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beckyninja · 6 months ago

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The Curse

Pairing: SalamanderOC x FemReader

Warnings: some violence, some obsession

Description: As Nev'ran's longing for his Diamond grows, she discovers something truly horrific about her intended husband.

A damsel in distress? Check. Star-crossed lovers? Check. A creepy rival with a dark secret? Check. Can you tell I love the classic tropes?

This is a continuation of my Salamander x Reader series, which you can find on my Masterlist.

The icy wind howled like a living, vengeful thing when you stepped off the transport. It clawed into every bit of exposed skin. You pulled your hood tighter around your face, already longing for the warmth of the Salamanders’ battle barge.

For his warmth.

No. Don’t think about that, about him. Numb yourself.

Your eyes lifted to the settlement around you. White ice and dull silver metal, as far as the eye could see. Frozen and lifeless.

They’d told you the majority of the colony’s population lived underground, in a city carved from the bedrock. Between that and the mines, you wondered how many of the citizens had ever seen the surface.

And that’s where I’ll spend the rest of my days too. Down, down in the hard, frozen depths.

Not even the numbness of your heart could fight off the leaden dread in your stomach.

The shriek of cold metal pierced through the howling wind. You turned to see a portion of the floor slide back to reveal an elevator. Six figures, so bundled they barely looked human, stood on the platform. One towered a full foot over the rest.

The guards sent to collect you marched forward as one. You stumbled in the ankle-deep snow, trying to keep up with the inhuman regularity of their steps. Servitors of some kind?

At last you stepped onto the platform. The tall figure reached out one claw-like gloved hand and beckoned.

You approached, fighting back the urge to make a break for the departing transport. The dread in your gut intensified. Your heart pounded in your ears.

As you reached the tall figure, the platform shook and began to descend. The panel above you slid shut with another ear splitting shriek. For a moment, all was frigid darkness. Then the lumens flickered on.

Revealing a cadaverous face pressed close to yours.

You jerked back with a gasp. Only for thin fingers, so cold they burned your flesh, to grasp your chin with frightening strength. They turned your face from side to side while thin gray lips pursed.

“Young. Healthy. Teeth?”

“Wh-what-?”

The fingers tightened, forcing your jaw open. Colorless eyes narrowed.

“Good. Good.”

The fingers released you, and you stumbled back. “H-how dare you! I am-”

“My betrothed.” The lips stretched into a horrible mockery of a smile, revealing teeth too large for the mouth they sat in. “Welcome home, dear.”

You welcomed the darkness that overwhelmed you.

***

Nev’ran felt bone crack beneath his fist as he drove it into his opponent’s jaw. The other Salamander staggered back, guard dropping for a fraction of a second. That was all the old Apothecary needed.

He rammed his shoulder into the younger Marine’s chest. One hand hooked a knee, yanked, and his sparring partner collapsed to the mats.

Nev’ran heard his brothers muttering outside of the cage. They thought the match over.

No. Not enough!

Red still tinted his vision. Lava still burned in his veins.

Ignoring the shouts from the other Marines, he fell upon his fallen opponent. His fists swung, pulping flesh and snapping bone. Again. Again.

No longer did he see a fellow Salamander beneath him. A baseline male lay there. The face was obscured, the shape vague, but Nev’ran knew him. The bastard who’d stolen his Diamond.

A roar of fury burst from his throat.

“Master! Master, stop!”

Hands grasped his shoulders. He bucked and heaved, but more and more hands dragged him away from his prey.

“Release me!” He bellowed.

A familiar face appeared before him. “Apothecary Nev’ran, control yourself!”

“Captain?”

He shook his head, and the red haze faded. The burning within cooled. He saw, not his hated rival, but a Battle Brother laying on the floor of the sparring cage. Blood covered the young Marine’s battered face.

“Vulkan’s burning eyes…,” Nev’ran whispered in horror. “I…I did not…get him to the Apothecarion, quickly!”

As the unconscious Salamander was lifted and carried away, he moved to follow. A hand on his shoulder halted him.

“Apothecary Hur’reth will tend him.” Captain Xavus’s face was grim. “You and I must speak.”

The tone of his voice brooked no argument. Nev’ran followed him into an empty arming chamber, not even bothering to wipe the blood from his clenched fists.

Emperor, forgive me. What have I done?

“I know what you would speak to me of, Xavus.”

The Captain kept his back turned. “Do you?”

“It will not happen again.”

“That is what you told me the last time. And Hur’reth informs me this is not the second sparring partner you’ve brutalized, but the fifth.” He finally turned, red eyes blazing. “What are you doing, Nev’ran?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. How could they?

Do you expect me to tell you my hearts burn for a woman, Captain? A woman with soft eyes and a softer smile. A woman I swore to keep warm all her days. A woman who was to be my second chance!

He closed his mouth and looked away.

The Captain sighed. “What is done, is done, my friend. You must let it go.”

“I cannot.”

“Nev’ran-”

“She did not wish to leave. I saw it in her eyes!”

“Do not-”

“She would have accepted me, had I asked. I would have asked. I would have claimed her as my mate.”

“This is not-”

“She was MINE.”

“Apothecary Nev’ran!” The Captain bellowed. “I did not want to censure you, but this obsession has clouded your judgement, distracted you from your duty. You will report to the Chaplain and be assigned penance.”

Nev’ran’s spine snapped straight. “For how long?”

“For as long as it takes to purge this unseemly desire from your soul.”

Nev’ran bowed his head and bit his tongue.

He felt the Captain’s hand on his shoulder. “I understand, old friend. I know you have suffered. But she was never yours.”

You did not see the way she looked at me.

“Captain!” The Lieutenant burst into the room. “We will have to delay our departure from this world.”

“Explain.”

“Navigator Esha reports that a Warp storm has formed around the planet.”

Captain Xavus stepped forward. “Did the Lady Navigator give any further details?”

“She said the storm is small, and she hopes it may dissipate within a few days, a week at most. Until then, she strongly advises against Warp travel.”

The news hit Nev’ran like a blow to the stomach. “So, we are trapped here.”

His bitter laughter resulted in concerned looks from the Captain and Lieutenant.

“Report to the Chaplain immediately, Apothecary.”

***

You awoke to something warm and wet being drawn across your brow.

“My L-L-Lady?”

The timid voice roused you fully and you opened your eyes. You lay in a massive, four poster bed. Furs and blankets covered you from chin to foot. Candles flickered throughout a bedchamber seemingly carved from solid stone. You pushed yourself into a sitting position, allowing the coverings to fall to your waist.

A blast of icy air shocked a gasp from your lungs.

Hands pushed the furs and blankets back around your shoulders. “P-p-please keep this on, my L-L-Lady!”

Clutching the coverings, you turned to see a young woman standing to your right. Near-translucent skin shone in the candlelight. Huge gray eyes looked at you from amidst a tangle of white blond hair.

Colorless. Just like this room, just like the surface. Just like…that man.

You shivered, and the girl quickly tucked the coverings tightly around you. “Y-y-you are not yet used to the c-c-cold, my Lady. Y-y-you should stay c-c-covered.”

“Where am I?”

“The G-G-Governor’s m-m-manor, my Lady.”

Your heart sped up and you peered around the room for any sign of your skeletal fiance. “He’s not here.”

“N-n-no, my Lady. Governor Ledyanoy is in his-” a sharp pause, “not here.”

“Who are you?”

“My n-n-name is Lili, my L-L-Lady. I am to be your h-h-handmaid.”

You fell back against the dull, white pillows.

That man, that creature, is my future husband?!

You remembered the feeling of his cold, hard fingers on your face and shivered again. So different from the warm, calloused hands of-

Shoving the memories, the longing, down deep, you forced yourself to fling back the covers and swing your feet over the side of the bed. Lili flitted around you like an agitated moth, eyes growing even wider when you informed her you were leaving the room.

“Oh, n-n-no, my Lady!”

“I must speak to the Governor, Lili. There is a wedding to be planned, formal documents to sign. I must inspect the manor if I’m to be Mistress here.”

The girl’s face twisted with fear. “The G-G-Governor ordered you are to r-r-remain here, my Lady.”

“Am I a prisoner, to be locked away in this room until he sends for me?” Your voice came out harsher than you intended.

The girl dropped to her knees, shaking like a leaf. “P-p-please, my Lady! He’ll p-p-punish me if I l-l-let you….”

Her voice trailed off, and you felt a stab of guilt as tears welled in her gray eyes. You reached down and lifted her to her feet. Her bare feet.

“Emperor! You must be freezing as much as I! Quick, climb in here.” You scooted to one side and lifted the covers.

“I c-c-couldn’t-”

“I insist.” You patted the mattress. “I order it, if that makes you feel better.”

The girl blinked at you for a moment, then climbed into the bed. You tucked the blankets around the both of you. Already, it felt good to have a warm, living person next to you. Something to combat the sterile chill.

The girl sighed and curled in on herself. “Th-th-thank you, my Lady. You are k-k-kind.”

“As soon as the wedding is finalized, I’ll make sure you and the other servants are properly clad.”

Lili gave you an odd look. “Other s-s-servants?”

“Yes. I was told before I came that the Governor’s manor stretches for miles under the surface. Surely it requires an army of servants to maintain.”

“S-s-servitors, my L-L-Lady.”

You blinked at her. “You mean….”

“The G-G-Governor prefers s-s-servitors, my Lady. Only s-s-servitors.”

Servitors were a part of daily life in the Imperium. But all the nobles you’d ever encountered preferred human servants to the shambling, blank-eyed cyborgs. An image filled your mind of cold, stone halls inhabited solely by mindless beings of metal and rotting flesh.

“But you…? You’re not…?”

“The G-G-Governor’s f-f-first wife preferred human s-s-servants, my Lady. Ever since, he’s k-k-kept at least one.”

“First wife?” The dread came surging back. “How many…?”

“You are the f-f-fifth.” The look Lili gave you was full of hopeless pity. “My L-L-Lady, you should not have c-c-come here.”

***

The Chaplain’s voice, roughened from centuries of incense smoke, rumbled through the Chapel. Prayers for protection, for honor, for victory. They rolled through Nev’ran’s head like an unstoppable lava flow, punctuated now and again by ringing clangs as the Sacratium serfs brought hammers down upon the Holy Anvils.

Nev’ran knelt before the altar, as he had for the past ten hours. No rest. No sustenance. Only prayer.

Soft eyes. Soft hands. Soft smiles.

Emperor, grant me focus.

The first time he’d made you laugh. The first time you'd relaxed in his presence. The first time you'd said his name.

Emperor, drive these desires from my hearts.

When you'd looked at him amidst the frost of your ruined chamber. When you'd regained your strength under his ministrations. When you'd come to his Apothecarion, day after day.

Emperor, purify me with-

The moment his lips had barely brushed yours.

A desperate groan tore from his chest. The Chaplain’s chanting ceased.

“Tell me, brother.”

Nev’ran bowed his head in shame. “My prayers go unanswered, Chaplain.”

“This woman still distracts you?”

“She does.”

“Hmmm.” Nev’ran sensed the Chaplain at his side. “Our Chapter has long recognized the blessings women bring. Ever since the Primarch walked among us, we knew love was not something to be repressed, but nurtured. It gives us a strength many other Chapters lack.”

“I know, Chaplain.”

“But the love of a Salamander is unlike that of mortal man.”

Nev’ran recited the teachings he’d learned at the feet of his own Master, centuries ago. “A Dragon’s love runs hot. If left untempered, it leads to obsession…”

“And?”

His throat dried. “And madness.”

“Your feet turn toward that path even now, Apothecary.”

Nev’ran clenched his fists on his knees. “How do I turn away, Chaplain?”

“Endure, brother. As the blade is tempered in flame, so our souls are tempered in suffering.”

Your face. Your voice. Your-

He bit the inside of his cheek, the pain driving away the memories. “And if I cannot, Chaplain?”

“You will.” A heavy gauntlet landed on his shoulder, the fingers grasping too hard to be comforting. “You must.”

Emperor, grant me focus. Emperor, grant me focus. Emperor-

The image of you in the arms of another man.

“Emperor, please!”

***

You perched on the edge of the bed and stared at nothing. Three days. Three days you’d languished in this icy cell of a bedchamber. You only knew the amount of time from the meals Lili brought you at regular intervals.

You glanced at the door, ears straining for the sound of human footsteps. Not the shuffling of lobotomized monsters.

What kind of icy hell have I been abandoned in?

You conjured up an image of the Governor of your homeworld. A corpulent woman, drowning in fine cloth and gems the size of your fist, eyes beady and full of avarice. The old hatred, beaten into submission for so long, bloomed anew in your heart.

“Damn you to the Void for choosing me. You had daughters aplenty to sell off. And yet you sacrificed me.”

A platter with the remains of your noon meal lay next to you on the bed. You picked it up and flung it against the stone wall. The clang sounded blasphemous in the eternal silence of this manor.

Not a manor, a tomb. A tomb for a walking corpse.

He’d finally visited you that morning, standing at the foot of the bed and staring with those dead eyes. All the questions you’d told yourself you would ask died on your tongue under that gaze.

When he’d finally spoken, it was not to you, but to himself. “Yes, good. A fine specimen, not like the others. One more day, a few more…preparations. All will be ready then. As was promised.” Only then had an unholy light come into his eyes and he’d spoken directly to you. “We will create life together.”

You thanked the Emperor you’d managed not to vomit until he left.

Lili had whispered to you that the Governor was mad. That he sent his servitor-guards among the miners, dragging people off, never to be seen again. Of strange sights and sounds and smells that had begun to seep through the caverns of late, like a spreading infection.

Of how each bride brought to the manor disappeared within days.

The citizens were terrified. Work in the mines had ground to a halt. Yet the Governor seemed not to notice, spending his days locked in a mysterious “laboratory”.

“They s-s-say it’s in the d-d-deepest part of the manor, b-b-built by the Governor’s great-grandfather.” Lili had whispered just last night, huddled against you beneath the covers. “My f-f-father says the ruling f-f-family only got stranger and s-s-stranger afterwards.”

I have to get out.

You didn’t know where you’d go or what you’d do. But staying here was unthinkable. Damn the treaty. Damn your homeworld’s debts. The idea of “creating life” with that thing posing as a man….

I’d rather freeze to death on the surface.

Where was Lili? You’d need her help to escape. She should have been here by now. Standing, you looked toward the heavy stone door. With slow, hesitant steps, you approached it. Your hands found the knob, the icy metal sticking to your skin. You turned it.

What a fool I am. Of course it won’t-

The door swung open.

Desperate courage filled you and you darted out. Frosted walls and flickering lumens gave the hallway a surreal feel. But you steeled your nerves. You’d been strong once, before you’d been dragged from your home, molded, and thrown into this nightmare. Nev’ran had seen that strength within you.

You could be strong again.

“Emperor, guide me.”

You picked a direction and began walking. For hours you walked, seeing no one, not even a lumbering servitor. The silence was absolute.

“Emperor, show me the way.”

After another empty eternity, you noticed a change in the air. It grew steadily more humid. The frosted walls turned moist and rank, dotted with mold. And the smell….

You lifted a corner of your cloak to cover your mouth and nose. The stench intensified with each step. Rot and decay. The stone walls grew pockmarked, in some places more mold than stone. The floor squashed beneath your feet.

Why am I doing this? This is not the way out. This is wrong. This is so wrong!

And yet, something compelled you forward.

“Emperor, Emperor, Emperor….”

The spongy floor took on a steep decline. You staggered, feet slipping on the rotten stone. Once, you touched the wall for balance, only to jerk away as something slimy wiggled beneath your fingers.

At last, at the bottom of a long, twisting ramp, a door rose before you. Markings covered the dripping wood. Markings that hurt your mind to look upon.

You turned to flee when a sharp scream and the sound of running feet stopped you in your tracks. The door burst outward, and a female form covered in moldering rags lurched into you.

“Lili!”

The maid grasped your shoulders with hands stained green and brown. Great gasps tore through her bared teeth. Her eyes burned with terror bordering on madness.

“Run!”

Behind, through the open door, came a cacophony of moans and horrible, wet gurgles, accompanied by a stench so intense you swore you could see its foul miasma. Lili screamed again and clutched at you.

You grasped her hand and fled back up the ramp.

“Help! Someone help us!”

***

Nev’ran stood before the great viewport. Below, the ice world turned. Bare. Sterile. Dead.

No place for my Diamond.

After three days on his knees, begging the Emperor for respite, the Chaplain allowed him to leave the Chapel. He was supposed to be resting, taking sustenance, regaining his strength. Then, back to his penance.

For his soul still had not been cleansed.

Do you think of me, my Diamond? When he takes you in his arms, do you pretend it is me?

The thought still sent fiery rage searing through his veins. Part of him despaired. He would never be cleansed, never be free of this torturous longing.

This is punishment. For failing as a mate and father, I am doomed to grasp for something always just out of reach.

Or am I?

The intrusive thought he’d held off since your departure wormed its way back into his conscious mind. You were not out of reach. It was only a short flight from the Flamewrought to the surface. And then?

This colony was tiny as far as colonies went. The Governor couldn’t have more than a hundred or so guards. He’d torn through that many orcs all on his own. He would find you. He would take you, even if he had to tear you from the arms of the pathetic mortal who dared lay claim to what was his.

You’d come willingly. I know you would.

Part of him fought against the mad idea, but it wouldn’t quiet. Before he knew it he found himself striding toward the arming room. The serfs gave him strange looks when he demanded his full wargear, but did not argue. Then, to his chambers. His flamer, his chainsword. The weight felt good in his hands.

He was halfway to the hangar when Hur’reth stepped in front of him.

“Master, do not.”

“Get out of my way, boy.” The dragon within Nev’ran snarled.

“This is madness. You must know that!”

Nev’ran raised his chainsword.

“Would you strike me, Master?”

The question rattled him and he lowered the weapon. “No…no.”

Hur’reth looked bewildered. “A few weeks with this woman, and you are willing to throw everything away for her. Why?”

Nev’ran looked his former apprentice in the eye. “How long did you know Matia before you would have thrown yourself at a Carnifex for her?”

Hur’reth was silent.

“She is my last chance.” Nev’ran pleaded. “And she is trapped on that planet against her will. I cannot abandon her!”

A long pause. Then his former apprentice sighed.

“At least let me get my wargear and weapons.”

