Who Is This Bitch Y/N? 

SOMEONE SEND ME JAEMIN PICS FICS CONTENT ANYTHING BEFORE JENO PULLS ME MY MANS LITERALLY GLOWING

HOTLINE BL☆NG!

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

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

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

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

god, you do.

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

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

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

how the fuck did you get yourself in this mess?

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

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

girlhood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“cornballllll.” shoko cringes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

they don’t need to know all that though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

there’s no fucking way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the ache clenching at your heart is hard to ignore.

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

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

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

“yes! obviously— mmmph?!”

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

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

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

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

“wait—”

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

it’s a match.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ping!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and just as you’d predicted. . .

@gsatoru: they say shooters shoot 👀

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

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

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

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

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

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

decisions, decisions, decisions.

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

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

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

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

@yourstrulyname: sukuna ryomen wsp with you?? 🙈

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@gsatoru: oh so you got jokes now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@yourstrulyname: been keeping tabs on me?

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

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

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

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

@yourstrulyname: who said it was me?

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

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

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

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

@yourstrulyname: like what you saw?

he answers instantly and your heart sinks a bit.

@gsatoru: of course

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

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

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

@yourstrulyname: you still cool with sukuna?

@gsatoru: something like that

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

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

@yourstrulyname: and what does that make me?

@gsatoru: did he mean something to you?

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

he didn’t mean shit to you.

@yourstrulyname: no

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@yourstrulyname: been good. you?

@gsatoru: wow you’re as dry as ever

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

oh? was this what you were thinking it was?

@yourstrulyname: what are you getting at, gojo?

@gsatoru: gojo? so it’s fuck me then

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

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

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

fuck it.

@yourstrulyname: you know where i stay at

and his response comes instantly.

@gsatoru: be there in half an hour.

oh fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“hey.”

he’s thick.

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

somebody’s been at the gym one too many.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

as if he still stood a chance or not.

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

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

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

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

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

god, you had questionable morals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he hadn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

so, you kiss him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

sex was an easy way to do that.

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

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

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

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

bingo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you couldn’t agree more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

he’s thick, this time on perverted shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and that’d been your final mistake.

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

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

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

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

god, you do.

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

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

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

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

how the fuck did you get yourself in this mess?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you don’t.

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

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

tinder: 1, you: 0.

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

Saint Like

Pairing: G.W x Reader Request: Would you write a George x reader where Molly doesn't like George's girlfriend and she's kind of mean towards her but when she sees reader take care of George after he loses his ear she starts to slowly accept her? W/C: 2.2k A/N: finally back to writing! Yippie!! That sickness actually was the worst I've had in years. [masterlist] Much love, Saige

It hurts to be dismissed by your boyfriend's mother. Year after year you arrive at his home, welcomed by others in his family, banter with his father, and simultaneously given the stark cold shoulder by the woman who gave him life.

It confused you to no end. She never supported the twins' endeavors; she consistently dismissed and shrouded any thought of their joke shop, practically banning any conversation of the idea in the burrow indefinitely. In her own world, Fred and George would magically wake up one day and decide that they wanted to pursue a career that was more lucrative. Her own fear of poverty inflamed her distaste in their aspirations — purely because it had the possibility of their own financial demise. She wanted better for her boys, and unfortunately you were the easy scapegoat to place blame.

It poked and prodded every nerve on you. You wanted nothing but success and love for George and his family, but you were seen as a threat to the possibilities that they might turn out… normal.

—

The climate of the wizarding world was beyond bleak. Everyday you rose to the sun, beyond blessed to be living another day, but filled with anxieties that it truly may be your last.

Your addition to the order was practically mandatory. With no ties to your parents it was easy for you to sign away your life for the greater good. Your heart lied with George and your friends and fighting next to them would be an honor.

As it came up on Harry’s seventeenth birthday, figuring out how to transport the boy became more trivial. The magical protection given to him by his mothers sacrifice would wear off and he would be more vulnerable to Voldemort than ever. Every movement or spell he made was under the view of the ministry and it had to be done with extreme caution.

The burrow was the next safest place for him, but getting him there bred confusion and limited options.

“What if we just had him apparate out?” Ron asked. The order sat around the kitchen table at the Burrow, just days before operation Free Potter.

”He is still underage Ron, it’ll be flagged immediately.” Hermione replied, rolling her eyes slightly. Ron shook his head.

”We’re already breaking the law, why not one more!” He chuffed, disappointed how easily his idea was shut down.

“Pius Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem.” Moody interrupted “He’s made it an imprisonable offence to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here or apparate in or out.”

The table silenced at his arrival, everyone soaking in the new information and the loss of yet another helper on the inside.

“That’s pointless, he is protected anyway -“ You started. You were honestly just thinking out loud, soon realizing everyone’s eyes on you.

“All that’s done is stop Harry from leaving safely.” You coughed, attempting to find your voice again. Moody shook his head in agreement, those in the order all now speaking among themselves. George arrived at the kitchen taking a spot next to you. He nudged you quietly, smirking down at you.

“Anything juicy?” He whispered, leaning down. You smiled and shook your head no, leaning over to reply.

“Just all hobgobble about how we will get Harry here. Even moody is stumped.” You whispered. George scoffed.

“Moody stumped? Give him like 4 minutes, we’ll be out of here in no time.” He chuffed. The feeling of his hot breath tickled your neck, causing you to shiver slightly. Giggling, you looked over the room, unfortunately making eye contact with Mrs. Weasley. She pursed her lips and scowled.

“I think we ought not be distracted.” She stood, walking around the large table to the sink. She stood with her hands firmly on the ledge leaning away from the crowd. As much as you felt targeted by the statement she was right.

“Its risky but it’ll take cooperation… from all yous.” Moody thumped, his fake eye spiraling around the room. Thievery fell into a hush, waiting for what he had to reveal.

“Everyone will be a potter. As many heads as we can round up. They’ll be confused, won’t know who’s who.” He coughed, opening his flask and taking a swig.

“Polyjuice potion?” George asked. It was more of a rhetorical question of course, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Aye boy.” Moody nodded.

“They’ll just kill us all.” Molly shrieked, the idea of everyone now the face of the target became increasingly daunting.

“No they won’t Molly.” Remus coincided. “We ride on brooms, quietly through the night in groups eh” He raised his eyebrows, checking the feelings of the table. Most people nodded in agreement.

“It’s the order Molly. We’ve been in danger from the beginning. It’s not the time to become fearful.” Moody coughed, standing up from the table.

“One month from today. Stay vigilant.” Moody snapped from the room, leaving everyone in silence.

—

The month came and went in a flash. It felt as if the sky was grey every day since that meeting. No sign of summer or joy, only the steep consequences that were to come.

“Hi my love.” George purred from behind you. He wrapped his arms around your torso, resting his head on top of your.

“Hi.” You whispered, leaning back into his body. You both swung lightly in each other's arms enjoying the feeling of peace.

“They just got word of who’s flying.” He mumbled, keeping his head steady. You kept swaying, but your body stiffened slightly at his words.

“You’re going.” You sighed. You knew he would, and you kicked yourself daily for worrying about his demise. It wasn’t exactly a positive situation to be in, but your milling about danger wouldn’t help.

“I know you wish I could stay, but Fred and I fly well, and they need people who are confident in their brooms.” He murmured, rubbing your sides lovingly. He turned you around to face him, his cheeks warm with glow, beaming down at you.

“What am I doing?” You asked, holding his arms tightly. Part of you wished to be in the sky with him, as if your presence could protect.

“You, my beautiful bird-“ George leaned down, kissing your forehead after every word. “You are meant to stay here. Look for signs and send alerts back if anything happens.”

You didn’t respond, you just sighed and smiled.

“I know you wanted to go.” He whispered. “But it’ll be good. A good opportunity to help from the ground.” He smiled. You could tell he was trying to reassure you, his eyes darting between yours looking for any sign of disapproval.

“Okay.” You whispered, leaning up so your nose grazed his. “I’ll be waiting for you, and you better come back in one piece.”

—

The night finally arrived and you spent every waking moment with George. You hated to think it was your last time seeing him, but the reality was clear. Anything could happen tonight and you would be sure that it was spent with him.

After dinner, Moody arrived at the burrow rallying up those who were going.

“5 minutes and we must be out, got it?” He looked around the room, heads nodding in acceptance. He turned to you and Molly, softening his face.

“You two will be the first to know if anything happens. I will send a message once we have left the Dursleys, then we will be back here in approximately 30 minutes.” His eyes widened in question, looking for any look of approval between you two. You dare not look at Molly and keep eye contact with Moody.

“Yes sir.” You choked, the air in your chest seizing.

“Atta girl. Alrig’t move out.” Moody winked, turning on his heel and walking out of the room, numerous bodies following. George paused and jogged over to you, kissing your cheek and squeezing your hand before joining the fray.

Once everyone left the burrow became quiet. Molly soon looked for any way to busy her fingertips knowing she’d have to distract her mind or else she’d go mad. You stood by the window for a short period, looking at the sky and prairie out past the horizon looking for any sign of movement. Hearing a hefty sigh behind you, you turned to face the sound, already anticipating a lecture.

“Could you help me make supper? I bet they’ll be hungry when they get back.” Mrs. Weasley spoke softly, her back turned to you still maneuvering pots and pans in the kitchen. You nodded to yourself and took a deep breath in, walking over near her.

“Maybe start with the potato’s, rid the eyes and peel the skin for me.” She didn’t look at you, instead speaking into her hands, sniffling after ever few words. She wasn’t crying, but you could hear the trouble in her voice clear as day. Grabbing a peeler, you got to work, trying to pass the time as well.

“I hope you know I don’t .. loathe you like you may think.” She whispered, just loud enough so that you’d hear but quiet enough that the words don’t linger in the air.

You stood in silence, peeling the potatoes, confused entirely by her statement.

“I don’t think-“ you lied, thinking it was the right thing to counter, even deep down you felt that she thought you were better off dead most days.

“You have every right to think it.” She snuffed, pausing her work and biting her cheek. “I just….”

