RAY . 20s . desi . any pronouns . NSFW blog . MDNI
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☆Take your time to read I'd give you everything (clan head Gojo) ✧ Catoru & Suguru's adventures
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if i say I have something ready to post but it doesn't have explicit smut would you guys gaf lol lole ykw I just don't wanna write real smut for this also not in the mood to do it nor do I feel it's very fitting yk? I need one yes and I'll be happy enough to finish it before my finals🤞
゛★ jock ! satoru gojo pretends to be your boyfriend.
oneshot .ᐟ ⋆ 6k words ⋆ highschool 12th year au ⋆ nerd!reader ⋆ childhood friends to lovers ⋆ fake dating ⋆ rugby player!satoru ⋆ not slow burn ⋆ art by ?
Third period calculus at Tokyo Metropolitan High School was usually a nightmare. You were nose-deep in your notebook, scribbling down the last of the derivative problems Mr. Tanaka had thrown up on the board, your brain already three steps ahead of his explanation, as per usual. It was your happy place. The scrape of your pencil, the neat rows of numbers, the satisfying click of the mechanical pencil. For a nerd like yourself, this was better than any Friday night party.
The problem was, you couldn't seem to get a moment of it in peace anymore.
A familiar shadow fell over your desk, blocking the light from the window. You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Your shoulders tensed, your grip on the pencil tightening just a bit. You knew that shadow. You had a damn Pavlovian response to its appearance now, a mix of annoyance and creeping dread.
"Hey, you," the voice was a low, try-hard baritone that was meant to sound smooth and instead just came off as greasy. "You busy tonight?"
You forced yourself to look up, a practiced, polite smile plastered on your face. Kenji Sato. He was… objectively decent-looking, you supposed. He played soccer and had that whole ‘tousled hair and permanent smirk’ thing going on. But he was also terribly relentless, painfully dense, and had zero concept of the word ‘no.’
"Just studying, Kenji. Got a big test next week," you said, your tone flat, hoping the monotone would convey your complete and utter lack of interest in whatever he had to say.
"Forget studying," he said, leaning a little too close for comfort, his cologne practically triggering a chemical warfare alert in your sinuses. "I was thinking we could grab some ramen. My treat. You’ve been working so hard, you gotta relax sometime."
"Yeah, I relax," you said, turning back to your notebook, hoping he’d take the hint and vanish like a bad smell. "By studying."
He laughed, but it was a very hollow sound. He wasn’t laughing with you, he was laughing at your rejection, which he apparently found oh so amusing. "Come on, don’t be like that. Just one night. You won’t regret it." He reached out and put his hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing a circular, overly familiar pattern on your collarbone. You fought the urge to flinch away. It was a gesture that was meant to be intimate, but felt like a violation. A greasy and unwanted violation.
"I said I’m busy, Kenji." Your voice was sharper this time, a little edge of steel creeping in that you foolishly hoped would deter him. The pencil in your hand was now a weapon you were very tempted to jab into his hand. "Maybe another time."
His smile faltered for a second before snapping back into place. "I’ll hold you to that," he said, giving your shoulder a squeeze that lasted a a second too long before finally, mercifully, walking away.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The sheer effort of just existing in his vicinity was exhausting. It was like a low-grade fever you couldn't shake. This had been going on for weeks now. It started with a simple "hello" in the hall. Then it was sitting next to you in the library. Then it was finding your number from the class group chat and sending you… you shuddered… "good morning" texts that were always followed by question marks when you ignored them. And now it was this. The full-court press.
You were a master of deflection, but Kenji Sato was like a barnacle. A really persistent,shitty cologne-drenched barnacle.
Later, at lunch, you sat with your small group of friends in the courtyard, trying to decompress after that borderline stalker-y interaction. The sun was out, and a cool breeze was the only thing that made the whole experience of high school bearable. You were picking at your bento, the appetite you'd had earlier completely gone.
"Oh, he’s back at it again?" Shoko asked, not even looking up from her phone. She had a sixth sense for your suffering. "Sato’s been circling you like a vulture all day. Did he corner you in calc like last week?"
"Yeah," you groaned, letting your head thunk down onto the cool metal table. "He asked me out for ramen. Again."
"For the eleventh time this month?" your other friend, a guy named suguru, mumbled through a mouthful of rice. "That guy’s got a one-track mind. And it’s a very, very short track."
Shoko finally looked up from her phone, her expression a mix of pity and exasperation. "You need to get rid of him."
"I've tried!" you exclaimed, lifting your head and throwing your hands up. "I've said no. I've said maybe another time. I've said I'm busy. I've even tried ignoring him and pretending I'm a statue. He doesn't get it."
"You need to make it so he cannot get it. Shut that door, lock it, and burn it," Shoko said, pointing a chopstick at you for emphasis.
"How, Shoko? Do you want me to fake my own death? Change my nameand flee the country?"
"No," she said, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across her face. "You need a bigger threat. A guy he’s actually afraid of."
You frowned, not following. "Who would he be afraid of? He's on the soccer team. He's got his own clique of mouth-breathers. He's not scared of anyone."
Shoko’s smile widened. It was a knowing smile, the kind that made you instantly suspicious. "There is one person," she said, enunciating each word slowly, as if revealing some grand secret she knows you won't like. "One guy who even the soccer team steers clear of. One guy who could look at Kenji Sato and make him soil his little sport shorts."
You felt your stomach do a weird little flip-flop. You knew exactly who she was talking about now. There was only one person who fit that bill at Tokyo Metropolitan. "Are you insane? No. Absolutely not."
"Oh, come on!" Shoko insisted. "It’s perfect! He's the best player on the rugby team, he’s huge, he's cocky, he's terrifying on the field, and he’s got that whole... aura of invincibility thing going on. If Sato thinks you're with Satoru, he'll back off immediately."
You shook your head vehemently. "Shoko, I can't. We haven’t been friends like that for years. We barely talk. It would be so… awkward. Not to mention, desperate."
It was true. Satoru Gojo and you had a history that pre-dated your ability to form complete sentences. Your parents were best friends from college, which meant you two were forced together for playdates, birthday parties, and family vacations from the time you were both in diapers. You’d shared a kiddie pool, fought over toys, and he'd been the one to hold your hand when you got your first set of shots at the doctor’s office. He’d been a loud, obnoxious, supernova of a kid, and you were the quieter, more studious little girl who followed him around.
You were his sidekick. He was your hero. You’d build pillow forts, have epic Nerf gun battles, and he’d always, always defend you when the older kids at the park were being mean. It was a given. You were his, and he was yours.
Then high school happened.
It was like a switch flipped. He hit a growth spurt that turned him into a towering, broad-shouldered titan, his scruffy hair turned into something more artfully disheveled. He joined the rugby team and became an instant star. His natural charisma, which had always been part of his charm, was now honed to a point, making him the undisputed king of the social scene. His laughter echoed across the hallways, and his feet were constantly surrounded by a flock of admirers, a kaleidoscope of cheerleaders, and other jocks.
And you… well, you found your own tribe. You discovered that the peace` of the library was far more appealing than the noise of a party. You found that academic achievement was a high that didn't need a hangover. You threw yourself into your studies, seeking the clear-cut approval of a perfect score on a test. You were the top of the class, the one teachers loved, the one everyone came to for notes and tried to bribe for answers. The "nerd," a label you owned with a weird sense of pride.
The drift wasn't a big fight or some dramatic falling out. It was a thousand small things. He’d get swallowed by his crowd after school, leaving you to walk home alone. The inside jokes started to feel dated, never landing the same way they used to. You’d see him at a mutual friend’s party, and he’d be surrounded, his eyes scanning the room but never stopping on you. A casual "hey" in the hallway replaced the goofy nicknames and comfortable chatter you used to share since you were kids.
He'd stopped holding your hand. And you didn't know when or how to ask for it back. So you just… didn't.
"We used to be close," you admitted, your voice quieter than you meant for it to be. "But that feels like a ages ago."
"Exactly!" Shoko leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. "That's what makes it so perfect. It’s the most believable lie. No one will question it because you actually did have this entire life together. It’s just rekindling a childhood friendship, right? With some... fake benefits."
Suguru, who had been quietfor the last few minutes, finally chimed in. "She does have a point, you know. It's a solid plan. Sato's a coward. He won't go up against a guy who can literally snap him in half with his legs."
The mental image of Satoru’s long, powerful legs—which, okay, you may or may not have noticed on occasion—doing that to Kenji was... not unpleasant. You bit your lip, warring with yourself. A huge part of you recoiled at the thought. You’d built your whole identity around being self-sufficient. You were the one who had her life together. You didn't run to anyone for help, least of all a guy you’d been trying so hard to forget you had any feelings for at all.
But Kenji wasn't going away. He was a persistent tick you couldn't shake off. And the thought of him putting his hand on your shoulder, rubbing that same gross circular pattern... it made your skin crawl.
"No," you said firmly, shaking your head again. "I'll just tell him I'm... dating someone from another school or something."
"Yeah right. I don't think Sato is going to care about a faceless guy," Shoko countered with a pfft and a snort. "He needs to see a face. A familiar face. A face he knows could absolutely destroy him."
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and you were grateful for the well needed interruption. But the seed had already been planted by the very evil Shoko. As you gathered your things and walked to your next class, the idea gnawed at you, a persistent little demon whispering in your ear. It was a terrible idea. It was pathetic. It was using him.
But what other option did you have?
Over the next couple of days, the situation with Kenji escalated. He started showing up at your locker. He’d wait for you after your last class, trying to walk you to your bus stop. He even turned up at the library once, the most sacred of your spaces, and sat down right across from you, asking if you needed help with your "homework" while his eyes kept wandering down to your chest. It was the final straw. You were officially at your breaking point.
The fear was starting to replace annoyance. It wasn't just annoying anymore; it was becoming... unsettling. He didn’t take a hint; he took your rejection as some kind of challenge.
And so, with a heavy heart and a churning stomach, you decided that maybe, just maybe, you needed to swallow your pride and face the awkwardness of talking to Satoru.
The next day, you knew exactly where to find him. After school, the rugby team had practice on the far field. You’d seen them from the library window countless times, a blur of motion and shouts.
You’d never walked down there before.
Your heart was hammering against your ribs as you pushed through the gate and walked towards the practice field. It felt like you were straying into enemy territory. The air was thick with the smell of grass, sweat, and... a shitload of testosterone. It was a world away from the sterile halls of your academic life. The players were a collection of humanified giants, grunting and slamming into each other with a ferocity that was both terrifying and weirdly... mesmerizing.
And in the center of it all, like a diamond in a pile of... well, large, sweaty rocks, was Satoru.
He was wearing a black jersey that was plastered to his body with sweat, and his white hair was even more of a disaster than usual. He was in the middle of a play, and he was moving with an unnatural fluidity for a guy his size. He dodged one tackler with a laugh, feigned another, and then plowed through a third, sending him flying back with a casual shove. The whistle blew, and he straightened up, grinning, that usual cocky, self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face.
He looked… in his element. Powerful. Unstoppable. It was a far cry from the small, scruffy kid you used to share snacks and toys with.
You hovered by the fence, suddenly feeling incredibly small and out of place. A couple of the guys on the sidelines noticed you. One of them, a big, burly guy with a shaved head, gave you a lecherous wink. You looked away, your cheeks burning. Great. This was already a disaster. You considered leaving but then Kenji's face flashed like an unwanted intruder and you dug your heels into the ground with a sigh.
The coach finally blew his whistle, signaling the end of practice. The players started to disperse, some heading for the water coolers, others collapsing onto the grass. You scanned the field for Satoru, and found him near the center, chatting and laughing with a couple of his teammates. He was the sun in this solar system, everyone drawn to his gravitational pull. Just as you were gathering the courage to approach him, a familiar, oily voice spoke up right next to you.
"Well, well, look who it is," Kenji said. He was leaning against the fence, a smug grin on his face. "Didn't know you liked the rugby boys. I'm a soccer man myself. More finesse."
Your blood ran cold. Of all the times. Of all the places. "I'm just passing through, Kenji," you said, your voice tight. "You should go."
"Passing through?" he echoed with a scoff, stepping closer. "Right. You know what, I've been patient with you, but it's getting a little old. I'm not taking no for an answer anymore. You're coming with me for dinner tonight. End of story."
There it was. The mask of casual flirtation had slipped, revealing something more entitled and aggressive underneath.
"Get lost, Kenji," you said, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts.
"Or what?" he taunted, stepping closer. "You gonna call your dad on me?" He reached out again, his hand about to land on your shoulder, and you saw that same smug, patronizing look in his eyes.
That's when the shadows changed. You didn't even see him coming. One second, it was just you and Kenji and the dying afternoon sun. The next, a tall, broad-shouldered figure had materialized right beside you, moving with a surprising silence for someone his size.
"Hey, Sato," Satoru's voice was a lazy drawl, but there was something dangerous humming underneath it. "Problem here?"
Kenji's hand dropped like he’d seen a ghost. All the color drained from his face. He looked up at Satoru, who was at least a head taller and twice as wide, and his bravado vanished instantly. "Gojo. Hey, man. No problem. Just talking to her."
"Really? Because it looked like she was telling you to get lost. And you weren't listening." Satoru's tone was still casual, but his pale blue eyes, hidden behind a pair of designer sunglasses, were fixed on Kenji with a cold and unwavering intensity. It was the look of a predator sizing up its prey. A predator who was very, very unamused.
"I was just... we're friends," Kenji stammered. "Just having a chat."
"Doesn't look like she wants to chat," Satoru said, his voice dropping a notch. He took a half-step forward, and Kenji practically flinched. "So why don't you go find someone who does?"
Kenji looked between you and Satoru, his brain clearly short-circuiting. He mumbled something unintelligible, and without another word, he turned and practically scurried away with his tail tucked in between his legs, disappearing back towards the school building.
The tension that had been coiling in your shoulders for weeks finally, mercifully, released. You let out a shaky breath you didn't even know you were holding.
"Wow," Satoru chuckled, turning to look at you. The intimidation was gone, replaced by that familiar, infuriatingly smug grin. "That guy is a total loser. Couldn't even take a hint. And he calls himself a soccer player? He gets tackled by a stiff breeze. Pathetic."
You blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. "You... you made him leave."
"Uh, yeah. That was kinda' the idea," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I was trying to be all mysterious and cool by the fence, waiting for the right moment to jump in. But then he was going to touch you, and I got a little impatient." He shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that was anything but. "Sooo. What's up? You never come down here. Did you finally decide to take an interest in my incredible athleticism? Or did you just want to see me in my element? I know it's a lot to take in. The sheer magnitude of my greatness."
The urge to smack that stupid, perfect grin off his face warred with the sudden, embarrassing warmth spreading through your chest. Here he was, years of silence between you, and he was acting like no time had passed at all. The audacity.
"I need to talk to you," you managed, ignoring his questions. "About something serious."
His grin faded a little, replaced by a flicker of genuine curiosity. "Uh oh. That sounds ominous. You gonna tell me you're transferring to a rival school? Because I'm gonna be real honest with you, the science club at the school down the road is a bunch of posers."
"No, it's about... well, it's about Kenji," you said, your courage threatening to abandon you now that he was actually in front of you. "He's been bothering me. A lot. For weeks. He won't leave me alone, and I've tried everything."
"Ah, I see," Satoru said, nodding slowly. He looked over towards the direction Kenji had disappeared. "He's got a crush on the top of the class. I guess the guy's got taste, even if he's got zero game. Or brain cells. Or social skills. Or any skills, really."
