synopsis: Choso had thee fattest crush on you. Your hair was so pretty and long and smelt nice. But, not in a weird way! Everyday in class you sit and look pretty…until!
tags:choso kamo x fem!reader,choso being a slight creep, NOT PROOF READ!,college!au,perv!choso, slight sexual content
a/n: keep in mind to all my readers from here on out (and I’ll probably make a post on this asl well,) all of my reader fic will have black readers in mind. Not to the point where it’s just us but if not explicitly stated to be JUST for black readers or non-black, the reader will have black features!
prev—— next
Even though you guys never interacted while having the same classes, you shared the same majors. Being a nurse. Everyday you came to class, you’d always dress in pink. Either in the most beautiful and elegant fashion to simple and cozy on days your weren’t in the mood to dress up. Either way, you always captured his eye. Even through his dark eyeliner.
Not many people talked to him, even though he showed up practically everywhere. To frat parties that his friends hosted or in school events. He was a total loner via college social hierarchy. And it had convinced him enough he was waayyyy out of your league. Across the room sat you. All pretty and pink. Curls bouncing when you dropped your pen. Lashes fluttering as you listened to the professor.
Or as much as you could.
“Alright ladies and gentlemen, it’s coming up to the end of your semester and I decided to make it easier for you all and made it a group project.”
Choso groaned out, softly banging his head against the table. So did the rest of your classmates, all but you of course. “The project is about giving back. Go out to a hospital or an urgent care facility. Truly learn the ropes.” The professor said with excitement, contrasting the student body. “So partner up by the end of this week and come up to me next class with a place and a stamp of approval and I’ll look over them! Class dismiss!”
Choso looks around for some poor sucker picked last, like him to pair up with and get it over with. He picks up his bag and papers. Until…
“Hiii! You’re Choso right?” A soft, frilly sweet voice came into his line of hearing. His palms began to shake and shiver. Sweating sweet bullets on his neck. Oh dear god it was you.
It was you and sweet voice and smell. He knows what you’re wearing. A sweet fragrance from the local fragrance store just ten blocks from the campus. He licked his lips and slowly turned his head to you. “Oh…yes yes I am..?!” He whimpered back. You giggled as you sat beside him. Your tits spilling out slightly. His eyes couldn’t focus on your gaze. “Great! I was wondering..you seemed really lonely all semester and I’ve seen you at parties. I hate to see people being all alone!”
Choso’s eyes softened at you, “Oh really I-I uh try to be as social as possible I guess.” You smile oh so sweetly right there. Your hand drifts towards him. Choso felt his cock body twitch in excitement. You giggle and push your hand off of him. “Yeah! I get it, not everyone is so kind. Still stuck highschool am I right?”
He wanted to say yes everything you say is right, just take me right here and now
“So I was thinking about meeting up somewhere? Like your dorm if that’s okay? My roommate is a bit junky hehe!” Choso nodded before he could say anything from his lips. “YES! I-I mean yeah sure!” He shouted. Choso was flushed. Bright and pink and his eyeliner becoming sloppy from the moment. You laughed your sweet tune. “Alright! Here’s my number m.” You ripped a piece of your notebook, paper pink and wrote your number.
You gave it to him, Choso’s soft and sweaty hands. “Okay see you Choso! Bye!” You got up from the seat and softly tapped down the steps. Almost everyone was gone but Choso was still there.
Still there in moment. Your glitter nails still stinging his hands. His bulge twitching and whining to be released.
fluff . papa!toji x mama!reader . pt. 3 of my dad!toji series
not proofread, please excuse any mistakes
“megumi! where ar’ ya?” toji’s voice boomed out in the backyard, his brows scuffed together, where did the brat wonder off to?
he was only about a year old now, not listening to his father had to be a phase.
hopefully.
running around like a big gorilla, he was glad you were out at town shopping with your girls. he told you to take it easy because he has it allll covered.
⪩⪨
“babe, are you sure?, i can take him with me.” you muttered, patting down your outfit as you looked up at him for his approval and a compliment.
shaking his head, peppering your cheek with kisses. “no no no no, gorgeous, stunning.” he whispered into your skin, nose grazing your ear. “i’ll stay with him, yeah? you take your time and have a break, mama.”
kissing megumi’s chubby cheek, then you were gone.
this should be easy, looking down at megumi, he smirked smugly. “jus’ us, ain’t that right, squirt?” ruffling his hair.
⪩⪨
“MEGUMI FUSHIGURO!”
out of breath and huffing and puffing like a old dog, he sat down on the porch-step and ran his hands down his face,
he wasn’t that athletic anymore, yes he was good built, muscular, etc.
but fatherhood was taking a toll on him. knees cracking when he bends or even going downstairs, his back feeling like it was going to snap if he didn’t find a comfortable position laying down, relaxing, all of that stuff.
joys of fatherhood though,
“papa.” a soft voice made his head turn, “megumi!—“
“look what i have.” holding up a fistful of wiggly worms, his dungarees grass-stained at the knees with tints of mud, dust on his cheeks like cocoa powder,
but beneath all of that, he focused on your features that this little boy inherited. your nose, your mannerisms, your smile (even though baby gumi barely smiles..).
a small perk of a smile on his face, he got up with a stretch of his limbs. “that’s nice, gumi. but put them back, okay? what if someone kidnapped you from your home? would you like it?”
frog blinking, carelessly dropping the worms he scavenged for, “bye wurms.” wishing them a goodbye before clinging to his father’s leg.
“ye’ need a wash.” licking at the scar at the side of his mouth, scooping the boy up despite getting himself dirty and propping him up on his hip.
⪩⪨
with megumi in bed, toji lazed out on the couch. one hand twirling a toothpick in his mouth, picking out the chinese that he recently ate for his dinner, and the other hand holding his phone, you and his message’s open.
hey baby
when you back?
baby love ❤️
i’ll be back soon, me and the girls are finishing up our dinner and yuki will get us all a uber back home
you and megumi okay?
okay, no probs. wanna stay up and see u.
and yea, lil’ monster tuckered out. he’s in his bed.
the soft pitter patter of tiny feet brought his attention from the screen, craning his head up to find megumi waddling over to him.
“pa. can’t sleep.” struggling to push himself up onto the couch beside his father, before managing to get up.
toji rose a brow, switching his phone off and settling it to the side, “swear i just saw you passed out twenty minutes ago, kid.”
sprawling his arms across the back of the couch, watching as the toddler settled against him with a soft breath.
“when mama back?,”
“she’ll be back soon, but don’t you stay up, ‘kay?”
“ok.”
his hand leaving its short spot of the couch to the back of megumi’s back, rubbing it up and down. like a flower starting to wilt, megumi’s eyes shut and he drifted off back to counting sheep.
the need to be with someone that he was comfortable with reminded him of you. always wanting to be cuddled up next to him, all needy and clingy for his attention.
megumi was just a mini you. and he was glad for that.
⪩⪨
saying bye to your homegirls, hugging them all as they dropped you off.
prying your heels off and into a neat shoe wrack, taking your thin coat off and hanging it up.
the house was warm, not eerie, but weirdly comforting.
the temperature was warm, but not too warm, like a embrace. the lighting was dim and candle-lit.
whispering as you peeked your head into the couch, maybe he was asleep since he stopped viewing your messages. “toji! i’m home—“
palming your mouth to stop any noise, mouth forming into a wide grin as you studied the view infront of you;
toji, fast asleep head lowered and his lips holding a delicate smile. with megumi pressed against him, drool spilling out and onto toji’s sweatpant pocket.
the atmosphere was so peaceful and adorable, squealing into your palm. but somehow, toji heard it and opened one eye lazily, smirking at you.
“shh. finally got him asleep. disturbin’ me too.”
“oh stop it,”
moving megumi back to his bed because the position wasn’t good for his neck, changing yourself into some pyjamas, and heading back downstairs.
toji was laying on his side, arms open welcoming you over.
curling against him like a missing jigsaw piece, relaxing your body and shutting your eyes as his fingers ran through your hair.
yea, he was glad megumi wasn’t a mini him.
and he was right that he was just like his mother.
fluff . papa!toji x mama!reader . pt. 3 of my dad!toji series
not proofread, please excuse any mistakes
“megumi! where ar’ ya?” toji’s voice boomed out in the backyard, his brows scuffed together, where did the brat wonder off to?
he was only about a year old now, not listening to his father had to be a phase.
hopefully.
running around like a big gorilla, he was glad you were out at town shopping with your girls. he told you to take it easy because he has it allll covered.
⪩⪨
“babe, are you sure?, i can take him with me.” you muttered, patting down your outfit as you looked up at him for his approval and a compliment.
shaking his head, peppering your cheek with kisses. “no no no no, gorgeous, stunning.” he whispered into your skin, nose grazing your ear. “i’ll stay with him, yeah? you take your time and have a break, mama.”
kissing megumi’s chubby cheek, then you were gone.
this should be easy, looking down at megumi, he smirked smugly. “jus’ us, ain’t that right, squirt?” ruffling his hair.
⪩⪨
“MEGUMI FUSHIGURO!”
out of breath and huffing and puffing like a old dog, he sat down on the porch-step and ran his hands down his face,
he wasn’t that athletic anymore, yes he was good built, muscular, etc.
but fatherhood was taking a toll on him. knees cracking when he bends or even going downstairs, his back feeling like it was going to snap if he didn’t find a comfortable position laying down, relaxing, all of that stuff.
joys of fatherhood though,
“papa.” a soft voice made his head turn, “megumi!—“
“look what i have.” holding up a fistful of wiggly worms, his dungarees grass-stained at the knees with tints of mud, dust on his cheeks like cocoa powder,
but beneath all of that, he focused on your features that this little boy inherited. your nose, your mannerisms, your smile (even though baby gumi barely smiles..).
a small perk of a smile on his face, he got up with a stretch of his limbs. “that’s nice, gumi. but put them back, okay? what if someone kidnapped you from your home? would you like it?”
frog blinking, carelessly dropping the worms he scavenged for, “bye wurms.” wishing them a goodbye before clinging to his father’s leg.
“ye’ need a wash.” licking at the scar at the side of his mouth, scooping the boy up despite getting himself dirty and propping him up on his hip.
⪩⪨
with megumi in bed, toji lazed out on the couch. one hand twirling a toothpick in his mouth, picking out the chinese that he recently ate for his dinner, and the other hand holding his phone, you and his message’s open.
hey baby
when you back?
baby love ❤️
i’ll be back soon, me and the girls are finishing up our dinner and yuki will get us all a uber back home
you and megumi okay?
okay, no probs. wanna stay up and see u.
and yea, lil’ monster tuckered out. he’s in his bed.
the soft pitter patter of tiny feet brought his attention from the screen, craning his head up to find megumi waddling over to him.
“pa. can’t sleep.” struggling to push himself up onto the couch beside his father, before managing to get up.
toji rose a brow, switching his phone off and settling it to the side, “swear i just saw you passed out twenty minutes ago, kid.”
sprawling his arms across the back of the couch, watching as the toddler settled against him with a soft breath.
“when mama back?,”
“she’ll be back soon, but don’t you stay up, ‘kay?”
“ok.”
his hand leaving its short spot of the couch to the back of megumi’s back, rubbing it up and down. like a flower starting to wilt, megumi’s eyes shut and he drifted off back to counting sheep.
the need to be with someone that he was comfortable with reminded him of you. always wanting to be cuddled up next to him, all needy and clingy for his attention.
megumi was just a mini you. and he was glad for that.
⪩⪨
saying bye to your homegirls, hugging them all as they dropped you off.
prying your heels off and into a neat shoe wrack, taking your thin coat off and hanging it up.
the house was warm, not eerie, but weirdly comforting.
the temperature was warm, but not too warm, like a embrace. the lighting was dim and candle-lit.
whispering as you peeked your head into the couch, maybe he was asleep since he stopped viewing your messages. “toji! i’m home—“
palming your mouth to stop any noise, mouth forming into a wide grin as you studied the view infront of you;
toji, fast asleep head lowered and his lips holding a delicate smile. with megumi pressed against him, drool spilling out and onto toji’s sweatpant pocket.
the atmosphere was so peaceful and adorable, squealing into your palm. but somehow, toji heard it and opened one eye lazily, smirking at you.
“shh. finally got him asleep. disturbin’ me too.”
“oh stop it,”
moving megumi back to his bed because the position wasn’t good for his neck, changing yourself into some pyjamas, and heading back downstairs.
toji was laying on his side, arms open welcoming you over.
curling against him like a missing jigsaw piece, relaxing your body and shutting your eyes as his fingers ran through your hair.
yea, he was glad megumi wasn’t a mini him.
and he was right that he was just like his mother.
you’re the adenine to my thymine, the guanine to my cytosine
nerdjo as your lab partner is like basically winning the lottery because he knows almost everything so it was really easy for you, even through long 4 hour experiments, you hadn’t struggled once since you have him to guide you through it.
nerdjo as your lab partner, who always asks if you understand the material and if you want an explanation because he’s definitely more than happy to do so, just so he can talk to you.
nerdjo as your lab partner, he enjoys every session and every minute of the 4 hours of partner work because he likes being close to you, and having you as his partner.
nerdjo as your lab partner always carries an extra hairtie and clips ‘just in case’ for you when you forgot to bring your makeup pouch today as you were in a rush.
nerdjo as your lab partner always sends you his personal, detailed and neat notes of the material needed for the test to you, he says “i don’t want you to fail, you’re my lab partner,” he can’t let you fail after going through so much in a term.
nerdjo as your lab partner, finally gathers the courage to ask you to a study date session to go over the compiled data over the weeks for the project. to which you say yes, you’re grateful for all his help in this, so you bring him a treat when you meet him in the study room.
nerdjo as your lab partner, who you learn has a sweet tooth, was surprised to receive a pastry from you. he munched on it happily before saying he’ll get you a treat next time. next time? oh so there will be more meetups in the future…
nerdjo as your lab partner, after multiple continuous sessions, you both feel more acquainted with each other. you both start hanging out more at his dorm, for all his notes and books are there so it’s easy access for you to study comfortably.
nerdjo as your lab partner, who now becomes your bestfriend. you both do everything together. going for lunch, walking to classes, shopping on the weekends, going to science conventions. you enjoy every moment with him because he’s funny and naturally charming. not to mention smart (and handsome too). you’re lucky to have him.
nerdjo as your bestfriend could say the same about you. before being assigned as lab partners, he had his eye on you ever since you walked into the class. he sat a few seats behind you in the lecture hall. he could see the way you focus, the way you write, the way you take a short nap with your head on the desk.
he’s liked you since the beginning. you can’t imagine how happy he must’ve been when he was assigned as your lab partner. he talked geto’s ear off about how he gets to be in your proximity much more now and better yet, even have conversations with you.
but he never would actually confess to you, too scared to ruin your precious relationship. he’s heartbroken but, for the sake of you, he’ll get through it.
it wasn’t until one day you dragged him to a party, hosted by the fraternity. shoko invited you, and you decided to bring satoru out as an opportunity to get his head out of the books. it’s been weeks since he left his dorm, busied with studying even with the term ending.
nerdjo wasn’t too thrilled to spend his saturday night at a party, let alone hosted by the fraternity. he knew some of the frat brothers: sukuna, toji and his own bestfriend suguru. so overall, he didn’t mind coming especially since you’ll be there too.
you go and grab drinks for the both of you, while he waits in a corner, uninterested in everything happening around him. he didn’t realise suddenly how long it took for you to come back with drinks. maybe you got caught up with a friend and forgot for a moment? that’s fine, he’ll just come to you instead.
he pushes past bodies of people dancing and gyrating. he reaches the entrance of the huge kitchen, and spots you holding two cups. one must be for him. you’re talking to someone but he couldn’t see them yet. he’s still trying to get inside to the kitchen and theres people blocking his view, blocking the person you’re laughing away with.when he finally manages to squeeze in, he stops in his tracks, see you talking to another guy he doesn’t recognise. but you seem confident and comfortable with him, laughing at whatever he’s rambling about.
he feels his heart sink a bit. you never really laughed that hard at whatever he says. mainly his stupid chemistry jokes, or jokes about people in the class. that was then he realised, he was just as pathetic as a teenage boy getting their heartbroken for the first time. feeling unconfident suddenly, he steps back and heads for the door to get out. hanging his head low, with his hands in his navy blue hoodie, specs falling down to the edge of his nose but he doesn’t bother pushing it up. he drags his feet and walk back home.
the following days, he hasn’t texted you, nor seen you over the weekend or on campus until finally on thursday, it was you and nerdjo’s second last lab session together. you’re both sitting beside each other, your hands resting on the benchtop. your pens and notebook scattered on the top. beside you, nerdjo’s as quiet as a mouse, still and focused on his notebook in front of him.
none of you had spoken a word, none of you had seen each other since the party. you both were still quiet for a few more moments, as your professors voices continues to echo as background noise now, explaining about some research article. you quietly tear a piece of paper from your notebook and scribble something on it, folding it before sliding it to him.
are you okay?
he reads it, pausing for a moment before reaching for his own pen to scribble an answer back.
i’m fine
back to you again, you read and write a reply.
what happened last week? we didn’t see each other for days after the party, where did u go?
back to him.
i left, too much noise and people.
to you
oh, but u could have told me b4 u left.. i was worried when i cldnt find u
to him
yea sry, parties r not my thing.
okay, i missed u
.. u cant js write that after wht i saw at the party.
? what did u see?
u talking to that guy at the party. is he ur bf? or friend
why does it matter to u? do yk him?
no.. whatever, it’s ok forget it
it doesn’t sound ok, were u perhaps jealous?
you slid the paper to him, with a little smirk but your face still facing the front, pretending to pay attention to your professor.
he reads it, and you could see him tense up for a moment before writing,
no, i was js upset u talked to another guy when u brought ME to the party.
so u WERE jealous. cute, but to tell u the truth, that guy i was talking to, is my cousin. i ran into him there bc i didnt know he knew sukuna well. i was really sad when i cldnt find u yk.. u left me alone
upon reading what you wrote, he froze. guilt washed over him. how could he have been so silly? he quickly writes, completely ignoring that he just admitted he was jealous afterall.
oh… i didn’t know.. i’m sorry, i let the worse get to me. i just like u alot. ure very dear to me.
ure very dear to me too, u dont have to worry about anyone. i always have preferred u
he smiles to himself, folding the paper and keeping it safe in his pocket. you noticed and giggle quietly at the scene. you both couldn’t keep your smile throughout the lab session, continuing to work like nothing bad had ever happened. after lab, you both finally speak, and agree to lunch together. it was all back to normal, or even better than normal. you both knew it, and you both were happy.
the next day is a friday, the final lab session you have together. you’ll miss being in a lab with him. he was a tiptop lab partner.soon enough, your lab partner walks in, he’s already wearing his lab coat, his gloves and his safety goggles resting on his head like it’s his sunglasses.
he’s holding something in his palms, it’s flat and round. you tried to take a closer look, it’s an agar plate? he must’ve incubated some bacteria overnight and he’s just now taking it out for observation. you paid no mind to it.
he sits next to you, not saying anything as he faces the front. you give him a weird look, whats up with him today? he notices your face and smiles softly. his cheeks dusted with pink and his glasses are slightly crooked on his face.
he then hands you the agar plate with the bacteria. what, did he want you to check out his amazing streaking technique? but when you grab and look down on the plate, there it reads,
y/n, will you be my forever partner?
written and spelled out in bacteria colonies. it was a little squeezed and lopsided due to the growth of the bacteria but you can’t help but laugh when you see it. it was absolutely adorable, and a perfect scientist joke. satoru smiles when he sees you laugh so hard at the little agar plate, you nodded and eventually make out an audible ‘yes’ through your fit of laughter. you set the plate down and move to him to give him a hug, and a small, sneaky kiss on the cheek.
his glasses completely crooked from you smushing your face to his face. you both smile and you stay a little longer in the hug. the other students give you guys funny looks, but they’re too bothered by their own experiments to give a reaction. the reality of working in the lab, is you’ll see weirder things.
nerdjo being your lab partner was the perfect results for a successful experiment. there was no steps to follow, just trial and error, and after many attempts, it turned out to have the perfect standard curve. with him as once your lab partner, now your forever partner.
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
hi newblog and it’s my first fic i hope you enjoy it… <3
“you’re a tiptop labmate” picture is by @/science.collective on instagram!!
you're heartbroken when your crush, yuji itadori starts dating ozawa. luckily for you, megumi steps up to be there for you.
an: no ozawa slander here she was just a good place holder, possible mischaracterization of megumi (idk i've written for him like once sowwy), AGED UP AU where they are adults in their final year, this was meant to be super short but i feel like megumi is the type of guy who requires a lot of build up so sorry this is rushed and awkward and perverted and frankly insane but it's on brand for me. also if you hate how weird i made the reader then my apologies just bare with me i like a good giggle while writing.
warnings: light angst, male receiving oral, false rumors, reader is inexperienced, fingering, p in v sex, jealous megumi
wc: 6.6k
It started the night Yuji texted the groupchat that him and Ozawa had finally made it official. You barely managed to hold it together, tears spilling from your eyes as you saw everyone congratulate Yuji on finally getting a girlfriend. He followed it up with pictures from their most recent date: A big bouquet of flowers, a pile of assorted chocolates, and a big sign that spelled 'Will you be my girlfriend?' flooded your phone all at once. Maki pops into the chat, immediately roasting his handwriting while Todo reacts with a thumbs up emoji followed by "Congrats my brother". While your friends blow up the chat you can't help yourself from staring at the photo Ozawa took of him holding up the sign, his fluffy pink hair just above his eyes, the biggest smile you think you've ever seen plastered across his face as he posed for the picture. After a couple of shaky breaths, you fight between mustering up your own congratulations or muting the group chat all together when a notification from Megumi pops up.
"Are you ok?"
Your eyebrows knit together, thumbs frozen as you tried to figure out what he meant. You hadn't told anyone (not even Nobara) about your crush. But another notification came up regardless,
"I know about your crush on Yuji."
This makes you sit up in bed. Your shaky hands type out a quick response.
"How?"
You held your breath as you wait for his response, watching his text bubbles like your life depended on it.
"I figured it out the day they met"
You remember that day like it was yesterday. Nobara had run into Ozawa and reintroduced them to each other. You went completely still in the booth beside Megumi, frozen in shock at the obvious attraction Yuji held for his middle school classmate. Since that day, Nobara took on the mission of wing woman, doing any and everything to get them together and at that point you didn't have it in you to tell her about your crush. Knowing that if you did, she would choose loyalty to you over Yuji's potential happiness with Ozawa — and you couldn't let that happen. Your love for Yuji trumped your own feelings, and you swallowed it down and let fate decide.
Unfortunately for you, it had decided against you.
"Was I that obvious?"
You remember being upset that day — and that was definitely downplaying it. You were absolutely devastated. You hid in your hoodie as Yuji and Ozawa caught up, choosing to stare out the window and disassociate for a while to keep yourself from crying.
"To me." he responds. You're not sure what to say to that, and maybe it should surprise you, but honestly it didn't. Megumi was the silent type. Always observing and only occasionally interacting. Not that he was aloof or awkward in any sense. He was just calculated, and chose his words very carefully. It came as no surprise that he picked up on things that others wouldn't notice. "Are you ok?" He asks again and you swallow roughly.
"I will be." Is the best answer you can think of. After pressing send, you turn your phone off for the rest of the night and cry yourself to sleep.
-
Surprisingly, Megumi's support didn't end there. The next day your favorite boba order was on your desk in Gojo's class. There was no note along with it, but you didn't need one. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Megumi studying your reaction. You punch the straw through the top and take a sip before turning to him. Mouthing a silent 'thank you' as you fiddled with the straw wrapper. Megumi barely even twitched, just turned his attention back to Gojo teaching at the front of the class.
Later that day he also conveniently had your favorite snack waiting for you in his pocket, handing it to you after you had finished sparing with him. "Is this a sorry for kicking my ass?" you joke with him, slightly out of breathe and dewy with sweat.
"If that makes you happy, then sure," he shrugs, eyes watching as you unwrap the treat and take a bite. "S'good?"
"Delicious," you nod, taking another quick bite. You cover your mouth, acutely aware of him watching you scarf it down. While you had a crush on Yuji from the moment you met him, there was still no denying that Megumi was attractive. Almost intimidatingly so, and watching you eat with such intensity was more than a little nerve-wrecking. Your face felt hot, and not just from the workout you got. "Thanks," you say simply after you swallow your last bite and he nods, holding out his hand. You stare at it questioningly and he flicks his fingers while looking at the wrapper. You hesitantly place it in his palm and his fists close around it, pocketing it before walking away.
His treatment of you stayed the same for weeks to come. He'd always have exactly what you were craving on hand, stealing glances at you in class to make sure you were alright. You were incredibly appreciative, albeit a little confused but perhaps you two were a closer than you originally thought. Which you didn't mind at all, in fact it felt like quite the honor to have Megumi care about you.
You thought his newly found attention, if that was even the right word, reached its absolute max one night when Yuji and Todo began bickering in the group chat, arguing about who knew what girls liked best after Todo's most recent failed date. Turns out, girls aren't really impressed with a guy who brags about his immense knowledge on the Japanese idol Nobuko Takada… who would've thought.
Yuji of course had to rub his own successful relationship in Todo's face, telling him the obvious "don't talk to girls about other girls. i would know, i have one." You didn't even realize you were biting the inside of your cheek until your mouth started to taste like pennies. You scrunch your nose up, about to throw your phone out your dorm window when a new message popped up.
"You both are useless idiots. Stop blowing up the group chat with this stupid shit."
You couldn't fight the laugh that left you as a series of text messages appeared.
"You go a whole month without texting in here and this is what you say when you come back??" You could practically hear Yuji whining as you read his message.
"What do you even know about women? Can't tell me his type but can tell me I'm an idiot"
The messages devolve into empty insults and inside jokes, completely moving on from the original topic and you know Megumi had done that on purpose. Yuji was right, he almost never texted. Let alone two full sentences. You quickly slid over to his chat, sending him a "thank you" which he thumbs up almost immediately.
-
Ok, so you were wrong. His attention for you climaxed when he asked if you wanted to see the new Human Earthworm movie with him. His hand scratched the back of his head waiting for your response while you just about spit up your soda.
"I thought you hated those movies," you choke out, barely recovering.
"Yeah well, I know Yuji and you were planning on seeing it together…" he says like the obvious conclusion would be that he would now take you.
"T-thank you," you swallow harshly, all too aware of his dark eyes watching your every movement. "You don't have to do that though," you start.
"Well I want to," he says and his eyes go wide, like he said something he shouldn't have and he clears his throat. "We don't have to."
"I mean.. if you're offering," your eyes are glued to the speck of dirt on your shoe as he nods. He confirms a time that works for you and then walks away, black hair disappearing back to where Yuji and Panda were chatting. You felt frozen in time, listening to the hum of the vending machine beside you as you watch him join them, confused yet excited nonetheless.
-
Unfortunately, the time you both agreed on no longer worked as Megumi was sent on a solo mission the next day. Before he left he stopped by your dorm room, uniform neat and hair messy in its usual contained way. He towered above you without even trying, swallowing thickly as he promised that he'd watch the movie with you when he came back. You promised you'd wait for him in return. He let out a shaky sigh before saying goodbye, turning to leave for an undetermined amount of time. The days that passed were slow and uneventful without Megumi. You hadn't realized just how vital he was in preventing a total breakdown. But, being stuck with no one but Yuji and Nobara to entertain you left you stuck in your old ways; yearning for Yuji while knowing he liked someone else. Only now they were together and you had to sit and listen to Yuji sharing every detail of his relationship — even some of the more intimate ones.
"I can't believe I went this long without knowing what head feels like," Yuji shared while the three of you were on a snack run. Your eyes just about popped out of their sockets and Nobara howled with laughter.
"Good for you," she said, patting his shoulder, "but never say that shit around me again." You nodded in agreeance, trying to fight the urge to rip your skin off while Yuji looked into the distance, clearly reminiscing. Nobara grimaced, flicking his forehead to bring him back to earth.
