Get down on your knees and tell me you love me.

Born to dilly dally, forced to lock in // 30yo nerd // yeehaw

[fukiouh]

Double take | shy!nerdjo x shy!reader

warnings: drabble, pure fluff, meet cute awkward, café au, slow burn, mutual crush, mutual pining, shy!gojo, shy fem!reader word count: 3.8k

You are a simple creature of habit. This was your café. Your corner nook. Your wobbly table by the window where the sunlight hit just right every time you came in.

You have a system, a routine, your sacred order the barista starts making automatically anytime you walk through the front door, noise-canceling headphones, and mild productivity. You do not bother the universe, and the universe does not bother you.

It was your emotional support place, an unassuming little spot where you went to work, study, read, or just exist. Cliché, yes, but you were a coffeehouse loafer, so what.

Until one day the universe decides to intervene. It was raining that day, sudden downpour, and he'd forgotten his umbrella, of course, so when he spotted the café on his frantic walk downtown, he ducked in to just wait it out somewhere dry, somewhere cozy. A cup of coffee sounded good anyway.

He tumbled through the door with a soft, breathless laugh, shaking the rain from his shoulders like a very tall wet dog. 

You instinctively looked up from your book. The chapter was dragging like craaazy and you were getting bored. He was at the counter, currently trying to wipe the fog off his glasses.

Oh—

You blinked away, but your eyes betrayed you. 

You did a double take.

OH—

Tall. Cute. Pale cheeks flushed from the cold, hair plastered to his forehead, and he was burying his fingers into the sleeves of his sweater just to warm his hands up. Wet and cold from the rain but probably the most attractive man you'd seen in your entire life.

You looked back at your book. Bit your lip. Looked up again. Back at your book. Up again.

Triple take.

You could feel your cheeks involuntarily heating up as you took in his wet hair, his nose, his jaw, the adorable little shiver that ran through him while he waited. God, he was really your type. But you just glanced at him, nothing more. As one does. Casually—

Quadruple take.

Okay. Fine. You were staring.

Internal spiral initiated. Deep breaths, babe. He was just a ridiculously attractive stranger. This was a normal human experience. You were in a public space. Hot people existed. You would survive this.

He turned around, clutching a steaming cup of his americano with both hands, and scanned the room. The moment he turned around, you caught a glimpse of the most absurdly blue eyes you had ever seen. Even his eyes were so, so pretty. It wasn’t really fair.

You looked back at your book. You'd read the same sentence four times now.

You forced your eyes to stay glued to the page, aggressively willing yourself to comprehend the actual freaking words.

Focus. You were reading! It was just a man.

But out of the corner of your eye, you tracked him as he settled into a chair a few tables down. The scrape of the chair. The soft rustle of his wet sweater. He finally gave up on wiping his glasses dry on a damp sleeve and just shoved them back onto his face. God, cute men with glasses really did something to your knees. You were so pathetic.

And for the next twenty minutes, you were super aware of his every movement. The plot of your romance novel be damned, ‘cause you glanced at him every few sentences through your peripheral vision only.

You heard the quiet clink of his cup being set down. You heard him sneeze once, very quietly, which was lowkey a ridiculous sound to come out of a man who was easily six-foot-three.

But you did not look directly anymore. You held your ground as you were the god’s strongest soldier right now.

Eventually the frantic drumming of the rain against the window slowed to only a light drizzle. The storm broke and you heard his chair scrape again.

You risked one final, fleeting glance as he stood up. He grabbed his empty cup, ran a hand through his semi-dry, messy hair, and headed for the exit. And you wondered if his hair was as soft as it looked…

As he pushed the door open, he paused as if hesitating, glancing over his shoulder. For one terrifying, totally heart-stopping millisecond, those bright blue eyes flicked over to your corner. Directly, not directly, you couldn't tell because you ducked your eyes back to your book as quickly, immediately chickening out. So he pushed through the door. The little bell above it chimed and off he went.

The air in the café immediately felt weirdly lighter.

Okay, you thought, finally turning the page. Not that you'd been on this page for the last fifteen minutes or anything. Happens to the best of us, I guess.

He was just a glitch in the matrix. A very tall, very blue-eyed glitch in the matrix. You survived the hot stranger. He got his coffee, he dried off, he left.

The gravitational pull you felt was just what happens when you see the man of your dreams. And in true man-of-your-dreams fashion, he disappeared as quickly as he materialized.

Normal human experience.

Except, a week later, on a perfectly sunny afternoon, the little bell above the door chimed a little more loudly in your perceived little bubble.

Hmm. Weird.

You didn't even mean to look up. It was a reflex at this point. But there he was.

Wearing an aggressively cozy hoodie this time, those big glasses, and that ridiculous height with it.

Your stomach violently dropped to your shoes. Oh no. He wasn't just a figment of your imagination. He was freaking back.

And a few days later, he was back again.

You figured he just really liked the coffee. And to be fair, just your luck perhaps, because the coffee here actually was that good. The Google Maps reviews were damn right about it being the best espresso in town. So it made perfect sense that a guy who stumbled in out of the rain would become a repeat customer after tasting the superb roast.

Perfectly logical. Totally normal. Nothing to do with you. Why would it anyway.

But there was something you didn't know.

He also came back because there was this girl in the corner with a book who looked up when he walked in and then immediately looked away like she hadn't — and something about that was, well. He didn't have exactly a word for it. Because while you were busy having a silent, hyper-fixated meltdown over him on that rainy first day, he had clocked you too.

In fact, the moment he'd turned around from the register with that steaming americano and caught you aggressively chewing your lip while pretending to read, his brain had completely stalled out. White-out.

So on his very second visit, Satoru had stood on the pavement half a block away, pathetically arguing with himself whether you'd even be there — or if he was actually crazy for thinking about it at all. He told himself he just wanted to take a lewk. Just to confirm that a girl that pretty! actually existed and wasn't some kind of fever dream brought on by the rain.

He walked in. There you were. Same corner. And just as cute as the first time, maybe even cuter.

So he kept coming back. And he felt a little pathetic about it, tbh. Showing up like a well-trained dog just because he was crushing on a girl he'd never even spoken to. But he couldn't help it. He was just a man, after all.

Satoru learned quickly. Look your way from his table. Look away. Look back. Realize he was staring, look away again too fast. Rinse and repeat.

He caught you looking, twice, three times, every single time. The first time your eyes actually met properly, you both snapped your heads away so fast it was a miracle neither of you pulled something.

He told himself he wasn't a coward. He just… He figured you'd say something eventually. You kept looking at him. And that meant something, right? You were practically telegraphing your interest! Which — was it interest though? What if you were staring only because he looked weird, hair a mess or some stain on his clothes —

Oh god.

OH GOD.

He wasn't great at reading people. So he decided to simply wait it out. His strategy was simple: exist in your general vicinity, look nice, and eventually you would come over and say something. He was not a coward. He wasn't, I swear!

Except you did not, in fact, say something.

You just kept staring at him like he was a jump scare and then violently burying your face back in your book, or your laptop, or your hands.

Your eyes betrayed you constantly. Do not look at him, you would tell yourself. You would look at him anyway. You would catch him glancing in your direction—chewing on the end of a stir stick, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose—and panic would seize your throat. You would snap your head away just to study the gluten-free muffins in the pastry case.

He would realize you caught him, and he’d immediately pretend to be so so engrossed in a completely blank stretch of the wall. Sometimes he’d accidentally bump his knees against the bottom of the table and the soft thump! followed by his quiet sigh would make you want to literally melt into your chair.

A lot of fleeting glances, a lot of unnecessary throat-clearing, and one very serious pep talk he gave himself in the bathroom mirror. But to no avail. 

So once you locked eyes again, you did that awkwardly, very pathetically, very often, he tried to be brave brave. He did this tiny, little nod, like a quick acknowledgment, a gentle, hesitant yes, I see you seeing me, hi hello.

You stared back at him with a blank, wide-eyed face of a person whose brain had simply ceased to operate. What the hell. Affectionately, of course.

His cheeks flushed, turning this soft, pretty pink.

Your cheeks flushed so hot you were surprised you weren't actively steaming.

He held the look for a beat, his expression so painfully hopeful, before you completely gave up, turned away like a loser, and snapped your gaze back to your mug. He deflated a little, pushing his glasses back up his nose with a quiet exhale. And here went his chance. Well, damn...

It was truly agonizing, if you ask me. It was the most physically painful, heart-fluttering, ridiculous thing to endure.

Satoru was too invested now, but entirely out of his depth. He kept coming back, genuinely believing every single day that this would be the day! you finally made the move, because surely you realized how cute he thought you were.

And you believed every single day—every single one—that this would be the day! he finally made the move, because surely he knew he was the most gorgeous man to ever walk into your life.

Yet every day, neither of you did. 

The panic just kept growing. Growing. Growing! And the respective crush along with it. 

Until a rainy Wednesday, exactly one month after he first walked in.

You were there, you always were. 

You didn't even need to look up to know. Your stomach did the thing, the fluttery one, that happened only when a specific six-foot-three man in glasses walked through the door.

Satoru got his order, sat at his usual table.

For the next hour, you fell into the build of your usual dance. You were actually working, doing okay, but your eyes kept drifting, always drifting. He caught you once or twice; you caught him twice or thrice. Your silent language. Settled into something almost comfortable. Something that made you look forward to coming here beside the actual coffee. A quiet, familiar routine noone had balls big enough to break. 