"It's not a crush, Satoru, it's... practically harassment at this point," you corrected him, your voice sharp. "He won't stop asking me out. He shows up everywhere. Touches me whenever he gets the chance to like some perv."
Satoru’s whole demeanor shifted. The joking smirk vanished completely, and his face hardened a little. That old protectiveness he always harbored towards you resurfacing even after all this time. "He touched you?"
"It doesn't matter," you said quickly, feeling embarrassed by the admission. "The point is, I need your help."
"With what?"
You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the humiliation. "I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend."
The silence that followed was deafening. Satoru just stared at you, his mouth slightly agape, his sunglasses having slipped down his nose so you could see his brilliant blue eyes—wide with shock. Then, a slow, incredulous smirk began to spread across his face.
"Come again?" he said, his voice pitching high with amusement as he leaned down a bit to level with you. "Did the top of the class just ask me to be her fake boyfriend?"
Your cheeks were on fire. "I knew this was a bad idea," you mumbled, turning to leave. "Forget I said anything. I should've just... gone to the principal or something."
"Hey, hey, heyyy!" He reached out and grabbed your wrist, his grip surprisingly gentle. "Hold on. I didn't say no. I just need a second to process the sheer audacity of this. You came to me. For this. The guy you’ve been ignoring for like, two years."
"I haven't been ignoring you," you lied, your voice defensive. "You've been busy. With your... rugby and your... followers."
His smile was back in full force. "Yeah, but you know, I'd always have time for you. You just never asked." He let go of your wrist and put his hands on his hips, striking a pose. "Okay. Explain. I need all the details."
You took another deep breath, and you told him everything. You told him about the texts, the library visits, the parking lot ambushes, the way he’d started making you feel uncomfortable and on edge. You told him about Shoko’s idea, and how desperate you were. You even told him that you’d only come to him as a last resort, which made his grin widen even further, if that was possible.
"Wow," he said when you finished. "So, let me get this straight. I'm basically your knight in shining armor. The one man who can make that loser squirm just by existing. The savior of the damsel in distress." He sighed theatrically, putting a hand over his heart. "It's a heavy burden, you know. Being this universally sought after."
"Are you going to help me or not?" you asked, your patience at its end.
"Of course I'm gonna help you," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't? Plus, this is going to be hilarious." He clapped his hands together. "Okay! We need to establish some ground rules for this whole fake-dating thing."
"Ground rules?" you echoed, confused.
"Yeah, obviously! This isn't just a lark. This is a serious operation. A strategic deception. We gotta be convincing. You think I got to the top of the rugby team by winging it? No. I had a plan. This is a plan, albeit a slightly more ridiculous one. Step one, we need to make our debut as a couple. The first official sighting. It has to be spectacular. We have to give the whole school a collective coronary."
You groaned, already regretting this. "Satoru..."
"Step two," he continued, ignoring you completely. "We need to establish our backstory. Everyone already knows we were childhood friends. We can just say that we reconnected and realized we've been in love with each other this whole time." He wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively. "Which is true, right? Deep down, you've always known you were secretly in love with me."
"In your dreams," you shot back, unable to help the small smile that tugged at your lips and the flush on your face.
"My dreams are excellent, thank you," he said easily. "Step three, we gotta sell it. That means we gotta act like a real couple in public. Hand-holding, the occasional kiss on the cheek, maybe a little bit of PDA. You okay with that?" He gave you a look that was half-challenge, half-genuine curiosity.
You swallowed. "I guess so. If it's just to get him off my back."
"Great! Oh, this is gonna be so fun," he said, bouncing on his heels. He was like an overgrown puppy, all energy and enthusiasm. "Okay, first things first. I'm walking you home. Starting tonight. Gotta establish the routine. And you, my dear, are gonna have to get used to my company all over again."
As you walked beside him, leaving the rugby field behind, it felt surreal. The silence that had stretched between you for years was filled with Satoru's non-stop chatter. He told you about a ridiculous play that happened in practice, about the terrible food in the cafeteria, and about the new girl in his English class who kept trying to get his number. It was as if he'd been waiting for this, just a chance to talk to you.
"You know," he said, as you reached your front gate. "I thought about you. A lot."
You stopped, looking up at him. The evening sun was hitting his white hair, making it look like spun gold. "You did?"
"Yeah," he said, a little of the cocky bravado fading. "We used to be... you know. We were it. And then... things got weird. I got caught up in my own stuff. I just figured you were busy. With your books and your genius brain."
"Same," you admitted quietly. "I thought you didn't want to be friends with a nerd anymore."
"Don't be dumb," he said, flicking your forehead lightly. "You were the coolest nerd I ever knew." He smiled, and for a moment, it was just like old times. Just Satoru and you. "So. New plan. From now on, we're attached at the hip. I'll meet you at your locker in the morning. We'll walk to class together."
"And what if people ask questions?" you asked.
He flashed you a grin that was pure, unadulterated mischief. "Let them. More fun that way."
The next day, you walked into school bracing for the unknown. You had just opened your locker when a familiar presence appeared behind you. You didn't have to turn around. You could feel the shift in the air. The chatter in the hallway seemed to get slightly louder, a few people pointing and whispering. Inevitable when you're involved with the most sought after guy at school.
"Good morning, beautiful," Satoru's voice was a warm purr in your ear. He leaned over you, his chest practically against your back, and reached a long arm around you to rest his hand on the locker door above your head. It was a classic "caging in" move, but it didn't feel threatening. It felt protective. And it made your heart do a weird little skip.
"Morning, Satoru," you said, trying your best to sound casual.
"Couldn't wait to see you," he said, his voice loud enough for the whole hall to hear. "Did you sleep well? Dream about me, hmm?"
A few girls nearby giggled, and you felt your cheeks flush. "You wish," you muttered, biting back a smile.
He laughed, and then his voice dropped again, just for you. "He's watching. Straight ahead, by the drinking fountain."
You glanced up and saw Kenji. He was frozen, a look of pure disbelief on his face. He was staring at the two of you, his eyes wide. There was also a look of undeniable jealousy.
Satoru took the opportunity to up the ante. He straightened up, but instead of moving away, he bent down and pressed a quick, soft kiss to your temple. It was fleeting, barely a whisper of contact, but it sent a jolt through your entire system. For a second, the world went quiet. You could smell his cologne, a clean, fresh scent, and feel the warmth of his skin. Totally different to Kenji's overbearing one.
"Smooth," you managed to say with a roll of your eyes, your voice a little breathless.
"Had to make it look good," he whispered back, a hint of pride in his voice. "I told you, I'm a professional." He then flashed Kenji a cheerful wave. "Morning, Sato! How's it hanging?"
Kenji practically jumped out of his skin. He gave a stuttering, noncommittal wave and scurried off down the hallway, completely dejected.
The look on Satoru’s face was priceless. A grin of pure victory.
"Mission accomplished," he declared. "That was way too easy. I think he actually wet himself a little bit."
"You're impossible," you said, shaking your head, but you couldn't help the laughter bubbling up inside you. It was a weird, giddy feeling. The stress of the past few weeks was melting away, replaced by this ridiculous and yet thrilling game. The halls of school were no longer just a place for academic competition. They were now your stage, and Satoru Gojo was your co-star.
Over the next few weeks, the 'pretend' part of the relationship became less and less of a priority. The pattern was simple: Satoru would meet you at your locker, there would be some casual, flirty banter—which was quickly becoming second nature for both of you—and the word would spread like wildfire that the star rugby player and the valedictorian were officially a thing. It was the most talked-about couple in school, which was exactly what you'd wanted and needed to get Kenji off your back. And it was working. Kenji had become a ghost, avoiding you with the same fervor he used to pursue you.
But the thing was, you and Satoru weren't just pretending anymore. The lines had blurred so completely that you weren't sure where the act ended and reality began.
The hand-holding became instinctual. When you were walking to class, you'd reach for his hand without thinking. He'd intertwine his fingers with yours, his palm warm and calloused from rugby. It felt right.
The protective gestures became second nature. At lunch, he'd always make sure you had a seat, a slight frown on his face if anyone else tried to sit too close. He’d save you the last chocolate milk from the cafeteria, and you’d see the proud, almost childlike look on his face when you’d thank him.
The conversations, at first stilted and awkward, became as easy as breathing. You found yourself telling him about the nuances of your Chemistry project, and he would listen, his head tilted, actually paying attention, which was a novelty. He'd in turn tell you about the complex strategy behind a rugby play, making you see the brain behind the brute force.
"You know, just standing here is making me look extremely good," Satoru announced one afternoon, leaning against your locker as you gathered your books. "I'm like an accessory. A very high-end, designer accessory."
"Yes, I can see that," you said dryly, not looking up. "My life is so much more complete now that I have the physical embodiment of a peacock following me around."
"A peacock? I am so much more than a peacock. I'm more like..." he paused, thinking. "A phoenix. A majestic, unbelievably handsome phoenix who rises from the ashes of his boring, friendless past to become the dazzling star he was always meant to be."
"You were never boring and friendless," you scoffed softly, finally looking up at him. "You were just... you."
The teasing grin on his face faltered for a second, replaced by a softer, more intense expression. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice quieter.
"Yeah," you said, a little self-conscious now. "You were always a lot. But I kinda liked it."
He stared at you for a moment, his blue eyes unreadable. Then he let out a slow breath and looked away, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "Dude, you can't just say stuff like that. I'm gonna get all emotional on you, and that's not a good look for me. I have a reputation to maintain."
That night, he walked you home as usual. The streetlights were starting to flicker on, casting long, dancing shadows. The air was cool and smelled of damp earth. "So," he said, kicking a loose stone. "Have you thought about what happens when this is all over? Once Sato gets a girlfriend or moves to another planet or mysteriously gets hit by a car."
You had, actually. You'd thought about it a lot. The idea of this ending, of going back to just exchanging casual hellos in the hallway, made your stomach feel hollow. "I dunno," you said, shrugging, trying to sound indifferent. "I guess we'll figure it out. It's not like I own you."
He stopped walking, and you stopped too, turning to look at him. "You know, you do, right? The childhood friend thing. It's a binding contract."
"What contract?"
"The best friend contract," he said, his voice suddenly serious. "The one we signed when we were ten and made a pact to always share our fries. The one where you said you'd never let me eat the last fry."
"Actually, I distinctly remember you stealing it from my plate and running away laughing," you corrected him.
"Details," he waved a dismissive hand. "The point is, you're my best friend. You've always been my best friend. And I'm sorry I forgot that for a while. I'm sorry I was an idiot and got caught up in the whole... popularity thing."
"It wasn't your fault," you said quietly. "We both drifted."
"Yeah, but I'm the one who did the drifting," he insisted. "I should have... held on tighter. I should've made sure you knew I was still there."
He was standing close now, his face illuminated by the soft glow of a nearby streetlight. His features were sharper in this light, his cheekbones more pronounced, his eyes a pretty, luminous blue. He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin.
"So," he said, his voice a low murmur. "What do you say we stop pretending?"
Your breath caught in your throat. "Stop pretending what?"
"This," he said, gesturing between the two of you. "The fake stuff. What if... what if we just made it real? No more act."
You stared at him, your brain short-circuiting. This was not part of the plan. This wasn't supposed to happen. You were supposed to fake it, get rid of the creepy guy, and then move on with your separate lives. "Satoru..."
"I know, it's crazy," he said, a self-deprecating laugh escaping him. "You probably think it's just me being a dumb jock. But I've been trying not to think about this for years. And now, with this whole fake-boyfriend thing, it's like... I got a taste of what it could be like, and I don't really want to let it go."
You tried to piece together a sentence, any sentence. "But... you're you. You could have pretty much anyone. Why settle?"
He let out a frustrated sigh. "It's not settling if I want you." He took a step closer, and you were frozen. "I've wanted this. For a long time. I was just too much of a coward to say anything until it was too late. You know me, the real me and not the jock everyone sees me as. And that's exactly what I want. Someone who knows me. Who better than my best friend slash fake girlfriend?"
Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. "I do know you."
He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that was so different from his usual smug grins. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Okay," he said, his voice soft. "I'm gonna do something now, and if you want me to stop, just say the word."
Before you could ask what he was going to do, he leaned in. His hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face up. And then his lips met yours.
It wasn't a theatrical, fake-boyfriend kiss for the benefit of a crowd. It was gentle and warm, and surprisingly hesitant for someone as confident as Satoru. It was the kiss of a boy who had waited years to do this.
When he pulled back, he was smiling, his face a little flushed. "So," he said, his voice a little ragged. "That wasn't too bad, right? For a first try?"
You were too stunned to speak. All you could do was smile back. And then, on impulse, you grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him down for another one so hard he could only laugh into the kiss as his arms encircled your waist.
The next day at school, you walked in with Satoru, his arm slung around your shoulder. It was a common sight now, but this time, there was a new, undeniable layer of intimacy to it. The whispers followed you, but they didn't bother you. You heard the usual murmurs: "Are they actually dating now?" "I thought they were just a rumor." "He could do better." They didn't matter.
Because the only opinion that mattered was the guy whose arm was around you, squeezing your shoulder.
Later that day, Satoru had to run to rugby practice, and he dropped you off at the library. He leaned in and gave you a kiss on the cheek. "Don't have too much fun without me."
"I can't promise anything," you replied. "I have a date with a really thick book on macroeconomics."
"Book-lover," he teased, tapping your nose. "Alright, I'll see you after practice. We're getting that ramen you wanted."
As he walked away, you were feeling pretty good about life. You hadn't had time to think about Kenji in ages. He'd been out of your orbit for weeks, a faded memory now. You sat down in your usual spot near the window, pulling out your books. But you weren't alone for long because soon your boyfriend would come get you and you'd go out for that ramen dinner date he promised.
i fucking hate this site sm like ffs work you dont have a huge consumer base so do shit these people want from you since they literally could be using any other shitty site than your half dead one
part three ex!husband sukuna and reader, reader overthinks sukuna's words and reaches out...finally.
a note from angel: i didn't expect this series to blow up like this but i'm so happy and grateful for everyone who is reading this series and i'm glad ur enjoying it!! there's a lot i want to unpack between these two so please stay tuned!!
part one | part two
the bar's busy for a usual saturday night but you and the girls have just managed to find a spot for yourselves. you, shoko and utahime are the only ones who have successfully made it out tonight.
the good thing about being a trio is that you can choose to zone out whilst shoko and utahime make conversation between themselves. nursing your third long island iced tea, you soon learn that your silence won't be for long because fortunately these women know you well enough to pick up on the fact that something is wrong.
"Are you okay girl? you seem out of it" shoko comments, turning her attention on you.
"is sukuna giving you hell again?" utahime chimes in, her straw stirring her own drink. the two of them know all of the ups and down of your relationship with sukuna and these were the two friends who stuck by closest to you whilst you were going through your divorce.
"no..." you begin but from the faces from the girls, it's obvious that you're not telling the whole truth. "okay maybe," you refine, "i'll start from the beginning."
shoko and utahime hum, ready to hear your story.
"so yuji made me do this prank call on sukuna, i don't know where he got this idea from maybe from a youtube video or his friends whatever, but yuji wanted me to call sukuna to say something stupid, like to say goodnight randomly to him right?"
the women at the table nod, listening along to you.
"and so i did it and-"
"wait you did it?" utahime interrupts with shock.
