In which you jump out of a moving car to spite Boyfriend!Sukuna
“—because he was just making conversation!”
Sukuna scoffs, knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Bullshit. That guy wanted to fuck you.”
“Oh my god. So what!” you yell. “It’s not like I was gonna fucking let him!”
“Coulda fooled me.”
Just like that, your angry face, which matches his, warps into one of calm decision. With speed he doesn’t see coming, you unbuckle your seatbelt, push open the passenger door and jump out of the moving car into the dead of night.
The car screeches to a halt not even a second later.
You’re pushing yourself up and testing the soreness in your ankle when a car door slams shut and Sukuna comes marching over to you. “You crazy, fucking bitch!” he snaps. Sukuna grabs your face, growling when you try to pull away. He inspects every inch of you, brows furrowed, and piercings glinting under the streetlights. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”
“I got a bitch ass boyfriend, that’s what’s wrong with me,” you grumble.
He ignores that. “You break anything? Wrist? Ankle? Dislocated your shoulder?” You shake your head. “Well, that’s a fucking shame.” Though as he says that, he can’t quite hide the tremors in his hands. Quieter now, he mutters with a tight frown, “Scratched your pretty face up. Fuck. Lost your one redeeming quality.”
“Okay, so I’m gonna walk home,” you say, deadpan. “I’ll see you around, asshole.”
Sukuna runs a hand through his hair with a frustrated noise. Then he smacks his lips against yours before you can actually start walking away (not that he’d let you get very far). “Alright, alright. You fucking win. Congrats. Christ. Get back in the car — we’re going to the hospital to get you checked out. Fucking dumbass.”
A hospital visit later, you’re in bed with him, cuddled up like nothing happened. It’s how arguments with him tend to go; neither of you really hold grudges against each other. Not when you’ve fucked any grievances out after. The last mention of today’s incident, however, comes in his sleepy mumble against the top of your head: “push me out instead.”
“Hmm?”
Sukuna’s hold around your body tightens, threatening to suffocate you with his hard chest. “Don’t jump out of the car. It’s stupid. Your body’s weak. Skin bruises easily. Cuts easily too. Just kick me out instead. I deserve it, I know... bonus points if it's into oncoming traffic.”
The older I get the more I admire people who are earnestly, genuinely into whatever their thing is. I know it sounds like an annoying cliche but unless you're being cruel or hurtful there is really no need to be normal about things. The dude with the bad fake accent at the renaissance faire is having the time of his life. The people having photoshoots with their fashion dolls are loving it. The old lady with a yard unreasonably full of tacky ass lawn ornaments is having a blast, HOA be damned.
Don't waste your time being too cool to have fun, y'know?
Hey everyone! It’s been 2-3 years since i’ve been back on this account, hope you all are doing fine! I’ve just gotten back into doing tarot readings, and i’d like to ease myself back by doing some free readings! Please read below if you’d like me to do one for you!
since i’m trying to get back into reading, i’m not sure about how in tune i am with the deck & myself, thus please only participate if you’re able to give feedback after the reading! (no feedback = banned from future readings, i just need to know if it resonated and was mostly accurate)
send your question via my ask box, with your name, age, and a small fact about you!
make sure they are relatively simple questions, will be pulling 2-3 cards per each one
[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] — it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students — with very high libidos, and didn’t want any random stds — that this was purely a sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else ✦ frat!kuna fwb ✦ ongoing series
[ TAGS ] — MDNI. 18+ only. nsfw. angst. FAMILY DRAMA. a wholeeeeeee lot of plot. fwb. slight degradation. dumbification. sukuna’s thick happy trail. SEXTING. phone sex. dacryphilia. toxic frat culture. sukuna has ANGER issues. crying. toxic co-dependency. underage drinking. TRAUMA. domestic abuse. child abuse. depression. anxiety. wc: 22.9k
series masterlist ✮ previous chp ✮ next chp (coming soon)
SLAP!
the sound cracks across the parking lot, sharp enough to startle a flock of birds.
thirteen-year-old sukuna barely flinches. his head turns with the force of it, cheek already burning, his soccer bag slips from his shoulder and thuds against the concrete.
late evening sun hangs low behind the bleachers, practice long over. most of the other kids have already been picked up. a few parents glance over, then quickly look away. koari stands in front of him, chest heaving, car door still open behind her.
inside, the engine is running. yuuji’s wailing from the backseat, loud and hiccuping cries that only get worse the longer she ignores him. choso, five years old and small for his age, is twisted around in his booster seat trying to shove a stuffed animal into the baby’s hands, whispering frantic little “it’s okay, it’s okay”s that don’t help.
sukuna is still in uniform. dark soccer jersey clinging damp to his back, the team crest stitched over his chest, grass stains streaked across his socks and shorts. sweat runs down the side of his tanned face, mixing with the heat blooming under her hand.
“so you think you’re funny?” she snaps, grabbing sukuna by the front of his practice jersey. “making me sit here while you show off?”
practice ended ten minutes ago.
sukuna doesn’t answer. he never does, not to her. his red eyes stare straight ahead, unblinking.
her grip tightens. “I have two kids in that car. two! and you think doing stupid little tricks with your friends matters more than my fucking time?”
yuuji’s crying spikes.
“look at what you’re doing!” she shrieks, gesturing wildly toward the car like the baby’s distress is his fault. “you stress him out! you’re selfish, just like your father. always needing attention. god!” she exhales like it’s hard to breathe just thinking about his dad, “zero fucking backbone as a man.”
choso is watching through the window now.
sukuna finally moves, just enough to shrug her fingers off his shirt, slow and controlled.
“It was practice,” he says flatly.
the second slap is louder. harder.
“don’t talk back to me.”
a car drives past the lot entrance and slows. sukuna notices it, makes eye contact with a teammate sitting in the backseat. then the car keeps going.
her eyes flick to the snake bite piercings in her step-son’s bottom lip. her lips pull tight in the same familiar disgust as if the two earrings he got a few months ago wasn’t bad enough. “you’re still putting more garbage like that on your face,” her insides twist, “looking like a degenerate.”
she leans in closer, nails biting into his arm. her voice drops, venomous and low. “you think you’re special because you can kick a ball? you’re not. you’re a burden. do you understand me? a burden I didn’t sign up for, but I’m still forced to take care of.”
yuuji is still crying. choso is getting anxious. sukuna stands there, cheek red from the slap, eyes dry, jaw locked so tight it aches. he doesn’t look at her. he does it on purpose, he’d rather get hit again than look at this woman.
the third slap draws the metallic taste of blood blooming where his teeth cut the inside of his mouth.
kaori pulls her hand up again for a fourth, eyes dark and filled with vicious malice towards this thirteen year old boy. her hand shakes as she watches the boy lick his bloody lip, cold. he never reacts…he acts like she’s beneath him. as if! kaori’s anger bubbles over, hot fury leaking from her pores as she heaves, fingers flexing ready to slap him once more. but she catches sukuna’s gaze flick up at the car, at his brothers.
choso is sticking his head out of the car, eyes rimmed red. “mommy! yuu wont stop crying!”
koari’s head whips around, “choso,” she snaps. “what did I tell you about interrupting me—“
“but he’s—“
“choso!”
choso flinches, eyes brimming with more tears. sukuna’s fist clenches, glare finally flicking up to this women. “he’s just a kid,” he grits.
koari turns back to the thirteen year old. her eyes wild and manic. she can see the disgusting bubbling behind his gaze, the scowl on his face.
“don’t you dare speak about my parenting,” she seethes. her face curls into a snarl. “you’re the parasite. sucking my soul, your brothers souls, your fathers—everyone would be better off without you.”
sukuna remains still. thick brow permanently sewn together, glare cutting through her. her teeth grind, hands trembling with more pent up anger. finally having enough of yuuji’s wailing and choso’s fidgeting, she curls her lip, turning on her heel.
“find your own way home.”
the engine roars as koari pulls out of the lot, leaving a quiet sukuna behind. and only when the car is out of sight does sukuna let his hand tremble and hot tears cascade down his cheeks.
“FUCKFUCKFUCK FUUUCK HERRR!!” sukuna screams at the top of his lungs, slamming his duffle bag on the concrete. again and again. and again. the strap rips, flying against the concrete just for sukuna to drop to his knees, fist rising high before slamming it into the duffle. all his pent up rage unleashes on his equipment, however, his shin guards, cleats, and water bottle are used to it by now. ultimately laying under him as he falls on the pavement, burying his face deep in his duffle, and screaming with all his might.
his throat tearing.
——
“you’re lying.”
sukuna sits across from choso. his jaw locked, eyes dead, and muscles tense.
the tv was turned off minutes ago after sukuna finally came home. the blanket lays on the floor after sukuna ripped it off the fifteen year old, who was passed out on the couch. choso frowns, brown hair a mess, and dark circles under his brown eyes.
“I answered you. you can choose to believe me or not—“
“I don’t,” the eldest cuts, arms crossed, biceps flexing with frustration, glaring at his idiot brother. “why’d she give you that money?”
choso frowns, sweat building on his forehead. “I don’t know. maybe go ask her, since you’re the only one that can talk to her.”
sukuna scowls, biting back his tongue. he runs his hands through his hair. choso watches, back slouched against the couch, sweats and tshirt wrinkled from sleep, and one leg tucked under him. he doesn’t say anything. just observes, and quietly prays that sukuna doesn’t know find anything out.
“yuu’s telling me you’re practicing with y’r friends?”
choso’s eyes widen momentarily, sukuna catches it. “yeah…”
“how often you guys practice? yuu’s makin’ it seem like it’s an everyday thing.”
choso shrugs, “we’re workin’ out a new song, and ino keeps fuckin’ up the drum solo.” sukuna leans back in the arm chair, eyes narrowing. choso frowns noticing the way his older brother is scrutinizing him. he looks away, eyeing the blanket sukuna snatched off him. “can I go back to sleep now?”
sukuna pokes his cheek with his tongue, shrugging.
the teen grumbles, pushing off the couch to head to his room. “whatever. can’t even sleep on the stupid couch without getting bothered—“
“so if I talk to your ino friend, he can tell me where you’ve been?”
choso halts. sukuna doesn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know that his brother stopped. choso’s hands ball into fists, heart thudding, as it always does when he starts fabricating a lie. “you don’t even know who ino is—“
“the kid with the beanie. we met when you told me to fuck off and ran away with em. I remember.”
“I never told you to ‘fuck off’ .” choso tsks, sweat slowly sliding down his back.
sukuna turns, arm over the chair, glaring straight at his brother, “you basically did when that’s the last time you fuckin’ talked t’me. giving me the goddamn silent treatment like I’m your girlfriend.”
choso feels his blood start to pump louder, his eyes narrowing like knives, letting go of all composure, “maybe I just don’t have shit to say to you — ever think of that?!”
sukuna turns even more, “yeah, I don’t miss being a stupid fucking teenager—jesus christ!” he aggressively points at his brother. “you really have no fucking clue the shit I’m keeping from you. that’s why you think you can get fucking angry at me!”
“I don’t give a shit! there’s other people besides you that can think for themselves—!”
sukuna’s hand trembles, eyes burning red.
“if I want to talk to her that’s my choice—“
“you’re fifteen, fuck do you think you are?” sukuna scoffs, cold, “we needa sit down and get ya fucking checked in the head. seriously cho, y’er getting under my fucking skin—“
“good,” he spits, chest heaving.
sukuna’s jaw locks. “give me y’er phone.”
choso’s eyes widen, immediately taking a step back, “no-why?”
“gonna call your friend,” sukuna reaches for choso’s pocket, but the teen is quickly dodging, deflecting his brother’s arm,
“I’m gonna tell gramps—!”
“tell him!”
as strong and intimidating as sukuna is to outsiders. he’s also the eldest of three boys, and will ultimately fall on the ground tackling his teenage brother. and unlike the frat, sukuna has never raised a fist or hand, to either of his little brothers. the most his soul can do, is physically overpower them.
which has led to choso’s arm getting pinned under his brothers knee. sukuna straddling the younger’s chest, letting the teen thrash beneath him as he keeps a hand pressed to choso’s cheek, other hand grabbing at the phone that has fallen to the ground.
“you started going to the gym, ya little shit?” sukuna grunts.
choso groans in frustration, arms flexing to grab his brothers shirt. “get off me!”
“fuck’s your password?” sukuna attempts, typing out choso’s birthday. incorrect. yuu’s birthday. incorrect. his birthday. incorrect. sukuna frowns.
“woahhh dudeee, what’s going on?”
the color drains from choso’s face. his eyes bulging as he tilts his head back.
standing tall and curious — his best friend — ino.
it takes, a little under, a second for sukuna to glance up, spotting the boy, then the beanie, then choso’s reaction.
“ino?”
ino freezes, eyes widening as he makes direct eye contact with choso’s very intimidating, very scary, older brother. “y-YES?”
choso’s eyes look like they’re going to burst from their sockets. he’s aggressively shaking his head, struggling underneath the two hundred pound athlete. “go home ino—“
“stay.”
ino freezes, sweat quickly building under his beanie.
“don’t—listen to him,” choso falls back, sukuna letting go, no longer fighting over the phone. choso turns on his knees, eyes wide when he sees sukuna already walking up to his friend.
“did you guys do anything other than practice with your band this week?” sukuna’s first question already had ino glancing at choso. “don’t look at him, look at me.” ino’s eyes snap to sukuna, sweating. “now answer.”
“hey dude—“
“I’m not ‘yr fuckin dude,” sukuna barks, patience paper thin.
choso tsks, fixing his torn shirt from the tackling earlier, staring directly at his friend, as if that’ll get them to communicate telepathically. forgetting that ino secretly admires his older brother.
“we got a couple burgers from the diner and uh we went again after the school’s soccer game yesterday—“
“choso went to a game?” sukuna’s brow hits the ceiling, whipping his head to see choso frowning.
“is that so surprising?” he says.
sukuna’s eyes narrow. “you wouldn’t go—“ he stops. an uncomfortable twist preventing him from finishing the sentence. he turns back to ino. “can you drive?”
ino shakes his head.
“who’s driving ya both around town then?”
“maru,” ino replies, quickly elaborating before sukuna snaps again. “he’s a friend and plays base, for our band and he was the one driving last time when you—“
“so choso didn’t go anywhere alone?”
ino hesitates.
choso takes a step forward, sweat trickling down his back as ino chokes. idiot! choso screams internally, eyes snapping to his brother. he definitely noticed that!
sukuna’s crossed arms flex in anger, pushing further, the room bending around him causing the teens to sweat buckets, “where’d he go—“
ino loses it—
“he just left to talk to a girl and got rejected—real bad— that was the only time he left—but also when we’re in school, since we have separate classes. but he just got rejected by a girl he has a crush on during the soccer game so we ditched during halftime.”
the house is dead silent.
sukuna blinks.
his brother’s friend really is a fucking character. his head drops forward, fingers rubbing his eyes, aware of the two boys holding their breaths as he realigns his thoughts, grinding down on his teeth.
ino shoots his friend a nervous look. the other frowns shrugging at him before lifting a finger to his lips, easily mimicking a don’t say anything else face.
the sharp inhale of the six foot so man has both teens looking back at him.
“you going out to practice now?”
the question hangs in the air. neither boy responding, they’re so shocked. but once sukuna looks back at choso, and the teen catches the anger slowly dissipating from his brother — he nods.
sukuna turns away, walking further into the house towards his yuuji’s room, the exhaustion hangs heavy on his taunt shoulders. ready to crash.
choso watches. silent, heart thudding against his ribs, until—
“so you believe me now?”
sukuna halts.
the sharp jab hangs in the air.
sukuna’s back is turned. ino hold his breath, eyes clenching shut in panicked anxiety, heart thudding agaisnt his chest. why does he have to be in the middle of this???
sukuna rolls his neck back. a crack. his glare pierces the air, holding choso in place.
“watch it,” he mutters, low.
choso averts his gaze, eyes flicking toward the kitchen like he’s suddenly interested in anything but sukuna. his face twists into a sharp, frustrated scowl, hair a mess from his older brother’s rough handling. yet…he stays quiet. for once.
the silence stretches, tense and unnatural, as sukuna rolls his neck back again, another crack slipping out as he finally turns away. his patience is gone. whatever energy he had left is gone. he doesn’t say anything else. just walks off.
his steps are heavier now as he disappears down the hall and into his old room. the door clicks shut behind him, finally ending the interrogation.
only then do choso and ino move. ino lets out a breath he’d been holding, glancing back at him. “dude, i—”
“not here,” choso cuts in sharply.
he’s already moving to his room, fast and clearly agitated. he grabs his guitar, shoving it into its case, he yanks his backpack off the chair. there’s no second thought or pause. he doesn’t even bother with a change of clothes, or the bathroom. he just wants out of the house.
ino watches for half a second before following, the two of them slipping out as quickly as they can.
meanwhile, sukuna’s body feels like it’s shutting down. his thighs ache from the week, his back tight from the studying stress and impromptu practice, his shoulders are heavy like they’re carrying something he still can’t fucking shake. and his head won’t stop pounding. all his thoughts stack onto one another, overlapping and refusing to quiet down. he doesn’t have the energy anymore.
so when he pushes open the door to what used to be his room—now yuuji’s—he barely registers anything. megumi’s curled up on the air mattress in the middle of the room, and yuuji’s splayed half over the covers of the full sized bed. sukuna simply crosses the small room, and drops onto the empty side of the bed. the mattress dips under his weight, drawing a small shuffle from yuuji, but sukuna’s already gone. his eyes shut, and his body gives out the second he hits the sheets.
———
your lips part into a small smile, eyes soft but distant, your mind is already drifting somewhere else as your stomach churns with something uneasy. utahime invited a few of her friends out with you and shoko, and the place is packed. the bar is crowded, loud, warm, and full of people clinging to the last bit of freedom before summer actually begins.
everyone’s talking about something. internships, trips, plans, and you find yourself wondering how many people in here would rather stay exactly where they are than go home. there’s definitely a few. it’s not just you. but utahime isn’t one of them.
she’s mid-conversation with the girls she brought, laughing lightly as she talks about still deciding whether to take that internship or not. you catch pieces of it, enough to make your chest tighten, and you hate yourself for it. you’re happy for her. of course you are. but god—you’d take anything over going back home in a few weeks to work at the hospital.
“are you sure?” shoko interrupts, her drink already half gone, eyes flicking over you like she knows you’ve been somewhere else this entire time.
you snort, nodding. “obviously. my sister isn’t gonna be in her room anyway.”
shoko sighs in relief, shoulders dropping. “thank yooou, i would’ve taken your floor too.”
you laugh, shaking your head, but it fades quickly. your mind drifts again. your chest tightens.
you really are a fucking failure.
the thought hits hard this time, sitting heavier in your stomach. three years in school and you couldn’t land a single internship. not one. all you wanted was to try something—anything—that isn’t doing clinics at a fucking hospital. you just wanted to see what another life would be like. one that wouldn’t make you anxious, or have you feeling empty.
but no. life has other plans.
and those plans are dragging you back home for another suffocating summer, stuck in a hospital you hate, with your father watching you too closely, asking too many questions about a future you don’t even understand yourself. and god forbid you say you’re unsure. even worse is the look they give you when you admit you’re still figuring things out. and you can’t even stand up for yourself, which everyone loved to shove in your face.
seriously! three years in and you’re still lost? it’s pathetic. you press your lips together, jaw tightening as the thoughts spiral. they’re constant, familiar. and then—
the door swings open. a burst of noise cuts through the bar as a group of rowdy frat boys and athletes pile in. they’re laughing loud, and their energy is immediate. many heads turn instinctively, the shift in atmosphere familiar to the group.
shoko is the first to notice.
“oh they made it.” she’s already grinning as she spots her two close friends in the bunch. “yo!” she calls. your brows pinch slightly as you glance over. gojo and geto spotting their brunette friend, dragging along a surprisingly willing nanami, behind them. a few others flood in as well, loud and chaotic as ever.
you subtly sit up in anticipation. your eyes quietly scanning the group without meaning to.….
where is he?
you swallow, something tight forming in your throat as you shift in your seat, crossing your legs slowly, like it’ll ground you. he left your apartment yesterday afternoon. you don’t know when exactly, all you remember is the quiet disappointment you felt when you sat up on your bed, half expecting him to come out of the bathroom and give you another rough round of sex, to mush your brain up.
that’s the whole point of this. he’s left like this many times before. but this time you just…you wanted a little more before the break…
your gaze flicks back to the door, then to the group again.
he’s not here. does that mean he went back home already? that fast? your jaw tightens, fingers curling slightly around your glass as something uneasy settles deeper in your chest. you sure as hel didn’t come here for him, but now that your brain won’t quiet down, you wanted him to silence it for you.
“are these your first drinks?” gojo barks as he drops onto the stool across from you and shoko, already leaning too far forward like he’s been here for hours instead of minutes.
geto slides into the empty seat beside you, casual as ever, lifting your glass and bringing it to his nose. his brows knit almost immediately. “what—is this a virgin?”
shoko snorts, shoulders shaking beside you. you wave him off lazily, lips curling. “i was just warming myself up.”
“you warm yourself up with a drink before shots, not with a virgin!” gojo fires back, loud enough that a couple people nearby glance over in annoyance.
shoko leans across the table, sliding her drink toward him. “your warm-up is all you usually need, satoru.”
the frat president scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m actually much better at holding my liquor now.”
the lie sits there. then.
gojo, two drinks in and one shot later: wasted. you, one drink in and three shots later: wasted.
the bar is chaos. the music is too loud, lights too warm, voices overlapping until everything blends into one loud, buzzing blur. at some point, utahime’s friends join the table, then more people, then somehow you all migrate toward the dart boards in the back.
you’re laughing too loud. leaning too much. mostly on shoko. sometimes on gojo—who is absolutely no help, because he’s swaying just as bad, arm slung over your shoulders, yelling nonsense in your ear.
nanami stands off to the side, drink in hand, watching the two of you with thinly veiled disapproval, though there’s a faint hint of amusement in his eyes. geto’s not far behind him, a little too relaxed now, watching everything unfold like it’s entertainment as a few guys from the team chat with him.
and then there’s hiromi higurama. nanami’s friend, that rarely, if ever, makes an appearance. he’s a first year law student, who’s overstressed, sharp as shit, and he’s put-together in a way that doesn’t match the rest of you. but he’s here, along with a couple other law and grad students, leaning against the table like he got dragged here and decided to stay anyway. he’s older by only a couple years, but it shows in the way he carries himself and in the way he watches.
utahime lines up her shot. “comeback comeback,” she chants confidently. you and shoko are laughing, booing her as she squints, closing one eye, then the dart flies.
it hits the board, and of course, she immediately loses her balance— “shit!—” she stumbles back, catching herself and slamming right into you.
your footing slips just enough, a surprised laugh bursting out of you as you tip backwards. why’re you always falling?!
but then hand catches you. it’s steady and firm. higurama’s arm wraps around you just enough to keep you upright, pulling you back against the edge of the table before you can actually fall.
“careful,” he mutters, low, close to your ear.
you’re already laughing.
“i’m good—i’m good,” you insist, even though you’re still half-leaning into him for a second longer than necessary, your balance completely shot. and he doesn’t move right away. his arm loosens around your waist, but hovers close as you sway. his eyes soften, quietly watching you as you slap utahime lightly on the shoulder.
geto notices. his brows furrow slightly, just for a second, catching the way higurama’s gaze lingers. it’s subtle, but there.
meanwhile, you’re completely oblivious. already turning back, leaning into shoko again as gojo starts arguing about the rules of darts like he invented the fucking game.
“nahh you literally had us playing a different version last time,” you hiccup, words slurring together as you try to explain gojo’s made up rules he came up with a few weeks ago. no one fully understanding the direction of the conversation anymore as gojo scoffs, swaying as he shakes his head.
“no no no, last,” he hiccups, “last time, we were playing as individuals, now we’re—hic—we’re going—doing teams!”
“what’re you guys talking about?” higurama voice lowers, leaning down slightly, lips ghosting your ear so you can hear him over the music, eyes still on you.
“just something that happened at one of their frat parties,” you explain, gesturing vaguely toward gojo and geto, who are now mid-argument with utahime over who actually won the last round. your laugh bubbles up again, light, careless.
the rest of the night blurs. unaware of how your friends became just as distracted, and careless, that when you felt the same voice ghost your ear again, your mind couldn’t help the blurred image it was conjuring up.
“you want me to grab you some water?” the smooth voice of higurama had you swaying closer to hear him. he leans in, basically yelling over the music to repeat what he’d asked.
your hazy eyes hum, smiling widely when he passes you and the rest of the table some water bottles.
as the bar came to a close, your small group migrated to the pier. gojo and geto easily buying a couple six packs from the liquor store and meeting the rest of you guys on the picnic bench. gojo and nanami were in a heated argument about summer plans, whilst shoko sat on the table smoking her cigarette and passing up another drink.
“do you even here yourself,” nanami scoffs with uncanny annoyance. his face is dusted pink from the alcohol. his navy sweater is off and tossed over his shoulder, white tee straining over a surprising build of pure muscle. his large hand is still holding his half empty can of beer as he sneers at his high school friend.
“yeah i sound like a fucking genius—“
“I just told you I’m not—hic— I’m not gonna be free,” nanami is wasted, you guess he was just as a stressed during finals week. his jaw clenches as gojo laughs louder.
“you said you finish your work thing end of July, so the trip is planned for the next day!”
shoko and geto are in hysterics as gojo rage baits their poor friend. you’re still chatting with utahime, yuno, and higurama—wait—
“shouldn’t you be like, busy?” your voice cuts as you point to the stranger, higurama, with a raised brow.
the law student glances over. it isn’t a struggle when he’s been straddling the bench to lean an arm on the table and face you for the entirety of the time. a casual smile graces his lips, glancing at your expectant eyes, before shrugging.
“why would i be busy?”
“because you’re older, and in law school, so you should be busy, not—not hanging out with lo-hic-losers,” you slur. no filter much?
utahime gasps, her pale cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “I’m not a loser!”
yuno nods, absentmindedly, hand subtly brushing utahime’s wrist.
who isn’t drunk here?
“you know what I mean,” you mutter, speaking over the rim of your can. drinking sucks.
higurama raises a brow, fingers drumming over the surface of the table. his tie hangs around his shoulders and his dress shirt sleeves are rolled up. he quietly studies you. “I finished finals too. are law students not allowed to relax?”
you quietly absorb his words, glancing at his eyes then away. you shrug.
the man smiles, swinging his leg over, moving to stand up.
your eyes widen. wait, is he leaving??
“I’ll see ya kento,” he swings back the rest of his drink and leaves it with the rest of the empty cans on the table. he spares you a final glance, then walks away.
“what the—“ you gape, eyes snapping to utahime and yuno, drunk as shit and jaws agape. “that wasn’t because of me?”
“you basically asked him why the fuck he’s hanging out with us,” yuno calls out, utahime nods.
your face flushes hot, stomach churning with guilt, “that wasn’t—I didn’t say it like that.”
“sounded like it, babe,” utahime quietly agrees.
your brows furrow, glancing back at the man walking away. “now I feel bad,” you cringe at yourself, heart beating against your chest as you move before thinking, which usually happens when you get drunk.
“what’re you doing??” utahime gasps as you start sprinting towards higurama.
“to apologize!”
however, running and drinking wasn’t a very good combo, not only were you swaying, but your stomach was turning in a very familiar way.
“higu—“
your eyes widen. fuck.
you quickly detour to the bushes, stomach emptying onto the poor greenery. why are things turning out this way?
“why’d you do that?” the soft, firm hand on your back, briefly startles you, but you turn, puking some more. eyes tearing up.
“can you call ryo?” you mutter, mind still lost and not grasping the present.
“ryo?” higurama gently guides you to the empty bench closer to the water, and away from the bushes you barfed on. “sit down.”
you listen, body unable to unwind, as you rest your back against the seat, eyes distant as the waves crash. you swallow thickly, still catching your breath. the nausea lingers, sour and stubborn, sitting heavy in your chest.
“never mind,” you mumble after a second, voice hoarse. “ryo’s not here.” the words come out softer than you expect, and then they land. your brows pinch faintly. you’re only now realizing what you just said, who you just asked for. your stomach twists again—but this time it’s not from the alcohol.
higurama doesn’t comment on it. he just watches you for a moment longer before shifting beside you, settling onto the bench with a quiet exhale. his legs stretch out in front of him, dress shoes planted against the pavement, knees spread just enough to take up space. his sleeves are still rolled up to his forearms, the fabric slightly wrinkled now, the night has worn on him too. one hand rests loosely against his thigh, the other drapes along the back of the bench—close enough to you without actually touching.
for a while, neither of you say anything. just the sound of the water, waves crashing softly against the pier, steady. the noise fills the silence without demanding anything from it. you stare out at it, eyes unfocused, your mind drifting somewhere you don’t want to follow.
then, quietly…
“why did you….why did you decide on law?” it comes out almost absent. it feels like you’re asking just to fill the space. that’s what you tell yourself. but you quietly wait for his answer.
higurama glances at you, just briefly, before his gaze returns to the water. he takes his time answering. “i want to help people,” he says at first, simple, but his voice doesn’t stop there. “not in the… uh idealistic way people say it,” he adds, quieter now. “not like—saving the world or anything like that. the world’s fucking shit and people are cruel...”
you glance at him quietly.
his jaw shifts slightly, choosing his words carefully. “i just… didn’t like how often people get stuck with decisions that aren’t really theirs. bad situations. bad systems. and no one actually explains anything to them.” he exhales softly through his nose, fingers tapping once against his leg. “so i figured if i study it, maybe i could make it a little less unfair for someone.”
there’s no arrogance in it. no need for validation. just matter-of-fact.
you look away from him, eyes fixed on the water, watching the way it moves. the constant, endlessness of it… it knows where it’s going even when you don’t. your chest tightens faintly, something uncomfortable settling deep in your ribs, because he sounds so sure. even in the way he talks about it, even with his pauses, he still chose something and committed to it. like he knows why he’s here…unlike you,
your fingers curl slightly in your lap. “that’s…” you start, but the word trails off, dissolving before it can become anything real. you don’t finish it. instead, you just nod a little to yourself, swallowing whatever else was going to come out, letting the silence settle back in.
this time, it feels heavier.
he’s quiet for a moment after you trail off, the sound of the water filling in the space again. then, without looking at you, he asks, “why are you doing medicine?”
the question hits harder than it should. it’s simple. but it lands somewhere deep. your breath stutters, just slightly, and before you can stop it—before you can control it—you feel it. that awful, tight pressure climbing up your chest, wrapping around your throat like a wire pulling too tight.
fuck. this is why you hate drinking.
your eyes sting, vision blurring as you blink once, then again, trying to push it back down, but it doesn’t work. it never really does when you’re like this, when everything is already sitting too close to the surface. this is the reason you drank. you just wanted one night. one stupid, fun night with your friends before you all go for the summer. not this.
a tear slips down your cheek. then another. its’s quiet, you mood unannounced. higurama notices immediately, because you don’t even try to hide it.
“i don’t know,” you admit, voice small and uneven. your gaze stays forward, locked on the water like if you look anywhere else you might actually break. “i don’t know if i wanna do it… but like—” your throat tightens, words catching. “i don’t know what to do.”
it comes out in pieces. fragile. honest even though you didn’t mean to be and in a way you rarely ever just say without feeling like you’re being judged. but you’re too drunk to feel insecure or embarrassed.
higurama doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t rush to fill the silence. his gaze drifts back to the waves, giving you space while he stays right there beside you.
his arm, that was resting on the back of the bench, gently brushes your arm. steady, grounding, and nothing more. it’s not possessive. not suggestive. just… there. and you don’t even realize that he’s not looking at you like that, anymore. not right now. whatever flicker of interest was there earlier is gone and now replaced with something calmer and more aware.
you swallow, voice quieter now. “did you always know what you wanted?” you ask, barely above a whisper. “or did you just… force yourself to like it?”
higurama exhales softly, leaning back against the bench, arm still resting around you. his head tilts slightly as he looks out at the water again, thinking.
“I highly doubt anyone knows what they’re doing,” he says after a beat. “people just get better at pretending they do.” there’s a faint edge of something dry in his tone. “people talk about ‘paths’ like they’re set. like you pick one thing and it just… works out.” he shakes his head slightly. “it doesn’t. it’s more like… a series of decisions you keep making, even when you’re not sure they’re right.”
his fingers tap lightly against your arm, absent and thoughtful. “law’s the same way. I mean you build a case with what you have, not what you wish you had. you take the risk, present the argument, and hope it holds.” he pauses. “sometimes it doesn’t.”
you nod slowly, even if your chest still feels tight, trying to absorb his words, trying to make it mean something for you. “so what if it doesn’t?” you murmur, voice still unsteady. “what if i’m already behind?”
he glances at you this time, properly. “behind who?” he asks simply.
you hesitate.
“…everyone,” you admit, quieter. “i’ve been doing the same thing every summer at a hospital. same place. same freaking thing. and everyone else is… doing something.”
“do you have something else you wanna try?” he asks.
you shrug, small, helpless. “i don’t know…” your voice dips, wavering, but you push through it anyway. “i want to do something else… but i don’t have something, like, to show for it. like an internship for it, or—” you swallow hard, the words catching before they can fully form, cutting yourself off before it turns into something else. you shrug instead, tighter this time, like you’re trying to make it seem smaller than it feels.
higurama watches you for a second, piecing together what you’re actually saying underneath it.
“you still have the hospital, though,” he says evenly. it’s not dismissive, he’s just stating it.
you make a face immediately, gaze dropping. “yeah…”
“are you there the whole summer?”
you shake your head. “no… just a few weeks. my dad makes me do it every summer.”
there’s a small pause.
“then what’s stopping you?” he asks.
you blink, glancing at him like the question doesn’t fully register at first. “from what?”
“from trying something else for the rest of it,” he says simply. “you’re acting like you need something official to justify trying something else. you don’t.”
his shoulders lift in a small shrug. “internships are just structured ways to prove interest. they’re not the only way to have it.”
your brows pinch slightly, listening.
“if you already know you don’t like the hospital, then fine. do your time there,” he continues, tone calm, grounded. “but after that? you’ve got like a month or a few weeks or whatever to do something else. you don’t need a title to start figuring something out, and I’m guessing you just wanted the title to show that you’re not behind.”
he glances at you again, more direct now. his voice softens just a fraction. “you don’t need to be good at it yet. you just need to start somewhere. but if your parents are anything like mine, then I’m guessing they just want you to do something in the summer.”
you nod, quietly.
“don’t stress too much. people change their minds every day, and at least you’re interested in something else,” he speaks like it’s that easy, and maybe in your drunk mind, your walls have come down low enough to really listen. and it could also be because you’ve heard of higurama and how hard working he is from nanami. so maybe his words mean a little more than your dad, or your sisters. “what exactly do you wanna do?”
you wet your lips, and higurama quietly notes how you’ve stopped crying. “I wanna work in film, like screenwriting, or producing.”
his eyes widen. “for real?”
you nod, swallowing the anxious feelings threatening to bubble up after admitting it to a complete stranger. “I’m minoring in film right now, but i really like it.”
higurama hums, sitting up straighter. “you’re working at your dad’s hospital in the summer?”
“it’s not my dad’s hospital, he’s an attending there, but like it’s not like he owns it—but yeah,” you correct, a slight tone shift in your voice, which higurama dismisses.
he reaches for his phone, arm moving from around your shoulder. “pretty sure my uncle has some crazy contacts. he…was anentertainment lawyer for this production company a couple years ago. if you want I can see if he can give me a contact and try and introduce you for some informational meeting or something.”
your eyes burst with light.
“wait for real???”
higurama nods, “everything is about fucking connections in that industry.” you nod along as he finds his uncle’s contact, texting him, then handing you his phone. “add your number and email so I can send them to him too when he gets the contact.” you nod again, sitting straight as you quickly type your info. “have you had any meetings with industry people?”
you shake your head, “just like, meetings with my professors,” you hand him back his phone.
