack. Sukuna wasn’t sure the boy had any capability of keeping it together, and he’d be damned if his friend’s weak heart led to your demise somehow. Fortunately, Satoru seemed to be more locked in to the task at hand, breathing easily as he handed Sukuna a pistol, keeping the hunting rifle to himself. 

Satoru, despite his kind and friendly demeanor, had always been the type of man who could do whatever was needed when the time came. He’d been there for Sukuna in plenty of fights throughout high school and had lied their way out of being arrested when they’d been caught with drugs on more than one occasion. 

He was the best person to have on hand in a situation like this, outside of Sukuna himself. 

Later, he was sure the boy would be a total mess, but that was fine. All Sukuna needed was for him to be strong in the moment. 

“I’ll cover the top two floors, you two deal with the bottom two.” Sukuna whispered after a quick check that the pistol was loaded. “If you find them, don’t hesitate to shoot. They deserve the same respect they gave Shoko.” 

Depending on the condition he found you in, he’d probably give the cause a fate even worse than death, but there was no need to recommend that outcome to his friends. They could decide how they wanted to deal with the situation on their own. 

“You gonna be okay by yourself?" Satoru asked. 

Sukuna wanted to laugh at how vastly Satoru was underestimating him, but he was too anxious and enraged to waste any more time. “Yeah. Let's get to it.” 

Hurrying up the stairs, he found it hard to balance speed with silence, wincing each time a step would creak beneath his feet. The stairs were situated at the back of the house, with connected flights moving directly up from the first floor to the fourth. He was on the landing of the second floor when he heard a muffled scream from down the hall, pausing him in his tracks. 

The cry was followed by some begging and sobbing, in a voice which belonged to Yuki. Shortly after, there was the gruff sound of a man speaking and a harsh slap. He faltered in his decision, one foot already on the stairs to continue upwards. He’d assigned this floor to Choso and Satoru, who were still checking out the floor below, and if he was being completely honest, he couldn’t care less about Yuki’s fate. 

What gave him pause was the idea that you might be in there with her, and that had him reversing back down the stairs and along the hallway to a partially opened door, light flooding out into the darkness Sukuna nestled within. Gun in hand, the safety already off, he peered round the door, catching sight of Yuki sitting on the bed, her face bruised and bloodied. 

He watched silently as the large man standing over her struck her for a second time, blood dripping from her cracked lips. There was no defiance in her eyes, none of that fiery hatred Sukuna was often subject to. She had been reduced to a woman overcome with terror, her clothes sticking to her skin, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

If he was a better person, he probably would’ve stepped in and helped - raised his gun to the man’s head in a swift movement and pulled the trigger. But you weren’t there in that room with her, and he’d waste no time aiding a woman he hated when the one he loved was still in peril. 

Choso could save his own damn girlfriend. 

So he backed away slowly, hoping the floor didn’t creak beneath him, before making for the floors above. 

It didn’t take him long to find you after that, your sobs and whimpers flooding the area as he stumbled up onto the fourth floor, which housed the master bedroom Satoru had been staying in. You weren’t begging coherently like Yuki had been, your words a mess of desperate pleas and cries. 

Heart soaring, he found immense comfort in the knowledge that you were alive, your body still warm and moving in a way that Shoko’s never would again. 

But any happiness was quickly replaced by sheer rage at the reality you were currently living. Because at that moment you were alone in a bedroom with some creep who’d carelessly murdered your friend - completely victim to some psycho’s will. 

Sukuna was no longer thinking, acting on impulse as he pushed open the door silently. There was no bright light like the room Yuki had been in, the bedroom instead illuminated by a softer lamp, as if the attacker had wanted to set the mood. He could hear blood pumping in his ears as he rounded the corner, allowing him full vision of Satoru’s bedroom. 

You were there on the bed, laying down atop silk sheets which had clearly been disrupted in a struggle upon them. Even now you were wriggling, trying to pull at the fabric beneath you, letting out soft, anxious cries of fear. 

