grethn

[grethn]

When tumblr refreshes itself and the fic I was reading fucking disappears forever 💔

I’ve been searching for a smau I was reading for three days ��

[grethn]

no this is so I love it

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

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

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

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

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

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

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

2+2=5.

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

You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.

"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake. 

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.

He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.

"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.

Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.

"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."

You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”

Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”

“Digimon.”

“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”

You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt. 

Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo. 

Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board. 

But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that. 

You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.

As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool. 

Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t  learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.

Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.

 When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.

The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps. 

Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?

There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.

When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.

As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves. 

From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.

“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”

You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.

“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”

Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.

You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”

“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”

“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.

“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”

“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense. 

“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.

Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”

Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”

You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”

“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.

Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.

You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”

But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”

Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.

It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.

“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.

“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.

Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.

“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”

You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.

Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”

“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.

With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.

Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.

“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.

“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.

You freeze.

It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.

You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.

“I wanted to.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—

Damn him. Damn him.

Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.

You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—

But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”

You pause.

He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.

So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.

You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”

But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.

It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommate’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.

You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching. 

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.

The two of you don’t speak.

It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.

You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—

He’s just really there.

You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.

You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.

The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.

For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.

Cutie.

What?

The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.

Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—

You pull away.

Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.

You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.

Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.

It’s that you care.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.

You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.

Gojo is here.

You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.

You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.

You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—

You’re so screwed.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—

—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.

Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.

Your stomach twists.

This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.

It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.

He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.

Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.

Not you.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.

The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.

"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."

You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.

Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."

You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.

“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.

But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.

He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.

Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."

The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all. 

But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.

You’ll never be his equal.

You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."

Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."

You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.

The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.

Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.

You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.

But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.

“Whoa—”

Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.

“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.

Shit.

You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”

“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”

Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.

Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.

So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.

There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.

"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.

He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”

Oh. Right.

You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."

Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.

A beat passes.

"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."

Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"

"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”

“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”

Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.

"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.

And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”

You swallow.

Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.

"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."

Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”

Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.

“You really don’t know?”

“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”

“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."

Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”

"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.

Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.

"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."

You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.

Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."

Your breath hitches.

He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.

Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”

Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.

"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."

You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.

Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”

Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.

And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.

It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.

You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.

When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.

“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.

You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”

“Maybe I’m into that.”

“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”

His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”

You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.

“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”

Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”

“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.

“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”

But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”

He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”

You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.

When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.

You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”

He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.

He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”

“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”

You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want,  he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”

You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.

He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.

With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly. 

He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”

“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”

“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”

Silence.

When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”

The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.

general masterlist

a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!

[grethn]

thanx for the tag this is such a cute quiz :( I think we're a match!

I can't think of anybody to tag but anybody join along!

tysm for tagging me @lov3rachan !! this was so cutsey omg i loved. and it’s SCARILY accurate like this is literally me down to a T.

starting a new thread since the last one was so long😭 all my pookies can take the quiz here!

no pressure tags: @h4untedgrl @scarfac3 @dvrktvnnel @everyonewooeverywhere @rvereri @dollywoo @beaquokka

[grethn]

Hello lm hamdi ,I humbly ask for your support by reblogging this post on your account to help me and my family. As newcomers to Tumblr and GoFundMe, we are in desperate need of your kindness and support. 🙏🇵🇸🍉😔Please donate 🙏🏼Let's reach the goal as soon as possible .

yes yes!

[grethn]

Dear humanity,

Please Help Me – My brother May Die at Any Moment.

I'm Amal, a mother o, living under the weight of the genocide taking place in Gaza. 🍉

Here’s my story, and I’m reaching out with a hopeful heart 💔✨, hoping someone will feel what my family and I are going through.

My brother is suffering from a severe and life-threatening injury . He urgently needs medical treatment outside Gaza.

Time is running out, and we are facing a critical situation. I am asking for your generosity to help us save him either through a donation or by sharing this urgent plea with other

help my brother. My brother may die at any moment

I lost most of my family. I'm afraid to lose my brother too 🥺 .

Please Donate now:👇👇 👇

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Thank you for your compassion and kindness

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[grethn]

🚨Pregnancy amidst famine🚨

💥Why can't I live like other women in the world?💥

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Please read our story carefully and imagine the situation we are living in.

We’ve been living 400 days of war and genocide. The markets are empty, and if anything is found, it's extremely expensive. The weather is cold, and the tents don't protect us from the cold after being worn out by the summer heat. There’s no electricity, the water is contaminated, no education, and no medicine. Pregnancy has exhausted me, and I wonder how my child will survive in these conditions if they are born. Some relatives cover their children with plastic to protect them from the cold due to the lack of income. The sounds of bombing, gunfire, and drones scare people in their sleep. We don't know when this suffering will end or if we can endure it.

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Plz visit the pinned post on my page to donate or reblog ♻️

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Again, donate, donate, donate. Please donate and support these families that are going through this.

[grethn]

... I am a father from Gaza, I write these words and my heart breaks with pain and heartbreak. My little baby cries day and night from the intensity of hunger, his innocent eyes looking at me as if they were helping, but I am helpless, my hands are empty, and my tears are all I have. We live in the shadow of a severe famine and merciless circumstances, neither food nor drink is enough for us, and every passing day weighs my burden even more. I appeal to you by God, and then with your humanity, to rend a helping hand to me. I just need $50 to buy milk for my baby who has been hungry for days and screaming nonstop because of hunger Don’t let us struggle with pain alone. Every moment that passes is a nightmare for my child who is only guilty that he was born in these circumstances

Please, anybody who can donate, donate.

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jaw dropped

( P*SSY GOT ) P☆WER !?

bad ☆ summary. converting a loser into a munch wasn’t on your yearly bingo card ( or was it ? )

content ★ warnings. explicit content. mdni. foul language. situationship!gojo. college au. cunningulus. frōtting. premature ejaculātion. fīngering. eventual smut. gojo pines for like 99% of the fic. he also studies in pornology. reader is kinda bratty. mention of death lightheartedly. a lot of italicized words. lowkey gojo centric? 6.4k words (bye).

rena’s ☆ note. SATORENA COMEBACK … sorta (・・?)

“gimme a kiss.”

your face scrunches before the words can express your distaste. with your hand on the handle of his car’s door, your fingers tighten around the metal bar, half tempted to leave the man at your left— rosy lips puckered into an obnoxious smooch.

his eyelids are shut tight as his brows furrow to the centre of his forehead, face leaned in. you chuckle at his theatrics, lifting your free hand to press your digits at his pucker. his eyelids open as his brows now loosen, “gojo, bye.”

you feel his hands wrap around your wrist, gently lifting your hand off his mouth, though your fingers hover over his lips still, “girl.” he tilts his head to the side, emitting an aura of sass you’ve yet to understand, “it’s satoru to you— i can’t even have a little one? haven’t i been good all day?”

you click your tongue, “you been runnin’ your mouth all day long actually,” and before your mind can even process your following words, you focus on the way his plump lips fall into another one of his childish pouts. cute. however he chooses to take your invitation is all up to him. your eyes dart to the rosy flesh as you hum, “mhm, if only you ate pussy as good as you talk shit.”

you feel the hold on your wrist drop, as his frown switches to a blank stare. you cock a brow, watching as the hand his steering wheel tightens.

he gulps, eyes narrowing before glancing over to the leather wheel, “i, uh, don’t eat pussy.”

oh. . . oh.

the slam of the car door speaks the rest for you.

“woah— hey!” gojo yells after you, though your figure seems to get smaller with the steps you take. in your hold is your purse, bouquet of flowers he’d bought earlier and house keys. “baby, hold on— this damn window,” he cusses, removing the barrier between you and him angrily. you hadn’t even hesitated to exit the car, as if he’d said the world’s most vile comment.

you’re not listening, and for some reason gojo feels his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach. what the fuck had he said that made you all upset with him?

he watches helplessly as you insert your key into the hole. the chiming sounds of your keys serve as a reminder that he was definitely in trouble. that and he wasn’t getting his damn goodbye kiss.

he sighs instead, albeit defeatedly. “am i at least gonna see you soon?”

the front door opens and you look back over your shoulder, and god— he really thought he had it. his lips threaten to pull into a smile, ready for your little mood to be over with.

you grin and as does he. you even give him a cute wave, thank fuck, “have yourself a nice life, baby.”

and the front door closes. damn.

☆ ☆

“you said what?!”

gojo groans into the phone, sprawling himself on his king sized mattress that suddenly feels way to big for him alone. where were you when he needed you? oh that’s right, “she ghosted me! i’m blocked on all socials— can you believe that?”

he tried reaching out to you through texts to make sure you were feeling okay, but the shade of green told him everything he needed to know— especially as an apple user. he then proceeded to go through your social media, to double check his suspicions and there it was, user not found.

“uh, duh?” geto is as judgemental as ever, and gojo doesn’t try to suppress the roll of his eyes. “bro, you just told the girl you’re talkin’ to that you don’t give head. the fuck d’you think was gonna happen?”

“it’s not even a big deal!” he argues because his pride in on the line, and he ignores the groan geto gives him across the phone. rude. his fingers pinch at the top of his nose bridge, “was it really necessary to block me? literally just tell me to kill myself at this point.”

“pretty sure that’s what she blocked you for.” geto snickers, and gojo realizes he’s lucky they aren’t in person because he would have blocked him. instead he whines, pressing the speaker button before stuffing his face in his pillow. he’s probably insane but he swears there’s a hint of your scent there, and now he’s whining louder.

“quit bitchin’. you brought this upon yourself,” and out of spite, gojo whines louder. if his legs kick against his mattress childishly, it’s nobody’s business but his own. the love of his life just walked out of his life— give him a break. “and dude, no shade but do you really not eat pussy? are you gay or somethin’?”

“i am not—” he cuts himself off once the sound of his own voice echoes loudly in his lonely room. geto winces and gojo bites down on his tongue before sighing. “i’m not gay. i love women only. seriously. how does not eating pussy make me gay?”

the line goes quiet, and gojo can tell geto’s making that face he makes whenever he’s finding the right words to say without offending gojo. it ticks him off. “alright, lemme counter that question with one of my own. why don’t you eat pussy?”

gojo pauses. he tightens his fingers around his pillow as the question ponders. he thinks about having received head in the back of his car once, the other time in the bathroom of some frat party, and another in some girl’s bedroom. from all memories, he draws a similar conclusion— they always come onto him first.

“i dunno.” his lips fall into a pout, tracing patterns into his pillowcase with his index. “they never really ask, so i never bothered. that can’t be weird, right? all of my hookups have consisted of them pulling my pants down. why would i refuse? i get my nut and that’s that.”

and because geto is genuinely never on his side, “satoru . . . eugh.” some kind of best friend is he.

“what?!” he hisses in retaliation, glaring at his phone as if it would solve his issues. there’s nothing he hates more than feeling judged. “you fucking asked!”

“calm the fuck down,” he hears geto rolling his eyes. the white haired man huffs, the blow of air pushing his bangs up before they fall back down. okay, maybe he should calm down. whatever. “so essentially what you’re saying is you’ve never been put in a position where you could eat pussy?”

something like that, “sure.” gojo nods, and he doesn’t understand why geto sighs.

“why do i even bother?” though the answer is clear, he’s pretty sure geto was talking to himself. gojo clicks his tongue, ready to bark back but geto beats him to it. “so tell her just that— it’s not that you won’t give head, it’s just that you haven’t given head. which still blows me, but whatever.”

“how? remember she blocked me on everything?” the thought makes gojo whine again, throwing his limbs all over his bed. he hits his phone, then opts to grab it. “is that not entitlement? i have to bend my back all over the damn place just to get her to talk to me again?”

“satoru, you’ve literally done the same thing. don’t act like you’re above it,” geto chuckles and gojo hears shuffling in the background. the ravenette sighs in relief, and he assumes he’s now in his own bed. “besides, you fuckin’ love women who give you challenges.”

and fuck, he’s really not wrong. “yeahhh, you know me so well.” he wipes a fake tear from his eye. he rolls over onto his back, “welp, i’m gonna log into your insta to stalk her account. i miss her so much i’m literally gonna die.”

“satoru.” geto warns him, but gojo is quicker than that. he’s already typing your name into the search bar, username memorized as if it were his cellphone number.“i swear to god if you accidentally like her shit—”

“thanks bestie, love ya lots!” and he hangs up the phone. and with a shit eating grin, he giggles, “time to start lurking.”

☆ ☆

so it’s been months (read: four days) since he last seen you. he’s thankful you’re at least in two of his courses, so he has some sort of opportunity to reach you. he’d spent the last months (hours) stalking your page, viewing your stories to see if there’d been any indicator that you missed him as badly as he missed you.

and all he’s gotten so far is that you spent friday out to dinner (with him) (it was just a mirror pic of your outfit but an outfit you wore on a date with him) (you love him so bad), you had a girls’ night on saturday with shoko and utahime (he barely registered they were in the selfie) and sunday was a study sesh you had at the cafe across the college. he had to screenshot and zoom in to ensure there were no signs of living souls in the same booth as you.

he was still in the clear. whew.

and so monday morning falls, and he’s actually rushing to get to class for once (late but as expected). the one of two classes he shares with you. he hopes he’ll find you sitting in your habitual seat, not too far up close yet not too far back, and he might pull the fire alarm if he spots anybody next to you.

he’s a man on a mission— he’s going to talk to you today. he needs to be back in your good graces. there were many things he wanted to yap to you about, many places he thought of taking you over the weekend, many moments he wanted your soft lips back on his and your gentle hand back in his own.

he misses you, damn it.

there you sit, in all your glory, shining so bright in the middle of this depressing ass psychology course in the early hours of the butt fuck morning. he sees you twirling your pen in between your fingers, your cheek leaned into the palm of your hand— and nobody by your side.

if he rushes and trips over his feet momentarily to get to you in time, it’s nobody’s business but his own (and the girl who’s backpack laid useless on the floor. hazard much.)

he so much as plops into the seat as he does actually sit in it, and he watches as you jerk in surprise. though, the look of surprise is quickly replaced by aloofness. you feel different— not entirely closed off but not as welcoming as you usually are. you’re probably still done with him.

well it’s too damn bad he’s not done with you, “good morning, princess.”

you blink at him, before nodding your head curtly. “morning, gojo.” and you turn your focus back onto the professor. just like that, you shut down another conversation.

he doesn’t like that, and so he pokes at your side and chews at his strawberry gum. “you blocked me on everything.”