“no stress,” higurama reassures, saving your contact and turning his phone off. “most first meetings like these always go the same. it’s about networking and you have a connection, so hopefully when my uncle introduces you to whoever, you have to make sure you get out of that meeting with another contact, and it’s just like a string until something sticks.”
you’re nodding along.
“wait,” your eyes widen. he quirks a brow. “I’m like really drunk, I don’t wanna forget this,” you freak.
higurama snorts, pulling up your contact again, “I’ll text you what I just said,” he slouches on the bench, amused when you lean close watching him type everything.
“you got it man?!” gojo slurs, him and geto crowded around his phone as they watch their soccer captain scowl at them through facetime.
“I can’t understand a fucking word you idiots are saying,” he snaps from the other side.
gojo groans, nanami’s head popping in as he turns gojo’s wrist. “we’re planning the trip—and he’s not listening to anyone—“
“you’re the one that’s not listening, i gave you dates that work—“
“they don’t work!” nanami barks, face flaming with anger and the liquor he should put down.
sukuna licks his teeth, “call me back when you dickheads are sober—“
“waaaaittt,” gojo whines, freeing his wrist from nanami’s grip with tug, and inevitably falling off the seat. his phone clatters on the floor. another figure picks it up.
utahime.
“oh, you.” she frowns at the sight of the man. sukuna frowns in return. unlike gojo and geto and the rest of the guys that loosely know about his relationship with you. he’s assuming shoko and utahime are definitely less forgiving of the argument you guys had, and even if you made up, he doubts you filled them in since it was less than 48 hours ago. “just because—“ hiccup.
great, everyone is drunk.
“because you’re sleeping with my best friend, d-doesn’t mean I like you—“ utahime slurs, pointing at the screen. at sukuna. “and she’s—“
in the minor distraction, utahime waves her crush to shh. “did you hear what I said—“
“yeah. did ya talk to her, or are you too drunk?” sukuna grumbles in disinterest, ready to hang up any second. he moves from his place on the couch, to the kitchen. yuuji, megumi, and their other friend, nobara, are still shouting in the background. video game blasting in the living room.
“no I’m not talking to her, she’s over there talking to k-ken’s friend and—hic—I’m talking to you right now, duh,” utahime scoffs.
sukuna’s movements halt.
huh?
“who?” he asks before thinking.
utahime glances over at yuno pointing off screen. “what was his name—oh higu—higu-“
“higurama?”
utahime hums, “yeah, higurama. nanami’s law friend. they’re talking over there.” she raises the phone without really thinking, flipping the screen toward the pier.
the camera wobbles for a second before it steadies, and there you are. not with them. not near the table. you’re off to the side, sitting on one of the benches closer to the water, the distance obvious even through the shitty front camera quality. the rest of the group is loud, clustered together under the dim pier lights, but you drifted off and just stayed there.
you’re leaning in slightly, shoulder angled toward higurama, your body turned to face him more than anything else. close enough to look familiar. close enough to look comfortable.
he’s saying something—something sukuna can’t hear—and for a second, he lifts his phone between you, showing you something on the screen. but from this angle, it just looks like you’re sitting back, smiling at him, soft and distracted, your voice faint in the background as it carries over the speaker. whatever you’re saying, it’s looser and easy. too easy.
something in sukuna’s stomach twists, sharp and unpleasant. he pushes it down immediately.
“why’re they talking away from the rest of you?” he asks, voice flat, edged with something colder than it needs to be. he pulls out a drink from the fridge.
utahime squints at the screen, words a little slurred. “she was kinda mean—not really—but like, she’s drinking—which is—we should stop—but she went to apologize and now they’re talking.” she shrugs, already half over it.
gojo suddenly leans into frame, grinning like he just found something unbelievably entertaining. “oh yeah—you see ’em?” he laughs, keeping the phone angled right on you and higurama.
sukuna clicks his tongue, irritation slipping through. “why’re you fucking laughing?”
“because you’re pissed,” gojo shoots back instantly, grin widening.
sukuna scowls, jaw tightening. “i’m not fucking pissed, you fucking idiot.”
but his eyes don’t leave the screen. don’t leave you. and they don’t miss the way you tilt your pretty head when you listen. the way you shift a little closer without thinking. the way your attention is fully on someone else. his grip tightens slightly around his phone, looking away.
are you gonna text him before or after you fuck this guy, he thinks. his tongue drags slow against his teeth, jaw tightening as he leans back slightly, eyes glancing up at his brother and his friends.
“oh—they’re coming back!” gojo calls suddenly, voice bright with amusement.
and sure enough, you’re walking back toward the group with higurama right beside you, like nothing ever happened. like you didn’t just disappear with him for however long. you’re still talking, hands moving as you explain something, a little too animated, a little too loose from the alcohol. your head tips toward him when he responds, eyes flicking up to his face again—and again—and again.
higurama says something that makes you laugh, and it’s soft, quieter than the way you usually laugh with them. your shoulder brushes his arm for a second as you walk, not even noticing it
sukuna’s expression doesn’t change. but something inside his stomach hardens. his gaze tracks you the entire way back, slow, deliberate. the way you close the distance. the way you don’t rush it. the way you look…comfortable. his grip shifts on the phone, thumb pressing harder than necessary against the edge. he’s leaning against the counter, jaw tight when your hand fixes the strap of your top, laughing when shoko makes a comment he barely hears.
“see?” gojo hums, smug, leaning closer to the camera. “you got competition now.”
sukuna exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “shut the fuck up.”
gojo cackles loudly, and you glance over. “who’re you guys talking too?” you slide beside nanami, leaning over just for gojo to turn the screen towards you.
your stomach flips so fast it almost hurts. your whole body heats in an instant. ryo. it slips out before you even think about it. and you don’t realize how soft it sounds until you say it again, a little lighter this time, a small smile pulling at your lips like it’s second nature. your tone is gentler than usual, looser—too loose—and it’s obvious. you’re drunk. so drunk. because why are you saying his name like that?
why does it feel so easy?
on the other end, sukuna stills for half a second. it doesn’t stop the way something warm settles low in his stomach. behind you, higurama’s attention shifts at the name. his gaze drifts over your shoulder, landing on the screen. the familiar face tattoos clicks almost immediately.
…oh. so that’s who you were calling. sukuna…but…ryo? his brows knit faintly, something quiet and curious settling in his chest. are you guys dating?
he doesn’t ask it out loud. just watches. you don’t notice any of it, too busy leaning closer into frame, lips parting as you talk. “you’re missing out,” you say, voice bright despite the slight slur. “we were playing darts earlier and you should’ve been here because freaking gojo was being an ass about the rules again—” you laugh, the memory still obnoxiously funny.
and sukuna hates himself a little. hates the way his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. the way he nods once, slow. the way his neck cracks as he tilts his head back, trying to ease the tension sitting there.
from the living room behind him, one of his brother yells about something, loud and distant, but it barely registers because you’re still on his screen. you’re not dating. you guys have both been very clear about the terms and conditions. so why not indulge? you’re free. he’s free. there are conditions for a reason—
“i’ll send you the video when i get home,” you add lightly, like it’s nothing. “my phone died.”
and just like that, everything in his head goes quiet. because now he’s going to be waiting for it. waiting for you to text him. and fuck if he’ll ever admit that shit.
“…yeah,” he hums, softer than before, almost absent, like it just slipped out. his eyes don’t leave the screen or more specifically, you.
your face fills it completely now. your lips, the ones he knows too well, the taste of them when you roll your tongue over his. your cheeks, the ones that get damp the second he fucks you a little harder. your eyes— those same eyes. the ones that look up at him like you want something. like you expect something. like he’s the only one that can give it to you.
his grip tightens just slightly around the phone. and for a second he forgets anyone else is even there. and even if gojo took the phone away and sukuna basically hung up afterwards. he ignored whatever tug he felt in his chest. and he seriously couldn’t care to answer gojo’s calls again.
“are you gonna play with us now?” yuuji calls as sukuna makes his way back.
“yeah,” sukuna simply confirms, dropping back onto the couch.
he doesn’t catch the way yuuji’s entire face lights up, and how quick the kid straightens, already reaching for the controller—because the front door suddenly slams open so hard it rattles the walls.
“what the fuc—” sukuna snaps, already halfway up again.
two high schoolers freeze in the doorway. choso is slumped between them. one of them, ino, goes rigid the second his eyes land on sukuna. the other, mechamaru, panics instantly, hands fumbling where they’re hooked under choso’s arms.
“what the hell is his brother doing here?!” mechamaru screeches, trying to pivot like he can somehow leave with choso still half-dragged between them.
“shit—I forgot he came this morning!” ino swears.
“you forgot—?” mechamaru freaks.
they’re somehow out the door again, then they both stall on the front steps. because the air shifts, drops, and something heavier settles in the space between them. sukuna is standing at the door, blocking the light from reaching them, creating a shadow over the high schoolers.
“what the fuck happened to him?” sukuna barks. his tone is sharp, cutting right through them. they turn back slowly.
sukuna is down the two steps in seconds. his hand comes up, gripping choso’s jaw, forcing his head up. choso barely resists, head lolling slightly, eyes glassy and unfocused. his cheeks are flushed, lips parted, breath uneven—
and it hits him. the smell. sukuna’s expression twists instantly, something dark snapping into place behind his eyes.
“is he drunk?” he asks. but it’s not really a question. his grip tightens. “answer me.”
mechamaru confesses instantly. “we got asked to play at a party, and we went because it’ll also be great practice, before the competition, but after—“ he glances at ino, now hesitant. “we were dragged to do drinks.”
“by who?” sukuna is already grabbing his brother, easily tossing his arm over his shoulder and lifting the teen up. choso mutters something incoherent.
“these guys from the baseball team.”
sukuna’s face twists, “baseball?” the disgust in his tone was evident.
ino fixes his beanie, nodding. “yeah, guess it was their party, but um I’m pretty sure they’re friends with these guys that’are also gonna play at the concert, and it looks like they were picking at us.”
“doesn’t explain why cho’s the only one that can’t fucking walk,” sukuna barks. the two teens confusing him even more.
the two nod frantically. “yeah, choso got pissed when he realized we just played our new songs to a bunch of ops, so he wanted to prove them wrong.”
sukuna deadpans. “and you two let ‘him?”
ino quickly replies, fidgeting with his hair that peaks from his beanie. “no, we told him not too. but by the time he agreed, those baseball dicks told us to shut the fuck up, and they wouldn’t let us get to him until choso ended up like this.”
sukuna licks his teeth, jaw tight as he glances at choso.
“we got him out the second they let go of us,” mechamaru adds.
sukuna silently notes the concern written on the faces of his little brother’s friends.
“do you know how much he drank?”
the two glance at one another, shifting their weight, before shaking their heads in defeat.
sukuna straightens up. choso’s head lulls to his shoulder.
“woah, what happened to cho?”
a small voice booms from behind them. yuuji stands at the door, eyes wide and brows pulled together. megumi and nobara glance from their seats on the floor.
“he’s not feeling well,” sukuna responds. he dismisses the two high schoolers, and turns back to the house.
choso groans as he’s hoisted up the two steps. the front door slams behind them.
“is he drunk?” yuuji blurts, already stepping in the way, trying to peer up at choso’s face.
“yuuuuji,” choso slurs, head lolling toward him, cheeks flushed an ugly shade of pink.
“yuuji, grab some water for him,” sukuna cuts in, already moving, arm hooked tight around choso as he drags him further into the house. he doesn’t make it past the hallway when—
“wait—” choso chokes, eyes widening, hand coming up weakly, “i’m gonna puke—”
“shit—”
sukuna doesn’t hesitate. he yanks him sideways, practically hauling him into the bathroom and shoving him down in front of the toilet just in time. choso barely gets his hands on the seat before he’s throwing up. loud. violent. his whole body jerks with it, his shoulders heaving as he gags, groaning in between, completely gone.
sukuna stands over him for a second, jaw tight, watching him?, then he crouches down, hand bracing his shoulder so he doesn’t tip forward.
“fuckin’ idiot,” he mutters under his breath, but it lacks bite.
choso retches again, weaker this time, whimpering slightly when it finally slows.
and sukuna frowns…all he can see is himself. his chest tightens. a small, ugly part of him twists with something that feels too close to guilt. why the fuck is he like this? why is choso trying to prove anything at all at some shitty high school party?
her.
the image hits him out of nowhere. sharp. intrusive. his step-mother’s face, her voice, the way she worms her way into everything. the way she still haunts him, and now choso… his jaw clenches so hard it aches. he wants to rip the thought out of his own head.
“i don’t…” choso mumbles weakly, voice slurring into itself. his head drops against his arm, propped on the toilet seat. “i don’t wan’ you-you being mad…”
sukuna stills.
choso’s brows knit together, drunk mind scrambling, trying to hold onto something that’s floating. “i don’t… mom is… she’s my mom… i just—” his voice cracks.
choso’s a sad drunk.
his eyes gloss over, unfocused, bottom lip trembling slightly as he breathes unevenly. “i wanna talk to my mom…”
something in sukuna snaps tight in his chest. his jaw sets hard. he doesn’t say anything. he can’t when choso’s vulnerable like this. but his grip tightens just slightly on choso’s shoulder.
no.
that woman is not getting anywhere near him. near any of them. doesn’t matter how much choso cries. doesn’t matter how much he fucking asks or begs. the answer will always be no. she’s a fucking cancer.
“here’s some water,” yuuji pipes up, appearing in the doorway with a glass, then immediately recoils. “ewww.”
sukuna exhales through his nose, grabbing the glass without looking at him. “yeah, we’re not telling gramps.”
yuuji straightens a little, arms crossing like he’s being let in on something serious. “our secret?”
“m’not…” choso mumbles, but he obeys anyway, taking a few messy gulps before coughing, water dribbling down his chin.
“yuuji, go grab me the ibuprofen,” sukuna adds without looking up.
“got it,” yuuji nods, already darting off.
choso slumps back against the tub once he’s done, head tipping back, eyes barely open. sukuna reaches over, flushing the toilet and shutting the lid. choso keeps mumbling…
“i’m not… hic—m’not an idiot…”
yuuji reappears in the doorway, curious now, watching like it’s a show. sukuna glances up at him briefly, grabbing the bottle, before looking back at choso.
“i know how she waas…” choso continues, voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “why you left me and yuuji—”
sukuna’s jaw locks, hard. his expression doesn’t change, not when his brothers are right there. but the tension in his shoulders spikes, something heavy settling behind his eyes and over his chest, as he stares at choso.
and for a second he doesn’t know what the fuck to say.
choso’s eyes well up, slumping even more as his knee comes up. his face presses into his arm, hair falling over his face in a tangled mess. “but she…”
yuuji steps closer, small brows knitting together as he leans toward sukuna. “who’s she?” he whispers.
sukuna exhales through his nose. “no clue.” he straightens, already reaching down to haul choso back up. “let’s get him to bed.”
it’s messy. choso barely helps, weight sagging into sukuna as he drapes an arm over his shoulders. sukuna adjusts his grip, one hand firm at his side, the other keeping him upright as they shuffle down the hallway. sukuna basically lifting him the entire way.
“move,” sukuna mutters.
yuuji is already ahead of them, darting into choso’s room. he kicks a pile of clothes out of the way, yanking the blanket back.
sukuna lowers choso onto the bed with a quiet grunt, guiding him down instead of dropping him. choso immediately curls in on himself, still mumbling, words slurring into nothing.
“turn,” sukuna orders, nudging his shoulder until choso rolls onto his side. he adjusts him without much patience, but careful enough, one arm tucked, head angled. sukuna adjusts one of the throw pillows behind choso’s back. he groans, but settles. sukuna pulls the blanket over him, tugging it up to his shoulder.
for a second, he just stands there. watching.
yuuji edges closer, peering up at sukuna’s face, then back at choso. “it’s not good that he was drinking, right?”
sukuna stifles a yawn, dragging a hand down his face, but his mind is still stuck, looping on choso’s words.
“no,” he mutters. “it’s not good.”
yuuji shifts, frowning. “then why aren’t you mad?”
sukuna doesn’t answer right away. his eyes stay on choso, something tight pulling low in his chest before he finally says, quieter, “i’m upset.”
yuuji’s expression softens almost instantly. he leans into sukuna’s side without thinking, small and warm. sukuna’s hand comes up automatically, rough palm settling on his head before ruffling his hair.
“i’m gonna stay in ’ere with him,” sukuna says, nudging him gently toward the door. “so go play.”
yuuji stumbles a step from the push, but stops at the doorway, hesitating. his lips press together, jaw tightening just a little. “aren’t you gonna play? you said you would.”
sukuna drops into the old lounge chair in the corner with a low grunt, legs spreading out, shoulders heavy as he sinks back into it. he barely spares him a glance. “i gotta watch choso.”
“but he’s sleeping,” yuuji argues quietly.
sukuna’s gaze flicks back to choso. “he’s drunk as shit. you want him choking on his vomit?”
yuuji’s face scrunches. “no.” his voice is small.
“we’ll play tomorrow,” sukuna says, already closing his eyes, tone coming off more dismissive than he intended or even thought about.
yuuji lingers for a second longer, then disappears down the hall. the room goes quiet. just choso’s uneven breathing. the faint hum of the house. sukuna sinks deeper into the chair, head tipping back, eyes shut. his body aches in that dull, heavy, almost like he’s expecting something that’s inevitably coming…
his step-mother. his eyes shut, fuck everything is tangling together he must have drifted at some point, barely asleep, barely conscious, because the sudden buzz of his phone cuts through it like a blade. punishing him for the delusion that he had a little bit more time.
he fishes his phone out of his pocket, blinking at the screen.
toji.
———
you quickly grab the handle of your apartment building before you trip again. a light laugh escapes as a hand holds your waist steady.
“you sure you’re okay?” shoko asks, other hand coming up to her face. her head is spinning.
you mutter out something, fishing for your keys. shoko sways, waiting patiently, along with the halted uber with the rest of the gang inside, well except for higurama who left once you all got in the uber, and utahime and yuno…
“okayokay I’m inside, byebye!”
you’re stumbling into your apartment, drunk as hell, the door barely shutting behind you before you’re already kicking your shoes off across the floor. your balance wobbles, fingers clumsy as they fumble with the zipper of your jeans, a quiet huff leaving you when it snags for a second before finally giving.
you peel them off with far less grace than you’d like, stepping out of them and leaving them abandoned somewhere behind you. your top follows, dragging it over your head, then your bra—gone just as quickly, tossed without care. the apartment is warm, it’s thick with that early summer heat, and your skin practically sighs in relief as you’re left in nothing but your panties.
you don’t even bother covering yourself. your body is loose, uncoordinated. your chest rises and falls a little deeper than usual, and with every step, there’s that soft, natural movement. your bare skin warm, your body relaxed in a way it only gets when you’re like this. the moment you reach your bed, you collapse onto it.
your phone slips from your hand, bouncing once against the sheets as you roll onto your side, face pressing into the pillow. your lashes flutter lazily as the screen lights up beside you. notifications stacking from family group chats, names you don’t have the energy to read right now.
but one name floats to the front of your mind. one. and before you can even think it through, your fingers are already moving.
the phone rings. once. twice. then—
“hello?”
his voice is rough. low, edged with sleep, and something else you can’t quite place in your state.
you shift slightly, your phone resting near your cheek, heat spreading there as you breathe out, “ryo…”
there’s a pause. then a quiet hum on his end, fabric shifting as he moves. “you just got home?”
you answer with a soft, tired hum, eyes slipping half-shut. your lips part slightly as you exhale, tongue darting out to wet them without thinking. your head feels lighter now, the alcohol settling into something softer, slower, but it leaves your voice like honey, sweet, drawn out.
on the other end, sukuna’s jaw tightens.
“are you upset?” you ask, absent, like the thought just wandered into your head and out your mouth.
“why would i be upset?”
you make a small sound, barely there. “dunno… you just sound… like it,” you murmur, sighing into your pillow.
there’s a brief silence.
“you should get some sleep,” sukuna says, more abrupt now. a little colder, but it barely registers through the haze.
“I wan’ed to uh…” you yawn, words slurring together. “m’ gonna go home.”
his tone shifts instantly. “where the fuck are you now?”
you hum, too slow, too tired to match his urgency. “mmm… i mean… to my parents… next week,” you mumble. “i’m gonna do the hospital thing.”
he hesitates. you can’t see it, but he does, because last time, you shut that conversation down fast. hell, he doesn’t even know why you’re telling him this, so now he just… waits.
on your end, your breathing softens. a quiet, shaky exhale leaves you as your fingers curl slightly into the sheets. “i…” you swallow, eyes stinging faintly. “that’s okay, right?”
his breath catches, just barely. what is it with drunk people tonight…
“…yeah,” he says finally, quieter. not fully understanding the entire context, but answering anyway.
you don’t question the way you relax just a little.
“o…kay,” you murmur, softer now. then… “i wish… you were here.”
there’s a beat. and then, his lip quirks faintly, voice dipping. “so you can fuck yourself on me?”
you let out a light, airy laugh, barely there, bringing the phone closer, like his voice could comfort you the way his body does. “yeah…”
a pause. then softer, unguarded… “you always make me feel good, ryo.”
and he stills. completely.
shit.. he exhales, slow. his hand drags up his face as his head tips back against the chair. the room is quiet only broken by the faint shift of choso on the bed and the distant hum of the house settling at night. the silence only makes the way his chest is beating just a little louder in his ears.
“ryo,” you breathe again, even softer this time. he hums, voice even, steady. on the other end, your lashes grow too heavy to fight. your lips part slightly as your voice slips out, barely there, “g’night.”
there’s no response. not right away. because by the time he opens his mouth, you’re already gone your breathing evens out, soft and slow through the phone, quiet enough that he almost misses it at first. but then it settles into a rhythm, steady, warm, unmistakable. you fell asleep. still on the call.
sukuna doesn’t hang up. he just… listens. eyes still closed, head tipped back, phone pressed loosely to his ear as your breathing fills the silence on his end. it’s strange, how something so small manages to take up so much space in his head.
his mind drifts. back to the last time he saw you. saturday afternoon. less than 48 hours ago. the way he’d rushed out of your apartment without looking back, already halfway gone before the door even shut behind him. this is the first time you’ve called him like this and he didn’t show up. didn’t end with him pushing you into a mattress, didn’t end with his hands on you, your voice in his ear for a completely different reason.
if he was still on campus, he would’ve came. no question. but he’s not there. and somehow…that makes this feel different. a kind of different he doesn’t sit with for too long. doesn’t want to sit with. so he pushes it down, like he does everything else and focuses instead on the sound of you breathing—soft, steady—and he finds himself annoyed for a reason he doesn’t fully unpack.
he should be hearing it closer. your breathing against his ear, against his chest. your body warm, tucked into him the way it always ends up.
you said you wish he was there because he makes you feel good. his jaw tightens slightly. you make him feel good too. too fucking good. and with everything else tangled in his head, his family, choso, her, his call before this, the future—you’re the only thing that’s pretty simple. you don’t shift. it’s the routine. the sex. you. and it’s something he can actually count on.
his grip tightens faintly around his phone, thumb pressing against the edge of it as he exhales again, slower this time. summer stretches out in front of him. and in the quiet of that room, with your breathing in his ear and everything else sitting heavy in his chest, all he can think is:
summer is going to be hell.
— THREE WEEKS LATER —
the field sits just off the small town’s coast. the air tastes like salt and the wind carries the distant crash of waves. it’s late afternoon, sun still high, heat clinging to everything and sukuna is drenched.
sweat slicks down his chest, dragging along the hard lines of muscle, catching in the dips of his collarbones before trailing lower. his back is worse, broad, defined, and every movement is pulling the ink stretched across his skin. the tattoos curl over his shoulders, down his back, around his biceps. and his hair is damp, sticking slightly to his forehead, breath heavier from drills, but controlled.
people notice. a couple women slow their walk along the path by the beach, voices dropping as their eyes linger. some just outright staring.
sukuna jogs up to the benches, grabbing the water bottle toji tosses his way without breaking stride. the plastic cracks slightly under his grip before he twists it open, taking a long drink, water spilling down his throat, over his chin, dripping onto his chest.
“anything?” he asks, voice rougher now.
toji doesn’t answer right away, just hands him the folder.
sukuna takes it, flipping it open with one hand. “what’s this?”
beside him, shiu kong flicks ash from the cigarette hanging off his lip, leaning forward slightly as he talks. “background check on her partner came back clean. his money’s real, and his business checks out.”
sukuna’s eyes scan the pages. bank statements. employment records. a couple photos clipped in.
“those three years she disappeared?” shiu continues, “she spent em in china for about a year. then the rest in the UK.”
sukuna flips a page. his brows pull together slightly. “so?” he mutters.
toji exhales through his nose, scratching at his chin. “yeah, shiu, i thought you’d come back with somethin’ we can actually use.”
shiu snorts quietly. “you didn’t read all of it,” he shuts toji up. sukuna keeps reading, slower now. there’s a pause. then shiu tilts his head, cigarette shifting between his lips. “it doesn’t look like she went overseas just to hide from those lawsuits.”
sukuna’s eyes flick up briefly. “what d’ya mean?”
shiu leans back slightly, more relaxed than the tension building in front of him. “after she got out of jail, she worked at that loan company job for about a year, that’s where she got tied up with the lawsuit.”
“i know that part,” sukuna cuts in, flipping another page. “that’s all you fucking gave us a million weeks ago.”
“yeah, well,” shiu shrugs, ignoring the aggression. “one of the clients she was stealing from wasn’t just some idiot with bad credit and needed a loan.”
toji’s brows lift slightly, sitting up and waving sukuna to hand him back the folder,
“the guy had some connections,” shiu continues. “small operations, but enough to make things messy. when the lawsuit started closing in, he’s the one that got her out.”
sukuna’s jaw tightens.
“paid for her to leave the country,” shiu adds. “china first. she worked under him there, nothing flashy. looks like she was just working as a personal accountant and was moving around money, setting up accounts under different names. it’s pretty clean to not get caught, but if someone looks closer the numbers are just off.”
toji reads through the last few pages. they were thinner. notes, partial records, but not enough to actually start any shit with her.
“and the UK?” toji asks.
shiu shrugs again. “that’s where she met her new guy. your step-mom’s got a type, men with money and enough ego to overlook the rest.”
toji huffs a quiet laugh at that. sukuna doesn’t. he’s still staring at the page in toji’s hands, arms crossed over his chest.
“she cut ties with the china contact once she secured her new situation,” shiu adds. “so she got a completely clean slate with this guy. or as clean as she could manage. she started working for him as an accountant, still works for him, but dating now.”
toji glances at him. “it’s something.”
“it’s not enough,” sukuna snaps immediately. his patience has been shot for weeks. watching choso. waiting. thinking.
“we can push this on her,” toji starts, leaning forward, “and bring up the lawsuit again, tie it with this—”
“she’ll deny it,” sukuna cuts him off.
“then we—”
“she’ll deny it,” sukuna repeats, sharper this time, eyes flicking up, irritation clear. “and she’ll try an get choso, and he’s fucking desperate to give her a chance. no. you said we’d make her leave for good, so this is all fucking shit!”
sukuna runs a hand through his damp hair, exhaling hard through his nose, chest rising and falling heavier now.
“i need something more concrete,” he mutters. “something she can’t fucking, snake her way out of like a fucking cockroach.”
“i can look into that china contact,” shiu says simply. “I’ve got some people that can ask around.”
toji glances at sukuna, jaw setting before he nods. “yeah, that’s good.”
sukuna doesn’t respond. his eyes are staring up, jaw tightening. the ocean crashes in the distance. he doesn’t make a move once shiu leaves. not until toji is clearing his throat.
“i don’t know what you’re expecting.”
sukuna feels something harden inside. eyes deadly sharp as they glare at his long time friend and coach.
“you think we’re gonna uncover some body with her fingerprints on them?”
sukuna tsks, rolling his eyes, “shut the fuck up.”
“I’m jus’ asking.”
“you’re being a fucking dick!” sukuna’s voice pierces the air, chest heaving. his heart pounds against his ribs, blood flowing in his ears. “she started messaging me, and we don’t have shit.”
toji’s gaze takes in the twenty-three year old, a small, but strong, string tugs in his chest as he remembers when he was thirteen. his jaw tightens. “i talked to wasuke, we both agree you should go.”
sukuna’s eyes snap up. harsh. mean. “what?”
“accept the offer, and go train with the team. it’s not the same club that asked you when y’ were in high school, but this is what you’ve been workin’ for. I’ll deal with shit here.”
a sudden fury crashes full force into the man. “you have no clue what the fuck I want—i want this shit to go away. if ya think I’m pissed because of the offer, I’m not. I’m pissed that I don’t have shit on that woman when you fucking told me to trust your dipshit friend!” sukuna’s words bite the air.
“yeah sure,” toji sighs. sukuna’s easily setting him off the more he pushes back.
sukuna snarls, eyes dark, his head tilts, sizing up the thirty-two year old coach. “ya have more to say?”
his vein snaps.
toji’s suddenly standing right in front of him, close enough that the heat from sukuna’s skin hasn’t even cooled yet. emerald eyes dark, steady, not backing down. for a second, it looks like it could tip. like sukuna might start something.
his shoulders are tight, chest still rising hard, jaw locked so tight it aches. the vein in his neck ticks, pulse loud in his ears, everything in him might snap in seconds. but toji doesn’t move. doesn’t flinch.
“yeah,” he says, voice lower now. calmer, but not softer. “i do.”
sukuna’s lip curls slightly, head tilting just enough to show teeth. “then say it.”
toji exhales through his nose. “you’re losing control like a fucking kid again.”
heavy silence follows. then sukuna lets out a dry, humorless huff. “watch your mouth.”
“or what?” toji shoots back immediately. “you gonna swing at me?” that almost does it. sukuna’s fist flexes at his side, fingers twitching like they’re deciding whether or not to hit his fucking coach. “you’re pissed,” toji continues, cutting through before he can react, “and I’m not blaming you. but you’re acting like you can fix this overnight.”
“i can fix it,” sukuna snaps.
“no,” toji fires back just as fast, “you can’t.” his words hit, it’s how sure he sounds. sukuna’s eyes darken, something sharp flashing behind them. “you don’t have enough yet,” toji goes on, voice steady, and grounded making sukuna seethe. “and you forcing it isn’t gonna make it show up faster.”
“so i just sit around for another fucking month?” sukuna bites out. “wait for her to walk in and fuck everything up again!?”
“you think hovering over choso every second is gonna stop that?” toji counters. “you’re burning yourself out for nothing.”
sukuna scoffs, stepping forward this time, closing the already small space between them, eyes deadly to anyone other than the very man he’s targeting. “you don’t get to tell me how to handle my family.”
toji’s jaw tightens. “i’m not. i’m tellin’ you, you’re gonna fuck up your future if you keep this up.”
there’s that word again. future. sukuna’s expression twists instantly.
“don’t start,” he warns, low.
“you think this offer’s just gonna sit there and wait for you?” toji presses anyway. “you’ve been busting your ass for this since you screwed up and got—“
“i said don’t—”
“and by some fucking miracle you managed to get an offer again,” toji cuts him off, sharper now, voice much louder, “and you’re ready to throw it because of her!?”
that’s it. sukuna shoves him. it’s full force. enough to break the line they’ve been holding. toji stumbles back, just to block a swing from sukuna. his arm hooks with the kid, locking him up as sukuna grunts, not fighting back with the amount of strength he started with.
“don’t,” sukuna says, voice rougher now, chest heaving again in the hold. “don’t fuckin’ act like you’re responsible for me.”
toji grits, muscles flexing. “I’m not tryna act like your guardian angel,” he starts, his words coming out careful…almost hesitant thinking about the right words to describe his bond with the itadori family. “but I know what it looks like when you let your past decide everything for you.” his grip tightens around sukuna’s arm, almost hugging him, except for the way sukuna’s arm is forcefully trapped between their bodies, and the other is locked against his back. “i screwed up, not you.”
sukuna’s jaw tightens again, but this time there’s something else under it. something sharper, old wounds stinging.
“i said i’ll deal with it,” toji adds. sukuna struggles momentarily, before toji lets go, letting sukuna fall back on the grass, sun beating harshly above them. sweat slides down sukuna’s chest, fists gripping the dirt.
sukuna doesn’t answer. his gaze fixes on the ground between his legs. white lines worn into the grass. the ocean beyond it, endless and loud. this is what he’s been working for. he knows that. but….his jaw clenches again.
“you can’t be in two places at once,” toji says, standing above him. “so decide where you want to be.”
another long silence stretches between them. wind picks up slightly off the water, cooling the sweat on sukuna’s skin, but it does nothing for the heat sitting under it. finally, he scoffs under his breath and looks away. his hand comes up, running through his damp hair again.
“i’m not done with this,” he mutters, more to himself than toji.
toji shakes his head.
sukuna doesn’t look back at him. doesn’t give him anything else. but the way his shoulders sit, the way his jaw won’t unclench, it’s clear he’s not letting it go. he just doesn’t know which fire to put out first.
the silence breaks with a loud cheer in the distance. it cuts clean through the tension and heat.
“SUMMMMMERRRRRR BREAAAKKKKK!!!!!”
the voice is unmistakable. sukuna exhales through his nose, head tipping slightly to the side as his arm drops just enough for him to see across the field.
yuuji.
already halfway across, sprinting like his life depends on it. megumi’s right behind him, trying his best to keep up, eyes set in on yuuji’s back in determination. somewhere between the halfway line and the benches, both their backpacks go flying off, hitting the grass with dull thuds. yuuji doesn’t even look back, and just runs faster.
sukuna’s head drops back again, eyes closing briefly, jaw tightening as he lets the noise wash over him, and pull him out of his own head for a second. and he knows what’s coming. he doesn’t move, but braces.
“RYOOO—!”
yuuji slams into him full force, arms hooking around his shoulders as he crashes down, laughing loud and bright. sukuna grunts, body shifting slightly from the hit, but his hand comes up automatically, gripping the back of yuuji’s shirt to keep him from face-planting into his chest.
“fuck you’re heavier—” sukuna mutters, voice rough, but there’s no bite to it.
yuuji laughs, already climbing onto him, half dangling off his shoulders as sukuna finally pushes himself up to stand. “we’re free! FINALLY!!”
megumi finally reaches them, bent slightly at the waist, breathing heavier than he’d like, shooting yuuji an annoyed look. “you cheated.”
“i didn’t!” yuuji fires back immediately, still clinging to sukuna like he’s part of him now
“you started early,” megumi argues.
“did not!”
sukuna clicks his tongue, rolling his shoulders once as he stands fully, yuuji still hanging off him like dead weight. “both of you are fucking annoying.”
toji snorts quietly from the side, reaching out to ruffle megumi’s hair. the kid lets him, even if he rolls his eyes a second later, already distracted again by yuuji’s loud arguing.
“you’re just mad you lost again,” yuuji adds, grinning. “you can never beat me in a race.”
“i didn’t lose.”
“you did—!”
“i said i didn’t—”
“yo yo yo!” the voice cuts in before it can escalate, loud and familiar as two more figures cross the field. gojo strolls up like he owns the place, blue shorts hanging low on his hips, white tee clinging just enough from the heat. beside him, geto moves slower, black tee, baseball cap low over his eyes, hands shoved casually into his short pockets. gojo’s grin widens the second he gets a good look at sukuna.
“damn,” he lets out, dragging the word. “you look like shit.”
geto huffs a quiet laugh, eyes flicking over sukuna’s drenched frame. “you’ve been out here all day?”
sukuna doesn’t answer right away. he just grabs the hem of his shorts, tugging them slightly where they cling, sweat still dripping down his torso, catching along the lines of muscle, the ink on his skin darker from it, a tan already forming.
“what gave it away?” he mutters dryly.
yuuji is still draped over him, completely unbothered, arms locked around his shoulders like he’s not planning on letting go of his older brother anytime soon. “he’s been training like crazy,” he chimes in proudly, like it’s his accomplishment.
gojo leans in slightly, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. “yeah, no shit. he looks like he just crawled out of a fight.”
