Bakugo is halfway off of the couch, ass in the air as he tries to reach for his pants. He had dropped them in the middle of your living room, legs turned inside out and socks jammed inside. He manages to nab them by rolling over your leg, so you sigh again. "Ugh."
"Fuck off."
"Just get up!"
"I'm fucking tired. Someone needed to get dicked down three times-"
A hard shove nearly topples him off of the couch all together. "You liked it."
Katsuki's eyes flicker to your tits, then your eyes, then your tits again and it nearly, nearly, nearly makes you want to climb on him once again. Though, you're afraid if you move, you'll end up staining your couch-
"Don't you work in design? Why does your place look like dogshit?" Katsuki reads your mind. This the third time he's been to your place and it feels more embarrassing each time. His own place is nice, with a feminine touch that makes you feel sour.
"Tell your mom to pay me more."
"Oh, yeah," he rolls his eyes. "Hey, Mitsuki, I'm sick of looking at your interns ugly ass, lumpy couch, when I should be looking at her tits. Can you give her a raise? Also, she does this thing with her tongue that's worth a bonus-"
"Fuck off!"
The toothy smile he gives you is shortlived.
"Listen, we can't tell her. Or anybody. none of my friends can keep a secret." He leans back. "Things are... weird with my ex still."
You sit up, hand flying to cover yourself.
"Did you just cheat on her with me?"
"Fuck no, that's over. It's dead, but the old lady doesn't want it to be dead. She's still friends with her and everything. It's just... Some of my friends feel the same way, I think. It's just weird."
This feels a bit too personal for what you and Katsuki have. Neither of you have ever mentioned your personal lives before, other than your dire love for creampies.
"I'm sorry," you say, because you can think of nothing else. "Wanna see my pussy again? Would that make you feel better?"
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Pornstar!Simon who’s been told he can’t fuck you anymore because the way you sound when he’s inside you makes every other costar you’ve had in the past look bad.
The Director pulling him aside with the footage still looping on the monitor, voice low, telling him it was obvious your moans dripping out wet and broken were real in a way you’ve never given the cameras before, obvious now that every gasp and whimper you’d faked with the others was thin and breathy and hollow compared to this and your former costars were bound to complain.
Said it made the lads before him look like they couldn’t even get you properly wet, let alone fuck the sense out of you. Said pairing you with Ghost again was asking for trouble. Too risky. Too fuckin’ real.
Swinging the monitor around to show Ghost the way he had angled his hips so the camera caught his cock stretching your silky cunt half an hour before, thick enough that your walls flutter around him without any acting, slick spilling out around the base every time he bottomed out.
Your fingers scrabbling along the bed every time he ground himself down, too fucked out to really run from the pleasure the way you wanted to, body shaking brain reduced to static goo.
You having a hard time remembering the scripted words you were given, eyes rolling in your sockets, little whimpers and moans punched out “hn-hn-hn-“ every time his hips met yours and the head of his cock kissed your cervix.
Ghost cooing down at you when you miss your cue for the third time, hand pinning your wrists above your head while the other kept your thigh shoved wide, voiced amused when he asks “wha’s amatter? Cat got your tongue, dove?”
Ruined any possibility of you answering when he fucked you deep, making your cunt visibly pulse around him on the monitor, arousal drooling down his balls.
You tried. You really did. You mouth opened, some broken attempt at the first word, but it dissolved into another punched out moan the second he angled just right, letting the camera see the way your eyes rolled in their sockets.
His thumb stroking once over your clit, almost gentle, almost fond. “Tha’s it,” he murmured, “take it. Fuckin’ take it.”
Another missed cue. Another low, rough chuckle. He didn’t really give you room to think. Just kept you pinned and full and dripping while the cameras roled and the script stayed forgotten on the floor somewhere behind the lights.
The director was still talking but Ghost wasn’t listening, instead, just reached over and rewound the tape instead. Watched the part where you tried to speak again. Watched the way your body gave out for him and only him. Watched his own hand on the screen, thumb stroking your clit.
He hit play once more. Let it loop. Thumb hovering over the button, already deciding he didn’t give a fuck what the director had to say about it, he was gonna fuck you again no matter what.
you could never get tired of admiring your husband heian era!sukuna ♡
most people couldn’t look at him for long.
the moment they caught sight of him, their eyes dart away. some out of fear, or some out of disgust. they believe a creature like him isn’t meant to be looked at.
you think they are all blind.
the evening is quiet, lantern light casting a warm glow across the room. it has become part of your nightly routine before bed, these quiet moments spent with your husband after the day has settled.
sukuna sits against the bed frame, one pair of arms folded while the other rests loosely across his lap.
his crimson eyes follow you as you crawl toward him. you sit down beside him and gently take one of his hands, then another.
his brows rise as he looks at you expectantly.
you compare them, turning them over in your palms. thick fingers, calloused skin, veins running beneath flesh capable of tearing apart crowds.
yet you trace them carefully, as if they are something precious.
“four arms..“ you murmur.
“you say that as if you’ve only just noticed,” he says, clicking his tongue after.
you move closer, inspecting the markings that wind around his skin. your fingertips follow the dark lines traveling over his wrist and shoulders.
“they’re beautiful.”
he looks at you, and you swear there’s a faint blush adoring his cheeks, even though he’s heard you say so many times before.
beautiful? no one has ever used that word for him before you.
you continue before he can respond.
your hand slides to his chest, tracing the markings there as well, and you can feel his gaze burning into you.
then your attention lowers— to the second mouth resting on his stomach. the feature that causes most people to recoil.
you start to lean forward, but sukuna’s eyes narrow. “what are you doing?”
“hm?”
his stomach mouth opens slightly, revealing sharp teeth, just to close again.
you examine it with genuine curiosity— it is quite the most strange part of him, and therefore something you want to understand even more.
without hesitation, you press a small kiss on top of it.
“…why are you looking at me like that?” you ask after coming back up.
for perhaps the first time in centuries, the king of curses looks genuinely caught off guard.
“what was that for?”
you tilt your head, and one of your hands come up to trace his lower lip.
“i do kiss these as well, no?”
a low, strange sound escapes him, a little similar to a low laugh.
you shift your attention upward again, this time toward the smaller eyes beneath his main pair.
you‘ve always found them quite interesting.
carefully, you brush your thumb beneath one. “so you can see from them as well?”
“obviously.”
you continue to examine him shamelessly.
the shape of his face, then the markings crossing his cheeks. the extra eyes.. the sharp angles of his features.
every detail. every part others fear— you love looking at them, love memorizing them.
when you finally look up, sukuna is already looking at you, a little amusement written over his expression.
“what’s so amusing?” you ask.
two of his hands rise, and two large palms settle against your cheeks. the contrast between his size and yours is almost comical.
“just why are you so different?” his thumb brushes across your cheek.
for a moment, neither of you speaks, then you lean forward and kiss one of the markings on his face.
“wouldn’t be here if i was like everyone else, hm?” you reason.
hes not sneaky about it. midfuck he pulls out and rolls the condom off his cock. he tosses it on your chest so you really see it, so you really know its off. then, when he presses his body into yours, stomach touching stomach, theres no hand guiding his cock. it pokes into your folds as he gently rolls his hips. the third time he does it, he's amazingly close to entering you.
"sukuna," you warn.
"just a couple strokes," he says. "not like you're gonna get knocked up by some precum."
you should protest more, but his cock presses everso slowly into your sore pussy and it curls your spine with pleasure. he's barely inside you, cock pulsing with his heartbeat against you.
"And if you did," he whispers into the shell of your ear. "means your body really needed it."
.... and... and... and....... he grinds his dick so deep into you, barely even moving....
"you feel that?" he breathes into your ear. "Yeah, I feel it-- you're definitely being bred right now. didnt even cum in you yet and you're making me a baby."
he cups your stomach. "right in here. im claiming you and you cant even stop it."
he shifts slightly and his cock brushes against a new spot that sends your spine straight. he bumps it again, then again, until hes fucking you hard and fast.
Bakugou with baby fever means when you two fuck he is fastidiously taking one finger and slowly sliding it up your taint, slowly shoving thick viscous cum that is oozing out of you slowly back into your heated cunt.
Bakugou with baby fever means he’s watching every shudder of your body with a smug grin when his finger dives back in and hooks up just to give you one more taste of pleasure because it’s definitely what you deserve for taking all of what he just gave you.
Bakugou with baby fever means he takes that same finger and sucks it clean, leaves the essence on his tongue while kissing you and spreading his palm out over your womb, almost willing his seed to take instantly.
Bakugou with baby fever means realistically, every single time you try to conceive he makes it his number one goal not to waste a single drop.
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coming home from a tiring day and expecting bkg to be up and ready and cooking but to find him on the couch snoozing :(
nom nom nom
for the next move in your relationship with bakugou katsuki, he gave you the key to his apartment. it’s a fancy word, apartment. not flat, not your student shared house you lived in a few years ago or your family home with your tiny bedroom and snacks that will be snatched by your siblings.
your boyfriend’s apartment. it’s a skyscraper bachelor pad which, with the integration of you in his life, has become a home of more. or really katsuki’s house, with mini shrines to you all over it.
your favourite cereal and fruit bars in the cupboards, your favourite biscuits you dip in your tea and the fridge with a tub of the only yoghurt you eat. his living room which before had no blankets, has four. all chosen by you every time you go shopping with him and his inability to say no. then about three books you’re currently reading, your nintendo switch you leave at his house. his bathroom with your spare toothbrush, makeup wipes and a duplicate skincare selection of the one you have at home.
however, even though it might look like you live here for half of your week, your boyfriend still loves to treat you like a guest.
cooking for you every time you come over. fluffing up his cushions so you don’t think he only comes to his apartment to sleep and leaves for work. cleans up, showers, resprays himself with cologne and deodorant.
with all that said, you know what to expect with katsuki, especially when you use his front door key for the first time. no need to knock and wait to hear him rush over to the door, waiting a single second to pretend to look like he didn’t just run before opening the door.
this time, you opened the door yourself and instead of seeing your boyfriend in his kitchen, mixing something in his wok, adding soy sauce somewhere and veggies somewhere else, you can’t see him anywhere. you know he’s home though, he texted you an hour ago to say he would be.
you kick off your shoes and pull off your jacket. dumping your bag on the floor, you wade your way through his apartment.
“katsuki? are you on the toilet?” you call but as soon as you enter his living room, you go silent. a smile springs up on your face instead.
“awe,” you mumble and the feeling you get when you see a cute puppy, a little tiny kitten or a chubby sweet baby, fills up inside of you. warmth and love, everything pink with the urge to squeeze.
this grown ass man was dead to the world. laid out on his cloud ivory L shaped sofa, on his back, chest softly breathing up and down, up and down. in through his nose and out through his lips.
it’s rare you witness katsuki sleeping. he’s always up before you for his work and on weekends when you get to sleep in, he’s always in that half awake stage when if you try and sneak out under him, suddenly he gains all consciousness to drag you back.
the size of him is a shock. to see a man that large resting. he feels like a lion, ready to pounce at any hint of a predator. he’s in his comfy clothes, wool hoodie and grey joggers. both his hands on his stomach, resting over each other like an old man. you coo at the sight of him with no frowns nor is he on the edge of a bark.
you kneel at the edge of the sofa, knowing that if anyone where to see you now, you’d be framed as a loving girlfriend or an utter creep.
you couldn’t care less. you brush katsuki’s damp blonde strands off his forehead, wondering whether kissing his cheek is worth it to wake him up.
until one eye snaps open. bakugou jumps out of your grasp, onto his elbows with a yelp, “fuck!”
he makes you jump too, eyes wide as you watch his cortisol slowly level back to normal.
“it’s just me!”
“shit, i wasn’t expectin’ you to be there.” he lays back on the sofa, forearm over his eyes. sleep causes his voice to be a deep growl, every word delicious. “didn’t even realise i fell asleep, was supposed to be startin’ dinner for ya.”
“it’s okay, you must have been sleepy,” you say quietly, hands back on your lap and bakugou swings his head over to look at you.
he licks his bottom lip. eyes with creases around them, skin stiff but the endearment in his eyes is undeniable.
“how are you, sweets? sorry, i’m outta it.” he reaches for your waist, urging you to sit up next to him on the sofa.
you do eagerly, flinging your body over his like he’s your life boat, head on his shoulder. bakugou wraps his arms around your back.
“i’m fine. you’re such a cute sleeper.”
bakugou scoffs, closing his eyes, “shut up.”
“you are! like a baby, one who’s eating all their meals.”
“yeah?” he entertains.
“hm,” you hum, “wanna kiss all over your sweet cheeks.”
he peels one eye open. one thing about the prohero, he loves your attention. “go on. then i’ll start cookin’.”
you sit up, hands on his shoulders, “we can always order in. you’re clearly exhausted.”
“i like cookin’ for you,” he mumbles when you press your lips onto his cheekbone.
immediately bakugou grins, hands resting on your hips.
“but you don’t have to.”
another kiss to his right cheekbone. then his chin.
“i would rather lay here with you,” he murmurs.
“nice. i’ll look for something for us.”
a kiss on his eyelids, then his forehead.
“proper kiss now.” he pushes, tilting up his chin to keep closer to your face.
“so bossy,” you smirk before pressing your lips onto his.
synopsis: your on-and-off again relationship with the current wdc has been the talk of the grid since you started writing songs about him - blissfully unaware he's the bane of another driver's existence. suguru geto has spent the past three years wishing for what ryomen sukuna already has. who will come home with the trophy this year? and more importantly, who will come home with you?
pairing: mercedes driver!Geto x singer!Reader x redbull driver!Sukuna
content: mdni, angst, smut + fluff, f1 au, but minimal f1 knowledge needed to understand, obligatory not based on real people blah blah, HEAVY PINING AND YEARING!!, multiple pov, so much jealousy, suguru wants us so bad it's criminal, sukuna being a dick but he's hot so it's ok, crashes, paparazzi, so much drama, lots of unprotected sex tbh, hotel room sex, shower sex, semi-public sex, hookups, break ups and makeups, creampies, accidental pregnancy, friends-to-lovers, more tags will be found in individual chapters
summary: You had always heard a weird, mocking voice in the back of your head telling you that the things were going to end just like that between you and Satoru. The Prince and the Pauper. You were destined to eventually drift apart.
Or not?
tags: AU, angst to fluff, breaking and making up, classical disparities, insecurities, gojo is a certified loverboy and a yearner as usual. mdni! eventual smut, p in v sex, soft emotional sex. nobamaki cameo!
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT! PLEASE HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BLOG!
word count: 13.9k
author's note: hi everyone!! this is not the oneshot i wanted to finish in may, but i had some ideas brewing for quite a long time, though the concept is not really original. happy ending won, soooo enjoy and let me know your thoughts! art in the banner by @/yamada_souko. dividers are mine.
Looking back, you realised you had never got it easy for Satoru.
The tale as old as time: the Princess and the Pauper. Or, in your case, the Prince and the Pauper.
And you couldn't put it in a better way.
Satoru Gojo — the Prince of the campus, the heir to the Gojo Enterprises, the man who would get the business world in the palm of his hand, the captain of the university basketball team, whose face was plastered all across the campus, the president of the Alpha Delta Nu, so on and so forth. You got the gist. The crowd parted before him, the Universe shifted itself to accommodate his presence: he walked in every room as if he owned it, which he pretty much did — ruling every place with a charming grin and a quick wit. Guys were wishing to be like him. Girls were dying to be beside him. He barely granted anyone more attention than needed — keeping people at arm's length, except for a couple of his friends. Of course, you didn't belong to them. Not like you desperately wanted to. You were well aware of the hierarchy of the university: people like Satoru Gojo rested at the top, eyeing the crowd down. People like you? Scrambling to get to the middle. If you were lucky enough.
One spring day, you realised that either Satoru Gojo didn't know about those unspoken rules or couldn't care less about them. Because you couldn't come up with a plausible explanation for why he suddenly started pestering you. Or, in his eyes, flirting.
It began rather innocent: him accidentally bumping into you, flashing an apologetic grin; asking for a vacant place at the cafetery at your usual table in the corner, the one where the noise cut down a little and you had a better view on the students — naturally, that place become the center of everyone's attention, because wherever Gojo was, the crowd followed; helping you to get a book from the highest shelves in the library and then crushing your study sessions; waiting for you after the classes just to walk you out to the next campus with an excuse that it was on his way (it didn't. Business majors classes were hold in the corpus 20 minutes away from yours).
At first, you politely declined every single invitation to a frat party or a match. Then you tried to ignore him, but your disinterest would even more pique Gojo's attention. After this, it turned into clipped, gritted-out "no's". You even attempted to talk to his friend, Shoko Ieiri, the girl you shared the Advanced Chemistry class with.
"I don't think there's something I can do," she would murmur, eyes firmly set on some sample through the microscope, when you turned to her as a last resort. The sigh that left your lips was truly desperate. Shoko's gaze softened a tad as she looked up finally, since your presence kept looming over her like a tiny, grumpy cloud. "Satoru can be pretty stubborn, unfortunately. Especially, when he's pretty set on something."
"Yeah," scoffing under your breath, you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. "Unfortunately for me. Am I another check mark on his to-do list? I just don't get it." The pencil in your hand almost snapped from the strength of your grip.
"Listen, I am not in a position to advice your something or anything," Shoko's lab chair screeched — the sound annoyingly loud in the tense silence of the lab — as she turned to face you fully. The irritation at her words flared up in you, but you forced yourself to listen to her. If not her, then who?! "But you might try to hear him out. He's not that bad of a guy."
Grimacing at her, you turned to return to your own table. "If he's not that bad, he would've taken a hint long ago."
An indifferent shrug was the only response you got.
After talking to Shoko, Gojo's pitiable attempts at "courting" you had weakened severely until coming to a complete halt. You couldn't believe your luck. But what annoyed you even more than Gojo himself was the way you would jump at seeing the familiar spark of frosty white hair in the crowd; the way your heart would do a little flip at the sound of his distant chuckles. The way the loneliness would engulf your usual table in the corner of the cafeteria without his company: you subconsciously craned your neck to see him, for all his persona and the impossible height were impossible to miss, and slumped in your seat, when he didn't happen to stroll in with a familiar effortless grace in his stride. In the quietness of the library, after the countless hours of studying, you could basically hear the grin in his voice as he handed you a couple of blueberry muffins and the bergamot tea from your favourite bakery — you didn't have the slightest idea how he managed to find out your usual order — and tapped on your nose, remarking that you actually should eat.
Somehow, Satoru Gojo annoyed you enough to...like him. Managed to creep under your skin like an itch you couldn't get rid of.
Or… didn't want to?
***
One basketball match changed everything.
"Sorry, sorry, oh— sorry again," you mumbled awkwardly, navigating through the crowd and somehow managing to balance two beer cups on your way to your seats.
"Geez, finally, where have you been?"
Rolling your eyes at Nobara, your bestie slash roommate slash the only person who made your university life not so miserable, you handed her the cup and tried to shout through the cheerladers' voices, the endless roaring of the crowd and the music coming loud from the speakers.
"There was a line!"
"Huh? What?"
"THERE WAS A FUCKING LINE!"
She took a sip from her cup with a satisfied nod and grimaced at you. "Don't scream at me."
Her audacity stole your voice, and you slumped down in your seat, huffing rather indignantly.
"Hey, don't pout. Sorry for that." Nobara lightly elbowed your side and opened a pack of salted peanuts, offering you a truce.
"Can't believe I agreed to go with you," a light grumpiness coloured your voice as you drank from your own cup.
"Aw, that's because I am awesome and you love me so, so much," she chirped gleefully and planted a kiss on your cheek. With her head on your shoulder, Nobara sighed dreamily at the sight of Maki Zenin — the manager of the university's basketball team. "She's so cute, isn't she?"
Meanwhile, Maki gestured widely, screaming something at her phone (not very pleasant as you might assume from your seat) and threw her bag at a guy in front of her. The guy followed her figure with puppy eyes.
Your lips twitched with a barely concealed smile that you hid behind another swig. "An angel, truly."
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"
Her words fell on deaf ears because at that moment, some airy melody rang from the speakers, followed by the joyful voice of the commentators to finally announce the start of the match.
Swallowing nervously, your eyes darted across the court, and the moment your gaze landed on the tall figure with stark white hair, your heart galloped at a racing speed.
"Who are you gawking at, huh?"
Gojo might've really had the eyes on the back of his head — he wasn't called Six Eyes for nothing, some weird sixth sense that you assumed related only to the basketball court — because that very moment he turned around and briefly scanned the audience. His eyes widened in surprise as he spotted you: the bright blue of his gaze and the joyous smile that broke on his face caught you so off guard you nearly dropped the cup. Like he was happy to see you there. Actually happy.
You offered Gojo a shy wave — a subtle move of your fingers — that only made his grin wider. Then, Suguru Geto tapped on his shoulder, and he quickly turned back.
Your hand fell limply to your side.
"Babe, what the hell was that?" Nobara hissed, jerking her chin towards the players gathered around for the last guides from the coach Yaga. "Have you just casually flirted with Satoru Gojo? Don't you hate his lungs?"
The next words came in a breathy voice. "I don't know anymore."
Your knowledge of basketball was rather... limited, but you dutifully roared along with the crowd the moment your university scored yet another point. The people's excitement was contagious, seeping right into you as well and lacing your voice with joy. You booed at the judge when he gave advantages to the rivals, screamed at the top of your lungs and held your breath at the last quarter. Your team went neck-and-neck with the other, and every point was crucial. You could see it in the way the player's uniform was drenched in sweat, their hair stuck to their temples, and laboured breathing. The stakes were too high.
The scorebox showed the fifteen seconds left — mere moments for you and the whole eternity for those at the court. Your eyes drifted to Gojo, as driven to him by some unknown force. His sharp gaze quickly darted from one teammate to another, calculating the last opportunities to score. And then...it found you amidst the sea of spectators. Cheeks flushed, hair a total mess, chest expanding with deep breaths. A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he took you in. Adorable.
But for you, the moment Gojo's gaze landed on you felt completely different — resembling more of a bolt of lightning that sent every nerve in your body on fire. You couldn't hear your own thoughts with the blood pounding at your temples.
Gojo barely tilted his head, nodding towards the basket and mouthed.
"This is for you."
He dodged one guy, then the other with perfect dribbling — you barely saw anyone in their element as much as Gojo was at the basketball court — and finally went for a shot.
Time seemed to stop moving in the gym of the Jujutsu University. The hundreds of eyes watched the ball cutting through the air with an impeccable trajectory.
Until it went through the net without hitting the rim and sealed the win.
You barely released a shuddering breath when Nobara crushed you in a hug, her beer mercilessly spilling on you both, but no one gave a damn. The crowd erupted with an ecstatic cheer and rose to their feet right then and there. The commentators were on the verge of crying, judging by their voices, but your world narrowed to one particular person. Gojo's teammates ruffled his hair, patted his back, and hugged him by the shoulders; someone even put him in a playful headlock, to which he responded with a wide grin.
A tight knot in your chest slowly seemed to loosen a bit.
Gojo found you later, at the party.
You stood a little away from the crowd, watching Nobara laughing with Maki Zenin near the bonfire. The light painted her auburn hair in copper tints every time she tilted her head, and judging by the way Maki's gaze lingered on her form, she noticed that too. A little smile curled your lips at the sight of lovey-doveys.
"Your friend has a crush on Maki, huh?"
Putting a can to your lips, you mumbled absent-mindedly, "She's pretty obvious."
"They both are, actually."
A light brush against your shoulder finally caught your attention. You lazily shifted your gaze, only to gulp at the sudden proximity to Satoru Gojo.
He stood beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, watching the rest of the party unfold with a faint smirk on his face. Standing there, existing, like he wasn't the one who flipped your world upside down a couple of hours earlier.
A forced smile made your cheeks hurt as you tumbled out nervously, hastily wiping your mouth, "I am— I, I mean, congratulations! You did so great! I don't understand much about basketball, but you—," your worried your bottom lip for a second before breathing out, "you were magnificent."
At your words, Gojo finally turned around. His grin softened into a gentle smile that showcased a pair of dimples on his pale cheeks. The firelight danced on his hair strands that seemed more ivory tinged now.
"You think so?"
"I do!" A sudden feeling of boldness flooded you as you stepped forward and reached for his arm to show how sincere you were. Or maybe it was just a beer.
Gojo immediately cast his gaze down and slowly wrapped his long fingers around your wrist. You gulped, but didn't look away from his face. The gods clearly spared nothing in sculpting it, otherwise you couldn't explain the sharpness of his jaw, the plumpness of his lips and the prominence of his cheekbones.
No one had a right to be that beautiful. Satoru Gojo wasn't aware of it.
His thumb pressed just a tad against your soft skin to feel an erratic pulse beneath it, but you did not attempt to pull your hand away. On the contrary, it felt strangely...natural.
"I am glad you were there." A gentle murmur hit you harder than expected.
Breath bated, you searched Gojo's face for any hint of the usual theatrics and grandeur until you saw none.
"You are?"
"Yeah".
The words about the last shot were on the tip of your tongue already, but they quickly died at the sight of shimmering blue in his eyes as Gojo finally looked up and released your hand from his grip.
You already missed its warmth.
"Listen, I knew I was a jerk towards you. Crowding and flirting and so on. I know, I know," a self-deprecating chuckle left his lips as the ironic roll of his eyes followed. You watched every expression, soaked it like Gojo was about to disappear again from your life. "I am not proud of this, I admit. I want to apologise to you for this."
You parted your lips to answer, but Gojo cut you off with a slight shake of his head.
"But I am not going to apologise for my feelings," his voice grew stronger, rising from the gentle murmur to the steady tone, eyes boring into you with an unsettling intensity that left you speechless. The people's cheerings fade into the background, and that chilly evening, thick with emotions so deep you couldn't name them, enveloped both of you in its bubble.
"I meant everything. I do like you. I like the way you smile when you finally grasp the concept you've been studying. The way your voice goes all that animated when you talk about the book you were reading. That little sparkle in your eyes when you saw the last cherry pie in the cafeteria...I love it all. And that shot was for you. I really meant it."
