ONE LAST TIME GETO SUGURU & GOJO SATORU

ONE LAST TIME — GETO SUGURU & GOJO SATORU

✧･.you’ve been invited to your old fuck buddy's wedding and the best man feels that the three of you have unfinished business.  

( TW ) Fem!reader. explicit content. porn with some feelings (not rlly but also rlly). reader is a slut. cheating. mentions of reader sleeping with other people. MFM. spit roasting. blow job. P -> V. unprotected sex. cream pie. face riding. fingering. squirting.  

word count - > 2.2k  

authors note. re-ducking-post because tumblr has a problem with the header again!1@$#^@!!!

Satoru had been sending you winks and sly smirks throughout the night. He finally has the balls to text during the middle of the feast.  

‘Enjoying the wedding?’  

“Yep! Best wedding I’ve been to.’  

‘So, you aren’t the slightest bit jealous?’  

‘Jealous? And why would I be? The only one jealous here is you because ‘Sugu is getting married before you’  

‘Pchss I don’t want to be held down and forced to fuck one person for the rest of my life, wouldn’t you agree y/n?’  

‘Shut up, that was so long ago, you’re the only one who remembers or cares about that’  

‘I doubt that.’  

‘Doubt all you want Toru. Suguru and I are over It so let go. It’s been years."  

‘So, if I told you ‘Sugu invited you because he wanted one last night with you?’  

‘Shut up Toru, he’s married.’ You cross your legs and look up. You automatically find Satoru—sitting at one of the tables up front typing on his phone. You look over at Suguru and feel your face heat when you find him staring at you intensely, ignoring his wife who is busy trying to get his attention. You hurriedly look back down at your phone.  

‘I’m not lying!’  

‘He even told me at his bachelor party that he misses the old days...’  

The old days when you spent your college years filled with their cum. You had a cock stuffed inside of you almost every day. One year you tallied the days and went a year straight with cock inside at least one of your holes. The boys weren’t always available, so you had to get creative.   

‘Meet me in the bathroom?’  

‘Nope, I told you I’ve changed.’  

‘Stop lying y/n.’  

‘I’m not!’  

‘Then what were you doing with the Nanami and his friends?’  

You choke on your spit, how did he–you were going to kill Nanami the next time you saw him. You didn’t think anyone else had seen you leave the office that night. Fuck. Fuck! You were absolutely going to kill him. You look back up and make eye contact with Satoru who tilts his head and licks his lips. His white hair falls into his face. He looks so utterly fuckable.   

‘You want me to beg? Tell you how much I missed your tight pussy and pouty lips?’  

‘Keep talking…’ You text. Fuck it. You missed Satoru too, it’s been years, and it wasn’t as if you parted on bad terms—you wouldn’t mind fucking him one more time. One last time, as a goodbye.  

‘Miss your cute little moans and your tight ass and how your pretty little hands looked wrapped around my cock. I miss the cuddles after it. I miss everything, pretty girl.’  

‘One more time Satoru. This is the last time!’  

‘Promise angel, meet me at the family bathroom in 5 ;)’  

—  

“Fuckin’ missed you.” Satoru groans into your mouth, throwing you onto the counter. You wrap your legs around his wide hips as he grabs your hair. “Toru, don’t fucking mess up my hair, what do you think they’ll say when I come out with a bird’s nest instead of fancy wedding hair.”  

“Sorry pretty.” He mummers against your lips, moving his hands to your waist. You pull him closer to you. The familiarity of his hands and mouth on you makes you melt.  

Satoru breaks away and sinks to his knees. He pushes your sheer lilac dress up above your ass and rolls his eyes back into his head.  

“Missed this pussy.” He inhales. Thumbing your clit above your white lace panties. You grab onto his hair and moan.   

“Toru—”  

“Shh—let me show you how much I’ve missed this pussy sweet girl,” He leans in to lick your damp panties. “Slide this little thong to the side and show me your pretty pussy angel.”  

Desperate for an orgasm you obey, sliding the flimsy lace to the side and parting your slick pussy with two fingers. Satoru leans in immediately to lick you entirely.   

“Satoru!” You cry, the grip his hair tightening as he eats you like a starved man. You fall back onto the mirror and hump his face as he sucks your clit.  

“Gonna cum Toru! Don’t stop, please, please, don’t stop!” You slur, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he stuffs three thick fingers into your achy cunt. He curls them to hit your g-spot, the spot that he showed you existed all that time ago.   

“M’cumming!” You moan removing your hand from your pussy to grip the edges of the counter. Your pussy convulses around Satoru's fingers.  

“Not gonna stop ‘till you squirt for me,” He mumbles against your clit. “You can do it, you're my good girl.” He goes back to sucking your clit. It doesn’t take long until you're squirting all over his face. Eyes squeezed shut and ears ringing, you don’t notice that someone walks into the large restroom because the man between your legs never locked the door.  

“Was I not invited to the party?” Suguru shoots the two of you.   

You jerk yourself up, legs slamming around Satoru's head.  

“Sugu!” You squeak.  

Satoru tries to say something, but he’s trapped between your thighs, he struggles to break free.  

“No Sugu, we were just gettin’ started, isn’t that right pretty?” He coughs out, standing up with a soaked shirt and glistening face. He grins at his Suguru.   

“Is that right,” he pulls his eyes from his best friends to you. You're staring at him with wide eyes, legs closed tight like he’s never seen what's between them before. He steps closer to you. “Is that right y/n?” You suck in a breath and nod.   

“Y-yes ‘Sugu.”   

“Then why are you hidin, from me? Hidin’ that slutty pussy from me.”   

“You’re a taken man now ‘Sugu–”   

“And that's gonna stop you?”  

“Why don’t you go fuck your wife?” You snap, crossing your arms over your chest and returning your attention to Satoru. “Are you gonna finish this or what?”   

“Don’t look away from me y/n,” Suguru crosses the space between you, grasping your chin. “She’s nothing like you, too traditional n’ stuck up. She doesn’t hold a candle to this sweet cunt of yours.”  

“Yea?” You blink up at him through wet lashes, heart fluttering. You uncross your legs and slowly lift them to Suguru's wide hips.  

“Nothing—no one compares.” He brings your face closer to his.  

“You promise?” You whisper shyly, lips brushing over his.  

“Promise.” He teases before catching your swollen lips. Your back arches, legs clinging to his suit-clad waist. His lips taste like watermelon-scented Chapstick, must be his wife's. You bite his bottom lip and giggle at the thought.   

“How long you got for your wifey comes lookin’ for you?” Satoru asks.  

“Not long, ‘bout ten minutes at most.” Suguru rolls his eyes, catching your lips again.   

“You gonna take me in the mouth and let ‘Sugu fuck your cunt, angel? Think you can get us off in ten minutes?”   

“I can get you off with time to spare.” You smirk up at Satoru who smiles and starts to unbuckle his pants. His heavy cock jumps out, tip leaking precum.  

“C’mere then sweetheart.” Suguru pulls you off the counter before flipping you towards his Satoru. He pushes you down until you folded at the waist. You grab onto Satoru’s thick thighs, his cock jumping on the side on your face. You look up at him and smile before turning slightly to peck his shaft.  

“Stop teasing—be a good girl n’ put it in your mouth ‘for I mess up you're ‘fancy weddin’ hair.’” He teases. You glare up at him—about tell him off, but as soon as you open your mouth Suguru shoves his cock in your wet pussy. You scream.  

“Shut her up ‘Toru!” Suguru spits out between groans. Your cunt clenches so tight around him he tries not to cum prematurely.   

You move to take Satoru’s cock before he has a chance to fuck up your hair any more than he already has. His cock hits the back of your throat, and you thank the gods above you don’t have a gag reflex. You start to bob your head down his stiff cock, careful not to nick him with your teeth.  

Suguru starts to thrust in and out, hands gripping your hips so tight you know your hips will be bruised for the next week.  

“So fuckin’ tight,” Suguru grunts throwing his head back. “Tightest cunt I‘ve ever fucked.”  

You moan around Satoru’s cock.   “Missed this warm mouth.” Satoru moans, thrusting his hips into your face. Suguru follows the lead, syncing his thrust with Toru.  

“You miss havin’ two cocks in you, oh wait, you still get fucked like this weekly by—fuck—by Nanami’s entire office floor.” Mouth full of cock, you don’t even attempt to defend yourself, it’s true anyways.  

“We’re still you're favorites beautiful or did you forget ‘bout us after college, hm? So many cocks you forgot about the first two.” Suguru slams you down the entire length of his cock, so hard Satoru’s cock falls out your mouth. Satoru grips your jaw, ignoring the spit and precum that falls onto his hands.  

“Is that true pretty, you forgot about the men who tight you how to fuck?”  

“N-no,” you moan out, Suguru's cock feeling you up so much you can hardly remember how to breath.   

“Never f-forget you guys, never ever.” You promise.  

“Them prove it, suck my cock just how I taught you, ’ve got three minutes.”   

You shudder in pleasure before shamelessly grabbing ‘Toru’s cock and shoving it back in your mouth, determined to get him off. You bounce your head up and down his shaft, licking and sucking the tip, just like he taught you.   

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum.” ‘Toru grits out, forgoing the rule about touching your hair. He holds your head to his pelvis thrusting into your mouth so hard you start to get lightheaded, pair that with Suguru's thick cock pushing against your pelvic, you’re surprised you haven't passed out.  

“M’cummin, f-fuck m’ gonna cum pretty, take it, take it, take it!” Satoru groans shooting thick ropes into your throat. You swallow down every sip, eyes rolling to the back of your head when Suguru’s thrusts turn sloppy, a tell sign he’s about to cum.  

“C-Cum in my pussy ‘Sugu!” You cry against Satoru’s softening cock.  

“What was that Sweetheart?” Suguru pulls you put by the scruff of your neck. “What did you say?”  

“S-said cum in me, please!” You gurgle, your hands reaching for the hand around your neck.  

“M’gonna cum deep inside in you Sweetheart, gonna cum so deep ‘ll be scooping it out for days” Your pussy clenches at the thought. “You wan’ that, hm? You want my cum?”   

“Please, please, please!” You beg.  

“Take it then—take my fuckin’ cum.” He slams into your ass, cumming deep inside your pussy causing you to orgasm at the feeling of being filled to the brim.  

“Oh fuck, you're so tight, ‘m gonna cum all over again.” Suguru mumbles into your now fucked up hair. At that thought you open your eyes and glare at Satoru.  

“What?” He questions, stuffing himself back into his pants.  

“You messed up my hair.” You grumble. Suguru laughs behind you, gently slipping his now soft cock out of you. You clench your cum-filled pussy while Suguru situates your thong back in place, he pats your pussy. You’re suddenly hit with a pang of nostalgia and the old routine. Memories of the two of you—the three of you coming to the forefront of your mind. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this. Somedays all you think about it how you wish you could just go back to the days when you fucked the boys like a bunny in heat. The days when you laid on Suguru’s chest after long days and thought about what your life would be like if you settled down with him. You’d give anything to go back.  

“Suguru, you in here?”  

“Fuck!”  

—  

“Is she okay?” Suguru’s wife frowns, looking at you slumped over the toilet.  

“Just drunk, she always like this when she gets around alcohol, just can’t help herself when it comes to taking however myny shots she can get her hands on.” Satoru smirks and your role your eyes underneath your arm, the irony not lost on you.   

“Why’s your shirt wet?”   

“She let loose and threw up all over me, had to get creative.”   

“Cmon babe, let's get back to the party, Satoru ‘ll help her fix herself.” Suguru puts his hand on his wife’s back gently guiding her out the restroom.  

“Okay, be quick Satoru, we're about to do another round of speeches, the crowd loves you.” 

