𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬.

like the sun.

pairing: gojo satoru + reader

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

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

word count: 7.2k

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

i. blaze.

there’s a peculiar thing about heat.

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

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

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

“where’d you get that?”

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

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

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

blue still penetrates you. it watches, carefully.

“looked pretty big.”

you bite your cheek, sparing him a side glance.

“it’s old.”

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

“how old?”

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

“got it last year.”

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

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

“break’s over.”

•••

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

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

he was unbearable.

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

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

because what was he really capable of?

“again, too slow.”

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

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

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

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

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

blue peeks out.

“god, yaga wasn’t kidding.”

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

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

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

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

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

satoru’s smug.

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

and then, he shrugs nonchalantly.

“nothing.”

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

“okay.”

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

“you don’t want to know?”

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

“no, i’m good.”

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

you’re tired.

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

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

unfair.

“not even a little curious?”

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

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

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

he’s never listened to you anyways.

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

“what’s on today’s agenda?”

he speaks like that pretty often.

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

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

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

“where?”

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

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

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

“can’t be super important.”

your brow raises, and you scoff softly.

“not sure yet.”

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

but he speaks because he loves the interaction.

(specifically, he loves talking to you.)

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

“i noticed you were slower today.”

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

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

you shrug, looking at the floor.

“i was tired.”

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

“you’re always tired.”

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

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

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

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

he’s aware.

“but you’re not trying, either.”

at that, your body stills.

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

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

“you’re not trying, i said.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he pauses. hesitant again.

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

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

the door shuts behind him.

•••

ii. taunt.

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

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

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

“i’ll take it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“woah, woah, woah, slow down!”

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

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

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

your eyes shut tightly, and you sigh.

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

and suddenly, his addition makes sense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“nah.”

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

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

the air feels a little tense.

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

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

satoru stills.

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

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

but in your case, it just feels different.

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

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

satoru has a habit of suppressing his thoughts.

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

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

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

•••

“he’s a lot to handle.”

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

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

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

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

“what did he tell you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“yaga never said that.”

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

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

“seriously?”

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

“yup.”

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

“why would he say that, then?”

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

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

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

“well, it bothered you, didn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

•••

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

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

suguru didn’t mean this, you’re sure.

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

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

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

(it was most definitely not.)

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

paper crinkles in your hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

though if satoru was here, he would have laughed.

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

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

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

it’s bare.

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

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

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

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

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

“okay, okay, okay.”

your weapon unveils itself.

•••

iii. glory in the sun’s rays.

heavy breaths are the only sound echoing across distant walls.

but besides that,

serenity.

it’s quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

both doors fly open.

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

you’ve learned it well over the past year.

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

you meet each other’s eyes.

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

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

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

he looks disarrayed.

“i fucking did it, you idiot.”

clothes somewhat torn, hair slightly disheveled, you stand.

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

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

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

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

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

gods shouldn’t fear things.

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

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

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

your shirt is ripped from the bottom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo satoru cannot deny his six eyes.

it looks fatal.

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

“satoru?”

his eyes snap to yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“shut up. shut up, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

•••

“it was dumb.”

“that’s known. why say it again?”

“because it was dumb.”

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

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

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

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

he keeps his distance.

“you got lucky.”

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

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

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

you count seconds silently.

it takes ten for satoru to break.

“did you get stupid overnight?”

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

“seriously, answer me.”

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

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

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

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

he shuts his eyes, briefly, and exhales.

“i thought you were a goner.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“how would that motivate me?”

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

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

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

“because you’re an idiot.”

almost comically, satoru’s mouth drops.

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

“well, i defeated it, so…”

“not the point.”

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

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

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

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

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

you think you know what he was trying to say.

allergies | zuko x fem!reader smau m.list

summary: Y/N has no feelings for her best friend’s brother. In fact, she might just be allergic to him with how much she definitely doesn’t like him.

status: complete

warnings: uh, angst. fluff. humor?? i hope?? also swear words!!! a lot of those!!! there’s like a mild panic attack on chapter 7 i think. yeah if something more comes up i’ll add it here

Keep reading

now i wake up by your side—

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 2.8k+

tags: u.a. college au, canon-compliant, reader has a telekinesis/telepathic quirk, references (and potential spoilers) for the current arc in the manga, angst, a lot of secret hidden feelies

tysm to @alrightberries for giving me the opportunity to bring this lil thought of yours to life 🥺 your patience and understanding during the time it took me to write this is so appreciated it, and tbh you're the reason i'm even still here right now LOL you're so sweet, and i hold your kindness so close to my heart. i wish i could convey how much it means to me. i hope i did this even a lil justice !! happy birthday dear !!!! 🥺🩷✨️

Sero dreams of watching the sunrise on top of the Roppongi Observatory.

It’s a beautiful sight, one you’ve never seen with your own eyes, but you soak in the warmth flushing across his cheeks and the anticipated break of morning through the clouds. When he takes in a hefty breath, you feel the spring chill sting inside his chest, crisp and clear, like it’s you breathing instead of him, and it’s almost comforting enough to lull you to sleep, too.

But a clay pot shattering against a nearby bench has your eyes springing open, ripped from the haven you’d been lost to. 

You have to blink several times in order to fight through the exhaustion wearing you thin, but the evening returns to you in small, bleary doses. It’s the middle of the night—or at least it was when you’d first wandered out to the training field, and you can’t be sure how many hours have passed since then. Across the yard, you’ve successfully managed to carry four pots from the garden plot near the entrance all the way to your feet with your Quirk— but number five sits in pieces in the grass.

You’ll have to clean that up by morning or Eraser will make you run laps until you puke. Again.

Kirishima flits through your mind in a suit and tie: not as a Hero, but a spy of some kind, chasing down men with masks covering their faces and wielding a gun that looks odd in his hands, even in his own dream. Despite being back in the dorms, stories up and near the end of the hall, you can see it—hear him yelling out at the criminal to stop, feel the thud of the ground under his feet. His own determination blares through you like a freight train, as strong and damning as he is, and you fight to force yourself back inside your own shoes as you try to carry another pot.

Recovery Girl used to tell you that you did this to yourself: all your worry about losing sleep psyching yourself out of it completely, chasing it away before it even had the chance. When everyone is getting ready for bed, heading out of the common room and hitting the showers, you can feel that suspense building; what will come across tonight while everyone dreams? Fantasies? Or nightmares?

During the day it’s easier to drown out the foot-traffic of everyone’s thoughts—you do it without trying, now—but your brain needs rest, too. Letting go of control for even a second, just to get some shut eye is—

Something frightening is outlined in your peripheral vision, the dash of a pale shape you aren’t able to discern before it’s gone. The air turns metallic and stale and you can hear water sloshing, though you’re nowhere near the pools. All your blood rushes in your ears and your fingers curl, like you’re gripping your seat—gripping the edge of the couch in the common room, where you’d been sitting beside Mina when Kaminari put on that horror movie. The one with the—

“The hell are you doin’?”

Your eyes snap open for the hundredth time that night—show over, credits rolling—and it’s Bakugou. Standing only feet away from the new set of clay shards of your failure, tangible and real and staring at you with an intensity not even your dreams could mimic.

You blink, eyes stinging and heavy. You must look insane. “Oh, hey,” the voice that comes out of you is far-away, chartered off to distant lands, and he notices immediately, focus razor-sharp despite how late it is. “What did you say?”

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, like he’s offended at having to repeat himself. “I said, what the hell are you doin’? It’s nearly 2 in the morning and you’re out here throwin’ shit around in your fuckin’ pajamas.”

Almost on cue, the breeze brushes past your legs, chilly enough to have you shivering, and you peek down at them as if you don’t know what they look like. The sweater you’re wearing is from second year and the U.A. logo is half-worn off, but it’s the comfiest thing you own and if you’re going to be plagued all night by the forced intimacy of your classmates’ dreams—you at least want to be cozy.

When you look back up at him, Bakugou is pointedly looking away, taking interest in something other than your wimpy state of dress. 

It dawns on you then that he’s out here, too, in sweats and a simple back sweatshirt, hair a messy, golden halo in the pale, buzzing field lights. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think his face was a little rosy, but—maybe you’re seeing things.

Still. Being out and away from everyone, alone with Bakugou, makes your stomach tighten horribly. Like you’ve done too many sit-ups.

You try to brush off your sudden bout of shyness, because you know he’ll clock that in no time, too. “Well, I could ask you the same thing.” At the raise of your eyebrows, he only tchs, and casts you a filthy look. “But I think maybe I’ll just mind my own business.”

The face he makes is so awful and hot-blooded that you laugh, truly and earnestly, enough that a headache pulses to life. You wince, and the stream of pain that shoots down the middle of your skull brings back that image of Kirishima’s action-thriller: blood and knives, the sound of skin on skin, a fist against cheekbones, the ugly snap of breaking—

“Oi.”

Bakugou is closer than before, when you’re grounded back inside yourself. At least no pots have been broken this time. Less to clean up.

“Sorry,” you shoot him an apologetic smile that you know he must hate. “It’s just so—” your hand feels like it’s made of lead, but you drag it up to massage slow circles into your temple, trying not to grit your teeth and worsen the pounding in your head. “So loud sometimes.”

