Happy New Year 🍾🐉

IDGAF they are his kids now

The Sun Eats the Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping, pregnancy kink(?))

Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.

WC: 9.4k

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

You wanted to quit the second you read the name.

You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place.

It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now.

You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?

It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client.

"Is everything alright?"

You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke.

Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired."

The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited.

He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics.

Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention.

It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice.

You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps.

He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes.

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."

His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face.

Nothing.

Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next.

"I look forward to working with all of you."

𖤓

If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial.

He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order.

But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way.

Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too.

"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.

Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you.

"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?"

"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks."

You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours.

𖤓

The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms.

You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching.

He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru.

You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch.

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair.

Through your blinds, the sun happily shines.

𖤓

You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.

Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.

He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted.

You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class.

It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it.

"What?" Because you must have misheard him.

"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official."

You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours.

You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop.

"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine.

He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore.

Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes.

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you.

𖤓

It was something minuscule.

Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always.

"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey.

The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her.

"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out."

He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life."

When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger.

Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru.

Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help.

Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that.

Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break.

He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing.

You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator.

"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-

"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!"

Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle.

The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you.

When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen.

𖤓

You don't have proof it was him.

It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that.

But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him.

In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back.

At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.

There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.

Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down.

You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.

Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.

Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it.

“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.

“That's good,” he says anyway.

You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares.

You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.

“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”

He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything.

“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”

Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.

You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend.

Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.

Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.

Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg.

You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open.

It's worse than anything you could think of.

Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you?

This wasn't bullying.

This was abuse.

Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.

You were so tired.

Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky.

"Why?"

Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group.

"Get lost."

They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone.

"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored.

"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-"

It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away.

"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?"

You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear.

"Anything, right?"

You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek.

"Get on your knees."

You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little.

"I-I-Gojo you-"

"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?"

He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru.

To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk.

You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him.

"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh.

"Gojo I-"

"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems."

You look down at the grass. Green, soft.

"Satoru."

His eyes flash in satisfaction.

"Open up, pretty girl."

The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you.

"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought.

"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?"

If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame.

"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you.

You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth.

"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me."

But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world.

"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?"

If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it.

He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help.

He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time.

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you.

So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath.

"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you."

His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum.

(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)

"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something."

You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him.

"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair.

"My laptop...it's broken."

You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it.

Satoru only scoffs.

“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you.

(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)

“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”

He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his.

The sunset is pretty today.

𖤓

It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied.

You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from.

"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?"

You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf.

"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait."

She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts.

"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her.

Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright.

"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting."

Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs.

Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way.

You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-

"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to.

The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go.

It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you.

𖤓

By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable.

You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework.

Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips.

He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever.

"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom.

"Thank-"

"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me."

He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself.

There are theories that the Moon once had color.

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection.

When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at.

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks.

Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too.

You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him.

Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons.

"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?"

You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment.

You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken.

"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."

On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours.

Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now.

"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action.

You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone.

He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can.

Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch.

"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you."

He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock-

Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's.

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks.

He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.

You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing.

Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you.

"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?"

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again.

"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust.

You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper.

"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl."

He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.

You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar.

"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious.

"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him."

His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock.

"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch.

"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need.

You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt.

You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration.

"I love you."

You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.

"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh.

Fuck three weeks.

You needed to get out, now.

𖤓

The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there.

His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours.

Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out.

Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there.

And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room.

His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction.

"You're off the clock, Fimo," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?"

His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke.

The door shuts with a click.

"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward.

You take one back. He puts his hands up.

"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?"

He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood.

"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody.

He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too.

When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes.

"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules."

"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked.

"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent.

He seems to take an issue with that, regardless.

"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text."

His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake.

You go to move.

Satoru's faster.

Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment.

"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze.

It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness.

"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-"

"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt.

You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client.

Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him.

When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless.

You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears.

"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar."

He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words.

"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.

Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses.

"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now."

"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again.

"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic.

"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily.

"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?"

His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too.

He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall.

Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action.

"That's-"

"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar.

He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate.

"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate.

It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste.

"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits.

Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed.

Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out.

He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear.

"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?"

You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that.

"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you."

You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his.

Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure.

It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom.

"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught.

"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl."

"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-"

"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."

"No-I-I-can't-"

He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled.

"I'll make sure it takes this time too."

Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea.

He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb.

You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine.

He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness.

"I love you."

You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.

Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran.

"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me."

"Not ever again."

There are theories that the Moon once had color.

If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given.

How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation.

REBLOG IF YOU HAVE STRETCHMARKS

This way people can see they’re not alone. I have them and this would help me see that.