“lost, probably,” geto adds under his breath, glancing at toji who’s uncharacteristically lost in thought behind megumi.
sukuna scoffs, finally shifting his shoulder just enough to jostle yuuji. yuuji only laughs, tightening his grip like a damn leech. “can we play a game with you guys?” he asks, already bouncing with energy.
sukuna drags a hand through his damp hair, strands sticking to his forehead and temples, sweat still tracking down the sharp lines of his throat. his chest rises slow, controlled, muscles still tight from drills, veins faintly visible along his forearms, and v-line. “get off my back,” he mutters, voice rough.
yuuji drops immediately.
“I call being on ryo’s team!!” yuuji cheers, sliding in at sukuna’s side. for a second, it cuts through everything, the tension, the heat, the lingering frustration.
sukuna huffs, faint smile ghosting his lips. he ruffles the kid’s hair, rough but familiar. “yeah, yeah.”
gojo claps his hands together, already grinning like an idiot. “well, me and meg—”
“I’m with suguru,” megumi cuts flatly, already stepping toward geto without even looking at gojo.
there’s a beat. then sukuna snorts. geto does too, low and amused, adjusting his cap as his eyes flick between them.
gojo’s face twists in pure betrayal. “what the hell?!”
the ocean breeze rolls through the field, tugging at their loose shirts and damp hair, carrying the sound of distant waves, and the very obvious attention of people lingering along the edges. a few girls pause mid-walk, eyes dragging over the group, not subtle.
sukuna stands there shirtless, skin tan and sun-warmed, slick with sweat. his tattoos stretch across his chest and wrapping down his arms, and around his thick thighs. every movement pulls something sharp and defined beneath his skin. beside him, geto’s build is just as unfair, broad shoulders, dark shirt clinging slightly before he peels it off, exposing toned muscle and smooth skin. his silver chain catches the light, muscles flexing as he reties his long hair. and then there’s gojo, tall, bright, obnoxiously pretty, who yanks his shirt off with zero shame, tossing it aside like he knows exactly how many eyes just followed the motion, and his muscles were no joke.
“i’m not sitting out,” gojo declares, already walking backward onto the field. “we’re doing three on three. coach, you’re in.”
toji just exhales through his nose, rolling his shoulders like he expected this the second they showed up.
“be on our team!” yuuji immediately points at gojo, beaming.
gojo lights up like he just got chosen for something life-changing. “finally—someone that finally sees my value.”
that lasts about two seconds
“you’re goalie,” yuuji adds brightly. sukuna lets out a sharp laugh, head tipping back for a second. geto laughing louder across from them.
gojo freezes. “what the hell?!”
“well i’m playing,” yuuji says, like it’s obvious, gesturing between himself and sukuna. “and me and ryo are a team—”
“i play with him all the time!” gojo cuts in, scandalized.
yuuji scrunches his face, brutally honest. “yeah but…you guys hate each other.”
there’s a pause.
“…that’s not—” gojo starts, then stops, jaw ticking, and veins straining. he groans anyway, dragging himself toward the goal with exaggerated misery, muttering under his breath the whole time. sukuna and geto watch him go, lips twitching.
on the other side, toji doesn’t argue when he gets shoved into the same position for megumi and geto’s team. he just cracks his neck once, slow, eyes already tracking the field, mind anywhere but the game.
as the teams settle and the heat clings to their skin, the game starts off light. it’s almost easy. the ball moves quick between them, laughter cutting through the salt-heavy air as yuuji and megumi try to outdo each other, their smaller frames darting across the field with reckless energy. geto plays loose, smooth with it, backing megumi with an ease that makes it look effortless, while sukuna shadows yuuji, letting the kid take the lead, stepping in only when needed. for a moment, it feels normal. just a summer game.
gojo, unfortunately, blocks almost everything. he stretches out in the goal, long muscular limbs moving with lazy precision, talking shit the entire time. “stupid fucking game.”
and every now and then he lets one slip—on purpose—just enough for megumi to make a few shots, to keep him from scowling too hard. but toji doesn’t do the same. every shot yuuji takes, every burst of effort, gets shut down hard. clean catches. sharp deflections. not even a hint of mercy. and slowly, that grin on yuuji’s face starts to strain.
and that’s when sukuna shifts, a scowl pulls at his mouth. it’s subtle at first. he puts a little more force behind his kicks, losing patience. and then it builds faster, he feels something heavier sitting under his skin. and his focus drifts, between yuuji, the goalpost and everything else. the offer.
fuck!
the weight of this shit summer presses behind his eyes. and toji is just standing there, catching everything like it’s nothing. like sukuna isn’t trying hard enough. his jaw tightens as he drives the ball again, and again. harder each time, forcing plays, and, pushing past those friendly match into something rougher, more aggressive. geto notices. gojo definitely notices.
but sukuna doesn’t stop until the game ends just as messy and close and yuuji’s team barely scraping the win
the field immediately breaks into noise with yuuji and megumi arguing over fouls, both talking over each other with flushed faces and wild gestures.
“we already called that as offside,” yuuji shouts, shaking his head.
megumi scoffs, pointing, “you couldn’t even explain the offside rule to me a month ago!”
“doesn’t matter!”
sukuna’s barely listening as he grabs a towel and drags it over his face, and chest. sweat drips down his jaw, his torso and back gleaming under the sun. his free hand shoves a bottle into yuuji’s chest.
“drink,” he mutters. yuuji obeys without question, still mid-argument as he chugs.
gojo strolls over, dramatic as ever, wiping at his neck with a grimace. “this sweat is from the sun, not from a workout,” he complains, like he wasn’t just throwing himself around ten seconds ago. “fucking waste of an hour,” he adds, slapping his sunglasses on and stretching his arms behind his head.
the frat president is completely oblivious to the mini crowd off the field, until he turns his head to feel a gust from the ocean. that’s when he catches a couple girls nearby staring. his lip curls on instinct and easily flashes them a grin, and a lazy wave.
geto snorts under his breath beside him, adjusting his cap, equally as drenched. sukuna doesn’t care. his eyes are already elsewhere. specifically on the man he was arguing you with earlier.
toji stands near the benches, turned slightly away, phone pressed to his ear. his posture different. sukuna bites down on his jaw, something tightens in his chest. ‘I’ll handle it’ my ass.
his gaze flicks back to yuuji, still arguing, “why isn’t choso with you?”
yuuji doesn’t glance away from megumi, “i dunno, i walked here from school.”
“i told choso to bring ya over, gramps wanted a quiet friday,” sukuna frowns.
“he’s probably practicing. the competition is tomorrow,” yuuji thinks.
that rips gojo’s attention away from the girls, “ohh damn! that’s the battle of the bands thing right?”
yuuji nods, beaming as he recalls how much choso has been talking about it, “cho showed me a couple videos from the other bands that signed up, and they’re sooooo lame compared to him!”
sukuna listens. choso’s been practicing almost every night, usually at ino’s place since gramps would get cranky. but before kaori rose from dead over three months ago, choso was updating sukuna around the clock, including—
“i guess he found a way to pay the submission fee,” gojo tosses so casually it almost passes,.
sukuna’s brows pinch, head turning slightly. “how d’ya know about the submission fee?”
gojo blinks, like it’s obvious. “choso told me,” he shrugs, wiping sweat from the back of his neck. “back in april. remember when he ditched school and came to the house? kid was stressin’ about it.”
sukuna stills, “…he told you that?”
“yeah,” gojo hums, a little smug now. “said he was tryna handle it himself. didn’t wanna ask you ‘cause you’ve got,” he gestures vaguely, “your whole thing going on. y’know. life crisis, anger issues, whatever.”
geto snorts under his breath. yuuji is still arguing with megumi, completely oblivious. but sukuna doesn’t hear any of it. his jaw tightens, something cold slipping down his spine, because choso never said a word to him. not once. not about money. not about struggling, not about needing help.
and then it clicks.
a month ago the house had been quieter than usual. it was when sukuna stopped by on the weekend before the last week of classes and finals. gramps was out, yuuji was inside with megumi and nobara. sukuna had just come back from talking with toji, when he heard it, music bleeding out from the garage.
he hadn’t meant to stop, but he did. he leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, he watched through the cracked door. choso stood in the middle of the cluttered space, guitar slung low, hair tied back messily. ino was adjusting something on an amp while the others tuned, voices overlapping in the garage.
“we still need the fee by next week,” ino mentions.
“i know,” choso muttered, fingers dragging through his hair. “i’m working on it.”
“you gonna ask your brother?”
choso’s head snapped up immediately. “no.”
too fast. too sharp.
“why not? he could literally—”
“i said no.” choso’s voice cut through the garage, firm, and defensive. “i’ll figure it out.”
there’d been a pause. awkward tension between the boys.
“…you sure?”
choso exhaled, shoulders dropping just a little, but he didn’t look back at them. just adjusted his grip on the guitar. “he’s got enough shit going on,” he said, quieter now. “i don’t need to add to it…I’ll have my half by June.”
and that was it. they moved on and started playing again. and sukuna left before they finished the song. competition’s usually cost around three hundred dollars. if he can’t figure it out himself, he’ll eventually ask his older brother for help. he always does…
but now, back on the field, the ocean air feels heavier. his tongue presses hard against the inside of his cheek.
“he didn’t say anything to me,” sukuna mutters, more to himself than anyone else.
gojo tilts his head. “yeah…i figured.”
and that makes something in sukuna’s chest twist, sharp and ugly. because now the timeline lines up too cleanly. kaori showing up. choso being curious about her. the fee. choso needing money. choso asking him to talk to her. and then— that bank transfer.
his gaze drops, jaw locking as the pieces start to settle into place in a way he really, really doesn’t like.
did he meet with kaori?
———
the house is quiet when sukuna gets back. it’s late—past midnight—and the only light on is the dull flicker from the tv in the living room. the front door clicks shut behind him, the smell of alcohol and citrus still clinging faintly to his clothes from his summer job at the bar. his shoulders ache, muscles heavy from the day, but his mind is louder than anything else.
the news drones on. wasuke sits in his usual spot, hunched slightly forward, a blanket thrown over his legs despite the summer heat. he doesn’t look over when sukuna walks in. he pauses for a second, then drops onto the couch beside his gramps with a low exhale, elbows resting on his knees, mind anything but calm. the only thing he could think about during his late shift was choso asking kaori for money.
“…how do you think choso’s doing?” his deep voice breaks the silence.
wasuke grunts, unimpressed. “you’re the one hovering over him like a leech.”
“you are,” wasuke cuts him off, finally glancing at him. his eyes are sharp, even through the fatigue. “kid can’t breathe without you watching him while he shits.”
sukuna scoffs quietly, looking away. his jaw tightens, tongue pressing against his cheek. “he’s ignoring me still.”
“so let him.” the response is immediate, and it makes something in sukuna’s chest twist. he leans back into the couch, arms crossing loosely, gaze drifting to the tv but not really seeing it. the silence stretches for a beat, filled only by the low murmur of the broadcast.
“…he didn’t tell me about the money,” sukuna says finally, voice low and rougher now. “for the competition tomorrow.” wasuke doesn’t react right away. just shifts slightly in his seat. “he found a way to get it,” sukuna adds, eyes narrowing faintly. “on his own.”
another beat.
“…and you’re mad about that.”
sukuna exhales sharply through his nose. “i don’t like not knowing where the fuck it came from.”
wasuke hums. “so ask him.”
“he’ll lie, he already lied.”
“then that’s his problem.”
sukuna’s head snaps slightly, irritation spiking. “it becomes my problem if he’s getting mixed up with—” he cuts himself off. jaw tensing.
“…with her?” his gramps asks, voice colder.
the word hangs there without being said. kaori. sukuna doesn’t answer. but he doesn’t need to, his silence does it for him.
wasuke exhales slowly, leaning back into the couch, eyes drifting back to the tv. “i told you i want nothing to do with that woman,” he mutters.
“i know.”
“then stop bringing her into this house without her even bein’ here.”
sukuna’s jaw clenches, fingers tapping once against his arm before going still. “i’m not bringing her anywhere. she’s the one tryna get to choso and yuu.”
“and you’re letting her.”
sukuna blood spikes, “what?! how am I letting her! you want me to pull the same shit you did for me and do nothing?!”
wasuke’s expression hardens…
kaori’s voice could slice through walls, through skin. and his father would just stand there…patient…useless. and she tore into everything. that house was a fucking hellhole.
but wasuke didn’t ask questions, or comment. he didn’t bat an eye when sukuna stayed the extra night when visiting, or when he eventually brought more bags and stayed permanently.
“…if it’s still unclear to you, I don’t want her fucking everything up again,” sukuna mutters, quieter now. the tv flickers. some anchor talking about something sukuna could care less about.
“you left when you were around his age,” wasuke continues, voice gruffer now, but steadier. “you made your choice. it was a good one.” a pause. “but those boys didn’t.”
sukuna’s eyes lower.
“you kept choso over longer when they’d visit on the weekends,” wasuke says. “yuuji doesn’t even remember half of it.” he shifts, blanket rustling. “you don’t get to make their choices for them now just because you think you know better.”
sukuna’s chest tightens, “i’m not—”
“you are,” wasuke interrupts again, harsher this time. “you’re scared—“
that makes sukuna’s head snap up. his eyes flash, in defensive, anger raging. “i’m not scared of her-“
“not of her,” wasuke says simply. “of what happens if you’re wrong.”
the room goes still. completely still….
what if choso did go to her? what if he wanted to? what if he likes her? sukuna’s jaw locks, a cold anger bubbling up inside, old wounds opening as he recalls how—
“…she’s not good for them,” sukuna says, voice low and certain.
wasuke doesn’t argue that, he just sighs, long and tired, rubbing a hand over his aged face. “yeah,” he says. “but locking ‘em up isn’t gonna make it go away either.” sukuna looks away again, jaw tight. “couldn’t teach you shit because whenever I’d tell ya to do something, you’d do the opposite.”
he doesn’t respond…why are teenagers so difficult?
“and let me know if you’re gonna go to that training thing overseas.”
sukuna’s head snaps. “how do ya know about that?”
wasuke doesn’t bat an eye. “choso saw it in yuuji’s room and asked me about it.”
sukuna’s jaw tenses, sinking further into the couch, muscles tightening and mind pounding. his gramps continues watching, eyes ahead as his short tempered grandson quietly sits beside him.
sukuna’s room is dark when he finally pushes the door open. empty and quiet since yuuji’s at megumi’s. sukuna drags a hand down his face, kicking the door shut behind him before peeling off his shirt, tossing it somewhere on the floor. his jeans follow, shoved down and discarded without care until he’s left in just his boxers. the fan hums lazily in the corner, warm summer air clinging to his skin, still faintly sticky from his shift.
he drops onto his bed with a low exhale, one arm thrown over his eyes for a second, then his phone’s in his hand. mindless, numb doom scrolling. his thumb flicks up, up, up tapping on the string of insta stories.
gojo with multiple stories from today. yuuji mid-sprint across the field, megumi scowling in the background, another of gojo grinning like an idiot with geto, toji somewhere behind them looking half-interested at best. there’s one of sukuna too—shirtless, sweaty, mid-play—clearly taken without him noticing.
he clicks his tongue.
next. geto reposted the same ones gojo had tagged him in. a few others of the soccer ball, and one of sukuna yelling and pointing at gojo.
he scowls. next— his thumb pauses mid-scroll. he taps before he can think about it. it’s a repost from shoko’s story. you’re sprawled out on a gurney, knocked out cold in your scrubs, one arm hanging off the side like you just gave up mid-shift.
his lip quirks faintly. then another photo, you and shoko again, except now you’re slumped over the counter in a bar, still dressed in scrubs, cheek pressed to your arm resting on the surface, and completely knocked out again.
“the fuck…” sukuna huffs under his breath. his thumb lingers on the photo, then he taps your profile. his eyes flick over your dashboard, clicking the most recent photo. he’d already seen it, you haven’t posted since winter break, but his eyes still linger on the photo. on your face. your lips. he scrolls through your dash again, tapping on your highlights in hopes of finding a photo that’ll get him going…
his room is quiet, no one present to see how he quietly stalks your page, hand resting just above his—
BUZZ
his phone slips—smacking him straight in the face.
“fuck—!” he groans, hand flying up to his face as he answers, irritation already bleeding into his tone.
“hello?” your voice comes through, soft, and a little unsure.
“what,” he huffs, rubbing his face.
there’s a shift on your end. fabric, maybe, moving. “are you busy right now?”
“no, it’s fucking one am,” he snaps automatically, voice rough with exhaustion.
“right,” you murmur, a small pause. “sounds like I got you at a wrong time though?”
“you didn’t,” he says, a little quieter.
your lips purse…then, “how’s your summer?”
sukuna’s brow quirks, shifting on his bed, one arm tucking behind his head as he stares at the ceiling. “you called to ask how I am?”
“well we haven’t talked in almost a month-ish,” you say, casual, because it is, neither of you batting an eye about it. but he can picture that little shrug you do. “so like…yeah. how are you?”
something in his chest shifts as he exhales through his nose, giving in anyway. “fine.”
“yeah?” there’s a small smile in your voice now. he hums. “I saw satoru’s story. you guys looked like you were having fun.”
“yeah,” sukuna mutters. “my brother’s are off for break now.”
“ooo, fun,” you say softly, the word stretching a little.
the conversation flows casually, too comfortable for either of you to notice. “you back home doing the hospital thing then.”
you hum, then with a slight pause, “yeah.”
he shifts again, phone pressed closer to his ear without realizing. “looks like you’re sleeping the whole time,” he teases lightly, voice low.
there’s a small scoff on your end, breathy. “shut up. those were like—very strategic naps.”
“on a fucking gurney?” he snorts.
“listen,” you start, a little defensive now, a little more awake. “those shifts suck, and if i don’t sleep when i can, i’ll actually kill myself.”
“dramatic.”
“I’m never dramatic,” you shoot back, then quieter, “I’m literally exhausted all the time.”
there’s a beat. sukuna’s gaze drifts to the ceiling again, something softer settling in his chest without permission. “…sounds like it,” he mutters.
there’s another pause, and it doesn’t feel awkward, it’s familiar, like no time has passed at all and yet it has. his fingers tap idly against his stomach, mind quieter than it’s been all night.
“…you hate it there?” he asks after a second, tone more neutral now, less bite.
your exhale comes slower this time, heavier. “yeah,” you mutter honestly, unaware of the way sukuna’s jaw shifts slightly. then there’s a slight shifting on your end again. “four more weeks of this,” you add.
sukuna doesn’t realize how much he actually wants to hear your talk, hear your voice, something calm settling in his chest as he hums, hoping you’ll continue talking, and luckily you do.
“the best part is shoko being here,” you talk mindlessly, voice soft, clear that you’re trying not to make a lot of noise.
“and the worst part?” sukuna pokes, earning a light snort from you.
“my dad hovering over my shoulder and interrogating me,” you sigh, “can you talk to me?”
his brow quirks, “we are talking, you called me.”
you frown, rolling your eyes, “yeah to have like a conversation about something that’s not this dumb program.”
“and I’m a great conversationalist,” sukuna’s tone is laced with sarcasm.
“the best,” you add on, smile lifting your lips when you hear him snort. he exhales, his breath moving through the speaker and right into your ear, reminding you when it was really pressed close to you, warm and gentle.
“i’ve been working at a bar,” sukuna starts, mind slowly piecing together what he should talk about.
“for real?”
“yeah, is that shocking,” he throws, voice steady, barely reacting.
“no, i can picture it,” you coolly reply.
“smartass.” sukuna exhales, then continues. “since we’re getting deeper into summer people are moving into their beach houses.”
“Oo fancy.”
and maybe it was the slight comments that allowed sukuna to continue rambling about some annoying customers, or it could be your little questions that eased the knots in his chest. but sukuna felt natural speaking, telling you about moments in the last three weeks. and even touching on a subject very sore to him…
“oh wow that’s great. I’ve haven’t gone to a battle of the bands competition since I was high school,” you say, peaking sukuna’s interest in seconds.
“you were part of a band?”
you shake your head, “no lol,” you laugh, “my boyfriend was.”
sukuna goes quiet for half a second? not long enough for you to clock it, but long enough for something sharp to flicker under his skin.
“boyfriend,” he repeats, tone flat, he doesn’t notice.
you hum lightly, shifting on your bed. “yeah, from high school.”
“hm.” there’s a pause again. not awkward, just…thicker now. he doesn’t ask why you broke up. doesn’t ask anything that obvious. he doesn’t care, but still… “you lose your virginity to him?” he asks, casual.
you blink at your ceiling, lips pressing together. “as if,” you pause, “i don’t think i actually liked him like that to let him go all the way.”
sukuna’s brow twitches faintly, “what, so he was just there?” he scoffs.
you let out a small laugh. “kinda. he was cool when he was part of the band, but i think he liked me more than i liked him…which made me feel kinda bad.”
“figures.”
you roll your eyes, even though he can’t see it. “whatever.” but you’re smiling.
there’s another pause, shorter this time, then he tilts his head slightly against his pillow, voice dipping just a bit. “so what’d you let him do?”
“kissing, a little touching over the clothes…i dunno,” you slowly begin to recall the memories from high school. “he was…cringey.” you hesitate, then add, “he was always talking, but didn’t do much of anything else.”
a quiet huff of amusement leaves him, his lips twitch up. “talking,” he echoes.
“yeah,” you sigh. “like—texting. sexting. all that.”
“and you didn’t like it?”
you shake your head instinctively, “it was so…” you cringe just thinking back about it. “cringey and boring.”
there’s a small shift on his end, sheets rustling as he sits up a little more against his headboard, phone tucked closer to his ear. “boring?” he repeats, slower now, voice dropping.
“yeah,” you mumble. “it just felt…fake. like i was supposed to say certain things, or react a certain way because he was getting off…just gave me the biggest ick.” you pause, then add quieter, “and it never did anything for me.”
there’s a slight pause as sukuna goes quiet again, then—
“…so what does?” his voice is rougher now, deeper, slipping into something more familiar.
you blink, heat creeping up your neck at the shift in tone. “…what?”
“you said it’s boring,” he continues, slow and deliberate. “so what isn’t?”
your breath hitches, just a little, and he hears it. of course he does. it’s the one thing he knows about you. you wet your lips, suddenly very aware of how you’re laying, how your voice sounds, how he sounds.
“…i don’t know,” you deflect weakly.
“that’s not an answer.”
“it is when i’m half asleep,” you mumble, heat settling in your stomach. the house is quiet. your room even more.
he huffs quietly, a faint edge of a smirk, “…so if i started talking,” he says, almost offhand, like it’s nothing, “you’d just get bored and hang up?”
your stomach flips, because you know what he’s doing, and he knows you know.
“…no,” you say, softer now. you hesitate then, quieter, honest without meaning to be, because why else did you call him…your mind had drifted to him, and you clicked his number without thinking twice… “keep talking to me.”
that’s all it takes. there’s a shift on his end, barely audible, but it feels like the air tightens between you through the phone. sukuna exhales slowly through his nose, heat crawling up his neck.
“yeah?” he murmurs. you hum, softly. he didn’t realize how much he enjoyed your voice, so he continues talking, voice deeper, the way he speaks when it’s just the two of you, and when you’re underneath him… “you don’t post a lot.”
your brow quirks, “like on instagram?” he hums. “were you stalking me?”
“was just on your profile after i saw your story, then your idiot self calls me,” he huffs remembering the way his phone smacked him in the face. he ignores the way he didn’t feel embarrassed telling you though.
you laugh, “i probably sensed it,” you tease. heat blooming across your cheeks. “you want me posting more?”
his breath hitches.
“I can post if you ask me nicely,” you coo through the speaker, voice warm and light. “what d’ya want to see, ryo?”
the man snorts, biting his lip at the tone in your voice. you’re not making it subtle at all that you want a little bickering this late at night.
“you’d post if i told you too,” he murmurs, slower. “since when do you listen to me.”
you smile into your pillow, cheek warm, fingers idly tracing the fabric of your sheets. “depends how you ask.”
something settles deeper in his chest. “…what’re you doing right now?” sukuna asks, voice lower, steadier, not rushed.
you swallow lightly. “…in bed.”
“yeah?” he hums, hand ghosting over his the subtle bulge in his boxers. “what’re you wearing.”
your lips part, wetting your bottom lip as you exhale, “not much,” you admit, softer now. “shorts.”
“panties?” he asks, and you shake your head making a little noise. “is that the real reason ya called?”
“no,” you mutter, not knowing whether that’s a lie or the truth. of course, the possibility lingered in your mind when you thought of him…then when you clicked his contact…especially after, “i had a long day…and some guy asked for my number.”
sukuna’s hand stills, body going rigid.
“and for some reason…it just made me think of you,” the confession filled the quiet space of your rooms. “but then…i wanted to know, if we still had an agreement together..?”
the question hangs in the air for a moment.
then sukuna shifts, biting back a smirk, “you can let other guys fuck you if you’re so horny.” you frown, chest tightening— “but i can tell you’re afraid they might get scared of ya.”
your lips part, but he doesn’t give you a chance to respond.
“you’ll tell em to go faster and they’ll try, then you’ll tell them to go harder and they’ll give ya a look, and then you’ll shake that pretty ass waiting for them to spank it, because you’ll never say how much ya like it out loud,” sukuna’s words flow easily, turning your stomach into knots, thighs pressing together. “isn’t that why you thought of me? i know how wet you’re getting just from my voice.”
your lips part in quiet shock, face burning.
“tell me how drenched your pretty little pussy is,” his voice scratches an itch deep in your core, a small whimper leaving your lips. your hand crawls into your shorts, biting your lip as your slick immediately coats your digits.
“you touching’ yourself?”
“Mhm,” your cute voice flows straight to his cock, his hand moves over his bulge again. “I’m wet, ryo.”
he bites back a groan, “you miss havin my voice pressed against your ear, tellin ya what to do?”
you can’t hold back the whine that barely escapes your throat, sending a wave of heat rushing down to his cock.
“take the shorts off, princess.” sukuna immediately hears the rustling of bedsheets from your end. his hand continues to stroke himself over his boxers. you settle back near the phone with a light exhale. “ya took em off?”
“yes,” you breathe, lips glossy.
“you miss havin’ me there with you?” he listens carefully as you whine softly into the phone. “answer me.”
“yes, i miss you,” you sigh, ghosting a finger over your folds. the light breeze of your bedroom sending a pool of heat between your legs.
“what d’you miss?”
you wet your lips, dipping a finger into your folds. “miss your hands touching me,” your voice softens, juices collecting on your finger, as you slowly drag it up to your clit. “miss when you’d stretch me out.”
sukuna’s jaw clenches, palm pressing against his fully erect cock. “can’t stretch y’rself?”
you make a noise that sends sukuna into orbit. “my fingers are too small.” you wet your lips as you continue playing with your clit, your breath growing heavy. “i hate touching myself.”
“hate’s a strong word,” he snorts, shoving his boxers down, unbothered by the how hard he is. he reaches over for the nightstand before pausing. “fuck.”
“what?” you fingers pause their movement,
sukuna sits back, cock twitching, “forgot I’m not in my room.”
your brow quirks, heart stopping, “where are you then?”
“I mean at the frat. my little brother took over my room here when I moved out,” he explains, biting his lip as he looks down at his cock. “so no lube.”
oh.
heat spreads across your face.
“wish i had your sweet pussy here to get me nice n wet,” sukuna bites. saliva collects in his mouth as he leans forward, and then he spits a fat glob, watching it land right on his engorged tip. “you’re all drenched now, aren’t you?”
your face stings. of course he knows how drenched you are.
“you like playing with your pussy?”
your lips part, finger rubbing tight circles on your clit as sukuna lets out a low grunt. you can hear the distant squelch of his hand moving up and down his cock.
“n-no,” you exhale, cheeks hot.
“no?”
“it’s boring haah,” you confess, but your actions are saying the opposite, especially with the added whine in the end.
sukuna squeezes his base, “it’s boring to touch y’rself talkin’ to me?”
you hum quietly, lips parting, breathless, and uncharacteristically shy. it was the fact that you’re only hearing his voice, when you’re used to seeing him, touching him, the bickering was mutual even if he’d have your ass bruised everytime you quip back…but this time…you’re unbelievably aware of the fact that you’re alone. and maybe that’s why his confidence was overheating your brain in a way that had you touching your poor clit a little quicker.
“even if I tell you how hard my cock is jus’ talking to you. that doesn’t do anything?”
your brain goes dizzy just thinking about sukuna’s thick chubby cock — you don’t even realize the pathetic whine that comes out of you.
“doesn’t make your cunt tighten around those fingers?”
your chest heats up, sweat building across your forehead. “I’m not using my fingers…”
sukuna pauses his strokes, thumb nail digging into his slit, turning his cock a darker shade. “you’re just rubbing that poor nub then?”
a mix of a hum and whine comes out. your fingers slow, mimicking the way sukuna would’ve been touching you, but…it’s not that same, not even close.
“push in a finger.”
your chest rises, legs parting. “mm’kay…” you leave your clit, fingers covered in your honey as you drag them lower, teasing your puckering hole. “it never feels good when I do it myself though,” you mutter.
sukuna twist his wrist up and down his cock. pre oozes down the veins and ridges, unbothered by the fact that it’s been a minute since he’s jerked off himself. the last time was when he was in your room—
he ignores you. “push a finger in, and keep rubbing your clit f’r me.”
you listen, gently pushing a finger in. the satisfying sensation of fullness doesn’t take you over, instead you’re whining softly, breathless as you rub your clit. “it doesn’t feel good ryo.”
“push your fingers deeper, and then ya gotta curl them until you feel that gummy part—“
“it all feels gummy,” you exhale, working your clit faster, not fully realizing your other hand is mimicking the way your fuck buddy fingers you. “haah I’m jus’—“ you suppress your moans, the speaker picking up every hitch in your throat, and quiet whine.
“you fingering yourself, baby?”
your lips part, working yourself more. “y-yea-haah..”
sukuna’s voice drops an octave, hand coming down to cup his heavy balls, working his cock faster. “atta girl.”
heat breaks out.
your glossy lips part, choked moans filling sukuna’s ear.
“keep going—ngh, y’er getting my cock so fucking hard,” he grunts, his biceps bulge, veins on his forearms flexing dangerously as he strokes himself aggressively. you whine a little more, his words making you clamp around your pathetic finger, your clit throbs as you rub tighter circles.
“y-you like my voice?” you don’t mean to make your voice that breathless, but it comes out either way. what you don’t expect is the choked groan that comes from the phone.
“fhuck,” one leg bends up, before butterflying out, fuck he misses your teasing. “you wanna get spanked for that?”
his lip quirks the moment you whine on instinct.
“knew you were a dirty fucking slut,” he grunts strokes picking up. images of your gorgeous face getting all flustered at his words appears in his mind. “ya like gettin’ punished.”
it wasn’t a question, but you still deny it with a cute huff from your end. “I don’t.”
“you do,” he states, tongue dragging across his lip, “you wish I had ya bent over my lap, spanking that pretty ass until ya start crying.”
you hate the way your skin burns, and his name falls from your lips. “I’ve never cried.” his loud, deep, laugh rattles through your speaker, sending a wave of heat to your face. your lips purse, finger curling inside you, but coming out just to rub your puffy clit quicker. “don’ ah laugh at me.”
“you’re a liar,” he snorts between laughs. his cock is throbbing, bulbous tip a dark shade of red as clear pre dribbles at the slit, sliding down the protruding veins and ridges. it was a filthy pathetic mess how hard he is. “fucking asking for a spanking now.”
“mmm not,” you pant, lips parting as you get closer, his voice the only thing your fixating on. “I’m not haah.”
“you’d still bend over if i asked,” he smirks at the soft whine that leaves your lips. “you’d also pull down your pants just to show me how wet your panties are.” your hand sneaks into your shirt, fingers twisting your nipple. “then you’d get embarrassed when I pinch your little clit through them, scolding you for getting all drenched when this should be a punishment.”
“fuuh…” you choke.
you’re so precious.
his grip tightens on his cock, jerking it harder, abs clenching at the knot coiling inside. “then you’d start crying when I start making ya count each spank.”
“I wouldn’t,” your lips are so wet, sukuna can practically hear how glossy they are.
“you’re so dumb when you get wet and needy, you don’t even realize you’re crying,” he coos, “I think ya do it on purpose.”
“I don’t.”
“you do,” sukuna’s grunt hits your ear. his hand is jerking his painful cock the squelching is so loud you can hear it. “you know how fucking hard it makes me.”
you whine at the admission, squirming as you draw closer to your relief. tongue poking out, panting into the mic. sukuna groans in response, his throat bops.
“seein’ you look at me, and I know there’s nothin else you’re thinking about except my cock,” he bites his lip at the image he’s conjuring up, just as you call his name, light and sweet. “fuck y’er close?”
“Mhm,” a breathless moan escapes. “gunna cum.”
“haah fuck same,” he keeps going, “fuuck I wanna kiss you so bad.”
you whine, legs trembling as you feel your orgasm start to come.
“miss my dirty girl cumming around my cock ngh,” his grunts aren’t as deep or loud, as they are when he’s fucking you. and that small detail sticks in your mind as you feel the searing white relief wash over you. the warmth floods through your body, slow and heavy, leaving your limbs loose against the sheets.
on the other end, sukuna’s groan comes out heavy and deep, hot ropes shooting onto his abs, hand stroking more cum our as he slowly goes quiet… breathing hard.
after a moment, he shifts, the faint rustle of fabric and movement carrying through the phone, and his head tips back against the pillow, eyes shut. his cock rests on his stomach, white thick cum all over his abs and happy trail. but…
his mind is blank for once. no kaori. no choso. no future clawing at his chest. just you. the sound of you, and it settles something in him in a way he doesn’t question, but just lets it happen, chest rising and falling slower now.
“…you fall asleep?” he mutters after a beat, voice rough, quieter than before.
you shake your head instinctively, even though he can’t see it, lashes fluttering as you stare at nothing. “no…just coming down,” you murmur, voice soft, airy, like you’re barely holding onto it. there’s a pause. then, almost sheepish, “kinda anticlimactic…”
he huffs a quiet laugh through his nose, glancing down briefly at the mess he made himself before dragging his clean hand over his face.
“yeah,” he agrees, voice gravelly, worn out from the day.
you roll onto your side, curling slightly into your pillow, phone pressed closer to your ear. neither of you says anything for a few seconds, just the quiet sound of each other breathing. an unspoken calmness easing you both.
on his end, you hear him shifting again, something soft brushing against fabric, the faint sound of movement as he cleans up without thinking much about it. it’s mundane, grounded, and real. and all you can think about is how different it would feel if he were actually here. how warm he’d be beside you. how easy it would be to just turn your head and press into him instead of speaking into a phone. your fingers curl into your sheets a little tighter at the thought.
“…you’re quiet again,” he murmurs, settling back in his bed, casually lifting his hips and pulling his boxers up.
“just tired,” you whisper back. there’s another pause, as sukuna hears you yawn, his eyes grow heavy. “I’m gonna go to sleep, but,” you yawn again, “send a video of your brother tomorrow.”
sukuna smiles, “gonna think about your ex?”
