Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
sypnosis: where lies the difference in obsession and love? and what does it matter when suguru treats you so tenderly like this?
contents: allusions to cult leader!suguru, suggestive content, implied sexual content
word count: ~1.3k words
a/n: HONESTLY IDEK IF THIS MAKES SENSE!! not proofread (are we surprised?? no.) but i hope u guys enjoy !! minors dni. ageless / blank / minor blogs will be blocked if seen interacting!
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚
when you follow him from jujutsu tech to whatever this is- you couldn’t have expected this. it’s honestly a surprise that you haven’t noticed before. you’ve seen the signs, seen the symptoms- obsession. you keep quiet, something you don’t do often but something you’ve been doing since you’ve seen the first red flag three years ago. you stand up for what you think is right, according to your moral compass. so maybe… just maybe, this wasn’t wrong.
suguru has never been the best at hiding his distaste for people he doesn’t fancy, to put it lightly. monkeys, he calls them. you brush it off lightly, something you probably shouldn’t have done but it’s hard when he’s purring your name so softly, the adoration so evident. just like how it’s difficult for him to hide his emotions with you, he displays them openly, unafraid of your judgment- if you had any against him, anyway. it’s hard to reject him, you know. when you know he’d do anything for you. burn however many monkeys that even dare to look straight into your eyes. it feels somewhat normal now. the possessiveness he has over you, the control.
—-----
offering yourself up to him feels natural too, in a sense. your naked body, splayed out in his sheets, your skin a welcome contrast against his dully white sheets. your moans that bounce around the room like you’re everywhere, encompassing all around him, satiating him just enough that he can get through the night in sleep where he’s cursed with anything but sweet dreams of your laughs and smiles. your whispers, especially ones that include his name, that make the corners of his lips lift up ever so slightly- that comfort him so he knows what he’s wanted and what he’s feared all along.
—-----
revered in his charisma, suguru still never fails to make you in awe of his cruelty and his true plans. he easily sidesteps so you don’t see the blood of a cult member that didn’t do his bidding specifically the way he wanted. he covers your eyes and whispers in your ears so the screams are muffled as he walks you away from the scene. he smiles gently- the one you love, where his eyes crinkle and the one he gifts only to you, a small piece of his heart cracked off into your palms each time.
it’s times like this when you realize how you might be one of his cult members too, even if you don’t financially contribute. you worship him with your body, suffocate him in your affections, and drown him in your essence and presence. you might be just as good as one of the other women always throwing themselves at him. but there’s a difference between you and all the others. you have been with him, through his good and his bad. you see his horrible, terrible, and disgusting and still brush his hair, stroke his face, and look at him tenderly. like he’s innocent.
—-----
some days, you stay in bed all day, awaiting his presence back in the warmth and comfort of the sheets. other days, you follow him like an otter, hands always intertwined, practically stuck by super glue and nearly never coming undone. rarely, though, he shows you his anger. never to you, of course, his malice is always directed towards the monkeys he harbors in his cult.
every emotion, every feeling is something he shares with you, not for pity, but rather for the intimacy it brings. knowing he trusts you and the same can be said for you, brings out a different kind of devil on his shoulder- one that tells him to keep you all for himself. a devil he doesn’t mind and he’s sure you won’t either.
—-----
harmony is always something found in the mornings he spends with you- which is almost all of them. actually, it’s present essentially everywhere you are, suguru just basks in it like a cat stretching and laying on a windowsill, soaking up all the brightness and light warmth the sun (to him, you) has to offer. if his other other half were to be described, suguru would call him the sun, the flames just shy of burning him but hurting him all the same. if his other half (you) were to be described, suguru would call you the ray of sunshine that breaks through the forest of trees, illuminating his face, making him insatiable for the warmth it had to offer.
—-----
in another world, he would’ve kept you safe. far, far away from all the fighting. all the curses that constantly endanger your life. he would’ve kept himself away from you. but he’s selfish and since the day he’s had a taste of your sweetness, he’s been hungry for more and more and more and his thirst for you is never quenched. much like the way your eyes always seek his first in a room and the way your fingers are always outstretched toward him (maybe like a sign for redemption, maybe a pull to his demise), your heart is soothed when he is near and aches when he’s not. but you’re both stubborn and are much too dependent on one another to ever let go, at least, not in this life. and maybe not the next either.
—-----
praise rolls off his tongue easily with you, especially when your eyes are wide and your mouth is filled with him and you just look so pretty his heart squeezes uncomfortably in his chest. the truth of his mind falls out of his lips much too often and much too quickly and it’s dangerous, he knows, but he can’t help but trust you with his heart, mind, soul, and everything in between and everything outside. it’s a hazard to have someone so close to him, so close to where others could hurt him but he knows he has the capacity to protect you as long as he keeps you close.
but how close is close enough? is it when you’re on top of him, fervently kissing him and sucking his soul from his lips as you bounce on him, milking him for all his worth? or is it when his arms curl around your body as you both come down from your highs and you’re both still breathing heavily, breaths mingling as you rest your foreheads on one another's?
—-----
essential to his being and as simple as breathing for him, so is loving you. he realizes it one day, when he opens the bento you carefully made for him. he realizes. you love him. he loves you. and he realizes more. you’ve been worshiping him this entire time- the ground he walks on and the clothes he wears. your eyes are always open in rapt attention when he speaks, your ears open to listen to whatever he has to say, no matter how seemingly boring the topic is.
—-----
reflectively, though, maybe it’s you that has been being worshiped this entire time. the sweet kisses on the crown of your head, the sugary words of affirmation breathed against your skin. even the slight brush of his fingertips up your thigh, coming to a halt just below your butt, firmly grabbing there and pulling you closer. the look in his eyes when he has you laid on your back as he lowers himself down to his knees. when he kisses hot kisses down your stomach and breathes shallow breaths right above your cunt. when he takes a tentative lick on your clit, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. when he sees your head roll back and your lips open wide for a loud cry of his name for him. and he lets himself go wild.
on usual days, it’s you that worships him gently. with soft lips on lips and by grasping his larger and more calloused hand in your own soft and delicate hand.
on these days, though, he prefers to worship you like this, on his knees. making you scream, cry, and brokenly sob his name. he craves you like no other, in a way no one else will ever understand unless they ever saw you like this.
but he is your worshiper- and what good is a worshiper that doesn’t protect their god?
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚
if you enjoyed this, please reblog and/or consider following me!
a/n: honestly this is booty imo... i wanted to make more of a reference to cult leader!geto but i felt like i wanted to make more of an emphasis on how you two worshipped each other. i might make another attempt at this trope but it'll have to wait until next week bc this week WIPED (and still IS wiping) ME OUT !!! fuck this week, i can't wait for next week <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
⸻ 🕷️‧₊˚ ⋅ spiderman!gojo satoru x black cat!reader obsessed with the hunt more than the prey, you love making satoru chase you. maybe one day you’ll let him catch you…
TAGS. robbery, theft, chase scene, sexual tension, teasing, dirty talk, flirting, eventual rough smut, slight stalking, use of petnames (cat, kitty, etc), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, switchy!gojo, switchy!reader, WC: 3,670
gojo has never met anyone as reckless as you.
it was always in your nature to be so cunning, playful, and whimsical just to get what you want. but there was much more about you that he’ll forever admire; your intelligence, proficiency, skills, and agility as his partner alongside. you used to work together professionally, taking down criminals and carrying out missions while also having an intimate relationship together.
but aside your flirtatious, provocative side that gojo also had a thing for, you were still a criminal deep down.
he strongly believed that he could have a positive influence on you and not live the rest of your life as a thief. but your criminal instincts always got the best of you; you valued your independence and desires more than anything, enjoying your luxurious life of crime as a relentless and manipulative burglar. when gojo caught you stealing from the criminals you both fought, everything had to end that day from such betrayal. your mistrust and moral ambiguity was too much for him to handle as spiderman.
as the years gone by of working alone and saving the city millions of times now, you still come and go across gojo’s mind. you were nowhere to be found and unable to track no matter how hard he looked. as badly as he misses you alongside with him, he just couldn’t handle the conflicting loyalties, trust issues, and moral differences between you two. but there was no doubt that he still has love for you deep down… he’d often wonder what were to happen if you were to ever cross paths again.
“there’s been suspicious activity going down at the art museums and large bank corporations in tokyo and shibuya. many valuable art pieces have gone missing along with over 70 million yen robbed in just a blink of an eye…”
it was currently 12:07am in tokyo. gojo made his way inside the tokyo national museum while it was closed, checking if every art piece were still intact including the security protocols. he knew he wasn’t really supposed to be sneaking inside here, but he’s dedicated on catching this thief. he knew it’ll piss the police off for stealing their job and taking care of things in his own way. but that’s how gojo rolls— technically considered as a vigilante, he’ll always be a menace to some people in the city, even the ones in authority. if only he wasn’t so whimsical and cocky about being better than the cops at doing their jobs sometimes…
as gojo was scanning the museum, nothing seemed out of place. even his spidey-sense couldn’t recognize any kind of movement, danger, or threat nearby. the showcase room with tokyo’s national treasures all looked perfectly fine— but it wasn’t until he passed by the katana displays.
a tiny black cat figure was sitting on the silk drape where the 10th-century crescent moon blade was supposed to be. though he was alert that an artifact was already missing, he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of trick this was. but when a click from the black cat went off, a demure voice recording started playing.
“hey, spider. been thinking about you a lot lately. it’s just boring living alone in this new house… maybe some new decorations wouldn’t hurt. like the crescent moon katana, one the five swords under heaven. i think it’d look lovely on my shelves, don’t you think?”
your voice heightened every nerve of his body as if his inhibitions were tossed out the window. his head darted at every corner of the showcase room, looking for cameras or even a sign of you lurking in the shadows. every thought of his was consumed by flashbacks of you; your scent that drives him crazy, your touch that drives him wild, your flirtatious side that gojo just couldn’t get enough of… all of your memories flooded right back into his head.
“black cat,” gojo marveled, suddenly coming back to his senses after realizing you were alive this whole time. “i should’ve known— 70 million yen in just one night? i didn’t think there’d be anyone that skilled to pull that off better than you can. still been a bad kitty, haven’t you?”
“aw. are you flirting with me already? seems like you missed me,” you teased through the speaker on the black cat toy.
“you ghosted me for months and here i find you again; catching you stealing art or starting your own heist,” he exasperated. “what’s it gonna take for you to actually stop stealing art?”
you couldn’t help but admire gojo through the security cameras; he still looked as good as the last time you left him. “you already know me, spider. my morals aren’t ever aligned with yours. now, you gonna get out of there and catch me or wait until the security system gets triggered?”
suddenly, the alarm went off right after you already made your escape out of the museum. cursing under his suit, gojo had to find a way out and avoid the red flashing lights and cameras. from the window, he can see you swinging with your grappling hook out from the museum and into the city.
“quick! check everything,” a man’s voice echoed down the hall when a rush of dozen security guards scurried into the showcase room.
gojo had to immediately attach onto the ceiling and hide in plain sight, looking for any nearby exits as quick as he could before you could get away this time. when he found a sunroof window that can be pushed open, he made his way out and started swinging towards the direction you were going.
it didn’t even take long for him to find you; he knew exactly what you were doing; making your way through the cityscape and pretending that he wasn’t following right behind you from a distance. you really wanted to get caught. or maybe you were luring him right where you wanted him to be…
“oh, you’re still with me!” you pretend to act shocked as you looked behind your shoulder, hauling yourself onto a crane and staying higher above him. you wanted to keep him at a distance where he can’t reach you, but he can follow you until you reached your hideout.
gojo grunted, remembering the fact that you can swing a little faster than him. “i can go all night if that’s what it takes!” he shouts.
“all night with me? is that a promise, satoru?”
“you naughty girl. still trying to flatter your way out of this?”
“oh, but you love when i do that!”
the two of you kept swinging through the city, through the streets, and even underground where all the train stations were busy. as exhausted as he was, he was still dedicated to reach you. maybe even capture you and pin you down with his webs for running away from him. as you swung through a darkened alleyway, gojo managed to draw closer and was preparing to shoot a web to temporarily stop you. but at the end of the alleyway, you suddenly disappeared. he landed on a window with a loud thud and panted heavily, looking everywhere for you.
“damnit,” he cursed under his breath. “where’d she go?”
as gojo crawled across the building’s windows and was about to haul himself over onto the rooftop, he peaked over and instantly recognized your shoes. you were heading through the doors of the building that appeared to be the balcony of a fancy penthouse, looking behind your shoulder with a smirk on your face before heading inside.
you were a naughty, yet clever girl in gojo’s eyes.
as quiet and sneaky he could be, he landed on the balcony and swung on top of your penthouse’s windows to not be seen. gojo had a sense that you knew he was watching— but then again, this is exactly you wanted. purposely discarding what you stole from today’s heist, you knew there was something else that you desired besides all that money and fancy artifacts you stole. you feigned oblivious about gojo literally stalking you. it made you want to spice things up a bit…
you whirled around to face your body mirror and slowly zipped down your latex black suit. slowly stripping down for him, as if you were throwing a little show— even the neighbors across the building could also enjoy. but you took pleasure and thrill from teasing gojo like this, always from a distance where it’ll tempt him to draw closer to you. he loved how coy you tried to play for him. maybe he wanted to get you back and give you the attention you were wanting. as he crawled on your large windows and made his way on the rooftop, he entered through your open sunroof window and landed in the middle of your living room with a loud thud.
but as he scanned the inside of your penthouse, you were gone. nowhere to be found in the last place he saw you. of course, you were wildly unpredictable to him. always pulling your own tricks and surprising him off guard. it wasn’t until it was too late before his spidey-sense could warn him that you were attacking him from his peripheral vision— before he could pull a move and defend himself from you jump attacking him, you grab his arm and flip him over on his back, straddling him as he grunted in pain.
“woah. breaking and entering now, spider?” you huffed as you hovered your masked face above his. “i don’t think it’s fair that i get in trouble for it but you don’t.”
“trouble?” gojo scoffed. “you’ve caused enough trouble for me tonight, sweetheart. i played your little game and chased you down the whole city. and now i finally caught you just like you wanted me to.”
your lips curl into a smirk as your gloved hand slowly caresses his chest. your suit wasn’t even zipped down all the way, only revealing more of your cleavage that gojo definitely couldn’t take his eyes off of.
“technically you didn’t catch me. i caught you— stalking me through my windows and watching me undress myself? maybe i’m not the only naughty one here…”
“oh, please. what exactly did you gain from stealing and making me chase you all the way to your penthouse? ‘cause i know exactly what you’re doing right now…”
the tone in gojo’s voice falls from stern to sultry, feeling your heartbeat grow rapid in just a fleeting moment. there was this unexplainable affect that gojo had on you when you two were together. he’d evoke such strong sensations that you never knew you were capable of feeling, like tempting you to go straight and become a hero like him to fight alongside with. as a thief and wanted criminal, it’s palpable that good boys like gojo satoru were your type… you may have loved him, but you couldn’t love anything more than the hunt and the luxury.
your faces were just mere inches away from each other; you still memorize his prominent features that you adorned like how you memorized dozens of safe codes. but as gojo fixates his gaze onto you underneath his mask, you have eroded his senses once again, the way your dark mystery drizzles into his skin. he couldn’t fight nor deny how effortlessly you beguile him, wrapping him in some sort of spell. he fumbled several missions in the past just to kiss your pretty face, to sneak away on rooftops and get down to business from how crazy you make him, and developing serious romantic feelings for you that he was willing to make you more than just his girlfriend and partner— if only you had not betrayed him…
“don’t you miss this, satoru?” you cooed to his ear as your hand makes its way to the neckline of his mask. he can feel the way your fingers slipped underneath, gently caressing his neck and wanting to lift it just to reveal lips.
gojo would be lying if he said he didn’t. hot flashbacks of all the times you two made love and fucked each other hard in the past started running through his mind it was impossible to evade. he missed you deeply; he could never fight off the irresistible effect you have on him.
“you brought me all the way here for a reason. might as well make the most of it, right?”
suddenly, gojo pushes your body off his and hovered above you now, snatching his mask off and tossing it away in urgency as he kisses you. he can feel the way your lips stretch into a smile as you kiss back, immediately wrapping your legs around him and running your fingers through his snow-white hair. your body falls weak from his knee pressing between your legs, remembering your ultimate weakness.
gojo’s mouth made its way from your lips to the side of your neck, holding back from kissing your collarbone to get one good look at you one more time. his ultimate weakness was your luscious, expensive scent— whatever perfume you had was like a strong pheromone to him, sending his mind into a haze. but he still managed to remain in control, no matter how dominant you tried to act towards him.
