Under The Same Sky - Lee Taeyong

I Smile by DAY6 is making me miss a relationship I never had

💛 this is making me wanna listen to her fearless era again!

the other side of the door

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my gojo as taylor series

--

tsumiki and megumi fushiguro unknowingly cause a damper on your relationship. 

you can feel satoru gloating at your side, his cheek nearly flush with yours, as you click the little arrow on your laptop.

your very meticulously made google calendar was perfect – a play by play of what you were doing at every second of the day – but at the current moment, was very deeply betraying you. 

“we’re already a whole month back, sweetheart.” satoru murmurs. 

you bite down on the softness of your cheek, sinking back against the headboard as you keep clicking, for the smallest sliver of light blue in your calendar. 

it was a little on the nose, but it was the calendar that you shared with satoru – the one that marked all the special events like dates, anniversaries and the like.

and at the current moment, much to your disbelief and to the point that he had been trying to convince you of for the past hour, there had been an absence of him for weeks now. 

you throw in the towel at the tenth consecutive click (silently ignoring that it means that it’s been well over two months now) and slam your computer shut, before turning over to him and frowning. 

“you’ve made your point.” you murmur. 

satoru grins, gloating in full flesh at the meekness in your voice, as he beckons for you to scoot closer to him on the bed. you absentmindedly lean your head against his shoulder, a motion that he welcomes with a quiet kiss on your forehead. 

“have we really not done anything together in more than ten weeks?” you mumble. 

you used to go on dates almost every week. satoru was as spontaneous as it got – any day that you spent with him was almost a guarantee of nothing not going to plan. 

it meant going to the beach in the middle of the night, an unplanned road trip on your day off, and everything in between. 

or it used to mean that. 

satoru pauses for a second, almost like he’s milling over the thought, as he rubs circles into the side of your bicep. 

“it’s just been a while since it’s been just you and me.” satoru notes. 

you sigh. you suppose you worded it wrong the first time.

toji fushiguro dying unknowingly put a damper on your relationship. 

because he left megumi and tsumiki in your wake and two kids – two kids that you had done nothing to prepare for – can and most certainly did turn things upside down. 

it meant that satoru had to work more at the school, that you having any sliver of free time was less, and that the amount of stress you had was through the roof. 

the two of them came with their own special resort of problems – of things that you couldn’t help but worry about. 

megumi wasn’t too fond of satoru. they had their rare moments, but there was something about him that was extremely closed off, to everyone, but to you a little less. and to satoru, extremely so.

his requests to you always came in quietly, asking you to stay next to him until he fell asleep, to forgive him for fighting at school all the time, to promise to never leave him. on the flip side, his irritation with satoru was something that he made sure everyone was aware of. 

tsumiki was very fond of satoru, but she was of most people. sometimes it felt a little obsessive that way – the way she was a little bit too close to her friends at school, the teacher in her class, and satoru.

he thought it was sweet, and at most times you were inclined too as well, but the obsession with being so close all the time was concerning. 

and possibly even more than that, that most of the things you saw felt like they were a figment of your imagination, because satoru was so blind to their plight. 

he didn’t worry about them as much as you did. but sometimes it felt like he didn’t see exactly what it was that you saw – tsumiki awkwardly pushing her food around the plate, red scratches all over megumi’s arms towards the end of the week, and matching pairs puffy eyes when they came down for breakfast in the morning. 

though it wasn’t entirely his fault either. because by some turn of luck, every time they were around him they smiled – laughed at his dumb jokes, turned their nose up at the impressions he did of all of their teachers, and snuck into his classroom between periods to get snacks. 

satoru pokes at the side of your temple. 

“don’t feel too bad now. i know this entire thing has been stressful. especially for you.” he murmurs. 

you shrug. 

“you seem to be taking it just fine.” you note. 

satoru shrugs. 

“i can tell that most of your stress comes from what they’re doing at school. who megumi is fighting with, tsumiki’s friends – i can’t really relate to that because i’m right there with them. granted, tsumiki is two classes up, but her teacher gives me updates all the time.” satoru responds. 

you give him a quiet nod. 

“and since i’m there, i can tell you that they’re fine. he hasn’t fought with anyone in a few weeks now. and tsumiki is really excited to go to this dance.” 

you groan. 

“that dance you signed me up to chaperone for?”  you groan. 

“the very same. it’ll be fun.” 

you curl your nose in disgust. 

“spending my very limited free time giving snacks to a bunch of sweaty kids and asking them to not grind on each other isn’t my idea of fun, satoru. and some of your co-workers freak me out.” 

satoru elbows you in the side. 

“suguru will be there. and plus, it’ll be good for me. you’ll be my date.” satoru responds. 

you lean back against the headboard. 

“you didn’t even ask me to the dance.” 

“it’s sadie hawkins, y/n. girls ask boys, silly.” he responds, flicking at the softness of your cheek. 

you sigh, before turning to him and giving a smile. his hair is slightly damp from the shower he just took, skin still soft from the warmth of the shower. and it’s the thing that you worry about most. 

you’ve slipped away from him because he let you. that you neglected him because of the kids, but at some point, he became so accustomed to it, that it didn’t even bother him anymore. 

“are you going to go to the dance with me, satoru?” 

he gives you a glimmering smile. 

“i thought you’d never ask peach.” 

--

satoru marks it with a big pink heart on the calendar the next morning. 

“what’cha looking at?” you ask, placing your hands on the tops of both of their heads and ruffling their hair. 

“the heart.” megumi states. 

you hum in response, crouching down to be level with their heads. megumi welcomes the touch, leaning back against your knees, as tsumiki nestles her face in the crook of your neck. 

“it’s for the dance.” you respond. 

megumi groans. 

“does that mean miss miwa is going to come over to our house for dinner?” megumi asks. 

you frown. 

“and why would miss miwa come to our house for dinner?” you ask. 

you would rather die than invite miss miwa over to dinner. 

kasumi miwa was tsumiki’s seventh grade teacher who you had the displeasure of meeting three times, each in the worst possible circumstances. 

masked in faceforward politeness and her flashy personality, she had no reservations in correcting you each time you made a mistake when it came to the kid. that pick-up time was at two-thirty, not three-fifteen, that the projects were due at the end of the month, that the formal uniforms were for wednesday and wednesday only. 

tsumiki was overly fond of her, satoru had nothing but good things to say about her, and megumi wasn’t a fan – but that was the norm, so you didn’t think much of it and kept it to yourself. 

your sneaking suspicion about her were ones that you kept to yourself. and one that you didn’t even have time to worry about anyways. 

“isn’t that what you do when you take someone to a dance? eat dinner together before?” megumi asks. 

“who is taking miss miwa to the dance?” you ask. 

“gojo, obviously.” tsumiki responds, shuffling away from the calendar to her seat on the dining table. 

you can feel the muscles in your shoulder tense, a terse stiffness in your neck as you ponder over the thought. 

megumi follows suit and you trail behind the two of them, keen to poke for more details. you note that tsumiki’s already made a mess of the food on her plate by swirling it around, as you take a seat in between them. 

“and why would gojo obviously be taking miss miwa to the dance?” you ask. 

“because he’s her work husband.” 

you narrow your eyes at her, gesturing for her to explain. 

“you’re his home wife. well, i know you guys aren’t actually married, but you’re his person here. and miss miwa is his work wife. she’s basically like what you are to him, but just at school.” 

you sigh, as you reach for the glass of orange juice and down it in one go. megumi spares you a weird glance, before miwa continues. 

“tsumiki.” megumi states, voice cautionary as he flits his eyes at you. 

she misses the hint entirely. 

“he eats breakfast with you, but lunch with her. and they’re planning the entire dance together so they spend a lot of time together. she even gets him coffee in the mornings.” 

so that’s why he stopped asking you to make it for him. 

it’s right at that moment that satoru shuffles into the kitchen, his tie hanging around his neck, as he scoots closer to you on the chair. it’s a chaste kiss that he presses to your cheek, before eating, and you can’t help but wonder. 

was he so despondent because he had already found your replacement? 

“you have to come by an hour early today. we’re having a meeting for the chaperones.” satoru states. 

you give him a quiet nod as he leans back and you loop the knot through his tie. he gives you a glimmering smile as you tap the top of his shoulders, signaling that you’re done. 

“save me a seat?” you ask. 

“always.” 

the thought doesn’t leave your mind the entire day. 

--

you arrive thirty minutes early, an overly sweet coffee in your hand as a gift for satoru, as you make your way over to his classroom. the hallways are quiet, sparsely decorated lockers, as you turn the corner and enter his classroom. 

only to find an absence of snow white hair and miwa excitedly scribbling on the board instead. 

you knock on the door twice, watching as miwa turns over with a sickly sweet smile, and strolls over to where you’re standing. 

“y/n. it’s so great to see you!” she states, wrapping her cold arms around you as she gives you an awkward embrace. 

you spare her a polite smile. 

“you too. how is tsumiki doing?” 

“she aced her spelling test. she ran all the way over here to show satoru her result and took a whole picture with us to celebrate.” 

satoru. you wondered when they had pranced into first name basis territory. if miwa ran over here with tsumiki each time, and how many pictures the three of them had taken together.  

“that’s sweet. thank you for helping her out, that means a lot.” you respond. 

“and thank you! you’re so sweet for helping with the dance. i know how busy you’ve been.” 

you pause. 

“what do you mean?” 

“satoru just mentioned to me a few times that you guys haven’t had any time to yourself because of how busy you are.” 

so he was talking about you to her too? 

“yeah. things have been hard to adjust to with the kids and all and i’ve been putting in more hours at work to pay for the karate and piano classes and all that. but he understands.” 

she slightly twitches her eye. you wonder if she does it on purpose. 

“oh, of course he does. you’re doing very important work.” 

you swallow hard. 

“you too.” you respond. 

“i mean, it’s just so rewarding. especially getting to be so close with students like tsumiki, after she lost her family so suddenly. i couldn’t imagine.” 

you sigh. 

“i mean. she lost her dad, but she still has a family.” 

“of course she does! you’re putting in a great effort –” 

it’s right at that moment that satoru walks in, eyes wide as he leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. you can still feel the tenseness simmering under your skin, misplaced anger for him festering in your head, as you offer him the drink.. 

“for me? you shouldn’t have.” satoru responds, exaggerating by placing a hand over his chest. 

you shake your head as satoru wraps his arm around your shoulder, leading you to one of the desks right at the front. he shakes the coffee in front of you, as you deny the offer and lean forward on your chin. 

“miwa and i are leading the meeting so i can’t sit with you. but i told shoko and suguru to sit right next to you, which is basically the same thing.” 

you smile. 

“shoko looks just like you! i can barely tell the difference.” you deadpan. 

“don’t go kissing her now.” 

“i make zero promises.” 

satour gives you a glimmering grin. 

right at that second, there’s three consecutive knocks at the door, accompanied with a set of spiky black hair at the door slightly peeking into the room. 

“you can come in megumi.” satoru responds. 

megumi drops his backpack at the door, fast steps dragging him to where you and satoru are sitting. he taps impatiently on your thigh, gesturing for you to pick him up, as you secure him into your lap and rest your head on top of his. 

“always interrupting our alone time, aren’t you kid?” satoru jokes. 

“and why are you not in class?” you ask. 

“it’s passing period.” miwa answers. 

you turn your head to where she’s standing – chalking assignments onto the board – as megumi sneers, giving her a very steady glare. 

“why are you not in your class?” megumi asks. 

“i’m leading the meeting with mr. gojo for the dance.” 

“isn’t that meeting in twenty minutes? why are you here early?” 

you lightly nudge megumi in the side, taken aback by his tone, as you turn towards miwa and giving her a polite smile. 

“he doesn’t mind, he’s just not feeling well. please feel free to stay.” you respond. 

“i was planning to.” miwa responds. 

you ignore the strange response as you lightly tug at megumi’s ear, whispering in a hushed tone. 

“i do mind.” megumi mumbles. 

“well, you don’t tell people that. she isn’t doing anything, so just pretend like she’s not there.” 

you sigh, turning to satoru and frowning. you know he gets the message, as he leans forward and pinches at megumi’s cheek. 

“you’ve got to stop giving y/n so much stress, kid. she’s going to get an ulcer at this point.” satoru states. 

“i could say the same thing to you.” megumi responds, in a matter-of-fact tone. 

satoru looks up at you, a shadow of a smile on his face, as he crosses his arms over his chest and questions megumi. 

“oh yeah? and how am i stressing her out, huh?” 

“you have another wife.” megumi states. 

you pinch at megumi’s elbow. 

“another wife? i didn’t even realize that i had one to begin with.” satoru responds. 

you give satoru a smile. 

“tsumiki said that miss miwa is your work wife. and y/n doesn’t like that because she should be your only wife.” 

satoru’s eyes widen, as he dramatically places a hand over his chest, before dropping to his knees and looking up at you. 

“y/n, if you wanted me to marry you, you should have just said so. i’ll marry you right here, right now.” 

you snort, turning to megumi, as you whisper in his ear. 

“he’s completely crazy, right?” you ask. 

“absolutely. i think you should cut your losses. you could do way better.” 

satoru spares you a laugh, before reaching for megumi and tickling at his sides. 

“you should cut your losses, kid. i’m revoking dessert privileges for attempted coercion” 

megumi looks up at you, eyes expectant as he waits for corroboration. you shake your head, which earns you a playful smile from megumi, as he looks over at satoru and sticks his tongue out. 

“oh come on. we’re supposed to be a team.” satoru whines. 

“you haven’t pledged your allegiance. you and tsumiki ganged up on me the other night.” 

“well, we had a valid reason. we should definitely get ice cream after dinner.” satoru states. 

“not when it’s a school night and they have to wake up early next the day. you don’t want them to be late to class. again.” 

satoru sighs, before placing his hands on his hips. 

“speaking of class, you should be getting to yours. c’mon megs, i’ll walk you. say bye to y/n.” 

you crouch down on your knees, giving megumi a pinch on the cheek, as he glares at you. he sticks his hand out, the tow of you doing your complicated and convoluted handshake, before megumi and satoru stroll out of the classroom. 

“your relationship with megumi is very sweet.” miwa states. 

you had almost forgotten she was there. you turn your head to find that she’s seated at satoru’s desk, pulling up slides for the projector on the computer, as you awkwardly rub your sweaty palms together. 

“thank you. he’s just a little shy, that’s all. he didn’t mean to be rude earlier.” you state. 

miwa hums in response. 

“i hope you aren’t upset about the work wife thing. it was just a silly little inside joke that satoru, tsumiki, and i had come up with.” 

you narrow your eyes at her. 

“just because we spend so much time together. lunch, the development workshops, and emailing in between classes. we’re like attached at the hip so we just joked that we were married. but no foul play, of course.” 

you sigh. then why did she feel the need to bring it up to you? 

“of course.” you respond. 

“i’m so glad that we could clear this up. i would hate to think you’re upset with me.” 

you give her a nod, turning your head to the door as shoko and suguru trickle in, wide smiles on their faces as they turn to greet you. 

it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

--

three days later, you’re thirty minutes late to the meeting for the school dance. leaving the hospital late because the next nurse wasn’t there to get her report on time, getting stopped by every stoplight on the way to school, and circling three times for parking. 

you sneak into the gymnasium, quietly making your way to the tables in the corner where suguru and shoko are seated, only to be stopped by a shrill voice in the air. 