"yuji wouldn't stop going on about so i just thought 'fuck it' and, well i thought sukuna would understand that i wasn't serious about it but..." you trail off.
"but?" shoko chimes in.
"and then the next time we saw each other in person he was like weird-"
"a good weird or a bad weird?" utahime asks.
"i don't know, but like- he told me that i could call him anytime and to remember that. i don't know if he was serious but i can't stop thinking about it."
the reactions of the girls aren't surprising but they do raise a brow. they pause to take a sip of their drinks, collecting their thoughts and judgements. you shuffle awkwardly in your seat trying to regulate yourself in front of them.
utahime finally lets out a sigh, "oh i think he wants you back."
"what?" and almost immediately you can feel your face burn up just at the thought of sukuna still having feelings for you.
utahime nods, "trust me girl, you gave him a small opening and he's going for it."
"but it was a joke, i only called him because of yuji- without that i wouldn't have any motive to call him."
"but that's why he's going for it. who knows when his next chance to stir you up will be." shoko murmers.
your shoulders drop, your gut feeling anxiety from this conversation. "it's been years since we've been together..."
"so you don't want him back?" shoko questions.
"god no."
"are you 100% on that?" utahime asks, and at this point it feels like you're being interrogated by these two.
"yes?" your tone betrays you, not feeling confident in your answer.
"you have no feelings whatsoever for him?" shoko strikes again, asking for clarification.
a pause follows her question and there's no immediate answer that comes from you. the two women stare at you, expectant for an answer that you can't confidently give which tells them all that they need to know.
"i don't know." you finally admit, staring down at your lap. "i don't know if he's just playing and teasing me or if he's being serious."
utahime reaches out to you, placing a hand on your knee. "to me, it sounds like he's starting to win you back or at least he's introducing the idea. at the end of the day the heart wants what it wants."
shoko speaks up, fingers picking at her pack of cigarettes " all i do know is that you look like you want to pick up that phone and call him. you better do that soon girl."
/
you return back to a quiet house with yuji being at sukuna's for the weekend. you make a mental reminder to pick up after yuji's toys and clothes scattered everywhere but you'll do that tomorrow.
you're not completely drunk but you would be lying if you didn't admit that the alcohol has you tipsy. and when tipsy suddenly all decisions get the green light from your brain.
your first immediate thought is to head to the couch and pull out your phone, thumb clicking on the contacts app.
scrolling through your alphabetical list of names you reach 's' and your eyes search for sukuna. you know you really shouldn't but the devil on your shoulder - which is the alcohol - keeps prompting you to continue.
with your heart in your throat, your thumb immediately presses on the phone icon and before you know it the line is ringing. placing the phone on speaker, you bite down on your bottom lip in anxiety.
for a moment you think he won't pick up. for a moment you think you're a fool for even trying. for a moment you think you'll wake up with all this regret and the embarrassment that he'll have a notification saying 'missed call' from you. for a moment-
he picks up.
there's a shuffle for a split second before you hear his voice. it's low and raspy, his tone evident of the late hour that you're calling him.
"that was fast." he says and again you're confident that there is a smirk right there on sukuna ryomen's lips.
for a moment you're almost afraid to respond but the alcohol keeps you talking. "what was?"
"you calling me." sukuna sounds like he's been by his phone all evening waiting for you to call. his tone is expectant and unfortunately a little teasing.
"i just wanted to check up on yuji." you spill out, thinking about an excuse, any excuse.
sukuna lets out a pitiful sigh, "just missed him. he's sleeping. he's been fine though."
unbeknownst to you, yuji is wide awake in his room probably playing video games or watching cartoons. fortunately for him there's no real bedtime when it comes to staying at his dad's house.
"how was your girls night?" sukuna asks, "did you drink much?"
"good." you say, raising a brow. "and not a lot."
"that's good." he murmurs, "now you can't say calling me was a mistake and that you were drunk out of your mind."
"i mean, you did offer me to call you."
"i didn't think you would take me seriously."
"you were right in thinking that."
"but you still called."
"yeah, for yuji." you correct.
"but you're still on the line."
"oh, so you want me to go?" you tease and it's obvious bait but he takes it.
"no. talk to me." his tone is firm and sultry, enough to make you giddy, enough to put a smile on your face that you keep trying to hide with your hands.
"about what?"
"anything, enlighten me."
so you begin telling a new and updated story about that one co-worker at your job that seems to cause nothing but headaches. sukuna remembers your stories from your marriage, how you would come to bed some nights just ranting about them.
and before you know it an hour has passed and the two of you are still talking. well it's mostly you doing the talking because you're tipsy and your mouth can't stop running but sukuna throws in little hmms and grunts here and there to show that he's listening.
sukuna's raspy voice is almost enough to send you sleep and it deeply reminds you of the past and how it used to be, how you were feeling those vibrations physically as you laid on his chest telling him about your day.
but now you're doing it over the phone and your entire body gets overtaken by feeling of nostalgia, a small part of you wishing that you were on his chest talking about everything and anything.
your rambling comes to an abrupt end due to your emotions and your voice is a little quieter. "are you still listening?"
"course'" he says, and he lets out a breath before speaking again. "but i gotta go soon, the baseball game's early tomorrow."
"right, sorry, sorry, i'll let you go to bed." you internally curse yourself for getting a little too ahead of yourself.
there's an awkward pause before sukuna speaks again.
"you should come tomorrow. i'll buy you a ticket."
you freeze, "uhhhh i-" on defence your mind immediately searches for an excuse, "i'm busy..."
"doing what?"
"things." you lie knowing the only thing you have to do is clean up the house.
"hmmm things." sukuna says, his tone is evident that he doesn't believe you. there's another pause before he speaks and just when you think you've avoided anymore contact with sukuna his next sentence is enough to give you whiplash.
"well, if you're busy tomorrow then maybe some other time this week we could- uh- go for drinks or something..." if you were more sober you'd pay more attention to how nervous sukuna sounds right now, finally spitting out his words.
"drinks?" you repeat.
"casual. parent to parent. talk about yuji's behaviour or whatever."
"right, as if it's something that you couldn't tell me right now? you just told me he was fine."
"should definitely be said in person. i can get jin to watch him in the meantime."
"are you sure?" you ask, immediately suspicious.
"positive."
even though you know you shouldn't agree to this and the sober you in the morning will regret your response you can't help but agree to sukuna's plans. you know what he's trying to do and you can't help but fall for it. there's a long pause before you speak again.
"alright then. text me the details. goodnight sukuna."
"goodnight baby."
and before you could even reprimand him for calling you baby when he shouldn't be, he's hung up the phone. smooth fucker, you think to yourself but deep down in the pit of your stomach you feel giddy as a teenager.
"i need to pull myself together." you mutter to yourself, gathering up the energy to finally go to bed. throughout your bedtime routine you can't help but reminisce on your conversation with sukuna, you spent an hour on the phone talking to your ex-husband that you previously wouldn't spend ten minutes minutes talking to.
your thoughts, even whilst tipsy confuse you. you get a rush of adrenaline to keep the giddy feeling going.
and that's when you remember the box.
in the closet, sits a box in the top corner that you've been ignoring for years. today out of all days, this tipsy version of you chooses to go down memory lane. it's a small box, previously used for yuji's old school shoes but now it holds the sentimental things of your previous marriage that you didn't have the heart to throw away.
a few photographs. a letter. but the most important of them all, your wedding ring.
you hold up the ring in the light and it still glistens like brand new. at that moment everything comes back to you - all the worst memories that your ring has witnessed. arguments and fights and spilled tears.
it's a miracle that you and sukuna get along as exes despite the past as you know other divorced couples wouldn't have the same privileges.
as you place the ring back and close the box, you remind yourself of the person that you are now not the person that you were back then.
you won't ruin this current dynamic because of the slight chance of old feelings. you won't do that to yourself.
and most importantly, you won't do that to yuji.
you can't go back.
a/n: thank you for reading!!! part 4 i expect to dive into sukuna's pov more before their 'meet-up' and sneak peek into their backstory!
cw ⸻ NSFW, MDNI, historical au, canon Gojo, undefined era, kind of old-ish classic literature-esque wording, war, politics, empirical hierarchy, eurocentric setting (?), yearning, so much of just covert misogyny, more angst less comfort, miscommunication, emotional constipation, cheating, major character death, obsessions, fem reader, she/her pronouns, (p in v) intercourse, pregnancy & childbirth.
a/n: Do not get excited, I am only 16k in. There is about 10k more to write.
Growing up, you found your greatest confidant in the eastern nation’s crown prince.
As your family were nobles closest to the crown, as their most trusted advisors and friends, no one ever wondered why. Why was it that the crown prince was never allowed to go outside of the palace or permitted to have friends as easily as his peers but was granted the permission to play all day long with a little girl half his age?
You were only four years of age when you met the eight-year-old prince. It was a bright summer day, and you found yourself walking towards a garden of well-groomed grass, shrubs, and flowers, where sat the emperor, the empress, and the prince, surrounded by guards. Your eyes got stuck on the prince just as you clearly saw him—and he looked and seemed as infallible, illuminating, opulent, and regal as everyone proclaimed, as your parents affirmed. You were nudged forward by your father to curtsy adequately—elegance and politeness must be instilled young, he always said—to the ones with the crown, and you, in your little pink and pastel blue dress, did your utmost to abide. Earning chuckles and a nook in the hearts of the emperor and the empress.
The prince, however, scoffed at your messy appearance, curious eyes, and rapid blinking in his direction.
That is how you grew up—following behind Prince Satoru's trail like a little nuisance—simply tolerated for having won over his parents. When your parents run a country, even a centimeter in their heart equates to acres of land, though one might disagree. Therefore Satoru—with much acquiescence—was obliged to take great notice of who they deemed eligible for such occupancy. So everyone always assumed that the crown prince was simply obedient to the rulers.
It was quite predictable. That you'd be the one to marry Gojo Satoru. Everyone knew and believed that to be the truth. Even when at the age of fourteen he pushed you in a puddle, or when at the age of seventeen he snuck out of the place with you following near after him, and then he left you behind at the market. Or when at the age of eighteen he had his first kiss—though it was not you. It was a princess of a neighboring country, visiting on diplomatic grounds—closer to him by age. While you were a mere fourteen-year-old, obviously in love. They still instilled unwavering belief in your inevitable fate. Even when you had freshly turned eighteen and he was twenty-two, when he asked for your hand for a dance at your birthday ball and you refused him to instead dance with another man, people still did not question their predictions.
Whether this union was conceived out of obligation, mere familiarity, or affiliation need not matter.
So it came out as quite the surprise for everybody, inside and outside the palace, noble or commoner, that at twenty years of age, you were to be wed to Prince Nanami—not to Crown Prince Gojo. It came out especially as a surprise to those who saw you two frolicking in the royal gardens, gathering around a hydrangea bush, watching a ladybug swallow down a soft, little, helpless bug. You had seen it and said how ‘pretty’ it looked.
“You think it is pretty!? It is eating away at that poor thing!” Satoru exclaimed. As if you made the most outrageous claim!.
“But it is only the course of nature; if the ladybug does not eat them, they'll destroy the plants! It is the inevitability of life.” For once, eleven-year-old Satoru peered at you with something akin to respect that day.
“I shall call you Ladybug from now on then.” He had softly said while looking at you.
“Because I'm strong and pretty?” You had tilted your head and given him a big grin.
“No. Because you chew away at my brain similarly as such.” He had said, with a tint of rosy pink creeping up on his neck, walking away from the hydrangea bush and you.
Everyone was surprised and taken aback, including the nobility, the neighboring nations, and even the peasants. But it did not come out as some big news to the prince. He knew what he had reaped, and karma had given him the bitter fruit of his deeds. Gojo Satoru may be the crown prince of the vast lands of the eastern nation, but he did not know how to equate his emotions with his gestures. That fact alone unfortunately came to bite him back ultimately today.
The years of running away from you, from the tightness he felt in his chest in your presence, and how his eyes always wandered off in your direction—it all summed up to this moment, where his actions are reflecting the consequences he shall bear for life. Actions that have caused you immense hurt over the many years he has observed you from a distance growing into the gorgeous woman you are now. And now that things have progressed so far out of his control, he is left incapacitated to take back his rightful place beside you, the only coveted chair he desired more than the throne to the empire—which he took for granted. And that is his sin.
So he must atone.
He wrote about twenty-one letters addressed to you that night. As he was required to, as the crown prince, the commander-in-chief, and your friend—who wouldn't be able to attend your wedding physically. Instead, he shall send his blessings. He wrote over the letters and left blots of ink, crossed them out, crumpled up the papers, banged his fist on the desk, and even leaned back in his chair and let his tears flow. At the end, only one conveyed what he truly wanted to say. But it wasn't the letter he intended to send.
Once he finished writing the entire thing in one sitting, without having to stop himself once to gather his thoughts—all he could do was maniacally laugh at his own words as though they were so ridiculous and blasphemous it was incomprehensible. Or perhaps the sheer and crude reality finally staring back at him in his own writing was what finally broke the illusion of his deterrence defense. The twentieth letter contained words plucked right out of his shut mouth and reflected his soul.
To my dearest ladybug,
I am writing to you with intentions, neither pure nor royal. I am writing to you selfishly, not as your crown prince nor as the commander-in-chief of the nation’s army soon to be at war with the southern nation. I am being selfish and asking you to undo the self-sacrificial service you've shouldered upon yourself in the reigning monarchy’s name, the civilians’ names, and this nation's name. I cannot place you on the chessboard of war to find an alliance with the western nation. I may be abhorrent, rambunctious, crude, and filthy at times even, but I too have my dignity. And over that, I hold your dignity as though it were more precious. So precious that I cannot sell it to Prince Nanami in exchange for arms and men. Your price cannot equate to no numerals nor materials. But more importantly and earnestly, I am asking this ‘favor’ out of my pure selfish desires. My sweet ladybug, my sweet hymns of the harp at the holy chapel, you must be aware how deep my affections run for you—thus, I cannot give you up to another man for my nation. I shall give up my rightful inheritance of the throne, my name, my crown, and my life, but I cannot give you up. Every inch of your skin, every fiber, is mine; it is meant for me. Every falling hair off your body has my name engraved on it, and every breath you take is for my sake. It is my right to have you all to myself, selfishly and profoundly.
That dress you wore to that damned dinner when this proposition was brought up, the azure satin that fell softly as though a petal on your curves, had me enchanted. I had wanted nothing more than to drag you out of that room full of people, in front of our familiars and family. I wanted each individual to watch your hand entangle with mine as I snatched you away. To then find any place, appropriate or not, if we could not have reached my bedroom in time, which I'm sure we could not have—I am simply too impatient when it comes to you, my ladybug—it may have been the hallways, the sitting room, the pianoforte, or the library. It simply would not have mattered. I would have slammed you against the closest wall, torn that flimsy lace—which tried to hold the fabric of your dress with substantial difficulty—covering nothing of your sensual back, and slipped said dress off of you as though you were truly a siren emerging out of the ocean that surrounds our nation.