“if you’re gonna strip for me, why didn’t you finish, hm? you wanted me rip your suit off for you or what?”
“do it, spider. i dare you,” you taunt, subtly biting your lip.
gojo chuckled, shaking his head in response to not giving you what you want. “nah… i don’t think i should ruin it. do what you did earlier and strip for me while i watch you.”
even if you wanted to act all defiant and bratty towards him and not give him what he wants, there was a part of you that wanted to throw a little show for him. gojo sat down on your sofa with his arms propped on the back cushions, slightly manspreading. you always knew how truly perverted he was underneath that “hero” facade he has for the public, which is why you fell for him.
as you stood in front of him with a smirk, you slowly pulled down the zipper to your suit. gojo watched in silent amusement watching the sleeves fall from your shoulders, slowly revealing your tits and your laced thong, all the way until your black leather suit pools around your ankles.
“‘atta girl,” he says, shifting himself on the sofa from how uncomfortable his boner was under his spider suit. “not so hard following directions, am i right?”
“following directions is not the only thing hard for me right now…” your gaze lands on his crotch, prompting you to get on your knees and crawl right between his open legs, making him nervous. “poor spider. looks like there’s something else that needs to be taken care of.”
now you were back in control of gojo, who had to hide his face flushing red from your hands caressing his inner thighs. you looked so fucking sexy to him, even when you’re teasing him on your knees right in your penthouse living room with the police probably on the search for both of you right now. he lets you pull down the lower seam of his suit as he slips off the top part and discards everything on your floor, finally taking in his heavenly body and strong physique that you admired for the longest. it felt like old times, with both of you half-naked and craving deep intimacy one last time.
“i really did miss you, cat,” gojo murmured, peering deep into your eyes.
you get up off your knees and straddled him, feeling his soft hands glide down your bare back and caressing your waist. “i missed you too, satoru.”
he lets out a sigh when he feels the wet spot on your panties subtly rub on his aching cock poking through his briefs. “if i make you come multiple times tonight… will you promise to be a good girl and stop stealing?”
“is that another way of telling me you want to fuck my brains out right now?” you teased, subtly grinding your hips on him. “fine, i’ll oblige. you did promise to go all night with me.”
and as the night went on, gojo really fulfilled his promise of fucking you multiple rounds, multiple, positions, and multiple orgasms. hell, you lost count that it was probably way more than him. it astounded you that he was lasting this long with you compared to when you two were together; always this sweet, shy, and submissive boy for you that couldn’t last two rounds because of how you were always in control. sure, after he was bitten by the radioactive spider that gives him his strength and super powers, he was still sensitive and more prone to orgasms because of his heightened senses. but now that time has passed and you haven’t seen each other in a long time, it seems that his stamina has increased dramatically.
your orgasms were way more intensified that you lost all coherence from how mindblowing gojo kept fucking into you much further and faster, wrapping his large hand around your throat from behind and slightly choking you. never have you been so turned on you couldn’t see straight.
“you can take it all, cockslut,” he huffed in your ear. “just can’t stop coming all over my cock, eh? you miss when i turn you into my dumb little whore?”
you tried to reply, but your words slurred and your thoughts were mush. all you could do was moan pathetically as lust speared through you from his words. your head grew so hazy with intensity that the world around you started spinning. you looked like you were in a daze, your face all glossy and sweaty from him fucking your throat so roughly and coming all over your face earlier.
gojo chuckles, harshly slapping your ass and pulling your hips back and forth on his cock. you could hear his animalistic groans and growls filling your ears from how fucking good you felt clenching around him. “i need to hear you say yes. c’mon, kitty. be an obedient slut for me.”
“y— yes, satoru,” you whined, almost squirming in his grasp when he started playing with your clit from behind. “i like— i like being your dumb… little whore…”
gojo can feel his orgasm building inside you as well that he had the urge to pin your head down on the cushions while roughly slapping his hips onto your ass. he loved the way your ass was rippling with every harsh thrust and every harsh slap.
“fuck, cat. i’m gonna come inside your cunt if you keep throbbing on me like that,” he grunted. “will you promise to stop stealing from now on? i’ll give you one more orgasm if you promise for me…”
your back was arched all the way as your moans were muffled by your cushions. you couldn’t stop drooling either that it left a few marks. “i— i promise…! please, please come with me, satoru. come inside me again, i need it…”
the way you kept begging and became so feral had gojo immediately lose himself, shooting hot, sticky white strings of cum into your womb. your cunt couldn’t stop flexing and tightening all over his cock as if you were trying to push him out from such an intense orgasm. sweat was trickling down the both of your skins, bodies flashing hotter than ever as you both collapsed on your cool sofa. gojo laid down on top of you, feeling the rapid beating of his heart and hearing him catching his breath. he looked so adorable that you ran your fingers through his hair, wanting nothing but to indulge in this sweet, intimate moment of cuddling just like old times.
“do you really mean it?” he suddenly murmurs.
“…mean what?”
“you promise you won’t ever steal again?” gojo hovered above you, his expression so profound as he peered deeply into your eyes, like there really was a chance of hope and redemption for you. that was all he ever really wanted; for you to be his partner alongside again, to make you a hero again and utilize your talents for helping people other than yourself.
but then again, you were unpredictable to the spider. there was nothing you loved more than the chase.
“hm. and what if i break that promise?” you smirked. “what are you gonna do if i steal again?”
“then… i’ll just have to tie you up next time and teach you a lesson,” he mirrored your smirk. “but i bet you’d love that, so… maybe i’d have to turn you in, then.”
“i’m kidding satoru. i don’t ever break promises,” you confide, softly caressing his face. “i promise to be by your side and not steal. we can be together just like old times… but only one condition.”
“…which is?”
“spend the nights with me here, satoru,” you whispered fondly. “i don’t wanna be alone every night again.”
gojo planted sweet kisses on your forehead, on both sides of your face, and on your lips, slowly turning into a passionate make-out session. “if that’s what it takes for you to never steal again… i’ll stay with you. promise.”
it was a shame, though. how gullible that spiderman, gojo satoru, could be sometimes. because that following morning when gojo was still sound asleep on your bed, you had to take your leave before the police arrived right at your location where all the missing stuff were hiding. you left a kiss mark on the side of his face with black lipstick and another black cat toy right beside him. as quiet and sneaky you could be, you escaped through your sunroof with a smirk on your face, not looking back on gojo who was soon to be framed for stealing.
Warnings: oral, multiple orgasms, true form sukuna ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১
Sukuna and his intense, slightly off putting eye contact when he eats you out to the point where you’re incredibly hot and bothered and squirming to look away. But you can’t because he’s nose deep in your cunt, two hands pinning yours to the futon and the other two skimming up and down your legs, over your hips, flattening you into this delicious lazy grind. How could you look away when he’s grunting and slurping and grinning at the way you gush and cream all over his chin? It would be very rude of you and border on rejection if you even try to blink away the tears he brings you from how deep his tongue is, how hard and how sweetly he suckles on your clit, how loud his gulps and swallows of your cum are. Eyes heavy, dark, observing everything with a bullying sort of mirth, sparkles of love and lust swirling too deep to see, rolling back with the shake of your thighs either side of his head, lids fluttering when you mewl his name and struggle against his hold. But he never stops watching you, never lets you stop watching him, even when he stills his head and urges you to grind against his mouth, strong hands aiding, blunt fingers guiding you until you crumble and toss your head back as you cum. And still, he doesn’t stop, even though you broke a rule, he’ll watch you writhe and spill and flood against his mouth for eternity.
x PAIRING professor!gojo satoru x f!reader (medical!au)
x SUMMARY he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.
x WORD COUNT 11.5 k (i'm insane)
x WARNINGS this story contains substance abuse/addiction, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, blood, mentions of death/illness, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised. you can also read it on ao3 or wattpad. pls like or repost if you enjoyed, it means the world ♡
x AUTHORS'S NOTE this chapter is in satoru's pov! "she/her" -> "you", also there is a minor character from the manga in this chapter but no spoilers :) also, this chapter gets kinda dark? pls remember this is fiction, don't do drugs and also don't sleep with addicts, thank you!! enjoy reading!! ♡
My fingers dug into my arm, nails biting through the fabric.
If I didn't scratch, maybe I wouldn't lose my damn mind. Maybe the office walls would stop spinning long enough for me to think.
But the itch burning beneath my skin was too strong today, almost unbearable.
I barely registered Higurama's entrance as he pleasured me with yet another visit. He slumped into the chair across from me, looking less like a lawyer and more like a corpse given a temporary reprieve.
His sunflower pin, that obligatory symbol of his profession, seemed ironic given the permanent scowl etched onto his face.
"Well?" I snapped, desperate to break the silence that made the itch even more cruel. "Spit it out."
He sighed, then reached into his worn leather briefcase and retrieved a slim folder. He placed it on the desk. "The good news is, the brat's family is willing to settle. Saves us the headache of a trial."
"And the bad news?"
"It'll cost you. A lot." He slid the folder across the desk. "The kid wants a ridiculous sum, claiming emotional damages and whatnot."
I huffed, a harsh sound that echoed in the silent office. Images of the student's bloody face after I'd put him in his place flashed across my mind, the satisfaction fleeting. My fingers twitched at my sides, the urge to scratch growing stronger. I rolled down my sleeves.
Damn my luck.
I slid the folder back to him, not needing to see the sum. "Tell them whatever he wants, he gets. Just make this go away."
Higuruma frowned. "I understand wanting this over with, but we could negotiate, bring that amount down—"
"No." I cut him off. "Money doesn't matter. If this mess disappears, it's worth every damn yen."
Higuruma's eyebrows shot up. "We're not talking about an insignificant amount, Gojo. You broke his jaw in seven bloody places, knocked out half his teeth."
A smirk twisted my lips. "Sadly not all of his teeth."
"Gojo," Higurama's voice held a warning edge I'd rarely heard from him. "You could be staring down the barrel of a prison sentence."
"That's why I have you, isn't it?" I leaned back in my chair. "Old friend's favor and all that."
Higurama's stare hardened. "This isn't like those scrapes I used to bail you out of. The consequences here are far more serious. I'd never agree to settle this if you weren't a friend. You should countersue that kid for drugging your student."
The mention of her made my stomach clench. "I said no," my voice low. "I won't drag her in front of some courtroom circus. End it, Higurama. Whatever it takes."
Higuruma let out a sigh that spoke volumes. He stood, straightening his jacket, that sunflower pin glinting with a false cheerfulness in the afternoon sunlight.
"Very well," he said. "I'll prepare the documents. Be advised, this could set a dangerous precedent—"
I cut him off with a raised hand, the very thought of potential consequences a fresh irritant beneath my skin. "Just get this over with," I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a hospital to run."
He nodded and turned.
As he reached the office door, I spoke, my voice low. "Higuruma."
He paused, one hand on the doorknob. "Yes?"
"You keep your mouth shut." It wasn't a request, but an order. "This doesn't touch her, understand?"
"I have my professional obligations, Gojo."
"And I have mine," I countered. "Her finding out is not an option."
"Perhaps it's a decision you shouldn't be making for her."
"Perhaps," I replied, the word a blade in the silence that followed. "But it's a decision I will make. That is all."
He nodded, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. He knew, the bastard. The truth wasn't just about the lawsuit, and it hung unspoken between us.
He opened the door and stepped out without another word.
I slumped back in my chair, the leather creaking in protest, and released a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. It trembled as it left my lungs.
My hand. That goddamned traitorous hand was shaking again.
I fumbled in my desk drawer, fingertips brushing against the familiar shape of the pill bottle. Clonidine. Not the ideal solution, but it was all I had right now.
I choked down the dry pills, the bitterness clinging to my tongue like a curse.
Why the sudden weakness? Why now?
I'd survived far worse without crumbling like this.
The room tilted slightly, the fluorescent lights blurring into white splotches. I squeezed my eyes shut and steadied myself, hands gripping the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white as the wood threatened to splinter under my grip.
My breath hitched in my throat, each ragged gasp burning like acid.
No. I wouldn't let it take me. I wouldn't let her see me like this.
I could do this. I had to.
For her.
It was a lie, and I knew it. The pills would numb the physical symptoms for a while, but the real battle was the one in my head. And that, I was far from winning.
You can't run from what's inside your head, can you?
I needed fresh air.
─── ·✧· ───
I stumbled down the hallway, vision blurring slightly at the edges, willing myself to simply keep moving. My skin prickled and burned, every nerve on fire.
I burst through the double doors leading to the main lobby, momentarily disorientated by the sudden change from sterile hallways to the bustling public space.
My lungs sucked in a shaky breath, and with it came a scent — a subtle mix of something floral and the clean, faintly metallic tang of blood.
Her scent?
What the hell—
My gaze swept the area, and there she was. She sat across the room, partially obscured by a crowd of people waiting to donate blood. The curve of her neck, the way her hair fell across her shoulders, were unmistakable.
Why was she here, in the hospital?
If something was wrong, damn it, she should have told me.
But then I saw it. A needle was taped to the crook of her arm, a thin tube snaking down to a partially filled blood bag. She held a book in her hand and there was a line of concentration between her brows as she read, her thumb tracing idly across the page.
My hands fumbled to smooth down my shirt, a useless gesture since it was hopelessly wrinkled. Taking a steadying breath, I weaved through the crowd.
The trembling wouldn't quit, but with each step towards her, it seemed to lessen, replaced by a different kind of nervous energy. Still, I tried to project a calmness I didn't feel.
I couldn't let her see me like this, not now.
She still hadn't noticed me as I stood in front of her, her attention focused on the book in her hands. I leaned in, the scent of her perfume mingled with the sterile hospital smell, a combination both familiar and disturbingly intimate in this setting.
She was so engrossed in her book that she didn't notice me until I gently pushed it down, an easy smile pulling at my lips.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
She blinked up at me. "What does it look like I'm doing?" Her eyes darted down to the needle in her arm, blood trickling steadily into the bag.
"Why didn't you tell me you were here?" I took the chair beside her, unable to contain my sudden annoyance. Why not tell me? It was illogical, this possessiveness, but damn it, I wanted to know.
"Thought I'd enjoy a few moments without your charming company." The sarcasm dripped sweetly from her lips, and under other circumstances, I might have countered with a playful remark of my own.
But today, my mind was something else. Looking away, I tried to ignore the subtle itch beneath my skin and focus on anything else.
"Quite the weather today, huh?" I finally blurted out, staring past her at the gray sky outside. Lame. Even for me.
"You came to me to talk about the weather?" She brought her book back up.
"It's going to storm soon."
"Is it?" She didn't even look up.
I watched her for a moment. Not just her face, but the way the sunlight painted delicate gold along her cheekbones, the way a single strand of hair had escaped, brushing against her lashes like a gentle whisper and creating a softness her serious expression couldn't hide.
It was a painfully beautiful sight, and so cruelly unlike my fucked up world. Some twisted part of me longed to disrupt it, to be the storm she couldn't ignore, even as another, saner part of me wanted to protect that peace, to protect her at all costs.
"What are you reading?" I asked.
"Kafka."
"Didn't know you were into literature." Damn, even to myself, I sounded like a condescending ass.
She lowered the book, meeting my gaze with equal parts amusement and defiance. "Believe it or not, I do read things that's not all about brains."
Something in the intensity of her expression, the way she held the book, made me want to understand this side of her. "What do you like about it?"
"There's just something about Kafka that speaks to me. It's—unsettling but in a compelling way." She closed the book for a second, her gaze lingering on the cover. "It's actually my second time reading it."
"Is this your favorite of Kafka's books?"
"It is."
"Read me your favorite part," I said, leaning back in the chair, folding my hands behind my head. My eyes slid closed, less to feign disinterest and more to focus on the sound of her voice.
She sighed, and the quiet rustle of pages told me she was flipping through the book. "Okay, but it might sound a bit strange out of context," she warned.
"I'm sure I'll love it."
I love everything that comes out of your mouth, silly.
"He wrote it to his father," she said, giving me a bit of context before she started to read.
"I'm not going to say that I have become what I am only as a result of your influence..."
Her voice was a soft caress. I drank it in, savoring her words, yet a shiver ran down my spine as she continued.
