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◞ CUPID’S QUIVER.

꒰ love is blind, but it sees all. although satoru should know better, love becomes a lunacy he clings to until he can’t anymore. ꒱

ᴍᴅɴɪ. 15.5k. f!reader. semi-curse, mythology au. angst/tragedy. fluff. soft smut. strangers to lovers ⇝ star-crossed. satoru follows the reader a lot. satoru is eros + ares, love/war god. cupid/psyche lore + jjk cts. nsfw. ◞ playlist. reposted.

ACT I. UNDER THE GAZE OF LUDUS, BY SONG OF ITS LAUGHTER.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is fickle, love is knowing. it lives and dies a thrilling spectacle.

SATORU.

the delirium bred from gentleness. it inspires, emboldens, and molds the fiery depths of passion in its hands. but love is a screeching sticky thing, all madness and frenzy nonetheless, coated in complicated and bittersweet nectar that clings to whatever it dares to touch. love is satoru.

of course, satoru knows of love, embodies everything it both is and has the potential to become if made free and not contained within the divinity of his spirit. he knows that love is saccharine sweet and he knows the grip it leaves behind in flesh is bloodied, a talon embedded impossibly deep. it’s not the type of thing that breathes or expands in languid pulsations; it grasps and digs and pours, flooding you with its delusion. but a mouthpiece for mania. love is the world satoru sees through his six eyes, all contained and divided in his left eye and right — his eros, one called ardor ꒰ with its three eyes: mania, pragma, and ludus ꒱, and ares ꒰ with its three eyes: alecto, tisiphone, and megaera ꒱. love is the thick, enchanted fabric that serves as a holding for them both. cupid’s quiver, that’s what the other gods taunt — but still, their breaths catch in their throats if he motions to pull off the sheath, to unleash the world he sees on all of the others in quick and inescapable shots, the tips of blue and red eros mingling and devouring until the world is made hollow by an incendiary purple. of course, he stops himself and forbids such an outcome. after all, love is patient; love is kind. but of course, he rivals with the temptation of it, too. after all, love is greedy; love is evil. as long as he loves, there will always exist a degree of love that is something akin to hatred. truth be told, more than anything, satoru hates the gods and wishes he could leave them all to crumble under the weight of his influence, but he doesn’t want to be stuck with managing the chaos he would create with his otherwise innocent glances. and the old gods would surely try to punish him even more. he can’t find the adoration in dancing around destruction. there’s no delight in dysfunction. as such, he can’t bring himself to fold in a despicable and foolish fashion. instead, he both hides and dwells in a comfort zone — a place that’s more a margin between worlds, crafted just for him by kenjaku the phanes himself, a limbo of sorts he can stretch at will. he calls it his infinity, an endless space where he chooses to gaze upon both the mortal world and the divine. it keeps him out of harm’s way, keeps him from being made into a weapon, and keeps him from making grave mistakes like falling prey to the devastation of his own curses again. he’s not immune to a desire and need for love. he tries to satisfy his urges by living vicariously through others and satiates his impulses of distaste through semi-harmless trickery. sometimes, he tugs the left side of his quiver and lets out a soft call to signal his favorite eros, ardor. ꒰ when there’s no will, which of its eyes will peek falls to the whims of the eros. ꒱ “red,” he’ll breathe it quietly, eyes locked on a target. he’ll feel the pressure building in the center of his eye for only a moment before a shining strip of red gleams across the space between him and his target, his eros piercing through time and space to reach its mark. when it hits — depending on the strength of his eros and which of its eyes he wills to gaze — it gives the mark a burst of affection, a rush of hormones, a flutter in their chest that explodes into unyielding devotion, or perhaps, it merely sows the seeds for love to flourish and ferment — ardor does have a bias for yearning. other times, he calls himself distributing “fair misfortune” by finding individuals undeserving of ardor’s loving embrace and instead making them familiar with its cold shadow, his other eros, ares. “blue,” he’ll whisper as if afraid to be heard in the cube of his eternal silence. he’ll carefully lift the fabric over his right eye, the building of the same pressure but thicker, and he’ll watch his spiteful eros seethe and slice through anything to reach its mark. it offers only distaste on the tip of the tongue of your desired, a petulant weapon that embodies all of existence with the smallest degree of love. 

all that remains is anger and confusion, disgust and despair, revulsion and repulsion. neither of his eros ever misses a shot, but these are delights he’s only supposed to indulge in sparingly, and harmlessly. that is, until right now, as he stands in front of yuki the aphrodite, staring at her beautifully crude expression with disdain. he tries to process her odd request. “you want me to do what now?” satoru asks again, face bunching in perplexity. yuki sighs, evidently agitated by satoru’s response and demeanor. she’s always been a peculiar goddess to him, always adored and admired but never understood. no one could ever make sense of her motives, and for being the embodiment of beauty and pleasure, satoru has never seen her act in light of a beautiful spirit or intent. her poise gleams with a chimerical radiance but satoru knows her heart is a shadowless void. in front of him, she lies prettily across pearly marble, draped in robes threaded by the shimmer of stars the astraeus personally plucked from the cosmos for her. yuki’s light-colored hair flows in fluffy waves that sink to the floor, a perfect golden river to watch flow down. “you heard me. find the mortal girl choso dares to claim’s beauty can rival mine and shoot her with one of your little eros, make her fall in love with a pig or something — nothing cute, either, something ugly and brutish, one that smells of grime — and return to me so i can see for myself.” the aphrodite is ruled by her pride, by her demand to be revered and highly regarded, acknowledged for power with only insidiousness to show for it. satoru believes gods that practice no restraint and show no mercy exemplify the very things he detests about his precious blue eros, his ares. at least ares is contained, albeit forcibly. satoru’s eyes are glistening, crystalline prisons each of his eros lives behind. “i see you’ve lost your mind to vanity entirely.” satoru grumbles. “i won’t be doing that.” “what?” yuki sneers, nose squishing in irritation. with a sympathetic hum, satoru shakes his head. “i won’t be doing that and i’m insulted you’d think to even ask me — or rather, demand of me. i’m not one of your little things, yuki.” satoru stands upright, shoulders squared as he sees yuki clearly through the fabric covering his eyes. he’s immune to her wiles with his quiver, he’s found. but still, she makes him unbearably nervous. “satoru, do you forget who you speak to? i am beauty and pleasure embodied! you would really think to reject my request?” he looks around for a moment. “uh…yes. do you forget who you speak to? if you’re beauty and all the subsequent notions, why do you even care how a mortal girl’s prettiness measures?” “well,” she huffs, sitting upright, a perfect pout on her lips that any other man would become a pool of liquid over. “choso believes such a thing. choso.” confused, satoru just stares. “and that’s negating your divinely bestowed perfection how?” yuki’s frustration erupts and a cloudy fluff comes flying at his head. satoru doesn’t flinch and doesn’t move as the object hits the barrier of his infinity, and then the floor, in a soundless heap. “if you, a literal love god, can’t fathom why i don’t want choso’s eyes to stray from me, then you’re no god but a pitiful fool!” she wails. satoru sighs. “i have more important things to do in that realm than help you bully mortal girls at your discretion for taking one of your many lovers’ attention away from you without knowing you exist.” yuki clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes. “you do nothing there worth mentioning. you merely fooled kenjaku the phanes into making you a precious domain to dwell in. you’re perfectly protected from everything while nothing is protected from you, if you don’t want them to be. don’t mock me when you’re a coward fashioned as a god.”

satoru didn’t fool kenjaku, per se, but he certainly exploited his favor by exaggerating the peril associated with his capacity, so much so that kenjaku the phanes gave him a prison realm to lock himself in or free himself from at will. he goes into it habitually with a thick will but seldom contains the will to be released. it is for his safety; it is for the safety of others. but it’s more a place he can breathe freely without the fear and disdain others regularly teem with when near him. he can feel all of it, and does. being a god does not make him indestructible to the irrational whims of emotion. in fact, satoru would argue that being a creature of love’s spectrum means he is the irrational whims of emotions. ꒰ he can never teeter too far in either direction, lest kenjaku take the privilege of his will from infinity; then, he’ll only have endless imprisonment. of course, satoru can never let the other gods know of this clause, as he’s certain they’ll betray him before geto the helios’s sun sets across the pillowy skies. ꒱ the other gods are bitter, but satoru’s unusual manifestation of his divine might is deeply concerning. ꒰ when he was born, gods gouged out their eyes to be free of his gaze, to be liberated from the understanding that whether his eros of madness or bliss would strike is unknown, but the degree of its damage is devastation and ruin. brilliance followed by a rapid decay. he only controls them with his quiver. should it be taken, it would set all of chaos free in every blink. ꒱ so, what yuki says isn’t false, but it isn’t true, either. any other time, satoru would have left the vain aphrodite unfulfilled and physically shaking with the pain of his rejection, but today, satoru’s interest is admittedly piqued.

what mortal could possibly surpass beauty and grace itself?

“i’ll go see this girl, and if she’s of threat, i’ll indulge your dreadful desires, but if she’s nothing short of a mortal girl who commits no crime against humanity nor divinity by challenging your appearance — which i’m certain of — then…i’ll simply leave you to suffer the same fate as toji the apollo for wasting my time.” her eyes go wide at the sight of his nonchalant shrug and she gasps. “you! you beast of a man! honestly! you preach and prattle about this and that only to threaten to use your eros to make my lover despise me and repel my presence after making me lovesick for them? i can be no worse than you.” “objectively false, you can. and are. but it’s irrelevant to argue.” he grouses with a deep sigh. “i regretfully ask…what do you know of her?” satoru’s sickened by both the perfection and menace in her grin, but yuki lulls her head back to bask in the warmth of geto the helios’ sun.

the first time he sees you, it feels a little jarring. guided by the hands of geto’s sun, satoru finds you quickly. his awe ricochets around his spirit, bouncy and delighted, but his gaze on you — everything about you is pristine, vivid and vibrant. it stirs something in him, makes his chest erupt with fluttering feelings and feathery tickles. for a being born of the flawed, you’re too close to perfect. you’re the furthest from aphrodite and yet, your own charms are whimsical and songlike, your aura chiming around you in a sweet symphony that falls upon his spirit and strikes him with wonder. inside of a large building where the art of painters and sculptors alike are displayed, an ode to the apollo no doubt, you wander tirelessly with a chipper smile on your face and a skip in your step. your joy never falters and neither do you. your eyes are twinkling like you woke and strung the flickers of dying stars inside them for good measure. giddy, cheeks full with elation like you’re gluttonous for it. you smile and smile, and everyone smiles with you, for you, because of you. admirably charming, hands sweep around you in a flurry while your mouth makes shapes and babbles out words he can’t make out. satoru gauges your context through rigourous observation: the motions of your arms, the twitch of your smile, the little spark of curiosity in your eyes or the determination that combusts there, too. for a blink, satoru understands yuki’s frustrations with your existence. he stands there, a dreadful stirring in his heart, emotions twisting and knotting until they squeeze tight in his gut and make his right eye thrum. all of these people get to speak to you. their ears get to taste the drizzling honey of your voice. they get to receive the unfurling tenderness in their hearts from direct eye contact with you. it makes him feel ill, disgustingly ill. right away, he hates it. he becomes the pinnacle of what it means to detest. he does understand that such feelings are unreasonable, but neither love nor war is a source of reason, only madness. so of course, in self-interest and personal eccentricities ꒰ with a pinch of spite toward yuki the aphrodite to sate the crueller parts of him ꒱, he decides to watch you, to observe you closely and with great focus. for a moment, he becomes your adoring shadow, hiding within infinity’s soundless clutch where you can’t hear or see him and he’s only able to capture faint murmurs of you. he’s grateful he can see you, that no matter where you go, he can simply follow. with his limits, of course. ꒰ he’s no sukuna the zeus and certainly no yuki the aphrodite. ꒱ satoru can still admire you like this, enamored and elusive. well, until he’s standing next to you, glancing over your shoulder to read the same words you do and imagining the embosoming sound of your voice as you read them, when you turn to face him. you jolt and jump, a feathery yelp, then immediately look up at him with a soft smile, blinking to reclaim the loss in your composure. your lips are misshapen by the fright you swallow down as you take notice of him. “oh goodness! you scared me. d-do you need help with anything?” satoru stands there, dazed and stupefied for a few reasons: 

one. you can see him, which means he let his will to keep his infinity standing tall waver. two. your voice is drenched in silky allure, a touch of benevolence over a thick layer of compassion. three. you’re utterly bewitching, a spellbinding loveliness that lingers. four. he can sense your saffron ghost seeping into spaces it shouldn’t; he knows the scent of you will be what haunts him.

a small gasp, your words threaded by worry as you cautiously place a hand on his arm. “sir, do you have a visual impairment? did you lose your aid?” “no, no,” satoru breathes. “i see quite clearly. my eyes…they’re…sensitive.” you blink, riddled with confusion. “sensitive?” taking in his words, you hurriedly take a step back from him, a flimsy infinity of your own to keep him out. he’s no sukuna, so he’ll respect the obvious boundary you’re placing. “then…” your voice trails, quieter now, a lullaby’s endeavor, cautious but calculating as you observe him. “is there something you’re looking for?” and satoru isn’t entirely certain why, but he feels bashful, embarrassed, and ashamed. the tint of roseate spills across his face, filling the point of his nose and cheeks. then, in an instant, he’s gone from your vision, safely tucked behind a thick wall of space and time, watching your eyes go round with astonishment, paralyzed and unable to speak. he watches you blink at the spot he stood for a few minutes before you slowly reach your hand out and run it through the space. satoru, amused but still flustered, can’t fight the breathy chuckle that tumbles out of him. he watches the alarm contort your face, finding your deep state of confusion adorable by every perceivable measure. a beauty that rivals that of the aphrodite? no, one that surpasses it.

ACT II. A GARDEN IN WHICH ONLY MANIA BLOOMS.

love is blind but it sees all; love is protection, love is obsession. it snarls as much as it sings. it bares teeth to smile and to bite down.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is an open palm, love is a tight fist. it clings to only notions that mean it will persist.

SATORU.

satoru feels that keeping his closeness is inevitable. his presence becomes more like a game he plays with you. you wander around and he matches your every step, a lingering thing that follows you pathetically and waits for you to look for him, waits for your inquisitive, questioning eyes to sweep the span of the room in knowing suspicion, remembering him and his interesting marvels. his disappearing acts. aside from that, he can feel the way your heart yearns for an explanation, as desire is a direct line to he and the favor of ardor. his heart thumps each time he’s flooded with the feeling of your meek tug on him. the warmth of you is always everywhere then, filling and shaping around his bones. he likes to appear before you when he catches you ruminating about him, when you wrestle with your notions in your lonesome as if to breed the thought that he was summoned by you rather than obsessively taking every step with you. he only does it when you’re at this place where your labor is kindness and assistance, watching you relentlessly. only when you’re here, only when you come to this altar where toji the apollo himself would weep at the worship mortals have made of his artistic devotions. only when you willfully become part of this public spectacle. it feels fair and respectfully intrusive.

since we’re all here to observe you.

that’s his discipline with himself, how he stops his heart from rotting from the pleasures of luxuriating in the sight of you, how he stops ardor or ares from making a mess of his divinity entirely, both monsters but harmless so long as he maintains his sanity. a smirk as his infinity dissolves. “are you thinking about me again?” satoru never tires of the way you squeak when he casually unveils himself. only fondness ferments in his chest when your eyes widen and your hands fly over your mouth to conceal the sound of sharp surprise. you always stare at him in awe for a moment. “you,” you murmur, your hand pointing right at him. satoru sighs with a smile. “me,” he watches you go through the motions of disbelief — slapping your own face and pinching your cheeks to test the limits of your dreams. “why do you keep doing this?” you inquire in distress, brows furrowed as you clutch your head in your hands. “are you a ghost?” satoru can’t fight the way his lips curl into a smile as he cracks a heart-shimmering laugh. “you think i’m an apparition?” “i don’t know what i think!” you whisper harshly, eyes pointing around the perimeter as you fear being heard talking to yourself. again. “okay? but there’s no way you’re real. i’m losing it.” “real or false, you worry about the wrong things, i fear.” he informs you as he rests in a seat. “i keep telling you exactly who i am.” you give him a hard look, one that he adores as much as the smile you reserve for your patrons, and you snort. “as if i believe you’re the love god, cupid.” “cupid is such a weak-willed name you mortals have plagued me with. even the other gods spite me over it. it’s nowhere near as bolstering as satoru the eros, love and war’s divine archer.” he announces himself in a wistful voice that makes the corner of your mouth subtly twitch. your face painted in feigned surprise, you ask, “you? a divine archer?” “yes, me. a divine archer. is that amusing?” his head leans to the side as he notes your biting smile. “no, no,” you shake your head. “it’s just…you don’t seem like the kind with good aim? you know, perpetual blindfold and all.” satoru huffs a laugh. “looks are as deceiving as love and war.” “hm…” you look him over critically, a finger resting against your chin before you motion at his body. “if you’re cupid and an archer, where’s your bow? and your arrows? wings? why aren’t you more cherub-like?” satoru’s lips curl and curve in disgust of your notion. “cherub-like? i’d rather die. i don’t need your useless, manmade tools. my eyes are my bow; the eyes of my eyes are my arrows. this perpetual blindfold is a quiver that holds them, lest i douse the world in the devoted delusions of love in its totality and leave it bleeding out war, an endless wound that cannot dissolve until nothing is left. you would never want to see my wings. it would mean the aforementioned.” baffled and mortified, that’s how his tactless remarks leave you. you awkwardly squeak and clamp your lips shut tight, looking down as your eyes squint in confusion. “i…forget i asked.” you jostle your head as if to shake away the memory of his admission. “even if you actually are cupid, your true title’s too long. carving it in stone and etching it in gold would’ve been a big hassle for such a morbid freak.” satoru’s eyes narrow, masked by his quiver. “are you mocking me, pretty thing?” “considering i think i’ve lost my mind, i’m mocking myself.” you grumble and grip your head. “how do i make you go away? how do i get you out of my mind?” he hums, a finger tapping on his chin before he shrugs and chirps, “you don’t.” you pause, cocking your head to the side. “what do you mean?”

“i mean…” he stands and stretches to his full height. “i’ve taken an interest in you, and i don’t see myself growing apathetic anytime soon. the scandal of it all is thrilling enough; everyone in the olympus murmurs about the mortal girl that supposedly rivals even aphrodite’s beauty, but only myself and two others have actually seen you. i can’t say i’ve had my fill of being greedy with you.” for a moment you’re quiet, staring at him as you take in his words. then, you clutch your gut as you begin bellowing. you laugh so loudly it startles him. it sends him into the center of a blossoming, though, an abrupt descent. the sound of it makes his heart burst with a fondness so sweet, his head feels airy and light. if you could see his eyes, you would witness the moment he falls into a pool of ensnared devotion and drowns. instead, you hear him huff as his palms curl into tender fists. “now i know you’re lying.” you say through giggles. “is this an elaborate pick-up scheme? me, a rival of aphrodite’s beauty? who says that?” even his irritation is polluted by admiration and passion. “it’s only the truth. you caught the eye of choso the aether. that’s one of the gods the aphrodite enjoys tinkering with so it’s left her feeling embarrassed and looked down on. she wants me to have a look at you…and humble you.” “h-humble me?” you sputter nervously, every spark of humor dying on your breath. it doesn’t take an oracle to determine the conclusion you arrive at. satoru shakes his head, stepping closer out of instinct. of course, you aren’t aware of how grossly comfortable he’s become ingulding in your proximity. he rests a palm on your head, the weight of it making you groan. “your pretty head is full of useless worries. i’ll never harm you in any way.” it’s the first time satoru truly touches you. everything sings; everything shines. all of it shimmers. your brows bunch and your nose wrinkles, an adorable habit he stores away. “then…are you really just here to watch me?” “eh, no,” he shakes his head, grinning. “i’m intended to make you fall in love with something as hideous and unsightly as yuki’s bruised perception wishes you were, but i’ve decided i won’t indulge her antics of vanity this time.” he pats your head and withdraws, afraid to take too much too soon, afraid for his already consuming desire to become so willfully edacious. you give him a pointed look but your eyes never leave him. “but you’ll indulge yourself?” satoru grins and gives a simple response, one he stuffs to its brim with rhapsody and playfulness as it slips from his lips. “without hesitation. i didn’t find you first but i’ll be the one to keep you.” “who knew a love god would be so shameless.” his response is a recital, an avowal memorized in its every angle by his tongue, without falter, something embedded he exhumes just to dedicate to you. large hands cradle your face, his voice a poem unraveling, “love is blind but it sees all; love is pride, love is humility. it stands, stretched to the full height of its glory, and it kneels, sinking into the depths of its reverence.” satoru watches your moony expression form and his lips curve. “you don’t even know me.” you murmur, wispy and uncertain but still coated in captivation. quipped from a clever god, “then tell me what you want me to know. i’ll master you — mind, body, and spirit. whatever you wish.” you stare, concern filling your every breath, tainting every second you spend peering into him. blinking, you watch him before your eyes flicker down. “this…this isn’t real. it can’t be.” “so you circle back to doubt?” satoru snickers, pulling away from you as he observes you with a cocked head. “have i truly not convinced you of my existence? surely you don’t believe if i were an apparition that you, in all your naivety and mortality, would even have the means to perceive me.” your face drops, possibly insulted by truth. “are you calling me weak and stupid?”

“weak? yes. although, you really can’t help it. you mortals are born a frail people. stupid? i wouldn’t assign such an attribute to you, no.” you huff, indignant, and look off to the side. “whatever you’re implying, i resent it.” “you’re merely human. you have shortcomings you can’t help and sight in which you lack. not to ring the horn of hubris, but should you not show gratitude to a god that chooses you to gaze upon him?” you stare at him blankly before asking — no, sneering, “should i have to show gratitude for being followed home and watched?” a foolish grin. “i’ve never followed you home. rest assured, i keep a tight grip on my own vices. i try to behave from time to time.” “is that so?” you grumble, disbelieving. “it is so.” satoru sighs, his tone resolute and carved out of his disgust. “i’m a god of love, not of perversities. i’m no sukuna the zeus. i would rather you think me an apparition, a falsehood, than be thrown into a cast of similarities with him.” there’s traces of a laugh bubbling up, but you cough it away, much to satoru’s amusement. “is…zeus as awful as the myths say?” “it depends on what they say, but he’s likely worse.” satoru grouses in disdain. sukuna the zeus is not one with an ounce of good or mercy in his heart. born a monster of a god with a taste for man, sukuna has shown he only wishes to watch all the realms move to the tune of his malevolent volatility. you take a breath and plop down to rest in your chair at the small personal table. “i can’t believe this is my life. sitting in my office talking to a love god about the sincere realities of mythology and deities.” he hums, perching himself on the corner of the table. “does this not make you blessed?” “being followed around sounds closer to a curse.” he lies, because love is honest but love is deceiving. “i have important duties to tend to, i’ll have you know. i don’t waste all my spare time observing your precious whims.” it’s a blatant, seething lie, a vibrant and colorful one he’ll parade as the truth to preserve his pride. he does waste all his spare time observing your every whim. he’s honest in his commutes, not ever following you home outside the walls of this dimly-lit den. although, the desire to eats away at him. ares howls frequently in the night. there’s force in the pull your passing thoughts have on him, but he can never tell you how you leave indents in his spirit whenever you think of him, whenever you ruminate on your musings of his eyes, your irrepressible thirst to see them and name their pigment, when you’re lost in your wonderings of him, when you yearn for his peculiar presence. all of it makes him putty. all of it squeezes and stretches him. all of it changes his shape. “w-well, if you’re going to keep this up, i obviously can’t stop you. i ask that you maintain respectful boundaries, including not appearing so abruptly before me.” satoru merely smiles down at you —smitten— absolutely adoring you in every way. “i will…abide by whatever words you wish to use as chains to keep me here.” emboldened by your charm and indulging a bit too much in his own ardor’s blissful blood, satoru grabs your hands, cradles them in his own as he peers into your glittering eyes. it’s then that he notices the way you look back at him as if you can see right through every barrier he’s made, every one that was forced on him, every one he hid behind. right to the core of him. it feels like although he controls the war brewing in his irises by tucking his weapons behind a sheath, he doesn’t have to hide. not from you. he conceals his eyes but you look at him as if they gaze bare. satoru brings your soft fingers to his lips, supple flesh tingling against your hands with the soothing vibrations of the cosmos. “i will…” he breathes. “…adore you, if you allow me. protect you with my life. make your heart as immortal as mine in the way i only speak eternal devotion over you.”

enchanted, your lips part and he feels the way yearning passes through first in a soft pant. he feels you pulling on him, tugging on his heartstrings. making his eros tremble. ardor’s will to pledge fealty to the flutter of your lashes as you wake; ares’ promise to ravage all that oppose or threaten you. instead of accepting his declaration, you ask, “w-what’s so special about me? what do you do that’s so uninteresting that you would…adore me, of all things. of all people.” what does he do in the time he’s away? a sleepless god, he waits until you leave for rest to find other things to do. he goes where love calls him, where it pulls him closer and begs for his embrace. “i love, of course. i do my best to keep war from erupting as a result of it by helping others love in doses. i watch, mostly. sometimes i play.” you ask, with an airy tone of confusion, “play?” he nods. “as i’m a war god, i have to release my inevitable frustrations somewhere. gently, of course. i wouldn’t want to leave the world in ruin…again.” satoru chuckles, soft lips leaving feathery kisses all along your fingers. one. two. three blinks. a frantic whisper. “leave…the world in ruin? again?” suddenly, you pull your hands from his grasp and he lets them slip through. he isn’t surprised by your reaction. in retrospect, perhaps he should have eased you into that fact. you seem to be in disbelief over his identity already. “well, yes. there was a time when i was a young god that traipsed the heavens and below causing all the trouble i could with my eros. i’ve matured so don’t concern yourself with my past.” it’s then that the door swings open to your office. as fast as they push through, satoru’s infinite prison is up and so is he. the sudden streams of voices become muffled, dull and blurry. he watches you, a look of deep contempt taking his expression as you keep glancing right where he stands — when you could see him before these new mortals came to interrupt — before they bulldozed through to steal your eyes and attention away from him again. gritted teeth and a clenched fist, this is how he’s left. ares simmers at the slight of it all, the derogative undertones in satoru not having you to himself when he wants and having to accept such a condition without qualms. satoru adores you, thinks the words you speak make you shine brighter than geto’s sun. he thinks the way you smile would make yuki the aphrodite vengeful. but he hates being at the mercy of you and your fragille, mortal dealings. he wants you back right now. ardor soothes him, reminds him of his commandments while he waits and watches you tensely. like a mantra, he hears it over and over until his breathing steadies.

love is blind but it sees all; love is tender smiles and loosened flesh, love is temperance and tolerance. it is the willingness we make labors of.

it doesn’t take much time before satoru becomes visibly perturbed by the constant intrusions and obligations that stand in the way of the words he wants to hear flutter from your lips, velvet petals of sweet sentiment falling softly over him. instead, his efforts are often interrupted, often put on hold or silenced to tend to the incompetence of your underlings. it’s becoming tiresome; he makes no move to hide his grievance. he tells himself to breathe. he can feel something monstrous and thick filling his gut. a sludge of an emotion, weighing on all of him, stickiness slinking up the cavity of his torso, caching all of him. it takes every modicum of his will not to be petulant and do the same with you, pull you into the walls of his infinity, an extension of the lover’s prison, so only he has the privilege of gazing over the object of his affection and obsession. you — the one who inspires the poetry in his blood to boil. ares hums within him, makes his right eye feel heavy, delighted by the envious rush and what it makes satoru envision.

she’ll never have the time i deserve with her, that belongs to me. it would be an easy problem to solve. she’ll hate me of my own accord.

of course, ardor reminds him of love’s addictive embrace, to loosen his grip to maintain his strong footing. acts of war are easy, but acts of love feel better. he prefers it. he prefers you. to all others. he knows what it means to have you and the sacrifice that comes with keeping you. a pretty and sparkling treasure, laden with novelty for him to marvel at and little mechanisms that make him feel content. together. he takes a deep breath, and finds himself unclenching his hands as he sits, stretching his fingers to loosen the tension. satoru closes his eyes; he meditates on ardor’s fervent whispers which usually he subdues to know mental clarity and peace.

love is patient; love is kind. love holds the weight of its temptations.

in contrast, ares seethes.

love is imposing; love is momentum. love holds the weight of its triumphance. it never cowers in the face of restraint.

satoru sighs and drowns out their never-ending bickering.

satoru watches how time trudges on, and stretches itself thin between the two of you. he remains ardent and attached, endlessly and proudly devoted to you. the sticky feeling comes back one late afternoon when satoru dutifully follows you into the elevator, unseen and unheard. as he does each day to bid you a silent goodbye, squeezing out every second of your presence he can. all things follow their natural rhythm — until, the presence of another lingers for no reason. he smiles too endearingly at you, and touches your shoulder too casually. satoru can feel it rolling off this man, obviously an underling, but has no boundaries in how he approaches you. clearly above him in every facet, satoru’s distaste and resentment bubble to life, face scrunching up in disgust. the man reeks of it, his fondness for you. his longing. in his infinity, he dwells in swelling silence, his insides in tightly-wound knots. satoru’s chest rises and falls — his stiffened shoulders, too. ares bursts to life when he sneers, angry eyes zoned in on the wretched man.

the audacity to desire her so openly while being so weak and undeserving.

for a moment, satoru’s fingers twitch. he shouldn’t do it. he told himself that he wouldn’t with you, never with you. and yet, satoru can’t help the way he reaches up and pinches the top half of his quiver, the barrier that holds in the rapture his gaze would cause to dawn on all that exists. he does his best to keep the effects small, hardly noticeable but effective. peeling down the cover of his quiver, calling on ares eye of megaera, his eros of disgust, satoru watches a blue stripe swipe across the air, penetrate through all it must, and catch you on the left side of your neck. you don’t wince, but when it hits you, your eyes blink rapidly, as if just given some injection that you feel shooting into your veins. as you stand before him, satoru watches with satisfaction as your eyes — once alight with delight and trading even the faintest drop of desire — go dark and dull. your facial expression falls, your smile fading and emptiness taking its place. a grin spreads across his face, pleased now. he isn’t sure what you say but he watches the man’s eyes widen slightly before his brows crinkle in confusion and you offer him a professional salutation, your body language straight and alert. then, you walk right around the underling, continuing on with a slight roll of your shoulders, shaking off ares’ excess, he’s sure.

what is one more secret?

and yes, satoru will tuck it away with him, another truth he hides under the pink of his tongue with glee.

love is honest, love is true; love has no need to tremble behind the cowardice of manipulation.

and for a moment, satoru does feel guilty. but when you exit the building, he waits for a moment and appears right next to you, his infinity down. he doesn’t usually try to pass the boundaries but as you walk away, his feet continue to follow, as if their departure is beyond his will. “if you’re thinking of following me home, don’t.” you grumble sharply, picking up the speed in your steps. “the nerve,” satoru’s head tilts to the side in wonder. 

are you aware?