570K notes View Post

iamyoojin

11 months ago

The happiness I felt reading this as a desi girl 😩🤞🏻

ˏˋ Main Yahaan Hoon ࿐ྂ "I'm In The Lights Of Your Eyes, You See Me Wherever You Look"

ˏˋ main yahaan hoon ࿐ྂ "I'm in the lights of your eyes, you see me wherever you look"

summary: in which you meet Sano Manjiro a month before your wedding and fall in love. you didn't realize you fell in love with him till the pre-wedding rituals began.

pairing(s): bonten!mikey x desi!reader

notes: title translates to 'I'm here'. a purely self-indulgent fic based on Veer-Zaara(2004)'s song Main Yahaan Hoon if Veer was a gang leader and was actually at the wedding instead of Zaara hallucinating him. line dividers by rookthornesartistry heart divider by cafekitsune

warnings: infidelity, cheating, arranged marriages, implied emotionally absent parents, emotional blackmail, suggestive themes, implied oral(f), manjiro carries reader, slightly open ending

word count: 5690

Your father was a politician, businessman and just well very rich. You’re his only daughter so he spoils you rotten. Giving you all the things you can ever want. He was a good man, your mother a great person too. However, it wasn’t a very emotionally fulfilling relationship. You were okay with it though. Jewels and clothes sated the ache in your heart even if it was temporary. You got engaged almost as soon as you turned of age. The man was just a little bit older and also a politician like your father. Arranged marriages were common in your culture and you had never dated before anyway. It’s about a month before the wedding you meet Sano Manjiro. You aren’t sure what he does but he’s also really rich like your father. He has a few close business associates and they all have matching full moon hanafuda tattoos. Sanzu Haruchiyo let you trace his tattoo for some reason after seeing your fascination with it.

Bonten were business associates of your father. You weren’t sure exactly for what but you also couldn't care less. They were all pretty fun people. You made them watch Bollywood movies with you and do a whole bunch of other things and they did it without any complaint and seemed to enjoy it as well. They were all cool and then there was Sano Manjiro…

Sano Manjiro was different from the rest. He had a quiet intensity about him, a presence that demanded attention without a single word. You noticed his eyes first—dark, deep, and endlessly contemplative. He was always observing, absorbing everything around him with a sharp, discerning gaze. Despite his quiet demeanour, there was something undeniably magnetic about him. At first, you thought he wouldn’t be putting up with your childish games but he proved you wrong. When you called him a stupid idiot he didn’t get mad but instead, he smiled. He was amused. For some reason, it surprised you because he didn’t seem like the type to smile or just show any kind of emotion in general.

Your father, of course, invites them all to your wedding. It was all fine but you don’t want to marry your fiancé. He was nice at first but there was something about him that put you off. You didn’t like that man. You sit in your father’s office in your engagement outfit while music echoes from the bottom floor of the mansion to the top. A white lengha with intricate embroidery adorns your figure with a full-sleeve blouse along with a diamond necklace gifted by your future mother-in-law and a matching tikka in the same style resting in the center of your forehead. Your dupatta is draped over your head and right now it feels too heavy. Although you and your fiancé were already engaged, your mother-in-law insisted on having a flashy ceremony to kick start the wedding week. “You’re my only child… Hence, I’ve pampered you and given you freedom” Your father says, his hands clasped behind his back and using his businessman voice “I haven’t raised you like a girl but like a boy”

There is a lump in your throat. You know if you speak you’ll cry. Your father walks toward you. “Usually the mother has to explain to her daughters about her duties. But since I think of you as my son, I’ll explain your duties to you”

You look up at him. You’re sitting in his chair the same way you would when you were a child. But unlike back then, your bare feet press flat against the hardwood floor. “You already know that your grandfather was a respected politician. But he died a few days before he could attain success. Since that day, as his heir, I’ve been trying to take his party to great heights but I’ve been unsuccessful so far” He says and you know already what he will say next “But with the help of your finacé’s father, I can attain that success”

You don’t feel too good. The lump in your throat gets bigger and you desperately try to swallow it. Your father turns your back to you, staring at your family picture. “Soon you’ll get married into their family. It’s your duty…” He pauses and turns to look at you again “...to understand the importance of this relationship. Spread happiness, whether the times are good or bad and strengthen the bond of every relationship and to protect the honour of both families at all costs. A small mistake or a bit of carelessness from your end could ruin everything… I hope you understand what I’m trying to say.”

He knows, he knows, he knows. Your father had a feeling you no longer wished to marry the man you were betrothed to. You swallow the lump in your throat and whisper out a pitiful “yes.”

“Is there anything you wish to say?”

You simply shake your head no. You couldn’t. You had to marry this man even if you didn’t want to. Your father was practically begging you without actually begging. He smiles. “Come here”

You stand up, your anklets jingle with each step you take. “It’s been so long since I saw my daughter smile,” He says as you now stand in front of him “I hope you haven’t left it in Japan”

You smile weakly. How were you to tell him you did? How do you tell your father you left your heart in Japan? He pulls you in for a hug and a single tear runs down your cheek.

You did not wish to marry the man you were promised to but you didn’t want to break your father’s heart either.