Nev’ran grinned, his hearts swelling with pride. “I knew you would not-”

“APOTHECARY NEV’RAN TO THE COMMAND CENTER.” The voice of Captain Xavus roared over vox. “WE ARE RECEIVING A TRANSMISSION FROM THE PLANET BELOW.”

He and Hur’reth reached the Command Center in record time. Captain Xavus stood over the holo-table, accompanied by the Lieutenant and a half dozen other battle brothers.

“Get the signal back, magus!” The Captain snapped at a techpriest fiddling with the table’s controls.

The admech squawked in binary and flipped a few switches. A flickering image appeared.

Nev’ran’s hearts stopped. “Diamond….”

“shhhh...hear me? Please, can anyone hear me?” Your voice cut in and out, but he heard the terror in it. “Please…shhh…Emperor save…shhh…please!”

“My Lady.” The Captain answered. “This is Captain Xavus of the Salamander’s Fourth Company. We are still in orbit around the planet. What is wrong?”

“shhh...Xavus? Thank the…shhh…please, help…shhh….”

The image flickered again. Nev’ran lunged forward.

“Diamond? Diamond! I am here. What has happened?”

“Nev’ran?” Hope burned in your eyes as the interference faded for a blessed moment. “Something terrible is happening down here. The Governor is mad! More than that, he’s a heretic, conspiring with daemons!”

A faint boom sounded. Your image spun around and Nev’ran heard another frantic voice.

“My L-L-Lady! The d-d-door won’t hold!”

“Emperor, protect us!” You turned back toward the transmitter. “They’re horrible! Walking corpses and, and…worse things. Things of slime and rot. The Governor’s been sacrificing the citizens, calling forth…shhh….”

As your voice faded into static once more, Nev’ran’s blood ran cold.

Spawn of Nurgle.

“Diamond, can you get somewhere safe?”

“Safe? Nowhere is-,” a resounding crash, screams. “Nev’ran! Help-”

The transmission died.

“NO!” He grasped the control panel, the metal bending beneath his gauntlets.

The Captain was already barking orders. “Lieutenant, form a squad! We have a Chaos incursion on our hands!” He glanced at the two Apothecaries. “How fortunate you two are already prepared for battle.”

Nev’ran grasped the hilt of his chainsword. “Into the fires of battle, unto the anvil of war!”

As his brothers lifted their fists and roared, his eyes once again found the planet through the viewport.

Live, my Diamond. Your Dragon is coming.

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#warhammer 40k #space marines #space marine x reader #salamanders #salamander x reader #I love it when men pine to the point of madness 😈

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darlingoftheendless · 25 days ago

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the only thought in my head rn is this:

lucienne has departed from the dreaming after a well-earned retirement. lets be honest; this was a long time coming. she is tired of dealing with the dream lord's bullshit and working wayyyyy above her pay grade at all times. regardless, when they part, morpheus and lucienne part as friends.

she remains true to her love of books though. and although libraries are never as extensive in the waking world (what with them being confined to the boundaries of mortal time and space), she loves them all the same.

and so she opens up a cute little book-store on the main street—one that has a library program to instil a reading habit in the kids (because she will do every small thing in her power to give little gifts to humanity.)

one where there's a florist next door.

someone who is a mere mortal but might as well have access to some magic by the looks of her flower arrangements. a florist who has quickly become a regular; getting flowers for lucienne's shop and borrowing books in return.

a florist who cannot help but pet the black cat that mysteriously appears through cracks in the walls and shadows between the shelves and from right around the corner. lucienne, unable to hide her laughter at her former king being petted and given treats like a common street cat, watches as the dream king sends all the glares her way.

morpheus could stop this with half a thought, he knows it—he could wish it and she would never again return to this part of the city, let alone pet him and try to give him chin scritches of all things. but how is he meant to be cruel to someone who smells like jasmine and has a touch as soft as a rose petal?

and so he lets it be—weaving through her dreams and keeping the nightmares at bay, increasingly more curious about a mere mortal and her garden full of thoughts

#so pining central basically #lucienne and reader are actually bestttt friends in this #and she shit talks her “former boss” sm that reader has vowed to send this mysterious entity a stink bomb #well she DOES through a raw fish in front of the black cat at one point i think #so that's her vow fullfiled #anyway yeaH morpheus is a lovesick idiot and reader is a little oblivious but an absolute darling #BYE #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #lucienne the librarian #lucienne the sandman

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stupidlittlespirit · 3 months ago

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trying to find any semblance of privacy with ford while he's still living with his brother, especially over the summer when the kids are there. just. tugging him into empty rooms and closets during the day, waiting for stan to go to bed and take his hearing aids out, maybe even sneaking out to his car and going for drives to secluded places at night. god. trying to keep quiet when there's no other choice or fool proof way of hiding. ford feels like a teenager again sneaking around like this- well, the kind of teenager he never was, he was sneaking around to stay up studying, but he can see why stan was climbing through the window to meet his girlfriends.

also getting caught but that's just my kind of thing i like to read about in fic since it's both funny and embarrassing for everyone involved

dwasjkhdsakjfhjsdf oh my god how did you know..... My main weakness...... Tearing my skin off at the thought /pos

I'm so, so obsessed with the concept of sneaking around like this (and getting caught), it's literally a main feature of mtb because I love it so much. There's something very fun (and sexy) about having to sneak around, either behind someone's back or just for privacy reasons. I think Ford is a bit of a thrill seeker too, so this plays really well into that concept as well.

I have this little scenario in my mind with mtb!Reader which I'll very likely write as a one shot eventually but it's similar to what you've described here:

In this silly daydream, the house is very busy. People are everywhere, and neither you nor Ford have had the opportunity to even brush up against each other because of it. You've had to keep each other at arms length and every time you have tried to get a little closer, someone has barged into the room and spoiled the moment/almost caught you.

So, things are tense and you're both desperate to off-load some of it on each other.

You end up being invited to stay after work and watch a movie with the family. Maybe the kids are having their other friends stay over for the night too and they've roped everyone (Ford, Stan and you) into joining them for it in the living room.

Stan is snoozing (already) in his favourite chair. Some of the kids are sprawled out on the floor. Mabel is lounging on the couch beside Ford, but the moment she spots you, she shuffles up to give you room and you take a seat beside her.

Everything is very kosher. Everyone settles in to watch the movie, everyone is glued to the screen or making silly comments etc, but.... You're hardly paying attention: your mind is full of thoughts of Ford and you find your gaze drifts a little halfway through the movie. You use the excuse of readjusting in your seat to sneak a glance at Ford, or you *ahem* stretch your neck and just so happen to look over towards him, but it doesn't seem as though the favour it returned. Frustrating, however not the end of the world. He's probably just focused on the film.....

And yet, after you've given up on trying to very subtly check him out, something touches the back of your neck. It's feather light and very gentle, and you almost jump right out of your skin (though you're saved by the fact a scary scene is playing and the kids all jump too). You turn to look but Ford is resolutely still engrossed in the screen and pointedly not looking at you. Except..... his arm is stretched along the length of the back of the couch. It's super casual, as though he's only resting it there for convenience sake, but his hand has crept up from its place behind the cushions and he's very softly caressing the side of your neck.

You're surprised, but you don't move away. If anything, you lean imperceptibly closer. It's a pretty bold move on both of your parts, even though it seems like no one else is paying enough attention to notice.

Ford's fingers gently ghost the side of your throat and your trapezius muscle. They draw out goosebumps and you have to supress several dramatic shivers as he skates his fingertips back and forth over your skin. It's a light touch really, hardly even there at all, but it's intimate and risky, and it makes you hot all over. Your heart beats faster and your skin feels like it's on fire, and after barely ten minutes of it, you have to clear your throat and announce that you're going to get a drink refill.

Ford snatches his hand away very carefully because the kids turn to look at you the moment you speak, and they beg you to get them something too so they don't have to miss anything on screen. You oblige and then turn to him, and for a moment, Ford looks as though he's concerned that you might not have received his touch in the way that he hoped you would.

You can't comfort him in front of everyone, of course, so instead you ask very sweetly: "lend me a hand, would you? I don't think I can carry everything by myself...."

Ford nods wordlessly, always ready and happy to help you no matter the task. He follows your lead and strides after you into the kitchen, kicking the door shut behind himself and already quietly babbling his apologies for "-being inappropriate. I'm terribly sorry, my love, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or-!"

And he's silenced instantly when you drag him down by the collar into a very hot, very eager kiss the second you're out of sight. The kitchen is mercifully empty and there's no risk of anyone else catching the two of you in the moment. You're as alone as you're going to get for this evening and you're ready to take advantage of that.

Ford's panicky words are cut short and replaced with a very happy little groan, and he wastes no time at all in cornering you against the kitchen counter. You throw your arms around his neck and encourage him closer, and Ford obliges without hesitation. It devolves rapidly into a very heated makeout/heavy petting session; lots of groping and grasping and sighing and gasping. You make it last as long as the two of you feasibly can without arousing the suspicion of the others with your absence or letting things get too far, and you both have to spend a good five minutes calming down after you decide to put a pin in it so you can return to the movie.

You're both visibly flustered when you pull apart: hair and clothes astray, hot all over, rumpled to high heaven. The second you catch sight of each other, you're both laughing at the other's messy look. You have to de-fog and straighten poor Ford's glasses before re-entering the sitting room, too, bless him.

By the time you return, no one notices you've been out there for twenty minutes or so. The kids are still far too focused on the movie and Stan is fast asleep. You and Ford refill the drinks and retake your seats, and only the two of you know why you're both smothering smug little grins behind your hands for the rest of the evening.

#if we're going down the route of getting caught..... good LORD do i have some for that too #they range from tame and cute and embarrassing #to straight up: Stan walks in on a face sitting session and is both mortified/disgusted AND think it's the funniest thing in the world to #have caught his brother in the act #honestly.... I have a lot of Stan-walks-in-on-you-fucking-Ford scenarios #I''m also veryyyyyyy into the aspect of being caught #so there are tons and tons of scenarios I have in my head if you would like them at some point #teehee #asks #ford asks #ford pines x reader #this is a bit shit but im tired so let me live

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pepperpixel · 11 months ago

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Initial drawings of that old man… I literally, I haven’t finished reading the book of bill yet!!! I had to stop and take a break for a week to feverishly draw fanart of myself petting fords floofy hair and giving him attention and shit…!!!! The urge was too great….!! I’ve literally. I had a crush on this guy the instant he was first REVEALED in the show, but I did not have the artistic prowess to draw good looking old men back then… but I do now… thank god… thank fucking god

#gravity falls #ford pines #stanford pines #self ship #self insert #si x canon #it me #doodles #I got a haircut! so my hair looks different now.. as haircuts tend to do lol #anyway… yeah… I LOVE HIM… GRAHHFJH #the confirmation that he rlly is just sad and lonely and insecure and craving attention and validation #OHH FORD BBY.. WE R THE SAME #like… ghghg i loved him already just w his prickly nerdy outer shell but knowing more about the vulnerable center is GREAT. ITS AWESOME #also hes a smart nerdy guy who can do science and expirements and shit which is ONE OF MY FAVORITE THINGS FOR A CHARACTER TO DO #u kno im all about scientists….#I couldn’t draw ship art back then 1 cuz I didn’t kno how to draw old men and 2 cuz I was like 13 lol… which would have been wierd #but I’m an ADULT NOW. GET OVER HERE FORD #also it didn’t even rlly cross my mind TO draw that stuff cuz even tho I did love ford #self ship and x reader sorta stuff was not NEARLY as popular back then.. like I specifically remember it like. booming in popularity #at some point. but being pretty rare before that. anyway. thank u passage of time and trends and new gravity falls book for introducing #me back to fictional man I love. so I can now draw myself smooching him and shit #hell yeah.#13 is probably not actually correct I do not remember exactly which year fords reveal was in…#but I was probably older then 13.. but still #the point remains lol.#also omg. the bit in the book w the goth moth. ‘ur probably into this sorta thing right?’#I AM INTO THAT SORTA THING FORD. thank u book of bill for being written specifically @ me. the immersion it’s great.#like ur so right ford I AM edgy and goth how’d u guess that tee hee. eyelash flutter #aLSO PLS IGNORE MY FINGER BEING IN FRAME IN THE LAST PIC. I was drawing in a tiny bound sketchbook #so I had to hold the paper down to keep it flat. and. I didn’t feel like censoring my fucking. pinkie finger out of the image

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cherrys-fruity-rambles · 11 months ago

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I'm a writer!

Im a writer!...

I'm a writer...

Im a writer...

#pine point #No this isn't a smut joke #It's just me randomly rembering I can write X Readers #I have a crush on Dimitri and Nil guys leave me alone

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penvisions · 2 years ago

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the melting point {chapter 13}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (ex EMT! Reader)

Summary: You find yourself sharing more of your past with the guys, your circle of friends growing as you do so.

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: dirty talk, use of pet names (sweet girl, qurida, good girl), p in v smut, unprotected smut (be careful, ya'll), medical jargon, mentions of past injuries, metions of depression, allusions to past depression and self destructive behavior, mutual pining, the ever encapsulating "oh" moment of realization

A/N: hello, hello! this chapter was so fun to write, exploring reader's friendships with the guys had been on my to do for this fic for a while and i'm hoping y'all are still enjoying this!

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

“Thank you all for coming, you are all so appreciated!” You went on to say that everyone could mill about for the next half hour to enjoy the remainder of the last pairing. You also prefaced that the shop would be closed the rest of the week, until Saturday and the farmer’s market. A few days to reset and get things sorted out. You heard the sound of the shutter on one of your nicer polaroids, Pope and Benny having taken over snapping photos for you of the event.

“Aright, manté! Let’s get one of you in that beautiful dress!” Benny walked up to you, camera in hand and a big grin on his features. You felt a hand snake around your waist as Frankie sidled up beside you, he whispered how gorgeous he thought you looked, and it brought a flush to your face. Another snap.

In a bold move, Frankie carefully moved you to face him completely, his hands holding the flare of your hips and he placed a full, passionate kiss to your lips. Right in front of everyone and all of his friends. His lips were so soft against your own, the lingering taste of one of the drinks from tonight on his tongue as it licked into the seam of your mouth. Your arms automatically came up to wrap around his shoulders, lost in the moment of such unbridled affection. Neither of you heard the next snap of the shutter.

Whistles sounded from his friends and Morgan, who had shown up after the first pairing.

“Would you look at that, manté caught herself a fish!” Pope was smirking when you both separated, stepping away from each other in the wake of the sudden attention. You adjusted your glasses, the kiss having thrown them slightly out of whack. Frankie only grinned as he raised a hand to flip off his best friend. The joking and teasing continued as people began to filter out, it wasn’t terribly late, but it was well into the night. The event having lasted two hours or so. You were about to say something when the food critic approached you with her own photographer and a serene smile.

“I would absolutely love it, if you let us get a few photos together. If you don’t mind?” She was in a good mood, her notebook clutched in her hand and filled with the countless notes you had seen her taking throughout the night. You made sure she was the first to have each round, fanning out the serving from her table and out to the rest of the fifty or so people that had shown up to the little idea you had that had turned into such a good evening. You had tittered about from the bar and to tables, running the drinks and helping to serve the pastries and treats all evening. The guys had helped as much as they could, not wanting you up on your feet anymore than you could handle, but they understood you wanting to supervise everything closely.

“Yes, of course!” You both decided that in front of the counter would be best. Your small menu of coffee drinks on display behind you and the two cases on either side of you. A few photos were taken, and they were both on their way with the phrase ‘We’ll give you a call!’.

The guys and, Luciana, and Morgan stayed the night, everyone deeming it the best idea as the drinks had been delicious and it was a delightful idea to order pizza and huddle in front of the tv in your living room upstairs. You would take the time to clean up tomorrow around interviews. Everyone was nursing one last round as the remaining thirty minutes of Bruce Almighty played. The guys had already agreed that Will and Lucianna would take the guest room, and with sheepish smiles they agreed. Morgan would take the longest part of the couch and Benny and Pope would take the sectional portions.

Mark had gone home a few pairings in, with a formal kiss to your cheek and a side hug. You had been polite and let it happen, though you still weren’t the most comfortable around him after he had boldly given his card to you. That he was integrating himself into Will’s life outside of work now and it just so happened to be shared with his friends and yourself, didn’t settle well with you. He had been…too invested in your interaction with Frankie despite having more important things to deal with according to Will.

You were cuddled up to Frankie, the seat he had chosen allowed him to lean most of his weight against the arm of the couch, in the crook of one of the sectional portions. You were leaning up against his chest, legs stretched out before you, empty beer bottle balanced on your good knee.

You hummed in contentment, one of your hands moving in slow caresses over Frankie’s thigh around you. The ending credits of the movie rolled across the screen, and you let your head loll over to take in the scene of Morgan and Benny leaning their heads against each other along the back cushions of the couch, out for the count in the late hour. Pope was seated on the floor, his back to the knees of Will, Luciana curled up against her date.

It made your heart warm and you looked up from where you had melted into the lap of Frankie, to see that he was looking down at you already. You lazily smiled up at him, reaching up both your hands to cradle his face and lead him down to place an upside-down kiss to your lips. You felt him swell against your shoulders beneath you, and arousal spiked hot down your middle to the space between your legs.

He leaned down and whispered that he was going to shower before laying down and carefully peeled himself off the couch. You stood as the movie ended, the screen displaying the possible next choices for viewing as Will and Lucianna began to rise as well. You showed them to the guest room, saying you had extra clothes they could sleep in, located in laundry room. They thanked you and began to get ready for bed, the door staying cracked behind them.

Pope’s back cracked as he stood and made his way into the kitchen, helping to tidy up the empty pizza boxes and gather empty drink cans and bottles.

“Too sweet, hermano.” You brushed past him, arm coming up to caress his arm as he placed the empties in the sink to be rinsed out in the morning. You leaned your head on the broadness of back, forehead resting between the planes of his shoulders. He turned in your embrace and wrapped his arms around your waist, his chin going atop your head.

“Always willing to help, manté.” You two stood there, embraced in friendly intimacy in wake of a busy night. His hands were tracing small patterns on the expanse of your back, the dress you were wearing soft with the velvet pattern underneath his gentle hands. “I’d do anything for you, you know that.”

It was quiet in the soft lighting of the living room, string lights hung up along the crown molding making up for the fact that you disliked using any kind of overhead lighting. You thought about Frankie, about how his house was all warm tones and cozy. How you wanted to be there more. With him. With him and Lex, with them both as a family.

