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I think, I‘m in love!!! The concept, the writing, the creativity, the pacing… everything is perfect 😍

symptoms and causes | ch. 01

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

ღ summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

ღ wc 13.1 k

ღ warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood / abuse, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

ღ author's note so exited to start this series!! dive in and let me know what you think—i love hearing your thoughts! & pls like or repost if you enjoyed, it means the world !! ♡ (fanart in the header)

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

next chapter ->

"Who's that?"

Every gaze in the room turned towards you.

"She's my student—," Dr. Geto responded, a trace of amusement twisting his lip. He didn't have to follow Dr. Gojo's stare to know its target. "—a first-year medical student."

A murmur rippled through the group of students, their eyes stinging like needles in your neck. You were acutely aware of your position—the youngest, the least experienced, an outsider among those who had studied for years.

"What?" Gojo's voice sliced through the air. He turned his scrutinizing gaze towards Geto. "You brought a fucking first-year into my operating room?"

Ouch.

Geto chuckled. "Relax, Satoru. She's good."

Gojo's expression tightened. He turned back to you, those unnervingly bright blue eyes raking over you from behind his surgical glasses. It made your skin crawl. "You, first-year. Bypass, endovascular, or direct microsurgical approach?"

The air in the operating room was thick.

Dr. Geto and Dr. Gojo had been circling the issue for at least half an hour, dissecting strategies as if the patient weren't laid skull open before them, the aneurysm a ticking time bomb in the patient's brain.

None of the students dared to move, too terrified to even breathe. It was a test. But hesitation wasn't in your vocabulary.

"You should do a hybrid approach. Start with endovascular coiling to reduce the risk of rupture. Parallel prep for a bypass, using intraoperative Doppler for flow assessment. Stabilize, then microsurgical clipping. Definitive closure."

Silence filled the room. Somehow the eyes of the other students stinging even more now. Your boldness given such a complex situation was either brilliance or audacity—perhaps both.

Geto's laughter broke the tension. "I might've forgotten to mention—she's my best student."

Gojo's gaze lingered on you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "That's some complex shit you suggest. The endovascular coiling has to be precise to reduce the risk of aneurysm rupture, and then we switch to microsurgery in an already compromised field."

"Complex, yes, but you have no other choice. The endovascular phase provides stabilization, making the surgical field less treacherous for clipping," you countered.

"And the risk of thrombosis?" Gojo pressed.

"Could happen."

"Could happen?" Gojo repeated. "That's your statement on that?"

"It's either the hybrid approach, or the patient is dead anyway," you said, maintaining his unyielding gaze.

"Is this woman serious?" Gojo murmured, almost inaudibly. His gaze shifted to Geto, seeking perhaps a silent judgment or agreement. Geto, following the exchange with an unreadable smile, seemed more amused than concerned.

"So?" Geto prompted.

Gojo's gaze snapped back to you, his eyes raking over you as if searching for a flaw in your logic. His silence stretched taut between you, a wordless evaluation. Finally, the verdict, "Let's proceed with the hybrid approach."

You exhaled sharply, only then realizing you'd been holding your breath.

A flurry of activity erupted as the nurses prepared for the surgery you'd proposed. You watched closely as the surgeons moved with practiced precision around the patient's exposed brain tissue—both undoubtedly the best neurosurgeons in the country.

"Your name," Dr. Gojo demanded, his focus still on the task at hand. "What is it?"

You gave your name in response.

He repeated your name, as if testing how the name felt. "Do you always approach problems with such boldness?"

"If the situation demands it."

Something in his masked face shifted, a subtle expression that might have been a smile. Whatever it was, it seemed out of place.

"Interesting."

─── ·✧· ───

The corridors of Tokyo Medical University were bustling with life, echoing the footsteps and chatter of students. Lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces, you stood somewhat disoriented in front of the map of the University. Finding your way to your anatomy class felt like an impossible task, especially with less than four minutes on the clock.

It was your first day.

And already the middle of the semester.

Definitely not a good start to come late.

The university you used to attend was half this size, and somehow you already missed it. But who would turn down the opportunity to study at the country's most prestigious medical university? Especially with the chance to learn from the most renowned neurosurgeons teaching there?

So here you were.

Two minutes left.

All of a sudden, someone ran into you, causing you to fall to the ground.

"Whoa, sorry! I'm so sorry!" You looked up to see a guy with tousled black hair and noticeable dark circles under his eyes. He quickly extended a hand to help you up. "Are you okay?"

Brushing off your clothes, you nodded and accepted his hand, feeling a surprising strength as he easily pulled you back to your feet.

"You new here?" he asked, studying your face. "You seem a bit lost."

The subtle irony in his comment almost coaxed a smile out of you, especially considering his own worn-out look. "Yeah, it's my first day, and I'm already running late. I'm trying to find Dr. Ieiri's anatomy class."

"No way, that's my class too! Come on, I'll show you, but we need to make it quick," he responded, already moving ahead with a sense of urgency. You hastened to keep pace with his swift strides.

"I'm Yuta Okkotsu, by the way," he introduced himself as you weaved through the bustling corridors. "So, what's the story behind your mid-semester transfer?"

"I was at a different medical school, but then got this offer to transfer here."

Yuta's eyes widened slightly. "An offer to transfer? That's pretty impressive. You must be quite talented."

"I'm not so sure about that, I think I just got lucky."

Yuta led the way through the bustling corridors, his familiarity with the campus evident in every confident turn he took. Finally, you arrived at the large doors of the auditorium where Dr. Ieiri's anatomy class was supposed to be held. Pushing the doors open, you both slipped inside, but there was no sign of the professor yet.

"Made it," Yuta gasped, a grin spreading across his face despite the shortness of breath. "With, uh, time to spare!" He glanced at his watch. "Okay, maybe not."

Yuta, still catching his breath, gestured towards a group sitting near the back. "Come on, you can sit with us. My friends are cool, I promise."

As you followed, you noticed a girl with striking green hair. She was leafing through a thick textbook with an expression that suggested she found the content less than challenging. "That's Maki," Yuta whispered to you. "Don't let her scare you—she's actually really nice."

Maki looked up as you approached. "New student?"

"Transfer student actually," Yuta corrected. "Is Inumaki also running late?"

Before Maki could respond, the doors swung open. But instead of Dr. Ieiri, Dr. Satoru Gojo stepped in, his presence as commanding as when you first saw him.

No way.

The room fell into an instant hush. Dr. Gojo sauntered to the front of the auditorium, his silver hair gleaming in the gentle sun.

"Good morning, class," he began, his voice effortlessly filling the hall. "Dr. Ieiri is unavailable today, so I'll be taking you through the nervous system."

He scribbled his name on the board, one hand nonchalantly tucked into his trouser pocket. Turning back to face the class, he rolled up his sleeves, his captivating blue eyes even more striking without the barrier of surgical glasses.

As his gaze swept across the students, it abruptly landed on you. For a split second, his confident demeanor wavered, replaced by a flicker of surprise crossing his features.

"The first-year?"

Following his gaze, all heads turned towards you—dozens of stabbing eyes.

Fantastic, center stage yet again.

You locked eyes with Gojo for a heartbeat, maybe a minute, maybe a year. Heat spread all over your skin. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something, but then he cleared his throat and regained his professional poise.

"As I was saying," he turned his attention back to the class, "—since Dr. Ieiri isn't here, we'll dive deeper into the nervous system. So listen well."

His eyes met yours one more time before he launched into the lecture.

─── ·✧· ───

As the lecture came to an end, the students began to gather their belongings. You also began to pack up your notes, still processing the intense lecture Dr. Gojo had just given. It was clear—he was not a professor who took it easy on his students.

"Should we grab a bite? We've got a few minutes before the next class," Yuta suggested, glancing at both you and Maki as you made your way towards the exit. But just as you were about to step out, Dr. Gojo's voice halted you in your tracks.

"Not you, first-year."

The remaining students cast curious glances your way as they continued to file out of the auditorium. Yuta paused, his gaze shifting between you and Dr. Gojo.

"I'll catch up later," you said to him. He nodded before disappearing with the last of the students.

Turning back, you found Dr. Gojo leaning nonchalantly against his desk with his arms crossed. His intense gaze was focused on you. The room quickly emptied, leaving only the two of you.

"I'm curious, what brings a first-year into an operating room?" he finally broke the silence.

"Dr. Geto invited me to observe."

"Dr. Geto?" he echoed, pushing himself off from the desk and taking a few steps closer. "How did you come to know him?"

"He invited me to transfer here," you explained. "He's overseeing a research project that I'm a part of."

"You what? You mean you're working with him on the neuroprosthetics?"

"Yes," you simply said.

He paused for a moment, then let out a chuff before taking a few deliberate steps closer. "Tell me, what did it take for you to get into this university? To become part of Suguru's team as a mere first-year student?"

Your brows furrowed slightly. "Are you insinuating something, Dr. Gojo?"

His lips curled into a half-smile, his approach halting just a breath away from you. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of suggesting anything untoward, like a student getting ahead by... unconventional means. That'd be highly inappropriate, wouldn't it?"

The air around you seemed to thicken as he loomed closer, his tall frame nearly casting a shadow over you against the backdrop of the window.

"I didn't know you were even Suguru's type," he continued.

Was he for real?

He knew nothing. 

Nothing about the countless hours you'd poured into your studies. Nothing about the sleepless nights spent devouring research papers. Nothing about the relentless drive that had earned you recognition in the scientific community despite your young age. And here he was, accusing you of fucking your way up the ladder.

"Why? Are you jealous?" The words slipped out before you could think.

Gojo's eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched. "I can see why Suguru took an interest."

The intensity of his gaze was unnerving, yet you found yourself unable to look away. It was as if he was trying to read your very thoughts, peeling back layers with nothing but his piercing blue eyes.

For a moment, his gaze drifted downward, lingering on your lips. Your pulse quickened, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. "Too bad, I'm on the neuroprosthetics team too," he remarked. "We'll be seeing quite a bit of each other, it seems."

Suddenly, he stepped back, breaking the intensity of the moment. "Make sure you live up to the expectations, first-year. I won't go easy on you just because you're a rookie."

With those final words, he turned away, leaving you standing in the midst of the empty auditorium, your mind racing.

Was he for real real?

─── ·✧· ───

"Ugh, I hate that guy!"

Geto looked up from his desk, a single eyebrow raised in response to your dramatic entrance into his office. "That guy?"

"I mean Dr. Gojo," you clarified, pacing the room. "I can't keep up with his arrogance."

He leaned back in his chair, regarding you with a calm, measured gaze. "He's not as bad as you think. You just need to get to know him better."

Know him better?

Yeah, that was the least you wanted to do.

"He just accused me of sleeping with you to get into this university!"

The words tumbled out of your mouth, more bluntly than you intended. Your relationship with Geto had always been somewhat informal, feeling more like a friendship. But this level of frankness was a step further than usual. But the anger and frustration boiling inside you made it impossible to hold back.

Geto couldn't suppress a laugh. "Sounds like something he would say," he mused, interlacing his fingers behind his head.

You stopped pacing the room and turned to face him. "Ha?"

"Listen," Geto began. "Gojo is a good man. He's always worked hard, so it might be a little irritating for him to see someone new get the recognition he's worked for years to get."

"But I've worked hard too," you countered.

"I know," Geto leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "That's why I invited you here, to be part of my research team. He'll see your potential sooner or later." A warm smile played on his lips.

"So I just have to wait for his approval?"

"It looks like it," Geto shrugged.

Great.

"Besides we need him on this project, so it's best if you two find a way to get along. You'll learn a lot working with Gojo," he added.

You sighed. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Gojo is not easily impressed. But I have a feeling that you made quite an impression on him with your boldness in the operating room the other day. Not many students would suggest such an approach as you did."

"Is that a compliment?"

"You can take it as one, yes," he replied with a chuckle. He then stood up and began packing his bag. "Oh, and also, we're starting work on the project tomorrow, right after your last class."

Fantastic.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes," he confirmed, nodding. "I think it's best we dive right in. Gojo will be there too, of course. It'll be a good opportunity for both of you to start fresh." His smile widened, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

You couldn't help but feel he was somewhat enjoying the situation.

─── ·✧· ───

The air was filled with the sterile scent of preservatives.

Anatomy class was in full swing, the only sound being the quiet murmur of focused students. You stood at your desk next to Yuta, Maki, and Toge, each of you meticulously dissecting and examining organs under the microscope. But your mind was elsewhere, lost in a blur of thoughts about the research project starting later that day.

As you sliced an organ in half with a practiced hand, your gaze drifted unfocused, the image under the microscope blurring. A wave of nausea washed over you. Perhaps it was the onset of the flu, or perhaps it was a convenient excuse to avoid facing Gojo later.

"Hey, you okay?" Yuta's voice pulled you back to the present. You realized you had been staring blankly at the tissue sample for longer than necessary. 

"Yeah, just thinking about the project later."

Maki glanced over, her eyes sharp behind her safety glasses. "With Dr. Gojo, right? That's going to be—interesting."

You paused. "What do you mean?"

"Dr. Gojo, well, he's notorious for being an ass," Maki said, her focus still on her own dissection. "He's undeniably a genius, but he's also—brutal. He has a way of pushing students to their limits, often too far."

Fantastic. 

Just what you needed to hear.

Your stomach churned. "I had a feeling about that."

"His standards are high, and he's not exactly gentle in his criticism. If you don't meet his expectations, he'll let you know, and not kindly," she continued. "He's made more than a few students question their life choices."

"Yeah, I've heard similar stories. You either meet his expectations or you're pretty much done," Yuta added.

The thought of working with Dr. Gojo was getting more fun by the minute. 

Maybe you should call in sick.

Toge contributed his one-word insight, "God complex," which seemed to perfectly sum up the mood of the conversation about Dr. Gojo.

"But—," Maki interjected, finally looking up, "—he's still the best in his field. If you can handle the pressure, he's undoubtedly the one to learn from."

Yeah, but what was the price for that?

You let out a tired sigh. 

Returning to your task, you carefully aligned the organ under the microscope. Gojo was intimidating, no doubt, but you had worked your ass off to reach this point. You weren't going to back down just because he was a dick. After all, Geto was also working on the project, so how bad could it possibly be then?

You glanced up from the microscope to adjust its focus. However, you couldn't help but notice Yuta. He glanced at Maki over his microscope with this look—that certain look.

Interesting.

─── ·✧· ─── 

"Your idea is just ridiculous!"

"Oh really? Yours is just shit!"

You didn't know how it ended up like this. It was barely two minutes into the discussion about a critical aspect of the research project, and here you were, shouting at each other. The entire lab had gone silent, all eyes glued to the heated exchange. Geto, leaning against a counter, watched the scene unfold with an amused smile playing on his lips.

"Your approach could compromise the entire neural interface integration," you argued. "It's too aggressive and doesn't take into account the potential for neural tissue damage."

Gojo was standing so close, that you could see the flecks of color in his eyes, feel the heat radiating off him. And could probably spit in his face.

Maybe you should do that.

His approach was risky—dangerous even. How could he not see that? 

"It's necessary," Gojo countered. "—playing it safe doesn't always work."

Yeah, you know that. But not in this case, not with this patient. It was borderline reckless.

"There's a fine line between a breakthrough and recklessness," you shot back.

"You're so naive," he retorted, stepping even closer. "You don't understand when it's time to take some risks."

You stared at him. "Taking risks? No, you're just being insane!"

"You—" he started but Geto quickly intervened. 

"Alright, that's enough for now," he said, placing a hand on each of your shoulders, physically creating space between you and Gojo. "Let's take a break."

But Gojo's eyes never left yours, unbroken even as Geto gently shoved him backwards. You stood there, your breath ragged, your heart racing. Around you, the lab slowly came back to life as the others resumed their tasks, occasionally stealing glances in your direction.

"Could you get us some coffee?" Geto asked, pressing a few bills into your hand.

Yeah. Sure.

You nodded. The unexpected surge of adrenaline that had coursed through your veins didn't leave you needing caffeine, but hell, you took anything that would get you away from him. As you made your way out of the lab, you could still feel his gaze on you.

Taking your time, you wandered to the cafeteria. Okay, maybe you just didn't find the way. But you didn't really care. The university was already empty at this hour. The moonlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows that danced along the walls.

By the time you returned to the lab, the coffee had grown cold in your hands. Geto immediately perked up at your return, pushing himself away from his desk and walking over to you. "Ah, great," he said with a smile, taking a cup from your hands. "Thanks."

Your gaze shifted to Gojo, who hadn't moved an inch, his attention seemingly absorbed by the computer screen in front of him. Without a word, you placed his cup on his desk.

The rest of the evening was a blur of lab work, discussions, and planning.

You were focused on analyzing a blood sample to identify specific markers and genetic predispositions to determine if a patient was eligible for research. Normally an easy task, but your concentration began to waver.

Glancing at the clock, you noticed that it was well past midnight. The lab was quiet, most of the equipment was turned off, and the only light was the dim glow of a few workstations. Geto had left some time ago, urging you to do the same, but you stayed. It would take longer to continue your work tomorrow than to finish it now.

However, each test you ran seemed to produce inconclusive or erratic results. You rechecked the protocols, ran the tests again, but the results were still the same. Exhaustion was clouding your judgment, leading you to make mistakes you wouldn't normally make.

After yet another failed attempt, you let out a sigh and rubbed your tired eyes.

How was this so fucking hard all of a sudden?

"Let me help you," said a voice from behind you. It was Gojo. You thought he had already left, or maybe you were just so focused on your own task. You felt his presence close behind you as he leaned in to examine the blood sample results on the screen.

"See here," he said, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. He reached around you to steer the controls, his arms encircling you. Your skin heated. "The centrifugation speed and time must be precisely calibrated. It affects the separation of cellular components, which is critical for accurate marker identification."

You nodded slightly, even though you already knew that. Somehow, you were now a bit ashamed of your own sudden stupidity. As the sample was prepared and placed for analysis, his presence remained close, his body heat and the soft cadence of his breathing a constant distraction. The results started to display on the screen, this time showing the definitive patterns you had been seeking.

"No need to thank me," Gojo said, straightening up—giving you some much-needed air to breathe. "You should go home, it's late."

You glanced at the clock on the wall. Yeah, you should really go home.

As Gojo moved towards the door, he paused briefly, his hand resting on the handle. "Burning out won't do you, or the project, any good."

You watched him for a moment. Somehow, in the dim light, his features softened the usually sharp lines of his face. "Are you concerned?"

"Concerned that you mess this project up," he said with a grin on his lips.

You let out a tired sigh. "Of course."

─── ·✧· ─── 

Another day. Another fight.

The tension in the lab was palpable as you and Gojo stood across from each other. The issue had resurfaced. So had the friction between your methods. Your opposing views seemed like an insurmountable chasm.

"You're not considering the long-term implications of your approach," you insisted, your voice tinged with frustration. "We need to think about patient recovery, not just the immediate results."

"The primary goal is to ensure the success of the procedure. Your 'cautious' tactics might compromise the project's objectives," Gojo retorted.

You bristled at his words. "It's not about being cautious—it's about being thorough and responsible. We can't afford to overlook potential complications."

The debate intensified, each point you made met with a sharp rebuttal from Gojo. As the argument escalated, he took a step closer, his blue eyes locked on yours. "Your method will not work, first-year. Playing it safe will kill this patient."

His proximity was overwhelming, and for a moment, you lost your train of thought, caught up in the intensity of his gaze. "My method will keep him alive," you managed to say, trying to regain your composure.

Before he could respond, you glanced at the clock on the wall and realized with a start that you were late for your class. "I have to go," you said abruptly, the urgency of the situation breaking the tension.

"We're not done with this discussion," Gojo snapped.

"Yeah, whatever," you said as you hurried out of the lab and rushed to your class. 

Gojo let out a low hiss under his breath. As you left the lab, Geto approached him, his expression serious despite the hint of a smile on his lips. Some might say he looked scary.

"Satoru," Geto began. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Gojo turned, his posture stiffening. "About what?"

Geto crossed his arms, leaning back against a lab table. "Could you please stop pissing off my precious student?"

"Ha?" he said, raking a hand through his hair. "Are you seriously siding with her?"

"I am," Geto confirmed. "I wanted her on this project because she and I are on the same page."

"Of course you are."

"Satoru, I don't want to throw you off this project, so please try to find a middle ground with her. Give her a chance."

Gojo exhaled sharply, the lines on his face softening slightly. "Your approach is too cautious. It won't work."

Geto maintained his calm demeanor. "We'll see."

"Fine," Gojo finally conceded. "I'll try to—work with her. On one condition."

"And what's that?" Geto asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We do it my way if your approach doesn't work," Gojo said.

"Fair enough."

Gojo looked away, his gaze settling on the empty space where you had stood moments before. There was a brief pause, his mind racing.

"Suguru, what exactly do you see in her?" Gojo asked after a while.

"Hm?" Geto looked at Gojo thoughtfully. "She has potential, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah, potential," Gojo echoed, his voice trailing off slightly.

Geto tilted his head.

─── ·✧· ───

The sun streamed through the windows of the anatomy classroom, casting a warm glow across the rows of desks. Despite the bright light, your eyelids felt heavy, the endless fights with Gojo replaying in your mind and robbing you of much-needed energy.

You sat beside Yuta, Maki, and Toge, struggling to focus on the lecturer's words. 

"Rough day?" Yuta whispered.

You propped your head up with one hand, blinking rapidly in a vain attempt to clear the fog of fatigue. "More like a rough week."

"You look like shit," Maki remarked.

"Thanks."

As the lecturer continued discussing the intricacies of human anatomy, your thoughts drifted back to Gojo. Despite all the arguments you had with him, all you could think about was the memory of his intense gaze, his closeness, his soft voice, even his scent. It made it impossible to concentrate on the lecture.

Yuta nudged you gently when you almost nodded off, your head dipping forward. "You really should get some rest after this."

Suddenly, an announcement woke you up in an instant.

"Now we'll do a quick test." Dr. Ieiri announced. "It's crucial for your upcoming exams."

A collective groan echoed through the class. You froze, your heart sinking. A test was the last thing you needed right now.

Yuta turned to you. "You got this," he said, trying to offer some encouragement.

You weren't so sure. 

As the test papers were distributed, you stared blankly at the questions. Your mind, usually sharp and focused during exams, felt sluggish and unresponsive. One by one, you read through the questions, trying to recall the knowledge you knew was hopefully buried somewhere in your tired brain.

Fuck.

It was all questions about something like skin, bones and that shit. You could recall every little detail about the brain, but bones? Fuck, you really should have paid attention in that class.

Panic set in as you realized that you might actually fail this test.

─── ·✧· ───  

1:07 AM.

You were still wide awake.

Tossing and turning, you found sleep elusive. Everything that had happened lately was replaying in your mind. You had barely been in Tokyo for a few weeks and your life was already so different. You barely had time to fix up your apartment, the moving boxes still there, waiting to be opened. And then the anatomy test—

You needed a distraction, something to focus on that wasn't your own disappointment.

So you decided to head back to the university lab. Maybe immersing yourself in work would help clear your head. The quiet, empty streets at this hour were oddly comforting as you drove to the campus. Upon arriving at the lab, you were surprised to see the lights already on. You pushed the door open, stepping into the familiar space.

No way.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, unable to hide your surprise.

Gojo hunched over a microscope, deeply engrossed in his work. He looked up, his expression one of mild annoyance. "I could ask you the same," he replied.

Nice.

Even in the lab, it seemed you couldn't escape his presence. He was always there, haunting both your mind and your reality.

"You shouldn't work so late. You're still a student," Gojo remarked.

You glanced at him. "Yeah, you've already told me that. But I want this project to work just as much as you."

Gojo looked your way, his striking blue eyes catching the dim lab light. "Don't you ever take a break? Go out? Maybe party or so?"

You observed him for a moment. His hair was disheveled, giving him a more relaxed, approachable look than usual. "I'm not really into the party scene," you admitted.

"I guessed as much," he responded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he returned his focus back to his work.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, somewhat hurt.

"It's not a criticism, just an observation."

Setting up at a nearby workstation, you began reviewing some data on a patient you were about to perform surgery on. He was the first to receive a transplant directly into his cerebral cortex, hoping to bypass the damaged spinal cord and allow direct brain control of a prosthetic limb.

It was the first time such an operation had ever been performed. And Geto would be the one to do the surgery. Gojo would have normally, but he refused. He was still convinced it was the wrong approach. Even though all the data showed otherwise.