“y/n?” 

you turn on your heel, giving miwa a clenched smile, as you feel your heart sink into your stomach. 

did she need to look so perfect all the time? 

“i thought that was you.” 

“right, i apologize for being late. i was caught up with –” 

“we were wondering where you were. they’ve been making such slow progress on the little take home favors that i was considering pulling satoru from doing the streamers with me because of it.” 

the first name. again. 

“right, it’s just that i was –” 

“i do hope you can come on time to actually chaperone for the dance. that would be a disaster since we need to have a certain adult to child ratio to be in line with the district. you will come on time, right?” 

“yes, i took –” 

“good. i know that your job is important, but ours is too, you know? granted, you leave satoru’s kids here every day, and spending all day with them is just as demanding as working at a hospital.” 

you sigh. 

“satoru’s kids?” you ask. 

she gives you a smile. 

“what?” 

“you said satoru’s kids.” you clarify. 

“and?” 

you pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling burning hot tears in your eyes, as you look up at her. 

“they’re my kids too.” 

“right, of course they are. you know i didn’t mean that.” 

you sigh. 

“honest mistake.” 

you feel two hands on your shoulder, accompanied by a squeeze and the distinct smell of satoru’s cologne in your ears. 

“hi sweetheart. you smell like bleach.” 

“oh my god. i thought that was just me.” miwa responds, accompanied with a laugh. 

you bite down on your cheeks. 

“i was sanitizing the gurney. because our patient bled all over it.” 

“don’t bring up blood. miwa here is going to start vomiting.” satoru jokes. 

miwa leans forward, lightly shoving in his side, as he shoves right back. 

“oh shut up. you feel the same way whenever i eat my fried rice.” 

“the smell of soy sauce makes my stomach hurt.” 

“god, you’re so weird, toru.” miwa responds. 

you clear your throat, as the two of them look over at you with expectant eyes. satoru eyes hold no weight of suspicion or guilt in them – really nothing at all – and it makes your stomach hurt. 

“i’ll be back. i just have to use the bathroom.” 

“don’t get lost!” miwa responds, as you trudge your way down the hallway, dragging your feet against the floor. 

you can feel the frustration building up in your chest.

the annoying part? you do end up getting lost. 

you sit on the bench outside one of the classrooms, hiking your knees to your chest, as you press your forehead against your legs. it’s not long before you feel three taps on top of your head, only to look up and find suguru standing in front of you. 

“miwa sent out a search party for you. she thought you might have gotten lost.” 

you sigh. 

“she works fast, doesn’t she?” 

suguru snorts as he takes the seat next to you, digging into his pocket and digging out a lollipop. he holds it out to you, giving you an encouraging smile as you snatch it from his hand, and unrawp it. 

“i thought you were going to offer me a cigarette.” 

“i’m saving those for the night of the dance. i only use those when necessary.” 

you laugh. 

“save half of them for me. i’ll need those every time miwa decides to come over and talk to me.” 

you lean back, sticking your head against the ridge of the window pane, as you immediately regret what you just said. 

“sorry. i don’t mean to talk bad about her, i know she is your coworker and all but –” 

“but she’s just so fucking annoying?” 

you pause, leaning forward as you lower your voice. 

“it’s not just me?” you whisper. 

“you’re in a very large majority, y/n. she’s just…too much for some people.” 

you frown. 

“not for satoru. i don’t know if you heard, but she’s his work wife.” 

suguru winces. 

“you heard about that?” 

“i’m slightly offended that you did and didn’t tell me right away.” 

“didn’t seem like a good time. satoru was mentioning that you guys were kind of going through a rough patch.” 

you pause. 

“a rough patch?” 

“are you not?” 

“i mean, we haven’t spent time alone together, since we’re still getting used to the whole kids thing. i didn’t realize that he was telling you and miwa it was a rough patch. or that he was telling you and miwa anything.” 

suguru leans back, placing a hand on your shoulder, as you pause – pondering over the thoughts, of every little detail that you had noticed. the nicknames, the lunches, the emails – maybe they were more serious than you had originally believed. 

it eats at you when you and surugu eventually drag your legs back to the gymnasium. and as you make the little party favors, it’s the only thing that you can focus on. 

that satoru holds onto her ankle to steady her when she stands on the ladder, that they have a secret handshake, that in the time that he didn’t spend with you, she was the one that was filling the space.  

--

“we’re out of toilet paper. and dish soap. and if you’re going anyways, you should probably get laundry detergent.” satoru states. 

he shuffles into the bathroom quietly, yanking his shirt over his head as he gestures for you to scoot over, reaching for his toothbrush in the cup. 

“megumi also said that we shouldn’t eat spaghetti again. he’s starting to get really picky with what he eats.” 

you sigh. 

“i’ll get more chicken nuggets when i go then.” you respond. 

satoru turns his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at you, as he sticks the toothbrush into the side of his teeth. 

“are you good?” 

“hm?” 

“are you okay?” 

you shake your head, reaching forward to spit the leftover toothpaste in your mouth, as you reach for the mouthwash. 

“yeah, yeah.” 

“miwa said that you looked really exhausted when you left. said she was worried about you.” satoru responds. 

“i’m sure that she is.” you respond, noting that you can’t control the bitterness in your voice. 

“hm?” 

you sigh, slamming the cup down on the granite countertop, as you turn to him. 

“do you always talk about me with your female coworkers? or is it just her?” 

“what?” 

you turn to glare at him. 

“do you always discuss the grievances you have about me with miwa? about how i don’t have time for you, about how we’re going through a rough patch, and everything in between?” 

satoru looks confused. you swear there’s a sense of irritation in his demeanor which wasn’t unexpected. he was defensive to his core. 

“no. i don’t. but she’s just a friend. i just mentioned it to her here and there because she asked.” 

“and why does she feel the need to ask about your relationship with me? that’s not normal. especially when she clearly likes you so much.” 

satoru glares right back. 

“are you insane? she doesn’t like me.”

“oh so now i’m insane. yeah, it’s totally normal for her to walk around pretending like the two of you are married and telling me that my kids aren’t actually mine and they’re just yours.” 

satoru scoffs. 

“oh come on. there’s no way that she said that.” 

you scoff. 

“so you believe her over me?” 

“she wouldn't say that.” 

“and you think i’m making it up? why the hell would i do that?” 

satoru slams the toothbrush down on the counter, before leaning forward and sneering at you. 

“because you want to blame me for what’s happening with us when it’s really you.” 

you feel your heart drop in your chest. 

“it’s me?” 

“you work too much. you…every time you come home, you don’t even look at me. it’s all about how megumi’s being too picky with what he eats and tsumiki is getting too attached to her friends. those aren’t problems, and even if they are, you’re the one making them worse.” 

you can feel your chest aching from the inside out. 

“you were the one who told tsumiki that the hurt would go away if she was with her friends. she obviously is so obsessed with being around them all the time because she thinks that it’ll go away if she’s with them all the time. because you told her that. and megumi’s so spoiled and picky because you’re the one who tolerates every little thing he says. just because he asked you to sleep in his bed, it doesn’t mean you have to do it every time. you have to let him do some things on his own.” 

you glare. 

“and what about you, huh?” 

“what about me?” 

“since i clearly do everything so wrong, i must have been the one who pushed you right into her, didn’t i?” 

satoru pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“you know what, maybe you did.” 

you look down at your hands, reaching down at the little scab on your finger as you angrily scratch at it, ignoring the bright red that starts leaking out of your finger. you look down at the ground, at your mismatched socks, as you barely choke the words out. 

“maybe i should just leave then.” 

satoru’s face drops. 

“what?” 

if satoru was defensive, you were proud. 

“i’ll do you a favor and leave. tsumiki won’t get horrible advice, megumi won’t get coddled, and you…you won’t be disappointed because i won’t be here to do it.” 

satoru immediately melts, reaching forward for your wrist, the grasp hard on your arm. 

“peach. don’t be like that. you know i -”  

“know you don’t mean it? because i had a sneaking suspicion that you…that you had been thinking that for weeks.” you whisper, noting the crack in your voice. 

you ball your hand into a fist, jerking your hand out of his grasp. 

“i don’t know what to say to tsumiki because…because i’ve never done this before. i don’t work with kids like you do and i just said what i was thought was best. it breaks my heart to say no to megumi because i’m scared he won’t even try to sleep if i don’t sit there with him. i know it scares him because toji was asleep when he died and…and sometimes i think he’s scared he’ll wake up and we’ll be gone too. and….and i don’t mean to neglect you but this entire thing is exhausting. i thought you were the one thing that would stay because i could trust you.” 

“hey. of course you can trust me.” 

“i’ve had enough, satoru. there’s…there’s nothing you can say to take back what you just said. you…you’re talking about another girl.” 

satoru leans forward, placing both hands around your face, and squeezing hard. you note the slight glisten in his eyes. 

“don’t say that.” he whispers. 

“i’m going to leave.” you murmur. 

all you want is him. 

“and go where? we….we’re all here.” 

“i’ll stay with shoko. just for a few days before we figure something out.” 

“you…you can’t be serious, right?” 

you’re not. 

“i’ll still come to the dance since i promised you that. i’ll see you then, okay?” you state. 

you’re not sure what makes your heart sink more. the fact that he said what he did or that he let you leave without chasing after you. 

--

satoru notes that it’s a day and a half of chaos without you. and that he really hates it when you’re not around. 

he doesn’t know how to iron tsumiki’s dress for the dance or do her hair. megumi won’t eat the pasta he made because it’s not the way that he likes it and he’s almost positive that you were right – that he really wouldn’t sleep through the night just because you weren’t there.  

that without noticing it, you felt like the glue that kept everyone together. that tsumiki and megumi didn’t stress him out, only because you seemed to take care of that for him – used to fix everything perfectly, like a soothing bandaid on every issue that they had. that sleeping next to you used to seep the stress out of his joints, the sweet smell of your shampoo lulling him to sleep. 

that he needed you around because he was scared to be without you. 

“shoko.” 

“yeah?” 

“can you do me a favor?” 

satoru sighs, as he turns over to her. 

“i did tsumiki’s hair all shitty because i didn’t know how to do it. can you go fix it because i can tell she’s lying when she says she likes it?” 

“why didn’t y/n do it?” suguru asks. 

satoru pinches his lips together. you were upset that he was sharing your relationship details with other people. which is why he was determined to not do it again. 

“she’s coming in from work.” 

“god. when does she sleep?” suguru murmurs, as she walks across the room and gestures for tsumiki to come over to her. 

satoru can’t help but feel miserable. only because he didn’t know the answer to the question. and that he was the only one that was so painfully blind to how tired you were. 

“did you and y/n fight it out then?” he asks. 

“what? no.” 

suguru’s eyes widen. 

“she’s got balls of steel. i can’t believe one person can have that much patience.” 

“what are you talking about?” 

“the stuff that miwa said to her. i figured she’d ask you to stop talking to her or scale back a little.” 

satoru looks over, hands hard on his shoulders, suddenly too interested with the conversation. 

“what did she tell you?” 

“i mean…i don’t know. she said you and miwa were talking about how she smells like bleach? and the whole work wife thing, that megumi and tsumiki aren’t her kids.” 

satoru can hear the blood rushing through his ears. 

“what?” 

“yeah. she didn’t mention it? she was pretty upset about it the day we all came here to set up, especially since work can be so demanding and all that.” 

“she said that megumi and tsumiki aren’t her kids?” 

“yeah. seemed pretty hurt by it. think it was the second time too.” 

satoru stands eagerly by the table, switching the clipboards in their spots two, three, four times as he waits for the last thirty minutes to run out. until you had to show up, because you promised that he would. 

and surely enough, five minutes before it hits the time, he hears a shrill voice from the stage, followed by the sound of thundering footsteps. 

“y/n!” 

satoru looks to his left, watching as megumi and tsumiki both excitedly run into your open arms, limbs wrapped around your legs as you reach down and soothe through both of their hair. he can’t help but trail up to where the three of you are standing, chest aching wholeheartedly, as he watches. 

“did you miss me?” you ask. 

“so much. gojo put butter in the pasta. and he spilled all the detergent softener in the laundry room so the smell gives us a headache.” 

he notes that you frown at the mention of his name. 

“and he did my hair all weird. shoko was trying to fix it, but i couldn’t find the clips that we were going to use to match the dress.” 

“don’t worry. i swung by the house and grabbed them, they were in my drawer.” 

“where did you go?” megumi asks. 

you smile. 

“sorry for leaving so abruptly, kiddo. i was having a sleepover.” 

“adults have sleepovers?” 

“no. but i’m just cool like that.” you murmur. 

the two of them grin, laughing at your joke, as you reach forward and put your hands around their wrists. 

“satoru’s trying. don’t be so mad at him. it’s not his fault that he has the cooking intuition of a newborn baby. and he can barely do his own hair, it was kind of silly of you to expect that he could do yours.” 

satoru can’t help but laugh. but it’s the sound of his voice, he assumes, that draws your attention away, as you finally look to your left and look up at him. he can’t help but give you a halfhearted smile, one that you nod at, as you stand up. 

“i’m going to give satoru a stern talking to about butter and hairspray. i’ll come fix your hair after, okay?” 

“give him hell.” megumi responds. 

you watch as the two of them run off, before turning over to satoru and giving him a smile. it’s almost like he reaches forward to touch you, before he thinks twice and drops his hand. you look down, twisting the silver bracelet – the one that he gave you – on your wrist, as you take a deep breath. 

“you still don’t know how to do your tie.” you note. 

satoru laughs, looking down at the loose knot hanging around his neck. he can’t help but delight in the fact that you reach forward, loosening the mess he made as you properly tie it for him – the way you did every morning. 

“never learned how to do it so you’d always do it for me.” 

you stifle a laugh. 

“satoru.” 

“i can’t do anything without you, you know?” 

it feels like he’s talking about more than just the tie. 

he must sense the hesitation, because he changes the topic just as fast. 

“i love the dress. you look beautiful.” 

“thank you. i bought it for our…” 

“third anniversary. i remember.” 

you smile. 

“i remember what we did after more, but…” satoru whispers. 

you reach forward and shove him. 

“we’re at a school.” 

satoru smiles. and for a split second, it feels like nothing had happened at all. 

“too much butter makes megumi’s stomach hurt. and you really should have asked me to come do her hair.” you state. 

“would you come if i asked?” 

you swallow hard. 

“hm?” 

“would you come back if i asked you to?” he asks. 

“would you even ask?” you respond. 

satoru pauses. 

“what?” 

“when i left, i…i thought that you’d chase after me. i…i wanted you to chase after me. but i understand that now things are kind of fraught between us and that you might –” 

satoru feels the regret seep through him immediately

“i was trying to give you your space.” satoru states, interrupting. 

“hm?” 

“i thought that i’d push you farther away. of course i’d chase after you.” 

“it’s so nice to see you, y/n. did you sign in?” 

you turn to your left to find miwa standing there, hair perfectly secured around her face with glittering earrings hanging from her ears. you wonder if the shade of blue her dress was intentional, if it was meant to match her eyes so perfectly, as you smile at her. 

satoru notes the horrible timing. and that he hates her dress. 

“hi miwa. you look beautiful.” 