"I am gonna ask you just this once, and if you reject me, I will step back and never bother you again. You have my word," the weight of Gojo's promise would almost physically pin you to the ground, if not for the desperation lurking behind his gaze, darting between your eyes and your lips. He forcefully tore it away to glance right into your face. "Will you go out with me?"
You didn't believe what you were about to say. But hey, that day was already weird enough. You offered Gojo a crooked smile. "Yeah."
"Just one date, you won't — ", he blinked in surprise, a light frown crossing his handsome face. "Wait, what?"
You stifled a laugh and nodded, stepping closer, until you felt the hard planes of his chest. "I will go out with you."
A slow, almost dopey in its joy, grin curled Gojo's lips, until a small disbelieving chuckle left him. "You will? Just like that?"
Now you couldn't contain a smile either. "Just like that, Gojo."
A whoop full of happiness cut through the air and the noise of the party that slowly came to its eventual end as Gojo swept you off your feet and twirled you in a bone-crushing embrace. Your laugh was the prettiest sound Gojo had ever heard.
"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I swear you won't regret it!"
Satoru Gojo kept his promise. And many others he whispered in the dead of the night to you beneath the star-spilt sky. His hand was a steady anchor amidst the stormy life that awaited both of you. His voice offered you peace of mind when the world was a little too harsh for you. His fingers traced reverently the silk of your skin every time he shared a night with you. His gaze was the first you searched for in every crowded room. His arms had become the safest place in the world.
Satoru memorised the way you organised your life, but you were more than happy when he eventually disrupted your usual order. Not because he was doing that on purpose. Rather, since that was Satoru: he was too big for your world, and you didn't want him to shrink himself into someone he wasn't. Dimming Satoru's light was the last thing you wished.
He had learnt by heart the things that even you didn't pay attention to: for example, your toothbrush always had to face the door — Satoru wordlessly turned it the way you preferred; your favourite plant was Zamioculcas that he made sure was always watered visiting you; you usually carried a few packs of wet cat food for the stray babies in your enormous bag — he ordered large boxes, so you wouldn't run out of them; your drink of choice was Margarita that you shared only while hanging with Nobara — Satoru learned on his way to pick you up; you hated the loud harsh sounds, and Satoru was the first one to whisper sweet nothings to you and rub soothing circles against the small of your back until you calm down. In other words, he made your life easier.
You, on the other hand, only added more difficulties to his. Satoru never told you that, not even mentioned in any way that you were somehow different from him. But some things didn't have to be pointed out to catch your eye.
Like his Prada glasses, which cost like your monthly rent or two. Satoru could leave them somewhere without batting an eye. Or the luxurious gifts he would get you out of nowhere just because you barely glanced at something while strolling. That warmed your heart, yes, but the cheque that Satoru couldn't care less about startled you. You stayed in the lab until you almost fainted from fatigue just to finish the project before the deadline to get an extra payment to spend on the gift, since you were adamant that the relationships were about taking and giving in equal measure. Not to mention the one social gathering he invited you to, just off-handedly, before the day it actually happened; you drained your bank account to look presentable by his side, and lived on the instant ramen the entire month after. Maybe if you had accepted Satoru's offer to live together, none of that would have happened, but you learned the hard way to rely only on yourself. Luckily, the iron argument sealed the deal: your tight schedules at the lab and his as a pro basketball player didn't match well.
The Gojo family was another... topic. While no one said anything directly to your face, you noticed the way their brows knitted in confusion for a fleeting second, eyeing you up and down. Sensed the baffled glances and fake, saccharine sweet smiles behind your back, questioning the fact of your presence. No. Your existence. The mere raise of the brow from one of Satoru's distant cousins at the sight of your shoes — the ones you borrowed from Nobara, who got them after the Fashion Week in Paris, albeit last year's Dior collection — had you doubting your entire life.
Complaining had never been on your list, though some thoughts did cross your mind. You made sure not to voice them, stoically listening to all the hushed whispers. Not once did your smile falter in front of them. It was the least you could do for Satoru. You knew he didn't have a lot of joy in standing up for you every single time, so, eventually, the gatherings got shorter, the invitations came rather rarely, and the calls, already small in number, would always leave him in a bad mood. The sound of your name appeared quite frankly between the gritted words and heated yells.
"Don't worry, baby," Satoru's lips always found the crown of your head in the reassuring kiss when you asked him what was going on. The bitterness in his voice poisoned your already tired, insecure mind even more. He was a master at hiding his emotions, but never from you. "I got this."
A strained smile — the corners of your lips lifting just barely — was your usual answer.
"Of course."
Satoru then offered you a quick grin that never reached his eyes. His large hands cradled your face in the gentle, trembling grip, and the faint murmur would twist yet another knife between your ribs. "I love you. I love you so much. You know that, right?"
Leaning into Satoru's palm like a kitten, seeking warmth, you bit inside of your cheek not to cry. Your hand came up to cradle his hand against your cheek just to memorise the way it perfectly engulfed your face.
"I love you."
Not to dwell on the way you voice cracked, akin to ice beneath one's feet, you simply moved forward to capture his lips in a kiss, until all you could taste were tears. Yours, his... Did it matter anymore?
And then, under the pale moonlight coming from the lone crescent peering right into the bedroom of his large penthouse, your gaze drifted unabashedly over Satoru's face, taking in every flutter of the long, snowy eyelashes. Every breath that left his lips. Every faint twitch in his expression, and even every tiny snore. Your finger tenderly traced the bridge of Satoru's nose, making its way to the perfectly sculpted mouth and down to the sharp cut of his collarbones. Committing each pale freckle and beauty mark to memory.
For you knew that night would be your last one.
Satoru loved you, and you loved him. He loved you fiercely, with the force so burning it could rival the Sun itself. It was only fair for you to step back and let him shine. Not to drive another wedge between him and his family. You loved Satoru enough not to burden him with your presence. He should soar up in the sky, not stay chained on the ground by the dead weight of you and waste his time knocking some sense into his parents.
A muffled sob escaped your throat as you pressed a small kiss between his collarbones. The next thing you felt was Satoru's strong arm curling around your waist to pull you against his strong chest. The faint smell of musk still clung to his skin, but you had never revelled in it as you did now.
"Why aren't you asleep, baby? Something's wrong?" Satoru's voice came in a deep, throaty tone that would usually have your toes curling.
The edge of the blade dug deeper into your heart, drawing blood.
"Nothing, love. Just some weird thoughts, that's all."
A boyish grin adorned his face — so handsome even in the middle of the night — as he lightly flicked your forehead.
"Your head will hurt from all the overthinking. Head so tiny, yet so many thoughts. Come here," Satoru let a shuddering yawn and tucked your head under his chin, nuzzling gently against your hair. "Better?"
Biting on your lip, you prayed to all the gods that Satoru wouldn't hear the tremble in your voice. The steady beat of his heart lulled you to sleep, but you knew you wouldn't close an eye that night. "Yes."
"Try to sleep, okay?" Satoru's finger came to play with a lone strand of your hair. The smile in his voice was evident. "And if you don't, just wake me up. We can talk or watch that documentary you mentioned earlier. I mean, did Tyra really not take any accountability?"
You gathered any ounce of your strength not to fall apart right then and there.
"Of course, Toru. Go to sleep now."
He sighed in mock exaggeration. "Always so bossy."
His chest rose steadily under your cheek. His skin felt warm under the weight of your palm. You registered it all subconsciously, clinging to every part of Satoru.
And only when his breath fully evened, you allowed yourself to whisper to the night.
"I love you. And I am so sorry."
***
You sincerely thought you were a nice girlfriend for scheduling your breakup over the weekend. Waited until Satoru finished showering and emerged all smiley and happy from the bathroom. Waited until he recalled all the TikToks he sent to you in the early morning, not even knowing you already had blocked him on all the socials. Waited until he dug in the last breakfast you cooked for him — fluffy pancakes with strawberry jam.
"Babe, this is so delicious," Satoru hummed, pointing a fork at you. "Are you sure you didn't wanna become a chief? I mean, this is the gift from the heavens."
"I think we should break up."
Satoru paused mid-way, mouth still open. He slowly closed it and heaved a hollowed chuckle, chewing on the pancake with more force than necessary. "Very funny, sweets. An excellent joke."
Straightening in the seat, you furrowed your brows in confusion. Weren't you clear enough?
"I said we should break up."
That time, Satoru finally stopped chewing and slowly lifted his gaze at you. The electric blue pierced deep in your soul as he pressed again, "And I said it was an excellent joke."
"Satoru," the movement of your throat was sharp as you fumbled with words. "I am not joking."
The desperate flex of his fingers caught your attention immediately when Satoru curled them into a fist before taking a deep breath. The smile that carved into his lips was as sharp as the knife.
"Care to explain why?"
A thousand thoughts twirled in your mind those days like a restless whirlpool, each of them seemingly worse than the previous: "I don't love you anymore", or "You suffocate me with your love", and the traitorous "I cheated on you."
All of them lie, of course.
So, you settled on offering Satoru the least you could do — the truth.
"We just don't work out, Satoru. It's better to break up before — "your voice was so tiny and fragile, Satoru thought he was hallucinating: his worst nightmare coming to reality, " — things get more serious."
The loud, screeching sound of the chair being pushed away, followed by a self-deprecating, disbelieving laugh, filled the room. You glanced up at Satoru only to find him pacing around like a caged animal. Your words punched him right in the gut.
"We don't 'work out?' Before 'things get too serious', huh? Sweets, that's gotta be a joke. The most shitty, not funny and cruel joke you have ever pulled on me, but okay," he nervously carded his fingers through the white hair, before walking to you. "Tell me this is it. Please."
You cast your gaze down, not able to see the way his eyes frantically searched your face for any hint of a joke and hear the crack in his voice, usually so steady and certain. A rock, a lighthouse in your stormy ocean.
The shake of his hands was violent as they came up to frame your face. You choked on a heavy sob, trembling like a leaf with the tears blurring your eyes so hard you couldn't see anything.
"But we were —, are working just fine. Have I done something wrong? Is it because of me? Just tell me what to do, I swear I'll fix everything!"
"It's not about you, Satoru. Never has been. It's about me."
His white brows furrowed in confusion. "You? What about you? But you are perfect for me," he chuckled almost tenderly — a small sound frayed around the edges — that only ripped your heart out. "You listen to all my stupid jokes, know how many sugar cubes I put in my coffee, and put the curtains down because you know how sensitive my eyes are. You stayed with me at the hospital after the injury and cheered for me the loudest." His voice rose just a tad to coax a smile from you. "You have never told me how to be someone I am not. Always seen me, not the Gojo heir. Not the star player. How can it be about you? No one in the world knows me as well as you do. Like —," his gaze swept across the room like something might've helped him to talk you out, "like your last Christmas gift, huh? That premium card you swore you just stumbled upon in the store, but I knew better how much it — Wait."
Satoru's smile slowly died as the realisation downed at him like a wicked joke of fate. "No, no, no, no. That can't be it. Is that because of money? My status? I told you countless times that it doesn't matter to me! What I have is yours." His voice dipped into the fragile, almost sacred warmth that he reserved only for you. "All I have is yours."
You couldn't do that anymore. Not even in the wildest thoughts did it occur to you that breaking up with Satoru would hurt that badly. It rather resembled a never-ending torture.
He never understood it. Growing up in a family that barely made ends meet. Pouring your blood, sweat and tears into studies to get a tuition fee waiver, because there wasn't any other option for you to get into the university. Scraping by taking double shifts at the cafe. Fighting tooth and nail over the place in the chemistry lab.
And never would.
Pushing Satoru away, you closed your eyes in defeat before forcing yourself to look back at him. He didn't dare to mutter a word, watching your face twist with pain as you shouted.
"It matters to me! It matters to me, Satoru, how fucking inferior I feel next to you!"
Something in his gaze faded away. He didn't recognise his voice when it came in a short, fractured breath, devoid of all strength.
"What?"
A violent sob rattled your frame as you hid your face in your palms. You cried and cried and cried until your chest tightened with pain, and you managed to utter hoarsely. "Every time I get into your home, or every time someone sees me besides you, I want to run and disappear into the cave. Don't you see that, To — Satoru?" No. He wasn't your Toru anymore. "I am like, dunno, a disastrous glob of ink on Monet's painting. A patch of dirt on the Versace gown. A bling-bling amidst Graff's and Harry Winston's. Well, you get it. Something to wipe away or hide in the closet. Someone who doesn't deserve to stand by your side."
"I don't get it," Satoru dragged his hands over his face and shook his head, letting out a humourless laugh. His eyes flashed with a weird gleam. "Did my parents or anyone at that point say something to you? Because if they did, I fucking swear —"
"No one said anything to me, Satoru! It doesn't matter. Because they say it to you —"
"And as I said, I don't care — "
"BUT I DO!" The rise of your voice to a frenzied cry startled both of you. Satoru stared at you with a gaze so desperate that a kiss of the gun would've been more merciful. You fiercely wiped your snotty nose — hell, you must've looked so ugly — and walked over to cup his face. He watched your every move as if you were about to disappear. In a way, you were going to.
"I do not want anyone to say something about me to you. I do not want you to fight with your family over me. I want you to be happy. Do not be torn between me and the world you belonged to."
Satoru wanted to shake you by the shoulders just to knock some sense into your head, scream and shout what a total bullshit your words were, but instead, he got rooted to the spot by your doe eyes. His stomach twisted at your next words.
"You'll meet a beautiful, smart, and kind girl, who wears pearls that cost more than I will ever be able to make, plays Brahms at the family gatherings, and who doesn't turn red in the face, while asked about favourite Japanese modern artists. Well, now I know plenty." You couldn't help but huff a tiny chuckle. Nothing twitched in Satoru's face. "And you will fall in love with her, and your whole family will like her. Everything will be just fine."
Satoru couldn't believe what was happening. Nothing in his life could ever prepare him for the pain that would follow with your leaving him. It didn't feel real. Probably, never would.
He slowly tilted his head down and rested his forehead against yours, whispering, barely audible. Like every word cost him a fortune. "Please, baby, please. I swear on my life, I will do everything. Just don't leave me. I don't —," Satoru's hands slip up your face as well, but you closed your eyes in defeat. Any ounce of strength left in your body evaporated. His arms fell to his sides as he croaked out helplessly. "I don't know who I am without you."
"You are you, Satoru. Always have been and always will be. A brilliant, wonderful, kind boy with a golden heart. And I..I am just me," you pressed your lips in a thin line before forcing a smile. "But I will work on it. As I said, it's all because of me."
"You don't get it." Somehow, Satoru's lifeless whisper hit you harder than any scream would. Because Satoru never raised his voice at you. Even now. There was a hunch to his shoulders that you rarely saw, if ever, as he turned from you and gripped the edge of the table. "I want to marry you. To become your family. But guess that doesn't matter anymore. Before things get too serious, huh?"
The room spun around you as you knitted your brows together, slumping in the nearest chair. Marrying… you?
But, on the other hand, it didn't change anything. You were still miles away from each other, standing on opposite sides of the societal hierarchy.
"I am so sorry, Satoru," words clawed up your throat as you shook your head.
Satoru finally turned around, and the dimmed, utterly devastated blue of his gaze tore you apart at the seams. "You are not sorry. If you were, you won't be leaving me now."
You didn't have enough in you to counter this. Words seemed meaningless, slipping like sand through your fingers.
"Please, Satoru. Let us go. It is for the better."
You had never seen an expression that hopeless and defeated on his handsome face.
"Is that what you want?"
"No," you wanted to scream, to shout, to cry out loud. "How can I possibly want to leave you? I have to. For both of us."
The silence stretched thin between you for so long, Satoru sincerely thought you didn't hear him. He stepped forward only to see you giving a short nod, almost cruel in its curtness.
After all, he never denied you everything. Even that. Even if it killed him from the inside.
Standing by the door with your bag, you couldn't help but steal a last glance at him. You parted your lips to say goodbye, but nothing even remotely plausible came to your mind. Satoru sat on the couch, shoulders slumped and gaze fixed on the floor. His name left your lips for the last time.
"Satoru."
His head snapped up as if he had been waiting for it that entire time. Maybe you changed your mind?
"Yes?"
That fragile hope in his tone twisted your insides.
"I love you."
Before he could answer, you slipped out of his apartments. And his life.
***
These months, the four agonising months, marked by Satoru's absence in your life, had sucked. Mildly put.
You sincerely thought you were doing the right thing — well, still were — breaking up, sparing his life from your presence, but it didn't mean it hurt any less. In a way, it was the opposite.
Pushing the love of your life away and then grovelling in the silence of your small apartment after putting on a brave face and assuring everyone that you were okay sucked. Crying yourself to sleep sucked. Feeling your heart breaking to pieces each time your gaze stumbled upon something that instantly reminded you of Satoru — like a photo on the fridge, his note with a smiley, kissy face between the pages of your comfort book and the tome of the manga he was reading — sucked. Walking around the places you used to hang out sucked.
What sucked even more was the fact that Satoru's presence seemed to linger everywhere. His laugh haunted you while you were lounging on the couch. The look of pure happiness on his face was ingrained in your mind while you were walking in a familiar park. And when your eye caught sight of a ball? Didn't even mention it. Perhaps that was your punishment. Now you were subjected to a lifetime of loneliness.
Still, you tried to do the thing you promised Satoru the final time you saw him. Attempted to go out of your shell. Took on some hobbies. Had a lot, a lot of time for self-reflection (given that you were free most of the evenings when you didn't throw yourself into work). And took small steps to discover what made you whole.
What and not who. That realisation sank on you with the force of a tidal wave. Kept you awake in three of the morning. Occupied all your thoughts until you finally, finally, were getting used to it. Still, there was a lot to be done. You only wished for Satoru by your side, though. Were you allowed to think about him, after all?
The revelation, of course, only made your mind drift to Satoru even more. How was he? Was his injury getting better? Did his father officially appoint him as the next CEO?
Gods. You sure had no right to worry about him anymore. Not after breaking both of your hearts. An utterly desperate and lifeless look on his face flashed every time before your eyes when you closed them.
You dragged your feet back from the nearest combini: Friday had finally marked the end of a long, exhausting week (not like you had many left, huh) and you treated yourself with sushi and a bottle of wine. There was nothing you wanted more than to run a bath and put Sex and the City on, rotting under the blanket. It would've been thousands of times better if Satoru were there, but alas...
A few raindrops fell on the asphalt, successfully putting the train of your miserable thoughts to a halt, and you hurried to the entrance of your block. Quickly fishing a pair of keys, you glanced up from your bag as something caught your attention in the periphery, and you got immediately rooted to the spot.
You would recognise the set of those shoulders, now slightly hunched, everywhere. A grey hoodie did nothing to hide his figure. White tufts fell over his forehead under the hood, and something twisted viciously in your chest at the sight. Your fingers twitched with the urge to feel the silk of that hair under your touch.
You took a deep breath, trying to take a rein over your hammering heart, and stepped closer, calling the man out softly. Rather hesitantly.
"Satoru? What are you doing here?"
Satoru went rigid for a moment at your voice. His shoulders tensed even more. Your throat clogged up.
But then he turned around and smiled. A tiny, almost pathetic lift of his lips, and he offered you a small wave. Just like the one you gave him at that basketball match.
"Hi, ba —" Satoru immediately corrected himself, wincing just for a second. His smile wavered, as did your composure. "Hi."
The effort that took you not to drop your things right then and run into his arms was only between you and the gods.
"Hello to you too." Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stepped forward. That totally wasn't the way you imagined that meeting would go.
"What are you doing here?" You prompted again, trying not to sound either harsh or desperate. Desperate to hear his voice. See his eyes. Look at his face.
"Just... was going around. Stumbled at your place. You still live here." Satoru lifted one shoulder in a nervous shrug, and his little smile morphed into a quick, uneasy grimace.
You didn't question those stalker-ish tendencies, but the doubt was clearly evident in an arch of your brow, because Satoru instantly raised his hands in surrender.
"No, really. I guess my legs just carried me there. Some memory, you know," he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but then sighed, seeing your suspicion. "Come on, sweets. If I had been stalking you all that time, I would've done it way more discreetly."
That brought you some relief. "Guess you would've."
His Adam's apple bobbed with an effort. "Can we, uhm, talk?"
Something in your guts was telling you had a pretty good sense of the way this talk would go. You weren't sure it was the right time and way.
Casting your gaze down, you worried on your bottom lip before breathing out, "I'm — I'm not sure this is a good idea, Satoru."
"Please", his voice took on a pleading edge. You closed your eyes for a brief moment. "I just want to know how you are. That's all."
He was lying. And he knew you were well aware of it.
But, in the end, wasn't that what you wanted? To see him, at least? Well, here Satoru was.
Thunder roared somewhere in the distance, and you were pretty sure that soon you both would be drenched to the bone.
"Besides, you don't want to get me standing under the rain, do you?" An amusement curled Satoru's lips before he let a humourless chuckle. "Have some mercy on your ex-boyfriend."
That sounded like a slur coming from Satoru. You glared at him. His smile turned even sharper.
Torn between the current state of your... relationship, and the fact that Satoru was standing right in front of you, you completely didn't know what to do. You didn't part your ways that badly. And you had never wanted to be that person who would resent his ex and scowl at every mention of them.
Because that was never true. You loved Satoru. And, judging by the yearning lacing his gaze and the nervous flex of his hands as he awaited your response, he still loved you, too.
After minutes of debating, with the rain intensifying, you finally gave in and nodded towards the entrance.
"Get in."
Satoru's wide smile now resembled more of a child's on Christmas.
"Yes, ma'am."
The weight of Satoru's gaze, burning a hole in your back, felt rather physical. The tension in your kitchen threatened to suffocate you both, while you busied yourself with making tea and a gigantic cup of hot cocoa for Satoru.
You placed the drink in front of him, and Satoru shot you a small, curious grin.
"Whoa, marshmallows."
"Yeah," you still absent-mindedly bought them at the grocery store. Habit. "You know, three years of always getting your marshmallows weren't in vain."
Satoru looked at you as if he seriously considered offering himself as a sacrifice at your altar.
Damn those puppy eyes.
Rubbing your palms up and down your thighs, you cleared your throat and offered an awkward smile. God, you wanted the ground to swallow you. "So, uhm, how have you been, To — Satoru?"
He pressed his lips together and leaned back in his seat, right hand on the back of it, like he was incapable of sitting straight. Well, some things never changed.
Satoru didn't look at you, instead glancing out of the window at the heavy rain, drumming against the windows.
"Not so good."
You immediately dropped your gaze, hugging the cup with sea buckthorn tea. The scorching liquid might've burnt your hands a little, but it was nothing in comparison with the sharp pain in your chest.
Licking your lips, you forced yourself to look up at Satoru. He was still staring at the rain like it held something only visible to him. The muscle in his jaw jumped.
"I am sorry, but —"
Satoru released a long sigh and turned to you. You almost flinched at the sight of his eyes — usually so bright blue, flashing with mirth and charm, now reduced to the lifeless, dull grey. Under the better light, you also noticed the dark bags under Satoru's eyes, the hollow in his cheeks and even the light stubble. You had never seen him like it. Like he aged ten years or more in those months.
That was all because of you, right?
Tears filled your eyes so fast you couldn't even blink them away, when you felt salt on your lips.
You wanted to apologise once again, but then Satoru leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, feverishly running his fingers through the white strands. Were you a little crazy, or even his hair seemed more…ashy?
"I am not gonna lie, I have never felt more awful and pathetic and miserable — well, you get it, in my entire fucking life," he waved his hand dismissively, and you closed your eyes just for a fleeting second, because you couldn't afford even a moment of not looking at him. That talk went even worse than you imagined. "But after you left, something has…changed."
You sat upright and drawled hesitantly, "Like…what?"
He huffed a humourless chuckle, and his eyes flashed with a weird, almost malicious glint. Your insides went cold.
"Well, I just told my father that he can suck my dick —"
You slowly covered your face with one hand. That was not good. Very, very bad, actually.
" — if he even for a moment thinks I was going to marry one of the girls he and my grandfather suggested. And then he started threatening to cut my trust fund off, blah blah, blah. Like I've ever given a single fuck about it."
Something in his tone was telling you that wasn't everything that had changed.
Satoru's voice sharpened in a way that could cut even the hardest steel.
"That was okay. Nothing I've heard before. But when he started talking about you," his voice dropped to a whisper and dangerously cracked. You couldn't hear it anymore. "That's where I draw the line. He knows that. Now everyone knows that."
A loud groan left you as you dropped your head in your hands.
"What have you done, Satoru?"
He just rolled his eyes. Harsh and sharp. "What I should have done, obviously. A long time ago. Tell all of them to fuck off."
"Oh —"
"Mildly put," Satoru scratched his head with a mild grimace. "And then got kicked out of the house. Trust fund cut off, obviously."
You couldn't believe what you had just heard. Satoru might've thought that his words would somehow soften you, so you could coo at him or whatever. But never did he expect you to slam your fist against the table and grit throught your teeth.
"Have you fucking lost your mind?"
Satoru blinked in shock, watching you suddenly stand up and turn from him, your hands curled into fists by your sides.
"What?"
Taking a deep breath, you tore your gaze from the windows and threw your hands in the air.
"Are you an idiot?"
Well, that kind of hurt. "I don't understand."
"Satoru." Oh no, he knew that tone. That only meant you were seething with rage. There were no means of escape, especially as you loomed over him. "So let me get it straight. You fought with your entire family, they kicked you out of the house and left you with no money."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"All because of me!?"
Satoru didn't like the way you said "me". As if you were something not even worth mentioning. The dirt beneath his feet.
"Satoru, we are not together! I am not your girlfriend anymore, I am not even in your life! We don't even talk! You can't throw your life away because of me! That's stupid!"
"Well, maybe I am stupid, hasn't it occurred to you?"
"Satoru," your voice trembled on the edge of tears. Why didn't he understand you?! "I am serious. This is serious. This is your life! This is all you have— had, especially given you can't damn play with your injury now!"
