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imnotabot28 · 8 days ago

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Hi, can I request Eren fucking nerd reader even though he already has a girlfriend? Like he likes fucking her every time Eren and his girlfriend fought just to release some stress. And one day reader just had enough and started dating someone, she blocked all of his contacts and social media. They even acted like strangers. Eren try to act nonchalant at first but seeing how happy she is with her boyfriend makes him snap and act violently. He beat her boyfriend and terrorised him to leave her. Eren then forced himself on her and got her pregnant. She tried to abort but Eren knew and threatened to kill her if she tried that act again. In the end, they got married and Eren's ex-girlfriend (he had just broken up after the reader became pregnant) watched them with teary eyes.

Sorry for my lack of grammar. I hope you are always in good shape ❤️

-> kinda long and also unedited. Sorry for any mistakes.

⚠️: NON CON, cheating, blackmail, abuse/abusive behaviour, yandere!eren

When you wake up to banging on your dorm room door, you already know who it is.

And as much as you don’t want to answer it, you know he’d break the door down before letting you have a day of peace.

So reluctantly, you stand up, wrapped in your blanket and let him in.

“What the fuck took you so long?” He says, taking off his shirt.

“I was sleeping” you said annoyed, before plopping down on your bed.

You hated this. Hated how his fights with his girlfriend, Mikasa, would get him all riled up, and he’d come and take it out on you.

He snatches your blanket and throws it on the floor. You whine but he shuts you up with a kiss.

His hands are everywhere, gripping your throat, tugging your shirt up, squeezing your tits rough enough to bruise.

“Shut up and spread your legs,” he orders, yanking your shorts down in one move.

He doesn’t bother with prep. He never does. Just spits on his cock, pushes your thighs apart, and shoves himself in.

The stretch makes you gasp, nails digging into his back, but he pins your wrists above your head.

“Don’t act like you don’t love this,” he sneers, hips snapping against yours. “You’re soaked every fucking time.”

He sets a brutal pace, using you like a fleshlight. Every thrust is fueled by anger, by frustration from Mikasa.

Your head hits the headboard, tears springing to your eyes from the force. He licks them up, laughing.

“Does it hurt, baby? Oh, but I know you can take it, my girl.”

You wanna slap yourself when your heart starts beating faster at the stupid pet name.

He pulls out halfway just to slap his cock against your pussy, smearing slick everywhere, before slamming back in.

Your moans embarrass you, muffled under his palm when he clamps it over your mouth.

“Keep it down. Don’t want your neighbours knowing you’re my dirty little secret.”

He cums deep inside without warning, holding you down by the throat while grinding into you.

Leaves you messy, dripping, your body trembling from overstimulation.

And just like always, he gets up, pulls on his pants, and heads for the door.

You always felt gross after. Not only physically but morally too. You felt terrible for Mikasa (though she is kind of a bitch).

You hated being in the middle of this, but Eren had such a hold on you and you couldn’t explain why. He’s just so intoxicating and ever since he took your virginity at an obnoxious frat party, you couldn’t help but feel attached to him.

Especially how he’d linger around you at school and secretly tease you. Maybe out of the blue, sit with you while you’re studying, buy you a tea and just show you his sweet side.

But your heart felt heavy for being a home-wrecker and it was time to open your eyes because you and Eren weren’t gonna go anywhere. It’s just a dumb fantasy.

So you block him. That night. On everything. Just deleted him like he doesn’t exist anymore.

All your favourite spots to study? You unfortunately had to let go of them. You frequented your favourite tea spot less and even applied to switch dorm rooms.

It seemed like the universe was on your side this time, because you did get approved to move dorms. You found other hidden areas to study and found the tea bags used at your favourite tea place.

You’ve hardly seen Eren, but you assume he’s busy because it’s football season.

The times you have seen him, you acted normal which is basically ignoring each other’s existence.

But don’t think that Eren hasn’t noticed you blocking his number and social media. Sometimes he’d go on your Instagram and rub one out when he wasn’t feeling it with mikasa, but when he couldn’t reach your page, he scoffed.

He goes to message you and sure enough, messages are green. Whatever. You wanna play this game? Let’s play.

He could get thousands of other bitches if he really wanted to. Hell, his dms are full of em. What, did you think you’re special or something?

Meanwhile, you began joining clubs on campus in attempt to make some friends. Everyone’s sweet but already had their little circle, so you still feel like an outsider.

It wasn’t until a nice guy named Porco, invited you to hang with him and his friends.

You were flabbergasted initially, because you knew Porco. He was on the football team with Eren. You thought everyone on the football team was a douchey jock but you couldn’t be more wrong about Porco.

He was sweet, gentle and a huge goof. Always did stupid things but it kept you laughing. He wasn’t the brightest either but you were more than capable to help him out in his academics.

The two of you balanced each other out which made you a good pair. Now Porco’s the type of guy to show off his girl. He paraded you around, told everyone how lucky he was to have you and well, Eren was starting to get pissed.

He tried, tried sooooo hard to be nonchalant about it.

But Porco wouldn’t shut the fuck up about you. And here’s the thing right. Porco never spoke directly to Eren. He and Eren are civil but not really friends. Just teammates. But Porco would talk so loudly to his friends about you, that Eren can’t help but overhear.

It makes him wanna bang his head against the locker till he’s bleeding. And he doesn’t know why that’s his reaction.

The last straw for Eren was after a game they had won. You attended, standing on the bleachers, wearing Porco’s jersey with the school colours painted on your cheeks. You looked so cute and he could only wish you were here wearing his jersey and supporting him instead.

Instead, he looks down at the field and sees his girlfriend leading the cheer team. He should be happy. He, the quarterback was dating the hottest girl in school which happened to be the cheer captain. A match made in heaven yet Eren felt empty.

When the game ends and your school wins, you’re rushing off the bleachers and Porco’s rushing to you. He catches you in his arms, squeezing you before pressing his lips on yours.

You’re all smiles, and so giddy because your boyfriend made a touch down. You’re so proud of him and Eren can’t help but look over and fume because even though your boyfriend made a touchdown, Eren was the one who secured the teams win by scoring another touchdown.

It’s supposed to be a happy and celebratory night until he can’t hold back anymore. He walks over to the two of you, with Porco’s back facing him. He puts a hand on his shoulder, roughly turns him around and throws a punch.

Everyone freezes and lets out a gasp before Eren throws another punch again. Finally people spring into action, the other teammates trying to get him off as he yells at Porco.

“Do you know your whore of a girlfriend’s been fucking me behind your back? She ruined my relationship but won’t let me ruin hers.”

You’re hysterical and mortified he’d even say that. You’re trying to help Porco up and begging Eren to stop but he looks at you with so much hostility in his eyes.

“Don’t fucking play innocent, you slut. You ruined me, and now you wanna pretend like you’re some perfect girlfriend? Fuck you.”

“He’s lying. I would never, Porco.”

Eren’s blinded by rage at this point. He leaps to you, grabbing your hair and forcing you to face him.

“You reallllly wanna play this fucking game? Do you? Hm?”

This grip on your hair is tighter and the only thing you can say is a pathetic, “please”

But Eren was too far gone. There wasn’t an ounce of mercy left in his body. At the end of the day, Eren’s a selfish guy. It’s his way or the highway.

Someone pulls him off of you and you help take Porco to the nurse.

It’s silent and awkward. Neither of you know what to say while he’s sitting on the bed, ice pack against his face.

You figured you’d start off. “I… really don’t know why he would say that. I’ve never been unfaithful to you, Porco.”

He doesn’t respond, and a couple beats later, his phone dings.

He scoffs, then laughs like a mad man before looking at you. “You’re sitting here, continuously lying to me with your filthy fucking mouth, while Eren sends me proof.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What proof?”

“You still wanna act fucking clueless? Stop fucking lying-”

“No I swear I don’t-”

He turns the phone towards you and sure enough, there’s a video of you getting fucked from behind.

You wanted to throw up because you didn’t know Eren had videos of you. Why would he do this to you, you couldn’t understand.

“Porco, please I swear that’s from before and I didn’t even know he took videos, please I swear on everything-”

“Get out.”

You’re crying now. He’s the best thing that’s happened to you and Eren’s ruining it.

“Please Poc, I swear I didn’t-”

He raised his voice louder, “get the fuck out NOW!”

You grabbed your things and left. You’re sobbing while walking back to your dorm when you see Eren’s car parked in the parking lot.

How did he find you again?

You turn on your heels and walk the opposite direction, not having the energy or patience to deal with him again.

Too bad Eren doesn’t give a fuck about how you’re affected. You hear the car door open then slam shut.

The steps increased to a jog and when he grabs your arm to turn you around, your hand raises to slap him.

But Eren was a step ahead. He stopped it before it could reach his cheek. You started to squirm, but it was useless. You were up against a quarterback, a man who trains his body everyday for multiple hours.

To be honest, you just began to cry while asking him what the hell he wanted.

“Your dorm or my car, pick one.”

“I don’t wanna go anywhere with you.” You spat, and he drags you to the front door.

“Let me in or I’ll post that video I sent to Porco.”

You give up.

You lead him into your dorm and as soon as the door closes, he pounces. A hard slap lands on your cheek and you’re on the floor.

You hold your cheek while he grabs your arms and manhandles you on the bed.

“Eren, please. I don’t want-”

“Right now, I don’t give a fuck about what you want.”

Your skirt is in shreds. Porco’s jersey is ripped and thrown on the floor like trash.

His hand is hot on your throat, cutting off half your breath while he pounds into you.

The slap still stings your cheek, tears blurring your vision, but he doesn’t let up.

He’s ruthless, hips snapping, balls slapping against you with every thrust. The bedframe bangs against the wall, the sound echoing.

You whimper, begging him to stop, but he only presses harder on your neck and fucks you deeper.

He pulls you up by the hair, bending you over the desk, knocking your textbooks to the floor.

He cums inside you hard, holding you in place, growling against your ear while you sob into the wood.

“You’re such a useless whore. Thinking you can block me out of your life.”

He doesn’t stop until you’ve passed out. Once he’s satisfied, he puts his clothes back and, unbeknownst to you, takes the spare key to your dorm before heading out to deal with his furious girlfriend.

The following days, your body betrays you. You decided to skip some days (too mortified to face anyone) and unfortunately, your body decided to act strange too.

You felt nauseous in the mornings, had tender breast and smells that never bothered you have been really getting to you.

You know what it means, but you don’t want to believe it.

The one time you leave the dorm is to buy a pregnancy test. When you take it then stare at the two faint lines, you feel your whole world crashing down.

There was no way you were going to keep it. You’ll take a bus out of town for an abortion. You weren’t ready to have kids, and you sure as hell weren’t going to have Eren’s kid.

So you planned everything. The bus to the city leaves on Monday morning, you’ll bring your credit card and a few hundred dollars in cash.

However, on Sunday night, when you come home from printing your bus ticket, your room is destroyed with Eren sitting on your bed.

The pregnancy test is on the night stand and so is the folder where you’ve been keeping all the pamphlets and research for your abortion.

The colour gets drained from your face when Eren asks, “you really thought you could kill my kid? Are you fucking insane?”

You try to make a run for it but he’s faster and stronger. He slams the door shut and shoves you towards your bed.

You dropped the ticket in the process and when Eren picks it up and reads it, all he sees is red.

So he does the only thing logical in his mind. Which is claim you again.

You try desperately to fight back, but Eren was far too strong and stubborn to even listen to your pleas. He doesn’t care about how this would ruin your life, he doesn’t care about how you’re not ready to be a mother, he doesn’t care about your needs, only his and now his future kid.

You’re not ready to be a mother? Then learn to be ready because he’s not letting you kill his kid.

He fucked it into you, and came deep inside. If you weren’t pregnant before, you sure as hell are now.

“Try that shit again and I’ll kill you myself. You hear me? You’re carrying my kid. That shit is not just for you to decide.” (It literally is but he doesn’t give af)

He gets you to drop out a week later. Gives you an empty promise that you can enroll after your kid is born, but who am I kidding? He’ll knock you up as soon as you’re healed.

You meet his family. And you’re left wondering how Eren turned out a complete monster when his parents are so sweet, gentle and charismatic.

They’re excited for the grand-baby but really pushed for the two of you to get married before your little one arrives.

So, Eren takes you to the courthouse, you get married on paper. A few months later, you’re about 7 months pregnant when the wedding happens.

It nearly gets spoiled by Eren’s crazy ex, Mikasa. Which ultimately leads to her getting arrested because she had been stalking you ever since the pregnancy announcement.

She planned on foul play but police were able to shut it down before she could act on her plan.

After that drama, Eren builds you a nice home just outside of the big city. He’s there for business while you stay home and take care of your little boy, Elijah.

