in which the campus' certified popular guy desperately wants to be your guy.
except, you couldn't care less about him.
(or he randomly saw you with his childhood friend shoko at the bleachers across the field and decided he wants to insert himself in your world)
**disclaimer all photos are from pinterest!
part two: satoru takes three hours to dress up
**written portion ahead!
‧₊˚✧ ✧˚₊‧
suguru pockets his phone, nudging satoru's side as they resume their journey. "come on, hime said it's field 2. also shoko's here."
satoru in his ridiculously overdressed attire only hums, hands in his pockets as he follows his best friend towards the bleachers. he grins, "think i'll get a lady here today?"
suguru rolls his eyes, giving his friend a judgemental side eye.
"doubt it."
the white haired scoffs, playfully shoving his friend. "you know what, i'll be sitting at the opposite side of the field so i won't be bitchless by the end of the day sitting next to you."
before his friend can come up with a retort, satoru's already scurrying off to the green bleachers on the opposite side of the baseball field with a loud, dramatic 'woooo!'. suguru rolls his eyes again, climbing into the ones with blue seats.
he spots a comical scene of his friend sitting alone in a sea of green empty seats from across the field and snickers, pulling out his phone to get a photo.
meanwhile, shoko's with you right outside the field, having stepped out to get some snacks from a student stall. "my loser friends are here," mumbles shoko around a crabstick.
you gave her a brief glance, pulling out some bills to pay for the food. "your diaper friends?"
the med student snickers. "yeah actually. i honestly don't know why they bother. one of 'em allegedly hates utahime with a passion. who's ironically also the one putting effort to dress up today. though he is usually over the top like that."
you hold back from making a face. "how can anyone hate utahime? is this the one with strange hair?"
shoko nods, following you back to the field with snacks in arms.
"yeah he's a menace. i feel sorry for whoever ends up with him."
you hum, letting her words drift away with the wind.
not knowing what lies ahead of you.
‧₊˚✧ ✧˚₊‧
a/n: since its my first work, i feel kinda excited so im posting two parts tonight^^
in which the campus' certified popular guy desperately wants to be your guy.
except, you couldn't care less about him.
(or he randomly saw you with his childhood friend shoko at the bleachers across the field and decided he wants to insert himself in your world)
**disclaimer all photos are from pinterest!
part one: shoko is in need
‧₊˚✧ ✧˚₊‧
a/n: funsies factsies i was already into writing before (ancient wattpad was the goat) but then life happened or wtv, fast forward to me recently quitting my job so here i am tryna find back my rhythm ;)
in which the campus' certified popular guy desperately wants to be your guy.
except, you couldn't care less about him.
(or he randomly saw you with his childhood friend shoko at the bleachers across the field and decided he wants to insert himself in your world)
**disclaimer all photos are from pinterest!
part zero: logging in...
‧₊˚✧ ✧˚₊‧
a/n: this is my first post on here so i really dk what im doing lmao. just testing the waters ig idk how any of this works. lemme know if this is ur cuppa tea <3
sypnosis It's been more than a year since the tragedy of shinjuku december 24—the date that would've been his death anniversary had you not stolen the pieces of his body and ran off to a countryside city where no one knew of the world of jiujutsu sorcerers.
cw kinda angsty, death, gojo amnesia, post-shinjuku, bit of fluff
a/n first time writing, kinda nervous. wrote this while listening to mitski. lmk what u think!
The spring breeze was gentle and forgiving. It was afternoon and you had just remembered to tend to the crops planted outside your small cottage house. With half-lidded eyes and fingers still pulsing with cursed energy, you quickly hover the watering pot over the herbs and growing vegetables. The spray of water nimble enough to not drown but lingering just enough to quench their thirst. An exercise done with the care and patience of someone who'd been doing the same thing for a year.
You look back at the cottage as you water, hoping the man inside would be as forgiving as the breeze. You knew fully well of his intentions when he went into the fight, of his consent for his body to be used as a weapon, and of his longstanding wish to be with his best friend, his one and only. The fact that you didn't object to any of it at the time he declared them made this present situation all the worse.
Once you could tell they were watered enough, you set aside the watering can and look over the setting sun. The orange streaks on the sky a direct contrast to Satoru's ocean eyes, irises you have not seen since shinjuku. The blinding sun is akin to what once was his bright snowy hair, which was now a shade of silver, a shadow of what it used to be. All of which made you wonder if you were doing the right thing, bringing him here and healing a body no one had bothered giving a burial.
He had already died when you found his body. The tears of his students on his shirt long dried. Sukuna had been exorcised by Yuji. The site was simply a cemetery for the lives lost in the war against curses. The sight left a bad taste on your mouth and a jab to your stomach.
After healing the last of your share of patients, everyone but those on clean up duty had left, only then did you get to see tragedy of his uncollected body.
It was cold and rigid, his torso stuck to his legs held together by rushed, sloppy surgical threads and cursed relics wrapped around his waist. It felt like a punch in the gut to behold him in this sight. An expression of freight so foreign on his face as it was left by Yuta. And a damning stitch right accross his forehead, a job done with no regard for how it would look recovered. The more your eyes analyzed the reckless abandon of neglect and abuse on his body, the more your chest clenched around itself.
The final shot was one to the heart when he had passed his last exhale, a post-mortem wheezing as you cradled his body, signaling that his lungs were empty. It felt like a cry, a call for care and for help. A wheeze a sick child makes to beg his mother to cradle him. And it broke you.
You fell to your knees and held his corpse. That was when you had the irrational impulse to take his body, under the excuse of post-war trauma and turning over a new leaf— you ran away.
It's been around a year since then. You're well versed and even better in the art of using reversed curse energy techniques than you were in the war. Which was how your garden of undying crops came to be. You had the power to spring a field of flowers from unfertilized soil with a flick of the wrist, potent enough to also bring a dead man back to life.
Although Satoru's body has been recovering since, he hasn't woken up yet. While a big part of you is anxious that you fucked his body up even more by defying the laws of nature, a small part of you is relieved because you're not exactly sure what to say to him.
"Hey, I know you lowkey wanted to die on December 24 because that's Suguru's death anniversary and you wanted to share it with him, but I highkey went insane and brought you back to life hehe haha" ?? Fuck ?
"Tsk tsk" The sound of crickets knock you out of your thoughts. It's nighttime. Which means its time to bathe his body again. You went over to his room. His body laying in the last position you left him. Walking over, you reminisce to your high school years together. He really doesn't look different at night, when his scars are barely made visible by the moonlight and his hair isn't illuminated enough for its dullness to show. He just looks like the same teenage boy who would ask you to wake him up in the mornings because he couldn't wake up on time for missions by himself.
You hold him in a princess carry and walk over to his own small bathroom. It's the same style of carrying he used to ask for as a teen when you would finish a mission or training session together, claiming he was too tired to walk by himself. A younger version of him who still had hopes and dreams for a future in which he lives. Maybe he'd let you carry him again when he wakes up, and you'd do it if it meant making up for disrespecting his last wishes.
Finally, you set him down. Slowly and reverently stripping his clothes, you check for any bruised spots that might need more care in handling. You learned by experience that his comatose body bruises easily when he's left laying in one position for too long.
While filling up the tub, you talk to him. "Please don't hate me. " It's a soft mutter pressed against his hair.
"The kids have been all right. I visited them yesterday to check up on them. Nobara misses steak and sushi with you. Yuji still makes ramen the way you like it. Megumi is secretly filling a recipe notebook with Yuji's recipes. " You fondly recollect. You hesitate to tell him it reminds you of his high school years together with Shoko and Suguru, opting to keep your mouth shut instead.
"They know you're here. I told them I gave you a proper burial." You stop again. Cold icy shame creeps from your chest and squeezes your throat. So you keep him alive just to tell him the world and his loved ones think he's gone?
The tub is full and you turn off the faucet. "I'm sorry." You whisper, pursing your lips. It's hard not to feel like your decision to revive him was incredibly selfish when you're face-to-face with a body that can't rest peacefully or live without constant care.
But it's not like you can just undo your decision and kill him. That would be worsening the disrespect you've committed against his sacrifice.
So you collect your self. You start by shampooing his hair, extra careful to not tug on his scalp—especially near the stitches where his head was once split open. It makes your hands quake, wracks tremors that have you holding a breath in an attempt to focus. Then, you prop him up by the edge of the tub and lather a body scrub with a cool, fragrant soap— the expensive kind— the kind that stays and makes other people whip their heads to catch the smell again. It's the same scent that greeted and clung to you when he used to come in for check ups and medical attention after missions.
You proceed to his neck and cradle his face, tilting it to make sure you get every nook around his ears. It's a routine, he gets bathed every night, often with a gentle soap, on Mondays like today he gets scrubbed to exfoliate the dead skin.
But each time you hold his face and cradle it in one hand, the other hand on his neck, the world goes quiet. With a head full of shampoo bubbles, eyes closed, and his lips slightly apart—it just doesn't feel like he's in comatose. He looks peaceful and well-rested, and it's a damning sight to behold; like he's simply closing his eyes and savoring the feeling of being cared for. A complete contrast to how he looks before when he was constantly on guard with a literal automated wall of infinity around him.
You take your time a little longer and scrub a little slower to savor this moment. Your palm kisses the soft expanse of his cheek, a pinky lightly supporting his jaw, a thumb ghosts over his cheekbone, and the rest of your fingers carry the weight of his head. When—or if— he wakes up, he'll probably be on his guard again, if not angrier.
Thinking of his autonomy you violated and his probable reaction, you resume to a normal, faster pace again. His bath goes without a hitch and you dry him off before putting him in warm pajamas suited for the night.
He gets carried over to his bed and you tuck him in. The lights in his room are on and dim, a deliberate design that was made in consideration of his eyes for when—if— he wakes up. Even without six eyes, his poor eyes would probably hurt and have a hard time adjusting to light again after being shut for almost a whole year. So his room is thoughtfully set with thick curtains and dim lights that softly glow to illuminate all corners of the room. Finally, you shut the door and bid him goodnight.
a guide to ditching the world's most persistent nerd! ✦ series masterlist
a nerd!gojo x baddie!reader series
synopsis : gojo satoru has been the bane of your existence since kindergarten. he rejected your chocolates, ignored your attempts at friendship, and solidified himself as the most insufferable nerd you've ever met. years later, you're a party girl with a trust fund and a talent for avoidance, and he's still everywhere—top of his class, heir to an empire, and somehow, still your problem.
when you're paired up for a project worth 60% of your final grade, you think you can slack off. gojo thinks otherwise. he tracks you down at exclusive clubs, drags you back to work, and worst of all—he looks at you like he's already won.
you flirt to distract him, he humors you. you push, he pulls. you seduce, he tucks your hair behind your ear and makes it your move.
oh no.
status : hiatus (6/? chapters, 41k word count) ✦ tags -> modern au, university au, tooth rooting fluff with a side of light angst, unresolved romantic tension, suggestive themes, gojo satoru is a green flag menace, reader has issues, power struggles but gojo is unaware he's in one, forced proximity via group project, reader tries to ditch gojo satoru and fails spectacularly, pining disguised as irritation, rich kids and their rich kid problems, the art of denial, humor (i hope), eventual happy ending, heavily inspired by HER (chase atlantic)
— chapter index
01 – the anatomy of a grudge
it starts with a princess, a prince, and a perfectly decorated box of chocolates. it ends with a broken heart, a flying carrot, and a lifelong vendetta. some wounds never heal. some grudges never die. and it is just impossible to avoid someone when you live in the same bubble.
02 – the psychology of making gojo satoru fold
step two in ditching the world’s most persistent nerd: don't let him drag you out of a party. don't let him make you do actual work. and absolutely do not, under any circumstances, fall asleep.
03 – you can't flirt your way out of protein deficiency
step three in ditching the world's most persistent nerd : do not wake up in gojo satoru’s condo. do not let him steal your custom-made designer heels. and absolutely do not, under any circumstances, let him blackmail you with breakfast.
04 – case study: identifying gojo satoru's type
step four in ditching the world's most persistent nerd: do not let him steal your food, do not let him drink from your straw like he owns it, and absolutely do not let him flip your own trap back on you until you're suddenly the one planning a date.
05 – scientific method: be vanilla, observe gojo, spiral
step five in ditching the world’s most persistent nerd: do not spend 50 million yen on an elaborate disguise. do not let him see through your every move like it’s a mildly entertaining game. and absolutely do not, under any circumstances, let him call you cute.
step six in ditching the world's most persistent nerd: do not let him see you unravel. do not let him wrap his jacket around your shoulders. and absolutely do not, under any circumstances, ask him why he cares.
Professor! Gojo - he needs his pretty little student, so he makes sure you need some tutoring for your grades ofc!
Gyno! Gojo - he gets distracted by his pretty patient and gives a thorough exam!
MMA fighter! Gojo - he loves to celebrate his victories inside you 😌
Emperor! Gojo - you've been set to marry the new emperor Satoru Gojo, but he wants nothing to do with all of that, he doesn't even come to your first meeting - rude!
Stripper! Gojo- Satoru Gojo is the leader of a male revue, and you're promised to be a bride to Naoya Zenin - and just want one night of freedom before
Pornstar! Satoru - Satoru is a pornstar who loves his life till he meets you and you mess his career all up - you're losing yourself and he's losing himself (now a fic)
Bully! Gojo- NSFW - Gojo is a complete dick and bullies you in college, and you honestly fucking love it, lil masochist Part Two Part three
Priest! Gojo- NSFW You have a confession to make to Father Gojo you sinner, he'll fill you with love and light!
Pervert! Gojo- NSFW- Satoru can't help but fuck you and send videos to his bestie Suguru, and make you cum in public
Sugar Daddy! Gojo- NSFW - Gojo loves to spoil you constantly, with his mone, with his mouth his cum
Vampire! Gojo - Vamp Gojo rly wants your blood, oh and he also totally wants to marry you- yay!?
Yandere Roomie! Gojo - Satoru may have got you kicked out of your apartment so you have to live with him, you may or may not rly care bc of that dick
Escort! Satoru - You hired Satoru for a date, but both of you fall. He has one rule - no kissing! mini series where Escort Satoru gets down bad for a client - five parts
Mafia! pretty boy Gojo- Mobster Gojo x Bartender reader, Gojo instantly falls and knows he must save you
Fratboy! Gojo- cute and freaky hcs of fratboy Gojo x Sorority reader from Took You Like a Shot - Part Two
College Student! Gojo - Yandere college student! gojo x professor f!reader, your student is obsessed with you!
Brother's best friend! Gojo - Suguru is gonna be so mad
bsf Nerd! Toru fks you in the ass after Frat! Kuna breaks up with you - just what it says - sukuna leaves you for his snow dealer so Satoru fucks your ass <3
Somno with Satoru - You ask your husband to fuck you during your sleep and he gets carried away <3
Figure You Out- light smut- College AU, Reader and Toru are both nerds tbh, FLUFFY and sweet, some sexual tension, lots of unspoken feelings - 3k wc
Lead It Southbound an alt universe with reader from Baby You're a Star, with secret Onlyfans star Nanami and Pornstar Satoru where they share you on cam - PWP, obsessive Nanami and Satoru - 4.5k
An Arranged Marriage with Gojo: NSFW - You are arranged to marry Gojo, sight unseen, and run into a hot white haired guy at the bar the night before, you both decide to have some fun before your 'wedding'
Losing focus every time you speak, girl - nsfw - Yan Gojo mad that your boss Sukuna flirts with you at the Christmas office dinner!
First Time -Satoru Gojo x Virgin reader- NSFW - you want your best friend to be your first, and find out you've both had feelings all this time
For Me? - nsfw- Satoru Gojo really loves making you feel better on your period, but maybe it's a little selfish, since he loves fucking you during it so much.
valentines w/gojo - he's a psycho <3
nerdjo x reader x fratjo - why have one gojo when there are two!
six heirs - gojo has a hell of a breed kink
boss gojo - he buys you for a month 🤭
Dean Gojo - he punishes you for being a bad student
Satoru fingering you - the plug - how long are Satoru's fingers!?!?
You're mine, got it baby?- Yandere Gojo x short fem reader (request!) NSFW
One Night at the club - Yandere Gojo x Tall fem reader (request) NSFW
How to get a raise: Satoru Gojo x smol boob reader (request) NSFW
Just one more time: NSFW -Satoru needs to go again and again, just one more time plz
Bad Idea Right -NSFW- you trip and fall into ex boyfriend Gojo's bed, whoopsie!
His Instrument - Yandere Gojo x Musician Darling- nsfw- Gojo goes to all your operas, it's totally normal don't worry!
You Cryin baby? - NSFW - Satoru Gojo x Busty reader- Satoru really likes your titties and loves seeing your tears
I'm Into it: NSFW - Satoru and you are best friends, and there's only one place to sit, his lap- teasing/college au.
Yan!Gojo wants Geto's girl - NSFW- Just Gojo jerking off to a pic he stole off Geto's phone of youuu (mini series)
Ice Cream: SFW- You are pregnant and miserable, Satoru calls you an orca LMAO
My first kiss went a little like this- SFW- arranged marriage, jujutsu sorcerers, you can break Gojo's barrier
Tell me how you hate me - NSFW- just Gojo hating you and loving your coochie
Need a Seatbelt when I ride it - nsfw - freaky ass domestic smut with you and soccer dad Satoru
Morning after Christmas with Satoru - nsfw the morning after Christmas, how long do you all have before the kids wake up? Enough time to make more babies
Even though I'm wifey you can hit it like a sidechick - CEO Gojo and his assistant/wifey love office breaks
Dom Gojo/sub reader reader is edged like a mf and dommed by a jealous Satoru
Virgin Gojo and Virgin Reader - nsfw- cute and sweet little drabble
Fratboy Gojo waxes you- nsfw- Where your baby daddy waxes you <3
Aftercare With Satoru - NSFW drabble of Toru bein' freaky
Mob Sukuna and Mob Gojo have a playdate - sfw drabble of the mobsters
Making Toru whimper - NSFW drabble
Toru being a freak - just what it says
Long Oneshots of Gojo here - Masterlist Gojo Full length fics here - Masterlist
summary! frat boy gojo's come to you seeking help on his physics homework (when in reality, he just wants to be around you), and when you get to his apartment, you're surprised to see his equally as attractive, yet very nerdy looking twin. if his brother was so smart, why did he need your help? and worser yet, why were they both eying you up like something to eat..? (fratjo is awkward and sweet, nerdjo is flirty and sly.)
PART TWO <– here by @pillsatoru as apart of our collab !
"c'monnn, please sweetheart? i'll even pay you."
gojo was constantly nagging you in physics. if the course wasn't gruelling enough, this 6'4 chunk of awkward muscle was making it worse with his insistence on being the centre of your attention.
"just a few hours at my off campus place! no frat guys involved at all, pleaseeee?" he begged from his seat next to you.
he had his head tilted and propped up in his palm, with his stupid backwards hat and that infuriatingly seductive stare. after a few minutes of pleading, you caved.
“okay,” you mumble after a second, pretty eyes falling over your notebook. “but only because you look really stressed. and just for a bit, yeah?"
yeah, 'stressed'. little did you know he was fine at the subject, he just needed an excuse to hang out with you because he was too shy to ask you out properly. for a notorious charmer like gojo, he was surprisingly bad at talking to you, the one girl he actually wanted.
he gave you quick side hug and scuffled your hair, jumping out of his seat, "you won't regret this!" and he zoomed off mumbling something about needing to 'tell his bro to clean up.' whatever that meant.
you blush at the empty seat he left behind, fingers tapping at your pen. your heart feels a little fast, which is stupid, because it’s just gojo. your silly, overly friendly-friend gojo. you tell yourself you only agreed because you didn’t want him to fail. that’s all!
the thing was, although you and gojo were what most would consider good friends, you'd never seen him as the guy who'd hang around someone like you.
you were shy in the way that made people lean in when you spoke because they couldn't quite hear. the kind of person who listened more than she talked, who remembered the little important things, who said sorry too often even when you didn’t even do anything wrong, and he was this big bravado fratboy who everyone loved and adored.
you two were starkly different.
but, as your relationship started to grow after he'd decided you were his new best friend in physics, you'd come to realise he was more of a nervous wreck hiding behind fake confidence than anything.
he'd always toy impulsively with your cute pens, draw silly doodles all over your notes, then get shy when you drew on his back, he'd shut the lid of your laptop whenever you were typing just to piss you off, then apologise over and over when you ignored him after. he'd call you sweet names like, 'honey,' and 'sweetheart', only to blush like crazy afterwards because when it came to you, all the chivalry he'd accumulated from talking to so many women at parties decided to disappear.
nevertheless, gojo thought you were really cute, so much so that he needed a super intelligent plan to get closer to you without asking you outright. class time wasn't cutting it for him anymore, he wanted more.
so, what better way than to invite you over for a 'study sesh' and try to wow you with his other skills? maybe he'd cook you something, that'll surely make you swoon!
he just had to warn satoru that he'd be coming over with a guest..
~
you [7:34 pm]: hey !!
you [7:34 pm]: i'm outside >_0
gojo stares at your message with a big smile on his too-perfect face. your little emoticons always got him giddy, who even used those anymore? you, apparently. and it was adorable.
then, he's knocked out of his daydreamy cloud when he realises you're out there, waiting.
"oh fuck."
he scrambles off his bed like a clumsy idiot towards his full length mirror, he looks at himself in the reflection and toys with his locks until they looked voluminous and wavy, then flexes his muscles as some sort of confidence boost.
with one big deep breath, he stalks towards the front door and opens it with a grin.
you're there, standing so sweetly with your text books in one hand and laptop in the other.
cute.
in a panic, he spurts out the first thing that comes to mind.
"wow, you look... really.. epic?"
what the fuck gojo.
he cringes so bad. of course the first thing he says to you is something a two year old would say to a drawing his friend showed him. god, strike me down now. i deserve it.
“o-oh,” you say, heat creeping up your neck. “thank you.” you tuck your hair behind your ear, very interested in the concrete by your feet. what did that even mean?
he clears his throat and opens the door further for you to walk in. this night was already turning out bad and he hadn't even started cheffing up.
you decide to disregard gojos comment. after all, he was always like that, right? the same goofy guy you'd been sitting with for a year now. nothing weird!
the apartments nice, he's apparently got good taste when it comes to decor. warm browns and reds, like a cool 2000's mum's house. only, when you place your things down on the kitchen bench, you spot some manga and an unopened pack of digimon cards in the shelving on the wall.
wait, was he into that? really? him?
satoru's the picture perfect frat guy. he's attractive, really athletic, you wanna say smart but you haven't seen proof of that just yet, and loud. especially loud.
he's so outwards with his interests and hobbies there's no way he could of possibly hid this from you. he's too much of a blabber mouth.
did he live with someone? did he have a roommate? this was only his off campus apartment after all..
you stare at the geeky little section with a small smile until you're pulled back to reality when he comes up behind you and slips into the head seat of the dining table.
his laptop's already sitting there ready for 'studying', and you sit down in the closest chair. then, he takes another deep breath as he trys and fails miserably to make some more small talk. maybe score another hang out!
