() Satoru Gojo

𝐏𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐘 (𝐎𝐓𝐖) — satoru gojo

★ ˙.໑ in which you’re drunk and want your sneaky link to help satisfy a throb between your legs that he’s anything but unfamiliar with. henny gets you nasty *inserts giggling emoji*

ᛪ warnings college!au, drunk!reader, both of u have tounge piercings, oral (both receiving), fingering, pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart, pretty girl?) praising, finger sucking, missionary, doggystyle, hair pulling, cum swallowing, spitting (on his meat & ur kitty, in ur mouth), choking til u can’t breathe, multiple orgasms, creampie ♡. 3.3k *dies*

⺌ a ! n was looking at some gojo fanart on here while listening to this song and immediately got to thinking. gave him tats bc why not??? idk why hennessy was the first liquor i thought of >_< THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD bc i’m lazy :(

It’s three in the morning and the pleasurable burn coursing through your veins from the Hennessy has your mind floating in lust and desire. Your hips sway to the music muffled by your many hums as you wander around your bedroom. Feeling the pulse between your legs, you squeeze your thighs together to try and satisfy it. Flashbacks of your late nights with him weren’t helping your desperate case, tongue unconsciously darting out and lapping over your cherry chapstick flavored lips.

He was everything that you could’ve ever dreamed of in a sexual partner. Perfect to put it shortly. He touched you like a delicate flower and took the time to worship your body with everything in him. No, you two aren’t dating but with the way he handles you— exactly how you want during sex… you may have to make that step up.

The day you met, you knew he’d be the one to keep you satisfied.

Your inclination for him was undeniable and unbearable. The way his ring adorned hands grazed your shivering skin went together well, his soft lips pressing gentle kisses to the sweet spots on your neck. All the while he whispers sweet nothings into your greedy ears. You touch yourself thinking about him, thoughts clouded with only your red lit room as he hovered above you.

You want to kiss his tattoos, suck on his fingers while he watches with heavy, lidded eyes that are darkened in ecstasy. You know his body like the back of your hand and him all the same. Neither of you have failed each other before and tonight would be no different. So you shoot him a quick text…

YOU need you, ‘toru ☹️.

SATORU i’m otw, princess

Your clit thumps at his response, heart swelling at the realization that he is always ready for you whenever you need him.

A knock at your dorm room door and you’re tripping over your feet to reach it. Turning the knob and letting the mahogany colored barrier fly open, you crookedly smile when he comes into your blurred view. “Hey.”

He can easily tell you’re under the influence. The slight stumbling and crazy big smile along with the continuous giggling giving it away.

Satoru chuckles at your current state, immediately going to snake his bare arms around your body and lift you. Tapping your thighs to let you know he wants them around his waist before raising a leg and kicking the door shut behind him. “Tell me what you want.”

“Wan’ you to fuck me…” you drunkenly slur, pulling at the snowy white hairs on the back of his head while nudging your nose on his. You kiss his neck, the ball of your pierced tongue tickling the vanilla bean flavored flesh. “Need you s‘bad.”

Whenever you say you need him, he feels a sense of urgency to give his all to make sure you’re pleased but begging for more.

Upon reaching your bed, Satoru lays you down nice and gently. He knows how you are when you’ve been drinking. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to come to your place and help get the “horniness” out of your system and he’s sure it wouldn’t be the last. He holds contact with your eyes, a single finger dragging down your body until it reaches your black laced panties. Hooking that finger to your underwear, Satoru pulls them down your thighs. His chest caving in admiration and mouth watering for a taste.

With his hot breath fanning over your exposed cunt, Satoru wastes no time settling on his knees in front of you. After removing his white tank top, he pushes your legs apart and back into your chest, gifting himself a perfect view of what’s his. Before pulling your body closer to the edge of your bed, he kisses your tummy, fingers running through his hair. “Such a pretty pussy, baby.”

He plants faint kisses dangerously close to where you desire him most, fingers digging into your skin.

Satoru buries his face in your slick folds, gradually circling the metal ball of his tongue ring around your puffy clit. He hears the soft call of his name and it fuels him, a sudden need to please you rushing through his entire existence. He reaches up for your chest, grabbing on your tits and squeezing the plush mounds through your pink crop top— rolling your nipples between his fingers just how you like it.

“Fuck…” you sigh, fingers surfing through his hair before holding onto the back of his head, rutting your pussy against his face then squishing his head with your legs.

His nose snuggles your clit, his tongue’s attack on your pussy becoming more erratic— almost desperate. Satoru’s eyes scroll back, hands coming back down to your thighs to push them back apart before two of his ring adorned fingers tap at your entrance. He slides them in with ease due to your sopping wetness, curling them to press that special spot inside you.

Satoru’s molten tongue massages the entirety of your cunt, lips wrapping around and suckling your bundle of nerves. His eyes roll back to the sounds of you calling his name, the pressure in his gray sweats continuing to build from the sinful yet beautifully spoken prayer.

Unusually, you feel yourself already unraveling. Maybe it’s the liquor that’s got your senses buzzing so that everything feels ten times better or maybe it’s just because Satoru eats pussy like his life depends on it.

He gathers saliva in his mouth, spitting the fluid onto your pussy and watching it trickle down your heat then quickly slurping it up just before it hits your silk sheets.

Your back arches off the mattress, both hands now locked on Satoru’s head as the tangled coil in the depths of your stomach begins to come undone. “‘Toru… baby, I— shit…”

Satoru pulls back, digits still working away at your orgasm whilst watching you struggle to keep your composure. And right when your pussy clenches his digits, he stops. “Not yet, pretty girl. Want you to cum on my cock.”

He removes his slick fingers from your throbbing heat while you sit up, bringing his hand to your mouth and tapping your lips with those same fingers that he plunged into you. The snow white blonde watches with heavy-lidded, and lust-filled eyes that drink in your mouth falling open and your tongue sticking out.

Satoru rests his fingers on the flat of your tongue, inhaling as if this sight of you is a new drug he’s addicted to when your lips close around him. The slick feeling of your saliva coating his skin sends an electric shock of pleasure straight to his growing erection. “That’s my girl… always so fuckin’ good.”

You let go with a lewd pop, giggling and shifting onto your knees without him asking. An arm extends out to him, fingertips ghosting over the tent in his sweatpants before your hand palms him. You rub slowly, drawing any and every little moan of appreciation you could from him.

“S’not cool to tease me. You remember what happened the last time, yeah?” He grunts, his head falling forward when your grip on his clothed shaft gets tighter.

Right. The last time you ended up getting your face fucked so hard that your throat hurt for an entire week straight.

Despite his warning you continue your attack on his hard-on, pumping him through the sweatpants’ gray fabric with a grin of pure mischief. You rise on your knees and press moist kisses to his shoulders then chest, tracing the trail of his tattoo with hums of admiration for his unspeakable beauty. Your fingers take place at the rim of his bottoms and underwear all together, tugging them down and eventually allowing the barriers to drop and pool around his ankles.

You breathe heavily before your lips part to stretch around his swollen tip— allowing your tongue to swirl freely around the sensitive fold of his cock.

“You look so much prettier with your mouth full of my cock. Don’t you, princess?” Satoru grunts long and faintly, fingers surfing through your hair before locking on your scalp. His icy gaze is low, pupils dilating as they zero in on your mouth. Screwing shut when you take more of him— making his knees shudder.

His fat cock pushes down the tight cavern of your throat and you feel his hold on your head stiffening the moment you swallow around his girth. Snatching another quiet whine from his barren throat as his free hand smooths over your back when he leans down a bit. “Fuck… just like that, sweetheart.”

Satoru can’t help the little whimpers that escape him regardless of how hard he tries to hide them. Between seeing your pretty lips wrapped around his cock and your head bobbing back and forth as you suck him off like he’s your last meal, he’s losing himself. Not to mention that the two of you haven’t seen one another in the past two weeks due to busy schedules.

God, you’re fucking beautiful like this. This being under his stare, face covered in spit as you press messy kisses to his shaft then drag the flat of your pierced tongue along the prominent vein gracing his underside. You roll the cool metal ball through his slit, smiling around him when he shudders again.

With each trembling word that falls from his lips, you suck harder, hands gripping whatever can’t fit in your mouth and pumping all the while giving most of your attention to his flush red tip.

Hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat once more, you take him whole again, forcing your face to meet his pelvic bone. You blink away tears when he hits the back of your throat to look up at him, watching Satoru swallow heavily with a dust pink blush staining his fair cheeks.

Seriously. If you could cum from the sounds he makes alone, you would. He’s adorable. Trying so hard to shy away from his voice when you’ve got him right where you want him. Feeling good and trembling.

His hips sputter and you stifle, drawing back and gathering saliva in your mouth then spitting with your hands spreading your fluid. Going back in, your head sinks further down, eyes scrolling back the minute your nose brushes the trimmed pubic hairs at his base.

“Shit~ don’t stop… please~ ah” Satoru says through shaky breaths, nails digging into your scalp as his orgasm nears. His heavy balls meet your chin when he unintentionally thrusts, the satisfying sensation of your wet and warm mouth becoming too much for him to handle.

Loud and obscene sucking noises fill the room as you work away at whatever’s left of Satoru’s sanity. You revel in his fucked out face, the alcohol giving you a rush you can’t seem to refuse.

Before long Satoru’s thigh trembles, his cock twitching in the depths of your throat when he cums, your name being chanted repeatedly while his thick load spills down your throat and your eyes slam shut.

He pulls out and sighs, watching the way your once closed eyes open and gloss over in utter gratification. “Swallow.”

And you fucking do. You love it when your mouth is full of his salty cum and he demands that you drink— not leaving a single drop behind like the good girl for him you are.

Wordlessly, you turn around to where your ass is facing him, reaching for your shoulders with each hand and pulling down the spaghetti straps of your pink top. You arch the way Satoru always wants, pussy on clear display and glistening in your arousal, “She’s all yours.”

Satoru can swear he sees God when your statement registers in his head. He spits in his hand, taking it to his cock and stroking gently while he watches your hips wiggle impatiently. Reaching for your hips, he grips them softly, bringing you back just enough to have your cunt touch his tip. “How bad do you want it?”