His eyes are green, just like his father’s. It’s actually shocking how none of you gene came into play for your son. He’s just his father’s mini me.

At night, Eren comes home, drops his briefcase, and kisses you while you cradle your son.

He holds you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder as Elijah falls asleep.

“I think it’s time we gave the little guy a sibling, don’t you think?”

#eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #yandere eren #yandere aot #aot smut #eren smut #tw: noncon #eren yandere #tw abuse #tw: dark content #tw: abuse #tw: dark fic

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imnotabot28 · 8 days ago

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♡ TW: NSFW, noncon

♡ FEM reader

Oh god, just thinking about being a newbie demon, fresh out of hell, ready to coax some innocents into making some poor decisions, so excited to finally be able to wreak some havoc, wanting it to be hot and depraved and downright deviant.

Only to get captured early on by an archangel.

As old as the creation. He’s larger than your demon boss back in hell. Big-boned with ancient muscles and battlescars from legendary wars—the like you’ve never seen and never hope to. Three sets of massive wings drape his back like a cape, decked in a million eyes. The halo above his head makes him shine brighter than the sun. Even still, his figure casts a long shadow that seems darker than the pits of hell you were born in.

You tremble before him. Scurrying away like a rat running from an eagle, desperate, feeling the hope flee from your body, abandoning you, cold and alone when you get snatched on his talons.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, little hell-spawn—" he jeers, fangs grazing the teary chub of your cheek with a predator’s grin, "This depravity?"

Your wrists wring themselves raw in their bonds, spread out like an X on a sacrificial slab. Naked and quaking, knees quivering, trying to huddle, but kept forcibly apart while his fingers—large, gritty with age, action, assiduity, but most of all, straight strength—having sleeved two of the beastly things inside you at your most sensitive, pumping you silly, with his worn thumb pinning your clit with sadistic pressure.

“Come on now, little she-demon, let me hear all those depraved sounds of yours—show me what a sinful little thing you are.”

You want to gnash your teeth, growl, shout obscenities, but the only sounds able to escape your pouty lips is blubbery whines and moans—and even those are drowned out by his sneer.

“Pathetic, aren’t you? Trembling like that in my palm—how will you handle me when you’re this tight on just two of my fingers, hm?” he snickers in your ear, the stiff curls of his beard pricking your neck as he talks.

“You poor thing…” His voice drops low, whispering darkly, “I’m gonna tear you in two.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Nanami, Geto, Toji ♡ HQ – Daichi, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Aiku ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ WB – Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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imnotabot28 · 8 days ago

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satoru trying to find ur clit

…..had the sexiest dream ever……. i was sitting naked on the edge of the bed with my legs spread open while satoru was on his knees in front of me. his hands were tied behind him and he was blindfolded, trying to find my clit with his lips only …… the way his mouth was brushing everywhere in desperation while he was trying to find his way …… oh …….

#i think i will be ill for the next 20 years #man . what the hell was that #i am ill now #WHAT THE HELL #— ai rambles

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imnotabot28 · 8 days ago

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Part 2 of Older neighbor Eren getting Reader pregnant and so her parents, pissed that she had sex outside of marriage has her marry Eren?

And now she’s just his little housewife that he keeps pregnant all the time

-> exactly what happens lol

-> part 1

⚠️: angsty, face slapping (your mother slaps you), Stockholm Syndrome that hits early, breeding kink, rough sex, overstimulation

You’re freaking out. Freaking out because you took a pregnancy test a few minutes ago and now you’re looking at a stick with two pink lines.

You don’t know what to do or who to tell. Your parents would be devastated and furious but would ultimately demand you to keep the baby.

Eren already made his stance clear that night, he wanted to knock you up.

School wouldn’t be any help. It’s a tight knit community, someone would surely rat you out since everybody knew your parents.

So you did what you thought would be the best option. Which is tell your mom and only your mom.

She always has a soft spot for you and she knows how important your education and future is to you. She’s such a big supporter.

This pregnancy could de-rail your whole life so maybe she’ll find some mercy.

You waited till it was just you and her. She was sitting on the couch in the living room, watching her soap opera when you sat next to her.

“What’s wrong hun? You hungry?”

“N-no… I actually need to speak to you about something really important.”

She could tell by the tone of your voice it was something serious so she lowered her show volume and turned to you.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s something bad… promise me you won’t get mad or tell dad.”

“Tell me what’s wrong, Y/N. You’re scaring me.”

“Please promise-”

“Tell me now.”

It’s firm and final. So you take a deep breath in before whispering, “I’m pregnant.”

When you look up to meet her eyes, your met with a hard slap on the face. You sob as you hold your cheek.

She doesn’t say anything. Just gets up and goes upstairs, presumably to her room.

You go back to your room because, given your mother’s reaction, your father was probably already on his way home.

You pack a few items and sneak out your bedroom window, hopping down to the deck before running to Eren’s house across the street.

You profusely rang the door bell and after some beats the door opens and you rush inside.

You slam the door shut, turn to the window and peak out, seeing your dad’s car pull up in the driveway.

“Do you mind telling me what this is all about?”

You turn around, eyes red rimmed and cheeks still puffy from the previous crying. “I’m pregnant and it’s your fault so you have to help me. I can’t do it alone!”

He’s caught off guard with your words but ultimately takes you into his embrace and soothes you.

He’s trying to wrap his head around the news, because on one hand he’s ecstatic, but on the other hand, what’s gotten you so frantic?

“You have to tell my parents because if I do, they’ll kill me. My m-mom she already knows and she didn’t take it well-”

You can’t stop yourself from crying so Eren tightly squeezes you and you find the gesture comforting.

“It’s alright. I’ll talk to them, we’ll figure this out, okay?”

Your parents are out looking for you. Your dad barged into your room and surprise, you’re not there. They searched the house and now they’ve moved onto the neighbourhood.

Eren lets you take a shower and relax in his room. While you’re resting on his bed, you hear banging on the front door.

Sure enough, it’s your parents asking Eren if he’s seen you. Eren sighs reluctantly. He’d always imagined breaking the news a bit differently, but it had to be done.

You come out of the darkness and your parents sigh in relief, before switching to anger.

“Y/N have you lost your mind? Your mother’s telling me your pregnant?! Is this true? Who’s the father?!”

“I am.” Eren cuts in.

Now, you’d think your parents would get mad at Eren for taking advantage of their young daughter

But nope, instead you’re given a lecture about how you’re a whore and that this news brings such shame to the family, you’re forbidden to tell anyone

Your mother even cries, wondering where she went so wrong with you.

Of course, this destroys you. You go back to Eren’s room to cry and your parents leave with a bitter taste in their mouths.

After seeing them out, Eren comes to you, holding you close and trying his best to comfort you.

He’s made a promise to you. He’s gonna marry you and you were gonna have his baby.

The next day, you went to the courthouse. And the next month, you were able to scramble together a wedding at your church. Everyone in town was surprised about your marriage to Eren, but you made a good couple so people didn’t mind it too much (other than the weird age gap).

After the whole ordeal with your parents, you wanted to move somewhere away from them. It hurt how they treated you and acted indifferent at the wedding. When you brought it up to Eren, well your wish was his command.

Plus, you guys needed a bigger home anyways for your growing family.

So you looked at houses that are a bit closer to the city and away from this small town.

You moved before giving birth, and still, your parents had nothing to say about it.

But at that point, you didn’t care. You just wanted to restart with just Eren. Cause surprisingly, he was a good husband.

And though the way you started off things, and the way you got pregnant was obviously a bit… rocky. Well, your parents forced your hand. They couldn’t bother to be a support system you needed them.

So they drove you right into Eren’s hands and he honestly couldn’t thank them enough. They’ve iced you out all on their own and now you have nobody but him to depend on. But don’t worry, he’ll always take care of you.

After your baby boy is born, life is blissful for Eren. Motherhood seems like it was made for you, you and his son were the apple of his eye.

One particular night, he puts his almost one year old son down to sleep in his room before coming back to your shared room. You’re still up, wearing a silky pj dress while reading a book and Eren can’t help but pounce.

He’s pushing the blankets away before yanking your leg back, lying you flat on your back.

All he has to do is grind his crotch against you and kiss a little to really get you going.

Your hands in his hair as he slips you out of your silky dress, leaving you in your underwear which gets ripped away shortly after.

He didn’t even need to prep you, he just aligned himself before pushing in.

And lemme tell you, husband and father!Eren’s breeding kink goes crazy. All he wants is you round and full of his baby (or babies if you get hit with twins)

He has no mercy on you but it seems like you didn’t want it anyways since your legs were wrapped so tightly around his waist, he had nowhere else to go but right inside you.

You’re scratching his back, moaning so loudly for more and god, he was gonna give you more.

He had you folded in half all over your bedroom, fucking you in various positions and just never stopping.

He didn’t even know he had this in him, he thought he grew out of it, but something about you gets him going.

You’re currently on your bedroom floor (because eren was fucking you so hard, you were afraid the bed frame was gonna break) he has you laid on the soft carpet below, legs on his shoulder and he folds you in half and slams into you over and over.

His hands pulling your hair back into the floor as he attacks your neck and tits with marks before picking up his pace one last time. Shortly after, he’s bottoming out and cumming deep inside you.

You don’t know how many orgasms he draws out of you that night, but he’s relentless. There’s quite literally a pool of your mixed cum on the carpet below you but you’re too fucked out to think about it.

Eren looks down at you, smiling because fuck, you looked so fucked out, it turns him the fuck on.

You’re now being carried into the shower where round 3 will take place.

Hopefully you can keep up, because Eren wants 3 more babies with you.

#eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #yandere eren #aot smut #tw: dark content #bully eren #yandere aot #eren x you #yandere eren x reader #eren aot #eren yandere #eren smut #tw: noncon #eren x reader #tw: dark fic

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imnotabot28 · 8 days ago

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Hi! Are you taking requests right now? If so, can you do one with older neighbor eren: baby trapping, dry humping, blindfold, face slapping

-> yes, requests are open!! (send me some juicy ones with lots of details)

-> I also just want to remind people that I don’t write sub!eren!!! (This is not towards this anon, I’m just saying in general so you know!!)

⚠️: NONCON, Corruption, manipulative!Eren, dry humping, use of blindfold, face slapping, baby trapping, breath control, squirting

Read at your own risk. I am not responsible for your media consumption.

Your parents were very conservative and kept you sheltered from the real world.

Their ideologies is what drove most of their families to stop talking to them

So it’s always just been the three of you

But it was okay—you were okay with it

They were excellent parents, bought you whatever you wanted and never yelled at you

They raised you to be good, and you were

Naive, sweet and selfless. Helping your elderly neighbours with their Facebook accounts and fixing all their internet problems.

You did good in school too, straight A student but your parents didn’t allow you to do extracurricular. They didn’t want you out of the house late.

They also had strict social media rules and a time limit on your phone—even after you turned 18.

But they paid for it, you lived under their roof so you had no choice but to obey.

When your elderly neighbor passed away, their house went on sale and a young guy from the church you frequented bought it.

You’d seen him around and heard about him through your dad. They often talked at church. He was in his mid thirties, divorced, no children. Came to town to start a new life, just wanting to be content.

His name was Eren, and he was easy on the eyes.

You’d be lying if you said he didn’t make you feel heated. You felt terrible for feeling that way, but when he’d talk to you, pay attention to you like you were the only girl in the world, it made you pretty feral.

It didn’t help that he often leaned into your delusions. He’d “accidentally” brush against your ass while trying to get some water. Or at church, his hand would slide between your inner thighs mindlessly.

You never spoke up, too ashamed to admit that it made you aroused.

Eren charmed his way to your parent’s good side. Your dad was best friends with him, which meant he was over at your house a lot. Nearly every evening, he’d join you for dinner and would stay for a beer or two afterwards with your dad.

Point is, your parents trusted him.

So, when your dad’s father passed away, they asked Eren to stay over and watch over you.

You couldn’t go with your parents because you had school, and found it bizarre that they didn’t trust you to stay home alone.

You tried to defend yourself but your dad was already in a tough place. So you let it slide.

Your parents leave, embracing you one last time while telling you to good, and to listen to Eren.

“I’m not a child, mom. I’ll be fine. Have a safe flight.”

They lug their bags out, start the car and leave.

You were about to go back to your room until Eren spoke, “you wanna get some pizza?”

“Um, sure.”

“Cool.”

God, you don’t know why it was so awkward. So you scurry back to your room to escape the tension.

When the pizza arrives, he calls you down. You go, grab 2 slices before heading back up stairs.

“Where you going? Let’s watch a movie or something. Is this house you treat your guest?”

He was teasing, but you were a bit embarrassed. You softly apologize, sitting at the edge of the couch, while he sat down right next to you.

