imdumbforgiveme

[imdumbforgiveme]

I've read this while cardigan played on speaker, fucking fits

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ my life with you (that’s way over now)

synopsis. some people get drunk calls from their exes, maybe even flowers with hand written apologies. you get a knock on your front door with two random kids and a murder case

length. 3.0k words (once more it was supposed to be short)

contents. exes to lovers, ex boyfriend! suguru, gn! reader, slightly deviated from canon (he doesn’t kill the entire village + doesn’t defect), slightly a fix-it fic, blood, murder, child abuse + neglect (canon events with suguru and the twins), angst to slight fluff with hopeful ending (pretty much happy tbh), mentions of family + kids, suguru pretty much being a broke and depressed lil guy lollll

notes. idk what this is but it was written for me i just wanted to write it so here. take it and look away

right before you graduate, you and suguru break up. you don’t want to, but he insists it’s only fair—he can hardly be there for you the way you need him to be, he says. something’s changed in him, it has since that day last year. but still—you don’t want to break up.

so you argue, he stays firm, you cry, he doesn’t change his mind, you break up, he leaves, and the world momentarily collapses.

it’s the way things work, you suppose. they don’t quite always go the way you planned. you graduate not long after that, leaving him behind to throw yourself into work while you toe into the baby steps of adulthood. real adulthood—the jujutsu world has a way of thrusting you into that faster than normal, anyway.

by the time it’s late summer, you get your first apartment. it’s a rundown place—the bathroom tiles look dirty no matter how much you scrub, the walls haven’t been repainted in what seems like decades, and the thermostat never works properly to feel like what the temperature indicates.

but it’s yours—you leave jujutsu high fresh into the real world, paying your taxes and buying your groceries all while you exorcise curses for a living. barely an adult, barely getting by, barely alive as you get up each day and live.

and then suguru comes knocking on your door half past midnight.

“hey,” he says nonchalantly, like there’s nothing wrong with standing there—but you know him better than that. you can hear that detachment in his voice as he stares between your eyes, but not quite in them.

“you—” you start, staring at him incredulously before you decide to give up. there are no surprises with suguru, not anymore you suppose. you don’t really know him anymore. “suguru, it’s midnight,” you sigh—and that’s when you see them: two small children that can’t be much older than five.

bruises are clear as day on their arms, even while standing in the darkness outside. there’s also the slight swollen curve of their eyes, and you can’t help but notice how they’re practically skin and bone. children who have probably not yet even lived for five winters, and you almost wonder if they’ve been through more than you have in you’re entire lifetime.

suguru clears his throat before you can stare at them any longer.

“this is nanako,” he gestures at the blonde, “and this is mimiko.” the brunette one seems more shy, curls behind his leg further as her name is uttered.

you don’t know what to say, so you settle for smiling—you’re not sure if it comes out too genuine, but you try. it’s all you can offer, really.

“hello,” you hum for a moment. and then you turn back to suguru, “it’s midnight.”

“i know.”

“you should be at school grounds.”

“i know.”

“suguru,” you sigh, eyeing the blood stained on his cheek. you don’t like where this is heading. there’s a sick feeling twisting in your gut, bubbling, bubbling, bubbling.

bile. you can taste it. something’s not right.

“where did you find these kids?”

“on a mission,” he says simply, “village heads were keepin’ em locked in a cage like animals. can you believe it?”

again, that casual tone. it almost as easy as humming your favorite tune, as smooth as your skin on freshly washed sheets, as quiet as the first day of snow when the world is still. but something about it is hollow—something’s not right.

“why’d you bring them here? instead of school? shoko should look at them—”

“i told them they’d be safe here.”

they’d be safe anywhere, you think. as long as suguru’s there too. as long they’re under his watchful gaze, nothing could hope to beat down on their youth like it already has their whole lives. but you don’t say that—something tells you he won’t believe you.

maybe not right now.

you don’t look at him. you can’t. something’s not right, but there are children present. so you throw on your best smile and open the door wider, offering them to come in.

your apartment is small, just one bedroom and one bath. there’s hardly enough food for yourself for tonight, you still have to go grocery shopping this week. the missions were lined up back to back to back—but that’s just life as a sorcerer, you suppose. most days you hardly have the energy to eat more than a few apple slices when you return home anyway.

you wave your hand at your place dramatically as you say, “come on in, ladies. your humble abode awaits.”

they giggle slightly at that—it’s the first time suguru hears them laugh. you have that effect, he knew you would. it’s why he brings them here and not there. and…well, there’s a more complicated issue at hand. but that’s for later.

right now…well, for right now, he lets you guide them to the bathroom.

“you have money on you right?” you ask. he blinks, staring at you for a moment before slowly shaking his head.

“spent the last of it on cigarettes this morning.”

great, you think, before sighing and trudging over to grab your wallet as you press a few crisp bills of cash in his hands.

“here.”

“what’s this for?” he raises a brow.

“go buy them clothes,” you look at him like he’s stupid. he might be, in all honesty. just a little. “i’m not putting them back in…those once they’re all cleaned.”

“wha—i’ve never shopped for children before,” he gapes, “and i don’t know what size they are, or—”

“figure it out, suguru,” you say tiredly. it’s half past midnight—by now, you’d be passed out from your mission. he seems to take the hint. “and bring some snacks too. should be enough.”

“fine,” he grumbles—and then he’s walking out the door.

for a second, it feels familiar watching him leave. but then you decide not to dwell on it—there are much more important matters at hand.

you turn to the two girls before crouching in front of them with a gentle smile, “who’s ready for bubbles?”

——————

nanako and mimiko have never had a bubble bath before. you decide to let them taste the first tendrils of youth by splashing in your tiny bathtub while you find suguru for some much needed answers.

he sits on your couch, shirt wrinkled and hair falling loose and blood still staining his cheek as he hunches over his legs, elbows resting on his thighs as he thinks. and thinks. and thinks and thinks and thinks.

you wonder about what—what could be plaguing his mind? a lot you’re sure, but this isn’t suguru. not the one you know, at least.

the one you knew, the voice in your mind hisses—do you really even know him at all anymore?

“so,” you sit on the opposite side of the sofa, curling your legs under yourself as you eye him from the side, “care to explain?”

“i killed them,” he mutters. you go still. “the village heads. i did it without hesitating. that’s bad, right?”

“well fuck, suguru,” you breathe, restless, “that’s certainly not good.”

“i had a reason,” he argues, “all i needed was one.”

“there’s nothing that excuses murder—”

“oh, but we can excuse locking kids in cages, is that right? why? cause they’re sorcerers? they’re not—they’re children.”

“i didn’t say that,” you rub your forehead. this is all too much. too, too much.

being a sorcerer is too much. being in front of suguru is too much.

you finish your third year with a broken heart and graduate in spring—at one point you’d hoped graduating wouldn’t change anything between you and your friends, between you and the boy you loved. everything would be the same, even if you’d leave the place that held you all together—you’d still find a way back to each other, you liked to think. but then it all changes before you can even comprehend.

haibara is dead. nanami is hardly coping. gojo is everywhere but here. shoko is in high demand. suguru is hardly present even when he’s right in front of you. nothing is the same and you don’t think it ever will be. you lose the one thing you count on being yours forever, and now, he’s right here again. but not really here—not with you so much as near you.

suguru has killed people, sitting on your couch with you while the two children he finds are bathing happily in your bathtub.

there’s some irony in that—maybe in a perfect world, suguru and you would sit on the couch, much happier than right now, though. maybe you’d be tucked under his arm and curled into his side as you both chuckle at the happy squeals in the distance. maybe in a perfect world.

but this world is cruel. too cruel, in fact. it forces children to grow up too fast during some times and lets adults continue to be children during others. it’s sickening and all too much.

but this is the world you live in. there’s not much to change in that—not much you can change. maybe sitting on the couch with suguru is what you should be grateful for, whether it’s in this world or another.

“i came here because it’s safe,” he mumbles, quieter this time, “i don’t…i didn’t trust anywhere else.”

something tells you he’s not talking about the kids. you look at him for the first time that night—really look at him. you take in the lost weight, the sunken cheekbones and the bruised under eyes from the lack of sleep. the cracked lips from being chapped and the dry hair that’s lost its normal shine.

something’s not right—you won’t be able to mend it, but you think you can keep it from getting worse.

“it is safe here,” you murmur, nodding in assurance, “but you can’t…i can’t let you do that. not again.”

“what? kill people?” he snorts in dry amusement. it’s quiet for a bit—you open your mouth a few times like you want to say something, but nothing ever comes. he finally decides to fill the silence. “i don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. people shouldn’t kill. but some people shouldn’t live.”

“i think jujutsu is supposed to save people. not everyone will deserve it, but i suppose we wouldn’t be much better than them if we used it for anything other than that,” you whisper. he looks over at you at that, peers at you deep in thought as he contemplates your words.

“that’s funny,” he chuckles, “i used to think that too.”

“what changed?”

“everything.”

“then change it some more,” you shrug, “until you think it again.” he looks at you incredulously at that, eyeing you like you’re crazy.

“you’re an idiot,” he scoffs.

“says the killer,” you scoff back. you look at him this time, in the eyes and full of conviction, full of promises you couldn’t make before but fully intend to keep now. “don’t kill anyone else and i’ll help you. with those kids, i mean.”

“you want to co parent with me?” he chuckles.

co parent—the word makes your stomach twist. even after all this time, after all the hurt and pain, suguru is easy to imagine that with. he’s easy to imagine anything in the future with, really. he’s always been perfect like that, but you’re starting to realize there’s a lot more imperfections to him than you initially thought.

but it’s okay, you think. if you didn’t stop loving him before, you certainly don’t stop now. blood on his hands or not, he’s yours—even if he doesn’t want to be.

“don’t say it like that,” you murmur softly, hugging your arms around yourself, “please.”

you let yourself be vulnerable for just a moment—not because you want to, but because he needs to know. he needs to know how unfair he’s being and how patient you are with him despite it all. you deserve that much.

“sorry,” he mutters—he has the decency to look away and drop his smile.

“you don’t kill anyone, and i’ll look for a bigger place. deal?”

“for us…all?”

“yes. just until you figure it out, i’ll help you out with them. and then you’ll responsibly use your paycheck as a full time special grade sorcerer and maybe send a few checks my way to say thanks to my good will.”

he chuckles at that, shaking his head. “i’ll repay you,” he hums, tapping his foot. he does that when he’s nervous, you still remember—you could never forget anything about him. “i…i owe you, anyway.”

it’s quiet some more. you don’t know what to say, and quite frankly, you don’t want to say anything at all. but once more, he fills the silence for you after a while.

“what if…” he starts, “what if i want to co parent with you?”

“you dumped me,” you point out, unable to hide the bitterness any longer. it cracks from your tongue through your words like honey that went dry. “remember that? cause i sure remember.”

you’re an adult now, just barely, but an adult all the same. you should handle this the mature way—but you’re still young. still hurt. still blanketed in the fresh wave of nostalgia that leaves you aching with grief.

so you let yourself be bitter. suguru can handle that much after he left you to pick up your shattered pieces.

“i didn’t want to,” he says quietly. “i never wanted to.”

“but you did.”

“i didn’t…you didn’t deserve to see me unstable.”

“you’re not very stable right now either,” you pinch your nose tiredly, “you killed people, suguru. but somehow you can manage to have two kids now. but not me.”

“they need me,” he defends.

“i needed you too,” your voice cracks.

you did. you needed him—and you like to think he needed you too. maybe it wasn’t perfect, nothing ever is, especially not when you fight curses and see their ugliness every day. but that’s the best part of having each other—having something pretty amidst the hideousness.

he left you with more ugly than you knew what to do with. it’s unfair, you think for a moment, unfair that two girls who hardly know him at all have more of him than you ever did. he’d never abandon them—that much you know for sure.

you’ve laughed with him, held him and wiped his tears and kissed him under the moon until it became the sun. you’ve seen him with his hair down and his guard lowered. you’ve seen him in every way possible but in the end, he walked away.

they’ve seen him for less than a day and somehow, he’ll be there forever. there’s something unfair about that and you hate that you’re bitter with children but the world in cruel like that.

suguru slowly inches over—it’s cautious at first, and then he fills the gap all at once. you pretend you don’t feel the way your thighs touch.

“i need you too,” he admits, voice small. there’s a small, shaky crack that eats away at your heart, trying to gnaw into the raw part. the easy to reach part. the part you shouldn’t let him see anymore. “i…i always needed you. i’m sorry.”

“we were supposed to need each other,” you sniffle.

“we do,” he slowly slumps his head onto your shoulder. you let him stay there—don’t dare move a muscle in case he pulls away. “you’re the only thing that keeps me stable. i don’t think that’s fair.”

“needing someone isn’t unfair, suguru,” you scoff.

“okay,” he grabs your hand, squeezing. for the first time, he lets it all go. lets tears slowly slip from the corners of his eyes as he slumps into your side. he cries for riko. for kuroi. for satoru and the time he lost him for a moment. for their youth. for haibara. for not being enough even when he shouldn’t have had to be. somewhere amidst all that, your arms wrap around him and he’s pulled into your chest—that familiar feeling of your fingers threading into his hair makes the world start spinning again. “i need you,” he chokes.

“okay,” you say shakily, nodding slowly as you let yourself hope, “as long as you don’t stop this time.”

he buries his face into your chest, and you kiss the crown of his head.

cruelty is an unstoppable force. your love for suguru is an immovable object. neither is going anywhere, but perhaps they can coexist.

“satoru’s gonna have a massive headache when he explains this one to the higher ups,” you snort after a while.

he laughs into your shirt, real for the first time in a long time. “i’ll buy him something sweet. should make up for it,” he hums. and then he looks up, smiles innocently as he asks, “wanna lend me some cash? i’ll pay you back when i’m a responsible handler of money.”

“you’re hopeless,” you chuckle, “but at least you’re here.”

————— BONUS —————

“okay,” satoru starts, holding his hands up in surrender as he stands before the higher ups. damn old geezers, he thinks. “so he did kill a person or two…but—”

“there is no excuse,” a voice hisses.

“he didn’t mean it,” he huffs indignantly, “it was an accident. those can happen sometimes.”

“what—”

“he’s going through a phase, okay? let him work through it, he’ll be fine.”

“that’s not—”

“i’ll let him off the hook this time,” satoru grins, pushing his glasses up his nose as he shrugs, “he’s got a family now, y’know? kids and a spouse, and they’re looking for a home. can’t take that away from them.”

“he’s not even married—”

“it’ll happen eventually,” he insists, “so let’s all just calm down, yeah? great, thanks!”

“gojo—”

“see ya!”

he walks out, flashing an obnoxious peace sign at the higher ups as they hiss at him to return as he’s walking out. that takes care of that, he thinks, as long as suguru doesn’t make his life harder and kill more people, he can handle it—you did promise him kikufuku if he does.

satoru is babygirl defender no. 1 ain’t nobody doing it like my guy 🤞🏽 he would be loyal to you while you were in jail no doubts

[imdumbforgiveme]

real dads cook carrots whole

[imdumbforgiveme]

I keep thinkin of the dude from Pucca when I look at Choso lol

[imdumbforgiveme]

I'm inlove with him

▸ A SOUVENIR FOR THE MORNING - GOJO SATORU.

synopsis: you’ve avoided him for the last eight years, only for him to pop back into your life, leaving you with no room to run away as he asks you to kiss him. catch is, he now has a golden ring on his promise finger.

content: 9.2k words (idk how this happened, and it's unedited bc it's too long to go through) afab!reader, she/her pronouns, cursing, explicit smut, light angst, mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex, fingering, cunnilingus, creampie, and anxiety triggers (picking at nails), pet names (baby, sweetheart, love, angel, good girl). minors do not interact.

The room is packed with people when you walk in. It was hard to recall some faces from the mirage of dimmed lights making you feel mildly dizzy and it didn’t help how the buzzing in your head from the smell of champagne and the loud chatter from the already drunk almost thirty-year-olds that can’t seem to contain their liquor-like novices, made you want to go home increasingly more.

“It’s only 9:41, and they’re drinking like they’ve never tasted alcohol before,” you heard Shoko mumble as she searched through her purse to reach for her perfume, “you want some?” Your best friend offered with a smile as she looked at you through the bathroom mirror. 

“I’m okay,” you smiled back, “can’t have all the boys following me around with that,” you teased.

Shaking her head in disapproval, “If you see me go home with any of these drunks, I give you full permission to hit me, no, in fact, I’ll pull up to your apartment every morning with coffee and take you to work for a week if I do,” Shoko shuddered while furrowing her brows only to quickly soften the moment she saw you lightly picking at your thumb – an anxious habit you’ve picked up throughout the years, only but the keenest of eyes being able to notice your anxiety.