“i did.” you answer shortly, though your eyes never leave the professor. he cannot be that interesting, who actually gives a fuck about cognitive dissonance?

“seen this new bakery shop down the street.” he tries again. “wanted to take you but that was impossible because somebody blocked me.”

“i mean, you know where i live.” you shrug, writing whatever the fuck the professor had mentioned in your notebook. wait, what? you turn your head to see him gaping at you in confusion, and you smirk at his silence.

“cat got your tongue?” you quip, amused by his stillness. your eyes sparkle mischievously, though your smile isn’t entirely full. don’t tell him, you’ve been— “too bad it’s not mine, though.”

ohhh, you cheeky brat.

“so. . . you were never really mad at me?” gojo blinks, his mind running miles a second. nothing was adding up, he was positively certain you were cutting ties with him. “this whole time. you weren’t mad about the pussy eating comment?”

“don’t get it twisted,” you raise a brow, crossing your arms over your chest. you lift a finger in the air before pointing at him, “you,” and then pointing at yourself “and i are done. we can still be cool but i’m not wasting my time with no bitch—respectfully.”

“so you are mad?” he asks again, disregarding the bitch comment. he knows what he’s supposed to say— to clarify the situation, to make it known that it’s not like he’s repulsed by the idea of giving head— but you make it so hard to stay on track when you’re acting defiant.

suguru was right— he does love a challenge.

“mad?” you giggle, and gojo leans back in his seat. damn, you’re confusing. stone cold one minute but all giggly the next. it’s cool, he’ll figure you out. “i ain’t trippin’ baby— if you don’t wanna eat it then don’t. another man definitely will.”

huh, “oh?” his eyes narrow just slightly, though the smirk on his lips never falter. he ignores the way his stomach just dropped to his ass at your implication— there is no way in hell is he letting another man have you. not when he’s still alive and breathing. “if you think i’m letting that happen, you’ve got another thing comin’.”

“everything seems to be coming but me,” you bat your lashes, and damn he fell right into that one. you drop your pen down, giving him one last smile before redirecting your focus to the professor before you. “the real question is what do you plan on doing ‘bout that?”

you give him no time to respond, and it’s not like he thinks he would be able to, as you begin to pack your belongings into your tote bag. you’re leaving and he barely got to say what he’d been memorizing all weekend. oh well, at least he now knows you haven’t entirely cut him off.

if he doesn’t knows better, it feels like you want him to chase after you.

god, he thinks he’s in love.

☆ ☆

gojo satoru is amazing at everything. there truly isn’t something he can do that won’t come out spectacular. he’s gifted, that he knows much, and it’s difficult to stay humble when he’s constantly reminded of so.

“i can easily do this shit.” he mumbles to himself, cerulean eyes narrowing into focus at the bright lit screen of his ipad. his airpods are in, and he’s gonna be completely honest— the pornstar’s screaming is starting to get on his nerve. however, he’s always been an exceptional student and when it’s time to lock in, it’s time to lock in.

his legs feel as though they’ve fallen asleep in the criss-cross position he’s been sat in on his bed for the past two hours. irrelevant, he decides as he picks at his bottom lip with his fingers. his device is running hot with how long it’s been since it last caught a break, but he had bigger issues to worry about. so, basically all he has to do is spread open her lips and go to town until she squirts? sounds simple enough.

he watches as the guy begins motorboating into the girl’s pussy and— “damn, that looks like it hurts.” a grimace creeps onto his face as the guy repeatedly goes ham on swollen red lips. he’s got half a mind telling him that the moans the girl’s letting out are entirely out of agony and not pleasure.

“aaaalrighty,” gojo speaks up, though to himself. “next video, that shit was ass. pussy hurts just thinkin’ bout it, eugh.”

he finds an amateur video, and the thumbnail seemed intimate enough. after an agonizing ad of ‘want a quick break from the ads?’, the video begins. the upper half of the woman’s body is cut out of frame, but she’s laid onto her side, her backside in view. her top leg lifted just slightly, the man lays on his stomach and spreads them apart further and begins to lick.

he dives his tongue inside her cunt, not too sloppy, and gently works his way in. his thumb is caressing at her puckered forbidden zone, always gently, as his tongue glides up and down her labia.

gojo gulps. the girl makes soft sounds, hand coming down to play her the man’s hair, and he proceeds eat her out skillfully. her back arches, she whines and begs for more, and he never loses control. at some point, the hand that focused on her asshole moves up to grip at her cheeks, thus spreading her pussy lips further. she’s already wet from a mixture of fluids, and the sound it creates is so damn obscene.

gojo gulps again, and his sweats feel tight.

before his mind can even allow it, he’s thinking of you. he thinks of you on your side, legs spread open for his disposition as he brings you this same pleasure. as he lays himself on his stomach, munching at your pussy in ways that’ll have you squirming all over his bed, squeezing your plush thighs around his head and begging for him to give you more.

he thinks of how good you’d smell— how good you’d taste. he thinks of how nice you smell whenever you wrap your arms around his neck and he follows suit around your waist. he thinks of how sweet your lips taste when you’re straddling his thighs and slipping your tongue in his mouth.

pheromones are a crazy thing. your scent lingering in his car alone drives him insane. he’s so prone to boners around you, it’s like he’s a dog you’ve trained.

and now he’s thinking he wants you in this very bed at this very instance, ipad be damned, pussy spread open so he can feast. so he can relish the sounds you make as you call out his name, enamoured by the way his tongue would flick at your clit and break open that dam of water right onto his face.

“shit.” he chucks his ipad onto the floor, cradling his head into the palms of his hands. how had he not ever wanted to do this before?

☆ ☆

he doesn’t expect you to pick up. it’s far past two in the morning on a thursday night, and he’s missing you. badly. he misses you and your sweet smile. he misses you and your smart mouth. he misses you and the way your lips move so fluidly against his own, as if they were made for one another.

he really doesn’t expect you to pick up.

it’s around the fifth ring that he hears your honeyed voice, “hi.” his eyes widen as he sits up from his bed in a hurry. talk about a damn surprise.

“hey.” he says back lamely, because of course he does. he feels the corner of his lips tugging into a smile and his heart is beating wildly against his rib cage. “didn’t think you’d answer.”

“mhm. so what’d you call me for?” you sound tired, and he wonders if you’d been sleeping when he called. somehow, the thought makes his stomach churn at the implication you cut off hours of sleep for him.

“just wanted to hear your voice.” gojo answers as honestly as he can, leaning down to rest his back back into the mattress of his bed. he shuts his eyes and imagines his arm falling asleep underneath your head, using him as a pillow. “been missin’ you.”

“you literally see me every other day at school,” he’s graced with the harmonious sounds of your giggles, and he can already picture the way your shoulders shake as dimples curve into your cheeks. “y’re so fuckin’ clingy.”

he supposes he is, can’t even find it in him to disagree. you’ve been plaguing his mind since you cut him off (question mark) last week. he wasn’t sure what kind of ban you were putting on him, but he’s been tiptoeing around his relationship with you for too long. the absence of your presence in the way he craves is driving him nuts. he misses you, damn it.

a longing sigh rips from his throat, “can’t help that i miss that ass,” he jokes instead because talking about feelings and vulnerability is wrong. “you still owe me a goodbye kiss, y’know? just left a poor guy hangin’, rude.”

“hmm,” you hum lazily and he isn’t sure what to expect. he’s just talking out of his ass, wants to restore that playful banter you guys had prior to this whole pussy eating mess— which he’d gladly now get on his knees and rock your fucking world. “like i said already, you know where i live.”

“you got one more time to say that before i show up at your doorstep for real,” gojo tests the waters, and swings his legs off his bed. he’s waiting for a sign, confirmation, anything to ensure you were being serious. late night be damned, he will show up to your door and flip your shit right then and there.

“the fuck i gotta repeat myself for?” you sigh, and gojo’s slipping his shoes on. he’s wasting no more time, he wants you right now. “if you really missed me you would have been come see me. you’re all talk.”

“so when i yell at your doorstep to lemme eat it, don’t start lookin’ at me crazy—i’m warning ya.” and with that he hangs up. he’s not leaving any more room for debates, enough’s enough. and shit, when the fuck had he gotten bricked?

he grabs his keys and slams his door close.

☆ ☆

you’re looking at him like he grew an extra head on his shoulders overnight. he’s looking at you like the tee you have on your body decimated his entire bloodline. there’s a heavy silence between you both, as if either one of you are expecting the other to make the first move.

“you actually came.” you blink in mild shock, neck craning up to look him dead in the eye. he’s panting heavily, he might’ve ran here the second he could, but how could he not have?

“enough games, baby.” gojo answers instead and takes a step into your apartment. you back up in retaliation, and he takes another close step. you stay still this time. his hands sneak below the hem of your shirt and slide up to your bare waist, grabbing onto the plush flesh. you feel jolts of electricity imbedded into your skin with every lingering touch. “lemme eat it, come on. please?”

“oh?” you cock an eyebrow, raising a hand to press your palm flat against the plane of his chest. you feel his heartbeat thudding wildly. “and here i thought you were too good to stoop as low as giving women head.”

gojo clicks his tongue and tightens his hold on you. “i never said that.”

“you basically did.” you bite back, tilting your head to the side. you see his nostrils flare a bit, “or does that rule apply with just me?”

“if it did, would i be here at three in the morning begging to eat your pussy?” gojo rolls his eyes. you open your mouth but snap it back shut and gojo decides you conceded. he lifts you from the ground and places you on his shoulder, ignoring your ‘put me down!’ and opts to shut you up with a firm slap on your ass.

your cheeks jiggle from the impact, and his dick twitches in his briefs. as he suspected, you’ve got no bottoms on— just a cute pair of pink lace panties he wants to tear apart with his teeth. animalistic is what you make him.

“so. . . which one is your room?” he finds himself in the corridor, arm wrapped around the back of your knees. you fall limp in his hold, defeatedly as your arm lifts to point at the door at the end of the hall. he smirks and rubs at your booty, “atta girl. look at ya bein’ all obedient and shit.”

“shut up.” you huff, and he would bet a million dollars you’ve got that adorable pout on your lips. the one you make whenever you don’t get something done the way you planned.

your bedroom is everything he expected from you, fits your personality just about right. but—respectfully, fuck your bedroom. he’s got bigger issues to address, and that can only be done with your panties on the floor and a mouth full of your cunt. his dick is twitching uncontrollably at the thought of it alone.

“if you drop me on this bed, i swear i’m gonna kill you.” tilting your head, you warn him once he stands next to the edge of your bed frame. though a moot point, because if you know gojo as well as you think you do, you’re about to meet your duvets face first.

“mhm, what was that?” cupping a hand behind his ear, he pretends innocence then proceeds to do exactly what you warned him not to do. him and his long ass limbs, manhandling you all over the damn place as if its in his birthright. and no, it does not make your cunt clench, despite your thighs rubbing one against another. “sorry shortie, think i missed what you said.”

when you’re finally able to gain composure, you sit up on your elbows and furrow your brows in the nastiest scowl you can muster. he stands right above you, his frame so large it both annoys and turns you on. “gojo, you stupid fucking—”

you want to slap the smile off his face. “yeah, yeah.” he cuts you off, before leaning down to hover over you. his arms are pinned at your side, upper body pressing against yours. you feel the weight of his hips pressing into your legs, and so you widen the space. he fits in just as perfectly as you’d imagined he would. the tip of his nose brushes yours, biceps flexing in your peripherals. you feel his breath fanning at your cupid’s bow, warm yet it leaves shivers creeping at your spine.

“think you owe me somethin’, princess.” his voice comes out in a low growl, from the depths of his chest. his presence is so dominating— his bulge pressed right up against your aching cunt, the feel of his heartbeat right against yours. it all feels dizzying, the scent of his cologne filling up your nostrils and clouding any better sense of judgement.

he’s teasing you— leans in, brushes his soft lips against yours and watches as you lean forward to capture them but pulls away just in nick of time. he loves every one of your facial expressions, especially that adorable scowl of yours. he can’t wait to see the faces you make when you’re in absolute bliss.

he tilts his head just slightly, practically mouthing the words into your parted mouth. and with a low chuckle, he speaks, “if you want it, take it.”

you might’ve folded first, but he kisses you back just as eagerly, lips moulding into one another. you feel him sigh into your mouth, as if you’d relieved him of all stresses weighing on his shoulders. you lift a hand to cup at the back of his neck, fingernails scratching at the undercut at his nape.

gojo shudders beneath your touch, rolling his hips deeper into yours and relishes in the way you moan softly into his mouth. he wants to drink up every single sound you make, wants to discover your body’s sensitive spots and maneuver them into making a mess out of you.

your neck soon begins to ache, and almost as if he can read your mind, pushing deeper into you as you fall back onto your bed. he never takes his lips off of yours— not when the hold in his hair lowers in favour to grip at his biceps or stroke his back, not even when your legs wrap tightly at his waist. at a particular grind, you moan louder than any other sound you’d made all night, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

“gojo,” you whine into his mouth, fingers clawing at his compression tee. he continues to roll his bulge into your clothed cunt, aiming at that spot that has you arching your back off the bed and into him. he grips a hand tightly at your plush thigh, his hold so hard you’re certain he’ll leave bruises. “you said y-you’d eat it. be a man of your, ngh, word.”

