synopsis: you’ve got a big date with your long time crush tonight, but zero experience when it comes to kissing. desperate and nervous, you ask your best friend gojo to teach you how to do it. what you don’t know is that he’s been in love with you for years.
cw: heavy making out, explicit sexual tension, jealousy, slight dom/sub undertones, gojo being a teasing menace, light angst, no full smut but very spicy.
you’re sprawled across gojo’s couch in his stupidly big apartment, legs dangling over the armrest, heart hammering so loud you’re sure he can hear it.
the black top you picked for tonight feels too tight now, too revealing, and you keep tugging at the neckline like it’ll magically give you confidence.
gojo’s sitting on the floor in front of you, back against the couch, long legs stretched out, scrolling through his phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world. typical.
“satoru,” you start, voice small.
he hums, not looking up. “yeah?”
you swallow. “i have that date tonight.”
“mm. with the finance guy. boring name. kenji? keito? something like that.” his tone is light, playful, the same way he always teases you about boys. but his fingers pause on the screen for half a second.
“kento,” you correct. “and he’s not boring. he’s… nice. stable. he actually texts back.”
gojo snorts. “stable. wow. romance of the century.”
you roll your eyes even though he can’t see it. “shut up. i’m nervous.”
he finally turns, pushing his blindfold down to rest around his neck so those ridiculous blue eyes can pin you in place. “nervous why? you look hot. like stupid hot. he’s gonna drop dead the second he sees you.”
your cheeks burn. “that’s not the part i’m worried about.”
he raises a brow, waiting.
you take a deep breath. “what if it gets… physical. what if he wants to kiss me and i’m just… bad at it. i’ve never kissed anyone, satoru. not really. not like that. i don’t want to embarrass myself.”
silence.
then gojo laughs, low and soft, but there’s something off about it. “so you want me to give you tips? google ‘how to kiss’ or something?”
you sit up, pulling your knees to your chest. “no. i want you to… teach me.”
his eyes widen just a fraction. the smirk that follows is pure gojo—cocky, dangerous, the one that makes your stomach flip even when you pretend it doesn’t.
“teach you,” he repeats, tasting the words. “like… practice kissing. with me.”
you nod, embarrassed but determined. “yeah. just… so i don’t suck. please? you’re my best friend. i trust you.”
something flickers across his face—too fast for you to catch. he leans back on his hands, head tilting. “you really want your first kiss to be with me? not prince charming from the date?”
“it’s not my first kiss,” you mumble. “it’s… practice. instructional.”
he chuckles. “instructional. okay, princess. if that’s what you want.”
he stands up in one fluid motion, towering over you, then drops onto the couch right beside you. close. too close. his knee brushes yours. the scent of his cologne, something expensive and dizzying wraps around you.
“ground rules,” he says, voice lower now. “you tell me if you want to stop. no weirdness after. and you owe me sushi for this.”
you laugh nervously. “deal.”
he turns toward you, one arm draping along the back of the couch so his fingers almost graze your shoulder. “c’mere then.”
your heart is in your throat as you shift closer. his hand comes up, slow, cupping your jaw like he’s done it a thousand times in his head. thumb brushing your lower lip.
“first,” he murmurs, “don’t rush. let it build. you’re allowed to want it.”
his breath fans across your mouth. you can feel how warm he is.
“eyes open or closed?” you whisper.
“whatever feels right. but if you look at me like that i might not behave.”
you swallow again. “satoru—”
he closes the distance.
the first press is soft. testing. his lips are warmer than you expected, surprisingly gentle for someone who never shuts up.
you freeze for half a second before you remember to move, tilting your head like you’ve seen in movies. he hums approval against your mouth, the vibration shooting straight down your spine.
he pulls back an inch. “not bad. but relax your mouth. you’re thinking too hard.”
you try again. this time he angles deeper, lips parting yours. the wet heat of his tongue brushes your bottom lip and you make a tiny, involuntary sound—something between a sigh and a whimper.
you jerk back, mortified. “sorry—i didn’t mean—”
gojo’s eyes are darker. pupils blown wide. his grip on your jaw tightens just a fraction.
“do that again,” he says, voice rough.
“what?”
“that noise. fuck, do that again.”
heat floods your face but he doesn’t give you time to overthink. he kisses you harder, tongue sliding against yours, coaxing.
you melt into it, fingers curling into his shirt. another soft, needy sound slips out of you and he groans, low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you.
his free hand finds your waist, pulling you closer until you’re almost in his lap.
the kiss turns messy, desperate, years of something unspoken pouring out of him even if he’s trying to hide it.
you feel dizzy, overwhelmed, thighs pressing together without thinking.
he nips your bottom lip, then soothes it with his tongue. you whimper again, louder this time, and he curses under his breath.
“you’re killing me,” he mutters against your mouth. “you know that?”
you try to answer but he swallows it, kissing you like he’s starving.
one of his hands slides up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through the thin fabric and you arch into him without meaning to.
the tension is thick, electric, every point of contact burning.
he tastes like mint and something sweet. his hair brushes your cheek when he tilts his head to kiss you deeper, tongue doing things that make your toes curl. you’re breathing hard through your nose, little gasps and whimpers escaping every time he changes angle.
each sound seems to unravel him more.
his hand slips under the hem of your top, palm hot against your bare skin, and you moan softly into his mouth. gojo’s grip tightens, almost bruising, like he’s fighting himself.
then suddenly he pulls back.
both of you are panting. his lips are swollen, hair messy from your fingers, eyes wild. for a second he just stares at you like he wants to devour you whole.
then he laughs, breathless, forcing that trademark gojo smirk back into place.
