No Strings Attached Masterlist

it’s him

classmate!gojo part 3!

classmate!gojo who has been watching you from afar for the past week now. His eyes are always gravitating towards you in class, trying to catch any other possible connection. He’s try so hard to convince himself that you’re not his mystery girl, but at this point he should just accept it. The photo of your nails was proof enough, not to mention how much of a rush you were in. Neither of you have texted or exchanged photos since then, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t driving him crazy. Every single day since then he can’t get you off of his mind, getting so hard from the thought of you that he has to sneak away to rub one out to your pictures or videos. He just can’t help himself.

He watches you in class, in the cafe area, even sees you walking on campus, doing normal things. He would have never guessed in a million years you were the one he sought after so badly. You hide it so well. But he knows deep down under that good girl persona you have, there’s a slut waiting to caught, waiting to be fucked and used like you told him all those times over text. He’ll make you break. He sees you sitting on a bench on campus just scrolling through your phone, knowing this is the perfect time to execute his plan.

He finally breaks contact, sending you a video he took of himself last night.

gojo: i miss you

it was simple, but he was hoping it’d work. He watches intently, a small smile spreading across your face, though he’s unsure if it’s because of him

gojo: send me something, yeah? miss seeing you, baby

and like clock work, he sees you get up, heading towards the bathrooms inside one of the campus buildings. What else to do but follow. He sees you slip into the bathroom, and now he finally has you where he wants you.

you enter the bathroom, riddled with excitement that he finally texted you. Maybe he didn’t catch on that you were the one sending him photos. Good, it means you can have more fun. You enter the stall, replaying the video of him jerking off, putting the phone close to your ear so you can his moans. You smile, your hands finding themselves under your skirt, rubbing your clit through your clothed pussy. Little do you know he’s standing right outside the door, waiting for you.

You unbutton your shirt and grab onto your tits, massaging them in your hand while you send him a video. Quickly, you send him another of your wet panties, still rubbing your clit.

you: missed you too. can you tell?

and gojo can’t believe it when he receives the videos, chuckling to himself at how slutty you can be. He saves the videos nonetheless and puts his phone back in his pocket, the bathroom door opening, you walking out, completely caught off guard. Your heart thumps against your chest, mouth hanging open like you want to say something but nothing is coming out. All you know is that you can’t stop staring at him. He’s smirking at you, eyeing like a piece of candy as he moves closer towards you, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “I know you’re little secret.” You’re frozen, unable to do a thing. You couldn’t even deny it at this point. “Give em to me,” he demands.

“W-what?” You blink, voice barely above a whisper. He moves back, a smug smile on his stupidly pretty face. God, he smells so good. And his whispering? You’re even more wet than before. He knows what he’s doing to you.

“Your cute little panties. Give them to me.” He’s so casual about it and makes you even more nervous yet more intrigued. You turn to go back into the bathroom but he grabs your arm. “No, no, no. Do it right here.”

“But—” you look around to see if anyone else is around.

“What? Scared of getting caught? Sure weren’t thinking about that when you sent me all these videos and pictures. So, hand them over.” He watches as you slightly bend over, reaching under your skirt and gently pulling your panties down, letting them fall to your ankles. You sheepishly pick them up, they’re coated in your slick, an embarrassing sight. He grabs them from you, chuckling at the wet stain. “Wasn’t so hard, right?” He shoves them into his back pocket.You shake your head no, unable to keep eye contact with him. All the confidence you had over text has completely disappeared in the presence of him. What were you even thinking? He’s Gojo Satoru. “Thank you for these, baby.” He steps closer towards you, cornering you against the wall. “Send me something else later on tonight. Oh, and make sure to stop hiding that pretty face of yours too, okay? I wanna see everything.” He grabs your chin, tilting it up so you were looking at him.

“Why don’t you just fuck me already? We’ve both been waiting long enough,” you abruptly ask. It was taking everything in you not to drop on your knees and let him fuck your face.

“I can fuck you right here if I wanted to. You know how’ve riled up you’ve gotten me for all these weeks? I get so hard thinking about you that it hurts. I can’t fucking cum if it doesn’t involve you. You’ve taken over my mind, made me go on this chase to figure out who you were. So, if I wanna make you wait a little more, then I’ll fucking do it.” He gritted his teeth, gripping your chin slightly tighter. “Remember, only good girls get rewarded.” He smirked, pulling away from you before walking out of the building like nothing happened.

previous part

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 🙎‍♂️

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐃! 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Join Satoru & Y/N on their journey through parenthood as they navigate through a curse-filled world with their biological children and their adopted sons, Megumi & Yuji.

It is recommended that you read the fics in the correct order as listed below. Some parts can be read as a stand-alone fic.

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 (𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈) — ♛

➙ PHONE CALLS || gojo chats with you and your daughter while in the middle of a meeting.

➙ “WHAT? YOU’RE MARRIED? AND YOU’RE A DAD?” || yuji discovers that gojo has a family.

➙ “YOU WANT TO ADOPT ME?” || you & gojo adopt yuji & megumi.

➙ “LET’S HAVE ANOTHER BABY.” — ♛ || after adopting yuji & megumi, you & satoru decide to have another baby.

➙ FIRST FIGHT || the children overhear you & satoru arguing. megumi & itadori try to distract their little sister from it.

➙ MOTHER’S DAY || your family shows you how much they appreciate you.

➙ MY SON || megumi’s depressed and lives in fear that you and gojo will regret adopting him someday soon. you show him just how wrong he is.

➙ VACATION || the entire family goes on a much needed trip, but maya can see curses now. (coming soon)

➙ “YOU’RE PREGNANT?” || you’re getting ready to have a baby. (coming soon)

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀:

These are fics that are a part of this au series but aren’t necessarily “canon” and/or don’t happen within the current timeline of the au series. You can think of these fics as filler, to be honest!

➙ SUKUNA || sukuna decides to come out.

