Everything You Wanted (Zuko X Servant! Reader) PART ONE

like the sun.

pairing: gojo satoru + reader

summary: satoru’s presence reminds you of the sun. like helios, the sun god, you attributed.

warnings: kind of enemies to lovers? reader is a year older than gojo, angst (my fav :3), little cameo from geto. gojo is (secretly) so down bad, mention of violence, blood, and anything of those sorts. also set before geto’s defection.

word count: 7.2k

a/n: i am back from my writing slump! i was (very) burnt out from my last fic, but i think my spark is back :) i’ve mentioned this kind of plot once or twice before, so i NEEDEDDD to write it out to satisfy my head <333 hope you lovelies enjoy!

i. blaze.

there’s a peculiar thing about heat.

summer sun is nearly unbearable, and yet you’re tempted to stay under it’s scorching glare longer. an enigma, because, in all honestly, your body felt like it could give out in any moment. the white cotton shirt was rather suffocating. it’s too close to skin, battling the weather for a more overwhelming presence. unnatural and stiff, arms raise, and it’s only with the most futile attempt that you stretch out sore limbs while simultaneously trying to catch your breath.

slight relief is given with small gusts of refreshing wind. limited by it’s lack of strength, but it does it’s purpose in cooling you off. morning training was preferable. it was less brutal — and more importantly, it saved you the trouble of having to spar with an immortal. he never woke up early enough.

an immortal, jokingly, because you’ve never been able to land a meaningful hit on him.

“where’d you get that?”

your arms pause, stilling from their position above your head. he’d granted you a small break. ‘generously,’ as he had put it. after two hours of exerting yourself, you’d grown to become indifferent to the absence of fatigue on his face.

a finger is pointed towards your side, eyes blue and curious, gaze almost as blunt as his tone. the slightest exposure of skin is shown, shirt lifted from your previous movements, and his eyes remained fixed upon you. expression unreadable, a smile oddly lacking. it makes you a little self-conscious, and you reach to pull the fabric back down.

“scar.” you dryly answer, resorting to turning away, contorting your back to hear a small ‘crack!’

blue still penetrates you. it watches, carefully.

“looked pretty big.”

you bite your cheek, sparing him a side glance.

“it’s old.”

he doesn’t miss a beat. he never really does.

“how old?”

a small huff escapes your dehydrated lips, and your brows furrow.

“got it last year.”

before you knew him, to be clearer. you’d elaborate, make it known, but your chest stings of exhaustion, and the sun is, again, too hot.

truthfully, your response fails to provide satoru with satisfaction, and you can tell that he’s got a few more questions (or a million) to ask. but he keeps his mouth shut, and nods in simple understanding. you only watch as he straightens his posture, and a smile — notably, grazing his lips with some strange hesitation — shows up once more.

“break’s over.”

•••

you’re introduced to gojo satoru during your second year at jujustu high. it was like a chunk of the literal sun (something you’d reiterated was so distasteful and unpleasant to be under, yet strangely captivating) had been taken and left on earth, blazing with desire, and legitimately brighter than everything else around it. like helios, you attributed. a sun god.

an anomaly in your vision, only a few doors down from you.

he was unbearable.

if arrogance could conjure itself into a person — if all the annoyance in the world could simultaneously join at once — it’d create him. the product of too many bad things.

and of course, you’d expected his arrival. it felt like the only subject of your entire first year — the legend, the “honored” one. for him to attend your school grounds the following semester, and to truly give the universe a glimpse into his true power.

because what was he really capable of?

“again, too slow.”

you’d come to accept an unfortunate feat of failure.

swept off your feet by nothing but air (and a forceful kick), gravity pulls you back down, and you hiss as your back hits the floor. your head almost collides with it, but a nudge to your side reminds you to keep it lifted. in retrospect, it’s thoughtful, but you nearly glare.

you can feel where you’ll be sore tomorrow. it stings just a little too much for comfort, and your teeth clamp down on your bottom lip to suppress the ache.

a body so regularly bruised, you’re surprised the injuries themselves haven’t come to life and begged you to stop moving.

satoru stands above you, a white collared long-sleeve accentuating his pale features. linen, almost. it’s a bit see-through, and it shines nicely through the rays behind him. his darkly tinted glasses rest upon his face. they sit a little below his nose.

blue peeks out.

“god, yaga wasn’t kidding.”

he sounds almost bored. with the privilege of being so careless, so relaxed and expectant, he raises a brow at your silence and nudges you once more.

it’s quietly humiliating. a cycle that continues, until you’ve had enough and choose to end the embarrassment. satoru’s pliant, always awaiting your call. because, simply, he can do that.

slowly, you blink, looking up to meet his partially covered eyes.

they used to scare you. not from intimidation or general nerves, but because they were vibrant. deeper than ocean’s water, a shade unlike anything humane. it puts a greater boarder in between the two of you. a stronger picket fence.

you know that if you ask, you won’t like the answer. but the pitying, mocking smile satoru has is getting under your skin, so you breathe a small, “what?”

satoru’s smug.

you watch as he whistles and looks off to the side, temporarily ignoring you.

and then, he shrugs nonchalantly.

“nothing.”

your eyes narrow. you can feel your annoyance bubbling, and it threatens to tip over, but you shake your head in retaliation.

“okay.”

it’s a trap, you know it’s a trap, because satoru’s head perks up, and he looks at you questionably.

“you don’t want to know?”

your eyes roll, so severely you momentarily feel a little twinge of pain.

“no, i’m good.”

and you ignore his out-reached hand, getting off the floor by yourself.

you’re tired.

it’s well past noon. another afternoon of seemingly pointless training because suguru and shoko had been out on a mission, leaving you alone once more with the embodiment of your nightmares.

you were tempted to complain to yaga, but knowing his twisted ways of teaching, it’d probably only land you more time with him.

unfair.

“not even a little curious?”

ignoring him was difficult. you’ve become too accustomed with sarcasm, and it’s sickly rewarding to see his face fall to pieces, because he’s everything and perfect. infuriatingly so.

“no, leave me alone.” your voice holds some annoyance now, and you’re still hearing his footsteps behind yours as you make your way inside the dormitories.

it’s like clockwork. so expected, you can’t find it in you to tell satoru to actually leave.

he’s never listened to you anyways.

upon reaching your door, you slowly let yourself in, and are unable to act surprised when you fail to hear it shut behind you. you can already picture the sight of his foot nudged in between the crack. you pay no mind, placing your weapon against the wall, and are forced to take a seat at your desk because of the unwelcomed guest who, suddenly, lays on your bed. like usual. peering up at you, a boyish smile illuminating such delicate features.

“what’s on today’s agenda?”

he speaks like that pretty often.

insinuating a we, us, our — as if the two of you are halves that make a whole, and are practically inseparable despite your clear discomfort. unwillingness, too.

“i,” you emphasize, glancing at him. “am going out.”

he’s pouting, you know before you even look at him again.

“where?”

you fiddle with the hem of your shirt, sighing softly. he’s like a baby duckling.

“i have a meeting with yaga, but he’s stuck at kyoto right now. i’m seeing him there.”

you watch as satoru’s head pokes up. for a sliver of time, he looks a little unsure, which is unlike his normal self, who speaks absentmindedly. and for that solid reason, you get the slightest ounce of concern. but you mask it, because heaven and earth both know the burden of his awareness.

“can’t be super important.”

your brow raises, and you scoff softly.

“not sure yet.”

silence seems to bother satoru, you’ve learned. he enjoys speaking, generally taking up time that isn’t righteously his. it’s a habit, one clearly too strong to break. entitlement.

but he speaks because he loves the interaction.

(specifically, he loves talking to you.)

and satoru isn’t stupid — he’s far from it. he’s able to read you well enough to know that he’s slightly wounded you. not too far from offense, though he’s able to see how fidgety you get as a result. he needs to learn how to shut up.

“i noticed you were slower today.”

spoken plainly. and you’re not looking at him when he says it, unable to spot the way he swallows thickly afterwards.

words spew out. there’s not much to talk about, you reason. you repeat that a million times in your head, only opening your mouth to respond when you’re sure it won’t be mean. too rash, and you’re positive the conversation would go a different way.

you shrug, looking at the floor.

“i was tired.”

it feels like the wrong to say. and satoru quickly proves your gut right.

“you’re always tired.”

his bluntness is weirdly shocking, which is the only reason why a small laugh escapes your lips. for a moment, you’re not sure how else to respond — what a sensible response would sound like. but you’re used to his antics, and it’s only a further reminder to keep your composure.

“well, you’re not exactly easy competition.”

you’re speaking lightheartedly, a bit of humor hidden in your voice. and though you feel rather pitiful to be using his abilities as an excuse, you tell yourself it’s a genuine reason.

but satoru is aware. he’s more than aware. he breathes the fact like air itself, because it’s been shoved down his throat since before he’s been able to even understand it.

he’s aware.

“but you’re not trying, either.”

at that, your body stills.

satoru isn’t smiling with you. and he’s not teasing, you finally realize. he’s being serious. but satoru has never been mean. he’s conceited, yes, but mean? you wouldn’t count his teasing as it, and he’s never gone farther than repetitive little jokes.

“what?” and you suppose you’re dumbfounded from disbelief, because your throat feels a little dry, and the forced smile on your face falls slightly. it twinges, unsure of how to read the situation.

“you’re not trying, i said.”

“no, no, i heard you.” you wave a hand, words quiet as you cough awkwardly. “i just… wasn’t expecting that.”

you feel a little dramatic. the tips of your ears burn, and embarrassment lingers across your skin. the floor is suddenly the most interesting thing in the room, and you wonder if he’s aware of the heightened effect those words sound coming from him. you’re uncomfortable.

“someone had to tell you eventually.” and this time satoru is the one who shrugs, peacefully laying back against your pillows as if he’d done something dutiful — like he was worthy of some sort of praise. “it’s noticeable.”

he’s never managed to leave you at a loss words. you’re normally quick with rebuttals, regularly despising the thought of him thinking he’s escaped bickering with you as a victor.

so your silence feels daunting, and you’re both equally as aware of it’s significance.

satoru jumps over your picket fence sometimes. as if breaking a fourth wall into your mind, and latching on to something more sour and unkept. he brings out emotions that are more real, and his honesty bruises your insides until they feel as sore as your own physical body. it’s daunting, and another testament of his uniqueness.

“thanks.” you finally mutter, awkwardly looking to the side to avoid his overall perception. “i’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

satoru is like a brick wall. or, realistically, just some form of indestructible material. that fact alone should push you towards improvement. it should be a motivator. but when you train alongside him (albeit, rarely), you’re reminded of your naiveness from a mere year ago.

expectations should be kept low at all costs. it makes disappointment easier. jujustu brought upon the worst scenarios, and you’ve slowly learned to not grow attachments, or be too positive. because that’s what truly kills.

but, satoru. meeting satoru was like a fresh breath of air. everything about him was true, and even then he superseded his initial description. he’s more careless with his desires, nonchalant about limits. indulging in advice wasn’t him. he simply didn’t do it, taking his own word against others.

the dorm bed creaks, and you watch as he leisurely stands up, casual and quiet.

“well, just so you know,” his fingers tap against the door frame, and he lets himself back in, just by a tiny bit.

he pauses. hesitant again.

but this time, his voice comes out a bit louder. confidence declared. and you’re unaware that the tone is somewhat forced.

“yaga said you’re pretty weak. told me and suguru to go easy on you while sparing.”

the door shuts behind him.

•••

ii. taunt.

during the first week of your third year, a mission is assigned to you by jujustu tech.

well — not assigned, per say, but dutifully given.

by your compliance, and your raised hand in yaga’s office.

“i’ll take it.”

it’s immediate, and you ignore the stares from around the room. you don’t falter, looking to yaga expectantly. he’s a stern man. difficult to read, but easy to understand. he acts with logic, and is genuinely a respectable teacher at heart.

and yet you figure that he’s some form of evil, because he looks up from his paperwork, and replies with, “satoru will accompany you.”

as if he didn’t need to think twice, and the sound of your voice was enough to cement the decision.

your eyes narrow distastefully, though you don’t verbalize your exasperation. the subject of the matter is beside you, and you can feel that he’s watching your expression, but when yaga hands you both individual papers, any words he’s tempted to say die down. you’re sure you’ve made your feelings clear.

it’s another ten minutes of boring, long reminders before all of you are excused, and you’re sure your feet have never been quicker as you attempt to escape the mere vicinity of the room. your shoes click against the floor, and you feel others right behind you. irritatingly familiar.

“woah, woah, woah, slow down!”

an arm throws itself over your shoulders, and it’s difficult to not buckle under the sudden weight, a groan leaving you as you push back slightly.

the past year had only provided him with more confidence, and a stronger need to bother you at all times.

“first mission together!” satoru grins, waving his paper in your face gleefully. the excitement is obviously one-sided, but that seems to only fuel his amusement more.

your eyes shut tightly, and you sigh.

“a…” satoru ignores you, eyes scanning his paper, humming softly before a dramatic gasp leaves his lips. he leans into you a bit more. “grade one! that should be fun.”

and suddenly, his addition makes sense.

in jujustu ranking, you were still considered a grade two sorcerer. satoru soars higher, like he always has, and had surpassed you mere weeks after his initial arrival. expected, but still a little irrationally irritating.

“just leave it to me.” he waves his free hand that’s still over your shoulder. “i’m probably better fit to fight against it anyway.”

you wonder how much trouble you’d get into if you hit him in the face. you’ve thought about it more times than you could count. in present, it’s a near losing battle, and you only relent because he lets go of you at just the right moment.

realistically, it’d be nice of satoru to be more considerate. you disliked the passive aggressive comments, and can’t seem to understand why he’s always made them when you’ve never said or done anything to earn the taunting quips.

it’s his humor, you’ve heard, though it never feels as degrading when it’s directed at someone else.

you’ve tried your hardest to tolerate satoru over the past year, after realizing it was futile to be completely friendly. but you suppose he holds up his own barrier at times. you’re only given the leisure of peeking over, never getting the will to jump across. that’s another skill only he has mastered.

“meet here at nine tomorrow.” he smiles, carefree as he stops in front of you, halting your path. he pays no mind to your raised brow and crossed arms, adjusting his glasses so they sit higher on his face. “then we can leave, and hopefully we’ll be back pretty early.”

confused and still irritated, you shake your head in confusion.

“wouldn’t we be back early if we just… left earlier?”

satoru’s face sours, and a clear glimpse of his adolescent mind shows through when he shakes his head.

“nah.”

you don’t have the energy to argue over how idiotic he sounds, so you nod in agreement, and rub your temples deeply. it would be a long day, you’re sure, but nothing new his antics haven’t already trained you for.

“noon, then.” you mutter, taking one last look at him.

the air feels a little tense.

you nearly bite your tongue, debating on letting some additional comments fly out. but watching his demeanor (the pure nonchalance) frustrates you, and your eyes narrow.