“yeah, that’s right,” he pulls away finally, a thin string of saliva connecting both your lips. he pecks at your kiss bitten lips, the dazed look in your eyes igniting a fire deep in his gut. “gotta keep my promise— can’t keep my baby waitin’ too long,” you feel his lips trail from the corner of your lips to the slope of your jaw, “she gets all cranky an’ pissy.” from the column on your neck to your collarbone, “starts gettin’ all mean with me.”

“oh my gosh, shut up!” you complain, though your hold on him tightens. you feel the vibrations of his chuckles at your jugular, followed by a deep plunge on his teeth at the thin layer of skin and another agonizingly slow grind against your clit. “fuckin’— shit— hurry up already!”

“tsk, see what i mean?” gojo tuts, hands sliding down the curves at your torso. you feel his large fingers play with the material of your panties, rolling the lace between forefingers. the contrast of the coolness of his rings against your heated skin adds a strange stimulation to your senses. “so mouthy, ‘m gonna have to do somethin’ about that.”

“i’m mouthy?” you squawk, watching as he lifts your tee up from your body. he taps wordlessly at your waist and you understand to remove the article of clothing. you chuck the tee across the room, before redirecting your focus on the man peppering wet kisses all over your stomach. it leaves butterflies rattling inside. “you literally cannot shut the fuck up— what’s the hold up? awe, don’t tell me you can’t walk the talk?”

he pauses for a bit. he doesn’t let himself fall bait for your words. you’re just being bratty— all hot and bothered and can’t properly ask for what you need. you don’t have to worry, he’s here entirely for your pleasure. he isn’t even thinking about the way his cock throbs painfully in his boxers, doesn’t even attempt to relieve it at all.

and so, he kneels at the edge of the bed. with two large hands cupping at your hips, he pulls you closer to him and rests your thighs on his shoulders. he watches as your chest rises up and down, and you prop yourself back onto your elbows.

your eyes are misty, your lips swollen and wet, your hair a mess and your neck littered in marks that scream gojo. you already look fucked out and he hadn’t done shit. god, he can’t wait to stuff his face between your thighs.

“i got you baby,” he drags his index finger right in the center of your cunt. he can both feel and see the material dampen with your arousal, your hips squirming as you chase for more. he licks his lips as he narrows in on the treasure, he swears he hears his stomach growling. “promise i do. just relax for me, yeah?”

“whatever.” you mumble, and comply to his order. he calls you a good girl, before stroking at your clit some more. the reactions you give will forever be imprinted in his mind, fleeting touches already granting him the opportunity to hear your delicate voice once more. you may be impatient but gojo is worse, and he decides that he wants to see your cunt now. he pushes your panties to the side, and the sight he’s rewarded with nearly— nearly, had him cumming right on two knees.

gojo gulps. “holy shit,” he feels his voice waver in excitement, eyes widened as he stares dead on. your cunt clenches around nothing from the switch of temperature, oozing more of your arousal down to your sheets. your pussy lips are puffy, clit sitting atop so prettily and damn, he wants to hump something.

he isn’t sure why but you try to close your thighs together, rude much, though gojo is much stronger. he keeps them spread wide, and shoots you a look. “do not.”

“tsk.” you click your tongue, looking away. and, oh, are you shy? “stop staring, you fuckin’ weirdo.”

he’s too far enamoured by the slick dribbling from your tiny hole down the crack of your ass. it trickles so tauntingly, that he finds himself nearly jealous. he wishes he could be there— oh wait, “just appreciatin’ my meal before i eat, sue me.”

the pad of his thumb collects your juices before popping it into his mouth. “wow,” he mumbles, more so to himself, at your taste bursting onto his taste buds. it’s so undoubtedly you, a raw and truthful you, and he gives you no warning before diving right in.

“fuckkk,” you throw your head back, hand flying to grab at the nearest thing in your vicinity— which so happens to be tousled, fluffy hair.

so, first time for everything right? but gojo maneuvers his way into your pussy as if he’d done this before. he starts off with kitten licks, teasing you some more before flattening his tongue and dragging it up and down your lips. he swallows and moans into your cunt, fingers digging deep into the back of your thighs.

he’s practically making out with your pussy. he doesn’t neglect any area, not even the clit surprisingly, as he latches his lips to the bundle of nerves and lightly nibbles. now that has your back arching and pushing his head deeper into you. if there was a way to go in life, he’d gladly take this death.

he’s so painfully hard it hurts, unable to control the way his hips grind against the bed frame. your scent is driving him feral, the way you tug on his hair harshly has his balls tightening and the way you cry out his name makes him want to imprint his name inside of you.

“s-satoru!” oh god, you’ve done it. you finally said his first name and he’s this close to painting his briefs white in shame. he continues to flick his tongue inside your hole and similar strokes to his humping. “you’re doin’ s’gooddd baby, shit!”

keep praising him and he’s gonna bust. he lifts himself away from your pussy, eyeing the gooey center almost offensively, “why the fuck do you taste so good?” he lands a wad of spit down, as he brings two digits to properly rub his saliva into your essence. the sounds it produces are so wet, it’s damn near filthy. he clicks his tongue, “seriously. ‘s makin’ me mad almost.” he slaps at your cunt twice, watching how your spray down his wrist.

“you s-sure this is your first, hnng, time?” you accuse, to the best of your abilities, as you feel him slip a finger in. you’re so lubricated, the slip inside was easy. pushing past that first ring of muscle, he’s pumping in and out of your cunt with precision, curling his digit as if he’s aiming to find a specific area. “y’know too much— mmph, fuckin’ liar.”

when he thrusts into a specific angle, your thighs tremble terribly around his head. he smirks, found it. “watched a lotta porn.” and he isn’t lying, he thinks back to how he studied the arts of cunningulus, and recalls the double combo. he has to try it, so he’s back to sucking and nibbling at your clit while adding an extra finger inside.

“oh my goddd,” you whine, feeling your limbs liquify in heat from every extremity. he pushes your knee further into your chest, and so you grab ahold of both your thighs. he hums approvingly, dragging his free hand along the soft skin of your legs. “don’t— don’t stop, please don’t stop,”

your toes are curled, back off the mattress and the pain in his scalp is shooting straight down to his cock. he’s rutting and rutting into the wooden frame, the flat surface painfully teasing though it does do the job. or maybe he has you to blame.

he feels saliva dripping down his chin, the way his tongue slides into your folds and feels his knuckles in there. his fingers move in scissoring motions, rotating circles, in and out— all the while repeatedly attacking your golden spot.

you severely underestimated him, and can barely process the orgasm that rips through you when he presses a hand onto your lower belly, “‘m cumming, fuck, ngh, don’t stop—” and you wail, fingernails clawing intensely into his tresses, torn between pushing him away and pulling him in closer. he decides to make that decision for you, stuffing himself as deep as possible to not miss a single drop, and your thighs clench against his ears.

so, gojo satoru is a shameless man. as you flood into his mouth and onto his face, grinding out your orgasm and using him as nothing but a toy for your own high— somewhere along the lines, he feels his briefs are sticky. he moans sluttily into your pussy, hips twitching incessantly as his cock shoots loads of nut into his boxers.

it feels like an eternity yet simultaneously a second when you’ve come down from your high, body twitching as gojo slows down his movements, his finger pumps gradually lessening in intensity and the kitten licks on your abused clit coming to a halt.

his face is soaked. his skin feels moist and damp, a thick air of humidity beginning to grow in the room, but he genuinely couldn’t care less. his eyes are stuck on you, limbs sprawled out limply against your bed, your chest heaving, tiny breaths coming out of your mouth.

he slides out his aching fingers, and pops them back in his mouth, tongue wrapping around his digits so eagerly, basking in your taste once more. absolutely divine,

“christ, i’d make a nasty pornstar.”

gojo won the poll. . . everybody act surprised (°_°)

[grethn]

Dear Supporter,

I hope this message finds you and your family in good health and high spirits. My name is Rakan Zaqout from Gaza.🍉 I am reaching out to seek your urgent help in spreading the word about our fundraising campaign. I lost both my home and my school, my parents lost their jobs too, due to the ongoing genocide in Gaza and we are facing catastrophic living conditions.💔

I kindly ask you to visit our campaign. Your support, whether through donating or sharing, will help us reach more people who can make a difference. Thank you for your continued support for the Palestinian cause. Your dedication brings us closer to freedom.🕊

Please note, our campaign has been verified by 90-ghost and aces-and-angels.☑

Please, if you can donate, support Rakan and their family. Visit their campaign and help if you can. If you can't donate continue to spread their message.

[grethn]

one of the best spencer fics I've ever read this is flabbergasting

It’s Golden, Like Daylight

Out of panic, you introduce Spencer as your boyfriend to your life-long situationship. Next thing you know, Spencer is your plus one at your friend’s wedding. There, the pieces start to fall right into place. [ 14.8k ]

Includes fem reader; roommate Spence; fake dating; awkward flirting; sexual tension; very heated make-out; food and alcohol consumption; smut.

     The dress' zipper was stuck midway, and you weren’t flexible enough to reach it.

      “Shit.” You muttered under your breath, twisting your arms behind you like a pretzel—one from above and the other from underneath. Your fingertips barely grazed the zip, and the sweat and frustration were already leaking out of your pores.

      “You okay?” Spencer asked from behind the tall dressing room curtain.

      “I think I’m stuck,” you replied in a whiny tone.

      “Do you need help? Should I call someone?”

      “You get in here.”

    “Uh…” he hesitated for a moment before he dragged open the curtain just enough to reveal his big eyes.

      “Quick!” You yanked him inside by his wrist.

      “Okay, okay!” He clumsily obeyed. “Chill out.”

      “Don’t ‘chill out’ me. Help me.” You stood in front of him, giving him your back. “It won’t go up or down.”

      You watched him through the mirror as he hunched over to get a better look at the problem. “It’s… eating the fabric. Hold on.”

      Great. 

      An exhausted puff of air escaped you.

      This was the fourth dress already and neither fitted right. You were on the verge of a breakdown by now, and the constant stinging at the back of your eyes had you blinking up to the ceiling way too much. Mostly because of the dresses, but also because of the reason you were shopping for one in the first place.

      One of your best friends was getting married next weekend and the news hit you like a truck. If it had happened at any other point, you would’ve jumped around to celebrate, but you’d been so close to hitting rock bottom lately that getting her invitation almost dragged you down completely.

      This was not about you—you kept repeating yourself—nothing ever was, but it felt like the world was conspiring against you. Everyone around seemed to have their shit together all of a sudden. They kept moving forward, making permanent life decisions, having babies, moving abroad with the love of their life… you were at that age, where the in-between felt much like a failure, and it all started six months ago when your dream job was taken away from you out of nowhere. And while some people your age were buying houses, you were forced to move out of your old apartment since you couldn’t afford a place on your own anymore. Even a studio apartment the size of a matchbox was too expensive, so your only option was to move into a place with two men to save some money.

      It was the only post available on Craigslist that came close to your budget.

      (You were hesitant about it at first, but after meeting up, you admitted they weren’t bad at all. One of them was gay—Ethan—and the other too smart and a germaphobe—Spencer—so neither would dare to touch you inappropriately, which was your biggest concern about living with men you didn’t know. The place had nice natural lighting, smelled good, and had a great location, near a hospital and public transportation. And although the room available was smaller than how it looked in the pictures, you couldn’t complain. It fit your double bed and had a private bathroom.)

      So, you took it.

      At that moment, every dream you once had was ripped out of the picture and now you were living aimlessly—no purpose whatsoever. It was so bad that sharing a home with two guys became the most exciting thing in your day-to-day life. Their company healed you a little every day without even noticing. With the occasional movie nights, random parties at home with poker (strip poker if you were drunk enough) just the three of you plus whatever guy Ethan was seeing at the moment; shared joints on the balcony or rooftop, or drinking some beer while watching a random soccer game that only Ethan truly enjoyed. They were the reason you smiled at least once a day and it was impossible not to bond with them. 

      Naturally, Ethan and Spencer became two of your closest friends.

      Which was enough reason for Spencer to be fingers deep inside the back of your dress.

      “Almost there,” Spencer said before a harsh snap blared around.

      “Did you tear it?!” You peeked at him over your shoulder.

      “It’s perfectly fine, don’t worry.”

      You let out a relieved sigh. You were free at last.

      “Thanks.” You kept the dress in place with both palms over your chest and locked eyes with him through the mirror.

      “Don’t you have a similar one at home?” Spencer quirked his brows. “Looks like the one you used for your date the other day. How did it go? By the way?”

      Turning on your heels to face him, you said, “Awful,” while wrinkling your nose.

      “Oh.” He frowned, pursing his lips.

      “Would you choose a dress for me, please?” You were quick to change the subject. You were also at that age where most dates were a waste of time. “I’ll buy the one you like the most. I wanna go already.”

      “I really like the first one.” He nodded, flashing a tight smile.

      That was the one you had liked the least. The silky fabric was nice, but the vintage flower pattern wasn’t something you’d normally wear.

      “Really?”

      “It’s classic. And elegant. Something Princess Diana would’ve worn on a casual summer night,” he paused for a moment, sticking the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, then said, half smiling, “Expensive looking.”

      You smiled back at his sweet comparison. He often saw things so much differently as you did, so maybe that was the dress meant for you.

      “And it’s all about the accessories you wear, too,” he confidently added.

      “I really liked the third one,” you said.

      “I don’t know. It was too short.”

      “What? You don’t want me showin’ a little skin?” You teased him in your gremlin voice.

      “I…” an adorable laugh rolled off his chest. That voice always made him laugh. “It’s not really wedding-appropriate.”

      You pursed your lips and said, “Fine,” gently scooching him out of the room.

      Once back into your normal clothes, you headed out to return all the rejected dresses to their corresponding section. You were probably going to wear the one Spencer mentioned you had at home, anyway.

      You were about to go to the cashier when a familiar voice called your name from somewhere behind you. You froze and your mind got polluted with memories in an instant. It was the voice of someone you had buried very deeply a long time ago. 

