nisa

"Honey, I'm home!" a familiar, obnoxious voice sings out, followed by the sounds of footsteps leading right towards the kitchen. Great. Just your luck.

He pauses at the door with a bright grin, letting his gaze wander over the kitchen, blue eyes lingering on the batch of brownies before landing on you. His grin widens when he sees you with furrowed brows and a hand on your hip. 

"This is my home. Not yours. How did you even get in?" you question as he crosses the threshold.

"I stole your spare key."

"You what?" your jaw drops as he stops beside you, hands greedily reaching for your brownies without sparing you another glance.

You swat at his hand, scoffing when his bottom lip juts out in a painfully childish pout. "Hands off the goods, idiot."

"But I came all this way for you!" he huffs, crossing his muscular arms over his chest.

"Yeah, I didn't ask you to. Now shoo," you reach your hand out, laying it flat in the space between you as you clear your throat expectantly.

His eyes drop to your open palm then back up to your face, lips curling into a confused grin. Unfolding his arms, he drops his own warm and much larger hand into your own, curling his fingers around yours. "You've gotten bolder!"

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you attempt to swing his hand out of yours, but his hold is far too tight. You frantically wave your joined hands between you, bringing up your free one to pry him off. 

"You— What the hell are you doing? Let me go!"

"Errr, you wanted to hold my hand." he mumbles, finally letting go of the vice grip he had on you and dropping his arms awkwardly to his sides. 

"Oh my God, you idiot. The key!" you groan, keeping your palm outstretched between you.

"What key?" he shoves his hands into his pockets, smiling with a tilt to his head.

"The key that you stole." 

He fiddles around in his pockets, suddenly brightening up when he feels the familiar metal of said key. Pulling it out unceremoniously, he swings it around in your face with a wide and terrifyingly obnoxious grin. "This key?"

"Yes, Satoru. What other keys have you stolen?" you deadpan with a sigh, rubbing your eyes with your free hand.

He looks up as if in thought, tapping a long finger to his chin. He shakes his head. "Nah. I don't think so," he goes back to swinging the key in your face. "If you want it, come get it~"

Your face twists into an unattractive scowl, fingers reaching upwards to grasp onto the key being dangled like a carrot on a stick to a pig. He simply lifts his arm, leveraging his ridiculous height to hold it just out of reach.

You scoff and turn towards the door, not sparing him another glance and not bothering to play this stupid, impossible game with him that you—quite embarrassingly—never win. 

"Whatever, Gojo. Keep it. I'm changing the locks!" you call out behind you, stepping into the hall before suddenly remembering the brownies left unsupervised on the counter, spinning around immediately to charge back into the kitchen. He's thankfully still rooted in the same spot. "Don't even think about touching those brownies. I'm going to shower."

"Okay, okay. You're making me seem like a glutton," he grins, holding both palms out in a defensive manner.

"Because you are one," you say, wagging a finger in his face as you walk backwards. "I mean it, Satoru. I'll bake you your own if you're good."

He nods enthusiastically.

You should know now not to trust him, but for a reason you'll soon regret, you step back into the hallway. Leaving his greedy self alone with your brownies.

Rubbing off the steam that's collected on the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection and push the damp strands off your forehead. You let out a heavy and deeply exhausted sigh, reluctantly stepping back out into the hall where your nightmare of a friend—if he can even be called that— awaits you. 

You step into the living room. No sign of him. The dining room. No sign of him. The kitchen. Still, he's nowhere to be found. 

You're about to step back out into the hallway when your gaze lands on the brownie tray, now empty save for the crumbs and one stranded piece left right in the middle of it. Your eyes widen to the size of saucers, mouth agape as his name rips out of your throat. 

Spinning on your heel, you dart down the corridor towards the only other room he could possibly be in: your own. The door slams open, revealing his six foot three figure sprawled out unceremoniously along the mattress, plush pillows thrown haphazardly onto the floor and legs dangling along the edge of the bed. He's groaning, a hand running along his stomach, and as your eyes trail downwards, the unmistakable tent in his trousers does not go unnoticed.

"Ugh…" he groans, turning to look at you in the doorway, squinting at the bright light. He must've thrown off his sunglasses before dropping onto your bed uninvited. "What did you feed me?"

"What did I— I didn't feed you anything! I told you not to eat them. I even repeated myself. What did you do? Your fatass ate them anyway!" you stomp over to where he's laying and slap a hand against his forehead, surprised to find his Infinity down. His gaze follows you, never wavering along with the pout etched onto his face.

"You smell really good," he mutters, staring up at you with wide, glossy eyes. "What did you put in those brownies?" 

"Nothing. I—" you look down into his eyes, biting your lip. His eyes immediately track the movement. "They weren't for you."

"Answer the question." 

"Okay, I might've put an aphrodisiac in it," the words spill out before you can stop them and his eyebrows raise, eyes widening as he opens his mouth to speak. "But but! Listen!" you hold out your hands in a placating manner. His mouth snaps shut and he turns his head fully towards you. "They're not for me either. My friend asked me to make them. As, like, a prank or something. I don't know."

"What friend? Is it someone I know? Who—"

"No, it isn't anybody you know."

It's silent for a moment, his eyes going back to tracing a pattern along the ceiling as you drop your weight from one foot to the other. You clear your throat in a futile attempt to bring his attention back to you. His eyes remain fixed, finding the ceiling much more interesting than the person it belongs to.

"So, it's like a love potion?" he asks after what feels like forever but could only be a minute or two.

"You could say that," you rub a hand sheepishly along the back of your neck.

"Am I supposed to feel this horny?" Satoru questions unabashedly.

"One brownie is enough for the aphrodisiac to take effect. A whole tray…" you trail off, and he finally meets your gaze again.

"Let me get this straight," he sits up abruptly, placing his palms on his knees. "You laced your brownies with a love potion for somebody else as a prank because they asked you to, and you left them out for me to eat without telling me this?"

"Actually, I didn't leave them out for you to eat. And y—"

"You're not wearing a bra."

You pause, looking down at yourself dressed in nothing but your sleeping shorts and a plain black tank top with noodle straps. The cold has caused your nipples to perk up. Gulping, you look back at him, but his gaze remains fixed on your hardened nipples. You watch, mouth slightly open as his tongue juts out to lick at his lips.

"Yeah, it's my house," you croak out, trying to sound confident but failing miserably. 

Satoru ignores you, eyes raking shamelessly over the rest of your body, lingering on your bare legs before looking back up into your eyes. 

"You're so silly," he whines, dropping back onto your bed with a groan. "You know I have no self control!"

"I didn't think—" 

"You have to fix this," he looks down to his trousers, pointing down at his hard-on. "This is your fault."

"It's not my fault!" 

"It is so your fault. Can't you make, like, a cure or something?" 

"No, idiot. You have to get it out…naturally," you explain, gesturing wildly with your hands. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Can't you call one of your hookups?" 

"Don't want them," he says, his voice dropping an octave and his eyes fixed on your lips. "Come here."

"W-What?" you take a step back, and he sits up once more. "Which one should I call? I'll even call them an Uber." 

"No. I—" he groans, rubbing a large hand along his face. "Just come here. Stop making this harder than it already is. They'll take too long."

"Can't you teleport to them?"

"I can't even think straight right now. Do you seriously think I can use my technique?"

Running a hand through your damp hair, you let your gaze travel along his tall frame. "Wait, I have an idea—"

"If your idea doesn't involve you in this bed with me, I don't want to hear it."

"Just hear me out, look—"

"I don't care. Just come here," Satoru's arm is thrown over his head, covering his eyes while the other grips tightly against the fabric of his trousers, digging into his thighs. "…Please. I haven't—" he groans again, lifting his arm up to look up at you once more. "I haven't felt this pain since…”

Maybe it’s the helpless look on his face that makes the mighty Gojo Satoru look utterly pathetic, making you feel slightly bad for him or maybe it’s the pleading look in his eyes that has you unconsciously clenching your thighs together that drags you towards him. But before you can stop yourself or consider your choices, you find yourself stepping closer. 

He takes the opening, hands clamping around your arm to drag you beside him with the confidence of a man who’s never been told no a day in his life. Satoru somehow manages to manoeuvre your bodies around so he’s on top of you, hands bracing against your thighs and nose buried into the crook of your neck where he breathes the scent of you in.

“You smell so good. Since when do you smell like this?” he practically moans with a sniff and a sigh.

“It.. must be the aphrodisiac talking. Your sense of scent is stronger, I guess,” you manage to breathe out, hands resting awkwardly on his muscular forearms.

“Maybe,” he mumbles, nipping at your neck with his sharp teeth. You wince as he soothes the sting with his tongue. “You owe me.”

He bites on your neck this time, humming when you let out a whine before kissing the mark that’s sure to grow. His hands reach up to tug at the straps of your tank top, pulling one strap down as he leaves a trail of kisses down the nape of your neck to your bare shoulder.

He thrusts like a dog in heat against you when he feels your legs wrap around his middle, grinding against your core whilst practically drooling over your bare skin. “You like seeing me l-like this?”  

You shake your head, not trusting your voice to stay steady.

“Liar,” Satoru mumbles against your skin. “My eyes still work, you know. You’re almost as turned on as me.”

“Shut up,” you gasp when his hands trail down, hoisting your hips further off the mattress. Your legs tighten involuntarily around his waist.