“you know, i could probably take it on too. by myself.”

satoru stills.

it had been bubbling in your head since you’d left yaga’s office. clearly, as satoru notices the lack of regret on your face. it’s spoken like fact.

if it had been utahime beside him, saying those exact words, he thinks he might’ve laughed.

but in your case, it just feels different.

“well,” he pauses, and you know that you’ve truly caught him off-guard. his eyes trail over your face, and he almost expects you to cower a bit. it never comes. he’s shaking his head, shaking his thoughts, and his eyes find your again, voice softer. “it’s a two-person mission. so, tough luck.”

his smile returns. as if uninterrupted, and ’normal.’

satoru has a habit of suppressing his thoughts.

your eyes roll, ignorant to his inner conflict, and you ask — when will he take you seriously?

privileged in every aspect, and not one ounce humble. but really, he could do whatever he pleases. the world can’t stop him.

satoru shines brightly at you, blinding nearly. helios must be jealous.

•••

“he’s a lot to handle.”

it smells like smoke. bothersome to your worsening headache, but the open window is the only thing keeping your senses at bay.

shoko’s a bad influence, you’ve learned. ashes are regularly spotted on school grounds, the culprit being nearly the same every time. but she’d roped another into her habits, so pinning the blame was harder to do.

your eyes follow the cigarette in suguru’s hand as he exhales once more.

“you think?” it comes off as more bitter than sarcastic, and you’re annoyingly aware of the small smile that appears on his face. gray clouds around him momentarily, sculpting sharper eyes as they narrow in amusement.

“what did he tell you?”

you blink, tilting your head in confusion, silently asking for some clarification. suguru’s eyebrows raise, and he snickers.

“he said something to piss you off. what was it?”

you weren’t sure what the impression would be when you knocked on his door an hour ago. you weren’t even sure why you did it.

maybe it was because suguru was easy to talk to. a good listener, most definitely. and though he’s assumably been a cog in your self-depreciation, you can’t bring yourself to be upset at him too.

“um,” you pause. it weirdly bothers you that he’s right. that he’s able to read exactly what’s wrong, because either he knows you or satoru too well, or it’s both.

suguru stares, patiently. and there is no implication on his face that reads a, ‘knew it.’ he just simply awaits your words.

he’s a gentle soul, coaxing out fragile insides.

“well,” you breathe, rubbing your hands over your knees. it was aggravating, the small sense of discomfort you felt while reliving words that really shouldn’t matter as much as they do. it briefly holds your tongue, and you feel silly for making it this big of a deal in your head. suguru isn’t judgemental though, and you know that. it’s the only reason why telling him doesn’t feel like a bad thing.

“he basically said that yaga thinks i’m… weak.”

the silence that takes over the room is a little daunting, and throws away all confidence you had with suguru out the smoke-ridden window.

you wait for a laugh, a grimace — anything. but nothing every really comes. it’s only a huff of acknowledgement.

“ah.”

no surprise, no disdainful reaction. his smile stays intact.

you’d argue that suguru carried more wisdom than you’d ever be able to acquire. beyond his own years, it seemed. it was something about his aura, or just the way he carried himself. strangely, inhumanly graceful.

he looks to you, and there’s a glint in his eye that tells you something is aloof.

“what?” you impatiently ask, brows furrowing. his lack of response had begun to bother you, nerves etching across your bones.

another long puff causes you to turn your face away from him entirely, and you wince as the smell of smoke momentarily intensifies. it escapes out the window (once more) with the added effort of your ushering hands. suguru watches you for a bit, laughing a little, though ultimately sighs with a soft snicker.

“yaga never said that.”

for a second, you think that the lack of clean air has tainted your brain, and that you’ve misheard him.

the information settles in the air for a while. lingering, up until you’ve found a proper way to deal with it.

“seriously?”

the look on your face makes suguru want to laugh again, but he merely nods, sitting a bit straighter in his chair.

“yup.”

you have questions — a majority you know that suguru can’t really answer, so you minimize them into the broadest form, sighing softly, a little defeatedly.

“why would he say that, then?”

suguru hums, lifting a finger to his chin as he shrugs. “he might’ve thought it would push you more.”

your eyes narrow, and you click your tongue in annoyance. “that’s stupid.”

your cheeks warm a little as you register suguru leaning in, a sly smile on his face, his eyes shining with a bit of mischief.

“well, it bothered you, didn’t it?”

now, that felt kinda humiliating to admit. and you’re sure your face gives your thoughts away, so you nod, an easy admission.

“yeah.” you breathe, sighing. “it did.”

what you want to say, is that it bothered you that satoru said it.

his opinion, frustratingly, was something you heavily valued. no matter how many times he’s belittled you, or been generally arrogant. you stupidly seek his sunlight, his approval, and wish to always be under his rays.

“okay.” he raises his brows, staring. “then show him on your mission tomorrow. don’t let him interfere, and kick some ass by yourself.”

your eyes widen, barely, but suguru notices, and purses his lips. in comparison to each other, you’ve always found suguru to be the more sensible one. he prioritized rules, only really breaking them if satoru begged him to.

“you have more experience now.” and he’s unable to hide his wandering eyes as they find the hem of your shirt, as if perfectly picturing the damaged skin underneath. you’d opened up about the scar a few months ago, the first year’s backing you into a corner. satoru had been the most adamant to know. “it’ll be different.”

you don’t give much of an answer, a simple nod conveying your inner-conflict.

suguru watches, your eyes squinting in confusion as you shake your head. you utter your next question, and he has to hide his amusement.

“why does satoru dislike me so much? what did i ever do to him?”

suguru thinks you and satoru are intelligent in your own ways.

and then, at times like these, he believes he’s never met two people so incredibly dense.

silence, and an all-knowing smile is the only answer you receive.

•••

it could be wrong. it is wrong. dangerous, deviant, and stupid.

but despite all these bad thoughts, you’re still quietly shutting the door to your dorm room. meticulously cautious, all in hopes to successfully escape a wrath imaginably worth ten thousand.

suguru didn’t mean this, you’re sure.

it’s immature, you’re aware, to head out on your own. you’re stuck imagining possible outcomes, and all the punishments that await you when you return. and yet once more, you thank the heavens, all gods that can hear, for satoru’s inability to wake up early.

campus is pretty in the early hours. the sun not yet rising, and grounds only illuminated by small scattered lamps. it’s peaceful, quiet from it’s usual bickering of your underclassmen. a moment of tranquility before the storm.

proof is what the world will get. it’s the objective of your heart’s own mission, regardless of whether or not it was a rational thing to do.

(it was most definitely not.)

to be strong is to understand weakness. and you’ll only let your emotions sway you as vulnerable. but you’re equally as aware that might just be your demise.

paper crinkles in your hands.

the report is relatively detailed. a street name is in thick black ink, and it’s hard to miss the red stamp labeling the file, ‘grade one.’

a breeze. ‘fun,’ like satoru had put it.

the mind is fragile. nerves send it in a frenzy, and you suppose affirmations are the only way that you can attempt to keep your heart from racing. it’s guilt, also.

he’s probably still asleep in bed. laid beside pillows that you know are too ridiculously soft, and having a single alarm on his phone because you’re aware that he is generally a light sleeper. but satoru needed to see you differently. a better perception — a kaleidoscope of mystery. because, unfortunately, some hint of acknowledgement from a god keeps mere mortals standing.

it takes almost an hour to finally set your eyes on the street, and when they do, you begin to second-guess your flawed plan.

from exact numbers and location, a warehouse is where you end up. battered, and clearly worn down. a perfect spot for a curse in hiding.

though if satoru was here, he would have laughed.

the cursed energy emitting from the building is unmistakable. it’s strong, and it involuntarily speeds up your already-abnormal heart rate. hiding is plain stupid if it’s energy is that obvious. but it’s also still dark out. you doubt the building even has electricity, though dawn seemed to be rather close. you could hold off until then.

you stand outside for longer than you wish. reality seems to dawn upon you at that moment, and it’s there that you realize you’re truly too stubborn to walk away. you’d go through with it, no matter what would happen now.

and as you’re walking, it feels like your body isn’t controlling itself. there’s a heightened fear striking all your senses, and you’ve completely submitted to instinct, not trusting your mess of thoughts. you pray for a little forgiveness, a little mercy, and head inside.

it’s bare.

with the exception of broken plywood and fallen beams, it’s nearly vacant.

the doors you enter through are flimsy, and whether it be your mind in a frenzy, or an attempt to postpone time for as long as possible, you quickly barricade them with the pieces of discarded wood. at the very least, it’d prevent any chances of normal civilians from entering.

every bit of cursed energy seems to draw you towards the opposite end of the building.

and there’s not much you can do when materialized arrows welcome themselves into your vision, a quick dodge being your eyes’ only savior.

“fuck.” you breathe, swallowing thickly. you’re scared shitless, anxiety hardly alleviated by the close call. a hand rummages to the sheath connected to your waist, and you close your eyes tightly, counting yourself down from initiating your first strike.

“okay, okay, okay.”

your weapon unveils itself.

•••

iii. glory in the sun’s rays.

heavy breaths are the only sound echoing across distant walls.

but besides that,

serenity.

it’s quiet.

like particles, hope sprinkles in, and the curse in front of your eyes disperses — successfully exorsized.

in that moment, you truly believe there is no better sight. nothing that can possibly grant that level of satisfaction.

your mouth tastes a little like metal. it’s bitter, and you suppress a wince, too relieved to really feel an ounce of worry.

there’s broken panels from all around. holes in the walls, gaps in the ceilings, and you wonder how you even managed to reach such high places — especially given the state that you’re in.

and despite your contentment, your body sends itself into a momentary coughing fit.

something stings — it hurts bad, but loud footsteps, running, running, running, echo on the other side of the barricaded doors, and the wooden panels wedged in between the handles are broken, timbered pieces thinly scattered across the floor.

both doors fly open.

it’s a vague sense you have. the ability to feel him.

you’ve learned it well over the past year.

satoru’s cursed energy is unique. it creeps up on you, until there’s a realization that the only thing you can feel is him. situating himself as something important, far more attention-worthy than your own being. it’s suffocating.

you meet each other’s eyes.

he seems to be breathing nearly as heavily as you are. eyes blown out, a hint of something feral in his irises. you’re stagnant, reciprocating the attention.

“told you.“ you swallow thickly, a proud, fatigued smile on your face as you look at him.

it’s still quiet in the building. satoru stands a few feet ahead of you.

he looks disarrayed.

“i fucking did it, you idiot.”

clothes somewhat torn, hair slightly disheveled, you stand.

something was blooming. pride? an accomplishment of the unthinkable — proving a god wrong. going against all odds. but every sense, every feeling, dwindles as you finally muster up the attention to fully take satoru in. it’s more difficult to focus.

satoru looks strange, you think. eyes wide, face visibly more pale than usual. and he’s quiet, for once in his life.

it’s unpleasant, and you feel your body recoil a bit, physically tensing.

“what—“ you breathe heavy, eyes lidded as they look up to his. everything is kind of loud, including his stare. he’s crafted in white shimmer from your vision, and it’s easy to spot the uncharacteristic worry in his eyes. “what’s up with you?”

and for the first time since you’ve known him, gojo satoru seems small. though only differentiated by a mere year, you’re able to see that small spec of time fall upon his graceful features. like admiration crumbling, and a heavy heart dying.

gods shouldn’t fear things.

it’s shock, satoru thinks. it’s why he doesn’t immediately move, and why the walls around him seem to shrink.

he’s never been in such a state. every feeling foreign, and he thinks he might be sick for a second.

his hands are shaking, and he’s focused on red. a naturalistic color that’s been too heavily branded in his life, it feels wrong to not be indifferent about it. he should be accustomed to it, for those weaker have the misfortune of having it easily taint their skin. but gojo satoru is not heartless. (though in that moment, that’s all he wishes to be.)

your shirt is ripped from the bottom.

there’s a deep, grotesque wound that covers your lower stomach. the gash follows upwards, nearly identical to the scar he’d seen upon his first few months of knowing you. satoru had later learned that it was from your first mission alongside mei mei. you’d been separated from each other for a second too long, and it’d landed you with a permanent reminder of your lost adolescence. your devotion and commitment to the jujustu world, left on your skin forever.

open, again, as satoru watches the blood flow down your side. a gory sight, and when your eyes begin to slow in their blinking, a switch seems to turn itself on in his head.

“no, no, hey-“ and he’s rushing forward, catching you a mere second before you fall. gentle, anxious hands cradle and guide, up until your body is on the floor, and those same hands are pressed excruciatingly harshly against your abdomen. “keep—shit, keep your eyes open.”

satoru thinks he feels his heart die. if life is real, surely it had just shriveled into nothingness. because as soon as he applies pressure to the gaping wound, you’re frightened, crying out and weakly attempting to push away his unrelenting arms.

“fuck, stop-“ you’re wheezing, too pain-stricken to utter any other thought. a sliver of that unruly color trickles down the side of your mouth, and satoru believes he’s never felt emotion, panic, this intense.

his brain fogs, fuzzy and disconnected as he blinks rapidly, his breath palpitating as he reaches for his phone. his hand is ruined in the color of your state, coated fingers dialing at an inhumane speed.

satoru doesn’t register shoko’s voice. he’s repeating the same thing over and over again, for help, because he’s utterly useless for you. broken in repetition, emotions being indescribably shaken.

the blood in your mouth tastes more bitter than before. to see him hysterical felt wrong. satoru had always been something stable for the world to lean on. the universal rock, who would never dwindle. the task that comes with the title, ‘the strongest’ replacing his own personal persona.

and, you think again, expectations should really be kept low at all costs.

your eyes threaten to unfocus, trembling lightly as they try to stay open. satoru’s stomach drops, and he’s immediately shaking you gently, reminding you that ‘you’ll be fine, just look at me.’

he’s far too tense to be humorous. the wit has locked itself in a cage, and he takes in the reality of being realistic.

gojo satoru cannot deny his six eyes.

it looks fatal.

but despite your state, there’s charm in your weak, scarily optimistic demeanor.

“satoru?”

his eyes snap to yours.

he’s too selfish to shut you up, body yearning to hear your voice, no matter how defeatedly tired it sounds. it’s a little hoarse, and there’s no doubt in his mind that fatigue had stolen your energy to speak any louder. but he supposes he’d hear you even if he was buried underground.

you’re looking up to him like nothing is amiss. innocence sparkles the tiniest bit in your hazed vision.

there’s a tiny ghost of a smile that lingers on your stained lips. a wince plagues your expression shortly after, a curse and stuttered breath leaving you as satoru’s hands abruptly shift.

“ow—ow. be g-gentler since i’m fucking dying, satoru.”

satoru wants to hit you over the head, your labored breaths squeezing his very soul. he’s visibly tempted, and it’s only with the sight of extra glimmer in his eyes that your face falls slightly.

you want him to make a joke. you crave it. any form of banter, you silently plead.

but unbeknownst to you, satoru feels almost angry. how are you this calm? have you accepted something that he doesn’t want to verbalize? what could possibly be amusing about this?