“as if,” you snort, “i rarely ever think about that guy.”
sukuna’s tucks an arm behind his head, “so you think about him?”
you yawn, rolling onto your stomach, “I’m gonna go to sleep now.”
sukuna doesn’t comment on the not-so-subtle deflection, he just lets the silence sit for a second longer before muttering a low, “g’night.”
you echo it back, softer. neither of you hangs up right away, but eventually the line clicks. and the room is quiet again.
he doesn’t move for a while after. he lays there, staring at the ceiling, phone still loose in his hand. the fan hums overhead, pushing around warm summer air lingering through the cracked window. everything feels…slower, quieter, his skin stinky from his orgasm. his mind isn’t clawing at him like it has been for the past three weeks. it’s dulled, softened at the edges, and annoyingly…it’s because of you.
your voice. the way you call his name. the way you needed him, even from miles away.
sukuna exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face before finally tossing his phone onto the mattress beside him. his eyes close not long after, body sinking heavier into the bed. and for once sleep comes easy.
the next morning hits hot. the heat sticks to his skin before the sun’s even fully up, and sukuna’s already running. shirtless, drenched in sweat, muscles pulling and flexing with every stride as he cuts along the stretch near the water. his breathing is steady, controlled, but his mind is anything but…it was yesterday, but he expected some information from toji, or shiu. and his gramps words all coming back to him.
everything loops and overlaps, and it presses in from every angle until his jaw is tightening and his pace picks up just a little more, trying to outrun his fucking head.
his shoulders are rising and falling as he slows, sweat dripping down the sharp lines of his chest, his back, and disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. a few early beachgoers glance his way—lingering longer than necessary—but sukuna barely registers it. his mind is still somewhere else. the day goes by like a clock.
every blink and he’s somehow in a new location.
he ends up, back home in the bathroom. shower running. mirror fogging. and somehow his phone is resting on the counter as he’s hunched over, finger swiping—and your profile pulled up.
he scrolls without thinking. his thumb flicking lazily through pictures, your face, your smile, the ones from your study abroad trip, the old ones from nights out. he even goes through your highlights again…he pauses on one. zooms in slightly. his jaw shifts.
“…fuck,” he mutters under his breath, head tipping back for a second like he’s annoyed at himself more than anything else. this is stupid. and yet, his hand won’t stop jerking his cock.
he needs you here.
his thumb taps your name before he can overthink it. the message bar blinks and he stares at it for a second. then types, quick, blunt, like it’s nothing.
send me a pic.
your lips purse as you glance at your phone. you and shoko, by some miracle have a weekend off, and that’s spent lounging in your basement. well, until you’re shifting your attention from the movie, to your phone screen.
what in the world…your fingers tap…
[1:08PM] crybaby: wdym a pic?
[1:08PM] dumbass: need some help with this
*attached photo*
your eyes bulge out of their eye sockets, phone slamming into your chest, hiding your screen, and head whipping up. shoko cranes her neck, focus on the movie still, but giving you a glance, “there wasn’t even a jumpscare.”
your eyes snap to her, “no, I just remembered i had to send my dad this one file…thing… from my—yeah give me one second.” you scramble up to your feet, heading to the stairs.
“you want me to pause—!?” shoko yells after.
within the blink of an eye, you’re back in your room, gawking at the lewd, perverted, uncalled for dick pic you were just sent.
you can recognize sukuna’s chubby engorged cock anywhere. heat crawls up your neck in seconds, the tuft of dark hair at the base and his hand wrapped around the monster, veins protruding and tip flushed red and leaking. your lips purse, controlling the way you feel your pussy clench.
[1:10PM] crybaby: u’re jerking off in the middle of the day?
[1:10PM] dumbass: yea so send a fucking pic so I can get off
[1:10PM] dumbass: ur ig is ass
you tsk, face still warm.
[1:10PM] crybaby: rude
[1:11PM] crybaby: weird asl you’re getting off to my ig anyways
[1:11PM] dumbass: weird asl my dumb ass fuck buddy isn’t fixing my problem
[1:11PM] crybaby: RUDEEEE SO RUDE
sukuna’s head tips forward in irritation. his jaw tightens as he looks down at his painful erection.
[1:12PM] crybaby: srsly tho
[1:12PM] crybaby: you can’t send or show anyone
[1:12PM] dumbass: wtf?? y tf would I do that
[1:13PM] crybaby: it’s almost like you’re in a frat or smt
sukuna tsks.
[1:13PM] dumbass: no one will see the pic
[1:13PM] dumbass: send
[1:12PM] crybaby: say please
his lip twitches….
[1:13PM] dumbass: please
you’re sat on the edge of your bed, dangerous smile plastered on your face.
[1:13PM] crybaby: please what?
he wets his lips, palm squeezing his cock, as starts moving his hand. fuck, you’re such a brat.
[1:14PM] dumbass: please send me pic of you
you’re already taking off your shorts and panties, typing…
[1:15PM] crybaby: I dunno if u sound sincere
sukuna frowns.
[1:15PM] crybaby: send me a voice note
death.
sukuna’s scowl almost cracks the mirror. you’re fucking messing with him, but at this point, he’s in desperate need of release. and unfortunately, he’d rather cum in a second just from looking at a photo of you, than search for a vid on x that’ll get him to cum in hours. so within the next thirty seconds of cursing you out under his breath. the thirty seconds following, was him tapping the audio, and holding his phone close to his lips.
[1:17PM] dumbass: *audio recording*
the first thing you hear is your name, then a distant…grunt…
“can you please,” he practically seethes, voice unbelievably deep… “…send me a goddamn photo. please—ng—“ the audio cuts off his groan.
you’re lips part.
oh. my. god.
your face bursts into flames. you position yourself, kneeling on your bed, phone up, shirt pushed over your breasts. your nipples hard from the cool air. you spread your legs, just wide enough for him to see that you’re completely bare down there. your cheeks sting, eyes darting over the photo, thumb hovering over the send button…
he’s just a fuck buddy….but he’s also a frat guy…you hesitate. your heart beats against your chest, uncharacteristically nervous.
[1:20PM] dumbass: you’re killing me here
fuck, he’s so hot—
[1:20PM] crybaby: *photo attached*
his jaw tightens, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. then he clicks the photo, and his breath catches somewhere in his chest as his eyes drag slowly over the image. your lips slightly parted, your chest, bare and soft under the daylight coming in from your room. the angle’s lazy and careless, barely even trying.
“…fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
his hand braces against the counter, fingers spreading slightly against the cool surface as he leans forward, head dipping. his patience, already worn thin from the run, from the past few weeks, from everything. and it’s your picture that has sukuna buckling over, aggressively jerking his swollen cock, zooming in on your tits, then back to your face, and finally shooting his load on himself and the counter.
“fuck.”
you barely make it back downstairs when you receive a photo, followed by a text. you flush at the bottom of the steps, flustered smile pulling at your lips as you stare at the cum covering sukuna’s sculpted abs, and then a thanks.
you heart the message, keeping your comment about how it’s barely been five minutes since you sent the photo, to yourself. and unfortunately the moment you glance up, your smile immediately drops.
“I was calling you,” your mom throws as she walks past you, easily scooping up your four year old niece, yazzy.
“she was ignoring you on purpose.”
your vein pops.
“I wasn’t ignoring her,” you snap at jennie, irritation written all over your voice as shoko pops her head out from the kitchen. “why did you come a week early, I thought you had stuff to do?”
your mom huffs at the attitude, her eyes flicking to see shoko, before plastering a smile, “always arguing,” she waves, her attempt at distracting your friend. “sisters.”
shoko laughs through her nose, smiling. as your mom introduces your niece to shoko, you’re reluctantly helping jennie with her suitcases, purposely giving her the cold shoulder. considering the last time you spoke turned into an argument and her leaving for the airport, you hadn’t reached out since.
“how’s working with dad?”
your eyes flick to her. “fine.”
“good.” there’s a beat of silence, just as shoko comes back to the living room.
“I’m gonna go to target,” shoko says.
your eyes lit up, “oh I’m coming too!”
shoko reserves her thoughts until you’re both in your sister’s old car. music filling the space, windows rolled down, and shoko glancing at the road ahead. “do you usually fight with your sister?”
you blink, slightly caught off guard.
“I mean,” you try to form your thoughts, “she’s just judgmental, and like—never puts herself in other people’s shoes.” you shift in the drivers seat. “she thinks she’s the smartest person in the world.”
shoko isn’t like utahime…she doesn’t pry in a lot, but she’s been staying with you for the last few weeks, so it’s only inevitable that she picks up on certain things. one of which is your horrible habit of avoiding any relationship head on. while your sister is one, she clearly sees it almost everyday when you guys are at the hospital.
for the amount of times you avoid mentioning your dad when you’re in school, you’re the first to help if he needs anything at work. the first to step in, the first to skip your lunch to help, the first to act…and you’re not embarrassed.
except when other doctors are around, seeing this…and the comments follow after…
“you’re such a good daughter.” “you must be your parents favorite.” “I wish my son would act like you.” “your dad must be so proud.”
and that’s when shoko would notice the shift. the way you’d get quiet, the way you’d force out a smile, the way you’d excuse yourself to finish work. and shoko couldn’t understand the difference until you were at the bar after work. you weren’t even drinking, your sad sat comfortably in your hand as you stared at the sticky table.
“i have no idea why adults think i wanna hear being called my parents favorite like I’m ten or something,” you scowl quietly, irritation bubbling over from the long ass day.
“yeah that was weird,” shoko nods along sipping from her drink and scrolling on her phone.
“like actually, I’m my dads favorite because I’m doing exactly what he wants me to do. obviously I’m not gonna embarrass him and be lazy especially because he got me this job, but that doesn’t mean i want to be there,” you groan head falling on the bar. “freaking hate working there, and i hate his stupid comments.”
shoko glances up, “did he say something today?”
you frown, “I can’t do this without you,” you recall his words, brows pinching tighter. “bros acting like I’m the best support beam ever, freaking doormat can’t even say anything back.” you bury your face in your arm.
shoko reaches a hand out, touching your arm in comfort. “yeah…hopefully you get something after the program.”
you hum quietly, higurama’s words from a few weeks ago resurfacing. “I have that meeting with hiromi’s uncle next week.”
shoko’s eyes light up. “ohh that’s really good!”
you smile at her excitement, nodding. “yeah, hopefully he gets me a contact.”
shoko nods frantically, “for sure for sure!” she waves a bartender, “let’s get a shot.”
“just one,” you cut in.
as the bartender slides two shot glances towards you gushing, shoko is raising the glass. “and gojo finally decided on dates for the trip.”
your brows furrow, “isn’t that with just your little high school group?”
shoko nods, “last summer gojo invited a ton of randos, and me and utahime told him we’re gonna invite you, but you had something last summer.” oh right. “so do these dates work for you,” shoko says turning her phone screen towards you.
you hum, butterflies breaking out inside your chest. it’ll be a good summer….just after these hellish few weeks.
so shoko stays silent on the ride to target, easily changing the topic and turning up the volume to the music.
“oh and sorry about my sister barging in, but she’ll be in a hotel next week when her husband comes, so you can just stay with me in my room.”
shoko waves you off, “all good.”
and the flow in the car returns as shoko talks about how she didn’t like the movie you just watched, while you defend it, hands flying, voice animated, a laugh slipping out of you. completely unaware of the events that transpire hours later, a few hundred miles away, with a certain soccer captain—
the venue is loud. amps buzzing, feedback screeching through cheap speakers, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder as the set bleeds into chaos with applause. people are shouting, laughing, drinks sloshing onto the floor—
and sukuna is already pushing through it, hard. people stumble when he hits them, curses thrown over shoulders, but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t apologize. doesn’t even look back. his expression is sharp, carved in something ugly and his jaw is locked so tight it aches, eyes dark and fixed on one thing only. backstage.
“move,” he snaps, voice cutting through the noise like a blade. someone tries to protest just for sukuna to aggressively shove past them anyway.
the curtain jerks as he pushes through, the muffled roar of the crowd dropping just enough, and then he sees him. choso.
sitting off to the side, shoulders hunched, eyes red…too red. his hands are clenched in his lap, knuckles pale, breathing uneven. sukuna’s blood pressure spikes so fast it feels dizzying, a rush of heat flooding his chest, his arms, his hands. and his fists are already curling before he even realizes it.
because just a foot away stands kaori.
sukuna goes completely still for half a second, his gaze dragging from her to the red mark on choso’s cheek.
then something in him snaps.
a/n: I know that was over a month wait for the chapter. so many things happened, ramadan, work, etc. and I really thank you all for your patience, and it always make me so unbelievably grateful that you guys are still reading, so thank you thank you thank you!!
and this was a very plot heavy chapter, and because I made you guys wait so long I’ll just lyk that next chapter will include this summer trip gojo has been planning, so it’ll be fun :p
He’s supposed to be studying. Schrödinger’s equation for time evolution and a half-eaten pack of skittles lay on his dorm room desk, neglected and long forgotten, as is his project due in under an hour. Which is odd, seeing as school and sweets are his two favorite hobbies.
Not including you.
“You won’t have enough time to c-complete it,” you whine against his plump lips, his massive hand sliding up your shirt and gliding over your ribs. His weight settles over you like a thick winter coat, cozy and secure. If it weren't for the guilt that's slowly eating away at you for distracting him from his studies, you'd stay in this lull of time for as long as you could.
“I’m pretty sure the professor is in love with me,” he mumbles, glasses all fogged-up and milky hair disheveled. “Plus, it won’t take me more than fifteen minutes.”
You frown, well aware that he isn’t even half-way through the hefty packet that was assigned at the very start of the semester.
He pulls away momentarily, resting a hand beside your head to keep himself upright, appraising your skeptical expression. It’s hard not to acknowledge how handsome his sharp features are when he’s inches away from you. “What? You doubt me, sweets?” he feigns injury, gripping his chest like a stake has been driven through his heart.
You roll your eyes, tugging a strand of his hair. “Just shut up and kiss me, will you?”
He smirks, kissing your forehead and pinching your side. “I’d be a fool to turn down such an invitation.”
His head knocks forward while you giggle, his lips slotting against your own like they’re meant to rest there. His raging boner presses against your sex, humping you through your layers of clothing as the two of you swap saliva. It’s slow, messy. Your heart completes it’s nth somersault in your chest while butterflies gyrate in your gut when he groans.
Gojo Satoru doesn’t need to fuck you. He likes taking his time with you—even when his mathletes quartet is blowing up his phone to attend a meeting, or his friends want to drag him to some sci-fi geek film.
He’d rather spend his night kissing you until he's breathless and his lips are bruised.
𝜗℘ ˖ ࣪ . ˖˙ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you’re well aware that kento, your now husband, is a gentleman. you just didn’t expect to fall in love with him all over again during your wedding night.
tags \\ content warnings. sheriff!kento nanami x wife!reader. smut, fluff. setting; wild west (1880’s - 1890’s). unprotected. praise. mostly vanilla. mention of pregnancy/brēeding. hymēn tearing. bit of trad ideals (housewife stuff). user is called ‘darling, honey, angel’. i got lazy towards the end :: wc: 3.4k
the fiddler’s bow draws one final, sweet note across the strings and the whole town erupted in cheers that echoed off the wooden storefronts of willow creek. lanterns swung from every porch post, casting warm pools of gold across the dusty main street. you had just become mrs. nanami.
you stand on the chapel steps in your simple ivory wedding dress—lace at the cuffs, a modest train that brushed the pine boards—while kento slipped the plain gold band onto your finger with reverent hands.
he had ridden into town a year earlier as the new sheriff, tall and broad-shouldered, his golden hair always neatly combed beneath his black stetson, his dark eyes carrying the quiet weight of a man who had seen too much of the frontier’s cruelty and still chose kindness.
kento had courted you the proper way: sunday walks after services, a basket of wild strawberries left on your father’s porch, handwritten letters sealed with wax that spoke of respect, protection, and a future built on solid ground. never once had he pressed for more than a chaste kiss on the cheek. never once had he looked at you with anything but worship.
now he is your husband.
the reception spills out into the street—barbecue smoke curling into the night sky and children chasing fireflies. but kento only has eyes for you. when the last toast is raised, he sweeps you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing at all as your laughter mingles with the crowd’s whoops.
“time to take my wife home, folks,” kento calls, voice carrying that measured timbre that can quiet a saloon or soothe a spooked horse. his strong arms cradle you against his chest, the dark wool of his frock coat warm from the day’s sun.
you tuck your face into the crook of his neck while breathing in cedar soap, gun oil and the faint sweetness of the cinnamon candy he’d chewed. your heart hammers so hard you are sure he can feel it through his vest.
kento carries you the few steps to the waiting buckboard, helps you onto the padded seat, then climbs up beside you. the horse tosses her head and starts forward at a gentle trot.
behind you, the town lights fade into the prairie darkness, the he stars thick as spilled sugar overhead. the night air is cool and scented with sage and distant rain. kento keeps one hand on the reins and the other laced with yours, thumb stroking slow circles over your knuckles.
“ye’re trembling, darling,” he murmurs after a mile of quiet road, “nervous?”
“a little,” you admit with a soft voice, “it’s all so… real now.”
kento lifts your hand and presses a kiss to the new ring. “i’ve waited six months to call ye mine. i’m not about to rush a single second of our first night together. y’ll tell me if anything feels wrong, won’t you? promise me that, honey.”
“i promise, kento.”
the cabin comes into view just beyond the creek bend. it’ms a snug, freshly built place with a wide porch and a stone chimney already smoking. kento had spent every spare hour these past weeks hammering boards and hauling furniture so you would have a proper home.
he reins the mare to a stop, jumps down, and lifts you again. he carries you straight over the threshold like the old tradition demands.
inside, the air smells of pine resin and fresh linens. a fire crackles low in the hearth, throwing dancing shadows across the room. on the rough-hewn table sits a bottle of sweet blackberry wine he’d traded two pelts for and a bouquet of late-blooming prairie roses he must have ridden out at dawn to pick.
the big four-poster bed in the corner was turned down; the quilt his mother had sent from back east folded neatly at the foot. an oil lamp glows on the nightstand.
kento sets you down gently on the edge of the bed. he then kneels to unlace your dusty boots with the same care he might show loading a rifle—slow, precise and reverent. when both boots are set aside, he rises and pours the wine, handing you a glass before taking his own.
“to my wife,” he says and clinks the rims, “to the life we’re going to build here. to keepin’ you safe, cherished, and happy every day the lord gives us.”
you sip and the blackberry sweetness blooms on your tongue, warmth spreading through your chest. kento watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes dark and steady. when the glasses are empty, he sets them aside and cups your face in both hands.
for a moment, you both just stare at each other. your eyes meet and the entire world seems like it’s stopped. your gaze, slowly trails down to his lips. kento notices and he takes his chance to hit it off.
“may i kiss you properly now, angel?” his voice has gone rough at the edges, but still so gentle it makes your stomach flutter.
you nod and your lips are already parting.
he bends his head down slowly, giving you every chance to change your mind. the first touch is feather-light. a brush of warmth. then his mouth settles fully on yours, and the kiss deepens—slow, thorough, tasting of wine and cinnamon and the promise of forever.
one of his hands slide to the small of your back to draw you closer. the other cradles the nape of your neck like you are something infinitely precious.
you sigh into him, fingers curling into the lapels of his coat and the world narrows to the heat of his tongue sliding against yours. the steady thump of his heart under your palm, the faint scrape of his stubble against your chin. . .
when kento finally pulls back, both of you are breathing harder. his forehead rests against yours.
“god above, ye’re beautiful,” he whispers. “i’ve thought so since the first time i saw you behind the counter at the mercantile, but seeing you walk down that aisle today… it nearly undid me, darling.”
his calloused fingers move to the row of tiny buttons at the back of your gown. each one slips free with patient care, the fabric whispering down your shoulders like a sigh. the dress pools at your feet in a silken puddle which leaves you in only your thin cotton chemise and drawers.
cool night air kisses your skin and you shiver. kento catches the shiver immediately, running warm palms down your arms and back up again.
“eaasy, honey. i’ve got you,” his eyes never leave your face, even as his hands work, “may i take the rest off? i want to see all of you—every beautiful inch my wife is trusting me with tonight.”
“of course,” you nod breathlessly.
kento smiles slightly before easing the chemise over your head. it joins the dress on the floor in a soft heap of white cotton. then he hooks his thumbs into the waist of your drawrs and gently tugs them down your legs with the same unhurried reverence.
you step free, standing bare before him for the first time in the golden lamplight. your cheeks are burning hot as prairie sun. instinctively your arms half-lift to cover yourself—old habit from a lifetime of modest upbringing—but kento catches your wrists gently before lowering them to your sides.
“no hidin’ from me, angel,” your husband whispers, voice low and rough with awe. his eyes trace over you slowly, drinking in every curve and shadow as if committing you to memory, “lord help me, ye’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever laid eyes on.”
kento sinks to his knees right there on the worn rag rug, large hands sliding up the backs of your thighs to steady you. his breath ghosts warm across your skin as he presses a lingering kiss just below your navel, then another higher between your breasts.
“look at these,” he murmurs while cupping the soft weight of them in his palms, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble tight, “so pretty and sensitive already… made to fit my hands perfectly.”
kento leans in and takes one into his mouth, slow and warm, tongue circling with tender devotion while his other hand kneads the other breast. the wet heat of his mouth pulls a soft whimper from your throat.
“mnngh, ken—yes,” your fingers thread into his golden hair rto hold him close as sparks of pleasure dance down your spine.
he switches sides with the same patient worship, sucking gently, then harder when your knees tremble. “that’s it, honey,” kento praises against your skin, deep voice vibrating through you. “let me hear how good it feels. ye’re shaking for me already… my sweet, perfect wife.”
only when your breathing has turned ragged does he trail lower, kissing a slow path down your ribs, over the gentle curve of your belly, until his mouth hovers at the apex of your thighs. he glances up at you, gaze dark with hunger and something deeper. it’s reverence, love and the quiet realization that this is forever.
“lie back on the bed for me, darling,” kento murmurs, helping you settle against the cool quilt. “let me love ye the way you deserve. let me show you how much i’ve been achin’ to make you mine in every way.”
you sink into the mattress with your heart pounding as he settles between your parted thighs on his knees. his warm hands stroke up your calves, over your knees, gently spreading you wider with the lightest pressure.
he kisses the inside of one plush thigh, slow and open-mouthed, then the other, working higher until his breath fans hot over your cunt. you are already slick andaching, and the sight of him there—your handsome husband on his knees like a man at prayer—makes fresh heat bloom across your chest.
“so wet for me already,” kento breathes, voice thick with wonder, “all this sweetness just for yer husband.”
the first slow lick drags from your entrance to your clit and your hips jerk with a broken gasp. kento hums in approval, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure straight through you. he takes his time, lavishing you with long, deliberate strokes of his tongue. he circles your clit with the tip, then dips lower to taste you properly and savors every drop as if you were the finest wine.
two thick fingers join soon after, sliding in with careful, gentle pressure. they curl just right against that sweet spot inside you while his mouth never stops its worship.
“ah! wait—mmh. right therenngh,”you writhe beneath him and your fingers tighten in his hair, but his free hand presses lightly on your lower belly, holding you steady.
“easy, angel. stay right here with me. i’ve got you. feel how beautifully ye’re opening for me? so tight and warm… my good little wife, taking my fingers like you were made for this.”
kento adds a third finger after a while. he stretches you ever so slowly, scissoring his digits with tender patience while his wet tongue flicks faster over your swollen clit. the coil of pleasure winds tighter and tighter in your tummy, your thighs trembling around his broad shoulders.
“nnngh! k-ken—it’s happenin’—“ you breathe out, squeezing your eyes shut as your entire body tenses up.
when it finally snaps, you come with a soft cry of his name. your back arches off the bed and waves of ecstasy crash through you as he licks you through every pulsing aftershock.
he murmurs praises against your slick cunt—“that’s my girl. so perfect—coming so sweetly for me on our wedding night.”
only when you are limp and trembling does kento rise. his lips are shiny with your juices, eyes blazing with love and raw need. he stands at the edge of the bed and begins to undress for you, each movement slow so you can watch.
the dark frock coat slides from his shoulders and is folded neatly over the chair. his vest follows, then the crisp white shirt, revealing the broad, golden expanse of his chest. faint scars from old gunfights trace silver lines across his ribs and the hard planes of muscle shift in the lamplight.
his trousers come next, pushed down strong thighs until he stands bare before you. his cock is thick and heavy, flushed dark at the tip and already glistening with pre-cum.
you sit up slowly. your gaze is fixated on his crotch. you’ve never seen anything like it. like a cock.
you reach for him with trembling fingers, “kento… may i?”
your husband’s breath hitches, but he steps closer, letting you wrap your hand around his hardened dick. “only if you want to, honey. tonight is yours as much as mine.”
the skin is velvet-soft over steel, hot and pulsing in your palm. you stroke him experimentally—with slow and curious pulls—learning the weight of him, the way he twitches when your thumb sweeps over the sensitive head and spreads the bead of moisture.
kento groans low, head tipping back, one large hand resting lightly on your shoulder.
“just like that. slow and sweet, angel. ye’re gonna feel like heaven wrapped around me. i’ve dreamed of this every night since i first kissed you—making you my wife in every possible way.”
kento’s hips rock gently into your fist. he can’t help the praises falling from his lips in a steady murmur: “my beautiful wife, so soft and eager—look at how well you’re learning me already.”
you feel him throb and actually grow even harder under your touch. and the power of it—the way this strong gentlemanly man trembles for you—makes fresh desire pool low in your belly.
after long minutes of you making him twitch and moan, kento gently catches your wrist. he brings your hand to his mouth to kiss your palm. “enough, darling, or i won’t last. i need to be inside of ye now… need to make us one, yeah?”
he climbs onto the bed and settles between your thighs, bracing himself on his forearms so he cages you in warmth and safety without crushing you. his cock rests heavy and hot against your soaked folds, the blunt head nudging your entrance and grazing against your pretty slit. his eyes lock on yours, filled with so much love it steals your breath.
“look at me, honey,” kento whispers softly, his voice rough with restraint. “i need you to know something before we go any further. this first time, it may hurt a little. i’ll go as slow as you need. every inch at yer pace. if it’s too much, you tell me and we stop. y’r comfort, y’r pleasure, y’r trust… those matter more to me than anything in this world. you’re not just my wife tonight. you’re my heart. understand?”
you cup his face and your thumbs brush the sharp lines of his cheekbones, tears of overwhelming emotion pricking at your eyes. you love this man. you trust him so much.
“i trust you, kento. i want this. i want you—all of you. i’m falling in love with you all over again right now.”
his smile is soft and slightly crooked, the one he saves only for you. “then let me love ya the way a husband should.”
kento then kisses you deeply—soul-deep—before reaching down to notch his heavy cock at your entrance. the stretch is immediate and insistent as he gently bucks his hips forward. inch by careful inch he sinks in, gaze never leaving yours, whispering praises between kisses: “breathe for me, angel, that’s it. ye’re doing so well… so tight and perfect around me.”
when he realises you’re bleeding just a bit, a drop trickling down his veiny shaft, he pauses and brushes damp strands of hair from your face, forehead pressed to yours.
“almost there. i’ve got ya. i love you more than i ever thought a man could love.”
you exhale on a shaky breath. kento pushes the rest of the way through in one smooth, steady motion.
a sharp sting blooms deep inside you. it’s bright and fleeting, like a match struck in the dark. you gasp and your nails dig into his bare shoulders.
kento freezes instantly once he’s buried to the hilt, murmuring praise against your ear in that soothing voice: “good girl. . . such a good wife. . . takin’ all of me on our wedding night—i’m so proud of ye. the pain will pass, i promise. just breathe with me, honey. i’m right here.”
he stays perfectly still. he kisses your temple, your cheeks, your lips until the burn ebbs into a deep and full ache that feels strangely right. when your body finally softens beneath him, melting into the mattress, he begins to move. he starts off with slow rolls of his hips, drawing almost all the way out before sliding back in, letting you feel every thick inch.
“mmmh,” you bite your lip, eyes teary from the delicious stretch and the fact you’re so deeply connected with the one man you love.
each thrust of his hips drags his cock perfectly against that sweet spot inside you until pleasure overtakes everything else and turns the ache into liquid heat.
“feel that?” kento whispers, “that’s us becoming one, my love. my wife, my home… the mother of our children someday, if the lord blesses us.”
his pace stays measured and deep, every stroke being deliberate and worshipful. one of his hands slips between your bodies so his thumb can circle your still-sensitive clit in perfect time.
“going to fill ye up tonight. put a baby in this pretty belly while i keep you safe in our home. would you like that? carryin’ our future while i ride out each day knowing i get to come back to ye—my little housewife, round and glowing and loved beyond measure?”
“oh, lorddd. yes,” you breathe out in a whorish moan and your legs wrap tighter around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back. “yes! kento—pleaseee. i want everything with you. i want your baby… i want forever.”
kento groans, the sound raw and masculine, hips snapping a fraction harder as his control frays at the edges. the wet, rhythmic sound of your bodies meeting fills the quiet cabin and is mingled with your soft cries and his steady praises;
“so tight… so perfect… come for me again, darling. let me feel ye squeeze me like ye never want to let go.”
that’s all you needed to hear. the second orgasm crashes over you harder than the first. it’s white-hot and endless, your walls fluttering and clenching around him in pulsing waves.
“kento! mmmh!” you sob his name as your back arches off the bed, nails raking down the strong lines of his back, leaving red trails on his skin.
kento follows moments later with a guttural sound, hips stuttering as he spills inside you in warm, endless pulses that leave you both trembling. he stays buried deep inside your throbbing cunt, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard while the aftershocks ripple through you both.
after a long minute he eases out carefully, a soft sound of loss escaping you both. his cum mixes with yours as it trickles down your ass. kento quickly scoops what escaped up and pushes it back in your cunt with the tip of his softening cock.
once that’s done, he gently gathers you against his chest, pulling the quilt over your joined bodies. one large hand rests protectively over your lower belly as if already dreaming of the life you might have made tonight.
his fingers trace lazy, soothing patterns along your spine, and he presses kiss after kiss to your hair, your temple and the corner of your mouth.
“how do you feel, mrs. nanami?” kentk asks, tone soft with wonder and a touch of awe that makes your heart swell all over again.
you smile against his skin, pressing a kiss right over his steady heartbeat. you feel so connected to him. so in love. “happy. full. like i finally understand what home really means… and i’m falling in love with my husband all over again, right here in our bed.”
kento chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “you are my home now. my wife, my partner. i’m going to spend every day proving i’m worthy of that trust—keeping you safe, making ye laugh, filling our house with love and maybe a few little ones who look like you.”
he tilts your chin up and kisses you slow and sweet, no urgency left, only the deep, quiet certainty of forever.
outside, the prairie wind whispers through the tall grass and the creek murmurs its endless lullaby. inside the little cabin, the fire has burned down to glowing embers, but the warmth between you burns brighter than any flame.
kento pulls you closer while tucking your head beneath his chin. one arm wrasps securely around your waist as if he never plans to let go.
“sleep, my angel,” kento murmurs, lips brushing your hair. “tomorrow we start our real life together.”
[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] — it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students — with very high libidos, and didn’t want any random stds — that this was purely a sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else. [ frat!kuna fwb series ]
[ TAGS ] — MDNI. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. piv. angst. friends with benefits. toxic frat culture. hazing. fraternity/sororities. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. SLOW BURN. fluff. spit. ráw. rough. heavy spanking. degradation. dacryphilia. slight exhibitionisim. pda. soft sukuna. choso + yuuji r his younger brothers. every position. heavy creampies. violence. depression/anxiety. anger issues. squirting. cockwarming. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. sukuna is a football (soccer) player too. HAPPY ENDING. tags will be updated as series continues.
✮ ch 1 || how it all started ✮ ch 2 || miss me already?
✮ ch 3 || call me ✮ ch 4 || two worlds
✮ ch 5 || conditions ✮ ch 6 || cracks
✮ ch 7 || tbd ✮ ch 8 || tbd
✮ ch 9 || tbd ✮ ch 10 || tbd
✮ ch 11 || tbd ✮ ch 12 || tbd
✮ pt 1 — sukuna is starting to toe the line
✮ pt 2 — you’re desperate to prove this is just sex
✮ pt 3 — cockwarming him for the first time
✮ pt 4 — sukuna’s brothers visit unexpectedly
✮ pt 5 — pregnancy scare with sukuna
✮ pt 6 — sukuna has a stash of naked polaroids of you
✮ pt 7 — halloween special: scare actor!sukuna
✮ pt 8 — sukuna’s noticeable bulge at the gym
✮ pt 9 — high stakes no nut november edition
✮ pt 10 — holiday special: grinch!kuna naughty or nice
✮ pt 11 — sukuna leaves his door open when you’re over
✮ pinterest board ✮ ask tag ✮ main masterlist ✮ ao3 ✮
[ INFO ] : the chapters are the actual series. it begins mid-spring semester JUNIOR year. the parts exist in the same story, but as stand alone canon oneshots and will not be mentioned in the chapters. they take place between sept-nov fall semester of their SENIOR year [parts and chps can be read separately]
THERE IS NO SERIES TAGLIST ✦ age should be visible on your blog — (art: @/xhealer_ tiktok, dividers: @/lariesographic )
You, Satoru and Suguru attended Jujutsu high together, and you quickly became the best of friends. Now, after the last year of college you share Satoru's penthouse - you just can't handle the way you feel for them, it's anything but friendship and made worse every moment in this proximity. You don't want to ruin the friendship with your own feelings, so you bring up moving out, shocking them. after a particularly tough mission. Satoru and Suguru sure the fuck are not ever going to let you go - you're all theirs, they just have to show you.
pairings- Sorcerers Satoru x Suguru x Reader
warnings- canon jjk world, childhood friends to lovers, emotional in places, light angst, mutual pining, drinking involved, mmf threesome, dirty talk, oral (m and f receiving) fingering, kissing, p in v sex, creampies, fucking their cum back inside you because you deserve it! they're obsessed with you <3
this was a commission for satosugu and a sorcerer reader - i hope you all enjoy ittt ah I got a little emotional <3 wc -6.7k
art creds here!!
Your curse technique is flowers.
Yep, it's flowers.
Not something cool like how your best friend Suguru Geto could literally swallow and summon curses, not even close to half of what Satoru Gojo's red and blue could do. Not even something cool like Shoko's reverse curse technique that can heal your friends – nah, when you fought, it was with fucking flowers.
When you were young in Jujutsu high school and first met Satoru and Suguru, they couldn't help but joke a bit on it, but once they realized you're more than capable of handling a curse and handling yourself, they backed off. The first few months of being a first year with them were the only extent of their teasing, no – soon you all became the best friends.
Such good friends you three share a penthouse, Shoko did for a bit too until she moved out with her new girlfriend. Leaving just you and the two boys. But it worked fine – most of the time.
Not when you had to see Suguru doing push-ups shirtless, sweaty and wiping himself with a cloth, smiling at you. Not when after a shower Satoru would walk around with a towel only on his hips, skin damp and dewy from the water, a little tinge of pink on his pale skin.
When he'd just walk up to you like it's nothing and you could see the bulge behind the soft terry cloth. Acting all normal when your tummy was clenched, thighs pressed together. Satoru and Suguru never treated you differently than they did each other, goofing around one moment, then fighting next to you, but they were just a little more protective.
During fights they both shielded you a bit too much, Satoru had no problem picking you up and carrying you away, Suguru would sling you over his shoulder and put you to safety even when you protested. The way they cared and loved their friends was deep and pure.
However you wish it was more.
How toxic of you to want more than friendship with them, when the friendship is beautiful. They're beautiful and you love them in your life, so what should you do when you're touching your pussy at night imagining your best friends – two of the strongest sorcerers in the world?
“Guys,” they both looked at you as the three of you were getting home from a mission and you're stuck between them in the car. “I think maybe… I should move.”
“What!?” Satoru lowers his sunglasses, raising a brow at you.
“Why?” Suguru's question is a little softer, but still there, the two of them staring like you've lost it.
“Well you two are so close, and Shoko is gone now, it's kinda um…” you can't find the words, hands clenched into fists at your sides.
“Is this because I saved your cute little ass today?” You scoff at Satoru who is grinning, tilting your chin up. “I don't mind at all, sweets. Your flowers are always the cutest!”
“Satoru god,” his best friend grumbles, studying you carefully. “Ignore him, you know he's an idiot.”
“I am not!?”
“Why do you want to move?” Suguru asks again, a little softer, the way his amethyst eyes hit you with the sun pooling in from the window is too much to handle.
You can't stay friends when you've hopelessly fallen for them.
“Like I said you all are so close-”
“We all are,” Suguru brushes a lock of your hair back, messy from the battle, sighing as he studies your face. “Satoru and I don't want you to leave.”
