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celestie0 · 3 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch8. two steps back

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency department, just got broken up with your boyfriend of 7 years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation with him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw slight age gap bc gojo in this fic is 34 n reader is 29

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 8/x

ᰔ words. 10.2k

a/n. hellooo my ihm loves! i missed you all very much. i don't have much to say here lolol but i'll see you at the end!!! hope you enjoy the first gojo pov chapter!!

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“Now see this? The little bunny ears?” Gojo says from where he’s crouched down towards the freshly-sprinkle-wet pavement of the sidewalk, his fingers pinching sparkly pink shoelace together, his view of the children’s size seven shoe obscured by his tie dangling from his neck. He would flip it over his shoulder and out of the way, but he had not one second to spare when it comes to keeping the attention of a five-year-old.

“Mhm…” Juno mumbles, nodding her head slowly as she tucks her chin to look down at the tutorial.

“Okay,” Gojo says, “just like I taught you last time, you take the bunny ears…and then cross them over like this…” He does it slowly enough to where she can follow along. And then threads one loop through the other to form a knot.

“They’re friends! The bunnies!” Juno chirps, squealing at the possibility.

“Yes, Juno, the bunnies are friends,” Gojo says.

“Are they best friends?”

“They can be whatever you want, kiddo.”

He finishes tying the shoe, and the second that he does, Juno stomps her other foot in front of him, the lining of her sole flashing bright with lights from the contact. Pink sparkly shoelace is now splayed out on the pavement once more.

Gojo levels his gaze with her, resting his elbows on his knees. “No, Juno. That’s why I showed you how to do it. You have to do the other one.”

“But! Uncle Toru! You’re faster at it.”

He sighs, hanging his head a little in defeat, some of his fringe he had slicked back for the purpose of his 12PM house showing falls over his forehead from the movement. He looks back up at Juno and she looks entirely thrilled to be stressing him out like this. “I can’t do this for you every time, kid. Your uncle’s getting old. My back hurts, and my vestibular system is degrading. I’m gonna start looking like Grandpa Lou Pickles real soon.”

She slaps her hands to her mouth, one over the other, to try and stifle that full-of-glee giggle that bubbles from her throat.

There was nothing like making a kid laugh at your own expense.

Gojo smiles at her then pushes up on his knees to stand up straight with a small huff. He smooths down his tie to lay it flat with his grey suit jacket and corrects any creases. “You’ve got it?”

She nods enthusiastically, kneeling down quickly to tie her own shoes. She makes the little bunny loops, gets confused when she crosses them over, her pinky finger somehow getting caught in the knot, but she manages to pull the laces through and makes a very uneven bow. But at least a bow, it was.

She stands up, jumps up and down with happiness, clapping her hands together saying, “yay!! I did it!!”

“Good jooooob, Juno,” Gojo says, ruffling her curly hair until she’s annoyed by it and pushes his hand away to smooth down the frizz he just created. “Now, let’s get going. You’re going to be late.”

Gojo doesn’t need to park ten minutes away from Juno’s elementary school, and force her to walk all the way to the entrance, since in theory, he could wait in the agonizing line of parent drop-offs that’ll get her off right at the gate. But some of his favorite memories when he was a kid was when his dad would walk him to school. They’d count every Volkswagen beetle that would drive by, or slugbugs as his dad used to call them, and he’d get a free pass to punch his old man in the hip every single time he saw one. Either that, or a dollar towards ice cream after school at the end of the week. He outgrew the violence by the time he got to third grade. And curiously, that’s also when he developed a sweet tooth.

The nice thing about being a realtor is that Gojo had a pretty decently flexible schedule. And although he found himself working on most weekends, since that’s when he’s able to book showings for the most part, it at least means that he has the capacity to drop his niece off at school at 10am on a random Tuesday when her parents can’t. Because he has no place he’s expected to clock in or show up to that’s against his will. But, of course, that means he’s basically their go-to contact for moments like this. Where they can’t drop her off at dance practice, pick her up from school, or keep an eye on her when she’s at home. He would never complain about it, though. Not with the way Juno blabbers his ear off during the ten-minute walks to school about all the latest happenings of Sophia the First like there was no other person in the world she’d rather share all the drama too. And also the fact that, instead of punching his hip whenever she sees a slugbug, she opts to hug his leg instead.

“Are those kids still bothering you at school?” Gojo asks her when she hops over a tiny rock.

She glances down at her shoes, the grip of her hand wrapped around Gojo’s finger weakening slightly. “No…”

“Juno, are you lying to me?”

“No!” she yells, loudly, as if she was offended by the assumption.

“You let me know if they are, okay?” Gojo says. He stops walking and pulls his finger from her grip so that she’ll stop kicking rocks and actually pay attention to what he says. She looks up at him and blinks. “I need you to know that no matter what, family will always have your back. Understood?”

Her lip quivers a little. “Yes Uncle Toru.”

Gojo takes Juno’s tiny hand in his again as the two of them continue to walk down the sidewalk and finally pass the noisy cross-section of Juno’s elementary school.

“Uh-oh…” Juno stops in her tracks suddenly once they’ve reached the courtyard in front of the main entrance where there are bustling children making their way inside the gates. She pulls her hand from Gojo’s grip before glancing up at him and twiddles with a coil of her hair. Parents are walking their children up to the walk-in zone, some giving their kids hugs and kisses goodbye. The colors all around are nauseating, with bright neons and blue and pinks and, quite frankly, hues that not a single person in the world has any business meshing together. Like barf green and mustard yellow. But chaos was comfort to the undeveloped brain.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Gojo says as he looks down at a doe-eyed Juno, turning his ear towards her because it was hard to hear her meek voice over the teachers yelling as they try to round the kids up before first period starts.

“Um…” she blinks, “I forgot my lunch moneys.”

“Oh,” Gojo says, his shoulders relaxing, then he reaches into his pocket for his wallet, pulls out a twenty dollar bill, then hands it to her, “here you go. No problem.”

Juno glances down at it, her tiny hand gentle with the paper, careful not to crease it. She looks up again. “Um. Uncle Toru.”

“Uh huh?”

“Lunch is three dollars.”

“I don’t have any ones on me, sweetheart. Just keep it. Buy one of those books from the book fair.”

Her eyes light up at that before the excitement stifles with some realization. “Oh. Um. It’s,” she counts on her fingers, “twenty-six dollars for book and my lunch.”

He fishes out another twenty, but squats down again to level his gaze with her before he hands it to her. “Your mommy didn’t give you money for the book fair?”

Juno gets shy, averting her gaze to the ground as she rubs her ankle with her other foot. “No…I wanted, um, the fairy book.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But mommy said no. That there is no money.”

“No money?”

She nods. “Mhm.”

“Okay…” He frowns. “That’s all she said to you?”

Juno nods.

“Are–” Gojo starts, but then the loud-pitched shrieking of a couple of girls towards the right cuts him off.

“Juno!!! Juno!!!” they yell, skipping up to Juno with excitement before squeezing her into a bear hug, looking like a huddle of pigtails and sparkly backpacks. Gojo stands up straight again and watches the scene unfold.

Juno, her cheeks as red as beet, smiles when they pull away from the hug and jumps up and down with them.

“She’s here! She’s here!” one of her friends exclaims.

“Hey, hey, hey, wanna trade silly bands?” the other one chirps.

Gojo lets out a slow exhale, waving a hand back to Juno when she bashfully glances over her shoulder at him as she walks towards the school entryway with her friends. He makes sure to keep an eye on her all the way until she gets through the gates, into the sea of students. He pushes his hands into his pockets, his gaze set straight ahead at the green paint outside the school, still watching Juno as she approaches the heavy double doors. There is some unsettling feeling at the base of his ribs, as if to warn about unfinished business. The feeling doesn’t pass, even when he’s satisfied at the sight of Juno making it inside school. His brow furrows slightly in concentration, but his train of thought is interrupted by a feminine voice that calls out from behind him.

“Is she yours?” he hears the voice call out, and when he turns his head to the side, he sees a woman dressed in faded mom jeans, a striped long sleeve, and black leather boots approaching him from the side.

“Oh, no,” Gojo pulls a hand out of his pocket to shake his palm in front of him, “she’s my niece.”

“Ahhh,” the woman smiles, “she’s adorable.”

“Right? Super smart, too.”

She lets out a small exhale through her nose, one that’s reminiscent of a laugh, before turning her head to look over her shoulder towards the playground where the preschoolers next door were still preoccupied by their playtime. Gojo trails her gaze to a small group of boys by the monkey bars, and he sees one of them making snow angels face-down in wet dirt. When he glances back at the woman’s face, she looks affectionately disturbed.

“That’s my Timmy,” she says, “and I really can’t say the same about him.”

He laughs. “It’s fine. I was just like that when I was a kid. He’ll grow out of it.”

“Do you have any of your own?” she asks.

“Not that I know of,” he responds.

She laughs at that. He had half expected her to roll her eyes.

“I’m Mari, by the way,” she says with a smile, smoothing her palms down the fabric over her thighs.

“Satoru,” he responds, and he doesn’t pass over the gesture of a handshake, which she seems taken aback by, but still accepts when she squeezes his hand.

“I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before…” she trails off.

He squints his eyes a little to see if he can place her face too. Or maybe come up with places she may have seen him. When he runs a blank, he says, “I’m here often to drop my niece off. My sister and her husband are–” he feels that same sensation in his ribs, “pretty busy these days.” They’ve asked him to drop Juno off at school so many times by now that the moms around the place are starting to recognize him.

“That’s sweet,” she says, crossing her arms and rubbing at her elbow as she glances over at her son again. “I wish I could have help like that. They're so lucky to have you around.”

“Yeah…I should really hold it against them more often.”

She laughs. “Seriously though!” She sighs, and when he remains quiet because he can tell she’s building up to something more vulnerable, she takes the invitation to vent. “Just–...you know, it’s so hard to juggle everything. Work, the kid–”

“Yeahhh.”

“It’s like there’s just never enough hours in a day–”

“Definitely.”

“Some days it just gets so overwhelming to the point where I’m, like…like not even really a person anymore–”

“I can imagine.”

“And–” she stops to look at him, suddenly embarrassed, “I’m sorry, I think I’m just venting.”

He shakes his head at her. “You’re all good.”

She purses her lips together in thought, squinting her eyes slightly at him, before her shoulders relax. “Would you…” she starts, “like to get coffee sometime?”

“Oh, no, sorry, I’m–” he pulls his left hand up out of his pocket to hold it up in the air, but then stiffens entirely when a chill runs down his spine.

Because it wasn’t a reflex of recent events,

It was a reflex from years ago.

“You’re…?” she says, tilting her head to the side curiously as if to feign innocence of the fact that there’s a ring on his finger until she hears the words from him personally. As if the ring would vanish with enough wishful thinking.

His shoulders, tense and rigid, slowly drop back down before he breathes in deep and says, “I’m married.”

. . .

As Gojo makes his way back to the neighborhood where he parked his car, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, scrolls through his recent calls, and is surprised to find that his brother-in-law’s name is a bit higher up on the list than he thought it would be. Or wanted it to be.

He lifts the phone to his ear when he presses dial, and the phone almost rings through four times before someone finally picks it up.

“Yo! The man! The bro-in-law! What’s goin’ on, dude!” he hears Jun’s rather chirpy voice on the other line.

“Hey Jun,” Gojo says into his phone, walking down onto the residential street, “Just calling to let you know Juno’s been dropped off. I found out from one of the teachers that it’s only a half day today, though. So you’ll have to pick her up earlier.”

“Oh shoot…” Jun trails off, and Gojo can already tell what he’s about to ask of him.

Gojo likes Jun. He’s always liked the guy, actually. Although he always thought Sana would end up with someone Gojo didn’t like, as some act of defiance. But Jun was a lot different than the waste-of-space high school boyfriends Sana brought home during her teenage years (sorry if that sounds rude, it’s just that, once upon a time, Gojo used to be a waste-of-space high school boyfriend, as most teenage boys are, so he knows how awful they are and eventually grew into the conscious reasoning of loathing them). But anyway, Jun was a reliable guy. Hard-working, always seemed like he was on the hustle with his business, but he was a little unsettlingly cheerful all the time. The first expression of his that comes to mind whenever one thinks of him is a smile full of pearly white teeth and eyes squinted shut from the curve of his cheeks, but Gojo always figured it was some businessman tactic that eventually integrated into his personality as a whole.

“Do you think you could—” Jun starts.

“No, Jun, I can’t,” Gojo cuts him off, “I’m closing a sale today.”

He knows he said he could never complain about looking after Juno, but in a sense, forcing her dad to ditch a measly hour of work to show up and pick her up from school is in a way looking after her. Kids need their dads, and it’s a little sad that even just showing up is something not a lot of them care to honor.