Thankfully that was as bad as it got, but you still had to quite the time fighting off that image in your head later that night. It started off with you picturing yourself between his thighs, Yuji looking down at you with his big brown eyes, anxiously awaiting your mouth on his package. You could practically feel your mouth watering at the thought of him heavy on your tongue, your hand instinctively traveling beneath your pajamas as you continued to picture it. He'd be so gentle, helping you slide down his pants, and then his boxers, his long length springing out and dangling dangerously in front of you. You'd follow the thick vein you imagined he had on the underside of him, trailing your tongue up his shaft to his tip. He'd grab your hair, but not roughly. Never roughly. "Keep going," he'd sigh, eyes droopy now as you begun to swallow his tip. He'd tighten his grip just slightly, pleading with you. Letting you know just how good of a job you were doing. In your bed, your fingers find your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles while you imagine taking all of him in your mouth. He'd probably groan, rough and deep like he does when he gets injured and your entrance clenches around nothing. Your mouth feels dry as you drag your fingers in between your folds, losing yourself to your imagination. Wetness trickles out of you, coating your digits as you get more into it. Would he eventually fuck your throat if you teased him enough? Imaging Yuji taking you fast and rough always did it for you. Your fingers sped up, panting as the Yuji in your head told you that you take his cock beautifully. You're close. Ridiculously close as his dick twitches in your throat. "Fuck, I'm cumming, Ozawa," he says and you freeze. Realization hits you like a truck and you rip your hand from your pants. You run your other hand through your hair, cursing yourself. Even in your fantasies Yuji wants Ozawa.
You're so fucked.
-
When Megumi finally comes back you can't help but run to catch up to him, pulling him into a tight hug. He stumbles back at first, arms down at his side as he processes what is happening. He slowly embraces you back, awkwardly patting your back. The courtyard feels hotter than usual, muggy and eerily quiet while the two of you stand there. It doesn't take long for you to realize your mistake, pulling back awkwardly. "It's good to see you Megumi," you awkwardly choke out. You turn around to head back inside, only to see Yuji and Nobara looking at you like you just grew three heads. You clear your throat, clenching your fists and keeping your head down as you walk past them — unsure how you're going to explain your reaction to Nobara.
After you all share an awkward dinner together, you head back to your room with Nobara hot on your heels. You try and fail to close the door on her — both of her hands coming up to brace against it.
"What the hell was that?" she asks, not bothering to keep her voice down.
"What was what?" you decide to play dumb.
"You and Megumi," she crosses her arms, eyes squinting at you accusingly.
"I don't know… I just… missed him," you say, your inflection going up at the end so it sounds more like a question than an answer.
"Right…." she responds accusingly. "You… missed him." You nod, burying yourself deeper into the hole you dug yourself. "Is there something you're not telling me?" she accuses.
You cock your head, waiting for her to finish her thought.
"Do you like Megumi?" Your mouth gapes open and you pause for a moment, unsure what to say.
"Of course. He's a good friend," you try bullshitting but Nobara is too quick.
"You know that's not what I meant, dumbass." She frowns at you, clearly annoyed with your lame responses. You shrug, sitting down on your bed to play with one of the loose strings on your blankets.
She stares down at you, clearly unimpressed. "You've been acting so weird. You and Megumi." You don't bother to respond because you both know she's right. Instead you sink back further into your bed, hoping to melt through it. "Whatever," she huffs out, turning to leave and slamming your door. You pull your pillow from behind your head and bury your face in it. You feel terrible for keeping things from her but if you told her what was really going on, you knew she'd feel bad about the whole Yuji situation. Megumi pitying you was embarrassing enough. You didn't need Nobara in the mix. Knowing her, she'd probably break them up herself. You groan, throwing your pillow across the room. Slipping your tennis shoes on, you grab your headphones and decide to go for a much needed walk.
-
You both had kept your promise about the movie. Unfortunately, Human Earthworm was no longer in theaters by the time Megumi came back. Instead, you settled on watching a random movie in his dorm. When you first stepped inside it, you were taken aback at how clean everything was. Aside from a jacket on his desk chair and a few notes you presumed he took in Gojo's class the place was spotless. It also smelled immaculate — crisp sea breeze and sandalwood — did Megumi have a candle hiding in one of his drawers?
You took a seat on his bed as he typed away on his laptop, searching for a movie you'd both enjoy. He somehow managed to make gray sweatpants and a black t shirt look put together and you couldn't help but pick at your pajama pants you've had for years, silently cursing yourself for choosing to wear that pair in front of him. Wait, why did you even care?
"I'm assuming you want to watch a horror movie?" You nodded, sliding closer to him to see what movies he was looking at. Megumi stiffens briefly, hand freezing over the track pad before snapping out of it. He scrolled down Netflix until you saw a movie that looked interesting.
"That one," you pointed and he clicked on it without a second thought. You both tried your best to get comfortable on his twin size bed, but it was quite the effort to avoid touching each other. Eventually you settled in, shoulders just grazing the other's as the movie played. It was a pretty awkward hour and a half between the two of you. Every time you would shift Megumi would tense up, before releasing a shaky breath. He didn't even flinch at jump scares and from his face alone you couldn't tell if he was enjoying it.
"We don't have to watch this…" you started and he shook his head, looking over at you. The only light in his room came from the laptop, the movie creating shadows that danced across his face.
"This is fine." Choosing to drop it, you turn back to the movie, chewing on your lip absentmindedly. As the movie neared its end, Megumi recieved a text. The ding goes off, causing you to jump. He doesn't so much as move, choosing to ignore it until two more dings come through. He opens his phone and you scooch ever so slightly closer to read what's on his screen.
"What's up with you two?"
"Since when did you get so close?"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Three messages from Yuji light up the room and Megumi fumbles to turn his phone off, clearly embarrassed Yuji is asking about you. You let out a chuckle, remembering how Nobara has been absolutely grilling you. Megumi turns to you. It's hard to see in the dark but you can tell he's flustered.
"I'm glad to see you've been dealing with that too," you tell him.
"What do you mean?" He looks down at you, his long lashes fluttering.
"Nobara is a menace," you tell him and when he doesn't respond you elaborate further. "She's been asking about that…" you pause, suddenly feeling hot.
"About?" his deep voice makes you shiver. By this point, the movie has been completely forgotten.
"The hug," you say, swallowing thickly. "Sorry," you shake your head, looking away. Surprisingly, his hand comes up to cup your chin, turning your face to look at him.
"Why do you always look away from me?" he asks, eyes dropping down to look at your mouth before meeting your eyes again.
You're absolutely stun locked, your brain short circuiting at the proximity. You don't think you've ever been this close to Megumi before. His eyes were mesmerizing, dark blue like the ocean at night and you almost hiccuped at the thought. This is the type of school girl shit you usually reserved for Yuji. You lick your lips at the realization, desperate to wet your dry mouth. Megumi follows the movement with his eyes and swallows roughly, like he's having the same problem as you. Before either of you can do anything further a thunderous knock shakes his door.
"Megs!" Yuji shouts and you jump. You both separate quickly when the door knob turns. "You gotta see this video dude," he says, opening the door to see you both looking guilty on his bed. The credits of the movie plays quietly as Yuji stares at you two in silent shock. "Oh sorry…" he starts, beginning to turn back around.
"I was just l-leaving," you tell him, slipping past Yuji and nearly tripping over your own feet to get back to your room.
-
Getting over Yuji felt like a piece of cake compared to what you were dealing with now. Yuji of course told Nobara about the situation he caught you and Megumi in and both of their imaginations had run wild. First it was he caught you two kissing. Then it escalated to getting caught with his hands in your pants. You always had a feeling Yuji was a pervert, and that was something you secretly enjoyed about him. But now, it was too much. Nobara had clung onto the piece of gossip like it was gospel. Jumping at the opportunity to tell the girl's only group chat that Yuji caught Megumi and you — of all people — going to second base. You could only imagine what Yuji was saying in the guy's group chat. You wanted to cry. No, you wanted to throw up. But most of all you wished it was at least true. You were an adult and the sexiest thing you'd done was have intense eye contact with a guy who didn't like you. Life surely had its way of humbling you.
Megumi started to treat you like you were the plague, which landed you in Gojo's office. Begging — no pleading to get sent on a mission. "Out of the country would be preferred," you beg him, about to get on your hands and knees to do it properly.
"Well I can't promise out of the country," he starts.
"Anything will do. Anything," you heave. He fights the smirk creeping on his face as he taps on his desk.
"I was just about to send Megumi to Okinawa…" he muses and you sigh in relief.
"That would be perfect," you tell him and he shoots you a grin.
"Perfect. I'll update the hotel reservation to include two beds." You pause for a second, confused as to what he meant.
"Two beds?" you ask, dumbfounded as your teacher stands up. You crane your neck to look up at him, following him out of the classroom now.
"Well for you and Megumi of course," he says like it was obvious. You stumble as you try to keep up with him, putting in all your effort to get ahead of him.
"No no no… I meant alone," you emphasize the alone part, your throat restricting at the fact you just included yourself in Megumi's mission when that's the last thing he'd want.
"No offense, I can't send you alone," he says simply. Offense was taken, but you continue following him regardless. "Plus, this will be a great learning experience for you. I think this is just what you need," he tells you, fluffing up your hair before disappearing down the hall.
-
"I thought I was going alone," Megumi choked out, standing beside you in Gojo's office.
"Change of plans, 'Gumi," Gojo put simply, chewing on the end of his pen. You squirmed beside him, wishing the ground would swallow you whole as Megumi went through the 5 stages of grief. Gojo watched the two of you in pure amusement, clearly privy to at least some of the rumors. If it wasn't for his infinity you swore you would reach across his desk and choke him out.
Megumi refused to look at you, finally coming to terms with the new mission update. "Ok," he finally accepted. "When are we leaving?"
"Same time. Tomorrow morning. Any other questions?"
Megumi shook his head and Gojo turned to you, awaiting your response.
"No sir," you barely got out.
"Perfect! Safe travels," he sing-songs, dismissing you with a simple wave of his hand.
You both quickly move to leave, bumping into one another in the process.
"You go first," Megumi says gruffly. You nod, opening the door to his office and turning right. You hear Megumi leave shortly after, choosing to turn left down the hallway instead.
-
The mission was turning out to be miserable. Not because the curses were particularly difficult or the weather was bad. Quite the opposite, in fact. The sun was shining and the ocean breeze did its job at keeping you cool. It was also obvious that Megumi would have had no problem doing this mission alone, and the guilt ate you up inside. Not only were you basically dead weight, the nights you spent sleeping on the hotel room floor definitely begun to take its toll halfway through.
Of course the hotel had never gotten the updated room request, and the two of you had walked right into a one bedroom suite. Megumi wasted no time arguing with the front desk on the hotel phone and you sat awkwardly on the desk chair waiting for an update. After a couple of minutes Megumi ended the call by slamming the phone down. His hand shot up to run through his hair, clearly stressed. You did your best to ignore how his shirt lifted up in the process, exposing the defined abs he usually hid and instead started to set up a place for yourself on the floor.
"What the hell are you doing?" He asked, watching you drag the comforter off the bed.
"Making my bed," you put simply.
He said your name like it vexxed him, "Don't be stupid, you're taking the bed."
"No I'm not," you put simply, walking up to where he sat on the bed to grab a pillow. He grabbed your wrist, forcing you to stop. "Megumi, I wasn't even supposed to be here. I'm taking the fucking floor," you said like it was final. He sighed, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath and leaning his head back. Clearly not in the mood to argue with you.
"Ok. Fine."
"Thank you," you grunted, finishing your makeshift bed.
-
It was three nights in and a near death experience from your lack of sleep that had Megumi damn near wrestling you into bed. You were no match for his strength especially due to your recent injuries from a curse that almost blew you up if not for Megumi saving you at the very last minute, but you fought him off regardless.
"Megumi get off," you hissed, trying to peel his arms off of your middle as he bear hugged you from behind.
"Lay down then," he grunted, fighting against your wriggling body. You put up quite the fight. Kicking and punching at him, trying anything to get out of his grasp and back to your shitty bed on the floor. If you weren't running on 4 collective hours of sleep you would have died from the close contact between the two of you. He pressed you against his hard abdomen, snaking his long legs around yours to keep you from kicking back at him. "Why are you acting like this?" He asked, his breath hot on your ear. Really, you could ask him the same question. Why the hell was he wasting his time wrestling you to bed?
"Cause this is all my fault," you whined, still trying to free yourself even though you knew it was futile. You could feel him trying to catch his breath now that he finally locked down all your limbs. His chest rising and falling steadily against your back. While he seemed weak you tried to free an arm from his grasp again, awkwardly trying to move it up and around. His own hand slipped, and he desperately reached out to grab it, trying to get you back under control. What neither of you expected was for him to grab your boob in the process. You both stilled, realizing what he did. He didn't waste another second though, reaching for your wrist and locking you back down. You let out a pathetic whine. "Megumi, get off!"
"Go to sleep," he huffed out, tightening his legs around you.
"Why do you even care?" You finally went limp in his arms, deciding to give up.
"Because you almost died, dumbass. You need sleep." He put it so simply you had to laugh, your sleep deprived brain still having difficulties processing just how serious the situation could have been if not for Megumi. It was infuriating, honestly. He was a natural born sorcerer. Skilled and steady and most importantly always expecting the unexpected. It was so frustrating. So so so frustrating. Your chest begins to heave and Megumi tightens around you again, as if he's expecting you to put up another fight. "What do you need to hear?" Megumi begins to plead.
"What the hell does that mean?" you rear up to start another argument.
"Do you need to hear that you scared the shit out of me today? That I could have swore I didn't save you in time. Is that it?" your brain was putty at this point and you blink once. Twice. Three times. You wriggle and Megumi graciously gives you room, allowing you to face him. You try to focus your eyes on his face, the plush feeling of the bed distracting you as your lids kept closing against your will. "Go to sleep," he all but whispered, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.
-
You woke up to something tickling the back of your head and you instinctively reach around to smack it.
"Ow!" You heard, your eyes struggling to adjust to the dark as you grew more and more coherent. A warm hand on your stomach was the second thing you processed, before everything came crashing down to you.
"Megumi?" you ask and he pulls his arm back, as if he too just realized it was snaked around your waist.
You both sat up, staring at each other. The two of you still in your jujutsu uniforms. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness you could make out his face better, and you almost let out a whimper. His hair was down in his eyes, his cheeks rosy and skin coated in a light sheen of sweat. He looked like sex incarnate and you hated yourself. What happened before you fell asleep hits you like a bus and you realized you two were all but frolicking in bed together. Fully clothed but your mind didn't care. You were totally inexperienced with the opposite sex. Breathing in the same room with them felt like an intimate act at this point. What you and Megumi did was like your version of third base. He was breathing heavily too, staring at you with the same intensity you aimed at him but neither of you made a move. The room felt humid, your clothes felt restricting, and the pooling slick between your legs only heightened how sticky everything felt.
"Oh my god you touched my boob," you spill, unable to keep the memory to yourself as it came hurdling through your mind. Megumi turns white as a ghost at your words.
"I didn't mean to," he groans, dragging his hands through his hair.
"But you did!" you insist and he collapses against the pillow behind him. You sit up further, keeping your attention on him, secretly hoping that if you piss him off enough he'll kick you out of bed. Praying that it would finally relieve you of all the dirty thoughts running through your mind.
"I'm sorry," it comes out quick and it's probably your imagination but he doesn't look apologetic.
"You are?" you ask, a little too quickly.
"What are you getting at?"
"Would you do it again?" That's it. You've officially short circuited Megumi. His mouth drops open, tired eyes now wide open. His eyebrows damn near touching his hairline. You boldly grab his hand and to your surprise he doesn't fight you. Instead he lets you slowly guide it to your chest, eyelashes fluttering as soon as his palm touches your plush breast. You swallow, watching his face intently as you guide his fingers into squeezing it. He lets out a soft groan, taking over and massaging your chest at his own pace. Your nipples harden almost immediately and he doesn't think twice before giving it a little pinch. You moan lightly and he does it again, desperate to hear you make that sound again. Megumi plays with your chest for a while, like he's just happy you allowed him to touch you there. Both hands encapsulating your breast over your shirt. "Take if off," you tell him and he nods, eagerly unbuttoning it. Once it's off he stares at your bra, like he's too scared to ask but you reach around and unclasp it before he even has to. Your breasts hit the cool air and Megumi's tongue immediately reaches out. Licking and suckling on your chest as your head falls back. You're properly wet with his spit and you'd think any other guy would get bored of playing with your tits by now but Megumi is enjoying finding new ways to tease you. Licking and nipping all over as his fingers twiddle with your nipples. "Megumi," you begin, "I need more."
"Anything," he pulls back, like he's ready to give you whatever you ask for.
"I-I don't know what I want," you swallow and Megumi could have died right there. You were perfect for him. Untouched and yet so needy. He pauses for a moment before cupping your cheek and kissing you softly, just like he wanted to do in his bedroom all those nights ago. He leaves soft little pecks, buttering you up as his thumb trails down your throat. You hiccup and he kisses you deeper, his warm lips encompassing yours. He claims you with his mouth, growing desperate as you begin to grind against nothing. He continues to kiss you, his hands working to shimmy your skirt and underwear down your legs. You're left bare in front of him, while he's still fully clothed. You move to pull his shirt off and he helps you, peeling it off of him and throwing it somewhere off the bed. He sits up, guiding you to lay back as he leans over you. He goes back to kissing you, slow and torturous and you're about to say something but then his fingers find your folds and you moan into his mouth. He's meticulous, rubbing slow, sensual circles on your clit. Your hips lift off the bed, unable to hide how needy you were for him. His fingers begin to pick up speed as you whine into his mouth and the room echoes with the sound of his fingers on your wet pussy. You want to hide from embarrassment, appalled at how wet you are but Megumi groans like it's the hottest thing he's heard in his life. You feel the string in your stomach tensing and tightening and you know you're getting close to coming undone. "Meg, Meg," you whine, letting him know that you were close. He slows down, determined to make this last as his fingers find your entrance. He watches you intensely, one finger slowly plunging into you. You think this is the best thing you've ever felt, eyes rolling blissfully back, in awe at how far his finger can go compared to yours. He slowly pulls it out, sitting back to watch the slick that now coats his knuckle.
"Fuck," he breathes out. "You're so wet," he observes, sliding his finger back in just to slowly puuuuuulll it back out. "How far do you want to go?" he asks you, breathing heavily, like he's scared of scaring you.
"All the way," you tell him, savoring the finger that keeps dragging against your walls.
"What about Yuji," he says, watching you intensely.
"What about him? Megumi, you're knuckle deep in my pussy right now," you huff and his shoulders relax, like a heavy weight was just lifted off them. He buries his finger even deeper in you, knocking at your g-spot and you think you see stars. "R-Right there," you plead, toes curling as his other hand comes up to rub your clit. "I won't last like this," you warn him, unable to fight a heady moan from leaving your lips. After a few more torturous seconds he pulls his finger out, plopping it into his mouth and sucking on it before undoing his pants.
You did not expect the monster he pulls out. Impossibly long length slapping against his toned stomach and your mouth dries. As if he senses your hesitancy, he offers to go back to what he was doing. You shake your head, begging him to keep going.
He settles between your thighs, stroking his dick slowly, gathering some of your juices to slather on his length. "Tell me if it's too much, okay?" he whispers and you nod, bracing for his cock. He lines it up against your entrance, tip pushing past the initial ring of resistance. You feel full just from this, sucking in a deep breath as he slowly inches his way further and further into you. It's not until he's nestled deep inside of you that you let out the breath you've been holding. Megumi squeezes your hips, like the process was difficult for him too. "Am I good to move?" he asks and you shake your head, needing to adjust to him inside of you. He obeys, staying perfectly still despite everything inside of him screaming to feel the drag of your walls. You clench around him and he bows forward, collecting himself as you keep squeezing and releasing him. "Stop doing that," he begs, trying his best to behave.
"I can't help it," you whimper, your walls twitching every so often, adjusting to the feeling of being so full. "You can move now," you tell him and he lets out a shaky breath. He moves slowly, pulling all the way out before sliding back in. He does this for a while, teasing the both of you with a painfully slow pace until you get impatient. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him back into you roughly, causing you both to moan at the roughness. Megumi learns quickly, picking up speed until he's pounding into you, causing your chest to jiggle with each snap of his hips.
He grabs your legs, pulling them up and together, slipping in and out of you with fervor. The room is heavy with your breaths and you didn't think it could get any hotter until Megumi starts dirty talking. Your eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets from his rough voice.
"Thank fuck Yuji fumbled you," he says, not breaking his rhythm. "He'd have no idea what to do with this pussy anyways." He watches as his dick goes in and out of you, collecting more juices with each heady drag. "D'you wish he was fucking you right now?" he asks, snapping into you meanly at the mere thought.
"N-No," you shake your head. Honestly, Yuji was the last thing on your mind but if that meant you got to have hot, jealous sex with Megumi you'd gladly do or say whatever it took to see this side of him.
"Promise?"
"I promise," you cry as his fingers come down to reach your clit, rubbing mean circles to bring you closer to your finish.
"Say this pussy s'mine" he spit, dick twitching as he grew dangerously close to finishing himself.
"It's yours, Megumi," you moan, the string inside you seconds away from snapping.
"Fuck!" he cursed out, the both of you coming undone at the same time. He pulled out, finishing on your stomach as writhed and squirmed, riding out your high.
pt. 2 where Yuji proves to Megumi just how he wouldn't fumble your pussy? heheheh. i'm too lazy to finish this properly but just know there's aftercare ok bye.
゛★ 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 3vangel1ine_
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.
what it’s like to be in a secret relationship with satoru. mdni.
you never intended to keep your romantic relationship with satoru a secret from the people you know, especially to your close friends.
breaking the news to them had obviously crossed your mind already. but things happened: shoko and utahime moved to a different city right after their engagement, suguru became extremely busy managing his newly opened cafe downtown, sukuna is on a tournament for professional boxing, and yuki seems to be touring the world (she’s always on vacation!).
planning hangouts with the entire friend group in attendance became elusive. everyone’s schedule just cannot seem to align; one or two people are always unavailable due to schedules set weeks prior.
before you knew it, months had passed. then months turned into a year.
of course, you still have regular communication with one another. you would sometimes come and watch sukuna’s boxing fights in your spare time then drink the night away afterward at his place with other mutual friends. satoru would be there as well. and when it isn’t so busy during the day, suguru would temporarily entrust the cafe to his staffs to meet the both of you over lunch.
aside from that, it has also been a part of your weekly routine to have a video call with the girls to gossip and talk about any happenings from your lives. yes, you could’ve mentioned it during one of the calls, but it just didn’t feel the right way to do so.
what you and satoru have is not just a fling nor a friends-with-benefits setup. thus, announcing it in person felt imperative. after all, you both share the same close friends so this affects the dynamics of your circle.
though you’d be lying if you say you don’t enjoy the secrecy of your relationship—disappearing from sukuna’s house parties to have a sloppy make out session with satoru in the bathroom, or him sneaking a kiss on your cheek whenever you are on the phone with the girls; he would always wait patiently next to you on his couch, and once your face is slightly out of view from the screen… smooch!
caught off guard, you would turn your camera off and glare at him, but the moron had already run off with a big smile on his face, followed by silent giggles (since your mic is still on) like he had just successfully pulled off a high-risk task.
yes, you like the intimacy of a secret relationship. how you and satoru share the same truth only you can touch. there is a certain thrill that could never be experienced in an ordinary relationship, and you found it to be quite addicting.
one time, suguru pointed out how you and satoru would often arrive at the meet up place together. always coming from the same direction at the same time, he said. you just shrugged off and feigned innocence by calling it a mere coincidence.
later on while enjoying the meal, satoru sneakily moved his hand under the table to caress your thigh underneath the dress, as if teasing you for how you spouted a white lie off your mouth so naturally. he drew slow and lazy circles over your soft skin as he simultaneously talked to suguru in front.
satoru did it in such a casual manner, not even sparing you a look, and thus, he was oblivious about the redness on your cheeks and the brewing desire in your core. you pressed his fingers, a signal for him to stop, but all you got from your boyfriend was a quick glance and a mocking smirk.
soon after, you excused yourself to go to the restroom; he then followed the lead saying, he just needs to make a phone call.
and there in the cramped restroom cubicle, satoru pulled his slacks and boxers down, clung your thigh over his arm, and pulled your underwear to the side. the way he did it was so abrupt and impatient you swore you heard a thread snap from your lace thong.
he fucked you with much eagerness and gentle frustration; you can tell that he, too, was craving for your body just as you were craving for his—as if the pretense that afternoon had been too unbearable and all he wanted was to be all over his girlfriend.
you held onto satoru’s shoulders for support, gave his neck wet kisses as he pulled his massive cock in and out of you. the tissue dispenser mounted on the partition next to you rattled from how hard he was thrusting into your wet and tight pussy. squelching sounds and your breathy moans fused with the distant indiscernible chatter from customers filled up the space.
sure, the thrill of it was fun and exciting. but enough time has gone by. and both of you are growing tired of treading the line between secrecy and passion. satoru wants to share his love for you to other people. he craves of being able to hold your hand in the streets—when you’re walking alongside each other—without the fear that a mutual friend might see. he wants to take you out on a date at his favorite fancy restaurants, not just to the hole-in-the-wall cafes. the takeouts at his place were also just as fun because it’s always followed by rough sex on his bed. but. but. satoru yearns for more. he wants to flaunt you, his oh so lovely girlfriend.
you have this pure and honest love resting on the palm of your hands—still growing and vulnerable—and a voice inside your head wants you to keep it hidden. it whispers in your ear telling you to just leave things as they are; no one can ruin something they have no knowledge about. but the better part of you knows that a relationship shadowed by limitations would never prosper and last. what you feel for satoru doesn’t have to be loud—it only has to be free.
and so you’ve made up your mind.
shoko and utahime’s wedding will be held today and it’s your chance. of course you don’t want to steal the thunder from the soon-to-be newlyweds, so you plan to do it tomorrow, during the post-wedding lunch with the close friends. everyone—shoko, utahime, yuki, suguru, and sukuna—will be there and you refuse to let this opportunity pass.
the first thing you notice as you enter the bride suite is the makeup lined up on the vanity tables—liquid foundations in different shades, eyeshadow palettes from multiple brands, and lipsticks in every possible shade imaginable. and there–sitting in one of the vanity chairs—is your best friend utahime. you read the word written on the back of her chair—in white font and a beautiful cursive it says ‘bride’. you see her smile from the mirror reflection.
you ask if she’s nervous. utahime just shakes her head; she says she’s never been more sure about anything ever in her life.
you hate to admit it but you are a sucker for weddings. the abundance of love radiating from everybody never fails to make you emotional. friends and families. friends turned into families. celebrating the union between two people. the wedding vows. the lengthy speeches during the reception. they collectively pull the lever to your fountain of tears.
when it is your turn to have your makeup done, you sit at one of the unoccupied vanity chairs. the future newlyweds went all out and hired four hair and makeup artists so the preparation is more efficient.
minutes later, as the artist is applying eyeshadow on your lids, you hear a familiar ringtone.
your ringtone.
yuki, whose makeup is already finished, grabs your phone from a nearby couch and looks at the screen. “someone is calling you- who is this ‘my love’?” she asks with an inquisitive tone.
shit. shit. shit.
why is satoru calling you? and now when you are currently glued to the vanity chair, defenseless against the possible scrutiny from your girl friends. your eyes remain closed as the artist continues on her work; you can’t tell where yuki is standing.
grabbing the phone from her hand is impossible. you’re fucked. no. maybe you can reason your way around it. before your brain could even make up a weak excuse, yuki had already answered the call and set your phone on speaker.
you feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as you hear the voice of your satoru. “baby, you forgot your heels in the car. should i bring it to you?” you held your breath. you feel your insides getting twisted. it’s as if your brain has short-circuited; words, excuses, start to hover around your head like a murder of crows—cawing, awaiting for a release that never came.
and just like that, the secret is out. getting busted out about your year-long relationship with satoru through an unsuspecting phone call wasn’t the plan, but here goes nothing.
only the clank of makeup brushes can be heard as the artists remain impassive on what is happening. you bite your bottom lip. there is no way in hell that your friends would not recognize his voice.
the moment they connect the dot and register it in their head—the contact name and the man in the other line—collective gasps echo from different parts of the room.
“what the fuck, gojo? is that you?” yuki’s high pitched voice almost makes you wince.
“uhh. . . haha. . .” he clears his throat. “no, who is gojo satoru?”
“jackass! she didn’t even say satoru,” utahime interjects.
“wait, t-the signal here is bad,” you hear indistinct shuffling noises in satoru’s background, “h-hello? can you hear me? he-”
and the call ends.
you sense the piercing glares from your friends, “you have got some explaining to do,” said utahime.
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ when you finally decide to flirt back after years of brushing off sukuna’s teasing, he quickly discovers he can’t handle a taste of his own medicine.