Sipping from your coffee, you glanced over at Gojo, finding a strange comfort in his presence. He worked with a focus and intensity that was almost mesmerizing.

3:23 AM. 

Exhaustion weighed heavily on your eyelids as you completed the final analysis. Now all you had to do was wait for the results. You rested your head on your hand, sinking lower and lower until your head touched the cool surface of the desk. Maybe a short nap wouldn't hurt.

Time passed unnoticed until a gentle touch caressed your cheek. It jolted you from sleep. You flinched slightly, your eyes fluttering open. Your gaze slowly traveled up, finally locking with Gojo's eyes. He stood beside you, his thumb lingering just a moment longer on your skin, stroking lightly over your cheek.

"You hungry?"

You straightened up, pulling back a little. Suddenly conscious of the close proximity. A warm flush spread across your cheeks.

Gojo pulled up a chair, turned it backwards and faced you. He unwrapped a small meal he had brought from a nearby bakery, the scent of fresh pastries filling the air. 

There was a casual ease to his movements. Like everything he did. Whether he was slicing through a brain or just existing. He always seemed so unbothered. As if he knew he would never fail at anything anyway.

Blinking tiredly, you rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the lingering veil of sleep. As you moved, a jacket slipped from your shoulders. His jacket. He must have draped it over your shoulders while you slept. It smelled like him.

"Keep it," he said before you could part your lips. "The body cools down after sleep."

"Always the doctor, aren't you?" you replied with a hint of a smile, pulling the jacket back around your shoulders. "Thank you."

Reaching for the pastry he had brought, you became acutely aware of his gaze. The intensity in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine.

"Tell me something about yourself."

"What do you want to know?" you asked, taking a bite of the pastry.

"Everything."

You chuckled. "That would take a while."

"I've got time."

You hesitated for a moment, feeling his gaze still intently on you.

"Tell me how Suguru found you," he continued.

"Back in my hometown, I was already in medical university, working on a research project about a specific type of brain tumor called glioblastoma multiforme. My mentor at the time encouraged me to publish a paper on my findings. It seems that Geto stumbled upon my work. That's how I ended up here."

"Impressive," he said. "Why this specific type of brain tumor?"

A lump formed in your throat. "Because my father died of it."

Gojo paused, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to read your thoughts.

"My father was a neurosurgeon, too. I practically grew up in operating rooms," you continued.

"Why did he die?"

The directness of his question caught you slightly off guard. You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. 

"The tumor was too aggressive. The surgery was useless, he knew that, but he wanted it anyway. They tried a radical surgery to remove as much of the tumor as possible while preserving vital brain function. But it failed. My father was just dead meat breathing after the surgery. My mother never got over that loss. I think she lost her mind."

The gruesome edge of your words surprised him, his eyes widening slightly. You looked away, unable to maintain eye contact with Gojo as his stupidly handsome blue eyes seemed to pierce your soul.

Silence stretched between you two.

"I'm sorry," Gojo said eventually.

"It's okay. He's long gone," your eyes lingered on the pastry. "It's what drove me to neurology," you continued, gathering the courage to look up at him. "I wanted to contribute to something that might change outcomes for people like my father."

"Is that why you want to go for the safe approach with the patient in our neuroprosthetics project?"

You thought about it. But it wouldn't help to lie anyway. "Yeah, that's probably it."

Gojo ran his fingers through his hair, releasing a weary exhale.

"Tell me about you now," you said, changing the subject.

He paused, then offered a brief, wry smile. "Not married, no girlfriend, no kids."

"That's not really what I meant."

"Sure?" he teased, the corners of his mouth turning up in a playful smile.

"Why not?" you asked him. This was indeed interesting. He was handsome. Tall. Barely in his thirties. A famous neurosurgeon. He was basically the whole package. Except—

"No time, I guess," he said.

"What a lame excuse," you retorted, leaning back in your chair. You stretched your arms above your head, trying to relieve the tension that had built up in your muscles. A slight smile lingered on your lips as you added, "I guess you're just too much ego for any woman to handle."

"Oh, sweetheart," Gojo replied, the nickname rolling off his tongue with a natural ease. "I suspect you have just as much ego as me."

Suddenly, Gojo stood up and closed the distance between you. You remained seated, looking up at him, your heart rate quickening. For a moment, he just stood there, looking down at you. The intensity in his gaze was palpable, and you found yourself caught in it, unable to look away. The room seemed to shrink, the space between you charged.

Then, leaning in, Gojo brought his face close to yours, his breath a whisper against your ear. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine. "Bad for you," he murmured softly, his voice a low rumble, "I do like arrogant woman."

Before you could respond, he straightened up. "Good night," he said. "You should get some sleep."

With that, he turned and walked out of the lab, leaving you sitting there. The air seemed to shift back to normal as the door closed behind him. 

─── ·✧· ─── 

Your legs hurt. Your back hurt. Your hips hurt. Your neck hurt.

Everything hurt.

You stood on the sidelines of the operating room for nearly 6 hours. Standing still on the same spot. You'll never get used to that. It's the worst part of the job. But it was still a privilege to witness Geto and Gojo in surgery, right?

The room was filled with the sound of beeping monitors and the low murmur of the assisting surgical team. From your vantage point, you had a clear view of the procedure and the surgeons. They worked together with a quiet efficiency that was fascinating. 

However, as you watched, something about Gojo caught your attention. His movements seemed slightly off. You started noticing it about an hour ago. But no one said anything. His hair was drenched in sweat and clung to his forehead. You could see the slight trembling in his hands, almost imperceptible.

Something was definitely off.

Your gaze lingered on him, studying his every move.

"First-year."

Gojo suddenly paused and looked up, his eyes meeting yours. You flinched slightly, as he caught you starring at him. "You want to try the next part?" he asked, his voice cutting through the hum of the operating room.

Was he serious?

Before you could reply, Geto interjected, "Satoru, are you joking? She's still a student."

Gojo's gaze didn't waver from you. "I know. But you said she's your best student," he replied his lips twitching with a smile. "I want to test that."

"You've done aneurysm surgery before, back in your hometown, right?" Gojo asked you.

Did he google you or what?

"Yes," you replied.

"Then step forward," he said.

You hesitated. Your gaze drifted to Geto for confirmation. Geto hesitated, then gave a slight nod.

Heart pounding, you stepped forward to the operating table. A rush of adrenaline surged through you. You took the offered surgical tools with a steady hand from Gojo, his eyes locked with yours. "We're going to work on clipping the aneurysm now. You've done it before, right?"

"Yes," you replied, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.

"Good." He moved closer, positioning himself so he could guide you while still giving you control. "Start with an incision here," he instructed, pointing to a specific area on the patient's brain with his own instrument.

You could feel his gaze over your shoulder; the warmth of his body near yours. As you made the initial incision, Gojo moved even closer. "Now, carefully dissect the tissue to expose the aneurysm," he continued.

Your hands worked around the fragile brain. You did surgery before. Yes. But this was another level. Every eye of every nurse and doctor in the room was on you. Geto was monitoring the patient's data. He glanced at you from time to time, his expression unreadable. But you were at least three inches deep into a human brain, so there was no way out anyway.

After that, you would certainly have to vomit from the adrenaline.

At one critical point, your hands hesitated. Your heart almost exploded. In that moment, you could either kill this patient or save him. "Calm down," Gojo said, so low and close to your ear that only you could hear it. Gojo's hand cupped yours gently. "You're doing fine. Trust yourself," he murmured. His touch was brief, but it was enough to ground you for a moment.

Sweat trickled down your forehead as you isolated the aneurysm and prepared it for clipping.

"Good," he whispered.

Finally, as you placed the clip on the aneurysm and secured it, a wave of accomplishment washed over you. Hell, you really did it.

"Congratulations, an excellent clipping," Gojo said, his lips forming a smile. "You can step back now."

"Thank you, Dr. Gojo," you whispered. As you stepped back, a wide smile spread across your face, hidden beneath the mask but undeniable in the sparkle of your eyes.

Gojo took the lead again to close up the patient. But his gaze shifted to you every now and then.

Geto's eyes narrowed.

─── ·✧· ───

"You did a good job in there."

Gojo glanced in your direction as you both washed up in the scrub room after the operation.

"Thanks," you replied, meeting his eyes.

"I may have underestimated you," he said, his lips curving into a teasing smile.

Wait? Was that a compliment? From him?

Before you could respond, the door to the scrub room burst open. Geto stormed in, his face flushed with anger. He tore off his scrubs and threw them into the trash with a thud that made you flinch.

"We need to talk, Satoru," he said sharply. His intense gaze was fixed solely on Gojo, as if you weren't even there.

Shit.

Gojo calmly turned off the tap and reached for a towel, drying his hands with deliberate slowness. His face was an unreadable mask. He gave you a brief glance before following Geto out of the room.

"Don't you dare fuck my student," Geto hissed before the door had even fully closed behind them. But it didn't matter anyway, you could hear their voices through the thin walls.

Gojo leaned back against a table. His arms crossed over his chest. "What are you getting at?"

"Don't try to fuck with me, Satoru. I've seen the way you look at her."

"I supervised her, so that she wouldn't kill the patient. That's all you saw."

"Supervision?" Geto's voice was sharp. "Since when do you let a student handle such a crucial part of a surgery? What's gotten into you? What if she had screwed up?"

Gojo's eyes narrowed. "What's your problem? She's proven herself capable, and she performed brilliantly today, don't you think?"

Geto advanced a step, closing the distance between them. His frustration palpable. "This isn't like you, Satoru. You're blurring lines that should remain clear. She's a student. You're supposed to be her mentor, not—not whatever you're turning this into."

The room went silent.

"Your concern is noted, but misplaced," Gojo said. "My interest in her is purely professional. She has potential, real potential, and it's my job to support that."

Geto's expression hardened. "That's right, she has potential, and you're risking that if you can't keep your hands off her."

"What?" Gojo pushed away from the table. "Because you want her for yourself?"

"I can't believe you'd go there," Geto snapped back. "I brought her here because she's damn good at what she does, not for any other reason."

Gojo's face tightened, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "You should know me better, Suguru. I was giving her a shot to show her skills, that's all."

In a sudden move, Geto closed the distance and grasped Gojo's shirt, pulling him forward. Their faces were just inches apart. "Listen, Satoru," Geto said. "I'm dead serious. One wrong step, one slip, and you could ruin everything—her career, the project, your own reputation. Don't think I'll stand by and watch that happen."

Gojo's eyes met Geto's, unflinching. He placed his hands on Geto's to release his grip. "I hear you, Suguru," he said. "But you're wrong. My interest in her is purely professional."

"Make sure it stays that way," Geto warned. He released his grip and stepped back.

Geto then turned and left the room. Gojo turned his head to look at you through the small window in the door that separated you. Your eyes briefly met his before he also left, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Great.

─── ·✧· ───

This day couldn't get any better.

You stood at the exit of the hospital. It was pouring.

Resigned, you decided to wait near the exit, hoping the rain would stop soon. Minutes passed, but the rain showed no signs of stopping.

"Waiting out the rain?" a familiar voice called out from behind.

You turned to see Gojo appeared. He had changed out of his surgical scrubs and was now in his regular clothes. His muscular arms and broad shoulders visible even under his loose button-down.

"Yeah, it looks like I'm stuck here for a while."

Gojo opened his umbrella. "Come on, I'll walk you to your car."

You hesitated for a moment.

"Suguru already left, don't worry," he added, as if reading your thoughts.

You frowned slightly. "That's not what I was concerned about."

"Then why are you hesitating?" He took a step closer, the umbrella now over you both. He stood at least a head taller than you, looking down at you with heavy eyes. You studied the tired lines in his face, the slight dark circles under his eyes.

"You look tired."

"Do I?" Gojo's voice was deep, his gaze lingering shamelessly on your lips. "Perhaps I am. I've been thinking about you all night."

"Bold statement, especially after Geto's warning."

"I'm not afraid of Suguru."

"Is that why you let me operate today? To piss him off?"

He leaned forward. "I let you operate because you can operate. Suguru is hesitant. He likes to play safe. With me, you'll have more challenge—more fun."

"Are we still talking about surgery?"

"Of course, sweetheart," he replied with a grin. "Come on, It's been a long day. I insist."

"Okay," you finally relented. "Thank you."

You stepped out into the rain together. The umbrella shielded you both as you walked side by side. You walked in silence, the only sound being the gentle drumming of raindrops. Gojo subtly shifted the umbrella, ensuring you were completely covered. His shoulder got wet.

When you reached your car, you turned to him. Somehow you stood so close now. His breath hot against you skin. Your stomach turned slightly, but you tried to brush the feeling off. "Thank you," you said softly, "—for everything today."

"Can I ask you for a favor?" He asked suddenly.

"Sure."

"Can you help me with a project?"

"Another project? Besides the neuroprosthetics?" you asked.

"It's a private one. I could use your assistance with processing data."

"Let me know when and where."

He smiled. "Perfect."

Gojo smoothly opened the car door for you, still holding the umbrella over your head. "Take care," he said gently, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. You both remained frozen. The world outside the umbrella a blur.

"You too," you finally replied, breaking the moment. As you got into your car, you were acutely aware of his eyes still on you.

He closed the door for you and turned.

─── ·✧· ───

"Sorry in advance if this hurts."

You tried to insert the needle, your hand less steady than usual. The needle missed the vein, making Yuta wince. "Sorry," you wiped sweat from your forehead. Then tried again, quickly changing the needle.

A week had passed since the fight between Geto and Gojo. Since then, Gojo hadn't visited the lab. You didn't know what to make of it. But perhaps it was for the better. Less fighting after all. Gojo still didn't approve of your approach.

Still, you couldn't force your mind to stop racing. Perhaps it was the immense workload you had. The research project, not to mention Gojo's personal research project, and inevitably, Gojo himself.

You were in practical class, sitting with Maki, Yuta, and Toge, focusing on a seemingly simple task—practicing drawing blood. But you failed every time.

Yuta gave you a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, you've done this a hundred times."

Yeah. Not really, but you should probably not tell him that right now.

You took a deep breath and tried again. Failed.

"It's alright, give it another go," Yuta said, even after you had stabbed his arm too many times to be comfortable.

The needle slipped again and missed the mark. "I'm sorry, Yuta. I don't know what's wrong with me today."

"Pressure?" Toge asked.

"Yeah, I guess it's a lot lately."

Suddenly, Dr. Kento, the instructor for this practical lesson, appeared behind you. His stoic demeanor sent a shiver down your spine without you having to see it.

"You're really not good at this," he commented bluntly, not really befitting a professor. But it was true.

Forcing a smile, you turned to face him. "Just a bit off my game today."

Dr. Kento's expression remained impassive. "Drawing blood is a basic skill. You should be able to do it in your sleep," he lectured. "But you look like you're torturing your patient."

"Ehh—," you began, turning back to Yuta and only then noticing his pained expression. All color had drained from his face. 

Oops.

Dr. Kento's gaze then swept across the room, capturing the attention of the entire class. "Everyone needs to master this," he continued. "I expect you to be able to do this by the end of the week."

You kidding, right?

It was already Thursday. He basically meant tomorrow.

As if on cue, the bell rang.

You and your friends began to gather your belongings. As the room buzzed with the chatter of students packing up, Yuta brought up a topic that immediately drew everyone's interest.

"Hey, about the sports festival, which team should we join?"

"Sports festival?" you echoed, feeling slightly out of the loop. Your focus on the lab work had left you missing everything else that happened on campus.

Yuta nodded. "Yeah, it's a big event. Every year there's a sports festival in the summer with a bunch of team sports events and competitions."

Toge, usually reserved, showed a flicker of excitement. "Basketball."

"Yeah, the professors usually form a basketball team against the students. Should we join?" Yuta asked.

Maki already scrolled through her phone, looking up the festival details. "We should register then, hmm ... oh the professor team is already full, and .. oh Dr. Gojo and Dr. Geto are in the team."

"I bet they are just as competitive on the court as they are in the OR," Yuta added.

"Join?" Toge asked.

"Sure," Maki commented, scrolling through her phone for more details.

Out of curiosity, you asked, "Does anyone here even play basketball?"

Yuta, scratching his chin thoughtfully, replied, "Well, I've played a bit. And Maki's naturally good at anything, so—" he paused, seemingly realizing what he just said. His face turned a shade redder. "Ehh, I mean, you've played basketball before, right, Maki?"

Maki just shrugged, a confident smirk on her face. "He's not wrong."

"So, are we doing this?" you asked.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Great.

Now you had to learn how to play basketball too.

─── ·✧· ───

Later that day, you found yourself outside Gojo's office, clutching the stack of papers you had prepared for his research project. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you knocked softly before entering.

"Dr. Gojo, I've finished the analysis you requested," you said, placing the papers on his desk.

"Thank you. I'll check these later," he said, not looking up from his computer.

You turned to leave. But just as you reached the door, Gojo's voice halted you.

"Wait."

You paused, turning back to face him.

"Wash your hands. There are syringes and needles in the drawer on the bottom right."

"What?" you asked, not sure what he wanted from you.

He looked up from his computer. "You're embarrassing me," he said bluntly. "You know what Kento said to me earlier? He said, and I quote, 'Are you stupid? How can you let a student operate on the brain who can barely get a needle through skin?'"

You felt a knot forming in your stomach.

"It was just not my day, really," you stammered, trying to defend yourself, though your voice lacked conviction.

"How many times have you done that before?" he asked, his gaze intimidating.

You were lost for words.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he said, more to himself than to you. He stood up from his desk and rolled up his sleeves.

Before you knew it, you found yourself sitting next to him, wearing gloves and poised with a needle in hand. Gojo's arm was outstretched towards you, the veins visible beneath his skin. You stared at his arm. Somehow your mind now completely blank.

"Aren't you going to tie a band around my arm to make my veins more visible first?" he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, right," you muttered, your cheeks flushing. You wrapped the band around his arm and secured it tightly. Your fingers trembled slightly as they touched his firm skin. The contact felt unexpectedly intimate. It made your heart race.

He watched you, his expression softening slightly. "Easy now," he said in a more encouraging tone. "It's not hard. Just focus."

Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your trembling hands. The needle hovered over his vein, and for a moment, you were acutely aware of the silence in the room, punctuated only by the sound of your own erratic heartbeat.

You hesitated.

"Use your little finger against my arm to anchor your hand," he said.

Following his advice, you rested your finger against his skin, feeling a surprising steadiness in your hand.

"And angle the needle slightly," he added. "It's about finding the right entry point—not too steep, not too shallow."

You adjusted the angle of the needle accordingly, aiming for the vein. The tip pierced the skin, and this time, it slid into the vein smoothly. You let out a heavy exhale.

"Good," he said. "Now, draw the blood gently."

As you carefully drew the blood, you could feel Gojo's eyes on your hands, monitoring your technique. Once the procedure was complete and you carefully removed the needle. "Much better," he rolled down his sleeve, a slight arch of his eyebrow. "How is it that you've never really done that before?"

"I don't need to draw blood if I'm operating on the brain," you said with a shrug.

Gojo watched you, a stunned expression flickering across his face.

"The nurses usually handle that anyway," you added, hoping to clarify your point.

There was a moment of silence as he processed what you just said. Finally, he shook his head slightly. "I'm just going to ignore what you just said," he replied.

Changing the subject, he leaned back in his chair. "By the way, I saw your name on the list for the students' basketball team for the upcoming sports festival."

You raised your eyebrows, peeling off your gloves. "Oh, you did?"

"Yeah," he said, a playful glint appearing in his eyes. "I didn't know you played basketball. But I have to admit, I'm curious to see if you're as good at basketball as you are at clipping aneurysms."

"I haven't really played much before, so you might want to lower your expectations," a small smile tugged at your lips. "Have you played before?"

"I used to play pretty regularly when I was in universtiy," he said.

Great.

If he was anywhere near as good at basketball as he was at surgery, you were fucked.

"You should teach me then," you quipped, not quite meeting his gaze. As the words left your lips, you immediately realized the implication. You turned to him, a blush coloring your cheeks. "It's just a joke."

His smile widened. "Oh really? Too bad, I'd have liked that."

The room fell into silence.

You found yourself staring at him, and he returned your gaze.

His silver hair had a few strands that were slightly out of place. Your eyes studied his face as if seeing it for the first time. The typical intensity in his blue eyes had softened, replaced by an almost gentle expression. His sharp jawline moved slightly, as if he were pondering something.

Breaking the silence, you finally spoke, your voice softer than intended. "I wonder what you were like back in your university days."

"Why do you ask?"

"It's hard to imagine you not being the controlled surgeon you are now."

"You think I'm controlled?"

"No, that's not what I meant," you hurried to clarify. "I mean, you're always so focused, so—precise, and—"

Before you could finish, he leaned in closer, his intense gaze holding you captive. The world around you seemed to fade into a blur, leaving only the two of you in sharp focus. You could feel the warmth of his breath, barely a whisper away from your skin.

Gojo reached out, his hand gently cupping your chin. He lifted your face slightly, ensuring your eyes met directly.

"If you keep looking at me like that, I might lose my control sooner than you'd expect," he said, his thumb lightly brushing your jawline.

After a moment that seemed to stretch on, he slowly withdrew his hand and stepped back, breaking the connection. He turned away from you and walked back to his desk. "Thank you for your work. You can leave now."

─── ·✧· ───

The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the university's outdoor basketball court. Maki, Toge, Yuta, and you had gathered for practice, despite the lingering summer heat.

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," you said, dribbling the basketball on the sun-baked concrete. "None of us are exactly pros."

Maki, tying her hair back, grinned. "Speak for yourself. I've got some hidden talents." She effortlessly caught the ball and shot it toward the hoop, scoring a basket. "See?"

Yuta laughed and retrieved the ball. "That's just beginner's luck, Maki. Watch and learn." He took a shot, but the ball bounced off the rim.

"Practice," Toge said.

"Yeah, we really need more practice," you finished his sentence.

"Hey, watch this!" Yuta called out, attempting a fancy dribble move, only to lose control of the ball. It rolled away, and Toge scooped it up and passed it back with a short, "Focus."

"You're one to talk," Maki teased, swiping the ball from Toge and lobbing it towards the basket. It swished through the net effortlessly. "I still got it!"

You caught the ball and wiped the sweat from your brow. "I never thought we'd be practicing basketball as medical students."

Maki turned to you with a curious look. "Speaking of training, how's the research going? You've been spending a lot of time with Geto and Gojo."

You began to dribble the ball, more or less. "It's intense, but I'm learning a lot. Dr. Geto is incredibly intelligent, and well, working with Dr. Gojo is—an experience."

"An experience, huh?" Maki said with a grin "Is that code for 'Dr. Handsome has some unique ways of teaching me'?"

You flinched. Yuta quickly snatched the ball from your unfocused grip and shot it through the net.

"Dr. Handsome?" you echoed.

Maki opened a bottle of water. "Don't tell me he's not good-looking—they both are."

"I mean, they both definitely have their—charm, I guess."

"Charm, huh?" Maki teased, taking a sip of her water. "I've seen the way Dr. Gojo looks at you. There's definitely something."

"It's not like that," you protested, though your defensive tone might have suggested otherwise. "He's just an incredible surgeon to work with, that's all."

"He did let you operate with him, though. That's all I'm saying," Maki added.

"Aneurisym," Toge chimed in.

Yuta, bouncing the ball beside you, added, "Yeah, he let you operate on an aneurysm with him, which is pretty crazy."

You rolled your eyes. "Can we focus on the festival game instead of me?"

Maki laughed. "Alright, alright, we'll drop it. But seriously, how's the project going? I mean, besides the whole Dr. Handsome thing."

Yeah, where to start on that.

Taking a deep breath, you told them more about the research project. 

─── ·✧· ───

As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of orange and pink. You were still on the basketball court, practicing your shots. The others had already left. The court was quiet, except for the rhythmic bounce of the basketball and the occasional swish of the net.

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through. "Hey, First-year."

Startled, you turned to see Gojo approaching the court. He was dressed in athletic attire—a black, skin-tight t-shirt and shorts that looked criminally good on him.

"Dr. Gojo," you said, a bit surprised to see him there. "I didn't expect to see you practicing."

He picked up a basketball and began dribbling with ease. "I like to keep my skills sharp," he said, shooting a casual glance in your direction. "And I heard there was a new challenger on the students team."

You let out a tired sigh. "I'm just trying to make sure I don't embarrass myself too much at the festival," you admitted.

"Have more confidence in yourself, first-year. You're operating on brains, there's no room for doubts." Gojo shot the ball towards the hoop, scoring effortlessly. "And by the way, stop calling me Dr., just Gojo is fine."