“Ayyy that’s okay then, I’ll just figure it out,” he says, “but thanks for dropping her off this morning!”

“Sure thing.” Gojo’s phone starts ringing, and he sees he has an incoming call from one of his clients. “Hey, I’ve gotta go. But remember, her school gets out at 1:30.” And he barely hears the acknowledgement from Jun before he switches calls.

By the time Gojo wraps up his afternoon showing, and spends a couple hours putting together all the paperwork for the sale he’s closing later today, he’s starving. And he considers picking up some Thai food on his way home but then he gets a text from you.

|| 1:04PM Neighbor HerbGarden: hey I made chicken parm. would you like me to set aside a plate for you

He can’t help the smile on his face from the message, and how strangely polite it is. He’s usually the type to call someone to respond to a question they ask him through text (the worst kind of person), but instead he finds him typing back.

|| 1:05PM Gojo: Sure although I’d prefer mine without any poison please

He sees the little three dots as you type.

|| 1:06PM Neighbor HerbGarden: unfortunately I cannot make any such accommodations

And there it is again, that amused grin he can’t help. It’s uncannily similar to his days of being a waste-of-space high school boyfriend, except now he’s texting on iOS 18 instead of a Nokia brick. But also, he’s not seventeen anymore. It’s kind of dangerous that you make him feel like he is, though.

He hears his phone ping again.

|| 1:08PM Neighbor HerbGarden: also can you please pick up some orange juice from the store

|| 1:08PM Neighbor HerbGarden: without pulp

He blinks at the screen, before responding with,

|| 1:08PM Gojo: 👍👍👍

He stares at the messages for a few more seconds, then up at the blank grey contact number and your name Neighbor HerbGarden. He has a lot of numbers in his phone, from years and years of building clientele both in one of the biggest Metropolitan cities in the country, and also here in Dayton County within the past year that he’s lived here. Sometimes it was just easier and more efficient to save people in his phone as something that’ll make him remember who they actually are rather than just an arbitrary name. In one of the first times he met you, you brought him two bunches of dried oregano from your herb garden, and so he saved you in his phone as Neighbor HerbGarden to differentiate you from Neighbor BasketballHoop to his right.

Gojo presses his lips into a thin line then glances up to the sky as he stands outside of the vacant home he’s about to make major bank on today, and then clicks edit on your contact name.

He backspaces Neighbor HerbGarden then types,

Wife

He exhales slowly, then adds,

… (?)

To the end of the word.

Then shoves his phone in his pocket.

—

“God, that was delicious,” Gojo sighs as he sets the plates in the dishwasher, “I mean, seriously, you could open a restaurant. Er, actually, on second thought, probably not. Considering the natural disaster level of a mess you’ve left the kitchen in after making just one meal.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you say, and he turns around to see you standing behind him still clad in your marinara-stained apron and your hair that was once pulled taut up into a ponytail now falling loose over your shoulders. The only thing that could make the sight even sexier is if you were topless. “Now sign this,” you say, holding up a sheet of paper to his face and placing a stern fist to your hip.

He blinks at you and slowly turns the faucet off before drying his hands off on the towel while still facing you. His eyes briefly skim the top of the page which says Contract.

“Uh, what’s this?” he asks.

“Our rules.”

He doesn’t even take a second to read another single word before his eyes flit up to yours, his brow quirking. “Rules?”

“Yes,” you say, and blow a puff of air up your cheek to get the hair out of your face, “remember? No touching, no sex, no sneaking into my room, no peeping in on me in the shower, and—” You point a finger up, “New one. No. Flirting.”

His mind fixates on the word sex. “No sex? Didn’t you ask me to fuck you the other day?” he says as he leans back on the counter, an amused look on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“That—” you stiffen then relax your shoulders before pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration of yourself, “I don’t recall such an event occurring.”

“Really? Well thank god I’ve got a ring camera set up in the living room.” He pretends to pull the app up on his phone.

“No!” you yell, reaching out to hold his forearm to stop him, likely through a way of distraction as his eyes flit to the curl of your fingers as you sink your nails into his skin. He quietly sucks a breath in through his teeth. “….stupid ring camera,” you mumble dejectedly, “I hate it.”

He sighs. “Baby. You’re the one that demanded I get it installed.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “You and your strange fear of home invasion.”

“Don’t call me baby,” you hiss at him, and it’s rather easy to see the flush to your cheeks, “that counts as flirting.” You slam the paper down onto the counter. “Now sign this.”

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, “don’t wanna.”

“Sign. It.”

“Nope, not without my lawyer present.”

“Ouuuuuu that really handsome one with the tight trousers and the sexy Benz?” you swoon cartoonishly.

He glances up at the ceiling in thought, then takes the bait. “Who needs lawyers, anyway.”

“Mhmmmmm exactly,” you hum in satisfactory agreement then wave the paper in front of his face again like he’s a dog. “So sign it.”

He hesitantly takes the sheet from you. “What good is signing a makeshift contract going to do?”

“I’m sick of people pretending like they don’t know that they’ve wronged me. So, with this contract, when you eventually wrong me, I’ll have it in writing that I specifically asked you not to.”

God damn you were kinda crazy. It was simultaneously hot and scary at the same time. I mean, he’s always known that about you; that you’re a bit differently strung than most people he’s ever met, even more so compared to the women he’s met, but there was something oddly charming and redeeming about it all too. It’s hard to explain. In the city, people are nice to your face but then fuck you over behind your back. Like, invite you over for dinner when their family is in town but then tell the principal that your kid shoved their kid at school just so that their kid gets the last spot on the T-ball team. But here in small Dayton County, people care less of the small gesture frivolities and would rather go straight into repairing your flat tire on the side of the road no questions asked, and no thanks needed, but God forbid you expect them to flash you a smile when you pass by them on the street. He kinda liked the latter, preferred the latter, and considering that you were born-and-raised here, you’re a woman who was as close to that Dayton County sentiment as anyone here could get.

He liked it though. Sure, you cuss him out often and act in ways that confuse the ever living hell out of him, but something told him that when it came down to it, and I mean really came down to it, you were someone he could trust. And trust is a feeling that’s hardly given out carelessly in this day and age.

He finally takes a better look at this contract of yours. Just a few lines of size 12pt font of Times New Roman and a numbered list with rules on it. It was a poorly put together contract of contingencies of which he knew he’d have no business following. Sure, he’s exercised self restraint up until this point, perhaps his biggest challenge thus far having been captured in 720p resolution on that Ring camera over in the other room that faces the couch, but if you kept wearing those prudish nightgowns all over the house and asked him to fuck you in the middle of a weekday one more time, he’s ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure he’d have no willpower left at that point.

He sighs and pretends to fully read all the words typed out on your contract, then flips it around so the contents face you as he holds it up. “Cross out the no flirting and we’re good.”

“I am not crossing that out.”

“If you live with me, I’m going to flirt with you. That’s just how it’s going to be.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Baby. This ask of yours is what’s borderline ridiculous.”

“Stop with the ‘baby!!!” you sneer at him and he can’t help but laugh.

He places the paper down on the surface of the island and clicks the pen, crosses out no, writes in occasional and adds is okay after the word flirting so that it reads: occasional flirting is okay. Then scribbles his signature on it.

“Here you go,” he says as he hands it back to you.

“I did not permit any addendums.”

“Look, honey, it’s the best you’re gonna get.”

He sees you scribble something down onto the page and then you hold it up for him to see.

No pet names.

“Do you agree?” you ask in a way that suggests you won’t take no for an answer.

He sighs. “Sure.”

“Good,” you say, satisfied as you stare down at the contract with approval before looking up at him again with a narrow, almost pissed-off gaze. It gets him borderline excited. “Now, are you a man of your word?”

“I hope so.”

“That’s not very reassuring. Try again.”

“It’s hard for me to say.”

“Why?”

“Well, with you, it’s hard for me to say.”

“That makes me self conscious.”

“Don’t be,” he says.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you respond, then shuffle across the hardwood floors of the kitchen into the dining room where you sit down there along with all the hospital bills you’ve had scattered there since you moved in.

He sighs, watching as you grab a stack of all your envelopes and papers and manila folders then dump them all on the kitchen island.

“Sorry,” you say, “I’m running out of space.” You turn on your heel to head back to the dining table but then spin to face him again. “And please don’t look at the bills. I’d rather pretend they don’t exist.” Then you turn the corner back to where you came from.

Gojo sighs to himself, his eyes briefly flitting down to the stack of unsorted papers you’ve left on the table. He sees scribbles of paid and to be paid and ask for itemized bill and has already been sent to collections and repeat charge all over them, wondering how in hell you manage to keep track of all this. He feels stressed on your behalf.

Something catches his eye, among all the paperwork. A tiny corner poking out from under a bill for a thirty-four-hundred dollar chemotherapy infusion. The finely printed black ink on it is hard to read, but Gojo tugs it out and holds it up at eye level.

Carevest Capital est. 2024

Invest in a healthier you!

And when he skims to the bottom, he sees CEO Jun Miller, phone: (851)-334-5555 for the contact.

His brow furrows together. He inhales deeply before shuffling his feet over to the dining hall.

“Hey,” he says, pinching the card between his index and middle finger then holding it up, “what’s this?”

You turn over to look at him, eyes wide and blinking innocently before you squint at the card. “Huh? Oh. That’s your brother-in-law’s business card. For his healthcare cost relief company.”

“He gave it to you?”

“Mhm.”

Gojo frowns. He brings the card down to look at it again. Last time he checked, Jun ran a small local auto parts repair shop. Routine stuff like cracked windshields and tinted windows, with the hopes of expanding business to a couple more places within the zip code. Gojo had never heard of any healthcare cost relief company. And he figured Jun would’ve provided some sort of proof of pay for it when Gojo helped him process the loan for their new house. It doesn’t make sense.

Gojo sighs, and chalks it up to ambition. He knows how businessmen are. A lot of his clients are like that. They always think they’ve caught the next-best-thing and want to chase it before anyone else can.

You’re still blinking at him with a mildly confused face.

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. I wouldn’t put any money into this if I were you, though.”

You sigh and slump your shoulders. “As if I even could.” But then you turn to look at him again. “Why? You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

“What? Entrusting large sums of your money to some company that promises to somehow double it and give it back? Of fucking course not.”

“You don’t trust your own brother-in-law?”

“It—” He’s a little taken aback by the question. “It’s not that I don’t. It’s just that I don’t really trust businessmen at large.”

“Aren’t you…technically a businessman?”

“What?”

You put your elbow up on the chair’s backrest and twist your torso more to look at him. “Last time I checked, you sell houses.”

“That—…that’s different.”

“Is it?”

“I’m a realtor. Not a businessman. Business people, you know, they play dirty to get what they want. I’m just helping people with a task that they don’t always have the time or resources to do.”

“You literally make up contrived skit scenarios so that your clients find houses more memorable, and also pimp yourself out to divorced housewives so they’ll follow through on a return offer. That’s no better than the way a businessman manipulates.”

“Is your opinion of me really that low?”

And he asks it with genuinity. Not laced with mirth, or faux arrogance, or a childlike desire for banter. He genuinely wants to know, after the past few weeks of getting to know each other a little bit better, if you really think of him as someone like that.

As if you felt the way his tone cut through air, setting precedent for what had otherwise felt like a neutral conversation tethering on an edge of hostility, you sit up a little straighter in your chair and your eyes are wide again as you blink at him, and he sees the shallow rise of your chest as you breathe through the movement of your marinara-stained apron.

“No,” you say, your expression softening, “it’s not.”

He’s not sure what exactly your words accomplish in him, or what reward he gained for seeking them out, if any, but he just lets out a huff of an exhale and grabs his suit jacket off the back of the chair at the head of the table, pulling his arms through the sleeves before shrugging it into place. Then he grabs his keys off the wooden surface and glances at his watch. “Alright,” he says, “that’s good to know.” Then heads towards the door.

—

“You know, Satoru, I met my wife on a military excursion to Thailand. It’s precisely why I’m ruined for all American women. The women over there, they just move with this sort of sensual grace that the women here can’t compete with.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo barely nods in acknowledgment of his client’s words as he sits at the lonesome dining table located in the otherwise chilling vacancy of this house he’s about to hand over. “So, did you two have a chance to take a look at the walkthrough report?”

The wife curls her arm around her husband’s bicep, and from an outsider’s perspective, it would look awfully inappropriate given she looks at least twenty years younger than him, but to Gojo, it’s something he tends to see pretty often when he makes sales up in the neighborhoods of this part of town.

“Yes,” she says, smiling up at her husband, and the action alone ages her ten years from the ripples of botox visible in her cheeks, “Len and I are so ready to call this home our own.”

