#•works[🍡]•

[kikufufuku]

✶ you just got into a car accident. satoru is always one call away.

gojo x reader comfort drabble. requested by anon

Satoru’s halfway through a dumb meme, smiling as his thumb hovers on your contact—about to send it to you when suddenly, his phone rings.

Unknown number.

He almost ignores it. He was about to decline but something in his chest pulls tight. His eyes narrow behind his blindfold. He had a gut feeling, and his gut feelings are always right.

“…Hello?”

“Hi, I’m calling from the local police station.. Are you familiar with a,” the officer pauses before saying your name.

He’s already standing.

“Yes—yes. What happened?” His voice sharpens, all amusement gone in an instant. The usual relaxed expression in his face disappeared, instead replaced by narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw.

“There was a car collision a few blocks from,” the police officer tells him the place, “She’s conscious, not seriously injured, but shaken. We’re calling the emergency contact listed on file.”

He doesn’t wait for anything else. Doesn’t ask if it’s bad. Doesn’t breathe. The officer is saying something else, but Satoru doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear the rest.

The moment your name left the officer’s mouth, his cursed energy pulsed. The world warped around him, and he teleported to somewhere near you, in an alleyway where people couldn’t see him appear in thin air.

One blink and he’s there.

The sudden rush of wind, the smell of gasoline and scorched rubber. Flashing lights paint the street in reds and blues. There are voices, officers, an ambulance. Civilians murmuring and rubbernecking. He runs out of the alleyway, pushing his sunglasses up, and suddenly all the noise around him is muted.

Because he sees you.

Right there—sitting on the curb, a thin blanket draped over your shoulders, eyes glassy with shock. There’s a medic crouched beside you, gently speaking, but you’re barely listening. You’re trembling, knuckles white where your hands are clenched in your lap. Dried mascara tears streak your cheeks, and he remembers you telling him how you liked your cute makeup today. That you felt pretty, kissing him a goodbye before leaving him earlier in the morning. His breath hitches. Your lip’s bleeding. Not much—but enough for him to feel something in his chest snap.

Your head lifts slowly—like you couldn’t believe it.

“Satoru…?”

He’s already moving.

Gone.

Past barricades, past tape, past any official telling him to stay back. He’s already crossing the street, a force of nature, moving faster than anyone can register. Officers try to stop him, but his cursed energy flares just enough for them to feel him coming, and they step back instinctively.

He appears in front of you in the next breath.

Your breath catches in your throat. You hadn’t even blinked and suddenly he’s there, crouching down, hands trembling as he gently cups your cheeks.

“I’m here,” he whispers, voice too soft for someone usually so loud. “I’m here, angel. You’re okay.”

The medic is saying something, but he doesn’t care. Not when you’re in front of him looking like this.

“Satoru—fuck,” you sob, “It was so fucking scary, I thought- I thought I was gonna,”

He presses his thumb against your lips, hushing you before hugging you in his arms. Satoru knew what you were gonna say. That it was a close call. That you thought you were gonna die, and he didn’t wanna hear it. The simple thought of you, on the ground – head bleeding, made his heart clench in sadness and fury. What was the point of being the strongest if he couldn’t even fucking save you from a car accident?

Satoru tightens his grip around you. He kisses your forehead.

““I’m here,” he says, voice shaking, “God—I’m here.”

You break. You wail into his shoulder, and his fingers bury themselves in your hair.

“I was—Satoru, I was so scared—” you choke out.

“I know,” he breathes, his voice hoarse. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I should’ve been there. I should’ve—fuck.” His jaw clenches against the wave of helplessness threatening to drown him. “But you’re okay. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

You nod against his shoulder, still shaking.

He holds you so close you can feel the curse energy buzzing under his skin—wild, panicked, desperate. Because nothing hurts Gojo Satoru, except the idea of you not being safe.

“I’m not letting you go for a while,” he mumbles into your hair. “So don’t even try to stop me.”

You don’t.

You just stay there. In his arms, not minding the medic or the goddamn police, nor the civilians that were watching.

“I ruined my makeup,” you mumble into his shoulder, voice wet and shaky.

He lets out the smallest, incredulous laugh, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“You still look gorgeous,” he whispers, arms not loosening even for a second. “But next time, you’re not getting in a car unless I’m driving.”

“You’re a terrible driver.”

“Exactly. Which means I’ll keep us both alive out of pure fear.”

You let out a choked laugh, and it’s the best sound he’s heard all night.

He pulls back just enough to look at your face, brushing a thumb beneath your eye.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats. Softer this time. Like a promise.

“I got you. I’m here. I love you.” Satoru whispers, leaning closer. “I’m here for you. Always. I’m sorry.”

You nod, resting your forehead against his. You don’t doubt the words that come out of his mouth.

Because he found you.

Because he came.

Because he always will.

[dollymatt]

༉‧₊˚. NERD¡MATT . . .

in which matt comforts you during a storm, even when he's scared himself . . . paired with popular¡bsf reader

It’s storming so hard the windows shake. Outside, the sky rips open with every bolt, painting your dorm room in momentary whiteouts. Thunder cracks so loud it feels personal, and even wrapped in two blankets, you’re curled up like a child in the corner of your bed, heart thudding like it’s trying to warn you of something worse than weather.

You text him, ❝Are you up?❞ Three dots. Then, after a breath: ❝omw.❞ You hear the knock ten minutes later. You open the door, and he’s standing there in his hoodie, rain clinging to the fabric like he just walked through a monsoon for you. His hair is a mess of wet curls, glasses slightly fogged, his arms full, one hand gripping a bag of candy and the other cradling a crumpled fleece blanket with sheep on it.

Matt Sturniolo. Your softest safe place. ❝You okay?❞ he asks, voice a little wobbly like he’s pretending not to be just as shaken. You nod, biting your lip. Then he steps in, carefully toeing off his wet sneakers, and just like that, your room feels warmer. He’s awkward about it at first, like always. Sets the snacks down. Unfolds the blanket. Doesn’t meet your eyes. So you fix that.

You tug him toward the bed, and he follows like gravity itself is rearranged for you. The storm screams outside, but inside, you’re under fairy lights and soft cotton, knees touching beneath the blanket as you both sit shoulder to shoulder. You pass him a sour gummy, and he takes it with a shy smile. His cheek is flushed. You realise it’s not the weather.

❝Are you scared too?❞ you whisper, half-laughing. He shrugs. ❝I mean... maybe. But you’re more important.❞ It’s not flirty. It’s not dramatic. It’s just true. That’s what makes it hit harder. Your chest tightens. Matt isn’t like the others. He’s all careful glances and quiet bravery. He’s the way his fingers twitch when they’re near yours, like they know what they want but won’t ask. He’s the boy who blushes when you call him cute and stays anyway.

And right now, with his socked feet brushing yours and lightning flashing behind his glasses, you realise how handsome he is. Not just sweet. Not just smart. But devastating in his own way, doe-eyed and flushed, jaw tight with nerves, hands twitching like he wants to pull you close but doesn’t dare. So you do it.

You lean into his side, cheek to shoulder. He stills like a startled animal. Then relaxes, slowly. Like you’re teaching him it’s safe. ❝Thanks for coming,❞ you murmur. ❝You didn’t have to.❞ He turns slightly, cheek against your hair now. ❝You texted. Of course I did.❞ The storm rages outside. But it can’t touch you here.

Not with him here. Not with your fingers inching toward his, finding a home in the space that’s always been waiting for you to notice it was yours all along. You both duck under the blanket like kids hiding from the world. It’s warm and dim and smells like your shampoo and his hoodie. You’re curled up against him, your hand tucked into his, your breaths syncing slowly. Every time thunder booms, you flinch, and he squeezes your fingers just a little tighter.

Then lightning flashes right outside the window. You squeal an honest, startled sound—and instinctively bury your face in Matt’s chest. He jumps too, nearly dropping the gummy bag, but swallows hard and wraps his arms around you like he isn’t shaking just as badly. ❝It’s okay,❞ he says, voice cracked and barely steady. ❝You’re okay. I got you.❞

You feel his heart hammering against your cheek. You lean back just enough to look up at him, and he gives you the most unconvincing smile you’ve ever seen. ❝You’re scared too,❞ you whisper, trying to bite back a grin. ❝What? Me? Nah. I’m just—uh—monitoring the storm conditions. For safety.❞ You laugh into his chest, and he groans softly like he knows he’s been caught. But he doesn’t let go.Matt blinks at the ceiling of fleece above your heads and thinks, If this is it—if the storm takes us out—I could die happy right now. Because you’re here. Because you chose him. well, kind of…unofficially Because this quiet, perfect moment is everything he’s ever wanted and never thought he’d get.

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 yap ／ ⋆ ۪ he's my sexy little nerd, do we love?

⌗ dolls . . .

© DOLLYMATT ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025 do not plagiarise or repost my works on any other platforms.

[itsbeeble]

Cheerleaders and Stereotypes

SUMMARY: Choi San isn't an idiot. He's also very patient. How long will it take for you to let him admit that he bagged the hottest cheerleader in the world?

GENRE: fluff, angst, smut

PAIRING: Choi San x afab!reader

WC: ~4.7k

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST: @winterchimez @juyeonszn @flwoie

18+ MDNI AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

WARNINGS: reader is dumb, relationship is actually a little toxic I won't even lie, san tries to make reader jealous and it works, p in v sex, fingering, size kink, SIZE. KINK., softdom!san, big dick!san, um reader struggles to ride san idk, bulge kink, san lowkey mocks the reader a bit, insecurities, arguing, san lowkey is way too patient for reader, idk i think that's it

A/N: h-heyyyyy *chuckles nervously* Everyone say welcome back tumblr user itsbeeble! Everyone say thank you @from-izzy and @sanaxo-o for distracting me while I was writing and to ally for supporting me through a very very very very long writers block hahahahhahahhahhahha....haha...ha

Choi San, despite popular belief, was not an idiot. Not really at least. Unfortunately for him, he seemed to fit most of the stereotypes of a college athlete.

He was fit, that was without a doubt and he would not deny it. Six days a week in the gym after football practice did him good. Toned arms that hardly fit any of his shirts, the fabric stretching and nearly tearing every time he got dressed. Thick thighs that bulged against every pair of jeans or sweatpants, noticeable from the stands on game day and having girls swooning as he walked. Not to mention his ass. Had he not built up a brick wall called “confidence” the comments made about his ass would have had him blushing and covering his cheeks rather than smirking. 

God, that smirk. He flashed it casually to anyone who looked at him— students, professors, the crowd, the opposing team, the cheerleaders. It was a near unfortunate bonus that he was just as hot as he was fit. That stupid chiselled jaw, the dimples, and his tall frame. It’s irritating. 

At least, it’s irritating for you. 

See, being the supposedly stupid captain of the football team came with many stereotypes. 

Dating the captain of the cheerleading squad was just one more, even if no one knew. 

No one important, that is.

“Sannie,” Yewon was practically hanging off San’s arm, her manicured nails lightly scratching the tan skin. The sing-song tone of her voice made you cringe, the noise scraping at your eardrums and creating a dull throb in your already aching skull. Your back was turned to the pair, but San could tell you were likely trying to grow eyes in the back of your skull to watch the interaction. That stupid, casual smirk of his was trained on the newer cheerleader, her eyes big and filled with faux innocence. “How did you get so big?”

A poorly stifled snort from another girl on the squad, Sihyeon. A good friend of yours who knows exactly what goes on between you and San behind closed doors, and knows exactly what he’s planning. That little snort has you turning the daggers you call eyes onto her, the girls around her shifting uncomfortably at the now tense energy around you. 

Jealousy. That’s what San’s goal is and you know it. He’s pulled this trick several times before, trying to egg you on and expose the relationship that you’d chosen to hide. So he’d play stupid, that same act that everyone believes is a poor reality. The dumb, hot captain of the football team who can’t seem to get a girlfriend despite the girls falling at his feet for a moment of his attention. All he wants is for you to finally get jealous enough to rip that girl off his arm and finally stake your claim publicly. 

Unfortunately, you’re patient. 

Fortunately, so is he.

He smirks down at her, his arm grazing the skin of her lower back that her top doesn’t cover. You can practically hear her breathing stutter, and your grip on your pom poms tightens.

“Never skip a day at the gym, never skip practice, throw a good party on the weekends.” His answer is…lackluster at best. Your nose wrinkles, knowing he did it on purpose. The idiotic responses are for you, in hopes that you’ll turn around and yell at him for pretending to be a moron even though he’s one of the best students in the Kinesiology department. 

“You’ll have to coach me through a workout one day,” Yewon grabs San’s arm tighter when she sees you turn to face the pair. 

“Maybe I should take you up on that.” San isn’t looking at her, not even a brief glance down to acknowledge that she’s there. No, his eyes are trained on you. Daring you to say something, anything. 

Do it.

You know you want to.

Stake the claim.

You know I’m yours. Why not let everyone else know?

You open your mouth to speak, and he quirks an eyebrow at you. Do it, do it, do it.

“Kim Yewon,” the words are laced with venom and she goes rigid. “Break ended ten minutes ago.”

“I was talking to Sannie!” She glared at you, and you almost laughed. 

“Sannie,” you mocked, watching a pout form on your boyfriend’s lips, “has his own practice to get to.”

“Our practice ended half an hour ago.” He argued, toeing the limits of how far he can push you before you finally break. 

“Then leave.” 

“I don’t want to. I wanna stay and talk with Yewon.” He challenged. Sihyeon grimaces behind you, watching as San digs himself a grave not even he can climb out of. 

The two of you stare each other down for a few moments, a mix of emotions running through you. You know that he’s challenging you and trying to get a rise out of you, but you know better. You know you can’t challenge him like that without exposing your relationship— the one thing in your life that you want to keep to yourself for just a little while longer. 

You’re the first to cave, your shoulders slumping just enough to be noticed by San, and his eyebrows knit together. 

“Do what you want. Practice is done for the day.”

The two-story rental house you share with Sihyeon and a few other girls from the squad is eerily silent. The air conditioning and the sound of you quietly walking around your room are the only things keeping you from the thoughts in your head. 

Did San take Yewon up on the ‘offer’?

Did you take it too far?

Should you have just caved for him?

What if he’s sick of this? Of the secret meet-ups and the acting?

Something hits the window as you’re walking past it, and a loud squeak escapes you. You whip your head around just as, what you now realize is, a rock hits the window. Not a large rock. Small, just enough to be noticeable and visible to the naked eye as it tumbles back down to the front lawn. Another rock as you take the two steps you need in order to peer down and see San with a pile of rocks on the ground next to him, a fourth in his hand ready to be thrown if needed. He grins when he sees you, tossing the rock up and down a couple of times before taking aim.

You fling your window open, scowling down at him before he winds his hand back. 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Choi San.” He pouts up at you, but all you do is glare. 

“How else was I supposed to get your attention?”

“Ring the doorbell, dumbass. Like a normal person.” 

Much to your annoyance, San just grins and drops the rock. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You lean against the window frame, arms folded as you run your tongue over your lip in thought. “Shouldn’t you be with Yewon?” 

You can see San’s nose wrinkle at the thought, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he makes his way to the tree he’d been using as a sort of ladder to get into your room. He’d been doing that since you met, since the first time you ever slept together. He’d never been a fan of the whole…front door tactic. Your father would probably hate him. He’d think San was no good, a troublemaker if anything. You would disagree. 

Maybe your relationship was more stereotypical than you were willing to believe. 

San’s shoes are louder than either of you had expected as he jumps down from the tree, grimacing at the noise he makes.

“If my neighbors didn’t know any better, the police would’ve been here by now.” You shuffle back as your boyfriend tucks awkwardly through your window. His large frame pushes against the frame, the vinyl creaking against him as it struggles to stay in one piece. His neck cranes to look up at you, his feet hitting the ground with another loud thump.

“Glad they know better then.” He pushes a hand through his hair, the silky black strands falling loosely over his forehead in spite of his best efforts. 

A moment of silence falls between you, and you take this time to sit at your dresser. Makeup wipes and cleansers are scattered in front of you from when you’d made a weak attempt at distracting yourself from, well, the problem you’d created. 

San sits on your bed behind you, watching every move you make. He sits quietly, like a child in a timeout chair. He waits, letting you make the calls. You never knew why he started doing that— started letting you take the lead in every argument, even the petty nonsensical ones.

“You never answered my question,” your eyes are trained on him through the mirror. He presses his lips together, loosely folding his legs.

“Are you really that upset?” The question is innocent enough, but it brings back the previous irritation from the field. 

“Why wouldn’t I be? My boyfriend is openly flirting with other people knowing that I’ll get pissed off. You flaunt that knowledge like it’s your fucking birthright or whatever. Do you really think I’m not gonna get upset about it?” You put your moisteurizer down with more force than you’d wanted to, shaking your dresser a bit. San flinches at the sudden noise, gnawing at his lip in thought. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Are you, though?” Your eyes are narrowed as you turn around in your chair. A momentary pause as San lets the words sink in. He’s patient. So patient with you, even when you feel you don’t deserve it. “You act like you don’t give two shits about our relationship, and then show up at my fucking window acting like nothing is wrong and that the world is all sunshine and fucking rainbows. You go out of your way to piss me off, make me angry at my own squad, just for what? So you can get a good fuck at the end of the day?” 

Sometimes you forget that, while Choi San is patient, that patience runs thin. 

He isn’t stupid. He knows that this outburst, this frustration, isn’t just at him, but the more you spit your venom at him, taking your anger and misdirecting it, the more his patience begins to run out. You can see it in the clenching of his fists, the ticking of his jaw, and the glare in his eyes. 

Unfortunately, you’re far too lost in your mind that you can’t see the way San rises from his seat on your bed and takes a step toward you. Then another, and another, and suddenly he’s right in front of you. 

“Sometimes I think that the idiotic front that you put on isn’t exactly a front at all—” You spin around, expecting him to still be on your bed. A loud yelp escapes you when you come face-to-face with his well-built frame. “Jesus Christ, San! Why the fuck are you right behi—”

“Shut up,” he says it so simply, so calmly that you almost think he’s not being serious. 

