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30 days to get in your pants I G. Satoru x Reader

Chapter 5- Truth (24k words, SUE ME 👏) Masterlist

Synopsis: You arrive in Japan with a soft heart and nothing to lose until the meanest, the most popular fuckboy in your class chooses you as a bet, smiling at you like it means something.

While you fall for him counting the petals of the roses he gave you, he's only counting days to get in your pants.

Tags: HEAVY Angst, emotional manipulation, bet trope, power imbalance, fluff, fear of abandonment, slow burn, smut, college AU, soft reader, rich mean Gojo, oral- f receiving, lots of drama.

Aesthetic | Playlist

(It’s a pretty long chapter so grab a snack and a tissue box because this is gonna be a wild ride)

An email arrived early enough that the city outside your hotel bedroom window had not fully awakened yet. Okinawa existed in that strange in-between hour where the sky still carried traces of blue-grey dawn, where office lights flickered awake one by one inside distant buildings, and where silence still clung softly to the world before the machinery of morning properly began. Your room remained warm beneath heavy blankets, tangled with the lingering comfort of sleep and sand particles that could be felt between your toes mixed with traces of Satoru’s cologne – reminder of the hundreds of kisses you exchanged the night before. You’re still confused and upset about why nothing ever escalates with him though. One of your socks had disappeared somewhere beneath the bed during the night, your phone lay half-buried under your pillow, and your hair was spread across the sheets in messy waves from how restlessly you had slept after returning from the beach.

Well, about time you check the mail that so rudely woke you up.

A small groan escaped you as you blindly reached for it without opening your eyes properly, thumb lazily dragging across the screen while sleep still clouded your mind. For a second, everything remained unfocused, the brightness too harsh, your thoughts too slow, the words swimming together in meaningless shapes until gradually they sharpened into something coherent.

And then your entire body went still.

No fucking way.

The exhaustion vanished so suddenly that it’s almost comical. Your eyes moved across the screen once more, slower this time, pulse beginning to flutter unevenly beneath your ribs as though your body had recognized the importance of the moment before your mind fully could.

You had been accepted.

The words remained there no matter how many times you reread them, impossibly formal and calm compared to the violent shift happening inside you. Bunka Fashion College. Acceptance Confirmation. Your gaze lingered over the lines again and again, unable to process how casually life-changing news could present itself through a simple email sent at seven in the morning while you sat in bed wearing an oversized sleep shirt and smudged mascara from the previous night.

The application had not been planned carefully. That was perhaps the strangest part of it all. You had not spent months preparing for it or discussing it with your parents or organizing your future responsibly the way someone like you was expected to do. The decision had happened impulsively one rainy night after returning from one of your late drives with Satoru, when your cheeks still hurt from laughing too much and your heart felt strangely swollen with the terrifying realization that maybe your life did not have to remain exactly the way it had always been designed by your parents.

You remembered sitting cross-legged on your bed past midnight with your laptop balanced on your thighs while rainwater slipped down the windows in silver streams, you felt too lazy to shower that day. Tokyo had glowed outside your room in fractured reflections headlights, and somewhere downstairs your parents had already gone to sleep, entirely unaware that their daughter was quietly contemplating ruining the future they had spent years constructing for her.

Because finance had never truly been your dream. It had simply been the safest continuation of the life already chosen for you.

Your father’s textile company had always existed like another family member within your household, its presence stretching across dinners, vacations, phone calls, arguments, celebrations, every existing part of your upbringing inevitably circling back toward expansion projects, investments, contracts, market growth. You had grown up hearing the language of business more often than the language of love. Even as a child, you understood what was expected of you. You were intelligent, good with numbers, composed in professional settings, capable of eventually taking over the international side of the company once your father grew older. The path had been laid before you so neatly that questioning it almost felt ungrateful.

And perhaps that was why you buried every other dream so deeply for so many years. Love for fashion had survived inside you anyway, stubborn as wildflowers growing through concrete.

It existed in the careful way you dressed even for ordinary lectures, in the folders full of saved runway photographs hidden on your phone, in the sketches tucked between notebook pages during boring finance classes, in the almost painful emotion you felt whenever fabrics moved beautifully under light. Other people often treated fashion as something shallow, but to you it had always felt intimate in the same way poetry did to poets. Clothing carried personality before words ever could. It transformed insecurity into confidence, loneliness into softness, longing into something visible enough to touch. You understood emotion through color palettes the way some people understood it through music.

But dreams become embarrassing after a certain point when practicality enters the room. So you stopped speaking about it, stopped imagining yourself within it. Stopped believing it could belong to someone like you.

Until somewhere between late-night convenience store runs with Satoru, shared headphones during train rides, sleepy conversations at four in the morning, and the terrifying tenderness of being loved so openly, something inside you had begun changing shape. You had started wanting things again. Not small things either, but frightening things, the kind of things that demanded risk and selfishness and courage.

The application had been submitted during one of those moments.

You remembered staring at the Bunka Fashion College website for nearly an hour before even opening the form, your guts tying themselves harder with every section you filled out. Academic records. Transfer information. Creative portfolio submissions. Personal statement. You had nearly closed the laptop several times because the entire thing felt absurd. What exactly were you supposed to submit? Instagram posts? Outfit photographs? Your best pictures that were all clicked by your ex? Moodboards saved at three in the morning because they made your heart ache in ways you couldn’t explain?

And yet you had done it anyway.

You uploaded styling photographs from your account. Personal concepts. Fabric studies. Pieces of yourself disguised professionally enough to sound legitimate from the time you still had the faith to dream. When it came time to write your essay, your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a very long time because the truth sitting inside your chest sounded far too vulnerable to survive outside your body.

You wanted fashion because it made you feel alive. It made you feel like you. Every time you imagined spending the rest of your life trapped inside boardrooms discussing profit margins for your father’s textile business you did not care about, something inside you quietly mourned. You feared waking up thirty years from now wearing expensive clothes you never chose inside a life that no longer resembled you at all. But instead of writing those things, you crafted polished paragraphs about creative expression, cultural aesthetics, modern design language, visual identity. Then you hit submit before fear could stop you.

Afterward, you convinced yourself it would amount to nothing.

It had been easier that way. Safer, perhaps.

Yet now, staring at the acceptance email glowing softly in your hands while dawn stretched itself across Tokyo outside your bedroom window, you realized that somewhere along the way you had secretly wanted this far more desperately than you ever allowed yourself to admit.

Your gaze slowly drifted towards your phone wallpaper—your parents standing together at some corporate event years ago, your father’s hand resting firmly against your shoulder with unmistakable pride. The image suddenly felt unbearably heavy. Because accepting this would mean changing everything. And perhaps for the first time in your life, the possibility of becoming someone your parents might not fully understand no longer terrified you enough to stop wanting it anyway.

The acceptance letter disappeared the moment your phone lit up again, though the feeling of it lingered stubbornly beneath your ribs like seawater trapped inside a shell. Even after forcing yourself to stand before the mirror and brushing your teeth, you weren’t sure if pretending your life was not threatening to split into two entirely different futures would do anything.

Tokyo.

Fashion.

You.

The words felt foreign together.

Your father would hate this. No…maybe that was not entirely true. Your father would hate losing the future he had spent his entire life building for you. That realization alone spread guilt through you slowly, thoroughly, like ink dissolving into water. Because your father had never been cruel. Strict, yes. Demanding, absolutely. Ambitious to a terrifying degree. But cruel? Never. Everything he had ever built came from sacrifice, from years of clawing opportunities out of places where opportunities barely existed at all. Before the business became stable, before the international contracts and partnerships and overseas clients, there had only been long flights, factory visits, sleepless nights, supplier negotiations that stretched until dawn, and a man stubborn enough to believe he could build something bigger with his bare hands.

You grew up hearing stories about it.

How he started with textile sourcing first…small-scale fabric procurement, endless meetings with manufacturers, traveling across cities just to inspect stitching quality himself because he did not trust anybody else with his standards. Your mother used to joke about it.. Tokyo one year. Seoul the next. Singapore. Bangkok. Sometimes he relocated for months at a time just to oversee production management personally or secure manufacturing contracts before competitors could touch them.

And because your father went everywhere, you went to a lot of places too. Especially when your family used to shift of course. Your childhood existed in fragments of countries stitched together like fabric swatches inside a designer’s archive.

Fabric reports spread across dining tables beside half-finished cups of coffee. Your father discussing manufacturing margins over dinner while reviewing supplier quotations from three different countries at once. Export spreadsheets glowing across laptop screens long after midnight. Currency conversions scribbled across notepads. Revenue projections. Profit percentages. Shipment calculations. Production costs. Import duties. Market forecasts. Expansion strategies. Negotiation calls with factory partners happening while you quietly finished homework nearby, learning the language of business before you were even old enough to understand what corporate strategy truly meant.

Hence, your finance degree. Fashion never arrived in your life suddenly. It had always been there quietly, breathing beside you. Your father simply never realized that while he was teaching you business, the world itself had been teaching you beauty.

And perhaps that was why disappointing him felt almost unforgivable. Because he truly had given you everything he never had growing up. Stability. Education. Safety. Opportunity. A future already mapped carefully before you were even old enough to understand what futures meant. He never treated you lesser for being his daughter. If anything, he treated you like something precious enough to sharpen carefully for the world. He wanted you disciplined because discipline had built his life. He wanted you strong because softness had never been afforded to him.

The cruel joke, however, was that you were soft.

Not incompetent though. However, children do not understand pressure at first. They understand love. You remembered being seven years old in Singapore, sitting inside one of his office meetings coloring quietly while he discussed textile exports with another manufacturer. Every few minutes he glanced toward you just to make sure you were still there, still listening, still watching him with those huge admiring eyes.

And you always were. At school, whenever teachers asked what you wanted to become someday, your answer came naturally. Like my father. You proudly told classmates you would inherit the business one day. During parent-teacher meetings, your mother laughed while telling teachers how obsessed you were with “business talk.” You memorized brand names and market terminology before most girls your age learned makeup brands. Well, you learned makeup after that so sometimes that feels rebellious enough no?

You never noticed when your own dreams quietly began shrinking to fit inside his. But every single time you almost considered speaking about it aloud, reality crushed the thought before it could fully bloom. Because what would you even say?

Father, thank you for building an international business from nothing, but I think I want to work in fashion branding instead.

It sounded childish inside your own head. How would it sound in front of your father? Wait…you already know… “embarrassing & ungrateful.” So you buried it before anybody else could. You loved making him proud. Enough to keep sacrificing pieces of yourself quietly. Until Satoru arrived and ruined the careful architecture of your life simply by existing inside it.

Because Satoru treated life like something meant to be devoured. Not endured. He laughed loudly. Loved recklessly. Bought stupid things impulsively. Kissed you like it was his last day on earth. Dragged you into midnight walks and spontaneous plans and ridiculous adventures and moments so bright they almost felt unreal afterward. Somewhere along the way, being loved by him had started making you feel braver too. Heck, he even climbed up your balcony because he felt like it. That feeling of doing things just because you want and not because you’re obliged too..well fuck those thoughts because your traitor mind instantly reminded you of Satoru’s kisses last night.

Damn, those veins on his hands, and his silver chain, and his soft locks, and his pretty blue eyes, and his voice? Uhhhhhh that fact that his voice sounds a hundred times better when he’s speaking Japanese is enough to turn you on. Weird thing but a girl can’t help what a girl feels. no?

Ting! Your phone buzzed against the sheets. (Play Knee Socks by Arctic Monkeys from here on, I beg you.)

Satoru: Baby.

Another vibration followed instantly.

Satoru: I’m literally starving.

A small laugh escaped you despite everything as you finally reached for the phone.

You: Order something then.

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

Satoru: Even yummy food tastes yucky without you.

Heat climbed into your cheeks so fast it almost annoyed you. You walked toward your suitcase finally, kneeling beside it while sunlight spilled warm across the carpet around you. Today was supposed to be slow. No sightseeing. No packed itinerary. No racing from beaches to cafés to markets to karaoke bars. Just resting inside the resort after two days of exhausting yourselves in the best ways imaginable.

Okinawa had given you more happiness in two days than entire years before this ever had. The aquarium visits. Ferry rides. Night markets glowing under lantern light. Arcade competitions that Satoru took far too seriously. Late-night convenience store runs in oversized hoodies. Beach walks. Random races down hotel hallways. Sharing desserts. Sharing headphones. Sharing pieces of yourselves without even realizing it.

And somewhere inside all of that living, you had become greedy for him. Greedy for his every glance. Every touch. Every kiss that left your thoughts spinning afterward. You pulled out the outfit you had planned earlier, a soft white sundress layered beneath a pale-blue cardigan airy enough for the humid weather. Then came the socks. Sky blue knee-high socks. Cute enough that Satoru would absolutely lose his mind over them. You didn’t plan to go to the beach today which meant wearing whatever made sense to you.

You bit your lip unconsciously while pulling them on because lately you had started dressing with him in mind far more than you should probably admit. Blue shades because his eyes lingered longer on them, also because it’s his favourite too. Strawberry lip gloss because you loved the way his tongue swirled across his lips immediately after he’d kiss you. Short skirts because the expression on his face whenever you bent slightly nearly killed you every single time.

The way that man looked at you lately was becoming dangerous. Not because it lacked restraint. But because it carried wayyy too much of it. His body constantly gravitated toward yours like gravity itself had rewritten around the two of you. His hand resting at your waist during group walks. Fingers brushing your thigh beneath restaurant tables. His mouth lingering too close to your neck whenever he hugged you from behind. Every touch warm. Intentional. Heavy with something unsaid. And yet he always stopped himself before things could become more.

Always.

Sometimes it drove you nearly insane. Because your own body had long since stopped pretending indifferent around him. Every make-out session left you dizzy and wanting for more. Every kiss felt like standing at the edge of something enormous only for him to pull away at the last second, forehead pressed against yours while breathing unevenly like he was fighting himself internally. There had been several times when you felt his boner, you know he’s hiding a whale under his pants. IF ONLY, he’d let you swim to the said whale ugh.

You did not understand it. Part of you worried maybe he simply did not want you that way. Another part thought maybe he respected you too much. But how could that be true when you caught him checking you out multiple times with his dangerous half lidded gaze. It’s not like you didn’t notice his “quick bathroom breaks”. The worst part was that you wanted him enough to overthink every possibility.

Your phone rang suddenly. Not a text this time.

A video call.

You answered instinctively only for Satoru’s face to appear immediately, sprawled dramatically across his hotel bed shirtless with silver hair sticking everywhere, and sunglasses that you could track on his nightstand. “Finally,” he groaned. “My girlfriend remembers I exist.” Your stomach flipped embarrassingly fast at the word girlfriend. “You saw me last night,” you muttered while applying lip gloss carefully in the mirror.