It was an image that he’d seen hundreds of times - you, laying there with a flushed face, your shirt discarded elsewhere. Usually it was a pleasant image, one that he was always happy to see, knowing that you’d be beneath him, all happy and breathy in his arms. 

But this was the most unpleasant scene he’d ever witnessed.

Because he wasn’t the one laying on top of you. Instead, you were pinned down by that freak from the gas station, a wide smile stretched upon his pale lips as he grappled with you beneath him, easily warding off your attempts to push him away. 

Just like you, the man was in a state of partial nudity, his shirt thrown on the floor beside yours, and Sukuna found fleeting relief in the realisation that he wasn’t too late. You still had your comfy shorts on, keeping you from further defilement, and you were fighting hard for that dignity to remain intact. 

The man had clearly hit you in an attempt to get you to what he wanted, a dark bruise rising around your left eye, and as Sukuna’s gaze drifted down your form he took note of a glistening red mark between your breasts - blood trailing from it down onto your stomach. 

“Come on baby, stop fighting me. I told you we were gonna have a good time, stop being a bitch-” 

You kicked at him as hard as you could, your feet barely doing any damage as he pinned you back down, a pale hand locking around your throat firmly, pulling a strangled whimper from your lips. 

“What did I just fucking tell you? Play nice and maybe you’ll actually enjoy-”  

The gun went off with no active decision on Sukuna’s part, his hands acting all on their own. 

He was experienced with a gun - he knew how to shoot to kill just as well as he knew how to shoot to maim, and it was the latter that his body chose in that moment. He wanted the man off you, but he didn’t want him dead - not yet, because that would be far too lenient a punishment for a man who had laid his hands on you in such a manner. 

Letting out a shocked cry, more sobs wracked your body as your attacker fell to the side, blood spraying over your trembling form. You wriggled away in an instant, escaping the heavy weight sitting atop you, and curling in on yourself towards the head of the bed. It was as if you hadn’t even seen Sukuna, hadn’t really comprehended what had happened, capable of doing nothing beyond consoling yourself. 

Sukuna wanted to go to you immediately, yearned to pull you into his arms and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

But he needed to deal with your attacker first. 

The man was shaking and gasping for air, a hand reaching up to cover the wound Sukuna had inflicted upon him. A knife had clattered to the floor at his side, and Sukuna was quick to grab it, tossing it out of his reach. 

He also took stock of a gun laid out on the bedside table next to where you were curled up, rolling his eyes at how painfully stupid this man must be to have parted with his weapon. Perhaps he’d been arrogant enough to think that he didn’t need it when faced with a much weaker opponent like you, but Sukuna never would’ve made such a blunder when it came to his own kills. 

It was always sensible to anticipate that something could go wrong. 

“Piece of shit,” Sukuna hissed, hitting the man full force across the face, certain that his strike had landed twice as hard as the one this man had inflicted upon you. He cried out in agony, blood spurting from his wound as he wrenched his hand away, bringing it up to cradle his aching face. 

But that wasn’t enough for Sukuna, nothing would ever be enough. 

“Think you can touch my girlfriend, huh? You’re fucking with the wrong guy.” With a sickening crack, Sukuna stamped on the man’s leg, bringing his foot down over and over again until he was certain that the bone would be too mangled to ever repair. 

He took pleasure in the way the man screamed, begging pathetically for Sukuna to stop. It fell upon deaf ears, because Sukuna had caused immense suffering for far lesser crimes than the one this man had committed. This was a person he deserved the full force of his rage. 

“Now, stay there.” Sukuna said cooly, cutting through the man’s cries. “I’ll deal with you when I’m good and ready.”

He turned his attention then to you, heart panging at just how small you’d made yourself in the corner of the bed, your knees pulled up against your chest. 

“Baby,” he spoke softly, approaching you with care. He hated how you flinched when his hand brushed against your skin, and found his bloodlust for the man on the floor flaring up anew. “It’s me, you’re okay.” 