“i’ll stay here, if you wish.” satoru says, stopping just at the edge of the property. “i’ll be here when you return tomorrow.” when you hear his voice, you pause and turn to face him. you seem shocked to see him, perhaps regarding his presence as the underling he handcrafted your fresh disgust toward. you blink, the edge on your voice dissipating as you reply. “i…i didn’t think i’d see you again today.” satoru takes a careful step forward. “i didn’t know you wished to. i only planned to watch you leave, but you seemed particularly…upset.” for a moment, you just stand there. satoru takes your contemplation and tilts his head back, basking in the warmth of the helios’ vibrant sun and grins to himself, feeling his insides ablaze with his admittedly orchestrated glory. he can feel you tugging on his heartstrings, of course he can. especially when it’s all for him. “don’t want me too much or i might start getting the wrong idea, pretty thing.” bashful, you shy away, tilting your face with the softest sigh. he doesn’t mean to make you nervous but he’s had enough of playing coy and never fully defining the lines of which your boundaries are drawn or willing to stretch. cautiously, his hands clutch your shoulders, nearly breathless from the warmth in his belly, nearly dizzy from feeling himself grant your desires and resolve your yearning. you want him to touch you; you want daring fingers to ghost along your skin. but his touches now are more innocent in fashion, fond at best. “tell me what you want, pretty.” he murmurs, his hidden eyes gazing over the features of your face, a thick thumb brushing over your plump lip. “i’ve chosen to adore you, so naturally i’ll give you anything of which you desire and derive pleasure.” you don’t notice when his infinity reaches out to hold you, to cradle your frame. you don’t notice that the sounds of the world around you muffle and go numb, sucked into his embrace that stretched on through eternity. soft and feathery, your response flutters, “you can walk home with me, but i…i won’t let you inside.” ardor’s spirit blazes within him — emboldened and vivacious, ready to relish in new proximity. a chuckle rumbles in his chest; a sly grin spreads across his lips. “any time spent in the presence of my beloved is time i deeply cherish.” you’re flustered — hot face and wet lips, side-swiped eyes and a wary glance. but still, you walk alongside him, snug in his infinity, step by step.

ACT III. THE DILIGENCE OF PRAGMA’S EMBRACE.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is expansive, love is all-consuming. it takes even the shape of nothingness, clings to its empty form, and stretches it further.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is faith, love is lingering. it would wait an eternity at an entrance it knows with unearned certainty will open.

SATORU.

time flows on, and satoru weaves himself around adoration with ease, your name a flowering breath on his lips whenever the time permits. you entertain his senseless notions. you wait for him, more voracious and fervid as days move along, as if it’s all you ever have to do. your melodic laughter travels down the beautiful marble-plated halls, the waves of its sound etched into the ridges of intricate designs that decorate the ceiling and line the floors. he tunes his infinity to your perception, stretching it around the whole of you, making it wider to mold around the specificities of your shape, around the breathiness of your voice. an endless indention in himself just for you. all so the symphonic outburst of your elation is only his to hear, his joy to cultivate and claim. all naturally, too. he thinks he adores that most about you. loving you is a natural reaction to mingling with your existence. the fondness and affection that seeps out of you when he lets himself freely feel your call remains untouched by his divine eyes. he keeps them securely imprisoned behind his quiver. he swears he’ll never let them touch you again since his last provocation. he doesn’t need to anymore. he has so much of your attention that he no longer reasons the necessities of envy, jealousy, or spite of all things. but still, indulgent as ever, he’ll always take as much of you as you’re willing to give. gluttony is as fair as war in love, to him. “are you nearly ready to go?” satoru grumbles, watching as you make furious clacking noises at your desk. “all this dreadful noise. what are you doing?” you snort. “i’m typing. i’m a museum director. i both receive and deliver emails.” “your typing is tedious and the sound is awful. does it not annoy you in the slightest?” shrugging, your eyes never leave your screen. “it’s just what i’m used to. you should be used to the sound by now, considering you never go away while i’m working.” “false,” he protests with a pout. “i make myself scarce for your little…conclaves.” your typing pauses and your eyes dart up to stare at him for a moment. “my meetings are fundamental to my position here which, again, is funda—” “fundamental to your livelihood…yes, yes, i know. we all know as you only force this mantra on us every chance that presents itself. you’re worse than ardor. are you not tired?” “of you? sometimes. of my job? yes.” a short response as your typing resumes, tormenting him with enforced patience. he shifts, sitting up in the tufted chair he always drags next to you and sinks down into to sulk about waiting for your attention. “do you prefer me over this place?” is all satoru hears in your sometimes and inquires about. “what do you like most about me?” you laugh. “like about you? nothing at all.”

there’s a quiver in your words; you lie. of course you do, love is pride, after all.

satoru takes your hand, ever brave, ever dauntless. he brings your curved knuckles to his lips. any other time you would shake off his affectionate pestering, but your desire sings as you feel his lips graze over the ridges and dips of your fingers. “well, my most beloved, i like everything about you.” your body shifts and your head snaps in his direction, eyes lingering on him, curious and probing. “is that so?” a terse nod. “it is so. i adore you. i love you. i’ll linger here for as long as you do.” today, he hears something new. it’s something small and playful, uttered under a meek tone and a thick blanket of apprehension, but he hears it ring true above it all — the love. “you did swear to protect me, after all.” satoru smiles, strengthened by all the ways in which you make his heart weak. “of course, i’ll commit to my devotions.” wispily. fluttering. adoringly you sigh, “as you should.” ardor and ares both coat his tone. “for you, i’ll do anything.”

these days satoru walks you home; these days satoru slips inside quietly after you, your hand laced obligingly in his — tugging and pulling, all pining and impatience. closer. you always want him closer. his hands are always greedy and grabby, taking what he wants in the name of pleasure, but they become gluttonous monsters when the door closes. your hips are taut to his as he presses you to the wall, your cheek cold against the dull-toned paint and drywall, his warm tongue licking stripes from your collarbone up to your ear. his pants huff into your ears, steamy and thick; your wet whimpers graze against the wall, all of it enticing him, making him grip you even harder — one hand with fingers digging into your hips, one gripping your jaw to prep your lips for an engrossing kiss. it’s not enough but he can’t wait on enough. satoru tugs you along to your bedroom, his muscles flexing and twitching with need. it’s taking everything not to spread you wide on the hallway floor. once your bed is in sight, you’re pushed onto your back, your hands gripping the fabrics of his finely stitched robes to pull him down with you. the thickness of satoru’s knee is a median between your legs to keep them pried apart while his large body hovers. one arm above your head, the other gripping your hand and knotting your fingers in his.

“do you know what you’ve done to me?” he breathes shakily, lips still pillowing over yours as he leans his forehead against your own. “do you know how hard it was to resist you today?” “no, i don’t. tell me.” playful words woven between passionate kisses. his lips latch to your neck, grunting as he loses his silent battle with his urge to bite and pinch your skin. “near impossible. you mortals are different. everything clings to you so perfectly. and all day. all day. all i could think of was getting my hands on you, caressing your curves, kissing every inch of you.” satoru wants to love you like this — obsessively, indulgent to the point of painful, unbridled with need forged from greed. he laps at your neck, impish whines elicited from you with every motion. “you controlled yourself well. good boy.” amusement and arousal blend together on your tongue; he wants to know the taste of it. “don’t patronize me like an animal.” satoru grits, untangling your hands to hike up the fabric of your skirt and part your thighs. “i’m a god, not your plaything, not your little pet.” wit unrelenting, he can hear the smirk on your lips. “well…you do follow me around like a lost puppy.” “if i went anywhere else, my love would surely have a fit.” he muses, nipping at your neck with playful force, making you yelp underneath him. lips trail down with ease and your fingers slide into thick, pearly tufts. “this is true. maybe i should get you a leash.” “hush,” he growls, biting you in spite. you tug his hair, pulling the god by his nape, granting you a lewd sound, a mewl so slick and pathetic it wets the air. his mouth collides with yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues lapping over the other, a whimpering mess as he tears away at the intricately woven robes that always drown him. it reveals all of him to you: every curve of his build, the long and toned limbs, broad-shouldered and big, every inch of thickness in his muscles, the glaze of lust that glistens in the way all of him flexes with every staggered breath. you get all of him. leaking length and all. the fabric of your skirt bundled up the top of your thighs, your legs parted before him — his hands can’t help but wander in curiosity and delight. ardor compels him to hold you close, to keep your skin flush against his, a warmth he can sigh into. ares compels him to grab and grip and claw the pleasure right out of your body to claim for himself, doomed to the brutality and ferocity of need.

“i don’t mean to be impatient, but i don’t want to wait anymore. i can’t.” he rasps and whines. “i can’t wait. i need to feel you around me.”

that’s as much forewarning as he can give before he yanks down your panties and pushes his way between slick folds, a relieved moan as he buries himself inside and grips your thigh for steadiness, releasing it once he establishes a slow but thorough rhythm. each time his thrusts carry him back into you, your moans fill the air and your hands travel needily down his back. “my love,” he breathes shakily. satoru nuzzles his face into your neck, panting heavily as he moves his hips slowly, enjoying the tepid feeling of your walls and the pleasure of tight embrace. he bites down, needy teeth seeking grounding, and grunts from the feeling of unyielding bliss blossoming in his gut. a soft mewl, tender and hesitant. “s-satoru,” “perfect.” he sighs, his hips melting into yours. “let me hear you.” and you do. only a language of urgency spoken between your bodies, the bed a culture of devotion and cacoethes. your hands, ever-enthused maunderers, travel through ivory tussocks and tug, oh so innocently, on the knot of fabric tied around the middle of his head.

he stiffens. his movements still but he breathes heavily. “don’t.” he moves his palm from grasping and clutching the meat of your thigh, now reaching to wrangle in the explorations of one of your trespassing hands. he locks his fingers around yours, hips rocking while he brings them to his lips, kitten licks accompanied by a chorus of both your whines. “what? you never remove it. i want to see your eyes. you’re my lover.” your voice is enchanted by love and inspired. in love with him. truly and genuinely in love. he can feel it fluxing and flowing throughout him, starting from his sternum, lotus-like and flowering, each time he pushes in, feeling your yearning explode inside him while you pulse around him. the taste of adoration is sweet when he kisses you, too. “i know.” a tender mumble. “but my eyes are unlike yours. i can stay by your side for all of time. i can make it so eternity never separates us, but you can never look into my eyes, okay?” your fingers squeeze his tight, but your voice is soft and shaky, trembling as you take his slow grinding. “is this…a god’s problem?” satoru’s kisses are erratic and consuming—mixtures of plump pecks, a lapping tongue, and gentle tugs on your lips. the only constant is the ferocity of his panting: in your mouth, on your skin, in the dips and crevices of flesh he finds. he nods as he keens and whispers, a twinge in his heart, “this god’s curse.” “okay.” your free hand still clutching his hair, you grip and tug until he lifts his head to face you, all to leave a gentle kiss on his lips. “i love you. as long as i can have you by my side, i don’t have to see anything you don’t want me to see. i’ll be curious, but i won’t peek.” there’s a swelling in his chest that makes him think he may just burst, a rupture of exaltation and honor. full and clinging to new feelings of closeness. satoru chuckles and pecks your lips again and again, more pressure applied with each kiss to ensure his devotions are sealed by another. “are you becoming sweet for me?” “i’d rather die.” the sneer in your voice becomes a sigh sung to the tune of ecstasy. a giddy smile. another nip at your bruising flesh, a rush of love in the quickening pace of his hips.  “you know…i’ll never let that happen.”

he feels it first in the dead of night, sukuna the zeus and his incessantly demanding calls, but he doesn’t leave right away. he can’t. you’re wrapped around him, limbs entangled with his as usual. you’re resting peacefully. your heart is calm. he can’t ruin that. he won’t. your arms are locked around his frame, clutching him with all the strength you can. your breathing is steady and relaxed, head tucked under his chin. you’ve been sleeping more, sleeping better, since he started staying. you’re more refreshed upon waking. your smile, already knee-weakening and dazzling in its composite to satoru, is even more brilliant, more authentic. and truthfully, he isn’t ready to leave your grasp. your hands are the only things that know how to hold him well. they’re calling and calling, reaching and reaching — all the gods. he can feel the irritation of their desire to see him unfurling throughout his body, tainting the time he wants to spend being foolishly in love with you, and he subdues it. he’s not hiding out so much as he’s settling in and making a home. infinity is only fair if it includes you, too; reality is only full if it includes him. satoru spends a lot of time finding a fair balance between both. sometimes he gets to hold you in the comfort of your room, his infinity a blanket over you both, spending the night staring into an ether and relishing in the pinnacle of safety he feels while you sleep. ardor fills him with hymns of new avowals, each like a little burst of accomplished joy, in marvel at its new, unique discoveries.

love is security. love is sanctuary. love is an idle season. love is stillness. love is ease. love is rest. love is staying even longer. love is waiting for tomorrow. love is hold me. love is let me.

when your eyes flutter awake, the sorrow cascades and drenches him. it’s harder for him to leave when you’re so committed to doing the things he adores, such as gracing the dawn of day with your waking breath and sleepy eyes, your languid movements, the way you tangle yourself more intricately with him. “pretty thing,” he dotes fondly. satoru leaves a soft kiss on your forehead first. he drinks up your sigh, gentle and drowsy, then presses his next kiss to the tip of your nose. your morning eyes peer; he kisses both cheeks in tender succession. you hum happily. “g’morning.” “mine,” hushed and sweet as he finally kisses your lips, lingering. “a g’morning indeed.” you pout and narrow your eyes. “are you making fun of me? i’ll kick you out.” “i would never.” he mumbles in amusement. “i have to leave regardless. so take my love while you have the chance. don’t waste time being bratty about it.” he says it casually, the privilege of an immortal god’s tongue at the prospect of time passing. but you freeze and stare with suddenly widened eyes. “lea…ving?” you murmur, head tilted as if confused by the word, as if averse to the feeling of it on your tongue. you sit up abruptly, looking at him in shock. “are you leaving me?” satoru could have cried from the fear in your voice. the slight quiver, the heightened pitch, and all the anguish swimming around your eyes in anticipation. they glisten and all of him crumbles to dust. “not forever,” he assures you and rises to embrace you. “i’ll be back, but i do have to go and it might be for a while.” “what? satoru, what are you talking about? you never said anything about leaving.” your voice is pained and ringing with betrayal. “so you’re just leaving?” he sighs deeply, keeping you up against his chest. “i’ve been bothered for weeks now by other gods and now the zeus is involved. i can’t exactly ignore him despite wanting to.” “you said you would stay by my side.” when satoru hears you sniffle, he tries to make sense of the shame he feels unravelling in his gut. he tries to understand how this might feel for you, insecurely attached to his presence but loving him this much despite it only to be told at random you’re being left for an unforeseeable amount of time. he finds himself pleading because right now it feels like love is humility and love is kneeling. “please,” he murmurs. “i’ll be back. no matter what, i’ll be back. don’t be angry with me. i love you so much. please.” somehow, it only makes the soft crying become longer and louder. “i’m not crying because i’m angry at you! i’m crying because i wasn’t expecting it and i’ll miss you.” it takes him one hour to tell you he’ll miss you, too, without words and emotion betraying him. it takes two for him to be willing to peel himself away from you long enough to say goodbye. he wonders if he’ll recover from the feeling of you yearning for his return before he even fully departs.

ACT IV. BITE MARKS IN THE SHAPE OF MAGAERA’S DISGUST.

love is blind but it sees all; love is clarity, love is contradiction. it blurs the lines of lunacy and devoutness with intent — lucid and deliberate — all to live there.

YOU.

from the dawn of the week, everything is unusual. first, satoru is called away to the olympus out of the blue and can’t fully disclose why. now gone for the third day with no contact, your anxiety is heightened and lengthened, wondering if it was all an elaborate dream bred of illness. then, your work days are full of random hiccups and hang-ups. all the odds are seemingly against you. the only thing championing this experience is your ability to long for him. now, as you arrive home, you’re met with the most peculiar sight. a tall, paler woman, sparkling with beauty in the glimmer of the sun, with long and flowing locks of gold that reach the ground; the tresses gleam, too. she stands as still as a statue and as beautiful as any artwork, her every feature chiselled to perfection. as you walk up to your door, her eyes catch you and a slow smile stretches across supple lips.

captivating but daunting.

you notice her clothing, light and twisted white fabrics, the familiar and cosmic-looking twinkles woven into the seams. you’re instantly reminded of those intricate twists you watch satoru perform dutifully. you wonder, for a moment, if this is someone satoru knows — a goddess, perhaps. “uh…hello,” you chirp sweetly, smiling just as prettily. you watch the woman’s face go blank in an instant. all expression vanishes, her star-like eyes flittering with something you can’t quite name. awkwardly, your gaze darts before looking at her once more. “are you looking for someone?” for a moment, she merely observes you with a blank expression. but then, a soft tenderness tugs at her features, tugs at your heart to bear witness, and she smiles. “you must be the mortal thing that’s kept him hidden all this time.” her voice is a song, sweet and melodic. so soothing you miss the way she sharply eyes you up and down, sneering. “this is all?” she sounds confused in her asking, quiet for a moment, and then holding her curved waist tightly while her laughter becomes a symphony in the air around you. your heart dives into your gut, enamored by her presence and natural grace. “here i was thinking his extended absence was a witness of my disgrace but they were all useless worries. of course! i knew they would be. they must! yuki the aphrodite, the divine vessel of beauty and desire, could never truly be bested by the blemishes of mortality’s weakness to time.” you don’t know it right then, but the day you meet this goddess, yuki the aphrodite, the divine vessel of beauty and desire, your life is doomed to descend into a flurry of utter chaos. “i—sorry, who are you?” you ask, trying to shake away the foginess of your mental state. “are you…is it satoru you’re looking for?” she sighs, mumbling to herself. “i suppose i shouldn’t waste the efforts of my venture.” “what was that?” you ask, struggling to make sense of her words. your thoughts are muddled by her pristine presence. “no,” she finally replies, roseate eyes twinkling and capturing all your wonder. “i’m here for you, mortal girl. i have something of great importance to discuss. take me in and prepare your offerings for me.”

you don’t believe her; you trust him — you don’t want to believe her; you want to trust him. doubt creeps in slowly in the dead quiet of the night, a languid steep when you’re sleeping and you can’t go with him, when you realize you can never go with him. 

‘mortals don’t set foot in the divine realm the same way the living don’t set foot in the underworld.’

he’s vague in the details of his disclosure. before, satoru used to be so honest, he became tactless and blunt. now, he’s perceivably more calculated. you notice. it riddles you. why the abrupt movements and obvious secrecy if he isn’t lying to you about it all, about why he showed up in front of you, why he courted you, who he was supposedly answering to? in your frantic mind, you continue to hear yuki the aphrodite’s song of a voice. 

'it’s the weight of his consequences; he’s cursed to unending solitude.’ 'gods don’t love mortals; we use them for fodder.’

satoru says he loves all but he’s never been in love, that he’s always been alone until you, that he’d been certain his immortal life would be doomed to that notion perpetually, but claiming you and making you the center of his devotions made a new god of him.

'he lies. he kills. he unleashed war on all the world in a blink for sport shortly after being born. he’s no man. he’s a monster that’s supposed to be imprisoned to loneliness. of course, he would not tell the mortal he manipulates he’ll squash them in his palm to sate the old gods and lift his curse.’

you remember what he said near the beginning of this unorthodox love: well, as i’m a war god, i have to release my inevitable frustrations somewhere. gently, of course. i wouldn’t want to leave the world in ruin…again.

your lips purse together. you want so badly to trust him, to be in his corner without hesitation, but aphrodite pointed out inconsistencies you now question and they can’t all be a result of coincidence.

'his eyes hold the truth, all of it; it is why he wills your ignorance.’ 'satoru can’t be trusted, but he’ll know i plan to turn him in to the zeus if i attempt to get closer.’

he made you swear that you would never remove his quiver, never look into his eyes but the why of his boundary confuses and frightens you. if he only plans to use your love for him to sacrifice you to the old gods in exchange for true freedom from his infinity, you can’t stay here in a doomed paradise with him, biding your time in feigned bliss and counting down your days. if satoru is deceiving you, using you to hide from the zeus and plot the initiations of war, then continuing to love him is a willful act of brutality against man.but if the aphrodite is lying to you, deceiving you, then whatever makes satoru fear your gazesmeeting will come true. such odds are poor but you’ve made your choice. the sacrifice for solving must be the comfort of ignorance.

'use this, if you wish to see the truth of him in his eyes. force sleep on him. remove his quiver. wait until he wakes. you will know then, the moment you look into his eyes, all that he’s done and will do.’

so when satoru comes home from whatever god-bearing duties of the zeus he claims, you decide to brew him tea. it takes you a long time to let him go when he first arrives home, a long time to relinquish your hold on unblemished intimacy, but he doesn’t mind and even welcomes it. you do your best to disregard the ardent tone in his greetings, in his soft laments of yearning and claims of the weight of your absence being heavy in his chest. you do your best to ignore the way he tugs your hand, how he wraps his arms around your waist, how he clings close to you. it almost makes you hesitant to lead him to your dining table. almost. he sighs upon sitting, stress heavy in his voice. guilt screams within you. you shouldn’t steep his tea with the scentless liquid, but curiosity drags delicate fingers over the open vial and tips it over the rim of a glass, listening to the soft pour of your coming betrayal. with a loving kiss to the head, you offer him the wretched tea, and he drinks it without thought — gripping his cup with trusting fingers — sealing your fate and his. “it’s good.” he hums. comfortable. safe. unsuspecting. “thank you, my love.” unable to stay and watch the next few minutes unfurl, you spare a soft smile and soundless nod before retreating into your shared bedroom, waiting on bated breath until you hear the abrupt thump of a body slumping onto the table, the shattering sound of a glass breaking as it falls to its death, the patter of laced brew pouring what’s left of itself from the surface of the table onto tiled floor. it’s ironic that your next step is merely to wait but your impatience is what makes you cling to such drastic methods. pupils blown from aphrodite’s influence, heart shaking in fear as it anticipates the coming consequences of your doubt in him, you return to the table. he’s out cold, a sight you’ve never seen. although aphrodite assures you he’ll feel nothing during his sleeping state, you still unknot the tie of his quiver with careful fingers. the texture is soft on the surface but stiff in structure. you clutch the enchanted fabric in trembling fingers. you notice the bundle of snowy lashes that line the seam of his eyes.

like angel wings.

you always imagined they’d be beautiful. now you sit in front of him, diligent and dutiful, muttering useless apologies to the air he can’t hear, cursing yourself for your weak will. but you wait, eyes wide and alert, prepared to peer. you swallow down the thrill of your curiosity’s coming satiation, the joy of knowing you’ll know the sight of your lover in full. you remind yourself that you’re undeserving of deriving pleasure from this. this is truth you choose to take with no remorse for the destruction of his established limits.

it’s only because i love him; it’s only because i don’t want to die.

SATORU.

satoru wakes in a groggy stupor. when his eyes slowly open, confusion befalls him. has he slept? the first thing he notices is how bright the light pouring in through the window is, how it makes his eyes ache. the next thing he sees is you…staring at him with wide eyes, freshly-blown pupils and parted lips. a thickened black fabric is held tightly in clenched fists. it takes him too long to realize it’s his quiver. the fear that stirs in his chest is immediate as he realizes your awe is from the sight of his eyes. he clasps them shut tight, but deep down he knows it’s for nought. dreamily, you sigh his name. “s-satoru,” “NO!” his hands reach out in front of him wildly, until he feels you, until he snatches his quiver from you with frantic, terrified breaths. “what have you done?!” he doesn’t mean to shout out at you, doesn’t mean for his initial reaction to be rage and fear alone. he stands to his feet, panting wildly as his fingers fumble to retie the knot. fear eats him alive where he stands. agony in full force can take the strength from a god’s knees. he stumbles clumsily until his back hits the wall with force. his head hangs while cold thoughts blow into his mind with brute force, a blizzard of sorrow and sorry and spurn and spite. you speak but you tremble. it seems your mistake dawns on you, lays thick on your brittle voice. nearly a whisper, but still holding all your achings for penance, your yearning for atonement. “satoru…i’m…i’m sorry.” he’s sure your regret must be sour the way your face scrunches; vinegary. bitter. hard to taste but impossible to avoid.

treason tastes the same. satoru’s bleeding heart spirals. he laments in anguish, “why? you betray me? me? what have i done to make you want to be rid of me?” you carve a hole out of his chest. you don’t know it but you’ll leave with it, likely die with it clutched in mad hands. so this is what it means to be truly abandoned, to be loved and willingly left. none of it makes sense to him, how you’ve changed your mind and turned your back on your own vows to him. you said as long as he would stay by your side, you wouldn’t peek. a dark thing lurches in his gut; heartache grips him and makes him feel sick. but love still wails and sings and bellows with jubilance at the sight of you. it overwhelms him. it plucks the bones out of his ribs, one by one. “you said you loved me. you swore you wouldn’t look.” perplexed and disbelieving. “why…would you? do you not —”

do you not want to love me anymore? is that why you want me to leave?

unable to move, unwilling to even speak it, the dark thing rolls over in his body. he bites his lip to stop the way it shakes, but he feels warm liquid start to gather. “rid of you? no, satoru. never.” a desperate cry. “then why?!” “i just…i just wanted to know the truth about you. aphrodite said…” his breath hitches when yuki’s honorific comes softly spilling from your lips. immediately, his lips flatten into a thin line. ares swells, a vengeful beast drawing life from the strength of its loathing. “the aphrodite was here?” his blank tone followed by your careful nod. “and she spoke to you?”

satoru watches as your body goes shy; you hold your own fingers and look at your feet in shame.  when you start to speak, your voice is timid. “yes…she…told me about your past. that you plan to…to sacrifice me to the old gods. she said…if i looked into your eyes…i would see it all…and know the truth.”

an abysmal sigh. robbed of the mundanity he’s grown accustomed to and normalcy he adores, all because of the aphrodite. aphrodite and likely the zeus, too. satoru realizes he’s been bested, that this is his punishment for experiencing joy without their consent. after he’s so capable of taking everything away, what does he deserve aside nothing? they use his own eros against him. the lover he so desperately desires will grow to look upon him with disgust and seething hatred. just as he did to the apollo, just as he’d done to realms above and below. alone. because he himself is love but he doesn’t deserve it. crestfallen, he croaks, “did you find what you were looking for?” “no…” you whisper it regretfully as you fall prey to weakness and sink into your chair, shrouded in defeat. “there was nothing. it was for nothing. i’m such an idiot. i was…i should have trusted you. i’m sorry.”

you don’t know yuki. you couldn’t have. i’m a fool, too. loving so freely. tying my hands in devotion. making you a target to them.

his heavy feet drag across the floor until he stands in front of you, a mountain made of his woes with isolation at its peak. and satoru, poor satoru, drowning in dolor and resentment and love, falls to his knees and wails. “satoru, please. i’m sorry, love. i didn’t…i shouldn’t have been…” tears sputter out of your eyes uselessly. “i was fooled…” the truth comes out, sniveling and whimpering. “we won’t last much longer.” he cries quietly, teeming and oozing morose notions. sunk to his knees, he lays his head on your lap, eyes safely guarded again. satoru surrenders to this new, crippling grief he finds. his limbs wobble from the weakness. even his arms shake with the weight of his sobs. “what do you mean, my love? i’m right here. i’m fine. nothing happened when i saw your eyes.” he notes the wispiness in your voice, the almost dreamlike murmur when you mention the sight of his eyes. your dagger of betrayal shoves in deeper. “they were beautiful. so…blue. like the sky. like the sea. like love as it wades.”

like love as it weeps?

your words, dazed and dulcet, are so far away as you speak them. your rakes through his hair, once soothing, now cease as you fall into silence. a moment passes. your loving sigh fills the air. “like angel wings,” you murmur. satoru’s eyes squeeze shut, fat tears spilling from the sides. within him, both his eros grieve. they sing with remorse, apologetic for what they’ve done, for your misfortunate fate they didn’t mean to seal.

ACT V. ALECTO THE UNENDING, ETERNITY’S TORTURE.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is forgiveness, love is resentment. it lingers in fragility and cradles its weaknesses, drenching them in immunity.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is languid, love is impetuous. it exists as an avalanche — slow and foreboding, and as a volcano — abrupt and erupting.

SATORU. day one.

the morning after betrayal finally comes. he spends the whole night in obsessive cycles of thought about how this will end, how he can stop it once it begins, how he can forgive you for the heartache you’ll leave him to cradle, how to love you as he’s always done, how to find gratitude somewhere in the trauma, how to spend the last of his time with you in bliss. you sleep the night away, calm, curled up to his body, because he’s angry but at least he’s home. time drags him through its thick currents of night and he ruminates on his losses while he wades. when you wake, the first thing satoru does is smush your cheeks between his palms and carefully examine your eyes for any sign of distress, any evidence of deterioration. “what are you doing?” you ask softly, careful not to show him your frustration. “i have to go to work.”

nothing. not a trace. maybe there wasn’t enough time. maybe it trickles. maybe the sight of their eyes won’t touch you, after all.

satoru huffs defiantly, letting go of your face. “i’m coming with you.” “don’t you always?” a soft giggle. your warm smile. ardor surges throughout him, an ichor-warming excavation to remind him he knows you. he loves you. he doesn’t have to fear you. quietly, satoru clings to the delusions of his hope that maybe…maybe. but…he doesn’t dare speak them aloud. the gods are always listening somehow. 

day two.

no changes in your eyes. no slight detuning of your laughter. no crooked, misplaced smiles. nothing. you kiss him with the same tender lips; you hold his hand just as tightly. nothing changes as you both fall back into the comforts of your habitual movements. satoru keeps his sorrow in a crevice within himself and you…now free of aphrodite’s wicked touch, he supposes…have seemingly forgotten any of it ever occurred. or perhaps, the feigning is how you hold your grief, too. the one thing that does change is the extension of his infinity. he keeps it stretched to hold you at all times, especially as you walk around so freely. you talk to him as you always have on your way to your work and home. he notices you always meander around most in the daylight. you love spending time in the sun. he listens to the bright bumble of your words; his head tilts up towards the sky, stone-faced. geto’s sun has always had its eyes on you, hasn’t it?

geto the helios, even you betray me? my oldest friend.

nothing changes in you, but his heart knows more grief than it can take. ardor closes its eyes in rest, unable to endure the daily exertion of mourning. but ares is fueled by its need for retribution.

day three.

when you leave for work that morning, nothing changes. he just can’t be by your side. you sometimes have tiresome, elongated meetings that carry on, weaving in and out of an entire day. as much as satoru loves to linger, the waiting while watching them relish in your attention instead of him maddens him. it’s best if he stays home where your scent douses everything and he knows for certain you’ll return to him with all of your adoration just for him. each day begins the same: you wake up, he cradles your cheeks, he observes your eyes for even the slightest hint of dilation, he kisses your forehead, he murmurs his devotions over you — much closer to wrapping someone in prayer, and finally allows you to fully rise. you leave as you always do but satoru is admittedly uncertain of what to do with himself when matching your steps isn’t the entirety of his day. so he lies in your bed, wrapped inside a chrysalis of saffron and silk, and shrouds himself in the blissful feeling of you yearning for him the moment you leave him. it mollifies ardor for a time. but. approximately one hour passes before you come stumbling back in through the front door, kicking your shoes off at the entrance while you call for him. although confused, he still appears and greets you with an adoring smile. “returning already, pretty thing?” you nod, opening your arms to him. “mhm, i got there and…the idea of going the entire morning and afternoon without you made me want to die…so i came back home.” “how dramatic. you just couldn’t stand it, huh?” he murmurs, wrapping you in his arms, lips against your temple. “pretty thing needs her satoru. i don’t blame you. i wouldn’t want to leave me either.” of course, he jests and expects your snippy response in reply but instead, he feels your yearning for him explode in his chest. he feels the way you push closer, clutch tighter; he hears the edge of a whine in your voice as you speak. simpering, you cling to the fabric of his robes. “yes, all of that. i can’t stand the thought of being without you.” he doesn’t let you go but he stills and whispers, “my love, look at me.” the request comes soft and you do look as you’re told, abstracted eyes and a foolish smile. satoru’s palms cup your cheeks for the second time that day. he stares intently, observing the shape, noting a new wobble in the roundness, something slightly misshapen and enlarging. satoru whimpers at the sight. worry fills him as he stares and stares, praying for his discovery to come out false, just a mirage made of his anxiety. he can’t let you go when he still wants you for longer. for the second time, satoru hears you ask him, “are you leaving me?” and he still says no, but he omits the dreadful thing to protect you from fear.

you’re leaving me.

day six.

satoru feels sickened by himself for enjoying your clinginess. his heart can’t help it, to chase even falsified bliss. to be filled with the aching of knowing you’re gone but still warm-blooded and yearning in his arms — how unfair. how cruel. he has no choice but to hold you in the arms of questions that feel more like pleas.

why can’t i have you? why can’t i keep you? you’re mine but why can’t you be mine? why can’t you stay? just a little longer.

the lunacy spreads in the dead of night; you wake up stranger than the days passed. he knows it won’t last but he relishes in it despite it. you haven’t left in days. a bed is a home you don’t abandon. you leave behind your responsibilities and he leaves the remnants of his hope. you take a seat on his lap and the only thing you move is your hips. driven to an obsessive need for pleasure. hot with it, a sheen of sweat as you dig your nails in deeper. shaking in the night and longing for him; his body, his length, his murmurs in your ear, his warm tears falling on your back. he closes his eyes, lets the pleasure he feels shamelessly consume him. you’re on your way to a steep decline. he’ll steal these intimate moments for himself. as many as he can. little somethings to remember you by. something to remind him, for a time, your mouth tasted like everything love should be. just in case when the time comes and the sight of your lips curving into disgust starts to make him forget. just in case he can’t remember what it’s like to be loved by you.