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” You snarl, and San scoffs. 

“Do you even realize why we’re in this situation to begin with?”

“Yeah, you were flirting with my fucking—”

“Don’t blame me for your fucking problems,” San spits out. Your eyes widen and you take a step back. “I’ve been going along with this stupid fucking secret relationship for who knows how long, and all I’ve gotten in return is you bitching about me wanting you to just come out with it!” 

“You know I want to keep—”

“You want to keep your love life private,” San interrupts and flings his hands into the air. “I get it. I understand, Y/N. That doesn’t make it suck any less.” 

“It isn’t just—” you huff, pressing your hand to your forehead in a poor attempt at calming yourself down. “It isn’t just the fact that I want to keep us private, Sannie. I just— I don’t—” 

Your eyes are welling up with tears, and you blink a few times to force them back. San pulls you toward him, his hand practically engulfing yours as he tugs you onto his lap. Your legs are on either side of his, and he laces his fingers with yours, resting them between the two of you. 

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong, sweetheart.” He murmurs, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “Let me help you.”

You shake your head, and his chest rises and falls with a quiet sigh. “I’m just— I’m just so sick of— of everything.” 

San presses a little kiss to your forehead, tugging one of his hands free from yours and lacing it through the strand of hair on the back of your head. He doesn’t move for a few moments, placing another kiss on your forehead and then another. He waits for you to calm yourself and gather your thoughts. 

“Can—” your voice is quieter, a bit more shaky than it was just moments ago. “Can you kiss me?” San smiles, his lips still just millimeters from your forehead.

“Tell me what’s wrong first.” Your hips shift against his, and you drop your head against the column of his neck. Your breath is warm against his skin, and the scent of your shampoo begins to flood his senses. His hand tugs at your hair, drawing your attention back to him. “You’re absolutely insatiable, you know that? Tell me what’s wrong or I’m leaving.”

You can’t fight the little whine that’s pulled out of you. Not that you wanted to. You wanted him. You wanted Choi San so badly that it hurt.

“I was— I was mad because I didn’t want…” You can hardly form a sentence, too distracted by the gentle tugs at your hair and the way San’s other hand has drifted to your hip, drawing circles underneath the fabric of your sleep shorts. 

“What didn’t you want, sweetheart? Tell me.” San pulls your head away from his neck, holding back a grin at the near-glazed look in your eyes. 

“I didn’t want to be part of anymore…stereotypes. We already fit so many, I just—I just wanted to hold that one back for a bit longer.” You whine, your lips falling into a pout that San just wants to kiss away. Instead, he smiles. 

“Was that so hard, pretty girl? So much fighting just for a silly little reason like that?” Your pout deepens, and he sighs. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah…”

“And nothing is gonna change that, no matter how many stereotypes we fall under. You understand?”

“Yes,” San smiles, stroking your hip and squeezing it.

“‘Yes’ what, baby?” Your eyes are glossy now, your lips parted slightly in your daze.

“Yes sir.”

Despite San’s patience running thin, he always recovers it with ease. Patience is what he’s known for in class, on the field, in your relationship, and in your bedroom. 

He can edge you for hours, cooing at the way you beg for him, beg for that sweet release, for just one more finger, please just one more.

“Pretty girl,” he strokes your cheek, letting his hand slide down your spine to rest against the small of your back. You’re writhing beneath him, trying desperately to bring your hips up just enough for him to hit that sweet spot inside of you but failing miserably. “I don’t think you can handle anymore.” 

Only two of his fingers sit inside you, but it’s more than enough to stretch you out, to provide you with the stimulation you need to go right over the edge—

“San—sir, please.” Your hands grip the pillow beneath your head tightly, nails digging into the fabric so tight you’re afraid it might tear. “Pl—Please lemme cum, I prom—promise I’ll b—be good. Please,” You’re nearly hysterical, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as he plunges his fingers in and out of you, his thumb dancing over your clit but not quite giving you that extra stimulation. Not that you need it with the way he grinds the tips of his fingers into the spongy spot just within his reach. 

“You wanna cum that bad?” San leans down, his chest pressed against your back and his lips right up against your ear. “You’re gonna have to work harder than that. Beg for it. Scream. I want everyone to know that you’re mine.” 

Patience is a virtue you haven’t quite learned yet. What you have learned? You’re extraordinarily good at making Choi San cave for you. 

“Sir,” you plead, pushing your hips back against his hand just enough. There’s a burning feeling in your stomach, the knot winding tighter and tighter until you almost can’t take it. “Please. I’m so so—sorry for yelling. Please I’ve been so good for you. I can take it. Please let me take it. Want you s—so bad. Want you to ma—make me cum. Want you, Sannie! Please, please make me cum. Want you to fuck me so bad, ple—please!” 

For a moment, San’s hand stills inside you. For a moment all you can hear is your desperate whining and your boyfriend attempting to steady his breathing. 

Then he’s ripping his fingers out of your sopping cunt and rolling you onto your back. His frame looms over you in a way that has your body quivering with anticipation, eyes searching yours for…something that you can’t figure out in your lust-filled haze. 

“Such a pretty girl,” San murmurs, pressing his palm at the base of your stomach, one hand nearly covering the expanse of it. “So small, so good for me. So good for Sannie, hm?”

“Yes!” You grab his wrist, nails digging so tightly you’re afraid you might draw blood. “Please, wanna be so good for you Sannie!” 

He sighs, prying your hand away from his wrist and pinning it to the mattress. “You say that, but I don’t know if I believe you.” 

A sob pushes out of you, your back arching into him. He catches you before you can lower back down to the bed, his arm looping around you to keep you pressed against his chest while he sits back. You’re right where you started— on the bed, straddling him with tears running down your cheeks— but this time you’re both completely undressed. You can feel his cock pressing against your thigh, little twitches being the only indication of any impatience. You try to roll your hips against him, trying anything to get that friction back. San clicks his tongue and shakes his head. 

“Naughty girl,” he murmurs, stilling your hips with one hand. “Thought you said you’d be good for me.”

“I—I will!” You grab his shoulders, leaning your face up to his, trying desperately to kiss him— to do anything that might sway his decision. “I’m sorry, sir! I promise I just— I just wanted—”

“I know,” he kisses you gently, smiling softly, deceptively. “I know you just wanted to cum all over your Sannie’s lap. Been edgin’ you for so long, haven’t I? You deserve to cum for being so…patient.” You let out a relieved sob as San releases your hip and grabs his cock. He guides it through your folds briefly, soaking it in your arousal and pumping his hand up and down his shaft to thoroughly lubricate it. “You’re gonna prove to me that you can be good, baby. Okay?”

“Yes, yes Sannie!” You lift your hips just enough for him to align his tip with your entrance, almost starting to cry again at the feeling. He helps you sink, knowing that two fingers weren’t enough for you. It never is. No matter how much he fucks you, it’s always a tight fit for you, not that you ever complain. You never complain about how big San is compared to you. He’s caught you drooling over this size of his dick more times than he can count, usually trying to talk you out of riding him out of fear of hurting you. But not today. No, today he’s giving you exactly what you wanted. 

“Go ahead, sweetheart.” He encourages. “Fuck yourself dumb on Sannie’s cock.”

The look in your eyes becomes almost animalistic. You shift your body a bit, steadying your hands on his shoulders, and lift your hips until just his tip remains inside of you. San can feel the way you’re clenching around his tip, knows you’re doing it intentionally, and he lets his head fall back. 

When you sink intohim for the first time, you emit a strangled gasp, your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your nails digging into your lover’s shoulders.

“F—Fuck Sannie!” You bite down on your lip, lifting your hips again and dropping back down. “Mmph—fuck you’re too big!”

“You wanted this, sweetheart,” San tells you, rolling his head to the side and groaning as you continue to struggle with riding him. You try so, so hard to build a steady rhythm, but your legs are shaking and your breath is already gone. “I thought cheerleaders were supposed to have good stamina.”

“No—Not when their boyfriend has a f—fucking huge dick!” You cry out, giving up and grinding your hips against his. The steady rolling of your hips relieves the burn just a bit, and you moan as the tip of his cock grinds into that spot with more strength than his fingers did just minutes ago. “Fuck, I can fe—feel you in my stomach!” 

San lifts his head at that, a new hunger in his eyes and he leans you back. You slow your hips at the sudden movement, furrowing your brows while you watch him. He kisses his teeth and places a firm slap on the side of your hip. 

“I didn’t tell you to stop, did I?” He grips your hip tightly in both hands, forcing you to keep riding him. “Keep going, sweetheart. Keep going until I tell you to stop.” 

You do, your hips picking up a steady pace with the help of one of his hands to guide you along. His other hand presses against your stomach, and you hear his breathing hitch.

“Baby,” he takes your hand from his shoulder, squeezing it gently as he guides it to where his hand was previously. “Feel right here.” 

You hesitate just a moment, and he looks down at you, smiling encouragingly. 

Then you feel it. 

The bulge in your stomach where the tip of his cock reaches as far as it can possibly go. 

“You feel that, baby?” San presses your hand down and you both let out a simultaneous moan at the feeling. The white-hot pleasure builds back up in the pit of your stomach, the loosened knot returning with renewed fervor and you know San can tell. You know that he’s close too, his hips thrusting up to meet yours halfway. “God, you feel so good. How did I get so fucking lucky, huh?”

You don’t respond. You can’t respond. The pleasure is blinding. All you can feel, see, hear, and smell is San. He clouds your thoughts, your senses, your very being. The pleasure is winding up, drawing that knot tighter and tighter and tighter—

“C—Cumming, San!” You arch into him, and he holds your hip to keep you moving. “Fuck, fuck I’m cumming!”

“I know, pretty girl,” he grunts, his thrusts stuttering. “Fuck, I’m close. Keep going baby, wanna cum with you.”

Your hips are moving slower, your muscles burning and you can’t stop yourself from forcing San back until he’s laying against the bed. Your hands find purchase on his chest, sweat beading on your forehead with the effort to keep moving, to keep riding him until you’re both forced over the edge you’d been begging for. 

San’s thumb drifts across your hip, finding purchase on your swollen clit and rubbing sloppy circles into it until you’re sobbing again, sobbing his name and begging for that sweet release. 

When it hits you, it’s blinding. Stars spark behind your eyes, your head tossed back and sweet cries pulled from the depths of your chest. His hips thrust into yours one more time, his eyes trained on how you arch your back and twitch with your release, and then he’s cumming. Thick globs of cum fill you up to the brim, seeping out from the seams of your cunt and mixing with your release. You let yourself collapse against his chest, practically gasping for air and shaking from the effort of riding him.

“You finally got what you wanted,” San murmurs, resting one of his hands on the small of your back as his cock softens in you. “You finally got to ride me.”

“Never…never doing that again,” you mutter back, placing a kiss on the base of his neck. “Absolutely…not.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually letting this happen.” San is grinning ear to ear as he drives you to campus, his free hand holding yours tightly. You purse your lips, refusing to admit defeat.

“This doesn’t mean I want everyone knowing—”

“Bullshit,” San interrupts with a grin. “You want everyone to know that I bagged the hottest cheerleader in the world.”

“You didn’t bag shit, Choi San. And if you say that you ‘bagged’ me to anyone on the football team,” your eyes turn to daggers as you jab a finger into his shoulder, “I will end your bloodline where it stands. Your mom can say ‘bye’ to any chances of a grandchild from us.”

San grimaces, but it’s replaced by a radiant smile as he pulls into the parking garage closest to your building. “You can make as many threats as you want, sweetheart, but you and I both know you won’t risk that. You love getting fucked after dealing with Yewon every day.” 

He opens your door for you, beaming as he helps you out of his car. 

“I’ll make you a deal, sweetheart.”

“Will you now?” Your response is sarcastic but San ignores it.

“You let me show you off as much as I want, and I bitch out Yewon today.”

You don’t even have to think about your response, a grin replacing your scowl.

“That sounds like a damn good deal, Choi San.”

“Sannie!” 

Yewon’s grating voice has never sounded so fucking heavenly in your ears, knowing exactly what’s going to happen next. San is already at your side, rifling through your bag for the extra granola bar he knows you have. He grimaces at the sound, his eyes almost begging you to help him, but you shake your head.

“You dug your own grave, Sannie.” A quick pat on his shoulder and his fate is decided for him.

“Yewon,” he greets the girl, continuing to rifle through the bag. “Can I help you?” 

The disinterest in his voice didn’t deter her, not that anyone was surprised. The cheer squad watched the younger, newer, dumber member as she stumbled through her flirtations, complimenting him on things he didn’t need nor want to be complimented on while searching for a fucking granola bar. 

“Yewon,” San finally interrupts the girl, rising with the snack in his hand and glaring down at her. “I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m not interested.” 

The shock on her face made you smile. Maybe it was cruel. Maybe it was a bitch named Karma. Or, maybe, you were sick of the shitty stereotypes that you always seemed to fall victim to. 

“But you—you always—”

“I was trying to make my girlfriend jealous of me, as shitty as that is,” San pinches the bridge of his nose and scoffs. “But I’ve already got myself a cheerleader, Kim Yewon. And she’s the best girlfriend I could ever ask for. Plus, she’s hot as fuck,” San grins at you, but you can only roll your eyes.

“I said no—”

“You said I couldn’t tell people I bagged you,” it takes him three steps to reach your side and grab your chin. “Not that I couldn’t call you the hottest cheerleader in the world. No offense, Sihyeon.”

“None taken,” your best friend waves her hand dismissively. “I’m just glad you two finally got your heads out of your asses.” 

“Shut up, Sihyeon.” You scowl, but San is quick to bend down, hunching at the shoulders to reach your height and kiss you firmly on the mouth. It’s a searing kiss, more than he said he would do in front of the squad, but you let him have his moment. 

You’d made him wait long enough.

© itsbeeble. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[rafessecret]

⋆˚࿔ sweetheart¡ reader && cowboy¡rafe cameron

GONNA RIDE ME STUPID.

The tequila burnt sweet and reckless down your throat, liquid courage in a glass. You shouldn’t have done it, but you were feeling bold—giddy and light, high on the way Rafe had been watching you all night, his sharp blue eyes trailing up and down your body like he already had you spread out for him. Maybe you just wanted to push him, test the waters, and make him squirm a little.

So, you climbed onto the mechanical bull.

The whole damn bar seemed to shift its focus to you, whistles cutting through the hazy din of country music and beer-soaked laughter. Your little skirt did nothing to protect your modesty when you swung your leg over, the fabric riding high, giving every cowboy in the place a front-row seat to the curve of your thighs. The cheers grew louder when you gripped the saddle horn tight, hips rolling smooth and easy to keep your balance, working the machine like you were born for it.

But none of those men mattered. Not a single one.

Because the only reaction you cared about sat stiff in his chair, beer gripped tight, jaw clenched so hard you swore you could hear his teeth grind over the music. Rafe’s friends whistled and hollered, slapping him on the back like they were in on the joke, but he wasn’t laughing. His gaze burnt into you, something molten and lethal brewing beneath the surface, a silent promise that you weren’t getting away with this.

You looked obscene. All flushed cheeks and wide, glittering eyes, breath coming in little pants as your body bounced with each vicious jolt of the bull. Your tiny skirt was useless, flipping up with every sharp buck, teasing everyone with the soft, tempting flash of your thighs. Your tits? Fuck, they moved with every rough jerk, straining against your little top, the fabric riding higher, threatening to give the whole damn bar a show. And your face—God, your face—lit with breathless, giddy laughter, lips parted just enough to make a man lose his mind. It was filthy and sweet all at once, a perfect contradiction, and Rafe felt like he might combust just watching. His fingers curled around his beer, grip tightening with every second you lasted, every bounce, every roll of your hips that made it look like you were riding something else entirely. He swore under his breath, muscles coiled so tight they ached, because you looked like sin wrapped in something sugary sweet, and he was the only man in the room who’d get to ruin you for it.

The second you hopped off, giggling and breathless, he was on you.

His hand clamped around your wrist, rough and commanding, tugging you into the shadowed corner of the bar where no one could see, but everyone damn well knew what was happening. You barely had a second to catch your breath before his lips brushed against your ear, voice dark and honey-thick. ❝Real cute, darlin’, lettin’ ‘em all get a look at what’s mine.❞

You shivered, your body betraying you instantly, thighs pressing together. His fingers traced up your arm, slow and teasing, before curling around your throat, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. The hunger there made your breath hitch, made your pulse flutter like a trapped bird. ❝Hope you remember how to move like that,❞ he murmured, rolling his hips against you, letting you feel how painfully hard he was. ❝‘Cause when we get home, you’re doin’ it all over again—‘cept this time, it’s gonna be on me.❞

The truck ride home was unbearable. Rafe drove one-handed, the other gripping your thigh, squeezing, stroking, fingers creeping higher every time you shifted. The air between you was thick with tension, your skin fever-hot, anticipation curling tight in your belly. Every bump in the road sent sparks of heat straight through you, making you bite your lip, making Rafe smirk because he knew.

He always knew.

The moment the front door slammed shut behind you, you were caged against it, a soft squeak escaping your lips. Rafe loomed over you, all broad shoulders and dark, raw hunger, the scent of sweat and leather clinging to his skin. His gaze devoured you, lingering on your parted lips, the frantic rise and fall of your chest, and the way your thighs pressed together under your tiny skirt. His fingers found the hem, flicking it up with a smirk, exposing your trembling body to him. ❝You like puttin' on a show, baby?❞ he rasped, dragging his knuckles up the sodden seam of your panties. The heat of his touch made you jolt, made you whimper, and he chuckled darkly, eyes glittering. ❝Like gettin' 'em all worked up? Makin' 'em wish they had you?❞

❝N-no—❞ you gasped, nails digging into the hard lines of his arms. ❝No?❞ he echoed, teasing the lace aside, fingertips barely ghosting over your throbbing clit, already swollen and needy for him. ❝Then why're you so fuckin' wet, huh?❞

Your face flamed, but before you could stammer out a response, he hoisted you up, manhandling you like you weighed nothing, carrying you through the house. You clung to him, breathless, your world spinning in a blur of rough kisses and desperate touches. His mouth found yours, devouring, claiming, as he kicked the bedroom door open. He dropped you onto the bed, peeling your clothes off with a reverence that made your skin burn. He paused, eyes drinking you in, hungry and starved, hands spreading your thighs wide, baring your slick folds to him.