“shut up. shut up, please.”

weak, and fragile, his voice nearly breaks. you watch him for a bit, eyes curious as they study. and though your vision is blurry, and you can feel yourself getting progressively lightheaded, you tap him gently.

you’re at fault. you’re conscious enough to remember that.

“‘s gonna be okay.” the words come out a little slurred, but still understandable. you attempt another insistent smile, a hand raising to wrap around the wrist plastered against you. “not dying, was just kidding.”

satoru isn’t used to being watched so intently. your gaze is intimidating despite your lowered eyelids, and you silently map out every curve and inch of his complexion. (just in case.)

it’s an odd predicament. for a few minutes, you expect the world to go dark, and for your words to end up being meaningless as death takes you by it’s hand. satoru’s voice sounds distant, scarily far, but you’re able to make out a few whispered pleas. vulnerability is something beautiful, you decide.

it gets harder to listen, and you get a greater urge to rest. maybe for a millennia. your soul feels drained, and a long, uninterrupted sleep is the only thing your brain allows you to register. satoru fades when the world does.

•••

“it was dumb.”

“that’s known. why say it again?”

“because it was dumb.”

you know that life has been lenient, allowing you to continue, as it welcomes you back with familiar voices. you don’t alert them of your awoken state until you feel confident that they’re real.

it’s with a glance that you’re revealed, and the gasp of one makes it known to the other.

satoru is still tempted to hit you. but, he settles with a small wack on your resting hand. you wince, glaring as you blink away your exhaustion. you kinda feel like the rest of your body is on fire.

he’s upset, clearly. watching you with careful vision, and completely silent. but all you’re thinking is how thankful you are to have him actually care.

he keeps his distance.

“you got lucky.”

suguru speaks up, staring, and you can only describe his expression as both relief and disappointment. his eyes trail across you, and you’re made aware that your body is covered amongst thin medical sheets. when he meets your eyes again, one look is enough to tell you of his silent order not to lift them. you follow through, because the mere thought of it is unappealing enough.

“i’ll give you guys some privacy.” he mutters, not without shaking his head, and sighing. it’s nerve-wracking, his demeanor overpowering but oddly tame. just before leaves, he looks at you once more, pursing his lips. his grip on the door is tight. “i’m glad you’re okay, though.”

the air is tense. you beg the world, to anything obtainable, to postpone suguru’s exit, but the sound of the door closing after him leaves your pleas unheard.

you count seconds silently.

it takes ten for satoru to break.

“did you get stupid overnight?”

you snort, tossing your head back in slight retaliation, knowing satoru would probably worsen the headache you can already feel forming.

“seriously, answer me.”

you’re weak to his sternness, blinking in surprise at his tone. he’s unrelenting, brows furrowed as he awaits your response. you look to the wall.

“i’m alive, aren’t i?” you hesitantly reply, a futile attempt to ease the discomfort that is clearly present. it only lands you a scoff, and satoru abruptly stands up, crossing his arms as he looks down at you.

it’s not his favorite sight in the world. there’s a bandage around your head, lightly stained, and he’d seen the state of your injuries before shoko had ultimately pulled the blanket over you.

considering what could have been, he’s more than grateful. but satoru has trouble expressing himself, and it’s a type of flaw that can’t be easily fixed with training.

he shuts his eyes, briefly, and exhales.

“i thought you were a goner.”

upon you losing consciousness, shoko had arrived a mere minute later. satoru thinks the look on her face will be branded into his memory for life — solemn, pitying, and definite. it was only with the help of denial that he had moved with urgency, and commands were thrown at shoko to keep you stable enough for transportation.

a surgery later, and it was told that you would live.

“felt like it.” you cringe, recounting the initial level of pain you had endured when satoru had first found you. it’s subsided for the most part now, though you hold a lingering fear to move, worried that it’d cause more harm than good. the flames of discomfort were decently bearable.

it’s unfortunate that you’re bedridden, for if it were up to you, the easiest solution to all your problems would be to leave the room all together.

satoru is a different person when upset. his presence is overwhelming, and you quickly learn that it is impossible to avoid him.

“i just…” satoru exhales, and there’s a clear conflict of contemplation when he shakes his head. “why would you do that?”

you almost want to poke his side, chastising his concern with a teasing smile and small laugh. but it’s painfully obvious that the last thing satoru wants is something embedded with humor, so you purse your lips, and shrug.

“i just needed to prove to myself that i was capable of defeating it. that i wasn’t useless — you know?”

there’s something you’re not saying; information that remains a mystery. satoru knows it. he can tell by the look on your face.

he’d deciphered the little secret piece the moment you had begun to look away from him.

but because satoru cares (in his own, strange way), he doesn’t bring it up. guilt somewhat gnaws on his insides, and he takes the opportunity to vaguely apologize, needing at least that in the air.

“you are capable. i knew that before all of… this.” satoru motions to you briefly, and despite the circumstances, his wince makes you want to snicker.

he watches your expression softly morph, and a more relaxed and delighted smile rests upon your lips. and he debates, for a while, because ultimately it feels wrong not to bring it up. he falls victim to his guilt.

“and, sorry for lying. suguru told me he told you.”

you nod gently, breathing out a heavy sigh. “kinda evil, satoru.”

in an instant, his eyes widen, and he’s waving his hands wildly.

“hey—hey! i only said it so it could push you more. you can’t work towards improvement without some motivation.”

“how would that motivate me?”

“personally, it would push me to change yaga’s opinion-“

“no, it made me feel like shit, actually.”

“okay, well, i didn’t consider that when i told you-“

“because you’re an idiot.”

almost comically, satoru’s mouth drops.

“who’s the one that fought a first grade by themselves?”

“well, i defeated it, so…”

“not the point.”

you’re smiling, a laugh escaping your lips. satoru doesn’t mirror you much, a more playfully annoyed look on his face.

you stare at each other for a second too long, before you feverishly look away.

the pain has calmed, you realize. you can’t really feel the ache at all.

for a moment, you’re reminded of suguru’s expression. that knowing look in his eyes.

you turn back to look at satoru. and you can feel your heart speed up, just a little, because realization dawns upon you, and you can feel yourself growing flustered.

you think you know what he was trying to say.

Coming Undone | Part One

Hawks x Reader (NSFW)

Part Two

Summary: After a slip up from a drunk Hawks leads to your own confession, you spend the next day trying to avoid him fearing that he remembers what the two of you said to each other. However, just because you're trying to avoid Hawks and your building feelings, that doesn't mean your mind is going to let you off Scot-free when you close your eyes for a quick nap. Warnings: teasing, dirty talk, slight humiliation kink (sorta), dick riding A/N: Tired while writing and editing this piece. Apologies for any errors. Word Count: 1.5k

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“I want to watch you come undone, songbird.”

It was a drunken slip. You and Hawks had gone out for dinner after a successful mission; he deiced to order a few drinks, which he drank all of, and the next thing you knew, you were telling him not to fly drunk and helping him back to his place. He had his arms wrapped around you as you struggled to unlock his front door, his head resting in the crook of your neck. His mouth, then teeth grazed the shell of your ear before he whispered the words to you, and the keys nearly slipping from your fingers.

“Hawks,” was all you managed as a response.

He just hummed in response, his mouth leaving gentle kisses down your neck. You dropped your head partially to the left as Hawks found your sweet spot, and you felt your legs wobble. A muffled moan slipped out as he dragged his teeth over it before sucking harshly, surely leaving a mark that will make you opt for a scarf the next couple of days. His hands traveled up your arms and up to your shoulders. One hand slipped under the thin strap of your dress and toyed with it before letting it fall off your shoulder. You moaned as one of his hands grabbed a fistful of your hair and jerked it farther to the left, exposing more of your neck to him to absolutely ravish.

“Do you want me to stop?” His breath was hot against your neck.

“No,” you whined as he lifted his mouth from your neck.

“Do you want me?”

“Keigo,” you muttered, trying your best to put your focus on unlocking his front door. You needed to get him inside before you admitted too much to him, but you were struggling with lining the key up with the lock.

“Do you want me, (Y/N)?” Him saying your name was almost your undoing. Your knees threatened to buckle, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Hawks, who tightened his hold on you and chuckled quietly. “I want to hear you say it.”

Somehow you managed to get his front door open, and you stumbled inside. You kept your mouth clamped shut as you maneuvered Hawks to his bedroom. You managed to deposit him onto his bed with relative ease. You half expected him to drag you down with him when you dropped him onto the springy mattress, but he didn’t. As soon as you started to guide him, he had dropped his arms from around you and let himself fall back with a small bounce. When you tried to leave, he reached out and grabbed your wrist and looked up at you through half-lidded eyes. He sat up, resting on his elbow, head cocked to the side.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” he muttered before pressing a light kiss to the inside of your wrist; you guessed he already forgot or at least hadn’t noticed that you hadn’t answered his question.

All you could do was nod in response, your legs barely carrying you out of his place and out to your car. Hopefully, you told yourself, he wouldn’t remember anything beyond getting dinner and waking up in his bed. That’d be significantly easier, wouldn’t it? Tomorrow, you’d go back to bickering and annoying one another like nothing ever happened. Yeah, that’s what was going to happen.

That’s not what happened.

You chickened out going into work. Working at Hawks’ agency meant you were going to run into the hero. And you were definitely not interested in seeing him after last night; it’d be way too awkward if he remembered even the tiniest detail. So, you stayed home. And everything was going fine until you decided to have a quick nap after lunch. You blame the nap. The nap was the catalyst.

“Just like that, songbird, good girl,” Hawks whispered in your ear.

A moan fell from your lips as you sunk down on his cock. You hand one hand on his shoulder and the other tangled in his curly blond locks as your eyes clamped shut. He stretched you as you took him to the hilt, and it felt so goddamn good. You let out a shaky breath, forehead dropping forward to rest against his.

His lips met yours as his hands grabbed your hips and guided you back up. He devoured you as he brought you back down, relishing in each and every sound that came from your lips as you rode him. You tugged on his hair and dug your nails into his shoulder as you moved up and down, anything coherent now incomprehensible, mind completely white.

“Look at you, fucking gorgeous.”

Hawks’ grip tightened as he lowered his head to your chest, alternating between licking, sucking, and grazing his teeth against your hardened nipples. He hummed happily when you arched your back, pushing your chest more towards his mouth, and you realized that Hawks wasn’t guiding your hips anymore; you were moving all on your own. Embarrassment flowed through you as Hawks watched you, and your cheeks burned, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. It felt so good; he felt so goddamn good.

“Don’t stop until you’ve cum, songbird, not for a fucking second.”

Curses fell from your lips as Hawks’ hips snapped up to meet yours, and he chuckled just as easily as if he wasn’t the one you were riding. He leaned back on an elbow, keeping one hand on your hips, as he railed into you. Your eyes trailed down his bare chest, over his wings, on the headboard of your bed, anywhere but the smug expression he had plastered on his face. It was like he was enjoying this solely because of how much you were enjoying it. Enjoying him. The familiar feeling that was building between your legs was getting ready to burst, and you grit your teeth. For one, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of climaxing from this. And, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you weren’t ready for the dream to end. You wanted more. You wanted so much more. So you tensed what felt like every muscle in your body in an attempt to delay your climax.

“Tsk, songbird, I can tell that you’re close. Trying to hold off your orgasm like that, bad girl.”

Hawks’ name ripped from your throat as he dropped the hand that’d been on your hips down to your clit. All hope was lost from there, and your entire body tensed as your orgasm tore through you. Your body shook as you fell forward, nails pressing harsh crescent moons into Hawks’ shoulder. Your eyes closed as you saw stars, and you bit your lip to hold back the whimpers as Hawks kept thrusting into you. His hips stuttered for a moment before he let out a quiet curse followed by your name. He hooked an arm around your waist and held you close as he came, your foreheads pressed together once more.

“That’s my good songbird, so fucking beautiful coming undone like that.”

His lips pressed against yours with a tender kiss.

“But I’m not done with you yet.”

You jerked awake as Hawks bucked his hips against you, skin grazing your over-sensitive bundle of nerves in a painful jolt of pleasure. You sat up and ran your hands over your face, chest rising and falling quickly, warmth pooling between your legs that made your cheeks burn. You were hopeless. That wasn’t your first dirty dream about Hawks, but that was your dirtiest and the most vivid. Usually, you dreamt of light touches, forbidden kisses, hands in places they shouldn’t be, but never full-on vivid sex like that. There was no way in hell you could face Hawks after that dream if he remembered what happened last night. You’d combust on the spot.

You glanced at your phone and contemplated calling out for the next three days. You could afford that. It’d be selfish, but facing him now felt impossible. Especially with the mess that was between your legs and the dream fresh on your mind. You ran your hands over your face once more and let out a loud groan which was then followed by a slightly muffled “ fuck .” Yeah, completely and utterly hopeless. But first things first: you needed to clean yourself up, and then you’d figure out what to do about work. At least you could procrastinate that for a few more hours. You could always call out tomorrow morning again.

“Yeah.” You nodded to yourself as you rose to your feet. “I’ll think about it tonight.”

You let out a quiet sigh as you stepped away from your couch, picking up and folding the blanket you’d been using. It’d be fine. You’d figure it all out later. It’d be completely fine.

You made it two steps towards your bathroom when a loud knock sounded at your door, and your heart stopped. You glanced at the bathroom before turning back at the door. You groaned before choosing the latter, your manners kicking in. Manners that you desperately wished didn’t exist when you opened the large wooden door and found that familiar shit-eating grin, curly blond hair, and gold eyes.

“Hey, songbird.”

Taglist: @pinktrouble

DEATHBED | PART ONE.

( OLD MAN NEXT DOOR : GOJO SATORU ) the old man next door always seemed so lonely. you thought you were doing him a favor when you offered to spend some time with him. and in some sorts … you were. | watch time: 3.7k words.

── gilf!gojo & fem-bodied!reader, she/her pronouns, neighbors!au, high age gap, slight degredation (belittling), one (1) clit pinch, fingering, cowgirl, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, balls fondling, slight blowjob, etc.

notes. i never knew how much i needed old men jjk men until writing this tbh. it was a trip! anyway, if you want to join the taglist for this series, please click here.

The old man next door always seemed so lonely. Always sitting down on the front porch in such solitude, watching and observing the world around him and how everything seems to be changing. When you would leave for work, he was always there in the cushioned chair out front and when you came home… he was always there. Sitting on the cushioned chair. Out front. 

Your eyes would always linger on him while his seemed to stay in place behind those dark shades he’s always sporting. It’s night time now, can he even see? Never once did his eyes flicker to yours, making you more brazen in your staring as curiosity only spiked within you. You always told yourself that one day that you’d make your presence known to him, but everyday when that voice inside your head reminded you of your self-proclaimed promise, the same excuse would deter you away— you’re too tired. 

