writing? oh, iâm definitely writing. in my head. during the most inconvenient times. like in the shower or when iâm about to fall asleep. actual typing? no, no, we donât do that here.
synopsis. Prince Satoru has just come of age, and itâs tradition in his kingdom for the crown prince to be presented with potential suitors. Despite his power and prestige, heâs lived a life of strict rules and sheltered isolation, knowing little about romance and even less about pleasure. His parents arrange for a tutor to guide him on how to properly fuck and pleasure a partner
+ warnings/content. Prince! Gojo S. + tutor fem! reader - satoru is a virgin and inexperienced - virginity lose - p in v - feral gojo a bit - royal au - gojo has a big dick - oral (fem. receiving) - fingering - size difference a bit - gojo is pussydrunk - shy/soft gojo
+ word count. 9.1k (Oppsie daisy)
a/n. This is prolly one of my favs works so I HOPE U LIKE IT
banner by unknown (tell me if u know from who it is!!)
The doors to Prince Satoruâs chambers loomed before you, tall and intricately carved, a testament to the wealth and grandeur of the palace. Your fingers hovered just above the handle, and you took a steadying breath, reminding yourself of the role you were about to step into. The position was an unusual one, to say the leastâboth highly honored and slightly scandalous, whispered about only behind closed doors and far from the ears of the public.
When the queen had summoned you, youâd expected to be given a task of courtly refinementâperhaps tutoring Prince Satoru in diplomacy or etiquette, something befitting his status. But the court had other plans. Prince Satoru was soon to come of age, and despite his immense power and status, he had led a remarkably sheltered life. Royal duty dictated that he was to be groomed for the throne, but there was more to kingship than formalities and court rituals. To make matters more complicated, it was tradition that the crown prince be well-versed in⊠more intimate knowledge.
And so, here you wereâhis tutor for this secret, delicate subject. The court deemed it crucial that Satoru gain a proper understanding of how to navigate romantic and physical intimacy, skills thought essential to his future rule. And though this education would be handled with the utmost discretion, the weight of it wasnât lost on you. This was about more than teaching the young prince; it was about shaping the experiences that would prepare him for life, even if it meant starting with things heâd never before dared to touch
One of the royal guards gave you a nod, signaling that the prince awaited inside, and with that final reassurance, you pushed open the heavy doors.
The room was grand, adorned with tapestries of deep blue and golds, velvet curtains framing the windows to keep prying eyes out. Soft candlelight bathed the chamber, casting warm, flickering shadows that seemed to make the room feel smaller, more intimate. And there, in the midst of it all, stood Prince Satoru.
He looked as regal as ever, his white hair falling around his shoulders in soft waves that caught the light, yet his expression was tense, the lines of his jaw just slightly taut as he took in your arrival. He stood tall, shoulders straight, but there was a nervous energy about him, a flicker of uncertainty in his piercing blue eyes. For all his power, he was, in this moment, simply a young man facing something entirely foreign.
He looked almost hesitant, his fingers curling at his sides as he took a few tentative steps forward.
âAre you⊠the tutor?â he asked, his voice soft but clear.
You bowed, folding your hands in front of you. âYes, Your Highness. Iâm honored to serve you.â
He returned your bow with a slight nod, his gaze hesitant but unwavering. âThank you for coming,â he replied, his voice quiet and just a little rough around the edges. After a pause, he continued, âAnd pleaseâ call me satoru.â
You blinked at him before replying,âof course, Satoru.â
He continued,âI understand youâre here to⊠teach me certain things
There was a vulnerability to his words, as if he were admitting some private, embarrassing truth, and you felt a flicker of sympathy. âYes,â you said softly, taking a step closer. âIâm here to help you learn at your own pace. We donât have to rush anything. Itâs perfectly normal to have questions, and we can take things one step at a time.â
He let out a breath, and a faint, almost sheepish smile flickered across his lips. âThatâs⊠good to know,â he murmured. âTo be honest, Iâm not sure where to begin. Iâve read about some of itâromance, intimacyâbut it always seemed⊠different in stories. Simpler. Or maybe more dramatic.â He paused, then quickly added, âBut I have no practical experience. I donât even know whatâs expected of me.â
Was he really that inexperienced?
It was hard for you to believe. Prince Satoru was strikingly attractive, with an air of confidence that most people would expect from someone well-versed in such matters. Yet here he was, seeming genuinely lost. Youâd have guessed he at least knew the basicsâhow to start, how to read a moment. But the way he looked at you, the way his questions hovered in the air with such uncertainty, made it clear that he truly knew next to nothing.
You nodded, taking in his words. âThatâs perfectly alright,â
Satoruâs gaze flicked away, almost as if embarrassed by his own curiosity. âItâs strange. Iâm supposed to lead a kingdom, yet I feel so⊠out of place when it comes to this.â His eyes returned to yours, vulnerable but resolute. âIt feels almost⊠childish, not knowing these things.â
You smiled gently. âItâs not childish at all, satoru. Youâve been raised in a very particular way, with rules and responsibilities that few can understand. Besides, being inexperienced doesnât make you any less capable.â
He studied you closely, his intense blue eyes absorbing your words, as if testing their weight before trusting them. There was a softening in his expression, a subtle shift from wary curiosity to a quiet resolve. âI think I understand,â he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. âBut⊠where do I start? What do I need to know?â
Slowly, you stepped closer, letting him feel your presence before you closed the distance entirely. Your hand hovered in the air, close enough for him to notice, but not so close as to assume his permission. âMay I?â you asked, your tone gentle but firm, a reassurance that he was in control of every moment.
He seemed caught off guard, his gaze briefly dropping to your hand before meeting your eyes again. There was a flicker of somethingâcuriosity, perhaps a bit of nervous anticipationâbut he nodded, his voice soft yet steady. âOf course.â
You reached forward, your fingers just grazing his hand, warm and slightly tense under your touch. Slowly, you guided his hand toward your waist, resting it there carefully. His fingers settled against you, his grip hesitant but steady. His hand was large, enveloping the curve of your waist, and the warmth of his skin seeped through the fabric, grounding both of you in this small, shared moment.
Satoruâs hand flexed, his fingers instinctively pressing into the soft give of your waist. His touch was cautious, like he was still testing the sensation, and you could feel him catch his breath. His eyes flickered down, watching his own hand as if seeing it in this position was almost surreal. Then his gaze lifted to yours, his expression a mix of awe and a little self-consciousness, like he was realizing just how new all of this felt to him.
For a moment, time seemed to still, the air thick with something unspoken. His fingers remained gently on your waist, his grip firm but careful. His eyes held yours, searching for somethingâmaybe understanding, maybe comfort.
You felt the heat of his gaze as his eyes lingered on you, his expression searching, as if trying to find reassurance or perhaps permission. His attention felt heavy, intense, and you could feel your cheeks warming, a faint blush creeping over you. You forced yourself to brush it aside, focusing on him, on the quiet yet clear connection between you.
Drawing a breath, you leaned in, rising onto your toes until your face was just inches from his. Your eyes dropped to his lips, your gaze lingering there for just a second too long, and that seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. His eyes fluttered shut, and his fingers dug slightly into your waist, pulling you in closer with an unexpected urgency. Your breaths mingled in the narrow space between you before his lips met yours in a rush of movement.
The kiss was messy, uncoordinated, almost clumsy in its eagerness. His lips pressed hard against yours, his movements lacking the practiced finesse of experience but carrying a raw intensity that made up for it. He kissed you with an almost desperate enthusiasm, his lips parting messily against yours, the faint taste of his breath mingling with your own. There was a wetness to the kiss, his inexperience clear in the way he seemed to lose himself, following only instinct rather than skill. He kissed you with unabashed need, a little too much spit and an endearing awkwardness in the way his mouth moved against yours.
You could feel his inexperience, the way he struggled to find a rhythm, his lips and tongue a bit too eager, too messy. But there was a certain sweetness to it, a sincerity that made the kiss feel even more intimate. It was unrefined, almost childlike in its enthusiasm, yet it was deeply honestâa kiss from someone exploring a world heâd never known, trying to understand it one uncertain step at a time.
Slowly, you brought your hand up to his face, brushing your fingers along his jawline, gently guiding him to slow down. You felt his breathing hitch at the soft touch, and his lips stilled for a moment, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. His gaze held a mixture of surprise and something more vulnerableâa spark of uncertainty, as though he was asking if he was doing things right.
âYouâre doing just fine,â you whispered, your words a gentle reassurance. You could see the tension ease from his expression, the smallest hint of relief softening his gaze. He swallowed, his Adamâs apple bobbing, and gave you a shy smile that felt so out of place on someone as commanding as him, yet so fitting in this moment.
With your guidance, he leaned in again, his movements now a bit more measured, a touch gentler. His lips met yours with newfound purpose, still a little messy, but now slower, as though savoring each second. This time, he lingered, allowing the kiss to unfold naturally, his lips brushing against yours with a sweet, unhurried warmth.
Your hands slid to rest on his shoulders, fingers tracing the lines of his frame, feeling the subtle tremor under his skin as he let himself fall into the moment. The kiss grew deeper, a quiet exploration, as though he were learning you, learning this intimacy heâd never experienced before. And in that moment, it felt like there was only the two of youâcaught in this delicate exchange, each touch building a fragile new understanding.
After a long, breathless pause, he drew back, his expression softened yet still intense, eyes clouded with newfound desire. His lips, now slightly swollen from the kiss, parted as he looked at you, as if searching for somethingâpermission, maybe, or reassurance. His hand remained at your waist, fingers tightening gently, grounding himself in the unfamiliar intimacy that had formed between you.
Without another word, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was harder, more confident than before, as though the hesitation had melted away. His hands slid down your waist, fingers tracing the shape of your body until they reached the back of your thighs. In one smooth movement, he lifted you, his strength evident as he held you firmly. A gasp escaped your lips, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms looping around his neck for support as he carried you with ease.
Your back met the cool, solid surface of the wall, and you felt a rush of heat at the sudden closeness, the way his body pressed against yours, anchoring you there. His hands, still beneath your thighs, slid upward slightly, fingers grazing the curve of your ass before giving it a small, tentative squeeze. The unexpected boldness of the touch sent a spark through you, and your breath hitched, a faint blush coloring your cheeks.
His lips found yours again, and he kissed you with a fervor that felt worlds away from the shyness heâd shown moments before. His mouth moved against yours with a raw intensity, devouring each kiss, leaving no space between you. You felt the heat radiating from him, the rhythm of his breaths growing heavier as he pressed himself closer, as though wanting to close any lingering distance between you.
The contrast was dizzyingâjust moments ago, heâd been so cautious, uncertain in every touch, every glance. And now here he was, holding you in his arms, his kisses almost desperate as if heâd found something he didnât want to let go of. You clung to him, fingers tangling in his hair as you let yourself sink into the warmth of his embrace, the steady, grounding pressure of his hands keeping you anchored against him.
He kissed you with a fervor that left you breathless, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that seemed to grow with each passing second. His fingers tightened on your ass, his grip steady and possessive, pressing you more firmly against the wall as though he wanted to keep you there, close, unmovable. You could feel his heartbeat, fast and heavy, mirroring your own.
His mouth left yours only for a moment, his lips brushing along your jaw, trailing down to the curve of your neck. Each kiss was a mix of soft and hurried, as if he were savoring the taste of your skin but couldnât quite hold back his growing desire. His breath was hot against your neck, and you felt a shiver run through you as his lips lingered there, taking his time to explore, to feel you.
The way he held you felt powerful yet tentative, as if he was discovering just what he could do, and it sent a thrill through you. You felt the tension in his hold, the slight tremble in his fingertips betraying a mix of nervous excitement and unrestrained want.
You whispered his name softly, and he stilled for a moment, lifting his head to look at you. His eyes, usually so confident and sharp, held a softness, a vulnerability that made your heart race. He seemed to study you, his gaze searching your face, as if he needed to see that you were still with him, still wanting this as much as he did.
âSâtoruâŠâ you murmured agaib, your voice barely a whisper, filled with all the unspoken reassurance and encouragement you could offer. He swallowed, his cheeks faintly flushed, and gave a small, hesitant smile, looking a little relieved, a little emboldened
With newfound determination, he pulled you closer, his lips capturing yours once more, this time slower, savoring the moment.
As Satoruâs kisses grew deeper and more assured, the intensity between you became undeniable, and you could feel his breathing growing heavier. His hands roamed along your thighs, fingers grazing over the fabric of your clothes, and each touch seemed to carry a little more heat, a little more urgency.
Then, suddenly, you felt itâa subtle but unmistakable pressure against your stomach. His hips had shifted closer in his fervor, and now you could feel him pressing against you, hard and undeniable. The realization made a shiver run through you, and you felt your own face flush, heart pounding at the sudden intimacy of it.
Satoru froze for a moment, as if only now aware of the way his body was reacting. His cheeks turned a deep shade of red, and he swallowed, his breath catching as he struggled to pull himself back, an awkward smile tugging at his lips.
âI⊠didnât meanâŠâ he stammered, clearly embarrassed, his gaze dropping as though he didnât quite know how to handle his own reactions.
But before he could pull away, you brought a hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb gently along his skin, letting him know it was okay. âItâs alright,â you whispered, voice soft and reassuring. âDo what you please.â
He looked at you, relief mingling with something deeper, a flicker of excitement shining in his eyes. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours again, this time with a slower, more deliberate passion. As he deepened the kiss, his body pressed closer, and he stopped resisting the way his hips aligned with yours, letting himself feel the closeness without overthinking it.
Your hands slid over his shoulders, steadying yourself against him, feeling the strength in his frame as he held you, his body tense with barely restrained desire. The pressure against your stomach grew, a steady reminder of the effect you were having on him, and you could feel his hesitance melting away bit by bit. His kisses grew bolder, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you closer, as though he didnât want any distance left between you.
,Sâtoruâ you whispered against his lips, voice breathy and soft, and he drew in a shaky breath, his eyes heavy-lidded, as though he was barely keeping himself grounded. He was fighting to stay in control, to process the new sensations flooding through him, but he could hardly hold back.
âFeels sâ goodâŠâ he murmured, his voice a low, shaky whisper. Slowly, his hips moved, pressing into you, creating a delicious friction as his hardness rubbed against you, even through the layers of clothing. The movement was tentative but grew more confident with each slow thrust, his breath hitching as he sank deeper into the feeling. His lips found the side of your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses there, letting his lips map the curve of your skin.
A quiet whimper escaped you, unintentional yet undeniable, and he froze, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes, still filled with that raw need, softened slightly, as if wanting to make sure he hadnât gone too far. But when he heard the faint, breathy sound again as his lips brushed over the same spot, he seemed to realize just how much his touch affected you. A flicker of excitement flashed in his gaze, and he leaned in, pressing his lips to your neck again, this time more deliberately, letting his tongue graze the sensitive skin.
You whimpered again, the sound slipping from your lips before you could stop it, and you brought a hand to your mouth, instinctively trying to muffle the sound. But he reached up, wrapping his fingers around your wrist, pulling your hand away with a gentle yet firm hold. His gaze held an intensity that made your heart skip.
âWanna hear âem⊠your moans,â he muttered, his voice low, the words dripping with newfound confidence. He leaned in, his lips trailing back to your neck, and this time, his tongue traced slow, heated lines against your skin, savoring the way you shivered beneath his touch.
Each kiss, each brush of his lips, became bolder, more purposeful, as though he was learning exactly how to make you feel every single touch. His hips continued to press against you in slow, unhurried movements, creating a rhythm that sent sparks through your entire body.
His fingers, which had gripped your Thighs with a firm intensity, began to trail upward, brushing against the fabric of your shirt. With his breath warm against your skin, he paused, looking up at you for a moment, his gaze filled with a mix of excitement and curiosity.
His hand moved to the top button of your shirt, fingers slightly trembling as he hesitated. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching for any hint of uncertainty. When you gave him a soft nod, a silent reassurance, his face softened, and with that, he began to slowly undo the buttons, one by one, his gaze never leaving yours as though anchoring himself in the trust you shared.
His breath caught as he reached the last button, letting your shirt slip from your shoulders to pool at your feet.
His gaze dropped, and his eyes widened, filled with awe as he took in the sight of you. His hands, initially tentative, began to trace gentle patterns along your shoulders and collarbone, his touch warm and reverent. He seemed captivated, almost in disbelief, as his fingertips trailed downward, lingering at the curve of your breasts.
Satoru swallowed hard, his cheeks flushed as he looked up at you, his gaze both shy and filled with wonder. âYouâre⊠so beautiful,â he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, as if he feared speaking too loudly might shatter the moment. With a hesitant hand, he reached out, his palm gently covering the soft curve of your breast, his touch both tender and careful, as though you were something precious.
Leaning in, his lips brushed softly against your skin just above your heart, leaving a trail of warm, reverent kisses as he explored with growing confidence. His hand, which had rested at the curve of your breast, wandered over the full softness, squeezing with a tentative pressure that sent warmth flooding through you. His thumb and forefinger found your nipple, giving a small, instinctive pinch.
The sharp pleasure made you gasp, a moan slipping from your lips, but you couldnât help flinching at the unexpected intensity. âNot serâ hard⊠theyâre sensitive,â you murmured, gently pulling his hand back. He froze, meeting your gaze with an apologetic expression, his face flushed even deeper.
â sorry..â he whispered, genuine remorse in his voice, but the look in his eyes was also filled with curiosity and need. Without a second thought, he lowered his head, bringing himself level with your chest, and his lips brushed over your sensitive skin in a soft, almost reverent kiss.
Satoruâs lips wrapped around your nipple, his warm mouth enveloping the sensitive peak. He kissed it softly, savoring the taste of your skin, his tongue flicking out to tease you gently. The sensation sent electric currents racing through you, and you gasped, arching into him, encouraging him to continue.
As he continued to explore, he paused for a moment, pulling back slightly to look up at you with wide, earnest eyes. âIâm really sorry for being too rough,â he murmured, his voice filled with genuine remorse.
Then, as if his apology extended beyond you and into your body, he turned his attention back to your nipple, planting a soft kiss on it. âYou just look sâ perfect,â he added, the words barely escaping his lips.
He resumed his gentle kisses, trailing his mouth over the delicate skin around your breast, still mindful of your sensitivity. Each kiss was filled with a newfound tenderness, as if he was not only trying to please you but also to make amends. âPlease forgive me,â he whispered against your skin, his breath warm, brushing over you like a gentle caress.
With each delicate kiss, he continued to express his reverence, kissing your nipple again softly as though it were a cherished treasure. âI promise to be better,â he vowed, his gaze intent, as if making a sacred promise to both you and your body. He lavished attention on your breast, his lips trailing kisses that were sweet and reverent, the gentle pressure of his mouth a stark contrast to the earlier clumsiness.
You couldnât help but giggle softly at his earnestness, feeling a warmth spread through you, not just from his touch but from his sincerity. âYouâre doing just fine, youâre just learning afterall.â you reassured him, your voice breathy and filled with affection.
His eyes lit up at your encouragement, and he dove back in, his lips returning to your nipple, kissing it with a newfound tenderness, allowing the moment to envelop you both.
from your breast to your collarbone and back again, savoring each reaction he drew from you. The warmth of his mouth sent shivers down your spine, igniting a desire that only grew stronger.
But suddenly, he pulled back, his eyes shimmering with a mixture of excitement and determination. He gently wrapped his arms around you once ahain, lifting you with surprising strength.
He carried you effortlessly across the room, your heart racing as you held onto him, feeling the strength in his arms. The thrill of being so close to him, both physically and emotionally, sent a rush of warmth through you. As he approached the bed, he leaned down, carefully laying you onto the soft mattress, his gaze never leaving yours.
Once he set you down, he paused for a moment, taking in the sight of you stretched out before him. His heart raced in response to the intimacy of the moment, his breath hitching as he drank you in. âYouâre really beautiful,â he whispered again, as if he couldnât help but marvel at you.
Satoru leaned over you, propping himself up on his forearms, his gaze filled with a mix of admiration and longing. His fingers brushed through your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear, and he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours.
He pressed his lips against yours again, kissing you deeply as if trying to convey all the emotions swirling within him. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, every dip, as if memorizing every detail of you. You felt his weight resting against you, warm and safe, and it filled you with a sense of comfort and exhilaration.
As the kiss deepened, his hands wandered, fingers tracing along your sides and down your arms, drawing you into the warmth of the moment. He seemed to lose himself in you, his kisses growing more passionate, yet still tender, as if he were balancing the thrill of desire with a profound respect for the connection you were building together.
Satoru pulled back slightly, his breathing uneven, and looked down at you with an expression that held a perfect blend of desire and vulnerability. His eyes softened, and a flicker of concern appeared as he took in your face. âAre⊠are you okay?â he asked quietly, his voice laced with an almost shy uncertainty. âI donât want to make you uncomfortable.
Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness in his tone, and you nodded, feeling a warm sense of safety in his presence. âIâm fine,â you murmured softly, reaching up to brush a reassuring hand along his arm. âI should be asking you that.â
He nodded, his gaze briefly meeting yours before looking away, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. âIâm⊠Iâm okay,â he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper, almost as if he were still processing his own feelings. After a beat, he hesitated, then glanced back at you with a hint of nervous curiosity. âWhat should I do now?â
You sat up slightly, leaning forward so you could hold his gaze, though he quickly looked down, the blush deepening on his face. âPull your clothes off,â you instructed softly, giving him a small, encouraging smile. âBut leave your underwear on.â
Satoruâs eyes widened at your words, the blush spreading rapidly across his cheeks, almost as if he hadnât quite expected the suggestion. âYeah⊠okay,â he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of nerves and excitement as he reached for the hem of his shirt, hesitating only briefly before he began to lift it.
His hands trembled ever so slightly as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the toned lines of his chest and shoulders. His skin was warm, slightly flushed, and he kept his gaze averted, as if trying to gather the courage to keep going. He let the shirt fall to the floor, then took a deep breath before moving to undo his pants, casting a quick glance in your direction as if seeking reassurance.
When he saw your soft, encouraging expression, he continued, pushing his pants down and stepping out of them, leaving only his underwear as youâd requested. His movements were tentative, almost shy, but there was a certain determination in his actions that spoke of his trust in you.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, you watched Satoru, your heart pounding in sync with his as he settled in beside you. His eyes lingered on you, filled with curiosity and an unmistakable nervousness, though he gave you a shy smile when you met his gaze.
With a reassuring nod, you began to reach down, fingers slipping to the waistband of your pants. His eyes followed your movements, captivated, as you slowly slid the fabric down your hips, exposing the soft skin of your legs. You kicked the pants aside, leaving you in only your underwear, mirroring him. His breath hitched as his gaze roamed over you, the admiration in his eyes unmistakable.
Now both in only your most vulnerable layers, you shifted back on the bed, motioning for him to come closer. Satoru followed, his movements tentative but filled with a certain eagerness, as though he was soaking in every detail of the moment.
He settled between your legs, his body hovering above yours as he propped himself up on his hands. His eyes were wide, sincere, holding a quiet wonder that made your heart flutter. He seemed to lose himself in the moment, drinking in the sight of you with a softness that was almost reverent.
You reached up, placing a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat racing beneath your fingertips. His breaths were shallow, matching yours in rhythm, and a slight shiver ran through him at your touch. âJust take it slow,â you whispered, your voice soft, reassuring, as you leaned in close enough that your breaths mingled, faces only inches apart. âWe donât have to rush.â
He nodded, swallowing as his gaze remained locked with yours. âThank you,â he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with gratitude and awe. Tentatively, he brought his hand to your waist, his fingers brushing over your skin with a gentleness that spoke of both caution and growing confidence. His touch was almost feather-light, his fingertips tracing small circles as though memorizing each curve and dip. You felt his hand tighten slightly, pulling you closer, grounding himself in the warmth of your body against his.
You leaned up, closing the space between you to press a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger there as you savored the warmth of his skin. Satoruâs eyes fluttered closed, and he exhaled a shaky breath, leaning into your touch, almost as if he were melting under your care.
When you pulled back just slightly, he turned his head to face you, his expression filled with an intense, tender gaze. His eyes flickered down to your lips, and for a brief moment, he hesitated, his lips parted as if caught between nervousness and longing. Finally, he leaned in, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss that was both tender and exploratory, filled with a sweetness that made your heart race. He kissed you slowly, savoring every second, as though he wanted to remember this moment forever.
His hands began to wander from your waist to your hips, his fingers tracing along the curve where your underwear sat against your skin. He paused, his fingertips grazing along the line of fabric, hesitating, as if seeking permission. You could feel his hand trembling slightly, both from his excitement and his nerves, his fingers brushing over the skin just above the waistband before moving back down.
Satoruâs gaze was locked on yours, his eyes a mixture of wonder and nervousness as his hands continued their tentative exploration along the edge of your underwear. He seemed to be gathering courage, his fingers tracing gentle, almost reverent patterns across your skin. Your own hand covered his, a soft reminder, and you murmured, âYou can take them off, yâknowâŠâ
He paused, visibly swallowing, his blush deepening. âYes⊠yes, I know,â he replied, voice barely a whisper as he gathered the courage to slide the fabric down your hips. He moved slowly, carefully, as if savoring every second. When your underwear finally slipped from your legs, he let it fall from the bed, his gaze turning back to you with a new, unguarded vulnerability.
When he looked down, his gaze dipped between your legs as you spread them slightly, giving him space to take in the sight of you. He was visibly struck by the intimacy of the moment, a hint of awe flickering in his eyes, and you could feel the weight of his gaze, making you equally self-conscious and drawn to his quiet, genuine curiosity.
This wasnât something youâd ever imagined doing, especially not as a tutor. The queenâs request had surprised you, and even as youâd agreed to guide him, youâd never anticipated how intense and meaningful this moment would feel. But with Satoru, there was a warmth and care that put you at easeâa softness in him that made you want to help him learn, to give him this experience.
Satoruâs breath was uneven as he drew his hands up your thighs, the warmth of his touch making your skin tingle. His thumbs moved slowly, pulling your legs apart just a little more, his touch almost reverent as he brushed his thumb against the delicate skin of your inner thigh. The sensation made you shiver, a small gasp escaping you.
His gaze never left yours as he brought his hands to your center, his fingers trembling slightly as he parted your folds with his thumbs, exposing your most sensitive area to the cool air. You let out a quiet gasp at the sensation, your breath catching as he focused on the glistening sight before him, his eyes filled with awe. He seemed mesmerized, watching the way your body reacted, the soft, pulsing invitation of your skin against his touch.
For a moment, he simply watched,
Satoruâs fingers trembled slightly as he held you open, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and uncertainty. His gaze flickered to yours, a question forming on his lips. âI⊠I donât really know what Iâm supposed to do next,â he admitted softly, his cheeks flushed, looking for guidance as he tried to understand how to please you.
You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his, your touch steadying him. âItâs okay,â you murmured, giving him a soft smile. âI can show you.â
He swallowed, nodding as he leaned in closer, visibly eager to learn. âWhere should I start?â he asked, his voice low and sincere.
You held his gaze, feeling a sense of warmth at his openness. âSee here?â you murmured, gently guiding his thumb to a small, sensitive spot at the apex of your folds. âThis is the clitâitâs the most sensitive part, and it responds a lot to touch. Youâll want to start by focusing here.â
Satoruâs eyes lit with newfound understanding, his gaze turning to admiration as he looked down, processing your words carefully. His thumb brushed experimentally over the wet spot, his movements slow and cautious. You let out a soft, encouraging sigh, and he glanced up, his expression almost childlike in its intensity, clearly focused on learning how to make you feel good.
âSo, you have to⊠prepare someone, right?â he asked, as if confirming his understanding. âBefore anything else?â
You nodded, your voice soft. âYes. You prepare a woman for⊠more,â you said, feeling a blush heat your cheeks. âTouching, kissing, and things like thisâall of that helps get her ready, so itâs more comfortable. You have options, too. You could use your fingers, your mouth, or both⊠whatever feels natural for you.â
He seemed to absorb every word, nodding slowly, his brows furrowing with concentration. âI think I understand,â he murmured, his gaze flicking between your eyes and the sensitive spot heâd just discovered.
Satoru leaned in, his thumb brushing over your clit again, this time with more confidence, his movements gentle yet focused. You let out a soft sound, and he paused, eyes widening in wonder. He glanced up at you, a small, satisfied smile forming on his lips as he realized heâd done something right.
He leaned in, closer than before, pressing a slow, reverent kiss to your inner thigh, letting his lips linger, and you could feel the warmth of his breath as he explored with a gentle touch. You could tell he was savoring every new sensation, every slight shift and soft sigh. With each kiss, he grew bolder, moving closer to your core, his hands still steady on your thighs as he continued his careful approach.
Then, his lips brushed over your folds, his breath hitching as he pressed a lingering, almost worshipful kiss there. âSo soft,â he murmured, sounding as if he were speaking more to himself than to you, awe evident in his voice. His mouth moved lower, placing another slow kiss before he began to taste you, his tongue moving hesitantly at first, as if familiarizing himself with each inch.
The first gentle stroke of his tongue made you gasp softly, and Satoruâs eyes flicked up, eager to see your reaction. Seeing the pleasure in your expression, he smiled, a slight, bashful grin, and leaned in further, letting his tongue explore with more confidence. The way he worked his mouth over you, savoring every taste, every sound you made, spoke to the intense curiosity and focus he was channeling into each motion.
âFuckââ he whispered, his voice thick and slightly shaky, pulling back for a moment to catch his breath. His face was flushed, his pupils dilated as he looked at you with something close to worship. âPussyâs sâ sweetâ tastes serâ good,â he murmured, almost to himself, before diving back in with a new kind of hunger.
His tongue found your clit this time, pressing gently before giving it a soft, experimental bite that sent a shock of pleasure through you, making you arch into him. He continued, lapping at you with slow, broad strokes, as if he couldnât get enough. His hands slid up, gripping your hips and pulling you even closer as he kissed and licked every inch, fully lost in the experience.
He seemed completely intoxicated by your taste, by the way your body responded to him. Each movement of his mouth became more confident, more eager, as he continued his relentless exploration, his tongue swirling around your clit before lapping at your entrance again, catching every bit of wetness as if it were precious. Satoru was utterly lost in you, pressing closer and moaning softly into your skin, entirely absorbed in the pleasure he was bringing you.
His hand slipped back to your thigh, gently squeezing as his mouth worked in perfect rhythm
Satoruâs grip on your thighs tightened as he became even more engrossed, his mouth moving over you with a hungry, eager rhythm. His eyes flickered up every so often, watching your reactions with an almost boyish awe as he learned exactly what made you gasp and arch into him. Each sound you made seemed to spur him on, fueling his growing confidence as his tongue moved with more purpose, more intent.
He let his tongue glide up from your entrance to your clit in slow, drawn-out strokes, savoring every taste, as though he couldnât get enough. âSerâ good,â he murmured between breaths, his voice thick and heavy, almost reverent. âCanât believeâ fuck- how perfect ya taste.â His words were laced with genuine awe, and each syllable seemed to sink into you, heightening the warmth building deep in your core.
His lips wrapped around your clit then, and he sucked gently, sending waves of pleasure radiating through you. You gasped, fingers tangling in his soft hair, tugging him closer as your hips moved instinctively toward him, urging him deeper. Satoru moaned softly at the feeling of your hands in his hair, the vibrations of his voice against you only adding to the sensation.
âJust like that,â you whispered, your voice shaky as he continued, his enthusiasm and care blending into a perfect, overwhelming rhythm. He responded by doubling down, his lips pressing more firmly, his tongue flicking and circling, as if every movement were a way to learn how to make you feel even better.
As he continued, Satoru looked up at you again, his gaze dark with desire yet softened with admiration. âYou taste like⊠everything Iâve ever wanted,â he mumbled against you, his voice muffled, but full of devotion. He leaned in once more, mouth covering you completely, tongue moving in long, slow strokes, savoring every drop and every reaction.
He became almost methodical, his mouth working in steady, purposeful motions, alternating between licking and gentle sucking, pulling quiet moans from your lips with every movement. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you steady as he continued his eager exploration, his mouth mapping every inch of you, each touch bringing you closer and closer to the edge.
Finally, as his pace quickened and his movements became less restrained, you felt the growing heat build to a near breaking point. Your hips bucked against him, and he only gripped you tighter, pressing his mouth more firmly against you, tongue swirling and lips pressing as he pushed you right to the brink, lost in the need to give you everything he could.
Satoruâs eyes never left yours as he continued, his focus unwavering. Every gasp, every arch of your back seemed to spur him on, and as he watched you getting closer, a new determination filled his gaze. His hands slid up your inner thighs, his fingers brushing over your skin with a light touch before hesitating at your entrance. He glanced up, silently asking for permission, and at your encouraging nod, he took a deep breath, pressing a finger against your slick entrance.
Slowly, carefully, he pushed inside, his movements tentative as he watched your expression, making sure you were comfortable. His finger slid deeper, and he marveled at how warm and soft you felt, his gaze full of awe as he worked his finger gently, moving in time with the soft caresses of his mouth.
âIs⊠this okay?â he whispered, voice low and unsure, yet filled with genuine care. The gentle curve of his finger inside you was cautious, and when you let out a quiet moan in response, he seemed relieved, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.
âYes, sâtoru,â you murmured, voice thick with desire, encouraging him to continue.
Emboldened, he began moving his finger slowly, curling it inside you as he searched for the spots that made you shiver. His mouth returned to your clit, tongue flicking in gentle, deliberate strokes, the combination of his movements creating a steady, delicious rhythm. Each motion was measured, his focus absolute as he seemed to get lost in the feel of you around him, the way your body responded to every touch.
As he gained confidence, he added another finger, stretching you just slightly, his gaze still attentive, looking for any hint of discomfort. But when he saw only pleasure in your expression, his movements grew a little bolder. His fingers curved and pressed deeper, brushing that sensitive spot within you, sending a wave of pleasure through your body that had you clinging to his shoulders.
âGod, pussyâs sâ⊠perfect,â he breathed against you, his tone filled with reverence, as if he couldnât quite believe this was real. His fingers pumped steadily, his mouth following their rhythm, drawing out soft moans that seemed to intoxicate him further.
Each gentle thrust of his fingers, each flick of his tongue was filled with growing intensity, a desire that seemed to drive him to bring you closer and closer to release. His face, now completely flushed, showed a newfound hunger as he became entirely engrossed in every moan
Your body tensed as Satoruâs fingers curled inside you, pressing perfectly against that sensitive spot, his mouth still worshipping your clit with a relentless rhythm. The pleasure built rapidly, each movement of his fingers and every flick of his tongue intensifying the sensation until it became overwhelming.
Your breath hitched, and you felt yourself teetering right on the edge. âSatoru⊠Iâm closeâŠâ you whispered, barely able to get the words out. He looked up at you, his eyes darkening with both determination and awe, as if he couldnât believe he was the one bringing you to this point. Encouraged, he kept going, maintaining that steady pace, his fingers pumping and curling with just the right pressure, his mouth warm and relentless against your clit.
Your body arched, and the pleasure surged through you in a powerful wave. A gasp escaped your lips, turning into a cry of pure ecstasy as you reached your climax, your body trembling under his touch. Satoru didnât stop, his fingers and mouth working you through every second, letting you ride out the pleasure fully, his gaze fixed on you, captivated by every reaction.
He slowed only as he felt your body begin to relax, his fingers gradually easing their rhythm until they finally stilled. His lips pressed one last, tender kiss against your clit before he withdrew his hand. You watched, breathless, as he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean, savoring every taste as if he couldnât get enough.
âPussyâs so sweet,â he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, a mix of awe and raw need thickening his tone. His pupils were blown wide, his face covered in the remnants of your release, and he made no effort to hide his pleasure, licking his lips, his tongue tracing over the faint glisten left on his chin. âWant moreâŠâ he breathed, voice low and desperate, as if even this closeness wasnât enough to satisfy the pull he felt toward you.
With a shuddering breath, he shifted, his hands moving to his briefs, and without hesitation, he slid them off, tossing them somewhere off the bed. He wrapped a hand around himself, giving a few slow, steady strokes, his own arousal now fully bared before you.
You couldnât stop the soft gasp that escaped your lips as you took him in. He was bigâthicker and longer than youâd expected, his arousal flushed with a deep, heated pink at the tip, beads of precum already forming and trailing down along the pale, veined length. The sight alone made you clench in anticipation, a mix of nerves and longing swirling within you.
Satoru looked down at you, his cheeks and chest flushed, the intensity in his eyes making him look almost dazed, drunk on the need coursing through him. âCanât⊠canât wait any longerââ he murmured, a slight tremor in his voice. He leaned closer, his tip brushing against your clit in a teasing tap, smearing his precum around your entrance.
âPlease,â he whispered, almost as if pleading. âPlease⊠let me⊠I need to feel you. Need to be insideâŠâ
You felt his desperation in every word, his restraint fraying with every second that passed. His gaze held yours, dark and pleading, and you gave him a soft nod, granting him the permission he so earnestly sought.
âPleaseâŠâ he whispered again, positioning himself carefully, his gaze never leaving yours, even as he slowly began to press forward, inch by aching inch.
A shiver ran through Satoru as he began to sink into you, every inch he pressed forward met with a quiet gasp or soft sigh that only seemed to make him more desperate. He moved slowly, his gaze fixed on your face as if wanting to memorize every reaction. The stretch was intense, his thickness filling you in a way that had you curling your fingers into the sheets, and he took his time, his movements careful and deliberate as he entered you.
âGodââ he whispered, a tremor in his voice as he tried to keep his control, his brows knitting together in concentration. His hands found your hips, gripping firmly but gently, anchoring himself as he slid further. He exhaled shakily, and his breathing turned ragged, his lips parting as he lost himself in the feeling. âFeels so goodâŠ*hic* better than I imaginedââ he murmured, almost to himself, as if he couldnât believe he was actually inside you.
As soon as Satoru pressed fully inside you, he froze, his whole body tensing as if heâd been struck by lightning. The heat, the way your walls clung to him, warm and tight, had his eyes fluttering shut, his head falling back in pure, unfiltered bliss. A deep groan escaped his lips, raw and needy, and he gripped your hips so tightly you could feel the tremor in his fingers.
âFuckââ he choked out, his voice thick, barely coherent, as he tried to process the overwhelming sensation. His head dropped forward, gaze dazed, his pupils blown wide as he looked at you, like he couldnât quite believe what he was feeling. âSo⊠sâ fucking tight,â he muttered, almost in disbelief, his words catching as his hips gave an involuntary thrust. âGodâyouâre⊠clenching around me so perfectlyââ
You felt his fingers digging into your hips as he rocked into you again, the motion instinctive, almost primal. His restraint shattered in an instant, and he began moving with a newfound hunger, his hips snapping against yours with an intensity that had his head spinning. Each thrust made his eyes flutter, his lips parting as he gasped for breath, his mind barely able to focus on anything but the sensation of you wrapped around him
He buried himself deeper, his pace turning relentless, desperate. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing over your skin as he panted, âFeel so fucking good, canâtâcanât stopâŠfuck!â He sounded wrecked, completely undone, his tone almost pleading as he kept moving, his rhythm wild and unrestrained.
Satoruâs eyes rolled back as he lost himself in the feeling, the pleasure flooding through him too intense to control. âPussyâs so *hic* warm,â he slurred, his words muffled as his lips brushed over your skin, his hips pressing into you harder, needier, every sound you made only pushing him further. Each thrust felt deeper than the last, his breaths ragged, desperate as he surrendered completely, letting the sensation consume him.
Satoruâs movements became a frenzy, his hips snapping against yours with a desperation that was almost uncontrollable, his breathing erratic and voice reduced to hoarse groans. Every inch of you enveloped him in a warmth so tight that his composure shattered with each thrust, his hands gripping you as if afraid to let go.
âFuckâcanât⊠canât get enough,â he mumbled, his voice rough, eyes half-lidded as he stared down at you with a dazed, almost feral hunger. His mouth found yours, capturing your lips in a feverish kiss, messy and demanding, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he kissed you deeply. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath coming in heavy pants as he looked at you, captivated, overwhelmed.
Your moans and gasps only fueled him, every sound you made seeming to push him further over the edge. His hands roamed your body, fingers digging into your skin as he tried to pull you even closer, his thrusts rough but filled with raw need. âYou feel⊠so fucking perfect,â he murmured, barely able to get the words out as his rhythm grew erratic, his hips moving instinctively as he chased the building pleasure that was consuming him.
Lost in the sensation, his pace faltered, his movements growing sloppier, more desperate. He pulled you tighter against him, his body shuddering with every thrust, his head falling to your shoulder as he let out a deep, broken groan, his voice strained and breathless.
âGod⊠canât⊠gonna comeâŠsoonâ he whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of awe and helplessness as he felt himself teetering on the edge, holding on only by a thread as he lost himself completely in the warmth of you.
With each thrust, Satoruâs body trembled, his breath hitching as he felt himself nearing that precipice. The warmth enveloping him tightened further, the way your walls pulsed around him driving him wild. His movements grew more frantic, instinct taking over as he chased the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him.
