shishibazz

[shishibazz]

your feral gojo fic does things to me… you should consider making more pls 🙏🙏 other than that i would one day love to see feral nanami :3 well yk not rlly feral but nanami being furious over his wife’s life being threatened n stuff ykwim TY I LOVE UR WRITING BTW

“APOLOGIZE.”

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: A curse user has made the incredibly stupid decision to kidnap you, Nanami’s wife. And, well, it goes without saying that Nanami is protective over you. Very protective.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY || dark content, fem reader, angst, violence, kidnapping, descriptions of wounds, blood, and injuries, derogatory language, minor character death. Nanami doesn’t play about his wife!

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4K

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Requester, I think I overlooked the “not really feral” part until I was pretty much done with the fic, and Nanami is very unhinged in this. I’m sorry! I hope that’s okay! || artwork by @/shesdeny on instagram, permission for use granted!

The lavish restaurant offered the perfect date night ambience: live music, extraordinary food, and a dimly lit environment that, in truth, was much too dark for Kento Nanami’s liking, but at least he could still see the way your eyes sparkled as you rambled to him.

As Kento brought his glass of silky wine to his lips, he watched you reach for the warm bread in the basket at the center of the table.

Dipping it into the seasoned dipping oil, you took a bite of the sliced piece from the soft loaf as you detailed your last experience with this particular high-end steakhouse.

“ . . . the steak tasted like tires — tires, Kento — but the lobster was amazing! Still, though. I told Felicity that it’s absolutely crazy for a steakhouse to serve steak that I’m certain was made out of rubber bands or something.”

“How is it now? The steak?” Kento asked, nodding down at the half-eaten piece of meat on your plate.

“Delicious and tender,” you smiled at him warmly. That grin of yours? Well, it did something to him. The poor man had to clear his throat and adjust his tie a little bit — even after six years of marriage, your smile always managed to turn his cheeks into a light shade of red.

“They must've changed how they cook ‘em,” you added.

“That, or,” Kento’s hand reached for a piece of bread as he spoke. “I went out of my way to make sure it would be cooked to your liking.”

With a little laugh, you joked, “What? Don’t tell me you threatened the poor chef.”

“Of course not. Only a fool would be rude to the person preparing their meal. If I were, I’d imagine he would have actually served us car tires.”

“And from our own car as well!”

The sound of shared laughter between you and Kento blended in with the cellist’s beautiful melody.

It was perfect. Every bit of it.

The live, talented musicians. The delicious meals. The sight of you, his gorgeous wife, laughing, smiling, and talking throughout the evening.

It was perfect.

Until Kento’s phone started to vibrate in his pocket.

You could hear the low humming noise from where you sat.

“Who’s that?” You asked.

“Doesn’t matter. We’re on a date.”

“But it could be important, right? Sorcerers can’t really afford to miss any phone calls.” Grabbing your knife and fork, you cut off another piece of your steak. “It’s fine, honey. One phone call won’t ruin this date.”

Kento wanted to stand by his beliefs; by the standards he set for himself. Accepting phone calls during a date was rude. Just as rude as showing up carelessly late, or wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

Call it a gut feeling — or common sense, as he purposely put his phone on Do Not Disturb except for a few contacts he knew would only reach out in the case of an emergency — but Kento knew something was wrong.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. His eyes narrowed down on the screen that illuminated his frowning face, and there it was.

The confirmation that something was indeed wrong.

Kento answered the phone call. “What is it? I’m busy at the moment.”

The person on the other line talked for quite some time. Though you couldn’t quite make out their words, you had managed to get down three solid bites of steak before Kento spoke again.

“Right,” he said, then promptly ended the call.

“Something wrong?”

“Everything’s fine,” He lied — yet again going against the standards he set for himself. “Would you excuse me for a couple of minutes? I need to get some fresh air. I won’t be long.”

“Woah, woah, hey,” you called out before he could scoot his chair back, noticing the way his eyes, which always softly gazed at you with pure love, refused to meet yours. “I know that look. There’s a curse nearby, isn’t there?”

“No, of course not.”

“Mighty suspicious for a man who nearly passed out over the idea of accepting a quick phone call during a date suddenly being okay with vanishing for a few minutes.” You leaned across the table just a bit. Just enough for him to understand you were quite serious. “Tell me the truth. What’s going on, Kento?”

Kento sighed. But he gave in. He always did when it came to you.

“There’s a curse user a few blocks away-”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“But I could serve as a distraction, and you could sneak up on them, and then-”

“Then nothing. This curse user already outranks me. He’s a special-grade, one we’ve been trying to find for years now. For him to be hanging around outside nearby means that I could be walking into a trap, and I will not use my own wife as bait. I won’t be able to focus if I know you’re around. I need you to stay here, where I know you’ll be safe.”

Kento rose from his seat.

This was, to him, an unnecessary conversation, after all. He would sooner die during a battle with a curse or curse user than drag you into a fight with him.

“Kento, Kento, wait. Please. Why are you about to walk into a special-grade curse user’s setup?” You grabbed his arm as he tried to walk past your seat. “Please don’t go. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Oh, he did too. His heart rate quickened at the idea of his forthcoming mission. Kento couldn’t look you in the eye as he spoke — it was starting to become too much.

“I have to. I can hardly sleep at night knowing someone like him is roaming the streets. Someone who wouldn’t think twice about hurting you or killing you while you’re just on your way to the bakery or . . .” Kento released a shaky sigh. He tried to keep his voice low, not wanting to disturb nearby diners or live classical music enthusiasts, and he continued, “So I have to go. I have to do whatever I can to make this world a safer place for you.”

“Kento, I don’t like this. You know my gut feelings are always spot on. Just last week, I had a feeling that something was off with the dryer, and next thing you know, it broke. I had to squeeze out our towels in the sink and stick them outside until you were able to fix it, remember? Then there was that time when we ordered takeout sushi and I had a bad feeling about it. I didn’t seem spoiled or anything, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that we should’ve ordered pizza instead. That next morning, we were both sick.”

Kento looked into your eyes then. The composed man tried to hide his true feelings; that underneath his cool, calm, and collected attitude, there was this feeling of terror he couldn’t quite shake.

“Sweetheart, I’ll be just fine.” He leaned down, planting a kiss on the top of your head. “I promise.”

And with that, you gave him a little nod though you frowned with great disapproval, and Kento walked through the restaurant’s doors just as the live musicians finished playing a breathtaking song.

—

It was well into the evening on a Wednesday night. Kento was rather busy, and therefore, he had to squeeze in date nights whenever he could — and, damn it all, he would — but being that it was a school and work night for most, the streetlight-illuminated roads were void of people for the most part, especially once he made a left turn into a dark alley.

Kento was tracking the curse user by the residuals he left behind at each location he visited, like a detective following footprints, but the man was no longer here.

He’s sending me on a wild goose chase, Kento thought.

It was like a never-ending game. After all, a special-grade curse user like himself could have decided not to leave behind any residuals. So, for all Kento could have known, he could have chosen to let Kento wander around in alleys like this, meanwhile, his true whereabouts were unknown.

—

Something wasn’t right.

He was taking too long.

You listened to the musicians play song after song. Finished your glass of wine. But, as your leg shook and you continuously checked your phone for the time, you couldn’t simply sit in the high-end steakhouse any longer.

He’s not gonna like knowing I paid the bill, you thought, a small smile spreading across your face at the thought of your classy husband and his gentlemanly tendencies.

But where was he?

You walked down the isolated streets, holding on to the bagged leftovers from your dinner. All you wanted to do was heat the food and enjoy it at home with Kento, then snuggle up in bed where you were both safe. Safe and together.

Glancing around at the empty shops and stores around you made you realize just how far you had strayed from the restaurant. You halted your footsteps, looking back in the direction from which you came.

This area was creepy. The orange streetlights were doing little to shine upon your surroundings, and the lack of people; it was all a telltale sign of incoming doom, you knew it. But what you didn’t know was whether or not your husband was right in the middle of it.

There was a figure approaching you, and three realizations fluttered in and out of mind:

It wasn’t Kento. The stranger lacked his solid build, blonde hair, and clothes suitable for fine dining.

You were happy to see another person walking around this suspicious area.

The person was headed straight for you, and suddenly, you weren’t so happy.

It was a man dressed in black clothing, one who walked fast and with purpose. You found your legs moving on their own, taking two tentative steps back. Your mind and body were in sync. Your mind screamed for you to run, run, and run, while your body turned in the opposite direction, neverminding the fancy dress that clung to your body, or the high heels you were, before now, quite excited to wear.

But it didn’t matter. The stranger’s hand suddenly came into your view and slammed against your mouth, covering it, and muffling the squeal that tried to fight its way out of your throat.

He was further away mere seconds ago. For him to have caught up to you, lightning fast . . . it dawned on you then.

This was the curse user Kento was looking for.

Your eyes went wide. Tears fell from them. You tried — tried like hell — to implement the self-defense techniques from the classes Kento asked you to take, but while an elbow to the gut might have stunned a regular person, this curse user only smiled.

His hand slipped away from your mouth for a second.

It was a second you took advantage of, inhaling a bit of air before screaming, “Help, please!”

He grabbed you then. He lifted you over his shoulder. Your high heels were no longer touching the sidewalk. The food you were carrying slipped from your hands, splattering across the ground.

Pointless screams and calls fell from your lips: “Let me go! Please, let me go!” “Someone help!” “Kento! Kento!”

But, as you were being carried away, as you struggled and squirmed, it hit you then why this curse user no longer bothered to cover your mouth.

There was no one around who could save you.

—

Kento Nanami was often praised for being a sorcerer who had his head screwed on straight. After all the gore and violence he had witnessed, he was still what most would consider to be an ordinary man with a decent mental health state.

That was why he stopped walking the second he heard what sounded like the sound of your voice, screaming his name. It was faint. Came from far enough away that it might as well have been the wind blowing past his ear.

But he hadn’t ever heard voices in the wind or hallucinated figures along the walls, but . . . but you were fine, right? You had to be. You were sitting in the restaurant, waiting for him, right?

He turned his head back and forth along the empty sidewalk, but in the end, his gut told him something was wrong.

Damn what the higher-ups would say. He was worried about his wife right now. He was certain you must’ve been worried about him too.

Therefore, he tugged on his tie a bit, and headed back to the restaurant, abandoning his search for the curse user.

—

“Did you see this woman leave this establishment?”

Kento asked the hostess frantically once he noticed a new couple was sitting in your previous spots. He held his phone up to her face, and her startled eyes glanced up at a grinning photograph of you.

“I-” she stammered. “Yes, she left a while ago.”

“Thank you,” Kento rushed out, and then practically bolted out of the see-through doors.

You were gone. His wife was gone.

He felt it then, his heart rate quickening, his breathing becoming uneasy.

Kento stood outside the restaurant, scanning his surroundings to see if, perhaps, you wanted to get some fresh air, but you were the love of his life. And he knew you quite well.

He knew you went off, searching for him after he didn’t return within a reasonable amount of time.

Kento opened a map on his phone. One that would reveal your location to him. The beautiful photo of you he set for your contact was unmoving, as if his wife were standing on a random sidewalk. As he started to run in that direction, his palms broke out into a sweat.

He was headed in the supposed direction of the curse user’s whereabouts.

—

When Kento stumbled upon the mess made along the sidewalk, he both wanted to cry, and kill someone.

To-go boxes were scattered about, leftover food spilled and splattered. Among the mess was your cracked cell phone.

“Oh my god,” Kento whispered to himself. “She’s . . .”

You’re what, exactly? What became of you? Where were you?

—

It took an hour.

One hour.

One fucking hour before Kento was able to track down the clever curse user.

The sorcerer stepped into a dark alley. He was heaving, his teeth clenched. His hand gripped the handle of his blade so hard, his knuckles turned white.

The special-grade curse user stepped out from behind a dumpster then, a gentle smile upon his face, his hands in his pocket.

“You took her.”

The curse user’s smile widened at the sound of Kento’s voice — at the sound of his anger — and he laughed lightly.

“Oh, hey, I know you. Mr. Nine-to-five, seven-to-three, ten-to-six — something like that, right? For you to be here now, you must have started your day later than usual, or . . .” The curse user vanished behind the dumpster, but only to roughly drag out what Kento assumed was a bag of garbage. But he was wrong. It was you. “I made the right decision when I captured this thing I saw you eating dinner with. You care enough about someone to work overtime, hm? How sweet.”

The curse user released the grip he had on your hair, letting you hit the filthy ground.

Kento’s eyes went wide at the sight of you. But not out of the shock of discovering his wife was here, but upon seeing the condition you were in.

The horrible condition.

Both of your high heels were broken. The destroyed shoes loosely clung to your feet, and Kento trailed his eyes over the palette of colorful bruises and cuts that spread across your trembling legs. Your dress was tattered and ripped in random places, and though your dress was red, he could tell the difference between the fabric and your blood stains.

The diamond necklace you wore was soaked in the wet blood that seeped from your mouth, down your neck, and across your heaving chest.

Your face was a drastically different sight compared to the stunning photograph of you, smiling. The one he sent to all of his friends.

He couldn’t see the makeup you took the time to excitedly apply in preparation for your date. He couldn’t see the cheeks he loved to kiss every morning, nor the lips he cherished feeling against his own every night.

Instead, he saw an enormous, bleeding gash running from the top of your ear, across your cheek, and through your upper lip. Your eye was swollen. Blood and tears coated your skin so much so, you would nearly inhale it into your mouth and choke.

The curse user raised his foot.

He brought it down on your injured head — a yelp shot out of your throat — and your head was smushed between the ground and his boot.

Kento charged at him — he tried, at least.

The curse user raised his hand, and suddenly, Kento’s body froze. He couldn’t move a muscle.

Of course. This special grade had the power to halt moving objects and people as he saw fit.

He didn’t use it as often as one would think, a sick bastard like him enjoyed watching his targets struggle, but he could feel the anger practically radiating off of Kento Nanami, and he refused to take his chances.

“Ah, ah, ah. Not another step,” the smiling curse user said. “Are you one of those men that like ‘em dumb? ‘Cause your wife isn’t that bright, ya know? Wandering the streets all alone, searching for you, I bet. You told her not to follow you, didn’t you? You ought to train your little bitch to follow orders better. What a useless dog.”

“Ken-to-”

“See what I mean? I told her not to speak, scream, or any of that, but she just won’t shut up. How do you put up with her talking, talking, and talking non-stop?” The curse user removed his foot from your head. His hand gripped your hair yet again, yanked you back so roughly, a burning pain soared throughout your scalp, and he wrapped his other hand around your blood-covered neck. “I’ll shut her pretty little mouth up for you permanently.”

The curse user started choking you right before Kento’s eyes.

Your bruised hands and split fingernails clawed at his skin, but it did nothing. Your legs started to squirm from pure panic, and Kento could do nothing except watch.

Out of the corner of the curse user’s eye, he noticed Kento’s body starting to tremble.

His satisfied smile changed into a confused frown.

He looked up at him fully, and his lips parted, a gasp escaping him as he saw your husband’s hand started to rise. He could only move slowly. And fighting against this cursed technique hurt like hell.

But he could still move.

Impossible.

Your husband’s fingers hooked around his tie, and he pulled it off, then wrapped it around his hand.

The curse user barely had time to blink before he felt the impact. He was in the air for a second, uncertain if he was hit with a fist or a blade, but whatever it was, it made his skull ache terribly, but that didn’t terrify him nearly as much as the fact that this man could move right now.

His back smacked against the ground with an unpleasant thud. Blood spewed from his mouth, and he heard haunting footsteps. Ones that belonged to the pissed-off sorcerer, who he swore — he swore — had doubled in size compared to the pictures his fellow curse users had shown of him.

“How can you move? You-”

Kento interrupted the curse user by slamming his wrapped fist into his mouth.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Hurting my wife? Speaking to her that way?” He did it again. And again. And again. “I’ll shut you up permanently."

You scooted yourself into a corner beside the dumpster, gasping for air as you watched your husband stand over your attacker and continuously smash his face in until he experienced a pain greater than your own.

The curse user gagged.

“Listen to that. The sound of you choking on your own teeth. It sounds like music to me,” Kento said darkly.

His fist was covered in blood. The curse user’s face was a mess of said blood. But Kento wasn’t finished. He thought about how terrified you must have been. How much your wounds must have hurt. How someone as kind as you was undeserving of the pain you were in.

God, he wanted to kill this bastard, bring him back to life, and kill him again.

The curse user turned his bloodied head to the side, trying to spit out some of the blood filling his mouth, but Kento placed his foot on the man’s head, squishing him in between his shoe and the ground — just like he had the nerve to do to you, Kento’s precious wife, earlier.

“I can’t let you die just yet. You tortured the love of my life. I think it’s only fitting I prolong your suffering until you’re on your knees before her, apologizing,” Kento kneeled, grabbing the curse user’s hand. “These are the hands you hurt her with, hm? I don’t think you have any further use for them.”

You knew what was coming when Kento grabbed his wrapped blade. You closed your eyes — though your swollen one was practically already closed — and you brought your trembling, injured hands to your ears, but you could still hear the curse user’s ear-piercing screams.

The curse user had only cried twice before in his life. When he fell during a game of tag as a toddler, and now.

Now, tears poured from his eyes, and he was spewing gibberish that Kento couldn’t quite understand for a moment. Not until he saw the apologetic look in the man’s teary eyes.

“What are you trying to say? Are you trying to apologize to me? Why?” Kento raised his bloody blade. “She’s the one you had the audacity to disrespect. She’s the one you put your filthy hands on. She’s the one. And after all of this, you still don’t respect her enough to think she’s worthy of her own, sincere apology, do you?”

Kento grabbed the man by his short hair. He then dragged him in your direction before tossing his limp body in front of your trembling figure.

“Apologize to my wife, then I’ll send you to hell where you belong. Apologize.”

More gibberish. It wasn’t good enough — the man couldn’t speak, after all, but it didn’t matter how great his apology was.

He was going to die.

Kento kicked the curse user in the side.

He sent him flying, rolling across the dirty ground, and Kento approached, daydreaming about all the ways he’d take a life tonight.

By now, Kento’s blonde hair, which was usually neat, was messy with sweaty blonde strands sticking to his forehead. He took off his blood-covered suit jacket, tossing it on the ground, and the shirt he wore underneath was unbuttoned, stained, and revealed his bulging muscles and veins.

Kento raised his fist. The tie he wrapped around it was not only covered in the blood of the curse user, but dotted in the blood from Kento’s splitting knuckles as well, but he didn’t care. He punched that man like his life depended on it.

—

As time passed, it wasn’t until a large hand wrapped around his wrist, seizing his movements, did Kento realize he had beaten another man to death.

“That’s enough, Nanami. He’s dead.”

The voice belonged to Satoru Gojo. Kento recognized it, even with that rarely-heard serious tone, but he hadn’t yet bothered to look at the white-haired man just yet. His eyes were still on the curse user.

Kento rose to his feet then, breathing heavily.

“He hurt her.”

“I know. I saw her,” Satoru replied, though he hadn’t yet let go of Kento’s wrist. He wasn’t sure if it was wise to do so. “Take a coupla deep breaths, okay?”

Kento didn’t listen. He snatched his arm away from Satoru with a strength that even surprised the world's strongest sorcerer, and he made his way over to you.

Satoru watched him walk away as their assistant, Kiyotaka Ijichi, approached him from behind.

“I’ve never seen him like this before,” Satoru said to the dark-haired man, watching as Kento got down on his knees before you. “Knowing he beat a special-grade curse user to death is just terrifying. I mean, look at that guy.”

Satoru glanced down at the deceased curse user, and Kiyotaka did the same, adjusting his glasses.

“That man died half an hour ago, and Nanami was still . . .” Satoru released a breath. “It’s my fault. I should’ve gotten here quicker. Then, maybe, his wife would’ve been fine, and he wouldn’t have had to go that far.”

“Well, at least they’re both still alive. We should be grateful for that,” the assistant said, then turned, making his way back to his parked car just outside the alley.

—

Kento gently scooped you up, holding you against him. “Come here, sweetheart. It’s okay. I know it hurts. You must be freezing.”

You tried to turn away from him, not wanting your husband to see the state that your face was in, but he softly touched your chin and guided your teary gaze back in his direction.

He held you close then. Trying his hardest to keep you warm.

Kiyotaka approached cautiously with a purple blanket in hand. He reached down slowly, and held it out to Kento, who took it and said, “Thank you.”

The disheveled man wrapped the blanket around your trembling body, only pausing when he heard you trying to speak — an utterly painful act, thanks to your crying, your bruised throat, and your split lip.

“This is . . . this is all my fault. I just wan-wanted . . .”

“Shhh, don’t try to speak. This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I never should have left you alone. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Kento’s thumb graced the dried specks of blood on your cheek. “I can’t believe someone did this to you. I can’t believe I . . .”

“Shhh,” You shook your head. The last thing you wanted was for him to blame himself.

“We’re going to take you to the hospital. Close your eyes and get some rest.” Kento rose to his feet with you in his arms. As gently as he could — with a gentleness that was a sharp contrast compared to the way he brutally murdered someone moments before — Kento pressed a kiss against your forehead. “I love you. And I promise you no one will ever hurt you again.”

@sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @thequeenofcurses @he11okitty-mari @spo0ky-toast @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @kxmorrx @iwanttohitmyself @ellaumbrella1 @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @deadrevenge @koikohib @http-bell @meretrixla @elegantmakercoffee @pretty-tiene @ladybugwritess

[shishibazz]

Considering this Gojo's canon ending

PLEASE do a one shot where gojo and reader announce the pregnancy to the whole family i beg

DOUBLE TROUBLE ୨୧

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Last year, you & your husband, Satoru, adopted two of his teenage students, Yuji & Megumi. You also have a biological five-year-old girl, and now? You’re pregnant with twins! How does your chaotic family handle your pregnancy & two new members of the family?

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY || contains fluff, smut, tiny bit of angst. pregnancy & birth, fem reader, canonverse, brief mentions of depression & suicidal thoughts, feral/protective gojo, “uncle” nanami, brief “aunt” shoko, & “uncle” geto, gojo being the best dad and husband ever!

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: . . . 14k :)

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this fic is part of my dad!gojo series, but reading the other parts isn't necessary. also, i apologize for any inaccuracies regarding pregnancy/labor! || artwork by @/3-aem, ribbon dividers by @/cursed-carmine!

THE NEWS

“We’re homeee!”

The double front doors shut with a gentle slam, and in walked Yuji with Megumi lingering behind him.

“Mom? Dad?” Yuji called out yet again, darting his eyes around the big foyer for any sign of life — the sound of you whipping together an afternoon snack, the excited ramblings belonging to their little sister — your biological daughter — Maya, or Satoru’s heavy, yet comforting footsteps making their way down the hall; the usual noises they came home to.

“Momma?” Yuji tried once more. Stepping further into the foyer, he leaned down to take off his red shoes. “Anybody home?”

“I think it’s just us,” Megumi, who too started to remove his shoes, spoke up. Was it out of worried curiosity, or was he simply tired of hearing Yuji shout? The truth was unclear. 

But he did know one thing.

He, for the most part, was a well-behaved teenager. Rarely did he ever find himself in trouble, and when those all-too-rare moments occurred, it was usually because he was wandering the streets too late at night, failed to check in on time during his missions, or he got lost in his latest nonfiction book while at the park — and thus, didn’t realize that the afternoon sunlight was no longer illuminating the pages of Of Wolves and Men by Barry Lopez, but the moon and nearby streetlight were. 

Those days, he would always arrive home, later than promised, and he’d hear the hurried footsteps coming from the warmly lit living room all before being met with the worried frowns that belonged to you and Satoru. One of the many purposes behind the Gojo household’s group chat was for those unfavorable scenarios. While it served as a form of family communication for good morning texts, chore reminders, last-minute items to add to the grocery list, and any silly videos Yuji or Satoru wanted to send, the main purpose it served was as a check-in. 

“You’re teenagers. You guys are very independent, and up until now, you never needed to let anyone know your whereabouts. I get it. And I don’t care if you guys wanna, I don’t know, catch a movie after running an errand or something like that. All I ask is that you send a text message to the family group chat so we don’t worry, okay?”

Those were the words you spoke to Megumi and Yuji during the week following their adoption. 

Megumi couldn’t quite believe that had happened a year ago. A year.

And he didn’t understand it at the time. The protectiveness. But, either way, he knew just how much it mattered to you.

It wasn’t a one-sided expectation either. You and Satoru also took the time to alert him and Yuji whenever an unplanned circumstance occurred.

That was what initially led to a wave of worry washing over Megumi, because as Yuji started to walk through the house, calling for you, Megumi pulled his phone out of his pocket.

His lock screen only held seven notifications: a reminder to take his antidepressants, two text messages from Maki, three text messages exchanged between Nobara and Yuji in their class group chat, and a photo Satoru sent to the family group chat of Maya’s dinosaur painting from school; a photo that was sent hours ago.

There was nothing that explained your current absence. 

Yuji returned to the foyer as Megumi tried to refresh his messages and double-check his wifi connection. 

“They’re not here,” Yuji, who leaned against the wall, let the corners of his mouth fall into a small frown. 

“They didn’t send a text either,” Megumi glanced up from his phone. “I know they’re alright, but-”

“But it’s weird, right?”

“Yeah,” Megumi replied, sliding his phone back into the pocket of his school uniform.

“Mom and dad have been acting weird lately in general if you ask me,” as Yuji spoke, he pulled out his own phone, checking his lock screen — which was a picture of the entire family, along with Nobara, at a baseball game — and his frown deepened at the sight of no new text messages. Megumi was right.

“I’m gonna call ‘em,” Yuji shrugged, strands of his pinkish hair tickling his forehead. “Can’t hurt.”

Yuji dialed the number under your contact and put the phone on speaker. The two boys listened in a thick silence as the phone rang four times. Just as another wave of worry was about to make Megumi fidget with his hands, the ringing was abruptly cut off.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Mom!” Yuji’s eyebrows shot up, and Megumi moved closer towards the phone. Alas, they knew you were just fine.

“That’s me,” You joked, but then, with all the care and worry of a mother that you held in your heart, you softly asked, “Is everything alright, honey?”

“Yeah, we’re fine, it’s just that, uh, we’re home and you guys aren’t here. You didn’t send a message either. Where are you?”

“Hold on one second.” The boys heard you pull away from the phone. Then, they heard a sudden, faint shout. “Satoru! Our kids are worried about us!”

“See? Told you they liked us,” Satoru’s voice came through the phone speaker, distant, but ever-present.

“Huh? Was that even a real concern? Same kids who panic when you have a small cold, here.” Yuji paused. “Where’d you guys go, anyway?”

“We’re in the backyard.”

With a blink, Yuji darted his brown eyes up at his glaring brother. “Ohhh.”

“You idiot, you didn’t check the backyard?” Megumi’s hand met his forehead, and he closed his eyes in utter disbelief.

“I forgot about it!”

—♡ —

When Satoru was young, he didn’t enjoy relaxing in the grass and daydreaming about his future. There was too much chaos going on in the present, in his opinion. However, when the overconfident teenager with messy white hair, blacked out sunglasses and a foolish grin imagined his future now and then, he pictured himself living in the city, surrounded by wild people, alcoholic beverages, and the finest decor that represented both his unique taste and astonishing wealth. 

Those rotten daydreams were a direct result of how he was raised — not as a person, but as a god.

Then, one day, he met you.

That overconfident teenager with messy white hair, blacked out sunglasses, and a foolish grin walked into his first class at Jujutsu High School, and he saw the most stunning girl — he was certain he had overused his Six Eyes, and his otherworldly perception of his surroundings was skewed, but no. That wasn’t the case. 

You were truly that stunning.

You turned your head, facing the fellow first year standing in the doorway from where you sat in the first row of the majorly empty classroom, and you smiled at him.

It was a shy, friendly grin.

But oh, that was enough.

The Satoru Gojo was no longer a god. He was a blushing fool, one who tripped over his own feet when he tried to take a step forward, one whose throat dried to a crisp when he tried to say hi, and a pathetic squeak came out instead. 

His dreams changed then. When that stumbling teenager with sweaty white hair, crooked sunglasses, and a flushed face imagined his future, he pictured himself living in a house big enough for the enormous family he wanted to have some day, surrounded by his loved ones, the gifts he would adorn them with, and photographs of his big, big family at festivals, birthday parties, and holiday gatherings hung upon the walls.

That was why, currently, Satoru grinned as he flipped over a steak on his grill, watching as his two boys emerged from the back door. To his left, Maya was creating a Magical Meal composed of grass, dirt, sticks, leaves, and whatever else she could find in the backyard. To his right, you were relaxing on the outdoor sofa in the patio area, sipping on water with one hand, and holding a novel with the other.

It was a dream come true.

“What’s going on? Is it someone’s birthday?” The question came from Yuji, who collapsed onto the empty, light blue sofa cushion beside you. 

“Nope. Your mother and I just have some pretty big news,” Satoru paused, flipping another steak. “How was school and the movies? Kill any curses today?”

“You’d know if you were there,” Megumi said. “Does you taking the day off have anything to do with the big news?”

“Sure does.”

“I’m not sure I wanna know what it is.”

“Sure you do.”

“When are you guys gonna tell us?” Yuji darted his eyes back and forth between you and the man standing over the grill. “I hate waiting for big news!”

“We’re gonna tell you as soon as dinner’s ready,” you replied with the tone of someone cool, calm, and collected, as if this wasn’t something that made your palms sweat. As if.

Suddenly, Megumi felt something tug on his school uniform. He glanced down to see Maya staring up at him.

“Hm?”

“Can you help me with my-with the homework? Pleaseee?” The five-year-old frowned, though it wasn’t necessary. When you or Satoru were busy, or she simply wanted to spend time with her brother, she would always ask him for homework help, and he would always say yes.

“You know I will. Do you want to go inside or stay out here?” Megumi questioned with a soft smile.

“Muffin, you already finished your homework, remember?” Satoru chimed in, and the little girl pouted as a result.