And then, he ruined it. By taking the leap again.

You glanced over, expecting him to be snapping his neck sideways. Instead, he was already looking right at you.

He visibly swallowed, sat up a little straighter, and risked to lift a hand off the table, offering a small, hesitant wave, accompanied by a soft, genuine smile that completely transformed his face. Breaking the stalemate, daring you to participate too.

Oh my. Your hand spasmed and in said hand was your mug with your latté. Your wrist ungracefully, unceremoniously jerked and enough espresso and oat milk splashed! over the rim to soak your notes and pool dangerously close to your laptop.

Humiliation hit your face like a freight train.

You couldn't find the courage to look up, if you did right now, you would literally expire on the spot. You grabbed a fistful of dry napkins, slapped them blindly over the puddle, and immediately started shoving your things into your bag.

Book? In. Laptop? Shoved. Dignity? Left in the puddle of dairy. Hotel? Trivago. (And I swear I will stop using this phrase. One day…)

You were packed and out of your chair in record time. The little bell chimed its cheery goodbye, and you noped the fuck out into the downtown crowd before you could actively perish from the secondhand embarrassment.

The air in the café suddenly felt completely different. Heavier. Emptier.

Satoru sat frozen in his chair, his hand still half-raised in that pathetic, brave little wave.

But you were fucking gone.

He lowered his hand, staring blankly at the empty chair you'd left behind. His heart hammered in his chest, but it wasn’t because of the fluttery panic of having a crush. No no. This was faaar more dreadful.

Oh no.

He had spooked you. He had tried to be brave, bravest either of you ever allowed yourselves to be, he had tried to just smile at you, and you had literally rather fled the premises.

Satoru buried his face in his hands, his glasses digging uncomfortably into his palms. 

Fuck, fuck. He didn't know your name, for fuck’s sake! He didn't know what you did for a living, or what you were always reading, or anything other than the fact that you had a sacred order and the cutest face he had ever seen.

He sat frozen to his spot with very icy, very ugly realization. What if you stop coming in because of him?

What if you were so so embarrassed that you will never come back to your wobbly little table? What if he had just ruined the one undeniably good thing about his week, all because he had spent a month staring at you like a coward, okay he is a coward he admits it okay?!, instead of just walking over and saying hello?

He furrowed his eyebrows as he eyed the soggy pile of soaked napkins as he sipped his own coffee. Tapped a finger against the ceramics. 

Next time.

Next time he was just going to walk over. That was it. That was the whole plan. Simple.

NEXT TIME!

Except, there almost wasn't a next time. And he cursed himself every time you didn’t show up. You didn't show up the day after, nor the day after that.

By the following week, Satoru was practically vibrating out of his skin. He went in every single day, just in case you broke your routine. But every single time he sat in the café alone, he almost convinced himself that he had ruined his own life by smiling too aggressively. Were his parents lying when they taught him to be nice to strangers?

But then you came back. Of course you came back. It’s your freaking café.

Yes, you had been avoiding it for almost a week, surviving on approximately seventeen different bathroom mirror pep talks and five different affirmation YouTube videos about how you were going to be completely, totally normal this time.

You will not stare! You will not spill a single drop of anything! You can drink a caffeinated beverage in the same zip code as a super hot guy in glasses. You can do this! You go girl!

You pushed the door open and he was there. Obviously, he was there. Why was he there.

You ordered your drink. But when you turned around to head to your cozy familiar corner, you froze.

Your table was taken. Some random-ass guy was sitting at your precious wobbly table, aggressively typing on a laptop. What the hell? Just your fucking luck. You stood in the middle of the café, clutching your mug, completely derailed. You scanned the room in a mild panic.

And the only open table left was... oh, God.

It was exactly one table away from Satoru.

It was closer than you had ever sat before. Closer than you would ever choose to sit. But you had no choice, though. You power-walked over like the big girl you were and practically threw yourself into the chair.

You were instantly off balance. You took out your book of the week, but you couldn't focus. You were so close now. Too close now.

You could feel the warmth radiating off him. You could smell his ridiculously good, subtle cologne. Something like cedar and clean laundry mixed with the scent of roasted beans. It was making you so, so pleasantly dizzy, or perhaps it was just him. You couldn’t really tell.

You both fell right back into the unspoken dance, but it was completely different now. More exposed. You looked. He looked. The usual betrayal of your eyes, but with the closeness dialed up to an utterly suffocating, heart-fluttering level. Every time he shifted in his seat, you felt it. Every time you shifted, he felt it. Hyperaware of every movement, of every breath taken, of him.

You decided to look sideways, properly, for the first time today.

And it locked. It held.

It was longer than usual, electric! and absolutely terrifying. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, yet the warm flutter that spread from your stomach all over your body prevented you from chickening out right away. It felt too good. You were pleasantly stuck. You were curious. And you were maybe testing the waters, too.

His eyes started darting all over your face, as if searching for clues, checking if he would, could, should take it further, if you dared to look even longer. He oh-so-wanted to. Needed to.

But as those absurdly pretty blues softened, melting into something fond and undeniably sweet, your breath hitched. You completely panicked again. You broke the gaze, snapping your eyes down to your novel and bracing for the agonizing silence as a hot, deeply betraying flush spread all over your neck and hiked up all the way to your cheeks. 

Then, Satoru sighed.

It wasn't from disappointment, or from being angry. After all, he so proudly said next time, didn't he? And he understood that if anything, you were even more shy than him. He found it impossibly endearing.

It was a definitive, resolute sound, and you froze. You heard his chair being pushed back. Was he leaving because you were being such a coward again?

Then, a few soft footsteps closing the short distance between your respective tables.

A tall shadow fell over your table.

You slowly lifted your eyes and he was standing right there. Up close, he was somehow even taller—not imposing though, more like inviting. And his chest was rising and falling a little too fast.

He reached out with a shaking hand, grabbed the chair across from you, and pulled it out.

The tips of his ears went brilliantly pink. He rubbed the back of his neck, burying his hands into the sleeves of his sweater, but he didn't run away. Now or never, baby. Hail Mary. He sat down. Right across from you.

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, looked you right in the eyes, and let out a long, shaky exhale.

"I, uh." A pause. He cleared his throat. Pushed his glasses up again even though he'd just done that. "Caught you staring." His ears somehow got pinker. He wanted to sound more confident, but oh well... "I MEAN—I was also—I've been staring. That's not—" A beat. He ducked his head slightly, peering at you through his long lashes. "Hi. Can I sit with you?"

What. You stared at him.

"...you're already sitting."

"Yeah." He let out a breathless, cute little laugh. "Is that okay?"

You eyed the way his broad shoulders were hunched inward, how he was practically holding his breath while he waited for your permission to stay. He had actually crossed the unspoken line between you, managed to completely fumble his opening line, and was now looking at you with wide, nervous eyes.

"Yeah," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's okay."

He smiled. A real one, wide and slightly crooked, and it did the thing to his face that made you always bite your lip, but up close it was somehow so much worse in the best way possible. He had dimples. Of course he had dimples.

"I'm Satoru," he said.

You told him your name. His smile just grew softer at the sound of it.

He reached over and stole the little glass sugar dispenser from the center of the table, turning it over in his hands like he desperately needed something to keep his fingers occupied.

Over the past week, Satoru had been planning, deciding how he would approach you. He had asked friends, scoured Reddit, and practically checked a freaking WikiHow on how to approach a cute girl in a café when you've both been mutually staring at each other. 

He hated all the cliché café-adjacent pick-up lines, but perhaps it was the gravity of your doe eyes, or perhaps he was just nervous. Either way, his mouth went on autopilot, asking with terrible casualness:

"You come here often?"

You looked at him.

He looked back, expectant, already cursing himself that his vocal cords had picked the absolute most ass question imaginable, but he tried to play it cool and you genuinely could not tell if he was joking or dead serious.

But this was the next time he had promised himself. And honestly, you had missed him over the week you spent caving at home. You thought about your café. Your corner. Your sacred table by the window that was currently occupied by a stranger who had no idea what he'd just accidentally done. Which you were currently thankful for. To Satoru. And to the stranger, too.

You picked up your coffee.

"Yeah," you said, a tiny, helpless smile finally breaking across your own face. As you decided that he meant it dead serious afterall. "Actually."

He looked unbearably pleased about this. You looked out the window so he wouldn't see just how hard you were blushing.

Then you thought about this table. This one, right here. The one that wasn’t yours, nor his.

But as Satoru stretched his long legs out and his knees accidentally bumped gently against yours under the wood and neither of you pulled away you realized that maybe, just maybe, this table might just become yours. Both of yours.

── Divider from muerdida!

[jackbraakat]

UGH THIS WAS SO CUTE I was giggling and smiling the whole time. So wholesome and cute. ugh shy nerdjo has my heart

[animentality]

[alphacrone]

pulling yourself up by your strap-on or whatever they say

[onecells]

YOU🫵'RE 🫵 NE->XT.!! moTHERFUCKER!!!!

GET LOVED!!!!!!!!!!

[perequiste]

things will work out + it’s still early + not everything is lost + trees

[theskydoesgreatthingsnow]

LOTR abridged

[kosmogrl]

[catchymemes]

[vixvigil]

it’s never a normal temperature anymore it’s always some fucking bullshit

[buhaybabae]

My blog is a private thing that is open to everyone in the world except to the people I know in real life.