You gulped and pretended you didn’t hear, searching for Spencer with your eyes, but your name was called again. Louder. Even Spencer—who you caught at the other side of the shop in the tie section—heard, turning his head towards you and looking past your shoulder.

      Your name was called again, this time right behind you. You gathered courage through a deep breath and turned around. It was Jake, your life-long situationship (until a year ago), and his girlfriend (the one he started dating soon after you ended things).

      “Hey,” you said so out of breath and so not interested.

      “Wow,” he sort of laughed. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”

      You merely nodded, raising your brows indifferently. The amount of times you had fantasized about this moment back when you still loved him, and now that you had finally gotten over him, there he was in front of you. Now that you had nothing to say. 

      “Who is she?” his girlfriend subtly asked him. 

      He introduced you with a stutter, followed by, “She’s an old friend.”

      You scoffed. Did he have amnesia all of a sudden? Yes, he was your friend for over four years, but then he wasn’t. After a drunken night, an unlabeled something emerged and lasted for two—almost three—years. While being with him, your light faded. You often wondered if he was ashamed of you; if he thought of you as not enough—not smart enough, not pretty enough, not hard-working enough. He never held your hand in public, only wanted you behind closed doors, and would raise his voice at you out of nowhere. And the many times you asked him What are we? He managed to change the subject in one way or another.  

      Pathetic.

      “Are you going to Shay’s wedding?” He asked.

      “Of course.” You remained expressionless. You weren’t about to give him the pleasure of seeing anything other than disinterest from you. “She’s one of my best friends.”

      “So, you're a bridesmaid,” he said matter-of-factly.

      Folding your arms over your chest, you confidently answered, “She’s not having bridesmaids.”

      Shay had said it was a small wedding, and that she was only going to have a maid of honor; her sister.

      “Uh, yeah she is?” Jake gestured at his girlfriend with his brows. “Poppy here is one.” What? “She already got the dress.”

      Your eyes darted down at the bag she was holding, a light lavender fabric peeked. That was Shay’s favorite color.

      “You ready?” Spencer stealthily appeared and stood tall next to you.

      “Spence.” You breathed out and held his arm, begging to be saved.

      “What are you doing?” He asked under his breath.

      “Spencer, this is Jake, an old friend,” You quoted Jake's exact words and tone. “Jake, this is Spencer, my boyfriend.”

      Those two words came out without any thought behind them. Confident and so smooth. No idea where that came from, but it was out, and Jake's face melted, giving you a tinge of satisfaction.

      Very subtly, you pinched the inside of Spencer’s arm hoping he’d get the signal and he waved at them with a tight-lipped smile.

      “Hey.” Jake merely raised his brows as a greeting and clenched his jaw. “So I guess I’ll be seeing you, too, at the wedding?”

      Spencer frowned at you.

      “Well.” You looked up at him. “Spencer might have to work, we don’t know yet.” You had never doubted his profiling skills, even though you didn’t understand how it exactly worked but you just hoped it was similar to mind-reading. Just play along, Spencer. “His schedule is always so unpredictable.”

      “Oh, yeah? What do you do?” Jake asked him.

      “Uh,” Spencer cleared his throat. “I work for the FBI.”

      “You don’t seem like you’d be a fed,” Jake sort of laughed, leaning on Poppy for approval.

      “I know,” Spencer replied as he reached inside his pocket to quickly flash his badge. “Most people don’t believe me.”

      Jake’s jaw clenched again.

      “He works at the Behavioral Analysis Unit,” you chimed in like the proud girlfriend you suddenly were. “They want him because of his beautiful, gifted brain.”

      “Right.” Jake raised his brows, his eyes ping-ponging from you to Spencer as if he was trying to study everything about you two.

    “Well, we’re kind of in a hurry.” You reached for Spencer’s hand. “See you next weekend.”

      You led the way out of the situation and continued your walk to the cashier.

      “What was that about?” Spencer subtly asked.

      “I panicked,” you looked up at him and winced with guilt.

      He didn’t seem mad, just… confused. “Who is he? If you don’t mind me asking.”

      You didn’t mind, but Jake wasn’t someone worth talking about. It would be a waste of time and saliva.

      “It’s a long story,” you merely said.

      By the time the dress was paid for and inside a paper bag, you met Spencer outside the shop. He’d put his sunglasses on and rolled up his sleeves.

      Right then, you realized: Spencer was way cuter than Jake. Plus, that move he made of showing off his badge made you both proud and flustered.

      “Thank you for playing along.” You bumped your arm with his as you made your way across the street.

      “Didn’t have much of a choice. I’m pretty sure my arm is gonna be bruised by tonight.”

      “Oh, don’t be a baby.” You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t pinch you that hard.”

      Five sunny blocks later, you stopped at an ice cream shop and ordered chocolate chips for both. One of the few things you had in common with him was your go-to ice cream flavor.

      While you went for an immediate lick, Spencer asked for a tiny spoon.

      “Would you go with me, then?” You asked once outside the store.

      “What? The wedding?”

      You nodded, giving your ice cream another lick.

      “If you want me to, yeah. I’ll have to ask for a day off or two.”

      “And would you be willing to act like my boyfriend?” Your voice sort of faded.

      “What are you trying to prove?” He asked, his attention trained in the ice cream.

      “That I’m enough to be someone’s girlfriend, I guess.”

      “Why wouldn’t you be?”

      You huffed out an annoyed breath. “Spence—“

      “Fine! I’ll go.”

      “Thank you.” You sighed and tied your next words with enthusiasm, attempting to make a good thing out of it. “You have a bunch of suits so you won’t have to shop for anything.” 

      “Where’s the wedding?” He asked.

      “New Hampshire. The countryside.” Not your favorite. “It’s gonna be hot so maybe you shouldn’t wear one of those suits with many many layers.”

      “Wasn’t planning to.”

      “I’m sorry I’m making you spend money on this,” you said to Spencer, taking two steps on the airport line, ID and tickets in hand. 

      You couldn’t help but feel guilty about it, even when you were well aware he had no trouble with spending money. His job paid well and when you first heard how much money he made, you wondered why he chose to live with two other people instead of renting a place alone.  

      I don’t like coming back from work to an empty home, was his honest answer. It was adorable and easy to assume he wanted to have a family someday.  

      “Oh, you’re not making me do anything,” he replied nonchalantly. “I agreed to come.” 

      “How many days off do you have?” you asked through a yawn. You’d come straight from your shift at work and the exhaustion was already reaching your bones.  

      “A week.” Spencer's tone emanated a tinge of surprise.  

      “That’s… a lot.” You frowned.  

      “I haven’t taken a vacation in over two years so I had quite a few days accumulated. I still do. ” 

      “I only have the weekend.” It was a relatively new job, so you didn’t dare to ask for an extra day off. “But I’m sure you can stay there with my friend without me. So you can enjoy the place.” 

      “I might go to New York, actually.” 

      “Oh,” you replied, taken aback. He had already made plans without you. “That’s… perfect.” 

      Soon, your turn came and the flight attendant scanned your tickets, motioning to go straight ahead. You continued your walk through the boarding bridge and your pulse quickened with each step that took you closer and closer to the plane.  You would’ve much preferred to spend some more money on a car rental, but Shay had bought you the plane ticket without a particular reason (you suspected it was her guilt for not making you a bridesmaid) so you had no other choice.  

      Deep breaths.  

      “And you do know the main reason you’re here is to act like my boyfriend, right?” You repeatedly kicked your knee against your bag. 

      “Uh, yeah? That’s what we agreed on.” 

      “Just wanted to make sure. We might have to act differently, and the place… it’s a small town. Boring. Nothing to do.” 

      “Oh, I love small towns.” 

      You didn’t. Small towns take the gossiper side out   of people. And you, bringing Spencer, was definitely going to be in people’s mouths.  

      You reached the plane and your heart rate spiked to its limit. You tripped as you stepped a foot in.  “Crap.” 

      Spencer was quick to keep your balance by holding you by your elbow from behind. “You okay?” He asked. 

        All you did was nod. 

      The musty smell hit you right away, and no amount of aerosol disinfectant could get rid of the evidence of the hoard of people that had just gotten off. It made you uneasy, and what topped the awfulness of it all was your seat. Right next to the wing.

      Spencer put your bags in the overhead compartment and settled next to you. “You sure you’re okay?” He fastened his seatbelt.

      “Yeah, I just…” You blew out a breath. “Hate flying.”  

      “Why?” He asked. You shot him a glare and wiped it off right away. His look was curious. He wasn’t judging, just wondering. “Do you want to change seats?” 

      You shook your head. “Just the thought of being in the air in a small place and no exit to steady ground in case of… an emergency I— I don’t know. Every time I’m on a plane I can smell death.” 

      “Flying is safer than driving,” he began. “The overall fatality risk is zero point twenty-three percent. You would have to fly every day for more than ten thousand years to be in a fatal plane crash. If you want a comparison, the chances of dying in a car crash are one in a hundred and one.” 

      “Mh.” You shut your eyes, a tight knot forming in your stomach. “I appreciate that but it’s not helping.” 

      Spencer sighed and reached for your hand, enveloping your tight fist. “It’s only an hour and seventeen minutes flight.”  

      He didn’t let it go until you decided to. His hand remained on top of yours—now more relaxed—from the moment the plane took off, even when it got a bit sweaty at some point. It was a smooth flight for the first twenty minutes, then a big gray cloud got in the way. It shook the plane and you clung to Spencer’s entire side—arm and leg wrapped around his arm and leg.

      “Imagine we’re inside jello,” Spencer said close to your ear. 

      “Huh?!” You breathed agitatedly. Your stomach was twisting.  

     “I wish I had one with me but use your imagination. Close your eyes,” he softly said, waiting for you to obey. You also let go of his body and went back to a more appropriate position. “Picture a pea inside jello. If you shake it, the pea it’s gonna move but it won’t fall through. It’s the same with us right now. We’re the pea and the pressure around the plane is the jello keeping us from free-falling. It’s quite literally impossible for the plane to fall. It’s physics.” 

     “I wasn’t very good at physics at school,” you managed to reply. His voice soothed you. “But… It makes sense. I think?” 

     When it happened again, you thought of yourself as a pea in jello. 

     Rural New Hampshire had its charm during Spring.  

     Big, leafy trees welcomed you as soon as you hit the road from the airport, and they stunningly surrounded almost every street; the blooming flowers scattered everywhere painted the place with their vibrant colors; the rivers flowing with crystal clear water made you want to get in and soak your feet… It was beautiful, really, the perfect place to spend the weekend, yet you couldn’t help but feel gloomy as you now stood in front of Shay’s parents' (vacation) house—a big ‘on sale’ sign planted in the garden.  

     The trunk of the taxi slammed shut and Spencer made it next to you with your luggage in each hand.  

        “Are we going in or—” 

     “Give me a minute,” you cut him off with a harsher tone than intended. 

     A cloud of dust arose around you as the taxi drove off, and you didn’t bother to wave the air in front of you to avoid inhaling it. You hoped you’d choke on it. All you were thinking of was how you wouldn’t be a bridesmaid but a total stranger to her—Jake's girlfriend—was.  

     The porch door swung open and there was Shay and her big smile approaching you with open arms. 

     “I imagined you’d be more thrilled about seeing your best friend,” Spencer commented quietly enough. 

     Shay squealed your name and ran to you, going for a hug you didn’t feel like returning.

     “I’ve missed you so much,” she said, tightening the hug. 

     “Missed you too.” You forcefully wrapped your arms around her.  

     Your gut got filled with butterflies—the heavy and horrible kind. Spencer was right, you weren’t thrilled about seeing your best friend at all.  

     She let go of you and her eyes immediately darted to Spencer. You’d told her you were bringing someone, but you didn’t mention who. It’d been a while since you two last updated each other about life so she didn’t even know about how atrocious yours had been for the past six months, let alone the fact you’d moved in with two strangers.

     “Uh, this is Spencer, my boyfriend,” you introduced him as the person he was here to be.   

     Spencer waved at her with a thin smile. 

     “Boyfriend?” She gave him a toothy grin. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

     “Oh, we haven’t been together that long.” Spencer reached for your hand and glanced at you as he said, “How long has it been?”  

     “A week today.” You intertwined your fingers with his. 

     A week today you’d asked him to come here with you, so it made sense.  

     “Aw, so it’s like your weekiversary,” Shay smiled before turning on her feet to lead the way inside her home.  

     “You okay?” Spencer asked under his breath, giving your hand two gentle squeezes.  

     “Yeah.” 

     You had to be.  

     You let go of his hand and followed Shay as she guided you up the stairs to your room for the night.  

     “It’s not big but has a private bathroom.” She stood by the door while you and Spencer settled your bags.  

     Awesome, Spencer’s face said, and went to check it right away. 

     “Hey.” Shay placed a soft hand on your arm, gently squeezing it. “About Poppy being a bridesmaid—” 

     “Don’t worry about it.” You cut her off. Just hearing that name stirred your blood. And you didn’t want to hear her excuse.  

     “You’re not mad?” Her brows knitted together with guilt. 

     “I’m hurt.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “But I’m sure you have your reasons. I just… don’t want to hear them right now.”

     Or ever.

     “Okay,” she replied quietly. She knew she’d fucked up. Spencer came out of the bathroom and she rearranged her features, appearing more perky.  “Are you guys hungry?” Shay continued her tour down to the kitchen and offered you some of the cupcake samples that weren’t chosen for the wedding. Then, she excused herself since she had one last dinner with her fiancé as an unmarried couple and her parents. “We’re staying at a hotel and I’m getting ready there for the wedding tomorrow, so don’t wait for me.” Shay glanced at her Apple watch and then at you. “And no one really lives here anymore so you have the entire house all for yourselves.” She rounded the kitchen island where you were sitting and kissed your cheek on her way out. 

     Soon after Shay left, you and Spencer agreed to enjoy the few hours you had left of sunlight outdoors and changed your airport outfit to a light sundress, keeping the sneakers. 

     There was no particular destination whatsoever, you just walked instinctively, following the dirt path surrounded by trees and with the soon-to-be setting sun right in your faces. 