Satoru went suspiciously quiet. You glanced toward the screen to notice that he was staring. Not even pretending not to. His blue eyes dragged slowly over your reflection before settling on the socks currently visible beneath the hem of your dress.

“Oh, you evil woman,” he breathed dramatically. “Those knee socks will be the end of me.” A laugh escaped you softly.

“You’re insane.”

“No,” he said seriously while sitting upright now, “actually I’m in love with you, which is unfortunately way worse.” The terrifying part was that he said things like that so casually now. Like love was something light enough to throw between conversations about breakfast and room service. Like it did not have the power to alter entire lives. Your fingers stilled slightly against the lip gloss tube. You did not address it.

You couldn’t.

Because if you did, if you truly stopped and looked directly at the weight behind those words, then you would also have to confront the other thing sitting quietly beneath your happiness these past few days, the same thing you kept trying not to think about whenever he kissed you too softly but still pulled away too quickly afterwards. Satoru wanted you. You knew he did. And yet he still held himself back.

Every

Single

Time

Lately the doubt had begun creeping in during quieter moments, ugly and persistent and impossible to fully silence. Because how could this possibly be the same Satoru that the pink haired girl was talking about? The same man who apparently moved through hookups and flings effortlessly before you. The same man that you came to know girls whispered about at parties. The same man who had no issue touching other girls before, wanting other girls before, sleeping with other girls before.

So why did it suddenly feel different with you? Why did he stop every time things became too intense with you? Why did his fingers tremble against your waist only for him to press one final kiss to your mouth and pull away like he was forcing himself to?

Sometimes, late at night when your thoughts turned crueler than usual, you wondered if maybe the problem was simply that you were not enough to make him lose control. Not sexy enough. Not confident enough. Fuck…a virgin too. Was it written all over your face? Maybe he liked you romantically but did not burn for you physically the way you burned for him.

The thought alone made embarrassment crawl hot beneath your skin because God…you wanted him so badly it almost humiliated you sometimes. Wanted his hands everywhere. Wanted him closer. Wanted him to stop treating your body like something he had to carefully avoid ruining. You could never even bring yourself to ask him about it. Because what if the answer shattered you?

I was on fire for you

Where did you go?

I could’ve died for you

How could you not know?

Fire for You that just started playing at the speaker you balanced on a shelf in the shower. The worst part was that while you sat there questioning your own desirability, Satoru was currently fighting the urge to lose himself over you every few seconds of the day.

He had never struggled with attraction before. Never. Desire had always been easier for him than emotions. It has been simple, physical, fleeting. Girls liked him, he liked them back, and then they’d fuck back in his room. There was never hesitation attached to it. Never this horrible tightening in his heart every single time his feelings for somebody threatened to become real.

But you had ruined the balance of everything. The problem was not that he did not want you. The problem was that he wanted you so much. And now that he knew his feelings for you were real, now that he had officially called the bet off in front of everybody, now that the guilt of how all of this had started lived inside him like poison, he could not let himself touch you the way he desperately wanted to until he told you the truth.

Because what if afterward you looked back at his every kiss, every touch differently? What if one day, after hearing about the bet, you started wondering whether every touch from him had only been another part of the game? That thought alone made him feel physically sick. So he held himself back constantly. Even when it was becoming nearly impossible.

Especially in Okinawa when he was constantly around you. You with your sleepy voice, coarse voice, messy hair, in the evenings with your worn out makeup, especially your worn out perfume, would mix with your own natural scent– wrapping around his senses and dizzying him like no drug could ever.

You, who kept unknowingly making things worse for him every second. The floral sundresses. The sunscreen shining softly across your skin beneath the beach sun. Your glossy lips wrapped around straws during café visits. The way you climbed onto his back during group pictures and laughed directly into his ear. The way you absentmindedly stole food from his plate while talking. The way your fingers played with the rings on his hands during movie nights, tracing stars on his biceps. The way you leaned into him automatically now, like your body had already accepted him as home.

And those blue knee socks today. He genuinely thought they might kill him. Because you had no idea what you looked like to him. No idea what it did to him whenever you curled yourself against his side during ferry rides while your dress rode higher along your thighs. No idea what happened inside his head whenever you bent over your hotel bed yesterday morning searching for chargers or makeup products while talking casually like you were not actively ruining his sanity. No idea what it took for him to keep his composure whenever your lips brushed his during lazy make-out sessions and you sighed softly into his mouth, trusting him completely.

There had already been too many close calls.

One during a cafe visit, when you got excited over a strawberry parfait and grabbed his hand so suddenly that you practically crashed into his chest, your perfume and body heat surrounding him instantly while the orange cafe lights reflected across your face. He remembered staring down at your lips for one second too long before practically shoving his hands into his pockets afterward because touching your waist any longer would have ended badly for him.

Another time in the elevator when everybody else got out first and you stayed behind with him accidentally for only twenty seconds, your back against the mirrored wall while laughing about something stupid Nobara had said earlier. The elevator had jerked slightly and you stumbled forward directly into him, palms against his chest, his hands automatically gripping your hips to steady you. He still remembered the feeling. Still remembered how his entire brain went frighteningly blank. The way your eyes widened slowly when you looked up at him. The way your gloss caught the shitty elevator light. The way he almost fucked you hard enough to completely forget about the bet.

Satoru liked it hard, fast like he was born with too much passion in his veins and no real way to contain it. Like every touch had to mean something, every kiss had to steal the breath right out of someone’s lungs. He was greedy with pleasure, relentless with his lust, overwhelming in every possible way.

But with you? He’d slow down just to memorize you properly. Would kiss every inch of your body like devotion alone could keep you tethered. His lips would linger against your skin as though he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to love you this closely. He’d bury himself beneath your jaw, mouth hot and feverish under your ear, breathing your name like a prayer he was terrified to lose. And Satoru Gojo - who had never once handed control to anyone would give it to you so willingly and would never regret it at all.

He’d rest his forehead against yours, smiling softly when you’ll guide him slower, gentler, sweeter. He’d let you decide everything. The pace and the rhythm. How close he could get. When he was allowed to come. Because loving you stopped feeling like hunger and started feeling like worship. You made him careful. You made him patient. You made him want to savor instead of consume.

So… Makima wasn’t lying to Denji when she said that being close to someone would feel better if he had feelings for them…

Dear God, Satoru would give you everything. Every piece of himself without hesitation. His hands would never ache for another body, his eyes would never search for someone else in crowded rooms, because once Satoru loved you, it became terrifyingly absolute. The kind of love that could soften monsters into men.

And yet he had to stop himself from going all the way with you. Again and again. And afterwards he always hated himself for the disappointment that flickered across your face before you quickly smiled like nothing happened. It killed him because he knew exactly what you were starting to think. He saw it now in the way your confidence faltered afterward sometimes. The way you overcompensated. Dressing prettier. Sitting closer. Kissing him deeper. Seeking reassurance in tiny ways that shattered him internally because you genuinely believed maybe you were somehow lacking. When in reality he was barely surviving you. And every single time one thought returned to him with terrifying certainty.

Mine.

It terrified him that if he crossed that final line with you before telling you the truth, he knew himself well enough to understand there would be absolutely no going back afterward. And maybe there already wasn’t.

The resort buzzed softly with life by early afternoon. Everyone had eventually gathered downstairs again after spending most of the day hidden away in separate rooms recovering from the previous night’s exhaustion. Suguru and Shoko argued over drinks near the poolside bar while Toji kept stealing fries directly from Utahime’s plate just to annoy him. Nobara and Maki were already half-planning another shopping stop before tomorrow’s flight back to Tokyo while Haibara loudly insisted everybody should stay in Okinawa forever.

Meanwhile Satoru barely heard any of it. Because you had just walked out of the resort lobby. And for one horrifying moment he genuinely forgot how breathing worked. Your cute dress and the sky-blue socks directly in front of his eyes, somehow making you look even softer, even sweeter, even more impossible to look away from. Like you already weren’t the cutest person to ever exist.

His silver chain rested against the open collar of his shirt, rings glinting beneath the evening light as he stared openly now, too gone to even pretend otherwise. “Dude,” Suguru muttered beside him without looking up from his drink, “Close your mouth before a bird flies inside.”

Satoru ignored him completely.

Because you were smiling shyly already under the weight of his gaze, hand shooting up to hide your smile but Satoru’s instant gaze reminded you he’d yank your hand away if you don’t. Your fingers instinctively smoothing down your dress while warmth climbs visibly into your cheeks.

Whenever he complimented you, you physically softened. Your shoulders curled inward slightly. Your lashes lowered. Your hands became fidgety around jewelry or sleeves or the hem of your dress. Sweat gathered faintly beneath your collarbones whenever he stared too long, like your entire body simply did not know what to do with being wanted so openly.

Beautiful, beautiful girl.

He stood the second you reached them, moving toward you automatically before his fingers hooked gently around your wrist. “You trying to kill me today babygirl?” he asked quietly. Your eyes widened immediately. “What?”

“That dress,” he murmured, gaze dragging slowly over you again. “Those socks. The gloss. Baby, seriously.”

Heat exploded across your face so quickly you had to hide part of it by looking at the ground, fake adjusting your socks. Behind you, Nobara gagged dramatically. “Oh my God,” she complained loudly. “You two are actually disgusting now.” But Satoru barely heard her.

Because even through your embarrassment, even through your shy laughter and avoidance and flustered little reactions, he could still feel that tiny lingering insecurity sitting quietly beneath your skin. And he hated that he put it there. Hated it so much that his chest physically hurt with it sometimes. If only you understood. If only you knew that every inch of distance he forced between your bodies existed precisely because he loved you too much now.

The teasing from your friends lasted far longer than either of you expected it to. It started when Haibara clapped his hands loudly near the poolside tables and announced that everybody absolutely had to go out properly tonight because tomorrow meant flights back to Tokyo, responsibilities again, classes again, work again, and apparently he refused to “let Okinawa end tragically.” Nobara immediately agreed because any excuse to dress up and drink overpriced cocktails near the beach sounded perfect to her, while Shoko looked one minor inconvenience away from falling asleep directly into her bitter iced coffee but still nodded anyway.

Plans formed around you in overlapping conversations. Somebody suggested a bar near the waterfront. Somebody else mentioned live music. Suguru complained about crowds while already putting his wallet away like he knew he was going regardless. The entire thing carried that strange bittersweet energy final vacation nights always seemed to have, everybody trying to stretch happiness a little longer before real life returned.

And through all of it, Satoru barely stopped touching you once. His fingers remained looped lazily around your wrist while he leaned against the back of your chair. Then his palm settled absentmindedly over your shoulder while arguing with Suguru about if they can extend the trip. Then his chin dropped directly onto the top of your head while he scrolled through Instagram on his phone like he genuinely belonged there. “You guys are coming for other stuff that’s planned for today, right?” Utahime asked eventually, glancing between both of you. Before you could answer, Satoru spoke first.

“Nah,” he said easily. “We’re staying back today.”

The words should not have affected you as much as they did. But they did because he remembered the random promise you made last night to stay in and spend some time together. Satoru is literally the best boyfriend ever!!

Something warm spread quietly through your chest while the group erupted immediately into dramatic reactions. “Oh my God,” Nobara groaned. “You two cannot survive one moment without each other anymore.” “We can,” Satoru replied instantly. A beat passed. Then he looked down at you.

“We just don’t want to.”

Suguru threw a fry at him. Who was even having fries at this hour? You laughed before you could stop yourself, ducking instinctively against Satoru’s side while your cheeks burned beneath everybody’s relentless teasing. Yet even while smiling, even while laughing softly into the drama of your friends, you still caught the way Satoru looked at you when nobody else noticed. The way his eyes softened every single time your attention drifted elsewhere. The way his thumb kept tracing slow unconscious circles against your wrist.

Like touching you had become instinctive now. Eventually the plans finalized around a Karaoke near beachside bars, and after another ten minutes of arguing over outfits and transportation and whether Gojo could survive alcohol without embarrassing everybody publicly again, the group slowly dispersed upstairs to get ready.

You and Satoru never did.

The moment the elevator doors closed behind the others, silence settled around both of you almost immediately. The silence wasn’t completely awkward but it could still be felt. The resort hallways glowed gold beneath the evening lights while distant ocean wind drifted through the open sections of the hotel, carrying salt and warmth and the faint sound of waves somewhere below. Satoru stood beside you with one hand tucked into his pocket, silver rings catching briefly beneath the lights every time he moved. Then he looked at you. It’s that expression again. That unbearably fond expression that always made your stomach twist into something helpless.

“What?” you asked quietly, suddenly too aware of yourself beneath his stare. His gaze drifted slowly down your body before returning upward again, almost thoughtful. “You know,” he murmured, “I genuinely think you enjoy making my life difficult.”

Heat climbed instantly into your face. “.”Satoru, you’re so corny”.

“Daww- how could you?” You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you immediately.

By the time you entered his suite, the sky outside was way too bright, umm just like your mood let’s say. Warm lights glowed across the hotel room, reflecting faintly against glass balcony doors left partially open to let ocean air drift inside. The atmosphere felt strangely domestic almost immediately once shoes got kicked aside carelessly and both of you collapsed onto opposite ends of the couch like this had become natural.

Which perhaps it already had.

Room service arrived barely twenty minutes later because apparently Satoru ordered enough food to feed an entire family. Desserts first, naturally. Strawberry pancakes. Matcha parfaits, wagyu sliders, and soda cans stacked messily across the coffee table. Half the order looked chosen exclusively because one of you once mentioned liking it casually during some conversation days ago.

“Hmm…you remembered our little plan it seems” you asked softly at one point after noticing your favorite pastries sitting near your plate. Satoru looked genuinely confused.

“Obviously I remembered.” Like forgetting things about you was ever impossible. The realization sat quietly inside your chest afterward. The day unfolded lazily after that. Shoes abandoned beneath tables. Music from video games humming softly while both of you sat cross-legged on the carpet arguing over them with the kind of seriousness only deeply competitive people could achieve.

“You cheated.”

“I literally didn’t.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I’m just smarter than you.”

Satoru gasped dramatically like you had slapped him. “That’s crazy,” he said. “That’s actually insane to say to me in my own room.” You laughed so hard you nearly dropped the controller. The best part was that he genuinely could not even deny it entirely because you were good. Annoyingly good. Arcade games, racing games, rhythm games…somehow you adapted to everything faster than expected, and every time you won you looked unbearably pleased with yourself afterward.

