synopsis. after one breakup after another with your toxic boyfriend sukuna, you decide you’re done playing his games. enter gojo satoru, the sexy nerd from your physics class who’s more than glad to help you make your ex jealous . . . in exchange for some intimacy advice.
pairing. nerd!jo x popular!reader
tags. university au, rom-com, fluff, enemies to (reluctant) friends to lovers, fake dating, jealous gojo, teaching intimacy trope, they don’t play abt each other, suggestive themes, violence, profanity, major character development, frat!kuna as reader’s ex, smut in the following chapters
wc. 8.7k
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header art by nekozuu_ on x and ig!
SCIENCE SAYS THAT the average force behind a bitch slap ranges from anywhere between 200 to 400 newtons. considering factors like the victim’s stance, your point of impact, and good ol’ friction, it should take about 600 to 1000+ newtons to fell a braced target.
you knocked over ryomen sukuna with less – with a fresh set of hot pink acrylic nails to boot.
“i can’t believe you,” you heave, your perfectly manicured hand stinging where it’d made contact with your boyfriend’s smug face just moments ago. “you – you lying, cheating, whore!”
“ma,” he groans, rubbing at his reddened cheek with one hand and clawing at his desk for support with the other. “let me explain –”
“oh, yeah!?” you yell, shoving past your pleading boyfriend to stomp over to his bedside, where some other girl’s lacy teal bra lay hanging from the table’s edge. you can practically feel him wince when you grab at it, dangling it in front of his face. “this a gift for your mom, then?”
“well –”
“we’re done, asshole,” you spit, glaring down at the pathetic mass you’d called your man and whipping around to fish your phone from your mini purse. with a few sharp clicks on the number pad, you almost get done punching down your homegirl’s number with every intention for her to come pick you up until –
“calm down, woman,” sukuna grumbles defeatedly. those beefy, tattooed arms slowly come to wrap around you from behind as he buries his face in your neck, taking in your sweet perfume. “ya know she ain’t mean shit ‘ta me. not like you do.”
and admittedly, you almost give in. almost. you pause for a moment too long before rolling your eyes and shrugging him off of you.
“don’t care,” you scoff, turning your head and quickly running your fingers through where your bum of a boyfriend had ruined your hair beforehand. “i want your shit out of my house and the spare key back under the plant by tonight.”
“oh, yeah?” he frowns, ruffling his pink locks and crossing his arms in exasperation. you’ve already packed your things and are halfway through stomping out his bedroom door when he says something that makes you stop in your tracks.
“you’ll be back,” sukuna mutters viciously, glaring holes into your back as you practically tremble with rage. “we always come back.”
“. . . go fuck yourself, ‘kuna,” you grumble, sending your pink-haired ex one last glare over your shoulder from where he sits atop his mattress half-naked. “or that bitch. see if it matters to me.”
the last thing you see before shutting the door in his face is the way his facial expressions contort from cocky to indifferent to absolutely outraged as you whizz out of his musty dorm, and hopefully, out of sukuna’s life for good.
“we’re fucking soulmates!” he yells from where you’ve abandoned him, the sound muffled from where his ass sits pathetically glued in place. “we’ll get back together, you’ll see!”
you’d seriously rather die.
.
.
.
not to be dramatic or anything, but by the second week of your very real, very permanent separation from sukuna, you’ve come to realize you’d seriously rather die than be apart for any longer.
and when you tell becky that, all solemn expressions and teary regret, you swear she comes this close to smacking you in the head for all of the campus cafe to see.
“are you fucking —“ your best friend groans, damn near throwing down her plastic fork into her rather pathetic-looking bowl of caesar salad and stopping herself when a few wandering eyes turn to look. “are you serious?”
you let your head fall into your hands and groan. hard.
as if finding some other girl’s trashy bra by your boyfriend’s bedside table when you came by to surprise him for your anniversary wasn’t punishment enough, the two, grueling weeks where you’ve been forced (read: by no one but yourself) into no-contact have been some of the worst in your life. as for ryomen, he simply proceeds as usual, hanging out at the quad with his frat friends and guzzling alcohol at ragers whenever his schedule allows it.
when you close your eyes, you can almost imagine it: him seeing other girls. touching them. fucking them. you swear you could hurl by subjecting your poor, poor imagination to any more of this nonsense.
“ugh, i feel like i need to be sedated, or something,” you mumble, getting up from your pool of misery to rub at your temples. “i feel like shit.”
“uh, hello?” becky scoffs, waving her hands around exasperatedly like you’ve gone mad and all she wants is to resuscitate you. “are you forgetting who you are? you run this school. anybody who matters in this place has to be seen with you.”
“you’re right,” you sniff. “i should move on.”
“thank you,” your friend groans, picking up her trashed cutlery to go on to finish her first meal of the day in peace. “finally, bitch. i was starting to think you were —“
“ — but can i just say one thing!?” you cut in crazedly, and you swear poor, goodhearted becky is halfway through the process of imploding. “we were together for 3 years, becky. that stuff doesn’t just go away!”
“yeah, 3 years on and off,” she says, repeatedly snapping her perfectly manicured fingers in your face like it’ll wake you up from your sukuna-induced trance. it doesn’t, and it takes every little bit of her self-control not to reach over the table and strangle you. “you know what you need?”
“. . . no?”
“you need to catch a dick.”
“beck!” you gasp, and your friend only doubles down in obnoxious laughter when you glare daggers at her for even suggesting such a travesty.
in fact, your stomach practically twists at the thought of being with someone else so soon. your impeccable figure and devilishly good looks aside, you’ve never been with someone — well, other than sukuna himself — during one of your breaks. doing that would just make it feel real, and your little break being real would mean that you and him are over.
forever.
though, weren’t you practically over already?
for two long, grueling weeks, sukuna hasn’t even done so much as text you to see if you were doing okay. in fact, the only times you do see him are when he’s slacking off in your classes or fucking with other women at parties. not that he wasn’t doing that already while you were in a relationship.
but you wonder, albeit a little aimlessly, if he’d said you were soulmates that day in his dorm because he truly believed it — or if he was just sure that you’d come back to him after each and every fuck-up.
like some dog he could call over with the right treats.
as if a lightbulb has gone off in your head, you stand up so fast your chair screeches from behind you. your best friend looks just about at a loss for words when you lean over the cafeteria table and squeeze the life out of her.
“beck, i could kiss you right now!”
“oh, girl . . . please don’t.”
if sukuna thought he could make you surrender with promises of soul-bonding and a little calculated indifference, he was dead wrong.
after all, you’ve figured out the perfect solution to make him come to you instead — and all it would take was a few flirty phone calls and some expert persuasion. hell, you practically have to keep yourself from squealing out loud as you walk out of the cafeteria, heels clicking and your tiny purse swinging at your side.
and so, your plan commences.
you try nanami first, leaning over the counter of the milkshake place near campus that your band of loyal followers very kindly took the liberty of bringing to your attention as his new workplace.
“hi, kento,” you coo, fluttering your false lashes at him like a wicked woman with an even worse agenda. “you work here now? cute!”
between the whirr of the blenders in the background and the aggressively bright and cheery neon lighting from overhead, nanami kento still manages to look ridiculously fine. he looks up from the register with the look of a man who is moments away from walking into traffic, all broad-shoulders and brooding stares that make your ears flush pink.
and in his own, mature and absurdly-sexy way, a philosophy major. if he weren’t wearing that tight white apron and little paper hat atop his head, you’d consider leaning over to give him the time of his life right here and now.
“i . . . uh,” you start, leaning further over the counter. your cleavage damn near fights for its life against the neckline of your baby pink top, and you have to keep yourself from smiling when his eyes flicker downwards, then back to your own. “like your get-up?”
nanami only blinks. “can i help you?”
“sure you can!” you purr sweetly, twirling a lock of your hair around a fresh acrylic nail. “take me out this friday night?”
checkmate, you think, and you’re already halfway through mentally envisioning the outfit you’re going to pick out when nanami ultimately decides to take you out on a romantic –
“no thanks,” nanami grunts, reaching over to grab for the little “employee sanitation guidelines” card from behind the registrar and placing it smack in the middle of the counter for all to see. “i don’t do rebound relationships.”
your jaw practically drops, and it’s almost impressive how fast you go from wanting to fuck this man to wanting to kill him in one sitting.
“excuse me?” you gape, practically fuming from the ears at the thought of even the homely, school-centered nanami kento knowing about your disaster of a breakup with your deadbeat boyfriend.
the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting an amused smile, and annoyingly enough, it kind of suits him. he simply reaches over the counter to pat your steaming head with enough concern to slightly dampen the flames of your fury before turning to pin an order slip by the kitchen window.
“call me when you have no intentions of seeing him anymore.”
you glare at him hard. “offer rewoked.”
“it’s revoked, doll.”
you decide, right then and there, that nanami kento and his beefy biceps and low-hanging glasses aren’t worth all this trouble anyway. hell, you’d even flashed him your best smile! the kind that made professors forgive your patchy attendance and made sukuna fold in 30 seconds flat. did that mean nothing to him?
with a huff and a sharp turn on your heel, you’re on your way to your next destination: the shadiest corner in the parking lots behind the apartment complexes.
you decide you’ll try choso next, partly because he’d been a recurring fling of yours in freshman year and partly because it’s easy to score a meeting with him due to his – well – occupation.
you suppose that’s how you ended up in the passenger seat of his tinted black car under the false pretense of a drug deal, as choso kamo blinks at you slowly from behind the wheel.
“you’re here to buy weed,” he says cautiously, but you’re far too busy sizing up his transportation to pay him much attention.
“uh-huh,” you say mindlessly, running your fingers across the hood of his car. it’s got that fresh new car smell despite being over 3 years old, and you’re frankly pleased that sweet, sensitive choso hasn’t traded his natural hygienic nature to whatever body spray-scented madness your ex has going on in his own ride.
but as much as you’d like to be sitting pretty in the passenger seat of that musty old car again, desperate times call for desperate measures. and choso – dark-eyed, mysterious, and tattooed choso is exactly the type of man that would drive sukuna insane.
and honestly, you get the hype! if anything, that’s exactly why you’d been spread out in the backseat of this very car every monday, wednesday, and friday night in freshman year before you’d inevitably been snatched up by your ex.
“but. . .” choso starts. “you don’t even smoke.”
the senior carefully eyes you from beneath those messy black locks tied up into two space buns, tattooed fingers coming down to tap at the wheel in anticipation. it’s obvious you still make him a little nervous, and you have to keep yourself from smiling when it hits you that you have the campus plug wrapped around your pretty little finger after all this time.
you are so getting it this time.
“hmm, you caught me,” you murmur softly, leaning over the center console until your perfume fills the space between you. “sue a girl for wanting an excuse to see you again, cho.”
choso visibly stiffens in his seat, looking waayyy too flustered for a man in the middle of a deal. “are you flirting with me?”
“i just think,” you continue slyly, dragging a nail across the armrest of one of his leather seats. “that a guy as cute as you should take me out for real this time.”
bingo. you brace yourself for the nastiest makeout session of your life when he subconsciously starts leaning closer, cheeks red and eyes trained solely on your lips before –
“i can’t.”
“what?” you screech, and the deafening sound of your fury makes the boy wince. “why?!”
“because,” he tries to reason with you, burying his tattooed face in his palms and groaning as if turning you down pains him just as much. “your ex buys from me.”
you gasp, blinking at him in utter disbelief as he awkwardly begins to rub at his neck like a teenager fresh out of high school. “he’s like one of my best customers . . . i’m sorry.”
“oh my god, cho,” you sputter, collapsing against the passenger seat as he looks over at you with poorly concealed pity. “you supply my ex with weed?”
“to be fair, he mostly buys edibles.”
“not helping!” you snarl, opening the passenger seat and promptly stepping out into the cold air. any weather, you suppose, would be easier than being subject to more of this humiliation. “ugh, have a good night.”
“wait,” choso says suddenly, and you stop in your tracks just before you can slam the door shut in his face.
“do you still want the weed?”
“no!”
.
.
.
never, in your 20 fabulous years of life, did you ever expect to lose to emotional intelligence and criminal commitment to customer loyalty.
you’re campus royalty, for goodness’ sake! being turned down by men should’ve remained something unheard of in your limited dictionary, and yet here you are, dragging your heels across pavement after one rejection after the other.
had the men on this campus developed an immunity to your charm overnight? or worse yet, had you somehow lost it in those three years you’d been tied to sukuna? you practically shiver thinking about it, furiously fishing your phone from your purse to text becky.
you
THIS CAMPUS IS SICK!!!!!!!!
you
THE DRUG DEALER REJECTED ME
when you pocket your phone and find it in yourself to look up, the sky overhead has long since faded into deep shades of indigo, and you find that not even the cool breeze is enough to cure the hurt of humiliation that still swirls in your chest.
and even worse? you’re late to physics.
you don’t know why a fashion merchandising major would even need to take physics in the first place, but you drag your feet towards your sweaty lecture anyway. you’d caught something about general-ed requirements and a bunch of other bureaucratic crap before you tuned out your incredibly unhelpful academic advisor halfway through his pointless rambling.
you decide not to skip anyway, for fear of your terrible prof and a sinking feeling you’d try for toji fushiguro next. and if you’re being completely honest, the thought of cozying up to the hot, recently single, phys-ed major while he’s got little megumi at home is enough to make the hairs on your neck stand up a second time.
a step-child is not a commitment you’re ready to make — fake girlfriend or otherwise.
still, that’s not to say you don’t believe whoever invented evening lectures deserves jail time.
by the time you push open the heavy doors to your lecture hall, you’re already 30 minutes late, wildly irritated, and running completely out of spite.
“nice of you to join us, l/n,” your professor huffs, sending you a glare over his shoulder as a few students deviate attention from their notes to snicker quietly.
“sorry, mister!” you chirp sweetly, flashing him your prettiest smile and straightening up to toss your hair and scan the hall for an available seat.
unfortunately for you, physics majors are horrifyingly punctual. they fill up every nook and cranny of the place, and when your eyes finally land on one, singular seat by the very back row, you have to bite your tongue to suppress a groan. of fucking course.
you begin the humiliating trek to the back anyway, looking around for any halfway-decent men to distract yourself with in the meantime. and to nobody’s luck, they get worse and worse the deeper into the room you get.
too lanky. too sweaty. one briefly catches your eye, and you briefly consider hitting him up after class before he sneezes directly into his hand, and you think mm, better not. your gaze continually sweeps the nerds that fill the room before they finally land on the occupant of the seat next to your empty one.
you pause, blinking hard like it’ll make the sight before you any less real.
how tall is this guy? you frown, shuffling into your seat and hardly even bothering to pull out a notebook as you rake over him from head to toe. he’s 190cm, at the very least.
and that hair. is it natural? dyed? where have you seen this guy before? you can barely keep from pumping your fist when you realize he’s too busy to notice you oggling, scribbling equations across a notebook already overflowing with messy handwriting and post-it notes.
heck, you even begin to think he might be halfway decent if it weren’t for the suffocating scent of nerd and those thick-framed glasses sitting atop his nose before you pinch yourself for even having the thought in the first place. it makes you shake your head violently, not at all minding if you look like a madwoman.
suddenly feeling faint, you obnoxiously rustle through your purse for a stick of gum without minding the stares you receive for noisily going through your everyday items like a raccoon. whatever. you’d find the perfect scapegoat to make sukuna come crawling back to you in the span of a little less than a week, and your sleazy ex could come kiss your big, hairy –
“l/n and gojo satoru,” your professor’s voice cuts through the room, and your head snaps up the moment your name is called. you look around to see if anyone else had caught what the old croak had been saying prior, but your nerdy classmates all seem to have their heads buried in their notes.
“hey,” you whisper, lightly nudging your seatmate’s ankle with a polished heel. “what’d the old guy say?”
your seatmate finally stops writing. and when he looks up at you from beneath those long, white lashes, you’d almost forgotten what you were trying to ask him in the first place. when he sighs and sets his pencil down, you’re far too entranced by the magnificent blue that sits behind his eyes to care.
they’re electric. sharp. like somebody had stolen them out of an anime and magicked them into the body of an exhausted physics major.
“the professor,” he says slowly, like he’s speaking to someone who’s mildly concussed. “was assigning partners for the paper due tomorrow?”
and oh, he knows you. every living soul on campus knows your name.
even if gojo had somehow managed to successfully evade the endless stream of gossip that flows throughout your university, he’d still recognize you on sight. it’d be impossible not to. pretty girls with perfect hair and a talent for commanding a room are usually hard to miss.
unfortunately, your reputation doesn’t really stop there.
he’s heard more stories than he can count about your infamous relationship with ryomen sukuna. the breakups. the makeups. the screaming matches outside the frat house and the dramatic reconciliations that always seem to occur when everybody has begun to accept that you’re over for good.
and to be frank, he’s never understood it. not your popularity, and definitely not your very public relationship. not when someone who’s clearly capable of having whoever she pleases chooses the guy who treats commitment like a summer job.
unfortunately, none of that is going to change the fact that he’s been forced into writing a physics paper with you.
“tomorrow?!” you yelp, immediately bowing your head to apologize when multiple heads come to turn to the source of the noise. “. . . and who’s gojo?”
“that would be me.”
oh.
so that’s where you’d seen him before.
you lean back in your chair to assess him with squinted eyes, rubbing your chin in a manner that makes your seatmate wonder if he’s somehow landed in a bad detective movie. “you related to toru from sigma chi, or do you just have a secret double life?”
if the way gojo’s lips purse into a thin line is anything to go by, your joke didn’t exactly land.
“he’s my twin,” he explains frankly. and when he impatiently drums his fingers on the table like he’s got somewhere more important to be, you’re finally smacked in the face with what should have been apparent before:
he doesn’t like you very much.
but can you blame him, really, when you’d just been ruthlessly assessing the value of all his male classmates five minutes prior? if your senses are anything to go by, this gojo person is a lot more perceptive than his meathead brother.
not that you could care less about a grumpy nerd and his freaky sense of perception. you came here with one mission, and one mission only – to get your attendance signed for this stupid lecture. paper be damned; you’ll get to that when you manage to find the perfect temporary boyfriend whose only purpose is to get you back with your real boyfriend.
unfortunately, your professor seems determined to ruin your day even further.
“before anyone leaves,” he pipes up as students begin packing their things. “work must be split evenly between two partners. pairs who do not follow the fifty-fifty contribution rule will automatically be given failing marks.”
immediately, you find yourself sitting straighter.
“peer reviews will also be considered.” your professor finishes. students begin to filter out of the lecture hall as quickly as they came, and you only break out of your shock-induced trance when gojo begins to stir beside you.
next to you, gojo simply gathers his notes into a clear folder as you stare at him in utter disbelief. because seriously, who even uses folders?
“so,” you clear your throat, refusing to falter when he looks over at you with those horrifyingly pretty eyes. you flash him the most genuine smile you can muster, but the man is unmoved. “you won’t let me down during that peer review, won’t you?”
gojo narrows his eyes at you suspiciously, and it almost makes you regret asking.
“as long as you do exactly fifty percent of it, sure.”
“listen – i’ve kinda got this thing tonight.” you rub your neck, but the disgustingly handsome freak your professor did you the disservice of pairing you with is as clueless as ever.
“so do i,” he shrugs, neatly placing the rest of his things into his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder.
you frown. “doing what?”
“homework.”
your face immediately falls, but you somehow manage to conceal the soul-crushing urge to laugh when he looks at you like he’s confused you had a reaction to his very real, very pressing plans he needs to get to. tonight.
looks like you have no other choice.
“fine, but i’m driving.” you pinch your nose bridge with one hand and shovel your minimal belongings into your purse with the other. “where do we work on this thing?”
“the library?”
“uh, ew.”
“a cafe?”
“too many people.”
“the student center, then?”
“double ew,” you cross your arms, glaring up at your exasperated new partner as he glowers right back at you with the heat of a thousand suns.
the white-haired man groans, rubbing at his cheek with one hand. “what about your apartment?”
the suggestion leaves his mouth casually enough, but it’s almost like this gojo person has struck you in the face from the way your heart drops to your stomach. absolutely not. not when sukuna still hasn’t hauled his things out of your apartment after you told him to do it weeks ago.
he could barge in at any moment, and you’d seriously rather not take the time out of your day explaining to him why there’s a geek sitting pretty in your apartment.
you look away, arms still crossed. and you so hate the way gojo is sizing you up right now, trying to figure out why exactly your face dropped. “can’t. i’ve got rats.”
“uh-huh,” he squints, and you’re both completely oblivious of the way the lecture hall has completely fizzled out of people aside from the two of you right now. “where do you live again?”
“. . . the luxury apartments on oak street?”
when your partner blinks at you, you blurt out the first thing on the tip of your tongue to save you from your own stupid lie. “they’re very aggressive rats. big and mean.”
the corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a ghost of a smile for the first time tonight, just enough to annoy you enough to glare down at your feet in the hopes he won’t call out our lame fib.
“right, my place then.”
you look up, and gojo mentally notes that that’s the fastest he’s ever seen you move – in class and on campus. from the way you immediately recoil, he guesses you’re not very fond of that suggestion either.
he sighs, already halfway through pitching his next venue idea to you when you cut him off with an urgency that leaves even him uneasy.
“alright,” you say quietly, and the man has to refrain from rubbing his ears to see if he’d just heard you correctly.
“wha- are you serious?”
“what, do you not want to do it in your apartment?” you look up to glare at him through your lashes, and the tips of his ears burn red from your poor choice of wording. satoru has to give himself a few seconds to recalibrate before he even thinks about responding.
did you really have to say it like that?
“it’s just . . . you didn’t like any of the other places i said.”
you blink, and for the first time since you’ve been granted the displeasure of this man’s company, you turn to really look at him.
not glance, look. and somehow, the image of gojo satoru is a little less intimidating up close.
sure, he’s just about as tall as a doorframe, but without the harsh lights of the lecture hall turning him into some kind of academic cryptid, the shadows that grace his features now just make him look like a tired college student. his white hair sticks out in every direction imaginable, and his navy sweater hangs three sizes too loose over his body like he hadn’t even bothered to check the tag before he paid for it.
plus, his glasses are crooked. not very noticeably so, but they hang dangerously low on his nose. so much so, that they force him to push them back up every few minutes.
he’s nothing like toru, who dresses like he’s god’s gift to women. and honestly? it’s kind of pathetic. a little cute, even, and you immediately shudder at the thought.
“what now?” satoru frowns, and it’s only then that you realize you’ve been staring.
“nothing,” you blurt out, and gojo starts to look a little suspicious.
the truth is, you feel a little silly now.
for every suggestion he made, you shot it down with one harsh blow after another. the library was too dingy. the café was too crowded. the student center was. . . well, student center-y.
and through all of it, this guy stood there like a man who was just trying to finish his damn paper — and make his partner feel a little more comfortable throughout the process.
gross, you think self-awareness might be your least favorite motion.
“i just think your apartment’s fine,” you mutter, unable to meet his eyes all of a sudden. gojo blinks once, then twice, like he’s waiting for the punchline for a bad joke.
it never comes.
“alright,” he says, honestly a little stunned you’d given in so easily. and to his apartment, of all places. did someone hit you in the head prior to this? your differences aside, he sure hopes not.
and that’s it. no sly smiles, no teasing, and definitely no celebrating victories. your white-haired partner simply exists in the same space, clearly relieved you stopped trying to put up a fight.
you don’t know why that irritates you so, but you haul ass and drag your purse over your shoulder anyway. after all, you have a paper to finish.
outside, campus has fallen into its usual evening rhythm.
the streetlamps illuminate the darkness, casting golden splotches of light onto the streets and across the sidewalks. the students have lessened by this time, traveling between buildings in little groups as they laugh and carry on with their takeout containers.
obnoxious music blares through one of the boy’s dorm windows, and off in the distance, you spy a couple talking and laughing on a bench.
you don’t know why your stomach twists at the sight.
you shove your hands into your pocket, and beside you, satoru is enveloped in a strange kind of silence that neither of you really know how to get past. like neither of you really expected to spend your evening together.
when you reach your vehicle that you’d conveniently parked in the farthest corner of your building, your new nerd friend suddenly slows next to you.