➙ MOTHER, HOUSEWIFE, & SORCERER || the shibuya incident has endangered your entire family. it’s time for you to do something about it. (coming soon)

➙ ALL GROWN UP || your children are all grown up and have had kids of their own. you & satoru are grandparents. (coming soon)

......

oh!

May I request yandere ranpo with a brat reader? I feel like this is brat on brat crime... Give it ur best if you do accept!!

Dueling brats

Yandere!Ranpo x Reader

Another night, another perfect crime. You had slipped through security like a ghost, leaving behind only the faintest traces of your presence. So far, no one had come close. But now, the police had called in their so-called “greatest detective.”

Edogawa Ranpo

You had heard of him, of course. Arrogant, annoying, infuriatingly skilled. But you weren’t worried. After all, no one had ever caught you before. Why should that change now?

Dressed in your best disguise, you strolled confidently onto the crime scene, an old man at your side. "Ah, what a shame" your so-called mentor sighed dramatically, squinting at the wreckage left behind. "Another case to crack. Lucky for them, we’re here!"

“Yeah, yeah, old man. Let’s hurry this up before some amateur steals the credit.” You smirked, brushing past officers.

And that’s when you saw him.

A smug-looking man, perched lazily near the evidence.

“Oh?” he drawled, tilting his head as he finally gave you his full attention. “Who let this little troublemaker in?”

“You tell me, oh great detective.”

For a moment, there was silence—a battle of wills as you both sized each other up. And then, at the same time, you both scoffed, turning away with exaggerated shrugs.

“I bet I’ll solve it first” you declared.

Ranpo grinned, “Oh, you’re on.”

And so, the game began.

From the moment the competition started, you made it your personal mission to be the biggest thorn in Ranpo’s side.

Every time he bent down to examine a clue, you’d conveniently “trip” and bump into him, knocking him off balance.

“Oops, sorry,” you hummed with zero sincerity, stepping right in front of him to inspect the same evidence he was looking at. “Guess I got here first.”

Ranpo huffed, crossing his arms. “As if you even know what you’re looking at.”

“Of course I do,” you said, squinting at a footprint on the floor. “This print belongs to someone who… has feet.”

“Oh wow, brilliant deduction. Maybe I should retire.”

“Maybe you should.” you teased.

Whenever he started explaining something—piecing together the crime with his so-called “superior intellect”—you’d interrupt with exaggerated gasps and nods.

“Ah, yes! Of course! The criminal must have—” You gasped again. “—HANDS!”

“Do you want me to throw you out with my precious hands?”

“You could, but that would mean admitting you can’t handle a little competition.”

“Fine. Stay.”

You promptly crouched beside him and tapped his shoe.

“Hey!”

“Just checking if you have feet too” you said, barely holding back a laugh.

It was so much fun getting under his skin.

The battle continued for nearly an hour—Ranpo doing his best to ignore you, you making that task impossible. If he leaned in to look at something, you leaned in closer. If he tried to talk to an officer, you cut in with a ridiculous theory just to throw him off.

Finally, just as you were about to make another snarky remark, your old mentor called your name.

“Time to go, kid.”

“Eh? Already?”

“Yeah, yeah. I let you play long enough.” The old man waved lazily. “Let’s go.”

You stretched your arms with an exaggerated groan. “Fine, fine. Looks like I’ll have to leave the case to the second best detective here.” You shot Ranpo a teasing grin.

Wait.

What did the old man say?

His gaze sharpened as he processed the realization. You weren’t a detective.

You were the thief.

He had been so caught up in bickering with you, so entertained by your antics, that he had wasted time—precious time—when he could have caught you right then and there.

By the time he shot to his feet, you were already disappearing into the distance, giving him one last playful wave before vanishing into the crowd.

Now that he knew who you were, there was no escaping him.

When Ranpo stormed into the Armed Detective Agency, he looked downright pissed.

The moment he walked in, Fukuzawa raised an eyebrow, Kunikida nearly dropped his clipboard, and Atsushi froze mid-step.

“Whoa,” Atsushi blinked. “Ranpo-san, are you okay?”

“No,” Ranpo grumbled, throwing himself onto the couch and crossing his arms. He was sulking—hard. “I was this close to catching them. This close!”

Kunikida adjusted his glasses. “Them?”

Ranpo huffed, glaring at nothing in particular. “That brat—that annoying, infuriating, sassy little thief!”

That caught Dazai’s attention. He grinned, leaning forward. “Oho~? A thief? Since when do you let criminals escape, Ranpo-kun?”

“I didn’t let them escape! They distracted me!” Ranpo snapped. “I was too busy dealing with their nonsense to realize who they really were!”

Dazai blinked, then burst out laughing. “Wait, wait, you—the great and mighty Ranpo—got tricked?”

“It’s not funny!” Ranpo whined. “Every five seconds, they had some dumb comment, or some annoying little trick to get on my nerves!” He groaned, gripping his hair. “And I fell for it!”

They had never seen Ranpo this frustrated before.

Ranpo scowled. “They’re a menace. A real brat. Kept interrupting me, getting in my way, acting like they were smarter than me—”

Dazai’s smirk only grew. “Sounds like someone I know~.”

Ranpo shot him a deadly glare.

Kunikida pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, let me get this straight. A thief you were supposed to catch managed to completely throw you off, and you’re mad because…?”

“Because I didn’t get to keep them.”

Silence.

Atsushi paled. “Uh… what?”

Ranpo realized what he just said and quickly backtracked. “I mean—I didn’t get to catch them! That’s what I meant!”

Dazai hummed. “Uh-huh. Sure~.”

Yes, you had escaped. Yes, you had annoyed the hell out of him. But that wasn’t what was bothering him the most.

No, what really pissed him off…

Was that he had actually liked it.

Ranpo was no fool. If you thought you could just slip through his fingers and disappear, you were dead wrong.

Because the moment you left that crime scene, he had already begun piecing together your next move.

You were a creature of habit—despite your playful tricks, there was a pattern hidden in your crimes. Ranpo saw it instantly. The kind of locations you picked, the escape routes, even the timing of your heists—it all led to one conclusion.