Especially when you cheated just slightly. Satoru caught you eventually during one of the rounds, your sneaky glance toward his side of the screen immediately giving you away.

“Oh my God,” he said, scandalized. “You little liar.” You stuck your tongue out instantly with a grin. And that expression nearly killed him because you always looked so adorable doing that.

Happy, he’d always want you to be happy. “You’re cute when you cheat,” he muttered absentmindedly. Your entire face warmed immediately. “Shut up.”

“No seriously,” he continued while leaning closer across the couch cushions now, smiling lazily. “You get this evil little look on your face first.” “Sa-umm No, I do not.”

“You do.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s okay,” he replied softly. “I love you enough for both of us.”

There, once again, he said it so naturally. So easily. Like love rested comfortably inside him now. Meanwhile you still carried it carefully like something fragile enough to shatter in your hands.

The game controller slipped from your fingers eventually after he tackled you backward against the couch during another cheating accusation, both of you dissolving instantly into laughter while cushions collapsed beneath your bodies messily.

“Satoru—”

“You’re a criminal actually, so you should be punished.”

“Omh..you’re such a looser toru moru.”

“Toru moru?”

“Toru, moru, loru, doru”

“Yeah, you’re gonna pay for it now,” he corrected immediately. “You’ll learn this the hard way.”

You laughed again, breathless now, and somewhere during the chaos your legs tangled together awkwardly while his body shifted above yours. And then neither of you moved. The room suddenly felt quieter.

Not truly silent though, the music from the video game still hummed somewhere forgotten in the background, ocean wind still drifted faintly through the balcony doors, distant laughter still echoed somewhere outside the resort but all of it blurred strangely once awareness settled fully between your bodies. Because Satoru was on top of you now. Close enough to trap you.

Enough for warmth to spread rapidly beneath your skin once you realized exactly how close he suddenly was. Your laughter faded first and then his. And God, being alone with him like this felt different without friends nearby. Without distractions. Without rushed moments stolen between crowded schedules or calls from your parents.

There was nowhere else either of you would want to exist at this very moment. The world could wait, everything could wait. Satoru’s face hovered inches above yours now, silver hair falling slightly across his forehead while his breathing slowed gradually into something heavier. His silver chain glimmered faintly near the open collar of his shirt. This close, you could see each and every freckle on his face and the beautiful constellations they formed. His rings brushed absentmindedly against your waist where his hand rested. You became horribly aware of every point of contact all at once. His torso pressing between your legs, knee socks uneven. The warmth of his chest. The weight of him. The smell of his cologne mixed with salt air and sugar and his own unique scent.

Your pulse stumbled violently. And then you felt it. Felt exactly how affected he was beneath the thin distance still existing between your bodies. A soft gasp escaped you before you could stop it. Satoru’s eyes shut briefly. Like even hearing that sound from you physically pained him. Your hands slid instinctively upward against his shoulders, then higher toward the back of his neck, fingers brushing through soft silver strands while your body arched unconsciously closer.

He inhaled sharply.

“Baby,” he said quietly. And then his mouth finally touched your neck, every coherent thought inside you scattered immediately. Warm open-mouthed kisses dragged slowly beneath your jaw while his hand tightened instinctively against your waist. Then higher. Then lower again like he could not decide where he was allowed to touch you. His lips moved feverishly against sensitive skin beneath your ear before trailing downward again, tongue brushing softly along your throat in a way that made your legs wrap around him instantly.

Your fingers dug harder into his shoulders.

Fuck.

The sounds leaving him were making things worse. Soft breathing against your skin. Small strained exhales every time you pull him closer unconsciously. The way his composure kept slipping for seconds at a time whenever your nails brushed lightly against the back of his neck.

And still he held back somehow. Even now. Even like this.

His palms spread against your body carefully despite how hard he was breathing already, and he was painfully hard, he felt like his pants would burst out any moment because of it. His one hand slid beneath your thigh briefly before squeezing gently upward. The other remained near your waist, occasionally brushing higher beneath the fabric of your dress before pulling back again like restraint physically hurt him.

Meanwhile your entire body practically begged for more. You pressed closer instinctively, legs tightening around his hips while your hands moved lower now, tracing desperately across his back, his waist, the sharp lines beneath his shirt.

“Satoru,” you whispered shakily. He groaned softly against your throat. And then suddenly—

Distance. Not much but enough to notice. Enough for cold air to rush between your bodies again. Enough for confusion and humiliation to slam directly back into your chest. Your breathing remained uneven while Satoru stared down at you with the exact same tortured expression he always wore afterward. The same restraint. The same hesitation. And something inside you cracked a little this time. Because you could only feel rejected so many times before it started becoming impossible not to internalize it.

Your arms slowly loosened around him. Satoru noticed immediately. “Baby—”

“No.”

Your voice came out quieter than expected. You turned your face slightly away first, embarrassed by how quickly emotion already burned behind your eyes. “No, it’s fine.”

But it very obviously was not. Satoru shifted immediately, concern replacing heat across his face almost instantly. “Hey Y/N”

You laughed once softly, except it sounded awful. “Am I seriously that bad?” His entire expression changed. “What?”

“You stop every time.” Your throat tightened embarrassingly fast now that the words finally escaped. “Every single time, Satoru.”

“That’s not—”

“Then what is it?”

The hurt sitting inside you finally surfaced all at once after days of trying to swallow it quietly. “Because I genuinely don’t understand anymore.” Your voice shook despite trying desperately to steady it. “You act like you want me and then you pull away constantly and I keep trying not to think about it but it’s getting humiliating at this point.”

Satoru stared at you like you had physically struck him.

Meanwhile once the words started coming, they refused to stop.

“I know about your past, okay?” you admitted softly, looking away now because shame burned too hot beneath your skin. “I know you’ve been with people before. I know this has never been difficult for you before.” Your fingers tightened painfully against the fabric beneath you. “So, I keep thinking maybe the problem is just me.”

“Baby—”

“Maybe I’m not experienced enough or sexy enough or maybe you just—”

“Stop.”

The sharpness in his voice startled both of you. Immediately afterward his expression broke completely. Because he looked fucking devastated. Actually devastated. Satoru moved closer again instantly, one hand cupping your face before you could avoid him fully.

“Don’t do that to yourself,” he said quietly, almost desperately. “Don’t you ever fucking do that to yourself because none of this is because I don’t want you.”

His thumb brushed gently beneath your eye. “You have no idea what you do to me.” Your chest hurt because he sounded sincere. “Then why?” you whispered finally. “Why do you keep stopping?” For a moment Satoru said nothing. His jaw tightened slightly instead.

Then finally—

“Because I’m trying to respect you, take things slow”

It was a lie. The bet was constantly dangling in his head no matter how badly he tried to bury it beneath kisses and soft touches and genuine feelings. He couldn’t touch you the way he truly wanted because he still hadn’t come clean, and if he ever acted on those urges before telling you the truth then what would that make him? No. He couldn’t do that to you. Not to the girl he now knew with terrifying certainty that he loved. Pathetically so, actually.

Satoru had taken so many stupid online quizzes at three in the morning trying to figure out whether this was love or just infatuation, rolling his eyes at every ridiculous question while still answering them honestly anyway. Do you think about them constantly? Yes. Do they feel like home to you? God, yes. Can you imagine a future with them? A terrifyingly beautiful one. He didn’t rely on those results because deep down he already knew what he felt for you, but somehow every single one still came back the same, giant green signs practically screaming at him that yes, Satoru Gojo was hopelessly in love.

The answer stunned you silent. His gaze softened immediately afterward. “You can not compare yourself with ay of those girls Y/N. You’re not some random hookup to me,” he admitted quietly. “You’re not temporary. You’re not somebody I just want one night with and then move on from after.” His fingers brushed shakily through your hair now. “And I know you haven’t done this before.”

Your stomach twisted instantly. “So?” The embarrassment returned immediately after saying it aloud. “So what if I haven’t?” Satoru blinked. You swallowed hard before continuing anyway.

“I know I’m inexperienced.” Your face burned so badly now. “I know I probably seem awkward and embarrassed all the time and maybe I don’t know what I’m doing yet but I still want you, Toru” Your voice cracked softly at the end. “And honestly it makes me feel horrible when you stop because then I start thinking maybe you regret touching me each damn time.”

The look on Satoru’s face afterward nearly destroyed you. Because suddenly he understood. Understood every insecure thought quietly eating at you these past days. “Baby,” he whispered painfully. Then immediately pulled you against him. His arms wrapped around you so tightly it almost hurt while one hand cradled the back of your head carefully against his chest. “No,” he murmured softly against your hair. “No, sweetheart, that’s not it at all.” Your eyes stung unexpectedly.

“I just didn’t want you feeling pressured,” he admitted quietly after a moment. “I didn’t want your first time becoming something rushed because I couldn’t control myself around you.” A shaky breath left him. “And trust me, I’m barely controlling myself already.”

Despite everything, a weak laugh escaped you. Satoru pulled back just enough to look at you again. “You are literally the sexiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he informed you very seriously. Your face immediately buried halfway into his shoulder again.

“I’m being serious,” he insisted softly, smiling now despite the lingering emotion in his eyes. “You drive me fucking insane.” Heat spread slowly through your chest again. Gentler this time.

Satoru brushed his forehead lightly against yours afterward, his voice lowering carefully. “But if… you want this too,” he whispered, “then I need you to tell me properly. We will only go with what you want.”

Your pulse immediately sped up again. His thumb stroked slowly across your cheek. “Can we?” he asked softly. “Can we go further?” Your breath caught instantly. For a second you could only stare at him. Then your teeth caught nervously against your lower lip while warmth climbed rapidly across your entire face.

And slowly—

You nodded. His hands felt impossibly large against you. Warm & everywhere. You had noticed them before, of course. The silver rings. The veins beneath pale skin. The long fingers that always seemed capable of holding too much at once. But now, with the entire world narrowed down to the space between your bodies, they felt devastating in a completely different way.

Because Satoru touched you like he was terrified you might disappear.

One hand rested at the small of your back while the other cupped your jaw so gently it almost hurt, his thumb brushing slowly across your cheek as though memorizing the softness there. Your skin felt cool beneath his palms from nervousness, from anticipation, from the way your entire body had turned hypersensitive under his attention, and the contrast nearly drove him insane.

“So pretty,” he whispered against your mouth.

The words barely sounded human anymore, his breathing was just so heavy, each kiss eliciting a moan from his heaven-like lips. Your breath caught when his hand slid lower, fingers spreading across your waist before pulling you closer until there was no longer space left between your bodies at all. Every inch of him surrounded you. Heat. Cologne. Warmth. The silver chain at his throat brushing your skin whenever he leaned down to kiss you again.

And Fuck.

His kisses, anyone who kissed him before you deserves to be punished, you’ll end them. End them all. He’s yours, just yours, your Satoru. You had never understood before how something could feel both unbearably soft and unbearably hungry at the same time.

Satoru kissed you like a starving man pretending patience. Slow only because he was forcing himself to be. His mouth moved against yours deeply, thoroughly, like he wanted to consume every sound you made and keep it inside himself forever. Every time you gasped softly into his mouth, his grip tightened instinctively around your waist, grip bruising but you loved each second of it. His forehead pressing briefly against yours like he needed a second to survive you.

“Still okay?” he whispered. You nodded immediately. But apparently that wasn’t enough for him.

His nose brushed yours softly before he asked again, quieter this time, “Tell me.”

“Yes,” you breathed instantly. “Please.” Something in his expression shattered after that.

Satoru is so fucking gone this time.

His hands moved over you almost helplessly afterward, like he genuinely could not stop touching you now that he finally allowed himself to. Your waist. Your ribs. The curve of your hips. Your trembling thighs. He touched you like he had spent years denying himself and no longer remembered how restraint worked around you.

And maybe he hadn’t. You stumbled backward together between kisses, laughing shakily when the backs of your knees hit the mattress before you fell onto the bed once more, Satoru immediately following above you, silver hair falling into his eyes as he stared down at you like he could not believe this was real.

Beautiful girl. His beautiful girl.

The straps of your dress had already slipped halfway down your shoulders. One of your dress straps hung dangerously low now beneath his wandering hands, and the look on Satoru’s face when he noticed nearly ruined you completely.

“You’re killing me,” he murmured hoarsely. Your cheeks burned immediately, but before you could hide again, he kissed you harder. Rough and messy and desperate.

His mouth traveled from your lips to your jaw slowly, kisses growing softer the lower he moved until your breathing turned uneven beneath him. Then came the feeling of his lips beneath your ear, warm and open-mouthed enough to make your entire spine arch instinctively.

A quiet sound escaped you before you could stop it. Satoru froze. Not because he wanted to stop. Because he looked wrecked by hearing it.

“Fuck,” he whispered shakily against your skin.

His hands tightened around your waist while his mouth returned to the sensitive spot beneath your ear again, slower this time, more deliberate, and suddenly your thoughts stopped functioning properly altogether. You could feel him everywhere. His weight between your thighs. His breath against your throat. His rings grazing your skin. The way his fingers trembled slightly whenever they touched bare parts of you.

And through all of it, he kept talking to you softly like you were something precious enough to soothe even now. “You’re okay?”

“So beautiful.”

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“I’ve got you.”

Every word made your chest ache worse. Because nobody had ever touched you like this before. Like your body was not simply desired, but adored. Fuck, couldn’t he do this sooner? Your hands slid shakily beneath his shirt, fingertips dragging across warm skin and muscle while Satoru inhaled sharply above you, his eyes immediately falling shut for one dangerous second.

There it was again. That terrifying lack of composure. You felt powerful beneath him in a way that made your pulse throb harder. Because this was Satoru. Satoru, who flirted with everyone effortlessly. Satoru, who always looked untouchable. And yet now he looked completely ruined just from your hands on him.

His forehead dropped briefly against your shoulder while he laughed softly under his breath like he genuinely could not believe what you did to him. “You have no idea,” he murmured.

“ Mhm about what?” you whispered.

“How fucking hard I am baby”. He gently lifts your hand and takes it down to cup his bulge, “You make me so so horny Y/N”. You were sure that your neck, and cheeks were on fire. Heat rushed through you instantly.

But before embarrassment could fully swallow you whole, Satoru lifted his head again and kissed you slowly enough to melt the nervousness right out of your body. His fingers intertwined carefully with yours against the sheets afterward while he stared at you with that same unbearable softness that always made your chest feel too small to hold your feelings properly.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured against your mouth. The fact that he kept asking nearly broke your heart. You shook your head again, fingers sliding shakily into his white hair. “Don’t stop.” The sound he made was dangerous. Low in his throat. Completely wrecked.