“hey, what’s —“
“shoko?” he blinks, and you stop in your tracks.
his gaze is trained onto something like it’s grabbed him and refuses to let go, and when you follow his eyes, you begin to understand why.
only 5 feet away, shoko ieiri is stepping off her motorbike beneath one of the flickering street lamps. she’s dressed in black scrubs and an oversized jacket, dark circles gracing her features in a way that makes the woman even prettier, somehow.
which is unfair, really.
“satoru,” she calls out, tucking her bike helmet under her arm and flashing you two a lazy smile. “is that you?”
and oh, you know this girl. everyone does. shoko ieiri is only 20 and has somehow managed to become a full-time medical student and part-time campus legend.
you’ve heard enough stories about this lady to write her a biography, for goodness’ sake. rumor has it is that she scored ninety-seventh percentile on the mcat while absurdly hungover.
she’s brilliant, beautiful, and weirdly enough —
friends with gojo satoru.
the same kid who’s wearing a sweater that could house a family of four and whose glasses have almost slipped right off his nose for the tenth time tonight. and when you spot his ears go red from the corner of your eye, you have to keep yourself from grinning.
interesting.
“oh? who’s your friend?” she asks kindly, a smile slowly creeping onto her face when she rakes her eyes over the way you fall into step beside one another.
the reaction is immediate.
“we’re not —“
“no.” you huff, the two of you speaking at the same time. shoko raises an amused brow, and you only smile at her sweetly. gojo on the other hand, looks like he’s about to combust.
“we’re partners,” you say simply, shifting your weight from one foot to another in an attempt to fend off the cold.
“. . . for physics,” the white-haired boy adds, but to no avail. shoko’s infuriatingly beautiful smile only grows wider and more suspicious of you two by the second, and your eyes continue to flick between the two of them like you’ve been personally tasked to assess the situation.
because if you know anything at all — it’s love.
and from the way gojo satoru fiddles with his fingers and looks down at his feet, he’s got it pretty damn bad.
oh, you could bark out a laugh right here and now.
“well, good luck with that,” she grins, and before gojo can stop her to say she’s got it all wrong, she’s off like a woman on a mission. “i’ll get going now. these readings won’t complete themselves.”
“uh, bye — !”
“bye honey,” you chime in after your rather pathetic excuse of an assignment partner, and she shoots you a salute you before she’s off, probably in the direction of the library.
you bet gojo is pretty damn grateful you insisted on his apartment right about now.
the moment shoko turns the corner and is completely out of sight, you turn around to look at him accusingly.
“you have the hots for shoko ieiri.”
“no i don’t,” he retorts, wincing when you bark out a mean laugh and fiddle with your keys to unlock your car. the moment the vehicle clicks and the headlights whirr to life, he’s immediately sliding into the passenger seat like it’ll save him from any more of your humiliation.
it doesn’t.
“i dunno,” you tease, opening up the door to the driver’s seat and sliding inside. “that response was pretty fuckin’ quick.”
“i don’t have ‘the hots’ for her,” gojo starts. he grabs at his seatbelt, pressing down until he hears a click before he’s fiddling with his fingers again. “i have a completely normal amount of respectable feelings for her.”
you double down in laughter, pulling out of the parking lot as your newfound friend seethes in the seat beside you. “she is so out of your league, nerd.”
“yeah, yeah,” he mutters, and you hate yourself for wanting to coo at the pout you can hear in his voice.
maybe your breakup with sukuna really had messed you up, because you’re not quite sure where in between your rocky relationship with a frat boy your brain decided to be attracted to pathetic, loser men.
“if it makes you feel better, i think she might be into you too.” you glance over your shoulder to smile at him, and for the first time tonight, it’s completely genuine.
“. . . you think so?”
“i know this stuff,” you say as a matter-of-factly, and gojo turns to look at you with an indescribable twinkle in his eyes that he quite obviously tries very hard to hide. “trust me.”
you glance to the side, and the look on his face is enough to make your stomach churn. because for one, glorious second, satoru forgets to be suspicious of you.
he doesn’t glare, or squint, or retort — he only looks hopeful. in that disgustingly sincere, gojo satoru way. so much so, that you nearly regret opening your mouth lest you give him false hope.
which is unusual, because you’ve known this man for exactly two hours and thirty five minutes, and spent ninety percent of that time warring over this stupid paper your professor wants on his desk by tomorrow morning.
you snap your eyes back onto the road. focus.
the conversation fizzles out naturally after that, and the radio begins to buzz louder than your words once did. streetlights flash past your tinted windows in consistent intervals, and somewhere along the way, gojo stops fiddling with his fingers and sinks deeper into his seat.
neither of you say anything for a long time. and somehow, you don’t seem to mind it.
maybe because you’re tired. or maybe — maybe because you’re not quite used to men that don’t demand everything from you at any given moment.
satoru simply exists beside you, like any other stranger at university would. deep down, you find that you quite like that.
you sneak a glance sideways, and gojo is staring out the window. and before you can even begin to stop yourself, your mouth is running.
“sorry for being a dick earlier,” you murmur, shrinking under the weight of his gaze when he shifts in his seat to look at you.
“what for?” he blinks, and your heart twinges in your chest. gojo might be a little clueless, but that doesn’t mean he’s not deserving of a proper apology. for fear of chickening out under the weight of your pride, you will yourself to speak.
“you know, our choice of venue?” you wince, clearly a little embarrassed by the way you’d been acting. satoru’s mouth forms into an o as a way of telling you he understands.
“i’ve been dealing with some things,” you continue, letting out a deep exhale you were unaware you’d been holding in. “but i shouldn’t have let it out on you the way i did. i’m sorry.”
for one, agonizing moment, gojo doesn’t answer.
outside, the city hums with a fervor you can only really get in the heart of a college town. tires roll on the asphalt outside, distant music blares from dorm windows, and students wander like they haven’t got responsibilities they need to tend to at sunrise.
then, he shrugs. “it’s okay.”
your eyes narrow when you sneak another glance at him. his attention has drifted back over to the window, but there’s something about his breathing and the way his shoulders relax that tells you there’s something softer about him now. less guarded.
“no it’s not, that’s literally the worst response to an apology i’ve ever heard.”
“what?” he frowns, looking over to where you irritably tap your fingers against the leather wheel. “what was i supposed to say?”
“i dunno,” you groan, gripping the steering wheel tighter in an attempt to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. “something that makes me feel a little less guilty?”
gojo snorts. “you feel guilty?”
you sigh, and you think you would’ve hid your head in your hands by now if they weren’t already occupied. “don’t make it weird.”
“i’m not,” he says quickly, and you glance over. “i’m just surprised.”
“why’s that?” you hum, and the sound of the car motor fills the brief silence that follows. in his seat, satoru is staring at the passing streetlights like they’ve miraculously become more interesting than your conversation.
“i thought people like you didn’t apologize,” he says absentmindedly.
“people like me?” “you know, popular people.”
you’re unable to find it in you to hold back a genuine fit of laughter, and the sound vibrates in the stunned man’s ears like a blessing. not that he’d ever admit that.
“that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard you say,” you wheeze, one hand coming up to wipe a stray tear from your eye before returning to the wheel.
gojo, on the other hand, looks deeply offended. “i don’t say dumb things. i thought you were apologizing?”
“i was, then you decided to go say something dumb.” you roll your eyes through a fit of giggles, and in his seat, you swear you catch a glimpse of your partner trying to conceal the ghost of a smile.
“so much for being sorry.”
.
.
.
the second satoru opens the door to his apartment complex, you come to realize two things:
the first being that if the freakish orderliness of his living space is anything to go by, he most definitely lives alone.
the second, and most glaring, for reasons that are currently attacking your eyeline, is that he’s an even bigger nerd than you had ever imagined.
“are you kidding me?” you frown, running your fingers along the edges of his bookshelves where satoru’s numerous lego sets, a curated collection of astronomy magazines, and dusty academic journals reside.
“what?” he frowns. he shuffles on his feet from behind you, clearly a little nervous you’ve decided to size up his apartment – not that you care. it’s just . . .
was gojo satoru always this big of a geek?
by the tv, a framed photograph from a science competition you don’t bother looking close enough to identify gleams like a trophy. on the other end of the table, his rubik’s cube collection is stacked on top of one another from the largest cube to the smallest in a colorful array.
when you picture gojo hunched over, legs crossed on the fluffy carpet, tinkering with one of these things to see how fast he can solve it, you almost crack a smile.
almost.
“nothing, i just didn’t know you were such a damn nerd.”
clearly unimpressed, your white-haired partner rolls his eyes but shuffles around the place to find seat cushions for the two of you anyway.
when he pulls two cushions out from god knows where and lays them out onto the carpet, he plops down and looks up at you expectantly.
“sit.” he hums, and when you double back on satoru to call him a, quote, bossy nerd, your bickering comes alive once more.
and surprisingly enough, work gets done.
not a lot of work, but just around the right amount to get this bullcrap done by sunrise. you think it might be because the state of satoru’s apartment far surpasses your own – all warm lighting and vacuumed hardwood as opposed to your own dingy place, strewn with your ex’s forgotten sweaters and littered with shoes you’d forgotten to put back in the cubby.
his place feels comfortable. lived in. like the home of somebody who’s got their shit together and not some heartbroken college girl who’s been broken up with by the same guy for the nth time.
that, or satoru gojo is just a damn good project partner. every time you get stuck on a problem, he’s right next to you and explaining it in a way that doesn’t make you feel stupid. when he goes off on one of his overcomplicated tangents, you reel him back in before he disappears into the nerd dimension.
not that he wasn’t already swimming in it before.
the point is, you’re annoyingly functional, and time seems to go by faster the more you and satoru manage to get done. at one point in the night, you stretch your shoulders and yawn with a volume that should’ve been loud enough to make him look.
it doesn’t.
your eyes drift over to where he’s typing on his laptop instead, and satoru is exactly the same as usual: annoyingly focused, hopelessly nerdy, and completely oblivious to your staring.
you nudge him with your foot. “hey.”
“hmm?” he replies absentmindedly, typing away as you’re graciously giving him your full attention.
you nudge him again, harder this time, and it’s enough to make him stop working on the paper and glare up at you.
“what?” he says, and it’s accompanied by a sigh so loud that you have to keep yourself from laughing.
“say,” you start, leaning back on your elbows and pretending not to notice when his eyes flicker to your nearly-exposed chest, then back to you. “aren’t you gonna do something about your little crush?”
you’re not quite sure what the beautiful, enigmatic shoko ieiri has done to this boy, but the effect on him is almost immediate. his fingers stop mid-way through typing a sentence, and he stares at his screen like it’ll give him the answer if he looks hard enough.
then, he types over the silence as if you’d never said anything at all. nothing of importance, at least.
“nothing,” satoru answers, eyes flickering left and right on his laptop screen significantly faster than they were before. “she’s been a friend of mine since high school. these things pass.”
you scoff. “i’ve known sukuna since high school, and everyone knows how that ended.”
“you’re comparing a hallway crush to your toxic situation with your boyfriend,” he quips, and the bastard doesn’t even look up as you fume at the mention of sukuna.
“ex-boyfriend,” you correct him immediately. gojo shrugs.
“tomato, tom-ah-to.”
ignoring another one of his smart ass responses that you, quite frankly, don’t even understand, you push at him harder. “whatever, loser, you and i both know that’s not an excuse.”
this time, it’s satoru’s turn to groan exasperatedly, leaning back against the couch and staring at the ceiling like it holds all the secrets of the world. one beat passes, then another, and you almost gear yourself up to make another stretch and get back to work when he speaks again.
“. . . she’s experienced. i’m not.”
you raise your brows. “experienced?”
the rather pathetic physics major raises his head to glower right at you, blinking up at him, and genuinely confused.
“you know what i mean,” he sighs, running a hand down his face when you stare at him from across the floor table like he’s gone mad.
“no,” you say, awkwardly rubbing at your neck. “i don’t.”
a groan slips past his lips as he throws his head back against the couch cushions, the movement ruffling up his already messed-up hair. for one glorious second, he looks less like the put-together mystery from your physics lecture and more like a man who’s been pushed to the limit by one annoying classmate.
unfortunately for him, you’re having the time of your life.
the apartment falls silent for a moment, and suddenly, everything begins to click into place. the awkwardness. the red ears. the lack of confidence despite looking like, well, that.
“gojo,” you start, and he knows he’s been busted when a wild grin blooms across your face. “are you a virgin?”
one beat passes, then another, and satoru blinks up at you like it’s his turn to be deeply confused.
“. . . is that supposed to be a bad thing?”
you stare at him for half a second before you break.
and honestly, your laugh comes out so suddenly that it startles even you, who’s now begun to double down in her laughter and clutch at the carpets for dear life. across from you, gojo’s face immediately twists into something between annoyance and confusion as he watches you fold in on yourself.
“no,” you wheeze, clutching your stomach with one hand and wiping a tear from your eyes with another. “it’s not a bad thing.”
you’re not trying to be mean, because if anything, you’re impressed. the man is six-foot something of sweet cologne and a pretty damn good allowance by the looks of this apartment, not to mention his unfair genetics. if you had noticed satoru gojo sooner, you would’ve assumed girls were throwing themselves at his feet.
“it’s just . . . you look like that, and you’re telling me you haven’t done anything in twenty years?”
“twenty-one years,” he corrects immediately, but stops himself from pursuing that argument any further when he realizes he’s not exactly helping his own case. “and not everybody’s life revolves around dating.”
“you’re talking like you haven’t been in love with her for like, five years.”
“who said anything about love?” he murmurs defeatedly, tearing his eyes off of you when you only laugh harder.
you narrowly miss the cushion he tosses at you, and eventually, the conversation eventually dies the death it deserves. after a few final edits to your paper, a 30-minute attempt to get satoru’s dusty old printer to spit out said project, and another heated argument, you finally convince him not to walk you to your car.
“just go to sleep,” you blink, cocking your head as he stubbornly stays put by the door to his place, arms crossed and eyes winking off to sleep.“we’ve been up all night.”
the man is exhausted, and you can see it in the way his shoulders drop and the shadows that pool beneath his pretty eyes. he stands by the door with a fiery determination like he’s not half asleep as you know it, and you nearly scoff in his face.
“it’s dark,” he murmurs, head lolling when he yawns for the nth time in the past 5 minutes. “just let me walk you.”
“we’re in the safest part of campus,” you roll your eyes, shoving satoru back inside his apartment, where there’s no more space to argue with you. “just make sure that paper is on the old man’s desk by ten. g’night!”
“wait –”
with that, you’ve slammed the door in his face and his absurdly comfortable apartment forever, you hope.
and as your heels click on the pavement outside his apartment complex, you’re still smiling when you try to fish your keys from your purse. maybe it’s the relief of finally finishing the damn paper, or maybe it’s because you finally spent the last few hours thinking about something other than sukuna.
whatever it is, you carry it with you down the road to your beetle. because for whatever reason, your chest feels lighter than it has in weeks. not completely healed, not even close. just lighter, like your prick of an ex-boyfriend has finally begun to flush from your system.
that is, until you glance up and regret ever leaving the damn apartment.
because less than five feet away and conveniently parked under a flickering streetlight is the devil himself: ryomen sukuna, leaning back against his black suv as you physically recoil at the sight of him. and to make matters worse, he spots you immediately, red eyes narrowing at you like he’s seeing double.
he isn’t, and it takes all of your self-control not to shrivel up under his red, hot stare.
for a moment, neither of you moves. the parking lot sits suspended in time, and you blink at each other underneath the orange glow of the streetlights and the distant sounds of nightlife. like you’re mutually suspicious.
unfortunately, life continues, and so does your ex.
“doll?” he frowns, and you’d gag at the nickname if it didn’t mean looking like a fool in front of this bastard. “what’re you doing here?”
your stomach drops, and you cross your arms over your chest in a poor attempt to conceal your slow-rising panic.
say something. anything.
“i was visiting my cousin,” you say quickly, and you keep yourself from wincing when his slit brows furrow in confusion. as far as sukuna’s knowledge and the truth go, you don’t have any cousins.
“your cousin . . . that i’ve never heard about?”
“well, you never asked.” you huff, glaring into the distance where you’re half-sure you parked your car. maybe if you started running now, you could . . . wait.
“i could ask you the same thing,” you continue flatly, and for the first time since spotting you, sukuna lets his gaze drift away from you and towards the apartment complex behind you.
slowly, downright cruelly, the pieces begin to fall into place.
the moving boxes. the suv. the fact that he’s standing under a streetlight at this ungodly hour.
“don’t tell me . . .” you gasp, taking a few steps back in horror when a grin blooms across your ex-boyfriend’s smug face. “your bum ass lives here now?”
this can’t be happening.
“bingo, pretty. so are you gonna tell me why you’re here at this hour or —”
“WAIT!” a shout tears through the emptiness of the parking lot, and both of your heads snap towards the apartment entrance.
a few feet away, the doors to the building blow open so fast they practically fly off the hinges. suddenly, poor, oblivious satoru gojo is jogging through the lot with your keys in hand and the urgency of a man trying to stop a national emergency.
“you forgot your keys in my apartment!” he calls out, waving them above his head like a madman. sukuna freezes. gojo keeps going.
“you would’ve been stuck out here all night. god, i leave you alone for five minutes and you – “
the words die in his mouth when he spots sukuna practically fuming from next to you, and satoru’s frantically waving hand immediately drops to his side, keys dangling along with the wind.
across from you, sukuna’s face contorts into multiple stages of horror in milliseconds, and you’re completely aware of how this looks. you, leaving this geek’s apartment after spending hours alone in the middle of the night.
you can practically see the image forming in his head, and something forms in his expression that 3 years of on-and-off makes pretty hard to miss: pure, unadulterated jealousy.
his eyes move from you, to satoru, to the keys in his hand, then the apartment complexes behind him, before a realization crashes into you with the force of a bullet train:
the perfect fake-boyfriend has been existing right under your nose for all this time, in the form of nerdy satoru gojo and his complete and utter inability to realize the kind of damage he causes.
“you forgot these,” satoru says weakly, like that’ll fix this utter mess.
synopsis. after one breakup after another with your toxic boyfriend sukuna, you decide you’re done playing his games. enter gojo satoru, the sexy nerd from your physics class who’s more than glad to help you make your ex jealous . . . in exchange for some intimacy advice.
pairing. nerd!jo x popular!reader
tags. university au, rom-com, fluff, SMUT, enemies to (reluctant) friends to lovers, fake dating, jealous gojo, teaching intimacy trope, they don’t play abt each other, suggestive themes, violence, profanity, reader undergoes major character development, angst if you squint, frat!kuna as reader’s ex
꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ surpriseeee — this is 3 parts now hehe. satoru is still our lovingly annoying sweetheart here, but this part does have a bit more angst than the last. nothing too wild though… just a whole lot of yearning and our poor reader being very committed to denial. i hope you enjoy! part 3 will be the last one. (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
<<< part 1 - main masterlist - part 3 >>>
part 2
“Ma’am, may I interest you in our menu?” the flight attendant asks, leaning in with a practiced smile.
"Oh—um. Yes... thank you."
The thick, cream-colored menu lands in your hands a second later, and you settle into your seat just as she disappears down the aisle. A seat that is far too comfortable for the current state of your life. But that’s the thing about first class — it makes it very hard to be appropriately miserable, and you are trying to be miserable right now. You are committed to it.
“If you need recommendations… I recommend the wagyu.” Satoru leans in, close enough that his breath feathers warm against the side of your neck. “It’s to die for.”
He grins, blue eyes glinting behind snowy lashes. And unfortunately, the wagyu isn’t the thing currently putting your life at risk. Because a shiver moves through you before you can stop it.
“O-Oh…” your head jerks away, quickly. “Uh-huh… sure.”
Refusing to turn, you keep your eyes stubbornly on the cabin — denying him the satisfaction of seeing what his closeness does to the treacherous, backstabbing organ inside your chest. But you catch him in your periphery — leaning back, entirely unbothered, reaching for his own menu with that pleased little hum that means, of course, he notices.
Ugh.
This is going to be a long-ass ten-hour flight. And first class, as it turns out, is only roomy when you aren’t seated beside the exact person currently making your pulse act deeply unprofessional.
…
Wait. When did your pulse start doing that?!
Miserable, you remind yourself. Yeah. Miserable.
With a sigh, you click your seatbelt into place and flip open the menu, genuinely trying to build a case for why this is the worst decision you’ve ever made. Unfortunately, it is hard to maintain righteous regret when the menu has no prices on it. Not one. Just elegant font, artful descriptions, and ingredients arranged like poetry.
…you’d booked economy.
Economy.
But then he’d upgraded your tickets last minute like that was a normal thing a person did — insisting you fly with him. Like swapping someone’s middle seat for a first-class cocoon with a duvet and a champagne flute was just… hospitality.
“Um… Satoru?” Your brow arches as you take in the absurdly extravagant menu. “How much does this cost, exactly…?” He doesn’t even glance up. “Mm? Oh.” Flipping a page, his hand waves lazily. “Don’t worry about it.”
…
Don’t worry about it?
You are very much worrying about it. Because how the hell does an intern afford this?! You know how much interns make at your company; you’ve worked with HR, signed off on the numbers — and it is categorically not this.
But fine. Whatever. That is, somehow, the least of your problems right now. And your mind was already veering back toward the more immediate catastrophe currently taxiing toward the runway.
Your family.
“Right… well. Anyways, Satoru,” you say, setting the menu down. “We should probably establish the basics before we get to Japan and—”
“—what do you like to eat?”
You blink, lips parting.
“I—sorry…what?”
“I like sweets,” he says, turning toward you. A toothy grin spreads across his face, dimples peeking. “Let’s see… cake, cream buns, mochi…” he muses. “Oh! Especially kikifuku mochi, it’s the best.” He nods solemnly. “Honestly, I think it’s the whipped cream inside that really makes the difference.”
Your brow furrows as you stare at him.
…when did this become a TED talk about sugar? You were trying to discuss a plan, and he is out here curating a dessert menu like the most pressing crisis of the next ten hours is pastry selection.
“Okay…? That’s nice. But we should talk about—”
“Food,” he states, picking up the menu you just set down. He flips it open and angles it back toward you like that is the only sensible conversation available. “C’mon. What do you like? Not what you’ll settle for… what you’ll actually like. Ten hours is a long time, sweetheart.”
Brow knitting, you frown.
He cannot be serious. That is not the priority right now.
“That—that can wait. We need to—”
“—establish the basics, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and tips his head back against the seat, like your resistance is personally exhausting him. But then his gaze flicks back, amused. “And I’m just saying food is a basic necessity. Because you skip lunch when you’re busy, forget breakfast when you’re anxious, and then act shocked when you feel like shit three hours later. So, eat.” He places the menu back in your hands. “Preferably something that isn’t stale pretzels, yeah?”
Something hot and startled climbs your neck so fast it’s almost impressive. Your mouth opens, but whatever rebuttal is forming never makes it. Because before you can recover—
“Honestly, I gotta say… the soba is pretty good too, actually.” His face is suddenly just over your shoulder, murmuring close enough that you feel the heat of him against your ear. “If you don’t want the wagyu, that is. Wait—scratch that. Maybe ramen…?” His finger traces a line on the menu, pale lashes lowering, tongue clinking gently. “Mm… never mind. Too much broth and there could be turbulence.”
Your whole body stiffens. Because his closeness does not feel unwelcome. Which is exactly the problem.
…when did he get so comfortable?!
“…stop doing that,” you mutter, pulling back. He looks over, the picture of innocence. “Doing what?”
Your lips purse.
“I dunno. Being…” But the word dissolves, and you're reaching for your water, needing something to do with your hands. “So… comfortable. So—” You cut yourself off with a small huff. “Like this.”
His grin is unbearable, lazy and crooked.
“Oh?” he reclines. “Like what, baby?”
You sputter into your water.
“Baby?”