He’s silent until the pain ebbs out, and when you can blink without flinching, you peek up to catch how intently he’s watching your face. In the night like this, his eyelashes seem darker, longer, a kind of haunting beauty you would dream about, if you could get some sleep.

Again, you think of Kaminari’s horror movie, legs pressed against Mina’s under the heavy comforter she’d brought down from her room. It’s warm, the kind of pink, fluffy thing you’d imagine a girl like her to have—but it didn’t stop you from shivering every time you chanced a glance at Bakugou and found him already staring back.

The heat in your cheeks spreads to the back of your neck, so immediate that you think you might start sweating. “Dreams and stuff,” you murmur, by way of an explanation, “nightmares, sometimes.”

Bakugou's frown deepens, the muscle in his jaw tightening once as he grits his teeth. “What, you can just…hear that shit all night?”

“Usually,” you shrug, “It just comes in, you know? And I—” you steal another glance at him, aware, then, of just how intrusive you might sound. The veil of privacy is thin between you and others, and they don't often like being reminded of that. “Not for you, though. I don't—I don't get anything from you.”

And it's true, frustratingly enough. Not that you are ever intentionally peeking into anyone's head, but things slip through, occasionally—sudden reactions, wild, loose trains of thought. 

Bakugou's face twists, regardless, and you're reminded of all the times you've been forced to spar together, at Eraser's behest. One of the smartest in your class, quick on his feet and never without a plan; every time you've managed to get a hand on Bakugou, there's been nothing but a sea-shore calm.

It's hard to do and, at this point in your life, you've seen a thousand people try it—but he's the only one that's ever succeeded in keeping you at bay.

Nothing in his expression changes, but all your nerves spread to your voice until it shakes. “You're—I don't look in there, of course, but it's—you've always been…” Bakugou is terrible at taking compliments, you know that, almost as bad as you are at giving them. “Pretty, I guess.”

Awful, at giving them.

Embarrassment floods him, suddenly stained pink as he curls into himself. “Piss off,” he barks, and though he’s scowling at you in what must be disgust—you can’t help but to smile at how aggressively bashful he is.

You almost get the guts to make matters worse, just because you can. Admit how handsome you’ve come to find him, after the last few years, until his face is steaming in the sweet nighttime chill; the kind of intimacy you wouldn’t mind dreaming about again and again.

The absence of his thoughts are a comfort for your tired mind, has all the harsh edges of night fading into something a little easier to swallow, to breathe in. You know he does it on purpose as a strictly defensive move, but you almost want to thank him. For the quiet.

You don’t know if it’s from you or him, but when you reach a hand up to hover near his temple, the air buzzes between you, gently. Charged with that same thing that had you unable to look away from him in the common room only days ago. “In here, I mean,” you murmur, and the smile you pull on feels lame, but it’s as genuine as ever. “I don’t know, I don’t know how you do it. But it’s…nice.”

You’ve seen him die a thousand times.

Mostly in Midoriya’s dreams, sometimes in Eraser’s when he nods off during last period, but that horror—like many others, from that day—stains you all. When dinner is put away and showers are finished and the lights go out and the flood gates open, someone almost always relives the ugliness of it all; you’re more familiar with that moment than you are with any of your own.

Here and now, you close your eyes and see Jirou staring back at you, face beautiful and full of hope. You see Kirishima’s torn suit jacket and the blood on his cheek and the empty gun in his hand, the most dedicated secret agent. Aoyama is dreaming of his mother, something warm that makes you feel like you’re dazzling, too.

And yet—Bakugou is silent. Even right in front of you. Even after everything.

If anyone deserves the peace and quiet, you suppose it ought to be him.

“When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

You blink until his blurry figure is clear, and it’s like you can physically feel whatever energy you had left seeping from your body at the mere mention of sleep. “Maybe a morning or two ago,” you tell him truthfully, “I usually pass out after a few rounds of ‘throwin’ shit around’.”

Bakugou only stares at you as he digests the words, and once he’s gotten them down, he shakes his head before looking out over the mess you’ve made of the training field. With his head turned like this, you can take in the full weight of his scar—the one that’s wide and still baby-pink across his cheek. 

You almost get the guts to tell him he’s handsome. Almost.

Frustration is evident on his face when he looks back at you, but his voice comes out softer than you expect, like he's struggling to get out any words at all. “Can’t keep doin’ this,” he chastises. “Can’t be a Hero if you’re half asleep all the time. Gotta figure this shit out.”

“I am,” you give a lazy wave to your pots, “What’s wrong with this solution?”

“It's ass.”

“Alright, you have any better ideas, pretty boy?”

He bristles, visibly enough to have you snickering, and—you’re not sure what you expect of him; to continue his griping or leave you to your own devices, building his walls up high as he always does. Ever the fighter, ever the protector; maybe it’s a good thing, you tell yourself, because you’re weak like this and one of you needs to be thinking straight.

Despite his flush, there’s a playfulness to his grouchy expression, his raspy tone—and it has you leaning too far into things you don’t know how to name.

You never know what to expect of him.

There’s the slightest brush of skin against the back of your hand, and when you drop your eyes to the slowly-dwindling space between you—the rough pads of his fingers are touching you, gently. Softly enough to be the breeze, if it weren’t so warm.

You’re afraid to look at him, suddenly, like it will break whatever spell the night is casting over both of you; instead you press your lips together to stop their wobbling and the smile fighting to give you away. You’re waiting for that sea-shore calm, that quiet comfort, whatever it is he’s trying to offer you, strangely enough, in this moment. When you turn your hand over to catch his, the air buzzes again and the blood rushes in your ears.

You focus and—all you can see is your own face staring back at you. In a flash, like he’s cycling through his cards in a hurry, trying to find the best one.

You, across the arena during the entrance exam. You, in the locker room before the Sport's Festival. You, sitting in the common room during Christmas. You, ruined with tears and your own blood and covered in grime, on the darkest day of your life.

You, now. On the field in the stale light, prettier than you think you must look, for being so exhausted, the lines of your smile deep as you grin up at him.

—And then there's nothing.

The absence of noise is louder than anything. A stark, white silence that cuts through; a different world trickling away. A single touch and a little focus is all it takes to take root inside someone’s head and that’s always felt like a weapon, but now it feels like coming inside from a snowstorm, relief shuddering down your spine. Everyone else's fears and nerves and heartaches dissolve until they’re only a bitter taste at the back of your throat. Something far, far behind you

There’s just Bakugou. A strong silence that feels impenetrable, invulnerable to the outside. The steady beat of his heart is comforting in a way you didn’t realize it would be, has that bloody, dead-eyed image of him shifting into something else: another moment in Midoriya’s memories, of his silhouette standing in the sun, tall and fierce and alive.

Returned. Here and now with you, after numerous, unforeseen turns of events. You wonder if the ease surrounding you is his own, something else he’s sharing—or if this is just how it feels to be with him after so long. Maybe in the past it was different—you know it was; during the entrance exam, during the Sport’s Festival—but now you feel more relaxed than you ever have. A reminder that, no matter how dark the nights get, the sun is only just beyond the horizon. 

Returned, comforting and quiet.

(You won't know this until much later, but your hand will go slack in Katsuki's and his fingers will tighten around your own because he's not ready to let go yet. When your knees buckle, he'll already be there, awkwardly holding you up against his shoulder as his face flames and his eyes dart around the empty field, checking for any shitty snoops.

Ears is always up damn late, too, and there's a decent chance he'd get caught trying to haul you back to your room on the third fuckin’ floor, so there's really no better option than to gently lower you both to the grass. After a couple of minutes with no movement, the field lights will shut off and only the distant glow of the stars will remain.)

(You won't know this until much later, but Katsuki will arrange the both of you so that your head isn't slumped on the hard ground, but resting on the plush of his bicep, an arm around your shoulders so that the warmth can be shared between you both. His heart will pound hard enough in his chest to be worrisome, and every time you shuffle and scoot closer to him and nudge your nose into his sweater—Katsuki will fight to stay open and true, only honest with you in this wordless way.)

(You won't know this until the sun rises high behind your lids and your bones ache and he’s shown you things he could never say, but it's the best sleep you think you've ever gotten. With him, under the stars, surrounded by his calm and his constant.)

(You won't remember this but in your dream—your real dream, born from with solace Katsuki offers you—the morning will rise and settle in and he'll walk you back to your room despite the stares and in the elevator when you're alone, his lips will touch yours and you'll feel his  heart in your chest and his nerves in your stomach and his fear and relief all in one.)

(And right away, when you wake up, you'll finally have a name for this thing that's been blooming between you both for as long as you can remember—and he will, too.)

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

Stay

[Five Hargreeves x Reader]

Summary : You are hopeful, you are exhausted, and you want Five to stay.

Warning : None.

Is this how it will always be?

This constant tug of coming and going, but never staying.

"Can't you stay for a little longer?"

Five sighs. Tired gaze settling on you. "You know I can't."

Can't or won't? You bite the retort back.

You met Five in a coffee shop a few months back. A conversation over black coffee was the start of it all, and now here you are, stretching at the seams of what you want and what he can give.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I understand," you reassure.

And you do. His father, the academy, his duty, his family, you understand it all.

You just wish there to be a small corner in his heart for you.

You hope, with time, he will stay.

•••

"We have talked about this," Five argues.