"...It is indeed quite possible that even if I had grown up entirely free from your influence I should probably have still become a weakly, timid, hesitant, restless person."
The words carried a cruel, familiar sting, each one leaving a fresh, burning scar on my skin.
"I should have been happy to have you as a friend, as a boss, an uncle, a grandfather, even as a father-in-law, only as a father you have been too strong for me..."
Too strong.
What a fucked up way to describe it. A child, small and defenseless, pitted against an unyielding force. Where was the justice in that?
My father's voice thundered through my mind. Like a knife, his disapproval carved into my very being. Not strong enough. Never enough. Not what a Gojo should be. Never living up to the legacy, never matching him.
Weakness. That's all he ever saw.
My fists tightened until my nails dug into my palms.
The old anger flared hot.
"...and for that I was much too weak." She closed the book.
My eyes snapped open, blinking in the harsh light. My head throbbed. The familiar itch clawed beneath my skin, a demanding, relentless torment. I dug my nails harder into my palms.
No. I wouldn't let him have that power, wouldn't lose control.
Her gaze flickered to mine, and I swore something shifted in the air between us.
"He describes how it was growing up with such a strong father, how it shaped him his whole life," she paused, her voice laced with hesitation. "He writes about the desire for approval, the weight of expectations. It's about seeking validation from someone who's supposed to guide you, but instead becomes this unattainable figure."
Her words echoed uncomfortably in my mind.
My gaze fixed on her hands, the way they nervously gripped the book, fingernails biting into the worn cover. Why was she so tense? Did she know? No, I never told her.
"Satoru?" Her voice sliced through my thoughts.
Before I could respond, the shrill sound of my pager tore through the room. I fumbled for it, eyes scanning the stark message.
Brain bleed. Trial patient. ICU. STAT.
"Fuck." Adrenaline surged through me. I shot to my feet, "I've got to go. There was another brain bleeding with one of our trial patients."
"Wait!" She stood abruptly, her gaze locked on the IV line snaking into her arm.
What is she—
Wait—
What??
Before I could interfere, she yanked the needle out of her arm. A bead of blood gushed out, and she quickly pressed a cotton ball against it. "I'm coming with you."
For a split second I stared, stunned. This woman is completely insane. And I can't wait to marry her.
We sprinted through the hospital corridors, a blur of white walls and concerned faces. Bursting into the ICU, my heart pounded against my ribs, my focus narrowing to the patient on the bed. A doctor stood beside him, a grave expression etched on his face.
"Time of death, 16:22."
The words echoed in the sudden, oppressive silence. My chest tightened as the world narrowed to the still form on the bed, the empty hum of machines. It was over. We're too late.
Wait. She will surely—
I turned around, and a surge of fear shot through me.
She stood there, her face ashen, the crimson-stained cotton ball clutched in her trembling hand. Eyes that were usually so vibrant now held a shattering vulnerability, her breaths coming in shallow, desperate gasps.
In an instant, I was at her side. "Hey, hey," I said. "It's okay. Just breath, can you do that for me?"
My hand found her shoulder, squeezing gently. The warmth of her skin was in stark contrast to the ice in my veins. My mind churned, guilt twisting like a knife in my gut. Of course, she would react like this. I'd been a fool to bring her here.
"Wait in my office," I said, my voice as gentle as I could manage despite my fear. "I'll be with you as soon as possible."
Her eyes locked with mine, searching. A flicker of resistance crossed her face, then resignation. She nodded, a mere jerk of her head, and stumbled away, each step seeming to take an impossible effort.
Watching her go, my heart clenched.
For all her strength, her boldness, there was this fragile core to her, one that the world, and I, seemed intent on bruising. And that, more than anything, sent a spike of anger through me—an anger directed squarely at myself.
Fuck, focus, you have a job to do here.
"Dr. –" I began, and then cursed inwardly. What the hell was his name again? Familiar face, stupid haircut, uglier glasses—
"Dr. Ijichi," the young doctor said, his voice a touch shaky. A bead of sweat glistened on his forehead.
"Right, of course." Annoyance pricked at me. He's a newbie. I should know this, I should care.
I softened my tone, just a fraction.
"Let's go over this from the start. What triggered the bleed? Did the patient present any new symptoms?"
Ijichi flipped through the chart, his fingers fumbling slightly. "The bleed appears spontaneous. Scans from yesterday showed no signs of an aneurysm or underlying issues. Blood panels within normal limits, no recent head trauma reported."
"But something must have caused it," I snapped. "The implant—could there be a malfunction? A short-circuit? Anything?"
Ijichi took a step back, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "It's possible. But I'd—I'd need to examine the implant itself for any sign of damage."
"Well, then do that." The words came out harsher than I intended. My gaze swept over him, noting the faint tremor in his hands. Damn it, I was scaring the kid. I forced myself to take a breath. "Look, I know this is a lot. But we need to act fast."
"Patient's medical records are clean. Blood pressure was normal at last check." Ijichi was regaining some of his composure, his voice a touch firmer. A good sign.
"Can I see his scans? Lab work? Everything."
The next minutes was a blur of reports, X-rays, MRI sequences. I scrutinized every detail, my mind racing ahead, chasing ghosts of potential errors. Ijichi hovered nearby. He fielded my questions, fetching additional reports and cross-referencing data.
I couldn't fault his dedication, but a nagging thought itched at the back of my mind. Experience mattered in situations like this, a cool head under pressure. Maybe if I was here sooner—
The annoyance flared again. If this was a flaw in the method, heads would roll. Mine, Suguru's, and—the trial would be scrutinized, the funding in jeopardy—and her—
Dammit. I'd promised her this wouldn't happen again. That with me, she wouldn't have to watch another patient die. Images of her flashed before my eyes—the haunted look she'd worn earlier, her vulnerability.
My fingers twitched against my arm, nails biting into skin.
"Dr. Gojo?" Ijichi's voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. "I've isolated something in the pre-op scans."
I snapped back to the present. I leaned over his shoulder, peering at the image. A slight irregularity, a minuscule shadow on the edge of the implant interface.
"Could this be it?" Ijichi's voice held a hint of excitement, of finally being useful.
"Maybe," I said. "Any sign of inflammation? Tissue reaction?"
He zoomed in further. "Inconclusive, sir. We'll need higher resolution images, maybe a tissue sample from the insertion site."
"The autopsy." The word was heavy on my tongue. "Get on it. I want the implant and surrounding tissue on my table as soon as possible."
Ijichi nodded. "I'll contact pathology right away."
Left alone in the small room, I slumped into a chair, exhaustion washing over me. The relentless adrenaline rush was fading, leaving behind a hollow ache and the lingering, uncomfortable question.
How many more patients were out there, ticking time bombs with our technology inside their heads? And what the hell were we going to do about it?
The sterile confines of the ICU were suffocating.
I looked over to the clock and my breath hitched. Fuck, I left her alone for over 30 minutes now. I sprung up from the chair and raced to my office.
Bursting through the door, I saw her—knees drawn to her chest, head buried in her arms. A sharp pain shot through me, guilt twisting with a strange sense of relief that she'd obeyed my command at least.
In a few swift strides, I knelt before her. "Hey, love" I cupped her face, forcing her to meet my gaze. "You okay?"
She blinked, eyes wide and shadowed. A forced smile touched her lips. "Yeah, just—it was all a bit much. I'll be fine."
The words were hollow, the act unconvincing. Her skin was pale, her jaw tight, and her eyes betrayed the unmistakable sheen of unshed tears.
"Don't do that," I said, more softly than I intended. "Don't pretend with me."
"I'm fine, really," she said, pulling her gaze away.
I watched her, a familiar ache settling in my chest. I'd told her to wait here, thinking it would shield her from the worst of it. Instead, I'd left her alone with her thoughts.
I'm so stupid.
I hesitated, searching for the right words, "Do you often get these panic attacks?"
Confusion clouded her features. "What?"
She doesn't even know herself?
I brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Panic attacks. Like back there, in the ICU—"
Her eyes widened, then immediately narrowed in defensiveness. "I wasn't panicked. Just startled."
But I wasn't buying it, not this time.
"The way you were breathing, the way you couldn't stand still," I ticked the signs off on my fingers, mirroring her symptoms back at her. "Remember the first time you did surgery with Suguru? When that patient died?"
"That was different."
"Or the massive bleeding in our last patient while surgery? When the suture tore," I continued relentlessly.
The defiance was fading from her eyes. I knew I was pushing her, but it felt necessary, a brutal ripping off of a bandage.
"I didn't think of it as of panic attacks," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Oh, my brave, brilliant girl. How could I love her more?
I reached out, tracing the faint tracks of tears beneath her eyes.
"What happened with the patient?" she asked.
"The bleed was massive," I said. "Likely a flaw in the implant itself, a malfunction we didn't anticipate. The autopsy will confirm."
She closed her eyes briefly. "Are we going to have to shut down the trial?"
"It's too early to say," I said, threading my fingers through my hair. "Maybe, I don't know."
We were both silent for a moment.
She wandered over to my desk. Perching atop it, she crossed her legs, staring blankly into the dimness of the office. I wonder what she's thinking right now.
Her gaze drifted over the desk's surface. Her eyes landed on a single, crisp document—the lawsuit, left there carelessly, intentionally, by Higurama after our earlier meeting.
That bastard.
"What's the status on the assault charge?"
My stomach turned. Of course, she would ask. "It's being handled. Just paperwork and legal wrangling."
"By handled you mean?" she prompted, her eyes flicking back to the document. As her eyes scanned the document, her frown deepened, her fingers tracing the neatly typed figures.
I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly wishing those papers were buried at the bottom of a hazardous waste bin. "Higurama is negotiating with the kid's lawyers."
She looked up, her full attention now fixed on me. "Are you Insane?"
"It's not that bad—" I began, but the words died as I saw the anger on her face.
"They want how much? Is there a typo? A few too many zeroes?"
"It's fine. Money isn't the issue. I can handle it."
Her eyes narrowed. "Satoru, even for you, that sum is—" She paused. "You can't pay that. I won't let you."
"Let me? You make it sound like you have a say in the matter." I stepped closer, the distance between us shrinking.
Her expression softened with a flicker of annoyance, an emotion I found strangely comforting after the raw worry of a moment ago. "Satoru, this isn't a joke. I'm serious."
"Come on, a few zeroes here or there—it's pocket change for a devastatingly brilliant neurosurgeon as myself."
"This isn't something to joke about!" She swatted at my chest, a futile gesture that made me want to grin even wider.
"You love it." I rested my hands on either side of her on the desk, capturing her. "Admit it, the arrogance is part of my charm."
"Part of your insufferableness, more like."
"Everything's going to be fine." I lean in closer, the faint scent of jasmine that always clung to her, was intoxicating. "I promise. You need to trust me."
"Satoru—" she began, ready to launch into another argument.
Before another word could escape, I closed the distance between us and silenced her with a kiss. It began softly, a tentative press of lips, as if seeking permission. But when she sighed, her body melting against mine, it deepened into something more urgent, more insistent.
My hand slid into her hair, tilting her head just so I could claim her more. The taste of her was a much-needed distraction from the weight of the day. How goddamned much I loved her taste. Needed it more than I could ever admit.
When I finally broke the kiss, a flicker of anger still sparked within her, and oh, I loved it. Loved it when she was all angry with me. Every flicker of those expressive eyes, every sharp word—it all belonged to me. I craved all of her.
"Now," I said. "How about some coffee?"
─── ·✧· ───
The air in Yaga's office was suffocating.
Every word from that old bastard was a knife, twisting deeper with each infuriatingly accurate accusation.
"You lost a trial patient," he rumbled, and I had to suppress a wince.
"Setbacks happen," I shot back. "We fix it, we make it better. That's how progress works."
His fist slammed against the desk, making me jump. Damn it, Yaga always knew how to get under my skin. "And the cost? The reputation? Your recklessness will bury us all, Gojo."
"Risks I'm willing to take," I spat. "My patients are willing to take them. Because we believe in something more than your damn paperwork and red tape."
Yaga stood, his face a mask of cold fury. "Boundaries exist for a reason. And until you remember that, your precious project is over. The trial ends now."
The words echoed in the silence, a death sentence.
I can't risk it getting shot down, not for her. The thought burned, fueled by the terror of seeing those tears again.
"I won't accept this," I said, my voice rough, "I'll fight it. The Ministry, the funding agencies—I'll make them see the potential!"
Yaga's lip curled in a humorless smile. "And while you chase those grand delusions, perhaps you should focus on the mess already on your doorstep. Your, shall we say, 'unprofessional' entanglement with that student of yours hardly instills confidence."
The blow landed with devastating force.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't give me that, Gojo."
"That's—" My voice cracked, the words catching in my throat like a shard of glass. "Irrelevant. It's a personal matter."
"Is it?" Yaga countered. "When your personal choices compromise your judgment, jeopardize not only this project but the lives of countless patients—it becomes very much my business. I've tolerated this long enough."
What?
"You can't touch my surgeries. Those patients need me."
"Do they?" His question was a poisoned dart. "Or do they need a surgeon with a clear head and untarnished reputation? While this mess remains unresolved, consider your surgical privileges suspended. You have enough on your plate."
I slammed my hand against the desk, heedless of the pain it sent tearing through me. My surgeries, my purpose, the very core of my identity—he can't take that away from me.
"This isn't fair," I said through gritted teeth. "You're overreacting. One setback—"
"One setback too many," Yaga cut me off, his voice hard as steel. "You've exhibited a reckless disregard for protocol, for ethics, and now it's spiraling out of control. The board has lost faith in your ability to lead this project, and frankly," he paused, his gaze piercing, "so have I."
The room felt suffocating, the air too thin to breathe. It was as if the walls were pressing in, crushing the fight out of me.
Yaga sighed. "Clear your head, Gojo. Sort out your priorities. Until then, take a step back. And for your sake, and the sake of those around you, stay out of trouble."
Then, a knock sounded at the door. I turned around.
The door creaked open, and there she stood, her eyes wide.
My heart sank.
In that moment, seeing her framed in the doorway of Yaga's office, a cruel reminder of the mess I'd made, the last thin threat snapped.
This was on me, not her.
"Don't you dare drag her into this," I hissed before anyone in the room could speak. "This is on me and not—"
"Silence," Yaga's voice cut through my outburst. "Both of you. Sit."
She met my gaze, a flicker of something I couldn't name passing through her eyes. Then, she crossed the room and sat, her posture straight. The sight of her, defiant yet composed, filled me with a strange sense of pride.
"There will be repercussions, as you both are well aware," Yaga began. "The ethics committee has been alerted. A formal hearing will be scheduled, likely within the week, to address this debacle."
He paused, his gaze raking over both of us. "I suggest you prepare yourselves well. The fallout will be severe."
The ethics committee?
Fuck.
My stomach churned, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin.
My fingers twitched. The itch beneath my skin now flared into a maddening burn. It took every ounce of control to fight the urge to rip the skin off my arm, to tear away the invisible parasites gnawing at my sanity.
"What kind of fallout?" I asked. "Suspension? Expulsion?"
Yaga's expression was unreadable. "The committee will decide that. Your actions—both individually and collectively—will be scrutinized."
"But she—" I began, but Yaga held up a hand, silencing me.
"Enough," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I suggest you both to prepare very well what you'll tell them, especially regarding your relationship."
He let the implication linger in the air, a silent accusation.
"You can leave now," Yaga announced, already adverting his gaze from us to some papers in from of him.
I shot to my feet, my chair scraping back with a screech. I grabbed her hand, a silent command to follow. I knew she had a million questions, but I needed the world to stop spinning out of control for one damn minute.
I needed air first.
I needed to breathe first.
"Let's get out of here first, okay?" I said before she could even open her mouth to speak.
The elevator carried us down. I gripped the handrail so hard it felt like my fingers might break. Her gaze burned into me, her worry a palpable weight in the too-small space. I averted my eyes, focusing on the grimy elevator floor.
If I looked at her now, I knew I'd crumble.
"Satoru, we should tell them," her voice was soft.
Please, love. Be silent. Don't make this harder for me.
"No," I said, harsher than intended. "We won't. This could ruin you, and I won't let that happen." The words sounded strong, protective—but the truth was, I was terrified.
My hand twitched with the need for a relief I hadn't known this strong for weeks. Just one pill, one measly little pill was all I needed right now. It gnawed at me, a craving that wouldn't be ignored.
"But it's my choice too. You don't get to decide this alone."