ACT VI. A SMALL CACOPHONY OF WRATH, TISIPHONE’S ORCHESTRA.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is acceptance, love is denial. it is all screeches of dissonance and a looming madness contained in a warm embrace.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is gluttonous, love is self-serving. it doesn’t savor, only swallows; it never nibbles, it always devours.

SATORU. day thirteen.

satoru won’t say it aloud, but he’s scared. of so many things. mourning and loving and being alone. his broken heart and the wrath it’ll undoubtedly unleash. ares says everything’s days are numbered if yours are. every hope he has that he may not lose you, in the end, is squandered by the rapid shift in your behavior over the last weeks. he sees it clearly, the pupils in your eyes growing larger by the day.  filling your eyes, filling your mind with delusions, filling your speech with nonsensical strings. it was a soft cling at first, tender fingertips holding lightly to the flesh, but it’s slowly becoming your nails digging into an open wound you made. you won’t let him leave your side anymore. your eyes are wild, blazing with disdain as you grip his arm. “where are you going? are you leaving me?” “my love, please,” satoru murmurs, trying to subdue your suspicions of his attempt to leave. “i’m not leaving you. i’m not.” always frantic. always afraid. satoru knows you can’t help it, knows you don’t mean to, knows he can’t stop your spirals once you’re triggered. hands up in surrender, he sits right back down in your bed and looks at you with wounded eyes you can’t see, another wrench in his gut you’ll never know of. you settle into his lap, less loving and more possessive. “i wasn’t leaving. i’d never leave you.” satoru coos, his weakening attempts to make you docile, still true to his tongue. “i love you. you’re my pretty thing. i’ll never go anywhere.” your head shakes, tears pouring and lips sputtering words in a frenzy. “you can’t just get up and try to go somewhere without telling me! i don’t know what’s happening! i don’t know what’s happening and you can’t leave me! you can’t leave my side or i’ll die! if you walk away, you’ll leave me here to die and why would you leave me? you said you love me. don’t you love me, satoru?” “of course i do. i love you so much.” satoru listens to your whirlwind of teary rambles, watches your sanity dissolve. he holds you in love while you sob in confusion and the overstimulation of sensation makes you shiver. he glances over the scars littering different parts of your body, mauling yourself to be free of all the feeling that fills you at all times. all the feelings that say you’ll die if you’re not by his side. you’ll die if he doesn’t love you back. you’ll die if he leaves you. they all burst to life and leave you a wailing mess in his arms. imprisoned by every sliver of love and unable to escape its chaotic swarms. a war in your lungs. a war in your belly. a war on your flesh. all you do is scream. he doesn’t know how much longer until they tell you that you’ll die if you can’t get away from him. you’ll die if you don’t kill him first. 

day twenty-one.

a blood-curdling scream. the incessant rattle of metal chains. “EVIL ASSHOLE! I KNEW YOU’D TRY TO KILL ME! I KNEW YOU NEVER LOVED ME! I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL KILL YOU! I HOPE YOU DIE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT I HATE YOU!” since day sixteen, the god has lost all semblance of peace. “SATORU!” shrieking and sobbing his name descending to loving pleas. “please, satoru. i love you. i won’t hurt you. satoru! SATORU! STOP IGNORING ME! SATORU, ANSWER ME. ANSWER ME. TELL ME YOU LOVE ME, SATORU! PLEASE!” ares and the strength of its rage is the only thing keeping satoru’s body standing. as time passes, ardor accepts the coming days will be your last. whenever satoru has the strength to make a decision that leaves him fractured in every way. his heart breaks. all of him weeps until what’s left of love is defeat. you’re no longer yourself. a stranger takes space in your body and all it does is scream. in satoru’s mind, you’ve already died. you’ve already left him. what he’s holding is the sight of a person he wants to see, wants to be able to remember and remind himself of in the luxury of passing glances. he thinks he didn’t love those things enough. you’re a screeching mess he keeps his infinity perpetually stretched around, whose arms he keeps chained to a wall to stop you from hurting yourself, to stop you from hurting him. he hasn’t seen you smile for some time. all you do is wail and cry and make yourself bleed. a monster made of your own temptation. he still loves you, still adores you in every way. even like this. for all of time, he will.

love is blind but it sees all; love is eternal, love is unconditional. it is the only thing that owes nothing to space or time.

but he knows this is only torture for you. satoru has three options:

one. let you kill yourself in a fit of murderous delirium — both in an effort to escape him and an inability to kill him. two. let you die trying uselessly to kill him. three. kill you himself — quickly. devoutly. with honor and in love. pour enough of how much he adores you over your bones to fill an eternity, someone worthy of ceremony. you’re still someone who laughs and fills a room with delight.

tears stream freely underneath his quiver when he enters the room he’s now holding you prisoner in, a sad fact that makes him hate not only himself but all of them even more. when he enters, you go wild, writhing and pulling at the restraints he keeps you attached to. “LOOK AT ME, YOU ASSHOLE. LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID TO ME! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! DIE! I HOPE YOU DIE! YOU DISGUST ME! I SHOULD HAVE NEVER TRUSTED YOU!” unable to take it anymore, unable to hear you in pain like this, hysteric and senseless, unable to endure the loss of his only home and the betrayal from all sides, he unties the knot of his quiver. he lets it fall to the ground the same way he falls to his knees, and stares at you. because love is standing but love is kneeling, too. he hears you go silent as you stare at him in his full glory, watches your body go calm as you see crystals stream down his cheeks, surely shimmering as they fall. your screaming finally ceases, replaced by awe swimming around your crying eyes. your soft smile; it must be your parting gift to him. “like angel wings,” adoration on your dying breath. “satoru,” all that’s left is your sigh faded into demise, satoru’s amethyst tears, and both ardor and ares filling his vision with a loving lilac. so lovely, so alluring and sweet, so undoubtedly yours, you don’t even feel the crack of your neck in his hands. painless. you fade with pleasure in your sights, with a moment of remembrance. you fade not knowing you’ve dissipated into nothing, not knowing you’re cradled lovingly in his arms, not knowing how he cries for you, not knowing how he hurts, not knowing the depths of his adoration for you. only satoru has to live with the sacrifices of knowing.

but he loves you, so he will live with the sacrifices while the realms live with the consequences of crossing him. any cost of loving you, he’ll gladly pay. over and over, until death manages to capture him and take him to meet the hades himself. when he finally has the strength to leave your side, ardor goes cold within him, paralyzed by grief. one eye blinks in darkness. nothing shown. nothing felt. nothing seen. but ares is alive with the light of a promise. ardor rests and ares makes satoru keep its word. thus, he finds a way to adore devastation. only when it’s dedicated to you.

he burns the quiver to dust, his first declaration of war on all, both above and below.

everything’s days are numbered if yours are.

[capricornusx3]

ENTANGLED

pairing: gojo satoru x zenin f! reader

series synopsis: seeking ways to cut ties with your family, the zenins, you get tangled up in a marriage of convenience with the head of the gojo clan — gojo satoru. will you attain the freedom you’ve been striving for your entire life, or did you sign your own life sentence? will love blossom or will blood spill? and if it’s both, can you turn back time?

warnings: minors & ageless blogs do not interact, canon divergent, reader is a zenin, born without cursed energy, discrimination and hints of abuse during childhood on reader’s part, f! reader, she/her pronouns used, childhood friends falling out, marriage of convenience, falling in love, angst, comfort, twists, eventual smut (more TBA). please check out the warnings before each chapter.

CHAPTER ONE

synopsis: you — the daughter of zenin naobito (the head of the zenin clan), born with no cursed energy and therefore deemed to be the disgrace of the clan — have only one dream. to escape from your own blood that’s rejected you ever since birth, even if it means you have to dirty your hands in the process. when simply running away is not an option, for they would indubitably find you and drag you back for worse, you find your getaway in the arms of an enemy clan.

CHAPTER TWO . . .

CHAPTER THREE . . .

. . . loading

© 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐓 — do not plagiarize, repost, use or translate my works on any platform.

[capricornusx3]

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ! જ⁀➴

──★ Satoru Gojo

⊹ “ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪ'ᴍ ꜰᴀᴅᴇᴅ ” ⊹ “ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ”

──★ Suguru Geto

⊹ “ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴏʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ ʜɪꜱ ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ ”

──★ Choso Kamo

⊹ “ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴄᴀʀʏ ”

──★ Toji Fushiguro

⊹ “ ʜɪᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴋɪʟʟꜱʜᴏᴛ, ʙᴀʙʏ ”

──★ Ryomen Sukuna ⊹ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴏɴ

──★ Kento Nanami

⊹ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴏɴ

──★ Drabbles/Headcanons/Multi!Fic

⊹ “ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ ”

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ!

⊹ “ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ɢᴀᴍᴇ, ʙᴀʙʏ ” (geto, gojo, sukuna)

⊹ “ ​ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ɢᴏ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʏᴇᴛ​ ” (geto)

[capricornusx3]

pep reads: gojo satoru – long fics (pt.1)

Part 2

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

☆ the way you love me by @peachsayshi [AO3/tumblr] [status: ongoing ◦ 29/? chapters] [smut!] [fwb!gojo] #pep's first fic she was OBSESSED with #real good good smut WITH FEELINGS

“We can stop anytime. If either one of us feels like... this ...might be too much. We stop, no questions .” “We can stop anytime,” Gojo repeated “... and nothing changes between us .” You swallowed hard at his last statement. You may not be able to read his eyes but you could hear it in his voice that he needed reassurance. “No matter what happens, we’ll still be friends...” you replied softly, “now kiss me before I change my mind.”

☆ you and me by tomodachi [AO3: ] [status: completed ◦ 5/5 chapters] [tear jerker] [eventual smut!] #pep cried #gojo just kinda loves you real hard

“Prisoners say the most comical things when their judgment comes,” you tilt your head, lifting a finger before him, “Who are you?"

--- History is written by the winners, Satoru knew this well. It was only when he lost and got sealed inside the Prison Realm he learned how to be weak and find out a long buried truth.

☆ ito by peekamatcha [AO3] [status: ongoing ◦ 48/? chapters] [super slow burn] [shinto elements] #pep DIES with every update #the TWIST in that one chapter omg

You, a former sorcerer now working as a university lecturer, were hoping to maintain your distance with the sorcerer world for an eternity to come. However, with the reappearance of an upperclassmen from a decade ago, you are forced to go on a journey which you would rather sit out of. But somebody must save humanity from the impending apocalypse and apparently the job falls on the shoulders of you two.

It would have been alright had he not been everything you didn’t want to be reminded of. And the sacrifices to be made may be more than what had been bargained for. ☆moonlight by @septembersummer [AO3/tumblr:] [status: completed ◦ 10/10 chapters] [smut!] #pep loves this AU #pep SCREAMED

Gojo Satoru is dying. And no, it's not his fault this time.

The curse which is withering Satoru into an early grave is actually the product of his great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather, who had a couple of sons that refused to procreate. And what does a proud, powerful man do when his sons refuse to fuck, and there won't be another heir to the clan?

He curses his own bloodline, of course.

It's only natural that he forces them through some twisted form of sorcery to become uncontrollably, violently attracted to the person they're most genetically compatible with.

It's even better that the curse creates a permanent, unbreakable bond between the two unwilling lovers. That's right, it usually takes more than one fuck to make a baby-- so, why not force them to have twelve?

Satoru wished his ancestor would be resurrected from the grave, just so that he could kill him again. That is, before Satoru inevitably dies.

He's had a good run, he thinks. Now, all he has to do is make sure you don't find out that you can fuck him back to life and try to very stupidly save him from himself.

(here's a spoiler: you do).

☆ a typical family by @literalia [AO3/tumblr] [status: completed? ◦ 32/32 chapters] [non liner narrative] [dad!gojo] #pep absolutely MELTED #slice of life #pep's gojo comfort fic

"satoru. where did you get these kids?"

or

after a six month absence, satoru shows up at your door two little kids following behind. chaos ensues.

☆ and if i cant see by hollowdonut [AO3: ] [status: unknown ◦ 26/? chapters] [slowburn] [eventual smut!] [tw: ptsd] #pep loves the reader's dynamics with gojo!

They say eyes are the window to the soul, but Gojo’s eyes are almost always hidden behind a blindfold. Even when they aren’t, you can never tell what he’s thinking.

You wonder if you should’ve taken that teaching job in Kyoto instead.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

bonus!

☆ all hail the empress! by @chuluoyi [tumblr/AO3: ] [status: unknown ◦ 1/? chapters] [smut!] #pep loves this AU #but THE END THO? OMGGG you are an empress perfect in every way... until your husband suddenly casts you aside for his expecting mistress. but you won't be dethroned just like that, because the newly coronated western emperor, gojo satoru, sets his sights on you, and thus your revenge against your ex-husband begins...

[capricornusx3]

home sweet home | series masterlist

Gojo Satoru x Reader/OC {Small Town au}

Home is where your Heart is.

🌿 Pairing Small town au! - Doctor!Gojo Satoru x Teacher&Painter!OC/Reader; Doctor!Gojo Satoru x Dancer!Utahime Iori

🌿 Summary

Satoru, or more formally known as Dr. Gojo was a great doctor from the big city. He lived a life that everyone thought was perfect: he worked at the city hospital, lived in a beautiful apartment in the center and was engaged to Utahime Iori. However, he had a big secret that he hid from everyone, which is that Satoru was actually already married to his childhood friend who he left behind in his hometown. And now, it's time for Gojo to face the past and the choices he made, especially his beloved wife.

🌿 Warnings [+18], smut, mature themes, angst, cigarettes and smoking, drugs, drinking/alcohol, adultery, commitment issues, marriage problems, divorce, death, illness and chronic disease, miscarriage, family drama, angst with a happy ending; (more to be added)

🌿 Additional Things fluff, romance, slow burn, slice of life, friends to lovers (sort of), she falls first but he falls harder, gojo is an arrogant with good heart, flashbacks, small town life; (more to be added)

🌿 Inspired In Sweet Home Alabama, Desperate Housewives, Gilmore Girls and Breakfast at Tiffany’s;

🌿 Chapters

Chapter I “Get Out of My Life”

Chapter II …

Chapter III …

Chapter IV … 

Chapter V …

Chapter VI …

Chapter VII …

Chapter VIII …

Chapter IX … 

Chapter X …

© rideofthevalkyriess. all rights reserved. do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my work without permission. dividers credit. thanks for reading! S2

[capricornusx3]

Calling all JJK fans. There is a specific fan fiction I'm looking for.

BFB Choso who you fuck after some plot...

I don't know! I just know it's based on that victorious song best friend's brother and all that.

If you know what I'm talking about, and you have the fanfig and you're liked or know who the creator is, please tell me! It was so freaking good and I really wanna read it again again

Yes I called it a fan fig.

[capricornusx3]

kickoff | series masterlist.

gojo satoru x reader [18+] | angst, fluff, smut

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, weed usage, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ status. ongoing

ᰔ word count. 89.8k

ᰔ taglist. closed

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

chapter index.

ch1. gojo satoru sent you a message

ch2. terms and conditions

ch3. returning the favor

ch4. a day in the life of a hot soccer player

ch5. these feelings are hard to find

ch6. devil's advocate

ch7. to lose someone you love

ch8. a little cottage on the countryside

ch9. words you've been wanting to hear

ch10. a fresh start

ch11. pending…

drabbles.

no1. third wheeling

no2. making it up to you

no3. gojo as a cat dad

headcanons.

official headcanons pt1. fluff, mild nsfw | link

anon headcanons. fluff | link

a note from the author. hello! my name is ellie, and this is my first long fic series called 'kickoff' which i began posting earlier this year in january! if you do decide to read it, i thank you very much from the bottom of my heart as it means a lot to me :””) please let me know if i missed any tags or warnings! and for those who may want to know before reading, this series will have a happy ending <3

series tags. #kickoff #kickoff headcanons

note: i haven’t been great w tagging asks lol

[capricornusx3]

Miniseries:

The Office Pet - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

2. Natural Breeding Clinic: -Teaser - Prologue

3. Perverted Professor Nanami - You're Nervous Before a Mission

Oneshots:

- Masturbating After Kento's Death - Worshipping Kento's Cock - Kento Pet Play -Kento and Your Boobs -Kento Being a Cunt Teaser -Blossoming Milk -Livestream

Thirsty Weekends Masterlists:

Thirsty Weekend 1 Thirsty Weekend 2 Thirsty Weekend 3 Thirsty Weekend 4

Confessionals Masterlist:

Confessions Round 1 Confessions Round 2

Games Masterlist:

Game 1 Game 2 Game 3

Headcanons:

-Werewolf! Omega! Nanami - Too Sweet Song Thoughts

Upcoming Works:

The Culling Cumming Games (Coming soon) Link to idea

Dividers from @/ animatedglittergraphics. Banners by me.

[capricornusx3]

Konan: *Explains periods to Deidara*

Deidara: "That must suck. Imagine bleeding every month. God. It's like your body is trying to kill itself on the inside... That's art."

[capricornusx3]

gonna rewrite jujutsu kaisen on ao3 take all satoru's suffering and give it to meimei

[capricornusx3]

ʚɞ Gojo Satoru Fic Recommendations ʚɞ

Forever Yours

J’adore

Scars don’t fade

August

Sincerely Not

Sincerely Yours

Everyone’s Doll

Missed Connection

Confessions

Confidential

Violet Lights

Starboy

The Twist of a Knife

A Dangerous Game

Fate’s Gamble

All I Need

Baby Steps

Finite

Sensual Epiphany

Two Lines

Changes

Infidelity

The Fuck List

In Other Words, I Love You (Dead Dove: Do Not Eat)

Permanent Mark

Sundered

Kick Off

The Unfaithful

I Still Want You

Concern and Control

Symptoms and Causes

Untameable Waves (please come back)

[capricornusx3]

My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one my, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 4,782

Warning: cursing, asshole Toji, mentions of blood, physical altercations—👀

A/N:The long-awaited part five! This was so satisfying to write. I hope you all enjoy it!! I think we have maybe one part left, maybe two. Omg! 🥹💚, If you want to be in the tag list YOU MUST HAVE AGE LISTED! Thank you!!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Six

Red. Red was the only color Satoru saw as he dragged his suitcase. He'd never felt so angry! Hurt! Betrayed! The emotions swirled and festered like an infected wound.

He'd let his walls down with you. A mistake he would never make in his life ever fucking again. It didn't matter how desperate a voice would sound on the phone. And it wouldn't matter if he genuinely enjoyed talking to the client or if they gave him the butterflies.

Gojo Satoru would never allow himself to be put into a situation like this again. One where he got hurt. Where he mourned the loss of a girl he barely even knew. A girl that left a scar on him no one would ever see.

The thoughts continued to swell and build up in his mind as he bought himself a hotel room next to the train station. They built up like a typhoon, threatening to destroy everything in its wake, all the way to his room, where he collapsed on the bed. Satoru didn't like feeling this suffocating pain. He needed to distract himself, to talk to one of the only people he trusted in this world.

He needed Suguru.

With a few taps of his finger over his phone screen, Satoru stared at himself, praying his best friend was still up. Which he was. Satoru sighed in relief as Suguru’s face took up the screen. His best friend was propped up in bed, his face dimly illuminated by the lamp on his nightstand. He took one look at Satoru’s face and cocked an eyebrow.

“What happened?”

Satoru chuckled, covering his eyes with his elbow. “Is it that obvious?”

“You just called me three hours ago. You said, and I quote, ‘You’re going to love her. She's got the prettiest eyes. Her skin is fucking flawless. I wanna put her mouth on my mouth.’ end quote.”

“I didn't say that last part!”

“You didn't have to say it, Satoru.” Satoru didn't argue with that. “So, are you going to tell me what happened??”

“I—” he groaned, sitting up, “we, well, ya’ know—”

“Fucked?”

Satoru glared at his only best friend. “No!” Suguru narrowed his eyes. “Well, we didn't go all the way.” God, he wished it had, but he was glad it hadn't.

“Okay? So, did she give you major blue balls? This isn't helping me decipher what happened.”

Although the pain was fresh and stung, Satoru rehashed the night's events. The kiss at the bar, you calling him after Toji showed up, and everything after. From your sudden confidence to the gentle caresses to the intense intimacy between you both. It had been so fierce, raw, and real. Satoru had never experienced kisses and caresses like yours; hell, your touch still lingered as he lay in bed ranting.

All of the chemistry he felt didn’t change the fact that he’d been hurt. He thought you were genuine, that you didn’t want to sleep with him just because of his good looks. Maybe, just maybe, you wanted to sleep with him because you felt the same spark that he did. A spark that would lead to sex, but from there, it might grow into something more! A relationship, the possibility of a future together.

But those stacks of cash changed it all.

The possibilities Satoru had been fantasizing about, wanting, came crashing around him when he counted the bills. You had been so unfazed by it. All you did was check your wallet before pulling out the bag with condoms in it. Your pitiful face when he asked about the money flashed in his mind. You had been incapable of telling him why you had all that money; you just stared blankly at it like you were trying to put two and two together.

Playing around like you didn’t know what was happening had set him off. Why would you have that much money in your purse? Conveniently, it was also the exact amount that he charged for sexual services. Services that Satoru didn’t typically provide. He had been honest with you. He didn’t like having sex with people that he didn’t know, so for him to find all that money, it set him off.

Satoru finished up his story, rubbing his hands through white hair. “So I left, and I missed the last train out. Could you pick me up in the morning? I want to get home as fast as I can.” His blue eyes darted towards his phone screen, where Geto was staring at him like he was an idiot. “What?” Satoru asked, looking at himself on the smaller screen. “Do I have something on my face?” His best friend let out the most extended, most profound sigh in the entire world.

“Are you a fucking idiot?”

“Huh?!”

“I said, are you a fucking idiot?”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed, eyebrows pinching together. “Why the fuck are you asking if I’m an idiot? Are your gauges too big? Did everything I say go through them and not into your ears?” He watched as Suguru rolled his eyes. “I just told you I found all that money in their bag! Right before we did the nasty! I confronted her, she couldn’t explain. That, to me, screams that she’s guilty, Suguru.” He gestured with his hand in front of him as if motioning toward the evidence before his face.

“Did you ever stop and think maybe she couldn’t answer because she was just as confused as you?”

“What?”

Suguru shifted, dark hair falling over his shoulders as he sat up. “Satoru,” he purred, “think about it. She left her bag where anyone could touch it while you two were—preoccupied.” Well, when he put it like that. “And how would you react if you found that much money in your wallet that wasn’t there before?” Satoru remained silent, not saying a word. “You claim she looked guilty because she couldn’t explain it. But what if she truly couldn’t? And you left before even giving her a chance to explain herself.” Yeah, he did; he left you crying at the inn.

Thinking back to how you ran after him, grabbing his arm, stumbling over your feet, would someone guilty do that? Try to explain themselves, beg for him to stop and listen.

“I-I don’t know how it got there, Satoru! Please! Please believe me!”

Your tear-filled eyes, the shuddering tremble in your voice, and the blatant way he’d coldly dismissed your attempts to clear things up had his stomach twisting. The fury that had been fuming deep at his core had blinded him. He didn’t even give you a chance to talk, to explain what had happened.

“I’m so fucking stupid.” He mumbled out, putting his phone down to scrub at his face. “Why didn’t I stop and listen?!”

“Because you like her.” There was something in the tone of Suguru’s voice that had Satoru glancing at his phone. “You genuinely like her Satoru, so when you assumed she just wanted to fuck you just as an escort and not as a potential lover, that broke your heart.” Satoru opened his mouth to argue. “Don’t try to deny it; you just bitched at me for like an hour like some school girl who just got dumped.”

”Fuck you,” Suguru chuckled, knowing Satoru’s words held no heat in them. “So what do I do now? Run back over there, tell her how sorry I am?”

”Well, honestly, if I were in her position, I would slam the door in your face. The whole ‘consider the orgasm, payment for the cancellation of my services’ was fucking harsh.”

”Yeah, not my finest moment.”

“Well, use that Gojo Sator charm and make it up to her.”

After hanging up the phone with Suguru, Satoru plopped down on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. That red-hot rage had faded into regret. He should have listened to you; he should have stopped the second you grabbed his arm. Instead, he pulled away, refusing to listen to what you had to say.

He made you cry like you did when you told him about Toji.

Seeing you that upset had made him sick to his stomach. He thought, what kind of dick makes a girl cry like this? He hated people like that, people that were so cruel. Now the tables had turned, and he was the dick.

God, what are you doing right now? Were you still crying? Maybe you were pacing the room, thinking about what you would do since your wedding date just up and left you. How were you going to explain this to your friends and family? Or were you dreading the pathetic, woeful faces that would be on the faces of your friends and family when you told them he left? You had hired him to make this wedding easier to attend, but he had turned it into an even worse experience for you.

Gojo had been right about you crying. You were curled into a ball on the futon that still smelt like him. Your chest heaved as you screamed into his pillow, gripping it as you let the waves of anguish wash over you, pulling you deeper and deeper into the suffocating waters of despair.

You cried yourself to sleep, waking up with a numbness in your chest as the flashbacks from the night before plagued you. It had been perfect, too perfect. The butterflies, Satoru’s kisses, the pleasure. You felt so good about him, about the two of you, about yourself, to have it come crashing down around you in seconds.

It hurt being yelled at and screamed at and blamed for something you hadn’t done. The rage and betrayal in Satoru’s eyes burned into your mind, and his words sliced so deep into your skin that they touched your soul. You hadn’t been hurt like that since Toji broke up with you, and that had nearly destroyed you. You ran away from the pain, refused to talk to anyone, and stayed in bed for days. Your heart had been broken into a million different pieces, and it took you so long to put it back together. To allow yourself to live your life.

Luckily, your heart was stronger now, scarred and rough. The pain that it had undergone a year before had made it more durable and harder to break. This heartache was not going to destroy you this time around.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you exhaled heavily through your nose before pushing your hair out of your face. You could do this. You didn't need a wedding date to survive the next two days. You were fully capable of getting through this by yourself.

You put on a smile and got ready for your day. Everything hurt, but you would be able to get through it like you had done before. This heartache would not hold you down. You headed into the kitchen, greeting your family as they cleaned dishes from the morning breakfasts that had already been delivered to guests and discussed preparations for the next two nights.

Their voices were white noise as you pulled a bowl of peaches from the fridge. They asked if you were okay if Satoru felt okay since he wasn’t with you. Hearing them say his name stung, but it didn’t stop you from moving, washing peaches, and peeling them as you preheated the oven.

”He left.” You told the truth, not the whole truth, but you weren’t ashamed to tell them he left you. Their reactions varied from confusion and anger to stunned silence and disbelief. “I’ll be okay.” You assured all of them, urging them to go about preparations for the wedding. Right now, all you wanted to do was be alone, to bake the anger and sorrow out of your system.

They granted your wish, leaving you alone in the kitchen. The atmosphere was drastically different from the night before. You giggled and smiled as Satoru stood by your side; those beautiful, captivating blue eyes wandered, watching your hands move. The heat from his gaze alone had the kitchen so hot you thought every oven had been on when they hadn’t. Now, the only warmth that flooded the space was from the oven and stove as you cooked down the peaches in syrup.

You moved unthinkingly, cooking butter into three trays, before setting the stew pot of peaches off to the side. Mind and body numb as you focused on mixing your flour, sugar, and milk in a bowl, you never heard the footsteps behind you. It wasn’t until the timer on your phone went off that you turned, running into a firm chest. You knew the smell of fresh linen masked with musk, and it made you want to throw up.

Satoru rubbed at his neck, glancing down at you. Dark circles were under his eyes as he placed his sunglasses on his head. Even when he looked exhausted, he was still handsome, which irked you.

“Hey.” He spoke softly, like his voice alone would shatter you as if you were a porcelain doll. You said nothing, stepping to the side to turn your timer off. “Can we talk?”

You ignored him, taking out the trays of melted butter from the oven. You put cinnamon, baking powder, and salt into your batter before whisking it bitterly. Satoru moved, gently grabbing your elbow and stopping you from running further away.

“Please.”

“No.” You snapped, pulling away so you could continue to construct the dessert for the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Sweetie, please.”

“Oh my god!” You slammed the bowl down, turning to shove at Satoru's chest. “You fucking left! You left when I wanted to talk last night!”

“I know I did.”

His eyes never left your face, and his undivided attention only pissed you off more. “Well, guess what? I don’t want to fucking talk now.” Despite your dismissal, Satoru didn’t move. He stayed near your side, watching as your hands moved, putting the peaches on top of the batter. “Don’t you have a train to catch?”

“No, I have a wedding to attend—“

“The fuck you do.”

“You paid for me—“

“And you canceled your services!” Satoru grimaced as you all but threw the trays into the oven. “You paid me with an orgasm, remember?! Because I remember!”

He followed you as you headed to the sink with your dirty dishes. His hand gently grabs your elbow. “Look! Please listen to me.” He took the dishes from your hands, placing them in the sink. “I was an asshole last night, whatever this,” his finger gestures between your bodies, “it’s new and raw and real.” You barked out a laugh. “Stop, please. I messed up; I know I did. And I’m sorry for flipping out on you. But this is worth fighting over; I want to be with you.” His words were regretful; his face matched the panicked pain behind his voice.

That didn’t change the fact he’d hurt you. “Gojo.” The use of his last name had his heart crushed. “You did mess up, you hurt me.” You stepped back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Let’s be honest, this.” You mimicked his finger, gesturing between you. “This is never going to work, not after last night. I had my heart broken once after I was intimate with someone, and you knew that. You knew I didn’t want to have sex. I specified that several times. I put myself out there, out of my comfort zone, because I genuinely liked you. Now, well, let’s be honest: my heart has been broken twice now. So I’m going to ask you to leave.” Satoru swallowed hard, removing his glasses and putting them on the counter.

“Please don’t say that, please.”

“Go.” You pointed to the door, fighting back tears. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

He grips the counter before lifting his head to meet your teary eyes. “Okay,” he reached out, gently brushing away a stray tear, “I’m sorry for breaking your heart.” His gesture had your breath hitching as he turned, heading out of the kitchen with his hands in his pockets.