“I understand a mothers love.” You whispered, picking up another potato and holding it softly. “I understand wanting the best for your children, but ..” you choked. You didn’t know if you had the confidence to say yet another thing that would make her angry.

“But sometimes their best interest isn’t yours and it’s out of a mothers control what their adult children do.” You finished. You knew it was the truth, but on the heels of Percy abandoning the family it had to have stung just as hard.

Mrs. Weasley didn’t respond. She didn’t move her head or acknowledge your statement but stood and pondered what you said. You couldn’t tell if she was boiling with rage or the words finally penetrated the field of deep affection that clouded her judgement so.

Just from the window, a owl rapped the glass, begging to be let in.

“That’s them.” She muttered, wiping her hands on her apron and rushing over to let the owl in.

“Thirty minutes.” She sighed

“Thirty minutes.” You repeated.

Time moved extremely fast after that. You both were taking turns by the window to cool down your nerves with the cold night air. The meal was brewing magically on the stone and didn’t need the tender touch of either of you to finish. Even though very little was said between you two, it felt as if you had become closer because of tonight. At least, we understood a little more about each other retroactively.

The sound of loud snapping wood alerted you both that people were apperating at the burrow. Running out of the burrow, you locked eyes with Harry, who was barreling off of Harris’s motorbike, stumbling towards the house.

“Death Eaters, loads of them — we were chased —" Harry coughed, falling into Mrs. Weasley's arms. Your mind raced, searching the sky for any one else who would arrive.

“Death eaters-“ You whispered, fear overtaking your body. You could taste the adrenaline in your mouth, a sour foul feeling overcoming your every sense. Luckily the pain of unknowing was only for a moment more, as Lupin and George followed suit.

“George!” You cried, running over to the boy. His hand held the side of his head, blood was dripping down his shoulder and across his cheek.

“I’m okay im okay.” He mumbled, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and hoisting himself upon your small frame. You tugged his body indoors, flopping him on the family couch in the living room.

“It’s just my ear darling.” He smiled weakly, his face was pale from the loss of blood but still held your hand tightly. Mrs. Weasley quickly began to tend to her son, allowing you to hold his hand and be with him through it all. Even though you were slightly inconvenient to her tending, she dare not ask you to move. Both Fred and you had been tied together, your sobs uncontrollable.

“Honestly I think I’m way cuter without an ear. Don’t you think?” George tossed, rubbing your hand affectionately. Mrs. Weasley had successfully stopped the bleeding and bandaged what she could, leaving you both alone in the room. Just in the kitchen, Lupin and the order continued to talk about their now sudden loss of Moody and who could be trusted.

“It definitely makes you stand out.” You laughed, finally feeling comfortable in his state. You both smiled at each other, the everlasting admiration you had for him only grew, how resilient and fateful even in the face of death he had been.

“I’ll always get the last laugh-“

View of Paradise (Satoru Gojo x Reader) PART SIXTEEN

[𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙀 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝙃𝙊𝘾𝙊𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙀 𝙁𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙊𝙍𝙔 𝘼𝙐]

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗼𝗸 𝘀𝗼 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸𝘀 𝗮𝗴𝗼 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝟭) 𝗺𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗿𝘆 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗯𝗶𝗴 𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 [𝘆𝗲𝗲𝘀𝗵] 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗰𝘆 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗻𝘀 [𝘆𝗲𝗲𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀] 𝟮) 𝗶𝗺 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗶𝗱𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗹𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗱 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗹 [𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗹𝗲𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗶 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝘂𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗯𝘁𝘄 𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗵𝗲𝗲] 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝘄-𝗸𝗲𝘆 𝗸𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝘆 𝘃𝗶𝗯𝗲 𝟯) 𝗶 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗮𝘀 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗺𝗵. 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝗺 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲, 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻 𝗲𝘅𝘁𝗿𝗮 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮 𝘀𝗰𝗲𝗻𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗼𝗻𝗲!! 𝘆𝗮𝘆𝗮𝘆!!!!!

𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁: 𝗼𝗻𝗲 || 𝘁𝘄𝗼 || 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 || 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿 || 𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲 || 𝘀𝗶𝘅 || 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 || 𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 || 𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗲 || 𝘁𝗲𝗻 || 𝗲𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 || 𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲 || 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻 || 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻 || 𝗳𝗶𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻 || 𝘀𝗶𝘅𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻 || 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲…

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

As you walked through the factory’s entrance hall with the other winners, the children, and Mr. Gojo, you found the inside surprisingly toasty for such a dreary-looking factory.

The fact almost escaped you as you watched the two little girls struggle amongst themselves once more to get through the factory entrance doors first in a mad dash, once again displaying a highly competitive nature. And the tense, sharp words shared between the two men chaperoning them were also a bit distracting in their own right. But Mr. Gojo swiftly put an end to all of that as he ushered the entire group inside with an impatient tap, tap, tap of his cane against the ground and a reminder of just how “late” everyone was.

Now, everyone is following behind a silent Mr. Gojo as he walks through the halls- head held high and gaze forward. At the same time, you fell in line with your younger brother, who decided to take refuge towards the back with you as everyone else surged forward. While the factory entrance hall was grand in size, it was mostly bleak and empty. Tall, gray walls with small windows dotted randomly across the space and the single red carpet runner that stretched out very, very far. You’ve never been in a factory before, so it’s obvious you can’t say much about what is or isn’t supposed to be there. But as a guest, you can’t help but be surprised about just how…meager it looks. The outside wasn’t flattering at all for a candy factory, sure. And you didn’t think it fit the personality that you had picked up from Mr. Gojo in your short time together. But the inside was empty and lonely and cold. Well, it only seemed cold. Because in actuality the factory really was surprisingly toasty for such a bleak and unforgiving area.

And you weren’t the only one to notice that. 

“Any chance you could cool things down in here, Gojo?” The pig-tailed girl’s father, Mr. Atsuya Kusakabe speaks up gruffly within the uneasy silence that surrounded the group. Beside him, his daughter Momo shakes her head in agreement, looking less than impressed. “Some of us are from areas where the weather is normal.”

Naturally, you’re inclined to agree with their words. You’re not one to complain too much, especially when you know something is objectively better than what you face at home, but it is getting to be a bit stuffy in here. So much so that everyone (except for Mr. Gojo, oddly enough) who had brought coats decided to shed them almost immediately after stepping inside. And you were starting to regret your choice of attire for this event. Your mother’s sweater dress was the nicest thing you could grab from her closet without going overboard and you had an easier time taking care of your tights compared to your pantyhose. But right now, those two things only served to get make you a bit hotter under the collar than you can handle. 

And of course, the way Mr. Gojo would look at you whenever he glanced back in the direction of you and your brother didn’t exactly help, either.

“I would, but…” Mr. Gojo starts to respond, a smile teasing on his face. He stops momentarily, to look through the crowd. Though once again, you can’t help but notice how his gaze stops on you once more. His smile grows wider. You swallow nervously, trying to fight off the feeling of butterflies that stupidly started to invade your stomach. You can’t tell if he’s genuinely flirting with you or if you’ve just been out of the game for far too long at this point. Whatever it is, you just hope you’ll figure it out before the day is over. Because no way in hell can this end up good for you. But luckily, you didn’t have to dwell on that thought anymore as Mr. Gojo had just turned his gaze away and began to speak once more. “It’s good for the workers.”

His words didn’t leave a lot of room for explanation. Something that all the adults in the room found a bit more odd than the children did, considering all the rumors spread about this place.

“Workers?” Ms. Nagi Yoshino pipes up, a questioning lilt in her voice. She looks around the room, and the rest of the adults follow suit- noticing the very apparent lack of signs of life. “I didn’t know there were workers here.”

“There aren’t supposed to be.” Ms. Mei is next to cut in. Her voice is level, but there’s an accusing nature to her words as she stops moving with the group momentarily. Despite being a total stranger to you all, her commanding presence is enough to get the rest of the group to stop moving at the same time. That said, you did almost run into her back as she stopped moving so very suddenly. A sight Mr. Gojo unfortunately caught a quick glimpse of, judging by the amused upward quirk of his lips despite the pressure he was about to get. “No one has been seen coming in and out of this factory for years. Care to explain?”

Ms. Mei Mei crosses her arms over her chest, looking like the very image of calm and collected as she questions the man who just allowed her and a few others to take part in the chance of a lifetime. Her charge, Ui Ui, on the other hand, starts to get a little antsy now that things have stopped. He begins to tug on her arm, a whine in his voice as he pleads with his guardian to drop it because he could ‘smell the candy from here’. Although you didn’t have quite the nose that that little boy had on him, you were inclined to agree with his words.

At this point, you all haven’t made it very far into the factory. While you’ve made it far enough for the large factory doors you’ve all stepped through to close neatly behind you, the hallway you’re in only seems to lead to one door at the very, very, very end. This means that unless these walls suddenly start to open up into something quite literally made of all things sweet and magic, you have a feeling you may not be seeing anything interesting for a long time. Unfortunately for all of you, Mr. Gojo seemed to have taken the bait and had eaten it right from Ms. Mei Mei’s hands. 

“Really now? You don’t say…” You could hear him hum lightly, meeting Ms. Mei Mei’s challenging gaze head-on. His usual smile was replaced by a pensive, thought look as he began to search his mind for an answer. However as seconds passed by, you found yourself growing more and more curious of the answer. Considering the fact that he still had the large pair of dark sunglasses covering his eyes from view, not much of his expression was readable- even with him facing towards the group. Though it struck you as odd as he had yet to take them off despite being indoors. But then again, almost everything about this man struck you as odd. “Perhaps you need better eyes. I see my workers all the time. Let’s go.”

With that, Mr. Gojo’s thoughtful expression turned into a smile once more. It was a somewhat unfriendly smile. Full of annoyance and his utter distaste for being questioned like that as he bore his teeth a bit in her direction- almost as if he was expecting to be challenged once more. When Ms. Mei Mei didn’t say anything more, the unfriendliness of his smile eased up a bit as he turned on his heel and walked forward, completely shutting down any future conversations about this with a simple move. Only this time, he has a noticeably faster stride. With his long legs and impressive height, it doesn’t seem to be much of an issue for him- even considering the limp he “had” just a few minutes earlier when he was first spotted coming out of the factory. But it did have you throwing up an unseen eyebrow at the sudden change, once again not sure about what to make of the situation.