“You okay love?” Her voice was sweet as she leaned against the restroom sink.

“Mhm, of course,” you faked a smile, “I guess I’m just a little nervous seeing everyone, you know,” lightly chuckling as you bit your lips. Little was underlying, when the knot in your stomach was building up, making you force down the urge to entirely vomit in the moment. 

“People are thrilled to see you again,” placing her hand on your shoulder, “it’s literally been years for you,” she huffed, pouting as she reminisced over the years she attended alone.  

“well ‘m sure one will be sure thrilled —” her voice suddenly drained from a crowd of people entering the restroom, slightly pushing you towards her, “nevermind come on, let’s go get something to drink,” Shoko muttered as she led you out, gently massaging your tense neck as she encouraged, bringing her lips to your ears, “if anyone bites, I’ll chop their dick off,” Shoko threatened with a flashing smile as she led you to a nearby table.  

It’s only 9:41 — no, 9:42.

College reunions, who looks forward to that? 

There was no particular reason for you to be anxious, it’s been years since. You’ve prepared yourself for this, meditating every single day since you got the notification in your email on a Tuesday evening — an invite to rsvp for a room at the Aman Hotel. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so nerve-wracking if you’ve been consistently going out to these every year since they’ve held one. But every year there seems to be a conflict in the schedule that forbade you to go.

One year it was your boss last-minute asking your team to work overtime, when a rookie employee lost all the data when he supposedly fell asleep, accidentally losing months of all your blood, sweat, and tears to make it for the deadline on your next advertising project. 

Poor kid was fired the next day.

The following year, you were determined to go, going as far as walking to the restaurant, when the sudden nausea of socializing plagued your mind. The joyous welcomings and celebrations annoyingly muffled in your ear as you groaned past a familiar voice that seemed to call out your name from a distance. Your feet walking on their own volition through your sleep deprivation. Only to wake up in your bed with countless text messages from your best friend asking what the hell happened. 

No wonder it was so fucking loud that night. 

Another was simple, not your fault this time. Shoko couldn’t make it because of her rounds at the hospital. 

Never in hell were you going to show up alone. 

And the last one, well your taxi got a sudden flat tire. That in itself was a confirmation for you not to go, nor did you have any dying wish to go. Quickly texting your best friend, huffing out a sigh of relief as you pressed send.

<< sorry… can’t make it tonight. I promise, next year!! 

Today, well things seemed to have aligned. No overtime, no flat tires, no sleep deprivation, no nothing.

Maybe it was an excuse? 

Maybe you were subconsciously avoiding it? 

But ironic is it, that life seems to protect you when most fragile, only to push you out into the void when least expected making you feel even more vulnerable, feeling so exposed in such a cruel world. 

Or maybe the universe was waiting for this moment, that despite your consensus or approval, it was determined that you were ready to confront it — well it, being the owner of a pair of brilliant light blue eyes that sparkled like an aqua jewel, shining brighter than when you’ve last seen them clouded in tears as you let go of his trembling hand for the last time, crushing his pure heart as you left him with, “i’m sorry.”

Was that already eight years ago? 

But whether it was the consequence of your selfish choice or a blessing of choosing to be selfless, luck was on your side today…

… well, you hoped at least somewhat on your side.

“My … look who it is,” you heard a voice from behind you.

Turning around, though the shame of suddenly cutting him off enticed your heart as you faced him, you couldn’t help but smile at his familiar face walking over with two drinks in his hand.

Holding the same gentle eye smile, with a lock of his black hair falling down on his left side, donned in a white dress shirt with his sleeves cuffed at the elbows, no tie but buttons loosely opened with a pair of dark slacks and shined dress shoes. Geto Suguru walked over.

“Aren’t you still handsome,” you complimented with a sweet smile.

“Don’t feed into his ego like that,” Shoko chimed as she nudged your arm, “his head is already big enough.”

“Who me?” Exaggerating his response, only to soon level down to the same amiable smile, calm cadence you’ve remembered him to have as he offered you a drink, “I have to take all the compliment I can get, don’t know when you’ll go awol and go missing for another eight years.”

“Funny…” you muttered, rolling your eyes while taking the drink by the stem, “and thank you, Suguru.”

“Where’s mine?” Shoko jabbed while shooting a glare at his nonchalance.

“Not here,” Geto flashed a smile, innocently shrugging. 

“Whatever, I’ll get my own,” shaking her head in disapproval, grumbling while making her way to get a drink, but still making a point to stop in front of the man to warn, “Don’t say anything weird Suguru, I barely got her to come today.”

“Relax, ‘m just trying to catch up with an old friend,” Geto countered, making a point to whisper while smiling at you.

“I won't hurt her, that I promise,” Geto affirmed. 

Your best friend walked off only to turn around for a brief moment as she worriedly looked back at you “Text me for anything okay?” 

“I’ll be fine! Don’t worry,” you reassured.

“And don’t forget what I said, I’ll even cut his,” deadpanning while looking at your male counterpart, “I got no problem doing it, I’m medically certified anyways, there’s nothing that a sharp scalpel can’t fix, ” Shoko stated with an innocent smile while walking off. 

“So,” releasing a sigh as he pushed the strains of his hair back, “how’ve you been?” Geto smiled.

“I’ve been… okay,” you confessed while placing your lips against your glass before taking a sip, “could be better.”

“Thought you were living your life,” Geto teased, his voice laced with sarcasm, “Shoko wouldn’t tell us much about you.”

“I… I told her not to,” you confessed while leaning against your table, the pain of your heels starting to ache up your back. 

“How come? Weren’t we your friends too?” 

“I just didn’t think it was best to keep myself in the circle when I —” biting the inside of your mouth to stuff the suffocating knot forming underneath your lungs.

“ — When you broke up with him?” Geto finished your hesitation.

Nodding yes, you softly whispered, “I thought it was for the best for him.”

“For the best huh?” Geto chuckled, “well I guess you didn’t know him too well then.”

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrowed as your mouth started to feel dry, “I did it because we weren’t compatible, I would’ve been a stumbling block for him,” you stammered as your voice started to shake, “I- I would’ve halted his growth, and he would’ve hated me in the end if I selfishly held onto him when he was worth so much more than being with me,” you confessed with lips quivering as a tear fell, only to quickly brush it away before Suguru could notice.

But nothing passes with him, he reads right through you. His voice softened, “Was this your insecurity you’ve decided for him or — ” turning his body to face you while his body leaned on his arm against the standing table, “Was this something he actually would’ve struggled with?”

“I can’t change the past Suguru.” You shamefully avoided his gaze, “I still stand by my decision.”

“I don’t doubt that,” shrugging as he exhaled, “I mean, you did avoid him for almost a decade.”

“H-he seems happy,” you let your thoughts slip.

“You think so?” 

“Shoko would tell me about everyone, you, him” you unnoticingly spewed out your thoughts. “Of course not in full detail, but that you’ve established your own studio, and that you’ve finally released those photos.”

“Mhm, that’s correct, would’ve loved to have invited you to the exhibition, it was quite… a moment,” he chuckled while playing with his fingers. 

“That Megumi’s in high school and that he’s gotten in trouble for beating up the school bullies,” lowly laughing as you remembered how cute yet scarily mature he was for his age.

“Nanami hates corporate life, but still listens to what he has to say even if it’s outrageous.” Taking a sip of your drink, the sparkle of the beverage mildly burning your throat, “... and that he’s traveling the world living his life.”

Mumbling under your breath, “he’s even recently gone to Paris and had a night picnic with —”

“You stalked him?” Geto teased as he huffed out a laugh when he caught your shocked expression

“No — I mean, Shoko would tell me,” you stammered.

“Sure, whatever you say, sweetheart," Geto teased, "but just to let you know, he just got back. And from what I know, they haven’t met since he arrived. His plane should’ve landed,” while dramatically looking at his watch, “I don’t know like an hour ago? He’s probably on his way over here,” Geto handsomely winked as he suddenly placed a gentle hold of your waist and brought you near his side.

“You know… he’ll look for you, now knowing that you’re here” Geto whispered into your ear.

“How does he know… I told Shoko to not tell —”

Blinking innocently at you with a smile, while playing with his phone, “can’t avoid the poor guy forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you sighed knowing what Geto had done, “just didn’t have a chance to run into him.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” releasing you with a smile, “ if you’re really sure about where you stand, then don’t run away from him.”

Geto's eyes flash to the entrance doors for a split second and land back on you.

“But would you look at that,” humming as he pointed to his empty glass yet his eyes caught sight of a familiar figure. It was the first in a while that you felt your heart sinking, all the blood in your body rushing out, making you suddenly feel lifeless and queasy.

“Gonna get another glass, you want one?” Suguru suggested.

“I’m okay, but thank you Suguru,” you quickly stated as your heart started to beat faster by the second.

“Sure, just don’t be a stranger again,” Suguru teased as he started to walk off, but your hand immediately reached out to catch his arm to quickly reinforce, “I- I mean it… thank you.”

Knowing your implication, smiling as he received your thanks, “No need, as fucking cringe it is,” chuckling as he shook his head, looking over your shoulder and back at you, “he’s my best friend, of course, I’ll be there for him.”

Letting go of his arm, your hands anxiously balled into a fist as you quickly turned around to avoid him, doing anything to hide from his sight. You felt your breaths becoming increasingly more difficult to inhale, and stagnant as your palms started to sweat. 

“I’m not avoiding him… I’m not avoiding him” you quietly mumbled to yourself, your words contradicting your actions as you walked further away onto the balcony, texting Shoko, 

<< I’ll be outside getting some fresh air (: let me know when you want to leave.  

Closing your phone, as you let the night breeze wash against your face, leaving light chills around your body, you nervously sighed, “It’s been eight years you say…”

— 

Your story was nothing short of the typical — difference in class and status, trying to make things work just for the convenience of love. It wasn’t hard at first to situate yourself into his life, nor was it any difficult for him to become accustomed to yours. 

They say time will change things, circumstances will get better. Be patient with your season, and you’ll be rewarded for your hardwork.

But somethings never change no matter how hard you try to alter the dice. He’s rich and you’re just average.

Money works for him, while you had to take on multiple jobs just to make your next rent at the start of your career. 

He was bound for greatness at a young age, trained by the best professionals and tutored by an exquisite league of mentors. While you had to settle for things, simply dreaming of the what can be. Thus, you worked even harder. You pushed yourself to keep up, to become of the level of who he’s supposed to be, and what he could accomplish. 

When he dozed off in class, you stayed up. You studied, pulled all-nighters, chugged caffeine, and oftentimes had to push back dates with him for simple study sessions — he didn’t complain, said he liked to just sleep with his head rested on your lap while he cuddled into your stomach while you studied. 

“Don’t mind me, I’ll be your personal radiator,” he would chime with a boyish grin on his face, taking off his sunglasses as he stretched his long legs before latching behind you like a koala, “wake me up when you’re done, I’ll drive you home,” Gojo peacefully murmured without forgetting to place a kiss to your shoulder, while you stressed over your next exam. 

With him, even the coldest days always felt warm.

And on the next day, he’ll always take you to class with some soup and hot tea, murmuring about your poor dietary choices and how you often neglect your health to study. But at least he’ll be gentle, and wish you the best on your exam with a light kiss — an innocent kiss that lasts a bit too long, his hand always gracing your body as he reluctantly releases you, brushing off the saliva that linked your lips together — his good luck charm he’ll argue, a little tease of what he’ll reward you with later when you got home for being his good girl. 

Gojo will always try to convince, “Life isn’t always about studying, baby,” stating with a pout, after your fifth time canceling a date he’s planned to instead go on a simple walk outside your flat, “you gotta live life to the fullest! And why stress when you’ve snatched me?”

“Well, I can’t live life to the fullest if I don’t study now, Satoru. And who’s gonna pay for all that ice cream you eat? All the sweets you stock up on?”

“What do you mean?” Deadpanning as he stopped in his tracks, “you have me, what more else do you need? I'm a double threat — I’m rich and handsome.”

“Satoru — I… never mind,” rolling your eyes, as you were hit with his puppy eyes. 

“Just promise,” his tall frame blocking you, “that you’ll always stick with me.”

“I’m not a piece of gum to just stick onto you, Satoru,” pushing him away, only for him to reach out to delicately hold your hand, “You know, if you’re a gum, you’ll be the sweetest one.”

“Yea, why so?”

“Because every time I eat you, you taste so sweet,” he teased with a flirty wink, “if you get what I — ow!” 

Rubbing his forearm that barely hurt, Gojo loved to exaggerate when he was with you. 

For Gojo, things came easily for him, as if the universe highlighted his life as a thousand-year blessing, nothing was out of his reach — that is, nothing but you. 

Shocking to many, he pursued you first. When asked about how you guys met, or what’s the story behind you two, or even if no soul asked… he’ll blabber on with an outrageous story, saying he fell in love the moment he laid his eyes on you, that you were the apple of his eye — an over the top fanfiction of you and him of how he just knew you were the person for him when you stumbled into the library, arms full of books and coffee in the other, and you magically just happened to just bump into him. And if it wasn’t for that encounter, then he would’ve never gotten your number. 

And without your number, he wouldn’t have been able to woo you with his charm, he’ll always add with a wink.

“You can say it’s fate,” he’ll proclaim, “I never went to the library, you know,” as he munched on his icecream with Megumi and Tsumiki savoring theirs, both unbothered by the story he’s told them countless times, “and the one day I chose to follow Suguru because he was simping over someone, I get coffee spilled all over my clothes and meet her? Damn, the heavens just wanted us together.”

All you remember of that day was that your precious coffee went to waste, with your books embarrassingly spread out on the floor, and you were stuck having to dry clean his ridiculously expensive clothes. 

But with him, you experienced all your firsts.

Your first handholding — Satoru confidently took your hand, immediately interlocking his fingers with yours, his palms engulfing yours entirely, “don’t be scared baby, I’m not scared,” flexing his muscles as he proudly smiled,  “I’ll protect you!” as he leads you through the haunted mansion, jolting through every jump scare, absolutely refusing to scream. 

You remember his palms felt particularly clammy that day. 

Your first kiss — on a spring picnic as he laid on your lap, his eyes sparkling a little more than usual as he looked up at you, innocently asking, “can I kiss you?” 

Your first argument. Ignoring him for a whole week, only for your resolve to quickly break when Suguru urgently called you to his house stating that Satoru was deathly ill — dark circles under his eyes, cheeks frail from not eating, wrapped up in his blanket as he dramatically announced his dying wishes while sneaking obvious glances at you. 

Geto’s diagnosis: pure insanity. 

To your first cuddle buddy, to innocent make-out sessions, to wonton looks and lustful touches for more. leading to your first sexual experience, both unknowing and inexperienced as he groaned into your ear in the back of his car one rainy night as you struggled to take his girth.

He was your first taste of goodness — like a forbidden fruit, you increasingly wanted him more. In soul, mind, and body, you etched yourself into him, making the tear even more painful to rip apart. 

Sure, loving him was easy — but loving you, the version who was so lacking compared to him and insecure was hard.

You tried to ignore it, you did your best to brush off the insecurity that came with each day of choosing him. But having the message that you were worth less than he was being constantly blasted to your face — the blatant discrepancies between social classes and the nature of how you both grew up, to the constant side glances you’ll get wondering how someone so normal like you, got with such a high net worth — gradually, it all made you dissociate from him. 

So you worked even harder. You stayed up longer than anyone else just to get that better grade. You worked that extra shift just to prove that you were capable. You doused yourself in knowledge, yet tried to stay humble to be seemingly perfect… but in that, you unknowingly pushed him further away, losing parts of yourself while at it. 

And your final straw? It was a text message you accidentally read on his phone while he silently napped, cutely dozing off as you massaged his scalp.

From: Mom.

>> Remember the girl I talked to you about? Nitori-chan’s family requested that we set up a date for you two. The faster the better, no need for our families to meet, it’s all settled. 

To: Minako.

<< Let’s meet. When are you free, Minako? 

From: Minako.

>> Whenever! I can meet now!

>> Is this about our potential engagement?

To Minako.

<< Yea, let's meet tonight to talk about it.

You remembered, that night you couldn't reach him.

The final trigger that blew it over. The rambling of your thoughts paralyzes you from thinking rationally.

You didn’t need to search up who she was. Nitori Minako, the youngest daughter of Japan’s leading technology company that rivaled to that of America’s fruit. A girl that was a year younger than you — smart, adamantly cute, cunning and rich — always following him around a bit too closely for your liking, preaching about how “Gojo-san promised he’ll marry me when we were young! Isn’t that so cute?”

how long was this going on for? 

Has he always been going on secret dates like this? Was he always just willing to let it slide when you rejected his dates because he had other options?