“What do you think of Thai women, Satoru,” Len asks him, completely ignoring any and all tasks at hand because he’s not satisfied with the low level of interest his realtor is taking to his fruitless words.

“Never been with one,” Gojo comments flatly as he flips through the closing documents and highlights whatever needs to be signed.

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, and maybe it’s because he remembers your words from earlier. About pimping himself out or playing dirty like a businessman. Gojo’s brow furrows slightly as he stares a little excessively too long at a simple key release form. But he just feels annoyed. So what if he pretends to get along with guys like Len up until that 6% commission hits his bank account? What’s so wrong about making a living? Not everyone has to be sacred about what they do for work.

“You’re missin’ outtttt, man,” Len comments as Gojo passes all the papers over to the two of them. He only takes a quick glance at the papers before saying. Gojo taps his pen on the table as an annoyed tick, looking at the documents sitting in front of Len and thinking just sign the fuckin’ papers already, but instead, Len sets his pen down to further stall. “Why don’t we head out to lunch after this? To celebrate. I’m craving some Tom Kha Soup,” he says with an exaggerated accent, then points the pen at Gojo. “And we’ll hook you up with a nice Thai lady while we’re there.”

“I already had lunch,” he says, not even bothering to say and I’m also married because he knows the ‘already having had lunch’ excuse would hold more weight to Len than any declaration of lifelong romantic commitment.

“Bummer,” Len says, “you ate at home?”

“Yup.”

“I gotta start doing that, too, you know, eating healthier,” Len says before leaning back into his chair with a grunt. “Doctor said somethin’ to me about my cholesterol gettin’ too high and that even the statins won’t be able to save me.”

His wife looks like she’s just heard the most fantastic news ever, but conceals it with a frown, then swats a playful hand towards Gojo.

“Does your wife cook for you?” she asks cheerfully.

Technically, you’ve only offered to include him in your lunch plans two or three times so far, and coincidentally only on the days he mowed the lawn in the morning like you asked him to, but he says, “yeah, she does.” To keep things simple. But he also comes to the realization that you’re trying to Pavlov him into doing more chores around the house by feeding him ridiculously good food.

“See, Len? Some men actually appreciate their wives’ cooking.” She pretends to appear offended as she playfully smacks at her husband's chest.

“Sweetheart, you know I didn’t marry you for your cooking,” he drawls, saying it near her ear as if it were meant to be said in secret and she bashfully giggles.

For fucks sake he’s not sure how much longer of this he can take. The feeling of awkwardness as he sits on the other end of the most classic stereotypical conversation he would ever have the displeasure of hearing between a boomer and his too-young-for-him foreign wife. He wonders what you’d say if he bitched about this conversation to you. He could picture you yelling in passion about the perpetuation of the patriarchy with the disgraceful existence of predatory men like Len.

In the midst of his borderline cognitive crisis, his phone starts buzzing in his pocket.

The number looks vaguely familiar, but it’s unsaved.

“Hey, sorry you two,” he says to the couple seated across from him before he gets up out of his chair, “I’ve gotta take this.” Then excuses himself into the hallway and brings his phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, this is Marium calling from Rockwell Elementary, I’m looking for Mr. Gojo Satoru?”

“Yeah, speaking.”

“Oh, wonderful, thank you for taking my call. I’m just reaching out because we’re getting close to closing up the gates for school now.”

Gojo glances at his watch. 2:57PM.

“The kids got out of school about an hour and a half ago but no one has come to pick Juno up yet. She’s the last one here. We tried contacting her parents, but no one answered, so we had to reach out to her emergency contacts. Mrs. Shapiro is waiting with her, but if someone isn’t able to take her home soon, we’ll have to send her to the KinderCare on Ventura Street once the last bus comes by.”

Gojo pinches the bridge of his nose and shuts his eyes tightly. “No, I'll come pick her up. I’ll be there in ten.”

Gojo now finds himself back at his niece’s elementary school, waiting at the gate for the teacher to being her around to the courtyard. No major sale closed. His clients are going out of town tomorrow, so they had to sell today, and he’s now obligated to share some portion of his eighty-thousand dollar commission with his colleague who’s doing the favor of wrapping things up for the sale in his absence. All because Jun couldn’t even remember the time he was supposed to pick Juno up from school, even after Gojo told him twice when she’d get off. And it was safe to say he was a bit pissed.

“Uncle Toru!!!” he hears Juno’s voice chirp from a distance, and when he turns his head, he sees her running towards him, her backpack bouncing up and down in her sprint, before she crashes into Gojo’s arms as he kneels down towards the ground and wraps her arms around her.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, then picks her up, “you ready to head home?”

Before Juno can respond, Gojo hears a man shout from the drop-off zone. He turns his head towards that direction, squints his eyes and makes out Jun’s silhouette approaching from a car that has its hazard lights turned on and he’s hastily making his way over.

“Juno!!” he waves his hand up in the air, the sound of his keys that hang from his thumb jingling as he gets closer. Gojo sets Juno down and is surprised that she doesn’t immediately run to her dad, but instead grips onto Gojo’s index finger with her whole hand and itches her ankle with the tip of her other shoe.

“Hi daddy,” she says, peering up at him underneath the roof of her baseball cap.

Jun crouches down to eye-level with her, and holds his arms out. “Hey sweetheart, how was school?”

She’s hesitant before she slowly releases her tight grip on Gojo’s finger and walks towards Jun, and accepts his embrace. “Good,” she says shallowly.

Jun sneaks a glance up at Gojo’s face, and Gojo couldn’t even hide the disappointment if he tried.

“Hey, Juno, why don’t you go sit in the car? I have Frozen playing,” he says to her, placing a kiss on her temple, and that news entirely excites Juno as she squeals with happiness then runs toward the car. Both Gojo and Jun watch her climb into the car and close the door before properly regarding each other.

“Listen, Jun, I’m just going to give it to you straight because I’m not in the mood to bullshit,” Gojo says, “I get that you’re busy, but you can’t just forget your own kid at school and leave her stranded to the point where admin have to call her emergency contacts just to get her home safely.”

“I know, I know, it’s just that—”

“I mean, last weekend you forgot what time her dance recital was and completely missed it. The one she had been practicing towards for weeks. You’ve basically asked me to drop her off at school every day for the past week and a half with no good excuse as to why. And then you do this. Like, what’s gotten into you, man?” He takes a breath to prevent his tone from turning too sharp, but when he thinks about Juno sitting all alone in a classroom with her teacher after watching all her friends get picked up with love and taken home on what was supposed to be a fun half-day for her, he feels pissed off at the negligence. “She’s a smart kid. And as proud of that as you should be, it does mean that she’s smart enough to notice these things. And it’s going to make her feel like her own dad doesn’t care about her.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry,” he says, panic on his face as the mistake settles in, “it’s just, you know, with Sana going back to work, her being occupied with the new job and everything, I dunno, I’m so used to her taking care of Juno but now that more responsibility has fallen on me, it’s really hard to manage with my businesses—” he catches himself, his eyes widening, and Gojo narrows his, “…my business.” He corrects himself.

“What could be more important than your own kid?” Gojo asks.

“Nothing. At least there shouldn’t be. You’re right.”

But even after Jun gave him the answer he expected to hear, the question still lingers in his head. Businesses. Jun is running more than just the auto parts company, at least one other one that he knows of based on what you told him regarding the business card. He just found out right now that Sana is going back to work, after about six years of being out of the workforce.

And then he recalls what Juno said to him this morning.

But mommy said no. That there is no money.

Gojo’s brows furrow, and he blinks at a very guilty-looking Jun in front of him, before his expression relaxes and the stiffness in his shoulders relax.

“Is—” Gojo starts, unsure on how to tread the question, “is everything okay?”

Jun stands up a little straighter. “Yeah. Yeah, of course,” he chirps rather unconvincingly, with that same level of faux cheerfulness he often displays.

Gojo sighs, glances over to the right. He sees the preschool next door, with its playground completely deserted, then he glances back at Jun.

“If you need help,” Gojo starts, “with anything at all,” and he sees the way Jun’s posture dampens slightly, “don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Will do, man,” Jun said, “but I’ll make sure I’ve got Juno’s school schedule in my phone so you won’t have to do this again.” And something tells Gojo that Jun is purposefully pretending as if he didn’t catch onto the fact that Gojo was referring to finances as some preservation of his pride in front of another man.

Gojo gives himself a couple seconds to consider if he should push the subject any further, but just respects the deflection, and says, “alright.”

—

God forbid a man has a drink or two during happy hour at his favorite bar to get over a rather stressful day, just to end up running into his fake wife’s ex boyfriend before he can even catch a little bit of a buzz.

Wait, that’s a lie, the first single malt was starting to flow through his veins.

And he knows you told him that he didn’t need to bother trying to make the guy jealous anymore,

But god, it was just so fun. And he could really use the entertainment right now.

“Oh every position possible, pal. Doggy, prone bone, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl. Anything from the Kama Sutra. You name it, we do it,” Gojo says.

He’s seated at the far end of the high-top, his preferable location as it was away from the bustling tables and gigantic TV on top of all the kegs that’s playing the Seahawks vs 49ers semifinals game, but it’s still close enough to the bartender to make small talk when he wanted it. Up until he was interrupted by the guy to his right who’s standing with fists clenched tightly at his sides from hearing Gojo flaunt of this allegedly stellar sex life he’s got with the guy’s ex girlfriend. Truth be told, Gojo forgot his name. He tries to place it as he looks the man up and down from where he’s seated. Nappy black hair, long enough to curl at the back of his neck, wearing an obnoxiously tight black shirt, along with black leather pants.

“She doesn’t even like cowgirl,” he says defensively, “always used to say it hurts her knees.”

Fuck. Of course you have knee problems. Think, Gojo, think. “Uh, she likes it with me,” he comes up with, “she likes anything with me.”

Gojo glances up at the guy once again when he doesn’t respond back fast enough, seeing the way his jaw clenches and his hands further condense into fists at his side. The amusement of making him get all riled up quickly dissipates, as he imagined it would anyways, and instead, he almost feels sorry for him. Gojo knows exactly what he must be thinking right now. Memories of you naked that he’s preserved like holy water after the end of a seven year relationship, now morphing into visuals of you getting railed by your new husband instead, and that sweet image he has of you in his head will never be the same. Forever being ruined by another guy’s dick. It’s an intrusive thought that every man on the planet has experienced at some point or another, himself included. He’s already fucked you more in this guy’s imagination than he’s even remotely gotten close to doing in real life (well, he was partially to blame for that) but Leather Pants over here isn’t going to know that when he’s losing sleep over it at night. And now Gojo’s got guilt on his conscience. His least favorite feeling.

Ah.

Choso.

Choso Kamo.

That was his name.

Gojo glances down at his glass of scotch, trailing the line of the rim with the pad of his index finger, feeling more heat radiating off of the rage from Choso’s body than the woodfire flame of the heaters behind the high-top counter.

He sighs then glances over at Choso again, eyeing him in dim lighting. “You’ll find someone else, man,” he says, “don’t get hung up on just one person. It’s a useless kind of torture.”

He speaks as if he’s entirely detached from the sentiment.

Choso crosses his arms. “So it’s not just some scam, then? You two really are married?” He grits his teeth. “In good faith?” He mocks the law in his tone as if he doesn’t defend it.

Gojo stares blankly at the surface of wood in front of him, the color charred with black and faded with use, his expression sobering for a moment as he lets out a deep breath. His stare turns shallow, like he’s about to dissociate, and for some reason, the lie doesn’t come as easy to him this time. “You were there in the courtroom. You know the answer to that question.”

Choso huffs, and as if he couldn’t help going against his own oath to secrecy, he declares, “I’m investigating, you know. At least I will be. Collecting evidence.”

Gojo exhales, staring down at the amber liquid in his glass, before bringing the rim to his mouth and tipping some of it back.

He’s familiar with US federal law regarding marital insurance fraud. 8 U.S.C. 1033 and 18 U.S.C. 371 provide for a penalty of up to ten years in prison for it. And under that statute, perpetrators can also be expected to be fined up to $250,000. And although millions of people everyday get away with all sorts of illegal activity, he knows that there’s also millions of people everyday that don’t. That was the problem with the law in an otherwise tumultuous country. You never know how much you need to truly fear it. As if it were up to personal choice rather than any real social stature.

Truthfully, Gojo isn’t really the type to not think things through before going through with them. He’s fiscally responsible (minus his boat), tries not to get attached to places or people a little too easily, and always makes sure he knows the traffic situation ahead of time before going down Interstate 10. On the outside, he lived a rather simple life. Getting tied up into an insurance scam was certainly not the first thing he pictured for himself when he left New York City for little old Dayton County without anything other than a cabin suitcase that was mostly empty anyways. But he got invested in his rather strange neighbor who’s going through a tough time, and suddenly he’s going against everything that’s inherent to him. As previously mentioned, there is a part of him that finds it exciting. Y’know, that part that enjoys a little bit of chaos and uncertainty, that part of him that chases a thrill. That tendency to think first, act later, the one that gets people into a lot of trouble. But it’s almost like he’s been subconsciously itching for it this entire time. And maybe even for his entire life, now that he (and the alcohol) thinks about it.