âPleaseâplease..â he gasped, desperation lacing his words as he quickened his pace, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room. He was lost, intoxicated by the feeling of being inside you, and it was as if everything else faded away. The world outside ceased to exist; it was just the two of you, tangled together in a whirlwind of passion.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, the heat pooling in your core intensifying with every movement. âSâtoru⊠yesâyesss just like that,â you encouraged, your voice breathy as you matched his rhythm, pushing him closer to the edge. Your words seemed to ignite something primal within him, and he let out a deep, guttural growl, thrusting into you with abandon.
âFuckâso good⊠youâre so good,â he gasped, his eyes rolling back again as he felt the pleasure building rapidly, tension coiling tightly in his belly. Every sound you made, every gasp and moan, drove him closer to madness. He could feel the pressure mounting, an almost unbearable intensity that threatened to consume him completely.
âI canât hold back much longer,â he warned, his voice low and strained, nearly a whine as he fought against the overwhelming need to release. âI want to feel youâwant you to feel meâŠâ
With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you completely, his body shaking as he let go, pleasure crashing over him like a tidal wave. âOhâfuck!â he cried out, his voice echoing with a mix of ecstasy and disbelief as he came, filling you with warmth. His body quaked with the intensity of his release, and in that moment, everything faded into pure bliss, leaving only the two of you tangled together, breathing heavily in the aftermath
As the waves of pleasure began to fade, Satoruâs breath came in uneven gasps, his eyes still glazed with the aftereffects of the ecstasy heâd just experienced. He looked down at you, the warmth of your bodies still mingling, and a sudden thought struck himâa spark of wild desire that seemed to take over his senses.
âMarry me,â he blurted out, the words tumbling out with an urgency that surprised even him.
Your eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard. âWhaâwhat?â you stammered, disbelief flickering across your face.
âI know itâs crazy since we just met, but⊠youâre justâso amazing, and I donât wanna let you go! That wasââ he hesitated, a dreamy look crossing his face as he recalled the sensations. âYour pussyâs sâ good. I canât just⊠I canât just walk away from this. I donât want anyone else now..â
You let out a soft laugh, a mixture of incredulity and amusement bubbling up inside you at his unfiltered honesty. What is happening? you thought, still trying to process the whirlwind of events that had brought you here. âYou donât even know my name!â you exclaimed, shaking your head in disbelief.
âI donât need to know,â he replied, leaning closer, his eyes half-lidded with that intoxicating mix of lust and affection. âI just know youâre incredible. Itâs likeâlike fate or something. I want you to be mine, likeâ forever.â
His words, though impulsive, were laced with sincerity, and you could see the way his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, even as excitement radiated from him. This is insane, you thought, but thereâs something so genuine about him. âYouâre serious?â you asked, searching his eyes for any trace of jest, but the sincerity in his gaze was unmistakable.
âDead serious,â he confirmed, his expression earnest but still slightly dazed, the effects of what had just transpired clearly clouding his thoughts. âI donât want to waste any time⊠so, uh, what do you say?â His voice wavered slightly, betraying his nervousness despite the confident facade he tried to maintain.
Could this really be happening? you thought, your heart racing at the idea of such an impulsive commitment. You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest at his unexpected proposal. âAlright, letâs see where this goes, Prince,â you replied teasingly, excitement bubbling beneath the surface. âBut you better be ready for more than just this.â
âY-yeah! Totally!â he stuttered, his enthusiasm shining through the haze of lust. âIâm all in. Just⊠just tell me your name, and I promise to be the best husband ever.â
Would you find this ok irl? Would you think it to be romantic if someone told a story about how their life played out exactly as this?
NO
I wouldnât find this okay irl and I donât think itâs romantic in the story either. Iâm just trying to make this a âtrust the processâ kind of narrative but I want to be clear that Iâm completely against it in reality. Iâm truly sorry for anyone who has experienced something like thisâunfortunately some things are out of our control and I sincerely hope no one ever has to go through that and if youre going through that Iâm wishing you the best luckđ
I'm not one against abortion but I'm someone who personally just wouldn't do it but I actually hopes reader gets a abortion in regrets, like I can practically feel the disgust id feel at myself after getting pregnant the same time I lost my virginity-
I'd be scared or have repulsion towards the idea of sex and I'd probably drive myself to the brink of sewerslide bc I had sex once, accidentally got pregnant, parents find me disgraceful for something i didn't plan nor want and kicks me out, all while having the burden of college on top of that? Yeah no, I'm voting for the baby free repellent, free her.
I get where youâre coming from and I can understand how overwhelming that situation would be the weight of everything- pregnancy, parental disappointment, college stress would DEF be crushing I think for the reader tho the decision is complicated
synopsis. Pregnancy, usually a positive outcome of love between two partners that love each other deeply. But Pregnancy resulting from someone using you for their own pleasure is far from a positive outcome
+ warning/content. bully Gojo Satoru x female reader - reader is pregnant - mentions of abortion - mature themes/MDNI - usual warnings - suguru and reader are siblings - reader lowkey depressed - ANGST - dubcon - chapter 3 from the series regret
wc. 7k
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(Six Months Later â Present Timeline, Winter)
The cold hit you the moment you stepped out of the convenience store, the biting wind cutting through your coat like it wasnât even there. You exhaled, watching your breath curl into the air before disappearing into the night. Winter had settled in, coating the streets in frost, making everything feel sharperâlike the world itself was trying to wake you up from the numbness that had taken root inside you.
It was late, past midnight, but the city was still alive. The neon glow of street signs flickered against the wet pavement, and a group of drunk salarymen stumbled out of a nearby izakaya, their laughter echoing down the empty streets. You ignored them, keeping your head down as you walked past, one hand tightening around the plastic bag of food youâd just bought.
You hadnât meant to stay out this late. You hadnât meant to go out at all.
The apartment was suffocating some nights. The quietness that had once felt like an escape now felt like a void, pressing in from all sides, swallowing you whole. You would sit on the couch, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the heater, the occasional creak of the walls. No messages lit up your phone. No knocks ever came at the door. You were untethered, drifting through days that bled into each other, feeling more like a ghost in your own life than a person.
It was easier to disappear into routine. Wake up. Force yourself to eat. Scroll through new job listings. Go work. Stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, searching for somethingâsome sign that you were different, that you were changing. But your face remained the same, your body shifting a bit. Even at six months, no one could tell.
Maybe that was why it didnât feel real.
Or maybe it was because you still couldnât bring yourself to think about the future.
The thought of it sent a dull panic through you, one you had learned to push down, to ignore, to bury under layers of distractions. You moved through each day as if you were still waiting for somethingâfor someone to tell you what to do, for something to force your hand. But there was nothing. Just the cold, the empty apartment, and the quiet knowledge that you were running out of time.
You let out a slow breath and turned down the quieter street that led to the apartment. The cold made your fingers stiff, but you welcomed the stingâit was better than feeling nothing at all.
The walk back to the apartment was short, but the cold made every step feel longer. The night air clung to your skin, biting at your exposed fingers despite the way you stuffed them deep into your coat pockets. The plastic bag in your hand rustled with every movement, a small reminder of the meager groceries you had managed to pick up. It wasnât muchâjust a few essentials, things that wouldnât take long to prepare.
You barely noticed the people passing by, their faces blurred, their voices fading into the background like static. Laughter echoed from a nearby bar, followed by the distant sound of a car engine revving. The world kept moving, oblivious to the storm inside you.
As you approached the entrance to the apartment complex, you hesitated.
The building loomed above you, dark windows reflecting the streetlights like empty eyes staring down. You swallowed hard, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. It wasnât fear that kept you rooted in place. It was exhaustionâthe kind that seeped into your bones, making every action feel like wading through thick, invisible water.
You knew what was waiting for you inside.
Nothing.
An empty apartment. A quiet room. A cold bed. With a heavy breath, you forced yourself forward, gripping the handle and pushing the door open.
The warmth inside barely made a difference. The apartment was just as you had left itâdim, sparsely furnished, and suffocatingly quiet. The heater hummed in the background, its soft drone the only sound breaking the silence. You locked the door behind you, placing the plastic bag on the counter before shrugging off your coat.
Everything felt mechanical. You moved without thinking, going through the motions simply because you had to. The fridge opened with a quiet creak as you placed the milk inside, rearranging a few items out of habit. You set the instant ramen on the counter, along with the sandwiches you had bought, then leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly.
It wasnât much, but it would last. At least for a few days. You glanced toward the mirror hanging by the entrance, catching your reflection in the dim light.
Same face.
Same tired eyes.
Same person.
You tugged at the hem of your oversized sweater, fingers absentmindedly smoothing over the fabric. Your stomach wasnât flat anymore, but still easy to hide. The loose clothing made sure of that. No one could tell just by looking at you. Not yet, anyway.
Maybe that was why it still didnât feel real.
Even though you knew what was happening, even though you could feel the exhaustion weighing heavier each day, it still felt like something distantâsomething that belonged to someone else.
You turned away from the mirror. No use thinking about it.
Instead, you moved to the couch, sinking into the cushions with a quiet sigh. The silence pressed against you, thick and unrelenting. You had gotten used to it by now, but that didnât mean it ever felt comfortable.
The loneliness had settled in like an unwelcome guest, making itself at home in every corner of the apartment.
You pulled your legs up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around your knees as you curled into yourself. The apartment felt impossibly quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against your ears, making your own thoughts sound too loud. The dim glow of the streetlights outside cast long shadows across the room, stretching over the floor and onto the walls, making everything feel distortedâunfamiliar, even after all this time.
Your gaze drifted to the coffee table in front of you, where a few crumpled receipts lay scattered next to an unopened bottle of water. That was it. Nothing else. No sign of life, no clutter, nothing that made this space feel lived in.
You should do something.
Eat. Sleep. Move. Go work.
Anything to make time pass faster, to break the endless cycle of nothingness that had settled over you. But instead, you just sat there, staring, trapped in your own mind as the seconds bled into minutes, stretching endlessly before you.
Thenâ
A knock at the door.
The sudden sound shattered the silence, making you jolt. Your breath caught in your throat, your muscles tensing on instinct. The apartment was too quiet for something like thatâit made the knock seem impossibly loud, like it didnât belong here.
You didnât move at first.
Maybe you imagined it.
No one ever knocked. No one ever came here.
Exceptâ
Another knock.
Firm. Unhurried. Patient.
Your pulse quickened, a dull pounding in your ears. Your eyes flickered toward the door, your body rigid. It was stupid, but for a moment, you considered ignoring it, as if pretending no one was there would make them leave.
But they wouldnât. You knew that.
There was only one person who ever came here.
Suguru.
You swallowed, forcing your body to move. The couch groaned as you uncurled yourself, placing your feet on the cold floor. The air felt heavier now, pressing against your chest with every hesitant step you took toward the door.
The floorboards creaked under your weight, each sound amplified in the quiet. You hesitated when you reached the door, standing there for a second too long, your fingers hovering just above the handle.
A deep breath.
Then another.
And finally, you turned the knob, pulling the door open just enough to peer outside.
And there he was.
Suguru.
Standing in the dim light of the hallway, his dark coat draped over his shoulders, one hand in his pocket while the other one held into the plastic bag, and an unreadable expression in his sharp eyes.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Thenâ
âHey,â he said, his voice low, steady.
And just like that, the weight in your chest shiftedâif only slightly.
Your throat felt tight. âHey.â
His gaze flickered downward, barely noticeable, but you caught it immediately. It was quickâso quick that if you werenât paying attention, you might have missed it. But you knew exactly what he was looking for, what he was checking. Even through the oversized hoodie you wore, his eyes lingered just long enough to confirm what he already knew.
Neither of you ever talked about it, but the knowledge sat heavy between you. He had always known. From the moment you got kicked out of your parents house, he had known. And yet, despite everything, he never asked. Never pried. Never pushed you to say more than you wanted to. Maybe that was why you let him keep coming back. Because he was the only one who didnât look at you with judgment, who didnât ask you to explain yourself when you didnât have the words.
âCan I come in?â His voice was calm, steady. But he was already stepping forward before you had a chance to respond, his presence pressing into the small space of the doorway.
You didnât stop him. You simply shifted to the side, allowing him to pass. The air in the apartment changed the second he stepped inside, the silence no longer as heavy as it had been just moments ago. The loneliness didnât disappear, but it dulled just a little, just enough to remind you what it was like to have someone around.
He moved through the space like he belonged there, like it was second nature. His hand placed down the plastic bag, and worked the buttons of his coat as he made his way toward the couch, shrugging it off effortlessly and draping it over the back of the cushions. He didnât ask where to put it. He didnât need to. He had lived here once. Before it became yours, before your brother stopped using it altogether. Before it turned into something else entirelyâa place for you to exist in but never truly call home.
Suguru took in the room with a quiet, assessing glance, as if searching for any signs of change. There werenât many. The apartment still carried that same impersonal emptiness, the same untouched air of a place barely lived in. You hadnât done much to change that, except maybe placing a few toys onto the shelf for your child.
His gaze eventually returned to you, unreadable as always. He was waitingâfor what, you werenât sure. Maybe for you to say something. Maybe for some indication that you were okay. But the truth was, you werenât sure what to say. What was there to say? Nothing had changed. You were still here, still trying to figure out what came next, still completely alone. Except, at least for now, you werenât.
Suguru turned to look at you again, arms loosely crossed, his expression unreadable. âHave you been eating?â
The question hit like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through the fragile quiet that had settled between you. You tensed, fingers curling into the oversized sleeves of your sweater, the fabric bunched tightly in your grip. You hesitated for half a second before muttering, âYeah.â
But he saw right through you. He always did. His gaze didnât waver, didnât soften, and when he finally spoke, it was flat, unyielding. âYouâre lying.â
A sigh slipped past your lips as you rubbed your temples, already feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down. âIâm fine, Suguru.â You tried to make it sound firm, convincing, but even to your own ears, it came out weak.
He didnât respond right away, but his silence was louder than words. Without another glance at you, he walked past, heading straight for the kitchen. You listened as he pulled open the fridge door, the faint suction sound of the seal breaking, followed by the dull clatter of a few nearly-empty bottles shifting inside.
Then the door slammed shut.
âYou call this eating?â His voice carried a sharp edge, one that made irritation spike through you, replacing the dull ache of exhaustion.
You turned, arms crossing over your chest, the defensive posture coming almost instinctively. âI donât need a lecture.â
But he wasnât fazed. If anything, he looked even more unimpressed. âThen start taking care of yourself so I donât have to give you one.â His tone was firm, leaving little room for argument, like he had already decided he wasnât going to drop this.
You hated that. Hated how he spoke to you like he had the right to be concerned, like you were his responsibility. He had been like this ever since he found outâhovering, checking in, making sure you werenât completely falling apart.
But you were. Even if you didnât want to admit it.
Your stomach twisted uncomfortably as you glanced away, shifting on your feet. You sighed, rubbing your arms as you tried to ignore the heaviness pressing down on your chest. âYou donât have to do this, you know.â
Suguru tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. âDo what?â
âAct like youâre responsible for me.â
For a moment, something flickered in his expressionâtoo quick to decipher, too subtle to grasp. And then, with quiet certainty, he said, âIâm not acting.â
The words caught you off guard, making your breath hitch for just a second. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. You had nothing to say to that.
Suguru sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, his frustration bleeding into the silence. âLook, Iâm not here to fight with you. I justââ He stopped mid-sentence, shaking his head slightly as if dismissing whatever thought had momentarily surfaced. âNever mind.â
But you knew what he wasnât saying.
He was worried.
And the worst part? You werenât sure if you deserved it.
You swallowed, looking away. When you spoke again, your voice was quieter, almost hesitant. âIâm fine, Suguru.â
His jaw tensed slightly. âYou keep saying that.â
You had no response. Because you both knew it wasnât true.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before shaking his head. âGod, youâre so damn stubborn.â
You scoffed, arms tightening around yourself. âLook whoâs talking.â
For a second, something almost like amusement flickered across his face, but it was gone just as quickly. He studied you for a moment, then glanced back toward the fridge before walking over and grabbing the unopened bottle of water from the table. He tossed it lightly in your direction.
âDrink,â he said simply.
You caught it, fingers tightening around the plastic. âSeriously?â
âSeriously.â His tone left no room for argument.
Rolling your eyes, you twisted the cap off and took a sip, if only to get him off your back. The water was cold, and the feeling of it sliding down your throat reminded you just how little you had actually eaten or drunk today.
Suguru sighed again, but this time, it wasnât sharp or frustrated. Just⊠tired.
âYou donât have to do this alone, you know,â he said, his voice quieter now.
Your grip tightened around the bottle.
âI know,â you lied.
He didnât call you out on it this time.
And yet, despite the tension, despite the silence that stretched between you like an unspoken confession, you were still grateful.
Because for the first time in a long timeâat least for tonightâyou werenât completely alone.
Suguru leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, his sharp eyes watching you like he was debating his next words carefully. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the fridge, the distant noise of traffic outside.
Then, finally, he spoke. âHave you thought about baby stuff yet?â
You stiffened, your fingers still curled around the water bottle. âWhat?â
âYou know.â He gestured vaguely with one hand. âCrib. Clothes. Stroller. All that.â
The words sent a shiver through you, an immediate reminder of the reality you kept trying to push to the back of your mind. You hadnât thought about it. Not really. You bought a few plushies but thatâs all. Every time you wanted to buy something more, your brain shut down. It was too much. Or too expensive.
Your silence was answer enough.
Suguru sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he studied you. His expression wasnât annoyed, but there was a weight to itâlike he had already expected this answer but had still hoped for something different.
âYou canât just ignore it forever,â he said, voice firm but not unkind.
âIâm not ignoring it,â you muttered, gripping the water bottle tighter.
Suguru scoffed. âReally? Then whereâs the crib?â
You exhaled sharply, looking away. âIâll get to it.â
âWhen?â
The question hung in the air, and you hated how you didnât have an answer. The truth was, you didnât even know where to start. Every time you tried to imagine yourself shopping for baby things, walking through aisles of tiny clothes and bottles and strollers, a crushing sense of dread filled your chest.
Suguru must have seen something in your face because his stance softened slightly. âLook, I get it. Itâs overwhelming. But the longer you wait, the harder itâs gonna be.â
You swallowed, staring at the floor. âI donât even know what I need.â
âThen Iâll help,â he said simply.
That made you lift your head. âWhat?â
âIâll help,â he repeated, pushing off the counter. âWeâll go baby shopping. Pick out the basics. It doesnât have to be today, but soon. And weâll figure out the crib situation too.â
You stared at him, unsure what to say. Suguru wasnât the type to throw around empty offers, but you hadnât expected this.
ââŠWhy?â The word slipped out before you could stop it.
He frowned. âWhat do you mean, why?â
âYou donât have to do this,â you said quietly. âThis isnât your responsibility.â
Suguruâs gaze darkened slightly, like the words annoyed him, but instead of snapping, he just exhaled through his nose. âMaybe not. But that doesnât mean Iâm gonna sit back and watch you drown either.â
Something about the way he said it made your throat tighten. You had no idea what you had done to deserve his kindness, but for the first time in a long while, you didnât feel completely alone in this.
ââŠOkay,â you murmured after a long pause. âWeâll go.â
Suguru nodded like that was all he needed to hear. âGood. Iâll send you some lists later so you can look through them first. We donât have to get everything at once.â
You nodded absently, processing his words, but your mind was already spiraling. Baby shopping. Buying a crib. Preparing for a future that still felt impossible.
For the first time, it felt like things were really moving forward.
-
The sound of sneakers scuffing against the tiled floors filled the hallway as students moved between classes, their voices blending into an indistinct hum. Suguru barely paid attention to the noise, his mind elsewhere.
He leaned against his locker, arms crossed, his expression neutral but his thoughts anything but. Ever since he found out about her situation, he had been feeling⊠off. He wasnât sure how to describe itâfrustration, worry, a sense of obligation he couldnât shake. She had always been independent, always kept her struggles to herself, and yet now she was in a situation where she shouldnât have to be alone.
But she was.
And he was the only one who seemed to care.
Suguru wasnât naive. He knew people in this schoolâtheir schoolâloved to talk, to whisper, to spread rumors. He had already overheard fragments of conversations.
âShe just disappeared.â
âDid something happen?â
âShe probably dropped out.â
âGood riddance.â
The last one had made his jaw clench.
Suguru exhaled sharply, pushing himself off the locker. He had been thinking about her a lot latelyâthe baby, the things she would need, the reality of what was coming. It wasnât like she had anyone else to help her figure it out.
âYou look deep in thought.â
A familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see Shoko standing nearby. She leaned against the lockers, watching him with mild amusement.
he scoffed. âI always look deep in thought.â
Shoko smirked. âYeah, but this time you look like youâre thinking a little too hard. Whatâs up?â
He hesitated. He hadnât told anyoneânot about her, not about the baby, nothing. It wasnât his secret to share. But that didnât mean the weight of it wasnât getting to him.
âNothing,â he finally said, shrugging.
