summary: the summer solstice: day court's most stunning, wild celebration. y/n wants to lose herself utterly to the sun and its offerings. as always, azriel just wants to be at her side.
tropes/warnings: 'just friends' angstville, faerie drug use, everyone wants y/n and azriel will probably combust, he acts like her bodyguard because he doesn't know how else to love her............
The whole world dripped with gold. Even the air seemed lit from within.
Y/n had been at the Solstice for hours by the time Azriel, Mor, and Cassian had arrived, already a swirl of sun-drunk joy in the impossibly wide and open field. Already with a twinkle in her eye that, for Azriel, always meant trouble.
He noticed her immediately, just as her eyes met his. She always did that, sensed it the moment he arrived anywhere. Even amidst a field of hundreds of dancing High Fae. Even with a High Lord’s hand on her bare back.
Azriel noticed, as she began running toward him, how quickly that hand was pushed away. It didn’t stop the dark worming through him, but he still noticed. Then she was in his arms, her giggle and warm breath at his ear as he picked her up and spun her around until she shrieked. He couldn’t help but grin as he set her bare feet back on the grass. For a moment, everything went still, and it was just the two of them all lit up and joyful and touching, her dark eyes so full of light it was impossible to see anything else.
Then her pretty eyes flicked to Cassian and Mor, and the party roared back to life.
“Kick your shoes off, girls,” she said, winking at Azriel and stepping backwards slowly into the fray of dancers. “It’s going to be a very long day.”
────
Centuries of practice kept Azriel’s muscles smooth, relaxed. His grip gentle on his glass of faerie wine. His small smile pleasant as he moved with the shimmering music of the Day Court.
But as his gaze drifted back to her–as it always, always did–he was seconds from snapping. She looked beautiful today. She knew it. He knew it. And so did Helion and every one of his fucking courtesans.
It had been hours since she touched him. As soon as they began to dance, she’d been whisked away by a distressingly handsome male, with a pathetic excuse for a shirt glittering over his tanned skin. Only now–several glasses of bubbling gold liquid later–she’d finally returned, tugging Helion towards them with that infuriatingly beautiful smile.
“My friends,” Helion boomed, opening his arms to crush the three of them to his chest at once. His eyes were clear and bright, but there was something off in them, something Azriel recognized. Nervous, he scanned Y/n’s eyes and was relieved to find them familiar as always.
“Is this not the best fucking party we’ve been to in years?” Y/n asked Mor, breathless and beaming. Her cheeks must be sore. Azriel’s chest glowed and ached at the same time to see her so free.
“Cool it, Y/n,” Cassian deadpanned. “It’s your head if Rhys starts hearing that his centuries-old Solstice tradition is being blasphemed.”
“It’s not the same and you know it,” said Mor, looking to Helion for agreement with her staple wide-eyes-and-smirk move. Jesus. Everyone at this fucking party was trying to bed each other.
Helion tilted his head at her, blissed out and slow, before looking down to Y/n at his side. “Of course it isn’t the same.” And then he bent down to her ear and whispered something. Azriel shadows begged to reach her, to hear. Then Y/n tilted her head back and laughed.
Cool, brother. Calm.
The voice in his head came from behind him, from where Rhys and Feyre stood slow-dancing in the grass beyond. Azriel caught Rhys’s eye. He realized he must be radiating anger with a fallen shield. He knew better. He never slipped, never snapped.
It’s alright. You’re in pain. But she’s alright. She’s happy. You need to calm down.
Azriel needed to scream at Helion, to warn him, to make sure he and every one of his courtesans knew not to even dream of touching Y/n. His shadows struggled on his skin where he’d kept them held down all day, desperate to do something, to keep her safe.
The ugly, ugly truth of it: the shadows wanted to wrap around his friend Helion’s throat.
He needed to get a fucking grip, is what he needed. Before this entire party went to shit, along with their ties to the Day Court and his friendship with Y/n, over a laugh. She was free and she was beautiful. And she was certainly not his.
Azriel downed his drink and held out his hands wordlessly to gather everyone’s empty glasses. It was time for a lap.
────
The next time he saw her she was alone, her eyes roaming the field. A woman–a friend of Meallan’s?–was speaking earnestly and drunkenly to him about the business of the Day Court healers. She could have been spilling ancient secrets and he wouldn’t have noticed. His stomach flipped. Was Y/n looking for him?
She must have been, by the way her arms went up in celebration when they locked eyes. He murmured apologies to the Fae woman, doing his best to come up with something warm and apologetic while his entire brain focused on looking reasonably casual and attractive as he walked over and leaned on the tree nearest to Y/n.
Her long hair was tangled and had fallen down from her updo. The sun had already soaked into her skin, darkening her freckles charmingly. She looked flustered and beautiful, and clearly full of protest.
“So you just go around talking to every woman but me?” she demanded dramatically.
The corners of his lips twitched. He said nothing, just took her in.
“Spit it out,” she rolled her eyes. “What do you have to say for yourself about this?”
“I know that foot is itching to stomp.” He couldn’t resist. He broke out in the wide, boyish grin that belonged to her.
She let out a gust of air and planted, ungracefully, in the grass. She resembled a disgruntled child. “Well, I came over here with a beautiful plan just for my very best friend, but I certainly understand that he may be busy wooing over the Day Court.” Her eyes looked up mischievously at his.
The hypocrite. It was her feet, always, everywhere, that the Courts swooned over. His hand on her bare back. He sank down, leaning his weight on the tree until he was sitting with her on the warm dirt and grass. The music remained lively and loud but the crowd felt far away.
It was easier not to look too long at her skimpy, golden little dress when they were on the same level. Wonder what High Lord provided her with that ambitious piece of string, he thought with a wave of irritation.
“You weren't exactly knocking on my door, Y/n. But shall we be resentful or shall we make up and have fun?” he asked her. Not his girl but his best, best friend. Whom he had missed, whom he missed every day they spent apart.
It was the right thing to say. Her grin widened, and she paused, pretending to think. “I say we make up and have a little adventure. Just us.” That terrible, no good, beautiful twinkle was back in her eye. Whatever came next, he was fucked.
He leaned in. “You think so?” he asked lowly.
Last week, Cassian had made fun of Azriel for the sheer joy on his face when she’d asked him to play a round of cards. Every time it was a miracle. Every day of their lives that she wanted something of him. Whatever it was she wanted.
So he tried very hard to act only reasonably intrigued.
Y/n nodded. “I have just the thing, too.”
She opened her hand.
He’d just begun shaking his head when she crawled in front of him, her free hand over his mouth and her other hand now tucked behind her back, light shining through her fingers. “Don’t say no.” Her eyes were serious, so close to his face. “Just don’t say no yet.”
“No,” he attempted to get out through her fingers.
She sat back on her knees. It was one of his favorite sights, the focused face she made when she was trying to strategize how to get her way with him. Her brows furrowed up and her lip chewed, seriously, as though the matter was of critical importance and the next steps delicate.
“What if–,” she began.
“No,” he interrupted, clear now without her hand on his lips. He was smiling, he couldn’t help it, but he also wasn’t going to sacrifice her safety for an adventure. “You know it isn’t…”
She rolled her eyes, and he trailed off, sparing her the safety speech she knew by heart, and always hated. His heart twinged at the momentary loss of that twinkle. He knew he could be too serious, too much of a stickler for staying vigilant when it came to her.
“Fine. Okay. For the record, you do plenty of drugs when you're out with Cassian and Rhys,” she said, exasperated. “But it’s fine not to want to do them with me.”
Was she disappointed? Had he upset her? Just us, she had said. She wanted that with him, laying out in the sun for the rest of this endless day, living in a world only the two of them were in. He pictured touching her hand with his as the world glowed around them. He sunk into his resolve. He couldn’t put her at risk, couldn’t afford to fall from his role as her protector. That was all he had to give her.
He’d give up everything but that.
“Okay,” she said again, standing up, and he realized he’d ignored what she’d said. He opened his mouth to fix it, standing up in a flash, but before he could blink her pretty pink mouth was opening and closing around a small hole of light.
He stared at her blankly. She stared back. He heard a crunch, and looked down at her lips.
His heart pounded, in remorse at their lost sparkling unity under a changed sun. Then in worry, in fear, at the amount she’d just taken alone. She shouldn’t have taken that much. She might–
Calmly, without blinking, Y/n let her jaw drop just barely. She extended her tongue, just slightly, and Azriel saw it: a tiny half-ring glint on her tongue.
His cock twitched. He pulled in a sharp, deep breath, unable to take his eyes away from her mouth. Now he understood. He would pick. She’d swallow it all, or he’d take his half.
From her? He tore his eyes towards her own, not without effort. Her eyes were raised, the twinkle back. His stomach dropped, instincts swarming his body at once, and he leaned forward slowly, watching her all the while. Slowly, so slowly it hurt, he tilted his head and leaned forward. His tongue met hers for one brief, electric moment. Light exploded inside him, almost unbearable, as he lingered on her tongue for a second too long.
And then he took her gift into his mouth and leaned back. She was too clever for her own good. And it looked like he would pay the price.
a/n: Part 2 coming! This is my first acotar fanfic <3
track twenty-four: i want you | prev track< | setlist
three rockstars! one you!
synopsis: your best friend has always been an asshole - whether it's in his band or in his bed. him ditching you? nothing new. but when one bedroom door closes, another one opens
pairings: rockstar!Suguru Geto x f!Reader x childhood fwb!Sukuna (+ rockstar!gojo!!)
content: mdni, angst and fluff, rockstar au!, complicated relationships and messy emotions, avoidant attachment, HEAVY PINING AND YEARNING, denying feelings, reader is a mess, sukuna is desperately trying to win her back lmfao, protective men, emotional hurt, not much comfort to be found in this one, therapy
a/n: art by @winterrbluess !! div by @/anitalenia
"It's always good to see you, Sukuna."
Yeah, you were pretty sure his therapist was the first person to ever say that to him.
But you kept your mouth shut, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, one leg folded on top of the other as your stare shifted from your best friend to the man he'd brought you to see.
"How's Muffin doing?" He followed it up, leaning forward with a notepad in his lap, as if he wasn't being paid to inquire about his life.
"She's fine," Sukuna gruffly responded, pulling out his phone - and opening up his photos, proudly pulling up a photo of a fluffy gray cat mid-yawn.
Sukuna. The cat dad.
It didn't make any sense.
Nothing did.
"What are you going to do with Muffin when you're on tour?" You spoke up, fiddling with your painted nails as you looked down at your lap.
It came out kind of snappy. More than you meant it to.
"I'm not going on tour."
Your head snapped up. The shield you shined just for today cracking not even two minutes in as your throat threatened to shut.
"You're going on tour," you said, clinging to it like an idiot. Because deep down, despite how much he was trying to change, it was hard not to see Sukuna as a rockstar first. Everything else second.
He went on tour after every album.
Once this one was out, he'd be gone again.
"I'm telling the label no next week," he shrugged. "I don't give a shit if they don't sign us again."
Us.
Of course he was only acknowledging the band as more than just him when he was being what? Stupidly stubborn? Selfish?
“Why the fuck would you do that?” You blanched.
“I’m not leaving you,” the stubborn asshole insisted.
No.
This wasn’t what you wanted at all. It never was.
You felt like you were going to puke, a lump forming in your throat as you blinked at him in disbelief.
"Do not put this on me," you shook your head, ignoring the way his therapist tried to speak up, to prevent your bickering before it really got started. “What about Choso? Yuki and Uruame? They’ll be-”
“You can’t seriously think I care more about them than I do about you,” Sukuna scoffed, his jaw set in a tight line as his dark stare seared into your side.
“Like you were even willing to admit you cared about me at all six months ago,” you muttered under your breath, that bitter pill still lodged in your airway no matter how many times you tried to swallow it.
“Okay, I think we should take a step back here,” the therapist managed to interrupt, loudly clearing his throat as you turned your attention out the window. Rain was falling, droplets racing down the pane as you picked at a stray thread of the couch someone else’s anxious hands had already worked undone.
You knew you should be trying harder for this.
That therapy only worked if you were willing to try.
But you’d been so stuck in all this muck, sucked down deeper the more you tried to squirm your way out of it, you couldn’t even tell which way was up anymore. Searching for any sign of familiarity when everything had already changed without you.
What if all there was for you to figure out here was that they’d left you behind?
Suguru would learn his lesson and treat his next girl better. Satoru would find someone who could return all his love.
And Sukuna would fix himself just to find out he never needed you at all.
“Do you want Sukuna to go on tour?” His therapist softly prodded you, snapping you out of your spiraling.
“I don’t know,” you defensively answered, too on edge to match his polite tone.
“How does him staying make you feel?” He questioned, and you could only shrug your shoulders.
“Don’t be like that,” Sukuna grumbled, and you shot him an annoyed glare.
You were only here because of him.
Was that not enough to see you were at least trying?
“It makes me feel irritated, I guess,” you begrudgingly admitted. “Like he’s throwing away everything he's ever given a shit about when I never asked him to.”
You wanted to be included. To be a part of his life and not a piece of furniture in it. To be there by his side when he succeeded.
Not have him give it all up just so the two of you could make each other miserable just for the slim chance you managed to work out.
"I'm not-"
"He always makes these dumbass decisions without me and just expects me to go along with whatever it is," you added, ignoring him next to you as you finally met his therapist's gaze.
He had introduced himself when you first walked in and you hadn't really paid any attention to it, a twinge of guilt seeping through at the amount of understanding behind his eyes.
"So you feel left out," he concluded, and you immediately revoked your remorse.
"No," you lied, a traitorous little huff escaping your lips.
"That's not what I'm trying to do," Sukuna argued, seeing through your shit. "I, fuck, I just want to be here for you, okay?"
You wanted to accept that.
So so so badly.
That piece of your heart that had belonged to him from the start was already trying to tug you towards him, begging you to just stop being a brat and go back to being his.
But you weren't the girl you'd been before.
Not the one who warmed his bed or waited for him after his shows or wished for a happy ending.
And you no longer knew if you'd ever be able to be the partner he needed.
Shouldn't he be with someone he wouldn't have to cancel tours for? Someone it didn't hurt him to want? Someone who wouldn't wreck the world he worked for?
"What happens when you wake up a few years from now and realize that you shouldn't have stayed? Or when we break up?" You argued, getting the awful sense it would be the last time you'd be asking either question. "You're going to resent me."
"For fucks sake, I'm not," he flat-out denied it, annoyance creeping into his harsh features at the fact he had to say it.
But it didn't make you feel better.
What were you supposed to say to make him see what you meant?
"All we've done lately is make each other's lives worse," you muttered.
Your sex tape was leaked. He assaulted your ex-boyfriend. You slept with your ex's best friend. He was cancelling his tour.
This wasn't sustainable.
God, he'd even gone and bought you a fucking apartment like the guilt of fucking Satoru was still burned into your skin.
"You have been the only light in my entire life," Sukuna half-growled, reaching across the couch to grab your hand, his calloused fingers gripping you like he needed you to believe him too.
You hated yourself for not being able to.
For thinking of all the times you'd seen him smile at someone else, or smirk up on an illuminated stage, hearing his voice calling out to an adoring crowd. Knowing that you only got the pieces of him he chose to gave you and being okay with it for so fucking long.
And because you had a habit of making every situation infinitely more terrible, you directed your attention back to the therapist who felt a lot more like a referee as you stiffly rolled your shoulders back.
"Did he tell you about my sex tape?"
The next four seconds could probably get an award for the most awkward silence imaginable, you staring at the therapist, who was looking over at Sukuna, who was surely scowling at you.
"Do you think that's seriously relevant right-
"I mean, I just wanted to know how much he already knew," you bickered back, trying to sneak your hand away from his only for him to hold on tighter.
"I would prefer if we stopped interrupting each other so we can have a more, ah, productive conversation," his therapist piped up.
Your skin was itchy.
Invisible bugs crawling over it that you were desperate to scratch and peel off, every word exchanged and sentence that sunk in just making all of it more unbearable.
Familiar indecision crippling you, twisted and contorted as you tried to resist falling into the trap of falling for Sukuna again and refusing to let yourself get hurt by him.
Were you just going to lose in the end either way?
"Do you think this, uh, sex tape is going to be an issue if you resume a relationship with Sukuna?" The therapist continued, and you at least knew the answer to that one.
"Yeah," you muttered, loathing the defeat in your voice.
"Why is that?"
Because it'll be over the day he watches what's on it?
That was it, wasn't it? What everything boiled down to?
Your own fear that if you accepted his love, he'd take it back the second he saw another side of you.
"Are you scared to say it?" His therapist unhelpfully prodded, and you had the distinct feeling of your heart being dissected. Layers of you peeled back and pried open until they were watching it beat and bleed.
"Whatever's on it, I-"
"You'll hate me," you murmured.
Oops. You guessed you interrupted him again.
"I'm not going to hate you," he insisted, and without even looking to your right, you could picture his expression. The gritted teeth, the grim stare. Eye twitching as he restrained himself from rolling them.
"I told Suguru I loved him in it," you confessed, as if that was the worst of your crimes.
Sucking on the inside of your cheek as you stared down at your bare wrist. Aware of the bracelet that had been stolen from you.
Torn away like your chance of a happily ever after.
"Sukuna," the man across from you evenly spoke, maybe sensing the tension crackling between you as your words sank in for him as he scribbled something down on the paper in his lap. "Does that change how you feel? Or-"
"It just makes me hate him more," he grumbled, and you shrunk closer to the edge of the couch. But what he said next just left you wishing you'd never shown up at all, "Makes me hate myself more too."
"Why do you think that is?"
You shouldn't be here.
You shouldn't hear this.
"Because she never would've fallen in love with him for the first place if I hadn't been such a dickhead in denial when I had her," Sukuna snapped, his raw voice threatening to crack. "It's my fault she even met him."
"You can't blame yourself for everything," his therapist tried to reassure him, but you were casting a cautious glance over to see Sukuna scratching the back of his hair with an emotion that looked a lot like shame on his face.
So distracted by how foreign it felt to see him like this, your brain didn't even realize the man across from you was speaking to you until he repeated his question.
"Is there anything you feel that you might be culpable for here too?"
A lot?
It would be a pretty long list if you started just naming off every messy thing you'd done since you decided you were done sleeping with Sukuna.
"This is a safe place where you can be honest and we'll work through it," he added, offering you a smile that actually seemed sincere.
Your lips slowly began to part, ready to just ruin it all. Put it all on the table and lose if you had to.
At least you wouldn't be in this limbo anymore.
"I had sex with Satoru," you admitted, hot tears you hadn't been expecting starting to well up before you blinked them back. "He was there in the tape too, but uh, we didn't really do anything until he showed up on vacation."
"You slept with Gojo?"
And there it was.
The rage.
You'd spent years trying to tame him, dousing him in water before his flames could turn into wildfires.
But maybe you were just fueling it.
"We were both drunk and just having fun, and I don't know, I asked him to come inside my room," you offered an explanation, not sure if it was even owed or if you were throwing gasoline on him once again.
"What the fuck?" He hissed.
You waited for him to say he was going to murder or maim Satoru, to make threats or ask what the hell were you thinking.
To ask why.
"I'm sorry," you swallowed your pride, offering a pitiful bob of your shoulders. "I know we're not together but it was still shitty of me to do."
Sukuna wasn't your boyfriend.
He'd never been your boyfriend.
But you weren't stupid enough to think that it made what happened totally fine.
Completely forgivable.
And maybe, some part of you didn't want him to forgive you.
Craved to not have to make the hard choice at all and force him to do it for you. To abandon you the way you had always suspected he would.
"Why would you-"
"It seems to me that you're trying to sabotage your relationship with Sukuna by sleeping with someone you know would upset him," the therapist hummed, and you faltered.
Physically flinched as you reflexively itched to reject it.
Yet you couldn't.
Just sitting there like an idiot and blinking back.
"You're scared of being with him."
You were.
But did he have to actually say it out loud?
You were bending over to snatch your bag from the floor rather than deal with it, ignoring both of them saying your name as you started towards the door, shoving it open and leaving rather than hear them break down all your inner thoughts.
If your head was clearer, not so clouded and stuffed full with him, you might've figured you wouldn't have made it out of the building without Sukuna catching up to you.
He grabbed your hand right as you reached the door, trying to stop you from going, but you just shook him off, stepping out into the rain as he followed suit.
“Can you please stop for a second?” Sukuna groaned, and you were once again reminded of another night you’d been shoving down.
One where you asked him if he loved you and he couldn’t answer.
“I don’t want to talk right now,” you childishly mumbled, convinced that if you do, you’d start crying, and if you crumbled, you’d let him console you.
“Then I will,” he stubbornly insisted.
The immature urge to cover your ears and pretend you couldn’t hear him was incredibly tempting, but you just paused in place, limbs threatening to tremble as the rain soaked through both of you.
"Just forget about the fucking past," he scoffed, grabbing you by the waist and spinning you around practically straight into his chest. “Can't this be enough? Can't I be enough?"
"How am I supposed to forget?" You retorted, poking a finger against his annoyingly firm muscles as you tried to pull back. "You don't get it. I literally lost everything, I-"
"I lost you," he snarled. "The albums, the money, the fame, they’re nothing to me.”
Now.
Why couldn’t he have realized that a year ago and saved you both the heartbreak?
“You’re my everything, okay? What the hell do I have to do? Get on my knees for you? Carve out my fucking heart and hand it over on a silver platter?” He was rambling, raindrops clinging to his lashes as he grabbed your finger and pulled it down.
“You’re supposed to be mad at me. I fucked Satoru while you were out buying me a beautiful apartment. Shouldn’t you be like, shouting or screaming, or something?” You argued, a fresh stab of hurt joining the rest seeing the way he recoiled from you when you pointed it out.
“So what?” He tried to sound tough.
Like he didn’t care when he so clearly did.
“Maybe you should watch the sex tape,” you shrugged, struggling not to shake, to be strong enough to say everything you needed to say. “See if you still think you love me then.”
“Stop saying shit like that,” he snapped, and it just made you more sure of your suspicions. “You are sabotaging us.”
“I think I need some more space,” you mumbled, knowing he was right and still refusing to admit it.
“You’re just running away from me. And I’ll be back at home tonight wondering whose fucking arms you’re in and why they’re so much better than mine,” he accused, finally letting a hint of that anger out. You felt a tiny hint of pride, knowing that he was finally getting the full experience of what he put you through for years.
But the truth was you were running away.
Avoiding him to avoid hurting yourself any more.
You only seemed to hurt him more when you were with him anyway.
Without you, Sukuna was doing great. He’d always been perfectly fine to fend for himself.
You didn’t want to stick around for when the sentiment wore off and it struck him you were the source of all his woes.
“Don’t be an idiot. Go on tour. Be there for the band,” you added, resignation replacing your regret as you sold yourself another half-truth that you were doing what was the best for both of you.
“Come back inside so we can actually talk about it,” he said, teeth gritted.
“I can’t,” you swallowed, shaking your head.
The idea of turning around and walking back into the building was too much. Sniffling as you wiped a wet streak from your face.
“I miss being your friend, but I really don’t know how to be anything with you right now,” you confessed, pulling yourself away from him even if it felt like you were cutting some heavy invisible cord connecting your soul to his.
It was selfish.
Impulsive.
Acting like a scared child ducking under a table just from a thunderstorm, before any lightning had even struck.
But it was the truth.
You loved Sukuna.
You just didn’t want him to destroy himself by trying to love you back.
He had been enough for you.
But now you weren’t good for each other.
He didn’t follow you this time.
Didn’t trail after you when you stormed off.
Sukuna let you go.
You didn’t stop until you were several blocks away, the drizzle from earlier turned into a torrential downpour, hair soaked and sticking to your face as you struggled to contain your tears.
How the fuck were you supposed to go back to the apartment he bought you?
Go sleep in that bed or curl up under the covers when you’d be seeing that haunted hurt look on his face every time you closed your eyes?
They were right about you.
You wished you were different.
Wished you could just be okay with all of it and pretend to be totally fine moving forward instead of standing on the sidewalk completely soaked as you stifled sobs.
Someone passed by under an umbrella, their shoulder nearly knocking into you as you looked up just in time to see them snickering and snapping a photo.
Disgust coiling bright and hot and unbearable at the realization this stranger had seen you naked - and now had the audacity to laugh at you for it.
Rather than panic, you reacted on impulse, taking the phone out of the dickhead’s hand and throwing it onto the concrete before stomping on it for good measure. Glaring right back at him as you dug the base of your foot into the shattered glass as you forced the lump back down your throat.
“I think you dropped that.”
“You fucking whore-”
Yeah, you were sure people were saying worse online.
But nothing could really compare to leaving someone you loved behind because you were too fucking terrified to let them love you too.
You shut him out the way you just shut Sukuna out.
Walking without really thinking until your teeth were chattering and it hit you that you weren’t sure where you were anymore.
Déjà vu washing over you as you looked up at the stormy sky, bottom lip quivering as you pulled out your phone to call the same person you had last time.
Suguru.
a/n: not gonna be online much in the next couple days but hope you guys enjoyed this
instead of getting the girl, gojo just got her pregnant! how's he supposed to win you over when you only seem to see him as the baby daddy?
synopsis: when the frat president becomes the father of your daughter, the last thing you expected were his brothers to start bidding to be the step dad! can he prove that he's serious about starting a life together for the three of you - or will someone swoop in to steal both his girls?
pairing: frat!gojo x milf!reader x frat!geto (also starring frat!sukuna)
content: mdni!! fluff, angst, and smut, college au, unrealistic frat depictions, parties, drinking, accidental pregnancy, raising a baby, they all want to be the daddy, condoms breaking, one night stands and messy hookups, piv sex, lots of pining, gojo being lovesick and stupid, nostalgia, jealousy
art cr: @zeilorene0 on x div cr: @/tsumiinum
"You're a fuckin' idiot, man."
Gojo was a thousand things. The president of the most infamous frat on campus. One of those child prodigies who prematurely burned out under the pressure of ample alcohol and parties. A genius when he got his shit together again.
But an idiot?
Yeah, he guessed he was that too.
Staring at the girl of his dreams pushing a stroller outside his favorite cafe, ignoring more of Sukuna's mocking to hurry over and open the door for you so you didn't have to struggle with it.
Aching for approval he knew he wouldn't get - and still clinging to the minuscule chance that he could somehow win your heart if he only tried hard enough.
You didn't say thank you, or even huff in acknowledgement as him, pushing the stroller through with a tight frown as you passed it off to him.
"I ordered you a-"
"I've got to go," you interrupted him, jutting your thumb back in the direction you just came from. "I'm late to class already."
"Oh, okay," he stammered, shoulders stiff as he took the stroller. "Are you sure you don't want to take it with-"
"Milk's in the fridge, but, I'll, uh, call you to check in later?" You called out, not even looking him in the eyes as you turned around.
Halfway out the door before he could even say sure, left standing there with his mouth open like a moron.
It was the first time you trusted him to watch her for more than a couple hours. Given him the responsibility to take care of her until tonight since you had some other plans you didn't bother divulging to him.
"I don't think she's that into you," Sukuna snickered from the table, sipping on a stupid pink drink he'd sworn he hadn't even ordered, grumbling it must have been a mix up like it wasn't half-empty already.
"She just doesn't want to settle down yet," Gojo grumbled, pushing the stroller back to the table, accidentally bumping into an empty chair. He barely managed to make it fit, angling it so he could see the only reason you were still even speaking to him.
His five-month old daughter.
Proof that at one point in time, you liked him enough to fuck.
And okay, there had been a handful of heated hookups after long nights of breastfeeding and soothing your daughter back to sleep in her crib, where you'd begrudgingly let him pry your thighs apart on the couch to bury his tongue inside of you or sleepily fuck you on the stained cushions with your face buried in the pillows. But you'd made it clear each time that you still couldn't stand him.
You were using him for sex.
The sad thing was he didn't mind.
Not when his skin was on yours, when your mouth was still saying his name instead of someone else's.
He tried to propose to you. Four times.
You called him a manchild for thinking a marriage would make the two of you magically work.
"Think she'd say yes if I asked her on a real date then?" Sukuna said, trying to piss him off today as he leaned back in his own chair and chuckled. He didn't like the way he said real. Like the two of you had been on something that could've qualified as a date before without him knowing.
God, the only reason that asshole even came was because he heard that you were dropping off her.
"Don't even think about it," Gojo groaned, tempted to reach across the table and throttle him for suggesting it.
Having a baby with someone he was hopelessly in love with was hard enough.
Did all of his friends have to fucking audition to be the stepfather?
Sukuna hadn't even known you until after he'd knocked you up.
Never met you until you begrudgingly showed up to the frat house with a pregnancy test in hand and a scowl etched across your pretty face.
"I mean, who would you rather have be the stepdaddy?" Sukuna dryly mocked, actively ragebaiting him as he snagged the muffin that had been meant for you, unwrapping it and taking a big bite before talking with a full mouth. "Me? Or Suguru?"
Gojo would actually rather die than watch either of them marry you.
What the fuck was he supposed to do to stop them from speaking to you though?
Especially when the latter had managed to end up firmly planted in your good graces with those irritatingly smooth lines of his? Cooking you meals and murmuring in your ear what a good mother you were?
All while he just fucking sat there and stumbled over his words, feeling shittier and shittier as they tried to steal you and his daughter right out from underneath his nose.
"Neither," he grimaced, turning his attention back to his baby.
She was awake, kicking her legs in her seat as he bent forward to unbuckle her, carefully picking her up before placing her in his lap.
His heart pounded in his chest, pressure pushing down and making his ribs constrict at the thought of fucking this up.
He didn't know how to be a father. Not really. He'd never even been anyone's boyfriend. Never had any pets growing up to take care of.
Becoming frat president was the first real responsibility he ever had.
And now he had an entire human that was half-him to raise.
Drunk idiots were a lot fucking different than a baby. Who needed to be fed and bathed and loved and a million other overwhelming things he was struggling to keep track of.
She blinked up at him, familiar blue eyes squinting at him before they started to well up with tears, face scrunching up like she was about to start wailing.
He tried bouncing her up and down, but it only seemed to make her more upset, panic bubbling up before Sukuna was getting up out of his seat.
"Here," he grunted, scooping her out of his arms and cradling her against his chest as if it came naturally. "I've got her."
Her tiny body relaxed, eyes softening as he murmured something under his breath - not to Gojo, but to her. Soothing her in a way that simply didn't come naturally to him.
Going from on the verge of bawling to batting her lashes in a matter of seconds.
His daughter didn't even prefer him.
And he only had himself to blame.
Maybe if he managed to make up with you sooner, actually make you his, he could actually be living with you full time. Sharing a bed, sharing breakfast, being there to handle all the dirty diaper changes and spilled milk instead of just stopping in and begging you to let him stay to do night shafts.
You didn't trust him. Thought he was just a temporary fixture. Someone who was here for now instead of forever.
Every time he got close to convincing you he was here permanently, he always screwed it up.
God, he almost missed you giving birth just because some goddamn sorority girl stole his phone at a stupid party Suguru had insisted he show up to for at least an hour. But he'd been the one to accept the first beer - and the second.
The shots were harder to excuse.
If it wasn't for you calling Suguru in between contractions, he probably wouldn't have gotten there minutes before you had to start pushing. You had glared at him, stray strands of hair sticking to your forehead as you studied the glazed over look in his eyes and scoffed that you could smell the alcohol on him.
All he'd done was stain the memory of meeting your baby for the first time.
Fucked it all up from that very first moment.
He overheard you on the phone a couple days later, muttering something about how you couldn't believe he couldn't just stay sober when he knew you were about to go into labor any day.
Gojo hadn't touched a drink since.
He still had to show up to parties sometimes, had frat duties he couldn't exactly dodge, but he didn't let it interfere with him being a dad anymore.
"You're lucky she looks like you," Sukuna muttered, reaching up to scruff up her hair.
"Yeah," he swallowed, although part of him still wished she had more of you.
"No one would believe she's actually yours if she didn't," he dryly commented, picking out the the stitches of wounds Gojo was still licking.
"Can you stop being a dick for like, a day?" Gojo grumbled, rubbing his eyes as he glanced away from his daughter out the window at the people passing by on the street.
Staring a little too long at the happy families, his mouth twitching down at the tiny kids chattering to their parents, struggling to accept the fact that one day his own would be that be that big.
"I'm just sayin'," he shrugged. "How'd you even get her to fuck you?"
Sheer luck?
Pure chance that you somehow found his stupidity cute when you weren't sober?
He had etched the night in his head, held onto the memory with the worry that it could somehow be ripped from him too.
One of the few moments he'd gotten with you that was relatively untainted by everything that happened since.
Playing it back like a movie in his head, convinced that if he closed your eyes, he could smell the perfume you wore that night, feel your skin on his again.
He'd barely been brave enough to work up the courage to come over to you, jittery as he made an awful joke about running into you here while you tilted your head to the side and replied that you were surprised he even recognized you.
It wasn't like he'd even spoken to you before.
Not technically.
He'd bumped into you once after class, too distracted on his phone to pay attention to what was actually in front of him. In his defense, you weren't looking either, leaning against the wall to rummage through your bag for something with one hand and a coffee clutched in the other one.
The collision spilled your drink, mostly onto the floor as he immediately stopped and gawked at what just happened while you huffed an insult under your breath.
He opened his mouth to apologize, but you just glared up at him like he was worse than gum getting stuck on the soles of your shoes, nose scrunching up as you rolled your eyes and sarcastically thanked him for wasting the one treat you'd gotten yourself this week.
Gojo was pretty sure he fell in love with you from the first scowl.
Clumsily shoving his hands in his pockets and fumbling for a fifty from his wallet, holding it out as he tried to convince his tongue to move and tell you to take it. But you just shook your head and mumbled that you were going to find a janitor to mop up the mess.
His crush hadn't ended there.
Not when he couldn't stop himself from picking you out every time you passed by him on campus, feeling like a creep when he tried to come up with some way to casually run into you again.
So, yeah, when you showed up to his frat house, wearing a pretty little dress and sipping shitty beer out of a solo cup, he was rushing over before any of his brothers could notice how cute you looked when you frowned.
"Come to spill my drink?" You sarcastically asked, arching up an eyebrow when he inserted himself in the space next to you.
"That was an accident," he pouted, pushing out his bottom lip and hoping you didn't find it completely cringy. "Can't I make it up to you?"
He couldn't fucking believe it when your mouth curled up in a soft smile instead of an automatic scoff, his heart slamming so hard against his ribs he was sure it was going to burst before he even got your number.
"What do you have in mind?" You asked.
He was ready to get on his knees then.
More with every second you spent by his side, giggling at his awful attempts of flirting as you kept him at arm's length, forcing him to try harder than he had with any other girl before just to take a single body shot off of you.
His cock throbbing and aching in his jeans when your lips softly pressed against his collarbone, drifting up to drink the vodka you poured in the divot above it. His hands had been on your waist, fingers sinking in like he couldn't quite tell if you were real or just some dizzyingly beautiful hallucination his drunk brain had conjured up.
It wasn't until he managed to pull you back into his room, bending you over the bed and shimmying your dress down that he let himself believe this was actually happening.
"So you fuck every girl you take body shots with?" You teased, out of breath while he felt his own get caught in his throat at all your exposed skin.
"Just you," he lied.
Although, now that he was with you, he couldn't remember a single one that had come before.
"Uh-huh," you muttered, not believing it for a second.
He wished you had.
"You're the prettiest girl at this party," he purred, although he was already thinking that maybe he should've said planet as he dragged his tongue over the inside of your thigh, up to where your lace panties were still bunched between your legs. Leaving a damp patch as he greedily tried to eat you out through the thin fabric, acting like a desperate loser in love with someone leagues above him.
Gojo always thought he was a catch.
Cocky enough to find confidence in his position as class president, in his body and his brains, in his financial and social status.
But he couldn't shake the fucking feeling you thought he was beneath you.
It only made him crave you more.
It wasn't good enough to have you writhing underneath him, chest heaving when he finally buried his cock inside of you, hastily just grabbing a random condom from the closest drawer and carelessly sheathing himself in it. It wasn't enough to make you moan his name as he bottomed out again and again, focused more on your pleasure than how tight the condom was as his fingers sloppily played with your clit.
Gracelessly grinding as deep as he could inside you, gritting his teeth as he watched every tiny flicker of your face, searching it for a tiny inkling of passion, of hunger that wasn't just primal.
Gojo wanted you to want him for him.
Not just a quick fuck that you'd forget about sooner rather than later.
Still, he never meant for the condom to break.
He'd known from the second he saw it register on your face that you weren't going to give him a second chance. That he'd totally fucking blown it as he stammered out apologies and spread your thighs further apart to fish out the broken bits of condom from inside you, cum leaking down your thighs as you bit your lip and stared at the ceiling.
"Are you on birth control?" He asked, his voice thin and strained as he pulled out the last piece, a funny feeling settling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of his own cum dripping out of you, the way the panties he'd forgotten to fully take off of you had gotten soaked as you stared at him with unfettered irritation.
"No," you spoke quietly, a hint of embarrassment shining in your eyes as you looked away from him to the state of his messy room. "I don't really do...this."
"Oh," he swallowed.
He didn't know what to say.
What to do. How to fix something he'd never had before.
So he just awkwardly threw away the condom, chewing the inside of his cheek as he tried to put on a casual grin. "Do you, uh, wanna shower or something? Stay the night?"
"Fine," you muttered, the mood still ruined no matter what he did to lift it again. Anxiety creeping in and making his usual aftercare routine awkward and tense until you were both laying on different sides of the bed, him staring at your back while you faced away from him.
He hoped that you would be there the next morning.
That the next day would be the start of a different story. He'd take you out for breakfast and reassure you that you probably wouldn't get pregnant anyway.
Really, what were the chances of it even happening?
He fell asleep fantasizing about ways to make you fall for him too.
But you were gone when he got up, rolling over to find a cold place where your body should be.
The bed was empty, your clothes missing from the floor and no note left behind.
No phone number for him to call or text to beg for a date. He stopped seeing you around campus too.
In some sick way, he felt a fucked-up sense of satisfaction when you showed back up to tell him you were pregnant.
He thought that it'd mean you were stuck with him.
Not that he'd be spending the next year scrambling to keep your attention to himself.
And away from them.
Sukuna reclined back more in his chair, his hard features softening as he dragged his thumb to wipe away the drool from his daughter's mouth.
"You're kind of a shitty dad, dude," Sukuna grunted, not even glancing up at him.
Was he?
He didn't know what a good one looked like.
His dad had barely been there for him growing up. Too busy to be at the dinner table or attend his soccer games.
"Can you stop talking like you're her stepdad?" Gojo grumbled, exhaling as he held out his arms, ready to take her back just for his baby to betray him again, clinging onto Sukuna's shirt with her tiny fists.
"I'm not the one you should be pissy with," Sukuna shrugged, a little glint in his eyes that made his stomach churn. Already aware that something he wouldn't want to hear was about to leave his friend's mouth. "Suguru's the one taking her out to dinner tonight."
Since when?
His jaw locked, fist clenching under the table at the thought of you and Suguru sitting at a table together at some fancy place, his hand sneaking out to brush over yours as he ordered you wine and wooed you.
How the hell was he supposed to let his best friend fuck his baby momma?
"Do you know where?"
a/n: i'll let you guys name their baby, drop suggestions in the comments!!
☕︎ Pairings: Baby Daddy!Gojo x f!Reader
☕︎ Content warnings + tags: 18+ MDNI, modern au, friends to lovers, complicated relationships, unplanned pregnancy, eventual smut, angst with a happy ending, angst angst angst, introduction to love triangle?, crying, there's a cliffhanger too...I love you guys I swear.
wc — 6.6k words
In the quiet corners of a rainy day, it's easy to pretend things are steady now. Easy to let yourself laugh, to feel almost like yourself again. But even in fleeting moments of warmth, doubt lingers, and the truth has a way of pressing in—through glances, through questions, through the silence left where answers should be.
Step Fifteen: Wait for a Promise that Never Comes
You woke to the faint hum of traffic outside your window, that low, steady drone that blended into dreams until the light became too insistent. Morning stretched pale across your sheets, warm against your face squished into the pillow, and your body moved before your brain caught up. Rolling, arm stretching out, hand slipping over the dip of the mattress in search of heat that wasn’t there.
Cold cotton. Empty space.
Your fingers curled against it anyway, like if you pressed hard enough, you’d find him there. And for a heartbeat, you almost convinced yourself you had. You blinked, bleary, letting the moments just before he left catch up to you—the weight of his arm draped heavy over your waist, the slow rise and fall of his chest pressed against your back. The faint memory of him leaning down before dawn, brushing your hair from your face. His lips lightly grazing your temple when he whispered, I’ll be back later.
I promise.
You hadn’t answered him then, too tired to do anything but hum. Now, lying in the quiet, you wished you had.
You huffed out a breath, dragging the blankets tighter around yourself.
Typical.
Always in and out of your life like a tide you had no control over. Still, that promise sat there like an ember you couldn’t smother.
Bear hopped onto the bed with a grunt, heavy enough to jostle you. You smiled softly, letting him push his damp nose against your cheek before he flopped down in the space Satoru had left behind, curling his round body into the impression of someone else. Your hand moved automatically to scratch behind his ears, and when he rolled closer, you couldn't help but let your face sink into the warm fur along his side.
It almost was enough. The rumble of his purr, his weight leaning into you, the tickle of whiskers against your arm. A creature that wanted nothing but your presence, nothing but your touch. You pretended that it filled the hollow spot Satoru had left behind, pretended that you weren’t starved for it.
“Guess it’s just you and me again,” you murmured.
For a while, you stayed there. Sheets tangled around your shoulders, Bear’s purr rumbling, your gaze unfocused on the ceiling. If you closed your eyes, you could almost pretend you hadn’t woken up alone. That if you turned over now, you’d find him still sprawled there, hair a mess, mouth curved in that sleepy smile that always looked too boyish for a man who caused you so much grief.
But eventually, you dragged yourself upright, sheets slipping from your shoulders, the air brisk against your skin, making you shiver.
Coffee. That’s what you needed.
But you’d have to settle for tea instead.
You padded barefoot to the kitchen, Bear trailing behind at your heels, and filled the kettle to boil. The bubbling filled the silence, but only made the emptiness of the space feel more obvious. Every so often, your eyes flicked to your phone on the counter, next to a growing pile of dishes you’d meant to wash.