Satoru didn't answer you. You only saw the way he swallowed with effort, and the look of utter longing on his face told you everything.
You helplessly slumped back in your chair and hid your face in your palms for a small eternity. Satoru didn't dare to interrupt. He just watched you, soaking up every feature as if you were about to kick him out of your apartment forever. That was an option. You were pretty pissed.
He attempted to soothe you, "But there's something good."
You slowly glanced up, and Satoru almost snorted at the look of total disbelief in your eyes. "Such as?"
Satoru quickly stood up and kneeled between your chair, taking your hands in his. Cold as usual. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed your palms with his thumbs. As usual.
"I mean, you said it yourself, sweets. That is all I have known for my whole life. Rich kid, golden youth, spoilt guy born with a silver spoon in his mouth, all that stuff. I thought maybe it was it? My chance to find myself, huh? I don't want to be their toy to boss around all because of money."
Something crawled up your skin and twisted sharply in your chest as you breathed out, "What do you mean?"
Was he serious? So you both were doing the same thing all that time?
Satoru squeezed your hand harder and gave you a crooked smile.
"Just been here and there. Doing…some stuff."
You tilted your head in a silent question. He chuckled breathlessly and shook his head.
"Don't laugh, okay? I am teaching some kids basketball at school."
"Oh," your lips curled up in a tender smile as something warm bloomed in your chest. "That's really nice. You like it?"
"Yeah," Satoru's answer was immediate. And for the first time that evening, you saw a familiar spark in his eyes. "Kids can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but they are really cute. Listen to me, call me Gojo-sensei. Kinda gets in your head, you know."
A small snort escaped you, and the wide grin broke on his face. Oh, how he missed that precious sound.
"Where do you live now?"
"Crashing Suguru. He's not particularly happy when I drown my misery in another pint of strawberry ice-cream — "
Your smile slowly disappeared.
" — when he brings in some girl, but I bribe him with dark chocolate. You know he can't live without it."
"That he can," you uttered in a strained voice. Satoru's grin wavered as well, and he hesitantly reached to tuck the lone strand of your hair behind your ear. His hand trembled a little.
"What about you? There are boxes everywhere," he leaned back with a soft murmur, glancing around your apartment with packed staff around. "Moving out?"
Your heart suddenly felt twice its size, thumping violently against your ribs. "Uhm, yeah. Moving out."
"Where?"
Well, that was it. You squirmed in your seat, and Satoru's hand slowly fell to his side. He just waited.
"Eh…France."
He pinched his brows together with a slight frown and repeated incredulously, "You are moving to France?"
Satoru's sharp blue gaze seemed to pierce through you. Unable to meet it, you looked away.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Sighing deeply, you stood up and leaned against a kitchen counter, hugging yourself. Satoru immediately rose to his feet.
"That was a pretty much hard time for me too. Not delving into details, but…yeah. I felt like shit. Everyone was dating someone, or building a successful career, or, I don't know, just doing something meaningful," you gestured vaguely and combed your hair with a shaky hand. Satoru just stared at you like a lone, kicked puppy. "While I willingly kept fucking my own life over. Cooped yourself in that place. Left the love of my life."
Something in your face softened at the last words. Satoru forgot how to breathe.
"And that certainly shouldn't be…in vain, whatever. I told you I was going to work on myself, and I kind of do. Step by step, but I am going there."
"I still don't understand. I am happy for you, really am, but why are you leaving Japan? What about your mother, your job?"
What about me?
"My department's had its financing cut. My presence is not required anymore, as they said. I am just working the last two weeks, and that's it."
"Oh. I am..I am sorry to hear it."
"As for my mom," you didn't seem to hear Satoru's words at all, staring somewhere past him. "You know, she's never really cared that much about me anyway. She'll survive."
As cruel as your words might've seemed, you were right. Your mother was an…interesting woman indeed.
Satoru desperately cling to anything that could make you stay here like a lifeline.
"What about Nobara?"
Surely, you couldn't leave her. You two had been together from the first time he saw you at the university campus.
"Actually, she was the one who offered me that."
"Huh?!"
"She's recently been promoted at her job to the French edition of their magazine. Fashion weeks, runways, photoshoots… You know her, she's been ecstatic about it. So, when she asked me about it…I said I would give it a thought. I mean, it will be a nice fresh start, won't it? I don't have anything left here, so…why not? Gotta take risks, something like that."
Satoru couldn't believe his own ears. That would've been his nightmare coming true, if not for the fact that his worst one already was real. No. He wouldn't let you go that time. That was the stupidest thing he had done in his life, and if he had to beg…well.
The worst thing that you seemed pretty confident about it. But looking closely, he saw your hands trembled a little by your side, and your gaze darted nervously around. So, there still was some chance.
He ran his fingers through his hair. The gears seemed to work nonstop in his mind as he glanced around for any clue or sight for support. Until…
He weakly breathed out, "I am going with you."
Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "You what!?"
Satisfied with your reaction and his genius mind, Satoru smirked lazily, "I am going to France with you."
Did you stare in The Office or something? Was there a hidden camera to look at?
Helplessly blinking, you finally managed to utter, "Excuse me? You going to France? With me?"
"I know, I know what you are thinking. He's crazy, an idiot, proper name, last name, backstory stuff, but hear me out!" Satoru walked to you and squeezed your shoulders, his eyes frantically searching your face for a hint of understanding. You still stared at him as if he had just announced he was going to fly to the Moon, no less. "You broke up with me because, citing "you felt inferior to me," right?
Pressing your lips into a thin line, you gave him a flat look. "Correct."
"But I am not superior in any way to you now! You're discovering yourself, me too, so why don't we do that together? Start everything from scratch? Including," his Adam's apple bobbed with effort as his hands slowly slid down your figure to rest on the dip of your waist. Your skin tingled at the contact. "Including us."
Blood defeaningly roared at your temples, and your heart jumped right into your throat. Wouldn't it be strange and weird? Getting back together after you pushed him away? After breaking both of you?
One of Satoru's hands drifted upwards to cradle your face, while the other pulled your figure closer to him. Your head spun at the sudden proximity. His thumb delicately traced the line of your jaw and settled on the apple of your cheek.
"How is that stupid and weird, if I love you?" Shit, had you been musing aloud? "And you love me."
You parted your lips to answer, but then Satoru tilted his head down just a bit, and it was enough to feel the faintest brush of his lips against yours. With knees slightly trembling, your hand flew up and twisted the fabric of his hoodie for support. Your tongue darted out to lick your lip for a mere second; it was enough for Satoru's gaze to flick there and stare at your mouth as if hypnotised.
"Or you don't?" You almost leaned in for a kiss when he suddenly pulled away, despite being a breath away from devouring you. You gulped and lifted a pleading gaze at him — and not like the look on Satoru's face was any better. A strange kind of bitterness settled in your chest at the shakiness of his voice: he really doubted it. Well, you gave him a good reason to, didn't you?
It baffled you. No. Weirded out in the worst way possible.
So, instead of answering, you simply stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his. A feathery, almost invisible, but it was enough for Satoru to release a groan and kiss your back.
You forgot how to breathe. The room spun around you, and if not for Satoru's hand holding at your waist, you would've collapsed for sure. The familiar sense of heat shot through you as you boldly slid your hand up Satoru's toned shoulder, grazed his undercut — wait, did he actually whimper at that or what — and ran your fingers through the silky white hair. The months of raw longing, poured in that kiss, laced every brush of your tongues, stifled moan and impatient tug with desperate want. Damn, you almost forgot his lips slotting perfectly against yours, his gently nipping at your bottom lip, and his hot, raspy breath fanning over your cheek when you pulled away before delving in again and again.
Blinking away dizziness, you managed to gather your bearings together just to mumble, "Does it count as an answer?"
Satoru's chest rose up and down as if he had just run a marathon, and he slowly shook his hand in response before tilting your chin up. His eyes resembled more of a stormy ocean than a breezy sea, but his hold was as tender as always.
"I love you, Satoru. Still am and always have been. I told you the same when —," you swallowed the lump in your throat, "— when I left you." Voice sinking into a small, almost miserable whisper, you went on, "And I am sorry for that, so damn sorry, you didn't deserve it."
"No, no, no, baby, stop it," now both his hands cradled your face as his gaze gently caressed every twitch in it, every shift, every freckle and mole. "You did what you felt right to. I accepted that, even though it was the hardest thing in my life. Believe me or not, I felt so stupid and shitty and miserable for letting you go, but I had to respect that. I only wish I had noticed you feeling that way sooner," he ended with a small, bitter smile, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose before gently nuzzling it. "Missed you so, so much."
As much as you wanted to lean into Satoru's touch again with no care in the world, you felt the need to apologise for once again, "No, Satoru, but — Maybe if I told you that instead of going away, we wouldn't be apart these months. I am sorry."
"Stop that," his voice cut you off, not firmly but enough to shut you up. "Really, stop. I am not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. And maybe I need that too. Shook me good to realise what things really mattered in life."
A sad sigh left your lips when you remembered what happened between Satoru and his family. Yes, they were jerks, but you never wanted to be the reason for the wedge between them.
"But hey, now we're two psychos together, trying to figure out what to do with their life! Together, right?" Satoru's gaze carefully searched yours, and as you nodded enthusiastically, his face broke into the brightest grin possible. Maybe only rivalling the one he gave you when you agreed to go out with him at that bonfire party.
"Love you, love you, love you," you murmured between kisses, nuzzling against his jaw, eliciting shaky moans. Your hands slid under his hoodie to feel the hot skin under your palms, but the sudden roaring of the thunder made you jump.
"Oh, fuck."
Satoru wanted to tease you at first, but he quickly bit his tongue, remembering that noises like that still scared you. You mindlessly gripped his hoodie tighter, pressing your frame against his for comfort. His hand cradled the back of your head, and he tucked it under his chin, whispering soothing words.
"Maybe you wanna lie down or something?" Whispering into your hair, Satoru pressed his lips against the crown of your head as another tremble shook your body at the particularly frightening sound. His gaze briefly flicked at the sky through the windows. "Yeah, not getting better soon."
Without further ado, you sighed in response and gripped his hand to walk to your bedroom. In every other situation, his hands would've been on you in a second, but not now. Especially given that you had just gotten back together.
Your bedroom hadn't really changed: your favourite stuffed plush bear sat over the sheets, guarding your sleep; a stupid lava lamp that Satoru once gifted you was still on the bedside table, not to mention the horde of houseplants (he sadly noticed the absence of some) at the windowsill. You hadn't packed the bedroom stuff yet, though a couple of boxes obediently waited in the corner.
After all those months, Satoru's presence felt kind of weird in your bedroom, but now, with his hands enveloping you in an embrace, you had never felt happier.
You both stayed up the whole night: gods, you almost forgot how easy it was to talk to Satoru. He told you more about the kids he was teaching, the school, and that he tried to do some modelling photoshoots. It turned out pretty good. "Might be a nice gig," he shrugged nonchalantly, but you noticed his eyes sparkling with mirth.
You filled him in on the work drama, places you visited in your attempts to go out of your shell, hobbies you tried — his eyes widened at the mention of drawing and pottery, and he demanded to see your works the first thing in the morning.
You snorted quietly. "I don't think they are anywhere as good as your photos."
Satoru huffed under his breath and lightly nudged your shoulder. You both lie face to face now, smiling and giggling like a pair of students you once were. You felt as if you were floating in happiness.
"Come on, baby, don't be shy. I am positive they are nice."
"No, Toru, they are not. Believe me, my first flowerpot was disastrous." You turned a bit and waved at the deformed blob of clay, hiding in the corner. Satoru followed your move: his lips pressed into a thin line at the sight of a poor thing.
"Uhm…well, it's not that bad." His shoulders shook with a barely suppressed laugh, and you rolled your eyes good-naturedly.
"It's okay, you can laugh."
The laugh he let was truly thunderous, and even you, the mighty creator, couldn't help but laugh alone.
"Babe, I am sorry, it's just looking at me like I have to end its suffering," after some time, Satoru finally wept some tears and breathed out weakly with his hand on his stomach. You both looked at the hopeless blob. "Why do you keep it, anyway?"
Sighing in response, you murmured, "Dunno. I can't bring myself to throw it away."
Satoru just hummed in response and settled back against the pillows. "Will you take it to France?"
Your heart skipped a beat at the mention, and you just shrugged indecisively. The light mood you had slowly evaporated. After some minutes, you rolled back to face Satoru again, only to find him already watching you closely.
"Were you serious?"
He tilted his head in question; his hand came up to brush a hair strand behind your ear. "About what?"
The next words came in a hesitant whisper.
"Moving with me to France."
Satoru's thumb traced your bottom lip before he dropped his arm to the side. Shrugging casually, he lifted a steady gaze on you. "Are you still thinking about moving there?"
You swallowed nervously before nodding. "Yeah."
"Then I was serious too. We're dating again, it's only logical then."
You couldn't fight with that argument.
"Guess it is. I just…," you lifted one shoulder, still doubtful. "Can't believe you do that for me."
And he couldn't believe you questioned it. But instead, Satoru just blinked at you and muttered in the most serious tone possible.
"I told you I was going to marry you. Yes, I still want to. I wasn't joking and trying to hold you back in the heat of the moment —"
You wordlessly glanced at him.
" — okay, I did, but I was serious. And still am. Hell, baby," the mattress dipped under his weight as Satoru scooted closer. "You're the only thing — not a thing, person, I mean, you're the most serious I've ever been about anything and anyone in my life. I swear. Where you go, I follow."
His voice cracked at the last words, and you let a shuddering breath, cupping his face.
"Are you sure? What will your family say? Job? Suguru?"
Satoru lifted a corner of his lips in a small grin, recalling the same arguments he used to talk you out of moving.
"I am pretty sure I can find something there. Isn't this a part of discovering yourself, too? It could be pretty fun. Who knows, maybe I have some secret talent for pastries. Not just eating. Baking! Plus, I know French," he beamed at you like the Sun. You couldn't help but grin back. "It's a little rusty, though."
You both snorted, but then a frown crossed Satoru's face, and his tone turned more serious.
"Suguru…he'll understand. We still will be talking, right? Not as we used to, but…hey, now I will have an excuse to send him even more stupid memes."
"I am sure he will be ecstatic about it."
"He won't have any choice, heh. And my family…honestly? I don't really care. We both said everything we wanted to each other. I do not see any sense in bowing and scraping."
Your face crumpled in a grimace as you recalled that you were one of the reasons that entire thing happened, and hunched your shoulders. "Still sorry about it."
"And I am still saying you shouldn't be."
Minutes passed between you in a relative silence, interrupted only by the car noises and distant humming of the refrigerator as you stared at the ceiling. Finally, you turned to look at Satoru. Moonlight painted his features in an even more breathtaking way, highlighting the sharp jawline and illuminating the blue of his eyes.
"So…we are really going to France."
Satoru smiled at you — the gentle one he saved only for you — and reached for your hand to interlace your fingers slowly.
"We really are."
***
The morning sun crept through the blinds, bathing a bedroom in a soft, ethereal light, and its beams lazily caressed your face in feathery kisses. As your nose twitched at the sensation, begrudgingly, very begrudgingly, you blinked and reached for your phone. It came to life with a faint buzz; you tried to focus your bleary gaze on the time and sighed in relief as you still had half an hour before the alarm.
A careful attempt to sink back into the sheets didn't go unnoticed by the whole mountain of heat and muscle beside you. Satoru's arm snaked around your waist with an energy too restless for a sleepy man.
"Where are you going to, huh?" His voice, still deep and thick with sleep, felt like a pure sin against your nape. A shudder ran through your body as he gently nuzzled the soft skin there and pressed his lips against the point that shouldn't drive you crazy like it did. "Morning, ma choute."
Amusement curled your tone as you breathed out a chuckle, "Your favourite word, huh?"
Instead of answering, Satoru hummed something unintelligible against the curve of your neck, nosing it, while his lips found your pulse point.
"Can't help it. Not my fault if it fits you perfectly. So sweet," his head went into a dizzy, hazy state at the whiff of your chocolate shower gel and something so uniquely yours. "So soft." The hand that rested leisurely on your belly lazily drifted upwards to cup the tender swell of your breasts. Your breath caught in your throat as you arched into Satoru's touch with a quiet, sleepy moan.
"Ah, Satoru…"
When your voice dipped into that syrupy bedroom voice, laced with so much want, Satoru never could help himself. His hips bucked involuntarily, eliciting a surprised gasp from you, as you felt the throbbing of his length against your backside.
Your hair fanned over a pillow like a halo, catching the bright light, and Satoru's heart skipped a beat. He gently bit down on your pulse point, and as your gasp rose in a tone, he quickly soothed it with a lick of his tongue.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Can't believe you're mine." The heat crept up your body all the way to your cheeks, not only at the way Satoru rolled your nipple between his fingers, palming at the soft skin there, but at the bewilderment in his voice. As if he were actually shocked.
Another moan left your lips as you closed your eyes in the utter pleasure, coursing through your body and tightening your insides into the sweet knot. Subconsiously, you pushed your trembling thighs back against his front, to which Satoru responded with a low hiss.
"You're in a teasing mood today, huh?"
A sharp pang of disappointment shot through your body when his hand left your chest.
"Satoru…"
"Shh, patience, baby. Good things come to those who wait, don't they?" You almost whined at the loss of the contact, but then his hand — god, that hand — wrapped around your throat with a light grip, just enough to turn your face and capture your lips in a lazy, unhurried kiss. He licked at the seam of your mouth, and you immediately opened it, granting Satoru access. Your tongues lazily tangled, exploring each other; you slid your free hand down his toned pecs, sharp abs and wrapped it around the already hard cock. Giving it a few unhurried pumps, you heard Satoru moaning unbashfully against your mouth.
"Oh, fuck, yeah, keep going, love. Just like —, oh, just like that."
You fondled his balls with a sly smirk, to which he responded with a sharp, almost desperate cry, and…stopped.
"Hey, baby," the pout was evident in his voice, "That's not fair. Like totally not fair."
With a smirk widening, you turned just a tad to see his half-lidded gaze darkening with lust. "Haven't you just preached to me about patience, Toru?"
Satoru's head hit your shoulder as he let a groan, followed by a disbelieving laugh. "Vixen. You drive me crazy, you know that?"
"Yeah, yeah, yet you're still not inside me." After rolling your eyes impatiently, you finally heard the sheets rustling. Your insides clenched in anticipation.
Laughing quietly, Satoru kissed your shoulder, pulling you closer against his front. His hand slid under your hip, lifting it for better access, and hoisted it over his own. You almost whimpered as the thick head of his cock nudged your already wet entrance.
"Look at tha-a-a-t," the heat flooded your body even more at the cocky tilt in his voice and the way his fingers lightly grazed your folds. "For someone so soaked, you have a pretty big mouth running, ma chérie."
You attempted to glare at Satoru, but it ended rather poorly with the way your eyes were glazed with desire. Giving you a smirk, not even trying to hide his arrogance and smugness, he hastily fisted his cock and aligned it with your entrance, slowly yet surely filling you up inch by inch.
"F-fuck, you're so tight," Satoru's hot whisper fanned over your jawline as he pressed heated kisses up to your mouth. "So warm, so good, so p-perfect — babe, don't clench me like that, f-for me."
Your lips parted, forming almost a perfect "O" in its shape at the burn of the stretch, and the first loud moan tore from your chest, when Satoru finally gave you a shallow roll of his hips.
"Sa-Satoru, yeah…"
With no hesitation, you reached behind and tugged at the soft white tufts above Satoru's undercut, pressing his head into your nape to seek even more contact until your bodies fused in a messy, unintelligible tangle of limbs, needy touches and wanton moans. His hips built a slow, languid rhythm, moulding your insides into the shape of his cock; each thick vein and ridge of him against your velvet walls made your mind swim in pleasure, so overwhelming it drowned every coherent thought. One of his hands snaked up to squeeze your breasts, eliciting more shaky whimpers from you.
"Love you, love you so fucking much, you don't even, ngh, under-understand, shit, y-yes," Satoru slurred against your cheek after yet another sloppy kiss, his tongue darting to taste the salty skin as you literally cried in ecstasy when he hit that sweet spot inside. You were completely sure he would never let you forget this. His moves gradually lost their rhythm, giving in to a raw, primal desire. A string of desperate whimpers spilt from your lips, and you turned your head to muffle these cries in the pillow.
Wrong move.
Seeing it, Satoru's lips curled into a sharp smirk. He quickly wetted his fingers and dragged them down to press quick, tight circles on your clit, and with all the stimulation, your body jolted in pleasure. Heat, shameless and urgent, built at the base of your spine, coursed through your veins and lit every part on fire. His cock twitched inside you at the way you breathed out his name with such desperation that put all the prayers to shame.
"Give it to me, baby. Be a good girl, yeah? Cum for me."
Your thighs shook violently, which was a telling sign that you were close; he feverishly rutted against yours, rubbing your clit in quick motions, panting against the curve of your neck. His eyes rolled in pleasure as your cunt fluttered around him, coating his shaft in juices, and with a shameless guttural groan, he cummed too.
The sound of your name, spilling from Satoru's lips like it was the only word he knew, brought tears to your eyes. Of love, of longing, or devotion, you weren't even sure.
Satoru was still in you, behind you, wrapping you in his arms and scent, when you awkwardly tried to turn around. He lazily blinked at you — the blue of his eyes resembled the glimmering waves of the Mediterranean Sea, which lapped the shores of the city that had become your home. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you lean in to press a quick, almost chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. They twitched with a soft grin.
"Someone's awfully sweet. Good morning, I guess. Really good, that time. What if — "
Before Satoru finished, your hands framed his face, and you kissed him again, taking your time. He released a quiet, unexpected sigh and melted into it immediately, giving you all the reins. Sweet and soft, your tongue swept over his plump lips and explored his mouth, until you both pulled away to catch your breath. Resting your forehead against his, you muttered quietly.
"I love you."
Satoru didn't answer you right away; instead, he cupped your cheek, his thumb grazed the soft skin under your eyes, and he murmured back.
"I love you more."
You didn't want to delve into the endless fight of who loved whom more, so you just settled against his chest with a soft sigh. Satoru tucked your head under his chin and gently ran his fingers up and down your spine.
"How are you feeling? Wanna cuddle a little or go showering?"
"I wish we could cuddle more, but Nobara and Maki are coming in…very soon, actually."
Satoru stilled for a moment and released a groan, reluctant to let you go and leave that bed, jutting his bottom lip in the biggest pout known to the Universe.
"Is it today? Do we have to go with them, baby?"
"Yes. Toru, we promised them to show the Fine Arts Museum. Maki didn't visit it last time they were in Marseille because it was shut for some renovation. Apparently."
"Geez, I was hoping for a round two. And maybe three in the shower. Besides, we were there with Suguru last summer." His hand slid down to squeeze your butt in the last attempt to persuade you, but you stood your ground. With great effort.
"Satoru, no. We don't see them often. Get up."
Saoru's hand that reached to pinch your side as you hopped off to get to the shower, limply fell to his side. He groaned as his head hit the pillow, but as the sounds of water running filled the space, he enthusiastically got up and padded to the bathroom. He could be pretty…convincing when he wanted to.
Indeed, an hour later, Nobara suspiciously eyed both of you up and down — your hair told her everything she needed to know. Satoru didn't even try to hide a big dopey grin that screamed "I just got laid by the most gorgeous woman in the world". You elbowed him. Hard. His smile got even wider, so you sent him to help Maki with their suitcases.
"You know, I am so happy for you." You gave Nobara a cup of scorching latte, just the way she preferred. Her lips curled into an amusing yet soft grin. "No, really. You both look radiant."
She laughed heartily, nodding in gratitude; however, her gaze was fixed on your front yard. You followed the direction and chuckled as well, seeing Satoru and Maki trying to coax Nobara's cat — a fluffy, totally spoilt Persian named Lady — out of the carrier. She only hissed in response.
"Yeah. Me too. She's…I don't know how to explain it. But I am so happy she agreed to move here. The same is for you, by the way. Provence does wonders for both of you. Even Gojo."
You rested your elbows on the table with a melancholic sigh. Yes, the start of your journey in France was quite turbulent: a total mess with language, documents, fighting with landlords over the rent, and taking up any gigs for money…It only helped that you had some of it saved. Endless hours of work, tears and efforts poured into building your new life finally got its fruits: at one of the fashion shows, Nobara introduced you to the famous photographer, who instantly fell in love with your works. And Satoru…
"Phew, finally," the front door opened, revealing beaming Satoru with Lady in his arms, who…purred in content. Nobara's eyes widened in shock.
"Lady, what? He's a man! Have some dignity!"
"Can't help it if I am that charming," he scratched the kitty under her chin. "Even cats know that."
"That's, unfortunately, true." You squeaked in delight at Maki's tired voice and jumped into her arms. After a few solid minutes of hugging, you finally released her as she begged you to show her the bathroom.
"So, Gojo," Nobara drawled in a voice too casual. Satoru exchanged brief yet pointed glances with you. Lady cracked one eye open and yawned, staring at her catmom. "Do you have, by any chance, some calissons left?"
In Nobara's language, that meant she had been dying to taste them, but she would never admit it to Satoru. "Don't tell him, or his ego would grow even bigger!"
So you just happened to drop that you wanted to have those candies, and of course, Satoru whipped some up: they just waited to be baked. Judging by his cocky smirk, he already figured both of you out.
"Why do you call me Gojo? She's a Gojo too, you know?" The oven beeped a couple of times when Satoru put the tray with callisons inside. Nobara only rolled her eyes and hugged you with a grin.
And Satoru once decided to try his hand at the things that he loved the most in the world (after you, of course): sweets. In particular, pastries. To put it concisely, baking. It took a lot, a lot of time and years of learning in culinary academies under the guidance of chiefs, before he could finally name himself the one.
Marseille greeted you with arms open, the fresh scent of pastries lingering in the air, mesmerising views and the centuries of history ingrained in its walls. You left Paris after you realised it was high time to move forward, and since you mentioned a couple of times that you wanted to live in Provence for some time, Satoru started to look for a home and a place for his own bakery. His own thing. That he built only by himself, with no family barking and ordering him around. He and you. And Satoru could've never been happier for it.