"You don't understand. If they find out about us now, under these circumstances they'll use it against us, make it look like we were reckless, unprofessional. Our judgment, everything we've worked for, will be called into question."
"I don't care about their judgment! I care about what happens to you!"
Couldn't she see? This wasn't about bravery, or honor. This was about survival. It was about saving her, even if it meant destroying myself in the process.
"I can't risk your future, not for this. End of discussion." I turned away, unable to stand the hurt, the frustration burning in her eyes.
I was meant to be her strength, and I was failing her. Failing us.
Then, as if the universe itself decided to pile on my misery, the elevator lights began to flicker. The low hum warped into a high-pitched whine, the sound like nails scraping along my exposed nerves.
The elevator jolted, then shuddered to an abrupt halt. Darkness crashed down, pierced only by the sickly yellow glow of the emergency lights.
Stuck.
Trapped.
Confined.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Then, a voice, tinny and overly cheerful, chirped through the elevator's speaker. "Uhm, sorry about this folks. Seems we have a minor—uh, technical issue. Be with you shortly."
Fuck.
I could feel her gaze burn into my neck, a heavy pressure like she held a gun to my head.
"Well, you can't fuck your way out of this one, can you?" Her voice held a cruel amusement.
I considered it for a moment, then remembered the security camera scrutinizing our every move, the worker no doubt listening. Too risky.
Not that I'd mind a video.
I sighed. Leaning heavily against the cold metal, I let my head thunk against the elevator door.
God, please have mercy.
Defeated, I turned and slid down the elevator door, sinking to the floor, the metal cold against my back. She crossed her arms and I knew she wouldn't back down.
For a while, silence reigned.
"They'll want to know everything—about the research project, the surgeries, the brain bleeding, the student lawsuit," I hesitated for a second. "And about us."
"I know." Her reply was matter-of-fact, almost dismissive.
"This should concern you."
"I don't care."
My god, this woman makes me lose my mind.
Her stubbornness was so infuriating, yet it made me want to rip her clothes off right here, right now. It was as if she saw the storm raging within me and refused to back down, daring it to break us both.
I shifted, the cold floor chilling me to the bone. "If we tell them now about us, they'll use it against us. They'll tear us apart."
"And what's the alternative?"
"We say nothing. Professor and student. Nothing more."
"They'll question others."
"No one knows, except Suguru, and he won't tell anyone."
"We already look guilty. Professor and student spending so much time together? Doing surgeries together? Let alone the scene you caused at the summer gathering. People already talk, Satoru. You know they do."
She was right. Damn her for always being right.
"The committee will know," she continued. "They'll ask questions. And we can't afford to be caught off guard."
"Damn it," I cursed, raking a hand through my hair.
"Satoru," she began, the sound of my name on her lips a caress against my raw nerves.
Please never stop saying my name.
"We both made choices. The only option now is to be truthful. You can't shield me from this, nor do I want you to. I've chosen to be here. So, we tell them. Tell them you and I," she faltered slightly over the next word, "that we're in a relationship."
I blinked, my mind stuck on the word. Relationship.
She'd never used that word before.
But the way she said it now, laced with that familiar defiance. Always the challenge, testing my limits, turning everything into a battlefield. God, I craved it—the clash, the surrender, the maddening, intoxicating burn of her. All of it. All the time.
A smile, genuine and almost idiotic, spread across my face.
She narrowed her eyes. "What?"
"We're in a relationship?"
Say it again, love.
"You're such an idiot."
Giving me nothing as always.
"How are you holding up?" Her question stopped me cold. "Just two more weeks, right?"
Two weeks.
Two more weeks until I was supposed to be completely free from the insidious grip of the opioids. My fingers twitched at my sides at the mere thought of it.
I forced a smile. "Everything's fine."
The lie burned my throat, but it was preferable to the alternative. I couldn't let her see my weakness, not now, not with everything else hanging by a thread.
"Not quite convincing," she said. "But then again, you never were a good liar, were you?"
She saw through me. Of course, she did.
In that moment, something shifted—a silent war waged between us. Her gaze relentless as she fixed me with her gorgeous eyes.
"Guess my luck's run out, huh?"
"Don't," she warned. "Don't do that. Don't shut me out, Satoru."
We held each other's gaze, a silent standoff in the flickering emergency lights. It was always like that, always a battle of wills to see who would give in first, yet this time fear flickered in her eyes, a fear that matched my own.
A crackle from the elevator's speaker broke the spell.
"Hey there, folks," the tinny voice chirped. "Just wanted to let you know we're working on it. Shouldn't be too much longer. Sorry for any inconvenience!"
Wordlessly, she shifted closer. Sinking down beside me, her shoulder pressed against mine.
We sat in silence, side by side.
Each breath I took felt less violent, the chaos in my mind muted by the simple warmth radiating from her. I reached for her hand, our fingers intertwining.
In those shared breaths, the world melted away.
"You know," I began, the words barely a whisper. "I'd do anything for you."
Her hand tightened in mine. "And I'd anything for you."
A bittersweet smile touched my lips. "And that will probably be our undoing. Either way, looks like we're in for one hell of a fight."
My grip on her hand tightened. I couldn't lose her. Not to the fallout of my mistakes and certainly not to the vultures who would circle us, seeking to exploit any sign of weakness.
I was trapped in a cruel paradox. My need to protect her was the very thing that might destroy her. And the realization cut deep.
"Then let's fight like hell," she said. "If it's a battle they want, it's a battle they'll get."
God, I love this woman.
And as we sat there, trapped in that metal box, I knew one thing for sure:
Trouble would come—it always does. But anyone who dared to hurt her would have to get through me first.
─── ·✧· ───
A light summer rain spattered the city streets, blurring the neon signs into shimmering streaks of color. I dodged between hurried strangers, the air heavy with the scent of wet asphalt. Each step brought me closer to my destination.
As I reached the weathered wooden door, my phone buzzed. Suguru's name flashed on the screen.
"Hey," Suguru's voice crackled through the line. "I got those test results you asked about."
"And?"
The silence that stretched felt like an eternity.
"Elevated AST, ALT, ALP, bilirubin, and GGT, low on albumin," Suguru finally said.
I clenched my fist around my hair. "Can't you at least sugarcoat that a bit?"
"Satoru this is serious. You need treatment, and we need to plan this out, like, yesterday."
What a pain.
"Look, I'm in the city right now," I said. "There's something I need to pick up. Can we discuss this later?"
"Something more important than your liver giving up?"
"Well," I began, a wry smile playing on my lips, "If you must know, I'm about to make a seriously bad financial decision."
A beat of silence, then a groan. "Satoru, you know I can't read your damn mind. Just spit it out."
"It's for her."
I didn't need to elaborate. He understood.
"Figured," Suguru said, resignation evident in his voice. "But seriously, Satoru, your liver—"
"I know, I know," I cut him off. "We'll talk later. Promise."
I hung up before he could protest further.
The shop's weathered sign creaked above the doorway as I stepped inside. A bell tinkled, cutting through the stillness. The musty scent of old paper and polished wood enveloped me.
The shop was empty. I wandered further in, into the maze of shelves. Sunlight pierced the stained glass windows, fracturing into shards of crimson and sapphire that danced across the worn wooden floor. Dust motes danced in the beams.
My eyes drifted over the towering shelves filled with books. I reached out, my fingers trailing along faded covers, the embossed lettering cool beneath my touch.
Them, a soft shuffle of footsteps echoed from the back room.
A tiny, elderly woman emerged. "Can I help you find something?"
"Actually," I said. "I believe I have an order to pick up."
Her wrinkled face lit up. "Oh, wonderful!" she exclaimed, a burst of energy belying her age. "That special piece. It took some doing to get ahold of it, you know. Just a moment, dear."
She disappeared back into the dim recesses of the shop. My fingers tapped restlessly against the wooden cashier's desk as I waited.
The old woman returned, carefully cradling a worn wooden box in her gnarled hands. My pulse quickened. With trembling fingers, she unlatched the box, revealing a slim volume nestled in aged tissue paper. Lifting it out, she held it towards me.
"Signed by Kafka himself."
The weight of the volume in my hands was unexpectedly heavy as I took in the sight of the worn leather and faded ink.
"She must be very special," the old woman said.
"Huh?"
"The woman you gift this to."
"She is," I said, a smile tucking on my lips. "She's everything. Deserves everything."
"She must be very lucky to have you."
Her words echoed in my head. Lucky? More like a burden.
"I'm not so sure about that," I began, the words hesitantly tumbling out, "maybe she deserves someone who doesn't have to try so hard."
The old woman tilted her head. "Sometimes, dear," she said softly, "it's those who try the hardest that are the ones worth holding onto."
"But what if trying isn't enough? What if the very act of trying—it just breaks things more?"
The old woman's smile didn't fade a bit. "Love is often a messy business. Broken things can be mended, you know. Sometimes the cracks make them all the more beautiful."
"But some things are beyond saving," I whispered, the bitter taste of the words lingering in my mouth.
Damn it, why couldn't I be better for her? She deserved someone strong, someone who wasn't one bad day away from crumbling.
"Perhaps. And perhaps," she countered quietly, "it just that brokenness that makes it perfect."
I huffed. "That sounds like something she would say."
I glanced down at the book, the worn leather seemed to burn against my skin. My fingers twitched. It had been hours—too many hours—since my last pill.
The old woman cleared her throat "Well, dear," she said, her voice taking on a brisk tone, "shall we settle up then? I believe that comes to—"
She fished out a worn leather purse and snapped it open, revealing a wad of crumpled bills. My eyes widened as she extracted them, my brain fumbling to calculate the absurd amount she fanned out before me. My jaw must have hit the floor.
"Life advice never comes cheap, dear boy."
─── ·✧· ───
The basketball arced through the air, a perfect curve that ended with the satisfying swish of the net. Another shot, another temporary reprieve. The rhythm was soothing, a mindless distraction that usually brought a sense of ease.
But tonight, it felt hollow.
Another shot. Another basket.
Each thud of the ball against the cracked asphalt mirrored the pounding in my temples. Sweat stung my eyes, my lungs burned. The deserted court, bathed in the fading warmth of the afternoon sun, offered no solace.
Another shot soared towards the backboard, this time clattering wildly off the rim. The ball ricocheted away. Frustration surged through me.
Elevated liver enzymes. Decreased platelets. Albumin's dropping. This isn't about a few late nights, Satoru. Your body is giving up on you.
Suguru's warnings echoed like a death knell.
It was bad. Worse than I'd allowed myself to admit. The years of pushing limits, of drowning my demons in a haze of toxic oblivion, had caught up with me with brutal efficiency.
A wave of dizziness washed over me, and for a sickening moment the cracked asphalt seemed to tilt and sway. I forced myself to focus, to regain control. The irony of it all nearly choked out a bitter laugh.
Control.
What a futile concept.
Suddenly, my arm burned, a sharp insistent sting. I clutched it, fingernails scraping against the already inflamed skin. It was a subconscious act, a frantic search for relief from the maddening itch that throbbed beneath the surface.
My fingers came away sticky and red.
Fuck.
Then, my phone buzzed against my thigh. I fished it out of my shorts, the screen blurring in the fading light.
It was her.
[6:15 PM] You: Seen your car in the university parking. Still here?
[6:15 PM] Satoru: Basketball court.
[6:15 PM] You: Should have known.
[6:15 PM] You: On my way.
A shiver ran through me, a rush of something akin to adrenaline.
She was coming.
The bleeding scratches on my arm seared. I fumbled for the sleeve of my crewneck sweatshirt, pulling it down hastily in an attempt to hide the evidence.
I forced myself to focus on the net.
And then I saw her, a silhouette etched against the dying light, her presence shattering the fragile focus I'd clung to. My heart hammered in my chest.
For a moment, time seemed to stutter.
She came towards me, her steps soft against the rough asphalt. Every detail of her etched itself onto my mind with painful clarity. The way the twilight painted streaks of gold across her skin, the gentle curve of her lips, the slight furrow of concern between her impossibly beautiful eyes.
My god, those eyes.
Even if she looks at me in pity, I wish she would never stop looking at me.
I forced myself to toss another shot, a pathetic attempt to feign normalcy. The ball arced through the air and swished through the net—a lucky streak.
Her footsteps stopped just short of the three-point line. She didn't speak, just watched me with those perceptive eyes that always seemed to see too much. My pulse quickened, a mix of fear and longing washing over me.
Tonight, in that flowery dress, she was insanely beautiful.
She reached down and scooped up the ball that had just rolled to a stop at her feet. A spark of amusement ignited in her eyes, a challenge I knew I would accept even before it left her lips.
With a playful smile, she began to dribble. Her movements were hesitant, fumbling—adorable. So different from the confident woman she was in the operating room.
Still, she moved with focused determination, mirroring the way she approached everything in life. For a moment, I just watched, savoring the unexpected tenderness of her trying.
I closed the distance between us, amusement tugging at my lips. I reached for the ball, intent on displaying my effortless skill.
But she surprised me. Though I easily pushed her away, a hint of resistance in her stance, she didn't stumble back as I'd expected. She held her ground, our bodies a breath apart.
She tilted her chin up, defiance still burning in those impossibly pretty eyes. For a breathless moment, I was lost in their depths, in the faint scent of her skin, the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
God, how I needed her.
"You're quite distracting," I said, my gaze drawn to the sheen of sweat glistening along the curve of her neck. Our bodies were impossibly close, my breath ghosting across her lips, the faintest hint of her smile teasing me.
"Don't blame me for your bad play." She snatched the ball, biting her lower lip as I moved to block her shot. I closed in, body to body. With a twist and a feint, she evaded me, keeping the ball just out of reach.
"Or is the great Dr. Gojo," her eyes flickered down to my lips, then back up, "—afraid of a little challenge?"
The words hung in the air, a taunt, and a dare.
My hands moved instinctively, framing her face, tilting it upwards. The distance between us vanished in a heartbeat.
Her lips were soft, yielding against mine, the faint taste of something sweet clinging to them. My pulse thundered, fingers tracing the delicate line of her jaw. I pulled her closer, our bodies molding against each other. Her exhale a soft sigh against my lips.
The basketball, forgotten and rolling away across the cracked asphalt.
I deepened the kiss, not able to resist her. I lost myself in the sensations—the warmth of her skin, the intoxicating taste of her, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the summer heat. Raw need flared within me, a desperate hunger that threatened to consume all semblance of control in me.
When I finally drew back, it took every ounce of my willpower. She was breathless, her eyes filled with a yearning. Just how I like it.
I snatched the forgotten basketball from the asphalt, twirling it on a finger. "So much for your challenge." My voice coming out slightly breathless.
I spun on my heel, took a few steps, and arced the ball towards the net. It swished through with a satisfying thud. "Looks like someone gets distracted easily."
"That's hardly fair," she retorted with a determination in her gaze that both amused and intrigued me. "You're basically a pro."
"So you admit defeat then?" I taunted, dribbling the ball between my legs.
I could see the way she was analyzing my movements, trying to mimic the way I held the ball and the fluidity of my shots. She was always like that analyzing my every move. Watching me with an intensity that only she could.
"Not at all. You just need a handicap. Perhaps you can only use one hand behind your back?"
"Alright, first-year," I smirked, tossing her the ball. "You're on. Just don't blame me when I crush you even with a handicap."
The ball bounced awkwardly in her grasp as she took a hesitant shot. It bounced off the backboard, miles away from the net. A flicker of frustration crossed her face. Fucking adorable.
"Next one's going in," I said as I retrieved the ball and began dribbling. "But you have to get it from me first."
I kept my promise, playing with one hand behind my back. Yet, I wasn't playing to win. I was playing to keep her close, to savor the spark in her eyes, the way she moved with a newfound confidence.
She darted in close, her eyes locked on the ball, and with a swift movement, she feigned a step to the left before stealing the ball from my less-guarded side. She took her shot.
Her second attempt was slightly better, the ball at least hitting the rim with a hollow clang.
She should really just stick to surgeries, not sports.
She retrieved the ball again. After a particularly clumsy dribbling attempt of her, I swooped in, intercepting the ball with ease. However, she surprised me. Lunging forward, she snatched the ball from my grasp again and, in a fluid motion, took a wild, off-balance shot.
The ball soared through the air, tracing a perfect arc. It hit the backboard and, against all odds, bounced through the net.
"Maybe you're not as good as you think you are?" she teased, flashing me that smile.
Oh, sweet thing. I let you win just to see that smile. But it's still cute how you try.