No, we haven't. You talked about it and I listened.

"Is ten minutes more, asking for too much?" Frowning, you peer at him.

"I can't," he states, voice curt.

"Can't or won't?" You retort sharply.

You both aren't who you were when you met over coffee. It's been…you don't even remember how long it's been since you've known him. But you know, it's been long enough to hurt.

"You think if I'd the choice to stay, I wouldn't?" he fumes, glare infusing into his eyes as he stalks towards you.

You've never done it before, what do I know?

"I—"

His hands grip your shoulder, firm and unyielding. "I would."

He says it with such conviction that you believe him.

Desolation wraps around your lips and curls up. A smile bitten out of your heart, you offer it up to him on a platter.

And when he leaves, you hope the next time he will stay.

•••

"I can't do this anymore."

Your whisper is a proclamation. A despairing sound crossing over the chasm of silence between you and him, carried across by the bridge of shattered hope and bleeding love.

It's been years upon years of you consciously hiding behind the carefully crafted walls of ignorance and delusion. No more can you muster the strength to hold them up.

"Don't say that," the crack of his voice mirrors the one in your heart.

"I can't keep doing this," exhaustion slips past your lips, you hope it drains him.

"Just give me—"

"No," you cut him off. "Give, give, give, that's all I have been doing, that's all I have ever done. Don't you see?"

He walks around your bed, towards where you stand— by the window.

Once he's near enough, he lifts his hand to touch you, or embrace you, or calm you, but you turn away, so he thinks better of it.

"I'm sorry."

He's always sorry.

When you used to spend all those late nights or afternoons with him, listening to him, you'd deduced that apology wasn't something he was a master of unlike all other subjects.

You'd thought that apologies were a delicacy when it came to him. How wrong you were.

"Please, I can't do this without you," he's pleading, and yet it's not enough to stir the sympathy within. You want to cry all the same.

"No, Five, I can't do this. I can't let you do this to me anymore."

You keep gazing out of your window, so you don't have to see him.

Nature is a contrast of you. The air is dry, your eyes are not, the leaves aren't rustling, but your being is, the moon is full and yet, you're waning.

The night is the only comfort, reflecting the endless abyss you've fallen into.

He shakes his head, and with it all the semblance of acceptance. "No. Look me in the eye and say that."

So, you do. And you see.

In the depth of his eyes you see an unsettled ocean, oh how deep have you been drowning in them. The more you hold his gaze, the more you realize.

You cannot breathe.

You look away, if you keep looking into those eyes you'll surely suffocate.

"You can't, can you?" It's not a question. An observation. A declaration. It's Five Hargreeves arrogance.

"Your eyes suffocate me." You hope it hurts. "Your presence suffocates me." This time, when you look at him, you hold his stare.

"You don't mean that," the pain that invades your ears snaps you back. Not entirely. No. But just enough for the string tying his heart to yours to burn in agony.

The bridge of shattered hope and bleeding love is in ruins, and ruins rot, and you can't let them destroy you alongside. Ruins must burn.

"I do."

You burn the bridge.

The hush that falls after your decision is one that consists of broken shards, sharp enough to cut, to draw blood.

And they do. There's blood in your ear, copper in your mouth. Seconds tick by and in the torturous quiet you and Five both bleed together.

This is how the moon must feel—hopeless and splintered and wholly caged—when gazing down at those who cry under moonlight.

"I should leave."

The air near him shifts closer to you for a fleeting moment and then draws back.

"Five?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't come back unless you plan to stay."

He doesn't reply. Makes no promises. Just leaves.

And you?

You hope and you hope and you hope.

•••

When you come home, the first thing you notice is the air.

The air feels more welcoming, more mellow. As though the stagnant rust that had dried over the molecules has finally been stripped ; renewing everything.

Your eyes linger on the open door of your bedroom.

Breath in. Breath out.

Giving yourself a moment or two, to let the overwrought heart still, and the agitation in nerves to abate.

Silent are your steps as you tread across the living room towards the open door.

And there he is.

Five Hargreeves does everything in the proper way, cannot fathom doing anything in a way he considers less than perfect.

His presence isn't a surprise.

How could it be? When he'd announced it in bold calligraphy over rose-scented parchment saying, "I'm coming home."

Your gaze sweeps over to him.

Leaning against the open window, with his head tilted up and eyes closed. The afternoon sun shines down on him in sublimity, golden rays weaving through the lining of his skin.

He looks like home.

"It's been eight months."

The silvery thread of your voice tugs at him, unfurling the ocean of his eyes that you used to drown in.

"I know."

You fold your arms. "Bit arrogant of you to presume we could just pick up right where we left off."

"I don't presume." He shakes his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I know."

"Oh?" You raise a mocking brow. "Is that so?"

"I have lived your love." His words are laced in nostalgia, it splashes on your face. "I have known your love. I know your love. And maybe, maybe I'm being arrogant here, but this arrogance comes from confidence, from belief in your love."

"I am tired, Five." So is my love.

There are more words you wish to say, however they are a jumbled mess. It doesn't matter because the softness of his eyes says that he understands.

"I have always fallen back on you, known that no matter what you will always be there. I'm here so that, you know, you can fall back on me now."

You sway on your feet. Warm tears eclipse your eyes. You step closer to him.

"And you won't leave?"

"I'm here. I'm here to stay." He extends his hand, the curl of his lips, the shine of his eyes, everything left open and raw for you to see.

And what you see is the promise of comfort and rest. Of peace and love. Of him and you.

So, you take his hand. And he pulls you in an embrace.

You meet him like the first rain after a dry spell. Like the cold droplets falling over the burning earth, soothing and mending the cracks. Except you both are the drought and the rain— you're his drought as he's yours, and he's your rain, as you're his.

I'm home, you think, as his hands envelop you entirely, while your come to rest upon his chest.

Heart sagging as it lets go of exhaustion. You hide your face in the crook of his neck, and he finds shelter in the nook of your shoulder.

Together, you succumb into each other.

Melding and merging with every breath, the essence spilling over. A game of hide and seek without the need to seek because you've already found each other. But you are hiding, somewhere near the core of your respective beings, finding solace by the soul.

There's much to talk about. But not now. For now, you're tranquil beneath the mirage that there's no one but you and Five in the world.

Sighing, you nestle into him.

Is this how it will always be?

You hope and you hope and you hope.

..................................................................................

A/N :

This one was inspired by the exhaustion I felt. Some abstract exhaustion that made me want to just succumb into someone.

And then I remembered this quote by Kafka— "I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us anymore."

And I thought, well there's no one to hide face in other than the pillow, but let's create something out of it! So yeah channelled all that into this.

It's a bit heavy on the prose...yeah I think the Sandman fic I'm working on has something to do with that.

Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed this.

Thankyou! ❤

‧₊˚ what are we?

...nothing. right?.₊˚⊹

convienence. a means to end. that's all this was for both of you right? when katsuki is fed up with the crazed fangirls who just won't leave him alone, he works out a deal with you. it was just coincidence he had a huge crush on you.

☆pair. 2ndyear!katsuki x reader. tags. fake dating!trope, fluff, reader is academically flopping for a bit, pet names, cursing, fighting (verbal), happy ending wc. 6k

ღnote. sorry that this took so long lol! i wrote this in chapter form if you'd like to read it here, but this one shot is the same thing.

post-war brought troubles for a lot of the students in class 1-A. especially bakugo katsuki.

he had to completely relearn how to write with his other hand, had to learn how to fight without injury to it.

and he had to learn to deal with his crazy amount of fangirls.

his fight had been broadcasted, the manner in which he pushed himself to the very brink broadcasted to the world. his victory brought spoils, though not in a way he expected.

he didn't expect to be chased down the hallways every morning, to have a line of girls wanting his autograph as he ate. he didn't expect to be gifted things, things they just assumed he liked, but couldn't be farther from the truth.

luckily, you seemed to like chocolate. he found refuge these days sitting on the roof floor of U-A next to you during lunch, passing you the chocolate gifts he'd been given.

he hated chocolate. but to be honest, he loved seeing you smile.

"thanks 'suki." you said for the nth time, picking the best chocolates out of the box and leaving the gross ones alone.

"yeah." he sighed, glancing at you occasionally as he moved to support the weight of his head with his hands. he found himself speechless around you often. words failing as he leant into the comfort of your presence.

you were about to say something, he thinks. your mouth was open though the blaring of the bell cut you off. "oh, let's go 'suki." you said, holding your hand out to him.

he took it, letting you pull him up and holding onto your hand for just a second too long. you dumped the rest of the chocolates in a trash can and made your collective way down to 1-A. you laughed at how he seemed to try and hide behind you, eyes darting around for the general course girls who seemed to have nothing better to do than follow him around.

they didn't come though. he saw a group of them but when they saw your proximity to him..

they left him alone.

a lightbulb went off in his head, he mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. as he sat in class, eyeing your seat between momo and jirou, he thought about how he'd ask you.

test papers were being passed out, graded ones. "yo man," kirishima started, looking over his paper, "what'd you get?"

katsuki scoffed. "what do you think? another 100, easy as shit."

kaminari groaned beside him, "you're cheating or something! i got an 80."

"that's high for someone like you!"

"hey!"

"aw man, i got a 70. you're so manly bakubro!"