[fuwungi]

Sonic and shadow matching Kandi 💙🖤

[jackbraakat]

Ohmygod the CHAO i tried so hard to get the Shadow Chao when I was younger and playing SA2B.

[torupng]

❝ ALTER EGO ❞ 呪術廻戦.

CHAPTER 8 ⇢ PREV(7) ⋆ NEXT(9).

# NSFW TWT ! NERDJO AU ⋆ popular fem!reader ⋆ fluffy ⋆ the ‘what are we’ talk ⋆ no smut in this chapter ⋆ loverboy!nerdjo ⋆ sfw .

The morning light was too bright. Your phone was too hot in your hand. And your brain was still replaying last night on an endless, mortifying (albeit sexy) loop.

You'd talked him through it. Through an orgasm. Your voice telling him exactly what to do. How to touch himself. How to think about you. How to say your name when he came.

And he had.

You'd heard it. Every moan. Every gasp. Every time he'd whispered your name like it was the only word he knew at that moment.

And then he returned the favor. Talked you through your own orgasm with those filthy words you’ve heard in his videos. He was good. Of course he was. The guy gets paid to do this shit.

You'd hung up and immediately wanted to crawl out of your skin. What the fuck was wrong with you? This was supposed to be a blackmail arrangement. You were supposed to be in control. Instead, you'd become his personal phone sex operator at midnight like some kind of desperate—

Your phone buzzed.

glassesoff: morning.

You stared at the screen. Of course he was texting you. Of course he was acting like nothing had happened. Of course he was—

You: don't.

glassesoff: don't what?

You: don't act like last night was normal.

glassesoff: it wasn't normal. it was really hot.

You: I'm going to break my phone in two.

glassesoff: don't. I need you to text me back.

You: why?

glassesoff: because I can't stop thinking about you.

You felt the words in your chest. Warm and unwelcome and impossible to ignore.

You: you're doing that thing again.

glassesoff: what thing?

You: the thing where you say stuff that makes me want to punch you.

glassesoff: you say that, but you're still texting me.

You: because I pretty much have nothing better to do

glassesoff: liar, you like texting me

You: whatever.

glassesoff: not a no

glassesoff: anyways, can we talk? like, actually talk?

You: we just talked last night.

glassesoff: I mean in person.

Your stomach did a little flip. Not necessarily the good kind, either.

You: why?

glassesoff: because there's something I want to ask you.

You: you can ask me over text.

glassesoff: better in person

You wanted to say no. You should have said no. Every rational part of your brain was screaming at you to say no.

You: fine. library at 2

glassesoff: I'll be there

— — —

The library at 2 was quiet. Mid-afternoon lull, everyone was either in class or pretending to study in their dorms. You found him in the corner, same spot as always, laptop open in front of him.

He was wearing his glasses. His hair was slightly less messy than it had been in his dorm. He was wearing a sweater—navy blue, oversized, the kind that made him look soft and innocent.

You knew better now.

You slid into the seat across from him, arms crossed, expression carefully neutral.

"Okay," you said. "What's so important that you had to drag me here in person?"

He closed his laptop. Leaned back. Looked at you with knowing eyes.

"We need to talk about us," he said.

"There is no us."

"There is definitely an us. We've been doing this for weeks. We text constantly. I made you—"

"Don't."

"—y’know."

"I said don't."

"You're blushing."

"I'm not blushing. It's warm in here."

"I’m not warm and i’m wearing a sweater."

"Your point?"

"My point is we need to figure out what we're doing." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Because I can't keep doing this if I don't know where we're going."

You opened your mouth to deflect. To make a joke. To do anything but have this conversation because it’s too early to confront feelings you’re not even sure of.

"Okay," you said slowly. "Fine. What do you want?"

"I want to know what you want."

"I don't know what I want."

"Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"You know what you want. You're just scared to say it." He tilted his head, watching you. "So I'll go first. I want you. I want to keep doing this. Whatever this is. But I need to know if you're actually in or if you're just going to keep running from this."

You were silent for a long moment. Thinking about the implications of this whole ordeal. When the hell did it get so out of hand?

"I'm not running," you said finally.

"You literally ran out of my dorm yesterday."

"Because you were being an asshole."

"Because you were about to jump me."

"Oh please, I was not—"

"You were. I saw it in your eyes. You wanted to kiss me so badly you could barely stand it. That’s why you left.”

"I'm going to punch you."

"You love this face too much.”

You glared at him. He glared back. And then, slowly after realizing this whole entire back and forth was pointless, you sighed.

"Fine," you said. "I'm not running away. But I'm also not... I don't know what this is. I don't know what I want. And I don't want to rush into something that's going to blow up in my face."

"So we take it slow."

"Slow is fine."

"But slow doesn't mean nothing." He leaned forward again, eyes intense. "I'm not interested in being your secret. I'm not interested in sneaking around while you pretend I don't exist in front of your friends or whatever. If that's what this is, we can stop right here."

"Satoru—"

"I mean it." His voice was firm. Serious. No trace of the teasing smirk. That was definitely new, but that’s how you knew he wasn’t kidding. "I've spent my whole life being in the background. I'm not going to do that with you. Not when I actually care."

You didn't know what to say. Because he was right. You'd been treating him like some dirty little secret. Like something to be hidden away.

"I'm not ashamed of you," you said firmly.

"Then why won't you be seen with me?"

"Because people talk."

"I don't care what people think."

"I do." You looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "I have a reputation. A life. If people see me with you, they're going to—"

"Think you're dating a nerd?"

"Think I'm slumming it. Think I'm desperate. Think—"

"That you actually like me?"

The question hit you like a physical blow. Maybe you were being too harsh. Being with him isn’t… slumming it. It’s not desperate.

"Ignore everything from before. Listen—I do like you," you admitted. "That's the problem."

"How is that a problem?"

"Because liking you is complicated. It's messy. It's not the easy, casual thing I'm used to."

"So you'd rather have easy and casual than something real?"

"I don't know." You ran a hand through your hair, frustrated. "I don't know what I want. I thought I knew. I thought I was in control. But then you showed up and—" You stopped. Swallowed. "I don’t know—I’m just confused."

"Okay," he said finally. "Here's what I'm proposing. We keep doing this. We keep talking. We keep seeing each other. But we're not a secret. I'm not going to hide. I'm not going to pretend like you don't mean anything to me."

"But what if people—"

"Fuck what people think." His voice was laced with finality. "If you're with me, be with me. Don't half-ass it. I'm not a half-ass kind of guy."

"I never said I was half-assing anything."

"You're half-assing this conversation right now."

"I am not—" He’s not letting you get a single sentence out.

"You are." He leaned forward, eyes boring into yours. "You keep talking about what other people think. You keep talking about your reputation. You keep talking about everything except what you actually want."

"And what if I don't know what I want?"

"Then figure it out. But don't drag me along while you do."

He was right. You were dragging him along. You were stringing him along. You were using him and then pushing him away and then pulling him back and—

"Okay, no… you’re right. I’m sorry," you said quietly. "I didn't mean to—"

"I know." His voice softened, just a fraction. "But I need you to be honest with me. About what you want. About what you're willing to do."

"I'm willing to try."

"Try what?"

"Try this." You gestured vaguely between you. "Whatever this is. I'm willing to try it. But I need time. And I need it to be slow. And I need people not to know until I know what we are."

"That's… fair."

"Wait—really?"

"Really." He leaned back, the smirk returning. "But I'm going to hold you to that. You said you're willing to try. So try."

"Stop making it sound like a challenge."

"It is a challenge. You love challenges."

"I don't love challenges. I hate them."

"And yet you're still here."

"You keep saying that. It’s like your catchphrase.”

"Maybe so."

You smiled despite yourself. He had that stupid… stupidly cute smile on his lips and his glasses were a little crooked and his hair was messy and you were definitely falling in love.

You sat in silence for a moment, just looking at him, letting the realization settle.

"So," he said eventually, breaking the silence. "We're doing this."

"Yup." You idly tapped your fingers against the table.

"Slow."

"Slow."

"And private until you figure out what you want."

"Private until I figure out what I want." You nodded.

"And when you figure out what you want, you'll tell me."

"I'll tell you." You nodded again.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

He held out his pinky, slender finger pointed in your direction. You stared at it like it was a joke.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Pinky promise. It's binding."

"If you’re five maybe..." you sighed. Rolled your eyes. And then you linked your pinky with his.

"Happy?" you asked.

"Ecstatic."

"Better not get used to it."

"Too late." He grinned, and it was infuriating and endearing and everything you didn't want to admit you loved. "So. When are we having sex?"

Your brain lagged. Did he just…?

"Excuse me?"

"You said it was casual. Casual means sex. So when are we having sex?"

"I didn't say it was casual."

"You said you wanted it to be slow. That's code for casual."

"That's not code for casual. That's code for I don't want to rush into something that’s—."

"So you're saying we're going to have sex eventually."

"I'm saying—" You stopped. Sighed. "I'm saying we're going to take it slow and see what happens."

"So we're going to have sex eventually."

"Why are you so fixated on this?"

"Because I want to know if I should be preparing."

"Preparing for what?"

"For you." He leaned forward, voice dropping low. "For the look on your face when I make you come. For the sounds you'll make. For the way you'll say my name when I make sure you forget how to think."