This evening, after work, you had went out to go grocery shopping. You had been putting off the task due to your own laziness and now, you were detrimentally low on practically everything in the house. Forcing yourself to make the trip after your tiresome shift, you regret going within the weekday as everyone and their mother seemed to have taken this particular day to go out, too. The lines were long and you were getting cranky the longer you stood. It was a blessing the moment you took a sharp turn inside of your driveway, quick to park and hop out your car as you popped open the trunk. 

This evening you were so engrossed with heading inside that you never went to look at the old man. If you had, you’d take in immediate fact that his eyes were on you, watching your multiple trips from inside to out, outside to in. You’d notice that even though his glasses hid his eyes, they lingered on your figure, watching how your hips swayed as you took long strides back and forth. You’d have noticed how he’d fixed his posture slightly better to get more of a look on the younger beauty that he deems you to be. 

When you’re finally done and you’re slamming the trunk door shut, you take a moment to pause and lean against your vehicle. Your body relaxes as you throw your head back and led out a groan. Something stirs deep within the old man, something that’s been festering inside of him ever since you moved into the neighborhood again. The sight of you is making him feel younger and he’s quite liking it. You’re pulling the band that’s holding your hair up in one, letting your hair go free as you massage the scalp. With another drawn out groan, you’re finally shuffling back in the direction of your house. Stretching as you go, the old man grows disappointed when two clicks sound from your car as your headlights flash. He never thought he’d grow to miss your curious eyes on him, but here he is.

Finally, he heads back inside his house.

—

The first time you don’t see the old man on the front porch is the day you finally decide to make a visit. You have a small tupperware of cookies in your hand— storebought, because you’re not the best when it comes to baking— when you knock on the door. You’re shuffling on your feet while you’re waiting, chest heaving more and more the longer you wait. You’re trying to be patient but your fists are balling once more to knock again. Knock, knock, kno— 

“Hold on,” you hear from the other side. “I’ll be right there!”

You can hear muffled chatter as well, but nothing you can decipher when you hear the twisting of locks before the door’s pulled open. “Yes?”

He’s trying to keep himself together. The moment he saw you through the peephole, he felt like he was being reverted back to his younger days. No longer was this a game, but now something in actuality as he stares you down. Playing the grumpy old man has always worked in his favor, but he wouldn’t— didn’t— want to run a pretty thing like you away.

You’re holding out the container of cookies for him. “It’s not too late to introduce myself, is it?”

He scrutinizes the cookies, snorting to himself because it’s apparent you didn’t make them yourself. However, he still takes them. “It will be if I don’t like these cookies.”

Leaving the door propped open, he expected you to follow behind him as he opens the thing of  chocolate chip cookies, shoving one right inside his mouth. He hums in delight when he turns around, furrowing his eyebrows when you’re just standing there. “Are you not going to come inside?”

“Oh,” you sigh, taking one step inside as you take in the home. To your surprise, it has much of a more modern take to it— minimal in furniture, but picture frames hanging around of what seems to be photos of him within in his younger years. Your eyes widened, immediately captivated by the sparkle and shine of his cerulean blue eyes and inhuman white hair. Sharp features that certainly had a multitude of people throwing themselves at him. Why have such beautiful qualities to himself and hide them behind glasses?

From the looks of it, he still acquired those great assets to himself. While his stupor seemed shorter than the heights he stood previously and his skin has loosened up, those mere factors only added more character to him. 

“I was a handsome devil back then,” he chuckles, watching you. “If only you were alive back in those days. I’d have made sure to sweep you right off your feet.”

Still in awe from the pictures that aligned the walls, you didn’t quite catch what he said at the end, only nodding your head before following him inside of the kitchen. By the time your visit came to an end, you learned that the old man had a name— Gojo Satoru. He insisted that you called him ‘Satoru’ if you planned to make more visits, something that he was insistent on. “Make sure you actually make me something next time, too.”

That comment made your face heat up when he greeted you out the door, watching you walk all the way to your front door. You glanced his direction one last time, swearing to yourself that, yes, he did in fact send a wink your way before heading back inside. 

—

As promised— or, forced— your visits to Gojo’s became a regular thing. One that always consisted of him telling you stories that occurred when he was younger, always mentioning the names Geto, Shoko and Nanami within them. You could always see the longing within his eyes, finally ridding himself of the glasses the moment you first brought up the question. You were always so enamoured by them the moment he revealed that they still had that same shine to them.

Another recurring theme was his daring hands, his touch seeming to linger on longer the more you allowed them. You always deemed it to accidental or innocent with the way he kept his hand on your lower back. And when you’d jump when they touched your thigh before they glide off, you could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle. However, you were always so dismissive. You should’ve seen right through him when he always manages to sneak in some sort of innuendo to you, or how his eyes would traverse your body as he said some other flirtatious comment your direction. 

In your habitual spot in the kitchen, sitting on a bar stool behind the island as Gojo has taken a spot next to you, he can feel the tension in your legs as he leans into your personal space. He’s telling a story he’s already told before, but you can’t seem to inform him so. You never had the heart to and your mind’s more preoccuppied with the way his thumb is drawing smooth and tantalizing circles into your bare skin. Deciding to wear a short summer dress that flows at the skirt, it rises upward in the seat and only making the older man even more daring.

“Y’know,” he cuts his story short, looking into your eyes. “I’m glad that you took the initiative to introduce yourself to me. Getting up to watch you every morning was getting so tiring.”

“Hm?” Your voice cracks at his admission. “Wha–What do you mean by that?”

“You’re not a very bright one, are you?” he hums, nimble and veiny fingers rising up into the skirt to play with the hem of your underwear. You should pull away. You really should, but gosh, your body won’t muster up the strength. “It seems like the generations are only getting more dunce— do I really have to elaborate, dear?”

They dip to your clit, pressing down so gently against it to elicit a soft sound from your lips. “Did you really think I’d waste my days sitting outside without a purpose?”

“I—I—” You’re failing to come up with a response. Finding yourself in such an unbelievable predicament, your mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air as you try to find any viable words worth speaking. At the end, all you can manage to squeak is, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t mind showing an old man like me a good time, huh?” he asks. “I haven’t found myself with someone so gorgeous— so youthful— in quite awhile. Be a doll for me and give yourself up?”

It takes nothing much to coax you, feeling the arousal in between your legs continuing to grow as his cold digits press against your dark nub. Your body shudders, making you jolt as you nod your head. The ‘yes’ that falls from your lips has him tugging at the crotch of your panties, feeling that wet patch in between as his finger hooks over it and drags down the material. Something so dainty and baby blue, a cute shade against your complexion. 

For a man his age, Gojo still has enough strength in him to pull your seat closer to him as he brings one of your legs over to his lap to spread them out for him. Your hand grips at the edge of the marble counter as your heart races when his hand hurries to hike up the material and revealing your bare lower body. Instinctively, you try to close your legs but he slaps at your thigh in protest. “You’re not backing out now, love. C’mon and let me see that young pussy of yours.”

He has you coming close to the edge of your seat, making sure to have your legs spread wide so he can get a good view of your folds. They glisten like glazed porcelain, your cunt pulsating with such a need as he have you in such a vulnerable state. He moves your leg to rest against him, the next one falling pliant as his next hand goes to grab at your breasts. The way he groans indicates just how much he needs this. There was a point in time where he believed that he’d no longer be able to get hard, but in between his legs, he can feel that stir of his cock. Coming to life, it presses against the loose-fitted bottoms he’s wearing as his thumb swipes over your nipple. 

His index and middle finger presses in between your lips, feeling the sweet nectar of your arousal stick to them as you continue to draw out such melodious sounds. You nasty little thing, making a man much much older than you use you for his own sexual desires. He makes the effort for his fingernails, have grown in its length, to prick at the sensitive skin of your cunt. You squeal at the pressure, calling out his first name for the first time. “Satoru!”

“There y’go,” he coos. “You’re finally obeying me.”

A slight pinch to your clit that has you jumping before his long and slender fingers dip inside of your heat. Gojo hums in delight at the warmth that’s inviting him, making him antsy to know what your pussy will feel like wrapped around his length. “Seems like all the girls your generation only know how to be good under one circumstance, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to get some more manners into ya.”

Your stool touches the edge of his, invading each other’s spaces as Gojo works his fingers inside of you. They explore you like it’s his first time in a pussy, but also working so expertly, knowing how to elicit a response from you. You’re hunched over into him, your head falling into his chest as his wrinkled fingers gain back its youth. Your slick like a serum of youth, making him feel like a twenty-year-old again. No more is he sweating over the way his white hair’s falling out, the pudge in his stomach, and the way his eyes are losing their life. No, each languid movement of his wrist pulling in and out of you, makes him forget everything as you’re clenching around him.

Your arm draped over his neck, fingers digging into the fabric of his sweater, your legs tense up at the coil within your stomach. Your pussy following the rhythm of your heartbeat that alerts Gojo. He hums in delight, the corner of his lips rising up. “Cum for me, alright, my dear? Make this old man feel brand new.”

Your moans are high-pitched and scratchy. Eyes squinting shut, your hold on Gojo tightens as you let yourself go. “F-Fuuuuuuck!” There’s no longer any doubts stirring up in your mind. Far too deep into this, you feel a visceral want and need for Gojo that it’s primal. “Satoru, I need you, please. I need you inside of me.”

And because he’s such a giving man, he says ‘yes.’ “Let’s bring this to somewhere more comfortable, though. My back can’t handle these stools for quite too long.”

Settled on the couch, Gojo’s leaning back into the cushion of the leather seats, arms sprawled on top as his legs are spread out wide. Head leaned all the way back as his chest rises and falls. You’re a devious minx, toying with the band of his pants and palming at his erection. The comment you made earlier in a teasing manner, “Did you have to pop a viagra before I came to get hard?” still residing in his head as you continued your mischief. If you thought your playful nature would get you out of doing all the work was going to sway his mind, you’d be damn wrong. Retired and having nothing better to do with his time, he could stay in this spot all day until you got fed up and bored. 

You’re on your knees, feeling at his erection as your slick sticks in between your inner thighs. Head nestled against one his thighs, you push yourself up as you look up at him from your position. Hooded eyelids that have experienced the world already, but still holding onto some sort of amazement, those blue pupils speak for itself as they coax you closer to his cock. Fingernails pull at the hem, helping him out of the bottoms to reveal the boxer briefs that hug it. Thin veiled, there’s a wet spot of pre sitting right where his tip is when you go to palm it. It has Gojo opening his mouth way too quickly to retort something. 

“Aren’t you—oh.” Cut short, your mouth opens to suck through the fabric, tasting the salted flavor of his precum through the underwear. The friction of it and your tongue rubbing through the barrier, it has his hips rising up as he shudders. “Fuck.”

Gripping at the seat, he feels himself easily breaking when your hand dwindles to cup at his balls. Gojo couldn’t remember when he came prematurely during sex, but it was something he didn’t want to do with you. He could feel himself breaking, and it was coming on fast. “Get up.”

He didn’t know if you didn’t hear him or if it was on purpose, either way, he wouldn’t have for it. Reaching for your head, he nudges rather harshly as he repeats, “Get up.”

Your eyes widen at the harsh tone set, immediately starting to rise. “Did I— Did I do something wrong?”

He grabs ahold of your wrist, pulling you to him in a rush. “Yes, by having me wait too damn long.”

From fear to glee, you oblige his orders, climbing onto his lap as he’s shimmying out of his underwear. Take your dress off. You have done as told, shredding yourself of the material before you’re reaching to pull at him. Freckles litter his skin, making your fingers glide against the expanse of his chest. He’s no longer the well-fitted man he once was. Not something to be marvelled over, he used to believe. However, you stare down at his body with such amazement that leads him to believe differently.

But, you? You. You’re a sight for sore eyes the way your body gleams as the sun trickles in through the windows. With such sheer curtains in place, if people tried hard enough, they’d be able to see you— to see you in such glory that they’d either be amazed or horrified by. Though, he was not going to dwell on it too much. 

“Remember what I said,” he breathes, looking up at you as you straddle his waist. You smile mischeviously as you nod.

“Don’t worry,” you say. “I know your hips don’t work like they used to.”

He chuckles at your compliment, watching as you go to hold his length and align it with your entrance. Your moans and mewls are so sweet as he stretches you out, taking on inch at a time before he’s bottoming out inside you. Gojo pulls you against him, making you rest your head in the crevice of his neck and shoulders when you bring your hips to rise. Only his tip in sheathed inside of you, clenching around it as you fix your posture. 

“You’re not planning on backing out, are you?” he asks once more. 

You shake your head. “Now, why would I?”

“Still a stupid girl, I see.” You bring your hips down, silencing the old man as you set a moderate pace. Shit, he cursed under his breath as you worked yourself against his length. Hands on your waist, he holds you close to him until you’re bringing yourself to sit up straight. You go to caress his face, holding him in between your hands as you bounce on his cock. Your breasts jump up with every motion, slapping sounds intermingling with the claps of your wet pussy against his pelvis. 

This sight in front of you, only makes your lust fester up stronger, wanton moans leaving you out as you pant. “You— You feel so good in me.”

“Yeah?” Gojo pants. “I do?—” You nod “—How good?”

“So, so good.”

“So so good that you wouldn’t let anyone have what’s mine?” he hums, hands traversing up your waist to flick to cup your breasts. “You’d let this old man keep you all to himself?”

“Yeah,” you squeak, nodding your head. “I’m all yours.”

“God damn,” he curses. “I like the sound of that. Say it again. Say that you’re all mine.”

“I’m yours,” you moan, grinding your hips down. “All yours.”

The couch squeaks with every bounce. Gojo’s cock making you feel hazy with want the more your pussy meets the base of his cock. You hold onto his neck as leverage, his aging skin coming to easily bruise with the way your nails pinch into his skin. His hands are transfixed with your breasts, cupping and kneading at the skin as his eyes flicker open and shut. He nudges you closer, mouth open as he uses his touch to find and latch onto your nipple. He tastes the salt of your skin with a deep hum from the depths of his chest, he sucks like a breast-fed baby. Fingers planted around your waist once more, he holds a steady grip as he feels the faint twitch of his cock. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, though it’s incoherent as he’s still suckling on your chest. His breathing becomes heavy as he feels you’re pulsating around his length, your moans more staggered out now.

“Satoru, ‘m g’nna cum,” you alert, thighs clenching together around his waist. He lets go of your breast with a pop, lust-drunken eyes looking up at you. Gripping at your skin, he pulls your waist closer. 

“You’d have my kids, right?” he asks. “Continue my legacy? I know you’re a good girl.”

“Yeah,” you agree, brain so foggy with lust that you can only find yourself agreeing with every word he says. “I’m your good girl.”

Hand dipping in between the two of you, he rubs at your clit to quicken up your orgasm. He smiles with a content sigh. “You’re so perfect for me, doll. Know you’ll take my cum so well.”

“Mhmmmm,” you cry, feeling yourself break apart when you feel Gojo spurting inside of you. Three pumps of his cock before he’s finished and you’re following in pursuit. You lose your rhythm, each bounce to your hip becoming more staggered as you feel yourself cream around his length. Your orgasms mixing with each other before you halt all motion altogether. Chests panting as you lay all weight onto Gojo as everything settles in. 