He lets out a low, breathy chuckle at your defiant words and the honest reaction of your body. “You brought this upon yourself.” he says, his voice heavy and thick with a haze he clearly has no intention of fighting anymore.

Before you can fire back a witty retort once you’re sure your voice won’t betray you, his mouth slides up to cover yours. The kiss is messy, hot and completely devoid of his usual self restraint. Without his Infinity acting as a barrier, you feel every heavy, unyielding inch of him as he presses himself further against you. He tastes faintly of chocolate and sugar, his tongue darting past your lips to tangle with your own pliant one.

He hitches one of your legs higher against his waist, grinding down with an agonisingly slow rhythm that has you rubbing yourself against him, chasing the friction that he appears to be holding back.

“Take these off,” you command gently but firmly, tugging at his trousers.

Satoru meets your gaze, lips parting slightly at the dazed out expression that you wear. Immediately, he pulls at the zipper, tugging it down with renewed enthusiasm and kicking it off his legs. He’s left in his navy blue boxers. A heavy, wet patch of arousal tints the underwear into a darker shade of blue. 

“And these?” he looks at you in question. You nod, running a hand through his stark white hair. His eyes flutter shut as he drags the sticky boxers down his legs.

His throbbing length is much bigger than you imagined, resting against your thigh as he slowly moves against you again, whimpering at the contact. The sight of it makes you wince, tip red and swollen. It looks painful, and you have to remind yourself that this is partially your fault.

You pull at the hem of his shirt, and he drags that off his body with one hand, tossing it into the growing pile of clothes. A mess you’d usually be bothered by but can’t bring yourself to care about given the current…situation.

He’s pliant in your arms, letting your hands travel along the broad expanse of his back, then down to his chest. Your core throbs at the feeling of his rigid muscles beneath your fingertips.

Without asking, he tugs on the hem of your shorts, pulling it down your bare legs and throwing it somewhere behind him. What an asshole, you think, always taking what he wants. 

Your legs spread involuntarily, leaving you in nothing but your thin tank top and cotton white underwear. Embarrassingly enough, your arousal has seeped through the panties, having left your shorts slightly wet. The evidence is undeniable now though, as he stares openly at the dampness between your legs.

You tap on the cotton, echoing his earlier words: “And these?” 

“Not yet,” he assures you, bringing your lips together once more. Then he’s tugging at your top, pulling it off of you hastily. “That can go though.”

His eyes trail down to your uncovered breasts, the peaks still left perky due to the cold air. He almost moans at the sight, dragging his tongue down to your left breast while he uses his hand to fondle with the other. 

“Satoru—” you moan out, fingers latching onto his white hair to tug him impossibly closer. He hums against your breast. 

His dick rests between your legs, dragging against the wetness of your underwear. It feels like too much, but it’s not enough at the same time. 

He ruts into you again, bare length against your clothed core, the precum wiping against the already ruined fabric when his tongue finally meets your nipple. He licks it, humming against your skin before he clamps his teeth around it. Pain erupts beneath your skin, but he pulls the peak into his mouth and it’s long forgotten.

"Satoru..." you breathe out, your voice trembling.

He pulls back just enough to let the cool air hit your wet skin, a thin string of saliva connecting his lips to your peak before it snaps. His chest heaves, brushing against yours with every labored breath. When his icy blue eyes finally flick up to meet yours, the familiar playful arrogance is completely drowned out by a thick, heavy haze of raw need.

"You're torturing me," he rasps, his voice a gravelly whisper.

To emphasize his point, he rolls his hips forward, pressing the searing hot length of him firmly against the soaked cotton of your underwear. The friction sends a jolt straight up your spine, and you instinctively clamp your legs tighter around his waist.

He ruts against you again, a slow, agonizing drag of his hips that makes a shameful whine tear from your throat. The cotton barrier is practically useless now, slicked with both his slick pre-cum and your own undeniable arousal, but the slight, teasing friction it provides is driving you both straight to the edge. 

Satoru groans—a deep, guttural sound that vibrates against your collarbone. His hands finally leave your chest, his touch trailing down the dip of your waist with agonizing slowness. His large fingers hook purposefully into the waistband of your ruined panties.

"These are definitely going now," he declares. His tone is thick, leaving absolutely no room for argument. Not that you have the willpower to fight him anymore.

With a swift, decisive tug, he pulls the fabric down. His large hands grip your hips, hoisting you slightly off the mattress to slide the ruined cotton down your legs. You kick them away blindly, leaving you completely, wholly bare beneath his imposing figure.

The moment bare skin meets bare skin, a violent shudder wrecks through Satoru's massive frame.

He drops his weight back down, settling perfectly between your parted thighs. The searing heat of his throbbing length presses flush against your slick, swollen entrance, but he doesn't push inside. Instead, he just rests there, his head dropping heavily onto your shoulder as he savors the agonizingly close contact.

"You feel..." he buries his face in your neck again, inhaling the scent of you like a man starved. "God, you feel so good."

He rocks his hips just a fraction, sliding the heavy, blunt head of his cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your wetness. You cry out at the slippery friction, your nails digging reflexively into the hard, rigid muscles of his back.

"Satoru, please," the plea slips out into the quiet room before you can bite it back.

He smirks against your heated skin, the faintest ghost of his usual infuriating smugness returning now that he knows he has you entirely at his mercy. He props himself up on his elbows, looking down at your flushed face, his bright eyes dilated and dark.

"Please what?" he whispers, rolling his hips forward just enough to tease the entrance without giving you what you both desperately want. "You have to tell me. My brain's all foggy from the sugar, remember?"

You glare up at him through heavy, hooded eyes, your breath coming in ragged hitches as his weight presses down on you. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, a fine sheen of sweat glistening over the hard contours of his shoulders in the dim light of your bedroom. He looks entirely undone, yet he still has the audacity to smirk down at you, teasing you at your absolute limit.

"You are such an asshole,” you gasp out, staying still beneath him. “It’s your loss.”

Hitching himself up on his elbow, he brings his free hand down to drag the tip along your swollen lips, coating his length in your own arousal. He pushes in slowly once more, eliciting a loud and shameless moan from your throat that you fail to keep in. Biting your lip, your head thrashes from left to right along the mattress. 

“I-I’m trying to help you,” he whines into the air, eyes glazed and unblinking at the connection between you.

Satoru anchors his hand onto your hip, bracing himself before sinking slowly into you. The thick, hot head stretches you open, and the tight head of your walls sliding around him causes a sudden, violent tremor to wrack his entire frame.

He stops halfway, jaw clenching so tightly a muscle ticks in his cheek, his blue eyes blown wide as he fights for control. 

“F-fuck,” Satoru pants, dropping his forehead down onto yours. “You’re so tight. You’re killing me.”

"Keep going," you encourage, your hands moving up to cup his flushed jaw, dragging his mouth back down to yours. "Satoru, don't stop."

He doesn't. He pushes through the resistance with a deep, shuddering exhale, burying himself all the way inside you until his hips flush completely against yours.

The fullness is staggering. You let out a muffled sob against his lips, your legs tightening around his waist, pulling him as deep as he can possibly go. For a second, neither of you moves, just feeling each other. You unconsciously clench around him.

Then, Satoru pulls back—and thrusts back in.

You cry out at the stretch, and he moans at the feeling of your walls clamping around him, slamming into you with a frantic, heavy rhythm. Every snap of his hips sends a shockwave ripping through your skin. 

Calling out his name, you clutch onto his broad shoulders as his head drops down to your neck once more, his hot breath washing over your skin with every ragged pant.

He moans against you, pace quickening as his lips latch onto a mark left behind on your neck. 

His long, calloused fingers slide under your thighs, hooking beneath your knees to lift your legs even higher, forcing your hips to tilt up. The new angle allows him to sink impossibly deeper, hitting a sweet spot that makes your vision go entirely white. You arch off the bed, a high-pitched moan tearing from your throat, your nails digging deep enough into his back to leave red crescents on his skin.

He doesn't care. He rolls through the sensation, taking your noise as an invitation to lose what little sanity he has left. His thrusts become harder, faster, completely uncontrolled as he chases the sweet relief of the climax that's rapidly pulling you both under.

The world shrinks down to the sound of his ragged breathing, the sharp slap of skin against skin, and the overwhelming, white-hot heat coiled tightly in the pit of your stomach. Satoru’s rhythm is merciless now, every deep, shuddering drive pushing you closer and closer to the absolute edge. His head is buried deep in the crook of your shoulder, his teeth lightly grazing your skin as he lets out low, broken groans with every snap of his hips.

He moans out your name into your neck, his thrusts suddenly losing all pretense of control. They become short, frantic and desperately deep. 

“I-I’m close. Can I…?” the question remains unsaid between you, but you find yourself nodding frantically nevertheless. You can’t even bring yourself to form words. 

Your hands clutch at his damp back as your hips roll instinctively to meet his furious pace. 

His pace quickens somehow, the headboard slams dangerously against the wall as he drives into you with a renewed focus. 

"You're... you're going to break the bed," you manage to gasp out, fingers clutching desperately at his sweaty shoulders, your nails digging in as he sets a punishing, relentless pace.

"Let it break," Satoru pants, his long fingers threading through yours, pinning your hands tightly against the mattress on either side of your head. He lifts his head, his brilliant blue eyes burning down into yours with an intensity that feels almost dangerous. "I'll buy you a new bed, a new house, anything—just shut up and take it."