Your father leads you down the large marble staircase, the railing covered with flowers and the entire bottom floor decorated lavishly. The vibrant colours and festive sounds of the pre-wedding celebration fill the air, yet your heart feels heavy with an unspoken sorrow. As you descend the staircase, your eyes scan the crowd, seeking a familiar face—a face that brought unexpected joy and confusion to your life. In the midst of the lively guests, you spot Sano Manjiro standing quietly at the edge of the room with his associates. He is dressed in beige slacks and a silk back button-up shirt, his presence commanding even in the bustling environment. His eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, the noise around you fades. His gaze, deep and inscrutable, seems to reach into the very depths of your soul. The rituals proceed with the grandeur expected of such an event. The music, the dancing, the laughter—all blend into a blur as your mind drifts back to the times spent with Manjiro and his associates. The times when you could be yourself when you laughed genuinely and felt a connection beyond words. Sanzu Haruchiyo, always mischievous yet kind, had once teased you about your fascination with their tattoos. “Do you want one too?” he joked, letting you trace the lines of the intricate hanafuda design.

You had laughed, but deep down, there was something about those moments that felt more real than anything else in your life. As you and your fiancé exchange rings, you feel Manjiro’s eyes on you, a silent support that gives you strength. The night progresses, and you find yourself stealing glances at him, your heart aching with an unspoken truth. You didn’t want this arranged marriage. You wanted something more, something that only he seemed to understand.

It feels stupid though. It’s probably a simple infatuation but oh you had never felt this way in your life before and even as your fiancé slides the engagement ring onto your finger, the only thing that goes through your mind is Manjiro.

You sit alone in your room late at night on your bed, too lazy to sit at your dresser. Your dupatta was carelessly discarded at the foot of your bed as soon as you entered your room, too lazy to even remove your lengha and get in bed. The day had been tiring. You start to remove your jewelry, starting with the large diamond necklace that felt way too heavy. It’s as you are taking off the tikka from your forehead that someone enters. You don’t need to look up to know who it is. The air shifts, and the familiar, intense presence washes over you. It’s Manjiro. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, his voice soft, almost a whisper.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. He steps closer, his movements silent on the plush carpet. He doesn’t say anything else, just stands there, watching as you fumble with the clasp of your tikka. Your fingers tremble, and the delicate piece slips from your grasp, falling onto your lap. “Let me,” he offers, reaching out. His hands are gentle but firm as he takes over, carefully removing the tikka and setting it aside.

His touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you feel a warmth spreading through you, melting the anxiety and sorrow that had been weighing you down. “Thank you,” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible.

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s a question in his gaze, an unspoken query that you can’t quite decipher. The silence between you is heavy with words left unsaid, emotions unacknowledged. “Why did you come here?” you ask, needing to break the silence, to understand why he’s here, why he makes you feel the way you do.

“I needed to see you,” he replies simply, his gaze steady. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

His concern touches you deeply, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You blink them back, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. Manjiro sits down next to you, being careful to not sit on your skirt. He reaches over and starts to remove your earrings. Despite his fingers being calloused and rough, his hands are gentle. He touches you like the slightest touch might break you. Each brush of his fingers against your skin feels like a promise, unspoken but powerful. You sit there, letting him help you, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over you. The weight of the day's events begins to lift, replaced by the warmth of his presence. When he's done, he sets the earrings aside and meets your gaze again. His eyes are filled with something you can't quite name, something that makes your heart beat faster. “Let’s get this off, hm?” Manjiro’s hand reaches around you and tugs the strings on the back of your blouse free

Your breath catches, but you nod, trusting him implicitly. The fabric loosens, and you feel the pressure on your chest easing. He helps you out of the heavy, ornate lengha, his movements were careful, his eyes never straying where they shouldn't. This was wrong. So wrong. You were a damn cheater. But as Manjiro unzips your blouse and pulls it off your arms, you can’t find yourself to care. “‘Jiro…” Your breath is shaky as he lowers your bare body down

“Don’t worry” he whispers, a heavy hand cupping your cheek so tenderly

Something in your head tells you it’s been years since this man was tender to anyone. Your breath hitches at the touch of his roughened palm against your cheek, a stark contrast to the softness in his gaze. Manjiro's thumb gently brushes away a stray tear that you hadn’t realized had fallen, his eyes holding a depth of understanding that seems to pierce through your very soul. "I shouldn't be here" you murmur, your voice barely audible, a mix of fear and yearning.

It was a little stupid you were even saying that since it was your own room. "But you want me here" he counters softly, not a question, but a statement of truth.

The words hang between you, heavy with unspoken emotions. Your heart beats wildly, torn between duty and desire. You don’t reply, unable to deny the truth in his statement. Manjiro’s presence is intoxicating, a dangerous allure that you find impossible to resist. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin. "Tell me to leave, and I will," he whispers, his lips so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his words. "But if you want me to stay…"

You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. The choice is yours, and you know what your heart wants. "Stay" you breathe, barely more than a whisper, but enough for him to hear and without missing a beat he slides your engagement ring off your finger

Manjiro doesn’t take your virginity that night. Instead, he calls you a good girl for saving yourself for after marriage and then gets down between your legs and ravishes you.

