leafynightmares

[leafynightmares]

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ you and gojo have been assigned to represent your companies on a corporate summit in osaka, which meant sharing a business trip with him. and perhaps sharing a lot more things.

part 5 -> part 6 -> part 7

the email hit your inbox like a brick.

subject line: industry summit – confirmed itinerary & delegation details.

you clicked it without thinking — half a reflex, half the endless grind of your role— but the contents made your stomach drop instantly.

an industry summit. multi-day. high-profile. the kind of sprawling, glossy event where every suit and smile was a performance, where the smallest gesture was analyzed, where entire careers were cemented—or quietly dismantled—in a single weekend.

executives. stakeholders. international partners. journalists.

your company would be presenting alongside gojo holdings, rolling out the partnership in full view of the market. it would be written about, dissected, remembered as one of the boldest alignments in recent years. the pressure of it pressed down on you already, heavy and unrelenting.

you weren’t surprised at being chosen. of course you’d be there. of course you’d stand at your ceo’s side, fielding questions, managing the narrative, smoothing over details. you had been too closely involved from the beginning not to be.

but what knocked the breath from your lungs wasn’t the prestige. it wasn’t the workload or the public scrutiny. it was a single, unassuming line, tucked into the itinerary like an afterthought:

flight: tokyo → osaka. shared transport with gojo holdings executive representative: gojo satoru.

your eyes snagged on his name and refused to move, as if the letters themselves were nails hammered into the page. you read it once. twice. a third time, hoping it might change into someone else’s name entirely.

it didn’t.

your hand hovered over the mouse, the rest of your body frozen, pulse thudding behind your temples like a cruel reminder. you thought about the last few days—those carefully controlled encounters at the office, the awkward moments when his humor wasn’t a blade, when his words lingered longer than they should have. the glimpses of something almost warm beneath the arrogance.

and then you thought about airports. flights. being confined to the same row of seats, the same waiting lounges. dinners with clients. late-night strategy sessions. the inevitability of proximity.

the image of it turned your stomach.

you leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling, a bitter laugh almost spilling out before you swallowed it down.

of course. of course this was happening.

because wasn’t that the story of your life? no matter how far you ran, no matter how much you built, somehow the past had a way of circling back—dressed in designer suits and smug smiles, sitting across the table from you at boardrooms, haunting you even in the cold blue glow of your inbox.

you closed the laptop with a sharp snap, but the words burned in your mind long after the screen went black:

gojo satoru. shared transport. multi-day event.

no amount of work, no matter how much success, was going to save you from that.

and gojo? gojo, of course, was thrilled.

“road trip!” he’d announced the second he saw the logistics email, spinning his phone in his hand like a kid with a new toy. “well, sky trip, but same thing. oh man, this is gonna be fun.”

his assistant, standing just inside his office door, didn’t even look up from the stack of papers she was holding. “sir, it’s work.”

“work can be fun,” gojo sing-songed, twirling once in his chair before tossing his feet up on the desk, balancing his phone on his chest like it was the crown jewel of the day.

she muttered something under her breath about “grown men and daycare” before leaving, but gojo wasn’t paying attention anymore. his mind had already leapt ahead—past the emails, past the meeting agenda, straight to the picture he couldn’t get out of his head.

the two of you, side by side in first class.

he imagined you sitting stiffly, your stubborn little frown carved into your face, posture perfectly upright while you buried yourself in a stack of reports. it made his chest buzz just thinking about it — how you’d roll your eyes when he nudged your elbow, how you’d sigh when he kicked up conversation just as you hit a paragraph you wanted to highlight.

he couldn’t help it. ever since the terrace, ever since the hallway and the elevator and—god—the way you’d pressed your forehead into his chest when you were burning with fever, he’d been restless. there was something different now, something he hadn’t let himself think about in years. like a thread had tied itself around him, tugging tighter each time you looked his way, even if that look was sharp enough to slice him in half.

he wondered what you’d wear to the airport. maybe sharp and corporate, the version of you that cut through rooms without effort. or maybe softer, the way you sometimes showed up in simple blouses and understated jewelry, like you were daring anyone to underestimate you. both versions were dangerous in their own right— he’d never admit it out loud, but either way, he knew he’d stare longer than was professional.

he wondered whether you’d claim the window seat, folding yourself toward the glass and pretending the world outside was more interesting than him. or if you’d settle for the aisle, where he’d have every opportunity to lean into your space until you snapped.

and oh, he did wonder how long that would take. how many hours in the air and then together before your carefully built armor cracked. before you sighed, pinched the bridge of your nose, and gave him one of those clipped, precise little lectures that you thought would shut him up.

they never did, not in university, not now. if anything, they left him grinning for hours afterward, itching for more.

he already knew he was going to push you. not cruelly — no, he wasn’t that stupid — but enough to hear your voice sharpen, enough to see that addictive fire flash in your eyes again. it was reckless, maybe, but the truth was simple: he missed it. missed you, even in these small, infuriating doses. and having you around was, admittedly, helping.

the thought of being trapped thousands of feet above the ground with you for a couple of hours?

to anyone else, it sounded like a nightmare.

to gojo, it sounded like the best thing that had happened to him all month.

—

the morning of the trip, you nearly backed out twice.

once when you woke up, the weight of it pressing heavy in your chest. the alarm blared far too early, but the real noise was in your head: the reminder of his face at that last meeting, the memory of his too-quiet voice on the balcony, asking if you were still wary of him. you sat on the edge of your bed, fingers digging into your knees, telling yourself you could call in sick, send an email, delegate. you’d worked hard enough to earn the right to skip one trip.

but you didn’t. you got dressed. packed the last of your things. forced your body through the motions because that’s what you did: you endured.

the airport was alive with its usual chaos—rolling luggage, overlapping announcements, the clatter of shoes on tile—and there he was, standing out like he always had.

satoru gojo. sunglasses perched lazily on his head like he thought he was some kind of celebrity instead of an executive, his white hair catching every ounce of sterile airport light. and of course he spotted you immediately, as if his gaze had been waiting for you all along.

he lifted his arm and waved. broad, obnoxious. too cheerful for six in the morning. the kind of wave you’d expect from an old friend after years apart, not from the person who had burned a hole in your chest all those years ago.

your stomach sank. you tightened your grip on your bag until the leather bit into your palm. your legs threatened to stop moving altogether, a voice in the back of your head whispering that you could turn around right now, slip through the crowd, disappear.

but you didn’t.

you kept walking, jaw locked, rehearsing every strategy you’d need for the next few days. how to compartmentalize. how to keep your distance. how to answer just enough questions without giving him anything real.

because if the last week had taught you anything, it was this:

you could handle gojo satoru across a conference table. you could even handle(although barely) him in an elevator, pressed too close, his presence crowding the small space while you forced yourself to stand tall.

but on a plane? in another city? trapped side by side for days on end, with no convenient doors to shut between you?

you weren’t sure if you hated the thought of it— or the part of you that didn’t hate it at all.

and also, you kinda almost bailed at the gate.

the sight of his tall frame leaning against the boarding counter, sunglasses perched lazily in his snowy hair, that grin flashing like a neon sign, certainly didn’t help, but, no, what made your stomach pitch was the plane itself. gleaming through the wide glass windows, massive in a way that felt unnatural, too close and too heavy to ever actually lift off the ground. every polished rivet seemed to taunt you with the reminder that you’d be trapped inside soon, hundreds of miles above the earth.

your grip on your carry-on handle tightened until your knuckles blanched.

“ah, there’s my favorite coworker,” gojo’s voice slid across the terminal the moment he spotted you, lazy and confident, like he owned the air around him. he pushed off the counter, straightening to his full height, a loose swagger in every step as he closed the gap. “was worried you’d ditch me and i’d have to do this whole thing solo. imagine how tragic that’d be.”

you kept your eyes on the boarding pass clutched in your hand, not on the way his grin widened as though he could see right through you. “it’s not coworker,” you corrected automatically, forcing your voice steady while you handed your pass to the attendant.

he tilted his head, feigning innocence. “no?”

“our companies are working together,” you said, crisp and businesslike, tugging your bag with tighter fingers than you meant to. “that make us—”

“partners?” he slipped in smoothly, brows waggling, tone light but threaded with deliberate provocation.

your head snapped up, sharp enough to catch his smirk. “temporary colleagues, remember?” you bit out, too quick, too defensive.

his laugh rolled out low and satisfied, a sound that vibrated more than it should have in your chest, like he’d already won something without even trying.

“hm, yes, colleagues,” he repeated, savoring the word like it was an inside joke only he understood. he felt his stomach churn at the memory of your conversation at the terrace. “sure, if that helps you sleep at night.”

you exhaled through your nose, resisting the urge to glare, resisting the urge to let him see the way the proximity of the plane behind him set your pulse off balance, but he didn’t need to know that part.

first class meant wide seats, legroom, expensive silence. but the universe wasn’t merciful enough to seat you apart. your tickets were side by side, a cruel inevitability stamped in neat black print.

gojo dropped his carry-on into the overhead bin with the ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times before, then turned to you with that insufferably easy smile. “window or aisle?”

“window,” you said immediately.

“good,” he replied, already stepping aside. “i like the aisle anyway.”

you didn’t believe him, but you didn’t argue. you needed the window. you needed glass, something solid to press against when the ground dropped out beneath you.

he sprawled into his seat with all the grace of a cat that owned the world, legs long, elbows loose. you buckled yourself in with clinical precision, eyes fixed on the safety card in front of you like it held divine scripture.

“so.” his voice was light, conversational, cutting into the hush of the cabin. “osaka. fun city. you’ll like it.”

“i’m not here to necessarily like it,” you said flatly. “i’m here to work.”

“can’t do both?”

you ignored him, staring so hard at the little cartoon oxygen mask that the lines blurred.

and then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—the way your fingers fussed with the buckle even after it clicked shut, the restless drumming of your thumb against the armrest, the way your shoulders never loosened, locked high like you were bracing against something unseen.

the plane hummed, engines building power, and realization slid across his face like dawn breaking.

“wait.” his voice softened, surprise curling through it. “don’t tell me… you’re scared of flying?”

your jaw clenched. you didn’t look at him. the silence was safer than admitting it.

his grin bloomed, wide and irrepressible. “oh my god, you are. this is gold. the mighty, unshakable, ice-cold—”

“don’t,” you snapped, sharper than you meant, eyes glued to the window.

and just like that, his grin faltered. not completely—gojo never lost it fully—but it slipped, the edges softening when he really looked at you.

because you didn’t look like yourself. not the sparring, razor-edged version of you who cut him down in meetings without mercy. no, right now you looked… small. fingers bone-white around the armrest, breaths shallow, eyes fixed but unfocused like you were somewhere else entirely.

gojo shifted, leaning forward a little. his voice dropped. “hey. look at me.”

you didn’t, not at first. the plane lurched forward, rolling down the runway, and your grip tightened like you could keep the whole aircraft grounded by force alone. then, slowly, like dragging yourself uphill through quicksand, you flicked your gaze to his.

his smile was different now. not the cocky one, not the sly one that begged for a retort. it was steady, gentle, like he was offering you a rope to hold onto.

“you know,” he said, his tone pitched just for you over the roar of the engines, “statistically, this is safer than crossing the street. safer than eating cafeteria sushi. safer than…” his eyes sparked with mischief, but he kept it muted. “definitely safer than trusting me with your number.”

a weak scowl tugged at your face, but you didn’t spit back the way you normally would, you just held onto the armrest like it was a lifeline.

he hesitated, then tried again, voice low and conspiratorial. “wanna know a secret?”

your brow furrowed, but you didn’t look away.

“when i was a kid, i was terrified of flying,” he admitted, leaning closer, as if confiding in you alone. “swore the plane would just drop right out of the sky. so my mom used to tell me to pretend it was magic. said, ‘close your eyes, satoru-chan, and imagine we’re not flying at all. we’re just moving through the air, carried by something bigger.’ worked every time.”

you blinked at him, startled by the honesty. his hand rested casually on the shared armrest, fingers long, relaxed, but close enough that if you twitched, if you shifted even a fraction, you’d brush against him.

“magic, huh,” you muttered, voice tight.

he smiled again, softer. “hey, i never said it was good magic. but it helped.” he tilted his head, studying you with that piercing, unnervingly tender gaze. “so. wanna try it?”

you turned back to the window, swallowing. but not before he caught it— the smallest twitch of your lips, almost but not quite a smile.

the plane lifted, the ground shrinking to a toy city below. your grip didn’t loosen entirely, but it eased, just enough for him to notice. enough for him to sit back in his seat with quiet satisfaction, as if he’d won something.

but he didn’t gloat. not this time.

he just let the silence stretch between you, warmer than it had any right to be.

the seatbelt sign chimed off, but your fingers didn’t move from the armrest. your knuckles were pale against the dark leather, nails pressing hard enough to leave faint crescents. every subtle shift in altitude made your body tense, as though sheer willpower could keep the aircraft from dropping.

gojo, sprawled next to you with all the elegance of a cat, tilted his head lazily in your direction. his sunglasses were tucked into his shirt collar, and his blue eyes gleamed with mischief.

“you know,” he drawled, voice pitched low enough for only you to hear, “if you keep squeezing that armrest, it’s gonna snap clean off. then what’ll you do, hm?” he tapped his own chest lightly, grin widening. “hold onto me instead?”

your head snapped toward him, glare sharp—though the strain in your jaw softened its edge. “i’d rather die.”

he gasped dramatically, hand flying to his heart. “ouch. brutal. i offer my services as your knight in shining armor and that’s the thanks i get? cold. very cold.”

you exhaled through your nose, turning back to the window. outside, the world was endless white, a sea of clouds folding and curling under the bright sunlight. beautiful, yes. but your stomach twisted with each thought of how far you were from the ground.

gojo let the silence hang for a few beats. the cabin hummed with the steady drone of the engines, broken occasionally by the soft rattle of drink carts and the hushed murmur of passengers.

then, his voice again. quieter this time. “so. first time in osaka?”

your gaze stayed forward, fixed on the horizon. “…yes.”

he leaned his head against the seat, eyes still on you. “you’ll like it,” he said simply, without his usual teasing lilt. “good food. bright city. sometimes gloomy, but nice nonetheless. lots of history. better than tokyo in some ways.”

“i didn’t come here to be a tourist,” you answered, clipped.

he chuckled, low and unbothered. “right. work. always work with you.” his head tilted, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “you ever stop to actually… live?”

you shot him a sidelong look, sharper than before. “says the man who treats life like a game.”

his grin curved wider. “touché. but games are living, sweetheart. different kinds, sure, but still living. what’s the point if you never… enjoy it?”

your fingers twitched against the armrest. a retort sat on your tongue— you wanted to tell him that ambition, discipline, clawing your way up rung by rung, that was enjoyment. that satisfaction was worth every sleepless night. but the words never came.

because the plane shuddered.

the overhead bins rattled, the air shifted. turbulence.

your entire body went rigid. nails dug into the leather, breaths shallow, eyes locked on the window as though sight alone could anchor you.

gojo noticed—of course he noticed. his grin faded into something softer, more measured. for a moment, he didn’t move. then, carefully, he extended his hand across the armrest and let two fingers brush against your knuckles. not a grip, not even a full touch—just a nudge.

your eyes darted to him, startled.

“hey.” his voice was steady, calm, without the sing-song playfulness he usually carried. “breathe. it’s just a bump. like… speed bumps in the sky.”

your glare was shaky this time, lips pressed tight. “that’s not funny.”

“wasn’t trying to be.” his gaze didn’t waver, soft in a way you hadn’t seen in years. “i got you. nothing’s gonna happen.”

and damn him for how warm those words landed. how they slipped past the walls you’d built and anchored themselves in your chest. the engines thrummed, the plane leveled out again, and slowly, the ache in your shoulders eased. not completely but enough.

the turbulence passed, and the seatbelt sign chimed off again.

you exhaled, a little shakier than you wanted. he leaned back with a small, knowing smile, but—mercifully—said nothing else. yet the memory of his hand hovering near yours, and the sound of his voice, calm, certain, like a lifeline, stuck.

hours later, halfway through the flight, he was still talking. not in his usual bombastic way, not the kind of chatter that turned heads or demanded attention, but softer, lazy rambling that seemed designed for no one else but you. his voice was low, almost soothing under the steady white noise of the engines, words tumbling out with no real purpose other than to fill the silence between you.

“best takoyaki i’ve ever had was in osaka,” he said, leaning back in his seat, one arm slung across the armrest that separated you. “some tiny stall by dotonbori. lines down the street, people willing to wait in the rain for hours. worth every second.”

you glanced at him, unimpressed. “you sound like a travel brochure.”

“nah.” his lips curved into a lazy smile, the kind that carried none of his usual sharp edge. “i just have good taste.” he tilted his head toward you, the pale strands of his hair catching the dim overhead light. “i’ll take you.”

“i’m not going sightseeing with you,” you replied quickly, sharp but quiet, as if the very thought made your stomach knot tighter.

“who said anything about sightseeing?” he countered smoothly, eyes glinting with a mischief that felt oddly restrained. “it’s research. cultural enrichment. essential to building strong business relations.”

you gave him a long, tired look, one that should’ve been enough to shut him up. “…you’re unbearable.”

but your words came out thinner than you intended, less conviction and more exhaustion, like you were too drained to fight him properly.

and yet—

you realized suddenly that your grip on the armrest wasn’t as white-knuckled as it had been. your chest wasn’t rising and falling so sharply anymore. the dull hum of panic that always followed you onto flights had ebbed, softened by the rhythm of his voice, the way he spoke about food stalls and neon lights and pointless little things that didn’t matter.

gojo noticed, of course he did. his eyes flicked toward you, sharp in their quiet awareness, but he didn’t point it out, didn’t gloat aloud like you’d expect him to. instead, he leaned back in his seat, smug but subdued, the corner of his mouth twitching in quiet satisfaction.

content in the small, private victory of pulling you even slightly away from your fear.

. . . somewhere between his half-serious ramble about osaka castle’s history and his swearing up and down that he’d introduce you to the best melon bread of your life, his voice had started to trail off.

at first you thought he was pausing for dramatic effect — satoru loved his flourishes, his smug little pauses that gave him room to flash that grin like a punchline — but then the words thinned out entirely, tapering into silence.

a strange kind of silence.

you glanced sideways, half-expecting to catch him smirking at you, waiting for your reaction.

instead, you saw him leaning back in the seat, his long legs awkwardly folded into the cramped airplane row, his head tilted just so against the headrest.

asleep.

your eyes blinked, once. then again, slower.

you almost didn’t believe it.

this was gojo satoru. loud, relentless, insufferably smug gojo. a man built from motion and noise, from impossible confidence and infuriating persistence. someone who never let the silence breathe for more than a second before filling it with a joke, a taunt, or some sharp-edged observation.

but here—his sunglasses had slipped halfway down his nose, revealing the sweep of his lashes, longer than you’d remembered. a stray strand of white hair tickled the curve of his cheekbone, his mouth parted ever so slightly, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that was… steady. easy.

and it shouldn’t have been remarkable.

but it was.

for the first time since you’d known him, satoru wasn’t performing. he wasn’t moving. wasn’t smirking. wasn’t chasing a reaction out of you like it was oxygen.

you told yourself to look away. to give him the same indifference you had sharpened into armor over the years. but your gaze lingered longer than it should have, tracing the softened edges of his profile in the dim cabin light. the slope of his jaw, no longer cutting but gentle. the faint shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of exhaustion, of the weight he’d never let anyone see.

and god, you hated how much you noticed.

the arrogant heir. the boy who had shattered so much of you at twenty-one. the man whose very presence in a boardroom set everyone’s teeth on edge. you had built years of distance between you, had learned to thrive without him, had clawed your way up on your own terms.

yet here, in this fragile pause, he didn’t look like any of those things.

he didn’t look untouchable. he didn’t look like the heir who could bend entire companies, people, into submission. he didn’t even look like the boy who had stood too close to you all those years ago, all charm and reckless words.

he just looked… soft.

and something in your chest tightened. sharp, unwelcome.

your gaze faltered, turning hard toward the window, toward the thick quilt of clouds stretching endlessly below the plane. they blurred together in your vision, indistinct, as though the act of looking away could undo the heaviness in your chest.

you told yourself it was the fatigue of travel. the faint weakness lingering from the week before. the claustrophobic hum of recycled air, of being trapped next to him for hours with no escape.

but the truth—that ugly, simple truth—you didn’t want to name was this: for the first time in years, you saw him without the armor. and for the briefest moment, something inside you wanted to forget.

forget all the reasons you hated him. forget the walls you’d built so carefully, brick by brick. forget that every single time you had let him too close, you’d bled for it.

you wanted — just briefly, dangerously — to let yourself see the person he might have been.

your hands tightened against the armrest, nails pressing crescents into the fabric, grounding yourself. you inhaled once, deeply, and forced the air back out slow, measured.

because forgetting wasn’t an option.

not with him.

never with him.

—

the landing into osaka was rough enough to make your stomach lurch, though you’d been braced for it ever since the seatbelt sign chimed on. your fingers were sore from clenching the armrest, your jaw aching from how hard you’d been grinding your teeth together. the wheels screeched against the runway, and only then did you release a shaky breath, realizing you’d been holding it for far too long.

“look at you, champ,” gojo’s voice cut in, lazy and smug, like he hadn’t just spent the last two hours dozing with his long legs sprawled into your space. he stretched with a yawn, joints popping audibly. “you survived. sure, you nearly snapped the armrest in half, but hey—no crash, no fiery death. that’s a win in my book.”

you shot him a sidelong glare, lips pressed tight. he grinned, shameless, as if your silence was the reward he’d been after all along.

the terminal was a blur— bright white lights, echoing announcements in japanese and english, the chatter of travelers spilling around you in every direction. you focused on moving quickly, keeping your steps purposeful, ignoring the way his long stride effortlessly matched yours.

by the time you slid into the sleek black sedan waiting outside, exhaustion had sunk into your shoulders. osaka stretched around you in neon and steel— towering billboards flashing with advertisements, an electric skyline that pulsed with life, louder and brasher than tokyo in a way that unsettled you. or maybe you were too used to tokyo and foreign to locations out of your job’s requirements.

“ah, the air here is different, don’t you think?” gojo mused from the seat beside you, pressing his forehead dramatically to the glass as the city whirled past. “sweeter. freer. like the city itself is saying—relax, loosen up. maybe even smile.”

you turned your head, slow and deliberate, to give him a look that was half glare, half exhausted dismissal. then you faced forward again, ignoring him.

he chuckled, low and pleased. “mm. i’ll take that as a maybe.”

the car finally slowed, pulling up to the hotel. the building rose into the night like a shard of glass, sharp and glittering, its windows catching the neon glow of the city below. the second the doors opened, staff appeared, bowing low as they swept your luggage away, ushering you both into the marble-bright lobby as if you were heads of state.

you frowned. something was off.

the elevator doors closed with a soft chime, and you watched the panel of numbers light up. past the executive floors. past the suites. past everything, until the glowing arrow stopped at the very top.

your stomach sank.

“…gojo,” you said slowly, your tone already loaded with suspicion. “what did you do?”

he turned to you with a grin so wide it was practically a weapon, the kind of smile that announced trouble before he even opened his mouth. “booked us the penthouse.”

you stared at him. “…us?”

the doors opened with a soft ding, unveiling a suite that was less hotel and more empire. floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the sprawl of osaka glittering beneath you, each skyscraper crowned in neon. the entryway gleamed with polished marble, leading into a cavernous living room anchored by a velvet sectional sofa. chandeliers glittered overhead, glass catching the light like stars suspended in the air. a long dining table stretched across one corner, and a sleek kitchen glowed with stainless steel finishes.

your eyes darted over the space, reluctant awe tugging at you even as your mouth stayed pressed into a thin line.

behind you, gojo stepped in like he owned the place, dropping his coat onto the sofa without a thought.

“don’t look at me like that,” he teased, voice lilting with mischief. “there are separate bedrooms. i’m not that cruel. but come on—don’t you think this is better than some boring executive floor? think of it as… inspiration. nothing says success like waking up above an entire city.”

“you didn’t even ask me,” you said flatly, still standing in the doorway, your arms crossed tight against your chest.

he tilted his head, his hair catching the glow of the chandelier. “would you have said yes?”

your mouth opened—then promptly snapped shut. the silence stretched, damning in its clarity.

the smirk that spread across his lips was infuriatingly slow, infuriatingly smug. “that’s what i thought.”

heat prickled at the back of your neck, but you forced yourself to step into the suite, heels clicking against the marble as you moved past him. you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right—even though he very obviously already did.

you wanted to stay mad. really, you did. the righteous speech about boundaries and professionalism was already half-formed on your tongue— sharp, efficient, cutting enough to wipe the smug grin off gojo’s face. you could already imagine the opening line: “this is highly inappropriate” or maybe “you do realize we’re here to work, not to play house.”

but then your gaze betrayed you.

you tried to glare only at him, to pin your irritation squarely where it belonged, but your eyes darted around the penthouse in a quick, unwilling sweep. and traitorously, they lingered.

on the sheer size of the living space. on the velvet armchairs gathered around a glass coffee table that looked more like modern art than furniture. on the floor-to-ceiling windows that spilled the glittering osaka skyline into the room like an ocean of light.

the balcony doors glinted faintly. the minibar—oh god, the minibar—looked like it had been designed to make office workers weep with envy. and the flat-screen was so massive it could probably host its own film festival.

you swallowed. the words in your throat faltered.

of course, gojo noticed. of course, he did. his grin sharpened immediately, slow and wolfish.

“ohhh, look at you,” he drawled, strolling in as though he owned the entire floor. “trying so hard to look all stern and professional, but your eyes are practically sparkling.” he tilted his head, sunglasses slipping down just enough to reveal a flash of ice-blue eyes. “i knew you’d like it.”

“i don’t,” you shot back instantly, too fast, too defensive. “i—i’m just—”

and then he did something that made your stomach drop.

he perked up. actually perked up like a dog that just heard the word walk. his head turned toward the hall where two doors clearly branched off.

your brain caught up a second too late.

“dibs on the big bed!” he declared, voice loud and triumphant.

and he bolted.

you blinked once. then twice.

and then you were running.

“you absolute child!” you snapped, heels clicking against the polished floor as you tore after him, one hand clutching the hem of your jacket so it didn’t fly up. “you’re not stealing the master room!”

he was already halfway down the hall, laughing, legs far too long for this to be fair. “why not?” he threw back over his shoulder. “i’m taller, i deserve more space!”

“that’s not how it works, gojo!”

your lungs burned as you rounded the corner, nearly colliding with a side table that looked like it belonged in a museum. you caught sight of his stupid mop of white hair just as he skidded to a stop at the very end of the hall, hand already reaching for the sleek black handle of the farthest door.

“mine,” he sang, giddy.

“like hell it is!” you lunged forward, adrenaline surging, and grabbed his wrist just before his fingers closed on the knob.

the momentum jerked him half around to face you, your palm locked stubbornly around his wrist. for a moment, the two of you were frozen in the ridiculous tableau: you glaring up at him, breath coming quick, your heart hammering far louder than it should, while he towered over you with that infuriating grin stretching wider and wider.

you tugged. he didn’t budge.

he tugged. you refused to let go.

it became a silent, ridiculous tug-of-war in the middle of the penthouse hallway, your pulse racing with competitive spite while his laughter spilled into the air, bright and unrestrained.

“let go,” you snapped, heat flooding your cheeks.

“ladies first,” he teased, voice lilting, “but only when they’re heading to the smaller room.”

you yanked again, but he only leaned down, closing the distance between you just enough that you felt the warmth of his breath brush your temple.

“unless,” he murmured, grin edging into something softer, more dangerous, “you want to share.”

your grip on his wrist tightened instinctively, panic and frustration coiling together, while your other hand darted for the doorknob. he twisted at the same moment, his body angling to block you, and suddenly the two of you were caught in a ridiculous, chaotic dance—half wrestling match, half sprint—right there in the hallway.

“you’re so immature,” you gritted through clenched teeth, shoving at his shoulder with all the strength you could muster.

“and you’re too slow,” he countered, dodging just enough to angle his hand back toward the handle. his smirk was infuriatingly calm, a teasing spark in his eyes that made your blood boil.

you lunged forward again, shoving him hard enough that his back thudded lightly against the wall. the impact made your chest jump, and for a split second you thought he might stumble, but he only laughed — a low, rolling sound that made your stomach twist in equal parts irritation and something more confusing.

before you could react, his free arm snaked around your waist, spinning you off balance, and you stumbled, legs flailing slightly, toward the open doorway.

you gasped as your shoulder slammed into the edge of the bed, knees buckling beneath you. the sheets were impossibly soft, a stark contrast to the sharp rush of adrenaline that still hummed through your veins. half-sprawled on the mattress, you could feel the heat of your flushed skin against the crisp white linen.

gojo stumbled in after you, clearly unprepared for the momentum that had carried you through. his foot caught slightly on the corner of the rug, and he fell forward, one hand catching the mattress to steady himself, the other still loosely gripping your wrist.

when the dust finally settled, he was hovering just above you. his hair, the familiar shock of white, fell over his eyes, and strands brushed against his forehead, disheveled in a way that made him look less untouchable and younger. his chest was perilously close to yours, rising and falling with each quick inhale, his warmth pressing faintly against the fabric of your shirt.

the room seemed impossibly quiet, filled only with the rapid drum of your heart and the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. the contrast between the chaos that had just erupted and this sudden stillness made every nerve in your body hum.

you blinked up at him, wide-eyed, cheeks burning, heat crawling across your skin in slow, deliberate waves. every instinct screamed at you to push back, to shove him away, but the sharpness of your anger was tangled with a thrill you didn’t want to name.

for a moment, he blinked back at you, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by a faltering uncertainty, a vulnerability you’d never seen in him before.

“…guess that means you win,” he murmured finally, his voice lower than you were used to hearing, carrying a weight that made your chest tighten. the usual grin softened at the edges, and there was a flicker of something unspoken, a hesitation that stretched the silence between you both.

you could feel your breath catching as your body refused to move, the heat of his chest against yours making it impossible to think clearly. your mind raced, your pulse thundering, and in that suspended moment, the ridiculousness of the hallway chase, the stumble, and the crash into the bed all seemed to collapse into a charged, fragile stillness; one that neither of you were quite ready to break.

for once, he didn’t move. didn’t laugh, didn’t push, didn’t scramble to regain some ridiculous upper hand. the playful aura that usually surrounded him was gone, replaced by something quieter, heavier—almost magnetic.

his hand was planted firmly into the mattress beside your head, a solid anchor. the other still looped loosely around your wrist, casual at first glance, but holding just enough pressure to remind you that he wasn’t about to release you. the weight of his body leaned slightly toward you, pressing down just enough that you could feel the mattress dip beneath the two of you, a subtle but intimate shift. the proximity made your chest tighten, heart hammering in sudden awareness of him so close, and yet somehow you felt trapped in a moment neither of you seemed willing to disrupt.

your breath came uneven, shallow, catching in your throat against the silence that had settled like a tangible thing. normally, this would be a moment of irritation — him invading your space, being infuriatingly close — but there was something different now. the teasing sparkle that usually danced in his eyes was absent, replaced by a sharp clarity, a gaze that felt like it was peeling away the defenses you’d built around yourself for years. he was actually seeing you.

and you hated it. hated that your stomach lurched unpredictably. hated the way your pulse threatened to betray every controlled breath. hated that your gaze couldn’t tear away, that every nerve in your body suddenly felt hypersensitive to his presence. hated that his mouth was tantalizingly close, that a fraction of a lean, an inch, maybe less, would erase all boundaries you so desperately clung to.

your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard, tasting the sudden dryness there. the heat creeping up your neck, the quick flutter of your heartbeat, and the involuntary shiver down your spine were all betraying you, and it made you angry. angry at him. angry at yourself.

his eyes flicked downward, but not toward your lips, not in the obvious way that would have been teasing. no— he lingered at the hollow of your throat, the pulse beating rapid and exposed under your skin. it was subtle, deliberate, and it stole your focus entirely.

he exhaled, a slow, controlled breath that brushed just enough across your cheek to make your skin tighten, your senses spike. the contact was fleeting yet intimate, as if he had discovered a secret you hadn’t even realized was visible.

you shifted slightly beneath him, a micro-movement meant to create space, but it only caused his hand on your wrist to tighten imperceptibly, just enough to make it clear he wasn’t letting go. the faint pressure pressed against your skin, and you realized with a jolt that the thought of him releasing you hadn’t even occurred to him— he didn’t want to, not yet, not for a single second.

the air between you grew thick, heavy, a taut rope pulled tight with anticipation. seconds stretched into eternity, every one magnifying the warmth of your proximity, the intoxicating pressure of being caught so entirely under his attention.

and then, almost tenderly, his voice—quieter than you’d ever heard it—broke through the stillness.

“you’re… different when you’re not running away from me.”

it wasn’t playful. it wasn’t teasing. it wasn’t the casual, reckless charm you’d grown used to. it was an observation, precise and edged with something personal, something raw.

your heart lurched violently, tripping over itself. your first instinct was to snap, to shatter the intimacy with sharp edges, to claw back the control you were losing. words—cutting, clever, defensive—swelled on your tongue.

but the sound never came. not yet.

all that remained was the weight of him, the warmth and nearness, the quiet intensity of his gaze, and the unspoken acknowledgment that something had shifted in the air between you—something you weren’t sure you wanted to resist, even if you tried.

the weight of the silence pressed down like a living thing, heavy and intimate. you could feel the small, almost imperceptible shift in his chest as he exhaled, the warmth radiating off him brushing against your skin. the faint scent of his cologne or maybe just him lingered in the air, subtle but undeniable, and it made your pulse quicken despite every instinct screaming at you to pull away. every nerve in your body screamed to reclaim space, to shove the moment into a corner and slam the door on it.

but before you could do anything, gojo blinked, and the corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.

“wow,” he said suddenly, voice light and ridiculously cheerful, completely at odds with the intensity of the moment. “you’re really good at falling on me. maybe i should charge admission next time someone dares to wrestle you.”

your brows shot up, caught off guard. you blinked at him, disoriented, caught between glaring and laughing. “admission? i should sue you for assault, first of all.”

he chuckled, low and teasing, the kind of laugh that vibrated against your chest without him even trying. the tension between you melted just enough as he leaned forward slightly, hands brushing against yours as he helped you straighten up on the bed. his fingers lingered a fraction too long on your wrists, just enough to send a subtle jolt through you.

“nah,” he said, voice softening almost imperceptibly. “i like you like this, matching my chaos. suits you.”

you couldn’t help it—a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of your lips despite the scowl you tried to maintain. “you’re unbelievable,” you murmured, shaking your head, half in exasperation, half because… well, something in the warmth of the moment made it hard to be completely annoyed.

“thank you,” he said, mock bowing, eyes sparkling with a teasing glint that made it impossible to look away. “i try.”

your heartbeat settled into an erratic rhythm, quickened by proximity and lingering touches. the air between you shifted, lighter now, but still charged. every subtle movement, every faint brush of skin, carried a weight that neither of you could ignore.

and just like that, the room felt different — lighter, yet electric, like the space had been rewired by something unspoken. the heavy, suffocating press of proximity had eased into a jagged, familiar rhythm: banter, teasing, ridiculous competition, layered with something far more intimate. all of it wrapped in the tension you had both been dancing around for years, the unacknowledged push-and-pull that had defined your relationship since the very beginning.

the moment lingered still, dense and full of possibilities, but now it had edges you could navigate, edges that were both thrilling and terrifying. edges you were both comfortable testing and maybe, just maybe, neither of you entirely unwilling to explore.

—

you stacked your suitcase neatly by the wardrobe, carefully organizing your clothes and folders. your laptop bag was already ready, and you even pulled out a few pens, sticky notes, and a small notebook. your movements were brisk, precise, habitual, like the second your feet had hit osaka’s airport floor, you’d mentally returned to your office, your mind already ticking through schedules and deadlines.

behind you, satoru sprawled across the living room couch, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes, the other dangling lazily toward the floor. the city lights streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, casting long shadows across his face and making him look impossibly relaxed.

“you know,” he said, voice slow and deliberately theatrical, “most people, when given a penthouse with a view like this, don’t immediately decide to bury themselves in spreadsheets.”

without looking up, you adjusted your laptop bag strap and replied, cool and precise, “most people don’t have deadlines breathing down their necks.”

he groaned, stretching dramatically across the couch. the sound was exaggerated, theatrical enough to make you roll your eyes even though you didn’t turn around.

“you’re killing me here. i thought we’d at least go check out the city tonight. neon lights, street food, maybe even smile once in my presence. is that too much to ask?”

“unlikely,” you said, setting your laptop on the desk with a sharp clack that echoed slightly in the open penthouse. “besides, some of us don’t have the luxury of inheriting an empire. some of us actually have to prove we belong here.”

the words landed heavier than intended. you didn’t need to see him to know his grin faltered for the briefest of beats, that slight pause in his usual effortless confidence. but of course, satoru recovered almost immediately.

he propped his chin on his hand, smirk spreading into that signature lopsided smile. “oh, come on. you don’t have to prove anything. you’re already terrifying. everyone at that meeting tomorrow will be sweating bullets just watching you talk.”

you shot him a flat look over your shoulder, but he only stretched further across the couch, legs splayed and arm dangling, as if he owned not only the penthouse but the whole damn city.

“tell you what,” he said suddenly, leaning forward on his elbows like a predator studying his prey, “if you insist on working, at least let me sit here and distract you until you give up. i’m excellent background noise. i’ve been told it’s irresistible.”

you flipped open your laptop with a sharp snap, fingers hovering over the keyboard, voice deadpan. “more like a migraine.”

he grinned wider, leaning back and throwing his head back just slightly, “same thing,” he said, voice low and teasing, as though daring you to refute him.

you scowled, eyes darting between your screen and the city lights, wishing he would just… leave you alone to work.

but, of course, he didn’t. he was perched there on the couch like a cat, smirking, observing every subtle twitch of your fingers, every little sigh you couldn’t suppress. even without trying, he was in your head, a constant distraction, but infuriatingly, you could admit that part of you noticed how easy it was for him to be there, how natural his presence felt despite your irritation.

you were sharing a space with him that wasn’t an office or some type of carriage, for fuck’s sake.

you were already three emails deep into revising reports, eyes squinting at the screen under the warm glow of the penthouse lighting, when his voice cut through like a feather brushing over a wound: sly, persistent, impossible to ignore.

“hey, hey—don’t you think staring at numbers all day in this penthouse is… depressing?” he said, sauntering over with that familiar ease, hands loose in his pockets. “i mean, seriously. look at this view.” he swept a hand toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, osaka spread beneath you like a city of glittering jewels.

“osaka sparkling like a necklace around us, and here you are, hunched over your laptop like a tiny, angry hawk. appreciate life a little. breathe.”

your fingers froze over the keyboard, almost instinctively, but you kept your eyes trained on the glowing screen. “i should finish work,” you muttered, voice flat, trying to sound focused even as the corner of your vision caught his smirk.

“you should finish work,” he repeated, echoing your words with that maddening lilt of amusement, “but… you could, maybe just for tonight, live a little. we have a big meeting tomorrow, right? high-ranking execs, scary looks, power suits. i promise, the city will forgive you for taking a single evening off.”

you swallowed hard, hands hovering over the keys. normally, his teasing wouldn’t faze you. normally, you’d bark, snap, or toss a sharp retort and go back to work. normally, you would have ignored the entire performance.

but he had that look— the one that tightened your chest in a way that was entirely unfair. the one that was less playful, less calculated, more him. that sharp, knowing gleam in his eyes that made your stomach twist, made your resolve falter just a little. the one that reminded you why, ten years ago, you’d hated him with every fiber of your being while also, inexplicably, respecting him.

“i—i really need to finish these,” you stammered, voice wobbling despite the effort to sound firm, fingers still brushing over the keys like a war machine readying for battle.

“ahhh,” he groaned, throwing one hand dramatically over his forehead, the other flung out to the skyline as though pleading with the heavens. “that’s my cue to win. you’re giving in. admit it. no shame, it’s inevitable. resistance is futile, angel of spreadsheets.”

you shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but it only made his grin widen, teeth flashing against the soft glow of the city behind him.

“fine,” you muttered finally, closing the laptop with a snap that echoed just slightly too loud in the penthouse. “give me ten minutes. i’ll… go out. but don’t expect me to enjoy it. at all.”

“ten minutes?” he repeated, whispering conspiratorially as he leaned back into the plush couch like a king surveying a conquered kingdom, “victory is mine. the city shall remember this day.”

you resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but the small tug of amusement you felt betrayed you. just slightly.

ten minutes later, you slipped into your room, shedding the sharp pantsuit that had felt like armor all afternoon. the jacket fell to the floor with a soft thud, and you rolled your shoulders, feeling the relief of freedom from the constricting lines and stiff fabric. you reached for a simple, elegant dress, one that grazed just above your knees. the soft fabric felt strange, almost foreign against your skin after the rigidity of your work clothes, but there was a certain easiness in the way it clung gently without constriction, tracing the shape of your body in a subtle, understated way.

your hair brushed lightly over your shoulders as you adjusted the neckline, smoothing the dress with careful hands. for a moment, you paused, catching your own reflection in the mirror. the city lights filtering through the windows painted everything in a warm glow, and for once, you didn’t feel the weight of spreadsheets, meetings, or expectations. just the quiet awareness of yourself.

when you stepped back into the living room, gojo was sitting upright on the couch now, elbows resting on his knees, his posture leaning forward ever so slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. he’s changed into a dress shirt and jeans, abandoning his suit like you. his head tilted, eyes locked on you, sharp and unblinking, and for a heartbeat, you wondered if he’d actually forgotten how to speak.

“…what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, trying to anchor yourself with some semblance of irritation.

he didn’t answer immediately. instead, he just stared, taking in every detail: the way the soft fabric of the dress fell over your hips, the subtle curve of your neckline, the way your hair framed your face. it was careful, precise, yet reverent—as though he were cataloging something rare.

“wow,” he finally breathed, voice low and almost reverent, “that… that is unfair. you look… incredible. how does one even—”

“stop,” you cut in quickly, cheeks heating, forcing your voice firm though it trembled slightly. “you… certainly have a way with words.”

his grin only widened, maddeningly confident, the kind of expression that made you want to both slap him and melt into it at the same time. “i know,” he said, voice smooth, teasing, “and now, finally, we get to go out. lead the way, angel of spreadsheets.”

you huffed, shaking your head, trying to suppress the small thrill crawling up your spine. your chest felt lighter, more aware, almost painfully conscious of the way he was looking at you. not with lust, not entirely, but with fascination and admiration folded into that infuriating confidence.

he leaned back slightly, casual, but the sharp gleam in his eyes made it clear he was savoring the effect he had on you. the room seemed smaller somehow, the space between you electric, charged with unspoken awareness.

and despite your attempts to remain grounded, you couldn’t deny the thrill, the rush of awareness that he’d cornered you—emotionally, mentally, and now visually—and that you were painfully, infuriatingly aware of it.

—

the streets of osaka at night were alive with lights, smells, and a pulsing energy that seemed to seep into your bones. neon signs reflected in shallow puddles left from a brief drizzle earlier, painting the pavement in fractured, colorful streaks. the warm aroma of fried food—takoyaki sizzling in small round molds, okonomiyaki cooking thick and savory, the smoky scent of yakitori grilling on skewers—wafted between the buildings, mingling with the faint scent of rain on concrete.

gojo strode ahead with that same confident swagger, every movement effortless, his white hair catching the neon glints. he waved a hand toward a small stall tucked between two larger shops. “there. see that? best takoyaki this side of dotonbori. yes, i know your standards are high, but trust me. you will thank me later.”

you scowled, heels clicking sharply on the wet pavement, but you followed, intrigued despite yourself. “i don’t even like takoyaki that much,” you muttered.

“you’re lying,” he said immediately, stopping mid-step and turning with an exaggerated tilt of his head. “everyone likes takoyaki. it’s science. universal law. you’re just bitter because i forced you out of the penthouse.”

you rolled your eyes, but when he snagged a couple of the freshly grilled balls with tongs, the steam curling upward, the buttery, savory scent made your stomach twist in reluctant anticipation.

you took a bite, and the rich, savory flavor hit your tongue all at once — crispy outside, molten and bursting inside. your eyes widened involuntarily, and a small laugh escaped despite your attempts at composure.

“hm?” gojo asked, amusement flickering across his face. “you’re enjoying it. admit it. i can see it.”

“i—no,” you stammered, cheeks warming, “i’m just… hungry. that’s all.”

he threw his head back and laughed—a deep, full laugh that seemed to vibrate in the air, drawing a few glances from passersby. “sure, sure. whatever you say.”

as you followed him down smaller, quieter side streets, the throng of people thinning until you could actually hear each other speak, the city seemed almost magical. gojo pointed out a small, tucked-away temple nestled between modern apartment buildings, explaining its history with a playful ease that made you forget the corporate armor you’d carried all day, the meetings, the charts, the deadlines.

you stopped at a tiny shop with a comically oversized sumo wrestler statue outside, and his offhand comment about how the wrestler “probably had better excel skills than some people” made you snort and laugh—soft, unguarded, the sound foreign yet freeing.

for a moment, he froze, and you caught the faintest flicker of awe in his eyes. then his grin widened, impossibly bright. “ohhh… i see it now. the human underneath the spreadsheet mask. finally, the real you!”

your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t help laughing again, shaking your head at him. “don’t get used to seeing that side of me,” you warned.

“too late,” he murmured, sliding his arm loosely around your shoulder as you walked, an excuse to touch you under the disguise of guidance on a busy street. careful not to press too close, just near enough to brush warmth against you. “i think i like this city even more now. and i have good company.”

the warmth, the teasing, the energy of the city—it seeped in. you felt it in your chest, in the lightness of your steps, in the way your laughter felt unrestrained. despite every warning bell in your mind, despite every reason to be annoyed or distant, you realized with a jolt: you were actually having fun.

fun, in the middle of osaka, walking with satoru gojo. laughing at silly things, tasting street food with reckless indulgence, letting yourself exist outside spreadsheets and corporate rules…

it was dangerous. it was infuriating. it tugged at old, stubborn threads inside you.

and, somehow, it was exhilarating.

the streets had thinned further, the neon glow reflecting in puddles and catching in his bright eyes, making them seem impossibly vivid. gojo walked a few steps ahead, tossing back his usual rapid-fire comments like confetti, his long stride effortless, casual, as if the city itself bent to him.

“you’re too serious for your own good, you know that?” he said over his shoulder, voice playful but with a sharper edge of curiosity than usual. “how are you supposed to enjoy life if all you do is frown at numbers and corporate reports?”

“i am enjoying life,” you shot back, though the corner of your mouth twitched, betraying a tiny smile. “i’m walking. breathing. technically… alive.”

he laughed, slow and teasing, and for a heartbeat his hand brushed lightly against yours as he gestured toward a tiny side alley lined with paper lanterns. the contact was fleeting, but enough to send an involuntary spark crawling up your arm, and you felt it in your chest too, a prickling awareness you couldn’t ignore.

“technically alive,” he repeated, smirking, his voice dropping just a notch lower. “barely. we need to spice things up. try some street okonomiyaki? this place is legendary. and if you don’t like it, i’ll eat it all myself.”

you groaned, rolling your eyes, but the faint curl of a smile tugged at your lips. the small stall was alive with sizzling, the thick pancakes flipping and releasing steam that mingled with the aroma of cabbage, batter, and sweet sauce. gojo leaned closer, theatrically inhaling the scent and giving you a teasing glance.

“you seem happy,” he said quietly, voice soft but teasing, lower than he normally used. “not just ‘i’m eating food’ happy. happy happy.”

you froze, chopsticks halfway to your mouth, and glanced at him, caught off guard. his eyes were sharp, piercing even in the neon glow, as if he could see past every careful layer of armor you’d built around yourself.

“don’t get used to it,” you said quickly, forcing a laugh to mask the sudden heat rising to your cheeks, the racing of your heart, the faint thrill in your stomach.

he leaned slightly closer, shoulder brushing yours, the warmth of him subtle but insistent. “too late,” he murmured, almost under his breath. “i like seeing this version of you. it’s… rare.”

you felt your cheeks burn, your fingers fumbling awkwardly with your chopsticks as your gaze flickered to the food to avoid meeting his. “rare doesn’t mean good,” you muttered, though the edge of your voice softened, betraying the tiniest crack in your defenses.

“good, bad, annoying… it doesn’t matter,” he said, leaning back, the faint heat of his arm still pressing against yours in a subtle brush. “i like it. and i don’t get to say that often.”

your breath caught for a moment, heart hammering, and the teasing between you felt different now—less a game, more layered, personal, intimate, threading through the laughter.

and of course, he couldn’t leave it hanging. with a sly smirk, he added, “now eat. and don’t choke on the okonomiyaki. i’d hate to have to carry you back to the penthouse again.”

you laughed softly, genuinely, shaking your head at him. “i swear, you’re insufferable.”

“and yet,” he said, nudging your shoulder lightly with his own, careful, playful, deliberate, “you’re still walking beside me. enjoying yourself. admit it.”

you narrowed your eyes, trying to hide it, but the warmth in your chest gave you away. “maybe,” you whispered, just barely audible, “maybe i am.”

he grinned, victorious yet gentle, eyes still bright in the neon glow, and the two of you fell into an easy rhythm—banter, teasing, laughter—but beneath it, a subtle, undeniable intimacy hovered, unspoken, raw, and lingering, as the city of Osaka stretched out around you, alive and glowing.

after wandering the lantern-lit streets, sampling street food, and getting lost in a small maze of shops tucked between narrow alleys, the night had slowed to a comfortable pace. the neon glow of signs flickered softly in puddles left behind by an earlier drizzle, reflecting reds, blues, and golds that danced across the cobblestones. the aroma of takoyaki sizzling on iron griddles, the faint sweetness of freshly baked taiyaki, and the smoky char of yakitori mingled in the air, pulling you along even when your feet begged for a break.

somehow, despite his smug protests, you had convinced gojo to let you win at one of those tiny carnival games. he had pretended to sulk and groan, dramatically clutching his chest when you landed the stuffed animal, but you caught the sparkle in his eyes, that unmistakable grin hidden behind exaggerated annoyance.

“look at you,” he said, balancing the plush triumphantly on his shoulder, one hand gesturing toward you like you’d just conquered the world. “champion of osaka! won me a plushie too. i’m so proud, it hurts my soul a little.”

“don’t start crying now,” you muttered, brushing past him with a laugh, the warmth of amusement bubbling up in your chest. “i don’t need to see your fragile side too.”

he made a mock wounded noise, flopping his free arm over his eyes for dramatic effect, and you both laughed, the sound bouncing off the close walls of the alley, mixing with the chatter and distant music from nearby shops. somewhere between the takoyaki, okonomiyaki, and cheap arcade games, the usual tension between you had loosened, just enough to let a fraction of the tightly wound you breathe, to allow—dare you admit it—a little too much enjoyment.

the hour grew late, and the streets thinned, leaving the two of you navigating the quieted sidewalks, your heels and his sneakers tapping out an uneven rhythm against the cobblestones. gojo carried your prize stuffed animal with exaggerated care, lifting it high at one point like a trophy, and nudged your side lightly, earning an eye-roll and a weak shove from you. the neon signs cast playful shadows over both of your faces, highlighting features in ways that made your chest tighten unexpectedly.

once inside the penthouse, the bustling energy of the city felt distant. the apartment, with its sleek, modern lines and floor-to-ceiling windows, exuded calm. the lights from the streets below stretched across the room, warm and shimmering, but the apartment itself held a quiet intimacy, softened further by the lingering scent of your perfume and the faint aroma of food from earlier.

he flopped onto the couch dramatically, stretching limbs out like he owned the space, muttering about sore feet and aching legs, while you placed your bags down and pulled out your laptop, checking emails and reviewing the points for tomorrow’s meeting. your movements were precise, controlled, and yet for the first time that evening, you weren’t clenching every muscle in anticipation of a possible jab or comment.