But that had to be saved for later. You and all the other less tall people hadn’t realized just how fast he was moving until he was more than a couple of strides away with no desire to slow down in the slightest. So now, it was time for an awkward game of catch-up as everyone in the group rushed to follow close behind Mr. Gojo, in fear that they’d test his patience again and be left behind (although Ms. Mei Mei had no problem with taking her time following after the group).

But the sudden change had ignited a fervor among the children, who had fallen somewhat silent in the short stand-off that had just occurred. Far in front of you, the girls, Yuki and Momo rushed forward once more before they were just able to fall into step right behind Mr. Gojo. Though they were too far away for you to understand what they were saying, you spotted the two of them looking at each other and speaking momentarily, before nodding their heads in unison once and locking arms together. Perhaps a new friendship was formed. Though based on the wary reactions of both girls’ fathers as they went to catch up with them, perhaps it was more something akin to a pact.

Right behind them though was Ui Ui, determined to try to make it to the front. While he didn’t seem to possess the competitive nature you saw sparking up in both girls, it was obvious how eager the boy was about what he could possibly experience on this tour. It was a far contrast from the other young boy, Junpei, who had resigned to being dragged by his mother as she tried to convince him how fun this would be if he would just be willing to work with her for one day. It was at this point where your brother decided to leave your side, and started making his way up to where Junpei was- leaving just you and Ms. Mei Mei to bring up the rear. 

Although Yuuta's words didn’t seem to have as much of an effect on Junpei as your brother tried to talk to the other boy in an attempt to make friends, the eye roll you could see Junpei give him as he began to walk alongside everyone normally was a bit less hostile than the looks he was giving his mother earlier. At least that was a start.

The group trudged on with low voices of light conversation mixing throughout the group. The only thing anyone could do at this point was follow a dead-silent Mr. Gojo, who walked forward as if he had not a single care in the world. Though it was really starting to hit you just how comically long this hallway was. Your eyes darted around the place over and over again, lips curling up in a grimace when you started to realize that the door on the opposite side of the room didn’t even seem to be getting closer. In fact, you couldn’t help but notice that it seemed to only get smaller. 

How could that be? You wished you knew. But you knew better than to ask Mr. Gojo any questions at the moment, even if he did seem to show some favor towards you. The guy could be very intimidating when he wanted to be. So instead, you just rolled your eyes and took a quick glance at your watch while fighting the urge to throw up your hands and huff.

The watch face read only a little after a quarter past ten o’clock. Surprising, considering how these boring, bleak walls make you feel like you’ve been here forever. You don’t know what to make of things. What a weird couple of days.

As the lot of you continued down the hallway, it gave you some time to think and reflect on the other winners and their families. You recall seeing glimpses of everyone in the group on TV at least a few times before. And you recall not thinking much of any of them at first. You didn’t love how spoiled or apathetic some of the children seemed to be. But as part of you wanted to believe that those children were entitled to a bit of…well, entitlement. After all, they scored a Gojo ticket. They were able to do something only five other people were able to do. And that naturally, anybody would get a little too big for their birches and forget their manners sometimes right?

Well, as you watched the kids for longer than that, you realized that some may not have forgotten manners. Some may never have had any, to begin with. You felt as though you might have been too harsh in judging them at first. But since getting inside the building, Momo had already stamped her foot twice and demanded that her father make time faster and build her a factory as big as this one. To your utter surprise (and horror), her father placated her only with the reminder that they couldn’t give her a bigger factory because they had already picked up the biggest pieces of land in the area for their own estate. 

Momo had only stamped her foot again, and her father responded by sighing and telling her that he’d see what he could do.

The other little girl, Yuki, was a bit more adjusted in your opinion. Though it had only occurred to you a few minutes ago that she had been chewing gum this entire time (just like she did in her TV interview that you remember catching a few days ago), she was still a bit more tolerable than Yuki. Though her matter-of-fact way of speaking was a little jarring to you, someone who has to earn their living by making sure everything said out of their mouth is extra sweet and with a smile on top. And the way she and her father whispered to each other about just how obvious it was that they were going to win this now that they’d checked out the competition was also a bit much. But you have had far worse kids come to your dinner. 

The same could be said for the two boys beside your brother too. Ui Ui didn’t seem all too bad. While he appeared to be a bit bratty and impatient (and really liked candy), your opinion of him was more so that he lacked maturity- rather than housetraining, especially considering how the two girls act. As for Junpei, you couldn’t help but frown when you thought of him. That little boy had a pretty nasty attitude on him, even when he was interacting with his own mother. He looked like he had to be dragged here by his arm, despite this being such a great opportunity in your mind. And so, you couldn’t help but feel bad for his mother. She seemed to be trying her hardest to reel him in and get him to at least smile. But it seemed like all he wanted to do was sneer in her direction. That was until Yuuta came along and offered Junpei a temporary distraction from terrorizing his mother.

Speaking of mothers, you couldn’t help but think about the other adults in the room as well. Before stepping inside, all five of you introduced yourselves to each other and stated what kid you were coming with. And needless to say, you were intimidated. While Ms. Nagi (as she insisted on everyone calling her) seemed like any normal woman you would meet on the street, the intimidating, large physical stature of Mr. Kusakabe and Mr. Todo was nothing to sneeze at. Although Ms. Mei Mei was a bit closer to the average if you looked at her closely enough, it didn’t help that she carried herself extremely confidently and always seemed to look at everyone and everything in the room while she knew a secret that nobody else knew- and that she wasn’t going to share. Either way, it made you just more careful about showing respect to all the other adults in the room. While you may technically relate to all of them more than you do to the children, you did sort of feel out of place. 

Especially when the others were stating that their jobs were bank teller, businessman, martial arts gym owner, and just contractor- whatever that meant. Either way, it made you, a girl who has been living at home and waitressing for many, many years made you feel very, very small for some reason. Perhaps it had something to do with the shiny, expensive cuff links that you spotted on Mr. Kusakabe’s suit jacket when you went to shake the man’s hand…

“Look! The door!” 

All of a sudden, the voice of little Yuki breaks you out of your stupor. You had been walking mindlessly this entire time, lost in your own thoughts that you hadn’t even realized just how far you all made it down the hallway. But when you looked up and around for the door, you noticed two things:

One, it was still very, very small from where you were standing.

Two, it was somehow very, very close to where you were standing.

From the vantage point, you realized that you were finally close to the entrance of the hallway- with nothing more than a couple of feet and Mr. Gojo separating you and the group from the doorway. But the door was quite small. And the hallway’s ceiling had begun to slope downward at a nearly unnoticeable angle until you were able to get into the thick of it. For the moment, you didn’t have to bow your head and bend your knees to stay upright. But the same couldn’t be said about Ms. Kusabakabe, Mr. Todo, and Mr. Gojo. 

Although you managed to stifle most of them you couldn’t help but release a small giggle as you watched the normally tall and proud-looking men have to bow down to avoid hitting the ceiling. And unsurprisingly at this point, it captures the attention of a certain someone.

“Ah, so you’ve noticed.” Mr. Gojo speaks up suddenly, an amused smile on his face as he peeks over his sunglasses at your spot towards the back of the crowd. Your face heats up in embarrassment, though you do fight the urge to turn away and give in to his stupid teasing. Seriously, what is with that guy? After a second, he’s slow to move his eyes away from you be that same amused smile is clear on his face as he addresses everyone. He looks proud of himself- proud of the size of the door for whatever reason. But then again, you probably would have been proud too if you owned such a big factory and managed to pull off a dumb optical illusion for this long. “Keeps all the goodness inside.”

At this, you hear the voice of one of the kids scoff. To no one’s surprise, it’s Junpei.

“Why can’t you just have a normal-sized-” He begins to snark at Mr. Gojo, voice flat and tone unimpressed, before being cut off by the man himself.

“Oh, would you look at that! I nearly forgot!” Mr. Gojo exclaims quite loudly as he raises one shaking finger in the air, almost as if he’s wagging it at himself. You’re starting to realize that this man really isn’t a fan of criticism or being challenged. That, or he doesn’t seem to like anyone here with your group. Though with the way things are going right now, you wouldn’t be too surprised to find out if the answers end up being both. “The waivers~!”

As the word rolls off of his tongue, you spot him unbuttoning the top few buttons of his overcoat with swift and ample fingers before reaching inside. A second later, a rolled-up piece of paper is produced from within his jacket. His smile seems to be alight with laughter as he reveals it to the group. It’s lightly tanned- almost like parchment- and rolled up tight. Just a thin scroll with a pretty little blue ribbon bow wrapped around its center to keep it round up tight. 

You couldn’t imagine it being anything special, though you do suppose something like this would be necessary given the circumstances. You’ve heard of things like nondisclosure agreements from TV shows and once even had to bring home a permission slip from school for a trip to the city park. So naturally, anyone who decided to invite kids to the best candy factory in the world for a tour of the facilities and the products there would have to find some way to protect themselves from lawsuits, accidents, injuries, and even the potential selling of trade secrets.

At that thought, your mind wanders back to the face of Suguru Geto as you recall what your brother had told you about that man. As much as you want to be naive, recent events and the long walk through this hallway allowed you to clear your head enough to get a good idea of what that man might have been asking your brother to do. But the very reminder of your brother being put in that position again makes your stomach churn and frown tug at your lips. What an awful thing to do to a little boy. What an awful thing to do to Yuuta of all people. 

Oh, well. You shouldn’t dwell on it now. You have a whole day ahead of you, so it’s better if you live in the moment now and deal with…that when it becomes a problem. If it even becomes a problem.

Though as you snap back into focus, it looks like your timing couldn’t have been more perfect as you let your gaze fall on Mr. Gojo once more. Because not a movement later, you find yourself watching as he finishes tugging the ribbon loose and free and letting the contract unravel. 