You’re choking on your drink, and Satoru looks entirely too pleased with himself. He's chuckling, leaning over without a second thought, one hand settling warm between your shoulder blades.
“Awwh… what’s this? Don’t be shy now,” he hums, the picture of helpfulness, rubbing slow circles with a sigh. “We’re gonna have to get way cozier than this if I’m playing boyfriend. Just establishing the basics, yeah?”
As you straighten with a glare, you can tell without a doubt he is openly enjoying himself. That grin hasn’t moved a goddamn inch.
…asshole.
Huffing, you settle back into your seat. And it isn’t long before the plane shudders gently away from the gate, inching out onto the runway with that slow, terrible sense of inevitability that only air travel is capable of producing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened… flight attendants, prepare for departure.”
The overhead announcement crackles through the cabin, too polished to be comforting. While beneath you, the whole plane seems to draw tight, a low hum building through the floor, climbing up through your seat.
You exhale, letting your eyes fall shut. Just long enough to pretend you weren’t here. Just long enough to avoid the window, the runway, and the deeply unhelpful fact that your brain liked to save all its worst thoughts for takeoff.
…like how first class wasn’t exactly known for improving your odds. Like how takeoff and landing were statistically the worst parts. Like how the engine sounded different now, probably… maybe, and—
“Hey.”
Satoru’s voice came quieter this time; enough to pull your eyes back open. When you look over, that vibrant blue is already watching you — steady, unhurried, like he has been waiting for you to surface.
“Are you… nervous?”
“What? N-No…” you lie, huffing. His brow arches, sensing your bullshit. “Okay… then why are you doing that with your hands?”
Following his gaze, your fingers had folded into fists without even noticing, in that particular way they always do when you’re trying to physically hold yourself together.
Fuck.
It’s ridiculous, really. You knew flying was statistically safe! Knew it the way you knew balance sheets and quarterly projections and the exact percentage margins that kept departments alive. And yet, takeoff had always felt like the part where logic starts losing altitude.
“Oh…” A small, awkward laugh slips out, just as the engine begins to roar. You smooth your palms over your trembling thighs, shouting over it. “It’s fine! Really! I just… um—I guess I don’t particularly like takeoff, is all!”
His expression softens in a way you weren’t braced for. But before he can answer, the plane surges forward and your eyes squeeze shut. A massive force presses you back into the seat while vibrations climb through the floor and up your spine.
It’s terrible. Completely terrible. But somewhere in the middle of it, a warm hand slides against yours. It takes you a second to register his fingers lacing between your own, and the moment his thumb brushes the back of your hand, you instinctively grip him tighter.
Your eyes stay shut, but you feel the plane lift hard and fast into the sky. And somewhere between the roar of the engines and that awful pull in your stomach, the slow circles his thumb traces against your skin become the only thing your body seems willing to trust.
By the time the pressure eases and the plane finally levels out, your lungs have only just remembered how to work. For a second, neither of you moves until—
“…better?”
His voice brushes the quiet between you. You blink your eyes open.
“Yeah…” you whisper. “Um… thanks.”
He smiles. “Sure.”
That thumb brushes one last time against the back of your hand before finally pulling away, dropping back into his lap with a simple nod like it had been nothing. And the loss of that warmth was immediate enough to sting.
Oh…
He’s… annoyingly good at taking care of you. And worse, your body had recognized it before your brain could file the proper objection — clinging first, thinking later, like comfort was something you could afford to trust.
Maybe the altitude was messing with your head…
Ten hours was a long time.
Long enough to work out the safest parts of the lie. How long you’ve been together. Where you met. Which version of the truth felt neat enough to survive one wedding weekend without collapsing under the weight of follow-up questions.
It was just… not long enough, apparently, for the parts that actually mattered.
“Soooo… question…” Satoru had stretched lazily, turning his glass between two fingers as he glanced over. “What exactly should I expect when we land?”
You kept your attention on the blanket across your lap, flattening a wrinkle. “Probably… jet lag?” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze, fussing with the fabric. “And a long enough drive to regret everything in peace.”
He snorts. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” Ice clicked softly as he tipped his glass, shifting toward you. “Not what I meant, though. I meant with your family.”
And when the warmth of his attention settled against the side of your face — you hesitated. Because it was patient in a way that only made it harder to meet. Patient in the way of someone who’s learned that pushing doesn’t work on you. Which you’re unsure is better, or worse. Because waiting means he’s paying attention, and paying attention means he’ll notice when you crack.
“We’ll just… talk about that later,” you huffed, tugging the blanket a little higher before turning toward the window. “I’m tired. Gonna try to sleep.”
Later… yeah. Later.
But by baggage claim, you were running out of runway. You had to do it soon. Get it over with. Preferably somewhere between the airport and your hotel, where you could spit it out quickly and not have to watch his face too closely while you did.
So now, Satoru yawns beside the conveyor belt, tired blue eyes skimming the slow parade of suitcases rounding the carousel. Hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, posture easy in a way that only makes you more tense. You stand there staring at the back of him, fingers hooked tight in the seam of your shirt.
Now.
“Hey… Satoru?” you mumble. “Hm?” His gaze lands on your luggage and he’s already stepping forward to grab it. “Um, well…” You hesitate. “About my family… I—"
“—oh! Look—look! There they are!”
The moment her voice rings through the terminal, everything inside you locks. You turn, and for one wild second, you genuinely wonder if it’s too late to get back on that godforsaken plane.
Satoru hauls your suitcase off the belt.
“What about them?” he asks, turning when you stop short. Then he sees your face. “…sweetheart?” His brows furrow, following your line of sight — and there is your mother, cutting through the crowd with Trish beside her, moving with the kind of delighted urgency you aren’t prepared to see for at least another twelve hours.
No.
No, no, no.
“—oh my god, there he is!” Your mother walks straight past you — past you — and both hands are wrapping around Satoru’s like he’s who she came for. "Oh, he's handsome. Trish, look—"
It’s no surprise, really, that you’re a second thought. You’ve been a second thought since before you could name it. But that isn’t the wound that matters at this particular moment. The bigger problem is that she’s here.
…why the hell is she here?!
You were supposed to have more time—
“—oh my god,” Trish breathes to you. “Damn. girl. He’s, like… stupid handsome.” And Satoru’s grin went smug, drawling. “Oh, please, ladies. Keep the compliments coming. I’m feeling very welcomed~”
Your mother giggles. “Handsome and funny. Oh, he’s a charmer,” she says, smacking his shoulder playfully. Though the laugh lands bitter. “God. Why on earth would she keep you from me?! I mean… wow. I was beginning to think she’d die alone.”
The words hit like a slap dressed as a joke.
Satoru blinks, the smile faltering for half a second, head tilting imperceptibly.
…great.
Of fucking course she’d say something like that within the first thirty seconds.
“Mother… what—” your voice wavers, eyes falling shut with a swallow. “Sorry. I just—what are you both doing here?”
She did a tiny double take, like she’d only just remembered you were standing there. “Oh, honey…” A hand waves, scoffing. “Don’t be silly—of course we’re here to pick you up! God. I wouldn’t leave you stranded at the airport,” she snorts.
Oh, right.
So she wouldn’t abandon you at an airport. Just in another country.
…good to know there's a line somewhere.
“Besides, why don’t you both just stay with us instead?” she’s already reaching for Satoru’s hand again, bright with the idea. “We’ve got a guest room ready, and I’d love for the chance to talk to you.”
Your body goes rigid.
Oh no. Fuck no.
Anything but that.
Satoru must have seen it written across your face — that particular shade of panic —because his eyes cut to you for only half a second before he slips his hand free, turning back to your mother with a smile already in place.
“That’s incredibly kind, ma’am,” he says, tugging you into his side with an ease that shouldn’t have felt as steadying as it did. “But we’re staying pretty close to my family’s place, and I should probably swing by tomorrow morning.” He rubs the back of his neck with a theatrical groan. “It’s been a few months since I’ve seen my father, and trust me, I’ll regret it if he finds out I came to Tokyo and didn’t stop by, y’know?”
Apparently, ten hours isn’t long enough for the parts that actually matter, because…
“Oh? Your family’s place?” your mother repeats, brows lifting. “So, are they here in Tokyo too, then?” He nods. “Mm, yeah. Pretty much all the Gojos are—at least on my dad’s side. My mom’s in Kyoto.”
…
Wait.
Did he just say Gojo?
As in—
Your boss’s family?!
No. Absolutely not. Between the jet lag, the shock, and your mother still glowing beside you, your brain simply does not have the bandwidth for this. Your lips part, blinking like that might somehow rearrange what he just said into something less insane.
Nothing comes out.
“Gojo…” your mother repeats, brows knitting. “Why does that sound familiar?” Trish blinks. "Wait—like… Gojo Corporation Gojo?!"
Satoru’s grin widens. “Yep. That’d be us.”
“Ah!” Your mother snaps her fingers. “Gojo Corporation. Yes—of course! Silly me. I thought that name seemed familiar…”
And now, the hurt arrives before the shock finishes landing — ugly and precise and aimed at the exact spot that never heals right. Five years of your work, your career, your life inside that building. But she only knows it because a handsome man says it in a terminal.
You stare. “Mom… you can't be serious?” and the hurt in your own voice catches you off guard. “I’ve… I've literally been working at Gojo Corporation for the last five years.”
Fuck...
Get it together.
Out of the corner of your eye, Satoru watches you. But your mother moves on like you’re invisible.
“Oh Satoru Gojo, you just keep getting better and better.” You feel him hesitating as she tugs eagerly. “Come—come! At least let us drive you both to the hotel, hm? There’s so much I need to hear and—”
“—sorry ma’am, no.”
Satoru’s pulling you into him like the decision has already been made. And you blink while his fingers smooth gently through your hair, tipping your chin up with a long finger.
“Honestly, I’m beat…” His thumb brushes your cheek, gaze searching your face. “…aren’t you, love?”
There’s a hitch in your breath
Oh.
So… you’re not invisible?
As it leaves you in a quiet shudder, for one suspended second, there is nothing but that soft blue of his eyes and the way they’ve gone gentle for you. All you can do is nod — and a single tear slips free before you can stop it.
He tucks you against his chest, hiding your face, and flashes a grin back at your mother.
“Ugh… I appreciate you coming to get us, but we’ve been up for way too long and—” Glancing down at his phone, he lets out a small laugh. “Ah. Perfect timing! Would ya look at that—my driver’s here.” A tug of your hand. “But we’ll catch up tomorrow, yeah? Bye, ladies~”
Your legs are moving on their own, and you don’t even catch the expression on your mother’s face. Can’t. Not when your pulse is still tripping over itself. Not when his hand wraps around yours like letting go isn’t even a question.
The suitcase rolled behind you, with the airport crowd bustling. While those bright eyes flicked back, making sure you were still there every few steps.
“C’mon, pretty girl… we’re almost there,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me, okay? Eyes on me, yeah?”
And… you weren’t sure why he lowered his voice. Not when they were already well out of earshot. You only know that… it nearly undoes you all over again.
By the time the limo pulls away from the curb, Satoru had already figured out two things: your mother was awful, and somehow, he’d gotten you out of there only to realize he hadn’t fully brought you back with him.
It’s the furrow in your brow that gets him first… then the wobble in your lip — the one you think you’re hiding, the one you always think you’re hiding. You haven’t said a word since climbing into the backseat. Haven’t looked at him either. Instead, you stay toward the window, watching Tokyo slip by in blurred ribbons of light, glowing against the glass in streaks of neon. A city that has no business being that beautiful when you look that broken.
…shit. Should he crack a joke? No. Maybe not.
But asking if you’re okay feels useless. You obviously aren’t. And worse, saying it out loud feels like the fastest way to make you disappear even further behind that window — to watch you pull the shutters down the way you always do.
“Well, then…” A hand drags through his hair as he lets his head fall back against the seat. “Um… gotta say—your family really believes in making an entrance, huh? Talk about—”
“—I thought your name was Satoru Geto.”
He blinks.
“Huh?”
Your gaze finally pulls from the window, landing on him, and the hurt in it is so carefully contained it almost looks like composure. Almost. Except he’s spent four months learning to read you, and composure doesn’t tremble at the edges like that.
“…Satoru Geto,” you mutter carefully. “That’s the name on your employee record, no?”
Oh...
Right. That.
“…is it?” His gaze slips away, fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah… um. About that. Geto’s actually my best friend. I just used his last name because the initials matched.” He’s flopping back against the seat with a small shrug, one arm slinging across the top. “Made it easier to sign off on stuff that way. Gotta work smarter, not harder, right?”
And tilting his head, a crooked grin tugs at the corner of his lips.
Yours doesn’t move.
“Right,” you deadpan, turning back toward the window. “So your plan was to just let me keep calling you that.”
You don’t say it like a question.
…is it a question?
Satoru’s brow furrows at the hurt threaded beneath the words. “No… I—” he huffs, hands dropping into his lap. “Obviously I had to hide it while I was working with you, but my legal name was on the boarding pass I gave you, so it’s not like I was actively hiding it, sweetheart.”
You scoff under your breath. “Oh. Cool. So I was just supposed to… what—figure that out on my own?” And suddenly, your voice is doing this awful thing now — losing its clean, controlled shape, slipping into something thinner. Hotter.
He hears it immediately, sighing. “Sorry… but why is this the problem?” he asks, more confused than anything now. “Help me out here. I mean… I thought your mom was what had you upset back there.”
Your eyes roll. “Your name is literally on my paycheck, Gojo. How is that not a problem?”
He stares. Genuinely stares. Because for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with that. To him, his name was just a name. The company was just a company. Status had always felt like something other people got weird about first. Not him.
So, like an idiot, he goes for the joke.
“Well… technically, I think my name is on a lot of paychecks, so—"
“—Jesus Christ, am I a fucking joke to you?”
And the humor drops out of him so fast it almost startles you. Shit. That backfired tremendously. “Whoa—what? No!” He straightens, brow furrowing. “No, no, no. God, no—sweetheart, of course not. Why would you think that?”
You’re looking away before he can see what that does to your face, because you hate how quickly his voice goes from careless to cracked. Hate yourself for making it do that.
Damnit.
You know that wasn’t fair. He had just gotten you out of there. Seen you unraveling in that airport and stepped in without making it worse. Without making you ask. And still — somehow, in the span of twenty minutes, the whole world had shifted under your feet. Him, your mother, that last name. This damn… wedding.
…why does everything feel so hard to sort through right now?
“Just…” You swallow, shifting towards the window, blinking back tears. “Sorry. Don’t talk to me right now.”
His expression softens. “C’mon… no,” he murmurs. “Please… please don’t be like that. I’m sorry you found out this way. I should’ve told you sooner.”
The crack in his voice makes everything unbearable, and outside, Tokyo keeps sliding past in fractured light. So, you look at the window because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than trying to untangle the mess that is your life. Easier than naming what specifically hurts so much.
And easier than asking yourself what, exactly, had been real and what had only ever been off the record.
Clearly, the universe looked at the absolute clusterfuck of this trip and decided it wasn't finished with you yet.
Because apparently, your fake boyfriend had a limo. Your fake boyfriend, who can upgrade your tickets to first class like it’s nothing. Your fake boyfriend who is also, apparently, your boss — and decided to book you at a luxurious five-star hotel in Tokyo while somehow neglecting to mention that part too.
Whatever. Either way, you're too tired to care. Or maybe just too tired to forgive him — despite the way the marble floors and soft gold light whisper luxury around you like an apology you didn’t ask for.
All you know, is that by the time the two of you make it upstairs, your silence was beyond awkward and hardened into something heavier. More deliberate. So, the moment the suite door clicks open, you’re beelining to the bedroom.
“Goodnight.”
You mutter it under your breath, shutting yourself into the bathroom before he can answer you. And when you change into your pajamas, you try not to linger in the mirror — because your whole face feels tight from holding yourself together, from trying not to cry for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. And as if that weren't enough, the wedding is tomorrow.
…how the fuck are you supposed to get through that too?!
With an exhausted sigh, you push open the bedroom door, reach back to kill the light, and—
“…what are you doing?” you deadpan, stopping cold in the entryway. Because at the foot of the bed, you find Satoru in sweats, crouched on the floor, carefully spreading a blanket across it. He smooths the corner flat and those blue eyes flick up, then drop back down.
“Making myself comfortable?”
…
That explains absolutely nothing.
Your brows pull together. “Okaaay…? Clearly. But—why?” Rolling your eyes, your arms cross. “Don’t tell me you fucked up the reservation. I mean, you’re the one who booked this place. Don’t you have your own suite?”
“Yup. I do.”
He says it so easily it almost irritates you more. You watch him fluff the pillow and set it on the floor like this is perfectly normal behavior for a man who can apparently summon private drivers and spend obscene amounts of money at the drop of a hat.
Your teeth grit. “Great. So go lay in your bed.”
Exhaling through his nose, he lowers himself onto the marble like it’s no different than a mattress. One arm tucks behind his head, the other rests over his stomach, all lazy limbs and impossible calm.
“Nah,” he says. “Think I’ll sleep here. Promised you wouldn’t be alone this trip.”
And the universe, apparently, hadn't taken quite enough from your dignity yet. Because you find yourself genuinely speechless.
For a moment, you just stand there looking at him — at the ridiculous length of him stretched out across the floor, at the fact that he has a whole bed somewhere else and was still choosing this — and at how he somehow managed to make the gesture feel casual enough not to embarrass you and sincere enough that it did anyway.
“…suit yourself,” you grumble, stomping over to your bed.
You yank the covers back and climb in with an irritated sweep, reaching over to find the light. Darkness folds over the room in one soft rush, and for a while, there’s only the low hum of air conditioning and the distant glow of Tokyo bleeding dimly through the curtains. Somewhere beneath it all, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric from the floor, the small settling sound of him getting comfortable.
…
Or trying to.
You lie stiffly on your side, facing away from the edge of the bed that he lays, staring into the dark like you can force your mind to shut up if you just do it hard enough.
Ugh…
Despite how tired you are, sleep feels impossible.
Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pillow and shift to the other side of the bed with an annoyed little huff. And there’s the broad line of his back in the dark. One arm folded under his head, the other sprawled carelessly over the blanket, like this is all perfectly normal. Like sleeping on the marble floor in a five-star hotel is not objectively unhinged behavior.
“…you’re actually gonna sleep down there?” you mutter into the dark.
“Mm.” His voice comes easy, amused. “You should be sleeping, missy.”
“So should you,” you huff. “In a bed.”
Chuckling, he shifts onto his back, sprawling out like a starfish. He hums. “Nahhh,” and an exaggerated exhale breathes out of him, tired. “The floor’s fine. I’m reconnecting with the earth. Re-centering. Some might say it’s very… grounding.”
You can hear that pleased little smirk of his, even in the dark, and it pulls a snort out of you before you can stop it. “…wow, seriously?” Biting back a grin. “You’re so stupid.”
He laughs under his breath. “Yeah… maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. Probably won’t be the last, either. But…” With a tired sigh, he drapes his arm over his face, half-hiding in the dark. “…guess I’d rather be stupid than leave you alone, though.”
The words slip out, and the room goes strangely quiet. Something tender and awful pulling tight in your throat as you stare down at him for a second too long.
…what are you even supposed to do with that? With him?
He’s down there on the floor, keeping a promise you never asked him to make.
Swallowing, your fingers tighten on the blanket. “…hey, Satoru?” That low hum answers, and you hesitate, staring at the dark shape of him on the floor, your heart doing something stupid and uncomfortable against your ribs.
“Come up here,” you blurt.
…
Silence.
“Wait… huh?”
Your eyes squeeze shut.
As if saying it once wasn’t bad enough.
“I-I mean…” you’re shifting onto your back, staring hard at the ceiling because looking at him suddenly feels impossible. “I just… there’s plenty of room, so just—come up.”
…
He’s quiet just long enough to make your face burn hotter. And when he’s pushing himself onto one elbow, even in the dark, you can feel the disbelief radiating off of him like heat.
“Uh… right,” he laughs awkwardly. “I think the jet lag’s getting to me, because there’s no way I heard that right unless you’re fucking with me.”
You cover your face with a groan.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Christ, stop making this harder—” you snap, voice rising. “I’m serious you idiot! Because you’re not making me feel worse tonight by sleeping on the goddamn floor—so hurry and get your ass up here before—”
“—yes ma’am.”
He’s moving before you can rethink the entire thing, despite how your pulse is suddenly loud in your own ears. You scoot over, clutching the blanket to your chest, and the mattress dips beneath his weight — the sheets rustle. His body shifts. And then everything goes still.
…too still.
All you can do is lie there. Stiff. Acutely, helplessly aware of him. But it’s dark — mercifully dark — and thank god for that, because you don’t think you could survive seeing his face right now. Not this close. Not after that. Not with your own invitation still echoing back at you like something you’d like to physically retrieve out of thin air.
“Soooo…” he mumbles, fingers tapping the mattress. “Um… for the record, this is like… significantly nicer than my original arrangement. Way less marble.”
Despite the nerves, his words loosen a laugh from your chest. “…yeah? Well, good,” you mutter, tugging the blanket a little higher. “Because honestly, the level of commitment you were showing that floor was a little concerning.”
He chuckles. “True, true.” And suddenly, you can hear the lazy stretch of a grin in his voice. “Buuuut I mean… I wasn’t about to lose our first fight—not as your boyfriend.”
Your breath catches. “W-Wow…” You huff like that’ll cover it. “You—um… got real comfortable with that word fast,” you mutter, trying for dry and missing by a mile.
A low hum. “I'm a committed man. What can I say?” and his voice is all smug velvet and sleep-rough warmth. “Mmm… I kinda like the sound of it, actually.”
The words land lower than they should. Because that should not sound as good as it does.
“D-Don’t… don’t say it like that,” you stammer.
The mattress dips.
“Mm?” he whispers. “…well, how else should I say it, princess?”
…
Fake.
Fake boyfriend.
The word lands somewhere quiet and ugly under your ribs, and all at once the warmth of the bed feels strange against your skin. Because that's what this is. What it has to be. A role. A weekend. A lie with soft edges and an expiration date. And…
“Just—nevermind…” you mutter, shoving it down, repositioning your pillow. “Laying in a bed with my boss was not really on my bingo card for this trip. Or finding out halfway through it, apparently.”
He scoffs. “I’m not your boss. My dad’s your boss.” A humorless breath leaves you. “Yeah? Well, that is not as comforting a distinction as you think it is, Gojo, when your name is still on my—”
“—Satoru,” he corrects softly.
You blink into the dark.
“Wait. Sorry… what?”
A small huff leaves him, almost annoyed, almost something softer. “It’s just…” he grumbles, shifting against the sheets, “I like it a lot better when you call me Satoru…” And even without seeing him, you can hear it.
Is he… pouting?
The fabric rustles again as he shifts. “Look…” he says after a beat, and the teasing has gone out of his voice now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…” He exhales through his nose. “I didn’t think hearing my last name would make you start acting like I was suddenly somebody else...?”
Your lashes flutter as he scoots closer, and this time, your breath catches. Because a thin line of moonlight slips through the curtains, cutting across the bed just enough to catch him there. The loose fall of white hair over his forehead, the softened line of his mouth, the pale blue of his eyes gone dim and almost silver in the dark.
“And…” His voice lowers, softer now. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I liked just being Satoru to you..." Those blue eyes dip to your lips, just for a second, before lifting back to yours. His breath hitches.
“Y’know I’m still me… right?” He whispers.
As his breath fans across your face, you feel fingers slipping over yours, careful enough to feel like a question, and your pulse does something wild. Because for one suspended second, he doesn’t look real. He looks like something half-dreamed.
Beautiful.
“Right…” you breathe, the word thin. “I know that, and… I-I’m sorry for lashing out at you earlier. I just… I wasn’t expecting any of this, and then everything at the airport and—and god—and then my mom and—"
The words are tumbling out now, too fast, too loose, and even in the dark you feel laid open by them. Bare in a way that makes you want to snatch every one back. Because there he is, looking at you with that same unbearable patience, thumb brushing over the back of your hand in slow, absent strokes, his mouth tipped in a smile so soft it almost feels private.