Unable to wait for your answer; without warning, he aligns himself at your entrance and begins sliding in with a scratchy groan.

You hum at the burning yet blissful stretch his thick girth gives you, your hands fisting the sheets when he starts fucking into you slowly. Looking back over your shoulder, you see his head fall back and your heart beat races. He’s so pretty. The way his hair sticking to his forehead because of the sweat, the veins in his neck straining, his tongue out and tracing the shape of his lips because he feels so good inside you.

Satoru leans forward and takes your hair in his large hand, wrapping it around then pulling back until your body is forming a crescent moon shape and your ear is at his mouth. “This what you wanted, princess?”

His speed increases, hips snapping quickly, delivering harsh and unforgiving strokes pumping into your gushing heat. He breathes hot and heavy against your ear, tongue darting out and licking the shell with a subtle nibble.

You whimper between trembling breaths, struggling to keep yourself from falling back down. Each time Satoru presses that sweet spot deep inside you, you see stars. Your vision blurred in pleasure and mind clogged with bliss. “Yes, yes, yes… fuck- love it s’much, ‘Toru.”

All night you’ve craved this, desiring to be placed in this exact position. Hearing the sounds of your skin slapping together and the lewd squelching noises your pussy produces bring you a satisfying feeling you can’t seem to refuse.

Satoru’s whispers sweet yet dirty nothings in your ear, his mouth agape as he continues plunging himself deep into your heat. You feel too fucking good right now that he’s dizzy from the gratifying sensation of your slick enveloping his cock. Each time you squeeze around him, his legs twitch, heart sometimes stopping mid-beat.

He pushes you back down, pressing down on the small of your back to form the same arch he can’t get enough of. Immediately he’s back to delivering those rude and nasty thrusts to your aching cunt, watching your ass ripple like an ocean tide every time it collides with his pelvis. “Fuck me back, baby. You know how I like it.”

You’re quick to oblige when Satoru stills his hips, rocking yourself back and forth before your arms give out and your face is in the sheets. You feel everything, his cock dragging along your walls so distinctively and your essence trickling down your inner thighs.

It feels like the first time with him all over again, his hands gripping steal on your hips as he fucks vigorously and you can’t do much but take it.

Your body tenses when his motions slow, hands releasing the sheets beneath them before your arms are pulled back and trapped by both of his hands. “S-So close… please- need more.”

And he gives you more; slamming himself into you so hard and fast that the oxygen in your lungs is literally knocked out through your agape’s mouth, eyes scrolling back as saliva trickles from the corner of your lip gloss smeared mouth.

Your legs shudder beneath you, the orgasm you seeked so desperately racking over you and sending you into a moaning mess under Satoru— pussy spasming and clenching around him.

There’s a moment of silence between the two as he helps you ride your high, heavy pants and low sighs being the only noises you two can produce. Satoru pulls out and leaves you whining from the lack of the previous fullness, flipping you over on your back before hooking his arms around your legs and pulling you to the edge on your bed until your ass is hanging off.

“I can’t get enough of you, pretty girl.” He speaks through gritted teeth, pumping himself with your release as lubricant and gathering saliva in his mouth, spitting on your cunt then rubbing it into your clit with his free hand. “Pussy’s too good, baby.”

“Mmm…” you hum in response, gasping at the sudden yet needed intrusion of your cunt that was clenching around nothing. “You’re so good to me, ‘Toru… so fucking good.”

For the past three months Satoru has been catering to your every need at every beck and call without hesitation. Just about any free time he gets, he’s burried in your pissy. It was fun to watch someone who swore hated him so much to now be going mindless on his dick without an ounce of the past dislike for him to be found. The main bonuses were that you’re pretty and your pussy’s the best he’s ever had.

It wasn’t a lie that you found yourself ridiculously attracted to him. Who in their right mind wouldn’t be? He’s tall, built, and has the face of a god with the sex appeal of a pornstar.

Satoru is comfortable nestled in your velvety walls, pushing his pelvis forward to meet your ass, holding your legs back by the back of your knees. “Let me cum inside and I’ll make you cum again.”

He’s going to do that anyway but much to your knowledge you don’t know that. Your hands hook around his wrist and bring them to your neck and sucking in a breath when he squeezes until your chest tightens and you feel lightheaded. “I told you she’s all yours. Do whatever you want with her.”

The icy blonde leans down and kisses you, drawing his hips back while forcing his tongue into your mouth, beginning a gradual pace that’s building anticipation for both of your next climaxes. He moans into the kiss, feeling your slick leaking down his shaft and onto his balls, slowly picking up his pace and giving you what you’ve been asking for.

He fucks you with concentration and determination to please you, rocking his hips with precision. His fingers continue pressing against your throat, drawing strangled breaths from you. Standing straight up, he brings you with him, his abs flex and contracting while he holds eye contact and slamming into you without warning.

Whimpers and incoherent babbles bubble in your constricting throat, fists forming around his wrists, holding on for dear life as he drags his hips languidly. “Fuck~ m’gonna cum again…”

“Give me that shit, princess. All of it.” Satoru grunts, reaching between your bodies with one hand between your bodies, drawing quick circles on your bundle of nerves; looking down and watching your pussy gush and drool on him. “God… so fuckin wet, sweetheart.”

His words light the spark in the depths of your tummy, your eyes screwing shut, shuddering uncontrollably when another orgasm quakes through you.

“Good girl.” Satoru doesn’t falter, continuing to use you as his pretty and personal fleshlight— chasing his own high with heavy breaths and mumbles of your name trickling from his mouth. Releasing your neck, he taps your puffy lips with two fingers, “Open.”

Absentmindedly, your lips part and your tongue falls out, ready to welcome whatever it is he will give you. Your head falling back with a sigh.

He’s so engrossed in the feeling of your pussy and his heart beat increases, head dropping to yours before he kisses you then spits on your tongue which you swallow wholeheartedly with a whine, watching his body fluid puddle around your tongue ring. Mashing his mouth with yours, he twitches inside you and becomes desperate, rutting his hips against yours feverishly.

Satoru cums with a groan reverberating in his chest, staining your gummy walls white before pulling about and watching the obscene liquid drip to the floor beneath him. “You’ve gotta be my girlfriend. There’s no way I’m letting some other guy get my pussy.”

You giggle, reaching down your body and pushing a finger into your messy hole to hold his cum there. “Clean me up and we’ll discuss that, yeah?”

ᝬ ˙.໑ ╱ © hyuntaru 2023 — all rights reserved. property of taru and/or hyunjin’s gf (real)! look at his insta if you don’t believe me.

extra a/n: this was not supposed to get so long…

tag; @kazushawty

Three Promises [1/3] || Gojo Satoru x Reader

synopsis: a series of three promises that you’ve made with a certain sorcerer. this is part 1, so it’s highschool! gojo x reader! both of them are sorcerers.

synopsis: satoru cannot sleep without you

Being a teenage jujutsu sorcerer sucks. You, Suguru, Satoru, Shoko, and even your teacher never got any sleep! There were constant lessons, training sessions, and missions to comply with. If it weren’t for your friends, then you would’ve been insane by now.

Today was no different. Everyone but you had their day-offs, because the higher ups thought that you were the perfect person for the mission. You planned on resting today! I mean— you’ve had such a great day to begin with. You slept well, you ate well, and you even finished all of your chores!

It would’ve been such a perfect day— if it weren’t for a certain someone lurching over your shoulder. His antics were preventing you from leaving the school earlier, which was disrupting your mission.

He kept on shaking your shoulders, begging for you to cuddle with him for the night. You were aware of Satoru’s horrible sleep schedule, and he would only sleep well if you were right beside him.

“ I have plans tonight, ‘Toru. I really can’t sleep beside you tonight, “ you said, bringing up your phone to his face. “ See? I have an overnight mission in the outskirts of Tokyo. “

The sorcerer proceeded to release a whine so loud that it could’ve shattered glass. “ But Y/N, “ he groaned, “ I finally had a day-off today! “

“ I know— but I really can’t ignore this! The higher-ups assigned me to exorcise it by tomorrow morning. “ Satoru’s hands were still on your shoulders, squeezing, he finally let go of you before accepting his defeat. You then promised him that you would finish it at the speed of light, and you could’ve sworn that you saw his eyes light up.

Of course you kept your promise, and that very night, you managed to sneak inside his dorm and make your way into his bed. You noticed that he was still awake, eyes wide and staring into nothingness. Satoru’s body was lying down, frozen, and cold from the absence of your warmth.

“ You’re back, “ he said, patting to the empty side of his bed. You were still in your uniform, but you couldn’t really care much as you snaked your way in his arms. Satoru wrapped his legs around you, pulling you closer to his chest before kissing your forehead a silent ‘goodnight.’

A/N: this is a 100-follower special series<3 it’s shorter than usual but I have slight writers block rn hahaha

"i'll always come when you call"

gojo satoru x reader summary: when you're gravely injured on a mission, your best friend finds you just in time w/c: 1.35k tags/warnings: friends to lovers, obviously reader is hurt but nothing is terribly graphic, though there are lots of mentions of blood, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, no use of y/n, lots of emotional distress for gojo, he punches a wall, ft. a very worried yuuji and gumi a/n: home boy is in pieces at the thought of losing us. i make myself emotional masterlist

it wasn't supposed to go like this. not hardly, not half.

a simple mission turned into an ambush. what was originally one mid-grade cursed spirit became several. you lost count somewhere around the fifth.

rain patters against your body, washing away the crimson that's seeping from numerous wounds. at first everything hurt, but now all you feel is a foreboding numbness spreading throughout your limbs.

you hardly remember slipping your phone from your pocket or dialing his number when you hear your best friend's voice ring out from the speaker. "hey, princess. how'd it go?"

you try to speak, but no sound comes out. eventually, you manage a choked cough and the faint sensation of liquid flowing from the corner of your mouth accompanies the effort.

you barely make out his worried tone calling your name before your phone clatters to the ground, screen going black as it lies in a puddle of pale red.

you fight to keep your eyes open, you really do, but you're incredibly drowsy and the coldness has begun to ebb away, replaced by a comforting warmness.

you always imagined the light that welcomes you into the afterlife would be a blinding white, but instead, it's a familiar shade of blue.

an unsettling feeling had made a home in the pit of gojo's stomach long before he received your call. he's pacing, his eyebrows furrowed with inexplicable worry when his ringtone fills the room.

relief floods through him once he sees your name on the screen, but it's short lived when your end of the line remains quiet. he hears you sputter and it isn't a second later that he teleports to the city where your assigned mission is.

his heart is hammering away, a dull thudding in his ears, as he follows the traces of cursed energy that grow stronger with each long stride. he covers ground impressively fast, though as soon as his eyes land on your body, it's as if everything shifts to slow motion.

it feels like he's fighting against an invisible force as he approaches the spot where you lay. he can hear someone howling your name and it's not until he feels the hoarseness in throat that he recognizes the voice as his own. his knees crash painfully into the pavement at your side.

the situation is worse than he could have imagined. it's looks like you, sure, but it can't be you. not when your eyes have just fluttered shut, no movement beneath your lids. not when your body is still, no steady rise and fall of your chest. and certainly not when it looks as if you're—

"wake up," he begs, shaking your shoulders. "please, wake up!"

not wasting another moment, he gathers your limp body in his arms, one arm behind curling around your shoulders, the other hooking behind your knees.

he teleports directly into the infirmary and shoko nearly scolds him before she takes in your dreadful state. the cigarette that was hanging between her lips falls to the floor. "get her on the bed."

she moves around the room in haste, pulling drawers and cabinets open wildly.