Your heartbeat was ridiculously fast as you watched him turn on a horror movie before sitting back and munching on his pizza.

You hated horror—your parents would never let you watch this kind of shit in the first place.

But you were meek, too afraid to speak up because Eren seemed to be enjoying it.

For most of the movie you hid under the blanket. But during the scary parts he pried it away forcing you to watch.

You closed your eyes, plugged your ears and he laughs while tickling you to look

The whole thing left you in a compromising position

You were laid on your back, breathless. Your tits were pushed up, nearly slipping out your tank top. Your shorts had moved down a bit, exposing a little bit of your baby pink, cotton underwear.

Eren’s above you, taking in how you look beneath him, his cock growing harder by the second.

He stares for a moment before leaning down and kissing you. He’s impatient, ripping your tank top into two, lips attaching to your hard nipple.

The shorts are torn apart too, exposing the wet spot in the middle of your underwear.

His hands were quick, sliding in your underwear before sliding two fingers in

Your hips buck, hands coming up to grip his biceps

“You’re so fucking tight.” He hissed. “Let’s fix that, yeah?”

He pulls his sweats and boxers down in one motion and you panic (cuz of his huge cock).

You sit up, backing up a bit.

“Wait, wait I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

But he doesn’t back down. Are you kidding?

He pulls you back down and you yelp, pushing at his chest. He’s got you folded in half, giving him a perfect view of your glistening pussy

“Wait, I-I don’t”

“It’s okay, I’ll be gentle”

He hushes you, pushing his tip into you.

You squirm, crying at the stretch. “Please! I don’t wanna do this.”

Eren expected you to be a virgin. You were tight like one but when no blood leaked through, he roughly grabbed your neck, forcing you to look at him.

“Is this your first time?”

Your face burned in shame because it wasn’t. Back in high school, you were pressured to give your precious virginity to the popular boy.

You shook your head and he slaps you, making you sob harder.

“And here I was going easy on you. You’re a fucking whore. Does your daddy know you’ve disgraced yourself?”

From there, he had no mercy.

He waited long for this. Ever since he laid eyes on you, all he wanted to do was corrupt you.

He got close to your family, was your dad’s only friend. Isolating you was too easy—your parents had practically done it for him.

Now it was his time to take.

His pace increased, balls slapping against your ass. You can only cry. Eren was much bigger and stronger than you, there’s no way you could fight him off.

He held your body down, tightening the grip on your neck when you moved around too much.

Eren had no mercy on you. Not one ounce of remorse. He fucked you through each orgasm.

“Please slower! It hurts- it’s too much, please!” You whimper out but he backhands you hard.

“Shut the fuck up. I don’t wanna fucking hear you.”

His hand pressed down on your stomach so he could feel himself. He was in deep, tip pushing against your wall with each thrust.

He didn’t stop until he was satisfied.

You had passed out of exhaustion, head fuzzy because he was restricting your breathing

When you woke up, there was a blindfold on you. You were on your side and Eren was behind you.

His arms were wrapped around your body, keeping you close to him

You move frantically, trying to get the blindfold off, and it seemed to wake Eren.

He groaned, pulling you tighter against him before throwing his leg over yours and grinding his dick against your slit.

It’s enough to get him going so he quickly manhandles you to be on top of him, grinding his hardening cock against you.

You couldn’t help but moan. The tip of his cock was rubbing against your clit, and it left you wanting more.

Eren notices this of course, and ruts against you faster and when you respond by moving your hips, it was game over.

“Atta, girl. You fucking love this just as much as I do, don’t you?”

His cock slips in, you whimper but let him hold you against his chest. His hips move faster into you and you move with him, eager to release.

The room filled with filthy sounds, his grunting and your moaning until you squirted around him, soaking his pelvis and the bedsheets under.

Eren whistles before chuckling, “and you were fucking begging me to stop. Your pussy begs to differ, sweetheart.”

You definitely weren’t in your right mind, but Eren was so big, the way he filled you to the brim had you seeing stars

“Take the blindfold off. I can’t see anything.” You whine, breathlessly.

“That’s the whole point, baby.”

He doesn’t take it off, instead pulls you down for a kiss before flipping your position. He’s got you on your back, thighs pressed into your chest.

He pushed in again, hips snapping into you, desperate for another release.

At this point your thighs are shaking, and you’re throbbing down there. It was a new feeling, it hurt but felt good at the same time so you didn’t know what to think of it.

Eren’s pace was ruthless. He had pretty good stamina plus, making a mess of you, it kept his dick pretty fucking hard.

The weekend was filled with filthy fucking.

When I tell you he fucked you all over the house, I goddamn mean it.

Kitchen, living room, shower, closet, the fucking laundry room. He had you outside, legs spread as he fucked you on a lawn chair.

He was pounding into your pussy, rubbing your clit while saying, “gonna marry you, baby. Make you my wife, knock you full with my kids. How does that sound?”

“N-no! My parents would-ah! Eren!” Your fingers flew to his hair, legs shaking as you came around him.

He slaps you, “you don’t have a fucking choice. Unless you wanna disgrace your family name by having a child before marriage.”

You rubs your clit before bottoming out and cumming inside you again. You shake, as he pulls another orgasm from you

“When your parents come back, we’ll ask for their blessing, yeah?”

Hope you liked it <3 sorry for any mistakes 😵‍💫

#eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #yandere aot #yandere eren #aot smut #possessive eren #eren smut #eren x you #eren x reader #eren yeager #eren aot #eren yandere #tw: noncon #tw: dark fic #eren jaeger

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imnotabot28 · 8 days ago

Text

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ after the gala, work began with gojo testing your boundaries, but you stayed sharp and professional. that night, he was unsettled by your control, while you reaffirmed your resolve to keep him at a distance.

part 2 -> part 3 -> part 4

the night wound down slowly, the ballroom thinning as people began drifting out in twos and threes, laughing over champagne flutes and murmuring about the next big move in business. you, too, made your excuses, slipping away before the weight of gojo’s gaze could pin you in place again.

but not before you felt it a few more times. those glances. sharp, searching, loaded with something you didn’t want to parse. each time you met his eyes across the room, you forced yourself to look away, forcing a polite smile to cover the tightening in your chest.

he tried, of course. satoru always tried. a step closer here, a word half-formed as you passed him in the crowd, that boyish grin pulled across his face as though charm could bridge years of silence. but you cut each attempt off at the knees— brisk nods, clipped acknowledgments, your voice professional and utterly void of warmth.

it was a performance, really. you couldn’t afford to give him anything more even if a part of you wanted to.

and when you finally stepped into the night air, your car waiting, the relief that swept over you was like breathing after being held underwater. the ride home was quiet, the city lights blurring past your window as you leaned back into the seat. your mind, however, was anything but still.

you had known for weeks now that working with gojo’s company was inevitable. the merger, the deal, the joint projects. it was all inked into contracts long before tonight. your name was stamped across documents, buried deep in operations, but you had made sure to keep it out of the spotlight. no introductions, no unnecessary exposure. because you knew him.

you knew that if satoru realized you were behind the work, he’d dig. he’d prod, he’d push, he’d peel back layers until he got the answers he wanted. and you couldn’t let that happen. not after the years you’d spent building yourself away from his shadow.

but tonight — seeing him, facing him — it sealed the truth you’d been unwilling to say out loud: you didn’t want him in your life. not as a colleague, not as a rival, not even as a memory.

he was a fracture in the clean glass you’d tried to build around yourself. a splinter in the years of effort it had taken to climb, to succeed, to believe that everything you did was yours.

working with him… it felt like undoing. like every step forward you had taken was at risk of being pulled back into the orbit of someone who had always had everything handed to him.

and worse— you weren’t entirely sure if he remembered that night in university the way you did. the slap, the kiss he tried to steal, the venom of your words. the way you’d sworn you hated him.

you clenched your hands in your lap, nails pressing crescents into your palms, grounding yourself.

the thought of sitting across from him in meetings, of exchanging pleasantries over contracts and numbers, of watching him smirk through negotiations — it was suffocating. and yet, it was unavoidable.

for the first time in years, you felt cornered. not because of failure, not because of lack of opportunity, but because of him. and that, more than anything, made your chest ache with anger.

you stared out the window at the dark blur of the city, letting the thought burn through you,

you will not let gojo satoru undo you again.

no matter what the future of this deal required, you promised yourself this much — you would keep the walls high, the distance sharp, and the line between you absolutely clear. because no matter how he looked at you, no matter what apologies he spat out, no matter what the past had left lingering in the air—

you would not fall back into the game.

back home, you slipped out of the evening gown, the satin sighing against your skin as it pooled at your feet like the remnants of a performance you had never meant to star in. you stood there for a moment, bare feet sinking into the soft carpet, shoulders curving in as if the silence itself was asking you to exhale.

your apartment was quiet in the way the event had not been — no champagne glasses clinking, no laughter echoing, no carefully rehearsed congratulations. here, the only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator, the low thrum of the city far below. steady. familiar.

and yet you couldn’t shake it.

the ringing in your ears wasn’t from music or chatter. it was from him.

you’ve changed. i should’ve apologised.

two simple statements, stripped bare. things you had never expected to hear from him—not in school, not in life, not ever. yet they lingered in your chest like smoke: acrid, stubborn, impossible to ignore once inhaled.

you pulled your robe on, cinching it tight as if fabric alone could bind your thoughts into order, and sat at your desk. the city glow bled through the blinds, a fractured pattern of gold and white spilling across your paperwork. you opened your laptop again, even though you didn’t need to.

contracts. clauses. projections. line items that you could recite from memory at this point. what you stared at wasn’t the fine print. it was the name at the top of every page.

gojo holdings.

your fingers tapped idly against the desk, restless, until you pressed them flat, forcing stillness. you told yourself it shouldn’t matter. this was just another deal. you had worked with difficult partners before—men with more money than patience, dynasties whose influence dwarfed governments, executives with egos the size of entire markets. and you had stood your ground with each of them, made your mark, left no doubt about your capability.

this should have been no different. that was what you repeated, like a mantra.

but it was different, because it was him.

no matter how professional the facade, no matter how meticulously the contracts were drafted, history had a way of bleeding through the seams. and you wanted that history buried, forgotten, left to rot somewhere in the past where it couldn’t find you. and yet, there he was.

you leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temple. the headache wasn’t from the paperwork—it was from memory. from the boy who had once leaned across desks with a grin that mocked your every effort. from the boy who had thought rivalry was a game, not something that kept you up at night grinding your teeth. from the boy who had kissed you when you had pushed him away—carelessly, arrogantly, like your no had been just another rule he could bend.

and the part that terrified you most: what if the man wasn’t so different?

yes, he had grown sharper, calmer, more refined. he wore his power differently now, not as reckless arrogance but as cultivated inevitability. but beneath the polish, wasn’t he still the same? reckless, insistent, curious, unwilling to leave you alone when you wanted distance.

the thought made your chest tighten, equal parts dread and something far less defined, far less welcome.

you dragged a hand over your face, forcing yourself to breathe evenly. control had been the foundation of your career. precision had been your weapon, your shield, your identity. you had built your position inch by inch, not through heritage or inheritance, but through discipline. effort. relentlessness.

no one could undermine that, not anymore. not even him. so you repeated it again, softer, quieter, as if whispering could make it truer:

you can handle this.

you are not who you were in university.

you will not let gojo satoru dismantle you.

still, even as you reassured yourself, the silence of your apartment made it impossible to ignore the other thought crawling into the edges of your mind.

what if he wasn’t here to play the same game anymore?

and worse—what if, despite everything you had buried, despite all the armor you had built around yourself, some small, treacherous part of you still wanted to find out?

you closed the laptop with more force than necessary, the sound sharp in the stillness. then you rose, dimmed the lights, and went through the motions of your night routine, each action mechanical, detached.

but when you finally slipped into bed, sheets cool against your skin, you knew the truth: sleep would not come easily. because even in the dark, even alone, his voice remained.

and for the first time in years, you didn’t know which part unsettled you more.

