#sti

meanwhile, international scientists: find cures to HPV, blood cancer, colon cancer, pancreatic cancer, and paralysis

gojo supporting you through an HPV diagnosis.

(!) warning: STIs, medical themes, stigma, self-loathing, safe sex.

one partner. that's all it took.

it had been four months since you broke up with naoya zenin. he was your first everything –first kiss, first love, first heartbreak–, a whirlwind romance that started in your early twenties. naoya was arrogant, possessive, the kind of guy who made you feel like you were lucky to be chosen by a zenin heir. sex with him was rushed, selfish –he never bothered with protection half the time, claiming it ‘ruined the moment’. but he was clean. how could he not be? his family was one of the most prestigious in the entire country.

the breakup was messy. he cheated, gaslit you, called you ‘used goods’ when you confronted him. you walked away shattered but determined to rebuild. that's when satoru gojo entered your life –like a comet crashing into your quiet existence.

he was everything naoya wasn't: playful, protective, impossibly strong, and responsible to a fault. you'd met through mutual friends in their anniversary scene; he flirted shamelessly at a group gathering, his dark glasses hiding those piercing blue eyes, but his grin was infectious.

"call me satoru." he'd said, handing you a kikufuku from his endless stash. "and don't worry, i'm not like those other chumps. i come with a warranty –healthy, wealthy, and wise."

you laughed then, but now, months into dating him, those words haunted you. satoru was impeccable. he got regular check-ups, insisted on protection every time things got heated (though you'd only made out so far, respecting your pace), and confessed early on that STDs were his one big fear. "i've seen how much they mess with bodies," he'd said once, half-joking. "i don't mess around with that stuff. clean bill of health, always."

multiple partners in his past? sure, but all vetted, all safe. how could you tell him? that your only ex had given you this invisible scar, this virus that could linger, that might require treatments? you imagined his face twisting in disgust, those infinity barriers he'd joke about suddenly feeling very real between you.

you felt dirty. betrayed. but beyond that –you? of all people? you, who prided yourself on your ability to make the best decisions, on being smart enough not to get swept up in romanticism, on choosing with extreme care the first person to ever be between your legs (or so you thought)... infected? of all the people who had careless flings every friday night and never had anything happen to them? this had to be some kind of sick joke.

it led you to a level of self-loathing so deep that you wept with fury whenever you found yourself alone. your resentment bubbled up, a fountain without a levee.

one evening in his apartment. the shibuya skyline blurred outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, and satoru was sprawled on the couch, his long legs draped over yours as you watched some mindless anime. his hand traced lazy circles on your thigh, innocent enough, but it made your stomach twist.

"satoru." you started, voice barely above a whisper. he paused the show, turning those piercing blue eyes on you.

"what's up, babe? you look like you're about to ride an eva." his grin was teasing, but concern flickered beneath.

what would he think of you, given the secrets he’d shared? it could mean the end of everything before it even truly started, but you valued and respected him too much to betray his trust. you wouldn't do it –not like the way they had betrayed you.

you took a deep breath. "before us... i was with someone. just one person. naoya."

his expression darkened at the name. everyone knew the zenin’s reputation. "that asshole? yeah, i remember. what about him?"

it was now or never. you couldn't turn back, unless you were willing to live in a lie and let the guilt gnaw at your very core.

“i made an appointment with the OB-GYN," you started, your heart racing despite the layers of clothes shielding your vulnerable body. "the other time, when i was in the shower, i felt a small lump near my entrance, and looking closer, i saw there were others." your face flushed deep magenta as you spoke. "i had a feeling it was HPV. i tried to deny it, but it was confirmed. i have it. he's the one who gave it to me. he promised he was clean –said he’d give me his lab results if i wanted– and like a fool, i told him not to bother, when i always promised myself i'd never be that reckless, no matter how much i loved someone. now i’m paying for my trust. now i have to live with this because of someone who never gave a damn about me. it's there. latent. i get it, it's scary and disgusting. if you want to end this, i understand. you're so careful, and i wasn’t, and i don't want to risk–"

"hey, hey." he sat up suddenly as he watched the tears spill over from your guilt-filled eyes. you weren't even aware of it –too preoccupied with finding the words and letting them stumble out, driven by a mix of duty and agony. his arms found their path around you in an instant, pulling your shaking frame close. "stop. it’s okay, alright? it already happened, and it’s normal. i'm not going anywhere." he pulled away just enough for you to catch his expression. his voice was steady, but you saw the flicker in his eyes –the brief widen, the swallow. fear. but he pushed it down. "what matters is that you're doing everything in your power to make sure it doesn't get in the way, right? we'll handle this together, okay?"