"Lucky shot." Without conscious thought, I moved closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
"Careful, Professor, or your student might surpass you." She teased again as if she didn't know exactly what those words did to me.
But sure, tease me again. Bring it on. Tease me, taunt me, push me until I snap.
You'll reap what you sow.
She began dribbling, but I was relentless, closing in. With a quick feint, I disarmed her, snatching the ball and watching it roll away.
She tried to sidestep, a flicker of surprise in those beautiful eyes. Too slow. With a final stride, I cut off her escape, her back hitting the cool metal of the basketball pole. She was trapped.
I grabbed her neck, fingers intertwining in her hair. Before she could object, before I could second-guess myself, I closed the remaining distance, my lips crashing against hers. Her soft gasp swallowed by my own hungry sigh.
The kiss was heated, desperate, a clash of urgency and hesitant surrender. My arms circled her hips. I bent my knees slightly and, in one swift motion, lifted her off the ground. Her legs wrapped around my waist, a gasp escaping her lips.
I pressed her closer, my body straining with an almost painful need. I lost myself in the softness of her lips, the faint taste of cherry chapstick, the intoxicating sensation of her skin against mine.
I deepened the kiss, my tongue tracing the seam of her lips. I tightened my hold, pressing her closer until I could feel the frantic beat of her heart against mine. A moan escaped my throat as I felt the sudden desire to possess, to consume, to brand her as mine.
Not out of aggression, but a desperate need for more—more touch, more taste, more of the overwhelming rush that only she could give me.
She was the fix I couldn't resist, the poison I desperately craved. Because with her, oblivion felt so damn close.
Her hands tightened in my hair, the short strands of my undercut providing purchase as she tugged me closer. Her scent enveloped me. It clung to my tongue, my lungs, fueled the heat blazing in my blood.
My teeth grazed her lower lip, drawing a soft moan that stretched my shorts even more painfully. It was my undoing. Every thought, every restraint burned away in the heat of the moment. I needed to have her. Not just a taste, not just this stolen moment.
I craved all of her, with a desperation that bordered on madness.
Then, like a splash of ice water, her nails raked across the raw skin on my arm, searing pain cutting through the haze. I winced, her touch like burning coals on my skin.
"What's wrong?" she gasped, breaking the kiss.
"Everything's fine," I said, not wanting to let go of her. I leaned in again but she flinched back.
"Don't lie to me." Then, her gaze fell to the faint stain of blood seeping through my sleeve. Her eyes widened. "Satoru, your arm—"
In an instant she rolled up my sleeve, revealing the scratches.
Fuck.
I lowered her back to the ground. Her eyes narrowed, a frown creasing her brow.
"It's nothing."
"It's always 'nothing', with you," she said sharply.
Reluctantly, I allowed her to roll up my sleeve even more, revealing the red marks. Here was the ugly truth, laid bare beneath her concerned gaze.
"Do you have something to clean this?" Her voice trailed off as her eyes flickered towards my sports bag, lying forgotten on the sideline bench. With a determined look I knew all too well, she walked towards it.
I tried to stop her, but she was already unzipping the bag, rummaging through its contents. A knot tightened in my stomach. There was no first aid kit, no antiseptic wipes—only the worn book that I hadn't had time to wrap yet.
"What's that?" she said.
She pulled the book out, a flicker of confusion crossing her perfect face.
"Sorry, it's not wrapped." Not that I know how to wrap a present, as I hardly ever made gifts before. But I would have tried for her. It was the least I could do.
Her eyes flicked from the book to me, her brain clearly working overtime. She turned it over, studying the faded cover. Slowly, realization dawned in her eyes. "You—you bought this for me?"
I shrugged, a nonchalant mask to hide the frantic pounding of my heart. "Thought you might like it."
"Like it?" She flipped open the book, revealing the faded signature on the first page and a key tucked loosely among the pages. For a moment she just stared, then looked up at me, her eyes wide. "Satoru, is this—"
"Ink on paper," I finished for her. "And a spare key to my apartment."
Silence descended, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves. It felt like she was staring a hole through me. Then, she walked over, book still clutched in her hand. Instead of the thanks I expected, she swatted me on the arm with the cover.
"Ouch, you know how expensive that was?"
"I can't accept this." She held the book away from her as if it might burn her. "It's too much, Satoru."
"Don't like it?"
"Like? Like?" Her voice rose, and then she looked back down at the book, a smile spreading across her face. "Satoru, this is—," she trailed off. "How did you get this?"
"Had to bargain with an old hag. Some minor soul-selling, nothing major."
"No, seriously, this must have cost a fortune."
"Money doesn't matter," I said softly. "It's you. You're all that matters."
The book in her hand twitched. There was a flicker in her eyes, like the urge to swat me with it again, but she contained the impulse. It was replaced a moment later with a frown as she focused now on the bloodstain on my sleeve.
She moved closer, a dangerous stillness about her.
Her touch on my sleeve was hesitant, fingers tracing the inflamed scratches. "You gonna tell me what this is? Or are you gonna sidestep the issue again until we fight, because you know my patience is wearing quite thin these days."
"Nervous habit."
"It's new." There was no judgement, just a matter-of-fact tone in her voice.
"Yeah."
The lie felt like ash on my tongue.
It wasn't new, of course. I'd just gotten worse at hiding it.
"Thank you."
"For what?" I asked.
"The book, idiot," she said with a gentle smile. "And for telling me."
Ah, that smile. I melt every time.
"Come on," she said, letting go of my arm and turning towards the university. "Let's patch you up."
Without hesitation, I followed.
─── ·✧· ───
"So," I started, a slight wince escaping me as she cleaned the scratches. "You didn't tell me. What brought you here in the first place?"
"You didn't ask."
"I'm asking now."
A flicker of hesitation crossed her face. "I had some research to do in the library."
I knew her too well—the slight catch in her voice, the way she avoided my gaze.
"What research?" I prodded gently.
She sighed, then met my eyes. "The patient with the brain bleed. I had to double-check something."
Of course, she would still be agonizing over it. It was in her nature—the relentless, stubborn dedication was what would make her the best damn doctor I knew she'd become.
"Don't," I said. "Don't think too much about it. I can't stand to see the worry in your eyes."
She held my gaze. "I just want to be as prepared as I can be."
"I know, love," my voice softened. "But not tonight, okay?"
Suguru's office reeked of stale smoke and lingering whiskey—a sharp contrast to his neat workspace. Ironic how I was the one out of first-aid supplies. The addict, while he was still well stocked. But that's why I had his key.
She carefully placed a bandage over the last scratch. "You know the first ethics committee hearing is soon."
"Are you nervous?"
"Are you not?"
"No. Our research is flawless. Bulletproof."
"There's always a flaw. And they'll find it. Something we missed, overlooked. Don't blame me for wanting to prepare."
"You are prepared," I said. "Nobody knows this research like you. Not even Suguru. It's your blood, sweat, and sleepless nights poured into every page. This is yours in a way it could never be mine. You gave it life, meaning."
She seemed lost in thought, her focus narrowing in on my arm. She moved closer, like she'd just spotted something.
"Satoru—" she began, then hesitated. Even in the dim light, I could tell what she saw. "Where did you get those scars?" Her frown deepened. She leaned in closer, as though seeking further proof.
My fingers twitched. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. It was a distraction, a pain to combat the other. She had that look in her eyes that seemed to say, you know I won't stop until I hear the truth. So I gave in.
"My father was a demanding man," I said, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. "My mother turned a blind eye."
I couldn't bring myself to say more. The image was enough to paint the picture.
For a second it seemed she froze. Her gaze remained fixed on my arm, her grip tightening ever so slightly.
Wordlessly, she rose and moved away. Moments later, she returned, a small syringe gleaming dully in the dim light.
"What's that?"
"Antibiotic," she said. "Those scratches were raw, you could get an infection."
"I'm fine."
"Let me be the judge of that." A hint of steel laced her words. Then, with startling gentleness, she added, "I don't want to see those old wounds opened any wider."
She tilted my arm, and with a swift, practiced move, the needle pierced my skin. I barely flinched. How different from the times I'd taught her, her hands trembling, her hesitation a reflection of her gentle heart.
Now, she moved with the certainty of a seasoned surgeon.
She'd grown so much.
For a moment, I simply watched her.
Finally, she turned, disposing of the gloves and syringe. She crossed the room and retrieved something from her purse, my gaze following her movements.
Then she was in front of me, her hand outstretched. My eyes focused on the small, white pill resting in her palm.
I knew the shape better than my own reflection.
A wave of nausea crashed over me.
Why would she do that?
I stared at the pill, then met her gaze. There was fear in her eyes.
"That's not clonidine," I said.
I knew exactly what it was. Yet, I wanted to hear it from her, needed her to say it.
"It's hydromorphone," she said, her voice firm. "Take it, Satoru."
"Why?"
"Because you've been scratching your arm bloody, that's why."
A dangerous thrill surged through me, a sharp contrast to the icy dread in my veins.
She had no idea what she'd start here.
"Take it," she snapped, "before I force it down your throat."
Something shifted in the air between us.
I stood, my movements slow and purposeful. With one swift move, I closed the distance between us until I loomed over her. My breath ghosted over her lips, the scent of her fear mingled with the ever-present, gnawing need.
Without breaking eye contact, I took the pill and reached for the half-filled liquor glass on Suguru's desk.
She watched, confused, but she didn't stop me as I crushed the pill against the weathered wood of the desk. It shattered easily beneath the glass, the sound like a gunshot in the tense silence.
I took hold of her nape. My fingers threaded through her hair, my grip firm. Her lips parted, a silent plea, but I flinched back, denying her.
Not yet, love.
Where's the fun with that?
I slowly turned her around until she faced the desk. She shuddered as I gently pressed her forward, bending her over the surface.
The thin straps of her summer dress dipped, revealing the gentle curve of her shoulders, a vulnerability that made me lose all good reason.
Her breath quickened, a soft sound against the silence of the room. I reached forward, fingertips ghosting over her skin. Then, with a deliberate slowness, I swept the hair away from her nape, exposing the tender skin beneath.
For a long, breathless moment, I simply absorbed the sight before me.
Her perfect body was bent in graceful submission, the delicate straps of her dress barely clinging to her shoulders. The exposed curve of her nape, the soft warmth radiating from her skin.
Raw need surged through me, a reckless defiance of the consequences, of the fragile threads of self-control I still clung to.
Why did she offer me the pill?
And why couldn't I stop?
My hands were unfamiliar steady as I reached into my pocket, fumbling for my wallet. Withdrawing a credit card, I placed the white powder on its smooth surface.
Her breath hitched as I moved closer, the card hovering just above the silken expanse of her exposed skin. Then, with deliberate slowness, I lowered it, creating a thin white line on her back. It felt like a brand, a pact forged in shared recklessness.
She shivered, a slight tremor that ran through her entire form. Whether it was revulsion or anticipation, I couldn't tell. And in that moment, I realized I didn't want to know.
I leaned closer, my heated breath ghosting over her back. Without conscious thought, I opened my mouth, my tongue licking the powder off the delicate skin of her back.
The taste was bitter, acidic, sweet—familiar.
The rush hit me like a bolt of lightning.
My skin crawled, alive with a tingling rush. My senses honed to a razor's edge, amplifying every sight, smell, and sound. Exhilaration surged through me, a wild, intoxicating rush, tinged with a fear that tightened my chest like a vice.
Fuck, how I missed that.
How I craved it.
I pulled back, gasping, struggling to regain control.
Yet, my hands refused to retreat, frozen against the heat of her skin. They trembled, a desperate battle between insatiable need and the last shreds of restraint. The warmth of her burned me, a tantalizing agony beneath the thin fabric of her dress.
A war raged within me.
One voice screamed for surrender, for the oblivion of her touch, the sweet release of surrender. The other, weaker now, whispered warnings, a faint plea for control. It was a familiar battle, and with each second, my control weakened.
The sweet tang of the powder lingered on my tongue.
Yet, it did nothing to quell the rising fire within me.
A fire only she could extinguish.
Unable to stop myself, my hands moved on their own. My fingers traced the curve of her hip, the warmth of her skin a siren's call through the delicate fabric. With a gentle push, the hemline of her dress inched upwards, revealing the smooth expanse of her thigh.
A soft gasp escaped her lips. "Satoru?"
"Don't speak," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Don't speak, love.
Every word of you would only fuel the fire even more.
And my sanity was already hanging by a fragile thread.
I pushed the flimsy strap of her dress further down her shoulder. Delicate skin, warmed by the summer heat now laid bare. I ran a hand over the expanse of her back, reveling in the silky softness, the shudder that rippled through her at my touch.
I slid my hand beneath the hem of her dress, my fingers mapping the soft curve of her thigh. She moaned, a ragged sound that mirrored my own desperate need. I tugged the dress upwards still, baring more skin to my touch.
My chest heaved, my breath coming in uneven gasps. With a rough pull, I slammed her against me, her body against my already hard length a sensation that threatened to shatter the last vestiges of control.
The battle within me was all but lost. There was only this moment, this desperate, all-consuming need to claim, to consume, to lose myself in the oblivion she offered.
My hands roamed. The flimsy fabric of her dress was a mere inconvenience, torn aside to reveal the soft swell of her hips, the smooth expanse of her inner thighs. She shivered beneath my touch, fingers digging into her heated skin.
"Wait," her breath hitched. "Not here."
Yeah, it was Suguru's office. His desk.
But in this moment, I couldn't care less.
"Yes, here."
My hand wound into her hair, forcing her head back. She gasped, her body arching against mine in surrender. The room tilted, the world outside blurring into nothingness. The only reality was her in front of me. I wanted to mark her, claim her as mine.
Consequences, reason, all were distant echoes drowned out by the roaring in my blood. The rational part of my brain, a pathetically small voice, screamed at me to stop.
But this part was loosing.
I pushed her dress all the way up to her waist, revealing the lacy underwear she wore. I drew her closer still, seeking a connection deeper than skin on skin. A moan escaped her lips, and she arched against me, the tremble of her body a heady mix of surrender and desperation.
"Satoru...please," she whispered.
"Tell me to stop," I said. Each word was a test, a twisted game we both knew she'd lose. My hand slid between her legs, a slow, agonizing caress that made her breath hitch. "Tell me, and I will."
A single word, and this could end. I waited, barely breathing.
She shook her head slightly. Then, with a boldness that ignited me all over again, she arched into my touch. "Don't stop," she breathed, her voice ragged. "Please, don't stop."
My god, that woman.
I could feel the despite simmering beneath her surrender, a bitter tang that only made this twisted game more addicting.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" I said, pushing the fabric of her underwear aside and sliding a finger inside her, feeling how wet and ready she was.
She was soaked through, drenched in a way that told me she wanted it as badly as I did.
With each stroke, I felt her body yield to me, growing even wetter as I explored her depths. It was an intoxicating sensation, knowing that I had such a powerful effect on her, that I could reduce her to this state of pure need with nothing but my touch.
She let out a ragged breath, gripping the wooden surface beneath her as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. I added another finger, stretching her open as I thrust in and out of her, searching for that sweet spot I knew would drive her mad.
When I found it, she gasped, her walls tightening around my fingers. "Right there," she moaned. "Don't stop."
I know, love. I know you like that spot.
I know how you crave it. The surrender. The sweet release of losing control to me.
And in this moment, there was nothing I wouldn't give you.
Every fiber of my being screamed for her, begging to bury itself deep inside of her. Watching her writhe underneath me, hearing her soft cries as I thrust into her, only fueled my hunger further.
I wanted to feel all of her, to brand myself onto her skin.
My cock throbbed painfully in my shorts, straining against the fabric. I could feel the precum leaking from the tip, dampening the material. The urge to rip off my clothes and plunge into her almost unbearable.
All I could see, all I wanted, was to be inside of her. Where I fit perfectly.
Then—the door.
My hand stopped. Her gasp snagged in her throat.
Suguru stood in the doorway, a flicker of resignation in his eyes. Some people just don't understand the concept of knocking first, do they?
I withdrew my fingers. With a swift tug, I pulled her dress down, covering the parts of her only I deserved to bare. His eyes didn't have the right.
"Really?" Suguru sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "My desk?"
"Problem? Or feeling left out, Suguru?" My slick fingers found my mouth. I licked them slowly, savoring the lingering taste of her. My eyes never left him. "I thought you liked sharing."