"she's going to be okay, right? tell me that she's going to be fine," he implores, panicking when the brunette fails to reassure him. "..shoko!"

"get out, satoru!" she barks. she can't concentrate, not while one of her oldest friends is hysterical with worry and the other is lying there half dead.

"please, i can't—"

"now!"

he stares at you for a moment before turning on his heel and retreating to the hall. his fist meets the wall with such force, the drywall crumbles to the floor. gojo himself follows suit soon thereafter.

the commotion catches the attention of yuuji and megumi, who round the corner just seconds later.

"sensei—" yuuji begins to question, but the words die in his throat.

gojo's crouched down, his face buried in his hands. they're still covered in your blood. he wants to scream and yell and curse the world, but instead, he clenches his jaw so fiercely it's a wonder his teeth don't crack under the pressure.

the boys share a look, both startled by the present state of their usually frivolous teacher. neither of them need to ask who's behind that door, they know there's only one person who could elicit such a reaction from gojo.

megumi approaches him cautiously, swallowing his own concern, and places a hand on his shoulder. "she'll be okay."

the white haired man doesn't look up, just nods weakly in acknowledgement. megumi joins yuuji who is already sitting on the floor with his back pressed to the wall, and the three of them wait together in silence.

gojo hardly moves until the infirmary door opens, which makes him rise so quickly it leaves him dizzy. shoko surveys the three of them before speaking.

"she's.. she's still unconscious, but you should be with her. she's been calling for you in her sleep—"

she scarcely finishes before gojo makes his way through the door. shoko stays in the hallway to update yuuji and megumi, giving the two of you a bit of privacy.

pulling up a chair beside you, he threads his fingers between yours, your skin still frightfully cool. though it's not until he hears you mumble his name that he truly falls apart.

his free hand flies to his mouth in an attempt to stifle his sobs, his shoulders shaking. this all could have gone very differently and the thought makes him sick to his stomach. he should have gone with you, or at the very least, he should have gotten to you faster.

"'toru?" your raspy voice fills his ears.

when he looks up to find you peering at him through tired eyes, the tension that'd been weighing heavily in his chest dissipates and he exhales deeply. still, his voice trembles. "hey, sweetheart."

every part of you aches, but it's nothing compared to the guilt you feel upon seeing gojo like this— his eyes red and swollen, your blood painted across his hands and face.

you have a vague memory of everything that happened. you remember just barely exorcising the last cursed spirit. you remember being sure you weren't going to survive and using your last bit of strength to call him. "you found me."

he nods, his hand squeezing yours. "i thought i was too late.. i.. i thought i'd lost you."

his voice cracks and it nearly shatters your heart, tears welling up in your eyes. "i'm so sorry, 'toru. i'm sorry i wasn't strong enough, t-that you had to come save me."

you attempt to sit up, but he puts a hand to your shoulder and shakes his head. "don't you dare apologize. i'll always come when you call and i'll always be there when you need me. you have to know that."

the intensity of his gaze forces you to look away and the conviction in his voice makes you feel woozy. thinking about it, there really never had been an instance in which gojo wasn't there for you. he's the person you've sought out time and time again and he's never once let you down.

his hand finds your face and he cups your cheek gently, his thumb wiping a tear from beneath your eye.

"i love you," you blurt out.

you stare at each other with wide eyes and the seconds tick by markedly until he finally whispers, "say it again."

"i love you."

he had no idea how much he needed to hear those three words fall from your lips until he nearly lost the chance forever. truthfully, it makes him feel a bit foolish, but now was hardly the time to dwell on that.

he smiles for the first time in hours, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. "i love you, too."

and he always has— he knows that now.

"you should get some rest, angel," he suggests tenderly. "i'll be right here when you wake up."

Hello! As an SA survivor, I really appreciated your story with Naoya. My comfort character is Nanami and I was wondering if you could write something similar? Where reader has an anxiety attack bc of her trauma and finally tells nanami about it? She’s worried that he won’t accept her and nanami reminds her he’ll never do that. It’s a heavy topic so I completely understand if you want to pass on this! I appreciate your writing regardless so thank you for taking the time to write & post these stories :)

hii! i'm sorry it's taken me so long to respond (can you believe my last post was almost half a year ago :0) but thank you for the ask! i made this absurdly long because i love backstories but i hope you like it :)

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nanami x fem reader (she/her pronouns used) - fluff & comfort - pet names (darling, sweetheart, baby) - wc. 7.7k

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please note that there are mentions of SA (nothing explicit/graphic) after the little "exhibit" sections are over. if you aren't comfortable with mentions of past SA (ex: nanami asking if someone has "hurt" reader) please don't read past the little "exhibit" scenarios or don't read/expand the post at all :) again, it's pure fluff in the "exhibit a, b, c" parts, after that SA is discussed/alluded to

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Nanami Kento is an exceedingly patient man.

Exhibit A: The time you were an hour late to your first date.

—

“Come on, just trust me on this one!” Shoko exclaims as she pelts you with blueberries—your blueberries.

“Hey!” You glare at your best friend, snatching the bowl of fruit away before any more berries end up on the floor. “Do you know how much blueberries cost these days? They’re not in season right now and—”

“Blah blah,” Shoko sticks her tongue out at you. “I’m not saying you have to marry him.. It’s just one date!” She pauses, tone becoming uncharacteristically serious. “I’ve been friends with him since high school… He’s a really nice guy, very respectful.”

“Oh?” You quirk an eyebrow at your roommate, laughter bubbling over your lips. “Very respectful,” you’re giggling now, “I’m sure he’s veryy respectful.”

Shoko groans, hands scrubbing at her face. “You’re unbelievable—I need a cigarette,” she mutters.

“You’re unbelievable! You’re a med student who smokes!” you cry out, flinging an accusatory finger at her.

Shoko just snorts, waving a dismissive hand in your direction as she pats at her pockets for her lighter. “I’m serious though, I think he would be good for you.”

“Sure, he’s exactly what I need,” you reply dryly. “What was his name again? Nanami something—”

“Kento,” Shoko chimes in.

“—Nanami Kento,” you finish, twirling a blueberry between your thumb and index finger. “I’m sure he’s a great person. But you know there’s a reason why I’m never home when your guy friends are over…” You trail off, shrugging as if you’re unbothered, but Shoko sees the way your brows furrow and lips tremble. “Plus, I’m too busy with my dissertation and research to try to have a life,” you huff, easing the tension with some lighthearted humor, popping the berry into your mouth.

Shoko rolls her eyes at you good-naturedly, waggling her brows as she tries to lift your spirits. “What if I showed you a picture of him?”

-

Two photos, a not-so-slick mention of Nanami’s height by Shoko, and a sworn testament to his upstanding character later, you fold.

-

You, 6:47 PM

hey! i’m running late right now, there was an emergency at the lab. can we push the date from 7 to 8? i’m really sorry :(

Nanami Kento, 6:50 PM

Yes, of course. I hope everything is okay, take as long as you need.

You, 6:51 PM

thank you so much! again, i’m really sorry. i should be there by 8 :)

-

Nanami reads your text, slipping his phone into his pocket as he sighs. He had already arrived at the restaurant by the time he saw your first message—it’s too late to leave and come back now. He takes a seat in the waiting area, glancing at the bouquet in his lap. Shoko had threatened to break both his legs if he so much as breathed at you wrong tonight—he hopes you won’t find the flowers too much for a first date.

Nanami thinks back to what he knows about you. He remembers the first time he was at Shoko’s place: you were nowhere in sight (much to the dismay of Gojo, who kept asking Shoko to play matchmaker for him), but Shoko just explained that you were studying late at the library. Every time after that, it was another excuse: Shoko’s roommate can’t come because she’s busy in the lab, busy at the library, busy writing her dissertation, busy running simulations, busy reading papers, busy being a TA, busy meeting with her advisor. He’s only seen you once while at your apartment, and that was because he accidentally walked into your room thinking it was the bathroom: You’d been hunched over your desk, back to the door, and Nanami had immediately walked right back out into the hallway upon his realization that bathrooms didn’t usually contain beds and desks, shutting the door as quickly as possible so as to not disturb you. You hadn’t even turned around by the time he was gone.

That was the first and last time Nanami Kento ever saw you. At least until last week, when he received a text from Shoko detailing your contact info and a winky face, phone lighting up with a call from your roommate moments later.

“Hello?”

“Kentoooo!!! Guess what??” Shoko’s voice is all high pitched and giggly, barely containing her excitement.

Nanami thinks he knows exactly what she’s up to. “What is it?” he ventures.

“My roommate just agreed to go on a date! With you!!” Shoko’s glee is apparent, even through the tinny speaker on Nanami’s phone. “I just sent—”

“I never asked her out,” Nanami cuts in. He’s frowning slightly: not entirely opposed to the idea, just hoping Shoko hasn’t gone and planned your marriage without his knowledge.