But going to jail is definitely where he draws the line on adrenaline seeking.

And besides. He doesn’t want to see you fail.

He knows that to people who aren’t American, the whole idea seems so strange.

Why risk time in prison and the potential to be fined upwards of a quarter million dollars just to get healthcare for you and your loved ones?

But it’s only because that risk of consequence hardly rivals the reality of the situation anyways.

He saw your bills. He knows you told him not to look, because he knows the only way you keep your sanity and keep your head above water is by allowing a part of yourself to ignore the existence of your suffering.

But for fucks sake, forty-two-thousand-dollars out of pocket just for your mom’s two-day hospitalization? And that was just one of the outstanding bills? With big bold letters IF YOU DO NOT PAY THIS WITHIN THE NEXT 5-7 BUSINESS DAYS, WE WILL SEND THIS BILL TO COLLECTIONS.

You put any layman in a situation like that, and he couldn’t imagine suicide wouldn’t cross their mind at least once.

Gojo glances over at Choso’s jacket. The Club at Snoqualmie Ridge.

As the saying goes, keep your friends close, and keep cops who threaten to perform a full blown investigation of the legitimacy of your marriage even closer.

“You play golf, Kamo?”

“What–” Choso stutters, a little surprised by the question, but his fists relax slowly, “yeah?”

“We should go for a swing sometime.”

“Huh? But—”

Gojo pushes his empty glass of scotch up the table a few inches then gets up out of the chair, standing in front of Choso, gaze leveling before he pats him on the shoulder, and says, “Just to see who’s the better shot.” Then brushes past him to go close out his tab.

—

It’s late in the evening by the time Gojo finishes running some errands and can finally unwind on the couch. A crisp cold can of diet coke in hand…impractical jokers playing for background noise from his 86 inch OLED smart TV, his legs stretched out in front of him onto the coffee table he made himself, and sunk deep into his favorite corner of the couch. The one he’s broken in over the years into that just perfect amount of give to sink ratio. It truly was the simple things in life.

He picks up the book he had left off reading from the coffee table. A white cover with bolded red letters that read Crucial Conversation: Tools for Talking When Stakes Are High. It was some self-help book one of his partners at the brokerage firm recommended to him that apparently revolutionized the way he sells houses.

“Hm,” Gojo hums to himself, flipping the pages of the book, that freshly-printed-processed-wood smell hitting his senses satisfactorily. He gets to the part he had left off on.

He squints at the pages, hard to read with contacts that are half a step below his prescription, but he at least tries to skim for the buzzwords.

The pool of shared meaning is the birthplace of synergy.

Okay, whatever the fuck that means.

He skims some more.

People don’t get defensive because of what you’re saying; they get defensive because of why they think you’re saying it.

He skims more.

If you don’t talk it out, you’ll act it out through passive aggression.

He skims more.

The key to building safety is to step out of the content and address the conditions.

He doesn’t really know what exactly this all means but he feels like he should be taking notes.

Right when he leans over to open one of the drawers of the coffee table to fish for a pen, he hears keys jingling by the front door, somewhat frantically, before finally pushing into the lock and then the door flies open. He sits back, slightly startled, as he takes in the image of you storming inside the house looking angry as hell when you slam the door behind you.

“Hey,” he scolds, “easy on the doors, please.”

You’re pacing back and forth in front of the foyer table, clenching and unclenching your fists, mumbling what sounds like profanities to yourself over and over again, cheeks flush with rage, face scrunched up like a prune, and huffing and puffing so fast that he’s astonished he can still make out some of the words that you’re spewing.

“That…little…mother…–” You shuffle back and forth on the hardwood floor, “fucker. What a fucking–” You’re borderline hyperventilating, “JERK!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Gojo rests his book splayed open in his lap and blinks at you. “Uh. Is everything alright?”

“No!!!!” You immediately snap at him, turning to face him, and he flinches from where he’s sat. “No, it’s not!”

He’s too scared to move at this point, let alone breathe.

You breathe in deep then let out an exhale. “That–” You close your eyes from pure fury. “That motherfucking Choso Kamo,” you struggle to even say the words without gritting your teeth, “told the entire Dayton County police department that he’s the one that broke up with me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Wow,” Gojo says.

You glare at him. “I don’t need your fake sympathy.”

“All I said was wow?”

“Well, it felt very disingenuine.”

“But–”

He blinks at a fuming you, who has your arms crossed over your chest tightly, tapping your foot on the ground impatiently, expression narrow.

He glances down at the page that was open in his book.

“Uh,” he clears his throat, quickly skimming the words, then glances up at you, “Sorry. I acknowledge that my words, er, word, may have been careless, and I apologize.”

Your expression morphs into one of surprise and barebone confusion. “O-Oh…that’s okay. I guess I was just assuming things.” You glance off towards the left, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “I’m just pissed off right now.”

“Because of what your ex said?”

“Yes. It’s annoying because now all of our local law enforcement thinks that I’m the one more affected by all of this.”

He watches you pace back and forth again, steam rolling out of your ears, face scrunched up with anger again, looking like you’re about to rip your hair off as you mumble more profanities to yourself.

He looks at you skeptically. “Are you…not?” He knows the second he says it that it was the wrong thing to say.

“I’M NOT!!!” you scream at him defensively.

“Sorry, sorry, I–” He glances down at his book again discreetly, then says rather stiffly, “...I just want you to know that I am here for you.”

You blink at him. “Oh…well, that’s—” You scratch at your elbow gently and then tuck strands of your hair behind your ear, “that’s very sweet of you, thank you.”

Hmmmmmmmm.

He steals another quick glance at the page. “What’s been the hardest part to deal with in this situation?” he asks, crossing his outstretched legs at the ankle and placing his elbow up on the armrest to set his chin down on the knuckles of his fist inquisitively.

You turn to face him again, expression softening pleasantly but there’s still a bit of surprise on your face. “Oh, it–...I don’t know, I think just…it’s a misunderstanding that he’s willingly spreading.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

You let out a hefty exhale, loosely crossing your arms over your chest as you lean back onto the Foyer table. You glance at the floor deep in thought. “Mm…angry. Frustrated. Embarrassed.” You glance up at the high ceiling. “I just hate feeling misunderstood.”

“Mhm…I see,” he nods inquisitively, then glances down at the chart in the book again, “And can you pinpoint when these feelings started?”

You look up at the chandelier, expression curling into one of melancholy. “I think I’ve always just had a hard time expressing myself emotionally, where what I do kind of comes off as different from how I really feel…and so when people take things the wrong way, it just…I don’t know, it makes me upset.”

“I hear you.” He’s running a blank so he haphazardly flips the pages of the book to a whole other chapter and glances down at words that read always gather more information when necessary. Then he looks back up at you. “And what exactly did this guy do to you that’s got you so—” he pauses when you narrow your eyes at him, “…er, that made you,” he watches you nod your head encouragingly as if waiting for him to validate the reality of this situation, “…break up with him.”

You nod, satisfied by his depiction of events, but cross your arms over your chest somewhat stubbornly. When your eyes pass over to him again, your expression softens slightly, as if contemplating something, but then it becomes rigid again.

“It’s…I don’t know. It’s whatever.”

“Did he murder a family member?”

“No.”

“Did he steal money from you?”

“No.”

“Did he cheat on you?”

You avert your gaze towards the kitchen. “…no.”

“Then what?”

You exhale deeply, still avoiding eye contact with him. “The why doesn’t matter. Just know that he failed me and subsequently lost me.”

“Well,” Gojo says, “then he’s an idiot.” And he didn’t need the book to come up with that.

You look back at him with a gentle ease, and your arms drop from their crossed position before you smooth your palms down the fabric of your jeans. You try to maintain eye contact with him but not without blinking your lashes a few more times than usual. “Thanks for, um…letting me vent. I actually feel a lot better after…talking about it.”

“Sure,” he closes the book in his lap, “same time next week?”

“What?”

“—What?”

You squint your eyes at him suspiciously, but then drop it when you let out a hefty sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose in exhaustion. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

He’s not sure if it’s appropriate for a therapist to make a without me? joke in response to one of their clients announcing that they’re going to go take a shower, but he holds back regardless.

He watches you shuffle across the hardwood floors towards the stairs, mumbling a few more remnant profanities as if you still had a couple left in you to spill. And just when he sees you lift one foot up on the first step, he remember that he should probably—

“Oh, uh, sorry, while we’re on the topic of your ex,” he says, “is now a bad time to tell you that I’m going golfing with him on Sunday?”

Your jaw drops.

The argument that ensues after was less of an argument and more you yelling at him for about ten minutes straight while he’s unable to get a single word in and has no choice but to just take it. Which even he’s self aware enough to know he deserves, regardless of whatever scheming good intentions he may seem to have. And when you storm away upstairs, slam the door to your bedroom with a force that would suggest he’ll have to repair it in the morning, he knows that he’s back to square one with you now. And if this was a real marriage, with a couple of kids running around the house, and a lack of spare bedrooms, he knows that he’d have been sleeping on the couch tonight.

One step forward, two steps back.

[end of ch.8, ‘two steps back’]

song(s) of the chapter: woman by harry styles

a/n. hiii loves!! thanks so much for tuning into another chapter of ihm :'') it means a lot to meee. yeah this was the first gojo pov which had me sooooo nervous because like tbh before i wrote this chapter i kinda had no idea who ihm gojo was. because reader's pov chapters are sooo heavily skewed to her pov and she's kind of an unreliable narrator, i never really had to sit down n force myself to confront how ihm gojo feels about things personally. there were lots of times where i was hitting roadblocks in my writing of this chapter because i simply was like "...wait how would he feel about this. i don't even know" hahah idk if that makes sense but yeah i definitely had to search within myself to kinda bring more of his character traits to life and balance his good qualities against his flaws. i hope you enjoyeeddd. once again my classic ihm apology that there's so many random side plots lolol i really am trying to keep the romance at the center of the story but then i get a little carried away xd i promise there will be chapters where there are bigger developments though!! but there may also be some other ones that kinda serve for set-up :''0 i try to make each chapter engaging though at the very least. but speaking of....... i am SOOOOOO excited for chapters 9 & 10 HEHEHEHEHEHEH let's just saaayyyyy we get introduced to a character that many of my readers have been curious about :)))) but yeah chapter 9 is already one of my favorite chapters of ihm so far i've only written like maybe 4.5k words for it and i'm so pumped to finish it and post it!! and then ch10 is...also one of my faves ahhhhh huuuuuuge thank you to my beta reader leni she singlehandedly gave me the confidence to post certain scenes in this chapter that i was planning to cut out but now i'm soooo happy that i kept them in!!! she's a real one fr. and thank you to another one of my beta readers josie who really forced me to think a lot ab ihm gojo's character before i went into writing this chapter lmfaooo she made me realize i didn't know shit about him HAHAH. and ofc thank you to mirl and ayelin too for helping me figure out some of the plot intricacies and providing me w support :'''') i really appreciate it i hope you guys enjoyed!! thank you to everyone who reads and interacts and leaves love for me. i'm so happy to i'm still able to make time for writing and that there are people who look forward to my updates. love you all very much!! hope to see you in the next one <3

➸ take me to chapter nine!

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snail-day · 3 days ago

Text

Based off of this ask! Mostly Suguru x Reader but there's hints of SatoSugu :3

It’s quiet today. The kind of quiet that only settles on a Sunday afternoon, when the light drips golden through the blinds and time seems to stretch long and slow, windows cracked open just enough to let in the breeze. Somewhere outside, a bird chirps lazily, and the faint sound of a car passing bleeds into the background. It’s peaceful.

Which is not common for this household.

Suguru exhales through his nose, shifting slightly in the desk chair, his fingers moving across the keyboard. A click, another. He’s building. Block by block. Chopping down the occasional tree.

His Minecraft house looks stupid. But it’s fine. You and Satoru had insisted. Said it was tragic that he didn’t even have a base yet, and no, he can't live with either of you. So here he is, building some wonky little cottage in the middle of a birch forest, one that he’s pretending he doesn’t care about, but secretly wants to impress you with.

He hears you before he sees you. That familiar sound: the soft scuff of your socks on hardwood, the little pause at the doorway. You do that every time, hover for a breath before stepping in. Polite. Even after all this time. Like you still think you’re interrupting.

“Thanks, baby,” he murmurs as the glass clinks gently on the desk, condensation dripping down the glass already from the summer heat.