The next morning was the Haldi ceremony. In the ceremony turmeric paste would be smeared on your face and oil on your hair. It was more of a fun kind of thing anyway and during all the weddings you have attended in the past, all the guests would end up getting the turmeric paste all over themselves while playing around with it. You were wearing a yellow salwar kameez with flowers embroidered on the top and your dupatta was bright pink. You sit on the ground by the pool while your cousins hold up a heavier more embroidered dupatta over top of you like shielding you from the sky. “Don’t put too much” You warn your dad as he smears some of the turmeric paste on your cheek

There is oil dripping down your forehead from when your cousin decided he wanted to be funny and poured the entire bowl on your head. Tumeric paste is smeared on your feet, arms, cheeks and nose. The vibrant colours of the ceremony blur together, a swirl of yellow and pink, laughter echoing around you. Yet, despite the cheerful chaos, your mind is elsewhere, drifting back to the previous night. Manjiro's touch lingers on your skin like a haunting melody, one you cannot shake off no matter how hard you try. Your father's laughter brings you back to the present, his smile wide as he steps aside for the next relative to apply the turmeric paste.

As the ceremony continues, you feel a pair of eyes on you. You glance up and catch a glimpse of Manjiro standing a little away from the festivities, his usual quiet intensity softened by a hint of something tender. He stands apart from his associates, watching you with an unreadable expression. For a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you. The noise of the ceremony fades, replaced by the silent conversation happening between your gazes. Your heart beats faster as you remember his whispered promises from the night before. His words, his touch—they haunt you, make you question everything you thought you knew about your life and your impending marriage. You know it's reckless, dangerous even, to let yourself feel this way. But you can't help it. Not when his presence brings you a sense of peace and belonging you’ve never felt before. “This stuff smells weird” Koko comments as he crouches in front of you and smells the turmeric paste on his fingers before smearing it on your cheek “Are you sure this is safe for your skin?”

“Of course it is” you reassure with a smile

The rest of Bonten does the same. Finally, it’s Manjiro’s turn. He crouches down in front of you, an unknown emotion swirling in his eyes. Without a word, he takes the yellow paste and smears some on your right cheek then the left. His touch is gentle, yet it sends shivers down your spine, the same way it did the night before. The world around you seems to disappear as he smooths the paste over your skin, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence between you is filled with unspoken words, emotions too raw to be expressed in the midst of the celebration. Your heart pounds in your chest as his fingers linger on your skin, his touch both comforting and electrifying. "You look beautiful," he murmurs, his voice so low only you can hear.

His words are simple, but the intensity behind them makes your breath hitch. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the noise of the celebration.

You feel a blush creep up your cheeks, mixing with the turmeric paste. He offers you a small, almost shy smile, and for a moment, you see a vulnerability in him that he usually keeps hidden. You bring your hand up and smear the paste on his cheek too, making him laugh. His laughter is a rare sound, rich and deep, and it reverberates through you, filling your heart with warmth. You can't help but smile in response, your fingers lingering on his cheek for a moment longer than necessary. The world around you resumes its chaotic pace, but the connection between you and Manjiro remains, a silent promise amidst the noise and colour of the celebration.

As the Haldi ceremony continues, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions. The weight of your engagement ring, now conspicuously absent from your finger, feels like a liberation and a burden all at once. You glance at Manjiro again, finding comfort in his steady gaze. It’s as if he understands the turmoil within you without needing to ask.

As the ceremony comes to an end and the guests start to leave, you struggle to pick your dupatta off one of the chairs with your turmeric-covered hands. “Damn it” you mutter and look around for someone to help you

“Here you go” Rindo picks up your dupatta for you

You sigh in relief. “Thank you. Can you help me go up to my room?”

It was going to be a task going up to your room while covered in turmeric paste so you needed help. Rindo nods and offers you his arm, guiding you carefully through the crowd and up the stairs. The turmeric paste makes everything slippery, and you're grateful for his steady presence. As you make your way to your room, you can feel Manjiro's eyes on you, a silent promise of his support and understanding. Once inside your room, Rindo helps you sit on the edge of your bed, his touch careful and respectful. “Do you need anything else?” he asks, concern evident in his voice.

You shake your head, offering him a grateful smile, your eyes lingering for a moment of the front of his throat where the full moon hanafuda tattoo it etched then you look back up at his eyes. “No, thank you. I’ll manage from here.”

Rindo nods and leaves, closing the door softly behind him. You sit there for a moment, the events of the day and the night before swirling in your mind. You know you need to wash off the turmeric paste, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Manjiro. Eventually, you stand and make your way to the bathroom. The warm water washes away the turmeric, leaving your skin tingling and fresh.

Later that night was the mendhi ceremony. Your hands are covered in intricate designs of flowers and swirls made with henna all the way up to your elbows and your feet with the same. “Ma~” you whine to your mother who was too busy talking to her sister to feed you

Your mother laughs, a twinkle in her eye as she waves you off, engrossed in her conversation. You sigh, looking at the plate of food in front of you, and then at your hands, which are still wet with henna. The intricate designs are beautiful, but they make it impossible for you to eat on your own. You glance around the room, hoping to find someone to help you. Your eyes meet Manjiro’s from across the room. He’s standing with his associates, but his gaze is fixed on you, a soft, knowing smile playing on his lips. Before you can beckon him over, he starts to walk towards you, effortlessly weaving through the crowd. He kneels down next to you, his presence a comforting weight. “Need some help?” he asks, his voice low and warm.