"so, you doing anything this weekend?" please say nothing, please say nothing!
you toy with the sleeve of your sweater, "our finals due on monday, so just studying." you reply softly, opening your first textbook up to the index.
"cool, cool." god, how was he gonna save this? he didn't prepare for the conversation aspect of this as much as he'd prepared the house and the ingredients for whatever he was gonna make you.
before he can cook up another grade A conversation starter, you speak for him.
“um,” you start, then stop. your fingers worry at the edge of your sleeve. “this is silly, but… do you like digimon?” you ask curiously, looking up at him as he leans back into his chair. you couldn't help yourself, you had to know.
he's confused first, then follows your line of sight to the self. shit, he thought he told satoru to move his nerdy crap!
he scoffs, then shakes his head. "o-oh, no, that's my brothers. he's into all that pokémon esk shit." he nervously laughs.
brother?...
on cue, who else but satoru walks out of what looks like a bedroom. and holy wow, he's identical to gojo.
your face must show some kind of shock, because he laughs a bit, smiles, winks at you? then he waves.
you gently wave back and beside you, gojo's staring daggers at this man.
"i told you to stay in your room, toru. you're cramping my style."
satoru just rubs his neck and shoots gojo an apologetic, yet mischievous smile, pushing the bridge of his black rimmed glasses up his nose.
"sorry, bro. didn't mean to interrupt you and your girl, just needed water." he laughs.
oh gosh, his laugh was hot.
on instinct, you accidentally blurt out, "i'm uhm... i'm not his girl." then, you slap a hand over your mouth like you were trying to push the words back in.
satoru raised a brow at your adorable hastiness.
"oh, i'm so sorry, sweetheart. didn't mean to assume anything, i just thought since you were here and gojo only really brings girls he's involved with over i-"
"oh my god, shoosh, satoru." gojo groans. you watch as satoru's face relaxes and he once again, rubs his neck.
he's cute, and surprisingly flirty for such a nerdy looking guy...
where gojo would have mounding bulk, satoru had a slimmer, yet still muscular look. gojo was taller, but satoru had his same, beautiful face.
satoru smirks and lazily steps up to the table, “i’m satoru. gojo’s twin. he didn't tell me he had such a cute friend.” he takes your hand into his and kisses the back softly.
your face goes pink as you choke out a, "hi.. i'm [name], it's uh.. super nice to meet you." you gulp, but satorus too busy looking you fondly in the eye to notice.
from beside you, gojo's scoffing at this little interaction. this was supposed to be a you and him thing, not a you him, and his brother thing.
satoru pulls out a chair and sits on the other side of you, deciding it would be rude to just leave you so abruptly after meeting. not because he thought you were the cutest thing since they brought out biyomon plushies, of course not.
“so, you're the one helping this meat head study, huh?”
you nod quickly. “just a bit. i mean, i’m not amazing or anything.” you bashfully smile.
“oh.” satoru smirks, “that’s so, so nice of you.”
gojo clicks his tongue. “don’t sound so shocked.”
“i’m not,” satoru says with a yawn. “i try to help you out all the time and you brush me off, she must be special. are you smart, honey?" he's now talking to you again, watching your eyes so intently it makes your thighs press together.
“she's very smart, so go away." gojo scoffs, grabbing at your wrist to make you face him, not his snarky brother.
you freeze a little at the sudden tension, shoulders drawing in to yourself. you’re not used to being the reason voices get so sharp like this.
gojo leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest. he feels like a poser all of a sudden. his brother with his degrees and his fancy equations and his stupidly suave charm. you with your organised life and perfect mannerisms. and him, who doesn't look the part, but feels like the biggest dork here.
maybe you’d be better off with someone like satoru.
someone who speaks your language. someone who wouldn’t need to beg for help. someone who wouldn’t drag you into his mess just to get your attention because he's too pussy to just ask you out on a proper date. jeez, having a crush sucked.
he clicks his tongue and straightens up, enough with the depressing thoughts, he's better than that, he wanted you, and if satoru was gonna stand in the way, he would just have to prove he's better.
“anyway,” he says, louder than necessary because god forbid you two forget him for more than a minute. “toru here's in astrophysics.”
you look back at satoru, eyes lighting up. “oh wow! really?”
satoru nods,. “yes mam. i’m doing my honours thesis right now, pretty hard stuff...”
“urgh, see?” gojo says, waving a hand at him. “total geek.”
satoru just chuckles, still eyeing you up with his eyes hooded behind those glasses.
you tilt your head, confusion creasing your brow. “wait...”
gojo hums, and you look at him now, not satoru. your voice is still gentle, but there’s curiosity and logic in the undertone.
“if your brothers taking such a high level physics course, why do you need my help?”
yikes. cats outta the bag.
gojo opens his big mouth, but of course, nothing comes out.
his face heats up far too fast, and not in a cool way. not in a smooth way. his ears go red and he rubs the back of his neck hard, suddenly very interested in the grain of the table.
“i mean-" he starts. “it’s not like- god, he’s busy. and it’s not exactly the same material. and i didn’t want to bother him and-"
he looks at you and you're staring up at him with those big, thoughtful eyes, and he sighs. there's no point in lying to you.
he laughs. “okay, yeah. fine.”
satoru looks between the two of you with a smile.
gojo exhales. “i wasn’t desperate. i just-" he shrugs, awkward. “wanted you over, or whatever. i think you're really sweet."
you smile at that, because yeah, you knew, but listening to him ramble made you smile. "you could of just asked to hang out... i would of said yes." you push lightly, and he chokes out a laugh at how suddenly teasing you're being.
"alright then, c'mon." he pushes his chair back and pulls you up too, guiding you towards the kitchen with one strong arm. he gets you infront of the bench then lifts you up, putting you down on the counter with ease. you giggle in shock, but settle as he pats your thigh.
"you're gonna watch me whip up some mean fried rice." he says with a huge grin. "what i really brought you here for, sweets." he has to turn around immediately so you don't see the blush crawling at his cheeks. he bumps into the fridge as he turns like the big guy he is, then apologises to the fridge under his breath, and opens it up to get the ingredients out.
you're really conflicted right now, if you were being honest.
first off, sure, satoru's always been your friend, but you'd assumed he was too out there for your type of personality to mesh with. so, you pushed down whatever romantic feelings begun to blossom the day he started harmlessly teasing you in class because he was that guy, confident and funny, you were just some shy girl in his physics class.
but now, he was pretending to need help just to be in your company? what was the universe playing at?
and to add insult to injury, he's got this secret sexy brother who looks like a slyer, more calculated version of him. was having a crush on two brothers at once a sin or something? if so, you're going to hell.
pulling you out from your thoughts is satoru, who announces from his spot at the dining table, "i'll leave you two too it then." as he stands from his seat. but, just as he's about to head to his room you quickly blurt out a, "wait-" then flush when both of them look at you. “i-i mean… you don’t have to go. if that’s okay.”
"hmm?" he looks over his shoulder at you, smiling like he knew you'd say something to keep him there.
"i- i just... you don’t have to go, right, gojo? do you have enough for three?" you turn back around to look at gojo, you can tell he's about to pout and say no, but when he locks his gaze on yours and you're staring at him with those pleading eyes, he sighs and caves. "of course he can."
satoru grinds then slips onto the stool at the breakfast bar behind you, pulling at the hem of your sweater.
"thanks, sweetheart. you're so kind." he winks.
there's a crack from gojo's direction and you whip around to see he'd accidentally snapped the wooden spoon he was using to stir fry the vegetables.
"oo, someone's antsy."
"shut up, toru."
satoru just chuckles smoothly and leans back in his chair like he owns the place, ankles crossed, eyes flicking between you and gojo with that knowing little curl to his lip.
“so,” he says clicking his teeth. “how’s frat life treating you these days?”
gojo perks up instantly, like a dog who's owner just got home.
“oh, it’s sick,” he says brightly. “the guys are great. loud as hell, but great. we just moved the couch again because suguru kept spilling beer on it and swore it was cursed. friday nights are kinda wild, but sundays we just order dumb amounts of food and pass out watching trash tv.”
he laughs easily, hands moving as he talks. he sounds far more comfortable than he did a minute ago, you loved when he talked about the frat, it was obvious he really loved his friends.
“sounds… lively,” satoru says. his eyes sharpen up just a touch. “and all the girls you bring over? they enjoying the hospitality too?”
... oo, that hit.
gojo stalls, “uh,” he says. “i mean. it's not really like that.”
you look at him, curiously, and he notices immediately.
“i don’t-" he rushes on. “i mean sometimes people come over, sure, but it’s not like a big thing. and it’s not like i’m just dragging random girls back every night or whatever. that’s not really me.”
he laughs, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.
“toru’s understating. like always.”
satoru hums. “am i?”
his eyes flick to you. “i just figured,” he continues, mild, “with his reputation and all, you’d be used to a revolving door.”
gojo swallows. you can tell he hates how that sounds. hates how it might settle with you.
“it’s not like that,” he says again, quieter. “i don’t want you thinking i’m some… i don’t know.. man whore. i don't sleep around with more women than anyone else."
he trails off, glancing at you, then away. the confidence drains right out of him when your attention is on him like this.
before it can stretch too long, he clears his throat and turns to you, desperate for safer ground.
“hey,” he says. “how are you going with finals? you said monday was rough.”
you smile up at him, surprised by the gentleness in his voice and the fact he'd remembered such a small detail from the conversation you'd had earlier this week.
“oh gosh..." you sigh. “i'm a bit stressed out, but it's okay. physics is really killing me but i think i’ve got a handle on it all."
“see,” gojo says quickly. “she’s got it.”
satoru smiles.
“i could help you out, [name],” he says.
but it's the way he says it that makes your chest beat faster.
“i’m very good at explaining things,” he adds, eyes on you. “and i have a lot of free time when i’m not buried in my thesis. if you ever needed… extra support.”
gojo spits. “she doesn’t.”
satoru ignores him.
“i mean it,” he says to you. “i’d give you everything you could ever need, all of it.”
you choke on absolutely nothing. the dampness between your thighs is getting worse and worse with each teasing word from satoru and sweet stumble from gojo.
satoru’s mouth perks up, satisfied.
gojo’s neck muscle twitched, he turns back to the stove, stirring the rice with unnecessary force.
“she’s smart,” he says. “she doesn’t need you swooping in like that.”
“i’m not swooping in,” satoru replies. “i’m only offering.”
“yeah, well, stop.”
the rice starts to cook through. gojo doesn’t notice until it crackles, he mutters something under his breath and abandons the pot entirely, stepping over to you instead, wanting to have more of a connection in this now very tense room.
he scans your face, then it seems as if his eyes snag on something because he stands close, like, really close.
“sorry,” he says, suddenly shy again. “your hair’s just.”
he reaches up, hesitates for a second, then gently nudges a strand away from your face. his fingers barely brush your cheek.
“it was in the way,” he adds, stumbling.
you look up at him. his ears are red and his pretty blue eyes won’t stay still. he was adorable, never mind you.
inside his head, he's beating himself up, because he knows how this is supposed to go. he knows how to flirt, how to charm women, how to talk like he knows exactly what he’s doing. he’s done it a hundred times with girls, the difference is, they never look at him like you do. with that understanding smile and kind eyes, no. they stare with lust and passion, they're tarte where you're sweet.
with you, everything's so, so different.
satoru watches this with a very open kinda amusement.
“wow,” he says. “you’re really doing a number on him.”
gojo groans. “shut up.”
“i’ve never seen you like this,” satoru continues. “usually you can’t stop talking. now you’re tripping over yourself.”
you laugh softly.
gojo’s eyes snap back to you.
“i am not,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it.
you reach out absentmindedly, your fingers curling around his hand where it rests on the counter. his skin is warm and solid. he stiffens up then relaxes when you don’t pull away.
“the food smells amazing,” you say. “i can't wait to try it.” under your breath, you mouth, "ignore him." and he smiles at you sweetly.
“y- yeah,” he says. “cool. cool.”
he squeezes your hand without realising he’s doing it and his face feels like it’s on display. he turns away fast, back to the stove, bumping his hip on the counter again.
satoru chuckles.
“careful,” he says. “you’re going to hurt yourself.”
gojo flips him off without looking.
you stay where you are, hand still where he left it, smiling to yourself. this back and forth was something else...
.
when the foods ready, you end up on the couch.
you're wedged between them on the plush leather, their thighs on either side of yours, brushing up on you every time they moved.
south park starts to play on comedy central and you balance your plate carefully, fork hovering as you take a bite.
holy wow, it’s good, better than good.
“hey,” you say, nudging gojo lightly with your elbow. “you did a really nice job, this is good.”
his face lights up and he laughs like the goof he is.
“yeah?” he asks. “i mean, i kinda eyeballed the seasoning, but i figured-"
“it’s really good,” you repeat softer.
he grins, wide and proud, and satoru clicks his tongue.
“easy there,” satoru says. “don’t inflate his ego too much, sweets."
“i’m so serious,” you say. “the rice is perfect.”
satoru peers at his plate, poking at the vegetables. “except,” he adds, “someone was stingy with the broccoli.”
gojo scoffs. “you literally took extra.”
“i did not.”
“watch me genuinely crash out, you took half of mine already!"
satoru leans over you regardless and plucks a head of green from your plate, he takes it to his mouth and eats it, winking at you before he swallows.
gojo makes a very offended noise on your behalf, "oh, come on,” he says. “that’s rude.”
he stabs one of his own pieces of broccoli and reaches up with his other hand. his fingers tilt your chin toward him and he guides the fork to your mouth.
you freeze for a sec, then open up, taking it from him.
“see,” he says. “much better.”
you can feel both of them watching you. satoru’s smile is sly and gojo’s ears are bright red.
they're so close, you can feel their breathing from time to time, their biceps brushing up against your shoulders, gojo's thick thigh hard against yours while satoru's arm snakes around the back of the couch. you couldn't do this anymore, one more second of this sweet torture and you'd end up in a coma.
“hey, uhm... guys? i should probably head home.” you say, twirling a strand of hair through your finger. you'd wanted to stay longer, maybe have a civil talk to one of them instead of this brotherly banter, but the heat between your legs needed tending to and you weren't taking the chance of if they'd give you what you wanted or not.
gojo’s head snaps toward you. “huh? already?” you swear you see his eyes go glassy.
“i'm sorry gojo, it’s just so late,” you say, even though you don’t sound convinced yourself.
"aw man." he sighs, satoru only laughs at his brothers childish gesture.
you pat his thigh softly then stand, an action you didn't know sent heat straight to his cock. you gather your things, trying your best not to stagger from the shake in your legs.
as you're about to say the last of your goodbyes and retreat to the comfort of your dorm, you hear rain. it's heavy, and it's loud.
how perfect.
you peer through the window and the street is soaked. lightning flashes in the sky, thunder rolling in close behind it.
you sigh. “of course.”
gojo’s stumbling up himself, grabbing the keys to his car. “i can drive you!"
another crack of thunder cuts him off and the rain comes down much harder.
satoru laughs softly. “yeah, that’s not happening.”
you hesitate, fingers tightening around your bag strap.
“you can stay,” gojo says quickly. “i mean, i can pull out a mattress. you can take my bed. i’ll sleep on the floor! it’s fine.”
“or,” satoru says, stepping closer, “you could come stay in my bed.”
he takes your hand before you realise he’s doing it, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.
“my bed’s bigger,” he adds. “and i’d be happy to share with you, honey.”
your words tangle. “i- i don’t-"
gojo grabs your other wrist, not hard, just gently. “no! stay with me,” he says. “you’re comfortable with me.”
satoru tilts his head. “oh c'mon, could help her study.”
“don’t,” gojo snaps.
“keep you up all night,” satoru continues in your ear now, voice dropping. “i’d teach you everything you wanted to know, sweet girl... and i can tell there's a lot you want to learn."
gojo shakes his head, flustered. “no! no. come with me, we could play games, uno, snakes and ladders. whatever you want, [name].”
gojo usually thrived off of competition, but with his own brother? for a girl he'd been crushing on for months? no thanks.
satoru was eating this up, his cock twitched and pulsed with each small noise that slipped from your mouth. he could tell you needed tending to, he had a good eye. and he was gonna use that to piss off his brother to the best of his ability.
you’re stuck between them, being pulled in two directions. your pulse is loud in your ears. both of them are talking, offering, trying.
then, satoru leans down to whisper one final offer in your ear, he'd spotted the way your thighs were clenched and decided to capitalise on the opportunity.
“i’ll treat you real good if you come sleep with me, baby,” he murmus. “let me make you feel good.”
that’s it.
gojo's pulls you back, shoving satoru away from you with a sharp push.
“what the hell is wrong with you?” he snaps. “don't be so vulgar, she's not used to it.”
satoru laughs, unbothered. “c'mon, relax.”
“and don’t touch her like that,” gojo continues. “you just met her, for gods sake. i’ve known her for ages.”
“oh yeah? and look how far that got you,” satoru shoots back. “you’re too busy tripping over yourself to realise what she really needs.”
“shut up.”
“you don’t get how her brain works,” satoru says calmly. “she needs someone smart enough to keep up.”
your chest tightens. “hey.”
neither of them listens.
“you think cooking rice makes you impressive?” satoru adds. “she deserves more than that.”
"you don’t know what she needs! she'd be better off with a guy whose egos bigger than his dick."
"and you're any better? i bet you couldn't satisfy a girl like her even if you tried. all those sorority hoes have your head inflated."
"you better watch your fucking mouth-"
before gojo flips out, you step forward, placing yourself squarely between them.
they stop.
you look between them, sensing both anger and lust in their eyes.
“i-" you swallow, then steady yourself. “if you’re both going to argue… then maybe you should both stop deciding for me.”
childhood friend!Gojo, who you never expected to fall for, and who you don't ever expect to return your feelings.
With your confessions unnoticed, he's made that crystal clear.
Or — the five times he breaks your heart, and the one time you nearly break his.
pairing: gojo x fem!reader
warnings/tags: mdni, fluff, angst - initially hurt no comfort turned comfort, heartbreak, unrequited love (or so you think), mutual pining, alcohol, canon compliant, sorcerer!reader, growing up throughout the years [potentially more tags to come as this develops - they will be present on the specific part, please heed them!!]
“So, you come here often?” His chuckle rolled through you.
Did he really – ?
“Yes, I did,” he replies, unbothered. Your stomach dropped. Did you say that out loud?
He saved you from spiraling. “Only so I can ask you which pastry I should get.” His lips parted, almost pouting. “Everything looks too good.” His voice caressed, a silky whine that sent chills across your skin.
relationships: Gojo x Reader, Nanami x Reader
content: MDNI! Fluff, smut, tension, angst. cross dressing, invasion of privacy, feeling denial, mild yearning, explicit sexual content, piv sex, oral (m! + f! receiving), fingering, reader is mid 20s pretending to be just a little younger, aged up characters (everyone else is college aged), more tags in each chapter.
This is my first fic - be nice pls (I'm nervous). I've never written anything or posted on Tumblr before. I'm gonna just figure this out as I go lol. This is not beta read, so sorry if there are typos!
I've had like a million ideas for fanfics, so I decided to start posting them. This is a JJK x Mulan AU. Reader is in her 20s, other than being tall, I tried to avoid a lot of physical description.
summary - you've got the opportunity of a lifetime for an audition for Julliard, your dream, but there's just one problem, the hotel in New York has booked your room and has nothing available. Good news, your dad's best friend Satoru Gojo shows up and offers you to stay in his suite since he's in town on business. But there's two big problems - one, you've wanted him since you can remember, and two, he can't stand how fucking pretty you are. He can't want you - and nothing can come from it - imagine what your dad Suguru would do if anything ever happened between you!? So nothing will happen - right?
warnings- MDNI- taboo tropes, age gap (Satoru is 41, reader is 22) reader is Suguru's daughter, forbidden relationships, obsessive Satoru, mutual pining, sexual tension, explicit smut and light angst- this chap - masturbation (Satoru) a fuck ton of tension, reader having a lifelong crush on him, mentions of past relationships, self loathing as they both want each other, drinking and kissing -WC- 8.3k
This will be Four parts! comments/rbs appreciated if you enjoy!
part two>>>
part one
Satoru Gojo has never had his cock twitch from just looking at someone's back, not even your ass - though fuck that was nice - but something about the bare back in the slinky little dress was fucking him mentally. The gentle curve of your spine, a little birth mark along your shoulder blades has him - a man who's in his early forties and very experienced - leaking precum.
The fuck was that?
He clears his mind, blinking a bit then, he's checking into his favorite suite as he does every couple of months for various business events that he has to attend. Running the Gojo corporation is a never ending list of bullshit he's got to do, and events and speeches were just one of the many.
He sighs as he takes in the immaculate bustling lobby, trying to divert his attention from this girl's back and look like some creep when he's literally Satoru Gojo. He brushes his silken white locks back, walking up to the tall counter then with an easy smile, as the three receptionists rush to him, and leave the girl with the pretty spine behind.
"I can wait my turn, no worries ladies." He winks and they all swoon, and when you hear that voice, you know it's him.
"Gojo?" Satoru blinks at the familiar voice, turning to his side to look down at -
Suguru Geto's only daughter.
Fuck.
He swallows just a bit nervous, how does he explain he just leaked pre looking at his best friend's daughter's spine exactly!? About the ways he would have to explain how your instagram photos haunt him at night, and how he can't help but have glimpses of you in your bikini when he cums.
There's a big reason he's avoided Suguru as of late, and that's because he can't handle how beautiful you are - it's like you fucking just do something, and he refuses to accept it or acknowledge it consciously. Now you're smiling up at him, before you come over and hug him tightly around the waist, your breasts pressed against him.
It takes everything not to either shove you off or give in and pick you up and prop you right on this fucking counter. It's some miracle he just pats your back instead - your bare pretty back that he shouldn't touch because it makes it worse.
"Hey sweetheart, what're you doing in town?" He manages to act normal, putting on an easy smile as he sees now your eyes glimmering with tears. "What's wrong?"
"They gave my room away, and I have the audition for Julliard this week! Everything is booked except shit way out of my price range. I don't wanna bug dad about it." He sighs then, remembering Suguru telling him about your opportunity, he'd been so proud every time he watched you play piano.
It's originally why he followed your IG, but whatever happened your junior year of college made you start posting those damn pictures in your bikini or slutty little outfits. He shoves that all back, focusing on your worry, and then eyes one of the receptionists, backing away from you just a bit.
Not like your scent hasn't already filled his senses.
You're important to him, just like Suguru is, and he'll not let his dumb fucking thoughts ruin your opportunities. "Surely there's a room available, I'll pay."
"You can't do that! It's too much." You're a flustered mess, as he flashes that pretty smile of his that makes your tummy clench.