【 ꜱʏᴍᴘᴛᴏᴍꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇꜱ 】 ch. 9

x PAIRING professor!gojo satoru x f!reader (medical!au)

x SUMMARY he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart. (this sounds more fluffy than it actually is, it's more angsty/dark and emotional damaging lol).

x WORD COUNT 11.5 k (i'm insane)

x WARNINGS this story contains substance abuse/addiction, smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, angst, mentions of death/illness, graphic medical procedures. you can also read it on ao3 or wattpad. pls like or repost if you enjoyed ♡

x AUTHORS'S NOTE this chapter is in satoru's pov! "she/her" -> "you", also there is a minor character from the manga in this chapter but no spoilers :) also, this chapter gets kinda dark? pls remember this is fiction, don't do drugs and also don't sleep with addicts, thank you!! enjoy reading!! ♡

x NAVIGATION ch 1; ch 2; ch 3; ch 4; ch 5; ch 6; ch 7; ch 8

♫₊ ♪ playlist

Sweat trickled beneath the collar of my shirt.

My fingers dug into my arm, nails biting through the fabric.

If I didn't scratch, maybe I wouldn't lose my damn mind. Maybe the office walls would stop spinning long enough for me to think.

But the itch burning beneath my skin was too strong today, almost unbearable.

I barely registered Higurama's entrance as he pleasured me with yet another visit. He slumped into the chair across from me, looking less like a lawyer and more like a corpse given a temporary reprieve.

His sunflower pin, that obligatory symbol of his profession, seemed ironic given the permanent scowl etched onto his face.

"Well?" I snapped, desperate to break the silence that made the itch even more cruel. "Spit it out."

He sighed, then reached into his worn leather briefcase and retrieved a slim folder. He placed it on the desk. "The good news is, the brat's family is willing to settle. Saves us the headache of a trial."

"And the bad news?"

"It'll cost you. A lot." He slid the folder across the desk. "The kid wants a ridiculous sum, claiming emotional damages and whatnot."

I huffed, a harsh sound that echoed in the silent office. Images of the student's bloody face after I'd put him in his place flashed across my mind, the satisfaction fleeting. My fingers twitched at my sides, the urge to scratch growing stronger. I rolled down my sleeves. 

Damn my luck.

I slid the folder back to him, not needing to see the sum. "Tell them whatever he wants, he gets. Just make this go away."

Higuruma frowned. "I understand wanting this over with, but we could negotiate, bring that amount down—"

"No." I cut him off. "Money doesn't matter. If this mess disappears, it's worth every damn yen."

Higuruma's eyebrows shot up. "We're not talking about an insignificant amount, Gojo. You broke his jaw in seven bloody places, knocked out half his teeth."

A smirk twisted my lips. "Sadly not all of his teeth."

"Gojo," Higurama's voice held a warning edge I'd rarely heard from him. "You could be staring down the barrel of a prison sentence."

"That's why I have you, isn't it?" I leaned back in my chair. "Old friend's favor and all that."

Higurama's stare hardened. "This isn't like those scrapes I used to bail you out of. The consequences here are far more serious. I'd never agree to settle this if you weren't a friend. You should countersue that kid for drugging your student."

The mention of her made my stomach clench. "I said no," my voice low. "I won't drag her in front of some courtroom circus. End it, Higurama. Whatever it takes."

Higuruma let out a sigh that spoke volumes. He stood, straightening his jacket, that sunflower pin glinting with a false cheerfulness in the afternoon sunlight.

"Very well," he said. "I'll prepare the documents. Be advised, this could set a dangerous precedent—"

I cut him off with a raised hand, the very thought of potential consequences a fresh irritant beneath my skin. "Just get this over with," I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a hospital to run."

He nodded and turned. 

As he reached the office door, I spoke, my voice low. "Higuruma."

He paused, one hand on the doorknob. "Yes?"

"You keep your mouth shut." It wasn't a request, but an order. "This doesn't touch her, understand?"

"I have my professional obligations, Gojo."

"And I have mine," I countered. "Her finding out is not an option."

"Perhaps it's a decision you shouldn't be making for her."

"Perhaps," I replied, the word a blade in the silence that followed. "But it's a decision I will make. That is all."

He nodded, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. He knew, the bastard. The truth wasn't just about the lawsuit, and it hung unspoken between us.

He opened the door and stepped out without another word.

I slumped back in my chair, the leather creaking in protest, and released a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. It trembled as it left my lungs.

My hand. That goddamned traitorous hand was shaking again.

I fumbled in my desk drawer, fingertips brushing against the familiar shape of the pill bottle.  Clonidine. Not the ideal solution, but it was all I had right now.

I choked down the dry pills, the bitterness clinging to my tongue like a curse.

Why the sudden weakness? Why now?

I'd survived far worse without crumbling like this.

The room tilted slightly, the fluorescent lights blurring into white splotches. I squeezed my eyes shut and steadied myself, hands gripping the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white as the wood threatened to splinter under my grip. 

My breath hitched in my throat, each ragged gasp burning like acid.

No. I wouldn't let it take me. I wouldn't let her see me like this.

I could do this. I had to.

For her.

It was a lie, and I knew it. The pills would numb the physical symptoms for a while, but the real battle was the one in my head. And that, I was far from winning.

You can't run from what's inside your head, can you?

I needed fresh air.

─── ·✧· ───

I stumbled down the hallway, vision blurring slightly at the edges, willing myself to simply keep moving. My skin prickled and burned, every nerve on fire.

I burst through the double doors leading to the main lobby, momentarily disorientated by the sudden change from sterile hallways to the bustling public space.

My lungs sucked in a shaky breath, and with it came a scent — a subtle mix of something floral and the clean, faintly metallic tang of blood.

Her scent? 

What the hell—

My gaze swept the area, and there she was. She sat across the room, partially obscured by a crowd of people waiting to donate blood. The curve of her neck, the way her hair fell across her shoulders, were unmistakable. 

Why was she here, in the hospital?

If something was wrong, damn it, she should have told me.

But then I saw it. A needle was taped to the crook of her arm, a thin tube snaking down to a partially filled blood bag. She held a book in her hand and there was a line of concentration between her brows as she read, her thumb tracing idly across the page.

My hands fumbled to smooth down my shirt, a useless gesture since it was hopelessly wrinkled. Taking a steadying breath, I weaved through the crowd.

The trembling wouldn't quit, but with each step towards her, it seemed to lessen, replaced by a different kind of nervous energy. Still, I tried to project a calmness I didn't feel.

I couldn't let her see me like this, not now.

She still hadn't noticed me as I stood in front of her, her attention focused on the book in her hands. I leaned in, the scent of her perfume mingled with the sterile hospital smell, a combination both familiar and disturbingly intimate in this setting.

She was so engrossed in her book that she didn't notice me until I gently pushed it down, an easy smile pulling at my lips.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

She blinked up at me. "What does it look like I'm doing?" Her eyes darted down to the needle in her arm, blood trickling steadily into the bag.

"Why didn't you tell me you were here?" I took the chair beside her, unable to contain my sudden annoyance. Why not tell me? It was illogical, this possessiveness, but damn it, I wanted to know.

"Thought I'd enjoy a few moments without your charming company." The sarcasm dripped sweetly from her lips, and under other circumstances, I might have countered with a playful remark of my own.

But today, my mind was something else. Looking away, I tried to ignore the subtle itch beneath my skin and focus on anything else.

"Quite the weather today, huh?" I finally blurted out, staring past her at the gray sky outside. Lame. Even for me.

"You came to me to talk about the weather?" She brought her book back up.

"It's going to storm soon."

"Is it?" She didn't even look up.

I watched her for a moment. Not just her face, but the way the sunlight painted delicate gold along her cheekbones, the way a single strand of hair had escaped, brushing against her lashes like a gentle whisper and creating a softness her serious expression couldn't hide.

It was a painfully beautiful sight, and so cruelly unlike my fucked up world. Some twisted part of me longed to disrupt it, to be the storm she couldn't ignore, even as another, saner part of me wanted to protect that peace, to protect her at all costs.

"What are you reading?" I asked.

"Kafka."

"Didn't know you were into literature." Damn, even to myself, I sounded like a condescending ass.

She lowered the book, meeting my gaze with equal parts amusement and defiance. "Believe it or not, I do read things that's not all about brains."

Something in the intensity of her expression, the way she held the book, made me want to understand this side of her. "What do you like about it?"

"There's just something about Kafka that speaks to me. It's—unsettling but in a compelling way." She closed the book for a second, her gaze lingering on the cover. "It's actually my second time reading it."

"Is this your favorite of Kafka's books?"

"It is."

"Read me your favorite part," I said, leaning back in the chair, folding my hands behind my head. My eyes slid closed, less to feign disinterest and more to focus on the sound of her voice.

She sighed, and the quiet rustle of pages told me she was flipping through the book. "Okay, but it might sound a bit strange out of context," she warned.

"I'm sure I'll love it."

I love everything that comes out of your mouth, silly.

"He wrote it to his father," she said, giving me a bit of context before she started to read.

"I'm not going to say that I have become what I am only as a result of your influence..."

Her voice was a soft caress. I drank it in, savoring her words, yet a shiver ran down my spine as she continued.

"...It is indeed quite possible that even if I had grown up entirely free from your influence I should probably have still become a weakly, timid, hesitant, restless person."

The words carried a cruel, familiar sting, each one leaving a fresh, burning scar on my skin.

"I should have been happy to have you as a friend, as a boss, an uncle, a grandfather, even as a father-in-law, only as a father you have been too strong for me..."

Too strong.

What a fucked up way to describe it. A child, small and defenseless, pitted against an unyielding force. Where was the justice in that?

My father's voice thundered through my mind. Like a knife, his disapproval carved into my very being. Not strong enough. Never enough. Not what a Gojo should be. Never living up to the legacy, never matching him.

Weakness. That's all he ever saw.

My fists tightened until my nails dug into my palms.

The old anger flared hot.

"...and for that I was much too weak." She closed the book.

My eyes snapped open, blinking in the harsh light. My head throbbed. The familiar itch clawed beneath my skin, a demanding, relentless torment. I dug my nails harder into my palms.

No. I wouldn't let him have that power, wouldn't lose control.

Her gaze flickered to mine, and I swore something shifted in the air between us.

"He describes how it was growing up with such a strong father, how it shaped him his whole life," she paused, her voice laced with hesitation. "He writes about the desire for approval, the weight of expectations. It's about seeking validation from someone who's supposed to guide you, but instead becomes this unattainable figure."

Her words echoed uncomfortably in my mind.

My gaze fixed on her hands, the way they nervously gripped the book, fingernails biting into the worn cover. Why was she so tense? Did she know? No, I never told her.

"Satoru?" Her voice sliced through my thoughts. 

Before I could respond, the shrill sound of my pager tore through the room. I fumbled for it, eyes scanning the stark message.

Brain bleed. Trial patient. ICU. STAT.

"Fuck." Adrenaline surged through me. I shot to my feet, "I've got to go. There was another brain bleeding with one of our trial patients."

"Wait!" She stood abruptly, her gaze locked on the IV line snaking into her arm.

What is she—

Wait—

What??

Before I could interfere, she yanked the needle out of her arm. A bead of blood gushed out, and she quickly pressed a cotton ball against it. "I'm coming with you."

For a split second I stared, stunned. This woman is completely insane. And I can't wait to marry her.

We sprinted through the hospital corridors, a blur of white walls and concerned faces. Bursting into the ICU, my heart pounded against my ribs, my focus narrowing to the patient on the bed. A doctor stood beside him, a grave expression etched on his face.

"Time of death, 16:22."

The words echoed in the sudden, oppressive silence. My chest tightened as the world narrowed to the still form on the bed, the empty hum of machines. It was over. We're too late.