He knew exactly where you’d strike next.

So he set the perfect trap.

And when you did show up, he was already waiting.

One moment, you were mid-heist, about to swipe a particularly valuable piece, and the next—bam—everything went dark.

Now, you were here.

And “here” was… not a police station. Not an interrogation room.

Instead, you were in a strange room, sitting in a chair, hands tied—with a ridiculous amount of care, might you add.

And standing before you, looking far too smug for your liking…

Was Ranpo.

“Rise and shine” he drawled, popping a piece of candy into his mouth. “Did you sleep well?”

You tugged at your restraints, glaring. “You ass.”

Ranpo smirked, crouching to your level. “Oh, you have no idea how much trouble you’re in.”

You scoffed. “Oh nooo, am I gonna be arrested? How scary.”

“Arrested? Oh, no no no. The police aren’t coming.”

“…What?”

“I didn’t tell them.” He grinned. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

“That’s—stupid.”

Ranpo tapped his chin. “Hmm… No, I think it’s brilliant. You humiliated me, got in my way, wasted my time—so now? I get my revenge.”

“You’re not the first person who’s tried to get revenge on me, detective.”

Ranpo leaned in, so close that you could see the wicked amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Yeah?” he whispered. “And how many of them were as smart as me?”

Your smirk returned. “None. But I always won.”

You snapped your wrists at just the right angle, the ropes slipped free.

Ranpo barely had time to react before you lunged.

For the second time, you had escaped.

And Ranpo?

He was obsessed.

No one had ever gotten away from him once, let alone twice. And the way you did it? With that smug little smirk, that teasing glint in your eye?

It drove him insane.

So now, he laid flat on the couch at the Armed Detective Agency, staring at the ceiling, ignoring everyone.

"Ranpo, if you’re not going to work, at least sit properly" Kunikida sighed.

"Too tired" Ranpo mumbled, taking out a lollipop.

"You're just sulking" Atsushi muttered under his breath, hoping Ranpo couldn't hear it.

Ranpo rolled onto his side, scowling. "I am not sulking."

"You are," Dazai chimed in, grinning. "Let me guess—you still can’t get over that thief?"

Ranpo clicked his tongue, glaring at nothing in particular.

Because yeah, actually, he couldn’t.

Before he could reply, the phone rang.

Kunikida picked up, nodding along before sighing. "Another theft case. Ranpo, do you—"

"Yes!" Ranpo answered instantly, sitting up.

Everyone blinked.

Atsushi raised an eyebrow. "That was fast."

"If it’s them, I have to be there."

If it’s you.

But it wasn’t.

The case was nothing special—just a standard robbery with a very predictable culprit. Ranpo solved it in mere minutes, barely paying attention as he listed out the thief’s exact actions.

It wasn’t fun when it wasn’t you.

Still, he played along, gave the police their answer, and waved off their gratitude. He was already bored again.

Out of the corner of his eye—

A familiar figure.

It was you.

There, across the street, blending effortlessly into the crowd.

His heart thrummed.

You turned slightly—just enough for your gaze to meet his.

For a split second, surprise flickered in your eyes.

And then you turned—vanishing into the crowd.

Oh, no you don’t.

Ranpo ran.

His hat nearly flew off, his coat flared behind him, but he didn’t care. He dodged between people, eyes locked onto your figure as you weaved through the streets, always just out of reach.

Ranpo was so close.

Every time he thought he lost you, there you were again—a flash of your coat, a flicker of movement, that maddeningly smug grin when you glanced back at him.

You knew he was right behind you, and you loved it.

His lips curled in amusement despite himself.

It didn’t matter. You could play your little game, but he was going to win.

He picked up speed, expertly weaving through the busy streets, dodging past distracted pedestrians. Just a little closer—just a little more—

"Ranpo!"

Someone grabbed him.

Ranpo stumbled to a stop as a hand clamped onto his shoulder. He nearly snapped at whoever it was until he looked up—

Yosano.

Ranpo barely resisted the urge to groan.

"Where have you been?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Kunikida's been yelling about you skipping reports again."

Ranpo tensed, glancing past her, scanning the crowd frantically.

You were gone.

"What are you looking—"

Without a word, he spun on his heel and stormed off, stuffing his hands in his pockets, grumbling under his breath.

Ranpo didn’t talk about it when he got back to the agency, but everyone could tell he was sulking, again. He barely spoke, barely moved, just laid on the couch.

By the time the sun set, he had a plan.

If you wouldn’t come to him—

He’d make sure you had to.

-----

He rented an apartment, arranged precisely like those crime scenes you loved so much. Everything in its place—just subtle enough for someone as smart as you to notice.

Now all he had to do…

Was wait.

----

Ranpo sat at his desk, lazily sucking on a piece of candy, gaze flickering to the clock.

Any moment now.

The waiting was the hardest part. Knowing you would come, but not when.

There you are.

Ranpo took his time. Let you think you were in control. Let you wander, let you wonder if you were actually one step ahead.

The second you reached the center of the room—

The lights flickered on.

“Gotcha.”

You froze for only half a second before spinning on your heel—only to find Ranpo casually perched on the edge of his desk, grinning like a cat with its paw on a trapped mouse’s tail.

“Took you long enough. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

Your lips curled into a smirk. “I was. Had to see if you were as clever as you think you are.”

Ranpo chuckled, slipping off the desk, taking a slow step forward. “And? What’s your verdict?”

You let your gaze flicker around the room, noting the meticulous setup. The positioning of objects, the way it perfectly mirrored previous heists—every little detail designed to lure you in.

“I’ll admit,” you said, “Not bad.”

“Only not bad? C’mon, I deserve better than that.”

You clicked your tongue. “Mmm… Maybe.”

“Well, you lost.”

“Oh nooo~,” you mocked, voice dripping with fake fear. “What ever will I do? The great Edogawa Ranpo finally caught me.”

Ranpo chuckled, reaching into his coat pocket. “Mhm. And now, I’m going to take you in.”

“To the police?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Obviously not.”