You tapped it awake. Nothing.
You told yourself not to read into it. He was busy. He had work. He’d said he’d come back. But as the minutes stretched, that hope began to sputter.
By the time you sat at the small table with your mug, steam curling into your face, the small thrill you’d carried from falling asleep in his arms had dulled into something disenchanting, and your thoughts began to drift.
Maybe last night had been just that. A night. A moment of weakness, like all the others he’d slipped into when the weight of the world pressed too hard on his shoulders. He reached for you, you let him, and then the tide pulled him back out again.
It always did.
Still, you checked again after showering and pulling on fresh clothes, your hair damp around your face. Your thumb swiped over the same empty screen, hovering like maybe you’d missed a notification in your messages. But your heart lifted and fell with every glance. No good morning. No, hey, thinking of you. No, I meant what I said.
Just the hollow absence where his name should’ve been.
You sighed, leaning against your dresser as water dripped from your hair onto the floor. The mirror hanging above reflected a tired version of yourself, with searching eyes and a frown that you didn’t try pulling into a smile.
You hated that this was what he could still do to you, after all this time. That you still waited, still hoped.
That was the worst part. It wasn’t the silence, or even the absence. But the fact that, after everything, some foolish part of you still just wanted him to prove you wrong.
The buzz of your phone startled you, rattling against the surface of the dresser. Your head whipped toward it, heart vaulting before your body even moved.
Finally.
You snatched up the phone, your pulse quickening with hope, almost giddy at the thought of his name lighting up the screen. Maybe he was on his way back. Maybe he just needed time to sort through whatever it was that always dragged him away from you. Maybe—
But when you swiped the screen away, the letters didn’t spell his name at all.
Suguru.
Your shoulders sagged, the disappointment landing sharp and immediate. For a moment, you’d almost forgotten you’d even gone to dinner with him the night before. But then you remembered—the faint warmth of his laughter, the delicious food he insisted on paying for. How easily he’d listened, how easily he’d made you feel like what you had to say actually mattered. The comfort of his presence when your thoughts had gotten messy.
And now, this morning, he was the one checking in.
Suguru [10:13AM]:
You sleep okay?
Simple. Unassuming. But it made something churn inside you all the same, realizing how rare it was for someone to bother asking these days. You hesitated, thumb hovering over the keyboard, debating. Part of you still wanted to hold out, to leave space for Satoru to finally make good on his promise. But his silence had already said enough.
And what had waiting ever gotten you?
You [10:15AM]:
Yeah. Thanks. You?
You set the phone back down, pushing the words away. But his reply came quickly, another buzz disturbing the quiet.
Suguru [10:16AM]:
Good. Thinking of grabbing breakfast with Shoko. Want to come?
You bit your lip, stalling once more. If Satoru texted you now, if he said he was on his way, you’d drop everything. You hated that about yourself. Hated the way you were still orbiting him while he drifted somewhere far away. But the screen stubbornly remained the same, blank except for Suguru’s name waiting patiently at the top.
So you sighed, thumb tapping out the words before you could overthink it.
You [10:17AM]:
Sure. I’m starving.
When you stood in front of the mirror again to get ready, nerves prickled at your skin. Stupid, you thought. It wasn’t a date. But you still found yourself fussing more than you usually would—choosing clothes that fit softer against your body, fixing your hair until it laid just right, dabbing concealer beneath tired eyes. You dusted a little color onto your cheeks, swiped mascara over your lashes. Even slipped on jewelry you hadn’t bothered to wear in weeks.
You told yourself it was for you. That you wanted to feel like yourself again. But deep down, you knew the truth. It wasn’t just about looking presentable—
You wanted someone to notice.
You wanted to feel seen. To look at you and see something more than just the swelling curve of your stomach peeking from beneath your shirt. To want you, even now.
Because a cruel little voice whispered that maybe that was the reason Satoru never stayed. Maybe you weren’t enough anymore, weren’t desirable. Maybe you’d already lost whatever it was that made him keep coming back.
And yet, Suguru had asked. Suguru had bothered. And if he could see you differently, if he could make you feel wanted, even for a little while, you weren’t sure you’d have the strength to turn him away.
The air felt damp the moment you stepped outside, clinging to your hair and lashes, turning the pavement slick with blurred reflections. May had always been fickle, one day warm with sun, the next washed gray with drizzle. This morning it was the latter. Surfaces glistened with last night’s rain, puddles collecting in uneven patches across the sidewalk. The breeze curled in cold, no matter how tightly you wrapped your jacket around yourself.
Suguru was already waiting by the curb, leaning against the side of his car. The drizzle had darkened the shoulders of his coat, but he didn’t seem to mind. One of his hands were tucked into his coat pocket, the other lifted a cigarette halfway to his mouth. But when his eyes caught on you, he hesitated. The lighter never clicked. Instead, he exhaled through his nose, letting the cigarette drop back into the carton with a soft tap before sliding it away.
“Morning,” he called, stepping away from the car as you descended the steps, meeting you halfway. “Thought I was gonna have to come carry you out myself.”
You huffed, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. “Sorry. I was…slow this morning. Took me a while to get going.”
“I noticed,” he teased gently. His gaze flicked over you, quickly but perceptive, as if he could see all the places your thoughts had been. But instead of pressing, he said, “I missed you. Didn’t hear from you after I dropped you off last night.”
Your body tensed, the truth hovering on your tongue.
What would you have even said?
That you hadn’t texted because Satoru had shown up not long before, filling your apartment with his voice?
That you watched him peel off his shirt and crawled into bed with him like it was the most natural thing in the world?
That you’d fallen asleep with his breath warming the back of your neck, his arm heavy around your waist until dawn?
That you’d let yourself pretend, just for a few hours, that he belonged there? That he kissed your temple and left you with words that already felt like a broken promise?
You couldn’t say all of that to Suguru. Couldn’t admit that you kept letting Satoru in, aching for him even as he kept slipping away.
So you forced the thought back, shrugging lightly and offering the simplest answer. “I crashed right away when I got upstairs. Must’ve been more tired than I thought.”
He studied you for a moment, as if he might see past your half truth. But then he nodded, humming softly like he believed you. Or maybe like he knew better and was choosing not to say it.
A sudden gust of wind whipped between the buildings, carrying the damp chill of rain with it. You shivered, tugging your jacket tighter. Suguru’s hands moved without hesitation, brushing against your sleeve as he adjusted the lapel, pulling it closer around you.
“Cold?”
“A little,” you admitted.
He sighed through his nose, shaking his head before he shrugged out of his own coat, his broad shoulders shifting as he draped it over yours. The lining carried his warmth, smelling faintly like smoke and whatever cologne he wore.
“Should’ve guessed. You never dress warm enough. You’re gonna get sick.” He fussed with the collar until it sat snug around your neck, then stepped back with a small smile, satisfied,
You blinked at him, cheeks burning, unable to tell if it was from the wind or from him. You were caught between gratitude and the unfamiliar flutter against your ribs. “You didn’t have to—”
“Yeah, I did.” His tone was simple, matter of fact. Then, he moved past you to pull the passenger door open like the gentleman he always was. “Come on. You’ll warm up faster in the car.”
You slid in, the seat creaking faintly beneath you, and Bear’s fur clung stubbornly to the hem of your sweater as you buckled in. Suguru rounded the hood to the driver’s side, shutting the door against the weather, and the engine rumbled to life with a low growl.
The drive began slowly, caught in the usual tangle of late morning traffic. Rain began beading against the windshield, each drop streaking when the wipers swept across, stoplights bleeding red and green across the wet pavement. Horns honked in the distance, tires squeaked against the asphalt, the city alive in its usual messy rhythm.
You let the silence sit, content to watch the blur of brake lights stretched out like ribbons ahead of you. Then Suguru cleared his throat. “So,” he said, steering carefully through the slick intersection, “How’s the baby? You feeling okay?”
Your hand drifted to your stomach almost instinctively, resting against the faint swell there. “It’s…different, y’know?” you said quietly. “I’m definitely starting to get bigger. But it feels a little different every day. I’m kind of tired, sometimes nauseous…but I’m okay.”
“That’s good.” He glanced over briefly. “Means things are growing the way they should.”
You smiled, reaching into your bag. One of the recent sonogram photos was folded in a pocket, the edges a bit worn from the number of times you’d pulled it out to stare at it when no one was around. You smoothed out the crease against your thigh before passing it to him. “I got a bunch of copies.”
Suguru accepted it carefully, like it were something fragile. His lips curved into a grin as he tilted it toward the light peeking through the windshield. “Wow. Look at that. You can already see the little shape there. Cute.”
A laugh slipped from under your breath. “You think everything’s cute.”
“Not everything,” he teased. “But this? Yeah. Pretty damn cute, even if I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking at.”
You pointed at the picture, “That’s the head. Right there. And the rest is…well, kind of blobs.”
He tilted it again, squinting, then nodded. “Blobs or not, still amazing. You hoping for a boy or a girl?”
You shook your head. “Doesn’t matter, honestly. As long as they’re healthy, that’s all I care about.”
He hummed. “Good answer. Mom answer.” His eyes lingered on the sonogram a moment longer before handing it back. “Satoru have any guesses?”
The mention of his name curled in your gut. You swallowed. “He thinks it’s a girl.”
Suguru snorted softly, steering one handed as he smirked. “If it’s a boy, though…poor kid’s probably gonna look exactly like him.”
The laugh that should’ve come didn’t make it past your throat. Instead, something tightened uncomfortably in your chest. White hair, blue eyes, that crooked grin…You turned your gaze back towards the window, watching the rain tap harder against the glass, the blur of cars and pedestrians passing.
Suguru must have caught on, because after the silence filled the car for too long, his voice shifted into something lighter, easing the conversation elsewhere. “Anyway, diner’s not too far. Shoko’s already there holding down a booth. Thought you might like it. It’s got these ridiculously sized pancakes and good hot chocolate.”
You nodded, grateful for the change. “Sounds nice.”
The car turned down a side street, puddles rippling with each tire that cut through them, neon signs flickering awake in the early gloom. You traced the outline of the sonogram through your bag, pressing the paper flat against your palm, and tried not to think too hard about which name on your phone you wished had shown up first.
The diner was the kind of place you could tell had been there for decades. It didn’t try too hard to feel nostalgic, with chrome fixtures and neon lights.
No, this one had actually lived its years.
When you stepped inside, the air was warm with the smell of coffee and syrup. The walls were a dull beige, faded from decades of smoke and sunlight. The linoleum floors were scuffed, napkin holders dented, wooden chairs that rocked if you leaned too far, tucked under laminate tables. The booths, cracked leather, patched and reworked in places, but still held the sagging comfort as they probably had thirty years ago.
It was dingy, maybe even a little cramped, but there was something homey about it all the same. A place that felt lived in.
And sitting right in the middle of it was Shoko, tucked into a corner booth, legs stretched across the seat like she owned the place. A chipped mug of black coffee steamed in front of her, and she scrolled lazily through her phone until she finally noticed the two of you.
You didn’t remember much of how the greetings went, how she quirked a brow at Suguru’s coat draped over your shoulders, or the way she nudged you aside so you could slide into the booth across from her.
What stuck was the way it felt once you all settled in. Food ordered, drinks poured. The clinking of cutlery, the low hum of conversation from other tables, the scratch of a pencil against the server’s pad, the hiss of the griddle from the kitchen. The next hour blurred in warmth, and for the first time in weeks, you weren’t just sitting in your own head.
You were laughing more than you’d expected to. Talking. Letting yourself feel normal for a change.
Shoko would tease Suguru about ordering black coffee just to dilute it with sugar packets. Suguru teased her right back for finishing half the plate of his fries she swore she didn’t want. You grinned into your hot chocolate, the whipped cream melting in thick swirls across the surface. It was almost too sweet, but you enjoyed how the warmth seeped into your bones, loosening something that had been knotted.
It felt good, sitting here with them. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed it. The ease of it all, the way conversation darted between complaints about work, stories from college, and Shoko’s dry commentary that made you snort into your mug. It was like slipping back into a version of yourself you’d been too afraid to show lately.
Not just the girl tangled up in Satoru’s shadow.
Just…you.
Suguru leaned his cheek against his palm, elbow propped against the table as he listened to you rant about the new girl at work who couldn’t figure out how to work the espresso machine. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t drift. And his gaze held steady, even when yours darted nervously towards Shoko or the surface of the table. More than once, you noticed how his eyes would flick down, to the way you laughed, to the way your lips curved around the rim of your mug. Quick as a blink, before he was looking back up again like nothing happened.
The whipped cream from your hot chocolate clung stubbornly to your lip, but before you could reach for a napkin, Suguru chuckled under his breath and reached across the table with a thumb to swipe it away. The touch was brief and delicate, but it left a spark in its wake, your pulse stuttering as he drew back with a soft smile. “Whipped cream,” he murmured.
Heat climbed the back of your neck until your face felt hotter than the drink. You muttered a quick thanks, your heart unwilling to settle.
Shoko’s gaze lingered over the rim of her mug, her brow faintly raised. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Her eyes cut briefly toward Suguru, then back to you, a sharp question you didn’t want to answer written all over her face.
You weren’t sure what unnerved you more—that Suguru noticed, or that Shoko noticed him noticing.
Suguru tipped his mug back, swirling the last dregs of coffee before setting it down with a soft clink. “I think you’re working too much,” he said eventually. “What, are you trying to run yourself into the ground before your due date?”
You rolled your eyes, drawing your mug closer. What was left of the hot chocolate had gone lukewarm, the cream thinning around the edges. “I’m fine,” you insisted, trying to make your voice sound light. “It’s just a couple of longer shifts lately. And I could always use the money.”
“Mm.” He arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. The lamplight above caught the curve of his cheekbones as he leaned back. “Seriously, that place is going to bleed you dry if you keep letting them.”
You scoffed, meeting his gaze. “I can’t not have a job. Again, I need the money.”
“You always say that.” His arm stretched across the top of the booth, his voice carrying a lazy confidence. “Honestly, you should just quit and let me pay for everything.”
Your head snapped up. “What?”
Across from you, Shoko snorted into her coffee.
Suguru’s smirk only widened, shoulders lifting into a shrug as if it were obvious. “What? I’m serious. Wouldn’t be the worst deal in the world, right?” His tone was playful, but a little too steady in a way that made you wonder if he meant more of it than he let on. “I’ll be your sugar daddy. You can sleep in, read trashy novels, boss me around whenever. Sounds like a dream to me.”
Heat rushed up your neck until your ears burned. “Shut up,” you said quickly, laughing but flustered all the same. “You’re so stupid.”
“Why not?” he pressed, chin propped in his palm, dark eyes gleaming like he enjoyed watching you squirm in your seat. “Bold of you to assume I’d mind. I’m already used to taking care of kids. My girls would love having you and a baby around—you’re good with them. And I think you’d like it, too.”
Something fluttered traitorously beneath your ribs. You let yourself picture it—Nanako and Mimiko trailing after you in the park, their small hands tugging at your own, braiding your hair with clumsy fingers. Suguru beside you, a tiny baby carefully cradled in his arms. Warmth instead of chaos.
You hated how badly you wanted to cling to that fleeting image.
You shook your head quickly. “Because I’m not gonna sit around while other people bankroll me. I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.”
Suguru chuckled low, tilting his head. “Spoken like someone who’s stubborn to a fault.”
“Honestly, I’d take the deal,” Shoko chimed in, reaching for another fry off his plate without looking up.
“Thank you,” Suguru said, gesturing at her like she’d just proven his point.
You huffed, exasperated, the table sticky with syrup under your palm as you leaned back. “Yeah, no way. Satoru’s already tried convincing me to do that like a dozen times.”
His name slipped out before you could stop it. The moment it hung in the air, you wished you could claw it back.
Shoko smirked, eyes glinting in amusement. “Oh? He’s offered to play sugar daddy, too, huh?”
“Not like that,” you muttered defensively. You picked at the edge of your napkin, trying not to look at either of them. “He just…wants to take care of the baby stuff.”
“He probably meant it exactly like that,” she deadpanned.
Suguru chuckled, though there wasn’t much humor in it. His jaw worked as he reached for a fry, chewing slowly.
The silence felt like it stretched on forever. You scrambled for something else, desperate to steer away from the trap his name. “Have I shown you the new sonogram scan yet? I got more copies the other day.”
Apparently, that did it. Shoko leaned closer as you fished it out of your bag, smoothing it flat and sliding it across the table. “Look,” you murmured, tracing the outline against the glossy paper. “That’s the head right there…You can kinda see the arms, too.”
Shoko squinted, holding the picture beneath the light. “That smudge? That’s an arm?”
“Shut up,” you said, grinning despite yourself. “It’s clearer when you see it in person.”
“Pretty amazing…” Her voice dipped. “You getting excited?”
You nodded. “Yeah, I am. I know I haven’t been pregnant that long, but…it’s starting to feel real. And I can’t wait to meet them.”
For a moment, it was just this. A few blissful seconds, the three of you bent over the photo, plates pushed to the side, the hum of the diner carrying around you. You let yourself revel in it, in the illusion that you weren’t really alone. That someone was just as excited as you were.
Until Shoko leaned back, her tone deceptively casual. “So…how’s Satoru handling all of this, anyway? Still being an idiot? Or is he actually looking forward to being a dad?”
The warmth you’d been carrying all morning drained in an instant. Your fork scraped against your plate as you dragged it through the crumbs, staring at nothing. “I don’t know,” you admitted softly. Honestly, I can never tell what’s going through his head.”
“That bad, huh?”
You let out a brittle laugh. “It’s Satoru. What do you expect?”
“Yeah, that tracks.” Shoko sighed, like she couldn’t decide if she was amused or just as disappointed as you were. “You two should just finally get together. It would make this whole thing easier. One roof, one baby, significantly less chaos.”
Your heart clenched so hard that it throbbed, the words hitting like a bruise you hadn’t braced for. You wanted to laugh it off, but the sound caught in your throat. “Right. Because Satoru and I have always been so good at doing things the easy way…”
The silence that followed pressed in, the cozy warmth from the diner before suddenly thick and stifling. The smell of syrup turned sickly, the chatter around you a dull racket. Your fork stilled halfway across the plate. And now, all you could think about was him. How he hadn’t checked in, hadn’t given you anything after leaving you so abruptly that morning.
He could’ve been at work.
With Hana.
With his parents.
But you didn’t know.
You never knew anymore.
And the not knowing gnawed at you more than the silence itself.
You wished he’d just show up. That he’d fight.
That he’d finally choose you and mean it.
But your phone sat heavy in your bag, untouched. You didn’t need to look to know his name wouldn’t be there.
Across from you, Suguru’s gaze flickered to Shoko, sharp enough to warn her off, before he looked back down at his plate. His fingers tapped restlessly against the edge of the table, a rhythm that betrayed the calm in his expression.
You pushed your plate away, swallowing against the tightness starting to build in your throat. “I, um…” You forced your voice to steady, sliding out from the booth. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom. I’ll be right back…”
The cracked leather seat creaked as you stood, and you felt both their gazes on your back as you made for the hallway.
Suguru’s eyes followed you as you walked away. He thought that you might glance back, just once, but you didn’t. You moved quickly down the narrow hallway toward the bathrooms, shoulders drawn tight, hair catching the low light as you vanished around the corner.
Every instinct told him to follow. To get up, close the distance, maybe fold you into his arms until the storm quieted behind your eyes. To tell you what he should’ve said years ago.
But the moment passed.
He let it.
He sank back against the booth instead, dragging a hand down his face, exhaling through his teeth.
When he looked up again, Shoko was watching him. Elbows propped on the table, chin tipped into her palm, gaze sharp as the waitress refilled their mugs with bitter coffee.
“You gonna sit there brooding,” she asked dryly, “or actually say what’s on your mind?”
He tried to smirk. “Since when do you care what’s on my mind?”
“Since you’ve been staring at her like that all morning.” She didn’t blink, didn’t soften, only sipped her coffee like she had all the time in the world. “What are you doing, Suguru?”
He blinked at her. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” Her sigh curled around the steam from her mug. “What are you trying to accomplish here?”
He let out a short breath, leaning back, eyes on the ceiling. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” She set her mug against the table with a loud clink. “Don’t play stupid with me. You think I can’t see it from here? You’re looking at her and waiting for her to look back.”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, biting back a laugh. “You make it sound like I’m plotting something.”
“Aren’t you?”
Her calm tone pressed harder than anger ever could, the weight of his like a thumb to a bruise. Shoko never had much patience for bullshit. And his silence, his inability to deny it outright, was its own answer.
Finally, he muttered, “I love, Satoru. You know that. He’s—he’s family. He’s like my brother. But watching him fumble this? Watching him leave her twisting in the wind while she carries his kid? It pisses me off, Shoko.”
She only arched a brow, waiting for more.
“She deserves better,” Suguru pressed. His hand drummed against the table, restless. “She needs someone who actually bothers to show up. Someone steady. Someone who won’t disappear the second it gets hard.”
“And you think you’re the one who can give her that?”
“Maybe I am.” His jaw flexed, the words rougher than he intended. “I’m not saying it to betray him. But I like her. I always have. Even back in college before he ever—” he cut himself off with a hard swallow. “If he was too much of a coward to make a move, that’s on him. He never tried, too afraid of ruining his own damn ego. And he left her hanging, like he always does.”
“That sounds a lot like a confession.”
He met her stare. “Call it whatever you want.”
The kitchen sizzled in the background, a waitress calling out an order, the diner’s chatter carrying on. Suguru tapped a rhythm into the table, but his gaze kept straying back to the hallway.
Shoko’s next sigh was heavier, threaded with something dangerously close to disappointment. “Look, you’re not wrong. Satoru’s an idiot. And god knows he’s handling this worse than anyone else could.” Her eyes narrowed, pinning him. “But don’t kid yourself, Suguru. This is fucking messy. If he finds out that his best friend is making eyes at the mother of his kid? He’ll lose his fucking mind, and you know it.”
“I’m not sneaking around behind his back,” Suguru shot back, heat creeping into his voice. “But I just—I can’t keep sitting here, watching him waste every chance she gives him. I could be her anchor. In ways he can’t.”
Shoko shook her head, slow and certain, dark hair brushing against her shoulders. “You’d have to be blind not to realize that he’s been in love with her. Always. Since day one. He just…he goes about it in the shittiest ways possible. And the problem isn’t whether he loves her—it’s that he doesn’t know what the hell to do with it.”
Suguru stared down at his mug. He wanted to argue. He wanted to call it a lie.
But he couldn’t.
Because he knew Shoko was right.
He’d seen it himself, a thousand times over. The way Satoru looked at you when you weren’t watching, the way his whole damn world tilted around you like a planet in orbit.
And it still hadn’t been enough. Not enough to keep him rooted. Not enough to keep him from hurting you over and over again.
That was the part that twisted the knife in Suguru’s gut—knowing that Satoru loved you, and still thinking he could do better by you.
“I’m not gonna talk you out of anything," Shoko went on. “You’ll do what you want. But if you keep inserting yourself into the middle of their disaster? Don’t expect it to end clean. Are you really okay with the idea of Satoru hating you?”
The booth suddenly felt so small, the air too thick to breathe. Suguru exhaled again, slower this time through his nose, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the hallway where you’d gone.
And for all Shoko’s warnings, the truth lodged stubbornly in his chest. Consequences or not, he wanted to be the one you turned to.
The sudden buzz of her phone cut through the quiet. Then another. And another.
Shoko groaned, fishing it out of her coat pocket. “God, what now—”
But when her screen lit up, the color drained from her face. Her brows shot up, eyes widening in a way Suguru had only seen once or twice in his life. For a second, it looked like she might actually gasp.
“What?” he asked, sitting up straighter.
Shoko didn’t answer. Not right away. She only stared at her phone like it had grown fangs and threatened to bite her. Then her mouth twisted. “Oh, fuck…”
His own phone buzzed against the table. Then again, a steady stream of vibrations rattling the cheap laminate until he finally snatched it up. Notifications stacked over one another. Missed calls, unread messages. Haibara. Utahime. Even Nanami, who never texted him this much.
“Open it,” Shoko muttered, her voice clipped. “Just—look.”
The first message he clicked was from Haibara, a link accompanied by:
please tell me this isn’t real??
Suguru’s thumb tapped the headline, and the article bloomed across his screen in stark, merciless print.
“Prominent Attorney Satoru Gojo of Gojo & Associates Announces Engagement to Heiress Hana Kobayashi.”
His pulse stumbled.
The words blurred together as he scrolled, heart hammering against his ribs.
In a move that has surprised both business and social circles, attorney Satoru Gojo, rising partner at Gojo & Associates, is officially engaged to Hana Kobayashi, heiress of the Kobayashi Conglomerate. Sources confirm that the sudden but advantageous union between the two long-standing family legacies was agreed upon earlier this morning. The announcement, released jointly by both families, was accompanied by photos of the couple alongside their parents. Insiders speculate the marriage will further solidify the Gojo family’s influence in both legal and financial spheres.
“This union represents not only a joining of two families, but a strengthening of shared values and a commitment to the future,” read the statement issued by the Gojo family. Representatives for the Kobayashi Conglomerate echoed the sentiment, describing the engagement as “a natural step forward in aligning tradition with progress.”
Satoru Gojo has quickly built a reputation as one of the most promising young attorneys in the city, while Hana Kobayashi is recognized for her work in philanthropy and her role as the face of several Kobayashi initiatives. Together, their marriage is said to symbolize “a new chapter of growth and opportunity for both families.”
Wedding plans have not yet been disclosed, but sources close to the couple suggest the ceremony will be held later this year…
The article scrolled beneath his thumb, black and white text barely registering with a few glossy photos. A handshake between the two families, Hana’s smile smug and perfect, Satoru at her side in a crisp suit. A new alliance. A promising future. A storybook match.
Suguru’s jaw clenched so hard that it hurt, his stomach churning with each word.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
Shoko’s mouth flattened, her coffee forgotten between her hands.
Suguru’s gaze snapped up, past her, past the booth, back toward the bathrooms where you’d disappeared minutes before. His chest scraped raw. He didn’t even have to imagine it. He could already see your face when you found out. The way your hope would crumple, the way you’d break.
If Satoru hadn’t already let you down a hundred times before…this would do it.
The bathroom smelled faintly like bleach and cheap, old soap, the overhead light humming low against the muffled voices beyond the door, the mirror streaked from too many hurried wipe downs. You braced one hand against the cool edge of the counter, letting it dig into your palm, the other settling instinctively across your stomach, fingers splayed over the subtle curve.
Your reflection blurred through tears that had come hot and sudden, spilling faster the more you tried to bite them back. Mascara smudged into the shadows beneath your eyes, head bowed, shoulders shaking, ashamed of how badly you still let him undo you. How easily the mention of his name could scrape you raw.
You hated it.
Crying here
Crying at all.
You hated feeling this way, how small it made you seem, that you were standing in some dingy diner bathroom, unraveling because Satoru couldn’t get his shit together for once. Couldn’t send a text. Couldn’t give you the bare minimum of certainty while you carried everything for the both of you.
You drew in a shaky breath, pressing your palm firmer against the swell beneath your sweater, as if grounding yourself in the one thing that mattered, the one thing that didn’t have to worry about falling apart. “I’m sorry…” You whispered, though you weren’t sure if it was meant for yourself or the little blend of both of you.
Was this really how it was going to be?
Hiding in bathrooms, choking on tears in silence so your baby wouldn’t have to feel them too?
Would this be what motherhood looked like, breaking down alone because there was no one left to catch you?
It took minutes before your breath finally evened out, hiccups settling into softer shudders. You tore a length of rough paper towel from the dispenser, dabbing carefully at the tracks beneath your eyes, swiping away at the mascara smears until your face almost looked passable again.
Inhale.
Exhale.
You could do this. You had to.
For the baby.
You reached for the door, shoulders lifting and falling as you steeled yourself to go back out, when the sudden buzz from your phone stopped you cold.
Once.
Twice.
Then again. And again. Until it wouldn’t stop, the cascade of vibrations rattling against the lining of your purse.
Your heart vaulted before your hand did. You pulled your phone out, screen lighting up with the name you’d been waiting for all fucking morning.
Satoru.
Relief swept through you so suddenly it nearly stole your balance. That tightness in your chest loosened. A weak, almost disbelieving laugh slipped out as you swiped the screen open.
But the messages that greeted you weren’t reassurance. They weren’t lighthearted or flirty. They read like panic, each one hammering your ribs harder and harder.
Satoru [12:23PM]:
i’m so fucking sorry i didn’t come back this morning.
Satoru [12:24PM]:
i need to talk to you about something. it's really important.
Satoru [12:25PM]:
please just hear me out. no matter what you see, please just let me explain okay?
Satoru [12:26PM]:
it’s not what it seems, i promise.
Your throat felt like it closed up, that fragile sense of consolation crumbling into panic.
No matter what you see?
Before you could type, before your fingers could find words, another vibration buzzed in. Then another.
You blinked down, expecting more from him. But it wasn’t Satoru this time.
It was Haibara.
And with it, a single link, sitting in the center of your screen.
Fourteen | Chapter Index | Sixteen
art by: @kazh5y on Instagram | divider by: @strangergraphics
I wrote an annoying couple of paragraphs in defense of my man and posted it with the last chapter. So if you’re a gojo hater, GO READ IT: here.
sleeping around with the staff at your shitty waitressing job can't go that wrong...right?
synopsis: feelings and fucking should be kept separate. especially in the work place. so how come it hurts so bad to watch the hot bartender who brought you home last weekend flirt with pretty customers? and how far will you go to get over him - or under someone else?
pairings: Gojo x Reader, Geto x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Nanami x Reader
content: mdni, TW: HARASSMENT AND MISOGYNY (NAOYA), fluff and angst, restaurant AU, waitress!reader, bartender!Geto, waiter!Gojo, chef!Sukuna, manager!Nanami, also includes food runner!Choso, reader is sleeping around, mentions of past friends-with-benefits, emotional hurt, complicated feelings, anxious/insecure reader, gruff but soft sukuna, slightly possessive nanami, naoya being the biggest asshat on the planet, attempted assault, but reader breaks his nose instead lmfao, naoya getting immediately humbled, VERY protective men coming to reader's rescue
divider by @/saradika-graphics !!
"I can’t believe you're training me.”
It only took ten minutes with Nanami's new hire to discover a new type of hatred as your trainee dragged his haughty stare down your body.
You thought the hardest part of your shift would be avoiding all the men attempting to worm their way into your panties. Not stop yourself from strangling someone who clearly had never been taught manners.
"Is there a problem with that?" You asked, tilting your head to the side as you double-checked the order you'd just written down in your server book.
"You're a girl," Nagoya grimaced, nose wrinkling with disgust as you resisted the urge to hit him.
And you’re a dick.
You didn’t actually say that though. Biting your tongue before you managed to swallow the venom in your reply, “And?”
"I was under the impression I'd be working at the bar, not following you around to serve-" Sukuna's booming voice calling out to the other cooks interrupted him before he could finish saying what would probably be just another insult or slur.
“Most of our bartenders started as servers,” you informed him, forcing yourself to keep a straight face as he openly scoffed at you.
"I doubt there's anything I could learn from you," he snickered under his breath, right as you passed the ticket back to Sukuna.
He snatched it, pausing for a second when he realized it was from you, his dark eyes squinting at you like he could sense something was wrong.
But before he could point it out, Yuki was poking her head through and calling out to you, "Hey, you just got sat again at table four."
"Thanks," you murmured, unable to hide the disdainful look you threw at Naoya as you nodded at him. "Come on."
Maybe you'd pull Nanami aside at the end of night, ask him to put Naoya with someone else tomorrow.
He'd listen, wouldn't he?
It wasn't like you were asking him to fire the asshole. Even if you wished he would.
You worked with Yorozu without any actual issues in spite of her snide remarks.
It wasn't like ignoring Naoya would be that much harder.
But once, again, you were wrong.
In a handful of hours, you had already came up with an entire catalogue of things to hate about him.
You hated his smarmy smirk and the annoying voice that came with it.
You hated the way his stare kept drifting towards your chest like he was entitled to the view.
Hated how strong his awful cologne was and how he swaggered around like he was somehow so much better than the rest of you.
He bragged to you while you made drinks about how this was really beneath him, just some PR stunt for his powerful family to make them seem more humble while his father ran for political office.
Almost acting like you should be honored to be breathing the same air as him, grateful to exist in the same space.
Was he born an absolute moron? Or was his misogynistic attitude simply a result of how he was raised? Spoiled until whatever soul he had rotted?
Suguru constantly throwing you those longing glances every time you had to go up to the bar and put in drink orders wasn't helping, especially when you had an annoying fly buzzing around you berating you for just being a woman, demanding to know why you were doing things a certain way as if he was the one that knew the best.
"Can we talk after work?" Your former lover murmured softly when you finally sent Naoya to run out some of your food while you waited on a drink.
"I'm really tired," you quietly replied, rubbing underneath your eyes as you glanced away from him at the handful of tables you had left. Satoru was checking on his own, laughing with the customers - until he somehow sensed you looking his way, his head tilting back towards you just for his smile to immediately transform into that annoyingly cute pout.
"You've been frowning almost all night," Suguru softly pointed out, concern etched into his face that made your chest constrict. You shouldn't let it get to you. Shouldn't let him get to you. Not when you both knew you were sleeping with someone else.
"Long shift," you shrugged, reorganizing your apron as you realized you were already running low on straw again with a sigh.
Suguru noticed.
He could be annoyingly observant when he wanted to be.
"I'll take your drink out for you," he said, giving you an out instead of trying to trap you in a conversation.
Should you appreciate him for being considerate? Or was it really just the bare minimum?
You couldn't tell when some small sliver of you still attached to him sorta wished he'd try harder to get you to stay.
"Thanks," you mumbled, walking away before he could say anything to make you second guess your relationship with him even more.
Besides, you could use two minutes in the storage room to take a break and breathe before you imploded on the idiot who'd been tagging along with you to all your tables.
Was Naoya your sign to quit?
To go home and immediately put in all those applications you'd been pushing off? The universe screaming at you that this wasn't where you were supposed to be?
The door to the storage room swung open right as you were about to reach for it, stepping back just in time to avoid getting hit as Choso's eyes widened, ringed with red as he abruptly coughed and cleared his throat.
"Shit, sorry," he muttered, his deep voice coming out even more gravelly than usual as he dropped something in his pocket.
"No worries," you swallowed hard as he stepped around you, squeezing your shoulder as he brushed by in some gesture of...friendliness?
You were pretty sure he wasn't even thinking about it, his attention already back on the kitchen as he started back towards it, probably hoping to return before Sukuna caught on to what he was doing.
The storage room was empty though, although the smell of his vape was still lingering in the air when you walked up to the shelves.
You reached up for extra straws, exhaling hard as you tried to recollect yourself, the same thought that you only had to make it through another hour before you could go home.
Sixty minutes to suffer through Naoya's never-ending onslaught of complaints and bitching. The irritating comments he'd mutter under his breath and that snotty scowl that was making your tables tip you less despite your best attempts to put on your prettiest smile and turn up the charm.
You had a few minutes before you'd have to go check on your tables again, so maybe you could go to Nanami and ask if he'd go ahead and send Naoya home now so you could tell him all the awful shit he'd been saying to you.
The door opened, but you didn't turn around, distracted still stuffing the straws in your apron when you felt a sudden weight behind you. Part of you almost thought it was Gojo, that this was some stupid joke or him trying to catch you alone to apologize.
But you realized the second the scent of his cologne hit you that it wasn't him.
"So, did you fuck the boss to get your job?" Naoya sneered in your ear, his hot breath making you wince just before something hard pressed into your back.
You felt fucking ill, bumps racing down your arms as you begged your body to move. Some bright red sign flashing danger in your mind while your legs refused to budge as his hand crept underneath the hem of your dress.
"Heard that other waitress yapping about what a whore you are," he snickered, grabbing your ass right as you snapped out of it, twisting hard and bringing your elbow back hard into his face out of pure instinct.
There was the sound of something snapping, but you were storming out before he could retaliate. Throat constricting tight as the edges of your vision blurred, hearing the footsteps behind you but not turning even when he called you a fucking bitch, ignoring the other voices of concerned coworkers you passed by as you hurried straight for Nanami's office.
His head snapped up when you threw the door open and walked in, neat blond brows immediately pinching together in worry at whatever expression you must have been wearing. But you couldn't catch your breath, hands shaking as you weakly gestured behind you as he got out of his chair.
"What happened-"
"He just cornered me in the storage room and grabbed my ass and I-"
You didn't even get to finish stammering out an explanation before loud footsteps made you whirl around.
"You broke my fucking nose," Naoya snapped, absolutely seething as he started back towards you. Blood was pouring down his nostrils, one hand pressed against it to slow it down, but it was still dripping all over the floor.
Before he could get to you, Nanami was moving around to put himself in between the two of you.
"Did you touch her?" His stern voice dropped somehow lower, a degree of lethality in it you weren't expecting when you shrank back.
"Don't act like you didn't like it, you fucking slut," Naoya scowled at you, pointing a bloody finger at you. You were automatically shaking your head, scoffing back at him as Nanami protectively held out a hand in front of you.
"You're fired," Nanami spoke firmly, his shoulders tense as stood completely still. He almost looked like a statue, frozen and frigid as he held fast in place.
"She hit me," he gawked.
"You groped her," Nanami grunted back.
"What the fuck did you do?"
You caught a glimpse of pink in the doorway before Naoya's head snapped backwards - literally.
Sukuna had grabbed his roots, dragging him by his scalp without hesitating for a second, an undignified squeal escaping your former trainee at being physically pulled out of the room.
You didn't have to take a wild guess to assume he happened to overhear.
"You, you-" Naoya stammered, unable to come up with anything remotely intelligent to say as Sukuna just laughed at him.
"What? You don't see a problem with touchin' people when they don't like it so why should I?" He sarcastically retorted, practically growling as he pulled him through to the hall.
Nanami started trailing behind them, and your feet were following before common sense could stop them, even if you knew that it probably wouldn't end well.
Everyone in the kitchen had paused cooking, something clearly burning and making your nose scrunch as all the servers and bartenders stopped what they were doing to watch the latest show.
It wasn't the first time Sukuna had, uh, escorted someone out, but it was the first time it was by the hair. Or with a broken nose.
"My father will-"
"Aw, you wanna go cry to your daddy?" Sukuna mocked him, refusing to stop until he was opening the side door and throwing him out on the concrete before stepping outside too.
"Sukuna, that's enough," Nanami scolded, intending to intervene before it could escalate, well aware of all the eyes on the four of you now as you followed both of them out the exit, but Sukuna wasn't finished.
And neither was Naoya.
"Are you sleeping with her too?" He snapped, mouth opening wide in a nasty smile like he was begging for a few teeth to be knocked out of it. Sukuna shoved him back down against the concrete when he tried to stand, but you were trying to slip past Nanami to preserve what little you had left of your pride after it had been stomped on so many times in the past two weeks.
"I would rather fuck a cheese grater than go within ten feet of your-"
Someone was picking you up before you could finish while Naoya was began sputtering a frenzied insult back.
You didn't get to see what shut him up - just hearing the heavy thud as you were carried back inside.
"Put me down," you huffed, squirming as you were placed back on the ground - while everyone who'd been staring at the door immediately went back to pretending to work.
"You're trembling," Suguru pointed out as you turned around to face him. Grinding your molars as you dug your nails into your palm to stop yourself from shaking, your sharp inhales not doing much to make you seem put-together when you shrugged.
You wanted to tell him you were okay.
But you couldn't come up with something to say that would convince him of that. Not when he knew you well enough to see it all over your expression that everything was wrong.
His hand was on your back, not too far from where Nanami's had been earlier as he rubbed soothing circles over it like he used to do once upon a time. Leaning in closer, attempting to comfort you out of what? Habit?
To try to win you over by reminding you of what things used to be like?
"He pressed his dick against my back and grabbed my ass," you muttered, swallowing the disgust that had crawled back to the surface. Desperate for a shower like you'd be able to scrub the phantom feeling he'd left off your skin. "I was just defending myself."
Sukuna had stepped back inside, Nanami right there with him as he slammed the door shut. You cringed at the sound, the lump in your throat calcifying into something too hard for you to choke down when his mouth twitched down into an even deeper scowl glancing between you and Suguru, who refused to remove his hand.
Probably trying to prove a petty point to Nanami that he wasn't just going to let him have you just like that.
Although the blond man was busy rubbing his temple, jaw clenched at the second mess you made that he'd be stuck helping clean up while Sukuna's stare settled squarely on you again.
track twenty-three: feelings between the lines | prev track< | setlist
three rockstars! one you!
synopsis: your best friend has always been an asshole - whether it's in his band or in his bed. him ditching you? nothing new. but when one bedroom door closes, another one opens
pairings: rockstar!Suguru Geto x f!Reader x childhood fwb!Sukuna (+ rockstar!gojo!!)
content: mdni, angst and fluff, rockstar au!, complicated relationships and messy emotions, the morning after, reader lowk wants all three of them, avoidant attachment, HEAVY PINING AND YEARNING, denying feelings, reader is a mess, satoru being a pitiful puppy dog, suguru misses her sm, and sukuna is desperately trying to win her back lmfao, protective men, emotional hurt/comfort
a/n: art by @winterrbluess !! div by @/tsumiinum
Someone had to be drilling an ice pick through your skull.
Waking up in a daze, still a little drunk as your brain throbbed and ached, face buried into a soft pillow.
"Morning," a low voice murmured in your ear, a heavy arm wrapped around your waist as you tried to hide from the light filtering in, groaning in response as his fingers sank into your side.
"Su-"
You stopped yourself before you had even managed to make it through a full syllable.
Whose name were you going to say?
Which one felt right on your tongue?
You rolled over, stomach flipping as you found yourself staring into sleepy blue eyes, soft white hair splayed out on the pillow next to yours as he wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth.
"You sleep okay?" Satoru asked, your heart stalling as the sudden weight of your regret settled on your shoulders.
Your mouth went dry. Cotton stuffed in your throat as your chest got all tight, nails digging into your palm as you pulled the blankets around. your bare body tighter.
Fuck.
What the hell had you done last night?
"My head hurts," you croaked, heart hammering as you watched the corner of his mouth curl up into a small smile, reaching out for your cheek before you reflexively pulled back.
He didn't frown at you.