Now, what I may write further may sound crude, but that is who I am when it comes to you—a crude, miscalculating, fumbling lunatic. I would have had you where you belonged. Between my arms, pressed against the walls, holding onto me with barely any strength, as I would've done the heavy lifting of holding your legs tightly bound around my hips. And I would've kissed you as deeply, lovingly, and lustfully as I've always wanted to whenever you are in my near proximity. That sweet cunt of yours would've been drooling to have me inside of you, to stretch your walls to fit perfectly around my throbbing cock, all for you. I would've molded you perfectly in memory of my shape, so you would be empty in my absence. And I would've filled you up in the meantime so you would not feel as such. I would've filled your womb with my seed until you were bred well to carry the next Gojo. The next in line to the throne after me has to be our blood. If that child shall not bear your blood with mine, I shall not give that throne the right to brace any more rulers. It shall be blasphemy otherwise. You have always had me right in the palm of your hands, bewitched, despite what others may have to say or what you may think. I treated you imprudently in our childhood, and not a second goes by where I do not find myself wanting to rectify those previous foolishnesses. That day when you came up to me to take off that eyelash sitting on my cheek, I had to push you off; it burned and electrified the blood that ran in my veins to merely have your fingertips graze my skin. Or when you held my hand in that busy market, I had to run; I did not know any better. You blazed my soul in mysterious flames of desire and enchantment. Or when I kissed that princess in the gardens, it was neither my wish nor my first kiss. I kissed her out of spite in the zeal of my adolescent blood, and years of dejection I had built up broke my sanity as you had left me behind to converse with Suguru on matters of philosophy.
And you must know, I've stolen at least millions of kisses from you when you have been in your most defenseless moments. The very first time I ever grazed your sweet lips, I would have had to have been twelve; you were merely eight. I still remember that listless spring afternoon when you tired yourself out after running through the flower fields and took repose with your head on my lap, under that willow tree by the lake. Everything happened by its own accord, as if it were inevitable, as if it were as simple as the bees bumbling over the spring blooms; my lips found yours. I have threatened men who've dared to turn in your direction, let alone put their filthy sight on you, as I am crude, abhorrent, and not above violence.
I also threatened that man, the son of that merchant, to never return to our nation, all for dancing with you at your eighteenth birthday ball. How could I not? You finally became a lady; my mother threw you the most extravagant ball. I had tailored for myself a new suit that looked identical to the one you once told me made my eyes look brighter, and I was denied my right to hold you tightly pressed against my body. To hold you in front of a room full of people who mattered no significance to me, but they only needed to know who owned me. As I would have led you around on that marble floor as practice for our wedding, which I've repeatedly played in my head to the point I could recite the event to you from beginning to end with ease. I dream of our first night together. I often dream of how perfectly your breasts will feel in my hands and how your waist will feel at home under my touch. And I dream of what lies between your legs. I must confess, my sweetheart, I've seen ladies bare; the higher society might even call me a rake, but I am a mere pathetic fool in love whose affections are unreciprocated, whose reputation follows him from when he was a young simpleton who thought the hole you carved in his heart could be filled with just about any person. And yet with all of this experience, the mere sight of nothing more than your bare shoulders and back drives me into insanity.
Because I know your cunt is where I'll find home. That pretty cunt of yours must be akin to an orchid found only in rainforests far west, drenched in droplets falling off the clouds and shaped so erotically that one look alone must be lethal. I simply know that to be the solemn truth. Therefore, everyone is greatly mistaken about the factual reality of us, that you are the oblivious and helpless critter trailing behind me, but it is I who am being led on a leash by you. Your mere existence is an anomaly for my cognition, but it is also the finishing piece of my puzzling mind. You are the sole reason why I open my eyes each morning, and then I take out that handkerchief you gave me when you were ten to press on the open wound on my knee. It still lies under my pillows, smelling faintly of crimson rust. I run my fingers over your unruly and unfinished attempt at embroidering a rose. It makes me feel at ease.
So please do not forgive me. For all the hurt that I've caused you and the pain I still continue to inflict upon you. I believe that I ought to die on the battlefield that takes you away from me than live to see another man make you the mother of his children and the empress of his nation. With my demise I shall atone for wounding my beloved ladybug. If by any chance I do not, there shall be a stream of blood, red as my affections for you. It’ll run all the nations and regions scarlet until and unless I have you. Rightfully by my side, where you belong.
Yours longingly and lovingly,
Satoru.
The crown prince may have written this honest letter to bear his heart out to you, but with years of bleeding heart and disappointment in regard to the current situation, he did not send it. He simply could not. Instead, he wrote the last letter, the twenty-first letter, in your name and finalized it as the appropriate letter to send to you. Because he remembered that if you do not send it, then it is not a letter but a diary.
a/n: dividers @/cursed-carmine and @/strangergraphics, first picture is from Atonement, art creds to @/loquatini on tiktok, and the last one idk just randomly got it from Pinterest.
i just wanted to share the letter part. cause idk this shit is wrecking me. so i hope some of you feel the pain with me.
it's 1am rn so pls ignore any grammatical errors 🚬 \\ yandere below the cut
thinking of famous men who keep a low profile, men who are notoriously private about their personal lives and treat their social media like a contractual obligation, posting the occasional trailer, campaign, or magazine cover at the behest of their manager before disappearing for weeks at a time. men who never hard launch, soft launch, or launch at all. and your partner is one such man.
your partner, mr. worldwide, who leaves everyone stunned when pixelated photographs of him wandering into a patisserie one monday afternoon begin circulating online. he's dressed in nothing more than a tank top, old shorts and slippers, checking his phone with one hand, a paper bag secured in the other. the photos are a delight to his fans, serving as proof that their beloved untouchable idols buy pastries and queue like everyone else, but the constellation of fading bruises and fresh bite marks scattered across his shoulders and collarbones pushed the otherwise mundane post into virality. the marks were remnants of the night you'd just spent tangled together, before you sleepily confessed a craving then drifted off to sleep.
your loyal partner, who makes it painfully obvious that he's spoken for, yet refuses to indulge the world's curiosity beyond that. he laughs loudly through invasive interview questions, cracking jokes with no mirth in his eyes and leaving the hosts to shift uncomfortably instead. he has watched his peers' partners get dissected by tabloids, stalked by obsessive fans, threatened for daring to exist beside someone famous, and decided that you will remain the only part of his life the world will never be allowed to touch. it's fortunate that your online presence is little more than a forgotten account used to keep up with old friends.
he slips away from galas and afterparties at the earliest opportunity, bored by conversations that dissolve into networking disguised as friendship, disgusted by the hopeful starlets who smile too brightly and linger too long with hands that always dare to trace under the cuff of his sleeves. cheating may have become another open secret among the wealthy, another vice ignored, but he found the thought revolting. not out of virtue alone, but because no one else's attention could ever compare to yours.
your attentive partner, who always asked questions out of curiosity and interest in your life. "who are you meeting today? how long will you be out? did you get home safely?" he's a lover who cares, a lover whose questions recently carried an undercurrent of something you couldn't quite name.
"did your colleague always message you this late?" was asked with the faintest hint of concern while you were washing up in the bathroom.
"have you always been so physically affectionate with your friends?" came after you showed him a group photo from a recent outing with old classmates, your arm slung around one shoulder as you leaned comfortably into another, leaving you struggling with an unprecedented sense of shame.
he remembered every answer with startling precision, knowing your schedule better than you do and casually pointing out that your train home had been delayed before you even checked your phone yourself.
your doting partner, who insists that he only worries because people have become frighteningly invasive, who quietly hires security after someone asked him for a photo while he was ordering your treats at that one patisserie you fancied. what if someone connected the dots while you were visiting it by yourself? he didn't even realise how insane he sounded, but you complied anyway to dispel his worries.
your concerned partner, who convinced you to let him install tracking apps on your phone—not because he doesn't trust you, of course, but because he can't trust everyone else. he replaced your old device with a newer one after claiming the previous one had been compromised, reassuring you that everything had already been transferred over.
your involved partner, who slowly begins editing your life in ways so subtle they almost escape notice. discouraging certain friendships because they seem draining, suggesting you work from home because the commute exhausts you, wondering aloud whether your career is really worth the stress when he earns enough for the both of you to live comfortably for lifetimes.
he never tells you what to do, simply nonchalantly offering easier alternatives to problems you didn't even know you had.
your perfectionist partner, who frowns whenever your plans change unexpectedly and asks you to let him know before making arrangements. your controlling partner, who starts expecting that courtesy that is entitled to him. your aggressive partner, who grows irritated when he isn't consulted, who eventually stops asking altogether, informing you instead that he already cancelled dinner with your friends because you looked tired that morning.
he knows what's best for you, doesn't he?
your dearly beloved partner, who becomes so consumed by the thought of protecting the only untouched corner of his life. your hallowed partner, who keeps you hidden so thoroughly that, somewhere along the way, you disappear from everyone else's world, and then from your own, one fragment of your autonomy at a time. your ambitions are packed away into spare bedrooms. your routines become his routines. your voice grows quieter because he already knows what you're going to say.
your man, who is so obsessed with keeping you private, with keeping your existence small enough to slip unnoticed beneath the hungry gaze of the public, that he never realised how your existence has shrunken beyond recognition, consumed by his own gluttony until the person he loved had become nothing more than a beautiful reflection of himself.
your man who takes pride in the way you welcome him home with a kind smile as soon as the elevator doors open into the safety of your shared penthouse, already there waiting, as though nothing had ever separated the moment he left from the moment he returned.
this is for all my fellow readers who only vaguepost online, because i will not be caught dead posting a selfie lmao. inspired by all the fics about bllk boys publicly crushing over famous mcs because i want to see it reversed! what if the mc isn't in the public eye? what if the relationship wasn't launched at all? what would be the motivation for that? what about the power imbalance and pressure about dating a celebrity? i then thought about how there are only speculations of who zendaya married iirc. the men here were inspired by valaar in memories by darktargslut and this tweet lol.
ა ˙˖ summary → there’s no one you hate more than satoru gojo. he’s arrogant and entirely too full of himself. when you agree to be strictly enemies with benefits, gojo takes this as the perfect opportunity to finally make you his.
ა ˙˖ content: 12.3k wc, accurate portrayal of fraternities so the boys are jerks srry, hazing, rough sex, spit play, overstimulation, spanking, choking, desperate gojo, you really hate him so not much fluff this chapter! probably more I can't name rn. it's a lot.
frat!jo 𝓍 fem!reader
When you first got your acceptance letter to your dream school three years ago, you never thought it would end up with you in this position. The side of your face pressed into the cold wooden desk by the hand of your enemy, your shorts and panties dropped to your ankles, his cock slamming into you so hard that your research papers and pens go flying to the library floor.
The sound of the legs creaking fill the study room room, his pace ruthless, long fingers digging into your cheek to keep you down as you bit your lip to stop yourself from crying out his name and begging him to go harder.
One might wonder how you, the notorious frat hater, ended up letting a playboy like Gojo Satoru get into your pants not once, not twice, but eight times in the last two weeks after swearing he was your number one enemy.
It all started the first day of uni when you let your roommate Shoko convince you into going to a sorority party after a long day of classes and reading syllabuses.
You had been minding your own business, laying on your too small bed with your headphones blaring music as you scrolled through Instagram and pretended like your mom hadn’t been trying to call you for the past twenty minutes.
She was probably calling to check in since she thought you were just getting out of practice, given that you lied about making the gymnastics team to get her off your back. You never even signed up, never had interest in it but had been forced into it as a child. Your mother always told you that one day you’d make it to the olympics and while you were good at it, you had no plans on doing such a thing.
So when her name pops up again, you hit the red button and put your phone on dnd. It was nine, you would just tell her you were asleep.
When you went to play your music again, your roommate walks in and immediately locks eyes with you, a grin spreading on her face that has you squinting suspiciously.
You really liked Shoko. You officially met two weeks ago when you were finally allowed to start moving your stuff in and you had both bonded surprisingly quick over the short period of time, spending almost every day together exploring the campus and surrounding city. Which means you were starting to differentiate between her smiles and the one she wore now told you she wanted to ask you something.
“Thank god you’re still up!” She practically skips into the room, slamming the door shut behind her.
You sigh and sit up, removing an earbud. You pull your rising shorts down and cross your arms with a raised brow. She moved to stand in front of your bed, biting her bottom lip and failing to contain her excitement.
“Spit it out already.”
“There’s a sorority party in an hour and I got invited which means by extension you’re invited and puhleasee, don’t make me go by myself!”
You tried everything to get out of going, from feigning illness to lying that you had to be up early tomorrow for class even though you both basically had the same schedule and your morning was lecture free.
You weren’t a boring person, you partied a lot in high school but this was college and even though you had no clue what you wanted to major in yet, this was where you truly needed to lock in and focus on getting good grades.
Unfortunately for you, Shoko wasn’t having any of it. For every excuse you came up with, she had an argument against it. You don’t wanna be hungover? Fine, just don’t drink! You’re tired? You’re only nineteen, you can rest when you’re dead!
“When your kids ask what you were like in college, are you gonna tell them that you were a loser who sat in her dorm all day or that you were young, hot, and knew how to have fun?”
She had a point. It was just one party, what harm was there in enjoying yourself for a night? If you didn’t like it, you would simply leave. Plus it was at a sorority. You could manage that, though you couldn’t say the same for frats.
You’d die before being caught in one of those.
Fraternities were the embodiment of hell, nothing good ever happened at any of them based on the horror stories your older sister told you while helping you pack for uni. Sweaty, packed rooms, obnoxious men that only wanted to get in your pants, stale beer and hazing were far from your kind of parties.
Fate, as it would turn out, had different plans in store for you.
You had begrudgingly squeezed into a tight dress, letting Shoko fix your hair and makeup before she was dragging you out the door and into her car.
When you guys pulled up outside of the sorority house, the scene before you was far from what a typical party looked like. The lights were mostly off except for a few rooms that were still lit and it was eerily quiet outside, no loud music or drunk college students dancing around the lawn.
Shoko had assured you that it wouldn’t be as hectic as a frat party would but you hadn't expected it to be deader than your social life. You turn and glare at your friend in the driver's seat who looks just as confused as you do.
What the fuck was this? You could have been in bed, doom scrolling through TikTok and here you were, dressed up for a party that apparently wasn’t even happening.
“I’ll go check, give me a minute.” Shoko mummers, hitting her vape before jogging up to the front door.
Your leg anxiously bounces up and down while you wait, watching as she knocks and someone with purple hair opens the door a few seconds later. You can’t hear anything but the conversation seems heated and brief before your roommate is stomping back to the car, annoyance evident on her face.
“The party is canceled. Someone got the flu and the entire sorority is sick.”
You fight to hide your smile, not wanting to rub it in Shoko's face since she was already upset. As much as it sucks that someone was sick, you couldn’t deny that you were happy. You didn’t want to go out in the first place and now you could-
“Buut.” Shoko sings, eyes twinkling as she looks at you with that same smile from earlier.
“There is another party happening like ten minutes away.”
“Great.”
It was far from fucking great when you pulled up in front of what was obviously a fraternity. The white house was big enough that it was basically a mansion, it had a flag with greek letters flying and the amount of people out front alone made you sick, the music loud enough that you heard it from the opposite side of the street.
You hadn’t signed up for this, you wanted no parts in it.
“Absouletly not. Take me back.”
“Stop.” Shoko’s eyes were pleading, her bottom lip poking out. “We’re already here and you promised you’d be my wingman. Wingwoman. Whatever.”
“I didn't promise shit. You said we’d be going to a sorority party, not a frat!” Your cheeks heated in irrational anger, even though you knew it wasn’t her fault.
She had no idea how much you despised fraternities but it didn’t mean you’d be going to one just because she was putting on her best puppy face, big brown eyes shining and silently begging for you to say yes.
“One hour. If you still hate it, we leave. But you’re already here, might as well give it a chance.”