The moment you were sure he was far enough that he couldn’t hear you, a shaky cry left your lips. You stumbled, your legs no longer wanting to hold you up. How dare he come back and apologize after breaking your heart the night before. If he didn’t apologize, things would have been so much easier for you. You could have grown to hate him, but seeing how upset he looked hearing the pleading tone in his voice, made you want to throw your resolve away to chase after him.

But would a relationship with him work?

He was an escort. People paid him to go out with him. Could you date him, knowing that’s what he did for a living? To be the woman waiting at home for him to come back?

He said he wanted to fight for this, for you and whatever this strange relationship was turning into. He wanted to be with you. So, did that mean he would give up on being an escort? Would he be okay with that? The questions flowed like a steady river through your mind as you sat on the kitchen floor. These were questions you would never get the answers to, all because you sent him away.

Footsteps entered the kitchen as you stared at the floor. You perked up, clenching your fists tight, digging your nails into the palms of your hands. Did Satoru come back? You tilted your head up, tears streaming down your cheeks, to find Toji smirking down at you. The last person on the planet you wanted to see.

”Why are you on the floor?”

”Why won’t you leave me alone?” You snapped as you pushed yourself off the floor.

Toji hummed, leaning over the counter as you went to the sink to clean your dishes. “Because I want to talk to you. But you keep avoiding me.” You threw the whisk into the sink, whirling around.

“You wanna talk? Fine, let’s fucking talk, Toji!” You shrugged a shoulder. “Not that there’s much to talk about, seeing that you’re the one that broke up with me. And last night, you made it painfully obvious that you didn’t want to be with me. So please tell me! What. The. Fuck. Is. There. To. Discuss?!” You screamed, putting both hands on your hips, glaring daggers at the first man who broke your heart.

“Fuck.” He laughed, his eyes trailing up and down your body. “You got feisty in the year that you’ve been away.” When he saw how you glared at him, he held up a hand. “Right, right, fine, I’ll talk.” He straightened his back. “But first, did you enjoy yourself last night?”

His words had your heart dropping into your stomach. “I-I’m sorry?” You asked, hoping that you heard him wrong.

”I asked how your night was. Finally, get dicked down?”

”What?”

”Oh, right, you didn’t know.” He strode forward, grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefingers, forcing you to look into his dark eyes. “After you left, I got a job. I’m a PI, the best in the business.” You felt goosebumps rise against your skin as he leaned beside your ear. “I did a little research into this Gojo Satoru, heir to the Gojo business. It took a little digging, but I eventually found his profile in Escorts4you.com.”

You were frozen in shock and fear. “You knew?” Of course, he knew; he knew something was up the first night.

“To think my ex-fiancée hired a fucking escort to be her date to a wedding. I had a good laugh over it. But when I saw the prices, oof, I know you,” toji squeezed your cheeks, “a pathetic baker from a cafe could never, ever afford to get fucked by a pretty boy like him.”

“W-Wait—“your head spun, “wait, it was you; you put the money in my bag?”

“Ding-ding-ding,” He reached into his pocket, holding another wad of cash towards you. “¥480,000, the money you used to cover rent when I was out of a job.” He put the money on the counter behind you. “I’ve been wanting to pay you back. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“You put—you put the money—“

“But seeing that you were able to buy a high-end escort for an entire week, I figured that maybe you wanted more. So I figured I’d give you half to get the full escort experience.”

“It was you—-“

Toji smirked, gently patting your cheek. “Yep, I found your bag in the kitchen last night. Put half the money in there.” Your ears started ringing as he pulled back. “So tell me, did he fuck you as good as I did? Did he make you scream and cry like me~?” He pulled back, smirking down at you. “Or have I ruined all other men for you?”

Ruined? The only thing he ruined was what you and Satoru had. He fucked this up! It was all because of him!

“You son of a bitch!” You screamed, slapping him across the face. Toji stumbled back, grunting as he cupped his cheek in shock. “Do you know what you did!?” You slapped him again, harder.

“Ow, what?!”

“You ruined everything!” He took several steps back as you grabbed the plastic flour container, throwing it at him, which he dodged. “Yes! I hired Satoru! But I wasn't going to sleep with him!” You tossed a spatula at him, trying to close the distance so you could hit him some more. “But what was supposed to be a job turned into something more! I liked him! I liked him, you asshole!”

Toji dodged a cookie tray, “Well, tell him that!” You rushed forward, slamming your fists against his chest.

“He found the money! And he assumed I was going to pay him to sleep with me!”

“Stop it!” He snarled, grabbing your wrists, forcing you to cease your assault. “Look, I didn’t know you legitimately liked the guy!”

You snapped, yanking your wrists free before kneeing him in the crotch. Toji gasped out, hands reaching down, cupping himself as he stumbled. Vision blurring with tears, you weakly slapped at his shoulders.

“You’re always ruining everything! You broke my heart! I didn’t get to pastry school, and I lost a nice guy because of you!” A gut-wrenching sob made its way through you. “Did you stop to think that maybe I was happy?!”

Your heart was pounding, thundering in your ears as you cried, and cried, and you kept crying as Toji straightened. “Look, I didn’t know it was serious. But if you keep hitting me, we’re going to have a major fuckin’ problem.”

He hissed his vague threat through his teeth. Hearing that only pissed you off more. So you did what anyone else would to the man who broke your heart and kept butting in your life. You pulled your hand back and slapped him as hard as you could. He winced, bangs shielding his eyes as he growled.

When he snapped in your direction, he received another slap. It was when you went in for a third slap that Toji’s hand flew up, grabbing your wrist and squeezing it. He crowded you against the wall, scowling down at your smaller form.

“I told you to stop fucking hitting me!”

“I hate you! Let me go!”

“Are ya’ going to stop hitting me?!”

“No!”

“Then tough shit!”

You kicked at his shins, but he easily avoided you. You were going to kick his ass, beat him into a bloody pulp—once you freed yourself. But all the fight vanished as you saw two ivory fingers tap Toji on the shoulder. He turned around, only to be knocked back by a powerful punch. You stared at Toji, who spit out blood, his gaze locked on the man standing at six-three. Satoru shook his hand, fingers brushing over his knuckles as he glared.

His lip twitched, revealing sharp canines as he stepped forward. “Oh, you think that hurt? Wait until I get a good hit in.” He clenched his fists into tight balls, continuing to close the distance between them.

“Oh, you don’t wanna fuck with me. I’ll fuck up your face so bad you’ll never get a ‘client’ again.”

“Why you—”

“Wait!” You yelled out, jumping between the two men and holding your arms out. “Stop! Stop it!”

Satoru looked down at you as if you’d lost your mind, his momentum stopping. Toji kept moving until your fingers grazed his chest. With a deep sigh, you looked up at Satoru, giving him a gentle smile, one that had his cheeks flushing.

“I got this.” the softness of your voice was the only convincing he needed. With a curt nod, he crossed his arms over his chest as you turned to look into Toji’s eyes. “You have fucked with my life for the last time.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep!” You grinned wide and warmly before punching him directly in the nose. “Try that shit again! I dare you! I fuckin’ dare you!!”

“Oooh!” Just as you went in for another punch, you were picked up, and Satoru carried you out of the kitchen. “Easy there, I don’t want you getting arrested.”

You flailed in his arms, “I’m serious, Fushiguro!” Your ex groaned, cupping his hands over his bleeding nose as you jammed your finger at him. “That was the last time you’ll ever interfere with my life!” You glanced over your shoulder, watching Satoru grab his forgotten sunglasses off the counter before heading down the hall.

“Oh!” You heard your mother squeak out as Satoru passed them. “What’s going on? I thought you said Satoru left!”

Satoru grinned, turning to face her as he passed. “Me leave her?” He shifts, throwing you over his shoulder. “I’m not making that mistake again.” You squeak as he bounds down the hall.

“W-Wait, the cobblers! Mom, take them out of the oven!”

The halls were a blur as Satoru carried you to the room you both had shared. Only once inside, he gently places you down, taking several steps back, giving you space. You remained silent, nursing the hand you had punched Toji with.

“Do you want some ice?” Satoru said softly, eyes following you as you sat down on the futon, thumb rubbing over your red knuckles.

“No.”

You could hear him wince at your stiff tone. “Are you sure?” He slowly approached you, not moving too fast, as if you would bolt if he did. “It could make baking hard if you don’t take care of it.” Your heart slowly crawled up your throat as he sat before you, crossing his legs.

“You know what I want?” Satoru inhaled slowly, holding it for the briefest of moments before exhaling.

“No, what is it you want?”

You slowly lifted your head, eyes locked on his. He was stiff, pulse visible in his throat as he waited for you. Seeing him like this, like a child waiting to be reprimanded, had you swallowing hard as you opened your mouth, the words leaving Satoru’s eyes wide as he rocked back at your request.

“You want what?”

Tag List/ (AGE MUST BE IN BIO)

@arminloverlol @jamzywiththejam28 @gojoful @maskedpacific @ahseyy @kash77 @sadmonke @ari-maccha @sugurubabe @hyori2 @bluechocolatemint @itsinherited @dellappatca @therealestpussyeater @dead-at-tokyo @nvrgojover @drakenswifeyy @nealeart @yunho-leeknow @fire-child-kira @faeryminnyx @tqd4455 @harmonyflora @volkins181-blog @noukstmblr @lovley212 @stinkinstuffie @desihopelessromantic @witchbybirth @sonicsolos @lilbiguy @supsiii @rentheannihilator @bloopsstuff @pepepepepopopopo @pandoness @sw33cadav3r @rixo-19 19 @meguvmii @sxnkuna @mmeerraa @lemonintrovert01 1 @bunny-lily @kibananya @kamastar39 @rjreins @lzaj19 @tiredflame132 @manyno @oliiper @rengokushair @simp-plague @matchalatte06 @haesify y @majanggeum

[capricornusx3]

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

in holy matriphony ch1. he said yes!! congrats!!

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader

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

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his early 30s n reader is in her late 20s

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

ᰔ chapter. 1/x (probably 10)

ᰔ words. 7.8k

a/n. hellooo omg welcome to this debut chapter!! tysm to everyone who wanted to be on taglist for this!! i was gagged at the amount of people!! yall are amazing omg n thanks for supporting my works :''') hope you enjoy this chapter and i will see all you lovelies at the bottom <33

nav. ch1 :: ch2 (pending)

Love thy neighbor.

Cherish thy neighbor.

Tolerate thy neighbor.

Peacefully coexist with thy neighbor. 

Fuck thy neighbor? No, wait, not that one.

It’s murder thy neighbor. That was the phrase you were looking for.

Murder thy neighbor so gruesomely that you’d leave no trace behind. Murder him and bury him somewhere no one could ever find him, so that even in millions of years from now when some other highly advanced mammalian species overtakes the planet and embarks on journeys to acquire fossils, thy neighbor will still never grace the atmospheric oxygen of the earth ever again. It’s the punishment he’d deserve for thoroughly pissing you off at the worst times possible and in the worst ways possible. The smallest of prices to pay.

“SATORU!!!” you yell, storming up the sudsy driveway of your next-door neighbor’s house at eight in the morning, clad in your dirty scrubs from the hell of a night shift you just endured working at the hospital, glass containers inside the lunchbox you were holding hitting painfully against the poor joint in your knee but you just don’t care. Anger is all you can see right now.

Your neighbor (derogatory) stands there in his pajamas with a spray nozzle in his hands, passively spraying water across the top surface of his car, and when he sees you, he pulls his left airpod out of his ear and looks you up and down once. You’re pretty sure there’s steam coming out of your ears. “Uh, do you mind? I’m trying to wash my car.”

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to park your stupid boat in front of my driveway?!” you yell at him, voice hoarse and nails digging into the skin of your palms by the clench of your fists.

“Hm?” he leans back a little to glance past you to his boat. “Oh, you mean my 2023 Boston Whaler 220 Dauntless with low profile bow rail welded stainless steel, Mercury FourStroke hydraulic power steering and, not to mention, a platinum gelcoat hull? That silly old thing? It’s not even parked in front of your driveway.”

“Yes. It is. Are you blind? I can’t move my car into my garage, hence why it’s running idle on the fucking street right now. Your boat’s on my property.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes. It is.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh. Yuh-huh.”

“Honey. I’m a real estate agent. You don’t think I’d know where my own property line starts and ends?”

“Park. It. On. Your. Drive. Way.”

“I spent a lot of money on that boat,” he sighs, “I intend to show it off on the street. Stop acting like there isn’t more than enough room for your tiny prius. It’s not my fault you have the motor skills of a toddler and don’t know how to pull into a driveway,” he pauses for a second and tilts his head upwards in thought, “Oh. Motor skills, haha, get it? Fuck, that’s funny. Hold on, I gotta jot that down,” he pulls his phone out of the pocket of his cotton plaid pajama pants, “my niece would love that. She gets all giggly about puns these days. It’s her birthday next weekend, by the way, turning five.”

“Oh, right,” you scratch the top of your head (been too busy to wash your hair), and realize the ponytail you threw your hair up into at the beginning of your shift last night is now barely hanging on for dear life, “I forgot to tell you, but my cousin said he can’t rent that pony out for her birthday party anymore. Apparently it died.”

He stares at you. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Damn.”

“Mm.”

He shrugs. “That’s fine, thanks anyway,” he swipes up on his phone, “they had crazy hair day at my niece’s elementary school yesterday, wanna see a picture?”

“Sure.”

He turns his phone to show you. “My sister let her cut her hair a little shorter this time since she wouldn’t stop asking. I guess all her friends at school were cutting theirs short too so they wanted to be matching.”

“Aww,” you pout with a small smile when you see the picture, “I think it suits her. That’s a lot of glitter though, y’know that stuff’s really bad for the environment.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, turning his phone screen back to face him, “anyway. I was halfway convinced you just came from some crazy hair day when I saw you stomp up my driveway just now.”

“I’m gonna guillotine your head off with the trunk door of my car. Now move your boat.”

“Hold on one sec,” he says, holding a finger right up to your face, and you flinch backwards slightly before going cross-eyed to stare at it, and then you’re glaring at him again. His phone is ringing in his hand. “I gotta take this.”

“Wha–” you try to interrupt him, but he just says shhh and shakes his finger in front of you, which makes you want to bite it off.

“Hi, Donna!” he exclaims into his phone, “so good to hear from you. Oh, no, not at all, you caught me at the perfect time. I’m just washing my car. Nah, you’re not interrupting anything.”

The urge to smack him consumes you.

“Oh okay, cool, I’m glad you took some time to think about it. Let me know when you want to meet again, if you’re still interested in the house, we can make an offer. Uh huh. Yeah. Sorry, what’s that? Oh,” he pulls his phone from his ear to look at the time, “yeah, that’s fine. Is that the one on 6th street? Sure, I’ll see you then. By the way, how was little Tommy’s soccer game yesterday?...Aw, that’s okay, he’ll get the next one. Hm? Yeah, what’s up? Oh, you know that I’d love to, and there’s no one that enjoys your green bean casserole more than I do, but I’m actually busy tonight! I know! Bummer! Maybe some other time? Alright. Yeah, thanks, you too. Take care. Bye.” He presses the end call on his phone, and there’s an awkward silence as he narrows his eyes at the screen in concentration for a moment while typing something onto it, and then the corner of his eye catches sight of something in his periphery, that something being you, and he jumps a little.

“Oh fuck,” he places a hand on his chest and exhales, “I didn’t know you were still standing there.”

“I’m seriously going to whack you across the face with my lunch box right now.” 

“That gigantic industrial lunch box you carry around for your 12-hour shifts?” he points at your hand, “you’d have blood on your hands. I’d be dead.”

“Yeah, that’s the goal, idiot.”

“You’re so fucking violent, jeez, I bet the inside of your head looks like the inside of Jeffrey Dahmer’s. How do you sleep at night?”

“With fifteen milligrams of melatonin, blackout curtains, a satin sleeping mask, and in the mornings.”

“...that didn’t make you sound like any less of a serial killer.”

“Whatever, at least I don’t have a complex for elderly divorced women. You know that what you do for work isn’t any better than prostitution, right?” 

“Okay. Now I have to hear where you’re going with this.”

You cross your arms across your chest, and your gigantic industrial sized lunch box with the millions of glass containers inside of it hits your hip painfully, enough to warrant a wince, but you keep a straight face as to not show any weakness. “You flirt with vulnerable women who have just gotten out of probably extremely heartbreaking marriages from their cheating country golf club husbands, and pretend to care about all their drama, just so that they’d buy a house from you. I literally heard you say to a lady the other day,” and you do your absolute best to mock him in the most insulting way possible, “‘it’s okay Lorraine. If you’re still struggling to fill your new house with someone new too, then you know where to find me.’”

“Yeah. She wanted to rent out her guest bedroom. I was gonna help her look for tenants.” 

“O-Oh,” you stutter, but stand up straighter, “doesn’t matter. You still pimp yourself out for a sale.”

“So what if I do? I’m hot, why wouldn’t I take advantage of that? You could’ve done the same thing too, but you didn’t, and now you’re stuck working miserable nursing shifts that are probably taking years off of your lifespan.”

“You’re the one taking years off of my lifespan. Now move your fucking boat.”

He sighs and slips his phone back into his pocket before walking past you to your car, that still had the driver’s side door open and was idle in the middle of the street.

“W-Where are you going?” you ask.

“I’m gonna park your car in your garage for you,” he says, waving his hand up in the air dismissively because he knows you’re about to protest, and then he ducks his head into your car, reaching his arm in for the lever that moves the seat backwards, and adjusts it all the way back before he’s able to take a seat at the wheel. And your yelling is a pestering he pays no mind to as he shuts the door.

“Wait– I didn’t give you permission to–” you shout as you step into your driveway, holding your arms out because you’re scared he’s gonna chip off your side mirror on the stern of his boat, but he deftly pulls your car into the driveway. He also almost runs you over in the process.

When he gets out of your car inside your garage, you storm right up to him and yank your car keys out of his hand. “You almost flattened me over my own driveway.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have been standing there,” he easily retorts and leans against your car before crossing his arms over his chest. “Also, case proven, there’s more than enough space to pull your car in. You’re just piss poor at parking.”

“I swear to fucking god. If you’re ever in a life-threatening emergency and wind up at my hospital, your emergency isn’t going to be the thing that kills you, it’s gonna be the cocktail of deadly meds I inject straight into your veins. And I’ll have it charted like it was a death of natural causes.”

His brow furrows and he frowns, but it’s in that sarcastic way that tells you he’s not threatened by you, and the idea of using the taser in your purse on him is briefly entertained in your mind, “I’ve got Kaiser, hun,” he says, “I wouldn’t go to just any regional hospital for healthcare. Put some damn decorum on my name, Jesus.”

“How is it you’re stupid, an asshole, have a sick fetish for elderly women, and also somehow classist at the same time? Can you pick a struggle please?”

“Stop saying I have a fetish for elderly women,” he hisses at you, “especially with that loud obnoxious voice of yours. Our neighbors are gonna think I’m a creep.” He pretends to shiver.

“But it’s true. I bet you lost your virginity to a fifty-year-old cougar the day you turned eighteen. And to one that was probably grooming you even before then, too.”

His eyes widen. “Damn. How’d you know.”

“That you’re a victim?” you ask, tone derisive, “your entire personality is living proof. Please seek help.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was never groomed, and I didn’t lose my virginity to an elderly woman,” he corrects you, “...although said woman was a little older than me.”

“I’ve literally got no fucking interest in this conversation anymore. Get the fuck out of my garage,” you practically spat at him, “the last thing I need to deal with after getting off of a 12-hour night shift is coming home to your stupid face out on the street.” You push past him, making sure to nudge him with your shoulder but he hardly budges, and you lose balance from your own attack, and now you’re doubly pissed off before you make it to the door with your keys jingling in your hand to find the right one to unlock it.

“Good night,” he calls out to you, and you click the button on the garage door so that it starts closing, and watch him as he panics before ducking his head underneath it to make it outside before you can essentially lock him to rot inside of your garage, and then you shut the door behind you, finally inside the comfort of your home.

Ah. Silence.

But it was never a comfortable one. 

“Mom?” you call out as you open the door out of the laundry room to make it into the living room, and your eyes scan the floor. You don’t see her in the kitchen, or on the couch in front of the TV, sometimes she spends time in the pantry room but she’s not in there today. You round the corner over to where the front entrance of the house is, and you see her standing there, peering out of the window to the other houses on the streets. She holds her hands loosely behind her back, and she’s so still she could be a statue.

“Hey,” you say to her, softly, so as not to startle her. “I’m home.”

She looks over her shoulder at you, and you realize her line of sight was set to next door, where you see Gojo has resumed the wash of his car. “Why are you yelling at that sweet boy across the lawn?” she asks you, “he helped me fix the air conditioning last week.”

Your eyes widen slightly, but then you sigh. Typical Gojo getting involved where he should really just mind his own business. “I’m pretty sure by fix you mean he just pressed a bunch of buttons on the thermostat until it started working again.” 

She doesn’t respond as she continues to stare out onto the street, tilting her head slightly while deep in thought, like she’s trying to make sense of what she sees. 

“Mom,” you gently tug her sleeve, “I think you should get away from the window and get some rest. You look tired, and I need to take you for chemo in the afternoon.”

She gently pulls her elbow away from your grip of her sleeve and turns to look at you. “Mom?” she repeats after you, “why are you calling me ‘mom’? Who are you?”

Your blood runs cold from her words, but you don’t have the time or the luxury to react in the way that you want to, and so you suck in a deep breath. It was one of those days. But it’s cruel that she’ll remember your neighbor and not her own daughter. “I’m your daughter,” you gently reintroduce yourself, to the woman who gave you life, “I know that might be a little weird to hear right now.”

“No…” she says, “I think that makes sense. I’m sorry, dear, I think I have a bad memory these days.” She looks at you with concentration, studying the features of your face. “My daughter, yes. You look…oh, dear, you look like you should sleep.”

You nod slowly, releasing the breath you were holding. “Yes. You too, mom.”

You place your gigantic industrial lunch box on the kitchen counter, and come back to hold your mom’s hands as you lead her to her bedroom downstairs. By the time you fix her a small meal in the kitchen, bring it to her and make her eat so she can take her pills, she’s ready to take a small nap and you know that you’ve earned some sleep now too.

The upstairs master bathroom beckons you the second you get upstairs, and even though you’ve been using the master bedroom & bathroom in this house ever since moving your mom downstairs four years ago since she had trouble getting up the stairs, it still feels odd to stand in front of the sink without a stool underneath your feet, like what you had to when you were a kid and your mother would braid your hair. You’re a grown woman now, and as you stare at your reflection, you’re not sure if you can recognize yourself anymore. But rather than dwell on if it was because of any profound reason, you figured you just needed a shower and to get some sleep before you have to wake up again in five hours. Exhaustion is evident on your face, and you swipe under your eyes to get the smudge of mascara off before it tattoos your skin forever. 

Hot water on your skin does little to help your drowsiness, but at least now you feel clean of your shift, and then you remember there are blood stains on your shoes from the stab wound patient that rolled in at 2AM last night, and you should really let them soak for a few hours while you sleep, but you just can’t bother right now. Instead, you slip into something comfortable, draw your curtains back to mimic the dead of night in your room as best as you can, grab the bottle of melatonin sitting at your nightstand and pop a few tablets, feeling feverish as you slip into your sheets. You pull the comforter up over your eyes, a decision that is less ideal than using a sleeping mask since you’ll be breathing your own carbon dioxide until you fall asleep now, but it’s okay. It’s cozy under your blanket. Just this once. And you count sheep to make you sleepy. At least until the melatonin beats you to it.

—

“You’re looking better,” Dr. Johnson says to your mother as he accesses the port on her chest, “were you able to get a good rest?”

Your mother nods and points to you. “My daughter made me take a nap.”

“That’s good,” he coos, “it’s good to get rest before chemo. Your daughter really cares about you.”

“I know,” your mother smiles up at you, “I’m so lucky.” You return her smile with one of your own.

Dr. Johnson starts to push the line of chemo into your mother’s port as she sits on the chair in the treatment lounge, and then stands up from his rolling chair before the nurse quickly moves to twiddle with the drip of the IV bag. 

“Ready for consult?” he asks you.

You grip your binder to your chest. “Yeah.”

You walk into the doctor’s office, one you’ve more than familiarized yourself with over the past couple of years, then take a seat across from Dr. Johnson’s desk as he clicks through his computer before handing you a copy of your mother’s recent lab work.

“Her tumor markers are rising,” you say as you sift through the papers.

“They are, we’ll likely switch to monitoring them every four weeks going forward. But it’s okay, not to worry,” he says, “tumor markers can raise for all sorts of reasons unrelated to cancer.”

“She had a cold last week,” you say, “maybe it’s the inflammation?”

Dr. Johnson lets out a small laugh. “I’m sorry, y/n, sometimes I forget you’re a nurse.” He hums to himself as he pens down something on the notepad in front of him. “When was your mother’s last PET/CT scan?”

“It was in February,” you say, “she’s due soon. I was going to ask if you could order one for her.”

“Yes, I will, I’ll do it right now,” he says as he types something into the computer. “You still have the standing orders for her routine lab work, correct? Do my MAs need to send you the scripts?”

“No, that’s okay, I got them already. Good for six months,” you reassure him.

“Alright, perfect.”

There’s an awkward silence that settles in the room as you shift in your seat with the binder in your lap, full of all of your mother’s medical information and emergency department discharge packets and recent lab work and imaging. You mess with the plastic cover on top of it nervously.

“It’s good she remembers you today,” Dr. Johnson comments, “I remember last week you were upset she didn’t.”

“Oh,” you say, “yeah, I’m sorry. Sometimes it’s hard.”

His eyes leave his computer screen for a second to look at you. “Are you doing alright?”

You nod slowly. You had to be alright, you had no other choice. “I’m fine, thanks,” you say, “um, actually, doc, I just wanted to share with you that I’ve been keeping track of my mom’s Alzheimer’s progression.” You open your binder in your lap, pulling out a packet of papers and placing them on his desk, turning some of them towards him but he doesn’t really spare a proper enough look. “I’ve just been noticing she’s progressively worsening a bit faster than her neurologist had projected.”

“Okay,” he says, sounding curt, and that nervousness comes back. But goddammit, you’re a nurse, you know how to deal with stubborn doctors. And it’s for your mother. There was no one else left to advocate for her except you.

“I was just wondering if we could also order a brain MRI for her?” you ask, “just to rule out anything…her brain fog has been bad, worse than usual, and I’m just really worried about metastasis, especially if it’s a glioma, I’d just want to catch it as soon as possible.”

You have sympathy for oncologists, really, you do. They must deal with paranoid family members all the time, but how could someone blame another for wanting what’s best for their loved one? You don’t think that’s an empathy that anyone should ever lose, regardless of how long you’ve been practicing medicine. 

He sighs. “There’s no indication for that right now, not with her response to treatment as well as her lab work. I’d suggest we just wait on her next PET/CT results, and we can go from there. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”

“I know,” you say, “but her next scan isn’t for another couple weeks, plus the week it’ll take to have it read, it’ll be far out, so…if we could just order it now?”

He interlocks his fingers and places his hands in front of him on the desk, looking at you with a stern face, but he glances down at the paperwork you’ve sprawled in front of him with scribblings of all the detailed notes you’ve been taking of your mom’s responses to her Alzheimer’s treatments, with time stamps and descriptions of her mental state, and his furrowed brow relaxes slightly. He breathes in deep. “Alright. Fine, I’ll order one. I highly doubt we’ll find anything, though. But since there’s no clear clinical impression warranting a brain MRI right now,” he mentions as he directs his attention back to his computer, “I don’t think insurance will cover it for you with the diagnoses I put in.”

“That’s okay,” you quickly respond, “I’ll pay for it.” 

You collect your imaging orders from the medical assistants at the center of the oncology floor. The chemo nurse, Mai, informs you that your mother still has about two hours left before her treatment is done, and she gently suggests you go eat something while you wait. You tell her it’s okay, that you want to wait with her, but she tells you the hospital cafeteria is serving tater tots today for tater tot tuesday, and those tater tots are to die for. But before you go downstairs to the cafeteria, you find a few minutes to cry in a one stall bathroom.

—

“God damn,” you hear your coworker, Hana, dreamily sigh as she leans on the handle on your standing mobile nursing work desk, and you trail her line of sight to the tight asses of the EMT men that walk by while rolling a stretcher. “It’s like being hot is a part of their job requirement.”

“Uh-huh,” you agree mindlessly as you try to catch up on charting for the rounds you just ran on your patients around the emergency department beds.

4/20/2024 0200: patient notified of the importance of taking ibuprofen. Attempted to give pt the medication. Pt responded “suck on this, bitch”, gestured to his general groin area, then threw ibuprofen tablets at RN. pt upset and requests narcotics instead. Informed MD of pt’s behavior and request. MD will not order narcotic pain medication at this time. Will continue to monitor

“How’s your mom doing?” Hana says, interrupting your typing as she turns to face you now.

“She’s okay,” you say, continuing to punch keys as you stare at your monitor, “she has a PET/CT soon. It’s always nerve wracking when the next scan is coming up.”

“Have you given hospice any more thought?” she asks.

You stop typing and stare blankly ahead at your screen as your heart sinks a little. You have given hospice more thought, and you came to the decision about a week ago that you would go through with it. It’s becoming so increasingly difficult taking care of your mom at home, more than you can manage with all of her doctor’s appointments, radiation appointments, chemotherapy appointments, all of which happen during the late mornings or early afternoons so you can’t even properly rest on most days that you come home from night shifts. Even though you only work three shifts a week, you can’t remember the last time you got a full, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep because of how messed up your circardian rhythm has become. You were practically a walking zombie, and you hardly felt like a person anymore. You’re not going to switch to the day shift, because that would make it difficult to take your mom to her appointments, and also because you get paid extra with the night shift differential, and above all other necessities, what you really needed right now the most was money. Forget the fact you’re still in debt from nursing school, but you co-signed on the medical loans your mother had taken out for treatments, and five years of high acuity medical bills was a living nightmare. And you were living that nightmare. 

“I did,” you say, “I’ve been looking into hospices, but a lot of them are further away than I’d like.” You glance down at your keyboard. “I…I’m going to miss having my mom home. Even though it’s hard to deal with her mood swings and stuff sometimes, I just think the house would feel really empty without her.”

“Aw, my dear,” Hana sighs and rubs her hand up and down your arm soothingly, “I’m sure you’d love to have her home, but I think it’s becoming too much for you. I say this with love and care, but I can’t remember the last time I saw you genuinely smile.”

Your eyes widen slightly from her words, and you release some of the tension in your shoulders, tension you didn’t even realize you were holding onto during this conversation.

“It’s too much for just one person,” she continues, “while I understand you want to spend more time with your mom, the quality of time you’re spending with her could be so much better if you had some weight lifted off your shoulders, where you’re not worrying about her medication schedule or doctor’s appointments or blood draws and all that.”

You nod slowly and manage to give her a small smile, then place your hand over hers that was still soothing over your arm. “Thanks, Hana. I know, I appreciate you looking out for me. I…I think I’ll look more seriously into hospices. It’s just they’re really expensive, too, so I have that to consider as well.”

“Hmm,” she withdraws her hand from you and juts her bottom lip out as she looks up at fluorescent emergency department lighting. You hear a patient cough in the distance as your senses take in the ambient environment once again. “Y’know, there’s this really great new hospice in town that functions as a general facility and also helps manage a lot of chronic diseases too. They have nurses there that do blood draws and everything, and they also transport patients to their affiliated hospital for treatments, like dialysis and chemo and stuff. My friend’s mom has breast cancer and was recently accepted into that hospice,” she tells you, pulling her phone out and looking through some of her messages, “I think it’s only a fifteen minute drive from your house.”