─── ·✧· ───
➸ part ten is coming when i'm out of the the hospital for writing like a maniac.
x a/n: SCREAMING, CRYING, THROWING UP. i don't know if satoru went insane in this chapter or if i went insane while writing it. maybe both. but i had SO MUCH fun writing in his pov. i had a few heart attacks while writing this. and yes, imagine the "yes, here" in anakin skywalker's voice haha.
also i know that kafka's books all got released after his death so a copy of his book with his signature is slightly unrealistic, but we just ignore that fact.
and last, don't sleep with addicts, that's not cool in real life, but in fiction it's okay, he can't hurt you there. anyway thank you so so much for reading, i hope you don't come at me for writing this omg, i'm so nervous posting this. i'm gonna go throw up now.
He’s so cocky at first, smirking when you bottom down on his length. “Think you can handle it baby? Take your time if you need to kay? I know it might be too much f’ you.” He chuckles.
You raise a brow in amusement. “Oh i can handle it baby, can you?” Was what you’d first said. And that question hadn’t changed since.
His lips parted in breathy groans and heavy breathing as his hands find your waist. Lips red and swollen from biting them as his eyes looked up at you almost pleadingly. “F-fuck baby.. you’re— shit, going so f-fast. Wanna slow d-down hmm?”
You smile widely, back arching as you lean down to kiss his jaw softly. Giving a false hum in thought. “Mmm.. you can take it.” He lets out the most cry like moan, head falling back into his pillow as his hips jerk upwards. Body trembling lightly when his eyes met yours.
“Shit— please baby. You d-don’t know how fucking- haah.. how fucking tight she’s grippin’ me right now.” He was referring to the way your snug walls stroked up and down his length with every harsh bounce of your hips. “I’m gonna— o-oh fuck, gonna cum again.”
You couldn’t help but giggle at the crack in his voice. Your head tilted to the side as you coo teasingly. “Yeah? Gonna be a good boy n cum f’ me baby?”
He chuckles shakily, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as his cock twitches inside you. “God i fucking love you— ahh, even when you’re milking my cock like you hate m-me.” His senses were heightened, ears picking up the every squelch on your sopping pussy and his cock feeling every ridge of your gummy walls.
He lost it when you began rolling your hips sensually. Your thighs sticking to his at the mere amount of slick that joined you two. Your wetness and his cum seeping between your folds and down his girth, turning your skilled movements sloppy as you rut your hips.
You brought a hand to his face, using your nail to brush his hair off of his sweaty forehead. “C’ mon.. let it all out.” You smiled sweetly, eyes holding a dark glint when his eyes turn teary. Small beads of water pooling at his lids before he’s crying out your name.
Overly sensitive cock aching as he spills yet another load into you. Pumping the thick white substance till you’re pumped full. The rest of the substance spurting back onto him at the lack of space.
You let out a moan, “Wow baby- there’s so much. Might.. might just be your biggest load yet.” You were getting tired, but you’d never let him know that. You swear you hear him whimper when you capture his lips with yours slowly beginning to rock your hips again.
“Shit— don’t think- d-don’t think i can give you any more baby. Feels like my cock’s gonna f-fall off.” He panted, trying to keep himself together when he felt you jerking him off with your smug walls again. A small tremble raking through his body each time your ass landed back down.
His hand left your waist to cover his reddening face. Unable to hide the cherry shade of his ears and neck as he whimpered yet again. Choking out a string of moans with tears staining his cheeks when you shush him gently, “‘S only one more baby, give me one more.”
You were the only one with the ability to truly break Satoru if you tried.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I UNLINKED MY TUMBLR FROM MY GMAIL AND IT SIGNED ME OUT AND I HAD A HEART ATTACK TRYING TO SIGN BACK IN THINKING I WOULD NEVER GET BACK INTO THIS ACCOUNT EVER AGAIN
your bodyguard — assigned by your husband, of course — leaves the magazine he had been looking through on the coffee table, stands and smiles at you as he nods.
“of course, mrs. nanami — will we be going anywhere else?”
“no,” you reply, walk toward the entrance of your home with two bento boxes in your hands. “only to his office and back. thank you, takuma.”
“no problem, mrs. nanami.”
being called mrs. nanami still feels new, makes countless of butterflies take flight in your tummy. especially when your husband introduces you as his wife, mrs. nanami kento.
“will you be eating lunch with him?” takuma asks as he opens the door of the car for you, makes you smile as you thank him.
“yes, but i’ve prepared a bento for you and hayami as well — so you can eat lunch with her.” you give him a wink as a blush blossoms on his cheeks, tiny smile quirking his lips upward as he thanks you.
you and kento like talking about their romance — he mentioned takuma’s interest in his secretary, which you find cute; how he blushes and all when he talks to her, the way she fiddles with her bracelet as he scratches the back of his neck and asks her out.
(we’re so gossipy, kento, you had said one night, as the two of you sipped on tea — you on the kitchen’s countertop, him in between your legs — and he had smiled. but it’s so much fun, isn’t it?)
when you arrive at your husband’s office, hayami greets you with a smile and a beautiful blush adorns her cheeks as takuma ino comes into view.
“could you let my husband know i’m here for lunch? please, hayami.” you ask, set the bentos down on the desk, leave one planted as you take the other.
“o-of course, mrs. nanami — nice to see the both of you, by the way.”
“it’s nice to see you, too — i’ve brought a bento for you and takuma to share, i hope that’s okay.” you giggle, watch as her face turns tomato red.
“th-thank you, mrs. nanami!”
once you are at your husband’s office — sitting on his lap, feeding him white rice — you tell him all about the little romance downstairs, how he should give takuma and hayami a day off, take one for himself as well and spend it with you.
he smiles, lets you run your fingers through his hair as he wipes his mouth with a napkin. he gives your hip a squeeze and leans up to give you a kiss.
“i just have the cutest cupid in my arms, huh? my pretty mrs. nanami, setting my workers up.”
you bury your face in his neck, tuck on his collar, smile. “you’ll make me faint, kento.”
he’ll be sure to catch you in the occasion you do.
it’s almost rare for the student counsellor to actually give…. counselling. but maybe yuuta’s life will start looking up now that he’s found something to protect.
RETURN TO MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER
summary. university / college au. fem reader. yandere nerd yūta. jock yuuji. aged up characters. manipulation. obsession. bullying. violence. unrequited feelings. gojo is student councillor. a little introduction to jujutsu high. this chapter is from yūta’s perspective. wc, 3.8k.
note. first chapter of the series + it’s just getting us started but i’m really excited about this :) most of moving into my apartment is basically done so i’m so happy to finally be able to put more time back into writing again this weekend, enjoy !!!
“bullies, huh? this is unusual.” the pocky between gojo’s teeth crunches as he speaks, swinging the half finished, pink stick around in the air as his long legs stretch over his desk. “you rarely come to me for advice, okkotsu yuuta.”
he’s out of options, yuuta knows that — but still he came here, to the student counsellor, even though he knows he can’t get involved, he can’t help him. it’s made even worse by the fact that they’re apparently related in some twisted, confusing way that he doesn’t care too much about to pry more into. but has he really got anybody else to turn to at this point? he’ll take any advice he can get right now, no matter how useless.
“have you.. ever been bullied?” yuuta’s voice is quiet as he speaks, pulling nervously at the already stretched sleeves of his sweater. it’s a little more oversized than it’s intended to be — probably to do with him fidgeting with the fabric, it was a bad habit. the neckline hangs loose around his collarbones, sleeves covering his hands slightly as he rests at the other side of gojo’s desk.
they pick on that too, the way he dresses — the way he looks. they pick on everything. he’s brought back from his thoughts by gojo snorting at his question, like he’s just told him a joke instead of confided in him.. like it’s not his job to comfort him.
“pffff— course not. i’m too strong and handsome for that.” another crunch from the pocky inbetween the snowy haired counsellors fingers and yuuta feels his eye twitch.
“i thought you were supposed to make me feel better—“ he really was a lousy counsellor. isn’t his job to make students feel better? he’s flippant and doesn’t seem like a teacher but there’s slight moments, where you can see that he cherishes watching after the students, guiding them to be their best despite the way all of this really serves as his own form of entertainment.
but right now, yuuta’s still waiting for that part of him to show.
gojo snorts as he shakes the now empty pocky box in his hand, sighing dramatically when he realises he’s just swallowed the last pink coated stick before he’s pushing himself forward with a pout on his lips. his elbows rest on the desk as his huge figure looms closer, looking over his dark rimmed frames at yuuta before he hums his next words. “but, the problem is your mindset.”
another sigh and the student councillor lazily throws the empty snack packet into the bin on the other side of the room, still managing to make it into the small tin can with frightening accuracy despite the lazy throw. but he looks smug as his long arms stretch to cross behind his head, ruffling the snowy peaks of his hair slightly. “you can’t imagine a stronger future version of yourself. you think this’ll be your fate forever, right?”
the statement makes yuuta shift on his seat, swallowing as his gaze remains on his teacher. he’s gotten his attention now, he can hear his chair squeak as he moves and the tone of his voice is more serious now than the usual playful, aloof air his words normally carry.
“ah, well. it’s not too late for you to change that. maybe find something to protect, hm?” gojo hums the words like the answer is obvious, like this is what he should’ve done all along. the grin on his lips looks accomplished, almost all-knowing and it makes yuuta gape at him slightly as he tries to decipher what that even means.
“but.. what about the—“ he begins, to get a little more— something to help him.. because what does he mean something to protect? like a bodyguard? or… or does he mean something more valuable? but his words are cut off when the looming figure of his councillor pushes himself to stand.
“oh well! don’t you think that was a good session, okkotsu~?” gojo stretches as he speaks, singing his words as he returns to his usual demeanour and yuuta looks as confused as he feels as he stares up at him, wide eyed— like he’s just been beaten by a common enemy when he was only a step away from the final boss.
“w-wait, i—“ his words try to come out all at once as he hurries to stand, almost fumbling slightly with his backpack while he tries to keep his councillors attention. he wasn’t done yet, he still had so much to ask, so much to talk about, he—
“don’t mind, i’ve got faith in you, yuuta. just.. don’t let it get to you, yeah?” gojo’s hand is warm when it rests on yuuta’s shoulder but the force of it is surprising when he’s ushering him towards the door. the expression on his face is annoyingly bright compared to the gloom that coats yuuta, like an aura that’s wrapped around him— his very own personal rain cloud and he feels like he’s suddenly forgotten his umbrella.
“but—“ he tries again but he stumbles with his next step, almost dropping his papers for his next class.
“ahhh~ looks like it’s about my lunch break, sorry about that. remember what i said, hm? give it your best, make sure you get along with everyone.” gojo gives him another grin as he claps his hands together, singing his words like it’s meant as his own little insufferable, motivational cheer.
“ah— but i.. i wasnt….“ yuuta doesn’t manage to finish the remainder of his sentence as the door closes, the latter of his words drifting into nothing more than a unintelligible whisper as his hands fall by his sides “… done.” he sighs as he brushes back his hair from his face, shoulders slumping as his already messed up belongings scatter along the hallway at his feet.
as if the day could get any worse.
but still, he can’t help but continue thinking about gojo’s words despite how little help they serve him right now. he’s still unsure what he meant by that, should he be looking for something? is this supposed to be a game or some weird scavenger hunt… hes never really had much trust in the snowy haired teacher to begin with, but still….
yuuta sighs as he drops to his knees to pick up the pages that have scattered from his notebook, it was already messed up anyway — from his previous run in with the older students who have been picking on him since the year started. the writing is almost faded completely from being flushed, pages crisping and curling as they dry, stuffing it into his bag won’t make much of a difference when it’s already ruined.
but he still manages to push himself to stand as the bell rings.
the walk back to class is as somber as ever, he’s late, albeit not by any fault of his own, but if anything— he’s glad that the hallways are clear and he’s left to mind his own business this time. he wishes he could spend the rest of the school year like this, unbothered… in silence…. left alone. is it really okay for someone like him to even go to school? all he seems to do is cause trouble for others, would anyone notice if he stopped coming?
“okkotsu yuuta, you’re here.” the way the teacher draws out yuuta’s name is sympathetic, pitiful as he knocks politely on the classroom door and she takes in his appearance. he’s disheveled, notes sticking out of his bag in a mess of dyed paper and she’d scold any other student— but not him. not when she looks at him like he’s got enough on his plate already. there’s nothing wrong with him, he was simply a loner, he didn’t need people’s sympathy for that.
but still it’s humiliating, the walk to his desk— third row from the back and his backpack is loud as it hits the floor, followed by the squeak of his seat as he drops into it with an awkward sorry that earns him a few sharp looks from the seats infront. he really wants this day to be over, this class, this week.
yuuta fumbles with his glasses as he takes them out of their case, trying to move quietly albeit clumsily by nature as he quickly tries to keep up with the notes. the teacher nor the class were going to wait for him to stop feeling sorry for himself, so he throws himself into his work— like he always does. it’s why he’s the top student afterall, not that that did anything for his already shaky reputation amongst everyone else. a loner and a nerd…. great.
“psst..” the low sound goes unheard as he scribbles onto the soaked paper of his notepad, pushing back his mused bangs again as focuses on his work. there’s barely ten minutes of class left and he has to make up for the rest he just missed, he could stay during lunch maybe… it’s not like he has plans, he normally ate alone so he should be able to—
“pssst, hey! do you want to borrow my notes?” the call is louder this time but still hushed and despite the day he’s had, yuuta would still recognise your voice anywhere— he’d recognise you anywhere.
you were his classmate.
you’re pretty, really pretty— like the sun, all bright smiles and kindness but you’re well liked, loved really. you’re the girl in the corridor that will always get a wave or a grin from anyone passing by, teacher or student, you’ll stop to chat about people’s day, you know everyone by name— that’s just who you are. you’re popular, friendly, sociable.. you’re everything yuuta isn’t, but you still notice to him, albeit the words exchanged are short and nothing too in-depth but he’s began to savour those fleeting interactions,
and to say he had acquired a crush on you would be… an understatement. it was unavoidable afterall, innocent infatuation was all it was, but you were.. you. you practically have everyone falling at your feet already, he’s no exception.
“o-oh… uh, no it’s fine. i can read these.” his voice cracks when he lets his face lift to meet your gaze and he feels his cheeks burn when you hold him there, smiling at him with such a familiarity that he almost feels his lungs tremble on his next inhale as he suddenly looks away shyly.
yuuta swallows loudly as he tries to busy himself with something else, pulling at the already stretched sleeves of his oversized sweater, sifting through his notes on his desk. you’re still turned round in your seat, fourth from the back and immediately infront of him and he can feel you looking at him.
“but they’re all faded, wait— i have mine right here, you can just give me them back tomorrow or whenever you’re done.” you were so kind, your voice is bright when you speak again, you don’t shy away from interacting with him despite his awkward demeanour, his social skills may be lacking but you still speak to him like you’ve known him for years despite the way you only share a few classes, different majors. you must’ve noticed his notes when he walked into the room, you were considerate like that… observant, you were perfect.
“ah— really, its.. it’s fine.” yuuta still can’t look at you, not without feeling like his heart is going to break out of his ribs and crawl it’s way to you.
“come on, i insist, okkotsu. here you go, they’re right here.” the way you say his name makes his chest squeeze and his cheeks burn. his eyes flutter up to you slightly as you reach forward to grab something from your desk before sliding it onto his, letting him see the class notes that he’s been struggling to catch up on due to his….. meeting with the councillor earlier.
“t-thanks… um, i’ll give them back to you later. it won’t take me long, i can copy them over lunch.” yuuta’s fingertips curl against the paper as he takes it from you, pulling it closer as his drowsy gaze scans the pages— it’s like your handing him a part of yourself.
“no rush, it’s fine!” you giggle as you respond to him and he’s always liked the sound of your laugh, it’s different to his— it’s bright and pretty, it’s beautiful.. it suits you. he pushes his glasses up his nose as he gives you another look, something close to a smile twitches at the corner of his flushed cheeks whenever his eyes lift to meet yours. so instead he chooses to focus on the paper infront of him as he tries to quell his increasing heart rate.. and it does, for a moment.
your writing is really pretty, yuuta doesn’t wonder if you’re watching him now, he’s too transfixed with tracing his finger over the raised paper, following the lines drawn by your hands as he feels something warm and bloom in his chest. you’ve used a bright coloured pen, doodled cutely at the corners, curled your words prettily— it’s exactly how he expected your handwriting to look.