You indeed had never made it easy for him. But now, seeing you laugh with your friends, among the paintings, with the sun casting a soft, almost amber glow on your figure, Satoru realised he would rather have things difficult with you than easy with anyone else. Because you were worth it.
꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ hi cuties! this is a commission piece, and it is about 12k total. this first part is just shy of 6k and the second part will be out next week. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
"Oi. Boss lady."
“No.”
One problem at a time, and the spreadsheet in front of you wins by default. Because Column F is wrong. It’s been wrong for forty fucking minutes, and if it stays wrong for forty seconds longer, you may actually die here at your desk — hunched over, half-blind, and found by Shoko on a Monday morning with your face pressed into a pivot table like a cautionary tale.
"But… you don't even know what I was gonna—"
"—the answer is no, Satoru."
Unlike the human embodiment of a headache currently lingering on the other side of your desk, the spreadsheet in front of you is at least pretending to be important.
The chair beneath him creaks, and then comes the silence you know too well. It’s the one that comes right before he decides to be a problem on purpose. Attention is gasoline and Satoru is, structurally, a fire hazard. Still, your eyes flick up, and—
"No fair…” he huffs, that ridiculous pout tugging at his lips. “You didn't even let me finish the question."
Your eyes roll back down.
“Mhm.”
"And it was such a good question.”
You turn a page. "Really?”
“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”
You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."
It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.
It had not.
Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—
…
Wait.
Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?
Fucking great.
“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”
You narrow your eyes.
“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”
“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”
Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?
With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby. But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.
He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…
Oh.
That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.
Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”
It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.
“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"
“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.
But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.
“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”
Lips parting, you blink.
…why is he so observant?!
For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.
You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”
His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”
Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.
Oh.
Way too observant.
Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.
His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”
Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”
You blink.
Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.
Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.
After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?
Last month, you still answered her phone calls.
Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.
Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
“Oh—uh, hi mom!”
Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.
“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”
“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.
Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”
“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"
"—have you booked your flight yet?"
Your mouth flattened.
Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.
“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”
“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”
A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.
Every week is a crazy week?
Yeah. No shit.
Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.
You’re the one people relied on.
Just… never the one people chose.
“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”
“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”
…
Keep forgetting?
She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?
How convenient that she forgot that.
The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”
"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”
Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.
No thanks.
“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”
“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”
Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.
Shit.
“I-I—I didn’t say—"
“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”
“—Mom, I—"
“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”
Love?!
Who has time for that?
And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!
“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”
And she was off.
Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.
“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”
Click!
And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.
‘We’ve been so worried.’
…
If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?
Funny how that works.
Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.
“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”
Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.
The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.
But…
None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?
“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”
“Huh?”
Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.
“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”
“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”
For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.
But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"
“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”
And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.
"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"
“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”
Why does he sound… bitter?
No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.
You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"
He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"
Your lips purse.
What does he care? He’s not your mother.
“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”
“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”
You frown.
What the fuck are you supposed to say!?
Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.
Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.
“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”
“But I—”
“Drop it.”
He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.
“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”
The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.
God.
Of all the places to hit.
“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.
He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"
“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”
Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.
His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.
Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”
“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”
Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.
“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"
“Oh, finally.”
Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.
Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.
"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"
You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.
Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.
Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.
You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.
It doesn’t.
And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.
Un-fucking-believable.
He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.
…
He could fire Kento.
Should he fire Kento?
As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.
'Grow up, Satoru.'
'Apply yourself, Satoru.'
'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'
Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.
Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!
He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.
The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.
It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.
“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”
There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”
His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”
The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”
"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”
“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”
…
Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?
Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.
“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”
"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"
"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."
He’s been her intern for that long.
That’s the question, right?
"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”
He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.
“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”
Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.
"…sorry. Who is thi—"
“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"
Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:
📞 Mom
Oh.
Oh, shit.
This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—
"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"
"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”
"Stop. I-I really think—"
“—Satoru, what are you doing?’
His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.
Oh, fuck.
“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.
He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.
“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"
"Mom."
"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"
"I'm at work. Gotta go."
"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"
Click!
The phone sits in your hand like evidence.
And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.
You stare at him.
He stares at you.
And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.
“Sooo… funny story…”
“—what did you do?!”
Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.
Great. Fucking great.
You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.
But cry?
Never.
And this had his fingerprints all over it.
"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"
"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"
Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.
God. How fucking humiliating.
"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."
“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”
Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.
God. Stop it.
Stop it stop it stop it.
Think.
Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.
But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.
…what look will she give you when you show up alone?
"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"
Single.
The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.
And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.
"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"
You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”
"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.
"Huh… okay."
Okay what?
You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."
No biggie?
Your mouth dropped.
That wasn’t even an option, was it?
…is he crazy?
“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."
You stared at him. Genuinely stared.
Oh. He wasn’t kidding.
Yup. He’s crazy.
"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."
“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"
He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.
"…that is not the point."
“Mm… feels a little like the point."
He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."
He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.
…
His family’s in Japan too?
You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.
But…
"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."
Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.
"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."
"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"
Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.
“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”
He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?
Shit…
That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖
using you to get close to his target seemed like a good idea - until toji ended up the one with a bullseye on his heart instead
synopsis: you were paid to pick up after Satoru's messes. toji was paid to put a bullet in him. but doing his job is a lot more difficult when the lines between personal and professional get blurred. just how far will he go to get the job done without losing you too?
pairing: hitman!toji x f!reader
wc: 10.6k
content: smut, light angst, YANDERE TOJI, he's a hitman so murder lol, stalking, obsession, jealousy, oblivious reader, falling for each other, he's lowk crazy lol but he is hot!!, mentions of drinking, flirting, he wants us bad, semi-public sex, fingering in a bar bathroom, making out, shower sex, light spanking, pulling out, toji is a problem solver lmfao, comfort
a/n: toji art is by @ackshuallyvalerie !! this was a commission for the lovely @chewiebee
For a pretty penny, he could put a bullet in anyone.
Toji had been doing it long enough now that pulling the trigger didn’t bother him. The things that did were dulled with booze, gambling whatever he was given and riding on the high until he crashed and couldn’t afford shit anymore.
Then he did it all again. And again. And again.
“This one is-” Shiu started, and the hesitation in his voice irritated the shit out of him. Like he couldn’t fucking handle the same job he’d been doing for years.
“How much?” Toji interrupted, bringing a lukewarm beer to his lips, watching some boxing game on the bar’s tv. The sound was muted, but it wasn’t like anyone would be able to hear it over the rumble of drunken girls giggling and grown men arguing over which athlete was better.
Shiu slid over the contract, tapping over the amount being offered.
It was more than his past six jobs combined.
“I’m in.”
Shiu made a weak attempt to try and talk him out of it. Tell him he’d end up in jail at best, or buried six feet under at worst. That the target was high profile.
Toji didn’t care who it was a death sentence for. It wasn’t like there was much worth left in living anyway.
Flipping through the file, headshots of some smarmy-looking CEO, the kind of guy who made millions in a day just by existing, probably spending more time spinning around in his office chair than actually doing a shred of the work he was paid for. Blessed from the time he was born to be rich and beautiful, rolling around in dollar bills and women with big tits.
Satoru Gojo had never known a single day of struggle. Of suffering.
Honestly, he’d probably do the job even if he wasn’t being paid for it just to see the look on his face when the gun went off. Watch the life drain from him out and stain his custom-made suit.
He spent a few days doing research he hated. Copying down schedules and figuring out the holes in his security system. When he worked, who he spent time with, where he liked to frequent.
To find the answer to the question: how did a man who thought he was untouchable like to live?
Lavishly.
He went to the nicest gym in the city, the kind that probably cost more than Toji's rent did every month. Followed it up with treat shops, always leaving with a bag of desserts with enough sugar to give him cavities. No trips to the dentist though.
But the most interesting part of his routine was one that hadn’t been in any of the notes he was given. Not a blip on anyone’s radar, apparently.
You.
“I got you a coffee,” you offered, your short little pencil skirt riding up your thighs as you chased after your boss through the lobby of his fancy office building in the center of the city.
“Thanks,” he grinned at you, grabbing it just to place all the papers he’d been holding in your hands instead, pushing even more on top while you awkwardly opened and shut your mouth to stop yourself from saying anything.
He took a small sip, scrunched his nose up while Toji struggled not to scoff out loud from where he was pretending to read a magazine in the corner next to the other waiting clients, all of them eagerly hoping to meet with the not-so-great Satoru Gojo.
“It’s not sweet enough,” Gojo criticized, masking his attitude with playfulness, acting like a child while you apologized to him as if you’d done something wrong by thinking of him.
He wasn’t listening. Just kept moving towards the elevators, pulling his phone from his pockets to make a phone call to some other prick, probably.
You scrambled behind him, folders stacked up in your arms, the coffee cup precariously balanced on top of the pile.
God, what kind of fucking loser didn't carry his own stuff?
His pretty little assistant he used more like a pack mule.
It didn’t take long to find out your name.
From there, everything else was easy.
Finding out where you lived was as simple as following you from your car to your shitty little apartment, poorly paid and scraping by while your boss lived in his luxury penthouse on the opposite side of the city. Figuring out what foods you liked from what you spent too long looking at in the grocery store before you sighed and tossed a bag of rice in your cart instead. Snapping photos of you from afar like a fucking secret admirer through your window once you got back home, time stamped and saved to a special folder on his laptop, watching you shed your coat and clothes, trading them in for t-shirts and pajama pants.
Toji wasn’t a stalker though.
Of course not.
He was just doing what he was paid for.
And what easier way was there to get to Gojo than through his cute, clueless assistant?
You weren’t even aware when he trailed behind you on the street, head trained forward, always in a rush, scampering from place to place without stopping. Running errands for a man who couldn’t care less about you.
And in this city, you might be the only person as alone as him.
Toji couldn’t put his finger on when studying you had become less of a chore and more of a habit. Day four? Week two?
Watching and waiting for the right time to approach?
For all his expertise, his ability to move through the world unseen, unnoticed, it worked against him for once when you ran straight into him trying to leave your usual coffee shop, turning when he hadn’t expected it and smacking into his chest at full speed.
The coffee – something cold and sugary and sweet – splashed over both of you, your white shirt soaked through to see a pale pink bra underneath, your face flushing for the wrong reasons as you immediately started rattling off apologies.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you muttered, trying to use the few napkins you grabbed to dab at his t-shirt, rubbing uselessly despite the fabric already being black. “I wasn’t paying attention, and-”
“S’fine,” he grunted, yanking one from his hand to wipe off your shirt instead.
You didn’t stop him.
Just froze, standing completely still as he dragged the napkin over your chest while it heaved, listening to you suck in a sharp breath.
When was the last time you’d even been intimate with a man if him cleaning your shirt had you practically pressing your thighs together in that prissy skirt of yours?
Admittedly, there was a distinct disgust churning in him at the image of you being intimate with someone else, despite how quickly he rejected it.
It wasn't like you were more than a mark to Toji.
He squinted, eyes narrowing as his attention shifted to your face just to find you openly gawking at his broad chest, lips still parted mid-apology.
“Oh, um, thanks,” you practically squeaked, looking up at all with big, surprised eyes.
“Whatever,” he tch-ed, digging out his last ten dollar bill from his wallet and holding it out despite the urge to just toss it at you to see what you’d do.
You shook your head, oblivious to the fact he was well-aware just how strapped to cash you really were, biting your bottom lip. “I can’t, I mean, that was really my fault, and-”
“Don’t make me put it in your purse, doll,” he huffed at you, even if he almost said bra. Tempted to tuck it in, wondering if you’d let him.
Did you even have it in you to stand up for yourself?
How the hell did a pretty thing like you survive so long on your own like this?
“A-are you sure?” You stuttered, glancing back over him again.
His pride took a fucking hit at your uncertainty.
Did he seriously look like he couldn’t spare a ten dollar bill? Was it the sweatpants?
He showered this morning, bothered to spritz on cologne when he usually couldn’t give a shit. Toji ran his fingers through his hair, jaw locking as his eyes narrowed.
“You got a pen?” He grumbled, wagering that you definitely did. Maybe he hadn’t seen the inside of your purse, but he’d been watching you long enough to know what its contents were.
In a not creepy way.
“Yes?” You blinked, somehow cuter when you were confused.
Still though, you were obedient, anticipating him asking for it and just digging it out from your bag to hand to him. The tip of it had been bitten, another little hint of how nervous you were by nature.
He took it from you, his calloused fingers brushing against your much softer ones, a jolt of electricity traveling up his arm at the simple touch, the soft way your breath paused. You had to feel it too.
Toji scribbled his number down.
His personal cell.
You were beaming before he even finished writing the last number, standing up straighter, sticking your chest out more.
“I’ll buy you a new shirt,” he grunted, giving you the pen before the dollar, holding it out over your head, your stare flickering from his face to the money. “Text me.”
He wanted you to reach for it.
To chase him.
But three more days passed – and he hadn’t heard a peep.
Toji knew what you were up to, tracking you instead of his target, taking notes on everything you did instead of texting him. You stared at your phone at home though, left the dollar bill sitting on your kitchen counter, running your fingers over his writing as if you weren’t sure what to do.
He supposed he’d have to help you figure it out then.
Especially considering Shiu was starting to get on his ass about getting the job done.
Because that was what this was supposed to be about – a means to an end.
Faking a name tag was easy. Digging up the old utility overalls he’d seen some of the other maintenance workers wear at your office, the sort of position no one ever paid any mind to until they were needed for something. He didn't get much sleep, trading in his night shift watching you go to sleep for snooping around your office. And in the morning, after going back to his car to put on some cologne, he walked back in through the lobby like he was supposed to be there, not even getting courtesy nods from your coworkers.
Toji had memorized your schedule.
So he knew to be in the third floor break room at ten, pretending to fix something in the ceiling when you walked in to make a cup of coffee.
For yourself this time.
He was climbing down from the ladder he stole from a storage closet when you sighed and started cleaning up the mess the last person had left by the coffee machine. You didn’t notice, didn’t even turn until you went to grab a mug from the shelf, frowning when you realized they had all been moved to the top shelf.
A nice touch, in his opinion.
Setting everything up to be the one to take care of it for you, stepping behind you, close enough for you to feel his chest on your back as he reached up to get it for you.
“Here,” he grumbled, and you slowly spun around to face him.
Stuck between his sturdy body and the cold counter, frozen in surprise at him being here. He wondered if you’d be scared, suspicious.
It was funny to watch you get so flustered instead, completely frazzled as you tried to find the words to say.
“Um, you, uh, work here?” You finally managed, and he just raised a brow, the scar over his mouth twitching as he gestured towards the name tag on his belt.
You blushed again, your attention drifting to something else by it, the bulge he hadn't meant to be sporting.
“Mhm,” he hummed, a low drawl that made you smile at him.
It was sunny. You were. Bright, not bitter. Absolutely unaware that the world revolved around you.
“Sorry,” you apologized, even though you had no actual reason to. Maybe for not messaging him back. Maybe for stealing glances at his dick.
He paused, a weird strained feeling taking over his chest, constricting his lungs when you tilted your head to the side.
“I haven’t seen you around before,” you added, holding your breath.
“I’ve seen you,” he shrugged, and your entire face practically lit up at the idea someone had been paying attention to you.
You swallowed hard, trying to stifle it. To keep it contained, to make yourself smaller in front of him, like he wouldn’t like you if you weren’t soft-spoken.
“Do you think you could take a look at the phones in my office? Well, Mr. Gojo’s,” you corrected yourself, toying with your fingers before cringing. “Only if you're available, of course. I put in a ticket but-”
“Sure,” he grunted.
As long as the actual maintenance guy didn’t come, you’d never know the difference. After all, that was why he’d broken in last night. Disconnecting the phones himself, creating a couple issues with a few of the computers in the sales team downstairs that the real department would be too busy to handle any of your problems. If you ever pieced together he didn’t actually work there, it wouldn’t be until long after he was gone.
He'd prefer it if you never knew any better.
And Shiu never said he couldn’t have some fun first.
He followed you back to your office, not hiding his stare, enjoying how you were already squirming, nervously shifting and looking over your shoulder at him every few feet.
“You didn’t have to do it now,” you mumbled, embarrassed, but he shrugged.
Rolling his shoulders back to remind you how broad they were, catching the flash of you biting your lip before you faced forward again.
Everything about you was far more fucking adorable than it had any right to be.
Toji had never really gotten the appeal of stuffed animals. He never had any when he was a kid. No softness, no warmth, nothing small and sweet to hug. But you reminded him of one.
Or maybe that was just the urge to pick you up and squeeze you hard.
“What’s wrong with ‘em?” He gruffly asked, gesturing ahead as you hit the button for the elevator to take you both to the top floor.
“They just ring, and um, nothing happens,” you tried to explain, smoothing down your skirt self-consciously.
He nodded, like he knew what the problem could be, and he did, actually. Because he caused it.
The elevator doors opened, thankfully empty. There was something annoying about the idea of sharing you – even for a minute.
Toji told himself that you were just less irritating than other people. That it had nothing to do with you in particular, just how disgusting the rest of the world was.
But he was still observing how you pushed the button, how quickly you went back to fiddling with your fingers and picking at your cuticles. Clasping your hands in front of you, maybe just remembering the fact you forgot your coffee back in the break room. Left it by the pot you brewed, your lip gloss staining the rim from the single sip you'd taken and the drink inside growing cold.
Did you confess?
Admit you wanted to go back and grab it?
Nope.
He knew you wouldn’t. All that meant was another excuse to go back and get it for you himself, maybe make you a fresh one to cement his spot in your good graces, to get your guard down.
The elevator dinged, opening up to wooden floors and soft lighting. Wall art he had briefly contemplated stealing the night before, although he skipped since it’d be a bitch to sell.
Besides, he’d have more than enough money to cover anything he wanted to buy soon enough.
“Um, the phone’s over here,” you shyly said, leading him over to your desk.
Toji nodded, a low grunt of acknowledgement leaving his throat while he pretended to work on it, messing around with cables.
You were watching him, taking your seat and clicking away on your keyboard despite your eyes constantly flickering over to his.
He pretended he didn’t notice. Setting his jaw in a firm line while he unplugged stuff just to put it in different outlets. He considered tapping the lines, just to listen in to whatever you were saying during the day, but then he'd have to justify that expense to Shiu, and he really didn’t fucking feel like getting a lecture.
His handler would tell him just to take out the target already. Stop wasting his time getting close to a liability.
But of all the risks Toji had taken, you were the easiest one of all.
Would you let him find an excuse to get under your desk? Maybe catch a peek at whatever pair of panties you picked out today?
Your personal phone rang – and you were scrambling to pick it up and answer.
“Hello?” Your voice lilted up, all pure and sweet, and Toji immediately loathed whoever you were addressing.
It wasn’t anything he could control, just instinctual irritation, a cheese grater to his patience watching you sit up straighter in your chair while you listened to whoever was on the other end.
“Of course, sir,” you chirped. He had to stop himself from snapping the cord he was holding when he caught how you were subtly twirling your hair. Glancing down at your lap and sucking in a sharp breath before you mumbled, “Sorry, Satoru.”
Toji had to look down to make sure he didn't somehow electrocute himself when the edges of his vision tinged with red, annoyance rolling into a tight ball of anger. The hard kind that couldn't crack, just rolled around in the pit of his stomach, demanding something be done about it.
“Okay, see you in thirty.” You smiled. A soft one, biting it back before plastering a practiced expression of professionalism, probably remembering Toji was still here.
He scowled at the realization Gojo coming back meant he should probably skip bringing you that coffee. Didn't want to risk running into him too soon.
You hung up, and he shoved the last cord back in the correct place.
“Try now,” he growled, picking the phone up from the receiver and passing it to you.
You took it from him, your fingertips brushing against his again, all gentle as you cradled it between your shoulder and ear, nails clicking on the keypad. Relief flooded your face when it worked, looking up at him like you were thankful.
Gratitude wasn't something Toji knew how to receive.
He was used to the exchange of cash, of cold demands that ended in death. Your warmth was alien.
What had a guy like Satoru Gojo ever done to deserve it?
Was this jealousy? Bitter and begging to be addressed, his skin itching at imagining the man getting your company all day long, having you at his beck and call.
Whatever it was, Toji was going to fucking squash it.
“Thank you, it was really nice of you-”
“What are you doing after work?” He interrupted before you could finish rambling, making all the reasons why you were easy to take advantage of excruciatingly obvious. You were too sweet. Too nice. Acting like he was a saint for fixing your phone, unaware he was the sinner who broke it to begin with. Who'd break your boss too, the second he got the chance.
“Um, nothing?” You blinked. Your lips were still parted, but you didn't say anything.
“Wanna grab drinks?” He grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. Toji wanted to lean across the desk, put his palm flat on top of your useless papers and peek at your cleavage, but you were the sort that scared easily.
The confusion on your face was cute.
“Like, as coworkers?” You were clueless. “Are other people coming or-”
Did you seriously fucking think you were just getting left out of some after work hangout?
“Like a date,” he clarified, struggling not to contain his urge to bend you over your desk and show you just how not-platonic his interest was.
“With me?”
You were gawking, but there was an unmistakable air of giddiness to your face, a grin you couldn't suppress even under all that shock.
“Did I stutter, doll?” Toji gruffly said, walking around your desk until your eye level was at his mid-riff. Your hand tightened around the armrest, slowly dragging your stare up like you could see the truth in his face.
“Um, sure,” you nodded, still unsure of how serious he was. “If you want to.”
“I want you,” he easily shrugged, making his point clear.
He wasn't delicate. Wouldn't skirt around shit like your Satoru did. Being blunt was the only way to get it through that pretty skull of yours anyway.
“I'll be waiting for you out front at six.” That was when you usually scampered out anyway, frazzled and exhausted from handling a man child's chores all day.
“Okay,” you spoke softly, betraying your feelings by covering your mouth with your hands, hiding a smile behind them.
He turned to leave, but he kept his eyes on you all the way to the elevator.
You watched him too. He might have a job to do.
Toji was just going to fuck you first.
Was this how it felt to have a crush?
Well, one that wasn’t hopeless and unattainable?
You’d been wasting years wishing Satoru noticed you. And in a matter of days, someone else had snuck up on you. A spilled coffee. A phone number. And now, a date.
When was the last time you'd even been on one?
You frowned at your reflection in the mirror, fingers working to undo another button of your shirt and hike up your skirt a little higher. Half of you was disappointed that he hadn't asked you out on a different night, or given you enough time to go home and get changed into something a little more sexy and less like you just stepped out of an investor meeting.
But the rest of you was just glad he wanted to go out with you at all.
You tried to tell yourself you had less time to overthink this way. That you wouldn't be distracted for days until the date, waiting for him to cancel.
But when you walked out of the building at six, leaving a sticky note for Satoru whenever he stepped out of his office letting him know you couldn’t stay late tonight, Toji was true to his word, waiting for you in a beat-up black car.
It wasn’t sleek, wasn’t shiny and freshly glossed like Satoru’s, but it looked fast. His window was rolled down, his arm resting on it while his defined jaw unclenched at the sight of you standing there and staring.
“You comin’?”
Was it wrong to hope he’d make sure you did by the end of the night?
You scampered over, glancing around to see a few of your coworkers looking your way before you pulled open the passenger door and climbed in. His eyes raked over you, that white scar that ran across the corner of his lips twitching up as he smirked.
He was broader than Satoru, stockier. All muscles, all man.
His dark hair was shaggy, not carefully styled, his sturdy fingers running through it as he measured you the same way you measured him. He must’ve gone home and changed, in a dark shirt that clung to his chest, made you take note of his biceps bulging underneath his sleeves, probably big enough to make them burst if he strained hard enough. Wearing jeans, no name tag hanging on his belt now.
But you already memorized his name.
Toji.
It had been on the forefront of your thoughts all day, right there with the rest of his words. He saw you. He wanted you.
Invited you out like it was the most natural thing in the world to do.
You were so distracted by, well, everything about him that you forgot to buckle your seatbelt until he stretched across the center console and did it for you. There was something kinda funny about a gruff guy like him taking care of something so small like that for you, grunting under his breath as it clicked into place.
Maybe just an excuse to be close to you, to touch you again.
You didn’t mind.
His attention was nice.
You didn’t know what to say though, awkwardly glancing between him and outside the window, wondering what a typical conversation looked like on a first date.
“So, um, do you like your job?” You heard yourself ask, almost immediately wishing you hadn’t just from his soft scoff, the subtle arch of his thin brow while he pulled out onto the road.
“It pays the bills,” he shrugged, and you tried to nod sympathetically. You were about to spout out something polite, but then he opened his mouth to talk again, giving you that dangerous bit of side eye that made your heart skip a beat. “But it ain’t so bad. Gotta meet you because of it, didn’t I, doll?”
And there it was again.
Doll.
Satoru sometimes called you sweetheart, but that didn’t send a shiver down your spine, didn’t have that low rumble to it that gave you goosebumps. When he said it like that, you wouldn’t really mind being a pretty toy for him to play with.
“Y-yeah,” you stammered, blushing hard as you tried to swallow your anxieties.
You were overworked. Exhausted. Barely making it by on caffeine and four hours of sleep most days. But you were here. In a hot guy’s car being flirted with on the way to a bar.
He briefly looked at you before turning back to face the road, but you could see the satisfaction in the crook of his smile.
“Relax a little, baby,” he hummed, reaching over – and for a second, you thought he was going to grab your thigh. You hadn’t realized it was hope until he just turned up the radio instead. But with a second flash of that scar and that smirk, you were smiling back at him. “We’re gonna have fun tonight."
It still took two glasses of wine for you to start to unwind, a pleasant buzz floating around in your chest, coloring your world in warm hues as he leaned in next to you, his barstool dragged close enough for his muscled thigh to be constantly brushing against yours. A massive palm casually resting on your side, pulling you in every time someone got into what could be considered your personal space.
He didn’t talk about himself.
Or that much, really.