Taking a seat on the bed, he wrapped his arms around your trembling body and maneuvered you into his lap. You said nothing, but seemed to understand what was happening all the same, your fingers instinctively curling into his t-shirt as you burrowed yourself closely against him. 

There he held you for a little while, focussing on your sniffling, completely ignoring the man groaning at his feet. Sukuna’s fingers combed through your hair, rocking you gently, cooing against your head with loving words of affection and comfort. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He whispered over and over again like a mantra, not just for your benefit but for his own too. 

He hated to think how close he’d been to losing you. If he’d been just a bit later you could’ve been dead, discarded after that freak was done having his fun with you. The thought made his skin crawl and he held you tighter still. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled against his chest, leaving Sukuna perplexed, staring down at you as you raised your face up to meet his gaze. “I couldn’t stop him from touching me.” 

Sukuna’s face twisted in distaste for a moment before he forced himself to correct his expression, not wanting to make you feel worse. He hated that you’d said that, hated that you were acting like this was somehow your fault when it was his. He should’ve never left you alone - it was on him to protect you.

It was on that creep to not touch you in the first place. 

And yet guilt filled your teary eyes, like you’d somehow wronged Sukuna by failing to escape from something traumatic. 

You really frustrated him sometimes. 

“Don’t apologise,” he said, trying to keep the edge from his voice. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” His thumb wiped the tears from your cheeks carefully, taking a moment to inspect your face properly now you were looking up at him. 

A purple bruise blossomed around one of your eyes, spreading out onto your cheek, and there was equally unpleasant bruising on your neck, as though your attacker had tried choking you in a vicious manner more than once. The observation that bothered him the most were the perfect lines cut in the valley between your breasts, where dried blood was smudged around the wounds. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I should’ve been here.” 

You said nothing, huddling yourself against him once more, fingers moving to his arm and holding so tight he was certain you’d leave bruises on him. He wasn’t sure what was going through your mind at that moment - you seemed almost out of it, too shellshocked to articulate how you were feeling, seemingly unaware of the man wailing and clutching his leg mere feet away from you. 

He was holding himself back from quizzing you on exactly what had happened, curious as to whether you knew about Shoko, whether you’d seen it happen. He wanted to know how far that creep had gone with you, just what punishment he’d dished out so that Sukuna could ensure he suffered appropriately. 

Although, if he was gonna do anything he needed to do it soon. Suguru had called the police and Sukuna needed to make sure this man was dead before they arrived. He didn’t want the fucker to go through the justice system - if he got a good enough lawyer he’d get some cushy deal and be out in a couple of years, and that was unacceptable. 

Sukuna would kill him before that. Any death would be written off as self-defence, all things considered. He’d broken into a house, killed a woman and sexually assaulted another - Sukuna was free to use reasonable force, which in this case was a bullet through the head.  

“Why do bad things keep happening to me?” You asked in a small voice, one that twisted unpleasantly at Sukuna’s heart. “My bad luck killed Shoko…and Yuki, oh, Yuki!” For a moment you seemed to snap out of the haze, sitting up in a panic. “Sukuna! There’s another guy - he’s got Yuki, you have to help her, please-” 

“Choso’s got it,” he said evenly. 

He wasn’t sure if it was a lie, it might’ve been, but he’d heard no gunshots so he was opting to believe that Yuki was fine. He certainly wasn’t going to leave your side to go and help her, not when you were in such a tumultuous state. If he had it his way, he’d curl himself around you protectively and hold you like that for hours, until your terrified shivering finally stopped. 

You needed him far more than Yuki did. 

“Is she okay? She didn’t- they didn’t hurt her, did they?” 

Yuki looked hardly worse for wear than you did when he’d seen her, and he was certain the woman was probably tougher than you regardless. He wasn’t particularly concerned with her state and you shouldn’t be either. 

He loved how kind you were, it was something he admired about you, but it grated on his nerves sometimes. Here you were, sobbing in his arms after an assault, and you were still all worried about someone else. 

You could really do with acting a little more selfishly. 