Shoko raised an eyebrow but didnât push. Instead, sighed before speaking again. âYou going to that party this weekend?â
Suguru shook his head. âNo.â
She gave him a curious look. âYou? Skipping a party? Thatâs new.â
He didnât respond. Instead, his gaze flickered down the hallway, landing on the familiar figure of his best friend. Gojo was in the middle of a group, grinning like he always did, throwing an arm around some girlâs shoulders as if the world was his to play with. He was laughingâloud, carefree, like nothing had changed.
And that was the problem.
Ever since she stopped coming to school, things had felt⊠off. At first, it had been subtle, something he only noticed in passing. A name missing from attendance. A glance toward an empty desk. But as the days turned into months, as she faded from the halls entirely, he realized something elseâsomething that didnât sit right with him.
Satoru.
Suguru had known Satoru for years. He knew his habits, his tells, the little things most people overlooked. And before, when she missed school for too long, Satoru would eventually bring her up. Not in any way that stood outânot with obvious concern or anythingâbut heâd mention her. A passing comment. A joke about her slacking off. A lazy, âHey, your sisterâs skipping again?â Something.
But now?
Nothing.
Suguru had waited, giving it time, expecting Satoru to ask about her at some point. He never did not even after 6 months.
And when Suguru tried to bring her up himselfâcasually, just a joke perhaps. Satoru would brush right past it, like he hadnât heard him at all.
The first time, Suguru let it go. Maybe he was just distracted.
The second time, he took note of it.
The third time, he started paying closer attention.
Each time he mentioned her name, there was a barely noticeable shift in satoruâs expression. A flicker of somethingâsomething Suguru couldnât quite placeâbefore his usual grin slid back into place. Like a mask snapping into position.
And that silence? It felt deliberate.
Suguruâs jaw tensed as he watched Satoru now, the way he threw his head back laughing, the way he carried himself so easily, like nothing in the world could bother him.
But something was bothering him.
He could feel it, that nagging feeling at the back of his mind, telling him that something wasnât right. She never talked about him anymore. She never even said his name. And for someone as infuriating as Satoru, that alone was unusual.
He didnât know what it meant yet. He didnât know if it even did mean something.
But the uneasy feeling wouldnât go away.
A familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts.
âWhat, did Satoru piss you off again?â
Shoko. She had sidled up next to him, her hands stuffed into her pockets, her sharp eyes scanning his face like she could see what he was thinking.
He clicked his tongue, rolling his shoulders back. âWhen does he not?â
She snorted. âFair point.â
He didnât say anything else, just adjusted his bag over his shoulder and started walking.
Shoko fell into step beside him, throwing him a sideways glance. âTry not to overthink yourself into an early grave, will you?â
He didnât answer.
Because right now, overthinking was the only thing keeping him from shaking the feeling that something was wrong.
-
The door clicked shut behind Suguru, and the silence rushed back in like a wave, swallowing the apartment whole.
You stayed still for a moment, staring at the empty space where he had just stood. The lingering warmth of his presence clashed with the cold reality settling deep in your bones.
Baby shopping.
The words echoed in your head, strange and foreign. Like they belonged to someone elseâs life, not yours.
You pressed a hand to your stomach, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your sweater. Suguru meant well. He always did. And part of you hated thatâhated that he was trying so hard to take responsibility for something that wasnât his burden to carry.
But what else could he do? He didnât know the whole story.
He didnât know who the father was.
He didnât know what Gojo had done.
Your stomach twisted at the thought, nausea curling up the back of your throat. You pressed your palm harder against the fabric, as if that could somehow ground you, as if that could stop the flood of memories threatening to drown you.
Gojo.
You hadnât spoken to him since that day. You hadnât seen him in months. And yet, somehow, he still haunted youâlingering in the corners of your mind like a stain you couldnât scrub out.
Suguru was wrong.
This wasnât something you could just prepare for.
No amount of shopping or planning or well-meaning support could change the fact that this wasnât supposed to happen. That this wasnât fair.
Your throat felt tight, like something was lodged there, something heavy and impossible to swallow.
You turned away from the door, walking back toward the couch on unsteady legs. The apartment felt too quiet again, too empty.
A part of you wanted to reach for your phone, to text Suguru, to tell him youâd changed your mind. That you couldnât do this. That you didnât want to go out and pretend like this was just a normal pregnancy, like it was something you had wanted, like this was just another step in your life.
But you didnât.
Instead, you curled up on the couch, pulling a blanket over your shoulders, staring blankly at the opened bottle of water on the table.
The next day arrived sooner than you would have liked.
You barely slept.
The night had been a mess of tossing and turning, your mind refusing to shut off. Every time you closed your eyes, your thoughts spiraled back to the same inescapable truthâyou were having a baby. And today, Suguru wanted to take you shopping, as if that would somehow make it all feel normal.
But nothing about this felt normal.
You stood in front of the mirror that morning, fingers gripping the hem of your oversized hoodie, tugging it down as far as it would go. The fabric bunched slightly under your hands before settling back into place, concealing everything underneath. You exhaled, slow and steady, tilting your head to the side as your gaze flickered downward, scanning your reflection with sharp, scrutinizing eyes.
Thenâ
A knock at the door.
The sudden noise cut through the stillness of your apartment, making you flinch. You turned your head slightly, staring toward the closed door, heartbeat quickening.
Suguru was here.
Already?
You blinked, caught off guard. Had time really gone by that quickly? It felt like just minutes ago that you were standing in this same spot, thinking about how he had been here the night before. And now he was back again, ready to take you baby shopping, as if this was some ordinary outing instead of the suffocating reality you were being forced to accept.
Your eyes drifted toward the clock hanging on the wall.
11:34 AM.
You frowned slightly. It was late enough that the city outside would already be bustling, the streets filled with people going about their day, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside you.
You took a deep breath, trying to shake the strange feeling that time was slipping through your fingers, moving too fast for you to keep up.
But it didnât matter.
Suguru was here.
And whether you were ready or not, today was happening.
You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to move. Standing here, lost in your thoughts, wasnât going to change anything. The knock came again, a little firmer this time, and you knew Suguru was probably getting impatient.
With one last glance at your reflectionâone last reassurance that nothing showedâyou turned on your heel and made your way to the door (not before putting on your jacket). Your fingers hesitated on the knob for just a second before you pulled it open.
Suguru stood there, dressed in a dark grey hoodie, black jacket and jeans, looking as casual as ever. His sharp eyes scanned over you quickly, assessing, but he didnât say anything. Instead, he just lifted a brow.
âYou ready?â
You swallowed, gripping the edge of the door. âAs ready as Iâll ever be.â
Suguru hummed, stepping back to let you lock the apartment behind you. As the two of you made your way down the hallway, the silence felt heavyânot awkward, just filled with something unspoken.
It wasnât until you reached his car that he finally spoke again.
âYou eat yet?â
You sighed. âSuguru.â
âWhat?â He opened the passenger side door for you before walking around to his own. âIâm just asking.â
You slid into the seat, clicking your seatbelt into place. âI ate.â It wasnât a complete lieâif a couple of crackers counted.
Suguru didnât look convinced, but he didnât push, just started the car and pulled out onto the road.
The drive was quiet, the city passing by in a blur of buildings and people. You kept your gaze fixed on the window, watching the movement outside, trying to push away the nerves crawling up your spine.
Baby shopping.
You still couldnât wrap your head around it.
Suguru had mentioned it so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it wasnât a reminder of everything youâd been trying not to think about. But now, sitting in the car, heading toward a store filled with things meant for a babyâyour babyâit was impossible to ignore.
After a while, Suguru broke the silence.
âSo, what do we actually need to get today?â
You let out a slow breath, fingers tightening in your lap. âI donât know.â
Suguru glanced at you. âWell, weâre getting a crib for sure.â
You swallowed. âRight.â
âAnd clothes. And bottles. And whatever else babies need.â
Your stomach churned. The list was already too much.
Suguru must have noticed your expression, because he sighed. âLook, I know this is overwhelming.â
You let out a humorless laugh. âThatâs an understatement.â
He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. âWeâll just take it one step at a time, alright?â
You didnât answer. Because one step at a time still meant walking toward something you werenât sure you were ready for.
When you arrived at the store, you hesitated at the entrance.
The automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh, revealing rows and rows of baby suppliesâcribs, strollers, clothes so tiny they looked unreal. The soft pastel colors and cheerful designs felt like they belonged to someone elseâs life, not yours.
Suguru nudged your shoulder. âCome on.â
You took a step forward, following him inside, your movements stiff. The moment you entered, the atmosphere swallowed you wholeâparents browsing, employees chatting, soft music playing overhead. Everything felt too real.
Suguru walked ahead, making a beeline toward the cribs. You trailed behind, feeling out of place among all the expecting mothers who looked excited to be here.
You werenât excited.
You didnât even know what you were supposed to be looking for.
Suguru, on the other hand, seemed perfectly fine. He ran a hand over one of the cribs, inspecting it like he actually knew what he was doing.
âThis one looks sturdy,â he said, knocking against the frame.
You stared at him. âYou sound like youâve done this before.â
Suguru smirked. âI do my research.â
You sighed, rubbing your temples. âOf course you do.â
After a moment, he gave you a look. âWhat about you? Any preferences?â
You looked at the cribs, at the neatly arranged nursery sets, at the price tags that made your stomach twist.
âI donât know,â you admitted.
Suguru nodded like he expected that answer. âAlright. Weâll find one together.â
And just like that, he started going through the options, testing them out, asking you what you thought. He never rushed you, never made you feel like you had to choose something.
Little by little, the tension in your shoulders eased.
Maybe, just maybe, you werenât completely alone in this after all.
You ran your fingers over the smooth edge of a crib, your mind still foggy from everything around you. The store was filled with cheerful pastels, tiny clothes folded neatly on display, and stuffed animals lined up like they were waiting for someone to take them home. Everything about this place felt too bright, too warmâtoo hopeful for someone like you.
Suguru was still focused on the crib selection, pressing down on the mattress of one, testing the sturdiness of another. He seemed oddly comfortable here, like he had been preparing for this moment far longer than you had.
âYouâre supposed to check if the bars are too far apart,â he muttered, running his fingers between them. âSo the baby doesnât get their head stuck.â
You blinked at him. âSince when did you know so much about baby stuff?â
Suguru didnât even look at you when he replied. âGoogle.â
That actually made you let out a small laugh. âYouâve been Googling baby things?â
He shrugged, setting the car seat back on the shelf. âIf weâre gonna do this, we might as well do it right.â
We.
The word sat heavy in your chest. You knew he meant it in a practical way, in the way a responsible older brother would. But something about it made you feel like you were holding onto a lifeline, like maybe you werenât entirely alone in this.
Still, the reality of everything crept back in as you wandered toward the clothing section. You hadnât really thought about it beforeânot the clothes, not the blankets, not the fact that soon, there would be a tiny person who needed all of these things.
Your fingers brushed against a small yellow onesie, the fabric impossibly soft beneath your touch. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump forming in your throat. Could you really do this? Could you bring a child into your life when you could barely take care of yourself?
âYou okay?â
Suguruâs voice snapped you back to the present, and you quickly dropped your hand to your side. âYeah.â
He didnât seem convinced, but he didnât push. Instead, he grabbed a pack of baby socks and tossed them into the cart. âTheyâll need these, right?â
You nodded, grateful that he was keeping things moving.
For the next hour, the two of you wandered through the store, picking out essentialsâbottles, blankets, diapers, things you wouldnât have even thought about if Suguru werenât there. He moved methodically, as if he had a checklist in his head, while you mostly followed along, letting him lead.
You were staring blankly at a shelf of baby wipes when his voice cut through the airâcareful, deliberate.
âSo⊠what about the father?â
Your whole body stiffened.
The air in the store felt different, heavier, as if the walls had suddenly closed in. The noise around you faded, distant chatter blending into the hum of the overhead lights.
Suguru wasnât looking at you. He was pretending to examine a pack of pacifiers, but his voice was too casual, too measured. Like he had been waiting to ask this. Which you guess he did. You two never talked about the father.
You swallowed, gripping the cart handle a little tighter. âWhat about him?â
Suguru sighed, turning to fully face you. His expression wasnât accusing, but there was something in his eyesâsomething searching. âYou never talk about him.â
âThereâs nothing to talk about.â
âThatâs bullshit.â His voice was steady, but not unkind. âHe knows, right?â
Your nails pressed into your palm. âSuguruââ
âDoes he?â
You inhaled slowly, trying to keep your voice even. âIt doesnât matter.â
Suguru just stood there, waiting. He wasnât the type to let things go easily, and you could feel the weight of his stare, pressing down on you, looking for the cracks in your walls.
For a second, you considered telling him. Just blurting everything out, letting the truth spill into the empty space between you.
But you didnât.
Because saying it out loud would make it real. So instead, you did what you always did. You deflected. Keeping it all to yourself.
âItâs not important,â you said, reaching for a pack of bibs and dropping them into the cart. âCan we just finish shopping?â
Suguru didnât move. His fingers twitched at his side, like he was debating whether or not to push.
For a moment, you thought he actually would. But then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
âFine. But you do know that weâll have to have this conversation sooner or laterââ
âYesâ
The conversation ended there, but you both knew this wasnât over. Because Suguru wasnât stupid. And sooner or later, he was going to start asking the real questions.
JUST SO YOU DONâT GET ATTACHEDâĄïžâœ â wc. 5k
BLIND LOVE ✠â wc. 6.1k
JUST A FRIEND✠â wc. 2k
HAUNTING TOUCHâ âĄïžâŹ â wc. 5.6k
TEACH ME HOW TO PLEASURE MY FUTURE WIFE!â âĄïž â wc. 9.1k
MANWHORE ROOMMATE ⏠â wc. 9k
đ.đđđđđđđ
LOVESICK! GOJO ADMIRES YOU FROM AFARâ§ âŠmore
LOSER GF READER X FRATBOY GOJOâ§ âŠmoreâŹ
SHUT UP AND KISS MEâ§âŹ
PUPPYBOY! SATORUâŹ
đ.đđđđđ
MAYBE IN ANOTHER LIFE?✠; complete
âł SUMMARY: Your boyfriend, who you loved more than anything, who was your will to live, broke up with you.
REGRET âœâĄïž
âł SUMMARY: Pregnancy, usually a positive outcome of love between two partners that love each other deeply. But Pregnancy resulting from someone using you for their own pleasure is far from a positive outcome
GUARDEDâ§âŹâœ
âł SUMMARY: Growing up as childhood friends, you and Satoru Gojo share a deep bond that only strengthens as you both mature. Now, as your personal knight and protector, Satoru's feelings for you become harder to hide.
synopsis. After a string of failed attempts to find a new place to live, you reluctantly agree to share an apartment with Satoru Gojoâa cocky, flirty, and insufferably attractive guy known for his endless roster of hookups and carefree lifestyle. From the very first day, his personality clashes with your grounded, no-nonsense demeanor. Youâre determined to keep things strictly platonic and avoid getting caught up in his games, but Gojo thrives on breaking rules
+ warnings/content. Roommate! Satoru Gojo x fem! reader - roommate AU - gojo is a manwhore - pinning - MNDI/mature themes - suggestive - teasing/touching - reader is described to have an big ass - gojo is annoying - eventual smut - not proofread
+ wc. 9 k
The apartment smelled faintly of old takeout, worn leather, and something warm and muskyâlike cologne. Not an overpowering scent, but the kind that lingered, deeply embedded in the fabric of the place. You paused in the doorway, fingers tightening around the handle of your suitcase, staring at the chaos ahead.
The living room was barely holding it together. A hoodieâblack, probably expensiveâwas slung haphazardly over the back of a couch with stuffing poking out of one armrest. The coffee table was an explosion of clutter: unopened mail, a stack of coasters that clearly werenât being used, a half-empty bottle of water lying on its side. Sneakers were scattered like an afterthought near the door, and one single sock lay abandoned under the TV stand.
You inhaled slowly, letting the air out through your nose. âSoâŠthis is it?â
Behind you, Satoru Gojo leaned lazily against the doorframe, the picture of smug satisfaction. He didnât seem the least bit embarrassed about the state of his apartment. If anything, he looked like heâd just scored some kind of victory.
âWelcome to Casa Gojo,â he said with a grin, spreading his arms wide as if presenting a five-star hotel. âCozy, huh?â
You gave him a flat look. âCozy isnât the word Iâd use.â
He laughed, shameless and loud, brushing past you into the living room. âDonât worry, youâll warm up to it. Itâs got character. Charm. A certain je ne sais quoi.â
âItâs got a mess,â you muttered under your breath, dragging your suitcase inside.
Gojo either didnât hear you or pretended not to. He was already in the kitchen, yanking open the fridge. The door creaked ominously as he surveyed its contents, completely unfazed by the questionable state of the shelves. From where you stood, you could see a carton of eggs that looked suspiciously close to their expiration date, a pizza box taking up an entire shelf, andâŠwas that a single slice of cake just sitting there, uncovered?
âYou hungry?â he asked, grabbing a soda and cracking it open with one hand. âWeâve got, uhâŠâ He leaned in for a closer look. âEggs. And, uh, mystery leftovers. Oh, wait, thereâs pizza.â
âIâm good,â you said quickly, already regretting this decision.
-
You never imagined your life would lead to thisâstanding in the doorway of Satoru Gojoâs chaotic apartment, wondering if youâd made the worst decision of your life. Just a few weeks ago, things had been fine. Stable, even. You had your own one-bedroom apartmentâa tiny but cozy space that youâd worked hard to afford. Sure, it wasnât perfect. The shower had a slow drip that your landlord swore wasnât âworth fixing,â and the heating was practically non-existent in the winter, but it was yours.
Then the pipe burst.
Youâd come home after a long day to find your kitchen under several inches of water. Your landlord, of course, didnât pick up your frantic calls until hours later, and when he finally showed up, all he could offer was a half-hearted apology and a shrug. âItâll take a couple weeks to fix,â heâd said. âMaybe more. Iâll call someone.â
âWhere am I supposed to go in the meantime?â youâd demanded, trying to wring water out of your socks without screaming.
Heâd just looked at you blankly, as though it wasnât his problem.
The next few days had been a blur of packing, moving what little you could salvage into storage, and hopping between temporary places to stay. Your best friend let you crash on her couch for a while, but she lived with her boyfriend, and you felt like a third wheel every time you stayed too long. Hotels were an option, but they were expensive, and your savings were already taking a massive hit. Every apartment you found online was either laughably out of your budget or in parts of the city you wouldnât visit during daylight, let alone live in.
You were running out of optionsâand patienceâwhen a mutual friend brought up Satoru Gojo.
At first, you thought it was a joke.
âGojo?â youâd asked, incredulous. âSatoru Gojo? The guy who canât take anything seriously? The guy whoâs practically a walking HR violation?â
Your friend had laughed. âI mean, yeah, thatâs one way to describe him. But his old roommate moved out, and heâs got an extra room. Rentâs dirt cheap, too. He could probably use the help.â
Youâd bristled at the idea immediately. Satoru Gojo was infamousânot just for his looks, which, fine, you could grudgingly admit were objectively attractive, but for his personality. He was the type of guy who could charm the pants off anyoneâliterally. A shameless flirt, perpetually smug, and somehow always the center of attention, Gojo wasnât exactly what youâd call roommate material. The thought of sharing a living space with him sounded more like a punishment than a solution.
But the more you thought about it, the more you realized you didnât have many other choices.
It wasnât like Gojo was a bad personâannoying, yes, but not bad. And the friend who suggested him had insisted that, beneath all the arrogance, he was actually pretty decent. âBesides,â theyâd added with a grin, âitâs not like youâre gonna fall for him or anything, right? Youâll just be roommates.â
You werenât so sure. Youâd heard the storiesâhow Gojo had serenaded someoneâs girlfriend at karaoke, how heâd once flirted his way out of a parking ticket, how he never seemed to take anything seriously. But your savings were dwindling, your patience was running thin, and no one else was offering you an affordable place to stay.
So, against your better judgment, youâd dialed his number.
âYo,â heâd answered after the second ring, his voice casual and teasing, as if heâd been expecting you. âCalling to confess your undying love for me? Finally?â
Youâd rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. âNo, Gojo. I need a place to stay. Someone said youâre looking for a roommate.â
âOh?â His tone had shifted slightly, curiosity laced with amusement. âAnd here I thought you hated me.â
âI donât hate you,â youâd replied through gritted teeth. âI just donât like you. Big difference.â
Heâd laughed, loud and unbothered. âWell, lucky for you, I donât need my roommates to like me. I just need them to pay rent on time and not steal my snacks or. So, what do you think? Wanna shack up with the great Satoru Gojo?â
Youâd hesitated, gripping your phone tightly. The logical part of your brain screamed at you to hang up and find another option, but logic didnât have a flooded apartment and a rapidly draining bank account.