Wait. She will surely—

I turned around, and a surge of fear shot through me. 

She stood there, her face ashen, the crimson-stained cotton ball clutched in her trembling hand. Eyes that were usually so vibrant now held a shattering vulnerability, her breaths coming in shallow, desperate gasps.

In an instant, I was at her side. "Hey, hey," I said. "It's okay. Just breath, can you do that for me?"

My hand found her shoulder, squeezing gently. The warmth of her skin was in stark contrast to the ice in my veins. My mind churned, guilt twisting like a knife in my gut. Of course, she would react like this. I'd been a fool to bring her here.

"Wait in my office," I said, my voice as gentle as I could manage despite my fear. "I'll be with you as soon as possible."

Her eyes locked with mine, searching. A flicker of resistance crossed her face, then resignation. She nodded, a mere jerk of her head, and stumbled away, each step seeming to take an impossible effort.

Watching her go, my heart clenched. 

For all her strength, her boldness, there was this fragile core to her, one that the world, and I, seemed intent on bruising. And that, more than anything, sent a spike of anger through me—an anger directed squarely at myself.

Fuck, focus, you have a job to do here.

"Dr. –" I began, and then cursed inwardly. What the hell was his name again? Familiar face, stupid haircut, uglier glasses—

"Dr. Ijichi," the young doctor said, his voice a touch shaky. A bead of sweat glistened on his forehead.

"Right, of course." Annoyance pricked at me. He's a newbie. I should know this, I should care. 

I softened my tone, just a fraction. 

"Let's go over this from the start. What triggered the bleed? Did the patient present any new symptoms?"

Ijichi flipped through the chart, his fingers fumbling slightly. "The bleed appears spontaneous. Scans from yesterday showed no signs of an aneurysm or underlying issues. Blood panels within normal limits, no recent head trauma reported."

"But something must have caused it," I snapped. "The implant—could there be a malfunction? A short-circuit? Anything?"

Ijichi took a step back, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "It's possible. But I'd—I'd need to examine the implant itself for any sign of damage."

"Well, then do that." The words came out harsher than I intended. My gaze swept over him, noting the faint tremor in his hands. Damn it, I was scaring the kid. I forced myself to take a breath. "Look, I know this is a lot. But we need to act fast."

"Patient's medical records are clean. Blood pressure was normal at last check." Ijichi was regaining some of his composure, his voice a touch firmer. A good sign.

"Can I see his scans? Lab work? Everything."

The next minutes was a blur of reports, X-rays, MRI sequences. I scrutinized every detail, my mind racing ahead, chasing ghosts of potential errors. Ijichi hovered nearby. He fielded my questions, fetching additional reports and cross-referencing data. 

I couldn't fault his dedication, but a nagging thought itched at the back of my mind. Experience mattered in situations like this, a cool head under pressure. Maybe if I was here sooner—

The annoyance flared again. If this was a flaw in the method, heads would roll. Mine, Suguru's, and—the trial would be scrutinized, the funding in jeopardy—and her—

Dammit. I'd promised her this wouldn't happen again. That with me, she wouldn't have to watch another patient die. Images of her flashed before my eyes—the haunted look she'd worn earlier, her vulnerability.

My fingers twitched against my arm, nails biting into skin.

"Dr. Gojo?" Ijichi's voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. "I've isolated something in the pre-op scans."

I snapped back to the present. I leaned over his shoulder, peering at the image. A slight irregularity, a minuscule shadow on the edge of the implant interface.

"Could this be it?" Ijichi's voice held a hint of excitement, of finally being useful.

"Maybe," I said. "Any sign of inflammation? Tissue reaction?"

He zoomed in further. "Inconclusive, sir. We'll need higher resolution images, maybe a tissue sample from the insertion site."

"The autopsy." The word was heavy on my tongue. "Get on it. I want the implant and surrounding tissue on my table as soon as possible."

Ijichi nodded. "I'll contact pathology right away."

Left alone in the small room, I slumped into a chair, exhaustion washing over me. The relentless adrenaline rush was fading, leaving behind a hollow ache and the lingering, uncomfortable question.

How many more patients were out there, ticking time bombs with our technology inside their heads? And what the hell were we going to do about it?

The sterile confines of the ICU were suffocating. 

I looked over to the clock and my breath hitched. Fuck, I left her alone for over 30 minutes now. I sprung up from the chair and raced to my office.

Bursting through the door, I saw her—knees drawn to her chest, head buried in her arms. A sharp pain shot through me, guilt twisting with a strange sense of relief that she'd obeyed my command at least.

In a few swift strides, I knelt before her. "Hey, love" I cupped her face, forcing her to meet my gaze. "You okay?"

She blinked, eyes wide and shadowed. A forced smile touched her lips. "Yeah, just—it was all a bit much. I'll be fine."

The words were hollow, the act unconvincing. Her skin was pale, her jaw tight, and her eyes betrayed the unmistakable sheen of unshed tears.

"Don't do that," I said, more softly than I intended. "Don't pretend with me."

"I'm fine, really," she said, pulling her gaze away.

I watched her, a familiar ache settling in my chest. I'd told her to wait here, thinking it would shield her from the worst of it. Instead, I'd left her alone with her thoughts.

I'm so stupid.

I hesitated, searching for the right words, "Do you often get these panic attacks?"

Confusion clouded her features. "What?"

She doesn't even know herself?

I brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Panic attacks. Like back there, in the ICU—"

Her eyes widened, then immediately narrowed in defensiveness. "I wasn't panicked. Just startled."

But I wasn't buying it, not this time. 

"The way you were breathing, the way you couldn't stand still," I ticked the signs off on my fingers, mirroring her symptoms back at her. "Remember the first time you did surgery with Suguru? When that patient died?"

"That was different."

"Or the massive bleeding in our last patient while surgery? When the suture tore," I continued relentlessly.

The defiance was fading from her eyes. I knew I was pushing her, but it felt necessary, a brutal ripping off of a bandage.

"I didn't think of it as of panic attacks," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Oh, my brave, brilliant girl. How could I love her more?

I reached out, tracing the faint tracks of tears beneath her eyes. 

"What happened with the patient?" she asked.

"The bleed was massive," I said. "Likely a flaw in the implant itself, a malfunction we didn't anticipate. The autopsy will confirm."

She closed her eyes briefly. "Are we going to have to shut down the trial?"

"It's too early to say," I said, threading my fingers through my hair. "Maybe, I don't know."

We were both silent for a moment.

She wandered over to my desk. Perching atop it, she crossed her legs, staring blankly into the dimness of the office. I wonder what she's thinking right now.

Her gaze drifted over the desk's surface. Her eyes landed on a single, crisp document—the lawsuit, left there carelessly, intentionally, by Higurama after our earlier meeting. 

That bastard.

"What's the status on the assault charge?"

My stomach turned. Of course, she would ask. "It's being handled. Just paperwork and legal wrangling."

"By handled you mean?" she prompted, her eyes flicking back to the document. As her eyes scanned the document, her frown deepened, her fingers tracing the neatly typed figures.

I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly wishing those papers were buried at the bottom of a hazardous waste bin. "Higurama is negotiating with the kid's lawyers."

She looked up, her full attention now fixed on me. "Are you Insane?"

"It's not that bad—" I began, but the words died as I saw the anger on her face.

"They want how much? Is there a typo? A few too many zeroes?"

"It's fine. Money isn't the issue. I can handle it."

Her eyes narrowed. "Satoru, even for you, that sum is—" She paused. "You can't pay that. I won't let you."

"Let me? You make it sound like you have a say in the matter." I stepped closer, the distance between us shrinking.

Her expression softened with a flicker of annoyance, an emotion I found strangely comforting after the raw worry of a moment ago. "Satoru, this isn't a joke. I'm serious."

"Come on, a few zeroes here or there—it's pocket change for a devastatingly brilliant neurosurgeon as myself."

"This isn't something to joke about!" She swatted at my chest, a futile gesture that made me want to grin even wider.

"You love it." I rested my hands on either side of her on the desk, capturing her. "Admit it, the arrogance is part of my charm."

"Part of your insufferableness, more like."

"Everything's going to be fine." I lean in closer, the faint scent of jasmine that always clung to her, was intoxicating. "I promise. You need to trust me."

"Satoru—" she began, ready to launch into another argument.

Before another word could escape, I closed the distance between us and silenced her with a kiss. It began softly, a tentative press of lips, as if seeking permission. But when she sighed, her body melting against mine, it deepened into something more urgent, more insistent.

My hand slid into her hair, tilting her head just so I could claim her more. The taste of her was a much-needed distraction from the weight of the day. How goddamned much I loved her taste. Needed it more than I could ever admit.

When I finally broke the kiss, a flicker of anger still sparked within her, and oh, I loved it. Loved it when she was all angry with me. Every flicker of those expressive eyes, every sharp word—it all belonged to me. I craved all of her.

"Now," I said. "How about some coffee?"

─── ·✧· ───

The air in Yaga's office was suffocating. 

Every word from that old bastard was a knife, twisting deeper with each infuriatingly accurate accusation.

"You lost a trial patient," he rumbled, and I had to suppress a wince. 

"Setbacks happen," I shot back. "We fix it, we make it better. That's how progress works."

His fist slammed against the desk, making me jump. Damn it, Yaga always knew how to get under my skin. "And the cost? The reputation? Your recklessness will bury us all, Gojo."

"Risks I'm willing to take," I spat. "My patients are willing to take them. Because we believe in something more than your damn paperwork and red tape."

Yaga stood, his face a mask of cold fury. "Boundaries exist for a reason. And until you remember that, your precious project is over. The trial ends now."

The words echoed in the silence, a death sentence. 

I can't risk it getting shot down, not for her. The thought burned, fueled by the terror of seeing those tears again.

"I won't accept this," I said, my voice rough, "I'll fight it. The Ministry, the funding agencies—I'll make them see the potential!"

Yaga's lip curled in a humorless smile. "And while you chase those grand delusions, perhaps you should focus on the mess already on your doorstep. Your, shall we say, 'unprofessional' entanglement with that student of yours hardly instills confidence."

The blow landed with devastating force. 

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't give me that, Gojo."

"That's—" My voice cracked, the words catching in my throat like a shard of glass. "Irrelevant. It's a personal matter."

"Is it?" Yaga countered. "When your personal choices compromise your judgment, jeopardize not only this project but the lives of countless patients—it becomes very much my business. I've tolerated this long enough."

What?

"You can't touch my surgeries. Those patients need me."

"Do they?" His question was a poisoned dart. "Or do they need a surgeon with a clear head and untarnished reputation? While this mess remains unresolved, consider your surgical privileges suspended. You have enough on your plate."

I slammed my hand against the desk, heedless of the pain it sent tearing through me. My surgeries, my purpose, the very core of my identity—he can't take that away from me.

"This isn't fair," I said through gritted teeth. "You're overreacting. One setback—"

"One setback too many," Yaga cut me off, his voice hard as steel. "You've exhibited a reckless disregard for protocol, for ethics, and now it's spiraling out of control. The board has lost faith in your ability to lead this project, and frankly," he paused, his gaze piercing, "so have I."

The room felt suffocating, the air too thin to breathe. It was as if the walls were pressing in, crushing the fight out of me.

Yaga sighed. "Clear your head, Gojo. Sort out your priorities. Until then, take a step back. And for your sake, and the sake of those around you, stay out of trouble."

Then, a knock sounded at the door. I turned around.

The door creaked open, and there she stood, her eyes wide. 

My heart sank. 

In that moment, seeing her framed in the doorway of Yaga's office, a cruel reminder of the mess I'd made, the last thin threat snapped. 

This was on me, not her.

"Don't you dare drag her into this," I hissed before anyone in the room could speak. "This is on me and not—"

"Silence," Yaga's voice cut through my outburst. "Both of you. Sit."

