Erenshotgf

[ TAGS ] — MDNI 18+ ONLY. NSFW. fwb. piv. raw. OVULATION. needy reader. EXHIBITIONISM. creampie. PUBLIC SEX. spanking. POSSESSIVE SUKUNA. CAUGHT. spitting. slight degradation. DUMBIFICATION. slight angsttt. dacryphilia. fingering. scent kink. overstim. wc: 14.6k

sukuna knows women. he knows how to please them. how to make them moan, whine, cry. but knowing how to please a woman doesn’t mean he knows women. aka a woman’s cycle. in simple terms, sukuna has mainly grown up with men, his gramps, his brothers, toji — all he knows is a girl has a period, but he has never bothered to stay with a girl long enough to actually address her period.

well until his fuck buddy, you, open your door for him.

his arm wraps around your waist, tugging you towards his chest, lips locking with yours in moments. “Mmm,” he groans, tongue pushing past your lips, just to feel you press a hand to his chest. your lips break, air filling his lungs in disdain, eyes narrowing at you for pushing him away.

“you didn’t text me, dude,” you say, letting him pull away to drop his backbag on the floor, plastic bag in hand as he kicks his shoes off.

Sukuna’s developed an irritating habit. Whenever he’s fed up with you, or whenever he doesn’t want to entertain one of your questions, he’ll simply stay quiet and gesture towards his stomach. It’s kind of like saying ‘talk to the hand’. But in his case, it’s ‘talk to the stomach mouth’. 

Then his stomach mouth will shoot you this wide, smug grin, like it’s more than happy to converse with you. And you’ll just toss up your hands and groan, annoyed that your husband won’t even bother to speak with you face to face. 

But recently you've taken Sukuna up on his offer, turning the tables to give him the silent treatment while still chatting away with his stomach. Because Sukuna underestimated just how much that mouth of his likes to rile someone up. Even if it’s the rest of his body. 

Now, Sukuna’s lounging on the bed, limbs draped carelessly along the mattress. He’s trying to feign indifference. Trying to pretend he’s unphased by the fact that you haven’t spoken to him in four whole days. 

But you know better. You see the slight clench in his jaw, the scowl that deepens on his face each time he steals a look your way. He watches as you sit by the window, gazing at the scenery outside. 

When the silence stretches on longer than he can bear, Sukuna sets his pride aside to clear his throat and ask, “Are you still doing this?” 

You don’t even spare him a glance, continuing to look out the window. “Middle Mouth,” you say, “will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I have no idea what he’s talking about?”

Sukuna scoffs in disbelief, but that mouth of his flashes its teeth and singsongs, “Sukunaaaa. She doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I heard you,” Sukuna huffs, speaking to you instead of his stomach.

He hates this whole situation. Hates that you're not speaking with him. Hates that you’ve given his stomach mouth a nickname. And he hates that the mouth is entertaining it at all. 

 His jaw clenches once more, and he sighs before saying, “You’re ignoring me.” 

He’s not wrong. For almost a week, you’ve been avoiding your husband, refusing to interact or even look at any part of him other than his stomach maw. But despite all of his sulking and sour moods, you act as if nothing is amiss.

“Middle Mouth, will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I am not ignoring him. You and I just had a lovely conversation, didn’t we?”

“Sukunaaaa,” the mouth singsongs again. “She isn’t ignoring you…well, me.” That grin returns, and you can’t help but let out a quiet laugh. Why didn’t you start speaking with your husband’s stomach mouth sooner? He really is entertaining.

“Stop that. Don’t humor her,” Sukuna scolds.

“Middle Mouth, you can converse with me as you please.”

“I intend to,” his maw replies. 

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, but he’s not sure whether to direct his glare at you or his abdomen. “How long do you intend to keep up these antics?”

You brush an imaginary piece of lint from your clothes and say, "Middle Mouth, please inform the rest of Sukuna that I’m still waiting on a proper apology from him." 

“I’m warning you, do not–”

“Sukunaaaa. She is waiting for a proper apology from you.”

Sukuna stares murderously down at his lower half. He’s finally met his match. The only ‘enemy’ that he can’t silence by force. Himself. 

And secretly, you think that he slightly enjoys that you’re speaking with his stomach mouth. It shows him that despite this silent treatment, you still desire some form of communication with him. 

So he’ll put up with the teasing, the inside jokes, and the fact that his wife is being stolen by his own body.

You decide to press your luck a little bit further, and say something you know will send your husband over the edge. “Middle Mouth–”

“Not again,” Sukuna groans, tossing his head back.

“Do you remember what I told you? What we talked about last night?”

“What?!?" Sukuna demands, sitting up abruptly and sending the covers around him flying.

“Oh, I remember,” his maw says, immediately grinning and playing into it. 

“Well, I was thinking about it and–”

“Why are you speaking with my wife at night?”

“Our wife. And what we discuss during late hours does not concern you.” 

“Anyways, as I was telling you, Middle Mouth, before I was rudely interrupted–”

“No. This ends now."

In seconds, Sukuna’s beside you, all 7 feet of him towering over you intimidatingly. He rubs a hand across his jaw, like he has to physically force the words out of his mouth. “I.. apologize for not answering when you asked me which of my cocks I urinate from.”

“…”

“The answer is both of them.”

Immediately, your mood lifts. You turn away from the window, smiling and facing your husband like nothing was ever wrong. “Apology accepted.” And then to his stomach mouth, “We’ll continue our conversation later.” 

sukuna was tired of the bitchy girls he always had to deal with — wether they were from a one night stand or a girl that got hooked from his flirty antics, it always ends the same way — he rejects them and they run off to start rumors.

so yeah, he was done with girls. okay,maybe not completely, he still had some late night fucks after a party, but not without making clear that's where it ends. but other than that, he basically quit the game.

imagine his surprise when he fell in love with a stranger not even a week after that. yes, you heard that right, he the playboy himself fell in love. no less than with a girl he didn't even know before.

it wasn't an extraordinary day or night, just their usual frat parties where half the campus would come to drink or make out with someone. except this time, his eyes landed on a woman who couldn't look more out of place — even while being dressed up all pretty, a look on her face like she couldn't wait to get back home.

if someone told him that not even ten minutes after spotting you, he would have a conversation about how he had the perfect nipple atonomy for piercings, he would laugh or look at them like they were crazy. except this time, he's not laughing.

"i'm serious, have you never thought about it? they are like the perfect size and color." he's unsure how to respond — he's not even sure if he should answer at all.

"...no? i mean maybe? like one or two times." his usual confident, flirty voice falters, like it's the first time a girl talks to him without showering him in compliments. like he's expecting you to laugh it off and tell him you're joking.

well, you're not. "you probably should, dude. but don't let the same piercer as the one who did your eyebrow piercing do it. it's really off center." sukuna takes in second to replay your words in his head, and when they finally connect, he looks like he aged ten years.

"excuse me?"

you don't seem to notice his passive aggressive tone, or you just blatantly chose to ignore it. "yeah it should be way over here. yours almost looks like an centered one." you apparently also don't notice the way he genuinly flinches when you reach to point with your finger at the right placement.

he doesn't even try to look or understand where you're poking him — he's just looking at you with a dumbfounded expression. and god knows why, he felt fucking butterflies in his stomach, a warm feeling spreading in his chest.

there's just no way he, out of all people is feeling a spark because a girl is criticising his uneven piercing. he pushes the thoughts aside and a small smirk forms on his lips. "you know, that's not how i thought the conversation was gonna go."

and bless your heart, because you genuinly have no idea what's strange about this conversation. "oh, i'm sorry, did you want to talk about something else?" you sound extremly worried all of a sudden, like you didn't mean to hurt his feelings.

your strange personality doesn't seem to shy away the man infront of you — no, he's even more intrigued now. "how come i don't know the name of such a pretty girl?" it's supposed to be flirty, but sukuna should probaly have known better.

"that's probably because we never talked before. usually people tell you their name when you meet for the first time. otherwise people may think you're stalking them because that's kinda creepy knowing someone's name without asking y'know. but i know you're sukuna, not because im some weirdo who's stalking you it's just you're known as the community dick no offense intended."

the more you ramble on the more sukuna looks like any hope he had to take you to his room left his eyes. he probably should've known you wouldn't take the hint — definetly his fault. after a second of processing your speech his eyebrows shoot up in a mix of confusion and offense?

"...community dick?" his mouth open and closes like he wants to add something to his queestion but he has no idea what to say. the worried look on your face returns for the second time this evening, realising you're talking before thinking.

"no, yes, kind of? there's like nothing wrong if you like pleasuring women , actually that's like really nice of you, it's kinda empowering y'know like feminist and all."

any sign of seriousness leaves his expression and a rare sight for the fratking — a genuine laugh escaping him at your poor attempt of sweet talking yourslef out of calling him a slut.

there aren't many moments where sukuna actually really laughs when talking to girls — a charming smile being all it takes for most to drop their panties.however, it seemed like you had no interest in dropping anything at all.

except for your drink.

right on his bare chest.

it was an accident — truly, someone shoved you off balance and your drink spilled right on his abs, the sudden cold liquid making him hiss at the contact.

his eyes look down at his muscles seeing them drenched in a sticky substance, the alcohol making it's way down to wet his pants.

you gasp, hand covering your mouth. "oh my god — i'm so sorry. there are like no napkins anywhere near— wait i have an idea." he's about to tell you it's no big deal, he was shirtless after all — he could just jump into the pool or whatever but he stops dead in his tracks when you bend down.

right until you're face to face with his stomach.

he's about to ask you what you're doing — but freezes instead the moment your tongue darts out to lick the drink. "wh-what are you doing?" he sounds genuinely at a loss of words. you only answer after making sure no liquid would have time to go under his pants. "all good! your pants are totally save now no worries."

well he is worried — just not about his pants, but the boner he hopes you won't notice. he's unsure if this was supposed to be some kind of seducing tactic — but looking at your innocent expression he discards that idea. you really had just licked a man who you met ten minutes ago and looked like you had no idea how it looked to anyone watching.

there's a rare pink tint at the tips of his ears and he opens his mouth to say anything — but closes it once he realises he has no clue what to say. he also really doesn't know if he should feel as turned on as he is.

"thank you..?" it comes out like a question, like he's unsure if he should be thanking you. you're either ignoring his bewildered expression or you just don't even notice it at all.

"you're welcome. no prob." there's a moment of silence, neither of you knowing what to say until he breaks it.

"so is there a chance i can get your number?" to make sure you understand where he's going with this he adds, " romantically."

COGNITIVE DISSONANCE.

❤︎ SYNOPSIS: your boyfriend katsuki gets hit by a quirk, and splits into two versions of himself. this bodes both beautifully and horribly for you.

❤︎ CONTENT: boyfriend!katsuki, pro hero!katsuki, kat is actually lowk an asshole, light choking, making out, lots of petnames (sweetheart, princess, baby), cunnilingus (ew—that word), fingering, technical threesome, squirting … 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.

❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: alternatively, y/n vs both of katsuki’s brain cells. also ty sm to @kamislop for beta reading !

♫ NOW PLAYING: what you want, angéle ft justice

read on ao3 | 3.9k words | masterlist.

“BABY, ‘M HOME!”

“Shut the fuck up—loud as shit, my God.”

“…We have explosions for hands.”

“And I said what I fuckin’ said!”

You hear the familiar jingle of Katsuki’s boots at the front door. Except, there’s double the sound there should be—louder belt clanking, extra foot stomping—and, at first, you think he’s brought back a friend. Probably Eijirō, maybe Izuku. But, as you leave the shared bedroom to the sound of the front door slamming shut, you remember the call you received from his redheaded bestie about an hour ago.

“Okay, I’d like to preface this with everything is fine, Kat is safe and unharmed—well. As unharmed as he can be, but, like—”

“Eijirō, you’re stressing me out.”

“Sorry—sorry! I, uh, just wanted to give you a heads up that he’s coming home early. He got hit with a quirk, and like—again, he’s fine, and Recovery Girl said he’d just have to wait it out, but. Just a heads up.”

Yeah. Vague as hell, and now, you understand why.

Either you’re going insane, or your eye sight is deteriorating with a quickness, or both—because once you reach the entrance to welcome your boyfriend home, you’re seeing double.

What. The fuck.

chapter 4 : i can be different

pairing // gojo x fem!reader

warnings // MDNI!, toxic gojo x toxic fem reader, college au, angst, slow burn, friends to lover to.. whatever the fuck this is, emotional unavailability, self-sabotage, unhealthy coping mechanisms, lots of drinking and weed, attachment issues, codependency, miscommunication, angst no comfort, maybe sort of comfort if you squint, jealousy, messy situationships, anxiety, depression, low self-esteem, smut, rated M! no minors!, honestly everyone needs therapy

word count: 15.5k (oops)

this chapter was inspired by: mirrors by jhene aiko

author's note: done at last! im starting a taglist so pls comment or send me a message if you want me to add youuu

story masterlist | chapter three | chapter five

4:37 am.

The large flatscreen in Gojo and Geto's basement casts a soft glow through the otherwise dark room, the muted light flickering over everyone sprawled across the oversized sectional in various positions.

You lie still, Clara curled against your side, her arms wrapped around you as she sleeps. A slight wince crosses your face when you feel the faint dampness of her drool soaking into your shoulder.

You glance down at her with pursed lips but don't dare move. As much as you wanted to slip away upstairs, waking Clara meant she'd almost certainly insist on following you, and you absolutely were not going to let that happen.

Gojo and Geto had disappeared upstairs some time ago after the movie ended, presumably so they could sleep in their actual beds instead of trying to squeeze onto the already overcrowded couch.

Bzz-Bzz!

Your hand flies faster than your brain can register as you snatch your phone up, cursing yourself for the noise your nails make as they scratch against the couch cushion.

The harsh brightness of your phone sends a dull pain through the back of your eyeballs as you pull open your messages.

blue eyed freak: ‘come upstairs’

A rush of adrenaline settles beneath your ribs as you inhale sharply. You glance down at Clara one more time before slowly, carefully slipping out of her grasp.

She stirs, your breath catching as your body freezes. Luckily, she lets out a sleepy sigh before pulling a throw pillow against her chest and snuggling into it instead.

You wait another beat, then glance around the room to make sure everyone else is still asleep before finally letting out a quiet breath.

When you make it upstairs, you're surprised to find the house spotless, every trace of the previous night's chaos completely gone.

“There you are.”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of Gojo's voice behind you.

Spinning around, you're met with the sight of him leaning casually against the stair railing, his arms crossed over his bare chest. The soft glow of the moonlight drifting in from the nearby window catches against his fair skin, his white hair falling softly over his face.

This man was too fine.

Your eyes shamelessly wander over the defined lines of his abs before tracing higher, lingering on the flex of his biceps and forearms. You wet your lips absentmindedly as your gaze finally meets his.

He's already watching you.

Amusement flickers across his face, softened by something quieter.

“Come 'ere.”

Your feet move automatically, your body drawn toward him as though by instinct. The moment you stop in front of him, his hands find your hips without hesitation, pulling you gently but firmly against him.

“Hi.” he smiles.

“Hi.” you giggle and smile back, your eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

The shots you'd taken the night before still lingered in your system, leaving your limbs and eyelids feeling weighed down, but there was no way in hell you were going to pass up the rare opportunity to have him all to yourself.

It still caught you off guard just how much taller than you he was. He had to lower his head to rest his forehead against yours, his broad frame dwarfing your own as he clung to you.

“You tired?” he mumbled, his lips just barely ghosting over yours.

“Yeah.” 

“Mm.” he hums and rubs his thumbs along the soft skin of your torso that your top couldn’t cover.

You contemplate closing the small distance between you and pressing your lips to his. It would have been so easy, but something in the back of your mind tells you not to. Tells you to wait and see what he does. To find out if he wanted you as much as he had made it seem.

“Let’s go to my room.” he steps back, much to your dismay, and gently takes your hand, leading you down the long hallway behind him.

“I've got some pajamas you can borrow,” he says, glancing back at you with a small smile, “and a toothbrush, if you need one.”

“Okay.” you let him lead you through the dark hallway, your hand resting comfortably in his as anticipation swirled through your chest, growing stronger with every step you took.

His room was massive, easily half the size of yours and Clara's apartment. The only light came from a small lamp on his nightstand, casting a warm glow over the modern furniture.

As soon as you stepped inside, he quietly closed the door behind you, the soft click of the lock echoing through the room. Crossing over to his dresser, he pulled out an oversized t-shirt before turning back to you.

“Here,” he said, holding it out, “you can wear this.”

You take it from him, your heart beating a little faster at the thought of wearing his clothes... and sleeping in his bed.

“Can I, uh... take a shower?” you ask, swallowing as you look up at him.

“Yeah, of course.” he smiles before walking into the adjoining room. “Come on.”

You follow him into what you quickly realize is the bathroom, lingering in the doorway as he reaches over to turn on the water, adjusting the temperature until steam begins to curl through the air.

“Twist it left for hot, right for cold,” he wipes the wetness from his hand onto his sweats, “I’ll wait out there for you.”

His eyes linger on you for just a moment before he offers a small smile and quietly pulls the door shut behind him.

You quickly strip out of your clothes and step beneath the warm spray, hoping the water will wash away the lingering buzz that had settled over you during the last couple of hours.

Stepping out of the shower, you brushed your teeth before drying yourself off. Once you were finished, you pulled on the oversized t-shirt he'd given you. It swallowed your frame whole, the hem falling just below the curve of your ass, meaning one wrong move and you would be on full display in front of him.

The thought lingered quietly in the back of your mind as you decided not to pull your underwear back on.

After giving yourself a once-over in the mirror, you take a steadying breath and turn towards the door.

The hinges creak softly as you ease it open.

Gojo is sprawled across his bed, one arm tucked behind his head while the other lazily scrolls through his phone.

At the sound of the door, his eyes lift immediately.

His gaze settles on you, drifting over the oversized shirt hanging from your frame before lingering for a beat too long on your bare thighs. 

You watch the movement of his thumb freeze against the screen, his adam's apple bobbing subtly as he swallows, and when his eyes finally find yours again, you see the way the darkness of his pupils has nearly swallowed his irises whole.

You shift your weight, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks.

“Uh... where should I put this towel?” you ask, clearing your throat. Suddenly, you were painfully aware of how naked you actually were in front of him.

“Just leave it by the door. I'll grab it later.” he wets his lips before setting his phone on the nightstand.

Then he stands.

Slowly.

His eyes never leave yours as he approaches you, stopping just close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

He looks down at you, leaning in until the soft warmth of his breath brushes against your face. Close enough to make your heart stutter.

“You can take the bed…” he says lowly, “I’ll take the guest room.” 

You blink, caught off guard by his words.

You can tell he's trying to be a gentleman, trying to give you an out if that's what you wanted. But the barely restrained longing swimming in his eyes betrays him completely, telling an entirely different story.

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips. 

It almost makes you laugh.

For all the confidence he carried, he'd willingly placed the decision in your hands.

“I want you to stay here…” you say, peering up at him through your lashes.

You watch the conflict flicker across his face, the restraint in his expression only making it more obvious how badly he wanted to touch you.

You silently urged him on, because for all the control he seemed determined to hand over to you, you really didn’t want to be the one to initiate. 

This came somewhat from nervousness, but mostly because a small part of you was still holding onto what happened the last time you found yourself alone in a bedroom with him.

He'd left you there high and dry before ghosting you for weeks after. 

If he really meant what he'd said—that he wanted to make it up to you—then he was going to do it, here and now. 

He lets out a sharp exhale before nodding. 

“Okay.”

You watch as he steps back toward the bed, pulling the comforter down before sliding beneath the covers. He pats the empty space beside him.

“Come on, sleepyhead.”

Your eyes narrow ever so slightly. A hundred different thoughts race through your mind, each one trying to make sense of why he wouldn't just give in already.

Was he shy?

Nervous?

Was he still caught up on her?...

You turn each possibility over in your mind as you climb into the sheets beside him. The mattress dips beneath your weight, and he leans across you to switch off the lamp before settling back onto his pillow.

Darkness blankets the room, full moon that shining through the windows.

There you lie, less than an inch apart. So close you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, and yet, somehow, you've never felt farther away.

You clasp your hands together over your stomach, your eyes fixed on the ceiling.

You try not to let your thoughts get the better of you, reminding yourself that it isn't you, that you're overthinking. But the reassurance does little to soothe the sharp pangs of insecurity creeping from your stomach into your chest.

Maybe he'd changed his mind.

Or maybe seeing you in his clothes reminded him of the one he truly wanted.

The thought hits hard enough that you immediately shove it away, mentally trying to stop yourself before you can tumble into the familiar trap of self-destruction.

Then, just as you're teetering on the edge of completely spiralling, you feel the mattress shift beside you.

You glance over.

Gojo is lying in the same position as you, staring up at the ceiling. But unlike you, his hand fidgets absentmindedly with a bracelet that sat around his wrist, turning it over and over between his fingers like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

As though he senses your stare, he turns his head to look at you.

Your breath catches the moment your eyes meet.

His expression is heavy, guarded in a way you haven't seen before, as though he's wrestling with something he can't quite put into words.

“Gojo?” you whisper and turn to face him, your gaze searching his face for any hint of what he's thinking.