“hm?” you hum curiously and your lashes flutter with your next blink as you look at him kindly.
“ah.. nothing, sorry.. just, thank you.” he hadn’t meant to even speak it at all, so the realisation that he’d said it out loud— infront of you of all people, makes him flush even brighter. yuuta’s cheeks have probably taken a noticeably red tone and if you notice, you don’t say anything— not wanting to point out his discomfort or embarrass him further as he lets his head hang lower in the hopes of hiding it. you were just kind like that. it’s not fair, how was he supposed to not fall in love with you?
love…. was that really what this was?
you offer him a no problem and another smile before you turn back around in your seat again. but he already misses having your attention on him as he fidgets slightly with your notes on his desk.
yuuta’s not sure what takes over him, hes probably still blushing— reeling from your interaction and the fact that you gave him your notes but he decides to try it for himself, to lean forward in your desk and talk to you a little more. there’s still so much more to talk about, to learn from you, even if you could just look at him again. just once.
“um, hey..” his voice still sounds quietly despite the way he’s hyping himself up in his mind, his words have always had a sort of gentle, kind tone compared to his other classmates. the characteristic only seeming to aid him being drowned out in discussions or class conversations until he opts to stop speaking entirely. so you don’t hear him and he finds himself looking around the class to make sure nobody notices before he tries again.
“hey.” yuuta leans closer this time, over his desk as he tries not to draw any unwanted attention to himself. but still— you’re scribbling away in your notebook, half-listening to whatever your desk mate is telling you about and still not noticing him as he breathes out a long, sort of humiliated sigh.
but his next attempt is successful, albeit hard to ignore when he chooses to tap hesitantly on your shoulder before flinching away when you turn to face him. he’s suddenly warm again, but you’re smiling before he can even say anything and suddenly he’s not as confident as he was a second ago.
“sorry, uh— did you finish the homework assignment? i heard you talking with sensei yesterday, that you were having trouble..” yuuta’s learned a lot from your conversations with your friends and teachers, you speak a little loudly afterall. it’s not that he’s listening it’s just.. that he happens to be there, in the corridor or just passing by the open class door. he once read that to be loved is to be known, right? and you’re friends, kinda, even though he may be crushing on you or kinda in love with you but… it’s normal for him to want to know your favourite food and your preferred route to commute home, your favourite breakfast food, your ideal date… that’s what anyone would do for something they like, isn’t it?
his eyes widen as he realises how you might’ve taken what he said, he doesn’t want to lose you, not when you’re finally making progress. “but i—i wasn’t meaning to eavesdrop or anything, i just—“
you don’t comment on yuuta’s fumble, he wonders if you even noticed it when you reply light heartedly, “ah, you heard that? it’s kinda embarrassing but yeah, i just couldn’t figure out one of the questions. have you completed yours?” your elbow rests on his desk as you turn, propping your head up to blink at him and you feel so close he wonders if you’d flinch away if he reached out to touch you.
“yeah.. i— uh, finished mine already.” truth be told, he finished it the day he received it, this was his thing, it was all he had. the homework was easy, although he finds it adorable that you tend to struggle with things like this.. one of your quirks that he’s picked up on… it makes him think as his eyes widen slightly with a dull realisation.
“you’re always so on time, i wish i had your motivation it’s so impressive, okkotsu.” you’re smiling at him again, at him as you lean back in your seat and the look alone almost gives yuuta the confidence he needs to speak his sudden idea into existence as he tries to sit up straighter.
“if…. um,” he begins as he scratches at the back of his neck and you hang onto his words, really listening to him like he has you caught up in a story that you’re so eager to hear the end of, “if you need help, if.. if you want.. i can h-help y—“
“babe!” yuuta’s sentence is drowned out by the sudden call from the doorway to the classroom as it swings open loudly, making you and half of the class jolt in their seats as you whip around to face the source of the sound. it’s followed by a peek of pink, messy hair as itadori leans himself into view, commanding all of the attention in the room despite the way he’s only looking at you with a bright grin.
“i’ll get you here, okay? i got outta practice early!” his hand points to just outside the classroom as he rests his body weight in the doorway. his hair is damp slightly, most likely from a shower in the training room and his team varsity hugs him cozily as he makes himself comfortable staring in at you. it’s almost like he forgets where he is completely until the teacher’s bark from the front of the class brings him back.
“itadori yuuji, get out. you’re not part of this class.”
“sorry, sensei! my bad!” itadori’s reply earns him a few chuckles from your classmates as he raises his arms up to apologise, but it earns him an eye roll from yuuta as he watches him bow before enthusiastically closing the door again.. after giving you another bright smile ofcourse.
itadori yuuji, is captain of the jujutsu sorcerers football team, a sports scholarship student and unfortunately.. your boyfriend. he is charming, he’ll give him that much, he’s handsome too, funny— depending on who you ask but before all that, he’s .. stupid and yuuta hates that about him.
you deserve someone better than that, someone who will take care of you, make a home for you— all your boyfriend has going for him is his muscled frame, insane strength, good connections… but his grades are bad, horrible. that’s why he relies on you to help him study, to make sure he doesn’t get kicked off the team and lose his spot as captain. it’s not fair that he puts so much pressure on you but you just laugh like it’s no big deal, offering him help like he’s not just using you.
sure, he’s never been particularly unkind to him personally.. or anyone at all, but isn’t stealing his love enough to justify his feelings towards him?
what’s even more annoying is you apologise for your boyfriend when the teacher raises an eyebrow in your direction. when you shouldn’t be apologising, itadori’s an idiot but you’re smiling and yuuta hates that. it’s different to the ones you give him, it’s toothier and brighter — like it’s dripping with affection, love, and suddenly you’re desperate to get out of class, to steal another look at your dumb oaf of a boyfriend who’s laugh you can still hear through the door as he jokes with the vice captain, todo. he’s taken your attention from him, stolen it so selfishly.
people always refer to you both as the ‘it couple’ on campus— he hears the whispers, the way people fawn over you both, saying how cute you are, how it’s like something out of a romance manga whenever they see you. you attend all of his games— wearing his jersey, he walks you to class, waits for you after school. don’t you find him annoying? he’s always there, always with you, always holding you—kissing you… don’t you think that’s unfair? what about everyone else, what about him?
you don’t even turn back around to let yuuta finish his question after he was interrupted and the bell rings before he can touch you again to continue it, you’re in such a rush to see itadori that even when you call back a quick see ya, okkotsu! you don’t even stick around to hear him reply as his “y-yeah, see you.” goes lost in the air like smoke.
you barely even look at yuuta as he begins to sort through your notes on his desk, handling them like they’re made of glass— fragile beneath his touch and he wonders if you feel as soft, he wishes he could’ve felt your skin when he reached for you earlier. he doesn’t think it’s fair at all that his crush seems to have one of her own, like he’s the second love interest but not the male lead that gets the girl in the shoujo and he hates it. he hates him.
but somehow, when he goes to slot the paper carefully between the pages of his notepad— his dark gaze is drawn to the curl of your name, the way it’s signed with a scribbled love heart and he finds his fingertips reaching to trace along the pretty letters once more. yuuta’s not sure what prompts it, but suddenly he feels like he’s back in that office again, shifting uncomfortably on his chair at the other side of the counsellors desk as his words echo.
something to protect, right? what’s that if not something to own, something that’s his.
tw: pregnancy. overall, just some domestic dad-to-be gojo trying to show how much he loves you even with how your body changes and all <3 based on a request!
a part of gojo's love entries
don’t think that satoru hasn’t noticed how you linger in front of the mirror these days, touching your body all over—particularly your baby bump. seeing your face twist into a sad frown dampens his spirits too.
on the other hand, you understand that it’s a natural process, but you have never gained this much weight before, and despite already having your husband reassure you before, you still feel somewhat meh about yourself.
“how’s my favorite girl and little rascal doing today?” he flopped down on the bed beside you as soon as he returned from school, caressing your belly. “ready to come out yet?”
you throw him an unamused look. “no, satoru. and don’t make it sound so effortless. i’m the one pushing him out.”
“ahh, but i can’t wait though~”
his palpable excitement actually made you smile as you placed your hand over his. but then your smile fell a bit and he was quick to notice it.
“what’s on your mind?” he asked then. “talk to me, hmm?”
“no… it’s nothing.” you looked away, a bit ashamed. if satoru says he’s not bothered by your figure, you really shouldn’t be thinking about this any longer. you didn't want to make him worry… but it really wasn't easy to let it go.
“hmm, my baby mama can’t be sad,” your husband pouted, and suddenly he pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “she’s the cutest when she smiles.”
you looked up to him, feeling the security in his arms and yet still a hint of uncertainty in your voice. “am i just cute… to you?”
you wanted to be beautiful too. like how he used to sing you praises during your school days.
satoru grinned. and it’s the kind of toothy grin that makes your heart soar.
“no. you’re also pretty.” he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “and you’re smart, kind, nags a lot, gets pouty easily… and you're sweet like a dango, makes me want to gobble you up.”
“so now i’m a dango?” you nestled your head against his broad chest, feeling your face start to heat up, and a smile beginning to curve your lips. stupid satoru. he said all of them so easily it was making you giddy and felt silly for doubting him at all.
“just because our baby is going to be a mochi. and look, you’re so close to carrying him to full-term,” he rubbed your swollen tummy again, this time with a more sincere smile. “i love you the most for it.”
your eyes took a shine, processing his words, and you could’ve sworn that right now, nothing could’ve shaken your feelings for your silly husband.
suddenly your baby kicked you hard as if to reprimand you too for your insecurities, and you winced.
“hurts?” satoru questioned, slightly concerned when you nodded. “wait i’ll tell him off.”
he cleared his throat and began making circular motions on your abdomen, as if to summon him.
“yo, brat. you can’t kick your mama like that too often these days. you’re accumulating karma and she counts it. when you come out, she’ll forbid you from eating our favorite mochis and—”
“satoru!!”
and then the two of you just burst into giggles, and once again, you utterly and thoroughly fell in love with him. for always making you feel safe... and loved.
“you know, satoru...” this time it was you who hugged him, breathing in his scent for comfort. now you were totally worry-free, the softest of smile on your face. “i’m really grateful that... we found each other.”
at your heartfelt confession, satoru felt his chest tighten with warmth and his cheeks flush. he is so blushing and he tries covering it with a chuckle. and the words lingering at the tip of his tongue were—
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
They are already selling data to midjourney, and it's very likely your work is already being used to train their models because you have to OPT OUT of this, not opt in. Very scummy of them to roll this out unannounced.
✧ PAIRING: gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader (hinted) | 5k words
✧ SUMMARY: ghost!reader, major character death, jjk manga spoilers, so much angst bc you literally die lmao, longing, mutual pining, suppressed feelings, everyone sucks at love, some fluff, banter, might be slightly suggestive, lots of hinted feelings (read: suguru), arguments, overall this is painful so read if you enjoy angst !!
✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: this idea randomly came to me before i went to bed a few days ago and in the spirit of halloween, i figured why not? i live off of angst and need to share the pain with everyone lmao oops. this is late for halloween tho my bad !!
i. 2007
satoru brings one more flower than he did the day before. morning glories again, of course, but an extra one. he had added one more to the the bunch every day since the day you died. the first day, he brought three, wrapped with a cheap blue ribbon that he found in his desk drawer. it was hardly a respectable bouquet, but those three flowers were the ones he'd grown for you, so it only seemed fitting.
he didn't care much for gardening. but one day you asked shoko what her favorite flowers were so you could give her some on valentine's day. she asked you what yours were so she could return the favor.
satoru never forgot morning glories after that day.
he's not even sure if morning glories are appropriate to bring to a grave, but he knows you'd like them.
you would tell him it didn't matter anyway.
ii. 2007
(suguru did not cry when you died. satoru watched, intently, because there was nothing in the universe that his six eyes couldn't catch. he waited for it, even a sliver of emotion that would betray suguru's bleeding heart, but he gave nothing. he just stood in front of the stone that marked the end of your life with a deep stare. something had settled there in his eyes, cold and resolute.
a few months before you died, you had told satoru that there was something wrong with suguru. you said that he'd been distant, somewhere far away, and you worried for him. you always did, so open with your affection for him.
"don't want him to get lost." you had hummed, your shoulder brushing against satoru's as you raise the mango ice pop he brought you to your mouth. satoru watches your lips out of the corner of his eyes, his stomach flipping eagerly even as he keeps his face impassive.
"he said it was just the summer heat," he answers, ignoring the sweet mango juice dripping down his knuckles. "should be nothing."
you don't look all that convinced, turning your head to look up at him with meaningful glance. "you sure?"
he stares at you for a lengthy second, cerulean eyes darting over your facial features, before he reaches up and knocks his knuckle against your forehead. "yeah. he'll be fine." he assures, and your shoulders relax as you continue to eat the ice pop.
you were right about it all. four days after you die, suguru massacres an entire village.)
iii. 2008
satoru shifts in his bed, grunting quietly he begins to stretch his stiff joints. his eyes crack open, still heavy with sleep as he waits for his dark ceiling to come into focus. except it doesn't, because all he can see are a pair of very familiar looking eyes. unsaturated, but still so obviously the color he once knew. his own eyes snap open, all traces of sleep gone as he finally makes out someone who looks exactly like you, perched on his stomach with a confused and slightly panicked expression.
he shoots up, and you pull back a little. it looks like you're on his lap, and yet he can't feel you on him at all. he gulps.
"hey toru." you say quietly, and his stomach drops. the same eyes, the same voice. gods above.
"you're dead," he says simply, trying not to betray the way his pulse is jumping at even the smallest glimpse of you again. "you're not real."
"i'm dead," you confirm, nodding your head as you look down at your translucent palms. "but i'm here somehow."
he sucks in a breath, reaching out a hand as if to touch you. the disappointment he feels when it passes through your form is sickening.
you smile shakily, shrugging your shoulders as you attempt to make light of the situation.
"guess i couldn't stay away."
he stares at you for minutes without saying a word and you stare back, equally silent.
iv. 2007
(nanami had carried your body back, his teeth gritted as his blonde hair fell over his eyes. satoru never brought it up, but he knew that nanami remained bothered by it for the rest of his life. your death was bad timing, especially after they had just lost haibara a few weeks prior.
nanami had no reason to blame himself though. if anything, it was satoru's fault you were gone.
shoko had called him from the infirmary, her voice hard and pinched as she spat out three words: "get down here."
when satoru saw your body, he didn't say a word. just took a few long strides until he was at the table where nanami had placed you down. your eyes were shut, face resting in a way that seemed so unnatural. he opened his mouth to ask shoko something, but felt like he was choking on air, so he stopped himself.
then he grabbed your limp fingers, squeezed them gently. they were still a little warm, but not as warm as you usually run. shoko didn't say anything, just stood there with her hands clenched, short brown hair falling over her dark eyes.
satoru remained there for the next thirty minutes, waiting for you to sit up and laugh at the prank you were no doubt pulling. as if your blood wasn't still dripping all over the table.
shoko was the one who finally pulled a sheet over your body with shaking hands. she didn't look satoru in the eye, and didn't spare a glance when suguru burst into the room ten minutes later.)
v. 2008
it takes satoru a while to get used to the fact that you're not physically there. he has to bite his tongue when he moves to bump your shoulder or flick your forehead only to find that his skin goes right through yours. you always give him that same little rueful smile, and he sighs to himself.
he doesn't make an effort to figure out why you're there. he figures it's similar to how jujutsu users can come back as curses due to strong feelings. when he thinks about it though, guilt lodges itself into his throat, because the first thought he had when he heard you were entering death's door was no, don't you dare die.
every day he wonders if he's the one who cursed you to stay.
you act like it doesn't matter, hovering around him as he busies himself in his empty room. at first you're quiet, as though you've forgotten how to speak to him in your incorporeal form. but then you start asking him questions, and it's one question that satoru dreads to answer that you finally bring up.
"where's suguru?"
he's not stupid. he knows there's more you think of suguru than you've ever revealed. of course you'd want to know. but that doesn't mean he wants to be the one to tell you. you had died with nothing but a good impression of geto suguru. you'd probably died with your feelings for him still intact too.
it'd be selfish of satoru to ruin that.
"nothing, don't worry about it," he dismisses, voice clipped as he busies himself with preparing dinner. he knows that won't deter you.
you huff, moving to hover in his line of sight. you cross your arms as you glare at him seriously, and satoru hates how nostalgic your expression makes him feel. he tongues his cheek before sighing.