"yeah, guess i am."

katsuki tried to resist the turning of his head, he really did. but he wanted to know what score you got, if you did well. though from the expression on your face and the way momo patted you on the back,

not to mention the red ink used all over your paper. he knew you didn't.

"man this totally sucks!" you exclaimed, your hands clutching the paper of your test. "i studied and everything, i don't even need math, im a hero for crying out loud!"

jirou's teases and momo's comforts faded into the background as he only focused on you, and the nagging feeling for him to help you.

with another ring of the bell and a sigh from mr. aizawa, katsuki left early to try and beat the crowd of girls who seemed to pounce on him.

he didn't though, he found himself at the entrance at U-A, almost to freedom when the crowd pointed at him, "that's him! i can't believe it!"

"dynamite, an autograph please?"

"hey- don't be so casual. it's lord explosion--"

"who cares? i want a photo!"

at that, they chased him. all his progress down the stairs and through the halls was gone as he was led right back down to class 1-A. he stupidly lead himself right back into a corner.

his head darted around, until he noticed a tuft of familiar hair in the classroom. you hadn't left? oh well, he needed your help and quick.

you were sobbing internally, looking over your horrific test score with a sad expression. a 70? you might as well just drop out now.

as the hours of studying you'd done for waste passed over in your mind, a noise caught you off guard.

he had burst in, making your deflated form jump off the desk. "katsuki, don't scare me like that!"

he rushed over to your side, grabbing your hand off where it was hanging limply on the desk. "be my girlfriend for a second."

the words barely even processed in your brain before you were being manhandled off the desk, your mind rushed to catch up. "wait-- wha-"

before you knew it you were led towards the door of obsessed fan girls. his hand was intertwined tightly with yours, a slight flush on his face.

"listen up." he started, making his fans shush eachother. "my girlfriend hasn't been appreciating all your bullshit. and neither have i, so for the love of god stop it already."

he pulled you alongside him, "move." a path opened for the two of you, letting you two through. he walked you to the entrance, no words spoken between the two of you until you stopped infront of the lockers where you'd keep your shoes.

"[name]-- uh." he took a breath, his heart sped up rapidly around you. it sped up at the simple tilt of your head.

"so. if you help me with this shit, i'll tutor you.

or whatever."

a hand was behind his head, his averted eyes now focusing on you as he awaited your answer with baited breath.

you had an expression of thoughtfulness on your face. your finger on your chin as you looked up to the ceiling to think.

'have everyone think youre dating a cute boy and get a tutor?'

the pinkie of your hand shot out, a closed eye smile on your face. "i'm in!"

a soft smile graced his lips, his pinkie intertwining with yours and sealing his fate in more ways than one.

because you really did have him wrapped around your finger. literally and figuratively.

"let's go to my room so we can talk over it!"

you really were going to be the death of him.

it's not like he'd never been to your room, just not in a situation like this.

not when he'd declared himself your boyfriend an hour earlier, not when his hands were sweaty with his nervousness, and not when you'd agreed so hastily to be his.

he wondered if you'd accept if anyone else asked you. if izuku or todoroki had been facing this situation instead of him.

"'suki?" you patted the side of your bed next to you, "sit with me."

he sighed, the thoughts disappearing from his mind at your words. he really was whipped for you.

"yeah, yeah. i'm goin'" he sat beside you, oddly stiffer than normal. he held his own hands as he waited for you to say something.

"okay, so, we should have like-- a plan or something right?"

"a plan? what the fuck for?"

"like so we don't get caught faking this or whatever. if they find out your fans will just come back running, no?"

he shuddered at the thought. "yeah, don't wanna deal with that shit."

"right? so the first part of our plan, is that everyone has to think we're dating. cool?"

katsuki's mind was racing. cool? more like the best thing that would happen to him. he felt as if everyone knew of his crush on you.. except for you.

being to say he was all yours and that you were all his, even if it was a lie..

"yeah, it's cool."

"great, that's really the only thing we had to establish. we hang out a lot anyways so, we'll just have to be affectionate or something to seal the deal."

his heart jumped at the idea of hugging you, wrapping an arm around you, holding hands with you in public. the ghost of a smile came over him.

"right."

"cool. so nothing else matter--"

"we're starting your studying shit tomorrow. the next test is next week, so we don't have time to play around [name]."

"ughh. i wish you forgot about that." your head fell into your hands. "i hate math, what do i even need it for?"

"advanced math, nothing really. but estimates are important in hero work. estimating time, the abilities of your body, the amount of civilians, all that stuff."

"you're such a nerd."

"hah?"

he continued explaining the importance of math to you despite your grievances. his finger was pointed in the air, you swore you could see the need emoji popping over his face.

your eyes closed, the weight of the day, your grade, and the thought of studying alongside a nerd like katsuki tiring you to no avail. you yawned, laying your head on his shoulder.

you could hear the thumping of his heart, the racing of his blood in his veins. it rocked you to sleep, "wake me up later, m' a take a nap." you mumbled against his shoulder, before falling asleep.

his mouth shut, eyes peeled on your body that now clung to his side. his face grew hot, when did it get so hot in your damn room?

he tried his best to stay awake, to let you nap and wake you up in the morning. but as the clock hit eight o clock, the time he was supposed to head back to his dorm.. he found himself stuck in place.

not by an invisible force, not by some obligation. it was only the thought of wanting to be with you, next to you. wanting to let the comfort of your weight next to him drive himself to sleep.

so he did. he fell asleep, letting his head lay on top of yours, holding your body closer to his. shutting his eyes.

the light of the sun woke him up first, you didn't close your blinds yesterday, and the sun shined brightly,

directly into his face. he groaned, his voice deep from sleep as he peeled himself off of you. he was confused from fatigue, wondering why he was still in your room.

he felt an arm around his waist, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes to see it was you who was holding him close. he thinks you were using him in place of your huge teddy bear, the one laid neatly in the corner of your bed.

his heart rate quickened once again, wanting to go back to his room, but fighting the urge to stay looking at you.

an absentminded hand moved a couple strands of your hair out your face, pinching your cheek when he got bold.

you don't wake up, he sighed a breath of relief. 'til he felt your body start to stir, you pushed your head more into his chest, your eyes finally starting to open slightly.

"oh? g'morning kat'." you were sleepy, your words slightly slurred and muffled from how you were pressed against him.

"you slept here?" you asked, pulling away from him as you moved to stretch your upper body.

"uh-- yeah." he was once again lost for words at the sight of you, your shirt slightly pulled up from how you'd slept, your hair messy from the lack of a protective style before sleep.

"sorry for waking you up then, 'suki."

"no, i was already up. i just didn't wanna wake you."

"well, you failed." you joked. "anyways, you should get out of here soon, if iida sees you he'll probably flip out and tell mr. aizawa."

"right."

"let's walk to class together!" you clasped his hands in yours. "okay?"

you were going to be the death of him once again. "okay."

you let go and he got up, ruffling his hair slightly and looking back at you who sent him a small smirk and wave. before slowly walking out your door. he did his best to keep his movements quiet and minimal.

he was at the elevator, before uraraka walked out. shit. "bakugo? what are you doing here?"

"uh.. got lost."

her face scrunched in confusion, a knowing smile on her face after a second. "right.. tell [name] good morning for me."

".. tell her yourself." he got into the elevator, already seeing the grin in uraraka's face as he went up a floor to his room.

the same grin everyone greeted him with as he went to sit next to you in the common room, having made you some breakfast. he and you were all ready, you had refreshed your hair from when he was playing with it, simple makeup and your uniform ironed. he admired you while he ate his meal.

"ah, thanks 'suki."

"mhm."

you moved to whisper in his ear, "why's everyone looking at us?"

"fuck if i know."

"so you two lovebirds aren't gonna say anything?" denki said, putting his hands on his hips as he looked you two over.

"'bout what?"

"that you two are totally dating!" mina exclaimed, pointing at you. "and you didn't say anything? wow [name], i thought.. we were closer than that." she mock fully cried.

katsuki was about to say something, you cut him off though. "i thought everyone knew?" with a tilt of your head, a question mark almost visible from the blank expression you wore.

the class only sighed, kirishima shrugged his shoulders. "yeah, we should've guessed. i mean bakugo had a obvious crush on you for the longest."

"yeah, good looks man." sero gave him a thumbs up.

"tch. let's go [name]." he sat up, placing his and your finished dishes in the sink before you followed behind him.

"right! bye guys!"

you grabbed his hand as you walked out the door. nobody was around, there was no need to keep up appearances now.

but that didn't stop him from holding your hand tighter.

and that didn't stop you from clinging even more to his side.

it seemed you two were now together all the time. a clingy couple is what you seemed like to your friends, and more importantly his fans.

at lunch he could now be in the cafeteria again, you were stuck his side as you ate, an arm around you as you shared his food, insisting his cooking was better than the U-A food.

you were caged in by his body, you really did just look like a sappy couple to everyone.

during class, he was caught glancing at you. a lot. he'd roll his eyes and pretend nothing even happened, but everyone knew he was far gone.

during training, as you sparred you noticed he was going harder on you than before. some would think that because you were his crush he wouldn't get so aggressive,

too bad katsuki only wanted to push you harder, get you to show the strength he saw you unleash on those villains in the war. he wanted you to be stronger beside him, if he was number one, he'd want you to be ranked closely to him, because he knew you were strong enough.

that didn't mean it wasn't any more hard to fight him, the man was a maniac.