“so do you. did you sign in and start marking the wristbands when you came in?” miwa repeats, tone insistent. 

“she was talking to me.” satoru responds, tone harsh as he responds. 

“hm?” miwa asks, tilting her head to the side in confusion as she looks up at him. 

“my girlfriend just got here. she was obviously talking to me.” satoru responds again, tone unflinching. 

you note that her eye twitches the slightest as she steps back. 

“of course. just get to it when you can, since you know, people will be here soon.” 

“i’m going over there right now actually. i’ll leave you guys to it.” 

“hey, wait. i’ll catch up with you after, miwa.” satoru responds, his hand extended as he gestures for you to wait. 

you watch as miwa shuffles away, slithering to the other side of the room, and there’s a burning, aching desire in your chest. 

to tell satoru that she wore that dress to match his eyes, for the two of you to laugh at how crazy she was. you wondered if he would even find it funny. 

“yes?” 

satoru looks down, reaching for the bag underneath the table, as he lifts it up. 

“i brought my windbreaker for you. it’s supposed to rain tonight.” satoru states. 

you smile. 

“i kind of tore apart your entire closet looking for it. and if i remember correctly, you did indeed say that it was mine now since i wore it more than you.” you admit. 

satoru smiles right back. 

“i also got you a corsage, peach. since you’re my date and all.” 

satoru pulls out a little plastic box, as you note the little white flowers encased in the baby blue ribbon. you can feel your chest aching, a burning sensation, as you reach in your own bag, pulling out the matching corsage that you had ordered a week prior. 

“you had to have cheated. did you look in my email?” you ask. 

satoru shakes his head. 

“i know you like orchids. and you’re so on the nose that you’d get one to match my eyes.” 

you shove him in the side. 

“you love that corny type of thing.” 

satoru smiles, before looking over at miwa and then back at you. 

“only when you do it.” 

you smile as you both exchange the boxes, fixing the flowers on each other, before quietly walking away from each other. 

--

you sneak away from the dance without satoru noticing. you catch the perfect moment, when satoru and miwa are stuck in an animated conversation near the dance floor, and slip through the door at the front. 

you clearly don’t go too unnoticed, because the following day, you wake up to a plethora of texts from suguru and shoko. 

[shoko]: Left for work already, but Satoru yelled at Miwa last night after you left.  

[suguru]: IT WAS BAD 

[shoko]: Did he really say that Megumi and Tsumiki aren’t your kids? That’s horrible. 

[suguru]: HE WAS LIKE YELLING OUTSIDE. GOING ON ABOUT HOW YOU’RE HIS GIRLFRIEND, HOW SHE HAD NO RIGHT TO MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE SHIT, ABOUT HOW HE WANTED NOTHING TO DO WITH HER 

[shoko]: Oh, by the way. He’s like still on the porch. Sat through the rain last night and everything waiting for you. Think he was pounding on the window at some point and screaming but the rain was pretty loud. 

[shoko]: Said something pathetic like he loved you or something. 

[shoko]: Anyways, I left them out there for you to deal with.

that’s the next that gets your attention. you quietly pad to the door, swinging it open to find him sitting on the ground, half asleep against his knees with the corsage crumpled in his hand. you reach down, shaking at his shoulder to lightly nudge him awake. 

“satoru. don’t tell me you sat out here in the rain.” you whisper. 

he blinks a few times, the sleep still heavily lidded in his eyes, as he reaches forward, a cold hand against your warm cheek. 

“chasing after you. not going home without you.” he mumbles. 

you sigh. 

“maybe come inside first, romeo. you’re going to catch a cold.” 

you reach for his hands, lightly pulling up, and dragging him inside as he takes a seat on one of shoko’s chairs. you crank the heater up, putting a cup of milk on the stove for hot chocolate, before shuffling back over to him – noting that he’s slightly more awake now. 

“i was knocking. and i’m pretty sure i was banging on the window at point, but i guess you didn’t hear me.” 

“the rain was loud, satoru. i would have let you in if i had known.” 

“gave you a whole spiel. it was really good too, about you know…us.” 

you smile. 

“us?” you question. 

he doesn’t laugh. 

“yeah. us. about how much i need you. how much i love you.” satoru responds. 

you note that there’s a rasp in his voice. 

“you’re getting sick, satoru.” 

“i know you don’t want me to leave. i know you want to come back.” 

you sigh. were you that obvious?

“did you yell at miwa?” 

“did she really say they weren’t your kids?” 

“maybe.” 

it’s enough to set satoru off because he’s pushing off the chair, cold hands and wet clothing pressed to your face as he envelopes you in his embrace. you can still smell the faint whisper of his cologne, the smell so sweet it makes your stomach hurt, as he clenches harder. 

“sweetheart, why wouldn’t you tell me that? i’d fucking yell at her then and there.” satoru whispers. 

you frown. 

“she’s your work wife. tsumiki like…loves her. i can’t just talk bad about her.” 

“yes. you can. you could talk shit about my dead grandmother if she pissed you off. you could tell me anything if it was upsetting you.” 

you frown. 

“and you could have told me instead of everyone you knew that we were going through a rough patch. i know that you mentioned that you were upset we didn’t have time together, but…but i didn’t realize that i was letting you down so much.” 

satoru reaches forward, titling your head up to face him. 

“you didn’t let me down. i was being….” 

“you’re just saying that because i left. if i was still there fighting with you…you…you’d have even more to say to me. about how how i worry too much, about how i don’t love you enough, about…” 

“y/n.” satoru whispers, almost whining.  

you push away from him. 

“i made you hot chocolate. i think you’re getting sick and that you should go home and rest. also shoko would hate to see you bringing your wet mess in here.” 

you push out of his embrace, tasking yourself with pouring the hot chocolate into one of her tumblers, before placing it in front of him. he ignores it entirely, reaching forward to make himself level with you. 

“you know i’ll be waiting for you. i’ll be right on the other side of the door waiting to open it if you want to come back.” 

“okay.” 

“yeah? don’t…don’t hesitate to come back home, please. it’s not home without you.” 

you give him a nod, lifting the tumbler and placing it in his hand and gesturing for the door. 

--

satoru hears three consecutive knocks not even an hour after. he all but tumbles down the stairs, nearly slipping as he reaches for the knob, to find exactly what it is that we wanted to see. 

the jacket pulled over your head, bright red eyes staring at him, and warm tears pouring out of your eyes. 

you. 

“satoru?” you mumble. 

he can feel his heart drop at the tears and the crack in your voice. 

“yes, peach?” 

you note how soft his tone is. 

“are you sick?” you ask. 

satoru smiles. 

“had a fever last i checked.” satoru responds. 

he’s not sure what it is, but it sends the tears down your eyes faster, as you all but reach forward and burrow your face into his chest. satoru returns the favor, reaching down to rest his chin on the top of your head as he rubs circles into your back. 

“it’s not cancer. i’m sure i’ll live.” 

he pauses. 

“sweet girl. what’s got you so upset?” 

satoru notes that you make no inclination of responding, as he pulls back and gestures for you to wrap your arms around his neck. he scoops his free arm around your legs, steadily carrying you up the stairs as you heave in the sweet smell of his shampoo, warm tears still landing on his more pale than usual skin. 

“are you really sick?” you ask. 

satoru spares you a quiet laugh as he sets you down on the bed, peeling the jacket from your arms before digging through the fresh laundry for your pajamas. 

“maybe take a shower first. you’ll feel better.” 

you frown as you push off the bed, your cold hands on his burning hot arms as you look up at him. this couldn’t wait. 

“i lied earlier. there’s a lot you could do to make things right.” you whisper. 

satoru smiles. 

“i know. i fully intend to do all those things too.” 

you sigh. 

“i want to stay in the rough patch. and…and even be here with you if we fight everyday. and you're sick and it breaks my hear tthat no one is here to take care of you.” 

“i have no intention of fighting with you when you’re right.” satoru responds. 

“you can’t just…” 

satoru pauses, holding his hand up. 

“i shouldn’t talk to my co-workers about you. and you…you’re right. i do think that she likes me and that’s why she’s felt the need to be so rude to you all the time. i’m sorry if it ever felt like i was siding with her, but you have to know, the only thing i really want is you.” 

satoru sighs. 

“tsumiki follows your advice so keenly because you’re so put together. she can’t really come to me with that stuff because you’re the one she looks up to. and megumi really doesn’t sleep when you’re not around, but of course, you’re the one who knows him better, who knows all of us better, to think ahead like that. and i love that you’re put together for them, but you don’t have to be for me. i want to know everything that bothers you because you…you’re my responsibility.” 

“well, i –” 

you pause. 

“i don’t want to upset you again.” 

“well, run away all you want. i’ll follow you anywhere you go. i had every intention to come wait outside of shoko’s apartment again at seven. every intention to do it every day until you came back."  

“i wouldn’t make you do that.” you respond. 

you swallow hard, before reaching for both of his hands, and lifting them to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. 

"if you don't want to upset me, don't leave again. i'll do it, but i don't want to wait outside of shoko's door for you."

“i’m proud, but not proud enough to make you wait like that. i followed you five minutes after you drove away.” 

satoru smiles. 

“i left because….because i wanted you to chase after me, just so i knew that you still wanted me. it’s immature but…” 

“no. it’s not.”  

“i just…i don’t know how to explain what i was thinking but i…” 

satoru leans forward, hands knotted behind your waist as he pulls you closer, searing warm lips pressed against yours as you lean against him. you can still taste the remnant of the chocolate on his lips, noting the cut on the right side of his lip. 

maybe you don’t have to explain at all. 

“have you been biting your lips?” you whisper, forehead flush against his as you brush your nose against his. 

“was nervous you wouldn’t come back.” he murmurs. 

you lean forward again, placing your hands on his burning hot face, as you feel the wetness spreading on his cheek. you lean back, wiping it away just as fast, before the door creaks open. 

tsumiki and megumi are standing at the door, bright smiles on their faces, as they run up and tangle themselves between your legs. you lean against satoru, running your hand through megumi’s hair as you look up at them. 

“is your sleepover over? we’re starving here without you.” 

you stifle a laugh. 

“yes. it is.” 

you and satoru crouch down, his hand steady across your waist as you pinch at both of their cheeks. satoru leans to the left to press a kiss to your cheek, an action both tsumki and megumi copy, as you lightly pull them off. 

“we missed you.” tsumiki responds. 

“i missed you more.” 

“are you happy after your sleepover? are we normal now?” megumi asks. 

always the perceptive one. 

you look over at satoru, granting him a gleaming smile. 

“yes. i am.” 

“oh thank god. satoru was getting sad too.” tsumiki responds. 

you turn over to him and grin.

“take notes, kids. happy wife, happy life.” 

--

an: ignored the voices and decided to post something! please me nice I was like fighting demons. anyways.

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Sir I- 🥺

I can’t believe he’s done this

꧁✬◦°⋆⋆°◦. 𝒽ℯ 𝓈𝒶𝓎𝓈, 𝓈𝒽ℯ 𝓈𝒶𝓎𝓈 | ℊℯℴ𝓇ℊℯ 𝓌ℯ𝒶𝓈𝓁ℯ𝓎 ◦°⋆⋆°◦✬꧂

𝐬𝐮𝐦: 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚? 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬/𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝟐 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐯 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞!!

𝐥𝐨 𝐥𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬: 𝐡𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬! 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭! 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲!! 💋💖

You were leaning against the wall in the Gryffindor common room, a half-finished essay on your lap. Across the room, George Weasley was sitting with Fred, laughing over something they were planning. His laugh was loud and infectious, and despite your best efforts, you found yourself smiling.

“You’re staring,” your best friend nudged you, her tone teasing.

“I am not!” you protested, quickly looking back at your parchment.

“Sure,” she said with a smirk. “You’ve only rewritten that same sentence three times while looking at him. It’s fine, though. He’s cute.”

You risked another glance at George and found him already looking at you. Your eyes locked for a split second before he quickly turned back to Fred, but not before you caught the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

Little did you know, George was having a similar conversation with his twin.

“You’ve got it bad, mate,” Fred teased, clapping him on the back.

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” George said, though his eyes betrayed him, flicking back to where you sat.

Fred smirked knowingly. “Well, either do something about it or stop acting like a lovesick puppy. It’s getting embarrassing.”

The next few days were filled with more stolen glances and awkward smiles. George would go out of his way to sit near you in the Great Hall, and you started “accidentally” running into him between classes. It was unspoken, but the spark between you two was undeniable.

One sunny Saturday morning, you were sitting by the lake with your best friend, chatting about nothing in particular, when she suddenly said, “You know, George flirts with everyone. It’s just his thing.”

You frowned, her words hitting you harder than you expected. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s a charmer. Don’t take it personally if he’s just having fun.”

The thought lingered, casting doubt over every interaction you’d had with George. Had you misread everything?

Meanwhile, in the common room, Fred was stirring up his own chaos.

“You know, she said she thinks you’re immature,” Fred said casually, as George tried to figure out the best way to approach you.

George froze. “What?”

“I overheard her telling her friend. Something about how your pranks are a bit much.”

Fred didn’t think much of it, but to George, it felt like a punch to the gut. All the moments he’d spent trying to impress you suddenly felt foolish.

When you and George crossed paths that evening, the air between you was colder. You smiled tentatively at him, but he barely acknowledged you. Stung, you decided to match his energy.

It started small. You stopped saying hello in the hallways, and he stopped going out of his way to sit near you in the Great Hall. Then, the pranks began.

One morning, you woke up to find your bag filled with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. By the time you fished everything out, you were late for class and covered in soot.

That evening, George opened his Charms textbook to find all the pages enchanted to sing “God Save the Queen” whenever he tried to read them. Fred was doubled over with laughter as George glared at the book.

“Oh, this is war,” he muttered.

The pranks escalated. You hexed his broomstick so it would turn upside down mid-air during Quidditch practice, and he charmed your quill to write nothing but embarrassing poems about him during class. Everyone in Gryffindor was talking about the rivalry, and Fred was thoroughly over it.

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with excitement after a Quidditch victory when Fred decided enough was enough. He dragged you and George into an empty broom cupboard and locked the door.

“What the—Fred!” you yelled, pounding on the door.

“Sort it out, you two!” Fred’s voice called from the other side. “And don’t come out until you’ve stopped being idiots!”

You turned to find George standing stiffly on the other side of the small space, arms crossed.

“Well, this is just perfect,” he muttered.

“You think I want to be stuck in here with you?” you snapped.

The tension was thick, but after a few moments of silence, George sighed. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is with me, but—”

“My problem?” you interrupted, glaring at him. “You’re the one who started ignoring me out of nowhere!”

He stared at you, confused. “You’re the one who thinks I’m immature.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Fred told me you said—”

“Wait.” You cut him off, realization dawning. “My friend told me you flirt with everyone and that I shouldn’t take you seriously.”

There was a long pause as the pieces fell into place. Then, George let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Fred. Of course.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, though it was tinged with frustration. “And my friend. Unbelievable.”

“So…” George rubbed the back of his neck, looking suddenly shy. “You don’t think I’m immature?”

“And you’re not just toying with me?”

“No,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “I’ve liked you for ages. And I was too much of a coward to say anything.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “Me too. I mean, I like you too.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “Oh.”

When Fred finally unlocked the door, you and George emerged with matching grins. The tension was completely gone, replaced by something warmer and lighter.