She met my gaze, a flicker of something I couldn't name passing through her eyes. Then, she crossed the room and sat, her posture straight. The sight of her, defiant yet composed, filled me with a strange sense of pride.

"There will be repercussions, as you both are well aware," Yaga began. "The ethics committee has been alerted. A formal hearing will be scheduled, likely within the week, to address this debacle." 

He paused, his gaze raking over both of us. "I suggest you prepare yourselves well. The fallout will be severe."

The ethics committee?

Fuck.

My stomach churned, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin.

My fingers twitched. The itch beneath my skin now flared into a maddening burn. It took every ounce of control to fight the urge to rip the skin off my arm, to tear away the invisible parasites gnawing at my sanity.

"What kind of fallout?" I asked. "Suspension? Expulsion?"

Yaga's expression was unreadable. "The committee will decide that. Your actions—both individually and collectively—will be scrutinized."

"But she—" I began, but Yaga held up a hand, silencing me. 

"Enough," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I suggest you both to prepare very well what you'll tell them, especially regarding your relationship." 

He let the implication linger in the air, a silent accusation.

"You can leave now," Yaga announced, already adverting his gaze from us to some papers in from of him.

I shot to my feet, my chair scraping back with a screech. I grabbed her hand, a silent command to follow. I knew she had a million questions, but I needed the world to stop spinning out of control for one damn minute.

I needed air first.

I needed to breathe first.

"Let's get out of here first, okay?" I said before she could even open her mouth to speak.

The elevator carried us down. I gripped the handrail so hard it felt like my fingers might break. Her gaze burned into me, her worry a palpable weight in the too-small space. I averted my eyes, focusing on the grimy elevator floor. 

If I looked at her now, I knew I'd crumble.

"Satoru, we should tell them," her voice was soft.

Please, love. Be silent. Don't make this harder for me.

"No," I said, harsher than intended. "We won't. This could ruin you, and I won't let that happen." The words sounded strong, protective—but the truth was, I was terrified.

My hand twitched with the need for a relief I hadn't known this strong for weeks. Just one pill, one measly little pill was all I needed right now. It gnawed at me, a craving that wouldn't be ignored.

"But it's my choice too. You don't get to decide this alone."

"You don't understand. If they find out about us now, under these circumstances they'll use it against us, make it look like we were reckless, unprofessional. Our judgment, everything we've worked for, will be called into question."

"I don't care about their judgment! I care about what happens to you!"

Couldn't she see? This wasn't about bravery, or honor. This was about survival. It was about saving her, even if it meant destroying myself in the process.

"I can't risk your future, not for this. End of discussion." I turned away, unable to stand the hurt, the frustration burning in her eyes.

I was meant to be her strength, and I was failing her. Failing us.

Then, as if the universe itself decided to pile on my misery, the elevator lights began to flicker. The low hum warped into a high-pitched whine, the sound like nails scraping along my exposed nerves.

The elevator jolted, then shuddered to an abrupt halt. Darkness crashed down, pierced only by the sickly yellow glow of the emergency lights.

Stuck.

Trapped. 

Confined.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

Then, a voice, tinny and overly cheerful, chirped through the elevator's speaker. "Uhm, sorry about this folks. Seems we have a minor—uh, technical issue. Be with you shortly."

Fuck.

I could feel her gaze burn into my neck, a heavy pressure like she held a gun to my head.

"Well, you can't fuck your way out of this one, can you?" Her voice held a cruel amusement.

I considered it for a moment, then remembered the security camera scrutinizing our every move, the worker no doubt listening. Too risky.

Not that I'd mind a video.

I sighed. Leaning heavily against the cold metal, I let my head thunk against the elevator door.

God, please have mercy.

Defeated, I turned and slid down the elevator door, sinking to the floor, the metal cold against my back. She crossed her arms and I knew she wouldn't back down.

For a while, silence reigned.

"They'll want to know everything—about the research project, the surgeries, the brain bleeding, the student lawsuit," I hesitated for a second. "And about us."

"I know." Her reply was matter-of-fact, almost dismissive.

"This should concern you."

"I don't care."

My god, this woman makes me lose my mind.

Her stubbornness was so infuriating, yet it made me want to rip her clothes off right here, right now. It was as if she saw the storm raging within me and refused to back down, daring it to break us both.

I shifted, the cold floor chilling me to the bone. "If we tell them now about us, they'll use it against us. They'll tear us apart."

"And what's the alternative?"

"We say nothing. Professor and student. Nothing more."

"They'll question others."

"No one knows, except Suguru, and he won't tell anyone."

"We already look guilty. Professor and student spending so much time together? Doing surgeries together? Let alone the scene you caused at the summer gathering. People already talk, Satoru. You know they do."

She was right. Damn her for always being right.

"The committee will know," she continued. "They'll ask questions. And we can't afford to be caught off guard."

"Damn it," I cursed, raking a hand through my hair.

"Satoru," she began, the sound of my name on her lips a caress against my raw nerves.

Please never stop saying my name.

"We both made choices. The only option now is to be truthful. You can't shield me from this, nor do I want you to. I've chosen to be here. So, we tell them. Tell them you and I," she faltered slightly over the next word, "that we're in a relationship."

I blinked, my mind stuck on the word. Relationship. 

She'd never used that word before.

But the way she said it now, laced with that familiar defiance. Always the challenge, testing my limits, turning everything into a battlefield. God, I craved it—the clash, the surrender, the maddening, intoxicating burn of her. All of it. All the time.

A smile, genuine and almost idiotic, spread across my face. 

She narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"We're in a relationship?"

Say it again, love.

"You're such an idiot."

Giving me nothing as always.

"How are you holding up?" Her question stopped me cold. "Just two more weeks, right?"

Two weeks. 

Two more weeks until I was supposed to be completely free from the insidious grip of the opioids. My fingers twitched at my sides at the mere thought of it.

I forced a smile. "Everything's fine."

The lie burned my throat, but it was preferable to the alternative. I couldn't let her see my weakness, not now, not with everything else hanging by a thread.

"Not quite convincing," she said. "But then again, you never were a good liar, were you?"

She saw through me. Of course, she did.

In that moment, something shifted—a silent war waged between us. Her gaze relentless as she fixed me with her gorgeous eyes.

"Guess my luck's run out, huh?"

"Don't," she warned. "Don't do that. Don't shut me out, Satoru."

We held each other's gaze, a silent standoff in the flickering emergency lights. It was always like that, always a battle of wills to see who would give in first, yet this time fear flickered in her eyes, a fear that matched my own.

A crackle from the elevator's speaker broke the spell. 

"Hey there, folks," the tinny voice chirped. "Just wanted to let you know we're working on it. Shouldn't be too much longer. Sorry for any inconvenience!"

Wordlessly, she shifted closer. Sinking down beside me, her shoulder pressed against mine.

We sat in silence, side by side.

Each breath I took felt less violent, the chaos in my mind muted by the simple warmth radiating from her. I reached for her hand, our fingers intertwining.

In those shared breaths, the world melted away.

"You know," I began, the words barely a whisper. "I'd do anything for you."

Her hand tightened in mine. "And I'd anything for you."

A bittersweet smile touched my lips. "And that will probably be our undoing. Either way, looks like we're in for one hell of a fight."

My grip on her hand tightened. I couldn't lose her. Not to the fallout of my mistakes and certainly not to the vultures who would circle us, seeking to exploit any sign of weakness.

I was trapped in a cruel paradox. My need to protect her was the very thing that might destroy her. And the realization cut deep.

"Then let's fight like hell," she said. "If it's a battle they want, it's a battle they'll get."

God, I love this woman. 

And as we sat there, trapped in that metal box, I knew one thing for sure:

Trouble would come—it always does. But anyone who dared to hurt her would have to get through me first.

─── ·✧· ───

A light summer rain spattered the city streets, blurring the neon signs into shimmering streaks of color. I dodged between hurried strangers, the air heavy with the scent of wet asphalt. Each step brought me closer to my destination.

As I reached the weathered wooden door, my phone buzzed. Suguru's name flashed on the screen.

"Hey," Suguru's voice crackled through the line. "I got those test results you asked about."

"And?"

The silence that stretched felt like an eternity. 

"Elevated AST, ALT, ALP, bilirubin, and GGT, low on albumin," Suguru finally said.

I clenched my fist around my hair. "Can't you at least sugarcoat that a bit?"

"Satoru this is serious. You need treatment, and we need to plan this out, like, yesterday."

What a pain.

"Look, I'm in the city right now," I said. "There's something I need to pick up. Can we discuss this later?"

"Something more important than your liver giving up?"

"Well," I began, a wry smile playing on my lips, "If you must know, I'm about to make a seriously bad financial decision."

A beat of silence, then a groan. "Satoru, you know I can't read your damn mind. Just spit it out."

"It's for her."

I didn't need to elaborate. He understood.

"Figured," Suguru said, resignation evident in his voice. "But seriously, Satoru, your liver—"

"I know, I know," I cut him off. "We'll talk later. Promise."

I hung up before he could protest further.

The shop's weathered sign creaked above the doorway as I stepped inside. A bell tinkled, cutting through the stillness. The musty scent of old paper and polished wood enveloped me.

The shop was empty. I wandered further in, into the maze of shelves. Sunlight pierced the stained glass windows, fracturing into shards of crimson and sapphire that danced across the worn wooden floor. Dust motes danced in the beams.

My eyes drifted over the towering shelves filled with books. I reached out, my fingers trailing along faded covers, the embossed lettering cool beneath my touch.

Them, a soft shuffle of footsteps echoed from the back room.

A tiny, elderly woman emerged. "Can I help you find something?"

"Actually," I said. "I believe I have an order to pick up."

Her wrinkled face lit up. "Oh, wonderful!" she exclaimed, a burst of energy belying her age. "That special piece. It took some doing to get ahold of it, you know. Just a moment, dear."

She disappeared back into the dim recesses of the shop. My fingers tapped restlessly against the wooden cashier's desk as I waited.

The old woman returned, carefully cradling a worn wooden box in her gnarled hands. My pulse quickened. With trembling fingers, she unlatched the box, revealing a slim volume nestled in aged tissue paper. Lifting it out, she held it towards me.

"Signed by Kafka himself."

The weight of the volume in my hands was unexpectedly heavy as I took in the sight of the worn leather and faded ink.

"She must be very special," the old woman said.

"Huh?"

"The woman you gift this to."

"She is," I said, a smile tucking on my lips. "She's everything. Deserves everything."

"She must be very lucky to have you."

Her words echoed in my head. Lucky? More like a burden.

"I'm not so sure about that," I began, the words hesitantly tumbling out, "maybe she deserves someone who doesn't have to try so hard."

The old woman tilted her head. "Sometimes, dear," she said softly, "it's those who try the hardest that are the ones worth holding onto."

"But what if trying isn't enough? What if the very act of trying—it just breaks things more?"

The old woman's smile didn't fade a bit. "Love is often a messy business. Broken things can be mended, you know. Sometimes the cracks make them all the more beautiful."

"But some things are beyond saving," I whispered, the bitter taste of the words lingering in my mouth. 

Damn it, why couldn't I be better for her? She deserved someone strong, someone who wasn't one bad day away from crumbling.

"Perhaps. And perhaps," she countered quietly, "it just that brokenness that makes it perfect."

I huffed. "That sounds like something she would say."

I glanced down at the book, the worn leather seemed to burn against my skin. My fingers twitched. It had been hours—too many hours—since my last pill.

The old woman cleared her throat "Well, dear," she said, her voice taking on a brisk tone, "shall we settle up then? I believe that comes to—"

She fished out a worn leather purse and snapped it open, revealing a wad of crumpled bills. My eyes widened as she extracted them, my brain fumbling to calculate the absurd amount she fanned out before me. My jaw must have hit the floor.