She adored homework. Homework, in her eyes, was extra bonding time with whichever family member she picked. It was true she finished her assignment about numbers with her dad when she came home from school, but right now, she wanted to color with Megumi. 

“We can color after dinner, if you want.” Megumi offered — he was smart in that way.

Suddenly, Maya’s pout changed into a bright smile. “Okay!”

“Take her inside,” You spoke up. “You all need to go wash up and set the table. I gotta talk to your dad about something.”

Two teenagers and the little girl offered their share of curious gazes, but they shoved that confusion down, temporarily satisfied with the promise of hearing the Big News! later on, and they made their way back into the house.

Once they were out of sight, you got off the outdoor sofa, put your water and book down on the edge of the unlit fire pit, and walked over to your cooking husband.

“Before you ask, yes, I’m giving you the biggest piece. No, I won’t let you switch with me, and yes, I'm cooking it to the safest temperature.” Satoru grinned, but when he turned his head and noticed your face didn’t share the same grin as his own, he asked, “What’s on your mind, baby? Don’t be nervous.”

“Useless advice,” you mumbled. “Why are we doing this? Making a big, nice dinner to deliver news they might not be too happy about?”

“They will be, I promise. I’m sure they’ll be shocked, but they’re not going to raise hell like you think they will.” 

“It’s Maya and Megumi I’m worried about. I know I’ve said it a thousand times, but I just . . .” Your words trailed off into nothing, the sizzling steaks filling the silence, but that was fine. No other words were needed. After all, this was, indeed, a conversation you had a thousand times.

Satoru figured that, maybe, you’d start to accept his words if they were said a thousand and one times.

“Muffin loves people. Remember how happy she was when Megumi and Yuji joined the family? It’ll be no different than that. As for Megumi, we’ll do whatever it takes to show him that adding new members to the family doesn’t mean we’re taking members away.” Satoru held his arm out. “Come here. Come on.”

With a little frown, you wrapped your arms around him. He hugged you, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

“You have the cutest frown in the world, you know that? I hate when you’re frowning, of course, but it’s so cute.” He kissed you yet again. “You’re just so cute, what the hell.”

“Stop it,” A smile now replaced your frown, and when you put a bit of distance between your body and his, he took advantage of it by pressing his soft lips against your forehead, nose, and cheek. 

“Sir, your behavior is the reason I’m pregnant now.”

“Your cuteness is the reason you’re pregnant now.” Another kiss. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up pregnant again after this, just saying.”

“Like hell,” you giggled, and the very lips that released that soft laugh? They were kissed as well.

—♡ —

Megumi and Yuji hovered over the dining room table. The dark-haired boy gently set out the plates in everyone’s desired seat, meanwhile, Yuji laid out the napkins and silverware.

“Hey,” Megumi interrupted the comfortable silence, grabbing a plate from the stack in his hand and setting it down in your spot. “When they mentioned the news they wanted to tell us, did they say it was good news?”

“Huh?” Yuji looked up from where he stood at the other end of the table. “Uhh, I think they only mentioned it being big news. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

What a lie. Yuji wasn’t as observant as Megumi was when it came to certain things. He didn’t know that Maya — who was currently in the bathroom washing her hands — used the term homework to sometimes “trick” her family members into playing with her, for example.

But Yuji knew Megumi quite well. And right now, he could see his pinched brows and downward-pointed lips, as if a cloud of worry was forming over his head. 

“So, how’re you feeling lately?” Yuji asked, his eyes on Megumi, though his hands were placing forks and knives on the table. “Ya know, the meds, the therapy, the psychia-”

“Don’t talk about it.”

“Why not? There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m in therapy too, ya know.”

“Your care plan isn’t as intense as mine.”

“Well, is your care plan helping?” Yuji tried yet again. This time, he was the one with the cloud of worry forming over his head.

“I don’t know. I think so,” Megumi shrugged. It wasn’t a lie, either. Some days, he wanted to rewind time and stop his comrades from intervening whenever a curse came close to ending his life. Other days, he smiled as he defeated his entire family in a game of trivia and ate a few handfuls of your homemade trail mix. But most days, he felt like a zombie. As if moods and emotions were beneath him, or rather, out of his reach. 

“Is therapy helping you?” Megumi asked.

“Yeah. Feels nice to have someone to talk to without them getting all worried and stuff, ya know? I can see how stressed mom and dad get when I talk about all this vessel mess,” with a smile, Yuji set down the last of the silverware. “Ya know, there are some things only you and I can understand. I probably can’t give you the world’s greatest advice, but if you ever wanna talk to me, you can.” 

Yuji started to walk towards the nearest bathroom. Before he was completely out of Megumi’s line of sight, Yuji paused, glanced back with that familiar smile, and said, “Love you!”

—♡ —

Dinner time occurred fifteen minutes later. Your family sat around the table packed to the brim with grilled steak, steamed rice, roasted brussels sprouts and asparagus, and hot miso soup. The tantalizing aroma from the delicious food certainly caught Yuji’s attention, but the anticipation of hearing your big news made him keep his eyes on you rather than the steaming dishes sitting in the center of the table. 

It was as if your back leaning against your dining room chair was an activation switch.

“What’s the news?” Yuji was practically bouncing in his seat. 

Maya, following her older brother’s lead, said with a giggle, “What’s the news? What’s the news?”

“News? What news?” You gave them a playfully sly smile. Then, your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh! Satoru, we forgot the donuts and tea.”

Donuts and tea? Megumi thought.

He watched as you and Satoru left the dining room like sneaky little kids, whispering among yourselves.

Satoru returned moments later with a small tray of donuts. 

“Ooo, pink and blue!” Maya’s eyes glistened at the sight of the colorful desserts being placed on the table.

You returned with mugs, sitting them down in front of each family member before retreating yet again, only to return with the hot container of herbal tea — and a lukewarm cup of tea for Maya.

“Here’s some tea to help with digestion,” you said, pouring the soothing beverage into everyone’s mugs.

“No juice, mommy? I love, love, love, love juice.” Maya asked.

“No, no juice this close to your bedtime.”

“Okayyy.”

You sat down once again. Satoru reached for a particularly large steak and put it on your plate, and just like that, the family began passing around the prepared food, portioning out however much they desired. 

Fifteen minutes of dining and polite conversation went on. The subjects drifted between the film Megumi and Yuji saw earlier that day — Megumi liked it, Yuji thought it was a little drawn out — vague dreams of a big family vacation within the next year or so; simple chatter. 

Maya was the one who interrupted the simple chatter. Her eyes were fixated on the little mug in her hands, or rather, what was written on the front of it.

“Sss . . . suh-is-ter . . . of . . . of . . . fa-or.”

“Whatcha reading? Let me help.” Yuji leaned over, glancing at the mug.

“Sister of four,” he read, then tilted his head a bit in confusion. He looked over across the table at you. “Momma, did you read the mug before you bought it?”

“Hm, I can’t remember,” your voice was sugary-sweet with false innocence. “I wonder if they all say something.”

Those words led to Megumi and Yuji grabbing their mugs. As they read in silence, Satoru sneakily grinned at you, reached over, and squeezed your hand.

“Mine says brother of four,” Yuji said.

“Mine too,” Megumi added, putting his mug down and taking a spoonful of soup.

“Dad, what does your mug say?”

Satoru didn’t answer Yuji’s question. Not with words, at least. Instead, the man raised his mug, taking a slow, suspicious sip. 

“Awesome father of five,” the boys read in unison.

“Hers says loving mother of five,” Megumi’s eyes trailed the words along your mug.

For a while, the boys sat in silence . . . thinking, thinking, and thinking . . .

Yuji started to cough, nearly choking on the tea he was sipping on.

“You’re pregnant?!” He exclaimed in between coughs, his face going red, his eyes going wide. “With twins?”

“Wait, seriously?” Megumi leaned forward, his eyebrows almost shooting up into his hairline. 

Duh. Of course. Of course!

“Took you boys long enough to piece it together!” You couldn’t help but erupt into laughter, holding Satoru’s hand as he too joined in on your joyous fit.

“Hmm?” Maya blinked.

Satoru rose out of his seat, walked over to where his little girl sat, and kneeled.

“Your mommy and I are giving you a couple more siblings, Muffin,” his long fingers tickled her tummy, and she shrieked, giggling wildly as he spoke. “You ready to be a big sister, sweet girl?”

As it often did, a round of tickling turned into a game of chase. Maya hopped out of her chair, continuously laughing all the while, and Satoru trailed behind the running girl — not using his full speed, of course — and together, they played in the living room.

“The donuts . . . You’re having a boy and a girl?” Megumi asked. 

His expression, once the initial shock wore off, was unreadable. He was as blank as a new canvas.

 You tried. You tried to place meaning behind the blank stare, the stilled lips, the straightened brows . . . but there was nothing. Nothing.

“A boy and a girl, that’s right,” you said.

Yuji was on his feet. He held his arms out, and you grinned, standing and opening your arms.

“Congratulations! This is huge! How far along are you? Have you come up with any names yet? Can they hear me talking?” The rambling boy hugged you more gently than he normally would.  After letting go, he leaned down a bit, pressing his ear against your stomach first. He wasn’t very satisfied with the silence. Suddenly, he shouted, “Hellooo! This is Yuji, your older brother!”

“You’re too much,” You ruffled his pinkish hair, but your smile faded into a more stern look. 

“So, boys, how do you feel about this?” You asked, grabbing a seat near the two of them, and Yuji, who knew that stern look meant that it was time to get serious, sat back down in his chair. “I know things tend to get pretty chaotic around here sometimes and, well, having twins won’t make that any easier. I know you both tend to think that your wants and needs come second to everyone else’s just because we adopted you both a little over a year ago, and I know I’ve shown you both how that is completely, one hundred percent untrue. Having twins won’t change that, okay? You two are just as important as these two. And Maya, of course. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am!”

The eager response came from Yuji. Megumi took a tentative sip of his tea.

“Megumi?” You called out, raising your brows.

He gave a small nod, then, that blank, fresh canvas-like face of his met yours.

“Congratulations,” he said.

—♡ —

That next morning, your eyelids fluttered open to the ding of your phone. You reached over as best as you could with your husband clinging to you like a needy koala, and you grabbed your device off your nightstand. Blinking away the last bit of sleepiness was a chore. But, eventually, your vision cleared up enough for you to make out your most recent notification.

Megumi had sent a text message to the family group chat.

Megumi: I’m going for a walk. Be back soon.

A walk? A morning walk?

Your eyes flickered up to the time displayed in the corner of your screen. It was so early, the sun hadn’t yet fully risen. 

Before Megumi’s depression kept him bedbound until noon, he was an early bird, often awake before or at the same time as you, making his way around the house unintentionally as quiet as a mouse.

Therefore, you would have been happy to know that he was, once again, rising with the sun. But this? This created a wave of worry that washed over you until you pressed the back of your hand against your forehead.

“Satoru?” You rocked your body against your husband. “Wake up.”

He groaned, pulling you closer, albeit gently, still aware of your delicate condition even amidst his sleep. “Wake up,” you tried once again.

“Hmm?” With a yawn, Satoru rubbed his eye. The messy strands of his white hair were going every which way.

“Megumi’s going for a walk,” you whispered.

“Good for him. I love exercise.”

“No, not good. This isn’t like him. He’s upset. He’s upset about the twins. I knew it. I told you.” 

The sheer, slight panic in your voice knocked out the last bit of sleepiness dancing around within Satoru.

“Want me to rush and try to catch up with him?”

“No,” you mumbled. “If he is upset, a walk is the best thing for him, right?”

Satoru leaned forward, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “Do you ever worry about me and the little things I do this much?” 

“Nope. You’re easy to read. You have a very expressive face. When your eyebrow twitches, I know you’re hungry. When you frown, I know you want my attention. Plus, you’re just gonna tell me whatever is bothering you immediately. I never have the luxury of worrying about you.” This time, it was your turn to lean forward, and you kissed his forehead as best as you could with his messy white hair acting as a barrier. “I’m gonna wash up and get started on breakfast. I want to surprise Yuji with those soufflé pancakes he likes. Make Megumi some black coffee, fresh juice for Maya too.”

“Your favorite fruit chopper is on his way,” Satoru yawned and rolled over onto his back.

—♡ —

Breakfast was served. A beautiful display of food crowded the breakfast nook in the kitchen, earning a heartfelt, “Wow! This is the kinda breakfast you see in movies!” from Yuji.

While he and Maya were in the kitchen, enjoying their meal, you were straightening out the pillows on one of the living room couches with Satoru. 

A figure appeared.

You glanced up and smiled at the sight of Megumi.

“Megumi, you're back! How was your walk?”

“It was fine,” he said.

But there was something more. His eyes . . . they darted away from you. 

“What is it, buddy?” Satoru asked him. He noticed his son’s strange, distant gaze as well.

Megumi stepped away.

He then returned with a large box in his arms.

“Here. I got this for you.”

Satoru hovered over you as you reached for the box.

What now rested in your arms was a soft, curved, dark blue, pregnancy pillow. 

You wanted to say a lot of things; he didn’t have to spend his money like this. How big of a surprise this was. How much you absolutely adored him.

But all you could do was stand there in shock, letting the hot tears start to brim in your waterline.

“You’re gonna make her cry,” Satoru smiled at the teenager as he soothingly rubbed your back.

“Oh, hush. Leave me alone. I can cry if I want to,” With a sniffle, you said, “thank you, Megumi!”

“You’re welcome. You’re a great mom. And you’re a great dad.”

“Stop, now I’m gonna cry,” Satoru turned his head, but he couldn’t fight off the grin upon his face, nor did he want to.

“Can we hug you?” You asked Megumi.

“Sure.”

After setting the box down, you and Satoru wrapped your arms around him. You released a heavy sigh, feeling the burden of worry finally ease off your shoulders.

—♡ —

THE BABY SHOWER

The friends and family of you and Satoru were hardly surprised by the . . . odd traditions and ideas Satoru implemented into his life after traveling to various continents as a hard-working sorcerer. 

That was why walking into a baby shower venue, one that looked more like a modern museum, was a shock to no one.

Only the best for Mrs. Gojo.

It was a little ways into the evening, sometime after everyone had been fed, marveled over how Maya was getting taller, and before presents were to be presented to you, and Satoru was chatting with Utahime when he felt someone tap his arm. He turned around, grinning, as he faced Maki and Yuta.

“Congratulations,” Maki said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah, congrats! We’re happy for you,” Yuta smiled as well, his smile noticeably brighter.

“Hey, thanks, you two, and thanks for coming.” Satoru’s large hand landed on Yuta’s head, and he ruffled his hair.

“Free food,” Maki shrugged, but in truth, she adored you — everyone did.

“Have as much as you want. My future unpaid babysitters should enjoy the baby shower, right?”

Satoru walked off then with a sly grin, shoes clanking against the floor as he ignored Maki’s shouts of protest. 

Kento Nanami was standing near the colorful arrangement of balloons nearest the buffet. The well-dressed man was replenishing his cup of lemonade, and as Satoru strolled over, he could hear his loud son, Yuji, chatting with his relatives; both real ones, and those who were simply friends of the family, but were close enough to earn the honorable title of aunt, uncle, or cousin.

“Kento! It’s been a while!” Satoru slung his arm over the unsuspecting man’s shoulder, but that composed man didn’t jump, flinch, or appear startled in any way. 

He only adjusted his glasses and said, “Indeed it has. Congratulations, Satoru. I’m happy for you.”

“Hey, congrats to you as well, you’re getting another niece and nephew.”

“Uncle Kento, huh? What an honor.”

“One Muffin bestowed upon you and the rest of my friends. She’s always running around asking for Uncle Kento, Aunt Shoko, and the like.” Satoru removed his arm from around Kento’s shoulder. “You’d make an amazing father, you know that, right?”

“Babysitting your kids has been and will be enough for me,” Kento took a sip of his lemonade. “Besides, I don’t know if I could bring kids into . . . Sorry. I didn’t mean to judge you.”

Much like how Kento’s composure didn’t falter when Satoru surprised him, Satoru’s pleasant grin didn’t twitch. 

“No, no, it’s alright. You’re not wrong, either. I always thought it was selfish to bring kids into a world filled with curses and curse users, but,” Satoru’s hand was on Kento’s shoulder, and he turned the man around until they were both facing the swarm of chatting guests, and Satoru pointed to you, the one person among the crowd who glistened brighter than the lights, stars and moon themed decorations within the baby shower venue. “Seeing that amazing, beautiful woman over there carry my child, and holding that child for the very first time . . . It’s turned me into a selfish man.”

Kento turned back around to face Satoru. A whisper of a grin appeared on his face.

“One could argue that you’re doing the world a favor. Your children will undoubtedly grow up to become the strongest sorcerers. They could save many lives someday,” Kento said.

“Maybe. Maybe not. If they wanna fight curses, I won’t stop them. But if they wanna make music, flip burgers, sell houses, or whatever, then that’s fine with me.”

“You’re hoping for the latter.” 

“Of course I am.” Only then did Satoru’s smile start to fade. “The last thing I want is for my muffin to experience the things Yuji and Megumi have. I can barely keep it together when she cries. How am I supposed to handle her coming home someday, scraped up or worse?” 

“You speak as if you won’t be right by her side.”

“I can’t always be there. I told you about the time the school took advantage of my absence and sent Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara off on a mission they weren’t ready for, right? The one at the detention center? And that curse turned out to be a special grade?” 

Kento glanced up at the ceiling covered in glistening starlike lights for a brief moment, thinking. Then, his eyes locked with Satoru’s. “Right, I remember. Nobara and Megumi got hurt, and Yuji, well, died.”

Satoru nodded. “They were just my students back then, but even then, I was ready to kill all the higher-ups. I can’t imagine the person I’ll become if something else like that happened to any of my kids. I mean, you’re telling me my sweet girl’s next? In a decade, Muffin will be going to Jujutsu High?”

This time, it was Kento’s turn to place his arm around Satoru.

What an odd act, coming from him. Satoru was certain Kento would only ever initiate physical touch when he was in his casket, and Kento would lightly tap his hand or shoulder as a way of saying goodbye.

For Kento’s arm to rest around Satoru’s shoulder now? Well, the other man’s face must have shown a great deal of borrowed grief from the future.

“You’re not the kind of person to start stressing out about things that have yet to happen,” The blonde-haired man’s voice was soothing. Like a comforting hug. “And you shouldn’t stress out about it tonight. I’ll . . . finally let you come to my house and vent about it all later this week if you aren’t busy. Just promise me you won’t let it get to you right now. You’re supposed to be having fun.”

And, like it often did, that familiar, Satoru Gojo Grin reappeared on his face. “Kento, Kento, remember who you’re talking to. I know how to be stressed out and have fun. Keeps things exciting, ya know?”

“I don’t.”

At the front of the museum-like venue, there was a stage. It was home to the giant crescent moon decoration that brought tears to your eyes — you blamed the pregnancy hormones, but in truth, it was just that gorgeous — and right now, that stage was home to Satoru as he stood on it, microphone in hand.

The chatter and music died down, and your husband started to speak.

“Hey everyone, thanks for coming to our baby shower. It means the world to me, my wife, and our kids. We’re about to start opening gifts, but first, there’s something I wanna show everyone. Most of you might remember this video from our wedding, or from my little muffin’s baby shower, but there are some new faces here. And the old faces are just gonna have to put up with it again, ‘cause this woman right here,” Satoru hopped off the stage. A spotlight followed him as he approached you, leaned down, and gazed at you with a passion so obvious, the hearts of your guests melted at the sight of love they witnessed. “I’m madly in love with her, I’d die for her, and I’m lucky enough to be the man she decided to marry and have kids with. I’m grateful. This video means the world to us, because if it weren’t for the events that happened on this day, there’s a chance none of us would be celebrating the arrival of two new family members right now. So, watch it, or else none of you are coming to Yuji’s future wedding.”

Gentle laughter broke out among the guests. Just above the stage, a projector screen came to life. The old video started with Satoru resting his head on his school desk.

Upon seeing the italicized date in the corner, Shoko, who then locked eyes with Satoru, gave him a soft, knowing smile.

—♡ —

JUJUTSU HIGH SCHOOL — 2006

“Why’re you recording me? Can’t you see I’m crying? You think this is funny?”

The second-year student glanced up at the camera in front of his tear-soaked face. His blacked-out sunglasses had fallen off his desk and tumbled to the floor, and his teary, blue eyes darted between his two best friends.

“You’re the one who talked up a big game. Now hurry before you miss your shot.” Suguru said from behind the camera. He was the one recording Satoru’s all-too-rare meltdown, and he zoomed in on the special-grade sorcerer’s face.

“Shoko, can’t you ask her for me? Pleaseee?” Satoru, who sat backwards in his chair, ran his fingers through his messy white hair.

Suguru turned his camera towards Shoko. The teenage girl rolled her eyes.

“Kinda pathetic to get someone else to ask. If I were her, I’d say no because you didn’t have the courage to ask me directly,” she said.

“Oh my god,” Satoru hid his face in his hands. “Oh my god, I’m gonna die, I swear I am.”

Suguru’s camera picked up the sight of you at the front of the classroom, quietly sitting at your desk, jotting down the last few bullet points written by your teacher on the green chalkboard.

Then, Satoru’s flushed, wet face came into view once again.

“Are you seriously crying?” Shoko asked, stifling a giggle.

“Leave me alone, I’m nervous, okay? I swear I’m gonna throw up. Do you see how pretty she is? And she’s so strong, too. Her smile is-is just . . .” dramatically, Satoru sprawled out across the desk in front of him, sniffling. “Guys, what if she says no?”

“What if she says yes?” Suguru said. “Clocks ticking, Satoru. Karaoke night is tonight and school’s about to let out. If you don’t ask her now, you won’t get another shot.”

“Can’t we reschedule?”

“Why? So you can panic and cry again later?”

Satoru whined, raised his head again for a moment, then rested the side of his head on Suguru’s desk — tried to, at least. In truth, he just ended up smacking his head. 

Shoko suddenly came into view, her short brown hair dangling. She leaned close to the camera, and whispered, “What’s really pathetic is that he killed special-grade curses yesterday all while talking on the phone, and now he’s crying because he can’t ask a girl out on a date. Weird.”

“I can hear you,” Satoru mumbled. “You guys don’t get it. Every time I talk to her, all I do is stutter and embarrass myself, almost like I’m not as awesome and amazing as I think I am. What’s up with that?”

“It’s called having a crush,” the amusement in Suguru’s voice was clear. 

It made Satoru whine yet again — he was suffering. His friends found it funny, but he was suffering. Suffering!

“Yep. You are downright smitten. Poor thing,” Shoko chuckled.

Suddenly, the school bell rang.

Satoru’s head shot straight up like a dog hearing a whistle, and his blue eyes widened in pure panic.

“Shit, shit, shit, is she leaving? I’m scared to look,” Satoru said, but he turned around and looked anyway.

“I’ll stall her.” Shoko rose from her seat, speed walking to the front of the classroom where you started to gather your belongings.

Bits and pieces of the distant conversation could be heard, and well, Shoko was quite an actress.

There was a gentle thud as Suguru set the camera in his hand down on the desk. 

His body then came into view from the waist down as he pulled his nervous friend out of his seat.

“Wipe your tears,” Suguru mumbled, and straightened out Satoru’s uniform. “You can do this. You’re Satoru Gojo, aren’t you?”

“Right . . . right. I got this,” trying to make his messy hair appear neater by running his fingers through it, Satoru released a shaky breath. 

Then, he approached you.

Suguru grabbed his camera, moved up a few seats, and sat down. Shoko ended the improvised conversation with you and grabbed the seat of the empty desk beside Suguru. 

Suguru zoomed in on the scene that unfolded before him.

“Excuse me,” Satoru tapped your shoulder. You faced him, and he mumbled, “ . . . Hi.”

“Hi,” you smiled.

“Hi . . .” Satoru repeated. His eyes fell to the floor, and he scratched the side of his head with his trembling hand. “So, uh, do you like music?”

“Yeah, I do, why?”

“No reason. Well, there is a reason, but it’s not important or anything.” 

“He’s blowing it,” Shoko whispered to the camera. Suguru shushed her as if his dear friend was talking during the best scene of a film.

“I take that back, it’s actually pretty important,” Satoru cleared his throat. God, he could barely look you in the eye. “Asking you out is a big deal to me, ya know? I’ve been practicing for weeks. I can’t believe I just said it wasn’t important. I can, uh, tell that I’m about to do this thing that, for some reason, only happens around you, where I get nervous and start talking a lot, so um, I-I was just wondering if you’d . . . like to go to this group date night karaoke thing . . . tonight? With me? As my date? O-On a date?” 

Everyone held their breath. Even the green leaves among the trees visible outside the classroom windows did not blow in the wind.

It was as if the world stopped spinning, and its rotation only began yet again when you laughed softly, your smile brightened, and you said, “You’re adorable. I’d love to.”

“Wait . . . wait, really?” Satoru’s eyes went wide with shock. 

The video captured a quiet, joyous shriek from Shoko.

“Yeah, it sounds fun!” You said, closing the binder on your desk. 

“O-Oh, great! Um, wait here,” Satoru sped away from you, nearly tripping over his own feet. Again.

His body blocked the camera lens, but he could be heard saying in a rushed, quiet tone, “pen and paper, pen and paper, hurry!”

 Suguru put down the camera. He and Shoko scrambled around like disoriented ants, but after a couple of seconds, Suguru handed Satoru a piece of paper, and Shoko gave him a pen. “Here!” 

Satoru leaned over a desk and started to write down his number. Suguru grabbed his camera and zoomed in on his trembling hands.

“Your hands are shaking,” Shoko mumbled.

“Not now, Shoko. Please shut up,” Satoru said, writing the last digit, and ripping off a piece of the paper.

Satoru made his way back over to you, his smile bright, cheeks and ears red.

“Here’s my number!” He handed you the tiny piece of paper.

“Okay, cool. I’ll text you when I get home.” You gave him one last smile as you gathered the rest of your belongings. You started to make your way out the door, when suddenly, you paused, turned to face him, and said, “Bye, ‘Toru!”

That was it.

That was it.

The sorcerer was on the floor.

Suguru and Shoko were on their feet, rushing towards their collapsed friend. 

The teenager on the floor came into view, and, once again, tears were streaming down his face, spilling onto the classroom floor beneath him.

“Cut the camera, I can’t take it anymore. I’m gonna die. Did you hear that? Did you hear her call me ‘Toru?” Satoru tossed his arm over his eyes. “I can’t believe it. She said . . . she said yes. I’m not hallucinating, am I?”

Before either one of his friends could answer, he suddenly got off the floor. 

“Holy shit,” Satoru whispered. “I gotta go get ready!”

And with that, the man flew out of the classroom. Shoko and Suguru were quiet for a moment, hearing his quick footsteps down the hall, and then, at the same time, they erupted into heartfelt laughter.

“I’ve never seen him act like this before. Is that why you started recording?” Shoko said once the last of her giggles fluttered out of her.

“Yes. I have a good feeling about those two.”

“Wait, wait, Suguru, come look!”

Shoko made her way towards the window, and Suguru — and his camera — quickly followed.

There, they saw Satoru running out of the school.

“See that, future viewers?” Suguru said to the camera. “That’s Satoru running. My best guess is that he’s planning on stopping at any store that catches his eye for a new outfit, new cologne . . . the list goes on and on.”

Suguru then turned the camera around, his face on full display.

“If they don’t work out, I won’t share this video, but as I said, I have a good feeling. I’m thinking I’ll share this video when they go on their . . . fifth date. What do you think?” He looked at Shoko. The girl appeared behind him, joining him on the screen.

“I say whenever they become boyfriend and girlfriend. What if they fall in love and get married? They could show this video at their wedding.” Suddenly, Shoko’s eyes lit up. “Wait, I have an idea.”

She took the camera from Suguru. 

With a small wave and a smile, she started to speak to the camera — to the future viewers. “Hi there, if you’re watching this video, that means my friend, Suguru, and I, successfully predicted the future, and Mrs. Gojo is watching this. Congratulations.”

“Wait, what if they decide to show this to their children?” 

“Oh, you’re right!” Shoko raised her eyebrows at Suguru’s interjection, then gave the camera another wave. “Hi, kids. I’m your Aunt Shoko!”

“I’m Uncle Suguru,” the dark-haired teenager popped his head into the frame, waving as well.

“I predict that . . . Satoru will become a girl dad.” Shoko knocked her head against Suguru’s shoulder. “Your turn.”

“Well, I see the two of them having multiple children.” Suguru said, and with a soft smile, he added, “But to Satoru’s future children, and to the future Mrs. Gojo, we wish you the best. I hope your days are filled with love and happiness. It’s the best thing one can ask for.”

Together, the two teenagers waved at the camera. “Bye!”

—♡ —

THE BIRTH

Over the last several months, Satoru Gojo’s only mission was to kiss your round belly with every sunrise and sunset. He didn’t travel the world for special assignments only he could handle, he didn’t spend hours cooped up in the stuffy classrooms of Jujutsu High School, teaching young sorcerers the difference between cursed energy and cursed technique. 

Once you hit the nine month mark, once you were predicted to go into labor any day now, he walked into the creepy meeting room belonging to the higher ups, told them he was taking some months off to be by your side, and strolled out of there with a relaxed grin on his face, hands in his pockets, all while the old fools huffed and puffed, going on and on about how he couldn’t do such a thing — blah, blah, blah.

Satoru didn’t care.

He only cared about his family. 

Damn it all, the world itself could catch on fire and he could be the only human being with an earth-sized extinguisher, and he wouldn’t do a thing. Not if it meant leaving your side right now.

It was early in the morning when the orange, gentle sunlight peeked through the curtains of your big bedroom window, and Satoru raised your night gown and pressed two soft kisses against your belly, one for each of the children you carried in your womb; the boy-girl twins.

“Good morning princess,” Satoru ran his hand gently across one side of your belly, where he knew his baby girl was located. “Daddy can’t wait to meet you soon.”