“She’s okay. I didn’t see her properly, I was too busy looking for you.” 

Sniffling once more, you lowered your head in shame, releasing your grip on Sukuna and bringing your hands up to your face. “I cursed them. I cursed them with my bad luck. Maybe I should’ve been the one who got shot instead.” 

There was an unpleasant part of Sukuna that wanted to slap you. He didn’t want to hear you say such things about yourself, didn’t want to entertain the thought that you’d be comfortable with your own death. You were his, he wasn’t going to let you slip through his fingers because of perceived bad luck. 

But he held himself together, aware that right now you needed comfort rather than reprimand. You weren’t thinking straight, clearly falling apart at the seams. Taking a deep breath, he leant down and kissed you on the forehead, before planting a few more gentle kisses all over your face. 

“Don’t say that, please. I don’t think you know how broken I’d be.” You looked shocked at the sincerity in his voice, fresh guilt flickering in your eyes leading you to avert your gaze in shame. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled. Sukuna supposed it was probably best to leave that conversation there, keeping his stern gaze on you for a few moments longer but not pressing the issue. He’d disregard it as a slip of the tongue, something he’d come back to later if he needed to. 

“It’s all going to be fine baby,” he promised. “The police are all the way. Stop worrying and just let me take care of you.” 

He’d assumed that you’d sink back into his arms, but after a few deep breaths you seemed almost reinvigorated, as if you’d shaken off the original paralysing shock and guilt and had transitioned into a new phase of panic.

“It’s not going to be fine, Shoko’s not going to be fine! Fuck- Shoko! I need to be with her.”

You wriggled in his arms before escaping from his grip, bare feet hitting the rug as you made for the door. Sukuna reached out to grab your wrist, eager to placate you and pull you back into his arms. He didn’t want you to go downstairs to see your friend in the state that she was in, he wanted to keep you close and safe. 

“Baby, wait.” 

You stumbled to a halt before Sukuna could grab you, your eyes wide and fearful as you peered down at Mahito rolling about on the ground, blocking the path to the door. It was like you were only just remembering he was there, half convinced Sukuna had killed him with that gunshot. 

Sukuna watched you, his desire to keep you in his lap giving way to curiosity as to what you might do next. 

You weren’t a person with a great tendency to hatred. Sure, you’d disliked people such as Yorozu and Uro, but he’d never really seen you lash out at anyone. But right now your face was a picture of disgust. His hand reached slowly for the pistol, eager to have a method of maiming the bastard should he try anything, but he wanted you to have your moment first. 

“You.” Your voice was trembling. “You killed her.” 

The man didn’t acknowledge you, too lost in a haze of pain. Blood was dripping from his mouth, a couple of teeth missing from the force with which Sukuna had struck him. 

“You fucking killed her.” You raised your voice louder now, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. You seemed almost aggravated that his attention wasn’t on you, and Sukuna figured he should be a good boyfriend and step in to fix that. 

He rose from his place on the bed and stood over the man, planting a foot hard on his shattered leg, peering down at him maliciously. His screaming grew louder, but Sukuna’s voice cut through it. “Hey, my girl’s talking to you. Listen to what she has to say or I’ll smash up the other leg.” 

His cries simmered down to a whimper, heterochromatic eyes turning to you. There was no glee on the man’s face anymore, none of the pathetic power he’d lorded over you just before Sukuna had arrived. 

All that was left was fear. 

“I hate you. I’ll always hate you. You’re the lowest person on this Earth. How dare you believe that you have a right to live while she lies dead,” your voice was surprisingly calm, and Sukuna found himself admiring how well you were holding it together. 

Perhaps he’d underestimated you.

You took a step closer to the man, crouching down in front of him, covering your breasts with your arms, as if suddenly aware of how exposed you still were. 

“She was studying to be a doctor, you know,” you said gently. “She spent her time helping people, doing good for the world. Now there’s one less good person on this earth, and more horrible men like you infecting it. You don’t deserve to be alive. I hope you suffer and you rot, and part of me wishes that I could ensure that by my own hands.” 