“so serious,” he said, leaning back with one arm draped across the couch, watching you from the corner of his eye. “you did enjoy tonight.”

you glanced up, catching that teasing glint in his gaze, and though you didn’t respond, the weight of your shoulders dropped just a fraction. relief, the quiet kind that comes from finally being able to take off a mask, settled in the small of your back.

the apartment grew still, aside from the soft hum of the city outside. gojo’s usual presence had softened tonight, the edges of his energy calmer, less invasive, almost considerate. the way he lounged, one arm lazily draped over the couch, his hair falling into his eyes, made him seem smaller somehow, less untouchable, and yet still captivating. the intimacy wasn’t in touches or words but in the quiet understanding that neither of you were trying to dominate the space anymore.

and when the night finally drew to a close, as you packed away your laptop and straightened your bag for tomorrow, a rare lightness settled into your chest. the kind that comes from laughter shared, boundaries momentarily loosened, and the unexpected ease of someone else’s company. for the first time in years, if only for a little while, you felt lighter, almost… unburdened.

you wondered if gojo felt like that too.

tori’s notes. umm so i thought about making gojo a lot of an asshole but i couldn’t i had this urge to write a forced proximity trope and kind of an almost kiss moment. anyways, i hope you liked this!!

[leafynightmares]

UNDER PRESSURE — series masterlist.

series synopsis. you and gojo satoru spent your university years locked in bitter academic rivalry — except he thought it was a game, while you truly hated him. when his wealth and inheritance secured the opportunities you had fought tooth and nail for, the fracture between you became irreparable. years later, you’ve carved out your own success, rising high in the corporate world, only to cross paths again at the height of his power.

tags/warnings. corporate au, rivals to lovers, don’t mistake this for easy romance you genuinely hate gojo at first, timeskip at chapter 3, characters in twenties -> early thirties, swearing, angst, sooo much angst, fem pronouns used, eventual smut, wc: i dunno??? a lot?? 10k+ for now

tori’s notes. let’s hope i don’t abandon this 🫣

part 1: inevitability

part 2: permission

part 3: ascension

part 4: experiment

part 5: . . .

(taglist for the series closed!)

[leafynightmares]

my favourite scene in all attack on titan is unironically that time Hange bursts into the basement where Levi has been torturing that military police guy they abducted and he's like WHAT DO YOU FREAKS EVEN WANT YOU'RE NOT EVEN ASKING QUESTIONS and Levi's like ah yeah lol my bad so where's Eren

[leafynightmares]

SECOND CHANCES

you’ve just finalized a divorce after a painful miscarriage tore apart a marriage that was already fraying. your ex-husband’s harsh, scornful words still echo in your mind, each memory twisting anew every time you see a baby. the world feels quieter now, sometimes too quiet. you avoid baby aisles, skip family events, and tell yourself you’re “fine”,  though inside, the ache of loss lingers, unspoken and heavy. then you meet him at the store. later, you realize he’s your neighbor, and the kid? his whole world. he’s a single dad still learning the balance between work, parenting, and keeping his heart safe after being left by his ex. you’re someone who knows loss but also craves connection, though the idea of letting yourself love again terrifies you.

c.w: angst, fluff, romance, slow burn, bit of an age gap (28 and 36), mention of miscarriage, divorce, grief

MEET THE DADS AND CHILDREN ⟢ Satoru Gojo and Sumire, 6 ⟢ Suguru Geto and Nanako and Mimiko, 6 ⟢ Kento Nanami and Shizue, 5 ⟢ Toji Fushiguro and Tsumiki and Megumi, 5 and 2 ⟢ Sukuna Ryomen and Shion, 6 months ⟢ Choso Kamo and Yuji, 15 ⟢ Shiu Kong and Ha-Rin, 5 ⟢ Hiromi Higuruma and Ren, 8 ⟢ Atsuya Kusakabe and Tomoe, 3

a/n: this is smau styled fic with a few drabbles/excerpts. not sure if i should make a taglist for this or not. lmk

MILESTONES aisle five hello, again small touches playdates & babysitting sleepovers who's that? no more hiding heart on the line birthday surprise our little family

[leafynightmares]

checkered flags

part one // part two // part three // mlist

part four of lights out f1 au | life is hard, breakups are hard, racing is hard.

a/n: HIIIII !!!! here is the final part of my f1 au <3 I am SO excited for you to read this i hope you enjoy :3 i will have a much longer authors note at the end i hope you guys love this likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated <3

wordcount - 14.3k (someone sedate me)

tags: gojo satoru x reader, formula one au, fluff and heavy angst, someone check in on gojo

LIGHTS OUT & AWAY WE GO !

Everything blurred together for you after the end of the call. You cried yourself to sleep and studied through teary eyes, picked at food and drank more red bulls than you should in a day. Sheer determination kept you afloat, crashing on your friends couch after studying for ten hours straight and crying to her about your heartbreak. 

“May he DNF at his next race” your friend says, rubbing your back as you blow your nose. You laugh softly. 

“I was the one who ended things, why should he pay the price” your bottom lip wobbled as the memories came flooding back, were you too hasty?

“He didn’t even fight you on it” she reasons, “if he was truly worth it he would’ve fought you and came crawling to you to work things out,” her words are a comfort you can’t seem to accept, a tight lipped smile on your face as you let yourself melt into her embrace. 

The next day you’re back on campus in the morning, letting out a small sigh and taking your headphones off. A notification from your phone draws your attention away from the blank wall ahead of you. Part of you hoped it was him, asking to talk, wanting things to work out—Fighting you on your decision. 

Instead it was twitter giving you tweets you might be interested in, all of which involved him. You sighed, locking your phone and blinking the tears out of your eyes, it’s for the best. The ache of your heart makes your bottom lip wobble, biting down on it roughly before opening your notes back up. 

Only one left, you reassure yourself, just one and then I’ll be free to grieve what could’ve been. As difficult as it was, you managed to get through your notes while only crying twice, packing your things up and heading out of the study room. The library was almost empty, with only a couple students littered around the area as the guards let them know they’d be closing soon.

You’d only snacked on a couple protein bars and had less than optimal water intake, stomach growling when you got home and opened your fridge. 

Empty. 

The tears were already streaming down your face as you sat on your couch, head in your hands as you tried to calm yourself. Your blood went cold as you heard a knock on your door, heart racing faster as you wiped your face and tried to compose yourself. 

Your fingers shook softly as you grabbed the doorknob, looking through the peephole only to find a takeout bag outside your door. With furrowed brows you opened the door, picking the bag up and finding your name on the delivery order. No other names or notes attached. 

You brought the bag in, texting your friend to see if she was the one who’d bought it for you. You wasted no time in waiting for a reply, your stomach growling louder as you smelled the food. It was only after you’d finished the food that your friend replied. 

wasn’t me ,, maybe it was [redacted]

you roll your eyes at her reply, heart skipping a beat. 

he’s not Voldemort 

and he’s busy in Monaco doing media looking like nothing even happened 

have u seen twitter ???

You read her text, debating for a second before opening the app. It felt like a punch to the gut as you read the first tweet, biting the inside of your cheek harshly as you continued to scroll through everything. 

toruswdc: is it just me or does he look a little sad today ??

—gojoenjoyer: i was thinking that too

— 6atorus: oomf said he’s going thru a breakup 

You don’t have the heart to look at the pictures, closing out of the app and instead busying yourself by getting ready for bed; fingers itching to pick up your phone. It was mere minutes of staring at your dark ceiling before giving in and reopening the app. 

MERCEDES FORMULA ONE DRIVER GOJO SATORU TODAY

The compilation of pictures makes your chest ache and eyes water. In most pictures he had sunglasses on, but the ones they managed to snap without them, you could see his eyes the slightest tinged red. Was he crying? Did he miss you like you did him? Why hasn’t he tried texting or calling? 

You could feel yourself spiraling, closing out the app and locking your phone before you could sabotage yourself anymore. You had to be up early, you couldn’t afford to stay up and sob. 

You’re up early the next morning, heading to the bus stop and cramming before your last final. You take a seat in the lecture hall, sending a small smile to the girl next to you, only looking up from your notes when she taps your shoulder. 

“I don't mean to be rude or anything” she starts, you shake your head out of politeness, “were you dating satoru gojo?” The words alone are enough to knock the air out of your lungs. You could feel the lump in your throat forming. 

“What?” is all you can manage out, your hands shaking slightly as you stare back at the girl as if she’d grown another head. She's about to repeat herself when the professor speaks up, you’ve never been more grateful for the start of a final until now, grabbing your phone to switch it off. Your eyes catch a glimpse of the most recent notification. 

F1 TV           45m ago

Qualifying In Monaco

You bite your bottom lip, take a deep breath and toss your phone in your backpack, hoping your final would be over quick enough. 

Satoru is staring at his phone, he hasn’t zipped up his suit yet as he stares at your text conversation. The last text you sent was telling him you’d call him soon, a light blue heart emoji next to a smile. He wonders how your finals had gone, you were taking one now if he did the time zone change correctly. His fingers itch to text you, to wish you luck, to ask if you’d been eating. To ask for one more chance. 

“Satoru, you ready?” Kento's voice pulls him out of his trance, rubbing his teary eyes and taking a deep breath before responding. 

“Always am” he sighs, zipping up his suit and grabbing his helmet and balaclava before opening the door. Kento can tell something is wrong with him, the blondes eyes are furrowed as his voice lowers a bit. 

“You alright?” Satoru shakes him off, mumbling ‘I’m fine’ before pulling his helmet on and getting into the car. He’d  always been great at compartmentalization. When he’s in the car it’s no one but him and his team. So why is he wondering if you’d be watching qualifying? Why was it so different this time?

“Let’s try for an out lap here after this next lap” kento says over the radio, “got it” satoru replies, he had felt confident enough in the free practices, placing in the top 5 all three sessions. He felt warmed up after a couple laps around the circuit, rounding the last corner of the circuit and taking a deep breath before starting his out lap. 

The car feels good, the tires have enough grip for him to push through the sectors at top speeds. He's only focused on racing, not letting his mind wander as he goes through the final turn and speeds past the starting point. 

“Amazing time, we are at P2 with that one” kento comes in through his speaker, satoru wants to feel overjoyed, he wants to cheer and tell them he’ll get P1 in Q2. 

“Nice” is all he manages, coming into the pits as the first round of qualifying comes to a close, he’s staring at the screens in front of him, eyes not focused. have you finished your last final yet? Would you be watching him? 

“What's the time?” he asks a pit member, they’re caught slightly off guard by the random question but answer him anyway. You're still in your exam, if anything you would only be able to catch the last bits of Q3 or maybe even just the post quali interviews. 

Satoru is biting his bottom lip as he waits to go out onto the track, he can taste the lip balm you gave him. He can hear your laughter in the back of his mind, flashes of your smile making his vision blurry. He blinks away any tears, it’s over, it doesn’t matter anymore. He doesn’t believe his own words, not for a second, but as a crew member waves him out into the pit lane to start Q2 he has no choice but to push you away. 

If you were to ask anyone about the Monaco Grand Prix, they’d tell you it’s the most iconic race of the year. They'd tell you about the glitz and glamour, about the millionaires and billionaires that gather to watch from their yachts. If you ask the drivers about it, they’d tell you it requires ever ounce of attention and skill they have in their body. 

“-in sector 2” Kento’s voice was tuned out, satoru hadn’t realized the man was even speaking to him. “Satoru, did you hear me?” the race engineer repeats himself, in a slightly more annoyed tone that has Satoru gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. 

Focus. The word repeats itself in his head, willing for it to happen despite feeling impossible. 

Satoru doesn’t improve his lap time much, landing himself at P4 by the time Q2 ends, he sighs as he’s back in the garage, his helmet feels suffocating as the garage buzzes around him. He should be staring at the data in front of him, listening to kento explain to him where he needs to use more throttle and changes in his breaking around the hairpin. 

Kento sees the glazed look in his friends eyes, he sighs, looking around and leaning down. “What’s wrong? You’re so fucking out of it i haven’t seen you like this since Suguru.” The words make satoru’s head snap to the blonde quickly, his blue eyes search kento’s face, he opens his mouth to speak but closes it quickly. 

“I’ll be fine” he manages out, “I’ll focus.” kento sighs, he’s pointing at the screen, pretending he’s going over lap times. 

“You guys broke up?” satoru feels his blood go cold, his face goes pale as he stares at the screen in front of him, “I know you really liked them- if it’s affecting you this much why haven’t you talked to them?” 

“I’ve tried to- I don’t even know what the fuck to say to them” satoru sighs, he’s staring at the screen with a trembling bottom lip before speaking up again, “I love them- I told them I loved them and it wasn’t enough.” 

Kento lets out a sigh, “let’s get through Q3 and we can talk about it afterwards” he gives him a pat on his helmet, “don’t break as hard at the hairpin.” 

Satoru is back on track before he knows it, taking a deep breath and pushing the thought of you to the back of his mind. After a couple minutes he starts his out lap. He's breaking less at the hairpin, cutting thousandths of a second off his time as he pushes on the gas. The roaring of the engine and the pressure of him breaking around turns brings him comfort, as he’s flying over the checkered line he lets out a breath. 

“What was that one?” he asks over the radio, slowing down and looking in his mirrors. 

“Great lap Satoru we are at P2 with that one” Kento's voice comes through his earpiece, “we think we can do one more push lap before the session ends, how does the car feel?”

“Yup, tires and balance is good” he responds, driving around the track and mentally preparing himself for another out lap.

Satoru's fingers grab the wheel a bit tighter as he approaches the starting line, his foot pressing the gas as he begins his last lap. There's never been a time where he couldn’t separate his problems and racing, but as he hits top speeds in the street circuit his mind keeps coming back to only one thing. 

You feel slightly nauseous as you leave the lecture hall, that final had drained you of any little energy you had. Unlocking your phone makes things worse as you hesitantly open the F1 app, pressing play on qualifying. 

“And rookie satoru gojo is flying through the sectors! We heard him on the radio earlier saying the car felt perfect” one of the commentators says, the screen switching over to a redbull driver and your mind begins to wander, barely paying attention to the cars on your phone screen. 

You lock your phone, taking a seat on the bus and letting out a small sigh. You manage to fight the urge of watching the stream until you’re unlocking your front door, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you see the final standings. The Mercedes logo at the top feels like a punch to the gut.

1 GOJO

It takes everything in you to not break down immediately, instead you take a deep breath, setting your backpack down and throwing yourself on your bed. You aren’t sure when the tears started falling, but the regret in your stomach is enough to put you off eating dinner. 

For the first time in a while you finally had the option to go to bed at a reasonable hour, yet your eyes burned as you stared at the text conversation with Satoru. 

good luck today

The message sits in the text box, cursor blinking at you as you stare at the words. You shouldn’t, you ended things, you don’t get to feel sad. The words rattle in your head, eyes closing as you fight back another wave of tears, locking your phone and throwing it on the other side of your bed. Tomorrow you’ll deal with your emotions; For now you’ll relish the fact that you can sleep without worrying about academics. 

Satoru’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he celebrates his pole position. You should’ve been there to see it, he was supposed to get pole with you by his side. 

Kento is true to his word, knocking on the drivers home door an hour after they’d left the grid. Satoru opens the door with a small smile. 

“Didn’t think you’d actually come” he teases, Kento can hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“I may have hated you in high school but you did  help me get a job in formula racing right out of uni” the blonde seems like a completely different person as he relaxes on satoru’s couch, in a sweatshirt and baggy shorts as opposed to his usual slacks and button downs. “As your race engineer I need you to not fuck up tomorrow and forget about whatever it is that happened between you two until after the race” he states, his grip tightens around the beer satoru had handed him. 

“But as my friend?” Satoru's voice is soft, pleading almost. Kento sighs, setting his drink down and looking at the white haired man. 

“As your friend, I say if you love them as much as you say you do, then prove it to them. Fight for what you guys had and show them they were wrong,” he replies, downing his beer and setting it down on the table. “You’ve already lost one relationship over this sport, don’t let it happen again.”

Satoru’s chest tightens, he stops himself from looking over at the small framed picture of him and Suguru in their karting uniforms. He clears his throat, drinking the rest of his beer and throwing his head back, sighing softly. “God, how are you so fucking wise?” he laughs dryly. 

“I’m actually just mature” Kento snorts, Satoru can’t help but smile, a genuine one, his first in days. 

It’s dark by the time kento leaves satoru’s home, and the driver feels better than he had during practice. He'll get his first win tomorrow and dedicate it to you, he has it all planned out. His mind is clear as he’s headed to bed, the knocking on his door makes him jump, did kento forget something?

Satoru’s face pales as his feet seem to root him in place as he opens the door and is face to face with the man he used to call his best friend. Deep brown eyes are staring into his crystalline blue ones, his raven hair is longer than it was the last time he saw him. 

“Hey satoru, have a minute?” there’s a small smile on his face as he speaks, fiddling with the silver rings around his fingers as satoru all but gawks at him. 

“I- wh- um yeah sure I guess” he regains his composure as quickly as he can, willing his feet to move to let the man inside, closing the door gently before taking a deep breath and turning around. “Do you want something to drink? A water or something,” the tension is thick as he tries to calm his racing heart, he thinks it might be easier to handle a day race in Singapore than face this conversation head on. 

“I just- I’ve been thinking a lot lately” Suguru says, standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room. 

“You can sit” satoru says, laughing nervously as he takes a seat on the opposite side of the couch, fiddling with the hem of a blanket nervously. Suguru thanks him, sitting down and looking around before continuing. 

“You didn’t reply to my text in Japan” he blurts out. Satoru doesn’t expect him to be this blunt, not after being no contact for as long as they had been. “Why?”

“Did you expect me to after what you did in Silverstone? After you accused me of sabotaging you? You treated me like shit” his brows furrowed, shocked by the sheer nerve suguru had. “I stayed up all night crying my eyes out trying to get you to believe me.”

“You would’ve done the same thing if you were in my position,” he shoots back and satoru shakes his head, “I wouldn’t have sacrificed years of friendship for a couple of fucking points” his voice wavers out of pure anger, trying to calm himself down as he stares him down. 

“See you always say that but who was the one who disobeyed team orders to get the championship lead?” Suguru's eyes narrow at his once best friend as the words leave his mouth, “You knew they were going to give the seat to whoever won the championship and it just had to be you.” 

“How the fuck would it be fair to give you a position you lost because you fucking suck at braking?” satoru scoffs. 

“My tires had no grip what the fuck did you want me to do?” Satoru can only laugh at the words. 

“Oh and my tires were so much fresher right? Or did you forget about the safety car we both pitted under. What about the rest of the season when your brakes conveniently failed on my out lap during quali and you stole pole from me? Or when you refused to let me through and cost us both the race? Should I keep going?”

Suguru is quiet for a second. “If you came here to fight about the same shit then get the fuck out I have a race tomorrow.” 

“I saw you guys broke up.” The words are enough to make satoru’s blood go cold. “How much more are you going to sacrifice for this sport? It’s only your rookie year and it’s already cost you your best friend and a relationship.” 

“You don’t know shit” Satoru spits back, “get the fuck out.” 

“You can’t have it all satoru, either choose the sport or choose them” he gets up, his eyes catch the framed picture of the two of them, "I hope the choice isn’t as easy as it was when it came to me.” 

Satoru slams the door shut, breathing ragged and his mind more scrambled than it was yesterday. He's worked his whole life for this moment, there was nothing he wanted more. When he finally gets to bed his eyes flutter shut, he swears he hears you wishing him good luck, eyes shooting open as he looks around. Satoru shakes his head, he won’t let himself get in his head. 

As much as he tries to fight it, his mind keeps wandering back to you. There had never been a moment in his life where he felt happier than when he was with you, his chest hurts as he thinks back to the weekend in Suzuka, he thinks about the taste of your lips and warmth of your skin. 

The buzzing of his phone makes him jump, wishing for it to be a text from you, groaning when it’s just the weather app alerting him of light rain. Satoru screws his eyes shut, tossing and turning until he finally gives up and stares blankly at the ceiling, what the fuck was he going to do?

When he arrives at the track everyone can tell he’s out of it, dark circles under his eyes have the media team rushing to grab concealer as he shuts himself in the drivers room. His head is throbbing and he feels nauseous, he stares at a picture of you in his hoodie, he looks at his race suit next to him. Was this even worth it? Why is he debating his whole life’s work over a relationship that lasted a handful of months?

You aren’t sure why you’d turned on the race, maybe because you’d genuinely grown to like the sport or maybe you hated yourself, maybe (most likely) a mix of both. Your hands sweat as you see satoru on your tv, he looks tired, or maybe you were telling yourself that to make yourself feel better. You hold your breath as the red lights appear, crossing your fingers as they turn off and the cars race forward. You let out a sigh of relief as he fends off the McLaren in P2, letting yourself sit back. The smoke coming from satoru’s back tires has your hands flying to your mouth air leaving your lungs as the announcer's voice blares through your apartment. 

“Satoru Gojo has a lock up at the hairpin and has found himself in the barrier! It looks like the rookie must have lost control of the steering while braking too hard trying to keep the McLaren behind him” the man says, you can’t help but stare at your tv in shock. 

“It's surprising coming from the man who was on pole position and doing so well yesterday during qualifying, they haven’t changed the car at all so I’m not sure what could’ve happened between yesterday and today.” 

Your palms are sweaty as you continue to watch, the radio noise making your heart fall, you’d managed to avoid hearing his voice until now. 

“Fuck! God fuck! I’m sorry this is my fault” you can hear the frustration in his voice, “fucking bullshit I’m sorry guys.” His race engineer comes on, “are you alright?”

“Yeah I’m fine, sorry.” 

You relax as you watch him step out of the car, taking his helmet and balaclava off in frustration and walking off track. Your fingers itch to grab your phone, to send him anything to try and make him feel better. You stop yourself, digging your fingers in your palm and watching the race resume after the safety car exits. 

“Here we have Satoru Gojo with us, tell us what happened out there? First you get pole and then you crash in the sector that you had done best in” the interviewer asks, Satoru sighs, clenching his jaw and running his hand through his hair before replying. 

“Yeah I think I just wasn’t expecting to brake as hard, quite frankly I got too in my mind and over-thought everything. It's completely my fault and I apologize to the team for my mistakes” he says, eyes finding the camera and your heart skips a beat.  

“Was it the pressure of finally getting your first pole position?” 

“Uh yeah I think I just had expectations of how things would turn out and it’s just not going that way, there’s a lot of things I regret and wish to fix. I’ll be better this tim- for the next race.” he nods, giving a tight lipped smile to the interviewer before heading off camera. 

You turn your tv off, breathing quickly as you try and calm yourself down. He was talking about the race, not you. The words repeat in your head, regret pooling in your stomach as you try and keep your tears at bay. If it was the right choice why was this so hard?

The week passes by quickly, with you following the motions of waking up, eating breakfast and moping all day until curling up with a tub of ice cream and watching romcoms. Your friend dropped by sporadically, making sure you had an actual nutritious meal and dragging you for a walk in the park when the weather was bearable. You felt pathetic, crying into her lap as she rubbed your back.

The next weekend you have your tv turned on for qualifying, despite your friend trying to convince you to not watch. You only manage to get through Q1, turning it off when Satoru qualifies in 15th place. 

“How has the star rookie of this season ended up with a DNF in Monaco  and a P15 here in Canada?” the commentator asks. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but Mercedes is taking a hit in the constructors championship with Ferrari behind them by only 10 points now.”

You mute the video on your Twitter feed, scrolling as you see satoru’s fans speculate on what could be causing the drivers downfall. 

6torus: satoru is going through a break up and causing his fall off - a thread 

You hesitantly click on the tweet. There's blurry screenshots of you in the Mercedes garage in Japan, pixelated pictures of the two of you kissing after his podium and low quality photos of you walking hand in hand around the city. 

— gojowdc: how are we barely getting these pics wtf ???

— goatoru: no way yall believe a break up can impact his career this much bffr

— 166swdcs: i would dnf for the whole season if i fumbled someone that fine :/

You can’t help but smile at the last tweet, looking through a couple more replies before closing out of the app. Satoru is a professional, there’s no way you would be the reason he’s doing so poorly, right? You scroll your timeline for a while, trying to ignore the pain in your chest when you see pictures of satoru in his suit and fireproofs. 

An incoming phone call makes your heart speed up, the name of the company you’d interviewed for appears at the top of your screen. You clear your throat quickly, taking a deep breath before finally answering on the second ring. 

“Hello” you answer, wincing at how hoarse your voice sounded and looking around for a cup of water. 

“Hello! Am I speaking with y/n y/l/n?” the person on the other line asks and you reply with a quick ‘yes.’ “Hi y/n I'm calling in regards to the internship position for the summer, we were very impressed with your resume and your passions and interests align very closely with what we are looking for!” 

For the first time since the breakup there was a genuine smile on your face, you swore the sun started to shine brighter as you heard the words through your phone speaker. “Thank you! I am so glad to hear that” you reply, trying to contain your emotions. 

“Unfortunately we have decided to move forward with a different candidate at this time.” The smile drops from your face instantly, ears ringing as you try and not break into tears over the phone. 

“Okay, thank you so much for the opportunity regardless,” you say, hoping you didn’t sound like you were on the verge of a meltdown. 

“However, we were wondering if you would be interested in a job post-grad with us? We know you don’t finish up for another year and circumstances may change, but we would be more than happy to offer a position to you.” 

It's amazing how quickly your tears of sadness turn to ones of joy, hand flying over your mouth to stop yourself from screaming of happiness, kicking your feet as you mute yourself to let out a squeal. 

“Wow! Yes, I will gladly think about that offer” you laugh, cheeks hurting from smiling so hard, “I’ll keep your number on file and will contact you with an updated resume after graduation!” 

“We look forward to hearing from you y/n, have a great day.” The line goes dead and you triple check that the call has ended before staring at your wall for a second before falling back on your couch and screaming into your pillow. You feel lightheaded from the rush of adrenaline as you scramble to get your phone and call your family and friends. Things were finally looking up for you. 

Satoru hopes whoever decided to make this a triple header dies, cursing them as he gets on the plane to fly to Spain for his third race in a row. He doesn’t bother to hide the bags under his bloodshot eyes anymore, headphones over his messy hair as they blast his music in hopes to drown out his thoughts. 

He stares out the window, letting his eyes close to finally get some rest. All he can picture is you. even in his dreams he hears your giggles and your gentle touch, he swears you’re there to smooth his hair down and brush out the tangles in his overgrown hair. It feels so real, the way his fingers reach out to caress your face. “You can’t have it all” you say, voice distorted as you take a step back from him, “you chose racing.” 

Turbulence shakes him from the nightmare, his cheeks are wet and he’s glad he hadn’t invited anyone else to join him on the flight. Satoru sighs softly, rubbing his eyes before taking off his headphones and getting up to grab a water. The white noise of his private jet is deafening as he settles back into his seat, the loneliness nauseating. How much longer could he keep this up?

Media day was a blur, answering questions vaguely enough to skirt around the truth but with enough substance to stop them from pestering him further. “Do you think you’ll be able to get back on track to fight for the championship title?” a reporter asks and satoru nods. 

“I’m going to try my best,” he smiles, letting out a sigh of relief when they announce it’s time for the next set of drivers to come in. 

The next day free practices go smoothly, managing to finally get you out of his head enough to be able to end in the top five by the end of the second session. After a grueling team meeting, Satoru is back in his hotel room, finishing up his dinner and getting ready for bed. His phone buzzes and he frowns. 

recommend for you

It’s almost like fate was teasing him, your comfort show being recommended to him right when he manages to block you out. Satoru locks his phone, turning off the bedside lamp and shutting his eyes. He had made his choice already, and he chose racing.

You hadn’t bothered to watch qualifying this time, figuring at some point you had to stop the torture of seeing your ex on your tv willingly. It was only until you hopped on Twitter that you saw he had qualified in the top five, pictures of him smiling around the paddock and with fans all over your feed. 

You frowned, as you saw the pictures, did he get over you that quickly? Was it ever even you impacting his racing? a mixture of anger and sadness filled your heart, biting your bottom lip before calling your friend. 

“Did you still wanna go out tonight?” you asked, fiddling with the hem of your pajama shorts. 

“Are you serious? fuck yes! please tell me we’re entering the ‘fuck him’ phase of the breakup” she cheers, you can practically hear the smile in her voice. 

“Yeah fuck him” you nod, a small grin on your lips when you hear her cheer loudly, “I’ll pick you up at 9 so we can pre game” she sing songs, “wear something hot!” 

You roll your eyes at her, nerves and excitement flow through your body. Your mind wanders back to the pictures, if he’s already moved on why should you stay hung up on him?

The knock on your door makes you smile, finishing any final touches to your outfit, “going!” you called out, fixing your lipstick and opening the door. 

You smiled sheepishly as you opened the door, “is this too much?” your friend's jaw dropped, “should I change? I’m gonna change” you say, only stopping when she grabs your wrist to hold you in place. 

“You are so sexy, oh my god!” she screams, whistling at you when you ask if she’s serious. The blush on your cheeks only grows as you throw back a third shot, already feeling looser as you giggle with your friend when she tells you the uber is here. 

There wasn’t much you were expecting to get out of tonight, meeting up with a couple more friends at the club and taking a couple more drinks. Before you knew it you’re posting a group selfie on your main, with your friend making you pose solo and hyping you up on her story. 

“-and fuck that guy!” you cheer, throwing back another shot as your girlfriends yell a jumble of ‘yeah’ and ‘fuck him’s. 

Your best friend is holding your hair back as you throw up in the safety of your apartment, groaning as you swear off drinking for the rest of your life. She can only laugh, still drunk off her ass as she comforts you. The two of you end up asleep on your couch, waking up well past noon with throbbing headaches as you squint at each other. 

“Oh my god, why did you let me drink so much?” you mumble, slowly getting up to grab some aspirin and water for the two of you. 

“It’s my duty as best friend- consider it a purge” she claims, “also when the fuck did I change?” she laughs. You can’t help but chuckle, sitting down next to her and handing her the two pills. 

She opens Twitter before you do, a small gasp leaving her mouth as she tries to scroll quickly before you can notice. “What?” you ask, she shakes her head, “just some f1 stuff.”  You furrow your brows, grabbing her phone before she can stop you. 

SATORU GOJO DNFs AT THE SPAIN GRAND PRIX 

You bite your bottom lip, shrugging your shoulders and giving her phone back, “oh well,” is all you say, ignoring the prickling tears in your eyes as you blink them away. You grab your phone, heart dropping when you finally open twitter. 

wagcentral: rumored ex gf of satoru gojo pictured out clubbing last night!

- gojosprmanager: this explains the triple header of pain 

- russllwdc: satoru gojo you have fumbled the bag BAD

“Oh my god how did they get these?” you ask, eyes wide and panicked as you show your friend, “I’m private and you are too right?” you look at your friend as her face drops. 

“I forgot I went off private a week ago” she gasps, rushing to check her profile, “fuck! I’m so sorry y/n oh my god” she apologizes. You shake your head, running your fingers through your hair and sigh. 

“It's fine, I mean he told me it would happen if we dated so I guess I was kinda prepared” you mumble, laughing when you see her putting her account back to private. “You don’t have to anymore it won’t make a difference.”

“How about we both refresh and then I’ll buy dinner? as an ‘I’m sorry I exposed how hot you are to the world to stick it to your famous ex’ gift?” she grins when you roll your eyes at her.

“The last part is unnecessary,” you mumble. “But fine, maybe like 6 ish?” you ask and she nods, waving goodbye as she walks out the door and you’re left alone again. With a sigh you put your phone to charge grabbing the first baggy shirt and sweats you see before hopping in the shower. 

The hot water feels comforting against your skin, your shoulders relaxing and eyes closing before reaching for your shampoo. You take your time showering, allowing yourself the privilege of hot water, your favorite shampoo and favorite body wash. 

Your hair is still dripping wet when you walk out of your bathroom and hear your phone buzzing. You assume it’s your friend calling, answering with no hesitation. 

“Hello” you sing song, expecting your friend to ask you where you wanted takeout from.

“Sweetheart?” the voice on the other end mumbles, some shuffling as if he’s sitting up. You almost drop your phone as you hear his voice, face pale and heart racing. Your palms are sweaty and you immediately check the caller ID. 

Satoru. 

“Y/n? Please don’t hang up,” his voice shakes, you can hear the slur in his words as he speaks. 

“What do you want” you breathe out, sitting on the edge of your bed, your knuckles white from gripping your phone. Satoru sniffles on the other end. 

“You” he pauses, “I can’t do this without you.” 

After his unfortunate DNF satoru had left the track as quickly as he could, anger and frustration got the best of him as he ignored everyone around him and got back on his jet to head home to Monaco. The pictures of you littered the timeline on his burner account, Satoru wasted no time in throwing any breakable thing he could find against the wall, cursing himself and drowning his sorrows in the first bottle of alcohol he could find. 

A handful of drinks later the room was spinning and the only thing he could think of was the one he was trying to forget. 

You. 

His keypad was blurry as he typed out texts riddled with typos and sent them to you, completely illegible. He let out a huff of frustration, and before he could back out he’d pressed the call icon, hearing the first ring before pressing the phone to his ear. Satoru’s cheeks were flushed from a mixture of crying and alcohol coursing through his body.

Even as he’s surrounded by his achievements in racing, Satoru feels empty. The hole in his heart wouldn’t be filled by a first win or a drivers championship, but by you. 

“I’m sorry for everything I didn't do and everything I didn't say, I can be better this time I promise you,” he pleads, “we can make this work please let me come see you.” His hands are shaking as you stay quiet on the other end. “If you don’t want to see me, if you want me to leave you alone then I will.” 

The sentence takes the air out of your lungs, and you have to take a deep breath to ground yourself. You aren’t sure when you started crying, but you’re wiping your tears quickly as if he could see you through the phone. 

“Okay” you whisper, unsure if he even heard you. 

Satoru lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “okay.” He goes to say something else, only to be cut off by the beeping of you ending the call.

You’re staring at your phone in shock, eyes unfocused as your brain catches up with your heart, what the fuck did you just do?

There was no way of knowing when satoru was getting there, you weren’t sure where he was flying from or if he even managed to catch a flight. Maybe he would sober up, regret his actions and ghost you without thinking twice. 

“I’m just saying he might not even show up” you shrug, slurping the last bit of pho your friend had brought you, she rolls her eyes as she sets down her bowl. 

“Dude he called you drunk at 2 in the morning crying because he wanted you back” she stared you dead in the eyes, “that man wants you bad.”

“Dunno” is all you say before grabbing both of your now empty bowls and placing them in the trash. “I don’t want to think about it, can we please just watch my comfort show until we pass out like planned?” she begrudgingly agrees, smiling when you flash a grin at her and let out a soft ‘yay!’

The soft glow of the tv engulfs the two of you, your friend had fallen asleep long before exhaustion even touched you. With a small smile you placed a blanket on her, turning the tv off and gently moving her so her neck wouldn’t hurt in the morning. The four walls of your room felt suffocating, staring at your ceiling as endless possibilities ran through your mind. 

What would he say to you? Does he blame you for ending it? Did he actually want you? The buzzing of your phone pulls you from the ramblings of your mind. 

satoru           now

im landing at 10 am 

You send back an ‘okay,’ a sigh falling from your lips as you rub your eyes. Exhaustion had finally caught up to you, with heavy eyelids you let yourself relax. There was no telling how tomorrow will go, what you would say or how you’d even react to being near him again. For now you close your eyes, mind finally silent and heart not as heavy. 

There was only a moment of peace, with different scenarios plaguing your mind and causing you to shoot up and checking your phone religiously. 

3:26 am

The brightness of your phone makes you squint, locking it before letting out a huff and tossing it back into your bed, laying back down and staring at your ceiling. The last time you’d been able to sleep through the night was after you’d drank yourself to oblivion. Before that was wrapped in satoru’s arms before he left for a race. Your bottom lip wobbled as you recalled the fond memories of the two of you that you’d repressed, having chosen to think of only the negative after your breakup. 

The lack of communication, insecurities, time differences, long distance, and the fear of holding each other back. You had done the right thing, right? The question you’d been asking yourself for the better half of a month made tears prick your eyes, stifling a sniffle and forcing your eyes shut. 

Satoru is as hungover as humanly possible, with a throbbing headache as he exits the jet, stumbling a bit down the stairs and thanking his flight crew. His shades seem to not be working as he squints at the bright morning sun, tight lipped smile to the staff waiting for him as he enters the airport. He’s glad they had landed in a private airport, knowing he didn’t have the emotional or physical abilities to interact with fans at the moment. 

The rental car is waiting for him and he thanks the staff, grabbing the keys and taking a deep breath before heading to your apartment. There was no need for him to use a gps, remembering every street from the handful of times he had come to visit you between races. The silence of the car ride was comforting, his racing thoughts seeming to halt as he got closer to you. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to say to you, but he’d do anything it took to win you back. 

Your best friend wished you luck before leaving in the morning, offering to stay hidden in your closet in case you wanted her to jump him. You refused (after a minute of debating it) and promised you’d call her when it was done with. So you sat on your couch, knee bouncing and picking at your fingernails as you waited. When did you last feel this nervous? You couldn’t remember, having felt more at ease before your internship interviews. 

Satoru stood in front of your door, breathing shakily as his lifted a hand up, he could do this. He wasn’t going to lose you again. 

Knock, knock, knock. 

Your head whipped to the door, palms sweating as you wiped them on your shorts. You can do this, you could handle this. Your hand hovered over the doorknob, taking a deep breath before twisting it open. 

Your eyes meet his chest, hesitating for a second before finally looking up. Satoru’s crystalline eyes meet your own, and you feel like you’re back at the coffee shop. The dark circles under his red rimmed eyes are pronounced, his skin is much paler than it seemed in pictures, shoulders more slouched  than usual. He looked exhausted. 

“Hi,” he says, fiddling with his fingers, unsure what to do with himself as he takes in every one of your features. He had almost forgotten how gorgeous you were in person. Your eye bags had gotten better, he notes, you must finally be getting more sleep after finals. 

“Hey,” you reply, feeling frozen in place for a second, “um, come in.” Satoru thanks you softly, walking past you and being hit with the familiar smell of your home, it makes his knees weak and his resolve grow stronger. You close the door behind him, your fingers burn to reach out to him, instead you dig your nails into your palm as you head to the living room, motioning for him to sit. 

“So,” you say, eyes bouncing between the formula one driver and the pillow in your lap. “How'd you book such an early flight?” The question puzzles Satoru, not expecting that to be the first thing you ask him. 

“I just used my jet,” he says, as if it was the most obvious answer. 

“Oh,” you nod your head, "I forget you’re loaded,” you laugh softly, trying to lessen the tension for the sake of your nerves. Satoru smiles softly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before focusing back on his hands. 

“I miss you-”

“I’m sorry-”

The two of you begin at the same time, staring at each other and stopping so the other can continue. “You flew out here and I’m pretty sure you’re hungover as fuck” you smile gently, “you go first.” Satoru smiles back at you, taking a shaky breath before beginning.

“I miss you like crazy. I can’t focus on anything, I can’t get you out of my head, everything reminds me of you.” His voice wavers as he pauses, “I was an idiot and was selfish and I take back what I said- effort goes both ways and I shouldn’t have expected you to follow me around every weekend when your career is just as important.” You bite your bottom lip, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way it wobbled. “I don’t want to be with you in another life or another time, I want to be with you now, in this life. I need you, I can’t keep going without you.” He doesn’t care if you’ve noticed the tears falling down his cheeks, he only cares that you realize how he truly feels. 

“I doubt you’ve been watching anything to do with me, I know I wouldn’t if I were you, but these last three weeks have been absolute hell for me, I can't function with you. I don’t care if it’s pathetic or embarrassing.” His eyes are glossy as he looks at you, tentatively scooting closer to you and gently grabbing your hands in his. “I love you, y/n, I’ll do anything to be by your side if you’ll have me.” 

Your vision is blurry, the metallic taste in your mouth makes you stop biting your lip, taking your hand out of satoru’s larger, calloused ones to wipe away stray tears. Satoru doesn’t take his eyes off you, memorizing your every feature and motion in case it was his last time seeing you.

You take a moment to compose yourself, trying to unscramble your thoughts enough to form a coherent sentence. “Thank god I didn’t bet my life savings on you,” you say, sighing softly when Satoru lets out a mix of a sigh and a laugh. “Watching that triple header was painful.” Satoru sniffles, smiling softly as he wipes his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” you begin, “I let my insecurities get the better of me and I should’ve been more transparent on how I felt. I should’ve tried harder to figure things out between us instead of rushing to end them. In my mind I was saving us from a world of hurt, not hurling us into a never ending purgatory of pain." You can feel his eyes on you as you continue, picking at a hangnail on your finger. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing, but I realize now I wasn't. I was so fucking selfish to not even truly consider your feelings, I just assumed-” the sob you were biting back escapes you, and satoru is quick to wrap his arms around you. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers, cradling you in his lap as you calm yourself down. You shake your head as he holds you tightly, guilt eating you alive as he comforts you. 

“it’s not okay, I don’t deserve to be upset when I’m the reason we’re in this position to begin with!” you cry out, attempting to push satoru away, he doesn’t let you, holding onto you tightly. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle, you’re sure his shirt is drenching with your tears by now. “I just- I didn't want to risk you resenting me for holding you back.” 

“You’ve worked your whole life to get into Formula One, you have so much pressure on you to replace a legend like Lewis and I didn’t want to be the reason you couldn’t achieve those things. I didn’t want to take time away from your training to listen to me complain about 8 am labs and shitty proffesors.” 

Satoru can feel his heartbeat in his ears, he hesitates to loosen his grip on you, fingertips itching to keep you against him as you push yourself off of him. He doesn’t take his eyes off you, watching as you wipe your face before looking at him. 

“I don’t care about the drivers championship if I don’t have you,” the words fly out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “Fucks sake look at how shit I am at racing when I’m without you,” he chuckles dryly, “I promise I’ll be better, I’ll make time for you, I’ll call you every day, I’ll do better I swear to you.”

“How is it going to be any different this time toru?” you whisper, pleading eyes meeting his, “what about when I start classes again? and I'm busy with exams while you’re racing halfway across the world?” 

“I’m willing to work at this every day and every night if it means being with you,” he pauses, hesitant before he speaks again, “are you?” The question weighs heavy in the air as you stare at the white haired man. Your silence makes satoru’s heart sink, he’s about to get up when your voice stops him. 

“We’ll make it work,” the weight in your shoulders lessens as the words leave your mouth, “I love you.”

The three words satoru had wanted to hear most are enough for him to crash his lips onto yours, cupping your face in his hands as your lips move against his, only pulling away when you’re both gasping for air. Satoru wastes no time in chasing your lips for more, biting your bottom lip gently before placing a flurry of kisses over your entire face. 

“God I’ve missed you so much,” he smiles, his hands falling from your face and instead wrapping his arms around you to place you on top of his lap. “I couldn’t even sleep properly let alone race without wondering what you were doing.” 

You waste no time in running your fingers through his hair, already working on the knots that had formed. “I only got through finals by the grace of god and Red Bull cans” you admit, mumbling a sheepish ‘sorry’ when he gives you a playful scowl. 

“I figured,” he pauses for a second, “did you ever get the order of take out?” He asks, smoothing your hair out before focusing back on your face. 

“Oh my god that was you?” You gasp, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as your face burns. 

“I wasn’t going to let you go hungry just because you broke up with me.” He smiles, “my love for you was never going anywhere.” 

The two of you are a tangle of limbs on your couch, impossibly close as you whisper sweet nothings to each other. You’re the first to get up, untangling yourself from his arms and motioning for him to follow you to the restroom. 

“I doubt you showered before you got here,” you tease and satoru pouts at you as you help him out of his clothes, breath hitching when your eyes land on his figure. 

“I was in a rush to win my soulmate back, sorry,” he replies, a finger lifting your chin up so your eyes meet his, “already gawking?” he hums. Your face burns as you roll your eyes, checking the water's temperature before taking off your own top. “who’s gawking now?” you retort, satoru presses your back against the shower wall, searching your face for permission. 

You’d forgotten how intoxicating his cologne was, how pretty his every feature was. The slightest nod of your head has his lips attached to your neck, biting softly to elicit a whimper from you. “I love you,” he whispers between kisses and moans, your fingers tangled in his hair, thighs wrapped around him tightly. “I love you,” you breathe back, your lips finding his.

Your hair is still damp as you two lay in bed. His fingers danced up and down your back, eyes burning from exhaustion, but he refuses to take them off you for even a moment. 

“Can I ask you something?” you whisper. 

Satoru hums, “anything you want sweetheart.”

“Your interview after your DNF in Monaco, were you talking about the race or about us?” your ears burned from embarrassment, but curiosity was killing you. 

He pauses for a second, face burning when he replies, “us, I was praying to any and every god that you were watching,” he laughs, “I had no idea how obvious I could be before PR banned me from any media appearances.” 

“So the dnf’s and the 15th place finish-” Satoru cuts you off, knowing you’d let the guilt eat you alive. “Races to forget, points that I’ll get back” he assures you, moving loose strands of hair out of your eyes and smiling, “I hear Mercedes golden boy has got his spark back.” 

Satoru is quiet for a second, his smile falters as he averts his eyes from your gaze, “I’m really sorry for making you feel like I wanted you to follow me around like some trophy to show off. I can’t imagine how hurtful it must’ve been and it really wasn’t my intention, I still feel terrible.” 

You smile at the sincerity in his words, your fingers ghosting over his cheek as his eyes catch yours. “I know you didn’t mean it like that, and I'm glad you support me in my career choices. I didn’t even get the internship.”. 

Satoru pouts at your response, “say the words and I’ll bribe them to give you that position, you deserve it more than whatever loser got it anyway,” he mumbles. 

“You don’t have to bribe anyone” you laugh, “they actually offered me a job post-grad” you grin, squealing when Satoru throws all six-foot something of himself on top of you. . 

“Oh my god are you serious?” he cheers, shaking you in disbelief before wrapping his arms around you and hugging you tightly, only loosening his grip when he goes to pepper your face in kisses. “I’m so proud of you! Congratulations” his dimples make you smile harder, thanking him and pressing a kiss to his cheek as he sits back against your headboard. 

“Since I have no internship this summer though,” you hesitate, stomach flipping as you pick at fluff on your blanket, “it would be nice to travel with you before I'm back to the shackles of academia, if that’s okay?”

Satoru is practically vibrating from happiness as he pulls you into his embrace, shaking you vigorously and kissing you hastily with a smile on his face. “Of course that’s okay sweets” he exclaims, cheeks hurting from how hard he’d been smiling at you, “this is like a fucking dream come true,” he laughs, holding you closely and kissing your forehead. 

A comfortable silence grows between the two of you, with exhaustion from improper sleep from the last few weeks catching up to both of you as you snuggle closer to one another. “I love you,” you whisper, satoru smiles, “I love you.”

For the first time in weeks the two of you manage to get proper sleep, waking up as the sun was setting and letting out soft giggles as you rest your head on your lovers chest once more. 

Your best friend all but breaks the sound barrier when you call her with an update as satoru places an order for takeout, confessing she’d secretly been rooting for the two of you the whole time. You can’t help but gasp, wishing she was there for you to playfully smack her. “I’m actually gonna be spending the rest of the summer with him, probably won’t be back until classes start up again.”

One week later you were sticking to your words, suitcases packed to the brim as satoru placed them in the back of his rental car and drove to the airport, “you excited to see Austria?” The sparkle in satoru’s eyes is enough to make you get butterflies all over again, nodding happily as he holds your hand in his, placing a kiss to the back of it. 

This was the right thing, you thought, a small smile on your face as you stared at your lover in the driver's seat. The slope of his nose, the smell of your body wash on him, the way his snowy hair fell perfectly. 

Satoru can’t help but laugh at the utter shock on your face when you see his private jet. “Did I never mention it?” He teases, extending a hand to help you up the stairs. 

“I can’t believe you have a private jet and I was refusing free meals from you,” you mumble, satoru’s ears perk up. “I’m kidding by the way,” you laugh, knowing he definitely would try and take over all your expenses if you’d let him. 

“Nope, definitely buying you everything now,” satoru smiles, pressing his lips to yours to prevent you from protesting. “You should get some rest, I’ve got some places I wanna take you after we land.” You rest your head on satoru’s shoulder, humming in acknowledgment. 

“‘M’not even tired,” you say, playing with satoru’s hand in yours, trying your best to hold back the yawn threatening to escape. Satoru presses a kiss to the top of your head, putting his arm around you so your head rests on his chest. 

“Should we put on a movie then?” he suggests, scrolling through the options before finally landing on one he’d been wanting to watch. "Isn't he in that other show?” he asks, only to be met with silence. Satoru cranes his neck a bit, endeared by the slight furrow in your brows and your even breathing. 

When the plane lands both of you are woken up by flight staff, groggy as you gather your items and step into the warm Austrian air. Any exhaustion leaves Satoru's body as the chauffeur drives the two of you to the hotel, his excitement growing as he opens the hotel door for you. 

Your mouth falls open at how beautiful the room looks, eyes catching a black box with a ribbon wrapped around it. “What’s this?” You smile, turning to look at your lover. 

“Open it,” he grins, placing a chaste kiss to your cheek before motioning for you to grab it. His eyes follow your every move, heart thumping loudly in his ears. 

Gently, you take off the ribbon, a million thoughts racing in your head as you take a deep breath before opening the small box. Two rings stares back at you, not an engagement ring, but a band with cherry blossoms engraved in them. 

“wha-” the words catch in your throat as you turn to satoru. There’s a profuse blush on his face as he looks at you nervously, smiling before finally speaking up.. 

“I could write a million things I want to say to you, promise you everything you want to hear, but I know words don’t mean anything,” he begins, taking the box from your hands and taking out one of the rings. “I can't promise you that there won’t be times I’ll be shit at replying, I can’t promise you I won’t get caught up in racing or that we won't have any bad days,” his voice shakes as he stares down at the ring and back at you. 

“But I can promise you through it all my heart will always be with you, I can promise to try my best and work at my faults everyday if you’ll let me.” Satoru smiles widely, taking a deep breath, “that’s what this is,” he takes the ring out of the box, “a promise from me to you.” 

The tears in your eyes blur your vision, and yet Satoru’s blue eyes and dimpled smile are as clear as ever. You throw your arms around him, holding him tightly, afraid if you didn't he might slip through your fingers. “I love you so much,” you mumble against him, pulling away only to place quick, wet kisses all over his face before finally catching his lips. He tastes like the lip balm you’d given him months ago, and the fact warms your heart. 

Both of you are giddy as he slips the ring on your finger, smiling when you grab the bigger matching one and placing it on his own. You can’t help but continue to glance down at the ring as you two walk hand in hand through the city, with occasional fans coming up to him for pictures and signatures. “Twitter is about to blow up,” you mumble, loosening your grip on his arm when you enter the hotel. 

“Good,” a cocky grin on his face as he lets you into the elevator, “I want everyone to know you’re all mine.” 

Satoru is gone before you wake up the next morning, already at the track for media day. The entire team had taken notice of his mood, the air around him felt lighter and the smile on his face gave everyone high hopes for the weekend. 