"Alright, Gojo," you said.

Gojo passed the ball to you with a casual flick of his wrist. "Come on, first-year. Show me what you've got."

A cold shiver ran down your skin. Oddly, having to demonstrate your non-existent basketball skills felt more intimidating than clipping an aneurysm in front of him.

You positioned yourself at the three-point line, bouncing the ball a few times to find your rhythm. With a deep breath, you aimed and threw the ball, but it bounced off the rim and rolled away.

Gojo walked over to retrieve the ball. "Yeah, you'll definitely embarrass yourself if you play like that."

Ouch.

"Can you do anything besides brain surgery?" he probed further.

Ouch.

"You know that hurts," you said.

"It's all about posture and precision," he said, closing the distance between you two. He halted just before you. "May I?"

With a nod, you consented. He moved in closer, positioning himself directly behind you. His presence enveloping you in a comforting warmth. He smelled like sweat, but oddly, you found it rather attractive. 

You could feel the light touch of his hands as they gently guided your shoulders, aligning your stance with the hoop. His closeness was suffocating, and you found yourself acutely aware of every movement he made.

"Bend your knees a bit more," he advised, his voice a soothing whisper near your ear. You could feel his breath, warm and steady, against the side of your neck, causing your heart to beat faster. His hands moved down to adjust your arms. His touch warm against your skin.

You tried to focus on his instructions. But the closeness of his body, the gentle pressure of his hands on your arms, made it damn hard to concentrate on anything other than him. 

"Now, when you shoot, focus on a fluid motion," he added.

As you prepared to take the shot, Gojo's hands rested lightly on your hips, steadying you. You should have pushed them away. Touching you like that was far beyond appropriate. But you didn't. You wanted him to touch you even more in that moment.

With his guidance, you took the shot, and this time the ball sailed through the net with a satisfying thud.

"You see? You have it in you," Gojo said, leaning back slightly but still close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him.

You turned to face him, meeting his gaze. Your heart immediately dropped.

Even in the waning light you could see it clearly.

"Are you high?" you asked, a slight frown creasing your forehead.

For a moment, Gojo seemed taken aback by your question. He quickly masked his expression with a casual smile and stepped back, creating some distance between you. He began to dribble the basketball, his movements fluid and practiced, yet there was a hint of unease in his actions.

"It's nothing," he said, focusing intently on the ball rather than meeting your eyes. "Just a small injury during practice."

"And you decided to what? Throw in an opioid for that small injury?" you pressed.

He stopped dribbling and faced you, his expression becoming more serious. "No, of course not," he replied with a hint of defensiveness. "It's just a minor strain. I didn't take anything strong for it."

You couldn't believe what he just said. He—a surgeon—a doctor—out of all people.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, it's been a long day, and I might have pushed myself a bit too hard. But I'm fine, really."

You studied him closely. "You expect me to believe that?" you took another step closer. "What did you really take? Codeine? Morphine?"

A flicker of something undefinable passing through his eyes. "You're crossing a line," he replied, his tone firmer this time.

"Me? Crossing a line?" you countered. "Since the first day we met, you've been pushing boundaries, and now you say I'm the one overstepping?"

Gojo's expression hardened. "I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I am perfectly fine." His words were steady, but the slight tightness in his jaw suggested otherwise.

You didn't buy anything he just said. The feeling that something was off clung to you, refusing to be dispelled. His usual clarity seemed clouded, his sharpness dulled. His eyes slightly red. His skin paler than usual. It was unsettling to see him like this.

After a brief pause, he picked up the basketball and held it loosely at his side. "I think we're done here," he said. "You should go home."

You watched him for a moment longer. But then you decided to turn and walk away, leaving him alone on the court. As you made your way, his words replayed over and over in your mind. 

Was something wrong with him? 

Should you be worried?

After all, you worked together. And also—naturally—you were worried about him, right? Like any student would be worried about his professor, right?

The evening air suddenly felt so cold.

─── ·✧· ───

The lab was quiet except for the occasional hum of machinery and the soft clinking of your tools as you worked. You were deep in concentration, analyzing data for the upcoming neuroprosthetics project, when the door opened with a soft click.

"Ah, there you are," Geto said as he stepped in. "I've been searching for you. We've finally got the green light for our surgery. Everything's lined up and ready to go."

You straightened up, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "Really? That's great. When?"

Geto walked over to your workstation, a subtle smile on his face. "In two weeks. Are you excited?"

"More like nervous."

"Ah, that's natural. But don't worry, it will work. You've done an excellent job."

You felt a swell of pride at his words. "Thank you. I'm glad I could help."

Still, there was a question on the tip of your tongue, something you had been pondering since last week. Hesitantly, you opened your mouth, but then stopped. Words failed you.

"What is it?" Geto asked, knowing you too well.

"Is something wrong with Gojo?"

He leaned against the table and crossed his arms. His expression shifted slightly. "Don't worry about him. He's just stressed lately."

Somehow you didn't buy it.

"Even so, you shouldn't get that close to him."

"I'm not—" you wanted to interject, but he cut you off.

"I'm not blind," he said firmly. "You have a bright future in science. Don't risk it by getting too involved with him. Satoru is a brilliant surgeon, but his personal life is a mess."

What should that mean?

You looked away, unsure how to respond.

Geto then changed the subject. "By the way, I have some more news for you—good and bad. Which would you like to hear first?"

"The good news, of course," you replied.

"Here," Geto said, handing you a journal. As you took it, the bold lettering on the cover immediately caught your eye. It featured an article written by Gojo.

You opened the journal, your heart racing as you skimmed the pages to find the article. And there it was—a comprehensive meta-analysis that you, too, had worked on.

"No way," you murmured, your eyes scanning the text in disbelief.

Below the article was your name, listed alongside Gojo's, credited for your pivotal role in the data analysis and interpretation.

"He mentioned me." 

Geto nodded, a hint of pride in his expression. "That's a pretty big deal."

You were momentarily speechless. Being credited alongside someone as renowned as Gojo was insane.

"Now for the not-so-good news," Geto began.

You looked up at him from the Journal, your eyes still sparkling.

"You failed your anatomy exam."

─── ·✧· ───

The sports festival was in full swing.

Cheers and laughter filled the university campus. The summer heat beat down relentlessly. You already felt a little nauseous that day, and the sun only made it worse. Yeah, you weren't really cut for the heat. At least the bleachers were partly shaded.

You sat quietly besides with Maki, Yuta, and Toge, watching various events unfold on the field. Despite the lively atmosphere, you couldn't bring yourself into the festive spirit. Your mind was elsewhere.

Maki nudged you gently. "Still thinking about the exam?"

You sighed. "Yeah, I have to pass the next one, or I'll have to do this year again."

Yuta leaned over. "You'll go it, I'm sure. Plus, you got mentioned in Dr. Gojo's paper—that's huge!"

"Huge," Toge said again to underline it even more.

You managed a small smile. "I hope you're right."

Maki patted your back. "Dr. Handsome will sure put in a good word for you."

You sighed again. "Not this topic again."

Suddenly, the announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, announcing that the basketball match between students and professors will begin shortly.

Yuta turned to you and the others. "Looks like it's our turn. Let's start getting ready."

You nodded, through a wave of nausea washed over you. The heat of the sun was merciless, more intense than you'd expected, and it seemed to be draining your strength by the minute.

Maki stood up. "Alright, team, let's show them what we've got!"

Should you vomit now, or later—or both?

Having changed into your sports attire, you joined your teammates on the basketball court. You began to warm up your muscles, even though the heat made that almost unnecessary. You felt your face burn. Nausea churned in your stomach. 

You paused, closing your eyes for a moment, hoping it would pass.

Then, the professors' team made their entrance onto the court. Among them were Geto and Gojo. They began dribbling and passing the ball between them, occasionally doing stretches that showcased their well-built bodies.

They looked confident.

You calculated the odds of how badly this match might go for your team.

Why did you even sign up for this?

Your gaze inadvertently met Gojo's across the court. For a fleeting second, your eyes locked, sending a wave of unease through you. You haven't spoken to him since. Quickly, you averted your gaze and focused back on your stretches.

As Gojo and another professor continued their warm-up, they passed the ball back and forth, aiming for the net. Then a shot from Gojo missed its mark, sending the ball rolling your way. 

As if he ever missed a shot.

The ball stopped at your feet, and before you could react, Gojo was there, sprinting up to retrieve it. He halted right in front of you. "You don't look good," he said, his voice so low that only you could hear it.

"I'm fine," you said. "I think it's just the heat."

Gojo reached out, his hand cool against your forehead. "You're overheating."

You quickly pushed his hand aside. "You might want to keep a professional distance, don't you think?" The words came out sharper than intended.

Gojo frowned slightly. "You should sit this one out."

"I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I am perfectly fine," you responded, mirroring his words back at him.

He took a step closer. "You're stupid, you know that?"

Before you could respond, Geto's voice called out from across the court. Gojo turned at the sound. "Coming!" He gave you a last look before quickly walking away. You watched them do a stupid boyish handshake as Gojo rejoined Geto.

At least he was not high today, you thought.

The crowd was already roaring with cheers and applause as both teams lined up. They all here to witness my downfall, you thought, struggling against the nausea that threatened your focus. 

Right off the bat, Gojo weaved through your team's defense, fluid and precise. He flicked the ball to Geto, who faked left and then took a clear shot, scoring the first basket of the game. The crowd erupted.

Yuta sprinted down the court and dribbled past Gojo. He passed the ball to you, and you took your chance at a three-pointer. The ball arced beautifully, but it rimmed out at the last second. 

At least you tried, right?

Not missing a beat, Toge snagged a pass from a professor and pivoted into a counterattack. He found Maki open. She didn't disappoint, scoring a layup to tie the game. Your team was holding up surprisingly well, mostly thanks to your friends' efforts.

Then, Geto feinted, passing to an open Gojo. With a swift move, Gojo scored another point, eliciting a fresh wave of cheers from the spectators. But Yuta was quick to follow, dribbling down the court. He passed to Maki, who nailed another crucial basket, closing the score gap.

In the final minutes, the game was deadlocked. Gojo had the ball, expertly evading your teammates defensive efforts. He made a break for the basket. Yuta, determined to block him, overreached and stumbled backwards, heading straight for you.

You barely had time to brace yourself.

The collision was inevitable. 

Yuta crashed into you, and both of you went tumbling to the ground. The game halting abruptly to the sound of a sharp whistle.

"Are you okay?" Yuta blurted out.

Why was Yuta always running you over?

You rolled over to your side, feeling the heat of the ground beneath you. Everything spun, nausea swirling with pain. "I might need a minute," you managed to say, the world tilting around you.

Almost instantly, Gojo was there, kneeling beside you. "Don't move." He began to examine you for any immediate injuries, his hands tenderly scanning your exposed skin. "You feeling dizzy?"

Your response was a pained sound, a clear sign that you were far from okay. "You might have a concussion. We need to get you checked right away," Gojo said.

"I'm fine," you started to protest, but Gojo had already lifted you into his arms in one fluid motion. He held you close to him. Instinctively, you clung to his neck, feeling the pounding of his heart against your own. It made your stomach clench.

"I'm fine, really," you said again as he carried you off the court.

"Ah shut up, I know you're not." His eyes fixed on you, as if you were the only person who mattered at that moment. "You're really stressing me, you know that?"

─── ·✧· ───

The room felt so small. 

His presence filled the whole space.

"There," Gojo said softly as he inserted the needle into your arm. "This should help with hydration and ease any nausea."

You watched as he secured the needle in place. He adjusted the flow of saline, his eyes meeting yours, a playful smile on his lips. "So much for not needing to handle a needle, huh?"

You rolled your eyes.

Then he cupped your chin and tilted your head back slightly. "Watch the light," he instructed, flicking a small penlight on and off before your eyes. His fingers warm against your skin. "Good," he said, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary.

"Maybe you should stick to brains, instead of sports," he added.

You smiled weakly. "I'll never touch a basketball again in my life, I guess."

His smile widened.

"Thank you," you said quietly.

"No need to," he replied. "Just do me a favor and stop making me worry about you all the time. It's draining."

Your stomach tightened. Gojo turned away and removed his gloves, tossing them into the trash. As the saline drip worked its magic, you began to feel better, the nausea and dizziness slowly receding.

"You mentioned me in your paper," you spoke up, breaking the silence.

Gojo turned to face you, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I did."

"Why?"

"Why wouldn't I? You've done most of the analysis." 

"You could have done it without me."

"I know, but I wanted you to be a part of it."

Knowing that the analysis of such an important issue would get a lot of recognition, he should have added.

"Why?" you asked again, already knowing the answer.

"Because I want to support you."

"But I'm just a student, and you're—" You trailed off, feeling a sudden tightness in your chest. His crystal blue eyes seem to pierce right through you.

"And I'm what?"

He stood up and closed the distance between you, his hands coming to rest on either side of you on the bed. The nearness of his body made your breathing hitch in your throat. The warmth of his presence enveloped you, the subtle scent of his cologne blending with the sterile air.

His face was so close, his lips almost grazing yours. Your heart raced, pounding so loudly in your chest you were sure he could hear it. 

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. "—my professor."

"Too bad, isn't it?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice a velvet caress that sent shivers down your spine.

Your mind raced with a thousand thoughts, a thousand reasons why this shouldn't happen, why you should push him away. But your body betrayed you, leaning into him, closing the distance, seeking the touch of his lips against yours.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you whispered.

"Tell me to stop, and I will."

Your core heated, turning molten. Your lips parted slightly, surrendering to the moment. 

You could tell how much self-control it took for him to not kiss you. You could see it in the way his jaw was set, his brow subtly furrowed, his eyes glued to your lips. Yet, he waited for your consent. 

His lips were a mere breath from yours—so cruelly close. Every fiber of your being yearned for him to close the gap, for him to lose against his self-control.

Suddenly you heard your name and a knock at the door.

The door swung open abruptly. Gojo flinched back, the spell between you broken. Regaining his composure, he stepped back, putting a professional distance between you two. You straightened quickly, trying to hide your flushed face.

You wished desperately that he'd kissed you.

Geto stood in the doorway, his eyes flickering between Gojo and you.

You could tell what he was thinking.

next chapter ->

author's note: thanks for reading and feel free to leave your thoughts !! if you want to be added to the taglist, pls comment on the series masterlist ♡

---

This chapter is ✨perfection✨

symptoms and causes | ch. 15

pairing — professor gojo x med student reader

summary — he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart — and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

word count — 10.9 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, substance abuse/addiction, overdosing, dark and mature themes, self-destructive and abusive behavior, manipulation, moral ambiguity, borderline insane behavior by all involved, heavy angst, panic attacks, (family) trauma, anger issues, fire incident, mentions of death, illness, abuse, and blood, graphic injuries and medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

author's note — hey people, a new chapter yay !! i dont have much to say this time, other than enjoy and thank you for your support and patience. & turn up the music for the second half of the chapter :)

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

Satoru's hands skimmed over your thighs.

His touch was feather-light as he made his way up to your hips. He gripped them gently, his fingers tracing the faint outlines of the red marks on your skin, making you shiver.

His hands continued their lazy exploration, wandering upwards, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your stomach, before ghosting over the bandages around your waist. Each touch was a whisper against the burns beneath his fingertips.

He pulled you closer, your back arching into him as he wrapped a hand around your throat. His grip was gentle but firm, his thumb tracing the line of your carotid artery as he tilted your head back against his shoulder. 

The early morning was quiet, the only sounds were the rustle of the sheets beneath you and the soft, shared breaths that filled the room as Satoru thrust into you. Slowly, lazily. As if he had all the time in the world to savor the feeling of your body against his.

Your hands were still tangled in the sheets, but you managed to free one, reaching up to wrap it around Satoru's neck. You pulled him closer, his lips finding the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing your throat as he moaned against your skin.

You could feel his body straining, his muscles tense as he fought to maintain the slow, lazy pace. His grip on your throat tightened as he pulled you closer still. His moans grew louder, his body stiffening behind you. 

Then, he suddenly rolled over, pulling you with him. It took your sleepy mind a second to catch up, but your body adjusted quickly, your legs wrapping around his hips as you settled on top of him.

Satoru's eyes were still half-lidded, the drowsy haze clinging to his gaze as it met yours. His hands found your hips and guided you into a slow rhythm. He couldn't seem to look away, his eyes locked with yours as he let out a soft, weary moan.

"God, you look so beautiful like this," he breathed.

His hands slid up your body to cradle your face. You leaned down, your hair falling around his face like a curtain. Satoru's fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer for a kiss. It was sloppy and messy, your lips sliding against each other in a lazy, wet tangle. 

You began to move faster, your hips rolling in a more insistent rhythm, chasing the high that was building between you.

Satoru's eyes drew together, a moan escaping his lips as he broke the kiss for a second. You pulled back from his lips, a thread of saliva stretching between you before breaking. His head tilted back, his neck arching as he let out a throaty moan.

His hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging deeper into your skin as he tried to pull you closer. "Ah, fuck," he whispered. "You're so... ah, god." His words were lost in a moan as you picked up speed. 

Satoru's hands slid up to your waist, his fingers tracing the curve of your ribs beneath the soft cloth as he arched into you, his hips meeting yours. His half-lidded eyes never left yours, his gaze smoldering as he watched you move above him.

He then shifted, one hand behind his head, elbow bent as he looked up at you with a languid, sleepy gaze. His pupils were dilated, his mouth slightly parted as his moans filled the air, his chest rising and falling with shaky breaths.

You could feel his body begin to tense, his muscles tightening as he thrust into you, his hips meeting yours. His moans grew louder, more urgent, his head falling back again, his neck straining as he surrendered to the pleasure. 

You felt yourself getting closer, too. 

You leaned back, dragging his cock along your inner wall, your head falling back as you let out a soft moan, your body moving in perfect harmony with his. Your hair cascaded down your back like a waterfall, and Satoru's eyes lazily opened, his gaze locking onto yours as he watched you.

"Fuck, I need you to come on me, love," Satoru breathed, his hand drifting down, fingers brushing against his mouth. He wet them with a quick flick of his tongue before bringing them to your body, finding that sensitive spot. "I need to feel you come on me."

His fingers circled your clit, the touch sending shivers through you. He teased the spot just above where your bodies were joined.

A rush of heat hit you as his fingers worked their magic. "Fuck, Satoru," you moaned, head thrown back, as he continued to circle and tease. His touch was gentle, but it was more than enough to send you spiraling.

You rode him harder, your body moving faster as Satoru's fingers drove you closer to the edge. His eyes were locked on yours, his gaze burning as he watched you. His mouth was slightly open, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath.

"Ah, god," he whispered, his voice barely there. "You're so close. I can feel it. Come for me, love. Come all over me."

His words sent you flying over the edge. 

Heat crashed over you, your body tensing as you came. Your breath caught, a low, keening sound escaping you, echoing through the room. Satoru's fingers kept circling, slower now, his thumb moving just slightly when you twitched, prolonging your high.

As the final waves of your orgasm faded, your head fell forward, your hair cascading around your face. Your hands came to rest on Satoru's chest, fingers splayed out as you tried to catch your breath. You sat like that for a moment, your body trembling.

Satoru slowly sat up, his body shifting beneath you as he pulled you into his lap. You felt him twitch inside you. "You did so good for me," he whispered, his voice husky. "So good and so fucking beautiful when you come."

He leaned in to kiss you, his lips warm and gentle as they brushed against yours. But as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slid into your mouth, hot and wet, sending shivers down your spine as he explored your mouth.

A rush of need hit you once more as Satoru's tongue tangled with yours, his kiss growing deeper and more intense. His hands cradled your face, his fingers gentle as he held you in place. You felt like you were melting into him, your body yielding to his as he kissed you.

Suddenly, he moved. He brought you down to lay on your back, and you let yourself be guided, like water in his hands as he gently lay you down against the sheets.

As you settled into the mattress, Satoru's body followed, his chest pressing against yours as he continued to kiss you. You felt his hands move, his fingers tracing the curve of your body. His touch was gentle, soothing, before he gripped your thighs tightly to push them wide.

And then, he pushed inside you again, his hips pressing against yours as he filled you once more. His one hand was on your thigh, the other coming up near your head to steady himself.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned. "I could fuck you like this all day."

He started to move, his moans growing louder once more, husky and needy, seeming to vibrate through every cell in your body. His eyes were closed, his face contorted in pleasure and concentration as he focused on the feeling of being inside you.

His body was tense, muscles flexed as he moved, his hips rolling in a slow, sensual rhythm that seemed to build with every passing second.

He leaned back on his knees, his body shifting as he draped one of your legs over his shoulder. The other leg was spread wide, your body open and exposed to him.

He looked down at you, his eyes glued to where your bodies were connected. You could see the heat in his gaze, the pleasure of watching himself disappear inside you as he slowly pushed himself deeper and deeper, his eyes never leaving the sight of his cock disappearing inside your body. "Fuck, you're so beautiful."

He reached out with one hand and pressed onto your lower stomach, his fingers splayed out as he felt the low bulge of his cock inside you. He savored the sensation, his eyes fluttering shut as he thrust into you.

And then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he came. His body tensed, muscles straining as he came. But instead of the usual quick, intense release, Satoru's orgasm seemed to be slow and drawn out.

He seemed to savor the sensation, drawing it out as he slowly thrust into you again and again. Satoru's head fell back, eyes closed, brows drawn together, his Adam's apple bobbing as his mouth hung open. 

A bit of sweat ran down his neck and chest, glistening in the dim light of the room as he seemed to milk his high for all it was worth, broken moans spilling from his lips.

You could feel his body trembling, his muscles twitching as he released his load inside you. You moaned, your voice barely audible as you felt his hot cum fill you.

As Satoru slowly came back down from his high, he caught his breath and pushed back his damp hair from his forehead. He looked at you with a lazy, satisfied grin. "Good morning, first-year."

You smiled back at him. "Good morning, professor."

Satoru chuckled, the sound husky. "Mm, I could get used to waking up like this." He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips. "Next to you, getting to fuck you like this."

His smile grew wider, eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached down and grasped his dick, fingers wrapping around his shaft as he slowly pulled out of you. His cum dripped out of you and onto the sheets as he pulled back.

Satoru watched for a second before his hand reached down and lazily let his fingers slide up and down your core, gathering his cum before pushing his fingers inside you. You moaned, the feeling on your still sensitive core almost too much.

He leaned down between your parted legs, his mouth lowering to your sex. His tongue flickered out, tasting you. Your thighs immediately clamped around his head, holding him in place as his tongue danced across your sensitive flesh. Your hands flew to his hair, gripping it tightly as you pulled him closer.

Satoru moaned, his breath hot against you as he continued to lick and suck at your clit, his fingers pumping lazily into you. You felt yourself getting wet all over again, your body responding to Satoru's touch like it was made for him.

You felt your body begin to tense again. You were going to come, and you knew it. Satoru's tongue was too skilled, too insistent, and you were too sensitive.

You tried to hold back, but it was no use. Your body betrayed you, releasing a flood of heat as you came again. Satoru's mouth was still on you, drinking in your juices as you rode out the waves of your orgasm.

As you came down from your high, Satoru slowly pulled back, his mouth leaving your sex with a soft pop. He looked up at you, eyes gleaming with satisfaction, as he licked his lips and smiled.

Just then the alarm clock went off. 

Satoru's eyes snapped towards the clock, his face contorting in annoyance and frustration. "Ah, damn it." He quickly reached over to silence the alarm. "No round two then." He groaned, his body flopping back onto the bed as he covered his face with his hands. 

"I don't want to get up," he said, his voice muffled by his palms.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, still trying to catch your breath. A playful smile tugged at your lips as you gently ran your hand up and down his still heavily rising chest. "Come on, professor. You have a class to teach, remember?"

"Don't remind me." Satoru's hands dropped away from his face, revealing a pair of bleary, sleep-deprived eyes. "And you have a class to attend, by the way." He looked at you. "And it's not gonna be easy."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? And why's that?"

"Let's just say I'm planning a little surprise exam in neurology today."

"You can't scare me with neurology," you retorted, a playful challenge in your voice. "There's nothing I don't know."

Satoru's grin widened. "Oh really? Then it'll be fun to test your limits."

"Bring it on, professor. I'm not afraid of a little challenge."

"Oh really?" He leaned closer. With a swift movement, he pushed you back onto the bed, his hands reaching for your wrists, pinning them above your head. He leaned down, his face inches from yours. "Good. Because I plan on pushing you."

"I'm ready."