Just gave you those pretty puppy dog eyes that made you feel even more like shit than you currently did.
Especially when there was a different face in your mind, a dark stare that pierced straight through your heart.
"I can go get some pain killers," he offered, yawning as he sat up straight, pretending like he wasn't hurt by how hard you were staring at him like a stranger. His chest on display, pale skin catching the sun as he stretched out his long arms, rolling his shoulders back as he not-subtly showed them off.
"I have some in my bag," you mumbled, pointing to the one half-open and rummaged through on the floor on the other side of the room.
Satoru stood, totally naked as he strolled over to it, bending over to dig through your clothes and tossing out a couple pairs of panties before he found the small bottle of painkillers you purchased from the resort gift shop the first night you got here.
He unscrewed the cap to take one himself before he tossed it over to you.
You didn't catch it, but it landed on your lap.
The warning label staring back at you as you wondered how many warnings you ignored before you ended up here.
Dealing with the awkward morning after with the worst person you could've possibly slept with.
Satoru casually walked over to the mini-fridge, pulling out a bottle of water to chase it down before leaning over the bed and holding it out for you to take.
Definitely what you should've been drinking last night, but no, you always learned your lesson a little too late.
The bottle was barely cold, the mini-fridge hardly keeping it below room temperature even for how expensive this place had to be.
Still, you took a long sip, the water doing nothing to soothe how dry your mouth felt when you were hyper aware of who you were drinking after.
But you had done a lot fucking more than just swapping saliva.
"Say it," Satoru spoke softly, looking at you with understanding you weren't expecting.
"What?" You blinked, almost choking on your water.
"That it was a mistake," he muttered.
It was.
But it was suddenly so much harder to actually get it out when he was looking at you like he didn't regret it at all. Like he'd known that this was how it would always end between you.
"Satoru," you apologetically began, swallowing hard, even though that lump that seemed to live in your throat lately wasn't budging. "We-"
"We were just drunk?" He offered the excuse for you when it was obvious you were struggling to finish.
"I don't want to hurt Suguru," you murmured, not that your sentiment meant much after what you'd done. "Or you."
His disappointed smile was enough for you to know you already had.
"I get it," he shrugged.
"You're great," you offered, trying to salvage some of the situation, to not push away one of the few people who tried to support you when he didn't have to. Although, now that you had sex, some tiny voice in your head couldn't help but suggest that perhaps that was all he wanted from you after all. "I'm just not-"
"You don't have to justify yourself to me," he interrupted before you could put yourself down, before you could push him away.
Was it really Suguru's feelings you were trying to save here? Sukuna's?
Or were you just trying to protect yourself again?
Common sense screamed at you that any sort of relationship that started from this wouldn't end well.
You were too sour for someone as sweet as Satoru.
All you'd do was disappoint him.
It's what you were doing right now, wasn't it?
Because no matter what you said, or swore, he could see it written all over your face that you wished last night hadn't happened when it only left you even more confused.
Wracked with guilt over what the fuck you were going to tell the men waiting for you, how you were supposed to move forward when you were caught in a messy web of feelings you were tangled and tied up by.
"I'm sorry," you half-whispered, clearly still feeling the effects of the alcohol when you realized you sorta wanted to cry about it, breath hitching uncomfortably as you averted your eyes away from his.
"You don't have to be," Satoru casually said, still playing the light-hearted guy you'd gotten to know. Too well, you guessed, since you could tell it was just a mask. That he was hiding how he felt to save you from feeling worse.
"I am, I-" You were floundering. Headache pounding behind your eyes as you bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, reaching up to rub your eyes. "You keep getting dragged into my problems and-"
"I want to be the guy that solves them," he stopped you, one knee on the bed as he got down on your level, forcing you to look him in the eyes so you could see that he was actually serious for once. "But I'm not the only one."
And while you were here, naked and hungover, Suguru and Sukuna were trying to put the rest of your life back together.
You had to choose.
Decide if you wanted one or none of them.
But how were you supposed to know who wouldn't leave you heartbroken?
Who wouldn't leave you wondering and wishing for someone else once all the dust settled?
And what if, the answers weren't the same?
What if the one would tear your heart out and take it with him when the two of you fell apart?
Your mouth opened, but the right words eluded you. All the words did.
Sitting there, surely looking stupid as you struggled to say anything to stay friends, at least.
"I'll go," Satoru quietly said, going to pick up last night's clothes before starting to get dressed. Pulling his stained shirt back over his head as you helplessly watched him.
"Last night, I-" You tried one more time, but he held up his hand. The same one that spent half the night exploring your body.
"I want you," he bluntly said. "It's fine if you don't want me back. But I'll still be there for you when you get back."
No room for misunderstandings.
Nowhere for you to hide how you felt either.
"I don't know what I want," you honestly murmured, and he gave you one more soft smiles of his, walking back over to where you were sitting in the bed. Bending over to press a small kiss to your forehead, a stifled squeak of surprise almost escaping your lips.
"I know," he mumbled back. "Call me when you get a little closer to figuring it out."
How long would that take you?
A week? A month?
More?
You wanted all of this to be over.
To be back in a bed that felt like yours, in a place that felt like home, where you could wake up and go to a job where you didn't have to think about how many of your coworkers had seen your sex tape.
Was that too much to ask?
It felt pretty fucking far-fetched as you stared at Satoru's broad frame walking away while you cut into your own palms with your nails, lungs straining to get air in-and-out as you heard the door thud shut behind him.
Left alone to stare at the wall, to count the seconds of silence as you curled back up under the covers to shut your eyes like you could shut off the rest of the world too.
Your brain was barely functioning. Your ass was sore. But really, all you could focus on was how tired you were of the hurt you'd been harboring in your heart from months.
Fuck, years.
It'd been ripped open and stitched together so many times you were sick of just slathering superglue in the cracks.
This was just the latest cut.
The freshest wound.
You'd done it to yourself this time.
And as you tried not to doze back off, slip back into nightmares you couldn't control, you wondered why.
Yeah, Satoru was attractive. Sweet. The type of attentive you had a hard time saying no too.
But you couldn't help but ask yourself if part of you hadn't wanted to hurt Suguru and Sukuna just a little bit. Make them feel abandoned too, or make yourself feel better about what they'd done to you.
The guilt that was already there just encased your lungs, all thick and slimy and heavy as you hastily crawled out of bed to pick up your phone from where you left it on the floor last night.
You didn't have it in you to shower yet.
The bathroom lights were too bright. And you didn't think you could deal with looking in the mirror right now. Instead, you picked up a robe you left draped on the furniture, hastily tying it around yourself as you sat in one of the chairs, bringing your knees up to your chest as you unlocked your phone.
You didn't really know whose contact you were looking for until you landed on it.
Suguru must have set your ringtone to something he recognized, because he answered before the second ring. Saying your name into the speaker like it was something special.
Like you were.
"Um, hi," you mumbled, wondering if he could hear your hangover when your voice was trembling already.
"Drink too much last night?" He wryly asked, and you let out a nervous exhale.
"Yeah, like, a lot," you honestly answered, tucking the phone against your head and shoulder, shutting your eyes at the sharp stab of pain behind them from the simple movement. "Before you ask, yes, I took medicine and drank water."
He chuckled a little at that.
"You know me too well. How are you doing?" He asked softly, warmth in your ear that almost made you wince. "Having fun?"
You weren't even dating him anymore, but it still felt like far more than just some minor betrayal to fuck his best friend.
"Um, I got a visitor," you answered, not totally sure how to say it without awkwardly spilling everything immediately.
"Yeah, I saw," Suguru muttered, and you could hear his disappointment. "Someone got photos of you guys on the beach."
"Oh," you swallowed, biting your already broken and bleeding lips.
Of course.
You were still being watched.
Photographed and filmed for strangers' entertainment.
"They all think that we're in some polyamorous relationship or you're dating Satoru and he's just a, you know-" Suguru didn't finish, but you figured it out for yourself.
A cuck.
God, his dad definitely wanted to kill him now if he didn't before.
"Either one is probably more normal than whatever this is," you accidentally said out loud, and he actually laughed, a short burst of it that soothed you for a second before you realized that this wouldn't last.
Suguru would find out sooner or later what you did.
There wasn't going to be an easy way to admit it. To come clean when you felt filthy for what you'd done.
You didn't want to be the reason he lost Satoru. Didn't want to become them or their band.
"Suguru," you apologetically started, shutting your eyes before you even said it. "I'm sorry, I just have to be honest with you, uh, me and Satoru sorta slept together last night."
You waited for him to tell you he hated you. That he couldn't believe it or something equally damning. Condemn you for being a bitch or a whore or a slut even when you knew he'd come up with something more clever.
Not his slow exhale.
"I figured it would happen," he admitted, but his hurt wasn't hidden. Right there in his wounded acceptance, the thick swallow audible even on the grainy line.
"You-" You stopped yourself, unsure where you were about to go with your sentence.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
"He told me he was in love with you last week," Suguru lightly scoffed, and a discomforting feeling settled in your stomach as you started nervously playing with the hem of your robe while he continued, "He swore he wasn't going to do anything, but I mean, it was just a matter of time."
He sounded resigned.
Like he'd given up.
"I don't think he was planning to," you weakly defended, even though you hadn't really begun to process the knowledge that Satoru told him that he was fucking in love with you. Wanting someone was one thing. But you didn't know what the fuck to do with Satoru's love when all you'd been preparing yourself for was lust. "I let him come in my room, and we were both really wasted. I wouldn't have-"
What?
Slept with him sober?
"You deserve someone whose going to make you happy. If it's him-"
"He already left. I told him I didn't want to hurt you," you mumbled, pulse annoyingly pounding as you paused. "I'm sorry."
You already said it.
But you wanted him to know you actually meant it. That it wasn't some rehearsed line to clear the air.
"We're not together," Suguru said, almost like he was telling you that you didn't owe him any apologies. But it stung to hear anyway.
"I know," you half-whispered. "But I shouldn't have fucked him when I still have some feelings for you."
What they were exactly, you weren't sure, but it would be a lie to say they weren't there.
Suguru was silent.
Every second he didn't speak was more painful than the last, yet, you couldn't bring yourself to take it back.
"Can't you just tell me you hate me? Please?" You asked instead, reaching up to rub your eyes as you resisted the urge to cry again. "I lied to you when we were together and I just slept with your best friend, and-"
"You wouldn't be there right now if I hadn't fucked us up," he stopped you mid-spiral, and you knew if he was here, he'd probably pull you into a hug or drag his thumb under your eyes to stop the tears from falling. "It's my fault Satoru even had the space to come between us."
"You're not going to strangle him, right?"
"You're not going to sleep with him again?" He asked, careful to toe the line between teasing and taking this seriously.
"No," you mumbled. You'd just get food service delivered to your room and hole up inside it for the next week if you had to. "I'm not getting drunk again either. Like, ever."
You still felt two seconds away from throwing up, the throbbing pain in your brain refusing to dull as Suguru chuckled through the phone.
"I'm not going to kill Satoru," he promised you, even though you could still hear how pissed he was at his friend - no matter how carefully he concealed it under his steady tone.
It just made you feel more like a screw-up for putting him in this position.
Yeah, he hurt you. Broke your heart before.
But all the lines between exes and lovers and friends had been crossed and redrawn and blurred so many times that you didn't know whether to hate him or yourself for how things were now.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," you mumbled, wondering whether or not wallowing would ever get you anywhere. How you were supposed to climb out of a hole you kept digging deeper.
"There's nothing wrong-"
"I always do this," you stopped him before he could defend you. Not sober enough to stop talking but too drunk to make much sense of what you were rambling about. "Sleep with someone I shouldn't and run away instead of actually facing anything."
You'd done it with Sukuna.
Fucked him and fled the morning after and started the whole awful act of pretending you were just friends.
You tried to do it with Suguru.
Gave the relationship thing a try only to run away at the first huge hurdle.
And here you were, hours away from both men after you sent another one away.
Holed up to hide your feelings from not just them, but yourself.
You didn’t want to keep having the same conversations. Stay stuck in this stupid cycle.
“You don’t have to have everything figured out, you know,” Suguru murmured.
Still the same man you fell for from that first meeting. The one that could disarm you so easily. Soothe you even when you wanted to be upset.
“I don’t think I have anything figured out,” you grimaced.
You wouldn’t have a job when you came home. A place to say.
Just a sex tape and your own splintered pride to show for the last six months of your life.
Meanwhile, Manami probably still hadn’t faced any real repercussions for ruining your reputation, your prospects, your world. You’d skimmed over what the lawyers had emailed you, but any court case would take years.
You needed to pull yourself together now.
“There’s nothing wrong with starting fresh,” Suguru started, but you were sighing before he had even fully finished.
“What? Like change my name? Create a fake identity?” You sarcastically teased, jaw locking when it hit you that you sounded sort of like Sukuna.
“I’m just saying we don’t have to hold onto the past,” he clarified, all mature. Reasonable.
“Oh,” you muttered. “Yeah.”
You had no idea how to do that.
Your past was Sukuna.
From scraped knees and school dances to the songs and the sex, to his smirk and his hands on your skin, it was all him. Late nights on his couch or tangled together in his sheets. He colored your memories. Colored your relationships.
Moving on was always so far out of your grasp you sort of stopped considering it a real option somewhere along the way.
It had been so much simpler to assure yourself that you were fine with it. Swear that you didn’t care what or who he did outside of you.
But then you met Suguru, and then came Satoru, and now you were beginning to consider that maybe the smartest thing you could do was buy a wig and a flight and start a new life where no one knew you.
Not that anyone new you could possibly meet would be able to compare.
“Can I take you out for dinner when you come home?" Suguru abruptly asked, and it surprised you how quickly you were about to say yes.
"Like, actually go out?" You murmured, mulling over it.
There was a whole list of reasons to say no. A city waiting to capture your private moments on camera. An ending that you'd be risking unravelling.
"Yeah, somewhere quiet. Just us," he suggested. "I know a place."
Was he asking you on a date? Or would you be going under the guise of friends?
"Why?" You asked softly, looking for any reason to say yes in spite of everything else.
"I miss hanging out with you," he admitted. "Getting lunch with you before was honestly the best time I've had since we broke up."
"Yeah," you spoke quietly, nodding to yourself even though he couldn't see it. "Dinner is, uh, good. We could do that."
There was a gap, a brief lull, like he might be surprised you said yes.
"Great," Suguru breathed. "I'll call you, okay?"
"Okay," you shrugged to yourself, already replaying his words, rewinding and working through your conversation before he'd even hung up.
You did miss Suguru. Missed how comfortable you used to feel around him before all the stuff with Manami started and everything got all fucked up.
Sukuna would be pissed off if he knew.
Might try to start round two of another one-sided boxing match.
But it was still enough to make you pause, force you to think about the fact you weren't sure which of them you missed more.
"Will you text me?" Suguru asked, and you couldn't help but remember how much had changed from those first two weeks you'd known him - how Satoru basically had to shove the two of you back together since you were both being stupid and stubborn.
Despite what Suguru had sworn, you had a hard time believing that he'd just let Satoru sleeping with you just slide.
"Yeah," you awkwardly confirmed.
And like the coward you were, you hung up the phone when you heard his slow inhale, cutting him off before he could say something else that might undo the rest of your call.
Staring at the screen blankly once it was over, ignoring the message from Sukuna that popped up.
You told Suguru. He'd taken it okay.
But he'd apparently known Satoru had some kind of feelings for you first.
Sukuna was already having a hard time. If you broke the news over the phone that you fucked someone he just started to become friends with, there was a nonzero chance he'd book the first flight out here to beat Satoru's ass.
And you were exhausted of being the one to break up his fights.
So, you did something you knew you could easily end up regretting later.
Why tell Sukuna now when he'd crash out just as hard when you got back home?
Silencing your phone before padding back over to the bed, burying your face back into the pillow that still smelled faintly of Satoru and made the most likely not mature decision to just go back to sleep.
Barely messaging any of the men you'd let bury themselves inside you over the next week and a half, only offering vague assurances you were fine outside of sunbathing and swimming and sleeping.
Drying out and refusing to touch another drink until your head started to clear. The fog fading into a faint outline of a plan for your return.
Yuki offered an extra room at her place for you to stay so you wouldn't have to worry about a hotel or leeching off a man. You'd have to find a new job first, although the dollar amounts attached to the handful of offers in your inbox about exclusive interviews or photoshoots were a tiny bit tempting after the defeat in already being exposed.
But you didn't want to sell your soul - not when you were still taping it together.
Once you had some form of steady employment, you'd get some cheap studio apartment, hopefully in a less shitty place than the one you left.
Still, even when you knew what you were going to do, there was only dread in your stomach when you got off the plane back to the place you used to call home.
Sunglasses still perched on the tip of your nose, one hand in your hoodie while you read a message from Kaori confirming that Jin would be there to drive you to Yuki's.
You glanced up from your phone, mouth pressed in a thin line as you scanned the crowd for him.
But there was a different pink-haired man waiting for you in the crowd.
One you recognized instantly, even if he was trying to blend into the background by leaning against the wall towards the bathroom. He was dressed up, wearing some button-up that didn't seem to belong on his wide shoulders, a nice jacket slung over his elbow, slacks clinging to his muscled thighs as he walked over to you.
You stood still, stunned at the sight of him looking more like a movie star than some guitarist who used to exclusively perform at one-star bars.
"Hey," Sukuna gruffly greeted you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.
It took you a second to return it, body going stiff before you wrapped your arms back around him. Closing your eyes as your cheek got squished against his chest, feeling his palm press against the small of your back as he inhaled your new shampoo.
"Got a surprise for you," he mumbled.
"Why do you look like-" You started to ask, but he was already leading you away, interlacing his fingers with yours automatically. And there you were, following him without thinking about it too.
"Just got out of this idiotic meeting with our management," he answered, pushing up his own sunglasses as he hurried towards the closest exit. "Feel like a fuckin' prick in this."
"You look good." Your mouth moved to compliment him before your brain reminded you that you were still annoyed at him.
"Thanks," he mumbled, and even under the harsh airport lighting, you could swear his cheeks looked a little pink.
You wondered if he was worried about being seen with you.
Okay, no, that wasn't quite right.
You were worried that him being seen with you would hurt him. If it would just be another drop of resentment in your relationship.
Being seen with the girl from your rival band's leaked sex tape probably wasn't a good look.
But he didn't let go of your hand, his palms getting clammy by the time he pulled you through the exit, already hurrying across the parking lot to get to his car.
"There's fur on your jacket," you commented as you walked, plucking out a gray hair from the top of it just for his shoulders to slump a little at the sight.
"My therapist recommended I get a, uh, pet," he begrudgingly admitted. "Something to take care of."
You almost laughed.
Trying to picture him at an animal shelter scowling at all the creatures in cages.
"A pet? What'd you get?" You gawked at him, a smile tugging up on your lips against your will.
"A cat," he grumbled.
"Did you name it already? What does it look like?" You pressed, the dread in your stomach fizzling out at the idea that maybe that was the surprise.
"She already had a name," he grunted. "So before you laugh-"
"Oh my god, is it embarrassing then?" You covered your mouth, concealing the giggle that nearly escaped.
"Muffin," he muttered, definitely blushing now as he hit the button on his car keys to unlock the doors right as you approached.
"You have a cat named Muffin," you repeated, suppressing every strong urge to laugh right in his face as he opened your door for you.
"So what?" He locked his jaw, cocking his head to the side as he waited for you to get in.
You were about to - but then you saw what was already in your seat.
A blindfold.
"What's that for?" You frowned, bottom lip pushed out as you looked back up at him.
"Your surprise."
You should've known better by now.
But Sukuna always knocked you off guard. Threw you back into the deep end right when you started to crawl out.
Giving you a smirk you hadn't seen in so long that somehow convinced you to let him tie it around your eyes, even when you mumbled under your breath that he was already on thin ice.
You tried to ask where you were going.
Sukuna refused to give you a real answer. Just returning each of your questions with his own about your vacation.
And the longer you sat there, the more the guilt started to resurface.
Because as good as this was, as fun as it felt to not be fighting with him for once, you knew it would fall apart once he found out what you'd done with Satoru.
But you couldn't get yourself to say it in the car, or even outside of it when he had one palm on your back and the other fingers on your wrist as he led you inside what had to be a building, or in the elevator as you heard him press a button and the soft hum of an acoustic song.
"Sukuna, seriously, where-"
"We're literally almost there," he scolded you, and you rolled your eyes behind the thick fabric obscuring your vision. Standing there awkwardly as you shuffled on the balls of your feet, yawning as you got off the elevator - and let him lead you through a door.
"You know, I was supposed to be going to Yuki's, right-" You started, just to break the thick tension crackling between the two of you before you felt his fingers brushing against your face, tenderly tugging the blindfold down.
You didn't believe it.
Blinking at your new surroundings, him standing in front of you, the center piece of a puzzle you no longer wanted to solve.
You were in someone's apartment. Someone's very, very nice apartment.
Spacious. Open. The last light of the day streaming in. A nice TV hung up on the wall and an expensive rug underneath your feet.
It was beautiful. The sort of place you dreamed about living in one day.
"Whose place is this?" You asked, your voice coming out strained as your eyes slowly dragged over the walls.
You saw it before he said it.
An old photo of the two of you, framed in gold on a side table. Back from college, his arm slung over your shoulder as you smiled at the camera.
"It's yours," he shrugged, pulling a key from his pocket and holding it out for you to take.
"I can't afford a place like this," you shook your head, voice cracking as you stared at the pretty arched windows overlooking the city below, the new furniture he must have picked out with you in mind. Replacements for all the stuff you could've salvage.
"That's why I paid for it," he said, like it should be obvious.
"I never asked you to-"
Pure panic started to overwrite your brain, aware you were blinking too fast, breathing too hard as you took in all the tiny details he'd put into this while you were gone.
"Yeah, but you let that asshole pay for your vacation, so this is the least you can let me do," he sarcastically muttered, as if this wasn't totally different.
Lips parting to protest, but you couldn't come up with a defense, a way to explain how it wasn't the same thing at all. That was just a couple weeks where you could relax.
This felt more like the rest of your life.
Some big commitment you were scared to make - that he made for you.
Part of you wanted to pick a fight instead, accuse him of just trying to one-up Satoru, but you were speechless.
Staring at him as you tried to catch your breath, overwhelmed by what he'd done for you. Without even knowing what you'd done when he wasn't there.
"The rent has to be fucking insane," you started to stammer, taking a few steps forward only for him to follow you.
"That's why I just bought it," he bluntly said, like it was that simple. You didn't know what to say. How to feel.
You knew he had money.
Enough for his car and guitars. Enough to pay for his apartment and his house.
But he still bought the same old clothes and lived off the same food, didn't splurge on designer shit or anything extravagant.
It wasn't who he was.
"It's-"
Sukuna frowned, brows scrunched together like he knew you were going to tell him it was too much.
"Live here for a month and see if you like it," he suggested. But the problem wasn't that you wouldn't like it. The problem was he knew you would love it.
And now, you'd have to wake up in a bed every day that Sukuna bought for you.
Or maybe it was just that this was another big change in your relationship, a moment showcasing his maturity when you were still struggling to pick yourself up from rock bottom.
He had a huge setback, and still here he was, pushing forward and trying to move past it while you just felt stuck.
"What if you hate me one day?"
He just looked at you like you just posed the dumbest question on the planet. How else were you supposed to tell him that you were starting to think that all you'd ever do was hurt each other?
"You're the only person I could never hate," he grunted.
But it was still tiring to be the only one he liked.
"What if-"
"I don't give a shit what happens," he cut you off before you could ask him another hypothetical, before you could overanalyze his answers and his attitude and try to figure out if you fit in his life or if you were both just forcing it. "I bought this because I want you to have everything you want."
You thought back to what you said to Satoru.
And maybe, deep inside your chest, you were starting to have the faintest inkling of what that was.
"Stop staring at me like there's a catch. It's just yours," Sukuna repeated, as if you'd suddenly accept it when he said it a second time. Stepping closer to put the key directly in your palm, closing your fingers around it. "No strings attached."
"No strings attached?" You echoed him, thinking back to the last time the two of you thought that was a good idea.
"You can stop talking to me forever after I walk out that door if you want," he shrugged, even though he was looking back at you like it would kill him if you actually did. "If you're sick of me."
"You still really shouldn't have-" You began scolding him, softer this time as he shook his head.
"I should've done it years ago," he insisted, regret glinting in his eyes. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."
It shouldn't get to you.
But you felt yourself wavering, heart thumping too fast as you felt the ridges of the key dig into your palm.
"I guess you can give me a tour of the place," you reluctantly muttered.
He did.
Echoing statements you guessed he probably heard from a real estate agent as he pointed out square footage and open spaces, grunting where he got some of your new stuff while you recognized what few items you'd boxed up to be put in storage, mentioning that he already moved your car to the parking lot and left your keys back in the kitchen.
It was exceeded you first impression.
Set up just the way Sukuna knew you would like it - and you were reminded of just how well he really did know you.
Once your mini-tour was over, he ran back down to grab your stuff from the backseat of his car, bringing it back up and dropping it by your door as he awkwardly stood next to them.
"I'm gonna head out," he spoke slowly, all gravelly and rough. "Gotta feed Muffin."
"Pet her for me," you muttered, leaning against the wall as you stifled your surprise that he wasn't staying. Not trying to sleepover or even spend the night on the couch.
He stepped over your bags, pausing in front of you to look down at your face, studying your features with a softness you still couldn't get used to.
"Can you come with me to my therapy session tomorrow?" he murmured, reaching out to graze his fingers against your cheek. His jaw locked like he'd like to do a lot more, but holding himself back.
Refusing to rush into it the way you both always did.
Trying to stay at the same speed for once instead of too fast or too slow.
"Send me the address," you nodded. You already agreed to it before, hadn't you?
Besides, you could use a therapist.
A third party to break down what you felt and what the hell you were supposed to do with it when you were sure your heart had been split in different halves.
Maybe you could break it to him that you fucked Satoru there while you were at it.
reblogs n comments are super appreciated <3 love hearing your thoughts as always ! i was actually going to have the therapy appointment in this one but it was already getting pretty long so i decided to split it and put it in the next one!
☕︎ Pairings: Baby Daddy!Gojo x f!Reader
☕︎ Content warnings + tags: 18+ MDNI, modern AU, friends to lovers, complicated relationships, angst with a happy ending, unplanned pregnancy, eventual smut, drinking, pining, emotional turmoil, gojo has a girlfriend at first, mutual but poorly communicated feelings, bad decisions at 2am, reader has a cat, lots of feelings, shoko being the only one with a brain
After weeks of silence, emotions simmer to the surface as unexpected news forces old wounds open. With tension hanging heavy and words left unsaid, a quiet phone call sets something in motion that neither of you is ready for—but can't avoid any longer.
How to Ruin a Friendship in One Easy Step!
You sat on the edge of the closed toilet seat, spine curled forward, elbows resting on your knees. The bathroom was too bright, the overhead bulb casting a sterile glow across the pale tile and white walls that made your skin look sickly in the mirror. The air felt heavy, the silence too loud. Every little sound—the buzz of the light, the drip of the faucet, the occasional rustle of your hoodie sleeve—was deafening in the quiet.
Your bare foot tapped an anxious rhythm against the cool tile, the chill creeping up your leg. In your hands, you held the slim plastic stick, the test. Your fingers trembled faintly as you stared at the screen, still blank. Mocking you.
You chewed at the edge of your thumbnail, picking at the cracked polish. You’d meant to repaint them last week. Another thing you hadn’t gotten around to.
The seconds dragged. Time felt warped, stretchy and cruel. You could’ve sworn you’d been sitting here for twenty minutes, but when you glanced at your phone, it had only been three.
Three minutes that felt like a lifetime.
You glared at it like it might give in under pressure. “Just tell me,” you muttered.
It didn’t.
You wanted to scream. At yourself, mostly. Because this was your fault. Your recklessness. Your inability to say no when it counted.
That night—Suguru’s birthday—it had all spiraled so quickly. You’d been drinking. Gojo had been drinking. He’d gotten into it with his girlfriend, stormed off, jaw clenched and eyes dark in a way you weren’t used to seeing. You found him outside on the curb, alone. And somehow, one thing led to another. A shared cab. A quiet apartment. His hand cradling your cheek like it meant something.
You remembered the sharp taste of tequila still on your tongue when he kissed you. The way his body felt too familiar, like something your hands already knew. The weight of him, the heat, the way he said your name like a prayer. A mistake.
And maybe the worst part wasn’t that it happened.
It was the thought that to him, it hadn’t meant anything at all, knowing you’d finally gotten something you wanted for years.
Since then, everything between you had shifted—fragile. Tense. Like neither of you knew what to say, so you just didn’t. The silences between texts. The awkward eye contact at group dinners. The way he still called you sweetheart, but didn’t mean it anymore.
Then the nausea started. The missed period. Then the mornings—like clockwork—where you found yourself crawling to the bathroom at seven a.m. and dry-heaving over the toilet bowl.
At first, you’d brushed it off—just stress, maybe. A bug. But then came the Googling, the symptom lists, the spiral. And now…the test.
Two, just to be sure. One was already in your hand.
You dropped your head into your hands with a quiet groan.
The screen on the test blinked. A little hourglass icon disappeared. Your heart stuttered.
“Oh shit…”
You swore under your breath, and without thinking, you flipped the stick facedown onto your thigh like it was radioactive. Your palms were clammy. Your stomach flipped.
Nope. Nope. You couldn’t look. Coward.
You stood up so fast the toilet seat clattered. In a mild panic, you turned off the bathroom light and shut the door like you were locking in a demon. You leaned against the wall, face in your hands, breathing like you’d just sprinted up ten flights of stairs.
The test could wait.
It sat in there, unread, for an hour.
You spent most of that time curled up on the floor of your apartment, Bear—your cat—watching you with judgmental green eyes from the top of the fridge. You stared at the ceiling, hands laced over your stomach, wondering if moving to Iceland was a reasonable solution.
Finally, you sat up, dragged yourself across the room, and unlocked your phone. Your thumb hovered over the contact list until you found the name you were looking for.
Shoko.
Your beautiful, brilliant, snarky doctor friend.
She answered on the second ring. You didn’t even get the words out before she said, “Be there in fifteen.”
And she was.
There was a knock on your door, and you exhaled shakily, padding across the creaky wooden floor to open it.
Shoko stood in the hallway in a massive hoodie, leggings, and a pair of slippers shaped like frogs. Her hair was tied back lazily, and she looked like she’d just woken up or hadn’t slept at all—maybe both. The faint smell of smoke clung to her clothes.
“Jesus,” she said, tilting her head, “You look like you got hit by a truck.”
You sighed shakily, grabbing her sleeve and tugging her inside. “Thanks. I feel like I got hit by two. Come in, please. I’m having a crisis.”
She let you drag her to the kitchen table—small, chipped Ikea, one leg slightly uneven. The overhead light buzzed here, too.
“You’re acting like you murdered someone,” she said as she sat down, crossing one leg over the other. “Should I check the bathtub?”
“Not murder,” you groaned, pacing in front of her. “Opposite of murder, actually. Potentially.”
Shoko raised a brow, arms crossed. “What the hell does that even mean?”
You stopped pacing just long enough to gesture wildly. “Okay—just—no judgment, alright? I need you to promise. I’m about to say something really fucking stupid, and I need you to not do your whole judgy-doctor stare thing.”
“I do not have a judgy-doctor stare.”
“You literally do. It’s like your eyes say ‘You dumb bitch.’”
She cracked the faintest smirk. “I mean, fair. But go on.”
You took a breath. “Do you remember a month ago? Suguru’s birthday party. That bar downtown?”
“The one where we did karaoke and you tried to fight the bouncer?”
You winced. “Yes. That one.”
She blinked. “What about it?”
“Well...when I said I was taking a cab home, I didn’t exactly go home…”
Her brows knit together. “So where’d you go?”
You swallowed. “I went to...Satoru’s place.”
Her face shifted—eyebrows shooting up, mouth parting slightly. “Gojo? Like, Gojo Gojo? Our Gojo?”
“Do we know another one?”
Her brows shot up. “Okay, hold on. You went to Gojo’s place. At 2 a.m… Drunk. And you stayed over. Did anything, you know…happen?”
You nodded stiffly. “Yes. Something. Everything.”
“Oh my god.” She leaned forward. “Wait—are you saying you and Gojo—”
“We fucked, Shoko!”
The words tumbled out before you could stop them. You flung your arms up in defeat, then buried your face in your hands again.
Shoko was quiet for a beat. Then she sat back, dragging her fingers down her face.
She blinked. Then, surprisingly, she didn’t burst out laughing or gasp in scandal. She just sat back, slowly crossing her arms. “You are so fucking dramatic,” she muttered. “But also... holy shit. Alright. Keep going.”
You stared at her, bewildered. “That’s it. We slept together. And now…I think I might be pregnant.”
That sobered her up immediately.
“Wait. Wait. Are you serious?”
There was an uncomfortable beat of silence.
Then she stood and walked past you toward the bathroom. “Where’s the test?”
“Wait—you’re just gonna go in there?!”
She opened the door, the hinges creaking loudly like the front door had. “Yeah. One of us has to be a grown-up.”
You covered your face, feeling that familiar wave of nausea starting to make an appearance. “I can’t watch. I think I’m going to hurl.”
“Too late for that,” she muttered. A few seconds passed, but then her voice came, low and flat:
“…Shit.”
Your heart dropped to your stomach, pushing yourself up from the cheap dining chair. “What? What does that mean?!”
The bathroom door clicked shut behind Shoko as she reemerged, test in hand.
She held it between two fingers like it was a live wire, the small screen glowing faintly under the kitchen light. Her face was unreadable—stoic, but not cold.
You didn’t want to look. But your eyes were already trained on it, like your body didn’t get the memo that your brain wanted to shut down.
“It’s positive.”
Two words.
Just two, and your whole world spun out from beneath you.
You sat back down, frozen in your chair, knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped tight around them like they could somehow hold you together. The faint tick of the kitchen clock echoed through the apartment like a bomb waiting to go off. Somewhere in the distance, a siren howled and faded. Bear leapt down from the counter and padded silently across the floor, curling up beside your foot like even he knew something had changed.
Shoko didn’t say anything else at first. She just watched you quietly, her usual sarcasm shelved for the moment. Her fingers tapped once against the edge of the table, a nervous tell she probably didn’t realize she had.
Your voice cracked the silence—barely a whisper.
“Are you sure?”
She raised the stick, turned it toward you.
The faint but unmistakable positive glared back at you from the screen.
You let out a shaky breath, your chest tightening like something was winding around your lungs. Your mind started spiraling again, faster this time, wild and feral. You could already hear the echo of Gojo’s voice in your head—not real, just imagined.
"That was a mistake, right?"
"Let’s not make it a thing."
"It didn’t mean anything."
Your stomach twisted violently.
“I—I can’t tell him,” you blurted out, pushing your face into your hands. “No way. Absolutely fucking not.”
Shoko blinked at you. “You’re serious?”
“I’m dead serious. I can’t, Shoko.” Your voice came out louder than intended, high-pitched and brittle. “We haven’t even talked since that night. Not really. It’s been nothing but this weird tension and awkward glances and pretending we don’t remember what happened.”
You leaned back in your chair, letting your head thump against the cheap wood. The light fixture above you swung faintly, casting flickering shadows across the scuffed floorboards and the cluttered shelves by the kitchen.
“I can’t just…show up and say ‘Hey, I know you’re still with your girlfriend and we haven’t had a real conversation in a month, but surprise! I’m pregnant with your baby!’” You laughed—short, sharp, hollow. Bitter. “That’s insane.”
Shoko didn’t flinch. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave you a long look.
“You’re right,” she said flatly. “It is insane. But what’s more insane is not telling him.”
You scoffed. “I’m not ready for that conversation. I don’t even know how I feel about it yet.”
“Well, you better figure it out fast.” She walked over and sank into the seat across from you, her eyes trained on your face. “Look, I know this is overwhelming. I get it. But this is happening. And he deserves to know.”
You stared at the floor, jaw tight. “What if he gets mad?”
Shoko raised a brow. “He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know him. And I know you.” She sighed, softer now. “You’re not just some girl he slept with. You’re you. And this is Satoru we’re talking about.”
You swallowed hard, throat thick.
“But what if he hates me for it?” The words came out small. Barely audible. “What if he regrets it even more?”
Shoko leaned forward, resting her arms on the table between you. Her voice dropped, low and steady.
“He might be surprised. He might even freak out. But he won’t hate you. And you don’t get to make this decision for him.” She nodded toward the bathroom. “That test? That’s half his, too.”
You winced. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, she had a point.
“I’m scared, Shoko…”
“I know,” she said. “But you don’t get to run from this. Hiding it won’t make it go away. It’ll only make it worse later.”
The silence stretched again, heavy and loaded. You could feel the weight of your own fear pressing into your chest, curling into your ribs like ivy. Your eyes drifted to the little ceramic mug on the counter—one he had gifted you years ago. Bright blue, with a stupid picture of just his head. You hadn’t used it in weeks.
You chewed on your bottom lip, hands clammy.
“Even if I tell him…what if he wants nothing to do with it?”
Shoko tilted her head, expression gentle for once. “Then you deal with it. But at least you’ll know. And at least you’ll have been honest.”
You didn’t respond. Just stared down at your lap like maybe the answer was written in the folds of your sweats.
“Hey,” she added softly, nudging your foot with hers. “You’re not alone, okay? No matter what happens. I’m here.”
That did it.
Your throat closed up as tears finally welled behind your eyes, hot and stinging. You turned your head away, blinking rapidly, but Shoko stood and came around the table, kneeling beside you again like before.
You let yourself lean into her. Just for a moment.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do…” you whispered.
“You’re gonna take a breath,” she murmured, rubbing your back gently. “You’re gonna survive this. And then, when you’re ready…you’re gonna call him.”
You sat there in the silence, arms wrapped around yourself, heart beating like a war drum. The city buzzed faintly outside your window, cars humming past, life moving on.
And somewhere across town, completely unaware, Satoru Gojo was living his day like nothing had changed.
But for you, everything had.
The office was quiet, but not peaceful. The kind of quiet that buzzed. That hummed low and angry in the walls like static, wrapping itself around your head and squeezing just tight enough to remind you it was there.
The overhead lights were too bright, making everything feel sterile and inhuman, like you were under constant interrogation. The windows stretched floor to ceiling, offering a pristine view of the city skyline, but Satoru barely noticed it—he hadn’t looked up from his laptop in the last three hours.
A neat stack of case files lay open on his desk, legal jargon bleeding together in lines of endless black text. He hadn’t really been reading them. Hadn’t been able to focus all morning. His tie was still loose around his neck, his collar unbuttoned, hair a little messier than usual. There was a tension in his jaw that he couldn’t quite unclench.
He leaned back in the leather chair, running his thumb over the smooth glass of the scotch tumbler on his desk—it was empty, of course. Midday drinking didn’t go over well here. Not when your name was stamped in gold on half the building and your father had already called twice today asking for updates.
He scrolled through the contract draft for the third time. It was riddled with red comments from his father—sharp, curt corrections that read more like reprimands than feedback.
| Lazy phrasing. Think harder.
| Redundant. Rewrite.
| Is this even legal, or are you just guessing?
He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair and leaned back in the chair, letting his head fall against the leather headrest. The office had felt too quiet in that moment—only the low hum of the AC and the soft clatter of keyboards from the outer hall made it clear other people existed.
His phone buzzed against the desk, lighting up with a text from his girlfriend. He cracked one eye open and glanced at it.
Hana: Dinner tonight? 7?
He just stared at it for a moment, thumb hovering.
She didn’t know.
She still didn’t know.
Satoru hadn’t told her about what happened after Suguru’s birthday party. About the momentary lapse in judgment that had left his brain scrambled and his conscience chewing holes in his gut. About the kiss that had felt too much like truth. About the night you’d spent together, tangled in his bedsheets. The way you’d looked at him—like you’d already made peace with the regret that would follow.
He typed back a one-word reply—Sure—and tossed his phone down harder than he meant to.
He knew how he looked from the outside: polished, pristine. He was the golden boy, the heir to the law firm dynasty, a rising star with a perfect smile and a girlfriend who photographed well.
But everything underneath the surface had started to feel like it was cracking.
Especially since that night.
He hadn’t stopped thinking about it. About you.
About the way your lips tasted like tequila and something fragile. About the way your fingers had trembled, and the way his name had broken on your tongue like it hurt to say. About the way you’d looked up at him like he was the only person in the universe. About how, for a brief, terrifying second, it felt like he’d belonged there—in his bed, in your arms, in your life— in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.
And then it ended. Morning came. They didn’t talk. Not really. Not in any meaningful way. A few passing glances. A half-wave. Awkward tension. Then nothing. Just the silence that stretched longer every day since, gnawing at the edge of his conscience.
There was a knock at the door, sharp and polite. Too polite.
He blinked, dragging himself out of the spiral and sat up straighter, smoothing a hand down the front of his wrinkled shirt as the door creaked open.
Yuna stepped in, composed as ever—young, efficient, an iPad tucked under one arm and a manila folder in hand. Her tone was crisp, a practiced smile on her lips. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Gojo.”
He raised a brow. “Did my father send another passive-aggressive memo?”
She smirked faintly. “Not this time. Someone left you a message.”
He nodded without looking, eyes flicking back to the laptop in front of him. “Leave it on the desk.”
She didn’t move.
That pause—that very deliberate stillness—made him look up.
Yuna stepped closer, placing the message slip gently onto the desk like it might bite. Her tone softened. “She didn’t say much. Just asked if I could tell you she called. It was Y/N.”
Silence blanketed the room.
The fluorescent hum seemed to vanish. For a moment, all he could hear was the dull, panicked thrum of his heartbeat in his ears.
“…Y/N?” he repeated, his voice low and hoarse.
Yuna nodded. “Should I write down a callback time if she phones again?”
“No. Uh—no. It’s fine.”
But it wasn’t fine. Nothing about it felt fine.
Yuna hesitated for a moment, eyeing him curiously, but she knew better than to pry. “You have a deposition meeting in twenty minutes,” she reminded him.
He gave a nod that felt mechanical. “Right. Thanks.”
Once the door shut behind her, the office felt even quieter than before.
He dragged both hands over his face this time, palms resting against his temples like he could hold the pressure in.
Fuck.
Y/N.