His tongue brushed softly underneath your ear before dragging back upward, and the sensation made your entire body arch instinctively beneath him. “Satoru—”

“I know,” he whispered instantly, voice warm and soothing despite the obvious strain in it. “I know, baby.”

His teeth caught your earlobe gently, nibbling just enough to make your fingers tighten in his hair while a shaky breath escaped your lips. He smiled against your skin at the reaction, clearly addicted already to every tiny sound you made for him.

Meanwhile his hands had become impossible. One slid beneath your back, pulling you flush against his chest while the other traveled slowly up your stomach, bunching the fabric of your dress higher and higher with every lingering touch. The thin straps had already slipped halfway down your shoulders from all the kissing, leaving your skin completely exposed to him.

And Satoru looked ruined by the sight. His blue eyes dragged over you with open awe, like he genuinely could not process that this was real. That you were here beneath him, flushed and breathless and letting him touch you like this.

“I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” he whispered.

His fingers brushed lightly over your chest and you inhaled sharply, the intimacy of it making your head spin instantly. That tiny reaction alone nearly destroyed him. You saw it happen in real time, his eyes darkening, his jaw tightening briefly while his hands trembled ever so slightly against your body.

“You feel so good,” he murmured against your skin between kisses. “So soft… fuck.”

Your face burned hot enough to hurt, but he only kissed you deeper, slower, like he wanted to soothe the embarrassment out of you before it could fully form. Then his lips traveled lower. And lower.

His hands kept smoothing over your belly and thighs while he kissed down your body with terrifying patience, pausing every few seconds just to look at you again like he still couldn’t believe you were real. From above him, your fingers stayed tangled in his hair the entire time. You could barely think anymore. Every kiss melted another coherent thought out of your head until the only thing left was him. His warmth. His voice. His hands.

Satoru settled between your thighs slowly, eyes lifting to meet yours again while his mouth brushed teasing kisses against the inside of your thigh. The heat of his breath alone made your stomach flip.

“You’re so pretty Y/N, smell so good, I bet your pussy’s yummier than your lips…you know how bad of a sweet tooth I got right? Fuck, I could live between your thighs, stay as your good boy,” he whispered softly.

Your thighs twitched at his words and he smiled faintly against your skin, clearly noticing every reaction. “Satoru,” you breathed helplessly, fingers tightening in his hair. “Please stop teasing me.” His eyes flickered upward immediately at the sound of your voice. “Aww, is my baby so eager?” he asked softly, almost amused, though his expression still looked completely consumed by you.

Then one of his fingers brushed gently against your lower lip. “Open,” he murmured. You obeyed before thinking. The second your lips closed around his finger, Satoru visibly lost composure again. His head dipped briefly, a rough breath escaping him while his free hand gripped your thigh harder.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered hoarsely. Your eyes stayed locked on his while you sucked softly around his finger, and the expression that crossed his face afterward looked almost painful.

Like he loved you too much already. Another finger joined the first slowly before his thumb brushed your cheek affectionately. “Shh,” he soothed quietly when your breathing turned shaky again. “You’re gonna get what I give you, okay?”

His voice dropped softer then. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.” A kiss against your thigh. Another against your knee. Then his forehead rested briefly against your skin while he smiled helplessly to himself. “God,” he whispered, almost reverently. “I fucking love you.” and with that he quickly pulled you up with your hands.

He quickly shifted, guiding you upright while carefully lifting you up and making you sit opposite of him, you were now rested fully against his chest, your body tucked perfectly between his spread legs. Now, there was a mirror right in front of you. It reflected everything too clearly, your dress pushed high over your thighs, your flushed face, Satoru behind you looking devastatingly composed despite the hunger burning in his eyes.

One of his arms wrapped around your waist possessively, holding you close while his other hand slid slowly down your stomach. His palm was so warm against your skin that it made you shiver instantly. Large hands that looked sinful moving over your body possessively while claiming you as his.

“Want me to fuck you on my fingers baby?,” he murmured softly near your ear. You imagined this a lot but this instant shift in Satoru’s words and how easily he could get so dirty tipped you over the edge. His breath ghosted over your skin while his fingers traced teasing circles through the thin fabric between your thighs, and your entire body jerked at the sensation. A quiet gasp slipped from your mouth immediately.

Satoru smiled against your neck. “That sensitive, huh, can’t wait to get inside your pretty hole, I know it’s soaking wet from my voice.” You could barely answer him. Your head had already fallen back against his shoulder while one hand braced weakly against the mattress beside you. The other stayed curled behind his neck, fingers tangled in the soft dark strands at the nape of his hair.

Meanwhile his hands kept roaming.

One slipped upward, easing the thin strap of your dress down your shoulder slowly until more skin was exposed to him. He inhaled softly at the sight, like the simple act of seeing you was enough to undo him completely. “God,” he whispered hoarsely. “Can’t belive I’m actually holding your boobs, Fuck- you’re so sexy Y/N.” His palm spread gently over your chest afterward, thumb brushing softly over your left nipple while his lips found the side of your throat. Every touch felt unbearably deliberate. And then you made the mistake of glancing at the mirror. The sight nearly destroyed you.

Satoru looked completely lost in you. Eyes half lidded and heavy beneath lowered lashes, mouth pressed lazily against your neck while his hands moved all over your breasts like he physically couldn’t stop touching you. Meanwhile you looked dizzy already… lips parted, face flushed deep pink, body squirming every time his fingers stroked lower between your thighs.

You could feel how hard he was beneath you too. The realization made heat rush through your entire body.

His hand shifted again, touching you more directly now, and the sudden intensity made your breath catch sharply. “Toru—”

“I know,” he soothed instantly, kissing beneath your ear. “I know, sweet girl. I’ve got you.”

His fingers traveled south, circling your clit for the tiniest bit and ultimately hooking your panties by hooking two of his fingers…. He glazed his fingers with his spit and slowly entered his middle finger inside you, learning you carefully, while his other hand kept smoothing over your waist and belly to calm you whenever your body trembled too hard. You were already overwhelmed by it — by the way his finger was curling just the right angle, by the way he added one more finger unannounced, by the way you could feel slick gushing down your thighs, by the way he kept whispering praise into your skin every few seconds.

“Pussy so warm-fuck! .”

“Hahhh- imagine how good my dick would feel sweetheart.”

“Tell me, did you think about this too? Did you ever fuck yourself thinking of me?.”

You were melting in his arms. Satoru was nasty. And when his fingers fastened up and his stores deepened, your head tipped back fully against his shoulder, a helpless sound escaping your throat. Satoru exhaled sharply at the sound, his composure cracking for a moment while his fingers flexed against your thigh, palm messily rubbing your clit.

“Baby,” he whispered carefully. “I’m not hurting you, right?”

“No,” you breathed immediately, almost desperate. “Please… keep going Toru, it feels so good ohmygod”. The answer seemed to wreck him. His forehead dropped briefly against your shoulder while he inhaled shakily, fingers resuming their slow rhythm afterward. Every movement made your body feel hotter, tighter, more unbearably full of sensation until you could barely think anymore.

The mirror reflected the exact moment you started losing yourself completely, meeting his cerulean ones. Your eyes half-lidded, tears threatening to spill over, mouth open, lips dry making it hard to even lick them to soften them.

Satoru’s hand intertwined with yours over your belly while he held you steady through your high. Knuckles deep in your wetness. You could feel his hips bucking in you from beneath as well- making you think how good he would feel inside, how hard he could be with you, how right could he fuck you.

“That’s it,” he whispered near your ear again, voice low and affectionate. “Cum on my fingers, like the good girl you are.”

Your fingers tightened around his instinctively as pleasure kept building hotter and hotter inside you, your gone self in the mirror rushing blood through your kitty. The feeling spread through your stomach, your chest, your entire body until it became almost unbearable. And through all of it, Satoru never stopped working you open, stretching you nice and good on his bigass fingers. Never stopped kissing your neck. Never stopped calling you beautiful.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmured softly when your breathing finally broke apart completely. “Just like that.”

The climax hit you suddenly and all at once. Your body tensed hard against his chest, thighs trembling while a broken sound escaped your lips. Satoru held you through every second of it, one arm tightening securely around your waist while the other kept touching you gently, carefully, coaxing you through the overwhelming waves until you were shaking in his arms.

“There you go,” he whispered tenderly, kissing your temple. “That’s my girl.” You could barely breathe afterward. Your entire body felt molten, boneless against him while your heartbeat pounded violently in your ears. Satoru brushed your hair back from your face carefully, eyes softening immediately at how dazed you looked.

And when you glanced at the mirror one last time, the sight almost made your chest ache. Because he wasn’t looking proud. Wasn’t looking smug. He was looking at you like he was crazy for you. “Satoru,” you whined softly while his large hand cupped your face, thumb smearing slowly across your swollen lips as he stared at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“Fuck,” he whispered shakily. “I’m so lucky to have you like this.”

“Want to make you feel good too,” you whispered. The sentence alone nearly destroyed him. His blue eyes softened instantly, fingers brushing beneath your lashes where tears still clung from how overwhelmed he’d made you already. “Baby,” he murmured quietly, forehead resting against yours, “you already do.”

“No,” you insisted softly, lips brushing his palm. “Not enough.” A rough breath left his chest. You had no idea what you did to him. Because beneath all the teasing and arrogance, Satoru handled you like something precious. Like something he was terrified of ruining accidentally.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he whispered gently. “I just wanted to take care of you.”

“But I want to Toru, fuck please - I wanna suck you off,” you murmured back stubbornly, cheeks burning. “Wanna make you feel so good.”The words hit him hard enough that he shut his eyes briefly. How could you…the sweetest most innocent girl he knew utter such filthy words?

Then he kissed you again. Slow and deep. You never thought anyone could make you feel this small and dizzy at the same time. But Satoru… Satoru was a storm trapped inside a human body. Beautiful. Playful. Catastrophic. And right now, with his beautiful hand cupping your face so carefully, he looked at you like he wanted to ruin himself for you willingly.

“We could- We could do this later.” he murmured with a soft laugh, thumb dragging slowly across your swollen lips.

“Satoru, please I don’t know if it’s right to ask but I like- I want you to use my face? Fuck- like..like fuck my face. Wanna be so good for you Toru,” you whispered before you could stop yourself. That shut him up for exactly one second. Nonononono this can’t be the angel he fell in love with, this was a completely different side of you that he never knew about.

Then his entire expression softened in the most dangerous way possible.

His forehead rested briefly against yours while his other hand slid down your lips, fingers spreading possessively against the curve of your jaw, trailing down to your throat. You were painfully aware of how large his hands were on your body, how easily he held you still, guided you closer, made you melt beneath the smallest movement.

“Satoru,” you whispered shakily.

“Have you done it before baby?” His stayed locked on your face while his fingers tangled gently in your hair, tilting your head back just enough for him to kiss you again. Slow this time. Deep. Like he genuinely had all the time in the world to worship you properly. “No” you whispered back. He exhaled from his nose, cursing himself on how many of your firsts would a guy like him be taking from you but who could blame him? Have you ever tried being around yourself?

A grin tugged at his lips when he noticed. “So sensitive to praise,” he teased quietly. “Don’t tempt me baby.”

You could barely breathe when he talked to you like this. Especially because beneath all the teasing and arrogance, there was something unbearably tender woven into every word. Nobody had ever handled you this carefully before. Well, there was a guy who used to kiss your eyes before kissing your lips, like he was taking permission from the universe behind your eyes to guide him towards your lips.

“Come closer,” he whispered. You obeyed immediately. His hand slid to the back of your neck, guiding you into his lap while his other arm wrapped around your waist securely. The movement made you gasp softly, and Satoru laughed under his breath at the sound, eyes darkening with affection and want all at once.

“Open your mouth for me baby” he asked softly. You obeyed and stuck your tongue out. Oh, what a joy would it be to have your lips wrap around his cock. “Later, I promise. This moment? It’s about you. Just you.” His nose brushed yours gently. His thumb brushed your cheekbone carefully, catching the dampness gathered there from how overwhelmed he’d already made you.

You nodded. His lips curved faintly at the sight. “That’s my girl.” The praise went straight through you. And Satoru noticed immediately. You saw the exact moment his composure cracked apart again — his jaw tightening slightly, blue eyes darkening while he stared at your flushed face like he was losing his mind in real time.

He whispered under his breath. “You have no idea what you do to me.” Then he kissed you again. Slow enough to drown in. One of his hands slipped beneath your jaw while the other spread across your lower back, fingers sliding lower and lower until your breath caught sharply against his mouth. He swallowed the sound instantly, pulling you tighter into his chest while his lips moved against yours with growing desperation.

For a few minutes, neither of you moved. Then he kissed your forehead softly and murmured, "Just wait here, baby." You watched him disappear into the bathroom. A minute later you heard running water, cabinet doors opening and closing, the muffled sound of him moving around. There was something ridiculously domestic about it. Something that made your chest ache in a way you couldn't explain. He returned, a warm towel rested in his hands.

"Come here." His voice was gentle enough that you obeyed without thinking. The warmth against your skin made you sigh immediately. Satoru sat beside you on the bed, carefully cleaning you up, his movements unhurried and patient. Every few seconds he'd press a kiss somewhere random on your shoulder, your cheek, the corner of your jaw, the top of your knee whenever he happened to reach it. Like he simply couldn't stop touching you now that he had you.

You could get used to this far too quickly. Because as you watched his concentration, the way his brows furrowed slightly while he made sure you were comfortable, one thought kept repeating itself inside your head. It would be so nice to have him for a lifetime. The realization hit with enough force that you almost looked away. Satoru finished, tossed the towel aside, and immediately leaned down to press a kiss against your cheek.

"Want a bath?" You shook your head instantly. "No. I just want to cuddle with you." His smile appeared so fast it was almost embarrassing. "I'll shower later," you continued. "We're meeting everyone for karaoke anyway. Don't tell me you forgot."

The guilty look on his face answered the question before he even opened his mouth. "Oh, I absolutely forgot." You burst out laughing. Satoru pointed accusingly at you. "To be fair, I had more important things on my mind." "Sure you did."

"I did."

"You forgot."

"I forgot okay okay." He raised his hands in surrender and the honesty was so immediate that you laughed harder. A few minutes later he disappeared into the bathroom himself, leaving the door cracked open while he cleaned up. The conversation never stopped though. You were still talking to each other through the doorway like neither of you could tolerate silence for more than thirty seconds anymore.

"What if we skip karaoke?" he called out.

"No."

"What if we stay here?"

"No."

"What if we lock the door and pretend we died?" You rolled your eyes toward the ceiling.

"Satoru."