     “Is something going on with you and your friend?” Spencer asked, both hands inside his pocket. “I noticed some… tension.” 

     You took a deep breath. You wondered how obvious it was or if it was his profiler skills that gave it away. 

     “She told me she wasn’t having bridesmaids,” you began, taking another deep breath before continuing. Spencer carefully listened to you talk all about your history with her. From the moment you two became friends in high school, graduation, the first time getting drunk, plans you’d made together but never went through with any of them, first boyfriends… Every single moment that made her your friend, until now. “Then I hear from my ex that she is having bridesmaids and that his new girlfriend is one. I’m not sure how to feel about it. A part of me thinks I’m exaggerating but…” 

     You’d reached a small river by then and were now leaning against a tree. Its leafy branches fell perfectly to block the bright sunbeams from your eyes, allowing you to look around without shades. 

     “It’s not an exaggeration at all,” Spencer said. “It’s definitely something you two need to talk about eventually, and I’m not saying you should end the friendship, but it sounds to me like you need to make new friends.” He lifted his glasses to his head and gave you an honest glare.  

     The nature around shifted the color of his eyes, making them look more greenish instead of the light brown you were accustomed to. 

     “Well, I have you.” You gently nudged his arm.  

     Spencer scrunched up his nose. “You need more friends than just me and Ethan. People that don’t live with you and would actually make you a bridesmaid at their wedding.” 

     You shot him a threatening glance and took a few steps away from him, farther down to the shore of the river. He didn’t have to be that honest.  

     “There’s not much I can do now,” you shrugged it off. “I’m here for her, at her wedding, and I’m gonna show up as a simple guest that’s there to have fun.” 

     “And I’m gonna be there next to you.” Spencer reached your side, his upper arm brushing your shoulder.  You smiled. He was someone worth keeping around. “So, uh, the guy from the other day was your ex-boyfriend?”

     You didn’t even notice that information had slipped out. You had no other choice than to talk about him. Sort of.  

     “Not really, but we had something,” was all you gave him. Spencer was never pushy when it came to your feelings, so he let the topic go.

     A soft breeze swirled around, playing with the ends of your dress. Your mind switched gears with it and soon, you decided you weren’t the bitter and the forgotten friend anymore.  

     “I feel like I need to know more things about you if we’re going to pretend to be together.” You turned to face Spencer. “We weren’t very convincing.” 

     “Was I too cold?”

     “We both were.” You looked up at him. The wind was having fun playing with his hair, too. “What’s your love language?” 

     He smiled, nodding to himself for a moment with a faraway look. “Uh, physical touch.” 

     “But you hate being touched,” you were quick to say.  

     “It’s not that I hate it? I just don’t think it’s ever necessary, especially with strangers. But with the person I like” —his smile widened— ”it’s different.”

     You hummed. “I think it’s gonna be weird if we’re this distant, then.” You gestured at the space between you two. “If we’re not gonna kiss, we have to at least be touchy enough.” 

     “I— I don’t mind.” He gulped. 

     “Which part?” You smirked. “Kissing or being touchy?” 

     Gulping once more, he added, “Uh, neither part. I told you you could count on me.” 

     You made a small choking sound, not quite a laugh, turning your face away allowing the heat to rush to your cheeks—Spencer Reid wouldn’t mind kissing you and it made you a bit giddy.  

     You looked at him again and sighed. 

     The thing about Spencer was that you liked him, from the very first moment. He wasn’t hard on the eyes and you’ve thought about him as a man once or twice. Not a brother or a friend. A man, who you’ve seen naturally flirt (in his own style) with some girl at a bar you’d dragged him into; a man who was soft-spoken, honest—too honest sometimes—and carried himself with confidence most of the time; a man who didn’t hesitate to go with you to the store from around the corner in the middle of the night because you had a craving—you missed him a lot when he was away for a few days in a row because of a case (craving or not). He was a good man, and those were rare in your life. 

     Call it an innocent crush, which was more intense in the beginning, but it still settled somewhere not that deep inside you. 

     “Should we practice, then?” You half-joked.  

     “R-Right now?” his voice came out slightly high-pitched.

     You swore his cheeks got tainted with the faintest shade of pink that wasn’t there seconds ago. 

     “Yeah, just one soft peck.” You shrugged. A kiss from sweet Spencer would brush away your bitterness forever. You closed the gap between you two and stood in front of him, playfully batting your lashes. “So?”  

     His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and the pink on his cheeks turned glowy. It wasn’t the first time you’d made him blush. Those times often involved you walking around the house with your non-existent pajamas (a big T that went barely under your butt and underwear). 

     This was different, though. You were fully clothed with just a few honest words. 

     Clutching his waist by his shirt, you took the initiative and gathered confidence, bringing him closer. “Come on, no one’s around.”

     “Yeah.” He let out a breathy laugh. “That’s the problem.”

     Your mouth hung open for a moment and laughed too. “What does that mean?”  

     He licked his lips and cupped your face with gentle hands—hands that almost took up your entire face. He kept his lips tense, as if holding back a smile, and scanned your face up and down. His eyes had now shifted to their natural color, or maybe it was his large pupils that made them look darker.  

     “Now I’m not so sure if we should.” His eyes lingered on your lips.  

     “Why? Are you scared of falling in love?” You used your gremlin voice and made sure to keep your bottom lip tucked in your teeth with the last word.  

     He laughed a little, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly and he leaned until your noses touched. Your breath hitched and you were just as flustered as him at the snap of a finger.  

     He was a different kind of pretty from up close.  

     “Remind me again why are we doing this?” He dodged your question with a question, his breath fanning your lips. 

     Your knees went weak and you barely managed to say, “I honestly don’t know anymore.”    

     You would’ve never thought Spencer could make you this nervous, but there you were, legs quivering at his proximity. 

     Proximity you had asked for.  

     He said nothing, just smirked while leaning until your lips touched with a soft peck that lasted a second. Tentative. Nothing out of this world, yet your heart was trying to flutter out of your chest. He stayed there, a kiss away from your lips, then went for another one. More confident. A proper kiss rather than a soft peck but still closed mouth. You even felt him smiling through it, and once he pulled back, you wished it had lasted longer. Your breath hitched again and the lack of air made you light-headed.  

     And just like that, your crush on him made its way back to the surface.

     You rolled your lips together, letting go of his waist and hiding a smile that could give you away. Your cheeks were burning and a sudden rush of lust hit you right then and there.  

     “Was it okay?” His hands cupping your cheeks relaxed but remained there, touching you.  

     “Yeah.” You lied. You’d completely lost your train of thought. “Are you okay?” 

     “Yeah.” He nodded, letting you go. 

     “We’re okay,” you murmured under your breath to convince yourself of it in a way and gently patted his chest. “Good job.”

     Brushing past him on your way down the river, an odd feeling ghosted up your gut.  

     There was no coherent thought running through your mind. You’d kissed him before, according to Ethan—a drunk strip poker night was to blame—but it wasn’t even your memory. So this… god, this was a true first kiss. A sober kiss. An intentional kiss.

     You stayed quiet most of the walk back home. Which was odd coming from Spencer and you wondered if he’d felt things too…

     Spencer was leaning on a wall of pillows he’d built against the headboard, one hand behind his head while the other held the book he’d found in Shay's library after the dinner you ordered. 

     “Are you okay with us sleeping in the same bed?” You sat cross-legged next to him and reached for your moisturizer on the nightstand. Vanilla and lavender scented. “Because I could go—”

     To Shay’s room, you were about to say, but he quickly interrupted you. “Yeah, yeah. Fine.”

     You let out a teasing laugh, squeezing a few drops of lotion across your arms and spreading a thin layer all over. “There aren’t ghosts here to pull you by your feet, you know.” 

     Any chance you had, you teased him about being scared of the dark. You’d even given him a pumpkin nightlight for last Christmas as a joke, but you’d caught the orange light shining under his door at odd hours of the night.

     “I know that.” He kept his eyes glued to the page. 

     You finished applying moisturizer all over your body—thighs, knees, feet, and hands—and lay on your side, propping yourself on your elbow and resting your head over your hand, chin angled up to delight your eyes with the view: Spencer, fresh out of the shower, reading a book. 

     An involuntary deep sigh escaped you. You hadn’t stopped thinking about the kiss, not even in the shower—you had to hold back the urges to release some… tension; your fingers had drifted somewhere between your legs, massaged right there for a moment. And just for a brief moment, your fingers were his fingers, and the hot water cascading down your body were his lips, kissing you everywhere… You had snapped your hand away when the pleasure started to build and flipped the shower tap to the cold side to punish yourself. 

     Now, those same urges were flush against your skin, and he was right there next to you, preciously focused on whatever he was reading.

     Vivid images of you straddling him and leaning down to kiss his neck as he kept on reading flashed before your eyes, and your pulse thrummed with lust in more than one place. 

     You wanted to kiss him again. 

     “Should we practice some more?” You blurted out. 

     A slow, flustered smile took over his lips; his eyes still wandering through the pages. 

     “Spence.” You gently—seductively—took the book out of his hands. 

     He cleared his throat, meeting your gaze. “If that’s what you want, y-yeah.” 

     You put the book aside and lay on your stomach, now propping yourself up on both of your elbows and glancing up at him with fluttering lashes. “You have to want it as well.”

     He scrunched up his nose and adjusted himself, lowering on the bed to lay on his back and be at the same level as you. A bit too tense, both hands clasped over his stomach, and his slightly damp hair fell messy over the pillow. 

     You followed his every move, your smirk growing wider. “Is this a yes?” 

     Spencer merely nodded, licking his lips. 

     Being this close, you could take in all of his beauty. Kind eyes, sun-kissed skin, barely sunburnt at the apple of his cheeks and bridge of his cute button nose, manly bone structure—god, that jawline—, his growing beard barely darkening the skin above his upper lip and chin, his so very kissable lips…

     You lifted your hand closest to him and brushed a piece of hair away from his forehead. His eyes darted to your lips and it was your cue to lean down for a closed-mouth kiss, to which he kindly and so sweetly responded.

     “Is that okay?” You whispered against his lips, searching for his eyes, but he had them closed.

     “Yeah,” he replied just as quietly.

     You licked your lips and went for another, just as soft. “And that?”

     “Yeah,” his voice came out low and his hands slowly untangled, falling to his sides and grazing your bare thighs.

     You squeezed your thighs together and scooted closer to him so you could have more comfortable access to his lips.   

     Kiss.

     Kiss.

     Another kiss—it lasted longer and you dared to give a short, teasing lick that pulled a low sound from his chest right away.

     “How about that?” You murmured and his eyes shot open. 

     They were blazing with an unfamiliar lust.

     He answered by adjusting on his side, eyes trained on your lips, and dragged one hand across your back until the appropriate curve of your buttock, sending tingles through every nerve. His tension was slowly fading and leaned toward your mouth going for another kiss, but you pulled back and caught the hint of a smirk at the corner of his lip. 

     “Don’t get too eager,” you teased him, even when in reality, it was you whose heart was already getting excited. 

     “I’ll try,” he said and cupped your cheek strongly, leaning fully to capture your lips.

     You kissed him back and mirrored him to a certain point, laying on your side too, one hand cradling the side of his head while never letting his lips go. You scooted closer so your bodies would almost blend and with every new movement, you got a whiff of his natural scent, so manly and so damn intoxicating it only made kissing him a far more exhilarating experience. His breathing grew harsher and the kiss got louder and wetter and desperate by the minute. You couldn’t help but laugh a little through it, feeling his lips curve into a smile against your lips, too. 

     This felt like an old-fashioned make-out session with a high-school crush, and the more it kept going, the further you wanted to take it. Before you knew it your body acted on impulse and in one swift movement, you were on his lap, straddling him exactly as you’d fantasized minutes ago.

     Another dark hum rolled off his chest, his large hands settling at either side of your hips.

     “I… we should stop,” you pulled away, yet planted a wet kiss on his lips a second later and pressed your hips down against him. A lump nestled right below your cunt—not hard, but it was getting there. 

     “Mh.” He tugged your bottom lip between his teeth. 

     Spencer was getting too eager and you would’ve stopped it right there. You really would’ve, but the sounds he made were delightful and his hands roaming all over the length of your body were driving you insane. They could melt into your flesh by how hot they were. 

     Your head was spinning. He was an incredibly good kisser—god, his tongue, his hands, his breathing, the way his short beard scraped your skin... It’d been too long since you’d felt this wanted, so you didn’t pull back and let yourself go, whining into the kiss instead and corresponding to his eagerness, as long as it didn’t go beyond this.

    Another dark sound from him filled the narrow space between your chests. He brought you down closer to him by your hips, digging his long fingers into your skin as if he wanted you to properly feel how hard he was getting just by kissing you. And oh boy, you did feel him. He was hard now—ready—and an exquisite pulse grew on your cunt. You were so ready for him, too. 

     You inclined your face to the opposite side mid-kiss, changing the rhythm to a slower but still breathy pace. Smiling. Your tongues swept together kiss after kiss, and the moment warm arousal leaked into your panties, you snapped off of him, breaking the kiss abruptly.

     “Oof, okay.” You laughed, bringing your palm to your swollen lips. “That was—“

     Spencer's face was flushed, his lips also swollen, his mouth parted and his chest heaving in and out, startled. Maybe by how unexpectedly you’d ended it or because he didn’t recognize himself. At least you didn’t. The lust had shape-shifted him in a way. That was not the sweet and nerdy Spencer you knew.

     “Yeah.” He exhaled, his brows knitted together.

     Your eyes trailed down his body and made eye contact with his evident erection. Your mouth hung open with half a smile and struggled to swallow. It didn’t feel that thick against you. 

     You were evidently staring, so he followed your eyes down to his body.

     “Shit!” He rolled on his stomach and nuzzled his whole face against the pillow like a frightened ostrich wanting to hide from the world. 

     There was his adorable little self.