He shifts his angle slightly, tilting your pelvis up and driving into you so deep it makes your vision blur with pure, unadulterated pleasure. A loud, high-pitched moan tears from your lips, instantly shattering whatever thin thread of control he had left.

Satoru lets out a low, victorious hum at the sound, his thrusts becoming faster, deeper, and completely frantic. He works over you with an almost territorial obsession, his lips finding yours in a hot, bruised kiss that steals the very air from your lungs. 

You’re about to warn him of your impending release when he suddenly pulls out, slamming back into you almost immediately, his hips flush against your own. Your walls clench around him once more, trapping him inside of your heat as a loud, high pitched moan erupts from the back of his throat. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, head lulling against the pillows as you come undone with him, the feeling of his own release pushing you right over the edge.

He grinds his hips against you, spilling his seed all the way inside, effectively trapping it within your walls.

Satoru’s lips meet yours once more as he pulls his softening length out of you. A mix of teeth and tongues, the taste of chocolate still lingering in his mouth. 

He whimpers against you as he gently pulls his softening length out, letting it rest against your bare thigh. Dropping his head back onto your shoulder, his breaths come out in short, frantic breaths.

“We’re… We’re not done,” he mumbles, and you feel him hardening against you once more. “I think I can fill a whole tank full of come.”

“Ew,” your lips curl into a disgusted scowl, pushing at his shoulders uselessly to shove him off of you. 

His quiet, raspy chuckle vibrates against your collarbone, entirely unbothered by your weak attempt to shove him away. Even completely spent, Satoru’s solid, towering weight feels like an anchor pinning you to the mattress. He nuzzles the sensitive skin behind your ear, his breath hot and uneven, before finally rolling off to his side with a dramatic, exaggerated sigh.

The sudden absence of his heat leaves you feeling instantly exposed, the cool air of the room chilling the slick sweat coating your skin. Your body feels completely thoroughly used, your inner thighs trembling from the lingering shockwaves of your orgasm. You sink back into the crushed pillows, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch your breath.

Beside you, Satoru shifts. His long, pale legs tangle with yours as he turns onto his side, propping his head up on his hand to look down at you. His white hair is a chaotic, damp mess sticking to his forehead, but those vivid blue eyes—though still slightly dark with the aphrodisiac's persistent haze—are fixed firmly on your flushed face.

"What?" you rasp, your throat dry as sandpaper. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Just thinking," he hums lazily, his free hand reaching out to trace a light, feather-soft line from your collarbone down over the curve of your bare ribs. "You really look pretty when you're all flushed and ruined like this. Very cute."

"Shut up," you groan, rolling your head away from him. "My whole body aches. I think you broke my bed."

"I told you, I'll replace it," Satoru says dismissively, his fingers continuing their lazy descent over your stomach, dipping lower to toy with the top of your thigh. His tone drops an octave, losing its teasing edge and morphing back into that thick, heavy rasptiness. "Besides... I wasn't lying before. I'm nowhere near done."

You turn your head back to glare at him, but the breath catches in your throat. He isn't exaggerating. Pressed flush against your outer thigh, his length is already rapidly thickening back up, heavy and hot against your skin. The sheer potency of the laced batch he consumed is clearly far from wearing off.

"Satoru, no," you breathe out, though the sight of him—flushed, raw, and completely at the mercy of his own unyielding desire—sends a traitorous little thrum of heat straight back to your core. "I can't... I need a minute. I'm sore."

He pouts, his lower lip jutting out in that ridiculously childish way of his, but his eyes remain dark and intensely focused. He shifts, sliding down the bed until his head is level with your waist, his large hands coming up to gently cup the sides of your thighs.

"You don't have to do anything," he murmurs against the soft skin of your inner thigh, laying a lingering, warm kiss there that makes your toes curl. "Just let me... please. I can't get rid of this ache on my own."

He looks up at you through his long, white lashes, looking so utterly pathetic and needy that it completely bypasses your better judgment. You let out a long, defeated sigh, running a hand through your disheveled hair.

“Fine. Lay back,” you sigh.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, taking in the sight of him. Sitting up, his broad shoulders and hard, defined chest seem to take up the entire frame of the bed. Between his legs, his thick length is fully erect again, tip slick and dark, throbbing rhythmically in the dim light.

Leaning forward, you slide your hands up his muscular thighs, feeling the tremor that ripples through him at your touch. Satoru lets out a shaky exhale, his hands instantly reaching down to bury his fingers in your hair, holding you gently—not forcing, but guiding.

"God, yes..." he breathes out, his voice already breaking as you lean in close, the heat radiating off him hitting your face.

You don't make him wait. Opening your mouth, you wrap your wet lips over the broad, swollen head, taking him in with a slow, deliberate glide.

Satoru’s back immediately arches off the mattress, a sharp, violent gasp tearing past his lips. His grip in your hair tightens, long fingers tangling into the strands as his hips give an involuntary, desperate jerk forward.

"Fuck—" he chokes out, his head snapping back, his throat working as he swallows hard. "That's—fuck, you're so warm..."

You swirl your tongue around the sensitive tip, gathering his slick pre-come before sliding further down his length. The sheer size of him stretches your cheeks, making your jaw ache almost instantly, but the low, broken noises escaping the normally untouchable Gojo Satoru are dangerously intoxicating.

You set a steady, rhythmic pace, dipping your head down to take as much of him as your throat will allow before pulling back until just the head rests against your lips, teasing him with the tip of your tongue before plunging down again.

Satoru is completely undone beneath your touch. His legs tremble on either side of you, his knuckles turning white where his other hand grips the bedsheets. Every time you wetly lap at his sensitive underside, a low, guttural moan vibrates from his chest, his hips rocking upward to meet your mouth in small, frantic twitches.

"Look at me," he pants out desperately, his voice raw. "Please... look at me."

You roll your eyes up to meet his. His electric blue gaze is completely blown out, heavy-lidded and glossy with tears of pure, unbearable sensation. Watching him watch you only drives you further; you hollow your cheeks, tightening your suction as you drag your lips up and down his slick shaft, your hand coming down to gently cup and weigh his heavy warmth at the base.

"Oh, fuck," Satoru whimpers out, a sound so entirely uncharacteristic of him that it sends a flush of power straight through you. His hips begin to push harder into your mouth, his usual self-restraint completely disintegrated by the combination of your mouth and the aphrodisiac running rampant in his system.

He sets a faster, messier pace, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he drives himself against your lips. His hands in your hair grow tighter, no longer guiding but desperately anchoring you in place as his entire body goes rigid. The frantic, shallow thrusts of his hips stutter into a sharp, desperate stillness, his broad chest heaving as if he’s run a marathon.

"I'm—I'm gonna—" Satoru chokes out, his voice cracking horribly. "Fuck, I can't hold it—"

You don't pull back. Instead, you hollow your cheeks, increasing the suction around the swollen head and swirling your tongue over his sensitive underside one last time.

That subtle movement pushes him straight over the precipice.

With a loud, shattered groan that echoes off the bedroom walls, Satoru's hips jerk violently forward, driving his length deep into your throat as he comes. Thick, searing heat spills onto your tongue in heavy, rhythmic pulses. You swallow past the stretch of your jaw, taking shot after shot of him, hands gripping his broad thighs to keep him steady as his muscles shudder uncontrollably beneath your touch.

He stays completely frozen for several long seconds, his face buried into his forearm, panting heavily as the white-hot waves of his second release slowly ripple out.

When he finally relaxes, he lets out a long, shuddering exhale, his grip on your hair softening into a tender, clumsy stroke. Gently, he pulls his hips back, letting his softening length slip free from your wet lips. A thin, glistening thread connects his tip to your mouth before it snaps, resting lazily against his inner thigh.

You sit back on your heels, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth with a heavy, breathless sigh. Your jaw is aching, your throat stings, and your hair is a wild, static mess—but looking up at him makes the effort entirely worth it.

Satoru is completely wrecked. He’s collapsed backward onto the mattress, one arm thrown over his eyes, his pale chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow hitches. His skin is flushed a deep pink, coated in a fine layer of sweat, and his stark white hair is matted to his forehead.

Slowly, he drags his arm away from his face, blinking up at you with heavy, dark-blue eyes that look utterly glassy and dazed. A slow, thoroughly ruined grin spreads across his lips.

"You..." Satoru rasps, his voice completely wrecked and gravelly, "are terrifyingly good at that."

You don’t grace him with a response, eyes hooded and dark as they watch the way his length throbs and twitches before hardening once more. With aching legs, you lift yourself up to straddle his thighs, knees digging into the mattress on either side of him. 

He looks up into your face, eyes trailing down to your chest as his hands instinctively reach out to grasp onto your hips. 

“So pretty,” he whispers, more to himself than you as he looks up into your eyes again. His white lashes flutter and he licks his lips at the sight of you on top of him. 

His large hands tighten on your hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh there, guiding you down until the swollen, slick tip of his length rests directly against your drenched entrance. Satoru lets out a sharp, breathless gasp at the contact, his hips twitching upward involuntarily.

He whines out your name. Slowly, deliberately, you lift yourself up just enough to line him up before lowering your weight onto him.

His eyes blow wide open, back arching off the mattress to meet yours as you sink down onto him. Your eyes flutter shut at the familiar stretch, letting out a broken moan as he fills you inch by agonising inch. Satoru’s hands slide up from your hips to your waist, knuckles turning white as he fights the urge to thrust upwards and take control. He lets you set the pace, slow and steady and deep against him.