You look back toward the house, your stomach twisting and heart racing a little faster. You weighed the pros and cons. If you did agree to go, you'd probably end up drinking more than you should and wake up with a nasty hangover. You’d also be breaking your promise to yourself and your sister to never step foot in a fraternity.
Maybe it was unfair that you let a handful of horror stories shape your perception of them but it wasn’t as if they came from nowhere. You had watched the news, seen the headlines. Hazing. Alcohol poisoning. Freshmen being pressured into doing things they probably never wanted to do.
Your older sister had made sure you knew exactly what kind of places to avoid when you left for college, and frat houses had been at the very top of her list.
But then again, you had waited for this moment since you got your acceptance letter. To meet new people, make new memories outside of your shitty hometown and to truly experience college life.
You were nineteen. What was the harm in going to one party? You’d appease Shoko, confirm your thoughts that frats were terrible and never step foot in one again.
One night couldn’t ruin your entire college experience. Right?
You sighed and let Shoko pull your hand until you were walking through the front door and the smell of stale booze, and musky body heat hit you, the music rattling the speakers. The living room had been stripped of anything breakable and replaced with white folding tables sticky with spilled drinks and red solo cups.
A group of guys were playing beer pong, shouting as the ball flew too far and rolled under a couch. Further into the house, a girl was setting up a karaoke machine and slurring the lyrics to the Pitbull song that was playing, almost tumbling off the table.
The scene made you itch, your feet already hurting from the heels you’d been forced to wear. You let Shoko guide you through the crowd anyways, scowling at the way a few shirtless guys eyed you like you were nothing more than a piece of candy. She led you toward the kitchen, hand wrapped tight around yours, where a group had gathered around the island counter.
A tall guy with long black hair tied back noticed you first, grinning at Shoko and holy fuck he was hot.
“Shoko, I didn’t expect to see you here!” He raises his red solo cup in the air. “And you bought a friend.”
“This is my roommate, (name).” Shoko tugs you forward until you’re standing by her side. “Be nice to her, will you? She’s already planning my funeral for bringing her here.”
He nods at you, tossing back the rest of his drink and your knees go weak because he had to be one of the hottest guys you’d ever seen in your life.
“Geto Suguru but you can call me Suguru. Any friend of Shoko’s is a friend of mine.” He sticks his hand out and you wipe yours on your dress before reaching over the island and taking his into yours.
“Nice to meet you.” You force a shaky smile, pulling your hand back.
When you ask how they know each other, Suguru explains that they went to high school together but Shoko had decided to take a gap year and travel the country.
Shoko introduces you to the rest of her friend group. There was Choso, a guy with two ponytails and a scar across his nose. His girlfriend, Yuki, was nice enough even though you were sure she was flirting with you. Nanami, who seemed entirely too sweet to be there and next to him was the human incarnation of a golden retriever, Haibara.
After introductions were over, they pulled you into a game of flip cup and you were surprisingly good at it. The satisfaction of slamming your cup down before Choso was enough to make you forget where you were, cheap booze loosening you up and allowing you to truly enjoy yourself. Even if some asshole kept bumping into your ass and forgetting to apologize.
You even let Shoko and Yuki drag you to do karaoke, stupidly singing Promiscuous and moving your hips in circles, hair loose and falling into your flushed face. You hadn’t noticed the way Suguru watched you with a smirk, arms crossed while someone whispered something in his ear.
It only took an hour for you to be reminded that frats were in fact the root of all evil, your short lived fantasy that maybe you were wrong crashing down when he decided to show up.
You felt him before you saw him, your skin tingling as you sat on the couch and nursed a headache while actively fighting the urge to throw up, half listening to the group's conversation. You had just been about to tap Shoko and invoke your one-hour rule when the energy in the room shifted. The sea of people were parting to make way for someone, a few petrified freshmen scrambling to get out of the way.
When enough people cleared, two of the most unique looking men you’d ever seen came into view.
Now let’s get one thing straight: you were far from a pick me, never had been and you never would be. However, even you weren’t immune to the rare moment of being so mesmerized by the beauty of a man that you just stare with your mouth slightly agape.
One of them had pink hair and tattoos covering his face and massive arms. He was kind of scary looking but in the hottest way possible. It was a shame he already had someone on his arm. Then there was the guy next to him, with a backwards hat that white hair slipped out of and eyes so blue they looked fake.
Your brain short-circuited for exactly half a second. Fuck. He was in fact the hottest man you’d ever seen, forget what you said earlier. Objectively. Scientifically, whatever. It wasn’t even a matter of opinion, just facts.
He was lean and tall with the face of a god, a pointy nose and full lips and you had to squeeze your thighs together when he looked in your direction, though his eyes weren’t on you.
Shoko notices you staring and smirks. “Oh right. I forgot you haven’t met Gojo yet!”
“What?” You finally blink, glaring at your friend. “I wasn’t-”
“Satoru!” Shoko waved him over. “Come here, I want you to meet someone.”
Gojo locked eyes with her and smiled, leaning to whisper something to the man he had walked in with and handing him the case of beer he was carrying before moving toward the couch you were currently gripping.
He was even more handsome up close, the smell of his cinnamon cologne cutting through the stench of sweaty bodies and alcohol. It was too bad he had to open his mouth and ruin everything.
“Shoko.” His voice vibrates through you more than the music does, and it makes you feel pathetic. Since when have you ever let a man affect you like this? “Making new friends already?”
“This is my roommate,” Shoko says, gesturing toward you and tells him your name. “Play nice.”
When he turned those big blue eyes on you, your breath got caught in your throat, his smile widening as he held out his hand. “Well hello there. I’m Satoru, sophomore and president of this fine establishment.”
Sophomore and president of an entire frat? You didn’t want to think of what kind of douchebag he had to have been to pull that off. You reluctantly shake his hand and pull it away faster than you did Suguru’s, your mouth growing sour.
“You’re a quiet one.” He plops down on the couch between you and Shoko and you feel your irritation growing, your headache picking back up, mood completely ruined just from a few words. “It’s the hair, right? Or the eyes? Most people say the eyes. I get it, I’m a lot to process.”
He throws an arm on the couch behind you, leaning back and spreading his legs just wide enough to piss you the fuck off. Fuck this guy!
“Wow,” You say flatly, moving from under his arm and turning to face him. “Do you practice being insufferable, or does it just come naturally?”
Shoko snorts into her cup while Suguru who had been sitting next to her lets out a “oh shit” under his breath. This was his and Satoru’s second year here and he had never heard anyone snap at his friend.
Gojo’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew as he leaned into your space. “Naturally. It’s a gift, but I’m sensing some hostility, sweetheart. Are you not enjoying yourself? I’m sure I can show you a better time upstairs.”
You wanted to throttle him. So this is what your sister was trying to warn you about? What a fucking idiot you were to doubt her for even a second.
“I’d rather eat glass then let you touch me.”
He simply laughs at that, moving a little closer and forcing you to awkwardly lean back, heat creeping up your neck and to your ears. He was close enough to kiss you and you were about to smack him until he smiled and moved to stand up.
“Nice to meet you, freshman. Maybe I’ll see you around, yeah?”
He disappears into the crowd and you want the floor to swallow you whole. You try to stay for the sake of your friend but each passing minute proves why you’d never show your face at these parties again.
People were passing out from how drunk they were, someone had almost thrown up on your shoes and to top it all off, loud cheers were sounding from the backyard. You were about to tell Shoko it was time to go when she started running toward the back door to see what was going on and you reluctantly followed.
The sight made your blood boil. Standing side by side was Gojo and the pink haired guy from earlier who you’d learn was Sukuna. There was a third guy with them, tall with broad shoulders, dark messy hair and a scar on his lip.
A line of freshmen boys stood at the edge of the pool, each looking paler than the last. Sukuna was barking out orders and you watched in horror as they began to take off their shirts and then their shoes and pants.
People were laughing, clapping and yelling for them to take off their underwear. You glared at the guy who said that, but he just shrugged and turned back to the show. Several phones appeared in the air despite Gojo’s threats that anyone caught recording would have them smashed.
This was so fucking sick.
The poor guys looked like they wanted the ground to swallow them whole and just when you moved to put an end to this, an arm reached out to stop you. You snapped your head up, ready to lay into the person until a familiar set of dark eyes stared down at you.
Suguru.
“Get off of me.” You say through gritted teeth, pure anger making your heart beat faster and your blood pump harder.
“Don’t do anything stupid.” He warns you and you suddenly hate him as much as his prick of a friend, snatching away from him and turning back to the scene unfolding.
Without an ounce of sympathy, Gojo clapped his hands together and nodded to the freshmen, his shorts hanging loose on his hips.
"No need to be nervous. We've all got the same equipment!”
"If you're too embarrassed to strip," The scarred lip dude shouts over the cheering crowd. "you're probably too soft to wear our letters anyway."
A little motivating glare from Sukuna who looked even less interested in preserving anyone's dignity and they were stripping off the remainder of their clothes. You stared in absolute disbelief as the first pledge squeezed his eyes shut, signaled something that looked like a prayer and canonballed into the pool completely naked.
One by one the others followed and you started to push through the crowd of students, ignoring Shoko yelling your name and evading Suguru’s attempt to grab you again.
Any microscopic chance you'd had of warming up to fraternities evaporated on the spot. These people were insane, fucking psychopaths and deserved a taste of their own medicine.
By the time you reached the pool, the pledges were climbing out of the water, shivering and red-faced as older fraternity members tossed towels in their direction. They looked humiliated, their smiles not fooling you for a second.
“Hey asshole!” You shout toward the white haired douchebag, storming up to him and gaining the attention of the crowd who started to quiet down to listen to the spectacle you were creating.
Good. Let them watch!
Gojo, who had been in the middle of laughing at something Sukuna said, looked at you and the grin spreading across his face only further annoyed you. He was so fucking hot but his personality sucked!
“Couch girl!”
You ignore him, walking until you were close enough to stick your arm out and push his chest. He hardly moved but it was enough to knock that stupid smug smirk off his face for a split second before the corner of his mouth was lifting again.
"What kind of pathetic excuse for leadership is this?" You gestured toward the soaking pledges who did their best to cover themselves with their small towels as they exchanged nervous glances. "Making them strip in front of half the campus because you think it's funny?"
“It was voluntary.” Sukuna spat, folding his arms and scowling at you, but you kept your eyes on Gojo who steps a little close to you.
“Oh please. Do you really expect me to believe a bunch of freshmen are gonna tell the people deciding if they get into this fraternity or not, ‘no’?”
When someone in the crowd yelled that you had a point, Sukuna shot them a glare from the deepest pits of hell that had them shutting up and cowering back into the crowd.
Meanwhile Gojo looked thoroughly entertained, that bastard. Not a hint of embarrassment on his face as he reaches forward and twirls a piece of your hair around his finger. His carefree attitude catches you off guard and you’re dumb founded, losing yourself in his big blue eyes before snapping out of it and pushing him away again.
“You’ve known me for what..” He pulls his hand away and looks at the imaginary watch on his wrist. “Two hours and you’re already lecturing me? We're basically an old married couple already.”
Your eye twitches. You hadn’t really thought of how he would react but amusement was the furthest thing you’d expect from someone getting scolded like an insolent child.
You take a step back, not missing the way he eyes your body and your skin crawls.
“Fuck you dude! I wouldn’t let someone like you touch me with a ten foot pole, let alone let you marry me.”
He tilts his head as the crowd snickers and you grow impossibly hotter. You can feel Shoko pulling your arm but your feet are glued to the ground. It would take an act of god to get you to move before you were done saying what you had to say.
“Aww don’t be shy now. You’re making me feel self conscious too.”
The words get under your skin more than you should have let them and the look on his face, the slight glint in his eyes tells you that he knows it. Before you can rip into him, the scarred lip dude butts in, pushing between the two of you.
“Cute." He rolls his eyes. "Now either kiss or kill each other somewhere else. We've got pledges to traumatize."
You glare over his shoulder at Gojo one more time, seething at the way he winks at you, clearly finding this entire thing entertaining, before letting Shoko pull you away this time. If you saw him fifty years down the line it would still be too soon!
You had to get an uber since you and Shoko were both too tipsy to drive and you outright declined Suguru’s offer to drop you off, having had your fix of frat boys for the next century.
You rested your temple against the cool glass of the car window, nursing the dull ache forming behind your eyes while your stomach churned from the cheap vodka and lingering irritation.
Gojo Satoru.
Just thinking of his name made your jaw tighten.
He wasn't the first arrogant person you’d met. You’d known plenty in high school, cocky guys who were captains of some team or were blessed with a nice jawline and thought the world revolved around them.
Gojo surpassed all of them.
He wasn’t just cocky, but the kind of person that took everything as a joke, constantly performing and acting as if everyone around him was just a part of one big act. And the worst part about it, the part you refused to let yourself think of for more than a second because fuck that, was that he had no business looking the way he did.
It was almost offensive that someone as infuriating as him had a face that made you want to forget every sin he committed.
You would just have to try your best to stay far away from him, steer clear of frat houses, frat parties, and anywhere someone like him might possibly show up.
Later that night you and Shoko are both wide awake, laying in the dark listening to the faint sounds of the occasional car or ambulance flying by. You’re still fuming, your earlier encounter making it hard for you to find sleep.
“Hey Sho?”
“Yes?”
“If you ever invite me to anything that asshole is at again, I’ll kill you both.”
“Noted.”
That was the day you grew to hate Satoru Gojo and the day he fell in love with you.
Now here you were. Your junior year came faster than you thought it would.
In the time since you started at Jujutsu University, you joined the cheer team, made the dean’s list multiple times and built a tight knit friend group that consisted of you, Shoko, Utahime, Yuki and occasionally Suguru.
Best of all, you had mostly stuck to your promise and kept away from Gojo, with the exception of a few incidents during your sophomore year when he had decided that you would be his new target of interest. It didn’t matter that you made your disdain for him clear, he never really gave up on his desperate attempts to win you over.
One of the most memorable times was when you picked up Shoko from an invite only party and he answered the door. He was grinning, telling you that he knew you couldn’t resist him and lifting his black shades to his head, blue eyes flashing.
"This is my favorite plot twist so far."
You bit your tongue and rolled your eyes, telling him you were here for Shoko only but nothing you said would get through that massive inflated head of his.
“You were invited by the way. Why didn't you come?” He actually frowns and you fight the urge to pinch yourself because he genuinely looks like a kicked puppy and you hate the way it tugs on your heart for a split second before you remember who you’re talking to.
“Because your last party fucking sucked.”
His ticking jaw and flared nostrils were your only signs that you had finally gotten to him before he was covering it up, licking his lips and looking down at your glossed ones with a grin.
“Oh so you’re one of those girls.” He clicks his tongue, giving a dramatic shake of his head.
“Excuse me?” You cross your arms, chest already growing tight with irritation. This was supposed to be a quick pick up and somehow you ended up stuck talking to the one person you wanted to avoid.
“You know.. a judgmental stuck up bitch.”
You had smiled, pride swelling in your chest because yes.. that’s exactly what you were and you hoped that now he’d take a fucking hint and leave you alone. If you were a little meaner maybe you’d scare him away for good.
“That’s one way to put it.”
“You’re so evil.” He leans against the door frame, lowering his shades back to his face. “It’s hot, you’re just my type of girl, sweets.”