"I'm being serious."

"You are literally never serious."

A dramatic sigh echoed from the bathroom. "Fine. But when we're back at university and drowning in assignments, remember this moment. Remember that I offered us happiness."

You could practically hear the grin in his voice. A few minutes later he emerged wearing nothing except grey sweatpants, hair still damp from the shower. Life was unfair. Satoru Gojo looked like that while simply existing. He caught you staring immediately. The bastard smiled and then walked over and dropped onto the bed between your legs like he belonged there. Which, unfortunately, he did. His hands found yours immediately. Fingers intertwining. Thumbs brushing softly across your knuckles. He lifted one of your palms and kissed it.

Then the other. "Okay," he said. "Open up." You narrowed your eyes.

"About what?"

"Whatever is happening inside that pretty little head."

You glanced away. Satoru squeezed your hands. "Come on."

"You know exactly what I wanna say." His eyes widened theatrically. Then he leaned forward.

"Oh my God."

"Satoru."

"My sweet innocent girlfriend is secretly filthy." Your face immediately burned. "You keep getting hotter every day, Y/N."

"Shut up."

"I'm serious." The grin on his face could have powered entire cities. Your laughter escaped before you could stop it. And for a second Satoru simply watched. Noticing how you weren't hiding behind your hands anymore. Not covering your mouth every time you smiled. Not shrinking yourself smaller. You trusted him now. Trusted him enough to be fully seen. The realization settled somewhere deep inside his chest. Then, without saying anything, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against him. You hugged him back instantly. A moment later he gently pushed you both down onto the mattress, one arm sliding beneath your head automatically.

"Alright," he murmured.

You looked up at him. "Once karaoke ends at eleven, we're coming right back in my room."

You laughed.

"Satoru."

"I'm just reading your mind, baby. I know you Y/N." Unfortunately, he did. His nose brushed yours. "We literally can't keep our hands off each other." The two of you stayed like that for a while afterward, tangled together beneath the fading sunlight while the afternoon slowly surrendered to evening. Eventually reality forced its way back into the room. You needed time to get ready. Shoko would absolutely murder both of you if you showed up late.

So reluctantly, painfully, you finally stood. Satoru walked you to the door. "I've got a couple things to do," he said. "I'll meet everyone there." You nodded and then narrowed your eyes.

You laughed, kissed him one last time, and headed back toward your room. By now, Shoko had already made one thing very clear to Satoru: girl time was sacred. He was not allowed to steal you away for the entire evening. Apparently other people enjoyed your company too, which Satoru personally considered a design flaw in the universe.

Because the truth was that somewhere along the way, you'd become part of the group. Not Satoru's girlfriend. Just... one of them. And while everyone loved that, there was one person who loved it slightly less. Mostly because Satoru's favorite place in the world was wherever you happened to be. And tonight, for at least a few hours, he'd have to share. By the time evening settled over Okinawa, your hotel room looked like the aftermath of a minor fashion emergency.

-

Three different dresses lay abandoned across the bed, makeup products cluttered the vanity in messy little piles. Hair clips, lip glosses, jewelry, perfume bottles, all scattered everywhere while you stood in front of the mirror for what had to be the fifteenth time in the past hour, staring critically at your reflection like the girl looking back at you had to put in more effort.

“No, because genuinely tell me the truth,” you said for what was probably the hundredth time already, turning toward Nobara with visible distress. “Does this look weird?”

Nobara looked up from where she sat cross-legged on your bed eating chips dramatically slowly. “If you ask me one more time, I’m actually going to throw myself off the balcony.” Maki snorted from beside the bathroom doorway. “You’ve changed outfits four times.”

“Five,” Utahime corrected absentmindedly while fixing one of your bracelets for you. “The black dress was before we got here.” You groaned immediately, covering your face with both hands. Because maybe this was ridiculous. But you could not help it. Not after this afternoon and not after the way Satoru looked at you while kissing you like you were something precious enough to ruin him completely. Not after his hands trembling against your waist. Not after the soft look in his eyes when he asked permission like your comfort mattered more than his own self-control. The memory alone still made heat creep beneath your skin so quickly it felt humiliating.

And tonight—

Tonight felt important. Not because you expected perfection but because something between you and Satoru had shifted permanently today. The distance was gone now. The uncertainty too. And your entire body felt aware of it.

You turned back toward the mirror again anxiously, fingers combing nervously through your hair one final time. You had spent almost forty minutes styling the waves carefully because Satoru once casually admitted he liked your natural hair the most. Not perfectly straightened or overly done. Just soft and messy around your shoulders the way it naturally fell after long days near the ocean. “You look disgustingly hot,” Nobara added around another mouthful of chips. “Your boyfriend is gonna lose his damn mind.” Utahime smiled softly while adjusting the strap of your dress properly against your shoulder. “You do look really beautiful.”

Your chest fluttered helplessly at the reassurance. Still, your eyes drifted back toward your reflection again almost immediately. Because tonight mattered a lot, the sheer possibility of what more could happen between you two was too much to feel all at once.

What if you won’t be a virgin after tonight? The thought alone nearly short-circuited your brain. “You are down catastrophically,” Shoko announced dramatically after watching your expression change in real time. You threw a pillow at her immediately.

-

The karaoke place sat near the busier part of the city, glowing brightly against the Okinawan night with huge neon signs reflecting across rain-damp pavement outside. Music spilled faintly through the entrance every time the doors opened, mixing with distant laughter and the scent of alcohol, perfume, fried food, cigarette smoke lingering from nearby alleyways. Inside, the atmosphere felt warm and crowded in the best way possible.

Golden lighting washed softly over dark leather booths while colorful LED signs glowed along the walls. Somewhere deeper inside the building people were already screaming songs completely off-key over heavy bass and drunken cheering. Glasses clinked constantly and servers hurried between tables balancing cocktails and baskets of fried food while old Japanese pop songs played faintly beneath the louder private karaoke rooms.

Your group had taken over one of the larger rooms already. Suguru lounged lazily against the couch, scrolling through songs while Shoko and Nanami argued about whose turn it was to sing next. Haibara was loudly attempting a heartbreak ballad with far too much emotion despite clearly not knowing half the lyrics. Toji looked deeply unimpressed by everybody’s existence while stealing fries directly off someone else’s plate anyway. The table itself had become chaos with cocktail glasses, half-finished desserts, bowls of popcorn, chicken karaage. french fries covered in cheese powder.

Multiple pitchers of drinks are already sweating against the tabletop beneath flashing colored lights. Nobara and Maki immediately ordered expensive cocktails the second they sat down. Toji stole half your fries without permission. Utahime quietly sipped wine while watching everyone spiral into louder and louder stupidity as the night progressed. And through all of it—

You kept checking your phone.

Again and again and again.

Nothing.

Your fingers tightened slightly around your drink. “He’s probably still getting ready or got his dad’s call crying about some business shit,” Shoko said casually beside you after catching your expression for maybe the fifth time.

You tried laughing it off weakly. “I’m not worried.”

Lie.

Because Satoru was late. Not horribly late but late enough to make your mood slightly blue. Enough that your excitement had slowly started twisting into something more restless beneath your ribs. You glanced toward the entrance again instinctively the second the door opened.

Not him.

Your stomach sank stupidly fast. Where the fuck was he? After everything that happened the following afternoon, this felt a bit embarrassing. What if he wasn’t into it? You forced yourself to focus on the conversation around you instead, but it felt almost impossible. Everything seemed slightly muted without him here. Every joke feels lame. Every song is irritating. Every minute dragging longer than it should.

Your body still remembered him painfully well. The warmth of his hands against your waist. His voice low against your ear, whispering the dirtiest things ever. The look on his face whenever you reacted to how his fingers felt inside you. You kept replaying tiny details against your will now, sitting there beneath flashing karaoke lights while your brain completely betrayed you.

His mouth beneath your ear. His forehead against yours. The way he whispered your name softly like it meant something. Heat climbed into your face instantly. You took another sip of your drink too quickly.

Where the hell are you, Satoru?

The anxiety arrived slowly after that. Bitter and ugly. Persistent even. Not enough to fully ruin your mood yet, but enough to make your chest feel increasingly tight each time another ten minutes passed.

Your thoughts started turning crueler afterward. Maybe he got overwhelmed after today. Maybe things became too real too quickly. Maybe he regretted it now. Maybe— No stop - you murmured to your restless heart. You stared down at your phone again.

Still nothing.

Around you, everyone remained loud and alive and glowing beneath neon lights while laughter echoed against the walls, but somehow you suddenly felt strange inside all the noise. Detached from it. Like your entire body had become tuned only toward the absence of one person. And maybe that was terrifying. Because it had only been a few hours.

Yet somehow already, being away from Satoru felt wrong in a way you did not know how to explain properly. Like your body had adjusted itself around his presence too quickly and now noticed every second he wasn’t there. You hated how much power he had over your emotions already..

Soon enough…two hours had passed like quicksand. You sat frowning into the couch beside Nobara and Maki, knees crossed, fingers wrapped around another drink you’d barely touched. Your hair fell over your shoulders in soft natural waves, catching the light every time you moved. The same waves Satoru always pushed behind your ear with that stupidly fond smile.

And Sukuna had been staring at you the entire night. You noticed it after a while. They weren’t casual glances, not friendly looks. He was intently staring at you. The kind that crawled beneath your skin a little.

Across the room, he finally rose from his seat, lazily placing his drink down on the counter before making his way toward you. Tall, broad and confident in the way men became when they thought the room and everyone in it belonged to them.

You blinked when he stopped in front of you, extending a hand. For a second, you hesitated. You and Sukuna weren’t close. Sure, you’d all traveled together, spent nights playing cards, drinking, laughing until sunrise. He was Satoru’s friend. Your friend too, technically.

And it was just a dance. You didn’t want to make it awkward so you placed your hand in his. The dance floor swallowed you whole. At first, it was normal. Just swaying with the music. Bodies moving around you. His hand resting at your waist while you kept a polite distance between your bodies.

But little by little the distance started disappearing. His hand pressed firmer against your waist, pulled you closer. You stiffened slightly, trying to shift back without making a scene. Maybe he didn’t notice. Maybe it was the crowd.

Then his face dipped lower. Too close for your liking again. Close enough that if you tilted your head the wrong way, your mouths would brush. Your heartbeat spiked instantly and you stepped back again. And that was when his hand slid lower against your hips. Your stomach was all in knots.

No.

Something was wrong.

You tried moving away again, visibly uncomfortable now, but his grip tightened just enough to stop you. Like he thought if he kept you near him long enough, you’d eventually melt into him willingly. Then he leaned closer again and something inside you finally snapped.

You grabbed both his wrists immediately, yanking them off your body before taking a sharp step back. “Hey,” you said sharply, breathing uneven. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

For the first time all night, Sukuna actually looked surprised. “I’m dancing with you,” he replied casually, already stepping forward again. You immediately lifted your hand between you both, stopping him.

“No. I don’t want this.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Sukuna, you’re trying to get close to me. What is this? Are you drunk?”

A humorless chuckle left him. “No. Are you?”

“The fuck? No.”

“Then what’s the problem?” he asked, tilting his head. “You can’t enjoy one dance with me?” You stared at him in genuine confusion now. “I came here to dance normally,” you said slowly. “Why would I enjoy this? What is wrong with you?”

That hit something ugly inside him and it didn’t go unnoticed by you. His jaw tightened, his ego bruised raw. Because in his mind, there was no possible way you hadn’t noticed him before. No possible way you could choose Satoru over him without ever once looking his direction.

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Ah,” he muttered. “So you only notice fuckboys. That it?”

The color drained from your face. “What?”

What the hell was happening?

Where was Satoru?

Why was Sukuna acting like this?

Then he scoffed again, eyes darkening. “Bet he’s off fucking somebody in a corner right now. Too busy to give a shit about you.” He leaned closer. “He’s not even coming back tonight, by the way.”

You stared at him, disbelief turning into anger. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

But Sukuna kept going like he couldn’t stop anymore. Like weeks of arrogance and rejection and resentment were finally spilling out. “Funny thing is,” he said coldly, “you really bought all his sweet bullshit, huh?”

“Sukuna,” you warned, voice shaking now, “it’s about time you shut the hell up before you regret anything else you say.”

“Regret?” He laughed outright this time. “You know what’s comical? How clueless you act. Or maybe that’s intentional.” His eyes dragged over you cruelly. “Pretty girls like you always act innocent so men keep flocking around them.”

Each word felt like a tight slap to the face. Your chest felt warm. “Sukuna,” you whispered, horrified now, “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, but I’m not having this conversation.”

You turned immediately. Ready to walk away. Then his voice cut through the music.

“What?”

For some reason, you decided to stop. His next words shattered something inside you.

“Don’t know about the bet?”

“The bet?” You repeated, and this time there was no mockery in his voice at first. Just disbelief. “There’s no fucking way he didn’t tell you about this.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. The music around you suddenly sounded underwater. Far away.

“What… bet?”

A cruel smile tugged at Sukuna’s mouth again, though it looked uglier now. Meaner. Like he realized exactly where to sink the knife. “You enjoyed it though, didn’t you?” he asked. “The most popular guy on campus obsessing over you.” His eyes dragged over your face. “I’m popular too. Why don’t you enjoy my attention a little?”

“Sukuna—” Suguru’s voice cut in sharply from somewhere behind him.“Bro. Shut the fuck up.” Toji immediately stood from his seat too, jaw tight enough to crack bone. Haibara looked horrified. But you barely noticed them. Because something cold had already begun crawling into your chest. A feeling so wrong your soul recognized it before your body could.

You stared at Sukuna. Then whispered, so quietly it almost got swallowed by the music— “What did you say?”

Suguru moved instantly, stepping between you both slightly. “Hey,” he muttered, panicking now. “Don’t do this. Are you out of your fucking mind?”

But Sukuna was looking only at you. And then he asked—

“Has he fucked you yet?”

The world stopped.

No—

It imploded like a star collapsing into itself somewhere deep inside your ribcage. Violent, silent. And catastrophic. You felt your heartbeat misfire so hard it physically hurt. Heat rushed to your face instantly—not warmth or embarrassment, but something closer to being skinned alive under fluorescent lights.

Every eye in the room was suddenly on you. People who weren’t even part of the conversation had turned to look. The music still played. Someone laughed somewhere distant. And you stood there feeling like roadkill beneath headlights. Toji grabbed your wrist gently.

“C’mon,” he muttered. “Let’s go.” But you yanked your hand away immediately.

“No.”

Your voice cracked. Your hands didn’t know what to do. They trembled uselessly beside you, fingers twitching like broken strings on a puppet abandoned mid-performance. “I wanna know more.”

