Gojo Would 100% Be That Over-the-top, Chronically Online Boyfriend, The Kind Who Turns Every Mundane

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 🙎‍♂️

𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚌𝚎

pairing: hockey player!katsuki x trainer!reader

warnings: cussing, tensions, bakugou kinda being very forward

notes: hockey player katsuki save me 🤤

what started as teasing texts between the star hockey player and the team's trainer turns into late-night tension and feelings neither of you want to name

me when a bad bitch tells me to do something

No Strings Attached

Chapter 1

Nerd Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

18+ ONLY, MDNI

Synopsis: You and Satoru Gojo have been inseparable for as long as you could remember. However, for most of those years, you’ve been head over heels in love with him. Despite your one-sided feelings, you’ve successfully managed to keep your friendship strictly platonic. At least you had, until the day he asked you to hook up — with no strings attached, of course.

A/N: This story is intended to be a miniseries and for now is only planned for five chapters. However if there’s enough interest, I have enough plotted out to make this a full length fic.

CW: Unprotected sex, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, creampie

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” You didn’t need to see your face to know how appalled you must look.

You and Satoru Gojo had been inseparable since childhood. From bandaging each other’s scraped knees on playgrounds to cleaning up one another’s vomit after drinking too much at college parties, the two of you had been through it all together. There wasn’t much you didn’t know about the other, yet nothing could’ve prepared you for what he had just said.

Satoru immediately averted his eyes down towards his picked-through dinner on the counter, moving the takeout rice around with a pair of disposable bamboo chopsticks. Blushing would be an understatement. A deep red hue stretched across the entirety of his face.

“I was wondering if, uh,” his voice began to falter as he was quickly losing confidence, something wildly uncharacteristic of him. “If, uh, you wanted to hook up with me.”

“Wh—“

“You know what, forget I said anything,” his flustered voice cutting you off before you could get a single syllable out. He tossed the chopsticks somewhere to the side before pushing himself off the barstool and began rushing back towards his room.

You immediately jumped up to follow him and practically had to run to catch up. Lunging forward, you latched onto his arm before he could cross the threshold to his room.

“Please, Satoru, just wait,” you pleaded with him. “I just wanted to know where this is coming from, that’s all.”

He still refused to make direct eye contact with you, instead focusing his gaze on the hallway wall in your shared apartment. The tip of his left foot rapidly tapped against the tile floor. Though you couldn’t hear his heartbeat, you imagined it currently sounded much the same.

“It’s just I haven’t really dated anyone since we started university.” He reached his free arm up, scratching the back of his neck as his voice strained. “I kind of wanted to try getting back out there, and I’m just feeling a little, you know—“

“Inexperienced?”

He just nodded his head in response. Finally he peeled his eyes away from the wall and actually looked at you for the first time since bringing it up.

White eyelashes softly framed his remarkable cerulean eyes while his snowy strands gently fell down his forehead and grazed the bronze upper rim of his glasses. Satoru was truly one of the most beautiful men you had ever seen, and anyone who met him felt similarly. Everywhere the two of you went, girls had always relentlessly thrown themselves at him. However, it wasn’t shocking to you that he considered himself unexperienced in that area. Dating had always taken a backseat in his life, with the majority of his focus solely on school and his studies.

For the better part of a decade, you had harbored deep-rooted feelings for your best friend. You often brushed it off as nothing more than infatuation or a harmless crush, but you knew the feelings you had felt were something far more. All of your mutual friends figured it out long ago, but you had successfully pleaded with them to stay quiet. No matter how much you loved him, your friendship would always take precedence. The fear of possibly ruining what you two shared paralyzed you from ever attempting to take things a step further.

It took years for you to finally get over him, and it had hurt every single step of the way. You knew you shouldn’t even entertain the idea, yet you couldn’t stop yourself as you slowly lowered your gaze from his. Your eyes were now resting on his alluring lips.

“Anyways, can we please just forget I brought this up? I’m sorry if I made you feel—“

Every rational part of you screamed out to stop, but you knew that somewhere deep within was a part of you that never truly got over him and likely never would. It clawed and fought its way to the forefront as you pushed up to your tiptoes and crashed your lips onto his, stopping him before he could even finish his sentence.

He stumbled backwards, and you didn’t even need to open your eyes to know he was shocked at your sudden gesture. However, his lips never parted from yours. Within a few short seconds, he was slithering his arm around your back, pulling you in closer. His lips were soft and supple, slotting perfectly between yours like the two of you had been created solely for each other.

This exact moment had played through your mind a million times over throughout your years as friends. A culmination of almost a decade’s worth of longing and love, even if it had been one-sided. It was everything you had dreamed of and more. Even if it ended now and the fallout was one of flames, you don’t think you’d regret kissing him.

You gently broke the kiss and brought your hand up to his cheek, your breath ricocheting off his lips. “Shyness doesn’t suit you, Satoru.” Your voice was nothing more than a whisper.

A gentle smile pulled up at the corners of his lips as he brought them back to yours once more, this time just a soft peck. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“If we go through with this, what would that mean for us?”

“Nothing would change, I promise,” he hurriedly reassured you. “No pressure, no awkwardness, no strings attached at all.”

It was the answer you needed to hear, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. You felt like a piece of your heart splintered off at the stark reminder he’d never see you as anything more than a friend. It was obvious what you should do, apologize for the misstep and excuse yourself from the situation. However, no matter how much your heart ached, you couldn’t pull away.

“No strings attached,” you whispered back with an enthusiastic nod.

He slipped his hand into yours as he gently tugged you into his room. His nervousness, for the most part, had eased since you had agreed, but it was evident some remained. You gave his hand a soft squeeze as he led you towards his bed.

The soft white comforter creased underneath you as you sat on the edge. Satoru wasted no time as he crawled on top of you, his knee resting between your thighs. His lips reconnected with yours as he slid you further on the bed, softly laying you on your back. Every movement he made was slow and deliberate, like you were made of glass.

He slightly parted his mouth and began tracing his tongue against your bottom lip. You opened yours in turn, granting him the permission he was seeking. His hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, gliding up your abdomen. Your tongues rolled against one another as he edged his fingers up towards your chest.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He pulled away, asking breathlessly.

You locked eyes with him. “I want you, Satoru.”

That was all he needed. He leaned back, and in one fluid motion, his shirt was off and on the floor.

You traced every inch of his abdomen with your gaze. His muscular body looked like it had been hand-carved from stone. Every inch of him was truly a masterpiece.

“You must like what you see.” Your staring must’ve been apparent, as you could hear a teasing smirk in his voice.

Now that was the Satoru you were accustomed to. To think the confident, headstrong man you knew and loved was a blubbering mess just minutes prior. He must’ve taken what you said about his shyness to heart.

You didn’t reply, but instead leaned up and grabbed the bottom of your shirt, lifting it over your head and tossing it onto the floor. His eyes went directly to your chest, and now it was his turn to stare.

“Like what you see?” Your voice lightened as you couldn’t resist the chance to tease him back.

He quickly reached his arms around your back and unhooked your bra’s clasp.

“I do,” he purred as he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as he began sucking, his tongue encircling the hard tip. His hand slid up to your other nipple and began massaging it between his index finger and thumb.

You bucked your hips upwards into his. You were already embarrassingly wet and desperately seeking some sort of touch. The now noticeable bulge in his pants rubbed against you and pulled a loud groan from his throat at the contact.

Retracting both his mouth and hands from your breasts, he began sinking downwards. His lips left a trail of kisses down your abdomen as his nimble fingers sunk to the button of your pants. You lifted your hips as soon as he popped open the button, allowing him to free you from their confines with ease.

Your panties immediately followed, and without hesitation, he was spreading your legs wide. A single finger gently caressed your opening, gathering your slick before dragging itself up to your clit. You threw your head back into the pillow as his finger began stroking the bundle of nerves painstakingly slow. A string of moans and whimpers escaped your lips as he continued to stroke you.

“Satoru,” you called out, the whine in your voice betraying your desperation.

He instantly replaced the finger with his tongue. The muscle began lapping and circling your clit between gentle sucks. He slowly sunk a single finger in your entrance. Reflexively, you reached down and intertwined your fingers with his silky strands. A second finger slipped inside you, and he curled them both upwards, hitting just the right spot.

His name repeatedly tumbled off your tongue like a prayer between your moans. You could feel a pressure building inside you, ready to snap at any moment. Your thighs began to tremble as you neared your climax.

You cried out his name one more time, followed by a string of curses as pure ecstasy coursed through your veins. He continued as you rode out your release, not pulling away until he was sure you were finished.

Satoru removed his fingers before climbing back up to you, planting a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth. “You sound so pretty,” he murmured before moving his lips down your jawline and onto your neck.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, gently pushing him back before reaching for his waistband. Stroking him through the fabric, you coaxed a low groan from him before sliding your fingers in front of the button. You popped it open, allowing him to kick off his pants, and his boxers immediately followed.

His hard cock sprung free, and you had to restrain yourself from physically reacting, because fuck, is he massive. A trail of soft hair, matching the alabaster strands atop his head, led down from his bellybutton to the base. A thick vein snaked its way up the center until it reached his fat, swollen tip that was leaking a bead of clear fluid.

You leaned forward, reaching for his erection, but he gently swatted your hand away.

“This is supposed to be me finding out what makes you feel good.” The words dripped from his mouth like honey as he lined himself up with your entrance.

Satoru gently pushed his tip in, pulling a soft cry from your throat. The feeling was intoxicating as he continued to sink himself into you. It was a smooth, slow movement, allowing your walls to stretch around him. As soon as the head kissed your cervix, he placed both of his hands on either side of your head, staring down at you as he began rocking back and forth.

His pace was leisurely as he stared down at you, only breaking eye contact to pepper your face with the occasional kiss. The position was personal and far too intimate for what was happening. He wasn’t looking at you like a friend he just wanted to fuck. His face appeared to adorn a look of neither lust nor desire, but something else you couldn’t place.

You couldn’t bear to read further into the situation than what was actually there. Getting your hopes up for something like that would only cause you more pain down the line. You needed to remedy the situation quickly.

You reached up towards his hand and gently gripped it before dragging it down towards your clit. His thumb began stroking you once more, drawing tight circles counter-clockwise as he slowly pulled himself in and out of your sopping cunt. You reflexively arched into him before wrapping your legs around his waist.

“You feel so good, Satoru,” you whined, pushing your hips up against him repeatedly. He caught your hint and significantly picked up the pace, his thrusts growing quicker and rougher. His eyes no longer interlocked with yours as he tossed his head back, groans and moans tumbling from him repeatedly.

His second hand pulled from where it was next to your face and instead gripped down on your hip. A searing heat spread across your lower body as your second orgasm began to approach. His cock repeatedly hitting that sweet spot deep within you while he stroked your already overstimulated clit easily pushed you over the edge.

Your cunt throbbed around him, prompting him to curse under his breath as his movements began growing more erratic. He was close.

“Where?” Satoru choked out between breaths, his voice strangled.

“Anywhere,” was all you could muster up.

He thrust again, ramming his tip into your cervix as he buried himself as deep as possible. His cock began throbbing within you as warm, white ropes painted the inside of your cunt. His body shuddered as he rode out the remainder of his climax with a couple more lazy strokes.