“…Santi?”

He hummed in response, letting you know he was listening though you could tell by the even rise and fall of his chest that he was close to sleep despite standing with you.

“I just wanted to thank you.” You curled your arms around him tighter, fingers tangled in the fabric of his button up shirt, pulling it slightly from where it was tucked into his slacks. “For still trying to be my friend even when I kept turning down your offers. I just…I really appreciate you and what you’ve brought into my life.”

Your lips placed a grateful kiss to his chest, right over where his heart was beating.

“Of course, a sweet girl like you needs friends who won’t play around and wait to play the ‘nice guy’ card. We love having you be a part of our little group, a wonderful addition. Plus the snacks, oy dios mio, the snacks are a good perk.” He pulled you closer as he patted your lower back in a teasing way, wanting you to know he was genuine and only…slightly joking. You felt heat rush to your face at the praise, still so self-conscious of how well things had been going.

“You truly do make some of the most amazing things, manté.”

He was about to say something else, but the light in the door to the bathroom opened and Frankie walked out with a towel hung low on his hips. His hair was matted with water, fluffy where he had quickly run a towel over it and beginning to fan back to loose curls. He paused as he caught sight of you and his best friend embraced, the quiet atmosphere of the room, the way you were speaking softly to each other. But when you both turned to look at him, eyes lighting up in both your faces and smiles all for him, he didn’t feel a flare of jealousy.

He felt warmth pool in his chest, the two most important people in his adult life getting along was something he had always wished for should he branch out and begin to take part in dating at this point in his life. Lucy had never integrated well, always blew off plans and the guys would try not to make comments, but some would slip through. And then when she began using and pulled him down into that pit with her, all gloves were off and all comments were a reality check for his wellbeing.

“Sweet girl, do you have anything I could wear to bed?” He spoke softly, not wanting to disrupt the serenity of the apartment.

“If it doesn’t bother you, I’ve got some of Taylor’s clothes lying around from when he visited. Should fit you, in the bottom drawer of the dresser.” Your eyes took on a hesitant flicker, you had both talked about him in depth. You explained that he had been someone you dated on and off for years but with the arrival of his son and the drama with his son’s mother, he became your best friend. Helped you through everything before and after the ordeal that landed you here. In each other’s lives since you had been on the cusp of twenty. Bonded, in some capacity that labels couldn’t quite describe. Frankie seemed to understand, but you were still worried, deep down.

He eased your troubles with a soft upturn of his lips.

“Gotcha, you comin’ to lay down soon?”

“Won’t keep her too much longer, Fish.”

With a nod, he retreated back into the bathroom. The light went out and a few seconds later the lamp in your room lit up underneath the space of the closed door.

“I…I wanted to tell you…um,” You buried your face into the soft give of his chest. Breathing in the scent of his cologne so similar to Frankie’s. “About what Tom had been so worked up about…”

You felt tension spike through his body, being so closely pressed to him. It was fleeting, his chest rising with a held breath, but he spoke as he exhaled.

“You don’t have to do that,” Your name fell from his lips in a gentle, cautious tone. “I know you have things that you carry and I do too. Hell, we all do. There’s no need to air them out unless you really, truly want to.”

“Santi,” You pressed your cheek into his chest and watched the shadows of Frankie milling about your room. “I was put on trial for two cases in the aftermath of a school shooting. My partner and I were the first emergency responders on the scene. It was…a lot. I managed to land a fatal shot to the killer, but it took time to slow him down and finally take him out. He…covered a lot of ground and I did the best that I could. The community wasn’t too happy that I couldn’t save everyone and the parents of the shooter weren’t either.”

Your name was whispered into the quiet after your words.

“You did the absolute best that you could. I don’t doubt that, the general public has no idea how hard those situations are to deal with, how much more intense it is even when you’re trained to do exactly that. I’m sorry you had to deal with all of that headache after such harrowing scenario.”

You sniffled, tears creeping up on you in the late hour and intimate conversation.

“Your hip, it was shot, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, ended up needing a replacement. The illum had been shattered with the force of the automatic the shooter was using.”

“You’re safe now, I’ll make sure of it. Frankie will until his last breath. Will and Benny too. We’ve got your back, now, okay?”

You just nodded and felt a kiss pressed into your hair.

“Mmm, Fransisco.” You mumbled as you felt fingers lightly trace along your stomach underneath your sleep shirt. It was early morning, an alarm going off in the space of the apartment beyond the carefully closed and locked door. Frankie may had a lot of love for his friends, but he didn’t trust them not to barge in here to say goodbye to you. They liked to make you blush in the most innocent of ways and he’d rather they not barge in with his mouth on you. He placed open mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, his scruff brushing against you in a tantalizing way.

It was still dark outside, far too early for any of you to be waking up. The drinks had been plenty last night. You felt the man beside you shift, heard the hush of his clothing being pulled off, felt the heat of him as he moved to hover over you. You carefully made room for him between your legs, knee twinging only slightly as you did so. He urged you to sit up enough for him to remove your shirt, exposing the whole of your body to him. You hadn’t put on any underwear after changing out of your dress, something that Frankie was beginning to think was a very good idea.

His chest was warm against your own as he connected his mouth with yours. His hands grasped around your ribs in a secure way that made your head spin. Large, warm, slightly coarse palms caressed your skin up and down. His tongue licked along the seam of your mouth and pleasure spiked hot through your entire body, your hips bucking up to seek out friction. Your nails dug lightly into his shoulder blades as you brought him closer down to you.

“So excited, sweet girl.” He murmured against your lips, disconnecting them only enough to speak before he was back to tangling his tongue with your own. You hummed in appreciation, feeling the hard line of him prodding against your upper thigh. You could feel the wetness that had gathered at his tip, telling you how much you liked it when you used his full name. “You’ve gotta be quiet. All our friends are out there, about to get up for the day. Can you do that for me, can you be a good girl for me?”

“Oh, fuck.” Your back arched as he took a nipple between his teeth and pulled it. He soothed the ache with his tongue, hands beginning to play with the give of your chest. “Yes, please, I’ll be so good for you.”

He didn’t answer you with words, instead he lined himself up with your entrance and bottomed out in one thrust. He kissed you to muffle the noise you made at the sudden intrusion. You panted into his mouth, letting him pound into you in fast, hard movements. You broke the kiss to lean up and bite into the top of his shoulder, keeping the sounds bubbling up in your chest to quiet grunts that melted into his skin.

“Look at you, querida, you’re taking me so well.” He stilled deep inside you, pressed fully to that spot that brought stars to your vision and pleasure to ripple over your heated skin. He circled his hips, grinding into you to cascade waves of pleasure through you skin, lighting it up in a hum. “Letting me do whatever I want to you and being so, so good about it.”

You nodded fervently, mouth and hands not loosening up one bit. You loved it, you loved that you could trust him to do this, to be with you in this way. You loved him.

Fuck, you loved him.

The day had been productive. You had deep cleaned the store front and the kitchen around a few interviews for counter help. You wanted to try and train Louise on prep for the actual baking but it had to be done with the realization that she would be starting classes at the local university in a month or so when fall settled in. She was more than willing, having chosen to go after gen eds while she waited to hear from culinary schools for the following year. You urged her to put you down as a reference. You had decided on two more people, all on the younger side to help keep up with how busy it was from open to close now. The article in the paper had really brought in a ton more business.

You also had an inkling suspicion that the guys bragged about your treats at work, respectively.

The leftover bottles from the event last night ended up in the hutch upstairs, though the liqueurs remained down here in case you decided to experiment with fillings or whips. You were seated at the coffee table Will had helped you put back into place, the man seated across the cushions from you as he enjoyed a fresh latte you had wanted to add to the menu. It was a mocha with banana syrup and whip cream.

“Thank you for helping out today. I really appreciate having a strong, capable man around to lift heavy things for me.” You offered him a cheeky smile as you typed away on your laptop, trying to write out a rough schedule for the three people you now employed. It would be one during the week with you in the kitchen and two during the weekends with you in the kitchen. “Even though normally I could handle it myself.”

“I know you could, but you gotta watch those stitches. When are they coming out?” He reached over for the tool box he had been using to dismantle the bar cart you had needed for last night. He had taken Lucianna home around mid-morning, the couple sleeping in past the time Pope, Benny, and Morgan had all needed to leave. Frankie had left after them and headed into a shift at the garage. All three of you had breakfast, it had been easy going and comfortable. You liked Lucianna and had offered her to stop by anytime to try some stuff. She was a teacher at Lex’s school, though she taught the year ahead of the little girl. Come fall, she would be her teacher.

“Doctor said one more week when I went in yesterday and thank goodness. They’re itching like crazy.”

“Yeah, stitches are no fun.” He took a long pull from his café cup. Whip cream collecting in his blonde facial hair. You stifled a laugh at the sight but he just stuck his tongue out and wiped it away. He settled back in the plush cushions, contemplating something before he spoke next. “Pope texted me, and Benny of course, he shared with me what you told him about why you moved here. I’m not going to say I’m sorry because you probably get that a lot. But I am glad you managed to get through all of that and still remain the kind-hearted person that you are.”

“I wasn’t…at first.” Your hands stilled atop the keyboard. You didn’t look over to him, eyes trained on the screen though you both knew you weren’t really seeing what it was displaying. “I was so angry, I was so stressed, I felt so betrayed.”

You brought a hand up to wipe away at a few tears that had fallen over your lash line. You closed the laptop and set it gently on the coffee table and picked up your own drink.

“I hide myself away for a long while, during recovery. I was staying at Taylor’s at the time, having lost my apartment due to being suspended without pay. I didn’t leave the bed for months. And then one day, I just…I really wanted a fuckin’ cheesecake, ya know?” You took a sip of the hot drink, reveling in the sweetness of it. “Hadn’t eaten much of anything while wallowing. But everyone was at work and I couldn’t drive or walk anywhere. So I stood in my best friend’s kitchen and made a cheesecake. It made me feel like a person again, to put all the ingredients together and create something.”

“I’m really glad you found something to help get you out of that. I’m really glad it brought you here, to my brother’s gym, into our lives. We appreciate you so much, manté. And Fish? He’s been waiting and waiting, putting off dating and too scared to put himself out there. But maybe it was all because he was waiting for you. I’ve never seen him like this, he’s happy. And you did that, you brought that out in him, helped him to create that in his life. In all of our lives.”

“You really know how to make a girl swoon, ya big softie.” You laughed through the few tears that followed the first. He leaned over the middle cushion and wrapped an arm around you.

Frankie was nervous, he hadn’t told you he made a reservation for tonight. He had simply told you to be ready around seven o’clock. He had rushed home after his shift and tidied everything up. Your perfume lingered in the air of his house, roses and a hint of lemon and vanilla. He inhaled deeply, liking the way it meant that you had been here, been in his space.

He wanted you here more, he would try to make it a reality. He wanted to see you in his kitchen, happy as you worked away on whatever new recipe you were excited about for dinner. He wanted to see you in his bed, wrapped in his sheets and arms in the early morning. He wanted to place a kiss to your cheek before work every morning. He wanted to see you in his shower, enjoying the water pressure and then slinking back to him with your skin still hot from the water and steam coming off of your shoulders. He wanted to see you in the living room, in front of the tv with him and Lex as they watched movies and did her homework. He wanted you. He just wanted you.

Frankie took a moment to change out the sheets, you two had completely ruined the ones on the bed and he loaded them into the washing machine. He made the bed with a fresh set and was off to the flower shop. He was in luck because they had an array of chrysanthemums for him to choose from. He decided on some that looked like the shades of a sunset. It reminded him of the copper of your hair, the way it shown around you and was almost as bright as your smile.

He saw the shadow of you out on the balcony when he drove up and parked his truck beside your own. A faint smell of nicotine wafted down and he found himself picturing you curled up as best you could in one of your patio chairs, you probably had on one of your various dresses. All of them nice and showed off just enough skin to tease him. He rubbed the back of his neck as he grabbed the bouquet off of the passenger seat, suddenly more nervous now that he was about to be face to face with you.

“Querida, you dressed and ready to go?” He called up, his classic aviator sunglasses helping to shield his eyes from the setting sun. His heartrate picked up as you appeared and leaned over the railing. Your smile was big, spying the bouquet he was attempting to hide behind his back. Your hair was alight with the rays of the sun as it began to dip toward the horizon. The curve of your chest was accentuated by the neckline of the black dress you were wearing, the long necklace around your neck swinging as you shyly waved down at him.

“I am, where the hell are we goin’? It's the middle of the week!”

“I’m taking you out on that date I owe you.”

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taglist: @tanzthompson @clevergirl74 @sullyosully

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fawnbong · 10 days ago

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"Seven Minutes in Heaven (not actually) 😛" - Pine Point

Momo x reader

Romantic

Oneshot

⚠️: mildly suggestive idk depends entirely on you lmao. Alcohol, shotgunning, smoking, kind of dumb and also really long?? I blacked out and just started writing idk I'm sorry

STUPID TITLE I KNOWW IM SORRY I SUCK AT TITLES 😞

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You awkwardly sway to the nonexistent beat of grungy Midwest emo, clutching a frigid beer in one hand and your phone in the other, mostly to busy yourself. You're trying to rid yourself of the "stick up your ass" look, but it's not working. It doesn't help that Momo's been and currently is practically breathing down your neck— slinging arms around your shoulders and forcing you to dance and sing along with her, sneaking sips of your drink without wiping the rim, and dragging you along to sample all kinds of odd drink combinations she's invented— it's likely an attempt to loosen you up, but your smiles and laughter only grow more strained as the night advances. It also doesn't help that you have a fat, raging crush on the bassist. And you think she's beginning to find out, too. You probably let it slip at some point in the night to one of Dimitri's siblings or distant cousins or something, you're sure of it. You can only down the rest of your beer, and hope and pray she hasn't.

• • •

Dimitri had kindly invited you to his "going away" party. He described it as a small get-together in his basement with drinks, music, games, conversation, and general teen party behavior. Of course you had to attend, you're decent friends, leading up to where you stand now—sandwiched between Momo and some other people on a couch, your personal belongings long abandoned and swimming in a pool of other lost jackets, shirts, beanies, and bags, and having to shout over the blaring music. Whoever turned it up is a jerk for that. "Small get-together" your ass, this place is crammed full.

"Y'know, I'm glad you came! I think it would've been soo lame without you. Honestly, I don't care much for parties like these, but it's Dee, so of course I'm gonna go, yaknow?" Momo drones on. You can just barely make out what she's saying over Midwest emo hits. You nod along and offer her a touched smile, taking a short sip of your drink.

"Um- yeah, no, me too! It's been really eventful so far!"

"Haha, yeah." Momo pauses, her eyes scanning the room before landing on a busy couple in the corner. "Grody, check it. Y'see those two making out over there?" Your eyes follow hers as she grabs your beer and takes a sip. "That's us but, like, in another universe!"

"...what are you talking about?" Momo doesn't respond, just smiles coolly and shrugs like it's no big deal, her eyes half-lidded and a little redder than usual. You're unsure if you even heard her right, considering the extra conversation and the music's volume. You can only sigh and finish off your beer, hoping it'll alleviate the sore throat you've garnered from projecting your voice so much.

After enduring roughly four painful hours of slowly walking around, nursing a couple seltzers and sodas, and mingling (shouting) through blaring grungy rock, the crowd has finally dispersed—your sign to pull an Irish Goodbye and head home.

• • •

You grab your stuff and head for the basement stairs, phone in hand and ready to dial a ride despite the fact you consumed maybe an ounce of alcohol total. And then Dimitri calls you over. You silently turn to face him and, coincidentally, his small group of friends, all lazing about on the couch. Nil and Journey have game controllers in their hands, battling ferociously over what looks to be Pong. That's definitely new. You saunter over and tilt your head at him. He presents a half-full cooler of canned beers and hard seltzers, giving you a casual, welcoming look. In his other hand he holds a single blunt between his thumb and pointer finger, a lighter clutched against his palm.

"Hey. We have a lotta leftovers. Wanna help finish them off?" His tone is abnormally casual for his offer. In your eyes, he practically asked you to get wasted/zooted with them. "C'mon, we hardly get to hang out anymore. We can watch a movie or something. Smoke. You still smoke, right? Anyway, it'd be fun."

You blink at him for a moment, slowly processing his barrage of questions and suggestions. Eventually, you nod, albeit a bit hesitantly. "Yeah...that's cool." You flip your phone shut and shove it in your pocket, awkwardly taking a seat wherever space is available on the already cramped couch. Right next to Momo.

They all kind of awkwardly shuffle over to give you space, and Journey gives you a friendly wave as you sit down. You return it with a small smile, and then take a look at the now empty basement. The floor is littered with crushed cans, crumpled up bags of chips, and jackets that got left behind and will likely never be returned.

On the opposite end of the couch, Dimitri gives the cooler a gentle kick, sending it your way. "Have at it, man. There's a lot." He then proceeds to bring the blunt to his lips and sets the lighter at the opposite end, giving it a couple flicks before igniting the blunt and taking a quick hit. Once he's exhaled, he passes it over to Nil. "You're alright with sharing, yeah?"

Nightmare blunt rotation. You nod regardless and grab one of the lukewarm hard seltzers swimming in the pool of melted ice. After you, everyone else grabs their own drink and begins casually chatting, smoking, and fighting over the only two game controllers in the house. Except, Momo clearly has other plans. She sips her room temp beer, glaring at you from the corner of her eye, though her gaze doesn't look necessarily malicious. Nil starts shouting at Dimitri—something you don't care about enough to listen to—and Momo rests her entire body weight against you, stretching with a content hum. You stiffen up slightly, but allow her to remain splayed out against you. She throws her entire arm over your lap and props her legs up on top of Journey's. He doesn't seem to mind, so you don't either. He even tosses her the game controller. You huff as she begins battling Nil in Pong, trash-talking him all the while.

You can hear Dimitri quietly chatting from the other side of the couch (it's not very long), everyone occasionally chiming in or making dumb jokes. It's more comfortable now that everyone's left. You allow yourself to sink into the couch cushions a little more.

"...yeah, I kinda didn't wanna throw some huge party. I just wanted a small get-together with friends but my parents left for the weekend and my siblings practically begged me to throw one, so..." he trails off, awkwardly scratching his cheek and laughing at the memory. You allow a quiet chuckle to slip past your lips, shifting a little on the end of the couch, given your limited space.