You push yourself to sit up while your senior has his eyes shut. “Did you really only come out to watch me?”

He takes a while to respond, making you think he had fallen asleep. Nudging him, he groans. “Don’t worry, I heard you.”

“So, answer,” you push at his shoulder once more. “Were you really watching me?”

Gojo chuckles and motions for you to get off his lap, struggling to reach down and grab his pants. When you go to help him, he declines the offer. He fixes himself back up, before handing you your dress. “My statement still stands. Your generation is so stupid.”

( subscriptions. ) @tojiswifeforlife @clqxuds @gojocon @alcera @nanamineedstherapy @s-1-xx @lotuslovers @r0ckst4rjk @mutsu422 @sukubusss @twinky-wink @levkuna @des-todoroki @bakarinnie @hanham10 @seppyco @simpingforheros @nanasukii28 @littlelilies @strawberriesrule @billiondollarworth @keiette @konekobby @stargirl-mayaa @ratedrrrr

note. thank you so much to everyone interested in this series. hopefully, i didn't disappoint you all. let me know what you think in the comments or in tags of your reblogs. illeesum !! <3

It is rough.

🙂

˗ˏˋ My Love Note ´ˎ˗

“Bet you’re thinkin’ of me while he’s fucking you, huh?”

❧ Synopsis | In which Choso Kamo, your asshole of a best friend, starts to change after you get involved with a rather cheeky cashier, Gojo Satoru.

❧ Pairings | Choso Kamo x f!reader & Gojo Satoru x f!reader

❧ Need To Know | This story was originally written by me on wattpad with different characters. It got deleted & I moved here.

❧ Contents | afab!reader, explicit nsfw scenes, college non-curse au, toxic altercations, angst, reader lowkey hops around between the two, jealousy, possessiveness, slut activities, gen z references, alcohol, fluff, 18+ scenes, porn w plot, etc.

| Chapters |

1 | Something about you

| @kamiversee | ff status; ongoing | updates; spontaneous |

hiiii! I’ve been in such a funk since I lost my wips 🥲 but it feels good to be writing again! Thank you all for 700 followers 🥹🫶🏾 it’s crazy cause I was just celebrating 500! 

Also, I’m obsessed with this tiny font :)

Warnings: smut, dilf bakugo, milf reader, afab reader, black coded! reader, mutual pining, baby mentioned, breast feeding mentioned, unprotected sex, creampie, lactation kink, pet name usage (ex. baby, mama, papa), excuse any mistakes, MDNI!

Word count: undetermined

❀

Babydaddy!Bakugo who's stopping by to pick up his son Katsumi from your place. He scans the vicinity, still as quiet as usual but he does notice someone’s finally moved into the townhouse adjacent to yours. 

He’s not sure if it’s a man or woman, and he’s not comfortable with it, especially since it’s just you and ‘Sumi here. He made a note to get someone at the agency to check them out.

He’s standing there for about a minute until you’re opening up the door with the baby attached to your tit in a tight fitting sun dress, just begging him to run his hands all over you. He’s undressing you with his eyes, not that the dress leaves anything to imagine anyway.

“Come on so you don’t let any flies in. He was fussing real bad so l'm feeding him, I'll be done in a second."

He just nods, it's all he can do as he stares, mesmerized. He doesn’t mind anyway, he isn’t in any kind of rush.

It never gets old—seeing you be a mommy. Seeing you care for the beautiful being the two of you created. Makes him fall in love with you all over again. It’s also a bonus being able to call you a milf.

He hands you a vanilla parfait from the cafe he gets his coffee from, remembers you used to love them before ‘Sumi, hopes you still do.

“Thank you.”

You didn’t have much of an appetite, taste testing your different dishes in the midst of preparing Sunday dinner has you a little full so you opt for picking the fruit off your parfait.

“No problem, you’re running a dairy farm over here, gotta keep ya fed.” “Are you calling me a cow?” 

“I’m not wrong.” 

Your kid has one breast occupied, the other is stuffed in the electric pump. You’re not sure if you’ve gotten used to being ‘milked’ as Katsuki usually calls it, but it certainly feels better than letting the milk swell inside. 

It’s safe to say you got this parenting thing down fairly quickly, or at least it seemed like you did. Time moved fast, your baby nearing six months already. He doesn't see much of you anymore, just those days when it's time for him to get the little brat or drop him back off.

He's not sure how things got the way they were—seems like just yesterday you were about to be his wife and now, things were just complicated. The two of you were high school sweethearts, first everything’s, now well into your late twenties with a baby. There was no infidelity involved in the split, just a matter of you two not seeing eye to eye, butting heads far too often for comfort. He admits it’s his fault, but he truly meant no harm, just wanted to protect his family.

But, he still loves the hell out of you. Hopes you still love him too. And even if you don't, he'll still love you. You gave him his child, after all.

That little boy is his pride and joy. He's the cutest thing he's ever laid eyes on, a chunky little nugget with rolls everywhere and now he has a double chin. Obviously didn’t miss any meals.

Katsumi's the perfect mix of the two of you. His complexion has settled as the months passed by, darkening to a deep golden tan, a head full of thick curly hair and of course his daddy's angry red eyes and ever present scowl. He looks like a mean little shit just like his daddy did at his age, except he's literally the sweetest baby, always ready to show those two little teeth in a big smile.

He can't believe he helped create something so precious and most of all he can't believe he created him with you.

“You haven't been sleeping much lately, I can tell." 

Time apart didn’t change much, you still knew him like the back of your hand and vice

Babydaddy!Bakugo finds himself seated in one of your bar stools, looking around at your home. 

It looks like you’re almost done decorating, and you actually did get that dumb couch you’d been raving about. He takes in the shades of green and cream, the earthy tones accented in,  the plants, fluorescent lighting, it’s all so you.

He loves it. Wishes he lived in it with you. Fuck he missed you so bad.

"Schedule change. I work a week on-week off now." Truth is, he hasn’t had a good rest since you left, on top of his new crazy ass schedule he’d be lucky if he got three consecutive hours of sleep a night. And some nights when he had ‘Sumi, he had to forgo sleep completely. 

“Damn, that’s a lot. It’s not too much for you? What if you’re too tired for ‘Sumi, he’s rolling over and shit now so you really gotta watch him.” 

“Yeah yeah, I’ve been a baby y/n, I know what babies do.” 

“Don’t piss me off, that’s not even the same thing.” You take a jab at the side of his head with your finger. “I’m just saying, he’s real active now, I catch him trying to do backflips off the bed at least ten times a day.” 

You feel his sucking on your breast slowing, signs that he’s done with his feeding. 

“I hear ya, y/n. I‘m not gonna let him crack his skull open on my watch.” 

“Good, best daddy ever.” You roll your eyes playfully but you mean your words wholeheartedly. Regardless of the situation between you two, Katsuki was so helpful and supportive now that ‘Sumi was actually here, and he made this co-parenting thing so much easier than you thought it’d be. 

Katsumi pulls away from you, easing his head away until your nipple is no longer in his mouth. He hears Katsuki but he can’t see him, tossing his head back and moving it side to side until he finally lays eyes on his daddy. 

One of his tiny hands is clinging to the thin strap of your dress while the other makes grabbies at Katsuki.

“You wanna come to Papa?” He asks, the big grin on his face is so precious. 

Bakugo washes his hands with cold water, drying them off before he gently grabs him from you, laying him over his shoulder to burp him. He catches the little bit he spit up with the bib, and hands it to you to swap for a clean one. 

He sits Katsumi on the counter, pretending to punch him with his own little fists and it sends him into a fit of giggles and screams. 

"You got anything going on today?" You’re leaned against the counter, just watching the two of them. It brings a smile to your face, one you quickly drop before he could realize it cause it almost feels wrong to enjoy it. 

"Nah, mom wants to see em' so we're gonna head over. That's all though, you?"

“Nothing today, but I’m going clothes shopping for ‘Sumi soon, tomorrow or Tuesday.”  

“Yeah? Already?”

You nod your head as you lift the lids on your pots, stirring one more time before turning the burners off. 

“Yeah, I didn’t think he’d be growing out of all his stuff so damn soon. I was thinking we could pick out some of the neutral stuff for Denki and Jirou. Donate the rest to the hospital.”

Now that he’s really looking at it, the onesie is a little tighter around his thighs. His baby boy is growing so fast it almost brings tears to his eyes. Soon enough he’ll be crawling, then walking and then college—he couldn’t even fathom the thought of his little nugget going to college! 

He disregards his manic thoughts when he hears your voice again. “Maybe we can go together..you can hold the bags like you used to…if you want to, and if you have time, of course.” 

“Of course I do, I’ll make time.”

You’re shocked at his enthusiasm because this couldn’t be the same man who’d ‘rather take a slug from Kirishima than get stuck shopping with you.’ 

But who could blame him, coming home to an empty house for the past couple of months had him going damn near insane. He was craving any kind of contact with you. 

Babydaddy!Bakugo who just can't resist your cooking, especially when it meant being in your presence even longer than usual. Now standing at your kitchen island eating the hefty plate you made him, watching you wrap the ones you’re giving him to go for him and his parents. Next you’re tidying up the area and putting the rest of the food up in tupperware bowls.

He's stalking your every move, watching you like a hawk. Like prey. And don't think for one second that he doesn't notice the way your dress gets stuck in between the cheeks of your ass when you bend down to put your clean pots and pans in the cabinet.

He thinks you’re teasing, bets you’re not even wearing panties. Maybe you're innocent, but either way he takes the bait, pressing his crotch against your ass while you’re still bent. 

“Katsuki.” You try to keep your voice stern but it doesn’t phase the crimson eyed devil behind you. 

“Y/N.” He says your name back just as serious, but you can hear it, the lust oozing from his tongue. It sends chills down your entire being as he rubs up against you, and god you hate being so weak.

Babydaddy!Bakugo who should've only been there to pick up his kid, but instead has you in his lap, palms planted on the round globes of your ass while you’re bouncing on his cock like your life depended on it.

It’s hard to keep a steady pace when he’s lifting you and dropping you back down so hard and fast. You're forced to bite your lip to keep your moans at bay, your son just a few feet away, sleeping in his swing.

“Kid can sleep through an earthquake, lemme hear that pretty voice."

Babydaddy!Bakugo who's still the hot headed idiot he's always been, is only gonna tell you one time. Gives you about a minute or so before he's holding you taut, bucking his hips up into you with the meanest, most devilish grin on his face.

ow you're whining and moaning like an absolute slut.

It makes his dick throb and his balls tighten, pussy clenching around him like a vice.

"Fuck, I miss hearing those sexy sounds."

He's licking and sucking on your nipple, squeezing and kneading until he's tasting that sweet liquid gold coating his taste buds.

"St-stopppp." You're whining and pushing at his head, doing nothing but egging him on. “You're wasting it."

"Nah, Papa's gonna drink it all up." He’s holding you tight, licking at the white beads that dribble from your nipple and fucking up into you so good you start to see spots of white in your vision. He feels the way you go rigid in his arms, the first syllable of his name stuck in your throat, and he knows you’re cumming for him. He doesn’t stop—his strong hips keep bouncing your stiffened figure like you weigh nothing, fucking you through your first orgasm.

Your pussy leaves him coated in your milky white cream, still dribbling onto his lap when he lifts you off.

“Made a mess of me.” 

You’re nodding like he asked you a question, it makes him chuckle. “I’m sorry.” 

He surely doesn’t mind, especially not with the way he swipes his two fingers through the folds of your cunt, gathering more of that creamy wetness on his hand to stroke at his cock. The loud squelch of his hand rubbing up and down, using it like a lubricant and coating himself in your essence, your scent. It all should’ve been disgusting. Lewd and indecent. 

Except it wasn’t. 

If anything it turned you on more, an indirect laying of claim, reminding you that he was still yours. God knows you shouldn’t be having those kind of thoughts, not until you two have reached a common ground, but Katsuki knew every which way to push your buttons. 

He’s got you on your back now, panting like a dog as he drills your cunt with remnants of your milk trailing down the bottom of his chin. 

A hand between your thighs and thumb strumming at your clit while he fucked you had you in a trance. Eyes rolled into the back of your head and your plump bottom lip pulled tightly between your lips. The sheer force and friction of every thrust has your bonnet slipping and sliding until the luscious jet black locks of your wig are free. Fuck it’s so long and pretty and you look like a fucking goddess underneath him. He wishes he could have you like this all day, everyday.

He's not letting up, both of those big hands of his now palming at the back of your thighs as he pushes them flat against the couch, pounding you to oblivion, digging you out like this might be the last time. You pray it's not the last time. You also pray your couch comes clean, he's got your pussy gushing, dripping all over your sage colored cushions.

Katsuki sees your eyes trailing over to Katsumi, the swing is still going, you wonder how long he set the timer for.

"Eyes on me baby, he's good. I promise."

He is. Mouth slightly open and he’s snoring a little, still sleeping like the little cherub he is while his daddy bullies your cunt, fucking you like he hates your guts.

"Just focus on me." He's peppering kisses all over you in between his speaking. "I know you miss me fucking you. Tell me how much you miss this dick."

It's been almost five months since you've been fucked like this, or fucked at all for that matter. 

"So so much! Miss you so much papa." You’re pulling his face down towards yours, pressing your lips together, legs wrapped around his waist. This scene probably resembles the one that got you pregnant in the first place.

"Yeah? Talk to me, mama.” He hopes you mean it. Prays it isn't just cock-drunk babbling cus he misses you too. So fucking much.

"Yeahh.” Your brows are scrunched together as you nod furiously. “I haven't fucked nobody else. This pussy's still yours baby."

God he misses you like this, so cock-drunk and cute.

He leans in to kiss you again, tongues fighting for dominance against each other’s. “Haven’t fucked anybody either. This dick is always gonna be yours baby.”

He feels you clenching around him and that’s all the confirmation he needs as he shoots his seed deep in your pussy. 

The both of you lie there together, there’s no telling how many minutes have gone by—just skin to skin basking in the afterglow of eachother until Katsumi let’s out a yelp that startles the both of you, whining a little as his swing comes to a stop. He’s stretching his tiny arms and smacking his lips, both signs of a great nap, making those weird baby noises. 

Katsuki smirks to himself. He knows his kid like the back of his hand and wants to hit you with a big, fat ‘I told you so’ for doubting him. Instead, plants a kiss on the side of your face before he gets up. 

Babydaddy!Bakugo who has you blinking back tears as you stare at his retreating form exiting the threshold of your home. 

“Be safe.” You call out just before the door closes. It’s always bittersweet every single time, watching the two of them leave, praying they both returned to you safely. It makes you yearn to have your family back. Back under the same roof, and back to the way things used to be.