     “You okay?” you asked through a small laugh, biting your bottom lip.

     “Yeah,” he muffled his voice.

     “Trynna’ hide something?”

     “Mhm.” He nodded.  

     There was no way you were going to sleep in the same bed after this very heated practice. 

     “Okay,” you cleared your throat, standing up from the bed and you were sure the patch of arousal would soon leak into your pajama shorts. “I’m… gonna go inside the bathroom and once I’m out, I— you— we are gonna behave, okay?” 

     Spencer gave you a thumbs-up while his face was still buried into the pillow. 

     You ran to your bag, quickly grabbed a clean pair of panties, and tippy-toed to the bathroom, locking yourself in. Your forehead landed against the door. 

     That was incredibly hot. 

     And so damn stupid.

     A soft knock on the door startled you, quickening your heart. 

     It could only be one person. 

     You took a deep breath gathering yourself before replying, “Come in!” as casually as you could.

     “Wow.” Spencer’s voice entered the room. 

     You locked eyes through the full-length mirror in front of you right away. 

     Yeah, wow.

     You hadn’t seen him wear that before—black dress pants, a belt with a silver buckle, a purple button down with two top buttons undone that allowed you to get a glimpse of a gold chain you had no idea he had, no tie, and black dress shoes. 

     You gulped at the sight.  

     “No Converse?” You pointed at his feet with your brows, taking half a step to the side so the reflection would be mostly him. You had to admit, he looked straight out of a fashion runway. 

     “Oh, I didn’t know what the dress code was, and with you” —he gestured at you with a lazy hand— “looking this beautiful, I have to be at your level,” he said through a small timid laugh. “I brought a few other button-downs in case you didn’t like this one.”

     Warmth rushed to your cheeks. ‘Beautiful’ wasn’t uncommon in his vocabulary to describe you, but it never ceased taking you off guard. More so now, after last night’s heated make-out and the fact that this was the first time you saw each other since. (You had slept in Shay’s bedroom—the smartest move—and only talked to him through a dry ten-second phone call this morning to wake him up and tell him to get ready.) 

     “No, you uh, picked the right color,” you played it cool, turning around. His shirt along with the pink on his cheeks matched with the different flowers on your dress. The dress you’d bought because of him. “I was thinking”—You walked up to him and adjusted the neck of his shirt, even when it was perfectly ironed. You were about to start pretending, and you considered yourself very good at it, so you might as well start with some small gestures—“Three kisses should be enough. Throughout the whole thing?” You raised your brows searching for his approval. “We could kiss three times and everything will be okay.”  

     “O-okay, yeah.”  He was clearly nervous. “Sounds great.” 

You shot him an evil grin and said, “Maybe not as intense as last night but…“hoping it would ease some of the tension.

      “Oh, please don’t bring it up… yet I—“ he shut his eyes with pain.

     “Okay, I’m sorry, ” you said through laughter, leaning on him and intertwining your fingers. “I won’t.”

      Making him blush was becoming addicting.

     The wedding venue was at a winery—of course—and it was close, so it only took a fifteen-minute ride to get there. You showed your invitations at the gate and a young man guided you to where the ceremony was taking place. A few people had already arrived and were scattered around the place. Some familiar faces here and there—including Jake and Poppy who only earned an indifferent smile from you—but no one close to you enough to reach out. You just waved at them from afar with a fake grin. 

     A waiter offered you wine and you both declined it. You didn’t want to drink. Alcohol made you sappy, and chatty, and your goal for these few hours was to go as unnoticed as possible.  

     “Your ex keeps looking this way,” Spencer subtly muttered as you found empty seats on the left side of the aisle. 

     Your eyes immediately found Jake and there he was, standing tense and staring with a hostile glare. 

     “Yeah, he’s a creep.” You then turned to Spencer and watched him unclench his jaw. He cared, apparently. “He’s gonna keep doing that, and will probably try to talk to you, or me, or both at some point so beware of that.”

     “Should I worry about getting punched?” Spencer then asked with genuine concern. “He looks aggressive.”

     “He may look like a bully but he’s incapable of getting physical.” He only raised his voice. “So you’re safe, don’t worry. If he tries anything, I’ll be there to body-block him,” you mocked him, earning a sarcastic ha-ha from him. He wasn’t as embarrassed now. 

     Soon enough, every chair was taken, and the soft ambiance music dropped quiet.  

     “Is this okay?” Spencer spoke over the sudden buzzing of people talking, placing his palm over your bare thigh, just above your knee. 

     That single motion was enough to take you back to last night's events, making your mouth dry. Now a glass of wine would come in handy. 

     You looked at him and smiled, trying hard to stifle a sigh. “It’s perfect.”

     From the look of his half-smile, you knew he was having the same flashbacks. His eyes flickered down to your lips, raised his other hand to your face, and casually stroked your cheek with his thumb, and a hesitant movement brought him close.  

     A boyfriend would take the chance to steal a quick kiss, and a girlfriend wouldn’t back up and dodge it. It happened so quickly. You weren’t sure if it was you who took the decision or him, or if it was an unspoken mutual thing, but his lips pressed against yours so casually as if it already was second nature. Meaning, the practice from last night and you teasing him about it today was working. 

     “Two,” he murmured against your lips, his thumb never ceasing to stroke your now burning cheek.   

     Two kisses left. 

     You took a deep breath and looked forward, slightly shaking your head to bring yourself back to earth. You regretted establishing a certain amount of kisses because, god, you wanted to kiss him again already. All you could do was lick your lips to feel the ghost of his lips and feed those urges. 

     Your phone buzzed inside your tiny purse and it dragged you out of the Spencer-struck trance. 

     A message from Shay.

     SOS.

     You frowned but were quick to text back.  

     What happened? 

     The typing bubbles appeared and disappeared several times before her reply came.

     The officiant dumped us. There’s no one to marry us.

     Your eyes widened. “Shit.” 

     “Everything okay?” Spencer asked.

     You hesitated for a moment and looked around, careful that no one else would hear and panic. “The officiant is not coming. There might not be a wedding.”

     Spencer frowned his lips for half a second before casually saying, “I have a marriage officiant license.”

     Your entire face wrinkled with confusion as your mouth opened to ask how, but it wasn’t the time to question him. You believed anything he said, anyway, so you wasted no time letting Shay know.

     One minute Spencer was sitting next to you as your fake-boyfriend and the next, he was getting whisked away from your side by one of the best men to officiate the wedding. It took them a few minutes to start the ceremony, but it was happening and you decided to stand in a lonely corner in the front to capture the moment on your phone and waited there until he showed up. 

     Your grin was big from the moment Spencer stood there in front of everyone, tall and genuinely excited about this, like he’d been waiting for a moment like this his whole life. He started his speech and an odd warm feeling grew in your chest that was released in quiet laughter. 

     “... This is uh, my second time doing this, by the way.” Spencer looked at the crowd and then back at the soon-to-be newlyweds. “But I promise you, this is real. You will be officially married by the end of the ceremony.” Spencer quickly searched for you in the sea of people and smiled when he found you. The way he had to use his hands when speaking was so endearing. A deep sigh finally escaped you. “The funny thing is that I wasn’t supposed to come. I guess you could take this as a sign that you were meant to get married today. So let’s thank my now girlfriend for saying yes to my very awkward question a week ago and making me her plus one.”

     The only one who laughed was you—along with the hoard of butterflies that filled your stomach. Another sigh slipped and your heart swelled even more. No one has been this proud of being with you—even if it was a lie and just for the weekend—it was more than anything your ex-something ever gave you. The one who was there a few feet away from Spencer. The one who instead of looking at his girlfriend who was there too, was looking at you. You shot him a disgusted glare and brought your attention back to Spencer. The only person worth staring at. 

     “I wish I knew more about you guys so I could make this more special,” Spencer added.

     “It’s already very Special,” Shay replied to him then turned her head to the crowd and shot you a glassy glance, mouthing ‘thank you’. 

     It really was special.

    Spencer continued with the official speech, one he—of course—knew by heart, and soon, Shay was kissing her husband, causing a collective loud cheering and clapping for the couple. You, on the other hand, cheered and clapped for Spencer, who was adorably clapping for the couple, too. He seemed so proud of himself. 

     You locked eyes during the commotion and neither of you tore it as he made his way back to you with a permanent smile on his face. 

     “That was amazing!” You met him halfway offering him a fist bump, which he awkwardly enveloped with his palm. You realized then, that’s not what a couple would do, but no one was paying attention. Still, a sudden urge to kiss him rocked you—as congratulations, maybe, or to erase the awkward fist bump. “You were amazing.”

     “I would’ve prepared a real speech if I’d known this was gonna happen but I guess it was okay, better than nothing.”

        “It was so good. You saved the wedding, b— bro.” 

     Babe almost slipped, and thank god you were quick to correct yourself—in the most embarrassing way. Bro. Your entire skin was crawling, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

     “I heard there’s lobster for lunch,” he said with excitement, smiling and nodding all at once. 

     Biting the inside of your cheek to hold back a smile, you grabbed his hand, lazily intertwining your fingers as you already felt accustomed to. It was a nice fit.

     You were the last ones to sit down at the table (there were many, for 6 people each). The only one with two free seats was the one farthest back, with people you didn’t know, so you didn’t complain. 

     From there, everything turned out the way it was supposed to. The toast, lunch (with said lobster Spencer ate with enthusiasm), the husband and wife dance, a moment for the family’s speech, and the party at last.

     It was still early—the sun was nowhere close to setting—but you knew once the loud music began, you could leave, even when you liked dancing. Although, you couldn’t leave the party without having at least one dance with Spencer, who had already rejected a bold woman who asked him to, right there in front of you.

     “You’re not gonna reject me, are you?” You stretched out your hand to him. 

     He raised his brows with amusement. “You wanna dance?”

     “Why not?” You shrugged. “It’s a party. We kind of have to. For the whole experience.” You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t wanna miss the opportunity to dance with you.”

     To much surprise, he gladly accepted. 

    Everyone was doing their thing on the dance floor, and since it wasn’t too much of a slow song, you took him to an empty corner and enjoyed the music there. Just the two of you, clumsy feet that allowed a subtle sway of your bodies. 

     “Who was the first couple you married?” You asked him, your arms wrapped around his neck.

     His hands settled perfectly on your ribs, tight enough to send a wave of heat swept all over. You shouldn’t have had a glass of red wine at lunch. 

     You blinked and gulped and cleared your throat all at once.

     “Ethan and one of his girl friends,” he replied with a tinge of humor.

     “There’s no way Ethan is married to a woman,” you said through a laugh.

     “He was. They got divorced months later.” Spencer laughed along and a sudden vacant look took over his eyes as he continued, “He, uh, was very sick once, and he ran out of health insurance. I offered to marry him first but back then gay marriage wasn’t legal.”

     It wasn’t something Ethan talked about often, but he’d mentioned it to you. He was healthy now. 

     “You would’ve married Ethan?” You sort of mocked him just by picturing the two getting married. 

     “Of course, he’s one of my best friends. I’d do anything for him.”

     Your chest swelled with a deep sigh. He spoke about him so fondly that it was nice to think he talked about you that way to others, too.  

     “So you did the closest thing and got the marriage license,” your voice softened. Spencer merely nodded. “You’re a good friend.”

     “So I’ve been told,” he smiled shyly. 

     “You are,” you insisted. “I mean, look at what you did today, for Shay, who isn’t even your friend. And what you’ve been doing for me since last weekend. Pretending to be my boyfriend and help me prove something to a guy that isn’t even worth mentioning.” 

     His lips fell into a thin line as he frowned with concern. “Was he really that bad?” 

     “He just…” your eyes flicked behind Spencer and found Jake staring at you both. He was just standing there alone with a drink in his hand. Now that you saw everything from the outside—and after experiencing just a few hours as Spencer’s girlfriend—you realized your relationship with Jake wasn’t healthy. You were so used to his crumbs that they soon turned into enough fuel to stay, and you had no idea what you were missing. You looked back at Spencer. “He never loved me so he never went out of his way to show me anything. It was just sex in the beginning, I got attached and we spent a lot of time together even when I felt like my presence bothered him. I never dared to ask him for anything either so I guess I did this to myself,” you scoffed, looking away.  

     Spencer searched for your eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

     You brought your attention back to him and could only stare into his eyes for a second. You hated that talking about it still made you brittle. 

     “Don’t be. This is,” —you dared to lock eyes again and took a sharp breath through a shaky smile— “very healing.” 

     The lights went down and Spencer cupped your face to caress your cheeks with the pad of his thumbs. He was a good liar. The way his eyes were glimmering… even in this low light, you would think it was love if you knew what it looked like in someone else’s eyes. 

      Or perhaps it was a reflection of your own. 

       You sighed again. 

     One of his thumbs went from your cheek to your chin and barely grazed the outline of your bottom lip. A hint of his soft perfume reached your taste buds as he leaned closer, his tender nose circling against yours. 

     It made you all fuzzy inside.

     “Would it be okay if I resort to our second kiss?” He asked, so politely, his voice just above a whisper. 

     You gave him a little nod through a smile. He angled his face and captured your lips as he already felt used to, and you swore the wet warmth of his tongue grazed your top lip for a fleeting moment. A moment that sent you to outer space. It may have been the music that drastically changed into a soft melody, or the way his lips perfectly molded against yours—just because he wanted to—but you felt like crying. 

     Actual tears burned your eyelids, a tiny sob dripped from your lips to his in the middle of it, and something inside you snapped into place.

     There wasn’t a third kiss. There was no need to. And even if there was a chance to have it, you would’ve dodged it.

     A kiss from Spencer wasn’t supposed to make you tear up, and since then, you couldn’t even look at him. You called it a night right after the dance; went back to Shay’s place in a very quiet taxi ride, and locked yourself in your room without saying goodnight. It was unfair to him, you were well aware, but the last kiss shifted something in you. 

     You sat on your bed, your eyes lost in the void while your thoughts raced. Your feet were swollen now because of the heels and your head was starting to pound. You were exhausted, and the only thing that could help you through everything all at once was a bubble bath.