You didn’t have time to question more than that before he suddenly flicked something at you—a small, wrapped piece of candy.

“Your last meal before I lock you up”

“Oh, how kind.” You unwrapped it dramatically and popped it into your mouth, letting the sugar melt on your tongue. “Tastes like victory.”

“Does it?”

He struck like lightning, barring your path before you could even flinch. You sidestepped at the last second—nearly too late. His fingertips skimmed your sleeve as you spun away, putting the desk between you.

“Come on, don’t make this boring.”

“Oh, never,” you shot back, grinning.

You darted for the door.

Ranpo was faster.

Just as you reached for the handle, something clicked.

You yanked.

The door didn’t budge.

Ranpo chuckled, casually twirling a key around his finger.

“Oops~,” he cooed. “Did I forget to mention? The door locks from the inside.”

“Wow, you really are desperate,” you teased, masking the shift in the air. “What’s next? A cage? A collar?”

He tapped his chin, pretending to think. “Well… now that you mention it—”

You took a step back, and he took a step forward.

The playfulness in his eyes was still there, but beneath it—lurking just underneath—was something else entirely.

“Ranpo—”

“Shhh. You lost.”

You realized you might actually be in trouble.

You were trapped.

“I have to admit,” you said, carefully watching his every movement. “This is a step up. You’ve really thought this through, huh?”

Ranpo’s grin widened. “Of course.”

You clicked your tongue. Fine. You’d just have to outthink him.

Your eyes flickered around the room, looking for anything you could use.

The window—too high. The furniture—nothing you could easily break through.

Your best bet was to distract him.

“Alright, alright. I admit it—you got me. I should’ve been more careful.”

You sighed dramatically, stepping back. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to wait for my grand escape. But since I’m stuck here for now, might as well get comfortable.”

You moved to lean against the desk—casual, relaxed. But in reality? You were positioning yourself right next to a pen.

Ranpo noticed.

His gaze flickered to your hand, then back to your face. He knew what you were doing.

And yet—

He didn’t stop you.

Your fingers curled around the pen.

You spun, aiming to jab the pen at him—

Except.

Ranpo already knew.

Before you could even blink, he caught your wrist.

“You really thought that would work?”

You tried to twist free—nothing. He didn’t budge.

"Not bad for a brainiac—didn’t know you had this much muscle."

He swept your legs out from under you.

The world tilted—your back hit the desk—Ranpo pinned you before you could even think of recovering.

"Wow, thanks. I’ll add ‘surprisingly strong’ to my resume."

Your wrist was still caught in his grip, your other hand pinned under his weight. You struggled, twisting, but—

It was useless.

“…Told you,” he murmured. “You lost.”

Every escape route? Gone. Every trick up your sleeve? Anticipated.

Ranpo knew you.

And that meant he knew exactly how to break you down.

Still, you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction just yet.

“Alright, alright. I admit it—you got me.”

Ranpo hummed, clearly pleased. “Mhm~.”

You rolled your eyes. “So what now? You gonna interrogate me? Tie me to a chair? What’s your master plan?”

Without a word, he reached into his pocket—

And pulled out a lollipop.

Your brows furrowed. "Someone’s got a sugar addiction, I see."

He just grinned, unwrapping it with a lazy flick of his wrist. “What? Sugar runs in my veins.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. But, after a moment, you scoffed. “Fine. If this is some weird attempt to butter me up, I’ll take it.”

Ranpo watched you as he gave you the lollipop.

And then—

Before you could pull away, he grasped the stick of the lollipop—

And plucked it right from your mouth.

Ranpo smirked, twirling the lollipop between his fingers.

You stared at him, incredulous. “...Did you just—”

“What? You already had a taste. My turn.”

“Oh? What’s with that look?” he teased. “Did you think I was just gonna let you enjoy it?”

You clenched your jaw, irritation bubbling. “You really get on my nerves, you know that?”

Ranpo chuckled. “Mhm~ Don't care~”

“You know, if I really wanted to escape, I could just—I could just turn myself in. The police would be easier to deal with than you.”

The second the words left your mouth—

You felt it.

The air in the room shifted.

You couldn’t name the look in his eyes.

“…What?” you scoffed, forcing a chuckle. “Don’t like that idea?”

Ranpo didn’t answer immediately.

“That’s not funny”

But there was nothing lighthearted about it.

You swallowed, but kept your composure. “Who said I was joking?”

“You don’t really want to turn yourself in, do you?”

You hesitated—just for a second. But that second was enough.

“Thought so.”

You clenched your jaw. “And if I did?”

“Let’s make something very clear,” he murmured, “You’re not going anywhere. Not to the police. Not away from me.”

Ranpo flashed his trademark smile, the one that fooled people into thinking he was harmless.

“I won, remember?”

This wasn’t just a game to him.

It never was.

“And I want you to be mine!”

Gojo's wife is calm, collected and well all around mature, much like Nanami. So when someone was taken by surprise that your last name was Gojo and not Nanami, that was the first time Satoru Gojo felt true heart break, his throat closed up and he thought he was about to blast this person into the sun. Is this what seeing red is like?

But of course his very sweet and understanding wife, simply placed herself into his side, hand pressing against his chest running it up and down as you say gently.

'Nope, this tall handsome fella is my husband.'

With the proudest smile on your face Satoru couldn't stay upset for long especially when you looked up at him with those soft eyes, he hooks his arm around your waist before standing up straighter a smile spreading across his lips, a cheeky smile some would say, as he responded with.

'That's right.'

(divider made by @adornedwithlight )

⌣⌣　　˳　 ⊹ EXCUSE ME? 𓏼 𝜗℘

SUMMARY: the school you and your husband's child, megumi attends called you one after apparently megumi got into a fight...

WC: another short fluffy fic, 657!

NOTES: HIHI BEEN A BIT SINCE I POSTED!!! guys i love fushiguro family like ohmyogd anyways PLEASE SEND REQUESTS I AM SO BORED AND ON WRITERS BLOCK

The call came just before lunch.