"Life advice never comes cheap, dear boy."

─── ·✧· ───

The basketball arced through the air, a perfect curve that ended with the satisfying swish of the net. Another shot, another temporary reprieve. The rhythm was soothing, a mindless distraction that usually brought a sense of ease.

But tonight, it felt hollow.

Another shot. Another basket. 

Each thud of the ball against the cracked asphalt mirrored the pounding in my temples. Sweat stung my eyes, my lungs burned. The deserted court, bathed in the fading warmth of the afternoon sun, offered no solace.

Another shot soared towards the backboard, this time clattering wildly off the rim. The ball ricocheted away. Frustration surged through me.

Elevated liver enzymes. Decreased platelets. Albumin's dropping. This isn't about a few late nights, Satoru. Your body is giving up on you.

Suguru's warnings echoed like a death knell.

It was bad. Worse than I'd allowed myself to admit. The years of pushing limits, of drowning my demons in a haze of toxic oblivion, had caught up with me with brutal efficiency.

A wave of dizziness washed over me, and for a sickening moment the cracked asphalt seemed to tilt and sway. I forced myself to focus, to regain control. The irony of it all nearly choked out a bitter laugh. 

Control. 

What a futile concept.

Suddenly, my arm burned, a sharp insistent sting. I clutched it, fingernails scraping against the already inflamed skin. It was a subconscious act, a frantic search for relief from the maddening itch that throbbed beneath the surface.

My fingers came away sticky and red.

Fuck.

Then, my phone buzzed against my thigh. I fished it out of my shorts, the screen blurring in the fading light.

It was her.

[6:15 PM] You: Seen your car in the university parking. Still here?

[6:15 PM] Satoru: Basketball court.

[6:15 PM] You: Should have known.

[6:15 PM] You: On my way.

A shiver ran through me, a rush of something akin to adrenaline.

She was coming.

The bleeding scratches on my arm seared. I fumbled for the sleeve of my crewneck sweatshirt, pulling it down hastily in an attempt to hide the evidence.

I forced myself to focus on the net.

And then I saw her, a silhouette etched against the dying light, her presence shattering the fragile focus I'd clung to. My heart hammered in my chest.

For a moment, time seemed to stutter.

She came towards me, her steps soft against the rough asphalt. Every detail of her etched itself onto my mind with painful clarity. The way the twilight painted streaks of gold across her skin, the gentle curve of her lips, the slight furrow of concern between her impossibly beautiful eyes.

My god, those eyes.

Even if she looks at me in pity, I wish she would never stop looking at me.

I forced myself to toss another shot, a pathetic attempt to feign normalcy. The ball arced through the air and swished through the net—a lucky streak.

Her footsteps stopped just short of the three-point line. She didn't speak, just watched me with those perceptive eyes that always seemed to see too much. My pulse quickened, a mix of fear and longing washing over me.

Tonight, in that flowery dress, she was insanely beautiful. 

She reached down and scooped up the ball that had just rolled to a stop at her feet. A spark of amusement ignited in her eyes, a challenge I knew I would accept even before it left her lips.

With a playful smile, she began to dribble. Her movements were hesitant, fumbling—adorable. So different from the confident woman she was in the operating room. 

Still, she moved with focused determination, mirroring the way she approached everything in life. For a moment, I just watched, savoring the unexpected tenderness of her trying.

I closed the distance between us, amusement tugging at my lips. I reached for the ball, intent on displaying my effortless skill.

But she surprised me. Though I easily pushed her away, a hint of resistance in her stance, she didn't stumble back as I'd expected. She held her ground, our bodies a breath apart.

She tilted her chin up, defiance still burning in those impossibly pretty eyes. For a breathless moment, I was lost in their depths, in the faint scent of her skin, the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

God, how I needed her.

"You're quite distracting," I said, my gaze drawn to the sheen of sweat glistening along the curve of her neck. Our bodies were impossibly close, my breath ghosting across her lips, the faintest hint of her smile teasing me.

"Don't blame me for your bad play." She snatched the ball, biting her lower lip as I moved to block her shot. I closed in, body to body. With a twist and a feint, she evaded me, keeping the ball just out of reach. 

"Or is the great Dr. Gojo," her eyes flickered down to my lips, then back up, "—afraid of a little challenge?"

The words hung in the air, a taunt, and a dare.

My hands moved instinctively, framing her face, tilting it upwards. The distance between us vanished in a heartbeat.

Her lips were soft, yielding against mine, the faint taste of something sweet clinging to them. My pulse thundered, fingers tracing the delicate line of her jaw. I pulled her closer, our bodies molding against each other. Her exhale a soft sigh against my lips.

The basketball, forgotten and rolling away across the cracked asphalt.

I deepened the kiss, not able to resist her. I lost myself in the sensations—the warmth of her skin, the intoxicating taste of her, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the summer heat. Raw need flared within me, a desperate hunger that threatened to consume all semblance of control in me.

When I finally drew back, it took every ounce of my willpower. She was breathless, her eyes filled with a yearning. Just how I like it.

I snatched the forgotten basketball from the asphalt, twirling it on a finger. "So much for your challenge." My voice coming out slightly breathless. 

I spun on my heel, took a few steps, and arced the ball towards the net. It swished through with a satisfying thud. "Looks like someone gets distracted easily."

"That's hardly fair," she retorted with a determination in her gaze that both amused and intrigued me. "You're basically a pro."

"So you admit defeat then?" I taunted, dribbling the ball between my legs.

I could see the way she was analyzing my movements, trying to mimic the way I held the ball and the fluidity of my shots. She was always like that analyzing my every move. Watching me with an intensity that only she could.

"Not at all. You just need a handicap. Perhaps you can only use one hand behind your back?"

"Alright, first-year," I smirked, tossing her the ball. "You're on. Just don't blame me when I crush you even with a handicap."

The ball bounced awkwardly in her grasp as she took a hesitant shot. It bounced off the backboard, miles away from the net. A flicker of frustration crossed her face. Fucking adorable.

"Next one's going in," I said as I retrieved the ball and began dribbling. "But you have to get it from me first."

I kept my promise, playing with one hand behind my back. Yet, I wasn't playing to win. I was playing to keep her close, to savor the spark in her eyes, the way she moved with a newfound confidence.

She darted in close, her eyes locked on the ball, and with a swift movement, she feigned a step to the left before stealing the ball from my less-guarded side. She took her shot.

Her second attempt was slightly better, the ball at least hitting the rim with a hollow clang.

She should really just stick to surgeries, not sports.

She retrieved the ball again. After a particularly clumsy dribbling attempt of her, I swooped in, intercepting the ball with ease. However, she surprised me. Lunging forward, she snatched the ball from my grasp again and, in a fluid motion, took a wild, off-balance shot.

The ball soared through the air, tracing a perfect arc. It hit the backboard and, against all odds, bounced through the net.

"Maybe you're not as good as you think you are?" she teased, flashing me that smile. 

Oh, sweet thing. I let you win just to see that smile. But it's still cute how you try.

"Lucky shot." Without conscious thought, I moved closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

"Careful, Professor, or your student might surpass you." She teased again as if she didn't know exactly what those words did to me.

But sure, tease me again. Bring it on. Tease me, taunt me, push me until I snap.

You'll reap what you sow.

She began dribbling, but I was relentless, closing in. With a quick feint, I disarmed her, snatching the ball and watching it roll away.

She tried to sidestep, a flicker of surprise in those beautiful eyes. Too slow. With a final stride, I cut off her escape, her back hitting the cool metal of the basketball pole. She was trapped.

I grabbed her neck, fingers intertwining in her hair. Before she could object, before I could second-guess myself, I closed the remaining distance, my lips crashing against hers. Her soft gasp swallowed by my own hungry sigh.

The kiss was heated, desperate, a clash of urgency and hesitant surrender. My arms circled her hips. I bent my knees slightly and, in one swift motion, lifted her off the ground. Her legs wrapped around my waist, a gasp escaping her lips.

I pressed her closer, my body straining with an almost painful need. I lost myself in the softness of her lips, the faint taste of cherry chapstick, the intoxicating sensation of her skin against mine.

I deepened the kiss, my tongue tracing the seam of her lips. I tightened my hold, pressing her closer until I could feel the frantic beat of her heart against mine. A moan escaped my throat as I felt the sudden desire to possess, to consume, to brand her as mine.

Not out of aggression, but a desperate need for more—more touch, more taste, more of the overwhelming rush that only she could give me. 

She was the fix I couldn't resist, the poison I desperately craved. Because with her, oblivion felt so damn close.

Her hands tightened in my hair, the short strands of my undercut providing purchase as she tugged me closer. Her scent enveloped me. It clung to my tongue, my lungs, fueled the heat blazing in my blood. 

My teeth grazed her lower lip, drawing a soft moan that stretched my shorts even more painfully. It was my undoing. Every thought, every restraint burned away in the heat of the moment. I needed to have her. Not just a taste, not just this stolen moment.

I craved all of her, with a desperation that bordered on madness.

Then, like a splash of ice water, her nails raked across the raw skin on my arm, searing pain cutting through the haze. I winced, her touch like burning coals on my skin.

"What's wrong?" she gasped, breaking the kiss.

"Everything's fine," I said, not wanting to let go of her. I leaned in again but she flinched back. 

"Don't lie to me." Then, her gaze fell to the faint stain of blood seeping through my sleeve. Her eyes widened. "Satoru, your arm—"

In an instant she rolled up my sleeve, revealing the scratches. 

Fuck.

I lowered her back to the ground. Her eyes narrowed, a frown creasing her brow.

"It's nothing."

"It's always 'nothing', with you," she said sharply.

Reluctantly, I allowed her to roll up my sleeve even more, revealing the red marks. Here was the ugly truth, laid bare beneath her concerned gaze.

"Do you have something to clean this?" Her voice trailed off as her eyes flickered towards my sports bag, lying forgotten on the sideline bench. With a determined look I knew all too well, she walked towards it.

I tried to stop her, but she was already unzipping the bag, rummaging through its contents. A knot tightened in my stomach. There was no first aid kit, no antiseptic wipes—only the worn book that I hadn't had time to wrap yet.

"What's that?" she said.

She pulled the book out, a flicker of confusion crossing her perfect face.

"Sorry, it's not wrapped." Not that I know how to wrap a present, as I hardly ever made gifts before. But I would have tried for her. It was the least I could do.

Her eyes flicked from the book to me, her brain clearly working overtime. She turned it over, studying the faded cover. Slowly, realization dawned in her eyes. "You—you bought this for me?"

I shrugged, a nonchalant mask to hide the frantic pounding of my heart. "Thought you might like it."

"Like it?" She flipped open the book, revealing the faded signature on the first page and a key tucked loosely among the pages. For a moment she just stared, then looked up at me, her eyes wide. "Satoru, is this—"

"Ink on paper," I finished for her. "And a spare key to my apartment."

Silence descended, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves. It felt like she was staring a hole through me. Then, she walked over, book still clutched in her hand. Instead of the thanks I expected, she swatted me on the arm with the cover.

"Ouch, you know how expensive that was?"

"I can't accept this." She held the book away from her as if it might burn her. "It's too much, Satoru."

"Don't like it?"

"Like? Like?" Her voice rose, and then she looked back down at the book, a smile spreading across her face. "Satoru, this is—," she trailed off. "How did you get this?"

"Had to bargain with an old hag. Some minor soul-selling, nothing major."

"No, seriously, this must have cost a fortune."

"Money doesn't matter," I said softly. "It's you. You're all that matters."

The book in her hand twitched. There was a flicker in her eyes, like the urge to swat me with it again, but she contained the impulse. It was replaced a moment later with a frown as she focused now on the bloodstain on my sleeve.