"You guys should stay the night. We can sleep down here, or outside, or something. I'll pick everything up in the morning." Dimitri glances at the mess that was once a decent finished basement. He huffs, but it's all lighthearted. His siblings have long left to do their own things. The house is quiet, save for Nil occasionally raising his voice to berate Momo.

The blunt eventually makes its way to you, the end burning a barely-there orange and growing darker by the second. Momo nudges you with that smug, cheshire smile of hers—the one that makes your stomach do flips—and sets the controller down to bring the joint to your lips for you, as if it's some kind of silent offering. Your eyes dart between her and it for a good moment before you finally part your lips and inhale slowly. Nobody's looking, at least, not intentionally. It's only when you start coughing up a storm that the attention shifts onto you. Now, eyes that once scanned the T.V now lay on you, and whatever's going on between you and Momo. Nil looks utterly disgusted, Dimitri looks like he wants to laugh. Momo soon pulls the blunt away and you exhale with a few muffled coughs before clearing your throat. She hands it back off to Journey. You're tempted to see how he takes a hit despite wearing a mask all the time, but you're a little too slow at the moment, still hung up on the way Momo practically fed the joint to you. You give your watering eyes a quick wipe and chug the rest of your seltzer to hopefully calm your mind for a bit.

Nil must have decided he was finished after his first hit, for he simply takes the blunt and hands it right back to Dimitri. It goes on like that for a while—the four of you sharing the same joint, sipping beers between passes—it's definitely not terrible, at least. Once Momo gets ahold of the joint again, she leans towards you and places her fingertips against your jaw.

"C'mere. Let's shotgun this, yeah? You cool with that?" she murmurs. It almost sounds sarcastic, like she's daring you to take the join and do it to her instead. Regardless, you helplessly nod. You want to, you do, but not in front of half your friend group. Still, you don't protest, so Momo grins and gives your chin a gentle nudge, prompting you to open your mouth as she takes a quick toke. Once you do, she immediately dives in and shotguns the smoke right into your mouth, her lips just barely grazing your own. You inhale, of course, but it's mixed with a gasp. Momo pulls away and haphazardly hands the joint back to whoever's closest to take it in one swift motion, all while snickering at your gaping mouth and flushed cheeks.

"Haha, sick. Nice job, man." she praises through a raspy voice and loud laughter, giving your back a couple heavy-handed pats.

"Oh, weird. That's gross, you guys! Get a room or something!" Nil complains loudly, giving you the biggest stink eye he can manage. Dimitri and Journey only laugh it off and murmur teasing "oohs" and other dumb, gagging noises, but your cheeks continue to burn with embarrassment. Momo blows a raspberry in his direction, and casually snakes an arm around your waist to pull you close, almost showing off, as if shotgunning smoke right into your mouth wasn't enough.

"Haha! Shit, maybe we should!" Momo outwardly laughs at Nil's disgust. You blink away your bleary vision once more.

"Sorry?" you stammer out in shock at Momo's bold declaration. She has that smug look on her face, making you assume she's just joking and trying to gross Nil out even more. She's not.

"C'mon. Just for a bit!"

Momo laughs crudely and latches onto your arm, giving you a tug and lifting you up from the couch. The room grows quiet as she drags you up the basement stairs and off elsewhere. You can only imagine how this will taint your reputation.

You follow her up the stairs, heart seemingly rattling against your ribcage with each step you take, but surprisingly, she doesn't turn down the hall and shove you in some closet or, worse, someone's bedroom. She just leads you outside onto the backyard patio. You breathe in the cold, fresh air—a stark contrast to the smell of weed that assaulted your nostrils mere seconds ago. Momo waltzes over to the lawn and plops down the grass, looking back with raised brows and patting the spot next to her. You comply and walk over, and slowly sink down onto the dewy grass. The sprinklers must have been running earlier. Casually, she throws her arm around your shoulder, and you shiver at the sudden proximity yet lean against her slightly, welcoming it.

"Sorry about all that. Man, I've been waiting forever for a chance to get outta that basement," she jokingly complains, looking up at the sky for a moment, and then at you. "Too stuffy, don't you think?"

Mindlessly, you nod in response, brain foggy and slow from all the partying, yelling, smoking, drinking, contact. You suck in a breath and exhale slowly.

"I also just wanted to talk to you. Alone. Just for a bit," Momo suddenly admits, her tone casual as ever but carrying a hint of apprehension. She glances at you from the corner of her eye, as if to gauge your reaction. You're high as a kite and rather nauseous, so you only cock your head to the side and hum. She laughs and leans back to get a better look at you. "Yeesh, four hits and you're out? Do you not smoke often?"

You shake your head. "No, not anymore. I kind of lied to Dimitri earlier. I just wanted to hang out with you guys for a bit."

"Well, jeez, man! You don't have to smoke to hang out with us." Momo rolls her eyes and delivers a playful punch to your arm. You rub it, but crack a small smile. It's not strained this time. Her arm is wrapped around you again, this time a little lower, around your waist. You dare to reciprocate the action and wrap yours around her as well. Yet you still hesitate.

"Sorry, hah. We just don't get to see each other that much anymore. I think we just got busy, I guess."

"Yeah, you're not wrong. You're busy being a student and all that...other stuff." Momo snorts and gives your midsection a playful squeeze with her arm, and you laugh a little as well. You want to return the gesture, your arm still planted behind you—partially to keep yourself upright— but Momo speaks up yet again and you freeze at her words.

"Uh, so, I...know." a brief pause. "Like, I know you like me and stuff."

Oh.

You don't look at her, not yet. You don't want to. You can't imagine what kind of expression her face holds. Maybe she's hesitant, disgusted, upset, or possibly betrayed. Her own friend has harbored serious feelings towards her for God knows how long, and she only found out through some basement party. Your stomach begins to churn.

Truly, you shouldn't be that surprised that she's aware of your weird, emotional emotions. You should've known the moment she laid a hand on your neck earlier and teasingly said she should "wrangle you with all the mixed signals you've been giving me!". She was smiling and laughing, so you assumed it was all in jest. Cruel, but not her fault.

You clear your throat after a long, prolonged period of crickets chirping. "Oh. Haha. Um, was I that obvious?"

"I mean...I guess, looking back...yeah?" She pauses. You still don't look at her. Her arm is still around you. Yours is in some awkward limbo behind her back. You're still nauseous. "But nah, someone actually told me. I think they were joking about it or drunk or whatever. They had to, like, physically shut themselves up after that." She snorts at the memory, and you wince. You make a mental note to track down whoever snitched and pants them in public some day. Momo turns her head to look at you, but you do not do the same. Her usual snarky, mischievous smile falters for just a moment as she (gently) slaps a hand on your cheek and forces your head to turn towards her. And, reluctantly, you do.

Surprisingly, she doesn't look mad. Not even upset, or grossed out, and she's definitely not laughing. Just staring at you with beady eyes, scleras slightly reddened from the blunt you just shared. She holds a toothy grin and her brows are upturned slightly, as if to question your silence. Like it's no big deal.

"Dude, I don't mind. Don't think I'm mad at you or anything." She's clearly trying to lighten the mood, having seen your awkward, tense state. "I want that to be true, y'know? I've been trying to give you hints all night. I like to think I was pretty damn obvious. You're dense." She punctuates her bold claim with the lightest "slap" to your cheek, if you can even consider it one, in an attempt to wake you up.

"Oh," is all you can breathe out, mostly from relief, face red and hot to the touch. But her hand doesn't flinch away, it cradles your face with an unnaturally gentle touch. You're almost a little freaked out. It's definitely unnatural for Momo.

"But I'm tired of hearing it from other people's mouths." Eagerly, she seizes your face with both hands, reddened, cloudy eyes boring into your soul. You flush and manage a nervous chuckle, which she hums at, bearing abnormally prominent canines that seem to glint in the minimal moonlight. "I want you to tell me yourself."

You blink at her, your senses overwhelmed with relief, only to be flooded with mild anxiety and embarrassment again. "What good will that do? You know already, don't you?" you huff, furrowing your brows at her. "What, you want me to tell you how pretty your eyes are, or how insanely bad your jokes are to the point they're funny, or-or how cool your style is, or maybe you want me to say I think you're really admirable despite being an objectively bad influence?"

Your long, winded confession leaves your breathless, each rise and fall of your chest leaving you more aware of your reckless decision, as Momo simply smiles, her form relaxed and molded against yours. Slowly, she leans in just slightly closer, batting sharp, pointed lashes at you like you're in some novela.

"Yeah, that'll do," she hums casually, her tone almost cloying. Her much colder fingers somehow snake their way around yours, intertwining nicely. Your flared emotions eventually mellow out, leaving you flushed and rather reassured. Her eyes flicker down to your lips for a brief second, but they linger. She's not even trying to be subtle about it.

Within seconds, her lips are planted on yours. You wince out of surprise but eagerly reciprocate the gesture, your eyes falling shut. It's fervent, a little rough, kind of sloppy, and definitely the opposite of tentative. It's perfect, actually. You let out a quiet hum, which she can't help but smile at in response.

You're reluctantly forced to pull away when your lungs declare air, faces flushed and bodies running 10⁰ warmer than usual. Momo snickers, her lips tainted with your lip gloss, yours—her saliva. Real cute. Her arm is back around your waist again, her other hand finding its way to yours and interlocking your fingers together in slow, teasing movements, her thumb running over your knuckles over and over again. This time, you return the gesture, your arm draped around her lower back and your hand giving hers a gentle squeeze in response.

"I think we should camp out on our own tonight, yeah? Just us." Momo's half-lidded eyes, hazy and clouded, daringly wander down your face and body once more. You hum, lazily resting against her.

"I'd like that."

Momo laughs and, without hesitation, wraps both arms around your torso as she falls backwards, landing on her back with you right on top. You yelp—which makes her laugh just a little bit harder— but adjust soon after. You get as comfortable as humanely possible on the grass, finding out just where to place your hands and rest your head. You soon discover that Momo is fond of peppering your face, head, and neck in aggressive, sloppy kisses that tickle and pull laughter and lighthearted complaints from you. It completely slips your mind that everyone else probably thinks you two are playing Seven Minutes in Heaven upstairs. No matter, you'd rather sit on the dewy lawn and make out all night, anyway.

A/N: siiighh i love Momo

Stupid ending sorry

I switched tabs for less than 20 seconds and Tumblr deleted all of my progress you dumb cunt I'm shedding real tears

Sorry if this was a little awkward and weird that was the goal

#pine point #x reader #momo pine point #pine point x reader #momo x reader

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is-cute · 1 year ago

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I have been listening to "While you were sleeping" by Laufey and it first so perfectly to Lee Know or Hyunjin and I realized that I need a fanfic(｡-人-｡)

#just imagine the secret pining #and just like a fluffy vibe #its a need at this point #skz x reader #stray kids #x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #lee know #hwang hyunjin #lee minho #skz hyunjin #skz lee know

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i-trash-about-things · 2 years ago

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I've been on a rampant of starting wips but unable to finish any

So here's a list of everything I've been writing!

(Also, spoiler alert, they're all Eddie x Henderson!Reader because I'm unable to write anything else rn [brain worms go *Stranger Things intro*])

"The Freak and his Guard Dog"

A biology lesson on Darwin and Huxley leads to the origin of a nickname that would follow you even after graduating high school - not that it bothers you that much.

"You gotta admit, it sounds kinda badass."

"I never said it doesn't! It's just weird seeing everyone in school afraid of you when you're actually a huge dork."

"Pfft, look who's talking."

"Opposites Attract and Sameness Repels"

A sidetracked conversation in the middle of what was supposed to be a physics study session leads to a discussion about movie tropes. You get reminded why you and Eddie wouldn't work.

"So that's where that trope came from?!"

"Supposedly?"

"Wow, that's... So dumb."

"Ha!"

"Sleepless Nights"

Already a light sleeper, adding the aftermath of the battle of Starcourt in the mix leads to sleep deprivation. You take Eddie's advice for once and finds out something new about him.

"You DROVE here??? With a healing broken leg??? Are you insan–"

"Can you put me to sleep? Please?"

"2 Ways To Soothe Sore Knuckles"

After Billy Hargrove ups your training in the boxing ring, Eddie takes the time to take care of you. The boundaries between friends blurs once more."

"It's not that worrying, dude, it's just–"

"You're always saying I have to take a break between rehearsals, so stop being a hypocrite and let me take care of you, you dipshit."

"Something That Feels Familiar To My Eyes"

It's been five years since the Upside Down, and life has been the exact thing you've been wishing to be since you left that God forsaken place: peaceful.

Then Eddie comes home after leaving you behind.

"You're... Familiar. Have we met before?"

"... We fought against demons together, but I don't think we did, no. Not truly."

"Third Time's The Charm", "Four Times Eddie Ran And The One Time He Came Back" and "Last Minute Adjustments"

Part 2, 3 and the epilogue of "High School Dances And Second Chances" (Yes, this ended up a lot longer than I planned)

Eddie surprises you with a proposition that makes you feel deja vu;

Here's to prom night! Let's hope undiscovered feelings don't come up and ruin it;

Happy birthday, Dustin! The more things change, the more they stay the same.

#I've just been accumulating wips like Pokémon cards at this point #also - kinda spoiler - but most of these are kinda in the same universe of “HD&SC”#ya know henderson!reader x Eddie where most people survive and Vecna eats shit #but they can be read as their own thing #another thing: a fuck ton of longing and one sided pining because im dramatic like that #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #HD&SC #trash's writing tag o/

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tonycries · 6 days ago

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SLAM DUNK - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru - campus boyfriend, MVP of the basketball team - can score a slam dunk but he can’t score you?! So what could go wrong when he asks you for pointers…in the bedroom?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, D1 basketball player!Gojo, college AU, friends-to-Iovers, PINING Gojo, kinda romcom, popular!Gojo, spin the bottIe, kíssing for “practice”, first times (Gojo’s), handj’s, semi-pubIic (locker room), fíngering, he comes back for more, oraI (fem rec.), PÚSSYDRÚNK Gojo, running from it, spítting, p talking, chokíng, matíng presses, manhandIing, he’s tall, Gojo with a big D, making it fit, talking you through it, tummy buIges, p sIapping, rough s, breaking the bed, creampíes, slight cúmplay, confessions, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 13.3k

A/N. *throws loverboy Gojo at you and runs*

“Let’s play spin the bottle!”

There wasn’t much room for rational say. Not when Shoko was already pushing an empty beer bottle into your hands, Haibara practically vibrating with excitement as he shuts the door to the raging party outside.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t the most sophisticated of games - but what else could you expect from one of Geto and Gojo’s infamous house parties?

“Fine—” You’re smiling, to the slurred cheers of your messy lil’ circle of friends. “But if I get you, Sho, you better watch out.”

She puckers up dramatically, “I’m looking forward to it- that is, if someone doesn’t kiIl me fir-”

“Shut up, bob cut.” Ah, the star of the show cuts her off hastily, a drunken flush creeping down his neck. You’re raising a brow at the impatience - but when Gojo Satoru speaks, everyone listens. Everyone waits as the bottle in the middle spins.

And spins.

And stops-

Geto is the first to crack a grin, “Oh, Satoru~”

“Oh.”

Notorious chatterbox, mean loudmouth, and the student that had oh-so-famously gotten detention for probing into Professor Gakuganji’s sex life - but that was all Gojo had to say right now?

With a slight huff of laughter, you’re staring down the amber bottleneck- aimed directly opposite you, towards where your friend was sprawled across the carpet like he owned it.

Which was, honestly, how you’d always known Gojo.

Whether it was on the basketball court or accosting you on the very first day of orientation, there was a reason every student on campus knew his name. Knew his number. Knew the nights of his parties.

But didn’t know whether they wanted to be him or be with him.

Which was why it made your heart thud in a singular beat of surprise to glance upwards and find Gojo looking so…lost. Rosy lips parted, chest unmoving like he’d forgotten to breathe.

And somewhere down the line, you swear you notice him gulp. Biceps straining against his flowery button-up as he pushes back those angelic white bangs of his, Gojo’s azure eyes flit furiously between the bottle, and you, the bottle, and you, the bottle-

“Ehem.” Shoko coughs into her fist, with the pointed subtlety of a sledgehammer.

You see her flick a finger towards the wide wooden closet that loomed ominously by the far wall. “If you’re going to eye-fuck, I suggest you do it in- hck! there like the game says. Uta’s about to throw up already.”

Said Utahime dry heaves, “I’m not.”

“And who suggested this game?” But you’re standing up to a few jeers anyway- what’s one silly kiss between friends, after all? It was a small group of your friends, and a few stragglers starstruck by their proximity to Gojo.

Though, turning around, you’re realizing that Gojo was, too.

Narrowing your eyes in confusion, “Satoru?”

Gojo’s tongue darts out to nervously wet his lips, “Yeah? I- oh.” Geto reaches over to thump his best friend on the back, making the other man startle into a stand.

Stumbling up on agile feet for a few steps, before he’s crossing the circle to grasp your hand in his large ones-

And that just makes the room erupt.

“That’s my boy–!”

“Don’t get pregnant– I can’t be an uncle yet.”

“Yuck.”

Cackles, cat calls, and a few obnoxious moans that ring out even louder than the thumping bass from the party downstairs. You’re crinkling your nose in amusement once Gojo flips them off and speedwalks towards the closet with crimson ears, dragging you straight in tow.

“Sa-Satoru.” You’re giggling, stepping inside the stuffy space.

The smell of prized vodka and mothballs cling to every surface of the closet like an outdated perfume. And from where you’re pressing yourself up against one mahogany wall, you can feel the soft press of clothes tickle your body.

It was dark inside - darker than dark, in fact. Your only merciful source of light coming from the dim yellow glow of Haibara’s room from underneath the cracks in the door.

But even with the cloak of obscurity, you can already make out how snug of a fit it was inside.

Because Gojo was towering - what else could you have expected from the ace of your university’s basketball team?

Unruly strands of ivory brushing against the closet ceiling, broad shoulders cushioned by either wall. He has to press two palms upon either side of your body and lean down just to hear you speak, “Do you want to do this? Y’know we don’t have to-”

“Yes.” He’s breathing, labored. Uneven. Before catching the glint in your eyes and sputtering- “I mean- ah, I mean, why not.” Wincing, “…Do you?”

You hum, taking in the heady scent of his cologne. Cherries. “I mean— we should be good sports about the game.”