"Fuck," Satoru rasps, his chest heaving beneath you. His hands move up to your breasts, his long fingers cupping and squeezing the soft weight as he arches his back off the bed. "You feel... so tight... so good..."

You lean forward, resting your palms flat against his broad, muscular chest, feeling his heart hammering wildly beneath his ribs. Tilting your pelvis, you roll your hips in a slow, agonizing circle, grinding down against his root.

Satoru’s eyes snap shut, a dark, guttural groan tearing from his throat. His hips snap up to meet yours, the sudden, hard drive making your vision blur with pleasure.

"Satoru—"

His eyes open immediately at his name, dropping down to your lips just inches from his. 

“Kiss me,” he pleads, trying to roll his hips to meet your own. “Please, kiss me, kiss me—”

You shut him up by latching your lips onto his, grinding down onto him at the same time. He moans against you, muffled against your lips as you wrap a manicured hand around his throat.

Instead of keeping the slow, rolling rhythm, you lean forward, pinning him flat against the mattress and speeding up drastically.

You ride him mercilessly, taking him deep and slamming back down with a wild, frantic pace that leaves no room for restraint. The heavy, wet slap of skin echoing through the bedroom becomes an unrelenting, feverish rhythm. The sudden, punishing speed makes his head toss back into the ruined pillows, his throat working swallows against the tight hold of your hand.

"Wait—fuck," Satoru gasps out, his voice cracking as his hips try instinctively to match your relentless tempo.

You don't slow down. If anything, you tilt your pelvis slightly, grinding down onto him at the absolute bottom of every sharp downward drive, hitting that exact, agonisingly sensitive spot over and over again. Your hair flies wild around your face, eyes dark and completely unyielding as you take total control over him.

"Ah—fuck, wait! Slow down!" Satoru whimpers out, a sound of pure, helpless desperation ripping from his chest. His electric blue eyes flutter open, dark with tears of pleasure, staring up at you in utter shock. "Slow... ah!... slow down, please—you're gonna make me—"

He tries to brace his hands against your thighs to push you back just a fraction, to catch his breath and regain some semblance of stamina, but you use your leverage on top of him to press right through his resistance, taking him as deep as he can go at a breakneck speed.

“‘M not gonna last long,” he whines out, head dropping uselessly against the pillows as his arms drop to his sides, letting you do the work.

“I don’t want you to last long.”

He pulls you down against him once more, wrapping his arms around your waist, lips colliding against yours.  The kiss is frantic, desperate, and taste-slicked with sweat and chocolate, his tongue tangling violently with yours as if he’s trying to swallow the very sound of your moans.

Even with his arms locked around you in an iron grip, you don't slow down for a single second. You keep riding him, your hips rolling and slamming down against his root at that same relentless, punishing speed.

Satoru lets out a muffled, broken sound directly into your mouth, his entire frame shuddering as the ruthless rhythm drives him straight past his limit. His long legs wrap tightly around your waist, hauling you impossibly closer, trapping himself as deep inside your wet, tight heat as he can physically go.

"Fuck—fuck!" he breaks the kiss, his head snapping back into the mattress as his jaw unhinges in a silent, agonizing gasp.

His hands slide down to grip your ass, digging in so hard it's going to leave marks, his hips jerking up in short, frantic twitches to meet your downward drives. He can't even form coherent words anymore; every sharp slap of skin sends a low, guttural whimper tearing from his throat. The sheer speed of your movement, combined with the suffocating warmth of your core clenching tightly around his length, completely incinerates whatever tiny thread of stamina he had left.

"You're—you're killing me—" Satoru pants out, his electric blue eyes blown wide and glassy, staring up at you through a haze of pure, unadulterated pleasure. "I'm—ah!"

Your hand on his throat tightens just a fraction, pinning him down as you deliver three fast, devastatingly deep thrusts right onto his sweet spot.

That’s all it takes to snap him completely.

A shattered, breathless roar rips from Satoru’s chest, his entire six-foot-three body going rigid beneath you. His back arches off the mattress, muscles locking up to solid steel as his hands tighten around you like vices. With one final, desperate buck of his hips, he comes undone, hot and thick pulses spilling deep inside you, flooding your core all over again.

The intense, milking contraction of your own walls responding to his release pushes you right over the edge alongside him. You throw your head back, a high-pitched cry tearing from your lips as your orgasm crashes over you, your body trembling violently atop his.

The next couple hours pass by in a blur. You lose track of how many times he spills himself into you and onto you. Skin slick with sweat and sticky with the remnants of your shared releases, he still wraps his arms around you at the end, pulling his arms around you and running a reassuring hand along your back.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, Satoru plants a surprisingly soft kiss onto your lips before resting his chin against the top of your head. He sighs contentedly when you nuzzle closer to him. 

When the sun begins to peek through the curtains, Satoru finally peels his eyes open. He blinks at the sudden intrusion of light, body still readjusting to the loss of the drug that you graciously helped empty from his system. 

His hands reach out, patting along the mattress in search of your familiar warmth, only to find it empty and cold. Lifting his head out with arms outstretched along the mattress, he finds you, showered and fully clothed, on your knees and digging into the pockets of his discarded trousers.

He stifles a laugh at the determined look on your face, bracing himself onto his elbows as he simply watches you with an expression close to endearment. 

When you finally find what you’re searching for (which he figures out to be the stolen keys), you lift it triumphantly in front of you, dangling it just like he did hours before with a wide grin. Looking up, you find him already awake and your face drops to a not so terrifying scowl before rising to your feet.

His eyes stay locked on your face as he rests his cheek against his open palm. “Find what you’re looking for?” 

You march up to the bed, gripping the keys tightly between your fingers. “You’re never allowed in my home again. I’m taking these,” you dangle them in front of him. “And changing the locks just in case.”

He simply shrugs, eyes never leaving your face. “Whatever, man. I’ll just blow the door off the hinges next time.”

“You— What?” your face drops, and he bites his lip to hold in his laughter.

“You heard me. If you think about it, me stealing your keys is a gift. Unless you want a broken door, which, in that case…” he trails off when you turn and reach for a discarded pillow, spinning around to slam it against his face. 

He closes his eyes, willing himself to teleport back to his own apartment, and your pillow aimed for his head instead collides with the destroyed bedsheets. 

"He's probably late," Panda adds helpfully with a thoughtful nod.

"Yeah, no fucking shit Sherlock," she scoffs and whacks him across the head with the stick, which results in another long winded, and slightly onesided, argument. You rub a hand across your face and groan, sparing a glance at the silent cursed speech user who watches the exchange with a faint hint of amusement in his gaze.

“Enough. He's here," you jerk your head in the direction which he's coming from, trailing behind him are the first years.

All three of the second years snap their heads towards him, silently watching as he practically skips towards you.

"Well well well. If it isn't my favourite L/N!" he calls out, leaning down so his face is level with yours.

"I'm the only L/N you know," you roll your eyes and reach up to shove his face away from you, but your hand collides with his invisible barrier before dropping to your side. Instead, you step to the side, out of his line of sight. "Idiot."

He chuckles and stands straight again, shoving his hands in his pockets. You aren't necessarily short, but he still towers above you. You don't give him the satisfaction of tilting your head up to meet his blindfolded eyes which you can practically feel boring into your face, instead opting to glare intently at his chest as he steps in front of you once more.

He leans down again, hands still shoved into his pockets and head tilted slightly. His lips are curled into a devilish smirk when he pulls the black fabric up to his forehead, revealing his bright cerulean eyes which are transfixed on you.

You meet his eyes now, your lips curling into a disgusted snarl. "What?"

He's about to open his mouth to speak when the pink haired boy calls out to him, "Uh, Gojo-Sensei?"

His head snaps towards him and he straightens up again. "Huh?"

"What's going on?" he rubs his neck sheepishly with a boyish and slightly apologetic grin.

The girl, who you recognise as Nobara from the many reports thrown at you by the white haired freak in front of you, elbows him sharply in the ribs eliciting a loud 'Ow!' from him.

"What the hell was that for?"

She glares at him before muttering sharply, "Why would you interrupt them?"

"What? They're just staring at each other?" he looks from you, to Gojo, then back to Nobara with furrowed eyebrows.

The courtyard suddenly feels a little too quiet, save for Yuji’s beautifully oblivious confusion.

Gojo’s smirk doesn't fade; if anything, it widens at the first-years' reactions. He lets the blindfold snap back into place over those brilliant blue eyes, though the smug energy radiating off him doesn't diminish in the slightest.

"Ah, youth," Gojo sighs dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as if deeply moved. "So impatient, so blind to the delicate nuances of camaraderie!"

“Camaraderie my ass," you mutter under your breath, finally looking away from his chest to cross your arms tightly. "You're late. Again. Some of us actually have schedules to keep, Gojo."

“Maki-chan! Did you hear that?" Gojo gasps, turning to the second-years for backup. "Y/N is being mean to me again!"

“Good," Maki says flatly, resting her sparring stick over her shoulders. "She should've hit you, too. Why are the first-years even here? I thought this was our training session."

“Tuna mayo," Inumaki chimes in, nodding in agreement as he adjusts his high collar.

Nobara, meanwhile, is still glaring daggers at Yuji, who is actively trying to nurse his bruised ribs. Megumi stands a few paces back from the rest of them, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking like he would rather be literally anywhere else on the planet.