…yours.
And that’s what’s terrifying. He feels like something you could lean into. Like warmth can be simple. Unconditional. Real.
But…
Nothing in your life has ever taught you how to lean into warmth without waiting for the condition beneath it. Without turning it over, looking for the fine print. So, perhaps that’s why, when his thumb brushes over your hand again, you pull away.
And his frown is instant.
“I-I…” Your eyes squeeze shut as you clear your throat. “Sorry.” The word comes out frayed. “I want you to know I appreciate you doing this. Genuinely. But…” You swallow hard around the ache pressing at the base of your throat. “Tomorrow is it.”
The room goes so quiet you can hear the air conditioning hum.
His brow furrows, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Um… what are you saying?” He scoffs, lips pulling into a disbelieving grin. “I don’t understand. Why are you acting like everything—”
“—after this is over,” you blurt, chest rising. “You can just—forget all this happened, okay?” And your voice thins. Blinking back tears, your eyes flick away. “That’s it. You’ll forget about me. You go back to your life. I go back to mine. Just like we agreed and—”
“—I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
Your eyes glance back from the hurt in his voice, and somehow that only makes it worse. Because...
Why?
Why does he have to look at you like that?
You exhale shakily. “I think we both need sleep more than we need this conversation, so…” The blanket is already up at your chin by the time the words leave you. “Let’s… leave it at that. Okay? I’m exhausted," you whisper. "Goodnight, Satoru.”
Shifting away, you roll onto your side before he can say anything else, before he can make this harder than it already is. The bed gives with a quiet creak behind you.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
And you lie there, holding yourself rigid, as if that could undo the part of you that almost turned back.
Still. Despite how tired you are… sleep feels impossible.
a/n. oof. sorry for leaving you on the angst 😭 but this felt like the right place to split it so part 3 can be fully wedding-focused. tysm for reading! i'm blown away by all your support. he's literally so patient and attentive, whaaa. i wanna eat him up 😭
synopsis . Your new boyfriend realizes you're quite the strange woman. content . afab!reader, established relationship(s), cuckholding, voyeurism, filth, mentions of perv!toji (help idk how he got here), rough sex, a hint of chojo, semi crack fic, masturbation, spit, dirty talk, teasing, creampie, etc.
With your hips working to slam your sloppyyyy pussy down to the thick base of Choso's blushing cock, you had the man an absolute mess of sweat 'n tears beneath you. He should've known from the day he met you that you'd drive him insane, considering you managed to out-perv him.
Though, that was a story he'd dwell on another time since right now he was much too focused on pinning the pads of his fingers into your skin so he could hold you correctly as you rode him like you wanted him to impregnate you or something. He'd never had a woman ride him this good until now. You'd only been dating for a few days, but he swore he was already in lov—
“Oh, and who’s this?” A rather soothing voice enters your bedroom and Choso's body freezes, his grip on you growing impossibly tighter.
When he looks past your sinful frame for a moment, he makes eye contact with some white-haired man who seems to be awfully casual about walking into your bedroom while you're clearly... occupied. Not that he moves to pull out of you or make you stop riding him, though.
“Nngh," You moan sweetly whilst letting the tips of a fresh manicure run down the smooth display of abs beneath you, "This is my new boyfriend Choso.”
Choso's brows furrow slightly and his grip on your hips falters a little as he watches that same man pace into the room as if you're not literally naked and in the middle of fucking someone. Panting, “H-Hahh—are you two like-, r-roommates or something?” He asks you.
The guy that Choso's all curious about comes over to the side of your bed and pulls out a chair from god knows where before nonchalantly taking a seat. Running a noticeably ringed hand through his white hair as he chuckles, “Cute, but no. I’m her husband.” Gojo explains for you.
“Huh.” Choso gapes, cock throbbing inside you in some weird form of shock. Then those dopey brown eyes of his get wide, and he shoots you a panicked look. Huffing, “You didn’t tell me you were married?!”
Instead of reacting to him like any sane woman would in a situation where she's caught cheating on her husband and boyfriend(?) at the same time, you merely tilt your head to the right and snicker. Teasing him as you say, “Mmh, did you jus’ get harder, Cho?”
His chest caves in a little and for some odd reason, none of this newfound information is making him any less horny. Hell, he's still holding onto your hips and guiding you up and down the veiny length of his dick while he stammers, “What? N-No,” before swallowing down a groan as you neatly clench around him. He turns his head over to meet eyes with Gojo and sounds truly apologetic as he puffs, “Hey man, look, m’sorry.”
“What for?” Gojo deadpans with this weird smile on his face, leaning back into the chair he's pulled out for himself and letting his meaty thighs sprawl out.
Your eyes quickly shoot over to the display of his already forming bulge and Choso's left to unintentionally whine as you glide your pussy upwards along the stretching curve of his cock and then squeeze around him again. Struggling to figure out where exactly he should keep his eyes, the brunet exchanges glances back and forth between the both of you before finally managing to reply.
“Uhm, fucking your wife?” He explains in between something short of a grunt.
Gojo's smile widens out across those rosed lips of his before he raises a thin, unconvinced brow, “You don’t sound sorry.” Then those azure eyes of his floats down to where Choso's burried inside you and he notes how the man is helplessly bucking his hips into you—earning the squelchiest sounds from your cunt. “And you’re goin’ faster now despite apologizing.” Your husband points out.
Choso’s face twists up and he can't help but whine, “She feels really fuckin’ good, m’sorry.”
Leaning forward, Gojo tips his head to the side as if to get a better look at how pretty your pussy looks being nice 'n split open by the rude viscosity of Choso's cock. And the curve he had on him... fuck, your husband was able to catch exactly how the man's tip knocked against your cervix—just bullying his poor wife's pretty pussy.
He can't help but palm at the erection he's managed to gain from watching so far, “God, this would be terrible if I wasn’t into this...” He hums.
“Y-Yeah," Choso redirects his attention to the same place that Gojo's eyes have fallen to and his lashes flap over upon seeing the gorgeous globs of your slick getting dragged up and down his shaft as you bounce on him. Barely even coherent as he mumbles, "...Probably would.”
It didn't take a rocket scientist for him to realize your husband happened to be a cuck. And considering how he just started dating you only a few days ago and was only getting harder from being watched by said cuck husband, Choso figures he might just be one too!
At that, and in an honest attempt at not blowing his load too soon, Choso's hips slow down and he goes back to letting you do most of the work.
Of which Gojo notices immediately and scoffs, “Hey, don’t slow down now.” He directs, earning Choso's gaze for a moment. Gojo looks almost disappointed now and challenges the man directly via meeting eyes with him and cocking a brow, “You wanted to fuck my wife, didn’t you? So fuck her.”
A whimper nearly jumps out of Choso's throat and his fat tip kisses somewhere deep inside you—earning a thoughtless moan out of you while he questions Gojo in return, “You’re just gonna... ngh-, watch?”
“Yeahhhh..” Your husband's voice is sleazy by the time he replies considering he had driven his focus elsewhere. Pulling his dick out and messily spitting on the palm of his hand—nice ‘n filthy like he always does whenever you bring in a new boy-toy. “Fuck her real good f’me.”
Before he can do that, you start to angle your body up and lean yourself back, placing your hands behind you and on his thighs so you could fuck yourself stupid on him. This sudden change only makes Choso's head spin whilst he loses his grip on you for a second, grunting, “Shiiiit.” in reaction before he can control himself.
The sound reverberates throughout your bedroom, and the mattress the two of you are mounted on seems to creak and dip deeper inward with your unexpected movements.
“And baby?” Gojo murmurs while lightly rubbing his hand against his drooling, pinkened tip—precum trickling and glistening all the way down to the fat of his achy balls.
You whine as you meet eyes with him and try your best to avoid looking at his cock, “Yes ‘Toru?”
Your husband gives you the prettiest smile before nodding his chin at you, “Let him cum in you this time.”
Choso’s dick twitches further upward and your body nearly flies up some with that forceful rut of his hips. Stuttering out an all too innocent, “W-What?”
Meanwhile, your eyes seem to have lighten up as your rickety hips go to bash down impossibly harder, fucking him right back down after feeling him attempt to do the opposite to you.
Then you clasp your lower lip in between your teeth and bite back a whorish little smile, "Ohmygoddd, finally.” Peering over to your husband and taking one of your tits into your hands to grope, "Thank you, 'Toru." you purr.
Your boyfriend(?)—he's still confused as to what exactly your relationship with him and will become after all this—repeats his actions from earlier and looks back and forth between you both, “Do you two do this—fuck, jus' like thaaat..." He chokes, tugging your body forward to aid your desperately grounding hips and feeling his dick ram all around every corner of your sweet walls," D-Do you two do this often or something?”
“Yes.” The both of you say in a synchronized moan.
After which, Gojo lets out another laugh in between the continuous strokes of his cock. He was trying to match the pace of your pussy swallowing up Choso’s plumpy length, but his voice was getting shakier as he spoke, “Last week I came home to her gettin’ railed by our repair man.... Nngh-, what was his name again, sweetheart? The one that stole your panties after the job? Was it Kento?”
“No, no—mmph! Kento’s my boss." You explain indifferently between your needy bounces, "The repair man for last week was Toji, remember?”
“Oh yeahhhh," Gojo enthuses, his hand growing unintentionally quicker as he thinks back on it, “He left you sore for quite a few days too.”
The way you two are talking about this weird... routine of yours has Choso's face twisting up slightly and a mumbled, “What the fuck…” ghosting past his lips.
Gojo suddenly nods at him while he talks to you, “Where’d you find this one?”
You giggle, “The back of Spencers.” and Choso grimaces, trying to distract himself from your strange conversation as he instead focuses on pounding his nearing release up into your rather noisy hole. It sounded like you were getting wetter from being fucked like this, “He was—s-shit, right thereee, Choso. Good boyyy.” You praise naturally as you look down at him and send him a warm smile. Still going on to continue with your explanation seconds later, “He was groping himself while watchin’ me buy a new toy, I just had to bring him home.”
“Perv.” Gojo says.
Though, you’re not sure if that was directed towards you or Choso.
Choso’s eyes roll to the back of his head right after hearing that word and he's groaning shamelessly loud, “Gonna cum.”
“Bet you are,” Your husband teases, steadily thrusting his hips up into his fist, “Mmmh, how full do you think you can leave her?”
“H-Huh?” Your poor boyfriend(?)—seriously can he even call himself that after this?—gasps.
“I wanna fuck some cum out of my wife when you’re done, if you don’t mind." Gojo elaborates with that same, cuck-happy grin on his face again. The head of his dick is already smeared over with a gloss of his creamy seed and he's clearly reaching his own orgasm whilst giving Choso directions, "So make sure to leave a nice ‘n creamy load in there for me, yeah?”
Okay, this had to be the strangest fucking couple Choso’s ever encountered. He doesn't think he'll be coming back after this.
banner art from; "Kubitsuri Danshi to Nikushoku Joshi" || perm general tags (1/2):
Idol!Gojo x fangirl!reader part three ! i made sure this one's long for everyone to enjoy ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡
Directory: part one I two
being an idol is exhausting. the nonstop recordings, promotional videos and even events. but that didn't stop Gojo from spoiling u rotten. always coming back home to you with presents, he just loves dressing u up. loves giving u jewelry, making sure he has a piece of him that u carry around. ure not materialistic, but seeing him overjoyed, snapping pics of u in every angle whenever u wear the stuff he buys you was enough to make u happy. u still havent fully forgiven him for making the public know abt whatever it was that was going on between the two of u. for days uve just been holed up in his penthouse, avoiding the paparazzis that was hounding his building literally day and night just to try and get a glimpse of u. even ur socials were deactivated and ur phone on silent so the haters dont find a way to get to you. "long day today?" he hummed in response as he joined u under the covers of his kingsized bed, the moonlight the only thing illuminating through the glass windows. he looked unusually tired today. u woke up that day with him already gone for a photoshoot, it was already close to 12am when he came home. u feel ur chest swell when u realized how exhausted he must be. "they kept asking me about u..." he mumbled, his face nuzzling on the fabric of your chest as he hugged you close. caressing his head u curiously asked, "who?" he scoffs. "everyone. the boys, even suguru. and now choso." u try ur best to hold back a laugh. u can hear the pout in his tone. "gojo..." he hugs u tighter, making u whine at the slight pain. u sigh. "satoru," and only then he loosens his grip. u lightly roll ur eyes; he still throws a fit every time u call him gojo. "...you did just expose me for everyone to see though?" he groaned into ur chest like a man haunted by his own actions. "i know," he grumbled, voice muffled against ur skin. "but i couldn't help it. the thought of him finding about u without me in the picture fucking pissed me off." you laugh softly, fingers threading through the snowy mess of his hair. "you're dramatic."
"i'm in love," he corrected, finally lifting his head to meet your gaze. his eyes, dimmed from fatigue still held the same softness of his blue eyes. "that makes me a little insane, doesn't it?"
you blinked, the heat rising to your face like wildfire. his voice was rough with exhaustion but it was the same type of husky tone that made u melt all over again. you felt his fingers graze the hem of your nightgown, almost absentmindedly tracing the fabric. he let out a heavier sigh. "you're so warm," he murmured, his lips brushing your collarbone, pressing soft butterfly kisses so slow it made ur heart jump in anticipation for more. "i missed this" u feel him exhale, his hot breath sending a soft shiver down ur spine.
"satoru..." his breath hitched. he loves being needed. he loves when ur body so pliantly shows how much it yearns his touch. "let me take care of you," he said, his lips moving up to brush against your jaw. "i need to know that you're mine. that ure staying in the morning. let me hold u, taste you, worship u...." fuck no matter how complicated the situation was - it's hard not to admit that u dont mind staying for good. and it was driving u equally insane to know that he wants u as much as u wanted him too. he leaned in, capturing ur lips in a searing kiss, almost like he was pleading for u to stay. his hands slid into ur hair, lightly gripping on it to tilt your head back so he can deepen the kiss. his tongue found its way in, so eagerly exploring every inch it could reach. "let me make u feel good, until i chase away all thoughts of everything and everyone except us." his voice was raw, blue round eyes in a promise that he meant every word with hunger and desperation. u were weak for him, already finding urself sitting up, ur back against his headboard, legs spreading to show him the damp patch that was already forming in the darkening fabric between ur legs. a possessive smirk painted across his face at the sight. "good girl," he purred, slowly leaning in and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the damp patch, breathing in ur scent. ur legs a little limp when the heat of ur core seeped through the thin material, scorching his lips. he could feel u trembling beneath him and it was taking everything in his self control not to devour u right then and there.
his hands slid up ur thighs, pushing ur dress up out of the way as he settled between them. he looked up at u as he did, clearly studying ur face for every reaction. "im going to taste every inch of you tonight," he trailed off, his hands gripping tighter on your plush thighs "until ure writhing and begging for more." u exhaled, his name was most likely the only thing constantly leaving ur lips tonight.
he pressed another kiss on ur clothed sex, then another, until the fabric was thoroughly soaked through. u can barely keep ur eyes open but he made sure u saw his wicked grin before he peeled your panties off, tossing it carelessly to the side. leaving u so bare before him, all glistening and swollen just for him.
"keep ur hands on the headboard," he ordered, voice rough with desire. without a second thought u submissively complied, hands fumbling to meekly hold onto the headboard behind u. he clicked his tongue in satisfaction. "such a good girl for me..." and with that - he dove in, sealing his lips on ur clit and sucking hard as he thrusts two fingers inside, feeling ur walls fluttering and clenching around the intrusion. he pumped them in and out, curling them just right, as he licked and sucked at ur sensitive bud. ure not sure why he was so possessive tonight. so determined to take u, claim u - it was almost like he worships u. to be worshipped by gojo satoru? fuck that felt good. so good that u couldn't keep ur hands on the headboard, the other one already finding its way to grip his hair as u squirmed in his touch, ur legs shaking from overstimulation. u want him, all of him. "toru... please - inside... no more. don't tease." u pleaded so desperately in between breaths. u were aching for more, so desperately in need with the way ur fingers tightened in his hair, in the way ur hips bucked against his mouth, seeking more of his touch. but instead of satisfying ur need, it only drove him to work twice as hard, driving u further wild with lust. he could taste ur arousal on his tongue, the heat radiating off ur needy cunt. after a full day of work - he's just so fucking hungry for u.
as much as he enjoyed reducing u to a quivering, begging hot mess, he was aching to be buried deep inside u as much as u needed him there. with a final, hard suck to ur clit, he proudly pulled back, admiring the sight of ur flushed and panting, hair disheveled from his fingers and eyes glazed just begging to be fucked. "gonna fuck u just the way u like it, sweetheart" he murmured, rising up to ur body, making sure he pauses to lave his tongue over the stiff peaks of ur nipples, his teeth lightly grazing it. shit this man is dangerously talented with that tongue it was insane how much it made u feel hot all over and it wasn't even his dick yet. he wanted to mark every inch of ur skin, so fucking pretty all covered and littered with the evidence of his love for u.
he settled between ur trembling thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging against ur soaked entrance. all puffed up and hot to welcome him in. so ready for him, and it took every ounce of his control not to slam forward and fill u to the brim. he admired u, taking his sweet time to lean down for a sloppy kiss as he slowly pushed forward. doesnt matter how often u had sex with this man, it always felt like the first time every time he inches that throbbing cock in. stretching u so deliciously around his thick length until he was fully sheathed. he paused there, forehead resting against urs, both ur chests heaving as u adjusted to the burning sensation. "fuck, baby, so perfect for me." he groaned before he started rolling his hips, grinding against ur greedy cunt, relishing at the feeling of ur walls fluttering around him. u whined, he hasn't even fully moved yet and there u were - legs quivering at the sheer size of him. he shushed u, peppering ur cheeks with kisses to soothe u, "sshh, i'll make sure u feel good, angel" he loves his pet names for u. u were everything he could imagine. u nodded, nails digging on his back when he began to move, pulling out until just the tip remained before slamming back in.
"fuck!" u cursed because holy fuck u just cant get enough of this. he fucked u deep, driving a slow and steady rhythm, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. one hand gripping ur hip while the other slid between ur bodies to rub ur clit, like he knew exactly how to make ur eyes roll back from ecstasy. he could feel his own release building, intentionally ignoring it because he wanted to please u until u came first before him. only then would he let himself go. he gets so turned on when u cum. so fucking good to u that he would stop himself until u ride ur high first. he kissed u, lips so greedy as he swallowed ur cries of pleasure, pounding into u so mercilessly. he was so close, teetering on the edge of his bubbling desire. but he held back, painfully waiting for u, for ur velvet walls to clench around him, to milk his cock for all its worth. u had him wrapped around ur finger and u had no idea how much he yearns for u.
u screamed his name, nails raking his back as u started gushing, coating his cock in thick white slick. the overstimulation was insane - legs shaking u couldn't believe the puddle of mess u became when u felt him come undone. sheets in a damp mess, u had to beg for him to stop moving else u wud start crying. he let out a ragged moan. he could feel it, could feel the way ur gummy walls wet from his pistoning length. but as the initial shockwaves of his release began to ebb, he became aware of ur desperate pleas, ur tear-streaked eyes, and the way ur body trembled beneath him. he's sure u left a mark on his back, the slight sting now apparent. almost instantly, concern and protectiveness overrode his lust, his touch so gentle, slowing his thrusts to languid rolls to a full stop as he peppered ur face with soft kisses. "ssh, ssh, i've got u, sweet girl," he murmured, his voice low to try and soothe u. "you're okay, i have u." fuck and ur body just listens to him.
with great care, he eased u on the bed, rolling to the side to keep u from being crushed with his weight. he pulled u close to him, one arm wrapped around ur waist and the other cupping ur face, thumb brushing away the tears that managed to escape. "easy there, baby," he cooed, pressing kisses on ur damp cheeks and lips. "u did so well, took me so well like the perfect angel u are." this was so much more than a dream come true, never wanting this moment to end with him.
his hand drifted lower, tracing the curve of ur waist and hip, before coming to rest on ur thigh. he let his fingers dance across the sensitive skin, feeling u shudder as u bite ur lip to stiffle a whimper. the urge to flip u over and take u from behind, to watch ur ass jiggle with every brutal thrust was almost overwhelming. but he held back, because he could never do that to you knowing that u trusted him to take care of u. he would never forgive himself if he pushed u too far. a gentleman through and through - what more can u truly ask for other than for him to never leave u behind? to never get tired of u? ur heart swells and u could only hope that ur heart is safe after offering everything to him.
holy fuck this was long omygooddd hope u guys like it muwah (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) i'll probs proofread this later~
more idol!Gojo x fangirl!reader please! i require sustenance… maybe him finding out abt other groups you like / other bias and he gets jealous and starts comparing himself to him. “he’s not even good looking, i have a eight pack he only has six.” “???” —“i have more solo music show wins than his entire group combined! you can’t actually like him…” “that doesn’t mean they don’t have good music Gojo.” “uh yeah. it does.”
i got u babes. new part for idol!Gojo x fangirl!reader. ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡
directory: part one I three
Idol!Gojo x fangirl!reader bcs what the fuck are you still doing in his penthouse? definitely not bcs he looks hot naked beside u. you thought being a fan means that u knew everything about him - only to be proven wrong when he's constantly filled with surprises. Aftercare, cuddling after sex, his butterfly kisses - literally what is this man not good at? what surprised u most was how clingy he could be. his hands wrapped around ur waist, anchoring you on his bed with him. u almost found it cute if it wasn't for the fact that both of u slept until noon and ure admittedly getting hungry. after trying to convince him to get his ass up, he finally let u go. pouting and whining as he sat watching u cook from the kitchen island, grumbling how he was perfectly fine if u just stayed in bed with him. "fuck are you singing to?" he shot u a look and scrunched up his nose when he heard u hum to a song that wasn't his. "it's Geto's new song" u laughed at his sour face, displeased that u weren't exclusively listening to his tracks alone. well, it wasnt funny now that hes marching his way to u, grabbing u by the cheeks and shutting u up with a sloppy kiss, intentionally not stopping until ure clawing his chest for air. "asshole" he let out an airy laugh before pulling u in for a hug, his big hands squeezing ur butt. "you have the nerve singing his song when u were up screaming my name all night" he's so full of himself. u wud be a lying bitch if u said u didn't like that about him. the way his head tilts, the smirk and that cocky look on his face. no guillotine can take away the head ure about to give this man if he keeps groping ur ass like that. "whtvr. it's not like Geto knows me, anyway." u pulled away and set the table for lunch. his eye twitches at the mention of another man's name. fucking cute. but it's true - there's no way Geto would know the likes of u. not like u go to his events - u were fully devoted to chasing the ocean in Gojo's eyes than spare an appearance to see Geto's. u dont mind him sulking across the table. but still, he was unusually quiet. he has his chin propped up on his hand, the other tapping away on his phone. head tilted, lips pressed together like he's holding back a laugh. that meant trouble. u narrow ur eyes, "what are you -"
BZZZZ
your phone lights up once, then again, and then it was a goddamn buzzing machine that could pass as a vibrator. what the fuck? notifs after notifs, mentions, tags, follow notifications and your jaw drops. THE Gojo Satoru followed you on instagram. He has ten. million. followers. following? one. none other than you and your humble account that didn't even come close to 1% of his amount of followers. u panic, frantically trying to suppress ur phone and running to private every account you own. "what the fuck did u just do -" he's smiling so sheepishly as he crossed his legs. "just making it clear," he shrugs, "now Suguru knows you," he leans forward, his big blue eyes glinting like he's so proud of himself.
idol!gojo x crazyfangirl!reader. like he just fucking hates u for always being there - don't get him wrong, he loves his fans. u just somehow strike a nerve every time. so full of energy when you screamed at him "OI SATORU!!!" the moment u get a chance when the crowd goes silent. the way his eyes twitches as he flashes a smile, successfully catching his attention on stage bcs u screamed at him like u fucking knew him. satoru? really? he's probably labeled u as one of the 'crazy' stalker type ones. he hated when ur hands were clammy during fan meets, or how your voice gets louder when u get excited to talk to him. it's like u have no effort to act demure for him unlike the rest of his fans who gets all small and shy if he even spares them a glance. every event, every fan meet - ure like a fucking magnet who knows how to get him to notice u. screaming like a fucking weirdo. "FUCKING EAT!!!" that one time u cut him off when he was explaining why he lost so much weight from overworking himself. "WHO TF SAID THAT??!!!" or that one time u were so offended for him when he confessed what the haters have been spamming him in his dms. everyone around u giggles, even the other fans found u funny. ure so infuriating for him - so much that he started looking for u when u stopped showing up after rumors of him dating another idol spread online. why the fuck would u listen to baseless allegations? he scoffs. yet somehow the crowd was a little quieter without u around. how he felt his breath hitch when the event ended late at night, and he saw u eating at the same restaurant him and his members happened to pick. how he's not used to not being given ur full attention, u who was completely oblivious he was even in the same place as you. his leg bouncing impatiently under the table as he steals small glances. how his heart skipped a beat when u opened ur phone and he saw his face on ur lockscreen. his cheeks a tinge of pink with the way u scrolled through socialmedia, making sure to like every single picture of him, smiling as u do it. didn't know u smile so sweetly now that he's seen u past the crowd. didn't know what possessed him to go after u when he saw u were already paying and was about to leave. was it the rumors? were u going to stop going to his events now? fuck why does it matter? it matters now when u found urself in his expensive penthouse, all bent over his countertop. his grip on ur hair in a fist as he rutted his throbbing cock in u, his other hand squeezing ur asscheeks, red marks showing where his fingers were buried. cursing when he heard u mewl every time he hits that spongy spot, the tip of his pulsing cock prodding it deep inside. smirking when u started begging for him to fuck a baby in u. his mind in a frenzy, grunting when ur cunt clenched slowing down his movements. pulling on ur hair as he leaned down to kiss u swollen, his thrusts erratic. the knot in ur heat growing dangerously close when he finally found the sweet spot that made ur hips buckle, legs fucking shaking, begging for release. he yanks ur hair, exposing the clean slate of ur neck, incisors digging, a guttural moan escaping his lips when u started gushing, ur cum wrapping around his cock as he spurred every last drop. the man u adore so much, plugging ur hole up with his dick. if this was a dream u hope ure sent to a coma. dont ever fucking wake up. but the way his cum dripped down ur plump thighs just screams at u that this was far from being trapped in a fever dream - ure living in it. so what if he asked for another round? and another? how u probably fucked in every possible way. on the couch, the bed, or even standing up with ur back up against the wall - he's an animal.