you nodded, collapsing into his chest. he held you tight, skin to skin.

later that night, as you slept, satoru stared at the ceiling. it was hard for him –of course, not the way it was for you, but STDs were a vulnerability he avoided like the plague. because they were a plague, somehow.

he’d only had one such scare before with an exchange girl, but after seeing specialists for every inch of the human body and confirming he was clean, he vowed never to get within two meters of that wretched uncertainty again.

but now, everything was different. he was with someone he loved. someone he fell for more each day for your kindness, your real smile, your untainted heart. sure, if he changed his mind now, it wouldn't make him the bad guy; you had only shared it to give him a choice. but he couldn't bear the thought of losing the beauty of what you were building together.

-

next week, satoru insisted on coming to your gyno appointment. "no way you're doing this alone." he said, squeezing your hand in the waiting room.

doctor shoko ieri greeted you both. the smell of nicotine clinging to her coat. "yomu, satoru. come in, please."

she didn't look at you with pity; she’d seen too much of the human condition to be surprised by its fragility. she just tapped the screen of her tablet, the blue light reflecting in her tired eyes.

"let’s clear the air first." she said, her voice as flat and steady as a dial tone. "this isn't a badge of shame, and it’s definitely not about how many people you’ve let into your bed. it’s just... statistics. eight out of ten people are walking around with this ghost in their system. it only takes one person. one time."

she glanced at satoru, then back to you. "the guy you dated could’ve been carrying it for years without a single sign. men are like silent echoes with this stuff –they have it in them, but they never hear it."

you looked down at your lap, the fabric of your clothes suddenly feeling too thin, too permeable.

"don’t worry." shoko continued, her tone softening just a fraction. "condoms aren't a magic shield here. it’s skin-to-skin. it’s the friction of being close. you can do everything 'right' and still end up here. it’s just the tax the world collects for intimacy."

satoru’s thumb traced a nervous, rhythmic line over your knuckles. "the vaccine?" he asked, his voice low, stripped of its usual cockyness.

she nodded. "it’s gardasil. not just for kids anymore. it won't erase what’s already there for you, but it keeps the other, nastier strains at bay. and for satoru... it’s a safety net. it lowers the stakes."

you swallowed hard, the word 'lumps' tasting like copper in your mouth. "and the... things? can they be erased?"

"warts." shoko corrected, her voice gentle but firm. she didn't use euphemisms. "we freeze them. cryotherapy. it’s a pinch, a bit of localized winter, and then they’re gone. it’s not a permanent haunting; most bodies learn to hush the virus in a year or two. we could even do it now. a single session to burn away the physical proof he left behind."

you were anchored to satoru’s hand.

his grip was a paradox. you could feel the lightning-strike tension in his knuckles. every time shoko said ‘asymptomatic’ or ‘transmission’, his fingers twitched against yours. he wasn't looking at the tablet nor the doctor; he was staring at the side of your face with an intensity that felt like it could burn through the atmosphere. for a man who controlled every step he took, this invisible reality was an intruder he couldn’t catch.

"what about... everything else?" you whispered, unable to meet satoru’s eyes yet. "touching? oral?"

"risk exists everywhere, but it’s lower there." shoko shrugged, lean and clinical. "use barriers if the uncertainty keeps you up at night. but mostly? just keep showing up. keep checking in. don't let prejudice be the thing that actually hurts you. it’s just biology."

satoru exhaled a breath he’d been hoarding, a ragged, guilty sound. he forced that trademark grin, the one that usually made the world feel safe, but it didn't reach his eyes.

“a bit of data processing over here.”

he squeezed your hand, and you saw the tightness in his jaw. most people would’ve been scared off or thrown in the towel. and it wasn’t because you were putting him on a pedestal or because you liked him too much –it was because he was proving to be a decent human being. and that made you love him even more. he caressed your skin with a fierce, quiet desperation, as if he were trying to use his own strength to reach inside you and shield every cell from the memory of naoya’s touch.

-

after the session, he had to leave to take care of some work matters, so you went shopping with nobara, your bosom buddy. you two were in a café, observing the crowd gorging on a queue that stretched to the street, and the distant, shrill rot of kids shouting in the background.

then nobara set her boba down with a definitive thud, the sound of a gavel bringing the court of your self-loathing to order. she slid her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, pinning you with a look so piercing it made you want to flinch. there was no pity there, just a hard, glittering clarity.