The name hit him in the chest like a punch. It had been weeks, and yet somehow the sound of your name still had the power to knock the air out of his lungs.
You never reached out first. Not lately, anyway. Not unless something was wrong. And the last time he’d seen you—your hair was still messy from his hands, your skin warm from sleep, and your voice barely above a whisper when you told him not to call.
He should have anyway. He should’ve checked in. Should’ve apologized. Should’ve said something.
But instead, he’d done what he always did when it came to you: nothing.
Avoidance. Silence. Cowardice.
He looked across his desk at the note. Then at the skyline. Then back.
His palms found his face again, pressing hard against his eyes.
He hadn’t stopped you when you kissed him. Hadn’t stopped himself when he kissed you back.
He didn’t regret it—not exactly. It had felt too real to regret. Too right in a way that terrified him.
But he did regret what came after.
He regretted the nothing between you two.
The guilt had been eating him alive ever since. kept pretending it hadn’t meant anything, even though it had meant something to him. He just didn’t know what to do with that something. Not with Hana still in the picture. Not with the expectations he was supposed to live up to. The perfect son. The brilliant lawyer. The guy who had his shit together.
And now?
Now you were reaching out.
Why now? Why would you be calling now?
He didn’t let himself hope—not really. Maybe it was closure. Maybe you just wanted to yell at him, and you deserved that. God knew he hadn’t given you much else.
Still—that sense of unease, that sharp pull in his chest—it wasn’t going away.
Not guilt. Not quite fear. But something close.
Something almost like dread.
You shouldn't have called.
You told yourself that the second your thumb left the screen, the call already gone through. A quick, shaky message to his assistant—because of course he wasn’t the one to answer. Of course he had someone else screening his calls now. Someone who sounded too polished and too pretty and said, “I’ll let him know,” like it was nothing.
Like you were nothing.
Now you were back in your apartment, sitting cross-legged on the couch with your phone face-down on the coffee table like it had personally betrayed you. Bear was curled at your feet, occasionally flicking his tail, watching you with half-lidded eyes. Even he seemed to know something was off. Or maybe he was just bored. You weren’t exactly a riveting scene lately.
The air in your apartment felt thick. Stale. Like it hadn’t moved in hours. The sun was dipping low behind the buildings, streaking orange and gold across the chipped white walls. Dust floated lazily through the slanted light, catching on the rim of your half-full glass of water and the keys you forgot to hang up again. The silence felt loud.
You hadn’t opened a window. You hadn’t eaten. You hadn’t even changed out of your work clothes—just kicked off your shoes and dropped onto the couch like your bones had liquefied. You should have though. Should’ve done anything besides sit here stewing in the static hum of what-ifs and too-lates.
You pulled the blanket over your legs tighter, fingers knotting into the woven fabric until your knuckles ached.
Your stomach had been in a knot all day. A sick, heavy thing curled low in your gut. You weren’t sure if it was fear or nausea—or if, at this point, they were the same thing.
You shouldn’t have called.
But you didn’t know what else to do.
Because it had been a month.
You’d told yourself not to think about it. Not to replay the way his breath caught when you kissed him. Not to remember the way he looked at you afterward, like he didn’t know whether to kiss you again or run. You’d told yourself it was a mistake, that it didn’t mean anything. That he clearly didn’t think it meant anything—because he hadn’t called.
Not once.
You tried to tell yourself it was for the best. Clean break. No strings. Just one night of blurred lines and old feelings and too much tequila. But now?
The test on your bathroom counter still said positive.
You hadn’t even thrown it away. It just sat there, tucked behind your makeup bag like a secret you didn’t know how to bury. You’d stared at it for fifteen minutes straight this morning. Then cried. Then dry-heaved over the toilet with your heart hammering like a war drum in your chest.
You told yourself you were overreacting. That you’d wait a few days. Then you took a second test.
Then a third.
All positive.
You hadn’t told anyone. Not at first. Just Shoko. You kept going to work like your body wasn’t screaming something’s wrong, something’s different, like your brain wasn’t on a loop of what if, what now, what the fuck.
And now?
Now Satoru knew you called.
He just didn’t know why.
He didn’t know that your whole body was tight with panic, that you could barely breathe around the lump in your throat. That the very idea of hearing his voice again made your skin prickle and your pulse stutter—and not for any of the old reasons.
He didn’t know that you were carrying a secret the size of a lentil, tucked away in your body like a ticking time bomb.
And you didn’t know how to tell him.
How do you start that conversation? How do you open your mouth and say Hey, remember that night? The one we don’t talk about? Turns out it didn’t end where we thought it did! You didn’t even know if he wanted to hear it. Didn’t know if he’d even call back. And if he didn’t?
You weren’t sure what you’d do.
The thought hit like a punch to the chest. Your breath caught. Eyes burned.
You scrubbed your hands over your face, tried to inhale deeply, but it caught halfway down your throat and turned into a soft, broken sound. Bear stretched and bumped his head against your shin. You didn’t move.
You were scared.
Terrified.
Not just of the future, or the test, or the endless unknowns—but of him.
Of what he’d say. Of what he wouldn’t say. Of how he’d look at you—if he looked at you at all. Of what it would mean if he walked away. Again.
The phone rang.
Sharp and sudden in the stillness. You jolted upright like the sound had physically struck you, your breath catching hard in your chest.
It buzzed across the coffee table once, twice—then stilled, lighting up.
Satoru Gojo.
You stared at the name like it might vanish.
Your pulse was a deafening drumbeat in your ears. You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stared as the phone kept ringing, like the universe was standing there, tapping its foot, waiting for you to answer.
Answer it.
You couldn’t.
Answer it.
What if he was angry? What if he didn’t want to hear it? What if he told you this wasn’t his problem? Every instinct screamed to let it ring. To let it go to voicemail, pretend you’d missed it, buy yourself just a little more time.
Your hand moved before your brain did. Shaking fingers closed around the phone, thumb hovered—then tapped.
The line clicked.
“Hello?”
There was a pause. And then, his voice—quiet, low, almost cautious. “…Hey.”
God. Even just hearing his voice again made your throat close up. It had only been a few weeks, but it felt like a lifetime.
You swallowed hard. “Hi.”
Another beat. The silence between you filled with all the things neither of you had said since that night.
“I got your message,” he said eventually, voice low, careful. “Wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
You almost laughed. Not because it was funny—because it felt surreal. Small talk, like this was any other day. Like things hadn’t broken quietly between you the last time you saw each other.
“I know…” you said softly.
It hung there between you once more. A breath. A gap.
“Is everything okay?”
That question lodged deep. The way his voice softened. The way it actually sounded like he cared. Like you weren’t just some forgotten mistake.
You hesitated. “I… I don’t know.”
You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, the way he shifted slightly—like he could feel how close to the edge your voice was. Like he knew something was wrong, but couldn’t name it yet.
His voice was gentler now, sensing the weight behind your words. “What’s going on?”
Your hands were cold. Your throat dry. Your heart a beating painfully wild in your chest.
You couldn’t do it. Not over the phone. Not like this.
So you took a breath and lied a little.
“It’s nothing bad. I just…I need to talk to you.”
He was quiet. Listening carefully. Then, slowly: “You sure? You sound—off.”
“I just don’t want to say it over the phone,” you replied, your voice coming out more brittle than you meant it to. “Can we meet?”
There was a pause, and then, “Yeah,” he replied, and you could hear the tension hidden under his casual tone. “Yeah, of course. When?”
“Tomorrow?” you offered, fingers curling tighter into the fabric of your sleeve. “Lunch?”
“Alright.” He sounded surprised. Hopeful, maybe. Nervous. “You wanna pick the place?”
“There’s that little ramen shop near the bookstore on 9th,” you said. “You know the one.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, and the sound of it made something warm ache behind your ribs. “I remember. You used to steal the narutomaki from my bowl.”
“You always gave it to me,” you murmured, before you could stop yourself, almost falling into the groove of how things used to be between you.
There was another silence.
“…I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, breaking it. “Twelve?”
“Yeah. Twelve…”
You didn’t say goodbye. Neither did he. Just the quiet sound of the call disconnecting, and the dull, hollow buzz of your phone returning to the home screen.
You stared at it. Still holding your breath.
You didn’t feel better.
You felt like your insides had turned to water. Like your ribs weren’t holding anything in anymore. Like the ground beneath you had started to shift and you weren’t sure if it was going to be a soft landing or a freefall.
Tomorrow. You had until tomorrow.
To look him in the eye. To say the words out loud. To shatter what little was left between you.
And somehow, knowing he was still willing to meet you—still answering your calls, still remembering things like narutomaki and shared bowls of ramen—made it hurt even more.
Because maybe it meant something to him.
Maybe it still did.
And maybe that would make it worse.
Chapter Index | Two
art by: @kazh5y on Instagram | divider by: @strangergraphics
I’m excited about this one y’all. As always, if you enjoyed, a repost is appreciated!
𝓣ruth or 𝓓are w ﾉ 𝓖eto 𝓢uguru + 𝓖ojo 𝓢atoru
𝒔𝒖𝒎. maybe you shouldn't have volunteered to help out in the university library during a friday night, but how could you predict that your two friends would get locked in a closet with you because of it?
𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ── .✦ mdni (18+), university au, smut, swearing, dirty talk, threesome, taking turns, nipple play, groping, size difference, fíngeríng, piv, creāmpíes, multiple orgasms, hāndjobs, cūmpláy (tiny bit), thigh fūcking, gojo and geto are perverts, reader is cōck drunk, f!reader, reader uses she/her pronouns, pet names used : pretty, sweetheart, sweetie. [8.1k]
This is their fault; you know it is. You know for an absolute fact that you wouldn’t be in this situation if they had just left you alone like you’d asked. How can you be so sure? Well, you’re certainly not dumb enough to lock yourself in the library archival closet of the university. It’d be one thing if you were in here alone but somehow these colossal idiots are in here with you.
The colossal idiots referring to your two friends, Geto and Gojo… unfortunately colossal in both idiocy and size. Being stuck in this small closet with two men over 6ft is so incredibly unlucky that you’re not sure whether you should laugh or yell at them.
After a long moment of silence, you’re grumbling, “I hate you both.” They’d been waiting to see how you reacted to the situation before talking, a rare occurrence in their collective world.
“Come on,” Gojo speaks from behind you, “It’s not that bad.”
You can’t even shoot him with the death glare you want to, it’d be a whole thing just to turn around properly and even then you’d have to look up. It’s not worth it, “Are you kidding? You got us locked in this stupid, small, room that’s basically a cupboard!”
Geto tries to calm you, “It could be worse.”
“Don’t talk, neither of you talk,” you sigh loudly, “I need a moment to think.”
No. You should’ve said no when they asked for volunteers in the library. It’s Friday night and you were here somewhat willingly helping them sort the older archives. Who does that? This university doesn’t even have a proper room, just this shitty closet that’s filled by shelves and boxes.
There aren’t even any students here tonight to save you, too many parties on campus and it’s close to break so those who aren’t partying are either done studying or studying in their dorms. The nice librarian isn’t here either, he left you here with these two. What the hell are you meant to do now? You can’t even call for help, you tried. Shoko isn’t picking up your calls, she’s out with Utahime tonight. They’re probably having fun… another deep sigh.
Gojo talks even though you’d asked him not to, “This wouldn’t have happened if you just agreed to go out with us tonight instead of being boring.”
“Don’t point that out, Satoru. She’s probably already regretting this.”
You glare pointedly at Geto, “Regretting what? Our friendship.”
“Ouch,” Gojo jokes.
“Why were you even bothering me tonight? You guys go out without me all the time,” they’ve had you at a loss all night, they should’ve just gone out and left you alone to your boring work.
“Aw, don’t be like that,” Gojo leans down and rests his chin on your shoulder, it pushes you forward a bit closer to Geto, “we’ve missed you.”
You try to ignore how close you all are to each other, suddenly becoming much more aware of how little space there is, “I had dinner with you guys literally last night.”
“Yeah but that was last night,” he whinges in reply.
“Satoru, there is so little space,” Geto puts his hand on Gojo’s forehead and pushes him back off you, “stop hanging off her.”
With the new space, you shuffle a slight bit away from Geto, “You two are gigantic, what did I do to deserve to be stuck in here with you both?”
“Well, thanks sweetheart,” there’s a long pause after Gojo’s remark, “What? Am I supposed to not comment on being called gigantic?”
Geto pokes your cheek and ignores Gojo, “We were just trying to help you finish the work faster.”
Deadpanning back at him, “Aw, you shouldn’t have.”
“It was our pleasure,” Gojo answers genuinely, pretending to not pick up on your tone.
“It’s not that bad, pretty,” Geto smiles politely, “you could be stuck with two strangers.”
“Two strangers wouldn’t have been dumb enough to get locked in a closet with me,” you roll your eyes at him, “plus, for some reason like all the guys on campus avoid me.”
Gojo almost talks over you, “They’re crazy.”
Geto adds, “Their loss.”
“The only guy that has spoken to me recently was someone who came to class after skipping the whole semester,” you think back on him, he was nice enough, “I lent him my notes.”
“That’s so interesting,” Gojo hums, “what’s his name?”
Geto’s still smiling, “Have we met him?”
“I don’t know, what does it even matter?” You brush them off, more concerned with how long you’re meant to put up with being stuck in here.
You can’t even sit down, nowhere near enough room to do so. Choosing to lean back onto Gojo instead, this is mostly his fault anyways so he can put up with your lounging on him. “I don’t wanna stand in here all night,” you complain.
“It won’t be all night,” Able to feel the way Gojo’s chest rumbles through you.
Geto tries to make you feel better, “Yeah, Shoko will probably see our missed calls eventually.”
“Probably and eventually are so uplifting, thank you, Geto.”
“Oh, last name,” Gojo hisses through his teeth, “brutal.”
“You’re both on a last name basis until further notice,” you’re pouting and taking it out on them. You’re not livid with them, you know it wasn’t on purpose but you’re not exactly happy either.
Geto pretends to sulk, “You’re mean when you’re grumpy.” He addresses Gojo, “Don’t you think she’s being mean?”
“So mean,” he agrees, “We just love you so much and wanted to spend the evening with you,” he sighs and takes advantage of your proximity by placing his cheek on top your head.
“You just love harassing me,” you counter.
“That’s a kind of love.”
Your mouth pulls down, “Don’t encourage him, Geto.”
They both laugh at you and then things quiet down, time passing slowly and silently. And even though only a couple minutes go by it feels like an eternity. You’re growing bored very quickly and you can tell Gojo is too because he’s fidgeting and sighing behind you.
“Stop moving so much,” you direct at him.
Geto looks amused, resting against the shelving in front of you. His attitude has you briefly wondering why he’s not more frustrated by this whole situation.
“I can’t help it, it’s so fucking boring in here,” Gojo groans, “entertain me.”
Facetious in your reply, “What the hell do you expect me to do? Dance for you?”
“Oh, I’d love that,” he purrs into your ear and you ignore the way it makes you feel.
“How about a game?” Geto suggests.
“Good idea!”
Great… of course they’d want to play a game while locked in a closet. “And what do you suggest? A game of twister?”
Geto grins, “How about seven minutes in heaven.”
Raising a brow at him, “I think we’ve exceeded the seven minutes.”
Gojo’s submission is no better, “Truth or dare?”
“Sure,” Geto shrugs.
You scoff at them, “What are we? Fifteen?”
Gojo ignores you, “Truth or dare?”
A pause and then, “Truth.”
“Suguru, that’s so boring of you.”
Geto defends himself, “It’s the beginning of the game.”
This is going to be the longest game of truth or dare of your entire life.
“Fine,” Gojo thinks on it for a bit, “when was your last wet dream?”
You’re incredulous when you look back and up at him, “How is that appropriate for the beginning of the game?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“What do you mean why? I thought we were starting slow.”
Geto pipes up while you and Gojo are squabbling, “Uh… I don’t know? A few months ago.”
You and Gojo stop at his answer and you blink at him once, “What was it about?”
“Now look who’s curious,” Gojo points out.
“I just didn’t expect it to be so recent! Also, he willingly answered,” you shrug.
Geto snickers, “You’ll have to wait your turn for that answer.” His eyes stay on yours, “Truth or dare?”
“Ugh, do I have to?”
“Absolutely.”
“Fine, truth.”
He considers it for only a split second, clearly having one lined up already, “Last person you had sex with?”
“Oh, what the hell?” You’re frowning at him, why the hell are they both so perverted, “My first boyfriend.”
Gojo adds, “Ew, I hated that guy.”
“Shut up,” you’re sulking, “If you don’t like the answers then don’t ask me questions like that.”
“That was a while ago,” Geto clearly also feels like adding his two cents.
He goes to ask another question and you make a shutting gesture with your hand, “You have to wait your turn if you have follow ups,” you’re mocking him a little. “Gojo, truth or dare,” you don’t bother looking at him to ask, still leaning against him.
“I guess I’ll stick to the theme and say truth.”
“Man, I dunno,” you hum and haw about it, “Mmm, last kiss?”
“Suguru,” he answers promptly and when you look at him in question he says, “We played truth or dare last week at that party you didn’t wanna come to.”
“Aw, now I’m a little sad I missed it,” you play.
He keeps his face completely straight as he responds, “You sick fuck.”
Taken a little off guard before Geto snorts from his side of the closet and you’re realising that he’s screwing with you.
Gojo giggles light and leans down to your space, finger poking your right cheek while he rests his face against your left, “Truth or dare?”
You whinge at him, “My go again?”
“Yup.” He sounds far too cheery and you’re terrified of what he’s about to ask.
Giving in and deciding to just let it happen, “Truth.”
You can practically feel the way his smile grows, “If you haven’t had sex since your first boyfriend does that mean your last orgasm during sex was two years ago?”
“I was going to ask the same thing,” Geto points out, praising Gojo. They both wait patiently for you to answer.
You push Gojo’s face away from you, “No.” You don’t like this line of questioning.
Gojo’s confused, “What do you mean no?”
Geto catches on too quickly, “Oh, pretty. That’s so sad,” he shakes his head.
“It was our first times!” You’re getting defensive.
“You dated him for like a whole year.”
“I remember that, Gojo,” you’re not sure how to phrase what you want to say, “I don’t know, sometimes I wonder if maybe it was my fault–”
“–Not a chance,” Geto doesn’t even consider the thought.
“Whatever,” you want to move past this, “Geto, truth or dare.”
“I’m so sad for you,” Gojo’s still stuck on your go – clearly. “Not orgasming during sex is so sad, that’s like… one of the best parts of sex.”
His theatrics are amusing and annoying, “I’m doing just fine, thanks for your concern.” You ask Geto again, “Truth or dare?”
He’s smiling happily at you, “Truth.”
You decide to try and get back at him, that and you’re curious, “Who was your wet dream about?”
He doesn’t even miss a beat, shameless in how he admits, “It was about you.”
The admission has you so flustered you have no idea how to even begin to reply to him, brain short circuiting as it really dawns on you what he’s just admitted to. Geto… had a dream about you… and he…
“Suguru, you broke her,” Gojo traces the shell of your ear very lightly and it makes you shudder. He whistles low, “wow, your ears are really hot, sweetie.”
And they probably are because all the blood in your body feels like it’s rushed to your face, feeling warm all over.
Geto laughs easily, “Truth or dare?”
You’re meant to act like he didn’t just confess to having a wet dream about you? “Truth…”
God, he must be going for an evil streak tonight because he’s now asking, “Who was your last sex fantasy about?”
You know exactly who it was about and you’re hesitant about answering, muttering quietly, “I can’t remember.”
“If you’re gonna lie, lie better,” One of Gojo’s hands is on your hip and it’s been there for a bit, only now you’re incredibly conscious of it. The vibes in the tiny closet making a sudden shift.
Geto moves forward a bit, in your space as he says, “I’m very curious now.” Spoken like a man who already knows the answer.
“I…” you move away from Geto but that just means you’re falling further back into Gojo, “You guys don’t need to know.”
“So, it was about me,” Gojo nods like he’s so sure.
You half-refute him and dig yourself deeper in the process, “It was about both of you.” You put on a brave face and bite the bullet, trying to be as confident as Geto was when he answered. “Gojo, truth or dare?”
“You expect me to just move past that?” His hand on your hip squeezes and you’re realising for – not the first time – just how large his hands are.
Pointing out, “We moved past Geto.”
Gojo pushes forward, answering like he’s in a rush, “Fine, fine, truth.”
You pause, mind still lagging behind the information you’ve learnt recently, “Uhm… I don’t know what to ask.”
“My last sex dream was a few weeks ago, it was about you, the last time I jerked off was last night and I was thinking about you in the cute dress you wore, my last sex fantasy was about you in your Halloween costume from last year when you were a bunny.” He rapid fires off answers to questions you didn’t ask and then asks you, “Truth or dare?”
You stutter over your words a whole bunch; he thinks about you this much?
“Well, if I hadn’t broken her, you sure have Satoru,” Geto comments, amused and completely unshocked.
“Sweetie,” Gojo talks low into your ear and it jolts you, “truth or dare?”
“Uh… I…” In your slightly numbed state you fumble and answer, “dare.”
“Ohh, exciting,” he’s far too happy about this, “I dare you to kiss Suguru.”
“Satoru…” Geto half-heartedly chastises him, clearly not actually indignant about kissing you.
“You get stuck in one closet with two idiots and they turn into the biggest pervs on earth,” you roll your eyes.
Gojo makes a sound, “I think if our confessions tell you anything it’s that we were already pervs.”
Geto jabs at him, “More so you than me.”
They’re bickering amongst themselves while you’re lost in thought. Unable to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, turned on by the thought of your two incredibly attractive friends thinking of you in the way they’ve confessed to. Caught up in the moment and wondering just how far they’re willing to take this.
You move that tiny bit forward and grab Geto’s face, pulling him down as you lean up and planting a kiss on his soft lips. It cuts him off from his conversation with Gojo but he welcomes it wholly, beginning to properly kiss you back. His tongue licking at you and asking for entry, you open your mouth to him and he’s kissing you so deep it makes you dizzy.
Arms looping around his neck as you indulge in how good it feels to be kissed by him, small moan slipping from you as his tongue licks at your own. His hand on the side of your face manoeuvring you how he pleases, trying to pull more delicious sounds from you. So lost in the kiss until you’re parting from him, confused and making a small sound.
Realising what happened when you feel the pressure of Gojo’s hands on your hips.
“You’re a tease,” Geto grumbles.
“Blame Satoru,” you sound breathless even to your own ears. “He pulled me back.”
Geto frowns at Gojo behind you, “What for?”
He’s shrugging easily, “I got jealous.”
You laugh a little, “I was fulfilling my end of the dare you issued.”
“I told you to kiss him, not make out with him until you whined,” he’s pouting a little.
Geto isn’t as amused as you are, “You’re such a baby.” Apparently grumpy about the kiss being cut short.
You roll your eyes and tip your head back toward Gojo, placing your hand on the back of his neck to tug him down. Kissing him just as deeply as Geto had kissed you, tongue meeting his and licking him. Sucking on his tongue until he whines, seemingly enough to completely set him off because he’s suddenly domineering the kiss.
Finger and thumb pressing into the hinge of your jaw to open your mouth for him even more. It’s wet and messy, the odd angle not helping. It hardly matters though, the kiss enough to have your pussy fluttering. Whimpering when he pulls back and sucks on your lower lip, he goes to kiss you again but Geto’s hand pushes back on his forehead and stops him from diving back in.
“Now who’s a baby?” Gojo scowls at him.
Geto’s ignoring him and addressing you, “Pretty, I’m gonna ask this now before we both get carried away,” he looks at Gojo with his emphasis, “are you okay with us touching you?”
The pretence of the game has been completely dropped now, none of you in sober enough states to continue to play. You nod at him softly, “Please.”
“Fuck,” Gojo groans, head dropped to your shoulder, “you got such nice manners, sweetie.”
“Satoru, keep kissing her.”
He lets out a breathless laugh, “Don’t have to tell me twice.”
His lips are locked onto yours in a split second, tummy flipping at how hungry for you he is. Gojo presses into you more and you can clearly feel his erection against your lower half, achingly hard and straining against his jeans. Imagining it inside you has your pussy crying, startled and drawn-out moan disconnecting your lips.
Geto’s fingers slipped under your skirt and traced your slit through your panties, material soaked and clinging to your cunt desperately. Your legs shake a bit, not having expected the intimate touch. Gojo doesn’t let your mind roam too far from him, placing his mouth over yours. Whinging into your mouth, taken with you and your plush lips.
He moves his hands to your stomach, slipping under your shirt and feeling your soft skin. Pushing further up and lingering just below your bra before tickling back down your sides. He’s teasing you and working you up and it feels especially cruel because Geto’s using his thumb to circle your clit over the material of your panties. The friction enough to have you mewling and aching for more.
Gojo’s big hands push at your bra, forcing it up over your tits. Freeing them so he can grope at you, large hands fondling you and pinching your nipples between his digits. You need air so bad, lungs struggling to pull in enough with all of the overwhelming sensations. You’re collapsing back into Gojo and he’s still feeling you up, leaving wet kisses along your neck and shoulder, teeth scraping against you.
The distraction is taken advantage of by Geto, his fingers slip your panties to the side and he’s sliding them between your folds. Humming low at just how wet you are, every time you’re getting used to something, they switch it up on you. So in sync without even having to talk it’s scary, scary how much they want to tease you.
“Get ready, pretty,” Geto’s hand pushes your denim skirt up so he can see your cunt clearly.
You don’t know what you’re getting ready for until he’s slipping a long finger inside your hole, short squeal leaving you as he reaches so much further than you’re ever able to. Your hands look for purchase and end up over top of Gojo’s who is still groping you.
“You’re so– fuck–” Geto hisses and looks to Gojo, “She’s so fucking tight.”
He hums back, “Open her up then.”
Geto’s reply is low and spoken like he’s in awe, “Should be easy enough with how wet she is.”
“Stop– hnn– stop talking about me like I’m not here,” the commentary is embarrassing you.
He breathes out an amused sound, “I’ve gotta keep Satoru informed, pretty.”
No time for you to reply to him in any sort of way because he’s slipping another finger in alongside the first and curling them to stroke your inner walls. You must give the reaction they both wanted because you’re being grabbed at little more now, Gojo’s erection rubs against your backside and you’re shamefully aware of how your pussy gushes.
Geto’s hand on your hip is warm and holding you deathly still while he fucks his fingers into your syrupy cunt, he watches your face closely. Enjoying the way your eyes are lidded and moans are tumbling sweetly from your lips. Not lingering too long though, too enamoured by the sight of you getting stuffed by his digits.
Getting so lost in the feeling, insides fuzzy and walls pulsing as he effortlessly builds up your orgasm. Struggling desperately to not let out any embarrassing sounds and completely failing. Fingers digging into Gojo’s wrists and collapsing back into him even more, back bowing slightly. Lower half simultaneously seeking out Geto’s hand and jerking back from him.
He chuckles at you, “You’re squirming too much.”
Your little movements are halted when he hardens his grip on you once again, focusing in on the spot that has your eyes crossing and your lips parting. Moans obscene, there’s no way you’d be able to pass them off as anything other than pleasure filled.
The way you’re feeling has you restless, hands moving from Gojo’s and instead holding onto Geto’s wrist, “Wait– hah– I’m gonna– I’m gonna cum– hnn–”
Gojo’s breath is against your ear, “Go for it, sweetie.” Tongue licking against your skin and making you shudder.
Your nipples being pinched right as Geto’s fingers hit your sweet spot accurately has you folding, falling forward into Geto, and Gojo lets it happen. His hands off your chest and happily allowing your ass to push out against him. Hands now gripping your cheeks and spreading them apart, Geto’s fingers still working you through your orgasm only intensified with it.
Whines pitiful and almost sobbed into Geto’s shirt, shaking like a leaf as your high knocks you stupid. And then he’s finally pulling his digits from you, slowly and tauntingly. Gojo pulls you back so you’re resting on him again, clearly missing your body again his.
Geto takes advantage of the room and brings his soaked fingers up, drawing them over your lips before pushing them into your mouth. Making you taste the flavour of yourself, the depravity of it has you weak and you’re all too willingly taking them in and sucking. A moan from Gojo reminds you of what exactly you’ve just done, opening your mouth to try and signal Geto to pull them away.
His smile is innocent but his next action isn’t, not pulling them away, not completely. Sliding the digits on your tongue, “It feel good?”
You whine and try to answer but can’t, not when his fingers are pushing down on the muscle. He’s doing it on purpose too, smile widening as he watches you struggle.
“Here, let me help,” he places his thumb under your chin and uses the hold to nod your head up and down in response, “there we go.”
Geto shows mercy though, pulling away and letting your mouth rest. The corner of your lips are wet with how you’d begun to drool around his fingers. And because he’s just that depraved, he’s sucking on his own fingers and keeping eye contact with you. So intense until Gojo is pulling your head back and kissing you.
Tongue exploring your mouth so deeply, like he’s trying to savour the lingering taste of your pussy that had been on Geto’s digits. You’re dizzy, this is far too much for you. already completely at the will of these two and letting them play with you how they want.
In the back of your mind, you’re somewhat registering how Geto’s pulling your panties off while you’re lost in Gojo’s deep kiss. He pulls back from it with a wet pop! Eyes glazed over and blown with lust as he lingers.
“Satoru, here,” Geto hands him something while you’re swimming in the glow of a blissful orgasm.
Gojo’s smile is large, taking what’s been given to him, “Well, aren’t these adorable.”
You’re barely catching a glimpse of your panties as they’re being stuffed into the right front pocket of Gojo’s jeans. “You can’t keep those.”
“You don’t need them right now,” he’s happy with himself. His eyes flick to Geto, “You think she can take it?”
A second of consideration before, “If you’re gentle.”
“What do you think, sweetie?” Gojo’s hands are on your thighs and trailing up, “you want me to be gentle?”
Biting your lip and smiling a little, “At first.”
“Fuck, alright,” he pushes at your upper back so you’re in Geto’s space, “hold onto Suguru for me, yeah?”
You do as he says and hold onto Geto’s shoulders, arching your back as much as you can in this position to basically present yourself for Gojo. The distinctive sound of a zipper can be heard in the room and you wish Geto would lean down to kiss you but it’s like he’s waiting for something first.
Gojo’s tip notches at your entrance and you have a brief moment of concern, just the head of his dick against you feels overwhelming. Apparently big in departments other than just his height, eyes wider as you half turn and place a hand on Gojo’s shoulder.
“Gentle, Satoru,” glimpsing down at his hard dick, length intimidating, “please.”
He actually laughs at you, “Sure, sweetie, I’ll be so good to you.”
The stretch of his cock beginning to open you up has air rushing from your lungs, head dipping forward and resting on Geto’s chest as you whine out.
“You gotta relax for him,” Geto’s hand strokes down your back and you’re twitching around Gojo at it.
Gojo’s voice is pathetic, “Got such a tight fucking cunt– hah– I’m gonna cum before I’m even half-way.”
“I’m sorry, sorry– mmh–” you mumble into the fabric of Geto’s shirt, “sorry I– hnn–”
Gojo asks, “Is she apologising?”
Geto sounds just as amused as Gojo, “Yeah, she is.”
“Cute.”
And then he’s sliding even deeper inside you, pussy squelching and bulging around his length as he stuffs more and more inside you. Inch by delicious inch he stretches you open more than Geto’s fingers could and it has you weak in the knees. A whimpering mess as you cling onto what’s in front of you – which just so happens to be Geto.
He’s so big, hot and throbbing inside your tight hole. The thick vein on his cock pulsing against your walls and making your insides thrum delightfully. Already falling apart and he’s not even all the way inside. Only made worse when Geto pulls your head back and finally gives you that kiss you had wanted earlier.
Cunt clenching down around Gojo as Geto’s tongue licks against yours.
Gojo groans, “Ooh, she likes being kissed.”
You make a noise of embarrassment and it’s swallowed by Geto, he doesn’t stop making out with you. Mouth occupied by him as Gojo just keeps sinking deeper and deeper and you’re wondering just how much of him there is. Feeling so full that you’re lightheaded, pussy crying around his dick.
Mouth parting from Geto’s messy kiss and when you’re finally able to breathe again, Gojo slams the rest of the way in, his pelvis hitting your ass with a smack! and taking the air from your lungs all over again. Left clawing at the shoulders in front of you as you pant, lower half writhing, wanting him to start actually fucking you.
“Needy,” Gojo comments, voice wrecked, “if you’re gonna beg– hah– do it with words.”
“Please,” you ask, tone sweetened and when he doesn’t immediately move you’re looking up at Geto through your lashes, “Please tell him to move, Sugu.”
He faux pouts at you, “Aw, that’s a little pathetic of you, pretty.”
Gojo grinds into you, his tip kissing your womb divinely. Now if only he’d start thrusting his hips you’d be in heaven. Having both of them tease you at the same time feels evil and so tantalisingly good that you’re getting whiplash.
“This pussy is gonna fucking kill me,” he comments, hands grabbing your ass cheeks and spreading them, “already so creamy.”
Gritting out at him, “‘Toru, please move.”
“Since you asked so nice,” you can hear the grin in his voice and you just know he’s about to do something diabolical.
It still surprises you though, just how much force is behind his thrust. Fucking into you quick, your slick dribbling down his shaft and dropping onto the floor. Clinging to him desperately, hot and cloyingly sweet around his aching hard length. His hips falter a few times at how you’re gripping him, beginning to whine a little about it all.
Gojo grabs your shoulder and pulls you, your back arching mean as he talks low, “You should show Suguru some love, sweetheart.” And then he bites down onto your shoulder, licking over it soothingly.
Your response an immediate and drawn out mewl, reaction visceral as you tremble violently. Taking yourself off guard because you didn’t expect yourself to like biting so much. Doing your best to stifle down your moans as Gojo’s hips snap quick and weighted into you repeatedly.
He lets go of your shoulder and you’re falling back into Geto who’s ready to grab you and hold you steady again. All too happy to let you claw at him and use him for purchase. Remembering what Gojo had whispered to you and trailing your hands clumsily down to Geto’s pants.
Haphazardly shoving the waist band of them down and reaching into his boxers, surprised by just how hard he is. Thick and leaking precum profusely, wondering how he’s holding his composure so well when he’s this much of a mess in his pants.
“Aren’t you a good little– hff– direction follower,” Geto teases.
And it’s true, right now feeling impossibly docile for the both of them. Happy to do whatever they ask of you because it just keeps feeling so fucking good. Quickly getting drunk on pleasure and Gojo’s fat cock, legs shaking as he keeps fucking you so well that you’re seeing stars.
It makes it hard to focus on what your hands are doing, grip on Geto uncoordinated and rhythm continuously interrupted by the shockwaves running through you from the heavy thrusts behind you. He must get frustrated with how awkward you are because his large hand is wrapping around yours and guiding you to fist his cock to his liking.
Geto’s head drops back onto the shelving as his eyes flutter, indulging in the soft feel of your smaller palm. The small closet filled with the debauched noises coming from all three of you, wet and lewd sounds of your cunt getting overstuffed loud and explicit.
Legs nearly completely giving in when one of Gojo’s hands wraps around to rest on your lower tummy and presses down, the head of his cock hitting somewhere new and completely throwing you for a loop. Cumming around him so suddenly that you don’t have enough air in your lungs to moan as loudly as you want to.
Shivering and creaming all over Gojo’s dick, your orgasm taking him by surprise. A genuine whimper leaving him at it, huffing, “Fuck– fuck, you’re– haah– what–”
Geto’s confused, “What?”
“She– mmph– she’s cumming– hah,” Gojo’s words are spoken between clenched teeth, almost hissing as he continues to fuck you through your high.
“Already?” Geto uses his free hand to tilt your head up to look him in the eyes, his own lidded ones flashing, “Ah, this expression you’re wearing is awful cute.”
You let out a subdued and pathetic hum, head far too foggy to have anything witty to say and you certainly can’t complain. Riding out your high spectacularly, almost feeling like you’re kept on the edge with how Gojo’s hips just don’t stop.
Geto’s even more turned on by your appearance and the cock drunk look in your eyes, his hand speeding up over yours. Forcing you to jerk him off quicker, his own hips thrusting forward softly.
“You came so easy,” Gojo laughs deliriously, “never had an orgasm during sex– hff– but you came this quick.”
Slurring your speech slightly to reply to something that didn’t really need one, “It feels good– hnn– I can’t– hah– it’s never– ah!”
“Hmm, is Satoru fucking you good?” Geto’s smile is lecherous and far too attractive for the words he just spoke.
Mouth dropped open, you’re going to start drooling on yourself soon, “Uh huh.”
“‘Course I am,” Gojo’s hand trails further down so his fingers can dance over your clit, “I’m treating you real nice, aren’t I?”
The squeak you let out is shocked, the feeling of his fingers slipping over your sensitive clit making you moan loud and satisfied. Hips trying to fuck back into him, the pleasure enough to have you throwing your shame away. Beyond horny and begging for him to keep fucking you, forced to keep eye contact with Geto. His hand still holding your face up, clearly not done watching you.
The three of you all depraved moans of bliss and sinful touches, heated glances. You’re so worked up that you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust, still trying hard to focus on Geto’s hard cock in your hand. The hand you have in his shirt is slithering downwards, palm over his tip and stimulating him gently.
The reaction you get from him is one you desire, his hand dropping from your chin and reaching back to hold onto the shelf. His hips fucking into both your hands a bit more desperately now, face twisting in pleasure as he pants.
“Fuck, fuck, just like that, pretty,” slowly losing himself in it, “doing such a good fucking job, don’t stop.”
You’re not sure you would, even if you wanted to, in awe of how he’s unravelling under your hand. Features pretty as he gets closer and closer to finishing. Muttering at him a little mindlessly, “You’re pretty.”
Not even able to adequately describe the sensation that runs through you as Geto finishes. Cumming directly into your hand, seed hot and sticky on your palm as he moans through it. Shivers visibly running through him because you don’t stop your hands, not until he’s forcefully stilling it on his shaft with his own.
He’s amused when he asks, “I’m pretty?” but you don’t reply, preoccupied.
Bringing your palm up, you lick some of his cum off it. Holding it in your mouth as you pull Geto forward and kiss him deep, the taste of him on your tongue as you lick against his. He barely shoves down the whine that wants to leave him so badly, sucking on your tongue eagerly.
Gojo had watched the whole thing go down, groaning to himself. Not prepared for the kind of debauchery you’d displayed, finally letting himself cum inside your tight cunt. Rope after rope of his spend painting your walls white, continuing to fuck you through it, his cum leaking from your overstuffed pussy and dribbling down your inner thighs.
He’s letting out such small, ruined sounds and they’re setting you off, officially cumming again when Gojo slaps your clit firmly once. Mouth parting from Geto’s in a moan for only a moment, he’s immediately pulling you right back in and kissing you until you’re dizzy.
Feeling so many things at once, overstimulated and floating. Head heavy as you’re letting them do what they want to you, fucked out and ecstatic over it. Your mouth parts from Geto and they both let you come down, Gojo stays securely inside your cunt though, apparently not too willing to pull out yet.
He asks, “You have fun?” And you can’t help the way you’re fluttering around him, body responsive in ways you’ve never registered. Gojo lets out an airy laugh and adds, “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Not bothering to say anything more to him, deciding to stand up straight instead. Holding onto Geto’s shoulders and pushing back away from him. You fall back into Gojo instead like how you had been resting against him earlier. His cock slips from your hole and rests against your ass, involuntary sound from you at the loss, more of his cum leaks down your leg.
You’re trying to gain your faculties when you realise they’re both still hard. Gojo painfully solid against your ass and Geto’s dick half in his pants, tip shiny as it pokes out of his waistband. And you truly must be cock drunk because you’re lifting one of your legs up and resting your foot on the shelf behind Geto.
“You sure?” Geto’s moving that tiny bit closer, crowding you back against Gojo even more.
Looking up at him coyly, “Mhm.”
His eyes watch how your hole twitches, “You sure came a lot, Satoru.”
“You’ll understand when you fuck her,” Gojo says it like he’s proud.
Geto isn’t as slow as Gojo was when he first entered you, head of his cock lined up with your hole and a split second later he’s shoving himself all the way in. You take him considerably easier now that Gojo’s fucked you open but that doesn’t mean Geto’s dick hasn’t stuffed you to the brim. Pussy bulged and sucking him in desperately, throbbing around his cock like you didn’t just cum on one not five minutes ago.
“Fffuck– you– hnn– you got a greedy little pussy,” Geto purrs, clearly meaning it as a compliment.
“Nuh-uh,” you deny, head resting against Gojo’s shoulder shaking no.
“You sure do, sweetie,” Gojo talks against your temple, “best pussy I’ve ever had the pleasure of fucking.”
And then he’s shamelessly lifting your shirt up completely and exposing your breasts, groping at them like he’d done earlier – your bra still haphazardly pulled over them. Fingers pinching at your nipples just to see what kind of reactions he can get from you with it.
“God, I wanna put my mouth on you so bad,” he’s talking low, “I’d lick you head to toe, fuck my tongue right into that tight cunt of yours.”
“Satoru– don’t talk– hng–”
“Don’t talk like you didn’t love it,” Geto snaps into you again and you’re whinging, “can’t hide anything when your hole is this honest.”
“You like my dirty talk, hmm?” Gojo’s taunting you now, “you like being told how you’ve got the creamiest cunt? How you gripped me so tight I thought I was gonna cum before getting to really fuck you?”
Geto’s position has him angled differently, hitting new and just as devastating spots inside your gooey walls. Knocking more of your braincells right out of your head with just how deep he’s thrusting into you, hips wiggling down to meet his. Craving the grind and slap of his pelvis against your clit every time he’s filling you to the brim.
“I like it, I like all of it,” you babble, “I wan more– ah!– I love it– hnn– so good– I can’t– good– mmph–”
“Look at that, Suguru,” Gojo squeezes your tits, “I think she might be cock drunk.”
“I can tell,” Geto almost snarls, pleasure overwhelming, “her pussy’s squeezing me so tight it’s like it’s begging me to cum inside.”
God, it feels so good, you can’t even deny the begging him to cum inside because you want him to so badly. You want to be leaking both their cum, stuffed full of their cocks and then their seed. A sick sort of marking that has your stomach filling with butterflies.
“You want that?” Geto asks you, clearly reading you a little too well now, “you want my cum inside you?”