And to say it was long was an understatement. You heard gasp all around you as the paper began to extend. A couple of feet away, you could hear Mr. Todo let out a low whistle as the parchment slowly unrolled itself all the way to the ground- its ends just barely brushed against the floors. To make matters worse, the print was small. Tiny, even. You felt that you even had to squint to read a few particular words here and there and practically everything towards the bottom. It was the same except deal as the ticket Yuuta. Only this was a bit more concerning considering this was supposed to be a legally binding document instead of your proof of allowed entry.

Unable to help yourself, you let your face fall flat as an unimpressed look crosses your features. Though when you met Mr. Gojo’s gaze for the umpteenth time today, he just barely spared you a shoulder shrug as his smile grew even wider. He then hooks his cane on his other arm holds out his hand and shows off a pair of pens that are wrapped within his grip. They’re the fancy kind. Ornate with metal finishing and have a sophisticated look about them. Just like the ones you’ve only seen in your boss’ office at work. The ones you know are a bit too expensive for just some commoner to use.

They’re presented to your group- a clear invitation of what must be done. However, as a few of the more impatient children and braver guardians step forward and reach for a pen, a voice cuts out through the silence, making everyone pause in their actions.

“Quite the contract, Gojo,” Mr. Kusakabe spoke up again, his regular seriousness lining his voice as he noticeably made no move to grab one of the pens. You could tell that it was an attempt at a joke. But at the same time, it wasn’t a very good one- both the attempt and the joke. But judging by the look on the man’s face, you had a feeling he didn’t really care for how it landed with the audience. “You know… I don’t really sign anything without a lawyer present.”

For a moment, Mr. Gojo looks almost taken aback. His lips twist up in a surprised sort of expression, almost as if he wasn’t expecting another person to challenge him so soon. In a way, you sort of understood both sides. On one hand, the rumors and the golden ticket promised a day beyond your wildest imagination- a day that any child and any adult willing to give into their inner child for a few hours would be excited to experience. On the other…nobody wants to be caught holding the bag once it's emptied. And it’s only natural that a businessman wealthy enough to own his own factory would be the one to challenge a blind signing of a contract- even if you were all promised the chance of a lifetime.

And it’s only natural that everyone would follow the actions of said businessman. Clearly, he would know a thing or two about what to do in these types of situations. At least, you’d hope.

“Ah, I see…” Mr. Gojo muses after a while with a small click of his tongue. “Yes, I suppose I should have expected that…”

He then settles into his own pensive silence as he seems lost in thought of how to proceed. In your mind, asking for a lawyer should be fair enough. You’ve seen it happen all the time on all those law shows the diner plays when nothing interesting is going on. Your eyes trail over to Ms. Nagi and Ms. Mei Mei, both of which are hesitating on signing the contract and are doing their best to read the ridiculous font. At the same time, you spot Mr. Todo with his arms crossed over his chest (and his daughter quite cutely mimicking his position). While you don’t think it’s necessarily his goal to intimidate Mr. Gojo with that position, you won’t lie that you’re a bit intimidated by the man’s stature and serious expression. And by the looks of it, both your brother and Junpei seemed to be do judging by the way the two of them subtly stepped closer to you at the back of the group- away from the big man who teaches people how to fight for a living.

But Mr. Gojo isn’t you or your brother or Junpei. Mr. Gojo isn’t like the three of you at all.

“No signature, no entry!” The man suddenly declares a bright cheesy grin back on his face. He jerks his hand forward, as to emphasize the pens still in his hand, and tilts his head towards the contract. He’s not intimidated by Mr. Todo and he doesn’t feel the need to accommodate Mr. Kusakabe either. You suppose the ability to not back down even in the face of power can be a rather admirable trait. But then again, Mr. Gojo’s character is shaping up to be weirder and more off-putting than you really feel comfortable with. Especially considering your baby brother is involved… “Try not to let the door hit you on the way out.”

But with Mr. Gojo’s final words on the topic, his cheesy grin looks a bit colder. Proof that he’s not backing down from this challenge. Proof that never appreciated it in the first place. And proof that he’s taking it seriously. Almost instantly, it seems like everyone gets the message because all around you- people are signing.

Naturally, Yuki and Momo are first- running up to grab a pen from Mr. Gojo and dropping to the ground to sign their names. When Yuki finishes, she goes and immediately hands the pen to her dad, while Momo stands up with an almost too-sweet grin to hand the pen to Ms. Nagi who is starting to step closer to the document. The fact that Ui Ui was trying to get the pen from her may have something to do with why her faux-polite smile got even bigger as she handed the pen off to someone else. 

At the same time, a tense Mr. Kusakabe stares with his jaw clenched at Mr. Gojo, ready to exchange what seems to be a few not-so-nice words with the man. But his daughter is quick to notice how her father looks not eager enough to sign the document for her taste. With a stamp of her foot and haughty accusation of him not loving her, Momo makes a very…compelling case for why her father can only prove his worth to her at this moment if he signs too since she’s not allowed to be left unattended. It seems to be the push he needed because a second later, he’s reaching into his own jacket and producing a pen of his own instead of waiting for one of Mr. Gojo’s to suddenly become free again. A small, last act of defiance.

An act that Mr. Gojo doesn’t seem to care one bit about. 

The man is looking more and more like the cat that caught the canary as he watches Mr. Kusakabe bend down slowly to sign his name on the large dotted line. His signature is pristine as he lines it up close to his daughter’s (which did look pretty remarkable for her age). Meanwhile, the pens had passed through the hands of Junpei, Ms. Mei Mei, Ui Ui, and now, your brother too. Although he seemed a little apprehensive about signing when he sensed the tension in the room, he seemed just as eager as the other kids while he was bent down to sign the waiver.

That's why, you couldn’t dare so say no when he turned around and looked at you while holding his pen out with a smile.

You took a deep breath and returned the smile to your brother before dropping to your knees and replacing him. The others had stepped back by now, starting to chatter away with the children they were accompanying. You heard Momo complain to her father about him taking too long to sign- saying something about him seeming like he wanted her to lose or something. Yuki on the other hand was high-fiving her dad while recalling how it was clear that she finished signing her name first, as winners normally do. Ui Ui and Mei Mei were stepping off to the side, and you could hear the woman start to give the boy a thinly laced warning about developing some self-control once they stepped inside the factory for real. And 

Honestly, focusing on their conversation made things easier. It made you less tempted to try to read the fine print that was staring you right in the face. It made you less tempted to look up and try to meet Mr. Gojo’s eyes as he watched the last of his guests sign his waiver. The very same eyes you could feel burning holes into your figure as you try to hopefully not sign away your soul in peace. 

But, your attempt to focus on the conversations happening behind you also made you less prepared for what you were about from said man as well.

“Such pretty handwriting…”

You look up at him, eyes wide in surprise but meeting his gaze only seems to fuel to smirk on his lips to grow just a tad bit wider. He doesn’t seem to be one bit ashamed of being caught complimenting you- a trend you’ve more than noticed by now. In fact, he only seems to grow prouder at the obvious fact that he had you very, very flustered at the moment with nowhere to run.

But there’s no time for you to address it. Because a second later, the paper the document is on rattles beneath you. You just have enough time to lean back and drop your pen before it starts to roll itself up at lightning-fast speed- the pen disappearing with it. It’s both comical and almost magical as Mr. Gojo is able to recall the document without so much of a twitch of a finger. And when it snaps shut- it does so loudly. A signal that the deed has been done and the contract has been signed by all parties who needed to. 

For better or for worse.

“Thank you, thank you.” Mr. Gojo calls loudly, getting the attention of everyone in the room while tucking the contract away in his coat pocket. He brushed off the encounter between the two of you quite easily- something you don’t exactly have the luxury of doing. Still, you find yourself rising to your feet a bit unsteadily, but ready to listen in as Yuuta stands by your side and the others crowd in behind you. “It seems that now we’re all ready to head inside, wouldn’t you agree?”

He poses the question to the children more than anything, which rightfully earns him cheers from Yuuta, Ui Ui, Yuki, and Momo. Though you suppose the offer is so tempting that even Junpei couldn’t help but throw up an eyebrow in anticipation. Around you, you spot the other adults looking onward with their own personal mix of apprehension, curiosity, and excitement. You wonder if their stomachs are as twisted up as yours is. Well, you wonder if Ms. Nagi’s stomach is twisted up as much as yours is. Ms. Mei Mei, Mr. Todo, and Mr. Kusakabe all seem to be a bit intense themselves so you can’t imagine them being too phased by the anticipation. And Ms. Nagi. Well, she just seems normal. And right now, clinging to normal feels like the right thing to do. 

Especially if Mr. Gojo keeps glancing at you over his glances with that heavy gaze of yours.

If you could still have your beating heart right now, you would. But for some reason, this very strange, very handsome, and very powerful man has seemed to enjoy doing nothing but tease you while your anxiety is already through the roof. But you’ll run yourself in circles thinking about boys- well, men- at a time like this. You’ll run yourself in circles thinking if he’s serious about all his compliments and his subtle flirts. And you’ll make it even worse if you start letting those thoughts of what all this will mean when it comes time to inevitably leave the factory. 

And you don’t want that. You just want to enjoy this day- this chance of a lifetime- with your little brother. And you’re determined to do so. Properly.

So you tell yourself again that you’re getting far too distracted. And you tell yourself this just in the nick of time too. Because at that second, Mr. Gojo decides to take a few steps back- back towards the door that just keeps getting smaller and smaller with each step. He keeps his gaze on the group as he turns his fist back and knocks on the door- twice. Silence follows- both from the group and on the other side of the door. But Mr. Gojo tilts his head towards the door with a focused expression and listens in for a cue anyway. 

And although it’s faint- you hear it come a few seconds later. The sound of someone knocking on the other side of the door. A sound that makes Mr. Gojo smile really big and wide again. A sound that lets you all know that the time is really now.