"Let's see about that. Just so you know, fucking the professor of this course is not going to get you extra credit."

"I wouldn't dream of."

He leaned in once more, capturing your lips in a final, lingering kiss. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he pulled away. "We should probably get going," he said. "Or we'll both be late."

─── ·✧· ───

You both scrambled to get ready. 

A quick shower, and then you found yourself in the kitchen, the tangy and bitter scent of coffee filling the air. You stood by the counter, your shirt tucked up under your arm, cradling a steaming mug in one hand while scrolling through the news on your phone with the other.

Satoru stood before you, his touch gentle as he carefully began to unwrap the bandage from your waist. You winced slightly, the fabric peeling away to reveal the tender skin beneath.

"Anything good in the news?" he asked, his attention focused on your injury.

You sipped your coffee, the bold flavor waking you up. "Let's see." You glanced at the headlines. "Some new study about gut bacteria and mental health, updates on solar panel rules..." You paused, a grin tugging at your lips. "Oh, and apparently there's a cucumber shortage in Iceland."

Satoru snorted. "A cucumber shortage? Now that's a real crisis."

"Yeah, something about some TikTok guy promoting cucumber salads," you explained, still scrolling. "Seems it got a bit out of hand."

"People sure find ways to keep themselves busy, don't they?" He looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours, a softness in his gaze. "Your burns are looking way better, healing faster than I thought."

You smiled. "Well, they were in good hands."

"Wow, a compliment from you? I'm honored." Satoru grinned, snatching your coffee mug and taking a sip before handing it back. You rolled your eyes playfully as he continued tending to your burns. "So, how's the stock market looking today?" he asked casually.

"Wait." Switching to a financial news app, you scanned the headlines and charts. "Hmm, looks like the tech sector is taking a hit. Everyone's still nervous about the election and whether the Fed's gonna lower the interest rates. Are you invested in anything?"

"Yeah, a little bit of everything, Nvidia, AMD, Apple," Satoru mused, his fingers gentle on your skin.

"Looks like Nvidia's down again," you noted, holding up your phone for him to see. "Even after surpassing their quarterly goals."

"Huh." Satoru looked at the screen. "People always want more. The company's already overperforming, but apparently not enough to satisfy the market."

You took another sip from your coffee. "Maybe you should diversify your portfolio more, branch out from tech a bit."

"Ah, it's not really important. It's play money anyway," he shrugged, securing the bandage with a final touch. "It's more for fun."

"You're really the only person who would invest in the stock market just for fun." You eyed him wearily. "Do I even want to know how much money we're talking about?"

Satoru flashed a grin. "Probably best if you don't." He reached for his pill bottle, shaking out a single pill. 

One. 

Not two. 

Stable dose. No sedatives. You talked about it. He popped it into his mouth before leaning in to kiss you, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue as it met yours, letting you taste it.

You gave Dog a quick belly rub and a reassuring pat on the head before grabbing your bag and heading out the door with Satoru.

In the car, you donned a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap, hoping to blend in. Satoru raised an eyebrow. "You know, it's not really sunny today."

You glanced at him over your sunglasses. "It's not about the sun, stupid. Wouldn't want to be caught with my professor right before class, would I?

"Fair enough. But maybe ditch the cap with the giant logo of the university I went to, complete with my graduation year on the back. It's a bit of a giveaway." He paused, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Although, I have to admit, you look rather adorable in it."

You rolled your eyes. "Just focus on the road, Professor. Oh, and can we stop by my apartment later today? I need to get my car."

"Sure," he said easily.

A few blocks away from the university, you asked Satoru to pull over. "I'll walk the rest of the way," you said, stepping out of the car. "Wouldn't want anyone seeing us arrive together."

"Alright," he said, leaning over to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. "Good luck with the exam, first-year."

You smiled, your hand resting on the car door. "Don't be too hard on me, Professor."

"I remember times you liked me being very hard with—"

Before he could finish his sentence, you closed the car door, leaving him with a final wave before turning and heading towards the university building, the morning sun warm on your face. 

─── ·✧· ───

You were already out of breath, when the familiar brick facade of the university building loomed ahead. You'd underestimated the distance from where Satoru had dropped you off. You looked quickly at your phone. Shit. You were so late.

Bursting through the auditorium doors, you scanned the room, your breath hitching in your throat. Relief washed over you as you spotted Maki, Yuta, and Toge huddled together in their usual spot near the back. Yuta waved you over.

You tiptoed down the aisle, your heart pounding. Just as you were about to slide into the empty seat beside Yuta, a smooth voice cut through the air, stopping you in your tracks.

"You're late."

You turned to see Satoru standing at the whiteboard, his back to you as he scribbled something with a pen. His other hand was casually tucked into his pocket, the picture of nonchalance.

"Sorry, Professor Gojo," you said.

You tried to continue your journey to the back row, but he turned around, his gaze pinning you in place. "I hope it was something important."

"Huh?" 

The whole auditorium now looked at you.

"The reason you're late," he fucker said, as if he didn't know exactly why you were late, as if he hadn't just cum in you not 30 minutes ago.

"Really important, yeah."

"Don't make this a habit." He turned back to the whiteboard, leaving you to navigate the gauntlet of curious stares as you finally reached your friends.

That fucker will never get morning sex again.

You slid into the seat next to Yuta, who helpfully pointed to the relevant page in his open textbook. Maki leaned over, her voice barely a whisper. "Someone's a little late for class," she teased, a sly grin on her face.

"I got held up."

"By a certain handsome professor, perhaps?" Yuta chimed in.

You shot him a glare. "No comment."

Maki and Yuta exchanged a knowing look. "Oh, come on," Maki prodded, nudging your arm playfully. "You're living with him now, what did you expect?"

Toge leaned over too. "Hickey."

"Huh?" You blinked, confused, then all three of them suddenly stared at your neck. Your hand flew to your neck, and you quickly pulled out your phone, using the screen as a mirror. Shit. "It's not what you think."

Maki chuckled. "Oh, we know exactly what we think." Just then, a small package of gummy bears landed with a soft thump on her head.

Startled, the three of you snapped towards the front of the lecture hall. There stood Satoru, a wicked gleam in his eyes and more gummy bear packages in his hand.

"Zenin," Satoru's voice boomed through the lecture hall, "perhaps you'd like to enlighten us on the role of the locus coeruleus in the modulation of arousal and attention, and how its dysfunction contributes to the pathophysiology of neuropsychiatric disorders."

All eyes in the auditorium darted to Maki. 

She cleared her throat, a bit flustered but game. "Well, the locus coeruleus is the primary source of norepinephrine in the brain, which is a key neurotransmitter involved in regulating arousal and attention..." She continued to explain, but stumbled slightly when detailing the specific mechanisms of dysfunction.

Another student eagerly raised her hand. "Professor, if I may add..." She proceeded to fill in the gaps Maki had left in her answer.

Satoru nodded, tossing a gummy bear package in her direction. Then he turned back to Maki with a raised eyebrow. "Zenin, it seems your attention might be better focused on the lecture than on extracurricular gossip."

Maki's cheeks flushed a bright pink, and Yuta couldn't help but burst into laughter. She elbowed him in the ribs, but his amusement was short-lived. A split second later, a gummy bear package bounced off his own head.

It seemed Satoru was on a roll, and no one was safe from his gummy bear inquisition. How unfortunate that he was a former basketball player and really good at aiming.

Satoru's voice boomed once again, "Okkotsu, since you seem to find this so entertaining, perhaps you'd care to explain the role of the hippocampus in memory consolidation and retrieval, with a specific focus on the distinction between declarative and procedural memory?"

Yuta's laughter died in his throat as he scrambled to gather his thoughts. 

"The, uh... the hippocampus is crucial for... for memory formation, right?" he began hesitantly. "It helps convert short-term memories into long-term ones..." He stumbled over a few technical terms, but to everyone's surprise, he managed to piece together a coherent, if somewhat rambling, answer.

Satoru raised an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Not bad, Okkotsu." With a flick of his wrist, another gummy bear package soared through the air, landing perfectly in Yuta's outstretched hand.

Maki, rubbing her head where the sweets had landed, muttered under her breath, "He's conditioning us, like we're Pavlov's dogs or something."

"You're med students," Satoru suddenly announced to the entire class, his voice laced with amusement. "You're all puppies until you can stand on your own two feet. Until then, I'm conditioning you, yes." His grin widened. "Shall we continue?"

And with that, the relentless questioning resumed. 

Satoru fired off complex questions about neuroanatomy, pharmacology, and clinical cases, keeping the entire class on their toes. Each correct answer was rewarded with a tossed gummy bear package.

You couldn't help but notice he'd been going a bit easy on you. Or maybe he was just saving his hardest for later. You had a feeling it was the latter.

Satoru's gaze swept across the room. "Alright, let's kick things up a notch. Who can explain the potential role of biomimetic nanovesicles in the treatment of brain diseases?"

A hush fell over the auditorium as students frantically flipped through their notes. A few hands tentatively rose, then quickly retreated as the complexity of the question sank in.

Satoru's smile faded slightly. "No one knows this? Come on, people, this is basic neurology."

"Basic neurology my ass," Maki muttered under her breath. "Who the hell knows this stuff?"

His eyes landed on you. You knew that look. He knew that you knew the answer. You met his gaze for a moment before looking up at the ceiling, pretending to contemplate the intricate patterns of the light fixtures.

A grin tugged at Satoru's lips as he tossed a gummy bear package your way. It bounced off your head with a soft thump. Of course.

"You've been awfully quiet today," Satoru's voice boomed through the lecture hall. "First, you're late, and now you're keeping your wisdom to yourself. Care to share your insights?"

You sighed, straightening up in your chair. "Biomimetic nanovesicles, or BNVs, offer a promising avenue for addressing the challenges of drug delivery and diagnosis in brain diseases."

Yuta groaned beside you, dramatically dropping his forehead onto the desk. "Why do you always know this stuff?"

You half-expected another gummy bear package to come flying your way, but instead, Satoru nodded, perching on the edge of his desk. "Go on."

Of course, you thought with a wry smile. "Well, due to the blood-brain barrier, getting therapeutics into the brain is notoriously difficult. But BNVs, particularly endogenous extracellular vesicles derived from cells, have shown an ability to cross this barrier."

"And how exactly do these BNVs accomplish that?"

"They possess unique surface properties," you explained, "that allow them to interact with and even fuse with the cells of the blood-brain barrier, effectively smuggling their cargo across."

Satoru raised an eyebrow. "Their cargo? You mean drugs?"

"Not just drugs," you countered. "They can also carry diagnostic agents, allowing for targeted imaging and disease monitoring. Plus, they can even carry genetic material for potential gene therapy applications."

"Impressive," Satoru said. "And what are some of the specific brain diseases that they could potentially target?"

You launched into a detailed explanation, covering everything from brain tumors and neurodegenerative diseases to cerebrovascular diseases and brain injuries. You laid out the complex ways these diseases affect the brain, and how BNVs could be tailored to fight them.

Your classmates were hanging on your every word, eyes wide. Well, most of them. Yuta was lightly banging his head against the desk in mock frustration, Maki had long since tuned out and was scrolling through her phone, and Toge was probably asleep.

And Satoru? He was watching you with an intensity that either was fascination or he wanted to undress you. Perhaps both. 

When you finished, there was a moment of silence. 

Then Satoru laughed, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "I see someone did their homework." He pushed off the desk, reaching for a gummy bear package, but then paused. "One last question. How can we ensure the safety and efficacy of these BNVs in clinical applications?"

"The usual. Preclinical testing in animal models. Understanding their biodistribution, how they're broken down, and any potential toxicity. Careful patient selection and monitoring," you said curtly.

Satoru's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "The usual? You're not considering more specific approaches? You know that BNVs can interact with unintended targets in the brain and cause unforeseen complications?"

"That's a valid concern, Professor. But sometimes, taking risks is necessary. People are dying from these brain diseases every day. Shouldn't we be willing to explore every option, even if it involves some uncertainty?"

Satoru's expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "And who gets to decide what level of risk is acceptable? You?"

You flinched back. "No, I mean—"

He stood up straighter, his voice echoing through the lecture hall. "While your passion is admirable, we must never forget the ethical implications of our actions. It is not our place to play with human lives in the pursuit of progress. Every medical intervention carries risks, and we must always weigh those risks against the potential benefits."

His gaze swept across the room, his words carrying a weight that silenced the entire class. Then his eyes landed on you once more. "We are scientists, not gods. Patients die, no matter how hard we try. The sooner you accept that, the better a doctor you will be." 

The silence that followed was heavy.

The bell rang.

No gummy bear package came your way.

You sat back in your seat. Oh he was clearly never getting morning sex ever again.

─── ·✧· ───

After class, you told your friends to go ahead, saying you needed a quick word with Professor Gojo. They waved, promising to save you a seat at your usual spot. You waited until the last student shuffled out, the lecture hall falling quiet.

Turning back, you approached Satoru, who was still behind his desk, shuffling through notes. You stood across from him, arms crossed, your gaze unwavering.

"You were brilliant today," he said, not looking up. "Not that I expected anything less."

"What was that about?" you asked, your voice sharp.

He finally looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"The whole 'playing god' lecture."

"It's something I cover every year with my students."

"And you had to use me as an example?"

A hint of a smile played on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You're the only one who wouldn't burst into tears if the great Dr. Gojo called them out."

"So I was just a teaching tool?"

"Should I have picked on Maki instead?" He rounded the desk, perching on the edge. "You know she takes everything to heart. She'd be agonizing over it for days." He twirled a pen between his fingers, the movement smooth. "Or Yuta? He's got potential, but he's still a bit green. I wouldn't want to shake his confidence. Or Mina? That girl's so eager to please, she'd probably start crying on the spot."

You watched him, the anger slowly fading. It was hard to stay mad when he looked at you with that knowing smirk. He knew you understood his point. He set the pen down, his gaze holding yours.

"Come here," he said softly, extending his hand.

You hesitated for a moment, but the warmth in his eyes drew you in. You stepped closer, placing your hand in his. His fingers intertwined with yours, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. "I'm sorry if I put you on the spot," he said. "But you handled it beautifully, as always."

"You're lucky I'm thick-skinned."

"That you are," he agreed. "How else could you keep up with my antics?" His lips twitched into a smile then. "Besides, someone needs to keep you in check, you know. I think your ego might rival mine by now."

"Oh, please. My ego is nowhere near as inflated as you—"

Before you could finish your sentence, he tugged your wrist, pulling you close until your chest pressed against his. His eyes, now serious, searched yours. "What was that?"

"I said my ego is nowhere—"

He cut you off, swiftly turning you around and lifting you onto the edge of his desk. You gasped as he leaned over you, forcing you to lie back, his hands framing your hips, caging you in. One hand slid up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher.

He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his voice a husky whisper. "That's not how a student should talk to her professor."

"And how should a student talk to her professor?" you challenged, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

His gaze dropped to your neck, lingering on the hickey. A smirk played on his lips. "With respect. And perhaps a bit of...admiration."

"And what if I don't feel particularly respectful or admiring at the moment?"

Satoru leaned closer, his lips brushing yours, his fingers tracing the hickey mark gently. "Then perhaps," he whispered, "I'll have to teach you a lesson."

Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. With a sigh he pulled away slightly, fishing out his phone. "Hold that thought," he said. He answered the call, his tone shifting to a professional one.

"Hey, Higurama, what is it?"

You remained perched on the desk, beneath his muscular chest, his loosened tie dangling above you. You couldn't resist playing with the fabric, twisting it absently between your fingers.

"Yeah, fine with me... Listen, can I call you back later?" He glanced down at you. "I'm in a bit of a... difficult position right now." You heard a muffled sigh from the other end of the line before Satoru hung up.

"What was that about?" you asked.

"It's about the ethics committee," he said, his voice slightly strained. "The meeting's been moved up to three weeks from now."

You propped yourself up on your elbows. "What did he say?"

"It's fine. Higurama just wants to go over things, make sure we're prepared... in case something goes wrong."

You reached up, cupping his cheek gently. "Nothing will go wrong."

He leaned into your touch, then turned his head to bite playfully into your palm. "With you by my side, of course not." He straightened up, releasing you and adjusting his clothes. "God, I can't wait for this to be over. I miss surgeries." He stepped back and adjusted his pants. "And fuck, I'm hard again, too."

You sat up on the edge of the desk, watching him struggle to rearrange himself. "Are you good?"

He met your gaze, knowing you didn't mean the mess in his pants. "Yeah, I'm good. Just this stupid trial, and then it's over, right?"

"We stick to the plan, right?" you reminded him, your voice firm. "We've been together since the project started, nothing strange happened, we were together before that. And then we split. Nothing's happening anymore."

"Something's definitely happening," he muttered, still fighting with his belt.

"Satoru, I'm serious."

He stopped, his gaze locking with yours. "And so am I."

"We can do this," you said. "And it will be fine. Nothing will happen."

"Just this last fight?"

"Just this last fight," you echoed, even as guilt stabbed at your heart.

His eyes searched your face. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because you seem like there's something on your mind."

"No," you lied, "it's nothing."

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. 

"What is it?" you asked.

"I can't wait to get hurt by you again," he said. "Best fix I can get."

"You're imagining things."

"And you're lying."

"It's nothing important."

"Like your bruises?" His voice was sharp now, cutting through the pretense.

You paused for a beat. "Trust me on this."

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "One last time?"

"One last time," you echoed.

─── ·✧· ───

The afternoon sun, a pale imitation of its summer glory, cast long shadows across the campus courtyard. A crisp autumn breeze whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and the promise of colder days to come. 

You lay sprawled on your back atop the familiar half-wall, your head resting on Maki's lap. The worn stone was cool against your skin, contrasting with the warmth of Maki's thighs. She stroked your hair absently, her other hand holding her phone, eyes glued to the screen.

Toge sat beside Maki, his eyes also glued to his phone screen as he played some video game on it. Yuta perched on the wall's edge, his legs swinging idly as he munched on the gummy bears Satoru had bestowed upon him during the lecture.

"Honestly," you groaned, "how many more of those do you have?"

Yuta shrugged, the crinkling of the candy wrapper punctuating his nonchalance. "Plenty. Want one?"

You groaned again. Maybe you were a tad salty about being Satoru's example during the lecture. You didn't even get any gummy bear reward in the end.

Maki chuckled, her fingers threading through your hair. "Someone's a little grumpy today. Didn't you have a great start to your morning?" 

"I'm not grumpy," you protested. "Just... annoyed."

"Same difference," Maki said.

"Gojo was on fire today," Yuta said, offering you a gummy bear. You took it, even though you swore you wouldn't. "Please don't sleep with him anymore if this is what comes out of it."

"Don't worry, not gonna happen again."

"Speaking of Gojo," Maki said, pausing her hair-petting for a second, "what's the plan for Naoya exactly? His party is this weekend, right?"

You slowly sat up, bracing your hands on the wall. "The plan is... we go in, find something, and get out without Naoya noticing."

"That's not a plan at all," Yuta said, deadpan.

"Yeah," Toge mumbled, eyes glued to his video game.

"Well," you sighed, snagging another gummy bear from Yuta's open hands, "the plan is more of a...rough sketch at this point."

Yuta raised an eyebrow. "That's reassuring."

"We know Naoya's hiding something," Maki said. "We just need to find it. And something tells me it'll be fun."

"Easier said than done," Yuta pointed out. "His parties are always packed. How are we supposed to snoop around without getting caught?"

Toge finally looked up from his game. "Split up."

"Yeah," you agreed. "Maybe we can create a distraction, or split up and cover more ground."

Maki's eyes narrowed. "Are you going to tell Gojo?"

You hesitated for a second. "No, I can't tell him. It would hurt him too much."

"You know it's not right to lie to him," Maki said softly.

"I know. But I have to."

Yuta sighed, reaching for another gummy bear and shoving it into your mouth. "I'm sure it will turn out alright. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?"

─── ·✧· ───

Saturday arrived earlier than you expected.

And Satoru, surprisingly, offered little resistance to your movie plans with Maki. He'd raised a curious eyebrow at first, but the sight of the actual movie tickets (for a movie you had no intention of watching) seemed to satisfy him. You mentioned the possibility of hitting up a small bar afterward, adding that he shouldn't wait up.

Before he went for his daily run with Dog (he still doesn't have a name), he pulled you close, his hand settling on the small of your back. He kissed you. Innocently enough, but quickly escalated because, well, it's Satoru.

"Do you have to look so damn good when you're going out without me?"

"You can help me get out of this dress later," you replied.

The day before, you'd retrieved your car from the charred remains of your apartment. Now, you were on your way to pick up Maki and the others. As you pulled up to Naoya's ridiculously pretentious mansion, a wave of nervousness washed over you.

It was time to put your master plan into action. The only problem was that there was no master plan. Not really. More like a vague idea and a whole lot of hope.

The car rolled to a stop a not-so-discreet distance from Naoya's house, which looked like it belonged to a celebrity. You all leaned forward, half your bodies practically draped over the dashboard, staring at the monstrosity.

"Remind me again why this fucker is suing Dr. Handsome for so much cash when he's got a house like this?" Maki asked, her nose practically pressed against the window.

Yuta snorted. "Because he's a rich, whiny kid with too much time on his hands?"

"Probably," Toge and you said in unison.

"Anyway," Maki said, waving off the question. She reached into her bag and produced four tiny, colorful liquor bottles, shoving one into each of your hands. "Bottoms up, bitches. We're about to have a very interesting night."

You eyed the bottle suspiciously. "Maki, this looks like something you'd find in a gas station bathroom."

She grinned. "That's because it probably is. Now shut up and drink. We've got a rich kid to expose."

You unscrewed the cap, bracing yourself, and downed the mystery liquid in one gulp. It burned all the way down, leaving a questionable aftertaste.

Yeah. 

What could possibly go wrong?

─── ·✧· ───

Moments later, you stepped into Naoya's mansion, and it was like walking into a scene from a twisted fever dream. The place was heaving with bodies, packed so tightly you could barely move, and the music was so loud you could feel it vibrating in your bones.

It was like a frat party on steroids, no, acid, with a heavy dose of rich kid debauchery thrown in for good measure. The air was thick with the pungent scent of sweat, alcohol, weed, and God knows what else.

Everywhere you looked, there was something wild and depraved going on. Partygoers swarmed every available surface, grinding against each other like they were trying to merge into one sweaty, writhing mass. A couple was making out so intensely, you were pretty sure they were going to need a room soon. 

In one corner, a group of guys were doing keg stands, the crowd chanting and screaming as they chugged beer like their lives depended on it. 

In another, a gaggle of scantily-clad girls were snorting lines of something off a polished marble table you didn’t want to question further. And was that a fucking live band playing on a stage in the living room?

"Holy shit," Yuta said, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. "This is insane."

"Insane," Toge agreed.

Maki grinned, already bobbing her head to the music. "This is exactly the kind of chaos we needed. Let's go find Naoya's room and see what dirt we can dig up."

You weaved through the throngs of people, dodging flailing limbs and trying not to slip on the spilled drinks that coated the floor. As you pushed deeper into the house, the chaos only grew more intense and surreal. 

You squeezed through the dance floor between bodies writhing and undulating, the strobe lights casting jagged shadows across their faces.

"Okay, if I were a spoiled rich asshole, where would I hide my deepest, darkest secrets?" Maki mused as you climbed the stairs, stepping over a couple making out on the steps.

Yuta snorted. "Probably in a safe hidden behind a tacky portrait of himself."

You couldn't help but laugh at the mental image. "Let's just start with his bedroom and see what we can find."

But before you could even reach the top of the stairs, a familiar face appeared in front of you, blocking your path. It was Aoi, a classmate from your university who somehow seemed to materialize at every party.

"Yooooo, what's good, fam?" he slurred, his eyes glazed and his grin sloppy. "Where y'all sneaking off to? The party's just getting started!"

You exchanged a panicked look with your friends, trying to come up with an excuse on the spot. "We were just looking for the bathroom," you stammered, wincing at how lame it sounded.

Aoi's grin widened. "All of you at the same time?”

Yuta laughed awkwardly, trying to play it off. "Yeah, we're like super close friends.”

You shot him a look, one eyebrow raised.

Aoi laughed. "Forget the bathroom, come get a drink with me first!" He grabbed your arm and Maki's, his grip strong, and started dragging you back down the stairs. Yuta and Toge had no choice but to follow, exchanging helpless looks behind Aoi's back.

Before you knew it, you were in the kitchen, surrounded by even more drunk partygoers. The place looked like a war zone, every surface cluttered with empty bottles, sticky solo cups, and liquids you didn’t want to question.