He’d ask a few questions, then let you ramble. Sometimes, his expression would shift, his harsh and blunt edges softening when you talked about the future, about how you wanted to quit someday, find a job that wouldn’t burn you out. But it hardened a few times too, scowling when you mentioned Satoru, glaring when a drunk guy bumped into you.
And yeah, you got it. Your boss was a bit of an…acquired taste.
It didn’t surprise you that he managed to piss off one of his employees, especially when you spent most of your days cleaning up the messes he made.
“When did you start?” You cleared your throat, trying to change the subject back to him. To get to know him properly. To be the best date you could be – or at least good enough that he might want to take you home.
“A while ago,” he shrugged, another vague answer as he polished off the last of his whiskey.
He didn’t even seem buzzed.
“I feel like an idiot for not noticing you there before,” you admitted, tugging down the hem of your skirt self-consciously, shyly looking up to meet his open stare.
“S’fine,” he grunted, unbothered.
You didn’t know what to make of him past the fact he was ridiculously attractive.
Toji was abrasive. The rough side of the sponge scraping up your silverware, the hard counter edge you bumped into when you weren't expecting it, the sharp rock that sliced open the soles of your feet when you forgot to wear shoes outside. But being around him left you hoping to get cut by him. Fingers crossed that he’d be interested enough to peel you apart and stay long enough to stitch you back together – even if it was sloppy.
After being surrounded by people who only ever plastered on fake smiles and feigned politeness, he felt like the first breath of fresh air you had in forever. Something raw and real in a world full of plastic.
He wasn’t polished. Wasn’t perfect.
But you’d never been either. And you were tired of pretending and playing along.
You took another long sip of your wine, the last drop lingering on your tongue as you pushed your empty glass forward too.
He chuckled, almost appreciatively. Snagging the drinks menu and sliding it back over to you, letting his fingers linger on top of it like he wanted to remind you how large they were.
“Pick your poison.”
“I think I should probably get a water,” you murmured, a little worried he might think that was lame.
He ordered you one anyway though, chuckling when you wiped away the ring of condensation from the counter after they took your glass away.
“Don’t wanna get drunk with me?” He taunted, butterflies in your stomach fluttering when he cocked his head to the side. “I’m hurt.”
He wasn’t, not really. But you got the feeling he liked teasing you.
“I just don’t wanna think this was all a dream tomorrow,” you laughed, forcing it to sound lighter than it really was. You really just refused to let yourself get so wasted that you might black out an entire date or embarrass yourself in front of him.
His eyes narrowed, like he was the one that couldn’t discern if you were being serious.
“You callin’ me dreamy?” He dryly mocked, and that pretty jaw of his clenched, like it was a joke.
“I mean, it’s just kind of hard to believe a guy like you wants to go out with someone like me,” you murmured, offering a small smile to the bartender when he pushed a glass of water over to you.
“A guy like me?” He challenged, and you cringed at your ability to stick your foot in your mouth. You didn’t know if you actually offended him, if that was even possible, but you slipped your hand over his.
“Y’know,” you drawled, tracing your fingertips over his veins, holding your breath. “Attractive and-”
He snorted.
“So what does that make you?” He raised a question you’d never really been able to answer. There were labels you assigned yourself, but all those really amounted to was what roles you played for other people.
Lately, all you felt like was Satoru’s assistant.
Barely your own person.
“I dunno,” you shrugged. “Just me?”
“I like you,” he easily said.
“You don’t know me,” you pointed back out, bringing your water glass up to your lips to take a sip. Maybe he thought you were pretty. Maybe you’d caught his eye. But there was a difference in that and knowing what your favorite-
“You stay late even when you’re exhausted. You think of everyone else when no one gives a shit. Show up with coffee and pastries for other people when you can barely afford to pay for your parking pass. You never take your lunch break-” He was listing facts like he was bored, proving his point with the overhead lights glittering back in his green eyes. You almost choked on your water, and he slipped his hand out from your other one to drag his thumb over your lips.
It felt scandalous. Like he was just waiting to commit some grave sin with how slowly he brushed it over your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to make you wonder what his mouth would feel like, how his taste would compare to his touch.
But then he let go, dropped his hand down just to make you miss it.
“You kinda sound like a stalker,” you giggled, unable to stop yourself from grinning at being seen.
There was some faint alarm bell you knew should be ringing, but your head had been emptied out to make room for more thoughts of him.
He chuckled, and your chest tightened.
“What’d you think I was giving you my number for?” He sarcastically asked, dark eyes narrowing under the dim lighting as he brought his own glass up to his lips.
You stifled another smile. “To pay for my shirt?”
“I was thinkin’ about getting you out of it.”
Toji was shameless.
And every flirt, every searing gaze of his that stuck to your skin and stoked that fire in your stomach? You were falling for it. For him.
Would you be a whore for sleeping with him on the first date?
Maybe, but you couldn’t bring yourself to believe it mattered.
You were about to suggest maybe returning to your apartment, but your phone started vibrating, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to hold back your disappointment.
“Hold on one second?” You nervously asked, and he nodded.
“Sure,” he barked, all gravelly, not helping the simmering heat still burning under your skin. You pulled your phone out, glancing around the bar for some semi-quiet spot to take the call.
You settled on a hallway that led to the bathrooms, heels clicking on the floor as you hurried over, grateful that Toji had chosen a hole-in-the-wall sort of place, one that wasn’t packed with people to navigate through.
“Hello?” Your voice waivered, face flushing at the mental image of what your boss was probably doing on the other end. Scowling down at the note you left him?
“The hell are you?” Satoru whined on the other end, apparently not happy at your absence.
“I’m on a date,” you whispered back into the speaker, just for him to scoff back. The sound of it, even tinny and crackling through the line, fucking stung.
As if it was actually so absurd that you could be with someone.
“I need you here,” he huffed. “We’re supposed to be preparing for tomorrow’s meetings.”
You tapped your foot, glancing back to the end of the hallway, picturing Toji sitting on the stool waiting for you.
“I already prepared all your slideshows. Anything you need should already be labeled and on your desk,” you muttered, doing your best to still sound professional. Collected. Calm. Put-together instead of just a weak-willed pushover.
Toji wasn’t wrong. You spent all your time thinking of Satoru when he really couldn’t care less. You were just convenient to him. That was what he paid you to be.
“I can’t find it,” he grumbled. Lied.
“I also emailed everything to you,” you added, and he didn’t bother to hide his whine of annoyance.
Irritated that you had a life outside of him. That your existence wasn’t solely devoted to making his easier.
“Who are you even ditching me for?” Satoru was pouting. You could hear it in his voice.
“If you really must know, he works in the maintenance department and-”
He laughed at you.
“Leave that loser.”
Was that what he thought? That the best you could get was a fucking loser?
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Satoru.” You hung up on him. Slipped your phone back in your purse, looking up just to see Toji leaning against the wall across from you.
Startled, you stepped back, blinking and trying to figure out how someone as big and broad as him managed to sneak up on you.
“He botherin’ you?” Toji grunted, gesturing towards your purse.
“No, um, just work stuff,” you lied.
You didn’t want to tell him the CEO of the company basically called him a loser. It felt mean, and you were worried he’d somehow think you shared the same impression.
“Yeah?” He angled his head down to look at you, and his proximity made your pulse race, wild thumps roaring in your head as he took two steps closer.
“I hung up on him,” you admitted, even though he hadn’t asked. Feeling bold just by being with him, as if you were already getting away with something.
“You wanna give me all that attention instead, baby?” His voice was deep, a gruff purr that had you nodding.
Your obedience earned a pleased hum.
And even better, a kiss.
The kind that knocked the air from your lungs, his calloused hands cupping your face as he claimed your lips for himself. You kissed him back just as hard, craning your neck up into it, tethering your fingers through his dark locks while you sucked on his lower lip.
He tasted like whiskey. But his lips were soft enough to make you overlook the feeling that came with wondering if this was a mistake.
If Satoru would fire you for wanting to get fucked instead of running back to fuss over him.
Toji wasn’t the sort of guy who’d let you linger on silly worries though. No, his canines were already tugging at you, nipping at the spots you’d bitten out of stress, one of his rough palms travelling down your body, settling on your waist to pull you flush against his hard body.
You wanted to touch him.
To pull off his shirt and trace your fingers over all his muscles, map them out and drag your tongue over them. His was busy, already in your mouth, muffling your surprised gasp when his grip on your side suddenly squeezed tight.
“Fuck,” he groaned into your mouth, an intangible thread in your stomach pulling taut at the sound.
He dragged you back inside the bathroom, the employee one, like he wanted the thrill of fucking you in public with less of a risk of being walked in on.
It was sleazy.
But the exhilaration of his hand now on your hip, the way his fingers dug in and wrinkled your skirt as he pulled you through the door, your back being pushed against the cold sink as his mouth latched onto your throat next, it outweighed any rational thought your brain could conjure up.
You wanted him.
The world could wait.
This was more real than anything else your reality had to offer. His tongue licking a clean line up from your collarbone to your jaw, going back to leave messy hickies, claiming you as his. For tonight, at least.
Hopefully longer.
But you kept that thought to yourself, only letting small whines escape as his hand ventured under your skirt, toying with your panties underneath, slipping two fingers underneath it, testing how much the band could give.
You didn’t want to scare him off. Push him away before he'd even put his dick inside you.
He seemed like he specialized in one-night-stands. Like he was used to getting who he wanted when he wanted. And really, you were just so fucking sick of being single.
Of being lonely.
The hand that had still been on your face moved back, suddenly cradling the back of your neck, squeezing enough to make your head tilt back and give him easy access to more of you.
There was a vulnerability to it, letting him sink his teeth into your throat, marking you up enough that the bruises would bleed through your concealer tomorrow.
But then Toji was tearing your panties off, easily rolling the flimsy fabric that you truthfully paid too much for, shoving what was left of it in his pocket before prying your thighs apart.
You spread them further, your lungs freezing half-full of air as you watched him drag his eyeline down to your exposed cunt, already embarrassingly wet after just a couple hours spent in his company.
He hiked your skirt higher, appreciatively admiring it, clicking his tongue as he shoved a thick finger inside you. Clearly, he’d taken note of how much you noticed them.
You were gasping before he even made it down to the knuckle. Eyes widening, your hands immediately shifting to claw at his shoulder blades for some stability when you tried to contain your reaction.
But Toji wasn’t going to let that slide. Refused to let you hide every lewd reflex – shoving another finger inside to join the first just to force out a strangled moan at the feeling of him stretching you open.
Scissoring you at a tempo that bordered on lethal, only pausing his onslaught of kisses to watch your face when you said his name, all pitchy, almost pathetic. Putty for him with just a couple fingers.
“Ya’ like that, pretty?” He grumbled, fraying with impatience, already itching to add another – or maybe trade his fingers out for something bigger.
“Mm, mhm,” you murmured, nodding as you reclined your head back, the cold edge of the counter digging into your skin as he pulled you closer to him just to make you jolt again at the next pump of his fingers.
“You wanna tell me why you’re runnin’ from me then, doll?” He dared, his eyes dark, his lips pulled into a thin line as you shook your head the other way.
The intensity he came with was a double-edged sword. Drawing you in one second and threatening to spear you the next. Chasing the high of being fucked full just to run from the burn, the stretch, the pleasure when he pushed you right on the edge of a cliff the next. Finding yourself teetering a tightrope you never meant to walk on.
“S’too-” You sounded slurred, even though the only thing you really felt drunk on was him.
“Hm?” He waited for you to finish, stalling his next thrust with his fingers buried deep enough to reach a spot that was a little too sensitive, knowingly swirling against it while you squirmed.
You were a wreck and he hadn’t even managed to make you cum yet.
The too much that had been about to leave your lips replaced with a desperate plea for more.
Your skin was hot, sweat sticking to your brows as he dug his fingers deeper, felt the sinful way you squeezed them, panting as tears started to form in the corners of your eyes.
There was no running. Being spread and stuffed on a bathroom sink by a handsome man who might as well be a stranger, fingers poking and prodding at all your sensitive spots, readjusting his hand so his thumb could rub over your clit.
“Thought you had something to say?” He wryly mocked, and you were pretty positive you’d forgotten everything except his name.
“T-Toji,” you whined, body stuck, all your muscles wound too tightly, hips arching up to meet his hand.
He kissed you again, harder, rougher. Crashing into you like a tidal wave, dragging you under, lost between him and the pleasure, being tossed around with each thrust of his fingers. Climaxing without even meaning to, not even a conscious choice, just being pulled into the motions as he massaged rough circles over your needy bud.
And then you were sucking in air, his fingers pulling back out with a filthy pop! before he brought it up to his mouth and took a taste. Sucking on them and groaning at the second-hand flavor of you on his tongue.
“Do you wanna come back to my place?”
You should’ve known making you cum once wouldn’t satisfy him.
Or twice.
He had you up against the wall of his shower, your face pressed against the cool tile as his hips smacked against your ass, pounding into it as he continued to leave more hickies.
“That’s it, pretty,” he grunted, his thick cock throbbing inside you, swollen tip nudging and grinding against your cervix like he owned it. Dragging himself along your walls, making sure you felt every vein, every ridge, warm water pelting both your bodies. “Look how good you're takin’ me.”
His hand ran over the curve of your ass, softly patting it. It wasn’t a spank, but you wanted it to be.
You shivered as he bottomed back out, leaning against him, mostly held up by him by now. “M-more.”
“Greedy fucking girl,” he chuckled, but his voice was raspy too, running his hand back over your ass. “You want me to spank you?”
You nodded, embarrassed to admit it.
“Say it,” he groaned, and you squeaked. Surprised at the sudden stall of his cock, feeling yourself squeezing and squirming for him to keep going.
“Please?”
His hand came down, leaving a harsh smack that made you clench around him more, a moan escaping that echoed in the cramped space.
Toji rubbed back over it, his fingers still damp, murmuring something low you couldn't make out under the shower running. But then he was back to thrusting, faster now, like he wasn't finished imprinting the shape of him into you.
It was all moans, all skin-on-skin, lewd sounds and heavy pumps, his strokes only getting sloppier when his hand slipped over your clit. Intent on making you cum for him again, his jaw clenched when you tensed up. Planting kisses up your throat, teeth marking you with an unspoken mine when you shuddered and finished, white splotching across your vision as your limbs threatened to go limp.
Toji pulled out, finishing on your back just for the water to wash his cum away. Down the drain with the soap suds.
He whispered your name into your neck, soft lips tracing back over the mess of hickies he'd left. You were in a haze, brain foggy and chest still full even after your cunt was empty again, leaning against him when he cleaned you up.
You never would’ve guessed he used the same brand of shampoo or conditioner as you. It was funny how many products you mutually had. Even the hand soap was a familiar bottle, new too, hardly used.
He dried you off with a patchy towel, wrapping it around you and shutting off the shower. Pulling you back to his bed, half-made navy blankets in a mostly-barren room. The lamp by his bed was crooked, but there wasn't all that much personal stuff laying around. No posters decorating his wall.
Nothing else to learn about him from his possessions.
“Tired?” He grumbled, tossing you a t-shirt of his.
“Mhm,” you yawned, dropping the towel to pull it over your head. No panties, but you figured you didn't really need any to sleep in anyway.
You still felt nervous getting into his bed, waiting for him to get in with you. He hesitated, staring at you strangely before he grabbed a pair of boxers from the top drawer of his nightstand and pulled them up his thick thighs.
Toji got in next to you, stiff, awkward, before holding out his arm, like he was waiting for you to snuggle up beside him.
Maybe he wasn't as much of a man whore as you initially thought.
He was acting new to this, holding his breath when you scooted closer, laying your head on his arm.
You wondered if he’d ever been soft before. If he was capable of it.
Even now, you were left with the vague impression this…tenderness wasn’t exactly that. An impression. A mask, maybe, something he wasn't used to wearing.
But the afterglow was warm. Wrapped in the heat his body radiated, his strong arms sheltering you from the rest of the world as you sighed in contentment, resting on his bicep as you looked up at him.
Your phone started buzzing inside your purse on the floor, and you didn’t need to look to know who it was.
“Sometimes I wish he’d just fucking disappear,” you mumbled, sighing as you tried to push off his chest to answer it.
“Stay,” he growled, grabbing your waist to keep you in place.
You pressed your palm flat against him, pushing your lips together in a pout. “I have to answer him.”
Or he’d throw a fit and make tomorrow hell for you.
Toji begrudgingly let you get up, glaring when you bent over to fish your phone from your bag, his scar twitching down as he frowned. “You ever think you’d be better off if he dropped dead?”
You laughed, staring at the name on the screen as you shrugged.
“All the time.”
You were trouble.
Fucking you was supposed to make it easier. Satisfy the stupid urges he’d been plagued with since he saw your face. Since he heard your voice and felt your fingers on his skin.
Instead, it sealed his fate.
Yours too.
Because laying in bed the morning after, watching the subtle rise-and-fall of your chest, finding himself tracing shapes on your skin for the excuse to keep touching you, a fuzzy feeling he couldn’t snuff out was suffocating him.
Smothered in the scent of soap and sex and your sweet perfume. Sniffing the shampoo in your hair, sighing at the way his heart beat faster every time you tossed and turned.
How long had it been since he slept next to someone?
Shared more than a fast fuck? A quick make-out session that never made him feel anything?
He snuck out of bed first, readjusting your head to rest on the pillow and pulling up his blanket to cover you before he caught himself.
What the hell was he doing?
You weren’t his girlfriend.
But maybe you could be. If he played his cards correctly.
And really, was there anything better than making a bet he knew he’d win?
He found his phone in his jeans, a few missed calls from Shiu waiting. He deleted them. Walked out into the kitchen, opening the door to his mostly-empty fridge, staring at the eggs in there, the few cans of energy drinks, before moving to the pantry. There wasn’t much there either. Rice. Ramen.
Stuff for a single guy who didn’t give a shit about taking care of himself.
“What’re you doing?” You yawned behind him, all sleepy and sweet, and he glanced back over his shoulder to see you walking over, clutching his blanket to your chest.
“Lookin’ for something to make you breakfast,” he grunted, folding his arms across his chest.
You giggled, like it was fucking cute.
“Got any coffee?”
He made it a week of pretending to be a normal guy in a normal relationship before the fractures started forming.
Donning his fake uniform and driving you to work and to your place, narrowly avoiding being spotted by your boss and undermining all those pesky security systems to set up for what he was really planning. Using a couple of his contacts to get his hands on something that couldn’t be traced back to him. Moving all the pieces into place while playing boyfriend.
He might’ve dragged it out longer – went another few days, pushed back Gojo’s death date again – but Shiu wouldn’t shut up.
Toji was supposed to be waiting for you outside, wishing for a cigarette and reading your message that your boss was making you help him with one last thing then you’d be down to get lunch with him when his own handler called.
“The hell is taking so long?” Shiu scoffed over the phone, almost as annoyed as he felt.
“Covering our fuckin’ asses,” he growled back.
There was no way he was risking his fucking neck this time. He wasn’t going to jail for this shit – and he sure as hell wasn't going to let you either.
“The client expects this done-”
“I’m handling it,” Toji interrupted him, a gruff growl from the back of his throat.
He had the stuff with him, everything he needed to make you his – and send Satoru Gojo to an early grave.
“Take care of it.”
Shiu hung up on him.
The soles of his boots were heavy on the ground, tapping his foot as he checked the time again. Two more minutes, and he'd call you. The seconds tended to drag by without you there.
He heard your voice, faint, still far away, but he turned anyway.
You were walking out the main doors of the building, Gojo walking close behind you, his brows drawn tightly together, scolding you. He grabbed your wrist, but you shrugged him off, Toji’s blood boiling at how handsy that asshole was, touching something that didn't belong to him.
All the stares of people passing by, coworkers or not, shifted towards the two of you.
Your sad little pout, your chest puffed out and trying to stand straight, while he glared at you.
“Maybe I should just fire you,” Gojo scoffed at you, and you flinched. Toji could feel the vein in his forehead throbbing, fist clenching while you did your best to bite your tongue.
But then you surprised him – and Gojo – by beginning to speak up, “I’m-”
“You’re replaceable.”
Your face crumpled at how sharply he cut you off. Struggling not to cry, to hold yourself together while he turned on his heel and stormed back inside. Other people pretended to not be eavesdropping, avoiding eye contact when you walked away. Head hanging low, rubbing your eyes, barely paying attention to where you were going until he caught you.
You didn't even say anything when Toji pulled you in for a hug, squeezing you against him as you automatically hid your face in his chest.
He was shit at comforting people. Had never really known what to say. How to make anyone feel better.
But you didn't seem to mind, a few muffled sobs snuffed out when your mouth was pressed against his broad muscles.
“H-he said he’s gonna-” You tried to choke out, but Toji just softly patted your head.
“Don't worry about him,” he grunted.
He wouldn't be alive long enough to actually fire you.
Toji didn't say that though. He let you cry in his car, listened to you vent about your latest argument, wiped away some of your tears with the calloused pad of his thumb.
And when your break ended, and you were supposed to go back to finish off your shift, he walked back in with you. Made up some excuse about putting off taking care of the next maintenance ticket, like he hadn't already disabled all the cameras in the building earlier.
Usually, he preferred a bullet and brute force. Didn't see the point in a delicate touch and careful preparations. But he'd make an exception for you.
This one time.
“I think I'm gonna make him some coffee,” you murmured, still sniffling as you grabbed the stuff you needed for it.
Like it would be a truce instead of a death sentence.
You didn't know any better. Just scurried around the break room, not noticing when he poured a little packet of powder into the cup the moment your back was turned.
“You’re too good for him.”
You glanced back at Toji, smiling even though it didn't reach his eyes. Not really believing it, but still appreciating the sentiment.
“You're probably the one person that thinks that.”
You picked up the cup of coffee, pouring a ridiculous amount of sugar in, enough to cover the slightly bitter powder. You even snagged a can of whipped cream from the fridge, swirling it on top as if your efforts would be appreciated.
Two birds. One stone.
Or really, two fools and one cup of coffee. That was all it'd take for you to be his and both your problems to be solved.
And if it didn't?
Well, his gun was still tucked inside the band of his jeans.
“Are you sure you're not going to get in trouble?”
Toji had gotten on the elevator with you, his hand still slung too low on your waist to be purely polite, brow arched up at your concern for him slacking off.
“Just wanna make sure you're alright,” he grumbled, huffing and looking back at the buttons lit-up on the elevator.
You weren't really sure what he was to you.
A boyfriend? A lover?
But you didn't mind. His proximity was nice. His presence in your life was welcome.
Even if it was causing problems with Gojo – who had made it clear he couldn't stand sharing your attention at all. Hated you having a life.
You weren't delusional enough to think maybe he'd change his mind if he met Toji.
But your fingers were still unsteady as the elevator dinged and let you off on the top floor.
Gojo was sitting at your desk, legs propped up and feet on your paperwork. He was pretty as always, white hair tousled, one of those sharp brows of his casually raised as he glanced between you and Toji. “Is this seriously the guy?”
He laughed like it was an insult. Ignoring your frown when you walked over to hand him his coffee. He took it though, bringing it up to his mouth but not before scoffing again.
“Satoru,” you hissed out his name, a low warning that he was rolling his eyes at.
He took a long drink, whipped cream sticking above his lips like a mustache before his face paled. The next few seconds slowed, crawling by as you watched him drop the mug, ceramic shards shattering as he choked.
You were staring, your brain refusing to process what you were seeing, Toji’s voice registering behind you but the words not making any sense.
What the hell was happening?
Somewhere, the vague thought hit you that something was seriously wrong, that Satoru was dying, but nothing would connect, your body refusing to respond to even the notion of it.
Your mouth fell open, but your scream was muffled by Toji’s hand. Knees buckling, just for him to catch you in his arm, one arm wrapped around your midsection to hold you up.
“Hey, hey, I'm here,” he gruffly muttered, and you clung to that.
“W-we need to call someone,” you stammered, your panicked gasps turning into hyperventilating. This was bad. Really, really fucking bad.
“It’s okay,” he soothed in your ears, turning around so you couldn't see Satoru anymore. Wouldn't have to look when-
You couldn't even finish the thought.
“Just breathe, baby.”
“I-I can't.” You were trying, but no air would enter your lungs, throat constricting more with each attempt.
Toji paused, his palm pressing harder against your back before he stiffened.
“We need to go.”
You let him lead you back out, his hand on your spine still guiding you forward. One step, and another. Focusing on the rhythm in them, the pattern of the elevator carpet, a crack in the sidewalk, whatever was beneath your feet to stop the image of Satoru from flashing in your head.
Was he dead? What could even cause it? An allergic reaction? Poison?
Oh God no.
He led you back to his car.
Toji had parked it further down the street than usual, opening the door for you to get in and buckling you in again. It didn't feel quite as romantic as the first time.
“Where are we going?” You asked, voice cracking as you forced the words out. All you really wanted was to sleep, to go somewhere that you didn't have to think anymore.
“Don't worry about it, doll,” he casually said, shutting the door behind him and walking around to the driver’s seat.
“Is he-”
You couldn't get the question out, and he didn’t answer.
“The cops are gonna think-” You started, only just starting to swallow the bitter pill that you were screwed.
“They’ll frame you for it,” he scoffed, and you recoiled. Surprised at yourself for forgetting what you already knew about the man in front of you.
He wouldn't sugarcoat it.
Make fake promises to you that this would be fine.
“But I-”
“Do you want to spend the rest of your fuckin’ life behind bars?” He growled, and you hated how much of a point he had.
You shook your head, fingers trembling as he stilled them with his own.
Gojo had a lot of enemies. Any one of them would be happy to let you take the fall.
All you'd done was give Gojo a fucking cup of coffee – and now he was dead.
“There’s cameras,” you murmured, ones that would catch you running away from the scene of the crime.
“They've been down half the day,” Toji grumbled, and you had no idea if that was even a relief.
Your feelings were all jumbled, guilt, horror, disgust, regret, even affection and adoration tangled up in there with Toji trying so hard to keep you safe.