“Well then…” The man with brilliant blue eyes and striking white hair purrs to the group, taking in all the faces of the children and adults in front of him. The expression he has on his face is cat-like. It’s confident, it’s proud, and it’s all-knowing. It’s exactly the type of look you should expect from a man who has already proved himself to be rather odd, yet grand. But despite everything, the look on his face does manage to light something more inside you. A deeper sense of eagerness you didn’t expect to feel. A deeper sense of excitement you didn’t know you were capable of. A deeper sense of awe that you know will just be blown out of the water the second he opens the door. At least, that’s what the golden ticket promised you. That’s what the golden ticket promised all of you. Though, by now you’ve learned to trust the funny feeling you get when you look at Mr. Gojo. “It is with great pleasure that I invite you ten lucky little somebodies into the greatest place on earth.”

The funny feeling that tells you to expect the unexpected.

“Welcome to where the magic is made~”

The funny feeling that tells you that there will always- always- be more than what you thought in store.

A dancer dies twice

LeonKennedy x ballet!fem!reader

Summary: Leon attends ballet performances from time to time and a certain dancer caught his eye. An unexpected turn occurred and the favored ballet dancer stopped performing, causing Leon’s heart to break a little.

Warning: comfort/angst. mention of depression and weight loss. not proofread lol. nothing sexual but still.

a/n: I’ve been having this idea for quite some time lol. Why did I stop ballet dancing? Idk, I was a dumb kid lmao.

“A dancer dies twice - one when they stop dancing, and this first death is painful.”

The curtains were closed as Leon walked towards his reserved seat in the house. He wasn’t like other people nowadays dressing causally, he dressed up in his fancy suit. The first button of his dress shirt unbuttoned, just the way he always preferred. He finally got himself a small vacation and what better way to enjoy the weekend than watching a group of people dance along to Tchaikovsky?

He shifted in his seat as he looked over the pamphlet of the acts. He doesn’t know a thing about ballet but he does know that he likes the emotions conveyed in the way the dancers move. Whether it was the betrayal in Swan Lake or the serene feeling of the sugarplum fairy from The Nutcracker, he loved it all. But he would never admit it to his colleagues.

The orchestra began to play in a crescendo as the curtains pulled open, revealing a group of white dressed ballerinas huddled in a circle. And that’s when that serene feeling came. The ballerinas danced in their point shoes as their skirts moved gracefully every time they did a pirouette. It felt magical and he felt a sense of relief. Leon was an analytical guy, he analyzes everything he sees and tonight was no different. For tonight, he noticed a certain new dancer. Her hair tied up in the same bun as the other ballerinas but somehow it looked better on her. The white corset she was wearing hugged her lean figure just right, her arms moved under the spotlight swiftly. As if she was a doll. This was her performance.

Leon kept attending each time he could just to watch her. To watch the way her arm and leg angled perfectly at every arabesque she did, her grand jeté followed by the common chassé. She was just breathtaking. As if her purpose was to dance all night. And she did. She was the white swan. She was Clara. For months he watched as she slowly took over the main roles, she was that good.

But all that good came down with a price. Recently, he noticed the way she started to appear less and less. She danced the lesser roles now. And he couldn’t help but wonder why? Was she okay? Is she taking care of herself? For nights he felt worried. He even searched up her name online to find her social media. But the poor man couldn’t find it. It’s like all she did was perform.

Until one day, he spotted her walking down the street from her dance studio. He was out for a smoke when he saw her in her practice clothes, backpack over her shoulders as she walked towards her car. His eyes widened at the sight and he quickly threw his cigarette on the floor and put it out with his foot. He looked both ways before crossing the street and began to make his way towards her.

She didn’t notice until he spoke out to her, “Hey, you performed last week, right?” He asked even though he knew the answer already. She turned around and looked at him surprised but quickly smiled politely.

“Yes, I did. Did you enjoy the show?” She asked in her quiet voice, she seemed tired. He couldn’t help but nod as he looked down at her. “Yeah- you were amazing.” He mumbled under his breath, his heart beating fast as he began to feel his ears turn pink. She was even more beautiful up close.

And god was her laugh even more breathtaking. She giggled at his words and that only made him want to make her laugh even more. Just to hear that beautiful laugh.

It’s been a few days after their exchange and he couldn’t help but feel like a teenage boy for being able to get her Instagram. Turns out she purposely hid her account from the ballet house. Makes sense since she looked like the type to not want to be bombarded with messages from strangers.

They texted for some time and he kept attending her shows. He even bought her flowers after one performance in which she got the main role again. His heart nearly bursted into little pieces as he watched the look of surprise and joy on her face when she saw the flowers. He wanted to make this girl happy, as much as he could. So he kept bringing her gifts. And she kept them in a special memory box. It was all so romantic.

One day, she was walking home from dance practice with her headphones on. She was talking to Leon on the phone about some minor things like how much her feet hurt and how she needed new shoes. And he listened to her, no matter how much she talked because she talked a lot. He took in every word and analyzed it. Should he buy her the shoes? He would gladly spend his money on her if it meant she’ll keep dancing. If it meant she’ll keep following her dreams.

It was all going great until she noticed a car swerving slightly. She shrugged and kept walking as she talked to Leon over the phone. The car kept getting closer and closer until it swerved right into her direction. Her instincts jumped in and she was able to dodge the car, but her leg got caught under the tire. She screamed in pain and Leon quickly tracked down her location. He got his keys and drove to her, he didn’t care how fast he was going. He needed to be there, he needed to help her.

When he parked on the side of the road, he saw her holding on her leg as the driver staggered in his walk. He was drunk, Leon thought to himself. A drunk driver just ran over a dancer. A ballet dancer’s worst dream came true in the snap of a finger. Leon felt a lot of things. Anger, frustration, sadness, he felt it all. And his heart broke even more as he saw how much she was crying. He ran to her side and quickly called the ambulance.

He sat waiting in the lobby of the hospital as she was undergoing surgery. She had suffered a bone fracture and needed immediate medical attention. He stayed up as much as he could and waited for her. He would ask any doctor how she was doing, and honestly, no one told him anything yet.

Her assigned doctor finally came out and approached Leon. He told him that she was currently sleeping from the anesthesia but that he could see her. And he rushed towards the room she was in.

He saw how she laid on the bed, peacefully sleeping. He saw how she had wires tied to her arm. He heard the sound of her heart monitor beep at a normal pace. He slowly approached her and sat on the chair next to her bed. Leon took her hand and squeezed it gently. He couldn’t do anything except wait for her to open her eyes.

And he waited.

She slowly opened her eyes and looked around as her vision tried to adjust to the harsh hospital lights. She looked down at Leon’s head resting on her bed as he held on to her hand. She smiled softly until she looked down at the cast on her leg. Her face fell and her heart shattered.

Her quiet sobs reached Leon’s ears and he woke up immediately. He cupped her face with his hands and brought her to his chest as she cried. She wrapped her hands around his back and held on to him. Her whole passion and dreams were now gone. And it wasn’t even her fault.

She spent months in her bed, getting up only to eat and go to the bathroom. But that was it. Leon took the liberty to take care of her. To bathe her, to feed her, to try and distract her. But she always had that emptiness in her eyes. Her light was gone and she was no longer under the spotlight. The ballet house had to let her go since her leg was so injured she couldn’t dance ballet anymore. She could dance but just not ballet. And it broke her soul.

She would no longer wait for the curtains to open, she would no longer dance along to the orchestra, she would no longer spot Leon sitting among the crowd watching her. It was all gone.

Leon slept on the couch as he took care of her. But even from the living room he could hear her cries. He noticed the way she lost her muscle and lost weight.

He walked to her room and sat down on the side of the bed with food. “You need to eat, y/n…” he spoke softly as he laid his hand on her shoulder. “I’m not hungry.”

He couldn’t do anything but frown. He didn’t want to force her to get better but he also hated seeing her in this state. He would do anything to go back in time and prevented the whole thing from even happening.

He helped her shower, kneeling down against the bathtub as she had her back to him. She had her knees on her chest and hugged her legs. His fingers gently massaged the shampoo into her scalp. It wasn’t anything sexual. He was just trying to help her.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled under her breath as he poured water down her hair to wash off the shampoo. He furrowed his brows and replied back in a soft voice, “What for?”

She rested her chin on her knees and continued, “For all of this. I feel like a burden to you. You could be doing better things but instead you’re taking care of my depressed ass…”

His heart broke again, his fingers stopped going through her wet hair as he tried to think of a way to reply to her. “You’re not a burden… I chose to take care of you, none of this is your fault…” he whispered softly. She frowned as he kept washing her hair, “I know but… I just feel so… empty.”

He couldn’t do anything except stare at the back of her head with a sad look. He kept washing her hair and her body in silence. He wasn’t a man of words but he hoped that his actions spoke for the lack communication. He hoped she took his actions as a way of comfort. Because he knows what it’s like to lose something you love. He knows that feeling all too well.

He helped her into some new pajamas and tucked her to bed. He was about to leave when she took hold of his wrist, “Stay.”

She wanted him to stay.

And he did. He laid down next to her on the bed. She laid her head on his chest and cried. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to him. His shirt getting wet from her tears but he didn’t care. Leon ran his hand through her hair as the other rubbed her back gently. Her hands gripped on his shirt as she sobbed.

Her head remained on his chest as she slept after crying. And he did not move. He stayed like he told her to. Not because he was forced, but because he wanted to.

And he’d stay all the time if he was able to.

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

ahhh my friend’s first fic 🫶pls support her~

No Room For Secrets-Chapter 1: Meet Cute?

Pairing: roommate!Jungkook x (f.)Reader

Genre(s): Roommates AU, strangers to friends, FWB, lovers, slice of life, angst, smut, fluff, (New Girl AU?), slow buurn

Summary: You settle into your new apartment and quickly bond with your roommates(plus Taehyung). A deeper conversation with Jungkook about life sparks subtle flirting and an unexpected connection.

Warning(s by chapter): explicit language(cursing)

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: hey thanks for being here :) My fic ‘No Room For Secrets’ is HEAVILY INSPIRED BY THE TV SERIES NEW GIRL so don’t be surprised the apartment layout is the same. I know I could’ve been more creative but it’s one of my fav shows and thinking of bts being in that sort of dynamic inspired me to write this disaster :D hope you enjoy and feel free to let me know your thoughts❣️

“Alright, let’s get started. Why do you think you’d be a good fit as our roommate?” Your new acquaintance, Jin, is sitting on the couch in front of you leaning in with a welcoming smile.