You were curled up on the couch, half-dozing in Toji’s lap while he scrolled through his phone, when yours started buzzing on the table. You picked it up with a groan, already expecting it to be spam.

But when you saw the name — Megumi’s School — your blood turned to ice.

You sat up fast. “It’s the school.”

Toji’s eyes immediately sharpened, phone dropping to the side as he leaned in. You put it on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Mrs. Takahashi from Sato Elementary. We’re calling to inform you that your son, Megumi, was involved in a… physical altercation today. We’d like you and his father to come in for a meeting.”

Toji was already standing. “We’re on our way.”

Fifteen minutes later,

You and Toji stepped into the office, calm on the surface, but both of you radiating that kind of cool, dangerous energy that made people instinctively step out of your way. You were dressed in all black, Toji in his usual fitted shirt and jacket, the kind of dad who looked like he fought people for fun and always won.

Mrs. Takahashi, the principal, and a meek-looking teacher were waiting.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, folding her hands tightly. “We need to discuss your son’s behavior today.”

“Where is he?” you asked immediately.

“Currently sitting with the nurse. He’s not injured, but—”

“What. happened,” Toji said, voice low, “exactly?”

The principal cleared his throat. “It appears Megumi punched another student. Several times. Unprovoked.”

You raised a brow. “Unprovoked?”

“Yes.”

Toji crossed his arms. “And you’re sure about that? Because my kid doesn’t swing first unless he’s got a damn good reason.”

The teacher adjusted her glasses. “It’s just that… he can be very quiet. Reserved. Sometimes children like that act out unexpectedly.”

You leaned forward slightly. “Did anyone ask him what happened?”

There was a pause.

“We didn’t get the chance before calling you—”

.

.

.

“You didn’t ask my son for his side of the story before labeling him a problem?” you snapped.

Toji’s tone darkened. “That’s not gonna fly with me.”

Mrs. Takahashi cleared her throat. “We understand this is upsetting, but physical violence—”

“Tell us who the other kid is,” you interrupted. “We’ll call their parents. Let’s have this conversation properly.”

The principal blinked. “I… don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Then stop trying to act like our son’s a criminal when you didn’t even ask what happened,” Toji snapped. “Megumi doesn’t throw punches for fun. What did the other kid do?”

The teacher hesitated. “…Apparently, there was name-calling. The other boy allegedly told Megumi his mom was stupid. And… made comments about her being pregnant. Called her ‘fat’ and ‘gross.’”

You felt Toji’s hand grip yours under the table.

You smiled—cold, sweet, dangerous. “So Megumi defended his mother.”

The principal looked uncomfortable. “Regardless, physical retaliation—”

“Toji,” you said sweetly, not taking your eyes off the staff, “can you remind me what we teach Megumi about defending his family?”

Toji leaned in, voice low and sharp. “That we don’t throw the first punch. But we always throw the last.”

The room went silent.

You stood, adjusting your coat. “We’re taking our son home. You can contact us when you’ve figured out how to actually handle bullying, instead of punishing the kid who stands up to it.”

Toji followed, not even bothering to look back. “And next time you call us in, make sure you’ve got your facts straight.”

Ten minutes later, in the car,

Megumi was sitting in the back seat, swinging his feet and holding an ice pack on his hand.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked softly.

You turned around, giving him a gentle smile. “No, sweetheart.”

Toji reached back and ruffled his hair. “You defended your mama. That kid had it coming.”

Megumi’s lips twitched into a smile. “He cried after the third punch.”

...

You blinked. “Third?”

Toji chuckled proudly. “Atta boy.”

U CANT MAKE THIS UP 😭

"𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄"

𝘮𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘮𝘪 𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘰

In which, Megumi is certain he could never match your boldness. From the very moment you crossed paths, you had the sheer audacity to ask him out, as if fate had already decided for the both of you. By some twist of luck—or misfortune, as he first thought—he eventually relented after finding himself stranded in a mall with you and his classmates. Now, as he's stuck with his decision lingering in the air, he isn't quite sure what to do with himself.

Surely, he hasn't gone and fallen for some random, starry-eyed girl... Has he?

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

"What?"

"Can you take me out?"

"..."

"..."

"Like... take you out... with a gun?" Megumi squinted at the girl, deliberately playing dumb for the sake of his own sanity.

In the thirty seconds he’d known you, he still couldn’t decide if this was some kind of elaborate prank or an unforeseen psychological endurance test.

You were just some random girl, balancing a volleyball in one hand and a drink in the other, looking as if you had all the time in the world. He had bumped into you, apologized, and somehow, in the span of a heartbeat, you had turned this into a flirtation.

And the way you stood there—completely unshaken, your expression unwavering—only deepened his confusion. Did you even realize how reckless your words sounded? Were you joking, or was this an actual death wish?

Logic told him to walk away. Instead, he indulged you.

"You’re funny, but the answer’s no." you chuckled, an effortless, unbothered smile spreading across your face. "I meant, take me out on a date."

It was a nice smile, Megumi noted absently, but it threw him off. He had seen confessions before—people fumbling over words, faces flushed with embarrassment—yet here you were, standing before him, calm and composed as if asking for a date was as routine as ordering food off of a menu.

"...You... I don’t even know your name." His voice was slower this time, laced with uncertainty.

"Y/N L/N. That’s my name."

A faint twitch formed beneath his eye, frustration—or something like it—surfacing. You were too casual, too self-assured, and it was messing with his composure.

He had no idea how to react. Who even were you? And why was this happening in the middle of a dimly lit subway station?

The air was thick with the scent of iron and concrete, the distant hum of an approaching train filling the silence between you and he can't help but feel trapped.

"...So... would you take me on a date? Or would you rather I take you on one? Both seem like pretty good options." You tilted your head slightly when he averted his gaze.

"...I—I don’t get it. What... Why would you even want to date me? We just met." Megumi stuttered.

The headache was inevitable now. Normally, turning people down wasn’t an issue for him—he was blunt by nature. But you? For some reason, he hesitated. It frustrated him how easily you disarmed him with nothing but sheer confidence.