Was he leading you on this whole time before he’ll leave you for what he rightfully deserved? 

Was all of this a lie? All of what he said?

The pinnacle of your sanity breaking as your thoughts became corrosive and brittle the more you dove deeper into the pitfalls of your insecurities — of course what people said was right, there was no way someone like him can settle for any less.

... Ultimately, everything led to you quietly blurting out as he rambled about his day. 

Playing with your hand, smiling like a loser as he intertwined your smaller fingers with his, “Geez, there was this jeweler that I wanted to take you to, but dammit, the store closed early today. Maybe we can go — ”

“Let’s break up,” you suddenly announced, looking straight ahead.

The room suddenly felt quiet, so quiet that the thumping of your heart felt like loud sirens blaring next to your eardrum, and your body felt numb. 

After a few seconds, Satoru stammered, “w-what?”

Sighing as you closed your eyes, “I said, let’s break up, we aren’t — ” you reiterated.

“I heard you the first time,” Gojo hissed, still playing with your fingers but his grip now harsher, “just wanted to make sure you weren’t bullshitting right now.”

“I’m not joking, Satoru,” your voice stripped of any emotion, “we aren’t good for eachother.”

“Says who?” the man challenged. 

“It’s something that’s been on my mind,” you responded back while trying to pull back your hand, “l-let go, Satoru, it hurts…”

“Is it because of the text?” Gojo refused to let go, even more so gripping even harder, “Fuck... I'm sorry I should've explained earlier," his voice pleading for you to listen.

"I swear nothing happened, and nothing will ever happen, b-baby look at me,” your boyfriend’s — now, ex-boyfriend's — voice elevating and shaking. 

“Gojo,” softly pausing after his name, “let’s end it when things aren’t so bad… I can’t have you hating me more when we have no other choice but to break up,” finally pushing his grip off, “it’s inevitable, we’ve been walking towards a destined finish line from the beginning, let’s just call it quits a little earlier.”

“no... you can't do this, you can't do this to me,” he vulnerably uttered, his body noticeably trembling as a tear dropped onto the back of your hand as he reached over to touch you, hoping it'll mend whatever hatred you had towards him, “you.. we promised,” his voice shaking.

“I’m sorry Gojo,” you dodged his grasp, “guess promises are only good if you can keep them, and I can’t.”

Days of him begging at the forefront of your door, crying as he asked for an explanation, his missed texts and calls that would go straight to voicemail, to Suguru stepping in to ask what the hell was going on… all leading you to cut off every aspect of Gojo Satoru out of your life, except Shoko.

After two years of dating, at the ripe age of 20, you experienced your first heartbreak with Gojo Satoru, marking the end of the final chapter of your love story with him. 

To you, he’ll be the greatest warmth you’ll ever experience. 

To him, you’ll be the heartless bitch that left him cold.

—-

“Hmm,” looking at your empty notifications, “guess she’s a little busy right now…” you hummed. Despite your outwardly calm demeanor and the stillness of the serene summer night, juxtaposed was your mind with wandering thoughts that wrecked havoc in your head. 

Shoko would update you occasionally about him, not going too far into details. You knew he was successful in his craft, excelling in it as he ranked 11th in Forbes 30 under 30 list, losing the tenth spot barely to a Zenin. It would be a lie if you weren’t curious about him, your mind wandering and weak during the quietest of nights, making a burner account to stalk his socials, only to immediately regret the moment you see photos and stories that presumably show that he’s in a relationship — with a gorgeous one in fact.

You’ve briefly heard of his dating history, hearing it from Shoko directly, as it mindlessly slipped through her tongue as she complained that he’s broken up with another girl. 

Throughout the years, you’ve concluded maybe this was your punishment for leaving him. Damnation to feel stuck in the same perpetual regret of hurting his heart, of choosing to look at your fears instead of maybe trusting in him. 

But, at least he looked happy. and you clung onto that reserve.

Maybe it was for the best that things happened this way  —

Your ears perked up as you heard the tapping of shoes coming towards you, your stomach suddenly dropping to the floor. 

“Were you planning on avoiding me the whole night?” 

You were sure, there was no denying that was his voice. 

Yes, it was a bit deeper from when you last heard it. The decibel of his voice is now infused with power and confidence, yet still with the underlying tone of softness from what you remembered. 

“Ah, sorry… how rude of me,” you mumbled, the pounding of your heart beating through your ribcage. You quickly placed an arm over your chest, a hand over your heart, doing anything to muffle the harsh pulsing, terrified that he was going to hear, “it’s been a while Gojo,” you offered him a light smile, “I’m sorry, but if you’ll excuse me Ieiri is waiting for me,” you tried excusing yourself only to be met with his stance unchanging, unmoving. 

You felt his eyes pierce into your skull, “Gojo?… ah that’s right,” his voice guarded as he looked over in another direction, his face pointing specifically elsewhere, the moonlight highlighting his perfect features.

“I think she’s pretty busy, don’t you think?” he shrugged.

Dammit she was your ride home. Guess coffee is on her for the next week. 

“Oh sorry,” you muttered under your breath.

Grinning as he licked his lips, “You’re awfully saying sorry a lot over nothing,” Gojo chuckled, “guess old habits die hard,” his last words spewed with a hint of bitterness as he clenched his jaws. 

Only to relax seconds later, placing his drink on the railing, softly grunting as he pulled off his jacket, and placed it over your shoulders, “It’s cold, don’t want you getting sick now,” the smell of his cologne filled up your lungs, hypnotizing your senses — a bit strong but nonetheless intoxicating.

You couldn’t help but feel guilty for feeling a sense of security from the weight of his heated jacket, and in response, you started to immediately pick at your thumbs. 

“It’s okay!” You tried to object, trying to take it off only to be met with a stern yet gentleness of his voice, his large hand stopping you, now calloused and thick yet the warmth of his palm brushing against your smaller one felt nostalgic and sinful, as your eyes immediately noticed a gold sparkle on his ring finger, “it’s fine. my body runs hot, remember?” 

“T-thank you,” you muttered, the harsh beatings of your heart quickly making your cheeks feel hot. 

A ring? you wondered.  

“So, what made you come today?” Gojo huffed as he looked off into the distance.

“Had no excuse not to come.”

“I see,” his voice deep, taking the last swig of his drink, deeply inhaling to release a long breath, “It’s good to see you though.”

“Yea, me too,” you quietly responded, the awkwardness of the conversation eating at your bones, the tightness of your stomach knotting increasingly more.

Laughing as he turned around, his long legs crossed, showing a bit of his socks peeking out of his slacks as his dress shoes reflected the moon's shine. Surely, they were expensive, probably equaled to a month of your rent on his feet. With his arms crossing his chest, leaning against the railing, the quiet winds brushing against his soft hair, lightly masking his cerulean eyes as he faced you, “Liar, you were always good at that.”

Taking you off guard, your eyes immediately connecting with his, your breath stopping as if a sudden load was pushed onto your chest, you felt a wave of sadness rush over you as you ventured into his empty eyes. 

Since when did he have that ring? 

Did he find someone at Paris? Shoko told me — no, there’s no way he found someone so soon.

Or maybe he’s trying to settle down —

“Are you happy?” His question brought you back into reality.

“What?” you whispered.

“I don’t think I’ve asked a hard question,” he responded, his voice now harsh and impatient, “I asked if you were happy.”

Your finger pricks at your thumb, “I guess so…”

Rolling his tongue against his teeth, his finger playing with his ring.   

Taking no regard for catering to your comfort, he jeered, “Why’d you do it?”

“What are you talking —” you stammered.

“You know damn well what I’m referring to,” Gojo spat. 

“Excuse me,” You muttered, your eyes refusing to disconnect despite your whole body fighting against it.

“I- I got to go, Ieiri is waiting —”

“No, you already used that excuse,” pulling you in by your wrist, immediately caging you in between his arms, with you now leaning against the railing, your eyes level to his broad chest — has he always been this big?

“Answer me, at least you can have the courtesy of honestly telling me why you left me like that eight years ago.”

“I don't remember,” you stated with eyes threatening to spill.

“Liar,” his body leaning down, the hurt in eyes even more apparent than before, “you’re a fucking liar,” Gojo spewed with no resolve to withhold a solid tear from falling, his face now dangerously close — lips even more threatening to touch.

All you wanted to do was say sorry, to cup his face and kiss his tears, to say it was a mistake that you’ve never intended to let him go — you selfishly tortured him by continuously keeping him in your heart without giving him a chance to prove you wrong. 

“I’m so sorry,” was all you could respond.

“Did you not trust me?” Hurt was apparent in his voice, “Was I that untrustworthy for you to just leave like that and just disappear for eight years?”

“No, no… it’s not like that,” you tried comforting, unknowingly placing your hands on his chest, “it was never like that.”

"then tell me why," he forced out through gritted teeth while furrowing his brows.

"I just thought it was for the best," you quietly whispered.

"you thought it would be for the best?" Gojo scoffed, "And how the hell did you come to a conclusion to just leave like that?"

" 'm sorry, Gojo... I - I truly am," you pleaded while clenching his shirt.

"You must've really enjoyed watching me beg huh," Gojo challenged, "absolutely thrived knowing this was all for my own good, right?" Gojo spat out his anger.

"It wasn't like that, i'm so sorry, I was hurting —"

“Stop fucking apologizing! you don't get to do that," His voice shattered the serene night. Chest heaving as he clenched onto the stone railing, "I didn’t go through shit these past eight years just to hear your selfish sorry's,” he stated with gritted teeth, as he threateningly moved even closer, “d-did you even love me?” 

“Yes, of course!” You immediately cupped his face, finally letting go of the years you craved his touch, your heart shattering as you felt him melt into your wicked hands.

“Then kiss me,” he suddenly whispered, the slight scent of alcohol mixed in with cologne altering your judgment.

“Y-your drunk, Gojo,” you pleaded, immediately letting go of his face as you tried to push him off.

His voice elevated, "Why not?" Gojo growled, "Like you said, it's not like you left because you didn't love me. Or are you lying about that too?"

“don’t make this hard, we — I can’t do this with you anymore,” guilt running through your veins as the image of his ring blared loudly in your head.

You couldn’t do this to another girl, he wasn’t yours anymore… 

“stop the bullshit,” Gojo growled before his lips slammed into yours, his large hands cupping your face, leaving you no room to run away. his tongue forced its way into your mouth, teeth painfully clashing yet you didn’t mind. because against your resolve, your arms immediately wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to taste the sweetness of his saliva and feel the warmth of his tongue.

The groan of his voice vibrated against your lips, as his clothed hip bucked into your pelvis, his lips trailing down from yours to your neck, tongue sloppily trailing down with it as his hands wandered down to hold your hips.

“Tell me you missed me,” he moaned out as you gripped the ends of his hair,  his tongue teasing down your sweet spots, pecking kisses as he inhaled your scent.

“Say you loved me, I don't care anymore if it’s a lie,” your ex now pleaded, his hot breath heating your cheeks.

“… I love you,” you confessed.

Lowly laughing like a maniac, staring deep into your wanting eyes, the man whispered back, “aren't you fucking heartless.”

...

You don’t recall how you made it into the hotel room. In a moment your lips crashed with his on the balcony, and only a second later you found yourself with his large hand securely wrapped around yours, silently waiting for the elevator to bing on the twentieth floor as your ex-boyfriend led you into his hotel room.

Now, currently, you’re pressed against the wall, shoes thrown aside groaning with your hands tangled in his soft hair, as he hurriedly stripped you out of your dress, lips hungrily moving against each other as he growled into the kiss.

Though its been years, his touch never faltered from remembering your body — immediately tracing over your sweet spots that he’s located in your early twenties, now with more experience and strength he dove deeper in.

“Fuck, missed these beauties,” he groaned as he cupped your breasts, his thumb playing with your hardened nipples as he quickly released the back strap of your bra, promptly latching his lips onto your swollen ones again right before you released a moan.

Your body had a mind of its own. Fallen into sin, your hands unbuttoned his shirt, quickly revealing his toned, muscular build as your hands ran against his pecs. You felt his stomach flex as you started to unbuckle his belt and zip down his pants, his lips hungrily chasing after yours as he caressed your body, hands slipping down further into your inner thigh, his index starting to play with your swollen clit — his fingers have always been so pretty, especially with his ring

“G-gojo stop!” Your eyes immediately shoot open.

“What,” annoyed, the man hissed, looking into your eyes with his pupils dilated, hair absolutely disheveled, until moments later his lips are impatiently back onto yours again. 

“We.. we can’t,” you cried out as you melted in his touch, “y-your ring,” you gasped out, suffocating as he stripped you of oxygen.

“Ring?” he stopped for a brief moment, chuckling as he brought up his finger, “you worried about this?” he teased.

Intoxicated in his touch, you were willing to throw away your pride and dignity just for one night — one night can’t hurt, right? So you take the ounce of courage you had left, placing a tender kiss on his lips as a sign of surrender as you gently cupped his face, “take off your ring,” you whispered as you guilty looked away.

Chasing after your kiss, pushing you further into the room as you yelped at his force, your arms entangled around his neck and fingers around his hair as you tried to stabilize yourself, “I promise you it’s nothing, sweetheart,” he coaxed with his sharp canines flashing through his wickedly handsome smile. 

And running his lips against your chest, leaving small denture marks on your skin that forced moans out of you, with his pants now pooled at his ankles before shimming them off, his cock fully erect, unapologetically twitching in his briefs.

“For you, I guess,” Gojo hummed as he watched the thin line of spit that connected you both dissipate away, existing as a sign of proof of the situationship he currently had with you. 

Taking his ring off, he set it down near the bedside table, "there it's gone."

At least for this night, he was yours. 

You’ll repent for your sins, and receive any punishment the gods had to give you tomorrow, but today, you chose him.

And right now, you also chose to kneel in between his thighs, hooking your finger under his waistband to pull his briefs off. Satoru immediately lifted his hips to help you while releasing a sultry groan as he felt the cold air elope his sensitive tip. 

Was he always this thick? You remembered his cock being pretty, but also what the fuck were those two veins running down his shaft? And was he always this… groomed? 

“Are you just gonna stare at it… or do I need to use your mouth to get some action?” Satoru impatiently asked with his cock twitching, his finger brushing against your heated cheeks as he palmed his member.

“It’s just been awhile,” you murmured, licking your lips before you opened your mouth to have him enter.

“Fuck, " Satoru shuddered as the base of your tongue brushed against his frenulum.

"i must be dreaming,” Gojo murmured under his breath, your head rising up as you released his cock with pop! With your hot tongue swirling against his head, there was no chance for Satoru to stay strong. and you enjoyed every second of seeing him slowly unravel in your power.

“j-just like that,” he ordered while placing his hand on top of your head, guiding your momentum. 

His precum tasted salty but pleasant. Hell, he wasn’t even close to the other men you’ve been with, incomparable starting with the size of their dicks to his.

Hallowing your cheeks and expanding your throat to take in his shaft, with your hands gently playing with his balls, you felt his cock hit the back of your throat the moment you saw his head fling backwards, gasping as he pushed down his spit down his dry throat.

“You like that?” Gojo hissed as he bucked his hips into your warm crevice, “you missed my cock, angel?”

You honestly agreed, tears staining your vision with his length stuffed into your orifice, only to get a spiteful laugh in return, “well, guess that makes two of us,” he huffed while crowning over your body, pushing himself deeper into you, his stomach hitching as he groaned out your name.  

“Fuck this shit,” he moaned, as he urgently pulled himself out of your mouth, sacrificing his impeding release for abstinence. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” he gasped when your thumbs swirled around his pulsing head, “you always do,” he purred as he nibbled on your lower lip, promptly pulling you onto his lap, one hand straddling your waist while the other mounded your ass.

And looking up at you, with his blue eyes now darkened in full blown lust, his hot breath sending chills down your spine, “tell me what you want? I’ll give you anything.”

“Y-you,” you shamefully confessed, gasping as his cock grazed against your sensitive folds, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you started to grind against his length, “I want you inside me again, Satoru” you whispered into his ear, lightly moaning out his name.

“Shit,” Satoru croaked, pulling himself down as he gently released you to lay on the bed, “I dont have a condom,” he confessed as he gently kissed your cheeks, “ you gonna be okay without it?” he asked.

“Mhm, j-just hurry… please,” you murmured. 

“Good girl, now come here,” he coaxed as he placed a soft pillow under your head. 

Taking a brief moment to observe your face, reading any sign of forced emotion that you might try to hide, only to ease himself into the kiss when he feels you impatiently desiring his touch, “relax, baby,” he cooed as his kisses traveled southward.

Placing each delicate kiss on your body as his soft hair trailed behind, lightly tickling you as your thighs gently caged his waists into you, “you know they wanted me to thank you,” Gojo breathed out as he split your thighs open, settling himself in between your legs.