Fred took one look at you both and groaned. “Finally!”

George threw an arm around your shoulders, his touch casual but protective. “Well, thanks for the help, mate.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “Help? I locked you in a cupboard!”

“And it worked,” George said, grinning.

From that day on, the pranks stopped—or rather, they turned into a collaboration. You and George were inseparable, your playful banter taking on a softer edge. And every so often, when Fred saw you two stealing a kiss behind the shelves in the library, he’d shake his head and mutter, “About time..”

taglist: @wingyattium @georgeplease @kisses4fred

how are little tiktokers already talking shit on 2 baddies like you’re embarrassing yourself just like you did during sticker era ….

Sm: Okay so you need to maintain a pure image, don’t strangl-

Renjun:

HOTLINE BL☆NG!

summ. wine nights and free will? a recipe for disaster— such as matching your ex on a corny dating app and having him in your bed within that same hour. . .

cw. eventual smut. 18+. fem!reader. alcohol/substance consumption. ex boyfriend!gojo. mild toxicity. breakup & makeup. girlhood ft jjk girlies. unreliable narrator sorta. sukuna slander. mild impact play. mild asphyxiation. oral (f). fíngering. backshōts. reader is a little questionable. self sabotaging my beloved. lowkey angsty. @/3aem on tumblr for art creds. most of these stories are real shit i’ve heard/experienced LOL. can you tell i’ve never used tinder a day in my life? 16.4k words. . oops.

rena’s note. @yung-notorious and her filthy mind. . .

“you like it when i fuck you like this? yeah you do.”

god, you do.

you can’t bring yourself to remember why you’d ever let go of dick this good. the kind that had you taking the rubber off and considering finishing inside. the kind that had you babbling apologies for having done absolutely nothing wrong. the kind that made you begin to believe his careless whispers, empty promises to work things out.

his fingers dig in the column of your throat, the weight of his hand wrapped tightly at your neck. he’s everywhere at once, but simultaneously no where to be found. while you can feel his tip prodding at your most sensitive spot, you don’t feel the overwhelming force of love he once bore with open arms for you.

“nahhh. . . don’t start running now.” you didn’t realize you were. the sheets are crumpled in your tight hold, while your other hand lightly pushes at his lower abdomen. naturally, he pins your wrist at your spine to maintain his ruthless pace, and with another gentle yet cruelly empty promise, “not when i’ve just gotten you back.”

how the fuck did you get yourself in this mess?

friday nights were meant to decompose after a long week. a cute tradition you followed— sipping on moscato wine and munching on takeout with your homegirls while the lamest horror movie played as background noise. the skincare bit happened every third friday of the month, which fell on this particular night, thin layers of korean products lathering at your skins while fluffy headbands sat atop your hairlines, keeping stray hairs away.

it was an easy way of recapping all of your week’s worth of bullshit and listing each girl’s new lineup of men of the season.

girlhood.

“i’m cool off men for a whileee,” you sigh, placing your third wine glass on the coffee table. you tuck your legs back onto the couch, propping your head into your palm. you watch as shoko, who’s seated on the floor, grabs your glass and fills it with another unsolicited round. you narrow your eyes at her, “after the shit kuna pulled— girl, slow down!”

“don’t watch me,” shoko chews at her unlit blunt tucked in her teeth, lifting an arm above her head to pass you your refill. despite the slight spin of the room, you accept the cup against better judgment, “keep talking. what the fuck did he do now?”

“you mean what didn’t he do,” seated in the pink bean bag rested on the floor, utahime quips. in between her teeth sits a wooden stick, drizzled in the honey-like wax residue she smeared over her shin. “i woulda left his ass the second i found out he— FUCK— lived with his mama at his big age.”

as utahime soothes her smoothened skin, yuki leans over the coffee table to grab at the blunt passed over to her. “y/n baby, you know i love you,” she starts off, taking a deep inhale before ghosting the smoke. you can tell she’s about the cook the shit out of you, “but come on— he lives in his parents’ basement. was that not a red flag in itself? is that seriously the kind of man you see yourself marrying.”

“nevermind the fact he’s pushing thirty and still unemployed,” shoko throws in her two cents, takeout back in her lap as she breaks open a new set of chopsticks, “he’s one more ‘tap in’ away from getting caught by the feds.”

“how much y’all wanna bet he’s at the club right now as we speak?” it’s a rhetorical question, but utahime pauses her waxing to check. with sticky fingers, she taps away at her phone, and with a knowing smile she yelps, tilting her screen towards you three, “aha!— and there goes the infamous money spread.”

“cornballllll.” shoko cringes.

you’re filled with dread and shame at the sight presented. god— every single chance you gave this man, he spun around and somehow does worse. it’s not like the two of you were together— never officially, but the sole fact that you’ve let this man treat you as if you were his girl haunts you. you’ve let countless of bullshit slide all because his stroke game came second within all the men you’ve dealt with.

the only thing you’ll give him besides a being a good lay is that you’ve never had issues concerning other women. he’s a very transparent guy— you’ve yet to receive a “hey girlie. . .” text from anybody. though, it isn’t like either of you have ever dropped any hard launches. it was mostly content that only close friends could catch onto— the interior design of his car, your latest set of nails, subtle shots of his tattoos, your purses and jewelry. nothing evident but pretty obvious to those who know.

if sukuna was still cool with him, however. . . yeah, he’d definitely know, considering the fact he purchased most of the purses you own. that’s excluding the fact your favorite necklace, the one with your name engraved, the one you always wear, was also bought by him.

“move,” you push utahime’s hand away from your peripheral, slumping further into the couch. embarrassment floods you yet again, and you drown it away with more wine. much to your chagrin, they spare no mercy as they giggle at your pout, “not too much on me— shoko, you’re literally the one who put me on!”

“don’t do that,” she rolls her eyes, picking at the orange chicken on her platter. you have half a mind at chucking your drink at her. “all i told you was to fuck him. nobody said anything about keeping him around.”

“instructions: unclear,” utahime giggles, smearing another coat of wax mixture onto her calves. “she’s now a year deep into a situationship with a man who files for disability checks to blow on parlays.”

you spring up in your seat, your wine nearly spilling on shoko in your excitement, “shit, i never told you guys!”

“told us what?” yuki kills the blunt in the ash tray, and stretches an arm to grab at her food. she knocks over a few emptied bottles as they roll on the carpet, and winces when one of them knock at shoko’s knee, “my fault girl.”

shoko clicks her tongue, but you loop your arms around her neck as you proceed, “before you bitches attacked me for literally just being a girl,” you decide ignore the way they all groan, “i was trying to tell you all why i finally ended shit with him.”

“well don’t hold back now!” utahime eggs on.

“guess what i found out,” you set the empty wine glass back onto the table. you’re most likely gonna need your hands in this specific conversation, “he bet thirty thousand dollars on the super bowl game— and lost.”

the room falls quiet. utahime pauses in her ripping, yuki drops her noodles from her chopsticks and shoko nearly chokes on her wine. amidst it all, three pairs of eyes slowly crawl to meet your gaze, in complete disbelief at what you’d told them.

“are you deadass?” shoko speaks first, her facial expression almost incredulous. her eyes are teary from her food slipping through the wrong tube. “you’re playing, right? right?”

“she has to be. . . this is a new level of low even for him.” yuki shakes her head, most likely in attempts to give him the benefit of the doubt. you don’t blame her— no sane person would drop thirty grand on a fucking betting app of all things— and on top of that, lose.

“i wish i was?!” you groan, still upset, “the worst part is that he told me that money was supposed to be deposit money for a condo he’d been,” you raise your fingers in air quotes, “looking into.”

“you know what though? this doesn’t actually surprise me,” utahime laughs, as if she hadn’t been in a daze for a solid minute. she rips at the strip, and winces, “didn’t i just say he was getting checks to place on parlays? frank gallagher looking ass.”

“but thirty thousand?” yuki emphasizes, blinking rapidly in her disbelief, “what the fuck would possess somebody to bet thirty grand on anything?”

“grown ass man, by the way.” shoko mumbles mindlessly, before chowing down some more food. you can’t find it in yourself to disagree.

utahime nods, blowing a puff of air, “on god, bro. don’t he got mortgages to pay off or some shit?”

yuki shoots her a deadpanned look, “girl, with what house.”

and that had been your final straw with him. not the fact he lived in his mother’s basement despite clearly having money to rent out a place, or the fact he was still flexing bands he allegedly has on the gram— but blowing all your money on a fucking football game. and losing. you do respect yourself, as much as these girls believe you don’t. a man with no ambitions and no money? you need to run and far.

“i’ll miss his dick though.” you pout, the alcohol already coursing through your body. being wine drunk always made you horny, that was a known fact, and letting go of one of your greatest eaters was not on your bingo card. naturally, the girls roll their eyes at your antics, “boo me all you want— he horsed me the fuck around in bed.”

“you used to say the same shit about gojo,” utahime points out, rising to her feet as she grabs the used strips in her hold, before circling around the couch, “and look how that ended up.”

technically. . . she wasn’t exactly wrong but that still stung a bit. “hime, seriously?” shoko rolls her eyes, and you feel her hand rubbing at your foot soothingly. her motions are a little stiff but you appreciate the sentiment, “we get you don’t fuck with him but he was still her man. and basically my friend, kinda.”

you hear her wince in the kitchen, followed by footsteps, “right. . . sorry girlie.” she runs back to you after throwing the waste away, and kisses at your temple. she doesn’t comment on the pout on your lips. “i didn’t mean it. . . okay maybe i did, but i’m still sorry!”

your history with gojo was complicated. you’d met him through shoko in your third year of college, at a kickback party hosted by his people. it’d been an invite only thing, but shoko had brought you along as a plus one, and you both instantly connected. as far as you were concerned, it was technically supposed to be a sneaky link vibe, but you soon learned gojo was anything but sneaky. in fact, he was so vocal in him wanting you, that he actually did end up getting you a couple months later.

he’s a year older than you, therefore he’d graduated a year ahead. the separation in itself was something you hadn’t looked forward to at all, but he had found himself a condo downtown, not too far from your residency, therefore seeing each other hadn’t been an issue. he always made it clear he wanted to see you— even after gruelling nine to five shifts in the office. his words matched his actions, driving you up to his place since yours had a stupid curfew policy for visitors.

(you’ve kept him in your dorm numerous times.) (your closet has suffered enough with his lanky ass.)

the first year worked out for the better. he was still welcomed to the parties you invited him to, he made time in his schedule help you with your studies, planned consist dates and even took you out on trips. he was physically, mentally and emotionally present— and you genuinely believed he would be your forever man when you’d introduced him to your parents at your graduation ceremony and he seemed thrilled. they adored him— and that says a lot considering they hated all your other exes. with good reason, but still.

it’d been the honeymoon phase until it wasn’t.

you expected arguments. those are inevitable in relationships, but with every argument he grew distant. you were now both graduated students juggling between jobs, rent and a relationship. it was a lot— your schedules never seemed to align which jumbled into multiple failed dates, which further escalated into more arguments. it hadn’t always been him, you could agree you were at fault too. that post graduation depression spiralled worst than you’d anticipated— the fear of falling behind when your boyfriend had already been successful so early into his career entirely consuming.

he reassured you plenty, but you could see it in his face as he spoke to you— he was exhausted. of work. of life. of you. he had bigger fish to fry than dealing with a workaholic girlfriend with low self esteem. the bigger the promotion, the less your value. you’d seen this play out before— it was less i love you’s and more hours in the office. less dinner dates and more project plannings.

the more time you spent by yourself, the more your mind began overthinking. you had no place in his life anymore. you didn’t resent him for it— you wish nothing but the best for him. he deserves to be successful in life, and he’s already so close to it. your slacking behind is nothing more than dead weight in his rise to the top.

the breakup had been anticipated. you’d broken up with him first. he never asked you to explain why. he nodded, never uttering a word. it’d been the first time you’d seen him in weeks. you kept it simple, “we should break up.” and he kept it even simpler, a curt bounce of the head in agreement. as quick as he’d entered your apartment, he left.

and that’d honestly been it. you’d been together for four years, and broken up for a year and a half. after all this time, you still don’t resent him for it. he made the rational choice in prioritizing himself and his future, and you simply didn’t fit in it. it took you quite some time to work on yourself as well, and you’re honestly satisfied with where you are in life. the breakup clearly worked in favour for you both.

it sucks that he was genuinely the only man you ever cared about. the only man you can confidently say you loved.

“look— now you got her thinking about him!” shoko complains, chucking the nearest thing— a throw pillow, at utahime. it hits her square in the face, to which she lets out a muffled oof! “way to fucking go.”

you blink out of your thoughts. well that’s embarrassing, you got caught up in the past again. you lift yourself from the slumping position you’d unintentionally fallen into the midst of daydreaming, “shit, my bad. got flashbacks to that time he ate me off the bone after his first promotion.”

“yo, what?!” yuki hollers, falling into a fit of laughter. shoko rolls her eyes so much you’re thinking it’ll get stuck at the back of her skull and utahime physically cringed from head to toe. “so fucking unserious— here we are, worried about your ass and here you go, upset you lost your best eater.”

not exactly, though there was some truth to her words. gojo was your best eater, and nobody’s topped him since. he really did tongue fuck you that night like you were the boss who raised his pay. but it wasn’t just the sex you missed— you wholeheartedly missed him. the closest thing to a soul bond you’ve experienced, now gone.

they don’t need to know all that though.

“oh come on,” utahime groans, picking at her nails. trust her to find any reason to slander your ex. for what reason? she’s never told you other than him annoying the fuck out of her, “he could not have been that great. it can’t be anything you can’t find elsewhere— plenty of men eat pussy.”

“okay but do they enjoy eating it or is it more of a duty thing?” yuki points out, rolling her thumb on her lighter mindlessly. she watches the flame arise, casting a soft glow on the sheet stuck to her face, “because you can definitely tell the difference. one eats for foreplay, the other eats for his own pleasure.”

shoko hums in agreement, still poking at her plate, “a man versus a munch,” and with a beat of silence, she takes a deep sigh, throwing her head back, “i should call him.”

“no! no you should not,” utahime laughs, before shooting you a glance. your smile quickly falters and is switched with a look of confusion as she points a nail filer in your direction, “and you,” you cock a brow, “stop thinking about him. we’re supposed to be independent women, y’all need to stand the fuck up.”

“hime, please, you were literally just complaining to your close friends about your latest dry spell.”

“irrelevant!” she dismisses yuki, waving a hand absentmindedly. you don’t see how it’s irrelevant exactly, but you let her proceed. “we are sexy, successful and strong women. stop relying on the past and focus on the future. there are bitches that fought for their lives for the freedom we have! you could literally get dick anywhere— they actually have apps for it, if you didn’t know—”

“so tell us, o’mighty one,” shoko cuts her off, “are you suggesting we download tinder to relieve our stress?”

she remains quiet, and you can see the gears churning in her head. you’re about ninety nine percent positive shoko was fucking around, but the scrunch in your friend’s eyebrows tells you she’s seriously contemplating the idea, “. . yes actually.” she finally decides.

“hime. . .” shoko groans, but is effectively cut off when she springs up to her knees to grab at her phone.