You open your mouth to answer, fully intending to keep it simple, but somehow, words just keep spilling out.

“Well, I’m pretty easygoing. I clean up after myself, I don’t throw wild parties, and I actually enjoy doing dishes—well, not enjoy, but I don’t mind them, which is basically the same thing, right? Also, I’m not a morning person, so you don’t have to worry about me making noise at ungodly hours. But I do sometimes talk to myself, like, just thinking out loud, not full conversations or anything weird—though I guess that’s subjective—”

“Wait, go back. You like doing dishes?” The man who introduced himself as Taehyung, raises a brow.

“I mean, yeah, relatively speaking.”

“Interesting.” He grips his chin. “Suspicious, even.”

The small one, who you now know as Jimin, starts laughing. “Tae, we’re supposed to be making her feel comfortable, not interrogating her dishwashing habits.”

“Though it is good to know.” Jin nods. “I enjoy cooking, but I loathe doing dishes.”

The three men sit across from you on the couch—Jin on the left, Taehyung in the middle, and Jimin on the right, all watching you with varying degrees of interest. From what you’ve gathered so far, they seem like good company. Or at the very least, not serial killers—which is always a plus.

“Maybe if this works out,” Jin continues. “We can familiarize you with our apartment responsibilities? Like when I cook, the ones who ate my food take responsibility for cleaning dishes after.”

Before you can respond, the front door swings open. You turn just in time to see a figure step inside—dark hair slightly tousled, black hoodie hanging loosely off his frame. His gaze flickers over to the scene in front of him, and his brows furrow.

“What’s going on?”

“Interviewing our potential new roommate.” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows and grins.

“You don’t even live here.” The man blinks.

Jimin looks at you and sighs. “We’ve been telling him that, but he refuses to leave.”

Taehyung gasps with so much offense, his chest puffs out. “Excuse you, I bring valuable insight.”

“You asked about dishes.” Jin deadpans.

Taehyung looks at his nails. “And I stand by it.”

The dark haired man by the door just shakes his head, turning his attention to you. There’s a moment of silence as he studies you—assessing, curious, unreadable.

“Did they at least offer you water?”

You smile awkwardly, glancing toward Jimin. “No.”

Still by the door, he throws a look at the others. “You guys suck at this.”

“Noted.” Jin says, turning back to you. “Would you like some water?”

“I’m good, thanks.” You smile politely.

The man whose name you still don’t know, huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he moves toward the kitchen. The conversation resumes, but you catch the way he glances at you one more time before turning his back and reaching for the fridge door.

You try to focus, but your brain is still processing the fact that there’s another hot guy in the room. And he’s barely spoken since walking in, and yet somehow, his presence felt the loudest. It was almost deafening, the way your attention gravitated to him.

A moment later, he’s back and the others stop bickering amongst themselves. He doesn’t say anything as he sinks into the couch next to Jimin, absently biting into an apple. But in his other hand, he holds out a glass of water.

You blink. Didn’t you just say no?

He doesn’t look at you, just keeps chewing, gaze focused on some random spot across the room like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Without a word, you take it. Noting his hand tattoos that just make him even more of a hot mystery. And, despite insisting you didn’t need it, you practically down the whole thing in one go.

Jimin watches in amusement. “Thirsty?”

You wipe your mouth, setting the empty glass on the table. “Apparently.”

The guy with the apple smirks to himself and keeps chewing.

“So,” he says with his mouth full, finally turning to you, “why are you looking for a new place?”

You hesitate for a split second before exhaling. “Because my current roommate sucks.”

Taehyung leans forward, intrigued. “Like, normal ‘steals your food’ sucks or ‘burns sage to cleanse your aura but also forgets to pay rent’ sucks?”

“Both. Plus, she invited her boyfriend to stay over every single night and now he basically lives there rent-free.” You sigh. “They also fight constantly. Over the dumbest things. One time, I woke up at 2 a.m. because he put the peanut butter in the fridge.”

Jin winces. “Yikes.”

“Yeah. So now I’m here, trying to reclaim my sanity.” It’s comical really. You thought it would work out with your friend-of-a-friend from college, but once she got a boyfriend she became a liiiittle demanding and less considerate of you also living there. You’re just grateful you didn’t grow close to her, otherwise this sudden move would make you feel guilty.

Mystery guy hums, studying you for a second. “Fair.” Then, he leans back against the couch, one arm tucked under the arm holding his apple. “What do you do?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Taehyung cuts in first. “More importantly, do you come with references?”

You scoff. “What is this, a job interview?”

Taehyung nods solemnly. “A highly competitive one.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, looking somewhat exhausted. “Please ignore him. Go on.”

You shrug. “I work remotely, which means I’ll probably be home a lot. But I keep to myself, and I promise I won’t be the ‘bothering you all the time’ type of roommate.”

“That’s what they all say.” Taehyung narrows his eyes.

“I mean it.”

Jin tilts his head. “You said your current roommate sucks, but do you suck?”

“Not unless you ask my ex, but that’s another story.” You flash a grin.

Jimin chokes on a laugh while Jin fights a smirk.

Tatted hottie raises an eyebrow. “Do you have any redeeming qualities?” He takes another bite of his apple, chewing obnoxiously.

You cross your arms, feigning offense. “Yes, actually.”

A beat of silence. Four pairs of eyes stay on you, waiting.

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “For one, I’m great at remembering random trivia. Completely useless stuff, but it makes me fun at parties.”

Jin hums. “Example?”

You grin. “Bananas are berries, but strawberries aren’t.”

Taehyung’s jaw drops. “No. Shut up.”

“I don’t make the rules.”

Jimin leans forward, intrigued. “More.”

You hold up a finger. “Octopuses have three hearts.”

“Holy shit.” Taehyung gasps and grips his chest. “I have one heart and that’s already too much.”

The dark haired man, who has been silent up until now, clears his throat before speaking. “That’s nice, but can you cook?”

You hesitate. “I can make a mean grilled cheese.” You smile hopefully, praying he can’t see through your half-truth.

Jin snorts then tilts his head. “How mean?”

“Perfectly golden brown, crispy edges, just the right amount of cheese pull.” You raise your chin, really selling yourself. “Michelin star-worthy.”

Jimin gasps. “You have to prove this.”

The guy whose name you STILL don’t know, smirks. “Yeah. That sounds like bullshit.”

You narrow your eyes at him, feeling competitive now. “You doubt my skills?” Oh the nerve on this guy.

“I don’t know. You just don’t seem like you can cook.”

You scoff. He’s not wrong. “And you seem like the type to drink protein shakes and eat sadness, but here we are.”

Jin and Jimin burst into laughter. Taehyung wheezes. The tatted man just raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching up before tossing the apple core into a nearby trash bin without looking and it lands perfectly. Of course it does.

“Alright,” he says, tilting his head. “Guess we’ll see.”

Taehyung calms down and waves a hand. “We’ll get to that. Continue. What else makes you tolerable?”

“I guess you’ll have to ask my best friend, Yoongi.”

The room falls into unexpected silence.

Jimin blinks. “Wait—Min Yoongi?” He looks at you quizzically. “Like, the Min Yoongi?”

You tilt your head. “Well, I don’t know if he deserves to be called ‘the Min Yoongi’ but… yeah, why?”

Tattoo hands exhales through his nose, shaking his head like he’s suddenly exhausted. Jin pinches the bridge of his nose. Taehyung looks at Jimin and points at you in disbelief, giggling like a little girl.

“You’re the best friend?” Taehyung is so shocked he’s giggling. But not at you. No, he’s laughing at how comically coincidental the circumstances are that you ended up being the one they interviewed for the roommate spot. Small world.

“You should’ve led with that,” Jin mutters with a smile.

“Yeah,” Jimin agrees, eyes wide with disbelief. “We could’ve saved a lot of time.”

You frown. “What? What does that mean?”

Taehyung just grins, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. “It means, sweetheart, that you’re in.”

“Really? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Taehyung waves a hand.

“How do you guys know Yoongi?” You raise a brow. Given, your close pal produces music and actually has a social life, unlike you. But these guys don’t look like they make music?

Jin puts his hands together. “Let’s just say, Yoongi doesn’t let just anyone into his life. If he’s your best friend, you’re probably not a total disaster.”

“Or you are a disaster, but he likes you anyway.” Hottie smirks, but not in that ‘hot guy wants your number’ kind of way. It’s a warm and alluring smirk, like he’s intrigued. Like he’s curious. Like he’s already figured something out about you that you don’t even know yet. “Jungkook,” he introduces himself, finally giving you a name to match the presence that’s been taking up too much space in your mind already.

Jungkook.

The name suits him—strong, effortless… annoyingly attractive.

He reaches his tattooed hand out for a greeting.

The moment your fingers brush, a jolt of something sharp and unexpected shoots through you. His grip is strong, his skin slightly rough, like someone who’s used to working with his hands. You’re not sure if you imagined it, but for a split second, his thumb lingers against yours before he lets go.

Great. Fantastic. Now I’m overanalyzing handshakes.

He lets go first, and you hate how aware you are of the lingering warmth on your skin.

“Y/n.” You introduce yourself back and press your lips into a straight line. “Hope you don’t snore.”

His eyes never leave yours. “Y/n,” he tries your name on his tongue and a shiver runs down your spine. “Welcome to apartment 4D.”

Taehyung stands up enthusiastically, clapping his hands. “Should we show you around? You can see the room—your room first!”

Jimin stands up, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Tae, maybe y/n should be getting a tour from someone who actually lives here.”

Jin ends up being the one to show you around—mostly because Taehyung got offended by what Jimin said, which led to a dramatic exit and some inevitable bickering.

Honestly? You’re not complaining.

This apartment is so much better than the shitty two-bedroom place next to the highway—the one that somehow always felt cold and damp, no matter how high you cranked the heat.