She moved closer, a dangerous stillness about her. 

Her touch on my sleeve was hesitant, fingers tracing the inflamed scratches. "You gonna tell me what this is? Or are you gonna sidestep the issue again until we fight, because you know my patience is wearing quite thin these days."

"Nervous habit."

"It's new." There was no judgement, just a matter-of-fact tone in her voice.

"Yeah." 

The lie felt like ash on my tongue. 

It wasn't new, of course. I'd just gotten worse at hiding it.

"Thank you."

"For what?" I asked.

"The book, idiot," she said with a gentle smile. "And for telling me."

Ah, that smile. I melt every time.

"Come on," she said, letting go of my arm and turning towards the university. "Let's patch you up."

Without hesitation, I followed.

─── ·✧· ───

"So," I started, a slight wince escaping me as she cleaned the scratches. "You didn't tell me. What brought you here in the first place?"

"You didn't ask."

"I'm asking now."

A flicker of hesitation crossed her face. "I had some research to do in the library."

I knew her too well—the slight catch in her voice, the way she avoided my gaze.

"What research?" I prodded gently.

She sighed, then met my eyes. "The patient with the brain bleed. I had to double-check something."

Of course, she would still be agonizing over it. It was in her nature—the relentless, stubborn dedication was what would make her the best damn doctor I knew she'd become.

"Don't," I said. "Don't think too much about it. I can't stand to see the worry in your eyes."

She held my gaze. "I just want to be as prepared as I can be."

"I know, love," my voice softened. "But not tonight, okay?"

Suguru's office reeked of stale smoke and lingering whiskey—a sharp contrast to his neat workspace. Ironic how I was the one out of first-aid supplies. The addict, while he was still well stocked. But that's why I had his key.

She carefully placed a bandage over the last scratch. "You know the first ethics committee hearing is soon."

"Are you nervous?"

"Are you not?"

"No. Our research is flawless. Bulletproof."

"There's always a flaw. And they'll find it. Something we missed, overlooked. Don't blame me for wanting to prepare."

"You are prepared," I said. "Nobody knows this research like you. Not even Suguru. It's your blood, sweat, and sleepless nights poured into every page. This is yours in a way it could never be mine. You gave it life, meaning."

She seemed lost in thought, her focus narrowing in on my arm. She moved closer, like she'd just spotted something.

"Satoru—" she began, then hesitated. Even in the dim light, I could tell what she saw. "Where did you get those scars?" Her frown deepened. She leaned in closer, as though seeking further proof.

My fingers twitched. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. It was a distraction, a pain to combat the other. She had that look in her eyes that seemed to say, you know I won't stop until I hear the truth. So I gave in.

"My father was a demanding man," I said, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. "My mother turned a blind eye." 

I couldn't bring myself to say more. The image was enough to paint the picture.

For a second it seemed she froze. Her gaze remained fixed on my arm, her grip tightening ever so slightly.

Wordlessly, she rose and moved away. Moments later, she returned, a small syringe gleaming dully in the dim light.

"What's that?"

"Antibiotic," she said. "Those scratches were raw, you could get an infection."

"I'm fine."

"Let me be the judge of that." A hint of steel laced her words. Then, with startling gentleness, she added, "I don't want to see those old wounds opened any wider."

She tilted my arm, and with a swift, practiced move, the needle pierced my skin. I barely flinched. How different from the times I'd taught her, her hands trembling, her hesitation a reflection of her gentle heart.

Now, she moved with the certainty of a seasoned surgeon.

She'd grown so much.

For a moment, I simply watched her.

Finally, she turned, disposing of the gloves and syringe. She crossed the room and retrieved something from her purse, my gaze following her movements.

Then she was in front of me, her hand outstretched. My eyes focused on the small, white pill resting in her palm.

I knew the shape better than my own reflection.

A wave of nausea crashed over me.

Why would she do that?

I stared at the pill, then met her gaze. There was fear in her eyes. 

"That's not clonidine," I said.

I knew exactly what it was. Yet, I wanted to hear it from her, needed her to say it.

"It's hydromorphone," she said, her voice firm. "Take it, Satoru."

"Why?"

"Because you've been scratching your arm bloody, that's why."

A dangerous thrill surged through me, a sharp contrast to the icy dread in my veins.

She had no idea what she'd start here.

"Take it," she snapped, "before I force it down your throat."

Something shifted in the air between us.

I stood, my movements slow and purposeful. With one swift move, I closed the distance between us until I loomed over her. My breath ghosted over her lips, the scent of her fear mingled with the ever-present, gnawing need.

Without breaking eye contact, I took the pill and reached for the half-filled liquor glass on Suguru's desk.

She watched, confused, but she didn't stop me as I crushed the pill against the weathered wood of the desk. It shattered easily beneath the glass, the sound like a gunshot in the tense silence.

I took hold of her nape. My fingers threaded through her hair, my grip firm. Her lips parted, a silent plea, but I flinched back, denying her.

Not yet, love.

Where's the fun with that?

I slowly turned her around until she faced the desk. She shuddered as I gently pressed her forward, bending her over the surface.

The thin straps of her summer dress dipped, revealing the gentle curve of her shoulders, a vulnerability that made me lose all good reason.

Her breath quickened, a soft sound against the silence of the room. I reached forward, fingertips ghosting over her skin. Then, with a deliberate slowness, I swept the hair away from her nape, exposing the tender skin beneath.

For a long, breathless moment, I simply absorbed the sight before me. 

Her perfect body was bent in graceful submission, the delicate straps of her dress barely clinging to her shoulders. The exposed curve of her nape, the soft warmth radiating from her skin. 

Raw need surged through me, a reckless defiance of the consequences, of the fragile threads of self-control I still clung to.

Why did she offer me the pill?

And why couldn't I stop?

My hands were unfamiliar steady as I reached into my pocket, fumbling for my wallet. Withdrawing a credit card, I placed the white powder on its smooth surface.

Her breath hitched as I moved closer, the card hovering just above the silken expanse of her exposed skin. Then, with deliberate slowness, I lowered it, creating a thin white line on her back. It felt like a brand, a pact forged in shared recklessness.

She shivered, a slight tremor that ran through her entire form. Whether it was revulsion or anticipation, I couldn't tell. And in that moment, I realized I didn't want to know.

I leaned closer, my heated breath ghosting over her back. Without conscious thought, I opened my mouth, my tongue licking the powder off the delicate skin of her back.

The taste was bitter, acidic, sweet—familiar.

The rush hit me like a bolt of lightning.

My skin crawled, alive with a tingling rush. My senses honed to a razor's edge, amplifying every sight, smell, and sound. Exhilaration surged through me, a wild, intoxicating rush, tinged with a fear that tightened my chest like a vice.

Fuck, how I missed that. 

How I craved it.

I pulled back, gasping, struggling to regain control. 

Yet, my hands refused to retreat, frozen against the heat of her skin. They trembled, a desperate battle between insatiable need and the last shreds of restraint. The warmth of her burned me, a tantalizing agony beneath the thin fabric of her dress.

A war raged within me. 

One voice screamed for surrender, for the oblivion of her touch, the sweet release of surrender. The other, weaker now, whispered warnings, a faint plea for control. It was a familiar battle, and with each second, my control weakened.

The sweet tang of the powder lingered on my tongue. 

Yet, it did nothing to quell the rising fire within me.

A fire only she could extinguish.

Unable to stop myself, my hands moved on their own. My fingers traced the curve of her hip, the warmth of her skin a siren's call through the delicate fabric. With a gentle push, the hemline of her dress inched upwards, revealing the smooth expanse of her thigh.

A soft gasp escaped her lips. "Satoru?"

"Don't speak," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Don't speak, love.

Every word of you would only fuel the fire even more.

And my sanity was already hanging by a fragile thread.

I pushed the flimsy strap of her dress further down her shoulder. Delicate skin, warmed by the summer heat now laid bare. I ran a hand over the expanse of her back, reveling in the silky softness, the shudder that rippled through her at my touch.

I slid my hand beneath the hem of her dress, my fingers mapping the soft curve of her thigh. She moaned, a ragged sound that mirrored my own desperate need. I tugged the dress upwards still, baring more skin to my touch.

My chest heaved, my breath coming in uneven gasps. With a rough pull, I slammed her against me, her body against my already hard length a sensation that threatened to shatter the last vestiges of control.

The battle within me was all but lost. There was only this moment, this desperate, all-consuming need to claim, to consume, to lose myself in the oblivion she offered.

My hands roamed. The flimsy fabric of her dress was a mere inconvenience, torn aside to reveal the soft swell of her hips, the smooth expanse of her inner thighs. She shivered beneath my touch, fingers digging into her heated skin.

"Wait," her breath hitched. "Not here."

Yeah, it was Suguru's office. His desk. 

But in this moment, I couldn't care less.

"Yes, here."

My hand wound into her hair, forcing her head back. She gasped, her body arching against mine in surrender. The room tilted, the world outside blurring into nothingness. The only reality was her in front of me. I wanted to mark her, claim her as mine. 

Consequences, reason, all were distant echoes drowned out by the roaring in my blood. The rational part of my brain, a pathetically small voice, screamed at me to stop. 

But this part was loosing.

I pushed her dress all the way up to her waist, revealing the lacy underwear she wore. I drew her closer still, seeking a connection deeper than skin on skin. A moan escaped her lips, and she arched against me, the tremble of her body a heady mix of surrender and desperation.

"Satoru...please," she whispered.

"Tell me to stop," I said. Each word was a test, a twisted game we both knew she'd lose. My hand slid between her legs, a slow, agonizing caress that made her breath hitch. "Tell me, and I will."

A single word, and this could end. I waited, barely breathing.

She shook her head slightly. Then, with a boldness that ignited me all over again, she arched into my touch. "Don't stop," she breathed, her voice ragged. "Please, don't stop."

My god, that woman.

I could feel the despite simmering beneath her surrender, a bitter tang that only made this twisted game more addicting.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" I said, pushing the fabric of her underwear aside and sliding a finger inside her, feeling how wet and ready she was.

She was soaked through, drenched in a way that told me she wanted it as badly as I did.

With each stroke, I felt her body yield to me, growing even wetter as I explored her depths. It was an intoxicating sensation, knowing that I had such a powerful effect on her, that I could reduce her to this state of pure need with nothing but my touch.

She let out a ragged breath, gripping the wooden surface beneath her as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. I added another finger, stretching her open as I thrust in and out of her, searching for that sweet spot I knew would drive her mad.

When I found it, she gasped, her walls tightening around my fingers. "Right there," she moaned. "Don't stop."

I know, love. I know you like that spot.

I know how you crave it. The surrender. The sweet release of losing control to me. 

And in this moment, there was nothing I wouldn't give you.

Burn me. Break me. Doesn't matter. I'd still offer myself willingly. 

I'm yours to ruin.

But tonight, you'll break for me.

Every fiber of my being screamed for her, begging to bury itself deep inside of her. Watching her writhe underneath me, hearing her soft cries as I thrust into her, only fueled my hunger further.

I wanted to feel all of her, to brand myself onto her skin.

My cock throbbed painfully in my shorts, straining against the fabric. I could feel the precum leaking from the tip, dampening the material. The urge to rip off my clothes and plunge into her almost unbearable.

All I could see, all I wanted, was to be inside of her. Where I fit perfectly.

Then—the door. 

My hand stopped. Her gasp snagged in her throat.

Suguru stood in the doorway, a flicker of resignation in his eyes. Some people just don't understand the concept of knocking first, do they?

I withdrew my fingers. With a swift tug, I pulled her dress down, covering the parts of her only I deserved to bare. His eyes didn't have the right.

"Really?" Suguru sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "My desk?"