✿ ◞◟) ryomen sukuna 𝓍 gn!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 fluff, college!au, established friendship, uno reverse card flirting, sukuna is really pathetic, lovestruck behavior, yearning hidden under friendship (?), sukuna is blushing.
part two.
the afternoon light coming through sukuna's apartment windows was that tired golden color, the kind that made everything look a little too soft and a little too warm for a tuesday that felt like a thursday.
you were sprawled on the pink haired boy’s worn-out leather couch with your laptop balanced on your thighs, trying to finish a reading assignment that had no business being this dense, while sukuna sat on the floor across from you with his back against the coffee table, his phone in one hand and a half-empty energy drink in the other.
sukuna's tattoos stretched across his forearms every time he moved to scroll through whatever mindless content he seemed to be invested in, those familiar dark lines shifting over muscle and bone like they'd always been there, like they were just another part of him you'd stopped really noticing years ago. the four-eyes motif on his biceps caught the light when sukuna leaned forward to set his drink down, and you watched him crack his neck in that lazy way he always did when he was bored, the movement causing his jaw to flex once before he settled back against the table leg.
"you're staring," sukuna said without looking up from his phone, and there it was — that particular tilt to his mouth, the one that meant he was about to make things annoying on purpose. "didn't know my forearms were that interesting, sweetheart. could've just asked for a closer look."
you didn't even blink.
"your forearms are fine, kuna. i was actually staring at the window behind you because there's a really weird-looking bird right on the fire escape."
sukuna finally looked up, one dark eyebrow raised, and he turned his head toward the window just to check. when he saw nothing there, his gaze slid back to you with that familiar mixture of amusement and mild offense.
"you're lying."
"oh, am i?" you clicked back to your reading assignment, highlighting a sentence you'd already highlighted twice. "bird must've flown away. tragic timing, really."
sukuna laughed once, short and sharp, and went back to his phone, but you knew damn well he wasn't done; sukuna was never done when he was bored and you were the only person in the room. it was like a game for him, or maybe like a compulsion — throwing out these little flirtatious comments just to see if he could get a reaction, any reaction, even though he'd known you for long enough to understand that you'd stopped reacting to that particular brand of nonsense somewhere around year two of your friendship.
"you know," he said after a moment, dragging the words out like he was savoring them. "most people would at least pretend to be flattered. but you just sit there like a brick wall with a laptop. it's kind of insulting, honestly."
"i'll try to care about your feelings more," you said flatly, not looking up. "let me just find that emotion real quick."
sukuna kicked at your foot with his own, just a light tap of his sneaker against your socked heel.
"you're the worst."
"you're the one who keeps flirting with a brick wall. that sounds like a you problem."
sukuna grinned at that, wide and sharp and entirely unbothered, because this was simply how things worked between the two of you; he'd flirt, you'd deflect, he'd laugh, and then five minutes later he'd ask if you wanted to order food or complain about his stats professor or show you some ridiculous video he found at two in the morning.
it was comfortable, it was routine, and it meant exactly nothing, and you both knew it.
but today, something about the light and the quiet and the way sukuna was sitting there looking entirely too pleased with himself made you feel like switching things up.
just a little.
just to see what would happen.
you set your laptop aside slowly, making a show of closing the screen and placing it on the cushion next to you, and then you turned your body toward him.
sukuna was already watching you with that lazy curiosity he always got when you deviated from your usual patterns, his phone completely forgotten in his hand, and you let your gaze drag over him in a way you never actually did — leisurely and meticulous, like you were taking your time with something you'd been saving for later.
his eyebrows pulled together just slightly. "what?"
"nothing," you said, and you let your voice drop just enough to change the texture of it, to make it softer and slower than your usual flat delivery. "just looking."
you watched the confusion flicker across sukuna's face, quick and genuine, because this wasn't how the script went;
you weren't supposed to look at him like that. you weren't supposed to sound like that. and you sure as hell weren't supposed to slide off the couch to sit on the floor next to him, close enough that your shoulder almost brushed his, close enough that you could smell whatever cheap cologne he'd grabbed off his dresser this morning.
sukuna's hand tightened around his phone.
"okay. you're being weird."
"am i?" you echoed your earlier words back at him, tilting your head just slightly, and you let your fingers rest on the floor between you — not touching him, not yet, but close enough that the proximity felt intentional. "i thought this was what you wanted, kuna. you're always saying all that stuff. figured i'd finally give you a response."
sukuna's throat moved as he swallowed, and you could see the moment his brain started scrambling to catch up with what was happening. the confidence he normally wore like armor seemed to flicker, just for a second, and his gaze dropped to your hand on the floor before snapping back to your face.
"that's—" he started, and then stopped, and you'd never seen sukuna stumble over a word in your entire friendship. "i mean, yeah, but—you don't actually—"
"don't actually what?"
you leaned in just a little, and you watched the tips of sukuna's ears go pink. his ears, of all things. the same sukuna who could make a waiter uncomfortable by accident just by existing was sitting here with pink ears because you'd leaned about four inches closer to him.
"don't actually find you attractive? because i never said that."
sukuna's mouth opened, then closed, and then opened again, and absolutely nothing came out except this small, strangled sound that might have been the beginning of a laugh or the end of his dignity.
you could feel the heat coming off his arm where it was braced on the coffee table, you could see the way his chest had started rising and falling just a little faster than before. his tattoos seemed to move with every small shift of his muscles, the dark lines pulling and relaxing as he failed spectacularly to figure out what the hell to do with his hands.
"you're messing with me," sukuna said finally, and his voice literally cracked on the last word.
ryomen sukuna's voice cracked like he was fourteen years old and talking to his first crush, and you had to physically bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too obviously.
"am i?" you asked again, softer this time, and you let your finger trace a small, idle pattern on the floor between you; not toward him, not away from him — just there, like you were thinking about it. "i don't know. maybe i just got tired of you being the only one who gets to have fun."
sukuna's blush was spreading now, crawling down his neck in splotchy patches that disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt, and he was gripping his phone like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
you could see his pulse beating in his throat, quick and uneven, and his eyes kept darting between your face and the small space between your bodies like he was trying to calculate something he didn't have the formula for.
"this isn't—" sukuna started, and then he had to stop to clear his throat, and the sound was embarrassingly loud in the quiet apartment. "this isn't funny."
"i'm not laughing."
"you're definitely laughing on the inside. i can tell. your eye is doing that thing."
you blinked innocently. "what thing?"
"the thing where you're being an asshole and enjoying it."
but sukuna's voice was way too high to land the way he wanted it to, too breathy to sound like anything other than a man who was rapidly losing control of a situation he'd assumed he'd always be in charge of. his leg was bouncing now, that restless energy he got when he was nervous translating into small, jerky movements that he probably didn't even realize he was making.
you let the silence stretch, you let him sit in the discomfort of not knowing what came next, and you watched as he absolutely failed to fill it with one of his usual easy quips.
sukuna's brain was working overtime behind his eyes, you could easily tell — trying to figure out if you were serious, if this was a joke, if he was supposed to laugh it off or lean into it or run in the opposite direction.
finally, he did the last thing you expected.
he looked away.
sukuna actually looked away, his jaw tightening as he turned his face toward the window, and you could see the way his hand shook just slightly when he reached up to rub at the back of his neck. the movement made his sleeve ride up, exposing more of those dark lines, and you noticed the way his fingers trembled against his own skin.
"you're doing this on purpose," he muttered, and his voice was so quiet you almost didn't hear it. "you're trying to—i don't know what you're trying to do, but you're doing it on purpose."
"maybe," you said, and you let yourself smile then, just a small one, because he looked so genuinely thrown off that it was actually kind of endearing underneath all the hilarity. "maybe i just wanted to see what would happen."
sukuna turned back to look at you, and his eyes were wide in a way you'd never seen before — less of the sharp, amused glint he usually carried and more of something raw and uncertain, like a door you'd accidentally nudged open that he'd been keeping firmly closed. his blush had settled into something deeper now, staining his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and his lips were parted just slightly like he was still trying to figure out how to breathe normally.
"well," he said, and his voice cracked again, softer this time, almost fragile. "are you happy? because i'm—i'm not—this is—"
sukuna gave up on words entirely and just gestured vaguely at himself, at his flushed face and his bouncing leg and his white-knuckled grip on his phone, and the gesture said everything sukuna's his voice couldn't.
you laughed then, not meanly, just a warm exhale of a sound, and you bumped your shoulder against his gently.
"yeah," you said, your voice back to normal now, dropping the flirtatious edge entirely. "i'm pretty happy, actually."
sukuna stared at you for a long moment, his chest still rising and falling too quickly, and then he dropped his head back against the coffee table and made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whine.
"i hate you," he said to the ceiling. "i genuinely hate you. you're the worst person i've ever met."
"you're blushing."
"shut up, i'm not blushing. my face is just warm. from the—it's warm in here."
"it's twenty-one degrees in here."
"shut up."
sukuna didn't move his head from the coffee table, but his large hand found your knee — just a brief, clumsy tap before retreating, like he'd meant to do something else and changed his mind at the last second. his fingers were warm through the fabric of your jeans, and you could still feel the slight tremor in them even after he pulled away.
you sat there together in the golden afternoon light, the silence softer now than it had been before, and you watched as sukuna slowly, painfully tried to collect himself.
his ears were still pink, his breathing was still uneven, and every few seconds, his gaze would slide toward you and then snap away again, like looking at you for too long might somehow make things worse.
it was, without a single question, the most pathetic you had ever seen him.
"sooo," you said after a while, keeping your voice light and easy. "you want to order that thai place, or are you too busy being embarrassed to eat?"
sukuna lifted his head just enough to glare at you, but the effect was ruined by the fact that he still looked like he'd just run a marathon in a sauna.
"i'm not embarrassed."
"okay."
"i'm not. i just wasn't expecting—" sukuna stopped, swallowed, tried again. "you don't just—you never—"
"never what?"
he held your gaze for a long, charged moment, and something in his expression flickered — some thought you couldn't quite read, some emotion the pink haired boy shoved back down before it could fully surface. then he looked away once again, reaching for his abandoned energy drink like it might offer him some kind of salvation.
"nothing," he said quietly. "forget it. thai sounds fine."
sukuna didn't flirt with you for the rest of the evening.
not once.
and if you caught him staring at you when he thought you weren't looking, his expression soft and confused and a little bit scared like he'd just discovered something he didn't know how to name — well, you didn't mention that either.
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
masterlist chapter two
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!
summary: At a frat party full of strangers, being noticed by Sukuna might be the most dangerous thing that happens all night.
ᥫ᭡| jjk!masterlist - next chapter>>
The bass from the speakers downstairs was a physical force, vibrating through the floorboards and rattling the glass framed pictures lining the hallway of the Omega Psi house. It was the peak of the semester’s biggest frat party, a humid, neon-lit labyrinth of red solo cups, sticky floors, and shouting college students.
You were currently tucked into the narrowest, most shadowed alcove you could find on the second-floor landing, desperately wishing for invisibility. Your roommate had spent three days convincing you to come out, promising that it would be "good for your social anxiety" and that they would stick by your side the entire night. That promise had lasted exactly four minutes into entering the house before they spotted someone from their sociology seminar and vanished into the undulating crowd.
Left to fend for yourself, you had retreated upstairs, clutching your oversized cardigan around your shoulders like a shield. You kept your eyes glued to your phone screen, scrolling aimlessly through apps just to look occupied, praying that nobody would try to talk to you.
"You look like you're waiting for a bus or something, babe."
The voice was a deep, gravelly drawl that cut right through the muffled thump of the music. It held an intolerable amount of amusement and pure, unchecked confidence.
You jumped, your back hitting the drywall with a soft thud as your head snapped up.
Standing just a few feet away, leaning casually against the doorframe of a bedroom, was a guy who looked like he owned the entire block—and knew it. He wore a dark blue backwards baseball cap, under which spiked pink hair was pushed upfront, messy but entirely deliberate. He had an unbuttoned, oversized flannel thrown over a white tank top, exposing a chest and neck covered in striking, jet-black tattoos.
Your breath caught in your throat. You recognized him instantly, even if you had only ever seen him from a distance on campus. It was Sukuna, a senior whose reputation ran rampant through the university. People called him a psychopath; the rumors claimed he lived entirely for his own chaotic entertainment, completely indifferent to anyone else’s feelings, rules, or boundaries. He was exceptionally selfish, notoriously sadistic in his humor, and entirely hedonistic.
Up close, the details of his appearance were overwhelming. The black lines wrapped perfectly around his wrists and upper arms in thick, double bands. On the bridge of his nose, a sharp horizontal line cut across his skin, and a strange, crown-like symbol sat squarely in the middle of his forehead. But the most unsettling part was his eyes—or rather, his lack of just two. Right beneath his dark, piercing eyes were a second pair of narrow slits, currently closed but practically pulsing with an underlying, dangerous energy.
"I-I'm just waiting for my roommate," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the bass. You cursed yourself internally for the immediate, visible tremor in your hands.
Sukuna let out a low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated in his chest. He didn't stay by his door. Instead, he pushed himself off the frame and took two slow, deliberate steps toward you, invading your personal space without a shred of hesitation. The smell of expensive cologne, crisp autumn air, and a hint of alcohol washed over you.
"Your roommate abandoned you," he said simply, tilting his head as he looked down at you. The dark, tattooed circles on his shoulders shifted under his tank top as he moved. "People downstairs are mind-numbingly boring anyway. All doing the same basic things, telling the same basic stories. But you..."
His gaze raked over your flustered expression, tracking the way your eyes darted toward the staircase, looking for any possible route of escape. A sharp, predatory grin spread across his face, flashing sharp teeth. He clearly delighted in the sheer panic he was causing you.
"You look like you're about to faint just because I looked at you," he mocked softly, leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours. "Is it really that scary being noticed?"
"I'm fine," you squeaked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and trying to shuffle past him toward the stairs. "I think I'm just going to go home."
With an effortless, lightning-fast movement, Sukuna stepped directly into your path, his broad shoulders completely blocking the narrow hallway. He didn't even drop the red solo cup he was holding, swirling the liquid inside casually as he looked down at you like a cat playing with a mouse.
"Don't run off so fast," he said, his tone dripping with an authority that expected absolute obedience. "The party was dead two minutes ago. Now, it's finally getting interesting."
You swallowed hard, the hallway suddenly feeling much narrower than it had thirty seconds ago. Sukuna watched every flicker of panic cross your face with open fascination, like he was observing some rare animal he’d stumbled across in the woods. His grin widened when you instinctively took half a step backward.
“There it is,” he said.
“There what is?”
“That look.” His voice remained infuriatingly calm. “The one that says you’re trying to figure out whether I’m going to murder you or not.”
Your eyes widened, and the laugh that burst from him was loud enough to draw a few curious glances from people passing at the far end of the hall.
“Relax.” He took a sip from his cup. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d have better things to do on a Friday night.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“Wasn’t supposed to be.”
You stared at him, and to your horror, he looked pleased.
Most people on campus seemed to orbit around Sukuna. They laughed at his jokes even when they weren’t funny, agreed with him before he finished speaking, and acted like being acknowledged by him was some kind of prize. You couldn’t understand it. The longer you stood here, the more you wanted to leave.
And yet—something about him was impossible to ignore. Maybe it was the absolute confidence, or the way he occupied space like the world belonged to him. Or maybe it was simply that nobody had ever looked at you with such focused attention before. You were used to blending into backgrounds; Sukuna looked directly at people, like he could see straight through them.
Unfortunately, that included you.
“Hm.” His gaze narrowed.
“What?”
“You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Thinking.” He pointed at you with his cup. “I can practically hear the gears turning.”
Heat rushed into your face. “You don’t even know me.”
“True.” He tilted his head. “But I’ve got a guess.”
You immediately regretted asking, but the question slipped out anyway. “What guess?”
Sukuna’s grin sharpened. “You’re the type that rehearses conversations before making phone calls.”
Your jaw dropped.
He pointed again. “Gets nervous ordering food. Hates group projects. Has approximately three friends.”
“Okay, that’s rude.”
His laughter echoed through the hallway. “So I was right.”
You folded your arms tighter. “You act like you’re some genius for figuring out basic things.”
“No.” His smile softened into something oddly genuine. “I just pay attention.”
For the first time since he’d approached you, the intense teasing disappeared from his expression, catching you completely off guard. The bass continued to shake the floor beneath your feet, people shouted downstairs, and a door slammed somewhere down the hall—but for a strange moment, everything else seemed distant. Sukuna was still standing way too close, still blocking your escape route, and still objectively terrifying, yet his gaze had shifted. Like he was studying a puzzle instead of tormenting prey.
The silence stretched. Then, a drunken voice suddenly erupted from the staircase.
“OI, SUKUNA!”
The senior’s attention shifted immediately. A guy stumbled onto the landing carrying two cups and looking thoroughly intoxicated. “There you are,” he slurred. “Everyone’s looking for—”
He stopped, looked at you, looked at Sukuna, and then looked back at you. His eyes widened. “Oh. Nope.” He turned right around. “I didn’t see anything.”
“You saw nothing,” Sukuna agreed.
“I saw absolutely nothing.” The guy practically sprinted back downstairs.
You stared after him. “What was that?”
“My reputation.”
“That’s concerning.”
“It should be.” You weren’t sure whether he was joking, and the worst part was that neither was he.
Sukuna glanced down the staircase before returning his attention to you, sighing dramatically. “Boring.”
“What?”
“The interruption.” He pushed himself away from the wall. For a split second, you thought he might block your path again, but instead, he stepped aside.
The staircase was finally clear. Freedom. An escape route—exactly what you’d wanted all night.
“Well?” Sukuna asked.
You blinked. “Well what?”
“Go home. You’ve been trying to escape for the last fifteen minutes.” A smug look appeared on his face. “So go.”
That wasn’t what you expected. Not even remotely. “You were literally stopping me.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Sukuna shrugged. “I was curious.”
“About me?”
“Obviously.” He said it so casually that your brain nearly short-circuited. Nobody was curious about you—not like that, and certainly not enough to corner you in a hallway at a party.
The silence stretched again. Finally, Sukuna smirked. “You know, for someone desperate to leave, you’re still standing here.”
You opened your mouth, closed it, and opened it again. No words came out.
His grin became victorious. “Thought so.”
And somehow, despite every warning bell screaming in your head, you found yourself smiling. Just a little.
Sukuna noticed immediately, his eyes gleaming. “There you are.”
Your smile vanished. “Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late.”
And for the first time all night, the idea of staying a little longer didn’t seem quite as terrifying as it should have.
hi sweets!! should i write a serie about fratboy!sukuna? let me know!! hope you liked work (˵◝ ⩊ ◜˵マ
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.
⤳ warnings: this mini series will feature adult content and is not recommended to anyone under the age of 18
intro
❦ chapter one: the fuck buddy proposal
❦ chapter two: you're not my type!
❦ chapter three: the conclusion
꒰ I've already got a taglist going but you can also sign up for tags here! under others just type in: the arrangement series ꒱
what was supposed to be a night of quick fun, a good lay with ryomen sukuna quickly snowballed into you ending up pregnant from a one night stand. it wasn't easy, it wasn't something planned, and your baby daddy wasn't exactly eager, but you'd manage. right?
PAIRING: frat bro! ryomen sukuna x nerdy! fem reader (with hints of nerd!jo x reader)
CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. unprotected sex. unplanned pregnancy. the topic of abortion. sukuna being a dick. maybe (probably) inaccurate depictions of frat life. more included in the individual posts.
SERIES MASTERLIST
01. DOUBLE SHOTS AND DOUBLE LINES
you're out of your element at one of the frat parties sukuna's hosting, left to your own devices for most of the night. one thing leads to another, you're in his bed tonight and with a positive test five weeks later?
02. THE NERD WHO STEPPED UP
without a ride and any support, you find yourself at an abortion clinic with your roommate’s best friend, satoru gojo. do you do it, do you not do it, the thoughts haunt you, gojo’s there to stick by your side through it all.
03. FRAT BRO’S DILEMMA
ryomen sukuna finally decides to man up….three months after he spoke to you last. is he too late or will you let him back in?
04. BABY SHOWER BEAT DOWN
the date of your baby shower comes up, with both gojo and sukuna in the same room together. punches land, cupcakes fly, tears fall, all in the span of three hours.
05. GATEWAY TO HEAVEN
gojo satoru manages to reach heaven only to…fumble the bag?
06. GOING THROUGH CHANGES
after distancing yourself from both satoru and sukuna, you slowly start to get your life together.
07. COCOMELON AND LATE DINNER
late night cravings after work only means late night dinner with sukuna.
08. FIRST DATE JITTERS
off to a rocky start, you don’t expect much from your first date with sukuna.
hi, i wanted to take this chance to say that i’m incredibly grateful for the support that i’ve received on this series—it truly does mean the world to me. and i do want to apologize for the delay in between rewriting parts and changing accounts, i’m sorry for any inconveniences. overall, thank you.
⊱SYNOPSIS: confessing to your crush Megumi Fushiguro didn't go quite as planned when Nobara accidentally gave you his friend's number instead 😵💫 But hey! Now you have a wingman to help you get all the intel! That is, if he doesn't instead try to keep you two apart so he can have you all to himself…👀
⊱C/W: pining, angst, cursing, slow burn, love triangle, cockblocker fushiguro
"Hello? Y/N?" Itadori clears his throat when he notices you calling him as he's standing in line to get Yogurt with Nobara.
"Oh. Yeah, hey."
"What's up? Do you miss me?" he teases.
"When're you two coming back?" You asks. Itadori's caught off guard by your straight forwardness, but he doesn't dwell on it.
"Yeahh, haha. Sorry about that, we're just getting yogurt and then heading back." He says trying not to let his agonizing pain from carrying all of Nobara's shopping slip up on the phone with his crush.
"Okay. We're at Kitty's World."
"Sure, we'll be there. Do you want-" beep. beep. beep.
Itadori looks down at the blank screen of his phone, taking a second to process that you'd just hung up on him.
"What's with that look?" Nobara asks, noticing the guy's face scrunched in confusion .
"Y/N just hung up on me," He mumbles, shifting uncomfortably to put his phone back into his pocket.
Nobara raises an eyebrow "Oh God. What did you do?"
"How is this my fault?!"
"Oh don't play dumb, why would she be mad at you?"
"I don't- wait, she's mad at me?" He tilts his head.
Nobara slaps her palm to her forehead, letting out a sigh of disbelief. "Do you know anything about girls?"
"Yeah! Well- somewhat, but-"
"God, itadori." She rolls her eyes.
"Jeez, stop whining and just help me!!"
"No can do, you're on your own with this."
"Woww. Some friend you are." Itadori pouts, stepping up to grab their cups of yogurt.
"Maybe she was just in a rush." Nobara takes her cup of yogurt from his hand.
"Maybe..." Itadori agrees, and yet, he still spent the entire walk to the cafe lost in his thought about you.
Did he really do something wrong? Maybe said something wrong? Or maybe you really were just in a rush. All he knows right now is that from the tone of your voice over the phone and your haste towards ending it can only mean that he definitely fucked up.
ᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓ
Well that was something.
Is what he's thinking as he's laying on his bed staring at the ceiling. He'd never took himself as someone who'd get all his thoughts caught up in the smallest gestures a girl took. But here he was: replaying everything he did the entire day to try and wonder why you were absolutely ignoring him and all of his texts.
"Removed...blocked....delete..." you mumble to yourself, swiping to remove Itadori from every part of your life. Was it a bit excessive to fully cut him off without giving him a chance to explain? Maybe. But it’s not like he’s any innocent either. You spent so long becoming telling your “secrets” to someone you thought was a stranger, all for it to be a lie. All the time you guys spent together seeing the Human Earthworm series, exchanging notes, late calls, all of it felt like a huge circus act by him, and you were the joker.
Your pillow feels warm from the muffled groans you’ve let out going through all his social media accounts to block. Your cheeks are feel a bit sticky from the few tears shed, but you wipe them away as if it were no big deal. All you wanted to do now was go to bed and sleep everything off, but you couldn’t.
Ding dong
You scowl, opening your eyes again. Who could be out there at this hour? And God forbid it be Itadori because you don’t have enough will power in you right now to not bitch-slap him into his senses.
You drag your feet to the door to greet your visitor, fully expecting to see Itadori, but to your relief, it wasn’t.
“Megumi?” You say after clearing your throat.
“Yeah, it’s me.” He avoids looking at you directly. “You uhm, you forgot your purse in my car.” He says holding up your bag, finally moving his eyes to meet your puffy ones.
“Oh, thanks. I didn’t even notice,” You smile, taking the bag from him way too quickly, wishing this interaction already be over.
As much as this was a dream of yours, to have Megumi show up at your door reaching out to make conversation, it wasn’t quite exciting having him visit you in the middle of your meltdown. And unfortunately for you, it didn’t go unnoticed by him.
“Are you okay?” He stops his foot in the doorway so you can’t shut the door in his face.
“Yeah yeah, it’s nothing.” You say, looking at the ground, hiding behind the door as much as you can.
“It doesn’t seem like nothing,” He says, catching you speechless. “Can I come in?” His words always seem so collected, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. You can’t help but oblige.
You shut the door once he’s inside. Megumi Fushiguro in your home. You should be bouncing off the walls right now. The guy you’ve liked for God knows how long is finally just a few feet away from you, but the pit of betrayal in your stomach still lingers, and you can’t think of anything other than why it all happened to you.
“What’s wrong?” Megumi’s voice is softer than his usual cold tone.
“Just…I don’t know what’s real and what’s fake right now.” You sniffle, sitting on the couch.
“Like, you’re not sure where you are right now? Dissociation?” He follows after, sitting close to you.
“No no,” You take a deep breath ready to explain, but your voice cracks in between sentences regardless. “I thought I knew someone, but I guess I didn’t. It doesn’t seem like they meant to hurt me, but they did. I know I should talk to them, it’s just…How am I supposed to know what they tell me won’t also be a lie?”
“I see…Well, you don’t know if it’s going to be a lie. But if you really believe that they didn’t meant o hurt you, I mean, you just have to take the risk of opening up.” He scoots closer.
“I guess…but not right now. I just need to, like, wallow or something…” you mumble off.
“Yeah, totally understand.”
The silence that followed after was unbearably awkward. The clock’s ticking sounded like concert with how still you two were. You fiddled with your hands waiting for him to say something, but he just sat there with the same nonchalant expression he always had.
“I’m sorry, this is awkward. You don’t have to stay.”
“No, I…I want to stay. Sorry, I just- I’m just having trouble trying to say what I wanna say.”
“What do you mean?”
Megumi’s eyebrows furrow in hesitance? Frustration? Whatever it was, it wasn’t like his usual persona.
“The purse wasn’t why I came. I just wanted to see you.”
“What?” Your sniffling stops and your ears perk up like a dog hearing a whistle.
“I didn’t picture doing this while you’re, well, crying. I’ve never been good at this stuff anyway so just bear with me.” Megumi scoots even closer to you.
Your heart is racing, breath held, eyes wide, but you don’t pull away.
“Y/n, I like you. I like being around you and I think you’re pretty and…I want to spend time with you.”
Your mouth stayed open, but you couldn't find any words to reply with. You'd liked Megumi for as long as you'd known. You'd wanted this for so long, for him to like you back and call you his, and be your everything. And when the moment finally came, it felt too good to be true.
"Do you...Are you serious?" You murmur. "You're sure you like me?"
"Yeah, really." He says firmly. And while your still drowning in your doubtful thoughts, you don't notice how close he's gotten.
His hand softly wipes away the tear stains on your cheek, while also pulling you closer. His breath is low and warm, you feel it against your lips getting hotter and hotter with how close he's getting. You know exactly what's coming, and it's not a dream this time. This isn't one of your pillows or TikTok scenarios, this is Megumi. The guy you thought you liked up until this moment.
"Stop." It came out more harsh than intended, especially with how you jerked back and away from his hand. "I-I'm sorry, I don't want to."
Megumi's hand stays in the cold air for a second, before dropping back onto his lap.
"No, it's my fault. I should have asked or something," He gulps after finishing his sentence. "I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry. I thought you liked me too."
"It's complicated," You sigh, avoiding eye contact with him. "I think you're great, and yeah, I did like you at some point. But I just- I don't know, I don't feel that way anymore."
Megumi nods, understanding exactly where you're coming from. "So you like Itadori?"
"What?! No, I didn't say that-"
"Y/n, I don't know who you're trying to fool, but it's obvious."
"Well, even if I did, who cares? That guy's a jerk and a liar, and I don't want to talk to him." You scowl.
"Oh, so our last conversation was about Itadori?"