❝Prettiest fuckin' thing I ever laid eyes on,❞ he breathed, lips brushing over your hipbone, nose nuzzling the crease of your thigh. ❝Gonna ride me like you rode that bull, sweetheart? Show me how bad you've been needin' it.❞ You scrambled over him, straddling his hips, hands sliding over the taut muscles of his chest, nails teasing lower. His cock, angry and flushed, slapped against his stomach, slushed and dripping precum. You whimpered at the sight of it, so thick, so heavy, throbbing just for you.

You lined yourself up, gasping as the fat head kissed your fluttering entrance, walls clenching at just the stretch of it. Inch by slow inch, you sank down, your cunt greedy, swallowing him up until he was buried balls-deep, kissing your cervix with a bruising pressure that made your vision blur. ❝Jesus fuckin' Christ, baby,❞ Rafe hissed, veins bulging along his forearms as he gripped your hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. ❝Tight little pussy's tryna milk me dry already.❞

You sobbed, hips grinding down, clit dragging against the hard ridge of his pelvis. Every shift, every roll of your hips sent sparks through you, your puffy clit throbbing from the constant friction, needy and slick. Wet, filthy sounds filled the room, your cunt squelching around him, drowning out your own breathless moans. ❝You wanted it so bad, didn't you?❞ he groaned, voice ragged. ❝Show me. Fuckin' work that pretty little pussy. Make a mess on me.❞

You obeyed, rolling your hips faster, chasing that high. Rafe's jaw clenched, his hips twitching up to meet yours, cock slamming into that sweet, spongy spot inside you over and over, making you cry out, incoherent and broken. ❝Rafe—!❞ you wailed, nails scraping down his chest, leaving angry red marks in your wake.

❝That's it, baby,❞ he growled, voice thick and trembling. ❝Give it to me. Cum all over this cock.❞ Your body shattered, walls clenching violently, fluttering around him like a vice. Stars exploded behind your eyes, a scream tearing from your throat as you soaked him, your juices dripping down onto his thighs, making the slide even wetter, nastier.

Rafe snarled, hips snapping up, cock slamming deep, rutting into your spasming pussy as he chased his own release. His balls tightened, cock pulsing hard inside you—then he was spilling, filling you up with hot, thick spurts, groaning like a man broken apart. You collapsed against him, trembling, feeling the obscene warmth of him leaking from your overworked cunt, his cock still twitching inside you. His hands roamed your back, soothing and grounding, pressing kisses to your damp temple.

❝Ain't no bull ever gonna make you scream like that,❞ he whispered, voice smug and sweet against your skin. And all you could do was sob and laugh, burying yourself deeper into his chest, letting him hold you, his cock still stuffed inside you, plugging his cum deep where it belonged.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : omg i love this and them so much already. this is actually insane for me because i’m obsessed. i need him so bad it’s not even funny

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[nanamis-baker]

Higuruma's hand combed through your hair as you kneeled before him, his length stuffed in your mouth while his tip brushed against your throat.

He was big- so big - you could barely breathe around his size, but you were determined to make him see stars.

"do it properly, okay?" He said as he took a drag of his cigarette.

You hummed around his length. Of course you would do it properly - he had been so stressed lately, but you couldn't say anything.

You started moving your head back and forth, the weight of his length pressing down your tongue as tried to take more of him, coating him in your spit and his pre-cum.

Higuruma groaned as your teeth gently scraped against his sensitive skin, the sound traveling straight to your core. Your tongue reached out to go over his slit causing him to let out a hiss.

You tried to move your hand so you can wrap them where your mouth can't reach, but the restraints - his tie - around your wrist prevented you.

"you want to use your hands, huh?" He asked, "don't worry though, your mouth is enough" he finished breathlessly.

Higuruma's hand tightened around the back of your neck as he took another drag of his cigarette, taping it to get rid of the ash around it.

He started to move your head on his length, forcing you to take more and more of him till your nose brushed against his pelvis.

Tears coated your eyelashes but you knew the man in front of you was just getting started.

Higuruma let go of the cigarette, smushing it in the ash tray before his hand threaded in your hair, grabbing hold of it before he started to fuck your mouth.

He moved your head up and down, his force brutal as he made you take his entire length again and again, moaning whenever his head brushed against your throat.

How hands itched to touch him- to touch yourself- you were so turned on right now, but there wasn't anything you could do except taking what he offered.

"good lord, you are doing it so well" Higuruma groaned, his hands shaking slightly. You knew he was close- you could feel him pulsing in your mouth, as a layer of sweet coated his exposed body, making him glow under the overhead lights of his office.

You sucked in your cheeks, humming around him, knowing that is what it would take to throw him over the edge.

And you were right, Higuruma came with a loud moan, filling you up, his hand not slowing down until the lasts of his orgasm were over.

Finally, he let go, helping you to your feet before he bent you over the desk he was sitting on.

"God, what are you doing to me?" He asked before plunging deep inside you.

a/n: Okay, this has been sitting in my drafts for the LONGEST time and I finally decided to post this smol smutty drabble haha Dividers by @/saradika

[eliciana]

Reverse SAGAU: The Weird Door At My Café

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 (Here) |...

Masterlist

Blog Navigation

Tw: Reverse!Isekai!Sagau, Normal Au, Café Au.

Reader: Gn!Reader, Adult!Reader, Cafe Owner!Reader

Characters: Reader, NPC's, Venti, Nahida

Note: Restaurant to Another World animanga inspired au. There is a taglist if you want to be tagged.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mika, your part-time high school helper, scuttled between tables with three plates of lemon tarts perched precariously along her forearms while the bell above the café door sang its familiar chime. You watched from behind the counter, suppressing a grin behind your coffee-stained apron as she negotiated the crushed floor with all the finesse of a tightrope walker. Over the past two weeks, your once quiet café has changed into something alive, bursting now with the clash of silverware and the hiss of the espresso machine, as well as the warm hum of conversation hanging in the air even after closing time.

Mika had been a godsend. Quiet but sharp-eyed, she'd taken to the rhythm of service like she'd been born for it. Just this morning, she'd caught a customer's spilled latte mid-air without breaking stride.

"Table six needs their check," she murmured as she glided past you, now reaching for the dessert menus. "And the gentleman by the window asked if we could refill the lavender cold brew."

"You'll say yes to him, but only because he said something nice about Lena's macarons," I said as I jotted it down. "And by the way, slip him one of the test batches of her passion fruit ganache-discreetly." 

Mika's lips quirked. "Bribery as a business strategy. Noted."

You looked at her smugly and giggled before signalling her to return to her work.

- 

The kitchen doors groaned open and a billow of steam clouded with vanilla came pouring out as Lena carried her tray of perfect éclairs. Hands that moved like a composer-especially every motion being precise, and every garnish placed in intentional elegance-were the magic of this girl, former pâtissier to Le Ciel Blanc. The first time she brought to you a fraisier cake, more perfect than a photoshopped one, you almost kissed her.

"Taste," she demanded again, thrusting a spoonful of silky chocolate toward your face. "The new single-origin blend. Is the acidity too forward?"

You let the ganache melt on your tongue, thinking. "It's bright, but the hazelnut praline balances it. Joon's going to go crazy over this."

And that word summoned Joon to burst through the kitchen doors, his chef's jacket bathed with what seemed to be raspberry coulis. "We need to talk about the sourdough schedule," he announced, waving a clipboard. "The starter's doubling faster since I moved it near the oven. If we adjust proofing times-"

You raised a hand. "Breathe, firecracker."

Joon had reconstructed your entire kitchen within forty-eight hours of being hired. Freshly graduated from culinary school, he had enough raw talent without much common sense. When you had asked him why he chose your café over the Michelin-starred establishments that fought over him, he just grinned and said, "Because you talked to your sourdough starter like it was your emotional support animal. I knew this was where all the real magic happened." 

Now, with the three of them settling into their roles, you finally had time to breathe. 

Which meant that now you could bring your attention back to that door.

-

Mika hummed as she mopped the café now quiet without the last customer present. The sound blended well with the jazz record you'd left spinning on the old turntable.

"Are you sure you wouldn't want me to help close up?" she quipped, hanging up her apron with military precision.

You shook your head. "Go study for your chem test. And take these." You shoved a box of leftover madeleines into her backpack.

Mika simply rolled her eyes. "You're worse than my abuela. See you tomorrow, boss."

At that moment she slammed the door behind her, and the air in the café shifted—like the space between heartbeats. You turned slowly.

There, nestled between flour sacks where it had no right to be, was the door.

Ordinary in every way except how it wasn't. The wood grain shimmered if you stared too long, and sometimes—when the café was empty and the moon was high—you swore you heard singing from the other side.

You exhaled, rolling up your sleeves.

Okay. It is time for another experiment.

--

Experiment #1: The Witness Test

Mrs. Khatri, your regular patron most patient, was sipping her masala chai with polite curiosity while pretending you are reorganizing the storage shelves. You had been brewing tea, talking about her granddaughter's ballet recital, and keeping an eye on the door for two hours.

"Are you expecting any delivery?" she asked as you turned to the door for the seventeenth time.

You nearly spilled a jar of cinnamon. "Just... waiting on a specialty tea order." 

The door looks like it doesn't want to open; it didn't want to have a single crease somewhere in it. 

The moment Mrs. Khatri cleared out with her parting "The cardamom was perfect today, dear," did the brass knob warm up under your fingertips as a sleeping creature that stirs under the absence of its owner.

So. No witnesses. Copy that.

–

Experiment #7: Teyvat's Objects on Earth

The Mora gleamed innocently on your ledger, its golden surface catching the warm lighting of the café. You learned quickly that not all could survive from the other side and continue living in this world, though.

Mist Flowers disintegrated into puddles of sad water. Valberries wilted overnight. But the Mora—the Mora was different.

The jeweler's loupe did tremble in his hand when you brought it to him: "This shouldn't exist," he'd whispered, turning it around. "This metallurgy is impossible—this purity of gold with this level of detail? And the markings..." His eyes snapped to yours. "Where did you really get this from?"

You'd lied smoothly. "A family heirloom." Wow, you really know how to lie between your teeth, huh?

Still, his offer of $2,300 made your palms sweat. 

Note: If Paimon ever finds out I'm sitting on a goldmine, I'm dead.

–

You were making some notes when the freaking door opened on its own.

Your pen froze mid-word.

Wind rushed in, not that stale city air you knew, but something wild and green, smelling of dandelions and distant thunderstorms. And then Venti tumbled through, catching himself hard against the counter.

He wasn't drunk, which was shocking.

The second was the blood matting his hair, the way his fingers trembled around his lyre like it was the only thing tethering him to this world.

"You," he hissed, teal eyes flashing with something ancient and dangerous. "What game are you playing?"

You raised your hands slowly. "No game. This is just my café."

His gaze darted around-the industrial espresso machine, the chalkboard menu, and the glass case displaying Lena's pastries. His nose wrinkled. "It smells like... burned sugar and regret."

"Caramel and ambition," you corrected, then winced. "And you're bleeding on my mahogany." You nudged the first-aid kit toward him.

"Who sent you?" Venti didn't move.

"No one." You kept your voice steady. "That door sometimes connects to other worlds. You're the second to come through."

"Second?" His grip on the lyre tightened.

"The Traveler and Paimon."

Something in his posture eased-just a fraction. "Hah. Should've known those two would find the universe's backdoor." 

-

The antiseptic stung your own hands as you dabbed at his temple. Venti flinched but didn't pull away, his breath warm against your wrist. 

"Stormterror?" you guessed. 

His laugh was brittle. "Among other things." A pause. "You know much for a... what are you, exactly?" 

"Café owner." You pressed the bandage gently. "Part-time interdimensional tour guide." 

Venti snorted, then winced. You slid a mug of cocoa toward him-no alcohol this time. He sniffed it like a suspicious cat before taking a cautious sip. His eyebrows shot up. "Oh. That's... not terrible." 

"It grows on you," you said. "Like moss." 

"Or a fungal infection," he shot back, but the edge in his voice had dulled. 

Outside, rain tapped against the windows like impatient fingers. Venti's hands strayed to his lyre, plucking a melody that made your chest ache-something older than nations, older than gods. 

You pretended not to notice when his playing faltered. 

By the third cocoa refill, Venti had migrated from "hostile intruder" to "annoying housecat," draped across your best booth with his boots on the upholstery. 

"Sooo," he drawled, spinning his empty mug. "This 'café' of yours. You just... feed interdimensional travelers?" 

"Mostly locals," you said, scrubbing an already-clean counter. "You're a special case." 

"Aw, I'm touched!" He grinned, but his eyes stayed wary. "And what do you get out of it?" 

You shrugged. "Good company." 

Venti's smile faltered. For a heartbeat, he looked lost-then he strummed a chord sharp enough to make your glassware vibrate. "Liar." 

You froze.

"Everyone wants something," he murmured, "the Traveler wants to find their sibling." He looked at the archons through narrowed eyes. "Whatever gods seek." His eyes pinned you. "What do you seek?"

The truth clawed at your throat - I just didn't want to be alone - but you swallowed it down. "A five-star Yelp review?"

Venti blinked. Then he laughed, genuine this time, the sound bright as sunlight through stained glass. "Fair enough. Though, what is a Yelp review?"

Soon enough he left.

You looked at the door blankly and took out a ledger.

-

"I'll put that on his tab." You scoffed. The first mug of cocoa you slid to him was just a welcome gift and free, not including his constant refilling.

Three days later, you nearly dropped the tray of éclairs when walking into the pre-dawn quiet café to find Nahida perched on a barstool and swinging her legs. 

"Oh!" She brightened, hopping down. "You're the door's keeper!"

You choked on air. "How-"

"The door told me," she said now, as if there were nothing extraordinary about it. At your shocked silence, she tilted her head, "Not in words, of course. More like... a feeling." Her tiny hands cupped the Cecilia flower Venti had left behind, its petals glowing faintly under her touch. "This remembers you."

"Remembers?" you echoed weakly.

Nahida hummed, those eyes of hers far too knowing for someone who looked like a child. "Memories stick to objects, places, even people." She leaned forward, whisper-soft. "Some of yours smell like us."

Your blood turned to ice.

But Nahida just smiled, sliding off the stool. "Don't worry. I'm just not going to pry." She pressed a crisp recipe card into your hands, Moon Pie, the words flowing with calligraphy. "For when you're ready."

Then she was gone, the door clicking behind her.

The Cecilia pulsed once, twice,

and burst into full bloom.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sorry bout the constant "-" throughout the story. Was kinda having a hard time transitioning but like yes. We ignore that hahahhaha....

Taglist:

@kameyo-kumo @esthelily @haru-tofuu @udretlnea @shining-nebula2000 @ifeellikejumpingoffacliff @resident-cryptid @allblognamesaretakenlikereally @leilakaro @stvrbrighttt @chericia @evaline-ethan @ra404 @mmmhyperfixation @original-person @chaoticfivesworld @lexal-amber-rose @floofeh-purpi @time-shardz @animeobsessed56 @fantasyhopperhea @yuan1819

[susicheng]

༘⋆ speechless (not if i can help it) . . . o.sn

class president! sion x valedictorian! reader . . . high school au; enemies to lovers

an oh sion smau status: ongoing . . . ! taglist: open . . . please reply, message, or ask to be added

updates: 3x a week

“ helloooo ncit high! with a new principal, me, in the building this year, things are going to be run a little bit differently! . . . i’ve received various questions regarding the— uhhh, graduation ceremony edits. i’m sure you’ve all heard the rumors— i remember how fast word got around in high school— there have been some. . . cuts. some of you might be more bothered than others, haha.. i’ve already received several… strongly worded emails. to answer your doubts, yes! the traditional valedictorian and class president speeches have been changed. there will only be one of the above this year! “ the crackling of the loudspeaker only added to the rage brewing beneath your skin. when you turned to level the primary cause of your fury with a glare, you found there was a heated gaze of his own already directed at you. oh sion, you’ll have to pry that speech out of my cold, dead hands.  or: oh sion, the widely beloved senior class president at ncit high. your competition for the student speech at your graduation ceremony. as valedictorian, you worked your ass off for 4 years to earn that speech time. all oh sion did was flash a pretty smile and get elected by the idiots gullible enough to think he was qualified.

profiles; couple therapy || academic victims chapters; 00. discount motivational speaker 01. (blood)thirsty

for my aegi. . . @holyhaech ♡⸝⸝ . . . . thank u for my first request ml

© susicheng .. 2025

[kaq3yma]

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 ft sakura haruka

syn: in which you spend a day in his home, taking care of your sick-boyfriend.

⸻ contains: very slight hurt to comfort.

qeena's brief note: can you tell? that im really bad with synopsis TvT i need to improve everything including my synopsis so help me huweeeeee and YESSSS i change my gifs lol idk why i did this but hm i think i'll change it back if i prefer the old ones ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻) BEHSBSKSHSJS ANYWAY.... this time, a good ole fic for my koochie koo baby sakura haruka 👅 that's all everyone, thank you, i love you, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated and happy reading xoxo 🩷💚

"He's a monster." Sakura was used to this, getting picked on, belittled, and criticised for something he didn't ask to born with. Well, at least he thought he was used to this but no, because if so, why does this stinging pain aching inside his heart hurt so much? The pain was a heavy weight on his shoulder making it impossible for him to stand up straight. He keep on looking down, not bothered to look up, even if he didn't, he's sure all eyes on him, on his weird hair.