You barely get the chance to straighten up before his arm curls around your waist.

“Ah-ah,” he hums, pulling you down with no effort at all. “Not done with you.”

Your weight settles onto his lap, familiar and warm, and he doesn’t miss a beat, still dragging the cursor across the screen. Still building. His chin brushes your shoulder as he leans in closer, eyes half-lidded and content.

“Mmm, I followed this YouTube tutorial,” he says quietly, voice soft with that low-lazy rasp he only gets when he hasn’t spoken much all day. You smell like clean laundry. A little bit like his shampoo. Maybe you’d napped earlier. Maybe you’d curled up on the couch with Satoru and a blanket.

You shift like you’re about to get up.

Bold of you.

He tightens his muscular arm around your waist.

Where do you think you’re going?

His gaze flicks up from the screen to your face. So beautiful in the light that's filtering from the window. Eyes curious. Mouth twitching.

“I love you,” he says softly, lips brushing your cheek as he leans in.

You little brat, you dodged him. Head tilting just slightly. That tiny smile tugging at your lips.

He sees it. Sees the game you're playing.

Your gaze stays fixed on the screen. “I’d use a different type of wood,” you murmur, teasing. “Too many light colors. You need contrast.”

He blinks once. Then hums again, noncommittal. Not the point. Not at all.

His hand leaves the mouse. Reaches across your front, slow and steady, settling on your side, fingers lazily dragging across your stomach to your waist. A purr in his voice that rumbles from his chest.

“Baby,” he says again, quieter now, tilting his head so his lips brush just beneath your ear. “I love you.”

Still no answer. Not even a muffled giggle. You’re really playing today.

His voice lowers a octave. “I love you,” he says, again and again, each one feathering against your skin, each kiss a little closer to your jaw, your neck, but anytime he gets close to your lips, you move.

And then - without warning - his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt and tickle.

You yelp.

He smiles.

You twist in his lap, trying to escape, but he’s already got you - both arms wrapping around you now as you squeal through laughter, squirming against him. He doesn’t stop. Just keeps kissing whatever skin he can reach: your shoulder, your neck, your cheek, your temple.

“Is my baby being bold today?” he says, grinning, voice a shade too fond to be threatening. “Hmm? Not gonna say it back?”

You try to hold in your laughter, hiccupping through breathless little gasps as you shove weakly at his hands, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. But he’s relentless.

“I’ll stop once you say it,” he murmurs against your cheek, voice low and syrup-sweet, all false promises and playful cruelty.

His eyes glint with mischief as he leans in, pink tongue darting out to lick the tear slipping down your cheek from how hard you’ve been laughing.

You gasp, squirming in his lap, but it only makes him grin wider. That calm, catlike smile that says he’s enjoying every second of this.

Yeah… he doesn’t plan on stopping. Not until you’re breathless and limp in his arms, reduced to giggles and flushed skin, too tired to sass him anymore.

But a little brat like yourself, well, you don’t need to know that just yet.

#Love me some playful suguru #Jujutsu kaisen #Jjk #Jjk x reader #Suguru x reader #Suguru geto #Geto suguru #Geto suguru x reader #Suguru geto x reader #SatoSugu x reader #Geto x reader #Jjk fluff

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ikofibanini · 3 days ago

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Mastering CHIRP: The Ultimate Guide to Programming Your Amateur Radio Like a Pro

If you’re an amateur radio operator looking for a faster, easier way to program your radio, CHIRP is the game-changing software you need. Whether you’re managing emergency frequencies, repeater channels, or simplex contacts, CHIRP radio programming simplifies the process for radios like Baofeng UV-5R, Yaesu FT-60R, Kenwood TH-F6A, and dozens more This ultimate guide to CHIRP software will walk…

#amateur radio #ARRL ham radio #Baofeng UV-5R #CHIRP compatible radios #CHIRP CSV import #CHIRP error fix #CHIRP radio programming #CHIRP software #CHIRP tutorial #emergency radio setup #ham radio guide #ham radio software #how to use CHIRP #Kenwood radio programming #Yaesu FT-60R

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yanderecrazysie · 6 months ago

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Intertwined (Yandere Oikawa and Iwaizumi)

Thank you again for commissioning me! It means the world to me! I don’t usually do poly, but I decided it would work best with your request!

Title: Intertwined

Pairings: Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader x Oikawa Tooru

WARNINGS: yandere themes, NSFW, non-con, bondage, branding, chubby reader, poly relationship, aged up characters of course

AU: Red string of fate Soulmate AU

Oikawa and Iwaizumi had been lucky to find each other early on- the red string of fate connecting them at the pinkies for many years now. They knew that each string only had two ends, but they had always felt like there was someone missing.

There was an emptiness that ached every time they were together. They always sat a little bit apart from each other, feeling as though someone belonged there between them.

“My project is about Pompeii,” came a timid voice from the front of the class. Oikawa, who had been barely listening to the world history projects, suddenly perked up at the sound.

His brown eyes shot to the front of the classroom. There, standing right in front of him, was a girl unlike any he’d seen before.

You clutched the volcano you’d spent hours making to your chubby form, no doubt feeling self-conscious with all eyes on you- especially the wide-eyed stare from Oikawa himself. But he couldn’t help but stare! You were so cute, so squishy, so precious that he couldn’t believe someone like you existed. How had he never noticed you before?

You were the first one out the door when the bell rang. Oikawa slung his backpack over his shoulder and shoved through the crowd, clearly a man on a mission. You had barely made it out of the classroom before he intercepted you with a charming smile.

“Hi there!” he chirped, “I’m Oikawa Tooru. I was so impressed by your project! You’ve got a real eye for detail! How did you make that volcano look so good?”

You blinked, startled. Then, you clutched your volcano tightly and stammered out, “Oh, um, thank you… I just looked up some tutorials online for it… It’s nothing special.”

“Mhm, mhm,” Oikawa nodded, absentmindedly looking around for Iwaizumi, “Why don’t you eat lunch with me and my soulmate?”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be intruding! Iwaizumi will be so excited to meet you!”

A crowd was starting to form and you were panicking slightly at being on display, “O-okay…”

Oikawa mussed up your hair and said, “Perfect! See you in an hour!”

You nodded and quickly retreated down the hallway. Finally, Oikawa spotted Iwaizumi leaving his class. Oikawa nearly tackled his soulmate- grabbing him by the arms and hissing, “I found our third.”

Iwaizumi’s expression didn’t change, “Don’t joke about things like that.”

“I’m not joking,” Oikawa shook his best friend roughly, “She’s perfect- I know you’ll love her! She’s meeting us at lunch in an hour!”

—-----------------------------------------------------------

You took your seat across from Iwaizumi and Oikawa in the cafeteria, unable to shake the feeling that you were being studied.

“So, how long have you been attending this university?” Oikawa asked, leaning in close enough for you to smell his minty breath.

“For two years.”

Iwaizumi, who had been initially staring at you with a mildly stunned expression, finally frowned, “Then how did we never notice you?”

You shrugged awkwardly, “I stay out of the spotlight and it’s a big university…”

Oikawa laughed, but there was a sharp edge to it, “Well, that’s not going to work anymore.”

You forced a smile but you didn’t really understand what he was saying. The three of you ate in silence, Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s eyes on you the whole time. The bell eventually tolled, signaling the start of a new hour.

“Let’s do this again tomorrow, sweetie,” Oikawa said with a dazzling smile.

Iwaizumi nodded, “Same time.”

“We’ll walk you back to your dorm,” Oikawa said as the three of you stood up and grabbed your trays.

“Oh,” you suddenly felt very nervous, “No, you don’t have-”

“We want to,” Iwaizumi said sharply. Unable to argue with that, you allowed them to walk you back.

They walked on either side of you, so that their red string of fate brushed against your legs several times. You stopped in front of your dorm room’s door.

“This is me,” you said softly. You unlocked the door and Oikawa immediately pushed past you.

“Where’s your roommates?” he asked.

“I dunno,” you said. You really hoped your RA didn’t think you were bringing boys into a “girls only” dorm room.

“Do you think they’ll be back soon?” Oikawa asked.

“They probably have classes…” you regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth. Oikawa’s eyes gleamed with excitement and, suddenly, Iwaizumi was pushing you into the dark room and closing the door.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa were meant for each other- working in harmony without saying a word to each other. The red string of fate could apparently be lengthened and these men were using it to their advantage.

Oikawa wrapped your wrists in the soft red string while Iwaizumi looped your ankles to opposite bed poles. You tried desperately to escape, but you couldn’t separate your wrists or move your legs at all.

You quickly closed your eyes as they started to undress.

“Rock Paper Scissors?” Oikawa suggested with a grin. Iwaizumi nodded, both men ignoring the sobs that suddenly spilled out from your mouth.

Iwaizumi won after a short battle of hands, and he crawled over your form on the bed, grasping your hips and raising them. He slid a pillow under your ass, giving him access to your unprotected cunt.

He dove in with his tongue, gently lapping at your slit at first, before thrusting the tip of his tongue inside. It wasn’t particularly pleasing. At least, it wasn’t until his lips closed around your clit and sucked lightly.

You were focused on the pleasure, trying to mentally escape from Oikawa’s coos and laughs. When he pulled away, you let out a little whine, which made both men laugh.

“She wants you, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa purred, “Better give our baby what she wants.”

Iwaizumi grasped his cock in his hand, using his thumb to swipe at the precum that was already accumulating at the mushroom tip. He was by no means small in length or girth and you were not ready for this at all. You closed your eyes.

You could feel him sinking into your heat, inch by inch, mercifully slow. It was quickly too much stretching for you and you tried to cry out. As soon as your lips parted, Oikawa shoved his cock inside.

You let out a muffled sound of surprise then gagged as it went too deep. Oikawa chuckled and brushed your hair out of your face. His hand then went to your round belly and gently stroked it.

“So cute…” he cooed.

“Thought you were waiting your turn,” Iwaizumi muttered.

Oikawa laughed, “I can go more than one round, you know that, Iwa-chan.”

The two looked at each other lovingly before turning their sweet gazes onto you. Iwaizumi pulled out and slammed back inside, starting a brutal pace that made you sob and gag around Oikawa’s cock. The former didn’t even bother with moving, since you were already vibrating his dick with every sound you made.

You tried to move your tongue from under Oikawa’s cock but accidentally succeeded in circling his tip with it, which made Oikawa’s hips jerk in shock, his orgasm hitting him by complete surprise.

Thick cum spurted down your throat and partially filled your mouth until your cheeks were bulging with it. “Swallow,” Oikawa demanded and, despite not wanting to listen to him, you did so to get the taste out of your mouth as quickly as possible and not anger him.

Iwaizumi, unfortunately, lasted much longer than Oikawa, who had resorted to playing with your nipples- tweaking and pulling on them until it almost hurt. The attention to your breasts tied with Iwaizumi starting to hit your sweet spot caused you to wail through your own orgasm, shuddering from head to toe by the intensity of it.

Iwaizumi followed shortly after, pulling out and painting your round belly with ropes of white. The two men looked down at you, satisfied. You hoped it was over, but soon enough, Oikawa was playfully shoving his soulmate out of the way and taking his place. Iwaizumi swapped places and began gently sliding his still-hard cock into your mouth.

You wanted to say that it was too much and your jaw hurt, but you couldn’t say a thing without choking around his cock.

“Next time, our place,” Oikawa groaned through a slow, sensual thrust. Iwaizumi just nodded, still staring down at you as though you were all that mattered in the world just then.

—----------------------------------

You felt like a shell of your former self months later, sitting on the couch and “watching” a movie with Iwaizumi and Oikawa on either side of you. In reality, none of you were focused on the movie. You were trying to be, but it’s difficult when one man is groping your chest and the other has his hand down your underwear.

“Her mark is fading,” Oikawa pouted, eyes on your stomach.

Your blood went cold, “No, please, not again!”

The words on your stomach read “Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, My Soulmates”. It almost looked like a red tattoo, but you knew better.

Iwaizumi held you down, using his red string to tie your wrists together like they do so often that it’s become second-nature. Oikawa held up the metal brander, the words that matched your stomach glowing orange with heat.

You screamed as he pressed it into your stomach, unable to hear their reassurances when in so much pain. It seared the words back where they belonged.

As soon as the fiery pain was lifted, you began to cry. All you wanted was to go back to university, maybe meet your real soulmate, and live a normal life. But if you were to say all that, your new soulmates would be furious.

Oikawa gave you a kiss on the head, “You’re all we’ve ever wanted, sweetie.”

Iwaizumi nodded, “Mother Nature messed up not giving you a red thread connected to ours.”

And maybe, you thought as you felt your consciousness fading from shock and pain, maybe she did mess up.