"Problem? Or feeling left out, Suguru?" My slick fingers found my mouth. I licked them slowly, savoring the lingering taste of her. My eyes never left him. "I thought you liked sharing."

─── ·✧· ───

➸ part ten is coming when i'm out of the the hospital for writing like a maniac.

x a/n: SCREAMING, CRYING, THROWING UP. i don't know if satoru went insane in this chapter or if i went insane while writing it. maybe both. but i had SO MUCH fun writing in his pov. i had a few heart attacks while writing this. and yes, imagine the "yes, here" in anakin skywalker's voice haha. 

also i know that kafka's books all got released after his death so a copy of his book with his signature is slightly unrealistic, but we just ignore that fact.

and last, don't sleep with addicts, that's not cool in real life, but in fiction it's okay, he can't hurt you there. anyway thank you so so much for reading, i hope you don't come at me for writing this omg, i'm so nervous posting this. i'm gonna go throw up now.

➸ taglist: @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11 @kendall0111 @bloopsstuff @therealestpussyeater @louoi7 @whereflowerswenttodie

sorry just adding some that you forgot 🥵🤭

FERAL SMILES KILL ME

Honorable mention to Grimmjow from Bleach

What if we just switched Mei Mei and Nanami?

Would’ve loved to watch her blow up while Nanami’s reading some books safely in Malaysia like he deserves.

I have a crush on him and I can’t help it

Please let me know if you guys would like me to do more of these bc I have some in my drafts

your writing is so goooood wahhh the nanami fic had me on my knees, could you write a pizza delivery boy gojo x reader? maybe he's always picking up reader's orders so he can see her or something hehe (can be fluff or smut) ❤

WOOOO ANOTHER GOJO FIC

another college AU - slightly inspired by a story that actually happened in my life (it was less romantic irl and more creepy lmao)

reader is 20ish gojo is 22ish

cw: masturbation, sex?

-

Your sophomore year of college you absolutely scored when you found your apartment. It was on one of the main streets of the city so you could walk anywhere you want to go, hosted parties, and just had fun! The first floor of your building was a pizza shop which you occasionally stopped in; the owner of the shop owned the whole building so he was also your landlord and was a sweet older Italian man.

There was a tall employee that always caught your eye, but he was always working in the back. Most of the time you were picking up pizza your landlords sweet daughter was working the register so you never talked to the white haired beautiful man. However it seems like l you had caught his eye too? No you were just being delusional, he wasn’t staring at you… but how could you be mistaken with those bright blue eyes that you seem to look away as soon as you make eye contact with?

It’s not that you’re shy. It’s just that this man is so attractive your cheeks immediately blush and you can’t even try to talk to him. (hey Siri queue Gorgeous by Taylor Swift)

That is until one day, when you texted your landlord and asked if the delivery guy or someone could bring your order upstairs because you were “sick” (you were just hungover but you looked the part of being sick so whatever). He responds with a no problem and about 15 minutes later you hear an imposing knock on your door, almost entirely too loud for your tiny apartment building. It makes your head pound and even though it’s 4 pm and your hangover is still lingering around.

You mosey on over to the door, sweatpants, Ugg slippers, an ex boyfriends hoodie you kept, with your hair in a braid that definitely needed washed. You open the door, squinting at the fluorescent overhead lights before realizing just who was at your door.

The white haired man with the beautiful cerulean eyes was looking down at his phone waiting for the door to be answered and when he looks up the two of you lock eyes. Suddenly you become aware of just how bad you look and your eyes grow wide at your downstairs crush at your door.

“Are you…y/n? The boss asked me to bring this up to you.” The mystery delivery man asks with a shy smirk and hands you to box.

“Oh thank you yes I’m y/n,” you say fumbling in your pocket for the $20 bill you put in there earlier. “Um here…keep the change,” you awkwardly stick your hand out with the money in it, realizing how hot the pizza box is in your other hand.

“What if I asked for your number as a tip instead?” He smugly asks, now leaning his lanky frame up against your door frame. You bring your eyes up to meet his, trying to find if he was joking by the features of his face. He stuffs the $20 in his pocket and pulls out his phone and wiggles it in his hand, as if to say ‘see?’. Your lips draw into a slight smile seeing his goofiness, “sure,” you giggle making his smile grow wider.

He hands you his phone for you to type your number and name in with your free hand, your other hand still holding up your pizza you’ve been looking forward to.

“Thank you m’lady,” he winks at you when you hand his phone back and pushes off your doorframe and walks away down the stairs. “Text ya later,” he yells up at you from the bottom and you just smile and close your apartments front door, leaning against it and smiling as you open up the box and take a bite.

-

You anxiously await a text from the pizza boy only after realizing you still don’t know his name or his number but he has both of those pieces of information about you. The half eaten pizza box lays on your coffee table while Netflix drones on with a reality tv show in the background. You scroll through Instagram liking everyone’s pictures from the previous night out and daytime party shenanigans. You’re drawn out of your trance like state when you feel your phone vibrate, a message from an unsaved number popping up.

‘hi pretty lady 😘 - your favorite pizza boy’

He still hasn’t given you his damn name so you can’t look him up anywhere. Suddenly all flirting skills have gone out the window and you have no idea how to text back.

‘You’re such a flirt, do you treat all your customers with such kindness?’ you ultimately respond with.

‘only if their name is y/n and they live in apartment 2b :)’ he responds too fast and you’re immediately apprehensive. Why is this beautiful man flirting with you so brazenly out of no where? This smells like a fuck boy situation, but hey, what’s wrong with a hook up or friend with benefits? Maybe it’s time to up the ante and play with some fire.

‘Funny, I haven’t even gotten your name yet and you’re already laying it on thick. Seems to me you’re quite the flirt.’

*one image attached*

‘Am I still a flirt if I made this while thinking about you?’

‘yes actually, more so than before.’

‘fine :( but i need someone to share this with?’

‘I’m literally still working on the pizza you brought up here earlier, take it to the other girls I’m sure you’re also flirting with rn’

‘ouch shots fired’

You stare at your phone screen smiling like a teenager, kind of wanting to get to know this guy a little better. You smirk to yourself before typing out:

‘fine. I don’t want more pizza but I do want to hang out.’

The pizza boys only response for now is ‘😱😱😱’ so you decide to get off the couch and shower for the evening. Washing your hair, shaving your legs and other areas, exfoliating, and making sure you smell extra nice. At least if you don’t see a guy tonight you can consider this self care? After a relaxing 15 minute shower you wrap your hair in one towel and your body in another. You head into your bedroom and proceed to brush out your hair and put on some sweatpants and a sports bra while you get ready. Sitting down at your vanity, you put on a light amount of makeup before blow drying your hair to look “natural” as if you didn’t just spend an hour getting ready.

You start to get dressed as well, taking off your sweats first, when you hear a knock at your front door. Confused, you walk over and look out your peep hole. Oh god, of course the beautiful white haired man knew how to get into your building and just showed up at your door. You crack the door just a bit to stick your head out, embarrassingly saying, “Hey I’m sorry can you give me two seconds I don’t have pants on.”

Without waiting for his answer you close the door again and run back into your bedroom and put on the sweatpants you just took off as well as a light weight tank top that was laying on the bed next to it.

‘Did he really just show up to my door unannounced?’ You think to yourself reaching for your phone. It turns out he did respond earlier while you were in the shower, you just hadn’t looked until you picked up your phone right this second.

‘sounds good, what do you want to do this fine evening?’

You stared at the text, mouth opened, slightly resembling a fish out of water. At least you had gotten your hair and makeup done but it took you an hour of not texting him back. Rushing back to your front door you reopen it to him leaning against the wall on his phone playing a game.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, cheeks flushed, swinging the door open for him to come in before stopping him in the doorway, “You’re not like a serial killer right?”

He throws his head back with a boyish laugh, meanwhile you just want an honest answer, you didn’t think your question was all that funny.

“No, I’m not,” he finally answers after noticing the apprehension in your face.

When you move to let the stranger inside your apartment, you throw caution to the wind and think, ‘well if I am going to die, at least it’ll be by this beautiful stranger?’ (damn reader, I think you would have LOVED Ted Bundy back in his day)

The man stands looking around your joint living room kitchen area, one hand in his pocket, one hand lifting his round black sunglasses from the bridge of his nose to on top of his head, resting among the snowy tufts of hair. He must have just got off an afternoon shift, smelling of Italian food wearing old jeans, a tshirt and converse.

Given it’s about 6 o’clock at this point, the sun has begun to set, setting golden hour aflame through your west facing windows of your apartment. The white walls glow orangish-yellow with tiny refractions from your little plants and decorations lining the windowsill, creating rainbows in random areas across the room. Your tv still hums in the background with a garbage show, before this potential murderer finally speaks up, as if he’s fully comprehended and assessed the room.

“The names Gojo, Satoru Gojo.” He smiles, only needing to take one of his large strides before he’s in front of you ready to shake your hand.

“Thank you for finally telling me your name,” you smirk, having to nearly crane your neck to make eye contact with him.

He wiggles his eyebrows and licks his lips before asking, “so no pizza but you wanted to hang out. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I missed your text when I was in the shower so I haven’t put a lot of thought into it. We can go somewhere to grab a drink or do something or we can chill out here?” You try not to seem too bossy but not too submissive either, and by the looks of it Satoru is as confident as ever.

“Well the boss man gave me some free bottles of wine that I have in my car I can grab and we can watch some of whatever you have on, and maybe re-evaluate in a little if we want to do anything else?” He accentuates ‘anything’ with a wink and you swear your knees could give out.

“That sounds great.”

-

You make some popcorn and grab glasses of wine while Satoru goes to his car and grabs his duffle bag with wine and clean clothes and comes back inside.

“Sorry to ask, but can I take a quick shower? I kinda feel gross after an 8 hour shift.” A slight blush creeps across his cheeks while he pulls out four bottles of wine. He notices the shocked look on your face, “Oh sorry I didn’t know how much you drink so I just brought all 4 bottles he gave me, I figured we could have two each.”

“Two each?!” You laugh as he makes his way towards your bathroom. He smiles back at you before closing the door behind him. You stand up to head to the kitchen counter to uncork one of the wine bottles when you realize that the extra towels aren’t in your bathroom, they’re in the dryer right now! The last thing you need is a naked wet man in your apartment right? You grab and fold one of the towels quickly and hurry over the the bathroom door before knocking politely.

“Satoru?”, you question. “Sorry…I forgot to give you a towel earlier-”

You’re cut off by the door swinging open. The pale man’s almost completely naked save for his boxer briefs which he has no shame showing. You notice a scar across his chest, his perky man nipples, the defined pectoral and ab muscles atop his beautiful v-line, accentuated with a white happy trail running down the middle leading straight to… a bulge.

But like he wasn’t hard no, his soft penis must have been so large but even then he had a pretty big bulge. You wonder what it would look like when it’s -

“Well you answered the door with no pants earlier so I didn’t think it would be a problem here,” he cuts you off, smirking as he watches your embarrassed features. He totally just saw you checking him out, you feel no better than a man!! You hand him the towel before reaching over to close the bathroom door for him, walking wide eyed back over to the couch with a glass of white wine.

You can’t get the shape of his body out of your mind, god you can’t believe he was in there, using your shampoo and soaps and being naked while you’re right here on the couch, not able to witness it. You let the perverted thoughts take over your mind some, thinking about the way his pale skin would look covered in your nail scratches and bite marks. Or how about how perfect his cock must be? Everything else about him was absolutely gorgeous, so his cock has to be the perfect mixture of girth and length with a nice vein or two, and a cute pink tip leaking his precious pre cum right? You think back about his long deft fingers, and much better they’d feel inside you than your own. Being under the spell of your own horniness, you slip your left hand under the waist band of your sweat pants and lace panties thinking about this Satoru guy…slipping your tiny fingers around your swollen clit, giving it a pinch before sliding up and down your folds, collecting your wetness before slipping your middle finger in your tight hole. You close your eyes, slipping the throw blanket from the back of the couch over your lap as another layer of protection in case Satoru is quiet coming out of the bathroom, but he’s not a very quiet person so you’re not toooo concerned.