“Satoru after the last triple header you’d been finishing in less than ideal positions, do you think you’ll be able to improve this weekend?” An interviewer asks. The other drivers stare at the rookie, and he only nods. 

“Yeah I think this last week really helped clear my head and get things where I wanted them,” he smiles, “I have everything I need to be where I want to be.” Satoru fiddles with the band on his finger, trying to keep his composure and hoping no one catches the way his cheeks turned bright pink. 

The buzz in the air is electrifying as you follow satoru into the paddock, fans coming up to him for signatures and wishing him luck on qualifying. The entire paddock was bustling, with everyone running around for team duties and fans trying to catch a glimpse of their favorite drivers before the session.

“Cmon,” satoru grabs your hand gently, leading you into the Mercedes hospitality suite and checking in quickly before heading to the drivers room. 

“Are you sure I can be in here? I don’t want Toto to yell at me, I think I’d start crying,” you half joke, Satoru only rolls his eyes at your concern, taking a seat on the couch and your hands in his to pull you closer. 

“Toto doesn’t care what I do as long as I’m getting him points,” he smiles, pressing his lips against yours, “and right now I need my good luck charm.” You scoff at how cheesy he sounds, ignoring the way your stomach flutters as he kisses you. Your fingers run through his hair, smiling when he lets his head rest against you. 

“Don’t you have to change and head to the garage soon?” you mumble, smoothing out his hair and taking a small step back. Satoru groans softly, “five more minutes,” his eyes sparkle as they stare up at you, glimmering when you sit next to him and he wraps his arms around you. 

“You act like we didn’t spend all night together,” you tease, Satoru only hums, debating for a second before finally speaking up. 

“Yeah but we weren’t exactly cuddling,” he quips, laughing when you go to smack him, “I have quali you can’t hurt me!”  You can’t help but roll your eyes at him. He glances at the clock and lets out a small sigh, pressing a kiss to your cheek before untangling himself from you. 

It takes every fiber of your being to not jump his bones as he takes his shirt off, his muscles slightly flexed as he stretches and grabs the fireproof top. You swallow and turn away as he slips on the fitted black top, covering his abs. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m all yours after this,” his cocky tone makes you scoff, crossing your arms and clenching your thighs. 

“Oh please I wasn’t even staring at you.” You mumble, pulling your phone out and scrolling mindlessly as he puts on the bottom half of the fireproofs and slips into his racing suit. 

“Shall we?” Satoru grins, extending a hand and intertwining your fingers with his, leading you out of the room and heading to the garage. 

Before you know it you’re being handed headphones and watching your lover zip up the rest of the suit and pulling the balaclava over his head, sending you a wink before securing his helmet and hopping in the car. 

“Alright let’s go ahead and see how everything is feeling before we get a time up,” Kento's voice is clear over the radio, and satoru is out of the pits and on the track in a matter of moments. 

“Feels good,” satoru says after the first lap around the track. Kento gives satoru the green light, you watch in awe as the car practically flies over the checkered line to begin its out lap. 

Satoru finds the G-force against his body comforting, he flies in the straights, steering quickly through the corners as he holds his breath. He brakes too quickly at a turn, causing the car to lock up and make him curse as he quits the lap. “Fuck sorry guys,” he speaks into the radio, peeling away from the racing line as he thinks back to the free practices. 

“That’s okay, we’ve got 12 minutes left,” kento says calmly, you look from the screen to the garage, every team member fully engaged on the screens ahead of them. 

Satoru begins his next outlap, blasting through the straights of the first sector and beginning the second sector. He slows down more as he approaches turn 4, keeping the car out of the gravel as he pushes a bit harder through the rest of the second sector. There’s no other thoughts in his mind as he focuses on the track ahead of him, soaring through the straights until turn 9, front tire just barely kicking up gravel as he steers it through turn 10 and past the checkered line. 

“Great lap satoru we are at P3 with that one,” kento comes over the radio, “let’s try and get another push lap.” 

“Yeah,” satoru’s heavy breathing comes over the radio, making you cheeks heat up as you continue to focus on the screen, biting your bottom lip in anticipation. Satoru leads the car slowly around the track, others zooming past him as they try and improve their times. You frown as you see a McLaren knock satoru down to P4. He can do it, you tell yourself, he’s got this. 

Like clockwork Satoru starts his out lap, flying through the sectors as best he could. 

“And Gojo is going fastest in sector one! We saw earlier he was having trouble with the brakes but that issue seems to be resolved as he is fastest in sector two as well!” The commentator comes through your headphones as you bite back a smile, holding your breath when the Mercedes approaches turn 9. 

It’s a clean turn as he flies through the last two turns and over the checkered line once more, moving away from the racing line and coming through the radio. “How was that one?” 

“We are at P2 with that one, great job,” kento compliments, you can see the smile on the blonde man’s face from where you were standing. “How is the grip? There’s five minutes left if you want to try another.” 

“Grip is good, let’s go ahead and do a final one.” 

Satoru improves his time by hundredths of a second, securing his P2 position and heading into the garage, mechanics quickly swarming the car and placing screens in front of the driver. You can hear the chatter from the pit wall over your headphones, only understanding a handful of the highly specified terms they were throwing out. 

The second session begins quicker than you’d anticipated, with Satoru heading into the pit lane and out onto the track. You crossed your fingers, hoping the next 15 minutes would give Satoru the opportunity to improve his time. With only 30 seconds left to spare satoru pushes his final outlap, hoping to secure himself in at least the top five. 

He goes too wide at the second to last turn, both tires going into the gravel as he tries to recover quickly, mentally cursing himself as he goes past the checkered flag. “Where did that put me?” He asks, heading into the garage as he waits for the final session to begin. 

“P5 with that one; verstappen, leclerc and the two McLarens are ahead,” kento informs him, “if you can cut times on the straights and avoid the gravel we can definitely start front row tomorrow.” 

Satoru is staring intently as the screens ahead of him, his statistics making him scowl. The margins between him and the other four are thin, but not impossible. 

The final qualifying session has your palms sweaty, with all ten drivers setting times one after the other, chaos on the board as they’re knocked down after every lap time. Satoru had managed to get up to P3, the entire garage cheering when he knocked down the Mcclaren who previously held the spot. 

“Piastri has been the fastest in all three sectors today and has all but secured provisional pole today,” the commentator says, “but we can’t count out the Ferrari or the Mercedes who are both flying through these sectors!” 

Your eyes are glued to the screen, chanting ‘c’mon’ as if it would make the car go faster, your fingers crossed as you watch the silver car narrowly miss the gravel and drive over the checkered flag. The entire garage erupts in cheers as claps, and you’re no different, clenching your fists and jumping in excitement. 

“Mercedes’ star rookie is on provisional pole for the second time in his career! With only minutes left will anyone be able to challenge the time set by the Mercedes man?” You’re vibrating with nerves as you watch the other cars zoom through the track. 

“We have just enough fuel for another out lap.” You hear the pit wall say, heart racing as you look around the garage, smiles on everyone faces.

Satoru doesn’t respond, instead taking a deep breath and getting on the racing line to begin his final push lap.

Everyone knew satoru was talented, the formula one teams had scouted him from the beginning of his F2 career. Toto had all but called him Mercedes’ second coming after watching him train in their team hub and take on the racing sims. It felt natural to Satoru to be behind the wheel, to push his body to the limit in the pinnacle of Motorsport. And as he pushes through the final corner and past the checkered flag the fact is reaffirmed. 

The entire garage is yelling, everyone hugging the nearest person they could find as satoru’s time cements him on pole position. 

“That is a record breaking time here at the Redbull Ring! With a lap time of 1 minute and 4.871 seconds Satoru Gojo will be starting at the front of the grid tomorrow!” 

Kento comes up to you with a smile, telling you to follow him. You do so happily, waiting at the barricade for the top three cars to park and for the drivers to hop out and have their interviews. Satoru is the last to park his car in front of the giant 1, giddy as he takes the steering wheel off before celebrating. He wastes no time in throwing himself into his mechanic team, shaking kento by the shoulders before locking eyes with you. He’s undoing his helmet strap and taking his balaclava off in seconds, one hand holding the items while the other cups your cheek and crashes his lips to yours. 

“I’m so proud of you” you grin, pressing a quick peck to his lips. Satoru leans in to your ear, covering his mouth before speaking. 

“I’ll celebrate with you later,” he sends you a wink before heading to do his weigh in and interview, body buzzing from a mix of joy and adrenaline. Your face burns as he walks away from you, nervously fixing your hair as the large cameras pan away from you and back to the top three drivers. 

You get back to the hotel before satoru does, showering and changing into one of satoru’s shirts, sprawling across the bed and letting yourself relax. 

Satoru <3         now

should be back in two hours ish just some team meeting stuff :P

can we order in tonight ?

You smile at his text, assuring him you weren’t going anywhere. A yawn escapes your lips as you nuzzle yourself into the bed, jet lag was a bitch, but you had nothing else to do. 

Satoru feels his chest grow warmer when he unlocks the hotel room and finds you curled up in bed, soft even breathing as you hug the plush white cat he’d bought you last night. He doesn’t wake you yet, instead grabbing a change of clothes and heading into the restroom to shower. 

The bed beside you dips under the driver's weight, his face scrunching up when your eyes flutter open. “Toru?” your groggy voice makes him melt, taking you in his arms and kissing your forehead. 

“Hi sweetheart, you hungry?”

The night is reminiscent of the one you’d spent together before the Japan race. Soft giggles filling the room as the two of you practically tried to crawl into the others skin, tangled in each other as you spoke of anything either of you could think of. Satoru lets out a sigh of relief, his once tense muscles relaxing under the touch of your fingertips. 

“I know I should feel nervous, but I don’t,” he chuckles, his azure eyes closing when your fingers run through his soft strands of hair. “I feel calm? I don’t know,” his voice is slightly muffled against your side. 

“That’s good isn’t it? Confidence is key and all that,” you reply, continuing your motions as he hums in disagreement. 

“This is different, like-” he cuts himself off, thinking for a moment before speaking again. “Before, winning in F2 or staying in the points now is F1 was everything to me, like if I fucked up I’d lose everything.” There’s a prolonged pause as he searches for the right words. “But now I feel like even if I fuck up, I still have something, I have someone to come home to, you know? Is that crazy?” 

Your heart skips a beat at his words and you can’t help but hold him a little tighter. “Not crazy at all angel boy,” you reply, kissing the top of his head before adjusting yourself to lay down. “You’re going to be great tomorrow, I know it.” 

You’d been slightly invested in sports before, feeling nervous during penalty kicks in the World Cup, cheering loudly during last second touchdowns during the Super Bowl. But you’d never been sweaty palmed with a racing heart as you sat in the Mercedes garage, watching satoru line up at the front of the grid. 

“Gimme my good luck kiss, sweetheart,” he had mumbled, race suit half zipped as he held his helmet in hand. You obliged happily, placing a gentle kiss on his lips, and letting your lips linger for a moment longer. Satoru grinned against your lips, kissing you one last time before putting on his balaclava and putting his helmet on.

“Be safe,” you squeezed his hand and he sent you a wink. 

Now, as you stare at the green flag waving behind the twenty cars you hold your breath, eyes focused on the silver car in first place. 

“-and its lights out and away we go! The Austrian Grand Prix is underway with an amazing start from Satoru Gojo keeping the McLaren from overtaking from the outside!” The commentators voice adds to your nerves, cheering when Satoru keeps his position through the first three turns. 

“Norris is two seconds behind,” the pit wall informs, satoru doesn’t reply, steering through the turns and keeping the McLaren at bay. He’s creating distance in the straights, enough to prevent the other driver to enable DRS. Satoru can see the scarlet Ferrari and orange McLaren in his mirrors, fully focused on trying to keep his lead as he’s brushing gravel through the final corner and starting the next lap. 

You relax a little when the gap grows a bit, zoning out a bit only to tense up when you see the Ferrari overtake the McLaren from the inside line on lap 12, watching as the gap between him and satoru decreases with every lap. 

“It seems like Charles Leclerc might be able to catch up to Satoru Gojo if he can keep this pace.” You’re biting your bottom lip as lap 15 comes around, the marginal gap making your hands clam up as you see the Ferrari pull out from behind Satoru and race next to him, hoping to get the inside line and beat him to the apex. 

“Leclerc tries to beat him to the apex but fails! Satoru holds onto the lead!” the garage cheers as Satoru hold his position, his race engineer telling him statistics you’re not sure you understand. 

“Box, box,” kento says on the radio. The entire garage is running around, mechanics preparing everything and getting into position for the pit stop. 

LAP 25/70

Satoru is in and out before you can register it, the whirl of drills and change of tires is done in the blink of an eye, tires squealing as he drives out of the pit lane to rejoin the race behind the Ferrari. The scarlet car holds on to the position for a handful of laps before inevitably entering the pit lane, as Satoru flies past him. 

Piastri locks up behind Satoru on turn 9, slowing down as he steers the car out of the gravel. The distance between the top two cars growing, with Satoru on fresher tires as he peels away. 

“The McLaren is stuck in second position until he can get a fresh set of tires, if Gojo can keep this up he might be underway for his first win.” The words make your breath catch in your throat. 

LAP 57/70

Another flash of a pit stop, with Satoru coming out well before the car in second, the gap now at 5 seconds and some change as he pushes as best he could, heartbeat in his ears as he checks his mirrors. Go, go, go, the words rattle in his mind, braking around the corners and fingers instinctually pressing the buttons on his steering wheel, racing was his second nature. 

“Pace is good, can you keep this up for the final laps?” Kento asks, looking at the data in front of him. Satoru comes over the radio, a sharp ‘yes’ is all he says. 

LAP 69/70

The garage is buzzing and Satoru begins his penultimate lap, with the McLaren still 5 seconds behind and the Ferrari lost in the wind in third. You can’t help the smile on your face, covering your mouth with your hands, giddy for the race to come to a close. 

LAP 70/70 

“Mercedes golden boy Satoru Gojo is leagues ahead of the papaya car, pushing through the final corners and only seconds away from his first win in formula one! The rookie had a rough triple header but has come back better than ever!” You can’t stop the tears in your eyes, cheering and jumping along with the entire garage when he flies over the checkered line. 

“You did it, that's P1!” Kento cheers over the radio, Satoru replies with ecstatic yells, microphone cutting out slightly, you can’t help but laugh. 

“Fuck yes! Yes! We fucking did it!” He cheers, fist pumping as he laughs in pure joy, waving at the grandstands clapping for him. When he parks his car in front of the 1 he’s scrambling to take off the steering wheel and jump out of the car, celebrating quickly before jumping into his crew as they cheer for him. Satoru is quick to take his helmet off, hair a mess and imprints on his skin when he makes his way towards you. 

“Congra-” your words are cut off by his lips on yours, helmet clattering to the ground to pull you closer to him, one hand behind your head and the other around your waist. The world seems to melt away, even when you pull away and he rests his forehead against you, sweaty tufts of white hair sticking in every direction. 

“That one was for you,” he smiles, giggling when you fix his hair and pat his chest, “thank you angel, I’m so proud of you.” Satoru would stay at your side if you’d let him, pouting when you shoo him away for his weigh in and post race interview. 

Satoru feels like he’s floating as he steps onto the podium, taking a deep breath and smiling as the Japanese national anthem plays. His eyes flutter closed and he feels a weight off his shoulders, a blissful smile on his face. This is where he was supposed to be, what he was supposed to be doing. His eyes meet yours in the crowd, all smiles and snapping pictures. You’re who he’s meant to be with. 

The first notes of the Toreador march play and before he can even pick up the comically large bottle of champagne, he’s being doused by Oscar and Charles, both of them cheering for the rookie. He’s smiling widely, wiping his eyes and finally spraying his own bottle, blindly aiming as the champagne drips from his hair. Both him and Kento are drenched, being applauded by their team below as they hug and are patted by the fellow drivers, posing for pictures before heading off the podium. 

He finds you before anything, setting aside his trophy and wrapping you in his arms, his first place hat falling off his head from how intensely he pulls you into him. “I’m so proud of you!” You cheer, eyes sparkling as you drink him in. 

Satoru is dripping with champagne still, you can taste it on his lips, his cheeks rosy from both the heat and your praises, there’s confetti stuck in his hair and on his suit. His eyes are trained on you, listening to your every word intently as you recall how nervous you were, face buried in his chest when you remember the cameras catching your feral reaction to his win. 

His cheeks hurt from smiling, “still think I’m a mechanic?” the teasing lilt to his voice makes you smile widen, smacking him upside the head as you walk with him back to the Mercedes suite, thinking back to the first time you’d met him. 

“You’re never gonna let me live that down are you?” You chuckle, Satoru shakes his head, mumbling a ‘never’ before pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your head. 

Any what if’s, any doubts and any fears were silenced, your chest growing warm as Satoru rests his head on your shoulder in the car. You stare at him for a second, an enamoured look in your eyes as his breathing grows even. Your eyes catch the silver band on his finger, the matching counterpart to your own. 

Yeah, this was the right thing to do.

taglist: @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi @kentocalls @bakugouswaif @cactisjuice @sadmonke @thewondrousdreamer @beaniebaby12 @kenmacantakemeaway @rirk-ke @heiejdhdh @ducky1232

a/n: HELLOOOOO if you made it this far thank you SOOO much i really truly hope you enjoyed this story with me ! this piece is the longest fic ive ever written and it truly feels like my baby :’ ) i appreciate every single comment, ask, reblog and like you guys have left on this series i cannot emphasize enough how much yall motivated me to actually finish this LOL there was times where i truly felt like just scrapping it but every anon that sent me an ask literally motivated me to finish this so this is for all of u <3 i had so much fun writing it and taking inspiration from every race weekend hehe im sorry to any hardcore f1 fans for any incorrect terms and poorly written race scenes i tried my best </3 thank u guys once again for all the love on this i hope this lived up to your expectations :33

[leafynightmares]

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐲/𝐧. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞. 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 .... 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠

pt 12 of professor reader x yandere ! college student gojo satoru

read pt 1 ; read pt 2 ; read pt 3 ; read pt 4 ; pt 5 ; pt 6 ; pt 7 ; pt 8 ; pt 9 ; pt 10 ; pt 11 ;

a/n : I recommend reading all parts to get the whole story.

cw's: yandere behavior, manipulation, infidelity, obsessive thoughts, emotional coercion, sexual content, explicit language, obsession, emotional manipulation, possessive behavior, praise kink, delusional fantasies, yandere! gojo, infidelity themes, obsession, married!professor x student dynamic, slow-burn tension, possessive fantasies .

ahhh.. last chapter? right?

-

y/n kissed her sons on their foreheads before helping them out of the car. her parents were waiting by the porch, concern already creasing her mother’s face. she didn’t say much.. just handed over the overnight bags and gave a quiet thank you. her heart was racing too fast to focus. too fast to explain.

she got the call twenty minutes ago.

gojo was awake.

but not just awake.. erratic. nurses said he was screaming. security was called. he’d torn out his IV. tried to get out of bed. he kept asking for her.

she sped through traffic, gripping the wheel so tight her knuckles turned white. the sky was gray, heavy with the threat of rain, but her mind was louder than the thunder.

“god, gojo,” she muttered under her breath. “now is not the time to show this obsession. please. not now.”

because she knew him.

knew how he loved.

it was never soft. never careful. it was fire. it was war. it was teeth bared and heart exposed. and he hadn’t seen her in weeks. he probably thought she left him again.

and if he thought that... she didn’t even want to imagine what state he was in.

the hospital came into view, tall and sterile against the cloudy skyline. she parked without looking, barely remembering to turn off the ignition as she slammed the door behind her.

she ran up the steps. one thing echoed in her mind as she rushed through the automatic doors.

nurses who had been frantically pacing now looked relieved. doctors exhaled. one of the guards actually stepped aside, muttering under his breath, “thank god.”

then you heard it—his voice. cracked. furious.

“don’t fucking touch me! i’ll kill you—i swear to god—i only want y/n! where is she?!”

you froze. your heart clenched. your hand instinctively moved to your stomach, trying to calm the nausea that had been living in your gut since the moment you got the call.

the head nurse nodded at you. “he’s been refusing treatment. only responds when we say your name.”

you took a breath.

then another.

and walked in.

his back was turned when you entered. the air was thick, humid with sweat and antiseptic and the frenzied stench of pain. his hospital gown hung loose, stained, and his long fingers were curled into trembling fists at his side.

he turned at the sound of your footsteps.

his eyes—god, those eyes—were hollowed by dark circles. wild. but as soon as they found yours, everything changed.

the rage dropped.

his shoulders collapsed.

he blinked once, and tears immediately started forming. “y/n,” he breathed. a broken thing. a plea wrapped in reverence.

then he ran to you—arms wide, desperate.

you didn’t brace yourself. you just took him in.

his arms wrapped around you, strong and tight, pulling you into his chest like he needed to prove you were real. like he would never let go. you felt the way his whole body trembled against yours.

“i-i thought you left me,” he whispered, voice cracking as the tears spilled down his face, wetting the skin of your neck.

your arms clung around him, your throat tightening.

“how could i leave you, gojo…”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, to cup his jaw, and his lips crashed into yours.

it was messy. needy. not romantic.. desperate.

and then..

a warmth.

you pulled back.

your shirt, soaked in red.

blood.

you looked down.

then back up at him.

his expression was calm. too calm. dazed, even. his breathing slowed. then... his knees buckled.

“gojo!”

you caught him—barely.

the room exploded.

“get the stretcher...now!”

“he’s hemorrhaging... he tore his stitches again!”

“now that she’s here, patch him up!”

you were on your knees, cradling his body against yours as the doctors rushed in. his eyes were still open, unfocused, but locked on you.

“don’t leave me,” he mouthed.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, brushing the wet hair off his forehead, choking back your sob. “i’m right here, baby. you’re safe.”

and this time, you were the one holding him together.

the room was quiet—eerily so.

the kind of silence that comes after chaos. after blood. after prayers whispered into hospital tile.

gojo lay there, bandaged and still, chest slowly rising and falling under the soft hum of machines. and you—your fingers wrapped tight around his hand, like if you let go, he’d disappear again. like he might vanish back into the hell you were barely climbing out of.

the nurses had handed you a clean white top earlier. the old one had been soaked through. blood and panic. you didn’t even remember changing. your mind had never left him.

they asked if you’d stay the night.

you said yes before they finished the sentence.

because of you, he was here.

and you couldn’t leave him again.

the moonlight bled through the slats of the blinds, streaking soft silver over the floor. the rest of the hospital had quieted down. only the beep of the monitor kept time with your heartbeat.

until—

his fingers twitched beneath your palm.

you flinched.

your head jerked up.

his eyes blinked open.

bluer than you remembered. tired, slow, but so unmistakably him.

when he looked over and smiled...god, you forgot how that smile undid you...it was like your lungs finally let you breathe.

you leaned in. without thinking.

your lips crashed against his.

it wasn’t gentle. it wasn’t sweet.

it was grief. it was relief. it was madness.

his hand, weak as it was, curled behind your neck and pulled you down harder into it. the monitor ticked faster.

you broke the kiss with a sob, a choked sound that came from the bottom of your chest. your forehead fell against his.

he sat up.. painfully, stiff, but determined.

“why are you crying,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. he reached up with shaking fingers, brushing your chin, then your trembling lip. his touch was so gentle, so misplaced for how violently he loved you.

you opened your mouth, and it all tumbled out.

“b-because i missed you,” you cried. “i thought you died, gojo. i—i didn’t know what would happen. you went there alone—to protect me—and you ended up getting hurt. i couldn’t even say goodbye, and when i found you, there was so much blood—”

your breath hitched, cracking open your ribs.

“gojo—i… i did something,” you whispered.

he blinked, expression still. watching.

“when hiromi came to the house… out of nowhere… i panicked. i hit him. i hurt him. i didn’t mean to—i mean i did, but i—”

your words broke into hyperventilation. your chest seized up. your hands gripped his shoulders like he was your anchor, like if you didn’t hold him, you’d collapse entirely.

gojo was silent.

too silent.

his eye twitched.

then he turned away from you slowly.

his hands covered his face.

you saw it—that slow, unnatural red creeping up his ears, down his neck.

his shoulders started to shake.

you didn’t know if it was laughter or rage.

you reached for him again, terrified. “gojo—”

“you…” his voice was muffled behind his palms.

“…you hit him?” he asked, slowly dragging his hands down, revealing his eyes...wild, glassy, high on obsession. “you hurt him for me?”

you nodded, eyes wide and glassy. “i—I had to. i didn’t know what else to do—”

gojo exhaled. deep. shaky.

and then he started laughing.

soft at first. then breathy. manic. his head fell back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling with tears pricking the corners of his eyes again.

he turned to face you—grin splitting his bruised, battered face.

“you hit him… for me,” he repeated. “you really do love me.”

his eyes dipped to your lips, then down lower...

then lower still.

his breath caught.

“…fuck,” he whispered. “baby… you’re crying and talking about murder and my fucking dick is so hard right now.”

“gojo—”

“no, no—don’t look at me like that,” he said, sitting up further, every wince in his body overridden by adrenaline. “i thought i was dreaming. when i woke up earlier and smelled you on me—i thought maybe i was still bleeding out, but it worked. it worked, y/n. you came back.”

his pupils were blown wide. feral.

“you came back. you’re mine again. finally.”

you stared at him, heart in your throat.

because somewhere deep down, in some fucked up twisted place in your soul.. you were starting to realize:

you were his just as much as he was yours... he was not the only sick on in this relationship.. because you are too.. and you were fine with that.

you barely had time to react before gojo grabbed your wrist and yanked you down into his chest.

his grip was weak—but his intent was anything but.

his fingers trembled as they wrapped around the back of your neck, pressing your forehead against his. his breath was ragged, hot against your skin, heavy with need. his eyes were wide, glassy—glowing like floodlights in the moon-splashed dark.

“g-gojo,” you whispered, heart pounding, hands on his chest like you could push him away. “we—we can’t do this. you’re still hooked up to a monitor. your stitches are—”

he groaned, rolling his eyes, but even that small movement made him wince.

“i don’t care,” he gritted, voice raw with desperation. “i don’t care about any of that.”

his fingers slipped into your hair, pulling you even closer.

“fuck—y/n, i want to fuck you—no, i need to make love to you. now. here. like this.”

his lip trembled, and his eyes fluttered shut for a second. his chest rose and fell beneath you, and it was erratic. you could feel the hard line of his arousal pressing against the thin blanket. despite everything—despite the blood, the pain, the wounds—he was burning.

burning for you.

“i was dreaming of you,” he whispered, voice shaking, like he might cry again. “while i was in that coma—fuck, i was dreaming of you. your voice. your skin. your laugh.”

he opened his eyes again.

and that look—that look.

it was hunger wrapped in worship, drenched in obsession.

“do you know what that does to a man?” he murmured. “to lie there—trapped in a body that doesn’t work—only able to see you in my head, but not touch you? not tell you i love you? i was screaming for you in there.”

your breath caught.

“please,” he whispered, begging now. “get on top of me. let me feel you. i don’t care if it hurts. i want it to hurt. i want to feel everything.”

his voice cracked, a broken sob punching out of him as he buried his face into your neck.

“i missed you,” he whimpered. “i missed you so fucking much, baby. i don’t want to waste a second.”

his lips brushed your collarbone, trembling. “please, y/n. please. just this once—don’t make me beg.”

your fingers dug into the bedsheets.

you knew it was insane.

you knew it wasn’t safe.

but when you looked down at him—blood-stained, broken, desperate and entirely yours—your body responded before your mind could stop it.

you straddled his hips slowly.

and his entire body shuddered beneath you.

“fuck… that’s it,” he whispered, tears spilling down the corners of his eyes. “you’re here. you’re mine. finally.”

his heart monitor began to spike.

but gojo didn’t care.

he had you.

and that was the only medicine he needed.

the room was dim, painted in sterile moonlight that slipped through the blinds. machines hummed quietly beside the bed. beep. beep. beep.

gojo satoru lay back, pale and bandaged, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the bloodstained gauze wrapped around his ribs. he looked like he should be resting. recovering.

but his cock was hard. flushed. twitching beneath you.

“you’re shaking,” he rasped, voice laced with amusement and something darker. “scared of hurting me?”

your thighs were braced on either side of his hips, trembling—not from fear, not really—but from the weight of what you were about to do. your fingers hovered between you, already slick from the heat pooling inside you.

“gojo…” you whispered, breath catching as you took hold of him, guiding him to your entrance. “you’re hooked up to a monitor. your stitches—”

“i said i don’t care,” he growled, eyes locked on yours. “i want you. now.”

your body obeyed before your brain could process the warning signs. you began to sink down on him—slowly, inch by inch, until he filled you, stretched you, split you in a way no one else ever had.

his eyes rolled back. the monitor beeped faster. beepbeep. beepbeep.

“fuck—” his breath hitched. “that’s it. take it. don’t stop. don’t fucking stop.”

you bottomed out, gasping, walls fluttering around him from the stretch and the rush of it all. the air was heavy with the scent of antiseptic and sin.

he reached up, grabbing your waist with trembling hands, knuckles white with effort. “ride me, baby. ruin me.”

you moved. grinding down. rocking your hips slowly.

his head fell back, sweat dampening his hairline, but his grip on you never faltered.

“you know what i thought about while i was under?” he panted, voice strained. “your pussy. wrapped around me like this. tight. warm. mine.”

you gasped, nails digging into his chest just above the bandages.

“every night,” he continued, thrusting up weakly beneath you, “i dreamed about this. not the pain. not the blood. you.”

your movements sped up, driven by something primal. wrong. addictive.

his eyes flew open again. “tell me you missed me.”

“i missed you,” you whimpered.

“tell me he could never fuck you like this.”

“he couldn’t. never.”

he groaned, low and guttural, head pressing back against the pillow like he was overwhelmed. and the monitor— beep-beep-beep-beep— screeched higher.

“ride me,” he gasped. “come on, baby. ride me like you’re mine. like you know i bled for this.”

you moaned louder, bouncing now, thighs burning, your pace relentless. the slap of skin and squeak of hospital sheets echoed through the sterile room.

his hand snaked around the back of your neck, dragging you down until your forehead pressed to his.

“come on,” he whispered, voice shaking. “come on, baby, i need to feel you come around me. i want you to break me.”

you did.

you shattered with a scream, body clenching hard, pulsing around him. and as you did, he came too, cock twitching deep inside you, heat flooding you in thick, possessive waves.

his body arched—

and the monitor flatlined. beeeeeeeeeeeeeep—

your heart dropped. your entire body went still.

“gojo?” you whispered.

no response.

“gojo—!”

he blinked.

the monitor resumed.

and then he smirked.

“…just kidding.”

you smacked his shoulder, still trembling, half-laughing, half-crying.

“you asshole.”

he laughed—weakly—but the joy in his voice was unmissable.

then, as your head rested on his shoulder, his hand stroked your back softly, voice barely a whisper:

“i’d let him shoot me again, y/n. over and over. if it means you’ll always come back to me like this.”

-

the end?? do yall want one more part? like a "2 years.. later.." i think it'll b cool. pero- no se.

taglist ; @loudsilence711 ; @qualitygiantshoepsychic ; @victoria1676 ; @doggggggg-blog2 ; @chewiebee ; @ihateexistence ; @coffeeluvr96 ; @darthasphodel ; @beereadzzz ; @rxeae ; @tsumoorin ; @taeikkkaaax ; @imakms ; @ashikothedog ; @antitopppppppppppp ; @rachelnicolee ; @sarabat85 ; @tharunnihaa ; @randomwritertr ; @zanzie ; @destheevirgo ; @dreamingofyou444 ; @metalfl ; @jjkysnk ; @gris3o

idk, what would yall like to see next? dms.. request they are as open.. as my legs r for all of yall.

[leafynightmares]

Greetings, Loki enthusiast. Assume all writing is 18+. Individual warnings are labelled at the top of each post.

Collections

The Rite 🕯️ To secure his place in Asgard's succession, Loki must perform an ancient ceremonial rite. But it's harder to stick to the rules in the lead-up than anticipated. Much harder. The Lakes 🍁 Based out of a tiny and remote cottage, your reluctant role as the resident 'outdoors expert' is put to the test by the frustrations and temptations of your recent ex-, Loki The Brother Collection Thor and Loki being ridiculous together in a collection of silly oneshots. Hostile F*cks Collection Loki forever finds new ways to irritate and infuriate you in a selection of erotic outfits. Why is that so goddam irresistible?

Clandestine F*cks Collection A secret relationship in Avenger's Tower is not an easy task, but with the insatiable Loki as your lover...is it an impossible one?

Fluff Library A collection of pure fluff drabbles.

One-Shots

The Jump (w/c 3.1k) Two Gods, One Heart (w/c 2.4k) The Spare (Alt version👆) (w/c 1.5k) Only For You (w/c 1k) Kneeling Ovation (w/c 1.4k) Breaking Fast (w/c 1.6k) Liberties (w/c 3.1k) In the Bleak Midwinter (w/c 3.4k) Mine, Utterly (w/c 2.1k) Lies Like Liquid (w/c 2.5k) In Your Hands (w/c 2.4k) Clean (1.6k) Metal & Leather (w/c 1.2k) Delicate (w/c 1.4k) Like A Queen (w/c 1.2k) Distractions (w/c 1.6k) No Mercy (1.8k) Teenage Dream (w/c 1.9k) Open Skies (w/c 2.2k) Supply Closet (w/c 1.7k) Be Mine (w.c 2.8k) A Quiet Storm (w/c 1.2k) Five Times (w/c 1.6k) Believe Me (w/c 1.4k) Peace (w/c 1.2k) My Girl (w/c 1.8k) Awful Things (w/c 2.8k) A Prince's Release (1.9k) A Lot of Boning (2.5k) All I Need (w/c 2.1k) An Offering (w/c 2.7k) Slower (w/c 1.9k) Third Date (w/c 2.4k) Stiff (w/c 2.4k) Husband (w/c 1.8k) Come After Dark (w/c 3.1k) The Quickie (w/c 2.1k) Heirs (w/c 1.9k) A Long Shower (w/c 2.2k) A Gentlemen's Agreement (w/c 3.2k) A Gentlemen's Bond (w/c 3.7k) A Battle of Wills (w/c 1.8k)

The Prince is Dead (w/c 1.9k) Sundress Season (w/c 3.3k) The Urge (w/c 1.8k) Don't Be Shy (w/c 1.9k) Delayed Gratification (w/c 2.3k) Deeper (w/c 2.3k) Hail, Commander (w/c 1.6k) The Feast (w/c 1.7k) Size Queen (w/c 1.4k) The Legend of Long-Dong Laufeyson (4.8k) Drabbles

Almost Dawn (w/c 600) Choke (w/c 350) Deep in the Forest (w/c 750) Throne (w/c 750) Make me Melt (w/c 500) Cooldown (w/c 400) Some filth (w/c 200) Ride Me (w/c 200)

I don't take requests, but always feel free to say hello. Reblogs, comments and shameless thirst is appreciated and encouraged😊Looking for an old favourite/collection? It will be on my PREVIOUS MASTERLIST (2022)

[leafynightmares]

— under stars and silk (knight!levi x princess!reader)

for #LeviMonth25 day 1: knight/royalty | ao3 link

sum: A royal masquerade ball was held to celebrate alliances. Levi, the only man you longed to see had vanished… or was he right beside you all along?

tags: MDNI, royal au, forbidden romance, mutual pining, soft, body worship, first time, semi public, fingering, oral (fem receiving) — wc: 3.5k

You lost count of how many masks had smiled at you tonight. None of them were his.

Gilded chandeliers cast warm light over the velvet walls, music and violins swell. Everyone looks the same, every guest dressed for spectacle. The room is a blur of luxurious attire and faceless masks. The dancers move like shadows, blending into one another until they are almost indistinguishable. 

But none of this reaches you,  you stand at the edge of the ballroom. It’s beautiful, yes, but also exhausting. Searching the crowd for the familiar cut of a uniform, the sharp line of his jaw – and finding only strangers.

Yet, you're sure about one thing. A certain noble is watching you from across the ballroom. A prince, perhaps? His mask conceals most of his face, and yet, his gaze is unmistakably fixed on you. Quiet and direct. Too direct.

He holds himself with a straight-backed poise, princely in bearing. His garments speak of wealth and title, but his gaze lacks the practiced charm that should come with it.

Don't they learn courtesy in his kingdom?

The thought makes you huff a quiet laugh to yourself. You turn away, averting your gaze from him. Being looked at like that, so intently, so openly, is suddenly too much. Too overwhelming. As if seeking refuge, your eyes begin to wander across the masked crowd again. Gliding over silks, jewels and gilded masks… all in search of one person.

Levi should be here. Or rather—you wish he were.

You’ve grown too used to his presence beside you, steady and silent. Always there during ceremonies like this one, just behind your shoulder, watching. Watching the men who take your hand, share your dance, steal your time. While he remains in the background, unable to say a word.

A small wave of disappointment rolls through your chest as you fail to find him in the crowd. And yet, when no face reminds you of Levi, your gaze drifts back.

Back to him, the stranger, as if pulled.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. 

Impossible. There’s nothing in that man that could truly draw you in.

Not when your heart has long since chosen someone else. Someone who has never needed to seduce or court you, because his every action already held more care than any suitor ever could. Your knight. You fell for Levi without even noticing, it was natural, effortless. So natural you only realized it once the idea of loving someone else felt utterly absurd.

Who could possibly compare? Who else would bend the world for you the way he does? Without permission, without recognition, without asking anything in return?

And still… that gaze. 

His expression is lost behind the velvet mask but he hasn’t looked away once. There is a weight in it. It’s unapologetic and far too open. The line of your collarbone where your gown dipped in a graceful curve, watching the skin left bare by silken folds. That’s not how a prince looks at a princess he hopes to marry.

You see him approaching, your body straightens unconsciously and the air around you changes, a mixture of anticipation and pressure.

“Your Highness.”

His voice is smooth, low and unfamiliar. And yet… 

“May I have this dance?”

You look at him, already knowing what you are supposed to do. The smile, a gracious nod, the acceptance you’ve rehearsed since you were old enough to be paraded in front of suitors. You’re used to this role, but the words catch behind your lips. 

Up close, his presence disorients you. He’s composed and steady, too much for someone who doesn’t know you. An ease that doesn’t match what you’ve been used to with suitors.

Partly out of duty, partly out of curiosity, you accept. Offering him a soft,  practiced smile. “Of course.”

You expect a bow, some stiff introduction or the usual pleasantries, but instead he only offers you his hand and leads you toward the center of the floor. Placing your hand in his gloved one, his fingers slide gently around yours and your skin pringles at how easily your fingers fit.

As his other hand finds the small of your back, the music begins. A string quartet, soft and elegant. Your bodies eases into a pattern, slow and gentle. His hand is low, not improper… but not princely either. The rhythm draws you together, closer than propriety normally allows. There’s no over-performed charm or awkward stiffness in him, just a grounding steadiness that makes you feel comfortable.

You raise your eyes to meet his, uncertain.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” you say lightly.

“No, I suppose we haven’t.”

“…You must be one of the southern princes, then,” you say, testing him. “My father said they arrived just today.”

“If that’s who you need me to be.”

He doesn’t offer you a name or a proper explanation, he just guides you into the next step. Your bodies move in perfect time with the music but your gaze flickers once again toward the crowd. Subtly scanning over the silhouettes near the columns, lingering a beat too long near every man in a dark attire.

“You’re unusually silent for a suitor.”

“Would words impress you more than this?”

The corner of your mouth twitches, once again giving  you an ambiguous answer, he’s not what you expected. 

And that’s unsettling, your heel nearly stumbles, but he catches your balance easily, as if he knew your foot would falter before you did. His gloved hand stays steady at your back, subtly guiding you through the next turn.

You keep expecting to see Levi. The silhouette you know so well, his quiet watchfulness that always seeks you. Your mind keeps searching, even as your body is led through a smooth dance. You’re dancing. You blink, startled to realize the music has swept you farther across the ballroom floor, your steps syncing with this stranger – this supposed prince with a strong, steady hand at your back.

“You look distracted, My Lady.” His tone isn’t accusatory, more… amused. Almost.

“My apologies,” you say quickly, straightening your posture. Your eyes flick back to his, or at least where you think his eyes are. The mask still veils half his face, and the flickering candlelight does the rest.

“I didn’t mean to be rude. I just…” you hesitate, the words are heavier than you intended. You’ve practiced courtly speech your whole life, and yet, they fail you tonight. “The room is quite full tonight.”

“You look,” he says again, his voice lower now, “like you’re waiting for someone else.”

Your breath catches. You consider denying it, but he seems so perceptive, it makes it hard to lie. So, your guard slips – just a little. “I’m just… unused to being left alone by a certain someone.”

“Ah. A shadow at your service?”

You smile faintly. “A knight assigned to me, yes.”

“Loyal, is he?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitation. 

“He’s always there,” you go on, the words slipping out easily. “Even when I think I don’t need him. Especially then, actually. He’s protective. Stubborn too.”

His lips quirk, and for the first time, his gaze breaks its hold on yours, only to drop ever so slightly lower – to your mouth, just for a second.

“And yet, he leaves you unguarded tonight.”

Your breath hitches, you hesitate before admitting softly, “I wish he were here.”

“He is.”

The words land so gently, so deliberately, that for a moment you think you’ve misheard. You blink, startled. Your eyes lift to his again, and this time you really look as you try to hear him through the polished, practiced voice he’s using.

“Wait—” you whisper, your pulse quickening as possibilities begin to root in your chest. It’s more than hope, it’s recognition. The voice doesn’t sound entirely unfamiliar now — just smoothed into something more formal. 

Your gaze lingers too long on his mask. He notices it, you see his gaze catching yours and not letting it go.

“Levi?” you whisper, half-gasp, half-laugh.

He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t need to — the silence and his faint smile are enough to confirm it.

“Do you want me to leave?” he says, his voice low.

You shake your head. “Not even a little.”

How didn’t you notice? You’d been too busy scanning the crowd for him to notice he’d already found you.

Your fingers twitch where they rest on his shoulder, drawn to the skin at his collar, the sharp line of his jaw you suddenly can’t believe you missed before.

His hand at your waist dares more, pulls you just a fraction closer, under the excuse of the dance. You feel the shift. The tension. The want. You’ve never seen him like this, never felt him like this. And yet, it’s always been there, hasn’t it? Beneath duty.

The music continues around you, a waltz still spinning through the room, but your world narrows to him. The warmth of him, the knowledge that under all those fine clothes and that smooth persona, it’s Levi, your Levi. Holding you like he never has before, like he finally can, in ways your heart craves.

Your gloved hand lingers at his collar, touching the edge of his jaw. You don’t ask what happened to the prince who was supposed to be here. You’re not sure you care or if you're ready to hear it.

Every step you take together, every measured sway of your hips beneath his guiding hand feels like a descent into something that’s no longer courtly or proper but intimate, personal and bold. 

The music swells towards its final notes, his hand tightens at your waist.

“Are you ready to leave now?” he murmurs.

You don’t even realize how close you’ve become until your chest brushes his, and neither of you pull away. You lift your gaze to his, giving him a slight nod. “I trust you.”

His hand takes yours again, and in a movement so natural, so seamless it could pass as part of the dance, he leads you away. Past the golden archways, past the crowd and watchful eyes, past propriety — you let him.

Through corridors you both know by heart, steps quiet against marble. Until the doors open to the balcony and the night air greets your skin. 

The garden lights flicker below, moonlight kisses your skin. The sounds of the ball fade to a distant hum. Out here, it’s just you and him, stripped of titles, rules and roles.

You turn to face him, the night hums quiet around you, velvet-dark and heavy with stars. Both of you reach for your masks at the same time, fingers trembling slightly. He lifts yours away with care, and your hand brushes his jaw in return, reverently, as if not to undo the spell you’re both under.

His hands settle at your waist, drawing you gently backward until your spine meets the cool stone railing. His grip is careful, handling you like you’re something precious — all his strength tempered for you.

“You’re quiet now, Princess,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with emotion. “Where’s that honesty you gave me earlier?”

He cradles your face in both hands now. His thumbs sweep your heated cheekbones.

Your own words echo in your head, that moment in the ballroom you confessed, in your own, careful and polished way. How you missed his presence. How you thought of him. And he was right there, hearing everything and letting you speak.

“I was talking about someone who would never dare something this foolish,” you whisper, trying to avert from his gaze.

He leans in, you feel his smile when he kisses the corner of your mouth. Then lower, along the angle of your jaw, down to your throat — places his gaze has lingered a hundred times but never let himself taste.

“You shouldn’t be smiling Levi,” you breathe. “I’m humiliated.”

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to see your face. “I liked everything you said.”

You swallow hard. “I didn’t know it was you…” 

“I know. That’s why I listened so carefully.”

Your heart skips a beat. Your fingers curl instinctively in the fabric of his cloak, then slide lower — seeking the broad strength beneath the layers, exploring the taut planes of his back and chest. Every muscle beneath your hands feels coiled and controlled but trembling ever so slightly from restraint.

His hands are moving too. Over the curves of your bodice, the arch of your back, the slope of your waist. Touching everything he’d only dared admire from afar.

“I should’ve stayed away,” he whispers. “And let you dance with someone else.”

“But you…” he exhales, his gaze falling on your lips. You’re suddenly aware of how close you are and how fast your heart is beating. “You deserve to know when a man would give up everything to have a moment with you.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly overwhelms you.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you answer quietly. “You were the only one I wanted to see.”

At your words, his lips hover a breath above yours. You don’t know who moves first, maybe it’s both of you. Or maybe you’ve both been leaning towards this for far too long.

He kisses like he protects — with intensity. When his mouth finally touches yours, it’s hungry, starving after too many restrained feelings. His hands are back at your face, tilting you as his mouth coaxes yours open.

You sigh into it, helpless to do anything else.

When you clutch his cloak tighter and your lips part further for him, he groans quietly and loses whatever control he had left — pressing forward, the railing presses against your back, yet nothing feels heavy.

You trail your hands up under his coat, feeling the shape of him, the heat of his skin.

“Say it again,” he rasps between kisses.

“You’re cruel,” you pant.

“I’ve waited years . Let me have this, let me hear you say it again.”

He kisses along your jaw, lower. His mouth draws heat wherever it travels, and your skin burns under his lips.

“I wanted you ,” you murmur. “And I still want you now.”

The groan he gives in return sounds so sweet in your ear. One hand trails down your back, over the tight embroidery of your dress, fingers dancing over the laces.

He doesn’t undo them fully, just loosens the tightness enough for his hand to slip under. You feel his fingers dip beneath layers, until they find the curve of your breast. Your breath hitches.

His mouth finds your throat at the same time, then your neck, his kisses are tender and unrestrained at once, leaving a trail of hickeys as he drags lower to your exposed collarbone. 

His thumb circles your nipple until it hardens beneath his touch, and your body presses into him instinctively, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

“You’re not very princely,” you try to tease, but your breath is ragged, voice caught in pleasure.

You tug lightly at his hair, desperate for his mouth back on yours.

“I never claimed to be,” he murmurs against your skin.

He leans in again, kissing you slower this time, more thoroughly. And while his mouth moves with yours, his hand slides under the soft folds of your gown, fingers trembling slightly as they find the bare skin of your thigh. Just skimming over the sensitive skin and exploring the heat between your thighs.

You let out a tiny, breathy sound against his lips, arms tightening around his shoulders as you instinctively rock forward.

“Is this alright?” he asks, still grounded in control even as you tremble for more. His free hand cupping your face.

“Yes,” you gasp.

His thumb strokes over the silk of your underthings, slowly, before his fingers slip beneath. His mouth finds yours again as he circles the sensitive spot with slow, deliberate movements. 

Sensations are already overwhelming, your hips move instinctively, seeking more as his fingers press more firmly. Brushing against the wetness at your entrance and parting you with care.

The first slip of his middle finger inside you makes you gasp against his lips. He swallows the sound greedily as he pushes deeper, sliding easily but cautiously inside you.

“You’re so warm for me,” he murmurs, his arousal clear in the way his body tenses. His eyes are locked on you now, in awe at the way your body reacts to his touch.

When a second finger joins the first you shudder, this time a soft moan escapes before you can’t bite it back. Your hand slides to the back of his neck, pulling him close. 

The stretch, the fullness is unfamiliar but not unwelcome. His thumb never stops its slow circles against your clit, making your hips jerk into his hand.

Levi watches your face for any sign of discomfort but only finds pleasure. With every careful thrust of his fingers, the slight ache turns into a sharp, needy heat for more. 

His fingers curl inside you, easily finding the deep, sensitive spot that makes your body twitch in a totally new and different kind of pleasure. Your walls immediately tighten around his fingers, your moans growing louder in the quiet night air.

“You’re not exactly quiet,” he pants against your temple, his own breathing coming heavy now. But he’s not muffling them, if anything, he coaxes and chases them by redoubling his efforts.

“Levi–” you pant, not even sure what you're begging for. More? Less? Relief? You can’t form a thought.

Through half lidded eyes, you see him sinking down to his knees.

Your body trembles against the stone balustrade and Levi is kneeling before you now. Your long skirt bunched high in his fist, head bowed like he is about to pray – only the heat of his gaze is telling you this is no prayer the gods would bless.

He leans in, pressing your thighs wider apart with his shoulders. He replaces his thumb with his mouth as he presses his lips against your already sensitive nub. His tongue flicks out and moves over your clit, repeating the motion in perfect rhythm with his fingers inside you. 

He keeps hitting just the right spot like he already knows your body by heart — over and over while his mouth works on you eagerly. Your hips move desperately against him, chasing the friction and seeking more of all these sensations he’s igniting.

You feel dizzy, a new and overwhelming feeling building quickly inside you. Your hands tangle in his hair, your hips buck against his face, harder this time as the pleasure becomes too much. 

Levi feels it, your muscles keep clenching his fingers tighter at each curl of his fingers. “Let go,” he instructs, mumbling, his voice vibrating through you.

And somewhere in that blissful rhythm you feel the intense pleasure crashing over you, in ways you could’ve never imagined before. Your body convulses, your back arching against the railing, helplessly, as wet sounds turn louder in the silent, night air.

Levi doesn’t stop, not when your thighs tremble around his head, not even when you try to push him back with trembling hands. Fingers and mouth are still working on you until you finally stop convulsing and you collapse back against the railing.

His fingers slip from your entrance, wet with your release, he places several wet, lazy kisses along your inner thighs before smoothing your skirts back into place and rises up – both looking at each other like you can hardly believe what actually happened.

Your heartbeat is still trying to settle when his hands come to pull you closer. His lips find yours again, but slower, softer now. 

After a moment, Levi lowers himself to the cool stone floor, tugging you down with him gently, your body still loose from bliss, pliant under his touches. You end up half curled in his lap, wrapped in his cloak. His arms wrap fully around you, fingers trailing along your spine. 

You sit like that for a while, lulled by the rhythm of his chest, the stars shine and shimmer above you both. You tilt your head back to look up.

“They look closer tonight,” you whisper.

Levi hums quietly. “Maybe they came down to watch you.”

You smile, your eyes flutter shut for a second. “Do you think they’ll keep our little secret?”

“They’d better.”

You shift, just enough to rest your cheek against his shoulder, lifting your gaze to search his face in the moonlight. His hair is tousled, he looks almost vulnerable, you’ve never seen him like this.

“I want this every night now, Levi,” your voice is soft but amused.

He blinks down, his eyes search your eyes in return.

“Tomorrow,” you go on. “And the day after. And the day after that…”

His chest shakes with the quietest laugh, his arms tighten around you and he presses a kiss in your hair. He stays silent for a moment, his thumb tracing circles at your hips.