"you can chill out you know!"

"what? can't take it?!"

"no, slow your fucking roll!" you barely dodged his other attack, just barely moving out the way as he threw an explosion in your direction.

you now had met the conditions to use your quirk, comeback. by generating a max of 8 orbs, they'd absorb energy that you could use back for your offense. the only downside?

melee attacks couldn't be absorbed at all.

a kick to your legs sent you to the ground, you dispersed one of your orbs with the explosion stored inside of it.

"be nice and let me win!!"

"no."

he dodged your attack and pinned you to the ground. he won.

"you're so mean 'suki." you shoved him off you, making him grunt. "a good boyfriend would've let me win!"

a nagging voice in the back of his head was telling him he wasn't yours, you weren't his, and that he was only doing this for his convinience.

"well, i guess i'll be a better one next time."

even that voice couldn't deny that the way he cared for you wasn't anything less than real. that even if this relationship was fake, that he was undoubtedly yours. that the way he held his hand out to you, lifting you as gently as he could fathom.

"wanna go again?" he asked, a boyish smirk on his face.

"you know it!"

your plan of tiring katsuki out with exercise didn't work, so you found yourself in his room at his desk. showered and wiping the dew off your neck with a towel, you sat in front of him with a book splayed open.

he was hammering topic after topic into you.. statistics or something? you weren't really paying attention, you were more interested in the bulge of his muscles out of his tank top.

his words were a blur when you suddenly found yourself reaching a hand out to feel his muscle,

your hand squeezing it.

'firm. hm.' you thought, until he pulled you away, an incredulous look on his face. "this is why your class ranking keeps falling [name]. focus!"

"how can i focus with you in front of me? it's like dancing a donut in front of a cop!" you whined, face planted onto his desk.

"you're.. insane."

"you love me though, don't you?" the words slipped out of your lips without a second thought, your face flushing slightly. "oops, sorry! almost forgot you arent my like-- real boyfriend!"

he swore he heard a bit of disappointment in your voice, felt a bit of reluctance in your movements as you pulled away at him, saw a bit of longing in your eyes.

"uh.. yeah. 's fine. let's just.. take a break." he said, motioning over to lay on his bed and do nothing for a little while.

if you would've told him a couple months ago that he'd be sat, face to face, body next to body, hands awkwardly close to each other as you remained in silence. you'd had a movie on in the background, something stupid he thought. not like he payed attention to it at all.

it was comfortable, being around you. he'd be a liar if he said that he didn't like the fact that everyone now thought you were his and vice versa. not just his fans, not just yours, but your mutual friends. family.

"do you wanna try again?" he asked after a while, voice soft and his hand moving to rub his eyes. it was his bedtime, eight o clock sharp, but he'd break it for you.

"hm? to be honest no." you moved to face him. "you look tired anyways 'suki, you should sleep."

he grumbled, his eyes closing slightly as he slowly swatted your hand away from his face, his grip lingering on your wrist.

"right." he yawned. he didn't know if it was the sleep or impulse, maybe a mixture of both. but he pulled you closer to him. making you crash against his chest with his head in the nook of your neck.

"stay." he uttered, his breath flush against your neck making the hairs stand up.

"katsuki?" you thought you were dreaming. you'd move to pinch yourself if you weren't being pinned down by him.

"please?"

"..okay." your words barely matched your actions. you cuddled more into him, pulling him impossibly closer as you melted into eachother.

a blanket was thrown over the two of you. you fell asleep in his arms, the beating of his heart matching yours as you breathed a sigh of realization.

you were horribly in love with katsuki bakugo. and he was with you.

your 'fake' activities as a couple were coming along a little bit too easily to the two of you.

feeding him a snack in his room as a joke, him finding out he kind of liked being babied, him blackmailing you so you shut up.

all couple things. normal couple activity.

you didn't even have to continue those things behind closed doors, but it just came so naturally. it seemed wrong not to do it.

it seemed wrong for him not to sling a hand over you, not to hold your hand when it was so close to him, not to move the stray strands of hair and tuck it behind your ear.

it seemed wrong for him not to save a spot for you at lunch, not to wake up a bit earlier and slip out of your sleepy grasp to prepare you a meal alongside his.

not to make some breakfast for you, light or heavy, depending on what he'd learned you preferred.

not to walk with you to class, even walking with you to go see your general studies friend in the morning, leaning against the doorway with a smile on his face as he watched you rave on about a show you'd watched recently.

why wouldn't he do it if he could? why shouldn't he watch your favorite shows just to have things to talk to you about?

he found himself fighting to stay focused during your study sessions now too. he found himself noticing things about you, the smaller things.

how you'd flip your hello kitty pencil around while you were speaking. how you'd bite your lips in concentration, your expressions of disbelief when you actually started getting things correct.

he'd have to cover his hand with his face. you were just too cute.

sometimes he'd even get distracted mid sentence. he was explaining simple things over again, just to make sure you knew what it meant.

but it was hard even keeping eye contact with you.

"so, in this problem x would be.. uh.." he went silent, his mouth open but no words escaping.

"x would be what? 7?" you showed your page of work to him, with a nervous smile. "if it's not right tell me already! i know im kinda dumb, it won't hurt my feelings too bad i swear!"

he looked down back at his page. mentally slamming his head onto the table, before recovering. "yeah, no you're right. you got it."

you slammed the work onto his desk, "finally! then we can break now right?"

"yeah, 'guess so."

"let's do something fun. take a walk, my legs hurt from sitting." you pulled him up by his hand, dragging him to his door. "hurry up!"

he couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped him, you really reminded him of just how young you two were. how he was just a high schooler with a huge crush, how--

"why are you looking at me like that? are you sick?" you placed a hand on his forehead, making him promptly rip it off. a scowl quickly replaced the smile that been on his face moments prior. "no i'm not. let's go."

you walked hand in hand, the sunset the background for your 'date'.

the last few days, he'd been nervous to bring up what was happening between you. he was nervous to ruin the odd relationship you two had, he didn't want to lose you. he thought the things you two had been doing crossed the line between friendship and lovers.

you didn't have to do any of this. though he was sure you knew that already.

"math exam's tomorrow."

"don't remind me! you totally ruined the moment you know."

"you'll pass. i mean, i was your tutor after all. if you fail with me as a teacher? you are a lost cause."

"that's not nice to say." you ripped his hand away from yours, crossing your arms on your chest. "thats really messed up 'suki."

he leant down to face you, the sun goldening you two in its wake as he grew a cocky smirk on his lips. "oh really?"

"yes really."

"n' what're you gonna do about it?" his face was barely an inch away from yours. with a glance to his lips, he moved closer.

he barely pecked you, before he heard a loud, obnoxious idiot speak from behind him.

"[name] and bakugo are totally making out over here!"

denki and kirishima were looking at the two of you, a glare crossed over katsuki's face as he basically dragged you with him back into his dorm. he was about to leave you at your dorm, the hallway empty since curfew was around the corner.

he held your hands in his, running his thumb over the knuckle of yours. he intertwined your fingers, only letting go after a while.

he tilted your head upwards with his two fingers, wordlessly asking for permission. moonlight now struck you two as he moved in.

uninterruptedly, he kissed you. deepening it with a pull of the hand, holding you against him.

he let go after a while, his internal clock signaling it was almost time for curfew.

before he left, he whispered to you. "i don't.. really care what we're labeled. and if this shit is real or not.

i just want to be close to you."

he turned, walking to the elevator. leaving your breathless, with your heart in your throat.

no more words were spoken between you two, not as you screamed into your pillow, and not as he stared up into the ceiling of his room.

you passed that math test. and each assignment that went with it.

the end of the year was now coming quickly, of the school year that is. you and katsuki still kept up your 'act', the activities now stretching to dates after school mixed in with your study sessions.

one's that'd leave the touch of katsuki on you more than the touch of knowledge. but it was working nonetheless.

it was all good between you two, an eternal honeymoon it seemed. after all, by now it had been at least seven months since this began. your class ranking was higher, he no longer had to worry about strolling through the halls, it seemed nothing could get in your way.

well, besides two things.

one: the fact that you two were scared to label in between yourselves yet, too bashful to call him your boyfriend and you his girlfriend in private, yet proud fully admitting it to others.

two, the girl currently straddling him with no regard to you whatsoever. your entire cafeteria table was staring at her, looking at what katsuki would do to move her off.

but when he didn't immediately, didn't immediately curse the girl out and push her off him? you did the job for him.

you yanked the girl by her hair, sending her to the floor with a tray of food falling onto her body. all attention was on you as you stared at katsuki, your mouth agape in anger.

"what the fuck bakugo?" you ignored her, even stepping on her leg slightly as your hands were agitated, your whole body was. you didn't even know why you were jealous. this wasn't real, it never was, he was just playing his role too well.

you should've known katsuki would go too far. he always did.