The first week of your junior year had gone great, you hadn’t seen Gojo once which was a blessing in disguise since as you would later find out, you were both majoring in psychology. Your first day of cheer practice was coming up, you and Shoko were still sharing a dorm in your third year, your professors were all amazing and you managed to score an interview for a research internship next summer.
Everything had been going in your favor.
It felt like you were on top of the world until the white haired devil himself walked into the lecture hall, dressed in a snapback, faded jeans and a football jersey. He looked out of place. Suguru was by his side as they looked for a seat and your heart was pounding as you snapped your head forward so fast it was painful, not wanting him to feel you staring.
You sunk into your seat and dipped your head.
No, no, no! What the fuck was he doing here? Did he get lost? There was no way someone like Satoru Gojo would actually be taking a psychology class without being forced into it. Suguru, maybe. Satoru? He belonged in someone's business class, maybe engineering.
There was simply no universe in which he voluntarily enrolled in social psychology.
But it didn’t matter what you thought, because he was here and you could hear him getting closer to you, his voice sending sparks down your spine. Just when you thought you were going to get lucky, the sound of a chair scraping beside you made your stomach flip.
Painfully, you turned your head just as Gojo plopped down onto the seat to your right, his cologne invading your senses. Suguru apologized as he squeezed into the thin space to slip past you, taking the seat to your left.
What a genius you were, picking a spot with two free seats on either side of you.
Fantastic. Now you were trapped and Gojo only nodded at you when you glared at him, clearly fighting a smile as he leaned back in his seat as if he’d won a battle in this silent war you’d been in for two years.
This was fine. You’d just ignore him like you always did. He thrived off of attention, so you would simply deprive him of it.
Easy enough right? That’s what you thought until he opened his mouth and you remembered just how easily he got under your skin. How good he was at provoking a reaction out of you and it didn’t help that he looked hot as fuck with his skin slightly tanned from summer break, arms and chest a little bigger.
“Would you look at that? Looks like we’re classmates now, princess.”
You tried to ignore him, really you did but whenever he was around you simply lost all sense of rationality, ten brain cells dying with every word that came out of his mouth.
“Don’t call me that.” You keep your eyes forward, trying to listen to the professor who was going over what you’d be covering this week.
“Noted, princess.”
Surprisingly, you make it through most of class without Gojo bothering you. He only looks your way once but quickly turns his head when you catch him eyeing your exposed legs and pull your skirt down, his cheek dusted a light pink.
You ignore the way you feel your ears burning from the attention, a desperate ache growing between your legs.
"Before anyone gets too comfortable, I should let you know this course revolves around a semester-long research project."
A collective groan ripples through the lecture hall but your professor smiles anyways.
"You'll be working in pairs. By the end of the semester, you'll present a research-backed analysis of interpersonal attraction and the psychological mechanisms that influence it. This isn't a project you can throw together the night before. You'll be meeting with your partner regularly throughout the term."
Partners? Fuck!
You were a smart girl, always had been but working in groups had never been your strong suit. You were hyper independent and hated relying on others to carry their weight, especially when they hardly ever did. You either ended up doing all the work yourself or none of it, there was no in between.
"To avoid everyone choosing their friends, I've paired you using a wheel spinner."
A projector illuminated the screen behind her and names began appearing in two neat columns. You leaned forward, quickly scanning for your name and when you found it, you read it again.
And again, and again until you were shaking your head no and clenching your fists.
Gojo, Satoru — [Full Name]
"...You've got to be kidding me." The words come out louder than you meant for them to, your professor looking at you with a raised brow.
“I’m afraid there will be no changes. If anyone is unsatisfied with their partner you’re welcome to make your case after class but I'm afraid my decision is final unless you are at risk of being harmed.”
Did your emotional well being count? This was disastrous, a catastrophic fuck up and you would in fact take her up on her offer and be having a word with your professor once everyone left. You’d get on your knees and beg if you had to.
Gojo’s lightly laughed beside you and you snap your head toward him with the meanest glare you can muster, eyes burning with fury.
“What could possibly be funny?”
He shrugs, biting his bottom lip and staring at your strawberry gloss covered one, not giving a fuck that you could see him checking you out. You squeeze your thighs, annoyed at the way your body was reacting to his attention, betraying you in a way that was unforgivable.
“Guess fate ships us.”
Cheer practice hadn’t gone any better. As it turned out, Gojo had joined the football team and watching him run around all sweaty with his hair sticking to his head, kicking a ball in his blue uniform, was bad for someone trying to nail down their newest routine.
The cheer gym was delayed on its remodeling and the auxiliary gym had been in use so the only free space was the football field, hence your current situation.
It was hot, and you kept fucking up your stunts, eyes lazer focused on the field, instantly finding a set of white hair whenever you got tossed in the air. He hadn’t been looking at you, instead focusing on winning the mock game between teammates.
Yet he was still a nuisance even when he wasn’t trying to be and it didn’t help that you were still fired up from your conversation with your professor from earlier. When you begged to swap places with someone else, she had told you that ‘i don’t get along with fratboys’ wasn’t a legitimate reason to switch partners and that the project was worth fifty percent of your grade so you’d better find common ground fast.
Another thing nagging at you? You had only gotten laid a handful of times in the last year. Discovering you had an abnormally high libido after losing your virginity at the end of freshman year had been rough. Every guy you tried to build something with either couldn’t last more than two rounds before tapping out or wanted something more.
You weren’t looking for a relationship, just someone to help you get off once or twice a day. Your vibrators could only do so much. You craved the real thing, but struggled to find someone who could meet your needs.
"Focus!" Your captain's voice snapped you back to reality.
You blinked, realizing you had been staring at Gojo as he power kicked the ball into the net from halfway across the field, kicking dirt up. It was hot as fuck and irritated you at the same time.
“Sorry.”
You shake your head, stepping into position and letting your bases lock their grips around your ankles before they launch you upward. The familiar rush of adrenaline hits as soon as your body lifts into the air, muscle memory taking over as you balance yourself.
You should have been focused on your counts, on the people responsible for catching you if something went wrong. What did you do instead? You let your eyes wander until they found him again, heart lurching when you saw that he was already staring at you.
He waved and even from a distance you could tell he was smirking at you, ball in his hand as he pointed at the net and lowered it back to the ground. He moved his head from side to side, looking at you one last time before kicking the ball so hard that it almost took the goalie out, slamming into the back of the net.
Your cheeks burned, the ache from earlier returning.
You were completely unaware that you were one second away from falling because your brain apparently thought watching him was more important than not breaking your neck. Stupid girl.
“Eyes up!” Your captain's voice rang through the air and you forced your gaze down, correcting your posture before your bases caught you as you landed safely.
When your feet hit the ground you exhale sharply, slightly stumbling. Gojo had gone back to playing, as if he hadn’t almost killed you by distracting you.
“Are you alright? You’ve been out of it this entire time-”
“I’m fine! Let’s go again.”
You weren’t fine. You had just discovered that your brain was your biggest enemy, betraying you with a sudden attraction to your nemesis. That psychology degree was going to be very useful, now that you needed to diagnose why Satoru had become your biggest distraction.
Remember when I said, one might wonder how you of all people ended up with Gojo between your legs? Well here’s the straw that broke your back.
With the way your day had been going, you weren’t really surprised when your shift had gone to shit within the first thirty minutes. You hadn’t even changed out of your cheer uniform and were grateful your manager was nice about it and only made you put on an apron.
You were a baker at a small shop, and while you usually only iced pastries and baked bread, the cashier had called out so you were forced to cover both positions.
After ringing up the nastiest group of teenagers, you accidentally burned an entire rack of focaccia bread and your finger in the process. Your manager was understanding and thankfully had been able to find someone to cover your shift. You weren’t happy about missing out on money but at least you could lay in your bed and relax after the shit day you had. Right?
Wrong!
Usually when Shoko has company, she texts you beforehand to let you know, so imagine your surprise when you walk into your dorm and you’re scarred for life with the sight of a random’s man ass as he fucks your friend into the mattress.
The worst part is that they don’t even notice you! No one jumps up in shock and rushes to cover themselves. They continue to fuck like animals, as if you weren’t standing in the hall in shock.
After a few seconds you realize you should probably leave, jealousy coursing through you as you slam the door and storm from the building. Even Shoko, who never showed romantic or sexual interest in anyone, was getting laid while you were barely getting by with your toys.
Fine. If you weren't going to get some rest, you could at least be productive.
The library was the perfect place to study, especially at this time of night. Most people were partying, working or if they were Shoko, getting fucked in their dorms. Libraries didn't contain drunk assholes, frat presidents trying to flirt with you or rude customers screaming at you over something you couldn’t control. It was calm. Quiet.
And closed..
You stared at the locked doors, legs aching from the walk you just took to get here, thumb still hurting from earlier. You slowly walk to the locked doors, shrugging your cheer bag over your shoulder and checking the sign posted on the front door.
CLOSED DUE TO SHORT STAFFING
The universe was working against you, repaying you for some sin you committed in a past life and deciding you weren’t even allowed one small win today. And to make matters worse, you were still in your cheer uniform and it was getting chilly out.
You blamed Gojo. All of your issues started the moment he walked into that fucking lecture hall and decided to sit next to you. You were completely distracted after that which led to a shit cheer practice, a thirty minute shift and a burnt finger, and walking in on your best friend getting fucked.
You could kill him right now and not feel an ounce of remorse, even if you logically knew it wasn’t really his fault. You had to blame someone.
You read the sign again, as if it would magically change and the library would open. It was closed and you were fucked. Simple.
Based on the rare times Shoko did bring someone to your room, it lasted a few hours but you were always at work so it had never been a problem until today.
"Unbelievable." You dropped your head back with a groan, tightening your grip on your bag and staring into the dark sky. Of course the one night you needed somewhere quiet to hide, the universe decided to laugh in your face.
You kick lightly at the pavement, annoyed at yourself more than anyone else. If you hadn’t cut off the last guy you had been sleeping with just because he tried to invite you to a frat party, maybe you’d also be getting fucked right now.
It was your own fault really. You were too stubborn for your own good, your mother would tell you. “No one will want to put up with your high demands.” as if you hadn’t gotten that trait from her. That was fine. You didn’t need anything more from a man than sex, but no one had been able to match your high drive.
“I just need…” You look at the door again, tugging the handle just in case someone had forgotten to take down the sign.
Locked.
“God dammit!”
A laugh sounded from behind you and you froze, knowing exactly who it was without even turning around. Apparently the universe hadn't finished ruining your night yet. Yay, you.
“Rough night?”
You ball your fists and take a deep breath, counting to three and fighting back tears of frustration. When you turned around, you took in a sharp breath at the sight in front of you.
Gojo was holding a textbook under his arm and wearing a brown cardigan with a blue shirt underneath, light beige pants and were those..
He was wearing glasses. Not shades but bulky glasses that made him look kinda nerdy and the sight had the hair on your arms standings and your pupils expanding. He looked like a completely different person but you could tell it was him from the signature smirk he wore.
He stares at you with a titled head and you swallow the spit forming in your mouth. You weren’t seriously thirsty over Gojo right now, right? I mean, you knew you were sex deprived but he was everything you stood against so why were you staring at him like he was the best thing to walk the earth since Jesus himself?
“What are you doing here?”
“Came to study. Crazy concept, right?”
Your hand tightens around the handle of your bag, eyes drifting back to the textbook he was holding, though that was far from what you were staring at. Since when did Gojo have such huge hands and why were you attracted to his veins protruding as he grips the book?
“For you, yeah.”
“Ouch.” He laughs, soft and gentle and the sound has your pussy clenching against nothing. No fucking way was your body betraying you right now. You had never in your life clenched at a laugh, nor grown wet at the sight of someone and yet it was happening no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.
Gojo hadn’t even touched you, nor made any kind of sexual joke like he typically would and yet you were acting like a cat in heat.
“You really think so little of me? I’m kind of heartbroken.”
Yes. But you don’t say it, just look back at the dark building in defeat. Gojo notices and looks over your shoulder, his own sagging as he mumbles something you can’t understand.
“That’s unfortunate. You need somewhere to study, sweets? We can go to my place.”
You’re turning to him so fast your head spins, shoulders stiff as you prepare to lay into him but he beats you before you can even open your mouth, hands come up defensively.
“Not at the frat, I only live there part time. I have an apartment off campus, and a desk we can use.”
He waits for you to say something before giving up and sighing in exhaustion. You could tell he was annoyed but you didn’t care. If he was going to try to get you back to his place, he’d have to try a little harder than whatever this was.
“We should probably study together anyways right? You know, since we’re partners now..”
You should have said no, told him to fuck off but he did have a point. The library was closed, your roommate was otherwise occupied, and the faster you and Gojo finished your project, the sooner you’d never have to see each other again.
"One hour."
His grin appeared immediately as he held his free hand out to you. "Knew you couldn't resist me."
You scuff and move past him, getting into the passenger seat and making sure you glared out the window the entire ride there.
Gojo didn’t live far, no more than twenty minutes away from campus and you were grateful. Being in an enclosed space with him was hard enough, especially since the entire thing smelled of that cinnamon cologne that drove you crazy.
He tried to talk to you. About football practice, the assignment, the terrible song on the radio, anything to hear your voice but you were dead set on ignoring him, answering in low grunts and one word responses.
“The uniform is hot by the way. Had no idea you were a cheerleader, but I can’t say I mind watching you while I practice. The next time you want my attention though, just ask. No need to risk cracking your head open just to look at me.”
You’re insulted, face burning but you won’t feed into this petty spat he clearly wants to have. In the two years you’ve known him and the times you had to suffer his presence, you came to learn that everything he said was to get a reaction out of you.
Not this time.
“Gojo?”
“Yes, princess?”
“Shut up.”
Gojo’s apartment smelled like expensive air freshener and a faint trace of weed he swore he didn’t smoke anymore and it was from Sukuna and Suguru who had been over earlier. You ignored him, dropping your bag on the living room floor and looking around.
It was nice. Not spotless but cleaner than you thought it would be. Most of the furniture, you noticed, was black. His couch, the tables and chairs, even the curtains.
A stack of textbooks sat on his coffee table alongside a half-empty sports drink and what looked like a few polaroids. You move to get a better look but before you can really see anything, Gojo brushes past you and snatches them.
“Tsk, nosey girl.” He clicks his tongue and moves toward the kitchen. “Do you want anything?”
An hour later, you’re full off the takeout food Gojo got delivered and knee deep in your studies. You try to ignore the fact that the desk you’re sitting at is in his fucking bedroom but if he wasn’t overreacting to it then you weren’t going to either.
The last thing you needed right now was for Gojo to get distracted. He had actually been focusing on the project, refraining from making any crude comments or staring at your breast though you’d caught him looking at your bare legs once.
"Interpersonal attraction refers to the positive feeling one person forms toward another,'" You were sitting together at his desk as he read aloud from the textbook while you took notes. "'Researchers generally agree attraction develops through a combination of biological, cognitive, behavioral, and environmental factors.'"
You typed the definition into your outline while he skimmed farther down.
"'Repeated exposure to an individual tends to increase positive feelings toward them, even in the absence of meaningful interaction.'"
You don’t miss the way he lets his shoulder bump into yours, body moving an inch closer to yours. You have to squeeze your legs and bite back the moan creeping up your throat. He was still wearing the glasses, claiming his contacts were drying his eyes and that you would have known he wore them if you spent more than five minutes around him without ripping his head off.
You clear your throat and lean your body the opposite way. "The mere exposure effect."
"Mhmm. Which basically means people annoy each other until they fall in love."