     You didn’t waste much time preparing the tub. Shay had everything and more to make it a therapeutic session, so while the tub filled, you poured a few drops of essential oil, threw in a bath bomb, and stripped out of your clothes. As soon as you dipped yourself into warm water, your muscles loosened one by one, and soon, it was just you, your breathing, and Spencer in your mind. 

     You shut your eyes and frowned at the immediate memories. You simmered in them. All of them. But the one that lingered the most was the heated make-out. He was so clear under you, that you could almost reach him all over again. You smiled, and the rest of your body naturally reacted, squirming a little in the tub and clenching your thighs. You sank more into the water, allowing it to reach every exposed patch of skin so it would act as a warm blanket. Your hands—which were resting at your sides—made their way to your chest and you couldn’t hold the urge to graze your nipples as the memory of his tongue on your lips came. 

     Spencer was, without a doubt, the best kiss you’d ever had, and knowing that he’d gotten turned on by just a kiss and that you could’ve had him insid—

     Your eyes shot open and you quickly sat upright, rubbing your face with both hands to erase those images. A bubble bath was a bad idea. You drained the water right away and took a shower instead. You weren’t about to torture yourself with the what-ifs. 

     By the time you were dried and in your pajamas ready for bed, an ever-so-familiar stab in your temple dragged you out of your room to search for some painkillers, not without checking if the coast was clear first. The entire house was dark, except for the light sneaking under Spencer’s door and the moonlight trickling through every open blind. It was enough to lead your way downstairs to the kitchen and help you riffle through every cabinet and drawer for some ibuprofen, or anything that could help.

     “Hey,” Spencer’s voice came from behind.

     Your heart almost jumped out of your ribcage. “Shit!” Your hand flew to your chest and turned around. His silhouette was approaching you. “Jesus, Spence, you scared the shit out of me.”

     “Sorry,” he laughed a little.

     “Did you float down here or something?” you frowned. 

     “No?” he chuckled. “I was in the back, in the library.” He gestured with his head. 

     “Oh.” A soft breeze snuck in through the slightly open kitchen window and it pebbled your skin, making you brace yourself. 

     “I couldn’t sleep.” He took another step closer. Now you could see his face clearer. His so-beautiful face.

    You turned around and poured yourself some water from the sudden nerves. 

     “I didn’t have the chance to thank you for coming with me to the wedding.” You cleared your face of any emotion and turned to face him, leaning your butt on the kitchen counter and taking a sip. “It was fun.”

     “I had a lot of fun too, yeah.” He nodded eagerly. “Thank you for inviting me.”

     A thick silent heartbeat passed and he opened and closed his mouth as if wanting to say something, but he didn’t.

     You flashed him a tight smile and turned around once again to wash your now empty glass, saying, “We have an early flight tomorrow so… we should probably go to bed.” 

     You faced him for the last time and brushed past him to feel him close, murmuring a soft goodnight. 

     He replied by stealthily following your every move upstairs, and the moment you reached the last step, he grabbed you by your wrist, freezing you completely. 

     “Hey,” he softly said, turning you around by your hip. Your eyes had adjusted entirely to the darkness, so it was easy to tell he’d stopped two steps down, leaving him at the perfect height for another kiss. “You okay?” 

     “Yeah,” you casually replied, though the fact that his hand was resting on your hip was starting to drive you insane. “It’s just a headache.”

     “It’s not, though.” He took half a step. “Did I do something?”

     You scoffed to yourself, shaking your head. You couldn’t let him feel guilty about your stupid confused feelings. You couldn’t just leave him there thinking he was the problem.

     “No, you… were perfect today, thank you.”

     He looked up at you with puppy dog eyes and tight lips. “Can I hug you?” 

     You melted from head to toe and you couldn’t help brushing a curly piece of hair away to admire those eyes properly. Something on them was different but you couldn’t quite grasp it. You just nodded and he wasted no time enveloping you entirely in his arms. His nose, mouth, and chin got buried in the crook of your neck like they belonged there. 

     Your eyes closed on their own as you smiled and took it all in. His hands, his soft hair tickling your face, his breathing on your skin, the peace and ticklish warmth that spread through you while being there in his arms. You leaned your cheek on the top of his head. He smelled like soap.  

     He hugged you even tighter then, as in saying thank you, his tender hands rubbing your upper back then barely unglued himself away from you, and slowly—so very slowly—trailed his hands down to the curve of your waist, pulling you closer, while his face stopped a few centimeters away from yours, the tip of his nose grazing your cheek. 

     “We…” His breathing ghosted the corner of your lip. “We still have one kiss left.” 

     His voice came out in a whisper, so quiet you thought you were hearing things.

     “The night ended, Spence,” You exhaled a timid laugh. “You’re free.”

     “But I don’t want it to end,” he replied, pleading, almost. “Can I kiss you again?” 

     You shuddered completely—gave in completely—and struggled to breathe out an audible yeah as you gave him a slight nod. 

     Yeah, he echoed you and went for an open-mouth kiss that took away all the air in your lungs. It pulled an immediate moan out of you, but you didn’t think too much of it. 

     Tears pricked at your eyes again, but this time you didn’t let them ruin the moment. You wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers on the back of his hair. Kissing like this was dangerous but you needed this one kiss to last until your lips wore out. 

     Your legs almost give up right there and you would’ve slipped off the step if he hadn’t gracefully pressed you against the wall to keep you both steady. His hands went from your waist to enclose your face and kept kissing you with his whole body like a starving man. He was being harsh yet careful and you were so focused on how he set ablaze every part he touched that you forgot how to breathe. He was making you dizzy and you wouldn’t mind if you passed out from it. 

     He slowed down, his tongue slowly lapping your top lip. Then, he withdrew from the kiss, enough to keep your lips and breathing touching. You fluttered your eyes open and got a glimpse of his face from up close. His eyes were blazing with the same sinful light you met last night.

     “That’s three,” he shakily murmured.

     “Yeah,” you swallowed thickly and tilted your chin up in search of his lips again. You grazed them but didn’t take it further. It was over. “Thanks, I… should go to my room now.”

     He loosened his grip just enough for you to slide away and soon his hands were nowhere near you, giving you your definite way out.

     You ran the two steps to your room and shut the door, leaning on it lightheaded. Now, every beat of your heart screamed his name. You breathed in through your nose with your eyes closed for a moment, and at that exact moment, two soft knocks on your door called you. 

     And before you knew it, the door was open and his lips were back on yours. 

     It turned chaotic quickly; a mixture of clacking teeth, desperate breathing, and very clumsy legs trying to keep yourselves standing. 

     This was off-script. This was no longer about pretending, it was about what you and him truly wanted. 

     You moaned into his mouth, receiving all his ferocity while holding onto him by the nape of his neck.

     “Oh,” he broke the kiss, evidently distraught by his own behavior. “I’m sorry, this is— what is this, what are we—”

     “I don’t know.” You stole a quick kiss

     “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have— I’m sorry.”

     “Spence.” You brushed every piece of hair away from his gorgeous face. “I like it.”

“You do?” He gulped.

     “Clearly.” You stole another kiss to which he kindly responded. “We could continue where we left off last night.”

     “Yeah.” He kissed you back between smiles. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

     That was all you two needed to go from two starving people to tender and calm beings who were just happy to be there. You shut the door with your foot and kept on kissing right there in the middle of the room. You kissed slowly this time, your tongues matching each other’s pace and your breathing steadying. 

     His hands resting on the small of your back dared to travel down to your ass and gripped each side too gently for your liking. He was still trying to be respectful while also showing you he wanted this to go further, so you took the lead and guided him to the edge of your bed while never ceasing to kiss him. He let your lips go and sat there, brought you close to him by your hips, nuzzling his face between your covered breasts. He took a moment to breathe you in, his hands sneaking under your pajama shirt. 

     Before he could ask you to take it off, you lifted it over your head and tossed it away, leaving you in complete display for him. You were nothing but your skin and panties, and your tits sat perfectly in front of his face. He got hypnotized by them right away and didn’t hesitate to wrap his lips around your left nipple with a pleased hum.

     “Mh.” Your eyes closed on their own and you threw your head to one side, lifting both hands to support yourself on his shoulders. 

     He sucked on it, flicked his tongue tenderly, and each gentle stroke sent waves of pleasure straight to your cunt. You squeezed your thighs together to ease the growing delightful ache. Deep down you knew he was a tits guy, so you let him take his time on them. He went from one to the other, sucking and nibbling and licking. 

     All the while, you decided to straddle him and with his help, you rested all your weight over his lips. Your heated core instantly met the hardening lump underneath his pajama shorts you were already familiar with and it only made the ache worse. Your walls clenched just by thinking about having him inside you and your hips began to grind back and forth with a mind of their own. You needed any kind of friction and he read your body right away. He was quick to indulge, gripping your hips tight and followed your rhythm, helping you with your rocking motions. It worked, but it wasn’t relieving. If anything, it made you need him even more. 

     He withdrew from your tits with a subtle pop and looked up at you again. His eyes were glassy.

     “You okay?” He asked. 

     You merely nodded and leaned down to capture his flushed, pillowy lips. He was growing confident and now his hands had no trouble exploring your body—your thighs, up to your hips, and dragging them down to your ass. He cupped it tight and pressed you harder towards him. 

     “Can we fuck?” you whispered against his lips. 

     “Yeah, yeah, we can.” He gulped. “Let’s lie down.”

     You stood from his lap and did as he said. He didn’t. He stood there, admiring your almost naked body up and down. He was still fully clothed, though his erection straining under his pajama shorts didn’t leave much to your imagination. He wasn’t wearing anything under, the clear sight of the outline of his cock was making your mouth dry. Empty. 

     You bit your lip and tapped next to you, signaling him to join you. He stripped out of his clothes first, shirt and shorts gone in one fell swoop. It was perfect, of course, it was fucking perfect and ready for you to sit on. Your mouth was so incredibly empty. 

     You scooted over the edge while still laying on your side and looked up at him as you went for a little taste of his cock. You didn’t really need your hands for support since his length stood perfect on his own but you reached for it anyway to feel it. So warm and soft. You pulled the skin back and exposed the head, glistening with his arousal. You wrapped your lips around it with a whiny hum and closed your eyes. He hissed between clenched teeth and caressed the top of your head for a second before he gently pushed you back. 

     Mouth parted, Spencer leaned down and crawled next to you, lying tall on your right side. He captured your mouth while one hand went between your legs. You did the same and reached once again for his cock, and he made a pained sound again but didn’t let your lips or cunt go. He rubbed you over the thin damp fabric, a sense of relief brushed away some of the ache. You needed to feel him properly, though, so as you pumped his cock with short strokes, you guided his hand inside your panties. 

     The kiss had grown tired but your lips still remained touching, panting. 

     He swiftly obliged and spread your wet folds, finding even more wetness between them.

     He shuddered. “Is this okay?”

     “Yeah,” you smiled. 

     A dark sound got trapped in his throat the moment you gave his cock a stronger pump, and continued, moving the skin back and forth which inspired him to increase his pace on you. 

     “Oh, Spence,” you moaned, searching for his eyes. 

     He found them and mirrored your brows knitting together. “You okay?” he asked again.

     You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth and nodded. He captured your lips and pressed his fingers even more and touched you properly with all four fingers, spreading your arousal all over—gentle, wet, sounds reaching your ears. 

     You’d forgotten completely you were pleasing him too for a moment until his cock twitched under your touch. 

     “Can we fuck already, Spence?” You asked against his tired lips.

     “Y-yeah I just, fuck—” he massaged your clit with the heel of his hand while daring to slide one long finger inside you and another one right after. “Let me— Even this feels incredible.”

     You bucked your hips against his palm and he began to slide his fingers in and out, each movement making his palm hit your clit. It felt so good, and the pleasure was right there you were sure it wasn’t going to take him much to make you finish if he kept that pace. 

     “Do we uh, have condoms?” He asked. 

     Shit.

     “No? I… I didn’t think this would happen so... Do you?”

     “No,” he breathed out. “I didn’t plan this either.”

     “Fuck.” You shut your eyes. 

     He kept his pace, slid another finger inside you, and tightened around all three of them. He was good at this, and pleasure kept building, gently pumping his fingers in and out while his thumb searched for your slippery clit.

     God, your mind was fogging up already with bliss.

     “Are we, uh, trying to prevent pregnancy or diseases?” He then asked. 

     Talking about pregnancy and diseases shouldn’t be hot but with his fingers inside you—going in and out—it was hard not to be turned on by it. His voice reached you deeply you could only imagine how deep his cock—  

     “Huh?” you opened your eyes.

     He kissed the corner of your mouth. “We could do things without a condom. If… we’re both clean.”  

     “I know I’m clean.” You kissed him back. “Are you?” 

     “Yeah,” he smiled into another kiss. “Yeah, I am.” 

     He used his entire hand to rub you and spread your folds, playing with them and tweaking them between his fingers. 

     So close. 

     “I could just stay here,” he said, rubbing everywhere with all four fingers. “God I could stay here forever, you’re perfect.” 

     “Spence,” you breathed out. Not having him inside you while he was right there was torture. “Right now I’m not thinking about anything other than you fucking me so please.” Please, please. “I need you.” 

     “What day of your cycle are you?”  

     “What?” 

     “Just answer me.” He said and sped up his hand movements

     So, so close. 

     “I… I don’t know? I don’t keep track.”  You bucked your hips against his palm.

     God, it felt too good. 

     “When was your last period?” 

     “Mmm,” you bit your bottom lip. “The day I asked you to buy me some tampons. Yeah!” 

     “So, you’re not in your fertile days yet,” he said to himself, almost. 

     He kept the perfect pace and the pleasure you were so used to giving to yourself was reaching its peak, the ticklish sensation spreading through every nerve. You wanted him inside. You needed him, and your orgasm was right there about to explode. 