“The game- the game, yes.” Gojo nods, a thin line of sweat starting to bead from his temple. And maybe it was the punch, maybe it was the dizziness of being so close- but did Gojo Satoru just stutter? “So you…want to kiss me?”

Your head tilts in question, and he flinches at the teasing look in your eyes.

Fuck, was he ever-so-glad it was too dark in here for you to see the way his ears burn.

“I-I mean, of course you want to kiss me.” With a slight puff of his sculptured chest, Gojo fluffs up his hair. Nose turning up in that haughty way it often did whenever someone asked for his number. “Who wouldn’t? I’m Gojo Satoru, after all. So, of course, I should kiss you, too- and I should s-stop talking and do that right now and- wow, is it just me or is it really hot in here-”

Then you’re shutting him up - with your mouth on his.

Murmuring into his parted maw, “Shut the fuck up.” And the only thing sweeter than the taste of his soft, candied lips was the way that Gojo presses his ripped body further against yours and moans.

Low, primal. Like it was something being wrenched from the deepest depths of his throat and he couldn’t possibly control it even if he wanted to.

So the only thing his poor, muddled body can think to do is lap at the glossy crevice of your own lips. Wobbly mouth tuggin’ on your greedily, it was almost cute the way that Gojo’s grunting just as soon as you pull away with a lewd wet noise-

Staring at him in awe, even in the darkness you could make out the ruddied shade of his blush.

“Uh…” You pipe up, after a few seconds of silence, your friend’s gaze still locked on your lips. The skin of his cheeks flare red-hot underneath where you’d grabbed him with your hands. “Hello? Don’t tell me I broke y-”

He’s attacking your mouth once more.

Ravenous, Gojo’s sultry lips drag allll across yours. Washboard abs pinning you to the wall of the closet, the pointed tip of his nose bumping messily into yours. He lets off a throaty keen as you’re parting your mouth with a gasp, “M’sorry.”

“H-hngh, Satoru-” The temperature inside this lil’ space heightens enough to make your goosebumps sizzle.

“M’sorry.” He’s drunkenly whispering, one of his meaty knees saddling right between your thighs. You’re whimpering at the feeling of his flexed muscles, “M’sorry m’sorry I-”

One of his trembling hands slides up n’ down your back, as if Gojo didn’t trust himself to hold too still. And his touch was seeping warmth through your thin dress, lungs screaming for air-

“I’m sorry, it’s just- you. I don’t think I can control-” He’s interrupting himself with another chase of your mouth, sloppily sucking on the tip of your tongue. Gojo lets a slick puddle of drool formulate on the corner of his swollen lips, eyes glassy when he’s kneading his hips forwards to rut- “D-did you know that this is my first-”

“Time’s up lovebirds—! Oh.”

The sudden explosion of light strikes you like whiplash, and both of you snap your heads towards the entrance to the closet.

Geto stands frozen, slightly silhouetted by the bedroom glow. But nothing - absolutely nothing - can hide the way his sly eyes widen ever-so-slightly, caught off-guard by the vision before him.

He darts his peripherals to Gojo’s hands dipping dangerously low on your hips, to the manner you’re pinned against one wall, to the way your lips are swollen.

And Gojo’s were worse.

It’s only then that your head’s clearing up enough for you to try and half-heartedly push at your friend’s heaving chest- to no avail, of course. Because Gojo doesn’t move a single inch, in fact, he’s only tugging you closer to him with a slight growl.

Looking over his shoulder at the intruder, his eyes narrow—“Fuck off.”

“This- we-” You’re starting, unsure why you were so heated when this was the entire point of the game.

But Geto beats you to it- “Well, this is certainly better than I thought. I expected our dear Satoru here to piss his pants and faint. Congratulations.” He points at something near Gojo’s khaki shorts, “Fix that.”

Fix…? In unison, you slowly swivel your heads down and find your mouth drop-

“Fuck! Suguru-” It’s only then that Gojo lets go of you like the mere feeling of your body scalded his own.

Back shoving against the other end of the closet, both hands flailing downwards to hide the massive outlined bulge you’d caught just a glimpse of. And yet, even that wasn’t enough for him to hide the utter raw tightness in his pants.

Your mind sparks once you register that he was rock-fucking-hard.

Handsome cheekbones all stained with rouge, you catch the smear of your lipgloss glitter all across Gojo’s lips when he hisses at the other man. “It went down just looking at you.”

“Liar.”

“Asshole.”

“Vir-”

“Shut up.” Slightly slurred by your moments prior, there’s a slight daze within Gojo’s stare as he turns to you - still covering his erection. “I-I can explain, I actually-”

Whatever half-baked excuse it was, you don’t have the privilege of hearing it.

Because just then, rings out a call of your name—Shoko. And you could recognize her rarely-serious tone anywhere, making you hastily step out of the closet. Leaving behind a sputtering Gojo Satoru and a snickering Geto Suguru to instead head back to your circle. “Everything alright?”

A few cackles escape your friends at the sight of you - all dishevelled and kissed stupid.

Hell, even Shoko manages to break through the worried furrow in her brow to let off a slight giggle. “Mhm, my greatest apologies for interrupting Satoru’s little wet dream-” Ignoring the aforementioned man’s cranky ‘hey!’ as he closely follows you. “-but Uta isn’t feeling well, so we might just head back.”

You nod, “I’ll come-”

“No no, stay with-”

“We should get her to bed.” You’re waving off her protests, a no-brainer to go with the friend who was visiting all the way from Kyoto. Picking up Utahime’s bag as she starts to fight back her gags once more. “It was probably that cheap beer, I told her not to trust anything Usami bought.”

It’s with a few rapid goodbyes and promises to send photographs that your little trio staggers out of Haibara’s room, Utahime clinging onto both of you. Babbling weakly, “M’sorry for ruining your love story.”

The pit of your stomach twists with something you don’t know how to name, “You didn’t ruin anything.” Brows furrowing, “And what love story?”

“B-but-” She wails, making a few heads turn. “-but it’s been years- mmpf!”

Shoko sighs, one hand firmly slapped on Utahime’s mouth now. She throws a meaningful glance at her friend, “We’re never drinking again.”

Meandering through the throngs of people and alcohol, at an equal ratio - you’ve just got a foot out of the penthouse doorway; the one that Gojo rents for him and his friends, the hotspot for your university’s student body to be on a weekend night-

-when Gojo himself breaks through the overstuffed crowd.

“W-wait–!”

“Satoru?” You’re swerving back in confusion, eyelids squinted at the flashing strobe lights.

The party atmosphere paints his pale hair in red n’ pink, bringing out the prettiest specks of grey in his blue irises.

And Gojo gasps, he heaves - seemingly more at the sight of you than the entire trek it had been to weave through a party that yearned for but a simple glimpse of him. Even now, he was deaf to the calls of his name from all sides, the hands patting him on the back- only letting out—“Do you…want to do something?”

You almost have half the mind to look behind you, “Do something?”

“An outing.”

“An outing?”

“A science experiment.”

“A science experiment?” You gawk, slightly appalled at the fact that Gojo Satoru of all people wanted to take up extra credit on a weekend. “Did you drink that bad beer too? Because-”

“Dammit-” Without warning, he’s smacking his forehead. “Just- just meet me, to talk about something. I’ll text you.”

You have to fight to keep your voice even- from amusement if not for genuine concern. “And you couldn’t text me that? You had to run all this way.”

He almost pouts with a huff, “Had to say it before I lost my nerve.”

“But-”

“She’ll be there.” Shoko’s vocalizing from your right, still holding up a dangling Utahime. And there’s something knowing - something meaningful - in her smirk, “I’ll make sure of it. If you beg on your knees, that is.”

Gojo flips her off in two seconds.

Then he’s on his knees in one.

“G-get up–!” You damn-near shriek, feeling the party buzz and gape at the encounter - you think you even see one attendant pull out her phone and start recording, sure to make a splash in the campus bulletin by tomorrow. “I’ll be there- just- go-”

Still unsteady from whatever the fuck that was, you’re shuffling into the elevator for Shoko’s Uber. still feeling Gojo’s stare burning into you afterwards.

Blissfully dazed as the doors close behind his slight, anxious wave, Utahime cups your cheek and slurs. “You’re going to make such beautiful hck! babies. All from you, of course.”

“So…what did you need to talk to me about?”

“T-talking? Did I say talking? Well, I was really gone that night, y’know that-”

“Satoru.”

“-and we’re talking right now, aren’t we-”

“Satoru.”

If it was physically possible for a basketball player - numerous inches over six feet, unfairly chiselled, with a shock of white hair above all - to hide behind a humble convenience store shelf then Gojo certainly didn’t know how.

But that didn’t stop him from trying.

And his tufts of pale bangs flinch at the stern tone of your voice, despite being separated by an entire aisle.

Blatantly avoiding being in your proximity, Gojo’s simply pushin’ aside a few bags of chips to peek at you from the other side of the shelf. Shoulders hunched, eyes crinkling once he’s noticing your no-nonsense stance. “You see…remember how, last night, had that little erm- problem-”

“Your erection?” You’re questioning, purposefully not lowering your voice to make him squirm.

And he shushes you frantically, looking around the store - there was only a sweet elderly lady a few shelves down, and he was hoping to the heavens above that her hearing aid was turned down. “Yes- yes, that. And I said I could explain…well…”

“Well?”

Inhaling a deep, deep breath, “I’mactuallykindofatotalvirginandIwantedyoutohelpmewithsomepointersmaybe.” He’s forced to inhale an even deeper breath after that.

“Y-you’re a…” It felt like you’d just short-circuited. Only one word from that entire jumbled mess standing out to you - virgin.

Not that there was a problem with that. It’s just- there was no way that Gojo was a virgin - not after all the stories that girls and guys alike would whisper about him in bed. Not after the harem of fans that would follow him ‘round each party like a second skin unless your friends dragged him away. Not after the way he had a new number being begged to be put into his phone every day.

And yet, Gojo’s nodding at your unspoken question.

Somehow, it suddenly made sense that in all the years you’d known him, you’d never seen him go on a single date. But no one had to actually date to hook up. Sputtering, “And was that your-”

“First…kiss…” He grimaces, fingers twitching like they were about to topple the entire aisle of chips just to escape this conversation. Before smoothing his features back with a gasp- “B-but that was the best first kiss I could’ve ever dreamed of- I kinda did dream about it later but…”

As you start to slowly back away, he waves his hands fervently. Panic seeping into his voice, “Don’t run!” Withering at the way the old lady nearby turns, “I-I mean, that’s exactly why I need you. I need you to teach me–!”

You feel your heart race, voice lilting high. “Teach you?”

“Teach me how to—” Your friend waves his hands wildly, and you’ve never seen him so stressed - not even before his biggest games. “-not embarrass myself if I do something like that.”

Crossing your arms, the thought churns over and over in your brain. He wants to…kiss you again? “So…let me get this straight- you want me to give you lessons on how to kiss someone?”

“And maybe…other…stuff.”

“Satoru, you us want to hook up-”

“Teach me.” He pleads, baritone crackling just a bit. A sharp smack resounds as he clasps his hands together in prayer position, “I just need you to give me a few tips- a few pointers, I swear. Just a few lessons so I won’t embarrass myself like that ever again. I could get on my knees again if you want-”

“No! Shut the fuck up.” You bark out, hands coming up to massage your temples. “I need to…think.”

And all it takes is one look at the other lady beside you two, discreetly turning her hearing aids up, for you to stride your way to Gojo’s side of the aisle. Right where he was holding up a packet of chips like a shield, waiting for you to burst.

He wants to be intimate with you.

He wants a repeat of the party.

He liked it?

Something about that, you liked.

You sigh, a sound that felt years older than you were. “Fine.”

“Yes-”

“But we’re doing this platonically. And I’m only doing this because I don’t wanna hear you begging. Or hear any girls laughing at you, because that’s embarrassing for me.”

Your head swivels behind you - ah, perfect. The two of you were loitering right between the chips and contraception shelves. “Lesson number one, wrap it before you tap it.”

Gojo starts into motion, eager to please. Though, it wasn’t very pleasant for you once his hand shoots out immediately to pluck at the gold n’ black box of Trojan Magnum…XL.

“Hah! That’s funny.” Your grin twitches at his blank expression, “That’s a joke, right?” Then completely dissolving at his silence. “…Right?”

You’re still ogling in utter disbelief even as you walk to the weary young cashier, in line behind that old lady. “Satoru- are you sure you need that one? Lesson number two is you don’t have to compensate.”

“I’m actually worried it won’t fit.” He frowns, closely reading the measurements in the back. And from the corner of your eye, your imposing fellow customer gawks, discreetly hurrying up the payment. “Maybe lesson number three could be the pull out game.”

And right before you can answer - maybe make fun of his confidence, maybe even call off the entire deal altogether - the grim elderly lady taps your arm before leaving. “Good luck, dearie.”

“Sh-shit.” Gojo’s mouth closes and gapes stupidly, and no matter how much his firm chest heaves, he can’t steady his pitch. He can’t catch his breath.

He can’t even think about anything other than the feeling of your soft, pretty hands wrapped ‘round his rock-hard dick.

A quick trip to your apartment later, with him backed into the corner of your couch, and you’re not making fun of him anymore.

You knew what they say about men with big feet - but Gojo’s throbbing erection was even bigger than you could’ve imagined.

Just about nine- maybe even ten hot, pinkish inches that glistened with a steady stream of precum. So hard that it looked painful, so thick that you’re having trouble closing your wrist over his circumference.

Gojo’s slender hands grabbing onto each side of the couch to push n’ push his restless body upwards. “Shit shit shit- what the fuck-”

Grappling, fighting, in a split-second he feels the crown edge of your thumb graze his slit and damn near loses his mind.

“Shiiiiit—” Almost whiny, if this was any other time then he’d be fucking embarrassed about the way his bass cracks at the very end of his sentence.

“Shush, Satoru.” Your voice purrs, and just the sultry sound of it is enough to make his swollen cock twitch. Glistening out a treacly line of pre from the strawberry-pink orifice at the top of his shaft, “Lesson number three is to learn to be quiet. My landlord’s gonna complain.”

“Well, lil’ landlord Higuruma doesn’t have your cute hands on his cock, does he, beautiful?”

“Well you’re failing the lesson then.”

“Fine.”

In retaliation, you’re giving him a looong, languid stroke along his vein-covered length. Mouth watering at the delicious way it makes him throw a hand up to cover his flushed face, other hand resting on your wrist.

Gojo’s hands were big- bigger than yours, and much more suited to help pump his prolonged cock with ease.

Possessively, he’s curling your pretty fingers tighter ‘round his girth and bounces up n’ down, up n’ down, up n’ down. Whispering, “Faster- faster now, my girl- I mean- beautiful.”

“It’s just-” You’re nearly biting down on your own tongue, reluctant to state anything that would feed your popular friend’s ego.

But you just couldn’t help it when he looked so pretty - eyes glazed with unshed tears and need, high cheekbones permanently pink, his fat cock pulsing between your fingertips with each passing second. And you swear the blushin’, bulged tip of his shaft swells even bigger with your intense stare, “Lesson number four is that you’re big. It makes it almost…difficult.”

“O-oh.”

Without a second of warning, Gojo’s slouching his muscular body over. Rosy lips pursed to depart with a glob of spit— straight down to the tip-top of his erection.

Letting the sticky mess trickle down the side of his shaft, he’s moving your hands to glue over his tender underside. Fap-fap-fapping rapidly, the sides of your pinkies spank against his bulky base and make him keen.

“Difficult? Difficult?” Tonality just seeping with grunts, your touch smears the glossy webs of saliva down each vein. “M’passin’ this lesson with flying colors- oh, you’re gonna take it. How could anyone even- ngh- compete?”

“And here I thought y-you were the competitive one.” You’re garbling out your words, feeling your palms massage with the zig-zagged ridges of his length.

“H-heh- hell yeah, I am.” With a pant, Gojo’s twisting his hand - one of his encapsulating both of yours, and something primal in you twitches at the stark size difference - to jerk down his slicked cock. “Faster.” Voice ruined. “Faster.” Breathy. “Fast- ngh-”

He can’t even think to finish his sentence before his body ruts- ethereal head thrown back, lips gnawed raw like bubblegum. “Oh, ohhhh, never felt like this.”

And Gojo Satoru - famed for his steadiness, his agility - had never sounded so uneven. With his sweaty scalp lolling back and forth like he didn’t know whether to push backwards or keep looking down at your work.

Drag after lewd drag.

He was so lengthy n’ big that your arms were almost aching at this point, repeatedly pumping from the ruby-red globe of his cockhead, and down, down, down.

“Pretty hands hck! tired, huh?” But Gojo’s only maneuvering faster- capped knees spreading on the cushions of your couch to buck into you faster. “Come on- come on come on- don’t stop.”

“S’this any different from your- hah- usual routine, Satoru?” Even you were out of breath at this point.

You’re flicking your doughy fingerpad in a lazy line underneath the flared line of his slit and watch as Gojo only babbles. “Yeah- never felt something so…f-fuck, why are you so soft.” Large palms pressing down on yours, exactly where you could feel the outline of his shaft pulsing the most. His shoulders shake with each singular thwack! of your hand hitting his hilt, white curls bouncing. “So tight-”

Your friend’s fingers were dexterous, curling inwards so that your manicured nails would graze his swollen balls.

They were slightly tanner than the rest of him, glittered with speckles of buttery precum that you take it upon yourself to gyrate your palm against. Purposefully pressing down lecherously–

And when Gojo looks up with a slight, dopey grin you knew that whatever fell next from that devastating mouth would not bode well for you. “Wonder if your pretty pussy would be just as ngh- tight.”

You feel your poor heart stutter—“Sh-shut the fuck up.”

“Ohhh- that almost made me cum.” He’s admitting through a raspy gasp, cadence giving way to something needier. Something harder. Something that was nearly scraping the flesh of your hands raw with his white happy trail. “S-say it again-”

“Shut up-”

Sapphire eyes squeeze shut, and the front of your poor skirt starts dripping with a few creamy wads of his pre. He was close. “Ngh-”

Thighs pressing together, suddenly you’re realizing just how drenched your panties were. “Aren’t you supposed to be- fuck, learning a lesson?” And oh, were you shocked you managed to keep your voice even.