A group of girls were clustered around the island, doing shots and shrieking with laughter at some unheard joke, their voices shrill and grating.

It was chaos, pure and simple.

Aoi grabbed a half-empty bottle of something dark and potent-looking, sloshing it around with a grin. "What's your poison?" he shouted over the deafening music.

“Anything will do," you said.

"Oh damn, we got a badass over here," he smirked. He uncapped the bottle, which you now saw was rum, and splashed a generous amount into a red solo cup, topping it off with a splash of cola. 

He shoved the cup into your hand, then quickly filled three more for Maki, Toge, and Yuta, the noxious mixture sloshing over the sides. "Drink up!" he said, raising his own cup in a sloppy toast.

You all eyed the hideous mixture, each of you thinking the same thing: this mission was going to be tougher than you thought. But before you could take a sip, a voice cut through the noise of the party. 

"Oh, look who decided to crash my party."

You turned to see Naoya standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and a sneer twisting his scarred face.

Maki took a defiant swig of her drink, barely suppressing a gag at the burn of the alcohol. "We weren't crashing. We were invited."

Naoya raised an eyebrow. "Really? By whom, exactly?"

Yuta stepped forward. "Does it matter? We're here now, so deal with it."

Naoya stalked towards you, his eyes locked on yours with predatory intensity. "Oh, it matters," he said. "Because I don't recall inviting a bunch of wannabe doctors to my party."

You met his gaze unflinchingly. "At least I've actually been inside an OR as part of the surgical team, unlike you," you fired back, your eyes raking over his scarred face. "I mean, the only time you've seen the inside of an operating room was when you were lying on the table, getting all that plastic surgery to try and fix that mangled mug of yours. Too bad it didn't take, huh?"

Naoya's eyes flashed with rage, the scars on his face, remnants from Satoru's brutal assault, twisting into an ugly sneer. For a moment, the tension was so thick you could've cut it with a scalpel, and you thought he might actually take a swing at you. 

But then he laughed, the sound harsh and humorless.

"You've got quite the mouth on you, don't you?" he said, his tone dripping with venom. "But you're in way over your head here, little girl. I suggest you and your little playmates finish your drinks and fuck off before you start something you can't finish."

You stepped forward. "What, you're not gonna try to roofie me this time, asshole?” 

Naoya's lip curled in disgust, his scarred face contorting into a mask. "Please, I would never fuck you, not even for money."

"Big talk from a guy who has to drug women just to get laid," you said. "I guess when you look like that, you take what you can get, huh?"

Naoya's face flushed an ugly shade of red. "You fucking bitch—"

But before he could finish his sentence, a football came hurtling out of nowhere, spiraling through the air. Naoya's eyes widened in surprise and he instinctively threw up his hands, snatching the ball out of the air just inches from his scarred face.

Then, as if on cue, a rowdy pack of meatheads in letterman jackets came barreling through the crowd, whooping and hollering like a bunch of drunken douchebags.

"Yo, Naoya!" one of them yelled, his words slurred together in a barely intelligible mess. "Nice fuckin' catch, bro!"

Naoya's face split into a cocky grin, his anger momentarily forgotten as he tossed the ball back with a casual flick of his wrist. "You know me. Ain't nothing gets past me."

The jocks guffawed, jostling each other and pounding Naoya on the back with meaty fists. "Yo, we need our boy for the next round of beer pong!" one of them yelled, already dragging Naoya towards the crowded backyard. "Can't have a fuckin' tournament without you!"

Naoya hesitated for a split second, glancing back at you and your friends. For a moment, you thought he might shrug off his pals and continue his interrogation. But then his signature smirk slid back into place, as greasy and insincere as ever.

"Duty calls," he said with an exaggerated wink that made your skin crawl. "But don't think for a second that this shit is over. I'll be keepin' my eye on you little wannabe doctors, so y'all best behave yourselves, feel me?"

With that, he allowed himself to be dragged away by his posse of howling primates, disappearing into the seething mass of sweat-soaked bodies. You let out a shaky breath, your heart still racing.

"Well, that was intense," Yuta said, running a hand through his hair. "I thought for sure he was going to punch you or something."

You shrugged. "Naoya's all talk. He's not going to risk messing up his plastic surgery any more than he already has.”

Maki snorted, downing the rest of her toxic cocktail in one long pull. "Yeah, well, I still wouldn't put anything past that psycho.”

Suddenly, the eardrum-shattering music cut out, replaced by the DJ's over-hyped voice booming through the speakers.

"Alright, alright, alright!" he screamed. "Y'all motherfuckers ready to crank this shit up to the next level or what?"

The crowd roared back in drunken approval, a seething mass of hormones and bad decisions just waiting to be unleashed. The DJ cackled, his gold fronts glinting in the strobing lights. 

"Then let's fuckin' gooooooo!" he howled. "I wanna see every single one of you beautiful people on the dance floor!”

The music kicked back in, the bass thumping so hard you could feel it in your bones like a second heartbeat. The party, already chaotic, descended into pure madness. 

People clambered up onto every available surface, dancing on tables, hanging from chandeliers, even hurling themselves off the balcony into the roiling mosh pit below. Others guzzled booze straight from the bottle, vomiting in corners and grinding against each other.

"We need to get out of here," Maki yelled over the din. "This is getting out of control!"

You nodded, grabbing Yuta and Toge and shoving your way through the sea of flailing limbs and spilled drinks, fighting the current of chaos like salmon swimming upstream. Somehow you managed to break free from the worst of the insanity, stumbling up the stairs on shaky legs.

The second floor was marginally quieter, but that wasn't saying much. 

The dull thud of the bass still pulsed through the floorboards, and the occasional plastered couple would come tumbling out of a room in a mess of tangled limbs and smeared makeup, heedless of your presence.

You started trying doors at random, peeking into darkened rooms, in order to find Naoya’s room. Most were either empty or occupied by people in varying states of undress, too focused on each other to even notice your intrusion. 

But as you reached the end of the hall, you came to a door that refused to budge, the handle rattling uselessly in your grip.

"Check this out," you said, waving the others over with an urgent gesture. "Why would Naoya have a locked door in his own house?"

Maki frowned, crouching down to examine the keyhole. "I don't know, but I bet whatever that scarred freak is hiding in there is something big. Something he doesn't want anyone else to see."

Yuta glanced around nervously, his eyes darting back and forth. "Okay, but how are we supposed to get in there? It's not like any of us have a key to Naoya's secret lair."

Maki's lips curled into a smirk as she fished a bobby pin out of her tousled hair. "Leave it to me.”

Yuta raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you know how to do that?"

“I watched a YouTube tutorial on lock picking once. Figured it might come in handy for situations like this."

"Right, because we frequently find ourselves needing to break into locked rooms,” Yuta said.

Maki bent the pin into a crude shape and started fiddling with the lock, her tongue poking out in concentration. But after several long, tense moments, she let out a frustrated huff and sat back on her heels. "No dice. We're not getting in there with just a bobby pin and a prayer."

Yuta raised an eyebrow. "Wow, really? I'm shocked that your extensive YouTube education didn't prepare you for this moment."

Maki shot him a glare. "You got a better idea? Because I'm all ears."

Toge, who had been quietly contemplating the door with a pensive expression, suddenly spoke up. "Break it down," he suggested mildly, as if proposing they order a pizza.

"Are you insane? We can't just go around smashing doors in,” Yuta said. “That's destruction of property. We could get arrested."

Maki just shrugged. "I mean, with all the noise from the party, who's gonna hear a little splintered wood? We could probably get away with it."

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the beginnings of a migraine throbbing behind your eyes. "We are not breaking down the door. We need to be smarter than that."

"Ooh, I know!" Yuta said, snapping his fingers. "We could climb out the window, shimmy along the ledge, and then break in through Naoya's window!"

You stared at him, wondering if he was joking. But from the eager, puppy-dog expression on his face, it was clear he was dead serious.

"Yuta, we're on the second floor of a mansion," you said. "If we tried that, we'd probably fall and break our necks."

"Not if we used bed sheets as a rope. We could tie them together and—"

"No," you cut him off firmly. "No climbing, no breaking and entering, no property damage. We need to think of a plan that won't get us arrested or killed."

Maki sighed dramatically, tucking her mangled bobby pin back into her hair with a huff. "Well, there goes all my ideas."

Defeated and frustrated, you made your way back down to the main floor, the thumping bass growing louder with each heavy step. As you emerged into the chaos of the party once more, you were immediately engulfed in the crush of sweaty bodies, the pulsing heat and deafening noise.

You pushed your way through the throng, scanning the room for any sign of Naoya or his goons. But everywhere you looked, all you saw were drunk people.

In the living room, a group of guys were taking turns leaping off the couch, trying to outdo each other with increasingly reckless flips and stunts. One of them went crashing into a side table, sending a lamp and several picture frames flying. The crowd cheered, seemingly unconcerned about the destruction.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the din.

"Ahh, there you are!” Aoi crowed, materializing out of the crowd. "I was starting to think you'd gone and ditched me!"

Please. Not him again.

But before you could make a break for it, Aoi had already slung his arm around your shoulders once more. He navigated the madness of the party with infuriating ease, dodging flying elbows and sloshing drinks as he dragged you deeper into the house.

"Where are you taking us?" you yelled over the din of the music, your voice barely audible even to your own ears.

Aoi just flashed you a grin. "To the real party, of course! You haven't seen anything yet!"

He dragged you through the kitchen, where a group of girls were doing body shots off a shirtless guy sprawled across the island. But Aoi didn't even slow down, shouldering his way through the crowd until he reached the sliding glass doors leading to the backyard. 

With a dramatic flourish, he flung them open.

The backyard was equally chaotic. In the center of it all was an enormous pool. Everywhere you looked, people were shouting, laughing, splashing. 

A group of girls were engaged in a vicious chicken fight, shrieking as they grappled and shoved atop their boyfriends' shoulders, sending great gouts of water spraying across the deck.

"Now this is what I'm talking about!" Aoi crowed, snagging a half-empty bottle of tequila from a passing tray and chugging deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing obscenely. "So what do you say?"

“I want to go home,” Yuta said, deadpan.

"Thanks for showing us around Aoi, really," you interjected, trying to disentangle yourself from his grip. "But I think we can take it from here—"

But before you could slip free, a loud splash and a chorus of cheers drew your attention back to the pool. Someone had just done a cannonball off the diving board, sending up a tremendous splash that drenched half the deck and the crowd was going wild.

Aoi shook his head with a chuckle, finally releasing you from his clutches. "Duty calls. Can't let these idiots have all the fun. Stick around, yeah? The night's just getting started."

With that, he dove into the pool, disappearing under the churning water. 

You stood there for a moment, trying to massage some feeling back into your bruised shoulder.

“He seriously needs to learn about personal space.” Maki scoffed, picking bits of confetti out of her hair. "What's the plan now? We need to get into that room. And if it's locked, Naoya must have the key, right?"

Yuta nodded, her eyes scanning the crowd. "He's got to keep it on him. Maybe in his pocket or something."

"So, one of us needs to get close enough to him to retrieve it," Maki mused, her gaze settling on Toge. "I nominate Toge for the job."

"No," Toge replied firmly.

"Come on, Toge," Maki urged, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Take one for the team. We're all counting on you."

"We need a distraction,” you said. “Something to draw his attention away so one of us could sneak up and grab the key?"

"Like what?" Maki asked, raising an eyebrow. "A fire? A fight? In this crowd, it would have to be something pretty major to get noticed."

You bit your lip, your mind racing as you searched for a solution. There had to be a way to obtain the key. But what?

Just then, a commotion near the pool caught your attention. A group of guys were chanting, their voices rising above the music. "Chug! Chug! Chug!"

You craned your neck to see what was happening and your eyes widened. There, in the center of the group, was Naoya. And he was guzzling from a massive beer bong, the liquid flowing straight down his throat.

The crowd cheered as he finished, slamming the cup down and raising his arms in victory. He was clearly wasted, his eyes glazed and his movements sloppy.

An idea started to form in your mind. A risky, possibly stupid idea, but an idea nonetheless.

You turned to your friends, your expression grave. "I think I know how we can get that key. But you're not going to like it."

Maki, Yuta, and Toge exchanged wary glances, clearly bracing themselves for the worst. "Why do I get the feeling I'm gonna regret asking?" Yuta sighed.

"We're going to challenge Naoya to a drinking contest. And we're going to win."

For a long, uncomfortable moment, your friends stared at you in stunned silence. Maki was the first to break it, "Wait, are you seriously suggesting we try to out-drink Naoya? The same guy who just chugged that beer like it was water?"

"Hear me out," you pressed on. "He's already pretty wasted. If we can keep him drinking, keep him distracted, one of us can grab the key while he's not paying attention."

Yuta shook his head. "I don't know about this. Naoya can really hold his liquor. And even if we do manage to get the key, we'll be too drunk to do anything with it."

"He's not the only one who can handle their alcohol," you countered.

“Why does that sound like a threat,” Yuta said.

"Girl, for someone who's supposed to be the smartest one here, you come up with some really questionable ideas sometimes,” Maki said.

You met her gaze, giving her a long look. After a long moment, Maki sighed, throwing up her hands in resignation. "Fine. Let's give it a shot."

With determined strides, you and your friends pushed through the crowd, your eyes locked on Naoya. He was at the beer pong table, laughing and joking with his buddies as he lined up his shot. This was your chance.

But just as you reached the table, a shout rang out over the music, cutting through the din like a knife. "The professors are here! The professors are here!"

Maki frowned. "Huh? What's going on?"

A guy came rushing up to Naoya, his face ashen and his eyes wide. "Dude, you gotta hide the drugs! One of our professors from university is here and he brought other professors with him!"

Naoya's eyes widened, the color draining from his face. "What? How the hell did they find out about the party?"

The guy shook his head. "I don't know, man. But they're here, and they don't look like they're planning to leave anytime soon."

Naoya swore under his breath, then started barking orders. "Hide everything! The booze, the weed, all of it! And someone turn off the damn music!"

The backyard erupted into chaos. 

People were scrambling in every direction, shoving bottles and bags under couches, into planters, anywhere they could find. The music outside cut off abruptly, but the heavy bass from inside the house continued to throb through the walls.

You turned to your friends, panic written all over your face. "We know who that might be," Yuta said.

You were pushing your way back into the house, your heart pounding in your chest. "Fuck," you muttered under your breath, trying to navigate the sea of dancing bodies. The news of the professors' arrival had spread like wildfire, but most of the partygoers were too drunk or too oblivious to care.

As you weaved your way towards the front entrance, you collided with a girl, sending her drink splashing up her shirt. She gasped, looking down at her drenched top in shock.

"I'm so so sorry," you quickly apologized, your hands hovering uselessly as you tried to figure out how to help. The girl looked up at you, her initial surprise giving way to a faint smile. "It's okay—" she began, but you were already moving past her, your focus solely on getting to the door.

And then you saw him.

Satoru was strolling inside, looking completely at ease as he greeted students with casual handshakes and claps on the back. His smile was genuine, his demeanor relaxed. He looked like he belonged here, like he was just another guest ready to enjoy the party.

Behind him, you spotted Suguru, Nanami, and a handful of other professors from your faculty. They were all dressed casually, blending in with the crowd.

You stood there, frozen, as Satoru's gaze locked onto yours, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity that seemed to strip you bare. 

He was disappointed, you could tell.

As he approached, your mind raced, desperately searching for an explanation, an excuse, anything to justify your presence here. But the words caught in your throat, choked by the lump of guilt and fear in your throat that grew with each step he took towards you. 

His smile was warm, but it did little to mask the tension simmering beneath the surface, the unspoken accusations hanging heavy in the air between you.

"I'm sorry, I must be in the wrong place. I was looking for my wife, but she told me she'd be at the movies tonight. You wouldn't happen to have seen her, would you?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Satoru quirked an eyebrow as he leaned in closer, his arm coming up to rest on the wall beside you, trapping you in place. The heat of his body seeped into yours, making your skin prickle. "Isn't this supposed to be a university party?"

You frowned. "For students!"

"Well, I was a student once." Satoru's grin widened. "But I must say, I'm a little hurt you didn't invite me to be your plus one. I thought we were closer than that."

Just then, another student appeared from behind you, giving Satoru a high five and a drunken grin, completely oblivious to the tension between you. "Yo, Prof! What's good? Didn't expect to see you here!"

Satoru returned the high five with an easy smile, his eyes never leaving yours. "You know me, always full of surprises. Just thought I'd drop by and see how my favorite students are spending their weekend."

His tone was light, almost cheerful, but you could hear the underlying current of displeasure, the unspoken accusation in his gaze. The student, however, remained blissfully unaware, laughing and patting Satoru on the back before stumbling off into the crowd.

You watched the exchange, the knot of guilt in your stomach tightening with each passing second, your palms growing clammy as you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation.

"You should leave.”

His expression sobered, his eyes locking with yours. "And leave you here alone with Naoya? I don't think so."

"Satoru, just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I can't protect myself."

He shook his head, leaning in even closer. You could feel his breath on your skin, the heat of his body. "I'm not protecting you because you're a woman," he said, his voice low. "I'm protecting you because you’re my woman. And my woman has a real fucking problem with lying to me and putting herself in stupid, reckless situations."

Your breath caught in your throat at his serious tone. 

Satoru held your gaze for a long, tense moment, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard. Then he pulled back. "We'll talk about this later.” 

Then, as quickly as it had come, the intensity was gone. His signature smile was back on his lips, charming and carefree. He straightened up, looking around the room. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need a drink."

With that, he pushed past you, leaving you standing there in the entrance.

Fuck.

This was bad. 

This was so, so bad. 

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: hello again, still don't have much to say, other than don't only invest in tech okay, diversify your portfolio, don't do what dr. handsome does (he's stupid). also, i'm pretty busy these days, so sorry for the sparse updates, but i appreciate all your friendly interactions, they really brighten my day whenever i see them <3

i know that this story is getting quite long and i have noticed a decline in interactions with it, which i totally understand with the spare updates i can provide, so thank you a thousand times to everyone still sticking around and patiently waiting for updates. i try to do my best to somehow crave out the time to continue this story. have a nice day y'all :)

pls consider subscribing to the story on AO3, if you'd like to stay updated on future chapters. also, please note that i'll be kicking inactive readers off the taglist so that i can tag more people who genuinely interact with the story.

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© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

---

If you want to feel loved, read this beauty 💅🏾

“WHERE IS MY WIFE?”

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: curses & curse users have discovered satoru’s greatest weakness, and it’s you, satoru’s sweet, ordinary housewife. after getting kidnapped by gojo’s enemies, he’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ only - mdni - slightly dark content // brief smut, fem reader, feral gojo, canon-typical violence, reader gets kidnapped, reader is wounded/has injuries, angst, fluff/comfort

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 5K

♡ —𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I’d count grains of sand if it meant I could spend one minute alone with feral gojo (:

As evening fell, and after a delicious dinner was eaten at the dining table downstairs, Satoru was in the mood for something else now — you.

His pretty housewife would be his dessert.

The apple pie you baked was sitting on the dark marbled counter of the kitchen island, two big slices missing — and the vanilla ice cream tub in the freezer had, of course, two hefty spherical digs in it where the cold treat was scooped out — but, even after his stomach was stuffed after a hard day of fighting curses and teaching his students, Satoru’s head was buried in between your soft thighs, satisfying his other craving.

As your husband moaned softly, his tongue danced around your aching clit. His large hand massaged your thigh. The moonlight pouring in through the big bedroom window shined upon his wedding ring, making it glisten as he rubbed your delicate skin.

“I’ll never get tired of tasting you,” Satoru smiled a bit, his warm breath patting against your wet folds.

“You were made just for me. God, I love it. I love you.”

Two long fingers sunk into your awaiting hole. He attached his soft lips to your clit, sucking on it.

One of your hands gripped at the luxurious pale-cerulean sheets, while your other hand gripped his hair, fingers getting lost in his white locks.

“Satoru!” A sharp moan escaped your dried throat.

Every little noise you made — every moan, every squeak of the thick mattress — it all boasted his desire to please you.

He didn’t stop his licking-sucking-fingering combo until your legs were trembling around his head and he was satisfied with tasting your juices.

Only after devouring your pussy like a starving man feasting on a buffet-style dinner did he rise from his position and make his way across the bed, hovering over you.

With a smile, Satoru leaned down and planted a soft kiss against your lips. But, when he pulled away, he was met with an amused look of disgust.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, furrowing his brows a bit.

“You just kissed me after eating me out,” you said with a little, playful grimace. “That’s nasty.”

“Mrs. Gojo, I mean this in the most respectful way possible, but hush.” Satoru lightly tapped your forehead. “You have swallowed plenty of my-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” shaking your head, you cut off your husband’s naughty sentence, pressing your hand against his lips.

The corners of your mouth burned as you tried to fight off a smile. His latest affectionate nickname was Mrs. Gojo — although it truly wasn’t a nickname due to it technically being your name now — and at every given opportunity, he addressed you that way.

Even after two years of marriage, he was as excited as a freshly wedded man. Your love was a never-ending honeymoon.

You stared into Satoru’s striking blue eyes. He darted his gaze across your gorgeous face, illuminated by the moonlight, and as you ran your fingers through his white hair and he ran his thumb across your cheek, both of you close enough to feel the gentle pats of each other’s breaths on your mesmerizing faces, you both fell in love with each other just a bit more — if that was even possible.

“Can I fuck you now?”

Satoru’s question made a sudden chuckle spilled out from between your lips. He couldn’t help but laugh too.

“You’re a buffoon. I’m trying to admire your beauty and that’s what you open your mouth to say?” You playfully frowned.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a human being call another human being a buffoon out loud before.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes humorously. “We need to do our skincare routine first. We have to do it an hour before we go to bed or else we might just rub all the product off. I read that somewhere.”

“Why didn’t we do it before we got into bed in the first place?” Satoru buried his head in the crook of your neck, pouting, but taking a moment to press a little kiss onto your skin.

“Because you were acting as if you were dying of poison and eating me out was the antidote, so I forgot.” you giggled softly.

“Fine, fine,” your husband slowly rolled off of you in defeat. “Skincare routine, nothing more. Please don’t start trying to organize the bath towels.”

“I’m not making any promises,” you said, getting out of bed and following Satoru into the master bathroom.

There, you and your husband stood in front of the big mirror, cleansing and moisturizing your skin as you both chatted about his students, a movie you watched three days ago, and your breakfast plans in the morning.

And it was those sweet little moments that made Satoru’s heart skip a beat. As he flickered his eyes over to your reflection, watching your smother smooth white cream all over your face as you rambled on about a new egg recipe, he couldn’t help but think about how much he loved you.

—

6:00 A.M.

That night ended with soft sex and gentle kisses.

That morning, Satoru’s white eyelashes fluttered open to the early morning sun starting to rise, casting rays through the drawn window curtains and across his comforter.

He squinted his eyes and yawned.

Typically, he was the sort of man who would never wake up at the ungodly hour if he could help it, but the tantalizing aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling eggs had traveled from the kitchen downstairs to right underneath his nose.

Tossing on his blue houseboat, the grumpy-faced man dragged himself into the kitchen, greeting you with a slightly gruff morning voice and a messy head of hair.

“Good morning, baby,” Satoru walked around the kitchen island and loosely wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you from behind. “How’d you sleep? I had a nightmare.”

With a spatula in one hand, you flipped the omelet in the skillet on the six-burner stove. With the other hand, you rubbed his arm, enjoying the warmth his hovering hug had brought.

“I slept alright,” you said. “Did the smell wake you up?”

“Always does,” he smiled lazily although you couldn’t see it.

“Well, your drink’s ready,” you gave a nod in the general direction of the silver espresso machine, which hummed as it brewed Satoru’s steamy beverage.

“I don’t deserve you,” Satoru’s arms hugged you tighter, and he showered the side of your head with kisses.

“Stop it,” your sweet laughter only egged him on as you clenched the spatula and leaned back against him even more. “No fooling around when we’re this close to the stove.”

Satoru eventually backed away after giving you one final kiss against your forehead temple.

“If all goes well, I should be back home tomorrow before dark, then we can check out that new restaurant. What do you say? I personally think it’s time for a date.”

The image of you and Satoru sipping on wine and as you wore your favorite dress flashed in your mind, and you smiled. A date night was certainly something to look forward to in light of Satoru’s overnight trip.