Your face burned. "We’re in public, you shameless bastard."

"What can I say… I’m a bit of an exhibitionist."

"I'm going to leave."

"No you won't."

"I'm literally going to stand up and walk away right now."

"So stand up."

And then, slowly, you stood up. He pouted playfully, tilting his head. “Didn’t think you actually would.”

"Text me later," you said, rolling your eyes at him. He was so unbelievably unserious it was frustrating. But you didn’t mind. You’d gotten used to it.

"Already planning to."

"Don't be weird."

"You like when I’m weird."

You walked away, but you could feel his eyes on you the entire time.

When you got back to your dorm, your phone buzzed.

glassesoff: I meant what I said. about not being a secret.

You: I know.

glassesoff: so when you're ready, I'm here. but don't take too long. I'm not patient.

You: I thought you said you'd give me time.

glassesoff: I'm giving you time. I'm just saying I'm not patient.

You: that's literally a contradiction.

glassesoff: I'm a complicated guy.

You: you are indeed

glassesoff: and you love it.

You: I partially tolerate it.

glassesoff: sure you do.

You: stop being smug.

glassesoff: can't help it. I've got you half-way to saying you like me.

You: I've never said that.

glassesoff: you didn't have to. your face earlier said everything.

You: maybe I do like you. a little.

glassesoff: a little?

You: don't push it.

glassesoff: wouldn't dream of it.

You stared at the screen. Your heart was pounding. Your face was warm. And for the first time, it didn’t totally suck. You didn't know what this was. You didn't know where it was going. But you’d figure it out… eventually.

mb for half assing this chapter the way reader was half assing her conversation w satoru next chapter is a GOOODDDD one trust

tag list: @bat-brainzzz @hakusai0429 @purelyangelicmeowz @babykuna @daisy-p17 @sophistication-as @a-lack-of-thoughts @petulniia @nightwingsbabydoll @angelsarchive555 @chanpoo @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @gojo-lover-mia @lilingzhi @lewlz @neotoru @riprammie @midnights-with-him @sugurusbeloved @natyily @remoirses @lynostalgi @suguphile @p3talswayingindesun @sayurizenavelda @rikiswifeyyy @aishasluvv @johnpaulyay @sillystarv @hakiyakawa @mcdslyn @greecegrimace @wvmiee @miyahluvsjjk @haniipie @fantasticnymphghoul @awesomenessmaster500 @kun4ril @satoruke @winniethepoohjusttookapooh @onyuns @funsized-lyz @alice-nguyenn @purplehairedfairyxx @tiffi26 @blissfullymes @chosoprettygirl @whimsynojai @ambxr1 @affinityblues

[torupng]

tags 2 @sheerlilacs @yong-yong-ma-boi @tharunnihaa @tchmiya @blueemochii @skylaryippee @imvenny @thewr3ck3d @kyotokisses @rinitoshixx @dampcrouton77684 @nanahach1 @anothergojostan @sugucide

[jackbraakat]

Nonono this is character development, it’s not half-assed, it’s okay to take things slow sometimes! Ain’t that right?

[gojosconsort]

⊹　 　 005. CHAPTER FIVE　　　⊹ 　 　 　worst muse ever　◞♡　and other problems

⌗　 GOJO SATORU　/　五条 悟 gojo satoru x f!reader　·　w.c: 5,500

◞　in which you’ve always been the queen of chaos, but this time you really outdid yourself. after finally working up the courage to confess to satoru that you like him, you somehow end up on a double date with him, suguru, and a girl you don’t know. you’re already counting down the minutes until this nightmare ends but satoru has very different plans.

◞　content + warnings 18+ only. minors do not interact. sexy things happening (handjob), risk of voyeurism/getting caught, jealousy, miscommunication, mutual pining, heavy teasing, and banter.

◞　author’s notes eyyy i gave up on proofreading and tumblr deleted my draft so i'm kinda overstimulated right now... enjoy <3

⌗ links　masterlist　·　ao3

the pizzeria is loud and warm and smells like melted cheese and you’ve officially decided this is the worst night of your life, which is saying a lot considering the last few weeks.

satoru is across from you, next to his date—rio, apparently, the girl form the hallway with her shiny hair and soft laugh, the kind of girl who hides her giggles behind her hand every time satoru says something that isn’t even that funny. 

suguru is beside you, close enough that his knee bumps yours every time he reaches for another slice, which is nice. objectively. if you think about it, suguru is nice, and he looks good, and any normal person would be more than happy to have his attention.

you are not normal tonight. you’re too busy watching satoru laugh with someone else to enjoy any of it.

the car ride here had already ruined your mood. satoru had made everyone listen to rio’s favorite song on repeat, and you’d spent the entire drive staring out the window, thinking about how three days ago you almost told him i like you, and instead you ended up here, watching him lean in close to show her memes you’ve seen a hundred times and wondering if he shows the same memes to every girl in his life while considering opening the door and flinging yourself out of the moving car just to escape the agony.

now there’s a giant pizza in the middle of the table that you’ve barely touched, while satoru’s already halfway through his third slice. rio keeps smiling and saying things like, “satoru told me you guys have been friends forever, that’s so cute,” in a sweet voice that makes you want to crawl under the table and disappear.

“oh, has he?” you mutter, picking at the crust of your pizza. “we actually met because he stole the last muffin in the cafeteria during orientation week.”

“he does that,” rio laughs, resting her hand on satoru’s arm again. “he stole my parking spot the day we met.”

“of course he did,” you say, forcing a little smile. “very satoru. but really it worked out fine, because satoru’s lactose intolerant, and i’m pretty sure that muffin from orientation ruined the rest of his day. so, don’t let him anywhere near your tiramisu later unless you want to spend the movie listening to him complain.”

“wait, you’re lactose intolerant?” rio asks, turning to satoru.

“she’s making it sound way worse than it was,” satoru says, stealing another bite of your pizza. “i’m not that lactose intolerant. i had, like, one bad night. one time. and she’s never let me live it down.”

“you cried,” you deadpan. “and texted me at two in the morning saying you were dying.”

“i said i felt like i was dying.”

“you sent me a picture.”

“i absolutely did not—”

“you were on the floor, satoru,” you cut in, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead in an overdramatic impression. “‘i’m on the floor. i think this is it. tell my story.’”

rio lets out a slightly nervous laugh, unsure if she’s allowed to find this funny. suguru, however, laughs beside you.

“he’s always been a little dramatic,” suguru agrees.

satoru turns to rio, propping his chin on his hand. “don’t listen to her. she’s just trying to change the subject because she talks in her sleep.”

“i do not.”

“you absolutely do.”

“i don’t!”

suguru smiles into his drink. “that’s kinda cute, actually.”

“you’d think so until you actually hear her,” satoru says, pointing at you. “remember that camping trip last summer? i woke up in the middle of the night thinking someone was outside the tent but turns out she was just talking in her sleep and drooling all over her sleeping bag.”

“oh, you mean the trip where you woke up clutching a flashlight like your life depended on it because you were scared of some birds?” you fire back. “you mean that trip?”

suguru snorts. “he was scared of birds?”

“oh, he was terrified,” you say, glancing at rio. “milk and birds are very sensitive topics for satoru.”

“says the girl who still sleeps with a teddy bear every night.”

rio covers her mouth, failing to hide her laugh. “you still sleep with a teddy bear?”

“yeah, and it only has one eye,” satoru adds.

“it has both eyes!”

“one of them is a button.”

“because i had to sew it back on after you kicked him off the bed!”

“it was an accident!”

“sure. an accident. you’ve never liked him in the first place.”

“i don’t hate him! didn’t i apologize to the bear? you made me apologize to him!”

“because you ripped his eye off!”

the table goes quiet for a beat. not the comfortable kind. the kind where you suddenly notice the clatter of the kitchen somewhere behind you and the scrape of someone’s chair two tables over. 

rio and suguru exchange a look across the table.

“…you guys have a lot of history,” rio says carefully.

“we really don’t,” you say at the exact same time satoru says, “we really do,” and you both look at each other for a second.

“seriously?” you mutter.

“what?” he replies, all innocent.

the table falls into an excruciating silence. suguru suddenly seems deeply fascinated in the condensation running down the side of his glass, while rio suddenly finds the floor very interesting.

finally, rio clears her throat. “i’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

“i’ll walk with you,” suguru says way too fast, already sliding out of the booth. he shoots satoru a very clear fix this look before the two of them disappear toward the front of the restaurant.

the second they’re gone, you turn on satoru. he reaches across the table and casually steals another slice of your pizza.

“what are you doing?”

“eating pizza,” he answers with his mouth full.

“satoru.”

“mhmm?” he leans back, one arm draped along the top of the booth, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who’s supposedly here on a date with someone else.

“you’re doing this on purpose.”

“doing what?”

“you brought up the teddy bear.”

“you said that i’m scared of birds.”

“because you brought up the sleep talking!”

“because you started with the lactose intolerance!”

“because you stole my muffin three years ago!”

“which,” he says, pointing the crust at you, “was clearly the best decision i’ve ever made.”

you let out a laugh. “what is your mission here? to embarrass me in front of suguru?”

“oh please. like i have nothing better to do.” he takes another bite. “what about you? telling rio i cried on the bathroom floor?”

“you did cry on the bathroom floor.”

“i was in pain!”

“you texted me i think this is how i go.”