“I swore I’d give you anything you asked for… I can’t tell myself that it doesn't include this…” he whispers, mostly at himself.

“Then I’ll give everything. Just not all at once,” he finally promises, tilting your chin to guide your gaze up to his. “But soon.”

[leafynightmares]

Loki Tickle Fluff Masterpost

ONE-SHOTS

Hide and Seek - A poorly-timed conversation leads to you desperately seeking the best place to escape from Loki’s mischievous threats.

Innocent - Something of Loki’s has gone missing and he’s determined to get you to talk. The only problem? You’re innocent.

Trapped - Your teammates are desperately trying to figure out how to free you from the rubble, but Loki just found out something new about you and he’s not in a rush to be rescued.

Funnier Than That - You don’t laugh, pretty much ever, and you certainly won’t now that you know Loki wants you to.

Midgardian Weaknesses - A sparring match gone awry reminds Loki that some Midgardians have a particular weakness.

Safe House - The last thing you needed, after a blown mission and a long fight-filled day, was to be stuck in a safe house with Loki and only one bed.

Sweet Tooth - Baking sweet things for your teammates always calmed your mind after a tough mission, but Loki doesn’t have a sweet tooth.

Call Your Bluff - A high-stakes poker game leaves Loki somewhat on the back foot, and he simply will not let that stand.

Road Rage - The worst place to be grouchy with your teammates, you found, was on a car ride stuck between two Asgardian brothers.

Pressure Points - After arriving home from a mission with your muscles tensed and locked, a certain Asgardian finds a way to help you with your pain.

Playing the Part - A nearly-blown cover forces you to get a little closer than usual to Loki, stirring up some feelings you didn’t know you had.

Under the Weather - A broken vial, an unknown substance, a very ill Agent and a guilt-stricken demigod makes for an interesting quarantine.

Sparks - Loki had spent a lot of time getting to know you. Then, after entering into a new relationship, he starts to feel as if you’re slipping away.

Fearless - Loki’s new in town and adjusting to life on Midgard. One thing he’s not used to? Those around him having the gall to throw taunts his way.

Ghost Stories - With Halloween just around the corner, you’ve declared yourself unafraid of ghosts. Loki is convinced he can change your mind.

Speed Racer - You’re good at making quick getaways but now you have an Asgardian demigod hot on your tail, ready to exploit his newfound knowledge.

One and the Same - Trapped in an interrogation room with a tall dark-haired man who’s supposedly a variant of you, the two of you try to determine whether or not you’re really one and the same.

Family Feud - After a late-night fight with your father over the phone, Loki helps ease the tension.

Understanding - After your defection to the Avengers, Loki is having an uncharacteristically difficult time figuring you out.

Downpour - You and Loki help each other through your fears in the wake of a near-death experience

Trust - Marred from past bad tickling experiences, Loki is a patient and safe place to land.

Instinct - Loki notices how you behave when stressed or under pressure, and also notices the peculiar method by which it can be alleviated.

Time Will Tell - After several years in a relationship with Loki, you suddenly realise you’re ageing but he’s not.

You Snooze, You Lose - After screwing up your sleep schedule the last time you’d returned from an all-nighter mission, you made Loki promise to help you stay awake until bedtime.

A Reason to Celebrate - [Collab with @just-another-blog-of-fluff] You and Loki find your own ways to celebrate the Christmas season.

Desperate Measures - You’ve only been trained by fighters from Earth. But with intergalactic threats out there, Loki offers to help fill the gaps in your training.

Exactly Like That - You’ve got some mental barriers when it comes to the whole ‘pumpkin carving’ thing. Loki is determined to help you break them down, one way or another.

-

MULTI-PART

Sleepyhead - Three times you fell asleep on Loki, the third time being the charm - Part One - Part Two

Worth It - Picking a tickle fight with the God of Mischief… is it really worth it? - Part One - Part Two - Part Three

Mischief Meets His Match - Your first trip to Asgard brings you face-to-face with an unlikely friend, teacher and equal; Prince Loki, the God of Mischief. Part One - Part Two - Part Three In Progress

Fighting Fair - Loki teaches a lesson on how to read an enemy during a fight. His golden rule? Anything that incapacitates your opponent is fair - Part One - Part Two

[leafynightmares]

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞

pt 3 of professor reader x yandere ! college student gojo satoru

read pt 1

read pt 2

cw's: yandere behavior, manipulation, infidelity, obsessive thoughts, emotional coercion, sexual content, explicit language, obsession, emotional manipulation, possessive behavior, praise kink, delusional fantasies, yandere! gojo, infidelity themes, obsession, married!professor x student dynamic, slow-burn tension, possessive fantasies .

The first thing you felt was warmth.

Not the usual kind, not the comforter you pulled over yourself at home—but real warmth. Skin. Arms. A heartbeat beneath your cheek. You blinked blearily into soft morning light streaming through the small windows of the studio office.

You weren’t alone.

Satoru was still there.

Bare-chested, sleepy smile, hair wild. Like nothing had happened. Like everything had.

Your phone buzzed softly from the floor where it landed last night.

[Hiromi]:

Dropped the boys off at my parents. I have coffee brewing for you. I'll see you when I'm out of work. I love you.

You stared at the screen.

Just in case.

The guilt twisted somewhere deep in your gut.

Satoru glanced over. “Bad news?”

You shook your head. “Just my husband.”

His face didn’t flinch—but there was something sharp behind his sleepy grin.

He rolled out of bed—well, couch—and padded toward the kitchenette, moving with that lazy confidence that made your stomach coil.

“I made you breakfast,” he said simply.

You sat up slowly, sore in places you didn’t even realize could ache. Your legs wobbled as you followed him to the small table, where he’d laid out eggs, toast, and fresh fruit like this was normal.

Like this was love.

But you felt it behind your ribs.

A tightness.

Regret—not from the night, but from the history that led to it.

He watched you eat for a moment, then leaned forward.

“What if I asked you something?” he said. “And you answered it honestly.”

You looked up, startled.

He cocked his head, eyes piercing. “Do you know how long he was cheating?”

Your stomach dropped.

You blinked.

And suddenly, the weight of years hit you all at once.

Gojo didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to.

He just pushed the coffee toward you, eyes soft but relentless.

Like he’d already counted every lie Hiromi ever told you.

And now?

He was daring you to admit them, too.

The box hit the bed with a quiet thud, the cardboard edges frayed with use, dust clinging to the corners like secrets left too long in the dark.

You hesitated.

The weight in your chest pressed deeper, your fingertips numb as you peeled it open.

Inside?

A sleek black handgun, cold metal gleaming against the velvet lining.

Your breath caught

Next to it—three tiny bottles of bourbon and vodka, rattling against one another like bones. Two still sealed. One half-empty.

Your pulse spiked.

But what truly stopped your heart…

…was the business card.

Your husband’s.

Hiromi’s name in embossed ink stared up at you like a joke from the universe. But it wasn’t the card itself that gutted you.

It was what was written on the back.

A woman’s name scrawled in lazy cursive. A phone number underneath it.

You knew that handwriting.

Minako.

You’d seen her signature once on legal paperwork years ago.

Your hands trembled, lips parting in disbelief.

A four-pack of condoms rested under the card. One torn open and used.

That was all the confirmation you needed.

No denials. No second-guessing.

You could still hear him in your head—Hiromi, begging, insisting it was just one time. That it “didn’t mean anything.” That she meant “nothing.”

But this?

This was intentional. This was repeated. This was prepared.

He kept a fucking go-bag for her.

You sank onto the edge of the bed, the box in your lap like a coffin of your marriage.

The world buzzed in your ears, and your vision blurred—not from the wine, but from rage.

From grief.

From the realization that you hadn’t just lost your husband.

You’d lost years of your life to a lie.

Your fingers curled around the card, the number, the proof. And for a brief second—just one—you thought about calling it.

But then you remembered the way Gojo looked at you.

The way he worshipped you like you were the only person in the room.

You looked down at the gun again.

You didn’t know what scared you more.

The fact that Hiromi had it…

Or the fact that you didn’t feel afraid.

You felt free.

Her thumb hovered over the numbers for a moment too long.

Then — click, click, click.

She typed in the digits exactly as they appeared on the back of Hiromi’s business card.

The screen blinked.

Calling…

The line rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Her breath was steady. Too steady.

On the fourth ring, it picked up.

“Hello?” A soft, unsure voice answered. Younger. Sweet, maybe. But not innocent.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. Her tone? Velvet-wrapped steel.

“Hi. Is this Minako?”

A pause.

“…Yes? Who’s this?”

“I’m Y/N.”

Silence. Sharp, thick.

Then — “Oh.”

There it was. That drop in her voice. Recognition. Guilt. Or maybe pride. It didn’t matter.

“I just wanted to let you know,” Y/N continued calmly, “that I found your number. Inside my husband’s emergency fuck box.”

A tiny, sharp inhale. Minako said nothing.

“I’m not calling to scream,” she said smoothly, crossing one leg over the other. “I’m calling because I have questions. And I think you have answers. You work at Daisuke & Co., right? Hiromi’s firm?”

“…Yes,” Minako breathed. “I’m… on my lunch right now.”

“Perfect,” Y/N replied. “Meet me tonight. We’ll grab drinks. Somewhere quiet.”

Minako hesitated. “Okay. Sure. I’ll text you where after work.”

“Looking forward to it.”

She hung up.

No drama. No tears.

Just the cold press of her wine glass to her lips, and the quiet click of her phone hitting the table.

Let the games begin.

—

Gojo’s phone buzzed.

He was still shirtless, fresh out of the shower, a lazy towel slung low on his hips. He barely looked at the screen before swiping it open, a small grin forming as he read the message.

Minako:

She called me. Found the card.

We’re getting drinks tonight. I’ll keep her talking.

Gojo exhaled a pleased little hum, dragging a hand through his damp, snowy hair.

Everything was falling into place.

He tapped the side of his phone, thoughtful, before replying.

Gojo:

Good girl.

Keep it up. Here’s a little tip for your time.

He sent her $500 in a blink.

Another buzz.

Minako:

Also… You want me to give her the list?

You didn’t tell me he was that nasty. Club regular. VIP room. Same two nights every month. I used to work there—he was a regular.

Gojo:

Oh, I know.

That’s why I chose you.

He added another file to the chat. Contact information. Names. Dates. Club aliases. All things Hiromi never thought would surface again.

And now?

They were going to crawl out of the woodwork like roaches under a spotlight.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, towel slipping lower, his phone still glowing in his hand.

He pictured her—Y/N—reading each name.

Watching the truth gut her like a blade through silk.

He didn’t even need to twist the knife.

Hiromi had done that all on his own.

Gojo would just be there… to catch her when she fell.

And make her his.

Finally, he stood and padded across the room, the soft buzz of a second text vibrating against his palm.

Minako:

She’s gonna burn his life down tonight, isn’t she?

He smirked.

Gojo:

No, sweetheart. She’s going to bury it.

The mirror reflected a different kind of woman tonight.

Y/N adjusted the soft knit sweater over her shoulders, cinched just enough at the waist to tease her curves without giving too much away. A long slit skirt with subtle shimmer. Gold hoops. Light makeup. Clean perfume.

Sexy—in a mom kind of way.

Purposeful. Measured. Beautiful.

She stared at herself one last time. But before she could head out, the click of the front door echoed down the hall.

“Babe?” Hiromi’s voice called. “I’m home!”

Her heart jumped.

Shit.

She snatched up the box, sliding the lid shut and shoving it back beneath the floorboard in the back of her closet. The card, the phone number, the receipts—all shoved into a file under her coat pile. She fixed her posture, smoothed out her skirt, and stepped into the hallway just as he was setting down his keys.

His eyes caught on her instantly.

He paused. Blushed.

“Wow,” he murmured, voice low and soft. “You look… stunning.”

She didn’t miss the way his gaze dropped to her waist, where the skirt hugged her hips.

She offered a faint smile, picking up her purse.

“I have plans tonight,” she said simply. “Drinks with Shoko. I might stay late.”

“Oh…” Hiromi blinked. “I actually… I was going to surprise you. The kids are staying at my parents’. I thought we could—”

But she was already at the door.

“That’s sweet,” she said lightly, not stopping. “But this has been on the calendar.”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue. But she kissed his cheek quickly, like muscle memory, and turned the doorknob.

“I’ll see you later.”

Then she was gone.

The cool night air met her flushed cheeks. She stepped into her car and started the engine, eyes dark as her reflection stared back from the windshield.

The bar was twenty minutes away.

But the war she was walking into?

Had been brewing for years.

The bar was warm. Low-lit. Jazz curling through the air like smoke. Not too crowded, not too quiet—just enough to blend in without being invisible.

Y/N walked in with her head held high, heels clicking softly against the tiled floor. Her fitted skirt shifted with every step. Her lips were glossed, and her expression unreadable. She wasn’t here to fight. Not yet. She was here to know.

Her eyes scanned the booths until she saw her.

Minako.

She stood when Y/N approached—taller than expected, early twenties, long black hair tucked behind her ears, skin smooth and glowing under the amber lighting. She wore a tailored blouse and slacks, not too formal but effortlessly put-together.

Exactly the type Hiromi used to dream about when he thought she wasn’t listening.

“Professor,” Minako greeted, extending her hand politely. Her voice was sweet—too sweet. Practiced

Y/N took it, firm and cool. “Call me Y/N. Let’s not pretend we’re strangers.”

Minako smiled, something flickering behind her lashes, and gestured to the table. “Fair enough.”

They sat.

A waiter approached. “Can I get you ladies started with drinks?”

“Whiskey. Neat,” Y/N answered before Minako could speak.

Minako smirked, eyebrows raised. “Make it two.”

As the waiter left, the silence lingered—just for a beat—before it snapped.

“So,” Y/N began, folding her hands on the table. “Let’s not waste time. How long?”

Minako tilted her head, crossing her legs.

“With Hiromi?” she asked, eyes glittering. “Awhile.. Sometimes it would be a couple of months consistent.. Off and on. All together about 3-5 years. Give or take.”

Y/N gave a tight nod, jaw clenched, trying not to react. “And you knew he was married.”

“I didn’t at first,” she said. “But when I found out…” Minako shrugged. “He said it was complicated. That you didn’t understand him. That the marriage was dead.”

Y/N laughed bitterly, eyes flicking away for a moment. “Of course he did.”

Minako leaned in, her voice softening. “Look—I’m not here to be cruel. I get it now. I see you and I get it. You’re beautiful. Smart. Way out of his league. But that man… he has a type. And a routine.”

Y/N blinked. “What routine?”

Minako hesitated. “You weren’t the only one he lied to.”

Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a napkin—on it, names. First names. A list.

“Girls who worked at the lounge I used to dance at,” she explained. “Some of them he bought drinks for. Some of them he bought rooms.”

Y/N stared. Her stomach twisted, rage mixing with humiliation, then fading into something colder.

Disgust.

“He liked pretending to be the guy who rescues you,” Minako said, sipping the drink as it arrived. “But he just liked having control.”

Y/N took a long pull of her whiskey

“And what about you?” she asked, tone unreadable. “Why meet with me? Why now?”

Minako tilted her head again. “Because you deserved to know. And… because I’m done helping men who use women like bargaining chips.”

A pause.

Y/N studied her. Sharp. Beautiful. Deadly honest.

She set down her drink, voice steady. “Then tell me everything.”

And Minako did.

The napkin lay between them like a corpse.

Names. Numbers. Sloppily written initials that carried far more weight than ink should ever bear.

Y/N leaned back in her seat, fingers tightening around the rim of her glass. Her eyes hadn’t left the list. Her voice was cool, but the sharpness underneath could cut diamonds.

“Tell me about them.”

Minako didn’t flinch. She sipped her drink again and began.

“The first one… Ayaka. Worked at a club in the city. He met her after hours. Said he was stressed. A workaholic. Gave her a fake name—Ren. Paid her for drinks, then paid her for the night.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. The ice in her glass cracked under the pressure of her grip.

Minako continued, calmly. “She said he was nice. Said he cried after they slept together. Said he told her his wife didn’t touch him anymore.”

The lie echoed in Y/N’s skull like a scream in a cathedral.

Minako reached for the next one.

“Ria. Dancer. Same club. He met her two weeks later. This time no crying. Just rough. Said he wanted to feel like a man again.”

Y/N shut her eyes. The room swayed. Her heart began to throb in her ears.

“And the rest?” she asked through her teeth.

Minako nodded, flipping the napkin to the back.

“Mai. Hotel bar. Sae. From the gym. Yuka. Your kid’s old preschool teacher—”

“What?” Y/N snapped, her voice slicing across the table.

Minako blinked. “You didn’t know?”

The room fell silent. All the air seemed to leave Y/N’s lungs at once. The bartender’s voice became background noise. The clinking glasses were underwater.

She stared at Minako, something feral brewing beneath her skin. “That was two years ago.”

Minako nodded. “And it wasn’t the first time.”

Y/N sat back. Her entire body was trembling now—not from fear. Not even heartbreak.

Pure rage.

“How many?” she asked.

Minako hesitated, then reached for her phone, opening a folder Gojo had sent. She slid it across the table.

“Ten. Maybe more.”

Y/N scrolled. The breath in her chest coiled into a knot. Her wedding ring felt like a noose. Her skin flushed hot with betrayal.

Date: March 11th.

Time: 2:02 AM.

Message: “I can’t sleep. My wife’s getting too big to fuck and I’m going crazy. You up?”

Y/N’s heart dropped. Her hands clenched the edge of the table.

“…March,” she whispered, her voice ghost-thin.

Minako glanced at the screen. “Yeah. That was… almost a year and a half ago.”

Y/N stared at her.

“I was seven months pregnant,” she said quietly, her words splitting like glass. “I couldn’t even roll over without help. I was swollen. Barely breathing. Still cooking dinner. Still folding his laundry. And he—he was—”

She bit down on the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper. Her nails dug into her palm.

“He fucked you while I was growing his child inside me.”

Minako looked away, guilt flickering over her expression. “I didn’t know. Not then. He told me you were separated.”

Y/N’s vision blurred. Her breath came in ragged waves. That familiar stomach drop of betrayal—except this time, it wasn’t just adultery.

It was warfare.

“I remember that night,” she said, her voice cold and far away. “I was cramping. Thought I was going into labor. Called him. No answer.”

Minako shut her eyes.

“I spent the night alone. In pain. My son kicking so hard I could barely sleep. And he was with you?”

The younger woman didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.

Y/N leaned forward, rage curling in her gut like a serpent.

“You let me sit across from you at that career fair… You shook my hand knowing what you did?”

“I didn’t know it was you until recently,” Minako whispered. “But once I did… I wanted to help you. That’s why I came tonight.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered toward the phone again. The receipts. The lies. The name she saw at the top of the screen:

Suguru G.

She blinked.

“Who is Suguru?”

Minako’s lips curved faintly. “A friend. He helped me pull the records. Same one who told me your husband had a type.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What type?”

Minako’s grin widened.

“Beautiful. Smart. Loyal. Women he thinks he can break.”

Y/N leaned back slowly, her entire body pulsing with the bitter truth. Her mind reeled.

She had spent years thinking she was crazy—gaslighting herself. For what?

A man who cheated while she was carrying his child?

She downed the rest of her drink in one gulp, letting the burn anchor her.

Then she stood up, chin lifted, eyes burning with fire.

“Send me everything. I also want this file..”

Minako nodded.

Y/N didn’t say goodbye. She didn’t need to.

Her heels clicked with purpose as she strode toward the door— and for the first time in years, she didn’t feel like someone’s wife.

She felt like someone dangerous.

The bar was dim, the light moody and low—just the way he liked it. From the corner booth, Gojo Satoru sat slouched with a glass of whiskey in hand, untouched.

He wasn’t here for the drinks.

His eyes, bright and sharp even beneath the low lighting, were locked on her. Y/N.

She was a vision tonight—effortlessly elegant in her snug, mom-chic outfit. Her lips glossed. Her hair swept back in a lazy updo. Just enough skin to tempt. Just enough confidence to kill.

God, you’re fucking stunning when you’re angry.

He watched the entire exchange from the shadows. The handshake. The first drink. The subtle shift in her posture when the first lie shattered. He saw the way her shoulders squared, her fingers curled, her lips tightened.

She was unraveling and blooming all at once. A woman scorned—but not weak.

No, Gojo thought, a crooked smirk spreading slowly across his lips. You’re finally waking up.

And he was the reason.

He stirred his drink with one finger, ignoring the soft buzzing of his phone. It was Minako again—probably confirming Y/N took the bait. He didn’t need it.

He could see it in her body. In her eyes. The betrayal hit. The seed took root.

And that business card she found?

That was just the first layer.

He leaned forward slightly, watching Y/N down her drink and rise like a goddess made of fire and fury.

“Atta girl,” he whispered to himself.

She didn’t even glance his way as she passed. She had no idea he was there. No clue that her favorite student, her most eager admirer, had orchestrated this entire symphony of destruction.

Gojo exhaled a quiet laugh, eyes blown wide with delight.

“You were never gonna stay with him,” he murmured. “I just… sped up the process.”

He finally picked up his phone and typed a quick message.

To: Minako

Good girl. Double the rate if she brings up the name “Sayaka.” That’ll be the final nail.

Then he slid the phone back into his coat, tossed a tip on the table, and walked out into the night—

whistling.

Because now?

Now, he was one step closer to having her all to himself.

—

The car sat idle in the driveway, headlights dimmed, the engine clicking softly as it cooled.

And Y/N broke.

Her hands clutched the steering wheel. Her chest heaved once. Then again. And then the sob tore out of her throat like a scream she hadn’t let herself make in years.

She didn’t cry pretty. She cried ugly.

Loud. Shaking.

Mascara painting black streaks down her cheeks. Her face buried into her purse as her whole body folded forward with the weight of it all.

All the betrayal. All the pretending.

All the fucking lies.

She’d held it together at that bar—kept her chin up, her tone cool, her words composed. But now?

Now she was just a broken wife sitting in her own driveway, wondering how many times she’d been made a fool.

Eventually, the sobbing dulled. She sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her hand. She glanced at the house.

Lights out.

Of course he was sleeping. Sleeping peacefully in the guest room like he hadn’t detonated their marriage. Like she hadn’t just found out there had been multiple women. Like he hadn’t slept with someone while she was pregnant.

She stepped inside quietly, locking the door behind her. Her heels tapped against the hardwood as she made a straight path to the kitchen.

The bottle of Jack was still there.

Her hand trembled as she unscrewed the cap and poured herself a heavy shot. She took it in one go. No chaser. The burn cut through her like a blade—but it steadied her breathing.

Then she pulled the file from the cabinet. The one with the business card. The one she found earlier.

Shaky fingers opened it. She couldn’t even look at the list yet.

Her phone was cold in her palm. Her hands, damp with sweat, gripped it tight as she scrolled to the only name she trusted enough.

Shoko.

She hesitated just long enough to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Then she hit call.

It rang twice before a groggy, irritated voice answered. “Y/N? The hell? It’s almost midnight—”

Y/N swallowed hard.

And then her voice came through the phone..

“I want a divorce.”

—

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[leafynightmares]

lovefool

longing | previous chapter | chapter index

love without loyalty is just lust - but which feeling lies where between the king you've sworn to serve and the clown who'll never be able to make you laugh?

synopsis: the only way for a siren like you to survive was as the king's pet, his pretty nightly pastime who spent years pining after him. but what happens when he's meant to marry another? or when a member of his court offers you a way out?

pairing: king!Sukuna x siren!Reader x jester!Gojo

content: mdni, angst and smut and fluff, medieval fantasy AU, forbidden love, heavy pining, very unbalanced power dynamics, messy relationships, fem reader, unprotected piv sex, secret relationships, medieval court politics, drama, gagging, restraints, falling in (and out) of love, betrayal

a/n: art is by @/maronjapan9art and divider by @/bronzewasp sorry for any typos :p

You catalogued every glimpse you got of him.

How his eyes looked like rubies under the candlelight. The curve of his frown. The sharp angle of his jaw when he glared at some noble trying to offer up his daughter across the banquet table.

Counted the callouses and scars marring his palms and the veins in his hands when he clenched and released his fists around a fork.

Gojo was watching you while you watched your king.

It was the last night you'd be able to after all.

Tonight, you'd leave. By morning, you'd be miles away.

It'd taken two weeks of planning, mostly on Gojo's part, lining up a series of rides to hitch, horses and safe houses to stay at until you'd be far enough away from anyone who might come looking for you.

Hopefully you'd end up in some seaside town. Somewhere too small for someone so far above everything to care about searching.

Half of you wondered how long it'd take for him to notice you left. Or if he'd be too preoccupied finding his new wife to wonder where you were.

Sukuna wasn't usually the type to let things go. Certainly not one of his possessions. Well, unless they outlived their usefulness. So weren't you just saving him the time and trouble of tossing you aside?

It wasn't like he'd miss you.

No matter how much of you would miss him. Or rather miss what you used to have. The meals you had shared, the afternoons you'd spent dozing off in his office and the nights you'd slept next to him.

A pretty girl approached him, bowing before offering him a letter. Another candidate for the future queen. Dressed up and drapes in jewels, just missing a crown.

Satisfied he was distracted, albeit disappointed that your last image of him would be staring at another woman, you started to slip out of the crowd, no one bothering to give you more than a glance as you needed the door.

Despite Gojo's constant insistence otherwise, no one else seemed to think you were even an option for queen. All it'd taken to be tossed to the side, forgotten, was falling out of favor with Sukuna.

But you hadn't made it out into the hall before you were being pulled, calloused fingers wrapping around your wrist and tugging you down the hall away from prying ears.

It seemed Sukuna had followed you.

"Is something wrong?" He bluntly asked, your back against the wall and the words snatched from your throat.

Not that you could speak your mind here.

You frowned, struggling to come up with something on the spot before point to your forehead to feign a headache then closing your eyes to mime sleeping.

"Care for company?" He grumbled, probably just searching for an excuse to ditch the power-hungry families that'd been trying to corner him all night long.

You shook your head, genuinely apologetic. You glanced around the hall, deciding it was too risky to speak before settling on making the same tired gesture again.

"I've barely seen you," He commented, gruff without being accusatory.

You shrugged.

What could reason could you offer? That you were busy plotting how to run away? Why risk getting yourself beheaded for betrayal even if he was just planning to discard you post-nuptials anyway?

One of those rough fingers slid up your arm slowly, a hint of lingering affection still there, like he hadn't fully forgotten you yet.

His lips ghosted against the corner of your jaw, softer than you expected, trailing up to the edge of your mouth.

"Tomorrow," He muttered into your skin. "Come to my office."

You'd already given your tomorrow to another.

He left one last kiss against your throat, pressed against your pulse.

One final gift from the man who once saved your life. Given you the strength to save your own again now.

You could be grateful now for whatever strange relationship you shared with Sukuna, could think of him as someone who kept you safe, that did what he had to, despite all the hurt and heartache he came with.

It wasn't his fault you'd fallen in love with him before.

He was bound by a set of rules far above you. Confined to the chains of leadership and law, playing politics to keep everyone in line.

And here he was anyway, defying all those conventions one more time to leave a lingering touch on your skin before returning to his banquet.

Before going back to what his life always should've been like.

You wanted a man who was free to love you. Who could hold you and touch you without shame, without any obligation to anyone else. Whose affection belonged to you alone instead of your voice.

You hurried back to your room, twisting the lock and yanking out two hunting bags you had to steal days ago. Finishing stuffing them full with the final articles of clothing, the few sentimental books and necklaces you owned, sighing as you glanced around your chambers.

The finality to it was crushing.

Suffocating your breathing, looking around and knowing you'd never be able to step foot back onto these plush carpets or sleep on that soft bed again, unable to commit every rich detail to memory.

In a few years, would you be able to recall the soft blush of the sheets? Remember the way the sun would cast shadows through the stained glass in the afternoon?

Would the shade of Sukuna's eyes stay in the back of you mind?

You wished you didn't wonder.

Gojo had told you not to - but you'd written him a letter. A short one. Not revealing many details or even answering any questions. Simply wishing him well and thanking him for tolerating you all these years. Said you weren't his burden to bear anymore. It was sappier than you intended. Telling him that he'd always carry part of your heart and that you cared for him more than you could ever admit to his face. You just left out how much that affection had rotted into resentment lately.

You ended it with the last bit of honesty you could offer him. That you wished he'd be happy with whoever he married.

He'd probably burn it. Or maybe he'd keep it.

Use it as evidence of your betrayal if he decided to chase and capture you. What would he do then? Muzzle you? Chain you to the bed?

You wanted to think he'd let you go. That he'd remember the days when you were something close to friends and grant you freedom even if it was far from him.

There was a quiet knock at the door. Just one.

Gojo was waiting on the other side. You were surprised he managed to slip away so soon. Maybe Sukuna was distracted. Lost in the bottom of a chalice or caught up in the touch of a concubine who dared to dream of a higher position.

Realistically?

Uruame must have pulled him aside - and Gojo just took the first opportunity he saw.

You still hid both the bags back under your bed before scurrying over to the door. You knocked back once, unsure.

"It's me," Gojo whispered, and you breathed again, exhaling hard before opening the door.

He immediately pulled you against him, picking you up and twirling you around the room. Skirt swaying and your breath catching in your throat, struggling to stifle your giggles when he was smiling so broadly at you.

He had already changed out of his usual jester's outfit, hat abandoned and clothes traded for a simple shirt and pants. He wasn't wearing his blindfold either. It'd be hard for someone like him to blend in anywhere. With his white hair and brilliant blue eyes that glittered in the light?

He demanded attention wherever he went.

His height and broad frame was built more for swinging swords than telling jokes. The type of beauty that lingered in the back of your mind even when he wasn't around.

It was a smidge early to celebrate, but his earnestness was infectious, easily carrying over and seeping into your mood. Snuffing out your anxiety and replacing it with anticipation while he peppered your face with hurried kisses.

"You need to change," He muttered, pinching the fabric of your extravagant dress between his fingers.

He only let go of you long enough to allow you to take off your dress, turning around while you discarded your current dress and traded it for one he'd smuggled you a couple days ago.

It was plain, something a farmer's daughter or an average villager would wear so you wouldn't stand out.

He turned back around right as you tightened the laces of the back, he still looked at you the same.

"My pretty girl," He softly purred, and when he said it, you believed it. Squeezing your sides, the light in his eyes promising you he liked you more like this.

What would your world look like when you were his?

"Where's your bags?" He asked, so quiet you could hardly hear him. It was odd to hear his voice hushed, utterly unlike him, but you swallowed, nodding towards where you stuffed them underneath the bed.

He grabbed both, slinging them over his shoulder and taking your hand. Tugging you towards the door before you could even glance back.

Pulling you away from the life you'd been clinging to for so long, leaving it behind for a man you'd only met a few months ago.

It sounded ridiculous to yourself when you thought of it like that.

But you weren't really living here.

Just existing for someone else's pleasure. A shadow. A shell. A muse that had never meant to become one.

Bartered your soul for safety, security, sex.

All the things you once asked for, you had received, but it was all wrong.

You wanted Sukuna. Not to just be the woman who kept his bed warm. Or someone he forgot about after he found his wife, his queen.

You didn't get to look back again.

It felt like you were watching someone else move. Letting Gojo tug you through twisting hallways, navigating some you hadn't even ventured in before, down a long set of servant stairs to a small wooden door. It led outside, the night surprisingly cold.

When was the last time you'd been out at night? Stepped foot into the gardens after the sun had set?

You couldn't remember.

Gojo only paused to put his cloak over your shoulders, planting another soft kiss on your cheek before taking you to the woods that stretched behind this corner of the castle.

Through there, past the thin patch of trees, was a small village you still had never visited despite your years you'd spent with Sukuna.

You only heard of it through others. Only seen it in drawings or on maps.

It wasn't much when you made it there, a few twigs in your hair, your slippers now stained with dirt. Small buildings and cozy houses, smoke drifting from the chimney up into the air, a few staggering drunks on the paths from the tavern.

Gojo guided you behind most of the streets, not stopping until you reached a rickety barn. He didn't take you inside it. No, he walked around to where a wagon and horses were waiting.

You were expecting to ride horseback, but he'd taken preparations of his own.

"You ready?" He asked, but it wasn't a question.

He was pulling you to the wagon before you'd even sucked in a breath.

A family was inside the wagon already, along for the ride for whatever neighboring town or village they'd chartered the driver to take them to.

The second you were both seated, you were moving, taking some dimly-lit path carved through the woods and fields.

"You guys headed north?" Gojo asked the grim-faced man across from him. His hand was intertwined with the woman next to him, and you watched the subtle way he squeezed it, a young sleeping girl sprawled out between the two of them. She stirred a little, the wheels of the wagon creaking as they hit a rock, but went back to sleep at her father's gruff reply.

"Indeed," He dryly answered.

"Us too," Gojo grinned.

It only hit you then that he hadn't exactly told you where you were going. Only discussed your run away plans in the vaguest details, swearing it was just so you'd be safe if Sukuna found out.

You didn't say anything, just observed their stilted conversation, standard social interactions sounding more like code after being in Sukuna's court for so long.

Eventually though, they disembarked a handful of villages later. And you traded off to a new wagon in the morning. Then another by lunch. Eating snacks Gojo had packed, dried fruit and nuts that wouldn't go bad. He didn't stop for dinner - and you couldn't help but consider what Sukuna might be eating. Was he holed up in his office? At another banquet?

Had he bothered sending a search party?

You didn't know if you wanted to know.

Eventually, the third wagon came to a stop just outside a busy street. Gojo fixed the hood of your cloak over your head to conceal your face, hiding his own features too when he took your hand and tugged you towards a rocky path branching off from it. It was barely visible, not much different from the rest of the gravelly terrain here.

Your bags were surely heavy on his shoulders, but he acted as if they were weightless, carrying his own as well as he led you in foot through the winding woods. The trees were sparse here, the ground much rougher terrain.

"It's not much farther," He murmured.

He had been quieter today, keeping a sharp lookout for every stranger, on alert at every abrupt noise. He hadn't even relaxed now, his hand tightening, fingers locked between yours, practically dragging you forward.

The sun had nearly disappeared behind the horizon, dusk dissolving into darkness. The soft chirping of insects surrounding you, the wildlife accepting the two of you as just another part of it.

Your legs were aching by the time you broke through the trees, lungs straining in your chest before he suddenly stopped in front of you.

You went still.

It'd been so long since you'd seen the sea.

It stole your breath. Your voice. Watching the dark waves crashing into the shore - rocks instead of sand here. The waters were unhappy. You could feel it in your bones as the water rose and fell too fast, too hard, your stomach churning the same way.

It didn't make you want to touch it any less, to slip between the current and let it wash away the years you'd been apart.

He dropped the bags.

Gojo ruffled your hair, broad body pressing against your back as he leaned down to kiss your head.

"Pretty," He murmured, but you weren't sure if he was staring at the sea or sky. The night had swallowed most of the star, a few sparse clouds among the black, the moon nearly full.

You wanted to ask to take a swim, about to gesture towards the rough path you could make out down to the beach. But he grabbed your wrist, tugging you back to a cottage.

"Come," He said.

You followed.

Stared in awe at the small place waiting for you as he picked your bags back up and carried them inside. He knew the floor plan, holding the door open before hurrying over to light the fire in the hearth. It was rather cozy, quilts hanging up on the wall, minimally furnished and decorated with nautical knick knacks. You wondered whose home it was. How he'd known about it.

You looked around for a pencil, a book, anything you could use to scribble down your question. You'd brought some parchment in one of your bags, but you couldn't recall if you'd packed anything to write with.

He noticed, walking back over to where you were sifting through a cabinet. Twisting you around to him, holding your hips and letting his gaze sweep over you.

"You're mine now," He murmured, all sweet and syrupy.

You nodded, like you didn't feel like an idiot just standing there. You tried to gesture to the house, a long sweeping motion with your hands that made him chuckle.

"Yeah, we're staying here," He confirmed, but he didn't seem that interested in actually talking about it. "Wanna see the bedroom?"

He was already dragging you there, impatient, probably just overexcited. You didn't feel the need to rush though.

This was meant to be the start of forever. Your happy ending.

You got the guy. He got the girl. You could be together.

But Gojo wasn't one for waiting.

And by the time he pushed open the door to the bedroom to reveal the neatly-made bed, blankets the same shade as the sea on a sunny day, pillows pre-fluffed and waiting for you, he wasted no time peeling your dress off. Unlacing the back and tugging at it like he'd tear it at the seams if he had to, letting out a low click of approval when it fell to the floor. The curtains were pulled back, the pale moonlight bathing the whole room in soft shadows and pretty colors. A small light on the wall flickered on when you stepped further in, something you chalked up to an enchantment.

It struck you as a little odd - another piece in the puzzle that didn't quite fit.

Was it a vacation home? Something meant to be luxurious and fitted with finer things than the average home?

Had Gojo planned on the rare occasion it'd be empty to hide you away? Or perhaps it belonged to a family member of his?

"Fuck, you're so beautiful," He breathlessly muttered. "You wanna take a bath first or-?"

He didn't finish saying the second option, just cocking his head to the side to suggest sex. He was already itching for it. Desperate to touch you after holding himself back for so long.

You hesitated, but still held up a finger to indicate you wanted to bathe. He didn't seem disappointed at least, letting go of you, and you expected him to just lead the way again, but he began stripping off his own clothes.

Oh.

You watched, heart pounding harder than it ever had before as his clothes hit the floor. His chest was far finer than you dreamed. Lean muscles and sharp lines, his skin pale and pretty. Only a single faint scar stretched over his chest, one that was barely visible until he moved. You tried not to stare, turning to avoid catching a glimpse of his happy trail or what hung lower.

"Mind if I join?" He quipped.

You didn't think it was a real question.

Still, you didn't mind anyway.

It was rather nice. Instead of cold buckets of water, it seemed to be enchanted too. Warm running water in the claw footed tub, Gojo offering some overcomplicated explanation of how it worked that you couldn't follow as he poured rose-scented bath salts into the water.

You stepped in first, shyly covering yourself up until your body disappeared under the suds. It was barely big enough for both of you, but it worked fine when he pulled you to lay with your back on his chest, his thighs spread to make room for you. You tried not to think of a certain body part of his pressed against the base of your spine.

Except it was the only thing that didn't slip from your mind when he scrubbed your skin clean and murmured sweet whispers into your ear. Asking how nice it'd be to do this every night from now on, making promises that he'd take better care of you than Sukuna ever did.

You didn't want to think of him either.

Some things were easier to forget than others. And Sukuna wasn't one of those.

Eventually though, Gojo helped you get out, drying you off with a towel and haphazardly tying a fluffy white one around his waist. His hair was hanging damp, and you got up on your tip toes to brush it out of his face.

He was kissing you again before you could blink.

The domesticity in it was entrancing. You weren't in a palace. Weren't wearing some expensive fabric or hiding away in some dark corner of the library.

The cottage by the sea you'd dreamed of in stolen moments was real. You were in it. With him.

Your nerves were bristling, all those anxieties burning as his hand slipped down your back. He walked without looking, his lips never breaking the kiss even as he pulled you back through the bedroom.

"I want to hear you," He murmured into your mouth, and your breath got stuck in your lungs. Like it'd been plugged up and unable to escape.

You wanted to speak. But what if he lost control? Not everyone was like Sukuna, would ever be able to handle it.

He could read your reluctance, dragging his thumb over your lips like he was trying to coax your words out.

"I brought something," He whispered.

And when he showed it to you, bringing his bag in to pull out a pretty blue scarf? You didn't feel much better.

Biting the inside of your cheek as he held it out like he was searching for approval, perched on the edge of the bed in nothing but a towel.

"It's enchanted," He explained, and you noticed it then, the slight shimmer to the fabric. "Once it's tied, it can only be undone by the one who tied it."

It took you a second to realize he expected you to tie him up.

"But, if you'd prefer to wait-" He started, but you shook your head.

He didn't want to wait. And he'd already gone so far for you. Went to lengths far past his means to make sure you were safe.

You gingerly grabbed the scarf and gestured for him to lay down on the bed.

"That's my girl," Gojo grinned, dropping his towel and flopping down. He was maybe the most beautiful man you'd ever seen. At least tied with Sukuna in attractiveness. Even his cock was mouth-watering. Longer than your former king's, just not quite as thick. But judging by the way it curved just a little to the left, you didn't think you'd notice when it was buried inside you.

He made himself comfortable, reclining his head back on the pillow and holding his wrists together above them against the headboard.

Nervous, fingers trembling as you fastened his wrists to the bed, looping the fabric around the wood. Tying tight then adding another knot to be safe. You didn't know how he'd react - what effects it might have on someone who already harbored feelings for you.

"Don't worry," He tried to soothe you, but even the warmth of his voice couldn't quell the waves in your stomach.

There was no going back.

You'd known that before, but the weight of it was really setting in now that both of you were nude, bodies connected as you let your towel fall to straddle him. It wasn't just sex anymore. It wasn't a duty or play for power.

It was just you and him.

"Satoru," You softly said his name, and he shuddered.

Hips twitching underneath your own, his breathing almost immediately growing rough. He blinked hard, pupils dilating as he tried to reign himself back in.

"Oh," He chuckled, pitched lower than anything else you'd ever heard from him.

You paused, waiting to see if he'd fall into the trance you'd seen others go into before at just a few words. But he didn't, his back molars grinding before he nodded.

"Say my name again," He requested, and your lips curled up into a small smile.

Satoru was fighting it. Holding himself back to be with you.

His body was almost trembling, muscles tight and taut as you readjusted, your cunt positioned right over his throbbing cock. It'd be relatively easy to slip in. All you had to do was reach down and guide that pretty tip of his in.

"Satoru," You repeated. His eyes scrunched shut for a second, the lump in his throat bobbing.

"You don't even know," He breathed, and it sounded more like half a laugh.

"Know what?" You liked the way he twitched underneath you. Liked everything he did so much it was embarrassing. Coasting on the feeling of being adored, on top of him and the world for once a life that had been cruel for as long as you could remember.

He smiled at you, and you wished you could etch him into your bones, let there be some proof of what this moment felt like even after you left the world and that was all that was left of you.

You froze, watching the way he forced his tongue to form his next words.

"How special you are."

You'd spent your whole life thinking that was a bad thing.

But with him, maybe it didn't have to be.

You untied him.

There wasn't a good reason. Just another impulsive decision you should second guess but didn't let yourself. He stared at you like he couldn't believe it either.

You trusted him - wasn't that why you threw the world away for the chance of building a new one with him?

"Sweetheart," He spoke softly, and you wanted him to speak to you like that forever after.

"Love me," You murmured.

And he did.

His hands slipping from the restraints to hold your hips while you readjusted, taking your time taking him. It was addictive in its own way, watching his cock disappear inside you, sucking him in slowly as he tugged your waist down.

"Fuck," He grunted, a low moan ripped from his throat when he bucked his hips up to bury his cock in the rest of the way, holding you there so you could adjust to his size. "Did he even fuck you right?"

He did, but you were experienced enough at keeping your mouth shut to not say anything.

But rather than just letting yourself be bounced, you grinded down against him, rolling your hips and moving in time until your thighs started to burn and ache, taking every rough thrust and returning his earnestness the only way you knew how.

Muffling your own voice with heated kisses, leaning half forward on his chest so you could suck on his soft bottom lip. He still tasted like the dried fruit from earlier, hints of salt on his tongue as he stuck it down your throat.

Sweat had started to prick at your forehead, your body starting to shake, trembling when he hadn't lost any steam, but even when your thighs started to slow, he just rutted his hips up faster.

"You can take it, baby," He murmured, reassuring and rushed, another gutteral grunt escaping when you squeezed around him tighter.

"I-I don't-" You hiccuped, but really you didn't even know what you were going to say. He had that effect on you, made your thoughts turn to mush and your heart flutter at even the faintest smirk that curled up on his pretty lips.

He thrusted up again, harder, tip grinding against your cervix like he owned it, and you whimpered.

You shouldn't have.

The room went silent. His strokes stalled abruptly, stuck inside you. All that bright blue turning to black as his pupils blotted it out.

Regret bloomed in your heart, but it was a little late.

You were flipped around in an instant, easily manhandled until your face was pressed into the pillow and your ass hoisted in the air.

"I'm sorry, shit," He apologized, but he was burying himself back inside like he could fuck whatever was happening to him out.

Hips branding your ass, cock claiming you as he thrusted into you hard and mean. It was demanding, the kind of sex where you'd feel it for days, carry the ache in your muscles and bones.

You started to moan, but a hand was on the nape of your neck, pushing your head down.

"Don't, please," Satoru was desperate, clinging to the last threads of his sanity.

Before you could process him breaking down, he grabbed your hair, tugging it back enough that he could slip the scarf around, the fabric getting caught in your mouth, between your teeth like a makeshift gag.

"Is that okay?" He asked, his own voice hoarse and raw. And the idea of being gagged made you squirm, an unpleasant association itching in the back of your brain, but you nodded anyway, let him tie it.

Your stomach still flipped at the realization that he was the only one who'd be able to untie it with whatever spell had been cast on it.

Reminding yourself that he was the one person you could trust.

Satoru had chosen you - he just needed time to adjust.

How long had it taken Sukuna to grow a tolerance to your voice?

"Fuck," He cursed again, slamming back inside you, and you jolted up the bed just to get dragged back down. One hand pressing your back into a pretty arch for him while the other held your hips in place so he could fuck you how he liked.

You barely managed to stifle your whines, squirming desperately as you tried to catch some friction between your thighs. Clit aching and desperate to be touched too.

He was mumbling half-incoherent prayers to gods you thought were long gone, his strokes getting sloppy as he got closer and closer. He was piecing himself back together though, enough that he remembered to make sure you were okay too, slipping the hand on your hip around to your front.

It wasn't precise, his pressure was too rough, soft fingers quickly rubbing rushed circles over your sore and swollen bud, but when you were starving, scraps were more than enough to soothe what your stomach was screaming for.

You gasped, and he only picked up the pace, stretching you open and stuffing you full, his fingers working fast to make you cum first.

And you tried to say his name when you did, a weak muffled whine that left him shuddering. His body half-collapsing onto yours, warm cum filling you up and leaking down your thighs as his fingers twitched and kept going. His cock was still throbbing inside you, like he was trying to plug all the cum inside while he massaged your clit through your climax.

Murmuring sweet praises in your ears now, ones that drifted straight through your brain before you could really comprehend them, seeing stars and shapes with your face still pressed into the pillow. The gag muffled your moans even more, your thighs trembling and an embarrassing dribble of drool escaping your mouth when you clawed at the pillow.

"Hey," He softly said, tugging at the knot on the scarf and pulling it undone. Flipping you over so you were facing him.

His eyes were intense. Some of the blue was back, but his pupils were still too big. Wired as he searched your face, checking over you.

"Too much?" He asked, and with a shaky yawn, you shook your head no.

"Um," You started, cutting yourself off just for him to chuckle.

"I think I'm okay now," He reassured you, laying back down flat and tugging you over to cuddle against him.

Part of you wanted to get up, to clean yourself off and wipe down your thighs before the cum dried. But he seemed so content like this, so relaxed that you caved and curled up next to him.

"It wasn't too much," You quietly answered his question.

He exhaled, relieved. You tried to relax too.

"Have other people heard you speak?" Other than Sukuna, he meant.

"A few," You admitted.

"What happened?" He hummed, curious as to what experiences you were made of.

"Most of the time, it's like a trance, I guess. If I told them to do something, they'd do it," You muttered. You'd only done it when you were on the run, before Sukuna had saved you. You hated it every time - but that had been a matter of keeping your life or ending up in the hands of someone who wanted to sell you. "But there's other effects it can have."

"Like what?" He pressed further, and you could already feel your face flushing.

"It can have a particularly intense effect on men," You quietly answered, trying to skirt around the more vulgar explanation even if he just experienced it himself. Your mother had a few of her own tales she told to you when she was still around. Scared you with stories of what your voice could do if you willed it. "Sometimes though, it just drives them mad."

"I'd let you drive me mad," He chuckled, a casual flirt overriding the much darker topic. You didn't know how to tell him you were terrified of something like that actually happening.

You swallowed hard, thinking about what Sukuna might be going through. Occasionally, you suspected he'd become almost addicted to it. Developed a need, craving the sound of your voice rather than your company.

"Do you think he's looking for me, um, us?" You murmured, tracing a small star on his skin. Would Sukuna piece together you left him for his jester?

"No," He exhaled, and you winced. It shouldn't hurt, but it still did. What were you worth in the end? Gojo noticed, hesitating before clarifying. "Not yet."

"What do you mean?" You readjusted, propping yourself up more on his chest. He flipped you back over, pinning you to the bed beneath him.

"He'll be preoccupied with other matters," He simply said, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile that was far past mischievous.

"What did you do?" You were kind of terrified to know.

"It's a secret," He muttered, leaning down to shut you up with a kiss.

You hadn't realized just how many of those he had.

No, you didn't know until the morning came.

The sun had barely begun to rise, the sky still gray and fog sticking to the sea as you forced your tired and aching limbs to sit up. A rare calm had settled in your bones. A contentment you wondered if you'd get used to.

Was this what your life would look like now?

He was still tangled in the sheets, long limbs spread out, a little bit of drool on the pillow and white lashes fluttering while he dreamed.

Even in his sleep, he was smiling. Crooked and careless, one corner higher than the other.

You slipped out of the room with the image of him on your mind.

Already thinking of if he'd humor you with a dip into the sea today, if this was the place you'd settle in or if you were meant to go back on the road to somewhere new. Rummaging through the kitchen for anything to eat or prepare for breakfast when you heard it.

The gallop of horses. The turning of wheels.

You sprinted. Panicked as you stumbled into the bedroom, bare feet padding over to where Satoru was slumbering and shaking him awake.

"Wake up," You desperately whispered, and his eyes snapped open. "Someone's coming."

He just smiled at you though. He was expecting it.

"They're a bit early," He commented with a yawn.

"Who?" You asked, flustered as he leisurely got out of bed and started getting dressed.

"You'll see."

You weren't prepared when you did. Standing outside in a new dress, all your bags by your feet and Satoru's hand slung around your waist. You didn't want to leave your little cottage by the sea. Something instinctual inside you was already shouting you wouldn't come back.

That this was another goodbye you couldn't take back.

And then the horses came through the treeline - and you saw it.

The carriage had a royal crest on it. Just not the one you were the most familiar with.

It wasn't the immediate gut punch you expected, just slowly growing dread, tendrils that tugged and squeezed harder with every puzzle piece sliding into place.

It took you a painfully long second to place where you knew it from. If you were right, it belonged to a different territory with a different king, the one whose son had Sukuna so stressed. It rolled to a stop in front of the cottage, the carriage driver carefully stepping down and settling the horses. You recognized him then. The man who'd ridden on the wagon with you. Whose daughter had been asleep on his lap.

How did Satoru know them? You'd already guessed he was from that kingdom, given his eye color. It was a rarity even from there, a rumor of some distant important lineage. Perhaps he'd been a noble who was disgraced? Sought a new living as a jester?

Or maybe he'd only come to spy on Sukuna's court?

Obviously, he had to still be on good terms with someone important if this was the ride they were providing to you as a refugee.

You struggled to understand what all of this might now mean for you.

But you didn't have to guess for long.

"For our prince," He greeted, and your stomach sank at the way Satoru so proudly wore the title, smiling brightly as the coach driver bowed to him. "Your Royal Highness."