Tears were already burning behind your eyes. Sukuna looked at you for a long moment. Then scoffed bitterly. “He really didn’t tell you.” You gently shook your head.

“Sukuna,” Maki snapped warningly but he kept going. Because now that the wound was open, he wanted to rip it wider. “Just so you know,” he said, voice cutting through you like glass, “the day you stepped onto campus, your boyfriend made a bet.”

No no no—

“He stood in front of all of us,” Sukuna continued, “and said within thirty days you’d be dying to let him inside your pants.” His laugh was empty. “That you’d fall head over heels for a guy like him. And if he pulled it off, he’d win.”

Every word landed like a hammer against your bones. You couldn’t breathe properly anymore.“You,” Sukuna said, pointing at you now, “were the bet.” The room blurred. Your ears rang violently.

“He acted all sweet and devoted because that’s what he does,” Sukuna spat. “Makes girls think he’s in love with them. Makes them feel special. But he isn’t.” His eyes darkened. “He just wanted to get in your pants.”

Your lips parted slightly but nothing came out. Not even denial because somewhere horrifyingly deep inside you—things were starting to make sense. Every flirt, every perfect line, every moment that felt too cinematic to be real.

No, Satoru wouldn’t—

Would he?

“Clearly he hasn’t gotten there yet,” Sukuna added coldly. “Otherwise he wouldn’t still be around.” Your heartbeat stuttered again. Or maybe it stopped entirely. You genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.

“Sukuna, shut the fuck up!” Haibara snapped. “Enough!” Maki barked immediately after. But their voices barely reached you. You looked at them slowly instead. At all of them. Suguru avoiding your eyes, Haibara looking sick, Nobara frozen in her place, Maki tense with guilt. And suddenly the answer hit before anyone even spoke.

You stared at them with tears finally spilling over. “You guys knew?”

Horrible, horrible silence. Enough to make you the fool in every room you walked into. Enough to let you stand there talking about Satoru like he hung the moon while they all knew there had once been laughter attached to your name. A sound left your throat.

Small and broken like something dying quietly. “Fuck you,” you whispered.

Then louder.

“Fuck You, Fuck all of you”

Nobody moved, nobody spoke. And then you looked back at Sukuna. Your entire face was wet now. Tears streamed endlessly down your cheeks while your lower lip trembled violently between your teeth. You tilted your head slightly, eyes hollow in a way that frightened even them. “Well?” you whispered. “Go on.”

Toji immediately stepped forward. “Don’t.” But you ignored him.

“No,” you choked out. “This’ll be the day I hear everything.” Your voice cracked apart. “This’ll be the day I stop being a fucking idiot.” Sukuna stared at you for a second. Then exhaled sharply through his nose. “What, you really wanna hear more?”

You nodded. A tiny, devastated voice managed to escape a small “Yes.” from the very lips that Satoru kissed that beautiful afternoon. The tears wouldn’t stop. “At least you’re honest,” you whispered. “You’re cruel as fuck, an asshole even… but you’re the one telling me the truth.”

Even saying it made you feel sick. Sukuna’s expression twisted strangely at that. Then he muttered darkly— “I can bet my money he’s probably with another girl right now.” His jaw clenched. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Even after saying he was dating you. He has always done it in the past.”

Your eyes widened slightly. Where was Satoru? He was supposed to be here. You both had planned this entire night together. The bar at eight along with Karaoke. Dinner after that and then back to his room at ten where it would finally just be the two of you again. He promised it all. So where was he? Before Sukuna could say another word, Toji abruptly looped an arm around his waist and dragged him backward hard.

“Enough,” Toji hissed.

“Get the fuck off me—”

“You’ve done enough damage.” Voices erupted instantly, shouting, arguments, curses hurled across the room. But you couldn’t process any of it anymore. Because Shoko had just returned from outside, cigarette still between her fingers, and the moment she looked at your face—

She quickly understood what happened. Her expression dropped immediately. “Oh no…”

You looked at all of them one final time. Your friends? Your humiliation reflected in every pair of eyes. Like you had just finished performing some horrible joke none of you could laugh at anymore. And suddenly you felt ridiculous. Like a clown finally realizing the audience had never been laughing with her but only at her. Nobara stepped toward you carefully.

“Hey—” You lifted your hand immediately.

Enough.

“The show’s over,” you said weakly. Then you turned and walked away. And once you started crying, you couldn’t stop. They weren’t graceful tears. They were the kind that tore out of your chest so hard it hurt your throat. Your breathing came in broken gasps as you stumbled through the hallway, heels clicking unevenly beneath you. You couldn’t see properly anymore. Everything blurred.

The lights stretched into smears. Your chest felt flayed open like someone had reached inside you barehanded and ripped your heart apart while everyone watched. Every memory of Satoru replayed now like shattered glass. His smile, his touches, the way he looked at you, the way you believed him.

God, You believed him. You looked so fucking stupid. Your body shook harder with every step toward his room.

Room 201.

The room you were supposed to return to at ten. The room where you had planned to curl into his arms after karaoke and laugh and kiss and maybe finally give him even more pieces of yourself.

What a clueless, worthless bitch have you been. Desperate for the love of a man, believing that this would be the time the love gods would do you justice.

Every single thing about life and love started feeling rotten. You reached the hallway leading to his room looking utterly destroyed. Mascara streaked, hair disheveled. Chest heaving, still crying so hard you could barely breathe.

But somehow you kept walking toward that door anyway.

-

Rain lashed violently against the taxi windows hard enough to blur the entire city into streaks of neon and watercolor outside, red brake lights smearing across wet pavement while traffic crawled forward at the speed of a dying animal. Okinawa had become one giant glowing traffic jam tonight, every street overflowing with tourists, umbrellas, flashing storefronts, crowded sidewalks, laughter spilling drunkenly beneath convenience store awnings while thunder rolled somewhere farther out near the ocean.

And Satoru Gojo was losing his fucking mind.

His knee bounced restlessly against the backseat floor while one hand stayed wrapped tightly around the shopping bags beside him like someone might steal them if he loosened his grip for even half a second. Damp white strands of hair clung messily against his forehead from the humidity outside, his black button-up sticking uncomfortably to his skin after sprinting halfway through three different shopping districts because apparently every store in Okinawa wanted to personally inconvenience him tonight.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath for maybe the twentieth time already, blue eyes narrowing at the endless line of unmoving cars ahead. “Did everybody in this entire fucking country decide to visit Okinawa today?”

The taxi driver apologized politely from the front seat about evening congestion near the entertainment district, but Satoru barely heard him anymore because his brain had become one giant spiraling mess of thoughts about you.

You waiting for him. You checking your phone every few minutes pretending not to care. You probably trying to act normal around everyone while secretly overthinking yourself sick because he was late.

Fuck. He hated making you wait, Especially now, after today. Because today had changed something between you permanently, and Satoru knew it with terrifying certainty. The distance was gone now. The hesitation too. After everything that happened this afternoon, after the trembling kisses and soft confessions and the way you melted against him so trustingly, something inside him had shifted so violently that he genuinely did not think he could ever go back to the person he was before you.

Which was exactly why tonight had to happen.Tonight he was finally going to tell you the truth. The bet, the beginning, the ugliest, most shameful part of this entire love story. He had rehearsed it in his head the entire evening like a man preparing for execution.

You’d be hurt first. Obviously. Maybe furious too. You would look at him with that wounded disbelief that already made his chest feel tight just imagining it. You would ask him why. You would question every moment between you afterward. You would probably cry, and the thought alone made him feel physically ill.

But after that…after he explained everything properly. You would understand him. Maybe not immediately. Maybe not tonight but eventually. Because everything after the beginning had been real.

Every single thing.

The late-night phone calls. The way he memorized your routines without meaning to. The way his entire day improved the second you texted him. The way touching you felt less like desire and more like finally finding somewhere his body belonged. None of that had anything to do with the bet anymore. That stopped almost instantly. And honestly, Satoru hated himself a little for not telling you sooner, but every day after falling in love with you made confessing harder because he could physically feel how much power you had to destroy him now.

Tonight would fix everything. He truly believed that. Because afterward there would be no more guilt sitting heavy inside his chest every time you smiled at him so sweetly. No more panic every time you looked at him like he was good. No more shame when you trusted him completely. He could finally love you openly without feeling like a liar every second he touched you.

And Satoru wanted that more than anything. He wanted mornings with you. Movie nights. Studying together. Falling asleep tangled together in lazy silence. He wanted to hear you complain about exams while stealing food off his plate. He wanted to buy you stupid little gifts whenever something reminded him of you which apparently happened every ten fucking minutes now.

Because earlier today he’d walked past a boutique near Kokusai-dori and immediately stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk after spotting something in the display window.

A cardigan. Soft ivory knit with slightly oversized sleeves, delicate pearl buttons, loose enough to fall off one shoulder exactly the way you liked wearing things. Beside it sat a pair of cream-colored knee-high socks trimmed with tiny black ribbon bows and embroidered stars near the hem.

And instantly—

You.

You, you, you, just you everywhere. You sitting cross-legged on his bed wearing them while scrolling Pinterest. You stealing his hoodies while those socks peeked out beneath them. You curled up beside him late at night looking sleepy and soft and beautiful enough to ruin him permanently. The realization hit him so hard he walked straight into the store without thinking.

Which somehow turned into him showing the luxury store employees your Pinterest boards because yes, apparently this was who Satoru Gojo had become now. A man who kept your fashion boards bookmarked on his phone like sacred historical documents. “She likes things that look soft,” he’d explained while the poor employee stared at him with visible amusement. “Like… effortless pretty. And ribbons. She likes ribbons yeah.”

“You know your girlfriend very well,” the employee had laughed gently. Girlfriend. The word alone nearly knocked the air from his lungs. His girlfriend.

Something embarrassingly warm spread through his chest again at the memory. And then his brain spiraled even further afterward because once he started thinking about fashion, he immediately started thinking about Paris. Which honestly felt inevitable now. He had to take you there someday. There was genuinely no other option anymore. You would lose your mind in Paris.

You would spend hours wandering through vintage designer boutiques with stars in your eyes while dragging him by the hand from store to store. You’d stop every five seconds to photograph little cafés and flower stalls and tiny side streets. You’d sit beside the Seine dressed beautifully while complaining about your feet hurting after shopping too much, and he would buy you another pair of shoes anyway because you looked too cute and excited over small things.

And your birthday was coming up too. Maybe that was it. Maybe that was the gift.

Paris. Just you and him this time. No friends, no group trips, no interruptions. Just the two of you. He could already picture it so vividly it made his chest ache. He would spoil you rotten there. Anything you touched, bought! Anything you looked at for more than three seconds, yours immediately.

Jewelry. Shoes. Dresses. Perfume.

Whatever you wanted.

Not because he thought money mattered to you, because it clearly didn’t, but because he genuinely enjoyed giving you things. He liked watching your face light up whenever he remembered tiny details about you. He liked the feeling of taking care of you. It made something possessive and unbearably soft bloom inside his chest all at once.

Honestly, relationships suddenly made complete fucking sense now. Before you, Satoru never really understood why people became obsessed with their partners. Most relationships around him looked exhausting. Restrictive. Bitter. People complained constantly about their girlfriends, joked cruelly about marriage, and acted inconvenienced by love itself.

Meanwhile he spent every waking moment wanting to be closer to you. Having a girlfriend was incredible. It was like having a best friend who was endlessly cool and funny and comforting to exist around, except also unbelievably pretty and warm and kissable. You could talk for hours, rot in bed together, go shopping together, sleep together every night, laugh over stupid nonsense, hold hands in public whenever you wanted.

And yeah, you could also suck on their tits. Which honestly felt like a massive bonus on top of everything else. He genuinely could not understand people who hated their partners. He could never hate you. Not even remotely. And that was the thing eating him alive lately—because despite how this started, despite the lie, Satoru had never once treated your feelings like a game after realizing what you meant to him. Lying was one thing. Actually hurting you was another.

He hated whenever you questioned yourself around him. Hated those tiny moments of insecurity that crossed your face sometimes whenever you compared yourself to other women around him or wondered quietly if he genuinely found you attractive. Those moments made something vicious twist inside his chest because how the fuck could you not understand what you did to him? You walked into his life and ruined the worth of everyone else’s presence. You smiled at him and he forgot entire conversations midway through. You looked at him too softly and suddenly he was imagining wedding bells in the background like a complete psychopath. There was no universe anymore where he would intentionally make you feel unwanted.

Never. Not again. The taxi finally stopped near the hotel district after what felt like centuries, rain still pouring relentlessly while neon signs reflected across soaked sidewalks beneath the night sky. Satoru practically threw money at the driver before climbing out into the humid air, immediately shielding the shopping bags beneath his jacket.

The bouquet came last. A tiny flower shop tucked near the corner street exactly where he remembered seeing it during his morning jog earlier. Warm yellow light glowed through fogged windows while rainwater dripped steadily from the awning overhead. Inside, the air smelled overwhelmingly fresh and sweet, crowded with hydrangeas, pale roses, baby’s breath, tulips arranged carefully in glass buckets across the floor.

He remembered your favorites instantly. The florist wrapped everything delicately in ivory paper tied with satin ribbon while Satoru stood there practically vibrating with nervous energy. “For someone special?” the older woman asked warmly.

The smile that spread across his face felt almost helpless. “Yeah,” he answered softly. “Very special, my girlfriend actually!” By the time he stepped back outside, his arms were overloaded with bags and flowers and his brain had become a complete disaster.

He was sweating. For some reason, his heart wouldn’t stop pounding. His hands kept shaking slightly every few seconds, and he probably looked insane walking through the hotel lobby clutching flowers like a man on the verge of cardiac arrest. But this was it.

He just had to get upstairs.

Get into the room.

Tell you the truth.

Apologize properly. And then everything would finally be okay. Tomorrow he could wake up beside you without guilt crushing his ribs open. Tomorrow he could kiss you without feeling like he was stealing something precious through lies. Tomorrow he could finally become the person you already believed he was. And you would forgive him. Maybe not immediately. But you loved him too now. You didn’t say those three words yet but he felt it every time you looked at him lately. The elevator ride felt endless. By the time he finally reached the hallway leading toward your hotel room, his pulse had become so loud he could hear it in his ears. The carpet muffled his footsteps while dim golden lighting stretched softly along the walls. Rain tapped faintly against distant windows somewhere down the corridor.

The door was already unlocked. His chest fluttered immediately.

Cute.