Sorcering duties had often taken him on distant work trips. Truth be told, you were lucky his departure would only last around twenty-four hours and not twenty-four days. Although you missed him whenever he would leave, you understood his choice of career. He was a hero.

You happened to be an ordinary human being. You couldn’t see curses. You couldn’t use cursed energy or cursed techniques, but you were fine with that.

“A date sounds fun! I’m excited now.” You took the omelet out of the skillet and placed it on a nearby plate. “And we’re making time to try out that new pottery class too. It sounds like such a cute date idea, don’t you think so?”

“I’m with you. I’ll make the reservations for the restaurant, you can schedule us for pottery-making.” This time, he was the one blissfully picturing you and him spinning messy clay with him sitting behind you and reaching around your body for the pottery wheel, your fingers intertwined as you both created a pot. Satoru smiled at the thought. “Anyway, now that you’re done cooking, can I kiss you?”

You nodded with a cheeky grin, and your husband pressed his lips against yours sweetly.

It was as if some part of him was frightened that he would never get the opportunity to kiss you again.

—

8:37 P.M.

The bright light far above your head flickered briefly as you stood in the pasta aisle at your local grocery store, but you hadn’t noticed it, too fixated on the different brands of spaghetti noodles lying on the shelf above you.

Shopping at night wasn’t preferable, but only after tossing together a simmering pan of sauce did you realize you hadn’t started boiling your noodles yet.

And, with your pot of simmering water ready, you opened the cabinet to see no noodles.

So, here you were, making a last-minute, unplanned trip to the grocery store.

By now, the only sort of pasta noodles left were the ones that a person of average height couldn’t reach. Every box was too high.

You turned your head to the left and to the right.

You even bothered to walk down a few aisles to search for an employee or anyone who might have been tall enough to reach your needed item, but the only other person staggering around was an older blonde-haired woman who was shorter than you were.

Frowning in frustration, you returned to the pasta aisle.

If you had to climb the shelves, so be it.

Suddenly, a kind voice spoke over the calming public-friendly background music playing softly in the store.

“Need some help?”

Whipping your head around, you saw a person — a taller person, thank goodness — who had a smile that was just as sweet as his voice.

“Yes, thank you!” You found that his grin was rather contagious, as you ended up smiling as well. “I just need the spaghetti noodles on the top shelf. Any brand will do.”

The beaming man with long, dark hair stepped forward, and you moved to the side, letting the apparent hero save your day.

He pulled down your desired spaghetti noodles with ease.

“Thanks for your help. My spaghetti sauce won’t go to waste now,” you said politely.

Your eyes darted up to the stitched scar across his forehead, then quickly, you glanced away.

“You’re welcome. Have a good night.”

The man walked down the aisle and left.

There was something familiar about him, oddly enough.

That hair . . . that smile . . .

He reminded you of an old, deceased friend of Satoru’s, one that you hadn’t ever met due to his villainous behavior before his death, but you had seen an old picture of him that he and your husband took during their second year at Jujutsu High, years ago.

As you placed the pasta noodles into your cart, making your way around different aisles to collect a few more items since you were already at the store, you decided that you’d take another look at that photograph once you arrived home, just for peace of mind.

The brown paper bag stuffed with groceries felt rather heavy as you walked down the street, which was brightened by light pouring out of the windows of local businesses that hadn’t yet closed.

You sighed softly.

The dark sky was sparkling with stars. The air was cool and comforting. Soon, you’d have pasta, and perhaps, you’d watch a few episodes of your favorite binge-worthy Netflix show.

If only Satoru was with you.

Chatting with him on the phone a few hours ago only made you miss him even more, but, at least his trip would be a quick one, and soon, you could have dinner with him and listen to his hilarious commentary as you watched television together.

After walking for around five minutes, you were no longer close to the local businesses that made you feel a sense of comfort during your evening stroll.

Now, you had to rely on the occasional streetlight to guide you home.

But that cold air was no longer comforting. It was a chilling breeze that made you clench your grocery bag a bit tighter.

Your footsteps suddenly halted — you could hear something moving in the nearby bushes.

Turning around, you were greeted with nothing but darkness and streetlights. No one else was with you. You kept walking.

However, something wasn’t right.

You might not have been a sorcerer, but you weren’t a fool.

And you had a gut-wrenching feeling that right now, as your wobbly legs guided you home, you were being watched.

You heard that noise again.

The grocery bag crinkled against your chest. You were certain that the bread you purchased was squished by now. If someone was following you, did you really want to unintentionally lead them to your home?

Where should you go? What should you do?

A tear rolled down your cheek from fear.

You were scared. You only wanted to go home, finish your pasta, and watch television.

You didn’t want to deal with such a potentially terrifying situation.

Pulling out your phone, you opened your dial screen.

Your trembling thumb hovered over the buttons, but before you could press anything, a black, disfigured curse appeared in front of you, screeching loudly enough to make you drop everything in your hands and cover your ears, more tears falling as the horrifying monster started to charge at you.

You tried to run in the other direction, but it was too late.

The last thing you saw before you were engulfed by darkness was that man from the grocery store standing on the sidewalk, that same sweet smile on his familiar face.

—

12:27 A.M.

Satoru’s eyes snapped open. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, as he had spent most of the night tossing and turning because you weren’t lying next to him. But, apparently, he did manage to catch a couple of hours of shut-eye.

When he awakened, there was a terrible ache in his heart. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, and beads of sweat decorated his forehead. His throat was dried to a crisp.

He was all alone in his dark hotel room.

He couldn’t hear you.

He couldn’t see you.

And yet, somehow, someway, thanks to his great power, he knew that his wife was calling for him.

—

The overwhelming scent of old, wet, musky wood and dust would never be forgotten by your memory. A lifetime of therapy would never be able to erase the paralyzing fear you felt, sitting on the cold, hard ground of an abandoned cabin with your hands bound behind your back.

Maybe the fear wasn’t completely paralyzing, though. Your body seemed to tremble with terror just fine.

The sight of it made Suguru Geto — no, Kenjaku chuckle.

He kept his eye on you for no other reason besides his entertainment, as watching you himself was pointless considering he had two frightening curses looming over you.

Once, Satoru shared a fun fact with you: regular human beings cannot see curses unless they are about to die.

That fact was certainly interesting when the two of you were strolling through the beautiful park, a red and white striped blanket in your hand and a picnic basket in his. But, now, that fact only made sweat drip off of your scarred forehead, because you could see the two, black, disfigured curses.

It was a telltale sign that you could die.

“I haven’t had the displeasure of meeting him myself,” Kenjaku suddenly spoke, relaxing in a chair he had positioned a few feet away from the corner you were trapped in. “But I have seen memories of Satoru Gojo that belonged to this body I’ve inhabited. And, I must say, I couldn’t imagine that his wife would be such a weakling. It’s truly pathetic.”

Even if you wanted to reply to him, fear had snatched away your ability to speak. It created a lump in your throat that couldn’t be swallowed down.

“My best guess is that he needs someone boring and ordinary in his life to keep house while he’s busy saving the world. You’re just the cook and maid with a ring on her finger, hm?”

“He loves me.”

Your voice was small — it was a painfully perfect reflection of how you felt on the inside. Weak and pathetic.

“Oh?” Kenjaku raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly. “Believe it or not, I hope you’re right, or else kidnapping you was a waste of time.”

Your chains rattled as you shifted in your spot on the floor, scooting as far into the corner as you could get. An ache shot up your spine from the wall pressing into your back. Pulling your knees to your chest, more tears slipped from your eyes.

“Aw, don’t cry,” he falsely cooed. “Surely you’ve wondered why the world’s strongest sorcerer would settle for someone who forgets to double-check all of their ingredients before they start cooking, haven’t you? It’s not because of love, or anything of the sort. It’s because those who are deeply insecure would do anything to please anyone who looks their way. Only an ordinary, desperate housewife with low self-esteem and no ambition would waste time caring for a man who risks his life saving strangers. What would make you think he cares for you when he spends more time with curses than his own wife? Helping strangers more than his own family? Think about it.”

Kenjaku’s hurtful words were met with silence, but he didn’t stop speaking.

“I bet you’re nothing but a burden to him. Someone like him probably hates being tied down, but marrying a fool who contributes nothing to society is the only way he can get someone else to handle his laundry while he’s busy working hard, hm? He must carry around divorce papers, ready to serve them to you the day you forget to buy detergent from the grocery store.” Kenjaku’s smile brightened. “Oh, that reminds me. You dropped your detergent and other groceries on the road earlier, by the way. Looks like you’re useless now.”

“You . . .” your teary eyes flickered from him to the hovering curses. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. None of that’s true.”

“You have to believe that I’m speaking honestly, Y/N.” Kenjaku sighed with fake sincerity. “My entire plan rests on the hope that Satoru Gojo is foolish enough to try to rescue you. You see, when you want to lure someone out, the proper way to do it is by discovering their weaknesses. When I found out about you, I was hoping that you would be his weakness. That I could use you to lure him out. Then I met you, and, well, you’re simply disappointing. Sorry to break it to you, but I have memories of the old conversations Satoru used to have with Suguru, and being tied down to a powerless housewife was certainly not how he imagined his future. But, I figured I’d try anyway, and so here you are, and he’s not here to rescue you. What a shame. I bet he’s hoping I’ll kill you so he’ll be free.”

He was lying. He had to be. Satoru loved you more than anything . . . right?

The thought had crossed your mind before; why did Satoru want to be with someone powerless? And this villain’s plan to lure out your husband relied on his hope that he’d come to rescue you out of love, so how would it benefit him to convince you Satoru didn’t love you?

Maybe he was right.

After all, if Satoru cared for you, he would have saved you by now. Where was he?

You couldn’t help but cry even harder.

“Please let me go home,” your tears clouded your vision. “Please let me go.”

“Well, you should know that I hate wasting time,” Kenjaku rested his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow pressing into the arm of the chair he sat in. “I can’t let you leave. I won’t let the effort I put into kidnapping you be a total waste.”

Kenjaku’s smile widened, and suddenly, the curses started to move towards you.

—

1:45 A.M.

The subway station was isolated. No ordinary human beings were lurking around, and Satoru was relieved. Right now, he’d kill anyone who looked at him the wrong way.

His shoes gently shuffled against the ground as he made his way into the middle of the big, bright opening, and he clenched his fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palm, hard enough to draw blood.

Two special grade cursed spirits emerged. He recognized them both from a previous fight in the woods.

Volcano head. Asparagus.

“Satoru Gojo,” Jogo suddenly said. “We didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to-”

“Where is my wife?”

When Satoru interrupted the curse, his voice was low. Dark. Startling.

Blood dripped from his palms and splattered onto the ground.

“I was drawn here, but she isn’t here, is she? Where is she? Tell me now, and I’ll kill you quickly instead of slowly.”

Jogo chuckled a bit. Satoru dug his nails into his palm even more.

“Bring us the vessel, Yuji Itadori, and we’ll return that worthless-”

The two curses didn’t have time to blink — weren’t able to register in their minds that Satoru had moved from his previous spot until Jogo was lifted off of the ground and thrown into the flickering light fixture above, shattering it and causing sparks to rain down onto the ground below, where he then fell.

Satoru stepped on Jogo’s head, squishing it underneath his black shoe.

“I remember you. You’re stubborn, right?” Satoru gritted his teeth. “Who the hell do you think you are to take her from me? Whoever you work for must want you dead if they’re stupid enough to send you on a suicide mission. You think I’ll let you leave here alive after this?”

“If you kill us, you’ll never see her again,” the other cursed spirit, Hanami, suddenly spoke up. “Bring us the vessel, and she lives.”

When Satoru suddenly stopped moving, it was only to ensure that he had heard the cursed spirit correctly.

“Did you just threaten . . .” Satoru removed his blindfold, “to kill my wife?”

It was only a matter of time before the branches attached to Hanami’s head were ripped out, and Jogo was beheaded. The subway was reduced to nothing except crumbling walls and darkness. While the cursed spirits were teetering dangerously between life and death, there wasn’t a scratch on Satoru. Instead, there was a smile.

This was simply the consequence of their actions. This was what happened to anyone who laid a hand on his girl.

Hanami’s body was on the brink of collapse as it was forced to come in contact with Satoru’s cursed technique — a blue shield-like piece of infinity that distorted and manipulated both time and space, protecting the sorcerer from attacks and rendering Hanami powerless.

Hanami’s eyes darted over to their beheaded ally — they couldn’t help him.

“I’m going to ask you one last time,” Satoru’s eyes widened. His smile grew. He slowly turned, facing Hanami, and blasted him back against the nearest wall without lifting a finger. “Where is my wife?”

—

2:39 A.M.

Kenjaku had never understood the concept of love, and, perhaps, that was why he failed.

Satoru’s love for you was his weakness, that was true, but it also turned out to be his greatest strength, and this was a fight Kenjaku couldn’t win.

Not today.

One of his curses, which had been traveling to and fro to observe what was currently taking place in the subway station and reporting it back to Kenjaku, had informed him that Jogo and Hanami were on the brink of death.

He couldn’t lose them yet. They were too powerful, and he needed their help for his future plans.

Kenjaku left the cabin, taking his curses with him.

And, without their cursed energy purposely making it difficult for Satoru to find you, he was able to pinpoint your exact location.

It appeared in his powerful mind as he was ripping Hanami apart limb by limb, and he wasn’t a fool. He didn’t know who was behind all of this, but it was clear that the mastermind had suddenly decided to let your whereabouts be tracked down in order to save Hanami and Jogo.

He didn’t want to make that deal. He wanted to kill these two, bring them back to life, and kill them over again. Their pain brought him joy, all because they took part in your capture.

But Satoru didn’t want his bloodlust to backfire. After all, if he killed the cursed spirits now, the person who held you captive could change their mind and move you someplace else and hide your location yet again, or, worse — they could kill you.

That wasn’t a chance he was willing to take.

Satoru stopped using his technique. But, as he left the subway station, he promised himself that eventually, he would kill those two. He would kill anyone and everyone involved.

But you came first.

You would always come first.

—

He found you.

When Satoru kicked open the door belonging to a raggedy, abandoned cabin, the scent of blood overwhelmed him. It dirtied his boots as he kneeled by your side. Your unconscious, bleeding body was lying there, simply left on the ground as if you were nothing.

“Y/N . . .” Satoru called out breathlessly.

He took the chains off of you instantly, his bloodshot eyes darting over every gaping wound.

It was indescribable — the anger he felt. He wanted to return to the subway and finish off those cursed spirits, to make them suffer and suffer and suffer.

But tending to you took priority right now. Satoru scooped up your broken and bruised body, holding you as softly as he could. A tear fell from his eye, splattering against your cheek.

“I’ve got you, it’s okay,” he spoke gently.

Your eyelids fluttered as you awakened. An overwhelming sense of pain slammed into you once you regained consciousness, and hot tears streamed down your cheeks. Prior to this, the only pain you had ever known was the wholesome body ache from tripping and falling while playing outside with your friends as a child. But this level of misery took away your ability to speak. Left you wondering if you were going to die.

You could make out stains of your blood on Satoru’s clothes.

Even so, you could tell based on the pained look on his face that he was suffering even more just from seeing you in such a condition.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he mumbled, slowly getting off the ground as he carried you. “This is all my fault. They did this to you because of me. I’m so sorry.”

Satoru raised you a bit, gently pressing a soft kiss against your forehead.

He’d give anything to switch places with you right now — to be the one in unspeakable pain. Why couldn’t they have kidnapped him? Tortured him? If he had the power to take away your suffering and give it to himself, he would. For you, not only would he kill, but he’d die, repeatedly and without a second thought or a moment of hesitation.

As Satoru took you to the nearest hospital, his tears spilling onto your body, he said, “We’re almost there, okay? I promise I’ll make them pay for this, and no one will ever lay a hand on you again.”

Arriving into the uncomforting white halls of the emergency room, Satoru handed you off to the nurses and doctors who rushed up to him. But, before they placed you on the nearest stretcher, Satoru kissed your forehead once again as unconsciousness claimed you, and he whispered, “I love you, Y/N.”

—

10:02 A.M.

Two days later, you awakened in a hospital bed. This time, pain didn’t greet you, but grogginess and blurred vision. The gentle beeps from the nearby machines certainly didn’t help your pounding headache.

Your sight started to clear up after blinking a few times.

Soft strands of hair tickled your arm, and when you looked to your left, you saw Satoru slumped in a chair, his head resting in his arms on the side of your bed. You reached over and ruffled his messy white hair a bit.

He shot up, startled. His blue eyes were wide with alarm, then they softened with gratefulness, but, lastly, they darted down with sorrow.

“Y/N . . . thank god, you’re awake.” Satoru croaked out in his morning voice, clearing his throat a bit. He was dehydrated — too focused on your recovery to worry about himself. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so . . .”

Satoru got out of his chair, sat on the side of your bed, and leaned over, resting the side of his head against your chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated.

“It’s not your fault,” you mumbled weakly. “It’s mine.”

Satoru pulled his head away from you, staring at you with furrowed brows and a confused gaze.

“What? No, it’s not.”

You couldn’t find the courage to look him in the eye. Kenjaku’s words replayed in your mind. They hurt just as much as getting attacked by curses.

As if reading your thoughts, Satoru cupped your chin, turning your head back in his direction.

“Look at me,” he said. “What happened wasn’t your fault. I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t care if you can’t fight curses-”

“You’re just saying that . . . because I’m kinda useful to you. But I’m easily replaceable. Speaking honestly, I’m a burden. You had to come save my life, and put yourself in danger. I’m not worth it.”

“You think I married you because you’re useful?” Hurt flashed in Satoru’s piercing eyes. “I’m in love with you, and you’ll never be a burden. I don’t care if you can’t fight curses. You’re my wife for a reason, and that’s because there’s nothing greater than seeing you get excited over finding your favorite snack at the grocery store or seeing the way you smile when your favorite scene from a show comes on, and you sit there and watch it as if you haven't seen it a thousand times. I love the way your eyes light up when you find a new activity in town for us to try, or a new book to read, or a new recipe. God, I just . . . I love you. I love you more than anything. I don’t know how you’re able to put up with someone like me. Every day I wonder how I got so lucky because I don’t deserve you. You’re too good for me, and I haven’t met anyone as loving as you are. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Do you understand me? I’d kill and die for you.”

Satoru gently wiped away the tear that fell from your eyes with his thumb.

“I love you too,” you smiled softly, leaning into his touch. “I’m sorry we missed our dinner reservations and the pottery class.”

Satoru couldn’t help but lean in and kiss your cheek.

“I’ve already rescheduled two weeks out.”

Moving away from your cheek, your husband softly kissed your lips. And while he had spent time rescheduling your date night and making sure you were receiving the excellent care you deserved while in the hospital, he was also hard at work, tracking down the monsters that dared to lay a hand on you.

He would make them suffer.

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @kxmorrx @iwanttohitmyself @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @nnasv @hyunorue

FIVE HUSBANDS

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈𝐈 || 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 || 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

➙ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: eren, armin, connie, jean, levi & reiner x fem!reader

➙ 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: the latest chaos has flipped your life upside down. moving forward in hollywood after the drama involving the two lovesick musicians won’t be easy, especially when a new person walks into your life: the star.

➙ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 18+ ONLY // MINORS DNI - suggestive content, modern au, fluff, angst, drinking, violence, heartbreak, marriage & cheating.

➙ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 11k

Even at the sight of blood, he wouldn’t stop punching him…

—

Two bodyguards wrapped their buff arms around Eren Yeager. One could only hope that their extreme workout routines and protein-heavy diets would pay off, because as Jean Kirstein’s blood spewed out of his face and splattered across the cold, grey ground, it became clear to everyone watching that if Eren wasn’t stopped, he could kill Jean.

When the heartbroken man was pulled off of his bandmate, his long brown hair messy with sweat, he looked at you.

Security rushed over to put him in handcuffs. Bystanders called for medics to tend to Jean, carefully stepping around the small pool of blood pouring out of his face. Others took damaging photographs.

But you only stood there, eyes wide, mouth agape. And, like an unfortunate habit, Eren stared through you.

The overwhelming chatter falling from the mouths of shocked and hurried individuals drowned out the sound of you saying Eren’s name, but he saw the meaningless call fall from your trembling lips, and he didn’t respond.

He only continued to glare.

Even as security dragged him away, even as his line of vision was obscured due to flashing cameras from the paparazzi—who now had a much more interesting story to report instead of writing about the details of your first little concert—those green eyes never stopped piercing through you until he was out of sight.

You turned your head to look at Jean.

Trying to peek through the several tending bodies that swarmed over the injured drummer was no easy feat.

The amount of blood certainly didn’t make it any easier, nor did your frozen body refusing to let you take a step closer.

But when one person got up, rushing away to go grab some bandages as they shot you a peculiar glare, you were able to catch a glimpse at the result of Eren’s rage. You were only allowed one utter second to look at him before a pair of hands gripped your shoulders, spinning you around, and pulling you in for a hug.

“Don’t look,” they said. “Everything will be alright. Just don’t look.”

It was Mikasa Ackerman.

The dark haired girl had paused her backpacking adventures across the world to attend your first concert, as she had become your closest friend since the day you both met. Or, perhaps, your only friend.

She rubbed your back, the cold plastic of her backstage pass dangling around her neck pressing against your skin—and like a broken record—stale, comforting words fell from her mouth over and over again.

“Don’t look.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“Just don’t look.”

Oh, what a liar she was! It was hilarious in a bittersweet way. Perhaps, you should laugh to drown out your own sobs, for this was the furthest possible thing from okay. Even so, you hugged her back. It was the proper thing to do after a night of being a walking, breathing disaster. Your own tears soaked through her black jacket.

“I messed up, Mikasa,” you cried.

She didn’t respond.

You cheated on Eren. Eren beat up his bandmate. Eren was being arrested. Jean needed medical attention. And soon, everyone would know, as if you weren’t already being bombarded with atrocious hate mail due to what happened at the Grammys.

The pounding ache in your heart spread all the way to your fingertips, which clenched onto Mikasa’s jacket.

It had to be a dream.

All of it had to be a dream instead of a living nightmare.

When the blaring sirens from both an ambulance truck and a police car sounded in the distance, it only confirmed that this was, indeed, a screwed up reality.

“We need to talk,” A voice suddenly overpowered the buzzing ones in the distance, and although whoever spoke was behind you, out of your blurry line of vision, you knew exactly who it was.

“Don’t ignore me. We need to talk. Now.” They said again.

“Leave her alone, Levi.” Mikasa spoke over your quiet sobs, holding on to you a bit tighter as she frowned at her cousin. “Now’s not a good time.”

“This has nothing to do with me. All of this is out of my fucking hands now,” Levi clenched his fists. “She has to tell me what the hell’s going on. I’m pissed off enough as it is.”

“No,” Mikasa paused. “Not right now.”

Levi stared at her for a moment. Undoubtedly, he was thinking.

“Fine,” he said. “Then get her the hell out of here, Mikasa. Take her out the back, and keep her damn face hidden.”

“Right,” Mikasa responded firmly.

She did what she was told, guiding you to the back exit and making you wait by the door as she left to go get her car.

When a black vehicle that could have easily been two decades old pulled around, you hopped into the passenger seat.

—

About fifteen minutes of uninterrupted quietness had passed. Glancing out of your passenger window, the stars above seemed too pretty and peaceful for what took place down on earth, and so did the beautiful, bright moon, which you stared at longingly until Mikasa suddenly spoke.

“Hey,” she broke the silence, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. “What exactly happened tonight?”

She dropped her right hand off of the wheel, clasping the top of the wheel to steer with her left as she clenched and unclenched her freed hand.

Her pale knuckles were wrapped in bandages, and one could only guess if it was from her work as a professional fighter, or from exploring dangerous earthly treasures that only stupidly brave adventurers would attempt.

Climbing mountains. Hiking through forests. Wandering through deep caves.

As you glanced at her, you couldn’t help but wonder if the cut across her cheek was from her thrilling journeys as well. Only then did you realize that her hair had grown out since the last time you had seen her.

And, now, here she was, caught up in your mess of a life instead of traveling to another country for a week. A lump of guilt crawled up your throat.

“I’m not judging you,” Mikasa spoke once more, and you suddenly realized that you failed to answer her question from earlier. “Eren getting himself involved in shitty situations isn’t anything new, but he’s still my brother, so I want to know what happened.”

“I cheated on him.”

Mikasa’s dark eyes flickered around at the nearby cars clogging the streets of Los Angeles.

The engine rumbled gently when she came to a stop at a red light.

Switching her driving hand for the injured one, she gripped the wheel as she pulled off again once the light turned green.