And yet, there was something oddly considerate in the way you carried yourself, like you already understood that this wasn’t the appropriate time or place for such a question but didn’t mind either way.

"...Well... huh, how do I explain this..." You mused aloud, tossing your volleyball into the air before catching it again. "Hypothetically speaking, would me saying that I find you attractive not be a good enough response?"

Megumi tensed.

"...Well... it’s certainly a response." He grumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, gaze darting away as heat crept up his neck.

What kind of courage did you have to say something like that with a straight face? Were you even real?

"...Not a good one, I assume?"

"Not really."

A brief silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the distant screech of an incoming train.

"...So would you take me out on a date?"

Was this girl serious?

"I mean... I just met you... so no."

"...Alright."

Megumi studied your expression. You looked... slightly embarrassed now, like the reality of your own words had finally sunk in. With a quiet sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before muttering:

"Maybe... if we meet again."

What was he even saying?

You blinked, then grinned. "Well... that sounds like a plan."

Finally, a bit of color dusted your cheeks as you took a sip of your drink. Megumi almost regretted wanting to see you flustered. He had only been curious—to confirm you were, in fact, human—but now that he had, it was making him blush too.

How annoying... Did he just become a sucker for a total stranger?

"You don’t really seem disappointed." Megumi noted, voice measured as he sheepishly scratched the back of his head.

"Well, I know it’s a weird question to ask someone you just met, and I can’t force you to take me out on a date." You laughed, barely acknowledging the train doors sliding open behind him.

"Why did you want to talk to me anyway?"

"I just thought you were a really romantic-looking kind of person and that I should talk to you. I figured you’d say no anyway."

Megumi huffed at that, the warmth in his face only deepening. Romantic-looking? What did that even mean?

"Sure."

He wasn’t convinced you weren’t messing with him.

The station was busier now—commuters moving around him, boarding the train, their chatter filling the space. He should’ve left already. Instead, he lingered, looking at you for just a moment longer than necessary.

"Well, is it okay if you tell me your name?" You asked, tilting your head.

He hesitated. Why was he hesitating?

"It’s Fushiguro." The words left him reluctantly as he finally took a step forward.

"No full name?" You teased, even though you weren’t sure you’d ever see him again. All you knew was that you liked this guy—a lot—and you wanted to keep talking to him.

Megumi exhaled, almost groaning. You were persistent. It was something he could respect, at least.

"...Megumi. Megumi Fushiguro."

Your expression softened. "That’s a pretty name. Alright, I won’t hold you up any longer. Bye, handsome."

Megumi turned away entirely, stepping into the train without so much as a backward glance. You had thoroughly embarrassed him.

You sighed, watching as the train doors slid shut. Then, with a small, amused shake of your head, you made your way up the station stairs, heading toward where your friend was waiting.

Megumi Fushiguro probably thought you were insane.

But if you ever saw him again, you’d definitely take another shot.

Something about him was just too cool to let go.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Fushiguro, right?"

"Yeah, that's my name." He sighed, weariness laced in his tone.

"Can I call you Megumi?"

Megumi looked at you, another invisible tick mark forming on his forehead. Normally, he’d say no without hesitation, but something about the way you asked—your voice soft, your smile unguarded—made him hesitate. This was humiliating.

"Uh... sure, I guess."

"Well... this is kind of like a date, no?" You almost laughed, trying not to agitate the increasingly exasperated boy beside you.

It had been about two weeks—give or take—since your first encounter at the subway station. Now, fate (or misfortune, in Megumi’s case) had led to another meeting, this time involving an almost-spilled coffee. He had turned to apologize, only to recognize you, and in his moment of shock, actually dropped the drink.

You had offered to replace it, and despite every fiber of his being telling him not to indulge you, he had agreed... only because he still wanted coffee. And so, here you were, strolling alongside him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He held his coffee, you clutched a small box of cake for later, and the city hummed around you in the late afternoon light.

"Uh... this isn’t a date." Megumi corrected, desperate to shut down whatever delusions you might have.

"Are you sure? This seems like it would make for a pretty romantic walk."

Megumi’s grip on his cup tightened. Why would you use the word romantic? Now he was actively avoiding looking at you.

"Yeah, I’m sure." He sighed, eyes locked on the pavement.

"Well, how about we call it just hanging out then?" You grinned, stepping a little closer.

He took another slow sip of his coffee, waging an internal war. He didn’t like you—definitely not. He didn’t even want to be here. He was antisocial, and he sure as hell shouldn’t be entertaining you.

Love at first sight wasn’t real. He knew that. And yet... there was something about you that made him doubt his own reasoning. Maybe it was the way you so fearlessly inserted yourself into his life, as if fate had long decided you belonged there.

He could indulge you just a little longer... right?

"Sure. This can just be a hangout."

The moment he said it, he was rewarded with one of the most radiant smiles he’d ever seen.

"That’s good. Then maybe I can get you to date me after."

"That’s not going to happen."

"Why not? We know each other a little better now, don’t you think?"

"Yeah? I still barely know you." He tried not to let his smirk show, keeping his guard up even as he found you... oddly fun to be around.

"Well, you drink black coffee, and I like cake—"

"Most people like cake."

"And barely anyone likes black coffee. That makes you unique."

"But liking cake isn’t."

"Jeez, you’re missing the point." You huffed, crossing your arms, only for him to let out a small, unexpected chuckle.

"That’s fine. I’m making my own point," Megumi replied, entirely unfazed by your frustration. "We’re still technically strangers. At best, we’re acquaintances."

"Then tell me something about yourself. If that’s the problem, we can fix it."

"Absolutely not." He took another deliberate sip of his coffee.

"Can I talk about myself then?"

"Knock yourself out."

"Cool! So, I just switched schools, and I play volleyball there. At my old school, I used to be one of those people in the mascot suits—you know, the big fluffy animals? Yep, that was me. And recently, I got a job at a skating rink—"

You rambled on, jumping between topics as if your thoughts were spilling out faster than you could catch them. At first, Megumi thought it would be exhausting. But somehow, despite himself, he found that he was listening.