You tilt your head at her with interest, wondering why it didn’t come up on your provider search through insurance, but regardless, it sounded too good to be true. “It’s probably really expensive. My mom’s under the state insurance right now, but I’ve explored government insurance plans too and they’re still really pricey. I just can’t afford it, not with all of her cancer treatments, and adding her under my insurance isn’t really going to be any better either.”

She groans. “I know. What’s with our healthcare plan? You’d think as a hospital, they’d choose better plans for their employees,” she sighs, and then stops to read some of the messages on her phone, “but my friend said that her husband was able to add her mom as a dependant, and his insurance covers 90% of it. I’m sure it depends on the illness, but they only pay a few thousand per month out of pocket.”

You blink at her. “Really? T-That’s insane…do you know what insurance her husband has?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a Kaiser facility.”

“Oh,” you sigh, “well, they wouldn’t accept state insurance. That’s a private HMO.”

“Shoot,” Hana looks at you apologetically, “I’m so sorry, love, I forgot about that. Sorry to get your hopes up.”

“That’s okay,” you smile at her, “thanks for trying. I’m glad it worked out for your friend, at least.”

Hana glances at her watch and realizes her break is over, so she heads back to her side of the emergency department, and you’re left standing at the nursing station with thoughts running through your head now, and still catastrophically behind on charting.

Hmm.

Kaiser.

You swear someone mentioned that to you recently.

Or maybe you were just remembering another one of those ads you see on television at night. No, no, you’re pretty sure it came up in conversation with someone, but you can’t remember when or why or what or where or who. Hmmmmm. Kaiser, Kaiser, Kaiser. 

Nope. Nothing.

Oh well, maybe it’ll hit you later.

—

It hits you in the form of an intrusive memory when you wake up on a Thursday afternoon in a cold sweat after having a hallucinogenic melatonin dream where you were getting chased by a giant rabbit (don’t ask). 

Kaiser.

Gojo said he has Kaiser insurance. 

And the idea that comes into your head after that is so ridiculous, so absurd, so positively bonkers that you have to slap the sleepiness off your face for a second to make sure you’re still not in some dream state of living, and the harsh sting on your cheek proves that you’re not. And the idea still persists. And now you’re swinging your legs over the edge of your bed, and grabbing your laptop, and opening it, and inputting your pin, and then spending a good three hours researching if this little idea of yours actually has any good level of merit to it, if it could even succeed, if it was even legal? You even find yourself on the phone with insurance representatives, and you stare at the tens of thousands of dollars of debt on your Excel spreadsheet where you keep track of your finances, and you feel the exhaustion in your bones, and you also remember how fucking annoying Gojo is. And yet still, the idea persists. 

And when the pieces of the plan start to unfortunately fall into place, you say, fuck it. What was worse than potentially getting into six figures of debt? It’ll be fine.

But you can only hope he says yes.

.

.

.

[reading commercial break]

hello!! this is ellie, the author. so sorry to interrupt, there is still a bit left for this chapter, but i just wanted to jump in here real quick to explain for some of my readers that may not be american so they may understand reader’s desperation to financially cover the costs of her mother’s healthcare bills. this story is set in suburban america lol, where the healthcare system is so messed up honestly, and this excerpt from the book the body by bill bryson kinda explains:

“Where America really differs from other countries is in the colossal costs of its health care. An angiogram, a survey by The New York Times found, costs an average of $914 in the United States, but only $35 in Canada. Insulin costs about six times as much in America as it does in Europe. The average hip replacement costs $40,364 in America, almost six times the cost in Spain, while an MRI scan in the United States is, at $1,121, four times more than in the Netherlands. The entire system is notoriously unwieldy and cost-heavy.” p360; “...America spends more on health care than any other nation–two and a half times more per person than the average for all other developed nations of the world. One-fifth of all the money Americans earn–$10,209 a year for every citizen, $3.2 trillion altogether–is spent on health care.” p359

unfortunately, a lot of how much you end up spending at the end of the day, depends significantly on the health insurance that you have. it could make the difference of spending a few hundreds to a few thousands to a few tens of thousands and beyond, just based on the insurance plan, even if the illnesses/treatments are exactly the same.

but yeah, just wanted to provide that context lol!! so you must understand reader’s desperation to save a buck!!! 

ok back to regularly scheduled broadcasting!! 🧚‍♀️💕✨

[end of reading commercial break]

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.

—

You’re sitting at a table outside your favorite cafe in town, leg bouncing up and down underneath the surface impatiently and nervously, and you glance at the time on your phone for the fifth time within the past five minutes because you’re unable to alleviate any of the anxiety you’re experiencing right now. You hear the jingling of the cafe door behind you and then you’re a little startled when someone emerges in your periphery by your side.

You look up and see Gojo standing next to you, and you see he already went inside and grabbed a coffee to-go for himself.

“Hey,” he greets you.

“Hi,” you say with a small wave.

He takes a seat across from you. “What did you want to talk about?” he asks while he settles in and smooths down the fabric of his suit jacket. He’s not wearing a tie, and has a couple of the top buttons of his shirt undone to reveal some of the skin at his collarbone. Probably to seduce the divorced single moms, you think. “And if you called me here to try and convince me for the millionth time to pitch in for that fence you built six months ago, I’m just gonna say no again. I didn’t even want that fence built in the first place. It fucked up the roots on my avocado tree.”

“It’s a joint fence. Neighbors usually pitch in for that kind of stuff, asshole. At least normal neighbors do. You know I talked shit about you to everyone in the neighborhood when you refused to pay and all of them agree that you’re being a stuck-up prick about it?”

“You know that I also talked shit about you to everyone in the neighborhood and they said the same exact thing about you?”

“Wha–” you gasp, blinking a few times from the betrayal, then mutter “...those two-faced bitches” under your breath.

“So,” he pulls his sleeve back to glance at his watch, “what did you want? I’ve only got thirty minutes to talk before I need to head to an open house.” He brings his cup of coffee to his lips.

“Oh. Right. Just a favor,” you say, “I was wondering if you could marry me.”

He almost spits out his coffee.

“E-Excuse me?” he croaks out, exasperated, and he’s coughing a little bit as he hits his chest with a fist to alleviate the irritation in his throat from some hot coffee that went down the wrong pipe.

“I mean, if it’s not an issue, I’d really appreciate it if you could marry me,” you attempt to clarify, but you realize you probably should’ve thought a little more about how you were going to ask him this, and now you’re too deep to backtrack, so you just hope you’ll find the conversation along the way.

He’s looking at your like you’ve got six heads, brow furrowed and mouth hanging open slightly with that what the fuck? face you see him wear sometimes. But then he sits up a bit straighter, expression morphing into a curious one as he studies your face, head tilting a little in his scrutinization. Then, his face relaxes entirely. He has this knowing look as he nods up and down slowly, like he just figured something out, and then he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose in some type of faux frustration. And you don’t understand why you’re already seethingly angry about what he’s going to say next.

“Oh god,” he sighs, “I knew this day would come.”

“Huh?” you squeak out.

“Listen,” he says as he crosses his arms, but one of his hands comes out from where it was tucked in his elbow to waive around in the air as he articulates his words, “I know that I’m very charming, and handsome, and chivalrous, one might say the modern knight in shining armor–”

“Satoru.”

“–and yes, I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he dramatically sighs, “when I’m taking the groceries up the driveway…when I’m out mowing the lawn…when I stretch on the sidewalk before I go for a run. I feel your eyes on me like a hawk. Quite frankly, you look at me like I’m a piece of meat, and I feel very violated by it sometimes–”

“What the fuck are you talking about???”

“But I get it. Really, I do. There’s no need to be embarrassed about it–”

“I’m not embar–”

“It was really only a matter of time before you would do this. So overcome by your feelings for me that you just had to go against the grain of centuries of matrimonial standards and swallow your gigantic pride to propose to me.” 

“Oh my god, what the fuck are you saying–”

“But,” he says, collecting himself now, and taking in a deep breath, “my answer is no. I mean, I shouldn’t have to explain why. But I will. First of all, where the hell is my ring? Secondly, why aren’t you on one knee in front of me right now? Also, in a cafe? Really? I thought you would’ve known I’d have liked something a little bit more romantic than this. Y’know, private, but also where my family’s somewhere around the corner. Maybe by the beach–”

“Can you stop talkin–”

“–while the sun is setting, and I’m wearing a nice dress, and there’s bubbles in the air and rose petals on the sand, and you tell me how enamored you’ve always been of me, and how you can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with me,” he indulgently sighs, “I mean, it’s every guy’s dream. But nooooo, of course you’ve got no taste or sense for romance in any capac–”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD, FORGET THIS,” you stand up out of your chair, fast enough to where it almost falls backwards, and you grab your purse to sling over your shoulder, “I cannot believe I actually thought this plan would ever fucking work.” You’re about to walk away from the table, because you’re realigned with the wisdom of exactly why you can’t stand this man, when his hand reaches out quickly to grasp onto your wrist, to keep you still, and you jump a little from the contact. You look down, his hand unrelenting in its grip as his knuckles flex slightly, and you’re not sure if he’s ever touched you from how foreign the sensation feels.

“Wait,” he says, and when you look at him, his eyes are a little wide like a puppy, “you’re being serious?”

You yank your wrist out of his grip, but the warmth of his touch still lingers, and you wrap your own hand around it to distract yourself from it. “Why would I just ask you to marry me out of nowhere if I wasn’t being serious?”

He gives you a look like the answer to your question is obvious. “Uh, to fuck with me?”

You’re still holding onto your wrist, protectively pressing it against your chest with your back turned away from him slightly, and you look up at the sky for a brief second. Hm, perhaps you could have brought the favor up a bit better, and you realize it might’ve sounded insane on his end, and you’re also still thinking about the tens of thousands of dollars you could save if he said yes, and so you hesitantly open your body language up to him again.

“Just sit,” he sighs.

You take a seat across from him again, hands finding the warm coffee cup in front of you and you purse your lips together before tucking your bottom lip under your front teeth. You take a deep breath before speaking again. “I…I’m being serious. I was wondering if you could marry me as a favor, and not because I think you’re some type of irresistible man candy, god, where do you get your gigantic ego from?”

“I–”

“Rhetorical question, shut it.”

He blinks at you. “What favor are you asking for that’ll be satisfied by me marrying you?”

You twiddle with your thumbs. “I want to put my mom in hospice,” you say, eyes flickering down slightly because you’re worried you’re about to tear up from the words, but when you realize you’ve got enough conviction not to, you look back up at him, and his eyes on you are a little too observant, “most of the hospices in town are further away than I’d like, and really expensive, but I heard there was a Kaiser one nearby…and that a lot of the costs are covered by insurance. So, if you married me, I could send my mom there. And also, under your insurance, the care network would be better, so I could get her a new oncologist and neurologist, and I’d know she’s being taken care of. And…” you clear your throat, “well, it’ll be a lot less expensive, so I can start to catch up on…well, whatever, you get the picture.”

His eyes narrow at you in thought, and he glances at your hands on the table that are nervously fidgeting, and then his eyes meet yours again. “I’m not sure if you can add a…spouse’s parent to a healthcare plan?”

“You can,” you say, “I already called to ask.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

Gojo hums to himself, laying his palms flat on his thighs and rubbing them back and forth on the taut fabric a few times as he thinks with his gaze set off somewhere in the distance. It seems like he’s running through some algorithm of thoughts in his head, and then he slowly nods to himself when he’s made a decision.

“Sure, I’ll do it,” he says.

“Y-You will?” you ask him. You’re uneasy at how easy it was to convince.

“Yeah. I like your mom. She’s a sweet lady, and I want to see her get better.”

His words touch you. And not from the distance of a ten foot pole like you’d usually allow, but more intimate somehow. And you get the feeling you should thank him, but you’re still pissed off from when he almost ran you over on your own driveway earlier this week. 

“Really?” you make sure, almost like you’re hoping he’ll change his mind because now you’re suspicious as to why he agreed so quickly. And you realize he’s already making you paranoid.

“Yeah. I’m saying yes to your proposal, y/n,” he says, “I mean, a marriage is just a legal agreement. Not a big deal. I’d want a prenup though, for obvious reasons. In case you’re a gold digger.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re too cheap to even pitch in for a fucking fence. You think I’d believe you’ve got any gold to dig?”

He sighs. “I said in case.”

“Well, anyways, we can work out logistics and paperwork or whatever later,” you say, and you extend your hand out for him to shake it.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Um. You’re going to make me shake your hand over this?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “it’s the diplomatic thing to do.”

“Yes,” he says, “for a diplomatic agreement.”

“Precisely,” you say. “That’s exactly what this is.”

He hesitantly brings his hand up to shake yours, but you quickly withdraw yours at the last second. “Nevermind. I don’t want to touch you.”

“Okay,” he easily accepts, “not how I expected to celebrate getting engaged, but whatever. By the way, when’s the wedding? Are we doing, like, a shotgun destination type vibe? Or something a bit more grand?”

“Just be at the courthouse at noon on Sunday.”

“What?! This weekend? That’s too soon,” he panics, “I need time to pick out a dress, and I need to figure out who my bridesmaids are going to be, and–”

“Satoru. Seriously. Just–...just shut the fuck up. Before the headache that you’ve already given me gets worse.”

You two sit in silence for a moment, him just mindlessly staring at a butterfly that landed on the plant at the center of the table, and you just staring off into the void past him while contemplating every life decision you’ve ever made. But that’s how it always was between you two. As much as you hated to admit it, you were jealous of him in a lot of ways. In every way that you were fucked up, he was nonchalant without a care in the world. You wish you knew what that sort of peace felt like, and you wondered if he could show you. Maybe someday when he doesn’t piss you off.

“So,” he interrupts your thoughts, “are you gonna take my last name?”

“Fuck no, I’d rather die.”

“Alright, jeez, I was just asking.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 1]

a/n. yayy!!! he said yes!! omg congrats on ur engagement!! haha this was a lot of fun to writeee :'') i've got sm fun ideas for this fic. yea this chap was supposed to be longer lol there's still some groundwork to lay w the side quests, but will def cover more of that in the next chapter!!! tysm to everyone that wanted to be on taglist omg i hope that you enjoyed <33 love uuu guysss smmmm also my bad if some stuff doesnt make sense i'm tryna be less perfectionist when i'm editing so that i don't go insane 😍

➸ you're all caught up!

taglist: @tremendousbouquetflower @cowgirlcujoh @joemama-2 @shinypearlywhites @sykosugu @lovebittenbyevans @luqueam @bloopsstuff @horisdope @alwaysfreakingout @crammingqueen @rideofthevalkyriess @lavender-hvze @gojocock @ceni707 @jxvajxy @catobsessedlady @madaqueue @bbyxxm @gojostit @nixie-19 @cheezitcracker @polarbvnny @cactisjuice @sleepyyammy @lysaray @k4tsukiis @kortanasworld @megumisthirdog @slut-4-gojo @drakenswifeyy @njoxuzi @elernity @jujutsubaby @secretmoneybearvoid @bunny-lily @strawberrygirl0 @httpxxg @bsdicinindirdim @v4mpieres @nanamis-baker @therealestpussyeater @air3922 @13-09-01 @marija4674 @whereflowerswenttodie @geniejunn @bakuhoethotski @ricaliscious @77uchiha77 @hellowoolf @tobaccosunbxrst @possumwho @nvrgojover @kittygrimm88 @samistars @shiin-ye @billiondollarworth @mmeerraa @fjorjestertealeaf @reinam00n @semra4 @st4ryki @new-weather47 @coltsgf @meownuuuu @strawnanamilk @lees-chaotic-brain @ironhottubstranger @spindyl @aise-30 @dunghirse @r0ckst4rjk @44ina @4y3sh4 @lindyloomoo @sweetpo1son @levisfavoriteteashop @delfiiii @fushitoru @gojosimp26 @beabadobeee @astrokenny @horisdope @muchlov3ashley @geniejunn @the-dark-creature @gojonegs @ritzes28 @mo0nforme @drownedpoetss

hope yalls fries never get soggy ever 💕

[capricornusx3]

AITA For F*cking My Sugar Daddy's Son?! - G.S.

Synopsis. When your sugar daddy just isn’t paying attention to you, can you really be blamed for fúcking his son? Especially when his son is absolutely obsessed with you.

Pairing. Rich boy! Gojo Satoru x Sugar baby! Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, jealous Satoru, créampie, dirty talk, manhandling, marking, Satoru’s dad is not really present, oral (female receiving), overstim, másturbation (male), thigh riding, cúmplay, Satoru is really really down bad and filthy for you, CEO’s son! Gojo,  pet names, swearing.

Word count. 8.1k

A/N. Will proofread later, lowkey scared to post this, but I just wanted it out of my mind. And in my mind, Satoru’s dad is FINE asl so-

The first time you meet Gojo Satoru is when you’re all dolled up for his father. 

Designer dress just a bit too tight, running on a few too many shots of tequila, wanting to be anywhere but at this stuffy gala. Everything was too bright - too polished.

And it really didn’t help that no matter how many scathing looks or whispers that followed you, you just had to be here - it was in your contract, after all. Because luckily for you, you just so happened to be the infamous little plaything hanging off the arm of the head of Gojo Corporations.

Well, usually. Right now your sugar daddy was too busy entertaining his business partners, leaving you off to the side, praying for something - anything - to save you from this-

“Damn if I’d come to these shitty galas a lot more often if it meant I’d get to see a beauty like you.”

You jolt out of your bored little reverie, eyes immediately snapping up to meet the tall man suddenly in front of you. When did he even get so close? 

You can’t help but drink him in from head to toe, from the overpriced, slightly-disheveled suit to the tiny dimple at the end of his mischievous grin. Strangely familiar white locks fell effortlessly to curtain his eyes. Eyes that were a startling blue - the kind of blue that had your cheeks flaring and knowing exactly who this was. 

Oh.

At your silence, he tilts his head with the air of someone that owns this entire venue and everything in it because, well, he did. Twinkling gaze searing into your skin as it roams appreciatively all over your body, plowing on, “Though, you look like you’re on the verge of an aneurysm around these old coots.”

You sigh, pinching your nose at the curious glances around you. Not even able to find it in yourself to put on that plastic smile anymore, “Oh y’know, just soaking up my popularity with the masses after being stranded here.”

“Oh? Here with anyone?”

“Yeah.” you blurt out, “Your father.”

You watch in amusement as Satoru’s mouth falls into a delicate oh! eyes flickering over his shades between you and the handsome man on the other end of the venue, oblivious and fully enjoying himself in the company of his secretary. A bit too much without you. 

“Y’know…” he starts, shaky and sounding only half the insufferable heir he was before, “I would say that’s a hilarious version of a ‘your mom’ joke but you’re actually serious, aren’t you?”

“Mhm. Though it would make a good punchline, huh?” You huff out a laugh at the way he was suddenly less of a smooth-talking playboy and more of a lost puppy. The gears turning in his head as he processes that oh shit you were the sweet lil’ thing his dad’s been suddenly rushing off to meet straight after work. And the reason why all those old fossils here were clutching their pearls in scandal.

He just didn’t expect you to be this…gorgeous. And for the first time in forever, he’s suddenly so intrigued.

Because ah, you should’ve known better than to think that this little hiccup would deter the infamous Gojo Satoru. No, in fact that million-dollar smirk only makes its way back onto his unfairly pretty face, like he’s about to spill the juiciest gossip of the century.  

“So you’re the latest armcandy my ol’ man has picked up, huh? I hafta say, dear old dad has good taste.” he muses, stepping in close enough that his expensive cologne makes your head spin. “Why don’t you and I ah-” You follow Satoru’s gaze to where he was staring at the way his father was now making a beeline through the crowd. Straight for the two of you. 

“Gotta run before I get my share of the company revoked.” he flashes you a quick smile, fulling intent on saving his father’s delicate ego. But not before leaning down to whisper in your ear, “But jus’ saying,” voice a pretty little purr, “I wouldn’t ever leave you standing here so alone and gorgeous, princess.”

You can only stand there, reeling from the sheer audacity as he darts into the crowd with a wink, not caring if he stepped on a few too many overpriced coattails than necessary. Wondering whether this was some bizarre dream induced by too much tequila and not enough common sense.

“Hi, sweetheart. Investors held me up, you know how it is. Having fun, huh?” A toned arm wraps around your waist as your sugar daddy finally arrives by your side. And as he went on about his latest business branch, only two thoughts ring through your mind - 1. You were seriously reconsidering this arrangement. And 2. This was going to be interesting. 

And oh was it interesting. 

Because Satoru always managed to find you, wherever you were. No matter if it was another droning function or a chance meeting at the sprawling Gojo Estate, Satoru always swooped in whenever his father was too busy for you. Which, fortunately for Satoru, happened to be a lot.  

Hell, he seemed to find you even when you least wanted him to. Like that time he had to drag you away mid-argument with a particularly rude one of his snobby aunts. That was not a fun family reunion. 

All unabashed confidence and pretty smiles where his father was cold, cold calculation. Ready with a smart mouth to bicker with you and bright eyes that seemed to linger on you a bit too long. But you didn’t mind - why would you? Because all things considered, Satoru was a very attractive man. Sure, his father was extremely handsome, too - in a clean-cut, DILF-y way, in fact. But his son was dangerously attractive.

So much so that sometimes when he swept you away from insufferable galas to talk, some strange little part of you wished it was him that you came here with instead. Just for a second. 

“So, what do you see in my father anyway? His company?” Satoru asked you one day. Draping himself over his cool office desk, so comically out of place in the stiff corporate room. Legs kicking in the air as he waits for your response.

You tear your eyes away from the way his biceps were straining so deliciously against his snug button-up to deadpan, “I mean, I am his sugar baby after all, Satoru.”

“But think about it,” he whines, batting those long lashes at you. Fully intent on driving you as dangerously close to a stroke as possible before his father finishes up an important business meeting. One that he missed - whoops. “There’s close to nothing redeemable about the man. His idea of a family bonding activity is a PowerPoint presentation on quarterly earnings.”

“Satoru.”   

“And either way- I’m getting the company in a few years, would ya be my sugar baby then, princess?”

Ah, there it was. 

It’s been a few weeks of knowing Satoru, and those little comments still made your head spin. Second-guessing the nature of this strange little…friendship? You didn’t even know anymore. Because yeah there might’ve been a few, stupid little lingering touches - like a trace on your hips, or your hand firmly in his as he led your (temporary) escape from another lonely gala. But those meant nothing, right?

“Nah, I’d poison you and take over the company instead.”

“Hey!”

Well, whatever, he was just your sugar daddy’s son. His sharp-mouthed, dangerously handsome son that just couldn’t seem to leave you alone. Not that you were complaining, really. Your relationship with his father was not exactly exclusive - you already knew that secretary of his was a bit suspiciously close - but that’s all he’ll ever be. Right?

Or, well, that’s what you stupidly thought. 

It wasn’t until one night late in the Gojo Estate, cursing those ridiculously long hallways, that you get an inkling of exactly how wrong you were. 

“Ugh, fucking rich people.” you mutter under your breath, wandering around trying to find whether the fuck the bathroom was. Because it doesn’t matter how many companies and businesses Gojo senior ran, the man still sucked at directions. You hiss, rubbing the tiny bruise on your neck - and aftercare too, clearly, even though that was in that damn contract. Something about an urgent business call with his secretary. Ugh. 

After three wrong doors, a trip around the in-home planetarium (seriously, who even needed that?), and chugging a full water bottle from the third kitchen in exhaustion, you finally find yourself walking towards what hopefully looked like the bathroom.

Hand reaching for the doorknob to swing it open. Ah, this better be the one or so help you-

Now, Satoru thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. And you - hair mussed, and dazed, standing there in nothing but a large button-up, falling just below your panties - looked like a sinfully beautiful lil’ demon here to lure him into hell. And oh how gladly he’d go if it means he got to see this ethereal view more often. 

“Ah! Wha- Sato-” 

You don’t even know if you want to scream or not - torn between taking in the sculpted chest smushed against your face and not wanting to alert security downstairs. Reeling backward you drink in the sight before you and God how you wish you didn’t - it wasn’t too good for your heart. 

Satoru’s hair was tousled, droplets of water glistening on his hair like diamonds. Skin soft and damp and smelling so delicious. Bathroom light bouncing off his rippling muscles, pecs flexing, as his strong arms reach out to steady you as you reel backwards. 

Traitorously, your eyes snake across his sculpted body. Dipping below once. Twice. Cheeks flaring as a pang of disappointment hits you at the damp towel wrapped around that slutty torso. Wondering what’s underneath-

“Y’should take a picture, it lasts longer.” Satoru grins, like the shameless bastard he is. Though he wasn’t in any better state - eyes flickering between you and any sliver of exposed skin his eyes could reach. 

“I should be saying the same to you.” you mutter, caught red-handed, shuffling your feet in embarrassment. 

Satoru lets out a low chuckle as he pulls you closer minutely, presence practically enveloping you. “Oh, me?” he says, voice dropping to a husky murmur. Thumb tracing that little spot on your neck, “S’hard not to when y’look so appetizing.”

And you don’t even try to pull away because fuck this is Satoru and he looks so good - so warm under your fingertips, even when you jolt at the realization of what exactly he was talking about. Your hand coming up to cover that tiny mark left on your skin from not-too-long ago. A shameful little reminder that this was his son. 

You grapple for some - any - sense of normalcy. Warning, “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Satoru.”

He leans down impossibly, quirking an eyebrow. Both amusement and something unreadable flashing across his face. “Oh, but it’s got my father somewhere?”

“Why? Jealous?”

“Yes.”

You startle, taken aback by the blunt confession. So direct and something so Satoru. The word hands in the hair’s breadth between you two now, sending your mind reeling. And you can’t help but repeat, “Jealous?”

“Fucking yes.” There it was again. 

But this time, Satoru plows on, voice barely above a whisper but ringing in the thick air. “Jealous he gets to have you all to himself but still doesn’t kiss you like you should be.”

“What do you-”

“Your lipstick.” he interrupts, swiping a thumb over your bottom lip, “Why’s it as perfect as since you came in?” And, indeed, you realize with a jolt that no you really haven’t been kissed the way you wanted - not enough to leave your make-up so sinfully ruined. 

Minty breath fanning your face so dangerously now, and you barely even realize that you’re leaning into it, “If it were up to me, princess, I’d ruin that pretty lil’ lipstick of yours every chance I got.”

A delicious little shiver runs down your spine, head spinning at Satoru and his words and Satoru- And it’s all you can do to get out a shaky, “So why don’t you?”

And then he’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him - like neither of you had the strength nor the will to stop. 

Satoru tasted just like candy, such an intoxicating sweetness that had you gasping as his soft tongue licked at the seam of your lips. Intertwining with yours as he breathes you in desperately. So sloppy. Such a sinful little mix of saliva and teeth and pure need.

His chest is soft under your greedy hands, lips searing against yours, and you could feel his hands wandering across every inch of skin they could find. Kissing you like he’ll never be able to again because fuck he knows that he might just not. 

Long fingers dance delicately underneath that shirt to feel- oh fuck, you weren’t even wearing panties. Such a pretty lil’ slut and by God was he a goner. 

Groaning into the kiss, he lets you loop your arms around his neck, hardened nipples rubbing against his abs as you tug on his damp hair. Honestly, fuck that thin shirt, Satoru thinks he might just pass out right here right now.

“S-Satoru.” you whisper against his lips, legs hiking up to grind your bare cunt against the throbbing erection straining against his towel. Already so wet from water or precum, you had absolutely no idea. You couldn’t give less of a fuck in fact, needing to see if Satoru’s cock was as pretty as the rest of him right now. Hands urgently dipping below the hem, starting to tug and-

“Hey, sweetheart. Did you find the bathroom?”

Shit. Fuck. Wonderful - perfect, in fact.

You would’ve thought Satoru burned you with how quickly you pushed him away. Cheeks burning, breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Almost slipping on the tile as you try to compose yourself at a safe distance - one that wouldn’t end up with you jumping his bones again. 

But all rational thoughts of that and your sugar daddy - Satoru’s father - almost go out the window once you take in the heavenly sight before you. 

Satoru’s lips swollen, hair disheveled, towel hanging slightly too low off his hips. Giving you such a pretty peak of those tufts of snowy white hair at the bottom. 

“W-we shouldn’t…” you trail off, as the footsteps get louder and louder. Something prickly and uncomfortable pooling in your stomach with each beat. 

Luckily for you, Satoru probably catches on to how you looked like you wanted the ground to swallow you whole right now. Voice low and control as he agrees, “Yeah, we probably shouldn’t.” No care in the world for his steadily approaching father as he lazily adjusts his towel, a gesture so nonchalant yet distracting. 

You swallow hard as he moves to walk past you, thinking that if this just so happened to be a dream then by God was it a good one. But of course - when has Satoru ever let you have it easy?

Because he stops abruptly in his tracks, fingers only ghosting the doorknob. Immediately turning back to walk to you with two, big steps, eyes gleaming, dimple flashing. And before you even know what’s happening, his lips are on yours. Featherlight and fleeting. But so so addictive. Nipping at your bottom lip, savoring you on his tongue.

It’s over before you know it, and a pathetic little disappointed whine leaves you as he pulls away. A smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he mutters lowly into yours, “Y’look prettier like this.”

Ah, you weren’t happy to see him leave but how you loved watching him go. Bathroom light so pretty against all the dips and curves of his figure as he walked away. White hair reflecting the warm hue, muscles flexing, hips slightly swaying with such a slutty little confidence that only Satoru could have. 

As you watch him disappear around the door, you almost forget the unwelcome visitor hot on your heels any second now and - wait - what was it that he’d said? “Prettier like this”?

Turning to the mirror and- 

Oh. Shit. 

You better have brought your make-up remover.

God, Satoru’s never ran to his room as fast as this since that time he was caught using his father’s elite golf clubs to play pool with Suguru.

Because as soon as that goddamn door is shut, he’s ripping his towel off. Letting it drop to the floor in a damp pile God-knows-where as he immediately fists his swollen cock.

With a groan, he leans against the shut door.  Eyes scrunching in such sinful ecstasy as he squeezes the base, pulsing and so achingly hard for you. A warning and a reprimand. Shit, how the fuck did he get this hard just from kissing your pretty lil’ lips?

Ah, whatever, right now he doesn’t have the patience nor the sanity to think too hard about it. Smearing the precum beading at his weeping tip, wetting his palm so sloppily. 

Neat little crescents searing into his skin where you’d grabbed him before, only thing on his mind - how would you do it?

Would you ease him into it? Or would you start up a hasty, desperate little pace like he was doing right now? Shallow, quick tugs on his thick cock like you wanted to milk him deliciously. 

Satoru’s hand was cold on his angry, hot cock. And with how many times he’s slipped his into yours, he knew yours would feel better around him. Both hands wrapped around his cock but still not covering all of it. So soft and warm, your nails scraping gently across his throbbing veins. 

“Shit. Hngh-” he breathes out, voice almost-pathetic, “J-jus’ like that, princess.” 

And what would you say? Tell him to shut up and just take it? Would you whisper into his ear as you let him fuck himself into your pretty fists? “So hard n’ big all f’me?” Satoru’s knees buckle at the thought, hand speeding up. “Y’look so pretty like this, y’know.”

Slam! Palm slamming against the poor drawer beside him hard enough to make its legs tremble, desperately trying to keep himself from collapsing. 

But oh his fist doesn’t stop. No, he doubts he ever will - not that strong of a man to keep himself from getting off so filthily to the image of you standing at the doorway of the bathroom. You looked so ethereal - Satoru couldn’t help but imagine how even more sinful you’d look if he was the one done with you. Shit, you wouldn’t even be able to stand if he had his way. 