"Don't look at me," Megumi says, catching your eye with a look of profound, shared exhaustion. "He dragged us out here. He wouldn't say why."

"Because!" Gojo claps his hands together, the sudden loud sound drawing everyone's attention back to him. He steps into the center of the courtyard, spinning around to face all of you with a theatrical flourish. "Today we are doing a joint tactical exercise! First-years versus Second-years!"

A collective groan ripples through the students.

"And what exactly are you doing?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

Gojo beams, pointing a thumb at his own chest.

"I, obviously, am the prize! Whoever wins gets to spend the day with me. And Y/N here will be the supreme judge, referee, and target coordinator. Isn't that exciting?"

"I'm going to report you to Yaga," you say instantly, already turning on your heel to leave.

Before you can even take a step, a heavy arm drapes casually over your shoulders. You tense, waiting for the impact, but of course, Infinity keeps him perfectly suspended just millimeters away from actually touching you. He leans in close, his voice dropping to a playful whisper right next to your ear.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. Don't be a spoilsport. Maybe after we can go out, if you're good."

The heavy weight of his arm—or rather, the uncanny pressure of the Infinity barrier hovering just a millimeter above your shoulders—makes you stiffen. You glare sideways at him, though all you get is the view of his sharp jawline and that infuriating, blindfolded smirk.

“I’d rather throw you off a cliff," you say, your voice dripping with faux sweetness.

"Aw, details, details!" Gojo laughs, finally releasing you with a dramatic shrug that sends his hands right back into his pockets. He turns to face the students, clapping his hands together once to shatter the awkward tension Yuji had so beautifully created. "Alright, listen up, kids! Since Y/N is being a total party pooper, I will be directing today’s festivities."

“Which means it's going to be unorganized chaos," Nobara grumbled, though she still stepped forward, crossing her arms and sizing up the second-years. Her eyes locked onto Maki. "So. First-years versus second-years. What are the rules, Sensei?"

"Rules? Haven't you learnt anything in the past month?" Gojo shoots the young girl an incredulous look. "There are no rules! Well, just don't kill each other. I guess that's the only rule."

You shake your head with a sigh before stepping in front of him and addressing the students, "Let's get started then. Take your positions."

You take a step back towards the wooden frame of the training building, leaning your shoulder against it and crossing your arms tightly. Gojo, entirely unaware—or just entirely unbothered—by your hostile attitude, glides over to join you. The two of you stand in silence, side-by-side, content to watch the exercise play out.

In the courtyard, the "joint tactical exersice" begins. Or rather, it dissolves into a complete joke.

Without any actual structure, the students face off, but it's instantly clear that the gap in experience is entirely lopsides. Maki parries a screaming Nobara with a lazy, single-handed flick of her staff, looking entirely bored. Yuji lunges at Panda, who doesn't even bother to dodge. Megumi and Inumaki are practically standing still, trading half-hearted steps.

“This is pathetic. What have you been teaching them?" you murmur with a low, heavy breath.

Beside you, Gojo lets out a soft, amused hum. He isn't watching the students with the proud eyes of a teacher, his blindfolded face is tilted slightly towards you, attention lingering on the sharp edges of your locked jaw.

“Give them time," he responds before turning away and clapping his hands once. "Alright! Y/N here is getting bored, and, frankly, so am I. Everyone separate!"

The students begrudgingly step away from each other, looking like they'd rather be anywhere else in the world. The only one who looks remotely excited is Yuji, who's still sporting a bright and boyish grin.

"Hm, what do you think Y/N?" he taps a long finger against his chin. "Think they could use a demonstration?"

"Oh, yeah? You want me to kick your ass like I used to back in the day?" you say with a chuckle, grinning up at him as you recall all the times

"No way," Yuji exclaims and all eyes turn to him once more. Nobara groans dramatically. "You used to kick Gojo-Sensei's ass?"

Gojo throws his head back in a mocking laugh, ruffling your hair playfully to which you scoff and shove him away from you. "Oh, I used to go easy on little Y/N over here, you know, since she's so tiny and all," he wiggles his index finger in your face. "Don't get too cocky."

“I'm not tiny, you're just a giant," you mumble, his smirk widens at your words and he just shrugs.

You reach up to gather your hair up into a ponytail, pulling a plain black hair tie from your wrist and securing it against your hair before tightening it once more just for good measure. God knows how many times Gojo ripped off your hairbands mid spar.

He watches you, and once again you can feel his eyes through the blindfold. His lips are slightly parted as he watches you, looking completely mesmerised by you tying up your hair to prepare for him.

"Fine. Let's give them a demonstration."

His mouth snaps shut and the agonisingly familiar grin is back in place as if it never left. You don't miss the sharp gulp he takes that makes his Adam's apple bob delicately.

* * *

The next couple minutes pass in a blur. He manages to land several heavy hits on you, but you hold your ground and do the same. Dodging when necessary and hitting at every opening you get. You can feel your ribs beginning to bruise, and the heavy panting mixed with the blood coating Gojo's face tells you he is experiencing the same pain as you.

His fist suddenly collides with your cheek, snapping your head to the left and knocking the breath right out of you. The metallic taste of blood floods your mouth but you keep it contained, ducking in time before his other fist meets your jaw once more.

With your head still pounding from the force of the punches he's been landing on you continunously, (seriously, what was this guy made of?) you manage to land a counterattack on his own face, then another one, and another one on top of that. Blood drips from his nose in a thin trail and he brings up a hand to wipe at it. Instead of scowling like you, his lips part before a manic grin envelopes his face.

You're both panting heavily, and you take the opening to drive your knee against his groin, but he's too quick. He slams his fist against your chest, sending you stumbling backwards.

“Not bad, Y/N! But not good enough," he suddenly yanks the blindfold down to his neck, his eyes glowing with a predatory gleam before he charges at you. His legs swing out to sweep you completely off your feet, but you anticipate the move, vaulting over his leg and using his own momentum against him to drive him into the dirt.

"Got you," you breathe out after dropping your weight entirely on his chest, your knees digging into the dirt on either side of his waist.

For a fraction of a second, Gojo freezes. Genuine shock flickers across his features—the rare, beautiful sight of Satoru Gojo being caught completely off guard.

Then, his expression fractures into something terrifyingly bright. "Did you?"

Before the words fully register, his knee drives upward with violent accuracy, striking you dead-center right against your core. The sharp, agonizing impact hits your groin and lower abdomen, shattering your focus. Air completely leaves your lungs in a ragged gasp, your vision flashing white for a split second.

He capitalizes on the opening instantly. With a fluid, brutal twist of his hips, Gojo flips the positions.

The world spins, and suddenly you're the one slammed into the dirt, the wind knocked out of you a second time. Before you can even attempt to recover, his massive frame is heavy on top of you, pinning you down. You frantically try to wrench your arms free to strike or buck him off, but he slams his hands down over your wrists, pinning them securely into the dirt above your head. Simultaneously, his heavy knees drive down onto your thighs, completely locking your legs in place.

You're left entirely immobilized.

Gojo leans down, dropping his weight until his face is mere inches from yours. The black fabric of his blindfold is no longer there, so you can feel the absolute, suffocating intensity of his gaze boring into you. His breath is hot against your skin, sending a involuntary shiver down your spine.

He tilts his head, his lips curling into a dark, private smirk as he prepares to whisper something directly against your ear.

But you don't give him the satisfaction.

Gathering the metallic mixture of saliva and blood welling up in your mouth, you spit it directly into his face, where it lands directly on his cheek and the edge of his jaw.

The courtyard goes deathly quiet. You can practically hear the collective, terrified intake of breath from the first and second-years watching from the sidelines. Nobody does that to Satoru Gojo and lives.

You brace for the impact of his anger, for the cold, lethal aura of the strongest sorcerer to crush you.

Instead, Gojo pauses. He slowly pulls back just enough to look down at you. The expression on his face isn't anger—it's something far worse. His features twist, turning entirely feral, his eyes wide and wild as he regards you. The smirk on his lips stretches wider, jagged and sharp.

Slowly, deliberately, his tongue darts out, licking a streak of the blood away from the corner of his mouth.

"Oh," Gojo purrs, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous vibration that resonates right against your chest. "Now you're just spoiling me, Y/N."

You let out a disgruntled noise, looking up at him in disgust and squirming beneath him to try and shove him off.

But Gojo doesn't budge. Instead, his grin sharpens, turning into something entirely predatory. Before you can even attempt to leverage your weight against him, his hand moves with blinding speed, wrapping securely around the front of your neck. He doesn't choke you, but the firm, heavy pressure of his palm against your throat completely pins your head back into the dirt, freezing you in place.

"Now, now," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly register that vibrates right against your skin. "That wasn't very polite, L/N."

With his other hand completely freeing your wrists, you instantly try to bring your arms up to strike him, but his weight is shifted so heavily over your torso and legs that you can barely find the leverage.

Gojo ignores your thrashing. He takes his free hand, using his fingers to deliberately wipe the mixture of your blood, saliva, and his own cold sweat from his jawline. His face leans down even closer, looming over you like a shadow, completely blocking out the sun.

With a slow, agonizingly deliberate movement, he presses his wet, smeared fingers directly against your lips, rubbing the fluid harshly across your mouth to force you to taste it.

Your eyes widen with pure, unadulterated fury. The moment his index finger presses hard against your lips, you don't hesitate—you part your teeth and bite down on his finger with everything you have.