"Whatever," you sniffle, holding back a scowl.
"Well, It's none of my business." Megumi sighs, standing up. "I've done what I wanted to do, so, I guess I'll get going now."
"Megumi," You call for him as he starts walking to the door.
"Yes?"
"I don't know much about Itadori, and I know you've known him longest..." You bite the inside of your cheek. "Do you think he's that type of person? To play with a girl's feelings?"
"Itadori's stupid. He fucks up a lot of things, and he doesn't know the first thing about communicating, and he gets on my nerves almost all the time." Megumi stared at your pitiful heartbroken eyes, returning back to his cold demeanor. "But he's a good person, and I know he hurt you, but I can guarantee he didn't mean it. You're the last person he'd want to see hurt because of him."
"Why me? I just don't get it."
"Because he's an absolute dumbass when it comes to pretty girls he likes."
"He wh- wait he likes me? H-How are you sure?"
"Look, Y/n." Megumi sighs. "Whatever you two have going on, I'd appreciate to be kept out of it. If you want answers, you're going to have to talk to him. I might be his best friend, but I like you too, and It's just...awkward for me to help you and him."
"Yeah, I understand that. I'm sorry." You nod slightly. "This won't make anything weird between us, right? We're still friends?"
"I don't know honestly. We'll just have to see."
"Right, right. Well, I'm glad we talked, Megumi. I appreciate you being there for me all this time, and I know it's not up to me, but I hope we stay close. Get home safe." You watch as he nods in agreement halfway through the doorway, before shutting it close, leaving you alone once again.
Your thoughts raced through as you stared at the door, maybe hoping it would be Itadori to show up next even if it was just a silly fantasy. You felt torn between your pride and your fondness. You couldn't deny anymore that you didn't like him. As annoying as he was at first, the subtle caring acts he did felt real to you. Whenever he asked for your notes, or called you late at night, or asked you to hangout, each second felt true to you. It just didn't make sense why he would lie to you.
Not to mention, Megumi also liked you. You don't know when or why, but you wished it could have been sooner. Maybe if you hadn't fallen for Itadori, you and him could have still had a chance. The guy of your dreams could have been all yours if that liar itadori hadn't crept his way into your heart just to break it. Even after his horrible actions though, you still can't help but believe what you two had was real. This whole situation was tearing you apart, so you reached for your phone across the couch to message the only person you could think of who would understand any of this.
⊱A/N: I wish two fine guys would fight over my ahh bruh
with your love life in ruins, the last thing you want to do is think about romance. unfortunately, between passive-aggressive notes and an infuriating neighbour named 4B who won’t leave you alone, love might not be done with you just yet
pairing: frat!jo x reader
content: mdni idiots in love, satoru as a faceless voice for a while, larping abt frats again, one (1) frat party scene, voyeurism, p in v, slightly intoxicated but consensual sex, cunnilingus, slight public sex/hidden sex 30k+
note: there are some images in this fic for immersion but if there's any difficulty in reading them, please click the alt text option! alternatively, you can read this on ao3 !!
When you eventually gained the courage to break up with your shitty boyfriend, you knew it would be a public spectacle considering he’s the vice president of Tau Delta Phi. What you didn’t expect, however, was to find yourself spotlighted in the living room of some random houseparty, an empty red plastic cup in your hand and whatever had been inside now poured over your ex-boyfriend’s head.
It was almost funny watching humiliation and rage surge across Naoya’s face, marked by that red-hot blush you’ve seen far too many times, spit flying from his mouth when he yells that you’ll regret this, he’ll make sure you do. To no surprise he had you kicked out, leaving you stranded on the side of the road at 2am, alone, slightly intoxicated, and with a massive hole punctured through your concept of love.
Whatever Etsy witch he paid to ruin your life would have been hunted during the Salem witch trials because you never find peace following the breakup. You find out he’d been cheating on you with a plethora of girls, you find out the lady living in the apartment next to yours is moving out, and worst of all, you find out the free elective course you enrolled in specifically to take it easy gives you an assignment on love.
ARTS505: Screen Media Practice
Assessment 1: Observational Short Film — “Love”
Weighting: 30%
Due: Friday, 11:59 p.m.
Length: 3–5 minutes
For this assessment, students are required to produce a short observational film responding to the theme of love.
Go fuck yourself.
The day your neighbour next door moves out, you tear up at the news and let her believe it’s because you’ll miss her and not because you’re terrified her replacement won’t be nearly as forgiving.
Because she smiles when you run into her at the bottom of the staircase and gives you small containers of food, nagging you in the way old women do about eating healthy and sleeping early. To her sweet, unassuming face, you tell her you will though you won’t, and she’ll nod like she believes you and tells you she’ll try to keep it down, kindly avoiding the fact that she can hear you wail at atrocious hours in the night when you’ve assumed everyone has already fallen asleep.
She understood the highs and lows of being a newly single woman in this current social environment. But whoever moves in next? You’re not so sure will.
Okay, so maybe you do miss her.
Because you find out someone new has moved in from the heavy thumping of feet crossing the floor, the thuds of boxes dropped onto the floorboards, the vibrations seeping into your own floors. It seems Naoya’s Etsy witch still has their grip on you because your new neighbour is horrible. They play loud music in the morning, the afternoon, late at night, usually right when you have convinced yourself that this night you will finally get eight uninterrupted hours of blissful sleep. Thuds, banging, thumping, any onomatopoeia, your neighbour has done it.
Sometimes, they leave a pair of sneakers outside their door for two whole days, directly in your path to the stairs, so you have to step around them every morning. Their moving boxes sit in the hallway for so long they might as well be furniture, and you’ve started dumping your tote on the tower of them whenever you dig around for your keys. Packages get delivered to your door instead of theirs. They seem to always be ordering DoorDash, too, the scent of something sugary-sweet seeping under your door until you start craving DoorDash yourself.
It’s even worse today. You’d come home with groceries instead of takeout, washed your bedsheets for the first time in a long while, lit a candle called Midnight Sunset, and sat down at your desk with the firm intention of brainstorming your film assignment. Then, from the other side of your bedroom wall, your neighbour starts assembling what can only be a large, flat-packed piece of furniture. For forty minutes, there is nothing but the intermittent scrape of wood, the clattering of metal parts, occasional low murmured curses, and one very loud crash that caused the floorboards to tremble, along with all the tiny screws that rattled in an echo. By the time the banging finally stops, your candle has burned unevenly, your tea has long gone cold, and the only thing written under love film ideas is: ‘kill him’.
shoko: utahime and i are heading to the library to lock in
we’re inviting you so you can’t say shit like there’s always a duo in a trio
but don’t actually come we’re probably gonna js make out
you: ?
utahime: she’s joking we’re going to study
shoko: booo u whore
you’re a cockblock y/n
you: i literally didn’t do anything
if anything utahime is cockblocking you
but i’ll come if ygs are actually studying i need a fucking break
shoko: we aren’t
utahime: we are
shut the fuck up shoko oh my god
shoko: whats with u y/n u sound grouchy
you: im going to kill my new neighbour
hes playing shit music through the wall like i miss the old lady so bad
shoko: you really gotta complain to the landlord or smth
you: hell no im not a snitch
utahime: ure weirdly compassionate abt the wrong things
hows the assignment going?
shoko: teacher teacher! im snitching!
you: ? do u want me to snitch or not
and its not going good at all how can i think about love when theres someone playing phonk in my ear at 6pm on a random tuesday afternoon?
shoko: have u even seen this person?? go up and give them a piece of ur mind or smth
also come lib
you: give me a sec
i might ive never seen them though theyre usually out at weird times and doesnt really sleep in their own room ?? but what if its a 40 yo gymrat and i get bodied
utahime: yeah thats actually scary
write a note or something
shoko: and then come library
you: give me fifteen minutes
Perhaps Shoko’s insistence on going to the library is contagious because you’re suddenly eager to rip out a piece of paper to spill just how much you appreciate phonk in your ears to your neighbour. Or maybe you really just want to tell your neighbour to die.
It starts off innocently enough, the last of your patience allowing kinder words and a light reminder that your neighbour isn’t the only one living in this creaky, ancient building. But then it gets to you, the music, the thudding, the inability to remove laundry from the laundry machine appropriately, and you find you’re pressing the lead of your pencil deep into the paper until it almost leaves a mark on the table beneath.
You heave out a breath of pure catharsis and read it over, giving it an approving nod. This will certainly do.
Then, with your heart much lighter and a perk in your step, you sling your tote over your shoulder and head for the door. Instead of walking to the elevator after you’ve locked up, you make a small detour to your neighbours door and bend down to slide the letter under their door.
There, problem fixed.
With a smile, you turn and walk to the library, oddly lighter for it.
Shoko and Utahime thankfully do not make out the entire time you’re at the library. Unfortunately, they’re still Shoko and Utahime and the three of you waste time gossiping about the high school dead horse that just broke up again instead of doing anything productive. Your document for planning your films remains as empty as ever, only now it’s been shared to two email addresses so they can witness your writer’s block unfold in real time.
By the time you drag yourself back from the library, night has already settled in and you have to use your phone’s flashlight to illuminate the path to your building. The hallway is hushed in that apartment building kind of way, distant television laughter, pipes clinking somewhere behind the walls, the hum of someone’s microwave. You’re fishing for your keys when you notice it, a torn corner of lined paper stuck to your door with blutack.
You blink, too tired to make the connection straight away, brain still slogging through the haze of a caffeine crash. But then you peel it free, turn it over, and squint at the scrawny handwriting on the back.
are you twelve? what’s with the note passing come talk to me if you have an issue
also i told the landlord btw lol have fun with that —4b
You crumple the note in your hand.
That fucking asshole.
The landlord does, in fact, show up at your door the next morning wearing a stern expression and with even sterner words. You apologise with a tight smile, offering up the half-truth that you’ve been under a lot of stress lately and didn’t mean it. And then, because two can play at that game, you finally snitch on 4B too, feeling a sharp jolt of triumph when the landlord sighs and assures you that’ll be having a word with the resident next door.
You incorrectly assume that’s the last of it. Because when you come home at the end of another long day of classes, there’s a sticky note taped to your door.
snitch
A disbelieving huff slips out of you as you let yourself into your apartment, your tote sliding off your shoulder with a dull thump, hands too busy flattening the wrinkled paper to catch it. Five minutes ago, all you wanted was to collapse face-first into bed and sleep through the rest of the day. Now, irritation blazes through you so quickly it feels like caffeine, sharp and immediate, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re fishing a pen from your bag and scrawling a reply across the back.
you literally snitched first asshole. maybe if you weren’t playing anime music at 7pm in the evening i wouldn’t have to snitch on u at all
You stick it to his door on your way back from taking out the trash, pressing your palm against the paper just to make sure it stays there. When you leave the next morning for your usual nine a.m., another note is waiting.
you literally told me to die im not a masochist i wasn’t gonna let that slide ps. ntm on the digimon opening theme that’s something special to me
You write a reply during class, sticking it to his door when you come home.
and u’ve been loud as fuck ever since u moved in here yk the apartment has thin walls right? also what the hell is digimon
It doesn’t take long this time. You’re still boiling water for a coffee when there’s a faint tap at your door. When you open it, there’s a new note stuck smack in the middle, scrawled in hurried letters. You glance up and down the hallway and see no one, and smile as you step back inside.
then just walk those five steps to my door and tell me next time? and ofc someone as unfun as u has never experienced the highs and lows of digimon in ur childhood it all makes sense now
You sip your coffee as you pen your reply.
i swear i’ve knocked in the morning and u didn’t open the door
so r u gonna keep edging me or r u gonna tell me what digimon is
It’s only after you’ve already closed your door that you realise you didn’t respond to his second comment so you quickly take a pen and walk back to his door, pursing your lips in effort as you try to add another line against the door. Maybe you’re imagining it but you swear you hear footsteps pause on the other side of the door.
also i just searched it up and i can’t believe my next door neighbour is 12 years old watching cartoons
You quickly scurry back to your apartment just in time, hearing their door open after yours just as you closed yours. A couple seconds later, there’s a knock.
digimon is NOT just for kids
You stare at the note for a second, oddly thrown by the concession considering it had seemed too easy. You’d expected another argument, maybe some smug reply, maybe an insult in even messier handwriting. But instead, he had simply folded.
For some reason, it feels less like a victory and more like a sudden end to something you hadn’t realised you were enjoying. Your other neighbours probably didn’t feel the same considering they had to listen to you and 4B open and close your doors consecutively for the past few minutes.
Still, you tell yourself as you peel the note off the door, a win is a win.
The next morning, you check your door out of habit and is immediately rewarded by a piece of a4 paper stuck to the front.
hey 4a,
first of all i want to say that i’ve been very good and very quiet recently which i hope pleases you. please acknowledge my growth
— 4b
Because you’re lazy, you flip the paper over and write.
4b,
sure ur growth has been noted (?) i feel like there’s more to this do u need something
— 4a
You slide it under his door before you can overthink it. By the time you come home that afternoon, there is another note waiting.
4a,
thank you for acknowledging my progress but i fear i have received your criticism and decided not to grow from it. maybe head out for the evening
also important question do u own a screwdriver ??
thanks, 4b
You frown then write back:
why?
Five minutes later, his reply slides under your door and you watch as the paper slips through completely before standing and reaching for it.
i give u a yes or no question and u still manage to dodge
do u own one or not? please.
— 4b
The next time you tape a note to his door, you also leave a screwdriver on the ground beneath.
u better give this back
You’re halfway to backing your things for the library when his reply slides under your door. You pick it up while locking your apartment and read as you walk, catching the tail ends of some heavy thudding and hammering from the door beside yours.
people assume just because im a man i must have five screwdriver variants in my drawers or smth anyway im making furniture for my friend and its ikea :( wish me luck
You snort despite yourself, tucking the note into your pocket as another dull bang sounds behind his door.
“Good luck,” you think as you walk by, and then, less generously, “and good luck to all the other people living in this building.”
The library turns out to be the right choice. You spend three hours pretending to work, two hours ranting to the group chat about Naoya’s latest monthly photo dump, and fifteen minutes with your fingers tapping away at your keyboard which is still fifteen minutes more of productivity that you wouldn’t have achieved at your apartment so you’d call that a success.
When you come home, you brace yourself before reaching your floor.
Surprisingly, there’s a lack of any noise at all. No thudding, no scrapping, no IKEA-related violence. Your screwdriver sits neatly outside your door, wrapped in a sticky note.
returned in one piece like i promised! im hoping u took my advice and left the building otherwise can u write your complaint in five words or less? im sleepy zzz
You look at his door, a reluctant smile on your face. For the first time since he moved in, you wonder if maybe the problem was never that he was impossible to live beside. Maybe the walls were thin, and he was loud, and you were miserable, and neither of you had known how to be people around each other yet.
Maybe, if you both communicated like normal neighbours, this could actually work.
If you assumed life would look up following this revelation, then you’re sorely underestimating the evil forces (read: Naoya’s Etsy witch) conspiring against your happiness.
Because the next morning, it isn’t some upbeat anime opening that wakes you up. Instead, it’s the mucus trapped in your airways and the pounding at your temples, dragging you from the dead only to make you feel worse for it.
You throw your duvet over your head and pray that when you resurface, your cold will have miraculously disappeared. It doesn’t work, to no surprise, though that thought irritates you too. Then again, maybe that’s just the built up annoyance from having your nose blocked. Miserable and stuffy, you close your eyes and remind yourself to take in a deep breath through your nose when you’ve healed, just to not take it for granted.
It’s times like this when you miss your good-for-nothing ex, times like this when you remember there used to be someone you could text without thinking, someone you could badger for some chicken noodle soup and maybe a hug and a kiss on your forehead.
Your own weakness pisses you off.
With great effort, you drag yourself upright and shuffle into your kitchen, pawing through empty pantries. Any plans of heading to that early morning tutorial this morning immediately leaves your mind at your pathetic show of strength.
You’re halfway through grabbing cereal, any other breakfast option simply too tedious, when a loud voice cuts through the haze.
“Yeah, she just didn’t get it. And when you have to explain a joke, it’s already over. No dude, obviously it’s her fault for not being with it and not because I’m unfunny, don’t even kid.”
You frown slightly, munching on another chip, thumb scrolling past a video you’re not even sure you watched. Who the hell says ‘with it’?
“If you don’t fuck with with it, then you’re one of the people who aren’t with it. You’re without it.” He continues.
You make a small noise of consideration, vaguely thinking that you might get along with his friend as they seemingly voice your own thoughts.
Your neighbour continues, undeterred from his friend’s unenthusiastic responses. “There’s no chance I’m seeing her again. She did text me but I’m just going to leave her on delivered. Is it cruel or is it saving myself from someone who called my Agumon keychain the deformed twin Charmander consumed in the womb?”
You laugh, sound muffled when your neighbour’s voice peaks.
“He doesn’t, Charmander is from a completely different franchise! And I’ll have you know that keychain was from an artist at Anime Con so when you’re picking on my little guy, you’re making fun of a small business.”
A pause. You scrunch your nose.
“Yeah, I didn’t mean to call it my little guy. If it helps, I gave my dick she/her pronouns like how a truck guy calls his truck a real beauty so she’s not my little guy.”
You snort, crunching down on a chip. You wonder if that sweet salesman next door is as enthralled in 4B’s love life as you were.
“Don’t make such a disgusted sound, she’ll take offence.”
There’s shuffling from above as your neighbour supposedly shifts to a different position, now closer to you such that you could faintly make out the voice of his friend.
“Is liking Agumon such a big deal breaker for you?” his friend says, voice smoother than the whiny tilt in 4B’s.
“Honestly, no. Agumon is my favourite character and I’m not really comfortable sharing him with others because he means a lot to me. But then when I started talking about Digimon she asked me why I didn’t just get a Pikachu keychain instead since everyone at least knew Pikachu and it’ll save me from the questions. Pikachu. The mainstream corporate mouse.”
“Okay,” his friend sighs, “but to be fair, most people know more about Pokemon than Digimon. At least she was trying?”
“That’s the problem!” your neighbour fires back and the image of him in your head changes around his enthusiasm about digital monsters. “No one gives Digimon the respect that it deserves. People act like it’s Pokemon’s weird cousin when really it’s more like Pokemon’s smarter, cooler, better-dressed older sibling who went overseas to continue pursuing their education.”
“And did you tell her that?”
“Yeah, right there in the restaurant."
“You’re never getting a second date.”
He snorts, apparently offended. “Please, like I wanted one.”
Despite yourself you laugh though the silence that follows is enough to rid you of all your amusement. Awkwardly, you trail off by clearing your throat, feeling somewhat like a creep for letting your eavesdropping be known. All this talk about knowing to stay quiet and yet you catch yourself slipping.
You listen as 4B says a quick goodbye to his friend. There’s a rustle, a soft thud, and then his voice comes again, closer this time, like he’s leaned right up against the wall between your apartments.
“Hello? Is someone there?”
For one fleeting second, you think that if this were a horror movie, he would absolutely be the first to die. Not that you’d fare much better, considering you answer him.
“Hi.”
There’s a small pause, then, “No way. 4A? What the hell, I thought you already left for class.”
Your heart skips, thudding against your ribs. For a second, you consider staying quiet and let the walls swallow the moment whole. Pretend it wasn’t you, pretend like the two of you haven’t been trading insults like you were passing notes in class.
There had been a fragile understanding between the two of you to never reach out. And yet, in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to remember why.
You clear your throat, thick with the tail end of your cold. “Well it looks like you guessed wrong. Do I need to send you another death threat for you to keep it down?”
You hear him wince, a quiet sound muffled by the walls. “Maybe we should go back to writing notes to each other. I didn’t know you’d sound like a 40 year old smoker.”
“I’m sick, jackass.”
He hums, unconvinced. There’s a beat of silence as he thinks of what to say. Then, “So, you’re a girl?”
Your eyes roll to your ceiling as you sigh, whatever you were expecting immediately thrown away. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
He huffs out a small chuckle like he can hear the exasperation in your voice and finds it amusing. “I’m just surprised. I mean, you’re so mean to me. Girls usually love me, you know, I’m kind of a ladies’ man.”
That pulls a laugh out of you, rough on your sore throat but impossible to stop. “You? With that personality? Consider me the one surprised.”
“I’m serious. I’m kind of a campus celebrity. Girls flock to me.”
You hoist yourself up onto the kitchen counter, angling your back against the wall where his voice comes through clearest. “You don’t have to lie to impress me.”
There’s a pause and you wonder if your playful insults had gone a little too far in your sick state.
“Oh, I might be into this.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” There’s the faint sound of movement on the other side before your mysterious neighbour talks again. “I meant, what type of person do you think I am then?”
“Considering you fumbled a first date because of a cartoon, I think you have your answer,” you coo with faux sympathy. “You should be nicer to her since I’m sure your cooldown for the next date might take a while.”
“First of all,” he says, apparently offended. “It’s not a cartoon. Second, she fumbled the date on her end. It was a necessary culling for me.”
You snort. “You got dumped over Digimon, let’s settle down.”
“You didn’t even know what Digimon was until I put you on a few days ago.”
You shrug, despite the fact that he can’t see the gesture. “And now that I know it’s even more pathetic. Agumon is the weird orange dinosaur thing, right?”
His whine comes through the wall, only cementing the fact that whoever is on the other side might be the biggest nerd you know. You wonder if he lied about not being a masochist considering he’s taking your insults pretty well. “Hey, come on. He’s just a cute little guy.”
“Right,” you draw out, unimpressed. “Don’t glaze him when he might be the reason you’re a social shut in.”
“That’s a new one. I am now, am I?”
“Please,” you start, warming up to the idea as she speak it into existence. “If women are all over you like you claim they are, why haven’t I heard anyone come over? You and I both know just how thin the walls in this place is.”
“Exactly,” he shoots back. “So why would I bring them back here? Unless you want to be kept awake all night.”
That makes you laugh, the idea of this voice you’re hearing now having any experience at all extremely humourous, much less with the ability to go all night long. You can almost imagine the state of his room, littered with anime posters and plushies making sex feel like a group activity. If you looked up past his figure over you, you’d probably see neon light up stars on his ceilings.
“If you can talk so much about my love life,” he trails off, voice deceptively casual and airy, “do you have a boyfriend?”
That makes you freeze. Something hard and spiky settles in your stomach and you shift on the countertop, searching for a spot that’s comfortable because for some reason, it feels like you’ve lost it. “No.”
The voice doesn’t say anything for a while. “My bad. Touchy subject?”
You shrug despite the fact that he can’t see the gesture and pull your legs to your chest. “It’s fine. It’s been, like, half a year. He was a douche anyway.”
“Okay, six months, not bad.”
Hearing the slight mumble from the other side of the wall but unable to understand it coherently, you frown and press your ear closer. “What was that?”
4B clears his throat. “I’m just saying maybe don’t talk shit when I haven’t heard you bring anyone over either.”
You roll your eyes, forcing your shoulders to relax and somewhat grateful at his deflection. “At least I don’t claim to be a microcelebrity. I keep my circle small and that works.”
“Is there room for one more?”
A laugh escapes you, genuine and surprised. “Why? Asking for a friend or yourself?”
You can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “You diagnosed me as a social shut in, remember? I’m clearing asking for myself.”
“We’ll see, 4B,” you say, though you’re matching his tone with a smile. It doesn’t, however, stop your voice from sounding croakier than intended and you have to painfully make an awkward gargling sound to clear your throat a number of times.
4B winces sympathetically, and he lets you get the worst of it out before speaking again. “Sounds like you might need some water and then a nap.”
“Trust me, that was the plan.”
You start to wiggle down from your counter and grab something to drink, wrongly assuming the conversation ends here.
“Are we going to talk again?” he asks in a rush, and you huff as your feet touch the ground.
“We live next to each other, genius. I don’t think I could avoid you even if I tried.”
“And would you try?”
You sip from your glass, ignoring him.
“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll win you over, just wait.” There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s grinning, you can hear it in the peaks of his voice. “I’ll try to keep it down for you. And then maybe you’ll be less grouchy when you wake up?”
“Go fuck yourself, 4B.”
You roll your eyes, glad that there’s a wall between you to prevent him from seeing your smile. “Goodnight, 4A.”
Gojo Satoru isn’t a man who lacks.
He’s got the grades (barely, but they’re there), the genes (obviously), the height (something even Suguru finds unfair), the charm (obnoxious), and a reputation on campus that both precedes and betrays him. He walks into a room and people notice. Professors sigh, girls nudge each other, guys scowl though it’ll be his friends that’ll roll their eyes at his presence first.
He is used to winning. More importantly, he is used to having almost everything in a way that requires very little effort on his part.
So what the hell is he doing, lying on his bedroom floor where the voice of a stranger still lingers, staring at his wall like it might crack open and offer him answers? She hadn’t even said much, not enough to leave this big of an impression.
Maybe it was the shock that the person leaving at ungodly hours in the morning beneath him was a girl. He doesn’t know why he’d assumed otherwise. Maybe because the notes had always read so dry, so flat, so quick to snap back at him that somewhere along the way he’d started hearing them in Suguru’s voice.
Except the voice through the wall had been unmistakably feminine, and now Gojo was having the deeply inconvenient realisation that he might, in fact, be into that.
It wasn’t even what she said more so how she said it, offhanded and easy as if talking to him was nothing, like he was nothing. and curse his enormous ego, he was Gojo Satoru, for god’s sake. He’s got at least three people in his dms right now asking what he’s up to tonight and it would be as easy as typing back “nothing” to have any one of them.
But none of them had left a note that told him to get his shit together. None of them made him laugh when ten seconds prior he was so ready to implode, none of them had him craning to his floor like some desperate victorian man listening to the ghostly whispers through the thin plaster.
Gojo drags a hand down his face, then turns his head again to look at it.
The wall. Plain, off-white, slightly cracked near the skirting board, absolutely identical to every other wall in this terrible building and yet suddenly the most compelling thing in his apartment because now, you’re behind it. Separated from him by a few layers of plaster and paint and bad insulation, close enough that he can hear your laugh if the room is quiet, close enough that he can picture you leaning back against the other side without ever having seen it happen.
Gojo runs a hand through his hair, frowning.
“This is bad,” he mutters for the second time that day as he explores the foreign feeling in his chest.
The urge to hear from her again beats like a second heart in his chest, and the distinction between hear and see is important because now it feels less about appearances and more about something else, something he doesn’t have a smug enough name for yet.
Gojo reaches for his laptop, then drops it back onto the floor a second later when even pretending to do work feels stupid when he’s one bad decision away from knocking on the wall just to see if you answer.
Because Gojo doesn’t lack.
Yet tonight, as he sits on his cold carpet, phone face-down beside him and no urge to answer any of his unread messages, he realises he might be wanting.
The next time you wake, your fever has left you in an uncomfortable puddle of your own sweat, damp sheets sticking to your skin. A reluctant glance at your alarm clock confirms the worst: it’s 7 a.m. the next day, and you have a 9 a.m. lecture to attend. Somehow, you’d managed to sleep through a near-complete twenty-four-hour cycle, vaguely only remembering how you had stumbled out of bed for the bathroom or small bites of whatever you could find.
When you open your door to make a hasty exit, jammed toast between your teeth and the delirious hope that you’ll run into a handsome guy around the corner of your block, you almost trip over something that ends your hopes (and almost your life). Thankfully, you catch yourself on your hands and glare down at the perpetrator.
A sports drink looks back up at you, adorned with a yellow sticky note stuck to its side. After looking left and right down the empty corridor, you pick up the bottle and read the note.
im not a fan of sick neighbour asmr —4b
You snort despite yourself, heading for the stairs. On the way, you flip the note around and pen a short reply, sticking it to 4B’s door before heading out.
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Somehow, despite being sick, Shoko shows up to your tutorial later than you. You wave as she dumps her tote under the table and flops unceremoniously into the seat beside you.
“Are you still sick?” she asks in lieu of a greeting. “You shouldn’t come to class if you’re not feeling well.”
“What makes you think I’m still sick?” you ask in a voice that can only be attributed to years of smoking or recovering from sickness.
She gives you a look. “Right. So the eyebags are just your usual go to?”
“It would be fucked up if i always looked like this and you just called me ugly.” You cover your face with your hands. “But it’s not that bad, is it? I still have a reputation I care about.”
“I’m genuinely afraid of telling you the truth because it might push you over the edge. So yes, girl you look gorgeous.”
You roll your eyes, slumping to rest your cheek against your arms, looking at her from the side. Her phone vibrates and you hear it loud with your ear pressed against the desk, flinching slightly until she picks it up.