Shoko’s sigh echoes loudly over the line, and Nanami winces at the earful he’s sure to be in for. “I know,” she’s rolling her eyes now. “That’s why—if you would just let me finish my sentence—I sent you her number so you could ask her yourself.”

Nanami’s quiet for a moment, thinking it over before he asks, “Why are you doing this?”

Shoko doesn’t miss a beat. “Because you’re both losers with no lives,” she laughs a little at her own joke, then slowly considers her next words. “And… I think you would treat her well—I know you would be good to her, and she deserves that.”

Nanami can tell how much Shoko cares about you, from the way she spoke about you to the way she threatened to buy 51% of his start up’s shares and tank the company if he ever hurt you. Yeah, he really hopes you don’t think he’s coming on too strong with the flowers.

So, Nanami sits in the restaurant patiently, checking his phone ever so often to make sure he hasn’t missed any messages from you, smiling and telling the hostess he’d like to wait a while longer to be seated. And when you do show up—17 minutes earlier than expected—he’s all smiles and reassurances. You’re feeling (and looking) frazzled, apologies spilling out from your mouth like a dam let loose as you follow him and the hostess to your table. But Nanami’s the quintessential gentleman: waving away your guilt and apologetic expression, pulling your chair out for you, handing you the beautiful arrangement of flowers, pouring you a glass of water to help calm you down, insisting you call him Kento.

And though most people wince and attempt to change the topic when you talk research, Kento’s patient as he listens to your ramblings on the roadblocks you face, the students you have to teach, the lack of common sense in the lab. He makes a point to ask questions about your research, finding it interesting because you find it interesting, loving the way your face lights up when you get to describe the implications of your findings.

You hate to admit it, already hearing Shoko’s “I told you so!” in your head as you think to yourself, but Nanami Kento might just be exactly what you need.

—

Exhibit B: The time you spent 4 consecutive days with your head in a toilet bowl.

—

Shoko Ieri, 1:58 PM

dude, what the hell are you doing right now???

Nanami Kento, 2:01 PM

What do you mean? I’m working.

Shoko Ieri, 2:01 PM

what could possibly be so important with your company that you’d be working right now??

Nanami Kento, 2:02 PM

It’s 2 PM on a Monday… Am I not supposed to be working right now?

Shoko Ieri, 2:02 PM

you’re so fucking dense you would sink in the dead sea. your girlfriend has been throwing up all day and you’re WORKING?

Nanami Kento, 2:02 PM

Throwing up? What do you mean??

**Incoming call from Nanami Kento**

“Hey assho—”

“What do you mean she’s been throwing up all day?” Kento’s voice is tinged with urgency and worry. “Is she okay? Are you there with her? Can you check her temperature? I’ll be there in—”

“Dude,” Shoko cuts in, “Don’t act like you didn’t know. There’s no way you didn’t know—I mean she’s been hurling like crazy since this morning, and you’re an asshole for not checking up on her.”

Kento’s shocked, and still extremely worried, trying to just get Shoko to focus so he can make sure you’re okay. “I really didn’t know, Ieri, she hasn’t texted me at all today.” His voice is strained, concern evident in his tone. “Please tell me you’re at home with her—is she okay?”

“Well…” Shoko considers how to best put your condition so as to not cause Kento a heart attack, a little confused on why you didn’t tell him anything. “She’s been throwing up pretty steadily throughout the day and she’s got a pretty bad fever.”

“How bad are we talking? I’m driving over right now.”

“104 degrees… 104.6 last I checked,” Shoko winces as she says it, knowing how bad it sounds.

“Oh my god.” The absolute terror in Kento’s voice makes Shoko wince even harder. “Ieri, we need to get her to a hospital—this is serious.”

Shoko shakes her head, reporting dejectedly, “She won’t go. I tried a couple hours ago but she said she doesn’t get paid enough by the school to afford an emergency visit.”

Kento’s at a loss for words.

“She said she’ll be fine since I’m ‘basically a doctor,’” Shoko finishes bitterly.

“T-that’s not… You’re not… Y-you’re just a med student—that’s not the same thing—” Kento thinks he might have a heart attack.

“I know, I know,” Shoko sighs. “But, I don’t think it’s anything too bad. She isn’t throwing up blood, her breath and heart rate are both pretty stable, and she was conscious enough to talk back to me when I tried to get her to the hospital.”

“Okay,” Kento says as he takes deep breaths, trying to not think about you dying or suffering or—“Okay. Okay. Okay. I’ll be there soon, then. We can talk later.”

“Alright. Drive safe—I don’t need another patient to look after,” Shoko jokes before hanging up.

5 minutes later, a stressed Nanami Kento is on your doorstep, rushing in as soon as Shoko answers the door, barely listening to what she’s saying as he moves towards your room. And then he’s inside, kneeling before your bed as his eyes dart over your figure, murmuring a gentle, “Hi baby, how are you feeling?”

You blink your eyes open, trying to pull yourself out of that feverish fog blanketing your mind as you slowly register who’s in your line of sight. No… It can’t be. How did he find out? He’s not supposed to be here—you didn’t tell him for a reason.

“Ken?…” You rub at your eyes, sitting up with a whimper as a wave of nausea hits you square in the stomach. “W-why are you here?”

“Because somebody told me you have a 104 fever, and it wasn’t you,” Kento tuts, tone disapproving but eyes gentle.

“Ieri…” you mumble, shaking your head slightly.

“Ieri,” he confirms, shaking his own head—this time at you. “We’ll talk more about that later… Right now, I need to make sure my darling is feeling okay.”

Your mind is still foggy, but your lips quirk up into a small smile as you tease in a small voice, “Your darling is feeling superb.” You give him a weak thumbs up and cheesy grin. “I feel great.”

“Really? Because there’s a bit of vomit on your chin right now,” Kento deadpans, secretly relieved you’re feeling well enough to joke.

And then you cry out in mock outrage, regretting it almost immediately as you clutch at your middle, the outburst costing you a fit of spasms and pain in your stomach. Kento’s mood sobers instantly as he gently rubs at your back, asks if there’s anything he can do for you, adjusting the pillows behind you to help ease you into a more comfortable position.

“You should go,” you whisper as you reach up to grip his hand.

“Now why would I do that?” Kento asks, smiling softly as he feels your hold on his hand tighten.

You turn your face into the pillows, mumbling out a muffled, “I’m sick… and gross. I can’t let you see me like this.” You groan, turning your head back to look at your boyfriend as you caution, “And you’re going to get sick.”

Kento just smiles as he cups your hand between his own. “You never look gross, and I won’t get sick because I don’t overwork myself.”

You huff out a tired sigh, weakly swatting at the hands wrapped around your own as you slur, “It’s rude to torment the sick and dying,” and turn on your side to face the wall—away from your amused caretaker.

-

For the next three days, Kento—with the help of Shoko, (not quite) M.D.—looks after you as you miraculously manage to regurgitate every bit of sustenance you consume. He’s cleaned that metal “throw-up” bowl on your nightstand—meant to be used in case you couldn’t get to the bathroom in time—more times that he can count. He’s changed your sheets, helped you to the bathroom, and dutifully cooked light soups and stews, spooning them into your mouth before inevitably patting your back reassuringly as you throw it up into the toilet. Most of all, he’s poked and prodded you with that goddamn thermometer: if you had the strength to, you’d steal it right out of his hands and tell him to quit being a mother hen.

But Kento just can’t help his worrying. To take care of you, he’s been staying the night over, sleeping on that couch in the living room he’s definitely too large for. Even Shoko feels a little bad for him, watching him dutifully set alarms for every other hour so he can check up on you throughout the night. The two of them work in tandem to make sure you’re okay, combining the power of Shoko’s education with Kento’s sheer stress to maximize your care.

And when you finally come to—when the haze clouding your thoughts finally clears—he’s just as patient and gentle as he has been over the past few days.

“You’ve gotta stop overworking yourself, sweetheart,” Kento murmurs into the top of your head.

“I can rest when I’m dead,” you protest, twisting from your position on his chest to make a show out of the dramatic wink you send his way.

Kento groans. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he says with a sigh, helping you curl back up on top of him.

You giggle, breath fanning out against his collarbone, amused by Kento’s exasperation. “Thanks for taking care of me though, Ken. You’re the best,” you whisper softly, turning to pressing a kiss against his neck.

“Of course, darling,” he replies quietly, voice full of love. Then, louder, feigning nonchalance, Kento announces, “But if you don’t start taking better care of yourself, you’ll be on your own, and I’ll just watch from a distance and say ‘I told you so’ when you get sick.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me!” you pout, frowning at the thought of him purposely ignoring you.

Kento sighs, pretending to be upset, “You’re right. I wouldn’t do that.” He reports dejectedly, “I just love you too much,” practically able to feel your smile at his words against his skin. “But—” he leans down and tilts your head up to look at him, thumb and forefinger holding your chin in place to maintain steady eye contact. “—the next time you’re sick or in need of help, you’ll tell me directly.” His voice is serious, as firm as his grip on your chin and it makes you nervous, like you’re in trouble, eyes darting around to avoid his gaze. “No trying to hide it, no making me worry. I shouldn’t have found out about your fever from Ieri—you should have told me yourself. I don’t want you hiding things from me, especially if it’s about your health and well-being. Got it?”

You’ve tensed up against Kento, heart hammering in your throat as you feel a wave of guilt wash over you. His free hand moves to soothe your back—trying to show that he’s not angry with you—as he drops his hand from your chin, eyes tracking the way you hang your head to avoid looking at him.

And then, after a bout of anxiousness, you nod, stealing a glance up at Kento to gauge his mood as you start, “I’m sorry, Ken, I didn’t mean to worry you.” You take a deep breath before you continue, “I just didn’t want to bother you. I knew you’d drop everything if you heard I was sick and it wouldn’t have been fair for me to take advantage of you like that.” You pick at a piece of lint on his shirt, avoiding catching his eye and aiming for humor as you add, “And nobody wants to watch their partner throw up, it’s gross. I couldn’t let you fall out of love with me like that.”