You bite to hurt, your jaw locking like a vice, clamping down until you taste the sharp, metallic tang of his blood filling your mouth.

A sharp, sudden intake of air hitches in Gojo's throat. For a split second, his grip on your neck tightens instinctively in response to the pain, his body tensing completely over yours. But he doesn't pull away.

"Feral," he whispers, his voice practically a growl against your face, a jagged, thrilled smile cutting across his lips despite the pain. "I like it."

His warm blood fills your mouth and you fight the urge to gag, bringing up your own fingers to shove them right into his bright blue eyes. He makes a noise from the back of his throat before his grip loosens and he pulls away from you, untightening his legs around you and stepping away.

You scramble to your feet instantly, leaning to the side slightly to spit out a dark, thick glob of his blood onto the dirt. You wipe the back of your hand harshly across your mouth, smearing the remaining crimson along your cheek as you look up at him.

Gojo's eyes are no longer on you, though. Instead, they're locked on the blood pooling around his fingers and the deep teeth marks engraved into his skin. His eyes are wide and glowing, lips parted in an expression of shock.

"You fucking psycho," you hiss, your voice raspy and laced with venom.

He looks at you as if finally noticing you again, mouth curling into a crazed grin. "Ah, watch your language around the kids."

The kids! You had entirely forgotten they had been watching you, and you immediately snap your head in their direction to find every single one of their eyes on you, their jaws slack. Yuji is pointing towards Gojo and whispering frantically to Nobara who has a palm slapped across her mouth.

“L/N-Sensei, are you okay?" a tentative voice calls out. You don't turn your head to find out who, nor do you bother with a response. Your feet drag you away from the students and towards Gojo, who's still watching you with a sickening smirk. He opens his mouth to make another crass comment, but your shoulder collides with his and he stumbles slightly with a soft 'Oof.'

You continue walking away, ignoring his mocking laughter and the feeling of his eyes drilling holes into the back of your skull, letting your legs pull you to someplace, anyplace, where he would not follow. You can't find it in yourself to care that you're setting a bad example for the kids.

"Same time next week?" he calls out, and you can practically hear the smug smile in his voice. It's almost enough for you to turn around and rip open his neck with your teeth. Almost.

You don't stop walking.

You hadn’t cleared a single objective.

You were more unsettled now than when you had first arrived. The Earth Kingdom delegates viewed you with newfound suspicion after your blunt exchange with the Avatar, and you were further from understanding the enemy than ever.

The walk back to the Earth Kingdom quarters was another exercise in patience. The area was a labyrinth of scaffolding and half-finished brickwork, and you struggled to manoeuvre your way around the bustling crowds. The other delegates spared you no mind, too engrossed by Aang’s radical vision. Their voices were hushed as they debated about his idea for a united republic.

You, like many of the others, were initially confused as to why the meeting was called in this developing area. But things were beginning to make sense.

Once inside the colonial-style manor assigned to your delegation, you retreated to your chambers. You locked the door, the heavy thud of the bolt offering a momentary reprieve. You didn't relax; instead, you performed a professional sweep of the room—checking the floorboards, the window frame, and the wardrobes. Only then did you sit at the scarred wooden desk.

You pulled out your bag, placing it down on the desk. To an ordinary person, it would appear as an ordinary bag filled with ordinary notes of trade and letters of politics. You run your fingers across the leather, letting them graze against an opening which you pry open gently, revealing a hidden compartment.

Inside revealed a cipher, some plain paper and a worn photograph. With gentle hands, you pull it out and place it flat against the oak surface. 

Your fingers linger against the photograph as if trying to reach inside in hopes of grabbing onto the only image of your family. Your eyes frantically look across the image, trying to memorise the faces that you hadn’t seen in far too long. With every passing moment, they seemed to appear further and further away, fading into nothingness. Their voices were difficult to remember—in fact, it seemed as though it was erased from your memory entirely.

You let your eyes trail over their features once more in an attempt to engrain their faces into your mind before you felt your throat beginning to tighten. The familiar feeling of anger and malice returned to your chest, and you blinked rapidly to prevent the traitorous tears from falling. 

Closing your eyes, your mind drifted off to the bald headed monk you previously had the displeasure of conversing with, and your hands clenched into fists against the desk. You let out a tranquil breath, but your head was far from at ease. It pounded with a whirlwind of emotions as you tried to summon the half-forgotten voices of your parents and the contagious laughter of your brother.

You slammed your fists suddenly against the table and abruptly stood up, smoothing your crinkled dress and wiping frantically at your eyes. 

Had it not been for the Avatar’s cowardice and the Fire Lord's evil ancestors, perhaps your family would still be alive. 

None of your objectives were cleared, sure—but you knew one thing for certain. You were not leaving this place without ending the Avatar's life. 

You had intended to slip away to the back of the room, perhaps playing the role of a wallflower, but the Avatar had other plans. Spotting you immediately near the entrance, he caught your eye and waved you over with an enthusiastic gesture, calling your name over the low chatter of the room. With every eye in the delegation turning to you, you had no choice but to cross the floor and take the empty seat he offered.

Sitting down amongst Aang and his inner circle felt entirely surreal. As you watched them exchange inside jokes and lighthearted banter, a heavy sense of displacement settled in your chest. It felt awkward, strange, and entirely dangerous. You knew you weren't meant to be there.

They had all greeted you and introduced themselves cheerfully, completely unaware that you already knew exactly who they were. You knew a monumental amount more about them than any ordinary citizen was supposed to. When they turned their attention to you and asked about yout background, you gleefully answered, forcing a bright, engaging warmth into your tone. They cluelessly continued the conversation, blissfully blind to the fact that every single one of your answers was carefully rehearesed and entirely falsified.

Your eyes roamed over their figures while maintaining your polite smile. The blind girl in green was much shorter than you, a sly smirk plastered permanently onto her face, her dark hair woven into a neat and practical updo.

To anyone else—someone who was completely ignorant of her reputation—she would be an easy opponent, the easiest opponent out of the entire group. But to you, you who had been studying them for as long as you can remember, you knew this would be rather difficult. Her lack of sight was not a weakness, in fact it could be classed as a strength. She was arguably the most dangerous obstacle in the room.

Zuko was the biggest of the bunch, wearing heavy, formal Fire Nation robes that did little to hide his athletic frame. He sat with perfect, militrary posture, but his eyes constantly flickered to the corners of the room. Following his gaze, you noted elite Fire Nation guards stationed at the doors, hands rested heavily on the hilts of their swords and eyes tracking every unfamiliar movement in the hall. Getting past them would be a nightmare, and any sudden strike on the Avatar would lead to a bloodbath.

Then there was Katara. A water bender. You hadn't crossed paths with many water benders in your lifetime, but you were aware of her history; how she was the last bender of the Southern Water Tribe and how she helped the North evade total destruction by the fire nation. Tales of her ruthlessness mixed with her kindness were known to you, and many others. After all, news travelled quite fast.

It was painfully obvious that Sokka was the easiest opponent. Besides the fact that he was a non-bender, like you, he seemed to be a bit… immature. He was too loud, too easily distracted.

You had been taught how to wield a blade in the dark. You had been forced to study human anatomy, learning how to play doctor to maintain a cover, and exactly which arteries to sever to guarantee a kill. You were prepared for combat, for espionage, and for a grueling war. But absolutely no amount of rigorous preparation could have ever equipped you for the sheer, agonising frustration of having to watch the Avatar have fun.

The familiar knot in your chest returned, and your fingers itched in your lap to reach up and ruthlessly murder Aang right here, right now. Your let your mind wander, imagining the screams of his precious group, the look of horror in their eyes, perhaps mirroring the look you had when you held your brothers dead body in your arms. You can't help but smile fondly at the thought.

"Y/N?" a soft voice calls from your left, snapping you out of your thoughts and back to reality. Right. It would be a long time before you could witness his lifeless body.

You're met with the crinkly-eyed kind smile of Katara, and your genuine smile turns stiff as you address her. "Sorry, I zoned out for a moment. What were you saying?"

"It's alright, it happens," she nods, she didn't look bothered by it at all. Instead, she looked quite amused. "Aang was asking you a question."

You turn to him expectantly, your hands unconsciously clenching, nails digging almost painfully in your palm as you meet his warm gaze with a cold one of your own. He smiles brightly when your gaze lands on him.

"I was wondering if you'd like to see the landscaping plan for Republic City."

"What?" you sputter, eyebrows scrunching in confusion. How could he trust you, someone who he had just met, with such a huge thing?

"What?" he echoes, mirroring your confused gaze before turning to look at his friends who just shrugged. "Did I say something wrong?" he asks to nobody in particular, and they all turn to look at you.

You clear your throat, "No, I'm just a bit surprised, that's all."

"By what, exactly?"

"By… why me?" you question with a slight tilt of your head.

"What do you mean?" he mirrors your expression again, tilting his head in the same degree as you. You fight the frustration that bubbles in your stomach, unsure if he was feigning cluelessness or just outright stupid. From the corner of your eye, you spot Zuko face palming.

"I assume you haven't shown anyone else from the delegations any landscaping plans?" he nods in response. "So, how comes you're showing me?"

"Ah," he smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his fingers. "I know not everyone agrees with me, it is to be expected. It's just…" he looks over at Katara, who nods at him in what appears to be approval. "People don't admit it to my face, you know? I can see it in their eyes that they hate the idea of it, but they don't say anything in fear of offending me."