"he's gone." satoru answers simply. he tries to keep his tone even but it comes out bitter and strained. he can hear your quiet gasp, and feels your form move closer to him. if you were alive, he'd be able to feel your breath on his skin now.
"what do you mean, gone?"
satoru sighs again, turning to look at you completely. he hated everything about this. "he left school. went crazy. killed a bunch of people, including his parents."
he would've laughed at the comical way your jaw dropped if you didn't look so hurt. you sputter over your words as he picks up his bowl and moves to the table, trailing after him and demanding more information.
he doesn't hesitate to share, because he's always hated keeping secrets from you. you had this uncanny ability to see straight through him, and it never failed to make him feel unsettled. so he tells you everything that happened in the few weeks after you died. suguru leaving, their confrontation in shinjuku, his plans for non-sorcerers. he leaves nothing unsaid.
when he's done, he finally looks at you, trying to gauge your reaction. but you're just staring at his food with a bitter expression, brows pinched and lips pursed. satoru says your name once.
you glance at him, and it's too quick for him to look for any accusation in it. doesn't matter though, because he's ready to own up to his mistakes.
"you were right back then. about suguru." satoru admits quietly, turning to his food. he doesn't want to look at you anymore, because he's scared you'll show him how disappointed you are with him.
you don't say anything in response. but you sit down at the small dining table and watch him eat with soft eyes, one bite at a time. satoru doesn't admit it, but the whole time he imagines that you're gently rubbing his shoulder, and he thinks he hasn't missed you more than in that moment.
vi. 2007
(it was satoru's fault you died. if he hadn't been so selfish, you'd still be next to him, shoulder brushing his as the two of you walked through the streets of tokyo.
you had knocked on his door that morning before you had left for your last mission, rocking on your heels. he opened it groggily, still half asleep.
"you going on a mission?" satoru had yawned, drowsy eyes trailing over your uniform. you nod with a grin.
"mhm, with nanami. there are two separate areas with curses though, so we'll split up when we get there. should be simple enough." you shrug, toying with the collar of your uniform jacket.
satoru decides to be annoying. "then why are you here disturbing my sleep? get out." he groans dramatically, peering at you with narrowed eyes. you smack his arm, scoffing. you've stopped questioning why he keeps his infinity down for you do those things to him.
"i was gonna ask if you wanted to come with," you hiss, crossing your arms defensively. "but i'm taking it back, asshole."
he grins. "what? can't stay away?"
you roll your eyes, shaking your head with a sarcastic laugh. "don't flatter yourself."
satoru pauses for a second. "i was gonna go back to sleep." he admits, feeling a little guilty. he had just come back from a mission the night before, and he doesn't feel like leaving again. he doesn't know how to say that to you though.
but you see right through him, like you always do.
"you've been going on missions a lot lately," you smile earnestly, patting his shoulder. "no wonder you're tired."
"'m the strongest, i don't get tired." he protests, crossing his arms with a scoff. you roll your eyes again, sticking your tongue out at him as you heft your weapon over your shoulder.
"keep it up and you're seriously gonna fry your brain or something," you say with a shake of your head, eyes betraying your concern for him. he notices it, and tries to smother down the way it makes his stomach flip. "i'll be fine. you can come on my next mission with me."
fair enough, he thinks. he hadn't gone on missions with you or suguru in a while. he should remember to ask yaga to let him go on your next one. just the two of you. you and him. maybe he'd buy you a mango ice pop on the way back.
"fine." he acquiesces easily, not even thinking to protest. he'll see you later anyway, so he'll talk to you more when you get back.
you smirk a little, motioning to his bedhead, before gently kicking his shin. "go back to sleep then, stupid."
he rolls his eyes, reaching up to knock his knuckle against your forehead like he always does. "whatever. bring me some sweets on your way back, yeah?"
the laugh you give him as he shuts the door is the last thing he ever hears from you.
he should've gone with you.)
vii. 2012
satoru hates the way you're looking at him right now.
it was a stupid little mistake. he had gone to see little megumi and tsumiki earlier that afternoon, and as usual, you had tagged along with him. you'd watched him raise up the two kids over the last few years, never failing to tease about his newly acquired fatherhood, or how much he seemed to care about them despite his efforts to hide it. he didn't ever think to say that you'd helped him raise them up too. even in your incorporeal form you'd always been around to tell him what meals he could prep or to remind him that megumi liked black forest cake for his birthdays.
he'd gotten so used to you being around and he slipped up once. that afternoon when he had walked megumi home from school, teasing and poking fun at the kid, he'd made a stupid joke. megumi had rolled his eyes and told him to shut up.
and then without thinking, satoru had turned to you as you hovered next to him and groaned your name out dramatically before whining, "this kid is so mean to me!"
your eyes widened immediately, and if you were alive he'd probably see the color drain from your face. his stomach had sank and he couldn't tear his eyes away from you, even when megumi glanced at him with a raised brow.
"who are you talking to?" he asked, and satoru gulped, shaking his head as he broke eye contact with you to look down at the kid.
"nobody." he had answered.
he tries to ignore the meaningful stare you pin him with for the rest of the afternoon, hoping that you'll just forget about it. but as soon as satoru has left the kids and he's back in his own room, you're on him. he busies himself with making a cup of hot chocolate, even though he feels sick to his stomach.
"satoru you have to figure out how to get rid of me!" you plead, eyes so sad it makes his stomach churn. "i'm gonna drive you insane!"
"i'm fine!" he snaps back, shaking his head as he takes a sip from his mug, the warmth distracting him from whatever it was you were trying to remind him of. he places it down on the table in front of him and crosses his arms defensively. "it was a stupid mistake. won't happen again."
you shimmer in and out of focus, manifesting in front of him with a glare, though your eyes are still the same. wounded and hurt. "it wasn't and you know it! you can't keep living like this. i've been haunting you for years, toru!"
"well who asked you to go ahead and die?!" he yells without thinking, and it's like he sees your hurt bubble forth in slow motion.
"i went and died because i made a stupid mistake on a mission! quit blaming yourself, you dumbass!" you shout, voice raised higher than he's ever heard it.
satoru's mug shatters against the wall.
the two of you immediately turn to look at the mess with wide eyes, before slowly turning to each other to ensure that it really did happen.
"how'd you do that?" satoru asks quietly, his voice strained as he takes a few long strides towards you. you look down at your hand, the same one that you had lifted to swipe at his mug during your fit of rage. you look back up at him with wide eyes and parted lips. satoru's head is pounding, some kind of sick hope stirring within him. "you had to have touched it."
"i don't…" you trail off, voice filled with awe and a bit of fear. satoru reaches up a hand, ignoring the tremble in it, and moves to touch your face. he will never admit to the amount of times he begs in his head, please please please.
his hand goes straight though your skin, and your eyes soften. satoru lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, hiding his disappointment as he takes a step back and turns away.
viii. 2006
(satoru thinks gardening is ridiculous. plants are so fragile, needing to be constantly monitored and cared for like children. he can't understand why anyone would choose to garden as a hobby when there were less stressful things to do in spare time.
even the process was time consuming, he realizes as he scoops out piles of dirt into the small pots he had set out on his windowsill.
he thinks back to the silly little grin you had on your face as you answered shoko's question.
"morning glory," you had said, leaning against her shoulder. "i like the way they open in the morning and close at night."
shoko hummed, staring at the sky even as satoru quietly eavesdropped. "you got a favorite color?"
"the blue ones," you answered. "they're the prettiest."
your voice echoes in his head as he places the seeds into the soil, and he sighs heavily. why he was doing this for you was beyond him.
the thought makes him annoyed, and he huffs in frustration the entire time he plants them. gardening had to be the stupidest hobby ever.
and yet when three blue morning glories bloom against his windowsill, he can't hold back his grin.)
ix. 2017
satoru's grateful that you don't watch him kill suguru.
he tells you to go, and you give suguru a long stare, face pinched and sour even though your translucent eyes are shining. it's a shame suguru can't see you though, because satoru thinks you look so pretty. suguru would've been lucky to have you be the last thing he ever saw.
you turn away and disappear without a word, and after one last exchange, satoru finishes the job.
it's only after he watches rika's final goodbye to yuta does he realize the extent of what a goodbye even means. he'd said one to suguru, and yet he can't help but miss him as he walks back home. he wonders if suguru wouldn't have had to die if you were still around.
satoru had never gotten a goodbye with you though. you're somehow still with him, but he misses you so much. it puts an ugly feeling in his gut, twisted and dark. it weighs down on his shoulders as he finally opens the door to his room, heavy and overwhelming as he sees you sitting on his bed, face vacant.
he says your name, and you don't move. he takes a seat next to you, and something about your sad expression makes him so unbelievably angry.
"quit being sad about it," he finally spits out, the truthful extent of his feelings coming out. "it's not like you're even alive that you'd be able to see him."
you scoff as you give him a sidelong glare. "what's that supposed to mean? one of my closest friends just died and you expect me not to be upset about it?"
"at least he'll find a way to you!" satoru hisses, clenching his fists so hard that his nails leave crescents in his skin. "you two can have fun together for all of eternity."
there's a tense silence that follows as he grits his teeth, turning away from you. he's so disgusted right now. with suguru, with you, with himself.
"i'm all by myself." satoru mutters bitterly, the words so foreign on his tongue as the truth hits him.
god he misses you so much.
he suddenly feels a sharp thwack on the back of his head and he's turning around with wide eyes.
"don't you dare forget about shoko!" you hiss, tears in your eyes as you glare at him, hand raised. "i'll never forgive you!"
his throat goes dry, because the smack you just gave him was the first time you'd touched him since the day you died. there's a storm in his throat that threatens to break free, but he tries to keep it lodged in his throat. even with your teary eyes, he thinks you look just as pretty as you did with life flowing through you.
he misses suguru. he knows you do too, because there are translucent tears dripping down your cheeks and he has never ached to touch you more. but he can't because you're dead.
you remain in front of him all night, barely saying a word in between your sniffles. he doesn't say anything either, just watching you.
he doesn't know what there is to say. the only thing he ever wishes he got to say to you was goodbye. but you're here, in front of him, so a goodbye seems pointless.
when the sun comes up, you wish him a merry christmas, and he swears you never left him.
satoru says it back to you. you smile sadly.
he misses you so much.
x. 2007
(satoru had cleaned out your dorm room three days after you died.
he didn't really understand why he was doing it so early. shoko had frowned when he told her that he planned to pack away your things, frowned in a way that made her look like she disagreed.
well even if she did disagree, it didn't stop her from sitting in your desk chair, chewing on her nail quietly as she watched satoru fold your clothes. he didn't even understand why he was doing this.
maybe it was because every time he walked past your empty dorm room he felt sick to his stomach. there was a twisting feeling in his gut when he realized that you'd never curl up in that bed again. never sit by the window with a grin watching him and suguru bicker as they threw playing cards on the floor. he figured the faster he got rid of your remnants, the quicker the feeling would go away.
that's what he's hoping anyway. but when he picks up your jujutsu uniform he feels something claw at his throat, and he unconsciously digs his fingers into the fabric. he hears a sigh from behind him and then shoko is at his side, wordlessly easing the cloth from his hand. she lays it on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles before folding it carefully. when she places it into the box, satoru thinks her hands shake a bit.
there's a bitter expression on shoko's face that he's never seen before, and it makes his stomach twist.
they work on your room for the next few hours, until the sun has disappeared behind the horizon and the cool evening breeze bullies its way into your old space. neither of them say anything, save for the occasional nostalgic hum as they remember something that you did or they're reminded of the story behind one of the trinkets in your room. otherwise it's silent, and for a second satoru feels like he can hear your laugh.
it isn't until night has completely fallen that they are interrupted.
"what are you doing?"
satoru turns around just as shoko looks up, both of them finding suguru standing in the doorway. he hadn't taken a step in yet, eyes still trailing over the emptiness of your old room from behind an uncrossed line.
"cleaning." satoru answers, his voice oddly clipped.
"it wasn't messy…" suguru mutters back, his lips slanting in such an unusual way. there was an uncharacteristically determined look in his eyes, as though there was something in him that was struggling to burst forth. satoru didn't understand what it was.
"never said it was." satoru replies noncommittally. he hears shoko inhale deeply, shifting in your old chair as she watches the two of them stare at each other. there's a tense silence as he notices suguru frown.
satoru can't remember the last time he even had a full conversation with suguru. he remembers seeing you leave for your last mission, and he wants to kick himself for not asking earlier to be sent on group missions with the two of you.
even now, he doesn't really know what to say to suguru. all he can do is tighten his fingers around the edge of the box with your stuff neatly packed in, and watch his best friend sigh.
suguru wets his lips, eyes darting over your desk. there's an odd expression on his face, and his brows pinch as he notices something. then suguru reaches out to pick up an old polaroid, and satoru knows exactly which one it is. your arms slung around suguru's shoulders, smile so wide your cheeks probably hurt. suguru's expression was uncharacteristically gentle.
satoru remembers it so well, because he's the one who took the picture.
suguru looks at the polaroid without a word, rubbing the corner between his thumb and forefinger, and his expression suddenly mirrors the gentleness in the picture. his eyes remain stormy, deep and unsettling as he reaches conclusions that satoru will never understand.
the three of them stay quiet for a few minutes, even though satoru has so many questions that he can't figure out how to phrase. shoko toys with a cigarette between her lips, leaving it unlit because you've always hated the smell of smoke. suguru just stands there, silently eyeing your unfiltered smile through the lens of a camera.
satoru wonders if suguru's trying to say goodbye to you. he doesn't ask, and suguru doesn't say.
only after something had clicked in suguru's eyes, did satoru realize something was over. he couldn't help but feel like he had just buried you in that cardboard box with all your things, and he swallows hard.
then suguru clenches his fists, veins flexing as he looks around your room, almost like he was committing it to memory. satoru didn't understand why; it's not like suguru couldn't come see your room anytime he wanted.
then he turns away, hand lingering on the doorframe heavily, without another word.
just as suguru walks away, satoru thinks he hears your voice whispering in his ear.
"don't want him to get lost."
xi. 2018
something is wrong. something happened. something is wrong.
satoru knows he needs to wake up. but he's so tired, so exhausted from carrying on all by himself. he suddenly remembers the taste of frozen mango, sweet and chilled, and he wants to keep thinking about it for the rest of eternity.
but something is wong. he needs to wake up.
the minute satoru forces his eyes open, he can ignore the taste of blood in his mouth because you're there.
you're kneeling at his side, sunlight shining behind your head in a way that makes you look almost angelic. he'd believe it if you said you were an angel, because you've been dead for so long now.
you'd been a ghost for so many years, hovering around him and getting him through everything that had come his way. isn't that what guardian angels were supposed to do, guiding humans through their own trials? isn't that what you were doing to him since the day you died and came back to him?
you'd been a ghost. you'd been his angel. you'd been haunting him.
you'll always haunt him.
you seem to know it too, because the expression on your face is understanding, soft and yet so sad.
for what seems like the millionth time in his life, satoru aches to touch you.
he tries to move his hand but finds that he can't. synapses misfire. he can't feel his body anymore.
he wants to touch you. gods above, he wants to touch you so badly. please just this one last wish.
your translucent forms shimmers in the sunlight, and satoru can't tell if he's hallucinating or not because you suddenly seem to become fully physical. the particles of your form solidify, slowly filling with more color until you don't look quite so dilute. the saturation of your eye color comes back, and satoru can't look away because he's never seen a ghost so pretty before.
his breath hitches as you gently cup his cheek in your palm, warm and gentle. the melancholic look on your face makes his eyes sting.
"it's good to see you." he says with a weak smile, ignoring the metallic taste on his tongue. his breath is short, mind racing because your skin is on his again. finally, after so many years. you're so soft, just like he remembers.
"you weren't supposed to join me this quick." you sigh, eyes shining as you smile down at him ruefully. your thumb brushes over his bottom lip, and satoru's cerulean eyes flutter.
no. no more waiting. he'd missed you too much. he doesn't have it in him to stay away from you anymore. he'd done it long enough. your fingers tremble against his skin and he almost laughs.
no more haunting.
there's a resolute part of him that knows you'll be the first thing he sees when he gets to wake up again. he decides that, when he does, he'll get you a mango ice pop and plant some morning glories with you.
andulkaphoto
baratheonpilled
ellievsbear
dailybridgerton
kianamaiart