Kento cracks a smile. “Darling, if you think throwing up in front of me is going to make me stop loving you, I need to do a much better job of showing you how much you mean to me.”

You huff out a laugh at that, but he’s not done, cupping your hands with his own as he looks down at you. “And you’re never a bother, baby, ever. I’m never going to be upset with you for letting me know you’re not feeling well—and you won’t be ‘taking advantage’ of me by letting me know. It’s my own choice to take care of you and it makes me happy to do it.”

You’re looking down at where Kento’s hands are wrapped around your own, but you nod, letting his words sink in as you duck your head back down into the crook of his neck. “Thanks, Ken,” you whisper, trying to hide how relieved and emotional him saying that makes you feel. “That means… a lot to me. I’ll promise I won’t hide things from you anymore.”

Your boyfriend smiles, replying with a soft “good girl” as he runs his thumb along the back of your hand. He’s glad you’re opening up, and as you doze off on him, exhausted from your past couple of days and lulled to sleep by the comfortable silence and gentle caresses, he feels a surge of affection settle over his heart.

—

Exhibit C: The time you he won a stuffed lion at the fair.

—

Today is a special day. There are no papers to grade, no students to teach, no presentations or talks to prepare, and your research has reached a point where you can confidently take a few days off to rest. Naturally, you decide to optimize this golden opportunity by doing only the essentials: Scheduling a long overdue doctor’s appointment, deep cleaning your apartment, spending as much time with Kento as possible, going to the fair…. Just the essentials!

So—essentially—you’re at the fair with Kento, ignoring your ever growing list of responsibilities in favor of overpriced food and rigged carnival games. Kento’s already sporting a large tote on one shoulder, ready to collect all the prizes you’re eager to win.

Three hours, six stuffed animals, a pizza, two churros, a basket of fries, five rides, and a petting zoo later, you find yourself surveying the prizes on display in front of the cursed ring toss.

“Awww, Ken look at that one!” You’re pointing to a stuffed lion sitting amongst the prizes. “It kinda looks like you, don’t you think?”

The face Kento’s making right now can only be described as… distaste. “No… Love, I don’t see the resemblance.”

“No, no, no, look at the color! It looks just like your hair,” you exclaim, gasping and pointing once more as you realize, “Hey! It even has a little frown on its face! Do you see it Ken?”

“I don’t frown that often,” Kento says with a frown. “I’m quite happy when I’m with you.”

You burst into a fit of laughter, wishing he could have watched himself say that. “Sure, Ken,” you drawl, patting him on the shoulder as you get in line for the game, set on winning his lion-lookalike.

However, after 4 tries and an absurd amount of money, you decide to call for backup.

"Kennn," you singsong as you turn to look at him with big, pleading eyes. "Can you help me win this game?"

Kento's heart sinks, feeling conflicted. On the one hand, he'd do anything to make you happy. On the other hand, if he helps you win the lion, he'll spend the rest of his days hearing "Awww.. Isn't he just so cute?? He looks just like you, baby!" about a stuffed, over-evolved house cat.

But, in the end, the little angel on his shoulder (with a voice that sounds suspiciously similar to yours) wins. As Kento steps up for his try, he half considers putting no effort in and losing the game just so you won’t be able to correlate his good looks to a stuffed animal. Then, he (or maybe the little angel up there) decides he can’t do that to you—it would just be too cruel.

So, Kento gets ready for his turn: rolling his sleeves up, passing you the bag on his shoulder, and sighing without meaning to.

His first try is a failure. Each of the 5 rings supplied magically bounced off the bottlenecks, frustrating him to no end. “This game is rigged, sweetheart. We should find something else to play,” Kento grumbles, turning away from the booth with an irritated expression.

You shake your head, insisting, “But this is the only game we’ve seen that has that stuffed lion!” Then, you bring out the big guns, clasping your hands together and widening your eyes, begging, “Please, Ken..”

Aaaand…. He’s a goner, always so soft and willing when it comes to you.

Reinvigorated by your pleading and determined to make you happy, your boyfriend sets out on a mission to win you that stuffed lion.

After his first try, Kento sighs so hard you think you might physically feel the wind from it tickling at your forehead.

After his second try, Kento turns to you and drops a sweet little kiss on your nose to remind himself why he’s subjecting himself to this frustrating torture.

After his third try, Kento runs a hand through his hair, readjusting his sleeves with more force than necessary as he squints menacingly at the table of glass bottles.

After his fourth try, you tug at his wrist, telling him, “You don’t have to keep trying, Ken. It’s okay.” You feel guilty watching him get more and more frustrated, but he smiles, patting the back of your hand as he tells you it’s okay.

After his fifth try, Kento looks up at the stuffed lion as he takes a deep, calming breath, trying to stay focused on winning the prize and not how annoying this blatantly rigged game is.

After his sixth try, you’re seriously impressed by Kento’s ability to remain calm. You practically had steam coming out of your ears with each of your missed throws, but he’s taking this like a champ—maybe you’ll read some of his self help books to learn his ways.

After his seventh try, Kento curses under his breath, beginning to lose his cool.

After his eighth try, Kento thinks it might be time to start believing in a deity: Maybe he would have won on his first or second try with divine intervention on his side.

And then! After returning to purchase almost ten consecutive attempts and officially creeping out the worker managing the booth, Kento’s fourth ring finally finds its place around the neck of a bottle!!

You jump up and down and clap in celebration, elated by Kento’s victory. He immediately turns toward you, excitement written across his features as he wraps you up in a hug. You’re giggling and pressing kisses onto his cheek, murmuring thank you’s against his skin as you both grin ear to ear—both entirely too old to be so elated over a win at the carnival.

And even as you tease him, holding the stuffed toy up next to his face in comparison, he thinks his patience may have just paid off.

—

Nanami Kento is an exceedingly patient man.

That’s why, as you break down in front of him, he’s patient.

Just minutes ago, you’d been okay—you’d been more than okay. Seated on Kento’s lap, breath heavy as he scattered kisses across your face—moving from cheek to nose to lips to forehead—you’d been beyond okay.

Nothing had been too out of the ordinary: though Kento wasn’t a voracious and demanding lover, the two of you had shared more than a fair amount of kisses and “makeout sessions.” And you enjoyed these kisses, these “sessions,” but you also enjoyed keeping it at that, never progressing further than a few wandering touches and a lost shirt or two. Kento, always happy to follow your lead, to respect your boundaries, would never press further when you’d break away and ask to go to bed, to watch the movie, to cook dinner together.

Tonight, you planned on spending the night together at Kento’s apartment. Falling asleep and waking up next to Kento might be one of your favorite things in the world: his hair is always perfectly mussed, voice deep and raspy, and touch gentle and loving. You always wake up happy and warm all over when you feel his arm around your middle, breath hot on your ear as he murmurs a low “Good morning, darling.”

So, you show up at Kento’s place at around 6, a bag of groceries on your arm, just like usual. The two of you work together in the kitchen, each spoon feeding the other small taste-tests, just like usual. Dinner is a quiet, romantic affair, intimate and sweet, just like usual. After the wining and dining, you two curl up in bed and watch an episode of that show you’re slowly making your way through together, just like usual.

And when you end up straddling him, TV already shut off, fingers gently twisting in his soft, golden hair, Kento thinks he can get used to this being added to your usual. His hands are splayed out across your back, keeping you close to his chest as he smiles into your swollen, kiss-bitten lips. And when he starts dropping sweet little kisses—like a saint delivering small blessings—all over your face, who are you to hold back that little whimper in the back of your throat? Who is Kento to deny the surge of desire flaring low in his stomach at your reactions? His hands slip underneath your shirt, playing with the band of your bra as you squirm against him and tilt your head up to kiss him again. He moves further—further than he’s ever gone with you—and runs a finger along the underside of the waistband of your pants, brushing a knuckle against the soft skin of your pelvis.

That’s when everything changes.

The second you feel Kento touch you lower than your stomach you freeze up, jerking away from the soft kiss you’d been caught up in. Your eyes go wide and you scramble off of his lap, breath frantic as you try to calm the spike of panic blurring your senses. You’re trying to keep an eye on Kento—on his movements and expressions and demeanor—but it’s hard with how suddenly you’ve become overwhelmed and it makes you feel scared, the way you don’t know what exactly he’s going to do next.

It was just one touch, it’s okay. He doesn’t know, he didn’t mean it, he wasn’t trying to... It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s—

“Sweetheart? Are you okay? I’m not gonna hurt you, it’s okay,” Kento tries to soothe you, but you look at him like you’re… scared of him and he hates himself for frightening you so bad.

What happened?

He thinks he might have an idea of what may have set you off, and as your breathing becomes more and more erratic, he begins to worry.

“Baby,” Kento starts, tone gentle. “Has someone ever… hurt you like this? By touching you?”

The way you flinch at his words is enough to confirm his suspicions, but Kento stays quiet, waiting for you to respond.

You don’t want to tell him. Your eyes keep darting around, nervous gaze cast down onto the blanket as you think about how you should lie—

But, wait. You promised Kento that you wouldn’t hide things from him, that you’d tell him things about your health and well-being. You really shouldn’t lie to him, not about this, but you really don’t want to tell him.

You don’t want to tell him because you don’t want him to say that it was your fault, that maybe you deserved it. You don’t want to tell him because you don’t want him to start treating you like you’re dirty or shameful, like an embarrassing secret. You don’t want to tell him because you don’t want him to get angry at you for not telling him sooner, because maybe he wouldn’t have loved you all this time—wasted all this time—if he knew. You don’t want to tell him because you don’t want him to tell you that it isn’t a big deal, that you don’t have a right to be so upset over something like this, that you’re overreacting. You don’t want to tell him because you don’t want to ruin this peaceful little thing between you and him with your own issues and nightmares. You don’t want to tell him because—

Crap. You’ve been stuck in your own head for too long. The air feels thick with an awkwardly long silence as you scramble to mash together an appropriate response, but Kento’s patient and he waits without judgement, kind eyes filled with worry.

And you really don’t want to tell him, eyes welling up with tears because you’re stressed and anxious and not sure about what you’re supposed to do.