“Mmm, I’m learning alrigh’---” Gojo drawls, looking at you with such heated half-closed eyes that you can only more thoroughly drag your thumb down the line of his sensitive slit. “Shit- stop that- wait, don’t stop-”

Brain sparking, he’s singing out in protesting groans at the same time as your furniture. The cushions dipping as Gojo’s lurching his lanky body off of the couch, like he didn’t know whether he wanted to fuck your first for more, more, more or run away–

“Learning, huh?” You’re cracking a grin in amusement, hands letting off the sappiest squelches as you decide to slow down for his own sake. “Lesson number five…”

“No!” He’s pulling you back, he’s wrestling your hands to jerk faster, he’s grabbing you by the throat- left hand clinging onto the sides of your neck and squeezing.

Scorching hot breath wafts your face as Gojo’s staring dead-on into your own pupils, “Stay. K-keep going. Keep going.” Something at the back of his throat makes him choke. “M’so close- don’t you fucking stop.”

“Fuck, Toru-”

“So fucking—” Your skin heats up with clammy warmth following the feeling of his sleazy eyes sweeping all down your body. Your hands working over time. Your hips slightly bucking back. Your tits-

Which he’s tugging down to see with an index hooked to the front of your top.

And you catch the exact moment that he does - the exact moment that his long, ivory lashes flutter further open, mouth parting with slick drool, face flushing.

Because that very day, you’d just-so-happened to have worn a special set of blue underwear. The exact same color as his eyes.

And it’s enough to make Gojo cum. Instantly.

He couldn’t even have the rationality to be mortified at the pathetic suddenness of it, because all he could do was lock his heady gaze onto your bra-clad tits n’ cream all down your wrist.

Hot and aching.

Throbbing.

“Mmm, Satoru.” Splurging out from the swollen end of his shaft - the same shade as a strawberry, and twice as plump. Now with buttery sap to match. Something about that makes your mouth water. “Cum f’me- cum more.”

He was fucking up through each peak of his high like he was dying to pump each n’ every drop into your pussy.

“Fuh-fuck.” And it’s hot, almost like he was melting out into you. A slow line of sweat dripping down his temple at the utter bursts of pleasure behind his hazy peripherals. “Cumming—m’cumming so much for you, beautiful.” Hauling your body closer to his, he’s spraying such thick, ribbony volumes of cum that you almost couldn’t believe it.

Jaw unfastened at the rapidly-growing puddle of ivory sap on your skirt. He’s so sensitive that he’s flinching just from the sound of your voice, like his favorite song. “Do you always cum so much, Satoru?”

“N-no—” Gojo huffs, slightly squeaky with his unstable pitch. “Only for you. When it’s you, I…”

Trailing off, both of you look down in synchronization at the glaze of white cum that’d started to trail down your forearm. And before you can let out a single word, he has one hand tuggin’ on your wrist.

Guiding your trembling fingers to unglue from Gojo’s pulsing, reddened cock with a sluuurp! He’s promptly sucking on your glossy fingertips with a moan.

“Mm, so good.” Heavy erection still bobbing with the zaps of his euphoria, he looks up at you through long lashes - in a way that makes you gulp. Something he’s surely feeling, if the way that those fingers tighten on your neck says anything. “S’sweeter when it’s by you.”

Oh.

You’re fucked.

“Oiiiii—Satoru—!” Whenever Geto spoke in that tone, it couldn’t mean anything but trouble. He looks past the (multiple) groups of the usual onlookers, “Your cute lil’ girlfriend’s here~”

“Geto Suguru, you know my name.” You’re snarling from your close seat on the first row of court bleachers, realizing only too-late that you made a fatal mistake. “A-and I’d never be this one’s girlfri-”

“Ohhh, did you hear that?” Of course, the inky-haired man is ignoring every word that falls from your traitorous mouth. Nudging a disinterested Nanami, who pretends to read something on the ball. “Didn’t deny the girlfriend part. I think you owe me ten yen.”

You squawk, “You bet on us?”

“You bet only ten yen?” Gojo Satoru, equally as indignant, but for a completely different reason, waltzes off of the court as Coach Yaga approves his dribbling check and calls for the next. “Way to show your faith in me, bro.”

Geto grins, walking onto court, “Can you blame me?”

And you didn’t know what made you sigh more - the furious cheers and cat calls emanating from Gojo’s fans, who never failed to show up to a single practice, or the way he saunters right up to you.

Expensive sneakers squeaking on wood, carrying with him the scent of adrenaline and cherry bodywash. With such a devastating grin, he winks towards the audience - and you swear you see at least one in a replica of Gojo’s 06 jersey faint.

“Y’know, I think our lessons are working, beautiful.” Snickering at your surprised gasp, “The aura of…experience, it’s working. Yaga told me I was on fire today, Sugu said I was glowing and asked me for my skincare routine. Hell, even Nanamin - Nanamin - didn’t recoil in disgust when he first saw me today, which, considering Nanamin, is the equivalent of getting a big kiss on the lips as hello.”

“I thought these were lessons just for your future reference?” You raise a brow in suspicion, one that makes him sweat.

“S-semantics. Hey, something’s working, isn’t it?” He waves a lengthy hand - and you can’t help but get struck by flashbacks to just a few days ago.

It’d only been about two weeks since your little deal - and you’d been taking it slow. Well, as slow as you could get when your first day was spent fisting his furiously needy cock.

A few kissing lessons here, maybe another handjob there. And Gojo was lapping it all up the exact same way he would when he was in the middle of a game, focus laser-sharp - and constantly locked on you. Only you.

“…Right.”

Your partner-in-stupidity opens his mouth- but just then Yaga barks—“Gojo Satoru. If you have enough time to flirt, throw some hoops before the Kyoto match.”

“Ay ay, captain.” With a slight roll of his eyes, he’s giving you one last glance over his shoulder. Mouthing—‘After. Practice.’ And your heart races as you manage to make out, ‘Locker.’

Throwing a wink just for you - and the basketball in his hands, right along with it. That dimple at the edge of his grin was dazzling, “This one’s for you, beautiful—!”

He shoots.

And he misses.

Geto misses too, too busy rolling on the floor cackling.

“M-mmm.” Gojo’s hiccuping, tone coming out ragged. And then he’s gasping- like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or sob at the tight feeling of your mouth. “Take it-”

You whimper, strugglin’ with the thick, reddened end of his cock bulging all the way near the back of your throat. Oh-so-swollen that it was swabbing into every nook and cranny inside of your maw without even trying.

Gojo was ruthless - he was mean.

Fucking into your mouth like this was the first taste of the pearly gates he’d ever gotten, and he’s writhing with each of your hollowed-out sucks.

Acting like he wasn’t damn-near spearing your mouth permanently open into a cute ‘oh!’ with his size. One hand clawing onto the crown of your sweaty scalp, the other letting go of his useless wet towel now.

You’d just barely seen all the members of your university’s basketball team filter out, before Gojo - freshly showered, already half-hard - had dragged you into their spacious locker room.

And it almost reminded him of that first night in the closet, back scraping against the metal of the locker. Pushing you in so close that he can almost feel the way your tastebuds flood with saliva, “Take it take it- t-take it-”

Rutting. Grinding.

Your nails claw red, red lines down the pale expanse of his thighs, each muscle getting newly-decorated by you. “M-mmpf, Satoru.” Nostrils flaring, you feel his plump mushroom tip slip deeper past your throat the moment you relax.

“Fuck- fuck yeah, say my name.” He’s spitting through grit canines, “Say my name like that- s’better than any fanchant I’ve heard.”

Gojo always became so honest any time he was bending to your every whim like this.

And right now he couldn’t stop prattling away between each heavy groan, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the feeling of his weighty girth sagging on your tongue. “Bet they didn’t know you’d be on your knees like- ngh, this f’me, huh, beautiful?” He titters, giving you a thorough rut of his inches until you feel the globe of your friend’s tip scrape down your throat. “Fuh-fuuuuck.”

It was almost too much.

The scratch of your ridged taste buds, salivating down every sensitive ridge on his erection. The prettiness of your teary eyes peering up at him.

“Bet they didn’t know that- ngh, that sharp mouth would be shut up like this, huh?” Bucking. Thrusting- the heat of your mouth was just so heavenly that he can’t stop chasing it.

Not stopping for a single second to let the clingy back end of your throat part from his cock. He sticks his pelvis up and probes deeply into a sinful lil’ spot at the back of your maw that you didn’t even think was possible.

Something hitches in his breath, snowy brows furrowing once he feels the dripping slope of your pussy gyrate up his calf. “That you’d like it so much.”

Again and again. Gojo’s repeatedly pushin’ in until he could feel the soft back of your mouth form a bruise in the exact circumference of his girthy tip. “Think ya like it even more than me, beautiful.”

“E-easy there, tiger. Lesson number number five is to pace yourself.” You’re trying to smoothen your tone - unsuccessful, of course, when he’d just been hitting your voicebox hoarse.

Sensually - slowly - he’s managing to regain a mere ounce of control in that sloppy cadence of his. Loooong, massaging drags that plunge the ruby-red crown of his girth, Gojo’s still making sure that your velvety tongue licks up every solid inch of him.

You plop your swollen lips specifically down on the flared line of his slit and suck. “And lesson number six is to just- hah- shut up and take it.”

“N-ngh, love when you’re mean to me.” He’s grinning, one hand snaking down to his meaty base. Soon enough, your pursed maw is being positively showered with a spray of his dewy precum.

A glittery gloss gluing all down your chin, you make sure to stick your lips along the prominent lines of his veins and smear-smear-smeeeear. All down the extra-tender spots of his shaft that makes Gojo shoot his free hand out to grab your throat with a labored whine.

“R-real fucking dangerous.” He’s spitting - literally, a wad of spit that aims straight onto your sizzling tongue and makes an even bigger mess.

Squeezing your neck, feeling the large cylindrical bulge that was reaching for your lungs.

He could feel himself move with each back n’ forth of his toned hips, tightening until that particularly bumpy outline was making him lose his mind. “You’re real fucking dangerous with this pretty throat n’ these- hngh- preeeetty lips.”

You’re mewling, tears welling up behind your eyes when Gojo’s using the restraint on your throat to pull you off of his cock ever-so-slightly. For a few sultry seconds, just to spew out a translucent polish of precum. “And this pretty- pretty gloss.” Milky beads decorate your lips, they’re dripping down the front of your chin and makes him flinch carnally. “H-heh, say it again, beautiful. Say it when you’re hck! like this?”

“Shut the fuck up, Satoru.” Muffled, through the press of his painfully hard cockhead sliding between your lips. Once. twice.

Thrice. “Nghhh- just like that.” The star player’s head falls back against the lockers with an echoing thud! when you start bobbing your head even faster. Syrupy precum welling up inside your mouth as if someone had just opened up a fountain. “Makes me s-so fucking hard.”

“Tight-” You manage out, gasping for air. Past all the animalistic ruts, past the squeeze of his lengthy fingers on your throat. And you can’t help but motion your pussy down and up the muscles of his leg, leaving a glittering trail of slick everywhere you go. “So- ngh-”

“So- so fucking—” Shit, Gojo cracks open one of his dazed blue eyes and can’t even finish his sentence at the pure sight of you.

Your eyes dazed, jaw stupidly unhinged. the entire lower half of your face glistening with all his bittersweet sap. Taking and taking each of his visceral ruts - you were absolutely ruined.

And he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful.

So much so that Gojo’s body moves before his mind, barely even stopping to think before unplugging his cock from the back of your throat with a filthy squelch–! Manhandling you into a standing position with only one arm, he has your back shoved against the lockers with the other.

“S-Satoru, what are you-”

Flipping up your skirt- plump, pinkish cocktip kissin’ the wet slope of your pussy. It’s the only thing Gojo needs to be creaming himself near-dry.

To plaster your jittery thighs together with the silky, white syrup of his cum, soaking your flimsy panties. Gojo’s sweaty bangs tickle the inside of your throat when he plops his face down on your shoulder and groans, “Fuck. F-fuck fuck fuck-”

And he isn’t just reaching his high- he’s trying to fuck you through it.

Trying to drill his aching hot cock between your legs, the fatness of his length keeps on pushing against your clothed cunt needily. “Y-y’know, I’m reeeally good with my hands, beautiful?”

“Y-you are–?” Your breath hitches, limbs starting to quiver weakly. Your entire spine zaps with eager pleasure as he’s lazily sliiiding aside your panties. “S’that lesson number seven?”

“Seven- eight- sixty-nine, heh, whatever.” Chuckling into your skin, you swear he’s tugging astray your panties and cumming once more just at the sight of your pretty, sopping panties.

Hips surgin’ forwards automatically to smear a line of seed between your plump folds, Gojo’s mouth drops. “Oh.” His forearm comes banging down on the locker beside your head to cage you in, “My first time c-cummin’ on a girl.”

His entire body’s wracking with shivers once he’s guiding up stripes of his meaty mushroom tip along your pussy. Uuuuup and down, stray hand pryin’ your sloppy folds apart to paint your cunt a syrupy white from the inside itself-

Slimy fingerpads pushing you all open to dollop out generous helpings of his cum - fuck, honestly he doesn’t know what feels better. Those electric bursts of his orgasm, or the feeling of your fluttering wet cunt as you take it. “And she’s so preeeetty.”

“Pretty–?”

It’s a fucking battle for Gojo to rip his half-lidded eyes away from your naked pussy, but when he does it’s to kiss your temple sweetly. “You’re pretty too, my girl- beautiful.”

Something in that gentle tremble of his voice makes your hands grip for purchase on the holed surface of the locker.

And you can only whisper, “Sh-shut up, Satoru.”

“Shit-” Nearly forgetting that the rotund, throbbing end of his shaft was still aligned with your cunt. Just one move and he’d be throwing away just about all his first times. You’d be all out of lessons.

Somewhere along the slight pang of disappointment at the thought, you feel his overstimulated length twitch—

Catching Gojo staring wildly at that one particular hand of his - the one that was stuffed between your messy legs and spreading your pussy so that he could splurge out his splotchy cum to the maximum.

“Oh.” Realization hits you like a truck. “N-no, Satoru, don’t-”

Before he sucks on his stained, white-topped fingertips like candy— moaning, the blur of his irises roll all the way back to the depths of his skull. “Yeah–” He’s noisily lapping up each ounce of your slick n’ his cum, like the utmost delicacy. “Yeah, m’learning a loooot from these lessons of yours, beautiful.”

“You’re filthy.” You sputter.

“You made me this way~” He leans in close for a kiss, and you can’t admit to yourself that you’d gotten slightly addicted to the taste of his mouth. The plush, cherry-tinged flavor of his lips, glossed with your filthy concoction from before. “Ya like the taste?”

You scoff instead of an answer, “Go shower.”

Pulling back with a mwah–! of lips-on-lips, he reaches for the puddle of his towel on the floor. “Wanna join?”

“In your dreams.”

“You have noooo idea.”

“Shush- before I end your lessons.”

Gojo laughs, loud and beaming. And you can’t help but smile to yourself, something bittersweet, making a hasty escape from the locker room before you stretched your luck too far.

If only you’d taken your time.

Because then you might have seen a lone, towering figure standing by the wall leading to the doorway. Hidden by the sharp corner, and his lengthy raven hair.

He watches as you waddle guilty away - as if leaving a crime scene - and Geto Suguru frowns.

“Alright- it’s time to lock it in.” Yaga’s gruff voice bellows through every corner of the locker room, “Play your game, play fair, prove you belong. This is D1 basketball and I expect each one of you to play like it. Show those Kyoto fuckers who we really are.”

As deep cheers rattle the atmosphere, Gojo finds his hands almost too shaky to knot his laces - too full of adrenaline, full of pride.

Full of the thought that maybe you might be here in the stands, watching. Maybe.

Beside him on the bench, Geto silently tightens his own sneakers. And Gojo can’t help but crack a smirk, “Why so quiet today, Suguru? Don’t tell me you’re nervous about fucking Kyoto.”

“No, not at all.” He responds simply.

And ‘simply’ would never be quite good enough for Gojo Satoru. Which is why he’s furrowing his twinkling eyes at the other man, “‘Nooo, not at all?’ Appropriate spaces for commas and all? Who are you- Nanamin?”

“Right.”

Gojo frowns, “You’re off today.”

“Are you sure that you’re not the one off?” Geto states, tense. Until he was registering what’d just slipped out of his mouth, immediately shooting into an upright stand.

“What do you-”

“Forget about it-”

“No.” But he can barely take a single step before the taller man’s honed reflexes make a swipe at Geto’s elbow. Stopping his teammate in his tracks, Gojo’s voice dips low in that serious, tight way it usually never did. “What do you mean.”

A statement, not a question.

And his best friend can barely stand to look at him, head tilted slightly to the side, as if giving into the concerned looks thrown their way. “I told you not to play with her heart.”

Seething, “What?”

“Satoru, when I said I’d support your feelings for her, it wasn’t to make a fucking fool out of yourself.” Shrugging off the hand, which gives way easily. “So many years, and this is how you make a move? She’s my friend first- and you’re treating her like some fucking game.”

“She-” He gasps, face burning. “She’s just teaching me lessons in-”

But Geto always was the quicker of the two - and the more stern. “How long did you expect this to go on, huh? When you’re all done with your ‘lessons’, then what?”

“I…I didn’t think-”

“Didn’t think that she might actually enjoy that nice restaurant downtown you’ve kept the pamphlet to since meeting her? Didn’t think that she might want to know that you’ve always kept extras of your jersey for her, her favorite flowers, her favorite movie, just in case?” Geto’s fists clench, “Didn’t think that it’s fucking stupid that you two aren’t together, yet? You deserve to be happy- but she does, too.”

Silence. Deafening, deafening silence.

“What are you doing, man?”

“It’s sex-”

“Stop fooling yourself.”

As he watches Geto’s disappearing back, Gojo wasn’t sure whether he wanted you watching him anymore.

But it still stung, just a little, when you weren’t.

Kyoto won that day. And Gojo Satoru has never faced a more devastating loss.

“-my hometown friend, don’t you dare flirt with her, Satoru–”

What was Geto saying again?

Ah, does it even matter? Gojo Satoru, freshly-titled ‘campus boyfriend’ after only a few hours on said campus, hadn’t heard a single word out of his high school best friend’s mouth after your name.