"babe-- it's not what you think-"

"then what was i looking at? and don't call me that. don't- don't fucking call me anything. we're over."

you knew to him that probably meant something different. you acclaimed the despair in his eyes to the loss of protection, to the loss of ease as he walked in the halls and the lack of paparazzi that'd ask him questions on his love life.

but to him it was so much more.

it was those things, yes. but it was more so the thought of losing you. the thought of the affection over the months being nothing but a memory and not his future. the thought of not having you close to him.

the thoughts of becoming nothing to you, less than a friend.

he didn't know why he didn't move, it was like he physically couldn't. the look in the girl's eyes, the grip she had on him, the weird smile. he recognized her as one of the girls who usually would be in the crowd following him around.

"you don't mean that." his voice sounded more desperate than it had in the whole time he'd met you, more longing slipping through than he intentioned.

but the sun's casting light had moved away from you, casting you in a shadow. "i do mean it. fuck you."

he was going to run after you, to chase you as you slammed your lunch tray into the trash. heading up to the rooftop to he alone.

but a hand, mina's, pulled him back. "i think.. you did enough bakugo."

she went after you instead, promising to bakugo she'd check on you.

fangirls were one thing? but a messy public breakup where you were never really something in the first place? surprisingly worse.

he'd been more snappy lately, his aura making the girls around him keep their distance.

he'd become quieter, closed off. you didn't come to eat lunch with him anymore, obviously. and he didn't go up to the rooftop to join you.

he didn't know how to speak to you, how to explain what happened, how to say that he was sorry.

he ran the scenario in his head a million times, thinking over the girl's quirk that had forced him into place. but it sounded so convenient, like he was lying.

but since your entire relationship was based off of one, he didn't know how to approach the topic in the first place.

a week. a week passed before he could muster up the words to speak to you.

a week of being ignored in the hallways, side glances and being walked off on. a week of not having you by his side, not having you to talk to, to study with,

to kiss.

you were alone on the rooftop, eating silently as you felt a presence behind you. you saw his hair in the shadow and sighed, placing your plate onto the floor next to you. "what?"

"let me talk."

"...fine."

he breathed a sigh, hands balling as he forced the words out. "i know what you saw. and i know it was bad, but listen. that.. girl. she had some quirk on me or something."

he paused, seeing as your movement shifted. he took the fact that you didn't leave as a sign to continue.

"i couldn't move, i would've. you know that. but, it was right for you to be fucking pissed. i'd be too.

and i know, this is my fault in a way. i've been.. a fuckin' loser about this." his hand went up to support his head, his eyes averting from where he felt yours eyeing him.

"i needed to ask you out, officially i mean, a long time ago. it was wrong of me to use you-"

"it wasn't like that and you know it." you moved now to face him, you taking his hands in yours once more.

"what are we? to you i mean."

"right now..

we're nothing, right?"

your eyes widened, his eyes came back to look at yours.

"what?"

the words settled between you, it sent a cold shiver down your spine at the implication.

"wait-- fuck i'm messing this shit up. i mean, we're, not anything right now. we weren't anything."

your heart sank, eyes falling to the floor though your hand still held by him. your bleeding heart was in his grasp too, it was apparent.

"but,

i'd like to be? if you'd have me."

he squeezed your hand tightly. "i, i think i did this all out of order. but, would you go out with me?"

you let out an anxious laugh mixed with emotion. relief? despair? you honestly didn't know. tears burned the corners of your eyes.

"you're-- you're real weird, you know that?"

"is that a no."

"no, it's a yes. i think."

"ya think?"

"you don't get to question me!"

"yeah, whatever." you shared a laugh of relief together. he held you, moving away to bring something out of his pocket.

a small bento box for you.

you gasped at the sight of it, it was so cute. "thank god! i hate this school shit." you sat down, patting the side beside you, prompting him to sit down.

"wow, a heart? don't tell me you like me or something katsuki."

instead of deflecting, of telling you to buzz off, of shoving you lightly, a small smile came over his lips once again. after a beat, he laughed boyishly.

"you caught me."

...

he patted your back as you choked on the heart shaped seaweed.

your first date was cute, a small picnic with the country of musatafu as your backdrop. it was weird, this scene had played out between you two various times. in his room, in public, in private, to everyone else you two had just recovered from a messy breakup. and yet,

your stomachs were filled with butterflies at the affection between you two.

your rank was high, the dates were endless between the two of you now. study dates, just going to cafes, mundane things became more when you were by each others side.

years passed, and your poor dorm was going mostly unused. you'd sleep in his bed most of the time, actually- you'd spent most of your time in his room. he even cleared out a section for you in his closet despite the fact that yours was perfectly fine.

graduation came along, your careers came rushing at the two of you.

you were the top rated woman hero, and he was number one. just like he dreamt, just like he imagined the future would be for the two of you all those years ago.

you were picking out some drinks from the vending machine, a pocky hanging out your mouth as you decided between two flavors.

you finally chose, having two drinks in your hand for you and katsuki when he suddenly dragged you into an alleyway, grunting when he pushed you against the wall.

deja vu? maybe, you felt like you lived through this before, the same mindless stampede of girls rushing past.

"i told you to clip down your hair."

"shut up. don't they even care that we're married now? why do they fucking bother?." he sighed, annoyed as he lightly grabbed the can out your hand, his frustration not matching his actions.

"well, maybe we need something that'd make it even more official." a lightbulb went over the both of your heads. you faced each other, a streetlight letting you see the slight pink tint of his cheeks.

"a ca-"

"a baby."

you laughed, keeling over at the sight of his face that grew impossibly red.

you went home, hand in hand, the photos of the two of you together making rounds in the media again.

but as you laid with his head laid on your lap, your head rested comfortably against the furniture you'd chosen for your home?

you couldn't help but feel like everything worked out perfectly.

and with the new addition of your family laid sleeping on top of katsuki's chest.

tags (can't tag orange :c): @k0z3me @darhinadadragon @maddietries @amayaaaxx @i-the-fluffo @irenne-stans @hisonlyobsession @dead-fish-soup @pretty-sparkle-bomb @matchat3a @yura-4life @djlance-rock @zuzukusna @hiimsaraandyou @uy242c

— twist of fate

This was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, marked on your calendar for the best part of a year and the start of a beautiful future. You’d met the love of your life, the man you were going to marry and grow old with, and you’d made it through navigating the torturous dating scene. The awkward first dates and first kiss, and the first ‘I love yous’, and yet here you were drinking on a rooftop with the Number Two Pro-Hero Dynamight.

I promised I’d post some more Bakugou cause it has been a little while and I do miss him! I actually wrote this for his birthday, but then I ended up posting the collab fic instead so I never got to write the smut part but I hope someone enjoys it anyway.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Warnings: breakups (not with Bakugou), mutual comfort, alcohol.

Word Count: 1.8k.

This was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, marked on your calendar for the best part of a year and the start of a beautiful future. You’d met the love of your life, the man you were going to marry and grow old with, and you’d made it through navigating the torturous dating scene. The awkward first dates and first kiss, and the first ‘I love yous’.

I love you— what a big fucking lie.

You scoffed as you took a large gulp from the champagne bottle you were holding, grabbed from the bar at your now abandoned reception as you looked out at the view of Musutafu at night. The viewing point was somewhere you used to visit with your fiance, and to think it was the first place you’d decided to go when you found out he’d left you at the altar was borderline morbid. But considering your perfect life had now crumbled around you, you could forgive yourself for the psychological torment.

Kicking your heels off as your feet began to ache, letting them drop to the floor as you swung your legs over the ledge. Your mothers voice ringing in your ears as you sat on the grass, “Your pretty dress is ruined!” Not that you’d have any use for it now, your perfect life was pretty much gone.

“You know how dangerous it is drinkin’ so close to the edge?” You rolled your eyes in irritation at the sound, turning your head ready to shot some expletives in their direction before your words caught at the back of your throat.

You had to do a double take to make sure you were actually seeing what you were seeing, and that you weren’t this inhibriated already. The Number Two Pro-Hero Dynamight stood a few feet away, arms crossed with his face set in a a heavy glare. But he didn’t appear to have his gauntlets with him, even though his belt was still full of grenades and his mask sat over his eyes. Instead he was covered in a thick black hoodie that was zipped to cover the garish orange X that splashed across his chest.

“Well it must be my lucky night, I’ve got a Pro-Hero here to save me.” Sarcasm oozed through your tone as you held your large bottle up in a mock cheers to the Number Two hero that had appeared over the hill.

Besides the randy teenagers that used to frequent the area to make out and get high, this side of Musutafu was usually pretty abandoned so you were disappointed to see you were no longer alone.

“I’m off the clock, sweetheart.” He sneered back, shaking his head, “And I shouldn’t have to waste my time saving stupid people like you.”

“So don’t save me then,” You shrugged, turning back to face the city as the sun slowly fell over the horizon.

You expected him to walk away and leave you there, probably on a patrol to catch the kids that used the area to get high. But what you didn’t expect is for him to take a seat in the dirty grass beside you.

“Thought you couldn’t waste your time.”

“How’s it gonna look if I see your face all over the papers tomorrow with my face under it sayin’ I should’a saved you?”

You turned to face him, noticing the dark rings of charcoal around his eyes filled in from where his mask sat. A three-day strubble cast a shadow across his jawline and you had to take another sip of champagne to pull your attention away.

“I didn’t think you cared what the media said about you, Dynamight.” You laughed, remembering a post you’d seen online earlier that month where he’d shoved a reporter to the ground at the scene of a crime and broke his camera.