"Say it. Say my name." his voice low, panting as he held ur ass up the wall, ur pretty legs wrapped around his waist.
"S-satoru" fucking purring his name. and u couldnt be anymore happier than satisfying his primal needs - turning into his cum dump, his sex doll - whatever u call it. ure just where u wanna be.
✦Synopsis: You’re a well-known idol, no stranger to the occasional weird fan. It’s part of the job, something you’ve learned to smile through. But then he appears at one of your concerts—unfairly handsome, effortlessly charming—but obsessive. You should call security, even tell your managers, but something about him makes you shiver in all the right ways.
✦Content Warnings: obsessive behavior, dubious consent, creepy fan gojo, idol reader, restraints, coercion, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, groping, cum eating, facials, non-consensual recording/photos, kind of stalking, rough sex, kind of parasocial, possessiveness, gojo would never do this in canon but that ain't the point.
✦Word Count: 4.5k
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Satoru would be lying if he said this wasn’t his end goal.
You spread out—gorgeous legs pushed up to your equally perfect tits. Wrists tied to your ankles with silk; struggling slightly, but still willing. Your pretty eyes wide with panic, but glazed over with reluctant arousal.
If someone told him a few months ago that his favorite idol would be dripping wet for him—he’d assume they were clinically insane.
Though, not as crazy as him.
His obsession started not too long ago.
He was on his way to a concert with Shoko. Satoru didn’t know much about the group, but he agreed to go as a favor—Utahime had canceled on her at the last minute.
The two of them walk into the overcrowded stadium, pushing themselves through hoards of people until they get to their seats. Lights flash and confetti falls from the ceiling as a group of girls take their place on stage.
Satoru is already thoroughly confused by the chants echoing around him—but the noise in his head cuts out entirely the moment a bright spotlight lands on the stage, revealing what might just be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.
You.
Your face is beaming—cheeks blushed to perfection, eyes somewhat squinting to adjust to the stage lights. You’re clad in the frilliest little dress, so feminine, so sweet.
To say Satoru is infatuated would be an understatement.
You wave to your fans, puffing out your cheeks in an effort to be cute for the cameras. You fiddle with the mic secured around your ears with manicured nails—trying to make sure everything is perfect before your performance.
You’re so adorable.
Once the music starts, your angelic voice was just the cherry on top. It resonates deep inside his chest, shivering every time it’s your turn to sing.
Your dancing is nothing to scoff at either—every roll of your hips, every arch of your back, every elongated movement has his pants feeling a little bit tighter than before.
At some point during the concert, your gaze caught on the striking, blue-eyed man in the front row—and for a moment, it felt impossible for either of you to look away.
His angel kneeled down, held his gaze— gave him a shy smile, a wink-
You blew him a kiss.
From that point onwards, Satoru became a bigger fan of your group than Shoko was.
He listened to every album, every single, every encore—feeling the adrenaline that shot through his spine every time he heard your voice.
He collected any kind of merch he could, so long as it had either your face or name on it. He kept one of your many photo cards in his wallet, like you were his wife during the wartime—the one where you’re looking up at the camera, glossed lips suckling on a heart-shaped lollipop.
Satoru imagined it was his dick-
Satoru made sure to keep track of the dates you’d be in Japan. He spent thousands on concert tickets, all of which were front row. And every time, without fail, you’d search for him in the crowd; you offer him that same shy smile, the wink, and the kiss.
He knew you recognized him, how could you not? His striking looks weren’t common: the white hair, the subtle glow of his sapphire eyes, the awe-struck expression plastered on his handsome face.
Once Satoru got bold enough, he splurged on a signing event being held after one of your performances. He just had to have his angel sign something. This also gave him the opportunity to see you up close, speak to you even.
Satoru waited in line for hours, his eyes trained on you the entire time. A rush of jealousy flooded his veins every time you smiled at or hugged another fan—his chest burning like he’d been betrayed.
You’re his, not theirs.
Satoru knew he technically didn’t have any claim on you, but it didn’t hurt any less.
He figures he’ll have to change that.
You give him a smile of recognition once he walks up to your table—he didn’t bother greeting any of your other group members, he was here for you.
“Hi!” you beam, standing up from your seat and extending your arms for a hug from across the table. “I always see you in the crowd at our concerts in Japan!”
Now that you’re right in front of him, speaking to him, Satoru is…nervous? His pulse spikes and breathing stills as his arms wrap around your body, returning the hug with enthusiasm—one arm sneaks around your waist with a firm hold, the other rests on your shoulder with a slight squeeze.
“Yeah-“ he gulps, his grip on your shoulder is almost bruising—he doesn’t want to let go. “I’m a big fan of yours.” he breathes in your scent; it’s mouthwateringly sweet, just as he expected.
“I appreciate your support-“ you laugh nervously, a little on edge from how long this hug is lasting. “What’s my biggest fan’s name?” you try to redirect him, trying to pull away from the hug with quite a bit of effort. Satoru finally takes the hint, he lets you go—despite wanting to melt into your skin.
“Satoru.” he answers, pulling himself together and flashing that panty-dropping smile that he knows he has.
You can’t pretend you didn’t notice how beautiful he is—you felt it the moment you first saw him sitting in the front row.
“Nice to finally meet you, Satoru-“ you give him a cheeky smile, one he wishes he could photograph and keep forever. “Would you like me to sign anything?”
“Yeah-“ it physically pains him to tear his gaze away from your gorgeous features; he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. “Could you sign this card?”
Your hands brush when he passes you the photo card—Satoru purposely holding it in a way that requires contact for you to grab it. You look at the card, a little flustered that he chose that one but you grab your sharpie and sign it happily.
“I like this one-“ you start, finishing your signature with a little heart. “I think I look pretty in this picture.” you giggle, handing the card back to him once you’re satisfied with your writing.
“You’re even prettier in person, princess.” he says the pet name like an afterthought, like it was completely normal. Your face flushes, heart beating a little faster as you’re caught off guard by the handsome fan's boldness.
You’ve had weird fans before, but none of them have shamelessly flirted with you like this.
Part of you feels flattered that someone as attractive as him would take an interest in you. But at the same time, something about him has felt off ever since he walked up to your table.
His gaze feels…invasive.
“Thank you-“ you laugh it off, scratching your forearm to ground yourself within his intense presence. “Would you like a photo with me before you go?” you ask, insinuating that your time together is almost up.
“I wouldn’t dream of leaving without one-“ Satoru takes off his dark sunglasses, handing them to you with a wide grin. “Would you wear these for the photo, angel? I’d greatly appreciate it.” he laughs, nearly experiencing a full body tremor when you put them on with very little hesitation.
His pretty little idol is wearing his sunglasses.
What’s next, his shirts?
Oh- he’s already picturing it.
“Yeah, of course!” you’d like to say that you’re trying to get this interaction over with as soon as possible, but there’s something increasingly hypnotic about him that has you basking in his attention.
Satoru pulls out his cell phone, raising it high in the air to snap the picture. You fluff up your hair, pulling the sunglasses low on your nose—you lean over the table, rising to your tip-toes to rest your chin on his shoulder. He throws up a three finger peace sign, leaning his head back against yours…
You look like a couple—perfect.
The both of you smile for the camera, pulling away after the screen flashes—Satoru now coming to terms with that fact that he’s going to have to leave his precious idol.
“It was great meeting you, Satoru-“ you say, taking off his sunglasses and putting them back on his face for him. “I hope to see you in the crowd again.” you smile, hesitating a little bit before deciding to be bold.
You kiss him on the cheek.
This goes against all your media training, but who can blame you when someone as hot as him is right in front of you? Sure, he’s a little bit…creepy, but his sheer amount of sex appeal has you overlooking that fact.
Satoru has to damn near bite back a groan—wearing a shit-eating grin when he feels the lingering lip gloss on his face.
“You’ll see me-“ his eyes raked over your figure one last time, a light blush dusted over his pale cheeks. “I’m your biggest fan, angel.” he pulls his sunglasses down and winks—the same way you do at your concerts, then turns on his heel and walks away.
Satoru needs to find a way to take you out.
About a month goes by before your group returns to Japan for another performance—Satoru slowly dying inside every day he has to wait to see you again.
He had devised a plan of sorts—one that’s likely to work, given his knowledge that you’re attracted to him.
He’s bringing a gift for you.
During the encore of your concert, your group accepts gifts to be thrown on stage: plushies, flowers, artwork and whatnot.
Satoru is bringing you a bouquet of pink roses—his phone number is written inside of the dark paper with a bright white marker, making it nearly impossible to miss if you’re going to put them in a vase. Which he knows you will.
Satoru assumes there’s probably some rule about idols not entertaining fans in this fashion, but he just hopes you’re daring enough to try it.
He pushes his way through the crowded venue to reach his typical front row seat, cradling the flowers carefully. His heart hammers in anticipation to finally see you after a painful thirty days.
Lights flash, confetti falls, girls take their place, spotlights turn on—his eyes search for you-
You’re missing.
Are you on a hiatus he wasn’t aware of?
Are you sick?
Are you injured?
Satoru storms out of the venue, his brain rambling with worried thoughts.
He has to make sure you’re okay.
Satoru circles the building until he finds the bus that your group arrived in—obviously there’s security, but he figures that if he waits far enough away, he can follow the vehicle back to the hotel you’re supposed to be staying at. Assuming you’re even in Tokyo…
He walks back to his ridiculously expensive car, your music blasting in the speakers while he waits for the concert to conclude. He’s parked in an alley maybe a block away, just waiting for the bus to pass by.
Once it does, he trails a few cars behind until they arrive at a massive hotel. The place is clearly exorbitant—but fortunately for Satoru, money has never been an issue.
He makes an effort to be as quick as possible—he needs to secure a room before your crew reaches the lobby. Satoru will need to ride up in the same cart as either your manager or group members to figure out what floor you’ll be on.
“Hello, how can I help you?” the receptionist smiles at him as he walks up to the counter with haste.
“I need a room for the night, if you don’t mind.” He's watching the sliding doors, buzzing with anxiety at the possibility of missing his chance.
“Under what name?”
“Gojo.”
“There’s not many rooms available I’m afraid, only suites-“
“That’s fine.” he cuts her off, basically shoving his credit card and ID in her hand as your group walks through the doors.
After a few more painful seconds of waiting, the receptionist hands him back his card along with a room key—he doesn’t bother checking the room number before he’s rushing to the elevator in the nick of time.
He smiles politely at your members, praying they don’t recognize him in any way. He gets in the enclosed space with them, waiting for them to press the button that leads to your floor. And as luck would have it—he checks his room key, it's on the same level.
It’s like the universe is telling him it's meant to be.
Once Satoru hears the ding of the elevator, he’s betting on the possibility of one of your friends knocking on your door, asking if you’re okay. But then again, this could all be a bust and you’re not even here—but he’s willing to trust his gut.
He watches your group walk down the opposite hallway to his room, waiting around the corner for one of them to follow through with his bet.
Knock, knock, knock…
“We’re back! Can I come in?”
Satoru grins, his heart warm and fuzzy when he hears your hoarse voice invite them inside—so, you are sick. He peers around the corner, making note of the room number before unlocking his own suite and retreating inside.
You’re bummed that you couldn’t perform tonight—you caught a bug during your tour in Korea, your throat taking the brunt of it. You had hoped to be able to spot your hottest fan in the crowd, amongst your other supporters too, of course.
You find yourself drawn to his attention, despite the faintly unsettling edge to it. It sparks a thrill—an adrenaline rush you haven’t felt in ages, given how numb you’ve become to the surveillance of others.
You know he must have been there tonight, likely disappointed by your absence. It was probably for the better that you didn’t embarrass yourself in front of him anyways; your voice would’ve been awfully squeaky.
Knock, knock, knock…
Huh?
Your group members came by earlier, surely they wouldn’t be awake right now; it’s midnight and they have another set rehearsal tomorrow morning. Maybe someone ordered food and the delivery driver got the wrong room number?
You get out of bed, walk up to the door, unlock the deadbolt and crack the door just enough to peek-
Your scream gets muffled by a large hand as the door is thrown open—a tall figure closing the door and locking it, eventually pushing your struggling body against the nearest wall.
“Shhh-“ the intruder nuzzles against the top of your head, solid body keeping your back flush to the cold surface. “Relax, princess-“
Satoru.
You push his chest, stomp on his foot but he doesn’t budge—he’s laughing, too busy breathing in the sweet scent of your perfume.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, angel-“ he’s peppering kisses on your fevered forehead, unoccupied hand moving to circle your waist. “Just wanted to see you-“ his breathing is heavy, almost sensual—you can’t help the way your thighs clench in response. “You weren’t at the concert, I was so worried, baby-“ he’s rambling; you put your hand on top of the one over your mouth to catch his attention.
“You’re not gonna scream if I let you go, right?” he asks, finally looking you in the eye.
You nod, mumbling something against his palm.
“You’re gonna be good?” his voice lowering deeper than normal, your whole body shivers.
You nod again, eyes pleading.
Satoru’s grip on your waist tightens as he slowly removes his hand from your mouth, keeping you from running.
“Satoru-“ you start, voice barely above a whisper. “I appreciate your concern, but you need to leave-“ your heart is pounding against your chest, body trembling in arousal fear.
“But I’ve finally got you alone, angel-“ he pouts, pushing his body further against yours, his thumb pressing down on your bottom lip. “No time limitations-“ his hand on your waist moves up, securing around the nape of your neck and squeezing. “Just you and me, yeah?”
“How did you even get here?” you ask, biting back a whine when Satoru buries his head into the crook of your neck—one of his thighs sneaking in between your both of your own and grinding up-
“Followed your bus here from the concert-“ he mumbles, nibbling on the sensitive skin of your throat. “needed to check in on my pretty little idol-“ he licks a stripe up the column of your neck, tasting you with a groan.
“You’re crazy.” your voice doesn’t hold much bite, you lost any fighting spirit you had left the second he forced himself in your room—doesn’t help that you’re especially exhausted from your illness either.
“Crazy for you, princess.” Satoru giggles, finally meeting your gaze.
His invasive hands move down to your middle, fiddling with the silk bow that’s holding your robe together. He watches your face for a reaction, eyes flitting down to your lips every so often. Your face remains indifferent—though your body betrays you by subtly arching into his touch.
“Just let me feel you, please-“ he pleads, low voice cracking. “Want you so bad-“ he leans in, just a breath away from your lips. “Need to make you mine-“ he pulls the bow of your robe undone, cold hands making you shiver when he grabs your bare waist.
“I’m not yours, Satoru-“
“You blew me a kiss first, remember?” he whines, grinding his achingly hard tent against your practically naked torso. “You started it-“ he murmurs against your mouth, lips grazing.
“If I knew you’d end up forcing yourself into my hotel room, I wouldn’t have.” your breath hitches as Satoru pulls the silk belt free from the loops of your robe, pocketing it.
“You’re not very good at lying, pretty-“ he huffs a laugh, eyes focused on the visible wet spot showing through your now exposed panties.
Shit.
Every touch, every word, every breath makes you question yourself—your self-respect and even your sense of self-preservation begins to slip away the longer you lose yourself in those sapphire eyes. A crazed, obsessed fan just broke into your hotel room and all you can think about is how you want him to touch you—pretty privilege really is a killer.
Satoru’s hands push away the remnants of your robe until it falls on the floor, pooling by your feet. Your tits fall victim to his greedy palms—he squeezes and tweaks until you grind back down onto his thigh, letting out a reluctant sigh of pleasure.
“Was gonna ask you out tonight, angel-“ he starts, hot breath prickling your cheek. “Brought you roses, but you weren’t there-“ one of the hands on your chest moves down, down, down-
“You’re such a damn creep-“ you moan—he’s got his fingers shoved into your panties, collecting slick and bringing it up to your clit to rub tantalizing circles.
“Yeah, I am-“ you swear his eyes are glowing as he watches your legs twitch ever so slightly from his maneuvers. “But you like it.”
“No I don-“
Your protest is silenced by Satoru’s mouth—a filthy, wet kiss. His tongue takes the chance to bury itself down your throat when you gasp—one of his digits slipping inside of you and curling-
You keen—one of your hands fisting the fabric of his expensive shirt while the other wraps around his shoulders, running your fingers through the rough texture of his undercut.
You can feel Satoru smirk against your mouth, swallowing all your whines as he fingers your dripping hole with precision.
The pretty little idol is just putty in his hands.
He retracts his finger from your cunt before wrapping both arms around your waist and lifting you up with no difficulty.
“What are you doing-“ your voice tinged with panic, legs kicking as he walks you both over to the large bed in the middle of the room.
“Making you mine, angel.” he grunts as he sets you down against the pillows—swiftly pulling your panties down in one single tug and pocketing them for later.
You squirm, sitting up and scooting away while Satoru pulls the silk belt out of his pocket from earlier—he snaps it in half with a frightening show of strength.
“Where do you think you’re going, baby-“ he coos, crowding your naked form. “You promised you’d be good.” Satoru catches your wrist and guides it down past your bent legs to your adjacent ankle, then uses a strip of silk to bind them together, fastening it with a firm knot.
“Just relax for me-“ he soothes, securing your other limbs in the same fashion. He gives your quivering lips a peck before standing up beside the bed, bringing out his phone to snap a picture of you in this vulnerable state—he smiles once he’s greeted by his home screen: the picture of you two at the signing event.
You test the tightness of the restraints, raising your hips in frustration when they don’t budge. You can feel the uncomfortable warmth of your slick trickling down the crevice of your ass, pooling on the white bedsheets. Your clit is throbbing for attention, tummy full of butterflies as you watch your fan strip himself of his clothes.
You definitely shouldn’t be into this…
“You’re so pretty on stage, gazing down at me-“ Satoru groans, climbing onto the bed and resting his hands on your knees—his sapphire eyes peaking over. “But you’re even prettier when you’re underneath me like this, princess.”
You don’t answer him, but your body does—you spread your legs apart, bringing your knees up to your tits and arching with a whine.
“Awww, this pussy is just glistening-“
Smack!
“Mfmm- what’s wrong with you?” you mumble, head falling back against the pillows as your clit stings from the impact.
“You should be asking yourself that question, hun.” he giggles, finally climbing on top of you, hips slotting in between your spread legs. You can feel the hard length splayed on your tummy as he crushes you underneath his unfairly muscular body.
“Just fuck me already, you damn freak-“ you hiss, trying to act like this is an inconvenience although knowing damn well that you’re aching for him.
“Mhmm- was waiting for my angel to ask.” he croons, hands running up and down your sides with tenderness.
Satoru leaves wet kisses on your lips, your neck, your tits, your belly, your hips-
Your cunt.
Once he finishes his little devoted exploration, you’re shaking with need—hips writhing and breaths labored. You’re yearning to reach out and touch him—even yourself, but all you can do is wriggle in your restraints.
“Please-“
Satoru’s heart flutters in his chest at your change in demeanor, cock twitching painfully against his abs as he sits up between your legs.
“Fuck-“ you cry out, fists balled at your ankles as Satoru’s thick cockhead breaches your first ring of muscle. A wet squelch reaching your ears as he sinks in another inch
“That’s right angel-“ he whispers, rubbing soothing circles on your waist with his thumbs. “Sing for me-“ his face blissed out in pleasure the more your pussy squeezes him. “Let me hear your voice, pretty.”
Your jaw unhinges, eyes tightly sealed as he plunges the rest of his length inside with a single deep thrust-
“Ohhh- my god-“ you whine, your hands squeezing your own ankles for some kind of relief. You can’t push his hips away from your own, you can only-
“Just take it, princess-“ Satoru groans, leaning down to take your mouth in an open-mouthed kiss. “You’re doing so so well-“
His hips settle in a slow, deep rhythm so that you can feel every damn inch of him—his wide tip is nudging spots you didn’t even know you had. Your walls are stretched thin, pussy lips spread wide around the base of him, your cervix hit with every roll of his lower half.
“It’s too-“ you whimper, no longer able to return Satoru’s frenzied kisses. “Too much-“
“But I still have so much more to- ngh- give you, angel-“ he pouts, hands snaking down to grab the back of your knees—he hikes them up, up, up until your kneecaps are flush to your shoulders, ass slightly suspended in the air.
His cock feels so much deeper this way-
“I can’t- mfmm-“ you yelp when he gives your cunt a rough pound—the new position making it feel as though he’s in your damn lungs.
“But my precious idol can do anything-“ he encourages, pulling away from your mouth and sitting up straight to pummel your pussy properly. “Can’t she?” he smiles down at your glazed over expression, voice low and mocking.
You can only nod, high pitched cries being bullied out of you with Satoru’s increasingly aggressive pace. He’s gone feral—gaze never leaving your sweet face as the wet shlicks of your pussy act like music to his ears. He’s got this dopey grin plastered on his face that has your skin feeling hot—that warmth spreading all the way down to your lower tummy.
“M’gonna-“ you shudder, feeling the way your cunt is fluttering around his dick—trying to keep him inside your goopy depths.
“You can do it, princess-“ he moans, a sound so dirty that it has the coil in your belly winding even tighter. “Cum for me.” he coaxes it out of you with a gentle slap to your neglected clit, followed by tight circles of his thumb.
“Fuck- fuck- fuck!” you cry, tears run down your cheeks as you jolt and shake—your legs clamp shut as you try to roll over to your side but Satoru keeps your hips in the air, thrusting through your whole orgasm.
“There you gooo-“ he coos, his own high rapidly approaching with every pulse of your cunt.