Sukuna took a deep breath, steeling his mind and trying to take himself away from what was unfolding before him, because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t force a mental step back. To see you threaten someone so firmly, standing with such confidence over a person he’d battered and bruised, it was painfully attractive to him. 

His lust for you was high at the best of times, but to see you in a domain that he’d always considered as his and to find that you fit in just fine? Yeah, he liked that. 

“You know what they say-” the man rasped. “Kill a killer and the number of murderers in the world remains the same.” 

Sukuna bit back a laugh, amused at the statement because if he executed the guy, the number of murderers in the world really wouldn’t change. But you seemed mildly swayed, gaze filled with uncertainty. 

“Besides,” he huffed, seeming to forget Sukuna was there. “Are you really gonna act all big and tough now? Just- just a minute ago you were crying under me - fuckin’ begging for it. You probably g- get off to the violence - I know you like it when your boyfriend’s rough-”

There was another sickening crack as Sukuna stamped down on his other leg. He wasn’t sure how the man was aware of such things, but he wouldn’t have it discussed in such a crude manner either way. What went on between the two of you was sacred and he wouldn’t have it marred by the words of this freak. 

He’d expected you to yelp and rear back. Instead you stared up at him blankly, unphased by his actions. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, caught off guard by the resolve in your eyes, hidden behind layers of blood and exhaustion. You had no space for mercy towards this man, and Sukuna found himself with an idea. 

“Do you want to kill him, baby?” 

Horror registered in your expression for half a second, like you were shocked he’d suggest such a thing, only for something akin to interest to replace it when Sukuna held out the pistol to you, fingers brushing yours as he let the weight fall into your hands. 

“This fucker killed Shoko, he laid his hands on you, he would’ve killed you too once he’d had enough. He would’ve killed me if he had the chance, would’ve fucking slaughtered all of us. Sure, the police will arrest him, but one day he’ll be back out on the streets and then what? Didn’t your buddy Hiromi have some client who escaped from prison? Do you wanna take a chance on this asshole managing that?” 

“No,” you whispered, more tears staining your cheeks, fidgeting with the gun, as if it didn’t feel right in your hands. Sukuna took a step away from the man, circling behind you. His chest pressed against your back, and he gently steadied the gun within your grip, encasing your hands within his larger ones. 

“He’s probably done this before, probably ruined and killed some other group of poor girls. Do you wanna give him the chance to do this to someone else? To do this to you again? We both know the justice system is fucked.” 

“He deserves to die,” you murmured, hands clutching the gun tighter. 

“Even death is a mercy for this bastard.” 

Whether you were in your right mind, Sukuna wasn’t really sure, but he also didn’t want to pass up the opportunity you’d presented him. This was a bonding opportunity for the two of you, something that would bring you closer, keep you tied to each other in a manner so intimate that you’d never feel the same connection with anyone else. 

He wanted that, wanted you to pull the trigger. 

And he knew that somewhere within you, it was what you wanted too. You hated this man, he could feel the fear and anger rolling off you in waves. He deserved death, and giving that to him was all you could think about, held back only by morals that told you killing was wrong no matter the circumstance. 

Sukuna wanted to break through that assumption. 

He wanted to corrupt you, at least a little - wanted you to be able to see things from his point of view. You were his soulmate, it was only natural to let each other in on the interests you held dear, and dishing out justice and punishment was immensely dear to Sukuna. 

“We can do it together,” he whispered. 

Tentatively, your finger pressed against the trigger, guided by Sukuna’s steady hands. He did most of the work, purring compliments against your ear as he aimed the gun at the man who had transitioned from taunting to begging, spouting pathetic words which fell upon deaf ears. 

“I can do it for you, if you’d like, but it's up to you. He killed Shoko, don’t you owe it to her to make sure he faces the same fate?” 

“I do,” you whispered. Your hands started to tremble, and Sukuna kept them steady. 

“Breathe with me, baby.” 