❀

fashion killa ; masterlist

[ nsfw ] — smut (18+) ; bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 38,923 — read on ao3

summary:

Fashion Week was supposed to be simple-walk the runway, collect your check, and, if all went according to plan, spend the night with Pro Hero Dynamight. Just a little fun. Nothing more. But getting rid of Bakugou Katsuki proves to be harder than slipping out of a too-tight sample size.

Or, in which a one-night stand with one of Japan's most famous men turns into a relentless game of cat and mouse-and the worst part? You don't hate it.

tags: strangers to lovers, friends with benefits, pro hero bakugou katsuki, explicit language & sexual content, aged-up characters, porn with plot, model!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining, bakugou is a soft yearning idiot who i want to eat up, kirishima eijirou is a good friend, not beta read!

notes:

shoutout to iris van herpen and my palestinian queen bella hadid (and also the dsquared2 show that inspired this whole ordeal). also i have nothing and didn't know anything of the fashion industry, this is all my own research and the fact that one of my closest friends is a fashion designer, so she gave me lots of info as well lol.

this is just a small self indulgent idea which i’m really excited to share with you all. thank you for the support and for reading! enjoy! :D

ao3:

chapter one ; close my eyes

chapter two ; and fall into you

tumblr:

chapter one ; close my eyes

chapter two ; and fall into you

WHEN I SEE YOU AGAIN | G. SATORU x READER

You’ve been pretending not to see ghosts your whole life in order to blend in perfectly, but you can’t ignore the cute ghost with a bright smile standing in front of your door.

cw. ghost! gojo. fem! reader. minimal fluff. graphic depictions of murder. angst. hurt no comfort. mentions of grief. mentions of being under the influence (alcohol and drugs.) characters with depression. unedited.

notes. wrote a lil something for gojo since it’s been a while since i wrote any jjk fics and i missed it :( also should i open requests again? i miss writing one shots lol

wc. 7k

You met him on the first night of winter.

Eager to get home after a long and tiring day at work, you blow hot air on your freezing palms to keep them warm before stuffing it deep in your coat pockets. The walk home was less than fifteen minutes, and you’ve always refused to buy a car because you enjoyed the journey and wanted to familiarize yourself more with the city. You previously lived in the outskirts, but after a phone call from the main department telling you you were promoted and had to transfer in the city, you found yourself packing up on the weekend and renting a cheap apartment.

Located in the middle of everything – convenience stores, medical facilities, popular bars, and a quaint looking flower shop with a cute florist – you thought your apartment was perfect. It was a little shabby, you had to admit. The plumbing didn’t work well and electricity got cut off at random times in the night that resulted in a headache because you couldn’t send that damn email, but the landlord offered an extremely cheap rent that you couldn’t refuse. Plus, it was only a few minutes walk from your office and your neighbors were peaceful.

Well, most of them anyway.

Your neighbors consisted of mostly old couples who were so silent and desolate that you often forgot they existed, your eyes widening whenever you saw an unfamiliar old lady walking and asking you how your day was before realizing, Oh, she’s Mrs. Oliver, I completely forgot. Save for the married couple who were always throwing pots and pans at each other because darn Ronald couldn’t put the toilet seat back down, your place was placid. The landlord was ecstatic when you saw her poster and inquired for a unit, muttering something about not getting enough tenants to keep the place going because of ‘a traumatic issue.’

You’d really rather not ask what it was.

Besides, you’ve never been curious enough of what the world has to offer, simply because you see things – or rather fragments of people – that you’d rather not see. Ever since you started seeing ghosts at a young age of four, people avoided you like the plague, calling you a ‘freak’ and whatnot. Your family soon moved away to a much smaller place in the city because they couldn’t handle seeing their child who often talked to ghosts and sat in corners alone while laughing by herself be criticized by others. They didn’t believe you, of course, often calling it a ‘lonely child’s imagination.’ They sent you to multiple therapists who always assured you that they would listen to whatever problems you were having to cause you to be this way.

Unfortunately for them, there wasn’t anything wrong with you. You weren’t lonely at all. You saw a dozen ghosts every day who were always ecstatic at finding out you could see them, and they were more than willing to interact. As a child, you always thought ghosts were more interesting than actual people because they had an unlimited amount of time to converse with you, and they have had so many experiences to share with you. 

When you grew older, however, you started to see yourself in other’s eyes, realization dawning on you that on social norms, you are, indeed, a freak.

Determined to fit in more and also sick of being faced with countless counselors who strongly believed you had a traumatic experience when your whole life has been nothing but bland and plain, you started ignoring them. It wasn’t easy at first, though. These ghosts have always kept you company while everyone gave you the side eye without knowing who you really were, and you admit you felt lonely in the beginning and a little guilty when they were convinced you couldn’t see them anymore.

You participated more in school activities and even joined a photography club in high school (you had to quit a month later because ghosts kept appearing on your photos, and you had to burn them in order not to freak anyone out) and with each baby step you took, you started to fit in more. The proud look your parents had on their faces when you had finally become ‘normal’ and even got an award for being an exemplary student was enough to keep you going on this journey, and you ignored the lonely spirits so hard that you eventually started seeing less and less of them.

Until now.

Standing in front of your door was a young man, his back awkwardly bent and long, beautiful fingers fiddling awkwardly with one another. He stood barefoot yet wore a comfy looking blue university hoodie and grey sweatpants, and his silver hair seemed shiny and healthy enough to  not consider him a homeless man who was lost and simply wandering. Tipping your head to the side, you rack your brain to remember if you had any neighbours like him. 

His head snaps in your direction. 

He is definitely not your neighbour. You would have remembered such a cute looking guy.

He had unnaturally ethereal futures, prominent cheekbones becoming more pronounced when you meet his eyes, and you blink to gain control over your body when you realize you’ve been staring too long than what would be considered acceptable. You don’t even deny you’ve been checking him out, although you do ignore the almost puppy-like way his eyes lit up at the sight of you, causing your heart to jump a little. Just a little. You also liked how his hair complimented perfectly with his pale skin – he seemed like an exact embodiment of winter. 

You walk forward, spinning your keys at the end of your pointer finger. Smiling at him politely, you paused in your tracks. He’d been blocking your door. “Hello, is there something I can help you with?”

No matter how cute he was, you wouldn’t hesitate to break his nose if he was a criminal.

His pretty hands come up to his face to cover his mouth falling open, and you take a step back when he does a little jump and starts laughing. “You can see me?”

“Uhm, yes,” you answer. “You’re blocking my door, so yeah, I can very much see you.”

As if realizing just now he stood in the way of you and your comfortable bed, who was calling out to you by now, he mutters a quick apology under his breath before stepping aside, a goofy grin remaining on his face and his childish behavior makes you scoff in amusement. He was still watching you even after you’ve unlocked your door, and you sigh at him. “Is there any reason you’re still standing outside my apartment, or should I call the police?”

Instead of looking worried like you expected him to, his smile only gets bigger. “Actually, I live here, well… I used to.”

You stare at him blankly with a slack expression on your face, watching as his features turn sheepish. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Looking down on his bare feet, you mumble a curse under your breath when you realize he’s hovering. 

“Not again,” you say to yourself before placing a palm against your forehead. It’s been years since you last saw a ghost, why did you have to see them now out of all times? A new branch is opening up and your superiors have given you the project of making sure the launch goes well, and you didn’t really want a ghost bothering you with your biggest task of all time. You worked hard for this promotion, you didn’t want to take one step forward and two steps back. Glaring at the undeniably attractive ghost who still hovered in your doorway, you decided he wasn’t your problem. 

“Well, goodnight.”

You slam the door on him and trudge towards your bedroom, ignoring his “Wait!” as you unwrap the red scarf around your neck and plop on your bed almost lazily, moaning when your stiff muscles finally relax. The bed was so soft and warm because you’d left the heater on accidentally, and you’re about to be sent to dreamland when a voice beside you speaks up.

“You should take off your makeup before going to bed.”

Opening your eyes and coming face-to-face with the ghost who was resting his chin in both of his hands and laying on your bed, you grab a pillow and throw it at him, and he grins when the object goes past him completely. “Get out of my house, stop bothering me!”

“Technically, darling, this is still my house,” he tells you and starts sitting up before crossing his legs. “The unit was still named after me before you came.”

“Then why wasn’t I informed about that?”

“I was murdered here four years ago,” he deadpans, soft voice flitting into a murmur as he plays with his fingers again, refusing to look at you. “That’s why I never left. Judging from what you said earlier, you can see ghosts, and you know exactly why we’re still here.”

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you stumble over your words. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know and–”

“It’s quite alright,” he shrugs. 

Silence soon joins the two of you; the ghost playing with the ends of your blanket with a far-off look in his face while you study his features, and something tugs at your heart. The reason why ghosts remain here instead of passing on like they were supposed to was because it meant someone was still holding on to them and absolutely refused to let go, or if they had unfinished business that needed to be resolved before they could go in peace. You’ve met ghosts like him who were murdered, and all of them remained with a seething rage and insatiable need for revenge, unable to accept that there wasn’t much they could do in their state. 

As for the one sitting in your ghost, a small smile tugs at the end of his pink lips as he takes in your bedroom, amusement dancing in his eyes at the amount of stuffed animals you had and some framed photos of you as a child. 

“You decorate much better than me, and you’re a lot more organized, too. This place was such a mess back when I was still alive.”

There was an unmissable hint of sadness behind his voice, and you can’t help but ask his name. “I’m Satoru,” he grins, “and for the record, I’ve always been here, just floating through time and space, but not the afterworld yet. For some reason, ever since you arrived, I just appeared back where I left off.”

You nod and take in his words, noticing how he clears his throat and sends a sheepish look your way. “If it’s not too much of a bother, can I ask for your help?”

“What is it?”

He stands up and heads toward your desk, although you supposed it was his since the furniture had already been here before you came. You didn’t think too much about it back then and only felt grateful that you had one less piece of furniture to buy, especially since it was empty. Apparently not, because Satoru keeps digging around through your files with his tongue peeking out his lips, and you vaguely recall that ghosts are able to touch things after feeding off of energy from living beings.

Letting out an ‘aha!’ when his hand finally lands on what he’s looking for, he tenderly places a photo on your outstretched palm with a shy smile. Inside the photo was a beautiful man, probably in his mid twenties, his hair up in a messy bun as he grinned at the camera. Beside him, Satoru’s eyes are closed with his head thrown back in laughter, relishing the feeling of that warm sunny day, and you unconsciously frown at it.

“His name’s Suguru,” he began, his eyes turning glossy at the sight of the polaroid. “He was my best friend before I died.”

Pursing your lips and feeling the tension thicken the room, you ask him, “Why are you telling me this?”

“He’s the reason why I can’t go,” he admits, shoulders dropping while his eyes remain trained on her. “He blames himself for everything and refuses to accept that I’m gone, that’s why I’m still here.”

You remain silent and take a deep breath, your head pounding at the situation. It was a beautiful first night of winter, the perfect weather for you to do your work from home while nestling a cup of hot cocoa in your hands, yet it seems your plans changed and you have to help this ghost out. A part of you wants to reach out and embrace him in a hug, but you know you’ll only end up stumbling on your own feet and clearly, Satoru wants to move on to the next chapter of his journey.

“Can you please tell him I’m okay now?”

When he looks at you like that, shoulders hanging low and an almost shy smile decorating his innocent features, it’s hard to say no.

“I will.”

Through the past few weeks since you’ve met Satoru, your life seemed to light up like a Christmas tree without you noticing. He was a funny guy and often pulled pranks on you, like slamming the cabinets open and closed or leaving your window open in the middle of the night, laughing when you shout at him as your teeth chatter and you slam your windows shut. 

“I could have died from the cold, you idiot!”

He keeps laughing as if he didn’t nearly kill you with hypothermia, “Well, if you die, I guess we’ll be together then,” and even has the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows. You scowl at him and pull your jacket closer to your body, asking what he wants from you because he never goes this far to demand for your attention unless he wants something from you.

“What do you want this time?”

“I wanted to finish that series we were watching the other day,” he pouts rather childishly, “You always tell me not to watch it without you.”

On a particular weekend where you felt like your brains were about to explode from exhaustion due to your work piling up, you refused to wake up until noon, and you felt thankful Satoru knew how tired you were and let you have your much needed rest. When you woke up, a bowl of cereal was already waiting for you in your kitchen island, meaning the reason you felt tired even after that long slumber was because he fed off your energy to give you food.

Feeling thankful for the simple, sweet action, you munched on it happily. It wasn’t anything special and the corn flakes had gone too crusty for your liking, but Satoru’s happiness at you appreciating what he prepared was worth it. After breakfast, you dumped the bowl into the sink and planned to wash it later, opting to flick through Netflix for a good show. Satoru had excitedly pointed at one title that he said he’s always wanted to watch, and the two of you became hooked on it soon enough. Lunch and dinner were both forgotten as you two sat beside each other, your leg against his. Although you couldn’t exactly feel him, his presence was warm.

You and Satoru had been so immersed in the show and unexpected turn of events that time flew by and it was already half past three. He was the first to notice and he jumped from his seat, his hands waving worriedly in a comical manner. “I’m so sorry I made you skip your meals! Aren’t you hungry, you should have some pizza delivered or something.”

Glancing at the clock, you hummed when you realized it was indeed late. You weren’t feeling hungry since you were mostly abeyant, and nothing was open to deliver food around this time anyway. “It’s okay,” you shrug, “I’m not really hungry, and that show is addicting. Oh, and don’t watch it without me! I know you always go ahead when I’m not home!”

Satoru huffs and plops down next to you dramatically, rolling his eyes and taunting you. “Then don’t go to work, Little Miss Manager.”

You poke your finger with his forehead but it only passes through and he laughs, “I need money to survive, idiot.”

“Whatever,” he dismisses and points to your bedroom. “You’ve still got to edit your final draft, so you have to wake up early. Go to bed, don’t worry about the dish, I’ll handle it.”

“Liar, you’ll only feed from my energy so you can play video games!”

“Hey, you can’t blame me!” He counters back as he proceeds to your sink and pumps out soap to the sponge, “You were the one who bought me that console!”

“Only because you kept whining to me how much you wanted it,” you retorted before yawning, and his eyes softened at the sight of you. He rarely gets to see you dressed so comfortably in a loose shirt, cardigan and pajama pants since you were such a busy woman whose fashion sense monotonously consisted of pearl white button-up blouses and knee-length pencil skirts. Prudish and preppy, he thought, but it suits you just fine.  

“You should sleep now,” he reminds you with a nod of his head back to your bedroom, and you obey, simply because your eyes were sore and tired from binge watching. You’re in the process of cocooning yourself under the covers when he calls out in a sing-song voice, “Thank you for the console, by the way. I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“Shut up!” You scream, and his rambunctious laugh was the last thing you heard before your body wholeheartedly welcomed sleep. 

You’ve been thinking about that day ever since, the moment replaying over and over again in your head, successfully distracting you from focusing on your work. Even your co-workers have noticed that you’re lusterlacking lately, but how could you focus on anything else when you had a charming yet lonely ghost who was waiting for you at home?