[leafynightmares]

buried treasure - s. gojo

ᯓ ✈︎ first class ticket to north carolina's outer banks 𓇼

𓇼 surfer!satoru gojo x f!reader [non-curse au]

𓇼 oneshot - part of @lily-bisque's summer bash collab

❝ you're back home for your last summer of college, and what could be a better way to pass the time than a treasure hunt? just one problem- your map is drawn in crayon, and your memory of the outer banks is lacking. luckily for you, there's a handsome surfer just waiting for any excuse to leave work for the day, and has there ever been a better excuse than a treasure hunt with a gorgeous woman? ❞

𓇼 cw ; strangers to lovers. slow burn. two sweethearts mutually pining for one another. satoru's a massive flirt but what's new? lowkey nerdjo. fluff, so much fluff. the slightest bit of hurt with the most comfort. big summer romance vibes.

𓇼 words ; 13.5k.

𓇼 a/n ; welcome to my collab with the lovely @lily-bisque, please show her all the love <33 get yourself a good summer drink and please enjoy the good vibes, comfort, and sweet little adventure these two go on!

main masterlist || bisque's summer bash masterlist || ao3 link

The tide washing over your feet is cool compared to the warmth of the sand beneath them. The refreshing chill of the early morning won’t last long, the sun will soon greet you and kiss your skin as it does every day in Dare County, but despite the heat, you thrill at the thought.

Being home for your last summer of college is a treat you weren’t sure you’d be able to afford this year, but you’re lucky enough that your parents were willing to pay to see their beloved daughter. It’s strange, to think that this might be your last summer off like this, but you look forward to the horizon of a new career and a change of pace, as terrifying as the thought is.

You tilt your head as a seagull lands a small distance away from you. Its feet pad across the sand quickly as it avoids the incoming tide, following it back down to the shoreline and waiting for some sort of mollusk or seaworm to rise from the sand for a moment too long. It pecks at the sand and comes up with some sort of worm when the tide washes over its feet again.

Squawking, it nearly drops the worm as it flaps its wings violently when some sort of bottle nearly barrels into it before it can take off. The worn glass bottle catches your attention as it topples over into the sand. Before the water can pull it back in, you jog over and pick it up, tilting it within your hands.

The glass is weathered by years of being at sea, but it doesn’t seem as old as you originally thought. It looks to be no older than twenty and you can just barely make out the silhouette of something rolled within. It takes a good amount of effort (and the help of a sharp shell from nearby) to pull the cork from the bottle and dump the contents into your palm.

Unfurling the paper reveals a map of sorts, if it can even be called that.

It’s not that it’s not a map, it is, but it was clearly drawn by a kid. There’s an approximate drawing of the Outer Banks in black crayon, with landmarks drawn to the best of the kid’s ability in blue, and a path marked in red, leading to an ‘X’ which seems to be somewhere just off the coast of the nearby town Kill Devil Hills.

With a lopsided smile, you read the poorly written scrawl across the side of the map.

“1. find key picture At Avlon beAch bridge 2. get A boAt by the key 3. go to boot islAnd 4. dig up prize!!!”

You can’t help but laugh at how sweet it is, though it’s mostly nonsense from what you can tell. You may not have been back to the Outer Banks in a year, but you don’t recall Avalon Beach having a bridge, or there being a Boot Island. That’s not even beginning to mention the fact that there’s no way the ‘key picture’ is still wherever the kid left it all those years ago.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to put the page away.

Your old friends are working throughout the week and you won’t see them for a couple of days, and Avalon Beach is a ten minute drive away. You could at least check out the beach, maybe see if something is tucked away somewhere far out of reach. Worst case scenario, you could use the time as an excuse to rent a kayak and relax with some serene time to yourself.

Sliding your thumb over the paper, you shrug to yourself decidedly.

Fuck it.

Hopping in your parents’ old car, you make your way in the direction of the beach, dropping by a surf shop on the way after grabbing a bite to eat.

A bell jingles overhead, signaling your arrival to the small shop. A tall man with dark hair pulled up into a bun lifts his head tiredly from the counter, shooting you his best smile, albeit a tired one. “Welcome,” he greets you.

Another employee is on the far side of the shop wiping down a surfboard. He’s tall too, a short-sleeve red button-up shirt with a palm tree pattern clinging to his broad shoulders, while a pair of black shorts hang loosely from his hips. He lifts his head, white hair falling in front of his startlingly blue eyes as you catch his attention. He greets you with a much more lively and awake smile.

And god your stomach flutters at the sight. He’s hotter than the goddamn sun on a summer day. Which says a lot around here.

“Anything I can help you with?” The white-haired man asks.

“Hey,” you greet, trotting up to him with a smile. “Do you do rentals?”

“Of course,” he grins. “Whatcha lookin’ for?”

“I’m thinking a kayak?” You hum to yourself, fiddling with the folded paper between your hands.

“Sure, is it for something in specific?” He queries with a tilt of his head.

“Uh-” you chuckle, unfolding the paper in your hands. “Yeah, actually. I found this map, I know it’s dumb and I probably can’t finish it, and I don’t know what ‘Boot Island’ or the Avalon Beach bridge is, but-” you shake your head, interrupting your own rambles as the surf shop employee peers over your shoulder at the map in your hands.

His expression flickers from intrigue to genuine shock, you assume because you’re following a map set out in crayon, before it settles into something softer. “Huh,” he chuckles, pushing a hand through his hair to better look at it. “Avalon Beach bridge is probably the pier,” he points out.

“Oh!” You peer up at him, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, that makes sense. Still, I doubt I’ll find anything. It says there’s a picture there I think, but this looks pretty old. It’s probably long gone.”

The man hums in agreement.

“And I still don’t know what ‘Boot Island’ is supposed to be.”

“It’s, uh-” he pauses, scratching at the back of his head. “Actually, are you from around here?”

“Kinda,” you shrug. “My parents moved a bit south of here when I was in my teens, I’m just back for the summer.”

“Do you need a tour guide?”

You blink, somewhat taken aback, although something within you bubbles with excitement at the thought of having his company. You could use more friends around here, even if you’re only back for a bit.

“I mean, yeah! That would be great,” you grin. “But aren’t you working?”

“Yeah Satoru, aren’t you working?” The other employee chimes in with a lifted brow, looking unamused at Satoru’s near-immediate offer to leave. “Or did you forget?”

“C’mon, Suguru! It’s Wednesday, it’ll be slow today. I’ll owe you one,” he grins, wiggling his brow at his colleague.

With a forlorn sigh, Satoru’s co-worker, Suguru, slumps further over the counter and mutters out a ‘fine’, dropping his face into his crossed arms. “You owe me a full day, though,” he mumbles, muffled behind his arms.

Satoru grins. “Yeah, yeah,” he brushes his friend off with a grin, laying the surfboard he’s still clutching across a back counter and plopping the rag atop it. He jogs off into the back, coming back with two paddleboards and a single lifejacket.

“Are we sharing?” You quip, eyeing the only safety gear he’d deemed necessary.

“If you want,” he smirks. “I can swim, though. Figured you might need one since you’re not from around here.”

Rolling your eyes, you brush off both the flirting that makes your stomach flip with anticipation and the casual dig at your swimming skills. “I moved here when I was like sixteen, I can swim,” you retort, though you do grimace at the sight of the paddle boards over your much-preferred kayak.

“Just making sure,” he shrugs. “Wouldn’t want a pretty girl like you to drown on my watch.”

You actually scoff at that. Okay he is hot, but maybe also a little annoying. He seems friendly enough, though, so you set aside his somewhat poor attempts at flirting in favor of shoving the map into his arms as well.

“In that case, you can hold this too.”

He pouts as he doesn’t get the reaction to what he wants, but bounces back quickly as you begin making your way towards his co-worker. “How much for the rental?”

The raven-haired employee casts a glance at his co-worker, some sort of silent exchange taking place between them, before he shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he sighs, leaning his cheek on his knuckles, propped up on the counter. “Now you doubly owe me though, Satoru.”

“Oh,” you turn towards Satoru. “Thank you!”

He hums, a boyish grin on his face that’s almost giddy in a way you can’t quite make sense of. He looks a little bit too excited to be following a map drawn in crayon.

“Alright, let’s head to Avalon Pier, then,” you grin, beckoning the surf-shop employee along with you. He walks in pace with you, an infectious pep to his step as he turns to silently thank Suguru.

As soon as you’ve loaded the paddle boards into your car, you hop in the driver’s seat with Satoru in tow.

“You know,” he starts as he buckles in, “I should probably get the name of the pretty girl who could kidnap me.”

You giggle at the realization that no formal introductions actually ever took place, pushing past the kidnapping point. In fact, you kind of just mindlessly said yes without knowing anything about him, either. You were too busy ogling the pretty aqua shine of his eyes. He’s hot. Unfairly so.

Reckless? Maybe. Fun? Definitely.

You introduce yourself with a sweet smile as you pull onto the road. “I’m visiting my parents for the summer. Next year is my last year of college.”

“Sounds fun! I’m Satoru,” he greets you in return. “My family moved here when I was two, the grumpy guy we left behind is my best friend.”

“In his defense, I’d be grumpy too if you left work to hang out with a girl.”

The snowy-haired man’s smirk widens. “Nah, he gets it. You don’t pass up the opportunity to go on a treasure hunt with the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen.” He lounges back in the seat, staring out the window casually as he pulls a pair of dark shades from the pocket of his shorts. “When life gives you lemons, right?”

Heat rises up your neck, climbing to your cheeks as you giggle at his shameless flirting. “You know our map is written in crayon, right?”

“So?” He runs a hand through his hair, facing you in the passenger seat. “The real treasure is getting to join you, anyway.”

“Did you just hit me with ‘the real treasure is the friends we made along the way’?”

“Sure,” he shrugs one shoulder. It drops down to his side as he leans the other one on the seat. “I mean we’re either gonna find a lollipop or the One Piece or something, right? Win, win.”

“A lollipop? It would be at least ten years old by now,” you laugh, raising a brow as you pull into Avalon Pier’s parking lot.

“Still! Isn’t that every kid’s most prized possession?”

You can’t help but smile, Satoru’s energy is completely contagious. “My prized possession was a plush Octopus from the aquarium in Georgia.”

“Mine was a Digimon DVD. So, po-tay-to po-tah-to. Love the Octopus, though.”

“Aw, that’s cute,” you giggle as you hop out of the car. The sea breeze is refreshing against your cheeks, the smell of salt water hitting you the moment the door opens.

“I’ll have you know it’s very cool and fun of me,” he retorts, shutting the door as he leans over top of your vehicle while you laugh. He sets the map on the hood and spreads it out, his palms splaying over the surface as he looks it over. “Well, our instructions are pretty vague,” he comments.

You fall to his side, looking over the poorly drawn Outer Banks. “I told you this probably won’t lead anywhere. I mean, there’s no chance the picture is still here, anyway.”

“Why bother if you think there’s no chance?”

You shrug. “I just figured it was a fun thing to do to pass the time, even if ‘Boot Island’ doesn’t exist. It’s a fun story even if I find nothing, right?”

He tilts his head down at you, his bubbly attitude replaced with something softer, considering your words. “I like it,” he hums, his octave lowering a decibel.

“Yeah?” You peer up at him, your stomach erupting with a fluttering sensation at the tone of his voice.

“Yeah. It’s spontaneous. I dunno, I like that,” he shrugs, like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever said.

You feel your cheeks warm again, averting your gaze. “Well, come on then. Time to-” you pause, glancing at the map, “find a key picture.”

“Aye aye,” he agrees with a salute, his grin returning as you lead the way to the pier. “So, you think it’s a photo that got tucked somewhere, then?”

“I think it probably was,” you shrug, staring out across the long pier as wind whips around you without the cover of the land. “Or a drawing, maybe. But there’s no way it’s still here.” You wave your hand out at the pier, where the wind has gotten rather dramatic now that you’re standing over the ocean. A couple of clouds hang high in the sky, though it’s otherwise clear, the sun now shining far above you.

Seagulls squawk and caw high overhead, floating in the currents of the wind, curiously eyeing you and your new companion as though you might conveniently drop their next meal. The wood creaks beneath your feet, worn from years upon years of heavy use. You can remember sitting at the edge of this pier with friends as a kid, at the very same spot where you now stand.

“There’s literally nowhere to hide a photo out here,” you mumble mostly to yourself, forgetting you have a companion until he moves into your peripherals.

With hands in his pockets, he shrugs, a lopsided smile on his face. “Maybe it’s not a photo.”

“I guess,” you hum in agreement, looking around the worn algae-covered wood. The waves are calm and steady right now, leaving a tall gap between the top of the pier where you stand and the calm flow of the ocean beneath you.

Satoru steps forward, sitting at the edge of the pier and watching the ebb and flow of the waves.

You join him at the edge, kicking your feet as you brace your hands at the edge of the wooden structure. “Why’d you join me?” You query curiously.

“Why not? It gets me outta work anyway.”

“I could be a murderer,” you point out.

He shoots you a disbelieving look. “Please. You’re following a crayon map.”

You click your tongue, staring out at the broad expanse of blue. “Touché,” you murmur, brushing his shoulder as you adjust where you’re seated. Chewing on your lip, you peer curiously over at Satoru. His white locks blow in the breeze, catching on the corners of his sunglasses. “Are you in school?” You ask to fill the air. It’s not uncomfortable by any means, but you’d like to get to know the man who dropped his job for some girl he’d never met and the promise of a very old lollipop.

“Yeah, I’m a business major,” he explains, leaning his head back to admire the blue skies and coasting birds overhead. “I’m supposed to take over the family business.”

You tilt your head as you examine the way his enthusiasm seems to drain. “I feel like I don’t know you well enough to say that you don’t seem too happy about it, but-” you shrug, “- I’m not really that type of girl. So, you don’t seem too happy about it.”

He snorts. “You’re fine, pretty,” he brushes off your concerns. The casual way with which he calls you ‘pretty’ keeping that fluttering in your chest alive. “I’m not. My major is business and my minor is marine biology.”

“You wanna do marine biology?” You confirm.

He nods, a sparkle catching in his irises that makes it mirror the waves out in front of you. “Yeah. I wanna study the animals out around the OBX,” he comments, referring to the Outer Banks by its local name.

“But… parents?” You ask casually.

“Parents,” he confirms.

“Well,” you kick your feet out, staring at the flower-patterned sandals adorning your feet. “I hope things work out for you.”

“Thanks,” he smiles, something soft in the way he regards you. “But hey, why don’t we check under the pier?”

“Under? There isn’t even anywhere to stand.” You peer down beneath the pier, but before you can even think twice, Satoru is twisting around and dropping down under the pier onto the ‘X’ shaped support beams below, balancing in the crossed portion. “Oh my god, no way. This is all you.” Shaking your head adamantly, you lean forward as far as you can to catch a glimpse of your fellow treasure-hunter, but he’s extending his hand out to you.

“C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Uh, fall in, hit my head, sharks?”

“It’s an adventure, right? Live a little.”

“A kid couldn’t have gotten down there!” You protest.

“You never know,” Satoru shrugs.

“I would know if you would look for it and tell me,” you insist, peering warily down at the water that laps at the base of the beams crossed near Satoru’s feet.

He leans over a little more, his hand gently brushing your calf. “Trust me.”

“I just met you!”

“You put your faith in me as your guide!”

“Ugh, fine!” You groan, chewing on your lip as you hold yourself at the edge of the pier, grateful you chose to wear shorts today instead of a dress. “Oh god,” you breathe, arms somewhat shaky as you lower yourself carefully, eyeing the water below.

“I gotcha,” Satoru grunts as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you flush to him, tucking you into his extremely noticeably buff side. It’s not like you didn’t notice his veiny forearms or the way his shirt clings to his biceps, but still.

Your entire body heats up, pooling in the pit of your stomach with just how oddly sweet and attractive this is as a whole. You barely even know the guy, but-

Yeah, would.

You reach out, grabbing the support beam opposite you with one hand while clinging to his shoulder with the other, attempting to balance your feet on the top of the ‘X’ of the beams as well. There’s not a lot of space, sandwiched pretty firmly between Satoru’s built form and the beam.

“Thanks,” you manage once you’ve gotten your bearings and feel somewhat like you have a hold on where you are.

“You alright?”

“Mhm,” you nod, masking your doubts with the confidence of being stuck between two very sturdy supports. “Now,” you glance around, “see anything?”

Satoru hums, twisting to get a better view behind him. “I see a lot of dried seaweed,” he mumbles, his arm tightening around your middle as he leans back to get a better view of the bottom of the wooden planks. “What’s that?”

“The carving that says ‘T + L had sex right here’? Ew, by the way. I hope they used a blanket.”

Satoru snorts. “Not that. To the left,” he tries to explain, his hands too preoccupied to point at anything.

You lean in, feeling unusually safe within his grip. “Oh my god! I think it’s supposed to be a carving of a key!”

“Supposed to be?”

“I mean yeah, it kinda looks like one.”

For a split second he almost looks offended, but you brush it off as misreading his squinting expression.

Leaning in a bit further and grateful Satoru still has a strong grip on you, you’re just barely able to make it out. “Looks like it says ‘in hAymAn house bridge’.” Leaning back into Satoru’s grip and clinging to the support beam closest to you, you turn to peer up at him. “What in the world is that meant to be?”

“Uh-” he shrugs, glimmering blue eyes flickering around the pier as though in search of an answer. “The kid thinks piers are bridges, right?”

“A house pier, though?”

Satoru shrugs. “Dunno. I think there’s something slimy on my hand, though,” he states in distaste, casting a glance at the hand he’s got tightly gripping the support beam at his side. “Let’s head back up.”

Nodding, you attempt to adjust your grip on the man to be able to reach the top of the pier and pull yourself up, but with the way you’re both contorted into the crosssection of the beams, you can’t get a grip on the wood above. Even if you could, there’s no chance you could pull yourself up.

“I can’t reach,” you pout up at him as you fall back into his arm, though your stomach churns at the sight of the water below.

“Uh- shoot,” he mutters. He glances around, before making a decision. “I got it, here.” He shifts so that you can grab the beam he’s perched on, precariously balancing at your side.

“Oh, it is slimy.”

“Told ya,” he chuckles, sliding his foot out from under you. “Okay, I’m gonna jump, then I’ll catch you.”

“What- Wait-!” You gasp as Satoru pockets his sunglasses and plunges into the ocean below. The water splashes up to your shins, his impact causing the waves to lap and break around the beams supporting your figure. You nervously glance around the rocking tides until Satoru resurfaces, shaking his head of white hair like a dog and getting sea spray all over you. “God, you scared me!”

“Sorry!” He calls from a good few feet below. “It’s pretty warm today, though. Come on in, it’s nice!” He grins as he beckons you into the water.

You cling to the beam, peering below and chewing on your lip. “Um-”

“You can swim, right?” He confirms when you hesitate, a look of realization cast over his expression as it occurs to him you could have been lying earlier to save face.

“I can, I can!” You peer back down at the dark shadows that your new friend is wading in. “I’m just… Not a big fan of water,” you mutter with a wince.

Satoru blinks a couple of times. “Oh. Shit, okay. Uh, hold on.” He dips back under the gently lapping waves, though you can’t make out what he’s doing in the depths of the shadowy water beneath. He resurfaces and shakes his head again, sending more seaspray flying through the air. “No barracudas!” He confirms with a grin, as though a toothy fish was the reason behind your disdain for the ocean.

“That’s not-” you groan, throwing your head back, though something about his boyish smile and actions puts you a bit more at ease.

“It’s not that deep! Here,” he wades forward a bit. “I’ll catch you. Trust me.”

“There’s an awful lot of trust going on for someone I just met,” you mutter from your perch, though you do reposition to jump.

“I trusted you first, you could have murdered me,” he points out.

“You could murder me now!” You point out, glancing around, though there’s no one to see you right now. He really could.

He snorts. “Yeah, the marine biologist serial killer really has a ring to it.”

“Shut up,” you whine, readjusting your stance. “Ugh, and I’m wearing denim shorts,” you mutter at the thought of getting them wet as you mentally prepare yourself.

“We can go get changed, just trust me,” he holds his arms out again, just as you manage to work up the courage to take a leap. You don’t go plunging straight down into the water as you’d thought either as he manages to keep you mostly above water, using one arm to wade, while he holds you close with the other. “See? Like I promised,” he grins when your hands find purchase on his chest.

Your cheeks warm as he gives you a small reassuring squeeze. Glancing away, you nod. “Thanks, Satoru.”

“I gotcha,” he grins as he speaks, his eyes lit up behind the shades he’s still wearing as he looks towards the beach. “Can you swim back? Or do you need a big strong man to-”

“I got it,” you interrupt, making a point of splashing him with salt water as you do. He laughs heartily as he trails behind you, keeping a steady eye on you to make sure you reach the shore safely. As soon as your feet hit the sand, you let out a breath of relief and jog ashore, the sand sticking to your wet skin, warm under the late morning sun.

Satoru follows shortly behind you, pushing his hands through his hair before ringing out his soaking wet shirt. As it continues to drip on the sand below, he unbuttons it, revealing his unfair and frankly godly sculpted abs.

Catching you staring, Satoru raises a brow as a slow smirk spreads across his lips. “Like what you-”

“Don’t finish that,” you press a finger to his chest. God, he has an ego, but it’s the fact that he’s right that has your gaze narrowed as you stare at him. His eyes sparkle, his smirk growing into a grin that’s entirely too sly.

“Am I too-”

“Nope!” You interrupt, turning on your heel and heading towards the area where the grass and sand meet, still dripping wet but grateful for the warm sun.

Satoru snickers to himself behind you, pulling his shirt off to wring it dry as best as he can, not bothering with his shorts that seem to be some sort of swim trunks anyway. He slips his arms back into the sleeves of his wrinkly red shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. He musses his hair with a hand as he comes up behind you, meeting you in the grass at the shore.

“God, my shorts,” you mutter, wringing out your tank top as the denim of your shorts clings uncomfortably to your thighs.

“Got a change of clothes?” Satoru queries genuinely with a tilt of his head.

“I’ve just got a hoodie,” you grimace.

“I think that’d give you heatstroke in this weather,” he chuckles. “My place is like a mile north, why don’t we drop by?”

“Oh-!” You blink at the offer, a kind one, but one that leaves you wary as you’re reminded that you really don’t know this guy. Then again, he had every opportunity to drown you and he didn’t, so- “Yeah, why not?”

He grins. “Great! I’ll give you directions.”

Thank god his place is as close as he says, because by the time you arrive, you feel like a sad wet cat. At least your makeup and hair isn’t too bad given that Satoru managed to catch you before you plunged under the surface fully, but your clothes are chilly and wet by the time you get out of your car, which is now equally soaked.

Satoru leads the way up to a small coastal shack, more or less, fishing a set of keys from his pockets and opening the door for you.

“Come on in,” he offers, stepping aside. “It’s a bit of a mess, sorry.”

‘A bit’ is an understatement, but there’s almost a sense of organization to the chaos. His interest in marine biology and the ocean is apparent in every piece of the mess, but it somehow adds to the seeming intention behind the disorder.

The shack is about as big as a studio apartment, littered with clothes and unwashed dishes, but there’s some sort of story behind each corner of the single-room home. There are dried corals and shells along the wall, posters of species of sharks and whales, and surfboards with a longboard pushed up against the wall. His bed is in a corner with an ocean blue blanket atop it and a pile of papers that Satoru must have been going through before work. There’s a desk littered in all sorts of textbooks and papers with pens scattered across the surface and a half-finished energy drink typical of any college student, while his kitchen has an odd mix of experiment-like specimen jars and food.

The pickles being beside a jar with a preserved squid in it has to be some sort of curse.

Why are the pickles on the counter in this heat anyway?

You shake your head and continue peering around, taking in the Digimon plush sitting atop a cabinet and a small stack of very old, very tattered, Yu-Gi-Oh cards. You wouldn’t have gathered from talking just how nerdy he is, but it’s pretty cute and the shack has a very homely feel once you move past the squid in a jar.

“I like it,” you smile, eyes settling on a photo of who you presume is likely a young Satoru in Scuba gear sitting on the back of a boat. You’re only reminded that you’re still dripping wet when Satoru opens the fridge near you and a cool breeze hits your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms.

“Thanks,” he grins, setting a couple of bottles of water on the counter. “Let’s get you something warmer.”

You nod, following close behind him as he makes his way to a dresser near his bed, pulling it open and digging through it. “I don’t think I have anything your size,” he mumbles, pulling out a plain red shirt and tossing it towards you. “Here,” he tosses a pair of shorts at you as well, shrugging. “These have a drawstring.”

You nod, thanking him as he strips his own shirt off to change. You turn away to head for the only door in the shack which you assume is the bathroom before you can get distracted by the muscles rippling along his back.

You quickly get changed, smoothing the wrinkled shirt down over your hips. Going commando isn’t ideal, but it’s better than being soaked. Maybe if you just leave your clothes in the back seat of your car they’ll dry faster in the sun.

You re-emerge from the washroom, feeling fresher, albeit a bit self-conscious in Satoru’s baggy clothes.

He looks up from where he was hunched over his laptop, strands of white hair falling into his vision as water drips down his cheek. His eyes widen slightly as he looks you over, eyes lingering on the way the oversized shirt hangs over your hips. “Looks good on you,” he murmurs genuinely, lightly drumming his fingers along the side of his computer.

“You think so?”

He smirks, but there’s something sincere within this that every sly grin he’s shot you today has otherwise lacked. “I know so.”

Your cheeks warm as you return his smile. The air grows tense with thoughts that neither of you need to read too far into in order to understand, and you’re increasingly glad you let this overly cocky man with a surprisingly genuine interest in your fun little activity join you for the day. You kind of hope this isn’t a one-time thing, honestly. You could see yourself spending a lot of time with him.

“So,” he grins. “The next pier.”

“Right,” you agree, averting your gaze from those gorgeous seas of blue within his irises. “It said Hayman, right?”

“Yeah, it must be near Hayman Boulevard. It’s a road a bit south of here. It ends at the shoreline, there’s probably a pier there.”

“Let’s do it.” You grab your keys from the pocket of the shorts Satoru had lent you, heading for his front door.

“I’m bringing towels just in case, this time. Oh! And a shovel.”

“Good call,” you chuckle.

As you begin to head to the south, the sun gets higher in the sky, growing hotter until your car air conditioner isn’t doing you any favors and you almost miss being cold and wet. The drive to the pier is also so short that you barely get to enjoy what coolness the pitiful A/C can provide, stepping out of your car again to face another pier, this one with a gazebo at the end.

“House bridge,” you breathe in understanding as the phrase clicks at the sight. You lead the way past a colorful trail marker and down the old pier, grimacing as some of the boards wobble beneath your sandals and creak when Satoru steps on them behind you. “So old,” you murmur to yourself as you stop at the end of the pier beneath the cover of the Gazebo roof.

Your white-haired companion agrees with a hum, reaching a hand beneath his shirt to scratch at his chest, revealing a portion of his abdomen. Before you know it, you’re caught up staring at the snail trail of pale white hair that curls beneath the waistband of his swim trunks. You blink to yourself when his shirt falls. God, how did he get blessed with everything? Good looks and an endearing personality, not to mention he’s sweet and funny- his only sin seems to be knowing that he’s a full package and having the ego to match.

Before he catches you getting hung up on him again, you begin circling the outer edge of the Gazebo. “This is kinda like geocaching, it’s fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, except for the fact that nothing can be above five feet since a kid hid the geocache.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess so, huh?”

You lean down to look beneath the railings for the metallic glimmer of a key, though you can’t imagine it would remain hidden here all these years later. It’s fairly open and there’s way too many seagulls overhead to not see a shiny thing and plummet down to add it to a nest. Still, if nothing else, you’re just having a good time.

After circling a couple of times to no avail, you begin looking upwards to see if the kid climbed the railing, but you can’t find a hint of a key. “I think we’re SOL,” you sigh.

“Maybe we’re looking for another drawing?”

“You think?”

He shrugs with a lopsided smile. “Who knows?”

Something in the way he says it makes you narrow your eyes for a moment, but you brush it off and begin searching for a somewhat key-shaped carving again, when something catches your eye. “What’s that?”

Satoru follows the line of where you’re pointing at the beams above, where there’s something colorful shoved between two beams. He jumps and grabs the beams, lifting himself up just enough that he can grab it.

You’re too busy ogling his biceps to really notice that he’s holding it out to you.

“You alright?” He grins.

Snatching the item from his outstretched hand, you ignore him and unravel it. It’s an old piece of paper that’s been taped with masking tape in order to attempt to preserve it, though water has still managed to seep through it and cause the markers used on this to bleed. The outside of the roll of paper has blue, yellow, orange, and red, while the inside has another drawn photo of a key, but that’s it. No words, and no other clues.

“It’s just a drawing,” you hum, flipping the paper over a number of times.

“Did the water get rid of words, maybe?”

“I don’t think so,” you mutter as Satoru leans over you, the heat of his body causing you to shiver at such a close distance despite the sweltering warmth of the day. You turn back towards him, holding the paper between you as you contemplate what it could mean. “Maybe the colors mean something?” You posit.

Something sparkles behind his eyes as he shrugs. “Maybe.”

How unhelpful. Given Satoru’s lack of insight, you take a look around the Gazebo, but this rolled paper is the only evidence of anything colorful within the gazebo itself, so it has to be- Your brow raises, lips pursing as your gaze lands on the trail marker you passed earlier that has matching colors.

“What about that?” You point towards the pole, flipping the paper to hold it up.

“Well, shit.” Satoru compares the two, nodding. “Come on, then!” He grins as he grabs your hand, dragging you along with him as he jogs down the worn pier. Boards creak beneath your feet, but you’re caught up on the way his hand envelops yours, connecting like pieces that just fit. Like maybe they even belong. Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you giggle when Satoru comes to a halt at the grassy shoreline, looking the trail marker post up and down. Just like the paper, the pole has a stripe of blue at the bottom, then yellow, orange, and red.

“I told you it’s like geocaching.”

“I just can’t believe all this stuff is still here,” Satoru comments, his hand remaining clasped around yours. His skin is calloused, but his grip on you is soft, almost gentle. “You said the map looks old, right?”

You nod, separating your grip from him to circle the pole. “Do you see a key?”

He hums in thought as you poke around the pole, kneeling down and sticking your fingers into a small opening cut into the metal. “Not up here,” he frowns, watching what you’re up to.

You can’t see what you’re doing, but can feel something against your fingers and just barely manage to get a hold on a piece of tape, pulling out a piece of masking tape attached to a small key. “Found it!” You exclaim, a thrilled smile taking over.

Grinning, Satoru tugs you close to him, squeezing your shoulders. “We’re having better luck than I thought with this.”

You twist your head to get a better view of the handsome man, the sun gleaming on his snowy locks. “We are,” you agree as your cheeks warm with the way he’s looking at you. You can’t deny just how hot Satoru really is. It’s not just his stunning looks, either. Between his charm and cheesy jokes and just how easy he is to talk to, you could see yourself getting close to him. Hell, there’s an itch in the back of your mind that his lips look kissable and honestly? It takes you a moment to convince yourself that now’s not the time.

Turning your attention back to the key, you hold the small piece of metal with a string of tape attached closer to yourself to get a better view of it. It’s smaller than even a mail key and the teeth on it are surprisingly uncomplicated, as though whatever it’s guarding isn’t all that secure.

In fact, it might be made out of a flimsy metal, or maybe even a sturdy plastic. Either way, it looks… like a toy.

You suppose it’s fitting of your crayon map.

“This looks like it’s from an old jewelry box I had when I was a kid. It had a little dancing ballerina in it and played music when it was open.”

Satoru nods. “I think I know what you mean. My mom had one.”

You smile softly up at him, something about the little bits and pieces of his life that he divulges as the day goes on gradually warming you up to him.

“Alright, well I guess that just leaves us with ‘Boot Island’,” you state, pulling the map from the pocket of the shorts you’d borrowed from Satoru. “It’s supposed to be here,” you point to the spot on the unfolded map where a red ‘X’ is scrawled, “but honestly based on the map, that could be anywhere off the coast of Kill Devil Hills,” you sigh.

“Well, it’s probably shaped like a boot, right?”

“There’s like four boot-shaped islands,” you point out. “And I don’t know how we’d even find it when we get there. There’s no instructions after that.”

Satoru reaches around you to pull the map from your hands, pulling out his phone to compare it to a real map of the area. “The last two spots we went to on the map were pretty close together, the kid couldn’t have gone far, right?” Satoru observes, pointing between Avalon Beach and the Gazebo you’re standing in front of. He zooms out on his phone and lo and behold, the closest island is… sort of boot-shaped. “Voila,” he grins. “We head to West 5th, then we can paddleboard from there.”

You hum in agreement, though you aren’t sure what you’re meant to do past that. By all means, it’s a small island, but you’ll still be digging all day just to find this thing with so little instruction.

Satoru seems even more determined than you though, his happy-go-lucky attitude and boyish grin lighting the way back to your car as though the sun above wasn’t already doing it for you. It seems that’s just the kind of guy he is, never too worried about anything and just enjoying whatever life throws at him, even if it’s business school.

“So, why do your parents want you to take over their business?” You ask as you hop back in your car and buckle your seatbelt.

“It’s like my dad’s one big expectation,” he sighs, a forlorn expression settling over his features that dulls the very light you were just admiring.

“What business is it?”

“He owns the airport here.”

“Oh, which one?” You tilt your head as you turn down a road.

“All of them,” he shrugs. “As well as like… everything… else,” he mumbles the last part, grimacing as he stares out the window.

“Everything else?” You query, unsure exactly what that’s even meant to mean.

He sighs. “Yeah, he uh…” He waves his hand dramatically. “He bought out most of the OBX commercial property,” he explains. “So yeah, everything. Pretty much,” he mutters, pulling his sunglasses back out from his pocket to block his eyes as though he suddenly remembered they exist again.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you offer as you pull up to the end of the cul-de-sac he’d directed you to, although there doesn’t appear to be any public areas to reach the water, so you’re not sure what he’s planning.

“No, I-” He sighs, lifting his glasses up for a moment to rub at his eyes before dropping them back down to the bridge of his nose. “It’s just tough, I guess. Being expected to take over the whole ‘Gojo’ name around here.”

Gojo? Even you’ve heard the name and you moved here pretty late into your teens, only to move away for school. “Could you not do both? Business and marine biology?”

He laughs dryly. “I appreciate it, but nah. My dad’s never around, he’s always busy. I won’t have time to surf, or dive, or anything really.”

You frown at the genuine disheartenment that he exudes. “I’m sorry, Satoru.”

He flashes you a smile as thanks, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, maybe I can at least swap some of the businesses over to more ocean-friendly waste or something, right?” He states as though it’s a sort of silver lining, though his tone remains dejected.

“Maybe,” you agree with a tight-lipped smile.

He pats your shoulder gently. “C’mon.”

You nod, hopping from the driver’s seat and staring out at the water. A fence blocks the shoreline, which you can just barely make out through the houses along the street. “Satoru, we can’t just trespass.”

“It’s fine,” he brushes you off, waving his hand through the air. “I know the people that live here,” he explains as he pulls the paddleboards from your car. He tosses them into the grass over the fence before hopping it himself.

“I really don’t think-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he grins, “just grab the shovel.”

You hesitate as your gaze flickers between the overly confident surfer, the shovel in your back seat that makes it look like you’re about to commit a crime, and the paddleboards you aren’t all that confident in.

“It’ll be fine,” he assures you again, “I promise.”

You examine his gaze for a moment before giving in, taking the shovel and locking your car behind you. Satoru offers you a hand as you hop over the fence, making sure you don’t hurt yourself before grabbing both paddleboards and the paddles and tucking them under his arms as he makes his way into the backyard of the house you’re closest to.

He navigates the yard as though he’s been here before as he mentions for you to watch your step, leading the way to a narrow dock that looks to have been built somewhat recently.

“Have you been here before?”

“My dad’s friend,” he explains vaguely as he points a thumb over his shoulder to the house behind you both. “He won’t mind.”

You’re not sure why he didn’t start with that, or why you had to trespass in that case, but it does ease your worries. Satoru sets either board down at the edge of the dock, sitting and dipping his feet in as he waits for you to join him.

You approach the water with a bit less confidence, comfortable to dip your feet in, though you wish you’d pushed for the kayak you originally wanted, rather than settling for a paddleboard. Still, it can’t be that hard, right? You know how to longboard, after all.

Satoru turns his attention to you as you realize he’s attached a cable of some sort to his ankle. “You done this before?”

You shake your head.

“No worries, it’s super easy. These are SUP boards so you stand on them, they’re really steady so don’t worry about balance.”

You nod, grateful that it seems your worries are for naught.

Then again, the island is far.

“Just attach this to your ankle,” he explains, handing you the cable attached to your board, “then you’re gonna kneel down on the board and stand up. You’ll want one foot on either side of the logo to keep your balance,” he explains, doing so himself to demonstrate. He uses the paddle to keep himself in place as he watches you shakily do the same. Once you’re standing, it actually doesn’t feel so bad, though. “There you gol!” He grins. “Now just adjust your paddle and you’re good to go.”

Once you’ve got yourself set and you’re feeling a bit more confident, you use the paddle to move forward a bit and slowly begin to relax into the motion. Aside from drips coming from the paddle itself, you aren’t even getting wet and the waves are calm today. It’s actually kind of fun.

You smile over at Satoru as you get the hang of it. “Okay, I think I’m good.”

“You’re doing great!” He grins, beckoning you to follow him. You manage to paddle up to him, keeping steady on the board as you glide along the water in his direction.

“How long do you think it’ll take to get there?” You query.

He hums in thought. “Fifteen minutes, maybe?” He replies, setting a steady pace.

You nod. “What’s on this island, anyway? Have you been?”

“Uh-” he pauses, narrowing his eyes behind his sunglasses as he considers your question. “It’s probably just a reserve, or somethin’. I don’t think there’s anyone there.” He shrugs, pushing himself forward with the paddle.

“Have you been?” You ask again.

“Once or twice,” he shrugs. “It’s been a bit. It’s nice, though. You’ll love the beach, it’s pretty untouched.”

You smile at the thought, hoping to have some time to enjoy the sights while you’re there. “So, no trespassing?”

“We weren’t trespassing, I swear!” He chuckles. “Have I led you wrong yet?”

“I guess not,” you admit with a small smile, rolling your eyes for the sake of dramatics.

“Well, there you go.”

Shaking your head with a smile, you focus on the expanse of open water ahead, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your skin. It’s a bit too warm as you feel perspiration running down your back, particularly now that you’re in baggy and oversized clothes, but the breeze hitting you from the side offsets the heat enough that it’s still enjoyable. On top of that, it’s just plain gorgeous and you’re forever grateful that your family decided to settle in North Carolina.

“Do you think we’re around halfway?” You ask with a pause to glance back at the dock you’d pushed off from a few minutes ago. As nice as it is, you’re getting eager to be back on land as the sea opens up beneath you the further out you get.

“Going too slow for you?” Satoru teases, using his paddle to splash some water up at your bare legs. It catches you off-guard and you just barely manage to catch yourself, blood roaring in your ears as you stare at the deep water below.

Trying to brush off your uncertainty, you tear your gaze from the waves lapping at your board which wobbles beneath you. “I was just curious,” you murmur in an effort to cover your uncertainty.

He chuckles as he pushes his board towards yours in an effort to tease you more easily. “I can speed up if you want, just say the word,” he grins with a sly smirk as his board collides with yours. He has no intention of throwing you off quite as much as it does, but his board knocks yours with enough force that you’re thrown off balance and just about off the board, too.

“Satoru!” You gasp, trying to catch yourself but the motion only causes your board to rock into his again. You stare down at the murky water below, fear jolting straight up your spine at the thought of being caught in the deep water. “Stop, please stop!”

His eyes widen as he senses your genuine distress and quickly reaches out to steady you with a hold on your arm. It sends him a bit off-balance as well, so he lowers you both until you’re kneeling shakily on the board, staring down at the sea beneath you. Your chest rises and falls unevenly as you shift to sit down with your knees beneath you, keeping yourself completely out of the water.

Satoru sits on the edge of his own board, his feet and shins dipping into the warm ocean waves. He keeps a grip on your board to keep it even and to keep you next to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” he scrambles, his eyes flickering across your face. “I forgot you don’t like water, I didn’t…” he trails off, regret swimming in the depths of his shimmering irises. “God, I’m a dumbass, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re fine,” you shake your head, shooting him an apologetic smile. “I should have told you back at the shop that I’m afraid, that's why I wanted a kayak. It’s just… deep water.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize, I’m the dumbass here. I wasn’t thinking.”

You offer him a smile. “It’s okay, really. It happens. I only told you I don’t like water, I didn’t tell you I’m afraid.”

Still, he sits there with a regretful frown on his lips, looking you over as one hand hovers in the air uncertainly while the other clutches your board. He isn’t quite sure how to comfort you, or what to do in this case. He doesn’t know you all that well, but he’s sure he doesn’t want this incident to muddle your thoughts on the day, or him.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he breathes again, his hand rising as he seems to contemplate offering you comfort, though he isn’t quite sure how to do it.

You reach out and take his hand, grateful for his support and understanding as he attempts to rectify the situation. “I didn’t fall in or anything, anyway,” you point out.

“I would have saved you, if you did,” he’s quick to add.

“Thanks, Satoru,” you chuckle as your heart begins to calm within your chest, no longer pumping in your ears. “Good thing I didn’t, though,” you point out in a more lighthearted tone. “You would have felt so bad.”

“Oh, I would’ve felt terrible,” he agrees. “You have no idea.”

You giggle, feeling a bit more comfortable with Satoru’s firm grip on your hand and the board. As you begin to relax again, his thumb works small circles into the skin of the back of your hand. He watches and keeps you steady as you shift to sit in the same position as him, your legs settling between his within the water.

“Can I ask why?”

“Why I’m afraid of water?”

He nods.

You chew on your lip, nodding as you stare down at the spot where your hands are joined. “My parents had me take swimming lessons before we moved here for-” you make a motion towards your surroundings, “- obvious reasons.” Chuckling, you shake your head. “It was fun and I liked it, but I slipped on the diving board and I almost drowned,” you explain ashamedly, shaking your head. “It’s stupid, but-”

“It’s not stupid,” he interrupts. “It happens.”

You lift your head, examining his expression. His brow is knit at the center of his face, a serious pout on his pretty lips. “Thanks, Satoru.”

He nods, squeezing your hand. “Shit, sorry I dragged you into the water at the pier earlier, too.”

“It’s fine,” you brush it off. “I do like water, it’s just…”

“It can be a lot,” he fills in the blanks.

You nod, offering a tight-lipped smile.

“Is paddleboarding okay for you, then?”

You nod again. “It’s fun once you get the hang of it.”

He cracks a sweet smile, before his eyes light up as an idea pops into his mind. “Would you wanna sit on the front of my board? We can hook yours to mine and I’ll just tow it, but it’ll be pretty steady.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Might take a bit longer to get there, though.”

You nod slowly, grateful for his accommodation of your fears and willingness to bounce back so quickly. He’s pretty sweet, in spite of his teasing. “That sounds like fun, yeah,” you agree, letting him help you detach your board from your ankle so he can hook it to the back of his board before helping you shift to sit in front of him.

It is slower on his board and the drag from yours is pretty severe, but he doesn’t complain. He’s completely content watching you drag your hand through the water as you sit cross-legged at the front of his board, sharing light conversation on the way there. You learn quickly that Satoru absolutely loves sea creatures, but he particularly loves shrimp and would keep a tank of them himself if he had more time.

He also goes on a very long tangent to explain the unique way that Pipa frogs give birth (through their back, ew), which was not on your bingo card of things you would find out this summer, but you certainly did.

In fact, you’re not sure anyone would have that on their bingo card.

Either way, you shake the thought as you near the island. With a shove of his paddle into the sand, Satoru pushes the board ashore and offers his hand to help you up from your seated position. He pulls both boards further up the sandy beach to make sure they won’t wash away before stretching his arms up over his head. His shirt rides up, revealing a sheen of sweat over the ridges and valleys of his abs.

You smile to yourself as his shirt lowers once more, raising your gaze to find him watching you with a smug smirk. Your cheeks warm as you avert your gaze, immediately making your way further ashore before he can confront you, or say a word.

The island is fairly small, all things considered. Maybe about four blocks total, which is more than easily explored in less than an hour, except that you have to assume your treasure is buried. There’s no way you can dig up every square inch of the island in search of an old music box. Even with company, that sounds like it would take forever.

Tossing the shovel over his shoulder, Satoru takes a look around, as well. It looks like he was right about the island having no one on it. It doesn’t even seem like many people step foot on it at this point, most of the sand and trees going untouched. The shrubbery thickens to the center of the island, though the thin ‘L’ shape of the island doesn’t allow much space for the greenery to truly flourish. It seems as though it’s primarily mollusks and birds that have found their way out here, along with some palms and shrubs.

“You’re right, it’s gorgeous out here,” you comment, rolling the sleeves of the oversized tee you’re wearing up to your shoulders as the sun beats down on you. “It’s kinda nice being somewhere so quiet.”

There’s no sounds of engines, no chatter of the outside world. It’s a far reach from what you’re used to at college, letting you take a breath of fresh air without the reminder of civilisation and responsibility.

Satoru nods, glancing to either side of the island. “That’s the best part about the ocean and these little islands,” he agrees, making the executive decision to lead the way towards one of the far ends of the island. He turns back towards you, a sort of bittersweet smile spread across his lips as he walks backwards. “No one owns them.”

There’s a pang in your chest at the implication, but you follow after Satoru regardless, taking in the sights of the small island. A pair of seagulls peek their drowsy eyes open at the sound of approaching footsteps, though neither move as you continue to keep your distance. A smaller bird with long legs, an orange beak, and a stout build follows the tide as it comes in, doing quick pecks at the sand as the tide recesses back to the ocean.

“That’s a plover,” Satoru explains as he catches you watching the small creature’s movements. “They eat worms and little crustaceans.”

“Do they not like water?” You query as the bird curiously backs up anytime the water nears it.

“They don’t mind it,” he states, “but they don’t swim.”

“Amen,” you mutter, earning a genuine laugh from your white-haired counterpart.

You grin in response, continuing to follow him further along the shore. The resplendent rays of the sun sparkle along the waves and tidepools at the edge of the island. A variety of mollusks and small insects send bubbles to the surface of the still pools, gleaming a beautiful sun-kissed golden color.

“I could stay here forever,” you mumble, mostly to yourself. Satoru still catches your words, his eyes softening as they crinkle at the corners. His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he follows your line of sight out to the horizon.

“Yeah. Sometimes I forget how lucky I am to be out here, you know?”

You nod along. “I’m glad I got to hang out for a couple of years before leaving for college.”

“Do you think you’d come back?”

You shrug. “The world is my oyster.” You flash him a cheesy grin, knowing he’ll eat up your cheap marine life joke as he perks up at the mere mention of sealife. “But yeah, I could. Depends on what job I can get out of school. So, maybe.”

He nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he mulls something over. Setting the thought aside, he drops the tip of the shovel into the sand, leaning on it. “Alright, let’s get to work.”

You lift a brow at his optimism. “What, are you gonna start here and dig up the whole island?”

“Nah,” he chuckles. “Though it doesn’t sound like too bad of a day with you,” he offers, his tone shifting to put more meaning behind his words as you feel that familiar tension crackle between you.

You teasingly scoff, brushing him off. “You use that on everyone you flirt with?”

“Nah, just the ones that put up with my frog facts.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles in the back of your throat. “Yeah, I’m sure that one always goes over well.”

“Give me a couple more hours, then we’ll see,” he grins, running a hand through his hair in an effort to move it from his line of sight and get a better view of your laugh as you shake your head at the cheesy man standing in front of you.

“Alright, alright,” you shake your hands between you both as you come down from your giggles. “How do you think we tackle this?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs honestly. “Figured we’d just look around.”

“Satoru, there’s gotta be-” you pause, looking back the way you came, “like a mile of ground to cover just on the shores alone. There’s no way we can just look around.”

“Do you have any better ideas?” He leans towards you with a knowing smirk as your expression falls.

“No.”

“Well, let’s start walking, then.” He leads the way down the shore, scrutinizing every little detail of each tree, rock, or lump on the ground in an effort to discern if it could maybe be your treasure.

You follow shortly behind with the map in-hand, but you can’t make out even what side of the island the treasure is buried on based solely off of the shaky crayon drawing. As far as you can tell, if the treasure is still here at all, you’re on your own. Folding it back up and shoving it in the pockets of the shorts that Satoru lent you, you look over every tree or bump in the ground in hopes of finding some sort of clue, or sign.

“Do you think it’s that?” You ask, pointing to a small gathering of dirt near a tree.

“Maybe?” Satoru tilts his head, throwing the shovel into the dirt without question and beginning to dig. He declines any offers for help, but after a good few piles of dirt and sand stack up, he sticks the shovel upright in the sand again. “Or, maybe not,” he sighs, a sheen of sweat gathered on his biceps.

Lifting your gaze from the distraction of his veiny forearms, you sigh. “I guess maybe we should take a look at the whole island before we dig up every bump in the ground.”

Satoru’s grin is a little bit too knowing of your distracted stare as he hums in agreement. “Lead the way, pretty girl.”

Fighting your bashful smile, you cast a glance up at him, unable to help the way your lips quirk up at the corners and a quiet giggle bubbles up in your chest. Funny to think that somewhere between the constant flirting and the quiet genuine moments shared between you, his flirting started working.

Like, a lot.

Throwing the shovel back over his shoulder, Satoru proceeds to fall in step with you, asking questions about your life. Anything from what you study, to where you’d like to work, your bucket list vacations, and the music you listen to.

After rattling off a list of your favorite musicians and bands, you repeat the question back to him, but his mind seems to be elsewhere, distracted by something in the tidepools at the edge of the island. Mindlessly, he makes his way towards a bright orange blemish in an otherwise natural landscape, where he kneels down to take a closer look.

You follow suit, kneeling beside him as you get a better look at what caught his eye. Doing what it can to hide from the snowy-haired man’s presence is a small hermit crab, attempting to hide in what seems to be a bright orange thimble. Satoru carefully sets the shovel at his side, using both hands to gently nudge the creature onto his palms.

“Poor thing,” he mutters, running a thumb over the orange plastic it’s trying to take cover in, though it can’t hide well in the man-made shell.

“Could we find a new shell for it?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “but this…” he pauses, tilting his head to take a look at the crab, “this girl won’t last long out here anyway.”

“Why not?” You query, curious as to how he figured out so quickly that the crab is a girl.

“She’s not native to the OBX. This is someone’s pet that was dumped here.”

“Oh,” you pout, looking around the edge of the beach and picking up a shell to check if it’s occupied. Satisfied that it isn’t, you set it in Satoru’s palms with the crab. “Well, one problem at a time, right?”

He blinks at you, a gleam in his eye that you don’t recognize. “Right,” he quietly agrees, a small smile spreading across his lips.

“What kind of crab is it?” You ask as you push to your feet and begin doing loops of the surrounding beach in search of more shells.

Satoru’s eyes swim with elation at the question. “It’s a Caribbean Hermit Crab.”

“Far from home!” You comment as you pick up a small dark brown shell.

“A bit,” he agrees. “They also get called Purple Pinchers because they turn a bit purple as they get older, especially on their claws.”

With three shells now in your hands, you step back towards Satoru and the crab, leaning down until you can get a better look at the little creature peering up at you. Sure enough, she has just a hint of purple on her bigger claw. “She’s cute!” You comment as you set the three additional shells around her.

He nods as you jog back to the edge of the shore in search of more unoccupied shells. “She’s probably still a baby. Younger than ten.”

“Ten? How old do they live?”

He shrugs. “Twenty to thirty years with proper care.”

“What? Really?”

He smiles at your gaping reaction. “They’re hearty little crabs.”