Your fingers paused over the keyboard, slightly shaking as you look over at him. He was already staring, having moved closer to you again. The desk was big enough to hold both your laptops but small enough that you still invaded each other's space, his trick of turning his chair to face you doing nothing now that his knees brushed against the side of your thigh.
He was reaching a hand out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and you didn’t stop him, didn’t yell at him to fuck off. You just sat there, breathless, mind trying to process what was happening as he frowned at your lip tucked between your teeth.
"That’s not what it says." You whisper and he leans in closer, the corner of his mouth tugging in a small smile, eyes soft behind his glasses.
Gojo had been a thorn in your side since freshman year. He was everything you hated: arrogant, a fratboy, rich nepo baby, and a massive fuckboy that played with girls' hearts like they were toys meant for his entertainment.
But he was also infuriatingly smart when he bothered to try, and right now, he was watching you with an intensity that made your skin prickle and your pussy grow wet.
“Sure, whatever my princess says.” His voice is sultry and low as he reaches a hand out again to rubs his thumb on your lower lip, pulling it out before letting go.
You swallow hard, butterflies fluttering in your belly. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re tense.” He lets his hand travel to your shoulder, slow enough so that you could pull away, and when you don’t, he continues tracing your exposed collarbone, toying with the v-neck of your top.
“You’ve hated me for three years. That takes a lot of passion, ever wonder why you care so much?”
You opened your mouth to yell at him, to defend yourself against what he was implying because you had plenty of reasons to hate him but couldn’t think of any at this moment. Your brain was short circuiting and it was humiliating.
“I don’t care.” You manage to spit out.
Gojo’s eyes darkened, his grin fading. “Liar.”
His other hand slid up your thigh, creeping under your skirt and still, you didn't move away. Instead you decided to embarrass yourself even further and spread your legs to give him easier access.
“The chapter says physical attraction can override rational judgment. Maybe that’s what’s happening here. You claim I'm an asshole but you’re still sitting in my room, letting me touch you.”
“I’m-, oh!” You cry when he hovers over your clothed cunt, barely touching it and you’re bucking against him for more. So pathetic, so stupid. “I’m merely analyzing the s-subject matter.”
“Yeah, princess? Let’s put that theory to the test. I’ll keep touching you..” He turns your chair toward him, ignoring the way you gasp and glare at him for the loss of contact. He pulls it closer, the legs scrapping against the floorboard.
“And we’ll see if your rational judgment kicks in.”
He taps your thigh and you lift your hips as he pulls your panties down and tosses them over his shoulder. He’s spreading your legs again, further this time and he doesn’t waste a moment. His fingers are rubbing against your slit and you toss your head onto the back of the chair, hips shaking as you whine into his hand.
Gojo moved to kneel in front of you, his middle finger slipping between your folds and nudging at your entrance. When you looked down at him, entire body on fire, he was staring up at you as if looking for your approval.
Obviously grinding against him like a desperate whore wasn’t enough. No, Gojo wanted to hear you, to humiliate you and mock you for all the shit you had given him just to let him finger you when you should have been working on your project.
“Use your words or I'll stop.” He goes to pull his fingers away and your heart lurches.
The last thing you wanted was to beg him of all people but you were too far gone to not get something out of this. So you swallow your pride and nod.
“Keep going, you fucking jerk.”
He chuckles and grabs your thighs, placing them both over his shoulders. “I’m about to eat your pussy and you still can’t be nice to me.”
You don’t respond and he’s pushing his middle and index fingers through your neglected hole, not giving you any time to adjust before leaning down and taking your clit in his mouth.
“Satoru!” You cry out his name and the sound of coming from your lips has him groaning against you and closing his eyes to savor it.
You reach a hang out to grab his hair, looking down and clenching around his fingers because the way he has his head under your skirt is so fucking hot you think you might cum on the spot. He was so hungry for you that he didn’t even properly undress you, greedy man that he was.
His fingers curl inside of you, pumping a little faster as he licks up and down your slit, stopping to suck on your clit each time he passes it. When you try to close your legs, he grabs your thigh with his free hand and pulls it further open.
“Mmff, shtay righ' there.” He mumbles against your pussy, wrapping his lips back around your clit and sucking hard, using his teeth to lightly nibble and you’re leaking so much you can feel it dripping down your thighs.
This wasn’t the kind of research you had been expecting to do but you would accept it just this once, for the sake of your grade of course. This is also the longest he’s ever been quiet in your presence and if you had known that he was such a good pussy eater you would have put his mouth to use long ago.
‘Haaah, go deeper, I- oh god, nggghh I need more!” You grind against his face harder, gripping his hair and pulling him closer.
He just moans encouragingly, burying his fingers knuckles deep and fucking you dumb with them. Your squishy walls contracted around his fingers and with the next curl of them, you were wrapping your legs around his head and cumming so hard that your vision turned white, orgasm stealing your sight while you buck wildly against his face.
You were making a huge mess but Gojo didn’t seem to mind, licking you through it and only slowing his fingers when your legs dropped. He placed a kiss on your pussy before pulling from under your skirt and sucking on his fingers, looking right up at you.
His glasses were crooked, face glistening with your release and his cheeks were flushed red. Your chest heaved up and down dramatically as you fought to breathe properly again.
You couldn't remember the last time you came that hard and irritated you, made you crave more but you could never let him touch you again. This was a mistake, a serious lapse of judgement and yet you still needed more, your pussy already coming back to life.
You quickly stand and pull your skirt down, legs weak as you move around Gojo to find your panties, mortified at your own feelings right now. You just let a frat president go down on you and now you were thinking of how he would fuck you?
Clearly you weren’t in the right state of mind.
“You’re not tired of running away from me yet?” Gojo snaps, all sense of playfulness gone.
He was annoyed, you could hear it in his voice. Not that you cared but he was your ride here so you might as well appease him a little, right?
“I’m not running!” You yell, fingers digging into your palms. You were so beyond angry with yourself, disappointed that you got this far without falling into his den and now here you were. “I got what I wanted, the theory was correct but I think this study session has lasted longer than it should have.”
He looks at you in disbelief, taking his glasses off with a sigh and setting them on the desk before walking over to you, running his hand through his messy hair.
You were frozen. Every rational part of your brain screamed at you to shove him away and walk out. But your body was humming, and the way he looked at you made you want more.
He hovered over you, grabbing your chin and titling your head back so he can look you in the eyes, his other hand on your hip and playing with the waistband of your skirt.
“I can tell you haven’t been touched properly in a long time. Why do you insist on pretending like you don’t feel this pull between us, even if we hate each other?”
“You hate me?” Your lip twitches. While you can confidently say you despised him, he never gave the impression that he felt the same unless he had some sick way of showing it.
Gojo frowns and you hate how beautiful he looks. “No, never. I do want to fuck you though, so maybe we can help each other out.”
He pulls your skirt down just a little, fingers rubbing at the skin on your hip and sending a shiver through your body.
“Kind of like.. an arrangement. You can keep on hating me in public but in this room, I get to fuck you for as long as I want. Call it research for our project. Deal?”
You take a minute to think about it.
You were still seething at yourself for letting him touch. This meant nothing, you still hated him but even you had needs that needed to be met and if Gojo made you cum that hard from his fingers and tongue, you had to know what his cock could do.
“Fine, but I should warn you that I have a really high libido that most men can’t keep up with. If it’s too much I’ll just find-”
He cuts you off with a laugh, grabbing your hips and pulling you close enough that you feel his rock hard cock twitching against your stomach. He grabs the back on your neck and squeezes until you’re looking up at him again.
“You just haven’t been with a real man yet, princess. But don’t worry, I'll take real good care of you. Now take off your fucking clothes.”
You bite your tongue, resisting the urge to ask who he was talking to and at the same time, kicking yourself because you kind of liked it.
“Safe word?” He asked, unbuttoning his pants and stepping out them, his bulge huge against his white boxers, a small wet spot sitting on the front of them.
You roll your eyes and lift your shirt off, then your skirt. “We’re not children. Our safe words are stop and no.”
He nods and pulls his cardigan off and then the shirt underneath. Holy fucking sleeper build. Gojo was ripped but you’d never be able to tell under the clothes he wears. You’re taken aback by just how attractive he was, remembering the day you first saw him and how he was ten times hotter now.
Still a fratboy, still a prick but even you couldn't deny that he was one of the most stunning humans out there. Kind of otherworldly if you thought about it long enough.
“How about kissing? You cool with that, orrr?” He asks while pulling his boxers down and stepping out of them, his cock hitting his stomach and it was definitely the biggest one you’d ever seen. Thick and pulsing, pre leaking from the mushroom tip.
“Off limits. We’re strictly enemies with benefits, nothing more.”
There was no need to make this more difficult than it already was. You were beating yourself up for even being attracted to him, then to add kissing on top of that? You needed to save a shred of your dignity so you would be keeping your kisses.
“Fine, and we always use condoms. Not trying to be a dad in college like Toji. And no whining.”
You nod in agreement even though you were on birth control, snapping your bra off and tossing it, letting Gojo admire you and relishing in the way he looks like a lovestruck fool, hearts basically bursting in his eyes.
You don’t give him long, moving to climb on his bed and lay on your back. Your body was tight with need and you hadn’t even realized what you were doing, spreading your legs and playing with your pussy.
Gojo stands by the side of the bed and watches you as he reaches into the nightstand for a condom, using his teeth to rip it open and stroking it on.
You feel the bed dip first, his body climbing between yours, using his legs to nudge yours further open and then the heat of his cock pressing against your thigh.
“Fuck, you look so perfect.”
You open your eyes and if you didn’t hate him you’d say the same thing. His white hair messy on his head, the longer pieces falling into his bright blue eyes. His body was perfect, his shoulders not too broad but muscular, his waist thinner.
“Whatever, just fuck me.” You huff and in a blink he’s smacking his cock on your pussy then lining himself up with your entrance.
His heat engulfs you when he lays over your body, tapping your thigh so you wrap your leg around his waist.
He places his forehead on yours and smiles as sweetly as possible, one hand digging into the bed above your head to hold him up, the other placed on your hip.
“Ready?” He nudges your nose, gripping the sheets to stop himself from kissing you.
You bit your lip and nod, before stopping and pushing at his chest when he starts to nudge the tip in. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll ruin your life.”
He rolls his eyes, swallowing the words ‘you already have’. “Sure, now can I fuck you?”
When he pushes the first few inches in, you gasp from the sting and before you can stop him he’s leaning down and pressing his soft lips against yours to quiet you.
He squeezes your hip and with one more brutal thrust, he was inside you, filling you to the hilt in one go. You cried into his mouth and he swallowed it, your back arching off the bed as he bottomed out, his balls pressing against your ass. He was almost too big, stretching you in ways that should’ve been painful but wasn’t.
He was the perfect fit, just what you had been looking for, the tip of his cock pressing deliciously against your cervix.
“Fuck, you take me so well,” he groaned, pulling back to look at you before slamming into you again. And again, his hips pistoned against yours, each snap of his pelvis driving him deeper and grinding onto your clit, your toes curling from the intense pleasure.
“Satoru! Huuuh, yes, fuck me just like that!” You tighten your legs around his waist, moving your hips up to meet his.
You clawed at his back, your nails leaving red marks as he fucked you like he hated you. Like he wanted to ruin you and punish you for making him wait years to do this. And god, did you love it.
“Harder,” you gasped.
He laughed darkly, gripping your throat just enough to make your vision swim. “You want it rough, baby? S-shit! You want me to fuck you like the enemy that you are?”
“Yes Satoru! P-please.”
In a flash he was flipping you over, placing you on your hands and knees and slamming back into you before you could catch your breath. Your ass was in the air and he pushed your head down until it was flat on the mattress, his hands tight on your waist as he pounded into you, his hips snapping against yours with a bruising force.
Thank god he had his own place because each thrust had the bed rocking and sent a jolt of hot pleasure through you, your pussy clench around him and making obscene wet squelching noises that only fueled his hunger for you.
Gojo picked up his pace, veiny cock rubbing against your walls and he wished he could feel your raw pussy, wanted to stuff you full of his cum but he knew better so he ignored his instinct and focused on fucking you.
The cries you let slip out are music to his ears, a song he wanted to hear every fucking day but he would settle for tonight, for now. He leans forward and fucks into you harder, hand squeezing your boob and twisting your nipples, pinching and pulling until you’re whimpering, tears pooling down your face.
“Didn’t I say no whining? Be a good girl, princess.”
You don’t hear what he’s saying, too drunk on his cock as he fucks you stupid, drool spilling from your mouth and onto the sheet. The sight has Gojo groaning, his balls tightening as he splits you open on his cock and fucks you stupid.
“Shit, look at you. All fucked out. Fucking take it baby. Take my cock like a good cum slut.”
His words have you shaking violently with your second orgasm, eyes rolled back as he fucked you through it, squirting heavy on his cock and making a beautiful mess.
“Never letting anyone fuck you again.” He pushes you further onto the bed, your stomach flat against the mattress as he grinds deep into you, completely dominating you, his hands gripping the sheets above you. “This is mine, say it’s my pussy, baby. Tell me you belong to me-fuck-haaah.”
You don’t answer but the way you’re crying for more is enough to satisfy Gojo and he’s filling the condom with white hot cum, gasping as wave after wave of pleasure rocks him, his hips twitching as he empties himself into the latex.
He gives sloppy, lazy thrusts as he rides it out, pushing deep into you one last time before pulling out and falling onto his back next to you. While you come back down to earth, he’s ripping the condom off, tying it and tossing it into the trash before reaching for another one.
Before you know it, he’s rolling it and pulling you onto his lap, lining himself up and pulling you down onto his cock while pushing up into you, fingers digging into your hips.
“Ready for round two?” He smirks when you start to move despite still trying to remember how to breathe properly.
He doesn’t stop after that, keeps fucking you until you’re on the verge of passing out, body weak and shaking but still wanting more.
“What number are we at now, four? Come on, princess. Gimme another one, I know you can do it. Gotta get to five, it’s my favorite number.”
Holy shit.. Gojo was everything you had been looking for in a sexual partner. You had been fucking for two hours now and yet he still has the energy of a man running on spite and arrogance.
It was almost comical. You were a fucking goddess, you could get anyone you wanted, any man would be lucky to have you. Yet the only one who seemed to know how to satisfy you was the one guy you couldn’t stand.
Not that any of that mattered when he had you riding his cock, again, your pussy swollen from how hard he’d been fucking you without tiring. Your clit was overstimulated but he kept rubbing it anyway, your back arching as you felt the pressure building in your belly again.
“C-can’t Toru’” You slurred, drooling dripping down your chin, your face completely wet with tears, makeup long ruined.
“I believe in you, baby.” He smacks your ass hard and then does it again just to watch the way you jump. “Look at you, taking me so well. S’proud of you babe.”
You ignore the pet name, ass on fire and too close to cumming for the fifth time to argue with him over it.His hands grip your hips, pulling you up and down on his cock. You twirled your hips, spelling your name out as you fucked him back, body aching from the intense fuck session.
It wasn’t long before you were grinding harder against Gojo’s pelvis and squirting on him again, fingers pressing into his shoulders as he fell over the edge with you. Pushing himself up and throwing his head back with a roar, legs stretching out as he pumped a thick load of cum into condom.
You move up and down as much as you can, helping him finish his orgasm before collapsing against his chest. Gojo wraps his long arms around you, cock still seated inside you as you both fight to breathe, sweaty bodies sticking together, eyes droopy with exhaustion.