For days on end, you can only think about the cheerful and carefree sound of his laugh as if he had so much happiness in his lithe body that he couldn’t contain. Your heart always got tugged in its heartstrings whenever you had trouble falling asleep and he sat beside you in your bed, singing you lullabies and caressing your cheek. You started to feel him now – the gush of air in your skin meant he was pressing onto you, and the more you got attached to him, the more you got confused with your feelings.

He never told you how he was murdered and you never asked, figuring it would be too sensitive for him, and your hands balled into fists each time you remembered he was dead. Satoru is such a precious person who only has too much love to give, and it was completely unfair and outrageous that his life was taken away from him in a single flash. You’ve done your research at work, and only a few articles came up regarding his death. The case remains a mystery and still unsolved until it was completely closed due to lack of leads or suspects, but the police force highly suspected someone had broken in and committed homicide without theft, since not a single belonging of him got touched. They concluded that the murderer was drunk and lost, because he was a well-loved person in their campus, and they couldn’t find anyone who could possibly harbor abhorrence for the sweet boy.

But most of all, a part of you wants him to stay. He frequently asks you if you’ve talked to Suguru, and you always denied it, making up an excuse about how he was hard to find because he graduated years ago. ‘He’s hard to find,’ you would tell him one day, and ‘He doesn’t have social media,’ the next. Even though he told you he majored in Forensics, you couldn’t find anyone in the city. 

It’s a half lie. You never found Suguru, because you never looked for him in the first place.

You know it’s selfish of you to be this way, because you know Satoru wants to move on. He doesn’t say anything about it and keeps laughing instead, but sometimes when he thinks you’re too immersed in your work to notice him, you look at him. Being around you only reminds him of what he no longer has, and one look at him has you knowing he was someone who loved life. Satoru loved to travel with his friends, and he still had so many dreams left unfulfilled that made him feel empty yet desperate to be in the afterworld.

However, it is hard for you to let him go. 

No matter how much you try to fit in, deep inside, you know you will always be too different from the rest. You still struggled with socializing and didn’t have a single friend yet a hundred acquaintances, and you never realized how lonely you were until he came. His smile lit up the whole room and his laugh was melodious, and you don’t think you’ve ever met anyone who cared so much for you. He liked to play games and pull pranks on you quite often, but underneath all that lies a kind heart.

Satoru knows exactly when his jokes go too far and apologizes right away, promising not to do something to upset you again and always doing something entirely new to cheer you up. On nights where you’re feeling absolutely drained or you carried home your anger at your co-workers, you go to sleep without taking off your makeup. When you wake, there’s used wipes in the bin, the hovering boy in your apartment proud of his work. Sometimes you forget to cover yourself in blankets too, plopping on top of the sheets almost lifelessly. It’s in those times that he shows how much he cares for you, and you soon wake up feeling warm surrounded by heavy blankets and freshly cooked breakfast.

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were falling for him. It made interacting with him difficult, because you knew you had to let him go, yet you couldn’t.

He watches you carefully and gauges your reaction, waiting to see if you’ll finish the series with him or not. It’s a Wednesday night, or more accurately an early morning on Thursday and the launch happens in less than a week. Logically, it is much better to go back to sleep and refuse, but he is rocking his weight on his heels back and forth, and you realize perhaps he has been lonely since his death too.

“Fine,” you agree, and now he’s bouncing excitedly next to you on your couch as he keeps pressing buttons in your remote.

“You’re the best, you know that?” 

You only hum in response, and Satoru soon becomes lost in the show. Your eyes aren’t focused on the screen – on him rather. Placed on top of your fist lies your cheek as you study his side profile, trying to memorize the slope of his nose and the snow-white hair that keeps falling onto his eyes that makes him flip it to the side every now and then to watch the show. His right leg keeps bouncing up and down, a habit he had when he was anxiously anticipating something, and then stopping before his left leg went bouncing instead, meaning he didn’t like the situation.

Tearing your eyes away from him, you smile sadly when you realize his favorite character had been betrayed. “Did you see that? That freaking woman, he only loved her and she snitched him out like that?!”

Shrugging one shoulder and feeling your eyes become droopy, you reply, “Well, he’s a grave robber, Satoru, he was only nice to her because he liked her. She had every right to mislead him.”

“I don’t understand, but okay,” he relents and leans back, eyes closing before he intertwines his hands behind his neck and murmurs, “I hated the ending.”

“Not everyone gets happy endings,” you add grimly, watching the muscles underneath his hoodie flex at your comment. The two of you remain silent for a few minutes, and plucking up the courage, you breathe in sharply before slowly lowering yourself until your head is on his shoulder. 

You keep yourself still in order not to fall, and your eyes remain fixated on his hand, silently yearning to be able to touch him. If he was alive, would his skin be as warm as his presence? His hand flexes and trails from his lap until it’s beside yours, and you hear him swallow audibly before locking your fingers with his.

A tear falls down your face. You could feel him. 

Satoru hums a familiar tune, and you chuckle happily when you recognize it’s the song he always sings to you to make you sleep, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on your knuckles.

His other hand tilts your chin upwards until you’re looking directly at his eyes. You hold in your breath, his lips only a centimeter away from yours. If you lean forward, you could kiss him… but you don’t. 

“Why are you crying?”

Because I don’t want you to go.

“Nothing,” you lie and offer a forced smile which he notices, but doesn’t comment about it. “I just feel happy.”

He nods slowly before leaning forward, and he gets so close that you can faintly see his freckles that dot across his cheeks lovingly, and your eyes flutter shut when his lips press against yours. Satoru sighs as if he’s been waiting too long to do that, and he is pushing against you so softly, so tenderly, that it almost fits the same atmosphere your heart creates. He is soft in everything he does, from his innocent features and smile that puts the stars to shame, to how he holds you and caresses you. His hand trails from your neck to pull you closer, and you moan when his tongue peeks out and playfully coaxes yours out to play. Tears are streaming down your face when you kiss him back slowly, tongues moving in sync as they danced harmoniously instead of battling each other for dominance. Caressing your face that fits perfectly in his hand, he brushes away your tears with the pad of his thumbs. 

A moment passes before you two are breathing heavily with your foreheads pressed against each other, and the silence is broken when he speaks, his voice coming out raspy and out of breath. 

“Suguru… has been struggling long before I died.”

“What?”

“My best friend… he got into a rough patch. Had troubles with his parents, went down the wrong path, and met dangerous people. I’d heard rumors he was going around skipping class and talking to people I’ve never seen before, but I chose to ignore it. Suguru would’ve told me everything once he was ready. And I was stupid, you know? I saw it. I saw how he stopped smiling, how he’d lost weight. How his eyes no longer looked happy,” Satoru’s hands trembled, the blue of his eyes hauntingly dark. “One night, I overheard him talking to someone on the phone. I’ve never heard him that angry, and I got worried. I wanted to stop him from whatever he’ll end up doing so I invited him over but… Next thing I know, he came over here, drunk and high, and stabbed me until I bled to death.”

You gasp and shudder as you imagine the scene, Satoru lying on his bed as he waited anxiously for his friend. You see him smiling at Suguru excitedly because he’d actually come, but fear replaces it when his friend succumbs to the madness. The image of Satoru drowning in his own pool of blood made you clench your jaw.

“There had to be evidence left.”

Satoru smiles sadly as if to tell you it doesn’t bother him anymore, but you can’t shake it off. How can a man be so blinded in his own misery that he could take his own best friend’s life? “He was a forensics major; he knew how to cover up his crime.”

A pregnant pause fills the room as you furrow your brows, the sound of the cold wind tapping against your windows as you rack your head to make a decision. Now that you knew the truth, you had to tell the police about it, but how would they believe you if there was no evidence found? And if the case was cleared, and Suguru had finally moved on, that means...

“You can ask me to stay.”

“What?” You breathe out, looking at his eyes with sadness pooling in them. He’s smiling, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You pull away from him completely until he’s at an arm’s length away. He doesn’t look hurt by your action but he sighs, reaching out for you and pausing with his hand mid-air when you raise a palm to stop him.

He must’ve known you’re in love with him. Just as he also knows that once he leaves, you’ll be hurt, and he doesn’t want you to feel that.

You shake your head and stand up harshly. The tears now uncontrollable as you slam your bedroom door to his face. You’re slightly thankful he doesn’t come after you and leaves you alone instead. You needed time. Time to think, time to put his needs over yours - time to forget him. Rummaging through the documents on your desk, you keep looking for it until the polaroid is clutched between your fingers, and you silently place it in your handbag.

Tomorrow, you would set things straight.

Suguru Geto was a hard man to find. He’d fled from the spotlight as one of the  best students of his university after Satoru Gojo’s death. The image of his best friend, who was always in high spirits and laughed without a care in the world, covered in his own blood was a sight that scarred him for the rest of her life. 

But there was one more person who hadn’t moved on from that night.

Ieri Shoko, the woman who ran first at the hospital when Satoru’s parents were away for a business trip. She didn’t want to believe it at first. Satoru had always seemed so full of life, so in love with what the world had to offer. He’d been so young – it just couldn’t be. They had to be lying, right?

But when she finally saw her friend’s bloodied corpse on that cold hospital bed, she’d fallen apart.

She went to sleep crying to herself every night, regretting and blaming everything on herself. Her instinct told her it was Suguru who had done this to him. She barged into his dorm room, screaming and flailing, punching the taller man and effectively breaking his nose as she dragged him down by the collar. Suguru was already questioned by the police after Satoru’s murder, but his alibi of being in a bar was factual, and they had proven his innocence after checking surveillance cameras. He was only gone for a few minutes before he appeared on the dance floor all over again, and they believed him when he said he only disappeared to go to the restroom.

Presumably to wash the blood off his hands.

Shoko didn’t believe it. “Tell me you didn’t kill him, tell me!”

Suguru growls, frustrated at her for even accusing him of doing such a horrendous thing, and he feigns his innocence as he pries her hands away from his collar. “I didn’t do it, Ieri, I was at a bar!”

“Bullshit!” She screams, slamming a vase onto the floor and dropping down to the floor as sobs wrecked through her body. “I smelled your perfume the moment I walked in. I know it was you…”

His eyes widened, but he remained silent because she had always been smart and too observant for her own good. He shrugs his collar back into place and goes back to his bedroom, but not before darkly muttering, “I didn’t do it, I didn’t kill him…”

Four years later, and you’re sitting in front of Officer Kento, an intimidating man with empty eyes staring at you hardly, his face devoid of any emotion. He’d been the same officer who worked on Satoru’s case before it was closed. “And why should I believe you? Ghosts don’t exist.”

You snap your head up from your lap to him and scowl, “I just want to help you here, Officer.  You need to re-open this case.”

He abruptly stands up and slams his palm harshly against the desk, his eyes filled with rage as he stares down at you. “You don’t think I haven’t tried before?!”

“Well then, try harder!” You fumed, standing up. “If you don’t resolve this case, he’s going to remain here forever, lost and nowhere to go. Do you really want him to suffer even after his death?”

“How am I supposed to believe everything you say is true?”

Plucking out their polaroid from your bag and shoving it to his chest, you watch as he crumbles piece by piece. He holds the photo tentatively before cradling it to his chest, and what you presumed was a cold-hearted man was actually just a lost person.

“I don’t know why you closed that case, but it isn’t over. He’s still here, and he needs our help.”

You turn away from him to give him peace and wrap your fingers around the doorknob, “Suguru Geto is out there walking freely. You can still make a difference, Sir. It’s not too late.”

Happiness was a concept you believed to be fleeting.

One moment, you are giggling with the ghosts who tell you funny stories and whisper mischievously in your ear the correct answers in your pre-school days, and the next moment you are pressing a hand against your car windows, watching as the only people you considered friends are witnessing you leave without a goodbye.

That feeling comes back again and again, from little moments such as eating lunch with your high school friends and making empty promises to keep in touch after graduation, giggling when a cute boy comes by and asks for your number. But like any other moment in your life where you feel happy, that feeling dissipates as fast as it came.

The bell attached to the door chimes to signal a customer, and the cute florist you met on the first day you moved to this city, Choso, looks up from the pot he’s currently watering. Bowing politely, he sends a pleased smile upon the sight of you.

You tuck a stray hair behind your ear and return the smile back, his musky perfume blending in well with the sweet aroma of flowers as he stops in front of you. “Hi, I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, “Our latest branch just opened downtown, so I was a bit busy with that.”

“Oh, you work for that bookshop everyone’s been talking about non-stop?” You nod and laugh at his question, proud of yourself that the new opening had been successful. The state campus was only three bus rides away, and with the extensive amount of books your bookstore offered, along with its affordable prices, everyone’s been talking about it. “I’m proud of you, it was a success,” he commends, rubbing his dirties hands on his apron before opening the door for you. What can I get you?”

Personally, you thought Choso was a bit too rugged to be working in a floral shop. He always seemed to carry himself in such an awkward manner and had an authoritative yet welcoming aura to him, his shy smiles the highlights of your day. “I want to give it to my friend. Today’s their special day.”

“I see,” Choso’s eyes are already scanning the plethora of flowers he has in his shop, his brows pinching together in thought. “Can you tell me a little bit about them? It’d help to make their bouquet more personal.”

A smile makes its way to your face. “They’re… bright, carefree, innocent, and pure. They almost seem like an angel, if you ask me. I was also thinking about something that represents young love, and… new beginnings?”

You have absolutely no idea what you’re saying. The words coming out of your mouth are beyond your control. You’re sure you’re making a fool out of yourself, but Choso nods understandingly, frows burrowed before he snaps his fingers and turns to you. “White roses describe all of those, but if you want, I can whip up more flowers for you.”

He makes a move to get his scissors and starts listing off flowers with the same meanings, but you run up to him and not so accidentally wrap your hands around his to get him to stop. His eyes widen at your close proximity. You clear your throat and take a step backward, fighting the urge to smile when his cheeks are dusted a fine pink. “White roses itself are fine, thank you.”

He gulps and heads towards the back door, coming out later with a bouquet of white roses. You reach for your wallet before his arm wraps around your wris, his smile wobbly and hesitant. “It’s on the house. You can pay me back with a cup of coffee next time.”

Eyebrows rising at his smoothness, you gratefully accept the flowers and cradle it near to your chest. “A cup of coffee it is.”

Choso chuckles shyly and ducks his head, and you leave the shop with a wave of your hand before walking further and further. Your surroundings shift from the high-rise building and busy streets to a hill covered in trees sprawled out everywhere, flowers blooming and withering at every corner. Sitting down on the soil with your legs crossed, you place the bouquet in front of his headstone, his framed polaroid with Suguru standing in front of you. 

It’s been exactly seven days since you last saw Satoru.

After countless sleepless nights of phone calls from Officer Kento, he’d finally cracked the case with your help. Suguru Geto was found. He’d confessed to all his crimes, his handsome face weary yet relieved. It seemed he’d never once forgotten about that night when he betrayed his friend, and just before he was ushered behind bars, he turned to you. You wished you felt anger towards him for what he did, but there was only sadness. Only regret in his eyes. He looked so tired, so hopeless.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “Thank you for finding me.”