Those words hit hard, the way you think of it however is not how they likely see it, all of you are close from high school – Nanami, Shoko, Haibara, Utahime and you three get together at least once a month even now that you all are in your twenties. Yet they all are moving on, dating other people, having a life, and you’re stuck watching boys you love act like you’re ‘one of the guys’.
It seems a cruel joke really, to love them and not be able to say the words, there was no hope of any life outside of this if you didn’t get some distance.
“For now, sure but what about when you all get girlfriends?” They blink at that, looking at each other. “How awkward would that be? Satoru will probably blow a hollow purple into the wall or something when he gets to crack.”
“Rude!” You giggle and turn your head to look at your best friend, his eyes swirling and peeking over those shades. “Ya think I'm a virgin?”
“I didn't say that,” you heat up a bit now, the inevitable truth coming to the surface as you stare into them. You'd be so fucking jealous if you knew anyone got either of them, got their cocks inside and cum spurted in their cunts.
There, the truth.
Petty and awful, even seeing girls all over them two hurt, you felt this possessive need to hold their hands, to slip your arms in theirs, to kiss their cheeks in public, you were a physical girl who loved affection with all friends, but you know it wasn’t just that. Yet they weren't yours were they? Best friends sure, but you don't feel like that at all anymore. Even them going on dates fucking hurt.
“He’s a virgin,” Suguru chimes in, Satoru scoffs now.
“Well aren’t we all!? I mean,” he looks at you now, eyes narrowing. “You’re a virgin, righttt?”
“Shush…” You’re blushing now, looking at Suguru curiously. “Sugu isn’t one, I don’t think.”
“A gentleman doesn’t reveal his secrets.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you see his quiet little smile, then it turns into a frown when he looks at his phone, the same time yours goes off. “Ah, they wanna meet up tonight.”
“Maybe you’ll come to your senses,” Suguru taps your nose as the car stops in front of your place. “Take a nap and change your mind.”
You’re not going to change your mind, not when they playfully take turns carrying you up to the elevator and act like any of this is normal. You just can't keep feeling this way, in the shower and flushed with the hot water pounding over your skin, your mind lost as you think of how hard it will be to leave them.
What day did it all shift?
*****
Three years ago - age nineteen
“Satoru!” You use your technique to make Satoru a path, and sure enough he frolics through the flower patterns, laughing as he runs over to destroy the spirits, your abilities are mostly shielding the two of them, making the three of you perfect in your team together.
That’s not to say you can’t fight too, vines wrapping one of the curses who comes to you as you focus on protecting Satoru, Suguru is a floor up in the abandoned building. The curse explodes once you apply the pressure of those thorny vines, littered with black roses, one of your new techniques Suguru has been helping you practice with.
You all were three of the strongest there were, but Satoru excelled in ways it was hard to keep up with, he could go on missions utterly alone but you and Suguru never really let him. He already had far too much pressure as the Gojo heir and was constantly sent off everywhere, you two wouldn’t let him bear all of that alone.
Plus, a lot of times Satoru did need help, learning new abilities looked easy for him, but you know the toll it took when you’d let him nap in your lap on the way home, or help him clean up and see the wounds actively knitting themself together. Just because he was the strongest, didn’t mean he needed any less care.
You’re a little lost in thought when suddenly Suguru falls through the damn upper floor, rushing after another curse with his own in tow, you blink rapidly, the sound of the crumbling building and seeing your friends distracts you. They’re so strong and you feel your technique, though helpful is no match, you focus more on supporting Suguru when the wind gets knocked out of you.
“Shit,” you’re thrown through a wall into the next room, wincing as the nasty curse comes at you, you summon your new roses but they fail, you are still learning that ability so nothing comes out. “Shit, shit shit.”
The nasty thing charges at you when you get to your feet, bracing for impact and upping your defenses, eyes shut as if on instinct, these are way stronger than the mission led you all to believe. You worry about Satoru and Suguru but then you know they’ll be okay, they’re stronger than this level – however, the impact you expect never comes.
Instead, you're knocked sideways, landing against a hard chest with two strong arms wrapping around you and pinning you in place, crashing down to the ground on a hard body while the other is pressing behind you, the heavy weight taking you over. One is just a little more slender, the one behind you, smelling faintly of expensive cologne and mints.
Satoru.
The other is broader, a little warmer that you’re laying on, you can smell those hints of sandalwood and faint traces of cigarette smoke, his heart thudding underneath your breasts as they’re pressed against his chest, face buried against your neck.
Suguru.
In a motion so quick you didn’t even get a chance to comprehend, Suguru rushed and grabbed you, Satoru came to shield you both with his back, disintegrating the curse that had attacked you. His own heart races, breaths coming in faster as he’s pressed against you, his jaw set frightening, eyes glacial when he looks back to see the last remnants of the curse disintegrating.
For a moment, there's only the sound of the three of you breathing heavily, the shattered roof of the building so destroyed sunlight is filtering in with the dust and the fallen plaster. You're trembling violently, not just from the fear – you wish it was only that, but moreso from the overwhelming sensation of being pressed between the both of them.
You're tucked completely against Suguru's chest, while Satoru’s strong, muscular arms form a protective cage around you, and even worse – you’re damn near straddling Suguru’s lap, feeling his cock press up embarrassingly between your puffy lips and dripping cunt. Yeah, you were fucking dripping on your best friend, while your other’s huge ass hands almost make you whimper.
Shit, shit, shit.
Then they pull back just enough to see you, Satoru tilting your chin to face him as he still presses his weight over your body, his eyes so blue they hurt to look at, blindfold shoved down so his hair can fall softly over his face. You know he’s beautiful – they both are – but in that moment it was hard to keep your composure, looking into his eyes and knowing it was over.
You’re in love with them, aren’t you?
"Hey, hey, look at me," Satoru's voice is uncharacteristically serious for once, not the lilting, the drawn out words, his teasing. His thumb gently stroked your cheek, easing off you just a bit, but you can feel his heart thudding against your back. “You okay, sweetheart? Did it touch you?"
"I... I don't think so," you manage to stammer out, your voice shaky, still so intimately pressed between the two men frantic over you.
Suguru's hand is on your other cheek, turning your attention to the man below you, his touch impossibly gentle compared to the power he'd just wielded, you feel how careful they are with you in that moment, despite their innate strength. It was heady and addictive, having them save you.
You thought you were independent and maybe you are, but how can you not love being between them like this?
Suguru’s long fingers brush a stray piece of hair from your face, his thumb swiping across your cheek, you wince when you realize you have a little bruise forming there. His amethyst eyes were dark, full of concern, and for a moment you wonder if it’s more than a friendly one, the way you feel his bulge nudging you, the way you feel Satoru hard against your back.
Must just be… instinct, reactions.
"Are you hurt anywhere, love?" Suguru didn’t have to do that – call you love, when you’re already wet, fucked up and confused.
“I’m um… all right, promise,” Satoru leans in closer, his forehead against your cheek, his heart aching when he thinks of losing you. He tries to usually keep his composure, but how the fuck can he?
"Don't ever scare us like that again," he murmurs, the tone of it so intense your thighs clench, making Suguru suck in a breath, your eyes lock on Satoru’s as you swallow and nod, tears filling your eyes. “Please, fuck don’t do that.”
“I didn’t mean to, I was so worried for you all…” Suguru's thumb brushes a little smudge of dirt from the corner of your mouth, making you look back down at him, tears falling from your eyes onto his chest.
"We've got you, always, all right? We won’t let something hurt you," his words rush through you, when he leans up and pecks your forehead, and Satoru kisses your cheek. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
*****
That was the day that a crush turned into more – turned into an almost obsessive love you have for both men, that’s only grown over the past three years. You know they love each other and love their friends, sometimes you wonder if you overthought that moment, if it was just ‘friendly love’. It replays over and over in your mind on repeat.
“Ya ready to have fun tonight, sweets?” Satoru asks when you walk out, before pausing, his mouth wide open. “Fuck…”
“What’s wrong?” You tilt your head a bit curiously, he’s blushing across the bridge of his straight nose, dusting across his high cheekbones. Satoru looks every bit a strong man, chiseled features that got rid of some of the cute, boyish face you remember, but just now he does look more like the boy you met in high school.
Nostalgia hits hard, his blue gaze drifting across you, suddenly making you just a bit nervous. “You’re uh… the dress um… it’s…”
“Pretty-”
“You’re gonna freeze to death,” as if snapping out of it he fucking shouts at you, leaving you to blink in confusion.
“What?” Suguru comes into the living room, buttoning his dress shirt at the elbow to show a devastatingly attractive amount of forearm when he sees his friend shouting, and his own gaze hits your low cut dress. He swallows and a blush runs across his cheeks too.
“You are going to freeze!”
“Can you two calm down?” You tug at the dress now, it hits about mid thigh, the two sorcerers gaze darts to the action, making you press them together just a bit, like you could feel it. “I like this dress thank you.”
“It’s hot, okay just…” Suguru blushes more, rubbing the back of his neck, looking down as Satoru grabs his jacket and throws it over your shoulders.
“You’ll get cold,” Satoru says again, you look up at him all confused with your lips parted – you painted them this pretty red that he wants to kiss off.
That leads to more filthy thoughts – kissing it off, smearing it on his cock, having you drool as he fucks you from the back. He can’t stop the thoughts when he tugs you closer with the jacket around your frame, it swallows you completely, just what he needs to focus.
Plus he doesn’t want anyone seeing you like this, just him and Suguru, aren’t you theirs? Now you’re trying to leave and he could hardly tell you to stay, to not go, the words forming like a lump stuck in his throat. Suguru wasn’t any better, just staring at you like he’s dying to eat you.
Well, Suguru was dying to eat you.
He’d love to lap every bit of your juices up, drink them and slurp them down his throat, especially with that slutty excuse for a dress. Thank god Satoru covered you up, because he physically couldn’t handle that, all this time keeping his composure, and for what? For you to leave them?
The two most important people to Suguru were you and Satoru, but their obsession with you really eclipses even their insanely close friendship, the two of them both have resigned themselves to their fate long ago. Loving you, being there for you, in whatever capacity you needed, not pushing it or showing their real thoughts.
That they jerk off to you in their beds, talking about all the ways they’ll fuck you, cum in you, lick you clean.
Imagine if you knew.
Maybe, you wouldn’t leave, if Suguru and Satoru could just say the words, rather than stammer and blush, covering your too pretty body up. You huff and just go along with it, stomping off to the elevator so you can get to the limo that’s waiting, leaving Satoru and Suguru to grab their own jackets, the penthouse suddenly quiet – too quiet. Is this how it would be without you?
“I can’t let her leave,” Satoru says then, looking at Suguru levelly. “Scratch that, she won’t fucking leave.”
“I know,” if it were any other time or any other person Suguru would tell Satoru he’s insane, possessive, a little psychotic – but it’s you. “You think I’ll let her just leave either?”
“Why does she even want to? I don’t understand, I thought she was happy here,” he brushes his hair back as they head toward the elevator.
“She brought up dating, you think she wants to date?”
“I dunno, maybe,” Satoru pouts as he pushes the buttons of the elevator. “I can’t stand the thought of her with anyone.”
“Then maybe we should… tell her?”
“Yeah?” Satoru sighs nervously. “I don’t know how to, how do you say – we've been obsessively in love with you since age fifteen?”
“Maybe like that?” Suguru snorts and Satoru sighs.
“I’ll need a hell of a drink then.”
*****
The night is fun with your old friends, throwing back shots with Shoko and Hime, as all the boys catch up. Nanami Kento looking yummy in a suit, Haibara all adorable as ever, you see the four of them shooting pool and laughing, and it almost feels like how it was back then, when you all were young. Maybe a bit less jaded, more innocent, a time you all sort of think back on.
Satoru and Suguru were such a part of your life you can’t imagine ever leaving them, but in a way that holds you back for any sort of future, when Satoru and Suguru eclipse anyone else for you. Like their own brand of a lunar eclipse, the brightness and darkness cascading until there’s nothing else you can even see.
The liquor traces a warm, burning path down your throat as you peer over at them, the scene is a perfect snapshot of the past. Nanami, looking unfairly composed and handsome in his suit, lining up a shot with that precision, his brows lowering just a bit. Haibara, always so happy, has an arm draped over Satoru’s shoulders, whispering something that makes Satoru's shoulders shake with laughter.
God, when Satoru laughs it brightens up a room, there was a time he did anything but laugh, but it’s beautiful to see him like this.
You know it’s going to tear you apart to leave, but you’d rather have them in your life than not at all, and with every moment you’re looking too much into everything – the looks they give you, Suguru leaning back against a wall as him and Shoko have a smoke, eyes on you. Satoru tosses a dart with his damn blindfold on, before lifting it and smiling at you.
Utahime gets pissy and fights with Satoru so she tries to throw a drink, only for him to have his infinity, and she’s chasing him as he’s laughing.
He never puts it up with you, does he? The thoughts of that could mean too fucking much, that Satoru never has it up when he’s home with you all, that he trusts you both so much, feels so comfy. You love that he feels comfy, but also you wish you could really touch him, like you wanted, just as badly as you want to touch Suguru, the thoughts make you heat up, liquor making it worse.
How can you deal with all this tonight? Deal with Satoru behind you, positioning the poolstick, his lips pressed against the shell of your ear. Handle Suguru’s big hand on your waist as he helps you line up with the dartboard, or when the two of them sit on either side of you like they always do, laughing and constantly having a hand somewhere.
Your leg, your shoulder, your back.
You can’t keep going like this –yeah, they’re touchy feely, so are you, but now it means more, it is more.
The night comes to a close, and you begin to say your goodbyes, you almost feel even more upset – would you have to move far away? Would you have to back off all your friendships because you’re so greedy, loving them both? It’s hard to focus, even as Shoko comes up to you, hugging you tightly.
“Good night Shoko, I miss you,” she kisses your cheek, then Utahime comes to kiss your other. “Night Hime!”
“Good night, love,” they both say good bye to Satoru and Suguru, as Nanami and Haibara come to hug you.
“Good night guys!”
“Don’t be a stranger,” Nanami says with a smile, patting your head, you giggle a bit. You may have had a bit of a crush on Nanami Kento when you were younger.
Satoru and Suguru knew about it, and they used to tease you, but they do not like the way you blush even under the dark lights of the club. They both curiously look at each other, then back at you giggling all cutely – you clearly don’t realize that you’re actually their girlfriend.
“Of course not, we should get to-”
“Home, should get to goin’ home, riiight?” Satoru lilts out his words, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, you blush furiously now, god does he always have to smell so good?
You’re trying not to think that way – try so hard every day to act like you could be in any way normal about Satoru and Suguru. Living with them lately has been so difficult, especially ovulating, no amount of battles, curses or being stupidly busy can exhaust you enough from feeling that clench in your stomach, the pulse of your cunt in their damn proximity.
Now with the alcohol that you all rarely have, his touch feels even better, why does he have to smell so good? Why does Suguru have to smell so good!? You’re damn near salivating when they walk you out, Suguru playfully picking you up, you’re hugging his neck and laughing just a bit as he runs you right out of there towards the limo Satoru has waiting.
There were perks to being rich, and Satoru loved to never drive, it was either you, Suguru or his driver Kiyo. You’re not sure why, but he absolutely hated to, maybe his six eyes made it too much?
Or maybe he just likes to relax a bit in the rare times he can.
You’re between the two of them like usual, the two man spreaders – Satoru is the worst offender truly – love to just smush you, they think it’s cute when you start huffing and pouting. “We have a whole limo!”
“But sugar we love to snuggle,” Satoru says, batting his cute lashes at you, for once no blindfold or sunglasses on his face, the rare times you get to see his baby blues without a barrier.
You three are absolutely tipsy, Satoru can’t handle alcohol at all so just one little fruity drink has him nuzzling your neck, you feel overheated from it, Suguru right on the other side of you, his thigh pressed against yours, hand on your knee casually as he peeks through his phone. You’re used to this, how touchy feely your two roommates and best friends are.
But tonight it feels a little different.
After a really tough mission you all clearly needed to relax, and tonight with your friends was so much fun, getting your minds off everything that’s so wrong in the world and just enjoying childhood friends. Yet Satoru’s lips feel too good, he starts hugging you around your waist, mumbling your name, you look at Suguru who smiles a bit at you in the dark of the backseat.
“Satoru get off her,” he playfully presses a kiss on your neck and Suguru tenses just a bit next to you, when he sees your nipples press up in that dress you’ve got on. “You’re pawing at her.”
“She smells sweet, hmm,” Satoru kisses your neck again, the three of you are all tipsy, but you’ve been tipsy, for some reason this is ruining your psyche. “Tastes so sweet, Sugu, does she taste sweet to you?”
“Satoru, did you lick me!?” He grins against your neck, tongue lapping at the curve of your neck again, Suguru snorts.
“What sweetheart, do I make you nervous?”
“Psh, no,” your heart is hammering in your chest when Suguru leans over, his eyes just a little dazed from a couple drinks, nose against your neck, inhaling, that’s when your pulse jumps, the two men on either side of you, so close, you feel their warmth slipping in. “Sugu… you’re drunk too?”
Not really at all, he’s had like one glass of whiskey. Suguru just wants to kiss your neck, tantalizing him every day since he met you as a first year at Jujutsu high, and fuck if it’s gotten worse – the crush Satoru and Suguru have on you. The way they dream of just sharing you, you don’t know because they don’t say it, scared to lose you in their lives.
But if Satoru is going to give in for the night, Suguru is too, kissing you right behind the ear and moaning softly, his hand slipping up your thigh. He’s throbbing just tasting a hint of your skin, all those years of pecking you on the cheek or the head was nothing like this, like goosebumps rising on your neck, the heat near his fingertips.
Satoru brushes your hair back, tilting your chin up, his eyes this beautiful, eerie blue in the night, his cheeks flushed from his drink. “Wonder what her lips taste like, Sugu.”
“Mmm, bet they’re sweet, like all of her,” fuck, fuck, fuck.
You’re soaking wet and trapped between your best friends.
“You two are wasted,” but you fucking whine out. Satoru uses that to kiss your lips, making you suck in a breath, pulling back to look up at him, your lips glossy. “Toru…”
“I've wanted to do this forever, god since I met you,” his soft lips press yours again. Heady, taking you over, tongue darting along the seam of your lips, before pressing back down your neck. “Mmm, you are sweet.”
“This is… you…” your head is falling back for more of them, their breaths and nearness overheating you utterly. Your hands gripping each of their thighs over their jeans, nails pressing into the material. “Mmm.”
“The sounds you make,” Suguru whispers that soft sentence in your ears, before tilting your chin towards him and kissing your lips, his slower and more deliberate, just a little less messy than Satoru. “God…”
You lose yourself in their touch, their proximity, Satoru's lips are back on yours, more demanding this time, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with bolder strokes, the heat of his mouth and movements of his tongue making you tremble. It was impossible to act normal, not when he cups your face like that. Suguru's tongue laps up the curve of your neck, teeth sharp when they press into your skin, earning your sharp gasp against Gojo's mouth.
“You're so pretty,” you giggle at Satoru, his lips glossy.
“You're drunk.”
“You've always been pretty,” one of his hands slips across your tummy, fingers spraying it and palm pressing in. “Suguru will tell you.”
You peer over, teeth sinking into your lower lip, seeing Suguru’s eyes lidded. “Always.”
You kiss Suguru again, leaving Satoru's tongue trailing across the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “Mmm, should we stop?”
“If you want to we will,” Sugruru whispers, teeth nipping your lip as his hand pauses on your thigh. “If you want us though?”
“We will give you anything you want,” Satoru's words are breathy caresses. “We’ve waited so long for you, we can wait however long you want.”
“Waited for me?” You look at both men now, all three of you flushed and all flustered, both of their hands tentatively paused, waiting for your decision. “What do you mean?”
“You think we haven’t always wanted you, princess?” Your body heats up at Suguru’s soft little growl of a confession, thumb running circles on your inner thigh. “You think we’re not hopelessly in love with you?”
“In… in love?” You shake your head, tears forming of desire, emotions running rampant in your mind with every breath. “Sugu I know you ‘love me’ but you can’t say things like that.”
“They’re true,” Satoru cups your face, his eyes glazed over. “Yeah, I had a cocktail, yeah, Imma lightweight, don’t you laugh, I’ll spank you.”
“Toru!” You can’t stop your giggle, he swallows nervously, shaking his head now.
“I’m serious, we both have been in love, fuck since you used your cute little flower technique. Why do you think we picked on you? You were so fucking cute, and we didn’t know how to…”
“How to tell you,” Suguru finishes, the limo stops, right in front of your penthouse now, the three of you together in the quiet of the car, your heart is hammering so hard in your chest you feel like it will burst out. “We didn’t know how to tell you that we’re fucking so in love it’s dumb.”
“You’re all we think of,” you shake your head again. “Yeah, you are, been jerking it to you since we met you.”
That sentence hits, you bite down on your lower lip, turning to look at each of them ever so slowly. “You did?”
“Of course we did, still do,” Satoru smirks then. “Think we don’t hear you playing with your messy cunt?”
“You’re so drunk,” you’re soaked when he drifts his fingers up and finds you, your eyes roll back. “Mnh!”
“You’re never leaving us,” he sounds insane, his lips capturing yours now, when Suguru kisses down your throat, and you’re lost in ecstasy, eyes rolled back in your skull. “Mmm, never. Say it.”
“Let us show you how much we have wanted you,” Suguru says then, capturing your mouth in his, moaning softly. “We’ll fuck you so good you’ll never want to leave.”
“You two um…” You take a breath now, overwhelmed. “You are crazy, you all know that?”
“You knew that when you met us,” Satoru grins, a hand brushing back your hair. “What do you want, sweetheart?”
“You,” Satoru kisses you again, pulling back for Suguru to get tugged against you. “And you. Both of you.”
“Greedy little slut,” you gasp at the term out of Satoru’s mouth, but it makes you wetter under his touch. “We want you to be greedy for us.”
“Be a good girl and let us use your holes,” Suguru’s words fucking nail the hammer in your proverbial coffin – the fuck have these two been holding back? Their eyes are all dilated black and they’re smirking – nothing like the shy cuties from moments ago. “We’ll make sure you cum over and over before we fill you up.”
“God I can’t wait to breed her, hmm Sugu?” He sinks a finger in your warmth, making you arch up and cry out. “Fuckin’ soaked, I think she likes that idea.”
“Just get me upstairs, mngh! Now.”
They hastily do as you bid, Satoru runs your ass to the elevator with you in his arms like it’s nothing, you can’t help but giggle when Suguru fumbles the keys, as sexy as they were talking just now, they’re nervous. You’re nervous, when you take off Satoru’s big ass jacket, and Suguru steps in front of you, Satoru pressing against your back.
“I remember the day I fell in love,” you whisper then, as charged as the energy is sexually, it’s also every bit so intimate, the two of them paused, Satoru’s chin on your shoulder, Suguru’s cupping your face. “Satoru was shielding us both from that high grade curse, and you were holding me.”
“I remember,” Suguru sinks to his knees then, slipping that dress up your hips ever so slowly, all while Satoru’s arm snakes around your waist, his lips drifting up the curve of your neck. “I think it’s when we really knew, too.”
“I could never let something happen to you,” Satoru’s words and Suguru’s lidded gaze are what steps you into this haze, this intense feeling, Suguru’s tongue lapping at your damp panties, Satoru’s hands brushing underneath your collar to grip your breasts. “I never will let anything happen to you, sweetheart. We just wanna keep you all to ourselves.”
“Can we, princess?” Suguru raises a brow, and you nod quickly, gasping out when he tugs your panties to the side, exposing your heated cunt that’s glistening to his vision, he has to palm his cock that’s leaking, moaning at the sight. “All ours, promise us.”
“Only we can touch you,” Satoru whispers now, his cock pressing hard on the small of your back. “Only us, sweetheart, you have to promise. Forever, you can’t ever go.”
“I don’t want to go,” you admit then, head falling back against Satoru’s hard chest, moaning as Suguru parts your folds, watching arousal pool from your little hole. “I want you both. Please.”
Satoru whines softly in your ear, when the first drag of Suguru’s flattened tongue swipes up your slit, you’ve never felt anything like it, how he collects that arousal pouring from your cunt, swallowing it up and humming against you, making the vibrations shoot through your body. Satoru’s hand goes down to grip Suguru’s hair, pushing him even more against your cunt.
“You love it, don’t you? His mouth on you?” Whines escape your throat, Suguru is devouring your cunt, his face getting messy from you, all you can do is nod, helpless, Suguru’s hands gripping your hips as you arch them for more. “Asked ya a question, sweetheart.”
“Y-yes, I love it s’much I – ah!” Suguru’s moaning again, his hands on the plush of your thighs, looking up at you as his nose bumps your clit, his tongue in your hole that’s quivering around him. “Sugu! Ah!”
“Cum for me,” Suguru whispers, voice deep as his tongue flicks again, hitting your twitchy little clit, his fingers slipping until one curves inside. “Fuck you’re so tight, I can’t wait to stretch you out on my cock, watch you take us both.”
“Ngh!” Suguru’s words and the mean curve of his fingers ruin you, pushing you closer to that edge along with Satoru’s teeth on your shoulder, one more flick on your clit and you’re gushing down Suguru’s long fingers. He stands and puts them in Satoru’s mouth, he eagerly sucks you off them, until you’re all kissing.
Messy, needy, hungry kisses as the men take you to a room – you’re so fucking ruined you don’t even know whose it is, actually. All you know is Satoru’s burying his face in your messy cunt next, he’s not as deliberate as Suguru, he’s flicking his tongue and curving two fingers so fast you’re shattering for him, pulsing around them, weakly clinging to soft locks of hair.
“Bend over, sweetheart,” Satoru begs eagerly. “I wanna lick it from the back, pretty please?”
You almost giggle at how cute he is, but when you see Suguru’s cock the laughter doesn't come out – just a soft moan. When you take it in your throat and he cups your face, moaning as he fucks into it, gentle at first as your lips stretch to fit his length, praising you so sweetly. All while Satoru lines his cock up with your spit soaked folds, coated in his saliva and your creamy release.
“That’s it, doin’ such a good job sucking him,” Satoru praises, hands on your hips, his flush pink tip pressing your hole, you gasp around Suguru, reaching back for his hand then. “I got you sweetheart, I’ll give you anything.”
Satoru takes your wrists and pins them, using them to ease his cock in your snug little hole, as wet as she is, Satoru is huge, girthy and veiny – fuck you feel all of him in your walls. The burn is so goddamn good you’re deep throating Suguru with every fuck, drool spilling as he works his cock in your throat. Satoru’s whimpering, Suguru’s moaning, using you.
“F-fuck, princess suckin’ me like that?” Suguru’s praise is mumbled, Satoru’s tip is kissin’ your cervix now, messy loud sounds of your soppy cunt and the suction of your throat echoing in the room. “That’s it, how does he feel, good baby?”
“Mmm,” your answer is to pull back and nod, tongue lapping his milky pre as Satoru presses in fully, heavy balls thwacking your clit. “Feels s’good, I… ah! I’m gonna cum, Toru!”
“Cum f’me then,” he’s pussy drunk in a few strokes, his blue eyes fluttering shut as he fucks your pretty cunt, as he clings to the curve of your hips, and Suguru’s tugging your hair, his tip running along your uvula. “Let us feel you.”
Your cunt is throbbing, clamping down around Satoru’s cock, Suguru sucks in a breath when he feels you gag on him, that throat constricting – fuck he can’t stop thinking how pretty your eyes are, even as you’re sucking him, even as you’re squirting and dripping down his bed. He pauses and sucks in a breath, watching you shatter for his best friend, your eyes fluttering shut.
“Fuck you’re pretty…” That’s both of them.
You’re weak and barely able to suck when Satoru slams his cock faster, Suguru cups your face to keep it there, the two of them using you – just like they said. Satoru whining out when he gets close, leaned over you and tugging at your hair as his cock slams inside you harder. “Want all our cum inside you, sweetheart?”
“Please,” you kiss Satou, your mouth covered with Suguru’s pre, before looking up at Suguru again. “Both of you, inside.”
Hot white ropes all velvety coat your walls, Satoru’s pulsing as he fills you up, gasping out your name and hovering over you, Suguru’s right behind him, cock shoved as deep as he can go until it chokes you, and you swallow him down. The two men are desperately rutting all sensitive now, as your cunt and mouth takes every drop.
It’s not much after that you suck your cunt off Satoru’s pretty cock, that Suguru fucks Satoru’s load back inside you. Lost in every sensation until you’re spent, leaking their cum out from your cunt and snuggling between them, snoring lightly. They both laugh softly, watching you, cuddling you close.
“She thought she’d leave,” Suguru sighs, caressing your cheek, Satoru smirks just a bit.
“She never will.”
*****
i loved writing this clearly, I went over the wc I was having TOO MUCH FUN ahh! I hope I didn't fk up any terms or techniques as I'm not a canon writer. tysm for the comm bb i hope you love it too!
Patreon for more exclusive fics - Kofi link (commissions here)
pairing — gojo satoru x fem!reader (art by @/yinartss on x.)
summary — you adore being satoru's friend - the conversations, the laughter, the touches. however, satoru is going insane with the miniscule affections the two of you share that only seem to grow his everlasting love for you. will he be able to finally reciprocate your touches and confess his feelings at last? or five times you drove satoru insane with your touch and the one time he decided to give you a taste of your own medicine.
𖤐 word count — 6.1k
𖤐 genre/tags— nerd!gojo, nerdy reader, college!au, 5+1 trope, fluffy!!!, friends to lovers, gojo is so very down bad for you and has to recover from every point of contact ever.
𖤐 author's note — in honor of finals season finally being over
꒰masterlist꒱
SUNLIGHT bounced off the lenses of Satoru’s wire-framed glasses. He didn't mind though - the seat was arguably the best one in the lecture room. There was a window placed right next to him and the wall was snug against his sweatshirt, giving him a nice place to lean on. Oh, and of course, there was you. Arguably, sitting next to you was what made this seat so great in the first place. Even if he had ended up sitting smack-dab in the very front seat of the lecture room, he would’ve been happy as long as he got to sit next to you.
He twirled the mechanical pencil in between his fingers absentmindedly, half paying attention to the lecture while the other half was focused on you. Really, he didn’t even need to be in the lecture room, he had most of the concepts of the physics class down to a T and the class being at eight A.M wasn’t convincing him any further to be present. Nonetheless, he was present at every lecture simply because he knew you would be there. He adored your commitment to academics - he adored it when you first became friends with him in freshman year of college and he adored it now in your junior year.
It was by chance that he became friends with you that fateful day; it was the beginning of a new semester and he had been playing around on his gameboy outside of a lecture hall, waiting for Suguru to finish his class. In that moment, you plopped down next to him in all your glory and had excitedly asked him what game he was playing. He was hesitant at first, unused to the attention you were happily giving him but was slowly lulled into a steadfast conversation with you. Simply like that, the two of you had become fast friends, bonding over small and large things whether it be your favorite Digimon character or the banes of being a physics major.
Over the course of time, that friendship had developed into something much, much more. It led Satoru to where he is now - heart palpitating after the smallest touches, flushed cheeks after sitting too close to you, mind racing when the two of you talked passionately. It was all too much and he had to admit to himself that he had fallen disastrously in love with you. After all, the mess he was in now, well, was a result of how poorly he reacted to you and your actions. Just how was he meant to resolve this?
I. I LIKE YOUR HANDS.
Satoru didn’t mind presentations. Really - they were inconvenient, sure, and it was much worse when being tasked with a presentation for a group. He’d have to tag along to help with even the most basic of tasks and repeatedly ask other people to finish their parts on time or, worse, he’d have to complete the whole damn thing by himself and begrudgingly allow the rest of the group to leech off of his hard work. You had always scolded him to go report the group partners to a professor but he’d always shied away from it, insisting that it was just a small thing and it didn’t matter to him as long as he passed the class.
Thankfully, this presentation was not a group project. It was, however, a project that would end up being nearly half of your total grade percentage for the class and understandably, you were nervous. Nearly half the class had already presented at this point and you were just pushing it off, refusing to volunteer your hand at presenting, hoping that maybe the professor would simply just forget that you didn’t present.
It wasn’t that you were unprepared - no, no, if anything, you were overprepared. You had ensured your slideshow was pristine and well organized, your speaker notes were overflowing with exemplary points and you had revised so many times that you were sure Satoru and your mirror were sick of hearing the same spiel over and over again.
Nevertheless, none of those facts did much to sever your anxiety that was surmounting in your chest. Satoru couldn’t help but notice as he glanced over to you, the current presenter slowly being tuned out in his head. Your leg was bouncing fervently with nerves and you were biting your lip so much he was sure it’d start bleeding at any point now. He frowned, wondering what he could possibly do to ease your anxiety. Even yesterday, when you had insisted on practicing your presentation once more to him he had decided to intervene to give you a small pep talk.
“You’ll do just fine, okay? I swear, you’re the smartest girl I know.” His hands gently cupped your face, thumbs stroking the skin of your cheekbone. His eyes were full of gentility, looking at you with such softness as he reassured you.
“But I’m scared, Satoru. What if I fumble really badly and then I end up failing the class? What if-”
“You’ll do amazing, I swear it. You prepared so much for this, smart girl. I know you can do it.” He tucked some of your hair behind your ear and smiled, his positive energy calming down your franticness. “Now show it to me one more time, I’m ready to be amazed.”
He looked back at the presenter and then at you again, recalling the conversation yesterday and how the small physical touch and reassurance had calmed you. Hesitantly, he reached his hand over and placed it on your lap, palm up. Your leg immediately stopped bouncing as you looked over at him in confusion. Tentatively, he waved his fingers at you before scribbling on your notebook, if you’re nervous, you can fidget with my hand, maybe it’ll help.
He felt his heart race as you leaned over to read the note, internally yelling at himself that perhaps this was too much and maybe you thought this was weird or a stupid idea and really he should keep his hands to himself - squeeze. Your fingers threaded between his and squeezed his before letting go and you started fiddling with his fingers. Satoru felt his breath catch at your gentle touches, sending tingling sparks across his palm.
You traced the lines embedded into his palm, the curves of his fingers, the bumps of his knuckles and the subtle scars he developed over the years. With each touch, Satoru felt his heart faster and faster, the mere feel of your hand against his making him more nervous than any presentation could ever dream to do.
Time passed like that in the lecture hall - with you playing around with his slender fingers and Satoru’s face slowly resembling a tomato more and more. That was until your name was called out to begin your presentation and he felt you stiffen next to him as you nodded and started collecting your things to take to the front of the daunting classroom. Right before you got up, he squeezed your hand once more as one last silent encouragement before you had to face your anxiety. You gave him a nervous smile before straightening your shoulders and diving headfirst into your project.
By the end of it, Satoru’s chest swelled with pride with the way you had completed your project - astounding and impressive as he had always expected you to do. You were the last person to present so he quietly packed away your stuff in your bag while you chatted with the professor excitedly and he waited for you by the doorframe, his bag slung over one shoulder and your bag hung on the other.
You ran up to him, happiness shining in your eyes as you squealed your excitement about how well it had all gone. “Everyone asked such good questions and the professor was asking me how it related to the uncertainty principle and oh-”
Your hand slipped into his so naturally, as you walked and talked that one would’ve thought it was the most casual thing ever but Satoru almost stopped walking right then and there. You continued on, waving your other hand around while the hand that held his swayed back and forth. Noticing him slowing down you looked back at him in confusion, “Satoru? Is something wrong?” Your grip on him loosened and he panicked, desperate to keep your touch on him for as long as he could.
“No! No, keep going, I'm listening.” He smiled brightly, and when you did continue he made sure to hold onto your hand tightly, wanting the feeling of your fingers against his to last forever.
II. PLAY WITH MY HAIR MORE.
He was tired. Expeditiously tired. He was so tired he was convinced that there were likely zombies out there that looked better than how he did right now. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop his constant cycle of motion: review over his notes, do a practice test, crack open another 200 mg caffeine filled energy drink, repeat. He was a shell of a person now, deduced to astrophysic formulas and mediocre caffeinated drinks. Thus was the way of midterm season as a college student, wasn’t it?