What a fucking night.
You would one hundred percent be fucking him again, even if it was just until you found someone you could tolerate outside of the bedroom. As for now, Gojo was the only one that could tame the fire inside of you and fuck did you hate to admit that.
You can feel his heart beating against your own, his hand rubbing up and down spine, lips kissing the side of your head. As reality comes back to you, you freeze before pushing yourself off him and laying next to him on the bed.
You ignore the hurt look on his face.
“Wanna shower with me?” Gojo asks, sitting up and pushing his hair from his forehead, looking at you over his shoulder with cloudy eyes.
“Seperate.” You don’t even look at him. Way to flip the script on him, he was usually the one ignoring girls after getting what he wanted.
He nods and goes through his drawer before finding a pair of sweatpants to put on, the obvious bulge of his still hard cock making your pulse jump.
He goes into the bathroom connected to his room and you hear the shower turn on before he comes back out and tosses you a towel. You can tell he’s upset but you ignore it. He wasn’t your man, it wasn't your problem.
After you wash your body and your hair, you find that he’s left you a pair of shorts and a shirt on the bed. When he comes back in the room and sees you dressed in his clothes, the size of it swallowing you, his heart damn near stops and you see the way he swallows the lump in his throat.
He clears his throat and smiles at you, slowly walking toward you and your body goes cold when he places his hand on your cheek and leans down to kiss your forehead.
That was the second time he broke your rule and the second time you didn’t correct him.
“Stay. I’ll bring you home in the morning, I can take the couch.”
You nod your head ok, lost for words and he simply nods and moves past you to take his shower.
Later that night you toss and turn before giving up and laying on your back, staring at the ceiling in the nearly dark room, drumming your fingers on your stomach. You sometimes had nights where you just couldn’t sleep no matter what you did and it seems tonight was one of those nights.
You’re still sore between your legs, a reminder that you went back on your word and let Gojo fuck you. You didn’t regret, even had plans on doing it again but that didn’t mean you weren’t angry with yourself. More so because you smelled just like him after using his soap.
He just knew all the right places to touch you, all the best ways to make you cum harder than you did the time before, his cock fitting so perfectly inside of you. It was a shame he had the personality of a walnut.
When you finally turn on your side to go to sleep, eyes burning from exhaustion, you feel the bed dip behind you and strong arms wrap around you.
You try to squirm out of Gojo’s grip but he tightens his arms around you, pulling you until your ass is flush against his hard cock, his chin tucked atop your head.
“Gojo.. we need to sleep, we have class tomorrow.”
“So I’m only Satoru when I fuck you? Wicked girl.” He leans down to kiss your neck and you let him, again, feeling your clit grow erect and that ache return.
“That’s your name isn’t it?” You huff out, moving your hips back against him.
He ignores you, hand going to your hip you pull you close as he grinds into you, slipping yours and his pants down. He quickly puts on a condom before pushing into you, bottoming out in one thrust, hand covering your mouth to keep you quiet.
“Gonna fuck you until you only know Satoru.. You know, my favorite number is actually six.”
You may have bitten off more than you could chew.
❦ lisa's note: sorry about the pledge scene 🥲 I wanted to show how frats are and needed you to truly hate them. promise I'll make up for it!
child of divorce yuji forcing you to call your ex!husband sukuna to say goodnight.
you had refused all week to give into yuji's plan that he had stolen from the internet. you were mature, healed and too busy to deal with these little dares. but it was up until one bored evening where you had finally succumbed to his challenge.
Your phone was on speaker, with the line ringing for the contact name of your ex-husband which was simply titled 'sukuna'.
no love hearts, no kisses or nicknames. you were completely over him and have been for years. the only reason you stay in touch with him is for Yuji's sake.
"I don't think he'll pick up yuj' " you murmured to him slightly. "your dad's been busy these past few days.'
and just like the old days, Sukuna always manages to prove you wrong -he always needed to embarrass you, even when he wasn't even here in the flesh.
"hello?" a coarse voice rings out on the other end of the line.
"hello." you respond and immediately you feel your stomach fall in knots. you're nervous. and you don't even know why.
looking up at yuji, his expectant face is watching eagerly as if he enjoys torturing you. he mouths "say it! say it!" and you feel like you have no choice but to continue with your dare.
you swallow down your nerves and attempt to speak as nonchalant as possible. "I just wanted to call and say goodnight."
There's a pause and there's something inside you that just knows how much he's smirking right now.
"Oh really?" he starts putting on a sultry tone, "you haven't done that in a while, is something wrong?"
you pull a face, willing your body to not fall for his tone of voice. no you won't fall like you did all those years ago. absolutely not. "No, I just wanted to say goodnight."
"do you need me to come over and tuck you in as well or....?"
"no! uhm, I mean no I'm fine but y'know I hope you have a good night."
yuji's meanwhile in the corner of the room clenching his stomach and trying his hardest not to let out a laugh.
"hmmm."
"what?"
"cut the crap."
"I'm not-" you start but sukuna manages to cut you off pretty quickly.
"listen, either tell me what you really want or don't bother wasting my time."
you pull a face, "me telling you good night is a waste of your time now?"
"yes."
"what are you even doing right now? it's 11pm and i know you don't have shit to do."
"don't turn this on me, baby, this is all about you."
"don't call me baby." you mutter.
"then don't call me to say good night."
you roll your eyes, you should have known that even the conversation of 'good night' would naturally turn into an argument between the two of you.
"is yuji good? you sure you don't need me to come over to help take care of a pre-teen?" he mocks.
"i don't" you bite, "i was just being kind and saying goodnight, i know how lonely it must get over there. are you sure you're doing alright?" your tone is filled with sarcasm, attempting to play sukuna at his favourite game.
"i dunno', " he starts, "i might need to come over to your bed so you can keep me company.'
you immediately hang up. you're done and finished. whilst yuji's laughing away in the corner all you can do is roll your eyes at the conversation.
but there's a little part.
a little part of you that you won't ever admit to yourself that misses him.
unbeknownst to you, on the other side there's still a smirk on sukuna's face as he sets the phone down, ruminating on the fact that there's also a part of him that misses you.
a/n :: i deadass might make a little part 2 for geto hehe
Satoru wasn't your typical nerd.
He didn't care about math or history, and he definitely didn't care about the syllabus for a single class that didn't involve a keyboard, a computer, or a snare drum. The guy barely scraped by in anything that wasn't music theory or coding, not because he wasn't smart — he was, annoyingly so — but because he refused to put in effort for anything that didn't already have his attention. His attention, once caught, was a spotlight. If it hadn't caught you yet, you didn't exist.
He spent his free time exactly three ways: behind his drum kit in Suguru's garage, buried in a Digimon rewatch he'd already seen four times, or three hours deep into a raid with a headset clamped over messy white hair, screaming at Nanami through the mic to actually heal him this time. His dorm room looked like a Best Buy had a baby with a comic shop — string lights, a wall of figures still in their boxes because "they lose value if you open them," and a corkboard covered in setlists for a band that had, generously, played six shows.
Satoru always knew that if he fell for someone, it would be a nerd. He just never pictured it looking like you.
You met him because of a spilled iced coffee and absolutely nothing more romantic than that.
It was the first week of the semester, campus still humid and overcrowded, and you'd been power-walking across the quad with a garment bag over one shoulder and a stack of sketchbooks under the other arm when a very tall, very loud boy backed directly into you without looking. Your coffee went down his band tee — some faded shirt with a logo you didn't recognize, letters half peeled off — and his drumsticks clattered onto the pavement.
"Oh my god," you'd said, mortified, already fishing napkins out of your bag like you kept a small pharmacy in there. Which, to be fair, you kind of did.
"Don't apologize," he said, grinning down at the stain like it was the best thing that happened to him all week. "This shirt was already ugly. You just gave it character."
You blinked at him. He was obnoxiously tall, silver hair falling messily over startling blue eyes, and there was a confidence radiating off him that didn't match the drumsticks or the Digimon keychain clipped to his backpack. He didn't carry himself like the guys you'd catalogued back home — the shy ones who blushed and stammered over a group project. He looked at you like he already knew the ending of this conversation and thought it was funny.
"I'm Satoru," he said, sticking out a hand like this was a business meeting and not a crime scene of oat milk. "Drummer. Certified genius. Currently drowning in caffeine that isn't mine."
"That's on you for walking backwards."
"I was doing a bit for my friend." He jerked his thumb toward a guy with a long black ponytail standing several feet away, watching the whole thing with the weary patience of someone who had clearly done cleanup duty for Satoru before. "Suguru doesn't think I can walk and talk at the same time. I was proving him wrong."
"You were proving him right."
That got a laugh out of him — a real one, loud and delighted, like you'd said something far funnier than you meant to. "Okay. I like you." He said it so easily, like liking people was a decision he made in real time and didn't think twice about. "What's your major?"
"Fashion design."
"Perfect." He picked his drumsticks up off the ground, twirling one between his fingers with the kind of muscle memory that only came from years of doing it. "You can redesign this shirt. Character and all."
You should've walked away right then. You had a class in eleven minutes and a stained blouse of your own to deal with. Instead you found yourself saying, "I don't do charity work," and watching his grin widen like you'd thrown down a gauntlet instead of an insult.
"We'll see about that, coffee girl."
You didn't expect to see him again. Campus was big, your circles didn't overlap, and you'd mentally filed him under loud, cute, forgettable the second you sat down in your first lecture. Except campus, as it turned out, was smaller than you thought, and Satoru Gojo was apparently everywhere.
He was in your general ed elective, three seats over, doodling little digital monsters in the margins of notes he wasn't taking. He was at the campus coffee shop your roommate dragged you to, holding court at a corner table with three other guys — the ponytail one, a stoic blond who looked like he paid taxes for fun, and someone with tattoos creeping up his forearms who kept flicking Satoru in the back of the head every time he got too loud. He was at the party your friend Utahime insisted you go to, standing on top of someone's coffee table doing an impression of a professor that had half the room in tears.
And every single time, he found you first.
"Coffee girl." He'd taken to calling you that instead of your actual name, which you found insufferable and, somewhere you weren't proud of, kind of charming. "Fate keeps throwing us together. I think the universe wants me to fix my fashion sense."
"The universe wants you to stop backing into people."
"Same thing, honestly."
It became a rhythm you didn't ask for and didn't stop, either — him dropping into the seat beside you before lecture with some ridiculous opener, you rolling your eyes and answering anyway. He asked about your sketches once, actually asked, leaning over your shoulder close enough that you could smell his cologne — something warm, a little spiced, nothing like the Axe body spray you'd assumed a guy like him wore.
"You drew that?" He was looking at a half-finished dress design, all sharp lines and asymmetric draping, like it was something out of a museum instead of the back page of your notebook.
"It's not done."
"It's sick. You're actually insane for this." He said it with none of the performative flirting from before — just plain, unguarded awe, like he'd forgotten to be cocky about it. "I can't draw a stick figure that doesn't look like it's having a medical emergency."
"I find that hard to believe. Aren't you obsessed with Digimon? Don't you have to draw those?"
"I collect them. Different skill set." He tapped the page. "This is actual art. What I do is scream into a headset until Nanami mutes me."
You found out, slowly and against your will, that he wasn't just loud confidence stacked on top of nothing. He knew music theory cold, could break down a chord progression on the spot, had strong and extremely specific opinions about which Digimon partner was objectively the best (Angemon, he'd argue this until sunrise) and an even stronger opinion about video game soundtracks being "criminally underrated as an art form, coffee girl, I will die on this hill." He talked with his whole body, hands flying, volume climbing, and then every so often — rare, unexpected — he'd get quiet. Almost shy. Usually right after he said something too honest.
Like the day he asked if you wanted to come watch his band practice.
"It's just Suguru's garage. It's not glamorous." He rubbed the back of his neck, and for a second the cockiness dropped clean off his face, replaced by something more nervous, more real. "You don't have to. I just — thought you might want to hear it. Since you've never actually heard us play anything."
You said yes before you'd fully decided to.
The garage smelled like reverb and stale energy drinks. Suguru — Suguru Geto, you learned, the guy with the ponytail — was tuning a guitar with the focus of a surgeon, occasionally throwing dry commentary at Satoru that made the whole room laugh. Shoko sat cross-legged on an amp, painting her nails an unbothered black, bass propped against her knee like an afterthought even though she was clearly the best musician in the room. Nanami — tax-paying-energy Nanami — adjusted his keyboard stand with military precision and gave you a polite nod that felt like the most normal interaction you'd had all week. And Sukuna, tattooed and terrifying in a way that made you instinctively step half a foot closer to Satoru, sat behind a second guitar looking like he was personally offended by the concept of being in a band.
"This is coffee girl," Satoru announced, flopping down behind his kit like he owned the room, which, in fairness, he kind of did. "She's here to witness greatness."
"She's here because you wouldn't shut up about her," Suguru said, not looking up from his guitar. "For two weeks."
"Slander."
"Documented slander," Shoko added without looking up from her nails. "He has a note in his phone."
Satoru's ears went pink. It was the single most satisfying thing you'd seen all semester.
"Play the song, Satoru," Sukuna said flatly, "before I lose the will to be here."
They played. And you understood, watching him, why he never took his classes seriously — because this, clearly, was where all of it went. He wasn't just loud behind the kit, he was precise, locked in with Shoko's bass in a way that looked like something they'd built over years, sticks a blur, head bobbing, completely unselfconscious in a way you hadn't seen from him anywhere else. There was no performance in it. No bit. Just him, fully present, grinning like an idiot between songs when he caught you watching.
After, while the others packed up, he sat down next to you on the busted garage couch, sweat-damp and buzzing with adrenaline, close enough that his knee brushed yours.
"So?" He tried for casual. Missed by a mile. "Verdict?"
"You're actually good."
"Actually good, or good-good?"
"Don't push it."
He laughed, and something in his face softened, the cocky mask slipping sideways just enough that you caught the boy underneath it — the one who kept a note in his phone, who got shy about the things he cared about most, who'd apparently been talking about you for two weeks before he worked up the nerve to invite you here.
"Hey," he said, quieter now, no audience left to perform for. "I know I'm — a lot. Loud. Whatever. I don't really do subtle."
"I noticed."
"I'm serious about this, though." He gestured vaguely between the two of you, and for once he wasn't smirking. "I don't want this to be a bit."
You should've had a witty comeback ready. You always did, with him — it was half the fun, the back-and-forth, the way he pushed and you pushed back just as hard. But something about the way he said it, stripped of all his usual bravado, made the words catch in your throat instead.
"It's not a bit," you said instead, quiet. "For me either."
The grin that broke across his face then was different from all the others — not performing, not for the room, not for a bit. Just for you.
"Good," he said. "Because I already told the guys you're my girlfriend. Retroactively. As of two weeks ago."
"Satoru."
"What? I was manifesting."
You shoved his shoulder, and he caught your wrist on the way, lacing his fingers through yours like it was the easiest thing in the world, like he'd been planning exactly this move since the coffee spilled down his shirt. Across the garage, Suguru caught the two of you and rolled his eyes so hard you were fairly sure it hurt.
"Finally," he muttered.
Nobody in that garage was surprised. Apparently you were the last one to figure it out — that the loudest, cockiest, most insufferable nerd on campus had quietly, embarrassingly, been falling for you since the first day you soaked his shirt in oat milk latte and told him he deserved it.
You figured it was fair. He'd been sneaking his way into your life for weeks without asking permission for that either.