Finally, you decide to just lie, choking out a pained, “No—” as hot tears spill over your cheeks. You feel horrible and guilty for lying, knowing that Kento has never been anything but upfront and honest with you, but you’ve never been as good and brave as him so you let the lie spread its wings and shield you.

Your breath is coming out in short, stuttered pants as you try to fight the wave of anxiety attempting to drown you, hands coming up to cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle your choked sobs.

You feel horrible.

You feel horrible for lying.

You feel horrible because you ruined the moment of fun you were having with Kento.

You feel horrible for this breakdown, even if you know you can’t help it, because Kento doesn’t deserve to have to deal with this baggage he didn’t ask for.

You feel horrible because being with Kento has helped you come so far out of your shell, but now it feels like it’s all been ruined, like no matter how much progress you make, you’ll never be able to fully heal, fully escape.

You feel horrible because you can’t get those memories out of your head.

You feel horrible because you keep thinking about the last time someone touched you where Kento did.

You feel horrible for ever correlating Kento and his goodness to that person, even if it’s just in your head, even if you can’t help it, even if it’s involuntary because you’re scared.

You just feel horrible. You feel horrible about everything. And when Kento reaches for you, moving to try and gently tug at your wrist, worried about your frantic breathing and the way you seem to be trying to stop your breathing altogether with your shaking hands, you feel even worse.

When you see Kento’s hand move toward your face, you flinch so hard you choke, gasping behind your palm as you squeeze your eyes shut, shoulders tightening up with fear. You’re so on edge right now and your vision is too blurry with tears to properly gauge if he’s angry at you or not, so you just figure he is. You figure he’s seen through your lie and he’s upset with you, upset for a multitude of reasons that just overwhelm you further. You figure that if your tears dried you’d look up and find an angry Kento looming above you, brows pulled low and lips stretched into a disgusted sneer.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Kento gently murmurs, pulling his hand back, interrupting your self-destructive thoughts. “I need you to take a few deep breaths with me—think you can do that for me baby?”

Numbly, through all the noise in your mind, you follow Kento’s voice like a lifeline, nodding with an uncoordinated jerk of your neck.

“Good girl,” he praises you kindly. “Now I’m gonna need you to move your hands away from your mouth,” Kento instructs, adding softly, “Gotta stop holding your breath sweetheart, gotta let yourself breathe, even if your breathing isn’t quite right yet.”

Taking a shuddering breath, you nod again, dropping your hands from your mouth. But, once your hands drop, you stop trying to control your gasping breathing and begin to panic at the heavy heaving of your chest. Now, you’re breathing too irregularly and awkwardly: inhaling when you need to exhale and exhaling over your exhales and struggling to just take a solid breath in because your lungs won’t listen.

Because you’re breathing too rapidly, you’re simultaneously suffocating and breathing too much, escalating your panic. You’re scared and getting lightheaded and it’s too much—one hand comes up to muffle your mouth again almost immediately.

However, this time Kento is prepared, and his voice pulls you back to reality as he murmurs, “Ohhh, baby. It’s okay, it’s okay.” His voice is low and sweet and it makes you pause, instinctively wanting to listen. “I know it’s scary, but you have to keep your hand away from your mouth. Don’t try to restrict your breathing—there you go, there’s my good girl.”

You’ve tugged your hand away again, placing it in your lap as you blink up at Kento through watery lashes.

“Alright, sweetheart, now I want you to focus on your breathing. I’m going to take a few deep breaths and I want you to try to match your breathing with mine,” he says gently. “Does that sound okay?”

You nod shakily, panic ebbing slightly as you listen to his familiar voice and begin to follow the slow rhythm he sets.

“Inhale…. Exhale…”

“Inhale…” Exhale.

Inhale… Exhale….

“Good girl, that was perfect. You’re doing amazing, love,” he praises. You know he’s just being kind—your breath is stuttering and you’re involuntarily mixing up the inhales and exhales—but Kento’s reassurance makes you feel safe and calm regardless.

After a few more cycles of breath, the dizziness fades and oxygen begins steadily flowing through your lungs as you follow Kento’s lead.

Inhale… “Exhale…”

“Inhale… Exhale…”

Inhale… Exhale….

As you continue to try to control your breathing, you reach out to pick up his hand, trying to silently bridge the gap between you two, making the small first move to show him that you’re slowly becoming more comfortable and grounded. He lets you lace your hand in his, thumb comfortingly brushing against the skin of your hand, the touch gently reassuring you that you’re safe.

Soon, you feel confident enough to wordlessly move towards Kento, letting him wrap you up in a comforting embrace. Being in his arms always makes you feel better, and now that you’ve calmed down enough to realize that he’s not going to hurt you, you press yourself into his chest, searching for his steady patience and gentle manner. Your breathing has evened out, and your mind has cleared enough for you to begin flipping back on what just happened. Kento stays quiet, letting you sort through the cascade of emotions you just experienced, but the silence doesn’t feel hostile—it’s welcoming and patient.

You were kissing Kento, and then he.. he touched you and it freaked you out, and then he was talking to you and… And then he asked you a question. He asked if… He wanted to know if—

Oh my god. You lied to him.

Oh god. You need to apologize—own up to what you did and tell him the truth. But as you think about what to do, your breath begins to stumble over itself again and your heart rate picks up, anxiety taking over your senses.

Your eyes fill up with tears and you look up at Kento, saying in a small voice, “Ken? I… I lied to you… earlier.” Your words are continually interrupted by an emerging pattern of involuntary breaths and hiccups, but you continue on, “I… When y-you asked… S-someone has hurt—hurt me.. before… I lied to—to you.”

You’re fully crying now, and Kento tries calming you down, rubbing your back carefully, heart sinking at your tears and the way your breathing begins to turn into struggling gasps again.

“Oh, darling. I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into the top of your head, continuing to gently soothe your back. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Thank you for telling me—my brave, brave girl.”

Kento’s heart hurts. It hurts knowing that you’ve been hurt in the past, that you’re sobbing in his arms because someone hurt you. It hurts knowing that you felt too scared to tell him the truth, and it hurts even more knowing that you feel scared to admit that you lied. He wants you to feel comfortable with him—to know that you should never be scared of him.

“I-Im,” you choke out through gasping breaths, “‘m sorry—I’m sorry, so—sorry. I’m sorry, K-Ken.”

You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for, you just know that you need to be apologizing for something. Maybe you’re apologizing for lying. Maybe you’re apologizing for having been assaulted. Maybe you’re apologizing to try to appease Kento so he won’t be as angry with you for your betrayal—for not being the person he thought you were. Maybe you’re apologizing for not letting him continue to touch you—for stopping before you’re hurt again.

But Kento just shakes his head kindly, patting your back good-naturedly in response. “It’s okay sweetheart. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Shhhh, shhhhhh, you’re okay, it’s okay, shhhhh,” he coaxes gently.

“I’m sorry—sorry, ‘m really sorry f-for lying to you.” You keep apologizing, barely registering his words to you. All of your guilt from everything has cumulated, and though you’re apologizing for lying, deep down you’re apologizing for much, much more.

“It’s okay, darling,” Kento tells you quietly, ever so patient as you choke on sob after sob. “I’m not upset with you, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, I’m not angry, baby.”

His voice is so achingly gentle, and the way he rubs circles into your back makes your heart break and shatter. How can a person be filled with so much good? You expected anger and rejection, but Kento is being so accepting and sweet it makes you break down into tears. After being mistreated for so long, it feels odd to be embraced so wholly and kindly, and you feel like you don’t deserve to be treated with so much care.

Kento, however, is on a mission to make you feel better. He gracefully waves off your apologies, insisting that it’s okay, that you have nothing to be sorry for. Instead, he apologizes, bowing his head as he begs your forgiveness for overstepping your boundaries. When you shake your head vehemently, insisting he didn’t do anything wrong, he just scolds you gently, “You don’t need to take the blame for everything—it’s okay to give yourself a break. I know I hurt you, and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I want you to know that I’m deeply sorry. I pushed you past what you were comfortable with and it’s not your fault, it’s mine.”

That makes you go quiet, the silence split only by your uneven and choppy breathing—remnants of the tears still sporadically tumbling from your lashes. Kento’s apology is earnest, and his insistence that you not blame yourself makes you see the situation in a new light.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s okay for you to give yourself a break once in a while. Maybe you didn’t do anything wrong and you’re just so used to being told it was your fault that you’ve come to believe it. Maybe, even if he didn’t mean you any harm, he still hurt you, and you deserved his apology for the way it scared you.

You’re silent for a little while longer, but then you reach up and pat him on the head, fluffy strands of hair ruffled by the act of affection.

“Thank you, Ken,” you tell him with a sweet, forgiving smile. “Thank you for apologizing, but I don’t blame you for what happened. You didn’t know my exact boundaries and you didn’t mean to hurt me. It’s okay, really.”

However, there’s still one more thing in the back of your mind bothering you.

“But… Do you still.. want to be with me? I mean, does it bother you that—that—” You break off, unable to finish your sentence.

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me, love.” Kento pulls back slightly, one arm cradling your back as the other moves to wipe at a stray tear on your cheek. “This doesn’t change anything, okay? You’re still the same person I fell in love with, and I’m not ‘bothered’ by anything about you. Nothing about this is your fault, and I would never treat it as such.”

You nod, relief written all over your face as you breathe out, “Okay, okay.”

“Seriously,” he huffs. “Where are you getting these silly ideas from? I would never leave you, especially not over this.”

Kento seems almost offended that you think he’d stoop so low, tapping your nose as he clucks his tongue in disapproval. You just shrug self-consciously, a little flustered by how sincere he’s being.

“Okay, then,” you sigh dramatically, scrubbing away at the last of your tears. “I guess I’ll have to just take one for the team and stay with you forever—since you’re obviously so obsessed with me.”

“Oh yeah?” he murmurs, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “You’re quite generous, entertaining this obsession.”

“Yup,” you confirm, waving a dismissive hand as you continue in a conspiratorial whisper, “It’s your lucky day. I’m running a one-night special where I grant the favors of my fans.” A grin is slowly making its way onto your face, and your smile bleeds into your tone when you tease, “Don’t get too excited though—I know it’s big news.”

Kento has the most lovesick look on his face as he looks down at you, shaking his head in amusement. “Well, I’m certainly one lucky fan.”