For a long moment, he says nothing.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he rolls onto his side. One hand slowly comes to rest against the curve of your hip, his fingertips grazing your skin so lightly it sends a shiver racing through you.

Goosebumps bloom beneath his touch.

The warmth of his palm lingers where it rests against you. His fingers tense for the briefest moment before relaxing again, as though he's reminding himself to move carefully, giving you every opportunity to pull away if you wanted to.

He drags his palm further back over the swell of your ass, and you can audibly hear his breathing falter as he realizes you’re not wearing any underwear.

You’re frozen under his touch, your heart beating wildly and your core immediately burning as his fingers brush over the cleft between your cheeks.

“Call me Satoru…” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

The request settles deep, butterflies filling your chest at the familiarity calling him his first name brings.

Then, as though he'd finally run out of reasons to hold himself back, he closes the remaining distance between you, gently pressing his lips to yours.

Finally.

You kiss him back without hesitation, your lips meeting his as your hand instinctively comes to rest against his arm.

The gentle touch seems to unravel the last of his restraint.

He deepens the kiss, his movements expressing newfound certainty as he draws you closer, one hand sliding carefully to the middle of your back. A quiet gasp escapes you as the distance between your bodies disappears, his warmth surrounding you while his embrace steadies you against him.

It’s only then that you feel how hard he really was, his heavy bulge pressing against your thighs, dangerously close to your center.

“Satoru…” you pull away.

“Hm?” he chases after you, attaching his lips to your cheek, then down your jaw.

He’s fully grinding against you now, the hard ridges of his dick rubbing between your inner thighs, making your head cloudy with thoughts of only him.

“You sound so pretty when you say my name.” he says lowly.

Your mouth falls open in a quiet gasp, and he takes the opportunity to push his tongue against yours. He pulls your leg over his hip, pressing harder into you.

He barely pulls away to rest his forehead against yours, breathing hard. His hips continued to move in rough, deliberate circles against you, rubbing his arousal in a way that was both desperate and controlled.

“Tell me you want it,” he breathed against your mouth, “say you want me to fuck you.”

“I…I want you to fuck me Toru.” you whine.

“Yeah?” he growls, reaching for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up until your bare body is exposed.

He curses at the sight—the way your thighs curve into the wet-looking pucker of your pussy, the full swell of your breasts as they hang towards the mattress. His hands move down between your bodies without hesitation. 

You hear him inhale sharply through clenched teeth.

“Fuck…” he mutters, his fingers hovering just above your mound, not touching.

“Touch meee.” you whine and buck your hips forward, causing your clit to brush against his skin.

He finally moves his hand down further between your legs, pressing the pads of his middle and ring finger against your slit. 

He pushes them in, your walls sucking in their thickness as he brings his thumb to circle your clit in agonizingly slow strokes, each one deliberate, each one drawing a desperate sound from your throat. 

He doesn’t look away, watching you writhe against him, your back arching into his chest as your heel digs into his lower back.

“So wet for me already.” he murmured, voice wrecked.

“I n-need your cock…” you breathe out.

You feel him twitch violently in his sweats, a warm, sticky spot dragging over your sensitive flesh.

“Greedy.” he hisses as he curls his fingers inside you.

You were impossibly slick—coating his fingers with every wet sound echoing in the room.

“Oh shit…” you grip his arm tighter, digging your nails into his bicep.

His muscles clenched under your touch, his hand moving to fuck his digits into you deeper, immediately finding your g-spot and curling against it.

“Shit…” he sighs as your walls grip him tighter.

You protest as he pulls away, but it only lasts for a second before he shifts back to shove his sweatpants down just enough until he can kick them away. His cock springs free, heavy, flushed, and leaking pre cum against his stomach.

He looked massive between his thighs, the thick vein pulsing along the underside all the way up to his fat tip. 

It made your stomach drop.

“That’s not going to fit in me, Satoru.” you swallow. 

He moves back up against you, his length squished between your stomachs. He felt absolutely monstrous against your torso, sending a pang of fear and fresh excitement through you.

“Let me worry about that.” he grunts as he pulls your thigh higher up his side.

You’re completely opened up to him now, allowing him to push his length into the space between your legs, his tip rubbing over your clit. He slid easily through your folds, his blunt head parting your lips with every slow grind he made.

“You’re gonna wrap around me so perfectly, baby.” he moans.

“Just put it in already.” you hiss as you press your heel harder into his back.

He lets out a breathy chuckle, gripping your hip hard enough to bruise as he lines up against your slit. He presses forward, breaching your tight entrance. 

You gasp immediately at the stretch.

He was thick. Thicker than you initially thought, the head alone making your walls burn.

“Relax…” he breathes out. A choked groan falls from your lips as he pushes deeper. “Just breathe…let me in, baby.”

He seemed impossibly big as he forced his way into your gummy canal.

You both moan when he finally bottoms out. 

He gives you a minute to adjust, and you bring your lips to his, sucking his tongue into your mouth as you try to ignore the deep sting shooting through your center. You were spread open taut, your poor pussy clinging to every line and ridge of his hardness.

“I wanna be on top.” you breathe out after a moment.

“Fuck, okay.” he immediately pulls you closer and rolls over until you’re settled on top of him.

The new position pulls him impossibly deeper, his thick cock seated inside you, your clit pressing right against his lower stomach, the friction making your whole body burn.

His hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your ass cheeks as he positioning you exactly how he wants—sitting flush on his cock, impaled.

“Ride me.”

You look down at him as you begin grinding into his lap.

Your hips rolled down onto him, slow and shaky, dragging his thick length against every crevice of your inner walls. The feeling had you gasping, your clit rubbing perfectly against his pubic hairs. 

He was looking up at you with a look of pure adoration. 

Your grinding turns more erratic as your body opens up more to him, your stretched hole catching against his shaft each time you slide back and forth. The bed creaks lightly under your movements, his hands guiding you as you learned how to move around his size. 

Each roll of your hips brought a low groan from his chest, his head falling back against the pillows.

“There you go, baby…”

You bite your lip and lean forward, giving him a sloppy kiss as you shift your legs until your feet are planted flat on the bed—the shift in angle letting him hit that spot that made every nerve in your body tingle. 

His cock twitched violently inside you, his hands sliding from your ass to under your thighs.

“Fuck…yeah, like that.” he moans, “bounce on it, baby.”

You instantly move, your legs giving you the perfect leverage to bounce yourself up and down his cock, your soaking cunt turning the room into nothing but wet, desperate sounds. The smack of skin on skin gets louder as your choked whimpers cut through the air.

“That’s it,” his hands support your weight as you ride him, “take what you want.”

“Fuck Toru, you're fuckin’ deeeep…” you whine. 

He was balls deep, pressing into that place inside that made your whole body lock up. He brings one of his hands to splay over your lower stomach, his thumb reaching down to rub at your clit side to side.

“You’re taking it so good though, baby.” he smirks at you, licking his lips. His thumb pressed harder against your clit, causing you to cry out. 

“Oh shit!” you grip his wrist as you bring your hips harder down onto him.

Your thighs begin to burn as waves of pleasure and exhaustion crash through you.

“That’s it—don’t stop.” he snarls, his own hips rolling up to meet yours. 

Your knees finally fall forward, your legs unable to keep up the effort.

“Tired already?” he laughs before planting his own feet on the bed. His hips begin snapping up into you with harsh thrusts. 

The bed was shaking now, loud cries filling the room, as your tits bounced wildly in his face, brushing over his mouth and nose.

“Mmmphh.” his moans are muffled as he catches one of your hard nipples, his tongue and teeth sucking and biting as he fucks into you with wet plaps.

The noises your pussy was making would have been absolutely embarrassing if you weren’t losing your mind on his dick. He was digging into that one spot over and over, your face contorting in pleasure as you feel your orgasm building tighter and tighter.

“Gonna cummm.” you wheeze out between short rapid pants.

He brings his hands to grip your cheeks hard, pulling them apart so his heavy balls can slap against your puckered hole each time his hips meet yours.

“Let go then,” he moans, voice raw, “cum on my cock.” he thrusts up harder, chasing it with you.

Your orgasm peaks then crashes down violently, your walls seizing and spasming rhythmically around his cock. Sticky juices soak him completely and leak out around your stuffed hole. 

Your back arches into his chest, mouth falling open in a broken, silent scream as your thighs shake uncontrollably.

“There you go…” he groans, fucking you through it, guiding your body over him, “…good fucking girl…”

You collapse fully onto him, your body bouncing in his lap as he wraps his arms around your waist, using your hips to pull you down onto his cock, meeting each brutal slam of his hips.

“T-Toru! I-I’m too sensitive…” you squirm in his hold.

“Take that fucking dick.” he growls as he pistons his hips up sharply.

“I’ma cum again!” you sob, tears falling down your face at the overwhelming pleasure.

“Mmm, let it happen, baby...” he pants, slamming up harder, deliberately hammering that tender, abused spot.

Three more ruthless hits and you shatter again, your eyes rolling back as your nails sink into the skin of his shoulders.

You scream loudly this time, tensing as you coat his cock with a rush of hot slick.

As soon as he feels you squirting around him, he bottoms out, his cock pulsing violently as he floods your warmth with his own. His eyes clamp shut, teeth bared in a silent snarl as he holds you down against him, his hips grinding into you as he empties his entire load.

“Fuuuuck.” you whimper as his movements slow until he finally stills.  

“Fuck…” he pants, “you did so good, baby.” 

He wraps his arms around you possessively.

The only sounds now were both your breathing slowly syncing up. He was still buried inside you, softening slowly, but he didn’t make any move to pull out—instead he just held you tighter.

You bury your face in his neck as you sniffle, his hand stroking up and down your back soothingly, fingers tangling in your hair.

“You okay?” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Mhm.” you slowly sit up, causing him to slip out with a wet squelch. The sensation makes you hiss, your walls clenching at the loss. Thick ropes of his seed leak out, coating your puffy lips and dripping down his balls. 

He looks down, reaching his thumb to smear some against your clit.

“Shit…” he mutters, his voice rough.

Heat rushes up your neck as you watch him stare at your used cunt. His face was covered in clear pride as he gently spread you open. A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face as your gaping slit comes into view, filled with his thick spend.

“Don’t look at it like thaaat.” you bring your hands up to cover your face.

“Why not?” he laughs, pulling your arms back down. “It’s so pretty.”

You pout but smile regardless, letting out a quiet laugh.

You rub your hands up and down his chest as you both watch each other, your eyes locked into heavy eye contact as the reality of the situation finally settles in.

You study his face, your eyes flicking over the curve of his nose, his chin, the shape of his eyebrows. When you get to his eyes, you’re met with an intensity that fills your entire chest. 

He licks his lips, and for a second, you swear you see a brief flicker of something different in his expression, something resembling…shame?

It confuses you the second you notice, a small seed of uncertainty being planted into your mind before you can push the feeling away.

Eventually, you both head to the shower to clean off. You’d argued against it vehemently, your body far too sore to move, let alone walk, but he coaxed you out of bed with kisses and gentle words, pulling you under the water as he washed himself from your skin.

When you settled back into his bed, he pulled your back against his chest and draped his arms around you.

You listened to his breath even out, the sun finally beginning to peak out above the horizon causing his room to shift from the pale blue of dawn to the warm, soft gold of early morning.

You finally began to sink into the comfort of sleep, your mind replaying the events of the night behind your eyelids like scenes from a movie. Relief settled warmly in your chest now that you finally had him.

Still...

Something small caught at the edge of your thoughts.

So small it was barely enough to acknowledge. Just a tiny splinter buried beneath everything else—a feeling you couldn't quite shake, born from the look you'd seen cross his face.

You told yourself it was nothing.

And eventually, you let sleep convince you of the same.

────────

It was now four days after you’d spent the night with Gojo. The afternoon you and Clara finally left their house and dragged yourselves home, he’d texted you, telling you that he had fun. 

It made you feel really fucking weird.

Like to him it was a one-time thing that maybe wasn’t going to happen again. Like he had built up all that tension and intimacy between you two solely for the purpose of getting into your pants. You didn’t respond until the next day, sending some generic bullshit like ‘me too!’. 

That was two days ago, and you haven’t heard from him again since. You didn’t want to admit it, but you absolutely let your demons get to you in that short span of time. 

Anxiety had taken a permanent place right in the center of your chest as you waited for him to reply. You contemplated double texting him, but the small sliver of pride you had left prevented you from doing so.

I mean, you texted last, albeit it didn’t really leave room to continue the conversation. Why should you reach out again then? 

That thought alone was the sole reason you weren’t blowing his phone up, asking why he’s suddenly disappeared again. You tried not to let it get to you, but by today, a whole four days since you last saw him, your feelings were absolutely hurt.

You felt pathetic. 

Discarded.

Just like how your ex had made you feel throughout the end of your relationship. 

Speaking of him, you’d completely ghosted him, ignoring all his calls and texts, not opening the messages he sent you on Instagram. You couldn’t understand why he was so desperate. After all, he was the one who consistently reminded you of how replaceable you were. 

You sat at your desk, trying to get a head start on studying for your finals that were steadily approaching. 

Your mind drifts back to the first time you and Gojo had been alone. He was so patient and sweet to you as he went over the concepts of your calculus class. He spent hours rewording, explaining, and breaking down the practice problems, never once getting annoyed at how many times he had to repeat himself.

The memory made your heart flutter so deeply you almost forgot what happened right after. 

Thinking back on it, he'd always been a little strange around you.

He was constantly flirting, showing flashes of almost overwhelming interest, only to pull away every time you got too close. You'd spent months trying to rationalize it, finding excuse after excuse for his inconsistent behavior.

But no matter how many times you turned it over in your mind, you always came back to the same conclusion.

Every time he looked at you, there was something else buried beneath the affection.

Guilt.

Like he was doing something he knew he shouldn't.

It almost gave you whiplash to think about how suddenly things always seemed to change with him.

But still, you missed him. 

You're just starting another problem when a knock echoes through the apartment.

Your head lifts from your notebook, confusion knitting your brows together as you glance at the time.

It couldn't be Clara. She had class until the afternoon.

You set your pencil down and slowly push yourself to your feet, a faint sense of unease settling in your stomach as another knock sounds from the other side of the door.

Who the hell was knocking in the middle of a weekday?

A delivery?

Maintenance?

Your mind, of course, jumps straight to robber... then serial killer.

Holding your breath, you creep toward the front door and press one eye to the peephole.

On the other side of the door, Gojo stands with his hands shoved in his pockets.

You pull back with a flash of surprise crossing your face, quickly unlocking the door and swinging it open just before he can knock again.

He looks mildly taken aback at how fast you answered, then clears his throat.

“Uh, hey.” His gaze drops briefly to you before drifting around the doorway like he’s suddenly unsure what to do with himself standing there.

Your heart kicks hard against your ribs.

It feels almost unreal—like you’d somehow manifested his presence.

You’re so glad to see him you almost reach for him on instinct.

Almost.

You stop yourself just in time, swallowing it down as something quieter, more careful takes its place. You almost want to laugh at the idea of self-control showing up now, of all moments, like it ever really stays when you need it.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as you cross your arms over your chest, your weight shifting onto one leg.

He reached up to nervously scratch the back of his neck.

“Well, uh, I wanted to see you…” he only let his gaze settle on you for a moment before they moved away.

You could tell he felt bad, and it softened the already mushy spot you held for him deep in your heart. So, with a sigh, you step aside and gesture for him to come in.

He steps inside and slides his shoes off.

“So…” you say, walking over to the couch and sitting down.

He follows, choosing the small loveseat adjacent to you instead.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, exhaling softly like whatever he’s about to say is heavier than he wants it to be.

“I’m sorry for not… reaching out the last few days,” he starts, finally looking at you.

You blink at him, unsure what to say for a moment.

“Okay…” you nod slowly.

He’s staring at you like he’s trying to read you, eyes wide and intent, as though he could pull your thoughts straight from your mind if he looked hard enough.

“You’re not… mad?” he asks, his brows drawing together slightly.

You let out a quiet sigh and lean back into the couch.

“Do you want me to be mad?”

“No…” he says after a beat, glancing down. “I guess not.”

You look at him as he fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist, the movement restless in a way that doesn’t match the calm he’s trying to project.

“Y’know,” you start, voice quieter now, “I just don’t understand you, Satoru.”

He looks up immediately, a flicker of surprise crossing his face at hearing his first name like that.

“Sometimes it feels like you really like me,” you continue, holding his gaze even as your chest tightens, “and then other times it’s like… you’re ashamed to even be around me.”

That lands. You can see it in the way his expression shifts, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually say it out loud.

“Look,” you sigh, forcing your voice to stay steady, “if you’re not sure about me, that’s fine. Just… don’t shut me out like I don’t exist. I’d rather know than be left guessing.”

You swallow, the words turning heavier as they leave you.

“You’re one of my best friends. I thought we were closer than that.”

The silence that follows feels tight, stretched thin between you.

He swallows, fingers stilling around the bracelet as if even that small motion has stopped working for him. You can almost see it—his thoughts turning over, searching for the right thing to say, like he’s been caught in something he didn’t prepare for.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“I actually came here to talk to you about that,” he says quietly.

A sharp, uneasy flicker runs through your chest.

“I do really, really like you,” he says, looking straight at you now, unblinking, “I want to make that clear.”

The intensity of his gaze catches you completely off guard.

“Okay…” you answer slowly, searching his face. “Then what is it?”

His jaw tightens. You watch him look away for a second, like the words physically weigh something down inside him before he forces them out.

“I came here to tell you that…” he starts, then pauses. “...I don’t think we should sleep together again.”

Your brows knit immediately.

“What?”

“It’s not because of anything you did,” he adds quickly, almost too quickly. “I just… got out of a really long relationship, and I don’t think it would be fair to you if I acted like I wasn’t still dealing with that.”

He looks at you nervously now, like he’s bracing for your reaction.

You don’t respond.

For a moment, everything inside you goes still—then it starts to move all at once.

The anxiety you’ve been carefully holding back begins to flare, swallowing you whole, tightening around your chest as his words settle in with a dull, sinking weight.

You’d just gotten him, and now it felt like you were already losing him.

“Was it…” you swallow, your throat tightening painfully, “was it bad?”

You don’t miss the way his gaze flickers at your expression, like he can already see the insecurity rising before you even finish speaking.

“No!” he says immediately, too fast to leave room for doubt.

“You were…” he exhales, shaking his head, a faint flush creeping up his neck, “you’re perfect.”

The words land in you strangely—soft, warm, and yet somehow not enough to settle anything.

There’s another pause.

Neither of you moves, like you’re both standing on opposite sides of something neither of you knows how to step over.

You watch him lean back into the couch, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, tension still sitting in his shoulders in a way you’re not used to seeing.

And you—you’re scrambling.

Trying to find something, anything, that could undo what he just said.

You know you should accept it. You know you should let it be simple.

But the feelings sitting in your chest aren’t simple.

They’ve been building for too long, tangled and heavy and too intense to ignore, and the thought of him pulling away completely—of not being held by him again—feels like something you can’t quite breathe through.

So you do the only thing you can think of.

You stand slowly, cross the small space between you, and stop in front of him. He looks up at you, eyes heavy-lidded now, his throat moving as he swallows. Your pulse is loud in your ears as you crawl onto his lap.

He doesn’t pull you closer, but doesn’t push you away either.

That hesitation alone gives you just enough courage to wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your chest against his as you look down at him.

His head falls back slightly against the couch cushion, eyes tracking you carefully.

“Toru…” you say quietly.

His eyes shut for a brief second—like hearing his name like that does something to him—before opening again.

“I don’t expect you to be my boyfriend…” you murmur, your fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I just want you…” you bite your lip as you settle yourself perfectly over him.

He doesn’t respond right away.

But you feel it anyway—the way his hands stay on your hips, steadying you, like he’s holding on just a little tighter than before.

“Why?” he murmurs.

His grip slides lower, settling heavily over your ass, pulling you flush against him.

The question hangs there.

A hundred answers fill your mind at once.

You think about how funny he is, how charming and confident he is. You think about all the times he helped you, the times he held doors open or paid for your food. You think about how he opened up to you, and how he gave you a place to open up as well.

How safe he feels.

How much you’ve started to need that without realizing it.

“I just do Toru.” you grind yourself into his lap, barely settling your core over where you know his dick is.

He sighs as he helps you move against him.

“Surely we can work something out, right baby?” you bite your lip as you feel him harden almost instantly against you.

He lets out a quiet groan, his breath sharp as his eyes darken.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into…” he murmurs, voice low.

You ignore him, the distance between you disappearing as you lean in and press your mouth to his.

He hesitates for only a second before kissing you back.

Everything after that stops being a conversation at all—words falling away as the last of your hesitation disappears between you both, leaving only what’s been there all along, quiet and undeniable.

The couch creaks beneath you two as the rest of the world fades out.

────────

Somewhere along the way, things stopped feeling so complicated.

Weeks passed as the two of you continued to spend time together, the line between being a couple and being friends with benefits blurring until you weren't sure what was what. 

You two spent nearly every night together, waking up in the same bed, showering side by side, sharing meals, laughing until your stomachs hurt, and falling into each other at the end of every day. 