Satoru felt a small kick against his palm. He grinned.

“Aren’t you precious? I’m glad you’re excited to meet me too.”

His hand graced your skin as he moved it to where his boy was resting.

“How’s my little prince doing this morning, hm? You’re gonna love your nursery. Your Uncle Kento and I worked hard on it.”

His boy didn’t give an energetic kick, but rather a tiny wriggle. Satoru had read online once when you were pregnant with your first child five years ago that how a baby acts in the womb is not always an indication of how they’ll act outside of it, but for some reason — call it fatherly instinct, a lucky guess, or what information he could gather with his Six Eyes based on their cursed energy fluctuations — Satoru believed he was dealing with a hyper, excitable girl, while his boy was on the quieter side. 

Your eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning,” Satoru grinned up at you, moving away to give you some space. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Huge. I know I say it every day, but my back is-is . . . god, it’s killing me. I’m so ready for these little ones to come out.” You suddenly swung your legs off the side of the bed, moving much faster than your husband was comfortable with.

“Easy, easy,” he said. “What can your awesome, loving husband cook you for breakfast today?”

“Guess.”

“Crepes?”

You smiled at him. “You really are an awesome, loving husband.”

—♡ —

The soft clink-clank of dishes being washed with soap and hot, running water filled the kitchen. As you grabbed the drying rag to finish off with cleaning the plate that held your crepes, Maya, who too finished her breakfast, approached you with a curious, childlike gaze.

“When will the twins come out, mommy?”

“Any day now. Are you excited?”

“Uh-huh! I get a . . . a new sister and a new brother!”

“That’s right. It’s gonna be a full house.”

Megumi had awakened a while ago. He walked into the kitchen with an empty mug in hand, as he had finished his morning cup of black coffee.

“Do you want my breakfast?” He asked you.

“Of course not. There’s plenty for everyone, and you know you need to eat something with your meds. I don’t want you to get a stomach ache,” you said, moving out of the way so he could make his way to the sink — his favorite mug was much too precious to go in the dishwasher.

“You need the extra food more than I do. Besides, I don’t have a sweet tooth.”

“We know. Your dad cooked you something else. Your breakfast is in that pot on the stove.” 

Megumi didn’t respond. But, he truly didn’t get the chance to, as Yuji appeared in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around you. 

“Momma!” He greeted excitedly. Talk about being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

“Good morning, Yuji. How in the world do you wake up with so much energy?”

Yuji pulled away from the gentle hug. “Hmm, well, you could go into labor any day now, so I’ve been pretty excited lately. But I’m always excited about, well, everything.” He continued, “Feel alright today?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, and Maya suddenly grabbed your hand, wanting to hold it. You smiled, stroking her soft skin with your fingers. Then, you refocused your attention on Megumi, who was washing his mug, and Yuji, who was opening the fridge. “So, boys, your ride will be here soon to pick you up and drop you off at school. I’m going with your dad when he takes Maya to school so we can buy the last of what we need before I give birth, and I need-”

You heard footsteps. They didn’t belong to Satoru — you knew what his footsteps sounded like. You whipped your head around, and in the archway of your kitchen stood Kento.

“Kento? When’d you get here?” You asked in pure surprise.

“Uncle Kento!” Maya exclaimed, running up to Kento and holding her arms out for a hug.

“Look at you, Maya. You’re getting taller every day.” The man kneeled, hugging the young girl. Afterwards, he looked your way. “Good morning, I just got here. Satoru called and said you need someone to sort through and put away some supplies. I thought you knew, or else I would have knocked. Sorry for startling you.”

“It’s fine. I gave you a house key for a reason,” you smiled. “But I can’t ask that of you, Kento. It’s my fault I’m so behind with preparations.”

“Well, I’m not letting you tell me no. You have three kids and two more on the way, and to say you have a busy family is an understatement. No one blames you for falling behind. There's going to be a full house here soon enough, and there’s nothing wrong with your family needing a little outside help.” 

“That’s what mommy just said! Full house!”

Maya spread her hands wide.

“And your mom is right,” Kento said. “Anyway, your children call me Uncle Kento for a reason, don’t they? Even this one right here,” Kento nodded towards Yuji, who gave him a smile in return. “I need to show I’m worthy of that title.”

“Well, fine. But sit down and have some breakfast, at least. And I’m not letting you tell me no.”

Kento knew better than to go back and forth with you, Mrs. Gojo, when it came to your policy: everyone who walks through your front door will be fed.

Satoru appeared in the kitchen next. He dangled his car keys at you and smiled down at Maya. “Alright, you two. Time to go.” 

—♡ —

On ordinary days, you and Maya would stroll down the sunlit streets as a means of transportation, as her school was close enough for you to walk with the young girl, hand-in-hand. 

While Satoru would have gladly walked Maya to school, the two of you had last-minute errands to run, and that led to him pulling his car into the parking lot of the white and brown building instead.

“I’ll walk her in. You can clean off the black mark on the back window. It’s driving me crazy,” you said.

You unbuckled your seatbelt. Satoru exchanged loving goodbyes and a couple of tickles with Maya and grabbed the car cleaner and rag he kept in his truck. You strolled across the parking lot and up to the front door of the building with your girl by your side, and she played with the straps of her backpack.

That was when a strange, suited man standing outside the see-through front doors spoke to you.

“Good morning.” 

“Good morning. Excuse us,” you replied. You gave him a stranger-friendly smile and went to grab the door handle, but he didn’t move.

“Wait a second, Mrs. Gojo,” the man was fast. His hand gripped your elbow. He pulled you a little ways back to halt your footsteps. Instinctively, you grabbed Maya’s hand. She frowned with great worry, pressing herself as close to you as she could get.

The man’s grip tightened. “You are Mrs. Gojo, correct? And this is your little girl, Maya?”

“What are you doing? Don’t touch me-” 

Another hand appeared, this one familiar. It wrapped around the strange man’s wrist, squeezing, squeezing, and squeezing, until he let go of your elbow.

“Hey, back the hell away from my wife and my kid.” 

A shaky breath of pure relief escaped from you at the sight of your husband. Without wasting another second, you took your daughter inside the school and walked her to her class.

Meanwhile, Satoru’s grip on the strange man’s wrist only tightened. 

“Who the hell are you?” Satoru released his wrist, but only to take haunting steps towards the man, forcing him to walk backwards, stumbling over his own feet as his frightened eyes stared up at the tall, pissed-off sorcerer approaching him.

“Please, I didn’t mean any harm, but-” 

“But, you’re a strange man standing outside of my daughter’s school, one who knows my wife and daughter’s name. One who noticed they were alone. One who grabbed my wife’s arm.” He kept walking towards him. The man kept trying to back away. Satoru continued, the dark tone of his voice growing. “I’m going to give you one last chance to tell me who you are. One last chance . . .”

Satoru hooked his index finger around his black blindfold. He pulled it down slowly. He revealed his frightening, wide, blue eyes.

“I’m just a recruiter! Please, I didn’t mean any harm. I-I work with a group of intelligent sorcerers who oppose the teachings of the Jujutsu High School. Therefore, we’re trying to build up our own institution, a-and we would love to have your daughter as one of our students. Perhaps your wife would be interested in becoming a teacher, or-”

“My little girl is five years old,” Satoru spoke through gritted teeth.

“We understand, but being that she’s a member of the Gojo clan, she-”

“Don’t you ever show up here again. Don’t touch my wife, don’t speak to my wife, don’t look at my wife. Don’t touch my daughter, don’t speak to my daughter, don’t look at my daughter, or anyone else in my goddamn family, or I’ll make you regret it. Do you understand me?”

The strange man gulped. Droplets of sweat poured off his pale skin, almost as if he had been walking in the rain.

“Y-yes,” the man squeaked out. “My apologies, sir.”

He ran off like the devil himself was chasing him. Satoru stood in front of the school doors, waiting until the strange man was out of sight before he went into the building.

The entire situation had pissed him off. Greatly. So much so that he had to hold you and Maya close for a couple of minutes.

This wasn’t the first time the Jujutsu Society tried to push you back into the lifestyle of a sorcerer, or get their hands on his daughter.

Satoru himself was separated from his parents at a young age, training relentlessly every single day instead of playing in the warm sun. He would not let the same thing happen to his little girl.

Ever.

—♡ —

“Excuse me. I don’t mean to alarm you, but there is a man who has been staring at you for some time now. He’s two aisles over. I can stay with you while you shop if you’d like me to.”

“Oh, you’re too kind! There’s nothing to worry about, though. That’s just my husband, but thank you.”

“Oh, no problem!”

The kindhearted woman who noticed Satoru’s eyes — as he took his blindfold off for a few minutes — following your every movement walked off with a little smile. You gripped the handle of your grocery cart and hurriedly rushed over to Satoru’s aisle.

“Satoru! You’re supposed to be grabbing baby powder, not stalking me. That lady thought you were a creep!”

“What? I can’t help it. First of all, what happened this morning taught me that I need to be more protective of you, and second of all, you had that look on your face, the one you make when you’re concentrating? It’s too cute, so I gotta stare, sorry.”

Satoru tossed two containers of baby powder into your crowded cart. Sneakily, he pressed a kiss against your cheek. You rolled your eyes and started to walk off with the cart, but he could see the smile tugging at your lips.

The shelves of the pasta aisle were quite packed with a variety of different shapes.

Turning towards Satoru, you said with a playful frown, “Make yourself useful and grab those noodles on the top shelf for me.”

“I love it when you’re bossy,” he smirked, reaching for the big beige box.

“I love it when you’re quiet.”

“Ouch,” he pressed his hand against his heart as if your words were a loaded gun and a bullet was fired into his chest. “I’ll shut up in about five minutes.”

“You still have more to say?”

“Yep. So, I was thinking we could stay out all day until it’s time to pick up Maya from school. The twins will be here before we know it, and who knows when we’ll get to enjoy a nice outing together once they’re born?” Satoru paused. “After we drop off these groceries, we could get some lunch, do a little sightseeing, all that kinda stuff.”

“Sure! Let’s hurry, then!”

—♡ —

Yuji and Megumi stepped through the front doors of their home. The smell of clean laundry and freshly mopped floors hit their noses, and the sight of a spotless, glistening foyer caught their attention.

“Whoa, did Uncle Kento really clean this place up? And I thought it was pretty clean before!”

“Why do you call him that? You know he’s not your uncle,” Megumi said, reaching down to remove his shoes, and Yuji did the same.

“Some families do that kinda stuff. The kids call the friends of their parents aunt and uncle. Uncle Kento, Aunt Shoko, Aunt Jane, and so on and so on. Mom calls Nobara her niece. I think it’s just something you do when you’re close to people, so close you might as well be related, ya know? I love it. It makes me feel like I have this really, really big family.”

“But in reality, when it comes to blood, we’re all alone.”

Yuji froze.

He was used to Megumi’s rather depressing tone, but what made Yuji halt his movements amidst removing his left shoe was the wave of hurt that washed over him. I’m not all alone, Yuji thought. We’re not all alone. We have a mom, dad, siblings, distant relatives . . . right? It counts, right?

Yuji was silent for a moment, but, in a quiet voice, he mumbled, “. . . I think I understand now . . . you think family can only mean blood or marriage, huh?”

Megumi swallowed down the lump of guilt starting to form in his throat. Yuji hardly ever spoke in such a quiet tone. Only then did Megumi realize he had hurt the other boy’s feelings.

“No. In fact, the only people I’ve ever felt a familial bond with were people who weren’t related to me by blood.”

Both Megumi and Yuji rose to their feet, shoes off.

“I don’t get it. What’s the problem, then?” Yuji asked with a great, big frown.

“Be honest with me, Yuji,” Megumi’s eyes focused on the vase of flowers sitting on the table in the center of the foyer. “Do you honestly see me as your brother?”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, I kinda did before we were adopted, ya know? But I take it you don’t see me that way.” As Yuji spoke, Megumi faced him. Yuji gave him a sad smile, trying to hide his hurt. “It’s fine. Maybe someday, right?”

The pink-haired boy started to walk off, but Megumi’s sudden words made him stop.

“You’ve got it all wrong. You guys are my family. That’s the problem.”

“How’s that a problem?” Yuji turned to face him, his eyes begging for answers. “You can talk to me, c’mon. I’m worried about you.”

The words that Yuji spoke to him several months ago replayed in Megumi’s mind: “I probably can’t give you the world’s greatest advice, but if you ever wanna talk to me, you can. Love you!”

“Blood or no blood,” Megumi started. “There’s just something that keeps people from staying in my life. Something always goes wrong. People leave, people die . . . and I can’t shake the feeling that the bonds I’ve formed with all of you will just cause me more pain someday, ‘cause these sorta bonds always end up hurting me in the end. It’ll turn out how it always turns out. I’ll somehow end up all alone.”

Kento appeared in the foyer then. 

“That’s the risk that comes with loving people. Especially with the kind of lives we live as sorcerers,” he looked at Megumi apologetically. “Sorry to intrude.”

“It’s fine.”

“Megumi,” Kento continued. “I can’t promise you that you won’t lose anyone else. That’s the cruel world we live in. But, I suggest you cherish the happy moments with the people you care for. There’s nothing worse than losing someone and having no memories to look back on with them, all because you shut them out, thinking it would make the inevitable easier. It only makes it worse. Trust me.”

A brief beat of silence followed Kento’s wise words. While Megumi puzzled over his words, repeating them in his head, Yuji approached the blonde-haired man and wrapped his arms around him.

“Yuji, why are you hugging me?”

“I’m creating a happy moment with my uncle.” Kento couldn’t help but smile. He hugged the boy he wholeheartedly now viewed as his nephew.

—♡ —

After a day of errands and relaxing fun, you and Satoru pulled into the driveway of your home. Outside, Megumi and Yuji were carrying empty boxes from the finished nursery to the recycling bin after eating snacks Kento prepared for them.

Upon seeing you, Satoru, and Maya emerge from the car, Yuji tossed his empty hand up. “Hey!”

Megumi waved silently.

“Hi, boys!” You waved back.

Just as you were putting your hand down, a wave of pain — a cramp-like pressure — shot through you. You hissed.

“You alright?” Satoru asked, shutting the car door after Maya climbed out of her seat.

“Yeah, just a small cramp. One of the little ones, probably.”

The three of you made your way into your home, all the while, Maya was rambling about her newest fixation after seeing the stars and moon decorations at your baby shower.

“ . . . and when the rockets go into-into space, the um, the people in the rockets see the planets too!”

“Yep, they sure can,” Satoru smiled down at her. “Do you know how many planets there are?”

“Nuh uh,”

“There are eight. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune.”

“He’s wrong, Maya. There are nine. I won’t stand for any Pluto erasure, I don’t care what anyone says,” you called out, making your way into the living room. The living room was cleaner than you had left it. “Did we hire a maid?”

“No, I work for free, apparently,” Kento’s voice came from the hallway. When he stepped into the living room, you were quick to hug him. He knew quite well you would try to pay him, but he knew quite well he would also refuse to accept it.

“You did all this, Kento? Oh, thank you!”

Once you released him, Satoru took the chance to hug him as well. 

“My turn, bring it in, bring it in,” Satoru grinned.

“The Gojo family likes to give out hugs, hm?” Kento said, and he was met with soft laughter.

Satoru noticed your eyebrows were pinched in discomfort. 

“Come on, baby. You should sit down,” Satoru said, and he started to guide you towards one of the couches.

“Can someone bring me some water?” You asked.

“I’m on it. Do you need anything else? You look like you’re-”

“Oh!” Your sudden gasp of pure pain interrupted Kento. You doubled over, your hand on your stomach. “Oh god!”

“Baby? I need you to talk to me,” Satoru leaned over with you, his hand on your back. “What are you feeling?”

Your two boys rushed into the living room then.

Yuji started to say, “What’s wrong? Is she-”

You gave another shout of pain.

“Oh my god, she’s dying,” Yuji gripped his hair in pure panic.

“Yuji!” Megumi and Kento sharply called out.

“What’s wrong with mommy?” Maya, who tried to approach you until Yuji made her stop, gave a worried, little whine.

“They’re contractions,” Satoru said, his large hand rubbing your back. “Satoru,” you cried. When he looked at you, he saw it. Not the look of nervous excitement amidst the pain as the labor you had been preparing for finally started to occur, but he saw pure fear. “Satoru, they hurt more than they did with-with-”

Another shout of pain. 

“It’s okay, it’ll be okay, I’m right here,” Satoru worked hard to keep his composure. He had to. He was someone who felt the urge to faint or cry when his poor wife had a cold, but right now, he needed to be strong for you. And, damn it all, he would be. “Megumi, get Maya. Yuji, grab the hospital bag. Then get in the SUV. I didn’t buy a seven-seater for nothing.”

“Oh my god, oh my god, she’s going into labor,” Yuji said, running off in search of the bag. He had been rehearsing this moment. It was not going as smoothly as it was during his practices.

“I’ll drive,” Kento offered.

“Is-Is-Is this normal? Is it . . . is it supposed to hurt more with twins?” Your questions fluttered from between your lips in between pained groans. Your panicked eyes sought out Satoru’s, but they were hidden behind his blindfold. He knew what you wanted. What you needed. He was quick to snatch the blindfold off, headaches be damned.

“I’m gonna carry you to the SUV, okay, sweetheart? Just hang in there. Everything will be alright. I’m right here.”

The car ride was filled with your groans and shouts of pain.

“We’re almost there, baby. You’re doing so well,” Satoru stroked his thumb across your cheek with the hand that wasn’t within your grasp.

“I’m squeezing your hand, I’m sorry,” you said, breathless.

“Don’t be, I want you to squeeze it. Look at me.” Satoru lifted your chin with his fingers. “Everything’s going to be fine. I’m not letting go of your hand, okay? I’m not letting go.”

—♡ —

The blinding white lights of the hospital only worsened your disoriented state. The nurses were scrambling, you were guided into a wheelchair, the painful contractions were intensifying, your family stared at you with concerned gazes — it was too much. Too much.

The doctor told you that your labor was progressing quite fast. 

Throughout the intense delivery of the twins, the only thing that kept you grounded in reality, even as droplets of sweat accumulated across your forehead, screams of agony left your throat, and the doctor and nurses encouraged you to push, was your husband.

Satoru had positioned himself behind you in the hospital bed. You were in between his legs, your back against his chest — thank god, as his familiar scent and the sound of his heartbeat soothed you just as much as his calming words did — and you squeezed his hand until his pale skin was now a shade of red, but he didn’t complain. Not once. 

“Give me another big push,” the doctor said with urgency, yet, in a calm, reassuring tone.

Another round of screams. Another round of pain. More sweat. Bright white lights.

But, as the back of your head hit Satoru’s chest out of pure exhaustion, you heard it. 

A sound that created a wave of nostalgia, one that washed over you as you recalled your first experience with this, five years ago. 

It was a cry. 

“It’s a girl!” The masked doctor exclaimed.

“Baby . . . baby, it’s our princess,” Satoru brought your hand to his lips. He kissed your knuckles. “It’s our little girl! You’re so goddamn amazing, god, I love you, I love you. Do you see what you just did? That was all you, sweetheart.”

“Let’s work on getting the boy out of here, Mrs. Gojo. You’re doing great.”

It hurt — damn it, it fucking hurt.

“‘Toru!” You cried. Another round of screams. Another round of pain. More sweat. Bright white lights. 

“I know, I know. I can’t even imagine, baby.” Satoru stroked the skin of your hand with his thumb. “Keep breathing. Keep squeezing my hand. I’m here for you.”

And with that, you pushed out the very last child, your baby boy. His soft cries filled the hospital room. 

—♡ —

Satoru’s baby girl was so, so tiny. She rested in his arms. A tear drop softly splattered against her forehead, and only then did Satoru realize he had started to cry. But he didn’t bother wiping away the tears streaming down his face. It was pointless. Darting his teary blue eyes between the faces of his son and daughter melted his heart, seeing the features they copied from him and the love of his life created those tears, and they would stream endlessly right now.   

“Hi, princess,” Satoru whispered to the small newborn, smiling as more tears fell. “It’s your daddy. We’re finally meeting, aren’t we? Wanna say hi to your mommy?”

The hospital room was dimly lit now, thank goodness. Your babies had been cleaned, wrapped in blankets, and at the moment, you were breastfeeding your son when Satoru walked over carefully. 

“Did you see her eyes? She has my eyes,” you gave Satoru a tired smile. “I can’t believe it. The shape . . . everything.”

Satoru sat on the side of the hospital bed.

“She looks just like you. Every detail.” He paused, leaning over a bit to lovingly gaze down at his son. “Look at our prince’s tiny white hairs. He has my nose too. Don’t you, little guy? You’re just the cutest little prince, aren’t you?”

Then, Satoru’s loving gaze met your eyes. He leaned in — careful not to squish the two newborns in between your bodies — and he kissed you.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, then gave you another quick kiss in between his words. “Are you ready for me to help you get cleaned up?”

“Yeah, that would be nice. I think I feel strong enough.”

—♡ —

“You’re okay!”

Your worried family members piled through the door of your hospital room, rushing to your side. Yuji was the first one to shout, followed by Megumi’s soft, but concerned tone.

“How do you feel?”

“Happy,” you reached out, squeezing both of their hands. “Tired, but happy.” 

Maya started to crawl up your bed, and you welcomed your firstborn with open arms, holding the young girl against your chest.

Just then, your boys held up four big gift bags — holding two each. 

“We stopped by the gift shop and bought everything in sight,” Yuji said. “You can look through it later since you’re tired.”

“You two have a couple of panic shoppers here,” Kento said, looking between you and Satoru, who was putting warm socks on your feet.

With a laugh, you said, “Thank you, boys.” 

“You ready to meet your new siblings?” Satoru asked, nodding in the direction of the two bassinets at the front of your room.

The two boys rushed over. Maya only clung to you tighter.

Megumi and Yuji’s eyes widened in unison. 

They could have sworn they were looking at the mini versions of you and Satoru.

It was quite humorous. Maya was a perfect mix. Fifty-fifty, as Yuji often described it. But the little girl in the bassinet before him was the spitting image of you, whereas Megumi was looking at a copy-and-paste of Satoru himself.

Carefully, Yuji scooped the baby girl out of the bassinet. “Hi there, remember me? I’m Yuji, the guy who spoke to you every day. I’m your older brother.” He paused, taking in her features. How astonishing. “Wow, you look just like our momma.”

“He won’t let go of my finger,” Megumi suddenly said.

He was standing over the baby boy’s bassinet and reached down to touch his tiny hand. But that tiny newborn gripped his finger with a force Megumi was certain a newborn shouldn’t have.

“I had a feeling you two would bond,” Satoru laughed. He then walked over with Maya, who wasn’t too in love with the idea of ending her snuggle session with you just yet, and he said, “Take a look, muffin.” 

Yuji leaned down a bit with the small baby in his arms.

Maya raised her eyebrows. “Ooo!”

Kento walked over then. He adjusted his glasses as he stared down at the baby boy gripping Megumi’s finger. 

“Oh, great. Another Satoru,” Kento said.

“In appearance alone,” you chimed in with a little laugh. “He’s a quiet one.”

Their boy looks like Satoru, but is as quiet as Megumi. The girl looks like her mother, but has tons of energy like Yuji. Hilarious, Kento thought. 

Around fifteen minutes later, Satoru approached your bed, his phone screen illuminating his face.

“Alright, I just ordered some sushi for you. Yes, I got the right variety. Yes, I told them no wasabi. Yes, I got your favorite drink to go with it,” he said.

“I love you,” you smiled at him, but then, your face fell into a little frown. 

“Honey, you look exhausted. Where’s your blindfold?”

It was true. His head was throbbing. Pounding as if someone was slamming a hammer against his skull. His overworked eyes were sore, and with the level of fatigue he was experiencing, he didn’t feel entirely too comfortable carrying one of his newborns right now. 

But he snatched off that blindfold so you, his panicked wife, could look into his eyes and know that you weren’t going through any of this alone. So he didn’t mind the suffering. 

Satoru simply ignored your question as he smiled, leaned across the bed, and pressed his lips against your soft cheek. “I love you more.”

—♡ —

THE AFTERMATH

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

Quite often, Megumi found himself sitting on the bench at the local park, a nonfiction book — typically about animals — resting in his hands. Normally, it was just him. Him and the gentle breeze that made the leaves of the surrounding trees dance. But lately, his little brother accompanied him. 

The eight-month-old was glued to Megumi’s side from the second he was born. Perhaps, it was Megumi’s quiet nature and calming presence that the fellow quiet baby adored. It was no different than the way his hyper eight-month-old sister would giggle and babble when someone as excitable as Yuji was around.

Flipping the page of his book with his thumb, Megumi took a second to glance down at the head of the baby sitting on his lap. 

“I wonder if you’ll become an animal guy too,” Megumi mumbled. 

The baby looked up at the sound of his beloved brother’s voice. He pressed the bee-shaped toy against his lips, attempting to chew on it.

“Jegi?” The baby babbled.

Megumi smiled softly. “I have no idea what you’re saying, but okay.”

—♡ —

“Babababa . . .” 

Satoru, who sat on the floor of the playroom, grinned as his baby girl slowly crawled closer to him.

“You’re coming closer to calling me dada every single day, aren’t you?” He grabbed her gently, pulling her onto his lap. “Wanna go see your mommy? Hm? Wanna see mommy? I wanna see your mommy.”

The kitchen was alive with the sound of a knife meeting your favorite wooden cutting board. Satoru entered to see you standing over the kitchen island, slicing potatoes.

Grabbing the arm of the baby he carried, he made his little girl wave.

“Say hi,” he cooed.

Your excitable baby girl babbled at the sight of you.

“Hi my little baby,” you waved at her.

“She’s going through diapers like crazy today,” Satoru said to you, then turned his attention back to the baby, stroking her cheek with his finger. “Someone doesn’t know how expensive diapers are, hm? You know how many curses I have to kill to afford them? Too many curses, sweetheart.”

“Oh, leave her alone,” you rolled your eyes, grinning.

A figure suddenly appeared inside the kitchen — you couldn’t help but jump a bit. Though you heard him coming — you recognized Yuji’s footsteps — but just as Megumi was starting to look more and more like his father with every passing day, Yuji had gotten taller over the last several months. 

The sudden reminder of his height made you sneakily bite your inner cheek, as you remembered that both of your boys were close to turning eighteen, and you and Satoru had something special planned for their birthdays.

You couldn’t believe it. Around two-and-a-half years ago, you adopted them; two orphaned teenage sorcerers who needed a loving family. And now? They were almost adults.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” Yuji greeted. “You guys mind if I take her to the park with me and Maya?”

“No, not at all. We’d appreciate it,” you said. 

“Make sure you keep an eye on Muffin. Her latest growth spurt has made her a bit clumsy.” Satoru thought about Maya’s new elementary school class photo, one he sent to all of his friends. “Looks like my little muffin’s gonna be tall like me. Buttt, I don’t care. I’m gonna keep picking her up until she’s fifty-two.”

“You got it. I wanna introduce my, uh . . . friend . . . to some of my siblings.” Yuji smiled, his cheeks becoming a dark shade of pink. “And, um . . . to you guys as well. But I don’t think she’s ready for that. Too soon, ya know?”

You and Satoru exchanged a knowing grin with one another. You then cleared your throat, suppressing the urge to giggle out of pure excitement, and you sliced into another potato. “Well, just know that we would love to meet this friend of yours. She can come over for dinner anytime.”

“Great,” Yuji approached Satoru, taking the babbling baby into his arms. “See you guys later.”

The door opened and closed. After a beat of silence — silence you had grown quite unfamiliar with — you smiled widely at Satoru.

“Yuji might have a girlfriend! This is huge!” As you started to ramble, your husband made his way around the kitchen island, approaching you. “Oh, this is so exciting. I should bake her something whenever she comes over.”

“Yeah, yeah I agree,” The words that Satoru spoke were soft, barely above a whisper, as he closed the distance between you both. His sudden kiss, however, was anything but. He bit your bottom lip with the hunger of a starved man. 

He pulled away, his lips hovering above yours.

“Are you even listening to me, sir?” You whispered against them.

“Sorta, kinda,” his warm breath grazed your cheek.

You playfully backed away from him, turning your back to your husband as you started to walk away. “If your answer isn’t yes, then no kisses for you.”

“Oh, don’t you dare.” His large hand wrapped around your wrist. He pulled you back towards him, your chest colliding with his, and he said, “alone time with you doesn’t come often. I’m taking advantage of it.”

His mouth was on you again. And his lips weren’t just kissing yours — no. He trailed his lips and tongue across the skin of your jaw and neck. His wandering hands roamed your body, exploring what was starting to become foreign territory to him after not being able to get any alone time with you. His hand gripped your ass, his lips found their way back up to yours, and he kissed you yet again, releasing a moan into your mouth as his tongue swirled around yours.

Satoru turned you around. Though he viewed his wife as a precious prize — the prize — he wasn’t exactly in the mood to handle you with gentle care right now.

Not when his dick was hardening against the fabric of his pants, begging for freedom and relief.

He used one hand to pull your hips back until your ass met his bulge. He used his other hand to push your back until you were leaning across the kitchen island, and he grabbed a fistful of your hair.

“In the kitchen, ‘Toru?” You said with false innocence. Oh, he could spot that bit of trickery within your voice. “That’s so . . . so unsanitary.”

“Downright nasty, isn’t it, baby?” He thrusted against you. The sheer force of his grind made your arm hit the potatoes on the kitchen island, and you could only watch helplessly as the starchy vegetables scattered onto the floor.

Satoru leaned across you until his chest was against your back. His grip on your hair tightened, the pace of his grinding quickened, and he ran his tongue across your right ear.

“Right there, right there,” he hungrily whispered. He pressed his clothed cock against you harder, your bodies rocking back and forth, back and forth. “Feel that? That’s where I need you, baby.”

“I need you somewhere too,” you breathlessly spoke. Every thrust from him was driving you crazy. You could feel him through your jeans, feel just how badly he needed you.