Once you stop quivering, Satoru pulls out, stumbling up to your face as he jerks himself to the finish line—he’s desperate to see the prettiest face in the world painted white with ropes of his cum.
“Open up, pretty.” he urges, pumping his pink dick with a groan.
You’re too gone to even process his nasty idea—you stick your tongue out nice and wide for him, feeling sticky spurts of creamy cum land on your face and in your mouth.
“Fuck-“ he whines, your thighs clench on instinct. “Good girl-“ he praises, his brows pinched in pleasure.
Once Satoru’s orgasm subsides, he collects some of the cum on your face with his fingers before shoving it in your mouth—his breath hitching when you swallow.
You’re his now.
You groan in disgust when Satoru lowers himself to your face and licks up the residue of his own release—his sticky saliva making the feeling even more gross.
“Stop that-“ you turn your head away from him, holding in a giggle when he still doesn’t quit.
“But I’ve gotta clean up this perfect face.” he jokes, reaching behind him; he grabs his propped up phone from the nightstand and ends the recording.
What, he wasn’t supposed to record?
You gave him a private concert and he’s going to save the memory for a later date, of course!
What you don’t know won’t hurt you…right?
“Stop it, Satoru!” you yelp, finally giggling with him, completely unaware of what he’s done.
“Only if you agree to going on at least one date with me.”
“Fine.” you agree, shivers traveling through your body when you meet his eyes—his face twisted with a satisfied grin, like he’d won something.
HELUVME ! ☆ 11. #imissu
⤷ megumi fushiguro x fem!reader
syn. you broke up two weeks ago... but you aren't quite done with megumi yet!
cw/tags. college/aged up megumi, he's mean, exes to lovers, kinda toxic? ANGST, jealousy, reader constantly provokes him ect. dirty/suggestive humour.
-> 1.7k words
three days had passed since the dog-walking incident. three days of absolutely no progress.
which meant it was time to move onto the next part of phase two.
phase one had been kamo. get megumi jealous. make him realise that other people could have you if he kept being stupid.
spectacular execution, and even better results, if you did say so yourself.
phase two was much more sophisticated.
you called it gentle emotional encouragement. anyone else would probably call it psychological warfare.
the goal was simple.
make it impossible for megumi to go ten minutes without thinking about you.
the brownies had merely been the beginning.
and once phase two had been completed, he'd walk straight into phase three flawlessly: finally talk to you and admit he regretted everything.
now, was getting megumi fushiguro to communicate his feelings about as easy as catching water in a sieve? yes! but if anyone could do it, it was you.
and today, thanks to yuuji's complete inability to say no to you, you had gained access to enemy territory.
namely— megumi's bedroom.
you stood over his bed with a bottle of your favorite perfume in hand, an assortment of his jackets spread across the mattress which you'd seized from his closet just mere moments ago.
one by one, you sprayed them generously.
spritz. spritz. spritz.
until almost the room entire room smelled like you and the fabrice received an even coating of the stuff on either side.
"wow."
you glanced over your shoulder.
yuuji leaned against the doorframe. his expression suggested he wasn't entirely sure whether to be impressed or concerned.
you grinned, holding up the perfume bottle proudly, "smart, right?"
"…yeah." a pause, "that's one way to put it."
you pouted in offense at him, knowing exactly what his tone suggested, "i'm not crazy."
"whatever you say." yuuji patted your shoulder. the same way one might comfort a mildly unstable senile relative.
"hey," you say, holding the perfume bottle up warning, finger over the nozzle, "watch how you speak to your future sister-in-law, scoundrel."
yuuji huffs, "he's my brother?"
you hum, tapping your chin as if deep in thought, "well, you're more like boyfriends now i think about it..." you say, "i'll probably have to ban you from the wedding in case you object."
"but we're sisters, remember?"
"right!" you gasp, clapping in agreement, "so you're megumi's future sister-in-law!"
"exactly!" yuuji grins. "i'm heading to the gym soon."
"okay."
"you know how to lock up?"
you scoffed, "i'm offended you even have to ask me that."
you basically used to live in this apartment. that wasn't even an exaggeration.
for a while, you practically had. you'd had a week and a half-long sleepover here during exam seasons so you and megumi could hold each other accountable and make sure you both studied.
well, it was more so that megumi could hold you accountable. he had no problem studying.
you finished spraying the final jacket while yuuji helped hang everything back inside the closet exactly where it belonged. the two of you made a good team.
perfect.
for good measure, you placed the perfume bottle in the back corner of his closet.
maybe he'd spot it.
maybe he'd convince himself you'd left it there weeks ago.
maybe he'd spend twenty minutes staring at it while questioning every life decision he'd ever made.
the possibilities were endless.
a girl could only dream.
now for the finishing touch, you unzipped your purse. dug around. and retrieved the acrylic nail that had popped off earlier. a wicked smile spread across your face.
then you carefully placed it underneath his comforter.
yuuji blinked, tilting his head, "…what's that?"
"a nail." you responded plainly.
"i can see that."
you smiled innocently.
yuuji stared. "…for what?"
you reached over and patted his head.
"oh, yuuji."
"what?"
"you're so cute."
his eyes narrowed. "right." another pause. yuuji swiftly decided he didn't want to know what the purpose of that nail was. "i'm leaving now."
"bye-bye!"
"you have fun…" yuuji gestured vaguely toward the nail, "…doing whatever this is."
then he disappeared. the front door clicked shut.
silence.
you smiled, wandering over to the corner of the room. shiro and kuro were curled up, napping. you crouched down, pressing a kiss to each fluffy head.
you sighed happily. excellent work so far. now you just had a few more items to distribute throughout the apartment.
a makeup brush beneath the bathroom sink.
a hair tie between the couch cushions.
maybe—
your parched throat and dry mouth interrupted your thoughts.
actually. you needed a drink of water.
being a criminal mastermind was very thirsty work.
you wandered out of megumi's bedroom and over into the kitchen, grabbed a glass from the cupboard, and filled it with water from the brita.
the cool water barely touched your lips before—
the front door opened.
you froze, back going rigid.
your eyes widened.
no.
no, no, no.
megumi wasn't supposed to be home for another two hours.
"what the hell are you doing in my house?"
the glass slipped from your fingers as your body jolted from his voice.
it shattered against the floor.
the sound echoed through the apartment.
a loud, sharp, ugly sound that ratted your core. you hated that noise.
almost more than the words 'maybe we should just break up'
in fact, you were near certain your ears rung with the sound of glass shattering the moment he'd said those words to you that night even when nothing around you had broken.
silence followed.
then—
your head snapped up.
megumi stood near the entrance. a backpack hung from one shoulder. his brows were furrowed, confused. tired. looking directly at you.
you looked down. at the shattered glass. something twisted painfully inside your chest.
and before you even registered it, you were crying.
not the pretty kind either. the embarrassing kind. the kind that made your throat close up and your chest ache. you hated it immediately.
you crouched down instinctively. maybe if you picked up the pieces, maybe if you cleaned it, maybe if you fixed it.
"don't touch it." you hadn't even realised megumi was beside you.
his hand caught your wrist before your fingers could reach the glass.
"you'll hurt yourself."
"i'm sorry," you choked out.
his expression changed immediately. more confusion. then concern. then something softer.
"i'm sorry." you hiccuped again.
"y/n—"
"i'm sorry." the dumb apologies kept spilling out. you couldn't stop them.
you curled into yourself, burying your face against your knees. the sound of your own crying made you want the earth to swallow you whole.
you weren't even crying about the glass. anymore. maybe you never were. you didn't know.
a pair of arms wrapped around you.
on instinct. pure instinct, megumi pulled you against his chest before he even seemed to realise he'd done it. "hey," his voice was quieter now, coaxing you. "it's okay."
you shook your head, "it isn't... it's broken..." you tried weakly convincing him, unsure if you even made sense through shaky weeps and gasping breaths.
"you didn't do anything wrong."
another shake, "i can't fix it."
"nothing happened."
"i'm sorry." you cried.
"you don't need to apologize." his hand moved through your hair automatically, stroking, fingertips massaging your scalp. the familiar motion nearly made you cry harder. "did you cut yourself?"
you shook your head, "no."
"are you hurt?"
"no."
"then it's okay." his arms tightened briefly. "it's just a glass."
just a glass.
realistically, something like this shouldn't have bothered you. it never has before. you've made way more stupid and embarrassing mistakes in front of megumi that you'd just laughed off and moved on from.
but that was with boyfriend megumi.
and the truth was that ever since 'ex-boyfriend megumi' became a thing, you'd been on edge. and failing miserably at coping.
you swallowed hard. then slowly looked up. your vision blurred with tears.
megumi's face swam into focus, and suddenly you couldn't keep it inside anymore. "m-megumi…" your lips trembled, "i miss you."
the confession slipped out broken.
raw.
nothing like your teasing.
nothing like your games.
no jokes.
no plans.
no pretending.
none of your regular flirtatious attitude tailored only to mask your real feelings.
just the truth. vulnerability. weakness. for the first time since the breakup, you weren't joking or taking things lightheartedly.
megumi went completely still.
silence stretched between you.
then, slowly, he pulled away.
the loss of warmth was immediate. painful. you stared at where his arms were and where your body wasn't. suddenly, you were aware of the temperature, it felt cold in a way it hadn't before he'd held you.
megumi couldn't look at you. instead he stared at the glass.
"i'm sorry." his voice sounded strained, "i shouldn't have hugged you."
your stomach dropped.
he continued staring at the floor. "i didn't mean to get your hopes up."
for a second, you forgot how to breathe. because now you weren't crying over a broken glass.
now you were crying because you missed him. because his arms were gone. because he'd been yours for years.and now he wasn't.
your bottom lip trembled, "megumi." you called for him again, eyes begging him to tell you he didn't meant it.
he shut his eyes. "y/n—"
"is there anything i can do?"
his head lifted.
megumi has never heard you desperate.
your voice cracked. "anything."
the room felt painfully quiet.
"to make us normal again?"
megumi stared. you watched the answer form in his eyes before he could say it.
nothing. not because he didn't want you. that was the worst part.
you knew he did. everyone knew he did. his friends, your friends, even his dogs.
but somewhere along the way, he'd convinced himself he didn't deserve to have you back.
you felt the usual fight building in your lungs, climbing up the column of your throat, the same fighting spirit from that night when everything went wrong. you wanted to question why he couldn't take it back when everyone knew he regretted it.
but just as fast as it brewed, the spirit died on your tongue.
and you were suddenly so tired. tired of chasing him. tired of trying. tired of pretending everything was okay.
your eyes burned. you sniffled. then nodded.
you understood. at least enough.
slowly, you pushed yourself to your feet, carefully avoiding the shattered glass. "o-okay."
megumi's expression immediately shifted.
something panicked flickered across his face.
but you didn't look at it for long.
you couldn't.
"i'll stop bothering you then." your voice came out small. quiet. nothing like usual. you wiped at your eyes. "i'm sorry."
and somehow, hearing those two words again from you for the umpteenth time today, hurt megumi far more than the broken glass ever could.
chapter 10 ☆ masterlist ☆ chapter 12
[ a/n ] ruh roh... how we coming back from this one megumi... ANYWAYS SIDE NOTE IS IT JUST ME WHO ALWAYS CRINGES SO BAD WHENEVER I WRITE ANGST idk i just feel like im doing too much the whole time
◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ 𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑷𝑺𝑰𝑺﹚ 10 years. An entire decade of marriage. It all went down the drain the moment you had caught your husband cheating with a coworker almost 5 years younger. You had grown older, 31 years written on that plastic ID, dark eye bags and in immeasurable debt. On top of all that, now some 20 something year old man with silky white hair, twinkling blue eyes and way too much money to burn can't stop following you. He's begging you to just use him to get back at your husband. He'll do anything for you.
⊹ ︵ WARNINGS ◦ ₊ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ﹙ ㅤ mdni yandere!gojo ceo!gojo infidelity (from your ex) angst death murder blood covered up homocides emotionally abusive ex-husband heavy smut breeding bondage cunnilingus squirting pussy drunk gojo creampies manhandling everything is consensual power imbalance isn't there until 3rd chapter gojo is a filthy liar happy ending dw
౿ ˚ MINA'S NOTES ⫽ ✿ ─ tysm for supporting the debut of this series! so so sorry it took so long, prep for my end of year exams + pulling for flins has be swamped, also this chapter has HEAVY themes from toawf, but next chapters are completely different storyline!! artist for gojo icon: baaozhe on insta, @/cafekitsune for animated divider. playlist
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⁀ ˳ MASTERLIST ⟡ next ->
“He’s cheating! He’s cheating, and yet you still sleep in his bed!”
The blonde woman cried on the screen, tears streaming down her blushed cheeks as she fell to her knees. The leading actress, Tao Tsuchiya, jittered in her movements, looking away from her supporting actress and professing her love for whatever character Kento Yamazaki was playing this time.
You had looked up at the theatre screen with wide eyes, hands clutching your school uniform. The movie was barely registering, your entire focus on the boy next to you. Thoughts frantically overthinking every little thing, because no matter what, you had wanted your first date to go over smoothly.
Kyochi blinked up bored at the movie screen, grey eyes flickering over the leading actresses with disdain–before he caught you staring.
His lips curled up into that teasing smile, leaning over as he had whispered something in your ear to make your heart race. All you remembered was the rhythm of your heartbeat, the pounding in your chest, the heat that rushed to your cheeks. His arm slithering around your shoulders, pulling you in closer to his side.
Your boyfriend’s wispy black hair brushing against your cheek was the last thing you remembered, before jolting awake the second his lips were meant to press against your cheek. The grey screen fizzling out, blurry screens and all, before reality faded back in. The dim lighting of the employee’s break room slowly awakening your tired eyes.
The grey, sad walls surrounding you, the mysterious aches in your body, and the grubby restaurant worker uniform you had on reminding you of everything that had changed since that memory.
You were no longer 21, dating Kyochi, in 2014. You were 31, married, and in 2025.
“Y/N, I discussed it with my wife and we agreed to give you this month’s payment early,” the older man spoke in a gentle tone, grey hairs sprinkled across his head, wrinkles settling in deep. Ito’s checkered button up shirt still adoring the small brown stain in the corner from your mistake 2 days ago.
He bowed politely, hands reaching out to hand you the small envelope, “should be about 150k yen in here,” he huffed softly before looking away to the two new teenagers arriving in the store, giddily settling down on a table nearest to the door. Youthful smiles infecting Ito’s face as well, before he had cleared his throat and turned back to you. “You know we’re here to support you no matter what, right? You can talk to us if there’s anything troubling you financially,” he tried to reassure you.
You pursed your lips, before shaking your head and giving him a polite weary smile. “No, no, I couldn't burden you with my troubles, and there’s no problems really! I’ve just…” you trailed off, thinking back to what your husband had told you.
His back had been towards you, muscular arms slipping into business casual. The tight suit having the tiniest rips at the seams, you had reminded yourself to patch those up, before he spoke to you. Tilting his head back, cold eyes glancing back at you, “I know we don’t have much money, but I've always spoiled you, haven’t I? Why can’t you do the same for me, this one time?”
“I can’t go into the office smelling like–... like I live in a dump,” he scoffed with disdain, clenching his fist tightly before buttoning up the shirt and turning back to face you fully. A smile that never quite reached his eyes always showed to you, as he cooed, “you know what I mean, right baby?”
You had only sighed to him that morning, unable to find the strength to argue back with him. Your forearms still ached from last night, how tightly he had held them.
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’ve just… been wanting to buy my husband a perfume he’s been wanting,” You reassured yourself more than your boss. Eyes glued to your old sneakers, before looking back up at the old man and smiling politely. Blinking back the wavering confidence, “I’m fine. I promise, I've just been wanting to spoil him, he deserves it.” You swallowed back the bile with the last sentence.
“Ah right, he picked you up from work last month, right? He seemed a bit… peculiar,” Ito hesitated to place his words in the right place.
You brushed your hands over the apron, heat rising to your cheeks when he began to step towards the door to get back to work. “A-ah… right, he was just a bit frustrated, h-his probation period has him on edge recently, you know?” you nodded frantically. Swallowing down the lump in your throat before forcing a smile again and pushing past the door, ready to greet and serve customers again.
You would never speak badly about the man you loved. The man you still loved, the man who still loved you back. The divorce was a temporary secret, a quiet settlement you had both agreed upon, promising to remarry when Kyochi could give you a proper wedding and house.
He loved you, and you loved him. That would never change.
Ten years of marriage. The trust couldn’t be broken that easily… could it?
Couples filtered into the restaurant, adorning those warm happy smiles. Feeding each other, cooing, looking at each other as if the romance would never end. Never giving their waitress, the one with tired dull eyes, wall past her prime, a single glance.
Young couples had so much time, money and freedom.
You always wondered if you could start again–would you do anything different? Would you change your destiny?
Yet, no matter the thoughts and dreams you wished to pursue, you were still stuck in 3 different part time jobs. Eyebags under your faded eyes, no longer able to look with pure love and adoration towards anyone. Never able to buy the highest fashion or follow trends. Used as an example for young children in your workplaces, to be nice to the auntie.
Would anyone still find you the most beautiful woman in the world?
“You know, I've never once seen you wear makeup or anything, does your husband not like it?” your young coworker, with that innocent gleam in her eyes, barely into her twenties, asked you. Her steps followed after you in the dark streets, streetlights flickering every now and then as she linked her arm around yours. Her warm furry coat smelling freshly bought, an expensive brand.
“My husband… it’s not about what he likes or doesn’t, I just don’t have time in the morning… nor can we really afford it all,” you laughed it off with her, while she replied with a petulant pout.
Her feet were quick to step ahead of you and stop in the middle of the two alleyways intersecting. “Ah, are you bragging to me Y/N? You’re a solid 10/10 without makeup already, you don’t have to tell me how much your husband already loves your face without makeup!” She playfully sighed, before smiling and pointing at your face again. “I bet… you just don’t want to wear makeup to not give your husband a heart attack, hm? I guess it’s okay oneesan,” she teasingly sighed.
“Eh? Flattery won’t get you anywhere you know,” you huffed softly and gave her a small smile, arms crossing over your chest. The coat on clearance you had bought was just a size too small, not fully covering your forearms.
“I’m not tryingggg to get anything out of you, can’t I compliment you, oneesan?” She pouted and whined to you, before whipping her head to the side when hearing the familiar voice calling out to her. Her boyfriend, a year younger, yet already so financially stable.
She squealed happily and rushed over, giving you one last glance with a happy wave. You waved back, feeling your chest tighten a bit. The last time your husband had picked you up had been when his parole officer was suspicious about his whereabouts.
Maybe your husband still had a soft spot for you.
Maybe, just maybe, if another man tried to take his place… he’d prove to you once more why you had chosen him to be your husband, why you had woken up every morning and chose to love him.
Yet, when you opened the door to your small studio apartment, you smelled alcohol and cigarettes.
“The ladies in my office dress up nicely, and they don’t even have husbands, you know?”
You blinked tiredly at the litter of trash and empty food cups littered around the man you loved. He didn’t smell like that sweet, cheap perfume you had bought for him when you had begun dating. The walls were dull and yellowed, his eyes staring daggers back into you, watching intently as your body moved to discard the garbage. Cleaning up around him diligently.
The last cheap, 99 yen ramen cup that Kyochi hadn’t finished rested on the small table. To please him, you had reached out to put it away, before his hand reached out to grab your wrist tightly.
“I’m talking to you. Don’t ignore me,” he cocked his head towards the left, pouting at your indifferent face.
At your hesitance to answer and your slow replies, he tugged you down to sit next to him. Letting go of your wrist, he reached his hands out to cup your face. Blowing air to brush back any loose strands, before curling his lips into that cruel smile he got. That smirk he got when he was having fun.
“C’mon, your husband’s come home from a busy day… that’s all you’re gonna do? Clean up?”
“I just came home–” you tried to retort back to him, eyes narrowing a little from annoyance that he couldn’t understand. It was always like this. He’d suck you dry, and you’d be left with only the memories of your dating life to patch the holes in your fraying marriage.
He scoffed, eyes narrowing back in annoyance. “I’m the only man who’d ever love you. I am your saviour.”
“...you told me to stop calling you my husband,” you muttered to him quietly, a little heartbroken. You and Kyochi had legally divorced two years ago, but it was only because he had promised to remarry you with a bigger wedding budget. To fulfil both of your teenage dreams, and see you in a big white dress. He had promised that… but yet, his savings never went up, his mouth never spoke of a wedding, and whenever you’d ask him, he’d reply with a ‘saving money takes time. We’re already set together for life, so just wait.’
He rolled his eyes in irritation before breathing out through his nose, “I told you this before. It’s fine to say it at home. It’s embarrassing to say it outside.”
Your expression must have faltered, confidence wavered, any dignity left must have abandoned you in that moment, because the raven haired man was quick to flip you down, cold hard floor pressing against your back. A softer smirk quickly made its way down on his lips when he tightly held your hands down.
“Just a kiss then? I’ll give you more if you ask nicely,” he purred, venom dripping from his tone.
“I’m just tired…” you trailed off with a weak whisper, looking away from him with a tired expression, unable to force a smile. “I’m sorry,” your apologies rang hollow in his ears. The smirk soon fading. An arrogant ‘tch’ slipped past his lips before he let go of your wrists and got up, not bothering to help the woman he loved up.
“You’re boring.”
…
“Woaah, oneesan you’re so smart!” Ichika gasped, eyes wide with adoration as she looked over your calculations for the profits of the flower shop you both worked at. Over 2 months of predictions based on the past 6 months you had been working together, along with the necessary taxes, error margins, everything. So neatly arranged on the notepad.
With true stars in her eyes, she held up the notepad and looked over to what he expected percentage cut would be if she did overtime on certain days, and helped out the owner for more complex orders.
“Why aren’t you studying, oneesan? You know, the people working to get to space could probably use someone like you!” she playfully suggested, managing to get a small chuckle past your lips. You shook your head, eyes glued to the rose you were currently preparing, clipping off the thorns. A wistful smile overtaking your lips from her words.
You were older now. You knew you couldn’t hang onto childish dreams.
“Are you serious? How the fuck are we supposed to live for the next, what, 5 years? Who’s gonna take care of the house if you’re focusing on university?” Kyochi’s voice rang in your ears like a hollow, scarring memory.
The smile slowly faded from your lips.
“Who’ll take care of my husband when I'm busy studying?” You sighed softly, laughing off the thought.
“Shouldn’t your husband be old enough to take care of himself?” Ichika scoffed at your words.
Ichika pouted, raising a skeptical eyebrow and huffed before tying back her wispy brown locks. “You talk about your husband a lot, but I've never seen him… are you sure he’s real, oneesan? I won’t judge you if you’re single yanno, I have plenty of older guys I could–” the brunette cut herself off, staring out the large window of the shop, before ducking behind the counter.
“He’s here! He’s here early too, oh my god..” she whispered, half surprised and half flustered, her hands moving fast to whip out a pocket mirror and fix her makeup.
“Hm? Who?” you questioned her, slightly confused, and half expecting an ex of hers to walk through the door. You were busy trying to get a peek of who it was, before the younger woman grabbed your hand, gently pulling you back to stare at her reddened face. “Oneesan! What are you doing? You can’t just look!”
“Why…?”
She was staring back at you with a mix of emotions, confusion mostly, before she huffed and cupped your face in her hands. Squishing your cheeks gently. “You have been out of the dating scene for far too long, oneesan…” she sighed dramatically, shaking her head, before fixing your hair with determined and confident movements. “You should use that face of yours too, maybe he likes older women. At least one of us has a chance.”
“I have a husband–”
“Oneesan. I’m not believing your lies. What kind of husband could you possibly have that has never picked you up from work?” the brunette scoffed, rolling her eyes before glancing back at your face. Since your confused expression was not disappearing, she sighed before explaining exasperatedly.
“It’s the rose guy.”
“...do we know him?”