A nod was all you could give. Suguru felt so familiar, yet so strange. You’ve heard tons of stories about him from Satoru, all about their happiest moments together. He’d been his closest friend, the one he shared so many dreams with, and the one who knew him the most. Maybe he knew Satoru wouldn’t fight back once his demons consumed him. Maybe when Suguru was holding his friend’s bloodied hand in the night, he knew – Satoru was never mad at him. He only wanted to save his friend. Maybe he knew Satoru wasn’t completely dead yet, not when he lived in everyone’s heart, and most especially yours.

That night when you returned home, the apartment felt colder than ever. Normally, it would mean a ghost lingered. But there was no longer the sound of Satoru’s humming, and the dishes were left half-washed in your sink. And for the first time in your life, you hated your eyes and how it gave you the ability to see the traces he left behind. 

Because you wished you had enough time to say goodbye. You wish you had told him everything, but the thought of being another tether to the living realm weighed down on you. You couldn’t do that to him. He had to go. For Satoru to truly move into the next life, you had to close your heart and forget him. Just as Suguru’s forgiven himself, and just as Shoko’s accepted her friend’s death - you too had to say goodbye. 

Tears clouded your vision.

The white remnants of his soul sparkled in your apartment. For the last time, you watched as the blue of his hoodie finally disappeared, his hands scrubbing your dishes away fading into nothingness. The plate drops and breaks. Satoru stood, his legs vanishing bit by bit as he saw the running water through his hands. He’d wanted to return your apartment to the way it was before he’d met you, but he knew – his time was running out. He didn’t have energy left to turn everything off.

The water floods your apartment. The new series he’d dearly loved still plays on the TV. 

But he was here – hugged by the earth and decorated with flowers, smiling at you from far away even when you could no longer see him. Placing the bouquet of white roses down at his grave, you smiled at the photo they’d taken months before he died. He still looked just as beautiful – all wide smiles, kind eyes, and soft hands.

To you, he was still alive in your heart.

“I’ll see you around, Satoru.”

TW: anger issues, abuse, angst

gn reader

Thinking about boyfriends with anger issues…

How it’s okay in the beginning because your relationship is still fresh, and you’re both trying your best to be perfect for each other. How it’s enough for you to tell him he’s being silly with a sweet kiss to his grumpy cheek when he’s acting grumpy and insisting on having some type of fight with you over something unimportant. It’s enough to defuse him at that point—your unnerving smile and kind eyes, how you’re able to touch him even when he feels nuclear. The knots untangle within his head, and he calms down. He doesn’t apologize, but he gets sheepish and plays dumb until he’s cracking you up with some dumb joke—so you forgive him anyway.

The fights get worse over time, but so do the good times. He’s so perfect when he’s good, you forget about the bad. And you’re still able to disengage, at least most of the time. You can leave or ignore and dismiss—you can even agree to be wrong sometimes, even when you’re not. It doesn’t really matter. Those arguments are never about who’s right anyway—it’s just about fighting to see who can outlast the other. You swear, sometimes it feels like you’re the accused on the stand in a courtroom, but the judge has vacated, and it’s just you against the lawyer hurling pointed question after question at you.

Oh, but then he brings flowers, makes you smile and laugh, does something romantic, and tells you sweet nothings that make you blush. It feels right when you move in together. You love him. And you know he loves you. He still doesn’t ever apologize for his behavior—at least not with words—but he tries making up for it otherwise. After particularly nasty fights, when you go to sleep without him and without sharing another word, he’s on his best and brightest behavior the day after—makes you breakfast, drives you to work, offers to pick you up, suggests you do something fun later.

It's soothing that he knows he’s in the wrong. It makes it easier to forgive him. Makes you believe he’ll change.

Only he doesn’t.

The bathroom becomes your escape, a space you can retreat to when you’re on the brink. You don’t want to cry in front of him—he can get so mean sometimes, and the tears just egg him on like it’s some game he’s winning. It doesn’t really dawn on you that you’re hiding from him. If you admit that to yourself, nothing would make sense anymore. If you admit that to yourself, you wouldn’t be able to defend staying with him. And so you can’t. You suppress it. You’re not hiding from him—if he were to come knock on the door to let him in, you’d let him in. So you’re not hiding from him. No, you’re just in there for a quick breath of your own and to give him a little space.

But though you deny it, he feels you slipping away—and it only serves to make him more combatant. Raised voices turn into roaring—you fear the neighbors might complain. Nothing works anymore. If you walk away, he follows angrier than before. If you agree to disagree, he’ll only use it against you. If you cry, he laughs.

The time you get as ugly as he gets and start fighting back with your own insults is when he puts his fist through the wall right next to you.

The house shakes for a moment, then stands still. All is silent. Neither of you moves. You’re as stiff as a mannequin, and your eyes have never been wider—and yet you don’t look at him. Your gaze is fixed at nothing in particular as if unable to look anywhere else. You have a hand against his chest—it shakes. He feels it, and it’s a gross feeling—worse than the pain in his hand.

And he knows. He knows he’s ruined it. He knows it’s the exact moment he’s lost you.

No, actually. He probably lost you a while back…

He pulls his fist out of the drywall—the thin plate follows him before he drags it out with force. Dust and fibers stick to his skin in blotches where the blood coats his hand, seeping from the splits on his knuckles. It stings, but it isn’t the worst. No, his chest feels worse.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely through the strain in his tightening throat. “I’m sorry.” He can never repeat it enough for it to be enough. Fuck, what’s he done? What can he do? There’s a gaping hole in the wall he has you pressed up against, and it’s about to swallow him up.

“You’re bleeding,” comes your voice—as from the break of light in a stormy sky that reminds him it’s still day. “We need to disinfect it.”

He doesn’t dare protest, even as it confuses him how trivial you are about it. He just trails after you as you take him to the bathroom and clean him up. Holding his damaged hand in both of yours while you guide it under the tap, rinsing off the debris and blood, letting it all go down the drain. He didn’t even know you had a first aid kit, but you seem well-versed for some reason—how you dab the cuts with alcohol-soaked cotton, then tape shut the deeper slits before wrapping it all in a strip of bandage.

You take him to the bedroom, but neither of you speaks. He’s afraid to. And yet, both of you say goodnight while lying on opposite sides of the bed. He doesn’t know what feeling it is that simmers within his chest, but it makes it the worst night of his life.

And still, he must have slept soundly.

You’re gone in the morning—you’re essential things with you.

It’s strange, but he isn’t even angry. No… You left a note for him, but he can’t read it—not through the swelling of his eyes as they burn with salt and water and regrets that know no end.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Enji, Shinso ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Megumi, Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Sakusa, Ukai ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin ♡ AOT – Eren, Levi ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

Music To My Ears

Five x Talkative Wife

Note: Okay, so I've had this idea for a long time, basically a HC of what it would be like if Five (when he comes back to 2019) brings along his wife who is also his partner from the commission- who is super talkative, especially when she's nervous.

Five x FemReader

Gif Credit to rightful owner

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The first time he had seen Y/N, he simply wanted to kill her. Not only did she give away his hiding spot from the enemy but she would not STOP TALKING.

"Hi! I'm Y/N, I don't really have a last name, but it's an honour to meet you Mr.Five Sir. You're a lege-"

"Shhh!"

"It's alright they won't hear us!"

"Woman, please I don't need a partner, especially not one as annoying as Klaus!"

"Whose Klaus?"

"Tch no one-"

"HEY THEY'RE OVER THERE"

"SHIT"

And on that same mission Five got shot in the leg, which she kept apologising for over and over again, until he had to verbally say 'IT'S FINE PLEASE, JUST STOP TALKING I NEED TO THINK!'

Slowly, verrry slowly, she began to grow on him, killing wasn't his most favourite part of the job, and everytime she began talking nonsense he could tell she wasn't a fan of it either.

It didn't take him long to figure out that she would ramble on for hours a day when she was scared, nervous or just tired, especially on gruesome missions.

Yes, she would not stop talking even when she was drained. At one point he wondered if Delores thought he spoke a lot too. Until she ended up changing the topic of conversation around 5 times in 1 hour- no, this lady was a crackhead.

It was almost a year in their partnership and the Handler was pleased with their work. For Five was already a legend, he learnt that other than the useless chatter, the girl was a great assassin- quick, slick and brutal.

On one occasion, when Five was cornered and exhausted, he thought he was toast, almost ready to give up. He heard, "NOONE CORNERS MY PARTNER!" And gun shots.

They were all shot in the head

"Execution style?"

"Actually, I was super mad at you when you told me to stay at the motel because I'm very annoying and noisy. Like I get I can't be Delores but please I am my own person! I don't need to be someone else for you to accept me and hey! I am a great assassin by the way! Sure I talk a lot but before your rude a** came along I was running the show punk and-"

"Thank you Y/N, you saved my life today."

And that leaves her speechless, a whole year of knowing him, he had never thanked her, let alone ever spoken to her softly.

He smiles at her and hobbled to the car muttering a , 'You don't have to be Delores, you're better of as you.'

And that was the first mistake the boy made, because after that he began to notice more things about her that he liked.

The way she would ever so politely talk to people. How she was able to get intel by being nice- instead of using the interrogation methods he used.

More than often things would flow smoothly if she would do the talking.

3 years in and he wakes up one night, to get water and realises that she's not on the other bed. So he checks the washroom and she isn't their too.

Grabbing a bathrobe he goes out to the motel parking and finds her sitting on a bench, the cold night breeze tossing her hair around as she grips onto her cup- tea he presumes.

So, like any sane person he decides to give her some privacy, until he hears her sniff.

He goes and sits beside her and is just:

'Wanna talk?"

"No"

"NO?!?!?"

And she shakes her head, so he doesn't encourage her to speak, instead sits their quietly beside her, letting her cry silently.

An hour later he realises her head is on his shoulder and she mutters,

"When you go back, will you leave me?"

"I don't know..."

"Can I come with you?"

"You? But, I'm no fun nor a party goer, darlin' . I'll probably end up being an a** to you-"

"Would an a** have sat with me in the middle of a chilly night outside, letting me cry?"

And for once in his life Five had no answer. The resident genius had no clue to why her words had brought a sensation of tightness around his chest, why he felt her words cut through him. Was he actually going to leave her? If there was anyone (after Delores) who understood him, or rather had the balls to stand up to him, it was her. Yet, he had never realised how vulnerable she was on the inside.

That night ignites a fire within him, because 2 months later, on a mission in Hawaii, where the two are standing in a field of dead bodies he turns to her. All bloody and messy,

"Hey!"

"yes?"

"NOW GIVE ME A STRAIGHT ANSWER, YOU GOT IT?"

Utterly confused, she nods at the weirdo who looked like he was about to explode.

"MARRY ME?"

"Sure."

"I SAID A STRAIGHT ANSWER NOT A LONG EXPLANATION YOU - wait what?"

"I said, yes, Five Hargreeves, I'd like to spend whatever days I have left with an a** like you."

Cue the most abrupt and small wedding and exchanging of vows. Not that it mattered to either of them, because as soon as their 'secret wedding' was over, they were sent on another mission.

Naturally, she was rambling along the entire way,

"I really thought we could have cake though, but I guess we did have to keep it low key, oh speaking of low-key, I booked us a fancy couple's room I had been saving money for

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)"

"What's with the face"

"You know~"

"Okay, I officially married Klaus."

"but, but, but you love me either way~"

"Seems to be so, now please stay quiet, we're entering their base and the last thing I want is to lose my wife on the second day of my marriage."

"WAIT WHAT"

"SHHH!"

Give or take many years later, the couple in their fifties is staring at the blue portal. Holding hands, both nervous, one quiet while the other...

"THIS BETTER WORK FIVE, I BETTER NOT END UP BEING TELEPORTED TO THE 1500's I AM TELLING YOU! WAIT! I DONT EVEN KNOW THE NAMES OF YOUR SIBLINGS, OTHER THAN VANYA AND KLAUS -"

"SILENCE WOMAN, ON THE COUNT OF THREE WE JUMP. 1 ...2-"

"3 I WIN"

And she pulls him into the portal as he yells at her.

The two end up on the ground with a loud thud.

Getting up he pulls her up and is just staring at her, up and down.

"Really Five, not a good time to be checking me out- wait why are you a child"

"shit."

"does anyone see a little number Five with ...a random girl?"

Without responding he drags her into the kitchen, the siblings following in right after. Watching him make her sit on a chair at the end of the table while he is preparing something.

Slowly they start interrogating him.

"It's been 22 years Number Five, where have you been?'

"It's been a lot longer than that."

"What happened to you?"

He places a sandwich infront of her and starts to devour his own.

"What do you think happened? I decided to test the limits of my time jumping, see how far I could go. Turns out, pretty far."

"Then how did you get back?"

By now, Y/N is visibly shaking in her chair, too nervous to even eat, staring up at Five who seems to be having a a not to pleasant conversation with his siblings.

Before responding to Allison he turns to look at her,his features softening, something ALL the siblings notice, "It's okay..." He whispers to her, "Eat."

"By projecting our consciousness backwards into a suspended quantum state version of us that exists in every possible instance of time."

"That makes no sense."

"It would if you were smarter."

"Granted, it did take me a little time to work out all the nuts and bolts of it."

Five notices that she's still not eating and he frowns only to glare at his siblings, "Stop staring at her you're freaking her out."

"US? YOU BROUGHT A RANDOM KID HERE FIVE"

"Random kid?" She slams down her sandwich. As Five smirks, 'well, at least she's better now'.

"I AM NO RANDOM KID, IM HIS WIFE. And by the way HE ISNT CRAZY- other than THIS MAN IN A NICE SKIRT I DONT SEE ANYONE WHO ONCE ASKED HIM HOW HE WAS? OR IF HE WAS OKAY? OR IF HE WAS ALONE!"

"Oh? danke- WAIT WIFE? Five DID U KIDNAP HER @?!"

"No, we're in our fifties."

"WHAT"

"Yes, now well that's established, Five we should really hurry up. Also, why don't any of you look similar? Didn't your dad die today? Wait, are you all here for a funeral - you guys have been fighting ever since you showed up huh? Not a lot of love I see, no wonder my husband's a little crackhead too. By the way, why are you so big? Oh- *turns to Vanya* you're the lady from the book, nice book by the way, family tea is the best, not that I'd know, I have no recollection of mine-" with that she got up and randomly walked out of the kitchen, a nervous wreck, something only Five could see.

"Five is she insane?"

"Ofcourse not you big ape."

They could still hear her go on about something from the other side of the house to which Diego frowned, "She talks a lot."

Five just grabbed his sandwich, walking out of the room, with a

"It's music to my ears."

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Note: OKAY SO THIS IS KINDA SHITTY? I don't know I just had to get it out of my system!, I hope y'all like it😭🥺❤️