Satoru collapsed on top of you, still not pulling out. His head nuzzled into the crook of your neck for a brief moment before he angled his face to glance up at you.

“Any notes? Or criticism?” His voice betrayed his exhaustion, yet he managed to keep his tone light and playful.

You look down with half-lidded eyes, absolutely spent from what just occurred. “No, it was great.”

Reaching up, you gently ran your fingers through his hair, absentmindedly stroking as he continued to stare back at you. A soft smile grew on his lips, and that familiar look from earlier returned. You could feel your stomach drop at the sight, because you knew your feelings couldn’t come back from this.

At some point your face must’ve shifted, because Satoru’s smile fell and was promptly replaced with a pout accompanied by furrowed brows. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m just exhausted.” You hoped your half-assed lie would be enough to get by.

“You look upset,” his pout grew. “Don’t worry about things getting weird between us. Remember, there are no strings attached.”

You could feel your heart ache as you forced a smile the best you could, returning his gaze. “No strings attached.”

You were fucked.

chapter index

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gojo satoru x reader || hogwarts au (18+)

wonderwall chp.6 unravelling whispers

✼pairing: hogwarts au - slytherin!gojo x ravenclaw!reader

✼summary: gojo satoru, the golden boy of a famous family lineage of wizards sets his sights on you, a half blood defying his pureblood morals. he makes it a goal in his life to make yours a living hell. years of endless pestering, teasing and rivalry stretching out. as times goes on, he finds himself thinking about you more than he isn’t. he grows torn between his family’s beliefs and the forbidden ache tickling his chest whenever he sees you

✼meaning: wonderwall - the person you cannot stop thinking about (song by oasis)

✼genre/tags: hogwarts au, female reader, strangers to enemies/sort of academic rivals to forbidden lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut, pining and yearning (mostly gojo), built up tension, teasing, bickering and pestering, jealousy, slightly spoiled gojo, obsessed and lovesick gojo, both are pretty oblivious to their feelings

✼warnings: discrimination, death, grief, shitty parents, light bullying, mentions of hook ups, sexual topics, family pressure and trauma, mentions of injuries and violence, degradation, mentions of political views, escalating political situation, lgbtq representation, cheating

✼word count: 10.9k

✼chapter: 6/?

a/n: hii! hope you’re enjoying the story so far. for some reason this chapter was the hardest one to come up with cause i had to do a lot of thinking and planning as it’s kinda critical for where the story will go lol, but i think i got it now. my graduation process is starting soon though:< next week i am doing the first part, it’s similar to an essay (one in my native language, second in english) so not entirely sure how much time i will have. this chapter is a bit longer so lemme know if u mind;)

based on this // previous chapter // next chapter (pending…)

˚⟡˖ ࣪: link to playlist

˚⟡˖ ࣪: link to vision-board

Things shifted since the attack took place during the Quidditch World Cup. People’s anxiety skyrocketed and hush of whispers started swirling through the wizarding world. Rumours spread like a plague, and who was to distinguish the truth from false accusations? It was unknown whenever what people have been gossiping about was actually something to worry about or not. It had you on edge and the majority of population as well. You had a first seat at watching the situation unfold due to your mother’s position. Meetings were held, discussing the events of the warm July night, when the Death Eaters appeared and robbed fellow wizards of life. It was unclear what the goal of their attack was. To the Ministry of Magic and to everyone else. Most of the members who initiated the terror only escaped Azkaban the previous night, the news of it reaching The Daily Prophet days later. The government didn’t want to cause a mayhem of panic, because they didn’t particularly know how it might’ve happened. How they let it happen. But they couldn’t hold the information private for long at the end of the day. It would only escalate the situation.

Elections are also itching closer day by day as spring is couple of months away and their turn out will most definitely determine the future. Multiple parties enrolled in participating, nonetheless, it comes down to simply two of them which have a real chance at winning.

The liberals against the conservatives. As it always have been.

If the conservatives would win in the spring, which isn’t an unrealistic scenario, the world would be send spiralling centuries back in time. That would reserve in lawful precautions concerning those who have already committed the “crime” of marriage with a muggle or those wizards born into muggle families.

As much as the popularity of the conservative party didn’t start out promisingly, they managed to transform their somewhat unimpressive start into a worthy competition against the liberal party over the years due to their clandestine campaign. One which started the summer before your fifth year, in the muggle born while you were strolling down the street with your father by your side, completely unbeknownst to what was yet to come.

And of course, the Gojo’s have to have their fill in all of it. Since the conservative’s views stand for the pureblood utopia, the very first brick of the ideal beliefs, they are hooked onto the party and many others as well.

At first, when the speculations about the Death Eaters regrouping seized the daylight in your sixth year, people casted the possibility aside.

Out of fear.

Well, they clearly shouldn’t have.

The attack proved it, and with that a gnawing sensation that the conservative party and the Death Eaters might be connected swallowed you during the break and spat you out totally spent, frightened at the image.

It sparked more suspicion in your system. You haven’t had a proper peaceful day since you returned home from the tournament. You wrote to Arabella back and forth, recalling the circumstances of your shared weekend. It was impossible to stop wondering, especially if the white haired wizard you grew to hate over the years could possibly be involved. A mixture of thoughts courses throughout your mind. A part of you hopes he isn’t responsible for anything. For his own good, but given his family name — it was never not a possibility.

The situation somewhat concerns you, for the sake of your mother and friends at least. You can’t comprehend people are actually considering voting for the party, so many of them too. It baffles you. Their stupidity and apathy for those who weren’t as fortunate to be born into wizarding families, or to those who have been struck by an arrow of love and chose to marry a muggle.

The world is on the verge of undeniable change, put simply.

For the better or for the worse?

That is yet to be decided.

Your mother distinctly refuses to share anything with you which angers you, because it feels like she is discarding you. On the other hand, it’s understandable. However, the situation is taking a significant tool on her and you simply wanted to offer her a shoulder to rest on.

Overall, you respect her decision to stay professional about it though, and haven’t spoken of the night ever again. Unless she questioned you for details.

You know you should probably be glad, yet, something can’t let you have peace. And as if all of that isn’t enough, your father’s health went downhill and the political situation sadly keeps your mother from going abroad with him. To support him during his treatment. Otherwise, her position would be put at great risk. The conservatives would be willing to sacrifice anything to get your mother out of the office and place someone of their own as the Auror.

Another thing which the conservatives wished for, was to take after Hogwarts and replace the headmaster with someone who wouldn’t be against filling the young wizards with their dangerous poison.

Exchanging the headmaster would mean Hogwarts would never be the same again.

Even though you guessed your idea of leaving with your father would be out of the question, you asked anyway. Your father was flattered, a warm hue of affection captivating his chest at your generosity. Of course he declined and your mother scolded you, reminding you of all your responsibilities here at home.

School, right. You have to finish it.

Still, as you bid a goodbye to your father at the train station, when he was leaving, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt and a overbearing sense that something is wrong.

For Satoru Gojo the world’s situation isn’t a mystery at all. His mind isn’t being flooded with numerous of possibilities, he knows the structure of plans for the future. The moment his childhood dissolved and adulthood struck, his destiny was sealed. Since the moment his eyes fluttered open as he was born into this world, simply one thing was sought from him. To follow. Follow his family’s footsteps and submerge into whatever deal that is considered to be in alignment with their views.

He didn’t have a choice. Not really.

It was the summer before your fifth year, or was it before the fourth? He couldn’t exactly remember. All he knows is that it was the one, when he saw you for the first time outside of the school’s walls. He and his family were headed to that stupid meeting held in the muggle world. Back then, he had no idea what the outcome of it would be like. Initially it was meant to stay at low number of supporters, however, his father’s cunning and constructed ways spread the news carefully, avoiding The Ministry until he allowed it to come to the surface as a shocking blow.

And indeed a blow it was.

Satoru didn’t see any future in his father’s ideas in then beginning, he didn’t put any hopes into his chances of success as it wasn’t something he necessarily cared for. Even now, it’s not something he’s necessarily fond of. He oh so desperately wanted the approval of his father and joining his party was the easiest way to achieve it, he didn’t think there would be consequences such as bizarre. In spite of that, it took him by a chokehold, when the numbers outgrew even his father’s expectations over the upcoming years. He can’t back down now, he is glued to the plan and has a place established in the party.

And as a member, he has to serve and prove his dedication as everyone else. The start of his descent into the abyss of darkness started out at the start of summer break. Last one before your journeys at Hogwarts will be finished.

It was the first summer he enjoyed. Or at least the start of it. Seeing you over that small duration of the weekend woke something within him. It didn’t come all at once, like some dramatic revelation. There was no sudden, gasping realization, no cinematic montage of every moment leading up to it. It was quieter than that, it was subtle — like the tide coming in.

Not new, not sudden.

Just something that had been waiting there all along, patient and steady, until he was finally ready to see it.

And what he did see, he tried to cowardly push it away throughout the entire weekend, regardless of how strong the urge to be near you had him twitching. He wasn’t there for you after all. He had a mission to accomplish, creating an opening for the Death Eaters to crash the tournament unnoticed. They truly joined the conservative party lead by his father, they were one of the first to do so. His father also being responsible for the escape of the Azkaban prisoners.

Satoru scanned over the terror, when his job was successfully done. A sudden regret spiked through him, eyes gliding as guilty gagged him.

And it was barely the start.

Originally, he was instructed to come straight home afterwards, leaving everyone behind. Yet, a worry that you might’ve been hurt or worse acted for him. The white haired starlet caused himself an injury, covering up anything which could paint him suspicious in your eyes and went straight to the hill, where he was met with the image of you and Arabella. Immense relief wrapped around him.

The realisation of the effect you had on him scared him out of his mind. He contemplated a lot and proceeded to shove his feelings back into the depths of his existence, locking them away behind an unyielding wall of duty. Regret, fear, longing — none of it matters. His family must come first. Always. Whatever part of him protests, it’s ignored, buried where it can’t interfere with his role.

Maybe one day, he’ll dig it back up. Maybe. But not any time soon.

Or at least that’s what he thought. Because now, as he pushes through the long hallway of the train, full of cabins bustling with joyful laughter as students fill each other in on their summer experience, uncertainty devours him. He and his friends came too late to find seats somewhere near each other, because most cabins are already filled to the brim. So his eyes scan each cabin he passes, looking for a place to sit during his last ride to the castle, and partially to capture a glimpse of you.

Eventually, he does manage to stumble across a free seat in the back of the train. And as he steps inside, he’s immediately hit with a sway of plums and jasmine dragging up his nostrils. The smell so familiar that it doesn’t take him long to label it, even before his sense registered your presence seated in the window seat, he knew. A smell, which stuck to him and one he can’t seem to get rid of due to a popular potion,

It feels awkward. The last time he saw you, he was a completely different person. This is also the first time you’re eye to eye since the moment your mother accompanied him home and God, how slowly the time seeped through his fingers. It’s like years stretched out in between you instead of weeks. A part of him, his heart, jumps at your imagine plastered in front of him full in flesh, while the rest is ignited with the urge to turn around and storm out of the cabin. He, too, thinks about greeting you and your friends. However, he resinates from that and simply sits down onto the seat closest to an exit.