âWhen can I move in?â youâd asked finally, your voice resigned.
âTomorrow, if you want,â heâd said, sounding far too pleased with himself. âBut, uh, fair warningâmy place is a little messy. I wasnât expecting company.â
âHow messy are we talking?â
ââŠYouâll see.â
-
Now here you were, standing in Satoru Gojoâs living room, suitcase in one hand, a growing sense of regret in the other. The place wasnât just messyâit was alive with chaos. The kind of chaos that didnât just happen overnight but had clearly been cultivated over weeks, maybe months.
Gojo sauntered back into the living room, his soda can dangling from his fingers as he leaned against the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. He tilted his head at you, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.
âYou look tense,â he said, taking a sip of his drink. âWhatâs wrong? Not a fan of the open floor plan?â
âItâs not the floor plan Iâm worried about,â you muttered, eyeing the lone sock under the TV stand. âDo you even own a vacuum?â
âSure do,â he said, pointing to a closet near the hallway. âItâs, uhâŠin there somewhere.â
You narrowed your eyes at him. âDo you ever use it?â
He grinned, shameless. âWhy bother? Youâre here now. Iâm sure youâll whip this place into shape in no time.â
âExcuse me?â
âRelax, Iâm kidding,â he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. âMostly. But hey, itâs not so bad, right? Itâs got character.â
âCharacter,â you repeated flatly, glancing around at the cluttered surfaces, the mismatched furniture, the pile of laundry peeking out from behind the couch. âRight.â
Gojo didnât seem the least bit bothered by your disapproval. In fact, he looked like he was enjoying it. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched you take in your surroundings, his grin never wavering.
âCome on,â he said, pushing off the counter and gesturing toward the hallway. âIâll show you your room.â
You followed him reluctantly, dragging your suitcase over the uneven floorboards. The hallway was narrow, lined with a few framed photos that looked like theyâd been thrown up haphazardly. One was crooked, and you resisted the urge to straighten it as you passed.
âOh, heads upâthe walls are kinda weird. My old roommate had this thing for, like, anime posters or whatever. I didnât bother taking them down.â
âGreat,â you muttered,
âHere we are,â Gojo said, stopping in front of the last door on the left. He pushed it open with a dramatic flourish, stepping aside to let you in. âHome sweet home.â
You stepped inside and stopped in your tracks.
The room wasnât bad, exactlyâit was bigger than youâd expected, with a decent-sized window and a closet that didnât look like it was falling apart. But the wallsâŠ
Gojo hadnât been kidding about his old roommate. The walls were plastered with postersâbright, garish, and all of them anime-themed. Characters with oversized eyes and gravity-defying hair stared back at you from every surface, their poses dynamic and exaggerated. One corner featured a particularly dramatic sword-wielding figure, while another was dominated by a group of girls in school uniforms mid-pose.
You blinked. âWhatâŠis this?â
Gojo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, clearly trying not to laugh. âWhat? You donât like anime? My old roommate was a big fan.â
âThis isnât a room,â you said, gesturing at the walls. âItâs a shrine.â
âHey, donât knock it. You might learn something.â
You turned to glare at him, but he was already laughing, the sound echoing down the hallway.
âIf it bothers you that much, you can take them down,â he said between chuckles. âOr leave them up. Maybe theyâll grow on you.â
âIâm taking them down,â you said firmly, setting your suitcase down by the bed.
âSuit yourself,â he said with a shrug, straightening up and heading back toward the living room. âDinnerâs on me tonight, by the way. Consider it a âwelcome to the madhouseâ gift.â
âGenerous of you,â you called after him, already making a mental list of everything youâd need to clean, fix, and replace.
As his footsteps faded, you sat down on the edge of the bed, letting out a long sigh. The apartment was a mess, Gojo was insufferable, and you were pretty sure the next few months were going to test every ounce of patience you had.
But at least it was a roof over your head.
For now, that was enough.
-
You spent the rest of the afternoon settling into your new room. The posters came down immediately, but not without a fight. Whoever had put them up had used enough tape to secure a small building, and by the time youâd peeled off the last one, your fingers were sore, and you were pretty sure youâd taken a chunk of paint with you.
The bed was another ordeal. The mattress wasnât terrible, but the sheets Gojo had left on it wereâŠquestionable. They smelled faintly of old laundry detergent, with an underlying note of cologne. You made a mental note to wash them tomorrow and just threw your own blanket over the top for now.
The rest of the room wasnât much better. The closet door creaked ominously when you opened it, and the lightbulb in the ceiling fixture flickered every time you turned it on. But it was manageable. Barely.
As evening rolled around, you finally emerged from your room to find Gojo sprawled across the couch, a gaming controller in his hands and the volume on the TV set way too high. Some kind of fast-paced shooting game flashed across the screen, the sound of gunfire and explosions filling the living room.
âHey,â you said, stepping into the chaos. âWhat happened to dinner?â
âHuh?â He glanced over his shoulder at you, one hand still expertly working the controller. âOh, yeah. About thatâŠâ
You narrowed your eyes. âDonât tell me you forgot.â
âForgot? Never.â He grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself. âI ordered takeout.â
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.
âSee?â he said, pausing the game and hopping to his feet. âIâm a man of my word.â
You rolled your eyes but followed him to the door, curious about what heâd ordered. When he opened it, a delivery guy handed over two large bags of food, the smell immediately filling the apartment.
âHope you like ramen,â Gojo said, setting the bags down on the coffee table and plopping back onto the couch.
You eyed the bags suspiciously. âThatâs a lot of ramen for two people.â
âIs it?â He pulled out a container and handed it to you with a pair of chopsticks. âWhat can I say? I like to keep my options open.â
You sat down on the far end of the couch, making a point to keep some distance between you. The ramen, at least, smelled incredible, and you had to admit you were starving.
âSo,â he said, between bites, his voice annoyingly casual. âFirst impressions? How do you like living with me so far?â
You gave him a look, setting your container down on the coffee table. âDo you want the truth, or should I sugarcoat it?â
âTruth,â he said, grinning like he already knew what you were going to say.
You leaned back, crossing your arms. âYour apartment is a disaster. Youâre loud, you donât clean, and Iâm pretty sure Iâm going to regret this decision within a week.â
Gojo didnât look remotely offended. In fact, he looked downright entertained. âWow. rough. Just the way that I like itâ
You groaned, picking up your ramen again. âI donât know how anyone puts up with you.â
âOh, plenty of people put up with me, if you know what i meanââ he said, winking. âBut youâll see. By the end of the month, youâll be begging for more of me.â
âDonât hold your breath,â you muttered, though you couldnât help but crack a small smile despite yourself.
Dinner turned into a strange, semi-comfortable routine faster than you expected. Gojo, despite being an objectively messy person, was surprisingly good company when he wasnât actively trying to annoy. The conversation shifted effortlessly between lighthearted topicsâlike his absurd stories from collegeâto things you didnât expect to discuss with someone youâd just moved in with.
âSo, whyâd you move out of your old place?â he asked suddenly, leaning back on the couch with his half-empty ramen container resting on his stomach.
You hesitated, chopsticks frozen in mid-air. âItâs not like I had much of a choice,â you admitted, poking at your noodles. âMy landlord is incompetent, and my kitchen turned into a swimming pool. Not exactly livable conditions.â
Gojo raised an eyebrow. âNo kidding. And he didnât offer to put you up somewhere? Like, isnât that his job?â
You snorted. âYouâd think, right? But no. He told me to âfigure it outâ and justâŠdisappeared.â
He shook his head, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like âasshole.â Then, after a moment, he said, âWell, his loss. Now youâre here, and letâs be honestâyouâve upgraded.â
You gave him a pointed look. âThis is what you call an upgrade?â
âObviously.â He gestured vaguely at the cluttered living room. âI mean, come onâfree entertainment, great company, world-class ramen delivery and if you wantâ someone to keep your bed warm.â he smiled at you,âWhat more could you ask for?â
He grinned, unfazed, and reached for the TV remote. âAlright, youâve earned your place on the couch. Let me properly welcome you to Gojoâs world.â
âWhat are you doing?â you asked warily as he scrolled through a streaming service, the remote clicking in rapid succession.
âMovie night,â he said matter-of-factly, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. âItâs tradition. New roommates get to pick the first movie. Consider it a rite of passage.â
You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a dramatic gasp. âWaitâdonât tell me youâre one of those people whoâs never seen Star Wars. Or, God forbid, Lord of the Rings.â
âRelax,â you said, rolling your eyes. âIâve seen them. And Iâm not watching them with you.â
âFine, fine,â he said, mock pouting. âYour call, then. But choose wisely. This moment sets the tone for our entire roommate relationship.â
You sighed, leaning forward to grab the remote. âNo pressure or anything.â
Eventually, you settled on a movieâa rom-com youâd seen a hundred times but couldnât resistâand to your surprise, Gojo didnât complain. He sprawled out on the couch like he owned the place (which, to be fair, he did), one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other digging into a bag of chips heâd somehow produced out of nowhere.
âThis is cute,â he said about halfway through, his voice dripping with faux sincerity. âDo they fall in love in the end? Kiss in the rain? Ride off into the sunset?â
You shot him a glare. âIf youâre going to talk through the whole thing, Iâm turning it off.â
He held up his hands in mock surrender. âAlright, alright. No more commentary. Scoutâs honor.â
But, of course, he didnât stay quiet for long.
By the time the credits rolled, heâd managed to make at least three sarcastic remarks about the leading manâs haircut, two unsolicited critiques of the soundtrack, and one entirely unnecessary comment about how he wouldâve handled the grand romantic gesture at the end.
âFor the record,â he said as he turned off the TV, âI could totally pull off that rain scene. Probably better, actually.â
âYou? Running through the rain for someone?â You laughed, shaking your head. âI donât buy it.â
âHey,â he said, feigning offense. âIâll have you know Iâm a very romantic guy. People line up for the Gojo Experienceâą.â
âI donât doubt that,â you said, grabbing the empty ramen containers to take them to the kitchen. âBut romance and whatever it is you do are two very different things.â
âOh, you wound me,â he called after you, his voice light and teasing.
In the kitchen, you rinsed out the containers and stacked them neatly on the counter, trying not to think too hard about how easy it had been to banter with him. It was strangeâliving with someone like Gojo, who seemed to thrive on chaos and charm. Youâd expected to be annoyed, and you were. But there was something oddly comforting about how effortlessly he filled the space.
When you returned to the living room, he was still lounging on the couch, flipping through his phone. He glanced up as you walked in, a lazy smile spreading across his face.
âNot bad for a first night, huh?â he said.
You shrugged, suppressing a small smile. âIâve had worse.â
âDonât worry,â he said, sitting up and tossing his phone onto the coffee table. âIâll grow on you.â
âI wouldnât count on it,â you shot back, heading toward the hallway.
His laughter followed you all the way to your room.
As you shut the door behind you, you couldnât help but feel like, for all the chaos and noise, this arrangement might not be as terrible as youâd thought. Maybe.
But oh. How wrong you were.
The morning started off deceptively quiet. When you emerged from your room, the sunlight streaming through the blinds made the living room look almostâŠpeaceful. The kitchen was spotless, the couch was miraculously free of clothes and clutter, and the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.
For a brief moment, you thought Gojo mightâve actually cleaned up his act overnight.
Then you saw him.
He was leaning against the counter, sipping coffee like a walking ad for morning perfection. His silver-white hair was damp, his loose hoodie hung just right, and his sweatpants rode low enough to remind you he probably didnât own a single pair of fitted jeans. He looked like someone who just woke up that hotânot a single ounce of effort needed.
âMorning, sunshine,â he said, flashing you a grin that was as disarming as it was infuriating.
You ignored the way his voice sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. âDo you ever not sound smug?â
âNope. Itâs part of my charm.â He smirked, leaning back against the counter. âCoffee?â
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. âYou made coffee?â
âOf course. What kind of host would I be if I didnât caffeinate my lovely new roommate?â
âThe kind of host who leaves his socks on the coffee table,â you muttered under your breath.
He pretended not to hear that, holding out a mug. âCome on. One sip, and youâll see Iâm full of surprises.â
Reluctantly, you accepted the mug and took a cautious sip. To your utter annoyance, it was good. Like, really good.
âYouâre welcome,â he said smugly, reading your expression.
You gave him a pointed look. âDonât get used to this dynamic. Iâm not falling for your weird, âcharmingâ roommate routine.â
âWho said anything about charm?â He tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. âIâm just being myself, baby. If thatâs irresistible, itâs not my fault.â
You nearly choked on your coffee. âDid you just call me baby?â
âHmm?â He feigned confusion, raising an eyebrow. âOh, sorry. Roomie. Same thing, right?â
âNo, itâs really not,â you said flatly, setting your mug down.
âBy the way, just a heads-upâI have someone coming over later.â
You frowned. âSomeone?â
âYeah, you know. A friend.â He smirked, the word friend dripping with suggestion.
You set your mug down on the counter. âYou couldnât even wait a day?â
âHey, donât judge me,â he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. âIâve got needs. And besides, You knew from the startâthis is who I am.â
You stared at him, incredulous. âI moved in less than twenty-four hours ago, and youâre alreadyââ
âRelax, itâll be fine,â he interrupted, brushing past you to grab a bag of chips from the cabinet. âYou wonât even know weâre here.â
By the time his âfriendâ arrived that afternoon, you were safely holed up in your room, pretending to be engrossed in a book. You had already resigned yourself to enduring Gojoâs antics, but as the knock sounded at the door and his voice rang out in greeting, you felt your stomach twist.
Her laughter echoed through the thin wallsâa bright, bubbly sound that grated against your already frayed nerves. You couldnât make out their words, just the ebb and flow of conversation, the occasional rise and fall of her giggles mixing with Gojoâs smooth, low voice.
They moved to the living room, and the indistinct murmur of their voices grew louder. It was maddeningâlike trying to tune out a conversation happening right outside your door. You couldnât tell what they were saying, but the rhythm of their tones was unmistakable. The lighthearted teasing, the easy banterâit all set your teeth on edge.
You clenched your book tighter, trying to focus on the words in front of you, but your eyes kept darting to the wall as if you could somehow will the noise to stop. It wasnât your business, you reminded yourself. You didnât care what Gojo did with his spare time, or who he brought over. It didnât matter.
But when their voices softened, becoming more intimate, you felt your chest tighten with dread. The murmurs grew harder to distinguish, and soon, all you could hear was the faint rustle of movement and the occasional low chuckle from Gojo.
And then the real noise began.
At first, it was subtleâthe creak of the couch, a muffled laugh that was cut short, followed by a sharper sound, like something hitting the floor. You froze, dread pooling in your stomach.
When the rhythmic creaking started, punctuated by the occasional muted groan, your heart sank.
No. No, no, no.
You pressed your hands over your ears, as if that would somehow make it stop. But the thin walls of the apartment offered no escape. Every sound seemed amplifiedâthe shifting of weight, the faint hum of voices, the occasional laugh that broke the tension.
âUnbelievable,â you muttered, tossing your book onto the bed and pacing the room.
For a moment, you debated knocking on the wall or even storming out there to put an end to it. But the thought of interrupting whatever was happening made your skin crawl. Instead, you grabbed your headphones, shoved them over your ears, and cranked up your music.
But it wasnât enough. No matter how loud you made the playlist, the creaking and muffled sounds seemed to filter through, like an itch you couldnât scratch.
When the noise finally stopped, you yanked your headphones off and slumped back onto your bed, letting out a heavy sigh. The room felt unnaturally quiet now, as if the apartment itself was holding its breath.
The front door opened, followed by the womanâs voice, light and cheerful.
âThanks for today,â she said.
âAnytime,â Gojo replied, his voice dripping with charm. âDrive safe, gorgeous.â
You cringed at the sound of the door clicking shut and the silence that followed. A beat later, you heard Gojoâs footsteps padding toward the kitchen.
Summoning every ounce of patience, you stepped out of your room, determined to at least get a glass of water. You found him leaning lazily against the counter, a smug grin plastered across his face.
âWell, look whoâs finally out of hiding,â he said, his tone dripping with mock innocence.
You ignored him, walking to the sink and filling a glass with water.
âRough day?â he asked, clearly enjoying himself.
You slammed the glass down on the counter and whirled around. âSeriously, Gojo? Can you not keep it down? I could hear everything.â
His grin only widened. âEverything, huh? Guess I shouldâve warned you about the acoustics in here.â
You glared at him, crossing your arms. âYouâre impossible.â
âAw, come on,â he said, stepping closer. âDonât be mad. If it makes you feel better, Iâll keep it quieter next time.â
âNext time?â you snapped.
âWhat can I say?â He shrugged, his eyes glinting with mischief. âIâm a people person.â
You rolled your eyes and turned to leave, but his voice stopped you.
âHey, for what itâs worth,â he said, leaning casually against the counter, âyouâre more fun to talk to than she was.â
You froze, your face heating. âDonât even try it.â
âTry what?â he asked, his tone playful. âIâm just saying, if you ever want to hang out, you donât have to hide in your room.â
You glared at him over your shoulder. âIn your dreams, Gojo.â
He chuckled, watching you retreat to your room. âEvery night, sweetheart.â
You slammed the door behind you, but not before you heard his soft, self-satisfied laugh echo through the apartment.
A week passed, and life in the apartment settled into a grudging rhythm. Youâd managed to avoid another direct confrontation with Gojo, though the memories of that first encounter still made your skin crawl. You convinced yourself you could manage this arrangement if you just kept your distance and stayed in your lane. To his creditâor maybe just your luckâhe hadnât brought anyone else over since that mortifying incident.
The apartment remained mostly quiet, aside from his occasional antics: music playing at odd hours, the clatter of snacks in the kitchen when you were trying to focus, and Gojo humming to himself as he wandered around like he owned the place.
But living with Gojo wasnât just about tolerating the noise. It was about tolerating him. His overwhelming presence. His insufferable teasing. The way he seemed to enjoy pushing you just far enough to elicit a reaction, like a child poking at a caged animal for fun.
Case in point: the morning you stepped out of your room to grab breakfast, still half-asleep, only to find him lounging on the couch, shirtless, with a bag of chips balanced precariously on his chest.
âYou know,â he said without looking up from his phone, âitâs rude to stare.â
You blinked, your brain taking a moment to catch up. âExcuse me?â
âDonât worry,â he said, flashing you a lazy grin as he finally looked at you. âI get it. Iâm irresistible.â
You narrowed your eyes, resisting the urge to smack the smugness off his face. âOr youâre just in my way,â you shot back, walking past him to the kitchen.
He craned his neck, following you with his eyes as you moved. âFeisty this morning. Didnât know you had it in you.â
âMaybe because Iâve been trying to avoid you,â you muttered, rifling through the cabinets for your coffee mug.
âAw, you wound me,â he said, clutching his chest dramatically, which sent a few chips tumbling to the floor. âIâve been nothing but welcoming to you, and this is how you repay me?â
âWelcoming?â You scoffed, finally finding your mug and filling it. âIs that what weâre calling it now?â
He grinned. âOf course. Didnât you feel welcome when I made breakfast last week? Oh wait, never mindâyou hid in your room.â
You ignored him, stirring sugar into your coffee and silently counting to ten. He thrived on attention, and you werenât about to give him the satisfaction.
âHey,â he called again, his tone turning almost conversational, like he wasnât intent on annoying you. âDo you ever, like, not wear sweats?â
You glanced down at your oversized hoodie and joggers, then shot him a pointed glare. âDo you ever, like, mind your own business?â
âOuch,â he said with a mock wince. âJust saying, youâve got potential. Might even clean up nice if you tried. Youâve got an big ass.â
You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didnât get stuck. âGood thing your opinion means nothing to me.â
His laughter filled the space as you grabbed your coffee and headed toward your room, your patience wearing thin.
âOh, come on,â he called after you, his voice taking on a teasing lilt. âYouâre not even going to hang out? What kind of roommate are you?â
âThe kind who values her sanity,â you shot back without missing a beat.
His laughter followed you as you reached your door, hand on the knob, ready to escape his relentless teasing. But as you glanced at the clock on the wall, a realization hit you. Your eyes widened slightly.
You turned on your heel abruptly, nearly colliding with Gojo, who had apparently taken the opportunity to stand and stretchâstill shirtless, of course. His smug grin faltered for a second as you stopped dead in your tracks.
âIâll be late today,â you said quickly, sidestepping him to set your coffee down on the counter.
Gojo tilted his head, his grin returning with full force as curiosity flickered across his face. âLate? You? Didnât think you had a social calendar.â
You rolled your eyes, opening the fridge and pretending to look for something. âPeople can have plans, Gojo. Even me.â
âPlans?â He leaned against the counter, his tone dripping with mock surprise. âWait a second. Are you⊠going somewhere exciting?â
âI donât owe you an explanation,â you replied, focusing intently on the fridge shelves as if the milk carton was suddenly the most fascinating thing youâd ever seen.