“What is it?”
Shoko lets out an unamused huff and shows you the screen.
gojo (DO NOT ANSWER): wanna hit me up with the pre lab questions?
It would be a mission to go through university without hearing the name ‘Gojo Satoru’ whether in secretive whispers or muffled in laughter. For one, he’s sport captain for some sport you’ve never paid enough attention to remember. He’s stupidly charming in a way that makes people sigh even when they’re rolling their eyes with an accompanying begrudged smile. Half the girls in your course claim he’s flirted with them whilst the other half say they’d punch him given the chance, before pausing and muttering something like, “but he’s kind of funny, I guess.”
The only other piece of information you know about him is that he’s loud, annoyingly so which places you in that category of girls that would more likely punch him in the stomach than kiss him.
You wonder how on earth Shoko could be friends with someone her complete opposite.
You look up and raise an eyebrow at her. “Well? Are you going to?”
“Do you read with your eyes closed? I clearly saved his contact as ‘do not answer’. If Gojo wants pre-lab questions that badly, he can go flirt them out of one of his fifty fans.”
You snort.“Glad to know you’re a bad friend to everyone and not just me.”
She shrugs. “He thinks I owe him a huge favour for something he did for me a while ago when that is not true at all. I’m sure there’s other people he can hit up for answers. You know how he is, there’s always someone trailing after him like a lost puppy.”
“Considering I don’t know the guy, no not really,” you say, nudging your cheek more firmly into your folded arms, locking in for a storytime. “Tell me about him.”
Shoko narrows her eyes at you. “You want to know about him?”
“Girl,” you huff, “like gossip. I promise I’m not a groupie. I don’t think I’ve ever actually had a conversation with him so don’t look at me like that.”
“That makes sense. He’s usually only on lower campus so there’s little chance of him showing up randomly, anyway.”
“Sounds like you don’t like him,” you say, intelligently.
“I’ve been stuck with him and Geto since high school,” she starts and you actually feel bad for her. “God forbid I don’t want to see him in my formative years, too.”
You laugh because misfortune is always better on others than yourself. “Now you have to tell me. What did he do to you?”
Shoko doesn’t seem amused. She looks you up and down, eyes narrowing at the smile on your face. “You know, I’m actually an incredible friend and as a friend who cares about you deeply, let me tell you this. You do not want to hook up with him.”
You splutter, lifting your head. “What the fuck? I just wanted to know about the guy! Can we start with being friends first, damn?”
“Let’s just say I know him,” your best friend continues, unfazed. “He wouldn’t be able to stay as just friends with someone like you.”
“Okay, and what the fuck does that even mean?”
“Look,” she says, and you open your mouth to cut her off because the telltale signs that she’s about to change the topic are there. “He’s also in Sig Kap.”
The words hit like cold water. Whatever fragile lightness had been carrying you through the morning dims all at once. Shoko notices immediately, of course she does, and some of the bite leaves her expression.
“I just thought you should know.”
You slump back into your chair, crossing your arms and looking down at your table, contemplating if you should start banging your head against the hard surface and end your suffering. “What a mood killer. Did you really have to bring that up?”
“I’m just saying, if you start seeing Gojo around, the chances of also seeing your ex is very high. Sure, they’re not in the same frat but they’re both still in that same group of guys. You know, inter-fraternity relations.”
“There’s a lot of assuming going on right now, like the fact that I would even see Gojo in the first place, but I’ll let it slide because I suddenly feel the urge to shoot myself in the head.”
“I thought you were over your ex?”
You don’t say anything for a while, trying to muse out the complex ball of feelings in your gut.
You had been falling out of love with Naoya for months before the breakup. Maybe even longer, if you’re being honest. It wasn’t like it happened all at once, and there wasn’t one dramatic collapse, no one, big, awful fight, just a slow and steady erosion. A hundred small disappointments, a hundred moments of realising he was more interested in having a girlfriend than being a boyfriend. He forgets the things you tell him, interrupts you to tell your own stories better, talks all pretty to your girl friends and then simultaneously talks shit to you about them when you ask him to stop requesting them on Instagram.
So if you do miss him, then you might have a masochist streak in you.
What you miss, maybe, is who you were before all of that. The version of you that believed romance was something soft and mutual and worth fighting for, instead of something performative that slowly hollows itself out while you stand there insisting it’s still alive.
“Y/N?”
You blink and realise Shoko is watching you. “Oh, uh. I am over him. I just wish I could have the pre-Naoya me back, that’s all.”
Shoko makes a disgusted sound on your behalf. “Do not say his name. I gagged.”
“Right?” You shake your head and dismiss whatever useless thoughts still linger, forcing yourself to relax back into something a little more light-hearted. “But it’s whatever. I’ve learnt my lesson now, frat boys are not to be trusted and dating one is like draining all the whimsy out of your body. I honestly don’t care about him anymore and I wouldn’t even think about him at all if I didn’t have that film to make.”
That makes your best friend giggle. “The one about love.”
“Is this funny to you?” you ask with a huff, but you’re grateful that she doesn't force you to say any more than you’re ready for.
“Extremely.” She nods, then dodges when you reach over to try and playfully hit her. “Look, I’m sure inspiration will hit you soon. Love always arrives when you least expect it, and all that.”
You give her a long look, face unmoving. “I don’t want the girl with the girlfriend of three years to say that. Get out of my face.”
Shoko laughs loudly, and you both trail off as the lecture starts.
The rest of class passes in the usual blur of half-listening and half-heartedly playing minesweeper on the google chrome extension open on your laptop. By the time you make it back to the sketchy, wilted building you unfortunately call home, winter evening has settled in for real, the kind that turns everything blue-grey and has you squinting down the street every few minutes just to make sure the shape in the distance is a person and not a fire hydrant. You had to use your phone’s flashlight for this, and in the last few steps up to your apartment, it betrays you by dying.
Thankfully, you still manage to make it to your place in one piece.
You peel the note off your door on your way in, flick on the lights, and let your tote bag drop to the floor with a tired thud.
feeling better?
A soft smile tugs at your mouth before it fades just as quickly, replaced by a small furrow in your brow. Weird.
You’re halfway to the kitchen to find the stack of sticky notes you left on the island in a rush this morning when the world abruptly cuts out.
“The fuck—”
“Ow!” In the sudden darkness, you misjudge the turn around the counter and slam straight into the corner of it.
From the other side of the wall, 4B’s voice comes a little louder. “4A? You okay?”
You suck in a sharp breath, one hand nursing your hip as you try to steady yourself. “Yeah. Just walked straight into my counter corner. What the fuck happened?”
There’s the sound of faint footsteps, then the creak of something shifting as he leans against the wall in his kitchen. “I think this is what they call a power outage. Correct me if I’m wrong.”
“I know that, smartass,” you mutter, though not so quietly where he can’t hear. “But how did that happen? It’s not even storming or anything.”
“What’s wrong? Scared of the dark?”
You scoff, already dreading the upcoming conversation. Despite this, you fumble to where that familiar countertop sits against the connecting wall between your apartments and hoist yourself up easily, leaning back so his voice is clearer when he speaks. “No. We pay rent for this place, of course I want to know what’s happening when the lights all suddenly cut.”
“I can text the landlord. If it happened to both of us then it’s probably a building wide thing so it’ll be their responsibility. But all we can do is wait.”
You sigh, long and full of suffering. “This sucks. Couldn’t the power go off at midnight or something?”
“I’ll let the landlord know your availability.”
You roll your eyes and make yourself comfortable, relenting to stay for however long it’ll take for there to be light again. You mourn the death of your phone then, holding the power button for some kind of miracle and get reminded that, once again, your life sucks and is only full of betrayal and tragedy.
For a short moment, silence settles between you, and suddenly you’re struck by the irritating realisation that beyond his notes, his terrible taste in alarms, and his frankly irresponsible attachment to Digimon, you know almost nothing about the stranger on the other side of the wall.
“So,” you start.
“Yeah?”
“What were you up to? You know, before the power went out and everything.”
“Curious, hm?” your neighbour replies, that irritating teasing tilt in his tone. “I was just about to lock in for an assignment so I can focus on the midterms coming up in a week.”
You hum. “What course are you doing?”
“Physics. And I know what you’re going to say—”
You snort. “Nerd.”
“You know, some people find intelligence attractive.”
“Do those people also happen to be the same imaginary campus-wide fanbase you keep bringing up?”
He laughs and you immediately lock onto the pleasant sound, not because you particularly care, but when your vision is knocked out, everything you hear seems amplified. Including the pretty tilt in his tone, the richness in his laugh, and the fact that his voice sits somewhere deeper than you expected from his petulant notes.
“Well, what about you, then? If I’m the resident physics nerd, what are you?”
You glance out into your dark apartment, the outline of your living room barely there in what little evening light still makes it through the windows. Your camera sits somewhere on the table, your laptop buried inside your tote, your assignment still waiting to be done.
“Film,” you say at last. “Well, not film-film. I’m just doing one elective this semester to boost my grades but if I could go back in time I would have picked that social media class everyone else does as a GPA booster.”
Your neighbour makes a sound of recognition. “Oh, that! Yeah, I took that in my first year. Our midterm was to write a report on the significance of ‘get ready with me’s’. I’m so serious.”
You groan, dropping your head onto your knees. “I know, my friend was telling me how she did that class too.”
“Who’s your friend? Wouldn’t it be so funny if your friend was actually in my class that year?”
You roll your eyes. Shoko would have definitely told you about someone like him. “I doubt it. We do the same course and none of our classes are ever near the physics buildings.”
He hums. “You never know. I get around.”
That makes you laugh. “Sure, 4B. Let’s stick to hypothetical equations instead of your hypothetical maladaptive daydreams, okay?”
“You pick on me too much,” he whines. “Give me something to work with, I’m starting to really feel this power imbalance. What’s your film assignment about?”
You let out a long breath through your nose, already hearing his voice in your head and every possible jab he can make. “It’s a film on love.”
He snorts. “Right, because when I talk to you I’m just overwhelmed by the love seeping out of you.”
You sigh. “Kill yourself.”
“See, this is what I mean.”
“All you know about me is my voice,” you shoot back, not necessarily offended so much as annoyed. “I’ve been told that I’m a very benevolent and kind person.”
He hums. “Maybe not when you’re so grouchy then.”
“I’m not being grouchy.”
“At least try and make your point come across.”
“My point is that I’m a delight,” you say flatly. “A warm presence, a gentle soul. Campus-wide rumours actually say I’m beloved by all who meet me.”
“Now who has the imaginary campus-wide fanbase?” he laughs, and even though you roll your eyes, it’s harder to hold onto your irritation when he sounds that pleased with himself.
The dark presses in around your apartment, turning everything into vague shapes and corners, but his voice keeps coming through the wall like a little light you cannot see.
“Okay, then,” he says after his laughing fit. “Prove it.”
You frown, even though he can’t see you. “Prove what?”
“That you’re not grouchy. That you’re a person full of fun and whimsy. If your film is about love, then tell me one thing you love.”
You make a face. “That sounds like world’s worst icebreaker.”
“Someone’s getting defensive,” he sings, sounding far too amused. “Come on, 4A. one thing. It doesn’t have to be deep. Actually, please don’t make it deep, I’m not emotionally prepared for that. Just something stupid that makes you happy. That’s still love, you know?”
You open your mouth with another complaint ready, but nothing comes out. Which is annoying, because it should be easy. Before Naoya, before the breakup, before the awful assignment and the worse timing, you had liked plenty of things without needing to justify them. You liked when orange and pink bleeds across the sky on the walk back from a long day of classes, you liked smiling at dogs when they crossed your paths on the streets, you liked the warmth of a delicious heated drink in your hands on a cold, winter morning. You liked watching people reunite at train stations, you liked filming light moving across your bedroom wall because, at the time, it had seemed like something worth keeping.
Now, asked to name that something out loud, your mind offers you nothing but static.
“Jesus, okay,” he says after a beat. “The silence is very telling.”
There is a soft scrape on his side of the wall, like he is sliding down to sit more comfortably. “Okay, I’ll go first since clearly you need a role model. I love when vending machines actually drop the thing you paid for instead of holding it hostage behind the glass. I love when you think a package is coming next week and then it arrives today like a tiny miracle.”
Despite yourself, you huff. “Sounds like you just love consumerism.”
“I also love when a dog on the street looks like it has somewhere important to be. Like, where are you going? Do you have a meeting? Are you late? Should I call ahead?”
Fuck, that was on your list too.
“Fine,” you say, shifting on the counter until your socked foot bumps against one of the cabinet handles. “I love when you’re walking past a bakery and they’re making bread, but you’re not hungry, so you just get to enjoy the smell without spending money.”
“How very financially responsible of you. You’re like the opposite of me. Anti-consumerism.” You can hear the grin in his voice. “Okay, next. We’re making a list now. That’s how brainstorming works, right?”
You sigh like this is a burden, like you are not already turning the question over in your hands. “I love when the train comes right as you get to the platform.”
“Really? That sounds stressful.”
“I love when someone in front of you in line is ordering something complicated and you get annoyed, but then they’re actually really nice to the worker, so you forgive them.”
“Because is it ever that serious?”
You roll your eyes, but your mouth betrays you by pulling into a smile. It feels strange on your face, like trying on an old jacket you had forgotten in the back of your closet, something that had once been yours. It’s not a terrible feeling, you decide, perhaps just a little unfamiliar.
“Okay, my turn again,” 4B says. “I love when you see someone running for the bus and the bus driver waits for them.”
“That’s rare, some people have that sadistic bone in their body that wants to only see others suffer.”
“Which is why it makes those off chance moments better. Rarity increases market value.”
“There’s that consumerism bleeding through again.”
A thought arrives quietly, not quite the decision you were hoping for in the library, but it’s a small, familiar itch of wanting to keep something before it passes.
“I love when someone laughs so hard they make the other person start laughing even if they don’t know what’s funny,” he continues.
Your eyes have gone to the table again. There isn’t a clean, decisive moment to it, certainly no sudden burst of artistic purpose that you might call inspiration. You simply slide off the counter while he keeps talking, careful not to knock your hip into the corner again and feel your way through the dim apartment toward your camera.
“Also,” he continues, completely unaware. “I love finishing a book or movie and getting so into it that you look it up on Twitter for everyone else’s take.”
“Sounds like you just struggle to form an original thought on your own.”
“I’m superseding my opinion.”
“Oh, what a big word! Good job, 4B.”
You finally find your dust camera hidden by more important things, and take it back to the kitchen.
The room is too dark for the lens to catch anything properly. For a second, you nearly give up, but then your gaze lands on the candle sitting untouched on your dining table, the one you bought months ago because it smelled like vanilla and cedarwood and you had convinced yourself buying one candle would somehow turn your apartment into a Pinterest board’s dream. You’ve never lit it.
But for some reason, the desire to make a mark in the wax comes to front and you set it on the windowsill without any more thinking.
The lighter takes three tries to catch.
“What’s that clicking sound?”
“What clicking sound?” you mumble, brows burrowed as the fire dies again.
“Am I going crazy? Just warning you but I have crazy keen hearing. And now with my sight gone, I’m even more locked in. Sounds like… are you lighting a birthday cake? Is it your birthday?”
“That’s what you think of first when you hear a light?” You don’t know whether to laugh or coo at his innocence in your dorky neighbour. “I’m just lighting a candle because it’s dark.”
The candle flame shivers to life, small and uneven. Throwing a weak gold light over the window ledge and the lower half of the glass. It’s frankly a terrible light source, dim but somehow managing to catch the smudge of your fingerprints on the window and turns the kitchen sink into a dark, warped shape in the reflection. When you prop the camera up against your water jug, lifted by two stacked coasters, the frame tilts slightly to the left.
You hit record.
“Okay, your turn,” he says.
You blink at the red dot on the camera screen. “What?”
“It’s your turn again. Don’t think I didn’t notice you going quiet there. Just because I can’t see you doesn’t mean you can get away with not contributing your part to this list.”
“As if you’re keeping track of everything.” You settle back against the counter, close enough to the camera that your voice will catch. “Okay, here’s one. I love it when people apologise to furniture after walking into it. Oh, and, when someone saves you a seat.”
He hums, turning the thought over in his head. “That’s a good one. Could even be your thesis statement for your film, honestly. Something pretentious. Like how love is making room.”
You giggle. “Love is setting aside a space for someone.”
“Love as chair politics,” he says smartly.
“Love is an empty seat: an interdisciplinary exploration into effort-based decision-making.”
“Okay, you made this not fun by actually sounding smart. What the hell is effort-based decision-making?”
“Google is free.”
You hear the grin in his voice as he bounces off your words. “So is a tree, hang from it.”
The laugh leaves you before you can stop it. It is sharp and ugly, startled out of you in a way that makes you clap a hand over your mouth too late. The sound echoes faintly in your dark kitchen, caught by the camera, your shadow probably distorted by the terrible angle and the water jug propping it upright.
There is a beat of silence on the other side of the wall. Then, quietly, delightedly, “Oh, you thought that was funny. You think I’m funny?”
“Please, it was a fluke.”
“That was the healthiest you’ve sounded all day.”
You make an offended noise and reach blindly toward the counter until your hand lands on a tea towel. You throw it at the wall and it hits with a soft, deeply unsatisfying slap before flopping onto the floor.
He gasps. “Did you just throw something at me?”
“Consider it a formal complaint.”
“I’m snitching to the landlord.”
“Tell them to fix the power while you’re there.”
“Fine. But I’m adding attempted murder on top of that previous violent note.”
You shake your head to yourself, still smiling. If you were sane, you might take the time to wonder what the fuck you were doing, sitting on your kitchen counter, arguing with a man you’ve yet to seen, smiling like an idiot at your own wall. And yet, you hesitate to move.
For a moment, neither of you say anything and a silence that isn’t quite awkward settles over you both.
Then, with a sudden electric hum, the fridge kicks back on and the ceiling light blinks once, twice, and then floods the kitchen in a harsh yellow that makes you squint, and makes your neighbour curse in surprise.
“Oh!”
From the other side of the wall, he lets out a sigh. “Boo.”
You laugh again, leaning over to check your camera. “Boo?”
“I was having fun,” he says, almost accusingly. “The dark was doing wonders for our dynamic. You were less mean when you couldn’t see.”
“You mean when I was visually impaired and vulnerable?”
“Exactly. It was bringing out your softer side. Or maybe it was all me.”
Looking at the camera, you see that the little red dot is glowing steadily on the screen, and only then remember what you were meant to be doing in the first place. Most of the clip is probably just your kitchen window, your voice too close to the mic and his voice muffled through the plaster, the two of you listing stupid things that barely count as anything.
Still, your fingers hesitates over the stop button.
On the other side of the wall, he shifts and the wall groans. “You alive over there? The light didn’t evaporate you when they turned back on, did they?”
You press stop. “Now how does that make any sense?”
You pick up the camera, thumb hovering over the saved clip. The thumbnail is dark and grainy, almost useless at first glance, but when you play the first second back, your own laugh cracks through the tiny speaker before you panic and mute it.
Your face warms.
Stupid.
So, so stupid. But you don’t delete it. Instead, you set the camera carefully on the counter and blow out your candle still burning against the window.
“Anyway, since the lights are back, I’m going to pretend to do my assignment now. Keyword pretend because I like to keep my goals realistic,” 4B says and the strange mood lifts and dissipates with the candle’s smoke.
“Good luck with that.”
“Good luck with your love thing.”
You look down at the camera again.
“Yeah,” you say, picking it up before you can change your mind. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
You pause. Then you tuck the camera against your chest and head out of the kitchen. “Nothing.”
Behind the wall, 4B laughs like he does not believe you at all, and you leave before he can ask.
You don’t remember when but sometime along the semester, you begin to enjoy waking up. You hadn’t grown a newfound appreciation for your alarm, no that was still a work in progress, but something about opening your eyes to start a new day no longer evoked a groan. Your next door neighbour did that for you instead.
One morning you were waking up to a quiet early morning and the next, you hear an alarm ring parallel to yours.
You hear it again this morning as you rub the sleep from your eyes as some anime opening plays, muffled by the distance. When you step into your kitchen, it’s louder, and you hear the soft padding of feet against floorboards as 4B wakes.
“Morning,” he’ll mumble, voice rough from sleep, just as he did now.
“Good morning,” you’ll say back and hope he doesn’t hear the smile in your voice.
He’ll grunt in acknowledgement, heading for his bathroom which you’ve come to realise shares a wall with your bedroom. You’ll get started on packing a lunch to take to campus while he takes his sweet time getting ready. You wake far too early for him, after all.
You’ll pause on your way out, just as you did now, tilting your head slightly to listen. If he hears your door open, he’ll call out, “Good luck with your classes!” and if he doesn’t, water too loud or too immersed in something else, you’ll say, “See you later!”
It’s a routine you’ve come to love.
Sometimes when he hears you sigh coming back from campus, you’ll hear him close his fridge and fall into his couch. “Grey's Anatomy?” he’ll ask loudly and you’ll laugh softly, hand already reaching to grab your remote despite your drowsiness.
You tell yourself it isn’t a big deal. Plenty of people have neighbours and plenty of people talk to said neighbours. Plenty of people probably know the exact sound of their neighbour’s footsteps in the morning, the difference between their sleepy voice and their smug voice, the exact pause before they say something annoying just to get you to react.
Probably.
Still, the thought follows you out of your apartment and all the way to campus, sitting somewhere uncomfortable behind your ribs. It’s there when you catch yourself slowing down near the front steps because someone ahead of you laughs a little too loud and, for one stupid second, you think it might be him. It is there when you buy coffee and almost order an extra pastry because 4B once mentioned he loves sugary things first thing in the morning and frankly any other time of the day.
It is there when you realise, with a kind of quiet horror, that you might actually like him.
Recognising the telltale signs that you’re about to spiral, you decide to at least try and prevent it by taking a walk and touching grass. Unfortunately, you forget that there are evil forces against you because when you step into the main courtyard on campus on your way out, you immediately find yourself in hell.
Like, actual hell. Like there’s a frat car wash happening in the middle of the campus kind of hell.
A row of cars lines the curb beside the courtyard, soapy water running down the pavement in bright, bubbly streams. Someone has set up a folding table with a cardboard sign that reads SIG KAP CHARITY CAR WASH in marker thick enough to be seen from across the street. A group of people have already crowded around the main attraction snapping away and laughing, the men scattered around yelling over each other as they try and organise the mess. There’s a JBL speaker playing Cbat and other such EDM trap that has you wondering if you’ve walked yourself into a rave.
And standing in the middle of it all, shirtless and holding a sponge as flexes for his groupies, is Gojo Satoru.
He’s hot. There’s really no polite way around it. His hair is damp from the spray of the hose, white strands pushed messily off his forehead and curling slightly at the ends. Water runs in thin lines down his throat, over the sharp cut of his collarbones, then lower and lower, disappearing along the hard planes of his stomach and tapering down into droplets that catch the sun on his abs.
Your eyes follow a line of water that continues further down which is definitely a mistake.
A deeply human mistake, but still a mistake nonetheless because it means you get an unwillingly thorough look at the narrow dip of his waist, the low-slung band of his shorts, the way his abdomen tightens when he twists the sponge out over the hood of a car.
You shake your head, rattling any more indecent thoughts from your head. Sure, fine, he’s hot as fuck. But who is genuinely stupid enough to get seduced into donating money because some guy with abs and wet hair smiles at them whilst simultaneously wiping bird shit off a windscreen?
A group passes by the table and drops a note into the donation jar.
You stare. Okay, nevermind. Apparently some people really will. Still, it has absolutely nothing to do with you. You don’t have a car, you don’t carry cash on you, and you don’t want to entertain a bunch of frat guys especially after all you’ve learnt this year. So, you adjust the strap of your tote higher on your shoulder and keep walking.
“Hey, you in the band shirt!”
Your foot catches slightly on the uneven pavement, and you make an embarrassing gesture getting back on two feet. Blind panic and something warmer, something more traitorous, jolts through you like a beam of lightning.
No.
No, because that voice—
You’ve barely rationalised anything before your head is whipping so fast over your shoulder you think you’ve given yourself a cramp. It’s instinctive more than anything, a kind of desperate hope for something indescribable, heart leaping up to your throat at the thought that a voice behind a wall has suddenly become attached to a body.
And what a body.
Gojo jogs toward you, shirtless and damp and unfairly attractive under the sun, towel bouncing against his neck with each step. There is soap clinging to his hands, water sliding down the firm line of his chest, one hand running through his hair as he shakes it of loose droplets.
He comes to a stop in front of you, grin already loaded. You don’t even flinch when he flicks water onto your face accidentally.
“Band shirt! Running away already?” he asks. “I didn’t even pitch you yet.”
Gojo Satoru just spoke with 4B’s voice.
Your 4B. Except he’s no longer a faceless voice in the dark. He is Gojo Satoru. He is shirtless in front of you. He is looking at you like he’s waiting for an answer.
“You cryin’? he asks, head tilting slightly as he glances at the droplets on your cheek. “Is the sun getting to you? We have buckets of water back there if you want to dunk yourself. Or maybe you want to dunk me and live vicariously through that? I noticed you staring.”
You force your mouth to move. “I don’t have a car.”
Unfortunately, the voice that comes out is wrong. It’s too high like you’ve swallowed your own throat and replaced it with someone doing customer service over the phone.
Gojo blinks.
You clear your throat. “I mean, I don’t have a car,” you repeat, lower this time.
Great, now you sound like you’re about to rob him.
His smile twitches, one eyebrow raising slowly as he regards you.
“Right,” he says, slowly. “No car. I think I got it the first time. What about a bike? We can wipe down the seat or something.”
You shake your head.
“Scooter? Skateboard?”
“No.”
“How do you get around?”
“Feet.”
He looks down and you suddenly feel self-conscious of your shoe choice.
“We don’t typically offer pedicures but I could make an exception for you,” Gojo says with a wide grin. “Or we could give your shoes a good scrub.”
“I don’t have anything for you to wash.”
“What? Don’t tell me you’re attached to that layer of grime you have on them.”
You’re so offended you temporarily blink of your stupor to splutter. “They’re not that dirty! They’re just well-loved!”
“They’re clearly crying out for some divine intervention. Lucky for you, I might as well be the second coming of Jesus.”
You scoff. “No way. Maybe I like them ugly, okay?”
Gojo’s grin widens. “So you admit they’re ugly.”
You hate that he catches it so quickly. You hate even more that your heart picks up like a trapped hummingbird beneath your skin.
Behind him, someone whistles. “Satoru, stop flirting and actually help!”
“I’m not flirting,” he calls back without looking away from you. “I’m recruiting customers!”
He lowers his voice so it’s just for you. “You are planning on being a customer, aren’t you?”
You scoff. “Is this what the whole pitch is? Bullying people’s shoes until they donate?”
“No, that was just tailored marketing.” He leans slightly closer, lowering his voice like he’s about to reveal a conspiracy. “The real pitch is much more moving.”
“Okay,” you say, because apparently you’ve lost the will to survive. “Go on then.”
Gojo flashes you another smile, or maybe he hasn’t stopped smiling not even once throughout this entire encounter, and steps back, pressing one wet hand dramatically to his bare chest. He adopts a pitiful expression as he gazes at you. “Every year, hundreds of cars on this campus are forced to suffer through bird shit, pollen, and the mysterious sticky stuff that appears under trees for reasons science refuses to explain.”
You grimace.
He continues, undeterred. “For just five dollars, you can help one of these poor vehicles experience dignity again.”
“I don’t have five dollars.”
“For just three dollars—”
“No cash.”
“For one encouraging word—”
“Not happening.”
“—you can support a hardworking student athlete in his fight against grime,” he finishes calmly.
“I think you just want to be shirtless,” you say what’s been on your mind the entire time, letting yourself steal another glimpse of his chest. Is it just your imagination but did he just flex his pecs at you?
He looks down at himself like he has only just remembered the state he is in. “This? It’s a uniform. Works wonders for pulling in interest.” He gestures vaguely over his shoulder where another person has just dropped money into the donation jar without taking her eyes off his back. “See? The system works.”
“How are you so blatantly shameless?”
He shrugs. “Shame only slows you down.”
Gojo steps slightly to the side when someone passes behind him with a bucket, and the movement brings him just close enough for you to catch the clean, cozy smell of soap and sunscreen underneath the damp heat of him. The towel around his neck drips onto his chest and a bead of water slips from his collarbone, trailing lower.
Your eyes follow it again. Good lord. When you force your gaze back up, he’s watching you smugly.
“So,” he says, voice dropping a little, “should I put you down as morally opposed to charity, or just immune to my charm?”