You nodded, taking a deep breath, your eyes examining the pathetic form of Mahito for one last time before Sukuna pressed down on the finger positioned against the trigger. You didn’t yelp or jump as the gun fired, watching on in morbid fascination at the hole blooming with blood on the side of the man’s head, the light in his eyes immediately dissipating. 

There were no tears from you, no immediate regret, just silence as you let the gun clatter to the ground. Sukuna gave you a tight squeeze, keeping you there in his arms and drinking in the sweet smell of iron which permeated the room. 

It had been a terrible day for him and a worse one for you.

But there, with a dead man lying at your feet and your warm body in his arms, he wasn’t sure that he’d ever felt happier. 

— 

Things had passed in a blur after you and Sukuna had left Mahito in that room. 

The police had arrived and taken accounts, grimly explaining that this wasn’t the first time something similar had happened in the area. Apparently, Mahito and Jogo had been busy with scenes like this one over the last few years, and on this occasion their luck had finally run out. 

Jogo was still alive. Choso and Satoru hadn’t opted to use the gun, pulling the man off of Yuki and beating him until he was unconscious, tying him up and leaving him there in the bedroom for the police to deal with. You tried not to think too much about the blood seeping from Mahito upstairs, not completely sure you’d made the right decision - but with Sukuna’s comforting arm never lifting from your body you decided to allow yourself to be reassured. 

Sukuna took the blame anyway when the officers arrived, telling them he’d shot the man to defend you when he’d arrived on the scene, easily explaining that Mahito had a gun to your head and he wasn’t sure what else he could’ve done. Neither of them seemed bothered by his decision, with one of them even clapping him on the shoulder and commending him for his bravery in defending you. 

It's what they would’ve done. 

Of course, they mentioned there’d still be an investigation - it was part of due process and necessary for corroborating what had happened and putting Jogo away, but they told Sukuna not to worry too much about any repercussions for his actions. 

And that had been exactly how it went down over the few weeks that followed. 

There had been a quickly moving investigation, and your family had Hiromi come down to help with everything. Sukuna’s actions were deemed as necessary self-defense after a short stint of questioning over Mahito’s leg wounds, which Sukuna claimed had been inflicted after the death in a lapse of rightful anger. 

Whether that was believed or not, you weren’t sure, but there was a lot of sympathy towards all of you after what you’d gone through, which meant any suspicions towards the heroes that had saved you were swiftly dropped. 

Both you and Yuki were a mess after everything that had happened. When you’d first come downstairs to see Shoko’s body, already covered up with a sheet by the medics and police who’d arrived on the scene, you’d broken down anew and allowed Sukuna to cradle you as the reality of what had happened settled in. 

The whole thing felt like some nightmare - something that would happen to characters in a horror movie rather than to you. It was even worse than what had been done to Ryu, because at least you didn’t have to see the event happen firsthand with your ex. To watch the light disappear from Shoko’s eyes was something that would haunt you for the rest of your life. 

You’d felt no such pain seeing the same happen to Mahito, a sick sense of pleasure coiling within you at that spark dying within him. 

It was what he’d deserved. 

Yuki had looked worse for wear than you - her face and body were littered with bruises and cuts, and her eyes were red from crying. It was an odd look to see on her, unaccustomed to Yuki being anything but strong and steady. Once Sukuna had released you from his grasp, the two of you had clung to each other for a while, unsure if you were sobbing in relief from being alive or in sorrow for your loss. 

Maybe it was both. 

At the very least, you were glad Yuki was alive. 

Neither of you discussed what had happened to you when you’d been separated - it wasn’t something you’d speak about to anyone other than Sukuna, and you were certain your friend felt similarly. According to Sukuna, she’d been found by the boys before you had, so you hoped she hadn’t suffered any further than what you’d experienced. 

You didn’t have much chance to speak with her anyway, or any of the others for that matter, in the weeks that followed. Outside of dealings with the police to get everything wrapped up, you seldom even ventured outside. Yuki would text you occasionally, as would Satoru, checking in on how you were coping, but you had no desire to do anything or speak with anyone. 