“W-who?” you whimpered as his calloused hands massaged your muscles, his soft lips easing out the tension boiling in your core while your hands immediately went straight to grip his hair.

Lips drawing closer, closer and closer until his breath knocked against the frame of your dripping cunt.

“God you’re so fucking wet,” blowing air onto your sensitive nerves, looking up to watch your body shiver at his power as he slid his finger down your folds, pushing in one finger, two, and eventually three into your tight hole as he watched you stretch, your viscous juice soon dripping down his forearm.

“They wanted me to thank you for how good I eat pussy now,” Gojo smirked before he took a swipe of his tongue against your womanhood, spreading out your cunt as he purposefully flicked his tongue against your clit, lightly sucking on the bud thereafter.

… 

How many times as it been, you wondered? More than once or twice, maybe four… five — you moaned out when you felt your legs hitching up to his shoulders, his cock hitting just at the right spots he remembered from years ago. 

“Angel,” Gojo huffed as sweat dripped down his temple, grunting as he felt your tight walls fluttering against his length at the call of his sweet pet name, “you have that much leisure to be thinking about something else when I’m fucking you?” 

Kissing your ankles, his pelvis showing you no mercy as his wet skin slapped against your ass, the sound and sultry smell of hot sex filtrating your room, “still so fucking tight,” Satoru grunted as he pushed his body onto you, your legs hooking against his shoulders, his strong arms holding you from under.

“G-gojo!” you rasped out, barely audible and inable to breathe from his heavy weight and humidity of the room, “it’s too deep! Slow down!”

Growling into your ear, his teeth nibbling against your earlobe, his hot breath stinging your face as he scoffed at your choice to call him so mundanely.

“you gonna be so impersonable,” his thrust going deeper, harder into you, “when I’m so deepily inside you?”

“Ngh,” gasping, “it’s too much,” you sobbed with his face planted into your neck, and his ass clenching with every push he drove into your gushy walls that still wrapped so perfectly around his — just like how he’s last felt you around him, just like how he’s molded your insides just for himself.

“You let anyone else fuck you?” He suddenly hissed, panting as he tried to catch his breath, the sweat on his back making it difficult for you to hold onto him, “you let anyone else see this side of you?”

“It’s too much —” you pleaded, avoiding his question.

“Answer me,” he lowly ordered.

Unable to withstand his power, absolutely willing to fold for him and his desires, you fastidiously nodded, “only a couple,” you shyly confessed.

"how many," he growled, disappointed in your answer, "how many fucked this."

"o-one or two, ngh I-I don't remember," you panted.

“One or two, you say,” he cooed as he pulsed his cock swiftly into you in rhythmic motions, satisfied seeing his length disappear inside you. his pace driving you to the brink of insanity as your lower belly started to fire up again as he knowingly pressed his palm down on your stomach.

“Then I gotta fuck you twice more to force out all memory you have of those stupid fucks,” grunting as he cupped your face to look at him, lips swollen with his skin marked by your nails, hips unapologetically thrusting into you as he watched you unravel in his lead, “because this pussy’s always been mine.”

Seven.

He’s definitely made you cum seven times. you remembered the count just before he groaned out your name, his thrusts sloppy and strained, gasping as he pulled you tighter into his embrace, face caved into your neck as he finally released his thick loads into your abused walls, sobbing out cursed moans as you held him, expending out every last ounce of energy you had for him in mere four words,

“I’ve always loved you,” you whispered before completely passing out. 

You failed to notice a tear fall from his eyes drop to your face. He hoped that it’ll stain you, wished it would reach all the way through to your heart to burn you. But he couldn't, so instead he carefully wiped it away as he gently kissed your face — inch by inch of your canvas before he chose to face you again.

“you’re so heartless,” Gojo chuckled as he pulled you in for a tight hug, straight into his chest as he laid beside you, refusing to pull out and have his cum spill onto the sheets — a feat he’s never dared to do with anyone else, he’s always fucked protected.

“what am I going to do with you," he breathed out.

"even with all this time, I’m still so weak for you,” he quietly confessed, reaching over to the side, reaching for his ring to put on the empty finger, before he too fell into the abyss of another dimension with you in his arms. 

—-

Lowly groaning as you opened your eyes, your body felt oddly heavy and aching, but yet warm and safe despite feeling on the absolutely verge of possibly snapping in half and breaking with any force.

Blinking a couple times before you started to register the room, you felt a slight huff next to your ear and the tightening around your waist as your back leaned against something hard.

Gojo Satoru, in all of his glory, was sleeping so soundly next you.

Carefully turning around to face him, you observed his features as you ran your fingers against his skin.

His lashes were still so long and soft, you giggled when Gojo twitched his nose at your touch.

His cheeks were still so smooth, without a spec of a blemish, but you can see the little bags under his eyes and the small creases on his skin. he’s probably tired from traveling.

Your finger travels down to his chiseled jaw, and defined collar bones, examining the light scratch marks on his pale skin, and the bruising of his nipple — wait… his lips are chapped and swollen, and his cock… oh god, his cock was brushing against your stomach — hard and pulsing. 

Immediately gasping, you felt the blood in your body drain at the revelation that you’ve fucked your ex — no, you fucked your ex of eight years, that you were still crazily hung up over that most likely had a girlfriend waiting for him to respond back to.  

Before you could think, your adrenaline pressed forward to act before your mind, immediately unlocking his hands from your naked waists, standing up too quickly only to stumble from your trembling legs. You felt something drip down your thighs — white viscous slowly running down your legs, your face heating up at the memory of last night. 

“I- I need to leave,” you whispered, quickly gathering your discarded clothes and undergarments as you rushed to the restroom, forcing down your whimpers as your sensitive cunt brushed against your thighs with every step you took.

“I can’t be here, t-this was a mistake,” you stammered while putting on your dress, quickly stuffing your used panties into your purse.

You looked like a mess, but it didn’t matter because you needed to get the hell out of there before he woke up, but somehow your feet didn’t move in the direction you wanted them to — out the door — but instead towards him unknowingly sleeping.

And quietly sitting against the edge of the bed, carefully pushing away the edges of his bangs that covered his handsome face, you decided to take a minute to absorb the last images of what you’ll have of him. And there you decided to let a tear or two drop from your eyes as you said your last goodbyes, gently kissing his lips before you made your way out the door, whispering, once again,

“I’m sorry…”

—- 

It’s been close to an hour since your walk of shame out the door. Since then you quickly checked out of your room and made your way out of the hotel. 

You immediately called for a taxi to get home, groaning as you were hit with the realities of your mistakes last night.

Treading up the stairs your legs quivered with every move. It's been a while since you've been fucked that hard, nor even had a partner that lasted so long.

You needed to text Shoko, you prayed that she didn’t blow through your notifications when you suddenly went missing last night. Sighing, you absentmindedly tried to find your phone in your bag as you punched in your door keys.

You started to think, maybe the whole fucking universe was now against you, for your sins, because your phone wasn’t in your purse.

You tried to retrace your steps to where you’d last used it as you made yourself over to your bed, stripping off your clothes as you walked over to the shower.

And to your last memory, you texted Ieiri out in the balcony… and then,

“Shit,” you hissed, remembering how your bag was tossed to the side when you were being feverishly stripped of your clothes, “it’s probably under his bed or something.”

“I hope no one calls… or tries to contact me until he leaves his room,” you groaned as the hot water massaged your tense shoulders while your fingers ran down your body.

Washing every crevice as you also tried to erase away the memory you had with him, you forced yourself to retract your tears. This was your punishment you repeated, this was the outcome of your selfishness. You lathered yourself in soap, trying to scrub away the pent-up guilt until you noticed something flash under the light.

You never wore your jewelry into the shower, you’ve always had a habit to take them off to not tarnish. 

But there was a golden ring, a ring that fits a little loosely on your promise finger.

Unable to understand why, all that circled through your mind was to go back.

Quickly washing off, throwing on any pair of clothes before running to your door, you could feel your anxious heart beating loudly in your chest as your ears started to feel plugged from the tension. And just when you’re about to open your door, you hear a buzz that silenced every chaos around you.

Looking through the peep hole, you felt faint, your heart entirely about to burst — is this reality or am i still dreaming?

“It’s me,” you heard his calm voice.

Your hands trembled as you slowly opened up the door, your eyes taking a moment to quickly scan his body — donning the same clothes as yesterday with the top buttons of his white shirt undone and ends stuffed into his slacks, his hair lightly messy and eyes a little sunken.

“How’d you get here?” you gasped with your ringed hand clenched, hidden behind your back, while the other pricked at your thumb.

“You left your phone in my room, and I found it because Ieiri was blowing up your phone," Satoru calmly stated as he handed over your phone, "so I asked where you lived to drop it off.”

“She didn’t say anything?” you warily asked

“Well, she did ask about us."

“And… did she threaten you or anything?”

“No, why would she? But,” stretching out his arms as he released groan, “I told her we fucked,” he boyishly smiled. 

Afraid to confront your messy rendezvous with him, you nervously bit your lips, and you avoided his gaze. Noticing your tendencies, you felt his hand cup your face to meet his while his thumb gently soothed your aching lip, "hey," he whispered, "don't do that."

And stepping closer to you, the mild fragrance of his shampoo dancing in your nostrils, “Did you see it?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you acknowledged, “I saw it just now while showering,” you looked into his eyes to seek an answer, tears starting to cloud your vision.

“You know, I’m not the same anymore,” he confessed, “I have power, I’m strong, and I’m able to do things now,” pressing a kiss onto your forehead, “but the only thing that stayed the same about me," chuckling as he shook his head — as if he couldn't even believe it himself.

"is that I didn’t change my number since we’ve broken up,” he stated before taking a step into your apartment, the click of his shoes hitting the tile floor echoing throughout the hallway, “I just hoped maybe one day you’ll call.”

"why?" you honestly questioned, unable to understand why he would choose to do that.

"I don't know," Satoru shrugged while pulling away, "guess I really tried to subconsciously manifest the we were fated to be bullshit that I preached."

“But that girl,” you quietly muttered while you unknowingly pouted when you saw his arms cross against his chest, the tightness of his sleeves about to burst from his muscles bulging.

“Girl… what girl?” Your comment took him aback.

“The one you were in Paris with,” your face feeling hot, embarrassed that you outed yourself for stalking him.

“You stalking me?” He chuckled while leaning against the wall, "it's not what you think," Gojo sighed as he pushed back his hair, "that girl, it was Suguru.”

Raising an eyebrow as he examined your expression, sighing as he saw the unbelief in your eyes, “Here look,” he commented while pulling out his phone to show you pictures, “we went for his art exhibition or some shit because his girl couldn’t make it with him.”

“B-but you came late to the reunion.”

“Yea, because I wasn't going to pull up looking mid when I needed to make you regret ever dumping me,” he joked while pinching your cheeks, "I didn't have plans on attending until that jerk sent me a photo of you," he shamelessly confessed.

“You’re stupid,” you grasped his hand to check his finger — ringless.

“But it was worth it, no? Got you to indirectly confess,” emphasizing his last few words, “that maybe you still love me."

"Whatever," you mumbled, "I said I loved you."

"fine by me," Satoru accepted, " but the fact is that you still think I’m hot, no? Or maybe you just missed my cock? ”

“You’re crazy,” you stated while wiping your tears.

“Yea, I know,” his gaze softens as he sees you playing with his fingers, your small ones wrapped around his.

“and this ring is too big for me,” you cried as you melted in his touch, his right thumb gently rubbing against your cheeks.

“That too, I know,” he smiled stepping closer into your house, and slowly closing the door behind him, “we’ll get another one together soon, only if you'll let me.”

"I'd like that," you whispered.

“I just couldn’t get it for us when you heartlessly broke up with me eight years ago," Satoru confessed while brushing the tip of his nose against yours.

“I’m so sorry Satoru,” you snuggled your face into his strong chest, his arms tightly wrapped around you, cooing as he steadied your breaths, “Shhh, it’s okay baby, it’s okay.”

“I’ve hurt you, I’m the one that caused all this,” you heaved as he pressed light kisses all over your face.

“Through everything,” kissing your swollen eyes, taking his time to savor your touch as his lips traveled their way back to its home, briefly kissing your ringed finger as he looked into your eyes. 

And sealing his final destination, he whispered before locking his lips with yours once more,

“I’ll always find you even if you run away because you’ll always be mine.”

author's comment: sheesh, I didn't expect this to get this long... but here it is! I wanted to write the typical exes-to-lovers trope, but I was stuck on the quote with Satoru teasing how his past partners wanted to thank the reader for teaching him how to eat pussy... and here we are over 9k words later.... oh wells

again, i hope you enjoyed it!!

p.s. i might just have one exes to lovers in the drafts for geto, as well.... hahahahaha but you didn't hear that from me, nope (,:

[imdumbforgiveme]

Please have some respect for yourself.

babygirl we're on tumblr.com

[imdumbforgiveme]

where can i buy a mikage reo pls

·˚ ༘ MIKAGE REO BF HEADCANONS

warnings: fluff with angst + argument scene, mostly fluff tho but reo grovels bcthat'sjusthowilikehim, swearing, cw for food and alcohol, making out, hickies, sfw tho :p, 4k+ word count, gn!reader and pro soccer player!reo

a/n: I AM SOOOOOO NORMAL ABOUT HIM GUYS I PROMISE HAHAHA WATCH ME. WATCH ME *proceeds to write 4k+ words of what it'd be like dating this man*. enjoy &lt;3

💳💥💳💥 100/10 BOYFRIEND 💳💥💳💥 ARGUE WITH THE WALL.

sorry i just really love him (a lot).

anyways ! personally, i’ve always perceived a friends to lovers sort of situation with reo- friends. as in, he’s liked you from the get-go and was never shy about vocalising it. he often asked you out on dates and you’d kindly reject his offers.

despite your countless rejections, it never deterred him. lucky for reo that you didn’t seem to mind much, happy to spend time and be around him despite his blatant showcases of affection for you. 

reo was fuelled even more when you constantly turned him down, loving the ‘push-and-pull’ relationship surrounding you. his whole attitude surrounding fighting for things he wasn’t handed to at birth hasn’t exactly dwindled with time, proving apparent even now as a pro-soccer player. 

this meant that he loved how stubborn you were, declining his invites no matter how tempting the offer might have been. could have been a free meal- his treat, at a michelin star restaurant and you turned it down without hesitation.

to reo this only made you more worthwhile to chase because ever since he could remember, he's had the frustration of only being appealing to people because of his wealth. he got use to it after a while, coming to terms that his name would just be synonymous to money, but to have someone break this mould felt liberating.

selfishly enough, he wanted to be by your side forever.

(you were in love with him too but thought he was way out of your league) so yeah. ‘friends’. 

when you finally accepted a date after so long, reo was ecstatic. couldn’t hide how enthused he was when he finally heard the word ‘yes’ slip through your mouth. literally picked you up and spun you around, stuck in his little world of delirium and happiness for a few moments as you laughed with him, admiring his expression of pure elation whilst trapped in his arms. 

he was raised with proper gentlemanly etiquette so definitely a few dates before anything big happened with him. 

reo is absolutely the kind of boyfriend to memorise milestones. i kid you not, he has the date you finally agreed to go out with him memorised. it’s on his phone’s calender- he will always gift you flowers on this day that serve as a little reminder. when you ask him what’s the occasion he’ll shrug and act all nonchalant. maybe he’ll come clean about it one day, but for now, reo will savour how happy you are every time you receive a beautiful bouquet from him.

he’s the definition of down bad and he’s not at all ashamed to let you know. you had his heart in a chokehold before you even started dating can you imagine him now… like yo… what spell did you put on him.

must be the water he drinks because not even you know how reo got to the point he is at now.

bf that opens door for you, bf that understands the sidewalk rule and won’t have it any other way, bf that carries things you might need around - chapstick, hairtie, reo even has a change of shoes for you in his car just in case. and clothes!

bf that looks at you as if you put all the stars in the sky. bf who wakes up a little earlier just so he gets the chance to hold you, especially with how busy reo is. bf who admires you openly and freely.

‘don’t go where i can’t follow’ bf (he’s so dramatic).

reo is a mix between clingy and independent - he’s always open to spend time with you, but if it’s space you want, he’s more than ready to give it to you.

has no problems entertaining himself and not worrying about whatever you might be doing. he's not controlling and in fact, loves a partner who is independent too!