Satoru released his grip on your hair and let his hands fall to the button and zipper of your jeans, but you suddenly grabbed his hands, halting his advances.

He backed away from you. But, before any questions could flutter from between his wet lips, you turned around, facing him, and got down on your knees.

You ran your hands up his legs.

“My amazing, perfect husband is always showering me with love and affection, waiting on me hand and foot.” You looked up at Satoru with pleading eyes. “I want to show him how much I appreciate him.”

Satoru didn’t say a word. His blindfolded eyes never left yours as he unbuckled his belt.

It started off with a few, teasing swirls of your tongue around his tip, leaky with precum. But Satoru wasn’t exactly patient. He wasn’t in the mood to be toyed with, not when he wanted his cock somewhere inside of you. And that led to Satoru gripping your hair yet again and thrusting himself down your throat. He tossed his head back at the heavenly feeling, moaning your name like a prayer.

“You can still take all of me, right? Let’s see,” he said. 

That was, in a way, your only form of a heads-up before he started to thrust in and out of your hot mouth at a quick pace. Spit dribbled from the corners of your mouth. His moans grew louder, louder, and louder — he was never a quiet man, except for when his brewing orgasm suddenly washed over him, taking his breath away and making him go silent as he shot his load down your awaiting throat, but he then inhaled sharply, and more moans of pure pleasure escaped him as he finished cumming.

Satoru pulled himself out of your mouth with a smirk, and you knew what that smirk meant. 

It meant that, while he technically just finished, he wasn’t anywhere near finished.

—♡ —

Clothes were scattered along the kitchen floor, mixed with the knocked-over vegetables, cutting board, and decorative bowl of fruit.

That was the result of Satoru grabbing you off the floor, tossing you over the kitchen island, and fucking you until you were dizzy from the motion of his fast-paced thrusts.

“Give it to me one more time,” he would say after yet another orgasm, and another.

Now, after dragging your clothes back on, you were disinfecting the kitchen island and sipping on water, trying to rehydrate your weakened body, all the while, Satoru picked up the fallen fruits and vegetables. 

“Someone lose their voice?” Satoru teased. “I’m glad we don’t have neighbors close by. I can only imagine how they would’ve reacted to all that moaning.”

“Well, I would have apologized and told them to forgive my husband and his whorish ways,” you snapped back with a small grin, wiping the kitchen island.

“I went easy on you this time, ya know. I could’ve kept going,” Satoru said, picking up the cutting board.

“Seriously? My legs hurt, my back hurts, my throat hurts, and I lost count of how many rounds we-” you cut yourself off with a sigh. “Your stamina is insane. Why’d you stop if you weren’t ready to?”

“Well,” with a teasing smirk, he paused. “Number one, Someone — not me, by the way — looked like they were on the verge of meeting their maker. Number two, I was hoping we could get out of the house during the last few hours of our free time.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really? We haven’t been to the movies in a while. Or . . . maybe . . .”

“Maybe you could show me what else your mouth can do. Day-time karaoke?”

“Day-time karaoke!” You laughed. “Though . . . I’m divorcing you for that bad joke.”

Satoru walked around the kitchen island. “Let’s go, we can finish cleaning when we come back,” he said, taking the cleaning supplies out of your hand. 

“We can sing the song we sang during our first date. Remember?” You looked at him, smiling brightly. Sweet memories came back to you, warming your heart and soul. 

“Of course I do,” with a smile that matched your own, he continued, “I almost blacked out from nervousness before we sang together, not after.”

“I can’t believe I used to drive you that crazy.”

“Excuse me? What do you mean used to?” His face frowned up with great offense — you would’ve thought you had raised your hand and slapped him across the cheek. 

“Come on now, you’re not damn near fainting and stuttering around me like you used to do,” you said. “You’ve gotten used to being around me. Our love has changed from that puppy-like, crushing stage into something mature and wholesome, and that’s fine. It’s beautiful.”

“Wrong,” Satoru put the cleaning supplies down. “Maybe I don’t stutter anymore, but you still drive me crazy. I’ve just gotten better at hiding it.”

“Pretty words.”

“You don’t believe me?”

You shook your head as a way of saying no.

“Gimme your hand,” Satoru nodded down at your wrist. “Come on, give it here.”

You did as you were told despite your confusion. Your husband placed your hand upon his chest, and you felt it against your palm. 

The fast-paced thumping of his heart.

“What the hell? Why is your heart beating so fast?” You asked, pulling your hand away.

“Pretty sure it’s because my extraordinary, beautiful, amazing, loving, super cute wife just smiled at me a minute ago.”

Oh.

You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him. He didn’t waste a second before returning your hug.

“I love you. What did I do to deserve you?” You asked, taking in his comforting scent.

“I ask myself the same thing every morning. What did you do to deserve me?”

A laugh escaped from you as you pulled away from him. Shaking your head, you started to walk out of the kitchen. “Okay, you know what? I’m about to go get ready, and you can shower by yourself.”

And with that, your dear husband, the Satoru Gojo, the special-grade sorcerer who loved his amazing wife and five children more than anything, followed you down the hallway, shouting, “Wait, I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I bought a house with a shower big enough for two people for a reason!” 

What did you think? Please let me know!

🍼: @marvel-girl3 @goldenglow149 @luaqsv @sstoru @pinkfemdolly @satorusgummies @therealmrsgojo @leehriie @iminlovewqr0w @odessa-is-my-queen @melodycelos @stoneaf @dreamypirate @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @starlightanyaaa @arrozyfrijoles23

[shishibazz]

SAKAMOTO DAYS - Opening for Cour 2!

[shishibazz]

I am Mohammed, I live in the northern besieged Gaza Strip, I am 21 years old, I have always tried to create a beautiful future for myself in which I achieve all my wishes. I had ambitions and dreams, but they evaporated because of the war, but I still want to achieve them despite the siege. During the war, I lost many things, including my university, my dreams, my job, and some friends. Despite that, I still want to achieve my dreams and ambitions. I want to rebuild my life again, so please help me in that and rebuild my life. Therefore,

please donate as much as you can because that helps me a lot. If you cannot donate, tell people about my suffering.

[shishibazz]

Hello, my name is Lama, and I am from Gaza City, specifically in the northern Gaza Strip. I grew up in a loving family of resilience and hope, with my parents working tirelessly to provide us with a life of dignity and opportunity. My father was our steadfast provider, and my mother was the heart of our home. I have two brothers and three sisters, the youngest of whom is just six months old. She is frail and often sick due to the lack of proper food and medicine. My siblings and I have shared dreams of education, careers and a bright future. But life in Gaza is marked by hardship, and when the war began, everything we had built was shattered. My older brother, a kind and a courageous soul, was martyred while trying to secure basic necessities for our survival, my younger sister was gravely injured, and the cost of her treatment weighs more than the universe to us, now the responsibility for my family has fallen on my shoulders.

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #510 )✅️

Our home, once filled with warmth, laughter and memories, has been reduced to rubble. We have been displaced more than thirty times from place to a place with nothing but the clothes on our backs. Each time we returned, we found more destruction, we always clung to the hope of rebuilding, but in the last attack, our home was completely destroyed, we are now homeless, living in unsafe conditions with no shelter to protect us from the cold nights. The loss of our home is not just the loss of a building, it’s the loss of safety, stability, and the place where our dreams were nurtured.

With my father unemployed since the beginning of the war, we have no income to provide even the most basic necessities. Water, food, medicine, warm clothes and blankets-things that many take for granted-are beyond our reach. Every day is a battle for survival, and every night is a reminder of the dangers and struggles we face. I am determined to care for family and give my younger brothers and sisters a chance to grow up with hope. But I cannot do it alone.

I am reaching out to you with a plea for compassion and action. Your support can help us rebuild our lives, restore hope, and secure a future where my family can live in peace and safety. Every donation, no matter how small brings us closer to survival and dignity. Please for the sake of god and humanity, help us in this time of desperate need.

[shishibazz]

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #640 )✅️

My name is Fatima, a 21-year-old woman🤰.Just one month before the war, I was engaged, dreaming of a warm home and a small family.But the war tore us apart—my fiancé and I were separated between northern and southern Gaza, with no way to communicate💔.

Despite the pain, we held on to hope. Months later, I left my family and joined him.We got married, believing it was the start of a new life.But the bombing returned, and we were displaced again… Now we live in a fragile tent in western Gaza, awaiting the birth of our first child amid conditions unfit for life🥹😭.

I’m pregnant🤰, and my due date is near🥹. I have none of the essentials I need as a mother or even as a human being🙏.We lack everything: medical care, food, clean water, and basic supplies for childbirth and the baby🥲.

I’m not asking for the impossible—just enough to protect my life and my baby’s

Your donation is our only hope🥹😢.

My campaign is new and has not received much support. Please support me and my family.

https://chuffed.org/project/helpfatema

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #640 )✅️

[shishibazz]

Hello 🙋

My name is Ahmed, I’m 20 years old, and I’m from Gaza City. I used to dream of a peaceful life, completing my education, and getting a job, but the war has turned that dream into something impossible 💔😭. We lived through this massacre in every painful detail, and we are still in pain 😔. We were so happy when the ceasefire was announced, and we returned to our homes in the north of Gaza after being displaced for a year and a half in a tent in the south of the Strip. After we fixed a small room in our destroyed house to live in and start over, unfortunately, the war returned, stronger than before 💔. Now, we have no shelter and no source of income. We have exhausted all our savings during the war. I know that I started my campaign very late, but that’s because there is no other way to help my family 🙏. I am fully confident and hopeful that someone here will help us as much as they can and save my family in these difficult circumstances 😔.

I know that the feeling of starting from scratch is painful and frustrating, but I hope to receive any amount for my family 🥺🙏.

https://chuffed.org/project/helpahmedfamily

Even a small donation would have a great impact on us 🥺. May God bless you, my friend 🥰❤️.

[shishibazz]

Weirdly Healing Things to Do When You’re Feeling Creatively Burned Out...

Write a fake 5-star Goodreads review of your WIP—as if you didn’t write it. Go ahead. Pretend you're a giddy reader who just discovered this masterpiece. Bonus: add emojis, chaotic metaphors, and all-caps screaming. It’s self-indulgent. It’s delusional. It’s delicious.

Give your main character a Pinterest board titled “Mentally Unstable but Aesthetic.” Include outfits, quotes, memes, cursed objects, and that one painting that haunts their dreams. This is not about logic. This is about ✨vibes.✨

Make a “deleted scenes” folder and write something that would never make it into the book. A crackfic. A “what if they were roommates” AU. The group chat from hell. This is your WIP’s blooper reel. Let it be silly, chaotic, or wildly off-brand.

Interview your villain like you’re Oprah. Ask the hard-hitting questions. “When did you know you were the drama?” “Do you regret the murder, or just the way you did it?” Bonus points if they lie to your face.

Host a fake awards show for your characters. Categories like “Most Likely to Die for Vibes,” “Worst Emotional Regulation,” “Himbo Energy Supreme,” or “Best Use of a Dramatic Exit.” Write their acceptance speeches. Yes, this counts as writing.

Write a breakup letter… to your inner critic. Be petty. Be dramatic. “Dear Self-Doubt, this isn’t working for me anymore. You bring nothing to the table but anxiety and bad vibes.” Rip it up. Burn it. Tape it to your mirror. Your call.

Create a “writing comfort kit” like you’re a cozy witch. A candle that smells like your WIP. A tea that your characters would drink. A playlist labeled “for writing when I’m one rejection email away from giving up.” This is a ritual now.

Design a fake movie poster or book cover like your story is already famous. Add star ratings, critic quotes, and some pretentious tagline like “One soul. One destiny. No chill.”

Write a scene you’re not ready to write—but just a rough, messy outline version. Not the polished thing. Just the raw emotion. The shape of it. Like sketching the bones of a future punch to the gut. You don’t have to make it perfect. Just open the door.

Let your story be bad on purpose for a day. Like, aggressively bad. Give everyone ridiculous names. Add an evil talking cat. Write a fight scene with laser swords and emotional damage. Just remind yourself that stories are meant to be played with, not feared.

[shishibazz]

Sharing his Chuffed campaign here as well!

Hello my friend, my name is Jaafar from North Gaza, I am 24 years old, and finally after waiting for a whole year of killing, displacement, hunger, massacres and genocide against us, the time for a ceasefire has come, thank God we are still alive after all the exhaustion, and during the next week we will return to our homes in North Gaza, which was completely destroyed, unfortunately our area was completely and brutally destroyed and we have nothing left, neither a home, nor property, nor furniture, nor clothes, nor any other clothes, I know that returning to the north will be very painful and difficult due to the lack of the necessities of life, and we will start building our lives from scratch, but we are happy for the war to end.

Please 🙏, donate to my campaign to save my family, even a small amount will help us stabilize ourselves a little, and buy some supplies 🥹, I hope that God will protect your family and friends, thank you 🥰🩵

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #299 )✅️

[shishibazz]

You did the thang with this one, Angel! Ngl, I might need to take a cold shower later on because the way you wrote Toji's dialog and the smut has my face hot 🫣. The way he got nervous at our answer at the end has me cheesing like a fool LOL. 10/10!!!

fuckin problems. .° ༘🎧⋆🖇₊ toji fushiguro.

sum. toji’s prepping for a fight night match and his trainer was adamant that women would be a distraction. when he sees you in the gym late one night, obviously all of that changes.

wc. 4.8k

tags. boxer!tojixcollege student!reader, (it isn’t mentioned in the fic.) toji and reader are mid-twenties, reader is fem and black. modern au, unprotected, pússy eating, shower sèx, toji’s a bit of a hoe, dacryphilia, praise kink (lots of pet names!!) set in a gym, some workout terms used.

an. i’m back . . . did you guys miss me? 🥹 i worked really hard on this. i hope you enjoy it.

i love bad bitches, that’s my fuckin problem . . . and yeah, i like to fuck, i got a fuckin’ problem.

loud music blaring through his black airpod maxes drowns out the harsh clang of the weighted barbell making contact with sleek, black hardwood beneath him. chest heaving, toji wipes his sweaty forehead with the hem of his compression shirt. he’d just finished his last set of heavy romanian deadlifts, the last exercise of five—and he doesn’t know if it was through discipline or pure willpower. he’s internally cursing his trainer. he’s a boxer, not training to be a part of the fucking avengers.

and with being a professional boxer, being physically fit comes with the territory. toji knows that. it was recommended he switch from his last gym to this one. virtually unknown and far from paparazzi and groupies. lowkey. he can deal with that. this new regimen his mentor had implemented, though? it would be his undoing.

aside from working out six days a week with a new grueling routine, there were now rules toji had to abide by—upon breaking them, he’d be ineligible for the upcoming heavyweight championship match in a few weeks. there were only four temptations he was to avoid: liquor, greasy food, staying up late . . . and this last one toji dreads, no women. no sexual intercourse of any kind.

that was a fucking problem.

no conceited shit, toji knows he is attractive. he’s built. tall, tatted from the neck down with sculpted abs that could’ve been crafted by god himself. he can’t even go to the grocery store without being approached by women. and whether these women were drawn to his fame or brawn, toji didn’t care either way—what sane man would turn down pussy without any attachments?

halle berry, hallelujah. holla back, ima do ya, beast!

taking a seat on the rubber bench behind him, toji stares at his reflection in the mirror. dim hex lights that hang from above cast dark shadows over his bulky figure, highlighting the definition in his biceps and glinting micro cuban link dangling from his neck. veined, inked hands reach for the nike water bottle on the floor, tipping his head back as he shoots a stream of cold water into his open mouth. as much as he hates this new routine, he’d be lying if he said the results weren’t rewarding.

toji has no intentions of abstaining from sex completely. sure he could do a few days, he wasn’t an addict . . . but two weeks? fuck no. there’s too many beautiful women out here that deserve his dick and undivided attention . . . and when his tired eyes land on you, setting up on a smith machine across the room in this navy matching set that molds on your body like a second skin? toji’s never been more sure that he’d break a rule in his life. not like he’s ever been much of a rule follower anyway.

he watches you, shamelessly. upon doing so, he realizes this wasn’t the first time he’s seen you. you always stick to the smith machines and free weights right next to them, minding your business in your own little world. he doesn’t think you’ve spared him a glance since he’s joined. with interest now piqued, steel eyes observe you mid-workout with newfound curiosity.

you’re pretty. glossed lips pouted in exertion, sweat glistening on exposed skin like diamonds. chocolate brown eyes glued to your reflection. the navy blue crop top and legging set compliments your brown skin, accentuating the curves toji can tell you’ve worked hard for. he almost catches himself drooling . . . but the longer toji watches through your set of squats, there’s something glaring at him that he can’t quite ignore.

your form is fucking terrible.

maybe it’s fatigue or the weight being too heavy for you to handle—but years of training makes it easy for him to spot the mistakes being made. rounded shoulders, anterior tilt, and poor foot placement. your back will be sore as fuck once you’re finished, he’s sure of it . . .

. . . it’d be wrong to not help fix your problem, right?

locking the bar into the safety hook, you plop yourself down onto the nearest bench, completely out of breath. this workout had you fighting for your life. it’s been a while since you’ve been to the gym, but damn, you didn’t realize you fell off this badly.

this is why you always come to this gym late at night: free to make a fool of yourself without having to worry about stares from nosy strangers. motivation’s been low but with discipline, you’ve made so much progress towards your body goals—you can’t tap out now.

you look down at your apple watch. 1:35 am. if you lock in for this last set, you can pack up and be out of here by 2. leaning forward, you tighten the laces of your grey new balances. cockiness by rihanna blaring in your ears, you nod your head along to the beat, mentally psyching yourself up to push through this shit. you almost don’t notice the person standing in front of you, their black nikes in your peripheral vision.

almost.

what the fuck? you straighten up, blood rushing to your ears from the quick movement. angling your beats off your ear, the words come out before you get a good look at this person who decided to rudely disturb you, “can i help you?”

the person, a man, chuckles in response. “nah . . . i was thinking maybe i could help you, though.”

oh? you have to crane your neck to really see him, he towers over you. shit, you don’t think it’d make a difference if you were standing. grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, sharp v-line peeking over black calvin klein. he’s got a white towel slung over broad shoulders, contrasting the vibrant hues of ink on his neck. he looks . . . familiar. his cool steel eyes and scarred lip are ringing bells in your head but he looks so fucking good, you aren’t really thinking about a damn thing.

he doesn’t wait for your answer, noting the way you’re ogling him. “i’m toji and you are . . . ?”

yes, toji. you remember who he is now. your best friend had shown you a reel of him boxing just the other day. you didn’t know much about boxing but toji is finer in person. finer than the pictures you’d seen when scrolling on his instagram. (how was that even possible?)

shit, you’re staring hard as fuck. “( 🫶🏾 ).” you say with a sheepish smile. he returns it with one of his own. you extend your hand for him to shake, “i know you, i’ve seen you before.”

“beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he muses, lifting your hand into his much bigger one, kissing the back of it. you roll your eyes. the compliment was corny, predictable even . . . so why does it have your heart beating in your chest and between your thighs?

“you said you’ve seen me before. you don’t look like much of a boxing fan . . .” he probes with a brow raised. he isn’t surprised when you shake your head no, nothing about you gives avid sports watcher. he doesn’t press on it, opting to get straight to the point. “mhm. i don’t want this to sound weird but i was watching when you were doing squats and i noticed that your form could use some . . . work.”

damn, was it that obvious?

heat prickles up your neck, flushing your face in embarrassment. you can’t believe he saw you … had he been watching the whole time? you’re mortified at the possibility. you attempt to hide your face in your hands but it does little to ease the self-consciousness twisting your insides. with your words muffled, the only thing toji can make out is you muttering i feel so stupid.

“hey, hey. don’t say that. you’re not stupid.”

he crouches down, his touch gentle as he coaxes your hands away from your face and into his again. you’re avoiding his gaze, thick brows furrowed and glossy lips pouted. so cute. “it happens to the best of us, don’t overthink it.” he stands to his full height, tugging you up with him. “i can help you correct it and you’ll never have to worry about fucking up again . . . sound good, doll?”

his reassurance makes your heart flutter. he seems genuine so why would you decline his offer? just like that, any lingering feelings of embarrassment are gone. you give a quick nod, biting back a smile. “mhm, sounds good.”

he leads you over to the smith machine, bright pink neck pad on the bar a clear indicator it was the one you’d been using. you bend below it, eyes following his form in the mirror as he swaps out current weight plates with lighter ones, you presume. it’s hard not to watch him. veins bulge through the colored ink on his forearms, beefy muscles flexing with each plate he lifts. he has this aura about him . . . masculine. mysterious. it turns you on. everything about this man makes you horny and you just met him.

his eyes catch yours in the mirror, smirking at the way you quickly avert them. “is it okay if i . . . ?” he stands directly behind you, thick fingers hovering over your hips. you nod consent, breath hitching at the way they shape on your curves. you swear you feel them through your leggings. (or maybe that’s just what you want to happen instead.)

he’s keeping a respectable distance between your bodies but he’s close enough that the scent of his expensive cologne lingers in the air. it’s making you dizzy. he leans down, lips brushing your earlobe as he directs you. “tilt your hips forward, baby.” his thumbs lightly press on your lower back for emphasis. he hums in approval when it feels right. “that should help your back . . . and feet should be parallel, doll. you’ve got em too far.”

after a few more adjustments, he does a onceover, taking in your form. you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on your ass longer than they should. not that you minded. you fight the urge to bite the tip of your acrylic. you know you’ve gotten thick, he can barely handle it!

“mhm, you’re ready.” he says, lifting the bar off the safety hook and lowering it onto your shoulders. you wrap your fingers around the cool steel, preparing yourself for what’s to come. “you’re gonna push this set to failure for me, baby.”

“what?” you weren’t prepared for that. does this man want you to die? you’ve been through enough tonight. you shake your head with your face scrunched up in disapproval, “i can’t do that shit—“

“you can.” he reiterates, cutting your train of thought short. his hands gently rub up your hips, settling at your waist. “you can and you will.” the dominant edge in his voice makes the hairs on your nape stand on end, next words caught in your throat as your eyes meet again in the mirror.

his glare is smoldering, dark with such raw intensity that you can feel the lust exuding off him. god, it’s intimidating. he’s intimidating but you can’t look away, your own arousal pooling in your panties. he commands your attention without saying a single word. it’d be embarrassing if you weren’t utterly and completely enamored with this man. you’re ready to fold and let him have his way with you.

he maintains that eye contact as he leans down, tilting his head to ensure his words meet your ears. his voice drops to a husky whisper, raspy with a hunger that threatens to consume him. “i got somethin’ for you when you’re done. so be a good girl and finish up for me, hm?”

goosebumps raise on your soft skin like wildfire, audibly swallowing once his words completely settle in. “oh . . . o-okay.”

you’re not sure if that was a threat or a promise. either way, the implications of what he said sent a shock of nervous excitement coursing through your body. it serves as the motivation you need to push you through the rest of your workout, and there’s one thought plaguing your mind while you’re doing it:

what exactly is he going to do to you?

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊

toji knows eating it from the back in the gym shower when he just met you less than two hours ago is crazy. does he give a fuck? absolutely not.

you’re pressed up against the shower wall and toji’s kneeling behind you, his big hands trailing up the back of your thighs. you thought the warm stream of water on your skin would ease the anxiety bubbling in your belly. but it only serves to heighten your sensitivity even more—each graze of toji’s fingertips sends spikes of heat up your spine, breath hitching the closer he gets to your most sensitive parts. the steam envelopes the two of you in the small space, and it’s like it clouds your vision and common sense.

“toji, c’mon—need you, hurry up.” you whine, looking back at him over your shoulder with needy eyes, impatience growing by the minute. it’s obvious he’s dragging this out to tease you and you’re over it. you need his mouth—his tongue— on you now.

toji chuckles; the desperation in your voice makes his dick pulse against his thigh. unbeknownst to you, the feeling is mutual and he’s about to show you how real it is. “i told you i got you, didn’t i? just relax baby, lemme take care of you.”

he spreads your asscheeks with his palms, using his thumbs to part your lower lips at the same time. your pussy is so pretty, gleaming with slick, swollen clit peeking out your folds. he groans low in his throat as your hole clenches around nothing, the urge to devour you whole overwhelming him. usually, he wouldn’t eat a stranger out, but something tells him it’d be a disservice to himself to fuck without tasting you first.

fuck it. he leans in, plump lips latching onto your lower ones before dipping his tongue into your hole, lapping up all your juices that have accumulated there. he’s so into it, he doesn’t even fight the moan that slips out when your pussy is sweeter than he thought it’d be. and you’re gasping at the vibrations that ripple through your body like shockwaves, your hand reaching behind to grab onto his damp locks. the tugs on his scalp urge him on, and he lays his tongue flat, dragging up your slit until he reaches your clit, sealing his mouth around the bud.

your jaw goes slack, unable to contain the whimpers and moans that fall out your mouth as your hips jerk back onto his tongue, your hand buried in his hair, pulling him deeper into your cunt. “ahhn toji, oh f-fuck, feel s’goodd.”

“mhm, pussy tastes so good, baby. ride my fuckin face, c’mon—” his words are muffled within your heat, but you get the idea when his strong arms wrap around your thighs, ensuring you won’t slide on the slippery tile beneath you. water cascades off the curve of your back as you arch up into his mouth, using the grip you have on his locks and your other hand bracing the wall to fuck his face with precision.

instead of keeping his head still, toji moves in tandem with your hips—up and down, side to side, licking and slurping anywhere his tongue can reach. he’s eating you like a man starved, sucking your pussy into his mouth greedily, nose bumping your perineum as he fucks you with his tongue, meeting each grind of your hips halfway like he’s fucking you for real. moving both hands to cup and smack on the globes of your ass, he pulls and tugs on your throbbing clit with his lips, producing sounds so sloppy and nasty, louder than the water rushing between your bodies—and your cries reach beautiful crescendos that have his ears ringing delightfully and dick throbbing, painfully hard and oozing precum on his toned stomach.

(the thought of dropping a hand between his legs doesn’t even cross his mind, not when he’s so focused on making you cum.)

all that’s coming out your mouth are praises, curses and his name. “t-toji, toji! baby, oooh shit. don’t stop, don’t stop!” you can barely think, let alone breathe—he’s taking your soul, and you can’t keep up, legs trembling and stomach caving in as you succumb to the pleasure overloading your body, “m’closee, gonna cum!”

toji keeps his movements consistent, staying right where you need him, tongue heavy and long on your aching cunt. his voice is hoarse as he encourages what’s to come, rough and demanding, “yeeeah, gimme that shit, mama. cum for me.”

his words are the final thread that makes you snap. that invisible knot in your stomach unravels and you’re cumming hard, his lower face drenched as you bless him with your essence. toji works you through your orgasm, not stopping until you weakly attempt to push his head away, body shuddering in the blissful aftershocks. begrudgingly, toji parts from your pussy, dick jumping as he watches the mix of his saliva and your own cum drooling out of you before standing up, turning all his attention to your slumped form.

you’re a mess, the prettiest mess toji thinks he’s ever seen—his arm slung around your waist is the only thing keeping you upright. disheveled curls stick to your hot skin, chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath, head lolling back onto his broad shoulder. he has to laugh. you’re so fucked out and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

“already tired, mama? m’just gettin’ started.” he murmurs teasingly, licking a stripe of the column of your neck. he leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, stopping the moment his lips hover over yours, contemplating what he should do—he really wants to kiss you. and he can tell by that doe-eyed look you’re giving him that you want to kiss him, too. so you make the decision for him, curling a hand into his hair and tugging him down so your lips can meet his halfway in a passionate kiss.

you moan into his mouth as he slips his fat tongue in yours, water beating on his back as he bends down to deepen the kiss. tasting yourself on his tongue feels so sinful, but you can’t get enough of it—clinging onto him to ensure your lips stay connected. his hands grip at your ass roughly, and you gasp when you feel his dick prodding between your thighs, hips rolling as he slides his length against your cunt, polishing it with all the juices there.

“so fuckin’ wet for me,” he mumbles against your lips, separating them with a lewd schlick. he wraps his fist around the base of his cock, tapping his swollen tip on your clit, bottom lip caged under his teeth as he watches you twitch and whine from his teasing, a hot rush of blood shooting straight to his dick. he knows your pussy will feel as heavenly as you taste—he’s itching to be proven right. “gonna be a good girl and take all this dick?”

his question is rhetorical—because he knows you will—but you answer it anyway, nodding as you look up to him with lidded, lust-filled eyes, hips arching back with desire, “mhm, i will. give it to me, toji.”

he feels his balls tighten at your erotic profession. damn, he thinks as he tilts his head to the ceiling. when you talk like that, how could he not fold? who would he be to deny you of what you need?

. . . he’s so cooked. he’s certain that out of all the woman he’s fucked in his life, he doesn’t think he’s wanted of them half as bad as he wants you right now.

with his free hand on your hip, he eases himself into your cunt, the both of you letting out sighs of pleasure as your folds latch onto his length immediately, sucking him in—greedy for every inch he’s gifting you. he has to take deep, slow breathes once he finally bottoms out—you feel so fucking good and he hasn’t even started moving yet.

his hand around your waist slides upward, cupping around the fullness of your breast, rolling a pert nipple between index and thumb fingers. he seals his mouth over yours again, nibbling and biting at your kiss-bitten lips. you’re melting into his touch, you’re so gone—you don’t even realize that he’s distracting you until he draws his hips back, pulling out until only his fat tip is left inside to drill his dick right back in, balls slapping against your throbbing clit from the sudden movement.

it catches you completely off guard, nearly choking on your spit as his pace picks up. your lips separate from his abruptly, saliva stretching between your mouths as your head tilts back, crying out, “t-tojiii, ohmygod!“

the pace he sets isn’t too fast nor too slow—but the force of his thrusts are enough to have your whole body jolting each time his hips connect with the swell of your ass. you’re clawing at his forearm, searching for something to ground you as he handles you like a doll. your mind is going hazy, and the sound of your asscheeks clapping on his pelvis intensifies your lust-induced trance tenfold.