You nod, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “Yes, please. I can’t eat with this on.”

Manjiro picks up the spoon and gently lifts a small portion of food to your lips. His movements are careful, and deliberate, as if this simple act holds profound significance. You open your mouth, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. As he feeds you, you catch the subtle smirk on his face, and you can't help but smile back. “This is quite the look for you,” he teases, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Covered in henna and unable to eat by yourself.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, your voice playful. “This is supposed to be a special time, you know?”

“It is,” he agrees, his tone softening. “And you look beautiful.”

The sincerity in his words makes your heart skip a beat. You chew and swallow, the taste of the food mingling with the warmth spreading through your chest. Manjiro continues to feed you, the moment intimate despite the bustling celebration around you. Each spoonful feels like a silent promise, a shared secret that binds you closer together. “Food is spicy…” He murmurs

“You don’t like spicy food?” you ask him

He shakes his head no. “I like the sweets though… After you get married bring me some in Japan?” You laugh softly, the sound mingling with the music and chatter in the room. “Of course,” you promise, a warmth spreading through you at the thought of sharing such a simple pleasure with him. “I’ll bring you all the sweets you want.”

Manjiro's smile widens, a rare glimpse of genuine happiness on his usually stoic face. “I’ll hold you to that,” he replies, his gaze steady on yours. “But only if you promise to come back soon.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and you find yourself nodding before you can even think. “I promise,” you say, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

The rest of the mendhi ceremony passes in a blur of laughter and music, but the memory of that moment with Manjiro lingers, a silent promise of things to come. As the night draws to a close, you find yourself reluctant to leave his side, the bond between you growing stronger with each passing moment.

It’s as you lay in bed and stare at your henna-stained hands, searching for your fiancé’s name among the intricate designs. But as you scan the patterns, your heart sinks, and a furrow forms on your brow. The once-clear inscription has been smeared beyond recognition, lost amidst the swirls of henna. A mix of emotions washes over you—relief, guilt, and a pang of sadness. Relief because it feels like a sign, a small reprieve from the impending marriage you’re dreading. Guilt because you know you shouldn’t feel relieved, and shouldn’t be hoping for a way out of a commitment you made. And sadness because despite everything, there’s a part of you that still longs for the simplicity of what could have been. You trace the faint outlines of the henna design, your mind swirling with conflicting thoughts and emotions.

The bond between you and Manjiro grows stronger with each passing moment, a silent promise of a future you never dared to imagine. But the reality of your situation weighs heavily on your shoulders, reminding you of the duty and obligations that bind you to your fiancé and your family.

With a heavy sigh, you curl your fingers into fists. The events of the day replay in your mind—the stolen moments with Manjiro, the whispered promises, the shared laughter. Despite the uncertainty of the future, one thing is clear—you’re falling for him, and there’s no turning back.

The next night is the ladies' sangeet. It’s the last thing left and the next morning is the wedding. You sit with all your female relatives as they sing and dance to old folk songs. You sit among them, a forced smile plastered on your face, your mind drifting to thoughts of the impending wedding. Tomorrow, you'll be bound to a man you don't love, forced into a life of duty and obligation that feels suffocating. When no one is looking, you stand up and hed to the backyard where most your male relatives are, drinking away as usual. You can see Ran has unfortunately been cornered by one of your drunk uncles and is explaining Punjabi politics to him. Ran looks at you for help but you just grin and shake your head. You spot Manjiro walking over to you and you smile at him. “Hi” You say as you walk through the garden together, you anklets jingling with each step you take.

"Hi," Manjiro replies, his voice low and warm, a stark contrast to the chaos of the sangeet unfolding behind you. His presence brings a sense of calm, a welcome respite from the suffocating atmosphere of obligation and expectation.

You walk through the garden together, the soft glow of lanterns casting a warm light over the flowers and foliage. The air is filled with the sweet scent of jasmine and roses, a stark contrast to the heavy perfume of the crowded hall. You feel a weight lift off your shoulders with each step, the knot of anxiety in your chest slowly unravelling in his presence. "Having fun?" Manjiro asks, his gaze steady on yours.

There’s a hint of amusement in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the absurdity of the situation. You shake your head, a wry smile playing on your lips. "Not exactly," you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "I feel like I'm suffocating in there."

Manjiro nods in understanding, his expression sympathetic. "I can imagine," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper “Japanese weddings are not this… festive or colourful. Must be a little overwhelming”

You nod, grateful for his understanding. "It's not just that," you confess, your voice tinged with frustration. "It's the weight of expectation, the pressure to conform to tradition and duty." You pause, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. "I feel like I'm being suffocated by it all."