Maybe you were never supposed to meet them.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere one shot #one shot #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu!!#tw: noncon #yandere oikawa #oikawa tooru #yandere iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime

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cxvii666 · 4 months ago

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“93 'Til Infinity”

a mha college au feat. denki k. & hanta s.

“gettin' weeded makes it feel like maui, now we feel the good vibrations, so many females, so much inspiration.”

wc: 2.6k

starting track...

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

....

"it was definitely for me."

"dude, are you fucking kidding? it was definitely for me-"

"what the hell are you talking 'bout? i was the one that spoke to her."

"yeah, but you didn't see the look she gave me."

it was about two days later. early evening still, and hanta sero had the brilliant idea of going to the park to watch the sunset. he and denki kaminari had missed class that day. it was a friday, and, in denki's words, why should we waste a perfectly good friday being stuck in some pointless lit tutorial.

but yeah, hanta had been on his reconnecting with nature bullshit again.

as in, he'd been offline, no minecraft or running duos on valorant, deleted all his social media, his screen time was at an all time low, and instead of sparking up and jerking off, he's slap his headphones on and go smoke and skate in the park.

at first denki had been sick of it. hanta does this all time, it only lasts for about three months, then he gets bored, re-downloads instagram and the cycle repeats itself.

but right now, he can see the appeal.

the sunset is beautiful, the sky painted in hues of pink and orange. the air is still, the park is basically deserted, they're far enough out from any main roads, so all they can hear is the rustle of the trees and the occasional chirping of birds mixed in with their own music.

denki doesn't even know the genre, some sort of underground nameless hiphop, lofi, rap, shit that hanta listens to, with the bass turned up so high, that if he concentrates denki can feel the thrum of the baseline vibrating through his body. they have a joint, a can of beer and a vape to share between them.

they're debating the interaction they had with you right now though, what had happened, and which of them you had left your number for.

"what look?" denki coughs out in between drags.

the snickers hanta lets out, when denki passes him the joint back so he can take a couple hits of the vape to soothe his poor sensitive baby lungs, is mean and teasing.

the dark haired boy takes a long pull, inhales, shapes his lips, and blows thick rings of smoke right into his friends face, ignoring denki's shriek of complaint and the subsequent whack to the shoulder he receives.

"y'know," hanta says contemplatively, "the look girls give when they want you, it's like-"

he turns to face denki, careful of where the ash drops. his eyes slowly flit from one amber eye to the other, he drops his gaze to the blonde's pink lips for half a second, then back up so he's making square eye contact with him, and finishes off with a slow smile.

".....that is pure bullshit."

hanta scoffs and takes a swig of the beer, "no it's not." he burps out, "you just don't understand women like i do."

"you understand women?" the blonde replies incredulously accompanied by a raise of his eyebrow.

"yeah, well... more than you at least- AH, OW FUCK-"

hanta swears under his breath as he tries to brush off the imprint of the bottom of denki's sneaker from the side of his acid washed jeans, "these are new, fucking jackass."

"dude, shut up. y'know what, i'm gonna text her."

"yeah for sure," hanta snarks, "and say what, 'yo it's that blonde idiot from the other day—" another kick to the thigh. "what did i just say? would you stop that."

the blonde shushes him and pulls his phone out.

"are you actually texting her?" hanta takes another drag and blows the smoke out upwards, "i'm telling you, she left her number for me."

"we'll see won't we," denki grins and sticks his tongue out fingers tapping hastily away, "ok, how's this, "hey it's the blonde guy from your lit class.""

hanta rolls his eyes as denki slips his phone back into his pocket and makes grabby hand's towards the zoot.

"whatever, i bet she won't reply—" a ping from denki's phone. "no, fucking, way."

the laugh denki lets out is diabolical as he gets his phone back out with a smirk, "and you said i didn't understand women- damn, it's just mina— oh shit."

"what's she done now?"

"no, dude," denki taps hanta once to call his attention, eyes alight as he reads the text message out loud, ""why are you texting my friend you freak, lying bout being in her lit class"."

they both pause and stare at each other, "wow... small world huh."

"does that mean she's off-limits now?"

"no, what? you can't assume that, women have like autonomy and allat shit, tell mina to mind her own business."

"are you sure 'cos—" another ping from denki's phone. ""i don't take lit.""

hanta scrambles to see the screen, "no way she messaged back, let me seeee."

"nuh uh," denki replies childishly and raises his phone high above his head as he scoots back, "you don't get see this, not after you doubted me." regardless of denki's reasoning, hanta snatches the phone off of him.

"ok, okay, crying emoji, we can work with this," he passes the phone back to his disgruntled friend who scoffs at him and then hanta points to the device, "say 'are you free tonight? you wanna go over the class notes with me' umm, 'me and my friend'."

denki just blinks at him and exhales through his nose, "i am not typing that shit out, are you crazy?"

"don't even. you were the one talkin' 'bout golden opportunities," he does a poor mockery of denki's voice, "and whatnot."

"is that not a bit forward?"

"uh no? its a suggestion, she can say no, no harm no foul."

"you're fucking stupid, fine, are you free tonight-"

hanta switches off his speaker and watches as denki types out the rest of the message.

"and now, we wait."

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“how do you do that?”

“do what?”

it’s just gone ten pm, and the glow from denki’s string lights flickers gently, casting a warm halo over everything. the mellow hum of hip-hop floats through the air, soft and steady, like the pulse of the night. the three of you are fucking chilling.

you're sprawled on the couch, sharing a joint with hanta, who’s stretched out like he owns the place. his long legs are spread across the cushions, body languid, and his eyes—those dark, heavy-lidded eyes—have been locked on the snacks for at least ten minutes. he’s making zero effort to hide the fact that he’s thinking about them, his pretty mouth set in a slight pout like he’s debating whether to reach for them or stay cool.

he doesn’t need to do much to seem effortlessly attractive, becuit’s everything about him—the way his long lashes frame his eyes when he looks at you, the way his messy hair seems so perfect in its disarray, the way his lips are full and soft. you hate how natural it all is.

denki, on the other hand, is bouncing around the room, as always. he's got this energy that’s impossible to ignore—like a sunbeam you can’t escape. his high cheekbones catch the low light as he flips through his playlist, searching for the next song. when he looks over at you, his amber eyes sparkle with that warm mischief, the same way his smile does when it flashes your way. it's the kind of smile that makes you feel like you're the only one in the room. effortless, real, the sort of charm that feels like home.

you gesture at hanta, who’s exhaling perfect smoke rings into the dim light, the air thick with it. "how do you do that?"

“oh, how do i blow o’s? it’s actually super easy.” hanta’s voice is low, smooth, and the way he talks, the way he looks at you while he says it, makes it hard to concentrate.

he does it again, blowing another perfect ring, and god, you hate pretty boys.

everything they do, every movement is a little bit artful. the way hanta inhales and exhales, eyes dark and steady on you as he does, his lips curling just enough to make you want to stare forever. the way his long lashes hang just so, like they’re trying to hide the fact that he’s been watching you for longer than he should.

denki’s the same. if not worse. he talks to you like it’s second nature, like he’s known you forever. the ease in his voice, in the way he leans back, taking up space beside you, curling into the couch like he belongs there, makes you feel like you’ve known him all your life. there’s nothing forced about him. and when he laughs, it’s infectious, that slow spread of warmth in his voice, the gentle glow of his amber eyes lighting up the room as he looks at you.

“you want me to teach you?” he asks, his voice almost teasing but open, welcoming. like there’s nothing more natural than inviting you into his world.

it was a bad idea coming here.

but not because of them.

you talked to mina before you showed up. she told you, both of them were idiots, no filter, no shame, completely unapologetic, but... she also said they were decent guys, totally respectful, and fun as hell. so, no, it wasn’t them.

it was you. you know the type of person you are. a sucker for pretty boys. the ones with the perfect eyes, the pretty hair, the full lips that get you caught in a gaze for a second too long. the ones who smell good and look like they belong in magazines. you knew walking in that this night might be a problem. but with the way hanta’s eyes linger on you, that half-lidded gaze, with the smirk playing on his lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing—it's almost impossible to care.

you sigh, rolling your eyes, but it’s hard not to smile. “sure, show me how.”

you take the joint from him, weakly attempt to copy the moves his been pulling for the past half hour. when you cough the first time, neither comment. denki just passes you a cold bottle of sprite as he chuckles lightly, and hanta grins, taking the joint from you, that quiet smirk turning into something a little more playful. his voice is low when he speaks again, and you have to focus to hear it over the hazy fog of the room. "watch me do it first, then try to copy."

you watch, rapt, as he takes another drag, his lips forming a perfect “o” and then releasing the smoke in smooth, clean rings. and god, the way he makes it look so effortless, like it’s all part of the rhythm of him, like his body and his breath are just... synchronized. it’s hard to look away, even if you want to.

denki’s eyes catch yours, and for a moment, it’s like time stops. the dim lighting plays on your skin, making everything look like it’s coated in a soft glow. you feel the air between you and denki warm up just a little more, like you’ve crossed a line from casual to something more, even if it’s only for a second. and hanta’s still watching you, his gaze steady and intense, like he’s trying to figure you out, trying to find the parts of you you haven’t shown him yet.

denki shares a look with hanta, and without a word, they both know. you’re the one.

denki queues up another track, his fingers tapping rhythmically on his phone as he sends the song into the air. he looks at you like you’re the most interesting person he’s ever met, that easy, genuine smile of his never leaving his face.

"holy shit," you say, when the intro to the next track plays. "i love this song."

denki’s grin widens, eyes practically glowing with excitement. “shut up,” he gasps, turning toward you with an expression of pure joy. “you know Souls of Mischief?”

“of course i do,” you smile softly, genuinely glad to find common ground.

he calls your name, and when he says, “i didn’t know you was cool like that,” it’s not just a compliment—it’s a declaration.

“what does this even mean?” hanta interjects, his mouth full of chocolate, but his eyes are low as they shift between the two of you. "‘93 till?”

you glance away from where you’d been staring at the stars on denki’s ceiling, feeling his warmth next to you as he leans in close, and you answer smoothly, “it’s like chilling, rolling up, and just enjoying the moment... from now till... forever.”

“exactly.” denki’s grin softens, and he passes you the joint again, his fingers brushing against yours. "i feel like... this life we live, it’s ours, y’know? we can do whatever we want, and we can enjoy it from now till forever-"

you nod, feeling the weight of his words sink in, but then he suddenly stops, mid-thought, pulling a vape out of his pocket.

“… like?”

“oh, no. i’m done.”

“that’s some really profound shit, denks.” hanta calls out from your other side.

it’s not that funny, but it’s the weed, and the moment is too good to not laugh at. you let out a laugh, and denki’s laughter is contagious. when he laughs, it’s all in—his whole body shaking with it. you can’t help but laugh with him, and when he slaps hanta’s shoulder, you’re both lost in the moment, caught up in the sheer joy of it all.

"soooo," the blonde rolls the word around once he's composed himself, and calls your name out in his playful drawl, you mumble in reply, "we have a proposition for you."

"wait," hanta interrupts, leaning back in his spot, still casually holding the blunt between his fingers as he exhales, thick clouds floating upward. “ask her the question first.”

“what questi—oh, OH, the question,” denki turns to face you, suddenly all serious, as if what he’s about to ask is going to change the entire mood. “we’ve been debating this amongst our friend group.”

you raise an eyebrow. “right…”

“and, hmm,” denki tilts his head, scanning your expression as if weighing the way you’ll respond. “i guess your answer might be different ‘cause you're a girl, but would you rather, have a threesome with two guys or two girls?"

you blink, processing the unexpected shift. then, with a smirk, you deadpan, “that is definitely a question.” hanta snickers from where he’s sprawled beside denki, his face half-lit by the flickering light.

“is that the only two options?” you ask casually, exhaling smoke and looking between them both.

“what do you mean?” denki asks, his brow furrowed, genuinely curious.

“as in like, is this tmi?” you shrug, “actually, I don’t care. I’ve had a threeway with two other girls—”

“really?” denki’s voice holds genuine surprise, his eyes widening slightly.

“yeah,” you nod, your tone light, almost playful. “and that was actually pretty fun.”

“i can imagine—” denki starts, but hanta slaps the back of his neck, cutting him off. you let out a short laugh, “f'cking joke, dude.”

denki grins, rubbing the spot where hanta slapped him. “but no, this is a particular scenario,” he continues, regaining his composure. “like, technically, i'm pronoun-fluid, but in this hypothetical, it’s either two guys and one girl or two girls and one guy.”

as hanta passes you the blunt, you take a moment to think. The smoke curls lazily around you, and the room feels a bit hazy, just the right amount of weight in the air.

denki gives his own opinion as an example. “like, i said two guys, because i feel like I’d run out of stamina. i wouldn’t want to leave either girl unsatisfied just ‘cos i can’t keep up.”