Your lives had become so thoroughly intertwined that it was difficult to remember what it looked like before you met him.

You hadn't meant to get so close to him, especially in such a short period of time, but in the four months you’d known him, nothing ever seemed to go as it was supposed to.

Now, not only had you learned his mind, but you’d mapped out his entire body too—learning the ways to bring him to his knees, to make him beg for your touch.

It was intoxicating knowing the power you held over him after you'd yearned for him for so long.

He hadn’t mentioned anything about his ex since the day you both agreed on your arrangement. 

Whatever was going on in his head, he never let it reach you. You were grateful for that, really—but it also fed into that quiet, deep-rooted seed of uncertainty that had taken hold the first time you were intimate with him.

You wondered if he was finally getting over her, but you knew better than to assume anything. So you told yourself he was choosing peace with you—choosing you—over letting unresolved things spill into what you were building together.

It was now two weeks until the end of the semester, and the day before family week.

Gojo’s parents had flown in from Japan that morning, and you couldn’t ignore how tense he seemed at the thought of seeing them.

The night before, you’d held him against your chest as he quietly admitted he’d practically begged them not to come. They’d insisted anyway, determined to see the prestigious university he’d chosen over taking his place in the family business.

It surprised you that they hadn’t visited once during the two and a half years he’d been there. But according to Gojo, it had less to do with supporting him and more to do with his father’s impending retirement. He was running out of excuses to delay passing the company on, and this was just another attempt to convince Gojo to come home.

When he left your apartment to pick them up from the airport that morning, he’d kissed you deeply before promising he’d find time to visit you while they were in town.

You’d watched him disappear down the hallway, a small pang of anxiety settling in your chest at the thought of going more than a day without seeing him.

Still, you forced yourself to stay busy.

The university had given everyone the week off to study for finals and spend time with their families, leaving you with a rare stretch of free time you didn't know what to do with.

The first day, you threw yourself into deep-cleaning the apartment and running errands you’d been putting off for weeks. The second and third were spent buried in textbooks, trying to get ahead before finals swallowed your life whole.

By the fourth day, though, you were restless.

You hadn’t seen Gojo once.

The two of you had texted back and forth whenever he could slip away, but it wasn’t the same. You missed him more than you cared to admit, and a blanket of anxiety covered you as the days went on.

With a sigh, you wandered into the common area of the apartment, determined to find something—anything—to distract yourself. The moment the kitchen came into view, you spotted Clara halfway inside the refrigerator, rummaging through the shelves.

“Hey,” you sigh, dropping into one of the dining room chairs.

“Hey, girl,” she grumbles without looking up. “We literally have no food.”

She shuts the refrigerator with a defeated huff.

“I think I’m gonna go grocery shopping.” she grabs her wallet from the counter. “You wanna come?”

You nod immediately.

“Absolutely.”

A few minutes later, you’re climbing into Clara’s aging sedan, the entire frame rattling beneath you as you settle into the passenger seat.

“Just ignore the squealing noise,” she says sheepishly, sliding the key into the ignition. “It goes away once I start driving.”

“What squealing—”

You’re cut off by an ear-piercing screech the second the engine turns over.

You slowly turn to look at her.

She bursts into laughter.

“What?” she says through a grin. “I warned you!”

You shake your head, laughing as she pulls out of the apartment parking lot and onto the main road.

All four windows are rolled down, warm spring air rushing through the car while music blares from the little bluetooth speaker she had wedged into the cup holder.

You rest your elbow against the door, watching rows of manicured houses drift by as you leave campus behind and weave through the surrounding neighborhoods.

Eventually, Clara pulls into the Whole Foods parking lot and kills the engine.

“You just had to pick the most expensive grocery store in the area, didn’t you?” you groan as you climb out of the car.

She snorts.

“Everything around here is expensive,” she slams her door shut, “we live next to rich people.”

You sigh dramatically before grabbing a shopping cart.

“Unfortunately… you’re not wrong.”

You both make your way through the aisles, tossing random items into the cart.

“I’m gonna go to the meat department to get some fish. Would you be able to grab some olive oil?” Clara asks.

“Yeah, sure.” you nod.

“Okay, let’s meet by the checkout.”

You agree and watch as she walks away.

You wander through the store for a bit before finally finding the aisle you were looking for. As soon as you turn the corner, you’re met with a mop of white hair.

Your heart rate picks up as you take in the tall frame of Gojo. His hair is styled shorter, and he’s wearing clothes you’ve never seen him in before—far more formal than anything you’ve ever known him to wear.

But still, he’s there. Right in front of you.

You hurry toward him.

“Satoru—”

You stop dead in your tracks as he turns.

Except, it’s not Gojo.

The resemblance is striking, almost unsettling. The man standing in front of you is older, his features sharper, more weathered, but unmistakably familiar.

He was handsome in the same effortless way.

His pale blue eyes sweep over you in a slow once-over before a faint look of distaste settles across his face.

“Can I help you, young lady?” he asks.

You freeze at the sound of his deep voice.

Only then do you notice the watch gleaming beneath the cuff of his tailored sweater, the platinum wedding band resting against his hand, the expensive cologne lingering in the air between you.

He looked like pure money.

“Uh…” your mind suddenly goes blank. “I’m sorry, you just… you look like someone I know.”

“You must know my son.” he says, looking down at you.

Of course.

You don’t know how you hadn’t seen it immediately, but now that you’re really looking at him, it’s impossible to miss. The same white hair. The same eyes. The same impossibly tall frame.

Gojo was practically a carbon copy of him.

“Oh!” heat rushes into your face. “Y-You’re Satoru’s dad…”

The realization makes you painfully aware of what you’d thrown on that morning.

A pair of worn sweatpants.

A cropped T-shirt.

About the least appropriate outfit imaginable for meeting your… whatever Satoru’s parents would consider you.

“Honey?”

A woman steps around him, her chestnut hair tucked neatly behind her ears, bright blue eyes settling on you with quiet curiosity.

“Who’s this girl?”

She’s beautiful. Elegant in a way that seems almost effortless, and with one look, you can immediately tell she’s his mother. He has her chin, her eyes, even the slight tilt of her smile.

“I believe she knows Satoru.” his father replies as she slips her arm through his.

“This…” her eyes drift over you from head to toe, lingering just long enough to make your skin prickle. “…girl knows our son.”

Heat floods your face beneath the weight of their scrutiny.

“Well, I—”

“Mom. Dad.” Gojo’s voice cuts cleanly through the tension.

You turn to find him walking toward the three of you, grocery basket in hand. His eyes flick to yours for the briefest moment before settling on his parents.

“You know this girl?” his father asks.

“Uh, yeah.” Gojo rubs the back of his neck. “She’s a… friend.”

The slight pause doesn’t escape you.

“I tutor her sometimes.”

Something in your chest tightens. You know you shouldn’t let it bother you. What else was he supposed to call you?

Still…

After everything the two of you had shared, hearing yourself reduced to friend leaves an unexpected bitterness on your tongue.

“Oh.” His mother hums softly.

Her gaze shifts between the two of you, lingering just a little too long. When your eyes meet hers again, you catch the faint narrowing of them.

You can tell she doesn’t believe him.

Not for a second.

An awkward silence settles over the aisle before she clears her throat, offering you another measured once-over.

“Well,” she says pleasantly, a smile spreading across her face that seems genuine enough to catch both you and Gojo off guard, “we’re just picking up a few things for dinner tonight.”

She tilts her head ever so slightly.

“Would you like to join us?”

“Oh! I would—” before you can finish, Gojo takes a hurried step forward.

“No!”

The word comes out far too quickly, too firmly. All three of you turn to look at him. Your brows knit together, confusion flashing across your face. Why was he so determined to keep you away?

The question settles uneasily in the back of your mind as his mother slowly raises an eyebrow.

“Let the girl answer for herself.” his father says, his deep, authoritative voice leaving little room for argument.

You glance back at Gojo. The panic in his eyes catches you off guard. For a split second, you consider declining. If he was this worried, there had to be a reason.

But then, that same bitter feeling from moments ago creeps back into your chest.

Friend.

“I'd love to,” you say, offering his parents a polite smile. “thank you.”

“Wonderful.” Mrs. Gojo smiles warmly before turning her attention to her son. The pleasant expression never quite reaches her eyes as she shoots him a pointed look.

You catch all of it.

Your mind races through a dozen different possibilities, but none of them make any sense. All you know is that you're confused and caught completely off guard.

It makes your head hurt.

“Are you allergic to anything, dear?” his mother asks.

“No, ma'am.” you offer her a sheepish smile.

“Good.” She turns toward the opposite end of the aisle. “Be there at five.”

With that, his parents disappear around the corner, leaving you and Gojo standing alone.

“That was...” you let out a quiet laugh. “strange.”

He doesn't laugh. 

He's already looking at you, annoyance written plainly across his face.

“Why did you agree to come?” the edge in his voice catches you off guard.

“What was I supposed to do?” you scoff. “Say no?”

“Yes.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that you almost laugh.

“That would've been rude, Satoru.”

“No, you don't understand what you're doing,” he snaps. “and don't call me by my first name in front of them.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” you stare at him in disbelief.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before quickly glancing around the aisle. Then, before you can react, he steps forward and gently cups your face between his hands.

“Nothing.” he sighs. “I'm sorry.”

His thumbs sweep gently across your cheeks, the irritation from a moment ago already gone. 

Or maybe hidden.

“I just get really stressed when they're around,” he admits quietly, “I don't want them saying anything weird to you.”

You bring your hands up to rest around his wrists, looking up at him.

“I'm sorry...” you murmur, a frown tugging at your lips.

You knew how he felt about them.

He'd spent countless nights opening up to you about the impossible expectations they'd placed on him growing up, about their superiority complex and the way they looked down on anyone they considered beneath them.

He lets out another quiet sigh.

“It's not your fault,” he says, swallowing. “Look... I'd love for you to come if that's what you want.”

Your brows knit together.

You can still see the hesitation lingering in his eyes, even if he's trying his best to hide it. Before you can dwell on it for too long, though, it disappears behind a reassuring smile.

“Are you sure?” you ask softly.

“Yes, baby.”

The nickname softens something inside you. He leans down and presses a quick kiss to your lips before pulling away. You can't help the dopey smile that spreads across your face.

“Just...” he presses his lips together, choosing his words carefully, “...make sure you wear something... nice.”

You tilt your head.

“My mom can be a little... judgmental.”

“Okay.” you nod.

His phone suddenly rings in his pocket.

“Shit.” he pulls it out, glancing at the screen. “I gotta go.”

He steals one last quick kiss before taking a step backward.

“I'll see you later?”

“Mhm.”

A smile finally reaches his eyes.

“Good.”

He gives you a small wink before answering the phone, turning and disappearing down the aisle.

You pout as you watch him vanish from your sight before meeting Clara at the front and checking out.

Later that evening, after taking far longer than you'd intended to get ready, you stood in front of your mirror.

A cream-colored two-piece hugged your figure, the fitted short-sleeved top cinching at your waist while the pleated skirt skimmed your calves, swaying softly with every movement.

You took one last steadying breath before slipping into your heels and grabbing your purse.

As soon as you stepped into the living room, the sharp click of your heels against the hardwood catches Clara's attention.

She looked up from the couch, her eyes widening.

“Damn,” she snorts. “You look like you're rich.”

You laugh quietly.

“You got a date or something?”

“Actually...” you lick your lips, “I was invited to have dinner with Gojo and his parents”

Clara's eyebrows shoot up. “Gojo's parents?”

You nod shyly.

“Huh.” a look of confusion crosses her face, followed quickly by realization, then surprise again. She stares at you for another second before letting out a sigh and shaking her head.

“I knew y'all were fucking.”

Your mouth falls open.

“W-What are you talking about?” you laugh, your entire face flushing.

You and Gojo had never actually talked about keeping whatever this was a secret, but somewhere along the way it had become an unspoken agreement between the two of you.

“Girl,” Clara snorts, “everyone suspected it. Especially after you walked out of his room wearing his shirt the morning after their last party.”

Your eyebrows lift as the memory comes rushing back. You'd been so sure everyone was still asleep when you tried sneaking into the kitchen for a glass of water.

Apparently not.

“Anyway,” she waves a dismissive hand, “it doesn't matter. Nobody really cares.”

Right.

“Okay."

“You need a ride?”

A relieved smile spreads across your face.

“Actually... yeah. That'd be great.”

She grabs her keys from the coffee table and stands.

“Come on then.”

The drive to Gojo and Geto's house is spent filling Clara in on everything that had happened between you and Gojo.

The night you first slept together, the way he disappeared afterward, his eventual apology, the strange agreement you'd somehow reached without ever actually calling it friends with benefits, everything in between.

For once, Clara doesn't interrupt much. She simply listens, occasionally nodding or humming in understanding as you ramble from the passenger seat. When she finally pulls up in front of the wrought-iron gates leading to the house, she puts the car in park and turns to face you.

There's a look of concern on her face that immediately puts you on edge.

“Look, girl...” she reaches over and squeezes your hand, “I love Gojo, and I'm really happy you're happy.”

You can hear the but before she even says it.

“But?” you ask quietly.

She hesitates, then sighs, letting go of your hand.

“Just... be careful, okay?” she offers you a small smile. “Make sure you protect yourself.”

What does that even mean?

“Okay...” you say slowly, “thanks...”

You let out a steady breath before climbing out of the car. “Thanks for the ride. I'll see you later.”

“Bye, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m going to be with Shoko and Yuki tonight.” she waves as you shut the door behind you. 

You make your way through the front gate and up the stone walkway, your heels clicking softly against the path. You smooth your hands over your dress and ring the doorbell.

A moment later, it swings open.

“Hey, baby.” Gojo smiles before leaning down to steal a quick kiss. “You look amazing.”

His eyes trail over your outfit with obvious admiration before a grin spreads across his face.

“We're matching.”

He steps aside to let you in.

You glance down at yourself before looking back up at him. Sure enough, the cream-colored sweater he was wearing was almost the exact same shade as your outfit.

“Aww.” you laugh. “That wasn't even planned.”

He leads you into the dining room, where his father and Geto are already seated, deep in conversation.

The moment you step into view, Geto looks up and immediately rises from his chair.

“Ah, if it isn't our guest of honor.” he smiles warmly, his eyes narrowing in that familiar way.

“Hey, Geto.” y ou smile back, stepping over to give him a quick hug.

As you pull away, Gojo's father stands.

He crosses the room with an effortless confidence before taking your hand in his. His grip is gentle as he lifts it to his lips, pressing a light kiss against your knuckles.

“Thank you for coming,” he says smoothly, a charming smile settling across his face. “You look beautiful.”

Your breath catches for a fraction of a second.

The resemblance between him and Gojo is almost uncanny.

His confidence.

The smirk.

The easy, natural flirtiness that seemed to draw people in without any effort at all.

It was like looking at Satoru twenty-five years from now. You smile before glancing over at Gojo, who simply rolls his eyes.

“Uh... thank you, sir.”

He releases your hand and returns to the table as though the gesture had been the most natural thing in the world.

“Have a seat. My wife is just finishing dinner.”

“Oh! Maybe I can help her?” you offer politely.

“No need.” his attention shifts to Gojo. “Satoru, go help your mother.”

The firmness in his voice leaves little room for discussion. Gojo blinks hard once before nodding.

“Sure.” he looks over at you. “I'll be back.”

You watch him disappear into the kitchen before making your way to the table, taking the empty seat next to Geto.

“So,” he says, turning toward you with an easy smile, “how's studying been?”

“Pretty good,” you nod. “I'm actually feeling pretty confident about finals.”

“And you?” you ask. “How's everything been with your classes?”

Before Geto has a chance to answer, Gojo's father speaks.

“Satoru has been tutoring you, correct?”

He studies you over the rim of the crystal rocks glass in his hand before taking a slow sip.

You and Geto both look over at him before exchanging a brief glance.

“Yes,” you nod, trying to ignore the amused look Mr. Gojo was giving you. “He's been a huge help. Honestly, I don't think I would've passed without him.”

A quiet laugh slips from your lips, though it quickly dies when his father offers nothing in return. Instead, he finishes the rest of his drink in a single swallow before setting the crystal glass down with a soft clink and pouring himself another.

“Hm.” his eyes never leave you.

There was something unnerving about the way he looked at you, as though he were silently sizing you up, and the weight of his attention settled over the table until the silence became almost tangible.

Thankfully, it doesn't last long. Gojo and his mother emerge from the kitchen carrying two large serving dishes, setting them carefully in the center of the table. 

A large bowl of Caesar salad sat beside a ceramic dish of perfectly glazed salmon, its buttery aroma immediately filling the room and breaking the strange tension that had settled over everyone.

“Oh, you're actually here on time.” his mother smiles pleasantly as she takes her seat. “Wonderful.”

Your eyebrows lift almost imperceptibly at her choice of words, but you smooth your expression over before anyone can notice.

“It's nice to see you,” you say warmly. “thank you so much for cooking. Everything looks amazing.”

“Yes, well,” she replies, smoothing the front of her blouse as she settles into her chair, “we eat healthy in this family.”

You return her smile, though it feels just a little tighter than before. It wasn't overtly rude. In fact, if someone else had heard it, they probably wouldn't have thought twice about it.

But something about the way she said it left a faint, uncomfortable feeling settling in the pit of your stomach.

You glance over at Gojo as he takes the seat beside you. His expression is tight, annoyance lingering across his features.

Dinner carries on much the same after that. Geto effortlessly keeps the conversation afloat, exchanging easy smiles and stories with Gojo's parents, but whenever their attention shifts to you, it feels less like they were trying to get to know you and more like they were picking you apart piece by piece.

“So,” his mother says, taking a delicate sip of her wine, “what do your parents do for work?”

“My dad's a construction worker up in Oregon,” you answer, “and my mom's an ER doctor back home.”

“Oh.” She nods once. “So your father abandoned you?”

You hear Gojo nearly choke on his food.

“Mother,” he says, clearing his throat roughly, “you can't just say shit like that.”

“What?” she asks, blinking innocently. “I'm only trying to clarify.”

“No, it's okay,” you say before he can continue, offering her a polite smile despite the knot forming in your stomach. “I didn't grow up with him, but he's always been around in one way or another.”

She studies you for another moment before giving a slow nod.

“I think it's admirable that your mother helps people during the worst moments of their lives.” Geto says, his voice warm as he deliberately steers the conversation elsewhere.

“Yes,” Mrs. Gojo agrees with a small smile, “it is.”

The table falls quiet again, the silence stretching just long enough to become uncomfortable before Mr. Gojo finally speaks.

Glancing down, you notice Gojo's knee bouncing rapidly beneath the table. Without thinking, you rest your hand over it, giving it a gentle squeeze beneath the linen tablecloth.

He doesn't look at you, but you feel some of the tension leave him beneath your palm, even as the atmosphere around the table somehow grows tighter.

“What are you majoring in?” Mr. Gojo asks, his gaze settling on you once more.

“Chemistry, sir.”

“Hm.” He swirls the rum in his crystal glass before taking another drink. “Not much money in science these days.”

“Yeah, I suppose not,” you reply with a small laugh, “but I'm not really in it for the money. I just... want to help our planet and all the living beings on it.”

“How sweet.” Mrs. Gojo smiles. “Gosh, she reminds me so much of our Utahime, doesn't she, Satoru?”

The muscles underneath your palm tense immediately.

You glance between mother and son, catching the pointed look she sends his way before his eyes can meet hers.

“Who's Utahime?” you ask innocently. You don't remember Gojo ever mentioning having any siblings.

“Oh, she's just a friend from back home,” Geto answers a little too quickly, punctuating it with a nervous laugh.

“A friend?” Mrs. Gojo tilts her head, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. “That's no way to describe Satoru's future wife.”

The room seems to stop breathing.

She isn't looking at you, she's looking at him.

Her smile is pleasant enough to anyone passing by, but there's something quietly triumphant beneath it that makes your stomach twist further than it already had since being here.

Across the table, Mr. Gojo silently finishes his second glass of rum.

“Future wife?” the words leave you before you can stop them, your voice barely above a whisper.

You look at Gojo.

His elbow rests on the table, his head propped against his hand as the crook of his thumb covers his eyes as though he can't bear to look at anyone.

Then you glance toward Geto. He won't even meet your gaze.

“Yes.” Mrs. Gojo says lightly. “Didn't Satoru tell you? He's engaged.”

The words almost don't register.

“God,” Gojo mutters, his voice suddenly sharp enough to cut through diamond. “do you ever shut the fuck up?”

Mrs. Gojo lets out a scandalized gasp.

“Watch your mouth.” his father says quietly, his jaw tightening as he sets his empty glass back onto the table.

You barely register another word as their voices rise around you, the argument blurring into indistinct noise while your own thoughts begin to spiral.

Engaged?

As in... married?

The realization crashes into you with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. Your heart pounds painfully against your ribs, each beat louder than the last as you stare blankly at the table, trying to make sense of something that your mind refused to.

“Hey... hey.”

The gentle voice finally breaks through the haze.

You blink, finding Geto beside you with one hand resting lightly on your shoulder. He offers you a small smile, though for the first time since you'd met him, it never quite reaches his eyes.

“You should come with me.”