—

the boardroom was already humming when satoru strolled in, late enough to make people glance at their watches but not late enough for anyone to call him out. he thrived on that line—right at the edge of propriety, infuriatingly self-assured, and always untouchable. his suit was sharp, his grin sharper, and his stride carried the same careless weight it always had.

he walked like he owned the room, because, in many ways, he did.

the air shifted when he entered, people straightening unconsciously, voices dipping, half-annoyed and half-awed. he loved it — always had. but then his eyes caught on you.

his grin wavered.

you weren’t seated at the head of the table—that spot belonged to your ceo—but you didn’t need it. the space bent around you anyway. it was in the way you sat, posture long and unyielding, pen resting neatly between your fingers. it was in the way your eyes scanned the room with an ease that wasn’t cold but wasn’t yielding either. calm, commanding, deliberate.

you didn’t need to posture or raise your voice. the authority came from you like gravity — pulling the orbit of the room into your sphere without effort.

satoru blinked once, then twice.

the thought had crossed his mind once again: this wasn’t the you he remembered.

his memory painted you in messier strokes—ink-stained wrists, tired eyes shadowed by long nights, a jaw locked tight against exhaustion, fire sparking hot when he poked too hard. you’d been brilliant then, too brilliant for anyone else to keep up with, but there had been fragility in you, something sharp-edged and breakable that he’d always taken advantage of.

but that… was gone. the fragility had been smelted into steel.

your voice, when you spoke, was measured, crisp. each word cut through the chatter cleanly, no excess. when someone stumbled over a figure, you supplied it without glancing at your notes. when a junior executive’s voice faltered mid-presentation, you leaned forward, steadied the pace, redirected the conversation so seamlessly the disruption was forgotten before the speaker could even blush.

it wasn’t just competence. it was control.

you weren’t merely good— you were flawless.

he leaned back in his chair, long legs sprawling under the table, every inch of him feigned ease. but his eyes… they never left you. he tracked each shift of your pen, each arch of your brow, the precise way you tilted your head when listening.

you looked like you had always belonged here, like this room, this power, this stage, it had been waiting for you all along.

and he hated how much it startled him.

because if not for the slap that still burned in his memory, if not for the venom of i hate you echoing from a decade ago, he wouldn’t have believed it. he wouldn’t have believed this calm, unshakable woman was the same one who once spit fire at him until her voice broke.

his fingers twitched against the table.

you had been a storm back then — fury and exhaustion, fragile but fierce. but storms passed. this? this was permanent. this was something no one could sweep aside.

perfect.

the word hissed in his head, half-admiration, half-irritation.

and yet, he couldn’t look away.

“mr. gojo?”

the voice yanked him out of his stare. his head snapped up, smirk reassembling in a fraction of a second as he leaned forward onto his elbows, looking every bit the man who hadn’t just been caught watching someone far too closely.

“ah—sorry,” he drawled, grin cocky. “got distracted.”

your eyes flicked up, meeting his, sharp as they’d always been. just a brief glance and then you turned away.

the grin stayed on his lips, but it wasn’t a joke, not really.

he hadn’t been distracted. he’d been riveted.

and as the meeting ground on—percentages exchanged, projections debated, contracts adjusted—satoru realized he couldn’t summon his usual carelessness. every time you spoke, every time you cut through the noise with something cool and irrefutable with that soft, elegant tone of yours , he felt it.

like a hand at his collar. a reminder he hadn’t asked for. something slipping between the ribs.

by the time the first stack of documents hit the center of the table for review, he wasn’t thinking about profits. not about mergers, not about dividends, not about how his name would be in the headlines again tomorrow.

he was thinking about you.

about what had changed, and what hadn’t. about how he used to believe he understood you better than anyone else, and how sitting across from you now, he realized he didn’t know a single thing.

and more than anything— about how badly he wanted to know.

the contracts were stacked neatly in front of you, aligned so perfectly that even the interns sitting in the corner would’ve noticed the order. your pen glided over them with the same steady precision you’d carried all morning, each signature, each note, deliberate. your voice, when you spoke, had the same quality — measured, precise, never leaving room for doubt.

numbers, clauses, and contingencies spilled from your mouth like second nature. this was muscle memory by now, years of late nights and too many caffeine-fueled revisions woven into something so sharp it felt effortless.

you were in control. the room knew it. even the ceo sitting to your left let you handle the talking, his trust in you unspoken but obvious.

and that was when satoru decided to make his move.

“interesting projection,” he said suddenly, his voice a lazy curl of smoke through the polished air of the boardroom. casual. unhurried. designed to cut across the rhythm you’d established.

heads turned almost instantly — like gravity itself shifted toward him. his reputation preceded him, as always. everyone waited for your response.

his fingers tapped against the table, slow, steady, like a ticking clock meant to unsettle. his smile was too wide for a business meeting, sharp enough to toe the line between charm and mockery.

“but don’t you think it’s a little… optimistic?”

the air tightened. pens paused mid-scribble. an assistant glanced between the two of you like they were witnessing a storm crawl in.

you didn’t answer at first, you didn’t even look at him. your eyes stayed fixed on the sheet in front of you, pen steady in your hand, as though his voice was just background noise, as though he hadn’t spoken at all.

finally, you said one word, flat and clean,

“no.”

the silence that followed was sharp, brittle like glass.

you let it stretch, deliberately. then, slowly, you lifted your gaze and locked it with his, your expression unreadable but carrying just enough chill to make people shift in their seats.

“the data supports the projection,” you said, tone clipped but calm. “we’re not in the business of guesswork, mr. gojo.”

a flicker crossed his face, subtle, but there. surprise? irritation? amusement? even he probably couldn’t name it.

he leaned back in his chair, movement exaggerated, like he wasn’t rattled at all. one wrist lifted to adjust a cufflink, the picture of a man at ease. he was playing the role he always played — always untouchable, unbothered, winning.

“hm,” he drawled, drawl just a little thicker now. “i just wonder if you’ve accounted for market volatility. global trade isn’t exactly the picture of stability these days.”

there it was: the bait. a casual prod that, with anyone else, might have sent them scrambling for papers, proof, some desperate reassurance.

but not you.

you let him finish, let the weight of his words hang for half a beat, then answered in a voice so smooth it could’ve been carved from glass.

“we’ve accounted for it.”

your pen tapped once against the margin of the document, sharp and deliberate, punctuating the statement. “perhaps you’d like me to send you the full sensitivity analysis?”

the shift was immediate. a faint stir in the room—one of the junior analysts looked down quickly, hiding a smile behind his notes.

and satoru… stilled.

just for a second, his smile froze in place, faltered, before curving into something sharper, tighter.

“oh, i’d love that,” he said, smirk widening again. but there was a new edge to it now, less amusement, more challenge. “i do like reading bedtime stories.”

the insult was clear. the provocation unmistakable.

you didn’t blink, didn’t even flinch as you levelled him with a bored look.

“then i suggest you find a better hobby, mr. gojo.” your tone was cool, detached, not cruel, but final. “bedtime stories won’t help you keep up.”

a ripple of laughter ran across the table, restrained but audible. a few people tried to mask it with coughs. the ceo’s lips twitched like he was holding back a grin.

satoru’s hand stilled mid-drum against the table. his smile froze again, half a heartbeat too long, before reshaping itself into something sharper, almost feral.

you’d won so flawlessly, and he hated—no, he loved—that he couldn’t shake you anymore.

the discussion continued and the break came soon after, the executives dispersing toward the hallway, phones already in hand, voices dropping into low but urgent tones as they slipped back into their own worlds. the sharp scrape of chairs, the muffled ring of alerts, the faint hiss of the coffee machine — all of it mingled into a background hum that filled the smaller lounge adjacent to the boardroom.

you stood by the window, the city skyline sprawling just beyond the glass, your phone balanced in your hand. unread emails blinked at you, the screen glowing against your palm, but your focus wasn’t really on them. you were simply glad for the brief pause, the momentary shield that checking messages gave you.

then you heard it, that voice. casual, familiar, hated.

“still as sharp as ever.”

the words slid in like they owned the space, uninvited but inevitable. you didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“don’t start, gojo,” you said, your eyes never leaving the glow of your phone. your tone was firmly controlled — the kind of voice you used in meetings to signal boundaries without raising your volume.

but of course, he came closer. he always came closer, that ignorant man. you caught him in your periphery, tall frame cutting into your reflection in the glass. hands shoved deep into his pockets, posture loose, shoulders angled just enough to suggest ease rather than confrontation. he hadn’t changed— still carrying himself like gravity bent differently around him.

“what? i’m just giving you a compliment,” he replied lightly, tilting his head as if examining a piece of art instead of a person. “you shut me down so fast back there, i almost forgot what losing feels like.”

you let your eyes drift to him then, finally, just long enough to make your words land. “then maybe you should get used to it.”

your voice was smooth but sharp-edged, steel wrapped in silk.

“this isn’t university. i don’t have the time or patience for your games.”

the smile he wore faltered just slightly at that—just a twitch at the corner of his mouth, the briefest disruption of his mask. but it was there. he recovered quickly, though, a little too quickly.

“who said it’s a game?”

your expression didn’t shift. flat, steady. “you did. you always did.”

and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes— something stripped of his usual smugness. softer. regretful, maybe. a sliver of vulnerability too small for him to realize he’d let slip. you hated how quickly you registered that.

“i meant what i said, you know,” he said finally, his voice lower now. “at the gala.”

you tilted your head slightly, unimpressed. “about what?”

“about being sorry.”

your jaw tightened, the faintest tension cutting through your controlled composure. you didn’t look away. didn’t give him the satisfaction of breaking eye contact.

“just because you apologize ten years later doesn’t mean we’re going to be friends.” your words were measured, deliberate, each syllable falling with precision. “it doesn’t mean anything at all.”

the silence that followed wasn’t empty, it was rather heavy. weighted with the past, with everything neither of you had said, with the sharp finality you’d just laid down like a blade between you.

he exhaled, a low sound— half laugh, half something else. “you’re still mad, huh?”

“mad?” you echoed, raising a brow. there was no heat in your tone, no sharp crackle of old anger. just clarity. “no. i’ve moved on. i built a career, a life. i don’t have space for grudges.”

you shifted your phone in your hand, eyes flicking back toward the screen as though dismissing him. “but that doesn’t mean i want you in it.”

and that struck harder than anything else you could’ve said, because there was no fire this time. no explosive fury to match his teasing. no slap across the face or venom on your tongue. there was only cool, unshakable finality.

for once, satoru had no clever comeback. no joke to bridge the silence.

he just stood there, watching, as you angled your body away from him. your reflection in the glass was already backlit by the glow of your phone, your eyes scanning through messages, thumbs tapping quietly— like he wasn’t there at all. he nodded to himself before stepping away.

and maybe that was what hurt the most.

—

the city hummed under the weight of evening, lights glittering against glass towers, traffic weaving its endless song. from the back of the sleek black car, satoru satoru sank into the leather seat, feeling the soft vibration of the engine beneath him. the driver’s hands were steady on the wheel, eyes forward, unaware of the storm in the back.

satoru’s tie was loosened, jacket unbuttoned, the crisp lines of his suit already starting to wrinkle as he slumped against the seat, trying to let the day’s adrenaline fade.

he should’ve been celebrating. he should’ve been laughing with champagne in hand, recounting the clever negotiations that had sealed the deal, feeling the satisfaction of power bending to him yet again. the numbers were solid, the executives were impressed, the board was buzzing. he had won. people would toast to him tonight — they always did. his reputation preceded him like a shadow, inevitable and brilliant.

and yet—

your voice was the only thing in his head.

just because you apologize ten years later doesn’t mean we’re going to be friends. it doesn’t mean anything at all.

he remembered the precision of it. no theatrics, no venom, no fire. just a cold, crystalline statement of truth. and for some reason, that cut deeper than any insult, any challenge, any witty comeback he’d ever thrown at you in university.

he closed his eyes briefly, trying to exhale the thought, but it clung stubbornly, back then, your anger had been a game. a sparring match. every glare, every sharp retort, every heated word—you had fueled him. it had been exhilarating, infuriating, addictive. he could poke, prod, push until you snapped, and call it rivalry, call it fun.

but this… this was different. this wasn’t a game. it wasn’t playful. it wasn’t a challenge to charm or outwit. it was distance. unwavering. you hadn’t yelled. you hadn’t tried to make him feel guilty. you hadn’t even flinched when he leaned in with words meant to unsettle you. you had simply stated a fact: you did not want him in your life.

and the clarity of it hit harder than any blow he’d ever taken.

his fingers drummed restlessly against his knee, tapping out a rhythm that made no sense. neon streaks blurred past the window — red tail lights, golden street lamps, the pulse of the city — and for once, satoru felt out of sync with the world around him.

when had you become this untouchable?

he remembered the fire in your eyes in university, the spark that made every encounter dangerous, thrilling. he had thought that fire would always burn, that he could always fan it, that he could always provoke it into being. instead, he saw the calm, the steel, the unshakeable control.

and yes — he had to admit it, even if grudgingly — he admired it.

he muttered your words under his breath, bitterness coating them. no one had ever ignored him quite like that. the world bent, compromised, yielded. people slipped around him, flattered, cajoled, fought, and failed. but you? you didn’t bend, you didn’t break, you didn’t even play along. you had taken yourself entirely out of the equation, asserting a presence so absolute that he, for once, was irrelevant.

like he had never been the center of your world, and the thought left a sour, unsettling taste in his mouth.