100% a gentleman so expect a lot of gifts from him. never lets you pay- not that you’re complaining, but if you even think about fishing out your wallet, he’s grabbing both your wrists in one hand and tapping his card on the machine instead. 

it’s a slow relationship, you’re both just trying to take your time to learn more about the other before things begin speeding up, and even though reo has been wanting you- wanting this for the longest time, he’s content with the pace. so long as he has you. 

the photos of you two are INCREDIBLE. mirror selfies are a must, but you’re definitely the kind of relationship that’s more on the private side. reo makes sure that your face is hidden save for side-profiles, silhouettes, or ¾ angles, but it’s just for media peace of mind that he was taken.

that said, if you’re going to an event together, he absolutely loves showing you off. your ultimate hype man.

also loves bringing you up whenever he can. ‘how’s practice?’ ‘oh amazing, i love going home to y/n.’, ‘what’s your favourite cheat day meal?’ ‘one of y/n’s childhood favourite dishes, i have like five plates in one sitting’, ‘where’d you get this from? it’s nice’ ‘y/n saw it in a magazine’.

asks you to move in with him five months into the relationship when you both realise you’re over way too often. when there are too many trinkets of yours left around his penthouse that his heart aches at your absence, yearning for your presence through little things that are attached to you.

reo gets so ecstatic when you accept, practically scoops you into his arms, unable to contain his excitement and glee.

ABSOLUTELY the couple that’s like ‘your secret is safe with me… and my partner!’ 

gossip sessions are a weekly occurrence. every saturday you sit down and begin revealing everything. doesn’t matter if you have a party to attend to, you will be gossiping at the party or leaving early to have it at home. you could literally be having a shower and reo would join, seated atop the toilet seat whilst rambling and you’d listen intently.

nothing comes in between your gossip sessions!!! don't even think about interrupting. nagi is more than welcome to join, he knows quite a bit of tea himself so ;) the more the merrier in his case.

chigiri, bachira, and isagi are also all-time favourites. ALL THREE of them are nosy ass fuckers and cannot keep their mouths shut.

it’s like the second you walk into his apartment, he’s giving you a kiss in greeting before sitting you down on the couch, hands and legs pressed together and he begins with ‘i have more to tell you about otoya and his fling’.

and you immediately throw your stuff away and lean into his couch, ready to listen.

speaking of parties, you would absolutely be that couple. the ones who always look flawless and will never be caught lacking !!!!!!!

he’s so proud to be able to walk by your side; that he’s the one who gets to hold you and show you off. so proud in fact, that he never likes to stray too far from you. 

could be doing shots with bachira and stumbles around to find you when he’s done. you have the time of your life filming him in this drunken state. 

definitely had the ‘only my partner is allowed to touch me’ conversation with him once. 

reo is the definition of all five love languages, there is not one of them that he does not like - words of affirmation? absolutely. a must. . physical touch? he’s not ashamed to be needy. gift giving? who do you think he is? acts of service? loves doing things for you and vice versa. quality time? can never get enough of it. 

so yeah. sticking to his ‘thing’ about being a chameleon, he’s very adaptable and willing to listen to your needs.

(i’m going to throttle him he is so perfect)

also reo just really really adores taking care of you- those he loves in general too, but especially you because you’re at the top of his list of favourite people (suck it, nagi)

takes care of you and loves doing so too. whenever you’re sick, he’s at your beck and call 24/7. if he has a meeting or practice to attend, you have to literally force him out of the apartment, threatening him to go but as soon as he returns, he’s back at your side, probably came back with a bunch of things for you as well.

if you take care of him though? goodness he’s ready to pop the question even though you’ve never even discussed marriage.

suddenly cough medicine is a lot easier to drink if you’re the one offering it to him, and the soup you made him must have super healing properties because he thinks he can jump up and run a few hundred laps (goodness reo, please, sit your ass back down and rest). 

OKAY HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE: reo never learnt how to drive because he’s always had a chauffeur, but since dating you, he’s had to get a licence lMFAOOOO let you pick out his car too xoxo such a considerate boyfriend 😣

he suggested as a joke to get a personalised number plate and even though he was clearly goofing around to make you laugh, you couldn’t help but sense there was some sort of truth in his statement… just a slither.

also reo’s definitely the slow-dance in the living room kind of guy like… not a lot can change my mind on this. 

you could literally be putting away the dishes and he’d drag you by the wrist into the living room- he bought a vinyl player just so he could turn on some romantic songs and slow dance with the love of his life. 

he’s not a good dancer btw.

HE LOVES SHOPPING WITH YOU. 1000/10 BOYFRIEND TO GO SHOPPING WITH, doesn’t mind being your personal coathanger when browsing and also doesn’t mind carrying any bags you may have. 

it’s cause reo loves shopping too. loves it even more if you think about him whilst shopping. you could go buy some home appliances and if you returned with the silliest hat with bunny ears and he’d wear it for the next few hours.

return with (expensive) necklaces of each other’s initials and reo is never taking his off, proud to wear the letter of your name around his neck at all times.

takes it off during practice though because if he broke it then goodness is he going to go emo. 

no date with him is a boring date! partly because he’s a considerate and thoughtful person who plans everything out, but also because reo’s company is a fun one to have. every moment with him is fun (except when he’s checking his stocks. you’re kinda left to just wait for him to finish).

(that’s also an ick- that he checks his stocks on dates but whatever 😒he still gives you attention though so it’s fine)

adores going out and staying in! prefers going out though just so he can show you off but also hates going out because he loves to see you dressed up only for him. he’s a perfect paradox.

speaking of staying in, off days with reo are very domestic. you both promise to use this as a work-free day, reo can’t check his business statistics or stock patterns and you’re not allowed to answer any calls or emails. he is allowed to workout though and you have quite a bit of fun blatantly admiring him. you're too comfortable with each other at this stage to get embarrassed.

but other than that, the day is just spent lounging around and doing nothing- a nice reset from how hectic both your lives are.

“there are still some chocolate chips left. wanna snack?” you ask once you put a tray of cookies in the oven, going over to see how many pieces were remaining in the bag.

reo hums, wrapping his arms around your figure, his sturdy chest meeting your back as he plays with the fabric of your shirt. “sure. might as well finish them.”

“bet you can’t catch 10 in a row with your mouth.”

“okay. bet.”

he ends up catching 12 successfully and the rest of the waiting time is spent with you throwing chips into his mouth. there’s a heap of chocolate on the floor but neither of you really mind when the home is warmed with laughter and giggles.

when you wait for the cookies to cool, you somehow end up on the counter with reo in between your legs, holding you closely to him whilst making out to pass the time. the cookies are cold when you get to them.

reo’s jealous. like very jealous. and a little (lot) possessive - do you see the way he is with nagi… c’mon. 

but it comes from a place of good intentions, he's genuinely just in disbelief that he managed to bag someone like you (as if he's not a one in a million too)

he’s very into hickies ;> doesn’t matter if it’s on you or on him, it feeds into his possessiveness all the same. ok next headcanon. 

reo’s got a little bit of an ego to him (he’s a leo. ofc he does) so he secretly loves it when people fawn over him, but not just exclusively you. 

which has been the cause for quite a bit of arguments between you where you were uncomfortable because of the way someone was treating reo and he’d dismiss your concerns, stubbornly rooted in the belief that you knew that you were different. definitely thinks that his love and adoration for you makes it obvious that you’ll always be superior to anyone else. which, you are, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when you don’t see him brush off anyone.

genuinely doesn’t see the issue with this, even when the media is being invasive and speculating too much.

it’s loud.

it’s so very loud, tormenting you as the hurricane of your thoughts can’t seem to quiet down, rattling even stronger as you keep scrolling through the ‘#reo mikage’ tag that was currently trending. each time you see the pictures, your chest constricts even more.

unbelievable how a bunch of pixels could have this much of an effect over you. how your phone mockingly presents several photos of reo and one of japan’s golden models spending time together at multiple events, the headlines only worsening rising assumptions. she’s all over him in each photo, whether it be decked out in formal gear at a promotional event, after a dior runway where reo was invited backstage by the creative director, or- most recently, at a brunch he was invited to by blue lock friends, she seems to love invading his personal space.

the worst part is that he doesn’t seem bothered at all by it.

you know reo and you know how much he valued your presence in his life. you know that before each event, he asked you how his outfit looked and if you approved. before each event, he threw a mini-tantrum over you're inability to accompany him to each one. that he only stopped whining when you promised that you’d be waiting for him after each one.

but you don't know the feeling of betrayal that settles in your gut and it terrifies you.

“y/n?” comes a voice from down the hallway, one that causes your breath to hitch in your throat, all words lodging themselves in your windpipe. reo’s head appears from behind the bedroom door frame and he smiles widely upon seeing you, immediately walking over so he could lean down and place a kiss on your forehead.

it doesn’t do much to stop the tornado in your brain. 

“are we going to watch the latest episode or what?” asks the purple-haired, whose doe eyes are looking at you so innocently- so lovingly. 

“we are,” you whisper, voice slightly broken and ragged, turmoil settling itself crystal clear in the heavy air of your shared bedroom. 

reo notices your pained tone and immediately looks at you with concern gleaming in his eyes. “what’s wrong?” 

so innocent. so ignorant. you wonder if it was appropriate to shatter his purity. but a relationship rooted in honesty will have more positives than negatives and even if it seems like being open with him will be detrimental, you should fix the cracks now before it worsens; splits apart too much to the point of it being unfixable. 

“pictures of you and a model are circulating online,” you mutter, scouring through what’s left of your sanity to express what you’re feeling, but you can tell you’re already failing through the perplexed scrunch of his eyebrows. “and y’know, it just got me-”

“-why are you looking at them?”

you flinch at his defensiveness. “wh-what?”

“you know that they’re just some pictures, don’t you? it’s not that big of a deal.”

something’s telling you that this conversation won’t progress how you want it to so you give up, dropping your shoulders in defeat. “okay, sure.”

he’s not happy with your response. “what? what did i do?”

“it just feels so… horrible looking at these,” you mutter, dragging a hand over your face. “whatever. let’s just go watch the episode or something.”

“let’s not. are you seriously pissed right now? over some photos of me and someone else? i didn’t think you’d be this insecure.”

“i’m not insecure!”

“yes you are! you’re getting angry and upset over me being seen with someone else as if you know they’re nothing more than just a friend! am i not allowed to hangout and be seen with whoever i want?”

“it’s not a matter of being seen with them, reo! it’s about how okay you seem being that close with someone! she’s practically all up in your personal space and you’re okay with it!”

“why wouldn’t i be okay with it? you’re the only person i actually care about for it to mean something.”

“that’s not how it works!” you exclaim abruptly, curling your hands into fists. “it’s so disrespectful seeing this, it’s clear that she has no respect for our relationship and our status as a couple, can’t you see?”

“why should we care what she thinks? everyone else knows. ‘s all that matters.”

“sure, but she’s actively trying to pursue you! and you’re not doing anything to solidify any boundaries against it! do you know how demeaning that feels? especially against someone who is so well-known by your fans too.”

reo narrows his eyes. “so this is a conversation about insecurity-”

“you’re not listening to me!” you cut him off, trying to maintain your composure despite the way anger and frustration brewed freely in your stomach, threatening to spill over. “i’m not insecure! i’m upset because you’re not valuing our relationship publicly, and as a result, it’s stirring up so many unsolicited assumptions online!” 

“you shouldn’t care about them because i only have eyes for you, fuck what the internet is saying.”

“no- that’s,” you ball your fists even tighter, “that’s not the solution to this problem!” 

“then maybe you should just get over it!”

“is asking you to be a little more assertive about brushing off people like this too much?”

“it’s natural, y/n! these people just want me for my fame and reputation! there’s no point brushing them off when they’ll just continue this shit,” there’s a hint of insincerity in his tone, and from the way he’s evading your request makes your stomach churn.

rubbing your temples, you decide to surrender. “fine. if you just want people to fawn over you then they can. just, leave me out of the picture.”

swiftly standing up from where you were seated on the bed, you’re even faster brushing past the purple-haired, shutting the door behind you with a noncommittal slam.

realisation pours over him like cold water and he’s awoken into action. immediately, he turns to rip open the door and rushes into the hallway, panicked as fear strikes him like a lightning bolt. it’s like the rational side of him had finally woken up after a night of dormancy and he curses himself for its horrible timing as he prays he can make it to stop you in time. 

reo feels stupid. so, so stupid.

you’re in the living room already when he catches up, phone in hand as you quickly try to make a beeline for your shoes before your boyfriend can stop you.

unfortunately for you, you’re too ambitious, and reo manages to step in front of you, hindering your exit. the anxiety he’s feeling is expressed clearly in his eyes and devastation is plastered all over his face, a sight that makes you stop in your tracks. 

“where are you going?” he whimpers, no louder than a whisper.

you glance down at your phone to see the time. 10:41. “away. i need to cool my head.” 

“you can do that here, can’t you?” he’s trying to sound sensible, really, he is, but the fear of losing you is too strong that his voice cracks. “i’m sorry, i’m really sorry, i was being stupid and i wasn’t listening to you, i realise that now-”

“-it’s too late for that,” you grumble, trying to sneak past him only to be stopped by a hand on your shoulder, one that you brush off. “don’t touch me!”

only a few, simple words yet they hurt reo like spears to his heart. his palms itch with the need to hold you because being able to feel you would remind him that you’re here, that you haven’t left just yet. that reo still has a chance to fix the mess he just created.

“i’m sorry, i’m really sorry, you're right.”

you probably don’t want to hear it, but he grovels nonetheless, contracting his fingers to stop them from reaching out to you. he doesn’t want to make you feel even more disrespected than he already has tonight, especially when you so clearly stated that you didn’t want to be touched.

“don’t go,” the purple-haired pleads weakly. “we can figure this out.”

“so now you want to talk about it?” you ask, all ounce of pettiness you had left melting into your tone. you to cross your arms. “i’m tired reo, and i need some time.”

“i’ll give you time, space, whatever you need, just please don’t leave.”

the penthouse is so quite and devoid of its usual vibrancy, the one that your relationship brings to the home.

reo doesn't want to think about what the place would be like if you leave. he doesn't want to think about what his life would be like if you leave, so he repeats 'please' over and over again, scrambled with some apologies here and there as he leans closer to you.

the urge to be as close as you'll allow him is irresistible.

the breath you exhale is shaky and you can’t look him in the eye as you think about what to do next, gnawing your lip in contemplation. what captures your attention is the feeling of his fingers ghosting over your hands, causing you to glance back at him with a surprised expression.

traces of love frame his expression and he’s looking at you like he’s savouring this moment, as if it'll be his last few with you, but he can only plead and pray that that's not the case. desperately, he succumbs to the force of his affection for you with the light thud of bone meeting floor. it’s a sound that makes you cringe briefly before reo experimentally takes your hands in his, waiting for a reaction. 

there is none.

so he holds on to you like a lifeline and your resolve crumbles, fury and irritation melting away a lot quicker than you would have liked it to. it’s ridiculous what reo’s capable of.

“stay,” pleads the purple-haired, resting his forehead in your hands as he tightens his grip. “please.”

in front of you is a man on his knees. not just any man, but a world-class soccer player who came from 24k gold, real diamonds, and an unfathomable amount of trust funds. yet, something's telling you that he's willing to give it all up for you.