Not even feeling like you’re on Earth anymore, head up in the clouds “Hng– yeah– hff– yes please.”
“Yeah, that’s good, be honest with me,” he smiles, “you’re cuter when you tell the truth.”
You feel like you’re melting, so high on your own pleasure that everything feels surreal. Gojo’s mouth on your skin is sucking marks, nibbling at your skin and lathing over the love bites sweetly. Geto leans in – still fucking you until you’re feral – and leaves more hickeys on the other side of your neck that Gojo had been neglecting.
Feeling so doted on as they both leave behind evidence of what’s happening in this closet, their attention enough to have you blissed out. Touched all over, it’s driving you up a wall. Bordering on overstimulated and still you’re eager for more.
Gojo’s hips move from behind you, unable to hold himself back and beginning to grind his aching cock between the plush skin of your ass cheeks. Dick still soaked from your slick and his own orgasm, sliding along your soft skin so deliciously that he’s groaning. Again, sinking his teeth down into your delicate flesh, stopping just short of breaking skin.
The pinch of pain has you gushing around Geto’s dick and the gentle lick of his tongue over the impression of his teeth has you quivering. The small closet smells like sex and the floor has to be messy, the whole thing pornographic and so obscene it’d make the devil blush to watch you three.
Gojo turns your head to the side and slips his tongue into your mouth, suddenly greedy for your lips on his. Kissing you deep and sloppy, not patient enough to kiss you meticulously like he had earlier. Though he was also fervent earlier too, hungry in how he devoured you.
They’re both able to read you so easily, pulling you apart so perfectly. Kissing you until you’re not able to think of anything else but them, fucking your cunt so well that you’re drunk on the ecstasy of their tips knocking against your uterus. Your legs are beginning to shake with the weight of holding yourself up.
Thankfully, Geto’s placing a hand under the leg you have balanced on the shelf behind him. Feeling more secured with his hold on you, knowing you wouldn’t have ever fallen, not with them both man-handling you. Enjoying the feeling of having two big men fuck you diabolically and also take care to have you feeling supported, able to indulge more with them doing the heavy lifting.
Gojo’s cock is still rutting into you from behind, pulsing thick and heavy as he moans into your mouth. The way you pull back from each other has a string of saliva connecting the both of you, evidence of the messy and reckless way he’d made out with you.
“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, “everywhere.”
He removes one of his hands from your tits and like he’d done to you earlier; he’s pressing into your lower tummy. Insides tightening down on Geto and helping him to hit more sensitive spots, grinning to himself at your subdued scream.
“That feels good, huh?” Gojo doesn’t lessen the pressure, holding his hand down so you can experience the pleasure he’s helping to give you.
“Yes, yes, yes– hnn– so good,” you’re not even certain you’re saying everything you want to, muttering a little uselessly. Only able to hope you’re conveying that you don’t want him to stop what he’s doing.
Geto’s pupils are blown wide and he’s losing his mind, Gojo had been right about your cunt. So enticing as you devour him whole, repeatedly pleading for him to re-enter wordlessly. Feeling frenzied as he lets himself get lost, wishing you weren’t locked in this damn closet so he could fuck you properly. Maybe he’d tease you a little bit more, drive you a little more insane.
You’re twitching profusely around him and he knows you’re close, insides clinging to him a little more. Trying to milk the orgasm right out of him, asking to be filled. “You gonna cum, pretty?”
Eyes barely even open anymore, “Uh huh.”
“You think you deserve it?”
That has your eyes widening, worried he’s actually going to deprive you of the high he’s been working you up to. The look on your face is as adorable to him as it is amusing, his smile patient and not like he’s balls deep inside you.
“Don’t be mean, Suguru,” Gojo chides, “she’s been such a good girl.”
Geto pretends to consider it, like he’s not really convinced.
“Please– hnn– Sugu,” you sulk, “I wanna cum.”
He mimics your pathetic-ness, “I know you do.”
Gojo adds, “If he doesn’t let you cum, I’ll just fuck you again, sweetie.”
“Don’t spoil her too much, Satoru.”
He grins, “I’m the one who’s spoilt.” Pressing soft kisses to your cheek, “fucking that divine pussy was a real treat.”
Too much, “Wait– ah!– Mm gonna– hng–”
With a well-timed thrust and Gojo’s praise, you’re cumming again. Walls trembling and snug as they suck greedily on Geto’s thick cock. Stomach flipping as you’re thrown through another euphoric high, almost feeling like you’re blacking out for a moment from how it knocks into you.
Geto’s brows pinch, he knew you were about to cum but hadn’t expected it to be from Gojo’s words. Moaning as he continues to thrust, seeking his own orgasm now. A little more uncontrolled as he focuses on how hot your pussy is, feverish as he takes in how it feels to have you cumming on him.
Dumping his load inside you not long after he savours it for a few moments, pelvis flush to you as his cock jerks. Head lolling back as he whines a little, fucking you both into slight overstimulation because he doesn’t want it to end just yet and you can’t complain. So in love with his dick that you’d let him fuck you all over again.
You’re leaning back against Gojo catching your breath, whimpering as Geto pulls out of you. Not really wanting to but your leg is shaky, he’s gentle with you as he lowers it down so you’re standing on both of them again.
Gojo leans over your shoulder, “I’m gonna borrow your thighs for a second, sweetheart.”
You nod at him, not really sure what he’s referring to but fine with it either way. His cock dragging through your folds has you realising what he was talking about, using your thighs to fuck himself. Not able to get off while Geto was doing you and needy for release. Holding low on your hips as his head buries itself into your neck and nuzzles.
His tip catches on your clit and it makes you twitch, aftershocks still running through you and so sensitive to every little touch. Letting yourself get used for his pleasure as he rocks in between your legs, the slick of their mixed cum making the glide smooth for him.
Apparently having been fairly close already because he’s cumming everywhere after barely a minute, panting into your skin as his load gets all over your thighs. He stills after letting himself ride it out, nipping at your skin one last time.
You’re spent, completely limp and a whole mess. Clothes dishevelled and probably stained with cum, you’re too lazy to even bother to fix yourself. Both Gojo and Geto tuck themselves back into their pants, straightening themselves out a bit. They’re far more presentable looking than you are.
Gojo pulls your bra down, playing with your tits a bit as he adjusts them back into the cups of it and then he tugs your shirt back into place. Geto pulls the hem of your skirt back down, clothes officially worn correctly not counting your panties. How the hell are you meant to get out of here when your lower half is covered in their cum. There’s that and then also the little issue of literally being locked in here.
Geto asks you, “You doing okay, pretty?”
“Peachy,” you grin.
After a moment of silence, you talk again, “Find a way out of here,” you plead with them, “I need a bath.”
Gojo hums, “Will you let me bathe you?”
“You got a way outta here?” you eye him.
“Maybe.”
And that’s how you all learnt that Gojo had taken the keys for the closet off the desk and forgotten about them in his back pocket.
𝒂ﾉ𝒏. thanks for reading! i hope you liked it and i hope to post more fics soon ଘ( ᴗ͈ ᴗ͈)ഒ
𝒔𝒖𝒎. you've been working at the same company for the last five years and you'd continue to do so if your circumstances hadn't suddenly changed. after you put in your resignation, your boss is doing everything he can to make you stay. . .
𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ── .✦ mdni (18+), office au ; smut ; light angst ; making out ; porn with plot ; fíngeríng ; cünnilíngus ; biting ; hickeys ; praise kink ; piv ; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) ; dirty talk ; big díck gojo ; creampíes ; multiple orgasms ; tiny bit of overstim ; little bit of nípple play ; use of wrist restraints but like not really (it's readers shirt) ; makeshift restraint if you will ; gojo kinda pervy but that's how i like him ; gojo's a yearner (also how i like him) ; f!reader (she/her used) ; pet names used ; no use of y/n [11.6k]
For the past handful of years, you’ve been working at a large marketing company for the CEO as a personal assistant. The job is what it is and the pay makes up for any sort of… eccentricities from your boss. Despite this, it can’t change the fact that you’re struggling to pay rent and need to move back in with your parents.
You were coping before but your roommate… the guy you were… it’s complicated. Anyways he moved out and now things are just too expensive for you at the moment. It doesn’t help that anywhere else close to work is in the same range for rent, stupid fancy company in a stupid nice area. It’s frustrating because you’re attached to this job but it’s not feasible anymore.
So, as much as you’re unwilling to part from your current position, something has to give and you’ve chosen to resign. Steeling your resolve, you walk into Gojo’s empty office and gently place your two weeks’ notice on his desk. Lingering for a short moment, remembering your first day here and how intimidated you were by him.
It was never your plan to stay here so long in the first place but it’s nearly been five years now, maybe it is time to move on to something different. Think positive, you just have to think positive and things will be good. You’ll get a new job and you’ll make new friends and your boss will be kind and maybe not as weird.
Exiting the room, you sit back at your desk that’s located outside Gojo’s office. It’s hard to focus when you’ve got so much on your mind but sometimes you think that he wouldn’t get anything done if you weren’t around.
You’d gotten a text earlier about how he had an early meeting but you know he doesn’t, he’s probably just left the office to go get himself some sweets. He won’t be back for a while either because he’s going to sit in a park or somewhere quiet and eat the evidence before he gets back to the office.
Why he even bothers to lie to you at this point is beyond you but you’ll ignore it because sometimes you want to be alone for an hour too. Unlike him though, you simply don’t have the luxury of doing that on company time.
When he does get back to the office he stops by your desk and smiles at you like he wasn’t just shirking his responsibilities for the better half of the day. He waits very impatiently for you to acknowledge him, and you continue typing at your computer like he’s not there.
Gojo eventually speaks up, “Saying good morning to your boss is the polite thing to do, by the way.”
You hold up a hand while you finish up your email and send it off, only then do you look up and raise a brow at him, “Morning? Gojo… it’s nearly midday and you’re only just now coming into the office.”
“I told you I had a meeting,” he pouts because he knows he’s caught. “And how many times have I told you to call me Satoru?”
“If you had a meeting it’d go through me because no one trusts you to show up to the ones you agree to.” You look back down at your computer and continue working, ignoring the second thing he said.
Sighing dramatically at you, “You’re so mean to me.”
Not even looking up at him when you retort, “If I were nicer to you would your job get done?” He doesn’t answer and you add, “That’s what I thought.”
“I’ll get all my work done so quick you’ll be embarrassed about doubting me.”
“Uh huh,” as he walks off you call after him, “you’ve got chocolate on your tie.”
Gojo pauses, looks down to his tie and then uses his finger to try and swipe it off, “No, I don’t.” He scuttles away into his office.
It’s then that you’re remembering the letter you’d put on his desk and you decide it’s time for your break. Sneaking away, you hide a few floors down in the employee break room. Your hands cradling a cup of tea that was hot but has now gone cold in the time you’ve been holding onto it. You’re staring blankly at it, not knowing how you’re going to face Gojo when he’s read your resignation.
He’s a bit of a drama queen and you’re not sure… you don’t even want to leave so having him fuss over it might make you feel worse. Oh, but what if he doesn’t care. What if he doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t feel like you’re all that important to him. That might be worse. You’re in a hell of your own making.
You’re brought from your spiralling thoughts by a hand on your shoulder, jumping at the touch and looking up to see Nanami. His face is as stoic as ever but his eyes are laced with a mild concern for you.
You talk before he can ask, “I’m fine, just daydreaming.”
A sound of acknowledgement comes from him, not believing you but pacified enough to move on and make himself a cup of coffee. Not facing you when he says, “Gojo’s looking for you.”
Frowning, “What? How do you know?”
He sits down across from you and plainly states, “Because I walked past him and he asked where you were.”
A small grumble leaves you, it’s just not possible to avoid him for the whole day and even if you could, you couldn’t do it for two full weeks.
“What’s going on?”
Your tea is too cold to drink now and you push it away, “Do you really want to know or are you just being polite?”
He takes a sip of his coffee like he’s giving himself time to think about his answer, “…I want to know.”
“I have to resign,” is all you say.
Nanami nods, “Well, that explains the frantic look on his face.”
Scoffing at him because that sounds ridiculous, “I left the letter on his desk and then hid.”
“You can’t hide forever.”
“I can try,” you smile, “he’s always showing up late and sneaking out anyways, I’ll probably be able to avoid him.”
The look on his face conveys severe doubt but he doesn’t comment on your words, “Why are you leaving?”
“None of your business.”
“You’re the only reason why communicating with Gojo is bearable, you leaving is going to be a nightmare for so many people.”
Your eyes roll at the sentiment, “Well, gee, I’ll miss you too.” A silence falls over the two of you and you explain, “I gotta move home for financial reasons.” It’s not everything but you don’t feel like spilling your guts to him right now.
“Ask for a raise,” he shrugs, “you deserve it.”
“It’d have to be one hell of a raise,” you fold your arms on the table and lay your head on them.
His tone comes out monotonous, “There there.”
Mumbling against your arms in reply, “You’re such a comfort, Nanami.”
“I know.”
The clicking of heels alerts you to someone else in the room but you don’t bother lifting your head to look. Not that you need to, the voice letting you know it’s Shoko, “Gojo’s looking for you.”
“I’m aware,” you sigh.
She sits down next to you, “If you’re hiding from him, this was a poor choice because I’m pretty sure he’s on his way here.”
“Have I got time to run?”
There’s a hand on your head, a tight lipped, “No,” coming from above you.
Ah, you’re caught. Sitting up, you smile at Gojo like you’ve not been hiding from him, “Gojo, is there something you need me for?”
He doesn’t bother trying to get you somewhere private, “Why are you resigning?”
Shoko asks, “You’re resigning?”
Sighing out a tired, “Yes,” before getting to your feet and walking out the room.
Immediately, Gojo is hot on your tail, “Why? Why are you resigning?” He keeps pestering you despite the fact you’re not answering, “Is it something I did? Have I been a bad boss? Do you want me to show up on time more?” A pause, “Is it because I never bring you back any sweets? I’m sorry! I just get so excited to eat them…”
Your foot taps impatiently as you wait for the elevator, arms folded and feeling frustrated by him. “It’s nothing to do with you…” he’s generally a good boss, a bit odd but he’s a good person and you’re quite attached to him, “though, you should be showing up on time.”
“Are you really not going to tell me why you’re leaving me?”
“I think my letter covered it.” The elevator dings and his presence is felt looming over you as he follows you in.
“Your letter didn’t cover shit,” he grumbles, “it was all that polite corporate speak.”
“It’s not a big deal, Gojo.” Your eyes meet his properly for the first time and he looks so genuinely hurt, it’s making this harder for you. “It’s nothing you did, nothing the company did. No one did anything, it’s just time to move on.”
“I literally cannot survive without you.” He blinks, “My company is going to go bankrupt without you and then Suguru’s will be number one, is that what you want?”
“If Geto’s company is ever number one it’s because he shows up on time and doesn’t ignore calls from clients.”
He scowls. “They should be calling you anyways, the old bastards only call me because they enjoy pissing me off.”
“Poor, poor, rich boy,” you say, looking away from him.
Gojo’s brows pinch up. “There’s nothing I can do to make you stay?”
“Nope.”
The pair of you walk off the elevator together and he’s still closer than necessary, like you’re going to disappear at any minute. “I’ve got two weeks to change your mind,” he singsongs.
It’s been a few days since that awkward conversation with Gojo and he’s been in the office every day… on time. You thought maybe the first day was just a fluke but then he kept showing up and staying. His behaviour is unpredictable at the best of times but this is the first time in the five years that you’ve been here that he’s shown up on time for multiple consecutive days.
Whatever, you’ve just been ignoring him and continuing your work. At least you would be but he’s not giving you anything to do. Suddenly, he’s interested in doing everything himself and actually staying on top of things. If this is his way of getting you to stay… it’s not working. Not only do you have nothing to do but you’re worried that he’s fucking things up.
A few hours since you’ve been in office and you’re officially bored, staring blankly at your quiet inbox. This isn’t going to work for you, you get up and walk into Gojo’s office. He’s tapping away at his keyboard and you’re a little surprised by the focus on his face.
Pursing your lips as you stand in front of his desk, feeling conflicted on whether or not you should disturb him when he’s like this. There’s papers spread out on the surface beside him, his usually clean desk now messy.
“Gojo, I’m still your assistant until the end of next week,” your voice is gentler than how you feel, taking pity on him.
He doesn’t look to you, eyes firmly on the screen. “Not if I can convince you to stay.”
“I don’t know how many times I have to say this,” you take a step closer, “but my resignation has nothing to do with you, so there is nothing you can do to change my mind.”
His eyes meet yours then, he looks tired.
Continuing to add, “All you’ve done is make me redundant, stop stealing my work and do your own.”
“I won’t hire anyone else.”
“The board will make you.” Tilting your head at him, trying to add some levity, “And there’s no way you’re not messing things up.”
He points at you, “Hey! I’ve been very diligent.”
“Which you won’t be able to keep doing long-term.” Reaching up, you tap the tip of his finger with your own.
That has him deflating, falling back into his chair and humming at you, “Okay, have all your stupid and tedious work back.”
“I will.” You glare at him as you lean over to pick up the papers off his desk.
Shuffling through them, you can see they’re a bunch of companies reaching out and trying to set up meetings or sending through complaints. Things you usually handle before he sees because it’s not worth his time.
“So much of that stuff shouldn’t be coming to me.” He’s leaned in closer, annoyance clear on his expression. “It shouldn’t even be going to you; they should be communicating through the team they’re dealing with.”
“Yes, well, a lot of companies overestimate their importance to you.” Picking through the stack quickly, you pull out the papers that are solely for him and put them down on his desk.
His brow raises to you, “Now, where did they get that idea?”
“Who knows?” You smile politely.
His people person skills are severely lacking, especially when it comes to dealing with formalities. You may or may not be making up for it.
“I’ll get back to you about these.” Hand shaking the papers, “Do not even try sneaking off, I’ll need you here while I sort through this mess you’ve no doubt made.”
“I told you I’ve been diligent.”
“And I have absolutely no reason to doubt that.” Turning to leave before stopping. “You should keep coming in on time and staying the whole day, it’s nice.”
Gojo’s groan is heard as you walk back out his office.
After you took back your workload, Gojo decided to try and make you stay through other means. It’s almost as flattering as it is distracting. The very next day and he’s taken to pulling a chair in front of your desk and sitting with you. His arm holding up his head, chin resting in his palm. It’s got you on edge, he’s just watching you. Eyes tracking your every movement, silent like he’s maybe trying to think of something to say.
“Is there something you need, sir?” Phrasing it in a certain way in hopes of reminding him he’s your boss with his own work to worry about.
“Nope.” The singular word popped back at you.
Looking to your screen, you pull up his calendar, “So… you’re all prepped for the meeting later today at three?”
It’s silent and it prompts you to look at him again. The reply you’d been expecting comes only when your eyes meet. “I’m so prepared,” his smile is easy-going and you don’t feel the same.
“Are you sure? Because you’ve just been sitting here doing nothing.”
“Don’t worry about what I’m up to.”
“All I do is worry,” you glare at him, “it’s like my whole job.”
Obviously able to tell you’re growing a bit exasperated now and switching to flattery, “And you’re very good at it.”
“I could be better at it if you’d be a more willing participant in your own company.”
“Bleh,” he pulls his head back and waves his hand at you, the expression on his face disgusted.
You ignore the fact that you don’t find him as annoying as you probably should and change the topic, “Well, while you’re here doing anything but your job, I have some applications you can look through.”
“Applications?” He looks at you curiously and takes the papers you’re handing him.
There isn’t an answer from you as he reads them, his face scrunching up more and becoming annoyed as he realises what it is he’s looking at.
“Resumes?” Gojo’s voice has lost its chirpiness, coming a bit strained, “I didn’t know we were hiring.”
“I know you won’t do it yourself, so I put up an advert yesterday,” you point at the resumes he’s holding, “those are the best applicants.”
“I don’t want anyone else.”
“I can’t stay, Gojo. It’s out of my control.”
It’s his turn to glare, it’s the first time he’s been this angry with you. You still won’t tell him why you’re leaving because you’re embarrassed and also, you’re becoming a little concerned that he’d actually give you an insane raise. You can do without that guilt.
“Fine.” He eventually says.
A breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding leaves you, “Thank you.”
He starts going through the pile, “This isn’t an entry level job,” he flicks away that applicant. “No references,” another chucked. “Wouldn’t be able to put up with me,” that one is crumpled. “This one’s messy,” gone. “This person has put under hobbies ‘organising’,” he squints like he’s weirded out before deciding, “trying too hard,” ultimately it’s chucked too. The rest of the pile discarded in much of the same manner.
You’ve watched him in disbelief, blinking at him, “They all had better resumes than I did.”
“I didn’t want an assistant before you and I won’t want one after,” he shrugs.
Fingers rubbing into your temples, “How did I even get hired when you’re this picky.”
“You’ve raised my standards,” he praises you, “and your resume was so ugly looking that I wanted to see who sent it in.”
You gape at him, shocked, “That’s why I got the interview!?”
“And you got the job because you put up with me during,” his tone has softened again, “you adjust to your surroundings well and it impressed me, even if your resume didn’t.” He thinks for a moment, “Well, your resume actually did impress me but only because it was awful—”
“—Stop,” holding a hand up, “I can’t believe you hired me because you hated my application that much.”
“Don’t leave me,” leaning in on your desk, “I don’t think I’ll ever see a resume that ugly ever again.”
Grumbling and falling back into your chair, you cross your arms. “I knew I shouldn’t have worked here.”
He grins and stands to his feet. “Don’t show me anymore applicants, they’ll immediately get thrown away.”
“Gojo—” You call after him.
“—Bye bye now.” He’d cut you off, done with this conversation and the direction it was headed.
It’s Monday again and you’re concerned about what Gojo’s going to pull this week. Last week he’d obviously stolen all your work rendering you redundant and stared at you disconcertingly for nearly an hour before revealing he’d hired you because of your shit application. He also brought you back various treats every time he left the office, not to mention the insane amounts of praise he kept sneaking into conversation.
It's not something entirely new from him but he’s taken to doing it far more often lately and you hate how much you don’t hate it. His compliments making you a little flustered every time, you weren’t aware how much you liked being reaffirmed until he started doing it so obviously and frequently.
Apparently, he must’ve caught on to you not hating it because he’s not stopped. The grin on his face self-satisfied every time he does it, pleased by your reactions. You don’t know if your heart is going to make it through this week but it’s your last, so you don’t have much of a choice either way.
In the lobby, you run into Shoko. Greeting her with a small smile, “Good morning.”
“Morning, quitter,” she smiles back.
“Ouch,” you hiss jokingly.
Her head tilts at you, “Ah, you lasted five years, it’s impressive really.”
“I’m not resigning because of him,” you roll your eyes.
The rumours in the office have been abundant to say the least, everyone blaming your leaving on Gojo. You correct people every time but they either don’t believe you or are too excited about gossip to let themselves really hear you.
“You’d be the first,” sucking on her teeth as she recounts, “I think there was… five? six? Before you. They all quit because they couldn’t put up with him.” She pauses. “Though, he didn’t hire them personally.”
“Didn’t you hear? He only hired me because he hated my resume.”
“Good luck finding another job with it then.”
You chuckle at that. “I’ll miss you, Shoko.”
“Yeah, whatever,” she brushes you off, “if you really were gonna miss me, you wouldn’t be quitting.”
“For someone who’s so unamused by Gojo, you sure sound like him sometimes.”
She side eyes you, “Take that back.”
“Nope!” You laugh as you walk away.
At your desk, the first thing you do is pull up Gojo’s calendar. Double checking that you’re remembering the itinerary for today properly. He’s got a meeting just before midday with a large company, you’ve been trying to secure a meet with them for months and they finally caved. Taking them on as a client would be a huge win for the company and it’d bring Gojo joy because he knows Geto has been trying to secure a deal with them too.
Competition isn’t something you invest a whole lot of your time in personally but you can’t help but feel happy when Gojo ‘wins’. This week is going to be gruelling; it’s getting harder to ignore how much you enjoy your job. You thought it wasn’t going to be such a big deal. It’s a job, you do it and if you need to, you find another.
Everyone here will be part of what you miss though, you won’t get to work alongside Gojo anymore… Pushing down those feelings of affection, you start your day how you often do and check your inbox. Seeing the first emails coming through as soon as business hours are official always amuses you as much as it pisses you off.
The sound of a soft tap on your desk startles you, it’s just Gojo but you’re still not quite used to his early (on time) arrivals. He’d set a coffee down for you, expression bright as he smiles at you.
You reach for the drink, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he singsongs. “Feel like staying?”
“Because you bought me a cup of coffee?”
“Among other things.”
You’re thinking of how to answer him when he yawns and stretches his shoulders back. He seems tireder than usual, “You been sleeping okay?”
He takes the opportunity to whine, “No, my favourite employee is leaving me.”
“That must be agony for you.”
“It is,” eyes sparkling, “it’s awful, I wish she would just see reason.”
Instead of replying to that, you remind, “Don’t forget your meeting at eleven.”
Dropping the pleading look, he replies, “How could I forget? Stingy bastards took forever just to agree to meet.”
“Try to have a better attitude when you talk with them.”
“You know what would make my attitude better?” Grin on his face showing that he’s clearly plotting something.
“Dare I ask?”
“You basically did.” He points at you and then himself, “You come with me.”
A range of emotions go through you at that but it’s mostly reluctance, “Do I have to?”
“I’m your boss… so, yes?” Not waiting for your reply. “Be ready by ten-thirty.”
It’s going to be a long week indeed.
By the time ten-thirty rolls around, you’re in the garage of the building with Gojo. He’s guiding you towards his car and you’re confused, “Where’s Ijichi?”
“I don’t know,” his answer is dismissive.
“Should we wait?” you frown and look at your phone, “…I don’t want you to be late.”
Clicking on the keys, the car beeps as it unlocks, “We’re not gonna be late.” He moves around to the driver’s side and opens it, stopping before getting in when he sees you’re not moving. “Get in.”
Incredulous look on you face, “Can you even drive?”
“That’s so insulting, I’m a fantastic driver.”
You’re sceptical but get in the car anyways, not willing to be late because you were squabbling with your boss.
“Why am I coming with you?”
He hums, “Because I have a surprise for after.”
“Couldn’t you have just picked me up after the meeting?”
“No. If I have to go then you do too.”
Grumbling back at him, “You’ve never made me come before.”
“If I leave you in the office you might run away before Friday,” his tone carries a playful lilt.
“You’re so dramatic.”
By the way, he is decidedly not a fantastic driver.
The surprise he was talking about was lunch, he’s taken you out for lunch. You’re overwhelmed and feel underdressed, it’s a nice place that you definitely cannot afford.
Just as he’s about to walk inside, you grab his sleeve and pull him back, “Gojo, I can’t afford lunch here.”
He snickers at you, “You thought I’d force you to a meeting with me and then take you out to lunch and make you pay?”
You say nothing.
“Seriously? What do you take me for?” A hand rests over his heart like you’ve wounded him.
Frowning at him, “I’m… I’m also a little underdressed.” Wearing business casual doesn’t feel appropriate for here.
“You look great,” he compliments, “you always look great.”
It feels like your skin grows hotter just from that simple compliment. You can’t linger on it for too long though. From just off to the side of Gojo, you spot Geto and you know this lunch is going to be on the rocks. “Please remain calm and remember that you just got new clients and how nice that feels.”
About to ask what the hell you’re going on about when Geto makes himself known, hand on Gojo’s shoulder. “What a coincidence, Satoru.” He smiles politely, nodding his head at you in acknowledgement.
You’ve always been neutral towards Geto, if you had to describe him in a word, you’d say he’s gracious. But you’re not stupid, you can tell he enjoys pressing peoples buttons. If you didn’t know any better you’d think it was merely an accident but you do know better and you can tell he does it because he gets a kick out of it. He’s similar to Gojo in that way.
“Suguru,” Gojo gives a tight smile. “What are you doing on this side of town?”
Oh, he’s already annoyed by his presence.
“This and that,” answer kept vague deliberately. “You guys about to have lunch?”
“Yes.” You answer respectfully, not forgetting your manners.
From what you know, Gojo and Geto used to be close friends working at the same company before Gojo moved up. Geto left after that and started his own company. Usually, Gojo isn’t so annoyed by him but he’s been a little extra touchy about things ever since you put in your resignation.
“That sounds great,” you reply before Gojo can. Geto walks in ahead of you both and you tug on Gojo to get him to lean down. “It’s just lunch, we’ll both survive.”
“I’m not so sure,” he mumbles back.
It’s awkward, incredibly so. Geto knows that Gojo got the client they’ve both been angling at and it’s all grins with hidden meanings and sly jabs. It’s hard to enjoy the food when you’re stuck observing this disaster of clashing egos.
After a lull in the conversation, Geto suddenly says, “I heard you’re quitting.”
You’re taken aback, you didn’t realise that company gossip would travel so far, “Yes… I am resigning.” Putting emphasis on the last word because you don’t appreciate the attachments to quitting.
Gojo’s tense, you can tell.
Geto pushes past your slight attitude. “May I ask why?”
“You may ask,” you smile politely, taking a page out of his book.
He doesn’t even blink, “Well, if you’re looking for a new job I’d be happy to take you off Satoru’s hands.”
Gojo scoffs at that, “She’s still my employee, you know?”
“From what I hear, not for much longer.”
You hate that you even semi consider Geto’s offer, he’s unfortunately closer to your parents’ home so you could live there and travel to his company. It’d upset Gojo though and you don’t know if you have it in you, even if it is just business.
Stopping their bickering with a simple refusal. “I’m fine, thank you for the offer.”
“It doesn’t expire,” Geto pushes, “if you change your mind, you’ve got a job with me.”
“I want to remind you I’m a personal assistant, Geto, not some highly sought-after marketing whizz.” You can’t understand the push for you, other than he knows it’ll piss off Gojo and you don’t play those games.
Clearly, not one to be shaken so easily, “Oh, I wouldn’t sell yourself so short.”
“Alright, I’m done being all civil now,” Gojo stands up abruptly, “We’re leaving and you can pay the bill for pissing me off, Suguru.”
“Gojo,” you scold him lightly but he’s not budging, “I’m very sorry, Geto,” standing up as well, “lunch was nice.”
Gojo grumbles, “Don’t apologise for me, I’m not sorry.”
Geto ignores Gojo and replies to your last statement, “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
“Over my dead body,” Gojo points at him.
And then you’re being tugged out of the restaurant, following after an uncharacteristically angry Gojo. It’s not like he’s especially polite and he’s always had little jabs with Geto but it always seemed more like a friendly rivalry to you. To have this kind of reaction isn’t usual and you don’t really know how to approach talking to him now.
It’s not until you’re back in the car that he’s huffing, “Can you believe that? He tried stealing you out from behind my back… in front of me!”
“It’s just business, don’t let it get to you.” You mean it as a comfort but his eyebrow twitches.
He starts the car and mutters, “Not to me.”
Today is your last day. It’s been a busy week so Gojo didn’t bother you as much, anytime you spoke it concerned work. Well, that’s not completely true, he was still trying to get you to stay and begged a little but otherwise.
You don’t feel ready to leave, you know all you’d have to do is say you want to stay and Gojo would welcome you with open arms but you can’t make it work… not right now. It’s already been hard on you physically with all the moving preparations and now it’s hard on you emotionally. You don’t think people usually feel this much regret about resigning, shouldn’t you be all relieved or something.
After work, you and your empty apartment have a date with lots of alcohol. Drinking before you move may not be a great idea but you thought living with a guy would be a good idea and look how that turned out. Fuck him. This situation is so draining and unfair and you wish you could go back and change things but you’re stuck with the cards you’re dealt.
It’s quitting time soon, the hour hand on the wall across from you slowly inching towards six. Your riveting clock watching is interrupted by Gojo standing in front of it, “Could you go down to the employee floor and give this to Nanami?”
He hands you over a file and you take it without complaint, what’s another few extra minutes on your last day. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
You’re restless, caught between wanting to get out of here and not wanting your last day to end. The elevator dings and opens to the employee floor, when you step out you’re confused by how dark it is. It’s borderline scary, you’ve seen enough scary movies to know that you don’t stay on an empty and ominous dark floor.
About to turn around and head back for the elevator when the lights flick on and people jump out at you. You don’t have a physical reaction aside from a slight jump, only staring blankly and screaming on the inside. Taking in your surroundings you realise it’s a bunch of familiar faces standing underneath a shoddily painted banner that reads ‘we’ll miss you’ with a very small ‘quitter’ written under that. It’s like it was added last minute in pen and you have a feeling Shoko did it.
Gojo runs up from behind you, “Holy fuck, we have so many stairs,” he looks to your face and then at everyone else, “did she scream?”
Nanami answers him, “No, she’s just been staring like that the whole time.”
Gojo moves to stand in front of you, asking, “You okay? Did we get you too good?”
Everyone starts murmuring and you’re very suddenly overwhelmed by all the emotions you’ve been stuffing down all week. Tears slipping from your waterline and trailing down your cheeks before you can stop them.
“Woah, what’s wrong?” he’s fussing over you, “Hey, I’m sorry, we just wanted to send you off properly.”
You use the back of your hands to wipe at your face, “Sorry, I need a moment.” Pushing the file Gojo had given you towards him before running off to hide in the bathroom.
Taking deep breaths, you try to calm down but it’s hard when you’re also dying of embarrassment. It was really nice of them; you weren’t expecting anything so to have so many people set up a going away party was really sweet but it’s just another reminder of your shitty situation and your reluctance to leave.
A soft tap on the door alerts you to someone’s presence, “Can I come in?” Gojo calls.
“No,” you call back.
It’s quiet and then he says, “I’m gonna come in anyways.” True to his word, he enters the bathroom but he doesn’t say anything more.
Unprompted you apologise, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I didn’t mean to cry,” sniffling, “I’m embarrassed.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he walks in closer to you, placing a hand on top of your head. “If you’re so upset you could always stay.”
You laugh a little bitterly at that. “I’m fine now, I’ll come out and we can celebrate.”
“I can send everyone home if you’re not feeling up to it.”
“No, I want to say goodbye to everyone,” you look up to him, “thank you for doing this.”
“Of course,” he tucks his hands into his pockets, expression a little shy, “I couldn’t not give my favourite employee a send-off.” His upper body moves in a little like he’s going to share a secret, “I wanted to do something bigger but Shoko told me not to.”
A smile is on your lips at that, it’s so like him to want to go big. You owe Shoko for that advice, if he’d done something grand you’d be even more embarrassed than you already are. “Let’s go back.”
It’s not rowdy, it’s an office party so it’s mostly mingling and eating some snacks but it’s nice and it beats the hell out of getting drunk alone in an empty apartment. Nanami is the only one you’d given a reason as to why you’re leaving and he’d kept it to himself so you get a bunch of questions but you field them all pretty easily.
Your eyes keep finding their way back to Gojo before you feel a pang of guilt or sadness and you look away. Things slowly die down as more and more people head home and before it becomes too obvious, you slip away back upstairs to your desk.
Gojo’s office is left slightly open and you walk inside; it’s dark. The only light entering the room is coming from the surrounding building lights. You move to stand in front of the large window and look out to appreciate the view. You’re going to miss this part of the city.
“You’re not planning on robbing me on your last day are you?” Gojo asks from the door.
Getting over the shock of him suddenly appearing, you joke, “Are you kidding? I’ve been robbing you blind since my first day here.”
He crosses the room to stand beside you, “Only cause I let you.”
“What a gentleman.”
“I’m gonna say it one more time,” he looks to you, “stay.”
You don’t know how to answer him so you just lean in and hug him.
His arms wrap around you, “This isn’t very professional of you.”
“Cause you’re so professional,” you murmur back, “also you’re not my boss anymore.”
The both of you don’t say anything, just holding each other. Probably far too intimate for a working relationship but… you really needed this. It’s nice, he’s big and warm and he holds you gently. It’s giving you a lot of comfort and at the same time it’s making you want to cry again.
“I’ll miss you, Gojo.”
“I think you’ll be the first to.”
“Not true.” As much grief as everyone gives him, they’d still miss him.
He laughs a little and lowers himself so his lips are by your ear, “I’ll miss you, too.”
A shiver goes down your spine at his voice and you pull back to look at him. His face is close to yours and your eyes linger on his lips. Doing your very best to look into his eyes, you say, “Don’t ruin the company just because I’m gone.”
“I wouldn’t want to ruin all your hard work,” he grins.
You roll your eyes and move to untangle from him. He doesn’t let you. “What are you—”
Gojo’s closed the gap between the two of you with a kiss, a large hand cradling the side of your face. His thumb strokes high on your cheekbone as his lips implore yours. It doesn’t take you long at all to react, hands grabbing onto his jacket and kissing him back.
It’s overwhelming, his kiss all consuming. Almost like he’s been waiting for the perfect opportunity to kiss you like this. Lips insistent on yours, his body coming closer with a single step forward. His hand on your face tilts you up, thumb trailing to the hinge in your jaw and pressing.
You’re opening your mouth to him more and he sighs happily, licking to deepen the kiss as much as he can. It’s dizzying, mind slowly slipping of focus the longer he holds you. Your body shudders against your will because it’s never felt this good to be kissed before.
Pushing back on him, afraid you’re about to lose your mind and all he’s done is kiss you. Gojo pulls back with a suck of your tongue and your legs nearly falter, small whine leaving you. He’s stopped but he’s not moving back, hand still on the side of your face, the other having moved down to rest on your hip.
“You want me to stop here?” He asks, thumb pulling on your lower lip teasingly.
“This isn’t really—”
“Appropriate?” He asks, closer than he was before, lips almost touching yours, “Like you said… I’m not your boss anymore.”
Fuck it.
You’re the one to close the gap this time, kissing him again. It’s messier than before, an even more heated exchange and you’re realising he was being gentle with you a moment ago. Mood suddenly changed as it feels like he’s aiming to devour you whole.
He spins you so your back is against the cold glass of the window, his lower body pressing close to you. Able to feel his erection, it’s scandalous and making you tingle. You wrap your arms around his neck and he moves his hands down lower, sliding to your lower back. His fingers twitch against you like he’s holding back from touching you more.
Lips parting again so he can trail his kisses lower, burying his face into the side of your neck. Teeth nip at your flesh and you gasp, “Gojo!”
His smile reaches his eyes, “Something to remember me by,” he laves over the mark with his tongue.
Your heart twinges when you realise that your close relationship with him is ending and suddenly you’re asking, “Leave another?”
Gojo laughs a little breathlessly at that, “Hah, don’t have to tell me twice.”
He leaves another mark at your request, and then another lower down before trailing back up, his nose brushing against your neck until his lips meet yours. Words coming mumbled as he keeps kissing you, “You smell so fucking good.”
“Just shut up…” you grumble back, “and kiss me more.”
You know he wants to make another smartass comment but your shoving your tongue in his mouth to keep him quiet, he seems to be right where he wants to be though. Hands growing bolder as he grabs your ass and tugs you closer, grinding his erection against you.
Breaths coming heavy as you comment, “Pervert.”
“If I were a pervert…” he hums happily, “I’d do something more like this.” One of his hands is off your ass and slipping into the front of your pants, fingers swiping through your folds over your underwear.
A gasp leaves you, fingers digging into his shoulders as your knees grow weak. He’s prodding at your hole through your panties, almost penetrating if it weren’t for the material of them. It’s cruel, your arousal seeping into your underwear providing a slick glide for him to slide up to your clit.
“My,” he comments as if he’s shocked, “aren’t you a little too wet over a few kisses?”
“You can’t talk,” you pout, skin warming.
His eyes are bright with mischief. “Don’t be embarrassed,” finger carefully circling your clit and keeping you on edge, “it’s cute.” Sliding back to your dripping hole, “Though…” teasing you there too and then trailing back to your clit again, “you being embarrassed is cute too.”
“Are you– hff– gonna tease me the whole time?” You blink up at him.
“Probably.”
Hips rocking slightly, needy for him to touch you more, “Aren’t you being unreasonable?”
“I don’t think so.” He’s purposefully avoiding giving you what you’re seeking.
Your head falls to rest against him, hands gripping his shirt. Pleasure that feels just a little too distant running through you, making you weak and frustrated. Legs shaky to stand on with how antsy you’re getting. You should’ve guessed that he’d be a tease by how he acts regularly.
On the brink of asking him to touch you properly when he slips his hand under your panties, fingers immediately sliding inside your weeping cunt. You’re left gasping out a pathetic moan as he borderline whines. Clinging to him desperately as he angles his digits to hit the sweetest spots inside you. Slow in his pursuit, like he’s learning what gets the best reactions from you.
Gojo’s control is slipping, the tight grip you have on his fingers making it hard to think. Not to mention just how hot and wet you are, he’s not sure how he’s going to last fucking you when you feel this divine around his fingers alone.
Moans tumble from your lips and you struggle to stifle them back down, trying to rock your hips against his hand for anything more he’ll give you. It’s messy, dripping down into the palm of his hand, no doubt ruining your panties in the process. The sound of him finger fucking you obscene and too loud. Your skin is hot and you’re embarrassed from just how horny you’ve gotten, whimpering as he crooks his digits up and hits something sweet.
“Fuck– come over here,” Gojo pulls his fingers from you and tugs you over to his desk. He lifts you to sit on top of it effortlessly, hands tugging your pants and underwear off in one go. Movements rushed, impatience clear.
He’s sitting back into his desk chair and rolling forward a bit, hands resting atop your thighs. You ask him, “What are you doing?”
The answer comes incredibly blunt, “I’m gonna make out with your pretty pussy while you sit on my desk.” All smiles as he pushes your thighs apart, “I’m gonna think about this view every time I sit here from now on.”
Tongue boldly licking through your folds and making you squeal, your hand threads through his hair for something to hold onto. Quickly discovering just how good at this he really is, sliding his tongue inside your cunt and slurping at you lewdly.
Gojo eats you like a man starved, fingers digging into your plush skin as he holds you open. Your juices drip down his chin and onto his desk and all he can think about is how good you taste and how cute you are when you twitch around his tongue and how he’s probably going to get hard just thinking about this later.
Of course, he’s also going to be playing the whines and moans you’re letting out on repeat in his head later too. Finding everything about you completely endearing, even more so in your dishevelled and aroused state. To have you melting under his touch is almost too much for his poor heart to take.