"It's nothing," he pats your head and smiles down at you, and you try to ignore just how fucking good Satoru Gojo looks then. Try to ignore his cologne in your senses, ignore how the man just gets more attractive every fucking year, a little crinkle on the sides of each eye the only lines on his face.
You have been trying to ignore your crush on your dad's best friend for as long as you can remember - fuck they're so close too, and you hoped it was some childhood idolization. But as a twenty two year old woman, it's as bad as fucking day one - worse maybe, when you study the way his hands move as he speaks, long fingers that give you the worst thoughts you wish would go away.
"Nothing at all open but the presidential suite you said?" He asks softly, you're still too close to him, fucking up his senses, as the receptionist frowns, clacking away at her keyboard.
"They just booked the last one online, Mr. Gojo."
"Shit, then..." He eyes you, blue eyes glinting as he takes in your distraught, pretty little face.
He can compose himself, can't he, hasn't he always?
"She'll stay with me, give her a key card," you hug him once more, he's chuckling and pecking a kiss on your head. "You're clingy still, remember you always were."
"Maybe, oh Gojo, thank you! I didn't wanna have to ask dad for money..." You're independent, Satoru loves that about you, Suguru is well to do - not rich like Satoru, but well off. But he's mentioned you never ask for a thing.
"No worries, the room is huge, we won't even be near each other much." He's pressing the button to the elevator soon once you all get checked in, and the silver automatic doors close, leaving you two alone, nothing but the soft sounds of your breaths and stupid elevator music.
And there's just one problem.
Satoru Gojo can't help but picture pressing you against those elevator walls, sinking to his knees and slipping up your slutty black dress, the one where he can so clearly see your breasts rise and fall, a nipple daring to slip out. Can't help but picture fucking you better than surely any of your dumb little college boys could.
He can't think that way.
He hastily tugs off his jacket, laying it over your shoulders as the elevator dings on each floor.
"Thanks, it's a little chilly." You say softly, tugging his jacket close on you, he exhales in a mix of relief and hot desire at how good you look in his armani suit jacket. "You're a life saver, really."
"It's nothing, kid."
"Kid! I'm not a kid." Your pout earns his chuckle, the two of you walk through the halls, decked with cream colored walls and fancy paintings, it's fancier than even you were used to. He presses the card against the hotel door and it opens, and that's when you both realize just how alone you were.
Satoru had been a part of your life for all you can remember, him and your dad would go off on the silliest adventures, and your dad’s other best friend Shoko would watch you at times. You don’t remember your mom that much anymore, she has been gone since you were young, and Satoru and Suguru had always been inseparable, especially since she left.
Satoru had taught you how to swim, Suguru had taught you how to shoot a gun, Satoru taught you how to throw a ball into a hoop, and Suguru taught you how to hit one with a bat. Every time he came to visit during the summers, you’d be so excited, he always had some new gift and an easy smile.
Until you got older.
You remember the first time he brought over one of his girlfriends, she was beautiful, and you’d still been young, hopelessly staring in the mirror at yourself after, wondering if you’d ever be pretty like that. And when he came for your high school graduation with another girl on his arm, when he told you that you looked beautiful and bought you the necklace you still wear today?
You’d been insanely jealous.
You try to explain it away as being eighteen, you were still a baby then, and the crush had been raging. So badly you found yourself comparing every boy you dated to the man Satoru was, and every single one fell hopelessly short. You both get settled, taking in the opulent surroundings, it’s surely big enough he’s right, there’s an entire other room, a kitchen, spacious furniture and beds.
Satoru sets down the luggage, as he eyes you in his suit, and you start taking some of your things out. It’s quiet, the sense of unease filling the two of you as you both busy yourselves, little friendly smiles are the only passages between you as you two live in your own minds.
“You can take a shower first,” he offers softly a bit later, slipping that tie down just a bit to loosen it, and then rolling up his sleeves, revealing those muscled forearms, light blue veins wrapping up them from his wrists. Your mouth goes dry as you look at them, while he slips off his silver rolex, smiling at you a bit. “Do you want me to hog all the hot water instead?”
“Huh? Oh…” you blink a bit, it’s not like you’ve never been with anyone, never seen a man naked, but Satoru’s forearms were taking you the fuck out.
He is effortless with his little movements, he must do this almost every day, freeing himself from the confines of his perfect facade, the buttoned up business man who you’ve never seen in the same suit twice. You’re sure he wears them again, it’s just you haven’t seen him enough to have ever caught it, the only thing you’ve noticed is he wears the same cufflinks.
The ones you saved to buy him when you were in high school, storing up all your extra funds where you worked as a waitress to purchase them for his birthday. You eye them now as you still hold the jacket close, fingers brushing along the bright blue sapphire of one of them. You’d walked by a jeweler in the mall with your friends and thought they matched just one shade of his eyes.
“You still wear these?” You ask softly, his attention goes to your little fingers brushing over the gem carefully, and he nods a bit. “Why? Aren’t they kind of not up to your… standard?”
“They’re my favorite, and they weren’t cheap either,” he walks up then, touching the other one, his nearness fucking your senses. “I remember you buying them, I think it was my thirty-sixth birthday. I was having some existential crisis and they really cheered me up.”
“You, a crisis? No way,” he hums a bit, gently tugging the cuff links out now, one by one, setting them next to his Rolex on a little black glass tray he’d brought along with him, the lights catch them and make them glimmer prismatically. “You were young though, still are.”
“Yeah no, I’ll be forty one in December, yuck.” You laugh with him, shaking your head then.
“That is not ‘yuck’ or old, you and dad are super young. Dad was always like the youngest at any parent event, shit usually the only dad altogether. I remember him going to Moms and Muffins.”
“Yes, you put bows in his hair, he showed me.” You both laugh then, Satoru stands against the dresser, his mind racing then.
He can’t want you like this, and it has to stop, the way he keeps thinking of having you naked and his jacket splayed under you, if you could stop looking at him like that!? Your lips parted, your pretty eyes lidded, making him tortured by the thoughts of fucking you so good they roll back, so good you drool. He’s clenching his hands into fists at the thought, almost twenty years between you.
Maybe if he keeps saying the number, it’ll fucking matter, the fact that he’s never even been with a girl ten years younger, Satoru just wasn’t a man to do that. He enjoyed intellect, experience, someone who got his references and shitty jokes - but the problem was you did check all those boxes. You’ve been kicking his ass at chess since he could remember, you laughed at all his dumb jokes.
You were a brilliant girl with your life ahead of you, you’re right, he’s not ‘old’ but he just is ‘older’ than you. Having already had a divorce and two broken engagements, he also was tired of trying, he’d settled on some regular girls for sex and focused on business fully now. Something a young Satoru who hated his parents and the Gojo name altogether would gasp at.
“You’re not old, you look my age you know.” You break his thoughts up, he chuckles a bit at that, before sucking in a breath, when you walk closer, slipping his jacket off to hand it to him.
“Yeah, genetics and Korean skincare products.” You giggle, as he keeps his eyes affixed on your face, not the strap that’s fallen down the gentle slope of your shoulder, he takes the jacket instead, your fingers brushing against each other for the briefest moment.
“Well, they work, I don’t think you’ve ever changed. I hope I look super hot when I’m your age.”
“You will, you already are beautiful…” He trails off, your eyes meet then, as he realizes what he said, and the tone he said it. He smiles to break the tension. “Thank god you don’t look like your dad.”
“Oh whatever! He’s pretty, you know.”
“Psh, okay.” He rolls his blue eyes, and you both laugh then.
“Thank you, that’s nice of you Satoru.” When you say his first name it’s like testing it, you’ve always called him Gojo, aside from when you made him birthday cards, and you’d write Satoru on them.
“Not being nice, you know you’re a gorgeous girl.” He’s clearing his throat now, looking away as he hangs his jacket up, next to the other suits he’d brought, smoothing it out.
“It’s kinda nice to hear from the Satoru Gojo.”
“Uh huh, flattery will get you everywhere.” He pats your head then, ruffling up your hair, you blow a thick strand off your brow. “You go take a shower.”
“Yeah, thank you again.” You smile and head into the bathroom, finally leaving Satoru to exhale in relief after he glimpses your back again, like pure torture, he’s curious just how the fuck he’ll handle a week alone with you.
Hopefully a room would open up or something by then.
The sounds of hot water pounding on the tiles below fills the room now, mixed with some light singing echoing from the bathroom, he can’t help but smile a bit at how pretty your voice is. If anyone should get into Julliard, it’s surely you, talented and just a natural at everything, the sound fills the room and ignites something in him he’d rather not think of.
Comfy, homey, it’s how you make him feel, and maybe that’s worse than wanting to bend you over the bed, worse than wanting to lift you and slip you against that shower wall. Much, much scarier than the thoughts of filling you up with so much cum your tummy is full of him, watching his fucking cock bulge that tummy as he’d make sure your cunt was ruined for anyone.
No, homey and comfy were worse by far, they were things he absolutely never thought before, even during his marriage - and what a disaster that was. Women all wanted him for his looks, his money, what he could do for them, but no one really knew him deep down, just the facade he’s tired of putting on.
Picturing you naked in the shower is his fucking downfall, picturing your pretty body with water dripping down it, his cock is hard by the mental images, he scowls down at it. He’s just in his slacks now, putting up his dress shirt, luckily this suite always had good hot water and pressure, it’s why it was one of his favorites, and he could surely use a shower.
Jerk off in there to act normal.
He’s like some pathetic teenager around you rather than a grown man, and it irritates him to no end. He hears your singing stop after a bit, as he is typing some notes for tomorrow’s presentation on his laptop, slipping on his glasses to see the screen just a little better, when he sees you from the corner of his eye, wrapped in a soft terry cloth towel.
He almost whimpers at the sight, clenching his teeth together to focus on the screen as you walk out. “Okay I feel a million times better.”
He looks up then, and it’s his downfall, as he has to see the way the towel is tied right at your breasts, pushed up and glistening, skin dewy and flushed from the shower, making him want to kiss every inch. “I bet, the plane ride was a long one.”
“It was, for sure, and then to get a ride to the hotel was hard, I’m not used to a city this big,” you’re adorable with your little pout, your own gaze taking in his bare chest then, like a caress. “I failed my drivers test again by the way.”
“Again? Shit,” he’s snorting in laughter, even as you cross your arms and glare just a bit, you play along with the motions, but your gaze can’t rip itself away from his chiseled body. “Do I gotta teach you?”
“Do you drive anywhere, Gojo?”
“Hush.” You giggle at his own glare, he looks too fucking hot in those glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his body shifting a bit to face you now.
It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless constantly, Satoru had helped you swim after all, and Gojo and your dad were always taking you to the beach. You’d always known how perfect he was, sculpted within an inch of his life, lean defined muscles that begged for your fingertips to brush across them, lines and shadows cast as the bathroom light filters into the now dim room.
You wish you felt bad about how badly you want him, but you only feel bad it can never happen, feel bad he couldn’t have been your first, like you’d dreamed over and over, until you knew it couldn’t happen. It wasn’t like Gojo ever saw you that way, the times you think he looked at you as more than a ‘kid’ you feel it was just your imagination.
You feel this man could fuck, you just feel it.
But no, stuck with losers who couldn’t care less if you cum - in fact, the last guy you fucked asked if you did after not touching you more than a minute and cumming pathetically quick in a condom. You’d smiled and said ‘of course’, making him grin and kiss you all happy, and that’s about the time you just gave up on ever liking sex either, too far in your fucking delusions.
It wasn’t a healthy desire, or okay, but usually with Gojo not seeing you much, and you having moved out of your dad’s, it was better. It was just elusive memories and fantasies that you could lose sight of, you could focus on school and your music, focus on your dream — but part of you wanted him in the front row.
“You’re gonna catch a cold if you don’t dry your hair,” he teases, standing then, you watch how his muscles flex as he moves, with ease, his long legs making strides so close to you now, when he touches your damp strands with a sigh. “Wasn’t there a blow dryer in there?”
“There is, but I needed to grab some clothes first- ah!” Your towel threatens to fall then, you gasp, but Satoru’s got it bunched together in a fist quicker than you can blink, bringing you right against him.
The only sounds in that moment are your breaths, and your heart pounding in your ears, when your eyes lock together, and you see the way they dilate, almost black in that moment. Your own hand comes over his balled fist, when he leans down, and for some insane fucking moment you picture it - a kiss from him, from Satoru Gojo, his glossy lips and how they’d feel.
Something you wrote about in endless diaries, it can never happen, it would never happen, he’s making sure you’re not naked if anything, you have to remember it, have to hold back. You smile nervously then, hoping the shower will explain away the flush of your cheeks in front of him, as you take the towel from his hold, holding it together now.
“Thanks, I’m so sorry…”
“No, it’s fine,” his voice is darker, huskier than you’ve ever heard it, making your thighs press together, still slick from the water, in need. “I’ll go take one now.”
“Yes,” he stomps away quickly, leaving you to catch your breath, looking in the mirror over the dresser at how badly his nearness affected you. Your own eyes are so dilated you can’t see your iris anymore.
Soon, Satoru’s leaning against the tile wall, stroking his cock in the hot shower, his eyes fluttering shut in a mix of self loathing and need. He has had you pop up in his mind the past couple years, when he’s hitting a girl from the back with your hair color, when he’s fucking one in a spoon position, and her tits are about your size, he’s shoved them all away though.
He’s never jerked off to you specifically, but there’s no denying it, he’s jerking his thick, veiny cock to his best friend’s daughter in the other room. He feels filthy, as filthy as the sick thoughts he has, of making sure he fucked you so good you’d never even look at one of your stupid college boys again. Showing you what cumming really is, because he’s sure no one has done it right.
You’d be so pretty full of him, leaking his cum for him to shove it back inside your cunt, fuck he’d stock up on plan bs if he could do it every night, if he could watch it pour from your perfect pussy. He hasn’t even seen it, but he just knows it’s as beautiful as the rest of you is, god even your thighs in that towel had him leaking more pre, so hard it hurts.
His tip, usually a blushing pink, is now a mean red with how badly it’s been stuck in this fucking state, he hisses a bit as he runs his fingers along it. He’s picturing it all, that towel falling at your feet, and him slipping his hands across that dewy skin, sucking on that delicate neck he’d like his hand around. It’s pathetic, really, he is better than this surely, but he can’t not touch it.
He’s jerking it faster, fisting his long, curved cock, when the fucking door opens, and he tenses, glaring into the shower curtain that thankfully covered him. “I forgot my phone in here, sorry Gojo.”
“Ah, no, it’s f-fine…” he’s sick, he’s sure of it, jerking it even while you’re in there, in fact knowing you’re there has him feeling closer to cumming, hoping you don’t notice the sounds of his fist on his cock.
“Is there still hot water?” You tease, swiping a little bit of the condensation left on your phone with a towel, already wearing your little shorts and a crop top.
“Yeah, plenty, you didn’t hog too much.”
“See!”
“You left strands of your hair on the wall though.”
“Shit, it fell out!” He laughs softly, as if he’s not still stroking it, and you sigh a little bit then. “All right, I’ll leave you to it.”
Why do you fucking think of offering to jump right back in there? Why do you hesitate, wondering just how perfect he looks under that spray? You shut the door gently with a click that echoes, resting your back against it and shutting your eyes, sighing.
You’re already so stressed about the Julliard audition, the last thing you need is this pounding in your head, an impossible fantasy.
When you’re snuggled up in the main bed out in the entryway, Satoru comes out with a towel slung on his hips to grab his clothes, you can’t help but eye the white happy trail, the little v cuts on either side of his hips begging for your tongue on them. You tug your blanket up a little bit, avoiding the sight of the tenting in his towel, and how badly you’re curious about it.
“Feel better?” You tease, he smiles and nods a bit, grabbing his boxers then, hesitating as he realizes he didn’t bring shit else to sleep in.
“Much better.” He’s gone back to the bathroom, you’re exhaling and leaned back, head on the plush leather headboard, fingers tapping in the rhythm you’ll practice tomorrow, focusing.
He finds you like that when he’s back out, sitting down on one of the chairs to tap back at his keyboard once more, and your lips are pursed, fingers tapping along the red silk comforters. You’re beautiful like that, lost in your own world, surely composing some masterpiece only you can hear, a beauty that tugs at his chest.
It’d be one thing if you were just hot, but to be truly beautiful seemed one of life's meanest jokes to him.
Your phone rings, your eyes open and you catch sight of him. “Shit, you saw me like that?”
“Don’t worry, it’s fine, ya gonna get that?” You look at your phone on the nightstand, tugging off the covers just to make him hard again.
Do you wear clothes!? Or just scraps?
“It’s dad!” You’re giggling, picking up the phone, legs dangling high off the floor as he tries not to imagine slipping his fingers across them. “Hey dad!”
“Hey sweetie, you didn’t check in with me, how’s my girl?” Your dads voice instantly makes you miss him, you two are as close as you can be, and you wish he could be here, but he’s out of the country stuck right now because of some stupid customs issue with a pet he and his new girlfriend bought.
She was actually cool as fuck, but you don’t know if your dad really will ever get over mom, though you’d love to see him happy.
“Wishing you were here,” you say, hearing him sigh over the phone.
“I know, shit, I think we should be able to fly out in the next couple days but I’ll miss the audition for sure.”
“Ugh! I’m okay though, actually… Satoru is here.”
“Satoru? Shit, put me on speaker,” you bounce up then, making your tits jiggle as you hop down, Satoru almost chokes when you run up and stand right next to him, popping on the speaker. “He’s here!”
“Satoru, what’re you doing there?” Suguru’s voice is friendly, relieved even. Thank god he can’t sense the dumb fucking thoughts in his head.
“I was actually staying here for business, when the hotel booked her room, so I offered her to just stay in the suite with me.”
“He saved me!”
“Psh.” He’s chuckling as you smile, leaning across his table a bit, tank top slipping off your fucking shoulder, as if the straps were mocking him.
He sure couldn’t stare at your tits while he talks to your dad!?
“Thank you, Satoru, I feel so much better that you’re there with her,” he almost laughs at that, because he sure the fuck wouldn’t want himself around, with what’s brewing in his mind. “I worried about her alone in the city.”
“Dad, I'm a big girl now, you know.” You’re pouting too fucking cute, Satoru can’t drag his mind off your plush lips for a moment as Suguru speaks.
“You’re still my little girl, anyway I am glad it worked out. By the time I even get back you’ll be in Julliard!”
“You have too much faith in me,” your voice is quiet now, and Satoru puts his hand over yours, smiling at you, earning your little smile back.
“She’ll kill it.”
“Exactly, see we both believe in you.” You tear up a bit, sniffling now, it’s been months since you saw either of them.
“I miss you so much.”
“Aw, me too baby, I’ll be home soon okay?” You sniffle as Satoru caresses the back of your hand. “Take good care of her for me, Satoru.”
“I will.” You hang up the phone then, the exhaustion of the flight and your self doubt creeping in, Satoru tugs you close then, hugging you gently as you’re between his thighs, and your arms wrap his neck.
“Hey, hey, you’ll do great. He’ll be back soon,” you’re taking several breaths, burying your face against his neck as the tears fall, and his big hand splays the small of your back, so warm and soothing. “It’s okay.”
“I missed you too.” You say it softly, like a secret, making Satoru pause, his hand still gently running up and down your back.
“Missed me, why?” You just shake your head, hugging him tighter, as his blood rushes to places he wishes it fucking wouldn’t. “Miss me teasing you?”
“Maybe I do,” you pull back, and Satoru swipes your tears, streaking down your pretty cheeks. “You haven’t visited in a long time.”
“Yeah, I know…” He can’t admit why, he eyes your tears still falling, your glassy eyes, it’s too intimate then, too close, your lips a breath away. “I guess work got the best of me, and my nasty break up.”
“She was a bitch.” He snorts in laughter then, swiping more tears as you stand there between his long legs, like you belong there. “I didn’t like her.”
“You didn’t, huh? She was pretty bitchy, it took a lot for me to get her out of the house. I think I considered an exterminator.” You both laugh then, before he realizes he’s still cupping your face. “Why didn’t you like her? She played nice pretty well to others.”
“She wasn’t in love with you enough,” he pauses at your observation, tilting his head, the lights catch the lavender hue on his hair that falls over his brow, still a little damp, the scent of shampoo filling your nostrils. “She didn’t look at you enough, notice you enough. So I decided I didn’t like her.”
“I see, you’re pretty observant huh?” You shrug a shoulder, hand on his wrist now, your thumb brushing over the veins that dance along it. “She wasn’t in love with me, more the idea of being a Gojo I suppose.”
“Well I’m glad she’s gone. I haven’t liked any of your girlfriends.” He laughs now, but you’re dead serious.
“None of them? Now that’s silly, some of them weren’t that bad.”
“Hmm, nope they all sucked.” He’s laughing harder, his hands finally falling, but one of them remains in yours, he looks down at it then, at how small your hand is compared to his. “You deserve someone that really loves you.”
“Yeah, well, I think I give up.”
“What now?”
“Yeah, I’m ancient.”
“Shut up!” You shove at him, he’s chuckling more but you’re very serious. “Stop saying that. I won’t be old at forty.”
“No, you won’t be able to drive then either.”
“Excuse me!?” He’s grinning as you smack playfully, until you smile and sniffle a bit. “You’re such a jerk!”
“Thought I deserve all this love, what now?” His hands found their way to your hips, as he leans forward, before he can think about it, and you suck in your breath, your heart hammering as he pulls back, realizing how natural it felt.
“You do, but you also deserve a few smacks.” You stop his hands before they leave your waist, and he stares right at them, before the gaze drifts to your nipples, glaringly apparent in your top. “Satoru…”
“You should get some sleep,” he barely manages to speak, standing then, towering over you. Your head falls back when he brushes a strand back behind your ear, leaning over to press a friendly kiss on your head, the one that you’d die if it slipped lower. “I’ll have a car ready to bring you in the morning, okay?”
“You’re the best, Satoru, thank you.”
You keep saying it - Satoru - like you’re testing it on your tongue, and it’s never ending hell to hear it, but he plasters on a smile, patting your head like he always does and walking into the room off to the side. Thankful for the privacy and distance, he shuts the heavy cream door and rests his head against it.
He can barely handle looking at you, inhaling your scent, feeling your skin against him, but you saying he deserved love fucked him up completely. He swallows that down, grabbing a water out of the little fridge in there, swallowing it in needy gulps, before finally laying in the bed, forcing himself to fall asleep.
*****
“Good morning, sweets,” Satoru’s bright and cheery as he comes inside the room with two bags full of donuts, muffins and treats, along with two cups of coffee in a carrier. He’s already fully dressed in his suit, looking like a million bucks, so pretty with his smile as bright light filters in the floor to ceiling windows. “You need to eat.”
“Oh, thank you so much.” You yawn and stand, stretching just a bit, when he sees your tit is precariously close to falling out. He flushes and averts his eyes, when you bounce over to him. “You’re so sweet!”