His gaze doesn’t dare to slide over to your seat, but he can practically feel you rolling your eyes at his dismissive approach, similar to the first time you two had met in this particular train. He preferably stares through the cabin door, looking out the window there. His hand cupping the side of his face as he leans into it, pretending as if none of you are there. He’s aware it portrays him as a jerk, and perhaps that’s what he needs to do in order to cut out the shape of you from his mind.

Of course, his will isn’t strong as steel so he does occasionally glance your way and makes it out as if he’s rather scanning the scenery than doing anything remotely similar to acknowledging you. His orbs flicker over the greenland out the window, your reflection haunting the corner of the glass and stealing his attention.

Your head is leaned into the cushioned seat as you grip your book, eyes focused on the words printed on the paper with ink. Arabella’s head is resting at your shoulder, unconscious and drowning in sleep. You are different. Taller, poised in a way that came not from effort, but from time itself and your hair is slightly shortened. The softness of your features had sharpened into definition, your eyes holding something deeper, more knowing. People change when you aren’t looking or more precisely, when you are dumbfounded to it happening before your own eyes. That happened with you and with the thought, he becomes aware of how much time has passed.

The feeling suffocating his chest is unpleasant, heavy and raw. He proceeds to do what does the best, look away and pretend.

Although he’s so conflicted.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

The seventh year contained the most important exams given at Hogwarts based on those subjects that you had started taking in your sixth year. The entirety of your year carries the same schedule you had in the sixth year, these last months supposedly serving as a preparation for those exams which are meant to send you off into the real world.

And because of a special arrangement between the school and various other places around the world, students who have reached this stage of their education are offered the opportunity to explore various wizarding professions first-hand by signing up for an internship programme in the second half of the year.

Lastly, every year, a male and female seventh year student are appointed as Head boy and Head girl. Respectively by the headmaster and it turned out to be you for the house of Ravenclaw. The reason for the decision of choosing you are your outstanding grades and sense of responsibility.

However, your mind isn’t set on school or graduation at the moment. You’re still severely pondering about the events which occurred and quite lack your usual drive to be overly good, the position of Head girl adds a layer to your mountain of worries and things to take care of.

You wish someone else would’ve been chosen instead of you.

But right now, in this moment, nothing matters as you stand in front of the great body of water, side by side with your friends. The lake stretches out like a dark mirror, its surface shimmering under the silver glow of a nearly full moon. The air is still warm, the last whispers of summer lingering in the early September night. Crickets hum softly in the tall grass along the shore, blending with the occasional splash of water. Everything feels alive. Pulsing with energy that makes your heart race just a tad faster.

You now stand waist-deep in the water, feeling it lap against her skin, cool but welcoming. You shift your weight, which makes the moon’s reflection distort on the surface and it dances on it like a liquid silver. The night sky stretches above you, velvety and endless. Stars are scattered like tiny, watchful eyes. There is something mesmerising about the simple moment which is tainted with forbiddance — something that makes you feel as if you have stepped into a dream, weightless and unbothered from the rest of the world.

The twins, Arabella and Margaret linger at the shore, their legs tapping into the water. You watch them for a moment, their silhouettes dark against the moonlit water, before a mischievous grin spreads across your face. Without warning, you raises your arms and slap the water hard, sending a spray of droplets their way. The moonlight caresses them and then they fall back, pattering against the surface in a chorus of ripples. Your friends squeal and laugh, their laughter rising like music into the night.

“The water’s warm! Come on!” you yell out with a snicker, waving your hands to urge them to dive in. It takes them a moment of hesitation, but they eventually dip their bodies into the lake.

You then tilt your head back, closing your eyes for a brief moment, letting it all wash over you — the laughter, the water clinging to your skin, the electric thrill of the fact you shouldn’t be here. There is something perfect about this moment, something you know you’ll hold onto long after the leaves change colour. A perfect farewell to summer.

“This is what you get!” the strawberry blonde says without a warning and before you can process it, she dunks your head under the surface, holding it there for a moment. When you reach the surface again, you’re gasping for air and coughing up the water you inhaled while uncontrollably laughing at her attempt to get back at you.

“Ah, since you wanna play this game,” you smirk playfully with droplets of water streaming down your face. You cup water into your palms, splashing it into Arabella and then doing the same with the twins and Margaret.

“I didn’t wanna get my hair wet!” One of the twins mumbles into the darkness as she tries to shake off the water that had just been thrown at her. Her tone suggests she’s annoyed, however, her smile tells a completely different story.

And that’s how a war unleashes upon you.

Hands slap the surface, sending arcs of sparkling droplets into the air. Arabella shrieks as a cool splash hits their back, spinning around with a grin, planning a comeback. Waves ripple outward as you chase each other, half-swimming, half-stumbling in the shallows. Sprouts of water fleeing in the air, reflecting the moonlight, meanwhile laughter fills the hollow space of the night. And when the thrill of doing something so forbidden and sacred dies down, your conversation takes another turn. A turn regarding the state of the wizarding world.

It’s the first time you’re seeing each other at the same time after the fateful weekend, so there’s a lot to unpack. Each of you fill the others on what went on during your break, the chatter carrying an echo of bitterness due to the fact the world has managed to deform while you were away for the summer. All four of you knew it, the conspiracies of what is about to come corrupting your light conversation.

One was clear, everyone was somewhat worried.

“You know, I can’t believe we’re here not even a week and they’re already making us learn about The Unforgivable Curses,” the younger of the twins hums after you’re done sharing the events of your last school break, taking you all by surprise.

It was true. On the first class of defence against the dark arts, you were acquainted with them. With how to prepare for them, resist some of them and fight them. Since The Unforgivable Curses are three of the most powerful yet sinister spells known to the wizarding world. They’re the strongest Dark spells in existence, consisting of three of them.

Avada Kedavra — kills the victim painlessly, bringing instant death.

Crucio — tortures the victim by subjecting them to excruciating pain.

Imperio — causes the victim to become unquestioningly obedient to the caster, however, with enough willpower this spell can be resisted.

And using any of the three can lend you a one way ticket to Azkaban if you are caught using them.

Your entire class sat in silence during the whole lesson.

“Are you surprised? With what’s happening?” her older sister chimes in immediately and shoots her a sympathetic look since it’s clearly bothering her. The younger twin glues her orbs to her fingers which are dwindling with the mild water.

“They aren’t teaching us how to use them, simply how to defend ourselves,” you decide to join the conversation, making an attempt at calming her raging nerves. That makes her look up from the surface of the water.

“I-, what I meant is that I hope they’re over-exaggerating,” the younger twin stutters and stumbles across her words, nodding at your words in approval.

“Same,” Arabella whispers and then it’s silent.

When you can no longer take it, you dive beneath the surface with your eyes fluttered shut and like magic, it makes the world go quiet. Cool liquid folds around your entire body, weightless and slow, as if time itself has decided to pause. The only thing which you can hear is the sound of your own held up breath and a familiar ringing in your eyes. You manage to open your eyes, simply to be met with complete darkness, regardless of that, it comforts you instead of scaring you off like it usually would. The chaos of the world fades into nothingness. Tiny bubbles escape from your lips, spiraling upward as the water calms your nerves, cradling them. Here, in the hushed embrace of the deep, there is nothing but peace.

Moment later, you’re once again brought back to surface, dragging wet strands of hair out of your face. You blink quickly to adjust your gaze back and then you’re met with the sight of your friends floating on their backs, some open eyed staring at the night sky, and some lost in their own world with eyes closed. You hum softly, smiling to yourself as you catch a glimpse of Arabella and Margaret with their hands intertwined in the water before copying them, lying onto the body of water. Letting it hold you, letting it caress the sides of your face and letting it fill up your ears, numbing your senses.

“Guys, look, it’s a lantern,” the sound of Margaret’s voice makes you twitch, your head dunking into water in the sudden shift of your body weight. You hurriedly compose yourself and look towards the castle. And indeed see a small flickering light in the distance.

“I bet my wand it’s Flinch,” Arabella is swift to assume.

“Quick,” you mumble and all of you share a fleeting panicked look. You’re the first to begin to drag your body out of the lake, the weight of the water heavy as you near the shore.

When you reach it, you clumsily slide your body into your robe, not having enough time to layer more clothing. You grab the rest of the clothes, shoes and wand meanwhile everyone else is eagerly doing the same. Once you have your things gathered, the five of you start to sprint, making your way around the castle towards the Greenhouse.

“Shit, I forgot my tie. He’s gonna know someone was there,” Margaret stops, mumbling out of breath. Her palms rest on her knees as she’s bending down a little to catch her breath. The remaining four of you share a glance, unsure of what to do as your lungs heave.

“Go, I’ll get it,” you let out weakly, taking couple of deep breaths yourself and then proceed to shove the pair of your shoes and clothes into Arabella’s chest. You don’t let them protest, because in a split of a second, you’re sprinting all the way back down to the lake. You ponder if you chose the right thing as you make your way, fast as a thunderbolt. The quidditch practices have certainly paid off and for the first time you’re glad for all of the laps you had to run.

When you reach the spot where you were, the lantern is creeping dangerously close. You curse under your breath helplessly as you survey the area, the tie nowhere in sight. You begin to grow anxious, worried you’re about be caught and stripped of your position as the Head girl. It wasn’t something you longed to be, but you didn’t want to disappoint the headmaster who picked you out of all your fellow seventh year’s Ravenclaws.

Just as you think all is lost, you fish out the green tie of the Slytherin house out of the mud on the very edge of the shore. Your triumph is quick to deflate, because footsteps can already be heard. Panic freezes you, causing your gaze to dart in all directions, not sure where to bolt.

After chaotic contemplation, you’re strongly urged to hide your frame behind the rocks nearby. You squat down, your robe getting drenched in the water. You then place a palm over your mouth to quiet down your needy breathing. The footsteps are now bathing in the mud near the shore. Cold sweat washes over you, fingers gripping the dirty green tie you’ve come back to retrieve.

The sound of metal echoes in the air as Flinch sways the lantern, looking for any signs of intrusion. You press your back into the rocks as a light yet chilly breeze ruffles around, making you shiver as your drenched robe sticks to your body. Flinch calls out, asking if anyone is present and his musky voice forces you to stop breathing, despite the burning from the running.

His footsteps soon start to fade into the distance again, and you can finally let out all the air build up in your lungs. Relief swallows you, regardless of the fact he’s heading towards the Greenhouse, which means you’re gonna have to take another route to get into your dorm-room.

You carefully straighten your figure and map out the surroundings, Flinch already distant enough for you to take your chance and escape. Your feet rush and take you to the edge of The Forbidden forest. It most definitely isn’t your favourite place, it always gives you the creeps, however, it is the best spot. If someone were to spot you, you could easily slip in between the trees and hide yourself.

Lingering around the outline of the forest was your general idea, so you went with it. Muscles twitching in pain from the sprinting. The exhaustion wraps you in a welcoming cloak, your eyelids heavy as you stroll through the long way, weird alluring presence of the forest, or rather what’s in it, seizing you.

A twig snaps in the background and it makes you abruptly turn around, wand ready to strike in your tight grip.

“Do you point your wand at everyone or just me?”