“we’ve arrived, mr. gojo.”

the car pulled up to his penthouse without fanfare, but satoru barely noticed. the engine hummed down, the driver’s soft clearing of the throat barely registered as he climbed out, brushing a hand through his hair, loosening his tie further.

“yeah,” he muttered, stepping out into the cool night. the city’s lights stretched below him through the penthouse windows, glittering against the darkness, but even the glitter didn’t feel bright enough to lift his mood.

the apartment greeted him with its usual sterile perfection— polished marble floors, sleek furniture, the skyline sprawling endlessly. yet the emptiness of it all mocked him. he tossed his tie on the counter, kicked off his shoes, sank into the couch, letting himself fall into the quiet.

and silence pressed down harder than any crowd ever could.

for years, he’d convinced himself he’d forgotten you. the party, your venom, your disappearance at graduation—all of it could be rationalized, buried beneath layers of ego and success. he had moved on, or so he told himself.

but now, sitting alone with only the city as witness, he realized the truth. he hadn’t forgotten at all. he had buried the memory, wrapped it neatly in layers of arrogance and distraction, and pretended it didn’t matter.

and now you were back. not the reckless, loud rival of his youth. not the girl who had slapped him and burned his pride in front of everyone. but someone stronger, quieter, sharper—someone he could no longer easily dismiss.

and the worst, most intoxicating part? he wanted to reach you despite how unreachable you were. funny how it worked.

someone who didn’t just challenge him. someone who rendered his usual tricks, charm, and games ineffective. someone who made him feel, in a way he hadn’t in years, like maybe for the first time, he wasn’t winning.

satoru leaned back on his couch, eyes on the ceiling, letting himself feel the weight of that realization. the city pulsed below, indifferent, eternal and yet nothing below mattered nearly as much as the echo of your words in his mind.

it doesn’t mean anything at all.

and somehow, impossibly, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

—

the office was empty when you finally packed up your things, the hum of fluorescent lights above mingling with the faint click of your heels against the polished floor. emails had been answered, calls returned, presentations reviewed. in theory, the day was over.

but your mind refused to shut off.

gojo’s presence had hung over every interaction, every decision, every carefully measured word. he hadn’t spoken much directly to you after the hallway encounter, but that didn’t matter—his energy, that same impossible charisma, had been a shadow across the room, a silent weight at the edge of every discussion.

you tried to focus on the work itself, on the numbers, the projections, the analysis. that was what grounded you. that was what reminded you who you were.

and yet, despite every mental reassurance, a pull lingered— a reflex you didn’t trust, didn’t like, didn’t intend to indulge.

he’s changed. he apologized. he’s human now.

you repeated it like a mantra, willing yourself to believe it. willing yourself to dismiss the tug at your chest when his gaze briefly swept over you during the meeting. willing yourself to remember that the apology didn’t erase the past, didn’t give him access, didn’t mean anything about friendship or trust.

because you couldn’t afford him, not now. not ever.

you zipped your bag, adjusted your blazer, and started the walk to the subway. the evening air was crisp, and the city lights shimmered like fireflies against the dark.

you let yourself take a deep breath, slow and steady, centering, grounding. you’d prepared for the future—your life, your career—and he was just… a complication, nothing more.

and yet, in the quiet of your commute, your mind wandered despite you.

what would it be like to have him in meetings every day? to sit across from him, watch him challenge your ideas, notice your moves, try to push past the boundaries you set? if you were so affected now, would you be able to take it further?

you shook your head. dangerous thoughts.

and then the sharper ones followed.

he remembered you. more than that, he noticed you. every subtle shift, every glance, every careful word. he’d been measuring, calculating—not for business, not only for business—but for something else entirely.

you clenched your hands in your lap, gripping your bag strap as if it could anchor you. you are not that person anymore.

you reminded yourself that he had no right to invade your focus, your life, your carefully built space. you reminded yourself that the fire you’d once felt for him — hatred, yes, but also fascination — was tempered now into control. into distance. into discipline.

you exhaled slowly, letting the night air wash over you. you were good at this. you had earned every inch of your career, every opportunity, every success. you had done it alone.

and yet, the thought lingered stubbornly, impossible to shake:

he’s here. and no matter how much I try, he’s still going to be a problem.

a problem you couldn’t ignore.

a problem you weren’t sure you wanted to ignore.

tori’s notes. we seeing some things changing in their brain don’t weee??? also this my first time attempting a real slow burn and i think i’m doing pretty good on the slow part lmao. anyway THANKS FOR ALL THE LOVE FOR THIS SERIES GUYSS (also um please don’t ask to be in the taglist? like i really appreciate it but i can’t keep up i’m so sorry)

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imnotabot28 · 8 days ago

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class reunion (2)

prev | part 2 | next

after their attempt at cheating with their first love fails, they come back to you. angst

incl: gojo, geto, shiu, toji, sukuna

taglist

@3rdmonday @i2s2m @vynn30 @primaddona-girl @pandabiene5115 @uniquecutie-puffs @abrielletargaryen @corpsebridenightamare @emoedgylord @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @fushiguroooozzz @fanfanfantic @swoozleee @xotittyloverxo @pillkits @xjsjsjv1 @arixhills @pidge-the-shapeshifter @cc2431 @imawhore @justmare @allofffmypeaches @claymoreshaze @cypherthecreator @reree22222 @mimiluvzu2 @karai-frost @miizuzu @princesstiti14 @peaktora @totallygyomeiswife @beautifulwitchcandy @preeyas-world @privthemis @indigor @twstedfreak @xenop0p @jjluvspink

sorry if i missed anyone. Also gojo gets blocked too. also this is part 2 of 3.

#smau #jjk x you #jjk angst #jjk fake texts #jjk imagines #anime smau #jjk fanfic #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto c reader #gojo x reader #jjk #jjk smau

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imnotabot28 · 9 days ago

Text

class reunion (2)

prev | part 2 | next

after their attempt at cheating with their first love fails, they come back to you. angst

incl: gojo, geto, shiu, toji, sukuna

taglist

sorry if i missed anyone. Also gojo gets blocked too. also this is part 2 of 3.

#jjk smau #jjk x you #jjk fake texts #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #geto x reader #anime smau #jjk angst #jjk gojo #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #geto c reader #gojo x reader #smau #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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imnotabot28 · 9 days ago

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broken. angst. satoru gojo. ryomen sukuna. chapter index.

The first lesson fatherhood taught Satoru was that he hated sharing.

Watching your boyfriend drop you and his pretty princess off at the playground, pressing a kiss to each of your foreheads and rubbing your back before climbing back into his truck? It was fucking torture.

Made him wonder if he'd passed away in that stupid accident and the past few years were just his own personal hell, being tormented by the prospect of a future where you weren't his.

To see the pretty tilt of your head when you waved at Sukuna as he drove off, a tiny hand clasped in your other one. His girls saying goodbye to the father of the year.

And here he was, trying to catch up in a game he only just realized he was playing.

In a week, you'd sent him probably a thousand photos of Saori over the past two years. Videos too. Her as a baby and babbling. Chewing on toys and toddling. Her first steps and words. It didn't fill the ache in his chest, but it dulled it. Made the harsh edges of the regret not quite as sharp.

Let him video chat with Saori every night for the past week. Usually just for fifteen minutes, maybe half an hour, until she got bored and scampered off to play with toys or grab a snack.

But Satoru still treasured every second. Tried to cement every detail she rambled about and figure out how to translate her toddler talk into real words. Let himself enjoy each one of your smiles and soak in your laughter.

He understood why you didn't tell him. Even if it hurt.

And in the faint circles under your eyes your makeup couldn't conceal, he could tell you were hurting too. Your nails were bitten down, nail polish chipped. Probably just as nervous for this as he was.

You readjusted your bag over one shoulder, Saori already clamoring for you to pick her up with outstretched arms, but Satoru was hurrying to swoop in.

To be the one to hold her this time.

"Satoru, um, hi," You started, a slightly stilted greeting, but Saori had already turned to squeal excitedly at him approaching. All big cheeks and tiny teeth and wide eyes as she chirped papa.

He'd prefer daddy or dada, but he'd take anything from either of you.

Saori was half-sprinting, jumping up against him to be lifted in the air and spun around. She was heavier than he expected, but to be honest, he'd never held a kid like this before, never known what it was like to have one in his arms. Let alone one that was his.

"You wanna play, princess?" He grinned, resting her on his hip like he'd seen you do, using his free hand to poke your cheek.

She eagerly nodded, clumsy hands tugging at his shirt and leaving crumbs behind on the neat blue button-up he picked out like it'd actually impress you today.

You noticed, brows pinched as you sighed. "Sorry, I don't usually let her eat in the car, but-"

"It's fine," Satoru waved it off, smiling at you in the hopes you'd return it.

You did. It wasn't big, or bright, but it was sincere. Soft.

"I wanna swing," Saori tugged at him with one hand, pointing at the swing set on the other side of the playground with the other.

"Sure," He nodded, waiting for you to step forward, to be by his side before he started towards it.

It was a little awkward. Strange to be striding across a park with the woman he still thought of as his other half and the daughter he was desperate to know, but Saori didn't seem to care. Just accepted him as part of her life, another new person to buy her toys and shower her with affection.

Maybe he didn't come to him totally naturally, nearly dropping her trying to get her situated on the seat of the swing, but it was nice to hear you giggle at him catching her and trying to play it cool. Guiding your (and his) daughter's tiny hands to hold onto the chain while he gently nudged her.

But his daughter was like him, and a little airtime wasn't enough.

"Higher," she whined, and you threw him a little look, like fine.

Greed was just in the genes.

And as much as he loved this, as much as he adored spending time with both of you, he still wanted more. To not have to leave from here and go back to his empty fucking apartment while you took her to your pretty house with those blooming hydrangeas and the picket fence he wished was his.

Saori got bored swinging after fifteen minutes, making him chase her and play tag before a little boy came over to tug on the hem of her sleeve and ask her to play with him instead. Satoru felt an unexpectedly sharp pang in his chest when she happily agreed and toddled off after her new friend onto the toddler playground.

"Sucks when she ditches you, doesn't it?" You murmured, understanding and sweet, rubbing the back of your neck as you stood next to him to watch.

"Yeah," He agreed, sucking in a shallow breath. "It does."

You looked up at him, and he was pretty sure his already aching heart stopped. "How have you been?"

"I'm okay," He lied. He was a wreck. He missed you, missed this, missed being by your side and feeling the heat off your skin and the smell of your perfume when it actually was on you instead of just spritzed on his pillow. "Just a lot to adjust to."

You nodded, glancing back over at Saori to make sure she was okay before turning your attention briefly to his face. "Honestly, I figured you probably would've remarried by now."

Satoru barely stifled a laugh.

He'd spent all this time wishing for a redo with you, when you were convinced he moved on with someone else.

"Did you want me to?" He teased, and you rolled your eyes.

"I wanted you to choose," You spoke in a small voice, quiet but steady. And it hit him, something he couldn't believe he never fucking thought of since the day he discovered the divorce paper. "Whatever it was that you wanted."

Part of you had always hoped he'd come back and choose you. And he hadn't. Well, he had, but in the wrong way, too little and too late.

"If I ever got remarried, it'd be to you," Satoru said, only half-teasing now. You shook your head, thinking it was just another joke, and he didn't have it in him to tell you he was being serious.

"I don't think I'm ever going to get remarried," You muttered, and he heard that thread of raw hurt that still tinged your voice, the pieces of you he'd left shattered in that hospital room. The ones his distance only crumbled into dust until you divorced him.

"Oh," He breathed.

And it was wrong, but there was some little spark of hope spreading in his stomach that Sukuna wouldn't get to call you his wife - that maybe there was still some chance for him to fit in your life as more than just a coparent.

"Do you ever think what would happen if we, you know, stayed married?" You asked, looking away from him. Watching Saori with that hint of a smile on your lips, like you couldn't help grinning when your eyes were on her.

"More than I should," Satoru admitted.

"Me too," You confessed, shrugging your shoulders like it didn't mean much. But he knew that wasn't true.

"We probably would've had another kid," He said, and hated himself for how stupid it sounded when your spine went stiff. You looked down at your feet, awkwardly cleared your throat. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said-"

"You're probably right," You interrupted, forcing a smile. "Sukuna just wants to have one, um, you know, give Saori a sibling."

Satoru hadn't realized he still had something left inside him to snap.

"Oh," He said again, but it was broken, barely clinging on to his friendly veneer.

You didn't say anything, and Satoru couldn't tell what you were thinking.

"Um, do you want to?" Satoru eventually asked.

Your shrug wasn't particularly convincing.

"I think I'm going to tell him yes," You admitted, but then Saori tripped, scraping her knee on the small stairs. You were moving first, calling out her name as tears welled in those big blue eyes that looked so much like his own.