You nod numbly.

Gojo is still arguing with his parents as you push your chair back and stand, the scrape of the legs against the hardwood finally drawing everyone's attention.

“Where are you going?” he asks immediately.

His face is flushed with anger, but the moment his eyes meet yours, something inside them changes. The frustration melts into panic as he searches your expression, desperate to find something—anything—that tells him you aren't about to disappear.

You freeze, your throat tightening too much to answer.

“I'm just going to take her home.” Geto says quietly, his hand moving to the small of your back.

“I can take her.” Gojo says without hesitation.

His mother lets out a sharp, humorless laugh.

“I think it's better if I do, Satoru.” Geto replies, holding his gaze long enough for something unspoken to pass between them. It isn't difficult to understand what he means.

Stay. Deal with this.

Gojo's shoulders visibly sag. When he looks back at you, there's something heartbreakingly helpless in his expression, his eyes silently pleading with you not to leave.

“Don't worry, sweetheart,” Mrs. Gojo says as she lifts her wine glass to her lips. “I'm sure my son will be back in your arms the minute he's feeling lonely again.”

Your head turns toward her.

This time, you don't bother forcing a polite smile; you simply look at her.

Coldly.

The kind of look that says more than any words ever could before allowing Geto to gently guide you away from the table.

The walk to Geto's car passes in complete silence.

He opens the passenger door for you, but you barely notice, your thoughts moving too fast for you to catch hold of any one of them.

He proposed to her. He planned on spending the rest of his life with her. Is that why he always looked so guilty?

You squeeze your eyes shut for a brief moment before shaking the thought away and turning to stare out the window, watching the casts of orange gold smear together as Geto pulls away from the house.

Neither of you speaks for a while.

“Are you okay?” he finally asks, his voice quiet enough not to disturb the silence that had settled between you.

Of course you weren't fucking okay.

“Just peachy.” you mumble out.

Geto doesn't try to argue with the obvious lie.

About ten minutes later, he pulls into your apartment complex and kills the engine. The sudden quiet fills the car as you both sit there for a moment, neither of you quite sure how to begin.

Finally, he lets out a slow sigh.

“I'm sorry you had to go through that.”

You press your lips together before turning to look at him. The sympathy in his eyes should have been comforting, but instead it twists something ugly inside you.

“What are you apologizing for?” you scoff, your voice sharper than you intended. “For keeping this massive fucking secret from me?”

You know he isn't the one you should be angry at.

You know that.

But rationality abandoned you the moment you heard the word engaged, and now every emotion inside you is fighting for room to breathe.

“I wasn't trying to hide it from you,” he says carefully, “none of us were.”

You only shake your head, unable to believe that.

“Did they even really break up?”

“Yes.” his answer comes without even a second of hesitation. “Satoru may be a lot of things, but he's not a cheater.”

The words settle heavily in your chest, and you hate the small flicker of hope they ignite before you can smother it.

“Listen...” Geto turns more fully toward you, waiting until you meet his eyes, “I've known Gojo for a long time. He's annoying, obnoxious, and somehow still convinced he's the chosen one.”

He reaches over and gently takes your hand.

“But he's also one of the most sincere people I've ever met, and he tries harder than anyone to protect the people he loves.” his thumb brushes over your knuckles. “Especially you.”

“Yeah, right.” you let out a bitter laugh. “I'm sure he was trying to protect me every time he ghosted me, or when he lied to me about her being his girlfriend.” you shake your head, staring down at your lap. “I'm starting to think nothing he ever told me was actually true.”

“He was wrong for that.” Geto says quietly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I'm not going to defend it. But you have to understand... he was with her for a very long time, and there was a point where he genuinely believed she was the person he'd spend the rest of his life with,” he pauses before continuing, “that's not where his heart is anymore.”

Your gaze falls to your intertwined hands as the image of them together settles painfully in your mind.

“Why did they break up?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as your vision begins to blur.

Geto sighs. “I don't think that's my place to tell you.”

Silence settles between you once more, broken only by the quiet sound of your breathing as tears finally spill over, tracing warm paths down your cheeks before disappearing into the cream fabric of the top you'd spent hours deciding on.

“I'm sorry...” Geto murmurs.

“It's not your fault.” your voice wavers as you wipe hastily at your face, forcing yourself to take a steadying breath. “Thank you for bringing me home.”

You give his hand one last squeeze before reaching for the door handle.

“Wait.”

You glance back.

He's watching you with the same conflicted expression he's worn all evening, like he's debating whether crossing one final line is worth it.

“I really shouldn't tell you this...” he admits quietly, “but I need you to know that his feelings for you are real, and deep.”

Your breath catches. For a moment, you don't know what to do with those words.

“Thanks...” you whisper after a long pause, sniffling as you manage a small smile. “I'll see you later.”

“Okay.” he nods, and you quietly shut the door behind you.

You hear the car pull away just as you step into the apartment lobby, your footsteps echoing softly across the tile as another wave of tears burns your eyes. Your heart hurts. Your pride hurts. 

Every part of you felt bruised by the evening, and no matter how desperately you tried to make sense of it all, your mind kept circling back to the same painful conclusion.

Gojo had lied to you.

And now, after everything, you weren't sure you could believe anything he'd ever said.

The thought hurt more than you wanted to admit. It left you feeling small in a way you hadn't in years, every insecurity you'd managed to bury clawing its way back to the surface. Yet, beneath all of that, you couldn't honestly say you were surprised.

Soli had warned you, she always warned you. You just never listened.

By the time you reach your apartment, your hands are trembling as you fumble your keys into the lock. You step inside, kicking your heels off by the door before pulling your phone from your purse, your heart sinking when the screen lights up without a single notification from him.

Of course.

You don't even think before pressing Soli's contact.

The line rings twice before it picks up.

“Hello?” she answers, her voice thick with tiredness.

“H-hey...” you manage, your voice catching in your throat.

She sighs.

“What happened?”

“Well...” You blink rapidly, trying to keep the tears from falling. “Um... I-I met Gojo's parents tonight...”

“Why are you crying?” she asks, a little more alert. “Are you okay?”

The question shatters whatever composure you had left. A sob tears free from your chest before you can stop it, and you double over on the couch, covering your face with your hands as your shoulders begin to shake.

“Girl...” the concern in her voice only makes it worse.

“I-I don't even know— what the f-fuck... happened,” you choke out between breaths, desperately wiping at your face even though the tears won't stop coming.

“Hey, hey,” her voice softens, “take a deep breath, you're okay.”

You do your best to listen, forcing shaky breaths into your lungs until the tightness in your chest eases enough that you can finally speak again.

“Okay,” she says gently after a moment, “now tell me what happened.”

You swallow hard.

“I ran into them at the grocery store,” you begin, another shaky breath escaping you. “It was... really weird, but they invited me over for dinner.”

“Okay...” she says slowly, waiting for you to continue.

“I-I got there, and they immediately started grilling me, making th-these rude... offensive comments...” your voice breaks as fresh tears spill over, and you press the heel of your hand against your eyes. “I should've never gone. Everyone told me not to.”

You curl forward, burying your face in your hands as another wave of tears crashes over you.

“And Gojo just sat there and let it happen?” Soli asks, disbelief creeping into her voice.

“No!” you shake your head immediately, the answer coming almost on instinct. “No... he did say something.”

You sink back against the couch, your head falling against the cushions as the weight of the evening settles over you all over again.

Engaged.

The word kept echoing through your mind, repeating itself until it drowned out almost everything else.

“Why do I feel like you're not telling me everything?” Soli asks quietly.

Silence stretches between you before you finally force the words out.

“He... was engaged.”

“What?”

“He was engaged to his ex.” Your voice barely rises above a whisper. “For two and a half years.”

The line goes quiet.

“And you're fucking him, aren't you?” she asks at last. “That's why you're this upset.”

You can hear the frustration beginning to creep into her voice.

“Why do you sound like that?” you ask, another sting of tears burning behind your eyes.

“So you are.”

“And what if I am?” you snap, hurt quickly giving way to defensiveness. “That's none of your business.”

Why was she making you feel like you'd done something shameful?

“I'm just saying,” she replies, “I told you not to fuck with him anymore, and now look what happened.”

“So what?” you scoff, “It's my fault some rich assholes decided to humiliate me?”

“No,” she says firmly, “it's your fault you stayed after every red flag he gave you. None of this would've happened if you'd listened to me.”

You close your eyes.

“I called you because I needed my best friend,” you whisper, your voice trembling with anger and exhaustion, “instead you're sitting here judging me.”

“I'm not trying to judge you,” she sighs, “I'm just saying this keeps happening. You put yourself in these situations, and then you call me crying because someone hurt you. I hate seeing you like this.”

“Sorry you have to actually be a friend for once.”

“For once?” she scoffs. “I'm constantly trying to help you. I'm always giving you advice and trying to steer you in the right direction, but you never listen to a fucking word I say. At what point do you stop making yourself the victim and start taking accountability for the choices you're making?”

The words hit hard.

Your grip on the phone loosens as you stare blankly at the wall, the anger draining out of you and leaving behind something much quieter.

“I'm trying my best...” you whisper.

There's silence on the other end.

“Look,” Soli sighs after a long pause, the exhaustion back in her voice, “I don't have time for this right now. I have to study.”

You wait for something else.

Anything.

“Go call your mom or something.”

With that she hangs up.

For a long moment, you simply stare at your phone before tossing it onto the couch. You bury your face in your hands, the tears returning with a force you'd thought you'd finally cried out.

At some point, exhaustion wins.

────────

You don't remember falling asleep. When you finally stir, your face is puffy, your head throbbing behind your eyes.

There's a persistent knocking at the door that makes your eyes crack open.

Another knock.

With a groan, you fumble around the couch cushions until your fingers find your phone.

8:12 pm.

You let out a tired sigh and sink back against the cushions, fully intending to ignore whoever was outside.

The knock comes again.

Your brows knit together, but you still don't move.

Then your phone begins to vibrate.

Bzz-Bzz! Bzz-Bzz!

You squeeze your eyes shut before reluctantly lifting it into view.

Incoming Call… ‘don't answer’

You frown.

Why was he calling?

Without another thought, you decline the call and let your arm fall back onto the couch.

Ding!

Your jaw tightens as you snatch the phone back up.

1 New Message. Now.

don't answer: 'open the door'

Another notification appears almost immediately.

don't answer: 'im outside.'

You sit upright so quickly your head spins.

What?

You hurry to the front door and peer through the peephole. Sure enough, your ex was stood on the other side, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie as he rocked anxiously back and forth on his heels.

“Shit...” you whisper. Your eyes dart around the apartment as though some miraculous escape route might suddenly appear.

It doesn't, obviously.

Another knock echoes through the apartment.

You groan quietly, wiping at the dried tear tracks on your cheeks before unlocking the door. The moment he sees you, relief washes over his face.

“Hey...” he says carefully.

“How did you get my address?” you ask without greeting him, the sharpness in your voice catching even you off guard.

He blinks.

“You... uh...” he clears his throat. “you gave it to me. Remember?”

Your eyes close.

Right. You had.

He'd spent nearly an hour convincing you to give it to him, insisting he wanted to send you flowers.

He never did.

“So I give you my address and you decide it's appropriate to show up at my apartment in the middle of the night?” you scoff, already moving to shut the door. 

“Yeah, goodbye.”

“Wait!” he catches the door with his hand before it can close.

“Look, I'm really not in the fucking mood right now,” you spit, finally looking up at him, only to be caught off guard by the sadness written across his face.

“I'm sorry...” he says quietly. “I just really needed to see you.”

Your eyes wander over his features, the ones you'd spent years memorizing, years falling in love with, and despite everything, something inside your chest softens.

Or maybe you were just weak right now. At this point, you couldn't really tell.

After a long moment of simply looking at one another, you let out a quiet sigh and pull the door back open.

“Fine... come in.”

A small smile tugs at his lips as he steps past you into the living room, taking in the apartment for a brief moment before turning back toward you.

“You have five minutes.” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Okay...” his throat bobs as he swallows. “Well... I just needed to see you because I wanted to tell you that I was sorry. I know I wasn't a good boyfriend—”

“Yeah?” you cut him off, giving him a hard look. “You think?”

Shame flashes across his face, but he doesn't argue.

“You have every right to be mad at me... honestly, I'm surprised you haven't walked out of my life for good.”

As the words leave him, he closes the distance between you, gently taking your hands before dropping to his knees in front of you.

“But I'm so fucking sorry.”

Your brows knit together as you look down at him, surprised to find tears collecting along his waterline.

He fights to hold them back, his jaw tightening with the effort, and the sight catches you completely off guard. In all the years you'd known him—not when he was your best friend, and not even when he was your boyfriend—you'd never seen him cry once.

It stirred something strange inside you.

Like maybe, after all this time, there really was someone who yearned for you the way you'd always longed for someone to.

“I don't know why I'm like this,” he continues, his voice cracking around the words, “but I don't want to keep hurting you.”

His grip on your hands tightens ever so slightly as he looks up at you, silently pleading for you to believe him.

“I love you. I love you so much, and I regret the way I treated you. You didn't deserve it.” the last of his restraint breaks, tears finally spilling over.

Your brows pull together as you stare down at him, a confusing mixture of annoyance, sympathy, and something that still felt dangerously close to yearning twisting together inside your chest.

There had once been a time when you did love him, after all. You'd pictured a future with him, imagined buying a house together, getting married, growing old beside him.

Married.

The thought drags you right back to everything that had happened.

An overwhelming wave of rejection crashes over you, followed closely by the insecurity that had been clawing at you all day, and suddenly you're looking down at the man who had once held your heart in the palm of his hands.

Your first love.

You aren't entirely sure what possesses you to do it, but your hands slowly rise to cup his face.

He'd always been handsome. At one point, you were convinced he was the most handsome man you'd ever seen.

How quickly things could change.

“Stand up.” you whisper.

He obeys without question, unfolding until he's towering over you once again. Neither of you speaks. You simply look at each other for a long moment before stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your face against his chest as every emotion you'd been carrying for the last four months finally comes crashing down around you.

His arms circle you instantly, one hand cradling the back of your head as though he'd been aching to hold you again.

It felt so familiar, and yet nothing like it used to. Nothing like being held by him.

You weren't sure if anything would ever feel as safe as it did in Satoru's arms, but for this brief moment, you let yourself pretend.

When you finally pull back, he brushes a loose strand of hair away from your face, his eyes wandering slowly over your features.

“You're so pretty...” he whispers, leaning toward you.

You let him press his lips to yours in a soft kiss, but it doesn't stay gentle for long. It deepens as he grips your waist and pulls you flush against him, his hardness pressing against your stomach.

He pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“Please, baby... I need you.”

Those five words are all you need.

You take his hand and quietly lead him toward your bedroom, but even as he undresses you and gently lays you back against the mattress, your thoughts are somewhere else entirely.

Satoru.

You wonder if he's okay.

You wonder if he's still at that dinner arguing with his parents.

Your ex pushes into you, moaning your name as he chases his high. He knew your body by memory, touching you with the familiarity that only years together could build. But still, you could only close your eyes and think back on all the times Gojo fucked you until you could barely think anymore, until all you could remember was his name.

The thoughts fuel your arousal, leaving him to mistake every breath, every reaction, for something he'd managed to earn himself.

He reaches down to rub at you, and the images of Satoru hunched over you flash through your mind.

The way his fingers splayed over your flesh as he forced orgasm after orgasm out of you with his fingers. You moan as you focus on the image of him panting, his eyes rolling back as he tells you how good you felt.

Your ex is smiling down at you, so convinced he's the one bringing you so close to the edge. You almost feel bad, but with the way you were about to fall over, you couldn't be too bothered.

He kisses you as you both climax, your name falling from his lips in a long, drawn out moan as he pushes into you fully, his release spilling warmly inside you.

One name comes to mind, but you force yourself to stay quiet.

When it's finally over, he buries his face against your neck, his breathing uneven as you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair. You stay that way for a while, wrapped in a silence that feels strangely hollow, before he finally pulls himself together and slowly begins getting dressed.

He asks if he can stay the night.

You lie and tell him your roommate gets weird about guests sleeping over, and although he doesn't look convinced, he lets it go. He kisses you goodbye at the front door, offering one last hopeful smile before disappearing into the hallway.

You wait until the sound of his footsteps fades before closing the door and making your way back to the couch. Curling your legs beneath you, you stare blankly at the opposite wall as the weight of everything you'd done finally settles over you.

The guilt comes quietly, then all at once.

What are you doing?

────────

Hours pass with you curled up on the couch, some random movie playing in the background as you try to keep your mind from wandering back to everything that had happened.

A knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts.

You pause the movie and glance at the clock.

1:39 am.

You let out an exhausted groan.

Why the hell is everyone showing up to your doorstep in the middle of the night?

Dragging yourself off the couch, you shuffle toward the door and peek through the peephole, your eyes widening the moment you recognize the shock of white hair standing on the other side.

You hesitate before cracking the door open, the chain still latched.

“Satoru?”

“Hey...” his voice cracks, and as the hallway light catches his face, you finally see him clearly. His eyes are bloodshot, tears slipping freely down his cheeks.

You gasp, and without another thought, you shut the door just long enough to undo the chain before pulling it open again, immediately wrapping your arms around his neck.

He clings to you just as tightly, burying his face against your shoulder.

“I'm so sorry...” he mumbles, the words muffled against your shirt.

“I know...” you whisper, rubbing slow circles over his back as you feel his tears soaking through the fabric.

You guide him inside and close the door behind him before leading him over to the couch, where he practically collapses beside you. For a while neither of you says anything. You simply hold his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles while you wait for his breathing to steady.

When he finally looks at you, the devastation in his expression nearly breaks your heart.

“I-I don't know what to say other than I'm so fucking sorry... for the way my parents treated you, and for you having to find out about my... ex... like that.” his voice almost disappears around the last words.

“Why didn't you tell me?” you ask quietly, turning his hand over in yours as your fingertips trace the rough calluses across his palm.

He doesn't answer right away, and you find yourself staring at his hand instead of his face, scared of whatever you might find in his eyes.

“I didn't want to scare you away...” he admits, barely above a whisper.

That finally makes you look up.

Shame sits heavily across his features, and even with everything he'd put you through, you can't stop the way your heart aches for him.

You couldn't even say he was wrong.

Had you known from the beginning that the man you were falling for had been engaged to his long-term girlfriend, you probably would've run before letting yourself feel anything at all.

The two of you sit there for another quiet moment before you let out a slow sigh and rise to your feet, giving his hand a gentle tug.

“Come on.”

He follows you into the bathroom as you turn the shower on. Steam slowly fills the room while you peel your clothes off before helping him out of his, gently taking his hand and pulling him beneath the warm water.

Just as he'd done for you so many times before, you wash him with quiet care, running soap over his skin before working shampoo through his hair.

Your fingers massage his scalp, your nails lightly scratching over it until you feel the tension slowly leaving his body, his shoulders relaxing beneath your touch.

When you finally step out, you dry him off, smooth lotion over his skin, and lead him to your bedroom, handing him an old pair of shorts he'd left behind weeks ago.

By the time you both settle into bed, exhaustion had finally caught up with him. He melts against you without a word, resting his full weight over your body as he buries his face between your breasts.

You instinctively wrap your arms around him, one hand rubbing slow circles over his back while the other drifts through his damp hair, silently trying to soothe away whatever hurt still lingered inside him.

“I love you.”

He said it so quietly you almost missed it.

Your hands still for only a moment before your heart swells with an almost painful rush of affection.

“I love you too.” you say it back, feeling your heartbeat thrum against his cheek.

He nestles even closer, and you tighten your arms around him, whispering soft comforts into his hair until his breathing gradually evens out.

You remain awake long after he does.

Your thoughts drift back to the man who'd been lying in this very spot only a few hours earlier, and with them comes a deep, gnawing guilt that settles heavily in your stomach.

Careful not to disturb Satoru, you reach across the mattress for your phone, dimming the screen before holding it just above his sleeping head.

Your most recent conversation with your ex is still open when you unlock it.

You stare at it for a long moment before your thumbs finally begin to move.

you: ‘we're done for good. don't contact me again.'

You hit send, then block his number before he has the chance to respond. You delete the conversation, erase his contact, and lock your phone, tossing it back onto the mattress beside you.

You pull Satoru a little closer, your arms tightening around him as you close your eyes, silently vowing that, no matter what happened, he would never find out.

You knew you'd fucked up.

You knew what you'd done was wrong, but if carrying that guilt to your grave meant protecting him from it, then so be it. You'd bury it so deeply that no one would ever uncover it, convincing yourself that some truths did more harm than good.

It was a fragile excuse, and somewhere deep down you knew that, but you clung to it anyway as sleep slowly pulled you under, the man you loved safe in your arms while the same thought repeated itself over and over in the quiet of your mind.

One little secret never hurt anyone.

finaaallllly! thank u all for waiting ( ˊᵕˋ )♡.°⑅ , chapter 5 is underway and I am planning on releasing it on monday.

taglist: @lashaemorow , @dexha46

♡ masterlist |

Katsuki’s got your favorite flowers, setting them in the holder beside you before sitting down. You don’t say anything, just kinda staring up at him. The second he sits down his limbs feel as if he’s back on that battle ground, like they’re full of lead.