“I’m sorry, Mikasa,” you glared at the black interior of the car for so long, it blended in with the surrounding darkness of the night once your eyes started to get blurry with tears. “I don’t know how it happened. Jean was there, and Eren wasn’t.”

“Eren was there. You just didn’t know.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

When she went silent, lost in thought as she tried to decipher the meaning behind your words, she looked exactly like her cousin. You tried to speak once again, wanting to say something that felt appropriate, and apologizing seemed like the proper thing to do.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be.”

Your head snapped in her direction when she suddenly interrupted you.

“What?” You questioned, pinching your eyebrows together in utter confusion.

“I said don’t be,” she repeated, making a swift right turn as she spoke. “I love Eren, so don’t misunderstand me, but he had it coming.”

You didn’t say a word. Not at first. After all, what could you possibly say? Listening to Eren’s own sister say such a thing only made you want to hear more.

If anyone truly knew Eren, it would be her.

“What makes you say that?” You asked softly, careful to not let your tone reveal the intense curiosity you actually held.

“Do you really need to ask?” Mikasa sighed. “He always messed around when it came to relationships. Never took them seriously. So, when he finally decides to settle down with someone who he genuinely fell in love with, of course it’ll end badly. It’s karma.”

“You believe in karma?”

“He took you away from your ex-husband, and then you broke his heart,” Mikasa paused. “If that’s not karma, I don’t know what else it could be.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Listen,” Mikasa’s voice softened. “I think it’s only fair to say that this could be your karma as well. You broke two hearts, his and Armin’s, and now, the person you love is divorcing you. I think you’re both getting what you deserve.”

“Three.”

“What?”

“I broke three hearts. You forgot about Jean.”

“I didn’t forget. I just assumed the two of you would get together now. Why else would you cheat on Eren with him?”

“I told you. I don’t know how it happened.”

The vehicle slowly came to a complete stop, and Mikasa switched off her car, pulling her keys out of the ignition. When the comforting roar of the engine from her old-fashioned car could no longer be heard, only then did you glance out of your passenger window to see Eren’s white modern mansion.

“Do you even love him?” Mikasa asked. “Do you even love Eren?”

“I want him back.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

The door squeaked when you opened it to get out of the car. You had hoped that she wouldn’t try to stop you, nor attempt to pick your mind apart for answers, especially since you didn’t have any. It was the sad, old, truth.

“Thanks for the ride,” you mumbled.

Shutting the door, you walked up to Eren’s home. Your skin crawled with the odd sensation of being watched, as Mikasa refused to pull off until you were safely inside.

And it was rather funny.

All of it.

From watching her enter the gated community to her watching you fish for your keys, the both of you secretly knowing that if Eren wasn’t in jail, you wouldn’t have been allowed back into his home.

But there was nowhere else for you to go.

You were just as lost as a singer in Hollywood as you were as a baker in New York.

When the front door to Eren’s house opened, Mikasa’s car started up again, and she finally pulled off.

Eren’s housekeeper greeted you with a smile. The poor middle aged woman had no idea what had taken place tonight, for if she did, your belongings would have been packed and placed in the grand foyer.

Perhaps, that’s what you should start doing. Getting your stuff and fleeing before Eren had a chance to kick you out himself.

It was a tempting idea, one that had your foot on the first step of the grand staircase on your way to the master bedroom, your trembling hand gripping the rail, but you hesitated.

Marriage takes work. Couples make mistakes. You had to fight to hold on to what you held dear. Maybe he wouldn’t want to leave you if you apologized. Maybe Levi knew a couple of marriage counselors for you. Maybe…

Hoping for forgiveness is what made you grab the keys to your own car, run out of Eren’s house, and drive down to the police station. And hope was a dangerous thing.

—

Pulling into the semi-isolated parking lot of the police station, the depressing brick building lit only by a few orange streetlights, you hopped out of your car before you even had a chance to park it properly.

Levi Ackerman lingered around in front of the glassy entrance, his phone pressed against his ear, his other hand in the pocket of his jacket as he mumbled away at his device.

When those dark eyes of his landed on you, he raised an eyebrow, and said to the person on the other end of the call, “I gotta go.”

You tried to rush past him. Tried to march through those glass doors and find Eren. But Levi stretched his arm out, forcing you to halt your footsteps.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, his cold breath visible thanks to the chilly weather.

“Move.”

“No. I’m not letting you go in.”

“I’m still his…his wife,” your voice was rather shaky, but you continued. “I wanna talk to him—I need to talk to him.”

“Yeah, well, unless you’re his lawyer, you can’t talk to him. I doubt he’d want to speak to you anyway.” Levi looked at you intensely, his eyes glossed over with the wet shine of exhaustion and stress. “What the hell were you thinking? Do you know how serious this is?”

Tears started to brim in the reddened waterline of your eyes, but they didn’t fall down your cold cheeks just yet.

However, as your voice gave a small crack whenever you spoke, it was clear to your manager that you were at your limit. It was the only telltale sign that he needed.

Still, you didn’t cry. Not yet.

“How was I supposed to know that Eren would beat the shit outta him?” You croaked out. “I didn’t even know that Eren was there! He was avoiding me for weeks a-and said he wasn’t gonna show up. I fucked up, I know that, but he stopped speaking to me. Stopped looking at me. He acted like I didn’t exist…and I was fucking lonely.”

By now, the receptionist had peered up from behind her desk to take a glance at the commotion outside. You turned your back to the glass, shaky breaths escaping you as you poorly attempted to calm yourself down.

Inhale…exhale…

Still, you didn’t cry. Not yet.

Perhaps, you were all out of tears. Maybe the last of the salty liquid had dried against your cheek on the somber drive home in Mikasa’s car, when you sulked against the cracked window that let in a bit of the nightly breeze.

Or, maybe, your relationship had truly ended—not tonight, with Jean’s hand in your pants and his lips on your skin, but a while before, when your beloved husband witnessed him kiss you at the Oscars.

Maybe it ended when Eren opened the door to the studio, and saw his old best friend kiss your cheek. A simple affection that carried the weight of a ticking time bomb.

When a random civilian walked out of the station, giving a polite nod to Levi, the man dropped his voice down to a whisper, all too aware that you were both in public.

And people were ruthless.

“You’re not in that shithole neighborhood in New York anymore,” he started. “You’re in Hollywood now, which means that you can’t do anything anymore unless you want the public to know about it. I don’t give a damn about you and Eren or you and Jean, but hooking up in the dressing room of your concert was the stupidest thing you could have done. Anyone could have walked in, and someone did.”

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose. As someone who was actively against smoking, it killed him to admit that he could seriously reap the benefits of a good drag from a cigarette right now. The stress was just as unhealthy.

“As your manager, I can fix a cheating scandal or handle rumors, but I can’t fix this. I can’t do shit when it comes to the law,” he said.

“Is Jean gonna press charges?” You asked, glancing down at his shoes. It was easier than looking into his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter. Eren’s screwed either way. And so are you.”

He was right. It was The Court of Public Opinion. Along with that, whether or not Eren would have to deal with the legal consequences of beating Jean was nothing compared to the nightmare of having everyone know what had happened.

Nosy tabloid companies were probably overworking their journalists and reporters already, making them write up headlines and articles about tonight until their fingers ached from typing.

How unfortunate it was to have every single movement be seen by the entire world. To be picked apart by strangers.

And you’d be right in the center of it all.

“I can’t believe he’d attack Jean like that. I’ve never seen him get so angry. Jean said that he was dangerous, but…” Your words trailed off into the chilly air. The sight of Jean’s blood reappeared in your mind intrusively.

“You really didn’t know the kinda man you married, did you?” Levi asked.

And there it was. The vague hint at who Eren Yeager truly was. You failed to respond to Levi’s question—which was spoken like some sort of warning, truth be told—and you simply looked at him.

“Listen,” Levi sighed. “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Home?”

“Yeah. Home. The place where you shit, eat, and sleep.”

“Well, I stayed with Eren. I don’t think I’m welcome there anymore unless it’s to pack my stuff. I gotta find a hotel.”

“No, it’s too late at night.” Levi frowned. “Just…come home with me.”

“What?” You raised your eyebrows. It was a rather kind gesture, especially from someone as cutthroat as him. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not letting you spend the night in a hotel by yourself when I have a guest room. Especially once Eren’s crazy groupies find out what you did.” He started walking towards his sleek black car. “Let’s go. We’ll stop by Eren’s house to get your stuff.”

—

Levi Ackerman’s house was an architectural version of himself. It was a modern mansion, but smaller and more sophisticated than Eren’s. The black exterior should have a sign along its sleek material that read “I’m rich and I’m serious!”

Prioritizing a minimalist style over a showcase of wealth, expensive and stunning artwork decorated an occasional wall here and there. And it was clean. Spotless without a maid running around to dust every corner.

Stepping into the chilly house of your manager, your shoes clicked against the marble floor of his foyer. You took a few steps forward before turning around to face him like a clueless guest, watching him lock his front door.

“Follow me,” he said.

And, like an obedient puppy, you followed him through his home, turning down the majorly isolated hallways. The silence, aside from the air conditioner blasting, was nauseatingly awkward. Something had to be said to end it. Anything.

“Hey, Levi?” You started, walking a bit faster to keep up with him.

“Hm?”

“How can you afford all of this on a manager’s salary? Just how many people have you worked with? I remember Mikasa saying that you were one of the most elite managers in Hollywood, but still, this place has to be pretty expensive. Is that why you barely have any furniture and decorations?”

“Do you want to sleep outside?”

“No,” you mumbled. “Sorry.”

Silence remained until you reached the guest bedroom. It was as clean and organized as the rest of the house, and truthfully, you wanted to ask him if he ever had any guests stay over to begin with, but you knew better.

He stood in the doorway as you walked further into the room, sitting your bag down on the bed.

“The guest bathroom’s through there,” he pointed out a nearby door attached to the bedroom. “Take a shower before you go to bed.”

He started to walk out, his hand on the doorknob as he was getting ready to close it and leave you be, eager to take a hot shower of his own after such a stressful day, but he halted his movements when you spoke again.

“Sorry to be so much trouble,” you looked over at him. “But I appreciate your help.”

“It’s fine.”

Levi closed the door without another word. Without him around, his chilly home managed to feel even colder. Even so, despite the air conditioner running at sixty eight degrees Fahrenheit—the white, black, and grey exterior along with the perfectly clean environment that made you not dare to breathe too harshly—you exhaled as you sat on the edge of the bed.

You felt safe; more protected than you would have felt in a hotel room, no matter if you could have swinged a presidential suite or something equally as lavish at this time of night.

New and unopened toothbrushes, deodorant, and toothpaste tubes were neatly organized in the drawers belonging to the double vanity in the guest bathroom. It only made you even more curious about the type of guests someone like Levi Ackerman might have had.

Perhaps, Mikasa might have stayed over sometimes whenever she was in town or simply wanted to feel closer to the one blood relative she had.

Or, maybe he often had clients occupying his guest space whenever they needed it.

Either way, as you stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away every bit of the hellish day you had experienced, you were beyond thankful for his charity.

And when you drifted off to sleep in the unfamiliar bed, you only had two things on your mind: your reputation, and getting your husband back.

—

Once ten A.M. rolled around, the sun was shining through the large bedroom window. The bright sun rays served as nature’s alarm clock, and you squinted your eyes as soon as they fluttered open.

During one of the many lessons and classes Levi made you sit through to shape you into the Perfect Celebrity, one of the variety of topics dealt with healthy habits. Make your bed. Eat fruits and vegetables. Drink water. Some more aggravating rules as well. And among them? Never look at your phone when you first wake up in the morning.

You had to mentally apologize to Mrs. Delano, your instructor, because as soon as your brain processed the fact that you were indeed wide awake, you snatched your phone off of your nightstand.

Aside from the bright screen light, you were greeted with an overwhelming amount of messages, all from known industry acquaintances.

Mikasa had also sent a message around seven in the morning. A polite check in.

She was the only person you had the energy to text back. Everyone else would have to wait. As your finger hovered over the power off button along the side of your phone, your eyes suddenly dropped down to a message from an unknown number.

call me.

You decided to check your missed calls, and discovered that they had dialed you back to back four times.

It wasn’t strange. Not necessarily. After all, your phone number getting leaked was a regular thing you had to deal with nowadays.

Even so, this didn’t seem like any regular old fan or hater.

It seemed familiar. Too direct.

Your thumb hovered over the call icon, however, after a moment of silent debate, you decided to turn off your phone and get out of bed.

Trying to locate Levi in his own home was like walking through a maze. Every single door you came across led to a room that he wasn’t in, but you could hear him moving around.

Half of you wanted to call his name and wait for him to come find you, lean against the wall with a frown and blame him for picking out a house that was more confusing than a puzzle.

Luckily, after meeting your daily step goal, you found him sitting at the breakfast nook in his modern gourmet kitchen.

“You overslept,” Levi sipped on his tea, not bothering to look up at you. “I made breakfast, but it’s cold by now. Didn’t know you’d wake up this late or else I would’ve saved myself the trouble.”

“C’mon, it’s not that late. Not to mention, I spent the last thirty minutes trying to find my way through your house.” You walked over to the kitchen island, picking up the covered plate of food. “Besides, yesterday was exhausting as hell. Can you blame me for being tired?”

“Yeah, I can, actually.”

You sighed. His little remarks were what you deserved, and therefore, you didn’t push him any further.

“You didn’t have to make me breakfast, Levi. You’ve done enough for me by letting me spend the night.”

“Just eat it. I don’t need to hear a speech.”

Putting your plate in the microwave, you pushed the necessary buttons to turn it on and heat up your food without another word.

For the next two minutes, at least.

The microwave beeped. You grabbed your steamy meal, searched around for a fork and made yourself a glass of water, all before sitting down across from Levi.

“So, what happens now?” You asked softly, breaking off a piece of bacon.

“I gotta go check up on Eren and see how much shit he’s in.”

“Can-”

“Hell no. You’re not going anywhere.”

“But it can’t be that serious,”you frowned, “he just punched him.”

“Yeah,” Levi looked over at you for the first time since you stepped into the kitchen. “He punched him, several times, while wearing rings. Jean needed medical attention, and it’s not like Eren’s never been in trouble with the law before. He could seriously get locked away if money and influence doesn’t save his ass.”

You were silent.

“What? Got nothing to say?” Levi took another sip of his tea.

“No. Not to you. Not to anyone except Eren.”

Now, it was Levi’s turn to remain silent, but only for a moment.

“You really love him, huh?”

“Okay, why is everyone questioning that?” You pulled away from your food with a frown. “First Mikasa, and now you-”

“You’ve fooled around with three guys back to back. It’s a little hard to tell which one of them you like the most.” Levi’s eyes never glanced away from yours as he spoke, his words laced with harshness and honesty, and he continued to sip on his tea as shame washed over you.

“Well, Eren’s my husband, and I want him back. That’s all you need to know.” You stared at your plate. “My personal life is my business-”

“I refuse to believe you’re stupid enough to think that. How many times do I have to explain it to you?” He sat his mug down. “There’s no such thing as privacy anymore. Everything you do from what you say to what you wear will be everyone’s fucking business. After all the lessons I put you through…after everything you’ve seen so far, how can you still not comprehend that?”

Once again, the silence reappeared like an old habit. Only, this time, it was accompanied by a thick aura of sadness from you, and lingering guilt from Levi.

It was as if he had just kicked a puppy.

And it was odd. He normally didn’t care too much about how people handled his brutally honest words, but right now—for unknown reasons he’d think over later on when he was alone—he felt the need to apologize.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he gave a small sigh. “I forgot that all of this is still a big adjustment for you, but I can’t hold your hand through all of it.”

“I don’t need you to hold my hand. And I can take care of myself. You shouldn’t care so much about what a bunch of gossipy brats are saying about us T.V.”

“Those gossipy brats can ruin everyone’s entire career in an instant.” Levi shot you a look, one that you couldn’t quite grasp the meaning behind. “Besides, you need me.”

“No I don’t.”

“You’re a homeless woman who’s sleeping at her manager’s house because she cheated on a famous rockstar with his bandmate.” Suddenly, he got up from his seat, grabbing his nearly empty mug.

“Now listen, I gotta go. Try not to turn on the T.V., alright? I’m sure they’re dragging your name through the dirt right now. Don’t leave the house, and don’t answer any phone calls.”

You suddenly remembered the unknown calls from earlier, and while you watched the concentrated man wash and dry his mug, you debated with yourself over whether or not the phone calls and the text message was worth mentioning. After all, maybe he knew who the number belonged to. He seemed to know everyone.

Clearing your throat, you decided to keep quiet.

“Are you gonna check on Jean too?” You asked. “Make sure he’s okay?”

“Of course I am.” He started to leave the kitchen, but he hesitated. “And don’t tell anyone you’re staying here, not even Mikasa. Last thing I need is for the public to start making rumors about us.”

“Okay.”

Without saying another word, Levi left, leaving you all alone.

—

For the next two weeks, that was your life. Waking up. Seeing the missed calls from an unknown number. Having brunch prepared by Levi as he sat and drank his Earl Grey tea, having already eaten his breakfast earlier in the day. Then, after telling you not to answer your phone or watch the news, he’d leave for hours upon hours, only to return home late at night.

Then, it would all repeat the next day.

Although, sometimes he’d leave around noon. Sometimes he’d come back home before the day completely ended.

But his constantly fleeting presence did little to help the intense loneliness you felt.

And although he was hardly around, Levi noticed the way you’d stay in bed all day. At most, short trips to the bathroom or to the kitchen were made, but after a few minutes, you were right back in bed.

Lonely…

One morning, you heated up your breakfast like you always did. This time, Levi prepared homemade pancakes with neatly diced fruit. Plopping down at the breakfast nook, you grabbed the syrup to pour over your pancakes, and Levi continued to sip on his tea. Today, he decided to have Green Tea instead of Earl Grey.

“You need some friends,” Levi suddenly said.

“Huh?”

“Friends. You need friends.”

“I have friends.” You frowned, biting into your diced cantaloupe. “And I’ve never seen you talk to another human being outside of work.”

“I have friends, believe it or not,” Levi glared.

“Like who?”

“You wouldn’t know them. We were in the military together.”

“You were in the goddamn military? Why?” You couldn’t help but chuckle. The idea of someone like Levi going from the military to managing celebrities was rather funny, and you gave him an amused smile.

“It was the smartest way out of a bad situation,” he replied coldly. He scratched his cheek as he looked away from you, not exactly keen on replicating your amusement.

“What situation?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” Levi sighed. “The point is that you’re lonely. I can tell. I know I said that no one should know you’re here, but loneliness can drive you crazy, and I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“What are you saying?” You asked.

“I asked Mikasa to come pick you up tonight. She’s gonna let you hang out with her and her weird ass friends.”

“Seriously?” You raised your eyebrows. At this point, going outside and hanging out with people seemed like a foreign concept. Like a fantasy. “That sounds like something I need.”

“I thought it would cheer you up a little. Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Levi flashed you a look of worry. “They’ll be here around seven, if her shitty car doesn’t break down, at least.”

“Well, they always say that rich people should live like they’re broke, huh?” Giving a soft grin, you thought about how much money Eren had given her and the rest of their family. Even before his fame, they were pretty well off, living comfortably as upper middle class citizens.

And yet, she refused to allow herself to enjoy even a spec of luxury.

Or—based on the state of her car—decency as well.

“There’s a difference between living like you’re broke and living like you’re stupid.” Levi said, getting up from the breakfast nook to wash his mug, like he did every single day.

“And just what would you know about how broke people live?” You asked, not necessarily expecting to find yourself so bitter over his comment, but you couldn’t help it. “I mean, look at this house.”

“What, you think I was born here? Always had money?” Levi paused. “I know more about struggling than you do, and it’s none of your damn business.”

“Oh,” you mumbled pathetically. “I shouldn’t have assumed-”

“It’s fine.”

You wanted to properly apologize. Truth be told, you wanted to know more about his past more than you wanted to say sorry. Therefore, you did neither, avoiding the act of apologizing and pushing for more details all together.

Instead, you finished your food, and went back to the guest bedroom.

—

When day turned to night, you eagerly waited for Mikasa to arrive like a little kid waiting for Santa Claus.

After what felt like an eternity had passed, a knock was heard at the front door.

Finally.

“Mikasa!” You greeted her with a smile, pulling her in for a hug. “It’s so good to see you, you have no idea.”

“I was worried about you. I should’ve known Levi had you hidden away here.” She gently rubbed your back as she hugged you, only pulling away to scan her dark eyes over your entire being. “I’m glad you’re alright, though. When I saw what they were saying about you, I…”

When you frowned in confusion, your facial expression saying what do you mean? without you having to utter a single word, Mikasa let her words drift off into nothingness.

Of course Levi wouldn’t have let you watch the news or read any articles.

And that was a wise decision.

“Anyways,” Mikasa started, turning away from you and facing the two women standing in the foyer. “This is Annie Leonhart. She’s a well respected stunt double and a big advocate for women’s rights.”

“Hey,” the shorter, blonde haired woman greeted.

“Nice to meet you, Annie,” you smiled politely.

Mikasa turned her attention to the wide-eyed woman with reddish brown hair standing beside Annie.

“This is Sasha Braus,” she paused. “She’s friends with just about everyone. A big leech, but we all love her, so we allow it. You’ve probably seen her guest star on a lot of cooking shows, if you watch that sort of thing.”

“It’s true!” Sasha beamed, grabbing your hand to shake it. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

You flashed a grin of your own that was equally as enthusiastic. Her happiness was contagious. She seemed like someone who you should have been friends with your entire life, and a sliver of frustration shot through your veins over the realization that you were just meeting her now. Her energy was fantastic. It was crystal clear why all of her influential friends took care of her, as someone that joyous should never have to work a day in their life.

The happy girl suddenly grabbed your wrist, along with Annie’s, and started to hurriedly drag you both right out of the door.

“Come on, guys,” she said, her excitement raising her tone a bit. “Let’s go eat!”

And with that, you all piled away into Mikasa’s car.

—

Bright lights belonging to the southern-style restaurant advertised its whereabouts from about two miles away.

It was more fun than fancy, the blue neon lights and funky cowboy decorations as a dead giveaway that if you were looking for a quiet and sophisticated place to dine luxuriously, you’d be greatly disappointed.

And it was lovely.

Scooting into the spacious booth with the other three girls, you found yourself sitting in between Mikasa and Annie. Being at a restaurant with such an amusing vibe after spending two weeks indoors resulted in you glancing around like a kid at the zoo.

“Hey,” Mikasa glanced up at you, looking away from her menu. “Try not to draw any attention to yourself. Most people here like to mind their own business, but still. You never know.”

You nodded, grabbing ahold of your own menu.

“So,” Reaching for a dusty peanut inside of a little silver basket right in the center of the wooden table, Sasha cracked the tiny shell open. “I, uh, I listened to your first song earlier today. It was really good.”

“Thanks, that means a lot,” you flashed the happy girl a polite smile.

“For what it’s worth,” Annie suddenly spoke up, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m on your side in all of this.”

“You are?”

“Yes. Men like Eren and Jean took pure advantage of your naiveness. If you ask me, you should have been the one doing the punching. Don’t sit back and let them walk all over you.” Annie paused, “and not just Eren and Jean, but their entire clueless fandom.”

“Enough, Annie.” Mikasa said. “We’re not here to talk about any of that.”

“I know, I just had to get that off of my chest.”

“We should order some drinks,” Sasha laughed nervously, grabbing ahold of her flimsy, laminated menu. The category of alcoholic beverages caught her attention, and her big eyes widened as she smiled. “Oh, I’m definitely gonna get the Pina Colada! What about y’all? We can share a basket of wings as an appetizer too. Should we get ranch or blue cheese as a dipping sauce? Nevermind, let’s get both.”

When the waiter appeared with a complimentary bread basket and a warm smile, he said, “good evening ladies, thank you for dining with us tonight. What can I get you guys started with?”

“We definitely want a basket of mild wings with both ranch and blue cheese, and I’ll take a Pina Colada. Any chance y’all have extra pineapple?” Sasha said.

“You want pineapple slices? Sure thing.” The waiter jotted down Sasha’s request before looking at Mikasa. “And what about you?”

“I’ll pass on any alcohol. I’m the one driving.”

The waiter nodded, turning his attention to you and Annie.

“Please bring me a blood orange margarita immediately,” you practically demanded.

“I’ll take a glass of red wine,” Annie said.