Your lungs seize in your chest at how good it feels, his nose grinding into your clit with how close he’s pressed his face into you. If you had any higher brain function in this current moment, you’d be concerned if he could even breathe.
It’s getting harder and harder to sit still, desperate to move your hips in response to his stimulation. You’re falling back onto your elbows, hoping to leverage yourself better to rut against his face but he’s stronger than you anticipated. As if in punishment for your impatience, he pulls his tongue from you and trails it up to your clit. Licking it gently before wrapping his lips around it and sucking.
The feelings that run through you are immense and head spinning, feet kicking at the shock of it. Your elbows shake and give out, back bowing up in response. Hand reaching back for his head, tugging on his hair which only has him moaning against you. The vibrations have your hole twitching. Ever observant, Gojo stuffs two of his fingers inside you. Hitting all those perfect little spots he’d found earlier. Apparently having learnt a lot about your body in a short time.
“Gojo– hng– you gotta stop– hff– I’m gonna—”
His eyes look up to you, glinting mischievously. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Mouth off you long enough to say, “I’m not gonna stop.”
Almost as soon as his lips are back around your clit are you cumming; twitching and writhing through the high flooding your senses. All sensitive and whingey as he keeps fucking you with his digits. You can’t hear anything but the blood rushing in your head, feeling as though you’re floating.
That is, until Gojo pushes you dangerously close to overstimulation. His mouth off your clit, only to stuff his tongue back inside your cunt along with his fingers. Stretching you open as he eats you in a completely debauched manner.
“Too much– hnn– Gojo.” You push back on his forehead and he relents. “Perv.”
“Sorry sorry.” He grins, looking a little less than sorry about it.
He keeps your thighs open, admiring the way fresh slick drips from you entrance. He really wants to lean in and tongue your hole some more but he’ll refrain, diverting his focus to kiss your inner thighs. Sucking hickeys into your skin as much as he can, starting on the left before moving to the right. Getting a little too into it and biting your thigh a couple times, you twitch and whine at it and he doesn’t miss the way your pussy clenches around nothing in response.
Gojo gets to his feet and leans over top of you, pecking your cheek before kissing you deep and slow. It’s not hurried, taking his time to explore your mouth carefully. You don’t even realise he’d been unbuttoning your shirt at the same time until he’s moving away and opening it.
Hands quick to grope your tits over your bra, “Hmm… this is pretty,” he comments, fingers slipping under the strap and pulling back just to let it snap! back against your skin.
“Gojo!” you chastise, voice coming a little breathless.
He doesn’t even bother to take your bra off properly, just pushing it up and over your tits so he can gain direct access to your nipples. Head ducking back down to leave more marks on your soft skin, licking over your nipple to see what kind of reaction you’ll have. He’s not disappointed when you moan and tug at his hair.
Moving to rest his forehead against the valley between your breasts, he hums out, “You’re so perfect, from head to toe.”
“Don’t think flattery will get me to stay,” you joke, feeling bashful and trying to change his focus.
“How about a really good dick down?”
“Aren’t you a little too self-assured?”
Gojo stands up, shucking off his jacket and then beginning to unbutton his own shirt, “Ask me that again after we fuck.” He shrugs it off his shoulders and lets it fall to the ground.
You knew he was well built but seeing him shirtless is making you realise just how well built he is. All broad shoulders and toned abs, it’s a little hard to stay focused when you’re this horny and he’s that hot shirtless. Happy trail leading out of his pants to his belly button making your mouth water and you’re suddenly remembering that it’s rude to stare when you look back into his eyes.
Though obviously, Gojo takes it as a compliment. Large grin on his face at your blatant ogling. “Like what you see?” He asks.
“I didn’t say anything,” you turn away from him.
“You didn’t have to,” he laughs, “the hearts in your eyes said enough.”
“Oh, shut up.”
He starts unbuckling his belt, “Your pouting will only turn me on more.”
Sitting up as you tease, “You’ve got some weird kinks, huh?”
“Not at all, it’s just that I could get off to anything about you,” he replies smoothly.
You really shouldn’t find that as flattering as you do. “Not appropriate for the workplace, Gojo.”
“Getting tongue fucked on the CEO’s desk isn’t exactly appropriate either but here you are.” He reaches into his pants and pulls his cock out, hissing, “Plus, as you pointed out earlier, I’m not your boss anymore.”
There would definitely be some remark you’d make to that but your focus is kind of caught up on how big his dick is. You knew from it digging into you earlier that he was… well-endowed but to see it now is a little scary.
You point at it accusatorily, “There’s no way I’m taking that.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he laughs. “Don’t stress so much, it’ll fit.”
You quirk an eyebrow at him as if to ask, ‘you sure?’
“The foreplay wasn’t just for fun,” Gojo purrs, “though I definitely did have fun playing with your pussy—.”
Your hand slaps over his mouth, “Do you need to be so vulgar?”
He nods wordlessly from behind your hand, eyes bright with his enjoyment of this interaction.
You take too long to remove your palm and he’s licking it, your reaction immediate as you pull back with a grimace. “Ew, what the hell?”
“Ew? My tongue was literally in your mouth not five minutes ago,” his eyes roll at you.
“This and that are different things.”
“Uh huh,” brushing you off, “Open your legs more, I’m gonna blow my load before I even get inside you at this rate.”
Your legs cross at that, “Say pretty please.”
Gojo leans down and rests his hands on the desk either side of you, eyes level with yours, “Pretty please open your legs for me, sweetheart?”
There’s a bit of a begged tinge to his voice that makes you cave immediately, parting your legs again. He grabs your hips and pulls you closer to the edge of the desk, humming happily, “Thank you.”
The head of his cock is dragged from your clit to your opening and back again, sliding himself through your folds a few times just to make you desperate. Ignoring the fact that you’re already desperate, needy for him to fill you to the brim.
“Stop being a tease.”
“I thought you were worried about it fitting?” He asks.
Your retort is fast, “I thought you were going to give me a good dick down?”
“I believe I said a really good dick down,” notching the head at your pussy hole, “but I’ll forgive you this time.” He doesn’t push in immediately, instead leaving a chaste peck on your lips before he murmurs against them, “Deep breath.”
About to tell him he’s ridiculous and something about his ego being heavy to carry around when your lungs are struggling, the initial slide of his cock entering you making all air knock from you. Nails clawing at his forearms either side of you, not even able to make a noise as he splits you open.
Stopping not even half-way to give you a second to breathe, “I told you to take a deep breath.”
“Hnn– I– hng—” You can’t even reply yet, stopping your attempts to fill your lungs with air.
Gojo’s head dips as he looks at where you’re both connected, “Fuuuck—” he tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling, “I’m gonna cum too early if you don’t relax.”
He’d already held off on cumming just from touching you a couple times, finally being inside you is driving him crazy. Not even at the half-way point and his dick is twitching like crazy, your cunt sucking him in greedily and clenched so tight around him. You’re still panting and struggling to wrap your head around the stretch of him and as cute as it is, it’s also a massive fucking turn on that’s making his life harder.
You’re falling forward into him, head resting on his chest, hands clinging to him desperately. Managing out through moans, “Why– hff– why is your dick so huge?”
Breathless laugh leaving him, “You’re being really cute.”
“Shut up.”
“Getting cuter.”
He wraps his arms around you, lips pressed to your ear. With the movement his cock slides just that bit more inside you. The sound of his soft, needy whine is ringing in your head and making you twitch. Practically creaming around him already, it’s embarrassingly early to be this much of a mess but he’s worked you up so much and you can’t help but fall deeper into the pleasure.
Desire is overflowing from you and you have no idea what to do with it, holding onto him tighter as a result. Turning to the side, you kiss him wherever you can, it doesn’t take long at all for him to dip and kiss you back hard. Getting lost in his lips, wishing you could somehow pull him even closer.
While distracted, Gojo takes the opportunity to fuck the rest of the way into your tight pussy. Your mouth is dropping open with a whine, feeling the tip of his dick against your cervix has you trembling. You can’t tell if you’re imagining it but you’d swear you can feel the thump thump! of the veins on his cock throbbing against your walls.
He lowers you down onto the desk but the movement has him shifting inside you and you’re whining again, back arching against the wooden surface. You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the need to cling to him even more.
Gojo’s head tucks into the crook of your neck, his words coming out mumbled, “Ooh, you’re gonna have me dreaming about this.”
“You– hng– you have to move.” You can’t take any more of this slow pace, your pussy begging you—and him—to be fucked.
His face comes into view, expression struggling to stay cool, “You need to keep your legs open nice and wide for me then.”
Pout making its way onto your face immediately because you really want to keep him this close but you also really want to do what he says. “This better be worth the embarrassment.”
“It will be.”
He’s pulling away from you at the same time that you’re parting your legs, hoping you’ll get away with resting your inner thighs against his hips. Clearly, that’s not satisfactory enough for Gojo because he’s grabbing behind your knees and pulling your legs further apart. Manhandling you lewdly into a position that exposes you to his greedy eyes.
Sighed moan leaving him, “You’ve got such a pretty cunt.”
“You’ve– ah– got such a dirty mouth.” A laugh moves through his chest at your retort and you don’t understand why you’re feeling butterflies over it.
“I’m gonna move now, sweetheart.”
“Please.”
The heavy drag of his cock pulling back gives you a visceral reaction, fingers digging into his desk, looking for something to hold onto. Every inch of him rubbing up against something delicious with each one of his movements, no matter how small. Tuned into every sensation you’re experiencing and feeling so sensitive with it. You’re feeling everything, pussy creaming around him at it, clearly in love with his dick.
On the other hand, Gojo’s losing his fucking mind about as much as you are—if not more. His cock throbbing, pulsing inside your hot cunt. Even though he’s going insane over how sweet your pussy is, he’s still pausing when he’s pulled out. Watching how your hole twitches and convulses around the head of his dick. Fresh slick dribbling from you and sliding down his shaft, he’s not sure he’s ever going to be normal again.
Slamming his hips to yours in one movement and as soon as he starts, he can’t stop. Repeatedly fucking into you over and over, his eyes glazing over as whimpers spill from him. You’re not doing any better, whining and grabbing onto whatever’s closest, obviously needing something to keep you grounded.
He’s bullying your womb with his tip and you’re so close to cumming, only a few more thrusts and you’re finishing around him. Surprised by your own high, hips meeting his to ride it out. Teeth digging into your lower lip as your eyes roll, too involved in yourself and the pleasure to be embarrassed.
“God– hah– you’re already?– fuck!” Gojo can’t believe it, his heart hammering in his chest at how you cum. Your pussy sucking him in divinely, begging him to keep stuffing you full.
In your fucked out bliss, you slip up, “Satoru– hmf—”
It’s the first time you’ve used his given name and his brain short circuits, everything inside him excited and he can’t help himself. Whining pathetically as he cums, not a hint of shame from him. Caught up in how pretty his name sounded coming from your lips, a little slurred in your messy state.
Not able to stop his thrusts either, your mixed cum drooling down the sides of his cock as he keeps fucking you. Keeping you both on cloud nine to the point of overstimulation. The pair of you buzzing and lost in each other. Everything is hot and messy and feels so fucking good.
His brain is stuck in a loop of your pitiful voice calling for him. “You’re unbelievable– hnn– you should stay– hah– don’t leave.”
“I can’t– ngh—”
“Breaking my heart,” he sulks, hips slowing to a steady rut.
You can feel tingling all the way down to your toes. “That’d– hff– be more believable if you weren’t balls deep inside me.”
He finally stops, pelvis flush to you. Looking down his nose as he replies, “I’m multidimensional.” Sliding his hands from your legs to your waist, “And still horny.”
His dick slips from you and then he’s using his hold on you to flip you over so you’re face down on the desk. Taking a second to admire the way his seed drips from you before plugging it with his fat dick again. Shiver going down his spine, gaze trailing up your body. Disappointed by the lack of skin showing, you’re still wearing the unbuttoned shirt he neglected to properly remove in his impatience.
Touch gentle as he slides the sleeves down your arms, initially going to take it off but changing his mind at the last second. Instead, wrapping your wrists in it haphazardly and turning it into a makeshift restraint.
When you realise what he’s done, you struggle a little against it and then huff. Forehead resting against the wood, cunt overstuffed, and now restrained in your arm movements. You feel a little helpless and it makes your insides flutter.
Gojo checks in, “You good, sweetie?”
“Pervert,” you mutter in response.
“What was that?” Fingers unclasping your bra, sliding his hand over where it’d been fastened.
“I’m good,” you reply.
He pats your ass, smiling to himself, “Then this pervert’s gonna fuck you again.”
Pace instantly brutal, angling his hips so his dick drills into your weakest point. Already having figured out your body far better than you ever have, driving you to the brink of crying from how overwhelmingly good it feels.
You have nothing to hold onto, hands trapped behind you and forced to stay there. It’s got you squirmy, unable to ground yourself with anything and it’s manifesting as you wriggling and your toes curling. Panting and writhing below Gojo, digging your nails into the cotton of your shirt as a pitiful replacement for something sturdy.
Gojo groans, hands holding you still, his fingers digging into your plush skin. “Stay still, pretty.”
“Can’t– ngh– can’t help it.” Your eyes wet from unshed tears.
He moves one of his hands up to the back of your neck, putting just enough pressure there to stop your wriggling. Immobile under him now, taking what he’s giving you. Your pussy shaking around him, consumed by him and his presence. Trusting him wholly in this moment to do what will bring you both the most pleasure, a kind of trust you’ve not given to anyone before.
There’s a creamy ring around the base of his cock from your mixed cum, a sight that makes him even more aroused. Everything you do, everything about fucking you, is only working him up even more. Thinking he’s gotten as horny as he can possibly get only for you to whine, or call his name, or twitch, or pulse around him. Causing him to fall deeper and deeper into his own insanity, borderline unhinged from how you’re making him feel.
Everything feels so much more heightened now that you can’t take it out on the furniture, brain zeroing in on exactly where his tip is hitting or the sounds he’s making for you. The soft whines and moans from him are causing your brain to fry, tingling all over and smiling a little dumbly at how he sighs your name.
It feels so good, too good, it’s almost a little scary just how good it feels. Like you’re going to fall apart at any second and you have no idea of knowing when, kept on edge and waiting for the final thrust that will do you in.
Gojo can’t believe what’s in front of him, able to feel you so vividly but still feeling like he’s dreaming because it’s just too good to be true. But you are here below him, your pussy is crying around him and begging for more. It’s real and it’s heavenly and he’s greedy for more.
“You’re so pretty,” he sighs, “so pretty– hff– and smart and your cunt sucks me in so fucking nicely.”
Managing to pant back at him, “Don’t talk.” Your pussy betrays you though, jumping at his praise.
“Why not?” Soft laugh leaving him, “Feels like you like it.” He hums softly, hand tickling down your spine, “It’s– hah– like how you got flustered by me complimenting your work.”
You’d almost forgotten that, all his words of affirmation and the kindness he’d spilled in an attempt to get you to not resign. It didn’t work but it definitely did make you feel all fuzzy inside. “I don’t know what you’re– ah!– talking about.”
“I think someone has a thing for praise,” he giggles. “That’s okay, I can give you all the praise in the world.”
“I don’t,” you deny poorly. It’s hard to sound convincing when you’re full of his cock.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” you can hear the smile on his face, “you’re doing– haa– such a good job, pussy taking me so well. Being real nice to me too, all wet and needy.”
It’s fucked up how easily he reads you, it shouldn’t be allowed. “Stop– hm– I’m gonna cum if you keep—”
“—Gonna cum because you like being told what a hot cunt you have and how great it is to fuck.”
He’s so annoying, so persistent, so stubborn, and so good at getting you off. You’re cumming around him as he gives you his nasty version of a compliment, moans loud and embarrassing. It’s the hardest you’ve ever cum and it’s knocked the wind from your lungs. A mess of shivers and whines as you ride it out. His cock prolonging your high because he’s not stopped fucking you.
Gojo’s head tips back, eyes watching how you’re squeezing around him, “Fuck– fuck– oh my god– hah– that’s it, cum around me juuust like that.”
It feels fantastic, your bliss washing over you. It won’t stop feeling good, brain all mushy and thoughtless as you barely register his words. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, holding his own orgasm off through sheer willpower alone. “Satoru… you– hng– you gotta cum, please?”
“That’s not fair,” he whines.
You’re not playing fair. He’s trying his absolute hardest to prolong this moment, wanting it to never end and here you are asking him so very nicely to cum. He couldn’t possibly deny you, not when you’re so placid and sucking him in so lovingly. Pussy practically begging him for another one of his heavy loads.
Voice calling to him again, “Please, I want it.” And you do, you want to hear how his moans get even more pathetic as he finally lets himself go.
Not even all the way through your sentence does he fold for you, hands slamming down onto the desk as his hips jut forward, filling you to the brim with his achy dick. His pelvis keeps you so close to the edge of the desk, the wood digging into you.
Your hole flutters around him at his pretty moans and he feels every second of it, his sensitive cock reacting to it. “You feel sooo fucking good– ngh– I can’t take it, you’re killing me, sweetheart.”
He’s panting from above you, trying to catch his breath as his body shakes from aftershocks. The both of you twitchy messes, all heavy breaths and soft jerks. Your body is all limp on the desk, brain fuzzy and not thinking much of anything aside from how delightful everything feels.
In his hazy state, he manages to remember that you’re still restrained. Struggling a little to untangle the mess he made of your shirt and freeing your hands. Your arms fall to your sides, all lazy and fucked out.
Gojo slips from you and sits back onto his desk chair, taking you with him. Your head flops back onto his chest as you whine in protest but you’re too weak to stand. “Your cum is gonna get all over this chair.”
The laugh that he lets out vibrates against you, “It’s fine, I’m sure the owner won’t mind.” His big hands come around to your front, pulling your bra off properly before cupping your tits in them.
“The owner is a weird pervert.”
He’s playing with you, groping your tits how he pleases, “Oh, you’ve met him? Should I be jealous?”
You continue going along with his bit, “No, he’s some lazy guy who never shows up on time and always sneaks out to blow off work, I’d never have sex with him.”
“Wow, lucky I’m not him,” he tilts your head to the side and kisses you deep. Humming softly against you as he licks at your tongue. When he pulls back he asks, “So, was it a really good dick down or what?”
Your eyes grow wide and your skin heats up, “I refuse to answer that.”
“Because then you’d have to stay,” he grins back, arms moving to wrap around you.
There’s a quiet that goes over the both of you, “I can’t.”
He tucks his head into your neck, asking, “Are you finally going to tell me why?”
“If I told you why you’d want to help and I’m handling it on my own.” There’s a lot you can’t manage to tell him and needing to move is only the tip of the iceberg.
As much as he wants to argue back or push more information from you, he accepts your words, “There will always be a place here for you, I was serious about not hiring anyone else.”
These are your last moments with him, him being kind to you after giving you the best sex of your life and you can’t even be completely honest with him. Instead of mourning the moment before it’s over though, you let yourself be here. Held by him and warm.
𝒂ﾉ𝒏. thank you sm for reading !!! i'm sorry it took me so long to finish it 🥲 my writing speed fluctuates rapidly, i am who i ammmm. ngl i got most of this done ages ago and got stuck on the smut. ANYWAYS,, i have ideas for a second part with a little bit of angst and dramaaa but only if people want it smile ◡̈
also if it seems unrealistic to what working in marketing is like #sorry i've never worked corporate. i'm studying psych and worked as a lifeguard so i've got NO CLUE 😛
Pairings: BabyDaddy!Geto x f!Reader
Content warnings + tags: 18+ MDNI, modern au, discussion of pregnancy and fertility treatments, non-consensual sperm sample switch (misrepresentation of paternity), angst, emotional turmoil, eventual smut, references to past unhealthy relationship dynamics, mild language, friends to lovers, reproductive deception, Suguru is dumb but we also love him trust
wc — 3.3k words
After the end of a long relationship that left you questioning everything you thought you wanted, you’re finally ready to start over. A quiet afternoon at the zoo with your closest friend and his nieces becomes the backdrop for a decision you’ve been carrying in secret—a choice that could change everything between you.
Starting Over
You had always hated the feeling of being strung along.
It made you feel stupid. As if you were some gullible girl who couldn’t tell the difference between love and the idea of it. Like a fish caught on some invisible line, reeled in just far enough to think you were safe, only to be cut free when it suited him.
Sukuna had that talent. The talent of making you believe in a future he never planned to share. He could be so warm when he wanted to be. So convincing in those rare moments when he let you close enough to think he cared about anything beyond himself.
But in the end, he didn’t even bother cutting the line. He just stood there, watching you thrash around, like he couldn’t be bothered to pretend anymore.
You spent almost four years waiting for those moments to add up to something permanent. Four years with him, believing you were building something real. Four years of half-promises and deferred plans, of telling yourself that he was just afraid of commitment, that if you were patient enough, he’d eventually realize you were worth it.
But you were tired of patience. Tired of watching friends get engaged, get pregnant, buy houses, while you sat on the sidelines, convincing yourself you were content with scraps.
You thought it was a reasonable thing to ask. To want clarity. A plan. A little reassurance that you weren’t wasting your life on someone who didn’t see you in their future.
The night it all ended, hadn’t started out any different from the hundreds before it.
You’d cooked dinner, something simple, just pasta and a bottle of cheap red wine. You’d been rehearsing the words in your head over and over all day, feeling them swell and contract inside your chest like a bruise. You thought he’d look at you and see what you meant to him. That’d he remember every late night and early morning spent together, every argument you’d ever survived, every quiet hour when you thought: This must be what forever feels like.
When you finally asked him outright—“Where is this going?”—he didn’t even look up from his phone.
You remembered the feeling of your heart sinking, just a little. Like you already knew what was coming, but you just had to hear it anyway.
He set his phone aside eventually, looking you right in the eye and exhaling as if you were asking him something ridiculous.
"You’re doing this now?" he’d said.
That was how it spiraled from there.
You pressed, because you needed to. Because you were tired of pretending it didn’t bother you.
You told him you wanted to get married someday. You told him you wanted a family. You told him you were ready to start thinking about that—really thinking about it. "I just…need to know where we’re heading. I don’t want to wake up in a few years and realize I wasted my time.”
Sukuna listened, the way he always did when he was deciding whether or not to pick a fight. His mouth curved into that small, disdainful smile.
“You knew I didn’t want any of that,” he’d said simply, even though you didn’t. No apology. No hesitation. Just the truth, blunt as a dull blade. He said it like it was obvious, like it was your fault for hoping he’d change his mind one day.
You tried to reason with him. Tried to explain that people grew, that sometimes priorities shifted.
It turned into an argument you couldn’t steer back to calm.
You’d never really yelled at each other before. But that night, you did. Voices echoed off the walls of your shared apartment, accusations and resentment you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying.
You asked him why he’d never told you he didn’t want kids.
He asked you why you couldn’t just be happy with what you already had.
Your voice went hoarse from just trying to make him understand. His eyes remained flat and unimpressed. He told you he wouldn’t be “trapped” into a life he never signed up for.
You cried—a lot—and he got quiet. And in that silence, sitting on opposite ends of the couch with your cheeks still damp, you realized he was never going to change. That there was nothing left of your relationship to salvage.
You didn’t sleep that night. Just layed awake on the couch, feeling the shape of all your wasted years pressing down on you like a weight you’d never be able to lift. You remembered the way your heart felt quiet, too. How all that hope shriveled into something dry and small.
That was it.
No second chances. No compromise.
In the morning, you packed up half of the apartment in cardboard boxes. You didn’t wait for him to come home. Didn’t look back.
Maybe it was cowardly, but you couldn’t stand the thought of hearing him tell you again that he didn’t want you in the ways that mattered most.
It should have felt like freedom. But mostly, it felt like failure.
But through it all, every hour you spent crying on the kitchen floor, every time you almost called Sukuna just to hear him say anything, Suguru was there.
He was the first person you called.
He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t act surprised.
He just said, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
And he was.
He was the one who loaded your boxes into the back of his beat-up car. Who held your hand in the leasing office when you signed the paperwork for your shitty little apartment with the creaky floorboards and the view of the laundromat. Who carried your cheap furniture up three flights of stairs without complaint. Who sat on the warped tile floor beside you with takeout containers and a pint of mint-chip ice cream you didn’t even touch.
He didn’t offer platitudes or try to tell you that it would be okay. He didn’t say Sukuna didn’t deserve you, though you knew he believed it.
He was just there. He’d open his arms, and you folded yourself against his chest like you’d done a thousand times before.
Steady and patient in a way that made you feel whole again.
And when the worst of it passed, when you could finally breathe without wanting to break, he stayed.
Suguru had always been like that. Being exactly what you needed, even when you didn’t know how to ask. The constant you never quite let yourself depend on too much.
The constant you never quite let yourself depend on too much.
Maybe because you knew, deep down, that whatever tether held you together was stronger than either of you wanted to admit. That no matter who you loved, no matter how it ended, it was always Suguru who put you back together.
It took you three months to come to the decision.
Three months of living alone for the first time in years. Of lying awake at night, wondering if you’d made a huge mistake.
Three months of realizing you didn’t have to keep waiting for someone else to want the same things you did.
You wanted to be a mother. You’d wanted it for as long as you could remember, but you’d let yourself believe it was only possible if you had someone beside you.
But you were done waiting.
It wasn’t decided on a whim. It wasn’t desperation or some reckless act of defiance. It was a certainty that settled into your bones like something you’d known all along.
It was the way you felt every time you visited Suguru and his nieces. The way Mimiko would crawl into your lap with her stuffed rabbit and ask you to read her the same picture book over and over. The way Nanako would slip her hand into yours when you crossed the parking lot.
It was watching Suguru tie their shoes, patiently brushing their hair out of their faces, smiling at them like they were the best thing that had ever happened to him.
It was the hollow place inside you that never quite healed after Sukuna. The part that still believed you had something good to give, if only you were brave enough to try.
So you started researching. Clinics. Procedures. The cost of donor samples. You read everything you could get your hands on.
By the time you made your decision, it didn’t feel impulsive at all. It felt inevitable.
Which was why you found yourself here, walking through the front gates of the zoo on a mild Saturday morning, feeling your heart stutter as Suguru waved to you from the ticket counter, Nanako perched on his hip, and Mimiko tugging at his sleeve.
He smiled when he saw you, an easy, quiet thing that made your heart flutter.
“Hey,” he called. “You made it.”
You nodded, hoping you looked steadier than you felt.
You hadn’t planned on telling him today.
But something about the warm afternoon and the girls running ahead of you to look at the sea lions made you feel like it was safe to want things again.
You glanced at Suguru, with his hair tied back, sunglasses hiding the way his eyes always softened when he looked at you, and felt the words gathering in your throat.
You didn’t know exactly what you were going to say.
Only that if there was anyone in the world you could trust with your truth, it was him.
You hardly looked at the animals.
It wasn’t that you didn’t care about the sleepy red pandas or the sun-bathing crocodiles. It was that you were too aware of Suguru beside you. The way he kept glancing over to make sure you were keeping up, the warm brush of his hand at your back whenever the crowd thickened.
Nanako had claimed his right hand, small fingers wrapped tightly around his index finger. Mimiko clung to your side, tugging you toward every enclosure with a breathless “Look, Auntie!”
The first time she called you that, you’d nearly melted on the spot.
Suguru didn’t bat an eye. He just smiled, the same quiet, fond expression he always wore around them. You wondered if he even realized how natural he looked with a child tucked against his side. How easily the girls trusted him, how effortlessly he seemed to fit into the role.
Sometimes, it was easy to pretend. To imagine that this was something you might have had if your life had turned out differently if you’d chosen other people. Other paths.
“Stay where I can see you,” Suguru called when the girls bolted ahead to press their faces against the glass of the penguin enclosure.
“Yes, Uncle Sugu!” Nanako sing-songed, already ignoring him and halfway gone.
You bit back a laugh as you stepped up beside him. He looked so much like a tired young dad.
“You’re very patient,” you murmured.
“They’re good kids,” he replied, and there was that softness again, always so effortless with him. “Even when they pretend they’re not listening.”
Mimiko turned around to wave you over. You followed, letting the girls tug you from one habitat to the next—peering at otters floating on their backs, watching a tiger pace behind tall glass, admiring the giraffes that blinked sleepily in the sun. Suguru kept pace just behind, hands in his pockets, expression content in that unassuming way of his.
And you loved it. You loved the simplicity of feeling like you belonged to something—this tiny makeshift family under the warm sky.
But there was always that small, hollow place inside you. The one that whispered you were just a visitor in their little world. An honorary member, destined to leave eventually.
Suguru noticed everything, though. He always did.
“You okay?” he asked at one point, when you fell quiet watching him kneel to retie Nanako’s sneaker.
You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just…thinking.”
He didn’t push. He knew you too well for that.
By the time you’d made it halfway through the zoo, the girls were flagging. Suguru, always prepared, pulled juice boxes and crackers out of his backpack. He tied Mimiko’s hair into a crooked ponytail when she got too warm, handed Nanako his water bottle, checked the label to be sure it was still cold.
You caught yourself watching him, trying to imagine him like this every day—gentle, dependable, impossibly good.
When he looked up and caught you staring, something unspoken flickered across his face. But he only gave a tired, quiet smile and turned back as Nanako clambered onto his lap.
Mimiko leaned against your side, nibbling on the crackers. You reached over to smooth her hair behind her ear, feeling your heart twist when she turned to face into your palm, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
For a second, you imagined doing this with your own child. Sitting on a bench on a warm Saturday morning, nowhere else you needed to be.
The thought lodged itself behind your ribs, stubborn and aching.
You tried to swallow it down, but it stayed there all through the last exhibits.
You didn’t know why you couldn’t just tell him then and there. You’d spent weeks rehearsing what you wanted to say. But every time you opened your mouth, the words died on your tongue.
So you waited.
It wasn’t until later, when you reached the small gift shop near the entrance, that you finally ran out of excuses.
Suguru handed each of the girls a crumpled bill. “Pick something you want,” he told them. “But just one thing each.”
They scampered off, giggling, Mimiko immediately grabbing a stuffed otter off the shelf.
“Don’t pick the same thing as last time,” he called after them, though his voice was more amused than stern.
You trailed along behind them, weaving through bright displays of plastic toys and overpriced t-shirts.
Your stomach had been twisting itself into knots since the flamingo pond, but you kept telling yourself: Just wait. Just wait for the right moment.
But standing there, you couldn’t pretend any longer.
Near the back wall, a small corner was arranged with baby onesies—soft cotton printed with cartoon giraffes and tiny elephants. A row of plush rattles lined the lowest shelf, pastel price tags swaying gently in the air conditioning.
You didn’t mean to stop. But your feet carried you there anyway.
Suguru came up beside you, following your gaze. For the first time all day, his calm seemed to slip.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice lower than before. He shifted a little closer, like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you. “You sure you’re okay?”
No. You weren’t.
Your heart was battering against your ribs. Your throat felt too small to hold all the things you’d been trying to keep down.
And before you could think better of it, before you could tuck the truth back behind your teeth, you heard yourself blurt it out—
“I’m going to have a baby.”
The words hovered between you, enormous and absurd.
You turned to him fully, bracing for—what? Shock? Pity?
He just stared at you, like he was trying to make sense of what you’d said. His mouth opened. Closed. His brow knitted, a fine line appearing between his eyebrows.
You could practically feel his thoughts tumbling over each other, searching for the right response and coming up empty.
“You’re…” His throat worked. “You’re pregnant?”
Fuck. You almost wished you could take it back.
The question sounded strangled, the shape of it barely formed.
You shook your head quickly, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “No! Not yet. I—God, I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. I’ve been thinking about this for months now.”
He still hadn’t moved. You wished he would. Anything would have been better than just standing there, watching the disbelief giving way to worry, the worry shading into something more fragile you didn’t dare name.
“Is it—” He exhaled carefully, as if he had to push the words out. “It’s not his, is it?”
It took you a second to understand who he meant.
Sukuna.
You almost laughed at how much you wanted to be insulted by the assumption, even though it was fair. Because of course he’d think that. Of course he’d be trying to do the math in his head, to piece together timelines you didn’t even want to remember.
“No,” you said, sharper than you intended. “It has nothing to do with him.”
You looked down, fingertips brushing over the folded edge of a onesie. Maybe if you didn’t meet his eyes, this would feel less like a confession.
“I’ve been…researching clinics. Donor programs,” you went on quietly. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to be a mom. And I’m done waiting around for someone else to want the same things I do. I can just…do this on my own.”
He was quiet for a long time. When you finally dared to look up again, his expression was hard to read, studying you like he could see every secret you’d never told him.
When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “You’ve really thought this through.”
You nodded. Your palms felt damp. You had the ridiculous urge to keep explaining—to fill the silence before it swallowed you both.
“I know it’s a huge responsibility. I know it might be stupid, or selfish. But I’m ready. I’ve been working extra shifts. Saving up. I don’t want to spend another year waiting around for—”
You stopped yourself before you said someone to love me the way you do.
“I just thought you should know. You’re…important to me. And this is important to me.”
His gaze flicked to the baby section again. He swallowed, and for a second, you thought there was something else he wanted to say. Something that would crack everything wide open if he left it.
Please don’t do this. Please don’t shut me out.
But all he did was let out a slow exhale.
“And…you’re sure this is what you want?” he asked quietly.
“I’m sure.”
Something in his shoulders sagged, as if he’d been holding his breath and finally let it go.
“Okay…I’m glad you told me,” he said after a moment, though his voice was a little unsteady.
“You don’t have to pretend to be okay with it.”
He hesitated. His jaw tightened, biting down on something that might splinter if he let it out.
“I mean it,” he insisted. “If this is what you want…then I’m happy for you.”
It wasn’t exactly true. You could see it in the way his hand hovered near yours before he curled it into a fist. In the way his eyes kept searching your face like he might find some small reason to change your mind.
But he meant it as much as he could.
And you loved him for trying.
Nanako’s voice broke through the quiet from across the store, bright and oblivious:
“Uncle Sugu! Can I get the tiger instead?”
He blinked, almost as if he’d forgotten where he was.
“Yeah, kiddo,” he called back. “I’ll be right there.”
Then he looked at you again. Really looked. And for one unbearable heartbeat, you thought he was going to reach for you. To gather you up the way he had when your whole world fell apart.
But he didn’t.
“If you need anything,” he murmured, softer than before, “anything at all…you’ll tell me.”
You couldn’t find it in yourself to answer. You just nodded.
Then he turned away to help Nanako, and you were left standing there alone, staring at the rows of tiny clothes, wondering why the confession felt so much like a loss.
a/n ~ whoops friends ive been busy... ahahah.... i work so many hours now i want to die <3 taglist CLOSED! enjoy, next part will be the last part (and u already know what happens in that one hehehe)
access the verse here !!
it’s been two days since gojo got your instagram, and in those painful near-48 hours of silence from you, he’s learned that he cannot sit still for the life of him.
he’s been pacing around the living room for ten minutes, phone in hand, locking it, unlocking it, opening your profile, closing it, opening messages, closing them.
“just text her,” toji says from across the room, not even looking up.
“i’m not just gonna text her,” gojo shoots back immediately.
“you’ve opened the chat like six times.”
“i’m thinking.”
“you’re overthinking,” geto corrects, glancing up from his book.
gojo scowls, flopping back onto the couch dramatically. “there’s a difference.”
“no there isn’t.”
he stares at the ceiling again, phone resting in his palms, thumb hovering.
what do i even say.
he scrolls your profile again for the fiftieth time like inspiration might strike him, and then a story notification pops up.
gojo freezes and waits a respectable twenty seconds (which he doesn’t think of as desperate, but rather curious) before tapping it. it’s a picture of a matcha cup, sunlight hitting the table you’re at - some outdoor cafe - with the location tagged.
gojo sits up so fast he nearly drops his phone. “okay,” he says. “okay, this is my in.”
“your ‘in’,” toji asks lazily. “what is it.”
“nothing.”
gojo’s already typing. stops. deletes. types again. deletes again. “this is stupid,” he mutters.
“you’re stupid,” toji replies.
gojo ignores him, brain racking to find a way to make ‘hey’ sound cool and not sleazy.
gojo: is it good should i go
he stares at it. and sends it before giving it another thought.
“fuck,” he says, chucking his phone across the room to the other couch, and lasts four seconds before he’s springing up again to check his alerts.
“don’t double text,” geto reminds him calmly.
“i’m not gonna double text.”
you don’t reply. it’s been one minute. two. five, and gojo’s back to pacing.
“she’s not gonna answer,” toji says.
“she is.”
“she’s not.”
“she is.”
bzzzt.
gojo goes still again and opens his phone.
you: it’s good
he exhales like he just ran a marathon. “she replied,” he announces.
“congrats,” toji says flatly.
gojo: worth the trip
you: depends who you’re going with
gojo stares at that for a second, then slowly grins.
oh.
oh.
he leans back, suddenly feeling like the room tilted in his favor.
gojo: guess i’ll need a good recommendation then
he watches the three dots appear and disappear like it’s reality tv.
you: i’m not recommending anything to you
he huffs out a quiet laugh.
gojo: we should go together sometime so i can make sure it’s good
there’s a longer pause this time, long enough for doubt to creep in. oh god, i’m gonna get ghosted already.
you: you’re persistent
his grin widens.
gojo: i’ve been told
gojo: let me take you
his thumb taps nervously against the screen now.
your phone is in your hand, half-finished matcha on the table across from you, and the faintest smile on your face.
you: no
gojo: okay
your brows furrow slightly. okay? that's...it?
gojo: how about coffee
unbelievable.
you: no
gojo: tea
you: no
gojo: juice
you: no
gojo: water
you stare at your phone. you can practically hear him saying it. you press your lips together, fighting a smile.
you: you're not funny
gojo: please? i'll buy whatever fancy matcha order you have
gojo: my treat
your friend looks you over, narrowing her eyes slightly. "you're texting him."
you don't even look up. "i'm not."
"you're smiling."
"i'm not smiling."
"you literally are."
you drop your phone onto the table. "i'm not texting him."
she leans forward, a glint in her eye. "then who."
"no one."
she doesn't believe you for a second.
"give me your phone."
"no."
she lunges across the table, unlocking it quickly (you internally curse yourself for having told her your pin, a while back), eyes scanning over the text thread with a grin.
"oh my god."
"give it back."
"you're so into him."
"i'm not into him!"
"you're literally setting up a date."
"i'm not—"
she's already typing. your eyes widen, heart thumping in fear, and you reach your hand forward to grab your phone, but she ducks.
"i swear to god, what are you—"
"and done! i sent."
your throat feels tight. "what. did you send."
she grins, waving your phone in front of you, and tossing it back. "i just sent what you were thinking."
you scramble to unlock it, looking at the screen.
you: okay
your heart drops into your stomach. “oh my god.” you stare at her, head feeling light all of a sudden. “why would you do that.”
she shrugs, completely unbothered. “because you were going to say yes anyway.”
“i was not.”
“you were.”
“i wasn’t.”
she just smiles, slow and knowing. “you’ve got this whole act on. i can see right through you.”
you open your mouth to argue then close it.
because, annoyingly, she's not...entirely wrong.
your phone buzzes and you both look down.
gojo's heart has never raced so fast in his life. he closes instagram five times and tries to distract himself with reels, waiting for you to answer, and when your message comes in, his hands even shake a little.
(thank god toji and geto can't see that. he'd never live it down.)
he opens it, reads it once. twice, because there's no way...
he actually stands up. “yes,” he says out loud.
toji looks over. “what.”
“she said yes.”
geto smiles. “to what part.”
gojo’s already typing again, faster now.
gojo: we’re not just doing matcha
gojo: we’re making it a whole thing
gojo: matcha
gojo: then something
you: something like what
he grins, pacing again now, circling around the coffee table.
“okay,” he mutters. “okay, think.”
gojo: you tell me
you stare at the message.
you: art gallery?
you smirk slightly. that should do it. that should scare gojo off. there's no way he'd agree to an art gallery. he's the type to get bored in five minutes, who'd complain, and who'd ruin the outing.
you send it, look up at your friend all triumphantly.
“there,” you say. “problem solved.”
she raises a brow. “you think that’s gonna scare him.”
“yes.”
your phone buzzes immediately.
gojo: amazing
gojo: art gallery it is
gojo: matcha, gallery
gojo: whole afternoon
you stare at your phone, face falling. “…what.”
your friend leans over, reading, then laughs. “oh, you’re in trouble.”
“he’s insane,” you mutter.
“well, now you've got a nice little date set up,” she teases, and you glare at her.
“this is your fucking fault.”
“please. you have me to thank.”
you stare at his messages, but your heart does that weird thing again, and you hate it. just a little.
meanwhile, gojo drops back onto the couch, staring at the conversation like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
“he’s smiling like an idiot again,” toji says.
“he’s gone,” geto agrees.
gojo doesn’t care. he’s already planning it out in his head. matcha, then art gallery. if he's lucky, maybe a walk in the park after.
he hates art galleries. hates them. he winced when he saw your text but knew it was a tactic to push him away.
ha. like that would work.
he giggles like a schoolgirl. toji and geto share an unimpressed look.
you're standing in front of your mirror a few days later, staring at your reflection.
this is stupid. you shouldn’t care this much. it's just matcha and an art gallery with a guy you don't even yes sort of really like.
you adjust your outfit anyway, fix your hair, step back. frown. “…whatever.”
your phone buzzes on your bed.
gojo: i can pick you up
you stare at it for a second.
you: i’ll just come to your place
you: i have to drop something off for choso anyway
three dots almost immediately.
gojo: oh
gojo: okay
gojo: i’ll be here
you don’t know why that makes your chest feel weird.
you ignore it, and ignore it even more when you pull up in the frat's driveway a half hour later, your chest bubbling up annoyingly. you hesitate for a split second before knocking.
geto opens the door after a moment and he blinks. "...hi."
you tilt your head slightly. "hi."
there’s a pause, a noticeable one, like his brain lagged for a second. "come in," he says finally, stepping aside, but his eyes flick over you again like he’s recalibrating something.
you step inside, glancing over at toji, who's sprawled on the couch, mid-scroll, and he doesn’t look up until geto shuts the door.
"who is—" he looks over and stops, mouth hanging open slightly. "...oh. uh."
you glance between them, unimpressed already. “is this a staring contest or..”
toji huffs out a quiet laugh, sitting up a little. “nah, just—”
geto clears his throat lightly. “you look nice, y/n.”
you give a small, flat nod. “thanks.” then you hold up the textbook in your hand that you brought from home.. “where’s choso?”