It’s quiet here— almost eerie, the type of silence that’s filled with a bunch of things left unsaid.

“The extras say I should move on, who are they to fuckin’ dictate my relationship.” Katsuki swipes a hand over your gravestone, brushing away a small leaf.

It’s weird, after the war it was supposed to be him in a grave, not you. But he got rewarded with a second chance while you got dirt shoveled onto your face.

“It’s stupid— damn it,” he curses at the tear starting to build up in his waterline.

It never gets easier even after all these years. Missing someone.

He’s got the path to your gravesite memorized. A secluded area under a weeping willow tree, where the sun shines beautifully upon you.

Every now and then he can see flashes of the funeral, as if it’s playing out in front of him. The faint remnants of the eulogy that was given. Him and your parents sitting in the front row. The shared ache between everyone in the crowd. The hushed cries among friends and family.

The air has felt different ever since that day.

It’s no longer filled with your jokes. Or the burst laughter you’d provide.

The worst part? Life just continued. The earth didn’t stop spinning just because Katsuki suffered a loss. Alarms still screamed early in the morning. People still needed saving and paperwork needed filling.

And he’s haunted by things you would’ve liked. Katsuki can imagine the smile on your face if you saw what he’s become today.

See you might be gone, but Katsuki’s love isn’t. Nor will it ever be.

First attempt at angst, how’d I do 😋 @kamislop

EARLY EJACULATION — m.grayson

“ i want to love you all night / tell me what you love and, baby, say what you like ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | invincible. WARNINGS. fem reader ノ established reader ノ sexual content ノ smut ノ m cumming early ノ teasing n dirty talk ノ m stimulation ノ mentions of unprotected sex ノ creampie.

“Ah—wait, wait!” MARK GRAYSON’s grip tightens on your waist, effortlessly lifting you up and off his cock. The shaft already softening flops onto his taut abdomen, rising and falling with his rapid breath. He throws his head back into the pillow with a loud groan, and you roll your lip between your teeth at the sight of him. Chest flexed and wet with his sweat, glistening in the light while his adam’s apple relaxes low in his throat. With a plop, he sets you down onto his thighs, his cream leaking out of you in heavy drips.

You brush your hair back while you lean forward, keeping that lip pinned in your bite to conceal your stretching smile. “Mark,” you coo, crawling towards him to hover over him. His eyes remain closed, and you landscape your body over his, skin on skin, damp and hot. “I don’t mind,” you soothe, your claws coming to stroke through his sweaty hair. “really. I think it’s flattering.” you assure, propping your elbow on his pec to fix your chin on your palm, puppy-dog-eyeing him knowing your full weight on him feels like nothing. Fucking Invincible has its perks.

His hands come to clutch at your upper arms, and he peers up at you in a faux-frustration. “You’re just too good, baby. You don’t get it.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault.” you flirt, your grin worsening as you twirl a lock of his hair around your index. “I told you I wanted to go slow.”

“Yeah, at first. Then you were riding me like—“ That pink in his cheeks deepen, and he averts his gaze disobediently. His hand lets go of you to gesture vaguely in the air. “like- like that!” he struggles to find the words to describe how you were riding his hips like a bucking stallion.

“Aw, baby…” you purr, surging forward to rub your naked bodies together when you plant a chaste kiss at the corner of his lips. “Thought you could handle it, you were makin’ me feel so good.” your honeyed voice drips all over him, and his breath picks up. “Felt you so deep… right- here.” Your hips circle, massaging him between you two. His grip on you tightens, and you tense. That familiar phallic shape fills out, carving a space for itself while sandwiched between you. You press your lips together and palm your mouth in an attempt to hide your giggle. “Already?”

He meets your eyes again with a frown on his brows. “Shut up.”

“C’mon, Invincible. Ready for round two?”

It started with a hand comparison, the warmth from your palm radiating to his as your finger pads grazed each other, you noted every little or big difference; pigmentation, definition, moles, scratches, callouses... it shouldn't have aroused him as much as it did.

While you joked about him having to moisturize as you got up and left him on the couch to prepare dinner, he stared at you as you left— it would be so easy to pin you down...

That night was the first time he thought of you in an... unsavoury way. Ever since he hyperfocused on the things humans did, he thinks you're a fragile race— you need smaller ships to move you around flying distances (cars), the men parade themselves like unimpressive peacocks and still fail to mate, the strongest human couldn't make a bruise on the weakest viltrumite.

Every time he went out with you, he felt an unspoken responsibility to protect you. He wore more casual clothes, though he didn't feel happy about leaving his viltrumite uniform at home. It was a casual grocery run. Apparently, you also needed a metal cage on wheels to carry your food.

"Mark?" Your voice snapped him out of the distracted staring as he had his hands in the hoodie pocket (yours originally, his temporarily). He approached you as you gestured to a cereal box placed higher than needed. "A little help?"

Mark didn't need to move behind you, he didnt need to press his chest to your back so closely, but he did so, his arm looming over you as he lowered the box to your hand. "This one?" He has to hold himself back from crushing the cereal box. He loved seeing his shadow overlap your form.

You were more than fine as you placed the box in your cart, a part of him was disappointed, why weren't you shaking like prey? He could've attacked you then and there...

Maybe he should talk to you about this. Like a rational person... but he wasn't a person, he was a Viltrumite.

The loophole gave him enough justification, Mark opened a conversation about 'training' with you one day.

"Why would I need to do that?" You asked as you sat up in your bed, putting your laptop to the side as he stood infront of you in his uniform, stiff and straight.

"Self-defense is a necessity, I need to make sure you'll be okay when I'm not around." He explained briefly and watched you stand, a knowing smile on your face. "So... are you gonna teach me to throw a punch?"

"Not yet." Mark held your hand, guiding you through your house, a mental map complete from the months he spent with you. He paused in an open space away from furniture, turning to you. "Attack me."

"Huh?" You blinked as he opened his arms to you. "Attack me, however you like."

He looked too open to seem threatening, it gave you some courage, sprinting forward to try and shove him down. He easily deflected your hands and restrained you to the ground, his hand pressed between your shoulderblades and the other locking your wrists together behind your back.

"Ow! Okay! Okay! You win!" You surrendered quickly, squirming in discomfort. Mark allowed himself a smug smile as he watched you, clothes disheveled from that brief tussle and eyes betrayed as if asking 'how could you do this to your friend?'

"Now..." he leaned down, legs on either side of your hip he mumbled in your ear. "Try to push me off."

He didnt need to repeat his command as you started jerking and squirming under him like cornered prey, grunting and whining with no real finesse or technique he had to hold back a laugh at your desperate attempt. "That can't be your best effort, I'm not even budging."

You kicked your legs, though it made no effort. "That's not fair! Viltrumites are stronger than humans!"

"Believe me, I know." Mark responded in a tone huskier than intended, he was almost ashamed getting off at the sight of you under him in distress. "Get ooooofff! You're heavy!"

He ignored your complaining, his chest almost pressed to your back. "(Name), this concerns me." He referred to your current state. "You went down immediately with a Viltrumite... imagine how easy it would be for another human to hurt you."

"If I say yes to training with you, will you get off my back?" You groaned, eyebrows furrowed.

"I promise." Mark agreed too quickly, knowing you'd catch on about why at some point, but he deserves this— to feel your flesh squish under his hands, your body pinned down by his...

"Dude. Seriously. Get off my back." he realized you were talking about your current situation.

(Bonus points if it’s smut)

absolutely anon! MDNI

𝐁𝐅𝐅! 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 | your first time together gets ruined by sex pollen

note: this is rlly shitty mb i just wanted to write some dirty freaky nasty smut

warnings: corny sex pollen trope, afab/fem! reader, unprotected sex, slightly rough sex, tummy bulging, marathon sex, cum eating, sloppy gross makeout im sorry

bff! mark who always pictured your first time together as this slow and sensual moment where he confessed his deepest desires. he imagined himself taking his time - kissing up and down your body until you're putty in his hands... until you are so pliant and needy and breathless. he always knew he wanted to massage the fat of your thighs, the same ones he practically drools over whenever he has the pleasure of getting to see you in shorts. he knew he wanted to play with your tits; he was desperate to find out how sensitive they were. always wondering if he could make you come just from sucking on them. all and all, mark knew for his first time he wanted it to be special. unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

warning: jealous mark, he may be a little toxic, phone sex

you took the selfie with him in mind - tipsy on a couple glasses of wine and wearing the lingerie you've had hidden in the back of your drawer from when you purchased it two years ago. you video call your girl friend, cheeks hot when you ask her if it's a good idea to send it to him. you're obviously joking, you would never even dream of it, but she plays along asking you to send the photo to her. you go to your text messages with her and hit send. she waits patiently on the other end, both of you silent while the photo loads before you hear your phone ping. your blurry gaze focuses in on a text notification from mark:

oh my god

your throat goes dry. you sit up immediately, clicking on the notification to see you accidentally sent it to the man you've crushed on for years and not your friend. you furiously type away, trying to come up with an excuse:

mark i'm so sorry that wasn't meany for yoi please forget this ehver happemed.

while you're busy panicking mark is sitting on top of some skyscraper, legs dangling over the ledge as he stares down at his phone. he stopped mid flight when he heard your unique notification go off and god, he was not expecting that.

his hand tightens on his phone when he reads your message. what the hell do you mean you sent it to the wrong person? who the hell was the right person?

5 TIMES ZUKO BURNED THE PALACE + 1 TIME THE MAID FINALLY UNDERSTOOD WHY

art cr @ oouyox on X

18+ MDNI, smut, adult!zuko, fire lord!zuko, established relationship, newlywed era, dom!zuko, jealous!zuko, fire lady!reader, waterbender!reader, cockwarming, oral sex, edging, creampie, semi-public sex, dry hump, etc ... DEAR DIARY, it’s my sixth day as a palace maid & apparently fire lord zuko burns things down whenever he’s alone with his wife. i asked the head maid about it, but she said i’m still too innocent to understand ...? is it because the fire lord is abusive ?! i just hope the kind fire lady is okay :<

O1 | HOPELESSLY DEVOTED TO YOU

The palace staff had quickly learned to read the architectural warning signs. At first, the occasional flicker of the wall sconces was easy to dismiss as a normal side effect of living inside the Fire Nation royal estate, where ceremonial flames burned at nearly every corner and the Caldera heat had a personality of its own. A candle trembling during a tense council meeting was not unusual. A brazier roaring too brightly after the Fire Lord received bad news was simply part of palace life. Firebenders were emotional people, after all, and the palace had housed generations of them.

But then the Fire Lord got married, and suddenly the entire palace became one prolonged fire hazard.

Whenever Zuko was struck by a particularly intense wave of desire for his wife, his inner fire reacted with embarrassing honesty. The decorative flames burning in the iron wall sconces would surge upward, roaring to life in blinding, unnatural pillars of gold. Lanterns trembled on their hooks, curtains smoked at the edges, and the very air in certain corridors grew so thick and hot that walking through them felt like stepping into the throat of a dragon. It became common knowledge among the staff that if a hallway suddenly felt like a furnace and the torches were licking the ceiling, you simply turned around and walked the other way.

No one said anything directly, of course. This was the Fire Lord and Fire Lady, newlyweds and apparently determined to test the structural endurance of every room, corridor, garden, balcony, kitchen, archive, and unfortunately, the royal study. The guards developed a silent rotation around the affected areas. The maids began carrying water basins with the same exhausted professionalism soldiers carried spears. The council, with great suffering and even greater self-preservation, pretended not to notice whenever their notoriously strict, punctual ruler arrived at official meetings with his collar pulled suspiciously high and his hair slightly more ruined than court protocol allowed.

You, naturally, found the entire situation hilarious. Zuko didn’t.

“You’re ruining my reputation,” he muttered one morning over breakfast, glaring into his tea as if the jasmine leaves had personally betrayed him. His hair was still half-loose from sleep, his robe lazily tied at the waist, and the faint reddish mark just beneath his jaw was doing an absolutely terrible job of staying hidden under his collar.

You lifted your teacup with both hands, blinking at him over the rim with exaggerated innocence. “My love, your reputation survived banishment, piracy, treason, and that one unfortunate ponytail era. I think it can survive people knowing you like your wife.”

His golden eyes narrowed. “I do not merely like my wife.”

“Oh?”

His gaze flicked to your mouth, then back to your eyes with the grim seriousness of a man discussing military strategy. “I am devoted to my wife.”

Your heart did something terribly inconvenient inside your chest. Then Zuko, apparently deciding that ruining you emotionally before breakfast was perfectly acceptable royal behavior, added in a lower voice, “Obsessed, even.”

The candle between you burst into a sudden, dramatic flame.

Both of you looked at it.

From the doorway, the head maid closed her eyes and took a very slow breath. “Not again,” she whispered.

O2 | SEVEN MINUTES OF HEAVEN

The first major casualty of your absolute lack of restraint was the royal study. It had started as a minor disagreement over a passing comment made by a visiting Earth Kingdom dignitary, which really should not have escalated as quickly as it did. The dignitary had been harmless enough, charming in that polished diplomatic way, with smooth compliments and practiced laughter that clearly meant nothing beyond courtly manners. You had barely paid him any mind. Zuko, unfortunately, had paid him too much mind.

By the time the heavy doors of the royal study closed behind you both, the Fire Lord’s fiercely protective instincts were already simmering dangerously beneath his skin. The room smelled of cedar, parchment, ink, and the sharp metallic bite of ozone, a scent you had come to associate with your husband trying very hard not to set something on fire. He stood near the shelves with a scroll clenched in one hand, his jaw tight enough to cut glass, while you leaned against the edge of his massive oak map table and crossed your arms.

“You are being ridiculous, Zuko,” you said. The table behind you was covered in carefully arranged naval documents, trade routes, council reports, and one very important scroll that had taken three ministers nearly a week to prepare. “He complimented my diplomacy. That is literally his job.”

Zuko’s eyes flashed. “He complimented more than your diplomacy.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was honestly impressive you didn’t see the back of your own skull. “You know I only have eyes for you. Besides, you are one to talk. Honestly, with your history, I’m surprised you didn’t accidentally marry half the Earth Kingdom before I got here. Total womanizer.”

Zuko went completely still.

The scroll in his hand lowered slowly, and you realized a fraction too late that you had touched something far more tender than simple jealousy. Over the past decade, Zuko had mellowed into a composed ruler, a man capable of silencing entire council chambers with nothing but a look. But there were still old wounds beneath all that control, places where rejection and loneliness had carved themselves too deeply into him. Your teasing had landed somewhere dangerously close to one of them.

“A womanizer?” Zuko repeated quietly.

His voice was calm, and that was what made it worse. It had dropped into that dark, gravelly register meant only for you, the one that made the back of your neck prickle and your spine instinctively straighten. He placed the scroll down on the desk with careful precision, then moved around the table with slow, heavy steps until he was standing directly in front of you, crowding you back against the polished wood.

“My wife,” he said, his golden eyes burning with raw, defensive intensity, “I haven’t looked at, let alone wanted, another woman in years. I was abstinent before you invaded my palace, pointed a blade at my throat, and drove me completely insane.”

Your breath caught. The firelights in the study flickered at the edges of your vision, but you could barely focus on them with the way he was looking at you, as if the entire world had narrowed down to the space between your bodies.

“That was…” You swallowed, suddenly finding it very difficult to hold onto your smug little smile. “That was a very dramatic answer.”

Zuko only huffed, low and humorless, his mouth twitching like he could not decide whether he wanted to argue with you or ruin you against the nearest available surface.

“Anyway, you have a council meeting in exactly—”

“They can wait.”

“They really cannot.”

“They can,” he said, and there was something almost dangerous in how certain he sounded. His hands found your waist, scorching through the layers of crimson silk as he pushed closer, forcing the edge of the map table to press harder against the back of your thighs. The carefully organized naval reports crinkled beneath your palms when you braced yourself, and Zuko’s eyes dropped to the movement before lifting back to your face, dark and possessive and entirely too pleased with the way your composure had started to slip.

You opened your mouth to respond, but whatever clever retort you had prepared vanished the moment his lips brushed the side of your neck. Zuko had always loved you with a terrifying kind of intensity, and when his emotions caught fire, he had a habit of kissing like he was trying to prove something to both of you at once. Still, there was nothing uncertain in the way your fingers curled into his collar, nothing hesitant in the way you pulled him closer, dragging him down until his mouth finally crashed against yours.

The kiss wasn’t elegant. It was teeth and heat and months of carefully leashed obsession finally snapping under the weight of one careless accusation.

Zuko kissed you like he was still trying to prove a point, like every word you had thrown at him had struck somewhere too close to an old wound and he had decided the only acceptable response was to make you forget you had ever doubted him. One large, calloused hand slid up your spine, fingers spreading firmly between your shoulder blades while the other gripped your hip hard enough to make the silk wrinkle beneath his palm. You answered by biting his lower lip, and the low, broken sound that tore from his throat went straight through you.

“My lord,” you gasped against his mouth, freezing fingers twisting into the front of his robes. “You’re gonna be late—”

“Don’t care,” he panted, voice wrecked and rough. He shoved your skirts up with impatient hands and lifted you onto the map table in one motion. Scrolls scattered. An inkwell tipped over, spilling black across weeks of careful work, but neither of you noticed.

You barely had time to brace yourself before he pushed your legs apart. He freed himself with jerky movements, and the thick, scorching heat of his cock dragged against your inner thigh. You shivered at the contrast.

“Zuko—f-fuck—” The word broke into a sharp moan as he pushed inside you in one deep thrust, stretching you open around burning heat. The clash of temperatures dragged ragged groans from both of you.

He moved with none of his usual restraint after that, the table creaking beneath you as ruined scrolls slipped uselessly to the floor. Your freezing hands clutched at his shoulders, frost blooming beneath your fingertips before melting almost instantly against the fevered heat of his skin.

“You’re unbearable when you’re—ah!—jealous,” you managed between breaths, the words shaky and broken.

Zuko let out a breathless, almost pained laugh against your neck, hips never slowing. “And yet you keep giving me reasons.”

He shifted just enough to find the angle that made the whole room blur at the edges.

“Zuko—right t-there,” you gasped, head falling back as your legs tightened around his waist. The firelights in the study answered before he could, flickering wildly as his control slipped. Flames stretched higher in the sconces, throwing restless gold across the walls, while a nearby candle flared too bright and caught the corner of a discarded scroll.

Neither of you stopped.

Zuko moved with terrifying concentration, one hand planted against the table, the other gripping your thigh as if he needed something solid to hold onto. The room filled with heat, paper crumpled beneath you, and somewhere behind him, another small flame caught at the edge of an old tapestry.

“Zuko—ah, fuck—I’m—” Your words dissolved into a broken moan as you came first, sudden and shattering. Your walls clenched tight around his burning length.

The cold rush dragged him over the edge right after. He buried himself deep with a choked groan, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you. His inner fire roared so fiercely that two of the wall sconces burst into tall, uncontrolled flames for several seconds before slowly settling.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the soft crackle of the small fires still licking at the edges of the room.

Zuko stayed buried inside you, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. His breath was hot and uneven against your neck. You carded freezing fingers through his messy hair and pressed a soft kiss to his scarred cheek.

“…You’re definitely late now,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

When Fire Lord Zuko finally strode into the grand hall—hair slightly mussed, ceremonial robes hastily straightened, and a very obvious trail of fresh dark marks blooming along the side of his neck—the temperature in the palace had spiked noticeably. The decorative fire sconces outside the royal study were still flaring brighter than usual.

Avatar Aang took one look at him, then at the faint sheen of lingering frost melting on Zuko’s collar, and choked violently on his tea.

The rest of the council suddenly found the table extremely interesting.

Zuko, however, simply took his seat with that terrifyingly composed Fire Lord mask firmly back in place. Though the faint, smug curve at the corner of his mouth gave him away completely.

He was exactly seven minutes late.

And he didn’t look sorry at all.

O3 | “SIR, I’M NOT PAID ENOUGH FOR THIS.”

The outdoor training courtyard was not safe from your antics either. The afternoon sun was blistering, turning the stone tiles warm beneath your bare feet, but the heat rolling off Zuko’s skin was even hotter. He moved across the courtyard with lethal precision, dual dao swords flashing in sharp silver arcs as he pressed forward. You met him strike for strike, your waterbending weaving through his aggression like a river cutting through stone. He had trained under masters, survived wars, fought prodigies and assassins and spirits, but you had learned his body in motion with a familiarity that made every sparring match feel less like combat and more like a private language.

He swung low. You stepped over the blade. He pivoted, and you caught the shift in his weight before he completed the motion, twisting your wrist and drawing moisture from the air until it hardened into a wicked, glittering blade of ice. With a sharp sweep of your ankle and a perfectly timed pull of water beneath his heel, you sent him off balance. Zuko hit the ground with a rough grunt, and before he could recover, you vaulted forward, straddling his waist and pressing the freezing tip of your ice dagger directly against the erratic pulse beating at his neck.

“Dead,” you panted, victorious and breathless, a smirk curling at your lips.

Zuko didn’t look at the blade. He looked at you.