Manjiro listens in silence, his gaze unwavering as he takes in your words. There's a depth to his understanding, a sense of empathy that makes you feel seen in a way you haven't felt in a long time. "I know what it's like to feel trapped," he says finally, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "To feel like you're living a life that's not your own."

His words strike a chord within you, resonating with the turmoil you've been feeling. "Do you ever wish things were different?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Manjiro's gaze softens, a hint of something tender in his eyes. "All the time," he admits, his voice filled with honesty and you watch his hand come up to touch the full moon hanafuda tattoo on the back of his neck "But sometimes, we have to make the best of the hand we're dealt."

You nod in understanding, a pang of sympathy tugging at your heart as you take in the vulnerability in Manjiro's words. His admission resonates with your own feelings of frustration and longing, the desire for a life beyond the confines of duty and expectation. "But that doesn't mean we have to give up hope," you say softly "We can still fight for what we want, for the freedom to live our lives on our own terms."

Manjiro's gaze meets yours, a flicker of something akin to hope dancing in his eyes. "And what do you want?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper, as if afraid to voice the question aloud.

You hesitate for a moment, the weight of your desires heavy on your shoulders. “I… I don’t know yet”

And Manjiro simply smiles at your answer and says “well clock is ticking… better hurry up and figure it out” then turns to go back to where he was sitting with your father, other business partners and relatives

As Manjiro walks away, leaving you alone in the tranquil garden, his words linger in the air, a gentle reminder of the urgency of your situation. The weight of expectation and duty presses down on you once more. You watch Manjiro's retreating figure, his silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns, and you can't help but feel a sense of longing stirring within you. Despite the uncertainty of the future, one thing is clear—your heart is leading you towards him, towards a life of freedom and possibility.

You turn back towards the bustling sangeet, the music and laughter spilling out into the night air. Tomorrow is the wedding, the final culmination of weeks of preparation and anticipation. But as you rejoin the festivities, your mind is elsewhere, filled with thoughts of the man who has captured your heart and the future that awaits.

As the night wears on and the sangeet draws to a close, you find yourself lost in a whirlwind of emotions—excitement, apprehension, and a simmering sense of rebellion— something you shouldn’t be feeling. Tomorrow, you'll be bound to a man you don't love, forced into a life of duty and obligation. But tonight, in the quiet solitude of the garden, you allow yourself to dream of a different future, one where you're free to follow your heart, no matter where it leads.

As the first light of dawn breaks over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the garden, you feel a sense of anticipation stirring within you. In a few hours, you’ll be married. It’s scary. So scary and you feel sick. You sit in a yellow kameez and white salwar, fingers trembling as you put on the naath, hooking it to your nose and fixing the chain over your ear to see how you look in it. The cool metal of the jewellery rests over your lips that you’ve bitten raw. Your makeup lays untouched, face bare. You need to start getting ready.

It’s the early hours of the morning, not many are awake except the servants who are getting the house ready. Your deep red wedding lengha is draped over your bed and seems to be mocking you. Your fingers linger on the intricate embroidery of the deep red lehenga, but the touch brings you no joy, only a sense of resignation. As you stare at your reflection in the mirror, the naath adorning your face, you can't help but feel a sense of disconnect. The woman staring back at you seems like a stranger, a mere shell of the person you once were. The weight of the impending marriage hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you with its inevitability. It’s suffocating, and overwhelming, and you find it hard to breathe.

But then, amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a sense of determination takes root within you. You refuse to let fear dictate your future, to surrender to the expectations of others. You may not know what lies ahead, but you know one thing for certain—you can't go through with this marriage. Your father may love you and only want the best for you but you are not a pawn in his plan to rule the world.

Gathering your courage, you make a decision—to follow your heart, no matter the consequences. It won't be easy, and there will be challenges ahead, but you refuse to let fear hold you back any longer.

As you slip out of your room after grabbing your yellow dupatta, the quiet of the early morning enveloping you like a comforting embrace, you feel a sense of liberation wash over you. It’s just as you make it past the hall, your anklets unfortunately still jingling with each step(you probably should have taken them off), you come face to face with Manjiro, Sanzu and Rindo. “Hm? And where do you think you’re going?” Manjiro asks and his hand comes up and lifts the naath up then lets it fall back in place resting over your upper lip

You freeze, caught off guard by the unexpected encounter. For a moment, you're at a loss for words, your mind racing to come up with an explanation. But as you meet Manjiro's gaze, you see something in his eyes—a flicker of understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil raging within you. "I..." you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "I don’t want to get married"

The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of your confession. You expect judgment, condemnation, but instead, there's only silence. Manjiro's gaze softens, a hint of something tender in his eyes as he reaches out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face. “Hm?”

You let out a shaky breath, henna-covered hands clenching at your sides. “You asked me last night what I wanted and this is what I want…”

There is a moment of silence. Manjiro looks back at Sanzu and nods and the latter pulls out his phone, frantically typing away texts. “C’mon then” Manjiro says and sweeps you off your feet in the same way the male leads in Bollywood movies would

You aren’t sure how things will turn out but as Manjiro carries you down the marble staircase and into a car, you don’t think about anything else. Just him. Manjiro’s arms feel solid and reassuring around you as he carries you down the marble staircase, the weight of your decision becoming lighter with each step. The early morning light filters through the windows, casting a golden hue over everything, as if the world itself is blessing your choice.