“i thought it was!”

“you also asked me to clear your search history.”

he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “can you please stop bringing that up?”

“never.”

he sighs, then takes another bite of your pizza. “anyway… what’s with you tonight?”

“what’s with me?”

“yeah. you’ve been taking shots at me all night. i thought i was doing you a favor setting you up with suguru.”

you let out a bitter laugh. “who even is rio? do you even know her last name?”

“of course i do,” he says, pausing for half a second. “it’s a very pretty name.”

“oh really?”

“yeah. way prettier than yours.”

“so what is it then?”

“that’s not the point.”

“wow.” you shake your head. “you’re on a date with a girl whose last name you don’t even know.”

“why do you care? you’re here with suguru.” he watches you and then that dangerous grin spreads across his lips. you already hate that grin. “oh my god.” 

“what?”

“you’re jealous.”

“i am not jealous.”

“you absolutely are.” he leans in, lowering his voice, the noise of the restaurant suddenly feeling very far away. “wanna know a secret?” before you can stop yourself, you lean in a little too. his smile only gets wider. “i think i’m into it… seeing you all worked up over me.”

“i am not worked up.”

“your ears are red.”

“it’s warm in here.”

“it’s really not.”

“satoru—”

“you could just say it, you know,” he says, and the teasing falls away a little. “instead of doing all this. you could just tell me.”

“tell you what?”

he opens his mouth—

“got ‘em!” suguru’s voice cuts through the moment like a bucket of ice water. he slides back into the booth beside you, way too cheerful. “movie tickets secured. four seats, back row. there’s an aisle in between, but it should be fine.”

you quickly look down at your glass, tracing patterns in the condensation. across from you, satoru leans back against the booth like nothing happened.

suguru glances between the two of you. “…you guys good?”

“great,” you say.

“perfect,” satoru says at the exact same time.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

the theater is already mostly full by the time you make it inside. the four of you walk down the aisle with popcorn and drinks in hand. you go in first on purpose. your plan is simple: you, suguru, aisle, rio, and then satoru. because that is how a double date is supposed to work, and it would put a very sensible amount of distance between you and satoru for the next two hours.

suguru starts to follow you in. and then satoru steps around him, drops into the seat right beside you, swings his long legs out, and settles in like he’s been there the whole night.

suguru blinks at him. satoru looks up at him and says nothing and does not move even an inch. there’s a long pause. then suguru sighs like he has decided this particular hill is not worth dying on tonight, and slides into the next seat over. rio settles beside him. 

you stare at suguru. he gives you a helpless shrug that very clearly says this one’s on you.

you turn to satoru. “you’re sitting next to me.”

“yeah,” he says. “that’s usually how sitting works.”

“that’s not how a double date works, satoru.”

“i don’t know. seems fine to me.” he glances down at your empty hands. “where’s your popcorn?”

“i was going to share with suguru before you decided i was not going to sit next to him.”

“oh.” he doesn’t look sorry at all. he simply holds his bucket out toward you. “here.”

you stare at the popcorn. then at him. he raises his eyebrows, waiting like this is a completely reasonable solution to the problem he created.

you take the popcorn. because you’re not arguing anymore, and also because you’re a little hungry.

“there you go,” he says.

the movie’s only been on for about twenty minutes when you reach into the tub and your fingers brush directly against his. his hand is already in there, waiting, not even pretending to be subtle.

you pull back quickly. “sorry.”

you wait a minute and try again. his hand is still right there.

“you’re doing that on purpose.”

“doing what?” he asks.

“putting your hand exactly where i’m about to put mine.”

“i’m just eating popcorn.” he tilts the tub toward you. “here. plenty of room. go ahead.”

you stare at him. he stares back, the picture of pure innocence. 

you wait. you watch him pull his hand back, rest it on his knee. you count to ten in your head, then reach in again—

his hand dives in at the exact same moment, fingers bumping into yours. he makes a small, thoughtful hum like oh, what a coincidence.

“satoru—”

“hm?” he’s already popping the stolen popcorn into his mouth, eyes glued to the screen.

you turn back to the movie, arms crossed. fine. you are a grown adult. you can ignore him. you don’t even want popcorn anymore. you’re just going to sit here like a mature, unbothered adult and watch the film.

you last exactly three minutes.

this time when you reach in, his hand catches yours completely. warm fingers curl loosely around your entire hand inside the tub. he doesn’t even pretend it’s an accident.

you freeze.

the movie keeps playing. someone says something dramatic on screen. you have no idea what.

“satoru,” you whisper.

“yeah?”

“let go.”

“i’m not doing anything.”

“you are holding my hand.”

“our hands happen to be in the same place, yeah.” he tilts his head toward the screen. “good movie, by the way. you should watch it.”

“i hate you,” you whisper.

“no you don’t,” he replies softly. his thumb slowly strokes across the back of your hand—warm, slow, and so deliberately gentle it makes your breath catch.

you keep staring straight ahead, heart hammering against your ribs. something explodes on the screen. someone wins something. you have completely lost the plot. the only thing you can focus on is satoru’s hand curled warmly around yours inside the nearly empty popcorn tub, his thumb lazily tracing the side of your palm like he has all the time in the world.

you are gripping a mostly empty container in a crowded theater, desperately trying to look like a normal person watching a movie and not someone on the verge of a complete breakdown.

then he shifts in his seat.

the tub in his lap tilts slightly, and suddenly you feel it—hot, hard, and unmistakably pressed against the back of your fingers through the thin cardboard. 

your face burns.

satoru’s free hand grips the armrest a little too hard. you catch it from the corner of your eye. he tries to play it cool, but you feel the way he subtly adjusts his hips, trying (and failing) to ease the pressure without drawing attention. the movement only makes it worse. the thick outline drags heavier against your knuckles.

your face burns hotter. you don’t dare move. not even to pull your hand away. the theater is dark, but it suddenly feels blindingly bright, like every single person around you can sense exactly what’s happening under that stupid popcorn tub.

you should yank your hand back. you should. but then your fingers move—accidentally, of course—pressing more firmly against the thick shape of him. he’s so hard it makes your stomach flip. 

for a second he’s completely still, then he lets out a shaky exhale that sounds suspiciously like a laugh he’s trying to choke down. “fuck… you’re really gonna do this to me right here?” he whispers. 

his fingers tighten around yours, the ones still laced together. then, without warning, he pushes your intertwined hands down harder against his cock. the move is bold. greedy. he rocks his hips up just enough to grind the heavy length against your palm, letting you feel every inch of how badly he’s losing it.

he bites down on his lip, head tipping back against the seat. his breathing is no longer steady. neither is yours. he guides you again, pressing your palm down harder, encouraging you to rub along his full length from base to tip.

you’re pretty sure you’re two seconds away from actually dying in this theater seat. “satoru… we can’t do this here.” the words come out weak, almost breathless. even you don’t fully believe them.

“why not,” he whispers right against your ear, lips brushing your skin. “been so fucking hard for you the whole evening… you have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.”

your pulse is racing. you swallow hard, eyes darting toward the rows around you. “someone will see,” you whisper.

satoru doesn’t even hesitate. with his free hand, he reaches behind his neck and tugs off his oversized black sweater. the thin white t-shirt underneath rides up, flashing a tempting strip of toned, pale skin and his lower abs before it settles back down and then he drapes the sweater over his lap.

he grabs your hand again—still intertwined with his—and guides it right back under the soft black material. he presses your palm firmly against the burning outline of his cock.

“better?” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple, voice teasing even as it trembles with need. “no one can see now… so touch me. please… i’m dying for it.”

this is a horrible idea.

the thought screams in your head as your fingers stayed glued to his cock under the heavy fabric of his sweater. the movie is still playing, some loud action scene flashing across the screen, but all you can focus on is the very real possibility that this entire theater is about to call the police. or worse… that suguru and rio, who are sitting just two seats over to your left, might glance over at any second and see exactly what’s happening under that black sweater.

“satoru, this is insane. suguru and rio are right there—”

he doesn’t let you finish. his hand tightens over yours, guiding you again, pressing your palm fully against his throbbing cock and dragging it slowly up and down his length. the heat under the sweater is ridiculous. he’s impossibly hard, twitching every time your fingers move.

“should i touch you instead?” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “but you have to keep quiet for me.”

the suggestion sends a fresh wave of heat through you. you know you should say no. you know this is risky and stupid and completely insane… but the thought of touching him again makes your mouth go dry.

instead of pulling away, your fingers curl tighter around him.

satoru lets out a shaky exhale as he guides your hand lower, helping you cup the heavy, throbbing base of his cock. your face burns, but you don’t stop. you want this. even if your heart is racing like it’s trying to escape your chest.

under the thick cover of his sweater, you start to stroke him slowly, feeling the full, heavy length of his cock twitch against your palm. satoru’s head tips back again, eyes closed as he bites down on his lip to stay quiet.

he shifts lower in his seat, hips tilting toward you. with one hand, he unbuckles his belt and pops the button of his jeans open, then tugs the zipper down just enough. 

the moment your fingers wrap around him, skin to skin, satoru’s whole body tenses. he’s burning hot, velvet-smooth, and achingly hard. thick enough that your fingers don’t quite meet as you curl them around his shaft. you feel him throb in your grip, a bead of wetness already smearing against your palm.

you’ve drawn him before—multiple times, in secret, late at night when your mind wouldn’t stop thinking about him, you drawn him in his dorm room, in class. you knew the shape. the length. the way the head flared. but this… this is completely different.

he feels impossibly hot in your palm, almost feverish. the skin is silky-smooth and velvet-soft over steel-hard thickness. he’s even bigger than you imagined when your pencil was moving across the page. your fingers don’t quite close all the way around him, and the weight of his heavy cock resting in your grip makes your thighs press together.

you feel the prominent vein running along the underside pulsing against your fingers as you stroke him slowly. every throb makes him twitch in your hand, jumping slightly like he’s overly sensitive. the head is slick already—smooth, swollen, and leaking steadily. when your thumb brushes over it, you smear the warm, slippery pre-cum across the tip, and satoru’s breath stutters hard.