“It’s nothing, all included. You need something in your system so you don’t get shaky,” his thoughtfulness chokes you up for a moment, you just stare at him with a muffin hovering in your hand. “Want a different flavor? I can go grab more.”
“No, no it’s… you remember me getting shaky?”
“Yeah, you were shaking insane at that pool party last year because you were silly and didn’t eat, knowing we were out in the sun all day.” He taps your nose, as you giggle and peel the wrapper. “Bad girl.”
Jesus fuck, does he not know what that does!?
You stare at him, he’s smirking just a bit like maybe he does fucking know, but then he gets to sipping on his sweet coffee, sighing as it hits his tastebuds. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“I remember a lot of shit I guess,” he shrugs a broad shoulder, taking a donut and starting to devour the sweets, you can’t help but smile as you nibble on your muffin, and he’s sucking on his thumb to lap up icing. “What is it, brat?”
“Brat!? Hey now,” he’s licking his other finger, your body responds almost violently at the sight, picturing the most obscene fucking things. Like him licking you off him instead. You hastily look away, blushing, god is that all you do around this man now? “No, just how you keep that body perfect and eat more than Goku.”
“No one eats more than Goku,” you giggle again at that, as he laughs softly, now tearing into a chocolate chip muffin. “Genetics and working out I guess.”
“You have won the gene pool, this will go to my hips.”
“Nice hips,” he trails off then, clearing his throat, and your tummy clenches as his eyes dart across your body. “I mean to say… you can eat a muffin, you look great, okay?”
“Thank you, Satoru.” You smile and do just that, taking another bite, as the tension in the suite grows with every fucking breath, until you can’t breathe, not with how he looked at you just now.
It has to be your fantasy brain again, he was probably being nice, he’s always been supportive and sweet, someone you could come to. It’s you who is the problem, who can’t stop thinking of fucking your dad’s best friend, something he would never forgive either of you for. Something that will never happen.
You have a huge opportunity, you have to focus.
“Tell me you brought something like… not as… revealing for this? Or do I need to buy you an outfit?” You laugh a bit then, and his thin brows lower. “I’m serious.”
“Are you saying I dress slutty!?”
“What!? No… just very revealing.”
“Maybe you are old.”
“What now!?” You’re biting your lip to stop laughing as he stands up, and you find your back pressed against the table, his arms on either side of you. “Do I look old to you?”
“No, you’re the one that says it silly! You’re old fashioned.” You shove at his chest and he smirks a bit.
“I am not old fashioned, but you do have something professional, yes? I don’t mind taking you shopping.”
The visions flash then, shopping with Satoru, on his fucking arm, god it’s too much, you look down a bit nervously, at his neck, the tie just a bit askew. You fix it carefully, watching his adam’s apple bob up and down. “I have something professional, I’ll put it on and show you.”
He eases back and you come out a few minutes later, a pretty white dress shirt and a cute little bow tie, along with a black little skirt and suspenders, you look fucking adorable. He can’t help but melt a bit as he sees you do a little twirl, black tights and pretty black heels finishing it off.
“Now that’s perfect, you look…” Beautiful, fucking beautiful. “You look like you’re going to nail this.”
“Yay! Thank you!” You kiss his cheek and smile against it, on your tiptoes, a hand over his jacket, burning his skin. “I’m so nervous.”
“Don’t be, you’re going to do amazing. Are you ready to get going? I have to leave a little early for this meeting and the traffic is terrible here.”
“I’m ready!”
Satoru’s in the back with you on his phone, talking to this person and then that person, negotiating a multi million dollar deal while you’re tapping your fingers, an ear bud in with the three songs on rotation that you’ll be performing. You keep tapping them, shutting your eyes, lips murmuring the notes silently. You don’t realize your thigh is shaking until his huge hand covers it.
“You’re a nervous wreck,” his fingers press gently right above your knee, you’re taking several breaths, eyes locking with his as the car stalls through the heavy traffic, slowing to a crawl. “How much are you gonna jiggle it?”
“A lot,” he’s rolling his eyes now, hand falling off, and you instantly miss its warmth, its presence. “I’m gonna fail it.”
“Don’t go in with that attitude, stop that.” He frowns at you, eyes hiding behind those dark shades, just a hint of blue shimmering as they slip down his straight nose a bit. “You’ll do great.”
“Right…”
You wish Satoru was right.
You’re so nervous, so stuck on your insane desires and thoughts, that you keep missing keys you would never. You’re such a fucking mess, every time you hit a sharp key the sickness sinks in deeper, until you’re fucking it all up. You try to save face, the judges are shocked considering all the references on your lists, all the videos that have gone viral of you.
You can’t perform for shit today, and you’re shaking and sobbing by the end of it, heart sinking as you realize what has happened. Instead of waiting for Satoru, you’re walking blocks until you find the nearest bar, and drinking until you’re a mess, all while you picture the disappointment.
All your life living for this dream, for what. What was any of it for?
A few guys are hitting on you as you sit alone at the bar, you let them buy you drinks, but you don’t speak to them, hardly notice as one of them whispers something in your ear and hands you his info, as another touches your back. You barely remember texting Satoru where you are later on, when he was heading to get you from his meeting.
He’s furious when he does walk into the bar, it’s filled with college people probably partying for the summer, he walks through hoards of them when he sees you, two men on either side of you as you down a shot. You’re not smiling or enjoying yourself, he feels the upset from across the bar, your shoulders slumped when one of them dares to touch your back.
He loses any control he’s had, losing it all for the frustration you’ve just put him through, an enigmatic - ‘i’m getting drunk’ and nothing the fuck else at five pm. He’s stomping right over, clearing his throat and getting the two men’s attention, both trying to shoot their shot at a girl who shouldn’t give them the time of fucking day.
He says your name, and you turn to him, skin flushed and eyes glassy, clearly drunk as fuck. He just hopes you had the good sense to only take drinks from the bartender rather than these creeps, as he snatches you right off the barstool, and you almost lose your balance.
“Who’s this, baby?” One asks, Satoru narrows his eyes at the fuck boy.
“It’s Satoru,” you’re hiccuping then, swaying even though you’re not even moving, about to fall if he doesn’t catch you. “Satoru Gojo.”
“Come have another, we can hit a party,” the other says, and you just bury your face against Satoru’s chest, as he carefully holds you.
“She’s going home.” Satoru’s words ring through your drunk ass brain, he lays a tip for you on the table, snatching up your bag and wrapping an arm around your waist, leading you out into the cool night air.
You’re sobbing when he gets to the sidewalk, concerning him to no fucking end, the sun is setting as he guides you gently into the back of the sleek black car, isntantly grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler installed. He twists it open and tilts your chin up gently.
“Drink some water, yeah?” You shake your head, and he scowls. “I said drink some fucking water.”
“Okay, dad.”
“I’m not your fucking dad,” his voice is clipped and harsh then, your eyes try to focus on his angry, handsome face, he swirls just a bit as you let him put the water to your lips. “Drink.”
You do as he says, swallowing greedily then, body craving anything other than the endless shots you’ve just fed it - nothing but a muffin this morning in your body to soak it up. He sighs as he eyes you, unreadable in his gaze, slipping a thumb over your chin as a little bit falls along your chin, before snapping the cap back on.
“Celebrating like this is dangerous, you could have been taken advantage of by those douche bags.”
“Celebrating!” You’re laughing then, until you’re crying, a whole fucking mess as he watches you, swallowing the tightness in his throat. Celebrating, what a joke that was, he looks at you in concern, brows lowering now, the sky is dimming outside, darkening the seat as you try to breathe, try to focus.
“Will you just tell me what’s wrong, what’s going on?” He asks quietly, you sigh then, looking at him, as he gently cups your face.
“I fucking failed, Satoru.”
“What now!?”
“I fucked up, I ruined it.” You’re sobbing again, he holds you against him, as your hands ball his jacket into your fists, tears soaking the expensive material, he exhales and shakes his head. “I did, I did all of this to just fuck it up, dad’s gonna be so d-dissapointed… and you are…”
“Fuck this, I’ll go demand a redo.”
“You can’t!” You pull back and look up at him, the alcohol warming your body, spreading as he’s right near you. “Satoru they will never.”
“The fuck they won’t, you’ve never seen me negotiate shit, have you?” He raises a brow, you swipe at your tears, lip trembling.
“You can’t just fix it for me.”
“I can give you another chance, okay? I’ll meet with them tomorrow, you’ll find I can be very convincing, yeah?” You sigh then, nodding as he brushes back some of your hair. “You’re a mess, ya know?”
“I know.” He frowns contemplatively, as you lean closer, he can taste the liquor on your breath, as your eyes dart to his lips, and the tension coils in your tummy. “You think you can really talk to them?”
“Of course I can, but you better be ready this time. I’ll come watch you, would that help?” You nod then, so quickly it makes you just a little dizzy. “All right then, just let me work my magic.”
You love him.
Fuck you almost say it, the alcohol threatening to loosen your tongue, but you swallow instead, a hand on his chest, and his own eyes lower, snowy lashes casting shadows over those baby blues, the proximity making you both heat up in that moment. He pulls back just a bit, realizing how precarious the moment is, he needs to comfort you, not fucking kiss you, or worse.
Especially drunk off your ass.
“You need more water-” You’ve pressed your lips on his before he can finish his sentence, too far gone to hold back, to stop the motion, pulling back just a bit to look up at him.
He says nothing, eyes wide, and you would apologize if you cared enough to, if you felt bad enough about it, but in that moment it’s all you want, to kiss him, even if it’s only once. You lean back a bit, you want to form the apology you don’t mean on your lips, form it into words, as it’s so silent in the back of that car, all you can hear is your blood rushing in your ears.
“Sorry,” he scoffs then, eyes narrowing, hand slipping into the nape of your neck, tugging your hair just enough to make your head fall back.
“You’re not sorry, are you?” You smile, you can’t help it, you’re too drunk to lie to him.
“Kind of sorry,” he tightens his hand, tugging at the delicate strands of hair, you’re whining out, the sound fucking him completely. “Satoru…”
“You’re forgetting this, okay?” You nod then, understanding him, when he slams his lips on yours, the release so fucking good he can’t stand it, drinking in your cries as your arms wrap his neck.
He’s lost then, letting himself have one moment, where he devours your mouth with his practiced tongue, where his other hand slips up your thigh, up your hip, to your ribcage, brushing right under your breasts. You’re clinging to him, closer and closer, until you’re straddling him, even as he shoves at your hips, you roll them, whining out when you feel him.
“Fuck, you’re a brat…” he’s huffing, biting back a moan as he feels your heat, soaking wet even against your tights, pressing you down for just a moment to torture himself, kissing you deeper, hungrier. It’s messy and desperate, you’re kissing him sloppy, saliva dripping, as you roll your hips against him.
“Please…” He wants to give you it, fuck he wants you to have all of him, but he yanks you off him, holding you up by your hips, kissing you one more time.
“No more, you’re drunk and… this is a terrible fucking idea.” He sits you right next to him, you’re dizzy and breathless. “Forget that happened.”
“Right, sure Satoru.” You glare at him, he glares right back, leaning over and hating himself, he wanted to rip your fucking tights at the crotch, slip his fingers inside your wet cunt, stretch you out on him.
Shit that can never, ever happen.
“You’re upset and drunk, and I’m fucking stupid.”
“You’re not-”
“Drink.” He orders, and you do just that, he’s back to being caring and distant, as you ache for him, more and more as the water sobers you up just a bit.
He’s helping you up into bed later, he puts your hair up off your neck carefully in a pony tail, he makes you eat food that he orders. The alcohol has lost its effects mostly as you lay in bed, and he’s typing over on his laptop, the glasses looking unfairly handsome on his face as you study him.
“Will you really help me get another chance?” You ask softly, his eyes catch you across the room.
“Of course I will, but it’ll be up to you to show them what you can do, show them how good you are. Okay?” You nod then, snuggling against the pillow, eyes drifting shut, neither of you mention the kiss, neither of you breathe a word even close to insinuating it happened.
“Thank you, Satoru. Good night.” You murmur, he sighs, nodding then.
“Good night.” His clicking of the keys drifts you off to sleep, the vivid images behind your eyes of him overtaking your mind, wondering if it was all some fucking drunk fever dream.
But it wasn’t.
When later he closes the laptop and brushes your hair back, studying you for a moment, he tries to make a promise to himself - that it will never happen again, he’ll never let his control slip like that. Even if all he can think of now is slipping into bed next to you and holding you against him, he shoves it all down, going back to his room, and staring at the ceiling.
What had he been thinking?
He can’t feel this way.
He shuts his eyes, failing to sleep as he knows you’re in the next room, while you dream the filthiest things about your dad’s best friend.
— ongoing case files, tooth-rotting exclusives, and other crimes against literary sanity. updates are irregular, but the delusion is consistent. read tags and descriptions on your own risk.
౨ৎ FRONT PAGE EXCLUSIVES .ᐟ
— red string of fate collection
౨ৎ HIGH-PROFILE CASES: LONG FICS .ᐟ
— free throws and figure drawings , told the nerd to film it and he exported inside me instead! , diet pepsi , a treatise on inconvenient attraction , the curious case of satoru gojo , in case of academic emergency, kiss me
౨ৎ ONGOING INVESTIGATIONS: SERIES .ᐟ
— a guide to ditching the world’s most persistent nerd! , love comes in small sizes , love thy neighbor , kill switch , wanted: dead or wed
౨ৎ LOCAL DISRUPTIONS: SHORT FICS .ᐟ
— roses bloom the prettiest in ruin , no one else needed to notice , all’s fair , love & war , wherever you want it, baby, i’m taking you there! , bet on blue , ivy , panopticon , illicit affairs , warmth waits here , skip me again and i’ll glitch your heart , shy girls suck the best , infinite void? more like infinite errands! , even softer than expected , co-parenting? no. co-pettying. , bite your tongue, i like it better bloody , call it first aid , you ever draw someone so hard you ride them? , your goddess loves you this much , something warm and golden , this love survives bad haircuts
— satoru x oblivious reader , making satoru blush , satoru’s pint sized copy fails the quiz satoru helped him review , satoru being a tease , yandere satoru w/ servant reader , isekai’d game protag nerdjo x not so npc saintess reader , lost princess reader x etiquette teacher satoru , satoru ’helping’ you take a pregnancy test , satoru vs your period mood swings , temporarily genderbent satoru showing up on ur first date , satoru bakes cookies , magical girl reader x satoru , delulu & yearning nerdjo x shy reader , kid satoru and shikigami reader <- pt. 2 , pt. 3 , basketball player satoru drawing his artist girlfriend reader , childhood friend satoru carrying you so your socks don’t get wet , satoru accidentally tasting your mascara while comforting you , satoru and the five second rule , ragebaiting nerdjo , satoru taking too big of a bite on your cheeseburger , married off to the mysterious gojo heir , cowboy satoru saving you from bandits (you’re one of them) , brushing time with satoru , luxury shopping with satoru , male manipulator satoru and girl failure reader <- pt 2 , satoru and correction kink , soldier satoru and nurse reader , knight satoru and princess reader , photography club pres satoru and journalism club pres reader <- pt 2 , vampire satoru and gf reader <- him eating u out on ur period , love is war: divorce edition , i love you more competition with first year satoru , satoru overdoing it in his first date with you , so-called village guardian satoru and vampire reader , testing a sex toy while satoru watches, corruption + ntr w/ tutor satoru , a whisker away au
࿐summary. the gojo clan is untouchable, and their new ruler, gojo satoru, is the most powerful sorcerer of his generation—unrivaled, unrestricted, and utterly uncontrollable. for years, he has defied the expectations of his clan, rejecting tradition, resisting the cage they built for him. but even the strongest must bow to duty. a deal struck, a marriage arranged. you, the daughter of a fallen clan, are chosen to stand at his side. not out of love, but because gojo satoru always gets what he wants. and if he's obligated to marry, fuck it, he wants you. though, you quickly learn that your place is not beside him—but beneath him. why? because gojo satoru doesn’t do love.
࿐tags/warnings. nsfw 18+, smut, angst (with eventual fluff), slight canon divergence, arranged marriage, satoru is emotionally detached, he's kinda a dick at times, breeding, breeding kink, praise kink, some degradation, loss of virginity, mentions of infidelity, mentions of a prior scandal (i'll update tags as i write more) » 【this part — involves a 7 yr time skip, from both reader and satoru's pov. satoru's a little shit. he's arrogant and gives no fucks. suguru defects. sexual content. fingering, handjob, orgasms, male ejaculation on tits, lots of dirty talk】
࿐wc. 16.4k (suuuurprise.... heh)
࿐a/n. hiiii. it's finally here—the full fic of this drabble. you can expect this fic to be multiple parts, i'm just not sure how many yet. anyways, i had fun writing a canon version of satoru. i love my canon pookie. even if he's emotionally constipated here. enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/_3aem on X )
Your mother had always told you—there were four great clans in jujutsu society. Four names that shaped history, wielding power that stretched back for centuries.
The Zenin Clan, ruthless in tradition, where strength dictated worth and weakness was met with exile.
The Kamo Clan, a relic of the past, clinging desperately to their once-unshakable influence, willing to spill whatever blood necessary to remain relevant.
The Gojo Clan, untouchable, revered—the bloodline of gods. A name so powerful it stood above all others, their very existence defined by the Six Eyes and Limitless, abilities so rare they might as well have been myth.
And then, there was your clan.
A family as old as Kyoto itself, a bloodline sharpened by centuries of discipline and technique. The fourth great clan, standing alongside these names not as a rival, but as an equal. You were always told that your family had not built its legacy on brute force or deception, nor had it relied on a singular, overwhelming ability to dominate the battlefield.
No—your clan thrived on precision. Strategy. Control.
Respected. Feared. Established.
Yes, let it be known that your family produced some of the finest jujutsu sorcerers Kyoto had ever seen—that alone secured your place among the elite. And so, you had spent your life walking the delicate line between tradition and expectation, power and obedience. You were raised to be precise, to be measured—a perfect reflection of the strength your family stood for.
And that was why you were here tonight.
Because power, recognized power.
And tonight, the most powerful clan of them all was crowning a new king.
Tonight—December 7th—on his eighteenth birthday, Gojo Satoru would be proclaimed Clan Head of the Gojo family. The invitation had been sent to only the most respected and esteemed. This was more than a celebration; it was a display. A reminder.
All of Japan had known for years that the next ruler of the strongest clan had been chosen. Ever since the moment Gojo Satoru was born, it had been inevitable. But tonight, it would become official.
Inhaling deeply, you forced stillness into your spine—your expression smoothing into something unreadable.
You were no stranger to moving through halls filled with power—no, you had been raised for moments like these. You knew how to hold yourself, how to command respect, how to navigate a room full of Kyoto’s most dangerous and influential figures.
And yet…
There was something about tonight that felt… different.
Perhaps it’s because, for the first time, you would stand in the same room as him. The prodigy. The untouchable. The strongest sorcerer of his generation—a living legend before he was ever grown, a force of nature wrapped in a human body.
You had heard his name more times than you could count, but you had never seen him.
Not in person. Not until tonight.
"Fix your kimono.”
Your mother’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the car, sharp and precise as ever.
She didn’t look at you as she said it—she never had to. The flick of her gaze toward your reflection in the window was enough. Cool, assessing. She expected perfection.
You didn’t argue. You never argued.
Instead, your hands moved instinctively, smoothing the silk draped over your lap. Midnight blue, embroidered with delicate silver cranes in flight—a symbol of strength, of longevity, of duty. A reminder of the life you were bound to.
The obi at your waist had been tied flawlessly earlier that evening, its silken folds pressed into place with meticulous care—yet you still adjusted it. Not because it was imperfect, but because she had told you to.
Exhaling softly, your mother’s eyes swept over you briefly—as though the smallest flaw in your presentation might tarnish the family name.
"Appearances matter," she murmured, smoothing the folds of her own ivory kimono, embroidered with peonies and bamboo—symbols of wealth and resilience. Even in the dim light of the car, she radiated elegance, flawless as always.
"Tonight, we do not lower ourselves."
She spoke as if you didn’t already know. As if she hadn’t spent years molding you into a perfect reflection of the family’s strength.
Across from you, your father shifted, stretching his legs slightly as he leaned back into his seat. The glow of his phone screen flickered over his face, casting sharp shadows across his features. As his fingers tapped idly against the side of the device, the screen was angled just enough that neither you nor your mother could see it.
Yeah… that was a habit of his. One you had learned not to acknowledge.
Your mother never acknowledged it either. Not in words, at least.
But you saw it in the way her fingers tensed against her sleeve, in the subtle shift of her posture, as if willing herself to ignore the obvious.
"You put too much weight on these things," your father muttered, carrying an air of finality. "The Gojo Clan already knows who we are. No amount of perfect posture is going to change their minds."
The silence that followed was familiar.
A subtle tension seeped into the space between them—the kind that had no beginning and no resolution. Something ever-present, like a thread woven too tightly through the fabric of their marriage.
Lowering her gaze slightly, your mother adjusted the folds of her sleeve with slow, deliberate care.
"Power is not always displayed through strength alone," she said, softer now. "It is seen in the way others perceive you. The moment you allow someone to look down on you, you have already lost."
Exhaling through his nose, a quiet sound rumbles through your father’s chest—neither agreement nor disagreement. He wasn’t listening. Not really.
"Depends," he sighs dismissively. "There are worse things than being looked down on."
Your mother’s hands froze for just a moment, before she recovered, smoothing out her sleeve with a quiet nod.
"Of course…" she murmured, conceding with practiced ease.
She would not challenge him. She never did.
Turning yourself toward the window, you felt the weight of their silence settle into your ribs.
You had seen this scene too many times before. So you looked away. Focusing on the world outside, rather than the quiet battlefield inside the car. Then, finally, it came into view.
The Gojo Estate.
It did not sit among the rest of Kyoto. It stood above it.
Carved into the mountainside, the estate loomed over the landscape like something untouched by time. Its outer walls stretched endlessly into the dark, built of aged wood and blackened stone, reinforced not just with craftsmanship but with sorcery itself. A silent warning. A declaration of power—this was not a place where outsiders were welcome.
Beyond the towering gates, the estate unfurled like a painting.
The courtyard was vast, an expanse of raked gravel and polished stone pathways that twisted through pruned bonsai, moss-covered lanterns, and koi-filled ponds shimmering beneath the moonlight. Each element was a silent testament to a clan that valued not just power, but control—as if even the earth beneath the Gojos’ feet bowed to their authority.
A long row of cherry blossom trees lined the outer garden, their pale petals quivering in the night breeze. Winter had stolen the color from Kyoto’s streets, but here, the blossoms remained in eternal bloom—preserved unnaturally, suspended in time by the lingering touch of sorcery. As the wind passed through them, petals drifted down in soft flurries, catching in the air like falling snow.
Your breath stilled slightly.