His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his chest rising and falling beneath the open collar of his training robe. His golden eyes dragged slowly from your triumphant expression to the way your thighs pinned him in place, and the sudden clash of your freezing temperature against his scorching skin visibly wrecked whatever remained of his concentration. A soft cloud of steam curled where your bare legs pressed against him. His hands flexed once at his sides, then slid up to grip your thighs with desperate, reverent heat.

He had simply stopped trying.

“You’re distracted,” you accused, breathless and smug.

Zuko’s gaze flicked back to yours, dark and unashamed. “Well, you’re sitting on top of me.”

“That is a terrible excuse.”

“It’s a very convincing one.”

You laughed, delighted, but the sound barely had time to leave your mouth before his hand moved to the back of your neck and pulled you down into a kiss. The ice dagger dissolved instantly, melting into a harmless stream of water that ran over his collarbone and disappeared into the fabric of his robe. You meant to tease him for surrendering so easily, but then his hips shifted beneath you, and the thought scattered completely. Through the thin layers of training clothes, you felt the unmistakable hard line of him pressed against you, hot and insistent, betraying exactly why his focus had slipped in the first place.

Your breath caught against his mouth.

His grip on your thighs tightened, and when you moved by accident—just a slight shift of your weight over his lap—his reaction was immediate. A rough, strained sound broke low in his throat, his head tipping back against the ground for half a second before his golden eyes snapped back to yours, darker than before. The victory in your expression slowly turned into something far more dangerous.

“Oh,” you breathed, unable to stop the smile spreading across your lips. “So that’s why you lost.”

You shifted again, deliberately this time, just enough to make the heat between you drag in a way that stole the air from both of your lungs. Zuko’s hand slid up to your waist, holding you in place, but he did not push you away. If anything, he pulled you closer, guiding the slow, heated movement until the line between sparring and something far less appropriate blurred completely.

Around you, the courtyard seemed to inhale. The lanterns along the wall flared, the training posts began to smoke, and a nearby guard, who had unfortunately chosen that exact moment to enter through the side gate, stopped mid-step, stared at the scene, and very slowly turned around.

He did not get paid enough for this.

Two more guards followed him without a word.

By the time the flames around the courtyard settled, three practice posts had been scorched, one stone pillar had cracked from thermal shock, and Zuko had somehow managed to look both smug and completely ruined at the same time. You brushed ash off his shoulder later, trying very hard not to laugh, while he stood there with his hair destroyed, his robe uneven, and the kind of expression that made it very clear he had absolutely no regrets.

“This is why the staff avoids us,” you told him.

Zuko leaned down until his mouth brushed your ear. “Good.”

O4 | STEP ONE: CALL HIM ZUZU!

But the most chaotic incident happened in the supposed privacy of your royal bedchamber, fueled by three generous glasses of imported plum wine and your unfortunate discovery of Zuko’s old travel chest.

You were delightfully, shamelessly drunk, rummaging through the old belongings he had kept tucked away at the back of the chamber while he watched you from the bed with the wary patience of a man who knew his wife well enough to expect disaster. There were old cloaks, worn maps, a few dull blades wrapped in cloth, and several items from the years he clearly did not enjoy discussing unless he was already half-asleep and emotionally ambushed by your cold hands on his chest.

Then you found the mask.

The infamous wooden Blue Spirit mask stared up at you from beneath a folded travel cloak, its painted grin just as dramatic as the stories had promised. Your eyes widened. Your mouth fell open. Zuko, immediately sensing danger, sat up.

“No,” he said.

You slowly lifted the mask.

“No.”

“Zuko.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Zuzu.”

His expression tightened. “Don’t Zuzu me.”

You turned toward him with the biggest, most delighted smile he had ever seen, clutching the mask like a sacred treasure. “Katara told me about this.”

Zuko closed his eyes.

Of course Katara had told you. Katara had a gift, and it was not just waterbending, healing, or her terrifying ability to mother people into becoming better versions of themselves. No, Katara had the supernatural ability to make traumatized boys confess their entire life stories to her. Jet, Aang, Sokka, Zuko; somehow all of them had, at one point or another, looked into her kind blue eyes and decided, yes, this girl absolutely needed to hear the worst thing that had ever happened to them.

And now, thanks to her, you knew about the Blue Spirit, which meant Zuko was doomed.

It started as a joke, as most of your terrible ideas did. You had dragged the mask out of his travel chest with far too much excitement, demanded he put it on, and somehow managed to bully the Fire Lord of the Fire Nation into indulging you with nothing but sparkling eyes and a smile he had never learned how to refuse. The bargain had been simple, if deeply unfair: he would wear the mask, and in return you would sit sweetly in his lap—taking him fully inside you and staying there without moving.

Which, technically, you were doing.

The plum wine had left you warm and loose above him, your arms looped lazily around his neck while Zuko sat against the pillows with the last of his dignity barely hanging on by a thread. He was buried deep inside you, thick and throbbing while your walls wrapped snugly around his cock. He tried very hard to act like this was not the most unreasonable form of torture you had ever invented.

The mask stared back at you with its sharp painted grin, pale tusks, hollow eyes, and all the dramatic menace of a nightmare that had learned theater. It should not have been funny. It definitely should not have been romantic. But you, warmed by plum wine and your own terrible sense of humor, looked at him like this was the most delightful thing you had ever seen.

Zuko, unfortunately, had no idea what to do with that.

He had been perfectly willing to toss the mask aside the second you dragged it out of his travel chest, but you had whined so dramatically when he reached for it that he froze mid-motion, one hand hovering beside the painted blue grin.

“Nooo,” you complained, clutching at his wrist with both hands. “Keep the mask on.”

Zuko went still beneath you.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m extremely serious.”

“The mask is crooked.”

“That makes it better.”

“It does not.”

“It does,” you insisted, squinting at him with the solemn concentration of someone trying very hard to appear artistic while very drunk. The Blue Spirit’s painted grin stared back at you, all sharp teeth and dramatic menace, while the actual Fire Lord behind it sat painfully still beneath your attention. “You look very mysterious.”

“I look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously hot,” you said, then reached up with both hands to adjust the strap.

Unfortunately, your coordination had been murdered by plum wine. Instead of fixing it, you somehow made the mask tilt even farther to one side, turning the fearsome Blue Spirit into something lopsided, sulky, and deeply offended. You stared at him for one long, silent second.

Then you giggled.

It was such a small thing. A drunken little request, harmless and silly, made with your eyes bright from wine and your smile too soft to be cruel. Still, insecurity struck him faster than reason could. For one brief, awful second, his mind went somewhere old and ugly, back to every stare that had lingered too long on his scar, every flinch hidden behind polite manners, every person who had looked at the burned side of his face before they looked at him.

His voice came out quieter than he intended. “What, is the mask better?”

You blinked.

Then your expression changed so quickly it almost hurt to watch. The teasing vanished, replaced by something fiercely offended, as if the thought itself had personally insulted you. “No, silly,” you said, already reaching for the edge of the mask. “I just wanna tease you.”

Before he could answer, you pulled it off his face and yeeted it over your shoulder with absolutely no grace. Weee. The mask sailed through the air in a tragic little arc before landing harmlessly somewhere among the cushions.

Zuko stared after it, then he stared back at you.

Without the mask, his face was fully visible in the dim amber light of the bedchamber: the strong line of his jaw, the softness of his mouth, the old scar that had shaped him without ever making him any less beautiful, and the golden eyes that had once burned with anger but now looked at you with something so painfully devoted it made your chest ache. You cupped his face with both hands, your thumbs brushing over his cheeks with tenderness.

“Nothing beats your pretty face, Zuzu.”

Zuko went completely still.

There it was again, that impossible thing you did to him. You could tease him until his ears went red, bully him into wearing an old vigilante mask, laugh at his suffering like it was your favorite hobby, and then suddenly say something so gentle that it cut through every defense he had ever built. You were smiling at him like his face, scar and all, was not something to tolerate or look past, but something precious. Something beloved.

And because the spirits were apparently cruel, you said it while sitting so close, while your body was wrapped around his, while he was already buried deep inside you and trying very hard to pretend he was not losing every last scrap of composure he had left.

It made him want to come right there and then.

“Stop,” he rasped.

You tilted your head, still smiling. “Huh? Why?”

His hands tightened at your hips, not enough to hurt, only enough to keep you still. His jaw worked once, the muscle in his cheek jumping as he tried to gather whatever dignity had not already been ruined by you. “Just…” His voice came out strained, almost embarrassed. “Don’t move, unless you want to get pregnant.”

For one second, your wine-softened mind processed the warning.

Then your smile turned wicked.

“You do know I can just bend your—” You paused, waving one hand vaguely between you with far too much confidence for someone explaining absolutely nothing. “Your fluids, right?”

The gesture made no scientific sense whatsoever, but you delivered it with the calm certainty of a woman who had never once allowed anatomy, physics, or basic decency to stop her.

You leaned closer, lips hovering near his, mischief bright in your wine-soft eyes. “Besides, it’s not like that hasn’t happened before.”

Zuko’s eyes shut for half a second.

“That is not the problem.”

“Then what is the problem, my lord?” you asked sweetly, pressing slow, teasing kisses along the side of his neck, up the sharp line of his jaw, and finally near the corner of his mouth.

His breath left him unevenly, almost a laugh and almost a groan. He looked humiliated by his own body, but too far gone to pretend he was not completely ruined by you. “The problem,” he said, voice tight with restraint, “is that we have barely done anything.”

Your expression brightened with realization.

“Oh,” you whispered, delighted. “So this is about your pride.”

“Don’t sound so pleased.”

“I’m very pleased.”

“Y/N.”

You shifted just enough to make his grip tighten again, just enough to pull a rough, broken sound from low in his throat. His teeth caught against his lower lip, his head tipping back against the pillows as if sheer stubbornness alone could hold him together. It was adorable, actually. Devastating, but adorable.

The more he thought about it, the worse it became. The warmth of you around him, your legs wrapped lazily around his waist, your hands still cradling his face like he was something worth loving carefully. Every soft movement, every breathless little laugh, every fond look you gave him pushed him closer to the edge he was desperately pretending he had not already reached.

So naturally, you moved again.

Ever so slowly. Teasingly. Just enough to shred whatever pride he had left.

The lantern beside the bed flared so brightly the room flashed gold.

Zuko’s composure broke all at once. His hands clamped around your hips, his whole body going tense beneath you as a low, wrecked groan tore from his throat and disappeared into the curve of your neck.

“Fuck, Y/N— I’m—” His voice broke into a wrecked groan. His hips jerked up once, twice, then he came hard.

You felt the first thick spurt of his cum shoot deep inside you, hot and sudden. His member pulsed strongly, again and again, flooding your walls with rope after rope of warm release. It was so much that it quickly spilled out around where you two were joined, slick and messy, dripping down his shaft and over your thighs every time he twitched.

Zuko shuddered beneath you, mouth open in a silent moan as another powerful spurt filled you. His whole body tensed, muscles straining, while the sconces around the room surged with bright blue-white flames that lit up the entire bedchamber for several long seconds. One of the hanging lanterns flared so intensely the flame nearly touched the canopy before settling.

When it finally slowed, Zuko was breathing hard, chest heaving, looking thoroughly ruined and a little mortified. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, and his golden eyes were glassy with pleasure and embarrassment.

Then you looked down at him, unbearably pleased with yourself.

Zuko dragged one heavy hand down his face as if asking the spirits why they had made him fall in love with the most infuriating woman alive.

“Haa…” he breathed, glaring at you with absolutely no real anger. “You just love to test my patience, don’t you, my queen?”

A sweet, bright giggle escaped you, echoing through the quiet chamber. You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his scarred collarbone, feeling his pulse jump beneath your lips.

“Oh, absolutely.”

His laugh was low and wrecked, his hands sliding carefully back to your waist.

And the night, of course, was only beginning.

O5 | THE FIRE LORD IS A SUCKER FOR HIS WIFE

Tucked deep behind the private wing of the palace, the moon garden was quieter than the formal courtyards and far more intimate than the public terraces. Zuko had commissioned it shortly after your wedding, though he had tried to be painfully casual about the entire thing, as if personally designing a secluded garden filled with your favorite flowers, a koi pond cold enough for your waterbending, and shaded stone paths made specifically for evening walks with you was not the most obvious confession of devotion in the world. It had a narrow pond lined with black volcanic stones, clusters of red fire lilies blooming beside pale moonflowers, and a curved stone bench beneath a low maple tree whose leaves looked almost black under the night sky. The servants rarely entered unless summoned, the guards only passed the outer gate during patrol, and the entire place was usually reserved for those rare moments when the Fire Lord wanted silence with the only person he could never bear to be away from for long.

Naturally, that peace did not last.

You found Zuko there after midnight, sitting on the curved stone bench with his outer robe hanging loosely from one shoulder and most of his formal layers already pushed aside in clear, stubborn defiance of medical common sense. His long hair had slipped free from its tie, dark strands falling over his face and sticking to the damp line of his neck. The moonlight caught the hard planes of his bare chest and abdomen, tracing silver along old scars, tense muscle, and the familiar golden warmth of his skin. One arm was draped lazily over the back of the bench, but the pose was too deliberate, too careless in the way only Zuko could be when he was trying to pretend something did not hurt.

Then you saw the blood.

A dark smear stained the exposed skin of his upper thigh, where a shallow but ugly cut had torn. It was not fatal, not even close, but it was bleeding enough to make your stomach twist and your irritation rise immediately behind it. Zuko, of course, looked more annoyed at being discovered than concerned about the wound itself, because apparently becoming Fire Lord, surviving assassination attempts, getting married, and promising to stop carrying the entire world on his shoulders had done absolutely nothing to cure him of his lifelong allergy to asking for help.

“You’re bleeding,” you said.

Zuko glanced down at his thigh as if the wound had personally inconvenienced him. “It’s just a scratch.”

“It’s leaking.”

“That is usually what blood does.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

The lantern beside the koi pond flickered once, as if even the flame knew he had said the wrong thing.

With a long, suffering breath, you crossed the garden, gathered your skirts in one hand, and crouched down between his parted knees before he could argue again. Zuko’s expression shifted immediately, the sharp edge of his stubbornness catching on surprise. You ignored it, drawing water from the koi pond with a smooth curl of your wrist until it rose in a clear ribbon and wrapped itself around your fingers. The moment your glowing palms settled near his thigh, the moon garden filled with soft blue light.

“You should have called me,” you murmured, keeping your eyes on the wound as the healing water spread gently over torn skin.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You woke three guards, two ministers, and probably half the turtle-ducks by bleeding through the royal hallway, but yes, thank you for sparing me.”

His mouth twitched. “The turtle-ducks are strong. They will recover.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You married me.”

“Still questioning that.”

His quiet laugh was low and tired, but it warmed the space between you more intimately than any flame. You pressed your thumb near the edge of the wound to guide the healing water deeper, and Zuko’s breath caught despite his best effort to hide it. The muscle beneath your hand jumped. His fingers curled against the stone bench, long and tense, while the lantern above his shoulder flared a little too brightly.

You looked up.

He looked away with the stiff, guilty dignity of a man who knew exactly what his own fire had just confessed.

“Zuko.” you warned him.

“I know.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“I said I know.”

“You’re injured.”

His jaw flexed. “It is not related.”

“You’re sitting here half-dressed, bleeding on a garden bench, and somehow still finding a way to be embarrassed because your wife is touching your thigh.”

The faint color climbing his neck betrayed him completely, but he still had the nerve to look offended. “You’re kneeling between my legs and scolding me. I’m reacting with impressive restraint.”

The words landed between you with enough heat to make the glowing water tremble around your fingers.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The wound was nearly closed now, the angry red line fading beneath the blue light of your bending until only smooth, warm skin remained beneath your palm. You should have stood, smacked his shoulder for being reckless, and dragged him back inside before the night patrol circled past the outer gate again. The moon garden was private, yes, but not unguarded; there were still soldiers beyond the walls, servants in the nearby corridors, and a very official expectation that a secluded garden built for quiet walks would not be used for anything else.

Or so everyone kept insisting.

Instead, your hand lingered against his thigh for one second too long, and Zuko’s golden eyes darkened beneath the loose fall of his hair.

The look he gave you made the koi pond steam.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said.

You blinked up at him with exaggerated innocence, though your hand was still resting a little too comfortably against his newly healed thigh. “I’m healing you.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m just naturally joyful person.”

“Joyful person, huh? No wonder you threatened to freeze a councilman’s tongue this morning.”

Your expression didn’t change. “He interrupted my breakfast.”

“That doesn’t support your argument.”

A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it, soft and bright in the quiet garden, and just like that, whatever remained of Zuko’s restraint seemed to fold in on itself. His expression changed, irritation melting into something far more dangerous and far more tender. He looked at you the way he always did right before the palace lost another curtain, like your laughter was the only sound in the world that mattered and his fire had no idea what to do with the feeling.

His hand lifted from the bench and touched your chin, tilting your face up with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

“The wound is healed,” he murmured.

You glanced down. It was. Completely.

“So it is,” you whispered.

“You’re still kneeling.”

“Well, duh, you’re holding my face.”

His thumb brushed once along your chin, then higher, grazing your lower lip with the kind of careful heat that made the entire garden feel suddenly too quiet.

The moon garden went very still around you. The koi pond steamed faintly at the edges. The fire lilies glowed red beneath the lantern light, and the night air warmed until the scent of maple leaves, water, and Zuko’s familiar cedar heat wrapped around you like a warning.

You forgot whatever clever thing you were about to say.

Instead, your gaze dropped, which Zuko noticed almost immediately.

His thumb stilled against your mouth. “Y/N.”

There was warning in his voice, but not nearly enough conviction behind it. Not when he was still half-dressed on the stone bench, hair loose around his flushed face, newly healed thigh still warm beneath your hand, and looking at you like he had already lost the argument before it began.

You tilted your head with exaggerated innocence. “What?”

“You know what.”

You pressed a slow kiss to the inside of his newly healed thigh, right where blood had stained his skin only moments ago, and Zuko’s breath fractured so sharply it nearly ruined his attempt at dignity. His fingers curled against the stone bench, then slid into your hair, not pushing, not guiding, just holding on like he needed something solid while the rest of him quietly gave up.

“I’m very thorough.”

His eyes narrowed. “That is not what thorough means.”

“It is when I’m the healer.”

You looked up at him.

Moonlight painted silver across his bare chest, the hard lines of his abdomen, the old scars scattered across his skin, and the faint sheen of sweat gathering at his throat. His long hair hung loose and messy, a few strands clinging to the sharp line of his jaw. He looked like a man who had survived wars, assassination attempts, exile, palace politics, and half the world trying to break him.

And somehow, this was what undid him.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he breathed, voice rough and helpless.

Your smile softened for half a second. “Wrong,” you murmured playfully, kissing him again, slower this time. “I’m going to make you feel better.”

Zuko’s laugh came out low and wrecked, barely more than a breath.

Whatever answer he meant to give disappeared when you tugged the rest of his robe aside and freed him. He was already achingly hard, flushed dark and leaking at the tip. You dragged your tongue slowly from base to head, savoring the way his thigh muscle jumped under your free hand.

Zuko let out a shaky exhale, head tipping back against the bench. “Hah—Y/N,”

You answered by taking him into your mouth, slow and wet, sinking down until he bumped the back of your throat. A low, broken sound escaped him—something between a groan and a sigh, like the tension he’d been carrying all night was finally cracking.

You worked him with lazy, deliberate strokes of your mouth, one hand stroking what you couldn’t take while the other rested possessively on his uninjured thigh. Every time you hollowed your cheeks or swirled your tongue, his hips twitched, fighting the urge to thrust.

The muscles in his abdomen flexed visibly with every stroke of your tongue as his breathing grew more uneven. You could feel him throbbing, getting impossibly harder against your tongue.

When you looked up, his golden eyes were fixed on you—dark, overwhelmed, and completely unguarded. The sight made something warm bloom in your chest.

The sight only made you greedier. So you slowed down, cruelly deliberate now, learning the exact rhythm that made his breath catch and then denying him the moment he got too close. Every time you felt his thighs tense and his member start to throb harder against your tongue, you eased off, licking lazily along the underside or sucking softly on just the head until his hips twitched with frustration.

His fingers tightened in your hair, not forcing you, but clearly fighting the urge to. “Y/N…” His voice was hoarse, almost pleading. “Don’t—ah—don’t tease me like this.”

You pulled off with a wet pop, lips glistening, and looked up at him with a wicked little smile. “But you look so pretty when you’re desperate.”

Zuko’s eyes shut, his jaw clenching as if the words had struck somewhere embarrassingly deep.

You sank back down immediately, taking him to the back of your throat in one smooth motion. Zuko groaned, head falling back against the bench as his hips jerked. You could feel him getting dangerously close again—thick and pulsing on your tongue—so you pulled back once more, stroking him slowly with your hand.

He let out a wrecked sound, half curse, half whimper. “You’re cruel… but—fuck, hah—you’re so beautiful.”

You hummed around him in response, the vibration pulling another quiet curse from his lips. You took him deeper, faster, letting the wet sounds mix with his ragged breathing and the gentle ripple of water. One of your freezing fingers traced the sensitive skin just beneath his cock, the sharp temperature contrast making his whole body jerk.