Although you’ve had intercourse fairly recently, you feel like you’re in the midst of a drought, a withdrawal from being touched. Your skin feels almost itchy, so aroused by this man even though today is the first time you’ve actually talked to him. You alternate playing with your folds and rubbing your clit thinking about how good he must look with the water running down his abs and through his glistening white hair. You think just maybe, you might have time to make yourself cum before he gets out of the shower. After all with how excited you are, it should just take a few minutes. You scurry from the couch to your bedroom gently shutting the door behind you, before throwing your pants off and reaching into your bedside drawer to grab your hot pink little vibrator to help hurry yourself along.

You think you can hear Satoru singing in the showering, making you sigh in relief a little knowing he still probably has another few minutes. Sticking your hand down your lace panties, you press up against your soaking hole area with your middle and ring fingers, while using your other hand to press the vibrator on and turning it up to the medium setting. You rock in and out of yourself at a steady rhythm, thinking about this man being on top of you. God, he just looks like one of those guys that is good at everything he does so you know he must be a great partner.

Letting go of yourself perhaps comes a bit too easy, laying your head back against your decorative pillows, letting out just a tiny whimper. Muffled whistling comes from the bathroom followed by what sounds like something squeaking. You think it’s the water shutting off, and proceed to panicking and switch the vibrator to high to finish while he’s drying off. You feel yourself getting close, reaching extra deep to find your own g-spot. Pushing against it your eyes immediately roll back and you feel yourself getting close to the edge. You do your best to bite down on your lip to keep noises from escaping, with both hands being other wise occupied.

Your thoughts return to the man in your bathroom, drying off, wondering if he’s gotten off to you in the shower right there, before getting a little sad because you wish he would let you take care of him! A particularly loud whimper escapes as your back arches off the bed, your legs threatening to shake violently.

“Y/n…?” Your bedroom door swings open, Satoru Gojo walking in right as you reach your peak. Your jaw drops half out of ecstasy and half embarrassment, closing your eyes and riding out the last few seconds of your orgasm. There’s no point trying to hide or make excuses, you got caught. Not only that, but Gojo’s jaw is also on the floor, the blood rushing to his lower region as he is still slightly moist from the shower but only wearing a new clean pair of boxer briefs.

“I’m - so - sorry -” you pant to him with your eyes still closed, slowly removing your fingers from inside you and turning the vibrating off.

“Fuckkkk, that was so hot!! ,” Satoru wines striding over to join you on your bed. He takes the fingers you were about to your juices off of and pops them in his mouth, staring you in the eyes as he swirls his tongue around your petite digits and groaning in pleasure. “I can’t believe you couldn’t wait for me! Naughty girl, I just - wow- you’re so wet??” Satoru stammers to you, leaning his large frame over your body, blush creeping across his cheeks, but you know your face is even more red.

You sit up and lean back from Gojo, “sorry that was an..accident. You weren’t supposed to see that uh, um, I have a medical condition!! And I have to - you see…,” your embarrassment just digging you deeper into a hole as you reach for your panties and sweatpants on the other side of the bed. It’s not that Satoru seems to mind though, he actually seems kind of impressed.

As you slip your panties on, he sits on the bed giving you space but wraps his arm around your waist, “Hey..y/n… you don’t have to make up a really shitty excuse or anything, I kinda thought it was hot. Like if you want to fuck me you could just say it?” He says almost cockily trying to lighten your mood.

“I’m sorry I just like it’s not lady like? And I didn’t even like go on a date with you or anything yet…not that we have to go on a date first! I just like met you today and I feel like really bad!” You ramble on, both of your heads leaning closer and closer as he strokes your hair to calm you down. He gently guides your head to rest on his shoulder, “don’t be embarrassed babe, it’s not like I haven’t heard you have sex before.”

Your head shoots up, a new wave of embarrassment coursing through you. “Huh - what do you mean?” You stutter out.

“You realize right under your cute little room is the office in the back of the restaurant…right? And the nights when I’m in charge after the old man goes home…let’s just say some of the men you’ve brought home don’t seem to have good rhythm.”

Your jaw drops at this revelation, immediately growing defensive. “And who’s to say your rhythm is better? Besides - I -”

You’re cut off by Satoru taking the lead, his finger up to your bottom lip as to get you to quit nervous mumbling. “Hush hunny, just let me prove it to you.” He gently pushes you back against your bed, his lips finding yours before you can protest. You give in to making out with his cute pink lips, he guides a hand to the back of your neck, taking power over the kiss. You nip at his bottom lip at which he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss further, pushing his tongue into your mouth. His other hand comes to grab at your chest through your sports bra as you grab the sides of his face with passion. He breaks the kiss just by an inch, enough to breathlessly ask, “you’re okay with this right?”

Satoru smirks, knowing he has you in the palm of his hand. Instead of answering, you kiss back, this time taking initiative to swirl your tongue with his. The heated make out section reaches a tipping point as Satoru leans more of his body weight against yours, now your pelvic regions touching. His harder member through his boxers rubbing against your soaked lace panties. The fabric on fabric contact in the sensitive region has you whimpering into his mouth.

“Oh sweetheart,” he says with fake sympathy, “I already have you whimpering and I’ve barely touched you.” You roll your eyes as he uses his long fingers to brush the hair away from your neck ghosting his lips leaving a fraction of a kiss from your jawline down to collarbone. His breathing against your skin makes goosebumps form, before licking a specific spot halfway down your neck, right next to your jugular. He sucks down, ripping another whimper from you, rolling your hips up to cause more friction against his erection.

He smirks against your skin, “I think I found your sensitive spot-” and you cut him off pushing him back up to attach his lips to your neck again. You moan a little more freely this time.

“Uhnnnn, Satoruuuu…please, I need more!”

You whine removing your hands from his hair and creeping down his muscular back, feeling every single defined muscle. You decide to have a little fun, scratching a little harder as you run your hands down before grabbing the waistband of his boxers. “Off,” you whisper and this time he moans, seeming just as affected by you as you are by him.

He sits up to take off his boxers and you take the opportunity to remove your panties again, and your bra this time. You swear Satoru’s pupils turn into hearts when he sees your chest.

“Oh my god I think I’m in love,” he whispers, before leaning in fast and attaching his mouth to the right nipple. He used a lot of tongue and a little teeth, making your buds feel so much better than you ever thought possible. As he switches to your other nipple your eyes roll back.

You reach down through your legs to start stroking Satoru’s hard member. Although you can’t see it with the way his body is situated you can tell it’s massive. Like barely can wrap your hand around it massive and when you go up and down there’s sooo much!

“Can I fuck you please?” Satoru looks up at you with lust filled eyes, a sheen covering his lips and your nipples. He looks like what you could only imagine as a milk drunk baby looking up at its mother.

“Please, Satoru, fuck me,” you respond, running your thumb over his tip and spreading the precum. He leans back to line himself up, and now you can see the full image. The muscular upper body, now littered with a few scratches from you. The snowy fully hair, his eyes blown out with lust looking like he could devour you whole. Plus that beautiful cock you got yourself off to not even 15 minutes prior. It’s just as amazing as the one you made up in your head thinking about him.

You bite your lip and smile as his tip touches your entrance, him squeezing your hip with one hand as the other grips his base. He pushes in slowly and gently, letting you adjust with gentle shallow thrusts until you’re able to manage. “Oh-ohhh my god,” his breathing hitches in his throat? “Oh my GOD you feel so fucking good!” He is acting like he has just won the lottery, taking his time with his thrusts.

You smile up at him as he holds your leg, calf up against your shoulder. He places a tiny kiss along your leg before grabbing your other leg and placing it on his his other shoulder.

“Baby, can I please show you my rhythm now?” Satoru practically begs.

“Mhmmm, please,” you moan, already feeling full to the brim with his cock but needing more pleasure. He excelerates slowly, snapping his hips with high intensity. You feel his skinny hip bones make contact with the back of your legs every time, along with the feeling of his heavy balls slapping against your lower region. You’re in love with his little babbles, you’ve never met a more vocal man in bed. Every few seconds he’s saying “fuck yeah baby,” or a grunt/moan, throwing his head back, or “shit y/n”

Your toes start to curl and he notices, along with the slight tremble growing in your legs.

“You close baby?” He stammers out lowering one hand to stroke your cheek lovingly.

“Yes -toru,” you stammer out, only able to get half of his name out with how out of breath and white hot you feel. His eyes roll back in pleasure at the nickname, moving the hand that was on your cheek down to your clit, rubbing tiny circles on the puffy mound to help bring you over the edge.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” You half moan half chant, barely having possession over your own body at this point.

“C’mon, let go for me y/n, please pretty girl go on and cum,” the combination of Satoru’s words and how he says your name sends you over the edge, pulsing around him, eyes rolled back gripping white knuckled on the sheets.

Seeing how pretty you looked cumming on his cock, Satoru is so close to follow, not even caring that his cum his going inside you (I mean hey you didn’t tell him not to?) he grips your sides as he lets go, a grip that you know will leave 10 little perfect oval bruises tomorrow. All he manages is grunts that border whimpers “so so good, fuck,” he says out of breath, laying down comfortably with you with his cock still in side and giving you both a moment to process what just happened.

“You proved me wrong,” you whisper and he looks at you confused. “That was the best fucking sex I’ve ever had, I don’t fucking care about rhythm or any other man at this point,” you continue, covering your face with your hands and giggling.

He chuckles along with you, “I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten, I maybe should get an award for ‘sex dick given to y/n’”

You giggle more, both of you in your post orgasm mood, just being silly and romantically pillow talking.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” satoru says after a few more minutes of banter, and before you and even go to sit up, he is too fast and picks you up bridal style to carry to the bathroom. He sits you on the toilet and lets you clean yourself as he gets a washcloth with cold water and washes his face, before washing off his now flaccid penis (which still looked good which is really fucking hard to do). Upon returning to your bedroom, putting on clothes again and regaining your composure, you watch Gojo going through your closet.

You tilt your head at him and he answers before you can say a word. “Listen I know this is like the opposite of gender norms but can I borrow a tshirt?” You giggle and show him where you keep them and let him pick.

You settle out in the living room with your glass of wine, bowl of popcorn, and a blanket, resuming your prior plans. He joins you a few seconds later, wearing an old tshirt from high school that has one of the United States presidents on it in a rocking chair that says “JFK ROCKS”

You bust out laughing, not only at that fact it was almost a little too short on him, but also you had no idea where that shirt was or how he found it. He laughs along with you, opening one of the other bottles of wine.

He sits on the other end of the couch so both of your legs are all tangled and cozy , covered by your blanket. “So,” he then takes a bite of popcorn, creating an awkward pause.

You decide to interject first, “I’m sorry that like you saw me getting myself off and that I had sex with you like right after meeting you… you probably think I’m a slut but I’d actually like to get to know you.” You blush and take a sip of wine as he looks like a crazy person, before repeating himself.

“So,” he starts, “what I was going to say is that we need to get some real food and stop at the store and get a plan b, then come back for round 2,” he sips his wine, “also you’re not a slut and even if you are I’m a slut so oh well,” another tiny sip of wine and popcorn, “so this is me doing things a little backwards. Would you be my date for this evening?”

“You’re asking me on a date?” You gawk at him on accident, just surprised with how this whole day turned out.

“Yes I am sweets, now go get a jacket.”

—

very sorry anon February was a rough month (and so is March) for me this has been in my drafts 4ever