“I don’t.” He scoffs, “But I ain’t a total fucking asshole.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” You laugh, gulping another mouthful of champagne as you look down at the city lights below, “You make it your business to go around breaking cameras?”

“Very fuckin’ funny.” Bakugou sneers, “That guy deserved it. Tryin’ to take pictures in the middle of a fight— he’s lucky I saved him or he’d have come out far worse than his shitty camera.”

“Wow, you’re a real hero, Dynamight.” You teased back.

“So you gonna explain why you’re up here in—”

“Oh, why am I wearing a wedding dress and drinking alone?” You smiled bitterly, shaking your head. “My fiancé decided to stick his dick into my best friend.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened beneath this mask at the blunt statement before he shook his head, keeping his attention ahead to the bright lights in front of you.

“Shit.” He muttered beneath his breath.

You scoff, taking another swig of champagne, “So I guess you could say I’m celebrating.”

“That’s rough.” He reached up to scratch at his stubble before leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“So why are you up here, Mr Number Two?” You smile, “Not got any babies to save from burning buildings? Or camera men to hit—”

“Shut the fuck up.” He scoffed, his nose scrunched in irritation before his face paled.

You thought perhaps he might get up and leave after your bold question but instead he sniffed, using the outside of his wrist to rub his nose before looking across at the city.

“A villain attacked a building just outside Musutafu tonight,” He muttered hoarsely, “I didn’t get there in time.”

“Shit— I’m so sorry,” You immediately stammered, feeling like such an asshole. Your problems were miniscule in proportion to this, “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” He shakes his head, “I would’a never made it, but it still fuckin’ sucks, you know?”

“Yeah,” You murmured back. How could you even comfort someone for something like that? There weren’t enough words in the world that would convey the empathy you felt for him, and the victims.

“I just needed to get away for a bit.” He rasped.

“Me too,” You smiled, “I was sick of everyone looking at me with pity.”

Your family and bridesmaids had been suffocating after it happened, pulling you into their arms and drowning you in faux sympathy.

“Oh my god, I couldn’t imagine that ever happening to me.”

“It’s okay you’re such a strong person, you can do so much better.”

“If my husband ever did this I don’t know what I’d do.”

“I’m glad this came out now and not at my wedding.”

“Such a waste of a pretty dress.”

It was all the same bullshit as you listened to your friends slowly start to make it about themselves while your world crumbled down around you— So you left, thankful you hadn’t bothered to bring your phone as you were left to your own devices.

You offer the champagne bottle out to Bakugou as he stared down at it for a moment before taking it. Adjusting it in one large fist around the base of it before taking a large swig.

“If it means anything, it seems like he’s the fuckin’ idiot for cheating on you.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he passed the bottle back, “Only a real piece of shit leaves his missus on her wedding day.”

His words still managed to have your heart fluttering. You weren’t naive, you knew he was only trying to be nice, especially when thick black lines of eyeliner and mascara smudged in tear stains down your cheeks. Your lipstick faded around your lips and stuck to the neck of your champagne bottle, and your hair was now a complete mess from where you’d ripped out your veil, and still he managed to have you smiling as you couldnt stop the grin that spread across your cheeks.

“How long were they fuckin’?” He asked, and you appreciated the bluntness of it.

“Six months,” You shook your head, “Apparently they got close planning the wedding.”

“Shit, that’s fucked up.” He shook his head, reaching back for the champagne bottle as you watched him take another drink. Certain your lipstick was pressed against his chapped lips now as you shared the same bottle.

“Yep,” You rolled the ‘p’, “And apparently he spent the night with her after the rehearsal too,” You sighed, “I just can’t believe I didn’t see the signs.”

“Ain’t any of this that’s your fault,” He shook his head, taking another swig of champagne before handing the bottle back to you, “And thinkin’ like that will eat you up inside.”

“Could say the same thing to you, Dynamight.”

“I didn’t say it didn’t suck,” He shook his head, “And call me Bakugou, I ain’t workin’.”

“I’m glad to hear the Number Two hero doesn’t drink on the job— fuck.”

You shivered as a gust of wind swirled through the vantage point, reminding you of your outfit as you’d left the venue without a suitable coat. Hugging your arms around your body to try and stop your teeth from chattering as you drank more champagne, hoping the alcohol would warm your veins.

You heard a zip to the side of you and before you could object, Bakugou was shrugging his hoodie off to wrap it around your bare shoulders.

“Don’t worry about me, you’ll get cold—”

“Shaddup,” He cut you off, taking the champagne bottle back off you so that you could slip your hands through the arms, “Just take it, woman.”

You were immediately surrounded by warmth, his body heat still radiated from the fabric as you breathed in the scent of him. A mixture of ash, smoke and cologne as you pulled it tighter around your frame.

Bakugou pulled his hero mask up over his eyes to let it sit on his forehead, his messy hair now spiking upwards as he rubbed his eyes with the ball of his palm. The dark eyeliner around them smearing against his skin as he breathed a relaxed sigh, taking another drink as he turned his attention back to the view in front of him.

“You’re quite pretty actually,” You smiled at him, “The media always get you pulling the ugliest faces.”

“Hah?” He turned to you with a raised brow, his nose scrunched in irritation, “That’s still my fuckin’ face you know.

“Yeah, and I’m saying it’s really pretty.” You definitely blamed the alcohol flowing through your veins for giving you this level of confidence, certain the words would never have left your lips if you were sober.

“I ain’t ever been called pretty before.” He scoffed.

“I dunno why not— because it’s true.” You smiled.

“I ain’t the pretty one out of us two, sweetheart. Trust me.”

jealous, jealous, jealous boy! ft. best friend!Sukuna

a/n: mini little prequel/bonus backstory to baby daddy!Sukuna

best friend!Sukuna who is very much not in love with you, his once shy study partner turned well, as close as he could get to word friend over the past few years of boring subjects and complicated coursework

library visits and late nights where he ended up back in your dorm, crashing in your cramped bed before you'd drag him out for coffee in the mornings

you were just, uh, a really good friend

best friend!Sukuna who might wake up in your sheets and use up half your shampoo, still has never once cared about walking you to class

well, until today

best friend!Sukuna who thinks you're an idiot, no, he knows it when you enter with an even bigger one by your side, as if that stuck-up prick was carrying your books for anything other than the excuse to worm his way into your life panties

(but maybe Sukuna's the biggest one of all for ever allowing enough space for him to exist between you)

best friend!Sukuna who trips Gojo when he goes to walk past him, just to send that asshole into your arms when you happen to turn around, his hands snagging your waist and his face buried into your chest - like he could make his intentions any more obvious

best friend!Sukuna who still feigns innocence when you throw him a silent glare as you help your new pal stand up, cheeks flushed as you grab the sleeve of his shirt and drag him to seats in the other side of the classroom despite the seat Sukuna had clearly been saving for you

whatever, it was just one class

right?

best friend!Sukuna who somehow ends up stuck listening to Gojo bragging about your tits a few hours later in the locker room, one row over while the white-haired prick runs his mouth about you inviting him to study in your dorm after hockey practice tonight

jealousy was for losers

this burning feeling, coiling and tangling tighter in his gut with each cocky word that echoed back in his brain?

pure indignation

best friend!Sukuna who takes his anger out on the ice, but instead of slamming the puck into the goal, he's slamming his elbow into that asshole's eye, not particularly giving a shit how long he gets benched as long as Gojo was left with something black and blue to show for it

satisfaction sticking to him and repelling every reprimand and shout from his coach about injuring their star player days before their next game, forced to stay an extra half-hour while the rest of the team returned to the locker room to leave before him

best friend!Sukuna whose brain is still on you in the shower, scrubbing the sweat off his skin and wondering what the fuck you could see in someone like Gojo that was better than him

so why not just ask?

best friend!Sukuna who shows up at your door before even dropping his stuff back at his own dorm, impatiently knocking when you don't answer any of his texts to let him in

best friend!Sukuna who hears it then

the familiar chuckle cutting through the cheap wood separating you, your hushed giggle before the quiet footsteps approaching

best friend!Sukuna who doesn't want to notice your tousled hair or the wrinkles in your shirt, doesn't want to pick up on how you barely peek through the crack at first, keeping the door mostly shut to shield what's inside

but he does

and you see it too

best friend!Sukuna who can't hide the cutting edge to his question of what or who you were doing, the uncomfortable confrontation of being forced to face feelings floating to the surface despite his best attempts to drown them

and you're just staring back at him with an alarmingly cute crease between your brows, lips pushed together before they finally part to ask him something he wasn't ready to hear - was there a reason you shouldn't be with him?

he knew what it was

a challenge or a confession or something in-between

but before he could answer, before he could say something stupid and sappy like yes, you should obviously be with me, a pale hand was on your shoulders squeezing it as his new least favorite person with a fresh black eye stepped behind you to interrupt

best friend!Sukuna who will get you back - sooner or later

divider by @v6que !!

AMAZING FANART FOR THIS HERE !!

fifth wish

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 18k

glimpse: jeon jungkook, world-class socialite and nepotism baby, should be out every night to celebrate while he’s at his prime. why should he fake-date his bodyguard instead?

alternatively, jungkook regularly throws coins to wishing wells with only one desire in mind — to get rid of you.