"I see."

"And it's not like I would get offended. I don't get offended. And you—" he finally meets your eyes again, pausing for a second. "Well, you weren't afraid to tell me your thoughts. I like that. I want to hear everyones true thoughts and reach a good conclusion, thats why I invited everyone here, not for them to just whisper amongst themselves as if I can't handle a bit of criticism. I'm a grown—"

"Alright, alright. She gets it," the blind girl steps in, placing a hand on his arm with a condescending pat. You look around and notice Sokka holding a hand to his mouth in an attempt to hold back his laughter. Zuko and Katara seem to be engaged in their own conversation, completely oblivious to their friends rambling.

"Sorry. I'm a bit excited," he chuckles. "I just wish everyone else was too, you know?"

"Yeah, I understand." you didn't understand, it was a foolish idea. "I guess they're afraid of you."

"Afraid? Of me?" he turns to look at Toph and Sokka, but they too, like Zuko and Katara, have moved slightly away to talk about something else entirely.

"I mean, yeah. You're the Avatar," you gesture to the bright blue arrow on his forehead.

"Really?" he looks up in thought, tapping a long finger on his chin. "I always assumed they thought I was too sensitive, or something. But I would never hurt somebody over a small disagreement."

You nod, unsure of how to respond.

He looks at you for a moment, frowning slightly at your lack of response. "Sooo, what do you think? You wanna see it?"

Not really. "Sure, I'd love to." you lie with a smile. After all, it'll be useful information for your people.

He claps his hands together joyously, eyes crinkling in the corners as a wide smile takes over his features. You look away to try and school your own expression into one of tranquility, irritated by the fact that you were currently his source of joy, rather than his source of pain.

"Great! I'll take you right now."

"Wha— now? Like, right now? What about the banquet?" you question, confused.

"Pfft, they won't even notice I'm gone. Come on!" he gestures wildly for you to follow him and you fight the urge to throw your head back and groan. Realising it would be plain rude for you to ignore him, your feet subconsciously follow him as he walks slightly ahead of you.

People parted like a river as he walked through the hall. He maintained his bright, effortless smile, tossing out casual greetings to people you did not know while you trailed a step behind.

Without warning he came to an abrupt halt, turning his head over his shoulder to ensure you were still there, causing you to almost collide with the muscular expanse of his back.

He led you through a maze of quieter corridors, away from the clinking glasses and lively chatter of the banquet. You noted every exit, every shadow, and the distinct lack of guards. He was completely unprotected. They won't even notice I'm gone, were his exact words. Would they notice if he suddenly disappeared without a trace?

When he pushed open the heavy wooden doors to a spacious war room, the sudden silence was deafening. Maps and architectural sketches littered the tables, held down by unpolished stones.

The weight of the obsidian pin in your hair suddenly felt unbearably heavy. Your hands were itching at your sides to pull it free from your scalp, letting your hair loose and driving it through his back. He was right here. It would be easy. Quick. Perhaps even painless.

You tried to push the reckless thoughts aside, if he were murdered here, everyone would know who the murderer was. They all watched him walk out, alone, with you. There'd be a target on your back for the rest of your life, and on the Order. No, you had to gain his trust first.

"You're overly trusting." you mumble, unable to contain your thoughts at his utterly strange behaviour. It felt like some sort of test, one that you were worried you'd fail.

He doesn't seem the least bit surprised or even worried at your accusation, instead he lets out a boisterous laugh. "What are you gonna do? Feed my plans to your secret anti-Avatar group who wants to kill me?"

Your jaw almost drops for a second. "W-What?"

"Relax, I'm just joking. I have a good intuition, I can tell when a person is out to get me and when they're not!"

"That must come in handy," you laugh worriedly at the irony of his words, and he—even more ironically—laughs along with you.

"It really does. Anyways," he pulls out a large roll of paper with a boyish grin, stretching it out across the wide, circular table and pinning it down with a couple rocks. "Behold!"

You tilt your head as you step beside him. The sheet of paper wasnt what you expected. There was a rough sketch of an island, the very island you were standing on right now, dotted with a cluster of buildings. Detailed diagrams, illustrations and hurried annotations cramped the corners.

A park, a school, a police station, a pool. Houses, more houses, a bunch of houses.

But what caught your eyes were the silly little doodles scattering the margins, you let your fingers linger over the fresh ink.

"Oh, that was Sokka." Aang explains, noticing your hand running along some messy writing that reads 'Sokka statue!!!!' complete with a large, crude smiley face beside it.

"I figured," you say with a laugh and he chuckles with you. "It's a lot of buildings."

"Yeah, I mean, I want there to be a lot of houses for people. And places to work. Lots of buildings are needed for that."

"But what nation would it be under? The Fire Nation?" you question with a quirk of your brow.

He pauses, looking up in thought with widened gray eyes. "Huh. I hadn't really thought about that."

"It used to be under the Earth Nation, no?"

"Yeah, but then it fell under the Fire Nations control until Zuko and the Earth King signed the treaty. Do you think it should be under the Earth Kingdom? But, I mean, it was mine and Zukos idea."

"So, it should be under the Fire Nation?" you ask, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He looks like he's about to nod, his mouth opening in response. "But then the Earth Kingdom would be unhappy. And I'm not just saying that because I'm from there. The same goes for the other way round."

His gray eyes widen and he nods rapidly in acknowledgment and understanding. "You're right! We cannot have people unhappy. That defeats the whole purpose," he sighs, reaching up to place a large, warm hand on your shoulder. You stiffen immediately at the contact. He pats it in an obliviously friendly manner. "I'm glad I brought you here. You're really smart! Me and the others didn't think about that."

He's looks down at you with a wide smile, his eyes shining at your revelation and his heavy hand still resting uncomfortably on your shoulder. Your own hands are clenched tightly at your sides, nails digging painfully into your palms, your lips pressed into a flat line.

Slowly, you drag your gaze over to the hand on your shoulder, then back at his face. You're about to kindly request he take his hands off of you when a look of horror passes over his face. He snaps his hand back as if he's been burned, taking a couple steps back. You instinctively step back too, the space between you increasing.

"I am so sorry! That was rude of me, I didn't mean to cross a boundary. Sorry."

The sheer look of mortification on his face catches you completely off guard, easing your racing mind just enough that you let out a stunned laugh.

"It's okay, you're fine." you say with a genuine huff of amusement.

Aang emits a massive sigh of relief, the horror draining from his face to make room for his usual dopey smile and bright eyes.

"Sorry," he sheepishly repeats. "I'm just so glad! We should probably head back before they start looking for us, though."

You raise an eyebrow with a sly smirk as he begins clearing the table, "I thought they wouldn't even notice that you're gone?"

He shrugs noncommittaly, rolling up the large map of plans swiftly before tucking it back into the corner where he found it. "Well… usually Sokka notices I'm gone when the food runs out. Then he makes it everyones business."

Shaking your head with a laugh, you fall into step beside him once more as he holds the door open and lets you pass through first.

The halls are no longer empty, but Aang effortlessly guides you through like before. Him in front of you, you a couple paces behind.

This time, he doesn't turn to check if you're still following him.

Frustrated, you sat up straight and slammed your palm against the horn. A sharp, futile blare cut through the air. You knew it wouldn’t help, but the inaction was suffocating.

You leaned back again, eyes scanning your surroundings for any empty parking spaces. At this rate, you would have better luck parking out here and making a run for it to the hospital than waiting in the seemingly never ending traffic.

To your annoyance, every square inch of curb was occupied, and the few legal spots left were too far out of reach.

Your hand darted to your phone. Double-tapping the screen, the digital numbers glared back at you: 12:23 PM. Over twenty minutes late. At this rate, the shift would be halfway over before you even crossed the threshold. Defeated, you gripped the steering wheel, trapped in the agonizing limbo of waiting and praying for the traffic to break.

When the traffic finally parted, you didn't waste a second. Your heels clacked sharply against the concrete floor of the parking garage as you hurried toward the towering medical center. The building loomed over you, a monolith of concrete and glass stretching endlessly into the gray sky.

A few yards ahead, another person dashed through the sliding doors, looking just as disheveled—likely another victim of the gridlock. Unlike them, you paused at the entrance, catching your reflection in a small compact mirror. You checked for dark circles, smoothed down a few frantic flyaways, and took a deep, centering breath. Look professional, you reminded yourself, before squaring your shoulders and speed-walking through the entrance.

The automatic glass doors parted with a soft hiss, instantly swallowing the city's noise and replacing it with the sterile hum of a bustling hospital. The air smelled faintly of bleach and rubbing alcohol. The chaotic symphony of squeaking sneakers, muted conversations, and the rhythmic beeping of medical equipment washed over you.

Darting your eyes across the lobby, you spotted the main reception desk and marched over. The woman behind the counter was utterly engrossed in her computer, the blue light reflecting off her sharp features. She didn't even glance up as you stopped in front of her.

You hesitated, clearing your throat. Nothing. The rapid clicking of her keyboard continued uninterrupted, as if you were invisible.

"Excuse me?" you murmured, a flush of embarrassment warming your cheeks as she finally paused. "I'm here as a volunteer."

The receptionist straightened, adjusting the nametag pinned to her crisp uniform. Bora.

She looked you up and down, her lip curling into a critical line as she finally made eye contact. "You're over forty minutes late."