As he sets you down into the backseat of a car Manjiro brushes a strand of your hair away from your face then kisses your forehead. “I’m here” he whispers

end notes: at the end, when Sanzu is on his phone, he's texting Koko to post a bunch of evidence of corruption that reader's fiancé’s family has done. Now MIkey could have done that before but he wanted it to be reader's choice so.... yeah. Hope you enjoyed it loll.

194 notes View Post

iamyoojin

2 months ago

Help me save my child from his serious illness, which could lead to the worst things if we do not treat the situation 🚨

I am Najwa Muqdad from Gaza, a mother of four young children. I have twins Ahmed and Mayar, and Al-Waleed and Mira.

Ahmed suffered from convulsions in his head and increased electricity after his birth. He was medication and had blood tests done every two months to ensure that his health was stable. He suffered from these convulsions in 2021. Due to the instability of the medication and the lack of its availability, we are facing difficulties in purchasing medications due to their high prices. Now life has become very difficult and the prices of medications have increased due to their scarcity. Things have become more difficult due to the lack of money and his expensive treatment, which led to its unavailability due to money. I hope that all donors and supporters will not forget Ahmed in the costs of his treatment and buying the appropriate medication and food for him. We also do not forget his brothers from the malnutrition that they suffered during this difficult period. I hope that everyone will pay attention to the matter and I was cut off from you for a period due to the health situation. I hope that this situation will be taken very seriously. The lives of my children are in grave danger and I hope that you will not suffer from what he suffered. May you always be safe and healthy for your children and loved ones. I hope that you will help in his treatment and stabilize his condition, which has worsened over time. Save Ahmed from this disease that has afflicted him, please.

Help Me Save My Child From His Serious Illness, Which Could Lead To The Worst Things If We Do Not Treat

Now we live in dilapidated tents, and my child is unable to

To endure

We are no longer able to provide the necessities of life. My family's future is completely destroyed. I can no longer live in Gaza. I want to leave it and treat my child outside the Gaza Strip, so I need $5,000 per person.

I hope everyone who watches my story will help me.

To get out of Gaza and find treatment and a better life for my children and family.

I am asking for help and I hope you will help me and donate to me

To save my life from death

Donate, even if 25$

I hope you can donate even $25, it would be great.

It will save my child's life

Donate to help Ahmed evacuate Gaza and help him

gofundme.com

Spende für Help us to survive, organisiert von Ismail Hileh

Please help me and my family survive the war and leave the Gaza Strip I am Najah Al-Hai… Ismail Hileh braucht deine Unterstützung für

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My account vetted by : @90-ghost @bilal-salaho @gazavetters Our team at #GazaVetters has rigorously vetted and approved this campaign, earning it a spot on our official list at (#49)

@gazavetters Our team at #GazaVetters has rigorously vetted and approved this campaign, earning it a spot on our official list at (#49)

My heroic friends who support the Palestinian cause... Today, after we have lost hope in this world, I ask you to help us and stand by

Pinned Post

#free gaza #free palestine

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iamyoojin

1 year ago

: ̗̀STEP BY STEP (pt 4)

stepdad!gojo satoru x fem!reader

<<previous part

part 5: ?

summary: It was a hot summer, the hottest you ever experienced... From the 40 degree heat, to the new man your mom brought home; so suffocatingly hot that he took your breath away.

tw: daddy kink, age gap, affairs, dub-con, stepcest, harassment, rough sex, breeding kink, degradation, porn w/ plot, pervert!satoru, +

filling chapter, just the calm before the storm

Despite what happened yesterday, Satoru kept acting normally, as expected.

Your mom went to buy food for lunch, and you were walking around the living room waiting for her to come home so she could take you to your tennis class... But you have been waiting for half an hour and you were already ten ninutes late.

"Stop walking around like some lost dog." Satoru said, he was sitting on the sofa, looking at his phone while he spoke.

You ignored his words as you kept walking in circles.

"I'm getting late to my tennis class." He looked up with raided eyebrows and a little smirk.

"You play tennis?" He asked as if it was funny. You rolled your eyes, looking at the time on your phone for the hundredth time.

"Yes. And I'm getting late, mom was supposed to ride me." He saved his phone on his pocket as he got up.

He stood in front of you with his arms crossed.

"I could ride you." He said, still smiling.

You crossed your arms too, looking up at him, your eyebrows furrowing even deeply.

"Heh, don't look at me like that doll, you can just go walking then." You shook your face, sitting on the arm chair.

"It's too far to walk, and too late to call an uber." You muttered to yourself, sighing softly. "Do you even have a car?" You asked him mockingly, and he laughed out loudly.

"Follow me, brat." You did so, it's not like you had more options.

You were in the parking lot and... Damn.

It was... Wow... This man was rich.

The car in front of you was way cooler than your mom's car.