“F-fuck, princess. M’gonna ruin you, gonna fuck you till you don’t know anything but m’name.”

He grips tighter on the base, thumbing under his slit in a way he knows your devious little hands would do. Fucked-out little grunts leaving his swollen lips each time his fingers meet his flushed tip.

“Ah- Ngh, fuck.” he mutters hoarsely, letting out a low, broken little call of your name. “More. Need more, princess.” He wanted you so badly that it hurt.

What the fuck did that sleazy old man have that he didn’t? And that little bite? That would be nothing compared to what Satoru would do if he got his hands on you. Yeah, he thinks, body shuddering violently, he’d mark you up till everyone knows you’re his. Leave bites that peak out from your collar, all the way down to your pretty thighs.

“Y’belong with me pretty, could fuck you so much better.” Sweat drips from his brow, splashing onto his erratic fist. Thighs quivering, heart pounding wildly in his chest. 

Satoru would almost be embarrassed by how desperate he was acting if he was in any better state of mind. Head only filled with you, and your hand and you-

And fuck for the sake of his sanity he can’t even begin to imagine how it would feel inside your pretty lil’ cunt. All he can think of is the way you’d keen so prettily, mewling out a little, “Oh s’too big.” 

Would you take him all in one go? Look up at him with those beautiful, teary eyes as you milk his cock? Or would he have to ram his dick into you, because shit as much as he loves that  bitchy mouth, it would look so much better gasping and stuttering as he fucks you dumb. 

“Oh yeah.” he groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Such a good lil’ slut f’me. Taking m’so well.” 

God his hand was so sloppy on his dick that he didn’t even know what he was doing anymore. Just wanting to fuck you and have you do this f’him. 

Ah, your plushy walls would suck him in so nicely. One hand speeds up on his cock, while the other reaches down to cradle his balls. Tugging and pulling at the same jerky rhythm they would smack your ass while he stuffs you full. 

So much better than any other sugar daddy ever could. Oh how Satoru would love to mess up your pretty pussy and your lipstick. He’d fucking tattoo your lipstick stains on if he could.

And you’d be able to do nothing but gasp and whimper into his lips, cockdrunk and dazed, “Shit shit shit- Toru m’gonna - Hah- Wanna cum. Please wan’ cum-” Oh how he’d burn down this entire fucking world to hear you call him that. 

“Fuck,” he curses, bucking into his fist, tight balls twitching so sensitively. “Fuck...fuck fuck fuck. M’gonna cum- shit- gonna cum, princess.”

“Cum f’me, Toru. Fill me up with y’cum- wanna take all of it.”

And then he’s cumming. 

A ragged, raw moan of your name leaving his lips. Thick, hot ropes of cum that should be painting your pussy white - but, alas, he’s spilling into his fist so shamefully. And amongst the stars behind his eyes he’s sees you - you you you-

You, fucking your cunt deeper onto his cock to take every drop of his cum. You, whispering sweet little praises as his seed gushes down your thigh, telling him that oh he’s doing so well, and he’s the best boyfriend ever and you already want more-

You, at the arm of his father.

Shit, he needs to shower. Again. 

---

Ever since that little incident that night, everything changed. 

At this point, you didn’t even feel that usual little bitterness whenever your sugar daddy canceled for some urgent business. And, well, it made you blush to admit but you found yourself heading over to the Gojo Estate more and more frequently, often just to catch a glimpse of Gojo - or a quick kiss in the stuffy broom closet. Whichever left you more time to run away from looming security and his father. 

But that was exactly the problem. 

Because no matter how thick the tension lingering in the air between you two was, nothing had gone past heated kisses and touches. Either you were brought back to reality with the possibility of being arrested for indecent exposure at those galas, or someone just had to interrupt. Seriously, with how many times Satoru has had to pay off his poor personal assistant, you’ve been wondering whether he actively seeks you two out. 

And it really didn’t help that Satoru always tasted so goddamn delicious. Fingers searing on your skin, cologne heavy in the heady air, it was hard to keep your hands to yourself. 

But, hey, desperate times bring devious measures.

Which is why you were here right now - sinking into the plushiest bed at the Gojo Estate, clad in your delicate light blue lingerie. One that was custom-made in this specific shade of blue. Because while your sugar daddy preferred you in red, you’re sure he wouldn’t mind you using his credit card for other ulterior motives, right? 

You just hoped that Satoru would just so happen to get a peak when you sneak out to use the bathroom later. What would he say? Would he like it? Would his eyes roam over your body, fingers twiddling with the flimsy lace?

But more importantly - would it be enough to make him break? Even if just a little bit?

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You’re startled out of your little whirlwind thoughts by knocking on the door. Steady, and matching your racing heart. Ah, Satoru’s father, you hastily get up to fix your hair.

“Yo, princess, are you naked or can I come in? Or can I come in when you’re naked?”

That wasn’t your sugar daddy. 

Not even thinking of your current outfit anymore, you rush to throw the heavy wooden doors open to see that, yes, it really was Satoru standing at the door. All bright grins and flushed cheeks as he drinks you in. Brows raising as his eyes move down from your face once. Twice. Thrice. 

Success. 

“What’re you doing here, Satoru?” you bat your lashes deceivingly innocently. Trying to hold back the smirk threatening to curl your lips at the way he gulps.

“Uh- My father’s off to some urgent b-business.” he murmurs, scratching the back of his neck. “Told me to tell you he’s sorry and wishes you the breas- best.”

Oh. 

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time Satoru’s father has canceled on you. But it would be the first time that he’s canceled on you so conveniently enough to leave you alone with his unfairly hot son. Now, you couldn’t let the opportunity go to waste, right?

You lean slightly against the door, body ghosting Satoru’s, teasing him, “Well, when is my dear sugar daddy coming back from his business? Tell him I miss him.”

It’s a joke - and both of you probably know it. But that doesn’t stop Satoru’s brows furrowing ever-so-slightly, suddenly a different man from the flustered one he was just a few seconds ago as he mutters, “I don’t think he’ll be back tonight.”

“Aww, must be some important business.” 

He clenches his jaw aggressively at that, gritting out a clipped little, “You do know that ‘business’ of his is his secretary right?”

“I know. What a shame, right? Guess I’ll just have to go home n’ wait for him then?” you mockingly sigh - God, someone give you an Oscar. Moving to close the door in Satoru’s face, only to be stopped by a large hard smacking into the doorframe - as you knew it would. 

“You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m gonna let you come out looking like that and let you go home without tearing it to shreds.”

And that’s all that is said before his lips are on yours.

The door is slamming shut before you know it, and you’re shoved against it. Satoru’s lips such a sloppy mix of teeth and spit. Hands just everywhere - cradling your cheek, teasing your nipples through your bra, running down to squeeze and grope your ass. He just couldn’t get enough of you. 

Fuck twiddling with the lace, Satoru seemed well and fully intent to rip it off of you. And you’d let him. Just like he was letting you shove his overpriced button-up down his toned shoulders. Soft little rips sounding in the heady air at the urgency but neither of you could give less of a fuck. 

All you could think of is the way Satoru was so pretty and muscled. Drinking in all the dips and curves of pale skin underneath your fingertips. 

“Fuck, princess. Chose this color on purpose, huh?” his fingers dive under the hem of your bra, “Wanted to drive me crazy, mm?”

“Y-yes, Satoru.” you gasp into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. “Wanted you to look at it. Got it custom-made all f’you.” words muffled as he sucks on your tongue. Satoru was always such a messy kisser, licking at the seam of your lips and intertwining his tongue with yours with no shame or shyness. A delicate trail of drool already starting at the corner of your mouth. 

Ah, it was too much for him. Satoru almost thinks he could cum in his pants right now at your sinful little admission. 

Which is why he pulls away to press hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, letting out a broken little hum of appreciation into your skin. “Thought so.”

And then your bra’s hitting the floor, tits spilling out into the cold bedroom air. But only for a split-second because Satoru’s immediately groping each and every inch of skin he can find. 

“Look so fucking beautiful like this.” Rolling your swollen nipples between two fingers as he mutters - more to himself than you, “Was gonna let him see you in this slutty lil’ thing, too?” leaning down to tongue lazily little circles on one nipple. Words muffled as he wraps his lips so prettily around your tit - tugging, just grazing with his teeth, “Matching my eyes, huh? Fuckin’ gonna be the death of me shit-”

Satoru was insatiable. Wanting all of you all at the same time. And you follow his line of sight to see him locked on your dripping cunt - soaking through the thin fabric of your panties. Clenching around nothing as his pretty pink lips fall into a soft oh! at the sight. 

Like a madman, he immediately drops to his knees. But you don’t think he even feels the pain as he bites down on the hem of your wet panties. Looking up at you with dazed eyes - miles away. 

Breath ghosting your quivering cunt, tugging lightly with his teeth, “Next time, I’m gonna be the one buying you these.”

Then he’s pulling - tearing your drenched panties to shreds. Grinning so devilishly around it as he gets his first sight of your pretty pussy.  Oh you were so perfect for him. So mouthwateringly wet. 

“Shit, princess. Can’t believe you were fucking holdin’ out on me.”  he muses in wonder, eyes wide at the way your sloppy pussy was glistening in the dim lighting. 

“You were the one that-”

And usually, Satoru loves hearing you run your mouth, but this time he’s shutting you up by diving face-first into your dripping cunt. Cute little mewls leaving you as he presses so shamefully deep that his nose was against your throbbing clit, rubbing languidly as he licks a thick stripe up your swollen folds. 

And then it was like something snapped. 

Because one taste of you and Satoru’s going wild. Throwing a leg over his shoulder to lick more desperately all all over your cunt, lapping up all the juices that gush out of you. Already so addicted because shit you were so much sweeter than in his dreams. 

“Ah! Hngh- please.” you mewl, as he wraps his glossy lips around your swollen clit. All you get is a feral little grunt, his jaw parted, eyes looking like he’s on cloud nine as starts to suck harshly. Filthy little squelches filling the air as Satoru rolls his tongue across your clit. “Feels, s’good, Satoru.”

But your cute little whines turn into one of disappointment as Satoru pulls away ever-so-slightly. “Call m’Toru.” he slurs.

And he doesn’t waste any more time, tongue swishing in his mouth to spit on you once. Twice. Missing ever so slightly, and splattering on your thigh. You flinch, gasping out a breathless little, “Toru!”

“Oh shit, princess. Yeah- say m’name jus’ like that” he groans, ragged and raw. The last thing out of his mouth before he’s squeezing his soft tongue into your snug cunt. Dipping into your sloppy hole in and out in and out in and-

“He ever made you feel this good?” he moans into your cunt, the vibrations making you fuck yourself deeper into his unrelenting tongue. 

“W-what?”

“He ever made you feel this good? Cum so hard you see stars?”

You gasp out a pathetic little sob, “N-no. Want to- Wan’ you to make me cum, Toru. Make me cum around your tongue.”

And, well, what his girl wants - then she’s going to get. Because Satoru’s lapping at your cunt even more greedily than before. 

Stretching you out, breathing you in, looking up at your cute expression through his long lashes. Already so fucked-out for him. 

Nose rubbing purposefully in small circles on your clit. Fucking you with his tongue the way he wants to with his cock and he didn’t give a fuck if he suffocated in-between your thighs - he fucking loved it. 

“Hngh- shit shit shit yes!” your nails are digging into Satoru’s scalp at this point. The only thing steadying yourself to prevent you from collapsing onto the ground. And you really can’t help but angle his head just right so that his tongue curls against that one spot inside your plushy walls. 

Thankfully, he gets the memo. Because Satoru’s letting out a strangled little grunt at being so used by you as you drag your cunt across his pretty mouth. Body jerking into his as he hits that spot over and over-

“T-Toru- hah!” thighs quivering, Satoru’s grip bruising as he holds you up. “M’m gonna-” Your plushy walls sucking him up, thighs squeezing around his face. 

“Mhm?”

“Cum! M’gonna cum- ah- fuck fuck fuck-”

He groans huskily into your cunt. Throwing his head back ever-so-slightly to let your slick slide down his throat - greedily waiting for more that was to come. “Then show me how you cum, m’girl. Cum all over my tongue.”

And then you are - all over Satoru’s pretty face. And fuck he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked prettier. Holding his head in place as you rock your hips into his waiting mouth, letting him drink you in so greedily. Clamping down on his tongue like you were trying to milk him. 

And if you were in any better state of mind, you’d notice the delirious little heart eyes that Satoru was giving you, your cunt firm on his face and swollen lips letting out such pretty whines of his name. Toru Toru Toru - like a prayer as you fucking use him for your high. 

Ah, he could stay like this forever, he thinks. But no, an empty house and you all wet n’ pretty for him means there’s too much more to do. 

Which is why he’s pulling away, your slick decorating his lips so prettily. Smeared across the bottom half of his face and dripping onto the hardwood floor in a maddening little drip! drip! drip! 

And Satoru knows, with the way you watch him so intensely, mouth parted, eyes glossy. Which is why he runs a thumb along his mouth, pooling your juices on his fingers and popping them into his mouth. One by one. 

Your jaw drops a little in disbelief as Satoru licks his fingers clean, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your addictive taste. Oh he was ruining you without even touching you. 

“Not enough, princess.” he chuckles. “C’mon, gimme a kiss.”

And, really, how could you ever say no to that face? Because you’re pulling him to you as soon as Satoru stands to his full height. Capturing his lips in such a sloppy, filthy kiss - forcing you to taste yourself and you half-lucidly wonder whether Satoru loved the taste almost as much as you because it was so him.

Bodies so close that your dripping cunt was seeping into his unfairly tight shirt. Forming a lewd little dark patch when Satoru lifts you effortlessly to guide you to the bed. Tongue still entwining obscenely with yours as he splays you out on the soft mattress for him. Drinking in that adorable lil’ shock on your face as you bounce on the bed, so drunk off of him that you didn’t even realize he was taking you to the bed. 

“Shit, y’look the prettiest like this, princess. S’a wonder m’not fucking passing out right now.” he hisses into your lips.

“Toru-” you whine, and shit the way his cock jumps at the mere sound of your voice makes you think that this will be a little trick you’re using more often. “Wan’ your cock s’bad. Wanna-”

You don’t even have the patience to finish the sentence before you’re fumbling with his belt. Something hefty and overpriced but you can’t possibly think about that right now because fuck you get the first sliver of milky skin. 

Satoru’s thighs were so sculpted and thick. It made your mouth absolutely water to wonder what it would feel like to ride them to insanity.

“Y’wanna ride my thighs? Fuck princess, you really are driving me crazy.” 

Shit had you said that out loud? 

Ah, well, it doesn’t matter because Satoru’s pulling his boxers down - so tight with his swollen cock, a dark patch right where his weeping head was. And you almost pout at losing the opportunity to take them off but oh how you’re distracted by the sinful sight before you. 

Satoru was massive - so long and flushed your favorite shade of pretty pink. Shit, you were going to have to get a lingerie set in this color one of these days. He was achingly hard and throbbing, springing up to smear precum all over his abs. 

And before you can even react, Satoru’s pulling you to him. Manhandling your pretty self so easily to straddle one, large thigh. 

“Oh- hngh, Toru.” you look up at him all doe-eyed and teary as he doesn’t even wait for you to register what’s all happening. Grip bruising on your hips as he rocks your hips so sluttily on his leg. “F-feels s’good. Ah-”

“Yeah? Y’like it? Like getting yourself off like a lil’ slut on my thigh?” he groans into your ear, low and husky with need. 

You nod wildly, sloppy pussy dripping all over his thigh, seeping into his skin as you grind your hips to meet his movements. “Like it s’much- ah-”

“Mhm? Better than anything he could ever do?”

“Yes yes yes, Toru-” you sob, cheeks burning as you realize that you’re humping him like a bitch in heat - but oh judging by the carnal little glint in his eyes, he liked it. Loved it, even. Because Satoru could feel the way your swollen folds spread to grind against him, clit pulsing so maddeningly against his skin. So filthy and messy as you used him to get yourself off. “S’much better- the best-”

He just didn’t expect to feel a soft hand wrapping around his cock. Eyes flying open to see you - all glassy-eyed, and fucking yourself on his thigh - wrap a hand around his cock. Starting to move in shallow, unsteady little motions up and down his throbbing cock to get him off at the same time as you.

“Wan’ you to cum, too, Toru.”

“Oh fuck.” he grunts, letting his hips fuck up into your fist in mindless little motions. “Y’don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

And with that his fingers were digging into the skin of your hips, forcing you to hold on for dear life as he drags your dripping cunt faster and faster across his thick. Movements erratic and frenzied now. 

Of course, you were not one to be out-done. 

Satoru’s precum spilling down your hand, your wrist now aching and wet, becoming so, so sloppy trying to get both yourselves off. But you still tighten your fist around his pulsing cock, desperately flying up and down his length. Pulling in quick, jerky motions to milk him for all he’s worth again and again and-

“You’re so oh- good f’me, princess.” he hums. “Your hngh- hands are so p-pretty wrapped around my cock. So perfect for me.” Bucking his hips wildly to meet your hand now, fucking your fist with no shame. Pulling you harsher on his thigh. “S’such a shame you had to hah fuck- meet my father first. I’d have been so much better.”

“Toru!” you squeal as one hand moves deftly from your hips to draw quick, hasty little circles on your throbbing clit. The friction from his thigh and fingers too much to handle. 

“I’d make you happier.” Your body is shaking now, hands messy and trembling around his swollen cock. “I’d make you laugh more and give you all m’time.” You can’t even look at him at this point, eyes scrunched close in ecstasy as Satoru whispers these maddening little phrases into your open mouth. 

“I’d make you cum harder.”

Oh and then you are - tears in your eyes, body convulsing into his as you cum. And of course he’s smirking smugly as he watches you ride your high out on his thigh, brows furrowed and bottom lip bitten in concentration as he holds off cumming. Not now. Not yet. 

“So, better than him or not?”

But shit was it hard. 

Especially when you raise your pretty, barely-lucid eyes to meet his, whimpering out a soft little, “I don’ know yet, Toru. Gonna hafta stuff me full of your cock if you wanna know.”

And perhaps for the first time since you walked in on him after the shower that night, the great Gojo Satoru is taken aback. Eyes widening in surprise, kiss-bitten lips falling into a soft oh! of disbelief. But not for long - never for long - because a devilish little grin breaks out across his face immediately afterwards. 

“Shit, y’really are perfect f’me, princess.”

With a low growl, Satoru is easily pulling your body - limp and boneless in his hands - to straddle his toned hips. 

You let out a yelp at the feeling of his fat tip just kissing your swollen folds, dragging teasingly along them, collecting the slick beading out of your sloppy cunt. Back and forth-

“Who’s got you feeling this way?”

“You, Toru.”

And then he’s pushing in, swollen cock bullying into your snug pussy. Thumbs drawing steady little circles on your hips - yes to reassure you but also to fight off that feral little part of himself that just wants to stuff your pretty lil’ pussy full until his heavy balls smack your ass. Not even waiting for you to adjust. 

But no. No, it was so much better when you were the one desperately trying to suck up his cock. Gasping and moaning out strangled little whimpers of his name as you sink yourself down on his throbbing dick. Inch by fucking inch. 

“S’too big- Hngh! I-is it even halfway in?” you whimper out, and Satoru could almost laugh humorlessly as he tilts his head to glance downwards and shit- he was barely a quarter in. 

“No.” 

“F-fuck” cute little tears streaking down your face now, thighs trembling, “Toru, I-I don’t think I can-”

“You can. And you will.” Fucking up into you in short, rapid little jabs to squeeze himself deeper into your tight pussy. Shit, it was such a squeeze, you were milking the ever-loving soul out of him. And it only made him impossibly harder inside you, making you whine and grind down - torn between chasing the feeling of being so deliciously full and the sheer pressure. “Shit, love when your pussy’s sucking me up so good.” 

One hand is on your hip, sliding you farther and farther down his cock, the other drawing urgent, quick patterns on your clit. Not even circles anymore because shit Satoru doesn’t have the patience nor the sanity for that. Throbbing veins rubbing so sinfully against that one spot in your dripping cunt, splitting you apart to the same rhythm as the pulsing. 

And as soon as your ass meets his heavy balls - already so wet with precum and slick - Satoru doesn’t even know if he’s on planet Earth anymore. Mind spinning, he doesn’t waste any time at all. 

“Fuck yes.” Satoru hisses, throwing his head back. “Fucking finally.” He pulls his hips back, far enough that his angry, red tip is just kissing your sloppy entrance, surging forward, forward, forward- “Y’don’t know how fucking long I’ve wanted this, princess. Needed this s’bad, so so bad you don’t understand. Shit.”

And, hey, his girl deserved to be fucked dumb, right?

“Needed this ever since I saw you at that goddamn gala.” he whispers into your lips, ragged and so fucked-out. Each word punctuated by a harsh, heavy thrust. Ones that have you keening and grasping Satoru’s broad back for support. Nails raking down his shoulders as his pace gets faster. More purposeful.

And you can do nothing but take it, barely even able to form any coherent sentences. So prettily sat on Satoru’s lap as he fucks into you, babbling sweet little nonsenses made for your ears only. “Ever since I saw that murderous little glare you threw at those snobby guests.”

His balls smacking against your ass over and over. A quick, steady little tempo that you were losing your mind to. “Ever since you let me take your hand and drag you away to that secret bar to take shots instead of champagne.”

You don’t know whether you’re even crying at this point - all you know is that your cheeks are wet and your voice is broken as your let out a little, “F-fuck, Satoru- but your fa-”

“Fuck that.” he whines, and you could almost laugh at the adorable pout that makes its way onto his face. And at that you can feel him jolt so deliciously, head snapping up to meet yours. “I’m the better one.”

And as if he’s trying to prove it to your cunt, he’s drilling into you faster. Harder. Hips burning now as he fucks you like some animal. Hitting that sweet spot over and over. “I’m the one with the personality and the looks.” Long fingers almost a blur on your clit as he matches his place. Cock hot, and throbbing inside you. 

“I’m the heir, I get the company, too, if that’s what you like.” He’s bouncing you on his cock animalistically now. Hungry gaze taking in the way you’re sucking him up so well. “And I’m funnier one, I’m the one that should be by your side.”

You see stars behind your eyes at both the pleasure and sheer overstimulation as Satoru starts fucking your cunt as best he could without fucking breaking you  - but, honestly, he didn’t give a shit if you cried. He just wanted to stuff you full and have you cum harder than you ever have in your life. 

“Fuck- fuck yes m’gonna cum Toru- hngh.” You pull him closer to you, allowing him to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “M-make ah! Make me cum, fill me up please, Toru.”

You feel him shudder inside you, balls squeezing so painfully. Hips sloppy and absolutely soaked with precum and slick. “Sh-shit, you’re not too good for m’heart. Ngh, f-fuck- I should be the one to make you cum. Over and over until you don’t know what it feels like to not.”

“Toru!” your eyes fly open, “Yes yes yes- it’s you. Only you-”

Oh, like something snapped then Satoru’s surging forward to bite down on the crook of your neck. Hard. You’d almost think he was out to draw blood. And then with a low groan, and one, harsh little thrust, Satoru’s cumming and cumming inside your pretty pussy. And you are too - back arching as you milk his cock through his high. 

Fingers digging into your skin as he holds your hips to his, letting your cunt be filled up so sloppily. Pumping thick, hot ropes of seed that dribbled out of you each time he pumped his hips into yours. Fucking it deeper and deeper inside you. 

And then you’re both collapsing, the exhaustion suddenly hitting the both of you as Satoru moves you both to lay on the mattress. Fuck, Satoru watches in wonder as his cum gushes out of you and forms a wet little pool on the expensive sheets as he starts to pull out. One round might just not be enough. 

Yet not yet - he can feel his eyes drooping, muscles aching as he pulls your sticky body closer to his. And Satoru knows he should get up and wipe you both down. But right now, he’s too drunk off the heat of your body and that angry little bite on your neck. Distracted by the cute lil’ expression on your face, so tired and thoroughly fucked out. Fingers playing with his hair, looking at him with an expression so fond - just like in his dreams. 

Nothing more is said. And all is quiet in your strange little heaven. 

That is, until - “So, princess. Wouldn’t ya wanna be an heiress instead of a sugar baby?”

A/N. How we feeling???

Plagiarism not authorized.

[capricornusx3]

ART: @orukkart

A story about two people lost in the middle of arrangement not one of them wished for. It's about power and danger, hate and love. Will they find a happy ending?

Contents & warnings: arranged marriage, sorcery, idiots searching for love, swear words, nsfw themes — please read warnings to each piece, reader discretion is advised

I. ROSE PETALS AND FEATHERS

—🩷 WEDDING PICTURE

taglist: @kinny-away

[capricornusx3]

Me at dawn after reading Levi smut all night

[capricornusx3]

【 ꜱʏᴍᴘᴛᴏᴍꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇꜱ 】 ch. 10

x pairing professor!gojo x med student f!reader (medical au)

x summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

x wc 13.8 k (again, i'm insane)

x warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood / abuse, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

x author's note not gonna lie, this chapter's gonna be quite angsty. hope the wait was worth it. i'm DYING to hear your reactions! let's dive in!! & pls repost or comment if you enjoyed, highly appreciated ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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"Are you going insane?" 

Satoru's question cut through your spiraling thoughts.

You tore your gaze from the rain-streaked window, meeting his impossibly blue eyes. Only now you realized that the nervous gnawing of your fingernails had gone too far. You shoved your hands under your thighs.

"You look like you're about to face a firing squad," he continued.

"Aren't we?"

The words were dry, masking the acidic churn in your stomach.

He finally looked up from his desk, a mountain of half-graded essays teetering precariously. That infuriating smirk curled his lips. "We'll be fine. Trust me, we've got this."

"How can you stay so calm?"

"Drugs, sweetheart. It's the drugs," he said, his focus already back on the student essay covered in red-ink.

At least he was honest.

"Are you seriously grading papers at a time like this?"

"Had a sudden surge of responsibility. Might not last." He didn't even glance up. "Don't worry, it won't take long. Most of these will fail anyway." A thick red line slashed across the page, a brutal verdict. The next paper met a similar fate with a flick of his wrist. Poor students.

Your gaze dropped to his hands. They trembled, just slightly, but it was there. 

You should ask him how he was. About the withdrawal, his last week on opioids, if the fear gnawed at him as it did you, if the thought of regret crossed his mind.

But you couldn't. 

Yeah, you couldn't. 

How selfish.

He was struggling and you could see it. Painfully clear. And yet, all you could focus on was your own pathetic fear. Weak. That was the word, echoing in your head.

The room felt suffocating. 

It was the day of the ethics committee hearing. 

The day your whole future could unravel. 

You gnawed your nails to the quick, the taste of blood barely registering over the adrenaline pounding in your ears. The rain lashed the window, each drop a hammer blow against your composure. 

What would they ask? What would they accuse?

You were prepared. The research was meticulous, the data irrefutable. But this wasn't about cold facts. If the committee sensed even a whiff of impropriety, they'd tear it apart and use the shreds to bury you both. 

They'd target like a shark sensing blood.

And they wouldn't just attack the science—they'd attack him. You. Everyone.

The thought made you want to vomit. 

Out the window, you spotted Geto and Higurama, making their way across the rain-drenched parking lot. Oh, right, there was something else you wanted to drown in the back of your mind. But now, the memory was back, embarrassingly clear as you saw Geto's face.

"Why did you say that?" you asked, turning to Satoru.

He blinked, momentarily distracted from his grading massacre. "What?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

His lips curved into sly smile. "It was a joke. Relax."

"God, I hate you." You turned your gaze away from him, focusing on the way the rain lashed against the window.

Silence stretched.

Finally, you glanced at him once again. "Did you?"

"What?"

"Share...women?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why, intrigued?"

"You're stupid." You spun away, but a wave of frustration washed over you.

But to your bad, his curiosity was piqued now. 

He rose from his chair, hands braced on the worn oak of the desk. "And you're intrigued. I can't believe you." He moved towards you, his presence filling the room. "My sweet little girl wants a threesome." He paused, tilting his head. "Never thought you'd be into that."

You crossed your arms. "Stop it already."

"No wait, now I think about it," Slowly, his gaze raked over you, a wicked glint in his eyes making your skin crawl. "I totally should have seen that coming."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You managed the words, but your defiance was crumbling as he leaned in closer. 

The heat radiating from him was almost tangible. His scent, with a hint of warm coffee and something distinctly, maddeningly him, clouded your senses, making rational thought impossible.

He reached out, his touch feather-light as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your shoulder. His fingertips grazed the soft skin of your neck. Before you could protest, his hand slid lower, tracing the line of your arm.

"Tell me," he whispered, his breath a warm caress against your ear. "Where would you want him to touch you?"

"Stop it." You pushed his hand away, but your resistance only seemed to fuel his teasing.

"Oh, don't be shy now. Suguru doesn't like that," he said, voice low and laced with a hint of mockery. "Tell me, where would you let him touch you? Would you shiver like this for him?" He leaned closer, his tongue tracing a hot path along your jaw that made you indeed shiver.

Then, the door crashed open, revealing a rain-lashed Geto and Higurama. 

You quickly wrenched yourself away from Satoru, pushing against his chest.

Higurama stumbled straight to the nearest chair. With a groan, he collapsed into its worn embrace, fumbling with the clasps of his waterlogged leather case. Papers and files spilled onto the table.

Geto stripped the rain from his hair, then twisted the dark strands into a fresh bun. His eyes flickered between you and Satoru, a single raised eyebrow his only question. You wouldn't meet his gaze, the floor suddenly fascinating. 

Not now. Not after this conversation.

"Just so we're clear," Satoru's voice suddenly cut through the quiet, "I don't share. Not you."

An angry glare was all you could manage in reply.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Geto asked.

"Where she'd want you to—" Satoru began.

"Anyway," you interrupted, your voice rising an octave in a desperate attempt to drown him out. The sharp sound cut through the room, snapping the heads of all three men towards you. "How about we talk about our strategy for the hearing?"

You approached Higurama, the case files spread before him like grim prophecies. He straightened, a determined look replacing his previous fatigue. "So, should we start?"

Satoru and Geto closed in, their footsteps heavy in the silence. Satoru picked up a paper and perched on the edge of the desk.

"Male patient, 37 years old," he began. "Paraplegic due to a motorcycle accident five years ago. We implanted the prototype neuroprosthetic interface to facilitate control of a biomimetic limb."

He turned to the next page. "All pre-operative assessments indicated the patient was a perfect candidate. No underlying conditions, strong mental fortitude—ideal for testing the new neural link."

"Exactly," Geto said, his gaze locked onto a x-ray scan on the table. "The initial calibration was a success. The patient gained full control of the biomimetic limb, experiencing no rejection or discomfort."

"However," he continued. "Two weeks after surgery, the patient suffered a sudden and massive cerebral hemorrhage. He died shortly after."

The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with tension. 

Your breath caught in your throat, guilt a cold stone in your stomach. The image of the patient flashed through your mind—his smile as he took his first, tentative steps with his new limb, the hopeful gleam in his eyes. 

Now, he was nothing but a name on a file, a haunting statistic.

You stole a glance at Satoru—all traces of amusement had vanished from his face, replaced by an unsettling seriousness.

"There was no physical damage to the implant itself, correct?" Satoru asked.

You took a deep breath. "No. All post-operative scans showed no abnormalities with the device. It's likely a malfunction within the neural interface itself that somehow triggered the bleeding." 

Satoru met your gaze. "I double-checked that," you added.

He mustered a faint smile.

Higurama squinted at a scan, feigning understanding. "So, the issue wasn't with the patient. He was healthy and the surgery went well. It's something within the implant."