After you’d batted your lashes cutely and smiled his way–

Oh– blah, blah blah— He’s letting out an audible sigh as you begin speaking something or the other about your major, the usual for orientation day. Proper name, proper place, backstory stuff-

“-toru- Satoru–!” It’s only with a hearty smack on his shoulder that Geto manages to snap Gojo out of his daze, still staring at you from afar where you’d decided to talk to Shoko. And the black-haired man shifts his weary eyes between you n’ his other friend. “Oh no-”

“Suguru, I think I just found my wife-”

“Hell no.” Dramatically, he shakes the other’s shoulders as if desperately trying to jolt some sense into that basketball-addled mind of his. “Satoru, you’ve gotten about fifteen different phone numbers-”

Geto pauses as another fresh-faced student flounces up to the duo and gives them both two slips of paper with a number scrawled on, one that Geto’s immediately tearing up.

“-sixteen just today itself.” His dark brows furrow, as much as he loved his best friend, he knew the mind-numbing popularity that came with him, too. The reputation. “I don’t care if you’re a virgin who’s never held hands-” Ignoring Gojo’s protesting ‘hey!’ “-if you think I’m about to let you play any games with her heart then-”

“I wouldn’t even imagine it, Suguru. Really.” Leaning back in his chair, Gojo’s azure eyes stray to you - as they’ve always seemed to do since then. Second nature. And only a second before tearing them away, undeserving to have you notice. “There’s just…something.”

There’s a tone there that Geto couldn’t place.

Something tender. Something that makes his eyes light up like they did when he was about to nail a slam dunk.

“Something about her that makes me feel like I can win all the championships in the world.”

“O-oh my god, mm—” Your mouth hangs lewdly open, thighs trembling where they were thrown over the far end of your bed.

Gojo had himself nose-deep in your syrupy wet pussy and it still wasn’t enough for him- he was still clawing both hands onto your thighs and forcefully dragging you halfway down the silken sheets. “What has- hah! what has gotten into you, Satoru-”

For perhaps the first time in his life, he doesn’t have an answer.

Can’t even think of one.

Not when the long, slimy edge of Gojo’s tongue was dipping past your drenched panties and pushing them juuuust barely to the side. Darkening that pale blue shade with the wetness of his maw, he’s plastering his taste buds to the slope of your pussy and watching you squirm.

And it’d started right after you’d arrived home, wondering whether it was too late to text him about the match - only to find the man of your thoughts himself sat outside your front door.

Waiting for you.

Towering, he’d thumped his head down on your shoulder in silence.

That is, until you two had made your way inside-

“I-is this about not coming to your- ngh! game?” You’re wailing out a broken whimper, twitchy hands weaving between his ivory locks to try and steal a glimpse of his face. “Because Gakuganji held me back for a club thing and I’m sorry- fuck!”

Without a single warning, without even a speck of hesitation, your friend’s shovelling the inches of his tongue past your elastic entrance until that tight rim resists.

Until he’s keening into your puffy core at the tightness, until he’s usin’ a thumb to spread-spread-spreeeead your glittery pussylips apart even further. “Taught me- taught me lessons, didn’tcha, beautiful?”

Murmuring into your cunt, each syllable is ended off with a heavy lashing of his silver tongue.

Spat straight into your quivering hole, Gojo’s licking away primally. Each raw scratch of his wet muscle trying to push past your hole, trying to fuck you the way he’s been aching to for years. “Taught me ta kiss those pretty lips- now you’re teaching me a whole hah- other type of kissing.”

“N-ngh, oh my god- Satoru.” He was just filthy. Both his babbling, pussydrunk words and his motions.

It’s like he didn’t know where to stick his tongue to like adhesive - wanting anything and everything, all at once.

From the throbbing nub of your clit, to the weepy orifice of your cunt. Though, he was making sure to lap up every ounce of slick glistening out of you, like the sweetest honey.

You’re whimpering, begging for fucking mercy from the wide, glissading edge of his tongue. You grip the soft tufts of his hair and try to lift him slightly off for dear life. “Fuck- Lesson number eight is to s-slow down–!”

“Then m’gonna hafta fail.” He’s rasping out, starved.

Barely even breathing, whatever words escaping Gojo depart only reluctantly. Between each pant he’s forced to take by his screaming lungs, he’s unfastening his slobbery maw even wider to suck on your clit.

Thighs closing sensitively ‘round his clammy head- “You’re being sooo—” You think that might just deter him, but he’s only climbing further up from his position at the foot of the bed, on the ground.

Chasing your pussy no matter how much you were bucking. Feral.

“Mmm, think I like it better when you hngh- shut me up like this.” He’s blubbering through a greedy mouthful of your cunt, slick-glossed mouth pinching your clit.

You’re damn-near yelping as his plush, puckered lips start rollin’ side to side just to tease that nub like bubblegum. Your own thighs ache with the flesh-ridden press of his big, beefy biceps curling ‘round your thighs to push them even closer. “Can you even ngh- breathe?”

“Suffocate me.”

And he sounded dead-serious.

Throwing your trembling legs over two muscular shoulders, Gojo’s leering his handsome face impossibly closer.

Right up until the straight button of his nose bridge presses against your clit, and the front of his face smeeeears with a pathway of your pussy’s sweet, sweet juices.

“Don’t care.” Spitting, a great glittery glob that sticks just to the side of your outer pussy and makes it so much wetter for him to start dipping his wide tongue inside. “Don’t care don’t care don’t care- I don’t need air, I just need- hah! You.”

Lavishing your snug hole with so much attention, you can’t help but clench ‘round his grazing taste buds. Letting your entrance be tugged n’ snagged according to Gojo’s every whim.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Letting him spit on your pussy once more-

“And her.” Slimy, wet muscle flopped right now, he was running through each line he’d read online about this like a gameplay. Zig-zagging from your clit n’ back to jackhammer into your hole, “We’d made such a loooovely couple, wouldn’t we, beautiful?”

And you don’t even know who he’s talking to you - you or your poor, battered pussy.

But before you can ask, Gojo’s patience snaps with a rut-

“Fuck, your walls-” Just as soon as you’re clamping your thighs surrounding his head. He’s whining, he’s shoving his face in deeper like the prolonged length of his tongue could scour your channel even more.

Like that particular muscle could maze in a slithering up n’ down- Gojo’s sharp jawline strikes the base of your cunt and he groans in disappointment. Unable to dive in even deeper.

Feral. Thirsting, He’s nose-deep and still filling up your every orifice with his textured tongue for more, letting each ravenous taste bud stir about your sweet innards. “Your walls want me so ngh- badly. Wants ta suck me up so badly- look.”

“What do you- oh!” You flinch at the sudden warmth of another puddle of saliva striking your pussy dead-on, smearing about.

Gojo’s eyes were widened, mouth unfastened as far as it would go. “How the fuck doesn’t anyone get addicted?” Genuinely serious. Genuinely asking.

“Y-you’re too much-”

“Oh, you want more?” Wait…what? You’re momentarily speechless at how his melty mind had just understood your sentence. Mouth thrashing about on overdrive, grin sleazy. “Heh, I’ve always wanted to do this.”

And then you’re snapping your head down in a split-second, just in time to see two of Gojo’s lengthy, roughened fingers tease the crevice of your slit.

All lightly calloused by basketball, he’s sloooowly circling your puckered hole. “Cute, s’like she wants ta- ngh- kiss me.” He’s giggling, prying apart your folds to ease his way in with a raw, noisy sluuuurp–! “Hope she doesn’t mind how looong they are- or do. My lesson number one is that you’re going to take it all.”

Bucking into his touch, and that makes him copy you - crushing the thick, bulging outline of his erection against the bottom of your bedframe.

So hard that the mahogany panels creak– jostling you, right alongside the bed. “Fuck-” He hisses, looking down. “Look how you’ve got me - like a fucking animal.”

“You’re so filthy…”

“S’all your fault.”

You’re sobbing now, legs twitching cutely on top of Gojo’s deltoid after every time his knobbled fingerpads scraped a spot that was particularly sensitive.

His size- oh, you should’ve expected a size to match a basketballer’s hands - because they’re plugging every nook n’ cranny without even trying. Scissoring your gooey walls far apart to claim each hidden area of yours, “All- all your fault.”

Almost whimpering because it’s just that tight. He’s swervin’ rapidly and surely. “You made me like this-” But he wasn’t done- he was leaning over to spit a web of spit once more, dampening your soft cunt just enough to bully in a third finger. “Made me so stupid.”

Barreling straight into your g-spot.

“Foooound it…”

“Oh- oh my god–” You’re losing your mind at this point, hips thrashing about. The blankets stick to you like they’re made of adhesive as you’re arching into the perfect curvature-

“Stay down.” Gojo barks - a stern edge to his voice. And before you can make a single move, he has one bicep pinning down your hips, maw opened to suck on your clit so you stay down.

Left too weak to do anything but cry out at the feeling of his tastebuds rolling over n’ over on your nub. Sensitive. Overstimulated.

You’re gasping at the heated sparks of white that burst behind your lids, “Toru- I th-think m’close- don’t think m’gonna last- hck!”

“Told you I was good with my hands—” He slurs out, ruined on your pussy. "That's lesson number hck! three- maybe two? Ah, I dunno…”

Pump after pump, Gojo curls his digits so they bruise right into the spot locating your bundle of nerves. Feelin’ your soft walls clamp down sappily, “Only thing I do know is that I want you- hah-” Pulling back, he teeths your clit with a sinful squelch. “-oh, I wan’ you cumming on my mouth.” Fingering you so hard that the mountains of his knuckles were reddening with impact. “And I want you screamin’ my name every second of it.”

“Oh please-” The roughness of his fingertips are starting to plunge even deeper, as if Gojo was ready to probe into your womb right then and there. “Satoru-”

“Call me ‘Toru’, beautiful-”

“Toru-”

“Louder.”

Harder.

It was so hard to speak with tiny sobs catching in your throat, with your body being run ragged by him. Lips wobbling with each long push of his digits- “Toru.”

“How about- ‘my Toru’?”

“My- my Toru—!” You’re squealing; the exact same moment that your pitched voice cracks, your sanity does, too.

And in mere sultry nanoseconds, you’re shattering into white-hot explosions of bliss. Your orgasm sweeping your entire body with goosebumps, you can only scratch carnally at Gojo’s crowned scalp.

Your fingers maneuvering his head up and down in sloppy gyrations, it’s as if you were riding his pretty features through each peak of euphoria. “M’cumming- oh-” Your high hitting you so hard that tears pinprick at your pupils, and Gojo was only happy to make them overspill. To dangle his hefty tongue out so that he can lap up your cunt with every drag. “Can’t believe you- oh. Are you sure this is your first time, Toru?”

He finches at the nickname, “Fuck yeah, sweet thing.”

Brushing his tastebuds up and down- probing against your clit.

He was still ravenous.

Even when you’re blinking back your vision, though, you still couldn’t see with the way that Gojo’s velvety mouth made your pupils criss-cross constantly.

Toes curling, limbs shaking with sensitivity.

It was getting to the point that your mind was slowly going blank, spittle falling from your mouth. “I-I’m hngh- m’high’s over-” Still sparking somewhere at the back of your throat, even though you push and push at Gojo’s forehead, he’s only digging deeper. “Oh my god, Satoru-”

He blubbers, “M’fucking starved, beautiful. Been wanting this for sooo long.”

“Then shut up and fuck me.”

Oh.

Oh, that did it.

Because Gojo lurches his head up as if he’d just been zapped with electricity; eyes snapped open, strings of slick still connecting his lips to your swollen ones.

“F-fuck you…?” He grunts- buying more time, those buried fingers of his pull out from your walls with a slurp. Finding their usual pathway between his greedy lips, he catches your look. “What? Haven’t I ever told you that you make me so–”

Thoroughly cleansed by now, Gojo smacks his lips with satisfaction.

“-greedy?”

The dark glint in Gojo’s eyes makes you squirm your body slightly backwards- all the way up until you hit the headboard with a gasp. And he only looms closer. Only prowls up to you like he was closing in on the most appetizing prey.

And now that he’d gotten one taste of you, of course he’d be craving more.

Like you were the sweetest of desserts, he’s gliding his tongue allll down those slick-glossed lips of his. Your juices worn halfway down his face - smearing up to his cheekbones - with utter pride. “And I think m’ready for another lesson now.”

You take one look at him - pupils glassy, face glistening, ears flushed - and immediately dart your hands down to Gojo’s belt buckle.

Meanwhile he’s shedding himself free of his t-shirt, whatever’s left of your bra, hooking over your panties—

RIIIIIP—!

“Th-those were expensive.”

“I’ll buy you fucking ten more.” Pointedly, Gojo stuffs the ruined fabric into the back pocket of his trousers before disposing of them somewhere by the side of your bed. “Then tear those off, too, next time.”

Next time.

“Excited ‘bout a ‘next time’?” Oh- fuck, you’d just babbled that out loud.

He couldn’t have looked more smug if he tried, pointed canines flashing in a smirk. His thick thumb dips into the hemline of his boxers, pulling them down in a flash.

And Gojo was hard - so fucking rock-hard that his upright erection smacks the front of his abs with a thwack!

Long. Perfectly thick. Always just so pretty. Bedazzled by a few veins down his pinkish shaft, Gojo’s sensitive cock twitches as he’s panting. Ruby-red tip painting a horizontal line of precum, you’re mentally calculating the measurement and wondering just how deep he’d be inside of you.

Swatting away your sheeny thighs, that’d just started to close. “Ah ah- where’d you think you’re taking her?” Before his glossy, sleek jaw unhinges ever-so-slightly in wait.

“You want me to-”

“I’ve spit on her so many times.” Gojo muses, quirking one snowy brow. Holding you by the throat, he pushes his face into your personal proximity, “Think s’time for you to return the favor.”

Whimpering, restless, it was just so cute to him how you’re pressing your lips together shyly.

Whacking a bead of slobber precisely onto the target of his tongue- and Gojo barely even gives you the time to register your little ministration before surging his entire body and kissing you. Open-mouthed, heated.

At the exact same time that his globed, weeping cock pushes straight past your swollen folds.

But it wasn’t so easy- “F-fuck.” Gojo shutters his eyes, expression looking like he was just in prayer. Hiccuping, rutting- back and forth in rapid half-thrusts as if he couldn’t bring himself to pull out of your pussy any further. “What the fuck…what-”

“S-Satoru, are you okay?”

“No.” SMACK! He’s trying to strike his pelvis against your own so hard that your thighs are jostled. Fat cock stuck by the resistance of your cute, cute cunt. “No no no- s’just…I lost my virginity to you.”

You’re speechless as he looks up at you with a giggle.

Repeating, “I just lost my virginity to you and it’s too- good.”

“And you’re t-too big—” You claw all down his pale back, feeling every muscle flex underneath your touch.

“Remember my first lesson?” Head tilted, the smile on Gojo’s face was oh-so-tender - even though his mushroom tip was furiously pumping in and out of you like anything but. “You’re going to- take it- all.”

Fuck, but he didn’t know who he was torturing more.

Because your cunt gives way to swallow up one more of his solid, rovering inches - just past the slick line of his slit - and Gojo hunches over. He heaves. His vision blurs with tears- “Ohhh my god, I c-can’t.” Voice octaves higher, breaking. He’d just started to put it in and he was crying.

Shit, he’d learned nothing.

With a hand pushing your left thigh open, Gojo’s trying to pull his ravaged cock out. Just too good for him to handle. Maybe he’ll keep some part of his sanity intact if he fucks you with just the tip-

But in that instant, your clingy insides are squeezing around him so tight and he’s thrusting.

Out-of-control.

Fighting against the stretch, you’re clawing for the headboard above your scalp- “Oh my god- I don’t know if I can- fuck! It’s just so big.” Nine - nearly ten - inches throbbing at the mere sound of your voice.

“Lesson number one lesson number one- oh, lesson number one-” Echoing like a broken record-player, he’s ruthlessly haaaauling you back with a hand latched onto your hip.

Soft grunts wafting your features like a furnace, “Breathe” Gojo begs into your ajar mouth, pinning you with the prominent muscles of his v-line. “Breathe- one- two-” With each stroke. “Breathe with me-”

Those exact same exercises that he’s taught himself over and over again during the toughest of training regiments. “Feel it in your s-stomach.” You’re nearly screaming as one of his over-large palms come pressing down on your stomach, making you feel like he’s spearing his plump tip all the way into your lungs. “Then let it allll out through your lungs- breathe w’me, one, two.”

One-two. In and out. One-two. In and out.

Mewling, “One- t-two.” Mindless hips swervin’ back and forth to meet his desperate drilling and it makes him gasp.

“Breathe- breathe. Lesson one, you hafta take this-” Scrambling for your hips, for your throat. “Even just the tip. Just an inch.” Using the leverage to pull you down, “I’m begging here.”

“T-Toruuu–”

And it’s with a final, resounding spank of skin-on-skin that he’s managing to bottom out.

The hot, pulsating feeling of his sheathed cunt barely even registering in your mind before Gojo’s letting off a wet sob. It just felt too good. “You passed with f-flying colors, my beautiful.”

And now that he’d gotten started, he couldn’t stop.

Gojo was pounding you into your cheap bedsprings like a madman, like it was painful for his swollen, vein-covered cock to go even a second without dragging down your walls. Designing your slick insides with the patterns of his veins, “How are you reachin’ a-alll those spots, Toru?”

“Alllll those spots, huh?” Mockingly, he ends up pushing down on your tummy just like before.

Except this time, Gojo takes the lecherous time to feel the dull thud! of his split-ended tip poking into your cervix. This time, he can follow each single inch you’re clenching ‘round—“Wh-what is…”

Pushing down harder. “Is that my-” Thrusting even harder.

Gojo’s size is just so staggering that he’s feeling the exact bumpy outline of his mazing shaft. The way he was spreadin’ apart your walls with his circumference - it just renders his mouth watering.

Gracing you with a dopey grin, one that had drool spilling from one side of his rosy lips. Moaning, “Oh, just when I thought you couldn’t be more perfect.”

Sweet-talker. You whine, just so you won’t pay too much attention to the way your heart races, “Shut up, Toru.”

“Yeahhh- say that again.” Bulky base just drenching with your sweet slick the harder he’s thrusting in, you can feel his rock-hard tip twitch after your words. “S’like you’re made f’me.”

“Shut up, Toru-”

Palm massaging down on the tummy bulge he was fucking into you, he could feel each flinch of his oversensitive cock. “See? See? The way this pretty pussy takes ngh- all of me. The way you make me react-” Pumpin’ a thorough push against your slick-filled sweet spots. “The way you make me s-sooo fucking hard. Ohhh, we fucking fit like a- a…”

Poor chatterbox Gojo Satoru is just so pussydrunk by now that he can’t even go on.