“listen to me.” she said, reaching across the table to flick your forehead, a tiny sting to ground you. “if you think a medical footnote makes you ‘ruined,’ then you’re insulting my taste in friends. you’re the same girl who had the spine to walk away from a zenin. a virus isn't a personality trait, and it’s definitely not a stain.”

you looked down at your drink. shame bled upward, coloring even your earlobes at her scolding. she sighed, crossing her legs with that signature tilt: bossy, and entirely too sure of herself.

“people are idiots and the world is a messy place, even for the ones who play by the rules. it's not the end. it's not about how many partners you've had –though that shouldn’t matter anyway. now that we’re tallying up ‘unfortunate events’, i’ve got my own receipts. i had syphilis once –yeah, from some idiot in high school. one time, protected even, but shit happens. cleared up with antibiotics. no biggie. i also thought my life was over, cried for days, but nope. just bad luck.”

you stared. "really? why didn’t you tell me before? i would’ve been there for you."

she laughed. "yep. you know –the stigma. i didn't want you to start treating me differently or being too repulsed to even give me a kiss hello, the way ignorant people treat those with HIV." she brushed the air with her hand before cupping it around her mouth in a half-moon, leaning in to whisper a secret. "which, by the way... i heard choso got it through infected needles when he got his face tattooed. he was crushed. awful, right? but accidents happen, that doesn't mean he deserved it. ah, and let’s not forget that chlamydia outbreak at the fac. people were handing it out like candy, yet none of them went around feeling like they've been tainted."

they were all unfortunate anecdotes, but it was true that her nonchalant attitude made things feel lighter. she cared, but she didn’t agonize over it. and maybe you could start doing the same.

but thinking it and saying it was easier than doing it.

-

weeks passed. months passed. the treatment was over. but what didn't pass was satoru’s perfection. his whole, healthy being. why would someone like him, who had actually known how to avoid those bad times, stay with someone who would only put him at risk?

nor had that feeling of punishment faded –that karma you believed had struck you for trusting, for falling in love, for daring. if your parents knew, they would look at you with disappointment and tell you they’d been warning you your whole life. they might not say you deserved it for being reckless, but they’d surely think it, just as you were thinking it now.

it was a stain. like when red wine spills onto a white dress. not even a trip to the dry cleaner’s would leave it the same, just like you. not even with all the check-ups, nor all the vaccines, would you ever be the same again.

satoru looked on the bright side; that it was just one more experience to learn from. but you didn't want that lesson. you didn't want that weight making you cry every time you were alone. breaking you every time a few drops of alcohol entered your system and lowered your guard. keeping you awake because you wanted so badly to be with satoru, to touch him, to be his, but the mere idea felt wrong now. as if you knew you could never enjoy sex again. as if you never really could, anyway.

as your relationship deepened, your perception of being dirty only increased. after almost a year, you hadn't done anything beyond a few passionate kisses –making out sessions that left you breathless. every time he tried to push further, he could feel how you tensed up, and tried to reject him in the sweetest way possible. because you couldn't do that to him –not to him, who had been so wonderful to you.

the first time you tried to go further, it was a quiet night. candles flickered in his bedroom, the city lights casting a glow. satoru kissed you slowly, peeling off your shirt, his lips trailing down your neck.

"wait," you whispered, pulling back. "let’s just finish that movie from the other day. i wanna find out if he escapes from prison."

satoru let out a mocking laugh, but when he saw there wasn’t a single hint of irony in your voice, he froze. "is it really about the movie? don't think i haven't noticed how you pull away from every hint or move i make, babe. tell me what’s on your mind."

his hand took yours, and the tears appeared.

"same thing as always. that i’m ruined."

he pulled you quickly into his lap, cradling you. "hey, no. don’t say that ever again. you're not ruined. you’re human. you're you –strong, beautiful, mine." his voice cracked slightly, revealing his own struggle. "it's hard for you, and for me too, yeah? but i want you. all of you."

you searched his eyes. "really?"

"really." he kissed your forehead. "let me show you."

"but if i give it to you i–"

"we’ll handle it together. besides, we’ve talked precautions. and i love you. no amount of bad luck would change that."

finally, your body relaxed, as if those words had been the ones to break a spell. naturally, the unease and the racing thoughts didn't disappear completely, but you’d let yourself forget about them, just for a while.

clothes came off slowly, deliberately, turning the act into a ritual of unveiling. his shirt first, revealing the expanse of his toned chest and abs, marked with faint scars from countless fights when he was younger. he watched you watch him, a soft smile playing on his lips. "like what you see?" he teased lightly, but his voice was husky, laced with desire.

you nodded, reaching out to trace a scar on his shoulder. "you're beautiful." you whispered, echoing words you'd wanted to say for months.

he chuckled, but his eyes darkened with emotion. "not as much as you." he helped you out of your top next, his fingers grazing your skin like feathers, sending shivers down your spine. he kissed each part revealed –your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, the dip of your stomach– murmuring praises between each one. "so soft... so perfect... so mine."

when he reached your bra, he unclasped it with expert ease, but paused to meet your eyes, seeking permission. you nodded, and he slid it off, his breath catching as he took you in. "god." he breathed, cupping one breast gently, his thumb brushing the nipple until it peaked. he leaned down, taking it into his mouth, swirling his tongue in slow, languid circles that made you arch into him with a gasp.