The layout is open, welcoming. There’s a communal bathroom, which you expected to feel awkward, but instead, it just adds to the homey vibe. The kitchen is surprisingly spacious for four people living together, with enough counter space to cook without feeling cramped.

Yeah. This place already feels different. Better.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything when Jin leads you toward the hallway. He stands, runs a hand through his messy dark hair, and watches you for a few breathtaking moments. Was he this magnetic the whole time?

Jungkook shoves his hands into his pockets, eyes lingering on yours for just a second too long. Then, with the faintest hint of a smile, he turns and disappears into his room.

You don’t know what you were expecting when you walked into this apartment today. But as Jungkook’s eyes linger on yours for just a second too long, something twists deep in your stomach—something you don’t have a name for yet.

The air feels strangely lighter once he’s gone—like a pressure you hadn’t noticed before has suddenly lifted. You exhale, tension slipping from your shoulders, but there’s something oddly hollow about his absence too, like the room isn’t quite as full as it was a second ago.

You brush the feeling off and follow Jin to see your new room.

You came here looking for a place to live. And yet you have a feeling you just walked into something much bigger than that.

——————————————

Move In Day

It’s taken you about 4 days to slowly move in with your new roommates.

Day 2 of knowing Jimin and Taehyung, they helped you move in your bed-frame, dresser, and nightstands(the day after your interview). Taehyung insisted you call him Tae cause he ‘likes your vibe’ and your taste in furniture. Bro is always asking you if he can have your things.

Day 3, Jin said he would lend you his dry cleaning bags to pack and move your clothes. And then he insisted on helping you do it, fearing you’d somehow ‘crease the bags.’

Next, all you had to move were a few—11 boxes, into the apartment.

You underestimated how much stuff you actually own.

At first, you thought you’d be able to bring everything up in just a few trips, but after the fourth round of lugging boxes up the stairs, you’re starting to regret every single one of your life choices. After that 4th trip carrying boxes up by yourself, you caved and begged the guys for help.

“Remind me again why we don’t have an elevator?” you ask no one in particular, huffing as you shift the box in your arms.

“Because this building is ancient,” Jin replies from behind you, carrying a box labeled kitchen up the stairs. “And because the landlord is a cheap bastard.”

“We actually do have an elevator. It’s just been ‘Out of Order’ for months now. You’d think with rent this high, they’d invest in some modern conveniences,” Jimin chimes in, walking in the front door and setting the box down near the entrance of your new room. He stretches his arms over his head, his cropped sweatshirt riding up slightly. “This is a workout.”

Jungkook, who’s been eerily silent during all of this, walks in with two boxes stacked on top of each other like they weigh nothing. He doesn’t even look winded. Show-off.

“You guys are weak,” he says, dropping the boxes beside Jimin’s. He looks at you, eyes scanning your flushed face. “Need a break, princess?”

You narrow your eyes at him and scoff. “I’m fine.” The last couple days Jungkook has briefly observed you receiving help from Jimin and Jin. And as a result, he’s decided to start calling you ‘princess’ just to get a reaction out of you. And it’s being working. Slowly.

“You sure?” He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Because you look—”

“If you say ‘like you’re struggling,’ I will throw something at you,” you warn lowly.

Jungkook smirks, amused. “I was gonna say ‘like you’re about to pass out,’ but struggling works too.”

You huff, choosing to ignore him, and grab another box from the pile near the front door, planning to bring it into your room. It’s heavier than you expect, and for a second, you wobble on your feet as the weight shifts in your arms.

“Ahh—careful!” Jin calls, but before he can do anything, Jungkook is already there.

One second, you’re bracing for impact, and the next, Jungkook’s hands are on your waist, steadying you effortlessly like you weigh nothing at all. His grip is firm, warm, and annoyingly familiar, even though you’ve barely known him a week. 4 days to be exact.

You suck in a breath, suddenly hyperaware of how close he is. The box you were trying to balance, long forgotten on the floor. His chest is inches from yours, his dark eyes locked onto your face like he’s checking to make sure you’re okay.

“You good?” His voice is lower than usual, quieter. Like his words were meant only for your ears to hear.

You swallow hard, as you begin to feel the flush spread up your cheeks. Were his eyelashes always this long? “Yeah. Yeah, I just—”

“Okay, lovebirds, break it up,” Jin says, completely oblivious, as he wedges himself between you and Jungkook to grab another box. “We still have a lot to move, and if I throw out my back, I’m making one of you pay my medical bills.”

The moment shatters, and Jungkook lets go of you immediately, clearing his throat. The tips of his ears turn red. You take a step back, heart pounding for no good reason.

Jimin, of course, is watching all of this unfold with the most amused expression you’ve ever seen. Though, he doesn’t seem the least bit surprised by what just happened.

“That was cute,” he hums.

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything. He just grabs another box and walks with it to the kitchen like nothing happened.

But when he passes by, you swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch—like he’s trying to contain a smirk.

A few hours later Jin had made dinner. Conveniently, Taehyung decided to show up right as it was done and not when you needed help but none of the others seemed surprised. Where the fuck was he when you were moving boxes?

Dinner went by fast, with the grown men scarfing down every last noodle of the carbonara Jin made. You cleaned up the kitchen while Jin started prepping the coffee maker and packing his lunch for his work day tomorrow.

“Thanks for helping me get settled in here.” Your voice is calm, appreciative as you smile up at Jin.

“Hey don’t worry about it,” he looks over at you as he’s putting his coffee away in the cabinet. “It’s the least we could do since you’ll be putting up with our stray cat.”

Now you’re confused. “Wait. You guys have a cat?” You tilt your head.

You hear Jimin start giggling from over on the couch. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Then Taehyung walks in the living room from the bathroom, yawning and stretching his arms up over his head.

“See! Isn’t he just adorable?” Jimin is full on laughing now and Jungkook breaks a grin next to him.

Taehyung blinks, still half-asleep. “What?” he mumbles, looking between everyone.

Jin closes the cabinet with a smirk. “They’re talking about you, stray cat.”

Taehyung frowns, rubbing the back of his neck. “Stray cat?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, still laughing. “You show up whenever you want, sleep wherever you want, and steal everyone’s snacks. You’re basically feral.”

Taehyung considers this for a second, then shrugs. “As long as someone feeds me, I’m fine with that.”

Jungkook grins. “Yeah, but we’re still debating if we should let you on the furniture.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Do I need to get you a little bell for your collar?”

Taehyung’s eyes narrow, but there’s amusement there. “Only if it’s Gucci.”

Jin chuckles, grabbing his coffee mug to set it by the coffee maker. “Yeah, that’s fair. Only the finest for our stray.”

You can’t help but smile as the conversation rolls on, easy and light. It already feels like home.

——

The apartment had settled into a comfortable quiet, the kind that felt heavier after laughter faded and footsteps retreated behind bedroom doors. Jin was the first to say goodnight, followed by Jimin and Taehyung. Taehyung had crashed in Jimin’s room, leaving the living room to just you and Jungkook.

The soft glow of the lamp cast shadows on the walls, and the low hum of the city outside was the only sound. You pulled the blanket tighter around you, suddenly hyper-aware of the silence. And of Jungkook, sitting just a few feet away on the couch, his legs stretched out, his gaze unreadable.

It felt tense—but not in an awkward way. Charged. Heavy.

Jungkook glanced over, catching you watching him. A slow, knowing smile pulled at his lips. “You always this quiet after dark?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Just thinking.”

He tilted his head, studying you. His gaze was slow, deliberate. “That’s a dangerous habit.”

You looked away, hoping he couldn’t see how his attention made your skin feel too tight, too warm. Why did it feel like every word he said was meant to pull at something inside you?

There was a pause before you spoke again. “How’d you get into photography?” The question broke the silence, simple and safe. Something to focus on that wasn’t the way his eyes made your pulse trip.

Jungkook leaned back, his gaze drifting to the ceiling like he was sifting through memories. “Started with a cheap camera when I was a kid. I took pictures of anything that caught my eye. Mostly stupid stuff at first—like street signs or random clouds. But it felt… safe. Like I could hold onto moments that would’ve just disappeared otherwise.”

You nodded, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Like freezing time.”

“Exactly.” His eyes found yours again, and something about the way he looked at you made it feel like you were under a lens, being studied, captured. “And sometimes, it’s about understanding people. Seeing them the way they don’t show themselves.”

Your heart gave a small, traitorous beat. “And do you think you’re good at that? Seeing people?”

Jungkook’s smile was slow and a little dangerous. “Sometimes.” He let the word hang for a second. “I think I understand you a little better now.”

The words were simple. Casual. But they landed heavy, a low pulse beneath your skin. You hated how much you wanted to ask what he meant. Hated how just one look from him felt like more than it should.

You kept your voice steady. “Oh, yeah? What do you see?”

He shrugged, but there was mischief in his eyes. “Someone who doesn’t like silence. Someone who thinks too much when it’s quiet.”

Your lips twitched into a small smile. He wasn’t wrong. “Maybe.” You looked down for a second, letting the moment break, but your thoughts didn’t quiet. Did he really see that? Or was that just a good guess? Was he actually trying to look deeper, or were you imagining it?

You looked back up. “Sometimes it’s easier to think when it’s quiet. But it’s also… lonelier.”

Jungkook’s gaze lingered on you, something softer there now. “Yeah.” His voice was quieter. “Silence can be loud when you’re the only one in it.”

The words sat between you for a moment, heavier than the room and real. You wondered if he felt it too—this quiet weight between you. Or if it was just in your head.

“I guess that’s why I take pictures,” he said. “To fill the silence with something that matters. Like… proof that I was here, that something I saw mattered to someone.”

You watched him, wondering how many moments he’d tried to hold onto. How many he’d let slip through his fingers. And why it felt like he was saying more than just words.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you asked, surprising yourself. “Like… what happens when the moments stop coming? When there’s no one to share them with?” The last question carries more meaning than you intend it to. When there’s no one to share the moments with because your friends have moved on and have their own lives.

Jungkook’s eyes flicked to yours, and the warmth in them turned sharp, curious. “You mean ‘the future’ like… finding someone? Having a family to share them with?”