And you giggle at that, wrapping your arms around his middle as you snuggle into his hold. “You’re my favorite fan,” you mumble into his shirt, pressing your cheek against his chest to listen to his steady heartbeat.

“Hey, does that mean you have other fans you like?”

—

bonus:

“What are you watching?” You ask, poking your head over Kento’s shoulder to peek at the video he’s watching on his phone.

He jumps up, shutting off the screen immediately, stuttering, “N-nothing, darling.”

You’re unconvinced, reaching for his phone as you squint at him. “Really? You seem awfully jumpy for someone doing ‘nothing,’” you deadpan. Then, you narrow your eyes, accusing, “You better not be watching extra episodes of that kdrama you said you hated without me. I know you secretly love it—it’s okay, you can admit it!”

You’ve got a smug grin on your face and Kento doesn’t even try to fight it as you enter the passcode to his phone (your birthday, of course), accepting defeat and rubbing at his temples as the screen unlocks to the Youtube video he’d been watching. He’d rather endure the teasing than try to wrestle the device away from you and accidentally hurt or scare you in the process.

“‘Helping Someone Who Is Having A Panic Attack,’” you read out loud, glancing up at your boyfriend as your eyes widen, grin slowly fading. You click on his watch history, jaw dropping as you see his recently played videos.

What Is A Panic Attack?

How To Help Your Friend During A Panic Attack

Signs Of Hyperventilation And How To Stop Hyperventilating

Best Breathing Technique To Calm Panic Attacks And Anxiety

What NOT To Say To Someone Who Is Having An Anxiety Attack

“Oh my.. Oh my god. Oh my god, Ken.” Your eyes have welled up with tears. You can’t believe he’s been researching how to help you—you don’t even have words to describe how emotional this makes you feel.

Kento has a sheepish look on his face, a little embarrassed you caught him binging those videos. “Yeah… I uh..” He clears his throat awkwardly. “Just wanted to… yknow…” He shrugs, and it’s pathetic and lame and it makes you love him that much more. “Wanted to make sure I was doing the right thing… Just in case you ever get… scared.. again.” He coughs a little, looking self-conscious. “Not—not that I think it’ll happen again but—”

You cut him off before he can get another word in, practically suffocating him as you wrap him up in a tight hug. Your arms around his neck are squeezing, but Kento doesn’t make any moves to stop you. Instead, he wraps his arms around your waist, turning his head to press a kiss to your cheek as you whisper, “Thank you,” voice thick with emotion.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

—

if you've made it this far: thank you for reading :) please take care of yourself, and for all of my survivors out there, please know that it's not your fault, never will be your fault, and never has been your fault!! i love you all and i hope everybody has a great rest of their summer :D

the dull throb resonating over your entire body is what eventually rouses you, slowly bringing you back into consciousness. your head feels like a sword’s been driven through it, leaving your mind muddled.

the first thing you see is satoru hunched over your bedside, his hand carefully clutching yours. you call his name, but your voice is hoarse and scratchy and barely above a whisper.

he hears you regardless, eyes wide and alert as he lifts his head. he looks tired, dark circles stamped under his eyes and an unusual stiffness in his movements.

“you’re…okay,” he says, strained. as if he can’t believe it. you hum in response - because it’s all you can manage at the moment - feeling your eyelids begin to droop your will. “get some more rest. i’ll call shoko.” 

the gentle brush of his lips against your forehead is the last thing you feel before drifting back to sleep.

_____

you’re not sure how much time has passed when you come to. now, the room is illuminated by honeyed lamplight and you see shoko and satoru talking quietly at the foot of your bed. 

“glad to see you’re still with us,” your best friend smiles once she notices you’re awake. she moves to your side, leaning over you to pull back the thin blanket. there’s a swathe of bandages wrapped around your shoulder and a sling immobilizing your arm. 

“how do you feel?” satoru asks, that worried look still set in his expression. 

“i‘m fine,” you manage to answer, trying to blink the room into focus.

“you need to be more careful,” shoko tells you, peeling her gloves off and tossing them into the trash. the usual air indifference in her voice is gone, replaced with concern. “take satoru with you next time. not because i think you’re incapable of doing your job, but so he can do the corny, heroic thing and take the hit for you. god knows he could stand to be humbled every once in a while…” 

“thanks, shoko,” your boyfriend scoffs, but the way his hand grips yours tightly tells you he’d be more than willing to be your corny hero. 

you hate the way they look down at your prone form as shoko goes over your treatment plan. it makes you feel small and weak, and you are neither of those things. 

“can you help me sit up?”

“you shouldn’t be moving around–” 

your body burns with protest as you awkwardly push yourself up anyway, exhaling a pained hiss as gojo swears, reaching out to help steady your trembling torso as shoko shoves pillows behind your back. 

“i’m fine,” you argue, trying to ignore the throbbing behind your temples. you don’t remember exactly how you’d ended up in the school’s infirmary, just remember the way pain had exploded across your left side when you’d been hit.  

“you almost weren’t,” he says quietly. a deeply haunted look clouds his face as he recalls what must have happened after you’d been brought in, and you feel guilty for not being able to remember it. 

so you let him squeeze into bed next to you, let him carefully pull you into his chest and hold you until you feel the tension in his body dissipate. you know he needs this a little more than you do, know that the knowledge of you being okay isn’t enough. it won’t stop the fear and anxiety of losing you from gnawing on the edge of his sanity.

“i wanna give the flowers–”

“so you can take all the credit? i’m the one who bought them!”

your pained grimace easily turns to a smile when the door opens to reveal megumi and tsumiki, who are both gripping a bouquet of flowers. nanami follows them in, wearing the tired look of a man that’s never spent more than three hours dealing with moody preteens raised by gojo – until today.

_____

your family spoils you over the next few days. the three of them falling asleep on the little couch in your room, tucked under gojo’s arms every night until you’re cleared to go home. even then, they don’t leave your side. tsumiki snuggles next to you to watch movies and bakes you little treats. megumi reads to you from the book you’d been going through together and listens to your favourite records with you after school. 

satoru posts himself by your side. you like having him around. like the gentle way he handles you when working through the stretches shoko prescribes. like watching the way his hands move he diligently slices wedges of fresh fruit. 

you like being the focus of his single-minded attention, but you know how restless he can get when he doesn’t go off to work. rightfully so, because the jujutsu world would probably fall apart without him.

“you can go if you want,” you say one day, when he gets off a phone call with yaga. “i’ll be okay for a few hours.” 

he doesn’t get up, instead beginning to peel a plump orange (you’d never noticed how nice his hands were until now). “no, nanami’s still covering for me.” 

“satoru,” you sigh, taking an orange slice from him. “there’s a lot going on, you have bigger fish to fry.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” he tells you firmly, looking like he’d physically fight the idea of leaving your side. “you’re my fish.”

(one can only truly feel with their eyes closed) s.gojo

satoru was born bearing the curse of atlas, the world weighing a little too heavy on his shoulders. the body of a child is a frail one and satoru, in his early years, was too scrawny a kid, his bones too fragile to carry all of that weight all by himself. he had fallen on his feet and struggled to stand up on his own one too many times until he had grown to become something akin to a god, one who barely even knew fear.

it’s three in the morning and satoru is standing outside your bedroom door, pinching his bottom lip in between his fingers while anxiously awaiting your arrival. you should’ve been back before midnight and there is something unfamiliar brewing inside him, an uneasy feeling in his gut that is rendering him restless. he feels nauseous and there is a heavy lump on his throat that is making it hard for him to swallow.

satoru reaches for the phone in the pocket of his sweatpants, waiting for something, a call, a text even — anything to let him know that you’re okay.

his head is quick to turn at the sound of heavy footsteps making their way towards him and he can make out your silhouette emerging from the darkness of the poorly lit corridor, your feet weary and sore after being away for so long and having just traveled all the way back here, back to him.

ten days to be precise. thats how long you’ve been away. and when you manage to make your way along the seemingly endless hallway, so very tired from your lengthy mission, you finally cease your fight against gravity, letting yourself collapse into satoru, closing your eyes immediately upon impact, finding your relief in him, in the sturdiness of his chest. you’d gone without him for too long and you’re so quick to find comfort in him. he, too, is just as quick to search solace in your touch when he guides your arms that fall limp at your sides to wrap themselves around him - is so prompt to hold you and offer you the stability you need when he wraps his stronger ones around your shoulders, welcoming you back with a quiet good girl being whispered to the crown of your head.

there’s a minute of silence in which satoru realizes, while trying to recover from the fretful state he induced himself into, that fear has become something permanent in his life.

“you’re late” he threads his fingers through your hair, soothing away your fatigue though he thinks he might have just lulled you to sleep because you’re standing so still, breathing so softly. you protest with a breathy whine when his hand cups the back of your head, tilting it upwards to make you meet his gaze. only then do you perceive the distress painted on his handsome features.

satoru is always so good at hiding his feelings. his voice barely even wavers and his hands are holding you so firmly that his worry would’ve almost gone undetected. almost. because concern is so easily discernible in his eyes. his eyes are so honest, as honest as satoru gets. they have always let on more than his words.

they’re his biggest strength and yet his biggest weakness. the blindfold conceals more than just his power. it keeps his vulnerability from seeping through.

“i know but i'm here” you close your eyes when his thumb rubs the spot between your eyebrows “my flight got delayed and i didn’t wanna wake you up with a phone call”

“i wasn’t sleeping” not until i know you’re safe.

“i’m alright, satoru. im here” you two speak in whispers like two kids sharing a secret, your voice barely audible as you lean your cheek against his chest, a hand rubbing circles over his heart.

another wave of silence envelops the two of you as you take your time to touch, to grab and to squeeze — to let your hands get acquainted with each other’s skin again — you swear you feel him shiver against you when you caress the skin behind his ear, where you know it’s sensitive.