You stared at him, still shaking, and he leaned across to spare you a heated kiss. Grounding you here with him, his calloused palm caressing your cheek as his pretty eyes narrowed.
“I'll protect you.”
Toji meant it.
The motel was shitty, far enough from the city you dozed off on the drive, but there weren’t any cameras.
No one to watch him carry you from his car and no one to care after he tossed enough cash to cover a room at the strung-out receptionist.
You woke up still in shock. Reeling from what you’d seen – or rather what you’d done.
“Someone’s gonna come-”
“No one’s gonna find you, baby,” he promised, and it was one he intended to keep.
You curled up on the bed, and he crawled in next to you, letting you bury your face in his chest to muffle the faint sounds of crying. Stroking your hair at first, eventually untucking your shirt from your skirt to trace soothing patterns over the bare skin of your back. Maybe you were scared right now, that was natural.
The first kill was always the hardest.
Once you were somewhere safe, once you knew he wasn’t going anywhere, you’d relax. After the news cycle covering your former employer’s death died off, and the investigation went cold, you'd realize that you wouldn't get caught.
And if you adjusted better than he hoped, maybe you could be his assistant.
Or if not, maybe he could leave this life behind. Find something more stable. Part-time work, or something he could do from home to spend more time with you.
You fell back asleep on him, lashes fluttering as he ran over his next steps.
He'd gotten rid of both your cells and tossed your wallet on the drive, slipping the sim cards out and destroying them when he got gas and paid in cash. Someone had probably found the body by now. He'd need to switch cars to pick up the payment from the drop off point, but that wouldn't be a problem.
There was a payphone outside, one he could see from the window. He'd call Shiu from it in a few minutes, let you dream on him for a bit longer.
The pay for this would be enough for fake passports, to buy some place off grid – and install a state of the art security system. To keep intruders or officers investigating out.
And more importantly, keep you inside.
There was nothing better than a bonus for a job well done - especially one as pretty as you.
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summary: getting knocked up by your older brother’s fratbro wasn't exactly apart of your five year plan. least of all with notorious fuck boy ryomen sukuna.
pairing: frat!kuna x reader
content: everything in this series is considered 18+ so not minor friendly! contains mature content such as rough sex, breeding, spanking, spit play, lactation kink, descriptive child birth, postpartum depression, probably more
dividers by: @petalpxl | series moodboard | art by lorinmower
chapter one: how you met \ chapter two: of course it's yours, you fucking idiot!
chapter three: meeting the itadori's \ chapter four: hospitals and hot dad walks
chapter five: fratuncles \ chapter six: more than co-parents
chapter seven: graduation \ epilogue
series oneshots/drabbles:
1. stinky feet bandit ❀ 2. late night feeds ❀ 3. daddy's little poop monster ❀ 4. baby carrier experiment ❀ 5. yuji loves his baby cousin
You're play-fighting with Aang when he suddenly traps you in a headlock. You freeze, sagging in his hold before a whimper escapes your lips. Aang startles before immediately releasing you, and he opens his mouth to apologize until he sees the look on your face.
Later that night, he's got your back in a deep arch as he folds himself over you, his chest plastered to your back with your neck tucked in the crook of his elbow. The hold tightens, and your eyes roll with each snap of your hips. Aang shudders as he drives his cock deeper inside you, the flushed, fat tip striking your g-spot like a dart to a bullseye.
"D-didnt know you liked this." Aang pants hotly into your ear.
"Me either." You choke out and Aang's hips stutter.
He groans out a curse at how wrecked your voice sounds, and you drip even more at how good the ancient language sounds on his tongue. Aang can feel how your gooey walls keep clamping around like him like a spring and he just knows your close.
Today I wanted to talk about Kyle Bassinga. Kyle was a 21 year old man from Georgia, whose family described him as "a kind, thoughtful, and smart young man who loved nature, music, and the people around him". Kyle Bassinga was killed on February 18th 2026, just ten days after his birthday. He was found hanging from a tree in a park.
The police ruled it a suicide. The family and local community demanded an investigation. The police refused to change their ruling.
I know this website it too white for this to really go anywhere, but an understanding of the present reality of white supremacy in the United States is just so important to transfeminism here. Lynchings never stopped, white supremacy never went away, you just stopped looking.
But we look back everyday- rechecking emails, making sure a friend is still behind you, checking to see if you remebered to pick up your keys. It's second nature, a habit of care.
It was second nature for him too. He looked back, not out of weakness, but love. For what is love, if not to look back?
꒰ synopsis ꒱ ✶ between managing dynamight’s image and cleaning up his pr messes, you think you’re decent at keeping things under control. unless it comes to your feelings—you definitely can’t keep those under control
or: you are bakugou katsuki’s perpetually nagging publicist, and he’s your most troublesome client. for some odd reason, that’s exactly why you both work
꒰ word count ꒱ ✶ (tba. but estimated 40-50k words) ; holy fuck this is the longest thing i’ve ever written so far. plssss give it a chance though!!!
꒰ before you read ꒱ ✶ female reader + feminine clothing ; publicist reader ; quirkless reader ; pro hero bakugou ; bakugou and kirishima run an agency together ; workplace romance ; many chronically online social media references ; smut (please read warnings on individual chapters!) ; villain attacks ; injuries + blood (nothing gory though) ; canon compliant + contains spoilers for timeskip ; fluff + bantering ; arguments + minor angst ; happy endings! ; mostly proof read
꒰ commentary ꒱ ✶ omg. i have no clue how this small idea blew up into a whole series but here we are lolllll
꒰ upload schedule ꒱ ✶ chapters will be uploaded once a week on friday evenings cst! (the first 33k words are already written i swear the chapters are coming)
── ✶ PART ONE (coming may 29th)
── ✶ PART TWO (coming june 5th)
── ✶ PART THREE (coming june 12th)
more tba. (there will be at least one more part but it might be more. idk yet it depends on how many words the ending scenes will be as i only have them roughly outlined so far)
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you reunite with AANG years later, only to be absolutely lovestruck by his new appearance. and unfortunately for katara, you decide you want him for yourself.
WHEN DID YOU GET HOT ?!
PLOT. years after the war, you reunite with aang in republic city only to realize the boy you once rejected has become impossible to ignore. completely smitten and regretting your decisions, you notice the tension between him and katara, turning you bitter. after overhearing a conversation you weren't supposed to, you decide that their story was never meant to be. so maybe you should stop pretending you do not want him.
WANRINGS. 18+, mdni, smut, angst, dark themes, slight coercion/dubcon, manipulative reader, slight lovesick reader, baby trapping, slightly naïve aang, toxic relationship dynamics, possessive behavior, mentions of past kataang, alcohol consumption, submissive aang, reader is a horrible friend (don't be like her), fingering, oral sex (m. + f. receiving), unprotected sex, riding him, talking him through it, breeding themes, p in v, pregnancy, marriage, mentions of giving birth, fem reader, self indulgent, not proofread.
CHARACTERS. AVATAR AANG.
WC. 15.5k
masterlist
art creds :: cruxifixe_ on x
a/n: i didn't plan for it to become so dark, but i am not changing the title, idc.
i will probably return to edit it more, but i am so sick of coming across this fic in my drafts.
Oh spirits.
Why did it have to be like this?
The last thing you were expecting during your first visit to Republic City was to get smitten by the literal sight of Aang.
The same Aang who had come barging into the Northern Water Tribe, demanding to be trained in the ways of water.
The same Aang who acted like an idiot around you when you first met him, making you second-guess the universe's choice of the Avatar.
The same Aang who you ended up befriending before his leave, leading you to join him on his journey to master all the elements.
Back then, it had been easy to reject him. Taking his idiotic flirty comments as a joke, declaring that your friendship with him would never grow to be something else.
Hell, you had even gained a thing for Sokka for a while, and not once had you ever thought of Aang as a romantic interest, despite his many 'advances'.
You saw it then, in the way he would seek you out, always hanging around you, asking for your advice on waterbending, even though Katara was right there, the one person who actually knew combat waterbending, unlike you, who could only heal.
So you did your best to push him toward Katara, trying to free yourself from the burden of his feelings.
It had worked.
And how you regretted it.
Because the man who stood before you now, grinning ear to ear at the sight of your arrival, was someone you no longer recognized.
After the war had ended, you returned home to the Northern Water Tribe, where you were praised for your contributions in the war.
Which is why you had taken to teaching the younger female generations the beauty of water, passing down your learnings from Katara and Aang.
The elders had not been too pleased at your notion, but they didn't stop you either, reminding themselves of what Katara had changed within the misogynistic hierarchy of the tribe.
You spent those years teaching, learning, advising, not having much contact with your friends other than the letters you all exchanged.
Katara and Sokka would visit now and then, but the Southern Water Tribe girl stopped once her free time was redirected to developing Republic City. Sokka continued to visit with Suki, mostly to pay respect to a certain moon spirit.
You weren't in touch with Zuko, never having gotten too close with him. And Aang would send you letters more often than you had expected. But even those reduced over the years, only showing up on birthdays.
So now, nine years later, you finally decided to give a visit when you received an invitation from Aang, planning a reunion on the occasion that Republic City was an year old and flourishing.
You had agreed, because you wished to see your only actual friend you had made on your journey.
Toph.
The blind bandit had formed an unusual bond with you, mostly built around constant jokes and taunts towards the rest of the group.
So when you saw Toph upon arriving, you hadn't expected Aang to be standing there beside her with the others, towering over everyone else in his newly acquired form.
You couldn't even think straight as Aang and Katara led everyone to the inn all of you could stay in during your time there. After settling your stuff into your rooms, Aang had taken to showing all of you around.
You heard him for everything he had to say, paying more attention to him than you ever had. Your eyes hadn't left him once, watching him light up every time he spoke, waving his hands around animatedly towards all directions.
Fuck. His hands.
Asking what you would do with them was a stupid question, because what wouldn't you do?
You'd have them pressed to your tits all the time. Those warm hands that have mastered every element to the point of second nature, swirling wind, bending the earth, doing everything imaginable with ease.
How trained he would be with those hands. Maybe he would put his learnings to good use on your pussy, mimicking the elegant motion of his fingers over your clit as he kept you stuffed to the hilt, hopefully using his other hand to clamp your mouth shut.
Maybe he'd even let you take his fingers in your mouth, sucking and drooling around them to divert your attention from the fullness of his cock.
Your thoughts didn't let up even as night fell, by which you had completely soaked through the fabric of your underwear. The group had split up to retire for the night, holding a proper get together party at Katara's home the next evening.
The time before the party had been given to everyone for sight seeing, but you could barely make it out of bed, the previous night spent restless as a certain airbender plagued your mind, making your reach for your pussy for most of it.
What's worse is that you had to keep your moans to the lowest, too scared that Toph might sense you out from wherever her room was in the inn.
You never truly understood the extent of her power, you didn't even know if something like this would even be possible for Toph to sense, but you sure as hell didn't want to take any chances.
Before the get together, you had sat in front of the mirror to gather your thoughts. You had chosen to wear a henley much like what Toph had worn the day before, while beneath it you had put on a rather bold choice.
You had first seen Suki wear a miniskirt during her visit with Sokka at the Northern Water Tribe. Her choice of clothing was something you had questioned, trying to understand why she would wear swimwear while visiting such a cold place.
She had only sighed, explaining to you the growing trends of fashion in the newly developing city.
On her next visit, she had brought you your own.
You never wore it before, given the weather, but you had packed it, figuring the warmer weather of the city would make the skirt more bearable.
Arriving at Katara's home was hell, because not only had Aang opened the door on your arrival, he was bare from the waist up as he did so.
The blood had rushed straight to your cunt, trying not to blatantly look at his abdomen, or the hard planes of his chest.
"Wow, did your clothes run away?" You joked, craning your neck to look him in the eyes, not daring to avert your gaze elsewhere.
"I spilled my drink on it." Aang huffs, pouting a little which only made things worse on your end, wanting to bite his cheeks that puffed out a little.
"You didn't think to Air bend and dry it?" You ask, trying to remain composed even as your breath hitched, walking through the door as you stood close to him.
"That doesn't remove wine stains. Katara threw it in the wash." He answered, walking beside you as he led you to the stairs.
"You're drinking?" Your voice came out shocked.
"I was going to, but then Sokka bumped into me." He sulks yet again.
"I thought...Air Nomads do not drink."
"Well...I don't. But everyone has been asking me to try it once, so I agreed to do it today."
"Looks like I came on time." You tease, trying to meets his eyes but failing when he gave you the cutest smile ever.
You both had made your way upstairs, and you were very aware of just how short your skirt was. You wondered if Aang had looked at your ass as you walked in front of him, or had he diverted his gaze out of respect.
Either option had you pressing your thighs together, not daring to turn your head to see where his eyes lingered.
"Hey! You wore it!" Suki's voice had greeted you the moment you entered the room beside Aang.
She was talking about your skirt.
"Yeah. I have no where else to wear this." You had answered with a smile, looking a the spacious room, a low table in the center with food already set on it.
"It looks great!" Katara compliments you, to which you smile.
"Thanks!"
"Yeah, cute outfit!" Aang chimed in from behind you, making you turn to face him.
"...Thanks Aang." You had tried to keep it in, but your heart had practically leapt out of your chest as his voice.
"You're late!" Toph greeted you in her own manner, making you turn back around and roll your eyes at her.
"Oh! I am so sorry, ma'am."
"You just rolled your eyes, didn't you?" She commented, taking a chug of whatever was in her cup.
"Yep. Proudly too." You retorted with a grin walking towards the group.
Toph had taken one of the shorter ends of the table, sprawling comfortably in her spot while Suki, Sokka, and Katara settled along one of the longer sides.
Across from them sat Zuko with an empty place beside him, which you claimed easily, folding your legs beneath you once you sat down.
And a part of you had hoped Aang would occupy the space that had been left empty on your other side, but you should have known better as you watched him take the opposing end of where Toph sat...right beside Katara.
Well, Zuko was technically also seated beside him, but it barely mattered when you watched Katara subtly close the distance between herself and Aang.
No one would have noticed it unless they had been observing closely.
Which you were.
You watched the two as the conversations picked up again around you, watching how Aang too scooched a little closer to Katara each time she said something.
It made you nauseous.
You had done this. You had practically thrown him into her arms all those years ago, and the karma of it had come to bite you in the ass.
It only made things worse that all you could think about in that situation was how gorgeous his abs were.
You could already imagine how nice they would feel against your cunt, rubbing mindlessly on them as those sinful hands of his would keep you pressed to him, grabbing the flesh of your hips to move you even faster, letting you cum on his skin.
You watched as Aang finally took his first sip of whatever alcohol Sokka had poured for him, observing as he gagged at the taste of it, leading him to have a coughing fit.
While the others chuckled at his antics, Katara reached over to rub slow circles against his back, trying to ease him through the coughing fit.
It made you sick.
The sight of her hands against his bare skin. The ease with which he leaned into her touch, comfortable enough to accept it without thought.
And it only got worse when he turned slightly toward her while thanking her softly.
"Are you alright, Aang?" you asked, hoping to interrupt whatever quiet little moment had begun forming between them.
Aang looked over at you immediately, a sheepish smile pulling onto his face.
"Y-yeah. Just need a m-minute," he managed, his voice still rough from coughing as he tried to steady his breathing.
You simply nodded, masking your satisfaction beneath a look of concern when Aang motioned for Katara to stop, quietly insisting he was alright now. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away and settled back into her place beside him.
It was around 10 minutes later when the effects of whatever amount of alcohol had managed to bypass Aang's throat had started to take effect.
A warm flush spread slowly across his skin, staining not only his cheeks but trailing down the length of his neck and across his chest in soft patches of pink.
You tried not to stare at him.
Without the excuse of him talking animatedly or moving around the room, admiring him so openly would have been far too obvious.
But, the sight of his lightweight body unable to withstand a shot of alcohol had you squirming in your seat, knowing your pussy was actively soaking your panties as the conversations continued.
Aang had long since stopped participating in the conversation, now hunched over the table with his face buried into his folded arms while the others continued talking around him.
Every few minutes, Zuko would slide another glass of water toward him, insisting it would help flush the alcohol out of his system.
Aang only mumbled that he was fine, though his words slurred slightly when he complained that he had not expected to feel so "floosy" after a single sip.
You on the other hand, were burning. Your pussy was desperately clenching around nothing, dripping on the flimsy fabric, as you now regretted wearing the skirt.
Aang's drowsy posture had given you something entirely new to admire. The broad slope of his shoulders, the defined muscles shifting faintly beneath his skin whenever he adjusted against the table, the elegant curve of his back disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.
It took everything in you not to stare openly.
Your thoughts drifted embarrassingly fast, fixating on the sight of his back and imagining what it would feel like beneath your hands.
You fantasized how desperately your nails would claw at his back as he pushed his cock into you, fucking your fervently.
Or maybe he'd let you rest your legs over his shoulders as he ate you out, driving his tongue into you which will make your heels dig into his back, only pushing him closer.
Maybe he would even make you squirt? He was quiet talented at waterbe—
Your thoughts came to an abrupt halt the moment Aang pushed himself upright, mumbling something about needing to use the restroom before slowly making his way out of the room.
You lifted your wine glass toward your lips, eyes instinctively following him until he disappeared down the hallway, turning left once he stepped out.
Only then did you take another sip, absentmindedly humming in agreement to whatever Toph had just said.
Your attention was divided between the room and Aang. And the heat between your thighs had become unbearable to the point you had to take care of it.
A few minutes later, you finished the last of your wine and set the empty glass aside before excusing yourself as well, adjusting your skirt once you rose to your feet.
You followed the same path Aang had taken earlier, slower with your steps this time, though upon reaching the hallway you quickly realized the restroom was empty.
You only shrugged to yourself before slipping inside anyway, locking the door behind you and closing the seat before sitting down, hiking your skirt up around your waist.
You spread your legs wide enough to let your hand slip inside, sliding your panties to the side to bury two fingers deep.
You were so slick and hot, it was almost pathetic.
Your fingers did absolutely nothing in comparison to the fantasies you'd built of Aang doing this to you.
Leaning back, you began pumping your fingers, but the ridiculous amount of wetness made it difficult to find any real friction against your pussy.
It was frustrating, yet amusing; you had drenched yourself to the extent that you could barely feel your own fingers rubbing against you.
Nonetheless, the need to have your cunt filled was somewhat satisfied, letting your fingers curl pathetically against the spot you probed for a quick, desperate orgasm.
The pressure built relentlessly, and with it, your voice. You bit your lip hard, trying to suppress the sounds, but the rising heat was too much; a few desperate whimpers slipped past your teeth despite your best efforts.
It was only when you heard two giggling whispers close by that you froze.
You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes widening in a flash of panic as you forced your body to go still.
Judging by the voice, one of them was definitely Suki.
Had she and Sokka slipped away for some privacy?
You sat up straighter immediately, halting every movement as you listened more carefully.
"Oh come on! Isn't it time already? You've liked each other longer than Sokka and I have even been together."
"That doesn't mean we're compatible! You've seen him...he's always busy being the Avatar..."
Katara.
You nearly stopped breathing.
Carefully, you stood up and adjusted your skirt, suddenly far more aware of every tiny sound you made while crossing the bathroom floor. Your hand remained clamped tightly over your mouth as you moved closer to the door, pressing your ear lightly against the wood to hear them better.
"So? He's never going to stop being the Avatar! Does that mean you'll wait until he's on his deathbed?"
"No...I just don't want to become a burden. He already has so many responsibilities, I don't want to add myself to them."
"Katara! You've kissed, for Spirits' sake! And...didn't you have that one night..."
"Shh! Suki, Aang is still out here..."
"Sorry," Suki whispered, lowering her voice even further. "But didn't you?"
You could hear Katara hesitate before she answered.
"Yes...we did do that..."
You froze.
Nausea twisted violently in your stomach at the thought of Katara and Aang together like that, tangled together somewhere inside this very house.
"Then why aren't you two together yet? Did he just use you? Because I can absolutely beat some sense into him."
"No! Spirits, no." Katara sounded horrified by the suggestion.
"It's my fault. I asked him not to talk about it again...to just put it behind us."
"Why?!"
"I panicked!" she admitted.
"I really do love Aang, but afterward I just...felt cheap. I couldn't believe we had done something like that before even talking about our feelings properly."
Slowly, you pulled away from the door.
Your hand slipped from your mouth while something sharp and terrible settled into place inside your mind all at once, so sudden it almost felt divine.
That was it.
Your chance.
"What did Aang say?" Suki asked after a moment.
"He agreed," Katara murmured. "Although...now that I think about it, he did seem a little hurt by it."
"Oh Katara, I am so mad at you—"
"Shh!" Katara cut her off quickly. "We've already been gone too long, and we still need to pick up the food from the kitchen."
Katara quickly hushed her again, dragging Suki away before her voice could rise any further.
Their conversation had given you everything you needed to know.
It seemed you had been terribly wrong about whatever existed between them.
They did not belong to each other, and that meant you could still do something about it.
You waited another few minutes before leaving the bathroom, taking the time to clean yourself up while listening carefully for the sound of their footsteps returning from the kitchen.
Only once the hallway had gone quiet again did you finally unlock the door and slip outside.
You did not particularly care that your little trip to the bathroom had left you unsatisfied.
Because in the end, it had not been pointless.
As long as there was still a chance for you to have Aang, you could live with the ache between your thighs.
You quietly made your way back toward the room where everyone had gathered, relieved to find them distracted enough to not notice you lingering briefly behind the doorframe.
You only peeked inside long enough to check whether Aang had returned.
He hadn't.
The realization made a smile threaten at the corners of your mouth.
This was your only opportunity.
So you slipped away again, quieter this time, searching through the massive house floor by floor while the sounds of laughter and conversation faded further beneath you.
Only upon reaching the topmost level did you finally slow.
Just before stepping fully into the room, your attention caught on the open balcony doors inside it.
There he was.
Your expression brightened instantly at finally finding him, eyes fixed on the sight of Aang leaning against the railing alone, letting the cold night air wash over him while the city lights flickered below.
Just as you were about to take a step forward—
"Just what are you plotting?"
Toph's voice came through, although quiet, held her usual fierceness.
You whipped around immediately, barely stopping the startled noise threatening to leave you before finally spotting the blind girl standing further down the hallway.
"Toph!" You hissed under your breath, pressing a hand against your chest before realizing what she had actually asked.
"I...was just making sure Aang was alright..." you answered quickly, which technically was not a lie, hoping it was bypass Toph's instincts.
Toph snorted.
"Yeah. Sure you were. Because you've always cared about him so much."
"Of course I do. He's my friend."
"Exactly," she drawled. "Your friend. Come on, at least try sounding convincing."
"I am not lying."
"Please." Toph folded her arms.
"I may be blind, but even I can sense your desperation from across the house. 'Cute outfit!' 'Thanks, Aanggg.'"
She mockingly pitched her voice higher during the imitation. "You were practically squealing."
Heat rushed straight to your face despite your irritation.
"And following after him?" She continued mercilessly. "Could you make it any more obvious? You're lucky everyone else in this house is dense enough to miss it."
You lowered your head slightly, irritation and embarrassment mixing unpleasantly inside your chest while Toph continued talking without pause.
"But not me. Since I am obviously the greatest Earthbender to ever li—"
Her voice rose noticeably toward the end of the sentence, forcing you to quickly slap a hand over her mouth before she could accidentally alert the entire floor.
"Fine, I get it," you whispered sharply. "Now can you please leave?"
Toph peeled your hand off her face with visible offense.
"Rude."
To your surprise, Toph's presence seemed to grow heavier beside you, the teasing tone disappearing entirely.
"You do know what you're doing is wrong, right?"
You paused, genuinely not expecting an actual lecture from her of all people.
"How is it wrong?"
Toph folded her arms.
"First you reject him. Then you throw him toward Katara. And now that those two finally have something going on, suddenly you want him back?"
"Toph, we were kids," you argued quietly.
"He's not still hung up over some rejection from when we were twelve. We're friends." You hesitated briefly before adding—
"And those two barely even have anything happening between them. I literally heard Katara admit it herself."
"Doesn't matter. It is still wrong."
"You're acting like I'm breaking them apart. They were never together to begin with!"
Toph clicked her tongue.
"You're still meddling. Worse, you're trying to steal him from your own friend."
You exhaled slowly, trying to keep your composure intact.
"Toph," you said carefully, "you're supposed to be the sensible one here. Is it really my fault if, after all these years, Aang ends up choosing me?"
"What makes you so sure he will?"
"Because Katara already had her chance." The words left you more sharply than intended.
"They've spent years dancing around each other and still nothing came out of it. I disappeared from his life completely, and somehow even that wasn't enough to push them together." You glanced toward the balcony again.
"At some point, maybe you have to admit it's simply not meant to be."
"You can't be the judge of that."
"I'm not trying to be." You straightened slightly, smoothing your skirt back into place before lifting your chin.
"Aang will make his own choice. And if he chooses me...then just know I was right." A faint smile touched your mouth.
Toph let out a slow breath through her nose.
You glanced toward her once more before stepping back toward the doorway leading to the balcony.
"Now go, Toph. I'm sure you don't want to become someone who meddles."
She clicked her tongue at that, clearly unimpressed by your attempt at turning her own argument against her, though after another moment she finally sighed and began walking away down the hallway.
Yeah.
She really was a good friend.
Unlike you.
You stepped into the room slowly, making sure your footsteps were loud enough to announce your presence rather than startle him.
Still, you saw Aang's shoulders tense slightly at the first creak of the floorboards behind him.
He turned around quickly. "Katara?"
The name struck harder than you expected.
But the moment he realized it was you instead, surprise softened into a smile.
"Hey..." His voice quieter now, softened by the lingering haze the alcohol had left behind.
You approached carefully as you joined him near the railing, sliding the balcony doors shut behind you to block out the noise from downstairs.
You smile up at him, trying not to show your irritation at the name he had called out.
"Hi, Aang. Are you alright? You've been gone for a while." You kept your tone light, sweet enough to avoid making him cautious.
"Yeah," he answered with a small laugh beneath his breath. "I just needed some air. Clear my head a little."