You were pulling bandaids out of your bag, scooping her up effortlessly and carrying her over to the closest bench. Getting down on your knees in front of her while you peeled the paper off the back of the bandage and carefully applied it over the broken skin, pressing a kiss on top with promises of getting her a sweet treat while Saori sniffled.

"Are you gonna come?" Saori pouted at him, giving him her best set of puppy dog eyes as he looked to you for approval. And you looked up at him like you wanted him to too.

"Sure, baby," He promised, leaning down to ruffle her hair.

And when he buckled her into the brand new carseat he'd watched three videos to make sure he installed correctly, opened your car door before you could protest, he couldn't help but think this was how it was supposed to be.

His family instead of his ex-wife and the daughter who called another man daddy.

He tried to act unbothered, to smile and fake it while he drove you to some overpriced ice cream shop and ordered your favorite without you needing to ask.

"How'd you remember? I don't think-" You started, brows scrunched together in confusion while he readjusted his hold on Saori.

"Some stuff started coming back," He admitted, and you looked like someone stabbed you. "Mostly about you."

Just sat across the table from him stunned and silent while Saori eagerly chattered about dinosaurs and learning how to count. Satoru ended up spoon-feeding her half the time, napkins scattered across the table at the mess she was making while you barely chimed in.

You pulled out your phone, chewing on your lip when you typed something out and pouted as you deleted and retried. You noticed him looking though, offering yet another smile that doubled as an apology. "Sorry, it's just Sukuna asking when to pick us up."

Hearing his name from your lips left a bitter taste in his mouth.

How could he hate a man that loved you? Took care of his daughter and tucked her in when he wasn't there?

He couldn't. Well, he could (and did), but he was trying his hardest not to.

Satoru didn't want to watch you have another man's baby. Didn't want you to go back home with him. But he didn't have a choice, did he?

"I could drive you," Satoru offered, popping his own spoon in his mouth.

"You really don't have to," You hesitated, and he leaned into the toddler next to him.

"It's no problem," He promised, looking down at his daughter. "You wanna go for another ride in my car?"

"Mhm," She nodded, mouth still stuffed full of ice cream.

"I'll, uh, let him know," You relented.

And it was probably a terrible idea, but he couldn't help what popped into his head watching you stress over a simple text.

"When's the last time you've taken a vacation?"

Your head tilted to the side, confused and a little apprehensive. "What?"

"When?" Satoru asked again.

"Um, our honeymoon, I guess?" You answered honestly, nose scrunching up and lips turning down.

"Why don't we go on another one?" He proposed, stomach flipping over waiting for you to flat-out reject the idea.

"Satoru," You tried to speak firmly, anxiously looking over to see if Saori understood.

"A week or two away. Us and Saori. Let me get to know her better. Probably be nice to get a break from everything and go to the beach, you know?" He suggested, and he could tell you were about to shoot him down. But you looked so pretty biting your lip like that, hesitating like you didn't want to hurt his feelings. "I'll pay for everything. Your boyfriend can come too."

"Are you being serious?" You asked, and he could see the gears in your brain turning as you started to genuinely consider it.

"Of course," He reassured you. "It'll be fun."

He'd just have to manage not to strangle the guy trying to get you pregnant.

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imnotabot28 · 9 days ago

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hojo better grovel 🙂

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ after the events of the party, you and gojo part ways — he inherits privilege and power, while you climb the ladder through grit alone. coming face to face with each other wasn’t a part of his plan. neither was it a part of yours.

part 1 -> part 2 -> part 3

after that night, you never spoke to gojo again. not in class, not in hallways, not in the quiet corners of libraries where you used to cross paths. it wasn’t even avoidance anymore — it was absence. a cold, hollow silence where something sharp and burning used to be.

you buried yourself in the rest of your final year. exams, papers, applications: you drowned in them, let yourself vanish beneath the weight of every deadline. sometimes you wondered if he looked at you in passing, if he still carried some trace of that night, but you never let yourself check.

when graduation came, you didn’t go.

you told your friends you were sick. told yourself you didn’t need a ceremony to prove anything. you already had your degree, your future waiting—or maybe not waiting, but something you’d have to claw toward anyway. you’d never been one for rituals.

the truth was simpler: you couldn’t bear to stand in that hall, cap on your head, diploma in hand, while gojo satoru’s name was called beside yours. couldn’t stand to hear the applause that always followed him, that blinding spotlight that somehow still reached you no matter how hard you’d tried to escape it. so you stayed home. sat on the edge of your bed with the blinds drawn, the muffled sound of celebration spilling faintly from the campus in the distance.

and gojo noticed. he’d known, the moment they lined up, that something was wrong. your row was thinner than it should have been, the empty seat glaring like a wound. he scanned the crowd—out of habit, out of something he refused to name—and didn’t see you. not at the ceremony, not in the chaos of photographs after, not in the groups spilling into bars and restaurants. nowhere.

and the realization settled heavy in his chest, that you’d walked away.

he should’ve expected it. he’d pushed too far that night, tried to blur lines that were never meant to bend. you’d made it clear, with your words and your hand against his cheek, that you wanted nothing more to do with him.

but standing there in his robes, the tassel brushing against his temple, diploma in hand, surrounded by laughter and congratulations—he felt it. the hollow space where you should have been.

for once, the noise around him felt empty.

he smiled for the cameras, said the right words to professors, clapped his friends on the back, but his eyes kept catching on every gap in the crowd, every corner you weren’t in.

and later, when the night settled and everyone spilled out into streets and celebrations, he let himself wonder.

if you’d been there, would you have looked at him one last time? would it have meant anything? or would it just have been more silence, the same heavy absence that had followed him ever since that night? he didn’t know. but he knew this: you weren’t there.

and that hurt worse than the slap you landed on his face. . .

either way, post-university, gojo’s life unfurled in a way that almost looked effortless from the outside.

he slipped into opportunities the way he always had. his family name opened doors before he even reached for the handle. internships led to positions, positions led to promotions, and within a couple years he was exactly where everyone always expected him to be: sharp suit, corner office, the kind of future people admired at a distance.

and he hated how easy it was.

he told himself it was what he wanted—what he’d worked toward. the grades, the connections, the internships, all of it had built to this. but sitting in meetings where half the room laughed too quickly at his jokes and the other half measured his surname before they measured his skill, he felt something gnawing.

he could do the work, sure, he was good at it, but the shine dulled quickly when he realized no one ever expected him to prove it. not really. and in the quiet spaces, late nights at the office, or mornings where the city still felt asleep, he thought about you.

not always consciously. sometimes it was just a flicker, like the sound of laughter echoing too close to yours, or a face in the crowd with your tilt of a smile. but it was there, stitched into the silence he carried with him.

he remembered everything—your sharp comebacks, the way you never let him coast too easily, the fire in your eyes when you beat him to an answer. god, he missed that. he missed someone looking at him and not seeing inevitability, but competition.

and he remembered the slap. the words. i fucking hate you, gojo.

sometimes he told himself you’d meant it. sometimes he told himself you hadn’t. either way, it stuck like a stone in his chest.

he dated, here and there. quick, easy things that never lasted. he was charming enough to pull people in, but the weight of expectation followed him everywhere, and sooner or later it smothered things. he couldn’t untangle what people wanted from him—from his name, from his future—and what they wanted from him.

you were the last person who’d never made it easy, who’d looked at him and seen something you wanted to tear down rather than use.

and now you were gone.

his friends still teased him sometimes about his “old rival.” most of them didn’t know the full story. they’d joke about how dramatic you two had been, about the way you’d snapped at each other in classes, about how “hot” it had been to watch. he laughed along, shrugged it off, let the image of rivalry stay intact because the truth was heavier, lonelier.

he worked. he climbed. he coasted.

but at night, when the city lights burned through his window and the silence in his apartment pressed in close, he thought about how you hadn’t come to graduation. how you’d chosen absence over seeing him one last time.

time had a way of sanding the edges off things.

after a while, even the sharpness of that night dulled. the sting of your words, the sound of your slap—at first, they’d haunted him like a phantom echo. but years have a way of burying memories under the grind of routine, the steady churn of success, and the endless expectations of adulthood.

gojo moved on.

he built the kind of resume people envied, even if they whispered behind his back that he’d been born with half of it. the family company was always waiting for him, a golden path paved before he was even old enough to spell his own name. and though he used to resent it, though he once wanted to prove himself outside the safety net, he found himself slipping back into it naturally.

his father started involving him more directly, bringing him into meetings not just as a representative but as an heir. the word carried a weight he didn’t want to admit he liked. heir. it meant permanence. inevitability. it meant no one could take this from him, not professors, not peers, not rivals.

and he thrived in it.

the sharpness of his mind hadn’t dulled, even if he didn’t have to fight as hard for recognition anymore. he could see solutions in seconds, read people before they finished their introductions. he was confident in ways he hadn’t been as a student—not the cocky mask of youth, but the polished assurance of a man who had both power and proof.

at some point he dated more seriously, too. women and men alike, partners who looked good on his arm at charity galas or board dinners. there were flings, yes, but also a few long-term things that lasted a year or two. none of them stuck, though. not because he couldn’t commit, but because the weight of who he was and who he’d always be hung between him and everyone else.

he was never just gojo satoru. he was the gojo satoru.

and for the most part, he accepted that. he leaned into it.

the parties got bigger, the stakes higher. he learned how to drink just enough, laugh just enough, speak just enough to charm investors and competitors alike. he was fluent in the language of wealth and power, a world he once mocked but now wore like a second skin.

sometimes, late at night, he would catch himself wondering if this was all too easy, if he’d truly earned any of it, but he buried that thought quickly, the way he buried other things.

like you.

he stopped thinking about you after a few years. not out of malice, not out of choice, but out of the same, familiar inevitability. life crowded out the space you once occupied. the rivalry, the fire, the slap—all of it faded until it was just a faint memory he couldn’t summon unless he tried.

you became a ghost story in his past. a name his old classmates occasionally dropped over drinks, followed by laughter about how dramatic you both were. he didn’t bother to correct them anymore. didn’t feel the ache he once did.

the truth was simple: you weren’t there. you hadn’t been there for years.

and he was busy becoming who he was always meant to be.

by the time gojo hit his early thirties, the unstoppable nature of, of himself, it all had settled like a mantle on his shoulders.

he wasn’t just an heir anymore. he was it.

the board members who used to smirk behind their hands at his youth now leaned toward him in meetings, measuring his words like scripture. his father had begun stepping back, his presence more ceremonial than functional, and everyone knew it was only a matter of time before gojo officially inherited the empire.

and gojo wore it well.

he’d grown into his face, into his height, into his confidence. the boyish arrogance of his student years had refined into something sleeker, more dangerous. charm was no longer a defense mechanism; it was a tool, something he wielded as effortlessly as a pen. he knew how to smile just enough, how to let silence stretch until people gave him what he wanted, how to wrap even his sharpest critiques in silk.

the city knew him. the industry knew him. sometimes it felt like the whole world did. articles were written about him, profiles framed him as a generational prodigy, investors called him visionary.

and for the most part, he believed it.

his days blurred into schedules: early meetings, endless calls, polished dinners. his nights were filled with the kind of parties that only the wealthy could access—lavish, glittering events where his presence was both expected and scrutinized. he danced through it all with ease, the perfect son, the perfect successor.

there were whispers, of course. that he was too young, that his last name carried him farther than his skill. but even those whispers began to fade when quarter after quarter, he delivered results that no one could deny.

he dated occasionally, but the older he got, the less patience he had for it. there were partners who looked good on paper, who fit neatly into the image of what his life should look like. some lasted months, others a year. but nothing stuck. not because he couldn’t commit, but because the role was too heavy for anyone else to bear.

so he let it go. leaned into work, into success. into the empire he was building with hands that had never known real failure.

sometimes, in rare quiet moments, he would wonder if this was really it. if the rest of his life would be this cycle of deals and dinners, this constant forward motion toward bigger and bigger numbers.

but mostly, he didn’t question it.

because what was there to question? he had everything. the power, the wealth, the recognition.

he had the crown.

and if there were nights where he found himself staring out over the city from his high-rise, glass of whiskey in hand, wondering why the victory felt just a little hollow—he buried it. the way he’d buried everything else.

including you.

and, well, as for you?

graduation came and went without you.

you told yourself you didn’t care. that watching everyone in their robes, watching him in his robe, would’ve been unbearable. it was easier to stay away, to bury yourself in the silence of your room and remind yourself that walking across that stage didn’t change who you were or what you’d done.

but the truth was—it hurt.