“Alright, I’ll have those drinks out along with your wings shortly,” he flashed yet another polite smile before walking away.

Everyone said a quick “thank you” to the hardworking man. Reaching for a bread roll, you smiled softly.

“I just gotta say,” you paused. “Levi might be an ass sometimes, but it was nice of him to call you guys.”

“You could use some support right now,” Mikasa smiled softly. “Despite whether what you did was right or wrong, you don’t deserve to feel lonely.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

At first, you and the rest of the group chatted about mundane things. The weather. L.A. traffic. A variety of simple topics. Once your drinks arrived, along with your appetizers, the topics not only increased in volume, but became more interesting as well.

By the time you ordered your main courses and took your first few bites, it felt like you had known all three women since the day you were born.

Their laughs were like music; a song you wanted to hear on repeat over and over again, and you’d think about it once the evening ended, surely.

After having a hilarious debate over who was the hottest celebrity of all time, you pressed the salty rim of your alcoholic beverage against your grinning lips.

That was when you noticed a particularly handsome, slightly familiar man sitting at the bar.

“Hey,” you furrowed your brows, pointing slyly at the man. “Am I crazy, or is that who I think it is?”

“Who? Where?” Sasha asked, craning her neck as she looked around.

“Sitting on the side of the bar,” you said.

“There’s a lot of people sitting at the bar-”

“With the blonde hair, Annie.”

“Oh, I see him.” Annie blinked, returning her attention to the half-eaten chicken Alfredo she ordered.

“Is that Reiner Braun?” You tried to whisper, but your sudden excitement along with the alcohol running through your system made it so that you were talking at an above-average volume.

“It sure looks like it,” Mikasa said.

The Handsome Man could feel several pairs of curious eyes watching him, burning into his skin as he sipped on his beer.

As a well-known actor, he was used to having strangers watch him in public, and typically, they’d shyly glance away whenever he made eye contact.

But not you.

Reiner could practically see the caution signs hanging around your head. After all, he knew exactly who you were.

That girl from New York.

The one who got Eren Yeager arrested.

The singer with more failed relationships than original songs.

But even so, he swallowed down the last gulp of beer, left the ginger bartender a hefty tip, and made his way over to your booth.

Maybe it was the alcohol.

Maybe it was your beautiful smile.

He had never believed in something as silly as love at first sight—even after acting out the trope in several films before—until now, when he looked into your glistening, captivating eyes.

“Nice to meet you, I’m-”

“You’re Reiner Braun,” you interrupted him, extending your hand for him to shake. “You’re one of my favorite actors. It’s an honor to meet you.”

“The honor is mine,” instead of shaking it, he raised your hand to his lips, planting a soft kiss against your skin.

“That’s why you shouldn’t ever meet someone who just finished filming a romance movie.” Annie frowned, “they’re usually pretty weird.”

“Hush, Annie. I'm just being polite.” Reiner dropped your hand, turning his attention to the two women next to you.

“Sasha, Mikasa, good to see you.”

“Come on, have a seat. You looked pretty lonely over there,” Sasha instantly started to scoot in, shoving everyone together like a pack of sardines as she patted the cushion of her previous spot, encouraging the actor to have a seat as she smiled at him.

“Oh, I’d hate to interrupt-”

“You’re not interrupting,” you quickly cut off his rejection.

“Y/N,” Mikasa frowned slightly. “This is supposed to be a girls night.”

There was a strange flame within her dark eyes, one that signified that she was deeply bothered. Something irritated her more about this situation than a girls night potential being ruined.

“You’re right,” you paused, searching her eyes for a hint as to what she was really thinking, before turning your attention back to Reiner. “Some other time then, Reiner.”

“I look forward to it,” he smiled—flashing a grin that was nothing short of a breathtaking sight—and started to walk away. “Goodnight, ladies.”

Once he was a good distance away, Sasha leaned forward across the table.

“He’s so handsome, it’s insane,” she whispered, although it was anything but a whisper.

“I beg to differ. Reiner’s one of the reasons why I refuse to date men,” Annie blinked, her tone and face as expressionless and blank as a piece of paper.

“I think he’s great. How can a guy be so fucking dreamy?” You said, and the other women chuckled.

Except for Mikasa.

When the bill arrived, Annie and Sasha decided to head to the bathroom together before everyone was ready to leave, wise enough to not pack themselves into a car and risk having to deal with a full bladder while stuck in L.A. traffic.

With the two of them gone, you glanced at Mikasa, giving the girl a soft, comforting smile. A “trust me, I’m friendly,” sort of grin.

“Hey,” you started. “You alright? You got kinda quiet.”

“I’m fine.”

When she uttered out those two false words, she sounded exactly like her cousin.

And, just like you did whenever you chatted with him, you decided not to press her any further.

You both sat in a bit of an awkward silence, aside from the restaurant’s mainstream music and chatter from the other diners.

Suddenly, she spoke once again.

“I know I said that we shouldn’t talk about any of…it, but I need to ask you something.” She paused. She looked deeply into your eyes. “Have you talked to Armin?”

To say that her question had caught you by surprise would have been an understatement. After all, everyone seemed to only ask about Eren and Jean.

“Armin?” You scratched your arm. “No, I haven’t. Why? Have you?”

The dark haired girl gave you the saddest look.

“Yes.”

—

After that wonderful night, you and the other girls couldn’t stand being away from each other for too long. Even Mikasa had lingered around Los Angeles and nearby cities for a while, as there was something beautiful and peaceful about the friendship that was created between the four of you.

Or, perhaps, the five of you.

Maybe six.

Reiner eventually joined in on some of the outings. You and Sasha insisted upon it. Annie truly didn’t mind, despite her constant bickering with him, and Mikasa eventually caved in as well, as she cared more about your happiness.

And, as Levi allowed you all to hang out at his place, he was starting to grow fond of the idea of having you all in his home.

The steaks sizzled in the hot pan on the stove as Levi flipped them, a towel over his shoulder as he listened in on the idiotic UNO game taking place at the breakfast nook.

You, Sasha, Annie, Mikasa, and Reiner were all sitting there, drinks poured, and every single one of you held your cards as close to your own faces as possible.

“Draw two,” you said, placing a card down as you glared at Reiner out of the corner of your eye. “Wait—shit…Can I stack a draw two on a draw two?”

“No,” Reiner glared as he grabbed two cards.

“Yes,” Sasha chimed in.

“You’re only saying no because you don’t want four cards,” Annie said, holding on to her last two cards like her life was on the line.

“No, I’m saying no because it’s the rules of the game,” Reiner took a much-needed sip of his beer.

Levi suddenly walked over. He glanced down over Mikasa’s shoulder, looking at her three cards.

“Hey, don’t try to help her out, Levi,” you frowned.

“She’s my family, so I gotta root for her. I want to know if she has a chance.” Levi paused, turning his attention to Mikasa. “You better kick their asses.”

“I plan to,” Mikasa smirked.

“Worry about your steaks, Levi.” You rolled your eyes playfully, putting a card down as you did so. “They’re probably burnt as hell by now.”

“Do you even know how to cook?” Levi shot back as he made his way back over to the stove.

You didn’t respond immediately. You blinked at him. You couldn’t cook a meal to save your life.

“So anyways,” you cleared your throat, “I think that we should be able to stack a draw two on a-”

“I take that as a no, then.” Levi interrupted, and as he took the steaks out of the pan, he gave a low, barely-audible laugh, along with a soft smile.

Everyone looked up from their cards to witness the historical event. At that moment, everyone mistakenly dropped their hand, showing their cards, but everyone was too concerned with the unfamiliar sound and facial expression that came from Levi Ackerman to notice.

“Are you laughing, Levi?” Your eyes widened a bit. “Did I just make you laugh? And smile?”

“No. Shut up.” Levi turned his back towards you and everyone else. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

“Ya know, you’re pretty cute when you’re grinning,” Sasha said. “Isn’t he?”

“She’s right,” Annie added on. “A smile looks good on you.”

“You should do it more often,” you laughed.

A faint pink blush dusted across Levi’s cheeks. He tried his best to hide it from the group, but the sudden shouts and coos were a telltale sign that he had failed.

As he tried to deny the laughing, smiling, and blushing allegations, his phone started to ring.

Upon seeing the caller ID, he immediately frowned.

“Everyone shut the hell up for a minute,” he demanded.

He answered the phone quickly. After a while of mumbling, “okay,” “I understand,” “Yeah,” “Okay,” he hung up.

But his frown only deepened.

“What’s wrong?” Reiner asked.

“That was my boss,” Levi paused. “The guy who runs the company. He’s finally back in town.”

“So?” You took another sip of your drink.

“He hasn’t been in town since any of this happened,” Levi said, turning to face you from where he stood by the kitchen island.

“You mean since…” you paused, “since what happened between me, Eren, and Jean?”

“Yeah,” Levi said. “He wants to have a meeting with all four of us. You, me, Jean, and Eren.”

“What? When?”

“Tomorrow. He’s pissed off, so it can’t wait.”

—

You, Levi, Eren, and Jean.

A meeting with the big boss.

The thought of it made your stomach twist into a knot.

“What a way to ruin a fun night,” you thought.

Sitting on the ground in the partially dark hallway, you rested your head against the wall. Laughter echoed from the kitchen. It wasn’t as joyous without you around, but your nerves had ruined any appetite you had for steaks, drinks, and card games.

Booted footsteps had suddenly drawn your attention. You looked up to see Reiner approaching you.

“Levi took your spot in UNO,” he paused, handing you a glass. “Here, I brought you some water.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

As you took the cup, taking a gulp of what seemed to be the most refreshing glass of water of all time after downing enough alcohol this evening, Reiner sat down next to you on the floor.

“So, I haven’t known you for a long time, and I only have gossip and articles to go off of, but everything’s going to be alright,” he said.

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” you closed your eyes as you spoke.

“No, I mean it,” Reiner sighed. “I’ve been in the industry for a long time. Film—but it’s all the same. There was a time when I betrayed everyone closest to me so that I could stay in the spotlight. People make mistakes, and Hollywood might not understand that, but they’ll get over it eventually. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

Reiner looked into your eyes, revealing every bit of sincerity within him.

“Even if the fans forget about it, that doesn’t mean Eren will. He hasn’t divorced me yet, but I haven’t seen him since that night. I keep trying to have hope that I can save my marriage, but…there’s no point in lying to myself. He took his ring off. We’re over, aren’t we? Me and Eren?”

You looked at him with fleeting hope, your own eyes glistening as you rambled.

“I’m afraid so,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You sniffled, but you didn’t cry. Instead, you and Reiner sat in silence for a few moments before you looked over at him and asked, “have you ever had your heart broken?”

“I did,” he answered hesitantly. “Once.”

“What was it like?”

“It’s not really something you can describe,” he scratched the side of his blonde head. “It’s too strong of an emotion to fit into words. Why?”

“Just curious,” you suddenly grinned sheepishly.

“Well,” Reiner pushed himself off of the ground. “Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to-”

“Wait,” you interrupted, standing up and straightening your clothes. “Don’t leave.”

You stepped closer, and he didn’t back away. Even when you pressed yourself against him. Even when you looked up at him with eyes that made him understand why your past three lovers were so addicted to you.

Just as Reiner blamed the alcohol for being the reason why he approached your table at the restaurant, you would do the same thing; blame the alcohol as you pressed your lips against his.

He was surprised. Pleasantly so.

It took no time at all for him to get over his initial shock, and he cupped your cheeks, kissing you passionately as your back hit the wall.

—

“Oh—god, Reiner,” you moaned softly, “feels so…good.”

His lips on your neck felt like heaven. Those large hands of his gripping your ass sent a rush of pleasure through your veins, a rush that came from alcohol, and the thrill of doing something so insanely stupid.

Anyone could walk down the hallway and catch you both.

“Let me take you back to my place,” Reiner mumbled against your skin, as he suddenly became aware of how exposed you both were.

“No, I can’t,” you said breathlessly, clenching onto his muscular arms. “Meeting’s tomorrow…my husband…”

“Hm?” Reiner kissed your jaw, “I thought you said it was over? I’d never go after a married woman, sweetheart.”

“I…” your words drifted off into yet another soft moan, as when you started to speak, Reiner started to suck and lick at the sweet spot on your neck once more.

“Come home with me,” he whispered. “I gotta hear more of those moans.”

“No,” you released a small whine. “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

The warmth that radiated off of his body quickly became something you desperately craved once he pulled away. With his body no longer against yours, you found yourself missing his touch already.

“I understand,” he smiled sadly. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

You nodded—despite how much you wanted him to shove you against the wall and kiss you deeply—you nodded.

And after saying goodbye to everyone else, under the excuse that he was feeling tired, he left.

—

From the very second Levi Ackerman’s eyes fluttered open on the morning of the meeting, to the very second he walked into CS records, he was beyond stressed.

But not nearly as stressed as you were.

Levi practically dragged you into the elevator, scanning your entire body for any obvious signs of a hangover once the automatic silver doors closed.

“Let me do the talking,” he said. “I don’t like the idea of getting fired. That bastard doesn’t scare me, though. I’d kick his ass if he didn’t carry a gun. ”

You nodded. You tried to calm yourself down by focusing on your breathing.

For a moment, it worked.

It worked until you walked into the big office, and your eyes landed on Eren.

Levi grabbed the seat next to Jean, who had a scar going across his cheek from where his stitches used to be. And although Eren had no visible scars, his emotional damage was beyond clear to anyone who caught a glimpse of the daggers within his eyes.

Once you sat down, the man who owned CS records—Connie Springer—sighed deeply.

—

“So,” he tossed his hands up, “who’d like to start? Who wants to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

“Well, first of all-”

“Two months.” Connie interrupted Jean. “I was gone for a little over two months, and everything starts falling apart.”

“Just let me explain,” Levi raised his hand, and Connie nodded, letting him speak. “There’s no need to get worked up about what happened between these three. The public has practically moved past it by now. Eren’s out of jail, and Jean’s all healed. Y/N’s going to start working on music again, and I plan to get the band back on tour.”

“Hell no,” Eren said darkly. “I’m not going anywhere with him.”

“Grow up, Eren,” Jean shot back, before he glanced over at you.

Eren clenched his fist. If Connie and Levi weren’t around, there was no doubt in your mind that he would have tried to scar Jean's other cheek.

Even so, even with Jean’s eyes all over you, your beloved husband still didn’t cast one single glance in your direction. You might as well have been a ghost.

“You two don’t have a choice,” Connie said. “You both signed a contract.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Eren pressed his clenched fist against his lips. “If you force me to be around him, I’ll end up killing his ass.”

“You left the goddamn band, Con,” Jean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why can’t we leave as well?”

“Different time. Different contracts.” Connie smirked. “You work for me now. Unless you want me to ruin your lives?”

“Fuck you, man,” Eren said. “This is bullshit and you know it.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Connie faced Eren in his rotating chair. “Gonna punch me too? Try it. Go ahead. Do it, and let’s see what fucking happens.”

Eren and Connie glared at each other with eyes filled with so much hatred, it was impossible to believe that once upon a time, they were best friends.

“Cut it out,” Levi said. “Just tell us what you want us to do, Connie.”

Connie stopped glaring at his old bandmate, and he smirked once again.

“Just as you said, Levi. Eldian Devils will finish their tour. I want some new music out as well. As for you,” The rich man looked at you for the first time since you stepped through those doors. “Get your shit together. Focus on releasing some more music and buy yourself a goddamn house before I send you back to New York. Got it?”

You nodded, feeling like a school kid being scolded by the principal.

“You guys know me. I like to have fun and take it easy, but when you guys embarrass my company’s name when I’m not around?” Connie sighed. “All of you need to get it together now. This is your last warning. Now get out of my office.”

Without another word, the four of you got up.

Eren rushed out of the door, and you were right behind him.

“Wait, Eren,” you rushed out, jogging slightly to catch up to him. “Please…wait.”

It was all too similar to the first time Eren ever kissed you, when you tried to avoid him, and he refused to stop chasing you. Only, this time, not only were you the one doing all of the chasing, but you truly didn’t see him kissing you against the wall like he did once before.

Even so, you had to try. You had to.

“I’m sorry, Eren.” He turned to face you, looking down at your saddened face with an equal amount of sorrow. “I’m sorry I broke your heart. I was just lonely, and I acted out of sadness. I missed being loved and touched by someone, and Jean was just…well, he was there. I know what I did was wrong, but it doesn’t have to end this way. I want to go back—I don’t want us to break up. Can’t we go somewhere and talk it out? Please? I’m begging you.”

He didn’t respond.

He never did.

Instead, his large hand cupped your chin, his thumb pressing into your cheek as you instantly wanted to melt into his touch.

Raising your chin a bit higher, his sharp eyes darted down to your neck.

He looked right at the hickey.

You tried to stammer out some sort of excuse, some sort of pathetic apology, but he didn’t listen to any of it.

Instead he handed you a folder, and walked away, ignoring your calls of his name.

When you opened the folder, tears instantly fell from your eyes at the sight of the signed divorce papers.

—

ONE YEAR LATER

Perhaps, this was the truest definition of peace.

It was bittersweet, but you were single, and spent the past year focused entirely on yourself. The unwavering self-love had resulted in you releasing your very first album.

Every other Saturday, you, Sasha, Annie, and Mikasa hung out together—along with Levi and Reiner on certain occasions—and you did everything and anything, whether it was going out for food and drinks, or an improvised trip to Las Vegas.

Best of all, however, was the fact that you had purchased your own home.

The big, beautiful, two-story house was all yours.

Even so, as you became more well known in the industry, you tended to get a little anxious once night time rolled around.

A quality night time routine was never properly complete without one last look around your home to make sure your doors were properly locked.

And your home, which was dark aside from the kitchen light, was quite secure, both your front and back door in good shape.

That was when you heard three gentle knocks coming from your back door.

Your heart sank instantly. You had seen enough scary movies to know better than to open that door.

If it was someone you knew, they would have called you.

While debating between grabbing a knife, or calling the cops, the person who knocked on your door did it again.

Within that moment, they probably realized that they were frightening you, and they spoke.

“Y/N?” They called out. “It’s me.”

Hearing that voice—that unexpected call of your name which sent a shiver down your spine—half of you had wished that it was a stranger.

That would have been easier.

Your legs seemed to move forward on their own.

The mechanical movement of your body led to you unlocking your door.

You opened it widely enough to see him.

He stood there.

His face was decorated with a couple of bruises.

He looked at you with the saddest eyes.

Your hands were trembling, and your heart pounded rapidly against your chest.

“What are you doing here, Armin?”

Although he wanted to speak, he couldn’t respond. Simply because he didn’t have an answer as to what led him to your house in the middle of the night.

The both of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at one another, trying to read each other’s thoughts.

That was when you stepped back, and you opened the door completely.

“Come inside.”

—

With first aid supplies scattered across your dining room table, Armin winced as you cleaned the cut across his cheek.

He had a cut that was equally as deep going across his lip.

Even so, none of it compared to the deep purple bruise across the side of his stomach, and he flinched whenever he took a deep breath.

“You look good. Healthy.” He said shyly.

He stared at you with those striking blue eyes. The fact that he could no longer tell what you were thinking only worsened the damage to his broken heart.

“Thanks,” you frowned. “I wish I could tell you the same thing, but…”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What are you doing here, Armin?” You looked at him—truly stared into his eyes—for the first time since he arrived. And all he saw in your gaze was utter disappointment. “Did you ever go back to New York?”

“No. I, um, I stayed here.”

“Dumb decision. You had friends back home. I’m sure the bakery and Chuck’s Place would’ve given you your job back.”

“Why would you assume I need a job? Or that I don’t have friends here? Am I…really that pathetic to you?” He glanced away from you, holding an ice pack against his injured jaw.

“You showed up outside of my house all bruised up. What else am I supposed to think?” You frowned, going right back to pouring medicine onto a cloth and pressing it against his wound, but suddenly, a troubling thought popped up in your mind. “hey, how’d you find out where I live-“

“Ouch, that hurts.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you quickly snatched the bloodied cloth away from his cheek. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

He was silent. Like a kicked puppy.

“I heard that you had gotten involved with some dangerous people. I was hoping it was a rumor,” you said.

“The construction company went out of business. All of us were struggling to find work, and…I needed money.”

“These people,” you paused, “the ones you borrowed money from. Are they the ones who beat you up?”

“I was fifty dollars short.”

“Shit, Armin! What’s the matter with you? Why didn’t you just go back to your old job?”

“Because,” he sighed, although it pained him to do so. “You’re still here. I tried to leave, trust me, but I couldn’t.”

Silence lingered once again. This time, Armin broke it.

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“Leaving me.”

“Do you regret trying to force me to work for you?”

“Don’t say that,” Armin frowned sadly. “You know that’s not how it happened. That’s something Eren put in your head. I loved you more than anything. I told you over and over again that it didn’t matter if we were rich or poor, as long as we were together. I just…I didn’t wanna see you suffer anymore, and I knew that you could be successful.”

A tear rolled down Armin’s bruised cheek. Quietly, he asked, “why was it so easy for you to leave me?”

“Because,” you paused. “No matter what you say, I know that you were only using me-”

“You’re lying. You know that’s not true. I know you’re smarter than that. Tell me the real reason because I deserve to know.” Armin’s bloodshot eyes tried to meet yours, but you always glanced away. “Was it because of money?”

“It’s because I loved Eren.”

“If you loved him, you wouldn’t have cheated on him. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have left me. So you’re still fucking lying.” He raised his voice. It was something he had never done before. “Tell me the truth, Y/N.”

“Fine,” you flashed a bittersweet smile, “but don’t blame me if you get your feelings hurt.”

“You can’t hurt me anymore than you already have. Tell me the truth.”

“I didn’t give a damn about love. I don’t know what the deal is with you, Eren, and Jean thinking I’m some naive kid who needs to be saved by any of you. Then you all have the nerve to get upset when you can’t mold me into the damsel-in-distress that you all fucking want me to be.”

“That’s not-”

“Don’t say it’s not true, because it is,” you paused, and now, you were the one raising your voice. “Even if you and everyone else was doing it out of love, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not a fucking doll. You dragged me across the country to try and make me successful because you loved me. Eren stole me from you and married me out of nowhere because he loved me. Jean tried to ruin my relationship and take me for himself because he loved me. Whole time, I simply liked you all at most.”

“Then why did you keep quiet? Why didn’t you ever tell any of us that you didn’t love us?”

“Oh, I tried,” you glared at him, nodding your head. “I didn’t want to leave New York until you convinced me. I tried to avoid Eren, but he wouldn’t stop trying to get with me. I didn’t want to be with Jean at first, but he didn’t back down. You all just fucking push and push until you get your feelings hurt, then I’m the bad guy.”

Suddenly, you laughed. It was almost sinister, almost frightened Armin, and when you suddenly got up out of your chair, you spoke once again. “You better believe I got something out of it though.”

“Let me guess,” he glared at his feet as he spoke, “money and fame?”

“That’s right. Levi disagrees, but I think all publicity is good publicity.”

“You know what I think?”

“What do you think, Armin? I really wanna know,” you said sarcastically.

“I think you’re still lying.” Armin got up as well. He took a step closer to you. “I think it’s easier for you to act like you’ve never cared about anyone than it is to take responsibility for your actions. It’s less painful to pretend that you’re completely the victim in this situation than it is to accept that you broke my heart. Eren and Jean’s heart as well. I’m not saying that anyone is in the right or wrong, but I know you. I know you loved me, even if it was just a little bit.”

“What makes you so sure?” You whispered, but he was so close, he heard every single shaky word.

“You brought me inside. Fixed up my wounds. If you didn’t care, you would’ve told me to go away.”

You sighed. “Why did you come here in the first place?”

“Because, I just…had to see you.” Armin reached out, his hand almost touched yours, but he stopped himself. It took every bit of strength he had left to avoid spilling the truth, which was that he was still madly in love with you.

Suddenly, you turned away from him.

“Sleep on my couch,” you said.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not letting you go anywhere until we figure something out. Something that’s better than the shit you’re doing now,” you called out.

As you left the dining room in search of a pillow and a blanket, he said, “Okay. Thank you.”

—

The next morning, you awakened to the sound of your alarm clock. Typically, you took your time rolling around in bed, not in any particular hurry to start the day, but today was different.

Today, you hopped out of bed, swinging the covers off of you as you rushed into your living room.

On the couch, there was a neatly folded blanket with a pillow on top of it.

You called his name a few times. Checked a few different rooms.

But he was long gone.

♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

♡ 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 & 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

♡ 𝐚/𝐧: 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤? 𝐈’𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

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