“no, seriously, think about it!” she scrolls through her phone like a maniac, searching through the app store and typing the name in. you all watch her incredulously, her enthusiasm in the matter as if she hadn’t been preaching about feminism half a minute ago, “i’ve met some of my best lays in college through tinder. i haven’t been on this app in years though.”

you don’t see why not. you were pretty tipsy and would never have agreed to this under typical conditions, however it could be regarded as a bonding activity. you also haven’t been on tinder since before your last relationship, and the shit sukuna put you through this past year was enough to make you want to deal with literally anything else.

“i’m down.” you pull out your phone, and shoko may have gotten whiplash with how quick she snaps her head back to eye you. you shrug your shoulders, “we don’t have to take this shit seriously— god knows i’m not entertaining anybody on this app for real.”

“exactly!” utahime nods, walking up to scoot herself beside you. she nudges at shoko with her foot, who flicks at her toes to keep her away, “it’s just for shits and giggles.”

“i’m definitely not doing this shit,” yuki crawls to sit at the couch’s feet, right at shoko’s side, and grabs at the remote sitting uselessly on the table, “but i will be watching you both embarrass yourselves.”

“the only other bitch with common sense here.” shoko sprawls her legs onto yuki’s lap. she receives a slap at the back of her head by utahime, and naturally she slaps the hand right back. “can’t stand that little fucker sometimes.”

“aweee, love you too!” she blows a kiss at her to which she receives a middle finger. you snort, eyes glued on your screen as you redownload that forsaken app back into your phone.

you’d probably regret it in the morning, but that was something saturday you would have to deal with. as of right now, with white wine in your system, logic was not an option. you were learning to live more in the moment, and apparently that starts with the corniest dating app in the world.

it’s not like you’d magically stumble upon your ex on the platform. now wouldn’t that be something? ha!

there’s no fucking way.

this had to be one big, fat cosmic joke. a cruel prank, even. and if it was, then the universe had a twisted sense of humour. you still don’t believe it— were the girls in on this? this kind of shit didn’t just happen to anybody.

it took about a total of twenty minutes between logging back into your old account, updating your password and bio, and swiping left on passing profiles until you landed on it. on. . . him.

you blink slowly. your phone is shaky beneath your unstable hands, and you’re pretty sure you’ve been holding your breath in far longer than recommended for the average human. it’s quiet as fuck in the room— despite the three girls huddled over your shoulders, sticking their noses in all directions to get a clearer view of your illuminating screen— almost as if to confirm if what they were seeing was truly was they were seeing, as if this was all too fucking ironic to be true.

there’s a knot of anxiousness that simmers in the pits of your stomach. you’re pretentiously aware that even the slightest movement— one wrong click or swipe, would ultimately change everything. there was too much at risk here. “oh there’s no fucking way. . .” shoko speaks up first.

utahime leans in impossibly closer, a few centimetres away from fully emerging with your iphone as her nose scrunches, “way too sexy? fuck around and find out? god, he’s still so corny, i swear.”

your eyes trail over his biography, curiously. that “way2sexy” had been an inside joke you both shared years ago— back when drake had dropped one of gojo’s favourite albums, certified loverboy. he overplayed the shit out of that song when it came out, so much that you received multiple complaints from your RA for “public disturbance”, but he swore it worked as daily affirmations for him in the same sense crystals and tarot cards worked for spiritual girlies. you called him corny for it, but before you knew it, it’d shown up in your spotify wrapped the following year.

rapid memories of morning rays of light peeking through blinds, a groggy yet mysteriously clear “alexa, play way 2 sexy” as you fixed your sheets and lit your candles, fighting over who gets to spit toothpaste residue first, hearty laughter to fumbled lyrics, shared minty kisses paired with one “gimme one more” too many.

the ache clenching at your heart is hard to ignore.

“i would give him the benefit of the doubt in believing he hasn’t updated his account,” yuki draws out, eyes narrowing as a finger sticks out to point, “but his age matches. emoticons as a grown man. . . no shade though.”

his age did match. inside joke aside, none of it was adding up. if he already had his account set up years ago, had he willingly changed his bio to one of your most infamous gags after the breakup? if you were to swipe right right now, would it instantly match? you don’t think you want to figure it out— both possible outcomes scaring you shitless.

“should i swipe left?” you speak uncharacteristically softly, torn between the idea of tucking your tail inwards and running away from the opportunity or your typical it is what it is mentality.

“yes! obviously— mmmph?!”

“do you want to?” shoko, with a pillow stuffing an agitated utahime in the face, counters. between all the girls, she seemed to understand you the most, granted her own relationship with the man. you’re sure he had given her his own version of their breakup, how you’d opened the doors to endless opportunities for him, had given him the easy way out. you never bothered asking her, afraid of the illusion you’d created to shield yourself shattering, “only you have the answer to that.”

“i honestly don’t know,” you sigh, joints in your thumb aching from hovering over your screen for too long. swiping left meant completely abandoning any the possibility of the two of you as one. you don’t want that responsibility weighted on your shoulders again, “what if he’s moved on? the shit that’ll do to my ego if i swipe right and he passes on me?”

shoko finally grants her friend the permission of speech, freeing her off the couch decoration, though the look she gives her serves as a warning to tread lightly. with a heavy breath, utahime releases a puff, “i’d crashout, just sayin’.”

“but what if he hasn’t moved on?” yuki poses, and apparently that was all the confirmation you needed to swipe. fuck pride— pride wasn’t going to get your back blown out. pride wasn’t going to help you get the love of your life back. pride can go fuck itself.

“wait—”

utahime is cut off again, however, not by shoko but tinder itself. the notification pings loudly, resonating in depths of your ear cavity and shoots straight to your chest. you can feel your heart pounding wildly against your rib cage. it’s so silent you can hear a pin drop, and the way your gut churns gives away the end result to your spontaneity.

it’s a match.

“well. . . shit.” shoko slumps back into the couch nonchalantly, and you don’t need to see her to know she’s sporting a smirk. you do feel her knee knock into yours. fake ass idgafer.

you’re no better, biting down your bottom in order to suppress the smile itching to spread. a year later and the sole idea that he’d already came across the same mindset as you, willing to give whatever it was that needed a second shot, had you beyond delusional. god, you need help.

“look at youuu, cheesin’ and shit!” yuki pokes at your cheek and you swat her hand away, ultimately caving into the smile. fuck yeah you were geeked— it’s hard carrying a nonchalant attitude when you were an honest to god, soft hearted lovergirl. if you played your cards right, with a few lash bats and glossy lips, you’d be getting dicked down in no time.

“i’m gonna be sick.” utahime deadpans.

“and i’m getting dickkk,” you sing, jumping to your feet as you stood on the couch. you turn around, hands clutching onto the headrest, giving your ass a cute shake as it rotates in circular motions. you feel shoko’s hand tapping it encouragingly, her phone illuminating as it records while she rests her head on your moving thighs. you hear yuki cackle, pulling out her phone to film as well. you giggle, “rip that pussy!”

“ayeeee!” they complete the lyrics, and the vibes are restored yet again, girly giggles filling the room. when your legs begin to feel wobbly, you stop your twerking to plop yourself right back down, leaning your head onto shoko’s shoulder.

you hear her click her tongue as the recording of your ass graces her screen, and she groans, “gojo is one lucky bastard— he can’t handle all that.”

he most definitely can, and has. you’ll opt with shrugging in the meantime.

“with that being said,” utahime jumps in, crossing her legs, “what’s the next move here? you reaching out first?”

your lips straighten as your mind reflects. if you still know him as well as you think you do, he’s definitely going to text you first as soon as he sees the green light. sure, you were anxious for a reply, desperate to check what his temperature was— but you’d already sacrificed a grand amount of dignity just swiping right. he could do take on the role of texting first.

“nah, i’m almost a hundred percent sure he’ll—”

ping!

you all whip your heads to the source of the sound. your phone. the screen shines as it undergoes facial recognition, and exposes the messenger. from tinder. gojo. sending you a message. just as you’d expected.

you can’t help the cocky smile, eyes trailing at their perplexed faces, “—text me first.”

naturally, the girls are impressed. even you are— that timing? would it be insane to genuinely be considering gojo might honest to god be your soulmate? yuki blows a puff of air, followed by a laugh, “your pussy has to be magical cause what the fuck?”

“ladies and gentlemen,” utahime stands to her feet, fisting her hand into an imaginary microphone, and addresses her fake crowd. in the hostiest voice she can muster, she curtsies as she continues in comedic fashion, “miss pussy fairy in thee flesh.”

“put a stamp on it.” shoko shakes her head in acknowledgment, laying her own phone in her lap as she claps. yuki places two fingers in her mouth and whistles at you, to which you rise to your own feet and dramatically place a hand over your chest in faux humility.

“oh please!” you flatter yourself, tucking your hair behind your ear. you smile behind your palm, your improv classes in high school coming in clutch, “this is too much— thank you! thank you deeply.”

“girl, byeee,” utahime breaks character first, giggling as she sits back onto the abandoned bean bag. you mimic her motions, as she pops open a stray water bottle and swallows a big gulp, “open his text! i wanna see what he said!”

you’re in the same boat, thumbing at your phone to unlock it and open the app. naturally the girls hover over you yet again, just as eager to see how he finally broke the no contact phase. it took him less than three minutes to slide in your messages, as the option had finally been granted.

right as your thumb hovers the message, a hum draws out your throat, “how much y’all wanna bet it’s something corny?” you tease, something close to a hunch giving it away. seeing as your assumptions were deemed accurate just a few minutes ago, the only way he’d think of clearing the ice would be with something plausibly lame.

“open itttt!” utahime ushers you, hands clamping at your shoulders. you roll your eyes, letting her dramatics sway your body back and forth before she lets up. you let out a sigh, and open the unanswered message.

and just as you’d predicted. . .

@gsatoru: they say shooters shoot 👀

“oh brotherrrr,” the girls groan in sync, and even you can’t stop the cringe that stiffens your face. if there’s one thing that hasn’t changed, it’s the fact he still doesn’t act his age. he needs to let those college days go.

“now, what’d i tell y’all.” you tut, leaving out the part of nostalgia simmering deep and warmly in your bones at his predictability. ever the goofy he was, gojo satoru. jeez.

“i was really found myself rooting for him too,” shoko sighs, rising to her feet. she dusts at her lap then stretches her limbs lazily, “i’m gonna go pee— hime, i swear to god, don’t take my seat.” she doesn’t look back to flip her off when she hears utahime blow raspberries her way. to which, against shoko’s wishes, leaps over to snatch her seat.

both you and yuki give her a deadpanned look, but yuki voices out your thoughts, “she’s gonna get on your ass and i’m not helping you out.”

“girl, boo.” utahime rolls her eyes, “more importantly, what the fuck do you answer to that?” her nail taps at your phone screen, peering at you expectantly through lashes.

you consider your options. do you reciprocate the same energy or do you call him out on his corniness? matching his vibe would be like starting off a blank slate— a new start, new conversations, something almost superficial. like a fling you meet at the bars for one night of fuckery that you regret the next morning. but calling him out would induce in falling into familiar patterns— calling him a cornball while he attempts to sweet talk you, old conversations brought up, risking broken boundaries for the sake of reminiscing.

decisions, decisions, decisions.

“i’m thinking taking the easy way out.” you nod your head, readying your fingers as you type your response out.

you miss the exchanged glances between utahime and yuki, too busy trying to format how to come off playful but not forgetful. flirty but not desperate. come pull up on me but demurely. well you’ll be damned— in what world had you ever expected second guessing yourself for gojo?

“what’s the easy way out?” yuki asks, and you hit send. where this confidence comes from is beyond you, but any error you make you can blame on the wine (you’re hardly fazed but it’s nice to have something to pin the blame on instead of yourself) (old habits die hard).

you tilt your phone, holding it out as you watch the girls’ brows furrow, eyes scanning over the screen. when their faces contort into a look of amusement mixed with horror, a girly giggle escapes your throat.

@yourstrulyname: sukuna ryomen wsp with you?? 🙈

“you didn’t!” utahime hollers, her laughter so intense she doubled over to clutch at her stomach. yuki sways her body back and forth as she finds herself in a hysterical fit as well. “goddd, i would kill to see the look on his face right now.”

“yooo, that’s evil.” the blonde swipes at a tear. “woulda had me deactivating the whole account.”

“who’s deactivating?” shoko pops back in, not without slapping utahime upside the head. she ignores the way utahime complains in favour to swipe a nearly emptied bottle to pour.

“it’s not even that bad,” you defend yourself, flashing her your screen as she installs herself in the bean bag utahime once occupied. her eyes squint as she reads the conversation, nearly bulging out their sockets when she catches your message, “nahhh, don’t give me that!”

“if he gives you the time of day after that,” shoko swirls the wine in her glass, snorting, “he must really still be in love with you.”

“he should know i’m playing. . .” you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince the girls, him or yourself. you really were just joking around— albeit a terrible joke, but one regardless! sukuna was officially removed from the roster, a financially irresponsible man never standing a chance against you, “right?”

“don’t ask us?” utahime chimes in, uselessly, to which you roll your eyes. well shit, maybe you should double text? let him know you were just fooling around, trying to check temperatures and establish the mood. your phone pings again, and all unnecessary thoughts are thrown out the window.

@gsatoru: oh so you got jokes now?

as you’re about to let him know you’ve been had jokes, but never the goofy type, you see the bubbles pop up, a telltale that he’s got more to tell you. you let him have it, already having possibly fumbled the mission before even starting. it feels like an eternity and a half waiting on his text, the girls having huddled over you yet again, just as curious to see what he had to counter with.

@gsatoru: can’t be a joke if the guy had you outside on valentine’s day tho. stk steakhouse? really girl?

your jaw falls slack. you watch with burning eyes at your screen as your built up suspicions were ultimately confirmed. okay, so those two were still somehow connected. you didn’t like to question male friendships, the lack of loyalty not one you’d ever understand. god forbid you ever started fucking with utahime’s ex of many years.

“wait. .” said girl speaks up, drawing the word out as she processes his answer. her tongue rolls around in her mouth, face cringing as the next words follow, “i can’t lie, he kinda ate you up.”

“just sassy as fuck,” shoko laughs, and it’s one of those giggles reserved to shit she honestly finds hilarious, “really girl is crazy. all comfortably like he’s one of your homegirls.”

“now what’s wrong with stk’s?” yuki grumbles, picking at her nails with a childish pout on her lips, “everybody isn’t born with a silver spoon plugged up our asses. god, i can’t stand rich people.”

you don’t bother answering the girls, already aware he chewed with his response, that he’s as sassy as he was years ago and that he had found that particular steakhouse shabby despite it being a fucking steakhouse. these were things you already knew. your thumbs proceed before your mind can register,

@yourstrulyname: been keeping tabs on me?

“you don’t look too happy,” shoko pokes at your cheek. there’s an ache creasing in your forehead, and you relax the furrow of your brows. you’re not exactly upset, just a bit on edge with his approach— you can’t tell whether he’s on tens or not. whether he’s genuinely joking around or not.

“i’m fine.” you poke back, and she nods. she ushers the other girls to pick a new movie to play, and you clock this is her way of allowing you some privacy between exes. you shoot her a grateful look, and she offers a sly wink. you’ll make sure to update her on whatever happens as soon as it’s over.

you switch your ringer off, and open his new message.