His eyes narrowed slightly, amusement dancing in them. âYouâre being cagey. That means itâs something good.â
You grabbed the milk with more force than necessary and shut the fridge door with a pointed look. âOr maybe I just donât want to deal with your incessant need to pry into my business.â
Your hand faltered for the briefest second. It was the tiniest movementâso small you hoped he didnât notice. But the sharp glint in his eyes told you he absolutely had.
âJust out,â you said, keeping your tone neutral. âDonât wait up.â
Gojo raised an eyebrow, straightening from his lean. âOut, huh?â He crossed his arms over his chest, the picture of exaggerated skepticism. âYouâre not denying itâs a date.â
âIâm not confirming it either,â you shot back, grabbing your coffee and brushing past him toward your room.
âBut you didnât deny it!â he called after you, his voice full of glee. âCome on, whoâs the lucky guy? Is he tall? Handsome? Rich? More charming than me?â
âLiterally anyone is more charming than you, Gojo,â you replied dryly, not even turning around.
His laughter followed you down the hall, loud and unbothered. âOh, youâre killing me, sweetheart! At least tell me if I should warn him about your sweats obsession!â
You slammed your door shut before he could say anything else, but his laughter still echoed faintly through the walls.
Inside, you set your coffee on your desk and let out a long sigh. Gojo was insufferable. But even as you tried to focus on getting ready, his teasing words stuck with you.
It wasnât his business, you reminded yourself. He didnât need to know about your dateâor the nerves twisting in your stomach at the thought of it.
Still, as you changed out of your usual oversized hoodie and joggers, you couldnât help but wonder how Gojo would react if he saw you now.
And for reasons you couldnât quite understand, you hated that the thought even crossed your mind.
The minutes ticked by as you debated between two outfits: a casual but flattering dress or a sleek, semi-formal ensemble that screamed confidence. You settled on the dress, deciding it struck the perfect balanceânothing too over-the-top, but enough to make an impression.
You checked your reflection in the mirror, smoothing down the fabric nervously. Your hair was styled neatly, and youâd even put on a bit of makeupânot something you usually did unless the occasion called for it. This definitely qualified.
Gojo didnât need to know the details of your plans. Still, his voice echoed in your head, taunting and teasing. Hot date, huh? You clenched your teeth and took a steadying breath, determined not to let him get to you.
Stepping out of your room, you found Gojo still sprawled on the couch, now munching on what appeared to be a chocolate bar. His phone was perched on his knee, and he scrolled through it lazily, not even glancing up when you walked past him.
For a second, you thought you might actually escape without another comment. But then his head snapped up, his sharp blue eyes locking onto you like a predator catching sight of prey.
âWhoa,â he said, sitting up straight and letting his phone drop onto the cushion. âWhat is this?â
You froze mid-step, your heart sinking. âWhatâs what?â
âThis,â he said, gesturing broadly at you. âYou. Looking like that.â
You crossed your arms, trying to appear unfazed. âItâs called getting dressed. Some of us do it properly.â
He smirked, standing up and sauntering closer, his eyes raking over your outfitânot in a leering way, but with an exaggerated flourish that made you bristle. âAre we sure this isnât a completely different person? Because you clean up way better than I expected, Roomie.â
âGojo,â you warned, your voice clipped.
âRelax.â He grinned, holding his hands up in mock surrender. âIâm just saying you look⊠nice. Stunning, even. Makes me feel all tingly. The kind of nice that makes me wonder who youâre trying to impress.â
You stepped past him, heading for the door. âItâs none of your business.â
âOh, it is my business,â he said, following you like an oversized shadow. âIf youâre going on a date, I have a responsibility as your roommate to make sure this guyâs good enough for you. Do I need to give him the talk?â
You snorted, pulling on your shoes. âThe talk? What are you, my dad?â
âWorse,â he said smugly, leaning casually against the wall near the door. âIâm your roommate. I see all the little things he doesnât. Like the fact that you leave your underwear all over your roomââ
You glared at him, your cheeks flushing,âWhâ were you in my room, you pervert?!â
He smirked, but you quickly turned around and grabbed your bag, not letting him ruin your mood. âDonât wait up.â
âOh, I wonât,â he said, his grin turning sly.
âWaitâ,â he started, his tone light but laced with something almost mischievous, âif you are going on a date, you know the rules, right?â
You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. âThere are no rules because itâs none of your business.â
âWrong,â he said, pushing off the wall and stepping closer, his grin widening. âRule number one: if the guy so much as breathes wrong, Iâm allowed to deck him.â
âGojoââ
âRule number two,â he continued, holding up two fingers as if this were a serious negotiation, âif he breaks your heart, Iâm always here to fix it.â
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. âFix it? What, with chips and bad jokes?â
His grin turned downright devilish, and he leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. âNot exactly what I meant, sweetheart. But if you know what I mean⊠well, Iâm sure youâll figure it out.â
Your face burned instantly, and you glared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a flustered reaction. âYouâre disgusting.â
âHey, Iâm just offering my services,â he said, backing up with a mock-innocent shrug. âIâm a giver like that.â
You threw your bag over your shoulder and turned toward the door. âThanks, but Iâll take my chances with the real world.â
His laughter followed you, low and teasing, as you pulled the door open.
âDonât come crying to me when the real world disappoints you!â he called after you. âBut seriouslyâdonât let him screw this up. Heâs lucky to have your attention, even if itâs temporary.â
For a moment, you faltered, caught off guard by the unexpected sincerity buried in his words. You glanced back at him, but the cocky grin was already back in place.
âGoodnight, Gojo,â you said, stepping out and shutting the door behind you.
As you walked away, his last comment replayed in your mind, a mix of genuine care and infuriating arrogance. You hated how easily he got under your skin. And worse, you hated that part of you couldnât quite stop thinking about it.
-
The date had started out decently enough. Heâd been polite when he picked the restaurant, complimented your outfit, and pulled your chair out for you when you arrived. For a brief moment, you thought this might actually turn out okay. Maybe, just maybe, youâd get through the evening without regretting every decision that led you there.
But it wasnât long before the cracks began to show.
He started checking his phone a few minutes into the conversation. At first, it was subtleâa quick glance here, a soft buzz there. You told yourself it was probably work, something urgent that couldnât wait. But as the evening progressed, it became increasingly obvious that it wasnât. His chuckles at the screen, the way he tilted it away from your line of sightâit all screamed disinterest.
Still, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was nervous. Maybe he didnât realize how much it bothered you.
But then came the comments.
âYou donât seem like the type to like action movies,â he said, after you mentioned your favorite film. His tone wasnât curious or surprisedâit was dismissive, like he already had you pegged as someone who wouldnât understand explosions and car chases.
âWow,â you said, forcing a polite smile. âWhat type do I seem like?â
He shrugged, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. âI donât know. Rom-coms? Something light and fluffy.â
You bit back the urge to roll your eyes. âRight. Because girls only like light and fluffy things.â
He laughed, completely missing the edge in your voice. âHey, I didnât say that. But, you know, itâs not a bad thing. Itâs cute.â
By the time dessert arrived, youâd had enough. His phone buzzed again, and this time, you didnât bother hiding your irritation.
âDo you need to get that?â you asked, your tone sharper than intended.
He glanced up, finally noticing your expression, and smiled sheepishly. âNah, itâs nothing. Just some friends in a group chat. You know how it is.â
âRight,â you said flatly, setting your fork down. âWell, donât let me keep you from your important group chat.â
For a moment, he looked genuinely confused, like he couldnât figure out what had gone wrong. But then his confidence kicked in, and he leaned forward with a smug grin.
âCome on,â he said, his tone dripping with self-assurance. âYou have to admit, Iâm a pretty great catch. Youâre lucky Iâm even single.â
You blinked, stunned by the sheer audacity of his words. âLucky?â
âYeah,â he said, laughing like it was the most obvious thing in the world. âI mean, how often do you meet someone like me? Smart, successful, good-lookingââ
You stood up, cutting him off mid-sentence. âThanks for dinner,â you said, grabbing your bag. âBut I think weâre done here.â
âWhat?â He gaped at you, his grin finally faltering. âWait, youâre serious?â
âCompletely,â you said, throwing some cash onto the table for your share of the bill. âGood luck with⊠whatever this is.â
You didnât wait for a response. You turned on your heel and walked out, leaving him sitting there, stunned and silent.
By the time you got back to the apartment, your irritation had morphed into something elseâa mix of regret, exhaustion, and the dull buzz of the wine youâd downed at dinner. Youâd stopped at a bar on the way home, hoping to wash the memory of the date away, but all it had done was make your head spin.
You fumbled with your keys at the door, muttering under your breath about arrogant men and wasted evenings. When you finally managed to unlock it, you stumbled inside, kicking off your heels with a groan.
The living room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the TV illuminating Gojo, who was sprawled on the couch in his usual carefree manner. A bowl of popcorn sat in his lap, and he turned his head at the sound of the door opening.
âWell, well,â he said, sitting up slightly and smirking at your disheveled state. âLook whoâs back. And drunk, no less.â
You glared at him, wobbling slightly as you made your way to the kitchen. âNot now, Gojo.â
âOh, I think now is exactly the time,â he said, following you with a smirk. âLet me guessâdate didnât go so well?â
You grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water and drinking deeply before slamming it onto the counter. âYou could say that.â
He leaned against the doorframe, watching you with that infuriating grin of his. âWhat happened? Did he turn out to be a secret serial killer? Or worseâa guy who calls movies âcontentâ?â
You snorted despite yourself, grabbing another glass of water. âWorse. He thought he was Godâs gift to women.â
Gojo let out a low whistle, shaking his head. âOuch. Tough break, sweetheart.â
âI donât need your pity,â you muttered, brushing past him toward your room.
He caught your arm gently, stopping you in your tracks. âHey,â he said, his voice softer now, his usual teasing tone replaced with something almost genuine. âIâm not pitying you. Just saying you deserve better.â
You looked up at him, your vision slightly blurry, whether from the alcohol or the sincerity in his words.
âI know I do,â you said quietly. âBut itâs not like guys like that are exactly rare.â
He frowned, his grip on your arm tightening ever so slightly. âThen maybe stop wasting your time on losers who donât know what theyâve got.â
You snorted, pulling your arm free, as you entered your room. âOh, right, because the perfect guy is just going to fall into my lap?â
Gojo grinned at your sarcastic remark, that infuriating spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. Before you could process what was happening, he moved quickly, closing the distance between you in a couple of long strides.
âGojo, what theââ
Without warning, he gave you a gentle push, and your knees buckled, sending you backward onto your bed. You landed with a soft bounce, your protest cut short as he followed, dropping down beside you in one smooth motion.
But instead of stopping there, he shifted lower, placing his head directly in your lap. His face nestled against your thighs, his hair brushing against the soft fabric of your dress.
Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest. âGojo!â
He tilted his head to look up at you, his grin widening as though this were the most natural thing in the world. âWhat? You said you were waiting for the perfect guy to fall into your lap. Here I am.â
You stared at him, half in disbelief and half in a panic at the heat creeping up your neck. âGet off me!â
He didnât budge. Instead, he made himself more comfortable, his arms casually draping across your waist like he belonged there. âWhy? Your thighs are pretty nice. Youâre comfortable, and Iâm saving you from wasting time on all those losers out there.â
Your hands hovered uselessly in the air, unsure whether to shove him off or cover your face to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks. âYouâre insane,â you finally managed, trying to ignore the way his breath tickled your skin.
âAnd youâre cute when youâre mad,â he murmured, his voice dipping into something softer, almost teasing, as his head shifted slightly against your lap.
Before you could snap back, he turned further into your thighs, the movement deliberate, nuzzling deeper as though testing just how far he could push you. Your breath hitched, caught between outrage and something you didnât want to name.
It wasnât until you felt the warmth of his breath, hot and steady, against the thin barrier of your panties that you froze completely. The realization hit like a joltâyour dress had ridden up when he pushed you onto the bed, leaving the bare skin of your thighs pressed against his face.
âGojo,â you said, your voice coming out sharper than intended.
He didnât immediately move, his lips quirking in a way that told you he knew exactly what he was doing. There was an unmistakable smugness in the way he exhaled, a low hum vibrating against your skin.
âYou smell nice,â he remarked lazily, his words sending a shockwave of mortification through you.
Heat flooded your face âYouâre disgusting!â
He raised his hands in mock surrender. âWhat? Iâm just being honest. You should be flattered.â
Before you could fire back, he leaned in again, catching you completely off guard. His tongue dragged a slow, deliberate line up the fabric of your panties, the warmth and pressure sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.
Your breath hitched as your hand shot out, fingers tangling in his hair. You yanked, forcing him to pull back slightly. âGojoâwhat are you doing?â you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, your cheeks burning hot enough to rival the sun.
His eyes locked onto yours, half-lidded and teasing, as his hands rested firmly on either side of your thighs. âSatoru,â he corrected, his voice low and smooth. âCall me Satoru.â
You couldnât tell if it was his tone or the way he said it, but something about the moment sent your thoughts scattering. His gaze, piercing and unrelenting, didnât waver as you tried to form a coherent response.
âSatoru,â you repeated, the name slipping out more out of shock than agreement.
He hummed in approval, the sound vibrating through him and straight into you. âSee? That wasnât so hard.â His grin softened, still playful but laced with something heavier, something you couldnât quite place. The weight of his gaze was nearly unbearable.
âWhat are you doingâ?â you asked again, your voice catching in your throat. Your eyes stayed locked on his, searching for any hint that he was joking, that this was just another one of his games.
Instead, his expression softened further, the teasing edge of his smirk shifting into something far more deliberate. âRemember what I said before you went out?â
You frowned, confused and thrown off balance, but before you could respond, he reached up. His hand closed over yours where it was still tangled in his hair, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he pried your fingers free. You let him guide your hand down, watching in stunned silence as he brought it to his lips.
The kiss he pressed to your knuckles was warm, lingering, and shockingly intimate. The sensation sent a jolt through you, your breath hitching as his lips brushed against your skin.
ââIf he breaks your heart, Iâm always here to fix it,ââ he murmured, his tone lower now, almost a whisper, like the words were meant for you alone.
His eyes stayed on yours, and for once, they werenât filled with amusement or mockery. There was something raw there, something that made your stomach twist painfully, though whether it was from unease or⊠something else, you couldnât say.
You couldnât find the words to respond, your voice caught in your throat. Your heart hammered in your chest, and your head felt too foggy, too clouded with alcohol and the heat of his touch.
âSoâŠâ he said after a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand, tracing absent patterns into your skin. âWhat do you say? Will you let me fix your heartbreak?â
His smile returned, slow and deliberate, but it wasnât as infuriating as before. This one was softer, almost tender, though it still carried that maddening confidence that was so inherently him.
The room seemed to shrink around you, the air growing heavier with every passing second. You felt his free hand move, his palm sliding to rest against your thigh. His touch was steady, the warmth of it searing through your skin.
You knew you should say somethingâanythingâbut the words wouldnât come. Your mind was spinning, and it felt like all the blood in your body had rushed to your face. Every instinct screamed at you to pull away, to break whatever spell he was weaving.
And yet, before you even realized what you were doing, you nodded. It was subtle, hesitant, but unmistakable.
His smile widened, a glimmer of triumph flashing in his eyes. âGood answer,â he said softly, his hand squeezing your thigh just enough to make your pulse quicken.
You swallowed hard, your breathing uneven as he leaned in closer, his face still pressed near your lap, his thumb still tracing lazy circles into your skin. Your thoughts felt muddled, trapped somewhere between disbelief and the hazy warmth spreading through your body.
Somewhere deep down, a small part of you screamed to stop this, to regain control of the situation. But in that moment, with the alcohol clouding your judgment and his touch grounding you in ways you couldnât explain, you didnât move.
You barely had time to register what was happening before his hands found your shoulders, gently pushing your upper body back against the mattress. The soft give of the bed beneath you made it impossible to resist as he shifted your position, leaving you staring up at the ceiling.
His movements were deliberate, slow enough to let you protest if you wanted to. But you didnât. You felt the brush of his hands against your thighs, warm and confident as he worked your dress higher, inch by inch, until it bunched at your waist. The cool air hitting your skin made you shiver, and you became acutely aware of just how exposed you were.
Your damp panties were now on full display, the fabric clinging to you in a way that made heat bloom across your face. A small voice in your head begged you to snap out of it, to push him away and demand he stop. But the alcoholâs haze dulled that voice into a faint whisper.
The you from a week ago would be screaming at you right now. Sheâd call you an idiot for letting this happen, for giving him this satisfaction. You knew Gojoâheâd never let you live this down. Tomorrow, heâd smirk and tease, and youâd be left trying to figure out why you hadnât stopped him.
But none of that mattered right now. You were too drunk, too tired, too overwhelmed to care.
Just this once, you thought. Youâd let him have this one, even if you knew it was a terrible idea.
His fingers slid over the damp fabric of your panties, his touch cold enough to make you shiver but firm enough to send a spark of something foreign racing through you. He pressed his palm against the growing wet patch, massaging gently, as if testing your reaction.
âSo wet,â he murmured, his voice low and almost reverent. His thumb brushed over the edge of the fabric, dangerously close to your bare skin.
Your breath hitched, and you bit down on your lip to keep from making a sound. You couldnât bring yourself to look at him, your gaze glued to the ceiling as his words hung in the air, taunting you with their boldness.
You should have stopped him. You knew you should have. But instead, your body betrayed you, your hips shifting just slightly into his touch. It was all the encouragement he needed.
synopsis. After a string of failed attempts to find a new place to live, you reluctantly agree to share an apartment with Satoru Gojoâa cocky, flirty, and insufferably attractive guy known for his endless roster of hookups and carefree lifestyle. From the very first day, his personality clashes with your grounded, no-nonsense demeanor. Youâre determined to keep things strictly platonic and avoid getting caught up in his games, but Gojo thrives on breaking rules
+ warnings/content. Roommate! Satoru Gojo x fem! reader - roommate AU - gojo is a manwhore - pinning - MNDI/mature themes - suggestive - teasing/touching - reader is described to have an big ass - gojo is annoying - eventual smut - not proofread
+ wc. 9 k
The apartment smelled faintly of old takeout, worn leather, and something warm and muskyâlike cologne. Not an overpowering scent, but the kind that lingered, deeply embedded in the fabric of the place. You paused in the doorway, fingers tightening around the handle of your suitcase, staring at the chaos ahead.
The living room was barely holding it together. A hoodieâblack, probably expensiveâwas slung haphazardly over the back of a couch with stuffing poking out of one armrest. The coffee table was an explosion of clutter: unopened mail, a stack of coasters that clearly werenât being used, a half-empty bottle of water lying on its side. Sneakers were scattered like an afterthought near the door, and one single sock lay abandoned under the TV stand.
You inhaled slowly, letting the air out through your nose. âSoâŠthis is it?â
Behind you, Satoru Gojo leaned lazily against the doorframe, the picture of smug satisfaction. He didnât seem the least bit embarrassed about the state of his apartment. If anything, he looked like heâd just scored some kind of victory.
âWelcome to Casa Gojo,â he said with a grin, spreading his arms wide as if presenting a five-star hotel. âCozy, huh?â
You gave him a flat look. âCozy isnât the word Iâd use.â
He laughed, shameless and loud, brushing past you into the living room. âDonât worry, youâll warm up to it. Itâs got character. Charm. A certain je ne sais quoi.â
âItâs got a mess,â you muttered under your breath, dragging your suitcase inside.
Gojo either didnât hear you or pretended not to. He was already in the kitchen, yanking open the fridge. The door creaked ominously as he surveyed its contents, completely unfazed by the questionable state of the shelves. From where you stood, you could see a carton of eggs that looked suspiciously close to their expiration date, a pizza box taking up an entire shelf, andâŠwas that a single slice of cake just sitting there, uncovered?
âYou hungry?â he asked, grabbing a soda and cracking it open with one hand. âWeâve got, uhâŠâ He leaned in for a closer look. âEggs. And, uh, mystery leftovers. Oh, wait, thereâs pizza.â
âIâm good,â you said quickly, already regretting this decision.
-
You never imagined your life would lead to thisâstanding in the doorway of Satoru Gojoâs chaotic apartment, wondering if youâd made the worst decision of your life. Just a few weeks ago, things had been fine. Stable, even. You had your own one-bedroom apartmentâa tiny but cozy space that youâd worked hard to afford. Sure, it wasnât perfect. The shower had a slow drip that your landlord swore wasnât âworth fixing,â and the heating was practically non-existent in the winter, but it was yours.