Even for someone raised in a powerful clan, the sight of the Gojo estate was enough to humble.
The car slowed to a stop, just before the entrance, and your gaze flickered toward the attendants waiting outside before shifting upward, toward the main hall that loomed beyond the courtyard.
It was not a home.
It was a throne.
And tonight, the man who would rule it was waiting inside.
༻༺ꨄ༻༺
“Y’know, I really don’t get why everyone’s making such a big deal out of this,” Satoru drawls, tugging at the stiff collar of his ceremonial robes with a dramatic grimace. “They’ve known I’m the strongest since birth. Feels a little redundant, don’t y’think?”
Across the room, Suguru lets out a slow exhale, his shoulder pressed lazily against the wooden frame of the window. Beyond him, Kyoto stretches into the night—rooftops bathed in silver moonlight, the glow of distant lanterns flickering like dying embers. But he isn’t looking at the view. His gaze flickers toward Satoru through the mirror’s reflection, watching as his friend fussed with the layers of fine silk draped over his shoulders, like it’s a burden rather than an honor.
“They have to make a big deal out of it,” Suguru murmurs, quiet, almost bored. “Otherwise, what’s left for them?”
Satoru scoffs, shifting his weight as he tugs at the sash around his waist, loosening it just to tighten it again.
“Yeah, well. If this keeps ‘em busy, maybe they’ll hold off on nagging me about marriage for another year.”
Suguru hums, pushing off the window frame. Taking a slow step forward, his hands slip into the wide sleeves of his yukata as he watches Satoru wrestle against his robes like they were shackles.
“You say that like they won’t have a new excuse next week.”
Catching Suguru’s gaze in the mirror, Satoru’s lips curl into a lazy, knowing grin.
“Think they’ll get creative?”
“They always do.”
Clicking his tongue, an exaggerated sigh slips from Satoru’s lips as he finally turns from the mirror to grab the ceremonial overcoat folded on the edge of the lacquered table. The fabric is rich and regal—deep indigo silk embroidered with gold, the threads gleaming under the dim candlelight.
“Tch… I swear…” he barely spares the elegant silk a glance before throwing it over his shoulders, the heavy material settling like a crown he never asked for. “Maybe I should start charging for every goddamn time they waste my time.”
Suguru hums, tilting his head.
“You’d make a fortune.”
“Please,” Satoru scoffs, flicking at the intricate gold trim on his sleeve, grin sharp and self-satisfied. “I’m already loaded.”
Suguru lets out a quiet breath, one hand slipping into his sleeve before pulling out a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers.
“And yet…” he muses, placing it between his lips as he fishes for his lighter, “all that money, and you’re still stuck wearing that ridiculous thing.”
Satoru let out a long-suffering sigh, rolling his shoulders under the weight of the overcoat, shifting slightly—like he could somehow make it sit lighter on him.
“Right?” He turns back toward the mirror, tugging at the stiff collar with an annoyed pull. “I look like I belong in a fucking museum.”
Suguru says nothing at first. The metal flicks, a sharp scratch of sound, flame briefly illuminating his face as he lights the cigarette. The glow reflects in his violet eyes for half a second as he takes a slow drag.
“Or on a wedding altar,” he exhales smoke in a measured breath.
Satoru’s hands freeze mid-adjustment. His head snaps up, and through the mirror, he shoots Suguru a flat look.
“Not funny.”
Suguru smirks, the cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers as smoke curls through the air. “I’m serious,” he murmurs, tapping ash into a nearby tray. “Wouldn’t put it past them to slip an engagement announcement into tonight’s festivities. You know how they like their surprises.”
Clicking his tongue, Satoru runs a hand through his hair, deliberately messing it up again.
“Yeah, well… first sign of trouble and I’m teleporting the hell out of there.”
A quiet chuckle slips through Suguru’s lips, but there’s no humor in it.
“And then what?” his voice softens, but the words weigh heavier. “You gonna outrun your own clan forever? Your duty?”
Satoru shrugs. “If I have to.” He’s grinning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
With quiet consideration, Suguru exhales, watching Satoru with a mixture of amusement and exhaustion. But this time, it’s not his reflection he’s looking at. It’s him—standing there in those ceremonial robes, draping over him like chains, wearing arrogance like armor.
“You… really think it’s that simple?”
Satoru doesn’t hesitate. His grin sharpens, flashing white teeth like a blade.
“Of course it is. I’m Satoru fucking Gojo.”
Though Suguru’s expression doesn’t shift, his gaze darkens, something quiet and knowing creeping into his features.
“Yeah…” he murmurs. “You are.”
“C’mon, you think they actually care?” He pauses, eyes flicking to Suguru through the mirror. “This isn’t about me. It’s about the name. The bloodline. Hell, they’d be throwing this same party for a rock if it had the Six Eyes.”
There’s a lingering silence.
Through the mirror, Satoru sees Suguru’s expression shift—his posture still loose but somehow weighted, as if each breath he takes is heavier with words unspoken. Suguru’s long raven hair falls slightly into his face, but it doesn’t quite hide the quiet strain pulling at his features.
“Damn…” Satoru exhales sharply through his nose. “You look like shit, man.”
Suguru blinks, briefly startled, before scoffing, rolling his eyes as he flicks ash into the tray beside him.
“Gee, thanks.”
But Satoru doesn’t let up. His gaze lingers, cutting through pretenses like a blade.
“No, seriously. Have you slept at all this week? ‘Cause from here, you look like you’re about to keel over.”
Suguru lets out a quiet chuckle, but it’s weak, hollow—gone before it ever really forms.
“Yeah…” he lifts the cigarette back to his lips, taking another slow drag. “I dunno. ‘m just tired.”
The ember burns bright for a moment, casting sharper shadows along his best friend’s face—deepening the lines of exhaustion—a quiet weight that Satoru’s been too busy to address. Then, clicking his tongue, Satoru focuses back to the mirror, dragging a hand through his hair with careless ease.
“You’re thinking too much again…” he mutters. “Always a bad sign.”
“Yeah, well...” Suguru exhales, smoke curling lazily around him. “Guess someone’s gotta do it.”
Quirking a brow, Satoru turns toward him fully this time.
“Oh, fuck off.”
Suguru smirks, but it’s small, faint—the kind that barely lifts the corners of his lips before disappearing altogether. As he leans back against the wooden frame of the window, his fingers tap against his arm, holding the cigarette loosely in his grip.
“What are you thinking about?” Satoru asks.
Suguru quirks a brow before he huffs, shaking his head slightly.
The silence sits heavier this time. There’s something distant in his expression—like his thoughts are a step ahead of him, somewhere neither of them can quite reach. Flicking the cigarette between his fingers, he taps ash into the tray with slow precision.
“I’m just wondering…” Suguru mutters, his voice quieter now, something careful in the way he says it. “If you weren’t who you are—would they still be kneeling at your feet?”
Satoru blinks.
“Uh. Duh.”
Suguru scoffs, shaking his head, his fingers tightening slightly around his bicep.
“No, Satoru. If you weren’t—” He stops himself, exhaling sharply through his nose, his jaw flexing slightly like he wants to say something but doesn’t trust himself to. Instead, he shakes his head. “Never mind…”
Satoru’s gaze narrows.
“Um. The hell was that? You can’t just say something cryptic and then drop it.”
For a moment, there’s something unspoken between them—something lingering just beneath the surface, pressing at the space between words. Then, just as quickly, Suguru’s expression smooths over. Whatever flicker of thought had been there vanishing behind an effortless, practiced mask.
“It’s nothing.”
It wasn’t.
But whatever it was, Suguru wasn’t going to say it.
Exhaling through his nose, Satoru watches him for a second longer before rolling his shoulders—shaking off the conversation entirely.
“Anyways,” he sighs, stretching his arms above his head as he strides toward the door, loose and unaffected, like he’s just heading out for a stroll instead of stepping into the weight of his legacy.
As he passes the lacquered table, his hand instinctively reaches for his sunglasses, flipping them open with a careless flick before sliding them onto the bridge of his nose.
Suguru’s gaze drags back to him, eyes lingering over the contrast of expensive, embroidered silk and dark tinted glasses. He smirks. “Doesn’t really fit the robes.”
Satoru groans, shoving his sunglasses up into his hairline before letting them drop back onto his nose.
“Tch. I know, I know. Too fucking modern for their delicate sensibilities, right?”
Suguru chuckles, putting out his cigarette. “Something like that.”
With a resigned huff, Satoru tosses the sunglasses onto the table with a clatter.
“Fine fine…” he grumbles, pausing—considering. A wicked smile curls onto his lips. “Hey… what do you think—should I blindfold myself instead and pretend I can’t find the stage? Give ‘em a little show?”
Suguru barks out a short laugh, shaking his head as he exhales.
“You’re really gonna make a fucking scene on your own celebration?”
“Oh, Suguru,” Satoru’s grin is all teeth as he makes his way toward the door. “Make a scene? When have I ever done that?”
Suguru gives him a long, slow look as he follows.
“Do you want that list alphabetically or chronologically?”
Satoru snorts. “Smartass.” He shoves the door open without hesitation. “Y’think I can piss off at least three elders before the night’s over?”
“Mm... four, if you really try.”
“That’s the spirit.”
And as Satoru steps forward—toward the weight of a legacy that meant nothing to him, Suguru lingers behind him, watching as Satoru walks ahead, carrying the world like it’s weightless.
But Suguru knows better.
He always has.
༻༺ꨄ༻༺
“Stand up straight,” your mother murmurs quietly—so soft that only you can hear it. “And try not to stare.”
Your spine straightens instinctively, shoulders pressing back—but stare? Fuck. How can you not? The Gojo estate is unlike anything you have ever stepped foot in.
The ceilings stretch impossibly high, wooden beams arching overhead like the ribs of some celestial beast. Hand-painted fusuma panels line the walls, gold leaf catching the candlelight, depicting Kyoto’s landscapes in elegant brushstrokes. There is a stillness here—something ancient, untouched by time. Unshaken by war or weakness.
A faint trace of aged incense lingers in the air, blending with the clean scent of fresh tatami, wrapping around you like something sacred—a quiet reminder that tradition is absolute here.
The steady flow of guests direct you down the grand walkway, toward the main hall, and the air hums with low voices—silk robes rustling as elders and elite sorcerers file in, taking their assigned seats.
Assigned by status.
The highest-ranking families settle nearest to the center of the hall, where Gojo Satoru will take his place, while the lesser clans drift toward the outer edges, far enough to understand their place.
You barely register it.
Because just beyond the walkway, past a row of sliding doors left slightly open, something catches your eye.
A dojo.
Wide and open, its polished wooden floors gleam under the dim glow of candlelight. Tall, arched windows invite in the cool night air, carrying the rustling of bamboo from the gardens beyond. Along the walls, beautifully crafted bokken rest neatly in their racks beside long naginata and aged katana, their lacquered hilts gleaming faintly.
It is… perfect.
Unlike anything your own estate has ever had. A proper space for training—not the rigid, structured sessions dictated by the elders, but something freer. A place to move, to breathe, to fight.
God… it’s everything you’ve always wanted.
After all, your clan was built on precision, control, intelligence. Not raw combat. You have trained—mastered every movement drilled into you since childhood—but never were you allowed to spar without restraint. Never trained to be a sorcerer, never encouraged to fight in a way that would leave bruises—that would stain silk with sweat and blood.
You were raised to be a perfect reflection of your family, a perfect wife—that is all.
And yet, here it is. Fuck. A proper dojo—what a dream. So perfectly built for battle, yet it’s tucked into the halls of the most powerful clan in Jujutsu society, probably taken for granted as if it were nothing.
As your steps slow, you barely realize how long you’ve been staring, until you feel the lightest tug on your sleeve.
“Enough,” your mother mutters, grip light but firm.
Your heart jumps. Shit. It was one thing to observe. To admire. But it was another to linger.
“Eyes forward,” she lifts her chin, and you follow her deeper inside.
Moving ahead, the crowd shifts around you, elders and elite sorcerers weaving through the grand hall, settling into their assigned seats—but damn it. You’re still thinking about that damn dojo.
What must it be like to strike and be struck back, to train not just for form but for battle?
But your mother’s grip subtly shifts. Tightening.
Then, with the slightest turn of her head, she murmurs, “…w-what? Where did he go…”
Your breath stills as you realize, your father is no longer beside her. Glancing around, he is nowhere to be seen, lost in the sea of flowing silk and quiet murmurs. But you don’t need to ask where he’s gone—you already know. And… so does she.
Despite it, she doesn’t curse. Doesn’t let her expression falter. Doesn’t break stride. But you see the way your mother’s lips press together, the way her fingers curl slightly against the sleeve of her kimono, gripping fabric like it’s the only thing she can control.
A slow, measured breath leaves her nose. Then, with a practiced ease, she smooths out the folds of her sleeve.
“Wait at your seat…” she instructs softly. “I’ll find him.”
And just like that, she is gone.
It’s not the first time.
Not the first time she’s swallowed the weight of his absence, nor the first time she’s forced herself to chase after a man who has never once stopped running. A man who dishonors her with such frequency that it no longer feels like betrayal—only expectation.
And she goes anyway. Every time.
Why?
You begin to ponder.
How many wives have had to smile through disgrace, bound by duty to men who do not see them? How many have sat in silence, enduring the quiet disintegration of a marriage, knowing their suffering is only theirs to bear?
The thought lingers as you move toward your assigned seat, your steps slow, lost in quiet contemplation. You barely register the way silk brushes against you, the flickering candlelight casting shifting shadows across the polished floors.
“You’re in my seat.”
The words are crisp. Clipped.
You barely have time to process them before the weight of who they belong to settles in your chest like stone. Glancing up, your stomach drops.
Shit.
You’ve sat in the wrong seat.
Not just any seat.
His seat.
Gojo Hajime.
An elder of the Gojo clan. A man whose presence alone commands respect and caution in equal measure. His reputation is built upon unforgiving discipline, a fierce advocate for upholding the hierarchy that governs jujutsu society. You have seen how lesser-ranked sorcerers bow deeper in his presence, how his voice alone is enough to quiet a whole fucking room.
And you—you—have just taken his seat.
You should apologize. Immediately. Stand, lower your head, bow so deeply your knees kiss the floor—but you don’t even get the chance. Because the moment your lips part, his voice cuts through the air again.
“How disgraceful.”
The murmurs start immediately. Soft at first. Rippling outward.
A misplaced seat is not just an accident—it is an insult. A disruption to the hierarchy, an unspoken challenge to status. And it is not just your mistake—it is your family’s.
Eyes begin to turn.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Your heart hammers against your ribs, panic coiling tight in your stomach. You can feel the weight of scrutiny, the silent condemnation pressing against your skin like needles. But just as the tension threatens to crack open, before you can even move, before you can correct your mistake—
“Damn,” a voice cuts in. “I didn’t know we had assigned seats based on grumpiness. If that’s the case, maybe we oughta scoot you a little further up, gramps.”
The murmurs die instantly. A ripple of silk as heads turn, a breath caught collectively in the throats of the room.
Because everyone knows that voice.
Gojo Satoru.
And when you finally force yourself to look, when you finally shift your gaze toward the source of your salvation, you find yourself staring into the bluest damn eyes you’ve ever seen.
They are a color not meant for this world—icy, piercing, almost otherworldly under the flickering candlelight. Not simply blue, but something deeper, something endless, like the sky when it stretches too far, too high, too unreachable.
And then, just as effortlessly, he drops into the seat beside you.
“Hope ya don’t mind if I sit here, gramps,” he sighs, propping his chin against his palm with a lazy grin. “Since, y’know… you’re already standing.”
The elder bristles.
“Gojo-sama…” he says slowly, voice strained. “Seats are assigned with purpose.”
Satoru exhales loudly, stretching his neck. “Right, right,” he drawls. “And lemme guess—some dusty old men in a room decided where everyone sits?”
“The council—”
“Right, right,” he interjects, waving a dismissive hand. “The same council that decided I needed to wear this stiff-ass robe tonight.” He tugs at the embroidered silk draped over his shoulders for emphasis before flashing a sharp grin. “Real forward thinkers, those guys.”
A flicker of disbelief passes over the elder’s face.
Satoru hums, tapping his fingers idly against the table. “Tell ya what… since I’m feeling generous tonight, how ‘bout we just let it slide? Y’know, pretend we’re not wasting all this energy over a damn seat?” He leans back, stretching his arms over his head, his voice dropping to something lower, lazier. “Unless, of course, you’d rather keep arguing with me in front of all these lovely guests? On my birthday, need I remind you?”
The words are spoken lightly, casually, but there’s an underlying challenge in them—something daring, something edged with amusement, as if he already knows how this will end.
And the elder does, too. Because what can he say? What will he do? It’s a battle he can’t win. Not against the strongest.
A long breath drags through his nose before he bows his head stiffly.
“…as you wish, Gojo-sama.”
Satoru grins, entirely pleased with himself. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
With that, the elder moves stiffly to another seat, the murmurs gradually settling into quiet acceptance, though you can still feel the lingering weight of curious glances thrown your way.
And finally—finally—your lungs remember how to breathe.
You should say something. Thank him. But before you can, Satoru turns his attention to you, tilting his head slightly, that easy smirk still curving his lips.
“There,” his fingers play idly with a tousle of your hair, letting it twirl between his grasp. “A lady of your caliber deserves the best seat in the house, don’t y’think?”
You blink, still caught between lingering panic and something dangerously close to awe.
Because just like that, with a grin and a few well-placed words, he had made a mockery of the entire situation. Had turned the weight of expectation into something trivial, something meaningless.
Had made defiance look so damn effortless. And for the first time tonight, you wonder what it would be like to live that freely.
Satoru watches you, head tilted slightly, as if waiting for something. Amusement flickers in those ridiculously bright eyes, sharp and unreadable beneath the flickering candlelight.
You realize then—you haven’t said a word.
Shit.
Heat pricks at the back of your neck. You force yourself to blink, to breathe, to gather the scattered remains of your dignity before finally managing, “…oh, um… t-thank you, Gojo-sama.”
He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Ugh. Don’t do that.”
You blink. “…do what?”
“That whole ‘Gojo-sama’ thing. Bleh.” He scrunches his nose, expression twisted in exaggerated distaste. “You make me sound old.”
You hesitate, caught between confusion and amusement. “But… you’re the Clan Head now.”
He groans dramatically, dragging a hand through his hair. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
Your lips twitch, just barely suppressing a laugh, and his gaze flickers to you at that, something playful sparking in his eyes. Leaning in slightly, his elbows rest on the low table, voice dropping to something conspiratorial.
“You wouldn’t believe how many speeches I’ve had to sit through already. I swear, they’ve been reciting my life story like I’m some kind of historical relic.”
You raise a brow. “…aren’t you?”
Satoru gasps, clutching his chest like you just struck him. “Wow. The betrayal.”
Shaking your head in amusement, you finally allow a small laugh to slip out.
“I… didn’t mean it like that.”
“Uh-huh.” He squints at you in mock suspicion before his lips stretch back into an easy grin. “Alright, I’ll let that one slide, since I like you.”
Your stomach does a strange little flip.
It’s nothing… right? Just the nerves. The residual stress from earlier. The weight of too many eyes lingering in the periphery.
But as he watches you—head tilting slightly, like he’s trying to figure you out—you don’t know what the hell to say. And yet… you also find yourself not wanting to look away.
Because Satoru Gojo is beautiful. Undeniably.
He is elegance without effort, arrogance without apology, a man who moves through the world like it was built to accommodate him. His snowy-white hair is a tousled mess, catching silver beneath the candlelight, framing the sharp angles of his jaw, the high curve of his cheekbones, the ever-present smirk tugging at his lips.
And his eyes—God, his eyes.
They aren’t just blue. They’re endless. A shade too sharp, too striking—like fractured gemstones, like glacial ice catching the light at just the right angle. They don’t just see, they consume, pulling you in as if the whole fucking world just disappears when he looks at you.
What the hell are you supposed to say to him?
Shit. You’re lingering again. Your mother would curse you for this. You should speak—say something, anything. But the words never come.
Luckily, you don’t have to figure it out.
Because just then, a sharp chime rings through the grand hall, signaling the start of the formal ceremony. A ripple of movement stirs through the guests as heads turn toward the center of the room, where the elders begin to take their places.
Satoru exhales, stretching his arms overhead in a lazy arc. “Guess that’s my cue.”
He rises smoothly, adjusting the heavy silk of his robes with little care, as if he’s already bored of the whole affair. But then—before stepping away—he casts you one last glance, that ever-present grin still playing at the edges of his lips.
“See ya around, sweetheart.”
And then, like this entire night is nothing more than a game to him, he waves, casting you a playful wink. Casual. Effortless. Like you’re old friends. Like this moment, fleeting as it is, belongs to just the two of you—despite the dozens of eyes still lingering in your direction.
And, without hesitation, he turns, stepping toward the center of the room, where the weight of his legacy awaits him.
༻༺ꨄ༻༺
The ceremony is exactly what Satoru expected—long, tedious, and filled with more self-important speeches than he cares to count. The elders take turns praising the significance of his ascension, the legacy he carries, the burden he must now bear.
As if he doesn’t already fucking know. As if the weight of the Gojo name hasn’t pressed against his spine since the moment he was born.
He stands at the center of it all, a crownless king in layered silk, his every move watched, measured, and judged by the dozens of expectant faces surrounding him.
Whatever. Let them say whatever they want.
Because at the end of the day—he is still Gojo Satoru. And they can dress him up in their finest robes, seat him at the highest throne, weigh him down with the expectations of an entire clan—but they can’t make him care.
And they know it.
So, when the speeches end and the ritual formalities dissolve into something more palatable—celebration, sake, music—the real scheming begins.
The moment the first note is played, an elder clears his throat. Satoru doesn’t even look up.
“We have taken the liberty of selecting your first dance, Gojo-sama,” the man says, hands folded neatly in his sleeves, the picture of diplomatic grace. “She is from a highly esteemed bloodline. A perfect candidate for marriage and—”
Satoru groans. Loudly.
“Oh, come on.” He drags a hand down his face, tilting his head back like this entire conversation physically pains him. “You’re really pulling the marriage card already? I just fucking turned eighteen.”
The elder’s expression doesn’t shift. Doesn’t falter. They’ve played this game with him before. They know Gojo Satoru only bends when it suits him.
“We must get ahead of things. And it is tradition for the head of the Gojo Clan to take his first dance with a suitable partner—”
“Right, right.” Satoru waves a dismissive hand, eyes scanning the room for anything more interesting than this conversation. “And lemme guess—she’s got a nice lineage, proper manners, and the personality of a wet napkin?”
A pause as the elder clears his throat. Yeah. That’s all the confirmation he needs.
Satoru exhales, shaking his head, fingers drumming lazily against the lacquered armrest of his chair.
“Yeah… I think I’ll pass,” he’s rising from his seat as the elder begins ushering a poised, graceful young woman towards him—clad in silk, the color of cherry blossoms.