@gsatoru: hard not to when he posts you like he has smth to prove

@yourstrulyname: who said it was me?

you knew it was you. you knew he knew it was you. but still, you wanted to hear it from him yourself, wanted to know if he really was keeping tabs on you ever since the breakup. it’d help ease your mind with unanswered questions.

@gsatoru: you mean besides the bags and jewelry i got you?

@gsatoru: your build was a dead giveaway. could recognize you blindfolded in a room full of women

you bit your lip. you could work with this text, play around with it and see if shit flips. would he fall for the bait? you’ll start off slow, create an opening and see if he decides to indulge.

@yourstrulyname: like what you saw?

he answers instantly and your heart sinks a bit.

@gsatoru: of course

@gsatoru: you’re as a beautiful as the day you left me

is that how he saw it? you assume you did leave him in a practical sense, but there was no way he hadn’t seen it coming miles away. you had both been caught up in your lives, the additional stress of romance an unwanted factor in the rise of your careers. so yeah, you’d given him the opportunity to leave. it’s not as if he fought it anyway, so did you really leave him if he’d closed the door on his merry way out?

this was starting to get personal. toeing between the line of uncharted territory and familiarity. everything you didn’t want— debriefing the logic behind the underwhelming breakup on tinder of all places was out of the fucking question.

@yourstrulyname: you still cool with sukuna?

@gsatoru: something like that

@gsatoru: he’s slimey as fuck for sliding on you tho

you figured as much. you couldn’t imagine a world where gojo wouldn’t feel some type of way at his friend going after his ex girlfriend a couple months fresh off a breakup. he probably felt the same way towards you, the difference being one owes him more loyalty than the other.

@yourstrulyname: and what does that make me?

@gsatoru: did he mean something to you?

he didn’t. you think of the importance of somebody meaning something to you— the fear of losing that person larger than life itself. the joy of waking up in that person’s arms on a rainy morning. the vulnerability in bonding souls with that person. the relief your body undergoes as it melts in that person’s embrace.

he didn’t mean shit to you.

@yourstrulyname: no

@gsatoru: then that makes you someone who made a choice

neutral and impassive. you wondered if he truly meant that. in a sense, you assume he really did mature.

@yourstrulyname: so he’s in the wrong but i’m not?

@gsatoru: who am i to assign right from wrong? you’re both adults at the end of the day

you don’t know what to answer to that. there was a lot of truth to his words— you were both consenting adults with choices made. jeez, just what had gojo gone through all these months that made him none the wiser? you’re considering leaving him on opened for a while, at least until you come up with an answer to that philosophical ass message, when he double texts you.

@gsatoru: this is so backwards lmaoo. what’s good with you? how’ve you been?

so he realized it too. thank fuck— skipping small talk and diving into the nitty gritty this late at night was not how you expected your night to go. the girls had completely forgotten your predicament, invested in the latest reality tv show flashing on your flat screen.

@yourstrulyname: been good. you?

@gsatoru: wow you’re as dry as ever

@gsatoru: life’s been blessed, could be better tho. too much to explain over text

oh? was this what you were thinking it was?

@yourstrulyname: what are you getting at, gojo?

@gsatoru: gojo? so it’s fuck me then

@gsatoru: not getting at anything. ball’s in your court, yn

so it was. you contemplate it for a second— should you invite him over tonight? the girls won’t be upset about kicking them out, and if anything they’d encourage you to call them as soon as it’s over. you suppose your doubts lie within the idea of having your ex boyfriend back into your territory. in the comfort of your home, a home he’d once already graced.

as scary as it sounded, you also desperately craved seeing him. it’d been a solid eighteen months since you’ve broken up, and thirteen since you’ve last seen him entirely. ironically, around the time you started getting involved with sukuna. you weren’t sure if it was your heart or pussy talking, but laying up in bed with this man was not something you were against.

fuck it.

@yourstrulyname: you know where i stay at

and his response comes instantly.

@gsatoru: be there in half an hour.

oh fuck.

“yo. . .” you speak up, for the first time in a few minutes. the girls turn their heads, acknowledging you, as you shut your phone close and chuck it across the sofa. “i love y’all but y’all gotta go, like now.”

shoko shakes her head, but there’s a smirk on her lips. utahime, as lost as ever, gives you a frown. yuki has most likely caught on, rising to her feet, dusting her lap, “say no more.”

the girls do you an immense favour as they excuse themselves. they pick at empty bottles and containers, throw dirty dishes in the dishwasher, rearrange the throw pillows and even light up your candles. you feel bad for kicking them out so late, so you pitch in some money for gas as well as the inconvenience.

as they cleaned out your living room and kitchen, you’d rushed to your shower for a mini cleanse. pulling out your bests, you wash over intimate parts thoroughly, lathering your limbs in scented soap, before rinsing, brushing your teeth and stepping out. you stare at your reflection through the haze of steam, the foggy mirror reminding you of the missing messages he used to leave on mornings you had to get to work.

no point in dwelling on the past when he was on his way over this moment. you swap your silk robe for the skimpiest loungewear you own— matching camisole and shorts, and let your hair cascade back down. you’re about your fifth spritz of body spray when the doorbell rings, and your stomach flutters.

you halt in your step when you notice how fast you’re going. yikes! the last thing he needs is his ego inflating, knowing you were rushing to get him inside, nevermind the fact you washed, pulled out your sexiest pyjamas and even wore a brand new pair of panties. you know. . . just for preparations. better safe than sorry.

after the third mindless lap around your kitchen, you make your way towards the door. you inhale sharply, clenching at your shaky fingers, easing your nerves. you quickly snap out of your daze, pulling the door open.

his eyes, momentarily distracted by the number engraved in the wall next to your door, glaze over your figure curiously. his hands are tucked in the pocket of his sweatpants. he lets out a breath, a sound borderlining a chuckle as it shoots straight to both heartbeats, shoulders drop from its hunch,

“hey.”

he’s thick.

no perverted shit. you’ve noticed he’s put on weight in the right places— not to say he’d been anything less than nicely built in the past, but his biceps are significantly fuller and the material of his compression tee stretched over bulging muscles in a telltale pattern.

somebody’s been at the gym one too many.

“you good with this?” he mumbles, hand running across the smooth skin of your calf. with every stroke of his palm are fleeting memories of the past, burning deep into your limb. you hate the way your stomach sinks st the thought, “me being here and shit.”

“wouldn’t have let you in if i wasn’t.” you answer honestly, back pressed into the arm of the couch. you don’t understand how fast he’d gotten comfortable with being in your personal space just like that— you don’t understand how you’d allowed him in your personal space just like that.

he nods, and the air is eerily quiet. you watch with furrowed brows as he traces shapes into your skin with his fingertip, a frenzy of emotions resembling those of turbulence all in cerulean eyes. he’s torn— you can see it in the way his nose scrunches, as if he’s debating on whether he should voice out his thoughts or not. whether it’s worth debriefing— if this is his last shot or not.

with all this time passed, he’s still so easy to read.

“what is it?” you sigh, albeit irritated. the last thing you’d planned when you got rid of your friends in favour of having your ex over was this weird ass tension roaming. crazy sentence to speak— you know, but you were really hoping it’d be less talking involved and more sexing. it wasn’t that you were against conversing with him, but the way he was choosing to go about it was just so. . . awkward .

he senses the irritation laced in your question and immediately chuckles. his laugh sounds breathless, almost dry, but he shakes his head. his free hand swipes at his nose, a tic of his you noticed years ago whenever he’s feeling bashful or caught, and clears his throat.

“how’d you and sukuna happen?” he rips off the bandaid, and asks you the last question you wanted to hear. the tracing on your leg slows down, and your arms tighten a bit around your torso.

you let out a puff of air. if gojo notices your discomfort, he doesn’t mention it. in fact, he doesn’t pull the question back at all— he stares at you intensely, as if baring into your soul, as if the answer to his question will determine whether the boulder weighted on his shoulders will free him of restraint or not.

as if he still stood a chance or not.

“not much to say,” you shrug, as dismissive as possible. he doesn’t budge, the same intensity in his gaze and you roll your eyes, “honest to god. we broke up, he was there at the right time and shit happened.”

the words simmer into the stillness of the night, and he swipes his tongue over his lips pensively, “were y’all ever official?” he pushes, and you click your tongue against your teeth, offering him a deadpanned look. seriously, as if he didn’t know his own friend— in what world was sukuna anything worthy of official?

“god, no.” you shudder, and he nods again. “you know your friend.”

“i don’t,” gojo counters, momentarily wrapping his hand around your ankle. it fits as perfectly as it did all those years ago, where thumbs at your anklet— another prized possession he’d gotten you. your face heats in embarrassment, and he flicks his eyes to glance at you, a fleeting smirk on his lips, before staring back at the jewelry, “going after my ex girlfriend is not something i expected. i don’t know him at all.”

fair enough, you think to yourself. there has to be some lingering resentment towards you for the same reason. had the tables been turned and he’d gone after one of your closest friends, you would’ve cut him off from your life completely. you were being truthful— it wasn’t anything remotely serious with sukuna, not even close to how it’d been with gojo, but you could see it as a matter of principle. you’d already taken the initiative to break up with him first, and going after his homeboy?

god, you had questionable morals.

“it’s different with you,” he feeds in, as if he could read your thoughts. it was probably written all over your face, the scrunch in your brows never letting up. his index finger slides beneath the band of your anklet, the contrast of the silver shade lining perfectly against his complexion, “‘s hard to explain, but you broke up with me so you technically owe me no loyalty— besides, i get why you ended things. never blamed you.”

now that peaks your interest. he gets why you ended things with him? he never blamed you? you clear your throat, forcing the question out, “you do?”

“of course,” he shrugs naturally, as if it hadn’t taken you eons to conclude. as if it hadn’t broke you apart when you’d realized how unneeded you were, “i honestly expected it. you deserved better than what i was giving. you must’ve been lonely— work had always taken a big part of my time, and that left you behind in the dust.”

you’re waiting for the punchline. he continues, “i can’t lie to you— i was wishing you’d resort to cheating over breaking up. that way you’d still be mine, even if it was temporarily,” he chuckles, a soft shade of pink dusting over his cheekbones, as he sniffs, “corny, i know. but you didn’t deserve putting up with my bullshit, so you left. time is of the essence, and that was the one thing i never seemed to give you. you fell out of it— out of love, so. . . i’m sorry.”

words cannot seem to leave you. you’re left utterly speechless— that had been so far from the reason, the realization sitting bitterly at the pit of your stomach. anything, literally anything, would’ve been better than hearing him lie to you again.

“that. . .” you inhale a sharp breath, steadying yourself, “is nowhere near the reason why we broke up.”

he stops in his caress. you think he got whiplash from how fast his neck snaps, eyeing you incredulously. he genuinely seems so confused, and you hate it. to think he’d show up with some lame ass excuse, so far stretched from the truth of the matter, and expected you to believe that. to believe him.

he blinks slowly, “i don’t understand.”

you try to pull your leg away from his lap, feeling like he was stripping you bare of the last bit of dignity you had left, wanting to rip you open. he presses the weight of his hand lightly, urging you to stay near while simultaneously giving you the option to pull away. the ball was in your court yet again.

“wait— help me understand,” the pad of his thumb rolls over your ankle bone gently— far too intimately. your feet curl away, protectively, and his fingers stroke at the ball of your heel, “please. what drove you away? what was it i did?”

there’s a pang in your chest. does he really plan on keeping this up? right in your face? it was one thing wishing him well despite the obvious, but dragging it out even a year later was a bit much. inviting him over was starting to seem like a terrible idea.

“i fell out of love?” you parrot, unbelieving. “gojo— i’m not the one who fell out of anything. i gave you a way out, and you happily took it,” his face contorts into a deeper state of confusion. you huff, “i’m not blaming you for it or anything, but shit, don’t get up in here with lies to cover your ass.”

“lies?” he whispers, to himself, running his free fingers through tousled white locks. he stares at your anklet hardly, like the gift has all the answers he’s looking for. you don’t think he’s avoiding eye contact, but he seems so distraught, so out of the loop, that broadway ought to sign him to a new movie deal. what an actor.

“time is of the essence and you failed to give it?” you continue regardless, throat restricting as it burns in an emotion you’re far too familiar with. suddenly, you feel like you’re twenty five again, left to your own devices and thoughts in the emptiness of his apartment, dressed in your prettiest outfit and another failed date night. “i never gave a shit about that, i knew how much of a hardworking man you were. i took it to the chest— anything to keep you from leaving. you stopped loving me, gojo.”

his jaw falls slack, mouth gaping and you blink your lashes furiously to prevent tears from appearing. god, this was so humiliating, bearing your heart raw in front of your ex boyfriend, “y/n, i never—”

“spare me,” you scoff, mortified by the rush of emotions coursing through you. you take a deep breath in, calming yourself to avoid further explosive feelings, “this isn’t me saying i was the perfect girlfriend. i know i wasn’t— you know i wasn’t, and piling a spiralling partner on top of all the shit you were dealing with wasn’t an option. that’s fine,” it was fine. it didn’t matter, “doesn’t matter anymore. i broke up with you, you didn’t fight to stay, and we both moved on. shit happens.”

it hurt a lot. the sound of the door clicking shut, followed by the crack splitting in your chest. the run towards your bathroom, emptying your contents from both your stomach and heart. you were undeniably a mess, that period of time it took for you to recover. you would never voice it out loud, but you’d been praying he’d tell you just how wrong you were. how he needed you in his life. how you weren’t a burden to him. how he loved you enough to fight through it all.

he hadn’t.

there’s a soft hum in the silence. the sound of your clock ticking near the entrance door. the pounding of your heart against your rib cage. seconds turn into minutes of quietness, and it does no good to your mind. you’re focusing your gaze on the inanimate objects in your apartment, anything to dismiss the reality of the situation. your leg feels cold as his hand pulls away suddenly.

he rolls his tongue against his cheek. another tic of his— he’s formulating his word choice, carefully. you’d seen a ton of this before, though it usually followed a deep sigh and a you’re good baby, trust me. the more you’d see it, the more anxious you became. and christ, if that anxiety wasn’t forming right back.

it takes a while for him to speak, and every passing breath had your chest tightening. he runs his hand across his face, tiredly. when he pulls it away, there’s a melancholic smile on his face, “i think there’s a lot that needs to be addressed. jesus, i always knew you sucked at communicating but this is something else.”

you glare at him. he doesn’t mind it, continuing, “no, you weren’t the perfect girlfriend. but you were my girlfriend, and that’s all that mattered to me. you wanna talk about spiralling? nothing i’m not familiar with— you’re the only reason i didn’t let myself fall into that rabbit hole. you kept me going after graduation. i worked as hard as i did to make sure you wouldn’t have to lift a finger around me. that was the end goal— you were end goal.”

gagged is what you felt. nothing else pure shock. he doesn’t stop there. he isn’t merciful anymore.

“i know i didn’t go about it the right way,” a regretful puff of air is released, “i canceled on you often. our phone calls were shorter, our texts were vaguer and at some point i’d forgotten what you tasted like. but i never loved you any less. not once, even after we argued. not to say i’ve converted into those spiritual people, but you’re the closest thing to a soulmate i’ve experienced.”

shit, you weren’t tripping. he felt it too. fuck. the weight of his words made it impossible to steer him away. you want to intercept, to call him a liar and turn a blind ear at his confession, to shield yourself but how could you when every word he spoke broke the bricks you’d built down?