after university, the world didn’t open for you the way it did for others. especially not the way it did for gojo. jobs didn’t fall into your lap. you fought tooth and nail for interviews, clutched at internships that barely paid, balanced side jobs to keep afloat. every step forward felt like it took three times the effort anyone else needed.

and every time someone mentioned the word “connections,” you felt that familiar bitterness gnaw at you.

you told yourself you weren’t jealous. that you didn’t want his life anyway, that you’d rather carve something out with your own hands than inherit it, but it was hard, sometimes. hard not to think of him when rejection letters piled up, when bosses overlooked you, when exhaustion settled into your bones.

still, you pushed forward.

you built slowly, piece by piece. small roles that turned into bigger ones, projects that gave you enough credibility to get noticed. nothing glittered, nothing was effortless, but it was yours. the fire you’d carried at university dimmed after a while. not gone—never gone—but quieter, tempered. competition required an opponent, and you no longer had one.

you dated, too, though it always felt complicated. sometimes you worried you were too distracted, too tired, too wrapped up in proving yourself. there were moments of sweetness, of warmth, but nothing lasting.

and through it all, the shadow of him lingered.

not as sharply as before—not the way it had in those first raw years, when the thought of him was like salt in a wound. now, it was more like a ghost. a flicker at the edge of thought when you walked past a glossy skyscraper, when you overheard someone talking about heirs and legacies.

you didn’t look him up. not deliberately.but sometimes his name brushed against yours in articles, in industry chatter, in the mouths of people who liked to gossip about the gilded. gojo satoru, heir to the gojo group… gojo satoru, rising star in business…

and you told yourself it meant nothing, because your life was not his life. you weren’t chasing him anymore, no, you were chasing yourself.

the years stretched, and though it wasn’t easy, though it was a constant uphill climb, filled with long nights and quiet doubts, you built something you could stand on. maybe not an empire, maybe not a crown, but yours.

and if sometimes you wondered what it would feel like to see him again, to look into those eyes after so many years and know whether you still hated him or if the hate had dulled into something else—

well. you pushed that thought away, too.

your first job wasn’t glamorous. it wasn’t even close to what you dreamed of. you started as an assistant in a mid-tier firm, running schedules, making coffee, taking notes no one would ever read again. but you didn’t let it end there. you watched, you learned, you noticed what others missed—the way certain executives negotiated, the subtle cues that decided whether a deal went through or fell apart.

when the chance came to step in, you did. a small presentation here, an unexpected solution there. people started to notice. and once they noticed, you made damn sure they couldn’t forget you.

every opportunity became a foothold. you climbed, slowly at first, then faster, gaining speed and skill as the years went on. what others took for granted, you fought for and because of that, you owned it.

your twenties blurred into a series of long nights, sharp wins, and steady promotions. the climb wasn’t linear— you had setbacks, failures that knocked the wind out of you— but you always rose again. each stumble only sharpened you further.

by the time you hit your late twenties, you weren’t just surviving in the corporate world. you were thriving.

your name started to carry weight in the circles that mattered. not because of family, not because of heritage, but because of results. projects you led began drawing attention, not only inside your company but outside of it. your strategies worked. your leadership inspired. people began to seek you out.

headhunting offers followed. firms whispered promises of higher salaries, bigger teams, more visibility, and though you didn’t always take them, you could. that freedom alone was its own kind of triumph.

your thirties arrived, and with them came the roles you once thought were reserved only for people like him — executive-level positions, international opportunities, invitations to sit at tables you’d only dreamed of.

except you weren’t dreaming anymore. you were there.

and the best part was that every step, every achievement, was yours. not inherited. not handed down. earned. carved out of long hours and sharp choices, sacrifices and resilience.

there were moments you allowed yourself to stop, to look back at how far you’d come, and marvel at it. the younger version of you, the one who’d sat bitterly in her room on graduation day, would’ve never believed it.

but you’d done it. you were no longer chasing anyone. you weren’t trying to outpace a ghost, or prove a point to a boy who once thought you were just a rival in a game.

this was your life and you’d built it from the ground up.

but success didn’t feel the way you thought it would.

when you were younger, it had always been this shining, unreachable thing in your mind. a promise that once you touched it—once you finally made it—everything would make sense. the exhaustion, the endless work, the bitterness of watching people like gojo glide past you as if the world were designed for them. it would all be worth it, you told yourself, if you could just get there.

and in many ways, it was.

there was satisfaction in walking into a boardroom and knowing people listened when you spoke. in seeing your name in industry reports, tied to successes no one could take from you. in receiving invitations you once thought were reserved for the untouchable elite.

there was pride, too. deep, steady pride, like steel in your bones, because every title, every promotion, every recognition — it was yours. no legacy, no surname, no family fortune propping you up. only work, persistence, and the refusal to quit when the world gave you every reason to.

however there were quieter moments when success felt different.

sometimes it felt hollow. like standing at the top of a skyscraper and realizing the air is thinner up here, colder. you looked around and realized how much you’d sacrificed for the climb—relationships that never had the space to grow, friendships that withered because you didn’t have the time to water them, nights where you traded rest for progress.

you weren’t lonely, exactly. you had people, colleagues, even friends who admired and respected you. but there was a kind of solitude in being the one who had clawed her way up the hardest route possible. no one else could fully understand what it cost.

other times, it felt bittersweet. like standing in front of your reflection after a long day, dressed sharply, makeup perfect, another victory under your belt—and thinking, i did it. i actually did it. only for the thought to be followed immediately by: and tomorrow, i’ll have to do it again.

there were nights when you lay awake and asked yourself if this was it. if the endless climb, the constant forward push, was all there was.

but then there were days—glorious days—where success filled you with something radiant. like when a younger colleague told you they looked up to you, that you made them believe they could do it too, or when you closed a deal no one thought possible, or when you realized that you no longer felt small, overlooked, powerless.

because the truth was, no matter the weight, no matter the hollow parts—you’d proven yourself. not to anyone else. to yourself.

and that mattered more than anything.

by the time your early thirties rolled around, you were solidly established. not just climbing anymore, but standing in a place most people never reached.

you were an executive now—regional head at a respected multinational, with a team that actually listened, a budget that meant something, and projects that rippled across industries. the kind of position people fought tooth and nail for, sometimes their entire careers, and you’d landed it before most even hit their stride.

your calendar was packed with meetings, flights, dinners, negotiations. weeks blurred with jet lag and back-to-back calls, but you moved through it with the kind of precision only years of hard practice gave you. people had begun to describe you as sharp, formidable, reliable—words you once dreamed of having attached to your name.

your apartment reflected the life you’d carved. sleek, minimal, expensive without being ostentatious. a view of the city you once thought you’d never have. proof, in concrete and glass, of how far you’d come.

socially, you’d built a circle too. colleagues who turned into friends, friends who turned into anchors when the job threatened to consume you. and though you still sometimes wrestled with the solitude of success, you weren’t alone.

financially, you were stable—no, more than stable. comfortable. secure. you didn’t worry about bills anymore, about whether you’d make it to the next month. your name carried weight now. not the kind of inherited weight gojo once flaunted, but earned. weight people respected.

and for the first time in a long time, you were breathing easier. not coasting, but steady.

you weren’t the girl grinding herself down, desperate to prove she could keep up. you weren’t the “rival” consumed with someone else’s shadow. you were yourself. successful. established. proud.

the fire that drove you was still there, but it burned cleaner now. less frantic, less jagged. you’d learned to harness it, to direct it.

and if sometimes you caught yourself wondering what it might feel like to cross paths with the past—to see his face again, older, sharper, touched by the same years that had shaped you—well, you dismissed it.

because you had no reason to look back.

your life was full, your future brighter than ever.

and then, just when you’d settled into that certainty, life began moving its quiet pieces. the kind you never noticed until you were standing face-to-face with someone you once swore you hated.

—

the ballroom was everything it was supposed to be: glittering chandeliers, champagne flutes clinking in practiced rhythms, a string quartet humming away in the corner while laughter and congratulations swelled and broke like waves.

it was the kind of event gojo had been raised for. the kind where his name opened doors before he even stepped through them, where people hovered just close enough to catch his attention, eager to curry favor.

tonight was no different.

the deal had been massive—his father’s company merging with a foreign powerhouse, a partnership that meant headlines, wealth, security, prestige. he’d led the final negotiations himself, presented the plan, smoothed it all into place. and now, as the ink dried, the celebration was his to own.

he stood at the center of it, as he always did. tall, sharp, dazzling in a suit tailored within an inch of its life. people laughed at his jokes, toasted his brilliance, congratulated him on being the face of a new era.

and he felt nothing.

their praise slid off him like water on glass. every “well done,” every “you’ve made your father proud,” every “you’re the future, gojo-kun”—empty. meaningless.

he smiled, of course. he always smiled. grinned wide enough to blind, tossed his champagne back with the ease of a man who knew he was adored, but beneath it, the emptiness yawned wider.

he’d done everything right. followed the path carved out for him, exceeded every expectation. he was rich, powerful, admired.

so why did it all feel so hollow?

he laughed at another toast, the sound sharp, practiced, echoing a little too loud in his own ears. and then—

a voice. not directed at him, but close enough to cut through the din. clear, professional, carrying the weight of authority. his gaze tracked toward it, half idly, expecting some familiar executive, another gray-suited power broker.

but instead—

it was you.

standing across the room, glass in hand, surrounded by colleagues who looked at you with admiration and respect. older, sharper, polished by years of effort he hadn’t witnessed. no longer the student he’d sparred with in lecture halls, but an executive; someone who belonged in this room — not as a guest, not as a hanger-on, but as an equal.

your name rolled off someone’s tongue in introduction, paired with a title he hadn’t expected: executive director, high enough to make the crowd around you pay attention.

and suddenly, the air in the room shifted. for him, at least.

his pulse kicked hard against his ribs, that practiced emptiness cracking for the first time all evening.

you. here. not a memory, not a ghost, but flesh and blood.

and not just here—you were part of this. one of the executives of the very company he’d just closed the deal with.

his first instinct was disbelief, as if the universe had decided to play a cruel joke. his second was something sharper, messier: a rush of everything he thought he’d buried.

anger. nostalgia. regret.

he laughed again, but this time it was softer, almost breathless. the people around him kept talking, kept praising, but he barely heard them. because across the room, you existed in a way that made the emptiness inside him feel like it had just been waiting for this.

for a heartbeat, he wanted to convince himself he was imagining it. graceful in a silky gown, poised with years of experience, even more beautiful than he remembered—but unmistakably you. there was no mistaking the way you carried yourself, the precision of your movements, the tilt of your chin when you addressed a colleague.

he leaned slightly toward the executive next to him, pretending to inspect a champagne glass, his voice lowered just enough to pass as casual.

“hey,” he murmured, tilting his head subtly toward you, “do you know who that is?”

the executive glanced, smiled politely, and shrugged. “sorry, not sure.”

gojo blinked, internal panic flaring in the quietest, sharpest way. “you… you don’t?” he asked, voice a fraction too low, too forced.

“don’t know?” the other repeated, smiling faintly. “maybe a new director or something? I think they’re from the company you just finalized with. the CEO mentioned her earlier.”

gojo’s heart caught. from the company I just finalized with. the words landed heavy, suffocating.

he followed your movements as you strode with a small group of colleagues, poised and efficient, toward the center of the room. the CEO of the company approached first, polished and confident, extending a hand for congratulations.

then you stepped forward, and for a moment, he could only stare, his hand frozen around his glass.

you extended your hand politely, businesslike.

“congratulations,” you said, your tone measured, professional, completely devoid of the personal history that had once ignited every nerve between you two.

gojo blinked, caught between recognition and protocol. he forced a smile that was all teeth and no warmth, and took your hand firmly, the touch brief. impeccable.

“thank you,” he said, voice steady enough for the room to hear, smooth enough that no one nearby suspected the storm behind his eyes.

the handshake ended, but the electricity lingered between you, quiet but sharp, like a wire stretched tight across the room.

he realised: the girl who had hated him, the one who’d refused him a single inch in university corridors, had become someone he could not simply ignore—not here, not in this room, not under these glaring chandeliers.

the CEO offered a polite comment, nodding between the two of you, but gojo barely registered it. all he could feel was the tight coil of something he thought he’d buried: awareness, recognition, a pulse of unresolved history.

you were here, in his world, in a way he hadn’t anticipated. and despite the applause, the celebration, the success he had spent years building, he felt… hollow.

a pang of something sharp and dangerous slid along his chest. the world around him had grown big, bright, and full of acclaim—but none of it mattered, not really, compared to the impossible fact that you were standing there.

and he had no idea how to navigate it.

he didn’t speak immediately after you were pulled away into a conversation by one of his colleagues. after the formalities of the handshake and the CEO’s polite chatter, he drifted back, letting you move with your colleagues for a moment. he watched from a distance, scanning the crowd, calculating the moment.

and then, when you stepped slightly away from the cluster, checking notes on a tablet or adjusting a folder in your hands(revising even at a formal event, how expected of you), he made his move.

the crowd parted almost politely around him, though no one gave him more than a passing glance. he navigated the throng with practiced ease, smile fixed, eyes locked on you. his pulse thudded quietly beneath the surface—a steady, controlled rhythm—but there was a heat behind it, something old and jagged that had never really left.