Then the pipe burst.
Youâd come home after a long day to find your kitchen under several inches of water. Your landlord, of course, didnât pick up your frantic calls until hours later, and when he finally showed up, all he could offer was a half-hearted apology and a shrug. âItâll take a couple weeks to fix,â heâd said. âMaybe more. Iâll call someone.â
âWhere am I supposed to go in the meantime?â youâd demanded, trying to wring water out of your socks without screaming.
Heâd just looked at you blankly, as though it wasnât his problem.
The next few days had been a blur of packing, moving what little you could salvage into storage, and hopping between temporary places to stay. Your best friend let you crash on her couch for a while, but she lived with her boyfriend, and you felt like a third wheel every time you stayed too long. Hotels were an option, but they were expensive, and your savings were already taking a massive hit. Every apartment you found online was either laughably out of your budget or in parts of the city you wouldnât visit during daylight, let alone live in.
You were running out of optionsâand patienceâwhen a mutual friend brought up Satoru Gojo.
At first, you thought it was a joke.
âGojo?â youâd asked, incredulous. âSatoru Gojo? The guy who canât take anything seriously? The guy whoâs practically a walking HR violation?â
Your friend had laughed. âI mean, yeah, thatâs one way to describe him. But his old roommate moved out, and heâs got an extra room. Rentâs dirt cheap, too. He could probably use the help.â
Youâd bristled at the idea immediately. Satoru Gojo was infamousânot just for his looks, which, fine, you could grudgingly admit were objectively attractive, but for his personality. He was the type of guy who could charm the pants off anyoneâliterally. A shameless flirt, perpetually smug, and somehow always the center of attention, Gojo wasnât exactly what youâd call roommate material. The thought of sharing a living space with him sounded more like a punishment than a solution.
But the more you thought about it, the more you realized you didnât have many other choices.
It wasnât like Gojo was a bad personâannoying, yes, but not bad. And the friend who suggested him had insisted that, beneath all the arrogance, he was actually pretty decent. âBesides,â theyâd added with a grin, âitâs not like youâre gonna fall for him or anything, right? Youâll just be roommates.â
You werenât so sure. Youâd heard the storiesâhow Gojo had serenaded someoneâs girlfriend at karaoke, how heâd once flirted his way out of a parking ticket, how he never seemed to take anything seriously. But your savings were dwindling, your patience was running thin, and no one else was offering you an affordable place to stay.
So, against your better judgment, youâd dialed his number.
âYo,â heâd answered after the second ring, his voice casual and teasing, as if heâd been expecting you. âCalling to confess your undying love for me? Finally?â
Youâd rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. âNo, Gojo. I need a place to stay. Someone said youâre looking for a roommate.â
âOh?â His tone had shifted slightly, curiosity laced with amusement. âAnd here I thought you hated me.â
âI donât hate you,â youâd replied through gritted teeth. âI just donât like you. Big difference.â
Heâd laughed, loud and unbothered. âWell, lucky for you, I donât need my roommates to like me. I just need them to pay rent on time and not steal my snacks or. So, what do you think? Wanna shack up with the great Satoru Gojo?â
Youâd hesitated, gripping your phone tightly. The logical part of your brain screamed at you to hang up and find another option, but logic didnât have a flooded apartment and a rapidly draining bank account.
âWhen can I move in?â youâd asked finally, your voice resigned.
âTomorrow, if you want,â heâd said, sounding far too pleased with himself. âBut, uh, fair warningâmy place is a little messy. I wasnât expecting company.â
âHow messy are we talking?â
ââŠYouâll see.â
-
Now here you were, standing in Satoru Gojoâs living room, suitcase in one hand, a growing sense of regret in the other. The place wasnât just messyâit was alive with chaos. The kind of chaos that didnât just happen overnight but had clearly been cultivated over weeks, maybe months.
Gojo sauntered back into the living room, his soda can dangling from his fingers as he leaned against the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. He tilted his head at you, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.
âYou look tense,â he said, taking a sip of his drink. âWhatâs wrong? Not a fan of the open floor plan?â
âItâs not the floor plan Iâm worried about,â you muttered, eyeing the lone sock under the TV stand. âDo you even own a vacuum?â
âSure do,â he said, pointing to a closet near the hallway. âItâs, uhâŠin there somewhere.â
You narrowed your eyes at him. âDo you ever use it?â
He grinned, shameless. âWhy bother? Youâre here now. Iâm sure youâll whip this place into shape in no time.â
âExcuse me?â
âRelax, Iâm kidding,â he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. âMostly. But hey, itâs not so bad, right? Itâs got character.â
âCharacter,â you repeated flatly, glancing around at the cluttered surfaces, the mismatched furniture, the pile of laundry peeking out from behind the couch. âRight.â
Gojo didnât seem the least bit bothered by your disapproval. In fact, he looked like he was enjoying it. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched you take in your surroundings, his grin never wavering.
âCome on,â he said, pushing off the counter and gesturing toward the hallway. âIâll show you your room.â
You followed him reluctantly, dragging your suitcase over the uneven floorboards. The hallway was narrow, lined with a few framed photos that looked like theyâd been thrown up haphazardly. One was crooked, and you resisted the urge to straighten it as you passed.
âOh, heads upâthe walls are kinda weird. My old roommate had this thing for, like, anime posters or whatever. I didnât bother taking them down.â
âGreat,â you muttered,
âHere we are,â Gojo said, stopping in front of the last door on the left. He pushed it open with a dramatic flourish, stepping aside to let you in. âHome sweet home.â
You stepped inside and stopped in your tracks.
The room wasnât bad, exactlyâit was bigger than youâd expected, with a decent-sized window and a closet that didnât look like it was falling apart. But the wallsâŠ
Gojo hadnât been kidding about his old roommate. The walls were plastered with postersâbright, garish, and all of them anime-themed. Characters with oversized eyes and gravity-defying hair stared back at you from every surface, their poses dynamic and exaggerated. One corner featured a particularly dramatic sword-wielding figure, while another was dominated by a group of girls in school uniforms mid-pose.
You blinked. âWhatâŠis this?â
Gojo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, clearly trying not to laugh. âWhat? You donât like anime? My old roommate was a big fan.â
âThis isnât a room,â you said, gesturing at the walls. âItâs a shrine.â
âHey, donât knock it. You might learn something.â
You turned to glare at him, but he was already laughing, the sound echoing down the hallway.
âIf it bothers you that much, you can take them down,â he said between chuckles. âOr leave them up. Maybe theyâll grow on you.â
âIâm taking them down,â you said firmly, setting your suitcase down by the bed.
âSuit yourself,â he said with a shrug, straightening up and heading back toward the living room. âDinnerâs on me tonight, by the way. Consider it a âwelcome to the madhouseâ gift.â
âGenerous of you,â you called after him, already making a mental list of everything youâd need to clean, fix, and replace.
As his footsteps faded, you sat down on the edge of the bed, letting out a long sigh. The apartment was a mess, Gojo was insufferable, and you were pretty sure the next few months were going to test every ounce of patience you had.
But at least it was a roof over your head.
For now, that was enough.
-
You spent the rest of the afternoon settling into your new room. The posters came down immediately, but not without a fight. Whoever had put them up had used enough tape to secure a small building, and by the time youâd peeled off the last one, your fingers were sore, and you were pretty sure youâd taken a chunk of paint with you.
The bed was another ordeal. The mattress wasnât terrible, but the sheets Gojo had left on it wereâŠquestionable. They smelled faintly of old laundry detergent, with an underlying note of cologne. You made a mental note to wash them tomorrow and just threw your own blanket over the top for now.
The rest of the room wasnât much better. The closet door creaked ominously when you opened it, and the lightbulb in the ceiling fixture flickered every time you turned it on. But it was manageable. Barely.
As evening rolled around, you finally emerged from your room to find Gojo sprawled across the couch, a gaming controller in his hands and the volume on the TV set way too high. Some kind of fast-paced shooting game flashed across the screen, the sound of gunfire and explosions filling the living room.
âHey,â you said, stepping into the chaos. âWhat happened to dinner?â
âHuh?â He glanced over his shoulder at you, one hand still expertly working the controller. âOh, yeah. About thatâŠâ
You narrowed your eyes. âDonât tell me you forgot.â
âForgot? Never.â He grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself. âI ordered takeout.â
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.
âSee?â he said, pausing the game and hopping to his feet. âIâm a man of my word.â
You rolled your eyes but followed him to the door, curious about what heâd ordered. When he opened it, a delivery guy handed over two large bags of food, the smell immediately filling the apartment.
âHope you like ramen,â Gojo said, setting the bags down on the coffee table and plopping back onto the couch.
You eyed the bags suspiciously. âThatâs a lot of ramen for two people.â
âIs it?â He pulled out a container and handed it to you with a pair of chopsticks. âWhat can I say? I like to keep my options open.â
You sat down on the far end of the couch, making a point to keep some distance between you. The ramen, at least, smelled incredible, and you had to admit you were starving.
âSo,â he said, between bites, his voice annoyingly casual. âFirst impressions? How do you like living with me so far?â
You gave him a look, setting your container down on the coffee table. âDo you want the truth, or should I sugarcoat it?â
âTruth,â he said, grinning like he already knew what you were going to say.
You leaned back, crossing your arms. âYour apartment is a disaster. Youâre loud, you donât clean, and Iâm pretty sure Iâm going to regret this decision within a week.â
Gojo didnât look remotely offended. In fact, he looked downright entertained. âWow. rough. Just the way that I like itâ
You groaned, picking up your ramen again. âI donât know how anyone puts up with you.â
âOh, plenty of people put up with me, if you know what i meanââ he said, winking. âBut youâll see. By the end of the month, youâll be begging for more of me.â
âDonât hold your breath,â you muttered, though you couldnât help but crack a small smile despite yourself.
Dinner turned into a strange, semi-comfortable routine faster than you expected. Gojo, despite being an objectively messy person, was surprisingly good company when he wasnât actively trying to annoy. The conversation shifted effortlessly between lighthearted topicsâlike his absurd stories from collegeâto things you didnât expect to discuss with someone youâd just moved in with.
âSo, whyâd you move out of your old place?â he asked suddenly, leaning back on the couch with his half-empty ramen container resting on his stomach.
You hesitated, chopsticks frozen in mid-air. âItâs not like I had much of a choice,â you admitted, poking at your noodles. âMy landlord is incompetent, and my kitchen turned into a swimming pool. Not exactly livable conditions.â
Gojo raised an eyebrow. âNo kidding. And he didnât offer to put you up somewhere? Like, isnât that his job?â
You snorted. âYouâd think, right? But no. He told me to âfigure it outâ and justâŠdisappeared.â
He shook his head, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like âasshole.â Then, after a moment, he said, âWell, his loss. Now youâre here, and letâs be honestâyouâve upgraded.â
You gave him a pointed look. âThis is what you call an upgrade?â
âObviously.â He gestured vaguely at the cluttered living room. âI mean, come onâfree entertainment, great company, world-class ramen delivery and if you wantâ someone to keep your bed warm.â he smiled at you,âWhat more could you ask for?â
He grinned, unfazed, and reached for the TV remote. âAlright, youâve earned your place on the couch. Let me properly welcome you to Gojoâs world.â
âWhat are you doing?â you asked warily as he scrolled through a streaming service, the remote clicking in rapid succession.
âMovie night,â he said matter-of-factly, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. âItâs tradition. New roommates get to pick the first movie. Consider it a rite of passage.â
You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a dramatic gasp. âWaitâdonât tell me youâre one of those people whoâs never seen Star Wars. Or, God forbid, Lord of the Rings.â
âRelax,â you said, rolling your eyes. âIâve seen them. And Iâm not watching them with you.â
âFine, fine,â he said, mock pouting. âYour call, then. But choose wisely. This moment sets the tone for our entire roommate relationship.â
You sighed, leaning forward to grab the remote. âNo pressure or anything.â
Eventually, you settled on a movieâa rom-com youâd seen a hundred times but couldnât resistâand to your surprise, Gojo didnât complain. He sprawled out on the couch like he owned the place (which, to be fair, he did), one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other digging into a bag of chips heâd somehow produced out of nowhere.
âThis is cute,â he said about halfway through, his voice dripping with faux sincerity. âDo they fall in love in the end? Kiss in the rain? Ride off into the sunset?â
You shot him a glare. âIf youâre going to talk through the whole thing, Iâm turning it off.â
He held up his hands in mock surrender. âAlright, alright. No more commentary. Scoutâs honor.â
But, of course, he didnât stay quiet for long.
By the time the credits rolled, heâd managed to make at least three sarcastic remarks about the leading manâs haircut, two unsolicited critiques of the soundtrack, and one entirely unnecessary comment about how he wouldâve handled the grand romantic gesture at the end.
âFor the record,â he said as he turned off the TV, âI could totally pull off that rain scene. Probably better, actually.â
âYou? Running through the rain for someone?â You laughed, shaking your head. âI donât buy it.â
âHey,â he said, feigning offense. âIâll have you know Iâm a very romantic guy. People line up for the Gojo Experienceâą.â
âI donât doubt that,â you said, grabbing the empty ramen containers to take them to the kitchen. âBut romance and whatever it is you do are two very different things.â
âOh, you wound me,â he called after you, his voice light and teasing.
In the kitchen, you rinsed out the containers and stacked them neatly on the counter, trying not to think too hard about how easy it had been to banter with him. It was strangeâliving with someone like Gojo, who seemed to thrive on chaos and charm. Youâd expected to be annoyed, and you were. But there was something oddly comforting about how effortlessly he filled the space.
When you returned to the living room, he was still lounging on the couch, flipping through his phone. He glanced up as you walked in, a lazy smile spreading across his face.
âNot bad for a first night, huh?â he said.
You shrugged, suppressing a small smile. âIâve had worse.â
âDonât worry,â he said, sitting up and tossing his phone onto the coffee table. âIâll grow on you.â
âI wouldnât count on it,â you shot back, heading toward the hallway.
His laughter followed you all the way to your room.
As you shut the door behind you, you couldnât help but feel like, for all the chaos and noise, this arrangement might not be as terrible as youâd thought. Maybe.
But oh. How wrong you were.
The morning started off deceptively quiet. When you emerged from your room, the sunlight streaming through the blinds made the living room look almostâŠpeaceful. The kitchen was spotless, the couch was miraculously free of clothes and clutter, and the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.
For a brief moment, you thought Gojo mightâve actually cleaned up his act overnight.
Then you saw him.
He was leaning against the counter, sipping coffee like a walking ad for morning perfection. His silver-white hair was damp, his loose hoodie hung just right, and his sweatpants rode low enough to remind you he probably didnât own a single pair of fitted jeans. He looked like someone who just woke up that hotânot a single ounce of effort needed.
âMorning, sunshine,â he said, flashing you a grin that was as disarming as it was infuriating.
You ignored the way his voice sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. âDo you ever not sound smug?â
âNope. Itâs part of my charm.â He smirked, leaning back against the counter. âCoffee?â
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. âYou made coffee?â
âOf course. What kind of host would I be if I didnât caffeinate my lovely new roommate?â
âThe kind of host who leaves his socks on the coffee table,â you muttered under your breath.
He pretended not to hear that, holding out a mug. âCome on. One sip, and youâll see Iâm full of surprises.â
Reluctantly, you accepted the mug and took a cautious sip. To your utter annoyance, it was good. Like, really good.
âYouâre welcome,â he said smugly, reading your expression.
You gave him a pointed look. âDonât get used to this dynamic. Iâm not falling for your weird, âcharmingâ roommate routine.â
âWho said anything about charm?â He tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. âIâm just being myself, baby. If thatâs irresistible, itâs not my fault.â
You nearly choked on your coffee. âDid you just call me baby?â
âHmm?â He feigned confusion, raising an eyebrow. âOh, sorry. Roomie. Same thing, right?â
âNo, itâs really not,â you said flatly, setting your mug down.
âBy the way, just a heads-upâI have someone coming over later.â
You frowned. âSomeone?â
âYeah, you know. A friend.â He smirked, the word friend dripping with suggestion.
You set your mug down on the counter. âYou couldnât even wait a day?â
âHey, donât judge me,â he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. âIâve got needs. And besides, You knew from the startâthis is who I am.â
You stared at him, incredulous. âI moved in less than twenty-four hours ago, and youâre alreadyââ
âRelax, itâll be fine,â he interrupted, brushing past you to grab a bag of chips from the cabinet. âYou wonât even know weâre here.â
By the time his âfriendâ arrived that afternoon, you were safely holed up in your room, pretending to be engrossed in a book. You had already resigned yourself to enduring Gojoâs antics, but as the knock sounded at the door and his voice rang out in greeting, you felt your stomach twist.
Her laughter echoed through the thin wallsâa bright, bubbly sound that grated against your already frayed nerves. You couldnât make out their words, just the ebb and flow of conversation, the occasional rise and fall of her giggles mixing with Gojoâs smooth, low voice.
They moved to the living room, and the indistinct murmur of their voices grew louder. It was maddeningâlike trying to tune out a conversation happening right outside your door. You couldnât tell what they were saying, but the rhythm of their tones was unmistakable. The lighthearted teasing, the easy banterâit all set your teeth on edge.
You clenched your book tighter, trying to focus on the words in front of you, but your eyes kept darting to the wall as if you could somehow will the noise to stop. It wasnât your business, you reminded yourself. You didnât care what Gojo did with his spare time, or who he brought over. It didnât matter.
But when their voices softened, becoming more intimate, you felt your chest tighten with dread. The murmurs grew harder to distinguish, and soon, all you could hear was the faint rustle of movement and the occasional low chuckle from Gojo.
And then the real noise began.
At first, it was subtleâthe creak of the couch, a muffled laugh that was cut short, followed by a sharper sound, like something hitting the floor. You froze, dread pooling in your stomach.
When the rhythmic creaking started, punctuated by the occasional muted groan, your heart sank.
No. No, no, no.
You pressed your hands over your ears, as if that would somehow make it stop. But the thin walls of the apartment offered no escape. Every sound seemed amplifiedâthe shifting of weight, the faint hum of voices, the occasional laugh that broke the tension.
âUnbelievable,â you muttered, tossing your book onto the bed and pacing the room.
For a moment, you debated knocking on the wall or even storming out there to put an end to it. But the thought of interrupting whatever was happening made your skin crawl. Instead, you grabbed your headphones, shoved them over your ears, and cranked up your music.
But it wasnât enough. No matter how loud you made the playlist, the creaking and muffled sounds seemed to filter through, like an itch you couldnât scratch.
When the noise finally stopped, you yanked your headphones off and slumped back onto your bed, letting out a heavy sigh. The room felt unnaturally quiet now, as if the apartment itself was holding its breath.
The front door opened, followed by the womanâs voice, light and cheerful.
âThanks for today,â she said.
âAnytime,â Gojo replied, his voice dripping with charm. âDrive safe, gorgeous.â
You cringed at the sound of the door clicking shut and the silence that followed. A beat later, you heard Gojoâs footsteps padding toward the kitchen.
Summoning every ounce of patience, you stepped out of your room, determined to at least get a glass of water. You found him leaning lazily against the counter, a smug grin plastered across his face.
âWell, look whoâs finally out of hiding,â he said, his tone dripping with mock innocence.
You ignored him, walking to the sink and filling a glass with water.
âRough day?â he asked, clearly enjoying himself.
You slammed the glass down on the counter and whirled around. âSeriously, Gojo? Can you not keep it down? I could hear everything.â
His grin only widened. âEverything, huh? Guess I shouldâve warned you about the acoustics in here.â
You glared at him, crossing your arms. âYouâre impossible.â
âAw, come on,â he said, stepping closer. âDonât be mad. If it makes you feel better, Iâll keep it quieter next time.â
âNext time?â you snapped.
âWhat can I say?â He shrugged, his eyes glinting with mischief. âIâm a people person.â
You rolled your eyes and turned to leave, but his voice stopped you.
âHey, for what itâs worth,â he said, leaning casually against the counter, âyouâre more fun to talk to than she was.â
You froze, your face heating. âDonât even try it.â
âTry what?â he asked, his tone playful. âIâm just saying, if you ever want to hang out, you donât have to hide in your room.â
You glared at him over your shoulder. âIn your dreams, Gojo.â
He chuckled, watching you retreat to your room. âEvery night, sweetheart.â
You slammed the door behind you, but not before you heard his soft, self-satisfied laugh echo through the apartment.
A week passed, and life in the apartment settled into a grudging rhythm. Youâd managed to avoid another direct confrontation with Gojo, though the memories of that first encounter still made your skin crawl. You convinced yourself you could manage this arrangement if you just kept your distance and stayed in your lane. To his creditâor maybe just your luckâhe hadnât brought anyone else over since that mortifying incident.