Maybe it was the way you spoke—so animated, so full of life—or the way your words painted pictures of your experiences in broad, reckless strokes. Even if it drained his social battery, he couldn’t help but keep up.

Then came the voice that made his head throb instantly.

"Megumi!"

He tensed. You turned, tilting your head at the tall man with white hair and a black blindfold. Why was he wearing a blindfold?

"Oh? Who’s that?"

"...That’s my teacher." Megumi groaned, already regretting this entire day.

"Hey! Who’s your friend?" Gojo grinned at you, his energy almost overwhelming.

"This is L/N—"

"Don’t call me that. Just Y/N, since I’m calling you Megumi." You interrupted, flashing a playful smile. Gojo raised an eyebrow, while Megumi flushed and glanced away, suddenly interested in the cracks in the pavement.

"Okay." Gojo smirked before turning back to you. "Nice to meet you, little lady. Name’s Gojo."

"Nice to meet you too, sir."

"Right... what were we talking about again?" You turned to Megumi, who simply sipped his coffee as if he hadn’t just been embarrassed.

"Someone named Yoko."

"Oh, right! Then there’s Yoko—he kind of hates me, so I don’t mess with him much even though I have to see him for advanced math almost every day. And then there’s my teacher, Mr. Touya—"

Gojo observed quietly, his grin deepening. You just kept talking, completely at ease, filling the space with an effortless energy most people lacked. But what amused him most was the way Megumi listened—really listened.

With a knowing smirk, he elbowed his student, earning an immediate, half-hearted swat in return.

Then, out of nowhere, you gasped dramatically. "Oh my gosh, do you want to know something?!"

Megumi nearly jumped, almost spilling his coffee again. "What!? What happened to your mother!?"

"Huh?"

"...Huh!?" Megumi stared, utterly baffled. You had been talking about your mom just a second ago—so why did you suddenly jump topics?

"What happened to your mother?" He repeated, exasperated but lowering his voice so it didn’t seem like he was yelling at you. Meanwhile, Gojo was practically shaking with silent laughter.

"Oh! Nothing happened to my mother," you said cheerfully, "but I just remembered my dad’s taking me to Paris in three weeks since he’s working overseas!"

Megumi’s brain short-circuited. How did you function like this? The sheer unpredictability of your conversations should have been annoying. Instead, it made him want to know more.

"Yep... so that’s my life. What’s yours?"

"You think just because you dumped your life story on me, you’ll get to know mine?"

"Why not?"

"It’s because he’s antisocial. But don’t worry, I’m sure he liked it—"

"Shut up." Megumi shot a glare at Gojo, only to hear you laugh.

"Well, I’ll see you later then, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess—"

"Oh, wait! Can I ask you again?"

Megumi hesitated. "Ask me what?"

"If you’ll take me out."

"Oh! That’d be sweet, but now that I think about it, he’s getting some of his teeth removed in a few days, so maybe not!" Gojo interrupted, earning an attempted slap on the back.

"No, I’m not taking you out... at least not yet." Megumi muttered, avoiding eye contact.

You grinned. "Alright then. See you soon, Megumi."

And with that, you walked away, waving as you left.

Silence stretched for about twenty seconds before Gojo grinned. "So... who was that lovely girl?"

"She's L/N. I met her like two weeks ago… and don’t start making stuff up about me, especially in front of her."

"Oh my gosh! Are you two dating? Is she your girlfriend? Wait—don’t tell me—have you two already—!? Megumi, you're too young for that!"

"What the hell!? No! We're just acquaintances, dammit! Now drop it!"

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Megumi didn’t ask for this. He didn’t want to be here. If given the choice, he’d much rather be cooking with Maki than wandering aimlessly through a crowded mall.

Nobara and Yuji had insisted on a shopping trip, dragging Megumi along for the ride—not that he had a say in the matter. Gojo made sure of that. But somehow, against all odds, he found himself bumping into you again. And again. At this point, it felt less like coincidence and more like the universe playing some kind of twisted joke on him.

Unfortunately, this time, he wasn’t alone. His ever-annoying teacher and equally troublesome classmates were with him, making the situation infinitely worse. He already knew what was coming.

Gojo, in all his meddling glory, had ratted him out to Nobara and Yuji, claiming—loudly—that you were his girlfriend. No amount of frantic yelling on Megumi’s part could convince them otherwise. If they saw you now, he’d never hear the end of it.

"Hey, Megumi! How are—"

"Don’t be so loud," he muttered, grabbing your forearm and steering you toward another section of the store as fast as humanly possible.

"I wasn’t being loud. What’s wrong?"

"Nothing. I just don’t want to be here."

Truthfully, he just didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. You were bold, he was reserved, and the contrast was enough to set his classmates off. He could already hear the teasing.

"You’re being kind of pushy, you know that? Are you taking me on that date now?" You grinned, following him without hesitation.

"Don’t ask me that anymore. You’re the most persistent person I’ve ever met."

"Aw, c’mon. It’s not like I’d be a bad date. I’d be fun—"

"You know what? Fine," Megumi hissed. "I’ll take you out. Just shush!"

Finally, he let you go, exhaling sharply—only to freeze as soon as he turned around.

Yuji.

Not him.

Megumi knew exactly what was coming next. Yuji had a habit of reporting every little interaction Megumi had with a girl.

So, without hesitation, Megumi dropped to all fours and crawled under a clothing rack, opting for the most ridiculous but effective method of escape. He didn’t even bother pulling you along—he just peeked out from under the rack, looking up at you like some desperate fugitive.

"Where are you going?" you whispered, baffled.

"Don’t mention me. At all. They don’t need to know—"

"Who?"

"Nobody. Just… annoying people who dragged me here."

"Well, I guess I should thank them, since I get to see your handsome face again. And now you’re taking me on a date." You smiled, unbothered, while Megumi’s face heated up yet again.

He groaned when he spotted Yuji approaching from behind you.