“Those are the only options?”
“Hey, I’m open to feedback. If you have a complaint, I’m all ears.”
“Add a financially unavailable option.”
“Okay.” He nods gravely. “Morally opposed, charm-resistant, and broke.”
“I didn’t say broke.” You cut yourself off when you realise you’ve spent too long arguing with him when you had been so determined to walk away moments before. “Forget it, I’m walking away.”
Gojo laughs and steps directly into your path, head tilting as he studies you like he’s trying to place a song from the first few seconds.
“You have quite the mouth on you,” he says, and something foreboding settles in your gut. “What’s your name, band shirt?”
Something about his voice tricks you into almost answering, perhaps because 4B has spent weeks training a response out of you. He says something stupid, you respond with something worse, and you fall into conversation that way. But while they sound the same you force yourself to remember this isn’t 4B through the wall.
You have only one goal here: get out before he starts connecting ‘band shirt’ to ‘familiar voice’ that becomes ‘girl through the wall’ because then you’ll have to move apartments and potentially countries. So, you straighten your shoulders, lift your chin, and speak in the blandest tone you can manage.
“No,” you say. “Short for none of your business.”
“That’s a terrible name,” Gojo says, nose scrunching up. “What did you do to your parents to deserve that? It’s going to look quite hurtful on the donation receipt.”
“I’m not donating,” you say, already looking for the cleanest route around him. “So thankfully, your admin concerns are none of my concern. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“You won’t donate, you won’t volunteer, and you won’t give me your name,” he says, still watching you too closely. “But you’ll stand here and argue with me.”
“That’s because you seem like the type who needs things explained slowly,” you quip back. “And besides, you’re in my way.”
His gaze flicks briefly to the open space beside him. You both look at it.
Then he looks back at you, smile unbearably smug. “Am I?”
You hate him because he is right, and because the longer you stand here, the more his voice settles into place with his face, and the more impossible it becomes to separate Gojo Satoru from 4B. You can feel it happening in real time, the two versions of him overlapping until the faceless boy through the wall starts becoming this shirtless jerk with wet hair and water dripping down his chest.
“You’re very intense about names,” you say, forcing your voice into that same bland, too-flat register. “Maybe work on that before the next person you corner.”
“Relax,” he says, voice dipping into something smoother. “I’m just saying, if a girl insults me this much, I feel like I should at least know what to call her.”
“Band shirt is working fine for you. And if it’s not going on a donation receipt then I don’t see why you really need it.”
“Can I guess?” he asks instead, already leaning forward like the idea has thrilled him.
“Absolutely not.” You take a step to the side, causing him to promptly mirror you. “Dude, quit it.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, immediately stepping back with both hands raised to showcase his harmlessness though it’s ruined by his smile. “Got excited. You’re so nonchalant and mysterious it just draws me in, you know? Come on, I’ll leave you alone if you just give me a name, your real name.”
“No.”
“Okay, not a real one,” he concedes far too quickly. “Just so I have something to call you in my head when you’re already running through it so much.”
“I’m not giving you a fake name either.”
“That’s so much worse,” he says, sounding wounded. “Now you’re not even trusting me with a lie? I’m shirtless for charity, band shirt, I’m vulnerable.”
“Vulnerably harassing a stranger for her name in the middle of campus?”
“Stranger feels harsh.” His smile shifts a little, still playful yes, but the focus underneath it becomes visible. “You don’t exactly feel like a stranger.”
You need to get out here right now.
You tighten your hold on your tote bag and start walking, not caring where your dirty shoes led you, not caring if it even led you back to that God forsaken carwash. Gojo doesn’t give up, trailing after you and eating up the distance you try to place with his long legs, body facing yours even as you speed walk.
“Do I know you?”
“No,” you say. “We don’t know each other.”
“But it feels like we know each other.”
“We? There’s no we. Maybe you’ve seen me in passing but it’s not something to obsess over. Okay, bye.”
“Possible,” he says, nodding solemnly. “I do have a wide reach. I’m trying to expand it, actually, which is why I need your name.”
You pass the front of the carwash table once more and someone at the front turns, practically jumping on the spot upon seeing Gojo. He ignores them, still drilling holes into the side of your face.
“First initial?”
“N. For No.”
“Last initial?”
“O.”
“Does it have an A in it?”
“Do you know when to quit?”
“Is that a yes?”
“No.”
“No, it doesn’t or no, you won’t tell me? Or secret third option, No as in No your name.” He clicks his tongue like you’re the one being difficult. “See, this is getting really confusing. You could solve this entire problem by telling me your real name.”
You keep walking for a few more steps but it’s getting harder to pretend you don’t have a golden retriever trailing after your every step, and word, especially when he’s shirtless and a microcelebrity on campus.
“Look,” you say, stopping and turning to give him a piece of your mind. “I don’t know you, you don’t know me, so this has been deeply unnecessary. Let’s just leave it at that okay?”
His smile softens as he also stops, looking at you. “Then tell me your name and we can fix that.”
For one stupid, horrifying second, you almost do. His voice dips around his words, warm and familiar, and your brain gives you 4B through the wall saying morning, 4A, soft with sleep, and suddenly your name feels like something dangerously close to being handed over.
His hand lifts, reaching for your wrist at your hesitation but hovers short of actually touching, eyes holding yours for permission.
Then someone calls, “Satoru!”
His face twists, mouth opening like he is ready to spit out another excuse, when a towel hits him square in the back of his head.
He jolts, hand leaving the space between you to grab at the towel before it falls. “What the fuck?”
You both look over in the direction of the carwash.
Sukuna stands by the donation table with another towel hanging from one hand, looking like he would rather be dragged behind one of the cars than be there voluntarily. He is also shirtless, because can you even see a guy with his shirt on in a fifty metre radius around you? Water drips from the ends of his pink hair, sliding down the hard line of his neck and over his chest, his skin still shining from whatever girl had convinced him to stand under the hose for a photo.
“Oi,” Sukuna calls, lifting the towel like he might throw it again. “Are you done begging, or should we put a bowl out for you too?”
Gojo’s expression immediately collapses into offence. “I’m not begging. I told you I was networking! You’re really cramping my style.”
“Whatever you want to call it.” Sukuna jerks his chin toward the cars. “Get back here. Some girl paid ten dollars because you promised to write her name in soap on the windshield.”
Gojo ruffles a hand through his hair and you catch a glimpse of his undercut before he groans, ducking his head. “Shit! I forgot I said that. Can’t you take one for the team, Sukuna?”
“She asked for you.”
The imaginary campus-wide fanbase turns out to be true, you think mournfully.
A few people around the table laugh, and Gojo turns just enough to argue back, towel clutched in one hand, wet hair sticking messily to the back of his neck. You take the sight of his back muscles as a sign to leave. So before he can turn back around, you step away.
Then another step. Then several more, fast enough that your tote bumps against your hip and your grimy shoes slap loudly against the wet pavement. It’s not running, because running would imply guilt, and you are innocent of everything except being cursed.
“Band shirt,” Gojo calls behind you and because it’s not your name, you don’t turn around.
You especially don’t turn around when Gojo’s half-groan, half-laugh follows you across the courtyard, short yet familiar enough to make your stomach twist.
4B is Gojo Satoru.
Gojo Satoru is 4B.
Someone needs to take down the Etsy website.
You never do wear that band shirt again.
Not that it mattered much because you also don’t really go outside for a week, not if you could help it. You want to call it locking in because the midterms are coming up but in the brief moments when you allow yourself the truth, you admit it’s because you’re preventing any chance of running into Gojo again.
It’s difficult to do that when he’s your neighbour. Or, well, when 4B is your neighbour.
That distinction becomes very important to you. Gojo Satoru is someone you saw shirtless in the middle of campus using charity as an excuse to flex obscenely at the general public moving through their day. Gojo Satoru has wet hair, a stupid grin, and is highly dangerous because he has a face and a body and a set of eyes that pins you down,
4B is a voice through the wall. 4B is his alarm going off too loudly in the morning, all groans and curses as he heaves himself from the warmth of his bed. 4B is ranting about the latest anime he’s watched, whispering through plaster when it gets late, knocking twice against the wall when he wants your attention but isn’t sure if you’re in.
So you let yourself have it. You avoid Gojo, and you keep talking to 4B.
After a while, there aren’t many problems with having Gojo as your next door neighbour. Sure, he can get loud during phone calls with his friends but you quickly forgive him when he gives sheepish apologies and dials down his volume. And sure, his alarm is loud but after that initial morning when you grilled him on the cheerful tune, he had changed it to something more appropriate.
The way he laughs is loud, the way he sings as he cooks is loud, the way he says your unit number is loud, all bright like he’s been waiting to catch you the moment you step into your apartment.
It seems Gojo can’t help but be loud. In every aspect.
You wonder if you should bring it up.
It really was unfortunate that your bedroom and his bathroom shared a wall. Whoever constructed this building many, many years ago must not have planned it out too well and simply settled for fitting rooms of different apartments together like tetris. And because of this, his bathroom ends up right next to your head when you sleep.
You also gather that his shower is pressed against the said wall that you share with him, if his groans are any indication.
You should probably bring it up.
But how does one even bring up such a conversation? Hey neighbour! Not that I’ve been listening but I can hear you jerk off in the shower. Could you stop?
In his defence, you relent, rolling over and pressing your pillow against your ears, he was trying to be subtle about it. You appreciate that he wasn’t doing it in his room since that would certainly turn you off from whatever you’re eating in your kitchen next to him. But if he believes the rush of water is enough to muffle his moans, he’s sorely mistaken.
You roll onto your other side, shuffling when even this position isn’t comfortable. Your thin sheets are tangled around your legs and you’re desperately trying to focus on the book you’re reading on your phone. But who are you kidding, your thumb has been frozen on the same paragraph for the past five minutes, mind a million miles away.
There’s a thud of something being placed down on the tiled floor, a slight rustle. And then, a low, breathy groan—so faint you could almost convince yourself you imagined it.
But you definitely did not.
You breath catches as you place your phone down and stare at the ceiling as if that will make the sounds stop. It never works. You tell yourself to just roll over again, put in your airpods and drown it out. You’ve done it before, you can do it again.
But your hand is already drifting down, sliding over your stomach, fingers brushing the waistband of your shorts.
The first stroke is unintentional, a simple slow press through cotton just to feel something. But then you hear him again, a sharper exhale, a whispered word you can’t quite make out, and your hips shift, pressing your palm harder against your cunt.
Fuck.
You close your eyes and instead of the dark of your room, you see steam. A shower, his shower, the one right on the other side of this wall.
You don’t want to think about Gojo like this so you settle instead on your 4B. All you know is the sound of his footsteps in the hallway, the messy scrawl of his handwriting, the sound of his door opening and closing, the low rumble of his laugh when he teases you. It’s deep and a little rough around the edges. You’ve built a version of him from the sound alone, and right now, that’s more than enough.
Fingers tracing the outline of your clit through the fabric, circles so light they’re barely there, you let your mind wander.
You imagine stepping into that shower. The air is thick and wet, fogging up the glass. He’s already under the spray, back to you, water streaming down his shoulders. You don;t want to see his face, but you can see the way his muscles shift as he turns his head ever so slightly, giving you the slightest glimpse of his side profile before the steam whisks it away.
It would be foolish to hesitate. You slide your hands around his waist from behind, palms flat against his stomach, and he laughs, the vibrations meeting your chest.
“Fuck,” he breathes, voice deeper, lower with him so close to you. “Look at you, giving me a helping hand, hm?”
“Shut up,” you’d probably mumble against his shoulder blade, fingers already trailing lower, through the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. “You’re always so loud.”
He’d be hard already, and you can feel the heat of him, the slight twitch as your fingertips brush the underside of his shaft.
“No, I don’t think that’s right,” he says. “Because you’ve been listening, haven’t you? All those nights wrapped up all pretty in your blankets, thinking you can get away with using me to feel good, thinking you’re an angel for trying not to listen. But you know exactly what I sound like when I’m close, don’t you?”
Your breath hitches as you wrap your hand around him, and he groans, deep and guttural, exactly the sound that’s coming through the wall right now. Your hand moves in time with the fantasy, slow strokes, thumb pressing into the slick tip, and he leans back into you, letting his head fall against your shoulder.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “Such a good girl. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to touch me. Wanted to feel your hand on my cock for so fucking long, angel.”
“Since when?”
You stroke him faster, twisting your wrist the way you imagine he does, and his breathing turns ragged.
“Since the moment you opened that pretty mouth and told me off. Fuck—faster, angel. Just like that, don’t stop. Your hand feels so perfect.”
Your own fingers press harder against your clit through your shorts, and you let out a tiny whimper you hope he can’t hear through the wall. Maybe he can, maybe he really does know exactly what you’ve been doing. That thought makes you even wetter, a choked gasp escaping.
In the fantasy, his body tenses. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing your grip tighter around him.
“I’m gonna cum,” he says, voice strained. “I’m gonna paint the tiles with it, and you’re gonna watch. You’re gonna listen to me fall apart because of you. And then—fuck—then I’m gonna fuck you.”
His hips jerk forward, and you feel the hot pulse of his release against your hand, the way he shudders and moans your name (which he doesn’t know, but you give it to him anyway, a whispered invention). His cum slicks the inside of your fingers, and you keep stroking until he pushes your hand away with an overstimulated whimper that might be your own.
He turns around.
You still don’t see his face, just the broad outline of his chest you saw during the carwash incident, the water catching in the hollow of his collarbone. He pushes you back against the cool tile with one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding down your stomach, between your legs.
“My turn,” he purrs. “I’m gonna fuck you right here, in my shower, where you can hear every sound I make. And you’re gonna take it, aren’t you? Gonna be an angel for me and let me use this pussy like I’ve been dreaming about.”
You nod, mouth open, and he sinks two fingers into you without warning.
The gasp that escapes your lips is real. “Gojo—!”
“Nuh uh, pretty,” he coos in your ear. “Call me Satoru. C’mon, say my name, angel.”
You shake your head against your pillow, back arching. “That’s—that would be weird.”
He slows down, taking his time with you, dragging his fingers against your gummy walls before sliding over that spot that makes you see stars, chuckling when you gasp. “I’m making you feel this good and you’re still talking back? Gonna need to fuck that attitude out of you.”
You bite your lip hard. “Satoru…”
He stills, before he presses down hard. “Hm? What was that?”
“Satoru!”
His voice is a rough, airy thing in your ear. “That’s it, pretty, you’re doing so good for me.”
Your own fingers mimic the motion, pushing inside yourself while your thumb circles your clit. You can hear him through the wall—a wet, rhythmic sound, faster now, and a string of words you catch in fragments. “Yeah… that’s it… take it…”
You imagine his cock,thick, already half-hard again from the feel of you, sliding between your thighs. He lifts your leg, hooks it over his arm, and presses the head against your entrance.
“Look at me,” he says, and you try, but his face is a blur of heat and water, just shadows and the gleam of wet skin. “Look at me while I fuck you. I want you to remember this.”
He pushes in slow, and you feel the stretch in your fantasy and in your own body as your fingers sink deeper. You bite your lip to keep from moaning out loud.
“Shit, you’re so tight,” he groans, his forehead pressing against yours. “You feel that? That’s my cock filling you up. That’s what you get for listening in, for touching yourself to the sound of me cumming.”
He sets a hard rhythm, the slapping of wet skin echoing off the shower walls. Your fantasy-self clings to him, nails digging into his back, and he keeps talking, his voice ragged and dirty, exactly what you need.
“That’s it, it feels so fucking good, huh? Bet you love this, love that you didn’t know what I looked like but you know the sound of my balls slapping against your ass. You’re such a fucking slut for it. Is it hotter now that you know who I am? Open your mouth and tell me, Y/N.”
You whimper, hand curling into the sheets. “I—I can’t. You’ll hear.”
“I know, I know, you’re trying so hard to be quiet for me,” he mumbles, so soft and understanding even as he drives into you. “But I’m going to need to hear you, okay? Need to hear how much you want this.”
Your fingers move faster, matching the pace in your head. Your breathing is ragged now, little moans falling from your lips that you can’t hold back. You don’t care if he hears, and maybe if you’re slightly truthful, you hope he does. “Oh god, Satoru, it feels so good!”
In the fantasy, he’s close again. You can feel it in the way his thrusts lose rhythm, in the way his grip tightens on your hip.
“I’m gonna cum inside you,” he growls, and it’s a question and a statement all at once. “You want that? Want to feel my cum dripping down your thigh?”
“Yes,” you whisper out loud, into your empty room.
He buries himself deep, and the fantasy explodes in a rush of heat and words: “Fuckfuckfuck—take it—take my cum, you dirty little thing—gonna fill you up so full—”
You climax with a gasp, your back arching off the mattress, your fingers pressing hard against your clit as waves of pleasure roll through you. You hear yourself moan, a high, broken sound, and you don’t care.
The sounds from his side of the wall change.
There’s a final, shuddering groan and the squeak of a hand against tile. And then silence, broken only by the rush of water from a showerhead.
You lie there, panting, hand still between your legs, your skin flushed and damp. You can almost smell the steam, almost feel the ghost of his fantasy-body pressed against yours.
The shower turns off and you climb out of bed, running away to the living room.
You’re not a freak. You can’t be.
You’re a kind, virtuous person who knows no sin, who is gracious and angelic and trustworthy and not someone who listens in on her neighbour jerking it in his shower. That’s simply not who you are and not something you’d ever do.
Despite this obvious fact, your brain tells you otherwise. And when you are at war with yourself, what else is there to do but consult your friends?
You find Shoko outside the campus cafe, sitting at one of the metal tables with an iced coffee and her laptop open, clacking away with a frown. The chair opposite her is empty though not welcomingly. It’s buried under her tote bag, a packet of cigarettes jutting out that would have her girlfriend at her throat if she saw.
You walk over, tuck the box further into her bag and under her jumper, before putting her bag on the ground. “You’re smoking again?”
“Hi,” Shoko says, looking up briefly before slumping down over her laptop. “Just to get the edge off. Midterms are coming around and I’m already feeling the effects.”
You nod, stealing her drink and taking a long sip. She looks at you again, squinting.
“You don’t look as bad as I thought you would.”
“What does that mean?”
“Isn’t that film of yours due next Friday? Where’s the panic and stress? Also, that’s my coffee you whore.”
You take one last long sip and slide it back over. “I have bigger fish to fry. But shit, Shoko, you look completely under it already. We can call off girls’ talk for another day, I promise it’s not that serious.”
“Not that serious?” Shoko scoffs, hitting enter before closing her laptop. “You triple-texted last night at 3 a.m. not making any sense at all. What happened? Did Naoya text you again? You didn’t unblock him, did you?”
“What? No! It’s…” you groan, covering your face. “It’s worse. It’s so much worse. I think I’m at the edge of the abyss staring down. Like whatever I do here on out will either make or break me.”
“Okay,” she replies slowly, clearly not expecting your response. “And who is this about exactly?”
You wonder if you can tell her the truth. Hey Shoko, you might decide to start with, I’ve been crushing on the voice of my neighbour for the last month who I just found out is Satoru, you know your friend? Also, I’ve been listening to him jerk it for a while now and I have an inkling that he knows.
Instead of any of this, you whisper, “Satoru.”
She flinches as if you’ve slapped her. “What?”
Your finger comes up to point before you stop yourself, realising it was impolite to point, but your gaze is far too telling. She hesitates, taking in your horrified expression before looking over her shoulder to find Gojo stepping into sight, head turning about as if searching for something.
You almost delude yourself into thinking that when his gaze stops at your table, his eyes light up because he’s looking at you. You almost delude yourself into thinking that he’s making his way to your table. You almost delude yourself into thinking the smile he wears is for you.
Only one of these things is true because the moment you see him, you’ve pulled your hoodie up until it’s almost flopping back over your eyes, leaning back and tucking your chin in.
Gojo saunters up to your table and stops just beside Shoko. Your friend groans, dropping her head into her hands.
“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?”
Not wanting to speak, you only shrug uselessly. Gojo doesn’t even spare you a glance, whining as he tugs on her sleeve to grab her attention.
“Come on, Shoko, I’ve been trying to text you for hours now. Ignoring me isn’t going to make me disappear, you know.”
“I know now,” she mumbles before yanking her arm away from his touch. “Okay, out with it, Gojo. I refuse to be seen in public with you so let’s get this over with.”
“I need your help with something.” When Shoko only stares, unimpressed and not surprised, he presses on. “It’ll be quick, I swear! And it isn’t about the pre lab questions this time, I promise. I’m cashing in that one favour you owe me from last year.”
“What favour?”
“Me hosting a party that got you and Utahime together.”
Shoko shoots him a withering look. “That wasn’t a favour, we just happened to meet at your party. You didn’t even know her back then.”
Gojo grins, and for a moment, you get lost in it. It would be so easy to tell him now and have that smile directed at you with recognition instead of casual politeness. You don’t think he’s doing it on purpose, but you feel yourself getting smaller as he keeps talking to Shoko and only Shoko, sitting there silently as if being quiet and sipping at Shoko’s coffee might excuse your lack of presence.
Shoko rolls her eyes, turning to look at you. “Sorry, Y/N. We’ll talk after I’m done dealing with this kid.”
You wave her off stiffly and she narrows her eyes at you, sensing something off when you don’t say anything. Gojo seems to notice you then, looking over at you briefly. He tilts his head at you before Shoko’s voice pulls him back.
“So? What do you want?”
“I need help finding someone.”
You choke on your drink, hastily wiping at your chin when they both turn to look at you, a range of concern across both their faces. You wave them off dismissively, making small sounds to clear your throat as they continue.
“For revenge or…?”
He hums, seriously considering her quip. “Maybe the opposite?”
She narrows her eyes at that. “I don’t know everyone on campus. How are you so confident you can come to me for this?”
“Because you’re doing the same degree as her and you’re a girl and so is the person I’m trying to find.”
There's still liquid in your throat and it’s getting harder for Gojo to pretend like his friend’s friend isn’t slowly dying from across the table. He lifts his eyes to study you, taking in the way you’re clearing your throat, struggling to keep quiet, and he sighs.
“Hey, breathe through your nose.”
You finally look up at him, the hood obscuring most of your vision though you still try to shoot him a look as if to say, oh no, really? and he smirks at that.
“I'm serious, just breathe for a second. Through your nose, come on. It’ll get rid of that coughing fit.”
You close your mouth with effort and take a deep, shaky breath in. It goes in smoothly though the urge to cough still persists and you have to concentrate to not relapse.
Gojo pushes your iced coffee closer to you, wiping his wet hand on Shoko’s sleeve after despite her protest. You take it gratefully, taking in a few sips before clearing your throat.
Realising you couldn’t get out of this without speaking at least once, you lower your voice as much as you can and mumble, “Thanks.”
Gojo hums, accepting it easily, but his eyes linger on you for half a second too long before he turns back to Shoko. “She's someone in your course doing cardiovascular physiology. She has a lab on Tuesday and morning tutorials on Friday."
You don’t miss the way Shoko has been staring bullets into you though her eyes flicker over to Gojo every once in a while. “A lab on Tuesday, you say.” And there’s something in her tone that has you looking up frantically.
Gojo doesn’t seem to notice, nodding instead. “She usually comes back late, at around 5:20? Which means her classes end around 5 p.m.”
“5 p.m,” she repeats, her eyes never straying.
You try to shake your head as subtly as possible.
“She has the prettiest voice you’ve ever heard and the softest laugh when she finds something amusing. But then when she finds something funny, like really funny, her laugh is super loud and bright and it’s honestly cool the way she doesn’t seem to care.”
You kick Shoko’s foot under the table and she barely winces, realisation or something similar dawning on her.
“I don’t need to know any of that, that won’t help.” Her lips quirk upwards slightly. “And why are we looking for this girl, Gojo?”
He pouts at her words. “I’m looking for my neighbour.”
Shoko makes a gesture as if to ask if he’s serious. “Just go knock on her door? You literally know where she lives. That’s probably more than I could ever tell you.”
“You don’t get it,” he says, tutting, wagging his fingers even. “We have this thing going on and I don’t want to ruin her trust by camping outside her door, for example. So instead, I’ll just conveniently come across her on campus because somehow our timetables seem to line up.”
Shoko stares at him blankly. “So stalking.”
“Don’t be so crude, Shoko. It’s not stalking if I’m being emotionally considerate about it.” He leans forward slightly, hands on the table, and for a moment his voice loses some of its usual shine. “I don’t want to scare her off, okay? I know where she lives, but that feels like cheating. If you know her, ask her first. Ask if she’s okay with me knowing, or if she wants me to stay clueless and suffer with dignity.”
Shoko’s expression barely changes. “You don’t do anything with dignity.”
“I could start for her,” he says, then seems to realise what he’s admitted because he looks away with a small, helpless laugh. “Look, I know it sounds stupid, but I like talking to her. I like not knowing too much. I like that she can hang up on me by walking away from the wall whenever she wants. If I just knock on her door, then I’ve taken that choice from her.”
For once, Shoko doesn’t interrupt.
Gojo rubs at the back of his neck, grin returning but weaker this time, more embarrassed than smug. “But also, I’m going a little crazy. Call me pathetic, but sometimes she says something and I forget what my own point was. She’s mean in this really specific way, and funny, and then every now and then she’ll be nice like she didn’t mean to, and it fully ruins me. So yeah, I want to know who she is. I just don’t want to find out in a way that makes her regret talking to me.”
You kick her foot again.
“And what happens if you do find her?” she asks, rubbing the toe of her shoe against the floor like you have injured her beyond repair. “You’re going to walk up and say, hi, I’ve been listening to you through the wall for weeks and I reverse-engineered your timetable?”
Gojo makes a face. “No, obviously not. I have charm. I’ll make her fall for me first.”
You stand with a start, slamming your hands on the table, knocking your empty cup over. You hastily pick it up, shooting Shoko as many SOS signals as it’ll take for her to follow your lead. She lets out a slight laugh, especially after seeing Gojo’s bewildered face, and stands, albeit slowly.
“I think I have an idea of who you’re looking for.”
“You do?” Gojo says, eyes wide and smile hopeful.
“I have a feeling.” Her eyes leave yours after a pause, moving to shove her laptop into her bag. “But I’m going to need to confirm it before I tell you. Wouldn’t want to drag an innocent into your life.”
He nods quickly and you mournfully think that he looks like a puppy. You didn’t need that imagery, especially not right now. You tune out the rest of their conversation though it mainly consisted of Gojo demanding more details and Shoko shooting him down firmly. When you have your tote over your shoulder, Shoko tilts her head towards the door.
You all but run out. Vaguely, you hear Gojo ask, “What’s up with her?”
“Boy problems,” Shoko says before she catches up to you and the two of you walk out.
“Where are we going?”
You look over your shoulder, heart only settling when you don’t catch any glimpse of white hair. “Away.”
“Oh, so now you feel like talking.”
“Please, Shoko. Please.”
She laughs, loose and unrestrained. “Want to tell me what that was all about? Gojo looking for some Cinderella and you looking like you’re about to choke to death?”
You spin around, hands coming up to hold her still by the shoulders. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s exactly that. Shoko, stop looking at me like that, I’m going to freak out.”
“Okay, okay.” Her hands come up to wrap loosely around your wrists, not pushing you off, just holding you there. “Take a breath. He doesn’t know.”
“He almost knows.”
“I’m pretty sure he only suspects something,” she corrects. “Those are two very different things. And if you really don’t want him to know then I’ll tell him that. He might seem a little clueless in areas such as personal space, but he’s not a complete jerk. He’ll respect that.”
You let go of her shoulders slowly, though your hands stay half-raised between you like you might need to grab her again if she starts looking too entertained. “He was describing me.”
“He was describing his neighbour,” Shoko says, softer now. “You are only panicking because you know that’s you.”
“That does not make me feel better.”
“It should a little.” She tilts her head, cigarette-less and serious in a way you rarely get from her before noon. “Look, if he wanted to corner you, he could’ve knocked on your door. He literally knows where you live. But he didn’t. He came to me because, in his own stupid Gojo way, he’s trying not to scare you.”
“That’s the complete issue,” you sigh, folding your arms tighter across your chest. “The issue is that he’s Gojo, the exact kind of guy I said I was done with. I know what these kinds of guys are like, hell, I dated the textbook example of one.”
Shoko’s expression softens and in the silence, something bubbles up.
“4B wasn’t that,” you say, voice smaller than you mean for it to be. “4B was just mine.”
The second it leaves your mouth, your face warms. Mercifully, Shoko doesn’t pounce on it and instead nods slowly, looking away from you.