Satoru doesn’t even look at her.
He’s looking for an escape, and as his eyes sweep the crowd, he sees you.
The girl from earlier.
And just like that, his mind is made up.
Before the elder can say another word, before the girl can step any closer, Satoru moves.
Not toward her.
Toward you.
༻༺ꨄ༻༺
“Dance with me.”
You blink, gaze dropping to his hand, extended toward you, palm open, fingers relaxed.
It’s not a request.
It’s a decision.
A disruption—a defiance of everything expected of him.
And the room knows it.
The air seems to tighten, a subtle shift in the atmosphere as hushed murmurs flicker between the guests, silk rustling as heads turn. The weight of attention presses against your skin, heavier than the finest-woven kimono, heavier than the eyes of your parents, now fixed on you, unreadable.
Your lips part slightly, but no words come. Fuck. You should at least breathe. But you don’t. You can’t. Your mind is barely processing what the fuck is happening.
Then, a quiet but pointed sound—your mother clearing her throat beside you.
“She would love to.”
Her voice is soft, but firm, a smooth, graceful assertion that leaves no room for question. A response crafted not for you, but for those watching, those weighing this moment, those who will whisper about it long after the night ends. Because this is not just a dance. This is a spectacle. A shift in the script carefully written for the evening.
And your mother knows that. To refuse would be foolish. To hesitate would be disgraceful. To accept, however—
An honor.
So, when she turns toward you, offering the smallest, most practiced of smiles, you understand her meaning entirely.
You will dance with Satoru Gojo.
With a breath you weren’t aware you had been holding, you glance back toward him. He’s watching you, amusement flickering in those impossibly blue eyes, that lazy, knowing grin still curling at his lips.
“See?” he hums. “Mother knows best.”
You don’t know what possesses you—perhaps the weight of expectation, or perhaps something else entirely—but your hand lifts. Fingers barely brushing against his before he takes it completely, enclosing it in a grasp that is warm, steady, unwavering.
And just like that, he pulls you into the center of the room.
Into the center of everything.
His grip is firm but unhurried as he leads you, like none of this is a big deal. Like he hasn’t just overturned an entire evening’s worth of careful tradition.
Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, your breath barely finding its way back into your lungs as you let him guide you into position. One of his hands settles lightly at your waist, the other still holding yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly.
“Relax,” he murmurs, just low enough for only you to hear. “You’re stiffer than my old kendo instructor.”
You huff, trying to ignore the warmth of his palm against yours. “I—this is just… unexpected.”
Exhaling dramatically, he spins you effortlessly into the first steps of dance. “Tell me about it,” he groans. “You just saved me from another goddamn elder trying to shove some proper young lady into my arms.”
You blink. “What?”
“Oh yeah,” he drawls, twirling you smoothly before pulling you back into his grasp. “The matchmaking schemers are working overtime tonight. Bet they’re seething right now.”
You stifle a laugh. “So… you picked me out of spite?”
“I picked you because you looked like you needed saving too.” His eyes flicker toward you, sharp but warm, like he’s seeing straight through you.
You hesitate. He’s… not wrong.
“Well… my mother was about to give me a very long lecture about decorum,” you admit quietly.
His grin widens as he hums. “Guess that makes me your knight in shining silk, huh?”
You roll your eyes, but the laughter bubbling in your chest betrays you.
Satoru’s grip shifts slightly, his hand pressing just a fraction firmer against your waist as he leads you through another step. He moves so effortlessly, like the weight of expectation never touches him, like the rules of this world bend just for him.
For a moment, the heaviness in the air fades.
For a moment, you almost forget the crowd watching.
For a moment… it’s just the two of you.
As the melody slows—the last few notes stretch through the grand hall like a fading breath—you barely register the shifting of the crowd around you. It feels like the world has shrunk.
And then, stillness. The dance is over.
You should step away. You should let go.
But Satoru lingers.
His fingers remain curled lightly around yours, as if he’s forgotten to let go—or maybe he just doesn’t feel like doing so yet. His touch is warm, steady, and entirely too deliberate for someone who seems to take nothing seriously.
As his gaze drops to your hand for a fraction of a second, his smirk deepens, something unreadable flashing in those impossible blue eyes. Then, with a casual ease—like it’s the most natural thing in the world—he lifts your hand slightly and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.
Soft. Unhurried.
Barely a brush of his lips against your skin, but enough to send something fluttering wildly in your stomach.
Damn him.
You feel it everywhere—the warmth of his breath against your skin, the way his hold lingers a second too long before he finally lets go. When your hand drops back to your side, it’s still tingling from the contact, and you know you should say something, but your tongue feels too damn heavy in your mouth again.
Satoru, however, looks perfectly at ease, like he hadn’t just turned your world sideways with a single fleeting kiss. Still, the moment stretches—something about it feels… different. A beat too long, a silence that carries something unspoken.
But when he shifts, the moment simmers away as he turns his head slightly, his attention suddenly caught by something beyond you. Or, someone.
Geto Suguru. His best friend.
His posture loosens as he exhales through his nose, casting you a final glance. “Well, sweetheart,” he drawls lazily, taking a step back. “Hate to dance and dash, but duty calls.”
And just like before, he lifts a hand in that same casual wave, and winks—slipping back into the crowd with the ease of someone who has done this a hundred times before.
Following his gaze, you look just past the cluster of mingling sorcerers, at the figure leaning lazily against one of the wooden pillars. His dark long hair falls across his shoulders, his arms are folded neatly into the side sleeves of his yukata, and his eyes are half-lidded, bored.
Satoru reaches him in just a few strides, and whatever the two of them exchange is lost to you beneath the hum of the room—but they’re laughing, at ease.
Exhaling slowly, you force your trembling hands to steady at your sides, your racing heart to settle, remembering where you are. Because the world moves on. The music starts anew. The guests return to their conversations.
But you don’t. Not yet.
Because this—this is something you’ll remember. The night you first met Gojo Satoru.
The night you first saw him for who he was—not just the head of the Gojo Clan, not just the strongest, but something untouchable, something defiant. Something free.
And maybe, just maybe, a small part of you will always hold onto that moment.
A moment you wish you could claim for yourself.
༻༺ꨄ༻༺
Seven years have passed since that night. Seven years since the weight of an entire clan was draped over his shoulders like a silk noose.
Gojo Satoru is still the strongest, still the untouchable ruler of the Gojo Clan, but the years have done little to change the one thing the elders have always hated about him—he refuses to be controlled.
But their patience is wearing thin.
The moment he steps into the council chamber, Satoru already knows he’s going to hate every second of this.
Same old stiff-ass room, same old stiff-ass elders. The walls lined with painted screens depicting wars won centuries ago, incense burning in the background like it’s meant to cleanse him of his sins or some shit. He exhales loudly, rolling his shoulders back, then strolls forward with all the urgency of a man walking to his own execution.
Dropping lazily onto the tatami, Satoru lets out a long, exaggerated sigh.
“Alright,” he drawls, popping his neck with a slow tilt of his head. “Let’s hear it. What crime have I committed this time?”
A tense silence follows.
Gojo Hiroshi, the eldest of the council, lets out a long, deliberate sigh, his sharp gaze steady beneath thick silver brows. “Your inappropriate conduct has reached our ears again.”
Satoru smirks. “Oh? I’ve got fans? You geezers keeping tabs on me now?”
His words are met with cold, unimpressed stares.
“You mustn’t treat this as a joke,” another elder chimes in, voice lined with restrained patience. “Your recklessness is a stain upon our clan’s legacy.”
Satoru scoffs. “Recklessness? I’m pretty sure I’ve saved more lives than any of you sitting here. Y’know, by doing my actual job.”
“The strongest should not act so carelessly,” Hiroshi cuts in. “And yet, all you do is goof off. Throwing yourself around, jumping from woman to woman, acting like some common fool—”
Satoru groans loudly, tipping his head back with a dramatic sigh. “God, is this really about me having a good time? I hate to break it to ya, old man, but I’m twenty-five, not fifty. Maybe if you all had a little fun in your youth, you wouldn’t be so damn uptight.”
The closest elder levels him with a stern glare. “We have tolerated your… indulgences long enough.”
“You speak of a ‘good time’,” another elder continues, fingers steepled together. “But you must consider the future. This—this frivolity—must end.”
Satoru clicks his tongue, tapping his fingers lazily against his knee. “Yeah? And just where are ya gettin’ at, gramps?”
Silence. A slow exchange of glances between them.
Satoru watches as they silently decide who will be the one to say it. They always do this. Always sit in their stiff little circles, acting like their words carry the weight of gods.
Finally, Hiroshi exhales, slow and measured, before speaking.
“The next leader of the Gojo Clan must be born.”
There it is.
Satoru lets out a slow, exaggerated breath, tilting his head back. “Man… you guys really need a new hobby.”
“We have been patient,” Hiroshi continues, ignoring him. “But the time for childish defiance is over.”
Satoru’s lips twitch. Childish? He could wipe this entire damn room off the map if he wanted. Not that he would, though—he’s mostly reasonable.
An elder shifts slightly, fingers curling over the edge of a plain, unassuming folder resting beneath his palm, and as Satoru’s gaze flicks to it, recognition flares.
Ugh. Not this bullshit again.
This isn’t new. He knows what’s inside. A folder full of names. A folder of candidates—eligible women, bloodlines deemed strong enough, clans deemed worthy. A relic of a past he never fucking asked for.
His irritation spikes as he begins to rise.
“Yeah, so… fuck this. I’m gonna stop ya right there—”
“You will sit down, Satoru.”
The words are sharp. Final. Satoru freezes mid-step, the weight behind them pressing like a blade against his spine.
The fucking audacity. A command? A fucking order?!
Exhaling through his nose, he bites back the burn of frustration clawing up his throat. “Nah,” he mutters, waving a dismissive hand as he turns on his heel. “Fuck off.”
“The next leader of the Gojo Clan must be born.”
Satoru stops.
A slow laugh bubbles up from his chest—sharp, humorless, before turning back to face them. Tilting his head, an icy chill threads his voice.
“Let me get this fucking straight. You dragged me all the way here, wasted my precious time, just to tell me I need to knock someone up? Wow.” He lets out a sharp whistle, slowly clapping his hands together in mock awe. “Out of all of your excuses, this one takes the fucking cake.”
“You fail to take this seriously,” Hiroshi’s voice is quieter than the others, but heavier in its own way. “You never have.”
Satoru’s jaw tightens. “Maybe because I don’t need to. I’m the strongest, remember?”
“And yet,” Hiroshi exhales, “even the strongest will one day fall.”
The words settle in the air like a foregone truth. Satoru doesn’t flinch. But something in his jaw ticks, barely perceptible.
Even the strongest will one day fall.
He hates the way those words burrow under his skin, clawing at something he doesn’t want to acknowledge.
“You refuse to take a wife. You refuse to consider the future,” Hiroshi continues, voice steady. “You’ve left us no choice. And so, we have taken it upon ourselves to make the choice for you. Marriage arrangements are already in place.”
Satoru’s brow furrows—a seething rage building underneath his skin. Pulling down his blindfold in a slow, deliberate movement, he reveals the impossible, piercing blue of his Six Eyes.
“Excuse me?”
The air shifts, thickening under the weight of power, of warning—of a challenge.
For a moment, all he can hear is the rush of his own blood in his ears. And then, just beneath the suffocating weight of his own fury, another voice cuts through.
‘You gonna outrun your own clan forever? Your duty?’
A memory. A voice.
Suguru.
The words hit him like a hammer, striking something raw, something he thought he buried a long time ago.
Geto Suguru.
His best friend. His brother. The one person who had ever truly understood him. The only person who could ever match him step for step, thought for thought.
The person he lost. A man who had abandoned all right or reason. Who had turned his back on everything. On Jujutsu High. On their ideals. On him.
And suddenly, the weight of it all presses heavier on Satoru’s shoulders. It feels suffocating. Because for the first time in years, something inside him wavers. And damnit… that pisses him off.
With a sharp step forward, Satoru’s hand snatches the folder from the table in one swift motion, the rustle of paper slicing through the silence like a blade.
The room tenses as he flips it open, eyes scanning the pages, the names, the faces—the future they’ve decided for him.
As he goes through its contents, a folder he’s seen often but never truly looked into, he realizes it’s exactly what he expected—polished profiles, lists of pedigreed women, hand-selected for their bloodlines, their breeding, their usefulness.
Every file reads the same.
Perfect posture. Proper etiquette. Skilled in traditional arts. Fluent in tea ceremonies. Raised to serve, obey, bear children.
Gross.
His brow furrows in irritation as he skims through the neatly cataloged qualities, as if he’s browsing a fucking menu.
Expert in tea ceremonies. Elegant calligraphy. Well-versed in ikebana.
Exhaling sharply through his nose, he flips to the next file with a flick of his wrist.
Gentle temperament. Raised to uphold family honor. Culinary excellence.
Jesus.
It’s all the same.
Not a single original thought, not a single fucking thing that isn’t meant to mold them into perfect little wives and mothers.
Satoru’s fingers twitch as disgust curls up his throat.
What? Is he supposed to just pick one, put a ring on her, fuck her like some obligation? Breed an heir with a woman whose only defining trait is knowing how to arrange flowers?
Tch.
He’s already itching to slam the folder shut and walk out of this room, consequences be damned.
But then—he halts. His gaze briefly catching on a familiar face.
You.
A picture clipped neatly to your file, just like all the others, but something about it makes him pause.
He knows you… right?
Or—at least, you look somewhat familiar.
Satoru has slept with countless women, but he’s pretty damn sure he’d remember if you were one of them. Plus… you’re a virgin, according to your file, so… that can’t be it.
He scans the page with mild curiosity, barely reading at first—and low and behold, it’s another list of fucking perfect traits designed to impress him.
Cooking. Baking. Floral arrangements.
Right. Of course. Same as the rest.
But then, his eyes flick lower.
Martial arts.
His brow lifts.
Huh. Now that’s new.
Shifting his weight, his gaze lingers on that one detail.You practice martial arts? Interesting.
The corner of his lips twitch, intrigue curling at the edges of his amusement as he flips through the rest of your file—skimming for anything else that isn’t some prim manufactured selling point.
Not much stands out amongst the crowd, expect that, yeah, you’re hot too. That certainly doesn’t hurt.
If they’re really forcing him to do this shit—if he really has to fuck a woman and produce an heir—he’s at least going to pick someone who can actually hold his attention. Hell, if he has to fuck her, she better be someone who can at least get his dick up.
Exhaling through his nose, his eyes flicker back up to the elders, their bated breaths held with anticipation.
“…fine,” he mutters, “I’ll marry.”
A ripple of movement shifts immediately—a murmur of approval.
“But.” His voice cuts through their satisfaction like a knife. “Cancel whatever bullshit arrangement you had planned.” His Six Eyes gleam as his gaze flickers up, sharp, glacial. “If I’m doing this,” he exhales, voice smooth as glass, “I’m doing it my way.”
And with that, he slams the folder down, open with a photo of you.
“I at least want a say in who the fuck I’m picking,” he mutters, voice cool, final. Then, his gaze flickers up. A smirk—sharp and defiant—curls at the corner of his lips. “So… there ya have it. I pick her.”
A beat of silence. Then another.
Satoru watches as the elders’ expressions shift as they take in your photo, their brows knitting together, their lips pressing into thin, disapproving lines. There’s something unspoken between them—hesitation. Uncertainty.
Jesus Christ... what now?
His fingers tap idly against the table, impatience curling at the edges of his composure. Rolling his eyes, he exhales sharply before plopping back down onto the tatami.
“What?” his irritation spikes, gaze flickering between the stiff-ass old men. “You gonna tell me she’s not good enough? That her tea ceremony etiquette isn’t up to your impossible fucking standards? She was in your folder!”
Silence.
Then, Gojo Hiroshi clears his throat.
“There is… history.” His words are careful, measured. “With her clan.”
Satoru lifts a brow, unimpressed. “Okay… and?”
A flicker of unease passes between the elders.
“Satoru,” another speaks, voice steady, placating. “Clan politics are not so simple—”
He scoffs. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. You think I give a shit about clan politics?”
More exchanged glances. More unreadable expressions. But Hiroshi remains still.
“It is not just politics…” he finally says, gaze unwavering. “There was a… scandal.”
Satoru exhales, fingers pausing mid-drum.
God, he fucking hates when people beat around the bush. His patience is wearing thin. He agreed, didn’t he? What the hell more do they want?
“Scandal?” he echoes, voice flat, uninterested. “Oh, let me guess. Daddy lost a business deal? Mommy hosted the wrong kind of dinner party? Spare me.”
A slow breath.
“…her family has been outcasted.”
A pause.
“Disgraced,” another adds. “Stripped of their status. They have nothing. They live in ruin.”
Arching a brow, Satoru lets the silence linger—lets them wait for him to grasp the supposed severity of the situation.
But he doesn’t give a shit about status.
He just wants these crusty old men off his back, and your folder was the least boring in that entire damn stack.
“…and?” his voice is flat. “I fail to see what the fuck any of this has to do with me. She was in your folder. That’s who I pick.”
The tension thickens as the air feels heavier. The elders remain silent, exchanging glances, waiting for him to finally understand—to realize what he’s signing up for.
Hiroshi is the one to finally speak.
“She comes with nothing now, Satoru,” his tone’s heavier now. “She was a suitable candidate… yes. But now? She has no wealth. No influence. Her mother is drowning in debt. If you choose her, you will be marrying into ruin.”
Satoru groans, loudly, dragging a hand down his face. He’s so fucking tired of this conversation. With a sigh, he rises, reaching into his pocket for his blindfold.
“You old geezers really think I give a shit about money?” he mutters, shaking out the fabric before sliding it over his eyes slowly—like he’s already disengaging from the conversation. “God, you’re all so dramatic. I’m loaded. Who fucking cares.”
“Satoru—”
“I said I’d marry. It’s her or nothing,” his voice is final, unwavering.
The folder snaps shut in his hands, the sharp sound slicing through the hushed tension. A flick of his wrist sends it skidding back across the polished table.
“So, there you have it. Call her mother, we’ll draft an arrangement.”
A ripple of unease shifts through the council, their stiff expressions unreadable. Hiroshi’s brow knits. “An arrangement?”
Satoru exhales, rolling his shoulders, stretching his arms overhead like this entire conversation has physically exhausted him.
“Yup.” His fingers splay lazily as he waves a hand through the air, tone entirely too casual. “I’ll pay off their debts. In return, she marries me. Win-win. There. Easy.”
Then, that smirk—cocky, taunting—pulls at his lips as he leans back, tipping his chin up in mock amusement.
“Anyways. Good talk.” He pauses. “Sooo… uh. We done?”
༻༺ꨄ༻༺
“Eat.”
The command is soft but firm, breaking the silence that has stretched too long across the small table before you.
Your mother sits across from you, poised as ever, lifting her chopsticks with careful precision, plucking a small piece of tofu from her bowl. The once-pristine silk of her kimono has dulled with time, its ivory threads faded from wear, from struggle. But she wears it the same way she always has—with quiet dignity, spine straight, hands resting carefully in her lap, an image of control that nothing—not scandal, not exile—has managed to break.
She doesn’t look up as she speaks to you once more.
“You’re staring at your food again.”
You don’t remember the last time dinner felt this quiet.
Well, at least not this kind of quiet. This quiet is… different.
It’s not the quiet like when your father was still here—sitting where your mother is now, tapping idly at his phone, barely listening as you spoke about your day. Not like the quiet nights when he would come home late—smelling of perfume that didn’t belong to your mother.
Not like the quiet night he left—walking out the door, taking everything with him.
A soft clink pulls you back—the sound of your mother setting her chopsticks down with slow, deliberate care. When you lift your eyes, she is already watching you, her expression as unreadable as ever.
“You must eat.”
Picking up the chopsticks, your fingers feel stiff against the smooth wood. The miso soup in front of you has gone lukewarm, its thin broth barely fragrant, stretched with water to make it last longer. A meal meant to sustain, not satisfy.
“I’m… not hungry.”
Your mother doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t frown. She simply takes another bite of her meal, chewing with quiet deliberation before dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin.
“A weakened body leads to a weakened mind,” she murmurs. “You cannot afford to be careless with your health.”
You don’t roll your eyes, but damnit, the urge is there.
Even now, she speaks in lessons, in discipline. As if you still had a name to uphold, a family to represent. As if any of that mattered anymore.
Frustration coils in your stomach, tight and twisting, but you don’t let it show. Because she won’t. She never has.
Not even the night he left.
You still remember it—the way your mother stood there, unmoving, as your father walked out the door. No screaming. No pleading. No chasing after the man who had stolen everything from her, from you.
Just stillness. A quiet that swallowed everything—a quiet that never fucking leaves.
And then, the fallout.
The scandal that burned through the clan like wildfire. The disgrace. The exile. The slow, agonizing unraveling of everything you once knew.
You swallow hard, forcing the thoughts down, lifting your chopsticks to take a bite.
Because your mother doesn’t dwell on the past. She doesn’t even acknowledge it.
And so, neither do you.
Suddenly, a sharp ring slices through the air.
Your mother stills—her gaze lingering on the telephone for a moment before she moves, rising to her feet with effortless grace, lifting the phone to her ear.
“Hello?”
As she silently listens to whoever’s on the other line, her shoulders stiffen. It’s subtle, but you see it. The faint tightening of her jaw. The way her fingers curl around the receiver, gripping it just a fraction tighter than necessary.
“I see…”
Another pause.
“Yes. Understood.”
The quiet click of the receiver settling into its cradle echoes through the small room, and you study your mother for a moment as she remains still—motionless.
“…mother?”
When she turns, something flickers in her eyes. Not worry. Not resignation. Something else. Something you haven’t seen in years.
Hope.
“…we have been summoned.”
Smoothing down the fabric of her kimono, she settles back at the table—smiling serenely.
You blink. “Oh… okay. By who?”
“Gojo Satoru.”
༻༺ꨄ༻༺
A familiar weight settles over your shoulders as you step past the towering gates of the Gojo estate. It’s been so long since you last walked these halls, and yet you still remember the first time, seven years ago—the grand ceilings stretching impossibly high, the golden glow of lantern light against hand-painted fusuma panels, the hushed murmurs of Kyoto’s elite.
Now, as you pass through the inner courtyard, it is just as intimidating as you remember.
Just as breathtaking.
A servant bows low, silently ushering you toward the tea room, leading both you and your mother in graceful step. As the entrance nears, her voice breaks the silence.
“You will be on your best behavior,” she murmurs, not unkind, but firm.
Right… as if you needed the reminder.
Stepping inside, the tatami mats barely creak under your careful steps, and the scent of incense greets you first—rich, woody, cloying. A low table sits at its center, the lacquered wood polished to perfection, a ceremonial tea set already in place. And across from it, seated with an unmistakable air of ease, is him.
Gojo Satoru.