A voice you know all too well calls out, his hands lifted in air, portraying surrender.

An avalanche of suspicion tickles you as your gaze sticks to him.

“God, you scared me,” you heavily breathe out and with hesitation place the wand into the inner pocket of your robe. You cling the robe close to your body, when his gaze lightly falters down your figure as you put away your wand. Only then realising the robe is the only layer of clothing shielding you.

Neither of you speak of it.

“What are you doing here?” you ask neutrally, voicing out what you’ve been thinking the second you recognised his ball of white hair, impossible to miss even in the darkness.

“Could ask you the same, precious,” he purrs playfully and it catches you off guard. His nickname for you which you preferably ignore. The way he so effortlessly bites back as if it were the easiest thing in the world, waking up the familiar sense of irritation in your system. But deep down, you know he’s right. It isn’t common to wander around at such an hour and especially not so close to The Forbidden forest.

“You’re lurking,” you suggest, crossing your arms at your chest while still holding the robe together to avoid the mistake you had made moments ago.

“Keeping tabs on me?” the white haired wizard arches his eyebrow at you, stepping closer as a smirk decorates his lips. Not a surprise.

“Merely stating the obvious,” you shrug and instead of giving him the satisfaction of displaying your anger, you remain somewhat nonchalant.

“You sure wander around a lot for Head girl too,” his tone is clearly teasing as he cheekily answers, hinting at the fact you’re supposed be the one preventing this from happening and not the one practicing it.

“We didn’t see each other, yeah? Now get lost,” you give up after debating whenever to offer surrender or to poke further. You chose the surrender, because at the end of the day, you have no idea what to expect from him in this department. You’ve seen what he’s capable of throughout your school years and right now, you don’t want to risk anything.

“As you wish,” he winks at you cockily, but nods his head in agreement anyway.

And without any further explanation, he’s off.

To where? You have no idea.

You’re left alone, enveloped by the forest. A dilemma rises in your mind, to follow or to retrieve? What possible business he could have here, at The Forbidden forest, so late into the night? He did speak the truth. A wind of fate could’ve lead him here accidentally just like it did with you, and perhaps it was all a big coincidence. But then, why would he venture further into the forest?

Your curiosity gets the best out of you, so before his artic locks disappear into the depths of the forest, you’re sneaking in his direction. Towering trees loom over your head, their ancient branches tangled so thickly that only slivers of moonlight pierce through, casting ghostly patterns. The further you go the thicker the air gets — scent of moss, damp earth, and something faintly metallic. Silence is nearly none existent in here. The wind whispers through the trees, while distant, unidentifiable rustlings hint at creatures watching from the shadows. Every step feels uncertain. You nearly jump out of your skin each time something unregistered makes a noise, your heart drumming in your ribcage crazily.

Your eye stay peeled on the figure meters ahead, careful to not lose sight of him. Still, when a pair of glowing eyes glistens on the right side of your peripheral vision, your attention is split. Turning to the direction, stopping in your tracks. To realise the horrid creature staring at you is not in fact a horrid creature, but a stag. Your orbs return back to the foggy forest ahead of you to find nothing, his presence absent.

You stand flabbergasted, blinking.

A howl of an owl startles you and that’s when you decide it’d be best to abandon your mission and get the hell out of the forest. Flinch must be haunting other places by now. The Greenhouse entrance is surely free, you think to yourself as you turn around one hundred and eighty degrees. You can’t bring yourself to trust what moves around the forest so you run, despite the pain you’re feeling.

You run till your body’s sore, still damp strands of your hair flying around. By the time you arrive at the secret entrance you and your friends found last yea that leads straight to the Ravenclaw’s common room, you’re surprised your body hasn’t given out.

“Thank you for waiting for me. It was a close call down there,” you exhale in between your shaky breaths as you notice Arabella standing by the entrance to the passage, she probably offered to wait and told the others to slip into their own houses.

“What took you so long? I was getting worried,” she mumbles anxiously, fiddling with the fabric of her robe. Arabella then steps out of the way to let you enter and closes the door shut after you step in.

“Lumos,” her fingers delicately move in the air as she casts the spell.

“I bumped into Flinch and hid, had to take another route around the forest,” you beam tiredly and sound almost causally. As if you did this daily. You proceed to take out Margaret’s green tie out of your pocket “found the tie, though”

“You were near The Forbidden forest?” your friend stops in her tracks in front of the stairs, turning to face you, her expression telling you exactly how she feels about you wandering near that place. Completely ignoring your success of retrieving the tie belonging to her girlfriend.

“And you won’t believe who else I bumped into,” you announce, leaving her to figure it out on her own.

“Who? Gojo? Surely not,” she snickers, the sound ringing through the rocky walls as you descend higher, each stair urging your body to give up. Her quick and witty answer makes you falter, how did she manage so fast?

“You guessed it,” you peep.

“Am I sensing this wrong, or are you still thinking about what happened at the tournament?” Arabella gathers the courage to question you after a moment of silence, her grip on her wand is gentle and she leaves it pulled out in front of her of her. Lighting up the way up.

“You aren’t?” you question back, brows softly furrowing in the process.

“Merlin’s beard! Of course I’m, but I’m trying to not assume things without knowing the context. It’s not good for you either, worrying yourself like that,” her choice of words seems to get stuck in your brain, rewinding them like a broken record.

You’re aware she’s onto something.

“I have this paralysing fear that something’s wrong,” to which Arabella simply breathes out, not out of annoyance, but rather out of sympathy and her shoulder slump down as you ascend the stairs.

“Are you sure Margaret doesn’t know anything? I know you’ve asked her in your letters, however, something isn’t letting me rest,” you leave your previous statement behind without getting an answer and instead bring up something else, something not so reminding of what’s going on.

“I think you should let it go and focus on other things. It’ll be good for you,” she responds once you reach the top, walking quietly into the common room.

“You’re probably right,” you surrender eventually and don’t press.

Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop you from conspiring.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

First few weeks of autumn indeed go by differently than they normally would, and no, it isn’t because it’s your last year. But due to the reason your beloved wizardry school is supposedly a target for those in charge of the evil. Sadly, precautions had to be put up even here. The drastic one being Dementors floating around with their miserable existence, those who are meant to be guarding Azkaban. The Ministry stated some of them must be provided to the school as the Death Eaters who escaped the walls of the prison are now amongst the wizards.

For safety, they said.

Along with that came countless others new rules, some stupider than other. Quidditch season was held back for couple of weeks, because of the atrocious black coloured creatures. The Forbidden forest became an even bigger taboo to all, and students who would be caught outside of their room after curfew would be seriously punished.

At least the professors and headmaster focused on providing you with enough information and preparation for the worst.

And it seems problems occurred even outside of the school walls. The Daily Prophet started coming out with news about the conservatives and their skyrocketing popularity, including the fact muggleborns are now being cornered and forced to leave. That’s how it starts, it’s how it always starts, isn’t it?

The spreading news create an even bigger abyss in between people at Hogwarts. Most of the pureblood loudly encourage the conservatives and grow more disgusted, degrading the presence of those who were born into human families. The shift in behaviour alters the relationship of Arabella and Margaret, their disguised romantic bond shook with the impact. The friendship act they put out on in the public suddenly wasn’t enough of a reason to see each other anymore. Margaret’s brother prohibited his younger sister from tagging along with Arabella and you.

It caused a lot of fierce destructive sparks in their dynamic.

What a terrible thing it is to be kept away from someone you cherish, because of something so simple which is not in your power to change.

One thing that doesn’t seem to dread in these cursed times is Satoru Gojo’s profound effortlessness. To you he was the same in some ways, though not in all. From time to time, you find yourself recalling the weekend in July late at night, when you can’t sleep. You toss in bed, unable to lock the humid days somewhere hidden. What comes back to you isn’t all horrible. No, some of the moments are nice enough. Occasionally, you too dwell on the short-lived conversation between you and Gojo, the memory vivid. It feels like you share some sort of a secret with him, something only he’d understand if you were to mention it. And then the uglier moments strike — the terror, the dryness in your throat as you were being chased, the thought of death crossing your mind.

You reminisce about the circumstances of the attack too often. Too many unanswered questions are still spiralling through your mind. Wondering if there is a connection between Gojo and the events of the night, or if any of the Slytherins knew it was about to happen. Before the attack occurred, you naively thought the tension between two could loosen up, but the image was popped like a balloon the second he stepped into the train cabin and acted like you were strangers seeing one another for the first time.

That precise moment, your instincts became alerted and you pondered about more theoretical question. Not due to the fact he didn’t greet you, that was very like him, but rather in the general picture of his character.

You seem to have a misfortune of bumping into him at the strangest times and it results in your sense of suspicion increasing.

He is indeed acting odd. And he’s dodging you.

The out of character meeting you two shared in the forest was a surprise, and perhaps you would be able to mark it as a coincidence and leave be. That is ff it was a one time thing only. But as time passed, it became almost a routine.

One time you were preforming your duty as the Head girl, surveying the area before curfew to make sure no one was breaking the newly set rules, you caught a glimpse of his shimmering white locks. For a small fraction of a second only, so you were left to guess if your brain was playing tricks on you. You swear you saw him to Arabella, demanding that you’re not crazy. Another time you spotted him acting inadequately was as you walked down the Astronomy tower, the sun was setting behind the horizon and soft glows of colours casted a magical light all around you, and he suddenly spawned under the stairs leading up to the tower. You shared a quick look, swirling thoughts of what he’s doing clashing within your soul.

And the last time you’ve seen your suspicions forming before your eyes, was when you finished taking your extra class early in the morning. You were on your way to your dorm-room and as you peaked out the window, the sky darkened by the remains of the night, his unique features couldn’t have been overlooked in the distance, somewhere outside heading towards The Forbidden forest.

Yet again.

All of that and more occurred within the same week.

Overall, the outlook seems to be that he’s avoiding you. To possibly keep something a secret, is your guess, because not only did the entire world shifted, but so did your banter. You should be glad, however you can’t rest mindlessly while the doubts eat at you. You still share your classes with him, yet his presence became ghost like. His usual remarks towards professors and playful stunts are now absent. It’s as if they exchanged him with a carbon copy with the sole expectation of being different at core. He stopped competing with you academically long ago, letting you take the first spot without a single protest. He no longer torments you with his mere existence. The only place where you can bump into each other is the quidditch field, nonetheless, since the season was postponed, the option isn’t there either.

To everyone else Satoru Gojo probably appears to be the same pretentious douche he has been all these years. They absolutely adore him, he’s still the talk of your year — hell, talk of the most years anyway — so the news about him spread like he’s the main attraction. Participating in parties hosted in the Slytherin common room, to which only specially selected individuals from other houses get an invitation.

He always seemed to sort of dating around, though now rumours are circling that he has finally settled into a relationship with a fellow pureblood of his house.

The starlet is thriving even as the world descends into madness. And despite your dearest friend asking you to drop it, you never did. Actually, you went in the opposite way of what she wanted for you.

It must be a facade, you think to yourself.