“I get that,” she says and when you glance at her, she repeats herself. “I do, you’re not crazy. But Gojo being in a frat doesn’t automatically make him Naoya variant 2.0.”
“I know that,” you grumble.
“Do you?” Shoko bumps her shoulder against yours. “You don’t have to trust him just because he’s 4B. You also don’t have to punish him just because he looks like the kind of guy who would have ruined your life last semester.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” you ask.
“For now? Nothing. You don’t have to suddenly jump out and introduce yourself, but you also don’t have to shut up and ghost him forever. See for yourself what kind of guy Gojo really is now that you know both sides to him.”
Sometimes, Shoko’s rationality surprises you and you find yourself nodding along to her words, a small, dawning hope struggling out of its shell inside your heart. Just as you’re about to thank her profusely for her wise words, she opens her mouth and says, “You should come to Utahime’s this weekend.”
“Uh.” You blink. “What?”
“It’s a small party, like actually small,” she says before you can look horrified. “Not a frat thing. It’ll just be a few of Utahime’s close friends, some drinks and food, you know. I haven’t seen you come out of your apartment for an entire week, Y/N, it’s setting off alarm bells. You’re hot. Funny. Maybe you’ll meet someone there that doesn’t remind you of Gojo or Naoya.”
“Oh my God,” you say slowly, disgusted. “Why are those two people my only options right now? You’re right, I need to go out.”
“I’m sure you didn’t mean it,” Shoko says with sympathy before groaning. “Can I say ‘I told you so’ yet or are you still spiralling? Because I told you so, I told you to stay away from Gojo but lookie here, who’s scouring the campus for even a whiff of you?”
You glare at her. “Not helping, Shoko.”
Shoko bumps her shoulder against yours. “You can tell him when you’re ready. Or let him figure it out slowly if you want to be annoying about it.”
You shove her shoulder back in return, and she laughs, and for a few steps, it almost feels like a normal afternoon. Like you are just two girls walking across campus, talking about weekend plans, not one girl trying to outrun the consequences of accidentally falling for her neighbour through a wall.
Then Shoko tilts her head toward the bus stop. “So. Do you want to go back to your apartment or not?”
You think of the wall, of 4B’s—Gojo’s—voice slipping through it, probably asking why you were so quiet this morning, probably making some stupid comment about your sleep schedule, probably having no idea that your whole life has just rearranged itself around his face.
You sigh.
“Unfortuntely,” you say. “I live there.”
Gojo wonders if he has an addictive personality.
Or maybe it’s just you.
But when it’s just him alone in his mind, hands running through his hair to try and catch every last runaway thought about you, he allows himself the truth. It’s probably just you.
And the kicker is that he was only 90% certain you even existed. Suguru was the one who planted the idea in his head, that the physics had finally fucked him over and he was hallucinating the voice of a sweet, snarky girl, If he hadn’t collected your sticky notes over the last few months, that statistic might have even fallen to a good 38% and even then he wouldn’t be too sure if it was the twisted humour of his friends or if he genuinely had his own Wattpad neighbours-to-lovers arc.
He sighs and leans back into his chair, feeling it give way under the motion with a creak. He wonders, as he so often does these days, if you heard it. His body stills and he waits for an indication that you might be home, a soft chuckle, an exasperated sigh, or his favourite, that soft way you say his name (read: unit number).
When it doesn’t come, he slumps.
Fuck, he was so far gone.
It’s not like this is new to him, the wanting. Gojo wants things all the time. He wants the last pudding cup from the convenience store, wants Suguru to stop pretending he’s above gossip when he’s the nosiest person alive, wants Shoko to stop stealing his lighters despite the fact that he doesn’t smoke because he needs them to light up his birthday candles. He wants good grades with minimal effort and attention when he enters a room and for his hair to sit right without having to do anything about it.
He also wants you.
Gojo’s phone buzzes against his desk and he only looks at it because he’s desperate from his own thoughts. Though he immediately regrets this when Utahime’s name lights up on his screen.
utahime: party this weekend
show up or dont
idc
He snorts.
gojo: woww dont get too excited inviting me im basically suffocating in ur enthusiasm
its chill though if u dont want me there
i wont go ive got plans anyway
Another notification drops down after he hits send.
shoko: do NOT come to utahime’s this weekend
that was a mistake
DO NOT COME
Gojo freezes, eyes blinking at the message. He taps it, opening up his chat history with her that consists of many, many time stamps and read receipts, and very slowly, something that critical thinking sparks behind his blue eyes.
Do not come, said so blunt and immediate and so suspiciously timed right after Utahime’s invitation as if Shoko had decided his presence would cause a problem.
A problem for who?
Gojo’s mouth parts. Then, slowly, his grin spreads. His thumb quickly swipes out to re enter the chat with Utahime and glides across the keyboard.
gojo: actually ykw
wouldn’t miss it for the world <3
utahime: wait im uninviting u
gojo?
i said u cant come
dont leave me on read you dick
Gojo laughs, turning off his phone.
He turns his head toward the wall, still grinning like an idiot, thriving off the single crumb he’s been graciously fed after days of searching for you.
“You going to Utahime’s this weekend, 4A?” he asks softly, knowing you are not there to answer.
The wall says nothing but Gojo’s grin doesn’t fade.
“That’s okay,” he murmurs, phone warm in his hand. “I’ll find out.”
There are two possible explanations for your current situation. Either Shoko is a liar (completely and utterly plausible) or her girlfriend has around 50 close friends. You don’t put it past Utahime either but at least Utahime did you a favour and made sure not to invite anyone from TDP so you settle for shooting Shoko a withering glare.
Music thrums through the floorboards, bass rattling the soles of your shoes as you tap your feet subconsciously against the beat. It’s loud, too loud for talking unless you enjoy shouting directly into someone’s ear, though no one seems to mind. Certainly not Shoko as she leans close to Utahime, mouth brushing against her ear, eyes half lidded as she practically has her on her lap.
You roll your eyes, feeling slightly sour.
Shoko notices your bitter look and acknowledges it with a slight chuckle, taking your cup of orange juice and switching it with hers. “Loosen up!” She yells over the music.
Without many other options, you take the drink and cup your hand around your ear as if you can’t hear her, just to piss her off.
Utahime snickers when your friend swats you away, her hand comfortably wrapped around Shoko’s. The sight of a happy couple sickens you and when Shoko yells for you to “go find someone to make out with!” you do decide to stand up and leave, though not because of her words, obviously.
You’re just getting air, maybe a refill. And maybe putting at least one wall between yourself and Shoko’s terrible, smug, in-love face.
The rest of the apartment is no better. Utahime’s place is bigger than yours, of course, because some people get exposed brick and large windows while others get mysterious ceiling stains and a neighbour loud enough to seep into your own personal life.
Bodies crowd every available inch of space. Someone is sitting on the arm of the couch with a drink in one hand and someone else sprawled across their lap, fingers pushed into their hair. A group by the kitchen is screaming the lyrics to the song currently playing and there’s two girls taking photos in the hallway mirror, swaying together, cheek to cheek.
You’re halfway through to the kitchen when you see him. For a second, your brain doesn’t even attach a name to the sight. It only registers white hair, too tall, black shirt, one hand loose around a red cup as he leans against the wall near the hallway.
Then your stomach drops.
Gojo.
The thought arrives with immediate, unreasonable betrayal.
What the fuck? Didn’t Utahime promise you she wouldn’t invite any frat guys?
Not that you care. You absolutely do not. Gojo Satoru could attend every party in the city and you would remain unaffected, obviously. It is just the principle of the thing. You had been promised a Gojo-free environment, and there he is, laughing at something one of the girls around him says, head tilted down so he can hear her better over the music.
There are three that you see, maybe four. It’s hard to count when they keep shifting, hair shining under the cheap coloured lights, shoulders angled toward him like flowers reaching for the sun.
It would be easier to be angry, to roll your eyes and hate him in the clean, uncomplicated way you usually do. Instead, something dull and familiar settles under your ribs.
You turn away before he can look your way.
The drink in your hand is half-empty and you make it fully empty in one long swallow, grimacing only after it burns the way down and cursing Shoko’s name in your head. Someone near the kitchen cheers for no reason and you suddenly decide that if the universe wants to be annoying, if that stupid Etsy witch wants to fuck with you that bad, you might as well ruin yourself first.
By the time Shoko finds you again, you have acquired another drink. And then another, and then even more. She squints at you with the vague concern of someone who knows your limits better than you do but you’re already being dragged toward the cleared space in the living room by one of Utahime’s pretty friends, and the music there is cathartic.
So you stop thinking. For the first time all night, you let yourself move without checking who is watching. Your drink is gone, your cheeks are warm, and the room is soft and bright, all coloured light and laughing mouths and hands in the air. There is no assignment, no terrible apartment, no faceless neighbour slipping into your life through the poor insulation, no Gojo leaning against a wall with half the party orbiting him. The houseparty is bumping, the ladies look good, the alcohol is flowing. There is much pain in the world, but not in this room.
Then an arm slides around your waist. It’s muscled, warm, steady in the way it wraps around you, the scent of something masculine and fresh entering your peripherals.
For one stupid, glittering second, you let yourself hope. It’s only the alcohol, probably. The music, even, the heat of the room or the betrayal of coloured lights making everyone look better than they are.
But the arm is firm around you, and the body behind you is tall, and when he leans in, his breath skims close to your ear.
Maybe.
The thought is so sweet it makes you dizzy and you almost lean into the hope.
“Having fun?”
Your stomach drops so fast the whole room seems to go with it. You turn, and Naoya’s ugly face is looking down at you. What the fuck is he doing here? Oh, you are so having a word with Utahime about this.
And okay, Naoya isn’t actually ugly, not in a way that has anything to do with his features. What’s really ugly is his expression, the entitlement in his smile and the slow drag of his eyes over you like he’s appraising something he believes is his.
His mouth curls and all at once, the music goes thin and static-y.
You shove him away and stumble a few steps at your own strength. “Don’t touch me.”
Naoya lets his hand fall, but not before making a show of it, palms lifting like you are the unreasonable one. “Relax. I was just saying hi.”
“Okay, well you’ve said your hi. Now leave.”
He laughs, eyes dropping to your mouth, then back up again. “You’re still so dramatic. I forgot how much effort it takes to talk to you when you’re like this.”
You step back, but the floor tilts slightly beneath you. Fuck, too much alcohol, too much heat. There’s too many bodies pressing around the living room, none of them paying enough attention as you try to place distance between you and your ex. Your shoulder knocks against someone behind you and you mumble a sorry without taking your eyes off Naoya.
He notices the stumble and his grin sharpens. “You’re drunk. Haven’t learnt how to control yourself in this kind of places yet, have you? It’s cute.”
He leans closer, voice lowering as if the two of you are sharing something intimate. “Did you dress up for someone tonight?”
Your face twists. “As if it’s any of your fucking business anymore, Zenin.”
“No, I’m serious.” HIs eyes flick over you again, slower this time, and your skin crawls. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about being blacklisted. Sometimes things happen to teach you a lesson, you know? Looks like you’ve learnt to finally put more effort into what you’re wearing again. You should be thanking me.”
“I am not doing this with you.” You try to sound confident but you both hear the pathetic slur to your words.
“You’re not doing much of anything,” he says. “You’re just dancing around hoping some desperate fucker takes pity on you and notices.”
“Fuck off, Naoya.”
His expression hardens, that little thread of irritation pulling tight because you did not blush, did not smile, did not give him even a crumb of the reaction he came looking for. “You know, this is exactly why people get so tired of you. You make everything so fucking difficult. I’m trying to be nice, and you’re acting like I cornered you in a damn alleyway.”
“You put your hands on me!”
“An arm, Y/N. I put my arm around you,” he corrects, like you’re the one being embarrassing. “Don’t make it sound so ugly.”
“Well, it felt ugly.”
For a moment, you think he might finally drop the act. But then his mouth curves again, albeit thinner and meaner at the edges.
“Come on,” he says, taking a step closer and the crowd seems to bunch in to prevent you from leaving. “Don’t be like that. We know each other, don’t we? You don’t have to do the whole untouchable thing with me.”
The alcohol is making everything lag a second behind. The music, the lights, the heat under your skin now sickening, the disgust rising sharp and sour in your throat. You know what he’s doing, you know it so clearly it almost sobers you. That glint in his eyes as he shamelessly trails his gaze down your face and between your tits, the way his hand is already lifting to grope you, how his voice has softened to be more convincing.
You take another step back.
“I said leave.”
Naoya laughs. “You’re seriously going to act like you weren’t leaning back into me a second ago?”
“I thought you were someone else.” The words are out before you can catch them and shove them back down.
His expression drops in a way that’s almost satisfying, if not for the fact that it twists into something worryingly familiar seconds later. You hate that your stomach sinks. You hate that, even now, some stupid trained part of you expects the punishment that comes after disappointing him.
Naoya leans in again, close enough that you can smell the alcohol on his breath under whatever expensive cologne he sprayed on himself. “So what was the plan? Get drunk enough that you could pretend it was an accident when you went home with someone?”
Your fingers curl into a fist by your sides. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”
“Like what?” he asks, eyes wide with fake innocence. “I’m just saying, you’re the one dancing around like you want attention looking like that. You can’t get mad when someone gives it to you.”
“Move,” you hiss.
He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “You always do shit like this. You act so above everything it’s a surprise you haven’t been humbled yet. Is that going to have to be my job now too?”
“You don’t know anything about me anymore.”
“Don’t get such a big head,” he sneers. “You’re still so easy to read. Still so fucking pathetic. Still need to feel someone’s attention on you, need to feel wanted, just so damn needy all the time.”
Your hand comes up so fast that you know the weight in which it’ll strike across Naoya’s face will give you the nicest, most satisfying crack.
But before you can bring it down against his stupid fucking face, someone grabs your wrist and gently redirects it. It takes you a moment to register what just happened. Someone had cut cleanly into the space Naoya had taken from you, still holding your wrist behind his back, and you blink at the grey shirt until you look up and see white hair.
“Is there a problem?” Gojo’s voice is light enough that, for a strange second, it almost sounds like he’s walked into the wrong conversation.
Something imperceptible flashes across Naoya’s face, something easily missed if you didn’t know his every tell.
“Not your business, Gojo.”
“Oh,” Gojo says, “don’t be like that. It looked fun over here. What were you guys talking about?”
You don’t care for this passive aggressive approach of his. You yank at your arm. “I was about to slap him.”
Gojo glances back at you.
You’re too drunk and too angry and too humiliated to care that his face is suddenly closer than expected, all pale hair and blue eyes and a mouth pressed into a thin line. You tug again, uselessly.
“I’m serious,” you insist. “Let me slap him.”
Naoya scoffs and takes a step back like he has other things on his agenda than to be publicly embarrassed. “This is insane. You’re both insane. Whatever, I’m done here anyway, what a fucking turn off.”
He turns to walk away, one hand running through his piss-coloured hair.
Gojo’s other hand snaps out so fast you barely catch the motion. One second, Naoya is tilted to walk forward and the next, Gojo has his wrist caught in one hand, fingers locked around him with an ease that makes Naoya’s whole body jerk to a stop.
Naoya suddenly hisses. There’s a thin red line where one of Gojo’s rings has bitten too hard into the skin. Despite this, Gojo does not give him the time of day. Instead, he looks at you.
“Hm,” he says, tone casual, as if you have asked him whether he wants another drink. “I hear you, band shirt, but there’s an issue. If you slap him, you might get into trouble.”
“I don’t care.”
“He’s the president of—”
You squeeze his arm holding yours. “I don’t care. He’s never been slapped before in his life and it’s obvious. He needs to be slapped, Satoru, he deserves this.”
Gojo pauses. Then, very seriously, he starts to nod slowly, “I suppose that does make a lot of sense.”
Naoya jerks against his grip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Gojo’s hand only tightens, short nails digging into the skin, though he still doesn’t look away from you, not even when you whip your gaze over to your ex, wishing that looks could indeed kill.
How did you ever date a guy like him? You stare at Naoya, at his ugly, furious, blotchy-red face, at the way he keeps looking around like there should be someone here to save him from the consequences of his own mouth. He keeps tugging and pulling but Gojo effortlessly keeps him there.
“But it looks like you just got your nails done,” Gojo ponders. “And you could hurt yourself.”
“It has to be me, Satoru.”
Gojo’s eyes soften at that and he finally smiles, voice going lower. “I know.”
Then he shifts, letting go of your wrist. For a second, you think he’s going to tell you not to do it after all, that he is going to be sensible in ways that severely go against his reputation. Instead, he lifts his free hand between you, palm up.
“Okay,” he says. “Then don’t hurt yourself doing it.”
You blink. “What?”
“If you’re going to do it, then do it properly,” he says, still speaking to you like Naoya is not standing there trying to pull free. “No weird wrist thing, And don’t throw your whole body into it just to put more force behind it. It’ll just make you fall over because you’re a little drunk and unsteady. You’ve gotta plant your feet.”
Naoya laughs, no humour behind it. “Gojo, are you serious?”
Gojo ignores him. “Also,” he adds, glancing at his own hand, “now that I think about it, rings might help.”
He holds your gaze for a little longer before offering you a kind smile and lowering his hand to you, fingers pointing towards you.
“Are you sure?” you ask, gaze flickering up to his face then to his rings. “They might get bloody.”
“It’s okay, just take your pick. I can always clean them. This chance might not come again for you,” he tells you in a similarly soft tone.
You reach out and take the one from his pinky finger because any other ring might be a size too big, and slide it onto your middle finger.
Naoya’s face pales.
“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he snaps, trying again to wrench his wrist free. “You’re going to let her hit me?”
Gojo finally looks at him. The smile he gives Naoya is bright enough to be mistaken for friendly. “Hey, man, it’s none of my business.”
The ring is still a little too loose, the metal heavy and cold against your skin, and your hand trembles once before you curl it into a fist and open it again.
Gojo notices and his attention is back on you. His voice drops just enough for only you to catch it again. “You sure?”
You look at him, then past him, at Naoya’s pale, furious face. “Yes.”
Gojo studies you for half a second longer, something soft passing through his expression before it disappears beneath a bright, almost cheerful smile.
“Okay!” he says. “Then first, plant those feet and let your shoulders relax a little. If you hit him like that, it’ll go through your wrist, and then you’ll be mad tomorrow because he got your hand and your mood.”
You nod and adjust.
Naoya jerks in grip. “No, wait—”
Gojo doesn’t look at him. “You don’t need a big wind-up. It’ll be painful even if you don’t hit hard so no pressure.”
“Hey,” Naoya snaps, voice pitching higher. “Someone get him off me.”
“But I want to hurt him,” you say to Gojo.
“You will,” Gojo says, very simply. “But you don’t have to hurt yourself to do it. You’re doing this for you, remember? To get it off your chest.”
Naoya tries to laugh. It comes out wrong. “Come on, man. I said I’m sorry. Tell her to stop being dramatic.”
Gojo tilts his head at you, as if listening to a distant appliance hum. “Do you hear something?”
You stare at him, cocking your head in a mirror of his own gesture. “The music?”
“No.” He waves his question away. “Something annoying. Anyway. Hand open, shoulders down and feet on the ground. You’ve got this.”
You do as he says and then turn to look at Naoya.
For months, he had made you feel like every reaction you had was too much, too loud or too needy, too embarrassing, too difficult to love. He had taught you how to swallow anger until it sat heavy in your stomach and called that maturity. He had always walked away with his shoulders up because you were always the one trying not to make a scene.
And now, you’re finally going to leave a mark on him.
You slap him.
The sound cracks across the room, sharp enough to split cleanly through the music. Naoya’s head snaps to the side at the force of it, mouth open, but finally, finally, nothing leaves it.
Your palm burns immediately, a bright sting rushing up your arm and the ring presses back into your finger, cold against the heat of your skin. It hurts a little. But it hurts so good.
Gojo lets go of Naoya at once. Your ex stumbles back, one hand flying to his cheek, eyes wide with shock. “You fucking—”
“Holy shit!” Gojo says loudly. “Is that Naoya from TDP? Dude, what are you doing here, do you even know Utahime?”
Naoya’s face drops slightly in confusion. “What?”
Gojo’s voice carries easily over the music now. “No, seriously. Aren’t you the guy that one post was made about in the group chat? I wouldn’t have come to a party when you haven’t even said anything about the allegations.”
The crowd surrounding you instantly starts murmuring amongst themselves, shooting Naoya dirty looks.
Naoya grits his teeth, anger flooding his face all over again. “I didn’t—”
“It’s weird, I really don’t think Utahime would have invited you.”
“I was invited.”
“By who?”
Naoya opens his mouth but nothing comes out fast enough.
A girl by the couch scoffs. “Utahime would never invite him.”
“Yeah, didn’t she literally say not to let him in?”
“How did he get inside?”
Someone near you nods along to his words, and a girl wraps her arms around you, running her hand up and down your side. It could have so easily gone wrong, Naoya yelling something about being hurt and suddenly you became the problem. The drunk girl, the angry ex seeking vengeance. The one who slapped someone in the middle of the party.
But now everyone is looking at him. And Naoya seems to realise this too because his eyes dart around the room, searching for sympathy and finding none.
“Creep,” someone mutters.
“Get him out,” another voice says.
Naoya points toward Gojo, furious and scared in a way you have never seen before. “He’s lying. She’s drunk and she’s always been—”
“Ugh, spare me, I know you were creeping around me too!”
Gojo doesn’t stick around for the aftermath and you don’t either, his hand closing around your other hand to gently tug you through the growing crowd, his broad back guiding the way.
It’s nice, you realise, which is a stupid thing to immediately think of next after slapping your ex-boyfriend in the middle of a party. Still, it is.
The way he moves through the room without dragging you behind him, the way people part for him easily, but he keeps glancing back anyway, like he’s making sure you’re still there and not swallowed by the music and body and the roaring awareness of what you’ve just done. His hand is warm around yours, loose enough that you could pull away if you wanted to, firm enough that you don’t have to think too hard about where you’re going.
You let yourself follow. Past the kitchen, past the hallway mirror, past two girls whispering near the wall, both of them looking over your shoulder toward where Naoya had disappeared, their expression twisted with disgust.
The noise dulls a little near the back of the house. The music still reaches here, bass-heavy and insistent, but the air feels cooler, less packed with breath and perfume. Just before the back door, Gojo stops.
You nearly bump into him and he chuckles, turning around.
“Careful.” He looks you up and down not unpleasantly. “How’s the hand?”
“It’s fine,” you say automatically. Then you pause, looking down.
His ring is still sitting crooked on your middle finger, too loose and faintly warm now from your skin. Your palm is red and your fingers tingle but the slap keeps replaying in your head in satisfying flashes: the crack of it, Naoya’s face turning, and any regret you might have felt dissipates.
“Okay, it might sting a little.”
Gojo’s expression softens. “Let me see it.”
You lift your other hand not in his, and he reaches out to take it, a sharp thrill running up your arm when he makes contact. He turns your hand over carefully, fingers light and ticklish against your palm as he inspects it. For a moment, you wonder about this gentleness that he shows you, how sharply it contrasts with the way he had held Naoya hard enough to draw blood.
His fingers move over your palm with careful attention, thumb brushing beneath the base of your fingers, moving down to the sensitive skin of your wrist and making you shiver. The hallway is too warm and too cold at once, music pulsing behind you in dull waves, but all you can really feel is the shape of his hand around yours and the ridiculous, traitorous flutter under your ribs.
“You’ll live,” he says eventually, fingers splaying over your wrist and forearm before dropping. “And you’re staring.”
You blink when you process that he’s looking right into your eyes, his lips quirked into a small smile as he watches you.
“Thanks for helping me slap my ex.”
He shrugs. “It’s no problem, band shirt. I think my ring did the bulk of everything.”
You look down at your hand and notice that he’s right. The silver sits crooked on your finger, too loose and too pretty, catching the hallway light like it has any right to look innocent after drawing blood across Naoya’s cheek. Thank you, pretty silver ring, for your service. May your efforts haunt him for at least a few business days.
Gojo lowers his hand under yours again and for a second, you think that he’s going to ask for it back. Instead, he lifts your hand slowly such that you have the chance to pull away. His eyes stay on yours until the last moment, before he lowers his mouth and presses a soft kiss to the ring.
Technically, it’s his ring and not your hand he kissed. Still, the warmth of his breath brushes your skin, and something bright and winged breaks loose in your stomach. Your fingers twitch once in his hold as your breath catches. His lashes lower into the kiss, before he opens his eyes again and looks up at you through them.
He smiles at you cheekily.
“Can’t run away from me now, can you?” he asks, lowering your hand just enough to comfortably interlace his own fingers with yours. “I never did give you my name that one time before but it’s Gojo Satoru, though it looks like you already know. Come sit with me.”
‘Me’ ends up being him, and also his friends. Which is not as awkward as you thought it would be, mostly because the second Gojo opens the back door, Utahime and Shoko both sit up from where they’ve been lounging together on an outdoor chair like two cats disturbed mid-nap. Their fingers point at you at the exact same time.
“You!”
“With him?”
“Hi guys.” You drop your hand from his under the piercing gaze of your friends. “How’s the party?”
Gojo doesn’t say anything, only stepping around you with that easy, unbothered smile of his, and joining a conversation with some guys standing around the bonfire.
Utahime’s backyard has been transformed into something of a cozy hangout spot. Cheap fairylights hang crooked from the overhead roof, blinking out of sink, and a few mismatched outdoor chairs and beanbags sit in a loose circle around a low table cluttered with cups, jackets, and a neat stack of cards. There’s a small lit fire further out, but you drag your eyes away from its company to focus on the people you do know.
Shoko shuffles closer to her girlfriend, patting the space next to her which you gratefully take. “Hold on, so did you find someone to make out with after all? And was it…?”
You quickly look back at Gojo who is now talking quietly with someone you don’t know, the long-haired boy nodding in serious thought at whatever is leaving his mouth. His eyes slide to you and when they meet yours, you flinch, looking away.
“No! That’s not—God, my head is killing me. I didn’t make out with anyone, okay? I’m not here to find someone to hook up with.”
“Why are you here then?”
“You threatened me to come.” You point out.
“Well, you weren’t going to not come, that’s not in the cards.” Shoko presses you another cup into your hands and, because you have yet to learn your lesson from earlier, you take a trusting sip.
You almost choke out the battery acid when it hits your tongue, covering your mouth with your arm as you glare at your friends. “Oh, ew, Shoko. Seriously? Can’t you make something good for once? Your jungle juice is always so ass.”
“That’s how you know it works. Tongue loosened up yet? Why did you just walk out with Gojo? What’s going on between you two? Does he know now?”
You lean back into the seat at Shoko’s interrogation, and take another deep chug of Shoko’s disgusting drink. “Before you grill me, I have to grill you. Want to tell me what Naoya is doing at your party, Utahime?”
Utahime blinks. “Naoya is at my party?”
“Was,” you correct yourself. “I think he got the message after I slapped him that he shouldn’t be here.”
“You slapped him?” Utahime sits up with a bright smile. “Oh my God, tell me you got that on video! To clear my name though, I definitely did not invite him. He must have snuck in or something.”
“Well, basically everyone saw so I’m sure there’s a video on someone’s story by now.” You look back at Gojo now standing with just one other guy. “Satoru just happened to be there at the right place and time to help. That’s it.”
When your friends don’t immediately press for more questions, you turn back and find them whispering and giggling to each other. When they feel your suspicious gaze, Shoko looks up. “Sorry, yes, right. Gojo saved you.”
Utahime clears her throat suddenly. “Wait, shut up. Three o’clock.”
You stiffen when a weight presses against you, someone’s body dropping into the narrow gap between you and the armrest.
You instinctively shuffle closer to Shoko to make room, though there is not enough room to make. Your thigh presses ages his, shoulder brushing against yours, and his arm slides along the back of the chair, not quite touching your neck, but close enough that your skin tingles.
Shoko mutters, “This chair is clearly only meant for three.”
“I’d hate to think you don’t want me here,” Gojo says cheerfully. “What are we talking about? Me?”
“Your head is so far up your ass you only ever think of yourself,” Utahime grumbles.
You freeze, unsure where your limbs should go when you’re pressed up to the person behind the faceless voice in your walls. Admittedly, this realisation comes a little late. You should have armed your walled defenses the moment Gojo had grabbed your wrist and pulled you behind him, should have simply walked away after slapping Naoya (that was a non-negotiable, canon event) instead of letting him drag you back where you’re now trapped. Because he doesn’t know you’re her. And right now when you’re drunk and unsteady on your feet and thoughts? This might be the worst possible time for him to find out.