The second time you pulled him back from the edge, he lost whatever pride had been keeping him silent.

“Please,” he rasped.

For once, he looked less like a ruler and more like a man entirely at his wife’s mercy.

You looked up at him with a wicked, affectionate smile, still stroking him fast and tight. “Cum for me, Zuzu.”

For a heartbeat, he tried not to.

You saw it in the sharp clench of his jaw, the way his fingers tightened in your hair without pulling, the way his breath caught and broke like he could still argue his way out of surrendering. Then his restraint snapped quietly, then all at once.

The Fire Lord came with a choked, broken groan, his hips jerking up uncontrollably as the first thick, hot spurt flooded your mouth. You moaned around his pulsing cock, swallowing greedily, but there was too much—thick ropes of cum kept shooting across your tongue, so much that it overflowed almost immediately. It spilled from the corners of your stretched lips, dripping messily down his throbbing shaft and over your fingers as you kept stroking him through it. The sheer amount of it made your thighs press together, heat pooling low in your belly at how desperately his body was giving in to you.

He shuddered hard beneath you, muscles taut and trembling, his long hair sticking to his sweat-damp neck and chest. His golden eyes were half-lidded, glazed with raw pleasure as he watched you take every drop like you were starving for him.

The koi pond steamed violently. A nearby fire lily bush glowed red-hot before slowly dimming.

When it finally subsided, Zuko was slumped against the bench with his chest heaving, your husband looked beautifully ruined. You pulled off slowly, licking your lips clean with a small, satisfied smile. A thin string of cum still connected your bottom lip to him before it broke.

“Good boy,” you teased softly.

Zuko stared down at you for a long moment, something raw and helpless in his expression.

“…You’re impossible,” he finally whispered, voice hoarse and wondering, as if he still couldn’t believe you were real.

You pressed one last soft kiss to his thigh and smiled.

“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted, my lord?”

His smirk deepened at your question.

Clearly, you had not realized how much danger that pretty little mouth of yours had put you in.

Zuko was still flushed, still catching his breath, still looking far too ruined for a man who had any right to recover so quickly. But his hands were steady when they reached for you, sliding beneath your arms and pulling you up into his lap before you could even think to escape.

You landed against him with a soft gasp, your skirts spilling messily over his thighs. The warmth of him pressed through the fabric, unmistakable and already returning, and suddenly your teasing smile did not feel quite as victorious as it had a moment ago.

“My wife always knows best, doesn’t she?” he murmured, his voice low against your mouth.

O6 | UPDATE: THE FIRE LADY IS FINE

By the end of the first month, the palace had adapted with the grim efficiency of a nation recovering from war. The maids carried water buckets as part of their standard duties, the guards learned which corridors to avoid based on heat patterns alone, and the council stopped scheduling meetings too close to breakfast, lunch, dinner, sparring sessions, diplomatic arguments, late-night kitchen raids, library research, moon garden strolls, or any moment where the Fire Lady happened to smile at her husband for longer than three seconds. The palace seamstresses quietly reinforced your gowns, the head chef hid the good towels, and the royal archivist posted a handwritten warning outside the study that simply read: NO OPEN FLAMES NEAR NAVAL DOCUMENTS, which everyone understood was not actually about candles.

Zuko pretended to be offended by all of this, but you knew better. For all his muttering about dignity and decorum, the Fire Lord was utterly hopeless. He had spent years learning how to contain himself, how to swallow rage, how to make his fire precise enough to serve a nation instead of destroy it. Yet somehow, all it took was your hand on his sleeve, your mouth near his ear, your laughter pressed against his throat, or apparently the simple act of healing a wound on his thigh, and the most powerful firebender in the world became a walking architectural threat.

The newest maid finally understood after one night, when she heard your bright, breathless laughter from behind the royal chamber doors, followed by Zuko’s low voice murmuring something far too soft to be anger. The sconces outside the hallway flared blue-white, the temperature spiked, and suddenly every vague warning from the senior maids made horrifying, embarrassing sense.

By dinner, her diary had only one update:

DEAR DIARY,

thankfully, the fire lady is fine.

the furniture, however, is not.

After that, she stopped asking questions and started carrying a water bucket like everyone else.

These days, the palace staff had been working very hard. If they were lucky, you had already set the fire down with your bending before anyone arrived. If they were not, they had to manually put out the flames before replacing another curtain, cushion, napkin, table runner, practice post, garden lantern, or emotionally unfortunate bread basket. Still, no matter how violently the sconces flared or how many unfortunate pieces of furniture fell victim to the Fire Lord’s complete lack of restraint around his wife, the flames never once touched you.

Even when his control slipped because of you, even when desire made the air shimmer and the palace lights burn brighter than they had any right to, Zuko’s fire always curved away from your skin. It burned around you, sparked above you, and curled through the air like devotion given shape, but it never hurt you. It would never hurt you. His fire had been raised in anger, sharpened by war, and forced for years to survive on pain, but with you, it had learned something gentler, something warmer, something sacred.

With you, his fire had learned love.

And love, no matter how brightly it burned, would always know how to keep you safe.

this is part of the sublimation ( my zuko fic ) universe! read more chapters

this oneshot took me like ~8 hours btw. i need everyone to clap because what the hell </3

anw i alr finished the atla la s2 n it was so good !! altho they skipped n reordered some parts, but it’s prolly bc of the budget... welp, i can’t wait for the movie to come out.

[2.6k] smut, exhibitionism, spit, crude language, grown ass men watching a sex tape (bakusquad), afab!reader

“C’mon man, it’s my turn to choose what we’re watching for movie night, it was your turn last week!” Denki groaned, pushing Kirishima's shoulder.

“Fine, but we’ll have to use Sero’s laptop this time, because a certain someone broke mine last week. You know, with my shattered screen and all?” he turns back to Denki, scoffing. “Really dude? I told you it was an accident already!-”

“No way you guys, I have an essay coming up, I gotta use it as soon as I finish these dishes.” Sero quickly spoke up from the kitchen, hands in the sink, cleaning away. “Use Katsuki’s or something. He's not here anyway.”

Kirishima stares at the black-haired boy. “Absolutely not. There's private stuff on there… plus he only shares his laptop with his girl.”

“So?” Denki argued. “I'm sure he keeps his private stuff locked away considering he’s always keeping things to himself anyway, you know how he is. Besides, don’t y’all remember that he keeps a bunch of movies in a file for us?” Kirishima and Sero looked at eachother for a second. “You mean for them?” they argued. “No, i mean that he knows we have movie hangouts.” Denki rolled his eyes. Even though they told him that it wasn’t a good idea, he still gets up, fixes his shirt before going into Bakugou’s room.

“I’ll just go get it.”

A few minutes later, Denki comes back to the living room, sitting between Kiri and Sero, opening the laptop. The three of them groan as they’re met with a lockscreen, asking for a password.

“Ugh obviously….see? I told you we should’ve used Hanta’s laptop, Bakugou’s too private, man. I can’t even get in myself if I wanted to." Eijirou sighs, facing Denki. “Where's your laptop anyway?” he questions, emphasizing on ‘your’.

“Kyouka has it, remember? She won’t be back until tomorrow.” he says typing on the keyboard, thinking of the right password.

“Dude, if you keep typing wrong shit, you’ll lock his laptop forever and we’re all going to die." Sero grabs his arm, already annoyed. “Let's just use the TV.”

“Why does he need a password anyway?” Kaminari moaned.

"Of course there’s a damn password, Sero added. You think bakugou just leave his stuff unlocked?"

"Guys look, we can have a hint here." Kirishima interrupted, making the other two focus back on the screen.

A tiny sentence pops up prompting a simple question.

⃣ my best friend

Oh yeah, that’s easy, it’s obviously me!” Eijirou laughed, ready to type his answer.

The three men were met with a small ‘invalid’ pop-up screen. Confused, they tried Sero, then Kaminari, then Kirishima (once again, just in case), then Midoriya. Surely it’s him right? Hell, they even tried you! However, all those answers were still wrong, until ‘all might’ somehow unlocked the laptop, making them stare at the homescreen picture of you and Katsuki on a beach, on a recent vacation you both have been on.

"Well, that’s not a very good answer" Denki said, scratching his head.

“…all might? really?” Eijirou and Denki questioned at the same time. They looked at each other for a few seconds, exaggerated betrayal showing on their faces.

“I must admit i’m bummed, does he know who his best friend is? surely he forgot to change that answer." Kirishima rubbed his arm while Denki looked for Bakugou’s pirated movie file. “I’m pretty sure it would’ve been too easy if he chose Izuku man.” Sero added, rolling his eyes at his red haired friend.

“Dude, Kats not scared of getting caught having all those downloaded movies?” Kamirari asked, “There’s a shit ton of pirated stuff in there…” he continued.

The living room’s dorm silence is sometimes broken by “No not that”, “We’ve already watched this”, or Sero’s mocking tone of “We can’t watch horror movies because Kaminari is a baby and is scared of those!”

“Shut up!” he huffs. “t’least I'm not a psycho and watch murder videos all night like you!” he scoffs.

Thirty minutes pass and not a single movie was chosen for the evening.

Sero yawns. “ugh, alright guys let's just do something else instead, clearly we can’t decide on a movie.”

“Wait hold up,” Denki speaks up, intrigued.

“I think we’ve found our movie for tonight.”

“Ew, why is he into weird obscure movies? There’s not even a title to any of these.” Kirishima scrolls down the file. “Maybe it’s something illegal hahaha– Ow!” Sero hits his arm while Denki continues to laugh.

Denki then shrugs and clicks on the video, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Woah bro wait what are you doing?” Eijirou stops him, panicking. “What? he must’ve just forgotten to put a title on it, it’s probably just a regular movie, like Spider-Man or some shit.”

“yeah but it just says video.mov” kirishima adds.

“duh, mov means movie right?” denki replied, big smile on his face like he just solved a mystery.

Sero glares at his friends. He pushes his long hair back, looking at dumb and dumber next to him. “Uh huh. Well let’s hope it’s a movie we haven’t watched yet, I'm sick of you guys watching corny romantic movies.”

“Whatever man, just press play, we wanna see what’s that all about.” Denki yawns, already over this whole movie search.

The beginning of the video shows nothing weird of any sort, just a dimly lit room and a bed that kind of looks like Katsuki’s. Skeptical, but not really caring, they just keep watching.

“Ah shit, i’ll be back, my phone’s ringing. Sorry guys.” Sero gets up to his seat, excusing himself.

“We’re gonna keep watching without you!” Kirishima yells across the hall. “Don't care! This call is important!” Hanta yells back before closing his bedroom door.

The video continues, silence completely filling the room. “Is there even sound on this thing?” Denki whispers, hovering his ear on the side speaker.

Soon however, the awkward silence gets cut off by giggles and heavy breathing , making the two men question their choice of film.

“Hell no man, if that’s an adult movie i’m cancelling the whole hangout." Kirishima takes the laptop from Denki’s hands, ready to press the pause button but suddenly stops.

“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you pausing?” Confused but also pouts of the loss of the device in his hands, Kaminari looks closely at the screen, face changing from confusion to shock.

“Huh… it looks like her!“ he adds.

“I think, i think it is her dude.” Eijirou places the computer back on the coffee table, their interest coming back as soon as they lost it.

You’re barely recognizable, the camera shows you laying down on the bed, wrists tied up to the headboard and white silk sheets in a tangled mess. Drool drips from the cheap plastic ball around your mouth. Your legs are spread at your maximum and the camera is mostly focused on your used and bruised ass, but the most interesting thing is the black tape covering your cunt, making your other hole the star of the show, the only thing on display. The only sound anyone could hear from the speakers was your whining and moaning.

Eijirou and Denki stare at your trembling figure, unable to keep their eyes away.

“—this is what happens when you piss me the fuck off.” They could hear their friend's voice behind the camera, voice low and far from his usual loud tone. “Seeing you flirt with my friends, acting like nothing is gonna happen to you… I can’t let that happen now can I?” You shook your head, tears prickling in the corner of your eyes. He got closer to you, angling the camera to get a closer look at your holes. You whine as you feel his index and middle fingers on your taped cunt, eyes begging for him to fuck you.

“Alright sorry that took so long it was really important– what the fuck are you guys watching?” Sero interrupts, looking at the screen.

“You might wanna sit down for this man.” Eijiro mutters. “Fuck no! Why are you horny fucks watching some por-”

“Oh?” he stops.

Hanta does feels guilty for watching, but he’s fixed on the way your body is trembling in excitement, by the way your pretty face is covered in spit and dried tears, by the way you’re whining softly, and by the way your eyes fixed on Katsuki. You’re being so obedient, despite the obscene scene the screen is showing him.

They’ve never imagined or thought of you that way, the men do feel guilty about it but when they feel their pants tightening, they knew to keep watching.

Careful eyes are fixed on seeing you vulnerable under him, you usually looked so serious and always ready to fight villains, your personality strong and proud. How is it that Katsuki could easily turn you into a puddle of lust, a whole different person?

Bakugou holds the back of your thighs, stopping your wriggling underneath him. “Baby won’t you be a good girl and take what I give you?” you nod frantically, body shaking. “That’s my good girl.” He gives you a kiss on your forehead, then presses his tip to your rim.

You get dizzy as you feel Katsuki filling you up so nicely, never getting used to how big he is. You look at him with half lidded eyes, tears slowly falling down your eyes, wrists hurting from the restraints.

He pushes your legs to the back of your head, making him reach deeper inside you, each rough thrusts make your eyes swell with hot tears. The disgusting red ball in your mouth is muffling your begs while you try to reach for his arms despite your restraints. Your head falls back on the pillows, feeling yourself losing it more and more. He slaps your cheek a few times before removing the ball from your mouth, strings of saliva connected from your lips to the plastic. “You’re a messy bitch you know that? Am I making you feel good?” he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. You're lightheaded, you feel him everywhere, eyes barely focusing on him.

The faster he fucks you, the more you feel the tape slowly peeling off your cunt.

The boys groan at your fucked up state, they’ve never heard a better sound other than your moans and begging.

“Uh-huh… please don’t stop Suki, want’ more!” you mumble, hiccup through your tears. You don’t really know what you’re saying to him as you feel him everywhere. His weight on you, his hands on the back of your thighs, forcing your legs open, his eyes piercing through you. His cock was splitting your ass open, the pressure almost making you pass out. “More?” he scoffs. “Me fucking your tight little ass isn’t enough? You’re just a greedy whore, always wanting to be stuffed full of cock is that it?” You nod over and over again, making him chuckle. “Use words.” He spits. “Yes! I’m a greedy whore! God– I love your cock so much just… please-” You feel out of it, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You feel Katsuki’s thick cock stretching your asshole so hard you start to feel the tape slowly peeling off.

It was obvious that the men wondered how it would feel to be inside you, it’s not like they haven’t thought of it, maybe except Kirishima, who was always so respectful of you and your relationship with Bakugou. In the back of his mind, he still felt bad for watching. Today though, his perspective of you changed for good. You really were nothing but a filthy slut, who’d give any of her holes, just for the sake of pleasure.

“God, look at how well she takes his dick.” Denki confesses, hand eagerly stroking his tip, groaning at the sight of you. Muffled moans and cries are the only thing heard in the living room. The three men were mesmerized by your expressions, Sero slowly pulling his sweatpants down as he strokes his own cock.

“I just… this so wrong man, we have to stop watching this—can you please put your dick away?” Eijirou asks. “If he finds out we’ve watched this, it’s over for all of us.” He continues, holding himself back to join his friends in their pleasuring session.

You gasp when Katsuki suddenly rips the tape off, making you wince in pain. He leans towards your neck, whispering something no one could hear even if you got close to the screen. “Useless cunt, can’t even hold this fucking tape right from how wet you are.” You look at him as he pushes hair out of your face. “Open up." A warm glob of spit hits your tongue as you thank him, his burning palms leaving a slight burn on your ass.

He frees you of the handcuffs before you’re suddenly flipped onto your stomach, lightheaded from the way he manhandles you. “Ass up.” is all he says as you obey, though struggling to keep your knees still, legs shaking. You feel his cock on your ass once again, an indication that you’re not quite done being used yet.

He positions the camera closer to your entrance as he slowly gets inside you, making you both sigh. “Want my cock in your cunt so bad huh? Can’t just get enough of one hole huh?” You don’t answer him, harsh words telling the truth. “That’s too bad, you’re not getting what you want even if the tape is off.”

Denki is a mess, he’s getting closer to his release, while Kirishima tries to look away from the screen, forcing himself up to get water, as he sighs uncomfortably at his tight shorts.

Sero on the other hand, is so focused on you that he comes in his hand without realizing it.

Katsuki groans, out of breath. “I’m close baby. You’re gonna take all I give you right?” His thrusts get sloppier, whining more and more as he gets close to his release, feeling your tight hole milking him. “Cum inside me!” is all he needs to hear needed before you felt his warm load inside your ass. He collapsed on top of you as you cry into the pillow at the feeling, letting him use you without having the chance to cum once.

The three boys groan at the sight of your abused hole, tape crumbled up somewhere on the bed, cum leaking down from your ass onto your neglected cunt. Your legs soon give out, making you fall flat, but Katsuki picks your legs up, picking up the camera to show your leaking hole.

“What an ungrateful girl.” You look back at him, tears drying on your swollen face, "’M sorry sir…” You roll on your back, reaching to scoop the cum off your hole, bringing your fingers to your mouth before releasing them with a slight ‘pop’. “That better?” you wink. He grabs your jaw making you giggle. “My good girl.” he spits in your face once again before the video ends.

“Ugh. You’re fucking gross Denki, better hurry up before he comes back and see your perverted ass on his computer.” Kirishima tells him, as if he’s any better. The bright blonde curses under his breath before running off to the bathroom, shorts barely hanging on his legs.

Sero wakes up from his daydream to his sticky hand, shaking his head before sighing and quickly pulling his pants up, heading to the kitchen to wash his hands.

Eijirou stares at the wall, feeling more guilty than ever, with a raging boner that he has yet to touch.

As Kirishima starts cleaning around him, the door unlocks. He sees Bakugou enter with a few grocery bags, mumbling to himself. Kirishima is too late to shut the laptop off before his friend sees.

Katsuki looks at his (basically stolen) open laptop, screen frozen exposinh your leaking holes and spit covered face on full display. He stares at his red haired roommate, then Sero, then Denki coming out of the shared bathroom. His expression unreadable.

“What the fuck are y’all doing on my laptop?”

for @flwrbo <3

+ @tokkushin

a/n: idk when i’ll stop procrastinating but i’m also moving so i’m super busy… anyway this fic has seen like 4 fandoms but this time it’s the one… i hope. -nami

© txtzen — all rights reserved.

a/n: holy shit i love smau’s and sero?? also fic at the end of this don’t miss it 😼

serokami  x reader

you open your front door and sero and denki are waiting, they both look you up and down before stepping inside your apartment. sero shuts the door behind them and nods at you to walk to your room. denki watches the way your ass sways as you walk, already adjusting himself in his pants as he steps into your room.

you plop down onto the bed and look at them with round eyes. sero’s eyes darken while denki licks his lips. sero is the first one to sit on the bed with you, pulling down the blunt from behind his ear. denki sprawls out on the other side of your bed, rolling over to look at you and sero.

“can you guys kiss already?” denki grins.

“shut the fuck up.” sero rolls his eyes. “you ready to smoke or does your tummy hurt?”

“why don’t you wanna kiss me?” you push your lower lip out.

he sighs, reaching over to set the blunt on your side table before his hand rests on the back of your neck and pulls your lips to his. you squeak in surprise and denki groans watching the two of you. his tongue licks along the seam of your lips, pushing into your warm mouth and grazing against your tongue. you whine softly and he pulls back with a lopsided grin.

“better?” he watches you blink up at him.

“can i.. kiss denki?” you tilt your head.

sero pulls you back to his mouth in a hot kiss before kissing down your jaw to your neck. his lips brush your ear, “you can kiss him. but you’re not fucking him.” he nips at your earlobe. “i’ll let you suck him off but that’s it. don’t be greedy.”

“thank you hanta.” 

his dick twitches when you say his name and then you’re turning and pressing your lips to denki. denki wraps his arms around your back and shoves his tongue in your mouth. he’s sloppy, licking all around your mouth and moaning into you. 

you gasp when you feel sero slide in behind you, he presses his cock right against the curve of your ass and kisses the back of your neck. he slowly grinds against you, sliding a hand between you and denki, cupping your jaw and pulling you back. 

“you’re not fucking her.” sero raises his brows at denki. 

“what am i doing here then?” he tosses his head back. 

“he said i can suck you off.” you whimper when sero’s other hand slips into your sleep shorts. “ha-hanta!” your hips jerk when he presses against your clit. 

“no way.” denki gasps, locking eyes with sero. “paris?” 

“paris.” sero nods. “well lazy paris. we’re not getting outta bed.” 

“fuck i could kiss you.” denki grins. “do you.. wanna kiss?” denki purses his lips. 

“no.” he pulls your panties to the side. 

“why’re you blushing then?” denki leans forward. “what do you think?” he tilts your chin up, taking in your glossed over eyes. “should me and sero kiss?”