"̸͉̭̎̇Ḩ̸̡̙̜̞̱͎̘̻́̃̔̓͐͂͑̑͘͠ế̴͇̽͆͊͑͑̈́͠'̸͕͇͍̺̗̭̱̠̘̬̀̋̂̅̚͝ş̷̜̹̺̜̀̋̒͊͘͝ ̶̬͉͎̮̯̩̿̀a̶̟̹̰̩̘͋̄͆͑͋̈́̅̕̚ ̴̨̦̖̗̦̓̃̔͐̀́́̆̒f̵̡̢̛͇͕̮̤̳̱͌̊̚͜ŗ̶̢̪̠͉̳͕͔͍̾͌͊̊̉̈́̓͘ḙ̶̢̡͖̯͈͇̹͖̇ͅą̵̨̫̠̳̮̞͈̀́͑̌͐͒͂̍͗̑k̷̹̟̫̗̐̊́́͗̋̈́̈͂̍.̵̧̧̩̖͚̟̋̈͐̉̾̉͜ͅ"̴̟̽́̈́̿̉̌̓̒̔͠

̷̴̡̡̨̘̝͈͉̦̼̳͎͎͇̣̑̂̂͆̃̃̈̉̌̔͠"̷̧͗̂͋̑̔̎G̴̡̫̪̣̳͙̘̫͔̈͛̆̐͘ó̴̲̇̽̓́̾͐͠͝ ̵̧̪͙̝̣̰̘͉̪̦̐̔͆̽̿̒̉̈́̓̚a̵̞̝͍̮̬͙̗̿̓͋̅͐̈̋̽̌ẅ̶̤̠̱́̓̏̇͛̄̇͘ͅa̷̯̻̥̰̯̍̃͋̓̏̃̋ÿ̵̩ ̸̜̏̅́̽̓̈̈̈́͘͠m̴̻͚̉̓̽͆̾ǫ̴̛̘̇́̑̂͜n̶̻̤̖̞̯̗͎̣̺͒͂̂̑̽̑͝ś̵̥̹̮͎̫̜̣̈́̆̒͘t̶̥͈̩́̎̈́̍̿͋̀̆̕͝e̸̡̢̪̎̿r̴̨̯͈͖͎̻̦̃͋̂̾̃̃̀͘͠,̷̫̳̭̄̄̀ ̷̻̹̖̟͉͎͔͛̚ļ̵̟̯̱̜͙̜̹͈̽̂͋̓e̴̦̻̳͂͐̒̈́̄̉͘a̵̻̙͓͙̐̓̿͛̎͋̽̓͝ͅv̴̩̜̠̅͆́̑̊̏͑́͘e̶̦̫̻̞̦͖̩͈͖̎͛̇͒̀̄̀̿ͅ ̸̢̛͓̼̣̻s̶͖̙͈͐̽̐̎͆̚c̸̩̱̠̝̤̣̻̿̈̂ḩ̵̧̧̥̯́̔͌̾̕ͅo̴̟̘̻̫̟̰̪̹̬̊̀͆͂̄́͒̓͠͝o̴̞̩͌̕͜l̸̖̝̹̤̮̮̋̄̍͌̚!̸̰̻́"̴͇̩̟̗͖̭͓͓̅̿͋͆̄͆̆̑͜͜͝

̷̸̗̥̜͎̖̹̝̬̔̿̃͐̔̏͑̎̑͑́̐̍̚̕͝"̵̨̢̯̠͉͉͚̳̖͍̎̿̋̓͆̽̈͠Y̵̧͇̳̤͙̗̪͚͍͓̅̀͘o̵̫̫̊͐ų̸̡̮̹̣̮̱̔̇̓͘ͅ'̸̳̻͍́̆̉͌̉̒̕̕ȓ̸̡̢̰̰̭̫̗̐̽͜e̶̹̥͒͌̌́̾̿̓͋͝ ̴̼̝̈́̌̽̂́́͠ṃ̶̩̖̲͓̊̿̃ã̴̱͇͈̠̲̖̣ķ̴̡̼̜̘̞̘̤̎̎̿̾͂̆̀̈́̌į̴̢̡͍̦̭̜̰̮͌̈́͆͐͌̿̿̔̾͜͝n̴̡̧̩̼̖̣̣̚͜͠g̵̛̮͓͈̯̪̞̍̿͒̆͆͜͝ͅ ̷̧͓̮͔͙̗̈͝p̸̐̾̀̾͋̃̓͐͜é̵̥̞̦̞̒̔̅ͅo̴̤̯̮͚̝̝̦̦͉̳̊̓̆͆͝p̶̧͖̫͍̥̹̊͒́̋̃l̵̡͚͚̘̥͈̜̭̒́e̷̢̦̻̒͂͝ ̷̦̣̪̖̍͑̅̅̃̚͘u̵̞̣͈̲̭̗͛̏̑n̴͙͇̪̩̥̻̙̜͆̋̔͂̓̈̒̕ͅͅc̷̛̤̪̯̠̻̔͂͂̊͘͘o̴̙̘̦͇̘̞͗̎̂͆̽̕͜͠͝ṃ̴̣̟̘̣͓͛͂̓͆͠f̵̡̝̖̬͖̟̣̼̻̈́̓̕o̶̡̩̣̙̟̬̤̽͊̒͂̑͐̑͝��͇͈r̸̡̺̲̼̬̻̰̹̹̬̊̿̉̾͊̍̽͠t̶̲͒̑͝a̶̧̛͙̾̇̐̈́͝͝b̴̧̪̳̔̈̉̐͗͋͠͝͠ĺ̴̡̨͚̳̂̍̈́́̏͒̋ḙ̶̪̮̗͕̺̻͋̈́̿̾̕͝ͅ,̵̨̯̒́͌̽́͊̋ ̸̝̂͂͒̆̚͝Ṡ̶̥͈͔̺͈̎̐͒́a̷̡̰̤̪͚̟͇͇̟̍́͒͊̇̚͘͝ͅk̴̛̙̭̙̳͍͕̺̋́̃͛u̶̺̔̽̀̍̇̇̑͝r̴̢̢̭͖̗̝̣̳̬͛̓̉͛ą̶̢̛̯̖͎̙͕̹͆̓̂̒̃̚

"̴̢̛̋̀̇L̴̺̚ḝ̵͔͔͋̓̍͐͜ͅȁ̶̧̘̜͍̯̖̼̪̟̀͐̇̅̏̿̎̉v̶̧̟̻̭̙̭̬̜̺͕̓̃̀͝͠ę̴̫̙̰͇̦̱̝̯̀͑́̄͘͝ͅ ̴̧̛̛̙̺͎͈̄o̷̤̒̈͠u̸̧̫̥̲͕͊͌͂̌͌͊̚̕͠r̸̨͉̪̩̲̙͉̞̂̽͜͝ ̸̨̪̹͎͚̩͉̹͂̄̔͛̍̈̽̍͘͜t̷̘̯̟͙̰̗͇̩̃̂́͛ơ̷̲͋̃̃̆̓w̴̢͔͍͙̩̜̹͓̪̆̏̋̋̅͆n̵̝̯͊͊͝,̵̜͈̭͍̳̖̾̐ ̸̼̠̬͎͈̩̻̓̆̔͐̌͋m̴̛̪̬̲̙͓̪̝̃̾̓̅̄͘͘o̸̠̪͚̫̤̺̬̿̈́n̶̢̹̹͓̞͓͊͋̉͋̾s̸̡̼͚̣̫͎̘͓͋̂̎͛̓̌̓t̴̛̘͙͓̝̦͈͙̪̣͗͒̉̆̅̽͗͝é̸̳̲͔̹̤̳͈͛̆̈̋͜͠͠ṙ̶̡̙̜͔̬͉͎̦͑́́̐̀̂̀͊!̴͈̘̻̹̮̱̘͎̺̾͗́̒̌̍̾̄̓͠"̸̧̯̩̮̠̬́̃̆́̿̏

The words plague in his mind was like a swarm of dark thoughts, multiplying and buzzing in his head, infecting every thought and feeling, turning the world into a twisted and distorted version of reality. He tries to bring his feet further from them but he can't. His feet brought to a sudden halt, he try to run, to pace away from them but he's unable to. Alas, his knees buckle beneath him and he fell down. He's in a void, pitched-black and mute. He can't make out any sound and it's suffocating.

He tries to get up, in search of light, but he fall back down. Terrified, he close his eyes and uncharacteristically, he feel tears prickling beneath his sockets "Help..." He muttered, planting his face down to himself.

"...Ru, Haru." He stir awake, heavy pants in between his rapid exhales and inhales. He look around the room, relieved to realized that it was all a dream. Turning his head down from looking at the leaked ceiling, he saw you, sitting beside him with food and basin with cloth. That's right, he's sick...

You put both the basin and the food down, settling them beside him and sat down in front of him "Are you alright? Are you having a bad dream." The dual-colored hair male turn away, face flushed in embarrassment "As if, bad dreams are childish." You chortle lightly at his remark, knowing it was nothing but a prideful bluff.

"I got you food, would you like to eat it?" Sakura is never one to be comfortable with 'help'. He thought it'd be an absolute burden for a person to take care of someone but after meeting you, he had learnt how to lean onto people, to find solace, especially in you.

He let you place the plate of food on his covered lap, getting him a clean set of utensil and a can of drink "I also got you medicine, make sure you take them, alright?" He kept a poker face but he internally freak out. Why does he have to consume medications? Won't he be just fine with sleeping and enough food to eat? He would never consume it-

"Open your mouth, Haru. It's just one pill." He purse his lips tight, sealing them so you cannot put the pill inside his cavern "Never-" You pop the pill and you watch him pace around the room, acting like he's choked. He grab his drink and drank everything in a go.

"Are you trying to get me kill?!" His eyes widen, bed hair sprung out and face red in humiliation. You stare at him, eyes wide and mouth gape "You're funny!" You laughs, and he can't help but blush even harder. Be glad he's wearing a shirt or else you can see his frustration down his neck to his upper back.

The situation died down after a few moments, Somehow, Sakura managed to cool down his flustered face before taking his place back under his futon to lie down and rest. All whilst you're sitting beside him, accompanying him throughout the day.

"You're still hot so I'm gonna need to put wet cloth on your head." He agreed to it, reluctantly, still a bit skeptical for some reason. But he closes his eyes, letting you take care of him as you please until he feel cold water dripping down to his hair.

He jerk up, body shuddering like a startled cat "Hey, what are you doing?!" He hissed, running his hand through his hair aggressively to get the water access out "That will help subside the cold, Haru!" You pull him down, forcing him to lie down while you wet his hair "Just, stay still." You fold the wet cloth after dipping it inside the lukewarm contained basin and drape it over his head "Done." He opens one eye, squint in to look at you.

You look down, eyes meeting with his yellow and blue grey-like irises. You didn't say anything, just simply staring at him and he can feel his eyes soften beneath your overwhelming gazes "T-Thanks..." He finally said, look away to avoid your eyes.

"I'm always here, Haru." Your hand clasp with him at that moment and he tensed up, startled by your sudden affection but not that he mind, he close his eyes, quietly hoping this time he'd dream of you instead.

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 is open. all rights reserved goes to @kaq3yma on tumblr.

[sturniphone]

──── introducing lola ⋆˚ ꩜ ｡

ˇ⋆ ╱ ‧ ˚ ꪆ can you imagine a silence so desperate to be heard?

;ଓ writer spotify sturniphone angel blush chris and matt because why choose winter reading perverted wifiskelton pretty nineteen crying nights tummy aches shopping voice memos

ˇ⋆ ⁹𓍢 mast ╱ taglist ╱ botlist

© sturniphone . . . est. 2025 ask before taking any form on inspirations from fic / au's

[kyojurismo]

luffy who puts his hat on your head before making you sit and get between your legs almost drooling.

[rotting-inkblot]

Food and Conversations to Aid Recovery

Pairing(s): Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Summary: After the Mall Incident, Billy is stuck in hospital to deal with the consequences, mostly alone between the occasional visit of Max and Susan, until he gets a new and unexpected visitor.

Warnings: Self harm, implied/referenced abuse, heavy angst, physical/psychological trauma, self-hatred, self-esteem issues, self-worth issues, homophobic language (the f-slur and the word sissy), period-typical homophobia, (likely) internalized homophobia, trust issues.

Additional Tags: Everyone lives/nobody dies AU, Billy Hargrove needs a hug, Billy Hargrove is bad at feelings, Steve Harrington is a sweetheart (or tries to be), Steve Harrington is bad at feelings, Billy Hargrove Has PTSD, hospitals, hospitalization, injury recovery, mind control aftermath & recovery, serious injuries, crying/sobbing, family issues, everyone has issues, dysfunctional family, angst with a happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, mentioned Max Mayfield, Jane "Eleven" Hopper, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan and Will Byers, post-battle of Starcourt, enemies to friends, could be read as romantic so: mutual pining/crushes, hair brushing, sleep, exhaustion, mom Steve Harrington, coping.

3.6k words / oneshot

Apparently everything narrowly missed his heart — physically at least. It’s all infuriatingly fuzzy between the overwhelming and insufferable clarity. One minute a nurse is upping his dosage and it everything feels like a blur, but as soon as he’s alone again it’s all so viscerally clear, so overpoweringly lucid, like he’s watching a crystal clear replay of a movie, clearer than any VHS he’s seen. Hates himself for it, but he’s spent most of his time in this place crying. Curled up under the thin sheets, shaking and sobbing as soon as he knows he’s alone. The nurses caught him instinctually trying to beat the tears out of himself, screaming echos of his father’s words a few times. Not that the man ever visited to do it himself. A week or so in, Susan told him he left. That his dad went back to California without him. Like he was already dead to him.

[kikufufuku]

unconsciously, you

pairings: university!bestfriend!gojo x reader

tags: two idiots pining, mild angst, mild swearing, dumb(?) oblivious(?) gojo, soft!gojo, jealousy

wc: 6.5k-ish? first work! hope u guys like it ᵔᴗᵔ

Satoru considered himself as a smart man, no, he knew. He’s basically the pride of his university, flying to different countries to participate in academic challenges. His name never dipped below number one on the rankings. Ever.

Everybody knew him not only for his ability to answer algebra questions under 15 seconds but also because of his looks. With long white eyelashes, paired with stunning blue eyes—one wink and he could bring a girl to his knees. He did. Flirting with them as he laughed at how they looked. He couldn’t understand what they were feeling. To him, they were just pathetic. He was handsome. He was intelligent. That was a fact. A truth as absolute as gravity.

So why couldn’t he figure himself out?

OR

Emotionally constipated Gojo Satoru who can’t seem to figure out what this specific feeling in his chest is.

Shoko lit up a cigarette.

She’s leaning next to the vending machine, ignoring Utahime’s complaints about how she shouldn’t do that on school grounds and she’ll get in trouble. As if Shoko gave a fuck. What are they gonna do? Expel her? As if. She knew they wouldn’t, no, they couldn’t. She was a top student and they couldn’t afford to lose her for the sake of the university.

“Ugh, fine, do whatever you want,” Utahime rolled her eyes, sipping her milk. “Where’s Geto anyway?”

“Right there, with Satoru,”

Utahime followed her line of vision and squinted, nodding as she saw their figures, standing near the grassy field.

“Geto looks like he's yapping his ass off,” Utahime snorted. “Gojo looks like he couldn’t give a shit.”

Shoko took a drag. “He’s doing it again,” she muttered.

“Hah? Do what? Gojo?”

“Yeah. He’s staring like a love-struck idiot.”

Utahime cackled, “To whom? Gojo? Love-struck? Please. That man flirts with air.”

But Shoko wasn’t smiling. “Exactly. He flirts with everyone. But he never stares.”

Utahime paused.

Gojo Satoru didn’t do romance.

He played with it—joked about it, teased it, weaponized it when it was convenient. But love? No.

He didn’t fall. He hovered safely above it, untouchable and unbothered.

And yet—

There he was.

“I doubt he even knows what he’s feeling,” Shoko exhaled a thin stream of smoke, amused. “He’s doing it subconsciously.”

“You think his feelings are reciprocated?”

“Hm.”

You laugh, running through the field as your friend chases you with a frog.

Satoru watches.

He knows he should be listening to whatever Suguru is saying, what he’s rambling about—maybe philosophy, the problems of the world, academics, who knows. Satoru sure as hell doesn’t know because he’s not paying attention. Sure, the words are there but they’re just background noise, like a low radio hum.

He’s in a trance. Watching you. You’re laughing. You’re happy. And for some reason, it made something in his chest shift.

He didn’t understand it. He didn’t like not understanding things. Gojo Satoru always knew what he was feeling. He could identify an emotion, categorize it, file it away.

But this? What the fuck is this?

This strange, warm pool in his stomach? It was warm. Gentle, almost. Like sunlight filtering through a window on a quiet afternoon.

Only when your head turns to him, beaming as you give him a big wave, before facing your friend as you plead for her to stop, does he snap out of it.

“So, what do you think?” Geto asked.

“Huh?” Satoru blinks, “Yeah, sounds cool.”

“Fucker. I just said I made the decision to go bald.”

“WHAT?!” Satoru yelled, catching other people’s attention as Geto slapped the back of his head.

“I just said that to find out whether you were actually listening or not. And I was right, you weren’t,” Geto deadpanned, like he was tired of his shit, “You were staring at her for 10 minutes.”

“I have not,” he says, a little too fast. Okay, that was too fast.

“You’re obvious.”

“No, I’m observant.”

“You’re whipped.”

“Shut up.”

Geto laughs and claps a hand on Satoru’s shoulder. “You’re in denial, man.”

Satoru scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” Geto challenges, still grinning.

“Fuck if I know,” He removes his hands from bis pockets, ruffling his hair, before groaning in both of his hands, “She’s my bestfriend, along with you guys. I care for her,”

“Right… Now I’ll go because the love of your life is on the way here,” The black haired man laughed and went on his way. Satoru gritted his teeth out of annoyance, the defense already in his throat, ready to yell SHE’S NOT THE LOVE OF MY LIFE, as he removed his hands from his face, only to look up and see you. The anger died as quickly as it came. Oh, Suguru wasn’t lying about you coming.