Satoru pushed off the desk and started pacing the room. "If that's the case, the engineers are in deep trouble. We're in the clear."

Geto scoffed. "Don't be naive, Satoru. The ethics committee will chew us up and spit us out. They'll scrutinize every detail, every decision."

He didn't have to spell it out—the subtext was clear.

Silence settled.

"He's right," Higurama said after a while said, his gaze flicking between you and Satoru. "They'll dig into your relationship. Got a story ready for them?"

Your response was immediate. "We tell them the truth," you said. "We have a committed relationship. Everyone on the team knows, and it hasn't impacted our work in any way."

"But we only bring it up if they ask," Satoru added.

Suddenly, anger burned through you. You whipped around to face him. "Since when did we decide that?"

Satoru met your gaze head-on. "I decided."

"But you don't get to decide for both of us."

"I'm trying to protect you," he said, his jaw clenching. "The committee will twist this. They'll make it look worse than it is. I won't let them tarnish your reputation. So, if they don't ask, we won't tell."

"And you think, them finding out later will be better? You know they will find out, Satoru. Sooner or later, it'll come out. Then what?"

"Can you stop being so damn stubborn?" he fired back, a flicker of frustration finally breaking through his infuriating calm. "This isn't about us. It's about them and what they might do to you, what they would think of you if they found out."

Your chin lifted a fraction higher, a silent challenge. You wouldn't let him play the protector card, not this time.

Geto cleared his throat. "You want some privacy?"

In perfect, maddening unison, you and Satoru spoke.

"No," you declared.

"Yes," he insisted.

Silence stretched between you like a fraying rope, broken only by the relentless drumming of the rain against the windows. You both held each other's gaze, caught in a silent battle of wills that neither wanted to lose.

Geto and Higurama exchanged a troubled look. 

With a resigned sigh, Higurama gathered up the scattered papers. Then the door shut, leaving you and Satoru alone under the harsh fluorescent glare of the office.

Satoru closed the distance between you. Before you could protest, he reached out and cupped your face with a touch that was both gentle and insistent. His thumb gently brushed the line of your jaw as he forced you to meet his gaze.

"Please," he whispered. "Just trust me on this one."

His eyes, those piercing blue depths, held a desperation you'd never seen before. You longed to surrender, to simply accept the comfort he offered, but you couldn't.

"We discussed this, Satoru. Hiding this—it'll make things worse. They'll question our judgment, our ethics. We have to be clear from the start."

"They don't care about our research, they don't care about our intentions." His grip tightened, not cruelly, but with the urgency of a drowning man. "They care about protecting the institution. Our honesty will be a weapon they use against us."

"But secrets always find a way out, and when they do—" You trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging in the air.

Silence followed. 

His features tightened, the internal war etched across his face with brutal clarity. His jaw worked, a muscle twitching beneath the skin. You held your breath, waiting, hoping.

"Fine." He released your face, the touch lingering for a split second before he stepped back. "Your way." He resumed his restless pacing, a shaky breath escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Satoru, how are you—"

"Fine," he cut you off. "Manageable."

He was a terrible liar.

Dark circles etched a brutal truth beneath his eyes. His shoulders, rigid as stone, screamed a silent protest against the weight he carried alone. Frustration gnawed at you. "If you keep shutting me out—"

He held up a hand, abruptly cutting you off. "Look, I—it's under control." Forced lightness dripped from his words like acid. "Right now, we have bigger things to worry about than my personal issues."

His fingers twitched, then clenched into fists so tight the knuckles turned white. Fine sweat glistened on his forehead, betraying the effort it took to keep still and not claw at his scars.

A familiar ache rose in your chest. You longed to reach out, to bridge the chasm he insisted on maintaining. But his posture, rigid as stone, and his clenched jaw, sent a silent warning. This was his battle, one he'd fight in isolation—as always. 

To argue now would be a futile cruelty.

Still, it took every ounce of control not to slap sense into him.

"Look," he began, his voice soft now, "I know I'm not—easy to deal with right now. And, damn it, I'm asking too much." His hand found yours, the touch fleeting, hesitant. "I'm sorry for dragging you into my mess."

Why was he saying that?

Anger boiled over at his ridiculous apology. Had he no idea what it meant to love someone? To choose them, flaws and all. The urge to yell at him, to shake some sense into him, grew stronger.

How could he be so brilliant, yet so completely foolish when it came to the heart?

"Don't say that," you choked out, hating how close your voice was to breaking.

"We should probably get going," Satoru said abruptly, sidestepping the moment, and moved towards the door. He paused briefly beside you. Before you could react, he leaned in and brushed his lips against your temple.

"I love you," he said, the words barely audible. "And I'll make it up to you. I promise."

He pulled back, and for a heartbeat a flicker of vulnerability appeared in his eyes before the familiar mask slammed back into place. He turned and left the room.

You stood alone, the echo of his footsteps haunting the silence.

Dread twisted in your gut, a cold knot tightening with each breath. Something was wrong. It clawed at your insides, demanding to be heard.

He was falling apart.

But all you could do was watch.

─── ·✧· ───

Cold air whipped down the corridor as Satoru pushed the door open. 

The room within was just as cold. 

A vast, circular chamber bathed in harsh light, the air thick with the scent of dust and old wood. The committee members sat at a raised, semi-circular table—three figures cloaked in stiff suits and stern expressions. Their backs to you.

The chamber wasn't empty. 

Rows of chairs lined the room, filled with observers. Students, researchers, the curious, and perhaps those hungry for the spectacle of your downfall. Their murmurs were a low hum against the echoing silence as you went into the room.

It was less like a conference room, and more like a courtroom.

Eyes burned into you from every direction. 

As you approached, the committee members finally turned to face you. Your breath hitched, catching painfully in your chest. Time warped, the world narrowing to a pinprick as their faces resolved into sickening clarity.

For there, in the center of the committee, sat Sukuna.

His presence was a jagged shard of ice in your heart, piercing through the thin veneer of composure you clung to. His lips curled into a cruel smile, and a flicker of malevolent glee danced in his eyes.

This was a disaster. 

No, it was worse than a disaster. It was a meticulously orchestrated trap. This wasn't about research, about ethics. It was personal. Sukuna would use this hearing to destroy you, to rip away everything you'd worked for.

Bile rose in your throat, burning and acrid.

Before you could process the horror of the situation, Satoru leaned in. His voice, barely a whisper, held an urgency that cut through the panic. "Change of plan. You say nothing, got me?"

Then, he walked away.

Higurama placed a hand on your shoulder. "Come on," he said, squeezing gently. 

He led you away, along the perimeter of the room towards the other observers. Satoru and Geto continued their march towards the raised platform, isolated beneath a spotlight of scrutiny.

The man to Sukuna's left, a stern-faced figure with wire-rimmed glasses, cleared his throat. "Dr. Gojo, Dr. Geto," he began, his voice dry. "Let us begin."

The hearing started. 

Words were hurled like daggers, each a piercing blow masked in the veneer of clinical inquiry. Yet, you barely registered. You were drowning in a sea of fear and confusion, your senses numbed. 

Technical details, research methodology, surgical procedures—every detail of your work was being scrutinized, dissected under the harsh glare of judgment.

With each probing question, another wave of panic threatened to pull you under. You watched Satoru and Geto, their voices distant and distorted. Each answer seemed to disarm the committee's attacks, yet their success did little to ease the relentless churning within you.

Then, Sukuna spoke.

The mere sound of his voice made you flinch. 

"Dr. Gojo," Sukuna addressed Satoru directly, "your research proposal mentions the involvement of a particularly skilled...assistant. It seems her contribution was essential to this project's success?"

There it was. The first arrow, dipped in poison. 

Satoru shifted slightly in his seat, his jaw tensing.

"That's correct. Our research assistant played a crucial role in both research and surgery. Her work throughout was exceptional."

"Indeed," Sukuna purred, drawing out the word. "This assistant...how did you choose this particular student? Was it solely academic potential that sparked your...enthusiasm?"

Satoru's gaze hardened, meeting Sukuna's with cold fury.

"My research assistants are chosen based on merit. If you find that questionable, perhaps that says more about you than it does about me."

"Of course, merit," Sukuna mocked. "Yet, such enthusiasm for guiding this particular student. Surely there were others equally qualified? Or was there something special about her that made her... stand out?"

Satoru's grip on the table tightened. You saw the vein in his temple throb. "I don't indulge in your insinuations," he said, his voice low. "My student was chosen for her brilliance, her dedication. Nothing more."

"Brilliance and dedication... admirable indeed," Sukuna mused. "But perhaps such qualities inspire a greater degree of devotion in their mentors, wouldn't you agree?"

"If your intent is to waste the committee's time with these baseless accusations—" he began, but Sukuna cut him off.

"Accusations?" Sukuna raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "I am merely exploring the unusual level of support you provided this particular student. Such exceptional one-on-one mentorship. And haven't there been rumors?"

He paused, letting the poison of those words spread through the silence. 

The woman on Sukuna's right scribbled furiously on her notepad, while the man to his left wore an expression of barely concealed disdain.

Your stomach twisted.

This wasn't just Sukuna playing games anymore—this was a calculated act of revenge meant to leave you broken and bleeding.

"Rumors have no place in a discussion of scientific integrity," Satoru said.

Sukuna chuckled. "So protective, Dr. Gojo. Perhaps there's truth to those whispers after all... A hint of guilt, perhaps?"

The insinuation hung heavy in the air, a noose tightening around Satoru's composure. You saw the fury ignite in his eyes, his jaw flexing as he fought to contain it. 

"Those rumors are beneath contempt. Our work stands on its own merit."

"Yet, this particular student," Sukuna countered, "she seems to have benefited so exceptionally from your attention. Late nights in the lab, one-on-one consultations. Such dedication to a student's development is truly admirable."

Satoru's knuckles turned white against the polished wood of the table. His voice, when it came, was a barely controlled snarl. "My methods are beyond reproach. The success of the research speaks for itself."

"Perhaps. But even the most brilliant minds can be blinded by, shall we say, distractions?" He leaned in closer, his voice a near whisper. "Tell me, Dr. Gojo, how far would you go to protect this student? To preserve her precious reputation?"

That was it.

Satoru surged to his feet, the sharp sound of his chair scraping back echoing in the deathly silence. He slammed his hands on the table, leaning towards Sukuna, his eyes blazing.

"Enough!" His voice boomed through the room, silencing the whispers. "This farce has gone on far too long. Your accusations are unfounded, and your motivations are sickeningly clear. You will not tarnish my reputation or that of my student!"

Sukuna held his gaze, unyielding.

"Dr. Gojo, please!" The woman on Sukuna's right spoke. "Control yourself. This outburst does little to support your claims of objectivity."

Satoru's jaw tightened, anger flickering in his eyes. But with a visible effort, he reined in his fury. The slam of his hand against the wood was replaced with a heavy silence as he slowly lowered himself back into his seat.

The damage, though, was irreversible. 

The image was planted—the brilliant but reckless professor blinded by his illicit affection, the ambitious student caught in his web. 

Sukuna had won, and he hadn't even needed proof.

The man with the wire-rimmed glasses cleared his throat. "Dr. Gojo, if such allegations held any merit, the consequences would be dire. University policy forbids faculty-student relationships." He paused, the gravity clear in his tone. 

"An investigation would be inevitable. The student would face immediate suspension, possible expulsion. The faculty member—" he shook his head, "termination would be the least of their concerns. And, I hardly need add, the project itself would be called into question."

Each word hammered another nail into your coffin.

"We understand this is sensitive, Dr. Gojo—," the woman beside Sukuna spoke again.

Suddenly, Satoru surged to his feet and began walking towards the door, his footsteps echoing in the suffocating silence. Sukuna watched, his smirk a cruel twist on his lips.

"Dr. Gojo is—indisposed," Geto's voice cracked, a desperate attempt to cover for Satoru's abruptness. "My deepest apologies. Perhaps we could reschedule?"

You watched Satoru go, every fiber of your being urging you to follow. He passed by your chair, so close, yet agonizingly out of reach. The impulse to defy them all, to stand by him, was a wildfire raging within you.

But as you moved, Higurama's hand closed firmly around your wrist.

"Not now," he whispered. "You already look guilty."

His words pierced through the haze of adrenaline. 

He was right.

Damn it, he was right. 

Any protest, any step towards the door, would only be twisted as further proof of the poisonous narrative Sukuna had spun. Despair crashed over you, a suffocating weight that stole your breath.

This wasn't about the research project anymore. 

It was a witch hunt, fueled by Sukuna's poison.

The door slammed shut behind Satoru, the sound a death knell. All eyes in the room were on you now, filled with a mix of pity, condemnation, and a perverse curiosity. 

Your world was crumbling. 

And all you could do was watch helplessly as the debris buried you alive.

─── ·✧· ───

You waited.

You waited for what seemed like an eternity until most people had left the room. Just when you thought you couldn't stand it any longer, you stood up, fast enough that Higurama couldn't stop you. You heard him shout something after you, but you didn't care.

Rounding the corner, his scent of his cologne hit you first. It led you to the men's bathroom. You didn't bother to knock.

The air inside was thick with humidity, the scent of bleach stinging your nostrils. A figure hunched over the sink, the harsh fluorescent light glinting off his damp hair. 

Satoru.

Even with his back turned, his tension was a palpable force.

A man standing next to him, washing his hands, shot you a wide-eyed look. "The hell?"

You cut him off, the words sharp as shattered glass. "Get out."

"This ain't the ladies' room—"

"Didn't you hear me? I said get out."

The man hesitated, then muttered something like 'crazy chicks' under his breath. He cast a final glance your way before shoving past you, the door slamming behind him.

Silence descended, punctuated only by the running water. 

Satoru remained hunched over the sink. He splashed water on his face again, then scrubbed at his hands, the water running faintly pink.

His reflection in the mirror was a stranger. A shuddering breath escaped him as he rested his hands on the edge of the sink, the knuckles whitening with the force of his grip. Finally, he met your gaze in the mirror.

"We're screwed," he stated bluntly.

"We're not."

"You're naive," He turned the water off, the abrupt silence jarring. "Do you even realize what happened in there?"

"I'm not stupid, Satoru."

"We can't do this." He finally turned fully towards you, leaning against the sink. "Sukuna wants to see me burn, and I won't allow you get caught in the crossfire."

"You won't allow me?" You took a few steps closer. "Since when do you get to make that decision for me?"

"Since I'm the one who screwed this up."

"But we're in this together. Remember?"

"Being 'together' is exactly the problem."

You took the remaining steps until you stood before him. "We've been through worse. We can manage this."

"This is different," he insisted, the words strained. "This isn't some paper getting rejected, this is—this will destroy us. You."

"Maybe, but what's the alternative? Give in? Letting Sukuna win?" You tilted your head. "Over my dead body."

"You're so damn stubborn," he said, escaping your gaze and shifting slightly. "You heard what they said in there, if this gets out, you could be suspended from this university. You would lose everything you've worked so hard for."

"And so. I don't care! I won't stand by and see Sukuna ruin you for something we're both responsible for!"

Suddenly, the door creaked open and a man peered in, startled by the scene. You turned your head. "Get the fuck out and find another bathroom."

The man left in an instant.

Satoru met your gaze once more. "I can take the fall. I can handle it. But you—you have a future ahead of you."

The audacity almost made you scream. "Handle it? How? By giving Sukuna exactly what he wants?"

"You don't get it, do you?" he snapped. "You have no say in this matter, not anymore. End of discussion."

His words felt like a physical blow. 

Silence choked the air within the tiny bathroom. You fought for breath, for words, for any thread of understanding to cling to. Your hands trembled, nails digging into your palms until the pain was heavier than the crushing weight in your chest.

"Why do you even stay?" His sudden question a knife to an already gaping wound.

What? 

Why would he say that? 

Wasn't that obvious?

Your heart sank and for a horrifying moment, your mind was a blank canvas, all anger swept away.

"Because you would do the same," you finally managed, the words scraped raw from your throat. "You would stay. You wouldn't leave me."

For one agonizing moment, he simply stared, as if searching for the lie in your words. "You don't know that."

"I do."

Of this you were more certain than anything. Even if he did not see it himself.

"No, you don't." He stepped closer, his presence a looming shadow. "You know what your problem is?" His voice dropped to a harsh whisper, forcing you to meet his eyes. The vibrant blue was gone, replaced by a bleak and turbulent storm.

"You're blind. Naive." His words were like shards of ice, each syllable piercing your already bleeding heart. "You've fallen in love with someone who will break you, and you stubbornly refuse to see it. Refuse to save yourself."

The sheer nerve of it sent a surge of fury coursing through you.

"Yeah, you're right, you're a real pain in the ass." Your voice held a bitter edge. "Most days, I wonder myself why I even stay. But Satoru, hear me when I say—we're not perfect, we never will be. Still, I chose you."

He paused.

His granite facade finally cracked, a flicker of vulnerability in that frozen gaze.

"I don't know if I can do this," he whispered, a broken confession. "I don't know if I can be what you need—what you deserve."

You stepped closer, patience stretched thin, a simmering rage threatening to boil over. 

"And how does that make you feel?" Your voice held a relentless edge. "Knowing, too bad you don't get to decide? That I'm sticking around regardless—even when you try your hardest to push me away?"

His shoulders slumped, and with a shuddering breath, he buried his face in the crook of your neck. "You're killing me," he choked out, the words barely audible against your skin.

"I could say the same about you." 

Your fingers threaded through his hair, felt the tension coiled in his neck muscles. For a few precious minutes, the world outside this bathroom faded away. There was only the warmth of his body against yours, the grounding rhythm of his unsteady breath.

"I can't explain why you don't leave."

"Because you're unworthy of my love?"

"Maybe," he said, burying his face even deeper into your neck. "I don't know."

"Look at me," you insisted. "Satoru, look at me."

"I can't," he choked out. "I'm scared," the confession tore from him, "scared of hurting you, terrified of losing you. You—you make me feel things I've spent a lifetime avoiding, things I don't know how to handle. It scares the hell out of me."

Your heart ached for him, for the vulnerability he so rarely dared to show. "I'm scared too," you admitted. "I'm scared of losing you. So don't push me away, when all I want is to be near you."

Then, slowly, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. His body trembled against yours. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"You don't need to deserve me, Satoru. Love isn't about deserving. It's about choosing each other, again and again, no matter what. And I choose you."

He lifted his head, his gaze searching yours.

"And I choose you," he echoed. 

He leaned down. His lips met yours, hesitant at first, then pressing with growing urgency. Your hands tightened on the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck, feeling the tension seep away under your touch.

His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. 

You leaned into him. 

You sought him like a gasping breath. 

The kiss deepened, still not fiery, but infused with a desperate kind of hunger. It wasn't about pleasure, it was about presence—proof of each other, a lifeline in a sea of doubt.

When he finally drew back, it was the barest of distances, his ragged breath warm against your skin. His gaze searched yours as if for the answer to an unanswerable question.

Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open.

Geto's form filled the doorway.

"There you are," he sighed. "Well, at least this time, everyone manages to keep their hands where I can see them. 

─── ·✧· ───

Half-unpacked boxes littered your apartment.

Even after six months, you still hadn't found the time to really settle into your new place. You wondered what was taking up all your time?

Yeah, right.

But unpacking today became a pleasant distraction. Tomorrow was the second hearing, and to say you were nervous was an understatement. 

You busied yourself with mindless tasks—sorting through old journals, debating whether to throw away sentimental stuff you knew you'd never look at again. 

Anything to avoid the relentless churn of worry, the scenarios your mind conjured despite your best efforts to banish them.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed. 

Satoru's name flashed on the screen.

"Look out your window," he said.

You crossed to the window, pushing aside the faded curtains. 

There he was, leaning against his sleek black car, the streetlights casting him in an almost cinematic glow. He tipped his head back, his gaze finding yours across the distance.

"So," his voice crackled through the phone, "wanna do something fun?"

"Fun, huh? Don't tell me you plan on robbing a bank and need an accomplice?"

"I don't need to rob a bank, I'm already fairly wealthy, don't worry. Thought of something more destructive."

"Sounds tempting," you said, "but I'm a very busy woman, you know? I've got people to avoid, laundry to fold—"

"If you don't come down in the next few minutes, you're the one getting folded, first-year."

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Irresistible, you mean," he corrected. 

"Give me a minute."

You quickly grabbed a sweater and headed downstairs. You stepped outside and saw him still leaning against his car, arms crossed. He straightened up as you approached, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. "Hey there, beautiful."

"Are you single?" he quipped as you approached. His warmth radiated against you, his breath a whisper against your skin. "Cause I think I wanna make you mine." He opened the passenger door for you.

"Sadly, I'm taken," you replied, leaning in seductively. His breath caught for a fraction of a second, before you slid into the plush seat. The familiar scent of leather and his cologne washed over you.

"That man must be damn lucky." He closed the door with a soft click, walked around the car and got in the driver's seat.

"So where are we going?" you asked.

"Ah, that would be telling." 

With a roar of the engine, he pulled away from the curb.

The drive stretched on, the cityscape melting into the soft twilight. The setting sun painted the sky in a fiery canvas of orange and crimson, casting long shadows across the rolling fields. 

You looked over at Satoru. Bathed in the warm glow, he looked so soft—the tousled white hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the mischievous glint in those impossibly blue eyes hidden behind his dark sunglasses.

You watched the effortless grace with which he steered, one hand relaxed on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. The warmth seeping through the fabric, the subtle pressure of his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin.

The buzz of the city gave way to sprawling countryside, and then unexpectedly, he veered onto a narrow dirt road. The car raised clouds of dust. Finally, he brought it to a stop, the engine cutting off abruptly.

A sprawling junkyard loomed before you, a graveyard of rusted cars and forgotten machinery. 

"You want to murder me?"

He grinned, already unbuckling. "What do you think of me?" 

Without another word, he slid out, rounding the car to open the passenger door for you. "Come on, this will be fun."

He walked towards the trunk. Popping it open, he reached inside and pulled out two worn construction hammers.

"You really want to murder me, don't you?" 

Satoru slung the hammers over his shoulder. "Trust me, you'll love it," he said, tossing you a pair of safety glasses. "Don't you want to enjoy our last day before we get suspended?"

"This isn't funny, Satoru."

"Just a bit," he countered.

You approached the towering chainlink gate of the junkyard. Reaching it, Satoru planted a hammer against the bars with a loud clang.

"Choso!" His voice boomed through the desolate expanse. "Open up. I've brought company."

Moments later, a figure emerged from the shadows of a half-collapsed shed. He moved with a surprising fluidity for a man who seemed built of rock and iron. A greasy work overall hung low on his hips, exposing a chest etched with dust and tattoos. Dark hair framed his face.

"Satoru," he drawled, leaning against the gate, "need to let off some steam? And who's the pretty company?" His gaze swept over you.

"Quit drooling," Satoru said. "She's with me."

"Too bad." He gave you another slow, deliberate once-over. "Name's Choso," he said towards you and then unlocked the gate, swinging it open with a rusty creak. "Come in."

The interior of the junkyard was a labyrinth of faded paint, twisted metal, and the lingering scent of oil and gasoline. Sataru strode through with the ease of someone who knew this place intimately, navigating the treacherous terrain with an almost playful familiarity.

"So," you ventured, "how exactly do you two know each other?"

"Old acquaintance," Satoru said. "Went to school together."

Choso laughed. "Worst years of my life. Surgeon here was like a walking force of chaos, dragging trouble in his wake and showing up at the worst possible times."

"Speaking of worst times," Choso continued, throwing Satoru a pointed look, "where the hell have you been, man? Haven't seen you around in a while."

"Been busy," Satoru said.

Choso narrowed his eyes, his gaze lingering on you. "Ah, well, well—now things make a bit more sense."

Choso led you further into the heart of the junkyard, where several battered cars stood. With a theatrical gesture, he swept his arm towards them. "These babies are destined for the scrap heap tomorrow, so have at it."

He then dug into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out a set of keys. He tossed them to Satoru. "Lock up after yourself as usual," he said, already moving away, "and try not to set the whole place on fire, okay?"

Satoru turned towards you, eyes dancing with mischief.

"Safety first," he said, grabbing the safety glasses from your grip and gently placing them over your head. "Gotta protect those pretty eyes."

"Are we seriously doing this now?"

He grinned. "Trust me," he said, before putting on his own glasses and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Muscles rippled as he hefted the hammer. "It's fun."

BOOM! 

The first blow from Satoru's hammer echoed through the junkyard. Glass shattered, raining down in glittering shards. Metal shrieked in protest, folding under his relentless assault. Dents bloomed beneath his blows, grotesque and strangely satisfying.

You watched him release all the frustration that must have built up over the past months, it seemed.

Or perhaps he was completely insane now.

After what seemed like an eternity he finally slowed down. His chest heaved, breath coming in ragged gasps. A sheen of sweat slicked his forehead, making his white hair stick to his skin. 

Slowly, he lowered the hammer, knuckles white against the worn wood.

He turned towards you. "Wanna try?"

Wordlessly, you approached. He watched, a hint of amusement playing on his lips, as you took the hammer from his grasp.

With a surge of adrenaline, you raised the hammer and brought it down, the impact resonating through the junkyard. Metal shrieked in protest, a deep crater forming under the blow. The vibration thrummed through your arms, jolting Satoru into a surprised laugh.

"Didn't think you had it in you, first-year," he said. "You still surprise me."

You met his gaze. "Here to talk, or blow off steam?" 

He grinned.

And then, destruction followed.

The hammer felt surprisingly good in your hand. 

With each blow, a wave of satisfaction surged through you. It wasn't just about hitting metal. It was about smashing the frustration out, that had been building up inside you for weeks. It was addictive, the way the world narrowed to just you, the car, and the hammer—

—and it felt damn good.

Minutes later, you paused, taking a breath.

"So," you started, your voice breathless, "why does Sukuna hate you so much anyway?"

Satoru set down his hammer with a thud. "I did some stuff I'm not really proud of in my teenage years. Thought he'd be over it by now, but—guess not."

What's that supposed to mean?

What could he have possibly done to make Sukuna hate him so much?

But then again, did you really want to know every dark detail of his past?

Not really.

You glanced over at him, and somehow something in his eyes told you that you indeed did not want to know. You lifted your hammer, the metal cool against your skin, and smashed the car's side mirror. The glass shattered with a satisfying crack.

Satoru paused, watching you. "You don't want to ask?"

"What?"

"What it was that I did?"

As if anything about this man could scare you at this point. 

But then again, you didn't want to push it.

"Is it worse than your addiction?" Another swing, another satisfying crack as the car yielded further to your blows.

He didn't reply.

You set down the hammer, the metal suddenly too heavy to hold. "It doesn't matter. Your past is your past, Satoru. We all do stupid things when we're young."

His impossibly blue eyes bore into you, sending a strange shiver down your spine. "Besides, if he hates you for being a jerk back then, Sukuna needs a serious hobby."

A smirk pulled at your lips as you slammed the hammer against the car once more, the clang echoing through the tense space. 

Before you could strike again, Satoru's hand closed over yours. With disarming ease, he plucked the hammer from your numb grasp, tossing it aside with a clatter.

The scent of sweat, oil, and his familiar cologne washed over you—heady, intoxicating. He cupped your face, his touch tender even as his hands trembled slightly.

He leaned in, the world narrowing to his electric blue eyes and the quickening of his breath against your skin. "I love you, first-year. Damn it, I love you. I don't care how complicated this gets, I want you."

His lips claimed yours before you could process his words in a kiss that was both desperate and achingly tender. You melted into him, hands tangling in his sweat-dampened hair, the taste of salt and a hint of iron sharp and real on his lips.

Time seemed to bend and stretch. The world outside the junkyard, with all the shit going on, faded into insignificance. All that mattered was his touch, his kiss conveying emotions words couldn't express.

Your hands fisted in his shirt. You pulled him closer, needing the reassurance of his warmth, the proof of this connection amidst the chaos. 

He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue seeking entry with hesitant urgency. His hands roamed, mapping your familiar curves beneath the fabric of your clothes. 

He broke the kiss, a low moan escaping his throat. Hot, open-mouthed kisses trailed along your jaw before he swept you off your feet, breaking the kiss only long enough to lay you back against the cool metal of the car's hood.

His body followed, pressing against yours. His lips found yours once more, sending a new wave of shivers through you. His hands were rough, long fingers tracing the curve of your hip, thumb brushing against the sensitive skin of your waist, where your sweater hitched upwards.

He kissed you like a man at the edge of a precipice, savoring every sensation, clinging to the fragile lifeline this moment offered. Your fingers tangled in his tousled white hair, holding him close, urging him even closer. 

A moan vibrated against your lips, a testament to the fire you so effortlessly ignited within him.

Then, reality cut through the haze with the sharp buzz of his phone. He pulled back with a gasp, a flicker of frustration crossing his face.

"What's wrong?" you breathed.

"Stupid reminder." A muscle worked in his jaw as he fumbled for his phone. He glanced at the screen. "My pills—"

The words hung heavy in the air. 

Of course. How could you have forgotten? 

Today—today would be the last day he needed those reminders.

As he sat back, you straightened slightly. "You okay?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, his gaze swept across the junkyard. With a sigh, he reached behind him, pulling out a plastic blister pack. One final pill starkly visible in its faded foil casing.

"Last one." He held it up for you to see. "Forever."

"Are you—" You couldn't quite bring yourself to ask if he was afraid, but the question lingered in your eyes, unspoken.

He finally met your eyes, and the vulnerability there took your breath away. "Terrified," he admitted. "But also—"

He hesitated. "Alive," he finished. "For the first time in a damn long time, I actually feel like I'm living."

Satoru's eyes flickered to your lips. Without a word, he leaned in, his movements laced with a new slowness that somehow made him seem even more dangerous. 

His lips hovered mere inches from yours as he guided you back until you lay upon the cool metal of the car hood once more.

Above you, the fading twilight painted the sky in hues of violet and indigo, the first stars shimmering to life. Time seemed to dissolve, leaving only the warmth of his body against yours, the grounding rhythm of his breath. 

"Satoru, what—?"

His eyes locked with yours, the intensity in his gaze both thrilling and unsettling. He pulled the last pill from its faded packaging, holding it between his fingers. "Open your mouth."

And without hesitation, you did.

His breath ghosted over your skin as he leaned close, placing the pill on your tongue. Your heart hammered against your ribs, the bitterness of the pill barely registering.

Satoru simply watched you for a moment, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Shame I have to get clean, you look so pretty like that."

Before the pill could dissolve, his lips found yours. With a gasp, you felt him sweep the pill with his tongue into his own mouth.

The kiss that followed was deep, searing, all-consuming.

It was both a goodbye and a beginning, whispered against your lips with the lingering tang of bitter medicine.

You clawed at his back, nails leaving their mark as he tightened his grip, pulling you impossibly closer. Heat pooled low in your stomach, your whimper swallowed by another hungry kiss of him.

Suddenly, teeth grazed your bottom lip, a sharp sting that blurred the line between pleasure and pain. Each flicker of his tongue sent shudders through your limbs, each nip of his teeth left you craving more.

His hand slid beneath your shirt with a roughness that stole your breath. You moan against his lips, your body arching instinctively towards his touch.

He pushed one of your legs up, his fingers trailing along the back of your thigh with a firm, insistent touch. Blazing kisses seared along your jawline, the warmth a stark contrast to the cool night air.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, feeling the desperate echo of his need mirrored in your own ragged pulse. The relentless rhythm of his breath, the feverish touch of his skin—it was an intoxicating chaos that threatened to consume you.

And then, abruptly, he pulled back.

"You give in too easily." A teasing smile played on his lips. "You don't really want me to fuck you on this hood, right?"

"God, I hate you," you muttered, sitting up and brushing your hair back. It was a half-hearted insult, lacking its usual bite.