Yuji, for his part, had not expected to find Megumi crouched under a clothing rack, talking to a cute girl about dating.

"Uh… hey. What’s your name?"

You turned to face the boy with pink hair, dressed in the same uniform as Megumi.

"Y/N L/N. What’s yours?"

"Oh! I’m Yuji Itadori. I’ve heard a lot about you!"

"Really? That’s nice."

"Hey, Kugisaki! Gojo-sensei! Guess who Fushiguro found?!" Yuji shouted, drawing the attention of everyone in the store.

Megumi sighed in defeat. There was no running from this.

"Who?" Nobara strolled over, yawning, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"The girl Megumi’s into!"

Megumi cringed as Yuji’s words rang out, immediately smacking him upside the head while you were distracted.

"Oh really?!" Nobara perked up, smirking as she placed a hand on her hip. "I’m Nobara Kugisaki. Best girl here—besides you, of course."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N!" You smiled, taking note of what Yuji had said. If you really were the girl Megumi was interested in, than that would mean he'd want to date you.

"Well, little lady, we were about to grab some food. Want to join us?" Gojo offered with a grin.

"I'd like that, if it's okay with you, Megumi." You nodded, and Megumi sighed before muttering a small, reluctant "Sure." Yuji and Nobara almost squealed at the way you so casually used his first name.

With that settled, everyone finished their purchases. Nobara immediately decided you needed some cute dresses and dragged you along, while Yuji chatted with you nonstop.

You seemed interesting enough, and you must have been pretty impressive to catch Megumi’s attention.

"Yeah, that's how we found out that not only is Megumi dyslexic, but he also has like twenty different types of gel for his hair. Oh, and don’t even get me started on the romance novels he has—"

"I do not have romance novels in my dorm room," Megumi growled, shooting a sharp glare at Nobara, who just laughed and kept talking. He had to correct her every ten seconds as she spun wild tales, much to your amusement.

He shouldn’t have cared. It shouldn’t have mattered whether they teased him or tried to pair him up with you. After all, it’s not like he actually liked you… He couldn’t like you… Right? He had only met you three weeks ago.

"Yeah, Kugisaki, don’t make stuff up when they’d be so cute together. Just like Gojo would say, ‘Get off of him, you damn homewreckers!’" Yuji teased, grinning. "Though the gel thing is totally true."

"I’m going to kill all of you," Megumi grumbled under his breath. You just laughed, nearly doubling over at how flustered he was.

"You shouldn’t kill us," Gojo chimed in, smirking. "Especially when we’re going to be the ones at your wedding—"

"Stop it!" Megumi snapped, his face burning as laughter erupted around him.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

"So, where would you take me?"

"I don't know... Probably a cafe or something." Megumi replied, almost forgetting that, by some miracle, he had actually agreed to this.

Though, he was starting to realize he had been lying to himself. It wasn’t that he outwardly liked you the way you did him…

But he was lying about not falling for you. Because at the very least, he wanted to be around you. And for someone like him—someone who rarely wanted to be around anyone—that meant something.

"Well, it's a good thing you gave me your number, so now I can text you about it later." You smiled, looking up at the sky, streaked in soft hues of sunset.

"I guess."

Meanwhile, Yuji, Nobara, and Gojo were doing an absolutely horrible job at being inconspicuous as they spied from the food court. The two of you had stepped outside to talk, and, like a group of nosy children, they couldn’t help themselves.

"What that boy Itadori said—was it true?" you asked suddenly.

"What did he say?"

"That you're into me?"

Megumi had to physically restrain himself from scowling. He was definitely going to smack the hell out of Yuji when they got back to campus.

Then again… he might as well tell the truth. Was he into you? Hypothetically, he shouldn’t be—not when the two of you barely knew each other. But in reality… yes. Yes, he was into you.

And he blamed you for it. It was your fault he felt this way.

"Yeah." He finally admitted.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. You had only brought it up to tease him—you hadn't actually expected him to admit it.

"... Really? I'm into you too."

"I know that. You made that pretty clear when we first met." Megumi chuckled, looking at you with an ease that was rare for him.

For once, he wasn’t annoyed or stressed. He didn’t look like he wanted to strangle someone. He just looked… calm. And that made you even more excited.

"Right."

"..."

"..."

"I can't actually believe you're going to take me on a date!" you beamed, barely able to contain your excitement.

"Yeah, well, I can't believe it either. I can’t even really believe I like you, so imagine how I feel."

Nobara sighed dramatically from her hiding spot. "This is getting boring. How long do we have to wait for something interesting to happen?"

"Shh!" Yuji whisper-yelled, elbowing her—only to get elbowed back.

"Ow! Quit it!"

"Shut up! I don't—"

"They're gonna notice us," Gojo warned, lifting his blindfold slightly. It was enough to immediately silence them.

Back outside, you checked the time and sighed. "Welp, I gotta go. But it was nice seeing you again—and meeting your friends." You smiled, completely unaware of the spying trio.

"I'll see you later."

"Alright. Bye—oh, wait!"

You quickly turned back and, before Megumi could react, leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. Then, just as easily, you waved him goodbye and strolled off like you hadn’t just sent his entire system into shock.

Megumi felt it—his face heating up, his chest doing that stupid thing where it beats too fast. At this rate, you were going to give him heart failure.

"Woah!" a voice exclaimed.

Megumi turned sharply, only to find the three idiots huddled behind a bush. They weren’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

"Did you see that?! That was so cute!" Gojo gushed, peeking at the picture Yuji had taken.

"Hell yeah, it was! The picture turned out great!"

"It did?! Let me see! Oh my gosh, that’s so sweet! And now they’re going on their first date?" Nobara smirked.

"This is amazing! They have so much chemistry! I’ll bet you ten thousand yen they’ll end up in the same bed in two months—"

"I’m giving you all five seconds." Megumi’s voice was eerily calm as he loomed over the bush.

That was all the warning they needed before they bolted back into the mall, leaving Megumi standing there, still red-faced, cursing the fact that he had ever left his dorm today.