“Sup?” You sat down next to the chair beside him, looking up to see him looking down at you. He looked down at you, looking at the way your eyelashes flutter, your forehead shiny with sweat, and the way your chest heaves up and down. Nope. Not admiring. Just looking.

“So you’re also afraid of frogs huh?” He grinned, the ends of his lips curling up to reveal a teasing smile, his hand coming up to brush some strands of hair away from your face.

You rolled your eyes, slapping his wrist away, “No. I’m not.”

“Right.. let me add that to your list of fears. Cockroaches, spiders, heights, and now.. frogs.”

Kicking his ankle, you cackled as he nearly stumbled to his knees. “What are you even going to do with that list anyway? And I’m literally not afraid of frogs! I just ran because it was dead. Dead. I’m not afraid of living frogs.”

“Ouch!” He stood up, pain etched onto his features before he ruffled your hair, making it messy as he laughed, “I’m gonna show up to your house one day with cockroaches, spiders—make it infest your home,”

“You’d be dead before you even cross the gate,” you warned, swatting his hand away as you tried to fix your hair. “And it’s funny how you’re the one collecting this list like some obsessed maniac.”

He tilted his head, grinning. “Well, someone has to remember the details you forget. What if we’re in an apocalypse and I have to protect you from all your irrational fears?”

You narrowed your eyes, “In an apocalypse, you’re the first person I’d sacrifice.”

“Harsh,” he said, hand on his chest like you’d wounded him. “After everything I’ve done for you?”

“Oh? What exactly have you done for me?” you challenged, raising a brow.

Satoru tilted his head, putting a finger to his chin as he listed off things, “Hmm.. Letting you rant at ungodly hours, waiting for you after lectures, sharing my food and hoodies with you.. Holding a tissue up to your nose after you bawled because of—“

“RIGHT!” You screeched, slapping his forearm, “I get it. I get it.”

Satoru laughed at you as you slapped his forearm. Pouting. He wanted to grab your cheeks and squish, play, squeeze them. He didn’t. Instead, he sat back down beside you, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

It stretched into a long, comfortable, silence with both of you admiring the campus field in front of you, students walking by and the sounds of birds chirping present. The silence was nice. Before you broke it.

You sighed and leaned back, your elbows resting on the table behind you. “It’s nice out today.”

“Mhm.”

“Warm. Bright.” Satoru looked at you.

“Yup.” He murmured, looking away.

You glanced at him, catching the way his gaze lingered just a second too long. He looked away, feigning interest in the clouds like they were the most fascinating things he’d ever seen.

“Stop being weird,” you teased.

“I’m not weird,” he muttered. I just feel specific things about you right now and I’m not exactly sure what it is.

“You’re being weird. You’re, like, extra quiet. That’s suspicious.”

“You’re suspicious.”

“That’s not even a comeback.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t say it was.”

“Come on, what’s up, Toru?” Toru. Toru. Toru. You’ve always called him Toru, even Sat, but why does it feel different right now? He curses his emotions. He’d have to study on this later, maybe run a fucking experiment, write a thesis, because he is, unfortunately, still lacking for he cannot even comprehend what he’s feeling.

“Toru? Sat? Hellooo?” God help him. He could feel the warmth spreading to his ears as he forced himself to ignore your curious gaze, and instead opted to look at the grass field and clouds in front of you. What the fuck is happening to me?!?!

He couldn’t just tell you that he was feeling things. Not normal things. But complex things in his heart, his stomach, his ears, his brain—everywhere. So naturally, he panics. And panicking means deflecting.

“Okay, you know what’s actually up? The vending machines.”

You blink. “What?”

“They’ve replaced the lemon soda with some abomination called ‘citrus sparkle’ and it tastes like disappointment and floor cleaner. I’m serious, I think it gave me an existential crisis earlier. Like, if I can’t trust the lemon soda, what can I trust?”

You raise a brow, amused. “You’re ranting about soda now?”

“It’s betrayal in a can! I’ve been loyal to that drink since year one. It’s been there through my academic journey, study sessions, heartbreak—”

“Heartbreak? And as if you study.”

He freezes. “Figure of speech. And I do actually study! I’m literally at the top of the school, duh. Anyway, I just think we should stage a protest. Or a petition. At the very least a boycott. Don’t look at me like that, I’m serious. This is a matter of integrity.”

You laugh, fully now. “You’re the most dramatic person I’ve ever met.”

“And yet you continue to spend time with me. Tragic,” he sighs, dramatically throwing an arm over his eyes like a distressed poet.

“Of course, you’re my Satoru. My bestfriend. I think you’re fun.” You say, nudging his shoulder.

His breath hitches. My. My. My. My. I’m malfunctioning. Help. I have to play it off. He peeks at you from under his arm, expression unreadable for a second too long.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

A breeze passes. His arm drops. He looks at you like he wants to say something else—something real, something not about soda—but instead he just hums, the corners of his lips tugging up faintly.

“Then I guess I’ll keep being fun.”

You snort. “You do that, Toru.”

He looks at you again. Toru.

God, why does that sound like a problem now?

Satoru thinks he’s going insane.

No—scratch that. He knows he’s going insane.

Because how the hell is he supposed to finish this thesis when he hears your laugh in his head like it’s been hardwired into his brain? Every time his fingers hit the keys, he hears it—bright, familiar, cutting through the silence of the lounge like some parasitic melody that’s made a home in the corners of his mind and refuses to leave.

And no, it isn’t even just for today. You’ve been haunting every inch of his mind for how many weeks now, and he can’t—with all his intelligence—figure out why. You’re all he thinks about as soon as he wakes up, brushing his teeth and even on the way to campus. He should resent you for creeping in the depths of his mind but he won’t. He can’t.

You’re sitting across from him in the school lounge, sitting with your legs criss-crossed on the couch, headphones in, nodding along to whatever music you’re listening to, occasionally smiling at your screen like it said something funny. You’re doing nothing. And yet. Why? How? How are you tormenting him like this?

He grits his teeth, fingers smashing across the keyboard in a hurry, before backspacing for the nth time. He’s written the same sentence three times and erased it three times because halfway through typing “The prevalence of fast-food consumption..” his brain replaces it with “Are you hungry? Are you comfortable?”or “why are you laughing like that?” or “you’re so.. knskqjsownakakq” and he malfunctions.

He’s doomed. He knows he’s completely, utterly doomed.

“Hi, Satoru!” A high pitched voice says. Annoying. He slowly looked up from his laptop, seeing a familiar girl smiling shyly at him. She looks familiar. Meh. Probably one of the girls he flirted with before.

“What’s up?”

“Wanna go.. get dinner later?” If he was the same Satoru 4 weeks ago, before you were haunting him, he would say yes. He would say, sure babe, with a matching wink. But now.. now he finds himself glancing over your direction.

He finds you staring at him with an unreadable expression on your face. You meet his eyes as you raise your eyebrow, tilting your head to the girl before going back on your phone.

Satoru feels his throat dry up.

The girl was still waiting. Looking at him like he was the goddamn sun. And yeah, he was used to that. People looking at him like he was untouchable, like saying yes was a given, like they already knew the answer. Because he would actually say yes back then.

But now.. he glances at you.

And for some reason, now, the thought of disappointing you—even just a little—suddenly made his chest ache.

“Nah. Busy.”

He could hear the disappointed whimper of the girl, but he could care less as he went back on to looking at his laptop again. Occasionally stealing glances at you. Satoru couldn’t resist the small smile on his lips, his heart fond of just looking at you. He didn’t understand it—not really. He didn’t have the words or the framework or the damn thesis title that could explain why watching you scroll on your phone made him feel like he was home.

But maybe he’d embrace it.

“Toru,” you giggled, “Look at this. Come.”

“What is it?” He grinned, standing up, but not before deleting the tab.

TAB I. heart does backflips whenever you’re near somebody hELP ME GOOGLE

Deleting…

“Is it a silly cat video, again?” He sighed in exasperation, but it was filled with fondness. He playfully pushed you to give him space on the couch as he plopped beside you, leaning in, giving no regards to your personal space as he watched the Tiktok.

The warmth of your shoulder against his. The way your laugh vibrated through your chest, so close he could feel it. He wasn’t thinking anymore. Just reacting. Just existing next to you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then you both looked up at the same time.

Face to face.

So close that your breaths tangled in the air between you. Your eyes widened just a little, and his mouth parted like he was about to say something—anything—but nothing came out.

He could see all the details on your face. Your mascara, smudged just slightly under your lashes from hours of wear. The color of your eyes—he never realized they had those flecks of color near the center. The way your pupils dilated just a fraction as you stared back at him.

Even under the mascara, he could count your eyelashes. He could see the way your eyebrow twitched, ever so slightly that he doubted you even noticed. Do you see me too? The words were on top of his tongue, but somehow, he had no strength to say nor whisper it.

Do you see me too? He wonders what you’re thinking about right now. Are you counting his lashes? Do you see the details of his blue eyes? Do you see how his eyes dilate when he looks at you? (Even though he can’t directly see it, he knows. He knows, knows, knows.)

He could see the way your lips parted in surprise, feel the heat rising in his ears again, and for the first time in a long time, Satoru Gojo had absolutely no idea what the hell he was supposed to do.

His ears were warm, so warm that he could feel the warmth radiating from them. His heart had twisted, backflipped, cartwheeled into different directions all at once.

A beat passed. Neither of you moved.

His gaze dropped, unconsciously, to the curve of your lips. Soft. Dangerous. He swallowed hard. He flickered his gaze back to your eyes.

God. You were so close. He could just—

You blinked, a small breath escaping you—and it brushed against his cheek. His heart stuttered.

He didn’t understand this. Not really. But suddenly, understanding felt like the least important thing in the world. It was the least important thing when he’s this close to you. He can see the fine hairs near your temple, the tiny scar on your cheek when a cat scratched you—he remembered that day. He remembered taking a picture and laughing at you, but he also remembered putting a band-aid on top of it, sending you funny memes later that night to cheer you up.

He didn’t understand this shit. All he knew was that he really wanted to fucking kiss you.

If I move even an inch, I’ll kiss her.

And worse—I want to.

Then—

Your phone buzzed, making you both jolt and immediately pull back, laughter spilling between you like it had to make up for the tension.

“Jesus,” you laughed, voice strained. “That scared me.”

“Yeah,” he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Totally.”

You like Gojo Satoru.

There’s no use pretending. No dramatic denial, no inner monologue trying to convince yourself otherwise. You like him. With all his chaotic charm, razor-sharp wit, stupidly perfect face, and that rare, fleeting softness he only shows when no one’s looking.

Who wouldn’t?

You fell for him. Slowly, then all at once. Not because he was untouchable or because everyone else seemed to want him—but because when he laughed, really laughed, you felt like the world made a little more sense. You saw how he offered you his umbrella in the rain even though he was the one sneezing the day after. How he shared his last kikifuku mochi like it was some divine offering.

You fell for the late-night talks. The ones that started with memes and ended with “Do you think we’ll still be friends when we’re old and grey?”

You fell for how he remembered the smallest things. Your favorite snack. That one show you loved 3 years ago. The way you like your coffee. The way you don’t like bugs or anything remotely small and crawling.

And even though you knew he was too flirty, flirting with everyone in the goddamn campus, you still stayed. Even as he leans too close to some girl in the hallway, says something dumb and flirtatious just to make her giggle. When he winks across the cafeteria and it’s not for you.

You still stayed.

Stayed as his best friend. Because being his best friend was better than being nothing at all.

“He likes you!” Shoko groaned, rolling her eyes as she played with her food. You both were in the cafeteria, getting lunch when suddenly she brought up Satoru. “I swear to god, if I have to watch him stare at you with that love sick look on his face one more time—”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Ieri, he literally flirts with the student librarian. He calls her sweetheart. You think that guy likes me?” He flirts with everyone. I doubt he even knows what love is.

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you trust me? Yes that guy—who didn’t show up to his thesis presentation because of your period cramps. That guy who buys an extra bottle of your favorite drink and pretends it was an ‘extra.’ That guy who literally forgets his own birthday but remembered the exact date of your friendship anniversary and bought you a box filled with gifts. Yeah. That guy likes you.”

You looked away, focusing instead on peeling the corner of your bread like it was the most important task in the world. “That doesn’t mean he likes me. He’s just… like that. He’s sweet. He cares. That’s what he does.”

“Sweet?” Shoko snorted, “He fucking told Suguru his haircut was ugly and that it was a cry for help. He laughed out loud for 10 minutes.”

You tried not to smile. “Okay, yeah, that was kinda uncalled for.”

She leaned forward, tone softening. “Listen. I’m not saying he’s easy to read. Because he’s not. But he’s obvious with you.”

You looked at her. “But I’m just his best friend.”

“Exactly,” Shoko said. “And it’s always the best friend.”

Right. Right. In these cases, wasn’t it always the best friend who ended up with the main character? The one that’s been supporting them and being with them silently. Reassuringly. For God knows how long. You laugh bitterly in your head, as if. As if this was a movie plot. This was your life. But still.. You let the silence hang between you both for a beat too long. Because part of you wanted to believe her. Part of you wanted to take every accidental brush of his hand, every too-long glance, was filed under something more than friendship.

Yeah. Maybe there is a chance.

“Maybe,” You laugh, eyes crinkling up before you paused mid-bite, as your eyes flicked across the cafeteria—and then froze.

There he was.

The bane of your existence but also the love of your life albeit unrequited. Gojo Satoru, with that lopsided grin and messy hair he never bothered to fix unless someone told him to, standing near the vending machines. Talking to someone.

Your eyes flickered to the girl standing in front of him. You feel Shoko follow your line of sight from the corner of your eye but you don’t pay any attention to it, you can’t. Not when he was laughing. That laugh. That stupid, genuine, crinkly-eyed laugh that you used to think he only gave to you.

You watched as he offered her a drink from the vending machine. A citrus soda.

“They’ve replaced the lemon soda with some abomination called ‘citrus sparkle’ and it tastes like disappointment and floor cleaner. I’m serious, I think it gave me an existential crisis earlier.”

He said something dramatic, complete with flailing hands and a look of exaggerated betrayal. The girl laughed, clapping a hand over her mouth.

And you knew.

You knew what he said. You’ve heard him say it.

You aren’t as important as you thought. The voices in your head whisper, and suddenly the wounds of unrequited feelings hit you harder more than ever. It stings. Like someone poured salt on it. You thought it was your own little inside joke huh? Hah, as if.

You tore your eyes away before the ache in your chest turned into something visible. Your throat felt dry. You reached for your drink just to keep your hands busy. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Shoko didn’t say anything, but you knew she saw it too.

And she knew—because she sighed softly, nudging your plate a little closer like that would somehow anchor you back.

“I told you,” you murmured, eyes glued to the table. “He’s just like that. With everyone.”

“I still stand with what I said.” Shoko murmurs back, taking a bite of her food.

You don’t say anything.

Gojo Satoru leans back against the fence, eating a piece of kikufuku mochi, grimacing at the taste.

“Ugh,” He spat it out, throwing the packaging at a nearby trash can. “This brand sucks. They didn’t have the usual,”

“I told you it was disgusting,” Suguru voiced out, not bothering to look up as he played a game on his phone.

“Well, I don’t trust you. Especially with sweets. But I guess you were right this time,” Satoru grumbles, “It sucked. Fucking betrayal in the form of mochi. I miss my usual brand,”

Shoko raises an eyebrow from her spot beside him, pulling out a lighter to spark her cigarette. “You’re such a drama queen. You probably hoarded your usual brand and that’s why they’re out of stock.”

“I’m passionate,” he corrects, pointing a finger at her lazily.

“Sure,” she says dryly. She takes a slow drag and exhales. “Speaking of passions—when are you going to admit you’re in love with her?”

Suguru snorted.

He chokes. Actually chokes. Coughs into his sleeve like she just announced his funeral. The fuck? Unprovoked?

“What?” he gapes, eyes wide behind his sunglasses. “Who?”

Shoko gives him the flattest look known to mankind. “Don’t play dumb. You know who.”

He scoffs. “I’m not in love with her. Jesus, Shoko. She’s my best friend. My best friend.”

Love? He cackles at the idea. Gojo Satoru doesn’t do love.

Not because he’s running from it, but because he’s never really known what it feels like. He’s familiar with affection. That, he is a pro of. He knows how to charm, to tease, how to say all the right things to make someone laugh or blush or fall a little too fast. But love? The deep, shattering, love that he knows from the movies? Loving someone unconditionally? It’s not that he’s cold, or incapable. It’s just… foreign. Like a language he never learned. People say you just know when you’re in love. That it hits you out of nowhere, that it’s clear. But Satoru doesn’t know what that’s supposed to feel like.

“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t sound convinced.

“I just—care about her. Deeply. As a friend. A very important, high-priority, top-tier—platonic—friend. Like with you guys.”

“You’re fucking hopeless,” Suguru pitched, laughing with that infuriating voice of his. Satoru feels the urge to smack the back of his head but fortunately, he doesn’t act on his urge.

“Do you even know what a crush feels like?” Shoko stared at him, raising an eyebrow.

“A crush?

“Yeah. That fluttery, stupid, irritating feeling in your chest when someone’s around. When you look for them in a crowd without meaning to. When their name sounds different in your head. You know… a crush.” She said it slowly, like she was explaining basic math to a toddler.

“Well..” Satoru chewed his inner cheek, “I like people.. sometimes. ‘Specially pretty people, I guess.”

He thinks of you.

“That’s not the same,” Shoko said, huffed, “Liking someone because they’re pretty or smart or fun isn’t the same as catching feelings.”

Satoru raised a brow. “Catching feelings,” he echoed, like the phrase was foreign.

“Damn, so you’re saying with all the women you get, you’ve never actually catched feelings for any of them?” Suguru snorted, shaking his head.