“kitchen,” geto says, still watching you like he’s trying not to be obvious about it.
you walk past them, completely unfazed. toji leans toward geto the second you’re out of earshot. “is she hotter than i remember or am i tripping?”
geto exhales quietly. “satoru's cooked.”
you find choso quickly, hovering near the counter like usual. “hey,” you say, holding out the book. “you needed this, right?”
choso looks up, a little startled. “oh—thanks, y/n.” he takes it carefully, like it matters more than it should. “you didn’t have to—”
“i was in the area,” you cut in. you glance around, fighting back an eyeroll at the thought of gojo. "...where is he?"
choso blinks. "oh, i think—"
before he can answer, a door down the hall opens, and gojo walks out.
and shit, that nagging voice inside you tells you he cleans up good. he's in dark linens, a pair of sunglasses pushed up through his white hair, and he's halfway through adjusting his sleeves when he looks up and sees you.
he stops mid step completely, like someone hit pause. his mouth opens and closes, all rational thoughts evaporating into steam as he looks at you, heart squeezing in his chest. “…hi,” he manages intelligently. “erm. hi.”
you raise a brow slightly. “hi.”
he’s holding flowers. a pretty bouquet of pale pink tulips, held loosely in his hand as he just stands there, like he forgot how to function.
it’s quiet for a second too long.
gojo blinks like he just remembered he has a body, and walks toward you a little too fast, then slows down halfway like he’s trying to look normal.
fails.
“these are—uh—” he starts, then clears his throat. “for you.”
he holds the flowers out. you look at them, then at him. “…thanks,” you say, taking them.
he nods too many times. “yeah,” he says. “yeah.”
silence again.
geto and toji are very much watching this from the living room. toji looks like he’s holding in laughter and geto looks like he’s witnessing a historical event.
gojo straightens slightly, trying to gather whatever remains of his usual composure. “shall we,” he says, a little too formally.
you glance at him then to the door. “alright.”
he exhales softly in relief and holds the door open for you, swallowing thickly as he catches a waft of your perfume as you walk by. he looks back at toji, who facepalms, and choso, who gives him a supportive little thumbs up. geto’s still stifling laughter.
“okay,” gojo mumbles under his breath. “i got this.”
he catches up to you, opening the passenger door, and you slide in as he circles around to the driver’s side, hands gripping the wheel for a second before he starts the car. he glances at you then away quickly, his palms feeling sweaty.
“you look really pretty,” he says, quieter this time.
you glance at him. “…thanks.”
gojo clears his throat. “are you excited?”
“no.”
he nods. “right. sorry. i’m, uh, excited.”
“that’s nice,” you say, looking out the window, and gojo can’t help but glance at your sweater dress again, and the way it hugs you so perfectly.
the car ride is silent. not awkward, but the air is thick and almost charged, as gojo restlessly taps his fingers against the steering wheel and you stare out the window, tulips still in your lap.
gojo keeps glancing at you. quick, almost stolen looks, like he’s checking something and then pretending he didn’t. naturally, you notice, and at first you ignore it, until his fingers start tapping against the wheel, stopping, and starting again so much, and he keeps looking at you, biting the inside of his cheek, that you have to squeeze your eyes shut in annoyance
his mouth opens and closes like he wants to say something.
you give him a minute, then another, and he keeps looking at you, eyes darting away when you make eye contact, that you sigh, turning your head fully now. "just ask me."
he startles a little. “what?”
“whatever you’re thinking,” you say flatly. "you've been deliberating for almost five minutes.
he huffs a quiet breath. “…i’m not—”
“you are.”
he hesitates, glancing at you then back at the road. “…why did you say yes,” he asks finally, slower now. “if you hate me.”
you blink before looking away again, out the window. "...i don't hate you."
"well, you act like it."
“i act like you’re annoying.”
“same thing.”
“it’s not.”
he glances at you again. “then what is it?”
your fingers shift slightly around the stems of the tulips in your lap, and you huff softly. "i guess you're not that insufferable."
a slow, shit eating grin spreads on gojo's face, and you immediately regret what you just said.
"high praise," he says, and you scoff, rolling your eyes.
"i take it back. you are insufferable."
"alright," he says lightly, turning the corner into the lot, and you feel that little buzz under you're skin you've been pretending isn't there when gojo's pretty blue eyes blink at you softly after he parks.
you just unbuckle your seatbelt and reach for the door, swallowing thickly. “you parked too far.”
gojo glances at the empty spot literally right in front of the café. “…it was the closest one.”
“mm,” you hum, stepping out anyway, shrugging whatever that feeling was out of your bones, and he watches you walk ahead for half a second, then scrambles out after you.
inside, it's warm and bright, and you curl your fingers into the sleeves of your sweater dress, looking up at the menu as you step up to the counter.
“what are you getting,” gojo asks, stepping up beside you and leaning low to talk into your ear, you nearly shiver.
“strawberry matcha,” you say. “small.”
he hums, but when you open your mouth to order he smoothly cuts in. “two strawberry matchas, and make both large, please.”
you turn your head slowly. “…i said small.”
“i heard you.”
“then why did you order large.”
he shrugs, already handing his card over. “because i wanted a large.”
“then get a large.”
“i did.”
“and mine?”
“also large.”
you stare at him. “i got a small for a reason.”
“what reason?”
you hesitate. “...dunno, because you're paying, and i didn't wanna be rude.”
he looks at you, grinning. "oh, now we're scaling back the rudeness?"
you glare, shoving his arm slightly, and he laughs, the barista looking at you two with a little smile. she calls your order a minute later and gojo grabs both cups before you can. of course he does.
he hands yours over, fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. you ignore it, and ignore the rush you feel.
“thank you,” you say, because you have manners.
“you’re welcome,” he says, like he’s a gentleman.
you narrow your eyes slightly, then turn toward the door. “outside.”
“yes, ma’am.”
“stop.”
he grins, following you out anyway. you pick a table in the back, half in the sun, and gojo sits across from you, sliding his sunglasses down his face before wrapping his hands around his drink.
you take a sip of your matcha first and he watches you like it's some kind of test. you lower the cup. “…what.”
“nothing,” he says quickly, taking a sip of his own. he makes a face, coughs slightly.
you catch it immediately. “nice.”
“i didn’t say anything.”
“you made a face.”
“i’m adjusting.”
“do you not like matcha?”
“...it tastes like grass.”
you exhale, looking up at the sky like the conversation is paining you. “then why'd you ask to come here?”
“cause you like this place,” he says simply.
you look at him wordlessly and take another sip of your drink.
“so,” he starts, leaning back slightly. “what’s your major.”
you glance at him over the rim of your cup. “why.”
“because i don’t know anything about you.”
“you don’t need to.”
“i want to.”
you pause. “psych.”
his brows lift. “really.”
“yeah.”
“that explains a lot.”
you narrow your eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
he gestures vaguely toward you. “you analyzing me this whole time.”
“i’m not analyzing you.”
“you definitely are.” he shakes his head, smiling a little. “okay, miss psych major. what’s your diagnosis.”
you study him for a second, eyes lingering long enough to make him shift slightly in his seat. “inflated ego,” you say finally.
he gasps, mock offended. “wow.”
“with a tendency to talk before thinking.”
“okay, that’s—”
“and,” you add, cutting him off, “a little bit desperate.”
he leans back, squinting at you. “a little bit?”
“a lot a bit.”
he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, studying you like he’s trying to decide if you’re serious or not. “desperate is crazy,” he says finally.
you shrug. “you begged for my instagram.”
“i did not beg.”
you shoot him a look and he holds up his hands, laughing. "okay, but it worked."
you just take another sip of your drink and he watches you again.
"stop staring."
"i'm not staring," he says, voice soft.
you make a face and he grins, teeth flashing. “you’re not even a little bit curious about me?” he asks after a second.
“no.”
“that’s a lie.”
“it’s not.”
“it is,” he insists. “you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t at least a little curious.”
you shrug. “i wanted matcha.”
“matcha tastes like shit, i'm sorry,” he says after another small sip of his drink, and you facepalm.
he taps his fingers lightly against his cup. “what do you do when you’re not analyzing people and insulting them?”
“i don’t insult people.”
he gives you a look and you sigh. “i read. i work. i go out with my friends.”
“thrilling.”
“i didn’t ask for your review.”
“i’m just saying, there’s room for improvement.”
you raise a brow. “and you’re the improvement.”
“obviously.”
you stare at him and shake your head, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of your mouth.
his grin softens slightly. “i like when you smile,” he says.
“i don’t smile.”
“you literally just did.”
“no i didn’t.”
“you did.”
“no proof,” you cut in, and he leans forward, laughing.
“i saw it.”
“that’s not proof.”
“i’ll get it on camera next time.”
“don’t.”
“too late. i’m already planning it.”
you scoff and gojo just smiles, watching you with a soft kind of intensity that makes your stomach churn.
you don’t rush the drinks. in fact you stay sitting there a little longer than necessary, fingers tracing the condensation on your cup while gojo talks about some story. you only correct him twice, and he grins every time you do.
“so,” he says eventually, “i'm assuming you're always this mean on first dates.”
you don’t even blink. “this isn’t a date.”
“right,” he says easily. “this is a very structured, multi-location, several-hours-long hangout where i bought you a drink.”
“it's two locations.”
“more than one location is multi-location.”
you give him a look, and he just smiles back, unbothered. there’s a pause before you glance at your empty cup. “…we should go.”
“yeah,” he says, standing immediately. “yeah, okay.”
gojo thinks he might slowly be losing his mind.
it's in a good way. definitely in a good way. he keeps catching whiffs of your perfume, or little hints of your smile that make him feel sort of dizzy.
and the way you're so casual with your answers, still kinda dismissive, a little bit rude? he loves it. he wants to ask you more, find out more about you, talk to you more.
he doesn’t say that out loud, obviously.
he just opens the door for you again and follows you out like a normal person who is not, in fact, losing his mind over a girl who called him annoying ten minutes ago.
the drive to the gallery is quieter than before. definitely not a bad quiet, gojo thinks to himself. just different. he catches himself glancing over at you at red lights, then immediately looking back at the road, chest feeling tight.
you get to the gallery shortly after and gojo mentally preps himself before stepping inside :
don't ask dumb questions.
make sure to sound kind of smart.
just don't look like an idiot.
he pauses when you step inside one of the rooms. he hates places like this. it's too quiet and too still and the white walls make everything feel so boring.
he glances at you. your arms are crossed, eyes tracing over the painting you said was 'part of the renaissance movement' (whatever that means), and you're both standing in silence.
he lasts about eight seconds.
“i’m gonna be honest,” he says, leaning slightly toward you. “i don’t get it.”
you sigh, but it’s lighter than before. “you don’t have to get it.”
“then what do i do.”
“look.”
“i am looking.”
“no,” you say, finally glancing at him. “you’re seeing, not looking.” you turn back to the painting, and something in your expression shifts.
he forgets whatever he was about to say.
you lean in slightly, arms folding loosely, gaze tracing the piece again. “see how the colors move,” you say, quieter now. “the subtle brushstrokes.”
gojo’s eyes flick to the painting then back to you.
“it pulls your attention across,” you continue, pointing lightly. “it’s not random. there’s intention.”
gojo is not listening to a single word about the painting.
he’s watching you, cataloguing everything.
the way your voice dips when you’re thinking. the way you pause before explaining something, and how you bite your bottom lip. the way your expression softens just a fraction when you find a painting you like.
he swallows, his cheeks definitely dusted a little pink.
you're beautiful.
“it’s about movement,” you continue. “see what the artist did with how this section was painted?”
“yeah,” he says, nodding like he understands. “i see it.”
you glance at him.
he absolutely does not see it, and he panics slightly. “…the colors,” he adds, gesturing vaguely. “they’re—uh—doing things.”
your eyes narrow.
he commits, laughing awkwardly. “the blue is very…blue?”
there’s a beat, and then you snort, your laugh echoing in the dead-quiet gallery.
the sound hits him straight in the chest. i did that. i made her laugh.
“that’s your big takeaway,” you say, shaking your head.
“i’m easing into it,” he says quickly, recovering. “there's lots to, erm...analyze.”
“right, of course.” you roll your eyes, but you're smiling. “now, this next piece is one of my favourites...”
he listens to you as you happily ramble on about symbolism and whatever colour theory you had to talk about now, and gojo tries harder to listen. he asks a question (that doesn't sound too dumb) and you answer him without immediately shutting him down. when you correct him, you're laughing a little now, and gojo wants to laugh when you laugh, too. all the time.
it feels easy.
you stop in another room, empty except for the two of you. he follows you as you point to the next painting, telling him to 'watch the intent behind this' or 'look at this technique'.
he glances down. your hand is right there, relaxed and close.
his heart does something stupid and he hesitates because this is the part where he usually just goes for it. (but again, when's gojo ever gone to an art gallery with a girl?)
he doesn't want to mess it up with you, so after taking a short inhale, he asks, "can i...hold your hand?"
his voice comes out quieter than he expected and you just look at him. he doesn't joke or backtrack, he just stands there, waiting.
your expression shifts slightly, and you lift your hand, hold it out like it's nothing.
it is not nothing.
gojo reaches for it carefully. your hand is warm, soft, fits into his like it belongs there. it hits him all at once. he wants to grin, or say something stupid, and his heart feels light. he wants to jump of joy.
you turn back to the painting like nothing happened, still holding his hand, and his thumb brushes small circles over yours as you walk.
“this one’s cool,” you say, smiling as you approach another piece.
gojo nods. “yeah,” he murmurs.
he’s not looking at it, not really. he’s looking at you, and thinking, yeah. definitely a good way to lose my mind.
gojo doesn’t let go of your hand until the very last second, right when you walk up to his car. even then it's slow, like he's testing if you'll pull away first. you don't, your hand just slipping out naturally as you approach the parking lot.
the drive back to the frat is shorter than he wants it to be. he pulls up, parking beside where you left your car earlier, and for a second neither of you move. the engine hums softly then he turns off the car, resting his hands on the wheel.
you reach for the flowers first, lifting them carefully from where you set them down earlier, adjusting them in your hands.
“i had a really nice time,” gojo says.
you glance at him. he leans back slightly in his seat, one hand still resting on the wheel, the other rubbing at the back of his neck.
“even if,” he adds, a little sheepish, “the gallery was boring as fuck.”
you stare at him for a second before smiling. “…me too,” you say quietly.
gojo’s grin breaks out immediately, bright and stupid and completely unfiltered, like you just handed him the best news of his life. he leans back in his seat slightly, exhaling. “okay,” he says, nodding once like he’s processing it. “okay, good.”
you glance at him. he looks happy, genuinely. it does something weird to your chest again.
“we should do it again,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
you don’t even hesitate. “no.”
he snorts, shaking his head. “you’re funny.”
“i’m serious.”
“you’re not.”
“i am.”
he leans a little closer, resting his arm on the center console, looking at you like he already knows the answer. “you will.”
you meet his gaze, unimpressed. “no.”
“yeah.”
“no.”
“yeah.”
you roll your eyes, pushing the door open. “you're delusional.” you step out, closing the door behind you, flowers still in hand. he’s out of the car a second later, walking around to the sidewalk where you are.
he shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back slightly on his heels. “bye, y/n.”
you turn back toward him. he's looking at you with that same soft, slightly dazed expression he’s had all afternoon.
you step closer and he stills, then you lift slightly onto your toes and press a soft, quick kiss to his cheek. it's light and barely-there. “bye, gojo.” you pull back before he can react, already turning, walking toward your car like nothing happened.
he just stands there, completely still, eyes wide, heart doing something violent and uncoordinated in his chest.
…did she just...
he lifts a hand slowly, touching his cheek like he needs to confirm it happened.
you’re already unlocking your car, not even looking back. he watches you drive off.
he stands there like his brain short-circuited. “…holy shit,” he whispers, turning back to the house, legs a little wobbly, eyes a little dazed. definitely not normal.
toji looks up first from the couch, then geto and choso walk out of the kitchen.
“well?” toji asks.
gojo doesn’t answer right away. he just stands there, loopy smile etched on his face.
geto narrows his eyes slightly. “…you look insane.”
“it was good,” gojo says finally, voice a little distant.
“just good?” toji asks, suspicious.
gojo shakes his head slowly. “no. it was—” he stops like he doesn’t even have the words.
geto stands, walking a little closer, studying him. “…is that—”
toji hops up from the couch. “no way.”
choso looks confused. “what?”
toji points at gojo’s face. “you’ve got something on your cheek.”
geto’s already grinning. “lipstick.”
toji bursts out laughing. “oh, you’re done,” he says, shaking his head. “you’re actually finished.”
choso’s eyes widen slightly. “she—?”
gojo smiles, completely, utterly gone. “shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it.
“you have lipstick on your face,” toji laughs.
“shut up.” gojo walks past them, heading toward his room, you on his mind, already planning your next date.
toji calls after him, still grinning. “you’re in love, man.”
having a baby with the president of the most infamous frat on campus was not a part of any of your plans.
he wasn't even your boyfriend. despite how many times he tried to tell his frat bros he still had dibs on you.
"dude, stop staring at my girlfriend's tits," gojo huffed, smacking sukuna in the back of the head as you glared up at both of them, curled up in the corner of a ratty couch while your four month old latched onto your left nipple, greedy little fingers digging into your breast.
like he could talk when he was gawking right there with them.
"i'm not your girlfriend," you reminded him, brows furrowed tight before you glanced back down at the chubby baby in your arms. the soft tufts of white sticking up and sleepy blue eyes that made sure you'd never be able to forget where she came from.
god, you didn't know how the hell you ended up raising your infant in an apartment across from their frat house. okay, maybe you did, and maybe it involved a few too many body shots and getting your thong shoved to the side by a pretty playboy. who, apparently, bought the wrong size condom.
you were just the unlucky girl it broke for.
"you could be my wife," gojo unhelpfully flirted right as your daughter popped off your swollen tit, blinking slowly like she was about to fall back asleep.
"i'll pass," you deadpanned, carefully fixing your unfortunately milk-stained bra back in place over your sore nipple without disturbing her.
you already had a baby. you didn't need a husband too.
even if she'd been an accident, you adored your daughter. you just weren't the biggest fan of her father.
you had no interest starting a relationship with him when he'd lose interest eventually. find someone more exciting to chase. who didn't have stretch marks and didn't go to parties anymore.
gojo paid for your place. spoiled his daughter. came over himself or had the few actually responsible frat brothers stop by to babysit her when you had to go to class and couldn't take her.
but you refused to let him in your bed.
no matter how much he begged.
"please." literally.
even if you were sometimes tempted. even if okay, maybe once or twice, or, uh, a handful of times, you might have joined him on the couch since he knocked you up. and uh, since you had her.
"don't you have, like, an internship to go to?" you asked, arching up an eyebrow as his tattooed friend nudged him with his elbow.
"he's already late," sukuna tch-ed, adding fuel to the fire like you were too oblivious to realize he was just trying to be alone with you too. he was the one who showed up with food he claimed he'd just accidentally ordered extra of, ditching parties to come with you to the closest park to push her around in a stroller when she wouldn't sleep.
"i'll just tell my dad i was spending time with my girls," he huffed, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes.
having a baby had only made his life easier.
his parents promised him a higher position in their company after college, letting him work whatever hours he wanted for now, just to take care of the two of you. while you were struggling to just finish your classwork to get your own degree so you wouldn't need him to do it anyway.
there was a knock on the door, and all it took was a single sharp look directed his way for gojo to scramble to answer it, although he immediately groaned when he saw who it was.
"i thought you had class," gojo complained, and you tilted your head enough to catch a glimpse of dark hair.
"thought you had work," geto cooly replied, walking past him to join you on the couch after slipping his shoes off by the door. his smile was easy, one corner curled up higher at the other as his soft eyes shifted from your face down to your daughter's, reaching out to touch her tiny fist.
her long lashes fluttering as her fingers wrapped around one of his, squeezing tight as she finally dozed off.
"so you decide to come over to what? play step daddy to my baby?" gojo whined, like he was the baby.
"uh-huh," geto hummed, bangs falling in his face as he scooted closer to you on the couch, one of his muscled thighs pressing against yours.
you bit your lip to hold back a laugh.
they all talked a big game. but you knew they'd lose interest eventually.
wouldn't they?
"i'm banning you from being here," gojo pouted, geto remaining unfazed as he glanced back up at you with amusement glittering in his eyes.
"am i banned?" he asked you instead, ignoring his best friend, who literally looked like he was two seconds from strangling him.
"will you keep cooking for me?" you softly murmured, keeping your voice quiet enough to not wake your daughter.
"anything you want," geto promised, and perhaps, you did get a little joy in pissing your baby daddy off, because you were already bobbing your head up and down.
"you're not banned," you answered, knowing gojo wouldn't argue with you when he'd spent the past thirteen months desperate to win you over.
"sweetheart," he started, but geto shushed him.
"the baby's asleep, satoru," geto scolded him.
"stop acting like you're gonna give my baby a sibling, suguru," gojo snapped back at him, nose scrunching up like it was taking everything in him not to prey him off of you by the collar off his shirt.
all they were giving you was a headache.
you guessed it could be worse though.
at least you weren't pregnant again.
right?
div cr: @/tsumiinum
reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated :3
HIS NEW STRESS TOY ❀ starring fire lord!zuko x concubine!reader
❀ sex deprived or simply stupid? you guess you're both when you decide to offer yourself to a stranger with a sexy voice through a glory hole!
ac: @zuunary dc: @/bronzewasp
was there a fate as frustrating as being the concubine for a man as cold as the fire lord?
perhaps cold wasn't the correct word. but considering he refused to so much as speak to the women of his court, you weren't sure how else to describe your nonexistent relationship when you doubted he even knew your name.
you knew you shouldn't complain.
compared to some girls from your tribe, being pampered and paraded around was a far better fate. at least you were fed.
the only issue was you still hadn't been fucked.
you overheard a few of the other concubines whispering in the garden about how he'd yet to spend the night with any of them, scoffing at his solemnly muttered refusals on the rare occasion one would dare approach him during the day.
acting as if he owed them sex just because of his position.
there was no safety in simply being a pretty face. no, they all wanted something more. the security of being a proper consort. having his heir.
sneering about his burns behind his back while they schemed up ways to sleep with him, unsatisfied to just live in luxury.
with power came pests, you supposed.
you didn’t mind keeping to yourself, at least at first. preferred to be left to your own devices, chatting with the servants and finding company where to fill the time since the fire lord clearly held no interest in the concubines he housed. you'd never actually spoken to him yourself, no way to know if he was anything like the rumors they spread.
it was just that your fingers were having trouble soothing the heat between your thighs.
and the man who was causing it was too busy in his own world to ever notice what his presence did to you - or even care about soothing it.
your problem was yours alone.
and as long as your solution stayed a secret, everything could remain the same.
even if it did still feel shitty staring at him from afar, picking at your food while his political advisors prodded him for plans. watching your lord lean over out of earshot, his pretty lips parting, probably discussing business about the avatar or other things you weren't important enough to know.
his defined jaw clenching when his advisor replied, shaking his head all seriously as you spun your fork between your fingers.
excusing yourself was easy when no one cared where some measly concubine wandered off to. servants not even sparing you a glance as you slipped out into the bathhouses, confident that you wouldn't be interrupted at least when everyone was busy at his banquet.
you discovered it two months ago. you'd been bathing by yourself late one night, enjoying the steam and padding around barefoot as you tied a robe back over yourself. .
hidden in a little nook, away from the actual bath and near the changing rooms, someone had carved a hole in the wall that separated the men's bath from the women's. you had giggled at first, grinned at the realization someone must have made it for sex.
squatting down to squint through, not able to make out too much before sticking a single finger inside of it - only for someone to grab it.
"was this your doing?" a man grumbled, holding tight when you tried to pull it back.
"of course not," you huffed indignantly, scowling as you chewed the inside of your cheek. "what? were you waiting to be serviced?"
"of course not," he repeated, scoffing at you as if it was a ridiculous assumption to come to.
that should've been the end of it.
but you both kept coming back. week after week, making catty conversation between the wall as you both complained. he was sick of his responsibilities. his duties. overwhelmed by the weight of the work on his shoulders. you were sick of feeling unseen.
and even though he couldn't actually see you, it was nice to be heard.
you figured he must be a soldier. maybe a captain or lieutenant.
the bathhouse was indeed vacant when you strolled through it, glancing over your shoulder as you made your way to your little hideaway.
excitement buzzing through your chest, heart thumping as you stopped just in front of it, getting down on its level to peek through as you hesitantly called out, "hello?"
no answer.
perhaps he'd been held up.
maybe he'd even been at the same banquet. right under your nose the entire time.
you waited, counting the seconds and biting your lip until you faintly heard approaching footsteps on the other side.
"are you there?" he spoke carefully, his voice low, soft, the kind that reverberated through you. you liked it.
him too.
"yes," you half-whispered back, swallowing the spit pooling in the back of your mouth. "i thought you might not come."
"my ah, well, colleagues were driving me insane. it's hard to get away from them," he muttered, irritation still dripping from his words as you listened intently. "did i make you wait long?"
"do i get anything if i say yes?" you affectionately hummed, a familiar feeling starting to burn in the bottom of your stomach as you fantasized about what the man on the other side might look like.
you doubted he'd be as handsome as zuko, but he still sounded attractive.
"i'm too tired to be teased tonight," he grunted, unamused by your light giggle.
"that's a shame," you replied, leaning against the wall. was he doing the same? pondering over your appearance and fighting the pull of his heart towards you? "i was looking forward to teasing you."
"are you trying to stress me out?" he sarcastically asked, a cute little husk to his voice that made your thighs reflexively squeeze.
"maybe a little," you answered honestly. "you sound cute when you're stressed."
it seemed like his permanent state of being.
"besides," you continued, getting closer to the edge of the hole. "you can just use me as stress relief."
wasn't that why you were both here?
fornicating with a fire lord's concubine with strictly forbidden.
but that was only if someone found out.
besides, as long as you didn't actually fuck him, wasn't it fine?
he didn't know what crime he was committing when he stuck his cock through the carved out-hole, the veins running across his thick shaft pulsing as you slid your stare over it.
getting down on your knees to wrap your mouth around it, feeling him throb against your tongue as you started sucking his cock. his filthy groan just spurring you on as you tried to take him as deep as possible.
if anyone caught either of you, there'd surely be hell to pay, but when he was bobbing into the back of your throat and murmuring how good you felt, it was hard to feel bad about it.
you didn't really mind being used when it was all you were made for. all you were using him for.
"fuck, your mouth is so warm," he moaned, and you wished you could see the way his face had to be scrunching up in pleasure while you tried to stroke what didn't fit.
humming against him as he chased his climax, your pulse pounding in your eardrums as you imagined what he'd do if he could see you.
would he grab your hair? use it to guide his cock in-and-out?
fuck your face until you were begging just to breathe?
you didn't even get to feel his abs tense when he was about to cum, his cock stalling mid-thrust just before warm ropes of cum spilled out, shooting down your throat as you struggled to swallow all of it.
"god, you're so good," he grunted, not pulling out as you licked up the last of it, dragging your tongue back over it until he was clean. "turn around."
he growled it like he was used to giving orders.
you pulled off of his cock, spit connecting your lips with his swollen tip as you watched it disappear back through the hole.
your turn.
it felt a little humiliating to pull up your skirts high enough, twisting around to angle yourself at the hole.
but the embarrassment morphed into enthrallment the moment his tongue was dragging over your slick entrance. pushing in and swirling it around with an intensity you hadn't quite been expecting.
trying to stretch you open with his that thick pink muscle of his, greedily eating you out like a starving man.
his tongue moved deftly, dragging inside you with expert strokes, painting patterns that left you stifling your moans into your palm. he felt like heaven, scratching that itch you couldn't satisfy yourself.
but just before the pressure could mount, he pulled his tongue out with an impatient huff.
"i would like to make love to you," he murmured, his voice half-slurred as he slurped you up. "in my chambers."
"i-i can't," you whimpered, regret burning almost as much as the need was. "i belong to someone else."
"who?"
his voice trembled, shaking with anger you'd never heard from him before.
"the fire lord," you half-whispered, breath catching in your throat as he let a low chuckle escape.
he's slumped across the couch in the frat house the following morning, one arm draped over his eyes, the other dangling off to the side, phone lighting up beside him every few seconds because he keeps unlocking it for no reason.
there's nothing on it. nothing he cares about, anyway.
no new notifications from you, no mysterious appearance of your contact, no divine intervention.
just the same empty screen, again. and again. and again.
he hasn’t moved in ten minutes.
“he’s dead,” toji says from the kitchen, pouring himself coffee like this is a normal tuesday.
“tragic,” geto replies, scrolling on his phone. “cause of death?”
“ego collapse,” toji says.
gojo groans into the cushion. “i can hear you.”
“good,” toji says. “then hear this. she’s not into you.”
gojo lifts his head just enough to glare at him. “i just need to see her again.”
"she's not into you, bro," toji says flatly. "how many times do i have to say it?"
“you watched one conversation. i have plenty of time for redemption.”
“you introduced yourself like an idiot,” geto shrugs. "good luck."
"i didn't introduce myself properly," gojo snaps. "that's the problem."
"oh, sorry," toji deadpans. "you announced yourself."
gojo throws a pillow at him.
right then, choso comes down the stairs, already dressed. "i'm going to my girlfriend's," he says quietly, pulling on his shoes.
three heads turn, and gojo stands up so fast it's almost alarming. "is y/n gonna be there?"
choso hesitates. "maybe? she was there when i texted this morning."
gojo's already halfway across the room. "i'm coming."
"no you're not," toji says immediately.
"yes i am."
"you're not invited," geto adds.
"i'll be quiet," gojo insists. "i'll be normal."
toji laughs. "you don't know how to do either of those things, dumbass."
gojo ignores him, already grabbing his coat. "choso. please."
choso blinks at him, stuck between concern and confusion. "i don't know if that's—"
"please," gojo repeats, hands clasped together. "i'll do anything."
"anything?" geto asks, delighted.
gojo shoots him a look. "not you, you dumb fuck."
"...i don't know if that's a good idea," choso says carefully.
"i'll sit in a corner. i won't speak unless spoken to. i'll—"
"that's a lie," toji cuts in.
"i'll try," gojo says, desperate now. "just let me come."
choso looks at him and sighs, grabbing his keys. "...fine."
twenty minutes later, gojo is standing outside the apartment door trying to look normal.
he fails immediately. he runs a hand through his hair. fixes his shirt. checks his reflection in the black screen of his phone. wipes his hands on his jeans.
“relax,” choso mutters, knocking.
“i am relaxed,” gojo says, voice too tight.
the door swings open and choso’s girlfriend beams. “hi, cho!”
then her eyes flick to gojo. her smile widens, just a little too knowingly. “oh,” she says. “hey!”
“hey,” he says, suddenly very aware of his posture, his face, his entire existence. she steps aside to let them in, then glances over her shoulder toward the living room and smirks.
“y/n, you have a visitor,” she sing-songs.
gojo follows her gaze to where you’re on the couch, legs tucked under you, scrolling on your phone.
your eyes land on gojo. there’s a beat, and your expression flattens in real time. "...oh."
you glance at your friend who's already watching you like she’s about to enjoy this.
you roll your eyes. hard.
“hey,” gojo says, trying for casual and landing somewhere near painfully obvious. “funny running into you again.”
“you followed your friend to his girlfriend's apartment,” you say. “this isn't a coincidence.”
choso’s girlfriend snorts and disappears into the kitchen, holding choso's hand, before she gets dragged into it.
traitor.
gojo hovers awkwardly for a second before sitting on the edge of the couch, leaving a respectful gap between you.
you don’t look at him again.
he waits, and waits. “...so,” he starts.
“so,” you echo, still scrolling.
“you left early.”
“i had stuff to do.”
he shifts awkwardly. “you could’ve said bye.”
you glance up, unimpressed. “to who.”
him.
he swallows. “to people.”
“i said bye to people i wanted to say bye to.”
ouch.
from the kitchen, there’s a muffled choking sound that is definitely choso’s girlfriend laughing into her hand.
“you’re mean in the morning too, huh,” he mutters.
“you showed up uninvited,” you reply calmly. “what did you expect, a welcome basket?”
he exhales softly. “can i make it up to you?”
you finally look at him properly, eyes a little cold and unblinking. “make what up to me?”
“last night,” he says. “i sounded like an idiot. i—i can do better.”
“was that you trying?”
“no,” he says quickly. “last night was a rough draft.”
you stare at him for a second then look back to your phone. “nice.”
he smiles despite himself. “can i get a second draft?”
“convincing pitch,” you say dryly.
he leans forward slightly, earnest. “just give me, like, one chance to not be that guy.”
“i’m good.”
gojo sits there, blinking like he got hit with cold water. “do you—uh—have instagram?”
“no.”
“no like, you don’t have it? or—”
“no, i’m not giving it to you.”
he winces. “your number?”
“no.”
“snap?”
“no.”
“email?”
you stare at him. “are you serious right now?”
“i’m being thorough.”
“you’re being annoying.”
“i can be less annoying if you give me one of them.”
“or,” you say, “you could be less annoying by leaving me alone.”
he runs a hand down his face. “listen, i—i just wanna see you again.”
“you’re seeing me right now,” you deadpan.
“give me a chance?”
“no.” you shut your eyes like his presence alone is a nuisance and grab your bag, standing up. “i’m leaving.”
gojo straightens instantly. “what? why?”
“because i have things to do and you’re giving me a headache.” you give your friend a quick thanks and wave bye to choso, heading for the door.
“i’ll walk you,” gojo says.
“you don’t need to.”
“i want to.”
“i don’t want you to.”
“i’m going to anyway.”
you stare at him. he stares back, smiling widely.
so annoying.
you roll your eyes again and he follows immediately as you walk out.
the elevator ride is quiet for exactly three seconds. “you sure i can’t get your number?”
“pretty sure.”
“just pretty sure?”
“entirely sure,” you correct, glaring at him.
"okay, but—just one thing," he tries again, hovering over you. "anything. please, i'll take anything."
"take the hint," you say.
"i'm ignoring the hint," gojo replies. "you're killing me, y/n."
“you’ll live.”
“i don’t think i will, actually.”
you press the button for the ground floor. “okay.”
when the doors ding you step out and he follows, walking beside you insistently. "one more chance," he tries.
"no."
"one coffee."
"no."
“if i give up, will you at least feel bad?”
“no.”
“wow.”
you keep walking, he keeps pace. “okay, new deal,” he says quickly. “if you give me your instagram, i will shut up. completely. never bother you again.”
you stop and turn, something flickering across your face. “you swear?” you ask.
“swear,” he says immediately.
you study him for one long second then sigh.
“fine,” you mutter, pulling out your phone. “if i give you my instagram, you'll shut up?”
his face lights up. "yes."
"completely?"
"completely."
"no talking?"
"silent," he vows.
"forever?"
"i mean—"
your eyes narrow and he backtracks, stammering. "yes. yes, forever, silent."
you recite your handle. "...yeah. and there's an underscore there."
he types it in carefully, nearly fumbling his own phone as he pulls it out.
"thank you," he says quietly, ducking his head down.
you turn to leave, and you barely make it four steps.
“…hi,” he calls after you.
you stop, slowly turn your head.
he smiles sheepishly. “i lied. you know i can't stay silent.”
you give him a last look before turning around.
he stands there for a second after you disappear out the building doors, like his brain needs a moment to catch up to what just happened. he looks down at your instagram, where his follow request is pending. you've got a private account.
your instagram is right there. literally right there.
“…holy shit,” he breathes. he practically floats back to the elevator, his whole body buzzing in excitement. eventually he stumbles out, makes it back down the hall, and pushes choso's girlfriend's apartment door open with energy.
she takes one look at his face and immediately starts smiling. “oh my god.”
“you’re glowing,” she laughs, shutting the door behind him.
he doesn’t even respond to that, just drops straight onto the couch, sprawled out, holding his phone up like it’s sacred scripture. “i got her instagram,” he repeats, to no one and everyone at the same time.
choso, standing nearby, blinks at him slowly. “…okay.”
choso leans back slightly like the phone might explode. “i believe you.”
“she gave it to me,” gojo insists, like this is the part that matters most.
“after you begged?” choso’s girlfriend asks sweetly.
“i did not beg,” gojo says immediately. “i negotiated.”
choso’s girlfriend raises a brow. “mm. what were the terms of this negotiation?”
“she said if she gave me her instagram, i had to shut up.”
choso actually laughs. "gojo, i just don't think she likes you."
"she hates me," he says fondly, hearts radiating out of his eyes as he leans back onto the couch. "she hates me so much."
eventually, even gojo runs out of reasons to sit there refreshing the same screen like it owes him something. he pushes himself up off the couch, stretching once, phone still glued to his hand. “alright, i’m gonna head back.”
choso nods, already half-turned toward his girlfriend. “yeah, okay.”
there’s a pause, then choso clears his throat, not looking at him. “i’ll… stay a bit longer.”
his girlfriend immediately bites back a smile.
gojo looks between them once. “…oh,” he says.
choso goes a little red, his girlfriend giggles.
gojo lifts both hands. “no, yeah. stay. absolutely. take your time. take…all the time..” he’s already halfway to the door, shaking his head with a grin. “have fun. be safe. don’t do anything i wouldn’t do.”
“that’s not a high bar,” she calls after him.
“it’s a respectable bar,” he shoots back, already slipping out.
the second he pushes the door to the frat house open he's announcing triumphantly, "i got it!"
toji, sprawled across the couch, doesn’t even look up. “you got what.”
“her instagram,” gojo says.
that gets geto’s attention immediately. “she gave it to you?” he asks, brows lifting.
“i told you,” gojo shoots back, dropping onto the armchair this time, leaning back like he just won something. “i said i’d see her again.”
geto hums, watching him carefully. “and?”
“and nothing,” gojo says, waving a hand. “we talked. she insulted me like five times. it was great.”
toji finally glances over. “you’re smiling.”
gojo immediately wipes it off his face. “i’m not.”
“you are.”
“i’m not,” he insists, failing completely because the smile is already creeping back.
geto laughs quietly. “did she seem thrilled about giving it to you?”
gojo drops onto the couch, restless. “she told me to shut up.”
“romantic,” toji mutters.
"w—wait." gojo sits up so fast he almost drops his phone. “she accepted.”
geto raises a brow. “already?”
“don’t say ‘already’ like it hasn’t been the longest wait of my life,” gojo snaps, but there’s no bite to it. he’s already tapping into your profile.
your page loads and gojo's eyes scan it slowly, taking in every detail like he’s afraid he’ll miss something. “…holy shit,” he breathes.
geto leans over slightly. “what.”
gojo doesn’t respond. he scrolls, one post to another. there aren't many, but every single one hits him like a punch to the chest. you're laughing on one, head tilted back, sunlight catching on your face.
gojo's never seen you laugh like that. you're beautiful.
you in another, dressed up, looking directly at the camera with that same unimpressed expression you gave him. you, blurry in motion in one photo, mid-step, still somehow perfect.
gojo just stares. “she's beautiful,” he mutters.
“let me see,” geto says, leaning closer.
gojo tilts the phone away immediately. “no.”
geto raises a brow. “why not.”
“because,” gojo says, already scrolling again.
“because what,” geto presses, leaning in anyway.
gojo angles the phone even further out of reach, twisting his body like he’s shielding classified information. “because you don’t need to see.”
toji finally sits up a little, interest piqued now. “oh, now we definitely need to see.”
“no, you don’t,” gojo says quickly, thumb still moving, eyes glued to the screen like he might miss something if he blinks.
geto tries to peek over his shoulder. “you’re acting weird.”
“i’m not acting weird.”
“you’re hunched over your phone like a dragon guarding treasure.”
“okay, first of all, dragons are cool,” gojo mutters. “second, back up.”
toji leans over the back of the couch, glancing down. “damn.”
gojo jerks the phone away instinctively. “don’t—”
“nah,” toji cuts in, already grinning. “she’s bad.”
“she’s not ‘bad,’” gojo snaps immediately. “don’t say it like that.”
toji smirks. “what, we’re not allowed to acknowledge she’s hot?”
"she's beautiful, okay? shut up."
geto watches him, something amused flickering in his expression. “interesting.”
gojo doesn't hear him. he's so lost in his little world, gazing at your pictures with a loopy grin. it’s not just that you’re pretty.
he exhales slowly, eyes never leaving his screen. “i like her,” he says finally.
toji groans immediately. “oh my god, we lost him.”
you don’t think about gojo the whole way home.
okay, maybe you think about him a little. it’s hard not to think about him after he begged for your instagram.
you sigh, dragging a hand over your face once you get to your apartment. “so irritating.”
your phone buzzes in your hand and you already know who it is.
other half: no way
other half: NO way you gave it to him 😭
you roll your eyes, already typing.
you: i didn’t give it to him
you: he begged
three dots immediately.
other half: mhm
you: shut up
you open instagram, purely for research purposes. you hesitate for half a second before opening his profile. “…oh.”
okay.
so.
this is what he looks like when he’s not standing in front of you being unbearable.
you scroll slowly. annoyingly slowly, because your brain is taking in details. he's good looking. stupidly good looking. unfairly so.
pictures with friends.
pictures at parties.
pictures where he’s clearly aware he looks good.
the comments are all the same, too. girls. so many girls. heart eyes, fire emojis, variations of 'marry me' and 'ur so fine'. you make a face.
other half: i knew it btw
you: knew what
other half: that you were into him
you: absolutely not
other half: you gave him your instagram
you: after he begged
other half: you could’ve said no
you: i DID say no
other half: and then you said yes
you: he was being annoying
you: i wanted him to stop talking
other half: mhm
other half: and now you’re on his profile
you freeze. “…she’s so nosy,” you mutter, immediately typing.
you: i’m not
other half: liar
you look down at his profile again, thumb hovering over one of his pictures. you zoom in slightly without thinking, onto his stupid face and stupid smile and stupid blue eyes.
you: he’s just
you: objectively attractive
you: it’s not that deep
other half: sure
you narrow your eyes at the screen.
you: i don’t like him
other half: okay
you: he’s arrogant
other half: mhm
you: and annoying
other half: mhm
other half: he’s down bad btw
your brows pull together.
you: what
other half: like…bad bad
other half: he came back here looking like he won the lottery
cw ⭑.ᐟ NSFW, 18+ MDNI, college AU, angst & smut & eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, mean & bratty nerd gojo, unsafe motorcycle riding (WEAR PROPER SAFETY GEAR PLS), heavy pining (one sided), unrequited -> requited love, teasing & banter, a lot of "fuck you" "fuck you too" exchanges, POV switch, fingering, oral s*x (f & m rec.), unprotected piv s*x, more warnings released w/ each part
summary ⭑.ᐟYou're no stranger to competition with Gojo Satoru—a dork with an un-earned ego bigger even than his DnD figurine collection. So what the hell is he doing on a motorcycle? This can't be the same Gojo you've butted heads with for three years, because if it is... has he always looked like that under the giant glasses and stupid Digimon hoodies? How much—or how little do you actually know about this nerd? part 1 w/c ⭑.ᐟ 4.2k
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God damned red lights. Driving to New Hampshire should really only take an hour, even with the tolls, but you’ve been sitting in the car for forty five minutes already and you’re not even at the state border.