“see?” he says, voice a little hoarse. “you’ve got nothing to worry about. guy’s gonna lose his mind.”
you’re still trying to catch your breath, body buzzing. “that… that was more than instructional.”
he shrugs, but his eyes flick away for a moment. “had to make it realistic, right? can’t have you going in unprepared.”
you touch your lips, still tingling. “yeah. thanks, satoru.”
he stands up abruptly, stretching like nothing happened, but his hands are clenched at his sides. “you should probably head out soon. don’t want to keep prince stable waiting.”
the words are light, but there’s an edge underneath. jealousy, raw and sharp, that he’s trying to bury under layers of nonchalance.
you hesitate. “are you okay?”
“me? perfect. go get your kiss from someone who matters.” he winks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
you stand, legs shaky. part of you wants to say something, anything, but the air feels too heavy. too much has shifted in the last ten minutes.
as you grab your bag he calls out, voice back to teasing. “text me if he’s a bad kisser. i’ll come punch him for you.”
you laugh softly, but your chest aches. “thanks again.”
“anytime, princess.”
he watches you leave, door clicking shut behind you. the second you’re gone his smile drops. he drags a hand down his face, exhaling shakily.
“fuck,” he whispers to the empty room. “i’m so screwed.”
the rest of the evening stretches long in your mind even after you leave his apartment.
every red light on the way to the restaurant you replay the kiss, his hands, the way he groaned when you whimpered, how desperately he pulled you closer before forcing himself to stop.
your body still feels flushed, sensitive, like every nerve ending is awake and screaming for more.
kento is sweet during the date.
he laughs at your jokes and asks about your day and orders the wine you like without having to be told.
but when he leans in at the end of the night, lips brushing yours in a soft, careful kiss… it feels nice.
just nice.
nothing like the wildfire that had burned through you on gojo’s couch.
you pull away first, smiling politely, and wonder why your best friend’s name is the only thing echoing in your head.
back at your place later that night you can’t sleep.
you keep touching your lips, remembering the way gojo had kissed you like he was claiming something.
the little noises you made.
how he had looked at you after, like he was two seconds from throwing the “practice” excuse out the window and taking everything.
your phone lights up.
gojo: how was the date, future mrs. stable
gojo: did he kiss you yet or are you still thinking about my expert technique 😉
you bite your lip, typing back with shaky fingers.
you: it was nice. he kissed me.
gojo: nice? oof sounds boring.
you: it wasn’t bad.
gojo: but it wasn’t me, right?
you stare at the message for a long time. the three dots appear, disappear, appear again.
gojo: kidding. glad you had fun. get some sleep princess
but you can’t. because the truth is sitting heavy in your chest: that kiss with kento was safe. gojo’s kiss felt like falling.
the next afternoon you show up at his place unannounced.
he opens the door in grey sweatpants and a black compression shirt, hair damp like he just got out of the shower.
the second he sees you his whole face changes, surprise, hunger, then the mask slides back on.
“miss me already?”
you step inside without waiting for an invitation. “we need to talk about yesterday.”
he closes the door, leaning against it. arms crossed. “what’s there to talk about? you asked for help. i helped. mission accomplished.”
“you were… really into it.”
a smirk. “i’m a method actor. what can i say.”
you step closer. “satoru.”
his jaw tightens. the playful mask cracks just enough for you to see the storm underneath. “what do you want me to say? that i’ve been dying to kiss you for years? that hearing you make those pretty little sounds for me made me want to cancel your stupid date and keep you here until you forgot that guy’s name?”
your breath catches.
he laughs, bitter. “yeah. exactly. but i didn’t. because i’m your best friend. and you asked me for practice. not for… whatever the fuck this is.”
the air between you feels alive. you can see his chest rising faster. the way his hands flex like he’s stopping himself from reaching out.
“i couldn’t stop thinking about it,” you whisper. “all night. even when he kissed me… it wasn’t the same.”
gojo’s eyes darken. in two steps he’s in front of you, backing you against the wall without touching. “don’t say shit like that unless you mean it.”
“i do.”
he exhales shakily. “you’re gonna ruin me.”
then he’s kissing you again, harder than yesterday, like the restraint finally snapped. hands in your hair, tilting your head back, tongue sliding against yours with zero hesitation.
you moan into his mouth and he drinks it down, pressing his body flush against yours so you can feel exactly how much he wants you.
“fuck, those sounds,” he growls against your lips. “you have no idea what they do to me.”
you whimper again and he curses, lifting you up so your legs wrap around his waist.
he carries you to the couch without breaking the kiss, laying you down and settling between your thighs. the weight of him is perfect. overwhelming.
his mouth moves to your neck, sucking lightly, teeth grazing. “tell me to stop and i will.”
you don’t. instead your fingers thread through his white hair and tug, pulling him back to your mouth.
he groans, hips rolling against yours once, slow and deliberate. the friction makes you gasp.
“satoru—”
“say it again.”
“satoru.”
he kisses you deeper, messier, one hand sliding up your thigh, under the hem of your skirt. not pushing further, just teasing the edge, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter.
every sound you make drives him crazier. every little whimper and sigh and the way you arch into him like you can’t get close enough. he’s breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours, fighting for control.
“this wasn’t supposed to happen,” he rasps. “i was gonna be good. let you go on your date. be the supportive best friend.”
you kiss him softly this time. “i don’t want supportive right now.”
he laughs, low and wrecked. “good. because i’m about two seconds from showing you exactly how much i’ve been holding back.”
the tension simmers, hot and sweet and dangerous, as his hands roam and his mouth claims yours again and again. practice long forgotten.
only the two of you, years of feelings finally spilling over, and the promise of so much more if you let it.
he pulls back just enough to look at you, lips swollen, eyes hazy with want.
“still think you need more lessons?” he murmurs, smirking even now.
you smile, pulling him back down.
“definitely.”