Catching feelings.. He absentmindedly hums. Has he ever catched feelings? He has flirted, teased, women, gorgeous gorgeous women—hell he has kissed a few but he never felt that tight feeling in his chest. Or that weird fluttery thing Shoko is talking about. He doesn't look for anyone in a crowd.

Suddenly, his mind wanders to you. The way his eyes immediately zooms in your figure whenever you’re around in a crowd, the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. The way you roll them at his antics but still always save him a seat. The way your name sits differently in his head, softer somehow.

His lips press into a line.

“Yes, Satoru. Catching feelings.” Shoko snapped him out of it as she groaned, “Do you not realize what’s happening? With her? The way you look at her?”

His jaw tightened, just slightly. “I just care about her, okay? She’s my best friend.”

“Dude, there's nothing wrong with falling in love with your bestfriend. Why are you deep in denial?” Suguru groaned, “Fuck this game,” He scoffs, turning his phone off.

Shoko leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Right. Bestfriend. Look over there,”

Satoru snaps his head, his eyes instinctively flicking over to your figure. There you are. His chest immediately bursts into.. fondness, but it dies down as quick. Because there you are. Talking to some guy. Tall, decent-looking, too comfortable for Gojo’s liking. He can’t hear what the guy’s saying, but you’re laughing again, hand gently touching the guy’s arm.

Something snaps in his chest. His heart. But unlike the other times when he’s with you, it’s not doing cartwheels nor backflipping in multiple directions. This.. doesn’t seem pleasant.

He frowns. His jaw clenches.

Why does it feel like his lungs forgot how to expand?

“Still think it’s just friendship?”

You were curled up on your bed, blanket tangled around your legs, face contorted in a mixture of pain and annoyance. Heat pack pressed tightly against your abdomen, you were barely able to focus on the messages flooding your phone.

“Fuuuuck,” you groan, clutching your abdomen as you curl up on your bed. This fucking sucks. You grab your phone, eyes blinking and trying to focus on the messages. Satoru.

[toru <3 : on my way.]

[toru <3: u want ice cream orrr]

[toru <3: what do u want other than icecream]

[toru <3: my treat 🤑🤑]

You squinted at your screen.

[You: didn’t u have ur thesis presentation today????]

[You: wtf go focus. gl]

[toru <3: otw lol just stay there]

[You: be fr rn. dont.]

[You: hELLLOOO? reply]

[You: holy shit dont come]

[You: ok ure not replying i hope thats bc youre focusing on UR PRESENTATION!!!]

[You: im ok bruh istg]

No reply.

And then, a knock. Three taps, light and rhythmic.

You didn’t even have time to sit up before your door creaked open and there he was—Gojo Satoru, holding a bag of snacks, two lemon sodas and what suspiciously looked like a plushie shaped like a uterus. He walked in like he owned the place, kicked off his shoes, and dropped everything on your desk before coming over.

“What the fuck-“ you rasped, sitting up, “Didn’t you have your thesis presentation today?!”

“Reschedulable,” he said nonchalantly, already pulling your chair beside the bed and sitting down. “You, however, looked like you were about to wage war on your own organs.”

“That’s because I am,” you gritted out, clutching your stomach, “Still! Holy shit, go back right now, I can feed myself.”

“You’re in pain. So I’m here. Duh.”

“So?! You skipped your thesis presentation for me?!” You screeched, debating on whether to throw a pillow to his face or bawl your eyes out.

He shrugged, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at you. “It’s not like I can let my best girl suffer alone while I talk about.. well. My thesis. Besides,” He leaned in slightly. “You sounded like you were crying earlier. That kinda overrides all academic responsibility.”

You blink. And before you know it, before you can help it, your face has slowly turned red. You open your mouth but nothing comes out.

My best girl. My best girl. My best girl. My best girl. My best girl. My best girl. My best girl. My best girl. Mybestgirlmybestgirlmybestgirl—

“You good?” He brings a hand to your forehead, “You look red. Flushed. Don’t tell me you also have a fever,”

He was so unfair. So fucking unfair. You looked away, throat tightening. Why say that shit and don’t mean it?

“I’m fine.”

“Mhm.. I brought lemon soda. And ice cream. And, uh…” He held up the plushie. “This little uterus guy because I thought he might help you emotionally, or something.”

You stared at the plush, then at him. “You are actually insane.”

“I prefer ‘endearingly selfless,’” he grinned.

You shook your head, the smallest smile threatening to form. “You shouldn’t have skipped, Toru. Really.”

He was absurd. Irresponsible. Unbelievably dramatic. But in that moment, all you could feel was warmth—a strange, fluttering warmth that had nothing to do with the heat pack on your stomach.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

“Haaahh?” He grinned widely, a glint in his eyes as he leaned even closer, “What’d you say? Say it again, I didn’t hear. You said thank you? Wow! Say it again. Am I dreaming?”

“Fuckface!” You pushed his head away, not making eye contact with him. Because God knows that if you did, you would’ve fallen in love even more. And that was dangerous.

You were already falling so hard.

“Ugh,” You groaned, skimming through the papers of your thesis. “These fuckass groupmates.”

Your room is quiet except for the soft rustle of papers and the occasional frustrated sigh you let out.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, a thick stack of thesis drafts spread out around you like a paper battlefield. Red ink stains the corners of your notes, your highlighter is uncapped and dying, and your group mates are currently the number one reason you’re considering changing majors.

Satoru is on your bed, sprawled out like he owns the place. He’s flipping through one of your pillows like it might entertain him, long legs dangling off the edge, hair a mess from the way he’s been turning over and over like a restless kid.

“You need better pillows,” he says absentmindedly, voice muffled into the fabric.

“You need to go home,” You roll your eyes, fingers flipping through the pages, “You can’t exactly insult my pillows when you’re laying on top of it.”

He chuckles, the sound light and aimless. “You love my company.”

You don’t reply—just glare down at a sentence so poorly structured it makes you genuinely angry. ‘The qualitative data was analyzed in a manner that is significant to the research aim, showing results that may be indicative of patterns which can be observed over time’ Be so fucking for real. Word salad. Did they just jumble words together and hope for the best?

You flip through another page with more force than necessary.

Then, out of nowhere:

“Hey,” he says, softer.

You glance over your shoulder. “Hm?”

He’s lying on his side now, head propped on one hand, the other playing with the edge of your blanket. His gaze isn’t on you—it’s on the ceiling, distant and thoughtful. Unusual for him.

“Have you ever felt like…” He pauses. “Like something’s wrong with you because you don’t know what you’re feeling?”

The question lands heavier than you expect.

You swallow, “What kind of feeling?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, brows furrowed. “It’s not bad. Just… weird. Like my chest gets tight for no reason. And I look for someone without realizing it. And it’s like—when they talk, everything else just fades out.”

You press your lips together. There’s no name, but your mind wanders to the pretty girl he was talking with at the cafeteria. How he laughed, laughing like he does with you. Your heart sinks.

You know that feeling all too well. You feel it when he’s with you.

“That sounds like a crush,” you say lightly, careful to keep your voice from cracking.

He hums thoughtfully. “Shoko said the same thing.”

You force a smile, eyes scanning your paper without reading a single word. “Well, sounds like she’s right.”

You know Gojo Satoru. He doesn’t do crushes, nor love. You know him, too well. He’s interwoven in your soul and you can figure him out like a basic math problem. I guess that’s why it hurts, you think. Hearing him struggle to understand this feeling, realizing it’s real and meant for someone—someone who isn’t you—it hurts like hell. Because you know he’s never liked anyone before. Not like this. And now, for the first time, he actually does. But it’s not for you.

“I don’t really get it,” he continues, unaware of how still you’ve gone. “Like, I flirt with people. A lot. But this doesn’t feel like that. It’s not about how they look or what they say. It’s just… being near them feels different.”

You want to ask. You want to look up and say who? But the question stays lodged in your throat, too scared of the answer. The open wound of unrequited love stings. It’s throbbing. You want to wince, to let the tears fall out but you can’t.

Instead, you nod, flipping a page you don’t see. “Yeah. That’s a crush.”

There’s a long silence.

He sits up slowly, eyes flicking toward you. You don’t meet his gaze.

“Have you ever felt that way?” he asks.

This time, it’s your breath that catches. Your hands are still on the edge of the paper.

You finally glance at him, and he’s watching you now. Closely.

And you wonder—just for a second—if he’s asking you something else entirely.

“…Yeah,” you whisper, and you wonder if he hears the way your voice shakes.

Satoru just nods, almost like he’s relieved you understand.

And you wonder how someone so brilliant can still be this oblivious.

[You: IERI I’m SO FUCKED]

[ieri the loml: ?]

[You: he likes someone. im sure of it. he has a crush. yk that right. he told me u said the same thing]

[ieri the loml: yea]

[ieri the loml: did he tell u who it was

[You: NO but holy shit i feel so.. sad]

[You: i feel like its the girl we saw at the cafeteria ughhh]

[You: he was looking at her like she hung the STARS]

[You: i can do that too :/]

[You: whatever im gonna move on. REAL THIS TIME hahaha fuck this shittt]

[You: he doesnt do crushes! nor love!! i know him!!! so it hurts even more bc he now likes someone!! HE LOOKED SO INLOVE IERI I SWEAR]

[You: hellooooo do u have anything to say]

[You: comfort me pls]

[You: i dont wanna look at his stupid face anymore]

[You: ok im lying i still do]

[ieri the loml: wow that fucking idiot]

[You: ??????]

Gojo Satoru has finally realized something.

He likes you.

Not in the easy, casual way he’s used to. Not the harmless, flirt-and-move-on kind of interest he’s thrown at a dozen others. No—this one’s different. It’s uncomfortable. It lingers. It aches in quiet moments.

He doesn’t know when it started. Maybe it was that day you fell asleep beside him mid-rant, and he just sat there, watching your lashes flutter in your dreams. Maybe it was the way you always saw through him, even when he was hiding behind jokes. Maybe when you scolded him when he skipped his exams, just because.

He can still hear your voice.

“You stupid idiot! You skipped your exams just because?! Huh?! Well just because you’re the top fucking student and the university favors you doesn’t mean you can just— just do whatever you want! That exam was important, oh my god—“

He chuckles.

He doesn’t really get it. He really doesn’t. Not fully, atleast. The way his chest tightens when you smile, or how his ears go hot when your hand accidentally brushes his. How his brain just short circuits when you say something kind. Or worse—when you’re quiet, and he finds himself staring, admiring the little details on your face. He has done that so many times he thinks he can draw your face from memory.

He’s never done feelings. Never caught them. He thought he was immune.

But now?

Now he’s losing sleep thinking about you. Not in a desperate, obsessive way. He wasn’t a goddamn creep, but in that soft, terrifying way where you creep into his thoughts at the strangest times. Like when he hears a song you’d like, or when he passes by a store and thinks, they’d love that.

So this is what it feels like.

He hums, glancing at you. The park was quiet at midnight, cloaked in that rare kind of stillness only late hours could bring. The sky was deep blue, borderline black. Speckled with stars barely visible, and the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the occasional zooooom of cars.

You were seated on the swings, gently rocking back and forth, your sneakers barely skimming the dirt. Satoru stood nearby, leaning against the metal frame. The glow from a streetlamp a fee feet away cast soft shadows across his face. He sighed, pushing himself from the frame and walked to the bench.

“Sit with me,” he says.

“Hm? Okay?”

He hears the tilt in your head, he knows you’re tilting your head even when he has his back facing you. He knew you all too well. He doesn’t hear the creak of the swings anymore, and he knows you’ve stopped. He hears your footsteps and he sits down, spreading his legs wide. You glance at him, before sitting down beside him. He can feel the heat of your body next to his.

He never meant for this to happen.

His eyes glance to your thighs before flickering back to the moonlight. God, he was fucked.

No, this was never part of the plan.

He doesn’t even realize he’s speaking until he hears his own voice, low and unsteady:

“I think I like you.”

The words hang in the air, and for the first time in a long time, he feels exposed. Fuck, say something. The usually confident Satoru, the Satoru who answers algebra questions in under a minute, the Satoru, top of his university, the Satoru, who carries his group in all of his research and thesis, the Satoru, who, for the first time in his life, feels his hand sweat.

He hears your breath hitch and fuck, he wants to run. He wants to play it off. Say he’s joking. That you heard wrong. But he can’t. He won’t. Not this time.

Because suddenly, all the late nights and inside jokes and the way he remembers your coffee order without trying—it all adds up. This equation is clear.

He ignores your look, still gazing at the stars above. “I think I’ve been liking you for a while. I just didn’t know that’s what it was.”

Satoru expects you to laugh, or a disbelieving ‘hah?!’, or hit him on the shoulder. But instead, you’re quiet. That scares him more than anything. His heart’s pounding, his palms are sweating, and he wants to disappear—but he forces himself to stay, because this is the first time he’s being honest in a long, long time.

He sees you stand up from the corner in his eye, and his heart leaps out of his throat. Are you leaving? Fuck. Fuck—

But before he could dissolve into an overthinking puddle, before he could have an existential crisis, he finds himself staring at your eyes. He blinks. You were standing now. Infront of him. Looking down at him as he sits down.

“You said it wrong.”

Your voice is quiet, but it slices through the air like a blade.

Satoru blinks, startled. “What?”

You take a breath. “You said ‘I think I like you.’”

Another pause. Your gaze doesn’t waver. “But you don’t think, Satoru. You do. You do everything at full force. So don’t half-ass this.”

The breath he didn’t know he was holding escapes in a shallow exhale. His lips part—words caught in the knot in his throat.

You grab his hands, fondling with his fingers. His heart stutters as you pull him up to stand. His hands are trembling.

“You don’t need to be sure about everything all the time,” you murmur, squeezing his hand, “but when it’s me… when it’s this… I want you to mean it.”

His eyes finally meet yours. Wide, open, terrified.

So he swallows, shaky and raw, and says again—louder this time, more certain:

“I like you.”

Fuck it, he yanks his hand from your grip and instead brings both of them to your face — warm, trembling slightly. His thumbs brush your cheeks. Your breath catches.

“I like you, and it’s stupid and scary and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” he breathes, leaning forward.

“I’ve flirted with a dozen people,” Satoru admits. “Laughed with them, kissed some. None of it felt like anything. Just noise.” He pauses, “But you… you’re different. And I didn’t know how to name it. Not until recently.”

You exhale. He can’t tell if you’re relieved or scared. Maybe both. God knows he is.

“I started looking for you everywhere,” he continues, the words spilling now, like a dam breaking. “In crowds. In hallways. I noticed how I can’t stop listening when you talk, even when I pretend I’m not. And when you’re not around, I just…”

“I just miss you. Fuck, it’s always been you. Unconsciously, you.”

“Say it again,” you murmur, “but without thinking too hard.”

“I like you.”

You smile, and he thinks, Beautiful, “Good.”

He doesn’t even look at the stars anymore.

Just you. Your eyes are more beautiful than the entire milky way out there.

“I like you too, idiot,” you whisper, and when you lean in—when his lips finally meet yours—his heart bursts.

Under the cold midnight sky, Gojo Satoru finally lets himself fall.

[dollymatt]

⌗ sadness .ᐟ ⋆ . ꪆৎ ˚ I knew that it was cruel to be so optimistic, but, in my solitude, I couldn't resist the urge and spent entire days basking in idiotic fantasies, sometimes verging on prayer.

⋆.˚ IT'S NEVER OVER . . . ⸝⸝ chris n matts doll. angel. sinful. music. soft lips, sharp teeth. kissable. pretty when I cry. pinterest. fluff. angelic face, devilish mind. nettspend. movies. mdni. eighteen.

;ଓ masterlist ╱ taglist ╱ rules ╱ schedule ╱ other blogs

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 fic requests . . . currently open for my au's. not for readers that aren't mine ／ ⋆ ۪

refer to tags below for navigation

© DOLLYMATT ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025 do not plagiarise or repost my works on any other platforms.

[itsbeeble]

My Kink Is Karma

Summary: Sunwoo breaking up with you after three happy years was not on your bingo card. It's a good thing you believe in karma.

Genre: smut

Pairing: Kim Sunwoo x fem!reader

WC: 7.2k

THE BOYZ Masterlist MAIN Masterlist

PERM TAGLIST: @winterchimez @juyeonszn @flwoie @captain-brie

FIC TAGLIST: @sanaxo-o @from-izzy

WARNINGS: not edited at all tbh so please lmk if there's something that needs adjusting, Sunwoo kinda shitty in this, infidelity, credit card fraud (?), theft, oral (m and f receiving), making out, marking, p in v sex, overstimulation, swearing, a little bit of degradation, hair pulling, face sitting, fingering, and of course karma

18+ MDNI AGLESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

A/N: i miss being good at writing smut. Anyway enjoy this! Izzy has waited far too long and i'm sorry pookie :( I hope this is worth the wait

Sunwoo kicking you out on a random Tuesday afternoon hadn’t quite been what you planned for. In fact, you feel like you’ve been completely blindsided. Things had been going strong for almost three years— decent communication, his parents loved you, your parents loved him, and the sex was to die for. You had a shared group of friends, all of whom thought they would see the day you would get married if you could ever scrape together the money for it. You were young, sure, but you knew you loved him and wanted to spend the rest of your life with him, even if it meant spending your life savings on a cheap wedding and living in your parent’s basement for the next ten years. 

It was humiliating for you and him, the way you clutched at his knees with mascara running down your cheeks, begging him not to do this. Not to leave you like this. Things were good, you thought things were perfect. Was it work? Was he stressed from work? Or, maybe, it was a prank. Something that Eric put him up to.

No, it’s just not working out. You had to leave, pack your things and leave the fucking apartment that was in your name just because he wasn’t as in love with you as you were with him.

Alas, here you were six weeks later, refreshed and over that bullshit relationship with your best friend who practically saved your ass with some speech about karma.

The nail salon is practically buzzing with life, techs and customers alike skirting through the small building in a blur of motion. You watch each person carefully, gnawing on your lip and tapping your feet against the tiled ground. Nervous habits that you had never been able to shake. Normally, a steady hand would be on your thigh or across your shoulders to calm you. 