“reo,” your call of his name is broken and entirely wobbly, but he looks up at you nonetheless, eye shining as he waits for your next move. waits for either a strike of the palm or an affectionate kiss, both of which he’d readily accept. 

neither happen as you sink down to be eye-level with him, hoping to help him stand up but like a tidal wave, he consumes you, wrapping an arm around your waist with a strength that indicated he had no intention of letting up. “reo,” you delicately repeat, holding yours and his weight up with one hand whilst the other goes to play with his hair. “i’ll stay.”

the sigh of relief that he releases causes his whole body to shudder. “thank you,” he whispers.

you’ll talk about your problems soon, but for now? you'll continue holding him as he silently weeps, hands clutching your sides like you'll disappear and slip away from his grasp.

yeah. i think reo would be the type of person to get too overwhelmed by his own emotions and ego that he doesn’t consider the other party's feelings, but the moment that he realises he’s fucked up, it hits him like a truck. 

has abandonment issues (from nagi) that he never addressed and as a result, has a huge fear of losing you. 

that said, this argument ^ happened within the early stages of moving in together so this was probably the first big argument that really established how important communication is. sure reo may be confident and assured, but he’s self-aware and more than willing to change and constantly better himself, especially if it’s for you.

back to your regularly scheduled hc, reo doesn’t spend a lot of time on his phone, so he’s not very active on social media. he’s too busy attending to his stocks, reading business books, and spending time with you to care about the internet, so a lot of drama that circulates around online doesn’t reach him until two weeks later.

not that he cares LOL.

speaking of social media, here's what his private account looks like!

yourlocalfinancebroreo close up that the love of my life took

yn: smash ╰┈➤ epicgamerseishiroooh pls no horniness on the priv ╰┈➤ yourlocalfinancebroreo hmu cutie xx ╰┈➤ epicgamerseishiroooh guys pls ╰┈➤ yn nagi what the 😭😭

OH AND he’s so interested in all of your interests. listens intently and rambles passionately, he truly is just perfect :( 

anyways, encourages anything you want to do and is often the one who helps you make the terrifying jump. reo supports you so much in your day-to-day and whatever achievements you accomplish, no matter how big or small, he wants to hear about it from you.

never shy away from being honest with him!!!!

also because the support you show him makes him so happy every time. whether it’s showing up to a soccer match and cheering him on to dropping off some tea and a platter of fruit when he’s stuck in front of his monitor for too long looking at big numbers, he wants to reciprocate this energy and make sure you know just how special you make him feel.

the whole world could be praising him yet none of it could compare to when you do it.

y/n and me vs the world forever type of beat when it comes to you two. 

yeah. i think that’s all i have for now. so, to sum it up: PERFECT, INCREDIBLE, AMAZING, ALL YOU COULD EVER ASK FOR boyfriend. give it up for mikage reo everyone <3

[imdumbforgiveme]

our summer

[imdumbforgiveme]

The audacity of this bitch hacking my acc

[imdumbforgiveme]

pioneering something called "gritted teeth optimism" where everything is gonna turn out okay even if i have to bite and claw and gnash my way through it

[imdumbforgiveme]

AND WHAT IF RAN IS ABBY

IM SO SORRY BUT THE SIMILARITIES ARE ASTRONOMICAL ALQOSMQSKWK HE LOOKS SO CUTE THO

[imdumbforgiveme]

[imdumbforgiveme]

alexa play daddy issues JDKALAJAJA THE CHOKEHOLD THEY HAVE ON ME

the four horsemen of the apocalypse

[imdumbforgiveme]

pillow talk | hanma x reader

synopsis: after vowing to loathe hanma for as long as you live, you somehow end up tangled in his bedsheets.

themes: fem! reader, nsfw, 18+, enemies to lovers, alcohol consumption, one night stand, hate sex, sex with feelings, breeding kink, creampies, oral sex, doggy-style, cowgirl, rough sex, unrequited love, one sided love, angst (if you squint), hanma has feelings, mitsuya is your best friend

word count: 7.2k (unedited; lowercase intended)

a/n: so, when i posted a sample of this, some of you were kind enough to say that you liked it enough for me to continue the story. n so, i wrote more, n some more, n then, even more, n now it’s over 7k words, oops. it’s longer than i originally planned it to be, but it’s probably my new favourite out of all of the fics that i’ve written (so far), which may or may not be heavily influenced by the fact that it’s about hanma, hhh. it’s three am here, so i’m definitely not editing today, but i’ll get around to it one day. pls enjoy the full fic, n thank you to those who encouraged me to finish this ♡

likes, reblogs, follows and replies are appreciated ~

there are many emotions that you can associate with each time the fates decide to test your misfortunate knack of bumping into hanma shuji, but happiness isn’t one of them. and unfortunately for you, today is yet another of those days.

you’ve never been able to pinpoint the exact reason why the mere sight of his face is enough to irate you, nor are you able to explain why just an utterance of his name influences the instinctive reflex to roll your eyes before you’re able to stop it from happening. most of the time, you like to think of yourself as the better person, but there comes a time when one must simply accept that they are not above disliking someone enough to sneak into the office kitchen to swap the salt with the sugar just to see their arch nemesis grimace into their morning cup of coffee during the weekly team meeting. and there must also come a time when one will be humbled, embarrassed, or suffer at the hands of karma, no matter how much it may sacrifice the reputation of your own ego. or his, for that matter. 

and today is that day. 

you don’t notice anything unusual when you first wake, refusing to open your eyes when you regain enough wit about yourself to recognise the heat of this morning’s sun burning into your right cheek. your left is pressed into the pillow beneath your head, your limbs splayed in all directions under the bedsheets. you can feel a tendril of hair tickling your forehead with each upward breath that is puffed from between your lips, which, with one flick of your tongue, feel dry due to lack of hydration. it is with this discomfort that your eyes finally blink open with great effort, lids drooping with exhaustion. for a long, blissful moment, you’re not conscious enough to recognise that this, in fact, is not your bed. nor is it your bedroom, either. 

that long, blissful moment continues as you move to stifle a yawn with the back of your hand, eyes blinking to regain some sort of coherency. only then, do you realise that your prone form is tangled in a mess of grey, silken bedsheets that do not belong to you. instantly, your spine stiffens, rigid with the brief flicker of anxiousness that has rendered you frozen. this pause stretches for far longer than what is probably deemed necessary, and before you take a proper look around you, you’re throwing the sheets back and stumbling from the ridiculously comfortable mattress, almost tripping over your own feet in your panic. there’s a bedside table that looks to be carved from an expensive oak—the sight of which makes your nose turn up—but nonetheless, it is what you reach out for when your ankle rolls painfully and you stifle a yelp by pushing your top row of teeth into the plush cushioning of your bottom lip. only, it seems that it’s unnecessary for you to catch your balance on the bedside table, but at that exact moment, the other occupant of the room reaches out and curls their fingers around your wrist in order to steady your balance. 

this time, you do scream; a stressed noise that even makes you wince, and you yank your wrist free whilst simultaneously losing said balance and landing hard on the ground. the impact forces a shocked grunt from your mouth, but you’re not focused on that, because you’ve now realised that you’ve awoken—as naked as the day you were born—in the bed of someone you do not know. 

except, the fates decide to prove you wrong, because the stranger breaks the silence, speaking in a low baritone that has served nothing but to aggravate you in every single possible way for the past decade. 

‘what you doin’ down there?’ 

and then, a shock of dark hair—mixed with bleached strands of golden-yellow—appears within your line of sight as he peers over the edge of the mattress to eye your sprawled form on the floor. heavily lidded eyes dance across your naked skin, but you’re too busy gawking at him in horror to recognise the flicker of arousal that passes over his features. when your jaw finally has the mind to stop hanging open, it snaps shut and your brows lower, pulling together as you glower up at him, thrusting an accusatory index finger in his face. 

‘you!’ 

and he, in typical hanma fashion, smirks. mockingly, he raises his own hand to point at his own bare chest, his other palm occupied by the weight of his head as he leans on it, appearing very comfortable with looking down at you. ‘me?’ he drawls, smirk widening when you finally recognise that you’re not wearing any clothes, and you rush to sit up, hands scrambling to grip the bedsheets and yank them from the bed in a desperate attempt to hide your nakedness from his greedy eyes. in doing so, though, you’d failed to think of the possibility that he’d be just as naked as you are, and your cheeks are lit aflame upon the sight of his cock, semi-hard against the crook of his thigh, nestled amongst a neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair. he isn’t nearly as embarrassed as you are—in fact, he only seems to be amused at your current predicament—and he simply lazes across the bare mattress, the corners of his eyes stretching slightly as he grins wide enough to bare his teeth at you. the sight makes your stomach twist with something that isn’t quite like disgust, but you promptly ignore it in favour of glaring at his stupid, smug face instead. 

‘y-you!’ you splutter again, recognising the burning feeling of anger quickly settling in the centre of your chest. your voice is shrill as you demand, ‘what the hell are you doing here!?’ 

he looks at you pointedly, a single, black eyebrow quirking up toward his hairline, ‘i live here?’

you have nothing to say to that, so instead, you redirect your anger toward the very obvious elephant in the room—how in the hells did you end up in his room? his bed? when you voice these questions aloud, you watch his eyebrows pinch together in what you can only describe as thinly veiled annoyance. 

‘what? you don’t remember?’ 

he sounds angrier than you’d expected, but it only fuels your own irritation, an emotion that isn’t foreign to you, especially when it concerns him. ‘obviously not,’ you snap at him, eyes wandering over the expanse of his thighs, all the way down to his ankles. you follow the lines and curves of his muscles as he pushes himself upright, eyes narrowing down at you. 

it’s no secret that the two of you don’t get along. you’d immediately taken to disliking him when you first met as teenagers, and it appeared that he’d felt the same. then, you’d graduated from university, and you had made the mistake of thinking that you had finally escaped from seeing his insufferable face every damned day, only to have the misfortune of accepting a secretarial role at one of the largest law firms in the country, and being introduced to the senior partner, hanma-fucking-shuji, on the very first day. and, much like in his teenage years, hanma had made sure to live up to his infuriating nickname—the reaper—and has continued to make your life a living hell ever since. 

and, of course, he hasn’t earned the role of senior partner for no reason. last night had been the celebration of yet another big win added to hanma’s ever growing repertoire, and this time, it had been the much awaited end to a very public murder trial that had stretched on for far too long, in your opinion. and despite the fact that you’d dramatically announced that you’d rather die than celebrate anything associated with the most insufferable man on the planet, it was kokonoi and mitsuya who had dragged you along anyway. you’d been tucked away in the corner, sitting on the plush velvet seat that had looked like it had cost more than your monthly rent, and when mitsuya had politely suggested that you at least fake a smile every once in a while, instead, you had grumbled every curse under the sun. 

after that, you don’t remember a thing. 

so, for reasons unimaginable to you—because, really, you had no idea as to why you would subject yourself any sort of company with him of all people—you’re now sat on hanma’s bedroom floor, wrapped in a thin, silken bedsheet that looks as obnoxious as his face does, absolutely mind boggled as to how you ended up in this situation. 

you must have really pissed someone off in a past life. 

begrudgingly, you meet hanma’s gaze, and in a voice so minute that he has to strain to hear you, you dare to ask, ‘uh…? did we—?’ you motion a hand between the two of you, and if possible, his frown deepens. 

he leans closer to the edge of the bed, golden orbs staring down at you, hard. ‘you really don’t remember?’ you shrug, nose crinkling into a grimace. he pauses, gaze distant as if he’s seeing right through you, and then he scoffs out a, ‘huh.’ then, instead of answering you, he rises from the bed and steps over you to make his way over to the built in wardrobe that dominates the opposing wall. he doesn’t answer your question, but with the alarming lack of clothing involved throughout this entire exchange, and with the familiar ache that is nestled deep into the muscles of your thighs when you shift your legs, you already know the answer. dread spreads across your entire chest, and you belatedly think to yourself: what the fuck have i done? 

hanma? of all people? hanma-fucking-shuji? how, and most importantly, why? why can’t you remember a thing from last night—surely you hadn’t drank that much? and why in the hells didn’t you go home with mitsuya, as you’d promised to earlier that night? at this thought, you frown, and you wonder if mitsuya even knows where you are. the thought of him panicking upon your disappearance makes your stomach fill with nauseating guilt, strands of hair gluing themselves to back of your neck that seems to get clammier and clammier with each passing second. your eyes skip across the vastly large room, searching for your handbag, which you hope that you’d had enough sense to bring with you, and your shoulders sag with relief when you spot it, dumped at the foot of the bed. however, before you’re able to make a beeline toward it, you’re distracted by hanma flinging one of the wardrobe doors open, and he looks at you from over the crook of his shoulder as if he hasn’t just flashed you an eyeful of his bollocks swinging between his legs, his expression touching upon an eerie shade of cold, ‘you should leave. wouldn’t want you to get caught with the reaper, now, would we?’ 

you don’t hesitate to do as he says. scrambling to find your clothes laying in a crumpled pile next to your handbag, you hurriedly pull the crinkled fabric of your work dress over your head, chucking your bra and stockings into the handbag and feet rushing you toward the bedroom door. you feel his eyes watching you from his spot by the wardrobe, your cheeks heating upon the realisation that he is yet to dress himself. 

pausing by the door with your handbag haphazardly thrown over your shoulder, you loiter, pointedly refusing to look at his naked form as you mumble a very hesitant thanks. you may be mortified that it was him, of all people, that you chose to have a one night stand with—albeit one that you cannot remember—but you also can’t deny that it was also him that made sure you had somewhere safe to stay for the night. he could’ve easily kicked you out after having his way with you, and yet, for a reason far beyond your capabilities to think about right now, he let you stay within the comfort of his bed, which, you are loathe to admit that it is, in fact, a very comfortable bed. 

in response, he echoes your thanks with a laugh that sounds anything but genuine. he jabs a thumb in the direction of the door, and orders, ‘i’ve got shit to do. fuck off.’ 

shame and irritation immediately boil your blood, and you have half a mind to give him the ear-thrashing that he has had coming for a long time, but right now, you’d love nothing more than to rid yourself of his presence, and so you turn away, yanking on the door handle and shuffling out into the hallway. you don’t look back to realise that he’s still staring after you. 

you find your heels thrown on the floor by the entrance door, and you ignore the churning of your stomach when you retrieve one of them from its place on top of his evidently expensive pair of brogues. said heels are shoved onto your feet and as fast as your newly forming headache will allow, you leave the apartment, door slamming shut behind you. 

once you’re waiting inside the elevator, you use the time to travel down six floors to straighten your clothes in a bid to make it look like that you’re not currently performing the walk of shame. and once you make it past a very awkward smile shared with the receptionist at the front desk, you’re out onto the street, one hand smoothing down the messy tendrils of hair that billow in the morning breeze, the other, dialling mitsuya’s phone number. the phone doesn’t even manage to ring twice when he picks up with an immediate urgency, and you are made aware that he’s been trying to call you all fucking night, where the hell have you been?! five minutes later and he’s still spewing on about how close he was to calling the police and reporting you missing, but as much as you love him for loving you enough to be this worried about you, you have far more pressing news to share. 

‘’suya,’ you interrupt his angry ramble, pressing the button at the traffic lights as you await the signal to cross. ‘you’ll never guess what’s just happened—’

and for the next twenty minutes, you inform him of the circumstances of your whereabouts. by the time you finish, you’re already halfway through your journey home. 

‘no fucking way,’ mitsuya blurts in a way that is very un-mitsuya-like.

he then proceeds to tell you that after sulking in the corner of the booth for majority of the party, you’d suffered an uncharacteristic bout of alcoholism, and had drank so much that both mitsuya and kokonoi had caught you—still somehow standing upright—sneaking off to the bathroom to vomit. however, after you’d fallen over for the third time, kokonoi had made the decision to send you home via taxi. you’d stepped outside to clear your head, and mitsuya, the gentleman that he is, had accompanied you as you’d sat on the curb with your head pressed between your knees. his role, surprisingly, had been replaced by none other than hanma-fucking-shuji, who had stepped out for a cigarette and had offered to watch you whilst mitsuya went back inside to say his goodbyes. but when he returned, neither you nor hanma were in sight. 

‘i really thought this was gonna be like one of those documentaries where i’d keeping waiting for you to come home, but instead, the police find you dead in some dude’s bin,’ he says quietly down the phone, and despite the need to tell him that his imagination couldn’t be any more far-fetched, you feel the familiar burn when your eyes prickle with fresh tears. you swallow down the lump that forms in the back of your throat, mumbling a soft apology into the microphone, which he laughs off, voice shaking as he says, ‘it’s about time, anyway.’ 

your lips part, ready to question what he means by that, the wind picks up and billows the skirt of your dress around your thighs, and because of this, the air blows into a place where you really shouldn’t be able to feel the wind. this is when you are suddenly hit with the horrifying realisation that in your earlier panic, there is one item that you had failed to retrieve from hanma’s apartment. 

your underwear. 