“shit…” he hisses quietly, head falling forward. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted your hand on me like this.”

every slow stroke makes him leak more, coating your fingers and making the glide smoother and wetter. you keep stroking him under the sweater, a little bolder now. your fingers slide up and down his thick length, twisting slightly around the head on every upstroke just the way he seems to like. the slick sound of your hand moving over his pre-cum-coated cock is muffled by the sweater and the loud movie, but it still feels dangerously loud to you.

satoru’s breathing is ragged against your ear. every time you squeeze a little tighter or brush your thumb across the sensitive underside of his head, his cock twitches hard in your grip and he lets out a choked sound.

all the while, your mind is spiraling. you can’t stop imagining how this dick would feel inside you. you picture it stretching you open, that heavy, blunt head pushing past your entrance, forcing you to take every inch while he whispers filthy things against your neck. 

you imagine the way he’d throb deep inside you, the drag of those veins against your walls, the way he’d bottom out and grind against that spot that makes your back arch. you’d probably cry. you’d probably beg. 

your mind is spiraling out of control.

you can’t stop imagining dropping your head into his lap right here, right now. you want to take him into your mouth so badly, to taste him and feel that thick cock sliding over your tongue as you sink down until he hits the back of your throat. you want him to grip your hair and push deeper, fucking your throat while he tries desperately not to moan loud enough for the whole theater to hear.

the fantasy makes you clench around nothing. your hand moves a little faster, slicker, tighter.

“fuck, just like that—” he groans under his breath, barely keeping his voice down. “you’re gonna make me cum if you keep—ah—squeezing me like that…”

he’s panting now, body tense and trembling as you work him closer and closer under the cover of his sweater. it doesn’t take long. a few more firm strokes and then his teeth sink hard into his bottom lip, muffling the groan that tries to escape.

“fuck—i’m—”

thick, hot ropes of cum spill over your fingers, pulse after pulse, messy and endless, flooding your palm and dripping down between your fingers. satoru’s cock twitches in your grip with every spurt, leaking more and more hot cum and quickly soaking into the front of his boxers until the fabric is warm and drenched.

when it finally starts to slow, your hand is dripping with his cum. some of it has even leaked down onto his balls and the waistband of his boxers, making everything under the sweater a complete mess.

“…shit. look what you did to me.” a soft, dazed chuckle escapes him. “made such a fucking mess.”

satoru slumps in his seat for a moment, still catching his breath, his cock softening but still twitching. he lets your fingers run over his softening cock—slow, gentle strokes along the slick, sensitive length. even soft, he feels heavy and warm in your hand, the skin slippery with his own release.

then he turns his head, lips brushing your ear again. “let me return the favor.” and then he catches your wrist and brings your cum-covered hand to his mouth. his lips part, and he slowly sucks your fingers in, tongue gliding over them as he licks his own release off your skin. eyes on you as he watches your reaction.

the theater suddenly feels ten degrees hotter.

when he pulls back, a string of saliva and cum connects his bottom lip to your fingertip for a second before it breaks. he glances down at his own messy hands, the evidence of what you did to him still dripping slowly over his fingers.

“you on birth control?” he asks.

you shake your head, cheeks burning. “no…”

“okay,” he says, clearly running through his options. “bathroom?”

you freeze not sure what he suggests for a second. satoru leans in closer and presses a soft kiss just below your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

“let me take care of you. i can still make you cum on my tongue.”

your brain goes blank. before you can even spiral further, before you can decide between dying of shame or dragging him out of the theater yourself, the credits start rolling across the screen and the lights begin to slowly brighten.

before you can spiral into a full panic attack or seriously consider dragging satoru out by the collar, the credits start rolling and the theater lights begin to slowly brighten like a cruel spotlight on your sins.

“fuck,” satoru mutters beside you, quickly stuffing himself back together. “the movie’s over already?”

oh my god.

you just jerked off your best friend in the middle of a double date. in a movie theater. while suguru and rio were sitting two seats away. what would your grandma think of you? you are going straight to hell. there’s no coming back from this. they’re probably already reserving your seat next to the guy who invented pineapple on pizza.

suguru stands up on the other side of the aisle and looks over at you with a casual smile. “great movie, right?”

you don’t remember a single second of it.

“yeah! super… space-y.” you’re on your feet before your brain even gives the order, clutching your bag to your chest. “it’s really hot in here, right? i’m gonna head out first—”

suguru’s hand gently catches your wrist. “hey, you good?”

“totally! one hundred percent. never better.” you nod way too many times, smiling so wide it hurts.

he glances down at your hand—the one still glistening with the evidence of your crime—and his brow furrows slightly.

“you’re… sweating?”

your soul leaves your body.

“the movie was really unnerving,” you ramble, the words tumbling out in pure panic. “very tense. lot of, um, stakes.”

suguru blinks. the movie was really not that unnerving. but before he can point that out, you pull your wrist free and continue your desperate escape, squeezing past the last few people in the row like a criminal fleeing the scene.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

you’re pacing a small circle outside the theater entrance, arms wrapped around yourself and your brain is going about a thousand miles an hour. your hands are still sticky. gross. warm. you can literally feel satoru’s cum drying between your fingers and it’s making you lose your mind even faster.

okay. okay okay okay. what the fuck was that. what just happened in there.

when did agreeing to this stupid double date turn into fighting over the popcorn tub only for satoru’s thick hard cock to suddenly be right there pressing against your fingers and then he was guiding your hand around him and you were actually jerking him off in the middle of the theater and he came so much all over your fingers and then he licked his own cum off your skin like it was the most normal thing in the world and—

this was supposed to be a double date.

a normal, safe, four-person group thing. you, suguru, satoru, and whoever the girl was he was supposed to bring. instead you ended up jerking your best friend off in the dark while your other friends sat two seats away completely clueless. 

you’re a horrible person. 

you’re a menace. 

you’re never showing your face in public again.

your face feels like it’s on fire. your thighs keep pressing together because you’re still stupidly wet from everything that happened and that only makes you spiral harder.

what is happening with satoru.

why did he want to sit right next to you. why is he always orbiting you like this and making your life ten times more complicated than it needs to be. didn’t he bring a girl he was supposedly into? then why the hell did he spend the entire movie glued to your side like he couldn’t breathe without touching you. why did he sound so desperate when he whispered please like that. why did he look at you with those stupid pretty eyes right after he came all over your hand like he was two seconds away from dragging you into the nearest bathroom and dropping to his knees to return the favor right there on the dirty floor.

you’re so fucked. you’re actually so fucked.

“hey.”

you jump so hard you nearly drop your bag. satoru is right beside you, hands shoved deep in his pockets, hair slightly messy from the wind.

“what are you doing out here, it’s freezing.” without waiting for an answer he’s already tugging his black sweater off over his head and holding it out to you.

“i don’t need it,” you say.

“you’re literally shivering.”

“i’m fine.”

“take the sweater.” he doesn’t even argue. he steps closer and drapes it over your shoulders himself. it’s still warm from his body and it smells like him—clean, a little sweet, dangerously comforting. you hate how much you notice.

you clear your throat, trying to pull yourself together. “where’s suguru? and rio?”

satoru shrugs, sliding his hands back into his pockets. “they left.”

“left? like… together?”

“yeah. i think they like each other.” he glances at you sideways, a small smile tugging at his lips. “looks like we both got ditched by our dates. tragic.”

“oh,” you mumble. then, because you feel like you have to, “i’m sorry about your date.”

“what date.”

“rio? the girl you brought?”

“i didn’t even know her last name,” he says with zero shame. “met her at the vending machine outside the athletic building a few days ago, asked if she wanted to come. that was the whole thing.”

you stare at him. “satoru.”

“what?”

“you brought a literal stranger to a double date and now she left with suguru.”

he rocks back on his heels, grinning like none of this bothers him in the slightest. “i mean, good for them. sounds like they’re having a much better night than i was—sitting there for two hours trying not to lose my mind next to the girl i actually like.”

you blink. “…the girl you like?”

satoru rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little shy for once. 

“yeah,” he says, quieter this time. “i like you. like… a lot. have for a while now.” he lets out a soft laugh. “if you didn’t already figure it out from the whole ‘coming in two seconds the second you touched me’ thing… well. now you know.”

he steps closer, those bright blue eyes locked on yours. your heart races.

“and i think you like me too,” he adds, voice softer now.

you clutch the front of his sweater, mind still reeling.

“satoru…”

he tilts his head and watches you carefully. “i really want to kiss you right now,” he says, “but we’re standing in a shady movie theater parking lot and two people over there are staring at us. plus you made me cum before i even kissed you, which feels kinda backwards and ungentlemanly… so instead, i’m gonna ask you something.”

your heart races so hard you can barely breathe.