You nodded. You hated how vulnerable it felt, but you didn’t take it back. Jungkook’s next words came slow, careful.

“Yeah. I think about it.” He paused, then added, “Wonder if I’m chasing something that isn’t really meant for me though.”

The vulnerability in his tone pulled something from you. Something deep in your chest. “I think about it too,” you said, softer. “Like, what if it never happens? What if it’s just… always this?”

Jungkook’s eyes don’t leave yours. He was watching you again, like he could see more than you wanted him to. “Maybe you’re just too picky.”

You let out a soft breath, forcing a small smirk. “Or maybe I just haven’t met the right person.”

His smile turned slow, with warmth beneath it. “And where do you think the right person is hiding?”

“Beats me,” you said, but your heart was racing now. “If I knew, I’d have found them by now.”

His gaze dropped to your lips for half a second—brief but noticeable—before returning to your eyes. “Maybe they’re closer than you think.”

The words hit deeper than you wanted them to. Your stomach twisted, heat pooling low. You hated how easily his words unraveled you. How much you wanted to believe him. You told yourself it was just flirting, harmless and casual, but it didn’t feel harmless. Not when his gaze felt like a touch, not when his words left something burning beneath your skin.

Silence stretched again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged, electric. You knew you should look away, say something to break it, but you couldn’t. You didn’t want to.

And then Jungkook said, voice low, “Do you ever feel like… even with all these people around, no one really gets you?”

You swallow thickly as your throat tightens. You could’ve lied, but it felt wrong in this moment. “Yeah. All the time.”

He nodded, his eyes softening in a way that made it worse. “Same. It’s like… they know the version of me that I show them, but not the rest. Not the parts I don’t even understand.”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice quiet. “Like there’s always some part of me that feels… alone.”

Jungkook’s eyes bore deep into yours. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet. Someone who actually sees you.”

The words lingered, heavier than the air, thicker than the quiet. For a moment, you didn’t breathe, didn’t move. You weren’t sure if it was the words themselves or the way he said them. Slow. Intentional. Like they meant more.

His hand brushed against yours—accidental or not, you couldn’t tell. But he didn’t pull away.

The sound of a creak from the hallway broke the moment, snapping you both back into the real world. Jungkook glanced toward the hallway, then back at you, the corner of his mouth lifting like he knew exactly what that moment had been.

“Guess we should call it a night,” he said, voice low but still soft.

“Yeah,” you replied, though your pulse was still thrumming.

But neither of you moved for a few seconds.

Not yet.

You both just sat there, too far away from each other on the couch. The atmosphere too quiet. Too intimate. Too palpable.

Jungkook took a slow, deliberate deep breath and stood up, looking over at you as he started walking to his room.

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

“Night, Jungkook.” You watch him disappear down the hall and into his room.

—

End chapter 1

—

taglist: @sorilyae @cherrylovescheol

---

We all have that one character we’re in too deep for.

fratboy!satoru having a crush on you is kinda like burning your hand on a hot stove.

it sucks.

satoru is cocky in all meanings of the word. he’s constantly on top of tables, playing beer pong, or dangling and swinging from the chandelier in the frat house that is still up by the grace of God.

yet somehow, despite walking into class 25 minutes late and complaining about his hangover for the rest of your hour long class, he still maintains nearly perfect grades.

every girl has a crush on him, or thinks he’s the scum of the earth. every guy wants to be him and he knows this. he carries himself with such confidence that it’s not hard to see why he’s so popular.

and then there’s you.

you applied to this prestigious college in hopes of getting your degree and getting the hell out of there the first chance you got. somehow, you got in and are now dedicated to spending your next 5 years stuck in this school

and stuck with satoru.

he comes from a family of immense wealth. you were pretty sure he didn’t even need to go to college or have a job, and yet here he was in all his douchebaggy glory. everytime he walked past girls would giggle and guys would grumble

but he was focused on you.

you never made a noise when he walked past, never even looked up from the dumb tiktok’s you were watching on your phone. even when he made a spectacle in class, you wouldn’t even spare him a giggle or an eye roll. to you, it was like he didn’t even exist.

your lack of presence had somehow caught his eye, and through the flood of people that he saw everyday, he was stuck on you.

-

“i literally don’t get it.” satoru grumbled into his pillow as his roommate, suguru, rolled his eyes for the trillionth time.

“why do you care so much? it’s not like the flood of girls nipping at your heels is gonna go dry anytime soon.” suguru massaged the temples on his head, desperately trying to relieve himself from the satoru induced migraine

“it’s different! i want an eyeroll, a scoff, something!” satoru flops over on his back and looks to his roommate

“you’re annoyed because she doesn’t acknowledge your existence?”

“exactly!”

“narcissist.” satoru groaned at his roommate and pouted into his pillow once again.

“your just salty your bumble date ghosted you.” satoru claimed, and quickly retracted as a pillow was throw at his head.

-

the next class you had early in the morning made you groan as you sat down and opened your bag to grab your computer.

“is this seat taken?” your head snaps up while you meet bright blue eyes, although they were covered by dark sunglasses.

you whip your head around to the plethora of empty seats, even the ones in the back held no one, which was a miracle in itself.

“uhm, no?” you scooped up some of your items to make room for the lengthy boy as he sat down next to you. he leaned his head on his hand as he eyed you up and down.

“i don’t believe we’ve met. i’m satoru gojo, although you can just call me satoru, gorgeous.” he had a cocky grin on his face, sure that he was being charming by extending the pleasure of calling him by his name to you and by the slightest compliment.

“yeah, okay.” you nodded slightly, praying to whatever God would listen that he’d just leave you alone. his smile faltered at your dismissive tone, although he was far from done playing with you.

“what are you majoring in?” his eyes were still fixed on you, as if some omnipotent creature was whispering all the ways to make you tick, and he was listening as if it were scripture.

you rolled your eyes and spared him a glance although lacked a response as you continued to furiously type the paper that was due for this class.

after that blatant dismissal, he tried everything.

a large, very expensive looking bouquet by your dorm? he found them in the dumpster the next morning. causing a ruckus in the quad? you walked past him as if he were trash on the sidewalk. a pyramid of redbulls inside your dorm (how’d he get in?) was found in a donation box for other students who were struggling. nothing he did could ever catch your eye.

although he didn’t know the flowers you got him made you violently sneeze, so they were a hazard to keep in your living space. he didn’t know that the day he tackled suguru in the quad with the prayer of a fleeting glance, you were to focused on the mid term that was worth half your grade. the redbulls he left in your dorm just happened to be your least favorite flavor, and it probably was t healthy to drink all of those yourself. it wasn’t that you were purposely ignoring him, you just genuinely didn’t notice his foolish antics were to get your attention.

-

it wasn’t until the end of the year that satoru finally snapped.

he found you in the library, surrounded by books and half drunken iced coffee. you looked different from the girls that usually followed him. not bad different, but raw. real.

you didn’t notice him until his shadow blocked the flow of light that illuminated your books.

you looked up, sighing slightly before pulling out and earbud

“if this is about the flowers, i’m allergic-“

“get up.” his tone was different from the cocky frat boy you knew. he was nervous. nervous in your presence, nervous in the line of your sight. he looked like and insecure school boy finally talking to his crush

“excuse me?” you watched as he scooped up the books and carefully shoved them into your bag, pulling your chair out while you were still sat in it.

“i wanna talk.” he pulled you by your wrist, still holding your backpack as he made a dash for the exit

“we can’t just talk here?” your feet were clumsy following the man in front of you, considering he was a good foot taller that you.

“it’s important, just…” he paused, the words fluttered on his tounge but he bit back before it all came rushing out. “please.”

that shut you up.

he rounded the corner and shoved open the door to a long forgotten stair well.

gojo crossed his arms, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, exposing the frustration flickering in those icey eyes. “what is your deal with me?”

you blinked.

“huh?”

“i’ve tried everything. everything,” he said, voice sharper than his usual smooth tone. “you ignore me like i’m background noise. like i don’t even exist.”

you stared, silent, waiting.

“i mean, do you hate me? did i do something? am I just some frat idiot to you?” he ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “you’re driving me insane and you don’t even care.”

“i do notice you, satoru.” his real name being slipped on your tounge caused his pacing to falter.

for the first time all year, you saw him. rough around the edges, and slightly insecure. he wasn’t satoru gojo, heir to a fortune many couldn’t comprehend and a total douchebag

he was just… satoru. a boy who didn’t know how to get the attention of someone like you without using elementary tactics.

“you don’t have to do anything dramatic to catch my eye. you don’t have to make small talk about stupid shit to get me to talk to you.”

“i see you, satoru. every over the top stunt, every weird little performance. i’ve seen it all. but the guy who leaves flowers im allergic too in front of my dorm to get attention?” you stood slowly, eyes locking with his. “that’s not who i’m interested in.”

he swallowed. “then who are you interested in?”

you leaned in just enough for your voice to hit him low and clear.

“the real you, whoever that is. it’s up to you to figure that out.”

and then you left him there, quiet for the first time in a long time.

-

the next time you saw satoru, he was just as nervous as last time. his eyes weren’t covered by his glasses and you swore you could see a glimmer of sweat drip down his forehead as he met you for the first class of the day.

“for you.” he held out a small iced coffee, the same one you had ordered for your impromptu study trip in the library.

he had memorized it.

in the small moment he saw to remember it, he had got it perfect.

“no flowers, no stupid tricks. just me.” you smiled as he handed it to you, the condensation on the cup making your hands cold and wet, but you didn’t mind.

“you remembered,” you said.

“ive been paying attention. even if you weren’t.”

you studied him. for once, he didn’t try to fill the silence. he just looked at you. nervous, hopeful, real.

and maybe he was still a little ridiculous. still loud, still dramatic in ways he couldn’t fully shake. but under all of that… there was something honest. something kind.

and maybe that was who satoru was all along.

“your still a frat idiot, satoru.”

“i’m your frat idiot.”

(y/n), (y/n), (y/n), (y/n)

I'm begging of you please don't take my man