“i’m not an asshole— i could feel you slipping away. i did try my damned hardest to reel you back in, as you’d done with me. clearly that hadn’t worked how i was hoping it would,” a bitter laugh, or maybe a resentful one. towards you or himself? you wouldn’t know, “it’s because i loved you so much, i let you go. i knew i was losing you, and when you finally came to me, the right thing to do was agree. why keep you from reaching your fullest potential? you weren’t happy with me, trying to fight the inevitable was cruel.”

the inevitable. letting you go was the right choice to make because fighting the inevitable was cruel. he loved you so much he had to let you go because you deserved more than what he had to offer. you call bullshit— in what right did he have to make that choice for you? what right did you have to make that choice for him?

it’s too much at once. your eyes burn with a remorseful feeling, your heart aches in agony and your mind is clouded with thoughts. there your ex boyfriend sat, wide eyes still as blue as when he’d once been yours, presenting you his heart raw in cupped hands— and you still couldn’t find it in you to believe him fully. everything yet nothing made sense. vulnerability was a scary thing, and you weren’t ready to face it.

so, you kiss him.

his breath is taken out of his chest as you lean forward, sealing his mouth shut. you can’t take any more of his merciless words, and the only way to get your mind off it is by getting on it. he feels stiff against you, pupils dilating as you mould lips with his own. your hand travels to the back of his neck, sitting on your knees as you hold him still.

and with a faint lip smack, he pulls away ever so slightly, hands hovering awkwardly over your waist, his breath warm and fanning your cupid’s bow, “wait—”

“don’t wanna talk,” you interrupt, placing another chaste kiss on his lips. he tastes as good as the day you left him. and with another soft smack, your voice lowers, reduced to a whisper, “you gonna fuck me or not?”

he blinks and you stare back at him, full of conviction. a simple yes or no question— and he could gladly see himself out if his answer didn’t satisfy you. his hands finally rest on your waist, and you take it as an invitation to straddle over his hips. he eases your movements by aiding, lifting you just barely to sit on him. his hands fit just as they did all those times ago. a sour, bittersweet feeling— fingertips caressing the nakedness of your torso beneath your camisole.

your back arches as he finds your sensitive spots with quickness. he’d always been great at that, leaving trails of goosebumps past his teasing touches.

“you’re doing it again,” he mumbles against your lips, ever the hypocrite, fingers gripping at your waist like a vice. he rolls your hips over his own, reeling in the softness of your palms cupping at his face. you ignore him when he continues, still nibbling on his bottom lip the way he loves, “you can’t— mmh, avoid this forever.”

maybe not, but you sure as hell could right now. the tip of your noses bump into one another as you tilt your head, deepening the kiss. you want to rid your mind of these plaguing thoughts, ones that made you doubt everything you thought you knew. losing control was out of the question, so naturally you needed it back into your grasp.

sex was an easy way to do that.

“yes or no, gojo.” you give him one last chance, grinding your hips down on his awakening dick. you feel his bulge through his pair of sweats, the print so evident you wondered why he was trying to fight it. the sight alone had your panties dampening in your arousal, uncomfortably sticky against your loungewear.

he hums in between kisses, a false pretend of debating his options. his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your shorts and past your panties, fondling at the flesh that sat beneath. he could fake it all he wants, but fuck chivalry— he was turning to mush the more you sucked at his tongue, licking at the crevice of the roof of his mouth.

it’s when you sink your teeth into the flesh of pink lips, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to draw a moan from him, he comes to a conclusion. he nods his head, snaking his arms to wrap at your waist tighter as finally kisses you back.

“it’s always a yes.” for you. he doesn’t say it, doesn’t need to, but you hear it and dismiss it. no more lovey doveyness and time to get to the nitty gritty of shit— getting your back blown out. the very thought alone is enough to put a smile on your lips.

bingo.

your bedroom door hardly shuts before he pins you against it. he’s annoyingly big— tall in height and wide in weight. he towers over you comically, hands roaming at every inch of your body as he drinks you up. his lips seek yours desperately, sliding over your glossy ones with practice that suggests hints of comfort.

your arms loop at his neck, and his at your waist. his mouth hardly lets up of yours, mumbling a little jump, as you comply with ease. thighs trapping him in your hold, you then find yourself face to face with him as he lifts you, large palms cupping at your ass. you fit just as perfectly in his hands as you did years ago, flesh so fat he gropes it tenderly.

the walk from the door to your bed passes in the blink of an eye, a timeframe you find pointless to recall as you indulge in the taste of him through his tongue. his presence is so overwhelmingly powerful— every touch and caress at your body reducing your limbs to mush. you cling to him, either out of safety reasons or desire, tilting your head from side to side to deepen the lip-to-lip action.

when he gets to the edge of your bed, he lowers you until your toes reach the floor. due to the difference in height, your lips part, a thin string of saliva connecting from both your mouths as proof of your unison. the blue shade of his orbs darken with desire, eyelids lowering as he drinks up the sight of you— lips plump and swollen, slick in saliva, chest heaving from lack of oxygen.

he raises a hand from your waist to cup at your face, and you detest the way your lean into his touch. your cheek fits in his large palm, and he swipes a thumb at your bottom lip, collecting your shared spit onto the pad of his digit. as he smears the fluid further across your mouth, he prods his thumb a little further— testing out the waters, wanting to see if you’d cave into old habits.

naturally, you allow it, his thumb swallowed by your puckered lips. you roll your tongue over his finger and your eyes never leave his— hoping to convey the rush of emotions you feel through your sultry gaze. your core throbs in want, your stomach erupting in butterflies and your heart pounding unnecessarily. unspoken words you’re positive he understood, if the way he groans when your teeth sink lightly into his digit said anything.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles, popping his finger back out. it’s coated in saliva, and like the freak he is, pops it into his own mouth. once he’s had his fill, he removes his hand from his mouth, and lowers it to your fleshy waist, slipping past the waistband of your panties, “take these off— ‘m hungry, need a taste of that pussy.”

your cheeks nearly split from your excitement, and you comply to his order, gripping at the hem of your shorts to pull them down to your ankle. he assists you despite the previous demand, his own hands atop of yours, a warmth and sense of security so familiar. when your shorts reach past your mid thigh, you allow him to meet you halfway.

he pulls your shorts down to your ankles, lowering himself to a knee. his movements are agonizingly slow, basking in the sight of your thighs in contrast of the shade of your loungewear. he steadies a hand onto your calf, patting it lightly, and you lift your leg just barely, permitting him to slide the shorts off your ankle and tossing it aside.

when the item is discarded, he redirects his focus back to you. he pampers your skin in kisses— delicate but hungry, trails of moisture crawling back up at your inner thighs and shooting right to your core. he looked unexplainably sexy on his knees, littering your body in hushed praises, the tip of his nose nudging at your soft skin. you bit your lip in attempts to cease it from wobbling at the intimacy he was providing.

“god, you smell so good,” he speaks into you, hands snaking to the back of your thighs, pressing you forward into him. your panty covered cunt presents itself right before him, and he plants his nose right into your intimates, your body shuddering as his nose bumps into your clit deliciously. a shaky breath escapes you, and his hands travel upwards to play with your ass. “turn around, wanna eat it from the back.”

the words are taken from you when his hand slaps your ass encouragingly, releasing a mini squeal, “you’re still too freaked out.”

“mhm, something like that,” you don’t see it, as you’re occupied on spinning on your feet to plant your hands on your matters for stability, but you’re positive he’s smirking. your arch your back for him, wanting to properly present the meal he plans on devouring. your cunt oozes slick against your thong just thinking about how he’s going to do you in, “there’s that arch,” a hand slides in the curve of your lower back, before snapping the band of your thong. it recoils against your cheek and you jerk forward at the sting.

“oh? did that hurt?” he taunts, and as you’re about to protest, he does it yet again. the snap is intense but never painful, but the nerve he had to play around like your pussy wasn’t a few centimetres away from his face. you don’t acknowledge how your panties cling even tighter to your folds.

“fuck off,” you curse through gritted teeth, but your hips wiggle backwards in attempt to get him to hurry it up. as if now was any time to tease— you couldn’t stand it when he did it all those years ago, and your feelings haven’t changed since, “get on with it. . . the fuck?”

you hear him sigh, almost disappointedly, and it only aggravates you further. your brows furrow in annoyance and you think you feel a vein tick at your temple.

“still so disrespectful,” gojo tuts, rubbing at your booty tenderly. so he wasn’t exactly wrong, but how was he expecting you to react when he’d just said he was going to eat you out, and proceeds to do anything but that? of course there’s going to be a little pout on your lips, “we gotta work on that attitude of yours.”

your face twists into a look of further aggravation, and you tilt your head back, readying whatever other bratty objections you had— though you’re ultimately interrupted by a sharp sting that spreads across your ass.

the strike of his palm against your cheek sprawls into an intense heat, the pain oddly pleasurable, and the moan that rips out of your chest is impossible to suppress. your eyes nearly jump out of their sockets at the audacity, and right as you’re about to complain, he does it again. and again.

“o-okay, shit!” you attempt to voice out, but he’s relentless, delivering blow after blow onto the same ground. there’s a curve in his palm, and it amplified the sound across the room. despite your protests, you can’t deny every jolt of pain rushes to your clit. you’re positive he knows you’re enjoying this, “gojo— fuck, okayyy!”

to your pleasure, he eases the slaps, opting to smoothen his hand flat across the reddened flesh. he hums pensively, the heat of your skin radiating against his palm in a way that forces a smile on his lips, “ ‘okay?’ what do you mean by that, baby?”

you clench your teeth at his faux ignorance. you know exactly what he wants from you, and you’re not sure if you’re able to give it to him as you are. an apology— he wants you to apologize, that bastard. your left cheek stings like a bitch, even with his now gentle touches, and your core is begging you to cooperate with him, in order for that attention it was neglected of. he is such a dickhead— putting you in a predicament like this one.

you swallow the last bit of dignity you hold, a constant reminder in the back of your mind that this was for the greater good— for the sake of your pussy. with a pained sigh, you tilt your head backwards to meet his playful gaze that stares back at you, right below the plump of your ass, and you muster the cutest look you can give.

doe eyes paired with a little pout, “‘m sorry. . . for the attitude,” you’re not sorry at all, but you desperately want your cunt in his mouth, so you do what you have to do, “can you eat it now? please?”

he flashes you a million dollar smile, all thirty twos on full display, and it takes every ounce of willpower in you not to roll your eyes right then and there. he was so full of shit, his eyes might as well brown. but still, you knew he got off on this kind of thing, and when he presses a quick kiss at the print of your lips, he replies, “of course, sweet girl— only because you asked so nicely.”

there’s no further need to speak, as you feel your thong being pushed to the side, followed by a cold breeze hitting your bare cunt, meshed with warm breathe as he feasts .

gojo eats you out like he has something to prove, and you know what— maybe he does. to prevent you from straying from him, he grounds you with two firm hands gripping at your ass. he spreads the flesh apart, his tongue lapping at your slick greedily. you can’t tell who’s moans are louder— yours or his, the man so engaged in sucking at your clit, nibbling on the bundle of nerves with practiced ease. you hold onto the sheets on your bed with dear life, thighs trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up.

“fuck, don’t stop,” you whine, pushing your hips further back, your mind overcame with utter greediness for more of that insatiable pleasure. you might as well have swallowed him whole into you, just as he’s swallowing you whole into him, his tongue diving deep past your hole and into your folds. he flicks his tongue expertly, licking at every crevice and nook of your cave, his jaw working overtime as his bottom lip never lets up at your clit.

your entire pussy is consumed by him, no area going neglected— drool slips past his mouth and spills onto your floor. a familiar heat licks at the pit of your stomach, a telltale that your dam is bound to burst anytime soon. he remedies your ache with another painful spank at your ass, groaning into your pussy when you clamp down on his tongue.

he was so fucking nasty— fucking into you with his tongue like he needed this more than you did. he makes out with your cunt, like he was a starving man on death row. at a particular cruel angle of his tongue fucking, your body would react with an all consuming tremble, fingers clawing at your duvets, your lungs releasing pathetic mewls. and the further you pushed back into his merciless mouth, the closer his nose nudged at your puckered forbidden hole.

he pulls away with a gasp, subbing his mouth out for his fingers, the pads of three fingers rubbing messily at your sloppy lips. the sound it creates is downright filthy, so painfully loud that it damn near drowns out your own moans.

“pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he spits a wad of saliva at your already soaked cunt, further amplifying the squelching sounds. he drags his fingers down to your clit, pinching at the bud with enough pressure to have your knees buckling, before sliding back upwards to your clenching hole. he slides into your entrance, index and middle fingers twisting in with ease, “bet she missed me, hm?”

“y-yes!” you nod mindlessly, your high creeping up on you as he works himself into you. taking six inches of fingers twice was a task in itself— the average length of a man’s dick serving purpose as fingering was just downright disrespectful. his knuckles poke at your silky walls, stretching you out to the best of his abilities, “shit— oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum!”

to your statement, he latches his lips back to your neglected clit, sucking on the bud as if he were intentionally trying to milk you dry. he hums at your taste, the vibrations shooting right up your alley and into the knot tightening in your guts— and when he curls his fingers upwards, at that spot that has stars dancing beneath your eyelids, the dam breaks. that knot stood no chance.

“oh goddd,” you cry out, spraying your release all over. it dribbles out your pussy and past the lower half of his face, to which his jaw widens as his mouth gapes— greedily aiming to slurp at your juices while simultaneously flicking your bean. the stimulation has your brain going dumb, as you fall flat onto your bed, drool collecting at the corner of your mouth and staining your sheets damp.

he lets you ride out the euphoric bliss, the movements of his fingers and the lapping of his tongue slowing down the more your body reacted to the overstimulation. when he deems you well spent, he lets up, slipping his fingers out and popping them back in his mouth, swirling your taste across his pallets, “as sweet as ever,” rising back to his full height.

you haven’t came that hard in a while, limbs reduced to nothing as you merge into one with your bed. your legs are still trembling, and your chest heaves as you exhale deep breaths. letting your eyelids close shut, you take the time to regroup yourself from that mind shattering orgasm. who the fuck had he been fucking that forced him to keep this skill? granted, you had no right to complain but holy shit, he was no fucking noob.

you feel the weight of his body press on top of you, a well-built chest meeting your moist back. it doesn’t take much to realize he’s hovering over you. his lips litter kisses at the column of your neck, moving up to the shell of your ear, leaving a trail of goosebumps after each embrace, “you tappin’ out already?” gojo snickers at your shell of a body, and you kiss your teeth at his typical mockery, “what happened to my champ while i was gone?”

“fuck off,” you pout, a little embarrassed by the fact that you really were retired from the game. sure, you were getting dicked down real good by your previous partner (question mark), but it never had you as exhausted as you currently were. there was absolutely nothing gojo satoru couldn’t do, and that ticked you off to no end, “nobody said shit about tappin’ out.”