“let’s get inside, baby.”

you nod against his chest and squeeze him in your arms one last time before you pull away to unlock your bedroom door. you lace your fingers together with his to pull him along, dropping your luggage somewhere in a corner and not even bothering to turn on the lights instead guiding him towards the bed that you’ve shared during so many other nights — so eager to be cradled in his arms, to drift off in the comfort of his embrace. but when satoru drops his head to your shoulder you cease any movements, stopping in your tracks.

he doesn’t say a word, just moves the palm of his hand gingerly up the skin of your exposed arm, only stopping where the strap of your dress sits on your body, gripping the fabric in his fist, begging to see you, whole. to make sure there is not some magical force holding you together and that you won't fall apart under his fingers upon touch. he still touches you so carefully as if you will.

for a long time now, reality has presented itself to satoru as something dubious, he has grown to be skeptical towards it. after all, his best friend had met his demise at his own hands - satoru had watched him take his last breath - yet, that unfaithful day in shibuya, there he stood in front of him, intact - alive. now satoru is imbedded with a constant feeling of uncertainty, worrying that the eyes he has relied on throughout his entire life, might deceive him sooner or later.

you lift your hand to rest over his, loosening the tight grip he has on the fabric of your garment before you slide both straps off your shoulders, letting your dress fall to the ground and revealing your partially nude body to satoru’s prying gaze. he closes his eyes with a sigh that makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise in antecipation. he brushes a few strands away before he places a kiss to the mound of your neck where your spine protrudes your flesh, where your skin is most tender and delicate, feeling the subtle bumps of your skin against his lips — the way your body reacts to him proof that you’re not just some hallucination. that you’re alive and well. that you’re here.

he figures he is so much more in tune with his surroundings whenever he’s not looking. his eyes are closed shut yet the way you shudder under him when he runs the tip of his finger up the curve of your spine, the little sounds you make, the gasp that unintentionally escapes your lips when he lays the most gentle of kisses on the shell of your ear — he’d know you anywhere, even with his eyes closed. he knows the way you feel, the way you sound, the way you smell. even blind, his other four senses would still lead him to you.

he touches you until your skin starts feeling feverish under his fingers, wishes you’d just melt into him and would fill in every crevice in his body until he’s so completely covered in you he can barely breathe. and when he needs more, he carries you to bed in his arms then lies you down in the white linen sheets. he reaches for the back of his shirt and tugs it off before taking the spot next to you, craving the feeling of his skin against yours.

he kisses your collarbone, left then right, worshiping you whole, paying equal attention to every part of your body, then dips lower to kiss over your sternum. he loves on the freshly inflicted wounds on your skin then proceeds to run his tongue over the newly healed scar that runs diagonally on the flesh of your stomach — your taste, that, too, he has memorized by heart.

“i always come back looking worse than when i left” and it's supposed to be a lighthearted joke because you're smiling and your tone is somewhat playful but it makes satoru wonder if you think he loves you any less because of it.

sometimes it’s hard baring yourself to satoru like this, he knows it. your scar ridden body a striking contrast to his almost pristine, untouched one. however, it’s on nights like this one where you feel closest to him, laying bare your insecurities to him and, in return, satoru undiscloses his — more often than not escaping his lips impulsively in the form of strangled moans against the sweaty skin of your neck, telling you he loves you. don’t ever leave. don’t wanna lose you too.

“you returned, baby. that’s all that matters.” he utters against your belly then comes to rest on your chest, hear pressed atop your heart.

satoru has grown fond of the sound of your pulse lulling him to sleep, slow and steady. he unwraps his arms from around you, moving his hands up your sides until they settle around your ribs, feeling the way your lungs fill up with air, his head moving up and down, in sync with your heaving chest. he smiles to himself, every heartbeat, every breath you take a reminder that there is still so much life inside you.

he looks up at you, eyes searching for your face after a few minutes have gone by since you stopped playing with his hair. he had wanted to protest but then he takes in the image of you, mouth slightly agape, a subtle frown on your face — an angel lying under him. so fragile, so innocent.

you're sound asleep and satoru is overcome with the intensity of the sheer adoration he feels towards you when he realizes you had felt so at peace in his arms it'd only taken you a couple minutes to doze off. it is as if your body reacts to his presence on it's own, telling you that its safe around him, that it's okay to let your guard down. there is no bigger privilege than to know his touch brings you consolation — that he’s your safe haven.

upon further inspection, however, there’s a cold shiver that makes it’s way up satoru’s spine when he notices how you’re laying so still, barely even moving. apart from the subtle rise and fall of your chest, you’re so inert, so lethargic. this is what your lifeless body would look like in his arms if he ever failed to protect you.

it is as if suddenly there is not enough oxygen in the room and his lungs start growing heavier with each passing minute, his hands clammy and fingers digging into the flesh of your ribs instinctively, out of desperation.

he calls out your name once, and he would’ve felt bad for waking you up but he can’t even think straight right now. he could be so selfish at times but you never resented him for it.

you don’t answer at first, his voice too weak to even pull you out of sleep. satoru pushes himself up the bed, lying sideways next to you, his body looming over yours as he brushes the strands of hair that are sticking to your forehead away from your face — your complexion looks so much paler under the moonlight.

“baby.” he calls in between heavy breaths, eyes frantic searching for something. anything. this time you stir in your sleep, turning around and nuzzling into the crook of his neck as if seeking for the heat of his body on instinct. he sighs releasing some of the tension inside him “baby.” though there is still a hint of urgency in his voice.

“im sleepy, satoru” he can barely hear you as you bury yourself deeper into his neck.

“i know, baby. i know” he tries to sooth you, cradling your head closer to him but is just as quick to change his mind, grabbing your cheeks in between the palms of his hands to gently pull you away from him and take look at you instead. your eyes remain closed, still so heavy with sleep.

“just need you to say my name.” it sounds as if he’s pleading.

“satoru.” you barely even manage to mumble as you lean deeper into his touch, lips brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside of his hand. moving only on instinct still, too drowsy to even make sense of what is happening, to notice the despair in his tone.

“that’s it.” he pecks you on the lips “again.” hes trailing kisses across your cheeks, his breath heavy on your skin when he begs you in a quivering voice “please."

you begin to be pulled out of slumber when you feel his hands trembling against you, opening your eyes only to be met with his wide-eyed gaze, his pupils fully blown out in the dark, alert with fear.

this has happened before yet it never fails to alarm you. you know how he gets, you’d seen it in his eyes many times before and you’d seen it again earlier tonight when you arrived, tenuous yet just waiting for the smallest trigger to so easily turn into something out of his control.

it's like he's suddenly in a trance and nobody can pull him out of it. his hands start wandering everywhere and in a rather frenetic way, feeling around your skin as if he has gone blind. hands fumbling to hold whatever is within their reach, clenching whatever it is you're wearing in his fists, searching for something that he can’t quite seem to find and that you can’t quite understand.

you never know what to say, you can only hold him in hopes it will pass. you hold him and coddle him in hopes that you can be as much of a source of comfort to him as he is to you.

he apologizes afterwards, he always does. apologizes for needing you so much that sometimes it drives him crazy. then he thanks you, thank you for letting me rely on you, but he barely ever does, only when he so desperately needs it — when it’s him lending others his strength, being relied on, who says thank you to him.

you sit up in bed, extending your hand towards him, waiting for him to take it. you pick him up when he does and you let a hand wrap around the back of his head, guiding him to lay on your shoulder

“satoru, satoru, satoru.” you whisper against the shell of his ear while stroking his hair. he thinks he could fall sleep right here, like this.

please, lean on me, too. if you let me, i can be strong for the both of us. you don’t have to be strong all the time. satoru thinks he knows what you’re trying to tell him.

“i’ll say it as many times as you need.”

for the second time tonight, he is so overwhelmed by his profound infatuation that it is as if his love has grown a will of it’s own, as if it has grown fangs when his teeth sink, unwarranted, into the skin of your shoulder, love wishing to seep itself deep into your bloodstream. “want you whole.”

“so greedy.” you wince quietly against his snowy hair and he runs the tip of his nose up the side of your neck.

he keeps on nibbling on the tender skin of your neck, as if he’s hungry and trying to prove a point. that if he so wished to, if he was greedy enough, he’d devour you full.

“i'm the greediest, baby” for what is love if not greed. is it not wanting to consume the other person and let yourself be consumed in return? for his entire life, satoru has known nothing but an insatiable hunger. always wanting more, always needing more. gluttonous for more, more, more. in the end, he always managed to get what he wants and he doesn’t hold back, you never asked him to either.

he knows he owns you wholly, you’ve told him so, your soul, mind and body fully placed on the palm of his hand and he doesn’t think he could ever settle for less.

he places a trail of kisses that goes down to your shoulder again and he pulls away from your skin with one last kiss to the spot where he left a mark. a mark that is so unlike any other in your body. one that comes from love.

“i'm sorry that i need you so much” he envelops you in a warm embrace, touching his heart with yours.

but he’s also apologizing for so many other things. he’s sorry that he can’t give himself to you the same way you’ve given yourself to him. you’ve always kept your heart open to him yet it seems that he only ever allows you a glimpse into the heart inside his chest on nights like this, during one of his episodes or when his body is panting above yours, falling apart at the feeling of being inside you and too lost in his own pleasure. only then does he spill all of his heart's content into your distracted ears — when he thinks you’re already far too gone to listen, to truly acknowledge his feelings.

those are the only times he ever allows himself to be vulnerable with you and you treasure every single one of those moments, listening attentively even when he thinks you don’t.

“say my name one last time” he breathes against your ear.

here, in these sheets, satoru pretends to forget his name and the burden that inescapably comes with it. he forgets the world needs him and lets himself need you instead, just this once — just this once, he’ll pretend to be the weak one, the one who needs saving, and find shelter in your arms.

“satoru…” your words are spoken barely above a whisper, like they’re meant just for him.

“again” he connects his lips with yours and holds the back of your neck with one hand, the other resting on your back for support as he dips you both down onto the matress.

and you say it. again. and then again. not because he asks you to but because he knows how to get what he wants. he pries his name out of your lips as he trails open mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts, forces it out of you in the form a laughter as he nibbles on the inside of your thighs, tickling you with his breath and ultimately earns it as a moan that you cry as a prayer when he sinks down on the matress and makes a home in between your legs — until you're chanting his name over and over again, sobbing that you love him, you love him, you love him.

he smiles. satoru is now twenty eight and his shoulders a little lighter, the world fitting all too perfectly in this queen sized bed.