"I know, I'm so sorry. There was a massive—"

"Traffic? Yes, I'm aware," Bora cut in, her voice dripping with ice. "I also know three other volunteers who took the exact same route and managed to arrive on time—if not early." She leaned back in her swivel chair, crossing her arms. Her intense gaze pinned you to the spot, making you look down in sudden shame. Forty minutes? Time had slipped through your fingers faster than you realized.

"I—"

"Listen," Bora interrupted again, "I know you're not getting paid to be here, but if you're just trying to pass the time, the exit is right behind you. The patients here actually need help. We don’t have time to mess around." She pointed a manicured finger toward the glass doors.

A spark of defiance flared beneath your embarrassment. If she cut you off one more time, you might actually take her up on the offer.

"I apologize," you said, forcing your voice to remain steady and uninterrupted. "I am here to help. Trust me, Bora, it won't happen again."

"It better not. Do you even know where you're going?"

"I was told someone would brief me at the front desk," you explained, trying to ignore her blatant hostility.

"Well, since you've wasted half your orientation time, you'll have to figure it out as you go. Name?"

"Y/N," you muttered.

She didn't reply, her fingers flying across the keyboard once more. After a tense moment, she spun her chair around to the printer behind her, impatiently ripping a fresh sheet of paper from the tray.

Spinning back, she thrust the paper into your hands. "Take this to Dr. Han's office to get your supplies. Down that corridor," she gestured vaguely down a long, sterile hallway to her right. "His name is on the door. You can't miss it."

"Am I just delivering prescriptions?" you asked, scanning the list of names.

Bora let out a heavy, irritated sigh. It was crystal clear: she despised you on principle. Sure, you were late, but the sheer attitude felt entirely uncalled for.

"You'll deliver prescriptions, sanitize the rooms, and assist the patients with basic needs," she snapped. "If it's a medical emergency, you call a nurse or a doctor. Got it?"

"Yeah. Thanks." You forced a polite smile, but she only offered a scowl and a dramatic roll of her eyes before turning back to her monitor.

So much for a good first impression.

Walking down the seemingly endless hallway, you studied the document Bora had given you. It contained seven names printed in bold, black ink, each followed by a room number, a diagnosis, and a list of medications. You frowned, trying to pronounce the complex, foreign names of the pills. At least your job was just to deliver them, not mix them.

Realizing you’d lost track of your surroundings, you looked up from the page and began scanning the identical wooden doors lining the corridor. A few doors down, a silver plaque caught your eye: Dr. Han.

You knocked gently. A muffled, calm voice drifted from inside. "Come in."

Pushing the door open, you stepped into a quiet, sunlit office. A man sat behind a mahogany desk, looking surprisingly young—perhaps only a few years older than you. His dark hair was styled back, and a pair of reading glasses rested on top of his head. For a brief second, you caught your breath. Are all the doctors here this attractive?

"May I help you?" he asked, tilting his head with a polite, curious expression.

"Are you Dr. Han?" You stepped further into the room, letting the door click shut behind you. "I'm the new volunteer. Bora sent me down."

Understanding washed over his features, and a warm smile replaced his professional mask. Standing up, he gestured toward the paper in your hand. "Could I see that list, please?"

You handed it over and watched silently as he navigated the room. He moved with a practiced, fluid grace, pulling specific medicine bottles from the heavily stocked shelves without a single moment of hesitation. He clearly knew this inventory like the back of his hand.

Left alone at his desk, curiosity got the better of you. Your eyes drifted across his workspace, skipping past the keyboard and settling on a file folder left open. Attached to the top corner was a photo of two young men, flanked by dense medical jargon. Because of the distance, you had to squint to make out the text.

Park Jimin... and J—

Before you could decipher the second name, the rustle of Dr. Han’s coat signaled his return. You quickly took a step back, heat rising to your face. The last thing you needed was to look nosy on your first day.

Dr. Han set a medium-sized gray tray on the desk, carefully arranging the prescription bottles atop your original sheet of paper so the names remained visible. "It's lightweight enough to hold with one hand if you keep it balanced," he advised kindly. Then, he looked up, his eyes twinkling. "So, what caught you up? You're quite late."

"Oh. Traffic was a nightmare," you replied, offering a sheepish smile and bracing yourself for another lecture.

Instead, Dr. Han let out a soft chuckle and slid back into his office chair. "I take it Bora already gave you the third degree?"

You nodded ruefully, tracing the rim of the plastic tray.

"I apologize for her," he said, rolling his chair a bit closer to his desk. "She can be a handful to deal with."

"It's alright. I get why she's upset. First impressions and all."

"True, but she's probably just extra cranky because you're assigned to 'her boys.'" He rolled his eyes, a hint of playful disdain in his voice.

You blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing. Don't worry about it," Dr. Han smoothly deflected, picking up a pen. "You should probably get moving before she comes looking for you. Come back and see me when you're finished with the rounds."

Though you were still thoroughly perplexed by what he meant with ‘her boys’, you decided against questioning him again in fear of wasting more time. You instead offered a quick, grateful goodbye and hastily made your way out of his room.

With the heavy gray tray in hand, you let your eyes read over the list of names and their assigned rooms. The first name on the list was Jeon Jeongguk, and as you went further down you recognised a familiar name: Park Jimin. Your stomach did a slight flip. If only you had worn your contacts today, or even brought your glasses with you, maybe you could’ve finished reading whatever was on the Doctor’s note.

A sudden wave of guilt washed over you and you shook your head to rid yourself of the feeling. You weren’t here to pry or be nosy. You were here to help these patients.

You finally came to a pause in front of Jeongguk's door. It was identical to Dr. Hans—heavy, sterile wood—except this time the words written in bold black ink were his name.

You flip the sheet of paper in the tray over, careful not to drop anything and continue reading over it. Jeongguk’s name was written again, and written beside it the words ‘Eating Disorder’ were written in italics.

Your eyebrows knit together in mild confusion. An eating disorder? You looked back up at the heavy wooden door. For some reason, you had expected the patients in this specific wing to have more... severe, behavioral diagnoses. A standard eating disorder usually meant a specialized medical ward, not a high-security, isolated corridor like this one.

Shaking off the thought, you carefully shifted the tray to one hand, raised your knuckles, and knocked softly. "Jeon Jeongguk? I'm coming in."

When no answer came, you gently twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

The room was surprisingly spacious, but completely devoid of any personal touches. No posters, no books, no color. Just a pristine white bed, a small desk, and a large window overlooking the bleak gray sky outside. Sitting on the edge of the bed was a young man.

The moment the door clicked, he flinched, his head snapping toward you. Your breath caught in your throat. He possessed a striking, ethereal kind of beauty, with wide, glassy doe-eyes and soft, youthful features. He looked incredibly fragile, his knees pulled tightly against his chest as he trembled slightly in his standard white hospital scrubs.

"O-Oh," he breathed, his voice soft, airy, and entirely defenseless. He immediately scrambled off the bed, clutching a small, worn plush bunny to his chest. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ignore you. Are you... are you new?"

A wave of instant sympathy washed over you, melting away the tension in your shoulders. "Hi, Jeongguk," you said, offering your warmest smile as you stepped inside. "I'm Y/N, the new volunteer. I just brought your medication."

"Y/N," he repeated, testing your name on his lips. A shy, breathless smile bloomed across his face, and his big eyes crinkled at the corners with what looked like pure, innocent adoration. "That's a really pretty name. Thank you for coming. Most people... most people are mean to me here."

"Well, I won't be," you promised softly, setting the tray on the desk and picking up the small plastic cup.

He stepped closer, his movements hesitant, like a frightened animal trying to trust a new hand. He looked down at the pills, a look of profound sadness washing over his handsome features. "They make me take these because they say I'm sick. They say I don't eat enough. But my stomach just hurts all the time because I'm so lonely."

He looked up at you through his long eyelashes, his gaze intense, completely locking onto yours. There was a desperate, magnetic pull in his eyes that made it impossible to look away. "But I feel better now that you're here. You're going to stay with me, right? You won't leave me like the others?"

"I have to finish making my rounds, Jeongguk," you explained gently, reaching out to hand him the cup. "But I can come back and check on you before my shift ends."

"Promise?" he whispered, taking the cup from you. His fingers brushed against yours, warm and completely gentle. He took the medication without a single complaint, offering you another sweet, boyish smile that made it hard to believe he belonged in a place like this.

He seemed so completely normal. So utterly harmless.

"Thank you, Y/N," he murmured softly, sitting back down on his bed and neatly tucking his plush bunny beside him. "I'll be waiting for you to come back."

You offered him a final, reassuring smile, your heart swelling slightly at how remarkably sweet he was. Turning around, you stepped toward the door, completely relieved that your first interaction had gone so smoothly.

Because your back was turned, you didn't see the exact millisecond his boyish smile dropped. You didn't see the warmth evaporate from his face like a cruel illusion, or how his wide, glassy doe-eyes instantly went entirely blank, dead, and empty. You didn't see him silently mouth your name against the plastic cup, his expression morphing into something cold and unrecognizable as he stared fixedly at the space you had just occupied.

You only paused when a sudden, heavy thud rattled from the wall of the adjacent room.

You jumped slightly, your hand freezing on the door handle. You waited a beat, but the corridor outside remained dead silent. Shaking it off as a stray nurse moving heavy equipment next door, you opened the door and stepped back out into the hallway, letting the heavy wood click shut.