“Oneesan,” she sighed and looked down at you with playful exasperation, muttering ‘what am I going to do with you,’ before nodding down at you proudly with the information she had. “He’s the really hot guy that comes in like every other day to buy a bouquet of roses, and all the workers are pretty sure he only comes in because he wants to see someone. I mean, how haven’t you seen him? He comes in all of your shifts…” Ichika let go of your face before whipping her face towards the door in anticipation of the man’s arrival.
You felt like a fish out of water. Kyochi had you sucked in so deep, his love made the water around you murky. I mean–when was the last time you had even recognised your own husband’s attractiveness, let alone another man?
Ichika moved past your still and distracted form, happily greeting the man who had walked in, while you remained oblivious and lost in your own thoughts. “Ichika deserves her chance at love…” you sighed and whispered to yourself, convincing yourself to not get caught in the mystery client’s allure.
You were old, used, and probably would have been discarded if your husband had not been there–
“I want her to assist me.”
Dragged out of your daze, you blinked surprised and confused when you heard the unfamiliar voice speak. A voice that you would’ve crushed over if you were still 16, watching anime’s and foreign cartoons. A voice that seemed to call for you. Turning your head, e/c eyes met the terrifying allure of those blue pupils.
Dressed head to toe in warm, expensive clothing, the man warmly smiled when looking over at you, ignoring the pouty Ichika. The well groomed, brushed back white locks, exposing his forehead. Eyelashes fluttering prettily over his eerie eyes, hands hid in the pockets of his leather jacket. Lips brushing against the fur around the collar of his jacket, a tighter black turtle neck on display underneath the jacket.
He looked to be in his 20s. Too young to be messing around with a woman like you.
“A delinquent…?” you whispered surprised, a little too loudly.
Ichika blushed and quickly dragged you by the arm to stand in front of the register, glaring at you to not mess up your chance. Meanwhile, the white haired man only chuckled warmly, smiling with his eyes, pupils eyeing you up and down. His cologne wasn’t so strong to overstimulate your senses, but enough to really remind you that someone expensive, someone important was standing in front of you.
“So, just a bouquet of roses for you, sir?” You asked him politely, using the newly gained information to your advantage. Maybe he’d leave a nice tip.
His eyes widened for a split second, before narrowing again in that playful stare he had before. Gazing at your face with an emotion you’d only seen many years ago. His smile widening into a grin, showing off his pink gums.
“Yeah. I’m happy you remembered.”
“... huh?”
Ichika squealed loudly enough to distract you both, since both you and the mysterious customer whipped your heads around to face her. Her feet were running a mile a minute as she quickly rushed over to drag you into the ‘staff only’ sections of the store, “ohhhh, oneesan, you shouldn’t joke around with customers like that! You’re always so good at remembering!” She loudly exclaimed with a tight smile, before shutting the door behind you both.
The man outside, unbeknownst to both of you, curled his lips up in a genuine smile before laughing.
“She still doesn’t remember me.”
…
Ichika glared at you from the window, barely noticing how she had been wiping the same spot on the window. Her pupils narrowed, as if to remind you how she had been rambling on and on in the staff rooms about how to flirt back with the mysterious man, while you were quietly gathering the newly arrived roses to package for your client.
You pursed your lips a little and swallowed uncomfortably. You had no interest in flirting with the man, but you’d do what Ichika wanted just to show her how he wasn’t interested at all.
You knew you blended into the background more, while the enigmatic man, sitting by the waiting area, scrolling on his phone, was destined to stand out.
He wasn’t meant for you… but you’d play along, if it meant making your juniors happy.
“Here’s the bouquet sir, and as a necessary word of caution with these types of flowers, the thorns have been removed but you’d be best handling these flowers with care.” You spoke gently, handing the flowers to the man, quick to not let your fingers brush against his.
“You say that warning every time, not that I mind. Your voice is nice.” The man hummed softly, admiring the way you had neatly packaged the roses. Leaving you with slight confusion in your memories; had you seen this man before? Sure, you’d packaged a lot of bouquets… but you’d never really noticed the person buying them.
Your eyes focused on only the roses. You didn’t want to see his face again, just in case you forgot who your husband was.
Your husband who was patiently waiting at home for you.
“Thanks,” he said with a warm smile, bending down a little to meet your eyes, showing off his smile, before leaving out the door.
“Oh my god, he’s like… totally into you!” Ichika squealed excitedly, rushing over to you the second the man had left. Literal hearts in her eyes, as she shook you from your shoulders. “Oneesan, you’re like, a total knockout, you should ask him outtt!”
You would have to admit, your heart did beat a little faster when he bent down to meet your eyes, but that was it.
“He’s too young for me, you know.” You sighed and brushed off her remarks, gently taking her hands off your shoulders and looking back at the door. Closed. No one there. You were half expecting–no… you were hoping that Kyochi would run past the door, pout like he used to, and tell you all the different ways he was jealous.
“Oh come on! So many younger guys go for older women now y’know? It’s the trenddddd!” She happily squealed again, making you cover your ears. Her body was nuzzling against your side like a clingy pet.
“I’m sure he has a girlfriend… why else would he be buying that many roses?”
“Oneesan. You can steal him away, I mean–have you looked in a mirror?”
You would never consider stealing another woman’s man. It was a stupid thought, a terrible idea, that you’d never consider on any day. Yet it was those words that plagued your mind for the next few days.
Kyochi wouldn’t ever forgive you if you cheated on him… and being honest with yourself, you knew you could never cheat on your husband. He tried his best to keep the romance alive, in his own ways. It would be wrong to betray him like that.
It’s not like he’d ever cheat on you either.
The next morning, you woke up early. Ironing the clothes Kyochi would want to wear, neatly folding them near the futon, quickly cooking him a warm breakfast, brewing warm tea, and even packing his bag for work. From this coddling–no, love, that you showed for your husband, it’d often go unappreciated.
Leaning down, you pressed a kiss onto his forehead while he was fast asleep. Packaging your love into the most pure, devoted form you could. Whispering, “be safe,” against his skin softly, before standing up and having to rush through the door. Speedwalking through the early crowds of businessmen and women alike, your eyes would be set on the small shop on the corner of a mildly busy intersection. The floral scent flowing through the air, kissing your skin when you set up work for the day. Preparing any flowers that had been preordered.
“Oneesan, this time when the man comes in, don’t say something stupid,” Ichika lectured you, huffing with a playful pout while dressing up a preordered bouquet. You only chuckled fondly and nodded, awaiting for when the man would walk through the doors again. Her enthusiasm would fade with age, just like yours had, but for now, you were okay with playing along.
Like clockwork, as soon as the clock displayed 9 in the cold morning, he strolled in.
His eyes were promiscuous, as you were more carefully staring him down this time. It’d be better if you could set him up with Ichika, she and him looked to be around the same age. He only stared down at you blankly, a little curious as to how intently you were analysing him.
“So… for the roses, you can just tap your card here,” you pointed to the register, before handing him his receipt when it was printed. His cologne was the same as yesterday, you recognised the smell, yet you couldn’t tell if you’d ever seen him before… you hadn’t even known of any of the regulars before Ichika told you about them. “You can sit in the waiting area again while I prepare the roses–”
You were speaking politely, before pausing in your words for a second when your stomach growled.
A heated blush spread across your cheeks, as you let out a weary sigh before continuing, “You can sit in the waiting area as I prepare the bouquet, sir.” You nodded politely, before being a little too quick on your feet to rush off into the staff area.
“I’m sure he didn’t hear anything,” Ichika said quietly, nudging your shoulder a few minutes later when you were both working together to prepare the bouquet. Cutting off the thorns from the last few roses.
You hummed softly, biting your bottom lip gently to keep yourself from making any stupid claims if the man overhead again. You really were hungry, whether he knew it or not.
Over the past years, you’d gotten so caught up in taking care of the man you loved that you had forgotten to take care of the woman that he loved, you. Kyochi never liked it when you came to school on a half empty stomach, always offering half of whatever he was eating. It had been that way for so many years, he’d take care of you, and you’d take care of him.
He’d been forgetting to take care of you these recent years.
So when the star client for the past two days handed you a packaged sandwich, you weren’t sure what to do. Your mouth watered, but your brain told you to decline it.
“I’m sorry, I can’t take this,” you tried to offer it back to him, as he shook his head and sipped on his coffee. The bouquet tucked under his arm, the red complimenting the leather of his jacket nicely. His eyes were more vibrant than before, was that… golden specks in them?
“That’s a gift, you can take it. I won’t expect anything back,” he shook his head and sighed, his fluffy white locks moving to brush against his forehead. He paused when noticing your hesitance, blinked for a few seconds, before smiling and reaching his hand out. Placing his coffee on the counter.
“You want a drink with your sandwich? It’ll go down easier. I’ve only had like, two sips. You can change the straw.. if you want.” He smiled, tilting his head to the right before quickly stepping out of the store. It seemed that his bodyguard, no—his assistant? Whoever man was, with long black hair, half of it in a bun, was walking away with him.
Ichika was quick to run over to where you were, dazed and confused. Hungry mostly, but also hesitant to take the food so freely. “Oneesan. He definitely has a crush on you,” the brunette gasped, looking over the food carefully to see if it was an expensive brand or one of the cheap convenience store ones. Dreamy sighs escaped her lips when she mumbled something about this being a Cinderella story.
“This… can’t be a Cinderella story. He looks younger than me,” you sighed and shook your head, hands gently unpackaging the sandwich.
The brunette pouted at your words, giving a small glance sideways, before sighing defeated. Her forehead gently resting against the counter, muffling her whine, “oneesan… why can’t you go on juuust one date with him? He looks nice.”
“I don’t…” want charity work, you finished inside your head.
Ichika had kept pestering you about why you wanted to reject him, even walking you towards the restaurant for your next shift. Pouting when she had to leave, but dramatically rushed away when getting a notification from her friends.
Your hands worked skillfully, smiling at the new customers, retying up your apron when it got too tight or too loose, handling all the side dishes on a single server tray and being quick with refilling drinks. The work was hard, and the pay wasn’t much, but as long as you could save up to chip away at the cost of moving and a new wedding, you knew it would be worth it.
Someone called your coworker over, the smell of sashimi and wagyu flowing all around you, the steamy barbeque sizzling the different variations of meat. A small jingle near the door alerted the staff of new customers. “Table of how many–...” you looked up, brushing hair out of your face with a polite smile and halfway through your sentence, only to have your demeanour falter.
The rose guy.
Surrounded by his friends. A woman with dark brown hair that was cut to shoulders length and dark eyebags, another woman with longer blonde hair and heavy eyeliner, and lastly another man who had a wolf cut, lip piercings, and wine red hair.
“I honestly thought you’d never treat us again after the mess that Haibara left in that shibuya spot,” the brunette woman sighed softly, hands shoved inside the pockets of her long boyfriend coat.
“You think too little of me, Shoko,” the white haired man smiled down at her, before raising his eyes to meet yours. The blue pupils twinkled under the lighting of the restaurant, his white hair neatly brushed back again like the first time, showing off his forehead and glass clear skin. Rosy lips and all, dressed in a long black trench coat that reached below his knees, long black leather pants, and a white sweater underneath.
“I thought Suguru would show up, but I guess he’s too busy for his girlfriend, hmmmm?” The red haired man teased Shoko, smirking, only to have his face covered by Shoko’s hand.
She scowled up at him, despite her short stature she looked to come from a similar, important background like the rose guy. Her shoulder adorned a black handbag with silver spikes, while her torso was covered with a tight sleeveless, dark navy turtleneck. A white, diamond necklace bringing attention to her collar bone area, and baggy denim jeans making her appear taller than she was, the chunky black shoes she wore looked like they were priced more than your monthly rent.
“Please, just shut up and keep ogling at Aya instead, Hiroki, don’t talk about Sugu and I,” she rolled her eyes and pushed the man’s face away by his forehead.
“Four.” the blonde haired woman spoke in front of you, diverting your distracted eyes.
The woman, who you presumed was Aya, wore an yves saint laurent button down cotton tartan plaid shirt, the collar adorned with a white ribbon, tied in a bow. Her skirt was a white pleated short Dior skirt, white leg warmers with an expensive brand of sneakers.
“It’s a table of four,” Aya repeated, tilting her head to the side, her eyes dull and tone raspy.
You felt stupid, moving past tables and serving different customers, eye never daring to trail back to where the white haired enigma sat. ‘If he tries something again, I'll set boundaries,’ your thoughts from just hours previously seemed to mock you now. Of course he wouldn’t be flirting, or even trying anything with you.
Hesitant e/c eyes trailed back, glimpsing upon the mopped floor that had small food spills, before eyeing his expensive sneakers, and trailing back up until his face. He fit in a world that wasn’t meant for you, and you felt stupid for ever thinking you were anything but old and washed out.
The woman sitting next to him, chatting away with a small smile, Aya, seemed like a better fit. “Probably his girlfriend.. The bouquets must have been for her” you muttered quietly.
“What bouquet’s?” your younger coworker peeked over your shoulder, smiling up at you when you whipped your head around, embarrassed and frazzled. Lips pushed back in a tight smile, a flush creeping up your skin.
“Just… someone who I've seen at both my weekday workplaces,” you shrugged and sighed, playing it off casually.
She didn’t seem to pester you as much as Ichika would have, thankfully, as she nodded and was soon called over by one of her regular tables. Flashing that sweet smile that never felt forced, glowing with youth and energy. Despite how much she complemented you for being ‘a 10/10,’ you felt inadequate in comparison to her. She was young and pretty, she shouldn’t have to make an old lady like you feel better about her life.
Unbeknownst to you, the man with white hair kept causally eyeing you whenever he got a chance. His stares didn’t go unnoticed by the woman sitting next to him.
“Who do you keep staring at?”
“Hm?” the man hummed softly, his irises narrowing just slightly when his gaze diverted from the woman serving drinks. Lips set in a straight line, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, never having touched the food he was treating his friends to.
“You keep staring at that woman… Do you know her?” Aya pressed on, eyes glued to his face.
“...shouldn’t you be eating? Don’t worry about me,” Satoru avoided her persistent questions and jerked his chin towards the wagyu that Shoko was currently dipping into the hot broth. The brunette looked confused at the two people staring at her and scowled, grumbling a “what?”
Aya rolled her eyes and let a “tch” escaped her lips, before her pupils gazed back upon you. “Do you know that woman or something?”
“I do.” He admitted casually.
You strolled over just as Aya was about to make another remark, carrying two large bottles of sake in your hands. The white haired man’s gaze was glued to the cheap, small wedding ring you had adorned on your left hand’s ring finger. His gaze narrowed slightly, before it widened back to his normal gaze, as Hiroki thanked you with a toothy grin.
“I’m eating well tonight!” he exclaimed happily, sighing dreamily with a drunk burp, when he pushed both the cold bottles of sake against his face. His head-high-in-the-sky mindset received a dirty look from Shoko, as she muttered something about him being a borderline alcoholic.
Your attention was solely on the red haired man, even as you tried to discreetly listen to what Aya was saying.
“She’s probably married with children…” Aya scoffed, glaring daggers into the side of your head, as you tried to remain oblivious to their conversation. She wasn’t even trying to be discreet that she was speaking about you, full on glaring with intent to catch your gaze. Her blunt remark about you made Hiroki gaze up and drunkenly slur on his words, eyes squinting to see her, “Hey! If.. iifff he likes older women… ssso what? You’re just *hic* mmmad he won’t go for.. you!”
Aya bickered with Hiroki for a few more rounds, before you were about to leave with the used and dirty dishes. Unable to resist, the blonde haired woman grumbling “what type of hag would go for a guy 10 whole years younger than her?”
Her lips were curling up into a smirk when noticing the small hitch in your steps, before you sped up your walking and quickly rushed back to the kitchen. A small snort escaped her glossy lips, turning to satoru and expecting him to laugh along as he usually would, but her smirk faltered. Her confidence wavered when noticing his cold glare, directed towards her. His blue eyes seemed more icy than warm pools of water like usual.
She averted her gaze in hesitation, awkwardly eating the last of her dishes.
Meanwhile, you were busy in the kitchen, trying not to think about that remark as your hands moved without thinking and set up the dishes near the sink. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid’ you kept repeating inside your head, chewing on the inside of your cheek. That man was probably laughing outside, talking about how he had pitied a woman like you and meant nothing more, his arms probably wrapped around his pretty girlfriend.
The rest of the night was uneventful, as you never gathered the courage to talk to or look at the white haired man. Even allowing your younger coworker to get the bill for them. You could still feel someone staring at you when you moved throughout the restaurant, his eyes glued to your busy figure.
“I’m not carrying you out,” Shoko bluntly spoke to Hiroki before strutting out of the restaurant, her hands fiddling with a cigarette packet you somehow hadn’t noticed. Hiroki was drunkenly following after her, stumbling on his feet a little but still verbal and coordinated enough to make it out the door. Your eyes were distracted, glued to the figure of the white haired man leaving with Aya. Her posture a little more scrunched and awkward than when she had been entering the res–
“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The man yelled at you, his cheeks flushed with a drunk glaze, eyes unfocused.
The clear bubbling fluid had overspilled from the client’s glass, forming a liquid ring around the base of the glass on the dining table. While his eyes were glazed over, staring daggers up into yours, dry lips set into a deep scowl. His coworkers were trying to calm the situation down, blushing messes as they tried to calm the older man down.
“N-nnno! I asked for her to serve me… aaand this is how she treats a wwell p-paying customer?” He drawled over his words, a slight bit of drool on the corner of his lips that he wiped with the back of his hand.
You blinked down, flustered and embarrassed at the man, pursing your lips to an awkward close before bowing repeatedly. “I apologise, that was my mistake,” you tried to politely step back and give the drunk man space. Only to see his anger boil over the top of him, a vein pressing on his forehead, hands clenched tightly.
People were beginning to look over, as you meekly stepped back and away from the angered man. The restaurant owner even stepped out from the kitchen to try and salvage the situation.
“Get on your knees and beg for my forgiveness,” he breathed out, pointing a fat finger towards your face.
When noticing your hands trembling, awkward and hesitant expression, eyes darting around at the owner and other staff members, he pulled his hand back. Palm open, with full intent to backhand you, his drunken haze clouding any sense of decorum or just… common sense. Your eyes had widened at his movements, flinching back and squeezing your eyes shut for a slap that… never came
A flash of white hair was noticeable when you fluttered your eyes open. The rose guy was close, brushing behind you, his hand gripping the man’s wrist in a steel grip.
Slowly, you glanced up, hands still awkwardly near your head to stop the nonexistent hit. His eyes felt like a cold icy glacier. Frozen over, jaw tightly snapped shut, nothing like the man who had so kindly pitied you and left you a sandwich and coffee. E/c eyes trailed over his form, to the visible veins on his forearm. Veiny, muscular arms were what made you swallow the lump in your throat, not to mention how the drunk man could barely move out of the rose guy’s grip.
“H-hey..! What the hell..!?” The man struggled to get the words out, before he stumbled back when the white haired man let go of his wrist. The customers around you were staring, before slowly starting to chatter away, all quietly relieved there wouldn’t be a big fight within te restaurant.
The glare was gone, as if it had never been there in the first place. The rose guy was smiling again, eyebrows relaxed, and pulling his hands back to gently rest them on your shoulders.
“Ah sorry, i’ve been working out recently, you felt that didn't you? I was thinking of going rock climbing soon!” He cheerfully bumbled on, scratching the back of his neck, ignoring the confused looks the drunk man and the store owner were giving him.
“You can lower your hands now,” he whispered quietly, right next to your ear.
His lips brushing against the helix of your ear, warm breath making you shiver, forgetting how cold the air had been around you before him. His voice had been sweet and soft, quiet as if it was a secret just between the both of you. Before he was gone again just moments later, leaving through the door to join his friends.
You had gone that night, feeling more confused than before.
…
Every morning, as soon as the clock struck 9am, the rose guy would stroll through the front doors of the florist shop. His eyes boring into the blue glow of his phone screen, before finding you out among the pastel walls and curly flowers. His lips twitching just the slightest bit into a smile, his eyes sultry and glued to your figure.
They’d never look Ichika’s way, he’d never even speak to anyone else in the shop.
This limbo of him entering just for you started to make your skin crawl. He was handsome, young, and probably rich, with money to burn on endless amounts of bouquets of roses. He was living in an entirely different world, and you weren't sure if you fit in it.
So you pivoted. Ignoring his stares, always rushing to go back to the staffroom or washroom when you saw him enter. Leaving Ichika a blushing mess, unable to handle the pouty white haired client.
Dancing around the subject of rejecting him wasn’t healthy, nor was it really what you should have been doing. You knew it well deep down inside your withering heart–that some sick, small twisted part of yourself wanted to indulge in letting a young man keep his hopes high for you. He was the only man who even greeted you in the mornings, since Kyochi hadn’t been home these past few weeks.
‘Just get through this next year, get through one more year and you’ll live comfortably again, you’ll get married again,’ you kept deluding yourself every sleepless night at the motel. Watching as the young girls would stroll in with their boyfriends, on some 3 day trip, dripping in trendy new clothes.
It was hard to not let jealousy drip all over you.
Your husband, bless him, had been taking more and more shifts since his probation period had ended, and talking about saving up more and more money for the wedding he had promised you.
A small smile would always make its way onto your soft lips in the middle of the night in your small, old studio apartment. The bed empty, the only warmth pressing into the futon where you laid. Kyochi, you had always believed in him to take care of you and change his ways, and maybe, just maybe, he had finally started to pick up the broken pieces of your heart.
With a small giggle, you picked up your phone and sleepily texted your husband. Wishing him well with working overnight on this cold night.
Kyochi groaned, huffing hot breaths to keep his hair out of his face, sweat pricked on his forehead. Hands keeping her legs spread apart, while his hips pistoned in and out of her. Wet slaps of skin on skin, his lewd murmuring against her ear only paused when she squeezed around him and moaned.
“H-have you still not told your wife about us…?” The woman moaned, before whimpering when he began to rub at her clit.
“Hey.. I t-told you before Mei, no talking about other people when we’re doing this,” Kyochi replied, pressing a hard kiss onto the woman’s lips. His left hand sliding up her body, brushing over her nipple, before tangling in her cheap box dyed red hair.
Kyochi hadn’t meant for this little fling to escalate to full on fucking when it started. It was just shared glances in the middle of the office, flirty texts, a little bit of kissing… and before he knew it, he was sleeping in her bed. Preferring her over the woman he had been with for years. Lying, cheating, and shrugging it off.
He knew you’d stay even if you found out. Who else did you have?
His phone flickered on, buzzing with a new text message from “Y/N L/N”. He muttered something about it ruining the mood, switching his phone to “do not disturb” without a second thought.
“W-who was that..?” Mei mewled, arching her back up and clawing at Kyochi’s shoulders.
“No one.”
…
Ichika picked a small rose petal off your shoulder, giggling when she held it up and waved it teasingly. “Looks like someone’s getting too close to her admirer,” he hummed, before dropping the red petal to the floor when you looked away with a sigh and went back to locking up the back door of the florist shop. The earthy smell was flowing around you both outside, the heavy pour of rain not giving way any time soon.
The crystal droplets falling in rapid succession, the puddles on the gravel road reflecting the grey stormy sky. People walking around quickly with their umbrella’s, or carrying their briefcases over their heads, rushing to get into taxis.
“O-oh..! I think I see my sister,” Ichika strained her eyes, moving her head around to catch a glimpse of her sister's car. She waved at you in a hurry, before stepping carefully over the puddles and slipping inside the sleek toyota.
You had hummed softly, watching to make sure your junior got into the car safely, before sighing and fiddling with the old umbrella you had packed.
Memories of the day you and Kyochi had bought the navy umbrella. Its colours were faded now to seem more like a sad grey now, with sun bleaching even having occurred in one spot. He had been so proud of walking you home from work for the first time, he had completely forgotten about the rain, and laughed the whole way to the convenience store, when you both bought the first umbrella you saw.
A small smile flickered over your lips, before it faded when you tried to open the umbrella. The plastic runner cracked, before giving way and crumbling off in large parts. The stretchers pointed uselessly at the shaft, making the umbrella completely unusable. The pointy stretchers prodded into the skin of your hand, all while you blinked stunned and confused.