The apartment remained mostly quiet, aside from his occasional antics: music playing at odd hours, the clatter of snacks in the kitchen when you were trying to focus, and Gojo humming to himself as he wandered around like he owned the place.
But living with Gojo wasnât just about tolerating the noise. It was about tolerating him. His overwhelming presence. His insufferable teasing. The way he seemed to enjoy pushing you just far enough to elicit a reaction, like a child poking at a caged animal for fun.
Case in point: the morning you stepped out of your room to grab breakfast, still half-asleep, only to find him lounging on the couch, shirtless, with a bag of chips balanced precariously on his chest.
âYou know,â he said without looking up from his phone, âitâs rude to stare.â
You blinked, your brain taking a moment to catch up. âExcuse me?â
âDonât worry,â he said, flashing you a lazy grin as he finally looked at you. âI get it. Iâm irresistible.â
You narrowed your eyes, resisting the urge to smack the smugness off his face. âOr youâre just in my way,â you shot back, walking past him to the kitchen.
He craned his neck, following you with his eyes as you moved. âFeisty this morning. Didnât know you had it in you.â
âMaybe because Iâve been trying to avoid you,â you muttered, rifling through the cabinets for your coffee mug.
âAw, you wound me,â he said, clutching his chest dramatically, which sent a few chips tumbling to the floor. âIâve been nothing but welcoming to you, and this is how you repay me?â
âWelcoming?â You scoffed, finally finding your mug and filling it. âIs that what weâre calling it now?â
He grinned. âOf course. Didnât you feel welcome when I made breakfast last week? Oh wait, never mindâyou hid in your room.â
You ignored him, stirring sugar into your coffee and silently counting to ten. He thrived on attention, and you werenât about to give him the satisfaction.
âHey,â he called again, his tone turning almost conversational, like he wasnât intent on annoying you. âDo you ever, like, not wear sweats?â
You glanced down at your oversized hoodie and joggers, then shot him a pointed glare. âDo you ever, like, mind your own business?â
âOuch,â he said with a mock wince. âJust saying, youâve got potential. Might even clean up nice if you tried. Youâve got an big ass.â
You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didnât get stuck. âGood thing your opinion means nothing to me.â
His laughter filled the space as you grabbed your coffee and headed toward your room, your patience wearing thin.
âOh, come on,â he called after you, his voice taking on a teasing lilt. âYouâre not even going to hang out? What kind of roommate are you?â
âThe kind who values her sanity,â you shot back without missing a beat.
His laughter followed you as you reached your door, hand on the knob, ready to escape his relentless teasing. But as you glanced at the clock on the wall, a realization hit you. Your eyes widened slightly.
You turned on your heel abruptly, nearly colliding with Gojo, who had apparently taken the opportunity to stand and stretchâstill shirtless, of course. His smug grin faltered for a second as you stopped dead in your tracks.
âIâll be late today,â you said quickly, sidestepping him to set your coffee down on the counter.
Gojo tilted his head, his grin returning with full force as curiosity flickered across his face. âLate? You? Didnât think you had a social calendar.â
You rolled your eyes, opening the fridge and pretending to look for something. âPeople can have plans, Gojo. Even me.â
âPlans?â He leaned against the counter, his tone dripping with mock surprise. âWait a second. Are you⊠going somewhere exciting?â
âI donât owe you an explanation,â you replied, focusing intently on the fridge shelves as if the milk carton was suddenly the most fascinating thing youâd ever seen.
His eyes narrowed slightly, amusement dancing in them. âYouâre being cagey. That means itâs something good.â
You grabbed the milk with more force than necessary and shut the fridge door with a pointed look. âOr maybe I just donât want to deal with your incessant need to pry into my business.â
Your hand faltered for the briefest second. It was the tiniest movementâso small you hoped he didnât notice. But the sharp glint in his eyes told you he absolutely had.
âJust out,â you said, keeping your tone neutral. âDonât wait up.â
Gojo raised an eyebrow, straightening from his lean. âOut, huh?â He crossed his arms over his chest, the picture of exaggerated skepticism. âYouâre not denying itâs a date.â
âIâm not confirming it either,â you shot back, grabbing your coffee and brushing past him toward your room.
âBut you didnât deny it!â he called after you, his voice full of glee. âCome on, whoâs the lucky guy? Is he tall? Handsome? Rich? More charming than me?â
âLiterally anyone is more charming than you, Gojo,â you replied dryly, not even turning around.
His laughter followed you down the hall, loud and unbothered. âOh, youâre killing me, sweetheart! At least tell me if I should warn him about your sweats obsession!â
You slammed your door shut before he could say anything else, but his laughter still echoed faintly through the walls.
Inside, you set your coffee on your desk and let out a long sigh. Gojo was insufferable. But even as you tried to focus on getting ready, his teasing words stuck with you.
It wasnât his business, you reminded yourself. He didnât need to know about your dateâor the nerves twisting in your stomach at the thought of it.
Still, as you changed out of your usual oversized hoodie and joggers, you couldnât help but wonder how Gojo would react if he saw you now.
And for reasons you couldnât quite understand, you hated that the thought even crossed your mind.
The minutes ticked by as you debated between two outfits: a casual but flattering dress or a sleek, semi-formal ensemble that screamed confidence. You settled on the dress, deciding it struck the perfect balanceânothing too over-the-top, but enough to make an impression.
You checked your reflection in the mirror, smoothing down the fabric nervously. Your hair was styled neatly, and youâd even put on a bit of makeupânot something you usually did unless the occasion called for it. This definitely qualified.
Gojo didnât need to know the details of your plans. Still, his voice echoed in your head, taunting and teasing. Hot date, huh? You clenched your teeth and took a steadying breath, determined not to let him get to you.
Stepping out of your room, you found Gojo still sprawled on the couch, now munching on what appeared to be a chocolate bar. His phone was perched on his knee, and he scrolled through it lazily, not even glancing up when you walked past him.
For a second, you thought you might actually escape without another comment. But then his head snapped up, his sharp blue eyes locking onto you like a predator catching sight of prey.
âWhoa,â he said, sitting up straight and letting his phone drop onto the cushion. âWhat is this?â
You froze mid-step, your heart sinking. âWhatâs what?â
âThis,â he said, gesturing broadly at you. âYou. Looking like that.â
You crossed your arms, trying to appear unfazed. âItâs called getting dressed. Some of us do it properly.â
He smirked, standing up and sauntering closer, his eyes raking over your outfitânot in a leering way, but with an exaggerated flourish that made you bristle. âAre we sure this isnât a completely different person? Because you clean up way better than I expected, Roomie.â
âGojo,â you warned, your voice clipped.
âRelax.â He grinned, holding his hands up in mock surrender. âIâm just saying you look⊠nice. Stunning, even. Makes me feel all tingly. The kind of nice that makes me wonder who youâre trying to impress.â
You stepped past him, heading for the door. âItâs none of your business.â
âOh, it is my business,â he said, following you like an oversized shadow. âIf youâre going on a date, I have a responsibility as your roommate to make sure this guyâs good enough for you. Do I need to give him the talk?â
You snorted, pulling on your shoes. âThe talk? What are you, my dad?â
âWorse,â he said smugly, leaning casually against the wall near the door. âIâm your roommate. I see all the little things he doesnât. Like the fact that you leave your underwear all over your roomââ
You glared at him, your cheeks flushing,âWhâ were you in my room, you pervert?!â
He smirked, but you quickly turned around and grabbed your bag, not letting him ruin your mood. âDonât wait up.â
âOh, I wonât,â he said, his grin turning sly.
âWaitâ,â he started, his tone light but laced with something almost mischievous, âif you are going on a date, you know the rules, right?â
You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. âThere are no rules because itâs none of your business.â
âWrong,â he said, pushing off the wall and stepping closer, his grin widening. âRule number one: if the guy so much as breathes wrong, Iâm allowed to deck him.â
âGojoââ
âRule number two,â he continued, holding up two fingers as if this were a serious negotiation, âif he breaks your heart, Iâm always here to fix it.â
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. âFix it? What, with chips and bad jokes?â
His grin turned downright devilish, and he leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. âNot exactly what I meant, sweetheart. But if you know what I mean⊠well, Iâm sure youâll figure it out.â
Your face burned instantly, and you glared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a flustered reaction. âYouâre disgusting.â
âHey, Iâm just offering my services,â he said, backing up with a mock-innocent shrug. âIâm a giver like that.â
You threw your bag over your shoulder and turned toward the door. âThanks, but Iâll take my chances with the real world.â
His laughter followed you, low and teasing, as you pulled the door open.
âDonât come crying to me when the real world disappoints you!â he called after you. âBut seriouslyâdonât let him screw this up. Heâs lucky to have your attention, even if itâs temporary.â
For a moment, you faltered, caught off guard by the unexpected sincerity buried in his words. You glanced back at him, but the cocky grin was already back in place.
âGoodnight, Gojo,â you said, stepping out and shutting the door behind you.
As you walked away, his last comment replayed in your mind, a mix of genuine care and infuriating arrogance. You hated how easily he got under your skin. And worse, you hated that part of you couldnât quite stop thinking about it.
-
The date had started out decently enough. Heâd been polite when he picked the restaurant, complimented your outfit, and pulled your chair out for you when you arrived. For a brief moment, you thought this might actually turn out okay. Maybe, just maybe, youâd get through the evening without regretting every decision that led you there.
But it wasnât long before the cracks began to show.
He started checking his phone a few minutes into the conversation. At first, it was subtleâa quick glance here, a soft buzz there. You told yourself it was probably work, something urgent that couldnât wait. But as the evening progressed, it became increasingly obvious that it wasnât. His chuckles at the screen, the way he tilted it away from your line of sightâit all screamed disinterest.
Still, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was nervous. Maybe he didnât realize how much it bothered you.
But then came the comments.
âYou donât seem like the type to like action movies,â he said, after you mentioned your favorite film. His tone wasnât curious or surprisedâit was dismissive, like he already had you pegged as someone who wouldnât understand explosions and car chases.
âWow,â you said, forcing a polite smile. âWhat type do I seem like?â
He shrugged, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. âI donât know. Rom-coms? Something light and fluffy.â
You bit back the urge to roll your eyes. âRight. Because girls only like light and fluffy things.â
He laughed, completely missing the edge in your voice. âHey, I didnât say that. But, you know, itâs not a bad thing. Itâs cute.â
By the time dessert arrived, youâd had enough. His phone buzzed again, and this time, you didnât bother hiding your irritation.
âDo you need to get that?â you asked, your tone sharper than intended.
He glanced up, finally noticing your expression, and smiled sheepishly. âNah, itâs nothing. Just some friends in a group chat. You know how it is.â
âRight,â you said flatly, setting your fork down. âWell, donât let me keep you from your important group chat.â
For a moment, he looked genuinely confused, like he couldnât figure out what had gone wrong. But then his confidence kicked in, and he leaned forward with a smug grin.
âCome on,â he said, his tone dripping with self-assurance. âYou have to admit, Iâm a pretty great catch. Youâre lucky Iâm even single.â
You blinked, stunned by the sheer audacity of his words. âLucky?â
âYeah,â he said, laughing like it was the most obvious thing in the world. âI mean, how often do you meet someone like me? Smart, successful, good-lookingââ
You stood up, cutting him off mid-sentence. âThanks for dinner,â you said, grabbing your bag. âBut I think weâre done here.â
âWhat?â He gaped at you, his grin finally faltering. âWait, youâre serious?â
âCompletely,â you said, throwing some cash onto the table for your share of the bill. âGood luck with⊠whatever this is.â
You didnât wait for a response. You turned on your heel and walked out, leaving him sitting there, stunned and silent.
By the time you got back to the apartment, your irritation had morphed into something elseâa mix of regret, exhaustion, and the dull buzz of the wine youâd downed at dinner. Youâd stopped at a bar on the way home, hoping to wash the memory of the date away, but all it had done was make your head spin.
You fumbled with your keys at the door, muttering under your breath about arrogant men and wasted evenings. When you finally managed to unlock it, you stumbled inside, kicking off your heels with a groan.
The living room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the TV illuminating Gojo, who was sprawled on the couch in his usual carefree manner. A bowl of popcorn sat in his lap, and he turned his head at the sound of the door opening.
âWell, well,â he said, sitting up slightly and smirking at your disheveled state. âLook whoâs back. And drunk, no less.â
You glared at him, wobbling slightly as you made your way to the kitchen. âNot now, Gojo.â
âOh, I think now is exactly the time,â he said, following you with a smirk. âLet me guessâdate didnât go so well?â
You grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water and drinking deeply before slamming it onto the counter. âYou could say that.â
He leaned against the doorframe, watching you with that infuriating grin of his. âWhat happened? Did he turn out to be a secret serial killer? Or worseâa guy who calls movies âcontentâ?â
You snorted despite yourself, grabbing another glass of water. âWorse. He thought he was Godâs gift to women.â
Gojo let out a low whistle, shaking his head. âOuch. Tough break, sweetheart.â
âI donât need your pity,â you muttered, brushing past him toward your room.
He caught your arm gently, stopping you in your tracks. âHey,â he said, his voice softer now, his usual teasing tone replaced with something almost genuine. âIâm not pitying you. Just saying you deserve better.â
You looked up at him, your vision slightly blurry, whether from the alcohol or the sincerity in his words.
âI know I do,â you said quietly. âBut itâs not like guys like that are exactly rare.â
He frowned, his grip on your arm tightening ever so slightly. âThen maybe stop wasting your time on losers who donât know what theyâve got.â
You snorted, pulling your arm free, as you entered your room. âOh, right, because the perfect guy is just going to fall into my lap?â
Gojo grinned at your sarcastic remark, that infuriating spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. Before you could process what was happening, he moved quickly, closing the distance between you in a couple of long strides.
âGojo, what theââ
Without warning, he gave you a gentle push, and your knees buckled, sending you backward onto your bed. You landed with a soft bounce, your protest cut short as he followed, dropping down beside you in one smooth motion.
But instead of stopping there, he shifted lower, placing his head directly in your lap. His face nestled against your thighs, his hair brushing against the soft fabric of your dress.
Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest. âGojo!â
He tilted his head to look up at you, his grin widening as though this were the most natural thing in the world. âWhat? You said you were waiting for the perfect guy to fall into your lap. Here I am.â
You stared at him, half in disbelief and half in a panic at the heat creeping up your neck. âGet off me!â
He didnât budge. Instead, he made himself more comfortable, his arms casually draping across your waist like he belonged there. âWhy? Your thighs are pretty nice. Youâre comfortable, and Iâm saving you from wasting time on all those losers out there.â
Your hands hovered uselessly in the air, unsure whether to shove him off or cover your face to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks. âYouâre insane,â you finally managed, trying to ignore the way his breath tickled your skin.
âAnd youâre cute when youâre mad,â he murmured, his voice dipping into something softer, almost teasing, as his head shifted slightly against your lap.
Before you could snap back, he turned further into your thighs, the movement deliberate, nuzzling deeper as though testing just how far he could push you. Your breath hitched, caught between outrage and something you didnât want to name.
It wasnât until you felt the warmth of his breath, hot and steady, against the thin barrier of your panties that you froze completely. The realization hit like a joltâyour dress had ridden up when he pushed you onto the bed, leaving the bare skin of your thighs pressed against his face.
âGojo,â you said, your voice coming out sharper than intended.
He didnât immediately move, his lips quirking in a way that told you he knew exactly what he was doing. There was an unmistakable smugness in the way he exhaled, a low hum vibrating against your skin.
âYou smell nice,â he remarked lazily, his words sending a shockwave of mortification through you.
Heat flooded your face âYouâre disgusting!â
He raised his hands in mock surrender. âWhat? Iâm just being honest. You should be flattered.â
Before you could fire back, he leaned in again, catching you completely off guard. His tongue dragged a slow, deliberate line up the fabric of your panties, the warmth and pressure sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.
Your breath hitched as your hand shot out, fingers tangling in his hair. You yanked, forcing him to pull back slightly. âGojoâwhat are you doing?â you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, your cheeks burning hot enough to rival the sun.
His eyes locked onto yours, half-lidded and teasing, as his hands rested firmly on either side of your thighs. âSatoru,â he corrected, his voice low and smooth. âCall me Satoru.â
You couldnât tell if it was his tone or the way he said it, but something about the moment sent your thoughts scattering. His gaze, piercing and unrelenting, didnât waver as you tried to form a coherent response.
âSatoru,â you repeated, the name slipping out more out of shock than agreement.
He hummed in approval, the sound vibrating through him and straight into you. âSee? That wasnât so hard.â His grin softened, still playful but laced with something heavier, something you couldnât quite place. The weight of his gaze was nearly unbearable.
âWhat are you doingâ?â you asked again, your voice catching in your throat. Your eyes stayed locked on his, searching for any hint that he was joking, that this was just another one of his games.
Instead, his expression softened further, the teasing edge of his smirk shifting into something far more deliberate. âRemember what I said before you went out?â
You frowned, confused and thrown off balance, but before you could respond, he reached up. His hand closed over yours where it was still tangled in his hair, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he pried your fingers free. You let him guide your hand down, watching in stunned silence as he brought it to his lips.
The kiss he pressed to your knuckles was warm, lingering, and shockingly intimate. The sensation sent a jolt through you, your breath hitching as his lips brushed against your skin.
ââIf he breaks your heart, Iâm always here to fix it,ââ he murmured, his tone lower now, almost a whisper, like the words were meant for you alone.
His eyes stayed on yours, and for once, they werenât filled with amusement or mockery. There was something raw there, something that made your stomach twist painfully, though whether it was from unease or⊠something else, you couldnât say.
You couldnât find the words to respond, your voice caught in your throat. Your heart hammered in your chest, and your head felt too foggy, too clouded with alcohol and the heat of his touch.
âSoâŠâ he said after a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand, tracing absent patterns into your skin. âWhat do you say? Will you let me fix your heartbreak?â
His smile returned, slow and deliberate, but it wasnât as infuriating as before. This one was softer, almost tender, though it still carried that maddening confidence that was so inherently him.
The room seemed to shrink around you, the air growing heavier with every passing second. You felt his free hand move, his palm sliding to rest against your thigh. His touch was steady, the warmth of it searing through your skin.
You knew you should say somethingâanythingâbut the words wouldnât come. Your mind was spinning, and it felt like all the blood in your body had rushed to your face. Every instinct screamed at you to pull away, to break whatever spell he was weaving.
And yet, before you even realized what you were doing, you nodded. It was subtle, hesitant, but unmistakable.
His smile widened, a glimmer of triumph flashing in his eyes. âGood answer,â he said softly, his hand squeezing your thigh just enough to make your pulse quicken.
You swallowed hard, your breathing uneven as he leaned in closer, his face still pressed near your lap, his thumb still tracing lazy circles into your skin. Your thoughts felt muddled, trapped somewhere between disbelief and the hazy warmth spreading through your body.
Somewhere deep down, a small part of you screamed to stop this, to regain control of the situation. But in that moment, with the alcohol clouding your judgment and his touch grounding you in ways you couldnât explain, you didnât move.
You barely had time to register what was happening before his hands found your shoulders, gently pushing your upper body back against the mattress. The soft give of the bed beneath you made it impossible to resist as he shifted your position, leaving you staring up at the ceiling.
His movements were deliberate, slow enough to let you protest if you wanted to. But you didnât. You felt the brush of his hands against your thighs, warm and confident as he worked your dress higher, inch by inch, until it bunched at your waist. The cool air hitting your skin made you shiver, and you became acutely aware of just how exposed you were.
Your damp panties were now on full display, the fabric clinging to you in a way that made heat bloom across your face. A small voice in your head begged you to snap out of it, to push him away and demand he stop. But the alcoholâs haze dulled that voice into a faint whisper.
The you from a week ago would be screaming at you right now. Sheâd call you an idiot for letting this happen, for giving him this satisfaction. You knew Gojoâheâd never let you live this down. Tomorrow, heâd smirk and tease, and youâd be left trying to figure out why you hadnât stopped him.
But none of that mattered right now. You were too drunk, too tired, too overwhelmed to care.
Just this once, you thought. Youâd let him have this one, even if you knew it was a terrible idea.
His fingers slid over the damp fabric of your panties, his touch cold enough to make you shiver but firm enough to send a spark of something foreign racing through you. He pressed his palm against the growing wet patch, massaging gently, as if testing your reaction.
âSo wet,â he murmured, his voice low and almost reverent. His thumb brushed over the edge of the fabric, dangerously close to your bare skin.
Your breath hitched, and you bit down on your lip to keep from making a sound. You couldnât bring yourself to look at him, your gaze glued to the ceiling as his words hung in the air, taunting you with their boldness.
You should have stopped him. You knew you should have. But instead, your body betrayed you, your hips shifting just slightly into his touch. It was all the encouragement he needed.