“what?” you whisper.

satoru smiles.

“will you go out on a real date with me? a proper one. just us. no strangers or best friends two seats over, and definitely with the right order of events this time.” his grin turns wicked. “talking… then kissing… then making you cum.”

“oh my god, satoru, stop,” you groan, covering your burning face with both hands. his words shoot straight between your legs and you hate how much you like it.

he laughs—that bright, carefree sound you’ve always been weak for—and gently pulls your hands down from your face.

“can’t help it. you do this to me.” his thumbs moves softly over your knuckles. “but i’m serious. let me do this right. one date. just you and me. no running away this time.” 

he leans in closer, voice dropping into that low, dangerous tone again.

“and then… i can finally kiss you. taste you. make you feel as good as you made me feel in that theater.”

you bite your lip. “…okay,” you say softly, a shy smile breaking through. “yes. i’ll go on a proper date with you.”

satoru’s whole face lights up. he steps closer, cups the side of your face with one warm hand, and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. then he tilts his head and whispers right against your ear, “good. because once i finally get you alone, i’m gonna bury my face between your thighs and eat that pretty pussy until you’re shaking and crying my name. gonna make up for coming so fast earlier… and then fuck you slow and deep like i’ve been fantasizing about for way too long.”

you shiver, a tiny helpless sound slipping out. he pulls back with a satisfied smirk.

“alright,” he says, pulling out his phone like he didn’t just melt your brain. “i’m calling us an uber. our original driver apparently left with my fake date.”

he winks at you, tapping on his screen, while you stand there, face burning and legs barely working, on ther verge of passing out right here on the sidewalk like a victorian maiden who saw an ankle.

⌗ navigation　previous　·　masterlist　·　next

◞　author’s notes well… that escalated quickly lmaooo. i didn’t initially plan to write smut with this one but oh well, satoru wants what he wants or something like that. anywayyyy thank you so much for reading!! this story is a mess but i’m having way too much fun writing it. see you in the next chapter 🥰🥰

© gojosconsort. do not repost, copy, translate, or claim as your own.

[jackbraakat]

YESSSSS FINALLY WE ARE ADMITTING OUR FEELINGS. ‘BOUT TIME. The way I was giggling in bed reading this is crazy. Top notch banter. I love the way you write Satoru sm

[gojosconsort]

︵ ೀ mdni. so the rumors are true, frat boy!satoru really is stupidly big

you swear you’d never end up here.

you swear on your GPA, your future, and your last remaining brain cell that you would never hook up with a frat boy. never. especially not satoru gojo.

yet here you are, in his messy room that looks like the last time he did laundry was during the obama administration, staring at six-foot-four of naked, insanely sculpted frat boy while he stands there like a proud exhibit at the penis museum.

his body is ridiculous. broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, every muscle carved from years of whatever sports he plays when he isn’t throwing ragers. pale skin that somehow still looks sun-kissed across his chest and shoulders, faint tan lines from sleeveless practice jerseys. a happy trail of soft white hair leads down from his abs—abs you could spend hours running your tongue over—straight to the main event.

and god… the main event.

thick, heavy, and already flushed dark at the tip, it curves slightly upward with an intimidating girth that makes your stomach flip. it bobs as he shifts his weight, veins standing out along the shaft.

“that,” you say, “is never gonna fit.”

satoru’s snowy white hair falls messily over his forehead as he grins, those bright blue eyes sparkling. “nah, it’ll fit. i’ll make it fit.” he wraps a large hand around himself, giving one slow stroke that makes your mouth go dry. “trust me.”

“it’s not gonna fit. this thing is massive. like… i’m actually concerned for my internal organs.”

“uhm. thanks?” he looks stupidly pleased, a faint blush creeping up his neck. the cocky frat boy actually blushes at the compliment. it is almost endearing.

almost.

he climbs onto the bed and up close he smells exactly like you imagine—expensive cologne, faint beer, and warm skin. his body is hot against yours as he settles between your thighs, muscular arms on either side of your head.

when he leans down to kiss you, it is surprisingly soft at first and then hungry, tongue teasing yours while one big hand slides down your side to squeeze your hip.

you gasp when his fingers find you already slick. he groans low in his throat. “fuck, you’re so wet for me already…”

two long fingers press in, stretching you carefully, and something tells you he knows exactly how big he is because he takes his time, watching your face with hooded eyes, murmuring praise against your neck.

“that’s it… relax for me, pretty girl.”

by the time he lines himself up, you are trembling with nerves and want. he pushes forward—slow, so slow. the blunt, thick head presses against your entrance, hot and heavy. you feel every inch of that first stretch, the burn of it making you whimper.

“is it in already?” you breathe after a few seconds.

satoru lets out a strangled laugh, forehead dropping to yours. “it’s only the tip, baby.”

“only the tip?!” you are going to die. you are so going to die. the pressure is already insane—full, overwhelming, deliciously too much. you can feel the heat of him, the slight throb, the way your body tries so hard to adjust around him.

he pushes forward another inch and you both moan. sweat beads on his forehead, sliding down his temples. his abs tighten with every shallow thrust, that white happy trail brushing against your stomach.

“shit—you’re so tight,” he hisses. “feels so fucking good… but i don’t wanna hurt you.”

you grip at his biceps, nails digging into hard muscle. “you’re huge, satoru. has anyone ever told you that?”

“yeah. you—like five times already.”

“because i feel like i’m being split open by a damn baseball bat!”

he chokes on a laugh, hips stuttering. the movement pushes him a little deeper and your eyes flutter shut at the overwhelming fullness. every tiny shift sends sparks through you—the drag of his thickness, the way he fills you so completely it feels like he is touching places no one ever has.

“stop making me laugh,” he whines, but he is grinning. “you’re gonna make me slip and then we’ll both be in trouble.”

“slip?! if you slip any more we’re gonna have to call an ambulance.”

“god, i like you. this is the least sexy sex i’ve ever had and i’m having the best time.”

another clumsy, careful thrust. he bottoms out halfway and has to pause, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours. his cock twitches inside you, so hot and heavy you whimper. one of his hands slides down to rub slow circles over your clit, trying to help you relax while his body stays tense with restraint.

“you’re doing so good. taking me so pretty… look at you.”

you are equal parts mortified and insanely turned on. this is the clumsiest, most awkward sex you have ever had—full of giggles and curses and satoru’s muttered coaching (“easy, big guy, she’s tiny”)—and somehow it is perfect.

he kisses you again, messy and sweet, then rocks forward once more. “still regret coming home with me?” he teases, lips brushing your ear.

you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him just a little deeper, and laugh breathlessly. “ask me again when you’re actually all the way in, gojo.”

[cumchiato]

୨୧ — “Hey.” Valko's voice is rough, scratchy, but he's trying for lightness, “You still in there, sweetheart? Or did I fuck you into another dimension?”

“Mmm.”

It's the only response you can manage. Your brain is still offline, your thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. You feel boneless, liquid, like someone has scooped out your insides and replaced them with warm honey.

“M’good,” you finally manage, the words slurring together, “‘M’really... really good.”

A soft huff escapes him- almost a laugh, edged with disbelief. Valko's palm cups your cheek, thumb brushing a tear track, smearing salt and sweat- and then he really looks at you.

His golden eyes travel slowly down your body.

The bruises blooming on your hips. The red marks circling your wrists. Your cum smeared thighs, your puffy, fucked out hole still weeping his seed onto the already ruined sheets, cunt gaped and swollen from his knot. Body absolutely limp against the mattress, trembling faintly with aftershocks…

The playful smile on his face... falters.

“I…” He swallows hard. His hand hovers over the finger shaped bruises on your hip, not quite touching, like he's afraid to cause more damage. “...I lost control again.”

“S’okay-”

Look at her. Wrecked. Because of me. Because I couldn't- …She's pregnant, the thought slices through him. She's carrying your pups and you still couldn't- you still-

“Valko.” Your hand finds his jaw, weak and trembling but there, “M’okay. Promise.”

He doesn't look convinced, “I should've been more careful. You're-” His gaze drops to your belly, the swell of it unmistakable now. “-you're pregnant. With twins. And I just-”

“Fucked me exactly how I wanted?” You manage a tired smile, “Yeah. Terrible. How dare you.”

A laugh escapes him, “Brat.” 

“Hmm~ But I’m your brat.”

His thumb traces your cheekbone, impossibly gentle, “In my defense, you make it really hard to hold back when you beg like that.”

You try to swat at him, but your arm just... flops. Pathetically.

He grins, “Cute.”

"Sh'up."

“Make me.” He leans down, pressing a feather light kiss to your sweaty forehead, “Actually, don't. You can barely move. It wouldn't be a fair fight.” Another kiss, this one to the tip of your nose. “Don't move a muscle, not one. Doctor Valko’s orders.”

“You're not- not a doctor-”

“Hmph, well i’m your personal one tonight.”

He vanishes into the bathroom -click of the light, hiss of running water- before returning with a warm washcloth draped over his shoulder and a glass of water in hand.

“Drink first.” He tips the glass to your lips, patient, waiting while you take small sips.The first swipe of the warm cloth across your cheek is heaven. He works with focused gentleness that steals your absolute breath away- wiping the mascara threatening to stain your cheeks, the pearly streaks from your belly, the slick mess from your inner thighs. 