You were waiting for him. A nervous smile tugged helplessly at his lips while he adjusted the bouquet carefully in one hand and pushed the door open slowly. “Sweets?” he called softly while stepping inside. “Sorry I’m late, baby, traffic was actua—”

He stopped. Something felt wrong instantly. The room was dark. Only faint silver moonlight spilled weakly through partially open curtains near the balcony, washing pale across the floorboards and tangled bedsheets. The air itself felt strange somehow. Quiet in the wrong way.

Satoru’s smile faded slowly. “...Hey?”

No response, his stomach started churning. Then he saw you. Sitting near the far side of the bed, back facing the room, shoulders unmoving beneath the dim moonlight. At first he thought maybe you were asleep or simply waiting quietly by the window because you loved looking at the moon whenever your thoughts became too loud.

But something still felt off, wrong. The bouquet shifted nervously in his tightening grip while his throat suddenly felt painfully dry.

Why was he so nervous?

It’s just you.

Still, his hands had started shaking again. His mouth felt strange. Too warm, too tight, too dry. The confession he rehearsed a thousand times suddenly tangled uselessly behind his teeth. He swallowed hard before stepping farther into the room carefully.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice catching slightly despite himself. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Silence.

Another step. “You good?”

Satoru was still gripping the bouquet when he stepped into the room. The flowers had suffered under the strength of his hold, a few petals bent and crushed from how tightly he'd been carrying them all evening. “You're scaring me," he laughed softly, expecting you to answer with some teasing remark from somewhere inside the room. The silence that greeted him felt strange immediately, though he couldn't have explained why. It was too quiet.

He reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp. Golden light spilled across the room, washing over the furniture and the neatly messy bed before settling on the figure sitting at its edge. At first, he only saw your back. Your beautiful hair tumbled down your shoulders in disheveled waves, as though you'd run your hands through it a hundred times. The pale blue satin robe draped over your body, catching the warm glow of the lamp. For a second, confusion crossed his face. The robe was unusual. You weren't supposed to be dressed for bed. The two of you had plans. Karaoke, dinner, laughing until your stomach hurt, and then the promise for more afterwards. Yet there you sat motionless, one knee brushing against the sheets, your head lowered.

Then you turned. And the world seemed to leave his body.

The bouquet slipped from his fingers before he even realized he'd dropped it. The gift followed immediately after, hitting the floor with a dull sound that neither of you acknowledged. Satoru couldn't breathe. Your eyes were swollen. Red-rimmed and raw. Your lips trembled faintly, glossy and chapped from what looked like hours of crying. Tears had dried and dried and dried again against your skin until the evidence was impossible to miss. For several long seconds, his mind simply refused to process what he was looking at. This wasn't how tonight was supposed to look. This wasn't the face he'd been imagining all evening.

Panic hit him so violently that it almost made him dizzy. He hurried forward immediately, every protective instinct inside him screaming at once. "Hey, hey, baby—" His voice cracked with concern as he approached, but before he could reach you, your hand lifted into the air.

“Stop”

The motion was small and Satoru obeyed instantly. He froze where he stood. The concern on his face only deepened. Because now he was close enough to see that your entire body was trembling. You rose from the bed with slow, deliberate movements, as though every motion required effort. Then you walked around the mattress toward him. Your bare feet disappeared into the plush carpet. Your eyes never left the floor. Satoru watched helplessly, confusion and dread knotting together inside his chest, until you stopped directly in front of him. Then, without saying a word, your fingers found the ribbon securing your robe. And pulled. The satin loosened immediately. The robe slipped open. Satoru's breath caught. Not because of what he saw but because of the way you looked while doing it.

There was nothing playful in your expression. Nothing shy nor loving. The beautiful lingerie beneath the robe looked less like something chosen for intimacy and more like evidence at a crime scene. You pushed your hair over one shoulder and finally looked up at him. Tears were already gathering again, making your eyes shine beneath the lamp light. "Well," you said quietly, your voice so broken it barely sounded like your own. "Let's get on with it."

For a second, Satoru genuinely didn't understand the words. His brow furrowed. "What?"

You laughed. The sound was horrific. Tears slipped over the edges of your nose as you climbed backward onto the bed. The robe fell away from your shoulders completely while you lay against the sheets, your hands spreading weakly to either side as though offering yourself up to be taken. "Come on," you whispered. "You don't have to keep pretending anymore." Your voice shook so badly that half the words nearly disappeared. "You can just fuck me now."

Every muscle in Satoru's body locked. For a moment he looked physically incapable of moving. The blood drained from his face so quickly it was frightening. "What- I-?" His voice came out strangled.

You swallowed hard. Fresh tears rolled into your hairline. "We can just get it over with." Your lower lip trembled violently as you stared at the ceiling rather than him. "Then you can tell me it wasn't true. Tell me they lied. Tell me nobody knows anything." Your throat closed around the next words. "I'll believe you."

Satoru looked like someone had driven a knife directly through his ribs. He rushed forward immediately, dropping to the edge of the bed and grabbing your hand between both of his. "Baby, what are you talking about?" His words stumbled over one another in panic. "I don't—I don't understand. Who said what to you? What happened?" You looked at him.

The look in your eyes was worse than anger, worse than hatred. You looked shattered. Your fingers suddenly caught the front of his shirt. Desperately, you began fumbling with the buttons as tears continued pouring down your cheeks. "Just get it over with, Satoru."

His eyes widened. Your hands were shaking so badly that you couldn't even undo the first button. "It's okay," you whispered. "I'm ready. I even..." A sob broke through your sentence. "I even prepared myself." The words hit him like a physical blow.

Satoru immediately caught both of your wrists and pulled your hands away from his shirt. His hands landed on your shoulders instead. "What are you saying?" he demanded, panic flooding every syllable. "Why are you saying that? Baby, look at me. Did somebody say something to you? Did somebody—"

Then he saw it. The realization. It happened right in front of you. Like watching a candle extinguish. His voice died and his face went white. And suddenly he knew.

You knew about the bet.

The room seemed to tilt beneath him. Satoru took two slow steps backward until the backs of his legs hit the night stand. He sank onto the edge of it without meaning to, staring at you as though he no longer recognized the reality standing in front of him.

You stared back, waiting. And in that terrible silence, he couldn't bring himself to deny it. Not when the truth had already entered the room before he had. Not when it was written all over your face.

You wrapped your arms around yourself. Your hands climbed into your hair, clutching at the roots so tightly it must have hurt. Then a laugh escaped you. A disbelieving laugh. The kind people made when reality became too horrible to comprehend.

"Motherfucker." The word cracked apart halfway through. And suddenly you were sobbing. Your shoulders shook so violently it looked painful. Your breathing became uneven, jagged, every inhale catching in your throat. Tears poured down your face faster than you could wipe them away. You looked up at him through blurry vision, your entire face twisted with heartbreak.

"How could you?" The question shattered inside the room. "HOW COULD YOU?"

Satoru's chest was rising and falling so hard it looked like he couldn't get enough air. Fury burned across his face, not at you, never at you but at himself, at every stupid decision that had led to this moment. Shame sat heavy in his expression. Guilt. Horror. He looked seconds away from breaking apart.

"Baby, I..." He moved toward you again. "I was going to tell you."

You froze.

The room froze.

Everything froze.

Then you slowly lifted your head. "So it's true." The words barely existed. "So it's true, Satoru." His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. And that was answer enough. You stood so quickly the mattress shifted beneath you.

"Oh my God." A laugh burst from your throat. Then another. You kept shaking your head over and over, pacing barefoot across the room while dragging your hands through your hair.

"Oh my God." Your voice sounded hysterical now. "I can't believe this." You turned away from him and reached for the dress you'd prepared earlier. The one you'd spent nearly an hour choosing because you wanted him to think you looked beautiful tonight. The one meant for karaoke and dinner and stolen kisses and all the plans you'd made together.

Your fingers shook as you pulled it on. "He was right, this is why you were late too" you laughed bitterly while yanking the fabric over your body. "If that's not what you wanted from me, then you must've gotten it somewhere else. God knows how many others are lined up."

Satoru looked genuinely offended. "Excuse me?" You ignored him. You couldn't stop. The words were pouring out now. The hurt was pouring out now. "Whatever. It's fine. Really. It's just—"

"Please." The desperation in his voice stopped you for half a second. "Please talk to me." You looked over your shoulder. His eyes were red now too. All you could see was the fact that he hadn't denied it. So you reached behind your back and zipped up the dress. The sound seemed impossibly loud. When you finished, you felt more exposed than you had standing there in lingerie.

Nothing left to protect your dignity. Nothing left protecting the future you'd spent weeks building in your head. You moved toward the door slowly, feeling as though every step was carrying you farther away from the person you'd been only a few hours ago. Your mind wasn't working anymore. Thoughts came and went without meaning. The only thing you knew with absolute certainty was that the world you had walked into this room believing in no longer existed. And perhaps the cruelest part was that Satoru was still standing there. Still looking exactly like the man you loved. While everything else had already ended.

Satoru caught your wrist before you could reach the door. The movement was desperate rather than forceful, but the second his fingers closed around your skin, something inside you recoiled. You ripped your hand away so violently that even he looked startled by it. The distance between you turned into infinity. Your chest was rising and falling too fast, your entire body trembling from exhaustion, grief, humiliation, and the kind of heartbreak that seemed to scrape against your bones from the inside.

"Don't fucking touch me, you whore." The words landed like a gunshot. For a moment, even you couldn't believe they had come from your own mouth. You had never spoken to him like that. Never raised your voice at him or anyone else. Never looked at him with anything except affection, patience, or love. Yet now you stood in front of him with tears streaming down your face and venom coating every syllable.

"Have some fucking balls and tell it to my face, Satoru Gojo." Your voice cracked under the weight of it. "Did you make a bet on me?" Satoru had heard you cry. He had heard you laugh. He had heard you whisper his name against his shoulder and call for him from across crowded rooms. But he had never heard this version of you. The disappointment in your voice frightened him more than your anger ever could.

For several seconds he simply stared. His throat worked uselessly. Every answer seemed wrong. Every explanation sounded pathetic before it even left his mouth. He could physically feel you slipping further away from him with every heartbeat, like sand running through clenched fingers no matter how desperately he tried to hold on.

Finally, he forced himself to speak. "Yes." The room fell silent again. You nodded. Then you turned away from him and slowly crossed the room before sinking onto one of the sofas. The movement looked oddly calm compared to the storm inside you. Your hands rested limply in your lap while tears continued sliding down your face. You tilted your head and looked up at him with such crushing disappointment that Satoru felt something cave in inside his chest.

"What else?"

"What else were you hiding from me?"

The look on your face, he would remember it for the rest of his life. Satoru felt sick.

"I..." His voice failed immediately. He swallowed hard and tried again. "I made a bet that I could make you fall in love with me in thirty days."

"And then what?" You didn't look away, didn't blink. You just kept staring at him. "Tell me." His hands shook visibly. "I..." But he couldn't finish. The words refused to come. The shame was too heavy. The guilt was too heavy. So you did the work for him instead.

A broken laugh escaped your throat before dissolving into a sob. "Was any of it real?" The question seemed to physically hurt him. "Everything was real." His answer came instantly, without hesitation.

"None of it was fake." Satoru crossed the room so quickly he nearly stumbled. He dropped to his knees in front of you, looking up at you like a man begging for his life. His eyes were already red. His breathing uneven. "Yes, my reasons were wrong when I started. They were horrible. They were disgusting." His voice cracked. "But everything changed. Everything changed the moment you kissed me. The moment I got to know you. The moment you started becoming the first thing I thought about when I woke up and the last thing I thought about before sleeping."

You looked down at him. A face beautiful enough to make poets write epics. A face you love. A face that suddenly felt like it belonged to a stranger. "You touched me this afternoon." The words barely rose above a whisper. You laughed again. "I'm sorry you couldn't finish your bet, Satoru." His entire expression shattered. "I really am."

"Stop."

You stood abruptly. "I'll excuse myself." The second you tried to move, his hands found your arms. He guided you back onto the sofa before you could collapse completely. "What are you doing?" he asked, voice breaking. "Why are you talking like this?" His hands shook against your shoulders. "Why are you acting like none of this matters?"

You stared at him. And suddenly you looked so tired. "What am I supposed to do?" you asked softly. "I've been a toy since the beginning." The words nearly knocked the air from his lungs. "I've been nothing but a fool." Your gaze dropped to the floor. The confession sounded almost pathetic now. Like an old wound being reopened.

"And you couldn't get what you wanted from me, so everything else was a joke, I’m sorry Satoru." Tears slipped down your face again. "I'll leave."

"NO."

"I'll go."

"NO."

"We never knew each other." His face crumpled. "Stop."

"Nothing happened."

"Please stop."

"I'll accept it." The desperation in his eyes became unbearable. Before you could turn away again, both of his hands gently cupped your face. His palms were warm, familiar. The same hands that had held yours a thousand times before. Yet somehow they felt different now.

"You're not listening to me." His voice trembled. None of his usual confidence remained. Only fear existed. Raw, naked fear. "None of it was fake." Tears slipped from his eyes now too. "Not one second." You stared at him. "I was going to tell you today."

He swallowed hard. "We are good." The words came out weak."We are so good." His thumb brushed your cheek. "I don't know what you're thinking right now, baby, but I need you to tell me. I need you to tell me what's happening in your head." You looked at him for a long moment. Then whispered the only question that mattered. "Why did you do that to me?"

Satoru's face completely fell. His eyes closed and his shoulders sagged. And when he spoke, his voice sounded smaller than you had ever heard it. "I was a stupid asshole." A tear slid down his face. "I didn't know what love was." Another. "I didn't know how badly I could hurt someone." He looked at you again. "I didn't know you." His voice cracked. "Then I met you." The tears came faster now. "I have never felt this way about anyone." His entire body trembled. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" He looked desperate.

"Everything I feel for you is real." His throat worked around the emotion choking him. "It scares me how much I love you." You heard every word and somehow none of it eased the pain. Because beneath all the apologies and confessions was still the same question. The one that wouldn't leave. The one tearing you apart. You looked at him through blurry eyes. And asked again. "Why would you hurt me?" This time, Satoru didn't have an answer.

Satoru kept trying to speak, but every sentence seemed to die somewhere between his chest and his mouth. He looked at you as though he was watching a building collapse in slow motion, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it, knowing he was the one who had lit the first match. The tears running down your face were no longer frantic. Somehow, that made them worse. They simply fell, one after another, silent and endless, as though your body had accepted a grief too large for sobbing.

Then something occurred to you. Something that made your stomach twist all over again. Your eyes lifted to his. "Where were you?" The question was quiet.

Satoru blinked. "What?"