All you could do was curl yourself up in blankets on Sukuna's bed and let him comfort you. 

It was foolish, the speed at which you’d fallen apart all over again. You’d worked so hard to pull yourself together after Ryu’s death - had faced so many mental challenges and overcome them all with the belief that there was more to life than horror and suffering. But right now you were struggling to see that light in any capacity. 

The only glimmer of hope came from Sukuna. 

He was the only thing keeping you going, the only thing you had to cling on to.

Through it all, his presence was unfaltering, his hands steadying you when you’d awaken screaming from a nightmare, distracting you with caring words and a touch that chased away the slimy memory of Mahito’s hands on your skin. 

“Do you think that I was an evil person in another life?” You’d asked him on one nightmare-riddled evening, tears dripping down your cheeks. 

The clock read 3am, and you could only just make Sukuna out in the light of the streetlamp not fully shut out by his blinds. It had been a couple of weeks since the event and your most recent nightmare had been worse than most. 

It had been you, completely stripped bare beneath Mahito, his touch searing into your skin. Instead of being in the bedroom, you’d been lying on the couch, your teary eyes meeting Shoko’s empty brown ones as you gave up beneath your attacker. You’d awoken not long after Shoko had opened her mouth to speak, black blood pouring from her mouth with a whole mess of spiders and cockroaches following, her voice cracked and deep as she’d said, “this is your fault.” 

Sukuna was rubbing his eyes, hair sticking up cutely. He was clearly trying to pick apart your statement, still half asleep and trying to recover from the panic that had gripped him when you’d awoken him with a scream. 

“Were you an evil person in another life?” He repeated your question slowly, like he was sure he’d misheard you. You weren’t sure if he was amused by these night terrors of yours - it was impacting his sleep as much as it was impacting yours, and you feared he’d grow tired of you acting like someone so broken. 

Not that you seemed to be able to help it. 

“Yeah…like- I don’t know…” You shrugged as you trailed off, wiping your cheeks. The shadows beneath his eyes betrayed his exhaustion, and you pulled away from him, laying back down on the bed. It was best to let him go to sleep, if you still wanted to discuss the matter in the morning you could. 

It was wrong to rely on him too heavily.

There was silence for a moment before Sukuna laid back down beside you, sliding an arm beneath you and pulling you firmly into his grip. Your heart picked up as your face met his chest, basking in his familiar warmth as his hands soothed along your back and hair. 

“I don’t think you were ever an evil person. You’re good to a fault - sometimes it's even a little annoying.” If you were in a better mood maybe you would’ve sat up and pouted at him, but instead you remained quiet, hanging off his every word. “You’re gonna be okay, baby. I’m here and I’ll stay here for as long as you still want me. Evil if you were evil or whatever it is you’re worried about.” 

“You shouldn’t,” you mumbled quietly. Sukuna froze beside you, his hands stilling as his heartrate picked up a little. 

“What?” 

“You shouldn’t stay here. Someone’ll shoot you in the head or disembowel you one day.” 

“I told you before, I won’t let that happen,” Sukuna said firmly, grip tightening around you. You wanted to believe him, you really did, but you just weren’t sure you could anymore. Ryu never would’ve expected what happened to him, Shoko wouldn’t have expected her fate, it just happened. 

Not to come across as self-important, but you just had the sinking feeling that somehow it was your fault too. To witness two immensely violent tragedies on top of various other bits of bad luck, it just felt like you were being divinely punished. The last thing you wanted was for Sukuna to fall afoul of a similar fate. 

He deserved more than that. 

“How can you be so sure?” You peered up at him in the dim light, meeting his eyes. There was something in them which felt reluctant, like a few thoughts were flitting through his head and he couldn’t quite reach a conclusion on what he wished to divulge. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, stroking your hair once more. 

“I can’t be sure, I suppose. Nothing in life is sure. But you, this life I have with you, is all that really matters to me. I would climb back up from the pits of hell before I let anyone take that away from me. Believe me.” 