“you know what,” hanta calls out, drawing denki’s attention as he turns to face him, “that is actually a pretty decent point.”

“exactly! and y’all were clowning me earlier, but I’m thinking logically.” denki looks pleased with himself, leaning back and stretching out a little more.

you take a slow drag, exhaling thoughtfully, “are the two guys doing stuff with each other or—”

“well, i dunno. denki, you wanna get it on with me?” hanta shoots back, his voice smooth, the playful edge in his voice underpinned by something raw.

“hundred percent I’d get it on with you—I’m receiving though,” denki says with a wink.

“y’know it,” hanta grins, his eyes glinting with amusement.

but you cut in before the banter goes further, “or, are they ‘sharing’ the girl?”

“well, when you put it like that,” denki scrunches his face in mock distaste, “it sounds kinda asshole-ish, but... I mean, sharing is caring.”

you and hanta snort at the same time, exchanging a glance. then you lean in, eyes narrowing playfully, “wait, why are you even asking me this?”

“oh yeah,” hanta remembers, suddenly deadpan, “we were gonna ask you if you wanted to bang us.” his words come out blunt, but not unkind, as he leans down onto the table, casually ashing the joint.

maybe it’s the weed kicking in, or the way denki has his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer in that effortless, warm way. but you feel a strange calm settle over you, and you just mock gasp. “no, fucking way.”

“yes, fucking way,” denki chimes in, that grin returning, full of mischief.

but it’s hanta who catches your eye, his gaze steady, more thoughtful. he speaks quietly, carefully, “it doesn’t have to be right now.”

denki gives a lazy nod of agreement. “think it over. the offer’s on the table.”

you roll your eyes, still trying to figure out if this is all some strange, blurry dream. "oh yeah?”

hanta, noticing the subtle shift in your expression, tilts his head slightly. “i finish work early next saturday,” you say, voice smooth, a playful challenge in the words. you can feel the tension in the room, and your pulse quickens slightly at the thought of their presence lingering longer.

“hanta—” denki starts, but sero interrupts.

already on his phone, opening his work schedule, he says, “hold on, i'm checking— it's my one free sa turday this month... let’s fucking go.”

"let’s fucking gooo,” denki cheers, his grin brightening even more.

you snicker, shaking your head. “no way we just scheduled a threesome.”

“yeah, babe,” denki says, the pet name slipping so naturally from his lips. his easy, laid-back vibe pulls you in even more, and the way he leans back into the couch, content, like nothing in the world could faze him. “that’s how we roll.”

“Is it really?” you ask, half-sarcastic, raising an eyebrow.

“he’s joking,” hanta says, dismissing denki with a casual wave of his hand. “ignore him. his body count’s like... two.”

"two and a half,” denki corrects, matter-of-factly.

“oh, yeah, my bad gang,” hanta says with a dramatic exhale, tone dripping with sarcasm. “two point five.”

“how can you have half a body?”

"oh, you're gonna love this story..."

...end of playback

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

prev track ▷ hoe cakes

next track ▷ nokia

#sero hanta x reader #denki kaminari x reader #mha #my hero academia #sero hanta #denki kaminari #denki kaminari x black reader #denki x reader #sero hanta x black reader #hanta sero x reader #hanta sero #sero nation #this one is for you guys #bnha x black reader #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha #Spotify

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dearstvckyx · 5 months ago

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Girl Dad Nico Headcanons

Summary: What kind of girl dad would Nico be? What would he teach her?

Parings: Nico Hischier x Reader / Nico Hischier x Daughter / Nico Hischier x Unborn Child / ft Jack Hughes, Jesper Bratt & Dougie Hamilton

. 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 .

Finding Out You’re Having a Girl – Nico would be so soft when he finds out. The moment the doctor says, “It’s a girl,” his face just lights up. He squeezes your hand, probably kisses your forehead, and just whispers, “A little girl?” like he can’t believe it. He spends the next few days grinning every time he thinks about it, already imagining what she’ll be like. He starts calling her “his little princess” before she’s even born.

Introducing Her to the boys – The first time he brings her to the locker room, she’s in a tiny Devils onesie with Hischier on the back, and the guys lose their minds. Jack Hughes is immediately like, “Oh my god, she’s so small,” while Dougie Hamilton is already trying to teach her how to fist bump. Jesper Bratt swears he’s her favorite uncle, even though she’s just staring at him. Nico just beams with pride, holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the world (because to him, she is).

Teaching Her to Skate – The first time he puts skates on her, she’s wobbling so much he just scoops her up and glides around the ice with her in his arms. As she gets older, he’s the most patient teacher, always there to catch her when she falls. He definitely lets her “beat” him in little races, and if she scores a goal on him, he acts like she just won the Stanley Cup.

Tea Parties – Listen, this man is all in. You walk in one day to find Nico sitting on the floor, a tiara on his head, pink feather boa around his shoulders, sipping invisible tea from a tiny cup while his daughter tells him very seriously about the royal ball. He never half-asses it—if she wants him to talk in a princess voice, you bet he’s doing it. “Why yes, Your Majesty, this tea is simply divine.”

Making Time for Her Performances – Even during the busiest parts of the season, he does everything to be at her dance recitals or school plays. If he has a game and can’t be there, he FaceTimes right after to tell her how proud he is. But if he can make it? He’s the loudest dad there, clapping like crazy, grinning ear to ear, probably recording the whole thing. He also definitely gets chirped by the guys for tearing up the first time she performs.

Matching Game Day Outfits – She has a tiny Devils jersey with his number, and on game days, she refuses to wear anything else. He takes a pre-game selfie with her every time and posts it with “My lucky charm” as the caption.

Doing Her Hair – At first, he sucks at ponytails, but he watches YouTube tutorials until he masters it. Eventually, he’s braiding her hair like a pro, and if she asks for a fancy style before school, he’s up early making sure it’s perfect.

Letting Her Paint His Nails – She asks him once during a daddy-daughter day, and from then on, it’s a tradition. He just sits there, letting her paint his nails bright pink with glitter, acting like it’s totally normal when he shows up to practice. The guys chirp him, but he just shrugs and says, “She said it’s my power color.”

Protective Dad Mode – The first time she scrapes her knee, he freaks out like it’s a season-ending injury. Later, when she gets older and mentions a boy in her class, he’s suddenly very interested in meeting him. “Is he nice to you?” (Meanwhile, Jack is in the background like “Dude, she’s seven.”)

Cuddling Her After Road Trips – No matter how late he gets home, he checks in on her first. If she stirs, she immediately mumbles “Daddy?” and reaches for him, and he just melts, scooping her up and rocking her back to sleep.

Teaching Her Swiss German – He makes sure she knows both English and Swiss German. Sometimes, he says things in Swiss German just to see her little face scrunch up in confusion, but when she starts speaking it back? Proud dad moment.

Baking Together – He is not a good baker, but when she wants to make cookies, he’s all in. The kitchen ends up a disaster, flour everywhere, and the cookies are questionably shaped—but he eats them like they’re Michelin star quality.

Letting Her “Help” With Workouts – She sits on his back while he does push-ups, giggling the whole time. Eventually, she tries to do squats next to him, and he hypes her up like she’s training for the Olympics.

Always Hyping Her Up – Whether she’s showing off a drawing, skating, or just spinning in a dress, he gasps like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. “Are you kidding? You made this?! That’s incredible.”

Her First Pair of Skates – He keeps them forever, even after she outgrows them. They sit on a shelf in his office, right next to his hockey memorabilia. ( Once Jesper, the one who got them for her, notices them in Nico’s office and just smiles at the fact his captain and friend is soft like this)

Stuffed Animal Ritual – She has a favorite stuffed animal (probably a little cow or a bear), and Nico always makes sure it’s with her when she needs it. If it ever gets lost, he drops everything to find it.

Late-Night Talks – When she has a bad day, she finds him on the couch, and he just listens. No judgment, no pressure—just her dad, reminding her he’s always there.

Surprising Her at School Lunch – On off days, he shows up at her school unannounced with her favorite food, and she acts embarrassed but secretly loves it.

Making Every Birthday Special – He wakes her up with balloons and pancakes. Every year. Even when she’s a teenager and pretends she’s too cool for it.

Keeping Her Drawings Forever – His fridge is covered in her artwork. If she ever makes something hockey-related, it immediately gets framed. (The boys hang their little drawings from her as well)

Extra:

Nico’s fingers brush over your growing bump, his touch warm and careful, like he’s holding something fragile. He lets out a small chuckle, his other arm wrapped around your shoulders as you both lay together on the couch. “I feel like it’s another girl,” he murmurs, tilting his head to look at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. You raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? You sure about that, Cap?” He grins, nodding. “I just have a feeling.” His hand smooths over your belly again, his voice quieter now, almost like he’s speaking to the baby. “Another little girl to boss me around. Just imagine—two of them ganging up on me.” He lets out a dramatic sigh, but the sparkle in his eyes betrays how much he loves the idea. You laugh, resting your head against his shoulder. “You don’t want a boy this time?” He shrugs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’d love a boy too. But… I don’t know, I think I was meant to be a girl dad. Our little one already has me wrapped around her finger, what’s one more?” He pauses for a second before smirking. “Besides, I need someone else to paint my nails when she’s too busy with her friends.”

#nico hischer x reader #nico hischier #nh13 #Nico Hischier x daughter #jack hughes #jh86 #jesper bratt #jb63 #dougie hamilton #dh7 #new jersey devils x reader #new jersey devils #nhl write #nhl headcanons #headcanons #girl dad

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hillbillyoracle · 2 months ago

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When cell phones and internet go down...

If you're in one of a myriad of marginalized groups who know they can't count on the government to help them, then this post is for you.

I feel like I'm cramming messages into bottles from my fairly niche interest (radio, emergency comms) and chucking them into the sea of Tumble in the hopes it reaches people it can help. What happened in Spain and Portugal recently and some of the cell outages we've seen in recent years - they're is a great example of why back up communication methods aren't just for doomsday preppers.

If cell phones and internet (and possibly power) went out, how would you communicate in an emergency?

Note: this is geared toward the US. It's where I am and it's all I know.

If I only had ~$25

I'd grab a Beofeng UV-5R ($18-$25) if I thought I might study to get my ham license eventually ($15-$25 test fee + $35 FCC fee),

If I knew I didn't want to test for a ham license and thought I might pay $35 for a GMRS license eventually, I'd pay a little extra up front and get a Beofeng UV-5G plus GMRS radio (~$35)

While this would not allow me to transmit usually, this would allow me to:

call for help in an emergency - the license requirement for transmission is lifted in the event of a genuine emergency

listen to weather frequencies - it will not turn on and give you the alert but if you know bad weather is coming, you can turn it on and listen for alerts as they come in. Weather stations give alerts for a fairly broad area so you'll be able to hear about any significant storms as the move into and through your area.

listen to local repeaters - repeaters, in my experience, are kind of a combination of a megaphone and an internet chat room. You set the frequency and the PL tones (password sounds your radio sends) for the repeater and then you can hear people from much further away. This is one, just fun to listen to on a given day but two, a great way to find out information if your area is experiencing an event but you don't require help. Some even have EAS weather alerts (thought this still won't turn your radio on if it's off in an emergency). Use repeaterbook to look for repeaters in your area and use CHIRP to program them into your radio - tutorials abound.

For ~$15 more you can upgrade the UV-5R to a bigger battery and USB-C charging (UV-5G comes with USB-C charging).

This can be thrown in a go bag if you need to evacuate or your housing is unstable. You can have your handheld radio monitoring a local repeater while you have a car or portable radio listening to commercial or public stations for updates.

If I only had ~$100

I would get a GMRS license ($35) and a Beofeng UV-5G plus (~$35) and a single Meshtastic node (~$25).

If I had a little extra, I'd grab a second Meshtastic node for a roommate, partner, family member or nearby friend.

This would get me the ability to not only monitor frequencies but the ability to talk on them in non-emergency times which would be helpful practice. Some GMRS repeaters have regular "nets" - it's basically a meeting on air where someone invited folks to tell them/radio in their call sign (radio license ID basically) and then they confirm they heard you. This gives you a chance to test your equipment.

The GMRS license covers your family so they can pick up a radio as well and then you'd be able to communicate with them as well (as long as they're close enough; 1-5 miles but varies by terrain, more range if using a repeater). It's not a phone so the conversation would be heard by other people but this is great for wellness checks or a quick check up.

Meshtastics add the ability to text people and share GPS coordinates with people near by - encrypted if you so desire. The range is much less (I've only tested it to about a mile currently though with tweaking more is possible). This adds an important link in your communication plan - asynchronous communication. As long as the device is on and paired and in range, you'll most likely receive a message. It does drop occasionally but that's pretty rare. My nesting partner and I often have to rely on them because the internet and cell signal is so poor up here but they serve us incredibly well for that. Beyond the Emergency Comms use, it's just nice for morale to be able to text during an event. Best part is, if you're in an area were other people have them too, you can bounce your signal further for no additional power.