“shit girl,” toji grunts through gritted teeth. he’s looking down, damp bangs clinging to his forehead as he watches where your bodies connect—his dick is glossy with your essence. your lips drag and clamp down on his shaft tightly with every grind of his hips, forming a ring of cream around his base. it’s hard to focus with the squelching of your pussy ringing in his ears, and combined with your moans echoing on the walls like a broken symphony, toji feels his restraint slipping too. his jaw slackens, allowing all his expletives and praise to flow freely, “fuck back on me, baby—mmm, just like that—feels so fuckin’ good.”

“you’re so b-big,” you whine pathetically, stuttering when his cock nudges that sweet spot along your gummy walls. your thighs tremble and burn with exertion as you obey, meeting his powerful thrusts in earnest. he’s too big, too thick—too much. the weight of his dick stretches your puffy lips to their capacity, bullying in deeper and deeper every time your pussy clenches in protest. so deep, you think you feel him in your stomach. too much, too much!

you grip his arm tighter, acrylic scraping veins as a broken cry rips from your mouth. god, your own voice doesn’t even sound like it belongs to you anymore, “nghh, too much! i c-can’t, i can’t!”

toji laughs. a deep, sexy sound that only amplifies the white heat searing through your bloodstream. you can’t see him, but you know he’s got that disgustingly handsome smirk on his scarred lips. you yelp when he lands a heavy hand on your ass, soothing the blow with his palm. “you can’t? but you’re takin’ it. i’m watchin you take it, just like you said you would. good girl, good fuckin’ girl.”

his nasty words are punctuated with every thrust, sending waves of euphoria right to the pit of your belly. you feel a familiar pressure building there, a tight knot forming that has every nerve in your body going haywire. you feel delirious, completely weak in this man’s hold as he’s fucking you dumb. it’s as if toji can sense what’s coming because his arm is on your waist again, tugging you back onto his chest—but this time, his other hand snakes over your throat and squeezes, momentarily cutting your access to oxygen and reality, drawing your head back to meet his piercing steel eyes.

oh god. he has to stop himself from pumping you full of nut as he studies the dazed, fucked-out expression contorting your pretty features. it fucks with his train of thought, sends all the nerves in his brain into overdrive. he’s losing the last semblance of control he’d been desperately trying to hold onto, all thanks to you. or maybe, he was never really in control in the first place. maybe it doesn’t even matter as long as—

“gonna cum for me again? gonna cum all on this dick, baby?” he’s slurring over his words, keeping that firm pressure on your throat to elicit what he wants to hear. your chest caves in, little hiccups caught in the back of your throat, fighting for the air needed to speak.

“yesss,” you hiss, struggling to maintain eye contact with him as he pounds into your g-spot, over and over and over with no intentions of relenting. you’re seeing white. “s’close, s’closee. please please please—nghh yes, right there!“

“where? right here?“

he snaps his hips forward mercilessly, groaning carnally at the way your velvety walls lock down on his dick with pure desperation—for your release or his? toji’s not sure, nor does he care; all he knows is he’s falling in love with your pussy and how good it feels on his cock, his own orgasm approaching fast. “fuuuck, squeezing me so tight. ugh—tryna milk me, pretty girl? want me to fill you up? talk to me.”

“yes, yes, ooohh shiittt.” your high-pitched cries and gasps of ecstasy echo off the tile walls, fat tears brimming at your lashline. toji’s assault on your poor pussy is brutal and unrelenting, he won’t let up—and the moment his swollen tip grazes a sweet spot, deeper than he’s ever reached before? that tight knot in your belly forcibly unravels and explodes, your release gushing out of you before you can properly announce the flood incoming, “nghhh ah, m’cumming!”

“m-mhm, let it go baby, lemme feel it.”

with a shrill cry of his name, you do as told and cum hard. entire body quivering, shaking like a leaf, eyes scrolling back into the depths of your skull with tears streaking down your cheeks. you can feel your soul transcending onto another spiritual plane as the flow between your legs just won’t stop, and toji’s drowning in it—the tight contraction of your sopping walls and creamy squirt flowing out your cunt like a waterfall, pushing him out and sucking him in at the same time—it’s a battle that he’s bound to lose.

he doesn’t bother fighting it.

his thrusts come to an abrupt halt and with heavy, panting breaths, he’s cumming right with you—body shuddering as he paints every inch of your pussy with his nut, plugging his dick in deep to keep his seed from spilling out, though it seeps from the corners of your sore lips, a combination of both of your cum trailing down your trembling thighs in a nasty, sticky trail. it’s vulgar, obscene and he’s a whore, a true slut. of course it makes his softening dick twitch inside you at the sight. you whine in overstimulation, pushing at his chest for reprieve and he pulls out slow, compensating for the soreness he knows is imminent.

the small space is silent besides the sounds of rushing water and heavy breathing. coming down from that glorious high, post-nut clarity begins settling in and toji finds that it doesn’t push him to clean up and disappear, forget you, find another body to replace yours like it usually would.

no, it makes him want to . . . stay?

he’s been around the world, had women in positions you couldn’t even imagine and it’s never been a problem for him to move onto the next, no feelings or strings attached that’s just how he operates. so what makes you different? what is this weird feeling festering in his fucking chest? and why are you looking at him like you could be thinking the same exact thing?

he doesn’t even remember when you turned around or why your hands are caressing his face so gently, but he’s watching your plump lips move and he’s not hearing a word you’re saying.

“toji? you okay?”

he never thought he’d ever want to be tied down but how could he let you slip out his grasp? he’s ready to do the unthinkable, fuck what his coaches and pr team says. when toji has his eyes on something he wants, he gets it. it’s his world and he’s willing to give you a glimpse of what it’s like to be a part of that.

“if i told you i wanted to fly you out to vegas for fight night in a week, would you come?”

your eyes grow to the size of saucers, brows raising so high they almost disappear into your hairline. is he being serious?

“don’t play with me, toji. that’s not funny.”

he cocks his head to the side, thick brows furrowed. “why would i be playing? you think i do shit like this often?”

you suck your teeth. “of course you do, i know you got hoes, boy. i hope you don’t think i’m not tryna be a part of your little harem—“

you squeal as he swats your ass, holding your cheeks in his palms to pull you close. he lets your hoe accusations slide for now, but he’s waiting for your answer. “stop stalling. answer the question, girl.”

a free trip to vegas doesn’t sound too bad. you’re not too sure of what toji’s intentions are, but with the way he’s looking at you right now, biting his lips like he’s nervous about what you’ll say next? you don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about.

you wrap your arms around his shoulders, a wide smile etched on your lips. “of course i’ll come.”

@screampied @sunasbon @sugultt @preciousamethyst

steal my work and you die.

[shishibazz]

HOTLINE BL☆NG!

summ. wine nights and free will? a recipe for disaster— such as matching your ex on a corny dating app and having him in your bed within that same hour. . .

cw. eventual smut. 18+. fem!reader. alcohol/substance consumption. ex boyfriend!gojo. mild toxicity. breakup & makeup. girlhood ft jjk girlies. unreliable narrator sorta. sukuna slander. mild impact play. mild asphyxiation. oral (f). fíngering. backshōts. reader is a little questionable. self sabotaging my beloved. lowkey angsty. @/3aem on tumblr for art creds. most of these stories are real shit i’ve heard/experienced LOL. can you tell i’ve never used tinder a day in my life? 16.4k words. . oops.

rena’s note. @yung-notorious and her filthy mind. . .

“you like it when i fuck you like this? yeah you do.”

god, you do.

you can’t bring yourself to remember why you’d ever let go of dick this good. the kind that had you taking the rubber off and considering finishing inside. the kind that had you babbling apologies for having done absolutely nothing wrong. the kind that made you begin to believe his careless whispers, empty promises to work things out.

his fingers dig in the column of your throat, the weight of his hand wrapped tightly at your neck. he’s everywhere at once, but simultaneously no where to be found. while you can feel his tip prodding at your most sensitive spot, you don’t feel the overwhelming force of love he once bore with open arms for you.

“nahhh. . . don’t start running now.” you didn’t realize you were. the sheets are crumpled in your tight hold, while your other hand lightly pushes at his lower abdomen. naturally, he pins your wrist at your spine to maintain his ruthless pace, and with another gentle yet cruelly empty promise, “not when i’ve just gotten you back.”

how the fuck did you get yourself in this mess?

friday nights were meant to decompose after a long week. a cute tradition you followed— sipping on moscato wine and munching on takeout with your homegirls while the lamest horror movie played as background noise. the skincare bit happened every third friday of the month, which fell on this particular night, thin layers of korean products lathering at your skins while fluffy headbands sat atop your hairlines, keeping stray hairs away.

it was an easy way of recapping all of your week’s worth of bullshit and listing each girl’s new lineup of men of the season.

girlhood.

“i’m cool off men for a whileee,” you sigh, placing your third wine glass on the coffee table. you tuck your legs back onto the couch, propping your head into your palm. you watch as shoko, who’s seated on the floor, grabs your glass and fills it with another unsolicited round. you narrow your eyes at her, “after the shit kuna pulled— girl, slow down!”

“don’t watch me,” shoko chews at her unlit blunt tucked in her teeth, lifting an arm above her head to pass you your refill. despite the slight spin of the room, you accept the cup against better judgment, “keep talking. what the fuck did he do now?”

“you mean what didn’t he do,” seated in the pink bean bag rested on the floor, utahime quips. in between her teeth sits a wooden stick, drizzled in the honey-like wax residue she smeared over her shin. “i woulda left his ass the second i found out he— FUCK— lived with his mama at his big age.”

as utahime soothes her smoothened skin, yuki leans over the coffee table to grab at the blunt passed over to her. “y/n baby, you know i love you,” she starts off, taking a deep inhale before ghosting the smoke. you can tell she’s about the cook the shit out of you, “but come on— he lives in his parents’ basement. was that not a red flag in itself? is that seriously the kind of man you see yourself marrying.”

“nevermind the fact he’s pushing thirty and still unemployed,” shoko throws in her two cents, takeout back in her lap as she breaks open a new set of chopsticks, “he’s one more ‘tap in’ away from getting caught by the feds.”

“how much y’all wanna bet he’s at the club right now as we speak?” it’s a rhetorical question, but utahime pauses her waxing to check. with sticky fingers, she taps away at her phone, and with a knowing smile she yelps, tilting her screen towards you three, “aha!— and there goes the infamous money spread.”

“cornballllll.” shoko cringes.

you’re filled with dread and shame at the sight presented. god— every single chance you gave this man, he spun around and somehow does worse. it’s not like the two of you were together— never officially, but the sole fact that you’ve let this man treat you as if you were his girl haunts you. you’ve let countless of bullshit slide all because his stroke game came second within all the men you’ve dealt with.

the only thing you’ll give him besides a being a good lay is that you’ve never had issues concerning other women. he’s a very transparent guy— you’ve yet to receive a “hey girlie. . .” text from anybody. though, it isn’t like either of you have ever dropped any hard launches. it was mostly content that only close friends could catch onto— the interior design of his car, your latest set of nails, subtle shots of his tattoos, your purses and jewelry. nothing evident but pretty obvious to those who know.

if sukuna was still cool with him, however. . . yeah, he’d definitely know, considering the fact he purchased most of the purses you own. that’s excluding the fact your favorite necklace, the one with your name engraved, the one you always wear, was also bought by him.

“move,” you push utahime’s hand away from your peripheral, slumping further into the couch. embarrassment floods you yet again, and you drown it away with more wine. much to your chagrin, they spare no mercy as they giggle at your pout, “not too much on me— shoko, you’re literally the one who put me on!”

“don’t do that,” she rolls her eyes, picking at the orange chicken on her platter. you have half a mind at chucking your drink at her. “all i told you was to fuck him. nobody said anything about keeping him around.”

“instructions: unclear,” utahime giggles, smearing another coat of wax mixture onto her calves. “she’s now a year deep into a situationship with a man who files for disability checks to blow on parlays.”

you spring up in your seat, your wine nearly spilling on shoko in your excitement, “shit, i never told you guys!”

“told us what?” yuki kills the blunt in the ash tray, and stretches an arm to grab at her food. she knocks over a few emptied bottles as they roll on the carpet, and winces when one of them knock at shoko’s knee, “my fault girl.”

shoko clicks her tongue, but you loop your arms around her neck as you proceed, “before you bitches attacked me for literally just being a girl,” you decide ignore the way they all groan, “i was trying to tell you all why i finally ended shit with him.”

“well don’t hold back now!” utahime eggs on.

“guess what i found out,” you set the empty wine glass back onto the table. you’re most likely gonna need your hands in this specific conversation, “he bet thirty thousand dollars on the super bowl game— and lost.”

the room falls quiet. utahime pauses in her ripping, yuki drops her noodles from her chopsticks and shoko nearly chokes on her wine. amidst it all, three pairs of eyes slowly crawl to meet your gaze, in complete disbelief at what you’d told them.

“are you deadass?” shoko speaks first, her facial expression almost incredulous. her eyes are teary from her food slipping through the wrong tube. “you’re playing, right? right?”

“she has to be. . . this is a new level of low even for him.” yuki shakes her head, most likely in attempts to give him the benefit of the doubt. you don’t blame her— no sane person would drop thirty grand on a fucking betting app of all things— and on top of that, lose.

“i wish i was?!” you groan, still upset, “the worst part is that he told me that money was supposed to be deposit money for a condo he’d been,” you raise your fingers in air quotes, “looking into.”

“you know what though? this doesn’t actually surprise me,” utahime laughs, as if she hadn’t been in a daze for a solid minute. she rips at the strip, and winces, “didn’t i just say he was getting checks to place on parlays? frank gallagher looking ass.”

“but thirty thousand?” yuki emphasizes, blinking rapidly in her disbelief, “what the fuck would possess somebody to bet thirty grand on anything?”

“grown ass man, by the way.” shoko mumbles mindlessly, before chowing down some more food. you can’t find it in yourself to disagree.

utahime nods, blowing a puff of air, “on god, bro. don’t he got mortgages to pay off or some shit?”

yuki shoots her a deadpanned look, “girl, with what house.”

and that had been your final straw with him. not the fact he lived in his mother’s basement despite clearly having money to rent out a place, or the fact he was still flexing bands he allegedly has on the gram— but blowing all your money on a fucking football game. and losing. you do respect yourself, as much as these girls believe you don’t. a man with no ambitions and no money? you need to run and far.

“i’ll miss his dick though.” you pout, the alcohol already coursing through your body. being wine drunk always made you horny, that was a known fact, and letting go of one of your greatest eaters was not on your bingo card. naturally, the girls roll their eyes at your antics, “boo me all you want— he horsed me the fuck around in bed.”

“you used to say the same shit about gojo,” utahime points out, rising to her feet as she grabs the used strips in her hold, before circling around the couch, “and look how that ended up.”

technically. . . she wasn’t exactly wrong but that still stung a bit. “hime, seriously?” shoko rolls her eyes, and you feel her hand rubbing at your foot soothingly. her motions are a little stiff but you appreciate the sentiment, “we get you don’t fuck with him but he was still her man. and basically my friend, kinda.”

you hear her wince in the kitchen, followed by footsteps, “right. . . sorry girlie.” she runs back to you after throwing the waste away, and kisses at your temple. she doesn’t comment on the pout on your lips. “i didn’t mean it. . . okay maybe i did, but i’m still sorry!”

your history with gojo was complicated. you’d met him through shoko in your third year of college, at a kickback party hosted by his people. it’d been an invite only thing, but shoko had brought you along as a plus one, and you both instantly connected. as far as you were concerned, it was technically supposed to be a sneaky link vibe, but you soon learned gojo was anything but sneaky. in fact, he was so vocal in him wanting you, that he actually did end up getting you a couple months later.

he’s a year older than you, therefore he’d graduated a year ahead. the separation in itself was something you hadn’t looked forward to at all, but he had found himself a condo downtown, not too far from your residency, therefore seeing each other hadn’t been an issue. he always made it clear he wanted to see you— even after gruelling nine to five shifts in the office. his words matched his actions, driving you up to his place since yours had a stupid curfew policy for visitors.

(you’ve kept him in your dorm numerous times.) (your closet has suffered enough with his lanky ass.)

the first year worked out for the better. he was still welcomed to the parties you invited him to, he made time in his schedule help you with your studies, planned consist dates and even took you out on trips. he was physically, mentally and emotionally present— and you genuinely believed he would be your forever man when you’d introduced him to your parents at your graduation ceremony and he seemed thrilled. they adored him— and that says a lot considering they hated all your other exes. with good reason, but still.

it’d been the honeymoon phase until it wasn’t.

you expected arguments. those are inevitable in relationships, but with every argument he grew distant. you were now both graduated students juggling between jobs, rent and a relationship. it was a lot— your schedules never seemed to align which jumbled into multiple failed dates, which further escalated into more arguments. it hadn’t always been him, you could agree you were at fault too. that post graduation depression spiralled worst than you’d anticipated— the fear of falling behind when your boyfriend had already been successful so early into his career entirely consuming.

he reassured you plenty, but you could see it in his face as he spoke to you— he was exhausted. of work. of life. of you. he had bigger fish to fry than dealing with a workaholic girlfriend with low self esteem. the bigger the promotion, the less your value. you’d seen this play out before— it was less i love you’s and more hours in the office. less dinner dates and more project plannings.

the more time you spent by yourself, the more your mind began overthinking. you had no place in his life anymore. you didn’t resent him for it— you wish nothing but the best for him. he deserves to be successful in life, and he’s already so close to it. your slacking behind is nothing more than dead weight in his rise to the top.

the breakup had been anticipated. you’d broken up with him first. he never asked you to explain why. he nodded, never uttering a word. it’d been the first time you’d seen him in weeks. you kept it simple, “we should break up.” and he kept it even simpler, a curt bounce of the head in agreement. as quick as he’d entered your apartment, he left.

and that’d honestly been it. you’d been together for four years, and broken up for a year and a half. after all this time, you still don’t resent him for it. he made the rational choice in prioritizing himself and his future, and you simply didn’t fit in it. it took you quite some time to work on yourself as well, and you’re honestly satisfied with where you are in life. the breakup clearly worked in favour for you both.

it sucks that he was genuinely the only man you ever cared about. the only man you can confidently say you loved.

“look— now you got her thinking about him!” shoko complains, chucking the nearest thing— a throw pillow, at utahime. it hits her square in the face, to which she lets out a muffled oof! “way to fucking go.”

you blink out of your thoughts. well that’s embarrassing, you got caught up in the past again. you lift yourself from the slumping position you’d unintentionally fallen into the midst of daydreaming, “shit, my bad. got flashbacks to that time he ate me off the bone after his first promotion.”

“yo, what?!” yuki hollers, falling into a fit of laughter. shoko rolls her eyes so much you’re thinking it’ll get stuck at the back of her skull and utahime physically cringed from head to toe. “so fucking unserious— here we are, worried about your ass and here you go, upset you lost your best eater.”

not exactly, though there was some truth to her words. gojo was your best eater, and nobody’s topped him since. he really did tongue fuck you that night like you were the boss who raised his pay. but it wasn’t just the sex you missed— you wholeheartedly missed him. the closest thing to a soul bond you’ve experienced, now gone.

they don’t need to know all that though.

“oh come on,” utahime groans, picking at her nails. trust her to find any reason to slander your ex. for what reason? she’s never told you other than him annoying the fuck out of her, “he could not have been that great. it can’t be anything you can’t find elsewhere— plenty of men eat pussy.”

“okay but do they enjoy eating it or is it more of a duty thing?” yuki points out, rolling her thumb on her lighter mindlessly. she watches the flame arise, casting a soft glow on the sheet stuck to her face, “because you can definitely tell the difference. one eats for foreplay, the other eats for his own pleasure.”

shoko hums in agreement, still poking at her plate, “a man versus a munch,” and with a beat of silence, she takes a deep sigh, throwing her head back, “i should call him.”

“no! no you should not,” utahime laughs, before shooting you a glance. your smile quickly falters and is switched with a look of confusion as she points a nail filer in your direction, “and you,” you cock a brow, “stop thinking about him. we’re supposed to be independent women, y’all need to stand the fuck up.”

“hime, please, you were literally just complaining to your close friends about your latest dry spell.”

“irrelevant!” she dismisses yuki, waving a hand absentmindedly. you don’t see how it’s irrelevant exactly, but you let her proceed. “we are sexy, successful and strong women. stop relying on the past and focus on the future. there are bitches that fought for their lives for the freedom we have! you could literally get dick anywhere— they actually have apps for it, if you didn’t know—”

“so tell us, o’mighty one,” shoko cuts her off, “are you suggesting we download tinder to relieve our stress?”

she remains quiet, and you can see the gears churning in her head. you’re about ninety nine percent positive shoko was fucking around, but the scrunch in your friend’s eyebrows tells you she’s seriously contemplating the idea, “. . yes actually.” she finally decides.

“hime. . .” shoko groans, but is effectively cut off when she springs up to her knees to grab at her phone.

“no, seriously, think about it!” she scrolls through her phone like a maniac, searching through the app store and typing the name in. you all watch her incredulously, her enthusiasm in the matter as if she hadn’t been preaching about feminism half a minute ago, “i’ve met some of my best lays in college through tinder. i haven’t been on this app in years though.”

you don’t see why not. you were pretty tipsy and would never have agreed to this under typical conditions, however it could be regarded as a bonding activity. you also haven’t been on tinder since before your last relationship, and the shit sukuna put you through this past year was enough to make you want to deal with literally anything else.

“i’m down.” you pull out your phone, and shoko may have gotten whiplash with how quick she snaps her head back to eye you. you shrug your shoulders, “we don’t have to take this shit seriously— god knows i’m not entertaining anybody on this app for real.”

“exactly!” utahime nods, walking up to scoot herself beside you. she nudges at shoko with her foot, who flicks at her toes to keep her away, “it’s just for shits and giggles.”

“i’m definitely not doing this shit,” yuki crawls to sit at the couch’s feet, right at shoko’s side, and grabs at the remote sitting uselessly on the table, “but i will be watching you both embarrass yourselves.”

“the only other bitch with common sense here.” shoko sprawls her legs onto yuki’s lap. she receives a slap at the back of her head by utahime, and naturally she slaps the hand right back. “can’t stand that little fucker sometimes.”

“aweee, love you too!” she blows a kiss at her to which she receives a middle finger. you snort, eyes glued on your screen as you redownload that forsaken app back into your phone.

you’d probably regret it in the morning, but that was something saturday you would have to deal with. as of right now, with white wine in your system, logic was not an option. you were learning to live more in the moment, and apparently that starts with the corniest dating app in the world.

it’s not like you’d magically stumble upon your ex on the platform. now wouldn’t that be something? ha!

there’s no fucking way.

this had to be one big, fat cosmic joke. a cruel prank, even. and if it was, then the universe had a twisted sense of humour. you still don’t believe it— were the girls in on this? this kind of shit didn’t just happen to anybody.

it took about a total of twenty minutes between logging back into your old account, updating your password and bio, and swiping left on passing profiles until you landed on it. on. . . him.

you blink slowly. your phone is shaky beneath your unstable hands, and you’re pretty sure you’ve been holding your breath in far longer than recommended for the average human. it’s quiet as fuck in the room— despite the three girls huddled over your shoulders, sticking their noses in all directions to get a clearer view of your illuminating screen— almost as if to confirm if what they were seeing was truly was they were seeing, as if this was all too fucking ironic to be true.

there’s a knot of anxiousness that simmers in the pits of your stomach. you’re pretentiously aware that even the slightest movement— one wrong click or swipe, would ultimately change everything. there was too much at risk here. “oh there’s no fucking way. . .” shoko speaks up first.

utahime leans in impossibly closer, a few centimetres away from fully emerging with your iphone as her nose scrunches, “way too sexy? fuck around and find out? god, he’s still so corny, i swear.”

your eyes trail over his biography, curiously. that “way2sexy” had been an inside joke you both shared years ago— back when drake had dropped one of gojo’s favourite albums, certified loverboy. he overplayed the shit out of that song when it came out, so much that you received multiple complaints from your RA for “public disturbance”, but he swore it worked as daily affirmations for him in the same sense crystals and tarot cards worked for spiritual girlies. you called him corny for it, but before you knew it, it’d shown up in your spotify wrapped the following year.

rapid memories of morning rays of light peeking through blinds, a groggy yet mysteriously clear “alexa, play way 2 sexy” as you fixed your sheets and lit your candles, fighting over who gets to spit toothpaste residue first, hearty laughter to fumbled lyrics, shared minty kisses paired with one “gimme one more” too many.

the ache clenching at your heart is hard to ignore.

“i would give him the benefit of the doubt in believing he hasn’t updated his account,” yuki draws out, eyes narrowing as a finger sticks out to point, “but his age matches. emoticons as a grown man. . . no shade though.”

his age did match. inside joke aside, none of it was adding up. if he already had his account set up years ago, had he willingly changed his bio to one of your most infamous gags after the breakup? if you were to swipe right right now, would it instantly match? you don’t think you want to figure it out— both possible outcomes scaring you shitless.

“should i swipe left?” you speak uncharacteristically softly, torn between the idea of tucking your tail inwards and running away from the opportunity or your typical it is what it is mentality.

“yes! obviously— mmmph?!”

“do you want to?” shoko, with a pillow stuffing an agitated utahime in the face, counters. between all the girls, she seemed to understand you the most, granted her own relationship with the man. you’re sure he had given her his own version of their breakup, how you’d opened the doors to endless opportunities for him, had given him the easy way out. you never bothered asking her, afraid of the illusion you’d created to shield yourself shattering, “only you have the answer to that.”

“i honestly don’t know,” you sigh, joints in your thumb aching from hovering over your screen for too long. swiping left meant completely abandoning any the possibility of the two of you as one. you don’t want that responsibility weighted on your shoulders again, “what if he’s moved on? the shit that’ll do to my ego if i swipe right and he passes on me?”

shoko finally grants her friend the permission of speech, freeing her off the couch decoration, though the look she gives her serves as a warning to tread lightly. with a heavy breath, utahime releases a puff, “i’d crashout, just sayin’.”

“but what if he hasn’t moved on?” yuki poses, and apparently that was all the confirmation you needed to swipe. fuck pride— pride wasn’t going to get your back blown out. pride wasn’t going to help you get the love of your life back. pride can go fuck itself.

“wait—”

utahime is cut off again, however, not by shoko but tinder itself. the notification pings loudly, resonating in depths of your ear cavity and shoots straight to your chest. you can feel your heart pounding wildly against your rib cage. it’s so silent you can hear a pin drop, and the way your gut churns gives away the end result to your spontaneity.

it’s a match.

“well. . . shit.” shoko slumps back into the couch nonchalantly, and you don’t need to see her to know she’s sporting a smirk. you do feel her knee knock into yours. fake ass idgafer.

you’re no better, biting down your bottom in order to suppress the smile itching to spread. a year later and the sole idea that he’d already came across the same mindset as you, willing to give whatever it was that needed a second shot, had you beyond delusional. god, you need help.

“look at youuu, cheesin’ and shit!” yuki pokes at your cheek and you swat her hand away, ultimately caving into the smile. fuck yeah you were geeked— it’s hard carrying a nonchalant attitude when you were an honest to god, soft hearted lovergirl. if you played your cards right, with a few lash bats and glossy lips, you’d be getting dicked down in no time.

“i’m gonna be sick.” utahime deadpans.

“and i’m getting dickkk,” you sing, jumping to your feet as you stood on the couch. you turn around, hands clutching onto the headrest, giving your ass a cute shake as it rotates in circular motions. you feel shoko’s hand tapping it encouragingly, her phone illuminating as it records while she rests her head on your moving thighs. you hear yuki cackle, pulling out her phone to film as well. you giggle, “rip that pussy!”

“ayeeee!” they complete the lyrics, and the vibes are restored yet again, girly giggles filling the room. when your legs begin to feel wobbly, you stop your twerking to plop yourself right back down, leaning your head onto shoko’s shoulder.

you hear her click her tongue as the recording of your ass graces her screen, and she groans, “gojo is one lucky bastard— he can’t handle all that.”

he most definitely can, and has. you’ll opt with shrugging in the meantime.

“with that being said,” utahime jumps in, crossing her legs, “what’s the next move here? you reaching out first?”

your lips straighten as your mind reflects. if you still know him as well as you think you do, he’s definitely going to text you first as soon as he sees the green light. sure, you were anxious for a reply, desperate to check what his temperature was— but you’d already sacrificed a grand amount of dignity just swiping right. he could do take on the role of texting first.

“nah, i’m almost a hundred percent sure he’ll—”

ping!

you all whip your heads to the source of the sound. your phone. the screen shines as it undergoes facial recognition, and exposes the messenger. from tinder. gojo. sending you a message. just as you’d expected.

you can’t help the cocky smile, eyes trailing at their perplexed faces, “—text me first.”

naturally, the girls are impressed. even you are— that timing? would it be insane to genuinely be considering gojo might honest to god be your soulmate? yuki blows a puff of air, followed by a laugh, “your pussy has to be magical cause what the fuck?”

“ladies and gentlemen,” utahime stands to her feet, fisting her hand into an imaginary microphone, and addresses her fake crowd. in the hostiest voice she can muster, she curtsies as she continues in comedic fashion, “miss pussy fairy in thee flesh.”

“put a stamp on it.” shoko shakes her head in acknowledgment, laying her own phone in her lap as she claps. yuki places two fingers in her mouth and whistles at you, to which you rise to your own feet and dramatically place a hand over your chest in faux humility.

“oh please!” you flatter yourself, tucking your hair behind your ear. you smile behind your palm, your improv classes in high school coming in clutch, “this is too much— thank you! thank you deeply.”