“But-” 

“And, if some fucker did get me, even if we could say for sure that it was due to you being cursed or afflicted with bad luck or whatever, it wouldn’t make a difference. I would still choose to be with you even if I knew the life would be short, even if I knew I’d meet a horrible fate. If you made me choose between a long life without you, or a short life at your side, I would always choose the latter.” 

You lay there in silence, heart pounding in your ears, struggling to truly comprehend the weight of his words. Sukuna’s love for you was no secret, but perhaps the depth of it was greater than you’d ever truly understood. 

There was no question that he’d die for you. Considering Mahito’s state you already knew that he’d kill for you. He wouldn’t be pushed away by some foul omen you felt hung over your head, he wouldn’t leave you alone to spiral in the darkness like the fate you’d resigned yourself to after Ryu’s demise. 

He was there, and his hands were on you.

And you were certain there was nothing that could part the two of you. 

a/n: tune in next time to find out the thing that could maybe part the two of them :)

sorry for how horrible I was to reader (and everyone) in this chapter :(

hope you enjoyed and thank you for the support! comments and reblogs are appreciated as always! <3

taglist: @indiewritesxoxo @alebrasil0101 @unikittylover57 @maomimii @xadenpoop @mxchiii @tinkspen @martianzmars @drasticallyinluv @grimm3r @choyuxx @janellawliet @nanamigirl4ever @actuallynarii @aiive @chloe022r @targaryenposts @erasersslut @loulasav @natsolox @kenstarsworld @elviqss @blu3berryies @cupidstrace @ksjtozaki @feyrinnn @heartless-rythm @beaniesayshi @shazzer29 @mortallyshadysoul @neverlandqueen36 @sweethoneycream @mikkmmmii @sikurgvx @8nitxe @lexispeak @inmywhitegown @unlimited-impressions @absolutelycaffeinateddevil @paulineeo @onlykuna @jjkfannn34 @queendom-of-yuki @blinmkk @emmaiscool22 @angelbabyy111 @moonsquid49 @0imliterallybatman @crunchycathy @yailuxe

it would only be a few years later when you and suguru are living perfectly comfortably in the main hideout of the star religious group aka suguru's new cult.

you did have a leader role because you were the most important thing to him — therefore no one but him could tell you what to do, but you didn't have any actual duties like the lower level members.

suguru loved to keep you close at all times, especially during meetings he lead. he would often let you sit in his lap, idly doom scrolling on your phone.

one day there was important "elder business" being discussed and even though suguru promised you no secrets, he didn't allow you at this meeting.

"play with nanako and mimiko" he insisted with a smile and soft pat to your head. "i promise ill tell you everything you need to know later"

you frowned, feeling like you were being treated like a kid, but wouldn't dare argue with him. suguru saved you, took care of you for years. he knew what was best for you.

that same night, suguru called you to his chambers. he was kind and sincere to you, as he always was, unlike your parents. he gave no warning to what he was about to say.

"i love you, you know that right?"

you would smile and nod "of course"

"good" suguru approached you, giving you that signature head pat. "the other elders made me realize something today.... something about how special you are. and how i hate those monkeys"

you kept his gaze, letting him continue.

"i was reminded how i need to make sure our pure blood gets passed down — none of that non-sorcerer," he made a face of disgust "shit getting mixed in with ours." he gently cupped your chin, making your heart beat ever rapidly.

"mimiko and nanako are wonderful and i love them as my own but..." he trailed off.

"they're not actually yours," you finished for him.

"...yes, exactly"

you walked over to his bed, still holding his gaze and sat down. "so what would you like me to do, brother? i know manami likes you-"

he immediately cuts you off with a kiss. you gasp, taken aback for a moment until you kiss him back, letting him take control and gently push you back into the bed.

"sugu... we cant" you breathe, once he pulls back. his purple eyes locking onto yours. "im not good enough for you"

"sh-shhh" he shushes you with a finger to your lips and a calming peck to your forehead. "you. are. perfect."