It’s just accelerate, bumper, brake, red light, sit. Rinse and repeat.
“Pass me a water would you?” You reach blindly towards the backseat as you roll to a stop at the nth light you’ve hit. The AC works in the car, but you like your window down and the air outside is stifling.
Someone presses a cold bottle into your hand, still wet from the cooler in the trunk. “Here ya go, want some chips too?” Yuuji asks as you crack the bottle open and take a long, satisfying gulp.
“Nah,” You say on a gasp as you pull the bottle away from your lips, a drip trickling down your chin and neck to combine with the sheen of sweat forming. “Thanks though. How is it back there, not too stuffy?”
“I’m stuck next to the human inferno, so about as good as you can imagine.” Megumi huffs from the back seat and you hear Yuuji scoff.
“I run hot, you knew this and still chose to sit next to me, it’s kind of your own fault.”
“Yeah, whatever, someone had to.” Megumi grumbles, you glance to the rearview mirror to see him with his chin in his hand, head turned to the window but his eyes are on Yuuji who’s digging into a bag of chips as he stares out his own window.
You chuckle to yourself as you hand the bottle to Nobara and she takes a sip, the light turns green and you roll off the line, getting through the intersection just to hit another red light.
“This place better be worth it.” You mutter, braking for the millionth time today.
“Yuuta texted,” Yuuji pipes up from the back. “The house is huge! And right on the beach too, they just got there.”
“I can’t believe that guy,” Nobara crosses her arms beside you as you roll to slow stop. “He’s had a crazy rich family this whole time and this is the first time we’re hearing about it? Guys been holding out.”
“He only just found them, it was one of those DNA test things, apparently he was adopted.”
“Tch, still, knowing that we could’ve been in the Hampton’s on a beach every spring break for the last three years instead is annoying.” Nobara huffs.
“We’re going now, that’s all that matters!” Yuuji exclaims from the backseat, ever the optimist. “But we’re sharing the place, his long lost cousin is using it for the week too apparently.”
“Well if it’s as big as he’s saying it is, it shouldn’t be an issue. So long as whoever it is isn’t deranged we can all coexist.” You offer and Yuuji hums in agreeance, you look over at Nobara for a moment as she shrugs and something catches your attention through her window.
Still sitting at the stop light, someone rolls up on a sleek black bike next to your car, leaning back with one hand still gripping the brake, he rolls a shoulder. His bicep flexes, blue veins prominent under smooth pale skin as the tight black tee-shirt stretches around his arm.
His head turns to your car and he does a little double take, his helmet flicking back to you. His face is hidden under the black helmet and the mirrored visor, completely faceless. You’re about to look away, but he nods, his chin lifting in a motion that says, “’Sup?”
You return it, unable to help yourself as a little smile spreads on your face. His body turns to you, free hand resting on his thigh covered by black jeans. Your pulse jumps a little as you take in his wide chest, hugged perfectly by a tight black shirt that shows off every lean curve to his body. His legs are long enough that the bike doesn’t lean to either side, but he’s flat footed on the road and it’s all doing something you weren’t expecting while sitting in traffic.
The jump in your pulse spikes and you feel it when he twists the throttle and sends a roaring purr reverberating through you. You lift a brow, cocking your head. Does he… want to race or something?
He does it again and your lips part. This faceless stranger—ridiculously hot, but a stranger nonetheless and the rev of his bike are having an effect that you don’t think you’ve ever felt throughout your academically driven life.
You shift to neutral and press the throttle a little, lower lip catching in your teeth as the engine in your car comes to life with fervour you’re not sure it’s ever had.
His shoulders shake a little, like he’s laughing and he replaces his hand on the grip, one foot up and toeing the shifter of the bike. He looks ahead at the light, then back to you. Oh yeah, he totally wants to race.
Are you really going to do this? That bike looks fast and you don’t do this kind of thing, you definitely don’t eye-fuck faceless strangers either but clearly this heat and the endless stop and go has done something to your usually sharp and critical brain.
“Hold on.” You murmur to your unsuspecting passengers, shifting back to drive.
“Huh? What are you—“ Nobara cuts herself off with a little yelp as the light turns green and you hit the gas hard, peeling off the line just as the street racer on his glossy black bike does the same. His tires squeal and the roar of his engine fills your ears and it all pushes you harder. You’ve always been competitive, but racing is definitely a new thing for you.
You nose ahead, luckily the road is open and a few lights have turned in your favour so you keep pressing harder on the throttle, glancing briefly to your racing partner to see him leaned down close to the bike, chest almost pressed to the rounded tank and arms tensed, biceps flexing hard.
The grin on your face is wicked, exhilarated with the wind whipping your hair, both hands gripping the steering wheel and adrenaline pumping through your veins and keeping your foot stomped down hard on the accelerator.
Megumi barks your name from the back seat and you laugh. You’re keeping up with the bike somehow, maybe your little hatchback has more guts than you give it credit for, or maybe you’re more unhinged right now than you thought.
Nobara is gripping the door handle but you can see a grin on her face as the car shifts another gear and revs up again. Yuuji is laughing along with you, Megumi is the only voice of reason left in the car as he barks to slow down before you all crash. You don’t.
Your back pressed hard into the seat, you steal one more glance to street-speed-racer as he pulls a hand off a grip to wiggle his fingers at you, and peels off, weaving through the traffic up ahead and disappearing. You slow a little, accepting loss as three more bikes whip past, following the stranger up ahead.
“What the—were you racing that guy?” Nobara whips her head to you as you slow and resume the speed limit, your little car purring away happily, having enjoyed the chance to stretch its legs just as much as you had.
But it’s a mix of bittersweetness, I wonder where he’s going. Maybe you’ll see him again, maybe you’ll catch up and get a rematch, or maybe… you’ll never see him again.
You shrug, taking the water bottle back from her as you roll to another dull stop, your heart is still sprinting like it could catch up to that stranger up ahead. “Why not? Spring break, right?”
“Holy shit… Yuuta wasn’t kidding.” You blink at the towering estate behind the wrought iron gate you’ve stopped at, waiting to be buzzed in.
“My whole house would fit in that fucking garage, this is insane!” Nobara squawks, gawking out the windshield at the—admittedly, insane—house and surrounding property. Lush colourful gardens full of brand new blooms and budding trees wrap around the multi-story main house. The salty scent of the nearby ocean wafts and mixes with freshly cut grass and young roses, this place even smells rich.
“Hey! Just park in front of the house, we’ll meet you out front in a second!” Yuuta’s voice crackles through the intercom and a quick buzz sounds out as the dark gates begin to swing out. The car crawls through as they lock in place, the gravel crunching under your tires as you drive along the roundabout centered with an ornate stone fountain, the water spurting from the lotus flower on top catches the sunlight, glinting as it pours down the three other tiers into a main pool.
It looks like something you would throw pennies into to make a wish as a kid. You wonder if it would be worth it to toss one in now.
The car comes to a slow stop in front of the white stone steps up to dark and towering French doors. The house—err, mansion?—is mostly white, with dark accents around the tall windows and door frames. The porch the front door steps out to wraps all the way around the house, with another one on what must be the second floor that disappears around back as well, likely offering a great ocean view behind the already impressive estate.
The front doors open and Maki steps out first as you all hop out of the car, stretching out after the way too long drive up here. Yuuta follows her closely behind, his hair a little messy and his white shirt is rumpled.
“They were totally fucking.” Nobara murmurs to you as you wave to them and you chuckle, she’s absolutely right.
“How was the drive up?” Maki asks as you all grab your bags from the trunk.
“Great! We even raced a biker on the way, we lost but it was still fun.” Yuuji chirps as he hefts his and Nobara's bags up to carry in. She doesn’t even need to tell him, he just knows at this point.
“Fun, that’s one way to say it.” Megumi grumbles as he swings his bag over a shoulder.
Yuuta looks a little taken aback and he cocks his head at you. “Weren’t you driving?” You shrug, grabbing your own bag and closing the trunk.
“Yeah, is it really that surprising? I’m not that boring, am I?”
“Well, um…” Maki hums, looking you over as Nobara throws an arm over her shoulder. “Maybe a little?”
You scoff, “Oh shut up, that was supposed to be rhetorical. Let’s go, this grand tour is probably gonna take all day.” Nobara chuckles behind her hand and she and Maki shrug before you all head into the house.
The interior is just as extra as the outside leads one to believe it to be. You tip your head back, looking up at the silver and crystal chandelier hanging in the entryway, at the vaulted and untouchable ceiling, a round skylight with a pattern etched into it casting a bright glow in the same shape on the marbled floor.
The entry way splits off into three directions and Yuuta starts off to the left, showing you all where the kitchen is before heading back in the other direction towards the stairs up to some of the bedrooms, his and Maki’s already set, you pick one down the hall not really wanting to hear… that.
You drop your bag onto the puffy white bedspread, touching the rounded end of one of the polished wooden posts on the bed frame as you head for the double glass doors behind gauzy white curtains. Opening them up, you step out onto the balcony, hit immediately by salty ocean breeze and the view overlooking the beach below. All sand and endless crystal blue water, it’s picturesque like something off of a travel website exclusive to the upper class.
Thank you Yuuta. You think, smiling and taking in the sight as you lean over the railing. It extends just as you thought, all the way around the house with a few other glass doors opening onto it.
You hear your name called and turn back to your room as Nobara and Maki barge inside. “We’re getting ready in my room, grab your stuff, lets go!” Nobara commands as you step back in from the balcony.
“What? Getting ready for what?”
Nobara grins, glancing to Maki who shares in the look. “We’re going dancing tonight. Spring break, whoop!” She hollers and pumps a fist in the air, Maki scoffs a laugh.
“You idiot.”
“But…” You pout a little, “we just got here.”
“Suck it up! Everyone is going and you’re a part of that ‘everyone’, spring break demands excessive drinking and dancing!” Nobara barks and you open your mouth but she shuts it down before you can start. “No excuses! No assignments, no projects, no tests and no finals, you’ve got nothin to save you from putting on a cute outfit and getting sloppy tonight.” She smirks and cocks an eyebrow. “You clearly need some action if you’re racing random guys through side streets, am I right, or am I right?”
“Whatever, I don’t have a choice anyways, do I?” You sigh and turn to grab your bag as she shakes her head, still grinning.
She may be a tiny bit right. This getaway was welcome news after learning that you’d come in—for not the first time since starting at M.I.T.—second place for the midterm results in your quantum mechanics class to him. So yeah, maybe you do need to let off some… steam.
The club doesn’t exactly fit in with the rest of Hampton, but it’s clearly needed because it’s absolutely packed. People spill out of the entrance as more file in, the bass hums through you as soon as you all approach the line waiting to file in.
In club time, you’re pretty early. It’s only 10:00 PM, most places don’t get this crazy until close to midnight based on your few experiences celebrating the end of finals or getting the internship everyone in your class had been vying for, but you suppose this quiet composed town operates on a different time zone.
Nobara throws her arms around you and Maki grinning between you, her face a little flushed from the drinks you all had while getting ready. “Maki, I know we’re going to lose you to Yuuta as soon as we get in there, but you,” She fixes her narrowed eyes on you with a look that screams mischief. “Are we finding you some tail tonight?”
You groan, halting the hand about to rub your eyes as you remember the makeup Nobara had spent achingly long on. “Let’s just get in there and make it through some dancing before we start talking about tail you horndog.”
“Pfft, like you can talk! You were drooling over that—“ A loud bang cuts Nobara off, you jump at the noise as a roaring engine revs, and quiets to a purr. Your head turns just as four motorcycles screech to a halt just outside the club, only a few feet from the line you’re currently standing in.
The timing.
It’s… him. You don’t know his face, but the adrenaline that kicks in and makes your pulse thrum under your skin at the sight of the dark helmet, mirrored visor still down and keeping him faceless, wearing the same tight black tee-shirt and black jeans as he was during your impromptu race earlier.
“Holy shit… that—that’s the guy. What are the chances?” You lean in to Nobara and Maki, not tearing your eyes off him as he swings a leg over the seat to stand with the other three guys he’s shown up with.
“The one you raced? Which one?” Maki asks, looking them all over, the other three are dressed similarly but for some reason your racer is unmistakable to you.
“In the tee-shirt, he’s the second one down.” You hold yourself back from pointing, not wanting to draw attention or be outright rude.
“This is your shot! It’s totally fate, you have to go talk to him!” Nobara starts to shove you out of the line but you scramble back and she tuts with a reminder. “Tail, remember?”
You whine, glancing at her for a moment before turning back to your racer, biting your lip. Fate sounds dumb but… what are the chances, though? You had been crestfallen knowing that could have been the only interaction you’d ever have with him, but here he is.
“Oh shit! Okay, yeah, how do I look?” You turn back to them for a moment and Nobara fixes your skirt, pulling it up a fraction and pulling your top down a bit, lowering the neckline to show some more cleavage, you smack her hands before she can squish your boobs together.
“Go get em’ hot stuff!” She grins and sends you off.
You turn back to your racer, eyes locked on him as you lift your chin and take a few steps in his direction. Perfect timing, you think as he goes to pull his helmet off.
You’re only a few feet away, the helmet lifts and you see a sharp jawline, full lips and your stomach flips a little as he lifts it the rest of the way off and—
“No…” You breathe. Stopped in your fucking tracks. Eyes wide and horrified as a shock of messy white hair catches the light and sinks your stomach. “You’re fucking kidding me.” You blink, hoping you’re just seeing things with the combination of alcohol and overtiredness.
But as he shakes his hair out, tucking the helmet under an arm to rake his fingers through the long silvery layers, it’s unmistakable.
It’s… him.
Gojo Satoru.
Your eye twitches.
How? He’s a… dweeb? You’ve—unfortunately—known him throughout all three years of attending M.I.T., and he’s inescapable there too. But he’s always in some stupid hoodie with Digimon or Gunpla or some stupid shit plastered on it, or a baggy sweater that screams ‘I looked up what nerds wear and bought the first thing that came up.’ Always wearing those giant glasses and doing the stereotypical ‘Um, actually—‘ pretentious nerd bullshit.
But right now, standing next to—who you also now recognize with his helmet off—Geto Suguru, as well as two guys you would not expect to see with Gojo and his butt-buddy, Zen’in Toji and Sukuna Ryomen, Gojo looks nothing like he does at school.
The hoodies, the knit sweaters, the glasses, has he looked like this underneath it all the whole time?
Gojo laughs at something Geto says as he scans the crowd and you whirl around on a heel to head right back in the direction you came, locking eyes with Nobara and giving her a ‘I’d like to go home now’ look that she returns with one of sympathy and shock equal to yours. She’s been around since it began and witnessed all three years of competition for the top spot with Gojo.
“Whoa, no way!” You’d know that voice anywhere. Like nails on a chalkboard and you wince, your eye twitches again. “Is that Silver? What are you doing all the way out here?”
Your shoulders hike up, nails digging crescent moons into your palms as you grit your teeth against a slew of undignified things you want to spit at him. That name, it makes your blood boil, and it’s only slicing through the last shreds of your will to walk away calmly more so after the %2 difference in your midterm results.
Silver, he started it during first year as a reminder.
Second place.
Fuck, you hate this guy.
Nobara gives you a look, almost like permission. Like she’s saying ‘Spring break, fuck him up!’ with just a scrunched nose and a grin and with that, you whirl around.
Almost instantly, you regret it. Gojo is standing maybe two feet away, it feels impossibly close, way too close and you have to lift your chin to look at his face. You hold his bright blue eyes, unobscured by his usual black rimmed glasses. You’re doing your best at ignoring the rest of him, his arms, his broad shoulders, his chest, his slim waist—focus, hate him, remember? Hate the ridiculous sleeper build he apparently has—fuck, stop it! Focus!
You set your face into cold indifference, crossing your arms as he looks down at you expectantly, that aggravating smirk tugging the corners of his mouth. “What, don’t get enough of me at school? Just had to follow me here too?”
“If I remember correctly—which I always do—you were following me here.” He cocks his head a little, smirk firmly in place.
“Y’know,” Your mouth curves slightly, still holding indifference in your eyes like you’d rather be anywhere else right now. “The wannabe biker thing isn’t really working for you, you should stick to what you know. Like that Pókemon rip-off you cream yourself for.” His nostrils flare like he wants to snap, but he pushes through and grins instead.
“Whoa,” Gojo glances over his shoulder to Geto as he says, “Guess nobody told her that hostility is a turn off for guys, huh?”
“Great advice, if I go into full on hysterics will you turn off completely? Like, total and permanent shut down? Just asking, y’know, for research.” You narrow your eyes as he sets his on you again, the smile slipping slightly as his eyes flit over you for a split second before he regains both again.
“Research, huh? What’s the lab gonna be called? ‘Boner killing man-hater can’t figure out why she still hasn’t gotten a boyfriend’?”
“Boner killer?” You grin, leaning in a little. “I seem to remember quite the opposite happening when I called you out in theoretical physics during first year.”
His eyes narrow, still holding the grin but his jaw is tight. “My dick works and I was 19, sue me. Still doesn’t negate every other boner you’ve killed—not talking about mine though, Toji said he thought he’d never pop one again when you went off about the aerodynamics of his Jeep.”
“Toji is a meat head who’s taken a few too many footballs to the face. He couldn’t sense air flow in a wind tunnel.”
“I can hear you y’know.” Toji snaps from behind Gojo.
“Sorry,” You shrug, turning attention back to Gojo as you continue, “But it doesn’t change the fact that you got hard in front of like 150 people after I pointed out the missing variable in your equation, freak.”
He scoffs but it turns into a laugh after a moment, the sound condescending and grating. “Again, I won’t apologize for being 19 and having a functioning dick. Question is though, you remember that day pretty well, did something about it stick with you?” He smirks again and crosses his arms, leaning in closer to you, making you way too aware of everything you’re still trying to ignore.
“Sorry to disappoint, but nothing about you sticks with me, Gojo.” You say flatly, lying right through your teeth. There are several things about Gojo that stick with you—annoyingly so—and you’ve accumulated a few more just today alone.
His lips twitches, the corner tugging down almost unnoticeably for a split second, like you may have hit a little too hard and you almost feel a little guilty, but something victorious stomps that down and you take the win as you turn on a heel to walk back towards the line.
“Well… that was—“
“Something.” You finish for Nobara.
“I was going to say entertaining. I need popcorn or something when I watch you two go at it.” She puts a hand on your shoulder as you tug your skirt down a little, refusing to look anywhere near Gojo’s direction as he stands with Geto next to their bikes. “Sorry about your biker boy, but maybe it’s like a si—“
“Don’t. Just… don’t finish that sentence. It was stupid and I’m over it.” You sigh and hear the disappointment in it as you do. Just your luck, it’s like Cinderella or something.
But instead of a carriage turning back into a pumpkin at midnight, the hot street racer that sets your pulse on edge turns into the most annoying guy you’ve ever met right before your eyes.
It was him the whole time. And… it all kind of makes sense. The double take he did, like he recognized you, the nod, hell even the race itself. You both have been each other’s ultimate competition since day one at M.I.T., and it seems that extends outside of school too.
Oh god… you… smiled at him.
Oh god… you were eye-fucking him! Nobara was right, you were drooling over that guy and it was Gojo Satoru the whole time. But that fact changes things, that’s where she’s wrong.
The only ‘sign’ here, is a giant red STOP that you’re heeding.
a/n ⭑.ᐟ *slaps the roof of this fic* This baby can fit so many tropes! I'm obsessed with nerdjo rn but I need him on a bike so we're doing it all. Comment if you’d like to be tagged when the rest comes out ♡ UPDATE: comment on the masterlist to be tagged! | dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/strangergraphics-archive and amazing art is by @aliyartss on insta/X.
series masterlist
<- Chapter 16 ✦ Chapter 18 -> Coming Soon!!
word count: 4551
author's note: strap in yall we've got a rhys POV
Fuck.
No—
No, that—
Fuck.
Rhys blinked. Once. Twice. The image didn’t change. Cassian—his Cassian—stared back at him from her phone, frozen mid-laugh, head thrown back slightly in a way Rhys knew too well. He’d seen that exact expression a hundred times—across bar tables, across gym floors, across late nights that belonged to a version of him that had nothing to do with this room. It hit him all at once.
His stomach dropped so fast it felt physical, like something inside him had shifted out of place. No. No, that wasn’t—he didn’t finish the thought before she swiped again, already moving on.
“And this was when I went ice skating with him and Gwyn—oh, wait—”
Another picture. Clearer this time. Closer. There was no room left for doubt.
Fuck.
His grip tightened around his pen—too tight. The plastic pressed into his fingers before he forced his hand to loosen, like he could undo the reaction before it meant anything. Years of training locked his face into something neutral, something passable at least. Attentive, composed, unchanged. Nothing that reflected the way the ground had just dropped out from under him.
He should stop this.
The thought came clean. Immediate.
He should stop the session. Now. Right now.
Conflict of interest. Dual relationship. Immediate termination of care. Referral out. The words lined up automatically, clinical and precise, the way they always did. He knew the script. Knew exactly how it should sound—calm, measured, non-negotiable. He’d said it before without hesitation, without room for argument.
There are lines you don’t cross.
And this?
Fuck.
“—oh my god, wait, this one’s actually so bad—”
She laughed softly, still swiping, still talking like nothing had changed—as if the moment hadn’t split cleanly in two. Rhys nodded at the right times, made the right sounds, slipped seamlessly back into the role he’d built for himself over years of practice. He played the part without missing a beat, because the second thought had already followed the first, sliding into place before he could stop it.
You don’t have to do it now.
His jaw tightened.
He could finish the session. One hour. Nothing inappropriate, nothing actionable, nothing that couldn’t be documented and handled after the fact. He could still fix it—terminate after this session, refer her out, deepen the line in the sand once he had time to think. Clean boundary. No harm done.
It made sense.
It almost felt reasonable.
His gaze flicked to her. She was leaning forward slightly, one ankle crossed over the other, completely at ease—comfortable in a way that had taken weeks to build, piece by careful piece. He’d watched that progress happen, tracked it in small shifts and quiet moments, the gradual loosening of something that had once been tightly held.
And there was the other thing.
He’d never named it. Not even to himself, because that would force him to acknowledge it as more than coincidence, or projection, or something easily dismissed if he didn’t look at it too closely.
It hadn’t been consistent. That was how he justified it.
Just moments. Small ones. Easy to overlook if he chose to. Moments where her attention lingered a fraction longer than it needed to, where her gaze didn’t just meet his, but stayed. Where it drifted without her seeming to notice—down to his hands when he moved them, to his forearms when his sleeves were pushed up, to his mouth when he spoke.
Small things.
A quick press of her lips together, then the faintest flick of her tongue across them, like she’d caught herself a second too late. The way she’d sit a little closer to the edge of the couch on certain days, posture more open, more engaged. The subtle shift in her tone—lighter, warmer—on days when she’d clearly taken more care getting ready, like she’d decided, consciously or not, to meet him there instead of holding herself back.
Nothing that could be called out.
Nothing he could—
Should—
Interpret.
He’d let it pass every time, filed it away neatly under misread body language. Transference, maybe. Projection. Normal. Expected. Manageable. Easy to contain as long as he didn’t think about it too hard.
Until now. Because now it felt—
He cut the thought off before it could fully form.
Rhys’ jaw tightened slightly, the shift small, something internal slipping just slightly out of alignment.
She was comfortable. With him.
He shouldn’t take that from her mid-session. How could he? Not like this. Not without any warning, not without giving her time to understand what had changed.
That was the justification.
He clicked his pen once again, a quiet, habitual motion. He willed himself into the image of calm composure, indistinguishable from any other session. On the surface, nothing had changed. His posture was easy, controlled, his expression neutral in a way that read as attentive. If someone walked in, they wouldn’t see it—the shift, the fracture, the fact that something had already gone wrong.
“Walk me through that night,” he said evenly. “You mentioned you knew he’d be there.”
A beat passed before he added, “Cassian.”
The name sat wrong in his mouth, heavier than it should have been, like it didn’t belong in this room. To be fair, it didn’t. As soon as he’d come up, Rhys should have—
Across from him, she didn’t seem to notice.
“Yeah,” she said, shifting slightly as she set her phone down. “I mean, I figured he would be. We’ve been—” she hesitated, “—not no-contact, I guess.”
Rhys nodded slowly, like there was nothing unusual about any of this.
“And being around him,” he said, “what did that feel like for you?”
It was a neutral question. Standard. Safe.
“Fine,” she said too quickly. Then softer, “Normal, mostly.”
Mostly.
“And the rest of it?”
“It’s just… complicated, I guess.” She exhaled, glancing down at her hands. “We get along, he’s an easy guy to be around. It’s just… not exactly stable.”
Rhys hummed, the sound quiet, thoughtful.
“Not stable,” he repeated, letting the words settle for a moment. “Do you mean unpredictable,” he said, “or just… consistently unsatisfying?”.
The second it left his mouth, he knew.
Too leading. Too narrow. It gave her language she hadn’t chosen herself, pushed her toward an answer instead of letting her find one. He knew better. He’d been trained not to do that—to leave space, not fill it.
He didn’t take it back.
She blinked once, like she was considering it, then—
“...yeah,” she said slowly.
Something in his chest loosened.
“Consistently unsatisfying,” she repeated, like she was trying the words on for size. And for a split second, he felt it—sharp, instant, gone just as quickly as it came.
Satisfaction.
“Not in that way,” she added quickly.
Rhys went still.
She huffed a small, almost self-conscious laugh. “He’s… he’s not bad,” she said, a little awkwardly. “Kind of the opposite. Generous, if anything. Like, almost annoyingly considerate.”
His jaw tightened.
No. Stay in it. Stay in it. Stay—
He couldn’t.
“So he’s attentive,” he said. “And that’s… the bar?”
“Well—no. It shouldn’t be,” she said.
“You’re right, it shouldn’t,” he replied, tone smoother now. His pen rolled once between his fingers, something to do with his hands. “There are plenty of men who can give you that.”
A beat passed.
“And more.”
Her mouth parted slightly.
Rhys felt it land somewhere low in his stomach, sudden and disorienting, before he could stop it.
She leaned back a little, just enough to put space between them, but her attention didn’t go with it.
“Okay,” she said slowly, “That felt a little… targeted.”
Rhys let out a quiet breath through his nose, the corner of his mouth threatening something that didn’t quite qualify as a smile.
“Did it?”
He should have walked it back. Smoothed it over. Redirected the conversation somewhere safer, somewhere neutral.
Instead, he watched her.
The way her fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeve like they always did—but looser this time, less guarded. The way her shoulders stayed open, even as she leaned back. No real attempt to close herself off. No retreat.
If anything, she was leaning into it.
“You said he’s generous,” he continued, more evenly now, like he was choosing his words with care this time. “Attentive. Easy to be around.”
Each word was softer than the last, but he didn’t miss the weight of them.
“And still…” His gaze held hers. “You don’t want to stay.”
She didn’t answer right away, but her eyes flicked—brief, almost automatic—to his mouth before returning to his eyes, like she’d caught herself doing it a second too late.
His grip tightened slightly around the pen in his hand.
“Yeah,” she said finally.
“Right.”
Rhys paused before continuing.
“And that doesn’t… bother him?” The question came out smoother than he felt.
Her brows pulled slightly. “What do you mean?”
“That you don’t stay,” he clarified. “That you’re there, and then you’re not.”
He watched the way she processed that—how she bit her lip, slow and absentminded, like she wasn’t even aware she was doing it. Another sharp pull hit low in his stomach. The thought came just as fast—what that would look like directed at him, what it would feel like to earn that reaction while his face was between her legs, tongue—
No.
“He doesn’t say anything?” he added, clearing his throat.
He knew exactly what he was doing, turning Cassian into something smaller, something easier to dismiss, piece by piece. Taking what she gave him and shifting it just slightly, reframing it until it sounded different coming back to her than it had when she first said it. He didn’t need to tell her what to think. He just nudged. Let the silences stretch in the right places, let certain words land heavier than others, until the conclusion felt like it was hers.
And Rhys knew it was unethical. Indefensible.
She hesitated. “I mean… not really.”
He exhaled again, gaze dropping for half a second—tracking the way her fingers twisted slightly in her sleeve again—before returning to her face.
“That’s convenient,” he said.
Her head tilted slightly. “For who?”
He didn’t answer right away. He watched the way she held his gaze now, not skirting around it, not dropping away from it like she used to. Holding. Matching.
“You tell me.”
She let out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh under it, though it didn’t quite land.
“I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“No,” he said. “It usually isn’t.”
His eyes drifted lower then, catching the faint press of her lips together before she wet them, slow and unthinking.
He held there a second too long.
Then forced himself to look back up.
“And he’s fine with that,” he continued. “With you showing up when you feel like it. Leaving when you don’t.”
“I don’t know about fine,” she responded, finally pulling her fingers free from her sleeve and resting her hand against her thigh.
Rhys tracked the motion.
His hand twitched with the impulse to close the distance, to rest his own palm against her thigh like it belonged there, like he had any right to touch her at all.
“But he hasn’t said anything to me,” she finished.
“Seems like a pretty low-risk situation,” he said. Then after a beat, “For Cassian.”
He watched that land—the shift in her expression, the way she tensed just slightly.
Rhys leaned back slightly, one arm resting against the chair now, his posture looser than he felt. But his gaze didn’t waver.
“Men aren’t too complicated,” he said. “He gets consistency without responsibility. You show up when you want to. You leave when you don’t. No expectations. No real consequences if it doesn’t go anywhere. He doesn’t have to risk anything.”
He looked at the way her skirt had ridden up just enough to expose more of her thigh, the fabric shifting higher with the way she’d adjusted in her seat. His eyes traced it without meaning to, following the line of her leg before dragging back up.
“He still gets you.”
Her brows pulled slightly, something in her posture shifting. Still not defensive or closed, but recalibrating.
“That’s not—” she started, then stopped, adjusting mid-thought. “I’m pretty sure we’ve talked about how I think he wants more than that.”
Rhys’ jaw tightened.
“That’s what he says,” he replied without a second thought.
What are you doing?
The thought cut clean through him. This was fucked. On so many levels. He was steering the conversation, pushing it, shaping it into something that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with him.
He was manipulating her. Worse? He found himself unable to stop.
Her eyes narrowed just slightly, like she was trying to place where that had come from. It wasn’t how he usually responded.
“No,” she said, more certain now. “It’s not just what he says. He’s—” she exhaled softly, searching for the right wording, “he tries to be… more. I’m just not… available for it. The personal stuff.”
Something in his chest shifted at that. Something distinctly not relief.
Rhys leaned forward slightly, forearms resting against his thighs, the pen forgotten in his hand.
“Personal,” he repeated.
The word sounded different coming from him.
“You get personal with me every week.”
It landed between them before he could reshape it into something safer, and he felt it immediately, the line he’d just stepped over. But instead of pulling back—
You’ve come this far, Rhys.
“You show up,” he continued, voice lower, rough around the edges in a way he didn’t bother correcting. “You sit here, you tell me things you don’t tell anyone else. You let me in—”
Too far, he knew it.
“So it’s not that you can’t do personal,” he finished, more measured now, but not enough to undo what had already been said. “Just not with him.”
She didn’t look away. Didn’t deflect.
And that—
that was new.
Rhys felt something dangerous tighten low in his chest, curling and making a home there before he could stop it, unwelcome in how easily it took hold, how little resistance it met once it was there.
Across from him, she hadn’t shifted.
“What is this?” she asked, her gaze narrowing slightly. The way her eyes held his—clear, searching, trying to pin him down in a way she hadn’t before. The faint crease between her brows, the slight tilt of her head as she studied him, like she was skeptical.
She should be. She should be.
He traced the line of her face, the curve of her mouth where it had just parted around the question, the way her sleeve had slipped back just enough to expose her wrist, her hand still resting against her thigh.
Rhys knew exactly how he should answer the question.
“What do you mean?” he said.
Wrong.
“You know what I mean.”
Rhys exhaled quietly through his nose, resting his elbows on his knees like he could reset the space between them if he just moved enough. Like posture could fix tone. Like he could put himself back behind the line.
“I’m asking you questions,” he said, measured, even. “That’s not new.”
She didn’t respond right away.
Rhys watched it happen—the pause, the way she sat with it instead of brushing past it. Her gaze stayed on him, steady, assessing in a way that felt new.
“That’s not what this feels like,” she said finally. Her voice was quiet, but it landed heavier than it should have.
When he’d first started seeing her, there had been something softer in her—uncertain, a little disillusioned, like she was still figuring out how much space she was allowed to take up. But now she was really looking at him, like she was assessing him, weighing him in a way that felt new. More sure of herself. More steady in the way she held his gaze, in the way she didn’t rush to fill the silence he’d left behind.
His attention dropped to the long sleeves pulled slightly up her forearms, the fabric bunched up just enough to expose the line of her wrist, the subtle shift of movement as her fingers flexed against her thigh.
Then slightly higher, to where the hem of her skirt had ridden up an inch, maybe more, the fabric pulling higher with the way she’d settled into the couch. A sliver of bare skin, nothing that should have mattered.
He could pull it back. The conversation, not the skirt—but, God, did he want to.
He knew how.
Reign in his tone, widen the question, give her space to reframe it herself.
Instead, he said, “Then what does it feel like?”
Her lips parted slightly, like she might answer right away, but she didn’t. She leaned back just a fraction, that damned skirt pulling up just a bit further, giving herself space to think.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Different, I guess.”
Different.
The word settled between them, vague enough to leave room, specific enough that it didn’t need clarification. Rhys got the impression that she wasn’t entirely sure what this meant, but knew something was there.
He should have left it alone.
Should have let the ambiguity sit, let it diffuse on its own.
“Different how?”
Rhys watched the hesitation settle in—not searching for words, but deciding whether to say them.
“You already know the answer,” she breathed, blinking, like she hadn’t meant to say it like that. The flicker of surprise in her eyes, like she might take it back.
But she just looked at him.
“Do I?” he said.
It wasn’t a real question.
It didn’t sound like one.
“Yes,” she said immediately.
And Rhys felt something like a door closing, slamming behind him without the option to open it back up again. There was no clean way to step back from this now, no version of the conversation that could be pulled back into something neutral.
Because she wasn’t hesitating anymore.
And neither was he.
“Then say it,” he said.
Her fingers pressed lightly into her thigh, grounding, but the rest of her stayed open—facing him, not retreating.
“You’re not asking me anything,” she said. “You’re telling me.”
“And you don’t like that?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No,” he said, just as quickly. “You didn’t.”
The words barely had time to settle before the silence snapped back into place, tighter than before. It held—thick, unmoving, charged with everything neither of them was saying.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them looked away.
A sharp chime cut through the room.
Jarring in its brightness, in its insistence. Too loud for the space, too abrupt for what it interrupted. For a second—two—Rhys didn’t move. He stayed exactly as he was, gaze locked on hers, like the sound hadn’t meant anything at all. Across from him, she didn’t move either, didn’t break first.
The chime sounded again.
Rhys leaned back then, the movement controlled in a way that felt almost forced. Like he was reassembling something piece by piece instead of slipping back into place naturally. “That’s time,” he said, pressing a button to shut it off. The words sounded practiced, automatic.
It didn’t fit.
He reached for the notepad he hadn’t touched practically all session, grounding himself in the familiar motions. A glance at the clock, a small nod—everything exactly where it should be. Routine. Structure. Distance. All of it back in its rightful place.
Except it wasn’t. Not really.
Because when his gaze lifted to hers again, it didn’t settle the way it was supposed to. It didn’t soften, didn’t create that careful, professional space he knew how to maintain.
“Same time next week?” he asked.
There was the script. Clean. Easy. Automatic.
Across from him, she shifted, but not in the way she usually did at the end of a session—no quick gathering of things, no immediate break in eye contact, no subtle retreat back into her shell.
“Yeah,” she said, just as steady.
Another beat passed before either of them moved.
Then she stood.
Rhys followed a second later, slower than he should have been, like there was a delay between the decision and the action. He crossed the room ahead of her, opening the door with a practiced ease that felt strangely disconnected now, like his body was moving through something rehearsed while the rest of him lagged behind.
He stepped back to let her pass.
She brushed by him, close enough that he felt it.
The hallway stretched out in front of them, muted and familiar, the low hum of the office settling back into place around them. It should have grounded him. Usually, it did. The predictability of it, the routine—something to anchor himself to after every session.
He walked beside her in silence. Neither of them spoke, the quiet stretching between them.
When they reached the waiting area, she left with a quiet, “Bye, Rhysand.” Quiet, but not soft.
He nodded.
Watched her go.
The door opened, then shut behind her with a soft click that felt louder than it should have. Final in a way he didn’t like.
Rhys stood there a second longer than necessary.
Then—
“Dr. Hale?”
The voice pulled him back.
He turned.
A man was already on his feet, phone tucked away, posture straightening like he’d been waiting for the exact moment it would be appropriate to speak.
Rhys blinked once, resetting.
Right.
“Evan,” he said, the name coming easily, and just like that, the confident, polished smile slipped back into place. “Thanks for waiting.”
Evan gave a quick nod. “Yeah, of course.”
Rhys gestured down the hall, the motion automatic, familiar in a way that almost felt like relief. “Come on back.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Rhys stared at his screen.
The cursor blinked in the search bar, steady and unbothered. Waiting. He hadn’t typed anything yet, which was ridiculous. He knew exactly what he should type, the phrasing, the terminology, the precise way to frame it so the answers would come back clean and clinical.
He also knew exactly what he didn’t want to see.
Therapist boundaries potential dual relationship client what to do
Enter.
The results loaded instantly—articles, PDFs, ethics boards, all of it familiar. The same language he’d used plenty of times before, sitting on the other side of this—clear, firm, unambiguous.
Terminate care. Refer out. Document immediately.
He clicked one link, skimmed it just enough to confirm what he already knew, then closed it.
Another, same thing. The words blurred together after a point, repeating themselves in slightly different formats, none of it new.
Rhys sat back, dragging a hand over his mouth, the motion rougher than it needed to be. He opened a new tab without thinking too hard about it.
Therapist attracted to client
Enter.
Different phrasing. Same answers.
Normal. Not actionable. Maintain boundaries.
He huffed a quiet breath, something humorless catching in it.
Not helpful.
Another tab.
What happens if therapist crosses boundary with client
This time, he didn’t press enter right away. His finger hovered over the key, lingering there longer than it should have.
He clicked one link, then another, but didn’t finish reading either. He didn’t need to. The outcomes were already obvious, spelled out in language that left no room for interpretation.
He closed them both.
Opened a new tab.
Paused.
This time, his hands didn’t move immediately. They rested against the keyboard, still, like he needed a second longer before deciding how to phrase it—like wording mattered more now than it did a moment ago.
When he finally typed, it was slower.
Why do I feel like this about someone I shouldn’t
Enter.
Forums, Reddit threads, anonymous usernames asking questions that looked a little too familiar when you stripped away the specifics. Different situations, different details, but the same underlying shape.
He clicked one.
Scrolled.
Didn’t read closely—just enough to catch the tone of it, the half-answers, the justifications, the way people tried to explain something they didn’t fully understand.
It wasn’t useful. It never was.
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling for a second before dropping back to the screen.
The cursor blinked again.
Still waiting.
His fingers hovered over the keys, tension settling into them now, into the pause.
Then—
Is it still crossing a boundary if nothing has happened yet
He stared at that one longer than the others.
He didn’t press enter, didn’t need to.
Because he already knew the answer.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Rhys: Hi. I need to inform you that I won’t be able to continue as your therapist. Please call the office—I’ve already made arrangements for them to connect you with someone else.
He read it twice. It sounded right. Send.
The response came faster than he expected.
(Y/n): what? Why?
Of course she wouldn’t just accept it without explanation. He knew that. He’d expected it. He told himself he didn’t leave it vague just so he could talk to her a little bit longer.
Rhys: There’s a conflict of interest. I’m sorry.
He watched the message deliver, watched the read receipt come in, watched as the typing bubble never appeared.
Rhys exhaled slowly, setting his phone down beside him, like distance might make it easier to ignore.
Hours passed like that.
Not doing anything. Not fully thinking, either. Just… sitting with it, the weight of it settling into something heavier the longer it stayed unanswered. He told himself it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t personal. That this was exactly how it was supposed to go.
It didn’t change the way his attention kept drifting back to his phone anyway. Each time he picked it up, there was still no reply. Just the same single word taunting him.
Read.
He shouldn’t text again.
There was no reason to. He already said what needed to be said.
And yet.
Rhys: You’re welcome to switch to our other location if returning here feels uncomfortable. I would strongly recommend continuing to meet with a therapist on a regular basis, and the office can help coordinate that for you.
The read receipt came instantly.
Still nothing.
Rhys set the phone down more deliberately this time. He wasn’t going to pick it back up again.
He stood, crossed the room, and poured himself a glass of whiskey.
The first sip burned more than it usually did, but he barely registered it. He stared ahead, unfocused, the glass still in his hand as he took another, then another, until it was empty before he’d fully processed drinking it at all.
He poured another.
Downed that one faster.
A breath left him as he dragged a hand down his face, fingers pressing briefly against his eyes before dropping back down.
Another pour.
This time he didn’t drink it immediately.
He took a slower sip, then another, letting it sit on his tongue longer than he needed to before swallowing. It didn’t help. Didn’t dull anything the way it was supposed to.
He set the glass on the counter, the quiet of the apartment pressing in around him again.