But his movements are almost too careful now. Like you're made of glass. Like he's terrified of breaking you further.

The cloth moves higher, and his expression shifts again- guilt flickering through the warmth as he reaches your collar. The bite mark there has dried, crusted with blood, the perfect imprint of his teeth purpling against your skin.

“Shit.” He winces, dabbing carefully at the wound. “I really did a number on you here, huh?”

“I liked it, felt good~” you mumble.

“Yeah?” A hint of that playful smirk returns. “Liked getting marked up by your big bad wolf?”

Then his gaze falls on something in the corner of the bed, “Oh, perfect.” a silly gift he'd given you months ago that had somehow become a permanent fixture in your shared space. The little stuffed wolf has button eyes and an embroidered smile, and it's quite possibly the most ridiculous thing he's ever purchased.

He loves it. (He loves that you love it.)

“Look who's here,” he says, voice warm and playful as he makes the stuffed wolf bob and weave in front of your nose. “Mr. Wolfie was very concerned. He heard all that screaming and thought something terrible was happening.”

You snort weakly.

Valko pitches his voice higher, making the plush nod sagely. “‘Are you okay?' Mr. Wolfie asks. ‘That big mean wolf wasn't too rough, was he? Should I bite him?’”

“Oh my god-”

“‘I'll protect you,’” Valko continues, completely shameless, pressing the little grey snout against your cheek in a playful kiss, “‘I'm very brave. Very fierce. Grr.’”

The childish gesture is so at odds with the man who just fucked you senseless- who'd knotted you so deep you'd sobbed- that you can't help but giggle. “Valkooo,” you finally manage, pinching his nose weakly, “I'm okay.”

Then you look up at him, one hand drifting to rest on your belly, “We're all okay. All three of us. I promise.”

His ears perk up at that- both standing tall and alert, swiveling toward you like satellite dishes catching the most important signal in the world. Something in his expression cracks open, the playfulness still there (never fully gone, with him) but bleeding into something rawer underneath. Something that looks like home.

He stretches out beside you, gathering your tired body against his chest and tucking Mr. Wolfie securely in your arms. His face nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in like you're the only air worth having.

“All three of you,” he repeats softly. His palm spreads warm over the swell of your belly, right where his pups are growing. “My little pack”

His lips brush your forehead as his tail wraps around your legs and hips like a living blanket, soft fur warming every inch it touches.

“My pups,” he whispers, quiet and wondering, thumb tracing slow circles over your bump. “My beautiful wife. All mine.”

His chin comes to rest atop your head. The tail curls tighter, cocooning you in red softness,

Safe. Loved. His.

When sleep finally pulls you under, it's to the steady thrum of his heartbeat and the soft rumble of some half remembered lullaby hummed against your hair.

[valkyrhii]

me? oh no i'm not sad or hurting about valko being gone as long as i dont look at him watch any videos hear his voice watch edits read fanfiction see fanart think of his story think of how happy mc is with him think about how we will never know his story or his favorite color or fruit. but yeah besides that i really am chill about the whole situation tbh

[boringkate]

You wanna log in? What's your username? No. What's your email address? What's your password? What code did we just send to your email address? Now what code did we just text to you? New IP address detected. We sent you an email. Click the link to confirm the new address. Scan your fingerprint. Turn on your camera for age verification. Sign the updated user agreement. Accept all cookies? That feature isn't available on the website. Download the app. Those features are in the app. The app that's really a web browser.

[pillsatoru]

𝜗ৎ satoru sneaks in to fuck you for the first time

Your sleep eyes fluttered open at the faint sound of your window closing. The small dim lit lamp was the only source of light in your bedroom, but it was enough to see the outline of your boyfriend's muscular frame closing in. 

"Hi baby.." He whispered quietly, not wanting to startle you as you were slowly coming to your senses. You sat up, fixing your messy hair, looking up at Gojo through your fallen lids. 

"Satoru.. it's so late." You stated the obvious. The night was quiet, no traffic being heard, only the quiet hum of nearby insects. 

You were surprised your dog didn't completely lose it or worse, your parents catching him in the middle of what seemed like a break in. "I know, love, I know." Gojo's heavy body plopped down comfortably beside you on the bed, placing his phone and wallet on your nightstand, adjusting the lamp to be brighter. 

"I want to see you better." He placed his lips on your temple in a loving manner, wrapping his arm around your waist to bring you closer to him. "Missed you." He adjusted to lean against the headboard, a smile appearing on his face after you tiredly made your way onto his lap. 

"I missed you too.." You mumbled against his chest, taking in the scent of the vanilla bodywash you gifted him last week when you found out he used a 3 in 1. 

The hand on your waist rubbed you up and down in a soothing manner, keeping you close while the other caressed your thigh, feeling goosebumps show up. He crooked his neck at a certain angle to press his lips against yours in a series of long but gentle kisses. 

"You're spiky.." You complained at the feeling of his slight stubble tickling your chin. It was barely visible since his hair was white and skin pale, but it was still touchable. 

"Yeah? And you're soft." Gojo moaned against your mouth, hands moving way too close to your ass. His hold on you had become more possessive, pulling you completely flush against him. 

It was clear what his intentions were. 

It's been half a year since you two began dating. You've done everything together, except of course, have legitimate sex. You’ve allowed him to let out his frustrations on your needy cunt with his fingers or tongue before, so he knew how you tasted like. You, however, didn't know what he looked like underneath those pants. 

He tugged at the waistband of your sleep shorts. "Take these off for me?" 

Your eyes completely widened, any sign of tiredness being wiped off. How come you hadn't noticed his bulge poking the crap out of you from underneath? 

"My shorts?" Your voice wobbled, nervously. 

It's not that you weren't as experienced as he was, it was the fact that you weren't experienced at all. He was your first everything after all. A strained chuckle left his lips, reaching to grab your hand to press it against his raging boner. “Or.. you could take off mine?”

His eyes flickered over to your face, finally taking in that you looked uncomfortable. He quickly let go of you, instead moving up to hold your chin with his pointer and thumb. "Do you not want to do this, baby?" He asked with a worried tone. “I can stop.”

"We don't have to." Satoru reassured you once more. "I just.. I've been wanting to see my pretty girl." 

"I do.. I do want this but," You stuttered. The fear of not being able to satisfy him enough was what was making you hesitate. What if it didn't even fit? What if he saw your body and got turned off? What if he realized he made a mistake of asking you to be his girl? What if he didn't want a virgin? "I’ve never done this.” You finally admitted.  

You could feel your body warm up in embarrassment, wanting to hide away in the crook of his neck. But it was quickly gone the second he pecked your forehead, hugging you close. 

"Oh sweets, why didn't you just say so? Are you scared?"

You nodded. "I don't know how to do this.." 

The small smile showed back up on his face, carefully flipping you over so your back was on the mattress. "I can do all the work, I don't mind. I want to make you feel good."

"But, I want to make you feel good too." You gasped, feeling the cold air hit your cunt aggressively after he pulled down your sleeping shorts. 

"You will." He groaned at the way your tight hole pulsed around nothing. "Fuck..are you sure you want this? You tell me to stop, and I'll stop." But he wasn't sure if he could. Not with the way your pussy was covered in a thin layer of slick, pulsing for his touch. 

"I want this.. I swear." 

His fingers spread your folds, watching you squirm and cringe at the sound it made. "Oh my fuck- god it's pretty. You're pretty."

He wasted no time in taking his pants off, cock throbbing painfully. Satoru gave himself a few pumps before teasing your entrance with his tip, running it up to your clit, collecting your wetness on it. 

The room filled up with the sounds of your heavy breathing. 

His shaky hand gripped your waist, the other assisting his cock in sliding in. He took his time pushing every inch, watching your reactions carefully for any sign of discomfort. 

Little mewls escaped you. It suddenly hit Satoru that just across the hall laid your parents deep asleep. His lips hushed yours up. "Try to stay quiet, yeah sweet thing? Your parents are still here." The last thing they needed was to get woken up by the moans of their horny daughter. 

But he wasn't staying quiet either. Groans and small laughs fell from his lips, growing addicted at the way his cock slid in and out of you. 

"So tight. You feel so good. Fuck, tight virgin pussy, huh?" he grinned. "Should've told me this earlier, baby." He finally managed to fit all of him inside you, hips stopping all movements to allow you to adjust. "Satoru-" your sentence was cut off with a harsh thrust. You let out broken sob, gripping his back as he failed to keep his promise of being gentle. 

Not that you minded. 

"Gotta stay quiet." He reminded you. It was hard to shut up when he was reaching places you never knew existed. You whined, eyes flickering down to your stomach. He followed your line of sight, wondering what caught your attention. 

You could literally see him ruining you from the outside. Satoru threw his head back in pleasure, feeling you tighten around him. “Oh? You like that sweets? Like the way my cock is fucking you? Mm bet you do. Just look at the way this pussy is taking me, fuck. Gonna have you leaking for days.” 

You nodded, babbling about how good it felt. 

“That’s it. Let me hear you. Your parents won;t mind.” He stilled before pounding even harsher than before. “They like me anyways, don’t they? Bet they won’t care if I fuck a baby into ya.”

Your lips parted, tears spilling out of those pretty eyes of yours. You could barely register what he was saying over the sound of your own heartbeat. 

“Give them the grandchild they’ve been wanting.” He grinned.