“Oh my god, I had no idea,” you gasp as you head back to drop another shell into Satoru’s palms.

He chuckles, flashing you a toothy grin before setting the crab and all of the shells down a short distance from the both of you, allowing her the space to be comfortable while she tries out her new home options.

You take a seat beside Satoru under the shade of an overhead palm, wrapping your arms around your knees as you both watch the little crab come out of her hiding spot. The surfer leans back on his palms, adjusting so that his arm is just a bit behind you, allowing his side to brush yours. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed as you shoot him a smile.

“You’re really passionate about this, huh?”

There’s a quiet contemplation to Satoru’s words as he replies, like a sort of resignation that it’ll only ever be a passion, not a pursuit. “Yeah, I am.” Vulnerability weaves its way between the three words as though it’s a plague to him, something he’ll need to shed.

“Listen, I know we just met and I don’t know you that well, but I think you should go for it.”

“For… marine biology?”

“Yeah, I mean look at you!” You point out, waving a hand between both him and the little crab who’s wiggling into her second shell option. “The world would be missing out.”

He chuckles, somewhat wryly. “I dunno.”

“What do you have to lose, Satoru?”

He tilts his head to look at you. Really look at you. The blue oceans of his irises swim with wonder, questions, intrigue, and uncertainty. Doubts glide like sharks preying on his own passion through his mind. While he fights some sort of mental battle, you don’t back down, staring back at him with a determined intensity, one that threatens to melt under the intensity of his handsome gaze.

You can’t be sure if he finds what he’s looking for, but he sighs and throws his head back, staring up at the palm overhead. His hair falls back over his toned shoulders, blowing aside in the light breeze of the incoming evening. “I guess I could think about it,” he finally agrees. “But I’d definitely lose my job.”

“Is that because your dad owns the shop?”

“Yup,” he nods, popping the ‘P’.

“You really think he’d make them fire you?”

He taps his fingers along the sand in thought. “I wanna say no, but since I’m their only child and he wants this whole thing to be a family business, kinda, yeah.” He stares back out at the ocean, briefly checking on the crab. “I definitely can’t tell him until I’m done college,” he chuckles wryly again. “But… yeah. Maybe,” he shrugs with a lighter expression, as though it’s something he hasn’t even considered until this moment.

“I think it’s worth at least thinking about,” you offer, pointing a finger towards the little crab beginning to scuttle away in her new shell.

Satoru hums in acknowledgement, both to the crab on the run and your statement as he pushes to his feet. He pockets the plastic thimble to recycle later and scoops the crab back up.

“What’s your plan for her?”

“Dunno. Guess I could keep her,” he shrugs, unsure of what to do with her now that he has her delicately within his palms.

“That would be so cute,” you coo with a sweet little pout.

As though your pout is the icing on top that breaks his resolve, he smiles. “Yeah, I’ll keep her.” He scratches at the back of his head as he tries to figure out what to do with the hermit crab so that he can make sure it doesn’t die out here, while simultaneously not stressing it out in his hands. “Uh, do you remember if your paddleboard had one of those bag attachments on it?”

“It did!”

“Great, let’s head back to those, then.”

Luckily, the island isn’t too big and you’d only made it about halfway up the island when you found the little crab, so you're pretty close to where you started anyway. As the paddleboards come into sight, you cautiously drag yours further ashore and grab the bag attachment, pulling it off the board and sliding a small cooler from it.

“That's perfect,” Satoru hums, scooping some damp sand into the bottom of the cooler with a piece of driftwood before setting the crab inside. No longer being handled, she peers back up at the both of you from within the gorgeous pale beige shell she chose.

“How long can we leave her in there?”

“Probably not too long,” Satoru hums as he sets the cooler down under some shade. “I don't want her to overheat, and who knows how long it’s been since she last ate.”

“Maybe we should just head back, we probably won’t find anything out here anyway,” you shrug, throwing a hand through the air in an effort to make your point, when something catches your eye. You carefully rub at your eyes, ensuring you don't smudge your makeup while simultaneously making sure you aren't just seeing things in the heat. “What's that?”

The surfer follows your gaze as you squint at the trees. Hidden within the trees a short distance from where you're standing, something is catching on the low rays of the evening sun as it sets, casting a gleam of brilliant green in your direction each time it tilts just right.

Satoru leans on the shovel at his hip. “Let’s go take a look,” he urges with a sort of simpering smile that makes you cock your head just the slightest bit.

He isn't far behind as you slip into the cover of the trees, the sounds of bugs and birds shuffling in the brush serving as the only soundtrack to your adventure as the waves and wind are dulled by the cover. As you near the gleaming object, you can't help but laugh.

“Oh my god, we found it!” You grin as you turn back towards Satoru, whose eyes are alight with anticipation.

He jogs up beside you with a grin to match yours, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and squeezing. “No fuckin’ way,” he laughs in a giddy tone.

Before you, unceremoniously nailed to the bark on a palm tree, is a holographic green Yu-Gi-Oh card. Well, most of it, anyway. It’s been taped in an effort to laminate it, but even then the harsh weather has gotten the best of it, and something seems to have nibbled the corners, sending water damage straight up the center of the art.

“Green Gadget…” you read the card out, laughing to yourself as you recall seeing a stack of the very same cards on Satoru’s desk. “Do you know much about Yu-Gi-Oh? Was this some kid’s prized possession?”

Satoru shrugs. “I had cards-”

“Have cards,” you cut in, correcting him.

He playfully clicks his tongue. “Yeah, yeah, I have cards, but I dunno much about them anymore. I’m a Digimon guy.”

You nod, staring down at the base of the tree. “Try digging here!” You exclaim excitedly.

The shovel is in the sand before you can finish your sentence, hitting something almost immediately.

“No way this is all still here,” you shake your head in disbelief as Satoru digs around a small music box, just as you had predicted. Pulling the key from the pocket of Satoru’s shorts you’re still wearing, you kneel down to the spot where he sets the box, which you can only imagine was once a beautiful oak, now worn and weathered over the years of being buried beneath the surface of the island. Setting the shovel aside, Satoru takes a seat beside you, watching with a giddy grin that's far too excited for something so silly.

As the key clicks within the box, you take a second to smile at your treasure hunting companion. He shares the moment too, his breath warm on your face as he sits comfortably at your side. His grin widens as his eyes flicker to your lips for a moment.

“Go for it,” he urges in a low tone. You chew your lower lip softly before flipping the lid open.

Hidden within are a number of cheap plastic toys. Some old fake gold pirate coins, some of those Mardi Gras style bead necklaces that used to be everywhere, a water-logged paper crown that practically dissolves in your hand, and…

Your eyes widen as the final item in the box comes into sight. “You’re kidding,” you gasp, your mouth agape in an ‘O’ as you shoot Satoru a disbelieving stare.

A Digimon DVD.

He bursts into genuine, unadulterated laughter, falling back onto the sand as he covers his face while he laughs.

“You made this map?” you gasp as giggles bubble in the back of your throat, his laughter completely contagious.

“Yeah, when I was like ten,” he manages between fits of laughter.

Laughing along with him warms your heart as you throw your head back in disbelief, laughing over the treasure hunt that you’ve been following while unknowingly being nudged along by the very creator himself.

As Satoru finally catches his breath and finds the space to talk, he rubs his face as though the smile physically hurts. “I thought that map was looong lost,” he explains, shaking his head. “Or that someone had thrown it out or something,” he shrugs, unable to stop beaming at you. “So imagine my shock when the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen comes into the shop with my stupid map,” he explains, waving a hand towards the Digimon DVD.

“I can’t believe this was yours,” you breathe as heat rises from the base of your neck up to your cheeks.

“I can’t believe it’s seeing the light of day and not because of me-” he pauses, “- well, mostly not.” Shrugging, he continues. “I was already planning on seeing if I could get your number, but a whole day chasing my own treasure map?” He shakes his head. “I mean, what more could a guy ask for?”

He shakes his head again, choosing to leave out the fact that he damn-near thought you had to be his soulmate and that this was a sign from some higher authority when you actually flirted back.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you knew where it was the whole time!” You laugh, shoving his chest as your heart stutters over his increasingly sweet and heartwarming words. He chuckles, dramatically falling back against the sand as though your playful shove did damage.

“Where’s the mystery in telling you?” he shrugs, sitting back up and reaching into the box within your palms to pull the Digimon DVD out. The art is completely faded from the water seeping into the box over the years, but when he opens the case, the DVD itself seems alright. He grins to himself, turning towards you. “Your treasure, my dear.” He presents the DVD while putting on his best goofy voice.

You can’t help your grin, turning your head to try to hide it from him. Satoru pulls his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes softening as he sits just a short distance from you. One hand still holds the DVD out to you, while his other hand hovers near you.

Slowly, his hand raises to your chin, his fingers gliding along the line of your jaw, tilting your head back towards him. Your eyes are gleaming with elation as they flicker between his own bright blue irises, down to his lips. His smile twitches upwards just slightly before he closes the distance, sending your heart soaring.

His lips are softer than you expected, unmoving at first as though testing the waters. He pulls back just slightly, blinking to look at you. Somewhat dazed, you smile against his lips as they brush yours again. You don’t have time to think before he’s kissing you more intently. His hand slides up to cup your cheek as he tilts your head up to kiss you more passionately.

When he pulls back, you both have kiss-swollen lips, parted as you reach out to grab his shirt. “Shit…” he chuckles, averting his gaze for a moment as though all that flirty confidence has converted to nerves. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

“I’m glad you did,” you admit, sliding your hand down his toned chest.

He leans back just enough to give you both space to breathe from the tension that’s sparked between you. “How long did you say you’re here for? The summer?”

“Yeah, about two months.”

“I can work with that,” he hums to himself, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on your lips. “You busy tonight?”

“You tell me,” you hum slyly. A lopsided and incredibly charming smile befalls Satoru as he hops to his feet, offering his hand to help you up. Tossing the DVD inside the box and shutting it, you take his hand and fall into step beside him as he intertwines your fingers.

“I know a great little diner,” he beams, “you’ll love it. But uh, first-” he chuckles, “- quick pitstop at the pet store?”

You gasp. “Oh right! What are you gonna name her?”

“Dunno. Gadget maybe?”

“After the Yu-Gi-Oh card?” You giggle.

“Seems fitting,” he shrugs one shoulder, giving your hand a playful shake. “You have no idea how excited ten-year-old me would be to know that the dumb map I put together got me a pet and a girl.”

You can’t help but laugh at that remark. As silly as it is, as silly as he is, he’s right, and Gadget is a pretty cute name for the little crab. You scoop her up into your arms in the cooler bag as Satoru prepares the paddleboards, readying a spot for you and his Hermit Crab on the front of his board while he tucks the old music box of treasure into the paddleboard bag and secures it.

“Hey, before we leave-” Satoru leans down before pushing off, pressing his lips to yours again. You can feel the curve of his smile moments before he pulls away. When you look up at him with a mirror of his grin, he just shrugs. “Needed my fix.”

You shake your head with a sweet giggle as he pushes the board off from the sand. You keep Gadget close to your chest, carefully watching over her as you traverse the small expanse of water between the ‘Boot Island’ and the Outer Banks. Someday, several years into the future after Satoru’s first official day as a marine biologist, that very same little Hermit Crab will watch over you as Satoru gets down on one knee under gorgeous pink and orange sunset rays and asks you to be his treasure.

main masterlist || bisque's summer bash masterlist

𓇼 a/n ; i had so much fun with this sweet little oneshot, thank you bisque for the collab <33 i hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

the next chapter of my series wyk is my next priority now that i'm starting to recover from sickness, but i'll still need a bit, so bear with me :) thank you for all the love and well wishes, though, i appreciate it so much <33

writing, dividers & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. do not repost, translate, or copy.

[leafynightmares]

— Act like you love me , Celebrity!au

Summary. After a messy tabloid scandal damages his public image, Gojo Satoru — a globally famous actor and model known for his flirtatious persona and chaotic interviews — is forced by his management team to enter a fake relationship to rehab his image.

You, a normal set assistant with no social media presence, are chosen as the “mystery partner” because you saved him from a falling light rig during a photoshoot and went viral for it. You want nothing to do with him, but the payout for faking this relationship for six months could change you and your family's life.

— pairing. celebrity Gojo Satoru x f!reader

— content/tags. fake dating trope , eventual smut , eventual angst , celebrity au

— info. to join the taglist for the upcoming chapters comment under this post.

art by @/_3aem on twt

— ACT I: Lights, Camera, Fake it.

— ACT II: [soon..]

[leafynightmares]

Brooklyn Baby

art in the banner is by @e0308r on X

pairings - dad's best friend! Satoru x F! reader

summary - you've got the opportunity of a lifetime for an audition for Julliard, your dream, but there's just one problem, the hotel in New York has booked your room and has nothing available. Good news, your dad's best friend Satoru Gojo shows up and offers you to stay in his suite since he's in town on business. But there's two big problems - one, you've wanted him since you can remember, and two, he can't stand how fucking pretty you are. He can't want you - and nothing can come from it - imagine what your dad Suguru would do if anything ever happened between you!? So nothing will happen - right?

warnings- MDNI- taboo tropes, age gap (Satoru is 41, reader is 22) reader is Suguru's daughter, forbidden relationships, obsessive Satoru, mutual pining, sexual tension, explicit smut and light angst- this chap - a fuck ton of tension, drinking, oral (m and f recieving) spitting, fingering, cum drinking, multiple rounds, creampie, mating press, feelings and emotions, light angst, Satoru being a daddy, size difference/size kink. -WC- 10.6k wc

This is gonna have four parts instead of three so I'm not rushing anything! <3 comments/rbs appreciated if you enjoy :')

<<<part one - part three>>> (soon)

Part Two

To watch your fingers dance across those keys is like nothing Satoru Gojo can really explain, he’d always known your talent, but maybe you needed just a little support, because as you peek at him sitting rows back behind the judges, you smile. So pretty and lit up, despite the mess you were last night, bright eyed from the espresso he’d made sure to get you. 

It didn’t really take much convincing, once Satoru puts his mind to something, it just happens for him. He walked in with a bright smile, his shades firmly on the bridge of his nose, suit on and perfectly tailored. The female judges and the male judges swooned so bad you think they’d let him into Julliard for charisma and looks alone, singing his praises as they allowed you to try again.

Today you’re wearing a pretty black dress, the way it hugs your body is a cruel joke to Satoru, who’d had to jerk his cock in his room last night, remembering every bit of your kiss. The heat between your thighs, the way your skin felt soft like silk underneath his fingertips. Now he imagines you right on his lap in that piano bench, playing just for him.

He’s dumb, the way he feels like your composition is a song for him, like some idiot kid in love, not a grown fucking man. But the effects you have are undeniable, your eyes looking at him across the enormous theater. You play so beautifully you make the judges cry, your hands working right next to each other in a crescendo that echoes in the theater.

He can feel it, whatever emotions you’re having, poured into that song, so intense it’s hard for him to focus, until you come to an end and the judges deliberate, while you’re sitting there trembling. He just wants to hold you close, tell you how fucking perfect you are, clenching his hands into fists as he rests in one of the red blush chairs, studying your every movement.

Of course you pass the prelims this time, you’re eagerly running into his arms with a beautiful smile on your face, he picks you up and spins you into a huge hug. “Satoru, thank you!”

“It’s nothing. I’m proud of you.” You break down into tears at that, burying your face in your hands as he holds you close. “Shh, don’t cry.”

“That meant so much to me.” You’re hugging him tightly, never wanting to let go, and both of you try to ignore how good you feel against each other. He barely manages to pull back, smiling and tapping your nose.

“You’re insane at it, even better than I remember.”

“Oh thank you, I think you helped me by being here.” You take his hands in yours, and he looks down at them for a moment, resisting the urge to kiss every single one of your little fingers.

“Do you mind coming with me to these meetings? It won’t take too long,” Satoru asks later, an umbrella thrown right over both of your heads as you step out of the double doors, like it’s just an instinct he does so. “I don’t have a lot of time to take you back, but I could get you a different car?”

“No, no, I don’t mind at all,” you smile up at him, tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow, somehow the rain pattering around in droplets makes his scent even more apparent - whatever insanely expensive cologne he wears mixing with his natural, clean scent. Intoxicating as he leans closer. “What is it, you’re staring.”

“You look so happy now, it’s just nice.” He smiles casually, like every sentence he says doesn’t thoroughly fuck your brain chemistry up. Little things he does that you don’t think any guy you get with would bother to do.

“I am very, very happy because of you.”

“Nah, just got them to give you a chance, you’re still the one who got it done. So you have one more, they said?” You nod, the rain is bouncing right off his large clear umbrella, the cars rushing through the streets as you both stand there, far too close.

“Yes, that was the preliminary, then I have my final on Friday. I’m hoping dad will be able to make that one.”

“I’m sure he’ll try, why did he buy some french poodle anyway?” You giggle, shaking your head.

“I really don’t know, but I can’t say I’m upset at the company,” your voice drops just a little softer, looking up at him under your lashes. Satoru sighs, looking away then, your arm still snug against his, you feel him tense. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” It’s there, the words he doesn’t want to say, the thoughts of kissing you and having you fucking grinding on his lap last night in the back of that car.

“I should though. It was…”

“You were drunk, and upset.”

“You think that’s all it was?” His lids lower a bit, looking down at you, snowy lashes casting shadows over his perfect high cheek bones, his lips parted just a bit.

“What else can it be, sweetheart? I can understand how it happened for you, the problem is my response.”

His hands clench around that umbrella pole as the limousine pulls up, you feel how tense he is next to you. “Satoru, your response was not a problem-”

“It was a problem. And I need you to forget it, please.” You just manage a little nod. “I want you to be comfortable with me.”

“I am, that’s-”

“Come on.” He cuts you off again, you sigh, frustrated that he wants to just completely ignore everything that has happened between you both.

Does he regret it?

You slide into the back of the limo now, he steps in behind you, shaking out the umbrella, little droplets in his snowy locks, he brushes them out a bit, his thigh pressing against yours, it all feels far too good. “I should tell dad that I got the prelims done.”

“Yeah, he’d like that I’m sure,” Satoru brushes your damp strands of hair back behind your ears, expression unreadable, before pulling out his phone and calling someone. You talk to your dad during the quick ride over to an enormous skyscraper, just one of the many, many things the Gojo corporation owns. “You ready?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“It’s gonna be so boring.” You giggle a bit, the sound tightening his chest with far, far too much affection, he takes your hand in his and it just feels too natural, the way it fits in his own, so much so it’s difficult to remove it.

If it was just a kiss bothering him he would be better off, but your scent, the way you look at him, everything about you is too much. He knows after this he’ll have to just avoid being around you any longer, he’s teetering constantly on the edge. Again, in an elevator outlooking the streets below, all he can think of is pressing you against the glass and kissing you, to feel your lips again and again.

He shakes the thoughts off, he can’t think it, focusing on acting casual, when a few women greet him eagerly, ready with all his paperwork.

“Mr. Gojo!”

“Mr Gojo, here!”

“Hello, Mr. Gojo!

He smiles at them, looking at you then. “Can you get me a mocha latte, and her a french vanilla and something to eat please?”

“Of course Mr. Gojo!” They all sort of fight over who is getting Satoru’s coffee, he’s shaking hands with several men in suits almost as nice as his.

No one really dressed as good as Satoru.

“You didn’t have to ask for food for me,” you say when they bring you over lunch and hot, foamy drinks. 

“I’m dragging you around, might as well feed you.” He tousles your hair affectionately with a smile and a wink, and you again just feel like he thinks you’re a child.

Is that what you are to him?

Why does it bother you so much?

Soon you’re watching him enthusiastically gesturing in a glass meeting room, he shoots you a smile and a wink, and you smile back at him, enamored in his movements. He’s so loud with his laugh it echoes across the entire floor, you’re still sipping your coffee in one of the break rooms when he sits next to you, propping his feet up on the sparkling clean black table, you turn to look at him.

“Boring, huh?”

“It’s fine Satoru.”

“You call me that now, wasn’t I just Gojo before?” You get a little flustered, when he sets his legs down, a hand coming to rest on your thigh before he seems to think better of it, pulling it off, clearing his throat. “Is there a reason why?”

“I like your name, I like saying it I guess,” your voice gets quieter then, your hand coming over his knee, eyes locking. “Does it bother you?”

“No, just was curious,” instead of taking your hand off, his covers yours for a moment, every casual touch becoming far too easy. “I have one more meeting then we can head out of here. Wanna celebrate?”

“Should I, when I have one more to go?” Your brows knit together, he smooths the spot in between them with his thumb, smiling and being far, far too attractive when he stands, putting you face level with his chest. His dress shirt seems to have to stretch over his broad muscles, making your fingers itch to unbutton it.

“Of course you should, we can grab drinks - but you will have a limit of two.”

“A limit of two?” He nods, and you flush then. “Well, you’re probably right. I was kind of a mess.”

“It happens, at your age me and your dad were terrorizing the university.” You remember hearing far, far too many stories about it. “You’re a good kid if that’s your worst night, no jail stays or anything.”

A good kid.

The word makes you sick, he’s off again to another meeting, another assistant brings you more coffee, curiously studying you as if you are indeed some kid Satoru has dragged to work. You wonder what it would be like to be with him, shit you know could never, ever happen, shoving it down in the far recesses of your brain, as you pop in your earbuds and begin to listen to more music.

It’s about another hour, and the sky is beginning to darken in the floor to ceiling windows of the room, when finally Satoru walks back in, tugging his jacket back on and yawning. “Boring, boring.”

You eye him then, standing up and stretching just a bit, having sat in this gray leather spin chair for far too long. “How’d it go?”

“Perfect of course. C’mon, we’ll go celebrate, I know a good place.”

“You seem to know the city pretty well,” you mention, when you two head back over to the elevator, far too close together once more, the rain has stopped but the sky is all gray. “Do you come to New York a lot?”

“At least once every couple months, I have this building of course and most of my business meetings end up here.”

“Do you think that we’ll see each other?” He tenses at your question, the last thing he needs is to be around you alone more, when in two days he’s already slipped and jerked it to you - and kissed you. How far down the hole to hell did he really want to fall?

“I mean, I’m sure we’d be close at times, yes.”

“Maybe we can…” You trail off, are you asking your dad’s best friend on a fucking date right now, really? “I mean maybe… It'll be nice to have a familiar face, that's all.”

“You’ll have so many friends soon you won’t want to hang out with me I’m sure, all boring business here.” You play it off, the conversation is light and casual as he essentially pushes you off the topic, as he puts the divide greater and greater.

There’s still no talk of last night, when you two walk into the pretty bar it’s already the evening, he’s got a hand on the small of your back when you both push through the crowd, a calmer and much classier mix than the dive bar you got drunk in last night. It’s sleeker, the music is loud but not ear shattering, vibrating through your body as your heels click on the floor and you feel eyes darting your way.

Even the bartender greets him - Mr. Gojo! - and he’s giving her a smile far, far too fucking charming and easy. The one that comes too naturally as if he doesn’t understand the effects, but also understands them exactly. She looks at you curiously as she starts making his drink without him even asking.

“Can I see your ID?” She asks, you grab your purse then hand it to her.

“Don’t wanna see mine, Sara? Callin’ me old?” He pouts and leans forward on the bar, she laughs a bit, shaking her head and handing him his cocktail, something pink and fruity looking, surprising you a bit.

“You’re far from old, Mr. Gojo. I just know you.” She hands you your card back, and leans forward, her breasts on full fucking display as she’s far too close to him. “You never called me by the way.”

“I know, I got busy,” you’re tense now, as you watch her hopelessly flirt, ignoring the fact you have no drink clearly when a male bartender comes up, smiling at you.

“Hi beautiful, can I get you something?” He asks, you watch Gojo in your peripherals glare, and you bat your lashes at him, leaning forward.

“I’d love something, could you just give me your favorite?”

“You trust me that much? What if I enjoy Irish car bombs?” You laugh a bit, and Satoru hates that he wants to yank you against him, he fucking can’t and this is the point - you two could never be together.

He hoped it would cinch it in for you if he just casually flirted, like her voice wasn’t annoying him, as if he can’t inhale your sweet scent next to him, your body so close against him, the young bartender’s eyes are drifting across your chest. Satoru hates the possessive feeling stirring in him again, the way he wants to kiss you right in front of everyone there, claiming you as his.

It’s not how he thinks about women, he’s never bothered by that, never been overly jealous or possessive. He tries to explain it as protective of you, but his facade is slowly fading with every moment too close to you, watching as the bartender makes you what looks like a cosmopolitan, shaking it up and winking over at you. He forgets to even respond to the girl right in front of him.

“How long are you in town?” She asks, and he struggles to focus, your fingertips brush the young bartender’s and you both share a blush under the flashing lights ahead.

He seems nice enough, your age probably.

So why does the thought of anyone near you make him want to tug you right against him, stupid fucking thoughts that get worse with every sip in his mouth, when you turn to him and try to get up the bar stool, his hands come to your waist like an instinct. He hears your little gasp as he sits you up on it, standing between your bare thighs and leaving his touch there for far longer than he should.

You both look at each other, the unspoken tension rising until it’s unbearable, Satoru sits on the barstool right next to you, his knee brushing against your thigh. “Thanks, they’re too tall for us normal folk.”

“Ya calling me a giant?” He demands, you just giggle, nodding. “Rude, you’re mad you haven’t grown since you were twelve.”

“I did grow! Like a half an inch.” You pout and he chuckles, shaking his head and sipping his drink again, swirling it in the pretty crystal glass. “You used to let me sit on your shoulders and the air felt way cooler, can’t lie.”

“Did it now?” He can’t stop but grin back at you, infectious as you are, sipping on your drink when his phone rings. “Shit.”

“It’s fine, take it. I’m a big girl.”

“Says the girl who was stumbling all around last night,” you shove him playfully, and his phone rings again. “I’ll step out for just a moment, no trouble please.”

“Oh stop, I'm fine.” Satoru takes the call out front, and in the span of maybe ten minutes, he has to see you in your pretty dress with several men trying to talk to you.

You’re a beautiful girl, he doesn’t blame them, but he can’t stop himself from walking right up, towering over every guy there and clearing his throat, hands in his pockets. You’ve got his drink right next to yours - some brand new one he’s assuming one of these boys bought for you, as if you’re protecting his for him. You smile in relief when he scares them away, handing it back to him.

“Can’t leave you alone for a minute, they come flocking,” he teases, you roll your eyes at that, shaking your head. “You’re a regular Scarlett O’hara.”

“You’re not that old, using nineteen thirties references!”

“I am that old.” You smile and the color tinting your cheeks is too pretty, his fingers brush yours along the stem of the glass, little shocks rushing through your fingers from the contact. “You keep my drink safe?”

“Can’t have a girl slipping you something - Mr. Gojo.”

“You’re a brat,” you sip on your drink now, smiling against the rim. “New drink? Remember your limit.”

“Two, I know. You act just like dad sometimes.”

“He didn’t discipline you enough, not enough ass beatings.”

“Excuse me! I was a good kid!”

“Huh. I don’t know.” You shove him again, and he can’t stop himself from holding your wrist, your hand doesn’t immediately fall off, it rests there instead, feeling his heart slowly thudding against your palm.

“You wanna beat my ass or something?” The way you look at him destroys him, a confident grown man reduced to almost stuttering in response. “I’d probably like it.”

“I’m so done with you.” You’re grinning like you’ve won, when he has a vivid image of leaving red handprints across your ass, still standing between your thighs, a hand against your bare thigh, thumb brushing, you bite your lip and shift before he pulls back.

“You didn’t have to move it,” you murmur, he sighs then, shaking his head. “I’m not drunk if you want to blame that again.”

His lips press together, and you know you’ve made him mad when he says your name in that way, that ‘you’re pushing your luck’ sort of way that makes you want to press it just that much more. The bartender gives Satoru a refill, you notice she doesn’t even bother to acknowledge you, instead giving Satoru her number to put in his phone, and you slip another drink down your throat, hating the feeling in your tummy.

You can’t feel that way, he’s not yours.

“I said two,” he murmurs moments later, blue eyes lit up as you get one more. “That would be three.”

“It’s free though, the hottie bartender said so.” His jaw sets, when you hop down off the seat, standing far too close to him as more and more people clamor inside. “You gonna hook up with pretty bartender?”

“You’re asking me that?” You shrug, winking over at the other bartender who had given you his number. “You gonna hook up with him?”

“A stranger, no. To be disappointed I need a good six months of mental manipulation.” Satoru raises a brow now.

“Are college boys doing that shit nowadays?”

“You could say that,” he exhales, looking down at you even more intensely, as your hand slips up his chest. “Anway you didn’t answer my question. She’s super hot, right?”

“I guess,” how the fuck does he answer that when you exist, right here in front of him so fucking beautiful? The way your earrings glitter across the gentle curve of your neck, the way you bite your lower lip, breasts almost brushing against him, tempting him with every breath.

“She’s your type, I remember plenty of them.”

“Yeah, maybe that type isn’t working so well then,” he smirks just a bit. “That type is usually stuck up little bitches.”

“Maybe. Everyone is dancing,” you murmur, his eyes take in the room, seeing everyone arching against each other in the room. “Should I ask one of those boys I wonder?”

“You’re really trying to piss me off, after I got you that second audition and everything?” He tilts your chin up, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Would you care if I did?”

“It’s rude, you brat, we’re… out together.”

“But would you care?” You ask again, standing too close to him, your fingertips trailing down.

“Sweetheart, you need to stop,” he grips your shoulders now, leaning low over you as the sounds of the bar fade to the background, ebbing and flowing in vibrations through your bodies. Your eyes look up to his then, a hand on his chest stilled from where it had been slipping down. “Keep touching me like that, and you’ll get fucking ruined for anyone.”

“Ruin me for anyone.” He glares now, your hand slips up his chest, it feels so freeing to touch Satoru Gojo in public, no one knowing who either of you are to each other, perhaps many of them are thinking you are just a couple on a date.

You want that, you want him.

He’s furious as your hand trails up his neck, his grip tightening, while you brush the back of it and feel silky strands you’ve yearned to touch for as long as you can remember. His blue eyes are lidded, the swirling lights of the bar are casting colors along the perfect planes of his face, and he tightens his grip, shaking his head.

“Ruin you, you’re saying that shit? Like you’re made to torture me,” his hands slip down, his heart pounding as you boldly say the shit in his lewd fucking dreams. “You are young, okay? Too young.”

“I’m a grown woman, Satoru. I’m not innocent or something.” He raises a brow, his fingers now touching your waist, stepping ever closer, until you’re pressed against him, whispers louder than blaring music.

“So experienced, are you? Sweetheart I’ve been fucking since you were born.”

“Think I can’t keep up with you?” He shakes his head again, lips too close, you taste the sweetness of his cocktail on his breath.

“I won’t find out. You’ll go to Julliard and find some fucking musician to date-”

“I want you.”

“Shut up.” You glare, and he touches your lips with his thumb.

“Shut me up.”

“Jesus Christ," he kisses you again, right in front of everyone, and you fall into him, desperate as you lean up on your tip toes, feeling him tugging you tightly against his chest, he exhales as he pulls back. “Why do you have to be so heartbreakingly pretty?”

“Satoru…” You blink back emotion at his words, and he sees it then, more than any desire for your body - he wants to make you feel as pretty as you are.

That’s dangerous - this is dangerous.

“Forget that kiss too,” he tugs back and you lean up, dragging him back down for another kiss, until he’s pressed you against the bar, tongue slipping inside your mouth as you whine out into it. “Forget that one.”

“I’ll never forget anything about you.” He curses then, pulling away to cup your face, to glare at you, but you’re too lost in him.

“Don’t say that.”

“I never have forgotten anything, any moment.”

“I swear if you don’t get away from me…”

“What? What’re you gonna do, Satoru?” You whisper that name, tempting him again, and his jaw tenses, shaking his head, resting it against yours as he bends at the waist. “Do anything you want to me.”

“You’re such a brat.” He huffs and slams his drink back, eyeing you now. “Finish it, now, we’re leaving.”

“Yes, sir.” His scowl almost fucking makes you cum it’s so sexy, the set of his strong jaw, the way his blue eyes smolder.

“I swear to god I should beat your ass over my knee.”

“Promise?”

“Finish your fucking drink, now,” you love his tone, that fucking soft command like when he made you drink water last night, so sexy you’re trembling, you quickly finish the drink you had taken one sip on when he lays money on the bar. “Let’s go.”

“Okay,” you’ve pissed him off clearly, but he holds your wrist, as if to protect you from any other man coming up to hit on you, you follow him out until the cool air hits, making you shiver just a bit in your dress. He slips off his jacket and tugs it around you like it’s some second nature for him too, calling for his driver on his phone then. “Satoru…”

“I’ve heard enough from you today.” You sigh, looking down and tugging the jacket around you closer. “The next sounds I want to hear are moans from your mouth.”

You gasp, eyes locking up to his, when the car pulls up on the busy street far too quickly, you suppose Satoru paid the driver enough he’ll wait around on his command. You bite your trembling lip when he opens the door for you, and you slip inside the back of the black limo - you’re not sure Satoru rides any other way as long as you’ve known him. He slips in behind you and shuts the door, leaving you both alone.

You say nothing, breaths coming quick when he turns to you and the limo starts driving, he runs a hand through his hair, before turning to you, fingers running across his own jacket slung over you, ever so slowly, until he eases it down. Your breath catches, heart hammering as he looks at you in that way only Satoru Gojo can, fingers brushing across your cheek, eyes studying your face carefully.

“Any of those boys make you cum?” His words don’t just shake you, they ruin you, the confident tone mix with the husky desire. “I asked a question, sweetheart, be a good girl and answer.”

Fuck.

“N-no, they haven’t,” you admit softly, when he tilts your chin up, and your hair falls back, he studies your swollen lips. “The few guys I was with I had to… get myself off after.”

“How do you get your pretty little cunt off?”

Fuck, fuck.

“Um…” He raises a brow now, brushing your hair back, leaving goosebumps along your bare shoulder where it’s lifted.

“All that talk just now, can’t answer me?”

“I um… I play with my clit, or use my vibrator.” He leans over you then, his hand on your bare thigh, you whine out.

“Did anyone eat you out yet?” You shake your head, blushing furiously now in the darkness of the back seat. “No one?”

“No, they didn’t do anything to me. It was me… pleasing them.” You look down now, imagining that with him, when he tilts your chin back up. “Do you do that?”

He chuckles then, lips quirking up, before laying you back, hovering over you, your hand caresses the silk of his tie as it brushes your bare skin, he’s got one of his big hands trailing up one of your thighs then, pressing against the plush of it as he spreads them. “Of course I do that, you sure you really want me to ruin you? Gonna be real fucking hard to fuck one of your college boys after me.”

“You sound jealous I fucked them at all,” he glares a bit at you, while you lean up on your elbows, brushing back his hair. “Don’t worry, I’m jealous you've ever been with any of those girls.”

“You’re a toxic little thing, aren’t you?” You just smile, but when he kisses you again, you’re writhing under him, already soaking wet and throbbing. “Haven’t touched you yet, and your cunt is that hot f’me?”

“Fuck…” You’re whining out when he kisses down your collar bone, his tongue lapping right at the base of your neck, and his fingers trail torturously slow. “Satoru, please.”

“Impatient, hmm? Needy?”

“Shh, yes,” he keeps his light pressure, his inch by inch trek higher and higher, pausing right before he toys with the elastic of your panties, you’re desperately arching your hips for more of his touches. “Toru…”

“Shh,” he kisses you again, barely brushing your cunt up and down even as his cock is leaking against his boxers. “Stop me now.”

“No, I want you. So badly, please. Touch me - mnh!” He’s pressing his long fingers against you finally, moaning when he feels you sticky and soaked.

“You're this wet already?” He’s taunting you, but you’re arching up, dying for more friction, hands gripping his broad shoulders as your thighs tremble. “Fucking my hand like that, will you fuck my face too?”

He’s too much, you’re close from just him rubbing you over your panties when he pulls his fingers back. “No, no back please.”

“Impatient little brat,” he sighs, lapping your juices off his finger and moaning then, kissing you once more as he tugs them down your thighs, letting them fall until they’re dangling off one ankle. “Stop me.”

“No. Stop asking me to - mnh!” He’s exhaling, kissing lower and lower, tugging your dress down to reveal a pretty peak of your breasts, moaning then.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” he takes a nipple into his mouth, your hand’s tugging in his light silver locks, your back arches for more, your whimpers filling his ears as he tastes you. “Taste so sweet everywhere.”

“Ngh!” You’re lost, just a few caresses are more pleasure than you’ve ever fucking had with anyone, when he kisses lower, hungry kisses over the thin material of your dress, leaning up and loosening his tie, so sexy you almost cum from that, let alone him kissing the inside of your knee.

“If we do this, it’s just… for this week. Then we can’t again. Okay?” You hear it, the guilt creeping in his voice, and your heart already breaks thinking you won’t have this again, before you’ve even gotten it. “And just me and you know this.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone, I swear. But… if I agree, I have my condition.”

He smirks as he kisses higher, slipping your dress up your hips and eyeing your cunt, moaning at the pretty sight. “Fuck it, anything if I can taste it.”

“I can fuck you as much as I want this week. That’s my condition.” He smirks then, infuriatingly handsome as he brushes a kiss even higher, and spreads your thighs apart.

“You’re cute, thinking you can keep up with me,” he kisses your cunt then, you’re whimpering at just that, at his hot breath, something you’ve never felt. “But I’ll take you up on that deal. At the end of the week…”

“Never again.”

“And I’ll fuck you as much as I want to, hmm?” You nod eagerly, not having a clue just how good Satoru’s stamina is, when he finally settles lower, broad shoulders pressing your inner thighs apart, the one pressed against the back of the limo seat is tugged over his shoulder, as he sees all of you then. “You’re tensing up.”

“Does it look… is it actually…”

“You’re perfect, sweetheart, fuck it’s the prettiest I’ve even seen. Yeah?” You swallow nervously, reassured and so exposed to him, but the way he parts your folds with long fingers, flicking his tongue up your slit and groaning, you’re lost. “I want you to cum as many times as you want, all over my face. Will you be good for me and do it?”

“Y-yes, yes - ah!” He’s buried his face then, Satoru Gojo who is always in the most control, loses it as he laps at your pretty cunt desperately. You’re moaning loudly, so fucking loud and lewd, mixing with his breathy groans as he slurps up all the wetness just gushing from your little hole.

“Mnh,” he’s rutting his hard cock against the seat, tongue working you so good you can’t stand it, fucking inside your gummy little walls that grip his wet muscle, spasming as this pressure in your tummy coils. Satoru devours you like he’s starved for you, like you are just drooling out the finest wine, and you’re lost to him, not even trying to hold back.

How can you hold back after wanting him forever?

“Fuck, that's it sweetheart,” he slips two long fingers deep inside your cunt now, filling you and stretching you so much you're struggling to accommodate. He grins up at you as he watches your eager cunt suck them up. “Bet they're bigger than any dick you had huh?”

“Youre… a… menace,” he chuckles again, curling them up as you jerk and feel that spot. “Oh my god- ah!”

“No one hit it baby? I'll make sure I give it special attention,” Satoru curls them again, moving them up and down as the pressure builds and he looks up to see your eyes roll back. “Need you to cum for me, can you?”

You're not answering, not as you see white hot stars behind your closed eyes, clinging to his shoulders over his dress shirt when he finds your clit with his hot mouth. He sucks the tiny, twitching little clit in, humming on it as he scissors his long fingers in and out of your soppy little hole now, you've never felt it, so much pressure building in your core.

“Too much, too- ngh!” He's moving them faster, vibrations from his fucking humming feeling better than any toy you could find, the combination far, far too much. You're screaming out in the backseat of the limo, with your dad's best friend's hair pulled in your fingers, as you begin to roll up your hips for more.

“That's it, use me sweetheart, go ahead, let go.” He whispers, before curling his fingers and hitting just that spot again, tongue flicking your clit one more time till you let go, and make a fucking mess of him.

Your back arches up, as he grips your hip and drinks every bit that pours hungrily from your orgasm as it rolls over you in waves. You're gasping out for a breath, pleasure spreading until your entire body tingles and your cunt is pulsing around his thick digits. He moans as he slurps and laps up every bit, until you're oversensitive, tears spilling from the release, and he looks up at you.

His face is covered in you, clear and slick, you overheat at the image, when he leans over, pressing a sweet kiss on your cunt. Just that makes you hiss and jerk, earning his little chuckle. “Sensitive?”

You nod, quickly, he eases his fingers out with a sectioned pop from your walls gripping him, aftershocks making more arousal drool out of your hole. “Mnh, f-fuck…”

“We can keep it here you know, sinned enough I think,” Satoru leans over you now, a thigh pressing up between your soaked cunt, you moan lewd and wanton at the sensation, expensive slacks just soaked by you, as he brushes your hair back gently. “If I take it further there's good chance I don't stop, good chance your dad takes me the fuck out when I knock his pretty daughter up.”

You know it's probably just talk, but the words slam your fucking ovaries, looking up at him, body still twitching from aftershocks.

“You can still tell me to stop,” it's like he wants you to say no, because he can't say no to you. But how the fuck can you, when all you can think is how badly you want him? “You're not going to, are you?”

You shake your head and he sighs as the limo comes to a stop. He gently fixes your outfit, caring and sweet in his quick, sure gestures, pressing little kisses across your brow with so much tenderness you feel yourself melting ever farther into him. The elevator ride instead of pining for you is spent touching you, grabbing your ass, hearing you moan, kissing you deeper and deeper, everything he’s held back falling apart.

He loses all his control he had left when the door shuts, and he turns you, letting his jacket fall to the floor. He carefully brushes your hair over your shoulders, his fingers going to the zipper on your dress, you’re trembling as it slides down, breath catching as his knuckles slip across your skin. He murmurs your name softly, the way it sounds in his husky tone has your cunt clenching all over, thighs pressing together.

“I want to see all of you, put all the pretty pieces together,” his words make you feel so nervous then, looking back at him, hovering so tall behind you, shadows cast across the door in the dimly lit suite. Just two little lamps by either side of the bed cast their glow, while the whisper of silk against your skin, but he hesitates. “Do you want me to, sweetheart? To see all of you?”

“Y-yes, I do.” He trails a thumb across your chin, exhaling as he moves lower, kissing your lips again, your back exposed.

“Do you know your back got me hard?” You flush, almost giggling then. “Think that I’m kidding?”

“A back, though? Is it pretty?” You ask teasingly, he slips the dress straps down your shoulders, they fall to the floor, pooling around your ankles, he steps back then, taking it in, fingers along your spine sending shivers across it.

“Very, very pretty.” His hands slip lower, pressing against the dimples of your back, thumbs pressing in as you arch for him, until they hook against your panties, cupping your ass just perfectly. “Turn.”

You do exactly as he says, trembling in front of him when you’re bare aside from those panties, for just a moment you hesitate. Satoru Gojo has indeed been fucking as long as you’ve been alive, and you’ve seen so many of his girlfriends over the years. Beautiful, elegant, some of them models, so for just a moment your arms cover yourself up a little, hands holding your breasts, heart hammering in your ears.

“Oh honey, you’re fucking beautiful, okay?” He whispers, lowering them gently, watching the prettiest tits he’s seen bounce as they’re released from your little fingers. You relax, he watches it, the tense hold easing, your thighs spreading apart for him as he runs his hands down the curve of each tit, pressing against your rib cage. “Perfect.”

“Oh, Satoru…” You lean up and yank him down by his tie, already askew, slamming his lips to yours again. His hands grip your hips now, tugging you so close, you feel his hot, heavy length against your tummy now. “Mnh!”

“Beautiful, every bit of you,” his words are as intoxicating as his touches, as he touches your tummy with his hand and pulls back, smirking. “Can’t wait to watch me fuck your insides up, see my cock here.”

“See your… are you insane? It doesn’t do that?” He chuckles now, kneeling as he presses a kiss on the softness of your tummy, slipping your panties down and then looking up at you.

“You’re cute you know, hold on to me,” you do just that, balancing yourself as he slips off each heel, leaving little kisses on your knees, like he’s worshipping you. His breath hits your oversensitive cunt, you jerk as he takes your ankle and rubs it gently, where your heels left a mark, standing again. “One last shot to stop me, before I fill you up so much you can’t sit at that piano bench without remembering.”

You’re done then, kissing him hungrily as your answer, he lifts you up, thighs pressing around his hips as he carries you, still fully dressed to his room, his bed, the cold metal of his belt brushing against your overheated skin. His lips don’t leave yours, your hands entangle in his silken locks, when you feel his heavy weight, and he’s laid you against the soft plush of the mattress.

He hovers over you, letting you undo his tie, your fingers quickly tugging at his buttons, dying to see more of him, feel him on you. “Eager, sweetheart?”

“Shh, lemme see you,” he stands up then, sliding off his now unbuttoned shirt, tugging it out of his slacks, you barely bite back a whine at how gorgeous he is, his chiseled frame and lines and shadows where every strong muscle lays. Your lips start pressing kisses on his chest, hearing the click of his belt as he pulls it off. “God, Satoru…”

He’s leaning down and kissing you again, while your hands find his cock, your tummy tenses with how big it is in your hand, hot and heavy. You look down, leaning back against the bed on your knees, swallowing when you see it, leaking pre - veiny, thick and heavy, so big you’ve never seen one close. You almost wonder if it’ll fit, but you’re so wet you know you’ll just make it.

You’re lapping at the milky precum at his tip when he’s fully naked, earning his groan, but then he stops you, laying you right back on the bed. “Satoru!”

“Not this time,” he was not about to cum in your hand or mouth, and act like he’s some young kid touching pussy for the first time. But if you started sucking him he thinks he’d not even last long, judging how tight your cunt was around his fingers. “You can suck your cunt off after.”

You’re flushed at the thought, he chuckles a bit now, braced over you, holding his cock at the base and running his tip between your puffy lips now. You’re arching them up, his mushroomed pink tip pressing inside your tight ring of muscles, already pulsing around him. His groan is husky, while he tries to keep some semblance of experience and control for you, not bury himself inside in one stroke.

But as soon as he sinks in, you’re already done for, so ready from his mouth in that limo that you’re close to cumming from an inch of him, when there are at least eight more that need to stretch you out. “F-fuck… god you’re so tight, loosen up baby.”

“Can’t, fuck put it in me,” he glares at you. “Please, I can take it.”

“I’m not gonna hurt you… or is that what you want, freaky little brat?” You can’t help but blush again, when he eases back, making you whine out. “You really think you can take all of me in your tiny little cunt?”

“Yes I - ah fuck!” He’s barely half in, the next stroke stretching and filling you, smirking as you’re already fucked out from that, he feels your cunt gushing, trying to accomodate the thickness of him as your eyes lock on his. Your mouth is wide open, he tilts your chin up now, pulling back once more, shoving in deeper.

“Thought you could take it, hmm?”

“I can… oh my… god you’re…” you’re drooling when he starts fucking you, not going all the way, but his ridges and veins of his thick cock are stretching you so good. He’s swiping that drool from your mouth, feeling you already trying to milk him, little cunt just steadily dripping down on him as he moves.

“Cunt drooling, mouth drooling, aw baby…” he’s taunting you, but all you can do is whine out, head falling back against the soft pillows, when he grips your chin with his free hand, resting on his elbow beside you, the other grabbing a thigh. “Feel me everywhere, don’t you?”

You’re nodding, helpless now, as Satoru sinks deeper, fucking impossibly deeper, bottoming out as much as he can until he’s snug against your cervix. You’re a desperate mess underneath him as you feel the pressure there, feel so full you can’t think, eyes locking up with his dark ones - so dilated you can only see a ring of that pretty blue now, thighs shaking on either side of thick, muscled hips.

“Can you take it all, really?” He asks, taunting and devastatingly sexy, you’ve never felt anything close, not just his size - any of it, the way you’re so wet you hear it in the room, the fullness all over.

“I want it all.” Your answer ruins him, your sweet little hands pressing against his back, and that’s when Satoru finally loses that final thread he’s holding onto.

“Then I’ll give you all of it, baby,” his words are like the sweetest wine dripping from his tongue, and Satoru shoves as deep as your cunt allows him, you scream out and he groans, leaning back and grabbing your hips. He watches the bulge of your tummy as his huge cock wrecks you hungrily. “Look, since you thought I couldn’t.”

“H-huh?” He tilts your chin - and you see it, his cock moving inside you, you’re so lost in the filthy image of it, right before Satoru snaps, and lifts your hips, fucking you hard.

His strokes are mean, thick cock bullying your walls, pushing you closer and closer until you’re about to fall off the edge. You’re dizzy, spots blinding you, while he uses you, the sounds filthy in the suite, the slapping of skin, the clicking and squishing your soppy cunt is doing, while he pounds inside you over and over. It’s dizzying and maddening, you knew he would be good at it but nothing prepared you for this.

How could you prepare for him pressing on every spot, his precum leaking against your cervix, so much delicious pressure, you’re gripping the sheets tightly, while his heavy weight presses against you. Tears prick your eyes from how good it feels, being fucked like this, something you never knew you’d feel, stretched out for him and helpless - you want to be helpless too, you want him to take over. 

He lifts a thigh then, slipping impossibly deeper and leaning up on a knee, whispering your name when he toys your clit. “Satoru!”

“That’s it, you like this don’t you?” You nod, a loss for words, just desperate, hoarse little cries as he rolls his hips just so, rolling his thumb at the same time, and everything tenses, tightens. “Ah ah, don’t fight it, lemme feel you cum. Now.”

You’re shattering for him, while he just pushes ever so slightly, you feel like you’ll break, the release hitting in your tummy and spreading everywhere, your legs quiver and your eyes roll back. The orgasm crashes over you, even more intense than what his mouth did in that limo, cunt spasming around his length as you’re tightening around him, arousal making his thick fingers slippery as they keep the pace.

“That’s it, perfect cunt trying to milk me, isn’t she?” You can’t speak anymore, Satoru’s strokes slow down as he watches your reaction, your pretty face and that slutty o your mouth is in, enjoying every bit of it, the way you look beneath him. Hair spread everywhere, pretty tits bouncing as your back arches. “God, look at you like this.”

“Satoru… that was… it’s so…” you breathe out senseless words, jumbled and mixed with your whines as he takes his finger off, pressing it against your lips.

“Suck,” he orders softly, you take his thumb in between your lips then, doing just that, watching how dark and intense his eyes are as he starts moving again, picking up speed and force, hips jerking as you twitch underneath him. “Not done yet, sweetheart, wanna feel you cum over and over.”

You’re so sensitive now, so close again, embarrassingly fast now that in just minutes he’s learned what you like better than anyone ever has. “Ngh!”

“Made f’me, this perfect cunt, isn’t she?” He grips your chin, you nod, wordless underneath him. It feels like it is made for him, as he thickens deep inside, you feel it with your gummy walls contracted around him. You can feel yourself building up again, and he grins, white teeth just glinting as he braces his arms over you. “Again?” he asks, a smug grin playing on his lips, “You’re so easy f’me, huh?”

You are easy for him, but you don’t even get to answer, not when he slams his thick cock inside you again, and your nails leave crescents against the taut skin on his back, the pain just making him harder, thicker, leak more precum. “Oh my god… m’gonna…”

“Want all my cum, don’t you sweetheart?” He whispers, you nod then, eager and desperate for it, he kisses you messy, you taste yourself on his tongue, mixed with something so sweet, something utterly Satoru Gojo. “Do I need a plan b tomorrow? Nothing’s making me pull out of your pretty little cunt.”

“On… p-pill…” He grins again, brushing your lips with his thumb, seeing how swollen and bitten they are.