On hour six (or was it hour ten? He had lost the concept of time at this point.) was when you had decided to intervene, merely for the sake of Satoru’s sanity. You had creeped up behind him in his seat at the library before setting your hands on his shoulder and yelling, “Boo!”
It was a testament to his crazed state that Satoru actually flinched and looked at you wildly before processing that it was you that was standing before him. While he was processing you, you were also taking in his state and sighed. “Satoru, how long have you been here?”
He grimaced and looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Two… hours…?” He said tentatively, knowing you wouldn’t believe a single word from his mouth.
You looked at him, deadpan, before shaking your head at him. “You’re a horrible liar. C’mon, I’m taking you to my place. You can’t study in this state.”
Without asking his opinion, you closed his laptop and started packing his stuff away, ignoring his protests against the whole idea. Once he had begrudgingly donned on his (rather heavy) backpack, you grabbed his hand and dragged him out the door of the library and straight to your dorm. You made sure to not waste a second of time the whole walk home, scolding him on his lack of self-care, “You didn't even eat all day, you can’t just ignore your needs just because you have exams y’know.”
Sighing, you dumped both of your stuff on your rug before waving him off to the bathroom. “Go take a shower, it’ll help calm down your brain and I’ll order us some food. You want your chili oil noodles right?” He smiled and nodded at the detail, you always remembered all his likes and dislikes, what would cheer him right up.
“Alright, alright, your hoodie is still in my closet so just wear that.” You shooed him off without a second thought, busying yourself with finding the phone number for the noodle restaurant. Satoru, meanwhile, felt himself flush at the intimacy of it all. It wasn’t like he’s never been at your place before - no, if anything, it was the opposite. He had ended up in your dorm so often, he’d probably know the layout blindfolded. No, it wasn’t that he was at your apartment but rather the subtle intimacy of showering where you shower - sharing the same shampoo as you, wearing the hoodie that you had subtly taken from him, that probably still carried wafts of your perfume. It was that, the quiet signal and actions of what’s mine is yours. Trying to suppress his growing smile and fondness for you, he turned back to the bathroom, grabbing your (his) hoodie on the way.
When he was finally out, shaking the wet droplets from his hair with a towel he opened the door to find a quietness overtaking the apartment. The fan was on with the smell of fresh noodles wafting in the room. You were sat in a heap of blankets and pillows on the plush rush, the place next to you adjusted with all his favorite pillows, awaiting his arrival. Back to the Future, his favorite movie, was set on pause on your laptop screen, and you looked at him excitedly while patting the place next to you.
Once more, Satoru found himself in a state of lovesickness at your actions. It was never just your proximity that caused his heart to race. It was things like this too - the way you knew just the way to take care of him. When he needed some time to recover and calm down, just his favorite things to revive his spirit. It was the way the two of you worked in tandem to balance when the other needed support and care. Your friendship worked in such a perfectly harmonious manner and it was in times like these that he wished he had the courage to push that friendship into further territory.
But alas, Satoru made his way next to you, cuddling into the pillow you gave him and pressing play on the movie. He cycled through delving further into the blankets and eating forkfuls of noodles, finally at peace at the end of this stressful day. The tension in his shoulders lessened and lessened until they finally slumped down. He could feel his eyes slowly closing and then snapping open repeatedly, trying to shake off the sleep. With sleep lining his body, he felt himself lean over to your body and you gently guided his head to rest on your lap. The movie droned on in the background but now all he could really focus on was the slow lull of sleep enticing him forward and the feel of your hands in his snow-white hair.
You twirled strands of his hair around your finger, braiding some pieces together while massaging some parts of his scalp. He was just about to full drift off when he felt your hands leave his hair and he felt his sleep slowly start leaving his body again. He waited a couple of minutes, hoping you’d go back to your original actions but when you didn’t he buried his head further into your thighs and groaned. He rummaged around for your hand, waving his own hand wildly till it came in contact with yours. He placed it back in his hair before mumbling, “Don’t stop, it feels good.”
There was the sound of your pretty laughter before you went back to playing with hair. As he drifted off once more, he swore he felt the press of your lips against his hair and the whisper of something soft he couldn’t quite catch.
III. WHAT FLAVOR IS IT?
Sweet treats were necessary to keep you motivated during stressful times. At least, that’s what you argued to Satoru while sitting in one of the study nooks of the science building. It was the aftermath of the third midterm of the semester and Satoru was slumped into his seat, feeling completely drained. You were sat across from him, wearing another one of his hoodies - this one had a Pokemon character slapped across the front - while waving your arms around to carry your point.
“We just finished an exam and we have another one tomorrow. We need some ice cream to keep us motivated for the next day!”
He narrowed his eyes at you playfully and slumped further in his seat, “Exactly, we have an exam tomorrow meaning we should go back to studying right now.”
You groaned and lightly smacked his arm in protest, “When have you ever said no to a sweet treat? C’mon, Satoru.” You looked at him pleadingly and he felt his resolve break at the look on your face. He looked away and sighed.
From the sound of the sigh, you knew he had finally given in. Squealing, you reached across the table to clasp his hands, shaking them in excitement. “Let’s go, let’s go!”
You had all but dragged him by the wrist across campus until the two of you reached the shopping area full of small restaurants, ready to entice. The area was well lit with fairy lights hung across the central seating area and with the slight chilly weather it had become a beacon for all the students to laze around post-exam. You pulled him forward to the ice cream store, the door jingling at your entrance.
“What flavor will you get, Satoru?”
“Mint chocolate chip.” He said the response, already anticipating your reaction to the flavor and he could feel the beginnings of a smile creeping up.
As expected, your nose crinkled up at his flavor of choice, “Satoru, that is gross, it literally tastes like mouthwash and chocolate.”
He shrugged, laughing as he did so while you chose your own ice cream flavor. He nudged you out of the way when it was time to pay, hip-checking you away from the register to give his card to the person waiting. Sticking his tongue out at you, he said, “Maybe you’ll like it this time around.”
Settling down on a bench right under the fairy lights, Satoru couldn’t help but become more aware of the people around him. More so, of their… relationship status. He was steadily realizing that most of the people that came here were on dates. There were couples nearly on every bench, either cuddled up against one another or looking at each other with such love-full eyes. Satoru glanced over to you but it didn’t seem you had noticed a thing - you were digging into your ice cream happily.
Of course you didn’t know this was a couples area, but the idea didn’t stop his throat from going dry. What if the two of you did come here as a couple at a later time? Would you be like the other people surrounded here? Lovesick and warm in each other’s embrace? Your leg brushed against his and it woke him out of his stupor. Frowning, you asked, “Why didn’t you eat your ice cream yet? Did you really not want some?”
Stammering, he shoved a spoonful of the green ice cream in his mouth in response before flashing you a thumbs up. You giggle at his actions and his heart flutters at the noise before coming to a complete stop. You were leaning in close to him. Very close.
Your thumb came up to his mouth and he reflexively shut his eyes in anticipation. Your fingers swiped against his lip, smearing the ice cream off of him. He blinks his eyes open and feels his throat go dry — you’re still leaned in oh so close to him and you give him a grin before licking your thumb of the ice cream you just stole from his lips.
Surely you must be trying to put him into cardiac arrest, this can be the only reason. Surely that was it, and this was you flirting with him, right? Regardless of the reason, he felt his heart thumping loudly within his chest and he forced himself to say something, if just to take advantage of your forward move. “Does it taste good? The flavor?”
Warmth flooded to your cheeks and you tilted your head, pretending to think. “Hmm… I think so. I wouldn’t mind the flavor that much if that’s how I was eating it.” You nudge him with your elbow teasingly.
Satoru can feel himself flush at your teasing and he looks away, refusing to let you see the way you leave him utterly flustered. “Maybe you’ll get to like the flavor without it too.”
“Hm, I don’t know about that Satoru.”
IV. NO MORE STUDYING.
It was 2 A.M. and he was convinced that soon enough he would have his physics notes leaking out of his ears at this rate. It was a constant flow of revision and it was tiring to say the least. While he despaired over his notes on his desk, you were sprawled out on his bed with your laptop and notes every which way on his bedsheets. Satoru had convinced you to study together and while it was a promising endeavor for the first few hours, as the time bled into the late night you had slowly become more and more distracted from your studies. You were now watching videos on your phone all while cuddling into his bed and Satoru badly wished he could join you. But alas, his optics chapter called his name.
He convinced himself of just one more chapter, just one more, and suddenly he could feel his eyes drooping and his glasses sliding down his nose. Dimly, he was aware of you moving around behind him and the door quietly slipping shut. His eyes were closing shut when he felt the slide of arms around his shoulders and he felt you tug him closer to your front. Laying your chin on his shoulder, you leaned into him from behind and whispered in his ear, “Take a break Satoru.”
He sighed and rubbed his eyes from under his glasses. Without thinking, he melted into your touch, leaning his back into you as you continued to hold him. You were fiddling with strands of his hair and Satoru could feel himself relax further. “I discovered a rooftop at the top of your building also. You never told me your building had that!”
He hummed in response, leaning further into the hand that had now started scratching and massaging his scalp. You pulled your hand away and he whined at the loss of contact, opening his eyes to protest. Grinning, you grasped him and pulled him out of his chair. “C’mon, let’s go to the rooftop. You need the fresh air anyways.”
Without waiting for a response, you pulled him out the door of his apartment and up the floors of stairs of his building. The rooftop was a bit shabby and not as big of an excitement as he was expecting but that was your charm, he supposed. You’d find something lovely in even the more duller things.
There was a blanket laid on the ground - one that you were curled around earlier. No doubt you had taken it out here and spread it out for you and him to share. You let go of his hand and laid down on the soft fabric before patting the space next to you. Laying down by your side, Satoru took in a large breath and tried to ease the anxiety in his shoulders.
He felt the warmth of your body next to him and instead of the typical nervousness he felt at the proximity, it was exchanged for a sense of peace and comfort. Perhaps his body was simply too tired to go into a state of nervousness or maybe he had just grown used to the feeling of being close to you - either way, he was simply thankful you were here.
“Look! You can see some stars from here.”
You pointed at the sparse stars that could be seen from where the two of you laid. He smiled at the view before rolling over to take in your side profile. “There’s a star right here too.”
“Hm? Satoru,” you groaned, knowing what was coming next.
He grinned, "Because you have to be a star, your gravity keeps pulling me closer.”
You shrieked at his words and shoved him over, “You’re so corny, only you would use astrophysics as a way to flirt with someone.”
He waggled his eyebrows at you before coming back to sit closer to you once more. Settling on his back, he reveled in the silence - the only noise coming from the occasional rev of a sports car or the cicadas leisurely in the forest nearby.
“The moon looks beautiful tonight.”
He furrowed his eyebrows, eyes darting back and forth in search of the moon. “I thought today was a new moon, you wouldn’t be able to see it today.”
A sigh echoes through you. “You’re right, I guess I thought I saw it then.”
The conversation drops after that and while there is nothing to indicate that something has gone wrong, he couldn’t help but feel like he was missing out on some message you were trying to tell him. Your head rests on his shoulder and you fold into the curve of his body so easily, he decides to mull over the conversation at another time in favor of savoring this moment.
The wind blows lightly in the autumn air and despite the stress of his academics, Satoru thinks he has found the peace that is meant to calm his life.
V. A THING OF GRATITUDE.
There was a particular area in the science building that the two of you liked to refer to as your place. It was hidden in a corner of the hallway on the third floor, hidden behind a poorly painted white door. The heating in the room was just right, there was a window in the room that gave out just enough natural light that it wouldn’t give you a headache, and most importantly, no one knew about it.
It was where Satoru currently sat while he waited for you to arrive. The armchair he sat in was cozy enough to curl up while he fiddled around with the gaming console in his hands. The familiar tunes of Legend of Zelda rang throughout the room as he played the game until you came stumbling into the room - backpack keychains clattering against each other and papers messily held in your arms. “I’m here! I got my exam back.”
He grinned and gestured for you to sit in a chair nearby him, ready to debrief everything. This had become a tradition between the two of you – neither of you bothered looking at your exam results until you were together and opening the results together. It was a ritual the two of you had started at the end of your second semester together; most of your classes together were shared because of the same physics major both of you were pursuing. With that it was easy to just wait on your exam results coming in together and sharing them at the same time, it built the academic competitiveness between the two of you and it was an adored part of your dynamic. Simultaneously, it was also easy to study that way or nag Satoru about a concept you didn’t understand, the two of you worked in a perfect tandem of pushing and supporting each other when needed.
You settled into the seat next to him and set out the papers with the back-side up while Satoru flipped through his backpack to get his exam papers as well. Once it was all settled, the two of you eagerly grasped the papers, ready to flip them over to see the results. “Three… two… one!”
He excitedly scanned the sheets, looking for the red mark to indicate his grade. Rifling through the papers, most of his exam grades came out to be an A with the occasional 85 popping through. He glanced over to you and he saw your worried expression and his heart dropped immediately. Did you not do good? You had studied so hard and you had felt so good about the exam, he hadn’t thought it was possible for you to have gotten a bad grade.
He called your name gently and your head snapped over to him. “Toru…”
You grinned and flipped over the papers to show him. “I got all A’s!”
Satoru melted back into his seat in relief before narrowing his eyes at you. “You scared me, I thought they graded it wrong.”
“You’d think they graded it wrong and not that I just did bad on an exam?”
He scoffed, “As if. You’re too smart for that, I’d doubt their intelligence before ever doubting yours.”
Your cheeks hurt from how wide you were smiling. With the combined happiness of your good exam results and Satoru’s praise, you felt like you were on top of the world. You leaned over the arm of your chair to look at Satoru’s exams and you felt a rush of pride at the red-inked 100s that were splayed over the sheets. You looked over at him and he looked straight at the papers, avoiding eye contact as a nervous habit. “You did so good too, Satoru, you’re so smart.”
The tips of ears flushed bright red as he stared down at the table, a smile was forming on his face. “Thank you.” He mumbled.
Still leaned over, you press a kiss to his warmed cheek. His head swiveled over to gape at you and you laughed at his reaction. A hand came to cup the area you kissed, “Wha-”
“Thank you for always believing in me, Toru. I’m proud of you for doing good too, you worked so hard.” You glanced over at your phone and jumped out of your seat. “I have to go, I have a club meeting, I’ll see you later, yeah?”
He nodded dumbly, still trying to process everything that just occurred. He waved at your distant figure and flopped back in his chair. More than the kiss you had given him, he was soaking up the praise you tossed out so carelessly. Greatness was something that was always expected of him - it was why he threw himself into academics as vigorously as he did. He needed to be good, to be the top of the class, to have opportunities lined up to live up to his expectations. It was never something anyone praised him for but here you were telling him you were proud of him for something he had started thinking was the bare minimum.
His cheeks grew warmer and warmer as your words echoed in his head and sealed themselves into his heart. God, what were you doing to him?
I. TASTE OF YOUR OWN MEDICINE.
Satoru was on a mission. A very important mission at that. He was determined to get his revenge - to make you feel the way you left him flustered and today was the best day to carry out his plan. It was the second day of fall break, both of you had decided to remain on campus because the break was simply too short to go traveling anywhere and Satoru had insisted on making a day to go out.
He was dressed in his best sweater, the soft gray pattern made his eyes stand out despite his wire-framed glasses. Silver rings adorned his slender fingers, a fashion trait he recalled you found attractive. He fidgeted with the messenger bag slung across his chest while he knocked on the door to your apartment.
When you opened the door, Satoru wasted no time and flung the small bouquet of wildflowers into your arms. “For you.”
It took you a moment to take in the gift before you flashed him a radiant smile, “Thank you, Toru.”
He nodded, at a loss of words once more because even your smile led him spiral into nervousness. Calm down, he thought. You can do this.
The destination for the day was the bookstore. He knew you had been wanting to pick up a few novels that had recently been released in the fall season and he wanted to take a peek at the plethora of superhero comics that were waiting to be added to his bookshelf. When the two of you split apart to your respective sections in the bookstore, Satoru tried to steel his nerves while he flipped through the familiar pages of a manga volume.
The plan was to fluster you, yes, but more so it was a plan to make his feelings obvious. To make a stand on how he felt for you – but being so forward was not something he was used to and he had to push himself out of his comfort bubble to get his message across. When he finally found you leaning by the bookshelves, nose deep into the pages of a book, he set his shoulders back and walked up behind you. An arm was splayed across the bookshelves and he leaned against the books while he lowered his head to your ear, “Interesting book?”
You yelped and turned around to look at him in surprise. He grinned at you and cocked his head before gently taking the book from your hands. Turning it this way and that, he flipped through the pages and looked at you. “A romance book… why read one when I can make it reality?”
His shoulder cringed as the words left his mouth. Oh my god this is going horribly, how do people flirt?
It seems you didn’t mind too much however because you let out a laugh at his words, “It’s different! The love interest in this book is a fae, the magic makes it so much more interesting.” You launched into the mechanics of the fictional world and Satoru nodded along, looking at you with pure affection in his eyes as you rambled on and on. Noticing the look in his eyes, you flushed, warmth rushing to your cheeks. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He blinked. He wasn’t aware that he was looking at you in any certain way but maybe this was another opportunity to take his chance. His hand raised to fiddle with the ends of your hair before cupping your cheek softly. “Like what?”
The heat in your cheeks only grew warmer and you pushed him away in embarrassment. “Like that!”
Truly he didn’t know in what way he was looking at you but he kept pushing, “Do you like it?”
You opened your mouth to respond when your phone rang, the noise pulling both of you away from each other and breaking the moment. “It’s the alarm to feed my cat - do you want to come over and make dinner?”
He nodded eagerly and with that, Satoru found himself in your kitchen, once more trying to motivate himself to make a move. You were unaware of his internal meltdown, shuffling around the kitchen to find cat food. Putting a hand on the waist counts as a move, right? It was something that made the receiving person have butterflies, you had told him once while explaining a romance novel plot to him.
He inched forward ready to execute his move, you were just within arm’s reach when he tripped. There was the sound of scuttling and a loud meow as your cat waddled away in anger at being tripped over and Satoru felt himself going bright red in embarrassment. His eyes closed at the sheer humiliation running through his body until he realized your hand was holding his.
You had saved his fall by grabbing at his hand and effectively pushing him against the kitchen counter. Your arms were on either side of him, held onto the counter while you looked up at him. Your bodies were flushed together and Satoru could feel himself going warm all over again. Tilting your head in confusion, you asked, “You’ve been acting weird today, Toru. Is everything okay?”
He took a deep breath. The only thing he had succeeded in doing today was utterly humiliating himself instead of coming off as suave and flirtatious. Begrudgingly, he confessed, “I… I wanted to fluster you. I feel like you always make me nervous with the way you touch me and I wanted to show you how I feel and-”
You frowned at him, “I make you nervous?”
How was he making this even worse? He shook his head, “No! No - well yes, but in a good way. You make me nervous in a good way.” A hand came up to cup your cheek and he leaned forward. Your noses brushed against each other and his thumb started to rub small circles on your cheek. “You make me nervous because I like you. I like you so much and every touch makes me so nervous when all I want to do is-”
Your lips crashed into his and he could feel himself melting into the kiss. You tasted sweet and all he wanted was more. His hands trailed down to your waist and pulled you flush against him before he flipped you over so your positions were swapped now. You were leaned against the cold marble of the kitchen counter while he hovered over you, panting. “You - does this mean-”
Grabbing a fistful of his sweater, you pulled him close to you. “Satoru, I’ve been making it obvious since the very beginning. Now, kiss me.”
He didn’t dare object to your command and continued to kiss you, the idea of dinner forgotten in exchange for the physical touch he so desperately craved from you. It looked like you had the last say in this mission but who was he to complain? All he wanted was to feel your touch forevermore.
summary. Newton said the smaller the distance, the stronger the pull. Gojo Satoru thinks that explains the way he feels when you’re close.
word count. 18.2k (i need help)
content. mdni, fem!reader, college au, nerd! gojo, simp gojo supremacy, fluff, banter, tensionnnn, pet names, he's so down bad it's actually pathetic, teasing, smut, male mast., oral (male + fem rec), cum eating, face sitting, p in v, mating press, slight hair pulling, praise, swearing, light dumbification (just a lil), tit play, overstim, creampie, aftercare, pillow talk
author's note. fashionably late (?) to the trend BUT HERE WE ARE
Gojo Satoru is already arguing with the professor.
The classroom smells like coffee and too-new textbooks, the kind of sterile atmosphere that clings to the first week of university. Half the students aren’t even paying attention yet, still easing into the rhythm of things. But not him.
Gojo stands tall near the front, hands in the pockets of his pressed slacks, sweater vest and button-up perfectly in place, thick-rimmed glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose. His snowy hair is perfectly messy, his posture relaxed—almost bored.
“I’m just saying,” he drawls, voice smooth and annoyingly self-assured, “you can’t talk about general relativity without at least addressing gravitational time dilation. Not if you want to keep your credibility.”
There’s a beat of silence. Someone in the back stifles a laugh.
The professor straightens her notes. “We’ll get there, Gojo.”
“Sure,” he says, unbothered, but there’s a glint in his cerulean eyes. “But isn’t it a little irresponsible to feed undergrads simplified versions of reality? We’re not children.”
“You’re barely adults,” the professor mutters under her breath.
And just when it seems like he’s winding up for another volley—another casually devastating critique that’ll make the professor’s eye twitch—the door opens with a quiet creak.
“Sorry I’m late.”
The room stills.
You step inside, backpack slung over one shoulder, sunlight catching in your hair like some perfectly staged movie scene. You aren’t frazzled or apologetic—just calm, composed, like this is your class and everyone else is simply borrowing space in it.
Gojo turns. And forgets how to speak.
He doesn’t recognize you even though he’s memorized everyone’s faces during the orientation. But yours is unfamiliar. Distractingly so. And in that moment, standing half-turned at the front of the classroom, he is completely, totally, undeniably wrecked. His mouth parts slightly. No sound comes out.
The professor clears her throat. “Try to be on time next class.”
You nod easily. “Of course. Won’t happen again.”
Gojo’s eyes follow you as you make your way to an empty seat—his row. The one he claimed early on for optimal note-taking and strategic interruption placement. And of course, because the universe clearly enjoys watching him suffer, you pick the seat right beside his.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t sit. Just watches as you settle in beside him and flip open your notebook like nothing’s happened. Like you didn’t just reset the laws of gravity around his universe.
“Gojo?” the professor prompts from the front.
He startles. “Huh? Oh—yeah. I mean, yes. Sorry.”
Silence stretches as the lecture resumes. Gojo Satoru’s foot bounces beneath the desk. His fingers twitch like they want to scribble something but forgot how pens work.
He chances a glance at you from the corner of his eye. You’re taking notes, completely unfazed. Like you haven’t just walked into his orbit and thrown everything off-axis.
-
It’s quiet in the library. The kind of quiet that almost feels sacred, broken only by the occasional rustle of paper or the soft click of a keyboard. You’re tucked away at a corner table, head down, headphones in, completely immersed in your reading.
Gojo spots you the moment he steps in. He hadn’t meant to come here—physics homework was the last thing on his mind today—but the second he saw you seated, that changed. Suddenly, he’s very interested in gravitational lensing and quantum field theories.
He chooses the table diagonally across from yours. Not directly opposite—that would be too obvious. But just close enough that he can sneak glances without it being weird. Probably.
He flips open a textbook. Doesn’t read a single word. Just peeks at you over the top of the page like a little nerdy menace in disguise. Every time you adjust your hair or furrow your brows or smile faintly at something you read, it’s like he’s been hit in the chest. Repeatedly.
Then you look up.
He freezes. Straightens up. Pretends to be deeply fascinated by a diagram of a particle collider. You blink. Tilt your head a little. Then—you pull your headphones out. “Gojo Satoru, right?”
He almost drops his pen. “Uh—yeah. That’s me.”
“You’ve been staring at page fifteen for like… twenty minutes.”
He blinks. Looks down at his book. Flips it to page thirty-seven. “Right. Yeah. That’s, uh—intentional.”
You smile. “Sure it is.”
He wants to melt into the carpet.
You go back to your notes, sliding your headphones on again like it’s nothing. But that smile doesn’t leave your face. And Gojo’s certain he’ll be thinking about it for the rest of the week.
-
You're sitting under the tree near the physics building, nose buried in your laptop, headphones on, pretending you don’t feel someone staring at you. You do. Of course you do.
You glance up. He’s there.
Gojo, the cocky know-it-all from class. Still in that damned sweater vest, hair all floofy like he just rolled out of a nap and somehow made it fashion. He’s holding a coffee cup with one hand and awkwardly adjusting his glasses with the other, pretending like he just happened to pass by. He absolutely did not.
You blink. He panics.
“Oh. Uh—hey,” he says, and it comes out a little too loud, a little too fast, like his vocal cords staged a mutiny the second your eyes met.
You slide your headphones down. “Hi.”
There’s a long pause. He fidgets with the sleeve of his shirt, eyes flicking everywhere but your face now. “You, uh… You always sit here?”
You raise an eyebrow. “During this exact 30-minute window between classes? Yeah. Kinda my thing.”
“Oh,” he says, and laughs—nervously. “Coolcoolcool. I just—uh. I just thought you looked like someone who enjoys differential equations under tree shade.”
You squint. “You’re making fun of me.”
“What? No! I—I do that too. All the time. Big tree guy. Huge… leaf enjoyer.”
There’s a beat of silence. You bite back a laugh. “You good?”
“I was,” he mumbles, almost to himself, then louder: “Yeah! I’m totally—so good. Amazing, even.”
You give him a look. He clears his throat and tries again. “Listen, I didn’t get your name earlier, and that’s kind of a crime in several countries, probably. So…”
You pause, then finally tell him.
He repeats it under his breath like a prayer. “Pretty.”
You tilt your head at him, teasing. “So… was there a reason you were looking at me in class? Or is staring at people just part of your regular schedule?”
He flinches. Like, visibly. Adjusts his glasses again even though they’re already perfectly in place. “Staring is a strong word.”
“You choked on air.”
He groans, half-laughing, half-dying inside. “Okay—yeah, that… may have happened. But in my defense, I didn’t know I was capable of being that flustered until you walked in.”
Your eyebrows lift. “You were flustered?”
“Fatally,” he replies without missing a beat. “It was the most embarrassing moment of my entire academic career. And I once accidentally called a professor ‘dad’ in front of the entire cohort, so.”
You snort. “No you didn’t.”
“Unfortunately, I did. That man never looked at me the same again.”
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. There’s something kind of charming about the contrast—how sharp and smug he is in the lecture hall, then how weirdly dorky he gets the second he talks to you.
Gojo notices the smile. He lights up. “That’s a win, right?” he grins. “That counts as a win?”
You roll your eyes. “Barely.”
“Still counts,” he sings, rocking back on his heels. “You like coffee?”
You blink. “That’s random.”
“I just thought—maybe next time I bring one, I could bring you one too. You know. If we’re both going to be professionally loitering under this tree during our thirty-minute window.”
You pretend to think about it. “What kind?”
“Whatever kind makes you smile again.”
You pause. Okay. That was smooth.
You look away, just for a second, to hide the grin threatening to take over your whole face.
“You’re annoying,” you mutter.
He beams. “You’re not the first to say that.”
You part ways not long after, the building just a few steps ahead, and Gojo’s still standing where you left him—hands in his pockets, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, hair gleaming like spun silver in the sunlight.
You steal one last glance as you walk away, and—yep. He’s still watching you.
Still smiling like he knows something you don’t.
And just when you think you’ve escaped unscathed, you hear his voice call after you: “By the way, if you keep looking at me like that, I will ask for your number next time!”
You don’t turn around. You can’t. Your cheeks are already on fire.
But he laughs, bright and victorious, and you know he saw the way you tripped on the curb a second later. Cocky bastard.
And yet… you’re smiling the whole walk to class.
-
You’re seated a few rows back this time. Thought it might help with the whole not staring directly at Gojo Satoru like he invented astrophysics problem.
It doesn’t.
Not when he’s in his usual seat up front, one leg crossed over the other, sleeves pushed to his elbows like he’s here to work. Glasses low on his nose. A pen between his fingers that he keeps spinning—casually, like it’s no big deal he’s also kind of stupidly good at everything.
The professor drones on at the front of the room, explaining quantum field theory, but you’re only half-listening.
Because Gojo raises his hand. Again.
“Actually, that’s not entirely accurate,” he says, voice way too smooth for a know-it-all. “If you factor in the renormalization group flow, the outcome shifts entirely. I can show you if you want.”
She blinks. “I… well. That’s a fair point, Gojo.”
He grins, leans back like he didn’t just out-nerd a tenured physicist, and then—then—he looks at you. Like he knows you’re watching.
And you are. You so are.
Gojo tilts his head slightly, mouth curling into that infuriating little smirk as he mouths: Impressed yet?
You look away instantly.
You are. You’re very impressed. Unfortunately. But you’re not gonna let him know that. Not yet.
So instead, you raise your hand. And when the professor calls on you, you challenge his answer.
Gojo looks like you just proposed.
-
Class ends and students start filing out, a low murmur of backpacks zipping and chairs scraping filling the air. You’re casually packing up your things, pretending not to notice the way someone is lingering by the door.
He should’ve left already. But no—he’s leaning against the wall like it’s a conscious choice, not that he’s waiting for you or anything. Totally not that.
You sling your bag over your shoulder and head out. You don’t even get five steps into the hallway before you hear—
“So…”
You turn.
Gojo’s standing there, hands in his pockets, lips parted like he’s still catching his breath. His glasses are a little crooked. Probably because he’s been running that hand through his hair again. He straightens up when you face him.
“That was… impressive,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like, really impressive.”
You smile. “Thanks. You were good too, by the way.”
He blinks. “Good? I—good? That’s it?”
“Yup.” You start walking. “Try harder next time.”
There’s a pause. And then he jogs up beside you, looking equal parts offended and delighted. “Oh, okay. So that’s how it is?” he teases, grinning. “You’re one of those girls.”
“What girls?”
“The ones who enjoy crushing the academic dreams of sweet, helpless nerds like me.”
You give him a look. “Helpless?”
“Devastatingly,” he says, deadpan.
You snort. “You literally made a PhD cry last week.”
“She recovered.”
“You sent her a fruit basket.”
“See? I care.”
You try to hold back your laughter but fail miserably, and he lights up like you just handed him the Nobel Prize.
You turn the corner toward the next building, Satoru trailing beside you like a very tall, mildly wounded puppy.
He’s oddly quiet—hands still shoved in his pockets, eyes flicking your way every few seconds like he’s waiting for a verdict. It's kind of adorable.
You stop walking. “Come on,” you say, already veering toward the campus café. “I’ll buy you a coffee.”
Satoru blinks. Twice. “L-like… like a date?”
You snort, rolling your eyes. “Woah there. Hold your horses, bud. I’m doing it so maybe you’ll stop moping around.”
He gasps—actually gasps—hands flying to his chest in mock offense. “I am not moping!”
“You literally sighed ten times during that walk.”
“I was brooding. It’s different.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You pouted when I said you were just ‘good’ in class.”
“I’m a sensitive soul!”
“You’re insufferable.”
“But charming,” he says quickly, catching up to walk beside you again, shoulder bumping yours. “Undeniably charming.”
You hum, lips twitching. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
He grins, all pearly teeth and pretty-boy smugness, practically floating now. And just as you're about to step into the café, you hear him mutter something behind you, half to himself—
“I’m so gonna make you fall in love with me.”
You turn slightly. “What was that?”
“Nothing!” he chirps, already holding the door open for you like a gentleman. “Ladies first!”
-
He watches you from the tiny round table by the window, chin propped in his hand, glasses slipping a little down the bridge of his nose. You’re standing at the counter, reading over the menu with a furrow between your brows like you’re solving quantum equations instead of choosing between oat milk or soy.
He could watch you forever. Not in a creepy way—okay, maybe a little creepy—but in that dumb, enamored kind of way where even the way you tap your fingers against the counter makes his heart do this weird flip.
You step up, voice soft but certain when you order. Vanilla latte, extra shot, light foam.
He files it away instantly. Vanilla. Extra shot. Light foam. He’s going to remember that forever. He could write a thesis on it.
Your name is called, and he watches the way your eyes crinkle a little when you thank the barista. When you turn around, drinks in hand, and start walking back toward him, he panics—because suddenly he’s hyper-aware of how dumb he must look just staring.
He quickly looks down at his phone screen, pretending to scroll through something important. It’s literally just his calculator app open from earlier. Nothing’s calculated.
You slide his drink toward him when you sit. He doesn’t even care what it is. You could’ve handed him gasoline and he would’ve sipped it happily.
“Thanks,” he says casually—way too casually for someone whose brain short-circuited the moment you looked at him.
And then you take a sip of yours, and he blurts it out without thinking:
“You’re sweet.”
You blink. “Huh?”
He clears his throat. “The drink, I mean. It’s sweet.”
Smooth. So smooth.
You squint at him suspiciously. He hides behind his cup and takes a sip.
You're mid-sip of your latte when he says it—completely out of nowhere, eyes locked on you like he's trying to memorize your entire existence.
"You're kinda pretty when you’re annoyed, y’know?"
You almost choke. "What?"
He leans forward, resting his chin in his palm, grinning like he just cracked the code to the universe. “Just an observation. Purely academic.”
"You’re impossible," you mutter, eyes darting away—and he sees it, the blush creeping up your neck.
And that’s it. That’s his victory.
He leans back in his chair, smug as hell. “You're blushing.”
"I'm not."
“Oh no, don’t worry. I think it’s cute,” he says, like it’s a fact in a textbook.
You throw a sugar packet at him. He dodges with a laugh.
"You trying to kill me? And here I thought this was a date."
You give him a look. “It’s not a date.”
He shrugs, grabbing your drink and stealing a sip like it is. “Could’ve fooled me.”
You snatch your cup back, but it’s too late—he’s already smacked his lips like a wine critic.
“Are you always this annoying?” you ask, sipping your drink now.
He shrugs. “Only when I like someone.”
You freeze for half a second. And he sees that too.
Your voice is careful, teasing but cautious. “So you like me now?”
He hums, looking away dramatically, as if he’s pondering some great cosmic truth. “I don’t know… Maybe. You’re cute when you’re flustered. And when you’re mean to me. And when you roll your eyes. And—”
“Okay, stop.”
“Nope. You gave me coffee. I’m powered up now. Can’t shut me up.”
You groan, slumping in your seat with the most dramatic expression you can manage.
He grins wide, and that smug sparkle in his eyes softens, just a bit. “But seriously,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like talking to you.”
And that shuts you up for a beat.
You meet his eyes again, and this time, there’s no teasing, no cocky grin—just sincerity, wrapped in dorky charm. “…I like talking to you too,” you admit, soft.
And just like that, he lights up all over again.
-
You both exit the café, coffees in hand, the air warmer than before but still crisp. The sun’s out, and so is Gojo’s smile—until you stop at the sidewalk and glance down at your phone.
“Shit,” you mutter. “I’ve got class right now.”
His face drops instantly. “Wait—already? But I haven’t even finished annoying you yet.”
You laugh, nudging his arm with your elbow. “You’ve done plenty in the last thirty minutes, trust me.”
He exhales dramatically, shoulders sagging as he pouts. “This is tragic. A real loss for humanity.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“But I miss you already,” he says. “Who’s gonna listen to my unfiltered genius now?”
You raise a brow, backing away slowly. “I’m sure you’ll find a new victim. See you, Gojo.”
“Wait—wait, when do I see you again?” he calls after you, half-joking, half-not.
You shoot him a smile over your shoulder. “You’ll live.”
And as you disappear into the crowd, he just stands there for a moment, lips pressed together, watching you go.
“…No I won’t.”
-
You don’t think much of it when Gojo catches up to you outside the lecture hall again. He’s chatty as usual, teasing you about your keychain, dramatically proclaiming how he almost tripped over a squirrel on the way here, all while walking a half-step closer than necessary. Same old Gojo stuff.