"Yeah, as if," he countered, the smirk widening. He offered you a hand. "Come on, first-year. We're not done here. Gotta let out some more of that pent-up frustration, right?"

─── ·✧· ───

Back in Satoru's apartment, reality intruded with a gritty persistence.

The remnants of the junkyard clung to you like an unwelcome second skin. Your hair was a tangled mess, your face streaked with grime—a stark contrast to the pristine white tiles of Satoru's tidy bathroom.

"Got you something to change into later." Satoru's voice sliced through the steam, drawing your attention. You turned, water running down your body, and met his gaze. 

"Thank you."

He stripped off his shirt, exposing his defined chest. Then, he reached for his belt, his movements slow. "Takeout later?"

"Sounds good." Your gaze fixated on him as he continued to undress, shedding layers of clothing until he stood bare before you.

He stepped into the shower, joining you beneath the steaming spray. The water, hot as it had been before, suddenly felt scalding against your sensitized skin. His gaze roamed over you with such boldness that it sent a shiver down your spine.

"What are you planning, Professor?"

His hands found your waist, drawing you impossibly closer, eliminating the last sliver of space between your bodies. The water cascaded over you, washing away the grime of the day. He leaned closer. "Maybe we should finish what we started earlier, don't you think?"

His hands, rough yet tender, traced a path along your damp arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

"Oh, what? You're leaving me hanging earlier and now you want it?" 

"Oh love, I would've fucked you dumb on that hood if I didn't know Choso has cameras all over the place." He trailed kisses down your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer still, crushing your water-slicked bodies together. His boner already pressing against your back. 

"Don't want him to see you all messed up, crying and screaming out my name."

"You're too confident for you own good," you protested weakly, though the words melted into a sigh as his lips continued their assault, trailing along your shoulders and up your neck. 

He brushed your hair aside to give himself free access, before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of your throat. Hard enough to leave a mark but not break the skin. You gasp. 

"Still think I can't make you scream?" He teased, as he continued to tease your neck with his teeth and tongue. His grip tightens around your waist, grinding himself against you in slow, deliberate strokes.

"Not quite convinced yet," you said, yet your knees betrayed you, threatening to buckle under the intensity of the heat. But his strong arms held you steady, keeping you grounded as he devoured you with his kisses.

"Oh, looks like you are already on your knees."

"Keep dreaming." Another bite, this one sharper than the last, elicits another moan from deep within your throat. Then, he turned you around to face him. 

Without missing a beat, his lips crushed against yours. Tongues intertwined, grappling fiercely for dominance amidst the clash of teeth. He wrapped his hand tightly around the back of your neck, drawing you ever closer to his greedy lips.

You struggled to catch your breath. Still, you needed more, needed all of him. All you wanted was to surrender completely, to let yourself be consumed by him entirely.

Your hands roam over his slick, muscular form, tracing every curve and contour of his abs. His skin hot against yours. You could feel his length swelling even further against your skin, throbbing with need and begging to be buried deep within your core.

Chills ran along your spine, coiling tighter and tighter with every kiss, until you could barely contain yourself any longer. You wanted to feel him inside you, filling you completely. 

But he seemed determined to take things slow, to draw out every moment as long as possible. 

So you had to push him a little harder. 

"Still not impressed, Satoru."

"Oh, really?" His teeth bit into your lower lip, coaxing a moan from your lips. "Then let me show you just how good I can make you feel."

He grabbed and spun you around, pressing you firmly against the cool tile wall. His hot breath ghosted across the sensitive skin of your neck, making you shiver in anticipation. Your body arched, offering itself up to him completely.

His teeth grazed your skin, leaving a trail of marks and bruises along your shoulders. He grinded himself against your backside, the friction setting your entire being on fire. You moaned softly, the sound muffled by the steady stream of water.

Without warning, his hand slipped between your legs. Two fingers slid effortlessly into your depths, curving upwards to hit that sweet spot that made your head spin and your legs tremble.

He paused for a second, savoring the way your muscles clenched around his fingers as he delved deeper. "God, love—you're shaking already?" 

Then, he began to pump his fingers in and out, each thrust drawing forth a soft moan from your parted lips. 

"It's because of your insufferability. I don't enjoy this at all," you protested weakly, barely able to keep your footing as he fucked you with his fingers. But there was no mistaking the way your hips bucked eagerly beneath his hands.

A cry escaped your throat as he pushed his fingers deeper into you in response. "You're quite loud for someone not enjoying it."

"Shut it and make me cum, Satoru." 

"Always so bold, first-year, make sure you don't regret it later."

With each thrust, you felt more and more lost in the sensation of his touch. Your body trembled and convulsed beneath his skilled hands. Each gasp and whimper from your lips was met with a low moan from him, encouraging you further towards release.

His fingers curl and twist inside you, hitting all the right spots until you think you can't take it anymore. But just as you feel yourself starting to tumble over the brink, he withdraws his fingers, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. "Wha—what?"

"Not so fast, love." Before you can protest, he spins you around once more and lifts you up, pinning you against the wall. Your legs wrap around his waist, your hands digging into his broad shoulders for support.

"I want to feel you cum around my cock." 

Then, he pushed inside slowly, savoring every inch as he filled you completely. He still stretched you every damn time, even though you had fucked before. Still, it was every fucking time overwhelming again—in the best possible way. 

He slowly withdrew and pushed forward again. "Still not good?"

"Could be better," you gasp, clawing at his back, pleading silently for more.

"You know, I love a good challenge."

You cried out, your voice echoing off the tiles as he began to thrust into you. The angle is perfect, deep, maybe too deep, hitting all the right spots as he pounds mercilessly into you. Each thrust sent shock waves through your body, threatening to overwhelm you.

"Fuck, you feel so good. So damn good." He let out a low moan, tilting his head back to let the water run down his face and neck.

You responded with a whimper, your whole body tensing as he delved deeper into your core. Each time he hit bottom, you bit down on your lower lip, fighting to keep quiet to not give him the satisfaction.

But it was in vain as his thrusts became more urgent, more desperate, driving you both closer and closer to the edge. With each thrust, your moans grew louder, echoing throughout the bathroom, mirroring his own desperate moans that escaped his parted lips.

"God, yes—right there—" You feel yourself losing control, your legs shaking as you struggle to maintain your balance against the force of his movements, the sound of running water blending with the slick slapping of skin against skin filling the room.

Suddenly, the grip of his hands on your ass tightens, pulling you even closer against him as he continues to drive into you hard and fast. Your breath quickens as you realize that you're close—so incredibly close. He feels it too, as always. He knows you inside and out.

"Cum for me, love. Don't hold back."

That was it. 

You throw your head back, crying out his name as you feel your entire being consumed by the intensity of your orgasm. He feels it too, every muscle tensing as he drives deeper into you.

"Fuck, you drive me insane." His voice was hoarse, his breathing uneven, and you knew without a doubt that he wouldn't last much longer either.

His movements grew harder and faster, desperate for release as he thrust into your still convulsing core. You arched your back, meeting his every thrust as you felt him near the edge, his cock throbbing inside you.

"Shit," he cursed. He buried himself once more with a hard thrust before he emptied himself inside you, filling you completely. His cum dripped down your legs, blending with the hot water running down the drain.

His head fell forward, a curtain of snow-white hair veiling his heavy-lidded eyes. "God, you feel so fucking good," he moaned, his words a breathless confession amidst ragged gasps.

You wanted, to get out of his grasp, to regain your footing but he held firm. 

"Not so fast," he breathed. Then, he starts to thrust into you again, slow this time, making sure his cum stays where it belongs—deep inside you.

You found yourself growing increasingly sensitive, every new thrust overwhelming your senses as you writhed in his grasp. "Satoru, stop," you gasped, clutching his shoulders tightly. "It's too much."

"I know you can take it, take it for me like a good girl for me." 

His words echoed in your ears as he thrust deep and slow into you, sending shivers through your entire being. You dug your fingernails into his arms, desperate for purchase as he plunged deeper.

"You're such a bitch," you whined. Despite your protests, you were dangerously close to another orgasm.

"Always so fierce." Satoru felt you being close and continued to push you until you screamed his name again. "Good girl. That's it. Come all over me."

Eventually, exhausted and completely spent, he pulled out slowly, wincing slightly at the raw sensitivity of his member. He set you back on the floor, holding you tightly as your legs threatened to give way beneath you. 

"You did so well for me, love." His lips found yours in a tender kiss, lingering there for several long moments before finally breaking apart.

"I hate you," you whispered weakly against his lips.

"Hate me already?" His lips curled into a smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Then you'll hate me even more now because we're not finished yet."

Before a word of protest could escape your lips, his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close. With surprising strength, he hoisted you off the ground, flinging you over his shoulder.  

Water droplets scattered everywhere as he strode out of the bathroom, carrying you away like some prized possession.

"Wh—What are you doing?"

Before you knew it, he threw you onto the bed. The sheets beneath you were soaked in an instant.

"Now, where were we?" He crawled onto the bed, his body settling between your parted legs.

You swallowed hard, the rapid beating of your heart echoing in your ears, drowning out the distant sound of the still running water from the bathroom. "Satoru, I can't—I'm spent," you managed, your voice a breathless plea.

"Oh, I'm sure you can." His eyes locked on yours with an unwavering intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. With a smirk that twisted his lips into a wicked grin, he lowered himself between your trembling thighs.

Without hesitation, he delved into you with his tongue. You took a sharp inhale, as you felt his tongue move within you. "Dammit Satoru, why are you like this?"

You grasped tightly onto his hair, trying to push him back, but his grip on your thighs only tightened.

"Oh, love, you're so cute when you fight it," he mused against your core. His movements were slow and deliberate, teasing you mercilessly with every flick and thrust of his tongue. Then, he licked and sucked at your clit, swirling his tongue around it in lazy circles. 

Despite your resistance, you found yourself writhing beneath him, surrendering completely to his will as you felt your core to tense and convulse under his touch. 

Maybe, just maybe, Satoru was right—maybe you weren't quite done yet.

But just as you were about to reach the peak, he stopped. 

His mouth left your trembling core, and you couldn't help but let out a whimper of frustration. He licked slowly over your sensitive flesh, his gaze fixed on your eyes, his intent clear. "Beg for it."

God, this fucker always knew how to rile you up.

"I'll fucking spit in your face later, Satoru," you retorted, your frustration bubbling to the surface.

"Oh, don't bother yourself, I might enjoy it," Satoru replied, a wicked smirk playing on his lips as he continued to torment you with his tongue. "So should I stop?"

"I won't give in to you."

"Is that so?" he challenged, sliding one finger inside you with deliberate slowness. "I think we both know how much you need this."

"You're insufferably arrogant," you muttered, gripping the wet sheets beneath you. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the moan threatening to escape. 

"Maybe" He slid another finger inside you, curling his fingers inside you to find that spot that made your breath catch. "But let's see if you can resist me for much longer."

He thrust his fingers deep into you, hitting bottom with his long fingers, sending your head spinning. "Please," you gasped. "Don't stop."

"That's it." Satoru's smirk widened as he watched you unravel before him. "Let go for me, love."

His mouth descended on your clit again, his fingers thrusting into you with a relentless rhythm that drove you over the edge. With a loud moan, you felt yourself shattering under his touch, your entire body tensing with another orgasm.

"How much I love that feeling of you coming undone around me," he said, his voice husky, as he continued to slowly thrust his fingers into you, savoring the sensation of your walls clenching around him. "So perfect."

With deliberate slowness, he withdrew his fingers. A satisfied smirk graced his lips as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and licked his fingers clean.

Moving up your body, his dark eyes bore into yours, their intensity cutting through the haze that clouded your vision. His hand snaked around your throat, his touch gentle as he stroked his thumb over your rapidly beating pulse. 

"You know, you can bring a few things here, if you want."

"Huh?" was all you could manage before you felt him slowly, agonizingly slowly, beginning to enter you once more. 

Inch by inch, he filled you up, stretching you wide until you were certain you couldn't take any more. But still, he kept pushing, burying himself deeper and deeper inside you until he was fully seated.

"Did you just fucking ask me to move in?" you breathed, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. It was a maddeningly slow pace as he began to thrust into you, each thrust driving you wild with longing.

He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation, resting his forehead against yours, his warm breath mingling with yours. "I mean, if you want to."

You wrapped your legs around his waist. "You can't just ask me to move in while we fuck, Satoru." 

"Why not?"

"Because—" The words caught in your throat as he suddenly picked up the pace, thrusting hard and deep into your already overly sensitive core. Leaving you gasping for air with each forceful thrust.

A moan escaped your lips as he found that perfect spot inside. "Oh god, right there!"

"Oh, love, I know that you like that," he growled, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "I always know exactly what you need." His head dropped to your neck, teeth grazing the tender skin there.

God, you hated him—hated him for being so damn right and knowing you inside out.

"I hate you and your fucking god complex." Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving marks as you held on tight.

"What did you just say?" He suddenly tightened the pressure on your throat, cutting off your air enough to make your head spin.

You struggled to catch your breath. "That you have a fucking god complex."

He smirked, continuing to move inside you with a fierce intensity that left you reeling. "And yet, here you are, begging for more." Each word was punctuated by a deep, powerful thrust that made your whole being tremble. 

You cried out, unable to form any meaningful response save for a series of desperate moans and whimpers. He picked up speed, driving deeper and harder into your core with each passing second. 

"Like that, huh?" 

You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, holding onto him like a lifeline as he carried you higher and higher toward release. "Yes, don't stop."

He leaned close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Oh, I won't, sweetheart," he whispered. "Not until you come all over me."

You tightened your grip on his shoulders, digging your nails in deeper. You could feel the muscles in his back flexing under your fingertips. Your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the growing sensation within you. But they snapped open as he gripped your jaw. 

"Open your eyes," he commanded. "I want you to look at me while you cum."

His hand found your throat again. His fingers fit so perfectly around your neck, so terrifyingly perfect. "I want you to see exactly who's making you feel this way."

Without warning, he lifted one of your legs over his broad shoulder, changing the angle—making it even better. Your skin grew hotter as he increased his pace, thrusting into you with such force that you would have slid up the bed if not for his firm grip on your throat.

You watched him through glassy eyes, taking in every detail of his flushed face, the damp hair that clung to his forehead.  His lips parted as low moans escaped his lips before he bit down on his lower lip.His moans were high-pitched and needful, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath as he struggled to maintain control.  The sight alone enough to make you cum, right here and now. "Fuck, I'm gonna come."

"Cum for me, love" he encouraged, his thrusts becoming erratic as he neared his own release. 

Your mind was so hazy from all the sensations that you didn't even register what you were screaming as you rode out your fourth orgasm of the night. Your body convulsed as he continued to thrust into you, barely noticing what he hissed as you felt him fill you up again.

You felt him shudder against you. Then, he collapsed, his weight pressing against your body as he supported himself with his hands on either side of your head.

His breath mingled with yours, warm and heavy against your skin. He gazed down at you with a look of sheer adoration in his eyes.

With a gentle touch, he brushed a stray strand of hair from your heated face, his fingers lingering against your skin. Slowly, he lowered his lips to yours, kissing you with a tenderness that was so different to the way he just fucked you.

"So, what about moving in now?" he murmured against your lips.

"I'm not answering that now."

─── ·✧· ───

Later that night, you were jolted awake.

Not from a sound, but the suffocating weight on your chest. 

Satoru's grip around you was a vise, the pressure sharp against your ribs. His breaths rasped in your ear, harsh and uneven, like each inhalation was tearing something loose inside him. His body twitched against yours.

"Satoru?" You tried to shift, to ease the weight pressing you into the mattress, but his hold was unyielding.

"Satoru," urgency clawed at your tone. "Hey, wake up."

His response was a strangled groan, followed by a string of words that were almost impossible to decipher. You clawed at his arms, panic rising as the air squeezed from your lungs. Still, he held on. Your blood turned to ice.

"Satoru, please wake up."

Somehow you managed to wrench yourself free. The cool air on your skin was a shock after the heat of his body. 

You cupped his face, the stubble rough against your palm, forcing him to meet your eyes. "Satoru, wake up," you pleaded. "It's just a dream."

His eyes snapped open. Even in the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, you saw the fear in them. His pupils were dilated, swallowing up the vibrant blue with an alarming blackness. A sheen of sweat made his skin gleam like he'd been doused in icy water.

His hand shot out, fumbling for yours with a frantic desperation that made you gasp. His fingers clamped around you like cold iron, his grip bruising. 

"No—they can't—" His voice was a strangled rasp, the words barely coherent. "Can't let them—" Each word seemed etched with pain, a fresh wound torn open with every syllable. His grip tightened, his fingernails digging into your skin.

"Can't what?" You flinched slightly under his grip. "Satoru, please, look at me. You're safe. You're here with me."

A flicker of awareness broke through the terror in his eyes, his gaze finally landing on you. But the intensity was staggering. It was as if he were seeing you for the first time, fear still clinging to him like a shroud.

"It's okay," you soothed, gently running your hand through his sweat-soaked locks. "Just a nightmare, Satoru. Nothing but a bad dream."

He sat up, the sheets sliding away from his bare chest. You caught a glimpse of his ribs, the rise and fall of his breaths ragged. He ran a trembling hand across his face. 

"Sorry—" His gaze flickered over you, the panic fading just enough for him to register the mirroring fear twisting your features. "God, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. It was just a bad dream."

His eyes swept over your arm, tracing the red marks left by his bruising grip. "Did I hurt you?" His hand reached out, hesitating just short of touching you, then traced the path of the bruises on your skin. "Fuck, love—did I do that?"

"It's okay," you said again. "I'm fine."

It was a lie, but you couldn't bring yourself to admit how the lingering ache made your skin crawl. Not now.

He fisted his hand in his hair, fingers digging into his scalp, threatening to rip the sweat-dampened strands out. "Sorry," he said again, then he leaned in, his lips brushing your temple with a surprising gentleness.

But it didn't soothe. 

It felt like a desperate plea for forgiveness he feared he didn't deserve.

He swung his legs out of bed. His bare feet hit the threadbare carpet with a muffled thud. He didn't turn towards you, his back a rigid line against the faint light filtering through the window.

Unease prickled your skin. "Satoru, what's—?" You sat up, the warm blankets pooling around your waist. 

You watched as he moved to the dresser, grabbing a pair of shorts and a shirt.

"Satoru, what are you doing?" 

He hesitated as he pulled the shirt over his head. For a heartbeat, he was still, as if caught between the urge to flee and a desperate wish to explain. But when he turned, the mask was firmly in place.

"Just need some air." He didn't turn towards you, didn't offer a glance. You couldn't even tell if he was truly seeing you. "I'll be back." 

His hands were a blur of motion as he laced his running shoes. You watched, a knot of fear twisting in your gut. "Satoru, please—talk to me."

"I can't." His response was sharp, tinged with a defensiveness bordering on panic.

Your heart ached. Your mind clouded.

You didn't know what was right anymore, letting him go or holding him back. Somehow it seemed you were always wrong.

His fingers twitched. You saw the moment his control frayed. Nails raked against skin, then his hand closed into a fist, fingers digging into his palm until the knuckles turned white.

He moved toward the door, halting in the frame. "I'm sorry." He slipped out, leaving the door ajar. You didn't follow him.

The silence he left was cruel.

The darkness of the room suddenly so heavy.

Your heart was a shattered mess in your chest, each shard scraping against your ribs with every ragged breath. 

The urge to sink back into bed, to burrow into the sheets, was overwhelming. But you couldn't. Bare feet met the cold floor. Reaching the window, you peered out into the moonlit night.

Below, his figure stood bathed in the pool of light cast by a flickering streetlamp, his form stark against the cracked pavement. As you watched, he fiddled with his smartwatch, likely starting some sort of running program.

His head lifted and his gaze found yours. His surprise was a knife in your already battered heart. Even from this distance, you saw the tightness of his jaw, the hollows beneath his eyes carved even deeper by the pitiless streetlight.

For a breath, an agonizing heartbeat, you saw a plea flicker across his face. But then, he turned and began to run. Each stride was a brutal reminder of how far away he was slipping, how powerless you were to stop it.

"You're so stupid, Satoru."

How could you ever sleep now?

How could you ever sleep again without him by your side?

Strange, how you can love someone so deeply, so all-consuming, that sometimes it scares you how involuntarily raw and vulnerable you are at his mercy.

But the truth was, loving him also meant accepting the ragged edges, the parts of him that were sharp enough to draw blood.

Of that, you were painfully certain.

─── ·✧· ───

Sleep had been a fitful, fleeting thing. 

Each shallow breath was a struggle against the dull pain in your skull. When morning finally bled through the curtains, it felt less like waking and more like surrender. 

Then, the jolt—his weight pressing down, his familiar scent sharp against the stale air.

Satoru. 

He'd slipped back into bed beside you. He smelled like sweat and something acrid—cigarettes. 

He tightened his grip around you, pulling you close underneath the sheets. Yet, even with his warm body flush against yours, there was a coldness in the space between you.

"You smell like smoke."

He stirred, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You felt his hair, slightly damp with sweat, against your skin. "Was with Suguru," he mumbled, his words muffled.

Should you be angry with him that he went to Geto instead of staying with you?

Probably.

But right now, you had really other concerns.

Or perhaps you were too tired to even try at this point.

You turned in his arms, squinting against the dim light filtering through the curtains. The exhaustion carved into his face was stark, the shadows beneath his eyes pools of bruise-purple. 

He looked younger, fragile. 

It was a sight that ached in your chest like a newly-bruised rib.

"Satoru, what's going on? Why did you run?"

He sighed, a long, weary exhale that seemed to drag something out of him. He shifted, burrowing deeper into the curve of your neck, as if seeking both comfort and a shield against your questions.

"Don't know," he finally admitted. "Was just—too much."

You knew better than to push. 

Instead, you shifted in his embrace. 

You let your hand rest against his chest, his heartbeat a frantic, uneven rhythm against your palm. It was too fast, too erratic, and despite the warmth of his body, a shiver traced its way up your spine.

"You know, today is the second hearing," you muffled against his chest.

"Yeah, I know." His grip on you tightened. For a long, agonizing moment, you simply lay together. The scent of smoke hung heavy in the stillness.

"We'll get through it," you whispered. "As long as we stay together."

His only response was a soft exhale. 

His body shifted, molding against yours. His breaths deepened, the frantic edge fading. You felt his body loosen, the rigid tension seeping out of him. His heartbeat began to slow beneath your palm.

You shifted slightly, settling comfortably into his embrace. You stared out the window, the first tendrils of dawn painting the sky a muted grey, and listened to the uneven rhythm of his sleep.

Perhaps you should hate him just a little. 

Perhaps that might make all of this a bit easier.

─── ·✧· ───

Morning arrived with a harsh finality that mirrored your own restless night. Sunlight pierced through the gap in the curtains, a cruel, accusatory beam that cut through the lingering shadows.

Yet, there was no time for dwelling.

No room for the exhaustion that throbbed behind your eyes.

"Satoru," you whispered, shaking his shoulder. "We have to go. Now."

He stirred with a groan, momentarily disoriented. Then, a flicker of urgency replaced the sleepy confusion in his eyes. 

Right. 

The damn hearing. 

It all came rushing back, cold dread coiling in his gut.

"Fuck," he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I overslept."

You sat already fully dressed on the edge of the bed. Your gaze met his, your brows furrowed in a silent echo of the questions burning on your tongue.

But for now, you shoved them aside. There would be time for that later, time to tear down the walls he'd built between you.

"Come on, you need to get ready."

The drive to the hospital was a blur of rushed movements and strained silence. The looming hearing hung in the air like a storm cloud, every mile bringing you closer to the inevitable clash. 

Your stomach churned, waves of nausea threatening to overwhelm you. It was a battle to keep the rising fear from twisting your face, a battle you weren't sure you were winning.

Why all of a sudden? 

Why did it suddenly feel like your whole world was falling apart?

You'd been so sure you would make it, that you'd get through it together. With Satoru by your side, nothing could happen.

But that certainty was crumbling into dust. 

One glance at his pale face, the blood drained from his skin, and fear clung to your throat. You didn't dare ask what was going on inside his head, but his silence was an answer in itself.

Upon arrival, the sterile meeting room felt more like a prison cell. 

Geto and Higurama waited, their expressions grave. You met Geto's gaze, a silent exchange passing between you. He knew. He knew, that you knew that Satoru spent the night at his place. But you shoved this thought aside as well. There would be time later.

"Glad you could finally join us," Higurama's voice held a sarcastic edge.

"Sorry, overslept," Satoru said.

"We don't have much time," Higurama cut in. "I spoke with the committee."

"And?" You prompted.

"They're not happy." He met your gaze. "They're questioning everything—your story, your... relationship."

"They suspect you acted recklessly with the surgeries," Geto added addressing Satoru. "That your judgment was clouded, that you let her operate because of an inappropriate interest."

"Of course, that's what Sukuna wants them to believe," Satoru said.

"Listen," Higurama interjected. "I've talked to the woman in the committee. Even if Sukuna wants chaos, the others are more focused on damage control. They want to bury this, protect the research, and avoid scandal. So, it's best if you just come clear now."

"So, what are we waiting for?" you asked.

Higurama met your gaze, a flicker of something like pity in his eyes. "Even if they're willing to sweep this under the rug, there'll be consequences. Suspension, likely. For both of you. You understand, right?"

"And so," you said, the words like shards of ice. "If it means this is finally over."

The words hung heavy in the air. 

You glanced at Satoru, expecting his usual pushback, his sense of protecting you, some flicker of anger—but there was nothing. A deep frown creased his brow, his gaze locked on the floor. He scrubbed his arm with unnecessary force, leaving a raw, red mark on his skin.

Then, Satoru and Geto exchanged a fleeting glance, a silent communication that sent a chill down your spine. There was something off, you knew it. The silence stretched, and the pity in their eyes as they turned to you began to curdle into a sickening dread.

Finally, Satoru spoke. "Let's do it then."

His surrender was a cold slap, sharper than any open defiance could have been.

"We don't have much choice, do we?" he added.

Higurama rose, a thin folder tucked under his arm. "Then, let's go." 

Higurama and Geto moved to leave the room. Geto briefly rested a hand on your shoulder. "We'll wait outside."

The door clicked shut leaving Satoru and you alone.

Satoru stared at the polished mahogany desk, his jaw working, as if he were trying to swallow a pill made of sandpaper and broken glass.

Something within you wanted to scream. To rip that flimsy facade of calm from Satoru, to shake him until the truth rattled out of him. Yet, the words died in your throat, strangled by the knowledge that it wouldn't change a thing.

Satoru's gaze flicked toward you before he pushed himself away from the desk. He walked over to you.

"You know I love you, right?"

The words should have been a balm. Instead, they were a razor blade against raw skin. "Don't you dare do anything stupid in there," you warned.

A bitter smile twisted his lips. "Come on. They'll be waiting."

Your legs felt like lead as you followed him out of the room.

─── ·✧· ───

The hearing room held an oppressive chill.  

The chill wasn't just the temperature, it seeped from the sterile walls, the unyielding chairs, the weight of judgment hanging in the stale air. It was not a place designed for truth, but rather a tribunal designed for condemnation.

One by one, the committee members entered. 

The familiar ache of dread curled in your stomach when Sukuna's gaze found you.

"Only Dr. Gojo is required today," one of the judges intoned.

You met Satoru's gaze. He smiled faintly, somehow it looked so cruel, so sad. You wanted to scream, to tear your way to his side. But Geto's hand held you back.

He guided you to the seats reserved for observers. To be forced into silence, into watching him getting torn to shreds under Sukuna's assault—it felt like a betrayal worse than any accusation they could hurl.

Your hands clenched into fists, nails biting into your palms. The pain a bitter focus.

Sukuna watched the proceedings, that smug half-smile plastered across his face. 

He didn't care about the rules—about your lives. 

This was all a cruel joke to him, a twisted play where he was the puppeteer, and you were the tangled marionette forced to dance to his tune. 

This wasn't about the research—it was about breaking you, breaking Satoru, proving that all your defiance was nothing against his terrible will.

Then, Satoru sat before the judges.

"Mr. Gojo," the woman on Sukuna's left began, "we have reason to believe that your relationship with your students might be inappropriate. That it goes beyond the bounds of a teacher-student dynamic."

Wow, they didn't even bother to ask anything else today.

For a long moment, Satoru didn't move. He seemed frozen. His gaze found yours, and it was as if the whole world narrowed down to that single connection. The intensity in his gaze so sharp it was like a shard of ice against your skin.

Here it was, the crossroads. He could tell them.

Tell them the truth—that you were in a committed relationship. That his decision to include you in the project was made from a place of trust and respect for your capabilities, not an affair.

It was better than the alternative – Sukuna twisting everything into a salacious tale of a reckless professor and his eager student, jeopardizing the entire research project.

A flimsy shield, yes, but a start. A chance for the truth to fight back.

He inhaled sharply, and for that split second, the world hung suspended. Then, with a jaw so tight it might shatter, he turned back to the judges.

"If my actions have been perceived in such a way," he began, "then it is entirely my fault. I have perhaps overstepped certain boundaries. I will take full responsibility for my actions."

No.

No.

Satoru, why?

For fuck's sake why?

A wave of nausea washed over you, bile burning the back of your throat. Your hands clenched into fists, the short nails digging into your palms with enough force to draw blood. The pain didn't register.

"All actions were initiated on my end. There is no wrongdoing on her behalf, and any suspension would be unfounded," he added.

The lips of the woman beside Sukuna pursed, the words beginning to flow in a blur of accusations and coldly calculated legalese.

You didn't hear her. 

Didn't hear anything anymore.

Didn't hear anything over the roaring in your ears, the frantic, uneven thud of your heart trying to claw its way out of your ribcage. The room spun, the judges' faces blurring, the sterile walls tilting inward. Your vision tunneled. Your breath ragged.

The full weight of it crashed down—not just Sukuna, but this new catastrophe Satoru had brought crashing down around himself. His life, meticulously balanced on the razor's edge was about to collapse.

Reputation, career, everything—and all because of a sacrifice as pointless as it was heartbreaking.

Satoru's response cut through your panic like a gunshot. "I am aware of the consequences. And I take full responsibility."

The words were a death knell. 

The enormity of it all crashed down on you. 

Your breath caught, a strangled gasp clawing at the back of your throat. Fingers clawed at the back of the chair in front of you, wood creaking in protest. You lurched forward, a futile escape from the crushing weight. 

Your heart hammered against your ribs like a caged bird battering itself against a prison of flesh and bone. Voices blurred. Your breathing shortened. Your fingers, still gripping the chair, were turning numb.

"Suguru—" Your voice was a ragged plea. "Out—get me the fuck—out of—" The rest of the sentence choked in your throat.

He didn't wait a second.

With a surprising gentleness, he pried your fingers from the chair, the wood creaking beneath your white-knuckled grip. Your legs were leaden weights. He helped you stand, every step was a battle against the dizzying blackness encroaching on your vision.

The room seemed to tilt as Geto steadied you.

The judges, Sukuna, they all blurred into grotesque shapes in the periphery of your failing sight. Everything was too loud, too bright, too much.

Satoru watched you leave in silence.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: oh boy, oh boy! so much happening, so little fluff. i'm so sorry—but remember the story will have a happy ending, just have to come up how that will happen ehehe. next chapter will dive back into satoru's unhinged brain, because i love writing from his pov.

thank you SO MUCH for your unwavering support! this story's going to be a bit of a ride, and i'm so thankful you're here for it. your comments absolutely make my day! next chapter might take a little longer due to a university assignment, but i'll be back to writing like a maniac as soon as i can. thanks for understanding! ♡

wishing you a great day or night and an awesome week ahead! ♡

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