But at the end of the day, it’s those Dementors causing you the most worries. Incidents happen when those lifeless creatures are near. It’s inevitable. It became somewhat important to you, knowing how to defend yourself against one of them. If it comes down to that. Their haunting presence chokes you with upmost fright if it happens to be in a close radius. You can’t phantom how soul sucking it must be to have them feed on your happiness. You don’t wish to imagine what an impact it’d leave and neither how defenceless it must be. In spite of that, you started practicing. Learning the one spell which can indeed hush them off is now your priority.

Though it’s not simple at all.

Expecto patronum — forms a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the Dementor. It represents a positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon – hope, happiness, the desire to survive. But it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can’t hurt it.

The Patronus has two forms, non-corporeal and corporeal. A non-corporeal Patronus can appear as a thin wisp of magic that hovers like mist. Not revealing its full form. Whereas a corporeal Patronus has a form that is clearly defined and is more than vapour or smoke.

So far you haven’t been able to charm either form so far, therefore you have no clue what form your Patronus carries. That’s precisely why you began attending early lessons with the professor teaching defence against the dark arts, every Monday and Thursday morning.

It is an advanced form of magic, yet the concept of it seems so very simple. A single memory embroidered with pure joy would be enough to conjure up the guardian.

With enough contraction, of course.

It troubles you enough to haunt you while you patrol the long hallways and hollow spaces of the castle, you dip into the furthest parts of your memory, recalling each significant time you’ve felt utopian. All memories which come to you aren’t strong enough to charm up that state. Your steps lead you to the library, your attention so far from reality you notice the tall slim figure only on your way out of there.

“The library is closing,” you announce and step into the alley of bookshelves where he’s listing through one which he probably picked up randomly to make himself look busy.

“So?” Satoru doesn’t bother to look up, eyes skimming over the lines while leaning against the wooden archive.

“I’ll have to report and take points from your house,” you urge closer as you speak deliberately, carefully letting out each word to let him taste your venom, sounding almost teasing.

“And what about Margaret and Arabella, hmm? I’m sure they wouldn’t be happy if someone spilled their secret,” his voice is low, uninterested and he doesn’t bother to glance up even now as you stand closer.

It makes you freeze.

“You wouldn’t,” you reply confidently, standing your ground, when in reality you’re not so sure about anything he does or would do.

“I absolutely would,” his voice drips with defiance.

“I’m kidding, I’ll be out in a second,” he says as a response to your undefined silence and flips to another page, piercing icy orbs flickering to meet yours for a flash of a moment, the gesture weirdly reassuring.

You remain silent, meanwhile he’s probably hoping that you will let him be and keep this to yourself.

“What business do you have in here anyway?” you lean against one of the bookshelves as well, good amount of distance stored in between your bodies.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” his voice is now painted with the familiar mischievous glimmer, his eyes focused on the book. It makes you realise the book was definitely picked up on purpose and that causes you to become curious, trying to catch a glimpse of the title.

“You’re acting unusually strange, even for you,” you remark, focus sliding over to the books aligned in shelves, most of them covered in layers of dust “you must be hiding something.”

“Hiding something, huh? the white haired prodigy repeats the words after you, adding a glint of intrigue and playfulness.

This time he fully looks up, finding you to be the one looking away now.

“The other night at the lake, you disappeared like you were hiding something,” your fingers glide over the book’s spines, eyes briefly depicting their content as you point out his behaviour.

“You’re right, I am hiding something,” he makes you abruptly stop dead in any movement, hand retrieving to your side and head tilting in his direction.

You’re surprised your jaw isn’t on the floor.

“You admit it? Just like that?” you laugh out lightly with a hint of nervousness, not believing he’s confessing to it like it’s nothing.

“Mhhm, just like that,” he utters and shrugs carelessly, shutting the book and placing back on the shelf.

“Why?” your simple question hangs in the air before you can stop yourself from speaking it.

“Meet me at midnight on the edge of The Forbidden forest and I’ll let you find out,” your eyes immediately widen a little in surprise at his suggestion, heart racing faster than normally.

“Huh?” the only thing you manage.

“You heard me,” he blesses his features by curling his lips into a smile, one so smug it could cut right through you.

“You can’t be serious right now,” you say in denial of what’s happening.

“I hundred percent am,”

“You’re bollocks,”

“But you’re the one who’s considering it,” you’re about to shush him off, tell him he’s looking into things more than he should. None of it comes out of your mouth as your gaze lingers on him. Lucent ivory lighting creating a halo, enveloping him in the arms of soft yellow tones.

“Get out of the library or I’m reporting you for real,” you nod your head towards the exit after you realise the pause in between your responses extended over the acceptable limit.

“See ya at midnight,” a snicker slips past his lips and his body begins to move, heading towards you.

“I didn’t say I’d come,” you purse your lips, a slight furrow between your brows as you stare pointedly at him marching closer. And just as you think he’s about to walk past you, he stops by your side.

“Oh, but you will,” Satoru responds with a small shake of his head while staring you down.

Once he’s looking away, he walks past you and is on his way out.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you mumble into the now empty space, left behind to drown in your own curiosity.

What the hell was this?

As soon as you regain your consciousness and shake off the peculiar offer, you instantly reach for the book he was flipping through.

You don’t know what you were expecting. But itdefinitely wasn’t magical creatures though.

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

You grip the book and look into it the same way he did, not finding anything particularly useful to piece this puzzle together. With a heavy sigh, you carefully place it back and lazily patrol the rest of the area as you were initially meant to do.

Your entire way back to your room throughout the castle is long, however, with the amount of conspiracies running your poor mind exhausted, it goes by quickly.

If you decide to not go, you’re afraid this obsessive need to figure out the truth will only progress into the wrong direction and you might actually go crazy. And if you decide to go, you might come across something that can alter the way you see the world forever, if it truly turns out to be what you’re experiencing.

Perhaps you’re wrong and it’s all in your head.

You open the door to your room with carefulness, not wanting to wake your friend up in case she’s already sleeping.

The room is pitch black when you step in.

“Arabella? What’s happened?” you whisper into the silence of your dorm-room and close the door behind you. Something’s telling you this isn’t right. The room is swallowed by darkness, drapes keeping the gentle light of the moon out. Despite it, you can tell your friend isn’t asleep by the way her body lies sprawled out in her bed on her side of the room.

You inch towards your nightstand, no answer spoken. Your fingers pick up matches laying on the wooden table, lighting it up to breathe life into your candle so the room could be illuminated by a beaming light.

“Margaret,” a weak call out of her name pollutes the air. The sound of Arabella’s raspy voice telling you enough to assume she has been crying her eyes out.

“Did you have another argument?” the way you talk moulds into a softer one, delicate enough to show sympathy. You turn around to face her side of the room, Arabella’s body shifting under the blanket.

“Sort of,” she starts off, suggesting that another set of tears is prickling its way out to the surface.

“She-“ Arabella can’t bring herself to speak, breaking into sobs.

You guess what’s happened.

Arabella manages to curl into a ball, gripping her blanket for dear life as she spills her heart out into her pillow. Your heart clenches at the sight so much you can’t bring yourself to move for a whole moment.

Soon enough you’re moving towards her, laying your body on the very edge of her bed, arms spread open to show her your invitation. She takes it without a second thought, scooping her body into yours. She’s warm. From shielding herself underneath the blanket and from all the heavy tears she’s broadcasted. Your arms wrap around her frame as hers slide around your torso, head falling into the crook in between your shoulder and neck.

“Margaret suggested we should take a break,” her broken voice mumbles in between choked sobs.

The bare sound of her name makes Arabella shudder.

“There’s a lot of stuff happening, it’s not the end of you two. She loves you too much,” you attempt to reassure her, palm drawing soft sensual circles on the plain of her back. She nuzzles her head further into your neck, wet stains left at your skin from all of her cries.

“It sounded like a soft launch break up,” Arabella sniffles, fighting the urge to start crying again.

“You’re gonna get back together, when this nonsense ends,” you go on, holding her tightly than you normally would.

“Who knows when that’ll be. By then, she might actually seek out someone she can be with openly,” and with that, tears stream down the swell of her cheeks. You can sense them. Expect this time, it’s not violent. It’s like a caress to her stained cheeks. A reflection of her sorrows.

“If it’s meant to be then it’ll be, remember? It’s what you once told me,” you muster up a reminder of her previous strength and openness, hoping to ease her. Arabella stays still, the sound of her sobs calming down and her heaving breathing slowing down.

“Please don’t leave me, not you,” she mumbles while squeezing you tightly, her thinking you’d ever leave her shatters you a little, but you manage to collect yourself for the sake of her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you exhale as you smile softly. Though she can’t see it, you bet she can hear it in the tone of your voice.

You don’t leave her bed for hours, letting her spill out ber boiling feelings. Arabella picks herself up to be able to share all the details with you. Meanwhile you think about asking her whenever it’s a good idea to go, however, you stop yourself from doing so as you don’t deem it as a good idea to bother her with it in her current state.

She does successfully fall asleep later on, her poor eyes red and puffy from the amount of tears shed.

When you look at the time, it’s nearly midnight.

You curse under your breath quietly and pick up your things, mindlessly without any further thoughts. Already decided.

The common room is cloaked in shadows as you tiptoe in, the dying embers in the fireplace casting flickering shapes on the walls. You hesitate at the entrance of your secret passage. Nothing but the steady ticking of the clock can be heard. Midnight is close. You pull your robe tighter around you and slip out, the stone corridor cool as you rush down the stairs.

The fear is there, a steady pulse in your chest, but so is something else. A thrill courses through you, mingling with it. You shouldn’t be doing this. You should turn back, climb into bed, pretend you never even considered it. And yet — you can’t.

By the time you reach the outside, your hands are trembling. The night air is crisp, laced with the scent of damp grass and fog of the early autumn days. The Forbidden Forest looms in the distance, a vast, tangled darkness against the sky. With one last glance behind you, you step forward, your feet squalling against the damp grass.

You glance around, nerves prickling. No lanterns flicker in the windows. No figures moving. The air is chilling you, thick with the scent of earth and rain-soaked leaves. The Forbidden Forest stretches ahead, embroidered with something ancient and electric. You recall the night at the lake, when your senses prickled with the same energy.

Your steps slow as you near the treeline. The forest is awake. The branches shift ever so slightly, as though whispering to each other of your arrival.

There is no turning back now.

Then there is a movement ahead. A figure half-shrouded in the gloom, waiting just beyond the reach of the moonlight in the forest.

Your pulse races.

He came.

“Thought you’d changed your mind and leave me hanging,” he teases lightly. The sound of his deep voice sends a shiver down your spine, and instant regret crushes down onto you. You should’ve stayed with Arabella. This isn’t something you are ought to drench yourself in.

“Yeah, me too,” you swallow a bundle nervous down your throat before providing him with an answer.

“Come on,” Satoru cocks his head in the direction of the woods, hands shoved in the pockets of his robe as he signals to head deeper.

“You want me to follow you into the forest?” you question doubtingly, eyes widening.

“We have to get to the place first,” his body begins to move, back turned your way as he starts to move.

Yeah, he definitely knows his way around here.

“I lost my mind,” you utter under your nose, only for you to hear.

You’re right behind him the next second.

The forest thickens around you, the air growing heavier, dense with something faintly sweet — like rotting fruit. The trees lean in close, their twisted limbs tangled together, whispering in a language only the wind seems to understand.