"I see." You rested your arms lightly against the railing beside him.
"Feeling better now?"
"Much."
He smiled again before glancing back toward the streets below.
"I think we should've predicted you'd be a lightweight."
"Seriously. It felt like my head fell off after one sip." Aang laughed rubbing the back of his neck.
"You head seems to be on right at least." You muse, leaning your back against the railing, having your head turned towards him as you spoke.
"Yup! I feel like myself again! For the most part at least." He jokes, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.
"You certainly look like you do." You tease, your eyes drifting over him once more before returning to his face.
"Come on. Let's go back! You did find me after all...everyone must be waiting." He says, before stepping away from the railing.
He had barely taken more than a couple of steps before your hand reached out instinctively, fingers wrapping around his forearm to stop him.
"Wait, Aang!"
He stopped the moment your hand touched him, turning back toward you almost immediately while you gently pulled him to a halt.
"Everything alright...?" He asked, remaining where he was instead of pulling away from your touch.
"Yeah, I just...I wanted to talk to you about something." You slowly let go of him once he stepped back beside you again.
"Oh." Aang settled against the railing once more, patient as ever.
"What's up?"
"Aang..."
Well fuck. You didn't actually think this through.
You had managed to get yourself up here alone with him, had spent the last twenty minutes convincing yourself this was your perfect opportunity, and now that he stood in front of you waiting so openly for whatever you wanted to say, you realized you had absolutely no idea how to make any of this work without sounding insane.
How exactly were you supposed to convince the boy you once rejected to choose you over the girl he had spent years being smitten with?
The girl he had apparently already shared a bed with.
Your teeth sank unconsciously into your bottom lip while nerves clawed their way through you, your throat tightening with the sudden realization of how pathetically desperate you must have looked tonight.
Toph had been right.
Spirits, she had been completely right.
You tried not to let any of it show on your face, but something must have slipped through regardless, because Aang picked up on it immediately.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
Aang's voice softened immediately with concern as he stepped closer, one hand settling carefully against your shoulder in an attempt to pull you out of whatever spiral you had disappeared into.
The touch snapped you back to reality far too quickly, his touch sending a chill throughout your skin, his newly matured voice doing wonders for your already fuzzy mind.
It completely ruined your ability to think straight.
"Why didn't you ever visit me?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.
Aang blinked in confusion. "What...?"
Well.
You had already said it now.
There was no point trying to take it back.
"Everyone visited me. Or at least wrote to me often. You never did...and eventually your letters stopped showing up too."
Aang looked genuinely taken aback by that.
"Is that why you've been mad at me?"
You frowned slightly. "I've been mad at you?"
"You keep glaring at me, and you've barely talked to me since you got here." He admitted carefully.
Between obsessing over him and trying not to stare at him every five seconds, you may have completely forgotten to behave like a normal person around him.
In hindsight, perhaps openly glaring at Katara every time she touched him had not been particularly subtle either.
The realization made heat crawl straight up your neck, embarrassment settling uncomfortably in your chest at the thought of who else might have noticed your behavior tonight.
Though, considering Toph had described the others as "dense as rocks," perhaps you still had some dignity left intact.
But then again, you figured you could use that to your advantage.
"Yes. I am angry with you." You confirmed, averting your gaze, knowing damn well his absence in your life hadn't been significant either way.
Aang's expression fell almost immediately.
"I'm sorry. You never wrote back and I just thought..." He hesitated briefly before laughing awkwardly under his breath.
"I don't know. I thought maybe you hated me." Aang admits, trying to convince you he didn't do anything deliberately.
"Why would I hate you, Aang?"
Your voice softened deliberately around his name while you turned your face again, grateful for the lingering effects from the wine making your flushed appearance seem far more believable.
"I don't think my heart could ever hate you," you murmured. "No matter what you did."
"That means a lot to me. Really."
You nearly frowned when Aang completely missed the implication behind your words, smiling instead at what he clearly believed was simple affection.
"I know I annoyed you a lot back then," He continued with a sheepish laugh. "Following you around and all. I just thought you didn't like me."
You knew he did not mean 'like' in a romantic sense.
Though even if he had, he would not have been entirely wrong.
"I did like you, Aang," you admitted softly. "I think...I admired you more than I wanted to."
His looked taken aback at that.
"At first, I honestly couldn't stand any of you," you continued with a quiet laugh. "Watching you and Katara run around the North Pole disrespecting centuries of tradition nearly drove me insane."
You shook your head lightly.
"But I'm grateful for it now."
"I heard you started your own academy for women."
The pride in his voice made warmth bloom annoyingly in your chest.
"Yes. Alongside healing, I teach combat to anyone interested in learning." A faint smile crossed your face.
"For that, I only have you and Katara to thank. Which is why..."
You let your voice trail off after that, deliberately avoiding his eyes while your fingers traced absent patterns against the railing, hoping it would make him more curious.
And it does, almost predictably so.
"Which is why?" Aang prompted gently.
You hesitated just long enough.
"Which is why it hurt when you never showed up."
The apology appeared on his face instantly.
You could see it in the subtle stillness that overtook him, in the way his hands loosened against the railing as though guilt had slipped into his bones before he could defend himself.
"I thought you didn't want me there." He admitted quietly.
"You never answered any of my letters, and after a while I just..." He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head once.
"I didn't want to bother you."
A smile touched your mouth, carrying just enough sadness to make him regret the sentence before it had even finished leaving him.
"You could never bother me."
The night air drifted between you both, carrying distant sounds from the streets below, though they hardly reached the balcony anymore.
His attention had settled entirely onto you now, patient and open in the way only Aang could be, and you hated how easy it was to pull him in once he decided to listen.
"I kept thinking you'd visit eventually," You continued.
"Every few months someone would arrive at the tribe and for a moment I'd convince myself it would be you." A quiet laugh escaped you.
"Sokka and Suki came whenever they could. Katara visited enough that the children started asking when she would return. Even Toph showed up once and insulted half the tribe before she left."
That finally earned a laugh from him and you waited for it to fade before looking up again.
"But never you."
The amusement disappeared from his expression so quickly it almost made you feel cruel.
"I didn't know you wanted me to."
"I think I just expected you to know."
You softened the line the moment it landed, turning your head away before it could sound accusatory.
"Aang" and "knowing" had always belonged together.
He noticed every frightened child, every wounded stranger, every person trying too hard to pretend they were alright.
You were counting on that part of him now, feeding it carefully until he began searching your face for things you had not yet said.
"Spirits. This sounds embarrassing now." You say, covering your face with your hands.
"No, it doesn't."
The answer came too quickly, and so did his hands as they rested on yours, pulling them away from your face.
"Back then, you always pushed me away. You never really took me seriously whenever I..." A small laugh escaped him, awkward and fleeting.
"I thought it meant you didn't want me around."
You looked at him for a moment before smiling faintly.
"Aang, we were children."
The embarrassment on his face deepened instantly.
"You were running around the world flirting with every girl who smiled at you."
"That is not true."
"Suki told me you tried to impress the Kiyoshi Warriors by flexing your staff."
"That was one time. I had never been around people who admired me before."
"You asked me if I thought your tattoos made you look mysterious."
"That—! That was Sokka's idea of— Ugh..." Aang groaned quietly into his hand while you laughed under your breath, watching the tension ease from him little by little.
"You were impossible, of course I didn't take you seriously." You chuckled.
"But...you do now?"
There it was.
Just a sliver of hope in his voice.
You waited, hesitating for a good anticipating moment before you spoke.
"I just...I think somewhere along the way...you stopped being a boy I simply found...amusing."
The honesty in that sentence unsettled him. His attention lingered on you, trying to read through your expression and failing each time you softened before giving too much away.
"You still could've written back to me." He muttered, though the guilt had not left him entirely.
"I know." You sighed lightly, searching your head for a believable excuse.
"But after the war ended, everything changed so quickly. You had a city to build. Katara stayed beside you. Sokka had Suki. Zuko was ruling an entire nation. Toph disappeared into whatever cave she crawled out of. " A smile tugged briefly at your mouth.
"I suppose I convinced myself there wasn't really a place left for me."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" You shot back instantly.
You did not say it bitterly. It was important not to do so. You couldn't show any anger or place blame.
"You all built something together here while I stayed behind in the North teaching children how to heal sprained wrists."
"You did more than that."
"I know," you answered gently. "But it's different hearing about someone's life through letters instead of being part of it. And every time your letters became shorter, I told myself it was normal. You were growing into someone important. But..."
You paused again, and you knew every time you did so was nipping at his curiosity.
"You were important to me, Aang."
His throat shifted around a swallow.
"You were important to me too."
"Were?"
The correction slipped out playfully, but it struck him all the same. You watched realization move through him at once, watched him stumble over himself trying to fix it.
"Are. I meant are."
You let him have the recovery, lowering your eyes with a quiet smile that rewarded him for it.
"I know everyone needs something from you now," you said after a moment. "The council needs the Avatar. Republic City needs its founder. Whole nations probably line up waiting for a piece of your time."
His attention was rooted to you.
"But I didn't miss the Avatar."
He had gone entirely still beneath your words, waiting for you to finish your sentence.
You slowly moved, catching him off guard as you softly took his hands in yours.
"I missed you."
You could practically feel him trying to make sense of it, trying to decide whether this ache blooming inside his chest had always been there or whether you had placed it there yourself.
"You...make it sound like I abandoned you..." He admitted, though there was no defensiveness in it.
You tilted your head slightly, watching him through your lashes.
"Didn't you?"
"Aang!" A voice echoed faintly somewhere inside the house, muffled by walls and distance.
Katara.
You felt the interruption scrape across your nerves, but you did not let it show.
Instead, your thumb brushed once against the inside of his wrist, subtle enough to feel accidental.
His attention remained on you.
Interesting.
"I know you had your reasons." You continued gently, lowering your voice until it almost blended into the wind around you.
"You've always done what everyone else needed first. I think that's why people expect you to wait forever for them."
Something unreadable passed through him then, because he understood exactly what you meant even without hearing her name.
"And what do you need?" He asked.
There it was.
Not the Avatar speaking.
Just Aang.
You let the silence play out for a while before finally moving your hand from his wrist and sliding it slowly into his palm instead, holding it facing up.
"I think, I wanted to know whether you would've chosen me if I had asked you to stay." You said softly,
"...Stay where?" His breath got heavier, very aware of your hand in his. You moved to use both your hands to hold one of his, bringing it closer to yourself with every word you spoke.
"With me? Continue to be a part of my life?" You say with a tilt of you head, brining his hand even closer till his fingers were barely grazed your stomach.
It was only when you slid his hand down, letting it slip under your skirt did he react. His breath hitched a sharp, stifled gasp and a deep flush crept across his face, catching him completely off guard.
"Wait—"
Aang barely managed his protest before you smoothly cut him off with your own plea.
"I needed you, Aang. And I still do."
You really did.
He felt the heat of you, letting out an audible hiss at the touch. You weren't just warm; you were burning, so soaked that the fabric covering you had long since lost its purpose.
To test the waters, you removed your hands from the equation.
To your surprise, Aang does not pull his hand away, resting it right where it was, fingers pressed into the drench fabric.
You shifted, leaning forward to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a deep embrace that forced him to hunch over and rest against you.
As you pulled him close, his face instinctively tucked away, hiding the sheer embarrassment of having his hand still buried between your thighs.
He could have moved. He should have. Yet, he stayed.
And he only melted further into you when your voice added—
"I really need you...Aang."
Apparently it had been enough to set him off, as you felt his fingers slip past the fabric failing to hold your desire, and his touch began experimental movements across the length of your folds, testing just how wet you really were.
"Hahh...!"
A breathless huff escaped you. The sensation of his fingers was far better than any fantasy had led you to expect.
Aang still hid his face against the curve of your neck, but you could feel his warmth radiating against you.
The sweat that had beaded on his forehead, cutting through the arrow, now getting smeared onto you.
It didn't bother you not when you could feel his ragged, confused breaths fanning against your skin.
Dropping one arm from around him, you slid it between your thighs, pressing yourself against his hand to encourage him to dip inside.
He complied, though with a heavy hesitation, taking a few agonizing seconds to decide which finger would breach you first.
A moan escaped you, only to be stifled as you bit down hard on his shoulder. The memory of Katara looking for him just moments ago flashed through your mind.
You silently wished the fellow Water Tribe girl wouldn't ruin this moment for you.
Not when you were so close to having him.
Aang remained pressed against your shoulder, his mind a whirlwind of uncertainty. The frantic beating of his heart was uncontainable, and he knew you could surely feel the thud of it against your own skin.
His mind drifted to Katara. He remembered when they had finally seemed to have something, only for her to put a hold on it never speaking of it again, acting as if nothing had changed.
But you were right here, soaking his hand with a heat that was clearly a desperate need for him.
Sure, you had turned him down, but you were kids! And he was annoying and unserious back then.
And he had insulted your tribe's customs, likely offending you far more than he had ever intended.
He had spent so long thinking you hated him, never realizing that you had been caring for him all along.
And he had denied you that care, never once coming to visit.
He was torn.
He was caught between the woman who had shut him down when they were children, the one he held right here beneath his fingers, and the woman he had spent nearly a decade with, only to be turned away just as they had finally made progress.
Unable to decide, he forced himself to focus on the way you wrapped around his fingers, feeling the warmth of your honeyed walls clinging tightly to him.
"Have you...done this before?"
Your voice came in a breathless rasp, finally pulling away from his shoulder where you had been biting down to muffle your cries.
He couldn't be dishonest with you, but his voice failed him; instead, he answered with a silent nod.
You felt the small, hesitant shake of his head against your shoulder. You already knew his answer, after all you had overheard enough of Katara's words to lead you to this very moment.
"Would you like to...tell me who...it was?"
You pressed the question, struggling to keep your moans contained as your focus drifted from the slow pumping of his fingers.
Fuck...he was doing so good.
Aang still couldn't find his voice; worse, he felt too exposed, too shy to answer.
He found a strange comfort in the way you gave him an option. You hadn't demanded a name or forced him to relive the details; you had simply asked if he wanted to share.
He figured that since you cared for him so deeply, you would never hold his past against him. With that thought, he responded with a small shake of his head.
He disagreed.
If you hadn't already known about him and Katara, his disagreement to sharing the name would have bothered to no extent. But knowing the truth made his hesitation sting.
Still, in this moment, his reluctance only worked in your favor.
You shifted your weight, swapping your arms; you replaced the one draped over his shoulders with the one that had been aiding him, bringing it down to join his hand between your thighs.
Your now free hand reached up to his head, stroking softly against his skin as you whispered—
"Okay. You don't have to tell me."
You spoke softly, a gentle balm intended to soothe his nerves.
Minutes passed as his fingers continued their work, though in the lulls, he opened his eyes to gaze at the city sprawling below.
Even though they were on the topmost floor of Katara's home, they weren't entirely invisible. They weren't high enough to be truly hidden; while a passerby at this hour was rare, it wasn't far from impossible.
If anyone were to look up, they would find the Avatar in a very compromising position.
But he couldn't bring himself to care. Not when it felt like he was searching for the lost puzzle piece of his life inside your cunt.
You on the other hand were thoroughly enjoying yourself, completely dazed under Aang's tentative touch.
But of course, it was only a matter of time before someone had to ruin it.
You didn't see who it was; all you noticed was the sudden creak of the door as the corridor light spilled into the room, a sharp intrusion that made you instinctively push harder against Aang.
"Someone is here, Aang straighten up!" you ordered in a hurried whisper. He barely seemed to register the command, so you pushed against his shoulders with renewed urgency, forcing him to straighten up and take a frantic step back.
"Oh! There they are!" Sokka's voice cut through the silence, muffled and faint behind the balcony door. You knew you only had a few seconds before he made his way over.
Moving with desperate grace, you caught Aang's hand, guiding it out from inside you.
You brought his hand up to your face, and he watched, mesmerized, as you used both hands to direct him.
You pressed his slick fingers against your lips, observing his wide eyes as you slowly dragged the wetness down, your bottom lip bouncing back into place as the finger passed.
His first real reaction came when you took those same fingers into your mouth, cleaning them with a slow, deliberate sweep of your tongue before letting them fall.
His lips pressed together in a tight, pained line as you licked your own, wiping your tongue across your bottom lip while keeping his gaze locked onto yours.
It was only when Sokka finally swung the balcony door open that you used a free hand to casually wipe the remaining moisture from your mouth.
"Do you have any idea how long we've been looking for you?"
Sokka's voice came first. You still could not properly see him with Aang standing between you and the entrance, though the annoyance in his tone painted the expression well enough.
"Why would you guys come all the way up here?"
Katara spoke next.
Instinctively, your attention flicked back toward Aang, searching immediately for some reaction at the sound of her voice.
There was none.
He remained entirely absorbed in the moment you had dragged him into, eyes fixed stubbornly on your mouth as though he still felt your lips around his fingers.
And because he was looking at you so devotedly, you knew you could not risk letting your satisfaction show.
So you put on a usual cheeky smile.
Leaning slightly to the side, you finally stepped into view of the Water Tribe siblings.
"Katara! Sorry for intruding around your house," you said easily. "I just needed some air and ended up finding Aang here."
You smiled sweetly while speaking to her.
"It's alri—"
Katara barely managed half the sentence before Aang interrupted unexpectedly.
"Could you guys give us a moment?"
Even while speaking, he never looked away from you.
"What?" Sokka laughed. "You guys talking about something we're not allowed to hear?"
The joke landed far closer to the truth than he realized.
"We were discussing your birthday present," you answered smoothly before Aang could attempt it himself. "You don't want us ruining the surprise, do you?"
The lie came easily, effortless beneath your smile.
"Oh, sweet." Sokka grinned immediately. "Come on then, you two. Aang's still not off the hook for abandoning his drink after one sip."
You nodded along lightly at his teasing.
"Come on, Katara."
He motioned toward his sister, though Katara still had not taken her eyes off Aang.
"Your robes are clean now," she told him quietly. "You can dry them out and put them back on."
She was waiting for him to answer.
You truly expected him to.
But after several seconds passed in silence, with Aang still standing there looking entirely lost in you, you finally spoke for him instead.
"He'll be there in a minute," you said gently.
Katara's expression shifted almost imperceptibly at that, though all she gave in response was a small nod.
The siblings eventually turned away, disappearing back through the doorway.
You missed the way Sokka's smile slowly faded the moment they left the room, suspicion settling quietly beneath his expression.
The second they disappeared from sight, you turned back toward Aang and lifted your arms around his shoulders, slowly pulling his face closer to yours.
"Aang..."
He said nothing.
For one horrible second, you genuinely wondered whether you had pushed him too far, whether everything you had carefully built tonight had finally cracked beneath the weight of your own desperation.
Still, you forced yourself to continue.
"I have certain feelings for you, and..."
You let the sentence trail off deliberately, lowering your eyes for only a moment to see whether he would follow.
He did, meeting your eyes quickly.
"...If you feel the same," you continued softly, "or even if you don't...I would rather you tell me honestly instead of making me guess."
He still doesn't say anything, and suddenly you became painfully aware of the fact he still was not touching you back.
His hands remained tightly wrapped around the balcony railing while he stayed slightly hunched within your hold, breathing harder than before yet making no move toward you at all.
So you leaned in first.
Your lips barely brushed his, letting it rest against him softly, giving him every opportunity to close the distance himself if he wanted to.
You waited.
But when nothing came from him, you slowly pulled away again, forcing yourself to accept the rejection with whatever dignity you still had left.
You released him completely after that.
Without another word, you moved past him and made your way back toward the room alone, fixing your appearance along the way while trying not to think too hard about the humiliation burning through your chest.
By the time you reached the room again, Zuko was approaching from the opposite hallway carrying a rolled mattress beneath one arm.
"You're staying over?" You asked quietly, falling into step beside him.
"We all are," he answered simply while pushing the door open. "Sokka's idea."
"Let me help."
You moved beside him automatically, helping spread the mattress across the floor while the others continued setting up the rest nearby.
Several minutes later, Aang finally returned.
The moment he stepped back into the room, nearly everyone looked up toward him automatically while Katara quietly approached with his robes folded neatly in her arms, still slightly damp from washing.
"Thanks..." he says, accepting them with a small smile though noticeably avoiding her eyes.
With one absent motion of his hand, warm air rushed through the fabric until the remaining dampness vanished completely, pulling the robes back on quickly.
Aang let out a distracted hum first, clearly taking a second to even process the question.
"Y-yeah! Yeah, I'll stay." He answered.
Then he moved toward the others to help arrange the remaining mattresses across the floor.
You noticed immediately how carefully he avoided looking at you.
Humiliation crawled so violently through your chest that for one awful moment you genuinely thought you might burst into tears right there in front of everyone.
So, you decided to play your final card.
After finishing helping Toph Beifong with one of the mattresses, you slowly rose to your feet. The others remained distracted arranging blankets and arguing over sleeping spots, giving you the perfect moment to speak.
"I'm sorry, guys." You said quietly, right before the final mattress could be laid down properly.
"I think I'll head back to the inn for the night."
Almost immediately, Suki looked up in concern, her attention catching on your agitated expression.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah." You forced a faint smile.
"I don't think the wine sat right in my stomach, and I'd rather be alone before it gets worse."
The excuse sounded embarrassingly pathetic even to you, though thankfully nobody questioned it.
You had barely managed three steps toward the hallway when Aang's voice suddenly cut through the room behind you.
"Wait—"
The word came out louder than he intended, pulling the attention of everyone gathered across the floor. Conversations halted almost immediately, Sokka halfway through unfolding another mattress while Suki looked up from where she sat beside him.
Even Katara paused mid movement, fingers still curled around the edge of folded blankets.
Aang looked momentarily caught off guard by the silence he had created, standing near the doorway with his robes hanging loosely from his shoulders.
His eyes found yours first before quickly shifting toward the others.
"I'll be back. I'll just walk her back. It's late." He said, clearing his throat once.
You stopped at the sound of him volunteering himself so quickly, though you made sure not to turn around immediately.
The smile threatening to betray you curled against your mouth before you forced it back down, lowering your head just enough to hide it beneath the curtain of your hair.
Behind you came the soft sound of approaching footsteps.
You finally glanced sideways once his presence settled near enough to feel, only to notice your shadow disappearing beneath his entirely, swallowed whole against the wooden floorboards.
"Let's go."
You nodded softly before leaning sideways toward the room, offering everyone one last smile.
"Goodnight."
A chorus of sleepy replies followed, though the atmosphere had shifted too strangely.
You stepped into the hallway first, Aang close behind you.
Perhaps Katara already understood he would not be returning tonight.
Perhaps all of them did.
Because right before Aang had pulled his robes back on, the mark you left behind had not gone unnoticed.
The bite pressed near his shoulder stood out plainly against his skin for one terrible second before fabric covered it again, though one second had been more than enough.
Enough for Sokka's expression to flatten beneath confusion.
Enough for Suki's eyes to widen before she quickly looked away.
Enough for Katara to go completely still.
No one spoke of it.
They simply resumed around the absence, voices awkwardly finding each other.
Toph remained the only one untouched by the shift in atmosphere, still arguing with Zuko over where she wanted to sleep while the rest of them waited quietly for the Avatar's return despite knowing, somewhere deep down, that he would not be coming back anytime soon.
The walk back to the inn passed beneath a suffocating silence, neither of you quite knowing what could possibly be said after what had happened on that balcony.
Aang stayed half a step ahead the entire way, shoulders tense beneath his robes, attention fixed stubbornly on the empty streets ahead rather than you.
You noticed it after the second block.
His hand.
The same hand that had been between your thighs less than half an hour ago kept flexing at his side every few moments, fingers curling tightly into his palm before releasing again, restless and agitated.
Once, he nearly lifted it toward his face before abruptly stopping midway, jaw tightening faintly as he forced it back down again.
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling.
Because despite the distance he was trying so desperately to create between himself and what happened, his body had already betrayed him entirely.
By the time you reached the inn, the silence between you had grown so dense it nearly felt tangible.
Aang stopped only once the two of you stood at the entrance, the lantern hanging beside gate casting a dim glow across the side of his face.
For the first time since leaving Katara's house, he finally looked at you properly.
"Okay. Goodnight." He said after a moment.
You watched him step past you.
And just before he could get too far, you finally spoke.
"Come to my room, Aang."
He stopped instantly.
For a second he did not move at all, standing there with his back turned toward you before slowly facing you again.
The flush across his face had not faded in the slightest, still spread stubbornly over his cheeks and ears while confusion sat plainly beneath it.
You tilted your head slightly.
"Did you really come all this way just to say nothing?"
Aang opened his mouth briefly, only for whatever response he meant to give to die somewhere before reaching his tongue.
His attention slipped away from you again, landing somewhere near the floor while his hand flexed once more at his side.
Then, without a word, he closed the distance between you.
You turned before he could second guess himself, walking down the hallway with measured steps while his followed close behind you.
Neither of you spoke as you unlocked the door, pushing it open before stepping aside to let him enter first.
Aang hesitated slightly before walking in.
You shut the door behind you and leaned against it for one brief moment, fingers still curled around the handle while your heartbeat thundered violently against your ribs.
Because all you could think now was—
It was now or never.
"Aang." You call out softly, just his name, testing the weight of it.
He flinches like you've struck him. His shoulders drop, his head bowing as if he's suddenly carrying the weight of the entire world again.
"I shouldn't be here," he whispers into the quiet of the room, his voice cracking enough to show how close he is to snapping.
"I should go back. It's not right, and—"
"It's not right," you interrupt, your voice dropping an octave. You take one step closer, watching him tense.
"But you want to stay. You want this so badly it's making you tremble, Aang."
He lets out a ragged, broken sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan as he finally looks up. His eyes are wide and desperate with of confusion.
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?" You're in his space now, close enough to feel the heat coming off him.
You reach out, your fingertips barely grazing the fabric of his robes along his collarbone where you bit him earlier.
He shudders at the proximity, his breath hitching.
"You can go back to being the perfect Avatar, the perfect friend, the perfect everything. You can walk out that door right now and pretend this never happened."