“you’re… alone,” he said softly, voice just above the hum of the room, careful to mask the quick edge of something he wasn’t ready to name.

you glanced up, raising an eyebrow, lips pressed in that professional line he remembered so well. “i’m not sure this is a good time for… casual conversation,” you said, your tone measured, too polite and ever so distant. exactly how he expected you would be.

“right,” he said, nodding slowly, letting the politeness act as camouflage. “i get it. work, company, big night. all that.”

you nodded, returning to your notes. the tension between you was almost physical. he could see the subtle shift of your shoulders, the way your fingers lingered over the tablet, the faint tightening of your jaw.

and yet… he had to try.

he stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear. “maybe… just for a moment,” he said, “we could dance?”

you froze, one hand still poised above the tablet, the other tightening around your folder. “excuse me?”

“a dance,” he repeated, with that familiar cocky grin — one he’d wielded for years, though tonight it felt almost raw in its honesty. “music’s playing. everyone’s celebrating. nothing official, nothing serious. just… you and me, for a song.”

you looked up fully this time. eyes meeting his, sharp, calculating, and for the first time since university, he saw the same fire that had once made your rivalry crackle. the look was almost incredulous, like you couldn’t believe he’d just asked. and maybe you couldn’t.

“i… i don’t think so,” you said finally, tone polite but firm, a wall against him.

he stepped slightly closer, just enough that the faint scent of his cologne brushed against you. “please,” he murmured, softer this time, “just one. nothing else. just a dance. for tonight.”

the room continued around you both—champagne, chatter, laughter—but the noise dimmed, the edges of the ballroom fading into the background. it was just you and him, suspended in the heat of recognition, years of history and rivalry tightening the space between you.

and for a moment, you considered it.

the fire flared again—not old rivalry, not resentment, not hate—but something complicated, unpredictable. something that made your chest tighten in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

and gojo, reading the subtle shift, let the grin falter into something quieter, more earnest, just long enough for the question to hang in the air.

you hesitated, hand still on the folder, heart beating a little faster than you wanted to admit. there was something in his eyes—no, everything in him—that made it impossible to say no.

finally, you set the folder aside. “fine,” you said, voice steady, though a hint of something softer slipped through. “one dance.”

he blinked, just for a moment, caught off guard by your acquiescence. then that familiar grin stretched wide, just enough to make your stomach tighten, and he offered his hand.

you took it. slow, careful, measured. the room around you blurred again—the laughter, the music, the glittering chandeliers—but this time it was closer, warmer, more dangerous.

he led you to the center of the ballroom, and for a second, you almost felt like university all over again—the stolen glances, the electric tension, the unspoken challenges lingering between you.

the music shifted, a slow, melodic tune that wove itself around your movements. he guided you gently, his hand firm on your waist, your hand resting on his shoulder. it was intimate without words, familiar without familiarity, a delicate tension that neither of you could — or wanted to —break.

“you’ve changed,” he murmured, almost conversational, though the sound of his voice brushed against your nerves like fire.

“so have you, it seems,” you replied, voice level, though your pulse betrayed you. you weren’t sure if that statement was true, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

he smirked, tilting his head slightly, studying you the way he used to across lecture halls and library tables. “i don’t know if i like it… or if i’m intrigued.”

“maybe both,” you said softly, matching his pace step for step.

the dance moved slowly, rhythmically, but every motion carried weight: every glance, every touch, every millimeter of space between you two. years of history, rivalry, hate, curiosity, unspoken admiration—all packed into this single, tenuous moment.

he leaned just slightly closer, enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath without him speaking. your heart fluttered against your ribs, and you reminded yourself to stay composed, to remember why you hated him, or at least why you used to.

but even as you reminded yourself, you felt it —the strange pull, the tension, the electricity that had never fully left the air between you.

for the first time in years, he didn’t look like a polished, untouchable heir. he looked… human. vulnerable, even, if only for this one dance.

with a dull ache in the back of your mind, you realized that this wasn’t just a dance. it was a test. a measurement of what remained between you.

and neither of you could predict the result.

the music wrapped around you both, slow and melodic, each note dragging out the seconds like syrup. gojo’s hand was firm at your waist, hot even through the fabric, guiding without force, while your own rested lightly on his shoulder, weight measured but precise. every step was careful, deliberate—almost like testing the waters, almost like neither of you wanted to fall too far into the familiarity of this proximity.

and yet, proximity had a way of undoing years of restraint.

“you’ve done… well,” he said, low, almost conversational, letting the words hang between you. the corner of his mouth twitched in a grin, but there was something tentative there, something softer than the arrogance you remembered from university.

“thanks,” you replied, careful. “you too. looks like you’ve… settled in nicely.”

he chuckled softly, a sound that felt both familiar and foreign. “yeah. settled. everything’s in place, smooth… too smooth, maybe.” his gaze flicked away for a moment, scanning the room, then back to you. “i thought it would feel different, though. being here, having all of this. you know… everyone praising you. all this success.”

you didn’t answer immediately. instead, you let the movement of the dance keep you engaged, each step deliberate, each turn measured. your pulse was high, the warmth of his body close enough to make your thoughts tangle. you hoped he wasn’t able to feel it.

“doesn’t feel… fulfilling?” you asked finally, voice soft. not accusatory, just curious.

he blinked, caught off guard by the question.

“sometimes,” he admitted, and it was the first crack in his polished exterior. “i mean… it should. it’s everything i worked for. and yet… sometimes i wonder if i earned it or if i just… inherited the stage.” his laugh was short, almost bitter. “funny, isn’t it? how easy it all looks from the outside.”

you swallowed the lump rising in your throat. “i know what you mean,” you said quietly. “hard work doesn’t always feel like enough, even when it’s… everything you’ve got.”

he turned his gaze fully on you then, searching, studying. “and you?” he asked, softer this time. “i imagine you’ve… done well for yourself too. probably better than anyone could’ve expected back then.”

“i… manage,” you said, shrugging just slightly. “i’ve fought for everything. nothing was handed to me. no one’s waiting to open doors.” your voice hardened for a moment, memories of your fight with gojo flooding your mind unnecessarily quickly. “so when people ask if i’m lucky… well. luck had nothing to do with it.”

he nodded slowly, gaze almost reverent. “you always were relentless,” he murmured. “i should’ve… i should’ve said something back then.”

you frowned, confused by the weight in his voice. “said… what?”

gojo swallowed, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the polished mask he’d worn for years.

“i should’ve… apologized.” the word came out before he could stop it, rough, unpracticed, raw. “for… everything. for being… me. for making things harder. for… not seeing you, really. i was a jerk. i—”

you froze slightly at the admission, feeling the heat rise in your chest. his gaze was earnest, open, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

“gojo…” you murmured, uncertain what to say. years of anger, injustice, hate—all tangled in a knot inside you. the memory of university, of the slap, of every competition and clash—simmered, alive and sharp.

“i know,” he said quickly, as if reading your pause. “you hated me. i get that. and… you had every right.”

the music carried on around you, oblivious to the tension between you. and yet, in that suspended bubble of movement, of brush of skin and warmth of proximity, something had shifted. the apology hung there, raw and unguarded, and for the first time in years, the walls between you felt like they might crack.

your fingers pressed lightly against his shoulder, uncertain, measured, but you didn’t step back. not yet. he assumed that you’ve stopped hating him, which was correct. right?

and gojo, noticing the small pause, leaned just slightly closer, his breath warm near your ear. “i’ve spent years… thinking about how to say it. and now… i guess i don’t care if it’s awkward. i just… needed to.”

you exhaled slowly, the tension in your chest tight and loose all at once. the dance moved on, your steps in rhythm with the music, but the words lingered, charged and impossible to ignore.

for the first time in a long time, the past and present collided, all in the span of one slow, suspended dance.

the music ended, soft notes fading into polite applause and chatter. gojo’s hand lingered at your waist a moment too long, like he couldn’t quite let go, and when he finally released it, the space between you felt heavier than before.

you stepped back, smoothing your dress, forcing your posture upright, but the heat from him clung, like a shadow. your pulse hadn’t settled, and you could tell he was feeling it too—the subtle catch in his breath, the tight line of his jaw, the restless gleam in his eyes.

“thank you… for the dance,” he said, voice low, almost husky, though his usual grin was back, but just barely. it was an attempt at lightness, but it failed. the weight in the air refused to be glossed over.

you gave a polite nod, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “you’re welcome.”

he studied you, just for a beat, his gaze sharp, almost calculating, and then softer, almost vulnerable. “i didn’t know it was you, but i’ve seen your work. you’ve… really built something,” he said quietly, like a statement, not a question. “i mean it. all of it. you didn’t just survive—you dominated.”

you exhaled slowly, because the compliment was dangerous. praise from him had a way of scraping at your defenses, leaving raw patches beneath. “it wasn’t easy,” you said, tone steady, though your chest tightened. “but it was worth it. for me.”

his grin wavered, becoming something close to awe—or maybe envy. “i… never doubted you,” he admitted, “but seeing it—seeing you—it’s… unsettling.”

“good,” you said, sharper than you intended. “maybe it should be.”

the words hit him like a spark. he smirked, a little off-kilter this time, the practiced charm giving way to something more dangerous. “you’ve always had a way of getting under my skin,” he said, voice low, teasing, challenging, but there was an edge to it now, raw and unpredictable.

you straightened, crossing your arms, feeling the familiar fire flicker back. “and don’t think that’s changed,” you shot back, tone clipped, though your pulse betrayed the way it raced.

he stepped just a fraction closer, uninvited but not unwelcome, the tension in the space between you coiling tighter with every heartbeat. “maybe it hasn’t,” he whispered, half a grin, half a dare.

you stepped back and suddenly the room felt louder, harsher, brighter. the applause, the chatter, the clinking of glasses—all of it pressed against your ears like it had been amplified.

your chest was still tight, your pulse quickened in a way that made you uncomfortable. you forced yourself to adjust your posture, straighten your shoulders, smoothed your dress again, anything to remind yourself you were in control.

he still stood there, just a fraction closer than propriety demanded, his eyes fixed on you with that impossible mix of charm and something sharper—something dangerous and familiar. your stomach fluttered against your will, and you hated it.

you hated him.

you repeated the words to yourself like a mantra, grounding yourself. years of competition, of betrayal, of cold, relentless self-assertion had built this wall inside you. you weren’t going to let it crumble now — not over one dance, not over one apology, not even over the way your heart had fluttered in your chest like a traitor.

was it excitement of putting him in his place? or was it just a thought of the slightest possibility of exceeding him even now?

but even as you told yourself this, you couldn’t deny the pull. the memory of university, the long years of competition, the fire of hate mixed with fascination—they all surged to the surface. it was messy. unpredictable. maddening.

“you’ve changed,” you admitted quietly to yourself, recalling his words during the dance. not in a flattering way, but in a way that made your chest tighten. years had polished him, sharpened him, made him… untouchable in a different sense. and yet, in that moment, in that proximity, he was startlingly vulnerable.

and that vulnerability, you realized, was dangerous.

you allowed yourself a small exhale, just enough to remember that you were still standing on your own ground, still built a life of your own, still earned every step forward without his interference or influence. the fire inside you wasn’t extinguished—it had evolved. refined. it wasn’t just hate or old competition anymore, not after this interaction. it was something complex, something sharp-edged that you weren’t ready to name.

you scanned the room, noting the swirl of glittering gowns and polished suits, the way people laughed and clinked glasses, oblivious to the storm that had just passed between you and him. everyone else was distracted. they had no idea.

and maybe that was comforting. maybe that was your armor.

gojo was already pulled into another conversation. you took a slow breath, letting your pulse calm just a little, reminding yourself why you’d come here in the first place — to celebrate the deal your company had just closed, to mark your own success, not to get caught up in the ghosts of the past.

but as you looked over the room, you caught his gaze again, sharp and unreadable, lingering like a shadow that refused to vanish.

gojo raised his glass in your direction, head tilting in a mock-toast, and you grabbed your own from the table to do the same, refusing to succumb under the pressure of his presence.

his blue eyes glimmered with something new.

—

as he gulped down the rest of his drink, eyes never lingering away from yours, for the first time in years, gojo felt a thrill that had nothing to do with power, money, or success. it was about you.

and somehow, terrifyingly, impossibly, that was enough to want more.

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