“I’d do it anyway,” you gasp, but you’re close again, and he knows it, hands lifting your thighs until they’re pressed right against your breasts, folding you in half under him. “Need you to take all my cum, can you sweetheart?”

“Y-yes, please…” He feels it then, his cock starting to spurt deep inside of you, and you’re flooded with warmth, with hot puffy white ropes shooting inside you. “Ah! Satoru!”

“F-fuck, feel you,” he’s lost then, all his heavy weight on your thighs as his huge hands press in, his cock pummeling your cunt as she tries to shove all that cum back out, dripping down in a mess between you. “Fuck you’re perfect… god you’re beautiful…”

For a moment it’s not self sure, mature Satoru Gojo, he’s whiny and desperate, sensitive as he moves, kissing you and cupping your face gently, even as he’s stretching you out, even as he’s got you in the meanest mating press. His sweet little nothings against your lips mean too much, it all is too much, your eyes so rolled back you can only see the vision of him, while the aftershocks rock through you.

He eases your thighs down, breaths heavy, looking down at you then, easing your thighs down just enough you can breathe. You both look at each other, quiet in that moment, realizing just what you’ve done, and you can’t find a single regret or ounce of fucking guilt - not feeling that for the first time in your life. Feeling so much pleasure you’re twitching, trembling, as your cunt leaks more and more down his veiny cock.

“Fuck…” Is all he really manages, when he realizes one thing.

You just ruined him.

He rests his forehead on yours for a moment, and it says everything he won’t say out loud, that it’s not just sex. He doesn’t have to say the words to you, not when you feel it, what he’s holding back then. You go to open your mouth, but he shushes you with another kiss, a kiss where you don’t hold yourself back, clinging to him and shaking underneath him, little whines drunk by his lips.

“That was fucking insane,” is all you manage, he chuckles then. “What?”

“You think I’m done already? You’re so cute. Talking all that talk, too, tsk.” He shocks you then, pulling back, cock slipping out, dripping along the blankets below, before rolling you over, his hand smacking your ass, making you yelp at the sting. “On your knees, now.”

You obey, trembling as he grabs your hips, and he moans, bending down and spreading your plump, puffy lips, watching his pearly cum leak from your cunt. “Ah! Sensitive!”

“Look at your cunt, she’s just so slutty,” he murmurs, lapping his own milky white cum from you then, your thighs try to shut, and he smacks one of them, stinging your skin. “Open.”

“You’re… licking it… out - oh my fuck…” Your last word is dragged out, muffled against the pillow case as you bury your head against it, and his tongue is filthy as it slurps up all the mess he made.

“Fucking taste us together,” he’s lost then, tongue sliding in your hole, swallowing his own cum right down his throat. “Mnh, you’re so yummy sweetheart, aw she’s already so fucked up from me. Can you really take me?”

“I want you, I want you Satoru s-so much…” He’s lost in your words, in your cunt that’s already spilling more juices down his chin, his neck, his fingers, when he slides up, hand entangling in your hair.

“Taste us sweetheart,” he pulls you up then, a hand around your throat. “Open, like a good girl.”

You open eagerly when Satoru Gojo spits his cum inside your mouth, you swallow it down, earning his satisfied groan, while he kisses you, possessive, fingers so long they take over your delicate neck. He takes his cock, still so slick with your juices, and he enters your sore little cunt from behind.

“Oh my g-god… fuck…” your head falls back, as he fucks you on your knees and his, yanking you down deep, his free hand touching the bulge his cock makes.

This is even more intense, you can feel everything, the way he’s stretching you out, the way he’s hitting your spots - every spot you have. The meaner his thrusts, the louder you hear it, your slutty cunt, your ass slapping against his thighs, the way he’s gasping in satisfaction.

“Look how fucking big I am compared to you, huh?” Satoru whispers, his breath hot on your neck, wrapping one arm around your waist as he drags you down on his cock, his huge body taking you over from behind.

“S-so big - mnh!” Your head falls back against his chest, now slick with sweat, and he groans, using his strength to move you up and down his cock, bulging your tummy more and more.

“Use you as my toy, fucking perfect, pretty little cocksleeve, huh?” You’re soaking him, filthy words you never thought you’d fucking hear melting your mind. “Is that what you want?”

“I want it, use me.” He lets out a soft cry, pressing you back down on your tummy now, he’s prone over you, taking over all your senses.

“Use you, what if I keep putting cum inside you, sweetheart? All fucking night?” He’s lost inside you, the way you clench around him, milk him, teeth sinking into your neck, feeling you tremble underneath him.

“Use me then, cum in me all you w-want - ah! I w-want it, please,” he’s biting harder, now kissing it like an apology, as his cock fills you everywhere, you feel so full, the way he is everything over you, as you’re so small underneath him, feeling his strength as he moves. “Cum in me again, I can take it.”

“You can take it, huh? Are you so slutty just for me?” You nod eagerly, when he turns your face and kisses you, drowning in you with desperate moans, cock bullying your walls and pushing you over the edge. “That’s it, lemme feel you again, fuck you’re so tight sweetheart.”

You’re cumming with him this time, pushed further when the white coats your walls, god he cums more this time if it’s possible. He’s holding you so tightly it’s hard to breathe – but you don’t want to breathe. When he kisses you, the mix of his cum and yours is heady on your tongue, his hand cupping your chin as he pushes a still hard cock in deeper.

“You take me so well, honey, y’know that? Perfect fit f’me,” his words ruin you, his messy, sloppy kisses, you’re taking several shaky breaths, eyelashes fluttering as you try to focus. “Fucked out, aren’t you baby? Did I make you stupid?”

“You’re a freak,” he chuckles then, kissing up your neck, as you’re struggling with how full you still are. “You spit in my mouth.”

“You liked it.”

“Shh,” he chuckles again, and you giggle, it feels too natural, too perfect, when you look up at him. “You ate your cum out of me.”

“You loved that,” you nod shyly, and he smirks. “You’re acting all experienced, then blushing over that?”

“That can’t be normal behavior, ngh!” He pushes in again, and you’re struggling to take him, whining out. “God no way again?”

“What, you thiought I don’t have good stamina?”

“It’s too good - mnh!” You kiss him as he moves, and you’re shaking. “I’m so sore though.”

“Are you all right, is it too much?” He instantly stops, concern on his pretty features.

“I want all you give me.” He moans and kisses you again, softer, easier with his thrusts deep inside you, reaching around to press a hand on your tummy, fucking his own cum deeper and deeper inside you.

“You’re so full, aren’t you baby?” Baby, fuck that ruins you, all you can do is sniffle, tears falling from pleasure. “Full here?”

“So full - full of your cum - ngh….” You’re lost under him, you don’t even know how you make another round, cleaning him up finally with your mouth, your tongue, his cock dripping with both of you later.

“Your mouth… god…” he’s watching your head bob up and down his cock, as you clean him up, swallowing all the cum that’s spilled greedily. “I’ll fuck you again if you don’t stop.”

“Again!?” You earn his chuckle at your cute little fucked out look, clearly exhausted at this point.

“Why don’t we stop for now, before I really fuck you up, I’m trying to take it easy on you.”

“Easy on me!?”

“You’re cute,” he kisses you now, sighing as he tastes himself on your plump lips, glossy with his cum. “Sure you can handle me for the next few days?”

“I’m gonna try.” You’re so cute he can’t stand it, smiling and brushing your hair back, noses nuzzling.

“You need to go to the bathroom, and you need water,” he runs his fingers down your spine as you lean over him, hair falling like a curtain over the side of your face, brushing against his chest. “I’ll get you some, you go pee.”

“Go pee? Satoru, are you looking after my health?”

“Of course, don’t need Julliard fucked because you get a uti. And you look like you’re about to crash out.”

“I am tired,” you admit, he kisses you then shocks you, picking you right up in his arms. “You don’t have to carry me!”

“It’s nothing,” he’s got you in there in moments, pressing a little kiss on your head, and nothing has ever felt better than how wobbly your legs are, how much you enjoy his kisses, his care. “I’ll be right back.”

You do as he says and pee, sore as fuck – not just your cunt, it’s literally every inch of you, tingling, weak and yet - perfect. Satoru comes back with a brush and pony tail, some boxers slung low over his hips, and a bottle of water, along with one of his dress shirts. You eye him in the mirror as he slips it over your shoulders.

“Do me a favor and wear this,” he asks softly, you eagerly slip your arms inside it, leaving it just barely covering your breasts. “Knew it.”

“Knew what?” You ask, yawning then, eyes heavy from what his rounds have taken out of you. He gently detangles your hair as you fiddle with the buttons, hands shaking still.

“You’d be sexy as fuck in this,” you gasp as he tugs at a knot. “Sorry, you’ve got a bad one there.”

“You were yanking my hair,” he snorts, easier as he brushes it now. “You don’t have to do all that, I can get it.”

“I want to,” he murmurs, your eyes meet his in that mirror, your hands against the cool ceramic of the pretty sink. “Can’t fuck you like that and not take care of you.”

No one has ever taken care of you after, in fact your shitty experiences tended to end up with you rushing away, hopping on one foot to get dressed and disappear while they’re snoring. You choke up a bit, realizing that you’ll have to let this go before you can even get used to it.

Was it better to have experienced this, and know what you’re missing, or would you have been better off not knowing how perfect he was? How perfect everything about you two together was? The thoughts fade as he methodically brushes your strands, tugging them up into a pony tail, before wrapping his arms around you, tugging you against him.

“You’re quiet now, do you…”

“I will never regret this, ever,” you answer his question, turning to him then, sighing as you look up into his eyes - a shade of blue you’ll never be able to truly describe. “I guess I’m dreading the end of it.”

He is too, but he can’t say it.

How does he not even feel bad, he should, right? That his best friend since middle school trusts him with his daughter, and his cum is pouring from her hole? She’s covered in his marks, her lips are all bitten and red, and she’s wearing his shirt? All he can think are possessive, insane fucking thoughts instead.

He doesn’t ever want anyone else to have you.

And that’s the dumbest fucking thought he’s ever had.

“You need rest, okay?” You nod in agreement, as you sip more of the water, when he walks you over towards your bed, however, you hesitate. “What’s wrong?”

“Can I um… sleep with you?” He pauses then, and you instantly worry. “Shit, is that too far?”

“No, I just…” He sighs, toying with the pony tail now, studying you.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry,” you turn and then he shocks you, picking you right up again, carrying you back to his bed. “Satoru!”

“You can sleep with me, better not snore or hog my blankets.” You giggle at that, all fucked out and adorable when he plops you in the bed.

“I won’t, promise!”

“Uh huh, I heard you snore last night.”

“Only because I was drunk!”

“Mmhmm,” he tries to act nonchalant, but when you snuggle up to him, and he holds you in his arms, your face buried against his chest, it feels too perfect, too right, holding you there. The feeling in his chest tightens - as he still feels literally no fucking guilt.

He’s waiting for it, for something, but all he wants is to bury his cock inside you again, to kiss you again, to keep you right by his side. You sigh and wrap an arm around him, a leg thrown over one of his long ones, when he covers you both with the soft, thick comforter.

“Good night, Satoru.” You look up, planting a kiss on his chin.

“Night, sweetheart. Go to sleep.” You do just that, but the sinking feeling hits both of your chests - how do you only make this a couple of days?

There’s no option but to separate, but laying in his arms perhaps will just make everything hurt more when it’s over.

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine 🍷

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[leafynightmares]

What Was Promised

Chapter Index | Next >>

꧁ᬊᬁ Duty made him your protector. Love made him your ruin. ᬊ᭄꧂

♕ Pairings: Knight!Gojo x Princess!Reader ♕ Content warnings + tags: MDNI 18+: royal au, medieval fantasy, forbidden romance, childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, arranged marriage discussions, power imbalance, references to parental death, unspoken feelings, Satoru is a certified loverboy and yearner, 8.6k words Art by: @_3aem on X

You were born a princess, destined for duty you never chose. He was the boy who once knelt in the dirt and promised to protect you—and never stopped. Now grown, you spend your days stealing moments of quiet rebellion together: sat under trees, trading banter, pretending your heart isn’t already spoken for. But when your father summons you at last, you know the truth you’ve been avoiding can’t be delayed forever.

Oaths in Innocence

It wasn’t that you didn’t know better. You did.

It was simply that knowing better had never stopped you before.

The cobblestones were slick with the morning mist, cold seeping through your gloves as you scrabbled for purchase. The rough edges dug into your palms as you tried to haul yourself up another few inches.

The wall had never seemed quite this tall when you were younger. Or perhaps it was just that the gown your maids had laced you into that morning—silk, embroidered—was the tightest yet. The boning bit into your ribs every time you drew a breath. Apparently, they considered this “suitable attire” for breakfast with your upcoming betrothed’s family.

You’d made it a little over halfway up the wall before the fabric caught on a jutting stone, nearly wrenching you backward.

With a quiet curse, you clung there, pressing your cheek to the cold stone. A loose strand of hair slipped down and stuck to your mouth. With a frustrated huff, you blew it out of your eyes, shifting your foot higher in search of a better hold.

Just a little higher, you thought. If I can get to the parapet—

Someone cleared their throat behind you.

You froze.

The voice was deep, maddeningly calm. “Really, Your Highness. Are we doing this again?”

Your heart lurched. Before you could twist around, your foot slipped clean off its hold. For one breathless second, you were weightless, falling backward with a little yelp, skirts tangling around your legs.

You landed against a broad chest before you could hit the ground, the familiar clink of armor meeting your ears, the scent of sun-warmed steel and something softer, something you refused to name, filling your senses.

You didn’t dare look up.

Then a low, amused sigh rumbled against your cheek.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…” He clicked his tongue, as though scolding a child. 

A gloved finger hooked beneath your chin, tipping your face up until you were forced to meet eyes as pale and sharp as moonlight. Satoru Gojo looked down at you with that same insufferable, infuriating smirk he’d worn since the day you met.

“Princess,” he murmured, his mouth curving into a boyish smile. “Haven’t we discussed your tendency to fling yourself off walls?”

“I wasn’t flinging myself—” You scowled at him, trying to ignore the way your heart had taken off in a gallop. “I was merely…getting some much-needed fresh air.”

“Mm…air,” he repeated, as if he’d never heard the world before. He adjusted you easily in his hold, like you weighed nothing at all. “From the top of the east wall. In that dress.”

His gaze drifted meaningfully over the crushed layers of silk and the torn hem. “Is this a new strategy? Immobilize yourself in couture?”

“It’s perfectly practical.”

He raised a brow, clearly taking in the way the bodice strained over your ribs. “Of course. And I suppose next you’ll tell me you planned to leap gracefully to freedom?”

“I might have,” you sniffed, wriggling pointedly in his hold. “You can put me down now.”

“But you look so comfortable,” he said, voice softening just enough that it made something in your heart flutter.

Your face flushed hot. “Satoru.”

He sighed, dramatically, as if you were the greatest burden he’d ever borne, and set you carefully on your feet. His hand lingered at your waist just a beat longer than necessary.

The moment your feet touched the grass, and you were steady, you gathered what was left of your dignity and tried to smooth down your skirts.

“You’re insufferable. I would have managed on my own,” you said, though it felt like a lie. You’d been telling the same one since the day he first found you crying in the stables, all scraped knees and wounded pride.

“Mm. Naturally,” he agreed blandly. “And then you would have managed to break your neck, and I’d have had to explain to His Majesty how his only daughter met her untimely demise by dress-related misadventure.”

You scowled at him. “If you’re quite done lecturing me—”

“Oh, not even close.” The corner of his mouth curved higher. “Though, for the record, I do admire your dedication. Scaling a twenty-foot wall before breakfast? Impressive.”

“It’s only fifteen.”

“And you only fell from the top half,” he said mildly. “A marked improvement over last time.”

Your face burned once more. You looked away, hating how easily he could undo you with a single smile.

“Come on.” His voice gentled. You felt the brush of leather and steel as he reached out, tucking the loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Let’s get you inside before someone notices you’re gone.”

You glared up at him, but the heat had already gone out of it.

And when he turned to lead you back across the lawn, you followed—because you always did.

You couldn’t help remembering the first time he’d caught you.

You were ten years old the first time you fell from a horse.

The morning had started out promising enough. Sunlight spilled across the paddocks in shimmering gold. The scent of hay and warm grass drifted on the breeze. You were determined to prove yourself, that you weren’t just the king’s pampered daughter, that you could ride as well as any of the boys.

The stable master had warned you the gelding was too tall, too quick, but you insisted. You were a princess. They were supposed to listen to you. You practiced riding with all the concentration your little body could muster.

But determination hadn’t mattered.

Not when the handful of boys had decided the princess needed reminding of her place among them. They lurked by the fence, sons of minor courtiers, older than you by a few years, with mean mouths and restless hands. You only heard their snickering when you urged the horse into a trot, trying to ignore how your stomach fluttered with nerves.

​​“Careful, your highness,” one of them called, voice syrupy and mocking. “Wouldn’t want you to fall and cry for your nursemaid.”

You’d lifted your chin, pretending not to hear.

You hadn’t seen the stone until it struck the gelding’s flank. He reared up in panic, hooves pawing the air, and everything went wrong at once as the world tipped hard beneath you.

Your body hit the packed dirt with a thud that knocked all the air from your lungs. For one heartbeat, there was only the hollow ringing in your ears. Then pain bloomed across your palms, your hip, your elbow. Your cheek stung. You could faintly taste copper.

You lay there in the dust, the hem of your riding dress tangled around your ankles, your little silver circlet knocked loose and gleaming a few feet away.

The boys were laughing.

You tried not to cry. You really did. But when you pushed yourself up, and your elbows buckled beneath you, the tears came hot and sudden anyway, blurring the edges of your world. No matter how hard you blinked, they just wouldn’t stop. Your dress was ruined, torn across the loose skirts. 

“Pathetic,” one of them sneered. “She can’t even stay on the saddle—”

“—What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

The laughter cut off.

You scrubbed your eyes with the heel of your hand, heart thumping. A long shadow had fallen over you, tall enough to blot out the sun. His voice was cool, almost bored. But there was something in it that made all three boys freeze.

“Is that what passes for bravery here?”

Satoru Gojo was only twelve then—still more boy than man—but he carried himself like someone who had never been afraid of anything. The sunlight caught in his hair, falling into his bright blue eyes. His fine tunic bore the crest of his house—a stylized six-eyed sigil you’d always thought looked like a little star.

He looked from you, crumpled in the dirt, to the boys standing over you. His eyes, sharp as a blade, narrowed.

“It was only a joke…” one of them mumbled.

Satoru tilted his head, studying him the way a hawk might study a mouse. “Did it look funny to you?”

No one answered.

You saw it coming before they did. The sharp, decisive way his shoulders set. He didn’t yell. He didn’t warn them again.

He stepped forward, and in the next instant, he punched the nearest boy square in the nose, with a noise that made even you flinch.

It was chaos after that—shouts, the thud of fists meeting flesh, the crunch of gravel under scuffling boots. Satoru was smaller than them, but he moved with single-minded fury, every motion purposeful. By the time he was done, all three boys were clutching bruised faces and split lips, scrambling to get away.

“If you ever lay hands on her again,” Satoru called after them, voice ringing clear across the yard, “I’ll tell my father. And then I’ll do worse.”

Silence settled in their wake.

You swallowed, trying to make yourself smaller, though your ribs still hurt every time you breathed.

He watched them go, breathing hard. Then he turned to you, brushing dust and blood from his knuckles. For a second, you were afraid he might be angry with you, too. But when his eyes met yours, something in his expression gentled.

“Are you alright, Princess?”

You tried to nod. Instead, a fresh sob caught in your throat.

He crouched down in front of you, knees in the dirt, and his gaze drifted to the little tiara in the dirt. He picked it up, brushing off the mud with surprising care, twirling it in between his fingers, as if it were something fragile and precious.

“Sit up,” he said gently.

You did, pushing yourself upright with trembling arms. He reached out, slow so he wouldn’t startle you, and set the tiara back on your tangled hair.

“There,” he murmured, as though this small restoration of dignity could fix everything.

You sniffled, bottom lip wobbling. “Thank you…”

He smiled—a crooked, boyish thing that made your heart squeeze.

“Don’t cry,” he said, lifting a hand to wipe the tear trailing down your cheek with his thumb. “They were cowards. They wouldn’t dare touch you if they thought I was watching.”

His hand lingered, warm against your cheek.

“I’ll always protect you,” he added quietly, like it was a promise he’d already made to himself.

“Promise?” you whispered.

“I swear it.”

In that moment, the seed of something unshakable took root—something neither of you would have words for until you were grown.

And years later, when he stood at your side in polished armor, you’d remember this moment and understand:

He’d never broken that promise. Not once.

You blinked, dragging your thoughts back to the present. The early light had shifted, painting the courtyard in pale gold. The air smelled of dew and distant lilacs.

Satoru’s hand was still at your waist, steady and certain. 

It seemed only natural that he was always by your side. A mess of white hair and bright eyes, shadows of bruises from scrapes he’d gotten on your behalf.

You had grown up together in this palace, children in different worlds, but never quite able to stay away. His father, Lord Gojo, had been the King’s Hand since before you were born. He was heir to a great house, but it never made him proud. Never made him cruel. 

If anything, it made him more determined to stand beside you, rather than above.

He’d told you once—in the hush of the library, hidden between the shelves—that he decided before he was even fifteen what he’d be one day. Not a lord, not a courtier. He wanted to be your knight. Your shield.

“So you’ll never have to feel afraid again,” he’d said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

And you, all of thirteen, had believed him. Because Satoru never said things he didn’t mean.

Even if it was a choice that cost him everything.

By tradition, any man of noble birth who joined the royal guard renounced his claim to land and title. Even if he hadn’t, he never would have been permitted to marry you. His house, though powerful, would never have been enough to satisfy the court.

But he’d done it anyway—without hesitation, without regret.

Sometimes, you wondered if it was easier for him to love you like this—close enough to touch, but never quite allowed to reach.

You’d spent your childhood together in the quiet places between duty, tangled up in each other’s lives. Stealing hours in the library, hidden behind towering shelves of old history.

You’d run through your father’s orchards at dawn, picking fruit before the servants could scold you. You’d spend whole afternoons in the long grass, sunlight warm on your faces, skirts fanned out in the clover. Sometimes, he’d lie with his head in your lap as you read aloud, lashes fluttering dainty and white against his cheek, one of your hands tangled absently in his hair.

Other times, he’d steal the book just to hear you laugh, holding it out of reach until you shoved him over, both of you breathless and smiling in the grass.

Your hand-maiden, Cassandra, would scold you mercilessly when she found you like that—your skirts wrinkled, Satoru’s tunic grass-stained, both of you looking far too pleased with yourselves.

It should have been harmless—just the friendship of a princess and the boy who’d sworn to keep her safe.

But somewhere between those stolen afternoons in the orchard and the long hours spent reading in the library, it had turned into something else. Something neither of you could name without tearing the world you knew apart.

Even when he was knighted, when he knelt before your father and offered up his title as Lord Gojo in exchange for a place in the King’s Guard, you hadn’t understood the depth of it.

It was only later that you realized—

That vow he’d made in the dirt of the stables hadn’t changed at all.

He would protect you, even from himself.

Even from the way he loved you.

But memory was a fragile thing, and devotion didn’t matter to kings or councils.

Soon, you would belong to someone else.

The early light had shifted, painting the courtyard in pale gold, gilding the damp hedges and turning every blade of grass to a tiny spear of light. Somewhere beyond the high walls, the bells began to tell the new hour—slow, solemn chimes that rippled across the waking gardens, resonant enough to stir the doves on the rooftops.

Satoru’s hand lingered at your waist, steady and certain. You realized, belatedly, that he’d been studying you in silence, that small crease between his brows that only ever appeared when he was worried.

“Are you alright?” he asked finally.

You hummed, lifting your gaze to meet his. His eyes were too bright, too knowing.

“I’m fine,”  you murmured, though it sounded unconvincing even to your own ears. It tasted like a lie as soon as you said it.

“Liar.”

You huffed, but the corner of your mouth pulled upward despite yourself. “Truly. Just…thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime,” he said lightly, though the crease between his brows didn’t ease.

Still, he didn’t press you for more. He never did..

He released you at last, though his hand drifted over your back as he led you across the dew-damp lawn and into the garden paths, where the last of the lilacs brushed against your skirts. The castle loomed ahead, pale stone catching in the morning sun, all sharp angles and high battlements.

For a little while, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you was an old, familiar thing as the gravel crunched beneath your slippers. The breeze stirred the hedgerows and carried the scent of blooming flowers and damp earth.

Then he glanced sideways at you, mouth twitching into a smirk.

“So,” he drawled, as though you hadn’t nearly given him a heart attack. “What was it this time? Grand escape plan? Early morning calisthenics?”

You sighed, tipping your head back to watch the pale sky overhead. You wished you could drift up into it—past the ramparts, past all the watchful eyes—and never come down.

“I was considering running away again,” you admitted, too tired to pretend otherwise. “Or at least…pretending I might.”

“Mm. And here I thought you’d finally developed a fondness for climbing.”

You shot him a look. “Do you really want the truth?”

He sobered, expression softening. “Always.”

You looked away, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. Your heart fluttered against your ribs, a wild, futile thing.

“My father has been discussing suitors again,” you said quietly. “More fervently, this time. He says it’s only a matter of weeks before an arrangement is made.” 

His steps faltered, just slightly, before he caught himself. He didn’t answer right away, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, keeping one hand at your back, the other rested on the hilt of his sheathed sword. As though he could fend off the entire court with nothing but steel and stubbornness.

“I loathe it,” you went on thinly. “The idea of being…handed off. Of having to smile and pretend I’m grateful.” You kept your gaze trained on the gravel path ahead, because it was easier than looking at him when you admitted it.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet, measured. “You could have told me.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But I didn’t want—”

“—To hear me remind you it isn’t fair?”

You swallowed, the ache behind your eyes returning. “Yes.”

For a moment, all you could hear was the hush of the garden, the quiet rush of your own heart.

“But it’s what’s expected of me.” 

It had always been this way. Duty first. Desire never.

It never felt like a privilege. Being the only heir—and worse, a daughter—had never left you much room to want anything. It had always felt like a debt you could never repay.

Your entire life had been shaped by old laws and older expectations. If you had been born a son like your father wanted, everything would have been different. You would have inherited the throne and the crown without question, ruled in your own name. But the old laws were unyielding. Your claim was only as strong as the man you would marry, and the sons you would give him.

It had never mattered what you wanted. What you dreamed about on sleepless nights. Who you loved.

So you would marry. You would produce heirs of your own. You would smile and play the dutiful bride, and someday, you would watch your children’s names etched into treaties and alliances the same way yours had been.

It was what was expected. What had always been expected.

A princess could inherit the bloodline. But her husband would inherit the kingdom.

But none of that made it easier to stand here, in the garden you’d loved since you were a child, and know that everything was about to change. That soon, you would be someone else’s, in name and in law, even if your heart had long since chosen its own master.

“I was born with obligations I can’t set down. And my children will be the same—poor little pawns before they’re even given names.”

Satoru was silent again. You knew he was thinking about it—about the future neither of you could stop. He knew better than anyone. And if you looked at him too long, you were afraid you’d say the one thing neither of you could ever take back.

You tried for levity, if only to fill the space between you.

“If I were a man,” you sighed dramatically, “I’d have joined you. Become a knight. Worn trousers instead of all this—” You plucked at the crushed silk layers of your gown. “You don’t know how lucky you are to have pockets.”

His mouth curved into a slow grin.

“Oh, I know,” he said solemnly. “Imagine the tragedy of me never getting to witness your unladylike behavior firsthand.”

You smacked his arm, though the blow had no force behind it.

“You are insufferable.”

“And yet you’re still here.”

You scowled, though it softened quickly. “It’s because no one else would suffer me.”

He tilted his head, studying you the way he always did, like he saw right through the layers you’d carefully arranged around your heart.

“You don’t really want to be a knight,” he said. “Or a farmer. Though, I suppose it would be a peaceful life. No courtly intrigue, no fancy parties. Just the land and the seasons,” he paused, letting his gaze settle back onto you. “You just want to be free.”

Your throat felt constricted again. The words nearly came out—the confession that had lived behind your teeth for years.

“Yes,” you whispered. “More than anything.”

You didn’t say the rest. That if you were free—if you could choose for yourself—you would have chosen him long ago.

"You deserve that, princess," he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You deserve to marry for love, on your own terms. To raise your children when you feel ready. Not because your father demands it."

You slowed as you reached the steps leading back into the castle. He stopped beside you, close enough that his armored shoulder brushed against yours.

“You know,” he spoke even softer now, “wherever you end up, whoever they make you belong to…that won’t change anything for me.”

His hand lifted like he meant to touch your cheek once more, but he hesitated. You watched the moment pass, the decision to keep his distance. Because he was always too noble for his own good.

“I will always be yours to command,” he said simply. “And I will always protect you,” he went on, quieter still. “Even from behind another man’s walls.”

For a moment, you were too stunned to reply. The words were so plain, so certain, that you felt something in your heart crack a little.

Then you nodded, because it was all you could do.

And when he reached for your hand, you let him take it, just for a heartbeat, before the palace doors opened and the moment slipped away.

The hush of the garden fell away as you stepped into the cool stone corridors of the eastern wing. Sunlight spilled through the high windows in angled bars, catching on the polished suits of armor that lined the walls. Silent sentinels, watching your little procession as though they knew the secrets you carried between you.

He fell into step beside you without a word, his strides easy and familiar. The warmth of his shoulder brushed over yours again, the scent of polish steel and something softer trailing after him. You tried to swallow the knot that formed in your throat. Tried to pretend this was any other morning.

It almost worked.

Almost.

“So,” you said lightly, voice echoing just a little, “did you know my father thinks we’re too close?”

Satoru arched a brow. “Too close?”

You nodded, letting your hand trail along the marble banister. “I’m half-convinced he’s afraid I’ll commit treason and fall madly in love with you.”

He snorted, though you could see the faint flush that rose high on his cheekbones. “Does he, now?”

“He does.” You lifted your chin, schooling your expression into something mock-serious. “I think it keeps him up at night.”

He looked at you sidelong, and for a moment, his voice dropped into something softer. “And…if you did?”

You stilled, hand pausing over the stone. Your heart fluttered against your ribcage, like a bird desperate to escape.

“If you did fall madly in love with me, Princess…would that be so terrible?”

Your mouth went dry. You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out thin.

“No,” you said quietly, after a beat too long. “No, I don’t suppose it would.” 

You looked away, trying to gather yourself. “I think you’d make a finer husband than most.”

His eyes widened, just for an instant. You almost thought he might say something. Something that would change everything between you. But before he could find a reply, a sharp voice echoed down the corridor.

“Your Highness!”

You startled, spinning toward the sound, sharp and exasperated in equal measure. Cassandra’s footsteps clicked briskly across the polished floor, her skirts trailing behind her like a dark storm cloud. She was still a beauty in her middle years, hair pulled back into a customary severe braid, mouth pressed into a disapproving line it had worn since you were a child.

“She’s like a hound on the scent,” you muttered, trying not to smile. “Spare me from another less on stitching or a dress fitting.”

Satoru chuckled under his breath. He glanced down at you, eyes bright with amusement. “Well, you’ll have to face her eventually. You can’t keep hiding in the garden all day, no matter how much you’d like to.”

“Perhaps if someone had just let me scale the walls—”

He cut in smoothly with a sigh, “You really do have a one-track mind. Scaling the walls was a terrible idea. What if you’d fallen and broken your neck?”

“Then I would not have to practice my posture.”

He shook his head, exasperated affection softening his features. “So cheeky. If only you put as much effort into your lessons as you do into your sass, you might actually be a proper princess for once.”

Before you could think better of it, you reached up and smacked the back of his head—lightly, though the sound still made you both snicker.

“If only you wore your helmet with the rest of your armor,” you sniffed.

He looked at you over his shoulder, rubbing the spot with an exaggerated wince.

“I’m convinced you take more pleasure in tormenting me than any enemy ever has.”

“That’s because they don’t have to spend hours listening to you prattle on about your ‘excellent swordsmanship,’” you teased.

“Only because it’s true,” he said, smug as ever.

Before you could retort, Cassandra’s voice came again—closer this time.

“Your Highness! Bloody hell—Do not make me search every hall in this wing!”

She rounded the corner, skirts snapping against her ankles like a banner in the wind. She came to a stop a few paces away, her hands braced on her hips, breathless with indignation.

“There you are,” she scolded, voice sharp enough to make you straighten instinctively. “I have been searching this entire wing—and the gardens, and the old chapel—and here you stand, gossiping like washerwomen.”

You dipped your head, trying—and failing—not to smile. “Forgive me, Cassandra…”

She narrowed her eyes. “Forgiveness will have to wait. You are supposed to be in your dress fitting this very moment. The tailors are growing impatient.”

You grimaced. “I already have a room full of dresses. Must I really sit for another?”

“Yes, princess.” Her tone left no room for argument. “You’ve been avoiding your fittings for the past week, and the dressmaker has come all the way from the capital. You cannot keep putting this off.”

You clenched your jaw, hating how small and cornered you felt. It was always like this. No matter how fast you ran, duty was faster. You opened your mouth, probably to protest again, but she cut you off with a look that could have withered the ivy on the palace walls.

“Don’t you start sighing and pouting like a child,” she warned. “You are a grown woman, and it’s time you started acting like it.”

Beside you, Satoru cleared his throat, just loud enough that you felt the tremor of laughter he was trying to contain. Cassandra’s gaze snapped to him, and though he stood a full head taller, he had the good sense to look at least slightly repentant.

“And you,” she said icily. “One would think the King’s Guard had better uses for its time than indulging the princess’s every whim.”

Satoru inclined his head in solemn acknowledgment. “One would think,” he agreed blandly.

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing outright.

“But I am not indulging,” he added after a beat, with the air of a man forced to clarify the obvious. “I am merely ensuring Her Highness does not injure herself while…promenading.”

Cassandra closed her eyes, as though offering a silent prayer for patience.

“Be that as it may,” she said crisply, “I expect you to see her to the fitting rooms without delay.”

Satoru glanced down at you, eyes brightening with mischief. “Shall I carry you there, Princess?”

“If you try,” you murmured, “I’ll bite you.”

Cassandra sighed, long and theatrical. “Impossible children,” she muttered, sweeping past you with a rustle of skirts. “Come along, now.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Satoru, and though she said nothing, you could almost hear the unspoken reprimand: Do not encourage her.

And still, you knew she didn’t truly disapprove, not in her heart. She had watched over you all your life, filled the place your mother should have held. The scolding was just another way she loved you.

You drew in a steadying breath. And when Satoru offered his arm—because of course he did—you took it without thinking.

“Come on,” he said gently. “Best not to keep her waiting.”

You sighed, lifting your chin in what you hoped was a dignified display of resignation.

“She’ll never forgive you for aiding and abetting my escape,” you said as you started walking.

He grinned, falling into step beside you. “I’ll bear the guilt.”

But as Cassandra’s footsteps echoed ahead, the smile slipped just enough for you to glimpse the truth beneath it, something tender and resigned and unbearably sad.

And you wished—just for a moment—that you were braver. Brave enough to reach for his hand and never let go. Brave enough to say the thing you’d buried in your heart for years.

Because no matter how easily you laughed together, you both knew the truth:

The days you could steal moments like this were numbered.

Satoru didn’t release your arm until you were inside the fitting chambers—a bright, airy room crowded with bolts of fabric, brass pins gleaming in neat rows, and three tailors who looked up the moment you entered with identical expressions of long-suffering irritation.

He paused just outside the door, inclining his head. “I’ll wait here, Princess.”

You didn’t miss the way his mouth curved, just a smidge, as though he knew precisely how much you were dreading this.

When the door swung shut behind you, Cassandra crossed her arms over her bodice. “Honestly,” she sighed. “You’re worse than a child sometimes. Flirting with that knight. Avoiding your fittings. You can’t keep this up forever, you know.”

“I was not flirting,” you protested, though the heat in your face made it sound like a lie. “Such ridiculous notions…”

Her brow arched, unimpressed. “I’m well aware of your…history with Ser Gojo. And I’ve seen how you two act around each other. You’re as bad at hiding it as you are at being on time.”

You glared at her, though it lacked any real heat. “I do not flirt with him.”

Cassandra only sniffed, clearly unconvinced. “If you insist.”

Before you could muster a sharper retort, the head tailor clapped her hands sharply. “Your Highness, if you please—we’ve wasted enough of the morning already.”

With a resigned sigh, you stepped onto the little dais in the center of the room.

The fitting took hours.

It felt as though you spent half your life standing perfectly still while other people measured you, pinned you, and tugged fabric this way and that, scolding you every time you shifted your weight or let out an exasperated sigh.

The tailors murmured to each other in hushed, fretful tones, complaining about the uneven hem or the way the bodice wouldn’t quite lie flat. When you yawned, one of them gave you a look so scandalized you almost giggled.

By the time the sun had climbed to its zenith, your back ached and your feet had gone numb in your slippers.

And it wasn’t even the end of your tasks for the day.

There were still etiquette lessons. Music lessons. History class.

Another afternoon of polite obedience, of nodding and smiling while your thoughts drifted anywhere else, especially to the white-haired knight who stood guard outside every door you entered…

When the final pin was tucked away and the tailors declared themselves satisfied, though none of them looked remotely pleased, Cassandra escorted you from the fitting room with her hand pressed firmly between your shoulder blades.

“Try not to pout so obviously,” she murmured as you stepped back into the corridor, where Satoru waited exactly where you’d left him. “It does you no favors, and you know I won’t have you sulking through the rest of your obligations.”

You sniffed, still scowling as you rubbed at the spot on your ribcage the pins had bruised. “I’m not pouting.”

“You are,” she said, though her expression softened just a fraction. “And you’ll compose yourself before you walk into the etiquette hall, or so help me—”

“All right,” you sighed, lifting your chin. “All right.”

Satoru watched this exchange with barely-concealed amusement. When you met his eyes, you could see he was fighting a smile.

“Don’t,” you muttered, stepping up to take his arm again.

“I haven’t said a word,” he said innocently.

“Well, don’t even think it.”

He hummed under his breath, though he didn’t argue, leading you down the corridor with Cassandra following at your heels.

The etiquette lesson felt as though it lasted another lifetime.

Three full hours of measured steps and curtseys, of balancing a book atop your head while the instructor clicked her tongue and repeated that a princess did not fidget, did not sigh, did not look bored even when she wanted to scream.

When the final bell rang, you were ushered straight into your music lesson. Then into your history class.

By the time the last scroll was rolled up and dismissed, your shoulders were stiff, your head was pounding, and you were sure you had never been more exhausted in your life.

And through it all, every lesson, every moment you were forced to smile and nod and pretend you were perfectly content, your mind kept trailing back to the man who stood silent and watchful in the corridor.

The man who would never be yours.

When Cassandra finally dismissed you from the last lesson, you could have wept with relief.

Satoru walked you all the way back to your chambers, silent except for the soft rhythm of his boots on the carpet runner. You didn’t have the energy to banter anymore, not after hours of being measured, corrected, and gently scolded into compliance.

The moment the doors swung open, you slipped inside and pressed your back to them, breathing out a shaky sigh.

Your chambers were the only place in the palace that felt wholly yours.

A portrait of delicate opulence. Sunlight streamed in through the tall arched windows, draped in gauzy curtains the color of cream, their edges embroidered with golden thread. Carvings that wreathed the high ceiling gleamed, curlicues of lilies and vines. Tapestries lined the walls, their rich color soft with age—scenes of hunting parties and coronations, all the triumphs of your ancestors.

Your great canopied bed stood against the far wall. It was an elaborate confection of carved whitewood and piled high with embroidered pillows and silken coverlets in shades of ivory and blush. A little writing desk sat near the balcony doors, neatly arranged with parchment and quills. Everywhere you looked were tiny tokens of a life you’d never chosen—filigreed haircombs, velvet slippers, and the jeweled circlet you were expected to wear at formal meals.

You crossed the room in a daze and collapsed face-first into the bed, letting out a muffled groan against the satin sheets. For the first time all day, you let yourself stop pretending.

The hush lasted all of thirty seconds.

You’d barely managed to close your eyes before a sharp knock rattled the heavy wooden doors.

You lifted your head just enough to glare in their direction. “Oh, what is it now?”

The latch turned, and Cassandra stepped inside with the expression of a woman sorely tested by the whims of royalty.

“Three hours of etiquette lessons for what?” she demanded, exasperation softening only a fraction when she spotted you sprawled inelegantly among your pillows. “Honestly, you should really work on your manners. You’re a princess, not a ruffian.”

You turned your head just enough to squint at her. “I’m tired.”

“And you do recall you have a meeting with your father in less than an hour, yes?”

You let your face drop back into the coverlet with a groan. “Can’t my father wait? I’m sure he has better things to do with his time anyway…”

“No, Your Highness,” she said crisply, leaving no room for argument. “The king has specifically requested this meeting, and I’m to make sure you’re there. No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it.”

“Lovely,” you muttered into the sheets. “Truly.”

Cassandra ignored your petulance with a patience of long practice. With brisk efficiency, she crossed the room and began sorting through the gowns inside the wardrobe. 

“Up,” she instructed, not bothering to look at you. “You need to look presentable. And no sulking.”

You made a noise of protest, but you sat up anyway, letting her slip a soft, elegant blue gown—embroidered in silver thread that caught the light like tiny stars—over your head. She fastened the tiny pearl buttons with deft fingers and settled a necklace of pale opals against your collarbone.

When she was satisfied, she stepped back to study you critically. “Better,” she allowed. “You look lovely.”

You turned to the mirror and sighed. All the finery in the world couldn’t make you feel any less exhausted.

Cassandra’s reflection met yours in the glass, her expression gentling. “I know it’s been a long day,” she said, just a touch softer. “But your father wouldn’t ask for you if it wasn’t important.”

“I know.” You pressed your lips together. “Don’t worry, I’m going.”

By the time you emerged into the corridor, Satoru was waiting. He straightened as you stepped through the doorway, his eyes sweeping over your polished appearance with the gown and jewels. For a moment, something almost wistful passed across his expression.

Cassandra fell into step behind you, and Satoru took up position just a few paces back, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he always did.

You paused halfway down the hall and turned to face him, your chin lifted in challenge.

“Don’t you look smug,” you said.

He blinked innocently. “Smug? Me?”

Without warning, you stuck your tongue out at him, because if you were doomed to play the perfect daughter, you were at least allowed one small rebellion.

He stared for a beat, then huffed out a quiet laugh—rolling his eyes before he returned the gesture, poking his tongue out at you in reply.

It was childish. It was ridiculous. And for just a moment, it felt like being twelve again, like nothing had changed.

Cassandra caught the exchange and shot him a look so sharp that even Satoru looked properly chastened. But there was no real heat in it, only the weary affection of someone who’d known you both too long to be truly scandalized.

“Really,” she sighed. “The two of you.”

You turned back around quickly before she could scold you too.

It wasn’t a long walk to your father’s study, but it felt longer than it should have. You kept your eyes trained on the polished floors, wishing you could vanish into them. But at least Satoru’s steps felt like a quiet reassurance at your back.

At the heavy wooden doors, Cassandra paused, pressing a gentle hand to your shoulder. “Remember,” she murmured, smoothing an invisible crease from your sleeve, “Head high. You are your mother’s daughter.”

You swallowed, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I know.”

And with that, she pushed the door open, ushering you into the room beyond.

The heavy doors closed behind you with a muffled thud, sealing out the rest of the world.

Your father’s study was as you’d always known it. Vast and somber, lined with shelves of leather-bound tomes and tall windows draped in dark velvet. The air smelled faintly of ink and old cedar. A fire crackled low in the hearth, throwing shifting shadows across the polished floor. A great map of the realm hung behind the desk, marked with tiny banners to track the tides of alliances and skirmishes.

And at the center of it all, the King sat behind his broad oak desk, dressed not in ceremonial robes, but in simple black. His crown was absent, revealing his silver-streaked hair combed neatly back from his lined brow. His hands were folded atop a stack of papers. He didn’t look up right away.

You stood in the threshold a moment longer than necessary, gathering the composure that felt thinner every year. At last, he looked up and assessed you with dark eyes and that steady, inscrutable expression you’d never quite learned how to read.

He looked up as you approached—dark eyes as inscrutable as ever. His face was lean, lined at the corners, but he was still imposing in a way that made you feel like a child again, caught in some small transgression.

“Father,” you said softly, dipping your head.

He inclined his own in reply, then gestured to the high-backed chair across from him.

“Please,” he said. “Sit.”

You did, smoothing your skirts beneath you, and folded your hands in your lap to hide the faint temor in your fingers. Your heart just wouldn’t quite slow.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you was familiar—more comfortable, perhaps—than any attempt at affection had ever been. You looked anywhere but at him. The map, the window, the thin crack in the desk’s lacquer you’d traced with your fingertip a hundred times as a girl.

“You look well,” he said at last.

You blinked, startled by the simple observation. “Thank you.”

Silence stretched again, taut and uneasy.

He cleared his throat, as if embarrassed by his own civility. “I imagine you know why I asked you here,” he said.

Your heart sank. “I have a suspicion.”

He nodded once, solemnly. “I understand,” he began, “that the prospect of being betrothed is not something you wish to discuss.”

Your stomach sank. You’d known, of course. You’d known the moment Cassandra mentioned he had called for you. But hearing it aloud made your chest constrict painfully tight. You looked away, the firelight blurring slightly at the edges.

“But,” he went on, voice gentling in a way that only made it worse, “this is not something we can simply ignore. You are of age now, and the matter of your marriage must be addressed.”

“I assumed as much,” you swallowed, trying to keep your expression composed. Of course it must be addressed. It had been addressed your entire life, just not in so many words.

He studied you, as though waiting for you to object. When you didn’t, when you only folded your hands primly in your lap again and forced yourself to meet his eyes, he inclined his head slightly.

“I have reviewed and considered every candidate the council presented,” he said. “Their lands, their titles, their alliances. And I have come to a decision.”

There it was. The final nail in the coffin of every foolish daydream you’d ever harbored. You closed your eyes for a moment. A small, futile attempt to gather what was left of your composure.

When you opened them again, your father was watching you closely.

“It will be Naoya Zenin,” he said, as though he were naming a simple fact rather than a fate. “Of the Western Marches.

You drew in a slow, shaky breath.

“A Zenin,” you echoed thinly. “But…Father, our kingdom doesn’t exactly bode well with theirs.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “I am aware.”

“Then why—”

“Because,” he let out a sigh, as though he’d anticipated the objection. “This is precisely why this match is valuable. The Zenin hold the trade routes to the mountains, and the passage to the souther coast. Our alliance has been…strained, to put it kindly. This marriage is an opportunity to end generations of tension and suspicion. It will give our people security, and give you a consort with both wealth and standing.”

You pressed your palms into your skirts, fighting the urge to shake your head, to beg him to reconsider.

“And,” he continued, “I have met Naoya myself. He is…proud. Perhaps too much so. But he is intelligent. Ambitious. And he has a great deal to offer.”

You tried to swallow the bile rising in your throat.

Naoya Zenin. A man you’d met only twice—once as a child, when he’d ignored you entirely, and again the previous year, when his cold, appraising eyes had made you want to flee the hall.

Your heart already belonged to someone else. It always had.

You swallowed, your thoughts chasing themselves in frantic circles. 

What about what I want? 

What about him?

But you didn’t say it. You couldn’t.

And your father must have seen some trace of that knowledge in your face, because his expression softened in a way that startled you. His gaze drifted to the fire. His voice, when it came again, felt weighted with something you didn’t often hear in it.

Understanding.

“I know this is not what you would choose,” he said quietly. “I know, too, that your heart is not unclaimed.”

Your breath hitched.

He didn’t look at you, he stared into the flames as though they might hold the answer to something neither of you could name.

“When I was a young man,” he began, “my marriage to your mother was arranged. Did you know that?”

You hesitated. “I…knew it was not a match you chose.”

“No,” he agreed. “It was not. She was from a minor house. Too spirited, they said. Too careless with her words. Too soft-hearted to ever understand the demands of rule.”

You stayed very still, afraid that if you moved, he might stop speaking.

“I thought it was a curse,” he said, “That I was being forced into something I could never want.”

He exhaled, a faint crease appearing between his brows.

“She was nothing like me,” he said. “Everything I was not. Full of life. Almost childishly so. She laughed at everything. She never understood why the court presented so solemm, Why I was so solemn.”

You blinked, startled. He never spoke of her, not like this.

“I had never met anyone like her. Someone so eager to give herself to the world. So determined to find the light in everything.” A small, rueful curve touched his mouth. “She was like the sun. And I had spent my life convinced I belonged to the dark.” 

He paused, then lifted his eyes to yours.

“It took time,” he said. “But in the end, I could not imagine my life without her. We were opposites. And yet one could not exist without the other.”

The silence that followed was gentler somehow—like the hush that came just before dawn.

When you spoke, your voice was little more than a whisper. “And…you came to love her?”

“I did,” he said simply. “More than I ever thought myself capable.”

Your eyes burned, though you tried to blink it away.

He straightened, the moment of confession shuttered behind his usual reserve. “I tell you this not to dismiss your feelings. But to remind you that sometimes, what seems impossible can become…something else.”

Something else.

“You needn’t be glad of this arrangement,” he began. “But I ask you to trust that love does not always begin as you expect. Sometimes it is quiet. Sometimes, it grows where you least wish it to.”

You looked down at your hands.

You wanted to believe him. But the image of another man’s hand on yours made your stomach turn.

And then your thoughts drifted to Satoru’s steady presence behind you. The warmth of his palms at your waist. The way your heart had always known him as yours.

You did not trust that love would ever grow where you least wished it to.

But you did not say so.

Instead, you nodded, because it was all you could do. Because it was expected of you.

The silence after your father’s final words felt like something you could drown in.

And so you did the only thing you could. You rose, smoothing your skirts with hands that trembled just enough to betray you.

He didn’t stand, only inclined his head—a dismissal, or a benediction. You weren’t sure which.

You crossed the room with measured steps, refusing to let your spine curve under the weight settled in your chest. The doors swung open at your approach, spilling warm light into the hall beyond.

Satoru straightened immediately, his eyes sweeping over you in a single, searching glance. You didn’t have to say a word, he’d already read the answer in your face.

You tried to walk past him without stopping. Tried to keep your expression composed, your gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the corridors.

But then his hand lifted—hesitant, almost instinctive—and brushed against your sleeve.

“Princess—”

That single word nearly undid you.

You swallowed, throat too tight to give him an answer. And for a moment, you hated how well he knew you. How quickly he could see past every mask you tried to wear.

You looked up, meeting his gaze, and your voice broke before you could stop it.

“It’s done…” you whispered.

His expression didn’t change. But something in his eyes went stark and hollow, like a candle guttering in the dark.

You wanted to say more. To tell him you wished it were different. That you would have chosen him if you could.

But the words wouldn’t come.

So instead, you turned away before he could see the tears gathering at the edges of your composure. But your steps faltered. Just for a moment.

And that was all it took.

Before you could think better of it, before you could remember why you shouldn’t, he reached for you. His hand found your sleeve, gentle and certain. And when you didn’t pull away, he pulled you into his arms.

It was reckless. Improper. Exactly the sort of breach of protocol that would have earned any other knight a cruel reprimand.

But in that moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You buried your face against the cool press of his armor, your breath catching on a sob you couldn’t quite swallow. His arms closed around you, solid and unshakable. One gloved hand rose to thread through your hair, slow and careful, as though you were something breakable.

Neither of you spoke. There was nothing left to say.