“girl, byeee,” utahime breaks character first, giggling as she sits back onto the abandoned bean bag. you mimic her motions, as she pops open a stray water bottle and swallows a big gulp, “open his text! i wanna see what he said!”

you’re in the same boat, thumbing at your phone to unlock it and open the app. naturally the girls hover over you yet again, just as eager to see how he finally broke the no contact phase. it took him less than three minutes to slide in your messages, as the option had finally been granted.

right as your thumb hovers the message, a hum draws out your throat, “how much y’all wanna bet it’s something corny?” you tease, something close to a hunch giving it away. seeing as your assumptions were deemed accurate just a few minutes ago, the only way he’d think of clearing the ice would be with something plausibly lame.

“open itttt!” utahime ushers you, hands clamping at your shoulders. you roll your eyes, letting her dramatics sway your body back and forth before she lets up. you let out a sigh, and open the unanswered message.

and just as you’d predicted. . .

@gsatoru: they say shooters shoot 👀

“oh brotherrrr,” the girls groan in sync, and even you can’t stop the cringe that stiffens your face. if there’s one thing that hasn’t changed, it’s the fact he still doesn’t act his age. he needs to let those college days go.

“now, what’d i tell y’all.” you tut, leaving out the part of nostalgia simmering deep and warmly in your bones at his predictability. ever the goofy he was, gojo satoru. jeez.

“i was really found myself rooting for him too,” shoko sighs, rising to her feet. she dusts at her lap then stretches her limbs lazily, “i’m gonna go pee— hime, i swear to god, don’t take my seat.” she doesn’t look back to flip her off when she hears utahime blow raspberries her way. to which, against shoko’s wishes, leaps over to snatch her seat.

both you and yuki give her a deadpanned look, but yuki voices out your thoughts, “she’s gonna get on your ass and i’m not helping you out.”

“girl, boo.” utahime rolls her eyes, “more importantly, what the fuck do you answer to that?” her nail taps at your phone screen, peering at you expectantly through lashes.

you consider your options. do you reciprocate the same energy or do you call him out on his corniness? matching his vibe would be like starting off a blank slate— a new start, new conversations, something almost superficial. like a fling you meet at the bars for one night of fuckery that you regret the next morning. but calling him out would induce in falling into familiar patterns— calling him a cornball while he attempts to sweet talk you, old conversations brought up, risking broken boundaries for the sake of reminiscing.

decisions, decisions, decisions.

“i’m thinking taking the easy way out.” you nod your head, readying your fingers as you type your response out.

you miss the exchanged glances between utahime and yuki, too busy trying to format how to come off playful but not forgetful. flirty but not desperate. come pull up on me but demurely. well you’ll be damned— in what world had you ever expected second guessing yourself for gojo?

“what’s the easy way out?” yuki asks, and you hit send. where this confidence comes from is beyond you, but any error you make you can blame on the wine (you’re hardly fazed but it’s nice to have something to pin the blame on instead of yourself) (old habits die hard).

you tilt your phone, holding it out as you watch the girls’ brows furrow, eyes scanning over the screen. when their faces contort into a look of amusement mixed with horror, a girly giggle escapes your throat.

@yourstrulyname: sukuna ryomen wsp with you?? 🙈

“you didn’t!” utahime hollers, her laughter so intense she doubled over to clutch at her stomach. yuki sways her body back and forth as she finds herself in a hysterical fit as well. “goddd, i would kill to see the look on his face right now.”

“yooo, that’s evil.” the blonde swipes at a tear. “woulda had me deactivating the whole account.”

“who’s deactivating?” shoko pops back in, not without slapping utahime upside the head. she ignores the way utahime complains in favour to swipe a nearly emptied bottle to pour.

“it’s not even that bad,” you defend yourself, flashing her your screen as she installs herself in the bean bag utahime once occupied. her eyes squint as she reads the conversation, nearly bulging out their sockets when she catches your message, “nahhh, don’t give me that!”

“if he gives you the time of day after that,” shoko swirls the wine in her glass, snorting, “he must really still be in love with you.”

“he should know i’m playing. . .” you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince the girls, him or yourself. you really were just joking around— albeit a terrible joke, but one regardless! sukuna was officially removed from the roster, a financially irresponsible man never standing a chance against you, “right?”

“don’t ask us?” utahime chimes in, uselessly, to which you roll your eyes. well shit, maybe you should double text? let him know you were just fooling around, trying to check temperatures and establish the mood. your phone pings again, and all unnecessary thoughts are thrown out the window.

@gsatoru: oh so you got jokes now?

as you’re about to let him know you’ve been had jokes, but never the goofy type, you see the bubbles pop up, a telltale that he’s got more to tell you. you let him have it, already having possibly fumbled the mission before even starting. it feels like an eternity and a half waiting on his text, the girls having huddled over you yet again, just as curious to see what he had to counter with.

@gsatoru: can’t be a joke if the guy had you outside on valentine’s day tho. stk steakhouse? really girl?

your jaw falls slack. you watch with burning eyes at your screen as your built up suspicions were ultimately confirmed. okay, so those two were still somehow connected. you didn’t like to question male friendships, the lack of loyalty not one you’d ever understand. god forbid you ever started fucking with utahime’s ex of many years.

“wait. .” said girl speaks up, drawing the word out as she processes his answer. her tongue rolls around in her mouth, face cringing as the next words follow, “i can’t lie, he kinda ate you up.”

“just sassy as fuck,” shoko laughs, and it’s one of those giggles reserved to shit she honestly finds hilarious, “really girl is crazy. all comfortably like he’s one of your homegirls.”

“now what’s wrong with stk’s?” yuki grumbles, picking at her nails with a childish pout on her lips, “everybody isn’t born with a silver spoon plugged up our asses. god, i can’t stand rich people.”

you don’t bother answering the girls, already aware he chewed with his response, that he’s as sassy as he was years ago and that he had found that particular steakhouse shabby despite it being a fucking steakhouse. these were things you already knew. your thumbs proceed before your mind can register,

@yourstrulyname: been keeping tabs on me?

“you don’t look too happy,” shoko pokes at your cheek. there’s an ache creasing in your forehead, and you relax the furrow of your brows. you’re not exactly upset, just a bit on edge with his approach— you can’t tell whether he’s on tens or not. whether he’s genuinely joking around or not.

“i’m fine.” you poke back, and she nods. she ushers the other girls to pick a new movie to play, and you clock this is her way of allowing you some privacy between exes. you shoot her a grateful look, and she offers a sly wink. you’ll make sure to update her on whatever happens as soon as it’s over.

you switch your ringer off, and open his new message.

@gsatoru: hard not to when he posts you like he has smth to prove

@yourstrulyname: who said it was me?

you knew it was you. you knew he knew it was you. but still, you wanted to hear it from him yourself, wanted to know if he really was keeping tabs on you ever since the breakup. it’d help ease your mind with unanswered questions.

@gsatoru: you mean besides the bags and jewelry i got you?

@gsatoru: your build was a dead giveaway. could recognize you blindfolded in a room full of women

you bit your lip. you could work with this text, play around with it and see if shit flips. would he fall for the bait? you’ll start off slow, create an opening and see if he decides to indulge.

@yourstrulyname: like what you saw?

he answers instantly and your heart sinks a bit.

@gsatoru: of course

@gsatoru: you’re as a beautiful as the day you left me

is that how he saw it? you assume you did leave him in a practical sense, but there was no way he hadn’t seen it coming miles away. you had both been caught up in your lives, the additional stress of romance an unwanted factor in the rise of your careers. so yeah, you’d given him the opportunity to leave. it’s not as if he fought it anyway, so did you really leave him if he’d closed the door on his merry way out?

this was starting to get personal. toeing between the line of uncharted territory and familiarity. everything you didn’t want— debriefing the logic behind the underwhelming breakup on tinder of all places was out of the fucking question.

@yourstrulyname: you still cool with sukuna?

@gsatoru: something like that

@gsatoru: he’s slimey as fuck for sliding on you tho

you figured as much. you couldn’t imagine a world where gojo wouldn’t feel some type of way at his friend going after his ex girlfriend a couple months fresh off a breakup. he probably felt the same way towards you, the difference being one owes him more loyalty than the other.

@yourstrulyname: and what does that make me?

@gsatoru: did he mean something to you?

he didn’t. you think of the importance of somebody meaning something to you— the fear of losing that person larger than life itself. the joy of waking up in that person’s arms on a rainy morning. the vulnerability in bonding souls with that person. the relief your body undergoes as it melts in that person’s embrace.

he didn’t mean shit to you.

@yourstrulyname: no

@gsatoru: then that makes you someone who made a choice

neutral and impassive. you wondered if he truly meant that. in a sense, you assume he really did mature.

@yourstrulyname: so he’s in the wrong but i’m not?

@gsatoru: who am i to assign right from wrong? you’re both adults at the end of the day

you don’t know what to answer to that. there was a lot of truth to his words— you were both consenting adults with choices made. jeez, just what had gojo gone through all these months that made him none the wiser? you’re considering leaving him on opened for a while, at least until you come up with an answer to that philosophical ass message, when he double texts you.

@gsatoru: this is so backwards lmaoo. what’s good with you? how’ve you been?

so he realized it too. thank fuck— skipping small talk and diving into the nitty gritty this late at night was not how you expected your night to go. the girls had completely forgotten your predicament, invested in the latest reality tv show flashing on your flat screen.

@yourstrulyname: been good. you?

@gsatoru: wow you’re as dry as ever

@gsatoru: life’s been blessed, could be better tho. too much to explain over text

oh? was this what you were thinking it was?

@yourstrulyname: what are you getting at, gojo?

@gsatoru: gojo? so it’s fuck me then

@gsatoru: not getting at anything. ball’s in your court, yn

so it was. you contemplate it for a second— should you invite him over tonight? the girls won’t be upset about kicking them out, and if anything they’d encourage you to call them as soon as it’s over. you suppose your doubts lie within the idea of having your ex boyfriend back into your territory. in the comfort of your home, a home he’d once already graced.

as scary as it sounded, you also desperately craved seeing him. it’d been a solid eighteen months since you’ve broken up, and thirteen since you’ve last seen him entirely. ironically, around the time you started getting involved with sukuna. you weren’t sure if it was your heart or pussy talking, but laying up in bed with this man was not something you were against.

fuck it.

@yourstrulyname: you know where i stay at

and his response comes instantly.

@gsatoru: be there in half an hour.

oh fuck.

“yo. . .” you speak up, for the first time in a few minutes. the girls turn their heads, acknowledging you, as you shut your phone close and chuck it across the sofa. “i love y’all but y’all gotta go, like now.”

shoko shakes her head, but there’s a smirk on her lips. utahime, as lost as ever, gives you a frown. yuki has most likely caught on, rising to her feet, dusting her lap, “say no more.”

the girls do you an immense favour as they excuse themselves. they pick at empty bottles and containers, throw dirty dishes in the dishwasher, rearrange the throw pillows and even light up your candles. you feel bad for kicking them out so late, so you pitch in some money for gas as well as the inconvenience.

as they cleaned out your living room and kitchen, you’d rushed to your shower for a mini cleanse. pulling out your bests, you wash over intimate parts thoroughly, lathering your limbs in scented soap, before rinsing, brushing your teeth and stepping out. you stare at your reflection through the haze of steam, the foggy mirror reminding you of the missing messages he used to leave on mornings you had to get to work.

no point in dwelling on the past when he was on his way over this moment. you swap your silk robe for the skimpiest loungewear you own— matching camisole and shorts, and let your hair cascade back down. you’re about your fifth spritz of body spray when the doorbell rings, and your stomach flutters.

you halt in your step when you notice how fast you’re going. yikes! the last thing he needs is his ego inflating, knowing you were rushing to get him inside, nevermind the fact you washed, pulled out your sexiest pyjamas and even wore a brand new pair of panties. you know. . . just for preparations. better safe than sorry.

after the third mindless lap around your kitchen, you make your way towards the door. you inhale sharply, clenching at your shaky fingers, easing your nerves. you quickly snap out of your daze, pulling the door open.

his eyes, momentarily distracted by the number engraved in the wall next to your door, glaze over your figure curiously. his hands are tucked in the pocket of his sweatpants. he lets out a breath, a sound borderlining a chuckle as it shoots straight to both heartbeats, shoulders drop from its hunch,

“hey.”

he’s thick.

no perverted shit. you’ve noticed he’s put on weight in the right places— not to say he’d been anything less than nicely built in the past, but his biceps are significantly fuller and the material of his compression tee stretched over bulging muscles in a telltale pattern.

somebody’s been at the gym one too many.

“you good with this?” he mumbles, hand running across the smooth skin of your calf. with every stroke of his palm are fleeting memories of the past, burning deep into your limb. you hate the way your stomach sinks st the thought, “me being here and shit.”

“wouldn’t have let you in if i wasn’t.” you answer honestly, back pressed into the arm of the couch. you don’t understand how fast he’d gotten comfortable with being in your personal space just like that— you don’t understand how you’d allowed him in your personal space just like that.

he nods, and the air is eerily quiet. you watch with furrowed brows as he traces shapes into your skin with his fingertip, a frenzy of emotions resembling those of turbulence all in cerulean eyes. he’s torn— you can see it in the way his nose scrunches, as if he’s debating on whether he should voice out his thoughts or not. whether it’s worth debriefing— if this is his last shot or not.

with all this time passed, he’s still so easy to read.

“what is it?” you sigh, albeit irritated. the last thing you’d planned when you got rid of your friends in favour of having your ex over was this weird ass tension roaming. crazy sentence to speak— you know, but you were really hoping it’d be less talking involved and more sexing. it wasn’t that you were against conversing with him, but the way he was choosing to go about it was just so. . . awkward .

he senses the irritation laced in your question and immediately chuckles. his laugh sounds breathless, almost dry, but he shakes his head. his free hand swipes at his nose, a tic of his you noticed years ago whenever he’s feeling bashful or caught, and clears his throat.

“how’d you and sukuna happen?” he rips off the bandaid, and asks you the last question you wanted to hear. the tracing on your leg slows down, and your arms tighten a bit around your torso.

you let out a puff of air. if gojo notices your discomfort, he doesn’t mention it. in fact, he doesn’t pull the question back at all— he stares at you intensely, as if baring into your soul, as if the answer to his question will determine whether the boulder weighted on his shoulders will free him of restraint or not.

as if he still stood a chance or not.

“not much to say,” you shrug, as dismissive as possible. he doesn’t budge, the same intensity in his gaze and you roll your eyes, “honest to god. we broke up, he was there at the right time and shit happened.”

the words simmer into the stillness of the night, and he swipes his tongue over his lips pensively, “were y’all ever official?” he pushes, and you click your tongue against your teeth, offering him a deadpanned look. seriously, as if he didn’t know his own friend— in what world was sukuna anything worthy of official?

“god, no.” you shudder, and he nods again. “you know your friend.”

“i don’t,” gojo counters, momentarily wrapping his hand around your ankle. it fits as perfectly as it did all those years ago, where thumbs at your anklet— another prized possession he’d gotten you. your face heats in embarrassment, and he flicks his eyes to glance at you, a fleeting smirk on his lips, before staring back at the jewelry, “going after my ex girlfriend is not something i expected. i don’t know him at all.”

fair enough, you think to yourself. there has to be some lingering resentment towards you for the same reason. had the tables been turned and he’d gone after one of your closest friends, you would’ve cut him off from your life completely. you were being truthful— it wasn’t anything remotely serious with sukuna, not even close to how it’d been with gojo, but you could see it as a matter of principle. you’d already taken the initiative to break up with him first, and going after his homeboy?

god, you had questionable morals.

“it’s different with you,” he feeds in, as if he could read your thoughts. it was probably written all over your face, the scrunch in your brows never letting up. his index finger slides beneath the band of your anklet, the contrast of the silver shade lining perfectly against his complexion, “‘s hard to explain, but you broke up with me so you technically owe me no loyalty— besides, i get why you ended things. never blamed you.”

now that peaks your interest. he gets why you ended things with him? he never blamed you? you clear your throat, forcing the question out, “you do?”

“of course,” he shrugs naturally, as if it hadn’t taken you eons to conclude. as if it hadn’t broke you apart when you’d realized how unneeded you were, “i honestly expected it. you deserved better than what i was giving. you must’ve been lonely— work had always taken a big part of my time, and that left you behind in the dust.”

you’re waiting for the punchline. he continues, “i can’t lie to you— i was wishing you’d resort to cheating over breaking up. that way you’d still be mine, even if it was temporarily,” he chuckles, a soft shade of pink dusting over his cheekbones, as he sniffs, “corny, i know. but you didn’t deserve putting up with my bullshit, so you left. time is of the essence, and that was the one thing i never seemed to give you. you fell out of it— out of love, so. . . i’m sorry.”

words cannot seem to leave you. you’re left utterly speechless— that had been so far from the reason, the realization sitting bitterly at the pit of your stomach. anything, literally anything, would’ve been better than hearing him lie to you again.

“that. . .” you inhale a sharp breath, steadying yourself, “is nowhere near the reason why we broke up.”

he stops in his caress. you think he got whiplash from how fast his neck snaps, eyeing you incredulously. he genuinely seems so confused, and you hate it. to think he’d show up with some lame ass excuse, so far stretched from the truth of the matter, and expected you to believe that. to believe him.

he blinks slowly, “i don’t understand.”

you try to pull your leg away from his lap, feeling like he was stripping you bare of the last bit of dignity you had left, wanting to rip you open. he presses the weight of his hand lightly, urging you to stay near while simultaneously giving you the option to pull away. the ball was in your court yet again.

“wait— help me understand,” the pad of his thumb rolls over your ankle bone gently— far too intimately. your feet curl away, protectively, and his fingers stroke at the ball of your heel, “please. what drove you away? what was it i did?”

there’s a pang in your chest. does he really plan on keeping this up? right in your face? it was one thing wishing him well despite the obvious, but dragging it out even a year later was a bit much. inviting him over was starting to seem like a terrible idea.

“i fell out of love?” you parrot, unbelieving. “gojo— i’m not the one who fell out of anything. i gave you a way out, and you happily took it,” his face contorts into a deeper state of confusion. you huff, “i’m not blaming you for it or anything, but shit, don’t get up in here with lies to cover your ass.”

“lies?” he whispers, to himself, running his free fingers through tousled white locks. he stares at your anklet hardly, like the gift has all the answers he’s looking for. you don’t think he’s avoiding eye contact, but he seems so distraught, so out of the loop, that broadway ought to sign him to a new movie deal. what an actor.

“time is of the essence and you failed to give it?” you continue regardless, throat restricting as it burns in an emotion you’re far too familiar with. suddenly, you feel like you’re twenty five again, left to your own devices and thoughts in the emptiness of his apartment, dressed in your prettiest outfit and another failed date night. “i never gave a shit about that, i knew how much of a hardworking man you were. i took it to the chest— anything to keep you from leaving. you stopped loving me, gojo.”

his jaw falls slack, mouth gaping and you blink your lashes furiously to prevent tears from appearing. god, this was so humiliating, bearing your heart raw in front of your ex boyfriend, “y/n, i never—”

“spare me,” you scoff, mortified by the rush of emotions coursing through you. you take a deep breath in, calming yourself to avoid further explosive feelings, “this isn’t me saying i was the perfect girlfriend. i know i wasn’t— you know i wasn’t, and piling a spiralling partner on top of all the shit you were dealing with wasn’t an option. that’s fine,” it was fine. it didn’t matter, “doesn’t matter anymore. i broke up with you, you didn’t fight to stay, and we both moved on. shit happens.”

it hurt a lot. the sound of the door clicking shut, followed by the crack splitting in your chest. the run towards your bathroom, emptying your contents from both your stomach and heart. you were undeniably a mess, that period of time it took for you to recover. you would never voice it out loud, but you’d been praying he’d tell you just how wrong you were. how he needed you in his life. how you weren’t a burden to him. how he loved you enough to fight through it all.

he hadn’t.

there’s a soft hum in the silence. the sound of your clock ticking near the entrance door. the pounding of your heart against your rib cage. seconds turn into minutes of quietness, and it does no good to your mind. you’re focusing your gaze on the inanimate objects in your apartment, anything to dismiss the reality of the situation. your leg feels cold as his hand pulls away suddenly.

he rolls his tongue against his cheek. another tic of his— he’s formulating his word choice, carefully. you’d seen a ton of this before, though it usually followed a deep sigh and a you’re good baby, trust me. the more you’d see it, the more anxious you became. and christ, if that anxiety wasn’t forming right back.

it takes a while for him to speak, and every passing breath had your chest tightening. he runs his hand across his face, tiredly. when he pulls it away, there’s a melancholic smile on his face, “i think there’s a lot that needs to be addressed. jesus, i always knew you sucked at communicating but this is something else.”

you glare at him. he doesn’t mind it, continuing, “no, you weren’t the perfect girlfriend. but you were my girlfriend, and that’s all that mattered to me. you wanna talk about spiralling? nothing i’m not familiar with— you’re the only reason i didn’t let myself fall into that rabbit hole. you kept me going after graduation. i worked as hard as i did to make sure you wouldn’t have to lift a finger around me. that was the end goal— you were end goal.”

gagged is what you felt. nothing else pure shock. he doesn’t stop there. he isn’t merciful anymore.

“i know i didn’t go about it the right way,” a regretful puff of air is released, “i canceled on you often. our phone calls were shorter, our texts were vaguer and at some point i’d forgotten what you tasted like. but i never loved you any less. not once, even after we argued. not to say i’ve converted into those spiritual people, but you’re the closest thing to a soulmate i’ve experienced.”

shit, you weren’t tripping. he felt it too. fuck. the weight of his words made it impossible to steer him away. you want to intercept, to call him a liar and turn a blind ear at his confession, to shield yourself but how could you when every word he spoke broke the bricks you’d built down?

“i’m not an asshole— i could feel you slipping away. i did try my damned hardest to reel you back in, as you’d done with me. clearly that hadn’t worked how i was hoping it would,” a bitter laugh, or maybe a resentful one. towards you or himself? you wouldn’t know, “it’s because i loved you so much, i let you go. i knew i was losing you, and when you finally came to me, the right thing to do was agree. why keep you from reaching your fullest potential? you weren’t happy with me, trying to fight the inevitable was cruel.”

the inevitable. letting you go was the right choice to make because fighting the inevitable was cruel. he loved you so much he had to let you go because you deserved more than what he had to offer. you call bullshit— in what right did he have to make that choice for you? what right did you have to make that choice for him?

it’s too much at once. your eyes burn with a remorseful feeling, your heart aches in agony and your mind is clouded with thoughts. there your ex boyfriend sat, wide eyes still as blue as when he’d once been yours, presenting you his heart raw in cupped hands— and you still couldn’t find it in you to believe him fully. everything yet nothing made sense. vulnerability was a scary thing, and you weren’t ready to face it.

so, you kiss him.

his breath is taken out of his chest as you lean forward, sealing his mouth shut. you can’t take any more of his merciless words, and the only way to get your mind off it is by getting on it. he feels stiff against you, pupils dilating as you mould lips with his own. your hand travels to the back of his neck, sitting on your knees as you hold him still.

and with a faint lip smack, he pulls away ever so slightly, hands hovering awkwardly over your waist, his breath warm and fanning your cupid’s bow, “wait—”

“don’t wanna talk,” you interrupt, placing another chaste kiss on his lips. he tastes as good as the day you left him. and with another soft smack, your voice lowers, reduced to a whisper, “you gonna fuck me or not?”

he blinks and you stare back at him, full of conviction. a simple yes or no question— and he could gladly see himself out if his answer didn’t satisfy you. his hands finally rest on your waist, and you take it as an invitation to straddle over his hips. he eases your movements by aiding, lifting you just barely to sit on him. his hands fit just as they did all those times ago. a sour, bittersweet feeling— fingertips caressing the nakedness of your torso beneath your camisole.

your back arches as he finds your sensitive spots with quickness. he’d always been great at that, leaving trails of goosebumps past his teasing touches.

“you’re doing it again,” he mumbles against your lips, ever the hypocrite, fingers gripping at your waist like a vice. he rolls your hips over his own, reeling in the softness of your palms cupping at his face. you ignore him when he continues, still nibbling on his bottom lip the way he loves, “you can’t— mmh, avoid this forever.”

maybe not, but you sure as hell could right now. the tip of your noses bump into one another as you tilt your head, deepening the kiss. you want to rid your mind of these plaguing thoughts, ones that made you doubt everything you thought you knew. losing control was out of the question, so naturally you needed it back into your grasp.

sex was an easy way to do that.

“yes or no, gojo.” you give him one last chance, grinding your hips down on his awakening dick. you feel his bulge through his pair of sweats, the print so evident you wondered why he was trying to fight it. the sight alone had your panties dampening in your arousal, uncomfortably sticky against your loungewear.

he hums in between kisses, a false pretend of debating his options. his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your shorts and past your panties, fondling at the flesh that sat beneath. he could fake it all he wants, but fuck chivalry— he was turning to mush the more you sucked at his tongue, licking at the crevice of the roof of his mouth.

it’s when you sink your teeth into the flesh of pink lips, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to draw a moan from him, he comes to a conclusion. he nods his head, snaking his arms to wrap at your waist tighter as finally kisses you back.

“it’s always a yes.” for you. he doesn’t say it, doesn’t need to, but you hear it and dismiss it. no more lovey doveyness and time to get to the nitty gritty of shit— getting your back blown out. the very thought alone is enough to put a smile on your lips.

bingo.

your bedroom door hardly shuts before he pins you against it. he’s annoyingly big— tall in height and wide in weight. he towers over you comically, hands roaming at every inch of your body as he drinks you up. his lips seek yours desperately, sliding over your glossy ones with practice that suggests hints of comfort.

your arms loop at his neck, and his at your waist. his mouth hardly lets up of yours, mumbling a little jump, as you comply with ease. thighs trapping him in your hold, you then find yourself face to face with him as he lifts you, large palms cupping at your ass. you fit just as perfectly in his hands as you did years ago, flesh so fat he gropes it tenderly.

the walk from the door to your bed passes in the blink of an eye, a timeframe you find pointless to recall as you indulge in the taste of him through his tongue. his presence is so overwhelmingly powerful— every touch and caress at your body reducing your limbs to mush. you cling to him, either out of safety reasons or desire, tilting your head from side to side to deepen the lip-to-lip action.

when he gets to the edge of your bed, he lowers you until your toes reach the floor. due to the difference in height, your lips part, a thin string of saliva connecting from both your mouths as proof of your unison. the blue shade of his orbs darken with desire, eyelids lowering as he drinks up the sight of you— lips plump and swollen, slick in saliva, chest heaving from lack of oxygen.

he raises a hand from your waist to cup at your face, and you detest the way your lean into his touch. your cheek fits in his large palm, and he swipes a thumb at your bottom lip, collecting your shared spit onto the pad of his digit. as he smears the fluid further across your mouth, he prods his thumb a little further— testing out the waters, wanting to see if you’d cave into old habits.

naturally, you allow it, his thumb swallowed by your puckered lips. you roll your tongue over his finger and your eyes never leave his— hoping to convey the rush of emotions you feel through your sultry gaze. your core throbs in want, your stomach erupting in butterflies and your heart pounding unnecessarily. unspoken words you’re positive he understood, if the way he groans when your teeth sink lightly into his digit said anything.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles, popping his finger back out. it’s coated in saliva, and like the freak he is, pops it into his own mouth. once he’s had his fill, he removes his hand from his mouth, and lowers it to your fleshy waist, slipping past the waistband of your panties, “take these off— ‘m hungry, need a taste of that pussy.”

your cheeks nearly split from your excitement, and you comply to his order, gripping at the hem of your shorts to pull them down to your ankle. he assists you despite the previous demand, his own hands atop of yours, a warmth and sense of security so familiar. when your shorts reach past your mid thigh, you allow him to meet you halfway.

he pulls your shorts down to your ankles, lowering himself to a knee. his movements are agonizingly slow, basking in the sight of your thighs in contrast of the shade of your loungewear. he steadies a hand onto your calf, patting it lightly, and you lift your leg just barely, permitting him to slide the shorts off your ankle and tossing it aside.

when the item is discarded, he redirects his focus back to you. he pampers your skin in kisses— delicate but hungry, trails of moisture crawling back up at your inner thighs and shooting right to your core. he looked unexplainably sexy on his knees, littering your body in hushed praises, the tip of his nose nudging at your soft skin. you bit your lip in attempts to cease it from wobbling at the intimacy he was providing.

“god, you smell so good,” he speaks into you, hands snaking to the back of your thighs, pressing you forward into him. your panty covered cunt presents itself right before him, and he plants his nose right into your intimates, your body shuddering as his nose bumps into your clit deliciously. a shaky breath escapes you, and his hands travel upwards to play with your ass. “turn around, wanna eat it from the back.”

the words are taken from you when his hand slaps your ass encouragingly, releasing a mini squeal, “you’re still too freaked out.”

“mhm, something like that,” you don’t see it, as you’re occupied on spinning on your feet to plant your hands on your matters for stability, but you’re positive he’s smirking. your arch your back for him, wanting to properly present the meal he plans on devouring. your cunt oozes slick against your thong just thinking about how he’s going to do you in, “there’s that arch,” a hand slides in the curve of your lower back, before snapping the band of your thong. it recoils against your cheek and you jerk forward at the sting.

“oh? did that hurt?” he taunts, and as you’re about to protest, he does it yet again. the snap is intense but never painful, but the nerve he had to play around like your pussy wasn’t a few centimetres away from his face. you don’t acknowledge how your panties cling even tighter to your folds.

“fuck off,” you curse through gritted teeth, but your hips wiggle backwards in attempt to get him to hurry it up. as if now was any time to tease— you couldn’t stand it when he did it all those years ago, and your feelings haven’t changed since, “get on with it. . . the fuck?”

you hear him sigh, almost disappointedly, and it only aggravates you further. your brows furrow in annoyance and you think you feel a vein tick at your temple.