Even draped in expensive silk—his robes stitched with the distinguished colors of his clan—he carries himself with an irreverence that clashes against the rigid atmosphere of the room. One arm rests against the table, the other draped carelessly over his knee. His blindfold is absent, and for the first time in seven years, you once again meet those impossibly blue eyes head-on.
“Ah, there she is,” he hums, lips curling into a lazy grin. “Thought I was getting stood up.”
Your mother clears her throat pointedly, bowing in greeting. You quickly follow suit, the practiced motion ingrained in you.
“Gojo-sama,” she says smoothly, “it is an honor to be welcomed into your home.”
Satoru waves a dismissive hand, leaning back. “Yeah, yeah. Big honor. Let’s skip the formalities, huh?”
Seated around the table, the elders watch the exchange in silence, their presence heavy, suffocating. You recognize Gojo Hiroshi among them—his sharp, assessing gaze narrowing on you briefly.
Oh… awkward.
Is he still mad about his seat?
Hiroshi exhales, dragging his gaze to your mother. “We will discuss the terms of the arrangement in the study,” he says, voice calm, measured. “In the meantime, Gojo-sama and his intended should use this opportunity to… familiarize themselves.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then, Satoru sighs—stretching his arms with a dramatic groan. “Right. Tea ceremonies. My favorite.”
Placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, your mother gives you a knowing glance, a silent reminder—behave.
And then, with a final bow, she follows the elders as they shuffle toward the adjoining room, their hushed voices retreating beyond the sliding doors. The quiet click of wood sliding echoes in the stillness, leaving just the two of you.
Alone with Gojo Satoru.
A familiar weight settles in your chest, something tight, uncertain. His gaze lingers—not scrutinizing, not cold, but assessing. And God, he’s just as beautiful as you remember him. Too beautiful. The same easy confidence. The same impossibly blue eyes that seem to pierce through everything.
You’ve always held onto that feeling from the first time you met him—what was it, exactly? Admiration?
“Well,” Satoru exhales, stretching his legs slightly beneath the table. “Guess it’s just us now.”
Something about the way he says it makes your tummy clench. Is that the admiration? Fuck, whatever. You know what this meeting is supposed to be. A display of grace, a demonstration of propriety. A wife’s first duty to her husband-to-be.
And so, you inhale, slow and controlled—reaching for the tea set.
“Care for some tea?” you murmur, lifting the delicate porcelain into your fingertips, moving through the familiar, measured motions of ceremony. Of tradition.
Lifting the teapot with both hands, you tilt it just so, allowing the warm liquid to pour in an elegant arc, no wasted movement, no hesitation. The way you were taught. The way it has always been.
Then, with just as much care, you offer it to him, your gaze respectfully lowered.
“Please… enjoy.”
With an unreadable expression, Satoru’s fingers brush against yours as he takes the cup from your hands. Exhaling through his nose, his eyes flicker down at the tea, before taking a slow sip.
There is an unnerving silence.
“Is it… to your liking?”
“Uh…” he shrugs, flashing a boyish grin. “Tastes like tea?”
You blink.
What are you supposed to say to that?
A growing nervousness flutters in your chest. Your mother is depending on you—don’t fuck this up. Nodding, your hands fold neatly in your lap as you recite the lines of tradition.
“It is an honor to serve you, Gojo-sama. May this tea be a reflection of the harmony I hope to uphold in our union.”
For a moment, nothing.
Then—Satoru laughs. Not a small chuckle. Not polite amusement. Full-bodied, head-tilted-back laughter.
It startles you, your body tensing at the sound as he sets his cup onto the table and doubles over, catching his breath between chuckles.
You stiffen. What the hell was so funny?
“…did I say something amusing?” you ask carefully.
Satoru waves a hand, shaking his head as he wipes beneath his eyes. “No, no. It’s just… wow. You really went full perfect wife mode, huh?”
Your brows pull together slightly. “Yes… well. It is only proper to conduct myself with—”
“Yeeeah… let’s not,” he waves a hand, leaning forward slightly, arms folding over the table. “You don’t have to do that with me, y’know.”
You hesitate. “Do… what?”
“That.” He gestures vaguely at you, expression amused but pointed. “The stiff politeness, the whole ‘it is an honor to serve you’ thing. Jeez… feels like I’m at another meeting with the elders.”
You blink, your fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your sleeve. “But… this is a formal arrangement.”
He hums, tapping a long finger against the porcelain cup. “Yeah, but we’re also people… aren’t we?”
His words catch you off guard.
People.
You’re not sure if you’ve ever been allowed to simply be that—just a person. Not an heiress, not a proper wife, not a disgraced daughter in need of redemption.
You glance at him, at Gojo Satoru, and suddenly… he doesn’t feel so unreachable.
Oh…
He’s the same as you remember—the man who saved you seven years ago. The one who made defiance look so effortless, so free.
Perhaps… with him, you can breathe. Live freely.
Shifting slightly, your fingers relax in your lap.
“…Very well,” you murmur. “Then how would you prefer I speak to you, Gojo-sama?”
Satoru exhales dramatically, tilting his head to the side. “Well for starters, drop the ‘Gojo-sama’ thing. Hate that.”
You bite back a smile. “It’s a title of respect.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he waves a hand. “But every time you say it, I feel like I need to go yell at some underlings or something. I’m twenty-five, not fucking ancient.”
Your lips twitch slightly. “Alright… what should I call you then?”
He grins. “Just Satoru s’good.”
“…mmkay,” you hesitate for a moment. “Satoru, then.”
His smile widens, pleased.
“Perfect.” He leans forward slightly, resting his chin against his palm, one long finger tapping against the table. “Now… be honest. You don’t actually like this crap, do you?”
You blink. “Pardon?”
“This.” He gestures vaguely at the tea set, the meticulously arranged porcelain, the lingering scent of incense curling in the air. “All this traditional, stiff-ass, sit-in-silence tea ceremony nonsense.”
Your fingers clench slightly in your lap. “It’s… important.”
Satoru hums, unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah. But do you like it?”
You hesitate. It’s a simple question. A stupid one, even. But for some reason, it feels… foreign. Like no one has ever asked before. You should say yes. It would be the correct answer. The proper one.
“…it’s familiar,” you settle on.
Satoru hums again, watching you closely. “That’s not a yes.”
Looking down at the tea in front of you, a quiet weight settles in your chest. Then—he leans back with a sigh, stretching his arms behind his head.
“Sooo… whadda say we ditch?”
You blink. “Huh?”
“I mean, c’mon,” he groans, tilting his head to the side like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “This is boring as hell. You don’t actually wanna sit here drinking tea all day, right?”
You lift a brow. “But… isn’t this what the elders want?”
Satoru’s grin turns sharp. Mischievous.
“Yeah, and I like pissing them off,” his voice dips slightly as he shifts closer. “So… let’s try something.”
He pats his lap. Once. Twice.
“C’mere,” he says, lazily.
You stare—heat rising up your neck, your fingers gripping the fabric in your lap.
“…what?”
Satoru lifts a brow. “What?” he echoes, with a grin. Then, he pats his thigh again, nonchalant. “You heard me. C’mere. Sit.”
You open your mouth, then close it. Then open it again. “Erm… how does… this have anything to do with ditching?”
“Hmm… maybe, it doesn’t.” Satoru shrugs, lips curling at the edges. “Maybe I just wanna see if you’ll do it.”
A pause. Your stomach flips. Your pulse skips. Your brain is screaming at you. This is improper. Completely inappropriate. Unbefitting of a proper woman, much less a bride-to-be.
And yet—
Fuck. He’s watching you with expectation, amusement, curiosity. Because this is Gojo Satoru. The man who has always done whatever the hell he wants—and somehow, that makes you feel like you can too.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you drag in a deep breath, then move—shifting onto your knees and leaning forward. With a quiet exhale, you turn, lowering yourself onto his lap, your back against his chest as your hands rest awkwardly in your lap.
The moment you settle, his arms curl around your waist. The air changes, and your heart flutters.
“…huh,” his voice is closer than expected, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “Didn’t think you’d actually do it.”
You swallow, refusing to meet his gaze—when suddenly, the world bends.
Weightlessness seizes you—like free-falling, like slipping through space itself. Your stomach lurches as reality warps around you, fleeting, untethered—until solid ground finds you again.
A slow blink. Gone is the tea room.
Where the hell are you?
Soft lantern light flickers against dark wood and paper screens, casting shifting shadows along the floor. The air is crisp, laced with pine, and beyond the open veranda, a private onsen awaits—its surface steaming beneath the early evening sky, mist curling lazily across the mountain air like silk. The distant hum of cicadas thrums through the silence, the world around you untouched, secluded, still.
Satoru exhales, a pleased hum, shifting beneath you.
“Ahh, much better…”
Warm fingers thread through your hair. Slow, deliberate—gathering the strands to one side. You feel a brush of lips against your shoulder as he murmurs,
“…don’t you agree?”
Shit. The realization settles over you like heat—you’re still in his lap.
“Wha—” the room is hazy—you’re a bit breathless from the sudden shift in reality, and fuck, it’s mixing dangerously with the heat of his touch as his fingers slowly drag along your waist.
Hesitantly, you tilt your head back, meeting his eyes. Blue. Endless. Watching you. You should look away, but you don’t.
“Um…”
“Ta-da,” he murmurs smugly.
Shifting slightly, you try to will away the heat in your face, slipping away from his chest as you adjust. Your thighs drape over his lap now, half-facing him. And fuck—was that a mistake?
Because now, he’s all you can see.
Snowy white hair, framing a face too perfect to be real—his mouth curving into a lazy grin that makes your tummy clench in a way you’re entirely unfamiliar with.
“Where… are we?” you manage.
Satoru hums, shifting beneath you—his fingers dancing over the silk of your obi. “Oh… y’know,” his hand drags higher, resting just below the curve of your breast. “Just somewhere no one will bother us…”
As your dizzy mind tries to recalibrate from teleporting, you blink, finally processing the position you’re in. Or rather, the position he’s in—lounging on a shikifuton.
His fingers twirl the tie of your obi, and you tense, suddenly incredibly nervous.
“G-Gojo…”
He clicks his tongue. “Satoru.”
“Um…” his other hand begins to slide higher up your thigh. “S-Satoru,” you amend, barely above a whisper.
A dangerous grin. “Good girl.”
Oh. You’re fucked. A shudder rolls through you.
“This place… um…” you try to distract yourself with words. Because what the fuck are you supposed to do when he’s touching you like this?! “Its… not the estate, is it?”
“Nah,” he murmurs lazily. “One of my private villas.I’ve got property all over Japan, sweetheart. Figured I’d take you somewhere more… comfortable.”
Comfortable.
Because sitting in his lap counts as comfortable… right?
And shit. Just what is this heat coiling at the base of your stomach? It’s dizzying. You need to move—need space, need air. But as you shift, attempting to slip from his lap, his grip tightens.
“Ah, ah,” he tuts, hands steadying you with effortless strength. “Easy there, sweetheart.”
Your pulse stammers, and for a second, you forget to breathe.
“I—I just need to—”
“Stay put.” His fingers flex against your waist. Firm. Unyielding. “We just teleported. Move too fast, and you’ll tip over.”
As your lips begin to part—a protest forming—a sudden wave of dizziness washes over you. Your breath hitches as the edges of your vision blur for a fraction of a second, and you sway, balance slipping.
“Ohp. There it is.”
Satoru moves before you can even react.
One hand slips behind your back, the other finding your hand as he gently lays you back against the futon. The silk of your kimono pools around you as his palm slides back to the curve of your waist.
And suddenly, he’s everywhere.
Leaning over you, elbow propped up—half above, half beside you. A frame too broad, his snowy-white hair falling forward just slightly, strands ghosting against your forehead.
The air shifts.
Those impossibly blue eyes drink you in, framed by thick lashes that soften the sharp cut of his jaw. “Still dizzy?” he murmurs teasingly.
Inhaling shakily, your eyes flutter shut for just a second, searching for something steady, something solid. But there’s only him—his presence, his warmth, the scent of him—clean, crisp, intoxicating.
Yup. You’re fucked.
“…no,” you whisper. But it’s a lie.
Because it’s not the teleporting that’s making your head spin anymore.
Satoru hums, knowing.
“Since we’re to be wed…” his fingers resettle just below your breast, lips curling into a slow, deliberate smirk. “I think you deserve a sample, don’t you?”
Huh?
You should say something. Anything. Your lips part instinctively, but before you can form a thought, before hesitation can settle in—Satoru is leaning in and your brain is short circuiting.
His hand lifts, cupping your cheek as he tilts your chin just so, and with a tenderness, his lips brush against yours in a soft, lingering press.
It’s like a dream. Gojo Satoru—the man you’ve admired, so sweet, so charming, so free—kissing you? Is this real life?
When he pulls back, he studies your expression, a smug grin dragging up his lips.
“What? You want more?” his lips brush against yours, and you barely process it when he mutters, “…wanna ruin you…” kissing you again.
This time, his lips are moving—slow, languid, like he’s introducing himself to you in a way words never could, coaxing you into the unfamiliar rhythm. He doesn’t rush. He guides. Mapping out your hesitation, your breath, the way your body tenses before melting beneath him.
Is your heart going to beat out of your chest? It feels like it. Just as you ease into his movements, his tongue flicks against the seam of your lower lip—soft, teasing.
“C’mon…” he quietly demands, tongue tracing your lips again, “open up f’me…”
And God, you do. Because he feels too good not to.
“Atta girl…” he hums, tongue slipping past your lips with ease. And now, that slow, lazy exploration turns headier, more consuming, more demanding. Groaning quietly, he’s pulling you in, guiding you. Leading. Teaching.
Oh.
That heat in your tummy… it’s spreading down between your legs now. You’re simmering with an inexplainable heat, and you instinctively clutch his robes, whining involuntarily as he kisses you stupid.
He’s grinning smugly against your lips, your sound fueling him as he devours you more. As your lips crash, you feel him shift, his fingers tugging at your kimono—toying with the delicate knot of your obi.
Wait.
You freeze.
Oh god.
Are you about to lose your virginity to the man you are to marry—before your wedding night?
Noticing you tense, Satoru’s smirk gentles and his movements slow. His lips taper, trailing down your jaw with tender pecks.
“Heh… relax, sweetheart…” he purrs against your skin, caressing your body. “In case you’re wondering, ’m not taking that tonight.”
Your breath stutters, heat curling beneath your skin.
Are… you relieved? Fuck… do you want him to fuck you? He’s making your head spin, and with him, tradition feels unnecessary.
“Oh… I-I just…” you swallow. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
He raises a brow, a slow smirk pulling up his lips. “Yeah? Then I can show you, baby.” His lips graze the curve of your throat, fingers still teasing at your obi. “But I need to hear it from you first.”
You blink up at him, heat pooling between your legs at the look in his eyes—dark, heavy-lidded, consuming.
“What do you want? Gonna let me play with what’s mine?”
Your heart stammers. Fuck, you should hesitate. This is entirely unbefitting of a proper lady. It’s against everything you were raised to be. But the moment his teeth graze your jaw, fuck it, you’re already nodding.
“…yes, please.”
Satoru hums. “Good girl.”
And then, with a deft tug, your kimono slips open as he pulls it apart—the cool air kissing your skin just before he does, lips trailing from your collarbone to the curve of your breast.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “So pretty… look at these tits…” His tongue flicks against your nipple, and you whine, “S-Satoru—ahhh…” shuddering as his mouth wraps around it, swirling his tongue as he sucks the peak.
Smirking, he releases your nipple with a wet pop. “Bet you’re not as prim and proper as you look…” he muses, lips dragging lower, nipping at the sensitive dip of your waist. “Bet there’s a filthy little thing hiding under all this tradition…”
His palms descend, smoothing over your thighs, coaxing them apart with ease, but you tense just a bit.
His gaze lifts, ice-blue and smoldering. “Nervous, sweetheart?” he teases, kneading at the soft flesh of your thighs, thumbs sweeping slow, lazy circles—soothing, patient. But there’s a tension in him, the way his breath deepens, the way his hands flex like he’s holding back.
Your lashes flutter. “I… I just… I dunno how to, I—”
“Shhh,” he coos, smirking, “relax f’me, yeah?”
You give him a little nod as your thighs part further beneath the coaxing of his hands, and fuck, fuck, the sight of you like this—open, pliant, so soft and untouched—has his cock aching.
His breath shudders, fingers dragging up your inner thigh. “Mmm… I can already tell—you’re gonna be a dream wrapped around my cock.” A choked whine escapes you, body shivering, and his smirk deepens. “Ohhh, you like that?” he chuckles, fingers slipping beneath the silk of your kimono, spreading it further open. “Like hearing how bad I wanna fuck you?”
And fuck, does he want to fuck you. The restraint it takes to not flip you over and rut into your cunt is damn near unbearable.
It’s been days since Satoru’s had someone in his bed—days of listening to those stiff-ass elders drone on about duty, responsibility, marriage. Fucking is his stress relief. His role—this position as clanhead, as the strongest. God, he acts like he doesn’t give a shit but it’s exhausting. So, he fucks who he wants, when he wants. And now? Now he’s got you beneath him, trembling and breathless, your kimono slipping from your shoulders like a perfectly wrapped gift waiting to be undone.
It’s almost enough to make him say fuck it and take you right now.
Almost.
But he’s not completely selfish—knows you’re untouched, knows he’d probably wreck you if he took you raw the way he wants to. And as much as he loves breaking pretty little things, he’s gotta prepare you. Prepare you for the worst. Because Satoru? He doesn’t make love, he fucks.
“Satoru… I… I’ve never—"
“I gotchu sweetheart,” he drawls, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your cotton panties. “Gonna take my time. Let’s see how filthy my pretty little wife can get f’me, hm?”
You whimper as his middle finger circles the entrance of your slick cunt, teasing, testing, before pressing in an inch, feeling a small taste of your tight heat wrapped around him.
“Mnnh…” your voice wavers as your fingers grip his robes. “S-Satoru.” He groans, dragging his fingers through your slick, spreading it, making sure you feel every stroke. “Shit, baby…” his voice dips, husky, teasing. “Already soaked, hm? Just from me kissing you? Heh… see.” A wicked grin curls against your neck and you’re whining as he parts your folds, circling against your wet heat. “Knew it. You’re a naughty girl. Feels good huh?”
You nod, head tipping back as your cunt drips on the futon, hips shifting toward him.
“I-I… haaa…” you look up at him with pleading eyes as the tip of his finger sinks inside your tiny hole, then retreating just as quickly, playing with you. He groans, “God I’m gonna fucking ruin you… lemme feel how tight this little pussy is f’me…” and then he pushes his finger in fully, sinking knuckle-deep in your entrance.
“Ahhh!” you gasp, body shuddering, face burying into his neck as your cunt clenches him greedily. “Ohhh, shit,” he groans through his teeth because fuck—your tiny pussy’s already swallowing his finger like you don’t wanna let go. Satoru’s cock is twitching painfully in his hakama, leaking, straining against the fabric. He can’t wait to split you open on his thick throbbing dick.
“There ya go, sweetheart,” he coos, lips brushing against your ear. “Nice and easy, baby.” He’s moving now, curling his finger against that tender spot, and you gasp “S-Satoru…” burying further into his neck as you soak his hand, clutching his kimono as you whine, “nngh… s’too much…”
“Aww… s’okay…” he’s pressing wet open-mouthed kisses along your throat, finger slowly fucking into you, “Shit… this is only one finger sweetheart. Poor thing. M’gonna have to stretch you real good, huh?” he pumps through every word. “And you’ll take all of me, wont’cha? Take me like a good girl?”
Your lashes flutter. It’s overwhelming, but god, you love it. Stretching your hot little cunt with his long finger, the way his pretty blue eyes watch you, the way his voice drips into your ears, coaxing you further under. “I-I… nnngh…” your needy pussy’s gushing all over his knuckles, “Satoruuu…” you whimper, squirming slightly, unsure what you’re asking for.
But he knows. Of course he fucking knows.
“Faster?” he croons, nipping at your earlobe, pumping you fast, and fuck, your eyes roll back. The sounds of your sopping slick mix with the hum of cicadas. “That’s it… m’gonna teach you. Show my perfect little slut of a wife how to take cock, how to be a good girl for her husband.”
He curls his finger further, sliding against your tight wet walls. “S-Satoru—ahhh…”
“Shhh, I got you,” he soothes, cock angry in his pants as he pumps you stupid. “Shit, you’re so wet… feel that?” his free hand splays over your stomach, feeling your tiny hole flutter around him. “Ah, fuck… you’re gonna feel so tight around my dick… can’t wait to fuckin’ pound this needy pussy.”
Your breath is stuttering as he’s stretching you faster, making your cunt drool all over him, pretty blue eyes watching you through fluttering white lashes.
“Gonna fuck you so good, baby…” he murmurs in your ear, voice deep, velvety. “Hope you’re ready, gonna milk my fuckin’ dick, be my little obedient, sexy toy for me to use whenever I want. Yeah?”
Your body moves on its own and you arch further into him, desperate for more of his ministrations.
“…satoru,” you pant, and his cock leaps in his pants the moment you ask, “m-more… please?”
“Shit…” he groans, slipping another finger into your sopping cunt. “Knew you’re not as innocent as you look. Gonna pump you so fucking full, paint your insides white with my hot, thick cum,” he pants, finger fucking you faster. “This want you wanted needy girl?”
“Mhmm…” you nod, eyes squeezed shut, legs squeezing around him, a whimper spilling for your lips. “Ohh, fuck yes…” he growls, licking into your mouth.
Fuck, Satoru’s cock is throbbing so much is hurts now.
The thought of fucking you raw? Of splitting you open on his cock, ruining that untouched little cunt, making you stretch around him, crying, gasping, begging? Fuck—he could cum in his pants just thinking about it.
Because that is something he doesn’t do with other women. He’s always careful. Always keeps things clean, simple. Never finishes inside—ensuring there’s something between him and whatever meaningless distraction is spread out beneath him. Because at the end of the day, Gojo Satoru has a lot of meaningless distractions, and none of them are worth that kind of indulgence.
But you? Breeding you? Filling your tiny little hole, stuffing you full, making you drip with his cum until you’re leaking, messy, begging for more? Fuck, that’s more than a perk—that’s a goddamn plus.
A plus that, at least in marrying you, he’ll have someone to fuck whenever he wants. Satoru always gets what he wants. And he loves to fuck.
That’s all this is. That’s all you’ll be. A perfect little wife, ready to spread your legs and take him like you were made for it. Why? Because Satoru hates being tied down. But if the elders want an heir?
Fine. He’ll fucking give ‘em that.
“O-Oh… ohmygod…” you’re whimpering now, nails digging into his shoulders as he’s scissoring your dripping pussy, stretching you wider. “Ahhh!” The moment his thumb finds your clit, your body jolts, and he chuckles. “Mmm… there it is…” he’s rubbing slow circles against your swollen bud, pumping your cunt as your whimper and writhe. “That’s what I wanna see… let it take you… let it break you, baby.”