And when the silence fell, it felt like the end of something you’d never been brave enough to name.

Chapter Index | Next >>

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[leafynightmares]

Veiled Secrets

art is by @3-aem they're insanely talented 🥹

pairings- emperor! gojo x arranged empress! reader

summary -you've been set to marry the new emperor Satoru Gojo, but he wants nothing to do with all of that, he doesn't even come to your first meeting - rude! No, he must bathe with his concubines, but when he sees you for the first time and doesn't even know you're his wife? Everything shifts, but it turns out he doesn't know that you're not happy to be here either. Leaving your past love behind and everything you know for a foreign country, just to be unwanted by your new 'husband' is almost enough to break you. You're ready to go through the motions, play your role, but do you really know who Emperor Gojo is?

contents/warnings - heavy angst, depression, enemies to lovers, longing, mutual pining, explicit smut, back and forth games, court tactics, Satoru being a hoe, reader missing her lover Suguru, a fuck ton of drama and games, he falls hard. This chap - fingering, squirting, sexual tension, a fuck ton of angst, a wet dream, letters from Suguru, reader's past, jealousy on both ends, toxic Satoru (when isn't he in my fics lmao) love octagons atp, idk - enjoy - WC 11k

If you enjoy, rbs and comments are so appreciated! Taglist closed

<<<part one - playlist - part three (soon)

Part Two

You sure do turn down tea with your husband with a delighted smile the next morning, sure maybe you’re petty, maybe you’re vindictive, but it feels too good. You can’t resist feeling some sense of satisfaction at how offended he surely was, as you have tea brought to your room instead.

It’s comfy, alone in your chambers, where you don’t have to see the prying eyes of everyone at court, where you don’t have to worry so terribly about seeing your now husband with his hoard of women. You had to see it before you two wed, and you definitely already had a distaste for it - if anything it was a given, you’re sure he spent the night with them.

You don’t care for him, you don’t even think you like him, but it still is just utter disrespect to not even do your obligation to the empire in lieu of going around with his whores- sorry, concubines- instead. You hate that you even think that way, but something about having him all over you then just turning you down flat was just hurtful to your self esteem.

You try to act as if you’ve got it all together, a front for the conniving girls you’ve already run into, but it’s not completely true that you feel that way. When you disrobed and acted so boldly, you had been terrified of his gaze on you, of what if you couldn’t compete with them, but you held your composure because that was how you were trained to be.

Also, a voice in the back of your head - Suguru’s.

Whispering you’re beautiful, composing little poems he’d sneak into your hand as you both would pass each other in the halls of your castle, of your home. You ache for the carefree moments, the captured and hidden times you stole with him in the halls, under the stairwell, his soft smile and lidded gaze.

The emptiness builds, as you just lay there in your bed and think of what your life will be now, what it will entail. Feeling the guilt of enjoying last night eating you alive - what if you forgot Suguru? What if Satoru’s touch and gaze truly confused you enough, where you wanted to have all of him? What if you fell, and to share a man, a man who could never be yours.

Terrifying, to think of how badly you wanted him last night. You can only hope it was just that, just physical, something that comes from lack of experience, you can explain it away in a method that leaves you feeling just a modicum less of the guilt hot and heavy.

Soon you’re summoned, when aren’t you being summoned since you got here truly, to go play chess with Satoru. At this point it took you by surprise, when the three girls showed up in the chambers you like to hole inside of. It’s where you could be left alone with your thoughts without all the prying eyes taking hold.

Miwa smiles, the other two attendants look at you with haughty, raised brows, as you all begin to walk through the halls, to places you haven’t yet seen, a more secluded part, but you get to hear the neverending fucking court gossip on the way. You're sick to your stomach as you walk by Gojo's apparent favorite concubine, who mockingly bows at you.

“Your majesty,” she says magnanimously, as if she respects you.

You incline your head, as you wonder if it was her pavilion he went to after rejecting you. Thoughts and visions of what he'd done to you, the intimates you shared, and how he must have went much further. You hate that jealousy is seeping its way into your mind like a poison, like the venom in which she says your name then, and you wonder if it was her last night.

Why did you care, let the man whore around, it’s not as if you can do anything about it, even if it fills you with disgust. You manage to plaster on a fake fucking smile as she dares to make small talk with you. With the way the man whores it's a wonder he's not gotten them all pregnant, a curiosity that is in your mind now.

Would he get them all pregnant before you could? What happens then, if you can’t give him babies, does he decide to kill you or would he be merciful and perhaps get rid of you? The second option sounds better than this, passing girls who are fighting to become concubines themselves for whatever fifth position you suppose is left open from another girl.

“Hello, my lady,” you hear Satoru’s mother then, you genuinely smile at her, as she looks at the walking ladies with concern. “How are you my dear?”

“I’m all right, my lady, still very tired I think.”

“No, it’s quite normal on a wedding night, hmm?” Her ladies and yours giggle, you pretend to join them. “I’m glad to hear he wants to play chess, it’s his favorite game since he was a boy. No one’s ever won against him!”

“Ah, I can’t wait.”

To beat his arrogant ass at it.

She nods, and soon you’re led outside to a beautiful field of green grass on a hill, and you see the emperor sitting there waiting on you, sipping on a silver goblet, his rings glinting in the sun. His eyes catch you as you give him a bow at the bottom of the steps, taking in the odd serenity of the place, your ladies leave you both alone as you stand there.

“Come on up, Empress,” he says softly, a smile on his face. “You were too tired for tea, hmm?”

“Indeed your majesty, please forgive me.” Your mean smirk tells him all he needs to, you’re a petty little fucking creature, and it just endlessly makes him more enamored, when every woman he knows is soft and sweet - to have a little villain is intriguing him more than he’d admit.

“Sit, sit.” You do just that, he can’t help but remember last night vividly as you perch on the chair across from him, smiling like you actually could like him, a fake little one.

He’s seen your real one and it’s not meant for him.

“Thank you for inviting me to play this, your Majesty.”

“Hah, I am sure you have no clue of what this game is, hmm?” Satoru is cocky as he leans back, and you want to smack the smirk off his pretty face.

As if you didn’t know chess, as if you hadn’t been the best player there was, you used to make grown men cry and demand a rematch, until they realized just who they were insulting - the princess - and backed down. You and Suguru played constantly, along with your most trusted advisor Mr. Nanami, he was the one who originally taught you.

The longing for your home fills you from just such a small little detail now, you swallow it down as you remember sitting across from them, across from your dad and playing the game. Across from the boy you ended up falling for. It was by far one of your favorite games, though you loved a little cricket and a good game of cards too.

But let him think you’re clueless, his loss will be that much sweeter.

“Oh dear, what’s this game?” You ask, blinking a bit and putting on a fake little smile, Satoru chuckles and leans forward, his blue silken robes falling just so, showcasing his strong chest as he eyes the board.

“I had a feeling you’d not know, princesses are taught to be good wives, not much else. But if you’re to be with me, I would enjoy it if you had a little intellect, I’m not traditional I’m afraid.”

You almost kick him under that fucking table.

“How magnanimous of you, your majesty! To let women play such a man’s game, oh the kindness.” You’re fluttering your lashes some more, he pauses then, eyes narrowing at you.

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“Not at all! Maybe I’m wrong about you. Do teach me.” You lean forward, resting your chin on your dainty hand as he eyes you, studying how the sun is casting shadows across your pretty face under the gazebo.

You’re so stunning he can hardly stand it, how effortlessly you make him crave more, only to give him your cold, evil smile. Him, Satoru Gojo, the emperor who everyone either fears or loves, to have a girl utterly disinterested in him. It was endlessly infuriating, and he fully intended to know exactly what was your problem with him at some point.

Surely after he drank your cunt last night, you’d show a little affection, a little blush or something!? But instead, you have some evil look in your eyes, they’re glittering like two gems if he could ever find any that color. He’d scour the fucking country if he could replicate it, a foolish thought that your impudent little attitude was making worse.

Instead of going to his favorite concubine to play, he asked you, and after you turned down his tea invitation - like the spiteful brat you are - he didn’t know if you’d show up for a game you don’t know. But you’re smiling and nodding, like there’s no thoughts in your head, and he doesn’t trust it for shit. Especially when your fingers elegantly take a rook in them.

“Hmm, I think I’ll move this cute little castle over here!” You’re feigning the lack of knowledge, watching with each move as Emperor Gojo’s anger grows, his blue eyes narrowing, plush lips pursed, a little sweat on his brow.

“I see, you catch on quickly I suppose, that’s a good move,” he manages, moving his queen now, and you see it - a weakness forming in his protection of the most important piece in the game.

“Ah, thank you, your majesty, you’re so kind,” he glares again, leaning back in the seat as his thighs brush yours under the table. “I’ll place the cute horse here!”

You move the elegantly carved golden piece, and he glares now, furious as he realizes it - you’ve just put him in fucking check!?

“You’ve never played?” He raises a thin brow, and you sigh, shrugging a shoulder, your silk robes fall just a bit, revealing too much of your creamy skin, his throat goes dry as he forgets the game.

“Do you think I have? Am I rather good at it, your majesty?” You have the audacity to run your fingertips across your neck, gently touching a pretty gold necklace that he notices you wear.

“You’re adequate I suppose,” he’s lying out of his ass, and all he can think of is what is that necklace? Of touching your skin, so distracted he makes the only move he can. “Bloody hell…”

“Aha, I think I’ll use this cute bishop and… there! That’s checkmate.” You’re giggling with delight, an evil fucking laugh, and he’s dumbfounded then.

He again wonders just who the fuck you are, and why he’s so intrigued with the girl who seemingly is the only person who doesn’t want him, and the only person who has ever bested him at this game. You stand then, a hand in front of your face as you try to cover your malicious little smile.

“Again.”

“Oh, again? Certainly your majesty.” You sit back down and proceed to anihilate him in four games in a row, each one a quicker defeat with his growing frustration, his jaw tenses as he looks at you then.

“How long have you played chess, Empress?”

“Hmm, since I was about three I suppose.” He curses under his breath now, lashes lowering over those cerulean eyes.

“And you acted stupid?”

“No, you assumed I was not adept at this game, I just let you believe it. I do love when you assume I’m not well versed, remember me sucking your-”

“Jesus!” He stands then, blushing as he leans over the table, an arm on either side, scowling at you deeper. “You’re an insolent brat.”

“Who is really good at chess.” You tilt your head, as Satoru sighs, looking down at the board.

“Indeed, you are. What got you interested?”

“You want to know about me?” You say it as if it’s the worst thing in the world, he opens his lips to say the truth.

Yes, he wants to know about you.

But Concubine Lola and one of the other girls come in then, giggling and tittering as they run over to him, you blink in shock as he allows them too - as if they didn’t know their place wasn’t blatantly in front of you. They’re kissing on him, his head, his cheeks, as his hands brush down their waists, and he eyes you then, sardonic and conceited, as if this display is impressive.

“Chess, I bet you beat her so quickly! He’s amazing you know,” she gives you a nasty smile as she sits on Satoru’s lap, and you see his eyes widen as if in fear as he looks to you. “Don’t feel bad, I lose all the time.”

“I didn’t lose.” It’s so quiet you can hear a pin drop, the other girl kisses Satoru right on the fucking mouth then, while Lola tugs his hand closer.

The sickness rises like bile in your throat, no you two have no connection, but to know he kissed you last night - everywhere - and to see this? What a cruel fucking joke it was, when the man you love is back home an ocean apart, when everything you loved or wanted is gone all for him.

You tremble as he pulls back then, his gaze is no longer cocky, not when he sees your face, and the way your eyes glimmer. He clears his throat, and gently nudges them off him, but neither budges unfortunately, instead touching him obscenely, a display he doesn’t think either of them have done in public. He at first thought it amusing but now he feels almost trapped.

“I am having time with my wife, ladies,” he says chidingly, when you stand up, and he feels the guilt eating at him - and why?

He’s an emperor, he’s supposed to do this, even if he should not have such a display in front of you - maybe that’s it… no. it’s not that. It’s the fact that you look disgusted right now, you’re already disinterested in him beyond any shadow of a doubt, but he hadn’t seen that look yet, a look that makes him want to tell them to fuck off and beg your forgiveness.

“You two should know your place,” you say, a soft yet commanding voice, both concubines gasp at it. “You wait for your emperor to see you, you don’t disrespect him and all propriety by running around half naked and practically humping his fucking leg in front of me.”

“Your majesty-”

“Let her speak,” his voice is soft, you scoff, shaking your head. “Go on.”

“You should have better control of your subjects, but it’s all ultimately your decision, however I know each of you have been trained properly - and that’s not how you conduct yourselves around your betters.”

“Our betters?”

 “Yes, I am your better.” They’re pouting now, as you cross your arms, eyeing the last move, where you’d put him in check in three solid moves. You smile as you pick up the queen piece then, twirling it a bit. “It’s not that you can’t have him, you certainly can, but I’ll not have disrespect in my face again. Understood?”

“Satoru!”

“You are mere pawns my dears,” you knock over four pawns, to represent each of his concubines, then your gaze catches him, you’re so fucking sexy like this he can’t focus.

It’s you he wants on his lap.

It’s you he wants to kiss.

It’s like you’re all he sees when you have the audacity to knock over his king piece too. “Oops, an accident your majesty.”

You fix the piece right, setting the queen right next to it, his fists clench at his side now. “Go on you two.”

“No need, your majesty, allow them the attention. I’ll go to my rooms, I have some things I’d like to write about.” You curtsey, all elegant as your hair falls over your shoulders, and he can hardly stand how his heart races.

“Nonsense, let me -”

“Farewell.”

You’re walking away, your skirts swishing when Satoru jumps up, the two girls falling off his lap, to grip your delicate wrist in his hand, you once again hate that his touch feels good. You hate the goosebumps that trail across your skin, the way him murmuring your name makes you feel.

“Yes? What do you require of me?” You ask now, and he sighs, lips parted as he falters.

“That won’t happen again, they’re not used to me having a wife.”

“A wife.” It’s almost laughable.

You’re his wife.

“Please,” he steps closer, and you step back just a bit, swallowing down your nausea. “It won’t happen like that again.”

“It matters naught to me, it just isn’t a good look your majesty.” You blink and feign that you don’t fucking care, like you don’t feel disgusted and disrespected constantly here.

“Satoru! Come back!” You eye them, leaning to the side, when he takes your hands in his, and you look at them, swallowing yours, elegant hands that could paint a picture, yet strong enough to wield a weapon, talented enough to make you writhe underneath him.

“They want you back.”

“And I’m fucking talking to you,” he leans down now, you swallow - throat dry - inhaling his scent, something intoxicating, as his eyes light up. “I didn’t ask them to come here.”

“You’re the emperor, you’re entitled to fuck them all you want, just not right in front of me. Is that okay to ask?”

He’s sputtering again, shaking his head. “You think I fucked them?”

“Didn’t you, last night?” You whisper, the thoughts almost making you cry, he shakes his head then, surprising you. “You didn’t?”

“No,” it’s a quiet answer, you see no reason for him to lie - if anything the man was prone to boast. You look down at his chest then. “I slept in my room.”

Jerking off to you.

“Ah, so why’d you say that?”

“I don’t know,” it’s an honest answer, for once you can sense somewhat of that sincerity, almost boyish in his look then, almost sweet when his thumb brushes the underside of your wrist, tracing a raised vein. “Will you have dinner with me?”

“You’re not demanding it of me?” You ask, soft so the women whispering about you cannot hear.

“I’m asking for it. And no, they will not be showing up to dinner.”

“Ah, very well. I shall attend, just let Kiyotaka inform me when.” You smile, and he scoffs at that. “What?”

“You like him don’t you?”

“His monocle is charming, hmm… would it bother you?” You step closer, raising your chin, your hair falling back now. “With all your women?”

“Yes it would bother me, foolish girl.”

“Never mind on dinner-”

“No, please just… you’ll have dinner with me.” You almost laugh at him then, giving him a little nod. “I’ll send Kiyotaka. Don’t look so fucking happy.”

“Your Majesty,” you give him an annoying ass bow, eyeing him under your lashes, heart achingly beautiful and cold when you peer at the girls. “I’ll let you beat them at chess, I’m afraid that won’t happen with me.”

“Oh really?” Your lips tilt up at the corner, you turn away again and leave, fuck he wants to follow you, he wants to play again, the thrill of you beating him, besting him?

Fuck it does something.

The problem is, he’s absolutely sure you don’t want to be near him, and the shit timing of the concubines isn’t helping a goddamn thing.

*****

You’re in tears despite acting so tough when you enter your lonely chambers, well they’re lonely now, after you kicked the ladies right out, in lieu of getting undressed yourself. You’re down to just a slip of material, thin and white, sighing as you study yourself in the mirror, touching the gold necklace like a lifeline, next to the chain lays a mark from him.

From Satoru Gojo.

Did he mark all of them, did he devour them like you? You know this was what is expected of an empress, but it doesn’t make it any easier, already after one day of marriage you’re having self doubt. You don’t know what the feeling is eating at you alive, but you detest it, the inadequacy you’ll hide with bold confident gestures, and hope you play it off well enough.

You shakily take out a letter, one of the last ones passed between you and your love, your teardrops have smeared the ink, blotting and spreading it in places, fading a few of the letters. You take several breaths as you read the letters carefully, lovingly, over and over, as if to make him physically real.

My princess,

It is my utmost wish to always make you smile. Today as I watched you practice your dance, I could not help but picture how it would feel to have you in my arms, spinning you on the dance floor. I suppose it’s a foolish thought, one that will never happen in public, but perhaps one evening I’ll twirl you on the floor, watch your face light up like it does.

I cannot wait to taste your lips upon mine once more, I cannot get the memories out of my head, I’ve already lost terribly in training I’m afraid. A bit of a shock when the notorious Sir Geto has been taken down by a young boy with a stick sword. But your vision flashed through my mind, and I was lost in it.

Until I can see you again,

Your Suguru

You’re a mess, picking up another letter you snuck with you, with the few comforts from back home, these were difficult to place, you hid them with a few stitches in your gowns, as everything was inspected when you entered the palace. Your fingers tremble as they touch another, on that parchment paper of his that’s just a little withered from the amount of times you’ve folded it.

My princess,

My thoughts in this letter are unforgivable in nature, but I can’t stop myself, when I remember your perfect breast in my hand, your pulse against my lips as it raced. The way your back arched, and I could feel your heat on my thigh, I confess my mind has been thinking the most wicked things ever since.

I would love to bury my face right under your skirts - I shall surely be taken down for even thinking such a thought, but here they are. Thoughts of drinking my Princess up, thoughts of you tugging at my hair as I make you feel such ecstasy, of course that would not be all I do, but a start, a show of how much I want, crave and need you.

Those thoughts are keeping me up all night.

Until we meet again,

Your Suguru.

“Fuck…” You’re exhaling as the memories make you press your thighs together, god Satoru surely made you cum with his wicked tongue - but there were no emotions with him.

A kiss with a man who loved you, or having a man who doesn’t care about you licking your cunt? The pleasure was there, but that merely adds to your guilt, it merely makes everything a million times worse. The things you wanted with Suguru first were being taken, you’re sure eventually he’ll make love to you - no, he’ll fuck you.

Satoru doesn’t look like a man who makes love.

You take out the last letter, and your heart races as you read it, remembering the moment vividly, touching your own thigh as your eyes shut, sitting in front of your vanity and losing yourself. You can’t stop stupid ass Satoru from entering your thoughts when you caress yourself, as much as you try to shove him back, his annoyingly blue eyes boring into you.

“Fuck that,” you huff now, eyeing the letter once more, until you’re touching yourself over your skirts, feeling the heat. “Focus, remember.”

You picture it, Suguru’s fingers sinking and stretching you for the first time, how his amethyst eyes lit up, and he watched you fall apart for him, whispering how beautiful you were like that. Whispering the most sweet yet filthy things - so tight, princess - and - god I need you, wrapped around me.

You’re rubbing your fingers up and down your slit, gasping out - when an unfortunate white haired ass comes into your vision again. He’s fingering you harder, faster, up and down motions that feel too intense. He’s sucking you off his fingers like Suguru did, but instead of devotion and tenderness, it was psychotic, it was like he enjoyed making you a mess.

Unfortunately, you’re gushing, and you feel like the worst sinner in the fucking world, for thinking of both men. You pull your finger off in frustration, beating chess alone had you soaking wet - he’s the most annoying man in existence truly, to constantly get this fucking reaction from you.

You try to nap, to dream of your love, but of course you’re instead lost in a dream of Satoru - but this time he’s with Suguru, and touching you in front of him. The hurt in Suguru’s eyes makes you fight it, the touches, but your body reacts, your body loves them, and soon you’re moaning, biting your lower lip in your dream state.

Soon Suguru’s tugging you, touching you, and the men are all over you, every inch of your body smothered with their affection, with their hungry eager lips and fingers, and you’re lost between them. Pressed up against Satoru’s chest, as Suguru kisses up your neck from behind, and you’re having your cunt played with by both of them, one finger inside, the other toying your clit.

‘She’s mine, aren’t you empress?’ Satoru asks in your dream, his blue eyes flashing with desire, you shake your head.

‘She’s mine, princess aren’t you?’ you nod to Suguru, when he kisses your mouth, only for Satoru to jerk your chin back to him.

‘Then why am I in this dream, hmm?’ he’s asking as he’s brushing his hand over your breast, Suguru pulling you to his chest and burying his face against your neck. ‘Explain why I’m in this dream, if you hate me?’

The dream is so vivid you almost cum from it, almost cry from it as it wraps your subconscious, only to be thankfully woken up by a gentle rap on the door. You hastily stand up, grabbing a silky red robe and tying it quickly, trying to ignore the clenching in your tummy, the throbbing of your cunt as you hate yourself for thinking of the emperor. You open the door and your shoulders relax just a bit when you see it’s Kiyotaka.

“Hello, Ijichi,” you say fondly, he smiles and bows while you open the door for him. “How are you doing today, I fear I took a nap.”

“I’m doing well, my lady,” he takes your hand and presses a kiss, pink decorating his cheeks. “You’re stunning even after a nap.”

“Not at all! Oh why can’t you be emperor?” You pout and he blushes more, earning your little giggle.

“You jest too much, my lady.” He stands now, clearing his throat, hands firmly behind him. “His Majesty said dinner will be ready in half an hour, should I send Miwa to dress you?”

“Oh, yes that’s fine, thank you. Will you be there?” He is bright red when you lean against the doorway on one hip.

“I will be there, serving his majesty.”

“Lame.” Kiyotaka snorts in laughter, before catching himself, you grin mischievously at him.

“My lady!”

“Sorry, I’ll act correctly, don’t worry, send Miwa up please.”

“Of course.” He bows with his hands under his wide sleeves, before darting off, a flustered mess because of you truly. You can’t help but enjoy him, the sweetness and friendship you all built that quickly. Miwa is soon in your room, you’ve also grown to get a little used to her in the past few days, much different than the other two girls.

“You look so lovely, your majesty,” she says then, her eyes twinkling as she sees your hair pins. “Which one should we use?”

“Why don’t you take this one,” you hand her a beautiful purple one, she blinks in surprise. “Please take it.”

“Oh thank you!” You smile and stand, slipping it into her hair, that’s swept up into a pretty coif, then eye the hair pin Suguru gave you, next to the one Satoru did.

To wear Suguru’s would be ridiculous, right?

Your fingers touch Suguru’s simple one, and touch the blue intricate one the emperor gave you instead. “Let’s do both.”

“Of course!” She places both pins in your hair, before turning and brushing just a little blush across your cheeks with her fingers, smiling then. “You look perfect, I know his majesty will be pleased.”

Like you care.

“That’s most kind, thank you Miwa.” You two walk out then, through the elegant halls, you see the shadows moving behind the doors.

I heard he doesn’t even like her.

I heard she was rude to his favorite, Lola!

Surely he would prefer sweet Lola to the mean new empress.

You hear a mix of hatred, spite, curiosity and some compassion as you pass, Miwa is tense, as if she knows what they’re saying as well, trying to distract you by telling you different places you’ve not seen yet. She’s certainly a bright spot, her jabbering is absolutely what you need after hearing more and more gossip.

Is she truly mean? She seemed kind.

She is rude I heard, Lola’s maids said so!

But isn’t it hard to be just one of many?

Thankfully, by the time you enter the hall, the talking has ceased, you see a chair at the complete opposite of where Satoru sits and take it, earning his scowl across the room. It’s meant to seat fifty people easily. You thank the servant for your plate kindly, holding your glass out as Ijichi pours your wine, and you greet your husband.

“I can’t even fucking hear you over there?”

“Oh, hello!” You shout now, raising your glass, Satoru almost kills Miwa and Ijichi for giggling with the other servants in the room, littered with paintings of all the Gojos all over the enormous sapphire painted walls. Like they’re fucking watching you, creepily all having the same insane ass blue eyes.

Sure they were beautiful - but also fuck him.

“How was your day!” You shout again, Ijichi almost loses it, coughing in his hand when Satoru stands, his hands gripping either side of the banquet table.

“Why sit there?”

“It’s a lovely seat!”

“Come sit closer, now.” He commands you, the voice you expect from an emperor who has been to battle, one you haven’t heard from him yet.

There’s no saying no to this, you already have surely annoyed the shit out of a man who could easily get rid of you. You take a breath and eye him from across the ridiculously large banquet table, beautiful even though you can’t stand him, he’s elegant and perfect as always in his robes, daringly low cut as if the man lives to show off his body.

You wish you didn’t find him so distractingly pretty, just as he wishes he could stop thinking of how badly he wants you, how badly he wants to know more about you, but he can’t find a fucking way to say it. He already knows some man is in your heart, in your head, it makes him sick as much as it makes him want to be someone you think of instead.

In the most unhealthy way, he wants you obsessed, as he is with you, with his constant thoughts since he encountered you in those baths, not uninterested like you are. He watches you hesitate from across the room before sighing and picking up your plate, but Kiyotaka takes it with a smile, carrying it over next to Satoru. 

You smile thankfully, and Satoru aches further in his chest. “Would you ever smile at me that way?” He finally gives in and asks it, you blink in surprise.

“Would you give me a reason to, your majesty?” You ask, walking to the seat next to him, which Kiyotaka has pulled out for you. “Thank you Ijichi.”

“My lady.”

“So you call him by his first name, and won’t even call me Gojo?” He’s clenching his jaw as he speaks, tapping his thigh in irritation, those eyes glinting bright blue.

“Well, I quite like him,” you’ve made Gojo furious now, he shocks you when he leans over, yanking you right on his hard thigh. “I’m not your concubine, you know!”

“You’re right, you’re my wife,” the word feels hollow, everything feels so wrong about it, your body responding to his touch in ways you wish it never, ever would. Your heart races in your chest when you feel your heat pressing on his thigh now, feel the way your pulse races when his lips are too close. “Say it.”

“No,” he chuckles without humor, cupping your face now, a thumb brushing over your lip. “Why say it? It matters naught.”

“It does matter, you are my fucking wife, not a concubine, not some tavern wench, though you certainly fucking act like one.”

“I act like a tavern wench!?”

“Sure do, dropping on your knees, though perhaps it was lovely to have this mouth shut - ah!” He’s slipped his thumb against your lips, for you to bite it, leaving teeth indentations. “You’re a bitch.”

“You’re a whore, and rude! Fuck you.” You go to stand up, and he yanks you back down, tugging you further up his thigh, his other arm wrapping your waist. “I’m not a bitch.”

“You are to me, what because I missed fucking tea? I’m here now, get the fuck over it.”

“Because I don’t want to be here, I don’t want it any more than you do!” You’re nervously playing with your necklace, he scowls at it again, tugging at the charm and seeing initials - S.G. He frowns then, looking up to study you. “What?”

“My initials?” He raises a brow in confusion, you just sigh, shaking your head, swatting his hand away. “Someone with the same?”

“Yes,” you can’t stand his gaze, penetrating every aspect of your body and soul, like he can see right through you - but he doesn’t see you. “If you wish to actually bed me, here isn’t the place for it.”

“If I wish to bed you,” he trails his fingers across your breasts, they rise and fall quickly, goosebumps rising. “I’d do it anywhere, and time, any place, till you’re so full of my cum you can’t move.”

You finally have nothing to say, lips parted at his words, swallowing nervously as he presses a kiss, almost tenderly, on your collarbone, right next to your little gold charm, his other hand slipping up your waist over the satin of your robe. You hear the rustle of it, you feel your body react, is it just desire, is it you wanting to forget your sorrow and just feel something?

“Do you cum in them?”

“Is it your business?” He scowls now at you, and you look down. “An Emperor’s duty is to have many heirs from many women, you expect me not to because you’re bratty about it?”

“Thought you hated tradition,” he scoffs then, little do you know he doesn’t want shit to do with them after one night with you. But he just presses a kiss, right under your chin, sighing as he inhales your scent, so sweet and inviting. “Gojo…”

“There, you can speak my name, hmm?” He’s exhaling, the breath tickling your sensitive skin, while Kiyotaka, Miwa and a few other servants avert their eyes, as if he couldn’t care less. “I do abhor tradition, and your first question, I’ll answer that if you answer mine.”

“You speak in riddles,” you lean closer, back curved just a bit for more of his hungry kisses now, your hand lands in his silken white hair before you can think better about it. “Ask your question then.”

“Who was your lover?” He looks back at you, you flush at his insinuation, his thumb brushes across your collarbone slowly. “The one you’re pining for, the one who apparently touched you.”

“You really want to know who I’m in love with?” You ask, and for some reason the words stab him in the chest, until he can’t breathe, he doesn’t understand exactly how the fuck that occured, or from what, but he hates that thought.

He hates the thought that someone got your pretty smile, and that all he’ll ever get is a mean scowl.

“In love? What’s that nonsense?” He asks, pulling back to grab his sake, he takes a sip and then hands it to you, watching as you take the ceramic dish and place your lips on it.

“Have you ever been in love, you such a worldly man?” You sip it as well, just a drop spilling from the corner of your mouth, Satoru gently brushes it off, sighing.

“You’re a mean little thing.”

“Not saying bitch this time?”

“Well, if the slipper fits.”

“You’re a dick.” You go to get up, but he tugs you back down, and you will never admit how much you love it, love his hard body on yours, love his big fucking hand splaying over your waist, making you feel too much.

“Carry on, let me know the answer. Who was it?” You take a breath, feeling the memories creeping up, your eyes shut for a moment, and he studies you, tilting up your chin. “Do you think of him?”

“Yes,” is all you manage, opening your eyes now. “You cannot be so hypocritical, you turned me down last night you know how that felt?”

“Turned you down, that’s not what that was.” He sighs now, shaking his head. “I will not impose myself on you.”

“Are you furious that I don’t? When every girl you’ve ever met falls to your feet, does it bruise your ego?” He glares, hand tugging at your hair and pulling, making you whine out just a bit.

“Insolent brat, no that’s not it. I did not want to do what you did not want. Does that make any sense?” You feel it then, his sincerity, you nod just a bit, and he releases your hair with a sigh. “You said ‘get it over with’ I will not lay with someone who feels that way.”

“Even if we must have heirs?”

“Even then.” You blink a bit in confusion at who he is, the conundrum that you find yourself more and more curious over.

“Well since you’re being honest with me, it wasn’t that I wasn’t enjoying it, okay?” You’re blushing as you speak, looking down at your lap nervously, biting your lip while you shift just a bit. He sees it then, your nerves, your innocence you hide under bold words and actions.

You feel especially vulnerable in the moment, when he sighs and caresses your face, it’s a gentle motion, one that does more than you’ll ever want to admit. He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing up and down as you study each other. It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop, his eyes darting to your lips, and this time when his thumb brushes, you don’t bite him, you just study him.

“You enjoyed what, my mouth on your pretty cunt?” Does he have to speak this way!? You look down again, for him to stop you. “Ah-ah, look at me.”

“Fine, yes, I liked it okay?” Your words make his heart race, your own eyes slip across his throat, the exposed chest, a finger brushing up and down his chest. “And you liked my mouth.”

“Liked isn’t the word for it,” you heat up further, pulse racing in your ears, while Satoru Gojo leans far, far too close, looking at you with eyes that you try not to fall into. “Were you saving yourself for him?”

“I had no choice but to stay innocent, as my station befits. But yes, I thought he’d be my… first.”

“I see, and he touched you?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Here?” He slips his fingers up, dancing across each golden leaf inlay in your immaculate yukata, feeling you tense, shift in his lap as he slowly trails his fingers down your robe, slipping the skirt up. You watch him, not stopping him, heart pounding out of your chest as you wish you could fight it - the desire for him.

His hands touch your bare thigh, eliciting a gasp from you, he sees your eyes dilate until they’re damn near black, just a ring left of those beautiful gems you call eyes remaining. Your hand doesn’t leave his hair, if anything it’s tightening, tugging at his scalp as your breaths come quicker. Your skin is covered in goosebumps, his thumbs brush right over your knee.

“Yes,” you manage to speak, and he looks down at your bare thigh, humming to himself, trailing across it now, you bite back the moan threatening the back of your throat.

“And here?” He’s slipping higher, you nod then, swallowing nervously as he brushes a thumb against the thin cotton covering your cunt, hopelessly sticky and coated in your arousal. “Here?”

“Yes, what do you care for? As if you don’t have women sucking you every day,” you grip his wrist finally, narrowing your eyes. “What care you if I was touched before?”

“And you came?”

“Yes, I did. I loved him touching me, is that what you want to hear?” You lean forward, lips a breath away, he thumbs your clit, your eyelashes flutter. “Do you like when all your whores suck your cock better than I did?”

“You have a filthy mouth, tsk,” he’s pressing harder, feeling how wet you are, while you grip his wrist tighter. “Should I put it to better use, would you like that?”

“N-no, I would hate that, ah!” You’re covering your mouth now, as he grins like the evil little shit he is, and you eye the room. “Fuck…”

“No, to answer your question, I like shutting your mouth up far more than I enjoy any of the concubines,” he’s whispering in your ear, hand stuck between your thighs, running over your slit, you’re biting on your lower lip, hating him more for being infuriatingly good at touching you. “Should I spell it out for you, that I liked it more than them? Will that stroke your ego?”

“My ego - hah - you’re the one w-with an ego, fuck…” you’re rolling your hips, when he kisses you, and you shove at him. “Who knows what’s in your mouth, where it’s been.”

“Would that infuriate you, conceited little brat?”

“Me conceited!? You should look in a - ah - looking glass…” You bite his lip hard, he moans at it, fingers making your panties a soppy mess, just sticking to you hopelessly.

“Would you be mad if I ate their cunts then kissed you?” He taunts, raising a brow, you tug at his hair hard, he only gets harder, pressing against your clit and running circles while you try to hold any composure.

“It would disgust me, not anger me,” you bury your face against his neck when he makes contact with your bare cunt, peeling the layer to the side and chuckling. “You disgust me all together.”

“I can tell, you’re so disgusted you’re wetting my fucking robes, huh?”

“Am not,” you bite the fuck out of his neck, the pain causes him to hiss, leaking precum and ready to bury his cock inside you. “If you want to make a baby then get it done, stop the teasing.”

“Is that code for you wanting my cock inside you?” You huff, shaking your head then, even as you spread your thighs, wishing the guilt would be enough not to want this man. “Say it, and I’ll give you it.”

“I’ll not say a fucking thing of the sort, should beat you at chess again and make you cry hmm?”

“God you’re evil,” he kisses you then, it’s messy and desperate, his fingers snug inside gummy walls that grip him so good. “Evil little-”

“Call me that one more time, I’ll knock you on your ass.” He chuckles at that, white teeth flashing, your squelching cunt loud as he begins to move his fingers up and down, so intense your tummy clenches. “Satoru…”

“That’s it, that's my name. You can say it, hmm?” You shake your head again, cursing his eyes for looking at you that way, his hands for finding that spot and zoning in, your eyes roll back before you can stop yourself. “Feels good?”

“Shut up,” you’re helpless to his expert touches, to his toxic fucking manner, a mix of wanting to hit him and wanting to get on your knees again, something to make you hate yourself more. “With everyone watching!?”

“Out,” his order is quickly met, until you are alone, and he grips your hair, pulling it like he did that night when you’d choked on his cock. “Alone, better?”

“Just… there, please, ngh!” You’re deep in self loathing when he hits some spot that makes you see stars, and your mouth is open in a slutty o, he can’t stand it then, how fucking gorgeous you look for him.

“Fuck you're beautiful,” you shake your head then, the last thing you need is to like him on top of wanting him. He glares at you, blue eyes narrowing, while the squishing sounds from your cunt get louder. “What I cannot say it?”

“No, you cannot,” he picks you up then, turning you and spreading your thighs, sliding his soaked fingers right into your mouth. “Mnh!”

“You taste so fucking sweet, god look at these perfect tits,” he's tugging them out of your robes as he speaks, the way he looks at you is too much, almost tender. It can't be. “Pretty nipples begging for my mouth.”

“Just fuck me, no need for all the nonsense,” he scowls deeper, smacking your hands as they trail down his body. “I want to fuck you, okay? You’re good at this, obviously, if that's your concern - it's clear that I do.”

“Yet I cannot speak freely? That you're so beautiful it's unreal?” You shake your head again, blinking back tears, terrified of his words and what they elicit, of the hurt it’ll bring. Emperor Gojo cups your face then, tilting your chin up as he steps between your thighs. “I'll say whatever the fuck I want to, got me?”

“Lies, just lies, and for what? To confuse me?” You shove at his chest then, sniffling. He yanks you down then, turning you and pressing you by the small of your back, your fingers grip the heavy damask cloth underneath you, as he shoves your robes up your hips. “Fuck…”

“Stop acting as if you don’t enjoy it, when I say that. I see those pretty fucking eyes light up,” you shake your head, you can’t like it, you can’t. He says that to everyone, you’re so sure of it. “You’re arching, need something?”

“Wanna cum, okay? I want it, is that not enough for y-your huge ego?” He’s humming to himself, a hand sliding up your throat now.

“Tell me who it was, I told you I liked you more than them, didn’t I?”

“He was… my knight.” He chuckles, making you tense, looking back at him while he toys with your dripping wet cunt once more, heavy weight pressing against you. “What’s funny?”

“It’s just so typical, a knight falling for a pretty princess, and you are pretty, I’ll keep saying it even if you don’t believe me,” he’s seeing right through you, his long fingers sinking back inside, you don’t bother to bite back the moan. “And did you want him to take it, your innocence? Be your first, your sweet devoted knight?”

As Satoru speaks in his mocking tone, his fingers destroying you with their precision, the rage hits him further - are you wet thinking of him, a man you desire, and not Satoru himself? The doubts he’s never faced or never had come creeping with a girl he barely knows, a girl he would die to be inside - but he wants you to crave it, to beg for it, to need him.

He's choking your throat now, brows drawn low together, you gasp as you feel weightless, the combination of his fingers inside you. His hard body behind you, his fingers squeezing against your pulse points about to make you shatter.

You can't speak, not when he's moving them faster and faster, you're weak and trembling while he works his long fingers up and down, hitting spots you didn't know existed. His lips touch your ear, his breath tickling it as he squeezes harder right under your chin, fingers filthy with how they work your cunt, like he’s always known your damn body.

“Answer me, did you want your knight? Do you still want him?” You nod even in his hold, as you begin to fall apart in front of a man you can't stand, the necklace just dangling as the squelching wetness gets embarrassing. “Slutty cunt, listen to her, bet you're gonna make a fucking mess f'me, hmm?”

You can't talk, your orgasm rocks you in waves, even more intense than last night with his wicked mouth. You're screaming out hoarsely as he chokes you during it, making a mess just like he said, gushing and squirting so much cum it's obscene. He moans as he feels it, the tense muscles contracting, the arousal flowing all over him as your walls pulse and grip his digits.

“Fuck, all over the table, the floor even, hmm? That slutty, that needy f'me even though you don't want me huh” He's taunting you, even as he's leaking so much pre he's whimpering damn near.

“Fuck you, god just put it in me,” he yanks out his fingers, hand slipping off your neck now, touching the charm that now infuriates him. “Do not touch it.”

“You still want him?” You look back, breasts heaving with your short, staccato breaths now, your entire body buzzing from the pleasure he'd brought you.

“What do you care?” Your voice is weak. “You want all sorts of women.”

“But you love someone, still, don't you?” The thoughts infuriate him, that someone has your heart, he starts pulling the chain then, and your eyes go wide.

“Don't you dare!”

“You love him, but you're my wife, you'll not wear this around my fucking palace.” He yanks it then, so hard the pretty chain breaks with a small clink that echoes resoundingly, right along with your fucking heart.

“No!” You turn and he sees your eyes filled with tears, torn between feeling horrible now, and the anger that he can't even have a chance with you. When all you do is pine for another man.

“No more wearing another man's initials as my bride,” you haul back and smack the fuck out of his cheek then, he grips your wrist with one hand as the other holds your now broken necklace. “You dare smack the emperor?”

“You're not my fucking ruler, this isn't my home and it never, ever will be!” You smack him again, he doesn't retaliate like you thought he might, he stands there with two red cheeks, eyes glassy as he studies your broken heart before him.

“I could cut your hands off for that.” He gives a hollow threat through his teeth, you swipe the tears streaming across your cheeks.

“Cut them off. It's worth it to knock you down a peg. I'm not one of your concubines, I'm just a fucking contractual obligation. That's all I'll ever be to you.” You look down at the little charm glinting from the soft firelight, tugging at your robes now to right them.

“You need to forget him, will you just try here? How can we have a marriage if that's in your heart?” He's softer, apologetic, when you break out into maniacal laughter, holding your stomach. “You laugh at me, insolent fucking brat?”

Your eyes lock with his. “I sure am, you say this like you don't have four - oh, five soon - other women to put babies inside.” Your words stab him as intended. “My love who I can never even have is that much of a threat, when you're kissing women right in front of me?”

“It is not the same.”

“You're right, he loved me, they just want your cock, your power, probably your mouth. They can have all of it.” You eye the necklace once more. “I'll never forgive you if you don't give it back to me.”

“You already hate me.” His voice is full of pain, your eyes almost break him when the tears well back up in them. “What's one more reason for you to despise me?”

You turn and run away, slamming the door and leaving him alone in the dining room, he throws the necklace on the table, sinking down into the seat and covering his face. His own emotions start, as he realizes he's just pushed you further, but the jealousy he feels knowing some tiny necklace means more to you than anything is like a knife to the chest.

He will buy you a bigger one. A better one. He'll have you dripping in gems and cumming on him, until you forget whatever stupid fucking knight who you fell for. He breaks down in tears himself at the sight of you, a mix of anger and already regret, something the emperor never felt.

Regret for hurting you.

A desire to try to fix it.

And a fear you would hate him truly forever.

*****

Meanwhile you rush past many servants and others, whispering about you. When the fuck weren't they? 

You're alone.

You're all alone.

Your bare neck is tinged with the color of Satoru's handprints as you eye yourself, a tear streaked mess. You quickly tug out a pen with a shaking hand, hating yourself for damn near telling that man to fuck you, the desire was undeniable but you can almost attest it to his endless experience. You almost would have let him, you would have enjoyed it too.

What would Suguru say, or think about you now? Would he love you any longer when you’re betraying him with your heart? Would he understand? And did Suguru return your love - it’s a question that makes you sick to your stomach as you pick up the parchment and dip your pen in that black ink, trying to control your breaths as you know this is foolish.

The emperor would kill you if he found them, he already is furious that you wore the necklace - which in truth was also foolish of you, but every part of you wanted to cling to your past. In his moment of vulnerability where he asked if you could just try - such a part of you wanted to try for him, but there’s a bigger part that craves protecting your heart.

To let him in your heart would be the end of you, you can already tell when he ripped that necklace so cruelly, now you touch your chest with your free hand, craving it back on, the delicate weight of it one of the few comforts you have here. For every part that knows it’s foolish, another part screams to just write to him, to just tell him a final goodbye if it could reach his eyes.

It’s the least you could do, in a dangerous court where everyone but perhaps Miwa and Ijichi despises you for just your role. And when a man you’re married to makes you question yourself, why your desires are so strong to him, making you feel like the cruelest woman to the memories you held.

My dearest Suguru

You scratch it out.

My Suguru…

Scratch it out.

Sugu,

The nickname you gave him when you were both young fits better, you smile as the memories flood back in, even as your tears fall in fat drops down your face, surely if he is the man you know, he would still care for you and understand you had no choice. He was always realistic about your time together, you were very much the dreamer in the relationship.

Relationship, that was a relationship, this is just an arrangement - an agreement between your families, there was nothing else here, you would do good to remember it next time he touched you. And of course there would be a next time, your duties didn’t disappear because you hate him, you’d eventually have to, and the fear isn’t that you’ll hate it.

It’s the fear that you’ll enjoy it.

Even now you’re clenching your legs together, tummy sore even from how his fingers stretched you out, how they moved. You shove that back in the dark recesses of your cloudy mind, taking another breath to calm yourself, putting the pen back to the paper, letters sweeping across it and forming words.

Sugu,

I fear this letter will never find you, and perhaps that is for the best, that you think me happy and living some fairy tale life as befits the station of a Princess. Maybe it would be easier for you to think that I’m living just fine, that though I’ll always miss you I found some peace and happiness with someone kind.

It wouldn’t take your pain away, but I know you care enough for me to want that, you always said so. You always warned me that what we had was fleeting, dangerous, and temporary, you talked me out of every kiss and every touch before you finally gave in to my whims. I know it was because you’re a realistic man, and I’m a bit of a dreamer, but then I’d have so many regrets.

I’d regret not knowing what it was like to feel special, to feel like the only girl in the world to you, I’d regret not having you look at me as if I hung the very stars in the sky, not feeling that emotion in your kiss. I would live forever as just one of many to my new husband, and never have known what being truly cherished was.

He does not hurt me, he is not as cruel as I heard, so please don’t fear for me, Sugu. But there’s nothing here for me, no one by my side like you were. For as long as I can remember, the day you knelt to me and I was just a little girl with a sword I could hardly hold, you have been my most trusted confidant and friend. And your friendship I fear I miss as much as stolen kisses.

My wish is for you to be happy, for you to find someone who loves you, for you to have a choice one day when you retire from the knighthood, I know you said you never would, but I can’t see you not being loving with someone. And I hope that if I cross your mind, you smile and don’t get sad with your thoughts of me.

I am forever missing you, and I want to thank you for everything you ever did, and every way you made me feel special. I told you once and you wanted me to hush, I understand it now, it was just going to hurt more for you. In that way I was selfish, I wanted every stolen moment I could get, I just wish I had more time with you before it ended.

With love always in my heart,

Yours - 

You hesitate as you almost write your name.

Princess

Suguru always called you that, a pet name or affection moreso then it was your title - now you’re an empress of a nation, but you crave nothing more than to be his princess again, than to feel that way. You cannot stop yourself from quickly folding up the letter, when a rap comes at your door, you hastily stick it inside your drawer and go to it.

“Yes, who is it?” You ask hesitantly.

“Miwa, your majesty, may I come in?”

“Of course,” you open the door, wondering how much she heard after they all exited the room, but even knowing she saw you enjoying the Emperor’s touch made you embarrassed. “What is it, Miwa?”

“I came to check on you, is that too far?” She frowns as she speaks, you shake your head, opening the door.

“No, please come in.”

She helps you undo your robes and hair methodically as she speaks. “At first I was very jealous of you.”

“Of me? Why?” You ask, watching pink dance on her pale cheeks as her blue eyes watch you.

“You’re married to the Emperor, I confess I would die to be in a position like that, a concubine or a wife to him. I have always coveted being near him, I found him always so kind…”

“Ah, that’s understandable. I’d trade positions with you.”

“My lady…”

“Well, I would.” She sighs, nodding now.

“I see you don’t want to be here, I see your sadness, I feel bad that I was mean about you at first,” she takes your hand now. “Would you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Miwa, but thank you.” She exhales in relief, beginning to grab the robe you sleep in, tugging it gently over your arms. “You have been most kind to me in fact.”

“It is nothing, I’m sure the other girls will see that you’re actually quite kind.”

“I’m not sure I am kind,” you think now at how nasty you were to Satoru, to the concubines earlier. “I used to be, before I came here.”

“You’re still kind, my lady.” Your shoulders slump just a bit in relief at her words, when she begins brushing out your hair.

“Miwa, if I asked you to get a letter back home, could you?”

She pauses then, eyes locking on yours in the looking glass. “A letter?”

“It’s for…” you can’t say who it really is for, but you know your servant who used to pass those letters was as loyal as they come. “It’s for my Nan, she basically raised me, and I miss her dearly. She was like a mother to me.”

You hate lying, but she’s immediately sympathetic. “I can certainly see if I can get it out, I will go to town tomorrow and have letters from the palace I’m taking. But your land is very, very far.”

“I know, it’s a long shot, but if you could try I’d be eternally grateful.” You touch her fingers that rest on your shoulder now. “I’m all alone here.”

“You’re not, you have the emperor - I am sure he’ll come to admire you, my lady, maybe give him some time?” You smile as if you believe a word of that. “But of course I can.”

“Thank you Miwa,” you have another letter you had written to Nan later wrapped around the letter for Suguru, sealed with wax the next morning as you give it to her, and as she’s leaving, Kiyotaka is walking up with a little black velvet box in his hand. “Good morning, Ijichi.”

“Good morning my lady,” he bows, and you tilt your head curiously as you look at the box. “His Majesty asked me to bring this for you to wear tonight.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you.” You take the box from his hands with a friendly smile, exhaustion making your temples ache. To say you slept like shit was quite a fucking understatement.

You take the long box and sit it on your bed, undoing all the frilly blue ribbon carefully, when you see it. A beautiful sapphire necklace laying on a bed of light satin, your jaw clenches as you see the note attached to it. You pick it up carefully, unfolding the parchment, which has a seal of the emperor on it.

My dear bride,

Since you like necklaces so much, I decided you should wear a beautiful one, around your pretty little neck. I look forward to seeing this adorn your collarbone for our dinner tonight, as well as the dress I’m having sent up to you. It’s part of the Gojo family jewels, so you can adorn yourself with a part of your most loving husband.

Yours,

Satoru.

As you fume over his ridiculous, conceited and insane fucking gesture, Satoru is in his own chambers, toying with the little delicate necklace, the one he broke off your neck last night, staring at it with narrowed eyes, wondering just who the fuck had possession of your heart. He contemplates two things-

Fixing it, so you may not hate him.

Or melting it into a fucking fire.

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine

Laughs at me thinking this was four parts and we're at like over 22k wc already LMAOO and they still hate each otherrr - let's go

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[leafynightmares]

⋆🐾⋆LEOPARD'S DEN

snow leopard hybrid!gojo x bunny hybrid!femreader

SERIES SYNOPSIS: in a bustling city where hybrids live in coexistence, you, a timid bunny hybrid desperate to escape your family’s suffocating expectations, takes a leap into independence. but when you answer a craigslist ad for a roommate, you find yourself sharing a cramped apartment with satoru gojo — a dazzling, dangerous snow leopard hybrid with a smile as lethal as his claws. bound by necessity, yet tangled in instinct, your uneasy coexistence quickly spirals into a simmering dance of predator and prey — where every glance, every accidental touch, and every late-night silence threatens to shatter the fragile walls between friendship and something far, far more primal.

cw: hybrid setting, predator/prey dynamics, mild to moderate violence, fearplay, dubcon, breeding kink, possessiveness, obsessive behavior, heat / rut cycles, tba

00. pilot

01. chapter one

01.5. minisode 01

02. chapter two

02.5. minisode 02

03. chapter three

04. chapter four

05. chapter five

06. chapter six