“hm. . .” he hums, nuzzling his nose into your jugular, his hips grinding into the cleft of your ass. it’s impossible to ignore the bulge poking into you, and you doubt he was trying to hide it regardless, his hips rolling against the plushness of your behind, “guess sukuna didn’t do as good of job as he should’ve.”

that has your eyelids opening right back up. talk about an awkward situation— bringing up you and your ex’s (question mark) sex life while having sex with your other ex was a double edged predicament in itself. had you agreed, which lowkey wasn’t entirely wrong, you’d be stroking the fuck out of gojo’s ego and be disrespecting sukuna. but had you disagreed, you could end up on gojo’s wrong side and fumble an entire night worth of dicking.

so, once more, you take the easy way out, at the expense of inflating the white haired man’s ego, much to your dismay, “think you can do better?”

he stays silent for a while. in what you assume is him coming up with an answer to your question, his kisses travel to the dead centre of your shoulder blades, wet and open mouthed, as they crawl lower down your spine. with every kiss, your body caves into a state of relaxation, as if he was undoing every stress clouding at your hazed mind with his mouth alone.

he lands at the middle of your back, before he pulls away abruptly. and just as soon as he started, he was finished— removing himself off your body entirely. panic settles quickly in your stomach, as you turn your head around to see what he was up to. had you unintentionally hurt his feelings? damn, and here you were enjoying the body worship.

“what are you—” your words are cut off as his hands cup at your waist. he slides you back towards the edge of the bed, your feet planted on the floor once more. you feel some residue of your previous orgasm beneath your heels, eugh. you don’t have much time to spend thinking about how gross it feels when a hand holds your shoulders, and lifts you right back up.

your brows jump to your hairline in surprise at the sudden manhandling, though you can’t deny you found just a bit sexy. with his chest pressed into your back once more, you can feel his heartbeat thudding at the blade of your left shoulder, the organ withholding a steady rhythm— the tempo of a lullaby you’d once been accustomed to. and then big arms wrap around your frame, and holds you.

you hate the way your body folds so easily to his touch. it’s been an entire year, and despite your mind shouting at you for the intimacy you’re allowing to gallop right back into your life, your heart craves it. the sense of security his embrace offers you alone makes the least of sense, but you blindly lean into him, allowing yourself to be deluded for the time being. he won’t be yours as soon as this is over, so you might as well take the most advantage of the situation.

it takes a minute for either of you to speak. here you stood— half naked and legs sore, but still happily in his arms. his cologne is still as rich and dominating as it’d been all those times ago. he breaks the silence first, his chin resting above your shoulder, as he mumbles, “you really hurt my feelings, you know.”

to some degree, you know you did. about what exactly? you weren’t sure, but still, you offer him what you believe he wants, the realization leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, “i’m sorry.”

“‘s all good,” he kisses your cheek so tenderly that your neck cranes to the side to meet his gaze. gojo had always been so readable when it came to emotions, as he always wore his heart on his sleeve, but even with all the knowledge you knew about, you weren’t prepared for the look in his eyes. raw, unfiltered emotions. you only notice the close proximity between you both when your noses bump into one another. he shoots you a warm smile, “could never be upset with you. you hold that power over me.”

it’s you who kisses him first, and he returns the favour with more intensity. it’s an awkward positioning for your neck, but you don’t let up regardless of the ache in your joints. his mouth stays on yours as if you were his lifeline, tongues sloshing one over the other, brushing your lips together so gingerly.

in the midst of his tongue down your throat, he slips a hand in between your thighs, cupping at your abandoned pussy. the casual brush of his fingers at your core sent a breathy whine from your throat right into his mouth, and it only motivated him to work harder, rubbing slow patterns into your throbbing clit. your hips chase the feeling, riding the wave of his fingers.

he pulls away from your mouth, just barely, mumbling against your kiss bitten lips, “one of these days you’re gonna let me finish speaking,” followed by a knowing smile. sure, it could be seen as a flaw, but it was the only way you could protect yourself while keeping him within arm’s reach. never ready to have him but never prepared to let him go, “we can do that later— gotta blow your back out first.”

you couldn’t agree more.

it all happens so quickly— he retrieves his hand from between your thighs, having collected your juices at his fingertips, before lubricating his dick. he pumps at the length leisurely, his bottom lip tugged by his top row of teeth, and the groans he lets out are enough to have you squeezing your thighs eagerly, your cunt aching and ready to go. in the midst of your eagerness, you slip your hand behind you and catch his twitching cock, working your wrist right above his own, jerking him off.

a deep groan grumbles from his chest, and he instantly stops your hand from moving any further. you frown at his ceasing, but when you tilt your head to voice out your confusion, he offers a sheepish smile, “don’t wanna cum too soon,” ever the minute man, he was.

though, you soon find yourself regretting your own thoughts the very instant you feel the tip of his dick pushing past your entrance.

there’s a blended harmony of both your moans that bounces off the walls. his fingers dig deep into the flesh of your hips, holding onto you so tightly you’re positive you’ll bruise, and you clamp down on his intruding dick so tightly you’re positive you never want to let him go. the initial stretch is a feeling you’ll never get used to, but the sensation is all but unwanted.

“fuckkk, y/n,” he moans right into your ear, his voice so full of want, you can’t help but understand exactly where he’s coming from. he pulls his hips back, almost entirely, though his tip stays inside. it takes him a second to regroup, mumbling incoherent words under his breath, before he plunges back into your cunt.

and from that point on, it’s wraps. he fucks into you like a madman— as if he’d been punishing you for your crimes. punishing you for sleeping with another man. punishing you for leaving him a year and a half ago. punishing you for punishing him. his pace is ruthless— hips meeting your ass as fast as he’d pull out, pounding into your little hole to mould it into the shape of him.

he’s thick, this time on perverted shit.

you’re so painfully full of him, and despite your arms stretched outwards to grip at the sheets that had suffered more than enough of your abuse on them, your walls never let go of him. you don’t want him to pull out ever, utterly obsessed with the rough pace he set from the jump. it feels impossible keeping the curve of your back when the tip of his length repetitively attacks at your golden spots.

“ohmygoddd,” you words come out slurry, head lolling forward uselessly. if he kept fucking you like this, you weren’t going to let him leave again. stuck in an endless loop of bliss, with every thrust into your folds, his balls would slap at your clit and drive you insane, “y’re d-doing me s’gooddd,”

“yeah?” he eggs on, his voice as breathless as you’d been, though his pacing would never suggest so. there’s a hypnotic recoil of your ass bouncing back onto his pelvis that indulges him into disrupting it, delivering a new spank at your cheeks. you cry out at the feeling, and he strikes again, hips never letting up, “tell me more baby.”

you rise at your tip toes when you feel yourself sinking, legs giving out yet again. you hold yourself up at your elbows, a newfound confidence pushing your hips back to match his pace. when he heaves out a loud moan, you’re encouraged to keep going. the melody of your skins slapping against each other echoes into the stillness of the night, arching your back the further he plunges into your guts. you’re so turned on, the evidence creaming around the perimeter of his cock, easing the slides of his dick inside of you.

“toruuu,” you whine, too fucked out to notice your first mistake— calling him by his favorite nickname. at that given moment, you couldn’t care any less, the intense heat in your guts growing once more. the curve of his dick reaches spots you don’t think anybody could reach, almost as if he was made entirely for you, “you’re so big— can feel you, nghhh, everywhere!”

“that’s cause i am everywhere,” you think you can hear him smirking behind you. though, he has every right to feel entitled, with how much of a mess he’s reduced you to. he rolls his hips deep, a firm bulge forming into your tummy. as if he’s got a sixth sense or eye, he leans forward to rest his chest against your back— your eyes rolling back from the new angle. he slides a hand beneath your stomach and presses at the bulge hard. you can’t help the squeal you let out, “that’s me right there.”

you nod your head feverishly, the applied pressure on your stomach pushing his cock right at your cervix. oh god, he was going to kill you. what a wonderful way to go— all judgements clouded in favour of an eight inched dick penetrating your walls, “‘s all yours— mmh, always been.”

and that’d been your final mistake.

because the chuckle he lets out right into your ear is dark. the sounds shoot right up to your spine, shivers crawling up your back deliciously. he might as well be back stabbing you with how his cock plunged so sloppily out of your gaping cunt, “you always knew how to, fuck, pillowtalk,” he pants into your neck, his additional weight onto your shaking frame nothing short on welcoming. the hand pressing into your stomach lowers to your clit, and pinches meanly at the bud, “you know i’d, mmh, give you the world if you asked— my smart girl, shit.”

he’s so cruel, talking to you so lovingly despite it all. you tighten your eyes, in poor attempts to ignore the tenderness of the words fleeting his lips and focus instead on the stretch of your cunt down his dick. you feel yourself creaming on him, further proof of both your unison through his diabolical thrusts. he pinned you into place like this— unable to do anything but take what he gave you gratefully.

at a particular stroke at your abused golden spot, your body releases another tremor of shudders. it overtakes you from head to toe, a moan so ripe escaping your lips as you claw at ruined sheets. gojo works into aiming at that spot over and over again, each thrust more intense than the previous one. the change of his pace, slowing for a minute, draws you near the end of the line quicker than you’d anticipated.

“oh?” he grunts playfully, swaying his hips back and forth into your poor pussy. mercy is nowhere to be found, however, “you like it when i fuck you like this?” another agonizingly beautiful thrust at the same place, you can’t help but reward him with a cry. he’s fucking you into the damn mattress, and he has the balls to ask this question knowing the answer. still, you nod your head mutely, tears collecting at your lash line, and he nips at the skin on your jaw, “yeahhh you do.”

god, you do.

and suddenly, you can’t bring yourself to remember why you’d ever let go of dick this good. the kind that would have you taking the rubber off and considering finishing inside. the kind that had you babbling apologies for having done absolutely nothing wrong. the kind that made you begin to believe his careless whispers, empty promises to work things out.

in the midst of your delusions, he pulls you both back up from the bed, standing once again. at this new position, he reaches impossibly further into you, the difference in your heights making up for the inches he’s dug into you. his fingers dig in the column of your throat, the weight of his hand wrapped tightly at your neck. he’s everywhere at once, but simultaneously no where to be found. while you can feel his tip prodding at your most sensitive spot, you don’t feel the overwhelming force of love he once bore with open arms for you.

or was it you were feigning you don’t? because as he works himself back into you, at a pace so tender yet cruel, the line of boundaries you’d once set has been entirely deterred. a force so overwhelming, just like his entire being, bringing you right back to him as if you’d never left— nevermind the fact your thighs could barely support themselves, quaking pathetically. it was getting too much— everything was a lot.

“nahhh. . . don’t start running now.” you didn’t realize you were. the sheets are crumpled in your tight hold, while your other hand lightly pushes at his lower abdomen. you were a trooper, but there was only so much pleasurable torture you could handle. naturally, he pins your wrist at your spine to maintain his ruthless pace, and with another gentle yet cruelly empty promise, he coos, “not when i’ve just gotten you back.”

how the fuck did you get yourself in this mess?

oh right. . . tinder. you had a bone to pick with the ceo of that app right after you come back to your senses.

“i— i can’t,” you fumble at your words, the lack of oxygen catching up to you. you’re bound to his mercy— hands tied, breath nearly restricted, pussy obliterated, and yet, there’s nowhere else you’d want to be. the pressure on your throat lolls your head backwards, chin facing the ceiling as your eyes fall onto snowy lashes, “gonna cum again— oh fuckfuckfuck,”

and despite his brutality, he shoots you a sweet smile, the contrast in his words versus his actions grand, “right behind you, baby.”

you cum, and hard . much harder than you had before. you gush your fluids down his piercing cock, your folds squeezing him tight as you release. you think your mind blanks for a minute, an orgasm so powerful, you fear your eyes would stay stuck at the back of your skull. you shiver in his embrace, the insatiable desire racking your body from top to bottom.

when he pulls out, you fall flat yet again onto your stomach, face first. you assume you look like a puddle of nothingness, your limbs spent from the overexhaustion. but still, you find yourself in a similar position to prior, as gojo leans over your body, a hand holding him up as the other works on his jerking him cum out. smart move, not finishing inside, though a weird feeling of disappointment sits in your stomach, swapping the fiery heat from your orgasm.

he sinks his teeth into your shoulders as you wince, emptying himself right onto your lower back. it runs hot and smooth into the dimples of your back, that you can’t help but stretch your limp arm towards the mess to collect the residue on your fingers. you pop them into your mouth, his taste still so familiar as he plops right at your side, face up.

there’s a thick silence that fills the sex scented room. you wonder what is going through his brain now that the lust demon that was half his ego had been taken care of. was he on the same page as you were? had he realized just how messy this could turn out? he’s too quiet for a man of his nature— and that terrified you shitless. no matter the outcome, you’re ready to kick him out. post nut clarity was a scary thing— it revealed the violent truth of how tempting the flesh could be, even with consequences on the line.

you want to beat him to it. the last thing you need on your consciousness is your ex boyfriend who’d you invited into your home a year after you broke up with him, leaving you. he seemed petty enough to do the eye for an eye shtick— it wasn’t too out of character for him.

with a heavy heart and sigh, you turn your head to the side where he lays comfortably. the words want to die in your throat, but your urge them out, the sooner the better, “you should—”

“no.” he interrupts, followed by a yawn.

you frown at that, brows scrunching as you insist that yet again, “you need to—”

“nah.” gojo cuts you off yet again, rolling onto his side. his dick falls limp onto your bed, and you don’t think about the mess it’s making. to be fair, you’d done far worse. and it was proven difficult to care about that mess when he brought a finger to play with your loose hairs, cerulean eyes zeroing in on them, “i’m tired. let’s get you cleaned up and go to bed.”

“you’re not listening to me.” you click your tongue, a little desperate to have him hear you. you’re scared to keep him around longer, because you know you’ll grow attached again and that already ended terribly once, and took you forever and a half to get over. he has to leave and right now, “you have to go.”

gojo hums at that. he stops the twirling of your hair, rather reluctantly, and finally meets your sharp gaze. he still looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, “why?”

you narrow your eyes, “you know why,” you shouldn’t have to explain why two exes cozying up after indulging into each other was a bad idea. common sense, you figured, but was it common sense to have him over in the first place? a flurry of various emotions coursing over you laced with exhaustion had you overthinking like a motherfucker, “this was a bad idea.”

he trails his finger along the slope of your clenched jaw, and you don’t think about the fact it immediately relaxed at his touch. the longer he traced your skin, the longer he kept looking at you like that, you were wavering in your own logic. you’d both gotten what you wanted in the first place, so why was it he was still here? the rational decision would be to pretend this never happened and part ways again, but why was the thought of him locking the door behind him once again at your expense making you feel sick to your stomach?

when his finger lands at your pouty lips, he taps his index finger twice against the flesh. naturally, your pout deepens. his eyes flick from your mouth to your shying gaze, and his index swaps for his thumb. he runs the pad of his finger across the reddened surface, and his voice falls a few octaves lower, hushed for nobody else but you to hear, “you don’t want me to leave.”

you don’t.

he takes your silence as acceptance, and plants a soft kiss to your lips. it’s enough to rid your mind of its plaguing doubts in the meanwhile. and when his hand slides to cup at the back of your neck, ultimately deepening it, you can’t find it in you to care about the consequences for the time being. not when he was swallowing you whole like he was the one terrified to feel you slip from his fingers. you melt into him far too easily.

well. . . that was something you’d deal with in the morning.

tinder: 1, you: 0.

now can y’all stop calling me a deadbeat 🙎‍♂️

gojo fans, we must embrace our roots.