“mhmmmm!” your hips jerk when sero drags his fingers through your folds. 

sero leans across and presses his lips to denki’s, groaning when denki pushes his tongue in his mouth. denki tugs at your shorts, pulling your panties down with them. he goes to slide his fingers through your slick but sero pushes him back. 

“no.” sero shakes his head. 

“i don’t mind watching.” denki leans back. 

denki pushes his sweats down, licking his hand and slowly starts to stroke himself. sero circles your clit faster, kissing your neck as you squirm in his arms. he’s rutting against you, showing you just how hard he is from touching you. his fingers slide down to your dripping pussy, slipping two in and grinding his palm against your clit. 

“s-sero!” you gasp. 

“mm.” he nuzzles in your neck. “other name ma.” 

“hanta.” your legs shake. 

denki watches the both of you with parted lips, cock throbbing in his hand. he’s moaning shamelessly, eyes locked on the way you leak around sero’s fingers and shake. sero’s got you so worked up it’s not going to take much more to make you cum. all it takes is a curl of his fingers and for him to move faster and you’re whining out his name, thighs clamping down around his hand. 

he pulls his fingers out and brings them to his lip, groaning around them. “i’ll taste you later.” 

sero nods at denki to move up to the headboard then helps move you into position. you look back at sero over your shoulder, eyes going wide when his dick springs out of his pants. you shake your ass a little bit and he lets out a low chuckle before sliding his tip through your honeyed folds. he pushes his tip in and groans when your gummy walls suck him in. 

“fuck ma, been keeping this from me?” he starts to inch in.

“nghh.” you rest your head on denki’s thigh at the stretch. “hanta..”

“he stretching you out real good?” denki brushes your hair back.

“mhmmm.” you reach up, wrapping your fingers around denki’s cock.

“shit.” his stomach flexes as you lazily pump him. 

sero’s pelvis finally meets the plush of your ass, slowly rolling his hips and grinning at the broken sound that leaves your lips. he starts to pull out and your eyes flutter shut, fingers squeezing around denki at the slow drag. you lift up shakily, guiding denki to your mouth and licking around his leaking tip.

“fuck baby.” denki slumps against your pillows.

you moan around him when sero pushes back in, when he bottoms out he rolls his hips again. this time when he pulls out he snaps his hips back in, making you take more of denki in your mouth. his pace becomes relentless and denki keeps hitting the back of your throat, your head starts to get fuzzy and you give yourself over to them. 

sero’s hands dig into your waist as he fucks you, easily going to leave marks by tomorrow while denki rests a hand on the back of your head helping guide you. your legs shake but sero holds you up, moving his hips to find that one place in you that’ll make you lose your mind. 

“ahhh!” you pull off of denki when sero hits that gummy spot. “hanta it’s- nghhh!”

“right here ma? hm?” he zeros in on it.

“yesss.” you shutter and suck denki back into your mouth. 

you’re moaning and slobbering all over his cock, blinking up at him with glossy eyes, watching his abs flex as spit bubbles at the corner of your mouth. sero is pounding into you with precision that you feel your orgasm coiling low in your tummy. you sputter when denki unexpectedly cums down your throat, you swallow what you can and pull off.

“shit sorry, shoulda warned you.” he collapses back on the bed.

“c’mere pretty girl.” sero wraps an arm under you and lifts you up to his chest. “you did so good.” he whispers in your ear. 

“hanta feels so good.” your words slightly slurred.

“i got you baby. you can let go.” he kisses your neck.

he grunts when you pulse around him, pleasure washing through every inch of your body as he fucks you through every wave. his thrusts become sloppy and soon he’s filling you and whispering into your ear about how perfect you are. he lowers you back to the bed and slowly pulls out, rubbing your back and softly cursing when he watches you leak with him.

“gonna go get you some water.” he pulls his sweats up. “then we’ll smoke and kick denki out.”

“mhm.” you cuddle into one of your pillows.

“hey!” denki whines.

“be thankful i’m not kicking you out now.”

AM I THE ASSHOLE?

❤︎ SYNOPSIS: eijirō feels like he’s going insane. he wants to fuck his best friends girlfriend, but, like, also his best friend? is he the asshole?

❤︎ CONTENT: f!reader, alternate universe - modern!au, slight perv!kiri, domestic fluff, eiji feeding kat grapes on the beach (no i wont elaborate), semi-unsanctioned voyeurism, blowjobs, penetrative sex, riding…18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.

❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: i need perv!kiri like i need air. eijirō cry count: 7

❤︎ NOW PLAYING: this is why, paramore.

read on ao3 | 5k words | masterlist.

r/AmItheAsshole

u/redredriot

AITA FOR HAVING WANTING TO FUCK MY BEST FRIENDS’ GIRLFRIEND?

okokok. hear me out.

i [26M] have a best friend and roommate [also 26M]. i’ve known the guy since high school and we’re pretty close (obviously, best friends) but hes like, my best-best friend, yk? the bestest. i love the guy (platonically) and idk what id do without him, so i really dont want to fuck that up.

now. my best friend has a girlfriend. shes super sweet and nice and makes him so happy. like soooo happy. like i didnt realize my bro could be so happy. but thats besides the problem. the problem is that she moved in. and shes a good roommate, im not complaining about any of that, but also like…shes hot…?

which is fine. its sooo fine and cool and i would never do anything that got in the way of my bros relationship. i love him!! (platonically) but the problem is that she lives here. she eats in our kitchen and takes naps on the couch and walks around with no bra and tiny shorts and i’m LOSING MY MIND

i feel bad. i definitely FEEL like an asshole bc its like im j some misogynistic asshole that cant stop viewing women as sex symbols, but i swear its not my fault. i literally found one of her panties in my laundry load im going to cry.

but yeah. AITA??? i feel like the asshole depending on the day. is there a help line for this???

overview: gojo has a thing for mean girls! who knew a sexy clown would be so easy. thank you sososo much to my babies @cherrys-wrld and @liliklei for helping me plot this!!!

warnings: gojo is a huge degradee :: clown fit STAYS ON :: semi public sex - in the mirror house :: mirror kink :: degrading :: praise :: humiliation :: gojo is a pervert :: unprotected sex :: creampie :: mouth covering :: bratty/mean reader ::did i mention pathetic, pussydrunk gojo? :: this is supposed to be unserious! :: 3k words!

the joys of a summer job! the blistering sun barely being shielded by the shade of your carnival game stand, teenagers hollering at you when they lost a game as if you bewitched it, no part of it was comfortable. the fact it was the only available job in your city made you want to shed your skin off, but you needed the money. this job wasn’t made for you!

so, there you were. calling to strangers to come play rigged hoop-tossing with such a fake-friendly voice, you were sure it was the reason your stand was alienated. honestly, you weren’t bothered much. the dart throwing and goldfish catching games were far more popular than the one you were in charge of.

though, you did have one special customer, who didn’t even participate in your run-down game. the most favored clown in the park: satoru gojo.

ugh, satoru—he lingered around your stand like a mosquito! he’d lean against the post with his colorful outfit and even more colorful personality, watching you, drooling all over himself like a perverted freak. obviously, he thought you to be quite cute. he was aware of the fact you hated your job, and tried to cheer you up. it was evident in the way he carried himself and the fact he was a massive loser, that he felt differently. satoru was born a clown!

it was a particularly hot day. like clockwork—he slid in front of your stand with a beaming grin on his face, holding something behind his back. “i’ve got a gift for you~!” he sing-songed, getting all giddy when you rolled your eyes at him. he liked when you were mean to him, which you were—he was a pest!

you crossed your arms, angling your mini handheld fan closer to your sweat-caked face. how he wasn’t dying of a heatstroke in that loud clown outfit of his was beyond you. more so, how was he not embarrassed in those ridiculous suspenders? “a gift? how generous.” your hand outstretched. “well?”

gojo cheesed, whipping out a ballon-flower from behind his back. “ta-da!” he pushed it into your waiting hand. “do y’like it, sweet cheeks? i made it for you.”

he was so desperate for your attention, but you couldn’t pretend to be annoyed this time. it was cute in the way that was pathetic. just the way you liked it. “what a loser.” you giggled, taking the rubber flower anyway. he lingered there like a dog, clearly he hadn’t basked in your attention long enough to feel satiated. “don’t you have people to entertain?“

“i’d rather entertain you!” he smiled, his hair sticking to his white face paint due to the searing heat. “i have to stay away from the petting zoo. some angry parent is ready to kill me for scaring her kid. unintentional—i’m a good guy!” of course he was hyping himself up for you.

a scoff left you at that. nothing you could say would make him go away, most likely. you reached behind your back, grabbing one of the throwing rings you’d fidget with when nobody was at your stand. it was your favorite color, and nobody had ever used it. “hey, dipshit. think i can make this hoop on your nose? you wanna entertain me, don’t you?”

gojo looked very excited at that. “i bet you could, you’re capable of many great things, I’m sure.” obviously, he knew it wasn’t likely. but he was desperate for your attention, even if it resulted in a black eye. “i’m happy to entertain you and your amazing ideas.”

“okay, hold still..” you instructed.

“yes ma’am!”

your hand raised and..you threw it squarely at his forehead. a yelping noise accompanied the smack!. the ring fell into his palm, a white patch of facepaint caked to the edge. as if it were mocking him. he put a hand on his forehead, ouch! you were expecting a reaction of pure rage, but..he was cheesing. “that was a good shot!” you were sure he was blushing immensely behind all that white face paint.

when you looked down—oh my god. he was hard, not just that, absolutely bricked. you could see the bulge even through his baggy clown-pants like it was another pattern adorning the fabric. did he really get off on you being that mean to him? it made sense why he kept coming back..how loyal! before you could abuse his forehead again with another ring, your manager hollered somewhere to your left. that man was not a big fan of the infamous clown, you learned that much on your first day.

“GOJO! quit flirting with my damn employees! go do something with your life!” he didn’t get off on being bullied by a patchy faced, middle aged man. especially when he was reducing the time he got to camp around you. under the manager’s mean gaze, his smile faded, and you almost felt sorry.

well, he hadn’t gone soft surprisingly. you must’ve had a big effect on him.

you leaned forward, trying to take the ring back. “maybe go fix your makeup.” you suggested slyly, eyeing the mark on his forehead.

he didn’t let you take the ring, he held it against his chest like some sort of cherished pendant. “i’ll come back later.” he promised, speed walking away to the staff bathrooms, ring in hand. he was probably gonna use that ring to jerk off or something.

what a freak! so..why’d you find yourself so charmed?

throughout the whole day, gojo practically popped by every fifteen minutes. he’d make excuses, saying he was walking by, or would just straight up say he missed your company. in fact, he even brought you cotton candy and a lemonade. he was quite bold for a guy that hardly even knew you, and he knew his lack of service to the actual customers would make a blow on his paycheck. but he didn’t care, he was ready for that.

by the time the park closed, you had a collection behind you. five balloon animals, three empty drink cups, and an outrageous amount of candy. it was precious, maybe a reward was deserved. he was a leech, but it brightened your day quite a lot to he spoiled so much by a guy that was pathetically obsessed with you. your ego was thriving!

once you closed up your stand, you went to locate where the pitiful clown was. he was by the mirror house, hunched over, making a balloon-bunny. nobody was there, so it was obviously for you. his fingers were clumsy and rushed, like he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to give it to you before you left.

“hey.” you called, looking at the lopsided bunny. “aren’t you tired of that costume?” you questioned, lips curling up at the way his head snapped to you.

“oh, hey!” he echoed, fingers drumming against the rubber balloon. “and, no. i like it.”

“right, i’m sure you feel represented.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you’re a dorky clown. inside and out.” he smiled at that, getting all bashful. you thought for a moment, all the things he’d done for you rolling around in your brain. “do you have a crush on me?” you asked, as if you didn’t know. the goal was to get him all shy again, but it didn’t work out that way.

satoru grinned. “well, of course i do!” he admitted shamelessly, holding out the balloon bunny. “you’re one of a kind, sweetheart. the best part of my day.”

you didn’t bother replying to his string of compliments, since he’d never stop if you did. you grabbed the balloon animal from him, but your hand lingered on his. whilst standing on the tips of your toes, you planted a gentle kiss on his forehead, right where his makeup concealed the bruise you inflicted.

he nearly choked, a strained noise crawling out of his throat. for a moment, a brief moment, he was frozen. like a wax sculpture. that moment was a small stutter, since his colorfully gloved hands found your waist right after. his lips were parted, ready to kiss you.

“ah, ah.” you tutted, putting a finger up to his lips. god, he was so desperate it made your head spin. “you’ve got to earn it, loser.”

satoru looked dumbfounded. “i have! i’ve done so much for you today.” his voice was a whiny and pathetic thing, though he didn’t let go of your waist. “why don’t you want me yet? cmon, i’ll do anything else.”

a sly grin stretched across your face, “if you let me honk your nose, you can sleep with me. that’s pretty simple, right?”

what an offer! you watched his eyes visibly light up, as if it were his newly found purpose for living. his jaw had dropped, leaving a careful crack in his pale face paint. “are you for real?”

your head bobbed into a nod, and his face brightened impossibly. you reached out to honk his ridiculous clown nose, but he opened his mouth again. because of course he did.

“..if i let you honk it twice, can i hit it raw?”

oh my god, was he serious? you echoed that same thought out loud. “are you serious?”

“so serious.” he confirmed, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “please? no condom. i deal with enough rubber throughout the day.”

you scoffed, letting him hold your wrist as if he ess trying to resist the urge to hold your hand. he was such a dork, agreeing to this was a huge mistake, surely. “fully optional, by the way.” you honked his nose twice anyway.

halfway through the second one, he grinned. “oh! and in the mirror house!” the second honk was a contract being signed, the mirror house it was. “deal!”

“woahwoahwoah—!” you bayed, “you pathetic bastard! the mirror house?! are you concussed?!”

the said ‘pathetic bastard’ was all grin and pride. he was into you pushing him around, sure, but a bit of pushback felt nice. “the deal is made! i’m gonna fuck you raw, right in that mirror house.” he crowed, adjusting himself in his vibrant pants. “i’m gonna see you from all angles..ughhh, fuck..”

oh course, he was hard again.

“mmh—f-fuck!” you whined, bowing your head in an attempt to avoid meeting yourself eye to eye in the mirror before you. well, there were mirrors all around you—nowhere was a safe place to look.

if you glanced too far up, all you’d see was your own slutty, fucked out expression, as well as the figure of a clown pounding into you from behind. the side mirrors weren’t safe either, it was all just another angle. another humiliating image of the fact you let this clown fuck you stupid.

if you cranked your head up far enough, you could see the way satoru was absolutely reeling. he looked almost crazed, completely infatuated with the way your pussy sucked him in with every mean thrust. every squelch, every squeal, it just made him fuck you harder.

it didn’t help that he was a whimpering mess. his smile was big and eager, though his eyebrows were knotted into something pathetic. your cunt was ruining him in turn for his brutal strokes, and he didn’t seem to mind.

“g-god..so good, baby..” he groaned, trying to mask the needy whimper that stuck like pollen to his words. “b-best pussy..haah..i’ve ever been in!” he slammed his hips against your ass particularly hard, huffing out an excited laugh as he saw your expression crumble once again.

your pussy was squeezing him in so tight, trying to milk him dry the moment he stuffed you full of him. the lack of a condom was a goddamn blessing, the veins tracing up his heavy cock pressed wetly against every ridge inside your sappy cunt.

your eyes had rolled to the back of your head, probably searching for the part of you that allowed this to happen. “i doubt..a-a loser—mmgh! like you has ever b-been inside a woman!” his searing thrusts made your words slurred and bumpy.

satoru laughed, reaching around to grab your face and covering most of your mouth. your head was forced upwards, making you ogle at his expression, at the way he pounded into you. “don’t get too cocky.” he chided, his word dodging made it unclear if he was a virgin or not. he didn’t fuck like a virgin.

you didn’t appreciate how the degradation turned on you—that was your job! a choked out moan spilled its way into his palm, before he released you on good behavior.

“you’re m-moaning—ugh! m-more than i am, you dork!” you spat, glaring at his reflection.

satoru just smiled, and you could feel the way his cock stirred inside you. he yanked your hair back, and you met yourself eye to eye. it was humiliating. your dignity was saved when you purposely clenched around him, causing him to pathetically whine and rut into you like a fucking dog.

“you’re t-the one clenching around me like..mmh..you’ve never t-taken dick.” he slammed into you roughly, watching the way your jaw fell open. naturally, he whimpered at the sight. “l-look at your face, what a slut. you love this, baby—g-go ahead and..and a-admit it.”

the head of his cock was smearing pre all over your cervix, mixing with sticky slick that dripped all the way down to your clit, splurting with every thrust. he used it like lube, leverage for him to fuck you harder, faster, filthier. sweat dripped down his forehead, drawing streaks in his clown face paint.

“s-slut—me?!” you were in awe, both from the audacity and how skilled he was at pleasing you. “y-you’re the one who got a b-boner from getting a ring chucked at your head! you’re the definition of pathetic!”

satoru whimpered, his eyes rolling back as he mindlessly drilled into you. he was far too in love with being degraded, his cock twitched against your walls whenever you said something even remotely shameful. the way he switched from pathetic to eager made your head spin.

“y-yeah..i’m pathetic baby. m’so disgusting.” he stilled inside you, looking at the mirror to the left. in his eyes, your bodies fit together perfectly. when he’d thrust, he’d get to watch from another angle as your body jolted forwards, as your tits bounced with the rest of everything he’d staken a claim on—and he loved it.

he grabbed your throat, holding it up so you made eye contact with him in the reflection. “b-but it worked, huh? you—you..like pathetic men because..haah..you like to b-bully them.” his fingers drummed on your pulse point, it didn’t take a genius to realize you were getting fucked by a psychopath. “i’ll let you bully—m-mmh..me, baby. so long as i can h-have you. i don’t ask for much.”

“p-please? let me—ngh! entertain you?”

well..that didn’t seem like a bad deal to you! you didn’t bother satisfying him with a response, though your moans and gasps of pleasure were enough. he tilted your head side to side, making you leer at your reflection in each mirror. all you could see was yourself on all fours, with a crazed clown plowing into you like it was his specialty.

every mean thrust had you crying out, and you found that you were fixated on each other’s expressions rather than your own. he whimpered when he felt you clench around him again, your syrupy pussy sucking him in, making it difficult to pull out. “that’s it, b-baby..god i love..love this pussy s’much. i l-love..haah..you, i n-need you.”

was he seriously confessing his undying love for you? really? while he was busy fucking the thoughts out of your head and replacing them with the sight of his stupid face?

“s-such a loser.” you didn’t say it back, but he didn’t seem to care. you felt something tight coil and strain in your stomach, and you knew you were close. you let out a breathy moan, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “s-satoru..m’close..”

oh, he was ruined. a breathy whine tore from his throat, his pupils had grown so wide you were certain he’d never blink again. “y-yeah? yeah, sweetheart?” his voice was strained, whiney. “c-cum for me—please, please g-give it to me.”

he was begging you to cum, begging you to soak his cock like he’d daydreamed about. and it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

your orgasm came crashing over you harder than you’d expected, harder than any feeling of release you’d ever had before being railed by a clown. your back arched so hard it quivered in place, cunt squeezing his cock so hard he was unable to pull out fully. your release splashed and spurted out of you like a sinful fountain, but even that couldn’t drown out his noises.

you would’ve thought satoru came first with the way he was moaning, you were almost certain he’d start crying. face paint streaks and desperation made up his face, and he was following soon after. he slammed back in, the tip of his cock smooshed firmly against your cervix. he came with his head thrown back and his hands on your body, thick spurts of cum flooding your fucked out cunt until it dripped out the edges of your stretched, ruined hole.

your eyes darted to his expression when it became visible, and of course he was smiling. he didn’t stay inside you for long. you felt empty when his cock left you, but you felt him spread your ass apart eagerly.

his cum came trickling out of your gaping, sappy entrance, he groaned at the sight of it. if your head wasn’t already full of him, your cunt was. one hand stayed splayed across your ass, while the other reached for your hair, yanking your head back so you could see it in the mirror. you saw it alright, your creampied pussy from his point of view.

“you’re pathetic.” you said breathlessly, shooing his hand off your ass. “next time, this will be in a house. preferably on a bed.”

“so you admit you wanna fuck me again?”

“fuck yourself, you freak!”

“i did,” he grinned, “in the bathroom earlier. still want your hoop back? it’s cum-stained!”

“i’m gonna shove it up your ass if you even TRY that shit.”

“ooh! kinky!”

ugh, clowns.

tags <3 — @suguruss1ut @sugurusbadhabit @xqce @cherrys-wrld @satorusdollie @heavenlyrestrained @killakuna @iheartanzai @liliklei @getopilleds @florcosmi @bride0fchucky @valberryboos @3lliesr1fle @uzugeto

one thing about satoru, his eyes are terrifying at night.

especially when his infinity is turned on. his eyes are glowing.

one night you got into an argument with satoru, leading you facing the other way in bed and he strictly put himself in infinity so you couldn’t touch him as a punishment. you weren’t going to anyway.

while you were facing the other way in bed, the blanket pulled over the both of your bodies, you close your eyes, attempting to sleep.

…until you feel lasers poking at your back.