That steady hand, however, is no longer an option.

“You hear what’s going on with Sunwoo?” Hyori’s eyes turn to meet yours, the nail tech in front of her gently grabbing her hand to apply a fresh set of blue polish. You kiss your teeth, biting your tongue to hold back a stinging reply. 

“Why would I care what that piece of shit does?” 

Clearly, that doesn’t work very well. It does, however, bring you quite a bit of pain due to the sharpness of your teeth and the force you use to try and hold back the venom in your tone. The nail tech looks up briefly, breaking her focus on painting your stiletto-shaped nails dark green. You can feel the curiosity, the itch for drama in those eyes. Lucky for her, you’re in a very…dramatic mood, aching for a bit of karma. 

“Well, I mean, he did leave you homeless, took your credit cards and ran you into debt that your parents very graciously paid off, fucked your sister…need I go on?” Hyori’s nail tech snaps her head up, eyes wide.

“That explains why I shouldn’t give a fuck. Why should I?” 

“Well,” Hyori straightens in her chair, smiling so wide that you’re sure her cheeks are stinging. “I hear that he’s fuckin losing it lately. Like, destroyed his apartment so bad that the landlord kicked him out and he had to move back in with his parents.” 

Your jaw drops open, an appalled noise coming out of your mouth. Some sort of half-laugh-half-scoff sort of noise that has heads turning in your direction. 

“No way.”

“Mhm, apparently he was also getting with this girl who was, like, eighteen based on what Yerim told me.” 

“Bitch, you better be joking right now,” you scoff. “What a fucking weirdo.”

“Don’t quote me on that,” Hyori shrugs. “You know that Yerim is notoriously unreliable.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Remember the whole pickle situation?”

“Fuck, don’t remind me,” Hyori groans, leaning her head back on her chair. “I genuinely couldn’t leave my house for weeks after that— I was so embarrassed.”

“You and me both, girl.”

It gets quiet for a moment, both of you thinking about the question but not wanting to be the first to ask it. The nail techs, in this silence, are able to finish both of your nails and usher you off to pay. You can tell, just by looking back at them as you leave the building, that they’re just a bit pissed about not hearing the full story, about not hearing what you’re going to do about this whole thing. 

“So,” Hyori sighs as you slide into her passenger seat, “what are you gonna do?”

“C’mon, Hyori…” you click your tongue, voice trailing off as you mull over your options. “You should know by now that I tend to make sure karma bites people right in the ass.”

“You and your fucking kinks, girl,” Hyori scrunches her nose, laughing quietly to herself. “Let me guess, you’re gonna make damn sure he knows he fucked up by fucking his best friend?”

“Eric? Nah, the kid’s cute but not my type.” 

“I’m shocked, truly,” Hyori remarks. “What’ll you do then?” “You’ll find out soon enough, trust me.”

You never admit to Hyori just how much it turns you on that Sunwoo’s life is falling apart. You never told her how much you loved it when he crumbled and begged and pleaded for something. It was a secret, one that only you and Sunwoo knew about and that you ensured stayed between just the two of you before you left for good. 

You most certainly don’t tell Hyori about how you touched yourself to the thought of him almost every night. How you thought about Sunwoo and only Sunwoo when you slept with a man. How no dates ever lasted that long because you always ended up comparing to how Sunwoo used to be. If she found out how you still wanted him, how you wished he would come crawling back to you even if it was just for one night, she would kill you on the spot.

The next time you hear about Sunwoo is exactly two months after your breakup. However, it’s less you hearing about him than it is hearing from him. You thought you’d blocked his number after the first week when Hyori had caught you drunk calling his phone, begging for him to come back to you and to try and make things work. Pathetic is what she’d called you when you’d burst into tears. Desperate is what you’d called yourself when she crushed it under her stiletto. He’d cheated on you, not the other way around, so why were you so desperate for him to forgive you?

Your good friend, Karma, seems to have hit him. His texts had been nonstop since the night before, and phone calls streaming in soon after that never seemed to end. 

The first stream of texts were clearly drunk messages:

HFy bsby, plekde clal mfe

Im spory

Seh wasnt wothr if

Babyyyyyyyyy

Then came the voicemails, ones that you keep just for the future:

Hiiiiii baby! I miss you sooooo much, please call me back!

I know that I messed up, but I wanna make it work for us. The sex isn’t the same with her and no one could ever reaaaalllyyyy make me feel like you did. God, that tongue trick where you—” 

The audio for that one cuts out, and you can only assume that his friends caught him in time. Something swirls through your gut like a snake—pride, perhaps. Something smug, knowing that you have made him just as desperate as you were. Another emotion curls around you, closer to sorrow knowing that you can’t have him anymore. You won’t have him. Not after what he did to you. 

Your phone dings with another text and you put it on silent. The nail tech across from you, the same woman as last time, eyes it carefully.

“That the boy you broke up with?” She asks, painting your nails cherry red. You decided to keep the stiletto shape, loving the sharpness of it and how it accents each outfit you wear. 

“Yeah,” you sigh and relax your hands a bit. “Hasn’t shut up since last night.”

“Why haven’t you blocked him yet?” She taps your palm and you slide your hand into the UV light. 

“I dunno,” you shrug. Truly you don’t know the answer to that question. Do you miss him? After everything he did, do you really still love him?

“Hm,” The woman huffs and you sink back in your chair. “You should find out.”

“Hello?” Your phone sits on the counter as you cook dinner for yourself. Hyori is gone for the night, something about a date. 

“Y/N!” The cheery voice of your ex-boyfriend catches you off guard and the spatula in your hand drops to the counter. “How are you?”

“What the actual fuck?” You turn off the stove, walk over to where your phone is, and stare down at it with nothing but shock on your face. “Why the fuck are you calling me, Kim Sunwoo?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says as if stating the obvious. “Why else would I call?” The amusement in his voice makes your eyes twitch and your teeth grind against each other. 

“Is this some sort of sick joke? Did Eunbi put you up to this?” The feeling of your sister’s name leaves a bad taste in your mouth and you have to fight back a gag, placing the back of your hand over your lips. 

“Eunbi?” Sunwoo sounds confused now and you can practically see the pout on his plush lips. The same lips that used to—

Down girl.

“Yeah, Eunbi.” You pick at a string on your t-shirt and huff. “My sister. The one you fucked in our bed? Remember her?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line and the the speaker crackles like Sunwoo breathed into it. 

“Right. Eunbi. I forgot about that.”

Rage cracks through your veins, sending sparks through your body and your face begins to burn with it. 

“You forgot that you fucked my sister?” You’re seething, your heart pounding and your breathing rapid. “Are you fucking kidding me, Sunwoo?”

“Listen,” he drags the syllables out like he had made just a simple mistake. “I only fucked her one time and she wasn’t even that good. I want you, Y/N. Just you.”

You scoff. “Well, you should have thought about that before screwing her and fucking up my credit cards, bitch.” 

“Yeah, that I don’t have a defense for,” he sighs again, and there’s a rustling on his end of the line as if he’s adjusting his position or clothing. The burning in your cheeks eases as the silence goes on for a few minutes. 

“Why did you call me, Sunwoo?” 

“I wanted to talk,” he says simply. “Can you open the door now?”

Your body tenses when three knocks sound at your door. No fucking way did he show up here. For a few seconds, you refuse to move, rooted to your spot in the kitchen and reaching slowly to the knife holder next to you.

“Don’t reach for the knives, babe.” Sunwoo scolds and you drop your hand back to your side. “It was just me and I know you get nervous when you’re home alone.” The anger returns to your body in full swing and you slap your finger down on the red button to hang up. Your footsteps are so loud as you walk to the door that you know the downstairs neighbors will be pissed in a few minutes, but you can’t find yourself really caring about what they think about you. 

The lock clicks and you swing the door open, stopping it just before it slams against the wall that you really can’t afford to fix at the moment. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You snap, and Sunwoo grins sheepishly at you. Fuck, he looks good. Too good. Pathetic, maybe, but still good. His jeans hang low on his waist, showing the band of his underwear, and his black shirt has had the sleeves cut off and the hem potentially burned based on how messy it is. His shoes are stained and your nose curls at the mystery colors that could either be crayons or some sort of food he got at a club. You really aren’t sure which; not that you care anyway.

What really gets you is his hair. When you broke up, it had been naturally black and curly. You loved running your hands through it at the end of the night, loved yanking on it to force his lips to move to your clit when he ate you out. It was arguably your favorite feature about him aside from those wide, gorgeous eyes. When you look at him now, his hair is streaked with blond, sloppily done as if he’d done it at home with a grocery bag, cheap bleach, and a few beers on a Monday night. Your stomach churns, but not with anger this time. You recognize the feeling of arousal that pours through your veins and nearly washes away the rage entirely. 

“I told you I wanted to talk,” he digs his stained shoes into the dirty rug at the entryway, not looking you in the eyes. “You were ignoring my calls and messages, so I figured I’d stop by and see you. I miss you.” 

The pout on his lips is what makes you cave, and you step to the side to allow him into the apartment. You watch him carefully as he tugs his shoes off, letting him gaze around at your new (hopefully) temporary home. 

“Cute place you got here—”

“Cut the crap, Sunwoo.” Before I cave and kiss you senseless like a fucking moron. “You wanted to talk. What about?”

He gestures to the couch, pursing his lips as you move past him to take a seat as far from him as possible. It’s tense, the air thick with words that will remain unsaid as long as you can help it. It’s hard to control yourself, though. Hard to keep strong like Hyori taught you when the man you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with is sitting right there looking just so…

Fuckable.

Fuck, maybe you’re just desperate.

“I…” Sunwoo fidgets with his hands, looking down at his lap for a moment. “God this is harder than I thought it would be.” 

You soften just a bit, your body sinking into the couch and your legs tucking underneath you. 

“I wanted to apologize,” he finally gets out with a tight smile. “For, well, everything. You didn’t deserve how I treated you. I shouldn’t have…slept with Eunbi, and I definitely shouldn’t have run you into debt. It was horrible of me, and I’m sorry.”

You kiss your teeth and he looks at you hopefully. “It was really shitty, Sunwoo. We were together for three years.”

“I know,” he turns fully toward you and reaches forward to take your hands in his. “And I’m sorry.” You search his eyes for a hint of anything that might tell you otherwise.

A smile spreads across your lips when you find exactly what you’re looking for.

Lust. Desperation. The exact emotions that you’d been feeling for the two months it had been since you’d broken up. And, with those emotions found and locked into your brain, you know exactly how to play with him.

“Sunwoo,” you coo and he jumps at the sudden switch of attitude. Your hands pull from his and you let them dance across his thighs. His eyes flick down, watching your hands and trailing up your body ever so slowly and eventually meeting your eyes. “You really mean it, baby?” 

His cheeks darken, his lips parting in awe as you lean toward him, your breath fanning his face and sending shivers down his spine. 

“Baby,” Sunwoo’s palm comes to rest on your hip, his thumb sliding under your shirt and rubbing gentle circles. “I don’t— are you— I mean aren’t you angry?”

“Of course I’m angry,” you shrug but the smile remains on your lips. Slowly, you begin to move your hand from his thigh to his crotch and press down just enough for his breath to hitch. “That’s why I want you to fuck me.”

He doesn’t move, his hand frozen on your hip, unsure of what to do and how to proceed. Your lips are centimeters from his, your eyes half-lidded and waiting for him to move. He continues to stay frozen, his breath uneven and heavy, so you kiss him. Hard. 

You kiss him like you’re drunk—messy and wet, just as you know he likes it. Your tongue pushes into his mouth, pushing at his and forcing him into action. Your heart leaps at the feeling of his hands yanking you into his lap and his chest rumbling with a low groan. His lips move against yours with just as much passion and ferocity, his tongue flicking against yours and shoving past it to try and breach your mouth. He’s holding you so tight, his head shoving forward so you’re forced to lean back, but you’re not one to let him win so you push him back, grabbing his hair in one hand and yanking at the strands until he’s whining your name. 

“What, baby?” You coo, pulling away from his lips and licking at the string of spit that connects your lips. “Don’t you like it when I pull your hair?” 

Experimentally, you pull again and Sunwoo’s jaw drops open with an airy moan. “Mm, that’s what I thought.” 

You connect with him again, biting and sucking and licking at them, enjoying the sounds he makes while he tries to kiss you back. His hands are squeezing your hips so tightly, pulling you down to grind against his jean-clad cock. If he can’t kiss you, he’s gonna make damn sure that you have a hard time focusing. Unfortunately for him, you know all of his tricks. You know exactly what he does and when he does it. For example, if you suck at the skin just beneath his jaw, right next to his Adam’s apple, he lets out such pretty whines.

“Baby,” he gasps out, hips jumping into yours. “Fuck, w-why do you have to k-know me so well?” You just laugh, sucking at the soft skin until it’s practically bruised. Pleased with your work, you bite down just enough for him to yelp before pulling back to admire it. 

“You know me, Woo,” you purr, leaning forward again to lick a stripe up his neck and to his lips. They part, his mouth opening for you to lean over and gently kiss him with your tongue delicately brushing against his. Although maybe delicate isn’t quite the right word seeing as the moment your tongue is in his mouth, he starts to suck at it. One of his hands slides from your hip to tangle in your hair, holding you close to him as he sucks at the pink muscle and ruts his hips up into yours. You gasp quietly, just enough for it to get his attention. Sunwoo’s eyes are screwed shut, his hands holding you so tight that you’re afraid you’ll be bruised in the morning.

Who are you kidding, though?

If you aren’t bruised in the morning, you may just kick him out. 

“Sunwoo,” you murmur but your words are muffled. He just groans, pulling you closer if it was even possible. “Sunwoo, baby. We’re not fucking on Hyori’s couch.”

“Then we’ll take the floor,” he grunts, pulling away in annoyance. “I haven’t had good sex in two months, I’m not wasting any fucking time on switching rooms.” 

You scoff. “I’m not fucking you in my living room.” 

He goes to argue with you, but you’re already moving off his lap. “You can’t be serious, baby.” There’s a challenge in your eyes as you reach for the hem of your shirt. Any arguments he may have had are gone the second your shirt hits the ground, your breasts sitting so nicely on your chest with no bra to hide them from his view. 

“I’m very serious, Sunwoo.” Your hands move to the band of your shorts, the corner of your lips pulled into a smirk as you slowly pull them down your legs until you’re able to step out of them. As if in a trance, Sunwoo slowly rises to his feet, dragging forward until he’s merely a foot away from you. He reaches a hand out to grab you, but you take a step back. His brows furrow and he tries again but you’re still backing away from him. His trance seems to hold, much to your amusement, watching your breasts bounce with every step away from him until you reach your bedroom. 

“You knew that would work.” Sunwoo pouts, but it’s quick to turn into a grin when you finally let him touch you. Immediately he pushes you down onto the mattress, crawling over you until you’re caged beneath him, your eyes wide with lust and anticipation while he tries to figure out where to start. “Fuck, been too long since I’ve seen these pretty tits.”

Your thighs rub together and you draw your bottom lip between your teeth as he shifts down your body until he’s face to face with your chest. 

He’s a millimeter away from wrapping his lips around one of your nipples when you suddenly grab his hair and yank him back up, keeping his face in front of yours as you shift onto your knees. 

“What the fuck?” He whines, eyes glassy and confused. “What’d you do that for?”

“You didn’t think I’d make it that easy, did you?” You pout at him, mocking him, and his cheeks flush. “After everything you put me through, did you really think I’d make it so easy to get me again?”

“Well, I mean,” Sunwoo gulps, letting out a grunt when you pull his hair again. “Fucking— If you keep doing that, baby, I swear to god I’ll cum in my pants—” You just laugh at him, your eyes gleaming.

“You think a little begging is gonna stop me, Woo? What if,” you lean down until your lips brush against his ear, “I want you to do it?” 

Another yank at his hair and his whole body shudders, his hips jerking violently into yours and his mouth dropping open. Loud moans leave his mouth, a bit of drool seeping out of the corner of his lips that you’re quick to swoop down and lick up. 

You loved toying with him like this. You loved watching as he desperately tries to hold it together, to keep himself from cumming in his pants like a teenage boy but failing miserably at just one faint touch from you. Your hand falls from his hair, sliding down to his shoulder so you can push him to lie down on your mattress. He lets you, his eyes dazed and confused by what just happened to him but still staring at you with awe. 

“You know what you can do to make it up to me, Sunwoo?” You slide his shirt up his torso and he follows your movements, grabbing the fabric once it gets too high and tugging it over his head. 

“I’ll do anything, baby, please,” Sunwoo squeezes at your hips and pulls you down over his likely overstimulated cock. “Tell me what to do to make it better.”

“Let me sit on your face,” you purr, “eat me out like the good boy you are. If you make me squirt, I’ll even suck you off before I fuck you.”

“I thought I was fucking you?” Sunwoo cocks an eyebrow and you kiss your teeth. 

“Who says both can’t happen?” You retort, shifting your body until your dripping cunt is positioned right over his mouth. “Now get going before I change my mind and you have to fuck a pillow instead.”

Sunwoo wastes no time, his hands coming to grip your hips and pulling you down so you’re fully seated over his mouth. The motion earns him a quiet gasp, one of your hands coming to tangle in his messy hair and the other gripping your headboard. You’re more turned on than you’d let him believe, your cunt practically dripping into his open mouth, and Sunwoo’s body shudders at the familiar taste. You haven’t changed in the eight weeks it’s been since he left you, and neither has he. Truly he missed you, missed the way your body practically molded to his, missed the sounds you made, the way you spoke to him. Fuck, he felt like he was gonna burst in his pants if he wasn’t careful.