You lean in closer, your lips brushing his ear, your voice a velvet promise.
"But you won't. Because for the first time in your entire life, you're going to choose what you want. Not what's right or expected of you. Just what you want."
You pull back enough to catch his gaze, your eyes dark with the truth of it.
"So tell me, Aang. Are you really going to walk out that door?"
He moves away from you, crossing to reach your bed.
Aang sinks onto the edge of your bed, burying his face in his hands as if he can squeeze the conflicting thoughts right out of his skull.
You move to sit beside him, your thigh brushing his, and the way he flinches even now makes your pulse thrum.
"Why is this bothering you so much?" You ask softly, your voice a gentle caress against his turmoil.
"It's not..." He chokes out the lie, his fingers digging into his scalp.
"It's just...everything changed. The way I look at you, the way you look at me it's like the world shifted and I don't know where my feet are supposed to land."
He turns his head, searching your face for something an explanation, a reason.
He finally asks—
"What do you need from me?"
You paused, not having expected it but grateful for his question nonetheless.
"I just want you." You say simply.
He stares at you, eyes wide and searching, trying to untangle the knots you've tied in his mind.
You don't make him wait.
You stand, moving between his knees as you straddle him, settling yourself firmly in his lap.
His hands hesitate in the air, fingers twitching as if they want to catch you, to hold you and then they drop, fists clenching at his sides as he forces himself to stay still.
"I will give you everything you want, Aang," You promise him, leaning in until your breath fans over his lips.
"I will never disappoint you. I'll give you a home. Children. A safe place where you can just be Aang. No burdens."
The silence that follows is different, heavy with the weight of the life you've just offered him.
Finally, he finds his voice.
"Why...?"
"Because I want to." You say, the words sure and steady.
"I want to be your wife."
Aang's entire body stills.
His eyes widen, his breath hitching in his throat as if you've just knocked the wind out of him.
"Why...why would you want that?" He sounds genuinely lost, as if you've just spoken a language he doesn't understand.
"Because..." You hesitate, letting out a chuckle as you see him unconsciously lean closer in patience.
"I love you," you say, leaning forward to press your forehead against his, closing your eyes.
"And I want you to be free."
You stay there for a moment, letting the weight of your confession settle.
When you pull back, he's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read.
It was something between awe and sheer terror.
For a long painful while, Aang said nothing at all.
His eyes slowly slipped shut, his head lowering slightly while his fingers tightened into fists.
You watched the conflict move across his face in, watching him sit there trying to untangle every thought pulling him apart from the inside.
And suddenly, fear crawled its way up your spine. It truly felt possible that he might pull away from you completely.
"You will have to come live in Republic City," He says quietly.
You were snapped out of your wallowing thoughts.
When you finally replayed the moment, his sentence barely registered.
You were still too focused on the fear twisting inside your chest, too busy preparing yourself for rejection to properly process what he had actually said.
Then the meaning finally settled into place.
Your head snapped up immediately, as you froze, pulling back to stare at him in shock.
"Are you...agreeing?"
He hesitates, his throat working as he swallows hard. Then, slowly, he nods.
You can't help it; a squeal of pure triumph escapes you.
"Thank you, Aang!"
You lunge forward to hug him again, the momentum sending you both backward onto the mattress.
When you sit back up, Aang's breath hitches.
His eyes go wide as you reach for the hem of your top and pull it over your head in one fluid motion.
The fabric slides off your shoulders, leaving you bare chested in the dim light, your nipples already peaked from the adrenaline.
"What are you doing?" He almost exclaims, his voice cracking. He wrenches his gaze away, jaw tight, shoulders hunching as if he's trying to make himself smaller.
"Isn't this why you came here?" You tilt your head, watching him through your lashes, your voice dropping into that sweet, manipulative purr.
"We still have things to talk about," He says, forcing himself to sit up straighter.
He stares at your face with desperate intensity, pointedly ignoring the way your breasts are inches from his chest.
"Do you...not want me?" You let the question hang, making your voice go small, making your eyes well with perfectly calculated tears.
"That's not—!!" He cuts himself off, the confession dying in his throat.
"Then kiss me..." You whisper, the command soft but absolute.
Another moment passes in a thick and suffocating silence before he finally gives in.
He leans in, his movement hesitant as he presses his lips to yours.
It's not the confident kiss of a man who knows what he wants, it's the kiss of someone who's finally stopped fighting the inevitable.
You let the kiss linger, pressing into him enough to leave him breathless, then pull back with a shy, triumphant smile.
"There..." You whisper, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Before he can answer, you reach for the ties of his robes.
Your movements are swift as you undo the knots.
Aang freezes, his breath hitching in his throat, but he doesn't pull away.
You peel the heavy fabric from his shoulders, exposing the broad span of his back and the striking blue line that curves down his spine. His skin is hot beneath your palms, and you feel the way his muscles jump at your touch.
"You're so beautiful." You coo, your voice a velvet caress as you slide the robes down his arms, leaving him bare chested.
The arrowheads on his hands flex as he grips the mattress, knuckles white, his chest heaving.
You shift your weight, moving from his laps as you sink to your knees onto the ground between his legs, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
"May I?" you ask, your hands already moving to the waistband of his pants.
Aang makes a sound like he's choking on it.
"I... yes," He manages, his voice barely a whisper.
When you finally free him, he's already past the point of no return.
You take him in your hands first, stroking him slowly, watching his head fall back as his hand tremble to hold his weight upright.
Then you lean in.
The first touch of your lips makes him gasp, his hips jerking up involuntarily.
You go slow, teasing him, swirling your tongue around the head, catching every drop of pre cum.
You want him to feel every sensation, to realize exactly what he's been missing. You take him in deep, inching slowly as your throat tightens around him, and the sound that leaves him is raw and broken.
"Spirits, please..." He moans, his fingers digging harshly into the sheets.
"Do you like this, Aang?" You murmur against him, pulling back enough to look up at him.
"Do you like how I take care of you?"
You let the question hang in the air, your tongue slowly tracing the length of him again, making him whine that sweet, broken sound that tells you exactly how close he is.
You can feel the way he's trembling beneath your touch, his breath coming in shallow, uneven hitches.
"Shh, I know," You whisper against him, your lips barely brushing the sensitive skin.
"I've got you, Aang. Let me take care of you."
You keep your movements agonizingly slow.
You drag your tongue up and down, teasing the ridge with just enough pressure to make his hips twitch involuntarily before you pull back.
You want him suspended here right on the edge of conflict and emotion, hoping it might bring out some of his truth out with it.
His hand moves, finding the top of your head.
His fingers tangle in your hair, not pulling you but holding you there, grounded by the contact.
"You're...you're making it so hard," He chokes out, his eyes squeezed shut, his head lulling back and forth.
"Is it too much?" You murmur, your voice dripping with fake concern as you take him deeper.
You swirl your tongue around the tip, and the sound he makes, that wrecked, desperate whimper is better than any confession he could have given you.
You keep your pace steady, your eyes never leaving his face as you watch him whimper breathlessly.
You lean back to press a soft kiss to his inner thigh, your lips barely grazing him, and hear him catch his breath sharply.
"Please..." He pleads, his voice cracking. "I don't... I don't know how to "
"It's okay," You interrupt softly, your hands sliding up his thighs to feel the taut muscle there.
"Just feel it, Aang. Just feel how good this is."
You go back down, your tongue working in slow, deliberate circles, teasing the sensitive skin just below the head.
When his hips buck upward, nearly meeting you halfway, you pause, pulling back once again to look up at him through your lashes.
His chest is heaving, his skin flushed, those arrowhead on his hand flexing as he dug into the bedding.
"Do you want more?" You ask, your voice a velvet trap.
He can't even find words.
He just nods, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back.
You take him in deep, your throat tightening around him, letting out a soft, satisfied hum as you feel him shudder underneath you.
You keep it slow, tantalizingly close to the edge, making him feel every single second of it.
You pull away abruptly, the sudden absence of your warmth making him let out a pathetic, wounded hiss through his teeth.
You can't help the laugh that escapes you as you watch his hand leave your head and meet the mattress again, eyes glazed over and unfocused.
"You said earlier you've done this before," You state, moving your hand to resume that slow, torturous slide up and down his length.
"Did she not do this...?"
Aang shakes his head, his entire body betraying him as a fresh bead of pre cum wells at the tip.
He doesn't know you already know. He doesn't know you've already heard the truth, and you savor that.
"What did you do then?" You ask, your voice dripping with faux innocence.
"I...I used my fingers on her..." He trails off, his blush deepening to a feverish red that stains his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
"Then I tried to..."
"Go on..." You encourage, stopping your hand entirely.
You watch the way his breath hitches at the sudden lack of friction, his hips twitching upward instinctively.
"I used my mouth..." He chokes out, his voice barely audible. "But she didn't like it..."
"Not everyone enjoys it." You say with a gentle shrug.
"It difficult, being so exposed to the person you like..." Trailing off, you wait for a nuance, but his breathless gasps continue.
"Had she asked you to do it?"
"No..." He says immediately, the word tumbling out with a touch of guilt.
"I just...I didn't want it to hurt her when we..."
You pout.
"How sweet of you, Aang," You coo, resuming the rhythmic movement of your hand.
His hips jerk in place, his breath hitching as he fights to keep it together.
"And then what happened?"
"Then we did... it." He groans, his eyes fluttering shut.
"Is she still in your life?" You question, watching to see if he would finally admit it.
"We never spoke about it after..."
"Oh, you poor thing..." You murmur, letting go of him entirely as you move upward to wrap your arms around him.
You press your face into the crook of his neck, feeling the rapid thudding of his heart.
"I would never deny you like that, Aang. Never."
The silence stretches and the weight of your words fall thick around you.
Then, slowly, hesitantly, his arms come around you. His touch is almost reverent, his fingers curling into your back as he pulls you flush against him.
"Thank you..." He whispers into your hair, so quiet you almost miss it.
You pull back to look him in the eyes, your expression a mask of perfect, gentle understanding.
"Would you like to...try it with me?"
He doesn't hesitate this time. He nods, his grey eyes focused on yours with a look of surprising relief.
"Okay." You say, your smile widening just a fraction too far to be entirely innocent.
"I think we can skip a step, since you've already used your fingers earlier tonight. Not that I'm opposed." You give a gentle wink, making him shyly avert his gaze.
The air in the room feels like it might combust from the sheer, unadulterated tension as you slide off his lap, the movement agonizingly slow.
The sound of your skirt hitting the floor is the only thing breaking the silence, followed by the sight of your soaked underwear being peeled away.
Aang's breath hitches audibly as he watches you maneuver onto the bed.
His eyes drop to where you're sitting back against the pillows, legs spreading open to reveal everything to him, glistening and swollen in the dim light.
He looks completely undone.
He crawls forward on his knees, hovering over you like he's approaching something sacred, his hands trembling as they ghost over your thighs.
When his thumb finally makes contact, pressing against your already swollen folds, you can't help it that sharp hiss escapes your teeth.
"Hahh!"
You arch slightly, your fingers digging into the bedsheets.
You look down at him through your lashes, voice breathless and strained.
"Do you...know what to do?"
Aang shakes his head, his face flushed a deep, burning red.
He looks absolutely terrified to mess this up, yet the need in his eyes is undeniable.
Without waiting for another word, he leans forward, his tongue darting out to taste you.
The contact makes your hips jerk upward, and when he pulls back, a long, broken moan tears from your throat.
You can feel the heat radiating off him, the sheer desperation in his movements.
"That's okay..." You say, your voice dropping into as devastatingly sweet, encouraging tone.
You reach down, your palm cupping his cheek, forcing him to look up at you while his mouth is still wet from you.
The arrow on his head catches the light, his pupils dilated and hazy with need.
"I...I will help you..."
You slide your hand over his head, guiding him back down, pressing him closer until his lips meet you again.
Under your hand, you can feel the way he shudders, gasping against you as he finally lets himself lose control, his tongue working with a clumsy, earnest passion that makes your vision blur.
The way he's looking at you right now dazed and flushed, is better than any orgasm.
You reach down, your fingers spreading his lips apart just slightly so you can guide his face, your voice dropping into a low and instructional tone.
"No, not like that..." You mumble, your thumb grazing his bottom lip.
"Lower. Right...there."
You push him down, your hips tilting instinctively toward the contact. When his tongue finds the swollen nub of your clit, you let out a sharp, broken gasp that makes him jerk back.
"Slow down, Aang. Use the flat of your tongue. Don't...don't be so frantic."
He obeys instantly, his movements cautious and devout as if he's afraid he might get the same reaction he got last time.
But you can feel the desperation beneath his hesitation, the way his fingers curl into the flesh of your thighs, knuckles white.
You guide his head with your hands, showing him exactly how you want to be touched long, slow strokes that make your whole body tense, then quick, teasing laps that make your breath hitch.
"Yes...just like that,... You pant, your voice making the short hairs at the nape of his neck stand up.
"Oh Aang...! You're doing so good. So good for me..."
The praise is clearly working; you feel him adjust, his tongue finding a rhythm that makes your toes curl.
You can feel him watching you through his lashes, studying your face for every twitch of your lips and every stuttered breath.
You want him to see exactly what he's doing to you, to witness the way his tongue is pleasuring you unimaginably.
You tilt your head back and whisper his name like a mantra.
"That's it, Aang! Just like that...You're doing so well for me!"
You let your head fall back against the pillows, your breath coming in shallow, staggered gasps as you guide him. Your hand is gently pressing his face closer whenever he hesitates, whenever he pulls back to look at you with those wide, uncertain eyes.
"There...keep going—!" You moan, your hips tilting up of their own accord. "Right there!"
The ragged sound he makes when he's trying to be careful is more intoxicating than any physical sensation.
Every time your soft instructions pull a whimper from him, a spike of triumph shoots through you.
He's being so careful. So incredibly gentle with you, his tongue moving with a hesitant reverence that makes your stomach flip. He's trying to learn you, trying so hard to do this right, and the sheer vulnerability of it is what finally breaks you.
You did it.
You eyes flutter shut as another wave of pleasure rolls through you.
You actually did it.
The thought is more intoxicating than the sex itself.
The realization that you've dismantled the Avatar, stripped away the hero and the monk until all that's left is this raw, exposed boy who is so desperately trying to please you...it's better than anything you could have imagined when you started this a day ago.
"Y-you're doing so good..." You whisper the genuine praise that makes him shudder. His tongue sweeps again, longer this time, more confident, and you can't help the way your thighs tighten around his face, pulling him in.
"Just like that, Aang. Don't stop. Don't you dare stop...!"
You listen to the wet, slurping sounds of him working on you, the way he swallows every moan you let out, and you feel that possessive heat blooming in your chest.
He's not yours yet.
Not entirely.
But you can feel the shift in him.
The way he's clinging to you, the way he's listening to you.
When he finally presses his face harder against you, his breath hot against your damp skin, and you feel that first surge of your orgasm building.
You meet him halfway, your hips arching up, your fingers digging into his skin as you whisper his name like a prayer.
"That's it...oh spirits, Aang..."
You watch him through heavy eyelids, the way his jaw works, the way his eyes go unfocused as he feels you writhe under him.
And you realize that you're already planning how to make him do this again.
And again.
And again.
Until he doesn't even remember what it was like when you weren't the only thing he wanted to please.
"Aang, I'm—!" The words catch in your throat as a wave of pleasure begins to build harshly. "I'm going to—!"
"I've got you..." He mumbles against your skin, his voice thick and unrecognizable.
He presses his face into you, his tongue working with a sudden, focused intensity that shatters your last thread of control.
Your orgasm hits like a physical blow, your entire body going rigid as you cry out his name, sinking your fingers into his scalp as you come apart beneath him.
You feel him catch every drop, his tongue sweeping over you with a greedy thoroughness that leaves you shaking and breathless.
When you finally slump back, your chest heaving, your skin slick with sweat, he pulls back to look up at you.
His face is feverish, his lips wet, and his eyes are completely glazed with something that looks terrifyingly close to worship.
"Was that..." He starts, his voice cracking.
"Was that okay?"
You can't even find the words to tell him it was better than perfect.
You just reach down, your fingers trembling as you cup his face, pulling him back up for a kiss that tastes of you and him.
You guide his back to the pillows with gentle pressure from your hands on his shoulders, watching the way he settles beneath you, all broad shoulders and lean muscles, his tattooed arms splayed out like he's surrendering to something inevitable.
He looks utterly wrecked, his breathing still coming in ragged puffs, his gaze following your every movement with a mix of curiosity and unadulterated terror.
"I've got you..." You assure, your voice like honey as you straddle his hips.
You do not rush it.
You don't even move to come down on him yet.
You just sit there, your knees on either side of his thighs, feeling the heat radiating off him.
"Just breathe, Aang. Look at me."
His gaze snaps up to yours, so wide and vulnerable.
You reach down, your thumb grazing over his lips to wipe the remnants of your pleasure, and he lets out a choked sound when you touch him.
"Shh..." You coo, leaning forward until your breasts brush his chest, your nipples grazing against his skin.
"I'm going to be so careful with you. I promise."
When you finally lower yourself down, the way he gasps a broken, shattered sound that rips straight through your chest is almost enough to make you stop.
But you don't.
You sink down slowly, agonizingly slow, taking him in inch by inch.
You watch his eyes pull open before screwing shut the next second, his head falling back into the pillows as you fill yourself completely. You can feel his hands hovering just above your waist, trembling, wanting to grab you but terrified to do so.
"That's it..." You moan, your voice thick with the pleasure he's giving you.
"Oh Aang...you feel so good."
You start to move, but it's not fast. No matter how desperate you were, you do not pick up your pace.
You move slow, grinding back and forth on him.
You're taking your time, riding him with a languid motion that forces him to feel every single corner of you. You lean forward and whisper in his ear.
"Tell me what you want me to do, Aang. Tell me how you want me."
"I..." He swallows hard, his hands finally coming to rest on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with a desperation that makes your smile.
"I want you to...just like that. Please." His sentence was incomplete, but you understood plenty.
You let out a throaty moan, arching your back as you grind down on him, your moans getting louder, more shameless.
You want him to hear it. You want him to hear exactly what he's doing to you. You press your palms flat against his chest, feeling his heart hammering like a trapped bird beneath your touch.
"You're so beautiful..." You whisper, your voice trembling with genuine awe as your eyes brim with tears.
"My perfect, beautiful Aang."
The way he says your name after, in that broken, wrecked manner is when you know you've really done it.
You've broken him open.
And as you find your rhythm, as you ride him with the motive to give him that devastating pleasure, you know you're never letting him go.
You lean forward, as you press your chest against his, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Your fingers find your own aching heat, working in a rhythmic counterpoint.
Aang is completely lost now, his head lolling back, his throat working around a broken moan as you guide him toward the edge.
"Aang..." You whisper against his skin, your breath hot making him shudder. You pull back, looking at him softly as you ghost your lips over his.
"I need you to...I need you to let go. Just like that. For me."
His fingers press into your waist with strength.
His eyes find yours, and for a moment, you finally see it.
The moment he decides to stop fighting.
When it happens, it's so beautiful.
You feel his entire body seize beneath you, his hips arching off the mattress as he finally breaks.
You don't even flinch when he gasps your name with a sob, pressing yourself down hard, grinding against him, ensuring every single drop of him is claimed.
You take it all, swallowing his release with a greedy, possessive whimper, your own orgasm crashing over you in that leaves you trembling.
You stay there for a long time, collapsed against his chest, listening to the frantic, uneven thudding of his heart.
You can feel the warmth of him still inside you, a thrumming weight that makes your stomach flip with triumph.
Slowly, you pull back. His eyes are still blown wide, staring at the ceiling with a look of complete, hollowed out shock.
He's breathing hard, his skin flushed, the arrow on his head a stark against his pale skin.
He looks utterly shattered, completely undone by you.
"Aang?" you whisper, your voice innocent.
He doesn't answer. He just lies there, staring, still taking long inhales through his nose.
You know exactly what you've done.
You've crossed a line he can never uncross.
You've claimed him in the most irreversible way, and you did it while making him think it was his choice.
"Oh, Aang..." You murmur, your hand coming up to stroke his cheek, your thumb tracing the curve of his lower lip.
"You were so good. So perfect."
His eyelashes flutter, and for a moment, you think he might cry. Then, his hand moves slow, hesitant and rests against your thigh. It's not a push away. It's still there.
“Weren’t you…supposed to…move?” he managed to choke out eventually, his eyes searching yours while you stared back at him in confusion.
For a moment, you genuinely had no idea what he meant.
So you simply waited for him to explain himself.
Except he never actually said it.
Instead, his attention dropped lower, landing where your bodies were still pressed together intimately, and realization hit you almost instantly.
You giggle, lowering your chest to his, as you hold him.
"I wanted it." You confess softly, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to his temple.
"I wanted you. All of you."
You stay there, wrapped around him, waiting.
Waiting for the moment he realizes he can't go back.
Waiting for the moment he accepts he's yours.
And as you feel him exhale, a long, shuddering breath that dissolves into that of relief, you know.
You've already won.
Months later, sometimes you still thought about the look on Katara's face when you and Aang announced not only that you were together, but that the wedding would follow two months later.
You had not enjoyed it.
That was perhaps the cruelest part of all this.
Beneath the jealousy, the selfishness, beneath the quiet satisfaction curling inside your chest, Katara had still been your friend.
The sight of her standing there so perfectly composed while grief leaked through the cracks of her face had filled you with immediate guilt.
But guilt did not undo anything.
She had her chance, and she let it pass her by with trembling hands and too much hesitation.
You had been offered the very same thing only once, and you had taken it without allowing yourself enough time to think twice.
That alone had decided everything.
It did not matter now anyway.
The damage had already settled itself between all of you.
You still saw them, of course.
Toph remained unchanged, thankfully immune to awkwardness, still insulting you with the same affection she always had.
Zuko treated everything with neutrality, though every now and then you would catch the faintest exhaustion in his eyes whenever tension filled the room for too long.
But Sokka had grown quieter around both of you, his easy laughter no longer arriving naturally, while Suki watched situations unfold with patience, refusing to interfere.
And Katara—
Katara tried.
Spirits, she really tried.
Yet there was only so much grace a person could carry before it started collapsing under its own weight.
The worst part was that none of them even lived in Republic City anymore except for her.
Despite it, you moved to the city.
You had promised Aang you would, and unlike everyone else, you never made promises to him you did not intend to keep.
The pregnancy had complicated things almost immediately.
Explaining why your stomach had already begun rounding before the wedding was difficult enough, though the true horror came when four months into your marriage you could no longer disguise it beneath layered robes and loose fabric.
People counted months cruelly.
Especially your own friends.
Still, none of them said anything directly.
Not even Katara.
Marriage itself settled around you strangely fast.
Domestic life came naturally, and it unexpected how easily your fell into it.
Slipping into place piece by piece until you could no longer imagine waking without Aang somewhere nearby.
Though 'nearby' often meant temporary.
He was gone more than he was home, forever chasing disasters across nations, disappearing on Appa before sunrise whenever the duties of the Avatar demanded him elsewhere.
Sometimes he would return exhausted enough to barely stay awake through dinner before collapsing beside you still half dressed.
Other nights he came home restless, carrying the weight of too many people needing too much from him all at once.
But whenever he was home, he loved you openly.
That was what mattered most.
By the seventh month of your pregnancy, Aang had developed the habit of kneeling in front of you every evening, pressing his ear against your stomach with complete seriousness while the twins shifted violently beneath your skin.
"They're arguing again." He would say thoughtfully.
You laughed every single time.
"They are not arguing."
"They definitely are. This one keeps kicking the other."
"They must have inherited your inability to sit still."
Aang only grinned before pressing another kiss against your stomach, completely unbothered by your jokes.
He was convinced both babies would be girls.
You remained certain one would be a boy.
Neither of you won.
The labor lasted nearly an entire night, leaving you exhausted beyond reason by the time the twins finally arrived screaming into the world shortly before dawn.
You gave birth to two boys.
Two impossibly tiny boys with lungs strong enough to wake half the district.
Aang cried harder than either of them did.
You would remember that forever.
The sight of him sitting beside you with one baby clutched awkwardly against his chest while the other rested in your arms, tears slipping down his face faster than he could wipe them away.
You knew he was overwhelmed by something too enormous to fit inside him.
They looked more like him than you from the very beginning.
Those very grey eyes. His nose. Their pale skin that scrunched impossibly whenever they cried too hard.
You could feel it already, that they would be very powerful.
He held those boys carefully, almost fearfully, as though he could not quite believe they were real.
Late at night when both children finally slept against his chest, you would catch him staring at them quietly with distant thoughts clouding his face.
"What's wrong?" You asked once.
Aang blinked before smiling faintly.
"Nothing."
But afterward, his hand drifted instinctively toward one of the babies, thumb brushing softly over the tiny arrow hidden beneath wisps of pale hair.
And suddenly you understood.
After all, you had not simply become his wife.
You had become the future of the Air Nomads.
The only future left.
Months later, late at night. you would often find yourself curled against Aang’s side in bed while the twins slept against his chest, tiny bodies rising and falling steadily.
Something deep in Aang seemed to settle whenever the twins were in his arms. The sight softened something deep inside him every single time.
“What’s wrong?” You asked once after catching him staring at them for far too long, distant thoughts clouding his face while one of the babies slept soundly beneath his chin.
Aang blinked before smiling faintly.
“Nothing.”
You leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss against his shoulder before settling back into his side again, one hand moving instinctively to pat the back of the baby resting on his chest while Aang carefully adjusted the other higher against him.
Then, after a while, his hand drifted absentmindedly toward one of the twins, fingertips brushing softly through the wisps of hair on his head just as a tiny gust of air stirred weakly around the tiny blankets.
The movement was small, but it made you go completely still.
Because suddenly, you understood.
After all, you had not simply become his wife.
You had become the future of the Air Nomads.
The only future left.
a/n: i laughed OUT LOUD on many occasions as i was editing it. but i still like it very much. so, i will sit in my shame like the clown that i am.