You don’t trust him. You shouldn’t, you can’t. But there’s something about the way he walks ahead of you, half in shadow, half in moonlight, like he belongs to both.

Like he could pull you into either.

You see it then, through a break in the undergrowth. A small pond, cradled in the earth like a secret. The surface is smooth, reflecting the tangle of trees above in near-perfect clarity. Yet something about it is off. The reflection is too sharp, the water too dark. You step closer, your breath catching as the tension spikes.

Beside you, the white haired wizard crouches down at the edge, fingertips skimming the surface. Ripples break outward, deliberate. For a heartbeat, his reflection doesn’t move with him. You swallow hard. You should leave. Every ounce of your being is telling you to bolt. However, when he turns to look at you, the pull towards this unknown tightens its grip on you.

“So, what is it?” the impatient basically seeps out of you as break through the lingering silence.

“Patience, precious. Now, we wait,” Satoru lets out a playful chuckle, finding your emotions tainted with fear quite amusing. And without any further explanation, he seats himself down onto one of the rocks nestled right by the edge of the pond.

“For what?” you press, fierce although scared.

“You’ll know when you see it,”

“I’m getting tired of your riddles,” you sigh, loathing how mysterious he makes it out to be, your ribs nudging in your sides from all the possible scenarios. Your lungs let out a heavy breath, surrounding to the situation and stepping towards him to sit down as well. The rough, uneven surface of the rock presses against you as you settle onto it, its coolness seeping through the fabric of your robe.

Moonlight peaks through the branches, breaking into silver ribbons across the surface. The water, deep and unknowable, stares back at you, offering no answers, only the illusion of stillness and yourself. Suddenly, it’s not so frightening. Quite the opposite.

“Won’t your girlfriend be jealous? That you’re sneaking into the night with someone else” you blurt out, lost in thought as you zone out, and the next moment you’re drenched in upper hand embarrassment.

“She doesn’t need to know, does she?” he hums in amusement, his arogance spilling out of him so clearly it makes your blood pressure rise. At that point you don’t consider the option to tilt your head in his direction, but you can see from the corner of your eye that his gaze is on you now.

“And it sort of depends if she has a reason to be, do you think she does?” he shamelessly continues, fuelling both your embarrassment and your frustration at his behaviour.

“No,” you state too quickly and too firmly, someone would even say harshly.

Satoru Gojo simply laughs, something about it surprisingly genuine. He then averts his gaze back to the pond, looking out for the mystery.

“Quidditch is starting next week. Finally, huh?” your voice points out after another period of silence passes, trying to lighten up the atmosphere and mostly to direct the topic somewhere less awkward. And quidditch is probably the only thing you have in common, so it was no-brainer.

“What, ready to get your ass kicked?” his eyebrows arch up in a familiar way, powered by his ego since he’s still the quidditch captain.

“We’ll see,” you huff out in a light way, actually looking forward to blow some steam off on the field, especially when you’ll be playing up against him.

The water is still as you both sit at its edge, the silence between you and Satoru stretching longer with each passing moment. The conversation has faded once again. It isn’t uncomfortable, it’s quiet like the water before you. You expected it to be way more unpleasant.

All of a sudden, without warning, the air shifts. A glow so silver and soft emerges atop the water, flickering like mist catching moonlight. It takes a form, delicate yet undeniable. Hooves barely disturbing the surface as it steps forward on the surface. It’s a stag. Quite similar to the one you saw couple of days ago. Its presence is weightless, but utterly ethereal. The glow of it pulses gently, as if breathing. It does not move toward you, nor away. It simply exists, radiant and still. The water beneath it remains unbroken. And for a moment, you are certain that if you reached out, just barely, your fingers would brush something real.

“It’s a-“ your voice breaks as you can’t bring yourself to stand up, afraid it might go away.

Satoru doesn’t move either.

“A Patronus,” he takes the word right out of your mouth, breathless as you, despite seeing it multiple times.

“Who casted it? There’s no wizard around expect for us,” your short circulated brain asks a question after a question. Never in your life have you seen such a momentary example of beauty. The creature is so innocently light and pure, its energy warming you up.

“That’s precisely what I’ve been thinking, when I crossed paths with the creature,” your orbs roll over to him, he senses you so he repeats the action. He can decipher the amusement plastered in your expression.

“So that’s why you’ve been sneaking around here?” you aren’t even mad anymore at him for dragging you out here, into the depths of the forest, a place you could get punished for visiting. Your suspicions now seem silly. You’d never admit it to anyone, however, you’re relieved they were false.

“Busted. But it comes here nearly every night,” his voice is low, robbed of his usual styling of words.

“And did you figure something out?” you mumble back, eyes scanning the creature as if it might disappear if you even dare to blink.

“I picked up countless of books, none of them had anything though. Perhaps it’s tied to someone at Hogwarts and has unfinished business or it’s cursed to haunt the forest. Whatever it is, the wizard must be dead,” he proceeds to explain, your attention fully glued to whatever he has to say while the Patronus stands still, occasionally moving its head

“Dead?” you echo quietly.

The majestic creature floating on the small body of water dissolves the way it came. Unexpectedly and like a gentle caress.

“We have to figure out more,” your voice is laced with the thrill of the moment which causes his features to soften up ever so slightly. He finds your unanticipated passion admirable.

“We?” a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“You got me involved, didn’t you? So it’s now both of our problem,” you cross your arms on your chest after you’re finally put back to the planet and are able to stand up “and what made you show me this, anyway?”

“Dunno, thought it might interest you out of all people,” his body motions in the same way, towering above you, closer than you’d normally let him.

Was he always this tall? This-?

“Mhm, well, thank you for showing me,” you voice out your gratitude, your lips foreshadowing a hint of a smile. No additional twists nor banter. Satoru blinks down at you, heart skipping a beat at the situation as he opens his mouth, unable to bring himself to answer.

“We should probably head back, right? We’ll look into it tomorrow, noon,” you take a step back to look around, looking for any traces of the Patronus instead of acknowledging what has just occurred.

“Got it, noon,” the wizard with artic locks breathes out heavily.

For a split moment all feels pleasant, however, an inevitable sense of reality prickles him.

This is all an act. The stag stumbled into hiding way in the right time, allowing him to use it as an opportunity to convince you of his undying innocence. It’s a lie to cover up whom he had become over the summer and what’s about to unleash. It serves as a perfect shield from your insufferable nosy behaviour, protecting his actual reason.

Because at the end of the day he knows things you could only dream about. Things which are strictly forbidden to reveal, things worthy of being sent to Azkaban for a permanent visit.

Things that would give you a real reason to despise him.

It isn’t simply the electrifying night of terror which occurred at the tournament.

Not anymore.

There’s so much more to unfold.

credits for dividers: [@enchanthings-a @cafekitsune]

taglist: [ @k-kkiana @cuffiescariche @sylustoru @hyori2 @ethereal-moonlit]

nerd!gojo always holds his hand over yours when you jerk him off. he guides your fist up and down on his cock like he's doing it himself and the whole point of your hand being there is null and void. he might as well be masturbating.

you get upset about it one day, sitting back on your heels and giving his cock a gentle squeeze so he slows down. he looks at you with wide, hazed eyes, glossy with lust and need and everything else that makes him so fucking pretty! "why'd you stop?"

"you could do this yourself," you nod down to where his larger hand wraps around your smaller one, still closed around his weeping cock. "you're doing all the work, toru."

you try to loosen your grip and pull back, maybe suggest some other way of getting him off together, when he tightens his grip and forces your hand to still on his cock. he's a little red in the cheeks, long lashes fluttering under his glasses as he musters up the words he needs.

"i like holding your hand, is all."

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME - Masterpost

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Warnings: 18+, smut, fuckbuddies to lovers, semipublic/public sex, dirty talk, creampie, oral, handjobs, fingering, hickeys, mentions of cigarettes + alcohol. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 13 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

Chapter 01

Chapter 02

Chapter 03

Chapter 04

Chapter 05

Chapter 06

Chapter 07

Chapter 08

Chapter 09

Chapter 10

Chapter 11 - coming soon -

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Accompanying art for this series:

Smoke break with Sukuna by @sweetlandspos

Sukuna during practice by @samaraxmorgan

Thank you so much for those beautiful and sexy pictures!!

To get added to the taglist please comment or send me an ask (18+ only) ♥️

The songs you grow to like never stick at first (Chapter 5)

Chapter 1 ++ Chapter 2 ++ Chapter 3 ++ Chapter 4

Falling for your best friend is a blessing and a curse at the same time, especially when it’s painfully obvious that your friend doesn’t feel the same. So what is Yuuji supposed to do? He doesn’t want to lose you but also can’t help wanting to get out of the friendzone. Maybe his other friends can help him. Or he just has to wait because sometimes the songs that become our all-time favorites are the ones that don’t stick at first.

Pairing: Yuuji x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, fluff, my attempt at humor, friends to lovers Word Count: 3.5k Playlist: College AU Warnings: 18+, slow burn, a lot of cheesiness, pining, unrequited love in the beginning, alcohol, masturbation, sex dreams. Cheating (but NOT Yuuji or reader!! Naoya cheats on reader). All characters are of age. The story and my blog contain 18+ content, so minors don't interact. 

Chapter 05: A rivalry goes so deep between me and this loss of sleep over you (Part 2)

The weeks pass. You are in romantic heaven with your boyfriend. And Yuuji is in heartbreak hell, with dark circles under his eyes and the emotional baggage of the frontman of an emo band.

He's officially a member of the boxing club now, spending more and more time at the gym to let his anger out on the punching bag that he calls Naoya in his mind.

You keep telling Yuuji about your dates with the Zenin heir, oblivious to the pain it causes him. He has to put a stop to it though the moment you start talking about your and Naoya's sex life.

"Can you please not?!! I don't want to know these things!"

"Hey, that's not fair! You tell me everything about your bedroom adventures too, Mr. Too much information."

Yuuji throws up his hands in exasperation. He knows you are right. Unfortunately, he seems to lack that gene that is responsible for feeling ashamed, so he always goes into too much detail anytime he shares his sex tales with his friends. Guilty as charged.

"Ah, dammit! But that was ages ago!! I haven't even had sex in months!"

"And maybe that's the problem! You need to get laid, Yuu!"

You have a point. But the problem is that the only person Yuuji wants to get sexy with is you. But, of course, he can't say that, so he just makes an incomprehensible noise and changes the topic.

He is relieved when a few weeks later, you pull a face while stirring your iced coffee listlessly, sighing as you rest your chin on your hand and announce:

"Naoya has to go on a business trip. He's leaving in an hour, and I already miss him. Those gonna be the worst three days!"

No, that's wrong! Those are going to be the best three days if you ask Yuuji!

He feels energetic despite his lack of sleep and the physical exertion from last night's boxing training. This is great! The sun shines brighter all of a sudden, and his coffee hasn't tasted this good in months!

Yuuji can't help but smile while walking next to you, accompanying you to your first class of the day, just like he does every morning. There's a new spring in his step now that some of the weight got lifted off his shoulders.

An hour later, when he's sitting in acting class, waiting for his turn to portray a Yakuza leader, the guilt catches up with him. He shouldn't feel happy about your annoyance that your boyfriend is away. He's a horrible friend!! How can he smile and celebrate the fact that you miss the guy you are in love with??