“still so disrespectful,” gojo tuts, rubbing at your booty tenderly. so he wasn’t exactly wrong, but how was he expecting you to react when he’d just said he was going to eat you out, and proceeds to do anything but that? of course there’s going to be a little pout on your lips, “we gotta work on that attitude of yours.”

your face twists into a look of further aggravation, and you tilt your head back, readying whatever other bratty objections you had— though you’re ultimately interrupted by a sharp sting that spreads across your ass.

the strike of his palm against your cheek sprawls into an intense heat, the pain oddly pleasurable, and the moan that rips out of your chest is impossible to suppress. your eyes nearly jump out of their sockets at the audacity, and right as you’re about to complain, he does it again. and again.

“o-okay, shit!” you attempt to voice out, but he’s relentless, delivering blow after blow onto the same ground. there’s a curve in his palm, and it amplified the sound across the room. despite your protests, you can’t deny every jolt of pain rushes to your clit. you’re positive he knows you’re enjoying this, “gojo— fuck, okayyy!”

to your pleasure, he eases the slaps, opting to smoothen his hand flat across the reddened flesh. he hums pensively, the heat of your skin radiating against his palm in a way that forces a smile on his lips, “ ‘okay?’ what do you mean by that, baby?”

you clench your teeth at his faux ignorance. you know exactly what he wants from you, and you’re not sure if you’re able to give it to him as you are. an apology— he wants you to apologize, that bastard. your left cheek stings like a bitch, even with his now gentle touches, and your core is begging you to cooperate with him, in order for that attention it was neglected of. he is such a dickhead— putting you in a predicament like this one.

you swallow the last bit of dignity you hold, a constant reminder in the back of your mind that this was for the greater good— for the sake of your pussy. with a pained sigh, you tilt your head backwards to meet his playful gaze that stares back at you, right below the plump of your ass, and you muster the cutest look you can give.

doe eyes paired with a little pout, “‘m sorry. . . for the attitude,” you’re not sorry at all, but you desperately want your cunt in his mouth, so you do what you have to do, “can you eat it now? please?”

he flashes you a million dollar smile, all thirty twos on full display, and it takes every ounce of willpower in you not to roll your eyes right then and there. he was so full of shit, his eyes might as well brown. but still, you knew he got off on this kind of thing, and when he presses a quick kiss at the print of your lips, he replies, “of course, sweet girl— only because you asked so nicely.”

there’s no further need to speak, as you feel your thong being pushed to the side, followed by a cold breeze hitting your bare cunt, meshed with warm breathe as he feasts .

gojo eats you out like he has something to prove, and you know what— maybe he does. to prevent you from straying from him, he grounds you with two firm hands gripping at your ass. he spreads the flesh apart, his tongue lapping at your slick greedily. you can’t tell who’s moans are louder— yours or his, the man so engaged in sucking at your clit, nibbling on the bundle of nerves with practiced ease. you hold onto the sheets on your bed with dear life, thighs trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up.

“fuck, don’t stop,” you whine, pushing your hips further back, your mind overcame with utter greediness for more of that insatiable pleasure. you might as well have swallowed him whole into you, just as he’s swallowing you whole into him, his tongue diving deep past your hole and into your folds. he flicks his tongue expertly, licking at every crevice and nook of your cave, his jaw working overtime as his bottom lip never lets up at your clit.

your entire pussy is consumed by him, no area going neglected— drool slips past his mouth and spills onto your floor. a familiar heat licks at the pit of your stomach, a telltale that your dam is bound to burst anytime soon. he remedies your ache with another painful spank at your ass, groaning into your pussy when you clamp down on his tongue.

he was so fucking nasty— fucking into you with his tongue like he needed this more than you did. he makes out with your cunt, like he was a starving man on death row. at a particular cruel angle of his tongue fucking, your body would react with an all consuming tremble, fingers clawing at your duvets, your lungs releasing pathetic mewls. and the further you pushed back into his merciless mouth, the closer his nose nudged at your puckered forbidden hole.

he pulls away with a gasp, subbing his mouth out for his fingers, the pads of three fingers rubbing messily at your sloppy lips. the sound it creates is downright filthy, so painfully loud that it damn near drowns out your own moans.

“pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he spits a wad of saliva at your already soaked cunt, further amplifying the squelching sounds. he drags his fingers down to your clit, pinching at the bud with enough pressure to have your knees buckling, before sliding back upwards to your clenching hole. he slides into your entrance, index and middle fingers twisting in with ease, “bet she missed me, hm?”

“y-yes!” you nod mindlessly, your high creeping up on you as he works himself into you. taking six inches of fingers twice was a task in itself— the average length of a man’s dick serving purpose as fingering was just downright disrespectful. his knuckles poke at your silky walls, stretching you out to the best of his abilities, “shit— oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum!”

to your statement, he latches his lips back to your neglected clit, sucking on the bud as if he were intentionally trying to milk you dry. he hums at your taste, the vibrations shooting right up your alley and into the knot tightening in your guts— and when he curls his fingers upwards, at that spot that has stars dancing beneath your eyelids, the dam breaks. that knot stood no chance.

“oh goddd,” you cry out, spraying your release all over. it dribbles out your pussy and past the lower half of his face, to which his jaw widens as his mouth gapes— greedily aiming to slurp at your juices while simultaneously flicking your bean. the stimulation has your brain going dumb, as you fall flat onto your bed, drool collecting at the corner of your mouth and staining your sheets damp.

he lets you ride out the euphoric bliss, the movements of his fingers and the lapping of his tongue slowing down the more your body reacted to the overstimulation. when he deems you well spent, he lets up, slipping his fingers out and popping them back in his mouth, swirling your taste across his pallets, “as sweet as ever,” rising back to his full height.

you haven’t came that hard in a while, limbs reduced to nothing as you merge into one with your bed. your legs are still trembling, and your chest heaves as you exhale deep breaths. letting your eyelids close shut, you take the time to regroup yourself from that mind shattering orgasm. who the fuck had he been fucking that forced him to keep this skill? granted, you had no right to complain but holy shit, he was no fucking noob.

you feel the weight of his body press on top of you, a well-built chest meeting your moist back. it doesn’t take much to realize he’s hovering over you. his lips litter kisses at the column of your neck, moving up to the shell of your ear, leaving a trail of goosebumps after each embrace, “you tappin’ out already?” gojo snickers at your shell of a body, and you kiss your teeth at his typical mockery, “what happened to my champ while i was gone?”

“fuck off,” you pout, a little embarrassed by the fact that you really were retired from the game. sure, you were getting dicked down real good by your previous partner (question mark), but it never had you as exhausted as you currently were. there was absolutely nothing gojo satoru couldn’t do, and that ticked you off to no end, “nobody said shit about tappin’ out.”

“hm. . .” he hums, nuzzling his nose into your jugular, his hips grinding into the cleft of your ass. it’s impossible to ignore the bulge poking into you, and you doubt he was trying to hide it regardless, his hips rolling against the plushness of your behind, “guess sukuna didn’t do as good of job as he should’ve.”

that has your eyelids opening right back up. talk about an awkward situation— bringing up you and your ex’s (question mark) sex life while having sex with your other ex was a double edged predicament in itself. had you agreed, which lowkey wasn’t entirely wrong, you’d be stroking the fuck out of gojo’s ego and be disrespecting sukuna. but had you disagreed, you could end up on gojo’s wrong side and fumble an entire night worth of dicking.

so, once more, you take the easy way out, at the expense of inflating the white haired man’s ego, much to your dismay, “think you can do better?”

he stays silent for a while. in what you assume is him coming up with an answer to your question, his kisses travel to the dead centre of your shoulder blades, wet and open mouthed, as they crawl lower down your spine. with every kiss, your body caves into a state of relaxation, as if he was undoing every stress clouding at your hazed mind with his mouth alone.

he lands at the middle of your back, before he pulls away abruptly. and just as soon as he started, he was finished— removing himself off your body entirely. panic settles quickly in your stomach, as you turn your head around to see what he was up to. had you unintentionally hurt his feelings? damn, and here you were enjoying the body worship.

“what are you—” your words are cut off as his hands cup at your waist. he slides you back towards the edge of the bed, your feet planted on the floor once more. you feel some residue of your previous orgasm beneath your heels, eugh. you don’t have much time to spend thinking about how gross it feels when a hand holds your shoulders, and lifts you right back up.

your brows jump to your hairline in surprise at the sudden manhandling, though you can’t deny you found just a bit sexy. with his chest pressed into your back once more, you can feel his heartbeat thudding at the blade of your left shoulder, the organ withholding a steady rhythm— the tempo of a lullaby you’d once been accustomed to. and then big arms wrap around your frame, and holds you.

you hate the way your body folds so easily to his touch. it’s been an entire year, and despite your mind shouting at you for the intimacy you’re allowing to gallop right back into your life, your heart craves it. the sense of security his embrace offers you alone makes the least of sense, but you blindly lean into him, allowing yourself to be deluded for the time being. he won’t be yours as soon as this is over, so you might as well take the most advantage of the situation.

it takes a minute for either of you to speak. here you stood— half naked and legs sore, but still happily in his arms. his cologne is still as rich and dominating as it’d been all those times ago. he breaks the silence first, his chin resting above your shoulder, as he mumbles, “you really hurt my feelings, you know.”

to some degree, you know you did. about what exactly? you weren’t sure, but still, you offer him what you believe he wants, the realization leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, “i’m sorry.”

“‘s all good,” he kisses your cheek so tenderly that your neck cranes to the side to meet his gaze. gojo had always been so readable when it came to emotions, as he always wore his heart on his sleeve, but even with all the knowledge you knew about, you weren’t prepared for the look in his eyes. raw, unfiltered emotions. you only notice the close proximity between you both when your noses bump into one another. he shoots you a warm smile, “could never be upset with you. you hold that power over me.”

it’s you who kisses him first, and he returns the favour with more intensity. it’s an awkward positioning for your neck, but you don’t let up regardless of the ache in your joints. his mouth stays on yours as if you were his lifeline, tongues sloshing one over the other, brushing your lips together so gingerly.

in the midst of his tongue down your throat, he slips a hand in between your thighs, cupping at your abandoned pussy. the casual brush of his fingers at your core sent a breathy whine from your throat right into his mouth, and it only motivated him to work harder, rubbing slow patterns into your throbbing clit. your hips chase the feeling, riding the wave of his fingers.

he pulls away from your mouth, just barely, mumbling against your kiss bitten lips, “one of these days you’re gonna let me finish speaking,” followed by a knowing smile. sure, it could be seen as a flaw, but it was the only way you could protect yourself while keeping him within arm’s reach. never ready to have him but never prepared to let him go, “we can do that later— gotta blow your back out first.”

you couldn’t agree more.

it all happens so quickly— he retrieves his hand from between your thighs, having collected your juices at his fingertips, before lubricating his dick. he pumps at the length leisurely, his bottom lip tugged by his top row of teeth, and the groans he lets out are enough to have you squeezing your thighs eagerly, your cunt aching and ready to go. in the midst of your eagerness, you slip your hand behind you and catch his twitching cock, working your wrist right above his own, jerking him off.

a deep groan grumbles from his chest, and he instantly stops your hand from moving any further. you frown at his ceasing, but when you tilt your head to voice out your confusion, he offers a sheepish smile, “don’t wanna cum too soon,” ever the minute man, he was.

though, you soon find yourself regretting your own thoughts the very instant you feel the tip of his dick pushing past your entrance.

there’s a blended harmony of both your moans that bounces off the walls. his fingers dig deep into the flesh of your hips, holding onto you so tightly you’re positive you’ll bruise, and you clamp down on his intruding dick so tightly you’re positive you never want to let him go. the initial stretch is a feeling you’ll never get used to, but the sensation is all but unwanted.

“fuckkk, y/n,” he moans right into your ear, his voice so full of want, you can’t help but understand exactly where he’s coming from. he pulls his hips back, almost entirely, though his tip stays inside. it takes him a second to regroup, mumbling incoherent words under his breath, before he plunges back into your cunt.

and from that point on, it’s wraps. he fucks into you like a madman— as if he’d been punishing you for your crimes. punishing you for sleeping with another man. punishing you for leaving him a year and a half ago. punishing you for punishing him. his pace is ruthless— hips meeting your ass as fast as he’d pull out, pounding into your little hole to mould it into the shape of him.

he’s thick, this time on perverted shit.

you’re so painfully full of him, and despite your arms stretched outwards to grip at the sheets that had suffered more than enough of your abuse on them, your walls never let go of him. you don’t want him to pull out ever, utterly obsessed with the rough pace he set from the jump. it feels impossible keeping the curve of your back when the tip of his length repetitively attacks at your golden spots.

“ohmygoddd,” you words come out slurry, head lolling forward uselessly. if he kept fucking you like this, you weren’t going to let him leave again. stuck in an endless loop of bliss, with every thrust into your folds, his balls would slap at your clit and drive you insane, “y’re d-doing me s’gooddd,”

“yeah?” he eggs on, his voice as breathless as you’d been, though his pacing would never suggest so. there’s a hypnotic recoil of your ass bouncing back onto his pelvis that indulges him into disrupting it, delivering a new spank at your cheeks. you cry out at the feeling, and he strikes again, hips never letting up, “tell me more baby.”

you rise at your tip toes when you feel yourself sinking, legs giving out yet again. you hold yourself up at your elbows, a newfound confidence pushing your hips back to match his pace. when he heaves out a loud moan, you’re encouraged to keep going. the melody of your skins slapping against each other echoes into the stillness of the night, arching your back the further he plunges into your guts. you’re so turned on, the evidence creaming around the perimeter of his cock, easing the slides of his dick inside of you.

“toruuu,” you whine, too fucked out to notice your first mistake— calling him by his favorite nickname. at that given moment, you couldn’t care any less, the intense heat in your guts growing once more. the curve of his dick reaches spots you don’t think anybody could reach, almost as if he was made entirely for you, “you’re so big— can feel you, nghhh, everywhere!”

“that’s cause i am everywhere,” you think you can hear him smirking behind you. though, he has every right to feel entitled, with how much of a mess he’s reduced you to. he rolls his hips deep, a firm bulge forming into your tummy. as if he’s got a sixth sense or eye, he leans forward to rest his chest against your back— your eyes rolling back from the new angle. he slides a hand beneath your stomach and presses at the bulge hard. you can’t help the squeal you let out, “that’s me right there.”

you nod your head feverishly, the applied pressure on your stomach pushing his cock right at your cervix. oh god, he was going to kill you. what a wonderful way to go— all judgements clouded in favour of an eight inched dick penetrating your walls, “‘s all yours— mmh, always been.”

and that’d been your final mistake.

because the chuckle he lets out right into your ear is dark. the sounds shoot right up to your spine, shivers crawling up your back deliciously. he might as well be back stabbing you with how his cock plunged so sloppily out of your gaping cunt, “you always knew how to, fuck, pillowtalk,” he pants into your neck, his additional weight onto your shaking frame nothing short on welcoming. the hand pressing into your stomach lowers to your clit, and pinches meanly at the bud, “you know i’d, mmh, give you the world if you asked— my smart girl, shit.”

he’s so cruel, talking to you so lovingly despite it all. you tighten your eyes, in poor attempts to ignore the tenderness of the words fleeting his lips and focus instead on the stretch of your cunt down his dick. you feel yourself creaming on him, further proof of both your unison through his diabolical thrusts. he pinned you into place like this— unable to do anything but take what he gave you gratefully.

at a particular stroke at your abused golden spot, your body releases another tremor of shudders. it overtakes you from head to toe, a moan so ripe escaping your lips as you claw at ruined sheets. gojo works into aiming at that spot over and over again, each thrust more intense than the previous one. the change of his pace, slowing for a minute, draws you near the end of the line quicker than you’d anticipated.

“oh?” he grunts playfully, swaying his hips back and forth into your poor pussy. mercy is nowhere to be found, however, “you like it when i fuck you like this?” another agonizingly beautiful thrust at the same place, you can’t help but reward him with a cry. he’s fucking you into the damn mattress, and he has the balls to ask this question knowing the answer. still, you nod your head mutely, tears collecting at your lash line, and he nips at the skin on your jaw, “yeahhh you do.”

god, you do.

and suddenly, you can’t bring yourself to remember why you’d ever let go of dick this good. the kind that would have you taking the rubber off and considering finishing inside. the kind that had you babbling apologies for having done absolutely nothing wrong. the kind that made you begin to believe his careless whispers, empty promises to work things out.

in the midst of your delusions, he pulls you both back up from the bed, standing once again. at this new position, he reaches impossibly further into you, the difference in your heights making up for the inches he’s dug into you. his fingers dig in the column of your throat, the weight of his hand wrapped tightly at your neck. he’s everywhere at once, but simultaneously no where to be found. while you can feel his tip prodding at your most sensitive spot, you don’t feel the overwhelming force of love he once bore with open arms for you.

or was it you were feigning you don’t? because as he works himself back into you, at a pace so tender yet cruel, the line of boundaries you’d once set has been entirely deterred. a force so overwhelming, just like his entire being, bringing you right back to him as if you’d never left— nevermind the fact your thighs could barely support themselves, quaking pathetically. it was getting too much— everything was a lot.

“nahhh. . . don’t start running now.” you didn’t realize you were. the sheets are crumpled in your tight hold, while your other hand lightly pushes at his lower abdomen. you were a trooper, but there was only so much pleasurable torture you could handle. naturally, he pins your wrist at your spine to maintain his ruthless pace, and with another gentle yet cruelly empty promise, he coos, “not when i’ve just gotten you back.”

how the fuck did you get yourself in this mess?

oh right. . . tinder. you had a bone to pick with the ceo of that app right after you come back to your senses.

“i— i can’t,” you fumble at your words, the lack of oxygen catching up to you. you’re bound to his mercy— hands tied, breath nearly restricted, pussy obliterated, and yet, there’s nowhere else you’d want to be. the pressure on your throat lolls your head backwards, chin facing the ceiling as your eyes fall onto snowy lashes, “gonna cum again— oh fuckfuckfuck,”

and despite his brutality, he shoots you a sweet smile, the contrast in his words versus his actions grand, “right behind you, baby.”

you cum, and hard . much harder than you had before. you gush your fluids down his piercing cock, your folds squeezing him tight as you release. you think your mind blanks for a minute, an orgasm so powerful, you fear your eyes would stay stuck at the back of your skull. you shiver in his embrace, the insatiable desire racking your body from top to bottom.

when he pulls out, you fall flat yet again onto your stomach, face first. you assume you look like a puddle of nothingness, your limbs spent from the overexhaustion. but still, you find yourself in a similar position to prior, as gojo leans over your body, a hand holding him up as the other works on his jerking him cum out. smart move, not finishing inside, though a weird feeling of disappointment sits in your stomach, swapping the fiery heat from your orgasm.

he sinks his teeth into your shoulders as you wince, emptying himself right onto your lower back. it runs hot and smooth into the dimples of your back, that you can’t help but stretch your limp arm towards the mess to collect the residue on your fingers. you pop them into your mouth, his taste still so familiar as he plops right at your side, face up.

there’s a thick silence that fills the sex scented room. you wonder what is going through his brain now that the lust demon that was half his ego had been taken care of. was he on the same page as you were? had he realized just how messy this could turn out? he’s too quiet for a man of his nature— and that terrified you shitless. no matter the outcome, you’re ready to kick him out. post nut clarity was a scary thing— it revealed the violent truth of how tempting the flesh could be, even with consequences on the line.

you want to beat him to it. the last thing you need on your consciousness is your ex boyfriend who’d you invited into your home a year after you broke up with him, leaving you. he seemed petty enough to do the eye for an eye shtick— it wasn’t too out of character for him.

with a heavy heart and sigh, you turn your head to the side where he lays comfortably. the words want to die in your throat, but your urge them out, the sooner the better, “you should—”

“no.” he interrupts, followed by a yawn.

you frown at that, brows scrunching as you insist that yet again, “you need to—”

“nah.” gojo cuts you off yet again, rolling onto his side. his dick falls limp onto your bed, and you don’t think about the mess it’s making. to be fair, you’d done far worse. and it was proven difficult to care about that mess when he brought a finger to play with your loose hairs, cerulean eyes zeroing in on them, “i’m tired. let’s get you cleaned up and go to bed.”

“you’re not listening to me.” you click your tongue, a little desperate to have him hear you. you’re scared to keep him around longer, because you know you’ll grow attached again and that already ended terribly once, and took you forever and a half to get over. he has to leave and right now, “you have to go.”

gojo hums at that. he stops the twirling of your hair, rather reluctantly, and finally meets your sharp gaze. he still looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, “why?”

you narrow your eyes, “you know why,” you shouldn’t have to explain why two exes cozying up after indulging into each other was a bad idea. common sense, you figured, but was it common sense to have him over in the first place? a flurry of various emotions coursing over you laced with exhaustion had you overthinking like a motherfucker, “this was a bad idea.”

he trails his finger along the slope of your clenched jaw, and you don’t think about the fact it immediately relaxed at his touch. the longer he traced your skin, the longer he kept looking at you like that, you were wavering in your own logic. you’d both gotten what you wanted in the first place, so why was it he was still here? the rational decision would be to pretend this never happened and part ways again, but why was the thought of him locking the door behind him once again at your expense making you feel sick to your stomach?

when his finger lands at your pouty lips, he taps his index finger twice against the flesh. naturally, your pout deepens. his eyes flick from your mouth to your shying gaze, and his index swaps for his thumb. he runs the pad of his finger across the reddened surface, and his voice falls a few octaves lower, hushed for nobody else but you to hear, “you don’t want me to leave.”

you don’t.

he takes your silence as acceptance, and plants a soft kiss to your lips. it’s enough to rid your mind of its plaguing doubts in the meanwhile. and when his hand slides to cup at the back of your neck, ultimately deepening it, you can’t find it in you to care about the consequences for the time being. not when he was swallowing you whole like he was the one terrified to feel you slip from his fingers. you melt into him far too easily.

well. . . that was something you’d deal with in the morning.

tinder: 1, you: 0.

now can y’all stop calling me a deadbeat 🙎‍♂️

[shishibazz]

𝐁𝐲𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐲𝐚, 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐚 and 𝐉𝐮𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦’𝐬 𝐈𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞…

➳❥ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Kuchiki Byakuya, Izuru Kira and Jugram Haschwalth

➳❥ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: Hayooo! Im so happy, that I found your blog!!! Can I ask headcanons for Byakya, Kira and Jugram, what they looking in their s/o? Appearance, character, how strong they can be etc. anything that you can and want to add, because these requests are often made pretty short, although the person's personality is quite complex. Take your time and thannnkssss ;3

➳❥ 𝐀/𝐍: Once again, my bias showed heavily when it came to writing for Jugram >.< I can’t help it. I also excluded physical appearance because that takes away from the idea of this being reader-insert content. And you’re right, the personality part is complex 🥲 I hope this was done to your liking.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾ Kuchiki Byakuya

˚₊‧꒰ა Byakuya isn’t the type to entertain fleeting attractions, nor is he particularly inclined towards dramatic, all-consuming passion. If he were to choose a partner, you needed to be someone who could stand as an equal, not necessarily in power but in presence. He has no patience for bootlickers, nor does he care for those who lacked a sense of self. Strength to him isn’t just battle prowess but confidence, intelligence, and the ability to navigate the complexities of life without crumbling under pressure.

˚₊‧꒰ა He would prefer it if you were a Shinigami. A human would bring difficulties, and a Quincy would undoubtedly create unnecessary political complications. But it was more about whether you could handle the reality of being involved with him. The weight of his name, the expectations of the Kuchiki Clan, and the scrutiny that came with it were all factors he could not ignore. If you faltered in the face of such things, then there was no future to consider.

˚₊‧꒰ა His ideal partner would possess a composed nature, someone who did not overindulge in dramatics or emotional outbursts. That did not mean he wanted someone cold—he had enough of that in himself—but someone who knew when to express their emotions and when to exercise restraint. If they were the type to throw tantrums, demand constant attention, or sulk over imagined slights, he would tire of them almost immediately.

˚₊‧꒰ა “If you wish for a lover who caters to every whim, you have overestimated.” If you were sharp enough, you’d recognise it for what it was: an invitation to prove him wrong.

˚₊‧꒰ა Strength was important, though not necessarily in the traditional sense. He wasn’t seeking someone who could match him in combat—such a feat would be difficult for most, and he had no interest in such trivial competitions. Rather, he respected those who had their form of strength, whether it was in intellect, strategy, or sheer resilience. If you couldn’t wield a blade, then you should at least know how to wield words, influence, or something that made you formidable in your own right.

˚₊‧꒰ა He appreciated intelligence, but more importantly, he valued wisdom. Someone could have all the knowledge in the world and yet be a fool if they did not know when to apply it. If you were sharp, witty, and capable of engaging him in meaningful conversation, you’d earn his genuine respect. If you could navigate the complexness of nobility, politics, or strategy without needing his constant guidance, you would have his admiration.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Your perspective is commendable.” If he ever conceded to saying something as direct as “I appreciate your insight,” it meant he truly valued your mind.

˚₊‧꒰ა He had no patience for recklessness. If you were the type to throw yourself into danger without a plan, expect grand rescues, or act on impulse rather than reason, you would find yourself met with his disapproval. He would not entertain the idea of someone carelessly disregarding their own life.

˚₊‧꒰ა “If you intend to act so thoughtlessly, do not expect me to indulge in such behaviour.” The way his eyes lingered, the way he ensured your safety despite his words, the way his presence always seemed to arrive at just the right time—it would be evident that he cared, even if he refused to say it outright.

˚₊‧꒰ა He wasn’t a man prone to excessive affection, nor would he be one to make grand declarations of love. However, if you understood him, you would know that his love was woven into the quiet details—the way he ensured your comfort, the way he took your opinions into account, and the way his presence remained constant even when words failed.

☾ Izuru Kira

˚₊‧꒰ა Kira wasn’t someone who pursued relationships lightly, nor did he fall for frivolous charm or surface-level attraction. If he were to be with someone, it had to be someone who truly understood him—not just the face he showed to others, but the parts of himself he often kept hidden. He was drawn to those who had a calm strength, the kind that did not need to be loudly declared or put on display.

˚₊‧꒰ა He didn’t particularly care whether you were a Shinigami or a human, though a Quincy would make things far more complicated than he would prefer. He was already well-versed in walking the fine line between duty and personal feelings, and he had no desire to add unnecessary turmoil to an already uncertain life. That said, if you were someone he truly cared for, he would bear whatever difficulties came with it, even if it meant shouldering the consequences alone.

˚₊‧꒰ა “It wouldn't be easy,” he would admit, almost hesitantly, his eyes downcast. “But if you think it's worth it…then so do I.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He gravitated towards those who had a sense of understanding, not necessarily because you had suffered as he had, but because you could recognise the weight he carried without needing him to explain it. If you expected him to constantly be the composed lieutenant, the one who always held everything together, you would be disappointed. He needed someone who could see beyond that, who knew that strength was not just about being unshaken, but about continuing despite the fractures.

˚₊‧꒰ა He did not mind if you were stronger than him—in fact, he found it oddly reassuring. He had spent so much time carrying burdens that the idea of someone being capable of standing on their own, without relying on him to be their emotional anchor, was something he deeply respected. If you were someone who had a calm aura, and who could face adversity without falling apart, he would admire you even more.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You're stronger than you realise,” he would say, watching you with an expression that was both wistful and sincere. “Sometimes, I think you don’t even see it yourself.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He did not seek out someone who was constantly cheerful or optimistic—he had no illusions about the world being a kind place—but he did appreciate those who could bring warmth into his life without forcing it upon him. Someone who understood that not every moment needed to be filled with words, that sometimes silence was just as meaningful.

˚₊‧꒰ა He was drawn to those who were genuine. If you wore masks, if you played games with emotions, he’d see through it eventually, and it would only create distance between you both. He didn’t need extravagant gestures or excessive declarations; he only needed the quiet certainty that you meant what you said and that you would not turn away when things became difficult.

˚₊‧꒰ა “I don’t need promises you can’t keep,” he would say, his voice steady despite the weight behind it. “Just…mean it, whatever you say.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Hmm, he wasn’t particularly possessive, nor was he prone to jealousy, but he was deeply loyal. If he was with someone, then that was that—he would not waver, nor would he entertain doubts. However, if you ever betrayed that trust, even in small ways, it would cut deeper than he would ever admit. He wouldn’t rage or seek revenge, but the distance that would form between you would be impossible to bridge.

˚₊‧꒰ა Love to him wasn’t about extravagant devotion or extreme displays. It was about being there, about understanding even when no words were spoken, about knowing that even in silence, there was something unshakable between you two. If you could give him that, then he would give you everything he had in return.

☾ Jugram Haschwalth

˚₊‧꒰ა He was definitely not a man prone to frivolous attachments, nor was he the type to seek companionship out of loneliness or fleeting emotion. If he were to have a partner, it would be someone who could stand on equal ground with him—not necessarily in power, but in presence.

˚₊‧꒰ა He had no interest in those who bent too easily to the will of others, nor did he care for those who sought validation through constant reassurance. If you needed to be coddled, constantly reminded of your worth, or expected him to prioritise you over his duty, you would not last long by his side.

˚₊‧꒰ა He would prefer if you were a Quincy, compared to a human, a Shinigami was out of the question unless you were interested in Quincy ideals and were willing to abandon your own—what mattered was whether you could survive in his world. A fellow Quincy would have the easiest path, given your shared understanding of the Sternritter and Yhwach’s rule, but that did not mean he would reject someone of another race outright.

˚₊‧꒰ა That being said, if you were a Shinigami, the complications would be nearly insurmountable. He had no time for petty grudges, but his loyalty to Yhwach was absolute. If you were his enemy, then you would have to accept the reality of that.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Do not mistake patience for leniency,” he would say. “If you stand against His Majesty, you stand against me.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He was drawn to those with a subtle kind of strength—the kind that did not need to be loudly declared or constantly proven. He had little patience for arrogance. If you were powerful, that was well and good, but what mattered to him was how you carried yourself. Were you reckless? Did you act without thinking? Did you crumble under pressure? He had no use for those who could not maintain their composure.