He can’t even speak. Can’t even breathe— entire fuzzy brain honed in on spearheading your walls with his flared cockhead like a flashlight.

Hips gyrating into the exact angle that it takes for him to strike your needy, waiting g-spot. Hard.

“There-” Your heart-shaped peripherals sprint to the back of your head, back jerking off of the mattress. “Right- ngh- there–!”

And, usually, Gojo would’ve taken this as the perfect opportunity to brag about how it was ‘so easy’ for him to find the almost-mythical g-spot. Usually, he’d have been snickering outright at the cutely awed expression on your face.

Usually.

But the only thing he was fucking capable of doing right now was marvel at both you and your pussy. Gaze darting up and down so fast it was almost like a blur.

“Cat- hah, pussy got your tongue, Toru?”

“Sh-shut up…”

“You shut up.”

Shit, that makes him nearly cum. Right then and there.

And to cover up this little weakness, Gojo spanks your overstuffed pussy instead. Open-palmed, with the doughy tips of his digits striking accurately on your clit.

“Y-you little- ngh.”

“What was that–?” Oh, it was like he’d just stumbled across an epiphany. And before you know it, he plants down three more rude smacks on the slope of your cunt; exactly in sensual unison with the thrashes of his cock. “Why don’tcha write my name on your clit, beautiful? Unless…”

SMACK–!

You get the message fast enough, even despite your thoughtless mind.

Your twitchy dominant hand slithers between your thighs, thumbing down your perky clit just in that way you liked. “T-Toru–” Trying for all your might to spell a ‘T’, “Oh- wait, Satoru.”

Then an ‘S.’

But you couldn’t do it just how his big fingers had managed to do, and the only thing you’re getting out is a sultry figure-eight. One that renders your throat dry, “Satoru- oh.” An ‘A’ that looks more like a silly lil’ ‘V’, “I can’t ngh- don’t think I can- fuck.”

And Gojo notices your little struggle - of course, he’s noticing.

It’s the sweetest little entertainment for him, of course, watchin’ you get fucked too dumb to spell out his own name on your clit. Your lips wobbling when he finally smacks your hands away-

“Honestly- aren’t you supposed to t-teach me?” Groaning at the squelching noise of your growing even more aroused. “Watch and learn, my girl- fuck. My beautiful.”

But it’s not like he was any better, thank fuck you were too gone at this point to realize. Just as much as he was.

It takes Gojo a few slips n’ slides to latch his plush thumb down on the nub of your clit, “F-first there’s a ‘T’- I mean, an ‘S.’” The dual stimulation of his shaft stretchin’ out your tiniest ridges inside, of his fingerpads writing on your clit, was simply incredible. “Then an ‘A’...‘T’...”

Even through the lust-fogged haze in your mind, you could distinctly make out the messy scribbles of Gojo’s fingerpads.

S-A-T-O-R-U

Repeated. Over and over until it was like that pattern was burned onto your clit, joints working manually faster. Faster.

S-A-T-O-R-U

And it’s so much that you don’t even realize you’re shrilling out his name with each movement- “Satoru-” Thighs kicking in pleasure, he’s quickly throwing them over his shoulder and folding you in half. Bending you into a mating press. “Satoru- Satoru Satoru—”

You feel a slimy, wet tendril gleam down your cheek, “Why’re you crying?” Gojo’s licking up salty tears you didn’t even realize you were setting free. “S’not because of my hck! biiiig fuckin’ cock, is it?”

In this mating press, your friend(?) had the freedom to plaster his washboard abs down your front. To scratch your pelvis with his pale white happy trail.

“S’not because I’ve wanted to do this for- for aaages, is it?” Nuzzling the crook of your neck, Gojo gives you a slam so hard that you’re being driven further up the bed.

Only for him to pull you back down. To do it over again.

And over and over and over again until the spongy layer of your cervix had memorized the size of his cervix. Stretching open your cozy lil’ walls, he pricks his strawberry divot firmly against the base of your womb like he was meant to be there. “Not because I’ve always wanted to- to break myself on this pretty pussy-”

Roughly, the wooden frame of your headboard rattles-

“O-oh-” Gojo slams his hand down on the banging headboard, remembering something from the earlier lessons about a landlord.

Only for the mahogany panel to shatter, for your creaky bed to sag on one side– your eyes widen. Gojo Satoru had just broken the bed but he was still going.

He was still claiming your cunt with each sultry jackhammer, still babbling pussydrunkenly. “S’not because you’re haaaah- close, is it?”

“I am–” You don’t have half the mind to be shocked that he could feel your oncoming high before you. Walls clamping down with each vibration of electric euphoria, “M’gonna cum, Satoru. Lesson number nine is to make- me- cum-”

“You’re gonna cum.” More statement than question. “Really, really gonna cum? Because of ngh- me?”

You can only nod.

And Gojo’s voice is small, cracking. “She’s gonna- fuck! gonna on my cock?” Furiously nodding, “My cock? Because of- oh- me? Fuck–!”

You’re barely even getting out an affirmation for those last few rapidfire questions of this before Gojo’s tense, driving cock explodes. All into thick, gushing ropes of cum that slather your walls.

And if you thought he’d cum in massive volumes before, then you weren’t ready to be faced with how eager he was to fill up your pussy.

Your geysering slick was nothing in comparison to the way Gojo was buttering up your slitted entrance, cobwebbing your tight hole shut with his sticky cum. Again. And again and again he was pumping each drop into you.

“L-lesson number two-” But it was not like he would let you get off the hook that easy. And the flesh of your inner thighs sting when Gojo only speeds up, accelerating his shaft to target your g-spot in a way that makes you keen. “-n-never cum after me. Only before-”

Two roughened crowns of his fingers tweak your clit– a final, ‘Y’ And you’re wondering what the hell that stands for.

Y-O-U-R-S

Gojo flushes as he finishes off the singular word, like he almost couldn’t believe it himself. Before pinching on your clit—“Sh-shit- shit shit shit, m’cumming, Toru.”

Right now, watching your cunt quiver n’ cum around his cock was better than anything he could’ve ever dreamed of.

Because your mouth was possessive, crashing into his and whining his name with each twinge of your high. Your pretty eyes were practically mosaics of tears at this point, ones he could stare into for eons.

And he does - straight into your irises when Gojo’s filling you up from the inside out. “I know-” Feeling his own seed slosh out of him and drip straight down to your womb. “Take it- take it, all inside like it- hah- should be. Like it was always meant to be.”

“Inside-” Gasping at the press of his tensed core, pushing down on your stomach. Right where he was spearing straight through you, “A-all inside, Toru.”

It was one of the best orgasms of your life, and, strangely enough, all of them seemed to have been pulled out by Gojo.

Who was filling you up until you were overspilling, like some fountain.

Now purposefully slapping the veiny length of his shaft against the roof of your cunt, pounding you through each volt of pleasure until you’re seeing stars.

Until your thighs are left shaking stupidly, your mouth gaped, brain so filled with the static of your stomach being in knots that you don’t even register the damp splat-splat-spat–! splashing onto your shoulder.

Something…wet.

At least, not for a few seconds until your eyesight can adjust. You’re blinking back your vision to look up and see that Gojo Satoru was crying.

Pretty cheeks ruddied, eyes glistening with even more unshed tears. And you wonder just how long he’d been holding them back.

His perspired head drops down to your shoulder like it had hours prior in front of your door, and you can make out the unsteady gasps of his words. “You- you took my virginity but…” Something raw. Something honest. “I-I just…”

He bites back his words until you’re forced to pull him away from the crook of your neck. Pushing back sweaty, ivory bangs until Gojo can look at you properly.

Look you right in the eye when he utters—“I’ve always wanted to be yours, too.”

Your heart leaps to your throat, and so do those words that have always, always been on the tip of your tongue. “You already are, Toru.”

Something escapes from his lips - maybe a sob, maybe a laugh. But it’s a sound that makes you beam back, though, you think you’d never be able to match the sunlight in Gojo’s smile. Instead, you take the time to memorize the crinkle of his eyes, the wink of that lil’ dimple of his.

“My lesson number three is I love you, my girl.” ‘My girl’, he can finally say it now.

He can finally watch your slightly surprised reaction as you hear it, kiss-bitten lips twitching upwards into a grin. “My lesson number ten is I love you, too.”

Heart shaking, body fully shivering at the music of those words dropping from your lips. “You- you don’t know how fucking long I’ve waited to hear those words.” He nuzzles his nose against yours, still smelling of that same cherry bodywash and utter fuckin’ love. “How fucking long I’d wait just to hear it again.”

“I have a feeling you won’t have to wait long at all, Toru.” You’re combing your fingers through his angelic hair, head turning to the side with a giggle once he starts pecking your face. Your jaw. Your neck. Over and over and over–

Only for the moment to be broken when you gasp, “Satoru.” Gojo follows your beeline of sight, straight to the top of your bedside dresser. Right where it was proudly displaying a familiar black and gold box, one with a glaring ‘XL’. “We forgot about lesson number one.”

You think you’d never get used to wearing Gojo’s famous 06 jersey.

An original, of course - one that’d been safely tucked away in the back of his closet, that he absolutely refused to tell you how long he’d kept ‘just in case’ for you.

It drew stares, though, you think part of that came from being at the very front row to the final NCAA championship game. Your eyes follow each slide of pristine sneakers, each cut-throat pass, each swat of the basketball hitting the polished court.

Tokyo vs. Curses; it was a tie.

And right now, you didn’t care about the gaggles of numerous fans gossiping behind your back, or the way Coach Yaga kept yelling at Gojo about showing off for you - and the fact that he was telling your boyfriend to do more of it.

To leave no mercy once Geto’s passing to him, to sprint faster with only two seconds left on the clock, to slam dunk the basketball straight through the hoop—

And that’s exactly what he does.

A buzzer rings, and suddenly you can’t even see Gojo’s figure through the heaps of confetti bursting from the arena. In blue and white for Tokyo Jujutsu University.

Tentatively, as you’re spotting family and coaches rush onto the court, you’re taking a step. Just a single one - but Gojo always did say he could find you amongst a thousand crowds.

Heart leading him to you.

As the confetti and streamers phase just a little, you spot him rip out of his team hug with a call of your name. Being dragged back as MVP, Geto pauses to dap his best friend up - before thumping him on the back and letting him tear through the throng of people to get to you.

“Excuse me- excuse-” Maneuvering nimbly with his towering figure, “Beautiful–!” He’s calling out, loud enough to turn heads. But Gojo doesn’t care, he doesn’t give a fuck. Not when he’s crashing into your arms, and murmuring into your lips. Such a loving kiss. “Beautiful.”

His grin was contagious, and somewhere in the distance you can hear his team jeer. Hell, even Yaga seems to chuckle from somewhere. “Congratulations on the slam dunk, Toru.”

“It was always for you, my girl.”

A/N. FAWK- the things I would do to have him. Can you tell I’m ovulating because I made him whimper?

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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stupidlittlespirit · 4 months ago

Note

feel free to play with the context in which this happens hehe but imagine: hand cradling ford’s jaw, your thumb moving to press gently into the plush of his lips in a very polite cue of ‘shut up’. for whatever reason, maybe ford’s feeling cheeky or maybe the gesture simply sparks some baser desire to life, but his lips part and he takes it into his mouth.

maybe it happens already in the middle of some fun, maybe you were just having a conversation and tried to playfully yet affectionately shut him up that way in midst some banter and now his own reaction leaves him flustered and stumbling whooooo knowwwwwsss

a-anon..... I don't know how you knew this but this is one of my Top Things.....

Because like now I'm thinking about being kinda tipsy with Ford. It's late evening, you're both out on the porch together. Stan has long since retired to bed and left the two of you unsupervised, under the warm glow of the fairy lights that are strung up out there.

You're both halfway through a couple bottles of your drink of choice, curled up on the garden couch, talking quietly and being silly together. And you're sitting apart from one another, trying to maintain reasonable distance just in case someone comes back and catches you, but you're both clearly leaning in a little more than you ought to.

And you're arguing about something stupid, because you're drunk. Let's say you're putting forth your case on why a scientific theory is, actually, just a fancy word for a guess, and Ford is absolutely disagreeing. (an argument I have had myself before)

You're trying to maintain your point and Ford is just not having it. He's (good naturedly) interrupting and correcting you all the time, and you're totally having a back and forth about it all, shuffling closer to each other as things get more intense/as you get more worked up. He's super close, right in your face almost. Ford is just not gonna let you win your case; he's totally convinced about his point of view, he's making smart ass remarks, he's being a dick and riling you up in a strangely attractive way.

You recognise that, so you laugh and roll your eyes, and you reach up to push his face away gently. You cup the side of his cheek to do it because you're both only playing, you don't want to actually push him away, and (just as you said) you press your thumb to his lip.

"Shut up already, mister scientist," you tell him, smirking.

Ford is surprised. He's caught off guard by the contact, but he's playing his favourite role (know it all), so he presses into your hand and says against your thumb "actually, that's doctor scientist to you...."

And the two of you just sort of look at each other for a little while. Like it's only a moment, barely a few seconds, but it's full of something meaningful and you both know it.

Ford's mouth is still slightly parted from his words. Only a bit, but enough that when you swipe the pad of your thumb along his lower lip again, the tip just slightly presses against the innermost part, and Ford doesn't even think. His brain just makes him do it before he can reconsider. He tilts his head a bit and takes your thumb into his mouth. It's very slow, very deliberate, and he watches you the entire time.

It's super bold, especially for him, but he's equally as tipsy so what does he care right this second?

And you make a soft sound of surprise. You're startled by it, but you don't move away. You let him do it. You can feel your face get warm and you can definitely feel another heat spark up in your lower belly..... So, you watch with rapt attention as he draws your thumb into his mouth until it meets his tongue.

You can feel it brush against his taste buds, you can feel it lave away at the pad. And you bite your own lower lip to stifle your arousal because there's no way you're letting Ford get the upper hand here. You draw your thumb out halfway and then slowly, you push it back in again. And again. And again.

Ford's turning red (doesn't he always in times like this?) but he isn't stopping. He lets you do it, enjoys you doing it, and when you draw your thumb all the way out, he whines like a disappointed dog at the loss.

And poor Ford turns an undiscovered shade of pink when he makes the noise. It's completely unintended and involuntary. But he does it and you hear it, and he knows you hear it.

Your thumb slips from his mouth with a trail of drool following it, and you let yourself grin at Ford's display of desperation. He opens his mouth to stutter out an apology, or an excuse, whatever he thinks of first, but you cut him off by pressing your thumb back over his lip so he has to shut up. Smirking, you tell him "oh, don't look so disappointed, doctor scientist.... I just wondered if you'd like to test a new theory....?"

And Ford, being a man of science, can't help himself. He says, whispers, chokes out, a "yes", and you smile. You replace your thumb with your index and middle finger, bringing them up to rest on his lower lip. Ford, sweetly, obediently, opens his mouth and you slide them past his lips and into his mouth.

"I've been wondering if that smart mouth of yours is good for anything other than correcting me," you tell him with a smirk. "My scientific theory is that it is....." and Ford is so struck by the moment that he just does what he's told.

Ford takes them perfectly, accommodating them in his mouth with a soft little hitching sigh that whistles through his nose, and his eyes flutter shut momentarily. He's so cooperative with barely even an instructing word from you that you can't help the automatic, genuine "good boy" that slips out.

And Ford groans, shy but so hot for whatever the fuck is going on right now. His eyes open and he meets your gaze, and he's so fucking red, he's so evidently embarrassed by his own carnal reactions, but he's not about to stop. Not if it means getting to hear that again......

aaaaaaaand uh that was the not really necessarily in the ask you gave me, I went a bit off topic there but uh. yeah. I like that. I like fingers in mouth. It is nice. I am. normal about this.

#uuuuuhhhhhhhhh haha...... sweats #asks #anon #ford asks #ford pines x reader #nsfwsls #finger sucking is very underrated i do not see enough of it #i will probably make this a proper drabble at some point

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fushitoru · 6 months ago

Text

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.

warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork

a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away.

2+2=5.

You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.

You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.

"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake.

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.

He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.

"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.

Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.

"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."

You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”

Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”

“Digimon.”

“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”

You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt.

Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo.

Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board.

But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that.

You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.

As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool.

Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.

Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.

When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.

The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps.

Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?

There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.

When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.

As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves.

From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.

“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”

You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.

“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”

Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.

You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”

“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”

“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.

“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”

“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense.

“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.

Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”

Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”

You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”

“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.

Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.

You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”

But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”

Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.

It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.

“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.

“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.

Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.

“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”

You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.

Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”

“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.

With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.

Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.

“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.

“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.

You freeze.

It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.

You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.

“I wanted to.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—

Damn him. Damn him.

Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.

You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—

But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”

You pause.

He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.

So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.

You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”

But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.

It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommate’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.

You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching.

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.

The two of you don’t speak.

It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.

You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—

He’s just really there.

You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.

You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.

The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.

For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.

Cutie.

What?

The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.

Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—

You pull away.

Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.

You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.

Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.

It’s that you care.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.

You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.

Gojo is here.

You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.

You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.

You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—

You’re so screwed.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—

—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.

Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.

Your stomach twists.

This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.

It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.

He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.

Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.

Not you.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.

The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.

"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."

You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.

Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."

You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.

“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.

But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.

He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.

Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."

The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all.

But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.

You’ll never be his equal.

You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."

Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."

You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.

The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.

Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.

You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.

But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.

“Whoa—”

Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.

“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.

Shit.

You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”

“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”

Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.

Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.

So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.

There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.

"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.

He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”

Oh. Right.

You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."

Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.

A beat passes.

"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."

Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"

"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”

“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”

Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.

"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.

And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”

You swallow.

Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.

"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."

Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”

Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.

“You really don’t know?”

“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”

“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."

Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”

"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.

Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.

"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."

You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.

Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."

Your breath hitches.

He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.

Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”

Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.

"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."

You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.

Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”

Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.

And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.

It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.

You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.

When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.

“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.

You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”

“Maybe I’m into that.”

“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”

His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”

You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.

“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”

Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”

“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.

“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”

But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”

He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”

You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.

When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.

You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”

He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.

He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”

“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”

You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want, he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”

You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.

He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.

With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly.

He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”

“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”

“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”

Silence.

When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”

The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.

general masterlist

a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!

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