"Where were you?" you repeated, and this time your voice cracked under the weight of it. "I was waiting for you." His face immediately changed. "I was waiting for you all night." The memory came rushing back all at once. The empty chair beside you. The phone in your hand. The clock ticking forward. Every passing minute spent wondering where he was.

Your laugh came out broken. "Do you know what Sukuna told me?" "He told me you were probably fucking some girl in a corner." The words physically hit him.

His entire face twisted, his jaw clenched. His eyes squeezed shut for a second. And yet that almost made you angrier. Because now he looked hurt. Now he looked devastated. Now he looked betrayed by the accusation. Meanwhile you had spent the last hour discovering that the foundation of your entire relationship had been built on lies. "It doesn't matter," you snapped before he could defend himself. "It doesn't matter if it was true or not." Your voice was rising now.

Months of trust splintering apart. Months of love turning into something sharp enough to cut. "He told me the truth." The words echoed through the room. "He told me the truth while every single one of you stood there letting me look like a joker." Fresh tears flooded your eyes.

Your chest hurt so badly you could barely breathe. "You all watched me." The realization was unbearable. "You watched me fall in love with you."

Satoru shook his head immediately. "No—"

"Baby—No-"

You stared at him through blurry vision. "What did I do to deserve this?" The question sounded so small. That Satoru actually looked like he might be sick. "What was my fault?"

His eyes closed, the tears slipping away freely now "What was it?" Your hands trembled violently at your sides. "Did I look too dumb? Was I too stupid? Was it because I was-" The thing he loved most about you was the very thing he had destroyed. Your ability to trust him. Your ability to love without fear. "That's what's going to haunt me forever." Your voice dropped to a whisper. The kind of whisper that somehow hurt more than screaming. "I don't think you understand that, Satoru." His breathing became uneven.

"You don't understand what you've done to my head." A tear slipped down your cheek. "I can't stop thinking about it. Every memory, every kiss, every conversation." Your hand pressed against your chest. "It feels poisoned."

"I don't know what's real anymore." Satoru moved closer. "Everything was real."

"No."

"It was."

"No."

His voice cracked.

"It was."

You shook your head.

Violently.

"You don't get to decide that anymore." You didn't trust his version of reality anymore. You didn't trust his explanations. You didn't trust his memories. Hell, you barely trusted your own. "I’m thinking about all those times you called me yours." "I’m thinking about all those times you held my face.,I’m thinking about every pout you kissed away." Your breathing became shaky again. "And all I hear now is somebody laughing in the background." Satoru immediately grabbed at his own hair. Frustrated, desperate and heartbroken. "Stop, stop, stop" His voice was trembling.

"Please stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Turning everything into a lie." His eyes were red now.

"Because it wasn't." The desperation in him was becoming frightening. Like a man trying to hold water in his hands. "I don't know how to make you understand." His throat worked painfully. "I don't know what words I'm supposed to use."

You looked away, toward the door. Toward escape. Toward anything except him. "I'm leaving."

"No, you are not!" The answer came instantly.

"You should be the one telling me to leave." "You should be the one telling me to forget anything happened." His face crumpled. "You should be the one reminding me that I was a thirty-day challenge."You should be the one telling me that I was something you won."

"I didn't-"

"Because that's what I was."

"No."

"That's exactly what I was."

"NO." The shout echoed through the room. Both of you froze. Satoru looked horrified by his own volume. But he couldn't stop anymore. Couldn't stay composed anymore.

"I love you." The words exploded out of him. “I love you." His chest was heaving. Tears streaming freely down his face now. "I love you." And again.As if repetition could somehow fix this. "I love you." His voice cracked. "I love you." Another tear. "I love you." His hands were shaking. "I love you." The room blurred around him. "How do I make you understand?" The desperation in that question was almost unbearable. "How?"

His eyes searched yours frantically. "Tell me how." His breathing hitched. "Tell me what I have to do." Another tear rolled down his face. "Because none of my feelings have been fake." His voice became smaller. "I have never felt like this before." "I've never loved anybody like this before. I've never needed anybody like this before." And there it was. The horrible tragedy. Because he sounded sincere. Every word sounded sincere. Every tear looked real. Every crack in his voice felt real.

“Please—” His voice cracked so violently it barely sounded human anymore. “Please, Y/N—”

“Do not say my name.” Your words came out sharp, shredded by sobs, your chest heaving so hard it hurt. Your fingers curled around the door handle behind you like it was the only thing keeping you upright. In front of you, Satoru looked destroyed.

His hair was disheveled from repeatedly dragging his hands through it, eyes bloodshot and wet, tears running endlessly down his face without him even bothering to wipe them anymore. His shoulders shook with every breath. This wasn’t the composed, untouchable Gojo everyone knew.

This was just a man watching the love of his life walk away.

And failing to stop it. “Do you think only you get to ask questions?” he choked out, each word broken apart by sobs. “Today you don’t get to walk away without hearing me.”

A laugh ripped out of you. “Oh, now I have to listen?” you yelled, voice echoing down the corridor. “Now honesty matters to you?”

“I don’t know about my rights,” you whispered painfully, “but you lost all of yours.”

His face crumpled. “Why can’t you just hear me out once?” he begged. “Not one thing I did with you was fake. Not one thing. I felt all of it. I swear to you on my life, Y/N, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, I never will” Your tears fell harder. “I might’ve started with the bet,” he admitted shakily, voice collapsing under the weight of it. “But after I met you— after our first kiss— I couldn’t go back anymore. I couldn’t.”

Your lips trembled violently. “So before that?” you whispered. “Before all that?” You nodded slowly before he could even answer. “That stupid show you put on for a week,” you said hollowly. “That was fake, right?”

Silence.

“I get it.”

“Well, you know what?” you cut him off, voice rising again. “I really, really loved you, Gojo.” His head snapped upward instantly. Loved. Past tense. You watched the exact moment the word lodged itself into his chest like a knife.“What do you mean loved?” he whispered.

You stared at him in disbelief. “What do you mean what do I mean?” “You still love me,” he said desperately, tears falling faster. “You—you can’t just undo that.”

Your face twisted in agony. “Are you hearing yourself right now?” you cried. “It’s done. We’re done. I’m breaking up with you.”

The words shattered him. His breathing stopped for a second. Then suddenly he was shaking harder, hands gripping his knees like the floor beneath him had disappeared. “All of this,” you sobbed, clutching your chest, “all of this was built on lies. My love, my dreams, my fantasies— everything. Everything was fake.”

“It wasn’t fake—”

“You hurt me beyond repair!”

Your scream bounced through the hallway. A few doors had opened now. People stood frozen in the distance. Someone sat halfway down the staircase. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered except the unbearable ache splitting you apart from the inside.

“Do you understand what this means to me?” you yelled. “Do you understand what you’ve done?” He cried harder at that. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. Tonight was supposed to be perfect. He was supposed to tell you the truth, hold your hands, explain everything, and somehow— somehow — you’d forgive him. Not this. Not you looking at him like he was something rotten.

“I can’t fucking believe you’d do this to me,” you whispered brokenly. “You’re just a cruel person, Gojo. Someone who feeds off people. Off girls.” His face twisted immediately. You take what you want and leave. Are we all toys to you?” His entire body folded in on itself because every word you threw at him was deserved. And he knew it. He dropped to his knees so suddenly the sound echoed through the hall. “Please,” he begged.

“Please, please, baby- please I beg you to just hear me out properly. Just once. You’re making a mistake.” You stared at him in disbelief. “I’m making a mistake?” you laughed through tears. “Wow. You’re unbelievable.”

“The kisses, us, every moment together— all real. All of it.”

“Except the beginning,” you whispered. He went silent again. And that silence answered everything. Your face crumpled completely. “So what if I never fell for you?” you asked quietly. “What then?” He looked horrified.

“What if I didn’t love you back?” you continued. “Would you have gotten bored eventually? Left me like the others?”

“How many girls have you done this to?” You wiped at your face angrily, voice splintering apart.

“They tell people not to fall for beauty,” you laughed painfully. “But how do I explain this? How do I explain that it wasn’t your face that ruined me?” Gojo’s expression shattered. “It was the way you remembered everything about me,” you cried. “My favorite songs. My nail polish colors. My stupid lip balm flavors. My desserts. My movies. The way I take my coffee. You knew everything about me.” Your voice broke completely. “And you still deceived me.”

He looked like he wanted to die hearing that.

“Y/N…” he whispered.

“I don’t want to see your face anymore.” He immediately stood up and stumbled toward you instinctively. You raised your hand instantly. “Do not fucking touch me.” He stopped so fast it looked painful.

Then slowly…He sank back onto his knees. Like his body could no longer hold itself upright. “Please,” he whispered again. Over and over like prayer, a cruel god won’t listen to. “Please don’t do this. I’ll do anything. Literally anything.” You shook your head, crying harder.

“I don’t believe you anymore.”

“I love you.”

“You lied to me.”

“I love you!”

“And I wish you didn’t.” That silence after that sentence was unbearable.

Then finally, with your entire body trembling, you whispered:

“ I’m sorry. I hate that I made you love me and if you ever did love me even a little… don’t ever try to contact me again.” His eyes widened in pure panic.

“No. No. No. Y/N listen to me-” You turned toward the door. Your heels scraped instead of stepped. Your body felt numb now. Like every piece of you had been hollowed out. Behind you, Gojo suddenly rushed forward. His hands wrapped around your wrist desperately. You gasped sharply. He lifted your trembling hand to his cheek, pressing against it like a dying man seeking warmth. “Do whatever you want to me,” he sobbed. “Hit me, scream at me, hate me— just don’t leave me. Please. I can’t survive this,” he cried. “Please, baby, please—” With shaking fingers, you slowly pulled your hand away from his face.

The hallway outside was crowded now. Friends sitting frozen on the stairs. Others standing against walls awkwardly. No one spoke. No one even breathed too loudly. They had all heard everything. But you didn’t look at any of them. You just walked. Your body shook so hard your steps barely worked properly. Your vision blurred endlessly with tears as you stumbled down the corridor toward your room.

Behind you, Gojo didn’t follow. Which somehow hurt even more.

Because for the first time in his life—

Satoru Gojo understood that there were some things even he could not fix.

-

Everything after that existed only in fragments.

Later, if someone had asked you what happened during those next few hours, you wouldn't have been able to answer properly. The memories came in flashes rather than scenes, broken pieces of a night that had shattered alongside your heart. You remembered stumbling back to your room with tears blurring your vision so badly that you could barely see where you were going. You remembered your hands shaking as you yanked open drawers and suitcases, throwing clothes inside without folding them, without thinking, without caring. Every breath hurt. Every heartbeat hurt. Every single object in that cursed city seemed to remind you of him.

The sweater he had complimented. The lip balm he had said was his favorite. The perfume he used to bury his face into whenever he hugged you. You wanted none of it. You wanted to get away from all of it.

Away from the hotel. Away from the city. Away from every place his laughter existed. Away from every memory that carried his name. You wanted to disappear so completely that fate itself would never be able to make your paths cross again. Because loving him had ruined you, and staying any longer felt like pressing your hand against an open wound and expecting it not to bleed.

Meanwhile, several floors away, Satoru was completely losing his mind.

The second he realized you broke up with him, something inside him snapped. He tried shoving past everyone, nearly tripping over the gifts and flowers scattered across the floor of the room he had spent days preparing for you. Suguru caught him by the shoulders before he could make it to the door, forcing him to stop before he hurt himself.

"Let me go!" Satoru screamed, his voice raw from crying. "Let me go, damn it!"

His chest rose and fell in violent, uneven breaths. Tears and snot streaked across his face, dignity long abandoned. He looked nothing like the strongest sorcerer in the world. He looked like a man watching his entire future walk away from him.

"Satoru, breathe," Suguru ordered firmly. "Just breathe."

"I can't!" he shouted. "She's leaving!" Then suddenly his expression changed. His watery eyes darted around the room. "Who told her?"

The room fell silent."Who told her?" he repeated louder. Nobody answered. Then Utahime slowly looked away. Then Satoru glanced around the room searching for who wasn’t here. The realization struck Satoru immediately.

"Sukuna."

Nobody denied it. The rage that flashed across his face was terrifying. "He told her?" he whispered. Toji nodded grimly. "He tried getting close to her. She rejected him. So he told her everything." For a moment, Satoru simply stared.

Because there was nothing else left to do. If Sukuna had been standing there at that exact moment, Satoru genuinely might have killed him. But Sukuna was gone. And you were gone too.

Eventually the others managed to force him to sit down. Shoko brought him water. Maki told him to think before acting. Suguru refused to let him leave the room no matter how many times he tried. They kept telling him the same thing over and over.

"Give her time."

"Let her calm down."

"You need to think."

But none of it mattered. Because all Satoru could think about was you and the way you had looked at him as if he were a stranger. Nobody noticed that while they were busy keeping Satoru from chasing after you, you had already booked the earliest flight available. Nobody knew that you finished packing. Nobody noticed when you left.

By the time anyone realized you were gone, you were walking towards your seat in the airplane, now staring blankly at the man seated at the left of a seat that was yours to take. Your vision went blank. This was it.

The end.

The first man you had ever truly loved had also become the man who broke your heart. Destiny was so cruel that now you were face to face with him, as another heartbreak made itself known just a few hours ago. Nothing in the world could have prepared you for this. Fate, as always, seemed determined to be cruel.

Violet eyes widened in complete disbelief. For a second, it looked as though the man's entire soul had left his body. His pupils visibly dilated and his lips parted. Out of every person on Earth...Out of every possible flight… out of every impossible coincidence...

The person standing there was the last person you ever expected to see.

"Hey," he said carefully.

A pause.

Then a small, awkward smile.

"Hey Choso."

Author’s Notes: PIERCINGGG BLOOD GO BRRRRRRRRR

Well, let me know what you think of this chapter…took me over a MONTH to write this one, the word count is evidence enough sighhh… I have tried my best to tackle all the grammatical errors but bear with me if you still notice any. I’m trying to write better!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 💚

Taglist: @myhellomi @bm8ilovesmut @hrt4hoon @juiceboxluvr @utterly-hoplessarenti @mashtura @aurorab-0-realis @eyrynx @@mywifehanji @ckilhj @zlinguss @pink127 @eri-itsuki @pandabiene5115 @beloved-yeosang @man1cslut @light-dust-blog @likstars @nooshie11037 @dazqa @in-aa @pridooodles @kitkat-13 @gorf333 @princess-saki1 @hijoliii @cinnamon7girl7 @rainlina @gidyuapp @erencvlt @bitchystudentninja

Divider by @/huraxy-dividers & @/mieluno

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lizzie the lobotomized