"Close your mouth, ya're drooling." He spoke mockingly, leaning on his car while looking down at you.

"I'm not, is just that is really cool." You admitted, running your hand along the length of the shiny black car.

Was it a 0km? It looked fresh from the factory.

"You like it that much?" He asked, glancing at you now, getting into the car.

You didn't seem to mind his teasing with how immersed you were on his car.

"Yeah..." The insides of the car were even better, you thought.

It smelled new with a masculine perfume.

"I'll let you ride it anytime you want." He started the car.

"Really?" He smiled and nodded... But it took him a few minutes to accommodate.

You looked at him from besides with a raised eyebrow.

"You're acting as it's your first time driving it." You chuckled and he shrugged.

"It is." Your hands went instantly to the door handle.

"What the hell?" He had a smug smile on his face, probably laughing internally by your sudden change of demeanor.

"Well yeah, usually I've some dude driving for me." Oh he was that kind of rinch. Awfully rich.

"I've a license though." He took his driver license, shoving it into your face. And you barely saw it, maybe it was his fucking ID, but you'll never know.

"At least this is an automatic." He raised his eyebrows questioningly. "... Do you even know the brand?" He leaned back, touching his dark glasses.

"Of course I know." He rolled his eyes. You stared at him, waiting for him to say it "...Mercedes Benz." He obviously tried to guess. You huffed.

"It's a Porsche." He let out a little 'pff'.

"It's all the same, why would I waste my time on looking at the brand?" He was so rich that it was irritating. You just shook your face, putting the seat belt on.

Besides your prejudice about Satoru's lack of experience while driving, it took you by surprise how well he actually did for someone who only drove on the driving test... If he ever went to one.

And yes, maybe he hit some corners, and more than two curbs and sidewalks... And yeah, sure, he also got cursed a lot for getting too close to the tail of the cars in front of him... But you arrived at your class in a perfect time, Satoru drove as if he was insane, like a damn ambulance with a women giving birth.

And the talk during the trip was surprisingly chill and entertaining.

He told you how he learned to drive when he was on highschool with his dad's car. Some old-ass vintage Rolls-Royce or Aston Martin, he didn't remember which one... And probably his dad had the two if he was as rich as him.

"I'm just saying it's better." You still got some minutes left before your class (surprisingly). You giggled at his words.

"No way! you're sick." The question was what he preferred: fucking his ex or his hypothetical twin... And he choosed his fucking twin.

"It'll be like a clone, right? it's called self-love." You let out a little 'eww'.

"Did you end up that bad with your ex to commit incest?" He snickered at your words.

"That bitch was fucking crazy... And we weren't even officially dating or anything, luckily." You shook your face with an amused smile on your face.

"So you don't like crazy girls?" He looked at you shortly as he smiled.

"Mm... It depends." You hummed at his words.

When it finally was time for your class, you really didn't feel like leaving. Satoru was more fun than you gave him credit for.

"Want me to pick ya up after class?" That made you smile and nod as you took your racket and sports bag.

"You're the best." You got out of his car and waved at him with a pretty smile.

"See you in two." You jogged to the front door.

Looking so cute, Satoru couldn't help but think about how messed up he was while looking at how your miniskirt moved as you did.

After classes, you waited outside of the building a few minutes for Satoru... Was he always that late.

It was hot and you were a little damp with sweat...

Finally, the man appeared, stopping in front of you, lowering the window to shoot you a wink as he looked at you from head to toe.

You got in with a no so friendly face.

"Someone is in a bad mood." He said, staring at your face.

"I had to wait for you fifteen minutes under the sun, I'm all wet and sticky." You stuck out your tongue in disgust, touching your own hot skin.

"Well, sorry for leaving you all wet 'n sticky." He teased, closing the windows and turning on the air.

"Better?" You nodded, letting out a satisfied sigh.

"Still looking upset, huh." He said, his eyes were looking forward, but apparently he noticed your clenched eyebrows.

"I feel dirty." You crossed your arms, uncrossing them seconds later from the heat.

"And I'm so thirsty too, do something." You complained, and Satoru's grin was even wider than earlier.

"What ya're sounding so needy for?" You glared at him.

"Just joking pretty." You looked out through the window, trying to ignore the tension and how the weather was making you think what you shouldn't.

"Wanna go 'n have some drinks with daddy?" Ew.

"Don't ever say that again." He couldn't help but laugh when he saw your disgusted face.

"Want it or not?" That wouldn't be like a date... Would it? "It's all on daddy tonight." He teased again, but you ignored that.

"... Okay." He smiled lightly, changing the route... And maybe this wasn't the best idea.

Happy New Year 🍾🐉

More Posts from Iamyoojin and Others

The Sun Eats the Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

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I am Najwa Muqdad from Gaza, a mother of four young children. I have twins Ahmed and Mayar, and Al-Waleed and Mira.

Donate, even if 25$

@gazavetters Our team at #GazaVetters has rigorously vetted and approved this campaign, earning it a spot on our official list at (#49)

: ̗̀STEP BY STEP (pt 4)