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you—eyes hooded, lips parted, white hair falling over his gaze. Fuck, he looks ruined just watching you come apart. You’re gasping, chest rising and falling, and he smirks. “S’too much,” you whine, voice trembling, “too much, Satoru… I… ahhh!”
Leaning in, his lips brush against yours. “C’mon sweet thing,” he rasps, “Cum f’me. Lemme see how pretty you look when you fall apart…”
And fuck, you do.
Your pussy clenches, tightening around his fingers as the coil in your stomach snaps, sending pleasure crashing through you.
A choked cry slips from your lips as your body shudders violently, legs squeezing around his wrist, cunt gushing down his knuckles. He groans, feeling every pulse of your release, the hot slick dripping down his hand as he fucks you through the aftershocks.
“Oh, fuck,” he grits out, watching you unravel beneath him. His lips curl, dark amusement flashing in his eyes. “That’s it, baby… look at you, makin’ such a mess on my fingers.” His thrusts slow, easing you down from your high, his free hand stroking up your trembling thigh as you’re panting, gripping the sleeve of his kimono as you look up at him with dewy eyes.
“Mmm… such a good girl f’me,” he murmurs.
Your lashes flutter, hazy and weak, as he slowly withdraws his fingers from your spent, fluttering hole. You whimper, body jerking slightly at the sensitivity, and a thin, glistening string of arousal connects his fingers to your soaked entrance before it snaps, slick dripping down your thighs.
Satoru hums. “Well, well…” he’s lifting his hand to the lantern light, watching you glisten on his fingers. “You really did make such a mess, sweetheart…”
Your dazed gaze meets his just as his tongue slips between his fingers, sucking them clean. “Mmm…” he groans, lashes fluttering, eyes rolling back before pulling them out with a wet pop. “Can’t wait to devour your cunt properly… bury my face between those pretty thighs n’ make you cum on my tongue while I feed you my dick…”
You’re fucking speechless, barely processing his filthy words before he’s shifting, his free hand dipping beneath the folds of his hakama. Blinking, dazed, you look down and—
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
He’s pulling himself free, that thick flushed cock springing up—flushed, red, and glistening with precum. It throbs, slapping against his abs, needy and aching. You look at Satoru’s blue eyes and they’re watching you, amusement tugging at his lips.
Gripping the base, he gives it a slow stroke. “Mhn… see what you do to me?” he smears his arousal lazily over the swollen head, exhaling. “Ahhh… look how fuckin’ hard I am just from playing with your pretty cunt…”
Swallowing, your thighs press together, heat blooming in your tummy. Each pump of his cock is hypnotic, deliberate—like he has all the time in the world.
You can’t take your eyes off it.
Fuck
His fingers were already enough to drive you insane, but that? How—how the hell are you supposed to fit that inside your pussy?
Satoru catches the way you bite your lip, the flicker of uncertainty in your gaze.
He smirks, tilting his head. “C’mere,” and he’s reaching for your hand, bringing it toward him. “Wanna play with it?”
Your fingers twitch. “But, Satoru—”
“Shhh,” his thumb brushes soothing circles across your wrist. “Told you, ‘m gonna teach you.” Lifting your hand, he presses a chaste kiss to your palm—soft, sweet. “You’re gonna be my wife, baby… that means learning how to handle my cock, too.”
“Oh…” your lashers flutter, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Okay.”
For a fleeting second, the moment feels… almost tender.
But it shatters as he’s spitting directly into your palm—hot, slick, filthy.
“Gotta get it niiiice and wet…” he mutters, guiding your drenched hand to his throbbing dick, smearing the sticky substance around his shaft. “Grip it like this… kay?”
“Okay…” your murmur, thumb brushing against a thick vein. And god, it’s hot—hotter than you expect—twitching in your grip, heavy and pulsing beneath your tiny fingers.
“Mm, good girl,” he exhales, watching you through lidded eyes. “Start slow, yeah? Let me feel you.” He moves your hand beneath his, setting a pace, slow and teasing. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, lashes fluttering as his head tips back. “Fuuuuck… yeah… that’s it, jus’ like that, baby…”
Biting your lip, you look up at his filthy expression. “Like…this?” you experiment, squeezing a little harder, gripping his dick with more purpose. His cock twitches violently and his lips part. “Fuuuuck…” he grunts, grip tightening on your wrist, “y-yeah… that’s it—shit—keep going, just like that.”
God, the way he looks right now has you dizzy—lidded eyes, jaw slack, breath coming short and heavy. He’s falling apart from your touch alone—like there’s a power to it. That realization makes you bolder, your strokes growing more confident.
And fuck, he seems to like that.
“There ya go, sweetheart,” his cock’s jerking in your grip as he pulls back completely, pretty blue eyes flicking form your hand to your face, smirk turning pure filth. “God, look at you… pretty little wife, strokin’ my cock so fuckin’ well. Maybe I oughta let you do this every night, huh? Put those soft little hands to good use.”
The slick, obscene sounds of your hand working over his cock fills the space as he leans back, shamelessly reveling in it, hips twitching into your grasp.
“Nnngh… keep strokin’ me just like that…” his lips hover a breath away from yours, panting, desperate. You squeeze a little harder, rolling your wrist, and his brows furrow, a sharp hiss escaping him. “Shit—” his head lolls back, voice wrecked, “fuck, you’re such a quick learner… bet you’d let me fuck that tight little throat next, wouldn’t you?”
You cunt is throbbing at his words, slick pooling in your panties. God, how are you supposed to answer him? He’s filthy. But you love it. Your thighs squeeze together, and Satoru sees the way you shift—his grin stretching, wicked.
“Betcha like strokin’ me.” His voice is rough, thick with need, fingers threading into your hair. “Betcha like feelin’ my cock throb in your hand, huh?”
Biting your lip, you squeeze his dick harder. “Y-Yeah…” your cheeks burn at your own filthy admission, and his smirk is vicious, pure sin. “Knew it. Fuckin’ knew it.” He groans, cock twitching in your palm as his flushed tip drools all over your tiny hands. “Naughty little thing… keep that up, n’ m’gonna cum all over these pretty fingers…”
You swipe your thumb over the tip, rolling the head as you murmur “what if… I want that?” and as the words slip out, Satoru’s eyes snap to yours, blown wide, something feral in those cerulean depths.
“Oh?” His grip in your hair tightens, a sharp, desperate inhale through clenched teeth. “Say that again.”
You breathe slowly, smearing his drooling dick, and Satoru’s cock leaks more, jerking violently the moment you mutter, “I… I wanna see you cum.”
With a primal growl, he snaps—lunging forward, lips crashing against yours, messy, consuming. Breathless, desperate, your strokes turn frenzied as he’s groaning into your mouth, his hand groping your tit, his cock jolting in your palm, pulsing vigorously.
“Fuck,” he pants, forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged, needy. “Faster—m’fuckin’ close—fuck, baby, don’t stop—”
You obey, jerking him quicker, harder, your palm slick and messy with his slick. The lewd, obscene sounds spilling from his lips are shameless, his hips jerking up, chasing the friction.
It’s invigorating, and so—fuck it.
Before you can second-guess yourself, you lean forward, part your lips—and spit. A long, slick stream dripping down, coating his thick cock, gliding over your fingers as you pump him faster.
Satoru chokes on a breath.
“Shit. Shit. Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, head tipping back, throat bared, veins straining. “Goddamn…” his voice cracks, laughter breaking through. “Look at that. Gonna turn you into the perfect little slut f’me, aren’t I?”
Your hand is a blur now—stroking, twisting, rolling over the ridge of his cock, milking him as he gasps, shuddering, hands roaming over your tits, groping, squeezing.
“G-Gonna cum all over you,” he groans, voice unraveling, grip tightening as his thumb flicks your nipple. “Wanna see it? Fuck—my cum dripping down your hand—” A ragged whine catches in his throat. “Or maybe—m-maybe your tits? Haaa… s-shit… yeah.”
Suddenly, his hand shoves you down, pinning you against the futon as he straddles you, knees pressing against your sides. Your eyes widen as his cock hovers above you, dripping, leaking, his grip tight around the base as he strokes himself furiously.
“Fuck… fuck… fuck!” The wet faps of his fist grow louder, his panting wrecked, desperate. “Gonna fuckin’—haaaa—s-shit, take my cum!”
And then, he’s spurting his thick gooey seed all over you, spilling rope after rope of that sticky white essence, shooting it from the ridge of his pulsing dick as it erupts is messy arcs. It's warm and wet, his body lingering above you, his breath coming in heavy, uneven pants as he wrings every last drop.
Groaning, his head lolls, lazily pumping the last few spurts, blue eyes dropping to the mess he’s made of you—cum dripping down your tits, pooling in the dip of your stomach.
“Fuck…” he exhales, thumb grazing your bottom lip before tilting your chin up. “Just look at you. Drenched in me.”
You blink, dazed, body still humming, skin sticky and dewy with sweat and cum. Satoru watches you for a moment, then huffs a lazy chuckle, shifting off you. You barely register the way he reaches for something beside the futon, only catching the warm press of a damp cloth against your skin a second later.
Lying there, breathless, he carelessly wipes his release off you. He’s not gentle, not exactly, but he’s careful—moving with the ease of someone who’s done this plenty of times before. When he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside, stretches his arms over his head, and flops onto his back with a satisfied sigh.
There’s a beat of silence as you both exhale. The weight of what the fuck just happened, settling in your chest. Then, his smirk returns as he tilts his head at you.
“Welp,” he sits up, rolling a shoulder, cracking his neck, as if already moving past the moment. “S’pose we oughta head back, huh?”
Your stomach knots. “Oh… um. B-Back?” Because how the fuck are you supposed to sit in front of the elders, in front of your mother, after this? After he’s just—after this?
Satoru snorts, already adjusting himself, tucking his cock back into his hakama like none of this just happened. “Yeah.” He grins, fixing the folds of his robes. “I got what I wanted. You had your fun, yeah?”
O-Oh? Your breath stutters. You swallow.
He smirks, glancing over at you, a few stray drops of his cum still drying on your skin. “Besides… can’t have ‘em thinking I already knocked you up before the wedding.”
The implication is clear. The possessiveness is clear. But the affection? That’s missing. It’s like… he’s already moved on, like this was nothing more than a way to pass the time.
Gojo Satoru doesn’t love you.
He owns you.
And as he extends his hand to you, waiting for you to take it so he can pull you up, there’s… no warmth in his touch.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he coos, blue eyes gleaming—calm, unreadable, detached. “Time to go home.”
Home.
But, it’s not a home—it’s a throne. And not yours to claim, only yours to be kept in.
a/n. hiiii welcome to the debut of this fic! i had to set a lot up here before we dive into the angst and the smutfest that's to come. ngl, this is a bit out of my comfort zone bc as a demisexual i crave emotional connection with sex. like, i'm really gonna want satoru to hold me after he fucks me stupid 🥲 but ALAS. this fic is not that (at least... not yet. give satoru some time, soon he's gonna be whipped for readers coochie, hehe 🤭) anyways, tysm for reading. would love to hear your thoughts 🫶🏻 like i said, this is going to be multiple parts. no clue how many just yet tho!
childhood friend!Gojo, who you never expected to fall for, and who you don't ever expect to return your feelings.
With your confessions unnoticed, he's made that crystal clear.
Or — the five times he breaks your heart, and the one time you nearly break his.
pairing: gojo x fem!reader
warnings/tags: mdni, fluff, angst - initially hurt no comfort turned comfort, heartbreak, unrequited love (or so you think), mutual pining, alcohol, canon compliant, sorcerer!reader, growing up throughout the years [potentially more tags to come as this develops - they will be present on the specific part, please heed them!!]
SYPNOSIS. Girlie has some secret feelings about her bestie she just had to put on paper but what what will she do when said bestie discovers it
Masterlist
You wouldn’t say the aftermath of the sleepover was awkward exactly because Satoru acted like nothing happened and was completely normal up until he had to leave and kissed your cheek for longer than usual and expressed how much fun he’d had.
Whatever the fuck that means.
It seems he had a little bit too much fun because ever since that fateful night he’s been going to parties and the girls at college are elated that the mysterious Gojo Satoru is showing himself somewhere other than by your side at campus and not only that there have been rumors he’s even been interacting with said girls.
Intimate interactions.
You know you have no right to feel jealous because you’re just a friend, nothing more.
Still, you can’t lie and say it didn’t make you feel some type of way that’s gone from never speaking to other girls unless necessary to barely speaking to you and flirting with a bunch of girls. You also know it’s your fault for accidentally opening his sexual floodgates by giving him the best nut of his life.
Well… not fully because if he’d lost his virginity he would’ve told you… right?
You don’t even know because in 3 weeks he went from texting you good morning and goodnight every day and calling you every day he wasn’t over at your house or you at his— to barely calling and when you called him and he picked up finding every reason to cut the call short.
It’s driving you absolutely crazy.
You shake your head brushing off the worrying thoughts about the state of your friendship as you focus on pulling into Satoru’s huge mansion.
You just got a call from Geto asking you why you’re not at Satoru’s party and if that’s the reason Satoru is acting so wild and out of character. You and Satoru met Geto at college but even tho you met him at the same time you weren’t as close with him as Satoru. The only time you hung out was when Satoru invited both of you.
Both of y’all don’t have any complaints tho because whenever you’re alone (which is not often) it’s always awkward and tense for some reason.
You told Geto not to worry and that you’re coming.
Not wasting any time you dove through your closet for the sexiest dress you own with a pair of matching heels. You did your hair and makeup at lightning speed before pulling out of your driveway so fast you might as well have left skid marks.
If Satoru wants to keep acting up like this you might as well act up too.
A little bit of your bravado flows out of you as you hear the loud pounding of music through the door, you adjust your dress nervously before opening the door.
Your nose is immediately assaulted with the smell of cheap alcohol, sweat, weed, and vape clouds. You consider just straight up walking back out cause this is NOT your scene. You didn’t think it was Satoru’s either but you don’t know him as well as you thought you did.
You’re slowly taking a step backward when you accidentally bump into someone.
“I’m so sorry!”
“Y/n? I didn’t expect you to come, and especially not like THIS” Geto raises his eyebrow and waves his hand up and down before shaking his head.
“And what exactly is wrong with ‘this’” You cross your arms in a way that accidentally pushes up your boobs and exposes them even more than they already are in this tiny dress.
“There’s nothing wrong but Satoru is not gonna like this” He smirks
His answer only serves to piss you off even more.
“Well, I don’t think that ‘Toru has much space to judge anymore with the identity switch he’s made recently” You frown as you scan your surroundings for even a glimpse of a white head of hair.
“You searching for Satoru? He went up with this random chick a while ago and honestly good for him he's been a virgin for far too long to be normal” He chuckles softly
“Right.” Your heart drops and breaks into a million pieces.
He can see it in your face because he sympathetically puts his hand on your shoulder but something in his eyes says he's not all that upset about it.
“Well, standing around sulking isn't going to do anything wouldn't it be better if you also have some fun?” He turns you around so you're directly looking at him.
Before you can even reply he grabs your hand and effortlessly weaves you through the crowd toward a spot where a bunch of his and Satoru’s mutual friends are seated.
“Sit here, I'm gonna get you a drink” He leads you to a plush chair before turning around and disappearing into the crowd.
You don't feel like socializing so you just pull out your phone to make one last attempt to contact Satoru. Once again, your messages are delivered.
Your leg bounces as you start thinking about what Satoru could be doing with that girl right now.
Every minute you sit there feels like an eternity
The longer you sit there the more your sadness turns into jealousy and rage. You’re about to get up and storm upstairs when Gojo’s savior Geto comes back and hands you a drink before sitting on a chair next to yours.
“Y/n Are you in or out?”
“In or out of what?” You look up and see you're in a circle and a bottle is placed exactly in front of you on the table.
“Truth or Dare mixed with Spin the Bottle”
You hesitate for a moment. This is so not you, but if Satoru wants to have fun so can you. “Yeah I'm in”
A few rounds passed with daring kisses, exaggerated dares, and nervous laughter filling the room before the bottle spins and lands on you.
Just as it does you see Satoru coming down with an arm around a white-haired girl you faintly recognize from campus as he chuckles at something she says. Like he can feel your glare on them he looks up and straight at you.
His stomach drops.
And you can see it on his face as he freezes in place before shaking off the shock and continuing his act of nonchalance.
“Truth or Dare” Geto nudges you out of your moment of eye contact with Satoru.
You smirk at Satoru before saying “Dare”
The look on Geto’s face is almost demonic which immediately makes you regret you ever even joined this dumbass game.
“Alright, y/n I dare you to kiss the person you're closest to in this room,” He says as he looks back and forth between you and Satoru while smirking.
You look at Satoru and see that he moved to a couch across from you with that random girl seated right next to him with her head on his shoulder so comfortably like she'd done that a million times before. He smirks at you and leans back putting his arms over the armrest, careful to not disturb her head too much.
You seethe with rage as a plan forms in your head.
You smirk before standing up and pulling your dress down a little so your ass isn't out before shaking your head to fluff out your hair. You turn around facing Geto before slowly planting both of your knees on either side of him. Lowering yourself you lean in close to him. His face is riddled with shock.
“Is this okay?” you look him in the eyes nervously hoping he'd go along with your plan.
This is not at all what Geto had in mind when he gave you that dare he just finally saw an opportunity to get you and Satoru together so Satoru would stop blabbering about his unrequited crush on you.
He feels like what you're doing right now might work even better than his previous plan so he leans in. You almost feel his smirk against your lips which are only a hair away from his.
“Yeah, it's fine the real question is are you gonna be fine after we do this? Because the look Satoru is giving us right now is almost murderous”
This information only excited you more.
You smile before gently pecking Geto. Before you could pull back he grabbed your head and smashed his lips back against yours into a deeper hungrier kiss.
You faintly heard whistles and howls from the people around you. You could feel Satoru’s eyes on you but you were more focused on trying your best not to get devoured by Geto as he made out with you in a way that was so different from the way you and Satoru explored with each other. It was almost like he wanted to fully dominate you and was teasing you at the same time. He swiped with his tongue across your mouth once before not even waiting for you to fully open up to force his tongue in your mouth—
Satoru pulled you away from Geto by lifting you under the arms like you weigh nothing, strength fueled by rage. The moment you're off and on the ground he punches Geto across the face once before grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you away.
You full-on cackle as he starts stomping on the stairs throwing a tantrum like he usually does when he doesn't get his way.
Instead of taking you to his bedroom like you expected, he takes you to his bathroom next to it. He turns on the faucet before grabbing the spare pink toothbrush you keep at his house for sleepovers.
“Brush it off”
He cannot be for real right now.
You grab toothpaste and his lightning McQueen toothbrush before spreading a generous glob on it and straight up shove it in his mouth as you start brushing his teeth. Of course not well because of the angle but the message gets across.
“Mmhhghp”
“I don't understand you but if anyone should be brushing anything it's you because who knows how long you were in your room with that girl” you spit out that sentence with so much venom as you start brushing his teeth more aggressively.
He snatches the toothbrush from your hands and takes it out of his mouth before spitting in the sink “Mei-mei?”
The sound of her name makes the anger leave your body and a sinking feeling replaces it. You turn around so he doesn’t see the tears welling up in your eyes.
You’re so stupid for ever thinking you could be more than friends. You’re beyond stupid for even pining for him in the first place.
He looks at your tense back and because he knows you so well he knows it’s a sign you’re pretty distraught.
“Y/n please look at me” he puts his hands on your shoulder and softly tries to turn you around.
You stand your ground because the moment you turn around you’ll fold.
“Please, I promise it was only transactional”
You turn around so fast and choke on a sob.
“What?”
He’d rather pay for it than be with you.
At the sight of you crying Satoru starts getting a little choked up too. He never was good at comforting you. Most of the time he’ll get more upset than you and so you get so busy comforting him that you forget why you’re even upset in the first place.
Not this time.
You hastily open the bathroom door so you can leave.
“Wait! That didn’t come out right” he grabs you by the wrist pleading for you to stop and hear him out but you fight back.
While you try to loosen his gentle but firm grip on your wrist you lose it.
You’re a mess. Screaming, Hair flying, makeup running down your face, dress struggling to stay on your body as all the movement was honestly too much for it.
Satoru pulls you back towards him by your wrist and wraps you in a tight hug with your arms pinned against him so you can calm down.
You guys stand and sway there for a while. Your sobs slowly turn into hiccups as Satoru shushes you and strokes your back.
“We didn’t do anything” he murmurs after you’ve calmed down enough for your hiccups to be less frequent.
“H-huh?” You hiccup.
“Last time when we did the stuff I felt so bad because you were so good to me and I’m so inexperienced so I inquired Suguru about it and he suggested going to parties and practicing with other girls” he hugs you tighter as your semi- relaxed body starts to tense up once again.
“He said what?” You’re furious. Were you tricked? Was Satoru?
“B-but every time I couldn’t even bring myself to kiss them because I realized the only one I want to kiss is you” You look up into his eyes and only see sincerity.
Still. This didn’t explain everything.
You pout and trace circles on his chest “ O-okay that could be true but it doesn’t explain why you were in your room with meh-meh”
“Mei-mei?” He looks away when you give him a murderous look.
“Well, I was at one of the parties completely defeated after another failed attempt at gaining experience when mei— ughm she came and said she saw the entire thing and offered to give me tips in exchange for money. I threw this party so she had a nonsuspicious reason to come to my house without the entire campus gossiping about it but I couldn’t hear her at all so we went to a quieter place which happened to be my room-” He rambles quickly so you don’t misunderstand again but you interrupt him by pecking him.
He relaxes immediately and leans in so your lips can meet again. This kiss is so different from, any kiss you've had before its like stars are tinkering across your skin and tickling you from the top of your head to your toes. Maybe it’s the fact that he's way less nervous than the first time or maybe it's just him. You didn't feel like this at all when you were kissing Geto, while it was nice it didn't make you feel like you're floating like how you do right now.
You break away from him again to breathe and he follows you again but you put your hand on his mouth weakly to stop him from kissing your senses away again “Toru, what does this mean?”
He takes a deep breath before gently kissing your fingers as he removes your hand from his mouth “This means that you're my best friend of course”
He smiles and looks deeply into your eyes as he breaks your heart into a million pieces.
How could he say that? Did he not feel what you just felt?
“What. The. Fuck.”
prev MASTERLIST next
TAGLIST. @shokosbunny @nanamineedstherapy
I’m sorry for the cliffhanger and that it took me so long. Also sorry to the ppl expecting actual smut😿🫵🏽
“he goes out to buy sanitary pads for you while you’re sleeping”
-> series:
LIAR, LIAR ongoing (ANNOUNCEMENT)
“when you'd met megumi fushiguro in autumn of 2007, you thought he was a thorn at your side. twelve years later, you realised just how prickly thorns were”