[ angst, unrequited love (at first), emotional constipation, jk is Very Frustrating to be with, so much pining, the constant repetition of the notion that one must amount to something to be deserving of love, rlly wholesome fluff, mentions of blood n injuries, whole 360 redemption arc dw i am not evil ]

notes: i’m back :) this belongs to the take five universe (take five feat. yoongi, nine to five feat. jimin) n although it’s a completely different jungkook, it’s still on the same vein!! thank u for waiting for me <3

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even replying to this post sends me over the moon :)

Keep reading

— when you have a blind date

Masterlist.

Your friends think its time you tried to settle down and they set you up on a blind date.

Warnings: implied angst, idiots in love.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.8k.

You’d slowly come to terms that you’d probably be the last one of your friends to find a partner. Everyone else seemed to be following the right paths in love, and you were still pining dreadfully for a man that didn’t like you back.

“Not settled down yet?”

The dreaded question always directed towards you, and you never had a clue how to answer. No matter what occasion— weddings, birthdays, baby showers, anniversaries. It was always directed at you without fail, eyes looking to the side of you like maybe this would be the event where you’d show up with someone. If you had a hundred yen for every time someone asked you the same dreaded question, you were certain you’d never need to work again. 

You’d become robotic in answering it too, recycling the same excuses about working overtime and trying to further your career, or dates not working out (when really you’d been at home with a pint of ice cream and another Zack Efron rom-com), but there was only so many times you’d be able to dodge that question before your friends would take it further. 

There were rarely questions about other aspects of your life, as though your worth was connected to whether you were seeing someone or not. The pity on your friends' faces whenever you’d pick out an excuse was enough to make you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone soon.”

But that wasn’t the worst part about being single. 

Being the single friend meant it always seemed to be you that had to endure being accosted by hopeful men trying their luck. Weddings where you’d already dodged the dreaded “When is it your turn then?” questions and sympathetic gazes when you’d explained your single— the classic “I’m sure you’ll find the right person soon” oozing with faux sincerity, followed by having to avoid half the groom's party offering to dance with you or buy you a drink from the bar. Even worse the best men that thought it was right of passage to sleep with the maid of honour. 

Bars where men would come up to the table and offer to buy you drinks, your friends immediately making it clear that they were taken but you were single— like a prized pig at the country fair. The awkward tension whenever a man wouldn’t take no for an answer when they offered to buy you a drink, even after you’d politely declined and then would proceed to think you owed them something for taking it. 

Not to mention the photographs plastered all over your social media of your friends getting married, moving in together and starting perfect little families. A constant reminder of how alone you really were, and you’d admit it would be nice to come home to someone each night. 

So here you were awake an hour earlier than you needed to be for work, preparing yourself for a date you didn’t even want to go on. A blind date. Your friends had found you the perfect match, in their words. A cute guy— a lawyer, they’d emphasised, as though the career gave credence to his propriety.

You tried to pick an outfit casual enough that you would be able to wear it at work and to the date after without having to get changed, picking a pretty dress paired with some simple low heels. It felt peculiar putting so much effort into your appearance when your heart wasn’t in it, but as your friends said– what have you got to lose?

You’d managed to make it into the office slightly earlier than usual thanks to your early alarm, dropping Bakugou’s coffee down in his office along with his morning paperwork before taking a seat behind your desk and opening your inbox.

“Mornin’” Bakugou grunted as he passed you fifteen minutes later, half-lidded vermillion eyes lingering on you a little longer than usual before stepping inside his office. 

Bakugou never was much of a morning person, especially before coffee. Even though he was always one of the first inside the building each day. One poor reporter found out the hard way when his old secretary organised an interview before his shift was due to start, he’d ended up taking the following three weeks off for stress. 

It was barely twenty minutes later when Bakugou emerged from his office, looking slightly more alert as he placed some forms down on your desk.

“I need these sent to Deku’s agency by this evening.”

“Oh, are these the figures he asked for?” You opened the file to check the first page to see whether it was the paperwork that Midoriya had been expecting from Bakugou. He was always kind and patient on the phone, especially with you, but even you could tell he was getting annoyed at how long it was taking Bakugou to send them to him. You were certain it was Bakugou’s petty way of trying to wind him up, like they were still playful kids in the playground because Bakugou was never late with his paperwork.

“Yeah, he’s been buggin’ me for a week now,” Bakugou scoffed, “Told him he’d get ‘em.”

“I’ll send them right now.” You smiled, standing up from your desk as you collected them in your hands.

“You look nice.” Bakugou murmured, eyes flickering over your form.

“Thanks,” You replied shyly, the corner of your lip curling into a small smile. 

“Not that you don’t always look nice, I just meant you— that dress— fuck.” He cleared his throat, cheeks tinged bright pink, “Sorry. You just look real pretty.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliment as you tried to calm your fluttering heart tickling your ribcage, making your way to the copy room to scan the files across to Deku’s agency but you were unable to hide the wide smile on your face.

The rest of your shift was uneventful, right until you were due to finish. You’d managed to get stuck on the telephone with the head of hero relations at the commission, trying to gather information on Dynamight’s last mission. Information that was usually sent across in a huge report when he made it back to the office, but of course men in suits did not have time to look through a report when they could get someone else to do it for them. Which led to you answering each question by using information on the same report you’d submitted to them, which then led to you finishing your shift late. 

Slamming the phone down as you moved to set your out of office for the weekend, trying to get out of the agency as fast as you could. It wasn’t that you were worried about looking bad to your blind date for being late, but you didn’t want your friends to think you hadn’t made the effort when you had. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you knocked on the door to Dynamight’s office. Popping your head around the corner to let him know that you were leaving, as you noticed him sat behind his desk with his glasses on as he looked up from his laptop.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you something,” Bakugou called out as you moved to shut the door, “Wait— are you in a rush?” 

“Not really,” You lied, “What do you need?” 

“Are you going out tonight?” Bakugou was a perceptive man, he could tell from the slight difference to your appearance that something was happening. He wondered if maybe it was a friends birthday. 

“Yeah, it’s stupid really,” You didn’t even like admitting it to your boss, and it totally wasn’t because you were head over heels for him, “My friends set me up on this blind date, and I was supposed to meet him twenty minutes ago.”

“Oh, you’re late.” Bakugou muttered. 

“Yeah, but I’m not even sure I want to go.” You shrugged. 

“No, you should go.” He shoved his hands in his pockets so you couldn’t see his fingers curl into fists, his blunt nails digging against calloused skin. 

“I can always come up with something, it’s not a big deal—“ You’d assumed your boss was going to ask you to stay late with him again, like he usually did when someone at the agency had made a mistake that he needed to fix. 

“Seriously, go.” He came towards you, his arm reaching out to open his office door as he ushered you out. 

The intoxicating scent of his quirk mixed with his cologne invaded your senses as he walked you towards the elevator on his floor, leaning forward to push the button for you. 

Part of you felt disappointed that he’d pushed you to go, hoping deep down that he’d be happy you weren’t going on a date with another guy. That maybe, just maybe, he’d ask you on a date himself. 

But of course that was just a fantasy, the perfect little fairytale you liked to conjure up in your mind to try and cope with how desperately your heart yearned for him. 

“Really, I don’t mind staying if that’s what you were going to ask—”

“It ain’t. But it don’t matter, it wasn’t important.” 

“Oh, okay.” You nodded slightly. 

“Oh, and don’t worry, sweetheart.” He smiled, watching as the elevator doors dinged open, “You look beautiful. That fucker is lucky to have you.” 

You stepped into the elevator as you turned to face him, a soft smile on your face as your heart sped up from his words. 

“Thanks, Dynamight.”

The doors slammed shut before he had a chance to correct you, running his palm down his tired face as he felt that familiar ache begin to throb in his chest. 

The question Bakugou had been planning to ask you all week now sat at the forefront of his mind, taunting him vindictively as he fought the urge to throw his phone across the room when he looked down at Kirishima's messages.

The annual Hero Gala was fast approaching, and in all his years from sidekick to owning his own agency, Bakugou had never once been bothered about going. The theatrics of it completely lost on him, distracting from his focus of becoming number one. And knowing that any awards would be packaged and hand delivered to his agency the next morning with or without his attendance solidified the fact he did not need to attend (despite numerous pleas from his PR team). All of his appearances at the Gala's had been forced, until now.

This year felt different, he wanted to go— and he wanted to go with you. Picturing the pretty dress you'd wear, and being able to spend the entire evening with you away from this building— just like a real date.

But he'd fucked up. He waited too long to tell you that he liked you, and now he'd lost you forever. This guy would probably be your perfect match and now he'd have to watch you hopelessly in love with a man who isn't him.

Opening the new notification from Kirishima on his phone as he text back. 

Kirishima[5.58PM]: Hey man, so did you ask her? What did she say?

Kirishima[5.59PM]: She said yes right?

Kirishima[5.59PM]: C’mon man, please tell me that you asked her? 

Kirishima[6.01PM]: You said you’d ask today, man.

Bakugou[6.43PM]: She’s going on a date tonight. 

Kirishima[6.44PM]: Wait, what?!

Kirishima[6.44PM]: With you? 

Bakugou[6.45PM]: No.