Sometimes you wished you had a family to love and support you, to pick you up on rainy days and laugh off small misfortunes like they were just inconveniences.
Swallowing the lump in your head, you felt small trickles of rain droplets dripping into your sleeves and hair. Before feeling a slight shade cover you, a warm body brushing against your side. You hesitated to look up, not wanting it to be the man you had been entirely avoiding for the past week.
“The rain’s heavy,” the familiar voice brushed against your hair.
It was the rose guy. E/c eyes flickered to the side, catching a glimpse of his long trench coat, black sweater on underneath, black tailored pants. His cologne was strong, strong enough to overpower the earthy scent of the rain. Blue eyes, twinkling even on the stormy day, gently staring back into yours.
“…it is.”
“I can drop you off, where do you live?” He asked softly, not prying, but more so like he was genuinely interested in helping you.
“Thank you, but it’s fine. I live quite far, and I don’t even know your name,” you mumbled awkwardly in response, looking away from his face.
The man went quiet for a few seconds, before you heard a soft snort and a stifle of laughter soon followed after. Whipping your head around, you found him stifling his laughter with the back of his hand. Smiling warmly, eyes closed shut.
“Sorry—.. sorry it’s just, I told you my name the first time I entered this florist..”
He whispered before breaking out into a genuine laughter, hands trembling where he held up the umbrella over your head. His response made you flush embarrassed and think back, trying your best to remember him.
”you—… you have?” You muttered confused, looking away onto the pavement, before feeling his fingers gently brushing against your chin to make you look at him again. His proximity was close, his breath washing over your lips, eyes boring into yours, the gentlest azure pupils you had ever seen. Nothing like Kyochi’s piercing grey eyes.
“Gojo Satoru. You can call me Satoru,” he whispered to you, as if this moment was one of secrecy.
A flicker of Deja vu told you that this name was familiar. Not from the flower shop, oh no, you had heard Kyochi mutter that name before when he would watch the TV, or be on a call with his business associates. You couldn’t remember what exactly it was about him though.
“Shouldn’t I get graced with your name now?”
“…it’s Y/N. Y/N L/N.”
At your quiet, thoughtful staring, he moved back to brush off the water droplets from the cuffs of the beige coat you wore. “It’ll be raining pretty heavily for the next few hours.”
“You can share my umbrella,” he offered, shifting his hand to completely cover your frame with the umbrella.
Moments of hesitance, awkward apologies for bothering him, and you were under his umbrella. Walking alongside him. Watching as he made sure to cover you completely, and ignore the right side of his coat that was dribbling with small droplets of rain water.
He had a whole girlfriend, or at least you suspected it. The rose guy—or Satoru, shouldn’t have had to pity a woman like you. He was even walking at half his pace, just to keep up with you. Kyochi would often walk ahead of you, and grumble about you falling behind.
“..you probably shouldn’t offer random women to share your umbrella. Your girlfriend wouldn't be too happy.”
Satoru paused in his gentle staring at you, a small pout forming on his lips when he walked a little ahead to catch your eyes, furrowing his eyebrows. “What makes you think I have a girlfriend..?”
”Well–.. That girl you were with at the restaurant..”
He blinked, once, twice, before smiling and chuckling again. “We’re not dating. You don't have to worry.”
“I wasn't worried…” you scoffed under your breath.
The rolling of tires on wet gravel roads surprised you, it wasn’t supposed to be that busy of a street this time of day. It was almost 6PM. A car drove by, quickly moving over the puddles of water that had gathered near the indent that separated the road from the walkway in the alleyways.
Satoru moved, pressing you against a wall and covering you from the splash of water. Only a small trickle of rainwater had splashed against your cheek. The white haired man’s hands resting on your waist.. under your coat. Your heart quickened, ears burning hot when Satoru didn’t move away, leaving you both in a compromising position. His gaze on the car driving away.
“Are you hurt?” He finally turned his blue pupils back onto you, shifting the umbrella in his hand to cover you both. Not even hesitating or thinking about the back of his trench coat being drenched in water.
“..no” you muttered softly, gently pushing him away, your hands on his chest.
“It’s good I’m this big, right?” He gleefully nodded to you, pursing his lips and resembling a dog. You didn’t know how you hadn’t noticed before, but Satoru seemed quite similar to a husky, always begging for your attention and becoming a pouty mess when you had ignored him in the flower shop.
“Huh?” You mumbled confused, walking back in step with him.
“I managed to shield you from all the water. Shouldn’t I get a little praise?” Gojo continued, pouting his moisturised lips and fluttering his angel white lashes at you. Barely even sparing a glance towards the wet back of his coat.
He seemed quite different than you had expected.
“Why are you doing this? Walking me home and visiting the flower shop everyday I mean.” You sighed, ripping off the bandage when knowing that you had to set your boundaries with the confusing man.
“Is it illegal to do those things?” He pouted.
“no… but I know you aren't doing this just for fun.” You raised a skeptical eyebrow, looking up at him while he had a hand on your back, and his other hand occupied with holding the umbrella. “I guess you’re right… would it work if I said I wanted us to be friends?” He added on with a playful tone.
“No. That wont work..” You grumbled back, narrowing your eyes the slighted bit.
“Awh, you’re so cold to me, Y/N-san. I’ll be a good friend, I promise.” He whined, pouting and childishly moved his hand from your back to poke your cheek. Blinking his eyes rapidly to appear cuter. Some of it was clearly working, since your eyes couldn’t take the shine he was radiating.
You looked away from him quickly, continuing to walk but sighed dejected. “Thats not the problem… it’s just that you’re too young to be my friend. You should hang out with girls your own age,” you tried to convince yourself more than you tried to convince him. Feet stopping when you had reached the small apartment complex.
“Is that what you want?” He asked, eyes softer, a gentler tone in his voice.
“yeah.”
A beat of silence, in which you expected him to try and argue with you, but he listened. Nodding thoughtfully, before bending down slightly to your level and looking into your eyes. “Okay. I’ll listen to what you want then, I’ll be good for you.”
He left. He truly left, just walked down the street and disappeared at a corner.
“I thought he’d stay..” you muttered quietly when unlocking the door, keys jingling before the gruff give of the door greeted you with a confusing sight. The clean, new umbrella you had left for Kyochi that morning was still waiting.
“He must’ve forgotten it,” you whispered to yourself, out of breath, running through the rain just minutes later to reach his office.
You didn’t know why you had ran here. Maybe you wanted to convince yourself that your husband was a good reason to reject that man’s friendship. Kyochi would always hold your heart in his hands, and he deserved to. He loved you and—
You paused, blinking confused and dazed when you saw him walking out of his office, huddled under the umbrella with.. her.
Short red hair that had been tied back into a tiny pony tail, bangs astray as she laughed and smiled with Kyochi so easily. She looked young, in her twenties. Maybe 27, 26. Kyochi’s hand… on her shoulder, felt so casual, so natural.
He paused, with wide eyes when noticing you were there.
“O-oh is that..?” Mei whispered, turning to Kyochi.
“Yeah,” your husband sighed, eyes narrowed when he quickly walked away from Mei and returned by your side. Huffing, annoyed when he muttered “the one time you come and pick me up from work..” with a sharp breath intake.
“Who was that woman..?” You muttered to him quietly.
He glared down at you, grey eyes piercing your e/c ones with a harsh light. The rain seemed to be falling heavier, the people around you becoming blurred from your own worries and insecurities. “She’s my coworker. Don’t overreact, god you’re so out of touch with the world nowadays… nothing like how you used to be when we dated..”
You had walked home quietly. Kyochi wasn’t one to talk much when he was angry.
…
It had been 2 weeks, 14 days and 14 nights of distance growing since that rainy day.
Every now and then when Satoru visits, he doesn’t even glance your way. Ichika had begun to question her own skills of being a matchmaker, and constantly gushed to you about how Satoru might’ve actually been into her all along. At some points she even second guesses herself, and says that he must only be getting close to her to ask you out.
When you had found yourself alone in the flower shop at closing times, packing away any decorations and watering any plants around the shop, the quietness came with pieces of your heart slowly being ripped away.
You had probably pushed away one of the only last standing people in the world who truly wanted to know you.
Yet, with false hope and a withering love for your absent husband, you clung onto him. It has been you and Kyochi for the past decade. A love like that would stick with you until you were truly old, wrinkly and let on a cold bed that marked your bed.
You were sticking with your husband, even if it killed you in the process.
Kyochi had been sleeping away from home for multiple nights in a row at some point. Taking more and more overnight shifts, and answering your phone calls with the meanest grumble. Sometimes you would even hear a woman’s voice in the background, when he had supposedly stayed overnight at his workplace, and if you raised any questions about it, he’d argue with you relentlessly about women and men being able to be coworkers.
You didn’t want to upset him. So the phone calls became slower, you’d stop questioning him if you saw him with that same woman. You stopped pestering him about never eating the food you packed in his bento’s.
A cheerful chime from the opening of the automatic sliding doors knocked you out of your thoughts.
A sleepy yawn slipped past your lips when you went to automatically greet the new customer who had strolled in. “Welcome–” was all that you could have mumbled out, before you had gotten a proper look at who was there. Standing in the small convenience store, eyes up bandages and ointments was a man with a dusty hoodie on, that gave a small glimpse of the white hair peeking out from under it, and sky blue eyes.
Gojo Satoru.
His cheek was red and bruised, a small cut with dried blood brushed against what had once been his glass clear skin. His height towered over you when he walked over to you, placing a single small box of bandages on the counter. His once vibrant blue eyes seemed dull under the flickering lights of the convenience store. He was wearing a dull, faded grey hoodie, black baggy jeans, and the scent of his cologne was nonexistent.
It didn’t seem like he was that rich, powerful young man you had once thought of him to be.
“What happened to you?” you asked, eyes softening with curiosity and pity.
Satoru’s eyes avoided yours for the first time. Glued to the bandages, seeming almost scared in your eyes. His lips twitched, pursing to not frown in front of you. “I don’t want to talk about it…” He murmured pitifully, eyes downcast with a slight furrow in his white brows.
He reminded you of your past self. Broken, bruised, and taken in only by Kyochi.
“You need more than a few bandages,” you sighed, defeated and giving into the urge to help him. Moving past the counter and gently grasping his wrist, you led him back towards the aisle to gather some ointment, wipes and tissues. Paying for it out of your own pocket before dragging him outside to sit on the chairs and help him.
Satoru had to fight the urge to smirk when you chided and began to apply the cleaning ointment over his bruise.
“Did you get into a fight?” You asked him, serious and pouting. Eyebrows furrowed when he let out a small hiss at you cleaning his scratch.
“No…”
You narrowed your eyes at him, scoffing softly. “You’re a liar. It’s not good to lie to grown ups you know.”
“I am a grown up,” he replied rather quickly, leaning closer to you. His breath ghosted over the tip of your nose when he pouted and fluttered his lashes at you. “I’m in my 20s you know..” he muttered, poking your shoulder. Your eyes narrowed further at his words. “If you’re in your 20s, you should know better than to get into street fights.”
“I wasn’t in a street fight.”
You leaned in closer to him, eyes glaring back into his confident blue ones. Animatedly moving your mouth as you breathed “liar,” back to him. Frowning when his mouth twitched to form a smirk, his eyes fading away from dull to sultry again.
He sighed, leaning back and pressing his lips into a thin line. “I wasn’t in a street fight, I'm just… from a troubled home.” He looked down again, eyes dulling with the life being strained from them.
Your heart ached.
“Do you pity me?” He murmured quietly, eyes only flicking over your face before going back to the table. Cars driving by, the smell of gasoline and smoke was prominent in this part of the neighbourhood.
“I don’t pity you.. I relate to you.”
His eyes widened slightly, not enough for you to catch, as you started to slowly pick up the bandages and treatments laying on the table. Oblivious to Satoru, who started to smile, even grin, only able to cover his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie, but unable to hide the way his eyes gave away the maniacal grin.
He shifted his feet back, tucking his designer sneakers under his chair. He had found the tiniest crack in what led to your heart, and he’d use all means possible to slip into it.
His own memories coming back, reliving the afternoon, just hours before he had walked into this little convenience store.
“Suguru. Punch me,” Satoru nodded confidently, nudging his friend and pestering him nonstop. Pouting and even pointing to his own face, puckering out his lips for his black haired friend. “C’monnn, you know you wanna do it.”
“I’m not punching you, Satoru.” The black haired man sighed, flicking his wrist to drop his cigarette to the ground, before crushing it with his shoe.
Satoru gave up, turning to shoko. “Shoko, punch—“
She didn’t need to be told twice. Her fist connected with Satoru’s cheek, making him stumble back a bit from the excessive force. Blood gipped out from the cut she had brought upon his crystal clear skin.
“..Have I ever told you how pretty you are…?” Suguru nervously stepped away from her.
“You know how you asked me before to be friends?” You spoke to him softly, gently applying the bandage over his cleaned cheek, dragging him out of his memories. Satoru nodded, blinking with hope down at you.
“Then… let’s be friends.”
Numbers were exchanged, as Satoru tried to teasingly name you “mommy y/n” before you had smacked his shoulder and told him to change it. He had even walked you home after your shift had ended, despite being so sleepy and tired, using your shoulder to sleep when walking over there.
Satoru made sure to approach Haibara the next day, and pester him about switching shoes. As if Haibara even needed to be convinced, already throwing his shoes off when Satoru was in the middle of his speech about how he had always wanted to try the cheap brand Haibara wore.
…
Whenever you felt like your days had started turning for the brighter, an eerie feeling would always linger in the back of your mind.
For 3 weeks, the hotels had continuously been booked specifically when you had those weekend night shifts, despite no one ever occupying most of the rooms. The Japanese barbeque place you worked at some weekdays would no longer have any rude customers, unlike before where you had to deal with old businessmen who never knew when to stop drinking or complaining about their wives.
Satoru often walked you home after your shifts, accompanying you as your ‘friend’. It had started out as you teaching him to stop getting into street fights, before slowly getting more comfortable with him around.
Your husband hadn’t even walked you home this much.
On Wednesdays when you only took the morning shifts for the florist shop you worked at, Satoru would visit at 9 am, leave, before returning to wait outside the shop for you when you closed it at 5pm. His hands still clasped around the bouquet of roses he had bought.
“What are you doing after work?” He had asked you the first time he tried out this new schedule.
Sparing him a single glance, before turning back to properly shut the door with your staff key, you shook your head. Hands brushing the stray hairs out of your face, itching the bridge of your nose, before you spoke to him, e/c pupils looking back into his blue ones. “I have to work again.. I can’t hang out with you, sorry.”
“I know.”
“You know how?” You quizzically looked up at him, beginning to walk ahead towards the restaurant for your next shift. Arms, legs and back aching, but a tired determination in your eyes.
“I saw you at the restaurant when I visited with my friends, remember?” Satoru smiled, sticking out his tongue childishly.
Oh, you remembered. It was hard to forget that day, especially to forget the traitorous way your heart had fluttered when Satoru had held back that drunk man’s hand. Kyochi… as much as you loved him, had never been in a situation where he would have needed to save you like that… even then, you doubted he would come to any grand rescue.
Nights were getting busier as well. You’d lay on the old mattress every Wednesday night, turned on your back, as Kyochi would be on his phone going through emails and what not. A small huff of amused air would blow through his nostrils, his phone always darkened and unable to be read by you.
When you had questioned him one night, he had blown up.
“Are you serious? I can’t get one moment of privacy in this house–the house that I found for us almost 7 years ago!” He yelled that night, making you falter and apologise to him. Awkwardly asking for his forgiveness and taking every insult he hurled your way at face value.
Your phone had buzzed minutes later when Kyochi was asleep, on the opposite end of the bed to you.
Satoru Gojo
Heyyyy
Are you awake? :3
:cat_hugging_heart:
In the cold of the chilly night, Satoru had chuckled and screenshotted his phone. Lips curling into a soft smile, as if he was texting his significant other. Enough amusement on his face to make Suguru raise an eyebrow.
“Did you start dating her already?”
“No, she just… left me on read.” He laughed at the irony of it all. Him, the Satoru Gojo, left on read. The only successor and heir of the Gojo Corporations, about to become CEO gojo, left on read. Suguru looked in disdain towards Satoru, confused at any of his joy about being left on goddamn read.
“You–... you just keep doing you man… anyway, I got the photos you wanted,” he paused to hand Satoru a few printed out photos, hands returning to the pockets of his pants to fish out a cigarette packet and lighter. His eyes boring down at the images of your husband, kissing that red haired woman. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to get rid of him now…?” Suguru questioned, mumbling halfway when he pressed his lips around a new blunt.
“Nah,” Satoru ran a hand through his hair, before reaching out to steal the lighter from Suguru’s hands. Thumb pressing down hard to flick the flame on, before burning the photos.
“She has to figure it out on her own… and when she does, I’ll be there.
…
“You know, most women don’t excuse it if their husband hangs out with other women,” Satoru hummed to you, sipping through his reusable straw to pick up the last few pearls in his milk tea. His left hand rested inside the pocket of his leather jacket, unzipped halfway to show off the cheap white shirt he had bought yesterday. The peachy bandage halfway peeling off his cheek every now and then, since he had refused to take it off, despite being completely healed.
You sighed softly, eyes flickering down to his shoes when you moved through the convenience store, unpacking the small boxes to restock the popular items that had been sold out, gum, tissues, bottled water, and cigarettes.
“I’m more concerned about you… I don’t think you should be buying roses everyday, it’ll eat away at your money,” you muttered quietly under the flickering led lights, noting the way his shoes looked worn out and cheap.
Satoru pouted, kneeling down to where you were, offering you a sip of his half empty milk tea. Shrugging when you declined, and mumbling with his lips wrapped around the floppy paper straw, “justmmm because immff struggling doesn’t mean I canmmmt treat myself.”
He swallowed the last tapioca pears down, “poverty doesn’t mean I can’t treat myself.”
Your eyes widened a little, hands pausing on the soft packets of tissues you were pushing back into their place. It felt like a bucket of fresh, cold water had been dropped over you, hearing those words. Even when he came from a struggling family, he still seemed… like he was able to enjoy life, and make yours just a little brighter.
It reminded you of what Kyochi had been like when you had first met him.
Rugged clothes, scraped knees, bleeding from his nose, trying to reassure you that it didn’t hurt too much. That fighting your mother had been less of him getting beaten up and more of him throwing the punches!
“Heyyyy, are you paying attention?” Satoru’s voice brought you back. His smile widened into one of genuine happiness when your e/c pupils caught his azure ones, before leaning closer to playfully hug you, his head resting on your shoulder.
“You know, I was watching this show last night, where this woman found out her husband was cheating on her with his coworker,” Satoru paused, his eyes darkened as his arms tightened around you slightly, trying to gauge at your body’s reaction. “It was interesting, and made me feel bad for the woman..” he trailed off, lips curling into a manic smile that was hidden against your shoulder.
He had to bite back his chuckle when feeling you stiffen in his hug, your body language giving away how confused you must have felt.
“You shouldn’t stay up so late.. It’s not good for your brain,” you muttered softly, words going in through one of his ears and out the next. His eyes narrowing down on the small fading hickeys on the back of your neck. He would have been lying if he said he hadn’t felt jealousy bubbling through his heart.
“You should be careful, Y/N, there’s a mosquito in your house, leaving such nasty bites and draining you,” he muttered softly and pulled away from the hug, sighing as he stood up and held the nearly empty glass.
He slurped up the last tapioca pearl at the bottom, eyes flickering away from your tired form slowly standing up, and towards the brunette woman who had entered the store. He recognised her, she was the one who would usually take over your shifts at the convenience store when the clock struck 11.
Eyes lighting up, he was quick to rush you out when you had changed back from your employee uniform. Happily humming, “I think the moon looks beautiful tonight, something’s bound to happen,” he sighed cryptically.
You had nodded at his words, not thinking twice, oblivious to the heart break you would know of in just half an hour. Your hands reached into your pocket to call Kyochi, only to see the call go unanswered. It wasn’t uncommon, he ignored your calls most of the time… but something felt a little eerie this time around. “He isn’t doing an overnight shift though.. I didn’t get to tell him I wasn't working overnight tonight…” you muttered.
“I’ll walk you home,” the white haired man smiled, a small twinkle in his eyes.
Kyochi’s phone buzzed on the floor of your studio apartment, before being silenced by his ‘do not disturb’ setting. The black haired man moaned with a deep growl from the back of his throat, breathless as he continued to thrust into the moaning woman below him.
Mei had been itching to fuck inside his house since the moment she had found out he was married. Some weird kink, he had chalked it up to.
“F-fuck..! Yes, right there!” She arched her back, urging him to palm at her breasts, the nipple piercings always made his dick twitch. Her sultry eyes, that enthusiasm that he never found in his wife.. It wasn’t hard to understand why he gave into the itch in his pants.
“Gods.. you’re so hot,” he mumbled, leaning down to suck up one of her rosy nipples into his mouth. Oblivious to the missed call on his phone, content on fucking another woman inside the house where his wife made him breakfast every morning. Her clothes were a tangled mess along with his on the floor next to the futon, the sight sickening with infidelity.
…
"Why'd you cancel your overnight shift for today?” Satoru questioned, walking alongside you.
“It’s my wedding anniversary,” you told him quietly, rummaging through your small, second hand handbag to grab out a tester perfume. Ichika had taken you shopping a few days ago, mostly for herself. Despite not buying anything, any of the tester items she got were given to you, since she insisted that you needed to doll up for ‘the rose guy’.
“Did I tell you I had a husband?” You muttered to him quietly, surprised and thinking back in your brain.
“You mentioned it in passing, plus the wedding ring… it’s not too hard to figure out,” his sultry eyes glazed over the tiny band that was on your ring finger. A disappointed sigh escaped his lips, before he looked back over your face. He towered over you at 6’2, even when walking behind you, it felt like a wall just following you.
“Yeah, he’s the reason I cancelled that shift.. I wanted to surprise him but I haven’t been able to call him all day..” you nodded thoughtfully. “He’ll probably be working overnight again..”
“In that case, can I visit your house, Y/N?” He cheerfully suggested, making you scowl and scoff. As if it was a crazy suggestion. Satoru pouted at your dismay, nudging your shoulder gently before dulling his eyes, looking pitiful again. His smile fading to form a quivering line, as if he was fighting back tears.
“It’s just that... my house will be busy today, you know..” he muttered, his voice trembled on the thin line between tears and wicked lies.
That manipulative asshole.
Your heart ached on cue, a pout forming, hands instinctively reaching up to cup his cheeks and check for any cuts or bruises you hadn’t seen before. It always felt a little eerie, how he always knew exactly what to say to convince you, say exactly what he needed to, to hear your pitiful worries.
“You can stay over,” you nodded to him quickly, thinking back on getting a small old mattress out for him, maybe making him sleep in the storage room, or even next to the futon. Let him stay over where it’s safe, before sending him away in the morning during your next shift.
His hand intertwined with yours, letting you drag him away to your house. A small smile on your lips, as you spoke to him softly when taking the last few steps towards the old front door. The light was on.
“I think my husband might be home, but he’ll understand–” you cut your own words off, faltering in your once confident steps when hearing Kyochi’s voice, talking, laughing and teasing. A woman’s voice joined his, familiar and taunting, as they were flirting. In the home you and Kyochi had once thought would house your future children. A house where you had cried in his arms, a house where he had coldly turned his back to you every night.
A house that was slowly rotting from the inside out, dried and depraved of any love or warmth.
“Don’t run,” Satoru’s voice whispered against your ear, low and cunning. Your breath coming in short gasps, hearing the woman squeal and moan, Kyochi laughed and talked to her so… lovingly. Your eyes wide, stinging and burning from the tears that began to prick at your waterline.
“Don’t hide from it, your love has already withered away.”
. . . Da steht in goldener Schrift, wir soll'n in Ewigkeit ruh'n
cecil / melina : 8teen : they them : german ━━━━━━ ✦
DNI : INTERACTIONS
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