“That over there is Suguru,” Gojo suddenly leans in to say, breath ghosting the shell of your ear. His voice sends shivers down your neck and along your spine, every sensation suddenly all too much. The fabric that isn’t your own grazing high on your thigh, his hair tickling your cheek, his feet nudging yours slightly so you can move over just a little bit more for him.
“That’s Kento, with the frown and beside him is Yuu, without the frown. And those, on the table, are my Digimon cards. Who the fuck brought them out here?”
Haibara laughs. “Geto did! We were playing truth or dare with them!”
“You’re lucky that’s my dupe deck or I’d end this friendship right here and now,” Gojo says, an easy grin on his face as if he wasn’t pressing up against you, his chest warm and hard against your side, your elbow awkwardly jutting into him.
Your hand flexes around the cup, and the ring shifts slightly on your finger. Gojo’s gaze drops to it for half a second, a private little smile cutting across his mouth before he looks back at the table.
“We heard about what happened inside,” Geto says. “Are you okay?”
Would it be too late to suddenly go mute? If you’re able to recognise Gojo by his voice, then the chances of him putting name to face with the girl next door and you is also very high. Though, considering the way he isn’t immediately pulling you aside to ask if you are indeed the voice in his walls, you want to believe that he has yet to figure out your identity.
So no, it isn’t too late to go mute.
You nod in response to Geto’s question and flash him a smile, hoping none of it comes off as rude.
Gojo hums beside you, the vibration travelling through your bodies. He leans down to speak into your ear, a conversation just for you. “Not much for words? What happened to all the snark earlier?”
You stall for time by taking a long sip of Shoko’s concoction, the sting temporarily skyrocketing to the top of your concerns. This may or may not be a bad idea because now that you’re seated, all the previous drinks sloshing around in your stomach and this adding sip burning down your throat, you feel the world tip a little. You probably can’t deflect this question, not when he asks like this, so you settle for something else.
Clearing your throat, you try for a lower octave than usual. “I only talk to the people that deserve it,” you say, then let out a small huff at how ridiculous you sound.
The grin he shoots you is all confidence and self-assurance, leaning in a fraction closer. “How would you know if you’ve never given me a chance?”
“It’s pointless, I already know what you’re like.” Maybe it’s the bonfire or the drink in your hand but you are getting really warm. You take another long sip.
“We talked for ten minutes max the other day, I highly doubt that,” he cocks his head at you. “Do I know you from somewhere else?”
You hum. “Maybe.”
“I think I would remember someone like you.”
That causes you to raise an eyebrow, letting his casual flirt roll off you.
“Flattery,” you start, poking his chest. You let him catch your hand in his, holding it there against his heart, “won’t get you anywhere especially when it’s empty.”
“Who said it was empty? Besides, I know I wouldn’t forget such a pretty girl.”
“Oh, you would. You are.” You laugh again, finding the inside joke hilarious. “Try a little harder to remember, hm Satoru?”
The challenge makes his eyes glow just like you knew they would, always have known from the moment when a wall still separated the two of you and he had laughed at your provoking, all dark and not humourous at all.
“Maybe if you gave me a name.”
You’re not quite ready to hear his name from your lips just yet so you only shake your head, wagging your finger at him playfully. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“I’m usually a patient man and I’m all for the chase,” he starts, fingers inching closer, brushing hair from the back of your neck as he leans in, “but you’ve left me high and dry for so long.”
His words go in one ear and out the other, your breath hitching at the slightest touch. Despite yourself, you gulp and taste the bitter alcohol in your mouth. You feel it too, warmth pooling in your gut and making your head spin.
“I’m not an easy person,” you whisper, eyes flickering down to his lips and you bite your own, the rush of all your fantasies suddenly overwhelming you. In all other them, you’ve never once imagined his lips on yours, not until now. And you don’t doubt that after this, you'll be thinking of them often.
“Trust me,” he chuckles. “You’re not easy, you’re stubborn as hell and you always give me a hard time.”
As if sensing your temptation, Gojo’s eyes trace the way your teeth dig into your lip, watching the pull before you release it, red and slightly jutted out. It makes him want to sink his teeth into your bottom lip and lick the marks it leaves behind.
Your breath hitches. He leans in slightly, looking up to search your face and wait to see if you’ll pull back. When you don’t, when he accepts whatever look is in eyes, he leans forward more. The anticipation builds and morphs into budding frustration when he continues to play this game of chicken, giving you countless moments to pull away if needed even when you’ve shown no sign of stopping.
Shoko clears her throat and you jump, accidentally crushing your solo cup. The liquid bursts up and flows down your wrist and into your lap.
“Shit!” you curse, immediately jumping up and pulling the fabric away from your skin.
Gojo quickly follows, one hand hovering on your lower back in case you tip back.
“Oh, fuck,” Shoko says. “You okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just super sticky.” You wince, accepting the tissues Nanami hands you though they do little good. “Ew, it’s, like, sticking to my skin.”
Utahime speaks up, watching you from over the rim of her cup. “There’s a bathroom down the corridor. Gojo knows where it is, he can show you.”
“And maybe the two of you can make out there instead of right in front of us,” Geto says offhandedly, though his cup can’t completely hide his grin. The people around the table giggle at his words, Shoko probably the loudest.
You blush, immediately going to deny his accusations but Gojo beats you to it.
“Shoko and Utahime are one second away from eating each other’s faces off but no one says anything about that!”
“That’s because this is my party, Gojo.”
“Yeah, well it was my party that got you two together,” Gojo shoots back childishly.
Everyone laughs again, chattering as they descend into the topic of other inside jokes, playing word association as they leap from memory to memory. There’s a sense of belonging that oozes from everyone as they lean into one another and talk and gossip. You might have appreciated this moment more, enjoyed the fact that they’re allowing you into this intimate moment, if not for the sudden blossoming warmth inside you. Before you can really think about it, you tug on Gojo’s shirt.
He immediately leans down, angling his ear to you. “Hm?”
“Take me to the bathroom?”
Gojo stiffens, eyes flickering to your face then down your body. He bites his lip hard to focus, ignoring the temptation to let his mind wander at your innocent words. They had to be innocent, right? You, who was now looking up at him through your lashes with a pout playing on your lips, one hand tugging on the hem of his shirt, thumb rolling over the fabric slowly. You who was fidgeting ever so slightly, thighs rubbing together due to the cold.
“Yeah,” he says suddenly, all humour gone. “Let’s go.”
Someone cheers behind you as Gojo helps you up and opens the back door for you, though neither of you seem to care. He doesn’t bother with answering greetings, only smiling shortly as you pass familiar people, something more impatient when he guides you than before.
He leads you down a corridor and into a dark room, closing the door behind you. Your heart leaps to your throat until he turns on the light, and you wince at the brightness.
“Sorry, pretty. Should’ve warned you,” Gojo says, only looking vaguely apologetic as he leans against the closed door, one hand still on the knob like he’s giving you a chance to back out.
He watches you carefully, tracing the line of your jaw, the slightest twitch of your brow and then, his favourite part, the flush climbing your cheeks. “The bathroom should be safer than a spare room. Who knows who is in there doing what.”
You hesitate. “You didn’t have to follow me in.”
“No?” He tilts his head, eyes roaming over you before settling smugly on your face. “You’re still holding onto my shirt. Maybe let go if you want to sound convincing.”
You shiver, letting go immediately and stepping back closer to the sink. You open your mouth to say something, a stupid excuse perhaps, but he beats you to it.
“You cold?”
“What?”
“Earlier.” His eyes fall to your legs. “You were fidgeting. Thought maybe you were cold. Call me a desperate guy if you want, but don’t ask a guy to take you somewhere private while looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
Gojo pushes off the door and you take a step back instinctively. “Like you wanted me to misunderstand you.”
You hesitate, looking around the bathroom. He seems to notice, and stops immediately, eyes softening. “Hey, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want. Just shove me away and I’ll go, I promise.”
“It’s not that,” you bite your lip.
“Then what is it, pretty?”
“You talk too much. You’re too loud,” you manage to say, warm despite the chill of the drink on you. “Always have been.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He takes one step closer. “Then make me shut up.”
Your back meets the sink before you realise you have moved, the contrast of cold porcelain against your overheated skin making you gasp. He’s on you in an instant, hands roaming down your side until they’re gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.
“You’re so tense,” he murmurs against your neck. “You have no idea I’ve been watching you all night, do you? That little skirt? This tiny little top?”
He slaps your tits and you jolt, looking up at him in surprise to which he only grins down at you. You can’t seem to form a coherent thought, not when there’s alcohol swimming in your veins and turning your limbs to jelly, mind to fog. Still, you manage to say, “Did you just slap my boob?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t like it. If I shove my hand down your skirt, am I going to find you wet, pretty?”
His knee nudges between your thighs, spreading them open as he steps closer.
“You are so gross—” you start, but he cuts you off with his mouth on yours.
The kiss is brutal and demanding all at once. His tongue slides against yours, tasting of expensive liquor and something sweet, or maybe that’s just your taste and he’s shoving it back against your mouth. One hand leaves your hip to fist in your hair, tilting your head back.
He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your throat, sucking hard at the pulse point. “Don’t lie to me. I know you’ve wanted this since the first time I heard you. You have quite the perverted streak to you, don’t you?”
Your breath hitches. His hand slides down, palm flat against your stomach, then lower. He doesn't bother with the fabric of your panties, just pushes them aside and drags his fingers through your slick folds.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re soaked. And you're gonna tell me you weren't dreaming about this? Getting yourself off to the thought of me touching you like this?”
His middle finger sinks into you without warning. You cry out, a sound that would be embarrassing if you had any sense left. But all you can feel is the stretch, the fullness, the way your body clenches around him desperately.
“That's it,” he coos, tone shifting to something truly mocking. “You’re really feeling it now, aren’t you?”
He adds a second finger, fucking them into you with a rhythm that has your knees buckling. His thumb circles your clit in lazy, torturous circles. You're already so close, the buildup of tension from hours of dancing, of drinking, of watching him across the room, it all crashes toward a peak.
“Please,” you whimper.
“Please what? Use your words, pretty.”
“Please fuck me,” you manage to gasp, fantasy and reality crashing together in a dizzying mess.
He pulls his fingers out abruptly, and you groan at the loss. But then you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, the zipper of his pants, and your mouth waters. He takes himself in hand, strokes once, twice, and then the blunt head of his cock presses against your entrance.
“Look at me,” he commands.
You force your eyes open. His are dark, pupils blown wide, a little furrow between his brows.
“Are you with me?” he asks, brushing your hair out of your eyes.
You nod, rutting forward pathetically.
“Come on, pretty, I need to hear you say it.”
“I’m here!” you choke out, gasping. “Please, I want this, I promise I—I want you. Satoru, please.”
He groans, the tip of his cock pressing forward beyond that little ring of resistance, swearing at the involuntary thrust. “Okay, okay, I’ve got you.”
He noses into your temple, inhaling deeply, one thumb holding you open as he presses in and groans, filthy and depraved.
“Fuck—you’re so tight,” he gasps, cock stuttering through until he’s buried deep.
The sensation of being stretched wide open on his cock makes you tense, before a ragged, grateful cry escapes your swollen lips. You can barely breathe through your nose, head spinning with pleasure.
“Oh god, oh my god!” you cry out, head thrown back.
“Shh,” he hisses against your ear, his breath hot and sweet. His cock rams into you—a thick, punishing rhythm he picks up easily—and every thrust pushes your back against the sink. “You gotta stay quiet, angel. We don't want anyone hearin’ how much of a slut you are, do we?”
But of course, all good things have to come to an end because through the hazy pleasure, you hear a grating voice.
“Hey! Y/N! I know you're in there!” You can recognise Naoya’s voice anywhere even, it seems, when you’re being fucked for every inch of your life.
Gojo’s hand closes around your mouth as he looks at you, grunting softly with every thrust. He pulls out briefly and you whine until he turns you around and presses you up against the cold tiles, driving up into you like he never left. His rhythm doesn’t falter, if anything, he pounds harder.
“Mm-mm,” you try to say, shaking your head, panic rising. He doesn't stop. He slams into you and your body jolts, your forehead knocking against the tile.
“I said I know you're in there!” Naoya's voice is slurred, angry. He kicks the door. “Open the fuck up! We need to talk!”
Gojo’s hand slides off your mouth though not enough to leave completely. It’s just his palm moving, his fingers hooking into the corner of your lips, prying your mouth open. Two of them slip inside, salty with your own slick, and he pushes them back until you're gagging.
“Answer him,” Gojo whispers, his lips brushing your ear. “Go on. Tell him you’re busy.”
You can’t. His fingers are deep in your throat. You gag, tears springing to your eyes, and he just laughs, low and dark.
“Oh, right. You can't talk with my fingers in your mouth, can you?” He pulls them out, slick and wet, and wraps them around your jaw, tilting your face toward the door. “Try again. Use your words.”
“Naoya,” you choke out, your voice wrecked, breathless. “I’m—I’m fine. Just—”
“Just what?” Gojo thrusts, hard, and your sentence crumbles into a gasp. His cock sinks so deep you feel it in your stomach. “Just getting fucked stupid? Tell him the truth.”
There’s a beat of silence. You can picture Naoya on the other side of the door, his fists clenched, his jaw tight. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, certainly enraged.
“You’re lying. I can hear you breathing. Open the fucking door.”
Gojo’s hips slow. He pulls almost all the way out, leaving just the tip, and then drives forward in one smooth, devastating motion. You cry out, quickly muffled by your own hand.
“Don't make me break this door down,” Naoya warns.
Gojo chuckles, right in your ear. “He sounds mad. Poor guy. You really do know how to pick ‘em, don’t you?” He leans closer, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But you’re not his anymore, are you? You're mine. For tonight, anyway.”
He fucks you slow now, deep and deliberate, his cock dragging along every inch of your walls. You feel every ridge, every vein and your legs tremble in the delicious drag.
“Tell him,” Gojo whispers, “that you’re busy. That you don’t have time for him anymore. ‘Cause he’s nothing to you now, right? Tell me he’s nothing to you.”
You swallow, wanting nothing more than to open your mouth and babble about how incredible it is to get railed in a bathroom, how brainless Gojo’s cock is making you but you have to be good, he’s waiting for you. So instead, you manage to say, “Naoya, leave me—ngh—alone!”
Naoya growls at the closed door before him, even going so far as to stomp his feet like a petulant kid. “Fine! Fucking fine, Y/N! But I promise you, you’ll regret this! I’ll make sure you do!”
Sure, you think, eyes rolling back, as if your Etsy witch can touch me anymore when Gojo is fucking me. You slump forward, relief flooding you when you hear his footsteps retreating, but Gojo doesn’t let you rest. He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, and resumes his brutal pace.
“Good girl,” he purrs. His voice is different now, softer, honeyed and almost affectionate. “Such a good fucking girl. You did so well. You listened. You obeyed.” He kisses your shoulder, open-mouthed, wet. “See? I knew you could be good for me.”
The whiplash is dizzying and it only makes you arch more, something inevitable and delicious approaching in the far distance.
“That's right,” he murmurs, still fucking you deep and slow. “You took that so well. Pretended you weren’t getting your tight little cunt stuffed while your ex was right outside. That takes skill, pretty. You’re so fucking perfect for me.”
His hand snakes around your front, fingers finding your clit. He rubs slow, tight circles, and your hips buck.
“Bet you've been practicing, haven't you?” His voice is a low, knowing drawl. “All those nights you thought nobody was listening. Thought nobody could hear you moaning. But weren’t you the one to tell me? The walls are thin as shit, angel.”
He’s ramming into you now, fast and rough again, his words spilling out between each thrust and all you can do is be a ragdoll in his hold.
“You'd lie in bed, late at night, fingers in your pussy, listening to me stroke my cock. I’d hear you. The wet sounds. The little ‘oh, yes’s. And I’d think... fuck, I need to have that. I need to feel that cunt clench around me.”
You're dizzy, overwhelmed. His hand on your clit, his cock in your cunt, his words in your brain, it’s all too much.
“Did you think I didn’t recognize you at the party tonight? The girl with the needy little moans?” He bites your earlobe, hard enough to sting. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to corner you. And then you showed up drunk and sad, with that asshole on your heels, and I knew tonight was the night.”
He’s watching you in the mirror and you catch his reflection. His eyes are dark, lips parted, face flushed. He’s absolutely beautiful.
“I'm gonna fill you up,” he growls. “Gonna pump my cum so deep inside you it leaks out for days. And when you walk past my door tomorrow, you're gonna know. You’re gonna remember this. You’re gonna touch yourself to the memory, and I’ll be right there, on the other side of the wall, stroking myself to the sound of you coming undone.”
His hips slam into you. Once, twice, three times. You feel the pressure building, the coil in your belly tightening to the point of pain.
“Satoru—” you gasp, hands fumbling for purchase on the wall.
“I know, angel, I know. Cum for me,” he demands. “Wanna finally feel you cum on my cock—fuck.”
You shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, your cunt clenching around him, your body shaking. You cry out his name—Satoru—and he follows a second later, buried to the hilt, his cum hot and thick inside you.
He holds you there, both of you breathing hard, sweat-slick and sticky. Then he pulls out slowly, watching his cum drip down your thigh.
“Good girl,” he says again, his voice a warm, approving caress. He turns you around, cups your face in his hands, and kisses you, soft, tender, unhurried. “You did so well, pretty. So, so good for me.”
Your knees are weak and he notices, turning you and pressing you to his chest to keep you upright. He continues to whisper in your ear as your senses return to you, and when you finally lift a hand to gently push at his chest, he lets you, eyes immediately flickering down to your eyes.
“Still with me?”
You nod, before you fall forward into his arms.
When your body breaks down alcohol, it converts the ethanol into acetate, a process that produces a lot of NADH from NAD⁺. The imbalance of the NADH⁺ ratio leads to the feelings of weakness and grogginess that come from a horrible night out.
You wake now, approximately ninety percent NADH and ten percent regret.
For a while, you refuse to move. You only stare at your ceiling, blinking slowly at the familiar crack in the paint above your head, the soft grey light pressing through the curtains, the horrible cotton-dry feeling your tongue against the top of your mouth.
How the fuck did you get home?
Your own bed, in most cases, the preferred place to wake up after all. It’s safe, it’s familiar, and most importantly, it’s yours. But the last thing you remember is not collapsing into the warmth and security of your own bed. The last thing you recall comes in fragments: Utahime’s party, Gojo’s hands on your body, the bathroom light flickering too bright overhead, the sink cold behind you and his voice low in your ear.
And then nothing. You suppose there are brief pieces after that, blurry and soft around the edges. Glimpses of a car window, someone cursing under their breath, the sound of your keys jingling and the vague sensation of being carried. That one must have been a drunken hallucination because it’s humiliating and therefore cannot be the truth.
You fumble for your phone which is not beside your pillow where you usually place it after your nightly doomscroll before bed, but placed neatly on your bedside table. There’s a few texts from friends on your lock screen, but there’s only one person you want to text.
shoko: alive?
actually don’t answer if you’re dead
if you’re alive though please drink some water and let me know that you’re ok
You laugh softly. Why did you jump to conclusions so quick? Of course it was Shoko that took you home! Who knew her upper body strength was so good that she managed to carry you into your own bed after a night of drinking.
you: im alive!!
thank u so much for taking me home btw
i owe u :3
She quickly reacts to your message with a heart before the typing indicator appears.
shoko: i didn’t take u home (?)
gojo did obv
he WHAT? is probably what you’re thinking but please remember to breathe and drink some water before you crash out
You are, in fact, thinking he what?And because Shoko accurately called you out on that, you decide to follow through on the rest of her advice. You turn your head and stop a sticky note stuck to the glass of water beside your head, bright yellow and neat as a warning label.
water is important when you’re recovering from a hangover! — satoru
Then, a little to the left, attached to a packet of painkillers,
because i know your head probably feels like shit rn — still me
“Oh my god,” you whisper, unsure whether to laugh or to run away.
You do neither because your head really does hurt like a motherfucker, and take the painkillers along with a generous gulping or two of water. The cool liquid does little against the parched nature of your throat, but when you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, you feel alive enough to venture out of your bed.
There’s a sticky note on the ground next to a pair of slippers you swore you had separated, one in the kitchen one somewhere in the living room.
the ground is cold! wear slippers! — forever urs :3
“Forever yours?” you repeat aloud, voice wrecked with sleep and dehydration even as you shove your toes in.
There’s another note on the back of your bedroom door.
no matter what u see in the mirror remember you’re beautiful! — shrek to ur fiona?
You open your bedroom door and make your slow, regretful way to the bathroom where you lay your tired eyes on your puffy face. You have definitely seen better days. There’s another note stuck to your mirror.
face wash is on the left toothbrush is on the right if you use the face wash as toothpaste, that’s between you and god — not your doctor
Huffing out a sound that might be amusement, you pick up your toothbrush and ensure you squeeze toothpaste onto its bristles. The toothpaste is minty and makes your eyes water slightly, but by the time you rinse your mouth, you feel one step closer to not feeling like the undead.
There’s another note stuck to the towel rack.
if ur eyes are puffy, put a cold compress over them! — still not a doctor
From the bathroom back to your room for a change of clothes and even on your way to the kitchen, you’re guided by a series of sticky notes.
clean clothes! i didn’t look through your drawers dw — feminist
welcome to the kitchen! huge milestone for you — ur biggest fan
water already boiled in here so when you wake up to reboil it it’ll take less time — the kettle knower
drink real water first before the coffee !! seriously don’t put coffee in me just yet — mug
soup inside on the second shelf :3 not homemade so don’t get too excited i’m handsome, not magical i couldn’t have it both ways — :(
in the microwave for two minutes with lid half on! take it out when it’s boiling — the soup sipper
You finally feel alive enough to laugh, embarrassingly loud in the quiet of your kitchen. You stand there in your slippers, teeth brushed, face washed, and dressed in clothes when any other time you might have still been under the covers.
The apartment feels full of him. A note when you open your utensil drawer for a spoon, a note sitting on top of a coffee pod conveniently placed on your counter, a note against the body of a vase you’ve placed on your dining table to feel more homey.
eat slowly, you get hiccups when you rush!
The notes take you away from your drying rack when you’ve finished the store-bought soup and washed your spoon, taking you to your living room. Your camera sits on your coffee table, a sticky stuck on the surface that reads: “turn me on ><”
You roll your eyes but do so, lifting it up and framing the sorry state of your living room before hitting the record button. The first shot captures just how many sticky notes litter the surface of almost every object, the words telling you a funny joke or reminding you to put something back. You take your time walking through all of them, his handwriting everywhere, his name everywhere (except when he decides to write down a silly nickname).
Satoru.
Satoru.
Satoru.
Then, you find the last one on your front door.
if you’re overwhelmed, you don’t have to open this today. if you’re angry at me, just yell at me through the wall :( if you’re okay, i’d like to see you — satoru
And then, before you can think it through, you reach forward and open your door.
Gojo stands in the hallway, a bouquet of flowers clutched in both hands like he’s praying. His eyes light up when you open your door and he moves forward instinctively. He’s so close that the toe of one sock is nearly edging over the threshold of your apartment.
You let out a short scream.
He startles just as badly, eyes going wide as he reaches forward on instinct to steady you, and your camera slips from your hand.
“Oh—”
It hits the floor before either of you can grab it, bouncing once, then sliding sideways across the carpet until it knocks gently against the leg of your couch. The camera keeps recording from there, tilted on its side. It catches the lower half of your open door, Gojo’s socked feet in the hallway, your bare feet on the carpet, and the hem of your sweater falling over your shorts.
“Are you okay?” he asks in a rush.
“What are you doing standing right in front of my door, you creep?” you shoot back, one hand pressed to your chest. “Were you standing there the entire time?”
“I was trying to be romantic.” He shoves the bouquet toward you, panic making his voice crack at the edges. “I literally got you flowers!”
You take them automatically, bewildered by the weight of roses in your hands. “Thank you? Is that why you’ve littered all over my apartment?”
His face falls. “Was that not cute?”
You blink. “Cute?”
“Did you not think it was cute?” he asks, suddenly horrified. “Because I thought it was cute. I mean, not in a weird way. Well, maybe a little weird. But intentional weird. Charming weird.”
“The sticky notes?”
He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Look, I’ve never done anything like this before, okay? This whole romance thing is seriously above me, I have no idea how I’m meant to ask you this without scaring you away.”
You stare at him for a long while before laughing. The sound pulls from your throat loud and bright that it almost hurts with an incoming headache, but it’s so funny you just can’t stop. “I knew you had no experience with women. I called it all along, didn’t I?”
“Please, this and that are completely unrelated.” His shoulders seem to relax at your laugh, and he finally cracks a smile, running a hand through his hair. “You never were going to make it easy for me, were you?”
“Easy? When you’ve just left forty sticky notes in my apartment and then lurked outside my door?”
His smile trembles, trying to stay bright, but the nerves are still there beneath it. You can see them now that you know to look. The way his fingers flex at his side, the way his eyes keep flickering from your face to the threshold like he is measuring the exact line he is not allowed to cross.
“I wasn’t lurking,” he says, quieter. “I was waiting.”
Your fingers tighten around the bouquet.
Gojo looks down at it, then back at you. “I wanted to knock earlier, but I thought if you woke up and saw me before you were ready, you’d panic.”
“Please, I wouldn’t have panicked.”
“You literally panicked ten seconds ago.”
“Touche.” You look at him for a short while before glancing down at your slippered-feet. “I’m still scared, honestly. I think I’ve been cursed in every possible aspect of love. That’s why when I heard your voice all the way back during that carwash event, I didn’t want you to know it was me. It would break what we had going on through the wall and I liked that. It felt like something I could just keep to myself. And then I found out you were Satoru and it was obvious you weren’t just mine anymore.”
Gojo lets you talk, lets you call him Gojo again without saying a single word until you finish. Then he says, “Were you disappointed?”
“No,” you say immediately. “It wasn’t like that.”
He smiles then, head tilting to the side. “Then I can be just Satoru. Just your Satoru, if that helps.”
It’s so stupidly cheesy that you have to scoff, even as your cheeks warm.
“I’m serious,” he chuckles along with you, stepping a little closer. “I liked being 4B. I liked that you knew me when I was just some guy through the wall that you liked talking to. I liked talking to you through blackouts and through shitty phone calls. I liked what we had too. Have, if you’ll let me.”
“Are you asking me out?”
He huffs, a weary smirk on his face. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Instead of answering him, you shove the bouquet of flowers back into his chest, watching as his brows furrow in confusion, before you’re reaching forward to cup his face and kiss him.
In one suspended second, Gojo simply stands there doing absolutely nothing. He freezes so completely beneath your hands that, if you risked opening your eyes, you might find his bright blue ones staring back at you. His lips are still against yours, the rest of him gone rigid, roses crushed between his chest and yours, fingers locked around the stems not quite sure what else to do.
You almost pull back.
But then, in a rush of movement, the bouquet is gone.
He throws it blindly into your apartment with a kind of urgent, graceless force that makes several roses scatter across your carpet. Before you can laugh, his arms are around you.
One arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close enough you half tread on his feet, other hand coming up to cradle the side of your face, warm and shaking just slightly. Nothing in the world has ever felt so right.
There’s too much smiling in the kiss, and your noses are pressed awkwardly for the kiss to be smooth but then he tilts his head and gets it right.
You kiss him until your lungs begin to object and then slowly, you pull away. Gojo follows you for half a second before he catches himself, eyes opening slowly. His pupils are blown wide, hair a mess, and his mouth is parted without anything clever coming out of it.
“So,” he licks his lips, eyes flickering down for a moment. “Is that a yes?”
From the floor, your camera continues recording from its crooked angle. It captures none of it neatly, not your face and not his, not the way his thumb brushes your cheek. It catches the fall of the roses, the way your bodies draw the other in in a rush, the stumbling as he walks you back into your apartment and you both disappear from the frame in a fit of giggles and whispered words.
“Yes, Satoru,” you laugh, letting him guide you further into your apartment. “It’s a yes.”
Later, when you edit the film, you leave the shot in. It isn’t as graceful as it could be nor will it win an Oscar in cinematography, but for your love assignment, you decide that this will do.
a/n: oh my GOD this is another draft that i started writing in 2023 (?) and is affectionately known by my friends and i as the jorkin' it fic <3 b99!au fic coming next !! not that i don't love the other fics i've written but it's definitely my favourite wip so i hope you all love that one too! thank you so much for reading until the very end and i hope u enjoyed :3