You head toward your usual seat, a few rows back from the front—just enough distance to not get called on every two minutes. You’re used to watching him breeze right past, to the very first row, like he’s the poster boy for "overachiever of the year."
So when you slide into your seat and Gojo casually takes the one right next to you, backpack dropping with a thud at his feet, you do a double take.
“What are you doing?” you whisper.
He only shrugs, flashing that annoyingly pretty smile. “Just felt like switching it up today.”
You’re not the only one caught off guard. A few students glance over and someone even nudges their friend like this is newsworthy.
Because Gojo Satoru doesn’t switch it up. He’s the guy who color codes his notes and brings a backup calculator. But now he’s here, sitting so close that his knee bumps yours beneath the table and stays there.
You try to focus when class begins—but it's hard when he's right there beside you, radiating warmth. Every now and then, his fingers graze your thigh beneath the desk—casual, like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.
You don’t look at him. But you know he’s grinning. And just when you're starting to think this can’t get more distracting—
“Before we end today,” the professor says, “I’m assigning a group project. Pairs, selected at random.”
Your stomach sinks. You glance at Gojo, who’s already turned toward the front again, fingers drumming lightly on the desk. Like he knows.
You hear names being rattled off. A list of partnerships. Then—
“And lastly, Gojo Satoru and…” A pause. “You.”
Silence. You blink. Gojo leans back with a loud, satisfied sigh and stretches his arms behind his head.
“Oh no,” you mutter, already dreading what’s coming.
“Oh yes,” he says, grinning so wide it should be illegal.
-
You step out of the lecture hall with Gojo hot on your heels, practically bouncing with excitement. He’s still beaming about the professor’s decision like he just won the lottery.
“This is fate,” he says, catching up to walk beside you. “We’re gonna be the best pair in that class. I mean, you’ve got the brains and the beauty, and I’ve got the everything else.”
You snort. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I’m dead serious.” He adjusts the strap of his backpack with dramatic flair. “This is the beginning of a legendary academic alliance.”
You roll your eyes, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “So, when do we start this legendary alliance of yours?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Thought you’d never ask. I was thinking… we could cash in that coffee date you promised me. Use the time to plan out our project. Very responsible. Very scholarly.”
You shoot him a look. “It’s not a date.”
“Sure,” he says easily, eyes twinkling. “A purely educational rendezvous at a cozy café where we might happen to sit close enough to accidentally brush knees again.”
You groan. “Fine. But we’re actually working on the project this time.”
“No promises,” he grins.
And you hate how you laugh at that.
-
You’re tucked into the booth of a café, a half-empty cup of coffee sitting forgotten as you scribble into your notebook. Across from you, Gojo’s talking a mile a minute—bouncing between theories, concepts, and potential outlines for your project with the kind of ease that only someone dangerously smart could pull off.
And the worst part? Every word out of his mouth actually makes sense.
You glance up at him, brows lifting slightly. “Okay, that last one? That’s actually… really solid.”
He beams. “Right? I knew you’d see the brilliance.”
You shake your head with a small laugh. “I hate to say it, but I’m impressed.”
Gojo leans forward, resting his chin on his hand with a smug grin. “Careful now. Compliments like that might go to my head.”
You ignore him, scribbling something down beside his last idea. The two of you work like that for a while—you writing, him throwing ideas around and occasionally sipping from his drink. And before you know it, you’ve got the skeleton of a full project mapped out.
He stretches his arms above his head, shirt riding up just enough to be distracting. “Whew. Honestly? I didn’t expect to get this much done.”
You close your notebook, tapping your pen against the table. “We could start putting together the first draft later this week.”
Gojo nods. “Yeah, sure. We could work at my place or someth—”
You cut him off, tone light. “You could come to mine.”
He freezes. Blinks. “Y-your place?”
You smile sweetly. “Mhm.”
He stares at you, cheeks tinged pink behind his glasses. “I—yeah. Yeah, totally. Your place. Great idea. Love that. Very efficient. Extremely platonic and professional.”
You laugh. “You’re cute when you malfunction.”
“I don’t malfunction,” he mumbles.
You don’t believe that for a second.
He’s trying so hard to play it cool, but his brain short-circuited the moment you suggested your place. His legs bounce under the table, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt like it’ll ground him somehow.
You lean back in your seat, arms crossed as you observe him with a smug little smile. “You alright there, genius?”
Satoru clears his throat, adjusting his glasses even though they’re not crooked. “Me? Totally fine. Just recalibrating. You know, like… spatially. Mentally.”
You blink at him. “Uh-huh.”
He runs a hand through his snowy hair, the tips poking out in every direction like even they are flustered. “I just wasn’t expecting that, is all.”
“You weren’t expecting me to suggest we work on the project?”
“No—I mean, yes—but at your place?” He lifts his hands, palms up like he’s holding the concept of your apartment in the air. “Do you even realize what that implies?”
You tilt your head. “That I trust you to not snoop through my things?”
He looks offended. “I would never snoop. I am a gentleman.”
“Okay, gentleman,” you say, standing and grabbing your bag. “Then bring snacks when you come over.”
That shuts him up real quick. He stares up at you, blinking as you sling your bag over your shoulder and give him one last little smirk. “Oh,” you add casually, “and maybe wear those glasses again.”
His jaw drops.
You don’t wait to see his reaction. You just turn and walk off with the smuggest little sway to your step, leaving Gojo sitting there—completely malfunctioning, heart doing gymnastics in his chest.
He presses a hand over it, eyes wide. “Oh god.”
-
[gojo]: hey. hey hey hey
[gojo]: when u said ur place… u meant like. like ur apartment right
[gojo]: like ur home. with walls. and couches. and stuff
[you]: i am aware of what my apartment contains, yes.
[gojo]: just checking 😇
[gojo]: do i need to bring a textbook? or will u be tutoring me using sheer intimidation alone
[you]: i thought i was the one taking notes last time?
[gojo]: yeah but you intimidated me into being smart. that’s powerful
[gojo]: anyway what’s ur address 👀
[you]: [sends location]
[you]: and bring snacks like i said. i’m not letting you in if you show up empty handed
[gojo]: what kind of snacks
[you]: surprise me
[gojo]: …
[gojo]: you have NO idea what you’ve just done
[you]: satoru it’s literally just snacks
[gojo]: and now i’m overthinking EVERYTHING. chips? chocolate? do i bring a charcuterie board???
[gojo]: i need you to know i’m taking this Very Seriously.
[you]: i’m sure you are.
[gojo]: 😤 just u wait. i’ll be the best study buddy you’ve ever had.
[you]: is this your way of flirting or are you always like this
[gojo]: …yes
-
You open the door and there he is—standing on your doorstep. His arms are full: a tote bag slung over his shoulder, a drink carrier in one hand, and a plastic bag filled with snacks in the other.
“You said surprise you,” he announces, stepping in. “So I brought everything. Chips. Cookies. Gummy worms. Protein bars, because balance. And boba. I panicked.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You brought a buffet.”
“I wanted to impress you,” he says, dead serious, slipping his shoes off at the door.
You stifle a laugh and step aside. “Come on in.”
Your place is cozy, warm lighting humming softly. Gojo’s eyes flit around like he’s taking mental notes of every detail—your throw pillows, your bookshelf, the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air. You pretend not to notice how he seems ten times quieter than usual.
“Sit,” you say, motioning to the couch.
He plops down next to you, thigh brushing yours, and pulls out his notes. “So. I was thinking we model the phase shift in the magnetic field using—wait—wait, are you actually listening or just staring at my mouth?”
You blink at him. “I was listening. You just talk a lot.”
He leans in, smirking. “But you were also staring.”
You swat his arm. “Focus.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbles, hiding a very pleased grin.
As you two dive into the project, it’s surprisingly productive. He’s brilliant—he rattles off concepts with such ease that you’re genuinely impressed. You ask questions. He answers. You scribble notes while he paces your living room barefoot, gesturing wildly as he explains advanced equations like they’re children’s bedtime stories. He’s in his element. And kind of hot, too, in a completely nerdy, passionate way.
“You’re really smart,” you say eventually, mid-note-taking.
He freezes. Turns to you slowly. “Say that again.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I said you’re smart—”
“No no,” he says, dropping onto the couch beside you again. “Say it slower. Maybe into my ear this time.”
You laugh, shoving him gently. “God, you’re impossible.”
“And yet you invited me over.” His voice drops just slightly, eyes glittering behind those thick-rimmed glasses. “Kinda makes me think you like having me around.”
Your heart skips. “Maybe I do.”
He stares for a moment—really stares—and then gives you the softest smile. “Then I guess I’m not leaving until we finish the whole project. Top marks, remember?”
“Top marks,” you echo.
When your hands brush reaching for the same pen, you both freeze.
You recover first, pulling your hand back slightly. “You can have it,” you say, trying to keep your voice casual.
Gojo, stubborn as ever, immediately shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. You can have it.”
“No, seriously, take it.”
“I insist.”
“You’re being annoying.”
“You like when I’m annoying,” he says with a cheeky grin.
You roll your eyes and shove the pen towards him. “Just take it before I stab you with it.”
There's a beat of silence where you both just stare at each other—awkward, heated, too aware of how close you’re sitting. You can feel the air shift between you, something lingering and soft.
Gojo clears his throat loudly, leaning back against the couch with exaggerated nonchalance. “Uh—snack break?” he says, voice a little too high-pitched to be smooth.
You bite back a smile, grateful for the out. “Yeah. Snack break.”
He springs up like he’s been given a second life, muttering something under his breath about chips and cookies while you try very hard not to laugh.
Gojo rummages through your cabinets like he lives there, narrating dramatically under his breath. "Let's see... we have some chips, half a granola bar... oh-ho, instant ramen! A true feast fit for a queen."
You lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with an amused smile. "You're so dramatic."
He whirls around, holding the ramen packet in one hand like it’s a sacred artifact. "Dramatic? No, no, this is culinary excellence, sweetheart."
You snort, covering your laugh with the back of your hand. "You're about to microwave that."
"Precisely." He winks at you. "Modern problems require modern solutions."
You roll your eyes but grab a cup, filling it with water and handing it to him. Your fingers brush when he takes it, and maybe you’re imagining it, but he seems to pause for half a second longer than necessary, fingers brushing yours again on purpose.
"I'll make you the best cup ramen of your life," he declares proudly, tossing it into the microwave and punching in the time.
"Bold of you to assume I have low standards," you tease.
He leans an elbow on the counter, cocking his head at you with a lazy, smug grin. "Again. You invited me over. I'd say your standards are excellent."
Your cheeks flame immediately. "Shut up."
He just laughs, tossing his messy hair out of his eyes, looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the room.
The microwave dings and Gojo gasps. "It's time."
He pulls the ramen out like it’s a precious treasure, dramatically blowing on it before holding it out to you.
"Milady," he says in a terrible fake accent, "your meal."
You’re laughing too hard to even be annoyed. You take the cup from him, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.
-
You both make your way to the couch after the world's most gourmet snack break (according to Gojo), slumping down with your legs tucked under you while he scrolls endlessly through your streaming options.
"Pick something," you say, poking his thigh with your toe.
"But it's so hard," he whines dramatically. "What if I pick something that doesn't match our vibe?" He flashes you a sly, boyish smile, the kind that makes your heart lurch even when you don't want it to.
You roll your eyes, tossing a throw pillow at him. "Just pick something, drama queen."
He catches the pillow effortlessly, still grinning, and finally settles on some random romcom—probably because he thinks it'll impress you with how emotionally available he is. Not even five minutes in, he does the whole exaggerated stretch and casual arm drop behind you. Textbook.
You give him a look. "Subtle."
He just beams, smug and utterly unbothered. "Thanks. Been practicing."
You shake your head, laughing under your breath, but you don't move away. Instead, you let the warmth of his arm hovering behind you linger there, like a secret.
You both slowly ease into a lazy sort of comfort, shoulders brushing every so often, knees bumping when one of you shifts. He’s fidgety, though—tapping his fingers against the cushion, sneaking glances at you when he thinks you won't notice.
You notice. You just pretend not to.
Time blurs, the movie forgotten as conversation picks up again. Dumb stuff. Stories about professors, weird classmates, Gojo ranting about a physics experiment gone wrong because "the equipment was stupid, not me," and you laughing so hard your stomach hurts. At some point you realize how late it’s gotten.
You glance at your phone. "Shit, it’s almost midnight."
Gojo pouts dramatically. "Nooo, don’t kick me out."
"You have class at eight tomorrow," you remind him, stretching your arms above your head. "Don’t you dare blame me when you fall asleep in class."
He sighs, long and exaggerated, standing up anyway. "Fine. But just so you know, leaving is painful for me. Agony, even."
You snort, pushing yourself off the couch. "You'll live, Satoru."
He lingers by the door, bouncing on his heels like he wants to say something. And then he blurts, all in one breath: "Do you wanna go on a date with me?"
You blink, caught off guard. "A coffee date?"
"No, no!" He waves his hands frantically. "Like—a real date. A good one. A fancy one. With food and everything!"
His voice goes a little desperate toward the end, as if you're seconds from rejecting him.
You cross your arms, fighting back a laugh. "Are you begging, Gojo?"
"Yes," he says instantly, with zero shame.
You tap your chin, pretending to think it over just to mess with him.
He looks genuinely tortured, hands clutched in front of him like he's praying.
Finally, you shrug. "Alright. You can take me out."
The way his whole face lights up could rival the sun. "YES—YES, OH MY GOD—okay, okay, I won’t screw this up, swear on my honor—"
You laugh, pushing him lightly toward the door. "Text me the details, Romeo."
He’s still beaming when he stumbles out, waving giddily.
You shake your head, grinning to yourself as you shut the door behind him.
-
You stand in front of the mirror, arms crossed, glaring at the mountain of clothes on your bed.
It’s ridiculous. It's Gojo Satoru, for god’s sake—the same man who wears sweater vests unironically—so why are you panicking about what to wear?
You pick up a red dress, stare at it, and toss it aside. Too much.
A simple blouse and jeans? Too casual.
You want to look good. Scratch that—you want to make his brain short-circuit when he sees you.
Finally, after what feels like hours of spiraling, you settle on a black off-shoulder dress that hugs your figure flatteringly. It’s something that feels like you—simple but pretty, enough to make your heart skip when you catch your reflection.
Right as you’re fixing the final touches, your phone buzzes.
[gojo 💙]: here <3
[gojo 💙]: try not to fall in love with me too fast ok
You snort under your breath. Too late, you think, heart thudding faster than you’d ever admit.
You grab your bag and head outside, spotting him.
You almost don't recognize him at first.
Gone are the thick-rimmed glasses and the nerdy sweater vest he usually sports in class. Tonight, Gojo Satoru is dressed in a simple white button-up—sleeves rolled up to his forearms—and black dress pants that cling just right to his lean frame. His snowy hair is still messy, like he ran his hands through it a million times, but somehow, it works. He looks effortlessly good. Stupidly good.
And when he spots you, he nearly trips over his own feet.
"Hey," you greet, a little breathless from how unfairly good he looks.
"Hey," he says back, voice cracking halfway through. He coughs, fumbling to form literal words, cheeks flushed. "You, uh—you look—wow."
You laugh softly as he practically skips toward you, offering you his arm with an exaggerated flourish. "Shall we, m'lady?"
You roll your eyes but take his arm anyway, feeling the warmth of him through the fabric of his shirt.
He leans down to whisper in your ear, cocky and sweet all at once: "Just so you know, I'm totally gonna brag about this to my future grandkids."
You elbow him lightly in the side, and he laughs, the happiest sound you've heard all day.
You laugh softly, letting go of him to get into the car, and he stands there for a second like he’s been shot.
When he finally gets himself together and slides into the driver’s seat, he sneaks a look at you. "You’re—" he starts, then cuts himself off, shaking his head like he can’t believe his own luck. "Perfect," he finishes under his breath.
You pretend not to hear it, hiding your smile as he pulls out onto the road—one hand casually on the wheel, the other fiddling nervously with his collar.
Neither of you says much at first. The radio hums softly between you.
But every few seconds, you catch him sneaking glances your way, grinning like this is already the best date ever.
-
You recognize the place immediately.
It’s a beautiful rooftop restaurant—one you’d mentioned wanting to try in passing, weeks ago, when a friend posted about it on social media. You hadn’t even realized he was listening.
The fact that he remembered makes your heart swell.
Satoru pulls into the valet line, hands slightly fidgety on the steering wheel. He throws a quick, nervous glance at you, like he’s scared you won’t like it.
"You, uh, mentioned it once," he says, almost shyly. "Thought it'd be better than, y'know... coffee again."
Your chest tightens in the softest, sweetest way. You open your mouth, ready to tease him, but the look on his face—the earnest hope in his eyes—makes you stop. You just smile instead.
"It’s perfect," you say quietly.
And the way he beams after that? God, you almost have to look away. Too much.
He practically leaps out of the car the second it's parked, sprinting around to your side to open the door for you. Except—he miscalculates the timing and almost slams it into his own shin.
"Ow—shit—" he mutters under his breath, recovering quickly and yanking it open like nothing happened. He straightens up, all suave-like, grinning down at you.
"Milady," he says dramatically, offering you his hand.
You roll your eyes but take it anyway, letting him help you out of the car. His hand is warm—so much bigger than yours—and he doesn’t let go right away. In fact, he keeps holding it as you walk toward the entrance, fingers intertwined like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And you don’t pull away. If anything, you squeeze a little tighter.
Inside, the restaurant is even more beautiful than you imagined—glittering fairy lights, soft music, a gentle breeze whispering across the rooftop.
Gojo glances down at you, smiling like you personally hung the stars. "Ready for the best date of your life?" he teases, but there’s a nervous edge to it—like your opinion actually, genuinely matters to him.
You bite your lip to hold back a grin.
"Lead the way, Romeo."
And he does. Hand in hand, heart thundering, wearing the dopiest smile imaginable.
Dinner with Gojo is…effortless.
For once, he isn’t tripping over his words or cracking half a dozen stupid jokes just to fill the silence. He’s confident—naturally confident—in a way that makes your heart stutter. It’s like all the nervous energy he usually carries around you has melted away tonight, leaving behind nothing but the real Satoru.
He leans back in his chair, the sleeves of his white button-up rolled up to his elbows, flashing the veins in his forearms as he lifts his wine glass to his lips.
There’s a lazy smirk playing on his mouth as he listens to you talk, bright blue eyes never straying from your face.
"You’re staring," you tease after a moment, pretending to inspect the menu like you’re not burning under his gaze.
"Yeah," he says simply, not even bothering to deny it. "You’re beautiful. I’m allowed to stare."
You nearly choke on your water.
Recovering quickly, you raise a brow. "Smooth," you deadpan, setting your glass down.
He chuckles lowly, the sound curling around your spine like smoke. "Only because it’s true," he says, and the sheer casualty of it has your cheeks heating up.
And the worst part? You can’t even pretend you’re unaffected—because he sees it. The way your lips twitch, the way your eyes flicker away for just a second.
"So," you say quickly, trying to regain control of the conversation, "when you’re not busy terrorizing professors and making girls swoon, what do you do for fun, Gojo?"
He hums, pretending to think about it, tapping his fork against his lip.
"Hmm...think about you mostly," he says airily.
You whip your napkin at him across the table, and he lets out a bark of laughter, catching it midair like a reflex.
The two of you fall into easy conversation after that—bantering, laughing, throwing subtle (and not-so-subtle) jabs at each other. It feels so natural that you almost forget this is your first real date.
There’s a moment—between courses, when you’re both picking at the remains of dessert—that you catch him just looking at you again. No teasing. No smirk. Just watching. Soft, and a little awed.
You shift slightly, suddenly aware of the intimacy stretching between you. "What?" you murmur.
He blinks, as if waking up. Shakes his head, smiling faintly.
"Nothing," he says, voice a little rough. "You’re just—really fucking gorgeous."
It’s so sincere that you don’t even know what to say back. You just look at him, feeling your chest tighten in that dangerous, dangerous way again.
-
The drive back is quiet—not uncomfortable. Just…full.
Full of things unsaid, full of that warmth that’s been simmering between you both all night.
Gojo parks in front of your place, turning off the engine, but neither of you make a move to get out right away. You just sit there, the hum of the night wrapping around you, the silence speaking louder than words ever could.
He turns in his seat slightly, arm draped over the steering wheel, looking at you with that soft, lopsided smile he reserves only for you now.
"I had a really good time," he says quietly, like it’s a secret meant only for you.
You smile back, feeling something sweet and dangerous unfurl in your chest. "Me too," you murmur, fingers twisting slightly in your lap.
The moment stretches—comfortable, a little electric—and you know you should say goodnight. You should.
So you finally reach for the door handle, pulling it open—And then, without thinking, you turn back.
Leaning in quick, before you can psych yourself out, you press a soft kiss to his cheek.
It’s light, barely a brush, but Gojo freezes like you’ve just electrocuted him.
You don’t wait for his reaction. Your face burning, you practically stumble out of the car, slamming the door shut behind you with a muttered, "Goodnight!"
Through the window, you catch a glimpse of him: Wide-eyed, stunned, a hand lifted dazedly to his cheek like he can't believe what just happened.
And then he laughs—a breathless, giddy sound that you swear you can hear even as you rush up the steps to your door, heart hammering like crazy.
Inside the car, Satoru slumps back against the seat, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. "God," he mutters to himself, still touching the spot where you kissed him, "I’m so fucked."
-
You’re lying in bed when your phone buzzes in your hand. Heart still racing from that impulsive kiss you planted on his cheek, you scramble to pick it up, thumbs fumbling.
[gojo 💙]: next time, you’re not getting away with just a kiss on the cheek.
You nearly drop your phone.
Oh. Oh.
Your stomach flips. Your face burns. And even though you want to play it cool, you can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. You bite your lip, thumbs hovering over the keyboard before finally typing back:
[you]: is that a threat, satoru?
The reply comes almost instantly, like he was waiting for you:
[gojo 💙]: no baby, that’s a promise.
You stare at the screen, heart hammering against your ribs.
Baby. God, you’re so done for.
And like he hasn’t already made you melt enough tonight, he sends another message:
[gojo 💙]: get some sleep, pretty
You bury your face into your pillow with a squeal, kicking your feet into the mattress. You type back quickly before you lose your nerve:
[you]: goodnight, satoru. try not to miss me too much.
And a few seconds later:
[gojo 💙]: too late.
[you]: careful, satoru. you're sounding real desperate rn.
You barely have time to smirk before he hits you with:
[gojo 💙]: desperate?
[gojo 💙]: for you? always.
And like he knows you’re losing it, he sends one more:
[gojo 💙]: sleep tight, gorgeous.
[gojo 💙]: dream of me.
[gojo 💙]: i'll definitely be dreaming of you. (and if i wake up hard, it's your fault btw)
You scream into your pillow.
Your hands tremble as you type your final text:
[you]: sweet dreams, toru <3
[you]: maybe next time you won’t have to just dream ;)
And the moment you send it, you shut your phone off and toss it across the bed because there’s absolutely no way you’re surviving if he replies. (He does. Five seconds later.)
[gojo 💙]: fucking hell.
-
Satoru’s still staring at your last text. Eyes wide. Mouth parted.
maybe next time you won’t have to just dream
He drops his phone onto the bed with a dull thud, dragging both hands down his face.
"Goddammit," he breathes, tipping his head back against the headboard.
He sits there for a good minute, struggling to breathe normally, heart hammering against his ribs, cock already half-hard just from that one text. (Just from a text. He's so far gone it's not even funny.)
"Pull it together, Gojo," he mutters, raking a hand through his messy hair.
But the moment he squeezes his eyes shut, it’s you he sees—smiling up at him all coy, leaning in close, whispering things in that pretty voice you have, like you knew exactly what kind of mess you were leaving him in.
You did. You knew exactly what you were doing.
He groans, thunking his head back harder against the headboard, biting down a low, frustrated sound as your words loop endlessly in his brain.
You’re driving him insane.
Before he can talk himself out of it, he shoves his sleep shorts down just enough and wraps a hand around his cock, cursing under his breath when he realizes how hard he already is.
It’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong—you haven’t even properly kissed yet. But god, you're just so, so perfect. So effortlessly beautiful.
He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, his hand moving slowly, pretending it’s you instead—your hand wrapped around him, your body pressed close, your breath ghosting over his ear as you whisper all the filthy things he can barely even let himself imagine.
"Fuck," he hisses through his teeth, hips bucking up into his fist, desperate for more.
He can’t help it.
You’re in his head. You’re under his skin. And he’s not even sure he wants to be saved.
His thighs tense, muscles flexing as he fists himself harder, chasing that high like a man starved. The sound of his breath—harsh and broken—fills the room. Your name nearly falls from his lips like a prayer.
And when he finally comes, it’s with a soft, bitten-off moan, warmth spilling over his knuckles.
His mind blanks for a long, dizzy second—nothing but the feeling of you filling every corner of him.
He collapses back against the pillows, breathless. Staring at the ceiling like he’s just been fucking wrecked. Sweaty. Panting. His hand sticky and his soul halfway out of his body.
He drags a hand down his face again, groaning. "...I'm so fucking screwed," Satoru mutters to himself, glaring uselessly at the ceiling like it’s personally responsible for his downfall.
-
The sunlight’s barely filtering through his blinds when Satoru stirs awake, messy hair flattened against his forehead, phone slipping from his chest with a quiet thunk onto the mattress.
Groaning, he blindly pats around for it, eyes still crusted shut from sleep.
When he finally blinks them open, he sees the last thing he remembers: your text. The text that ruined his entire night.
He slaps a hand over his face and drags it down slowly, mumbling, “I’m going to hell.”
But because he’s an idiot—an idiot in love—he still unlocks his phone, thumbs hovering nervously over the screen.
He needs to text you. Needs to act normal. Needs to pretend he didn’t almost cry last night over how fucking good it felt imagining you touching him.
He taps out a message, agonizing over every word:
[you]: good morning :) hope you slept well!
He stares at it for a second longer, wondering if he sounds too eager, then panics and deletes the smiley. Then retypes it. Then deletes it again.
Then sends it without the emoji because God forbid he looks like he’s about to propose or something.
He tosses his phone down and flops back against his pillows, staring up at the ceiling like it holds the answers to his sins.
Not even ten seconds pass before his phone buzzes. Heart slamming against his ribs, he fumbles to read it:
[sweetheart 💖]: you too, toru. sweet dreams? ;)
He physically chokes. Coughs. Slaps his own chest like he’s trying to restart his heart.
“Sweet dreams—?” he sputters aloud, horrified, voice cracking. “SWEET—?”
The images from last night flash vividly in his mind: your lips, your breathy giggles, your hands sneaking lower—
He shoves his face into a pillow and screams.
When he finally peeks out, shame swirling in his gut, he types back with trembling hands:
[you]: sweetest dreams ever. totally normal. nothing weird about them at all.
And then he turns his phone face-down. Because he cannot. He cannot see what you’re going to reply.
He’s so down bad it's physically painful.
-
You stare at your phone, biting your lip to hold back a grin.
Totally normal. Nothing weird about them at all.
Sure, Satoru. Sure.
You kick your feet a little under your blanket, giddy, heart thumping like crazy. You know exactly what you’re doing. You know exactly what you’re doing to him.
And you’re not done yet. You let him stew in his own panic for a few minutes—just to watch him suffer—before tapping out a reply:
[you]: sounds like someone’s overcompensating… ;)
You hit send and immediately burst into laughter, flopping back into your pillows. You can practically imagine him screaming into his hands right now, scrambling to figure out what to say without incriminating himself even more.
And because you’re a menace, you follow it up:
[you]: it’s okay, toru. you can dream about me whenever you want <3
There. You’ve officially ruined his whole morning.
You toss your phone aside and stretch, feeling like you just hit a home run. But then your phone buzzes again—multiple times—and you grab it, giggling.
First, from Satoru:
[toru 💙]: you’re evil. pure evil. i’m never sleeping again.
And then another, right after:
[toru 💙]: coffee today? my treat. i need to see your evil little face or i’m going to combust.
You roll over onto your stomach, kicking your legs up behind you, cheeks aching from smiling so hard.
Maybe you are evil. But god, it’s so fun when he’s this easy to tease.
You tap out your reply, heart light:
[you]: only if you promise not to die before you get here.
-
It doesn’t even take ten minutes before there’s a knock at your door. You blink in surprise—you hadn’t even changed yet.
Another knock, this time a little quicker, a little eager.
You pad over and crack the door open—and there he is.
Satoru, all messy hair, rumpled shirt, soft smile. Holding two coffees in his hands.
And looking at you like you hung the moon.
"Hi," he says, almost shyly. "Brought you a coffee."
You blink at him.
He fidgets, rocking on his heels. "I, uh... thought maybe we could, y'know, hang out a little. If you’re not busy."
Your heart melts a little at how hopeful he sounds.
"You’re impossible," you tease, swinging the door wider.
"And you're stuck with me," he chirps, stepping inside like he belongs there.
You take one of the coffees from him, fingers brushing, and he beams like you’ve just given him the greatest honor.
"Thanks," you say, smiling into your cup. "Even though you didn’t have to."
"I wanted to," he says simply, plopping onto your couch with zero hesitation. (And he leaves way too little space for you, thigh already brushing yours.)
You sit down beside him, your shoulders bumping. He hums under his breath, swinging his legs a little like a kid who’s gotten his favorite candy.
For a minute, it’s just the two of you, sipping coffee, the silence warm and comfortable.
And then, out of nowhere, he leans his head dramatically onto your shoulder.
You freeze for a second, heart skipping.
He sighs—loudly—against you. "You’re not gonna kick me out, right?"
You laugh, nudging him with your elbow. "Not if you behave."
"That’s asking for a lot," he grins, tilting his head up to look at you. His smile’s a little mischievous, a little boyish.
You roll your eyes, trying to hide your blush behind your coffee cup.
And because he’s shameless—and he knows he’s winning—he adds, voice low and teasing: "Maybe if you give me another goodbye kiss?"
You almost spill your coffee.
He sees it—the way your fingers fumble, the way your face flushes—and smirks.
"C'mon," he teases, nudging your knee with his. "Wasn't that bad of an idea, was it?"
You narrow your eyes at him, trying—failing—to fight your smile. "You," you say, poking his chest, "are way too full of yourself."
"And yet..." Satoru leans in, slow, eyes locked on yours. His voice drops to a whisper. "...you're not moving away."
Your breath catches. Because he's right—you’re not. If anything, you're leaning in too.
For a moment, neither of you says anything. The room feels too quiet, too charged. You can hear his breathing, slow and steady, can feel the heat radiating off of him.
Satoru’s gaze drops to your mouth—and lingers there. "Can I?" he murmurs, so soft you almost don’t catch it.
Your heart thuds loud in your chest. You nod.
That’s all he needs.
Slowly, achingly slowly, he closes the gap, giving you every chance to pull away—but you don’t. You tilt your chin up, meeting him halfway.
When his lips finally brush yours, it’s gentle—barely a kiss, more like a breath, a promise.
You sigh against him, and that tiny sound seems to undo him. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss just slightly, just enough to taste you. His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin so tenderly it makes your chest ache.
You kiss him back, slow and sweet, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt.
It drags out—neither of you in any rush, savoring every second.
He kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he stops. And you kiss him like you’ve been waiting forever for this moment.
When you finally, reluctantly, pull apart, you're both breathless. He presses his forehead against yours, grinning like an idiot. "So..." he whispers, voice a little hoarse. "Can I stay a little longer?"
You pretend to think about it, biting your lip to hide your smile. "Maybe," you tease. "If you behave."
He groans, flopping dramatically onto your couch again, tugging you down with him so you land half-on top of him, laughing.
"Not a chance," he says happily.
You're warm against him, tucked into his side, your head resting on his shoulder like you belonged there. And for a moment, Satoru feels like the luckiest man alive.
Until his brain—traitorous, evil, rotten—reminds him.
Reminds him of how he spent last night fucking his fist like a deranged lunatic, thinking about you. Reminds him that you have no idea just how far gone he already is.
A quiet, horrified voice in his head: I'm a monster.
His throat goes dry.His hands twitch awkwardly where they rest on your waist, unsure if he should even be touching you like this—until you shift, just slightly, peeking up at him with this sleepy little smile.
And just like that, every coherent thought leaves him. All that's left is you.
"You're comfy," you mumble against him, snuggling closer.
Satoru lets out a weak, broken little laugh, hiding his burning face against your hair.
If you only knew. If you only knew what you did to him.
He doesn't know how long he sits there with you tucked into him, drinking in your warmth. He could stay like this forever, he thinks. Hell, he wants to.
But then his phone buzzes.
He barely registers it, ignoring it at first. Until it buzzes again. And again.
He groans, reluctant, fishing it out of his pocket while you shift sleepily against him. The screen flashes: a reminder for his evening tutoring session he totally, utterly forgot about. He slumps.
"Something wrong?" you ask, voice soft, blinking up at him.
"I gotta go," he mutters like he's being forced into exile.
You bite back a smile, stretching lazily. "Duty calls?"
"Yeah." He pouts, actually pouts. "Stupid duty."
You laugh under your breath, and it's so unfair how easily you knock the air out of his lungs without even trying.
He stands reluctantly, dragging his feet like a kid leaving recess early.
"Hey," you call out. "Aren’t you forgetting something?"
He turns around and blinks at you, confusion flickering across his face—but then you smile. Soft. Warm. Something just for him.
You step close, tiptoe a little to reach him. And Satoru swears, swears, his heart stumbles in his chest when you press a gentle kiss to his lips.
It's feather-light. Barely there. Sweet enough to make his knees almost buckle.
And when you pull back, a cheeky glint in your eye, he's just standing there. Frozen. Speechless. The stupidest grin pulling at his mouth.
"See you later, ’Toru," you say lightly, nudging him toward the door.
And all he can manage—voice cracking slightly, heart hammering out of his chest—is a dazed "Y-Yeah. Later."
You shut the door behind him with a little wave, and he stands there for a good ten seconds before he finally remembers how to move.
-
Class feels different today.
You’re hyper-aware of everything.
The way Satoru brushes his knee against yours under the table, all casual-like. The way his pinky keeps nudging yours on the desk until finally, finally, you relent and let your fingers curl around his. The way he keeps sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye—and every time you catch him, he just smiles, like he’s getting away with something.
It’s infuriating. It’s adorable. It’s Satoru.
You pretend to focus on the lecture. Really, you do. But it’s hard when you can feel the warmth of his hand ghosting over your thigh under the table, a barely-there touch that sends your heart skittering against your ribs.
By the time the professor starts wrapping up class, you’re halfway to combusting.
"Don’t forget," she says, tapping the whiteboard, "project updates are due next week."
You scribble the deadline in your notes, but Satoru’s already turning toward you, practically bouncing in his seat.
"Hey," he says, voice pitched low enough that only you can hear. "How about we work on it at my place today?"
You blink, startled. "Your place?"
He grins, bright and boyish. "Yeah! First time for everything, right?"
The way he says it—light, teasing, almost a little shy—makes something flutter wildly in your chest.
"It’ll be chill," he continues. "We can grab some snacks, order takeout, maybe actually get stuff done this time—"
You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. "Are you actually suggesting a productive study session or trying to lure me into a trap?"
He gasps, hand clutching dramatically at his chest. "Me? Lure you? I’m offended." Then he drops the act, leaning in close, that mischievous spark lighting up his eyes. "But if you happen to end up in my lap or something, y’know... destiny."
You shove him lightly, cheeks warming. "God, you’re insufferable."
"Face it—you love this," he says, nudging your shoulder with his.
You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of your head. Still...you find yourself smiling.
"Fine," you say, packing up your stuff. "But we’re actually working this time."
He pumps a fist in victory. "Yes! Bring that sexy brain of yours, princess. We’re gonna kill this project."
You throw a crumpled sticky note at him. He catches it midair, flashing a grin that practically glows.
-
You’re home, lounging on your bed, phone in hand.
The texting starts innocent enough.