Past this amount of money, I'd still get my GMRS license and encourage my friends and neighbors who didn't want to study for the ham license to get theirs. Then I'd get my ham license and buy the best handheld I could afford - probably one of the value Yaesu models - so I have several ways to both coordinate among my loved ones and get any needs to a net in the area during a disaster.I'd get and pass out several meshtastic devices to people who were within range that I might want to commincate with. I'd look into back up power for recharging (I like my Jackerys).

Amateur radio is a deep well and this barely touches on it of it. Don't let how vast it is keep you thinking it's too complicated for you. I promise it's not. I'm very much a noob myself but I'm happy answer any questions that I can.

This is part of self care - ensuring you can care for yourself during chaotic events and emergencies to the best of your ability. Even a little bit of preparation can keep something like storm outbreak or power outage from turning harmful or even deadly. Learn what you can. You've got this!

#ham radio #prepping #GMRS #emcomm

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sonamytrash · 10 months ago

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I Aim To Please.

Plumber Toji Fushiguro.

Porn trope Toji series, part 2 🖤

Part one here 🖤

Warnings: Smut, Plumber Toji x Fem!Reader, P in V, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding k!nk, pregnancy k!ink, no foreplay, Toji Fushiguro has a big dick, not proof read, trashy porno storyline, I don't know anything about plumbing, anything I learned about plumbing for the sake of this fic was through porn, reader you're a slut.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

It was a quiet Friday afternoon, and you had the weekend to yourself—or so you thought. You had finished work early, arriving back at your apartment having scheduled a plumber this afternoon.

The soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional chirp of a bird outside were the only sounds that filled the air. You felt a sense of calm wash over you as you slipped off your shoes and work attire, donning a baggy t-shirt and shorts before walking into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The apartment was your sanctuary, a place where you could unwind from the stresses of the week. But, as you filled the kettle, you were reminded of the persistent drip from the sink that had been driving you crazy for days.

You had tried to fix it yourself, watching YouTube tutorials and armed with a wrench, but it was clear that your DIY skills had their limits. That's why you called in the cavalry—Toji Fushiguro, the plumber with a reputation for getting the job done swiftly and efficiently.

Just as you finished making your drink, the doorbell rang, and you took a deep breath to compose yourself before opening the door. There he was, tall and broad-shouldered, with a tool belt slung low on his hips. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and his eyes, a piercing shade of brown, met yours with a professional yet alluring gaze. "Hi, I'm Toji," he said, flashing a smile that made your knees wobble just a bit. "You got trouble with a tap, sweetheart?"

You nod, stepping aside to let him in, trying not to stare too long at the way his muscles moved under his tight-fitting t-shirt. "Thank you for coming," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. As he passed, you caught a whiff of his aftershave—a faint scent of pine and mint that sent a shiver down your spine. "The problem's in the kitchen."

Toji nodded and followed you, his heavy boots echoing in the hallway. Once in the kitchen, he set down his toolbox and surveyed the situation. You pointed to the sink, feeling a bit self-conscious in your oversized t-shirt and shorts. "It's been doing that for a while now," you said, gesturing to the slow, maddening drip.

He leaned over, his muscular arm brushing against your side, and you felt an unexpected jolt of attraction. His closeness made the air feel thick and charged. He turned the faucet on and off again before he began to inspect the pipes under the sink. You couldn't help but watch the play of muscles across his back, the way his biceps flexed with each movement.

"Looks like it's just a loose washer," he said, his voice deep and reassuring. "It's an easy fix."

You leaned against the counter, sipping your tea as you watched him work. Truthfully you would usually leave workmen to their own devices, but it seemed a shame to miss out on the view. The way he moved with such confidence, his hands sure and capable, was surprisingly arousing. You felt your cheeks flush as you remembered the last time you had been intimate with someone—it had been months, and it was definitely not this handsome.

As he knelt, reaching into the cabinets, his pants tightened around his thighs, and you couldn't help but imagine what lay beneath them. He looked up at you, his gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary, and you knew he wasn't oblivious to the tension in the room.

Toji removed the faulty washer with ease, and the silence that followed was deafening. The air between you crackled with unspoken desires. "It's fixed," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through your entire body. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and intense. "But it's going to take a few minutes to let the water pressure settle."

You nodded, your eyes lingering on his full lips. He took a step closer, and before you knew it, he had set his tools aside and was standing right in front of you. The heat from his body was palpable, and you could feel his breath on your skin. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" he asked, his voice a seductive whisper.

The question hung in the air, loaded with meaning, and you knew that he wasn't just referring to the plumbing.

Your heart raced as you set your tea down, the porcelain clinking against the counter. "I don't know," you replied coyly, your voice barely above a whisper. "What did you have in mind?"

Toji's smile grew into a smirk, his eyes traveling over your body with a hunger that sent a thrill of excitement through you. He took another step closer, and you could feel the warmth of his body against your legs.

"Well," he said, his voice dropping an octave, "I've got a few... tools that might be of use to you."

You felt a shiver of anticipation run down your spine as he reached out and lightly brushed your thigh with the back of his hand. His touch was like a spark that ignited a fire within you, and suddenly all you could think about was the heat of his body against yours.

"Maybe you could show me?" you offered, your voice breathy and hopeful.

Toji's smirk grew into a full-blown grin as he reached out and gently tugged on the hem of your shirt. "I'd be happy to, princess. " he said, his eyes never leaving yours.

You took a step closer, feeling the heat from his body, and the air between you grew electric. The flirting was no longer subtle. You bit your bottom lip, and he took it as the invitation it was. His hand traveled up your side, his thumb grazing the curve of your waist, and your breath hitched.

Without another word, he closed the distance between you, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer. His lips found yours in a kiss that was rough, his tongue demanding entry as he tasted you. You responded eagerly, your arms wrapping around his neck as you gave in to the lust that had been building since the moment he had arrived.

You could feel the fabric of your t-shirt stretching tightly across your breasts as he cupped them, his thumbs brushing against your hardened nipples through the thin material. A moan escaped your lips, and he took it as an invitation to deepen the kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before he sucked it into his mouth.

His hands traveled up to the hem of your shirt and with a swift tug, he lifted it over your head, revealing your lacy bra. He took a moment to appreciate the sight before unclipping it and letting your breasts spill into his waiting hands. His rough fingers tweaked and pinched your sensitive flesh, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You reached down and unbuckled his tool belt, letting it clatter to the floor. Your hands worked on the button of his pants, and when they were open, you slid them down to expose his boxers, the outline of his substantial erection straining against the fabric. Toji stepped out of his boots and shed his pants, leaving him in just his underwear, which he quickly discarded.

He lifted you onto the counter, the cold marble a stark contrast to the heat of his skin. His hands roamed over your bare thighs, making you gasp as he pushed aside your shorts and panties. The tip of his finger traced the wetness of your sex, and you bucked your hips in response, desperate for more.

"You're so fucking wet for me, already?" Toji teased, his breath hot against your neck.

You bit your lip and nodded, unable to form coherent words. "Mmhmm," you managed, your voice a breathy purr.

Toji chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with desire. "I want to hear you say it," he demanded, his hand sliding up your inner thigh. "Tell me how much you want me."

You looked into his eyes, feeling a rush of boldness. "I want you," you whispered, your voice a seductive purr. "I want you to fuck me."

Toji's eyes darkened at your words, and his grip on your thighs tightened. "Is that right?" he said, his voice a gruff challenge. "You want this rough plumber to pound you like you're his personal fuck toy?"

You felt a thrill of excitement at his crude language, nodding eagerly. "Yes," you breathed, your voice thick with need. "I want you to use me."

Toji's eyes narrowed, his grip on your thighs tightening. "You're going to get exactly what you ask for, sweetheart," he growled, his voice full of promise. He stepped closer, the head of his cock nudging against your wet folds.

You could feel the head of his erection pressing against you, and you were still surprised by how big he was. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the feeling of being filled, but Toji didn't rush. He took his time, rubbing the length of his cock against your wetness, building the anticipation.

When he finally entered you, it was slow and deliberate, stretching you with a delicious burn that made you gasp, considering you had no prep from his fingers, it was no suprise that there was a stong to accompany the intrusion of his cock. He didn't stop until he was all the way in, his hips flush against yours. You could feel every inch of him, and it was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"You're so tight," he groaned, his eyes squeezed shut as he took a moment to adjust to the snug fit. You felt your body quiver around him as he began to move, his hips rocking into yours with a force that made the countertop creak.

The sensation of his huge cock filling you was almost overwhelming. It stretched you to the point of pain, but the pleasure quickly overtook any discomfort. You had never felt so full, so claimed. His movements grew more urgent, each thrust hitting a spot deep within you that had you crying out his name.

"Fuck, you're taking me so well," he grunted, his eyes locked onto yours. "You're made for this, aren't you?" His dirty talk only served to heighten your arousal, making you wetter and more eager for his rough, unbridled passion. "You're greedy cunt is taking all of me, every inch," he continued, his voice gruff with desire.

You whimpered, biting your bottom lip as he began to move faster, his hips pistoning into you with a relentless rhythm that had you clutching at his shoulders.

Toji's eyes were blazed with lust, "You like it rough, don't you?" he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "I could tell as soon as I saw you, that you like being pounded like the slut you are."

You couldn't deny it, and you found yourself moaning back, "Yes, yes, I do." Your voice was shaky, your body trembling with every impact. "Fuck me harder, Toji," you begged, feeling the edge of an orgasm approaching.

"That's it, take it," he grunted, his hips smacking against yours with each punishing thrust. "You're such a good little whore for me, aren't you?"

The words sent a thrill through you, and you found yourself responding in kind. "Yes! Yes, I am," you moaned, the dirty talk adding a delicious edge to the already intense experience. "Fuck me like you own me, Toji. Make me cum!"

Toji's pace didn't let up, his eyes locked on yours as he pounded into you. You could feel your body tightening around him, the beginnings of another orgasm building. The way he talked to you, the way he used you, it was all so new, so raw, and it was intoxicating.

"I'm going to fill you up," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "I'm going to breed you right here on this kitchen counter."

You gasped, the shock of his words mixing with the pleasure coursing through your body. The idea of him impregnating you was both terrifying and thrilling, a taboo fantasy that had you clutching at him even tighter. "Do it," you moaned, your voice barely a whisper. "I want to feel your cum inside me."

Toji's eyes lit up at your response, his strokes growing more erratic as he approached his climax. He leaned in closer, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he whispered, "You're going to get pregnant with my baby, aren't you?"

The thought of his seed filling you up, his child growing inside you, sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through your body. "Oh God, yes," you moaned, your nails digging into his back. The idea of being filled with his essence was too much to handle, and with one final, powerful thrust, you felt your body give way. You squirted everywhere, your juices spraying out around his cock and coating the counter beneath you. The intensity of the sensation was like nothing you had ever felt before, and you screamed out his name as your muscles clenched around him.

Toji grunted with pleasure, his eyes locked onto yours as he continued to pump into you. You could see the effort in his face, the way his jaw was clenched and his muscles bulged with the effort of holding back. "Atta girl, make a mess on my cock," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Your orgasm seemed to go on forever, your body convulsing around him until finally, with a groan, he buried himself deep and emptied himself inside you. You felt the hot spurt of his cum fill you up, and the sensation was like nothing you had ever experienced. It was raw, primal, and utterly exhilarating.

As the aftershocks of pleasure subsided, Toji leaned in and kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same hunger he had shown moments before. His cock remained buried inside you, still pulsing with the last remnants of his release. You could feel his heart hammering against your chest, his breathing ragged and erratic.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, savoring the feeling of his warmth and the weight of his body pressing you into the counter. The kitchen, once a place of domesticity, was now a stage for your carnally charged performance. The scent of sex mingled with the faint aroma of mint from your tea, creating a heady blend that seemed to intoxicate you further.

"You're a naughty girl," Toji said, his voice still thick with lust as he kissed along your neck, making you shiver.

"Is that a compliment?" you teased, your voice light and playful.

Toji chuckled, his grip on your hips loosening slightly. "You bet your sweet ass it is," he said, his eyes raking over your bare chest. "I've never seen anyone look so fucking good with their legs spread on a kitchen counter."

You couldn't help but smile at his crudeness, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the aftermath of your orgasm. "And I've never had a plumber quite like you," you retorted, running your nails lightly down his back.

Toji chuckled, "I aim to please."

#toji x you #toji smut #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji fushigro x reader #toji fic #toji fushiguro smut #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk smut

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