"satoru..." your hands threaded into his white hair, holding him close as he lavished attention on you, switching sides, his free hand kneading the other breast with just enough pressure to build heat in your core.

he pulled back slightly, his lips glistening, eyes locked on yours. "tell me what feels good. i want to learn every part of you."

everything, you wanted to say, but words failed as he kissed lower, trailing down your abdomen, hooking his fingers into your pants and underwear. he tugged them down slowly, inch by inch, his gaze reverent. the warts were gone, but faint marks lingered –subtle reminders that made you want to hide.

you covered yourself instinctively, cheeks burning. "don't look."

he gently pried your hands away, shaking his head. "nothing about you is ugly. these? they're just scars. like mine." he kissed the inner thigh, then higher, his breath warm against your most sensitive skin. "you're stunning. let me worship you."

his words melted the last of your resistance. he parted your legs with care, settling between them, his broad shoulders framing you.

"if it's too much, say so." he murmured, before lowering his head.

the first touch of his tongue was electric –a soft, exploratory lick that made you moan. he groaned in response, the vibration sending sparks through you. "you taste incredible." he said, voice muffled as he delved deeper, his tongue circling your clit with precise, teasing strokes. he alternated pressure –light flicks, then firmer sucks– building a rhythm that had your hips bucking involuntarily.

"satoru... oh god..." your fingers tightened in his hair, guiding him subtly, and he followed eagerly, one hand sliding up to intertwine with yours, the other slipping a finger inside you, curling just right to hit that spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

he added a second finger, pumping slowly, stretching you with patience, his mouth never stopping its passionate assault. the room filled with the sounds of your pleasure –wet, breathless moans– and his encouraging hums. the pressure built, a coil tightening in your belly.

he shook his head, eyes blazing. "not yet. i want to be inside you. if you're ready."

you nodded, heart going crazy. he shed the rest of his clothes, revealing himself –long, thick, veined, tip glistening. he rolled on a condom with practiced ease, then positioned himself, rubbing against your entrance teasingly. "slow, okay?"

entry was exquisite agony, his eyes never leaving yours, watching for any sign of discomfort, but there wasn’t. it was even better than you had remembered. when he was fully seated, he stilled, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting.

"you feel... incredible." he groaned, voice strained with restraint. "so tight, so warm."

you wrapped your legs around him, urging him on. "move, satoru. please."

he did, starting with shallow thrusts, building to a deeper, more passionate rhythm. each stroke was deliberate, hitting angles that made you see white, his hands roaming –gripping your hips, caressing your breasts, threading through your hair. he kissed you fiercely, tongues dancing, teeth nipping, as if he couldn't get enough.

"fuck, baby, you’re so good for me." he panted, pace quickening, the slap of skin echoing. his hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing in tight circles that matched his thrusts. "come with me, i need to feel you."

the intimacy was overwhelming –his body covering yours, his scent enveloping you, his whispers of love and desire in your ear.

"i love you so much. you're mine, all mine."

tears pricked your eyes, not from pain, but from the raw passion, the connection. the coil built again, faster, hotter, until you shattered around him, clenching, crying out as ecstasy ripped through you.

he followed moments later, thrusting deep one last time, his groan guttural as he spilled inside the wrapper, burying his face in your neck.

you held each other in the afterglow, sweat-slicked and sated, his weight a comforting anchor. after he disposed of the condom, he pulled you close, cuddling, peppering kisses on your forehead. "see? i still want you. i always will want you."

The TNG Conference Room as the Reception Lounge

(also previously used as the Enterprise-E Conference room, and Enterprise-A Lounge)

Danube-class runabout

and the rear transporter compartment

Federation Scout, a redress of he Class 2 Shuttle as a single-seater variant

Deanna's office, a redress of Voyager's conference lounge (note the windows again)

Voyager's Sickbay (previously used in First Contact as well)

And Voyager's Transporter room, itself rebuilt out of TNG's transporter room (still using the roundels salvaged from TOS's transporter and flipped upside down)