     “Spence, I want you,” you whined rolling your hips at the pace of his hand.

     “I know, just let me… let me give you this.” He switched all his focus to your clit and continued rubbing you at a torturous exquisite pace. “Let me give you this and then I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

     His words melted in your ear at the same time pleasure claimed your body. It spread all over—his voice somewhere near encouraging you to let go—and every part of you jerked as the bliss struck you with every flick of his fingers. 

     Spence, you moaned, turning your head to him and searching for his lips.

     “I know.” He kissed the underside of your chin. “I know.”

     It was too sensitive; it grazed the pain and his fingers kept rubbing at a more gentle pace. He slid two fingers inside you—you were so much tighter now—and pumped in and out making his palm massage your clit. You’d come out of it but somehow were still in it—in bliss. He slid his fingers out and tapped, tapped, tapped your clit while keeping his graze trained on yours, making your body and breathing jerk each time. 

     He stopped touching you all the way and settled between your legs, his cock standing on its own right in front of you. 

     “You’re not on your fertile days yet,” he now confirmed to you. He guided his cock at your wet entrance and began to push the head. Slowly. “Still, pulling out it’s… not a method there’s still a 4 percent chance of fuck—” 

     “I take the risks.” You reached for his other hand. “Please, Spence, just fuck me already.” 

     He propped himself on each elbow placing them on either side of your head and bucked his hips just enough so your cunt sucked all the head right it. 

     “Oh,” you both moan at the same time, his head falling to your shoulder. 

     “Oh, g-god.” He trembled and breathed in through clenched teeth sending bolts of praise through you. You felt good and he was letting you know. “Mmm,” he grunted, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck and licking you there. “That’s a perfect fit. Ah, fuck.” 

     The most perfect fit. It filled you in like you were made for him. 

     He attached his lips to the underside of your chin and began to move his hips, slow at first, an exquisite roll of his hips.  

     “Is this okay?” he asked right there against your skin. 

     All you could do was bite your bottom lip and give him a positive whine. It was perfect. How well he fitted, how his cock slid in and out with such ease, and how every subtle movement and pulse of his cock inside you was enough to please you. 

     The bedroom was soon aflame with your harsh breathing, taking up every space and soft moans bouncing between the walls. You stared down where your bodies met and caught a glimpse of his cock sliding in and out—in and out—already shining and his soft dark curls milked with your arousal.  

     You looked back up, grabbed his face to kiss him and started to meet his soft thrust, following his rhythm. Kissing him while he fucked you was a whole new experience. Because, firstly, it wasn’t something you ever thought would happen, but also was a whole new level of intimacy. He wasn’t just a roommate anymore (not that he ever was just that), and whatever happened after this, there was no going back. And you had to admit, good or bad outcome, it was going to be so worth it. 

     “Harder,” you whispered.  

     It took him three soft thrusts to give you one harsh slam, as a test almost. 

     “Like that?” he asked, and you moaned in approval through a small laugh. 

     God yes! Exactly like that. 

     He withdrew his hips, his cock slipping out just enough so the head would remain inside then slammed into you again. 

     Fuck, yes. 

     “Mh.” You frowned at him, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. “Just like that.” 

     He gained rhythm by the fifth harsh slam and soon, his hips had a mind of their own. You threw your head back for a moment to take it all in. The bed was a symphony of sounds, skin slapping against skin, moans, heavy breathing, and the constant squeak of the metallic headboard at the tempo of his thrusts. 

    You braced yourself, cupping your breasts to give him a nice view.

“Spencer, holy fuck.” You threw your head away from him. 

     “What? What? Need me to stop?” 

     You turned your head to him again. “Don’t! Don’t. Please. Don’t ever stop. Fuck.” You wrapped your legs around him to cage him and keep him close, allowing him to go deeper. 

     So. 

     Fucking. 

     Deep. 

     “Oh, g-god,” your voice sharpened. “Fuck me.”

     “That’s what I’m doing, sweetheart.” Spencer teased you on his way to kiss you and you couldn’t hold back a laugh, right there against his lips. 

     Of course, he was the kind of guy that made you laugh during sex. 

     You clenched your walls around his length and kept the grip to feel every movement and twitch of his cock. He propped on his elbows again and looked down at you. Sweat gathered over his forehead and upper lips. 

     Then, he stopped moving. 

     “What?” you asked.

     He opened his mouth, his eyes flickering from your eyes down to your lips. 

     “Nothing I… Nothing.” He leaned to kiss you and gained back his pace. 

     You untangled your legs but kept them angled up because his depth was delightful and simmered in it. 

     Slam after slam had him grunting louder and harsher. 

     “I’m gonna— I want to—”

     “It’s okay,” you panted. “You can finish inside me.”

     “You sure?” His eyes filled with panic.

     “Please,” You nodded. “Just this once?”

     “Just this once.” Spencer frowned and began to drill into you. 

     Hard. 

     A pained frown took over his face, cursing between clenched teeth and then his breathing hitched. His muscles tensed and cock twitched repeatedly, then a sweet, sweet, small laugh escaped past his lips as he released inside you completely. You received every drop and caught his last low grunt with an open mouth kiss, moaning into it. 

     Bucking his hips one last time, Spencer withdrew all the way, standing on his knees still between your legs. You watched him as he gently tugged his cock and let a few more drops drip from the tip all while he reached for his shirt to put it under you, so the cum leaking out of you wouldn’t ruin the bed covers. 

     You missed him inside you already.  

     He plopped next to you and tangled your legs together, facing you.  

     “You okay?” He kissed your bare shoulder.

     “More than okay.” You smiled and faced him, too, nestling everywhere on his warm body

     “I’m pretty sure you have to go pee now.” He kissed the top of your head. “For your health.”

     “You are correct,” you chuckled. “But I’m so cozy here.”

     “Go.” He then kissed your temple. “I’ll be right here.”

     You groaned but obeyed anyway and were in and out of the bathroom in two minutes, tip-toeing your way back to him. He’d gotten under the bed covers and lifted them so you’d lay on his arms.

     “See? Still cozy.” He wrapped his arms around you. 

     You rested your head on his chest and traced random lines over it, and you wished your mind would've given you peace for a little longer. You started to wonder already what this meant. You’d been here before, after sex, in the casual stages of something and it hurt thinking this could turn into something unlabeled.

     “What is this?” You looked up at him and bit your tongue right away. 

     Spencer twitched his nose, a shy smile appearing. “I think this might be an appropriate time to tell you.”

     You frowned and adjusted to face him better. “Tell me what?”

     “I…” he chuckled. “I’ve had… certain feelings for you. From the moment I saw you.”

     Your eyes widened and your heart almost fluttered out of your chest. “Really?”

     “Really. And this weekend, it was… pure magic for me.”

     You breathed out a laugh attempting to brush away the tears stinging your eyes. “You love magic.”

     “I love magic,” he laughed too.

     You brought your hand to his cheek and caressed him with your thumb. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

     “I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

     “Why?”

     “I don’t know." He reached for your hand on his cheek and enveloped it, giving your palm a soft peck. "We’re so different.”

     “We’ll, we must’ve done something right, right?”

     “If we hadn’t bumped into your ex last weekend, I don’t think we’d be here.”

     “Ever?”

     “Not ever, but maybe not this soon?”

     You hummed. You thought about all the ways this could’ve happened and the only person that could’ve made this happen popped into your mind.  “What are we gonna tell Ethan?” 

     Spencer chuckled. “He, uh, knows about my feelings for you so he’s gonna be thrilled.” Of course. “Us, together, we’re his dream come true.”

     “Together, huh?” You snickered.

     “Y-yeah I mean, if you want. Or we could be casual and keep doing this until—”

     “We’re not casual,” you cut him off right away. “I don’t want casual. I hate casual.”

     “Yeah, I wouldn’t know how to do casual.” He stole a quick kiss. “And we already live together so that’s… convenient.”

     “Very convenient.” You kissed him back.

     “I mean it.” Spencer then cleared his throat and cupped your face with a serious expression. “This could be the beginning of something beautiful, if you let me I… could kiss you and care about for every day. I wouldn't hide you. I wouldn’t hide my… my love for you.”

     Love.

     Your smile shook, tears welling up again and the only thing you managed to give him was yet another kiss—another of many more to come. 

     Spencer cared about you and he didn't mind loving you out loud.

     “Hey! My people!” Ethan ran to you two as soon as you entered the apartment, going for a triple hug and a double kiss on the top of your heads. “Thought you were gonna be there the whole week.”

     “I have to work in like two hours,” you replied, “So I couldn't.”

     “Did you guys have a good time?” Ethan smirked and kept looking at Spencer with a knowing look you couldn't quite decode. Only someone with a twenty-year-old friendship could know what it meant.

     But you and Spencer also had your own. You exchanged complicit glances right away. You had agreed on the flight back not to tell him yet. Not because you didn’t want him to know but because you wanted to enjoy it first, just the two of you. It all was still too fresh and knowing Ethan, he would’ve gathered a reunion just so he could know every detail about it. 

     “Y-yeah,” you and Spencer answered at the same time; same tone and stutter. 

     “My head is killing me, though," you added.

     “We have some ibuprofen in the bathroom,” Ethan touched your forehead endearingly, checking your temperature. “You know what else is good for headaches, though?” He quickly added and didn’t wait for your answer and snickered as he said, “Orgasms, isn’t that right Spencer?” He patted his back.

     “Uh, y-yeah, for some people,” Spencer gulped, scrunching up his nose. “For others, it can make it worse.”

     “There’s only one way to find out,” Ethan said with humor raising a finger. He knew something. “Not with me, of course.”

     “Are you uh, on your way out?” Spencer changed the subject, giving you another quick glance.

     “I am,” Ethan replied. “To the grocery store. We’re out of beer and oatmeal and I ate your yogurt while you were gone so I’m going for that, too. Don’t miss me, I’ll be back before you know it.”

     He gave Spencer a tap on his back and left.

     Now it was just the two of you.

   "You know it's true," Spencer walked up to you. "What Ethan said about orgasms."

     "I know," you smirked and wrapped your arms around his neck, pecking his lips. "It worked pretty well last night, but we should put it to the test sometime again, just to really prove it."

     "Tonight." He rested his hands on the small of your back.

     "I'm absolutely coming back with a brand new headache after this shift, so definitely tonight."

     "Want me to pick you up after work?" He returned the soft peck.

     "You would do that for me?" 

     Spencer stroked your cheek. "Of course, I’ve always wanted to."

me and my fascination with giving my readers a headache because if I have them, so should they

anyway

If you reached the end here's a little star for you ⭐️ I hope it was worth your time and that it was fun for you! I’d love to read your thoughts on it if you enjoyed it. Thank you so much for reading 🫶

SPENCER MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

[grethn]

thanks for keeping me in ur pocket! ill bring some fruit salad with chocolate cookies!!

@hiromi-enthusiast could you be my plus one?

would u like to have a picnic :3 i’ll cut fruit :3

yes!!! ill bring all the bread and baked goods !! ^_^

who else is coming ? :D

[grethn]

I don’t get people who say stuff like “I can’t believe the producers didn’t think that we would be attracted to Reid” like ?? Matthew has been modeling for fashion brands such as Tommy Hilfiger, Marc Jacobs, American Eagle and Aldo since before he was even an actor; I’m sure the producers were very aware that they were hiring a conventionally attractive man

[grethn]

tysm for the tag!!

i tell 2 many dad jokes tbh

tag! @hiromi-enthusiast

@hongjoongsgoat tagged me to do this and uhh. well. it could not have been more wrong :)

tagging @vesvosmozhno @beenbaanbuun @wooyoungbites @ubernoona @sxcret-garden @sourkimchi @daeguon @hwakakeri @haahka @coffee-addict-kitten @baldyeosang

[grethn]

thanks for the tag salem!!

did it to the best of my ability

tags! @hiromi-enthusiast

saw this piccrew and instantly fell in love 🔪✨

(why do I have a knife, you ask? because I’m on my way to murder everyone who’s ever hurt my mutuals 😊) tagging a few lovely people, go have some fun: @theold-ultraviolence, @ladylannisterxo, @ceoofyearning, @mayfriend, @jasonsmirrorball

@aarmand, @boundlessfantasy, @randomdragonfires, @ellewod, @hellshee

@peachysunrize, @userhelaena, @humanpurposes, @babyblue711, @aemondsbabygirl 🌷

and everyone who wants to! please share your pics!

(shout out to @arcielee for finding this cute thing ✨)

[grethn]

thanks the tag!!

tags! @hiromi-enthusiast

Tag game!! . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ✨

Birthday colour vs favourite character.

Link to birthday colour

Tagging: @white-flower-blooming // @shaxxophone // @queerferalgremlinnooneaskedfor // @31duskballs // @weepingpussywillowtree // @subtlybrilliant // @jadedzer0// @icarus-suraki // @oneiro-nautical // @fismoll7secinv // @princessofxianle // @quilleth //

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა if you are not tagged but want to join, please feel free to reblog this post with your results and favourite character, I'd love to see it!!

[grethn]

tysm for the tag! I enjoy Pinterest stuffs!!

idrk have anybody to tag help

how does pinterest see you? search up:

~fashion

~pantone

~mood

~food

and put the first picture that shows up

mine:

tag ur moots!!!!

@batschistcrazy @julia-bonkers @girlbossblog444 @greengirllover @turnerside @ohmanareyoucereal69 +anyone who wants to join<333

[grethn]

tysm for the tag! i love these silly picrews

me and toji snoozing

tags! @hiromi-enthusiast !! i can't think of anybody else

picrew tag game

okay i know picrew tag games aren’t really a thing anymore, but this one was too cute. make a picrew with your f/o or your fave! link here

shoto puts up with my silly desire for coordinating animal pjs. 🥺

no pressure tags: @zanarkandskylines @sovya @arlerts-angel @neon-gothicc @dcsiremc @zazter-den @pastelbakugou @kingkatsuki @toji-girl @thenamesmiz @puppmarolover2195