卍

it wouldn’t be until three weeks have passed before you next encounter hanma. 

for exactly sixteen days, and counting, you do your upmost to avoid bumping into the ‘absolute beanpole-freak of a man’ as baji had once summarised hanma’s stature when he’d decided to join in on your rant to kokonoi after overhearing you whilst passing by in the hallway. 

the entire office is aware of the mutual rivalry between the two of you, which explains why most of them are baffled as to why you’ve suddenly halted your efforts to slander hanma’s name at every given opportunity, and have instead resorted to either paling by a few shades or stammering a lame excuse—which usually consists of very little coherency—and making a swift exit from the conversation. it was only after chifuyu had reported to the group that you’d said that you had to leave early because your pet cat was having a tooth removed, that kokonoi had later called that evening to tell you to ‘get your shit together’. 

you don’t even own a pet cat, for fuck’s sake. 

if you’re being completely honest, you’re surprised that you’ve managed to avoid him for this long. usually, you arrive at the office long before it opens to the public, which, unfortunately for you, is also the exactly time that hanma likes to arrive, usually wasting most of his free time to annoy you by interfering with your daily routine. once, after a particularly bitter argument in front of the entire office body—caused by him ‘accidentally’ tripping over and spilling freshly brewed coffee all over your work tablet—he’d spent the remainder of the day sporting a very large, bright red sore after you’d retaliated by throwing the desktop mouse straight at his ‘stupid fucking face’.

he’d thrown in an empty threat (or two) to have charges pressed against you, before retracting it when your face had burned an interesting shade of red, all with a smug grin plastered to that stupid fucking face of his. 

but this week, you’ve resorted to travelling to work with baji and nahoya, who, by almost everyone’s standards, are late to work everyday. 

it’s far from ideal to arrive to work after the clock reads past nine am, but you’d rather be reprimanded for tardiness than to risk the alternative. 

but it seems that a few of your coworkers are becoming a tad concerned by your behaviour, as on the seventeenth day, you are called into your manager’s office. at first, you fear that you really are in trouble, but those anxieties are quickly quashed when he asks if you’re faring well. it is only after that you repeatedly insist that yes, you are fine, and thank you, but no, there’s no need for him to lighten your workload because you promise that you are not stressed, and yes, you’ll tell him if you need any assistance, and sorry, but you don’t know what’s on the lunch menu for wednesday, does he finally allow you to leave. after this, you do your best to act as normal as possible, but you clearly fail in doing so, because this only results in another call back to your manager’s office the very next day. 

in the end, you throw yourself into your work, hoping that it’ll serve as a much needed distraction. it works for the majority of days eighteen, nineteen and twenty, but when you breach the third week, that is when your luck runs out. 

you’ve stayed late to finish up some notes that haven’t yet been submitted, but when you need to use the printer, you are frustrated to find that it won’t switch on, despite checking all of the nearby plug socks, and pressing every damn button on the blasted machine. after fighting with the printer for a good fifteen minutes, eventually, you huff a curse under your breath and decide to leave to use the machine on the floor above you, but not without delivering a swift kick to the base on your way. 

this late in the evening, the building is quiet—too quiet—and it’s almost a little eerie as you click, clack your way over to the elevator. there are probably only a few other stragglers within the entire building, so it doesn’t take long before the doors are sliding open to allow you inside. you reach the upper floor within seconds, which you could’ve easily made on foot, but you’re feeling far too lazy for that. once you locate the printer, you set to work on making sure that everything is switched on correctly. you’re balancing on the tips of your heels to reach the plug socket when, suddenly, there’s a large tattooed hand brushing the the curve of your waist, before it tightens to hold you in place. the other hand closes over your mouth to muffle the shriek that gets stuck in the back of your throat. pulse  hammering, your spine stiffens when there’s a warm weight that presses to the round of your behind, trapping you against the printer. 

a pair of lips ghost over the shell of your ear, ‘you’re avoidin’ me.’ 

you’d never have thought that you’d ever be relieved to hear hanma’s voice, but the second that you recognise him to not be a random stranger breaking into the office to have their way with you, your spine relaxes for a short moment before your relief quickly morphs into the shape of anger. enraged by his audacity to not only sneak through the office to catch you off guard, but it’s multiplied by the fact that he’s also dared to put his hands on you in a way that would look compromising to anyone who may walk past. you also despise the fact that after three weeks of working hard to avoid him, it’s all been undone with just one whisper into your ear. 

you glance down and recognise the black inking of the kanji for ‘punishment’. how fitting. 

despite the fact that he can’t see the look on your face, your eyes roll and before he sees it coming, you bend your right arm and elbow him as hard as your strength will allow. he grunts, hand falling from your face, but to your surprise, he maintains his hold on your waist, long fingers biting through the fabric of your blouse. the hand that displays the kanji for ‘sin’ traces up the length of your throat before it curls, index finger stroking along the length of your jugular. ‘behave,’ he murmurs, hot breath fanning the curve of your cheek as his lips follow, huffing a short laugh when you attempt to elbow him again. this time, he’s prepared and he doesn’t even flinch when the sharp edge of your elbow collides with his rib cage. instead, his fingers twitch against your neck, and he hums happily, ‘so fuckin’ sexy.’ he emphasises the last word with a nudge of his groin against your backside, accompanied with a phantom of a moan that you’d’ve missed if not for the fact that his lips are now pressed to your temple. 

his words only fuel your irritation, which only just masks the fact that the position he has you in is starting to affect you. not that you’re ever going to admit it aloud—especially not to him. 

‘fuck you,’ you spit at him from over your shoulder. 

he sneers down at you, humming as he shifts his hips, and you hate the fact that when you feel the hardened shape of his length grinding into your thigh, it encourages the heat that is slowly beginning to burn between your legs. ‘fuck me?’ he repeats, sin now sliding over your skin to grip the back of your neck, roughly shoving you forward so that your chest presses into the hard surface of the machine below you. there, he easily holds you in place with one hand, and he towers over you from behind, hips pressed flushed to your backside. ‘you’ve fucked me before,’ he hisses, punishment trailing a long index finger down the length of your spine, which, to your horror, instinctively arches to encourage his touch. you almost hope think that he’s going to grab at your ass, but instead, he croons mockingly into the shell of your ear, ‘or don’t you remember?’ 

you freeze under him, recognising the barely concealed fury that is laced between each syllable that leaves his mouth. 

so that’s what this is about. 

you don’t get to dwell on the subject of his bruised ego, because he’s grabbing at you once again, spinning you around until you’re both stood chest-to-chest. you barely have a second to crane your neck to glare up at him before he’s gripping your jaw and angling your head so that your neck stretches towards him. your hands fly to shove at his chest, to no avail, because he’s built like a brick wall, apparently. 

instead, you resort to simply slapping his hand away, ‘don’t fucking touch me.’ 

he’s silent as he glowers down at you through the lenses of his glasses, regarding your expression for just a few, short seconds, before he steps back. you dare not acknowledge the disappointment you feel at the loss of his warmth. just when his stare starts to feel a tad uncomfortable, he smooths a hand through his hair, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. he’s frowning, lips parting as if he has something that he wishes to say, before he clearly thinks the better of it as his mouth closes again. he nods once, whether to you or to himself, you’re not sure. 

‘fine,’ he says shortly. 

and then before you’re able to respond, he’s turning on his heel and disappearing down the hall. you stare, long after he’s walked out of your line of sight. the heat that’s built deep within your gut eventually simmers, but it takes longer that you care for, and it takes even longer for you to remember what you were doing on this floor in the first place. twenty minutes later, you’ve finished your work for the night and you’re just locking the office door before you make your way home, when one thought repeatedly circles through your mind: 

you forgot to ask for your underwear back. 

卍

somehow, it happens again. 

this time, you wake to a finger stroking over the curve of your cheek and tickling the baby hairs back from your forehead. the sensation makes you stir, brows pulling together as your eyes slowly peel open. exhausted, your eyelids are heavy, and it takes a few blinks to recognise that, once again, you’ve awoken in a bed that doesn’t belong to you. 

this time, however, your foggy mind is able to put together the blurred memories from the previous night: 

you’d attended a dinner with your colleagues, who’d later suggested continuing the night at the club down the road. it’d taken some convincing, but you’d agreed, only to immediately regret it because during the short walk down the road, you’d bumped into another office party who, by chance, were also making their way over to the very same club. you hadn’t recognised any of these people, except for the one golden-eyed man who had glanced at you once, twice, before turning his cheek and pretending that you weren’t there. that had been fine with you; two of you could play that game. 

except, this game didn’t last for very long. 

once the newly-extended party had reached the club, it hadn’t taken all of one hour before the two of you had engaged in a heated argument outside of the club, and in one moment, you were yelling every insult under the sun and in the next, he was backing you against the wall and shoving his tongue down your throat. 

a warm puff of breath is fanned across your face and your nose crinkles. 

not again, you want to cry aloud, but your words die on the tip of your tongue when you blink up to see a familiar pair of golden-coloured eyes already focused on you, apprehension pinching his brows together. you’re unable to stop yourself from sighing, eyes drifting to where the bedsheets pool at his bare waist. you don’t have to look under the fabric to know that you’re also not wearing any clothes. you decide that you lack the energy to start an argument this early in the morning, so instead, you simply lay there with your eyes closed. 

lying this close to him, you can hear each draw of breath into his nostrils and you feel each exhale blowing gently across the side of your face. it’s peaceful, despite the fact that you’re a little unnerved by his uncharacteristic quietude. but, all too soon, he breaks the silence by shifting next to you, and the mattress first dips, then raises as it eases without his weight. you listen to the bedroom door opening and swinging shut, and only then do your eyes peel open. you’re alone in the bedroom, and for a reason unknown to you, your heart hammers away in your chest. just like the last time, there’s an ache set deep within the muscles of your thighs, and you can’t stop your mind from drifting to recall the night before. you’re so deeply immersed into your thoughts that you almost miss the sound of his footsteps approaching the room. when he enters, the door hasn’t even fully closed before he’s burying himself back under the covers, the full length of his body pressing as close to you as possible. you have half the mind to shove him away, but you are betrayed by your own body, which welcomes the arm that snakes under your neck and pulls you closer. your right cheek is smushed into his shoulder, the rough impact making your teeth knock together. 

‘’m tired,’ he grumbles, low voice even deeper when thick with sleep. the sound vibrates across his chest and dances down your eardrum, your own breath tickling its way across his collarbone. in response to him, you hum a noncommittal noise. 

the fact that you’re cuddling up to the one man who you had sworn to hate for the rest of your life is one that makes your gut churn with the niggling feeling that this isn’t how things work between the two of you. the majority of the past decade has been spent fighting, shouting and cursing each other to hell and back, and although your life would be much easier without the stress that is hanma shuji, you also can’t deny that since you’d awoken in his bed all those weeks ago, it’s all you’ve thought about. he’s insufferable, yes, and on more than one occasion, you’ve loved nothing more than to slap away the smug smile that is perpetually glued to his face. but even you must admit that something has changed between the two of you. what, exactly, you cannot be sure, but you aren’t given the chance to question it, because the pads of his fingers are bumping under your chin and when you blink at him through sleep-laden eyelids, his gentle expression is one that you’d never thought him capable of. 

‘tired,’ he repeats, his own eyelids drooping as his gaze lowers to your mouth, ‘don’t wanna fight.’ 

and that’s when you realise that you’re tired too. 

it must’ve shown on your face because something flickers within those golden orbs of his, and then he’s tilting his head so that his lips ghost over yours. there’s a soft brush, before they press to yours properly, his fingers firming against your chin as he holds you in place. to your surprise, he kisses you lazily, very much unlike how he’d kissed you last night, and as much as you’d enjoyed what you’d received the night before, this kiss makes your toes curl. his tongue probes to caress yours, and although you probably taste of day-old alcohol and the stale flavour of sleep, he breathes a moan when you return his efforts. 

your skin is enveloped with the smell of him, the taste of him, the warmth of him, and it isn’t long before you begin to feel your pulse throbbing between your legs. his hand moves from your chin to stroke his thumb to the length of your neck, and you press closer, legs shifting beneath the bedsheets. as if sensing your hesitation, he encourages your intentions by slipping one long leg between yours and suddenly, his arousal presses to the crook of your thigh, his length burning as hot as you are. your clit throbs harder, and you move so that you’re propped by your elbow, now leaning over him. this position allows you to kiss him deeper, your free hand reaching to push back the longer strands of hair from his face. 

his forehead feels feverish beneath your fingers, and soon, his kisses burn as hot as his skin does. 

a hand strokes your thigh and then tugs. ‘c’mere,’ he murmurs into your mouth. he positions your body over his own, your thighs straddling his hips. your cunt is pressed flush against his cock and he’s unable to muffle the groan that escapes him when his tip glides through your slick folds until the blunt edge bumps your clit. you whimper against his lips before his tongue languidly slides along yours. you lose yourself to his attentions and when his hips begin to slowly roll underneath yours, you pull your mouth from his to mewl quietly into the crook of his neck. 

the head of his cock repeatedly knocks your clit and one particularly harsh thrust has you crying out a tad louder than you’d expected. the sound has the corners of his mouth curling upward, and he doubles his efforts, hips canting harder with each thrust. you keen, eyes screwed shut tight as your fingers cling to his shoulders, and you moan his name, to which he responds with a low growl and a nip to your collarbone. your arousal coats his erection, which aids the one thrust that has him prodding at your hole. it clenches instinctively, and then, it’s stretching with the thickness of his girth as he fills you. 

once sheathed, his hips still, his hands stroking and tickling wherever that he can reach, which, with those long arms of his, is everywhere. your tongue is inside his mouth once more, your fingers clutching, tangling and pulling at his hair and he groans, girth twitching deep inside you. his hips jump once more, and then his length is caressing your inner walls, and each time he sheathes himself inside you, your clit drags along the texture of his pubic hair, the sensation clenching your walls tight around him. his breath stutters and he moans, ‘fuck, baby, just like that.’ his paces quickens, and his voice trembles with his efforts as he whispers filthy promises into your ear. ‘gonna fuckin’ fill you,’ he coos happily, ‘you gonna let me breed you, huh?’ you clench around him again, ‘f-fuck, baby, pretty little pussy’s gonna fuckin’ milk me dry.’ 

he pants heavily, and the power behind his thrusts makes your thighs shake in an effort to stay upright. the room is filled with the clapping of his pelvis colliding with your own, his balls slapping your ass as he plunges deep into you. you can do nothing more than desperately clutch at him as he drills into you, the heavy weight of his cock claiming the hot cavern of your cunt as its own. rapidly, you reach your peak and as you tip over the edge, you exclaim your pleasure around the syllables of his name. this apparently pleases him, and his biceps flex when his arms wrap around your middle, holding you right against him. he continues to rut into you, your cream staining a white ring around the base of his girth. 

he groans a long, drawn out noise that has you suspecting that he must be nearing his limit. 

you couldn’t be more wrong. 

just as you’re teetering on the edge of another rapidly building orgasm, it’s interrupted by the sudden schlick of his cock tugging free from your hole. your surprise comes in the form of a sharp yelp, only to morph into a squeak when he flips the both of you over and rises to sit on his haunches. 

‘get on your knees,’ he orders, and usually, when you aren’t drunk on arousal, you would’ve reprimanded him. but, this time, his bossiness only turns you on more, and you scramble to turn away from him to position you body so that your knees dig into the mattress. a large, warm hand presses to the small of your back, guiding you until it arches, your press pressing into a pillow. ‘baby, baby, baby,’ he moans, fingers dancing over the sensitive skin on the back of your thighs. you’ve never been one for pet names, but the way he praises you makes your clit tighten when it pulses. there’s a pause, and you feel your skin prickle with the familiar sensation of being watched, and for the first time, you feel self conscious. but, when you try to curl in on yourself, you’re stopped by the mattress shifting once more, and then he’s pressing the flat of his tongue over your slit, and sucking. a breath hitches in the back of your throat, and if not for the strong grip holding your legs apart, you would’ve snapped your thighs shut together. instead, his tongue encourages you to rock your hips, and his teeth graze your clit, throbbing an electrifying heat throughout your entire body. 

‘oh my god—shuji,’ his name slips from between your lips before you can stop it, and upon realising what you’ve just said, you freeze. the tongue delving between your folds, however, does not. he’s loud and messy as he sucks at your clit, and he hums, the vibrations making your toes curl. at some point, he gives your clit a break, and instead plunges his tongue into your hole as far as it’ll reach. this stretch feels a tad strange, but still just as good, and you cry out when he repeats the action, curling his tongue inside you. 

already, your second orgasm is building and you chant the words, ‘gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna—a-ah—!’ 

your entire body shudders, and the pillow muffles your scream before it is ripped away from under your head and you have no choice but to sob out into the open air.  

your pussy clenches around nothing, and hanma watches your essence creams out from your tight hole, dripping a puddle onto his bedsheets, his palming fisting at his cock as he does so. licking at his lips, he rises above you, and smiles when he grinds the blunt head of his cock past the opening of your cunt, and watches as you greedily suck him back in. he moans along with you as he fucks into you over and over again, cursing when your cream messily marks his cock as yours. 

fuck, he thinks he’s in love. 

his eyes bore into the centre of your back, and he’s momentarily distracted by the thought of just how long he’s dreamt of doing this with you. distracted by the memory of how fucking embarrassed and hurt he’d felt when he’d finally gotten you into his bed and you hadn’t remembered how you’d gotten there. distracted by the memory of the lonely nights that followed your avoidance of him, his hands no longer being good enough to placate the ache in his chest during those lonely nights, all because nothing—no-one—has ever made him cum like you do. ten years, it has taken to get you to want him like how he’s wanted you all this time. ten fucking years, he’s pathetically lusted and pined for you, and now that you’re finally letting him touch you in the way he’s wanted to touch you since you were both nineteen years old, he’s no longer willing to let you pretend that there’s nothing between you. 

a harsh thrust has your fingers curling into the sheets, back arching further as your hips start to rock in time with him. he breathes hard between his teeth, fingers bruising the soft skin of your hips as he pistons himself so deep inside you that you squeal, a shrill, elated noise that makes his balls tighten with the promise of his approaching orgasm. he doesn’t want it to end yet, so he slows in a attempt to last longer, but you shatter his plans when his birth name is panted from your kiss-swollen lips and with that, a yell of euphoria bursts from his mouth. his cock jerks and he breeds your cavern full of his seed, the thick, white ropes painting your inner walls white. you drain him for everything that he has, pussy repeatedly clenching and unclenching, milking every drop from him. he struggles to catch his breath for a long time afterwards, pulse drumming away in his ears. when his blood finally simmers, he slowly pulls from the addicting heat of you with a soft moan of protest. his cock is still half hard, weakly twitching with interest when a large glob of his seed breeches your hole and he watches, awed, as it slides between your cum soaked folds before it joins the mess that you made on the bed earlier. 

he licks his lips, and your taste still clings to the inside of his cheeks. eyelids drooping, he relishes in your flavour, and he’s tempted to have another taste. his prick encourages the idea with another jerk, the muscle jumping between his legs as it furiously engorges with blood. again. he waits until you regain the energy to move, before he tries to kiss you again with a hesitancy that makes your brows quirk upwards. he’s half expecting you to reject him, so he’s pleasantly surprised when you readily accept his mouth moulding to the shape of yours. the sliding of your fingers across his scalp coaxes a low hum from the back of his throat, and he easily pulls you onto his lap, arms tightening around your waist. 

he’s spent over a decade trying to get your attention, and now that he finally has it, he’s going to make sure you remember this time. 

© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.

masterlist

kinktober: 2022

[imdumbforgiveme]

Both illustrations are based on the same concept, so I will post them together.

Thanks again for looking at my fanart. I am so happy to see the tags and comments you all are putting on my illustrations.

[imdumbforgiveme]

HQ BOYS WHO DON’T WANT TO LET YOU GO

aka. clingy boyfriends (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)

SUNA: “no, don’t you dare move that arm.” the words that come out of his mouth seem to halt you from your actions, surprising you for a fact that he knows you were going to move from your current position below him. his body lay on top of yours and face buried on the crook of your neck as your arms encircle around his much larger frame. you sigh, “rin, i’m suffocating, you dumbo. get off me, we can just switch positions right?” wrong. you hear him grunt from your neck, sending vibrations through your skin as he doesn’t show any sign of moving at all. he lowly murmurs against your neck, “then suffer.” having the audacity to nuzzle his face further against your skin as if he’s not close enough anyway. and again, you sigh. “please, baby?” you plead. a moment of silence comes forth between you two and you start to assume he’s contemplating in silence. but then he opens his lips, “no. you signed up for this eversince the day you told me you’re mine. so suck it up, bun.”

USHIJIMA: it’s become a routine how you walk your boyfriend to the gym as his hand hold yours. today was no different, when you reach the doors of the gym, you expect him to release his hand on yours and send you a goodbye. so when it took more than a second for him to let go of your hand, you start to wonder as you stare at him in confusion. “toshi?” you softly call his name, watching him as he blinks, his eyes averting from your face to your intertwined hands. you raise an eyebrow, “practice is about to start. there something wrong?” you inquire, and you could only feel the way his hand seems to tighten its’ hold on yours. and he replies, “i like the way your hand fits mine.” the genuine proclamation truly catches you off guard. and you chuckle, “you’re just noticing that now?” and you watch as a warm smile appears over his features as an unexpected sound of a tiny chuckle escapes from his lips. “no. i truly think about it everyday. but for some reason, today just seems harder for me to let you go.”

AKAASHI: you groan as you lay on bed with keiji, his arms tightly and stubbornly wrapping around your figure as it takes all that you have to escape from his grasp. “keiji, i need to go please?” you whine, and his grip on you only seems to tighten each time you try to resist. your back presses against his chest as you tilt your head up to look at him in the face. “please?” you so tried to give him your best pitiful look, and your boyfriend let’s out a sound of thought, “hmm”, you watch as his contemplating look suddenly alters to a stern expression, “no.” he looks at you as his arms around you tightens once again and you groan, “why n—“ he cuts you off with a quick peck on your head, making you look at him in surprise as a wide grin forms over his features. and he nuzzles his nose on the top of your head, “spare me your forgiveness darling. but i just really love holding you.”

OIKAWA: “forgive me for being too clingy baby, but you’re just so cute!” your boyfriend coos as he has you seated on his lap, his arms wrapping around you like a cocoon and lips puckered to shower you with his kisses. “aren’t you always like this, tooru?” you chuckle, letting him succumb himself to you as he continues to nuzzle his cheek against yours. “my sweetheart, my special one.” he proclaims, making you flustered as you try to hide the way his actions are affecting you greatly. and yet however, nothing comes pass the oikawa tooru. from your lack of reply itself, he only manages to muster up a chuckle, placing a peck on your cheek before his lips are close to your ear. “perhaps, i can’t let you go, honey. this love i have for you is endless and beyond words.”

KUROO: perhaps, he has been deprived of you, or maybe he’s tired from all his work. but as of now, you don’t really find yourself to question the current actions of your boyfriend. his hand cups your cheek as you sit next to him on the couch with your legs laid on his lap. he pulls you in for a soft peck once, then twice, and then he stares at you longingly, his other hand resting itself on your thigh. “your lips are really warm.” he says, then he pulls you closer to give you another kiss again, but this time, he kisses you longer, slower, with a touch of gentleness as he wants to feel every inch of your taste. you practically hear his low hums that manages to send shivers through your spine. when he pulls away, his lips remains brushing yours and he lowly chuckles under breath, “sorry baby. just can’t get enough of you.”

SUGAWARA: your boyfriend positions himself on top of you with his arm resting next to your head, looking at you dearly as if you’re the only precious thing in the planet. upon his gaze, you suddenly feel shy as you turn your head away, trying to hide the flustered look on your face. but of course, your boyfriend, who you couldn’t hide anything from, notices your state as a chuckle erupts from his lips. “oh my, what have i done to see such a beautiful look on you?” he coos, and you swear you hear the thumping of your heart that paces every second you spend in this particular position. before you could even reply, you feel the warm sensation of his lips against the soft skin of your cheek as he lets his lips linger there for a moment, “i have to be honest with you honey, i don’t think i could ever let you go with such beauty you behold.”

IWAIZUMI: his arms wrap around your figure as you sit on his lap, the two of you cocooned by each others warmth. you hold his cheeks with both of your hands, and he gazes at you with a flustered look—one that’s rarely seen from the iwaizumi hajime. you then lean forward, your lips connecting his temple as you give him a soft peck, the gesture surprising him while he stares at you in shock that his cheeks flushes red. you chuckle, “i just kissed you on the temple, chill.” no, but how the hell could he chill? you watch as your boyfriends lips presses into a thin line as a scoff escapes his lips, pulling you closer to him that your face meets the crook of his neck. you then feel his lips lingering on the top of your head, as if to return the gesture. “god, you always make me blush so damn much. i honestly don’t think there’s anyone like you angel.”

[imdumbforgiveme]

𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐅𝐔𝐋 — 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔

↳ cw: swearing, alcohol, suggestive

something's off.

rindou's been awake for no more than thirty seconds but he can tell—something's off. there was no dip in the mattress beside him. your warmth was absent from his hold. he couldn't smell your shampoo, couldn't feel the plush of your skin beneath his fingers. your spot was empty and cold. you were gone.

he shot up into a sitting position, fingernails digging into the threads of the sheets, strands of lavender hair sticking to the beads of sweat on his forehead. the sudden jolt sent a piercing throb through his skull.

"ah, fucking hell." he cursed, a hand coming up to hold his head. he squeezed his eyes shut and snarled at the uncomfortable sensation. every pound that struck his cranium was heavy and loud as if they were beats of a drum. why was his head throbbing?

"are you okay?"

soles of slippers dragged against the carpet, the soft sound accompanying that of your voice. it was loud enough for rindou to hear but quiet enough so as to not aggravate his ailment. his pulsating headache persisted but hearing your voice gave him a different sense of relief.

"where'd you go?" he ignored your question, choosing to ask one of his own. rindou dragged his eyes up from his lap to meet yours.

"the store," you waved the plastic bag out in front of you as you made your way to join him on the bed. stepping out of your slippers, you took a seat on the mattress at rindou's feet, tucking your own beneath your thighs so you were sitting cross-legged. "had to pick up a few things."

"i told you that i don't like you leaving without telling me."

his statement came off as possessive and overbearing, but you knew that it was far from it—in fact, you considered it to be the opposite. though it may not seem like it to outsiders, rindou's insistence on knowing where you were at all times stemmed from a place of love; it was his way of protecting you. your known association with rindou made you a target for enemies of bonten—and they had plenty. he worried for your safety and in an attempt to not bombard you with security details, rindou's one ask was that you keep him informed on where you travel without him.

"would you rather i have waken you up?" you asked, picking out the items from the bag and setting them beside you. you hadn't planned on going to the store but it was clear that you needed to pick up a few things, all of which were for rindou. pain relievers, a green smoothie, and honey graham crackers because you knew he preferred them over the saltine ones.

"yes, actually." he ran a hand over his forehead to brush all of the hair pasted there away.

you smiled at his bluntness. in the time you had been with rindou, you had grown familiar with his direct way of speaking; you'd even go as far to say that you enjoyed it. you never had to wonder what was on his mind when he spoke so freely.

your nimble fingers worked at opening the cardboard box housing the crackers. you grabbed a sleeve, tearing the plastic and carefully pulling out one of the brown rectangles. you held it out to rindou as a form of apology. "i'm sorry. i just thought you could use all the sleep you could get after last night."

"about that," he spoke, accepting the snack from your hand. he took a bite from the corner. crumbs fell from his mouth down to the sheet covering his legs but he couldn't be bothered to clean up the mess. "what exactly did i get into?"

rindou was having a hard time recollecting the events of the previous night. if you asked him how he spent the rest of his day after work, he wouldn't be able to tell you much. one thing he was sure of, though, was that he and most of the executives of bonten went out to celebrate a successful arms deal. everything after that was fuzzy.

"mm," you hummed, stealing one of the crackers to take for yourself. you mimicked his actions, biting a small piece off from the corner and chewing thoughtfully. "i'm not too sure. ran called me saying that you were drunk off your ass and kept asking for me. so i went and picked you up from the bar."

he swallowed thickly, your words sparking recognition within him. most of it was still unclear, but rindou could piece together a vague picture.

"c'mon, rindou, don't be a pussy." sanzu sang from across the man while holding out another shot.

he ignored the glass, opting to flick his pink-haired associate off instead.

"what's the matter? you lost your touch or something?" koko spoke up from beside him, throwing back a shot of his own. a grin pulled at his lips as he narrowly eyed rindou.

rindou scoffed, practically snatching the drink from sanzu and taking it down in one motion. he turned to koko with a smirk of his own. "fuck you."

the seemingly never-ending drinks continued to pile on for the remainder of the night. rindou prided himself in having a heavy tolerance, and he did for the most part, but as memories of him calling out for you flooded his brain, it was clear that he had overdone it. not once before last night could he recall a time when he'd gotten so drunk that he was virtually begging to see you.

your lips curled upward at his silence. it wasn't often that you found yourself in a position where you held something over his head. after the events of last night and his uncharacteristic behavior, it would be a waste not to poke some fun at him.

"y'know," you started, reaching for the pack of hangover relief pills. "i could barely drive home because you kept trying to climb over the console."

a smirk lingered on your lips as you tore open the small package and shook the medicine out into your hand. you hummed and pointed to rindou's closed fist resting on his thigh. he caught on quickly, turning his hand over to receive your offer. the tablets dropped from your fingers into his open palm.

"i didn't do that." rindou denied, tossing the pills into his mouth and promptly swallowing. his throat was parched and he wanted to blame it on the fact that he had just taken pills without water but in reality, it was because the information resurfacing was difficult for him to believe.

"okay, maybe that was an exaggeration," you laughed. his adamant rejection of your claim only made you want to tease him even more. "but you're totally a clingy drunk."

lilac eyebrows furrowed as rindou thought back to the ride home from the bar.

"rin, cut it out or i'll crash the car." you quickly slapped his wandering hand away before returning yours to the steering wheel.

a loud, whiney groan filled the otherwise silence of the car. "why don't you want to hold my hand?" you glanced over to see rindou's head rolling back and hitting the headrest of his seat. his eyes were squeezed shut but it was clear that he was frowning at your refusal of affection.

you bit the inside of your cheek to hold back a giggle. was this the same stoic man you had come to know? it looked like a shot too much was all it took to turn him into a nearly unrecognizable and touchy variant of your boyfriend. "i do, but we have to do it when we get home. i have to drive now."

rindou turned to you with narrowed eyes but there was an uncontrollable grin of excitement tugging at his lips. "promise?" he asked.

you nodded. "i swear."

as if it weren't bad enough that you reminded him of that awkward conversation, rindou was beginning to piece together the moments afterward, specifically, when you pulled into the parking garage. if he looked down at his hand, he was sure he'd be able to feel the ironclad grip he had on you as soon as you two got out of the car. the thought sent a shiver down his spine.

"i am not clingy." he shook his head, partly to disagree with your words but also to rid himself of the embarrassing memories.

"hmm, maybe not." you played along although you had a clear recollection of last night. you figured his denial must have stemmed from a place of pride because if he had been in your shoes, if the roles were reversed, you were positive that he'd be pestering you about how handsy you had been.

"you're pretty dependent, though," you continued. there was one more interaction you were itching to bring up. "i'd even go as far as saying needy."

rindou fell back to lay on his pillow. he had a feeling your statement would mean more humiliation for him. despite that, he couldn't ignore the tiny bit of curiosity that nagged at him. "what's that supposed to mean?"

a knowing smile crept its way onto your lips as you crawled to sit beside him. amethyst eyes met yours, the brows above them raising in question. "you don't remember me having to brush your teeth?"

"open," you instructed rindou, poking his cheek with your index finger. he sat on the lid of the toilet, head lolling from side to side.

your simple direction went in one ear and out the other as rindou ignored your request. instead, he puckered his lips and leaned forward.

"we can do that later," you assured him, gently pushing him back into his former position. "say ah." you opened your mouth hoping that he would follow your example.

thankfully, he mimed your actions this time around. tipping his chin up, you began to brush his teeth. the process went smoother than the prep and the man stayed still as you cleaned each of his teeth.

"c'mon, time to spit."

you helped him up from his seat and led him to the sink. too busy turning on the faucet, you didn't notice rindou quickly approaching. his lips pressed to the side of your face in an open-mouthed kiss.

"rindou!" you pulled away, snatching the nearest towel to wipe the foam he left behind on your cheek and the corner of your mouth. he's going to be the death of me, you thought as you tossed the towel into the hamper. you spun on your heel to face your drunk mess of a boyfriend. "i said later."

"it was later." his words came out jumbled due to the toothpaste lingering in his mouth. the froth was starting to drip down to his chin.

you sighed. "just rinse, please."

rindou covered his face with his palms. his cheeks were burning hot; they must have been visibly red. he would have been better off remaining clueless about the previous night's activities.

"i'm never drinking again," he spoke through a groan.

"aw, i thought it was cute." you pulled his hands away and flashed him a smile. his rapidly beating heart calmed at the sight. "but you should probably set a limit for next time. you're kind of a handful."

he huffed out a laugh. based on everything he pieced together and your first-hand account, "handful" was an understatement. he didn't think it was possible for him to act in such a way but it seemed that even the inconceivable was achievable.

you patted rindou's shoulder. "you go shower while i make breakfast. unless you think you'll need my help in there, too." you jokingly wiggled your eyebrows.

he smirked. "are you offering?"

"god, you're shameless." your hand came down to playfully smack his bare chest. you jerked your head in the direction of the bathroom. "go."

you made a move to get off the bed and start toward the kitchen, but rindou caught your hand before you could leave. you looked at your joined hands and then to him. a glint of mischief passed through his wisteria eyes. "are you really going to make your clingy, needy, handful of a boyfriend shower all alone?"

the flustered rindou who might as well have been wishing the earth would swallow him whole only minutes ago was nowhere in sight. as cute as that unexpectedly soft and affectionate version of your boyfriend was, you'd be lying if you said you preferred it over the side you'd grown accustomed to.

"fine." you clicked your tongue. a beat of silence passed before you accusingly pointed your finger at him. "but i'm not doing all the work like last night."

rindou dropped your hand, opting to hold your cheek instead. "of course you aren't. i'm going to make it up to you."

thanks for reading! comments and reblogs appreciated <3

[imdumbforgiveme]

welcome to the club ig HEJDKSKKAKAA

Mikey and Chifuyu both casually finding guys who look just like their dead fathers and befriending them though.