Your hips rock into his tongue, forcing the muscle to dip into you just a little more, dipping into your hole before swiping up to your clit. Sunwoo had, when you first started dating, developed this little pattern when he ate you out. He would drag his tongue as far down as he could, slowly work his way up until he found your clit, and would suck and lick and bite at the little nub until you were quivering and begging and soaking his face. He did this over and over, however this time it was different. He worked slowly, letting you work your hips over his face and letting you set the pace. His tongue laves over your clit with no sense of urgency, no hunger. His lips hardly move, but you can feel the way his breathing stutters and you can hear all of his little gasps and whines

Frankly, it pissed you off. 

You wanted him to try to take over. You wanted him to try to dominate you, to drive you wild, to rough you up like he always wanted. Here you were giving him free reign to do whatever he would like, and he’s not taking it. 

It’s not like him, and it pisses you off so you lift your hips off his face, rolling off his body until you’re sat next to him with a scowl permanently etched into your face. Sunwoo looks up at you, lips contorted into a pout and his eyes fully dazed with confusion. 

“Why’d you pull away?” His voice pitches into a whine, his hands reach to grab at your hips and pull you back over him.

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” You scoff, leaning back against your headboard and watching him rise onto his knees to look at you. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He leans toward you, hand resting on your thigh, and you smack it away.

“Don’t fucking touch me unless you’re gonna make it worth it for me!” You snap, beginning to slide off the bad. 

In that split second, it’s like something clicks in Sunwoo. His pout transforms into a smirk, his eyes glinting with something sly. He follows you off the bed, moving so fast that you could barely blink before you were pinned against your dresser, his hand on the back of your neck and the sound of his belt being undone fills your ears. 

“You’ve always been such a brat, haven’t you?” He leans in close, his lips brushing the skin between your shoulder blades. You struggle against him, pushing your hands against the dresser to force him back, but he’s stronger than you and forces you back down until you let your body become limp and pliant in his hold. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it, baby?”

“Fuck you,” you writhe beneath him, the hand not holding you down sliding down your back and cupping your ass in his palm. “Let me go, Kim Sunwoo.”

He kisses his teeth, and you can practically hear the way he smiles smugly at you. “Is that really how you want to talk to me? After all, I’m practically in control of your pleasure here.”

“I can take care of myself just fine.” You retort and turn your head to attempt a glare in his direction.

“You and I both know that you don’t get nearly enough satisfaction without me,” Sunwoo purrs, squeezing the flesh of your ass in his large hand before slipping his fingers down to your sopping wet heat. “You never have.”

He’s right, but you’d rather take a lifetime of nearly worthless orgasms than admit it to his stupid face. Your eyelids flutter when his fingers dip into you, pushing at your pulsing walls and stretching out your cunt to his liking. It’s as if he knows you like the back of his hand. 

Scratch that.

Sunwoo does, annoyingly, know you like the back of his hand. Emotionally, physically, any way he could possibly learn. He knew that you loved how it felt when he bit down on the junction between your collarbone and your throat. He knew that you loved when he was rough with you— pulling your hair, spanking you, choking you, bruising your hips with his fingers. He practically marked it in his brain every little sweet spot you had. 

So yeah, when he plunges his fingers deep inside you and curls them towards your front wall, just brushing against that sweet spot inside of you and practically forcing a loud moan from your body, you’re a bit peeved. Your whole fucking plan going out the window because your loser of an ex-boyfriend just happens to know you better than you want him to. Why did you have to date him for so long?

“Fuck,” you hiss out and roll your hips back against his hand. “Fuck, Sunwoo, why are you so-o good with your hands?” You stutter, much to your own dismay, and he drops his head against your shoulder. 

“Taught only by the best, sweetheart.” His other hand swoops around your front, his index and middle fingers driving against your clit roughly until you’re squirming and crying for him, your head falling against the dresser and your legs threatening to collapse. Sunwoo pulls moan after moan, sob after sob, any noise he knows you can make. He pulls them all from within you until your throat is raw and threatening to crack. “Gonna cum? Gonna cum for your ex-boyfriend, Y/N? What a sick little girl you are— dripping all over my hands, moaning for the man who fucked your life up. Do you feel dirty? Do you know how filthy you are?”

You arch your back against him, tears springing to your eyes as he drives you closer and closer to an orgasm. 

“G-gonna cum, Sunwoo,” you gasp out, “fuck, gonna cum all over your hands like a dirty little slut!” 

Sunwoo stumbles over his movements for a second, only briefly surprised by your words before he’s picking the pace back up. “That’s right, beautiful. You’re a dirty little slut, huh? You’re my dirty little slut.”

Your walls tense around his fingers, so tight he can barely hold his pace, and your eyes squeeze shut. A sharp bite of pain fills your veins as you bite down on your lip, drawing a bit of blood as you try desperately to hold back the sounds that you know he’s trying to pull out of you. You fail, whining his name and reaching a hand back to tangle in his hair, yanking at the strands as you cum. Your walls flutter around his fingers, your cunt gushing with your slick and dripping down his hand. Sunwoo draws his fingers out of you, leaving you empty but not without the feeling of his other hand rubbing at your clit. The pleasure is overrun with overstimulation, an ache that turns your cries into quiet sobs.

“Sun-Sunwoo,” you plead, trying to pull yourself out of his grip. Unfortunately, you find yourself still trapped between his larger body and the wooden dresser. “Pl-please, ‘s too m-much!” 

“Oh, is it?” he coos in your ear, nipping lightly at the skin beneath it. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t realize you wanted me to stop.” 

When he finishes his sentence he all but rips his hand away from you. Your body immediately falls slack, your arms barely having the strength to catch you as your ex-boyfriend pulls away and works at his belt. Sunwoo watches your trembling body, the smug glint in his eye returning.

“You’re an…an asshole.” Your teeth grit together as you stumble over to him, gripping his jaw in your hand and squeezing tightly. “A true asshole, Kim Sunwoo.” 

His body falls back, his hands going from his belt to your waist as you work at the button of his pants. “You love me, though.” 

You scoff, “you think I still love you?” 

His eyebrow quirks. “Don’t you? Why else would I be here, in your bed, on a random night months after we broke up.” Sunwoo lifts his hips as he speaks, allowing you to pull his clothing down just enough to get his rock-hard cock out. 

“Because I haven’t had a good fuck since we broke up,” you say simply, hissing as you sink down on him. You’d dated him for three years and even after all that time, the sting that came with fucking him never went away. “Shit, forgot how big you were.” 

His grip on your waist tightens, his jaw ticking as your hips meet his. “And I forgot how tight your little pussy was. Guess we’re both taking a little trip down— son of a bitch—” 

Sunwoo cuts himself off with a loud groan as you clench around him, lifting your hips slowly before dropping back down with a loud smack of skin against skin. 

“Were you saying something?” Your words come out breathy, a quiet whine following soon after as you begin to grind yourself down on Sunwoo’s cock. 

“You’re a fucking menace,” Sunwoo grunts, his eyes squeezing shut and his body going completely slack. His fingers slip from your waist, instead resting on the sides of your thighs. He lets you take control, lets you take as much as you want from him. “I missed you, missed your fucking cunt.” A tight squeeze against your skin before his jaw falls open and loud moans fill the air. You can’t bring yourself to laugh, your focus entirely on holding a steady pace and drawing the knot in your stomach back into place. The sting in your thighs is almost unbearable, almost too much for you, but you’d be damned if you didn’t finish what you started. 

Your hands find purchase on Sunwoo’s chest, your dark green nails digging into his chest and breaking the skin. Slowly, ever so slowly, you raise your hips again and let them fall. His tip punches into the sweetest spot inside of you, pushing against it over and over as you repeat your motions. You let your body sink forward, your chest against his and your faces mere centimeters away from each other. You’re so close that you can see the tiny beads of sweat beginning to form on his face, the way his eyelashes flutter. 

“Such a pretty boy, hm?” You murmur, dipping your head down and licking away a bead of sweat on his jawline. “So pretty, so good for me.” Your walls flutter again and Sunwoo wwhines, taking hold of your ass with both hands. 

“C-can’t—” Sunwoo gasps out, but his words become choked moans. “Fuck, you- you feel t-too good.” 

You laugh, sucking a hickey into his golden skin, biting at the purple mark when you’re finished. “Only the best for you, baby.” 

His hips begin to thrust into yours, his hands holding your body in place as he chases an orgasm that’s so close that he can practically taste it. You watch as his eyes roll back, your own drifting shut as you let pleasure overcome you again. He doesn’t stop, and you don’t want him to, even when liquid spurts out of you and coats his lower body, your sheets, and everything beneath the two of you. Even when his cum drips out of you in thick white globs and smears against your skin. He doesn’t stop until his hips are jerking and not a single drop of cum can be pulled from his cock. 

Your body is shaking, but you find enough strength to pull your body away from his, sinking to your knees in front of him. Sunwoo can barely lift his head to watch you, his hand lacing into your hair as you take his softening cock into your mouth and suck gently at it, moaning at the taste of your cum mixing together, You place your hands on both of his thighs, sucking and licking until there’s nothing left, leaving him half-hard and twitching in your mouth. 

“You’re fucking insatiable, sweetheart,” Sunwoo moans so prettily, trying to tug you off of him. You giggle, letting him pull you off but dropping your head to give his balls the same attention you’d given his cock. “Son of a— baby, baby wait—”

You pull off him when he says that, laying your cheek on his thigh and watch him try to catch his breath. His chest heaves, his grip on your hair tightening and loosening repeatedly in an attempt to ground himself. 

“Had enough?” Your lips press against his warm skin and he scoffs. 

“You’re terrible.”

“Mm…is that so?” you press another kiss and he sits up, sliding his hand from your hair to your chin and grabbing it between his thumb and pointer to pull you toward him. 

“I fucking love you.” The kiss he gives you is hot, wet, and messy. His tongue dips into your mouth pushing further and further until he’s practically in your throat before pulling back and staring down at you. “My little minx.”

You smile, eyes fluttering when he closes the gap between your mouths again. 

“What the fuck? Sunwoo stares at you from the couch cushion, eyes narrowed into a glare. “You’re— what the fuck?”

“I want you out of my apartment.” You shrug, crossing your arms as you sip at your coffee. “Simple as that.”

“But I—” he shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes as he tries to comprehend what you’re saying. “I thought that you— I thought we had a good time. I thought you…that you wanted me back. I don’t— I don’t understand.”

“You thought I wanted you back?” You scoff, lips twitching into a smirk. “What gave you that idea?”

“Maybe the fact that you said you did!”

You kiss your teeth and set your coffee down on the counter behind you. Sunwoo watches your every move, feet tapping against the carpet beneath him. 

“Sunwoo, do you know what my favorite kink is?”

“I don’t fucking know, somnophilia?” 

You can’t help but laugh at his response, tilting your head back and putting a hand on your chest. Sunwoo, however, isn’t laughing. He looks at you with confusion and anger, a mix of emotions you can relate to all too well. 

“You’re so funny, baby.” You’re close enough now that you’re able to sit beside him and let your hand tangle in his hair. You practically straddle him, one leg thrown across his lap and your lips sucking at his neck, adding to the…decorations you had left the night before. “But no, it’s not. Close!”

He leans into your touch, although it may be a bit reluctantly if the look on his face is anything to go off of. 

“What is it, then? Hm? What, do you have some sort of like, secret piss kink?” He pulls your face toward his, kissing you and almost making you doubt your decision. 

“Ew, Sunwoo,” you wrinkle your nose, scratching your nails lightly on the back of his neck and relishing in the goosebumps forming under your skin. “Karma. That’s my favorite kink.” 

“And why is that?” He noses at your jawline. “Why would you wish karma on me, hm? Don’t you like how I touch you?” You tilt your head back, humming as he mouths at your throat. 

“Of course I do,” you admit. “But I also have self-respect. And you fucked my sister.” He tenses, pulling back from you. 

“I thought you were over that?” 

“Why would I get over you fucking my sister?” you smack the back of his head and stand from the couch. “You’re a fucking idiot, Kim Sunwoo, and I truly hope I never see your face again.”

“You can’t be serious.” He’s standing too, reaching a hand toward you in a desperate attempt to get you to talk to him. “C’mon, baby. Isn’t this too much? We would be so happy together!”

“We tried that once before,” you push him back, forcing him closer to the door. “And it didn’t end well.”

“I made a mistake, so what?!” He snaps, almost dropping his shoes as you shove them into his arms. “I admit it! I was wrong! I shouldn’t have cheated on you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“I want you to get the fuck out of my apartment and never speak to me again, actually.” You open the door, waving your hand in a shooing motion. “Bye now!” 

He tries to speak again, but the door slamming in his face stops him. You breathe out a sigh of relief, leaning back against the cold metal, and close your eyes. 

“He took that shockingly well,” the door of Hyori’s room clicks shut as she steps into the living room, and you open your eyes to look at her. You smirk a bit, letting your body relax.

“I expected him to try fucking me again.”

“Honestly so did I,” she hands you the mug of coffee you’d set down and takes her seat on the couch. “Was it worth it?”

“Hm?” You tilt your head. 

“You know,” she waves her hand at the door. “That. Was fucking him and kicking him out really worth it?” 

You shrug. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, I at least got some good shit out of it.”

“A good fuck.” Hyori agrees.

“And some money.” You smile, that same smug smile that Sunwoo had been flashing you all night. It was almost uncanny, and you watch Hyori’s nose wrinkle.

“He paid you?”

“Ew, no, I realize that came out wrong.”

“Oh,” she sighs. “Thank god, I thought I would have to smack some sense into you and then take the money for myself.”

“No, never like that.” You shake your head and smile. “More like the money that was in his wallet.” 

Hyori barks out a laugh. “Yeah, right. You had the time to get the money from his wallet between everything that…that was happening…” she trails off, sinking back in her cushion as you pull a massive wad of cash and a credit card out of the drawer in the side table next to you. “Holy shit, how did you…how did he not notice?”

“I’m a very good distraction,” you shrug. 

“Why did you…why the fuck did you do that?” She’s appalled and, for the record, you completely understand why. However, you have a perfectly good reason.

You only shrug in response to her question. 

“Isn’t it obvious? Karma.”

© itsbeeble. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[rafessecret]

✷ read me ╱ masterlist ╱ shop for readers ╱ taglist ╱ recs

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 fic requests . . . currently closed ／ ⋆ ۪

refer to tags below for navigation

. . . sturniolo blog here

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025 do not plagiarise or repost my works on any other platforms.

[nanamis-baker]

People were waiting just outside the room for his sermon, yet Suguru was here, stuffed deep inside your mouth.

Tears blurred your vision as you looked up at him, his yakuta robes untied, his gold kāsāya pushed aside to give you space to settle between his muscular legs.

"Eyes here, okay?" Suguru chided you slightly, causing you to nod your head as your drifting eyes found his again.

He was so big; it would have been impossible for you to take him whole, if his hands weren't gripping your hair, guiding your head to take him deep into your throat.

His hard length throbbed in your mouth, filling you up completely. You were having a hard time keeping your teeth away, but luckily, Suguru enjoyed the gentle scrap of your teeth against his cock.

You moved your head back and forth, sucking him into your mouth, your tongue caressing his sensitive head. Suguru gasped slightly, a bead of sweat running down his temple as he looked down at you.

When your teeth scrapped against him once again, Suguru threw his head back, a hiss escaping his lips, "Just like that" he groaned, his large hand resting on your head, caressing it.

His other hand reached inside his robes, and he pulled out a small remote. You knew what was coming next.

Your thighs squeezed together as you felt a new sensation on your core. The vibrator started buzzing between your legs as Suguru turned it on, making you gasp around his length.

You pulled back - the sensation too much - leaving him covered in your saliva. Biting down on your lips, you hoped to prevent the moans from escaping your lips - there were people outside, after all.

Suguru's hand tightening around your neck as - despite your best efforts - a loud moan escaped your throat. His thumb brushing over your wet lips, collecting the moisture before shoving his thumb in your mouth, the last of his pre-cum dancing on your tongue.

He then angled your head to meet his dark eyes, "Easy there." Despite his warning, there was a teasing undertone in his voice. "If you are too loud, they will hear you." He pouted slightly, gesturing towards the door. "But that's what you want, hmm? For them to hear you?"

Before you could even respond, the sound of a single, sharp knock vibrated in the air. Suguru increased the speed of the vibrator further, causing you to gasp, a smirk playing on his lips before he entered your mouth again in one go.

At the same time, he responded to the knock.

"They are waiting for you outside." You heard a woman say. It was Manami's voice. Suguru opened his mouth to respond, but you sucked him hard, causing him to choke back his words.

"Everything okay?" Manami asked again when Suguru didn't respond. Oh, she was so worried for her master, but little did she know, her master was busy getting his cock sucked off.

Suguru must have noticed the glint in your eyes as he answered, his voice rushed. "Everything's fine, I will be - fuck - I will be there soon." He finished as you began caressing the base of his length, fingers brushing against his balls.

Satisfied with his response, you heard Manami walk away.

"Such a tease," Suguru gritted out, before he increased the speed of the vibrator, setting it to maximum.

Your thighs clenched together as he grabbed your hair roughly, taking control of your movement, using your mouth as he pleased.

You struggled to breathe around his size, his balls slapping on your chin, when you heard him say, "You look perfect like this - struggling to breathe around my cock."

His words ignited something in you, making you grind your hips faster against the vibrator.

Tears ran down your face as his thrusts turned brutal. His length pulsed in your mouth, his control slipping away from his grasp. You could tell he was close.

Collecting all your hair in a ponytail, Suguru used it to leverage his speed. His legs shook slightly, his voice breathless as he forced out "You're gonna make me cum so hard"

You hummed around his length, and that was all he needed before he came in your mouth, his hot load filling you up, his taste clouding your senses.

Your own orgasm followed his as you came around the vibrator, making a mess on the floor.

You grabbed his thighs as you continued moving your head against him, drawing out his orgasm as Suguru threw his head back, a string moans and curses leaving his mouth.

When the last of his orgasm faded away, Suguru's fingers brushed against your cheeks as he said, his voice soft, "I could remain buried inside you like this forever"

a/n: Okay this account is slowly turning into a smut account lol. Not complaining though

Dividers by @/saradika