Yuuji is on the brink of punching himself and only gets saved from making an absolute fool of himself because his name gets called for the next performance.

Half an hour later, he walks out of class with loud praise from his professor.

"Itadori, that was an outstanding performance. I could practically feel the anger! You really got into the role! Keep up the good work."

Hysterical laughter bubbles up in Yuuji's chest. It seems like method acting is his way to a possible movie star career, huh? He will have to mention Nayoa in his thank-you speech when he receives an Oscar.

He can't stop laughing all the way to the cafeteria, earning himself raised eyebrows and giggles. Yuuji just rolls his eyes when he realizes it and lifts his left hand to show some of the guys from the volleyball team his middle finger.

He doesn't have time for this. He has to find you and make sure to make the best of the next three days, where he can have you all to himself again! And after all, he is your best friend, and it's literally his job to keep you company and keep you busy, so you won't wallow in self-pity and lose your mind over longing for your man all the time. Yuuji's motives are totally pure!!

Another chuckle escapes his mouth. The mix of lack of sleep and giddy anticipation to take you to the mall and eat ice cream with you is gradually turning him into a lunatic. But Yuuji can't be bothered at the moment. He bursts into the cafeteria with a bright sunshine smile and an excited:

"Finish your tea, princess! I'm taking you to the mall!"

And the loud laugh and happy sparkle in your eyes he receives in return are even more reasons to be a bit crazy.

Three nights later, Yuuji jolts up when his phone blares loudly on the pillow next to his ear. He groans. For once, he fell asleep early. The lack of sleep finally got the better of him, and he felt so at ease after having you all to himself for three days that sweet sleep claimed him.

He was even having a particularly nice dream of you straddling his lap, your hands in his hair, while you were slowly riding him, moaning his name and whispering sweet love confessions in his ear. It was the perfect wet dream!

Until his stupid phone ruined it!

Yuuji sits up and looks around groggily. His brain is too fuzzy, but his hand finds his phone and lifts it to look at the screen. His eyes widen.

Why are you calling him at 00:13?

"Hey! What's up? Are you ok?"

Your voice sounds strange, when you answer him:

"Yuu... Are... are you up?"

Yuuji is completely alert in an instant, the sleepy confusion and the horniness gone completely. Something happened! He can hear it in your voice! Worry washes over him.

"What's wrong? Where are you?"

Yuuji's already out of bed while speaking, balancing the phone between his shoulder and cheek as he's jumping into his grey sweatpants. He has to go wherever you are! He can tell that you aren't ok, even when you didn't say it yet. You need him!

"I.. can you.. can you please come pick me up?"

"Of course! Already on my way. Tell me where you are!"

He only hears a shaky sob, and it makes his heart drop. You sound like you are crying. Yuuji is scared. Cold fear has its chokehold on him. What happened to you? He has to get to you right now!

He's stumbling over his backpack, cursing loudly, before finding his shirt from yesterday lying on the floor next to his desk. He shrugs hastily into it while listening to your thick voice giving him instructions:

"I'm downtown... you know that street corner near our McDonald's and the karaoke bar?"

Fuck. So you were with Naoya tonight? His apartment is near that location. Yuuji's worry is laced with anger now. What did that asshole do to make you cry and call Yuuji in the middle of the night? And why the hell are you out there all alone? That's dangerous! It's the middle of the night!

"I'll be there in a few minutes! Don't hang up, ok? Stay on the phone with me."

He puts the call on speaker so he can pull his red hoodie over his head, not caring how messy his hair is or that he puts on two different colored socks. All that Yuuji can think about is you!

He quickly jogs out of his room, grabbing the car keys on his way out, and almost falls down the stairs because he's struggling to put on his sneakers while running and also holding his phone in one hand.

But he manages to arrive on the street in one piece and sprints over to his car. Well, technically it's Fushiguro's car. But he lets his friends use it too because he's embarrassed about being the kid from the rich family and feels better about it if he shares his privileges.

Yuuji throws his phone into the center console as he slams the door shut and then hastily starts the car. The car audio starts blaring loudly, making him jump.

This is side one, flip me over. I know I'm not your favorite record. The songs you grow to like never stick at first. So, I'm writing you a chorus, and here is your verse!

"Oh dammit! Not that song again!"

Junpei must have used the car before him. Yuuji swears and turns the stereo off as he quickly backs out of the parking spot. He knows he's driving too fast, but he can't bring himself to care. He has to get to you as quickly as possible!

You were probably right when you joked about Yuuji being your personal knight in a red hoodie. He is so worried and just wants to be by your side and make sure you are safe. He can still hear your sniffles, and it tugs at his heart.

"I'm driving now. Hey, can you tell me what happened?"

"I... I wanted to surprise Naoya. It was stupid... I don't know. He texted me that he's back from his business trip and that he'll just go to bed and we should meet for breakfast...but I... god, I am so dumb! I thought, hey, why not pay him a surprise visit to celebrate him coming back home...I.. arrived in front of his apartment and I..."

Your explanation gets interrupted by a muffled sob. Yuuji grinds his teeth, his hands are grabbing the steering wheel in a death grip. But he tries to sound calm for you, be the safe place you need right now.

"It's ok, take your time. I'm almost there. What happened at his apartment?"

It starts raining now, and the cars in front of him slow down, making Yuuji almost lose his mind. He glares at the red light that dares to keep him away from you. It's torturous having to listen to your tearful voice telling him about your night while he is caught in the car here and not able to pull you into his arms and comfort you.

The engine howls loudly once the traffic light turns green again and Yuuji presses down on the gas pedal impatiently. Only a few more blocks!

Your voice fills the car and there's so much pain in it that it makes Yuuji's own eyes tear up.

"Naoya.. he was walking out of the door with some other woman. I... I thought maybe it was just his co-worker and nothing more. But.. but.. they kissed."

"Oh fuck!"

"He... he held her hand and smiled at her, and then he kissed her. Like a real kiss! On the mouth...and it... It was just like he.. just like he usually kisses me. I don't know what to do. I ran away before he could see me. And now I'm sitting here and crying and being a dumb bitch!"

Yuuji smacks his hand onto the steering wheel. God, if Naoya was here right now, he would get a taste of Yuuji's fist. Yuuji hates that guy! Really hates him! How can he hurt you like that? Doesn't he see how lucky he is to have you!? How can he cheat on you?

"He's such an asshole! God! Please, you aren't dumb! HE is the one who's the dumb bitch!"

Yuuji has almost reached your destination now. He spots a parking space and quickly pulls the car over, almost scratching against a tree. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except you! He's out of the car at light speed, jogging down the rainy street to the corner where he knows you are waiting for him.

He almost stumbles over your outstretched legs as he turns into the dark side street. You are sitting on the stairs in front of a tea shop, looking up at him with tears running down your face, looking so heartbroken and miserable.

Yuuji crouches down in front of you, placing his hands on your knees, gently rubbing them. His voice is soft and warm, talking to you like he would to a scared animal. His need to comfort you and soothe your hurt is almost overwhelming.

"Hey, I'm here. It's gonna be ok. I got you, sweetheart."

He can feel you trembling beneath his hands, from the cold or the anxiety or a mix of both.

"Yuu..."

Your voice sounds so weak. That's enough! Yuuji can't take it anymore. He reaches out with a murmured:

"Come here.."

He pulls you into his strong arms, feeling you slump against him. You sniffle and press your face against his chest as your arms wrap around him, clinging desperately to him.

Yuuji rocks you in his arms, whispering some stupid little things to you, anything to comfort you and reassure you.

"Shh, it's ok, sweetie... it's ok. You can cry if it helps you, ok? I'm here. I won't leave. I'll look after you."

It breaks Yuuji's heart to see you like this, your tears soaking his hoodie, sobbing against his chest and your fingers clutching tightly to his back.

He feels a bit helpless, not really knowing what to do, so he just does what his instincts tell him. Holding you and letting you cry, stroking your back soothingly, and keeping you tugged safely under his chin, pressed tightly against his broad chest, wrapped in his strong arms where you are safe and hopefully a bit warmer.

After a while, Yuuji feels you relaxing in his arms. Then, finally, you lift your head to look at him with puffy eyes.

"Th.. thank you for coming here. I'm so sorry for waking you up, Yuu."

"Of course, I came here. Please don't apologize. I told you I'll always pick you up, no matter where you are or what time it is. There is nothing to be sorry for."

His eyes scan you worriedly. Of course, he has seen you having breakdowns over university or when you had trouble with some girls from your dorm. But it was never anything like this. Yuuji has never seen you crying so much, and it pains him to know you are so distraught.

"Let's get you home, ok?"

You blink at him through wet lashes and nod softly. Yuuji gives you an encouraging smile and then pulls you to your feet. He cannot let go of you, though. He definitely spoke the truth when he said that he's overprotective when it comes to you. And so one of his large hands stays on the small of your back.

He sees you shivering, looking so miserable that it breaks his heart even more. Yuuji realizes that you are drenched from the rain. He doesn't even think about it but is already pulling his red hoodie over his head and handing it to you.

"Here, put that on, please. Don't want you to catch a cold."

You don't even try to turn his offer down, which means you are really a mess right now. Yuuji's chest feels too tight. He puts an arm around you and pulls you against his side to offer you more of his warmth as he gently steers you towards where he parked Fushiguro's car.

On the drive home, Yuuji can't stop himself from looking over at you repeatedly to check on you. You're leaning your head against the cold car window, staring out into the rainy night, looking so lost, hugging yourself and sniffling occasionally.

It's a heartbreaking sight, and Yuuji's need to comfort you almost drives him crazy. It pains him to see you like this! You deserve happiness and love, and warmth. Not this shit! Soaked to the skin, shivering from the cold, and crying from a broken heart.

Yuuji reaches out to put a hand on your thigh, right above your knee, gently squeezing it. He hates that he has to drive and can't hug you and keep you warm. But he has to get you home safely and make sure to get you into dry clothes as soon as possible. So his hand on your thigh will have to do at the moment. At least a little bit of physical comfort.

Your hand lands on top of Yuuji's immediately, grabbing it tightly, so desperate for his comforting touch. The car swerves slightly to the right as Yuuji's other hand clenches the wheel. He's angry, so fucking angry at Naoya for doing this to you!

But his need to be there for you and make you feel ok again is stronger than the anger. You don't need anger at the moment. You need your best friend who treats you with love and care. And so Yuuji turns his hand on your thigh so you can interlace your fingers with his, holding hands for real now.

You hold on so tightly that it's almost painful, even to a strong guy like Yuuji. But he definitely won't complain. You need this, need to hold his hand, need the comfort of your best friend next to you, and Yuuji will give you anything you need.

You drive in silence for a few minutes, just holding hands and waiting for the car heater to work.

But Yuuji knows that one of his biggest flaws is that he cannot seem to shut up and often talks before he thinks, so he isn't surprised when his mouth decides to blurt out:

"Do you want me to beat him up for you?"

"Oh my god, Yuuji! Please don't!"

"Ok, anything you want. But my offer stands if you change your mind. He would deserve it. And my right hook is really good, says my coach."