˚₊‧꒰ა That did not mean he expected you to be emotionless. He was not blind to the weight of the world he lived in, nor did he believe that suppressing one’s feelings was a sign of strength. But there was a difference between feeling and losing control. If you were the type to lash out impulsively, to let your emotions dictate your actions, he would find you frustratingly inefficient.

˚₊‧꒰ა He didn’t require you to be his equal in combat—he had fought alongside enough warriors to know that strength came in many forms. If you’re skilled in battle, he would acknowledge it, perhaps even admire it, but it was not a necessity. What he valued more was intelligence, strategy, and the ability to see the broader picture. If you understood the weight of leadership, the burden of making difficult choices, then you would earn his true respect.

˚₊‧꒰ა He surely didn’t tolerate recklessness, especially if it placed you in danger. If you were the type to throw yourself into battle without a plan, believing that sheer willpower would see you through, he would not hesitate to make his displeasure known. He didn’t believe in pointless sacrifices, nor did he appreciate those who acted without thinking of the consequences.

˚₊‧꒰ა “If you intend to die so carelessly, do not expect me to mourn,” he would say coldly. And yet, his actions would betray him. The way he ensured your safety without making it obvious, the way his eyes lingered just a moment too long, the way his presence always seemed to be near when it mattered—it would be clear that he cared, even if he refused to say it outright.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you needed to be reminded of his affections every moment, if you demanded that he prioritise you over all else, you would be deeply disappointed. His duty came first. His loyalty to Yhwach was absolute, and while he could care for someone deeply, you would never come before his purpose.

˚₊‧꒰ა “If you cannot accept that, then you are not suited to this life,” he would state plainly. It was not cruelty, but honesty.

˚₊‧꒰ა Despite his stern nature, he was not without warmth, though it was subtle and often difficult to perceive. His care was woven into the small, seemingly insignificant details—the way he remembered things you had only mentioned once, the way he ensured your comfort without drawing attention to it, the way he would listen even when he had little time to spare.

˚₊‧꒰ა He wasn’t prone to jealousy—but had his jealous moment (possessive). He had no interest in controlling you, nor did he believe in demanding loyalty through fear. If you chose to be with him, then that was your decision, and he would expect you to stand by it. However, betrayal—true betrayal—would be something he would never forgive.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @stygianoir @edensrose @spellboundsuguru @cactimorada @kennys-partner @cookielovesbook-akie

©satsugacafé 2025: no permission to repost, plagiarise, copy or translate my work onto any other platform or this one.

[shishibazz]

fuckin problems. .° ༘🎧⋆🖇₊ toji fushiguro.

sum. toji’s prepping for a fight night match and his trainer was adamant that women would be a distraction. when he sees you in the gym late one night, obviously all of that changes.

wc. 4.8k

tags. boxer!tojixcollege student!reader, (it isn’t mentioned in the fic.) toji and reader are mid-twenties, reader is fem and black. modern au, unprotected, pússy eating, shower sèx, toji’s a bit of a hoe, dacryphilia, praise kink (lots of pet names!!) set in a gym, some workout terms used.

an. i’m back . . . did you guys miss me? 🥹 i worked really hard on this. i hope you enjoy it.

i love bad bitches, that’s my fuckin problem . . . and yeah, i like to fuck, i got a fuckin’ problem.

loud music blaring through his black airpod maxes drowns out the harsh clang of the weighted barbell making contact with sleek, black hardwood beneath him. chest heaving, toji wipes his sweaty forehead with the hem of his compression shirt. he’d just finished his last set of heavy romanian deadlifts, the last exercise of five—and he doesn’t know if it was through discipline or pure willpower. he’s internally cursing his trainer. he’s a boxer, not training to be a part of the fucking avengers.

and with being a professional boxer, being physically fit comes with the territory. toji knows that. it was recommended he switch from his last gym to this one. virtually unknown and far from paparazzi and groupies. lowkey. he can deal with that. this new regimen his mentor had implemented, though? it would be his undoing.

aside from working out six days a week with a new grueling routine, there were now rules toji had to abide by—upon breaking them, he’d be ineligible for the upcoming heavyweight championship match in a few weeks. there were only four temptations he was to avoid: liquor, greasy food, staying up late . . . and this last one toji dreads, no women. no sexual intercourse of any kind.

that was a fucking problem.

no conceited shit, toji knows he is attractive. he’s built. tall, tatted from the neck down with sculpted abs that could’ve been crafted by god himself. he can’t even go to the grocery store without being approached by women. and whether these women were drawn to his fame or brawn, toji didn’t care either way—what sane man would turn down pussy without any attachments?

halle berry, hallelujah. holla back, ima do ya, beast!

taking a seat on the rubber bench behind him, toji stares at his reflection in the mirror. dim hex lights that hang from above cast dark shadows over his bulky figure, highlighting the definition in his biceps and glinting micro cuban link dangling from his neck. veined, inked hands reach for the nike water bottle on the floor, tipping his head back as he shoots a stream of cold water into his open mouth. as much as he hates this new routine, he’d be lying if he said the results weren’t rewarding.

toji has no intentions of abstaining from sex completely. sure he could do a few days, he wasn’t an addict . . . but two weeks? fuck no. there’s too many beautiful women out here that deserve his dick and undivided attention . . . and when his tired eyes land on you, setting up on a smith machine across the room in this navy matching set that molds on your body like a second skin? toji’s never been more sure that he’d break a rule in his life. not like he’s ever been much of a rule follower anyway.

he watches you, shamelessly. upon doing so, he realizes this wasn’t the first time he’s seen you. you always stick to the smith machines and free weights right next to them, minding your business in your own little world. he doesn’t think you’ve spared him a glance since he’s joined. with interest now piqued, steel eyes observe you mid-workout with newfound curiosity.

you’re pretty. glossed lips pouted in exertion, sweat glistening on exposed skin like diamonds. chocolate brown eyes glued to your reflection. the navy blue crop top and legging set compliments your brown skin, accentuating the curves toji can tell you’ve worked hard for. he almost catches himself drooling . . . but the longer toji watches through your set of squats, there’s something glaring at him that he can’t quite ignore.

your form is fucking terrible.

maybe it’s fatigue or the weight being too heavy for you to handle—but years of training makes it easy for him to spot the mistakes being made. rounded shoulders, anterior tilt, and poor foot placement. your back will be sore as fuck once you’re finished, he’s sure of it . . .

. . . it’d be wrong to not help fix your problem, right?

locking the bar into the safety hook, you plop yourself down onto the nearest bench, completely out of breath. this workout had you fighting for your life. it’s been a while since you’ve been to the gym, but damn, you didn’t realize you fell off this badly.

this is why you always come to this gym late at night: free to make a fool of yourself without having to worry about stares from nosy strangers. motivation’s been low but with discipline, you’ve made so much progress towards your body goals—you can’t tap out now.

you look down at your apple watch. 1:35 am. if you lock in for this last set, you can pack up and be out of here by 2. leaning forward, you tighten the laces of your grey new balances. cockiness by rihanna blaring in your ears, you nod your head along to the beat, mentally psyching yourself up to push through this shit. you almost don’t notice the person standing in front of you, their black nikes in your peripheral vision.

almost.

what the fuck? you straighten up, blood rushing to your ears from the quick movement. angling your beats off your ear, the words come out before you get a good look at this person who decided to rudely disturb you, “can i help you?”

the person, a man, chuckles in response. “nah . . . i was thinking maybe i could help you, though.”

oh? you have to crane your neck to really see him, he towers over you. shit, you don’t think it’d make a difference if you were standing. grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, sharp v-line peeking over black calvin klein. he’s got a white towel slung over broad shoulders, contrasting the vibrant hues of ink on his neck. he looks . . . familiar. his cool steel eyes and scarred lip are ringing bells in your head but he looks so fucking good, you aren’t really thinking about a damn thing.

he doesn’t wait for your answer, noting the way you’re ogling him. “i’m toji and you are . . . ?”

yes, toji. you remember who he is now. your best friend had shown you a reel of him boxing just the other day. you didn’t know much about boxing but toji is finer in person. finer than the pictures you’d seen when scrolling on his instagram. (how was that even possible?)

shit, you’re staring hard as fuck. “( 🫶🏾 ).” you say with a sheepish smile. he returns it with one of his own. you extend your hand for him to shake, “i know you, i’ve seen you before.”

“beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he muses, lifting your hand into his much bigger one, kissing the back of it. you roll your eyes. the compliment was corny, predictable even . . . so why does it have your heart beating in your chest and between your thighs?

“you said you’ve seen me before. you don’t look like much of a boxing fan . . .” he probes with a brow raised. he isn’t surprised when you shake your head no, nothing about you gives avid sports watcher. he doesn’t press on it, opting to get straight to the point. “mhm. i don’t want this to sound weird but i was watching when you were doing squats and i noticed that your form could use some . . . work.”

damn, was it that obvious?

heat prickles up your neck, flushing your face in embarrassment. you can’t believe he saw you … had he been watching the whole time? you’re mortified at the possibility. you attempt to hide your face in your hands but it does little to ease the self-consciousness twisting your insides. with your words muffled, the only thing toji can make out is you muttering i feel so stupid.

“hey, hey. don’t say that. you’re not stupid.”

he crouches down, his touch gentle as he coaxes your hands away from your face and into his again. you’re avoiding his gaze, thick brows furrowed and glossy lips pouted. so cute. “it happens to the best of us, don’t overthink it.” he stands to his full height, tugging you up with him. “i can help you correct it and you’ll never have to worry about fucking up again . . . sound good, doll?”

his reassurance makes your heart flutter. he seems genuine so why would you decline his offer? just like that, any lingering feelings of embarrassment are gone. you give a quick nod, biting back a smile. “mhm, sounds good.”

he leads you over to the smith machine, bright pink neck pad on the bar a clear indicator it was the one you’d been using. you bend below it, eyes following his form in the mirror as he swaps out current weight plates with lighter ones, you presume. it’s hard not to watch him. veins bulge through the colored ink on his forearms, beefy muscles flexing with each plate he lifts. he has this aura about him . . . masculine. mysterious. it turns you on. everything about this man makes you horny and you just met him.

his eyes catch yours in the mirror, smirking at the way you quickly avert them. “is it okay if i . . . ?” he stands directly behind you, thick fingers hovering over your hips. you nod consent, breath hitching at the way they shape on your curves. you swear you feel them through your leggings. (or maybe that’s just what you want to happen instead.)

he’s keeping a respectable distance between your bodies but he’s close enough that the scent of his expensive cologne lingers in the air. it’s making you dizzy. he leans down, lips brushing your earlobe as he directs you. “tilt your hips forward, baby.” his thumbs lightly press on your lower back for emphasis. he hums in approval when it feels right. “that should help your back . . . and feet should be parallel, doll. you’ve got em too far.”

after a few more adjustments, he does a onceover, taking in your form. you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on your ass longer than they should. not that you minded. you fight the urge to bite the tip of your acrylic. you know you’ve gotten thick, he can barely handle it!

“mhm, you’re ready.” he says, lifting the bar off the safety hook and lowering it onto your shoulders. you wrap your fingers around the cool steel, preparing yourself for what’s to come. “you’re gonna push this set to failure for me, baby.”

“what?” you weren’t prepared for that. does this man want you to die? you’ve been through enough tonight. you shake your head with your face scrunched up in disapproval, “i can’t do that shit—“

“you can.” he reiterates, cutting your train of thought short. his hands gently rub up your hips, settling at your waist. “you can and you will.” the dominant edge in his voice makes the hairs on your nape stand on end, next words caught in your throat as your eyes meet again in the mirror.

his glare is smoldering, dark with such raw intensity that you can feel the lust exuding off him. god, it’s intimidating. he’s intimidating but you can’t look away, your own arousal pooling in your panties. he commands your attention without saying a single word. it’d be embarrassing if you weren’t utterly and completely enamored with this man. you’re ready to fold and let him have his way with you.

he maintains that eye contact as he leans down, tilting his head to ensure his words meet your ears. his voice drops to a husky whisper, raspy with a hunger that threatens to consume him. “i got somethin’ for you when you’re done. so be a good girl and finish up for me, hm?”

goosebumps raise on your soft skin like wildfire, audibly swallowing once his words completely settle in. “oh . . . o-okay.”

you’re not sure if that was a threat or a promise. either way, the implications of what he said sent a shock of nervous excitement coursing through your body. it serves as the motivation you need to push you through the rest of your workout, and there’s one thought plaguing your mind while you’re doing it:

what exactly is he going to do to you?

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊

toji knows eating it from the back in the gym shower when he just met you less than two hours ago is crazy. does he give a fuck? absolutely not.

you’re pressed up against the shower wall and toji’s kneeling behind you, his big hands trailing up the back of your thighs. you thought the warm stream of water on your skin would ease the anxiety bubbling in your belly. but it only serves to heighten your sensitivity even more—each graze of toji’s fingertips sends spikes of heat up your spine, breath hitching the closer he gets to your most sensitive parts. the steam envelopes the two of you in the small space, and it’s like it clouds your vision and common sense.

“toji, c’mon—need you, hurry up.” you whine, looking back at him over your shoulder with needy eyes, impatience growing by the minute. it’s obvious he’s dragging this out to tease you and you’re over it. you need his mouth—his tongue— on you now.

toji chuckles; the desperation in your voice makes his dick pulse against his thigh. unbeknownst to you, the feeling is mutual and he’s about to show you how real it is. “i told you i got you, didn’t i? just relax baby, lemme take care of you.”

he spreads your asscheeks with his palms, using his thumbs to part your lower lips at the same time. your pussy is so pretty, gleaming with slick, swollen clit peeking out your folds. he groans low in his throat as your hole clenches around nothing, the urge to devour you whole overwhelming him. usually, he wouldn’t eat a stranger out, but something tells him it’d be a disservice to himself to fuck without tasting you first.

fuck it. he leans in, plump lips latching onto your lower ones before dipping his tongue into your hole, lapping up all your juices that have accumulated there. he’s so into it, he doesn’t even fight the moan that slips out when your pussy is sweeter than he thought it’d be. and you’re gasping at the vibrations that ripple through your body like shockwaves, your hand reaching behind to grab onto his damp locks. the tugs on his scalp urge him on, and he lays his tongue flat, dragging up your slit until he reaches your clit, sealing his mouth around the bud.

your jaw goes slack, unable to contain the whimpers and moans that fall out your mouth as your hips jerk back onto his tongue, your hand buried in his hair, pulling him deeper into your cunt. “ahhn toji, oh f-fuck, feel s’goodd.”

“mhm, pussy tastes so good, baby. ride my fuckin face, c’mon—” his words are muffled within your heat, but you get the idea when his strong arms wrap around your thighs, ensuring you won’t slide on the slippery tile beneath you. water cascades off the curve of your back as you arch up into his mouth, using the grip you have on his locks and your other hand bracing the wall to fuck his face with precision.

instead of keeping his head still, toji moves in tandem with your hips—up and down, side to side, licking and slurping anywhere his tongue can reach. he’s eating you like a man starved, sucking your pussy into his mouth greedily, nose bumping your perineum as he fucks you with his tongue, meeting each grind of your hips halfway like he’s fucking you for real. moving both hands to cup and smack on the globes of your ass, he pulls and tugs on your throbbing clit with his lips, producing sounds so sloppy and nasty, louder than the water rushing between your bodies—and your cries reach beautiful crescendos that have his ears ringing delightfully and dick throbbing, painfully hard and oozing precum on his toned stomach.

(the thought of dropping a hand between his legs doesn’t even cross his mind, not when he’s so focused on making you cum.)

all that’s coming out your mouth are praises, curses and his name. “t-toji, toji! baby, oooh shit. don’t stop, don’t stop!” you can barely think, let alone breathe—he’s taking your soul, and you can’t keep up, legs trembling and stomach caving in as you succumb to the pleasure overloading your body, “m’closee, gonna cum!”

toji keeps his movements consistent, staying right where you need him, tongue heavy and long on your aching cunt. his voice is hoarse as he encourages what’s to come, rough and demanding, “yeeeah, gimme that shit, mama. cum for me.”

his words are the final thread that makes you snap. that invisible knot in your stomach unravels and you’re cumming hard, his lower face drenched as you bless him with your essence. toji works you through your orgasm, not stopping until you weakly attempt to push his head away, body shuddering in the blissful aftershocks. begrudgingly, toji parts from your pussy, dick jumping as he watches the mix of his saliva and your own cum drooling out of you before standing up, turning all his attention to your slumped form.

you’re a mess, the prettiest mess toji thinks he’s ever seen—his arm slung around your waist is the only thing keeping you upright. disheveled curls stick to your hot skin, chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath, head lolling back onto his broad shoulder. he has to laugh. you’re so fucked out and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

“already tired, mama? m’just gettin’ started.” he murmurs teasingly, licking a stripe of the column of your neck. he leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, stopping the moment his lips hover over yours, contemplating what he should do—he really wants to kiss you. and he can tell by that doe-eyed look you’re giving him that you want to kiss him, too. so you make the decision for him, curling a hand into his hair and tugging him down so your lips can meet his halfway in a passionate kiss.

you moan into his mouth as he slips his fat tongue in yours, water beating on his back as he bends down to deepen the kiss. tasting yourself on his tongue feels so sinful, but you can’t get enough of it—clinging onto him to ensure your lips stay connected. his hands grip at your ass roughly, and you gasp when you feel his dick prodding between your thighs, hips rolling as he slides his length against your cunt, polishing it with all the juices there.

“so fuckin’ wet for me,” he mumbles against your lips, separating them with a lewd schlick. he wraps his fist around the base of his cock, tapping his swollen tip on your clit, bottom lip caged under his teeth as he watches you twitch and whine from his teasing, a hot rush of blood shooting straight to his dick. he knows your pussy will feel as heavenly as you taste—he’s itching to be proven right. “gonna be a good girl and take all this dick?”

his question is rhetorical—because he knows you will—but you answer it anyway, nodding as you look up to him with lidded, lust-filled eyes, hips arching back with desire, “mhm, i will. give it to me, toji.”

he feels his balls tighten at your erotic profession. damn, he thinks as he tilts his head to the ceiling. when you talk like that, how could he not fold? who would he be to deny you of what you need?

. . . he’s so cooked. he’s certain that out of all the woman he’s fucked in his life, he doesn’t think he’s wanted of them half as bad as he wants you right now.

with his free hand on your hip, he eases himself into your cunt, the both of you letting out sighs of pleasure as your folds latch onto his length immediately, sucking him in—greedy for every inch he’s gifting you. he has to take deep, slow breathes once he finally bottoms out—you feel so fucking good and he hasn’t even started moving yet.

his hand around your waist slides upward, cupping around the fullness of your breast, rolling a pert nipple between index and thumb fingers. he seals his mouth over yours again, nibbling and biting at your kiss-bitten lips. you’re melting into his touch, you’re so gone—you don’t even realize that he’s distracting you until he draws his hips back, pulling out until only his fat tip is left inside to drill his dick right back in, balls slapping against your throbbing clit from the sudden movement.

it catches you completely off guard, nearly choking on your spit as his pace picks up. your lips separate from his abruptly, saliva stretching between your mouths as your head tilts back, crying out, “t-tojiii, ohmygod!“

the pace he sets isn’t too fast nor too slow—but the force of his thrusts are enough to have your whole body jolting each time his hips connect with the swell of your ass. you’re clawing at his forearm, searching for something to ground you as he handles you like a doll. your mind is going hazy, and the sound of your asscheeks clapping on his pelvis intensifies your lust-induced trance tenfold.

“shit girl,” toji grunts through gritted teeth. he’s looking down, damp bangs clinging to his forehead as he watches where your bodies connect—his dick is glossy with your essence. your lips drag and clamp down on his shaft tightly with every grind of his hips, forming a ring of cream around his base. it’s hard to focus with the squelching of your pussy ringing in his ears, and combined with your moans echoing on the walls like a broken symphony, toji feels his restraint slipping too. his jaw slackens, allowing all his expletives and praise to flow freely, “fuck back on me, baby—mmm, just like that—feels so fuckin’ good.”

“you’re so b-big,” you whine pathetically, stuttering when his cock nudges that sweet spot along your gummy walls. your thighs tremble and burn with exertion as you obey, meeting his powerful thrusts in earnest. he’s too big, too thick—too much. the weight of his dick stretches your puffy lips to their capacity, bullying in deeper and deeper every time your pussy clenches in protest. so deep, you think you feel him in your stomach. too much, too much!

you grip his arm tighter, acrylic scraping veins as a broken cry rips from your mouth. god, your own voice doesn’t even sound like it belongs to you anymore, “nghh, too much! i c-can’t, i can’t!”

toji laughs. a deep, sexy sound that only amplifies the white heat searing through your bloodstream. you can’t see him, but you know he’s got that disgustingly handsome smirk on his scarred lips. you yelp when he lands a heavy hand on your ass, soothing the blow with his palm. “you can’t? but you’re takin’ it. i’m watchin you take it, just like you said you would. good girl, good fuckin’ girl.”

his nasty words are punctuated with every thrust, sending waves of euphoria right to the pit of your belly. you feel a familiar pressure building there, a tight knot forming that has every nerve in your body going haywire. you feel delirious, completely weak in this man’s hold as he’s fucking you dumb. it’s as if toji can sense what’s coming because his arm is on your waist again, tugging you back onto his chest—but this time, his other hand snakes over your throat and squeezes, momentarily cutting your access to oxygen and reality, drawing your head back to meet his piercing steel eyes.

oh god. he has to stop himself from pumping you full of nut as he studies the dazed, fucked-out expression contorting your pretty features. it fucks with his train of thought, sends all the nerves in his brain into overdrive. he’s losing the last semblance of control he’d been desperately trying to hold onto, all thanks to you. or maybe, he was never really in control in the first place. maybe it doesn’t even matter as long as—

“gonna cum for me again? gonna cum all on this dick, baby?” he’s slurring over his words, keeping that firm pressure on your throat to elicit what he wants to hear. your chest caves in, little hiccups caught in the back of your throat, fighting for the air needed to speak.

“yesss,” you hiss, struggling to maintain eye contact with him as he pounds into your g-spot, over and over and over with no intentions of relenting. you’re seeing white. “s’close, s’closee. please please please—nghh yes, right there!“

“where? right here?“

he snaps his hips forward mercilessly, groaning carnally at the way your velvety walls lock down on his dick with pure desperation—for your release or his? toji’s not sure, nor does he care; all he knows is he’s falling in love with your pussy and how good it feels on his cock, his own orgasm approaching fast. “fuuuck, squeezing me so tight. ugh—tryna milk me, pretty girl? want me to fill you up? talk to me.”

“yes, yes, ooohh shiittt.” your high-pitched cries and gasps of ecstasy echo off the tile walls, fat tears brimming at your lashline. toji’s assault on your poor pussy is brutal and unrelenting, he won’t let up—and the moment his swollen tip grazes a sweet spot, deeper than he’s ever reached before? that tight knot in your belly forcibly unravels and explodes, your release gushing out of you before you can properly announce the flood incoming, “nghhh ah, m’cumming!”

“m-mhm, let it go baby, lemme feel it.”

with a shrill cry of his name, you do as told and cum hard. entire body quivering, shaking like a leaf, eyes scrolling back into the depths of your skull with tears streaking down your cheeks. you can feel your soul transcending onto another spiritual plane as the flow between your legs just won’t stop, and toji’s drowning in it—the tight contraction of your sopping walls and creamy squirt flowing out your cunt like a waterfall, pushing him out and sucking him in at the same time—it’s a battle that he’s bound to lose.

he doesn’t bother fighting it.

his thrusts come to an abrupt halt and with heavy, panting breaths, he’s cumming right with you—body shuddering as he paints every inch of your pussy with his nut, plugging his dick in deep to keep his seed from spilling out, though it seeps from the corners of your sore lips, a combination of both of your cum trailing down your trembling thighs in a nasty, sticky trail. it’s vulgar, obscene and he’s a whore, a true slut. of course it makes his softening dick twitch inside you at the sight. you whine in overstimulation, pushing at his chest for reprieve and he pulls out slow, compensating for the soreness he knows is imminent.

the small space is silent besides the sounds of rushing water and heavy breathing. coming down from that glorious high, post-nut clarity begins settling in and toji finds that it doesn’t push him to clean up and disappear, forget you, find another body to replace yours like it usually would.

no, it makes him want to . . . stay?

he’s been around the world, had women in positions you couldn’t even imagine and it’s never been a problem for him to move onto the next, no feelings or strings attached that’s just how he operates. so what makes you different? what is this weird feeling festering in his fucking chest? and why are you looking at him like you could be thinking the same exact thing?

he doesn’t even remember when you turned around or why your hands are caressing his face so gently, but he’s watching your plump lips move and he’s not hearing a word you’re saying.

“toji? you okay?”

he never thought he’d ever want to be tied down but how could he let you slip out his grasp? he’s ready to do the unthinkable, fuck what his coaches and pr team says. when toji has his eyes on something he wants, he gets it. it’s his world and he’s willing to give you a glimpse of what it’s like to be a part of that.

“if i told you i wanted to fly you out to vegas for fight night in a week, would you come?”

your eyes grow to the size of saucers, brows raising so high they almost disappear into your hairline. is he being serious?

“don’t play with me, toji. that’s not funny.”

he cocks his head to the side, thick brows furrowed. “why would i be playing? you think i do shit like this often?”

you suck your teeth. “of course you do, i know you got hoes, boy. i hope you don’t think i’m not tryna be a part of your little harem—“

you squeal as he swats your ass, holding your cheeks in his palms to pull you close. he lets your hoe accusations slide for now, but he’s waiting for your answer. “stop stalling. answer the question, girl.”

a free trip to vegas doesn’t sound too bad. you’re not too sure of what toji’s intentions are, but with the way he’s looking at you right now, biting his lips like he’s nervous about what you’ll say next? you don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about.

you wrap your arms around his shoulders, a wide smile etched on your lips. “of course i’ll come.”

@screampied @sunasbon @sugultt @preciousamethyst

steal my work and you die.

[shishibazz]

Name change alert: ryukenzz > shishibazz

[shishibazz]

Hey ya'll, it's been a small minute. I hope everyone's Christmas Eve / day is going well. Below is a small Bleach drabble for Tosen. This is the first thing I've written since last November, lol. I'll do full-on writing some day, but for now, I will stick to small pieces. This is very short, lol. Hope ya'll enjoy. 💖

Word Count: 279

Dreams are an anomaly for Kaname.

Being blind from birth, the captain couldn't navigate the world the same way as those with vision. Touch, smell, sound, taste. These are the anchors that guide him through life. It led him through his path as a Shinigami, propelling him to his captaincy. Although…

It also led him to what he considers one of his greatest blessings. You.

Ever since he met you in the Soul Reaper Academy, Kaname's mind has become filled with everything there is to know of you. It started with thoughts of your weekly conversations, but they soon developed into full-time dreams.

A remembrance of your favorite puff pastry transformed into an intimate thought of you baking said dessert. You knead the dough as his hands follow along on top. A reminiscent of that haunted romantic movie you love.

Every time his eyelids close, Kaname descends into a world where nothing spiritual exists. Hollows, Shinigami, Quincies. Only a space where he can openly adore your being and soak up the love from your heart.

Dreams bring Kaname comfort. Relief from the realities of Soul Society's culture. As much as he wants to continue living in the blissful illusions… he knows his planned betrayal and conflicting alliances will never allow that.

One day, he hopes you understand. The blind captain prays that you will see his reasoning. Until then, he will continue to dream and long for a life that will never come to fruition.

Author's Note: I rushed the ending, I won't lie, fbhdbd. It's not exactly in season with the holiday, but I wanted to get at least ONE draft out before 2025. I hope everyone has a great Christmas, whether you celebrate it or not! Stay hydrated and warm ❤️.

[shishibazz]

Hello dear .. My name is Abdul Rahman Halas, married to the martyred journalist Alaa Al-Dahdouh. My journalist wife works for the Watan News Agency and we had a beautiful child named Karam. The real disaster began on Wednesday, May 31, 2024, when my wife, my child and I were surprised by a huge missile that fell on us and exploded in the place where we were, targeting the house we fled to and other neighboring houses

. At that moment, my journalist wife Alaa hugged our child Karam to protect him from the hell of the missile, but she turned into pieces and died immediately. My child Karam and I miraculously escaped certain death when the pressure of the missile threw me a long distance, which resulted in me being injured by numerous shrapnel and multiple injuries that led to severe fractures in my leg and damage to the nerves in my hand and foot and various shrapnel in different parts of my body

. My wife is a journalist covering the crimes of genocide against defenseless civilians in the Gaza Strip. With the intensification of the bombing and the scarcity of food and water, my wife and I struggled daily to secure food for our only child Karam, who was also suffering from severe fear because of The brutal bombing of the Gaza Strip.

Now after the disaster that befell my family, I need your generous support to overcome my ordeal and pay for my treatment and surgeries. I need several surgeries outside the Gaza Strip that cost a lot of money, and I am in dire need of your tears and support.

I am confident that after reading my sad story, you will sympathize with me and share with me and will not leave me and my child Karam alone.

Donate to me or share my campaign with your friends to donate to me

No matter how small your donation is, it means to me a chance for me and my child to be treated and to stay safe.

[shishibazz]

Please don't skip my message 🍉🇵🇸 to our honorable people in the world My name is Abdul Rahman from Gaza.. I lost everything in life.. My wife was martyred and my child and I were injured by a missile that fell on us.. My life was completely destroyed and I was severely injured all over my body especially my legs.. The missile tore my wife apart while she was carrying our child.. I ask for your support to start my life anew and overcome the tragedy I am going through.. Please help me with any amount no matter how small to treat my injury and my child's injury and get out of the Gaza Strip and start a better life.. And spread my campaign and my story so that everyone can see it 🍉🍉🇵🇸🇵🇸

Vetted by 90-ghost

https://gofund.me/c810ba27

GoFundMe Here!