"Maybe he would deserve it, but I don't want you to get into trouble. So please promise me you won't try anything like that."

But at least you sound a bit more like yourself again, and your voice isn't as weak anymore. The corners of Yuuji's lips lift in a half-smile, and he gives your hand a reassuring, gentle squeeze.

"I won't, I promise. Let's get you home and into dry clothes. And then we'll eat ice cream and watch a movie. That's probably a better way to deal with this than going all violent, huh?"

"Thank you, Yuuji. Like, really. I am so grateful for you. When I was sitting there crying, all I could think of was, "I want Yuu here, with his broad shoulders and bright smile." You always make me feel so safe and... I sound so stupid, but you feel like home away from home. You know what I mean?"

Yuuji has to gulp hard against a lump forming in his throat all of a sudden. He feels like home to you? This is the most beautiful thing anyone ever said to him. He blinks rapidly against the sudden moistness in his eyes.

"It's nothing. I'm always here for you. Will always be. And you are my home too."

The rain is getting heavier again, drumming loudly onto the car top while the windshield wipers are doing their hypnotic dance across the car window. The street leading out of the city is pretty empty at this time of night, so the drive home is pretty serene, only the darkness of the night and the pouring rain illuminated by the car's headlights.

Usually, Yuuji is a sunshine type of guy. He loves summer and the sun and never complains about the heat. But he has to admit that there is some beauty in the rain too, especially when you are sitting in a car at night with the person you love the most in the world and they are holding your hand and visibly and audibly relaxing after having such a tough breakdown, and it's all because Yuuji is here to offer his comfort.

You have almost reached the campus again when Yuuji speaks up again, voice soft and low:

"Hey, just let me tell you this, ok? Please don't get mad. But I think you should break up with him. I know he will call you and make all kinds of excuses, and I know you are a sweet and forgiving person, but please don't listen to him. Don't go back to him, please. He's an asshole. You deserve so much better. You deserve someone who only likes you, someone who doesn't want anyone else. Someone who will never hurt you."

Someone like me.

Your answer is another squeeze of his hand and a soft:

"You are right, Yuu. Zenin Naoya is history."

You sigh and reach over to turn the car audio on, and Junpei's emo mix starts playing again. 

This is side one, flip me over. I know I'm not your favorite record.

Yuuji loses it and snickers. Why is it always this damn song? He feels like you caught him doing something naughty, listening to Fall Out Boy and screaming along to lyrics that somehow fit his personal situation all too perfectly. It sends him into hysterics, and now he really laughs like a lunatic.

But to his enormous relief, he hears a chuckle coming from the passenger seat. And then your hand is on the car audio again, and you turn up the volume and tap your finger onto the dashboard to the beat of the song.

It's the next song that makes the two of you break out into loud laughter.

Let's play this game called "when you catch fire, I wouldn't piss to put you out." Stop burning bridges and drive off of them. So I can forget about you. 

Yuuji can hear that you are crying through the laughter. Of course, you are still sad, and it will take a while for you to get over Naoya. But it's ok. Yuuji's here to dry those tears, and he will be by your side and help you make that broken heart whole again.

And at least you already have an "I hate Zenin Naoya" anthem now.

Thank you so much to everyone who keeps looking forward to a new chapter of this series! It makes me so happy when I get feedback on this story! So, Yuuji is really the perfect knight in a red hoodie, hm? For me, the answer is YES! He is so sweet. Everyone should have a Yuuji in their lives aww.

Please let me know how you liked the chapter! Comments and reblogs help me a lot!

Only one chapter left now aaaaahhhhh!!!

I added a second FOB song, "Tell that Mick he just made my list of things to do today," aka the "I hate Zenin Naoya" anthem lmaoo.

Chapter 06

nerdjo

Pairing: Chuuya x reader

Contents: NSFW, pool sex 101; sneaking into your neighbour's private pool while drunk definitely has its perks, reader will have those tiles imprinted in their back for days, my bad. Approx 1.5k words

Public pools might have been a step wiser. 

Or not. To be honest you weren’t all that concerned. They were Chuuya’s neighbours after all. Old, rich neighbours with basement pools and a pretty weak home security as it turned out. 

You could have rented a place–a nice and cosy jacuzzi. Maybe you should do that too sometime. But why do it now when this was undoubtedly at your quickest disposal?

The water was surprisingly warm against your naked skin. It gently reflected the dim purple lighting that came from… somewhere. You couldn't remember; Chuuya had taken care of that. 

The wine from earlier was still coursing under your skin. Your face was flushed and mind mushy as you relaxed against the tiles. All the while Chuuya’s body kept you afloat and close, so deliciously close to his.

His hair tickled your neck under the water, but his mouth–oh. His mouth trailed heated, open kisses down your jaw and throat. He was biting and licking his way around your naked body leisurely, savouring every bit of exposed skin.

Jacuzzis could wait, you had more pressing matters.

Damn. You couldn’t even swim. The thought amused you more than anything. Drunk and drowning didn’t sound like a good way to go. But that was silly. 

You weren’t going anywhere with the way Chuuya held you. 

He was like a furnace even now–his hands gripping you as they sent his warmth through your body. His tongue trailed strips of saliva that had your skin prickle. He was everything around you, and more. Gentle, slow, all-consuming of your senses.

Chuuya was so filled with life and passion that the man before you now almost felt foreign. It’s rare he hit the brakes and took his merry time like this. You could barely keep your hands off each other–normally.

Not now. Now it was… calm. Intimate in a quiet type of way, but no less intense. 

You wrapped your thighs around Chuuya, drawing his attention as he looked up at you. 

“Hey,” you said, the word feeling silly on your tongue.

Chuuya cocked his head, flashing you his trademark grin. “Hey, you,” he said, and he drew you neared against the tiles. Chest to chest, you felt his already hard cock brush against your thigh. 

“Oh.” You blinked. Yeah, pool sex was definitely on the plate for tonight. “This is nice. I kind of feel like melting though.”

Chuuya cupped your cheek, brushed the hair sticking to your face. “Yeah? You look the part too, doll. You need a fan or something? Am I too much for ya?” And he wiggled his brows like he was actually funny. What a loser.

It was no joke. He was too much. 

Always. 

There was too much adoration in Chuuya’s gaze, too much teasing at times, too much love as he crawled right under your skin the harder you fell for him. Wine made you sentimental like that, and it wasn’t helping you much this time either.

“Mhm… don’t ever stop being too much,” you whispered the words. There, sincere and simple. “I think I’ve gone addicted to it.” You were aware of all of him. Every touch of skin between you. The way Chuuya stilled for a second, muscles unmoving before he sagged right into your embrace. 

He sought your lips, stealing your breath and thoughts right away with it. He always managed to coax your reservations away, letting him in easily as your kiss deepened. 

“Don’t go all mushy on me like that. You’ve no idea what you do to me,” Chuuya said between kisses. 

But you knew. You felt it as your hand travelled down to wrap around his cock. Your fingers brushed over his tip and Chuuya hissed. He didn’t move besides leaning his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your parted lips. 

“I can do a lot more to you.” You guided him to your entrance. You’ve been wet and ready long enough now. It was Chuuya’s teasing that got you like this, it would only be fair to return the favour. Albeit with a bit more.

“Fuck.” Chuuya bucked his hips, breathing deep as you shuddered against him. “ I can be just as good for ya, baby. Let me be good for ya, yeah? Come on, come on–” he moved again, brushing his tip against your pussy lips. 

Chuuya’s patience was a skill he implemented rarely. This was definitely not one of those times. Not with the way he kissed you again, desperate and wanting.

He loved it when you desired him; the way you sought his touch, his attention. He wanted you to want him. And he was going to give his all when you finally caved.

Chuuya entered you slowly, the sensation of his pulsing cock stretching you made you clutch around him even harder. It was maddening and your impatience was showing its ugly head too.

“Chuuya.” You gripped his hips with your thighs. You hoped he sensed your desperation.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, smiling at your moan as he gripped your ass, spreading you wider as he sunk fully into your heat. 

Chuuya didn’t give you time to formulate another thought. Any thought, really, as he started fucking into you. Your chest felt tight and your legs trembled as you welcomed him in. Chuuya kept you in place, hands firm around you as he pushed your back into the tiles with every hard thrust. If a man could be both gentle and absolutely wrecking your world in two–it was no other than Chuuya. He was more than ready and willing to do the job and leave you gasping from his every move. 

You were distantly aware of the sound of ripples, the water around just as restless. You were too busy gripping onto Chuuya’s shoulders, your lips on his ear as your whispered string of oh fuck fuck fuck– more, oh godd yes more, Chuuya– spilt forth and right into his brain as he delivered on your demands. 

Chuuya’s hand was on your clit in seconds, working fast as his swift fingers sent your body in shock from the waves of pleasure that travelled down your abdomen. 

“Fuck–” you gasped, bringing his face towards you. Chuuya’s eyes were on you, soaking in your every detail. He was so beautiful then. “I want you,” you whispered, the desire for him overwhelming.

Chuuya’s gaze fell on your lips. He ground his hips, aiming for that sweet spot of yours again again again. You nearly lost it then and there. “You turn demanding when you’re like this, angel. I’m right here.” He captured your lips, swallowing your moan. “Right here, babygirl.”

“I want you more,“ you said, and then laughed. You have no idea what that meant, but it felt right. You wanted more. All. 

Chuuya wasn’t too much. He was not enough. 

You didn’t give him a chance to answer. His mouth was yours to take, his lips parting instantly to let you in. Your hips moved with his, the water spilling around you like crazy. You didn’t care; you wanted him. 

And you came like that, gripping onto Chuuya like your life depended on it, his bruised lips still moving against yours as you stifled his needy grunts in turn. You felt yourself tighten as your pleasure spilt, drawing a groan from Chuuya as his thrusts became sloppy. He buried his face in your neck, biting hard as the seconds went by before he was finishing inside you, shuddering from the shock of it. 

You sagged against him a moment later, as though you were the more exhausted one. Maybe you were; Chuuya wasn’t one to spend his energy so quickly. He’d probably go for a second round if you asked it of him.

But now… your gaze lingered on the purple flicks of light dancing around you. The water calmed down as both of you stood still in each other’s embrace. The seconds went by.

Finally, Chuuya raised his head. “What’s your opinion on water beds?”

You snorted. “We buying that now?” you brushed his hair back. “Why not just a pool?”

You joked but for a moment Chuuya went quiet. He was considering it. You blinked at him in disbelief before laugher bubbled out of your chest. Chuuya looked at you then, brow raised.

“Hah? What’s so amusing, you punk?” he said. “Take it more seriously. I’m a sold man on the idea.” And he flapped his hand, sending specks of water all around you.

It took you another moment to collect yourself again. “Sure, sure,” you sighed, smiling stupidly at your silly, absurd, perfect man. “You might be onto something, we’ll see.” You tried to hide your excitement as Chuuya levelled you suspiciously. “I… might need some more convincing though.”

A bit of silence followed by Chuuya’s hands falling on your hips again. “Is that a challenge? I’m very convincing, you know.” He grinned before capturing your lips again.

You sighed against him, melting right into Chuuya’s embrace yet again. 

He might be too much to handle sometimes, but you had a knack for those things. You had the experience and practice after all.