[you]: what should I bring?
[toru 💙]: just that pretty little self of yours
You roll your eyes, biting back a smile.
[you]: be serious
[toru 💙]: i am. i’m dead serious. maybe a notebook too though lol
You roll your eyes, thumbs hovering over your screen. Before you can type anything else, another message pops up:
[toru 💙]: also… try not to look too pretty
[toru 💙]: kinda hard to focus when you’re around
You blink at the screen, heart skipping a beat. The sudden boldness makes you squirm a little under your covers.
Before you can even react, a third text follows:
[toru 💙]: here’s my address
A pinned location pops up. Followed by—
[toru 💙]: hurry over please
You stare at the messages, warmth blooming in your chest (and spreading lower, if you were honest).
You should probably be nervous. You should definitely be more cautious.
But all you do is grin, toss your phone onto the bed, and start getting ready.
-
You barely knock once before the door swings open.
And there he is.
Black tank top clinging to his chest, basketball shorts slung so low it should be illegal. Lean muscles on full display. Sleep-mussed white hair falling over his forehead.
You actually forget how to breathe. Your brain just... shuts down.
Satoru’s mouth twitches into a knowing smirk. He leans lazily against the doorframe, crossing his arms — muscles flexing, because of course they do — and tips his head at you.
“Well, well," he drawls, amusement dripping from every word. "Didn’t think you’d be that easy to stun."
You blink — once, twice — scrambling to find your voice. "I’m not stunned," you blurt out, way too fast to be convincing.
"Mhm," he hums, that smug little grin widening. "Sure. You just like standing on people's porches looking like you forgot your own name?"
You shove past him with a flustered scoff, cheeks burning. But you can feel his eyes trailing after you, slow and satisfied, as he shuts the door behind you.
"You didn’t tell me the dress code was..." you flounder, gesturing vaguely at his entire existence, "thirst trap casual."
"Aw, you think I’m a thirst trap?" he coos, stepping dangerously close — close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him properly.
"I think you’re an asshole," you snap — except your voice comes out all breathy, completely ruining the effect.
Satoru chuckles — a low, rich sound that vibrates all the way through you. "You can be honest, y'know. It's just us here." He leans down, dropping his voice into a whisper, "You like what you see."
You make a strangled noise in your throat and whirl around, pretending to inspect the living room like it's the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. "Where’s your project stuff?" you demand, heart thundering against your ribs.
"Wow," he says behind you, tone all fake-hurt. "Use me for my brain and ditch me for my abs. Brutal."
"You have a brain?" you retort, finally finding a shred of composure.
He laughs again — easy, bright — and brushes past you, the barest graze of his arm against yours sending your nerves into a frenzy.
"Come on, nerd," he calls over his shoulder, tossing a wink at you that almost knocks you off your feet. "Project’s not gonna finish itself."
You huff, yanking your notebook out of your bag to try and hide the stupid, giddy smile pulling at your lips.
You’re just barely settled on the couch, notebook balanced on your lap, when Satoru stretches — arms over his head, tank top riding up dangerously — and says, “Actually... we’ll have more space in my room."
You blink at him, heart skipping a beat. "Your room?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow.
He flashes a wide, shit-eating grin. "Yeah. Bigger desk. Better lighting."
You narrow your eyes, pretending to be skeptical. "Oh? Already trying to get me in bed?"
Satoru stops dead in his tracks — but only for half a second. Then he tosses a look over his shoulder, cocky and wicked. "Don’t give me ideas," he says, voice low and playful.
Your cheeks burn so hot you’re surprised you don’t spontaneously combust. But you’re stubborn — so you just huff and follow him anyway, ignoring the smug little chuckle he lets out as he leads you down the hall. And then you step into his room — and freeze.
Because it’s... it’s not what you expect. Sure, it’s a little messy — loose clothes on a chair, half-done laundry — but what really grabs your attention is the shelf. More specifically: the shelf packed with colorful little figures. Posters. Framed prints. All of it instantly recognizable.
"...Is that—" you start, pointing.
"Digimon," Satoru says immediately, like he's bracing himself for judgment.
You stare. You blink. And then — you laugh. Loud, bright, uncontrollable.
He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "I knew it. I knew you were gonna make fun of me."
You grin at him, unrepentant. "You? Cool, confident, six-foot-whatever Gojo Satoru... secret Digimon stan? Oh, this is gold."
"It’s not secret," he grumbles, crossing his arms like a petulant kid. "Digimon’s fucking awesome. Better than Pokémon. Better story arcs, deeper characters—"
"You sound so defensive," you giggle, stepping closer to inspect a particularly adorable stuffed Agumon perched on his bed.
He steps up beside you, bumping your shoulder lightly with his and picks up the plushie to toss it somewhere else. "You're lucky you're cute," he mutters, mock-threatening, "or I’d kick you out right now."
You bite back a smile, feeling that fluttery, giddy warmth bloom in your chest again. Because for all his teasing, all his cocky bravado — there’s something painfully endearing about how unapologetically himself he is. No hiding. No shame. Just... Satoru.
"You’re such a nerd," you say fondly.
Satoru smirks, eyes glinting mischievously. "Yeah? Still think I’m a thirst trap though?"
You sputter, flustered all over again — and he cackles, so pleased with himself it’s criminal.
God. You are so screwed.
You perch awkwardly on the edge of his bed, notebook in your lap again, pretending you’re not hyper-aware of how huge his bed is, how close he is, how the mattress dips slightly under his weight when he flops down next to you.
"Alright," he says, stretching lazily, flashing a sliver of toned stomach again. "Serious time. Project planning. Let's go."
You nod, throat a little dry. "Serious," you echo, flipping open the notebook. "No distractions."
"None whatsoever," he agrees solemnly.
You start brainstorming, scribbling notes in the margins, muttering ideas under your breath. For a few minutes, everything’s fine. Normal. Until you feel it — the slight brush of his knee against yours. At first, you think it’s an accident. You shift slightly to the side.
But then it happens again. And again.
And then — Satoru leans closer, peering over your shoulder, his breath warm against your cheek. His hand rests casually on the bed behind you, fingers curling ever so slightly around the edge of your shirt.
You pretend to ignore it. Pretend so hard it almost works.
But then he hums low in his throat — a thoughtful, lazy little sound — and lets his hand slide up, fingers brushing lightly against your lower back, and your entire body tenses.
"'Toru..." you murmur, trying for stern, but it comes out way too breathy. You don’t even look at him — you can’t — because you already know what you’ll find: those blue eyes, lazy and half-lidded, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Focus," you manage, tapping the notebook for emphasis.
He leans in, so close his nose almost brushes your temple, and murmurs in a voice so low it makes your stomach flip:
"You make it hard to."
His hand is bold now — fingers tracing slow, idle patterns over the dip of your waist, so gentle it leaves a trail of fire in its wake. Your breath stutters in your throat. You feel your heart hammer against your ribs.
You finally — finally — dare a glance at him.
And he’s looking at you like he’s starving.
For you.
The tension is a physical thing now, heavy and thick in the air between you. You swear you can hear the blood rushing in your ears.
"...You're unbelievable," you whisper, the notebook slipping from your fingers.
His smirk deepens, shameless. "You like it."
God help you — you do.
You scramble, trying desperately to recover your sanity, to remember why you’re even here in the first place. The project. The project, dammit.
You slap your palm over the notebook, pushing it toward him. "W-We should really— really focus," you stammer, voice wobbling embarrassingly.
He just grins, slow and easy, that grin that makes you forget your own name.
"I am focused," he says, voice dropping into that low, teasing rasp. "Focused on you."
And before you can react, he shifts — the bed dipping under his weight as he gently crowds into your space.
Your breath catches.
He cages you in with a hand planted firm beside your hip, his other hand curling loosely around your wrist like he’s giving you the option to pull away — like he’s daring you to.
You don’t. You can’t.
You’re frozen, wide-eyed, heart thudding like crazy.
His forehead presses lightly to yours, and you feel the whisper of his breath against your lips.
"You drive me crazy, y'know that?" he murmurs, voice impossibly soft. Every word vibrates through you.
You open your mouth — to say what, you’re not sure — but no sound comes out. You’re too busy trying not to melt.
And then he moves. Sudden but gentle, he presses you down against the mattress, his body hovering above yours, careful not to crush you.
Your hands instinctively fly up to his chest — oh, God his chest — and you feel the steady pound of his heartbeat under your palms.
He’s close now, so close you can see every detail of his face — the slight pink flush on his cheeks, the playful crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the way his pupils are blown wide with something between affection and hunger.
"You’re so cute when you're flustered," he teases, and you want to hate him for it, you really do.
But you don’t. You can't.
Instead, you fist your hands in the soft fabric of his shirt and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will your racing pulse back to normal.
He chuckles, low and smug. Then — so lightly you almost think you imagined it — he brushes his nose along the side of your jaw, breathing you in.
"You’re killing me," he whispers.
You whimper — actual, real, humiliating whimper — and he grins.
But he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet.
He just stays there, letting the tension thicken, letting you squirm, savoring it.
It’s agony. It’s perfect.
You feel it — the exact moment his lips almost touch yours.
It’s a whisper of a moment, barely-there, the ghost of contact that makes your whole body tense up in anticipation.
He’s so close. So close you can taste the heat radiating off him, the sweet, addictive scent of his cologne, the lazy tilt of his grin as he leans in—
And that’s when you snap out of it.
At the very last second, you slip a hand between your bodies, planting your palm firmly against his chest to stop him.
His eyes fly open, confused, slightly wild.
You smile — sweet, smug — up at him.
"Uh-uh," you say, your voice still a little breathless but steady enough to make him narrow his eyes suspiciously. "Project first."
The sheer betrayal on his face.
"You've gotta be kidding me," he groans, dropping his forehead dramatically onto your shoulder like you just mortally wounded him. "I was so close, baby, c'mon—"
You cackle. Gojo finds it beautiful.
He lifts his head, leveling you with the most pathetic pout you’ve ever seen. "You're evil," he accuses.
You just wiggle your eyebrows at him, smirking. "Should've thought about that before trying to seduce me in broad daylight, Gojo."
He collapses beside you with a dramatic huff, flopping back against the bed like his soul has been snatched from his body.
"It’s almost 7. Unbelievable," he mutters. "This is harassment. I should sue."
You reach over, patting his chest twice, condescending and sweet. "There, there."
He turns his head, glaring at you — but the slight twitch of his lips gives him away.
"You owe me later," he says, pointing a finger at you like a solemn oath.
You hum, pretending to think it over, before shooting him a wicked little grin. "We'll see if you're good."
His groan is loud enough to rattle the bed.
You're absolutely thriving.
You’re trying so hard to focus. You really are. Project notes scattered across the bed, laptop open, a half-written paragraph blinking at you like it's taunting your lack of progress.
And then—
"Break time!" Satoru declares, already tugging you off the bed by your wrist before you can even protest.
You stumble after him, laughing breathlessly. "Satoru, we barely got anything done!"
"Exactly why we need a break," he grins, dragging you toward the kitchen like a man on a mission. "You’ll thank me later."
You roll your eyes but let him haul you along, too curious (and maybe a little too charmed) to resist.
He lets go of your hand once you reach the kitchen and dramatically cracks his knuckles, looking far too proud of himself.
"Watch and learn, sweetheart," he says, shooting you a wink. "You're in the presence of greatness."
You snort, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter. "Oh yeah? You gonna burn the house down, master chef?"
He gasps — actually gasps — clutching his chest like you mortally wounded him. "You wound me."
You just laugh, watching as he rummages through the fridge with entirely too much flair, pulling out random ingredients and setting them on the counter.
"You're literally just making instant ramen," you point out dryly, but there's a smile tugging at your lips.
"Gourmet instant ramen," he corrects, wagging a finger at you. "With egg. And scallions. And a lil’ bit of love."
He tosses you another wink and you lose it, doubling over in silent laughter.
You lean back against the counter, arms folded, trying — and failing — to look unimpressed as he hums to himself, clattering pots around. He’s in a black tank top and low-hanging shorts, muscles flexing casually with every movement, hair messy from dragging his hands through it.
And it’s... distracting. Way too distracting.
Especially when he starts cracking an egg one-handed like a cocky asshole.
"Show-off," you mutter under your breath.
"Don’t act like you’re not impressed," he sing-songs, peeking at you from under snowy lashes, smug as hell.
You flip him off lazily. He just grins wider.
The kitchen fills with the scent of broth and spices, steam curling in the air. He moves with this effortless, chaotic sort of confidence — a little reckless, a little messy — but somehow everything comes together perfectly.
When he turns to you again, ramen bowl in hand, he looks so goddamn pleased with himself you want to laugh.
"See?" he says, stepping closer. "I'm basically husband material."
You tilt your head, raising a brow. "You make instant noodles and think you deserve a ring?"
"Handmade. Special edition. Enhanced with love." He winks, holding up the bowl like an offering. "You should be honored."
And even though you roll your eyes, you can't help the smile tugging at your lips — can't help the way your stomach flips stupidly as he steps even closer, towering over you with that lazy, confident grin.
-
You set the now-empty bowl down on the counter, nudging him with your elbow. "Since you whipped up such a gourmet meal, I guess the least I can do is the dishes."
Satoru leans back against the counter, grinning so wide it's almost embarrassing. "You spoil me."
You roll your eyes but start gathering up the dishes anyway, rinsing them under the tap. The warm water and simple task are oddly comforting, your movements easy, natural.
And from behind you, you can feel it — his gaze, warm and heavy, drinking you in like he's memorizing this moment.
Before you can even finish rinsing the second bowl, you feel him — long arms sliding around your waist, pulling you back into him, chest pressed against your back.
You huff a soft laugh, not bothering to fight it. "Needy much?"
He just hums, nose nudging into the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your skin. "You smell good," he mumbles, voice low and content.
"Why, thank you," you say, but it’s half a smile.
"I could get used to this," he murmurs, squeezing you a little tighter.
You finish up the dishes like that — his arms around you, his weight solid and comforting at your back, his soft little praises murmured into your ear in between.
"You're pretty," he says at one point, completely unprompted. "So pretty I don't know how I'm supposed to concentrate when you're around."
You duck your head, smiling to yourself, feeling your cheeks burn.
When you finally dry your hands and turn around to face him, he's already looking down at you with stars in his eyes, a little breathless like he can't believe you're real.
You loop your arms around his neck without thinking, tugging him a little closer, and he leans into it easily, lazily, like he's been waiting for this exact moment. "Can I kiss you yet?" he asks, grinning like an idiot, voice all hopeful and teasing.
You laugh, soft and fond, brushing your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "Sure, loverboy."
And he doesn't waste a second — swooping down to finally, finally claim your lips in a kiss that's sweet and warm and a little clumsy with excitement, like he just can’t hold it in anymore.
The moment your lips meet, it’s like something clicks into place.
At first, it’s a gentle brush of mouths, shy and smiling. He kisses you once, then twice, like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. But then you tilt your head just a little, arms tightening around his neck, and he groans — a low, helpless sound that rumbles against your chest.
And just like that, the kiss deepens.
His hands, which had been resting innocently at your waist, slide down — gripping your hips with a little more urgency, pulling you flush against him. You gasp softly into his mouth, and he takes full advantage, slotting his mouth over yours in a way that leaves your knees just barely holding you up. You feel it when his fingers flex, pressing you closer, when his body shudders lightly against yours.
God, he’s starving for you. You can feel it in the way he kisses — slow but hungry, like he’s been waiting for this, aching for it.
When he pulls back for just a breath, his forehead presses to yours, and his voice is ragged, wrecked. "You’re gonna kill me," he whispers, before diving back in, more desperate this time.
You whimper into his mouth without meaning to, clutching at the front of his shirt, feeling the heat of him seeping into your palms.
Satoru groans again, hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing just under the hem of your shirt, skin to skin.
It’s not rushed. It’s not frantic. It’s slow — simmering — like he’s savoring every second, like he wants this moment to stretch on forever.
And it’s only when his teeth gently tug at your bottom lip — when your breathing turns shallow and desperate against each other — that you finally, finally break away.
Both of you stand there for a second, breathing hard, faces flushed.
You feel dizzy. He looks completely wrecked.
You’re both breathless when you pull apart, foreheads resting together, lips tingling.
Satoru’s hands are still on your waist, holding you close like he’s not ready to let go. You can feel the way his chest rises and falls against yours — shallow, like he’s trying to calm himself down.
He gives a short, breathy laugh. “Jesus,” he mutters. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
You smile, dazed. “Pretty sure that’s mutual.”
There’s a beat of silence — heavy with everything unsaid — before he leans in again.
Hungrier. Rougher. Like he’s been holding back all night and can’t anymore. His mouth moves over yours with unfiltered need, hands pulling you closer like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
You make a soft noise into his mouth, and it only spurs him on. The way he kisses you — it’s not perfect. It’s messy and fast and desperate, teeth catching on your lower lip, hands gripping tight like he’s scared you’ll slip away.
Your fingers wind into the fabric of his tank top, pulling him even closer until you’re practically wrapped around him.
He breaks the kiss just barely, lips brushing yours as he breathes out, “Tell me if it’s too much.”
You shake your head. “It’s not. I—” You swallow. “I want this. You.”
His expression softens for a split second before that heat comes rushing back. His mouth is back on yours, slower this time but no less intense — like he’s trying to memorize how you taste.
When his hand slips under your shirt and settles on the small of your back, warm and firm, you shiver.
He kisses you like he means it. Like he feels it.
And when you finally pull back again, breathless and flushed, he just smiles — eyes glassy, voice low.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s kissing you again.
No warning, no hesitation — just the searing press of his mouth against yours like he’s starving for it. Like he needs more. And you give in without thinking, letting him pull you closer until there’s not a sliver of space left between your bodies.
His hands are on your waist, fingers tightening like he’s trying to anchor himself. And when your hands slide up his chest, over those broad shoulders, he groans into your mouth — low and wrecked.
It’s dizzying, the way he kisses you. Every time you think he’ll stop, he comes back for more — messier, deeper, rougher. Your fingers tangle in his hair as his lips trail down to your jaw, then your neck, slow and hot and reverent.
And then suddenly, he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes.
His voice is breathless, raw. “Hold on.”
Before you can ask what he means, he lifts you — effortlessly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You let out a startled gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he carries you through the apartment. Your heart’s hammering so hard you’re sure he can feel it.
He’s grinning now, cocky and breathless all at once. “I warned you I’m husband material.”
“Shut up,” you mutter against his neck, flustered beyond reason.
But there’s no hiding the way your legs tighten around his waist.
He nudges his bedroom door open with his foot, stepping inside, and the second you’re both in, he sets you down gently. And just like that, he’s on you again — kissing you like he’s waited his whole life for this.
His mouth is still on yours when he shifts forward, slowly pressing you back until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You stumble slightly, gripping his arms for balance—and the second your weight tips back, he goes with you.
The two of you collapse onto the mattress in a tangled mess of limbs and breathless laughter, but he’s quick to recover. Quick to pin you there beneath him, hands braced on either side of your head, his hips snug between your thighs.
He looks down at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.
And then that glint returns—dangerous and wicked and so unlike the stammering nerd you met on day one.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he breathes, voice low and rough in your ear.
You shiver.
His lips find the side of your neck again, and this time they don’t linger—they devour. Hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your back arch, that pull quiet, helpless sounds from your throat. His hands wander too, slow at first, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, every line and dip he can find.
You reach for him, needing more—but he grabs your wrists, pins them gently above your head with one hand.
“Nuh-uh,” he smirks. “I’m in charge now.”
You’re just about to sass him when he dips down again, this time trailing kisses down your collarbone. Then lower. He peppers slow, aching kisses across your chest, teasing the hem of your top with his free hand.
And then he sits up, straddling your hips, eyes practically burning.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks, and it’s a loaded question.
You nod.
He leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I jacked off to the thought of you the other night.”
Your breath catches—your whole body burns.
“After that text you sent,” he goes on, voice like velvet laced with sin. “You have no idea what you did to me. I read it once and couldn’t stop imagining it. You—whispering in my ear like that, all sweet and smug and filthy.”
He moves again, kisses dragging hot and slow down the slope of your neck, and then your chest, until he’s tugging your shirt up and over your head.
“I was in bed,” he murmurs. “One hand on my phone. The other…” He lets the implication hang, but his hand slips down your thigh, then up again, teasing, until your breath comes in sharp gasps.
“I was thinking about you,” he says. “About your voice. About what you’d look like straddling me, telling me what you wanted while I fucked up into you so slow.”
Your hips buck at that—and god, the smirk that pulls at his lips should be illegal.
He starts undressing you slowly, worshipping, like every piece he reveals is a treasure. “I need you,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. His voice is hoarse, eyes searching yours like he needs you to understand.
The kiss that follows is devastating—open-mouthed and hungry, a collision of breath and teeth and need. You’re clawing at his clothes like they personally offended you, yanking at the hem of his shirt with fumbling fingers and a frustrated groan.
“Off,” you hiss against his lips.
He laughs, breathless, tugging it over his head and tossing it aside, revealing smooth skin and defined muscle, the dip of his waist disappearing into those loose shorts you suddenly despise.
You push at them with impatient hands, and he grins—cocky, flushed, wrecked and loving every second of it. “Desperate, huh?” he teases, voice still husky from the kiss.
“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, dragging your nails down his sides. “You’re not exactly subtle, loverboy.”
He’s all hands again then—roaming your body, trailing heat in their wake as he presses you down into the bed, lips never far from your skin. Every motion is frantic and reverent all at once, like he’s starving but determined to savor every inch of you.
You push at his chest gently, and he lets you, eyebrows raised in surprise as his back hits the mattress.
“Oh?” he breathes, propping himself up on his elbows. “Taking control now?”
“Didn’t you say I killed you the other night?” you murmur, crawling between his legs with a sly smile. “Figured I should finish the job.”
His eyes darken immediately—heat blooming in them so fast it’s dizzying. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
You do—because the second your hands slide up his thighs, he’s already sucking in a breath, already biting back a groan. His abs tense under your touch, his head tipping back as he watches you through lidded eyes, gaze glazed over with anticipation.
“You been thinking about this, ’Toru?” you ask softly, dragging your nails lightly along the waistband of his shorts.
He swallows thickly. “Every night.”
And when you finally tug his waistband down, your breath catches.
He's thick, long and heavy, flushed a pretty pink at the tip, and already straining toward you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. Your mouth parts without thinking. You don’t even realize you’re staring until he lets out a shaky, nervous laugh. Your hands wrap around him and his hips instinctively buck upwards.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” he mutters, voice gravelly.
He’s already gone—chest rising and falling in short, sharp breaths. His hands clutch the sheets when you lean in, letting your tongue flick across the swollen head, tasting him.
“Oh fuck—”
You take your time. You don’t give him all of it, not yet. You swirl your tongue around the tip, teasing the slit until he hisses between clenched teeth. He jolts when you lick a slow stripe along the underside, right at the base where it’s most sensitive, your fingers cradling him, gentle and thorough.
He groans—loud and raw—and you feel his hands fist the sheets tighter.
“You’re killing me,” he pants, head tipping back, voice nearly wrecked.
And still, you don’t rush. You bob your head slowly, steadily, sinking down deeper with each pass until his abs tighten and he moans—loud, desperate. You feel him twitch on your tongue, hear the soft, breathy curse that falls from his lips as you wrap your hand around him and roll your wrist just right. You squeeze his balls and he nearly sobs.
You glance up through your lashes, and the sight of him—head tossed back, jaw clenched, face flushed, his entire body shaking with restraint—is seared into your memory.
You don’t take your eyes off him, not even as you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper. He’s so close—you can feel it in the way his thighs tense, the way his breath stutters, the broken sound he makes when you moan around him.
“Fuck—baby, I’m gonna—”
You don’t stop. You want it. Want to see him fall apart. And he does, with a choked groan that rips out of his chest as he spills into your mouth, hot and thick. His hand flies to your hair, not to pull you away—but to keep you there, his hips giving the slightest jerk as he rides it out. You swallow it all only pulling off when he starts to twitch. And when you finally draw back, lips slick and chin damp, he looks completely undone.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, dazed.
You just smile sweetly and wipe the corner of your mouth with your thumb.
He’s still catching his breath when you go to pull back fully, smug and satisfied. “Mm-hm,” he hums, voice rough and curling with mischief. His hand catches your wrist, firm but gentle. “My turn, sweetheart.”
You blink. “Oh?”
Before you can tease him back, he moves—effortlessly. One arm wraps around your waist, the other plants on the bed, and in a single fluid motion he’s pulling you up, flipping you like you weigh nothing and settling you inches away from his face. You squeak—actually squeak—as your knees plant on either side of his head.
“Satoru—”
“Shh.” He grins, that ridiculous confident smirk plastered across his flushed face. “Sit, baby. Be good for me.”
He gives your ass a squeeze, encouraging, eyes gleaming up at you. You hesitate for half a second and he adds, voice dipped low and sinfully sweet,
“You got to have your fun.”
Then he pulls you down.
His mouth is on you immediately—hot and unrelenting. Tongue flicking, lips sealing around your clit as he groans like you taste better than anything he’s ever had. His hands grip your thighs, fingers digging into soft flesh, holding you there like he’s starving and you’re the feast. And when your hips twitch, instinctively trying to lift off—he drags you right back down.
“Oh no, sweetheart,” he murmurs against you, voice muffled and vibrating through your core, “I said sit.”
You’re braced against the headboard now, knees shaking, thighs clenched tight around his head as you grind down—slow at first, then faster, chasing that high with ragged breath and trembling limbs.
He’s not just letting you. He’s encouraging it.
Big hands grope your ass, fingers digging in, guiding you against his mouth like he wants you to lose it. His tongue moves with practiced precision, sucking and flicking, drawing soft whimpers and broken gasps from your lips as your body arches.
You glance down again and the sight nearly finishes you—his eyes half-lidded and dazed, cheeks flushed, hair a total mess from how many times you’ve tugged on it.
He looks wrecked. But he’s moaning like he’s in heaven. Like this is exactly where he wants to be.
And then he says it—muffled, half-choked, voice thick with lust and absolutely feral. “So fucking sweet.”
You grind harder, hips rolling, and he groans into you.
He doesn’t care if he can’t breathe. Doesn’t care if he’s dizzy. Doesn’t care if you’re seconds from suffocating him. He’s already decided this is how he wants to go out.
Buried between your thighs, mouth full of you, hands holding you down like you’re sacred.
And when you finally break—back arching, eyes fluttering shut, thighs clamping around his head as your orgasm crashes through you—he doesn’t stop. Not for a second.
He rides it out with you, tongue still moving, swallowing every sound you make.
When he finally lets go you collapse beside him, completely spent, your body still trembling in the aftermath. Your cheek presses into the pillow, breath catching in your throat as you try to come back to yourself. Satoru shifts next to you, propping himself up on one elbow. He brushes your hair back gently, eyes soft, and asks quietly,
“You okay?”
You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah. Just—holy shit.”
He huffs a small laugh and leans down to kiss your shoulder, warm and unhurried. “Good.”
You feel him watching you for a second longer, like he’s making sure you’re really alright. You stretch out, boneless and warm, assuming this is the part where you both wind down.
But then his hand slides down your back.
You feel him shift behind you, and when you glance over your shoulder, his expression’s changed. Still gentle—but focused. Hungrier.
“You done?” he asks softly, voice right at your ear now.
You blink. “I… thought we were.”
He smiles, and it’s a little crooked, a little smug—but not cocky. Just him.
“Not even close.”
Before you can respond, his hands are on your hips, guiding you forward. You let him, moving onto your knees again, bracing your hands against the headboard as the mattress shifts beneath you. He settles behind you slowly, fingers trailing up your sides. The air changes—more intimate now, more intense.
“You okay like this?” he murmurs.
You nod.
“Good.” He kisses the back of your neck. “Hold on to something.”
He settles behind you again, one hand steady on your hip, the other guiding himself down. You feel the slow drag of him through your folds—warm, thick, and deliberate. You suck in a breath, hips twitching slightly. But he doesn’t press in. Just rocks forward enough to slide himself through you again. And again.
Your fingers curl tighter around the headboard. “…Satoru,” you breathe.
“Mhm?” His voice is low, calm. Way too calm for what he’s doing.
You try to push back into him, but he keeps you where he wants you—just a firm, gentle grip at your hip keeping you still.
He’s quiet for a moment. You glance over your shoulder and catch the look on his face: focused, a little tense, clearly feeling it—but taking his time anyway.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” you mutter.
A breath of a laugh leaves him. “Yeah. Kind of.”
Your forehead drops forward. “’Toru…”
He groans softly—just a little, like he’s trying not to—but doesn’t stop. Just drags himself over you again, slower now. “God, you feel good,” he mutters. “I just… give me a second.”
You shift again, needy and frustrated, and he finally stills behind you, tip resting right where you want him. You both freeze.
“…You okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod, exhaling hard. “Please.”
There’s a beat. And then he leans forward, lips brushing your shoulder, voice quiet and serious against your skin. “Yeah. I got you. Just spread ‘em a bit for me… yeah, that’s it.”
He eases in with that first, deep stroke—slow enough to feel every inch of him push through your walls. The stretch burns just a little, but the heat in your core blooms even hotter. He’s thick, heavy, and you feel every vein drag along your inner walls, textured and pulsing, making your whole body clench around him without thinking.
Behind you, Satoru groans—low and raw, like it’s dragging out of his chest. “God… you feel unreal,” he mutters, breath shaky.
He holds still once he’s fully inside, his hips pressed against the swell of your ass, his hand flexing on your waist like he’s trying not to move too fast. His cock twitches inside you and you gasp at how full you feel—your body stretched and throbbing around him, nerves lighting up from the inside out.
“Okay?” he murmurs, lips brushing the back of your shoulder.
You nod, voice barely there. “Yeah. Just—fuck, Satoru.”
He pulls out slow, almost all the way, and you feel every ridge of him drag against your soaked walls. Then he sinks back in with a soft grunt, and you swear you feel him throb again—your body squeezing around him on instinct.
The pace he sets is slow but deep, grinding into you just right, the friction steady and maddening. Your thighs are trembling already, your hands gripping the headboard like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.
Every time he pushes in, his cock presses against that spongy spot deep inside you, and every time he pulls out, it’s this slow, deliberate scrape that leaves you gasping. There’s no space left between you—just wet heat and tension, pressure building with every stroke.
And then—his hand moves. Slides down from your waist, slipping between your legs, fingers finding your clit with no hesitation. The first pass is light, almost teasing.
You jolt. “Satoru—!”
“I got you,” he says quietly, like a promise. His thumb circles you, slow and tight, while his other hand braces your hip steady against him. And all the while, he keeps fucking into you—deeper now, rhythm starting to slip, strokes a little rougher, his breath coming harder against your skin.
“You feel so good around me,” he murmurs, thumb pressing down just a little harder. “So warm. So tight. You keep squeezing me like that, baby—fuck.”
Your whole body is shaking now, moaning helplessly as his fingers keep working your clit, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. Every stroke is slick, deep, devastating. You can hear the wet sounds of him sliding in and out of you, the soft slap of skin, his strained breathing—your own whimpers growing louder with every thrust.
The pressure builds sharp and fast, your body locking up as your orgasm crashes toward you—
And Satoru’s still going. Still thumbing your clit, still grinding his cock into you like he can’t get enough.
Your body tightens around him without warning, breath catching as the pleasure crests—sharp, blinding, unstoppable. You cry out, head dropping as your orgasm rips through you, muscles clenching so hard around his cock that it knocks the air out of both of you.
“Oh my—fuck, that’s it—” Satoru groans, stuttering inside you as your walls flutter and squeeze around him.
You’re still shaking, coming down from the high, when he slows—lets you ride it out, then carefully pulls out, the sudden emptiness making you gasp. You barely have time to blink before he’s flipping you onto your back like you weigh nothing.
He spreads your thighs open, throws your legs over his shoulders, and lines himself up again with a low, strained breath. His eyes meet yours—still soft, but blown wide, jaw tight with restraint. There’s nothing teasing left in him now.
He doesn’t ask this time. Doesn’t wait. He thrusts back in hard—deep—and keeps going.
No more slow buildup. No more holding back. Just relentless, steady drive—his hips snapping into yours over and over, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the room.
You gasp, fingers flying to his forearms as he leans over you, caging you in. His pace is brutal now, almost punishing, but it never stops feeling good—the angle perfect, the pressure hitting deep with every stroke.
“Satoru—” you sob, voice cracking.
He groans through gritted teeth, muscles tense, hips moving like he’s possessed. “You’re so—fucking—tight.”
You can barely think. Your legs tremble over his shoulders, body arching with every thrust, your orgasm still making aftershocks ripple through you.
He reaches down between you again, hand slipping to your clit like it’s second nature—his thumb moving in tight, fast circles that make your back arch off the bed. “You gonna give me another one?” he pants, voice rough and shaking. “Come on, sweetheart—I know you can.”
You don’t even answer. You can’t. The pressure’s already building again—too fast, too much, your body barely holding on as he keeps fucking into you like he’s been waiting for this all night.
You feel him twitch inside you, hear his breathing hitch—but he still doesn’t come. He’s chasing you again, driving into you like your pleasure is the only thing that matters.
You don’t know how he keeps going like this. His pace is ruthless, hips pistoning into you like he’s been starving for it—but it’s the focus that kills you. He’s watching every twitch in your body, every gasp, every time your walls flutter around him like he’s memorizing it.
Then he shifts—leans in until your knees are almost pinned to your chest, folding you in half under him. The new angle makes you cry out, his cock hitting impossibly deep, your body arching beneath the weight of him. “You feel that?” he breathes, voice rough and close to a growl now. “So deep inside you, baby. Just like this.”
And then—his mouth is on your chest. You gasp when he takes your nipple between his lips, tongue circling, sucking slow and steady while his hips never stop. The hot pull of his mouth makes your toes curl, especially when his free hand moves to palm your other breast—thumb brushing over the sensitive peak, fingers squeezing just enough to make you whimper.
It’s too much. You’re overstimulated—his cock still driving into you, thumb still tight and unrelenting on your clit, his mouth sucking, teasing, biting gently down before soothing with his tongue.
Pleasure spikes sharp and fast, and it’s not building—it’s crashing. Your entire body locks up as the heat inside you explodes again, white-hot and shattering, a sob wrenching out of your throat. “Fuck—Satoru—!” Your cunt clenches tight around him, waves of pleasure ripping through you, and he feels it. You feel him falter, his rhythm breaking as he groans like you’ve just knocked the wind out of him.
“Shit—fuck—fuck, I’m—,” he doesn’t even finish the sentence before he’s coming too, hips jerking as he spills inside you with a choked moan. You can feel him pulsing deep inside, every twitch of his cock matching the aftershocks still tearing through you.
He holds you tight through it, arms wrapped around your back, forehead pressed to your shoulder as you both shake through the comedown—nothing but breathless curses filling the room.
You don’t even realize your eyes have fluttered shut until you feel him shift, just a gentle repositioning of his weight as he carefully pulls out—slow, like he doesn’t want to hurt you. You wince, breath catching at the sting, and immediately his voice is there, low and warm in your ear. “Hey, you with me?”
You nod faintly, your body boneless, brain melted, heart still pounding. He kisses your shoulder—once, twice—and gently lowers your legs from where they’re still draped over him, massaging your thighs like he knows they’re trembling.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right back, yeah? Don’t move.”
You can’t even laugh at that. He gets up anyway, grabbing the closest towel and heading to the bathroom, still totally naked, completely unbothered. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror across the room—hair a mess, chest flushed, thighs shaking—and you groan, flopping back against the sheets.
By the time he returns, you’re still half out of it, and he just smiles, fond and lazy as he nudges your legs apart again. “Easy,” he whispers, wiping you down gently, taking his time like you’re made of glass now. “You did so good for me, baby. So fucking good.”
You sigh as he finishes, and the second he’s done, he tosses the towel and climbs back into bed with you—pulling you against his chest, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he’s anchoring himself. You melt into him, cheek pressed against his collarbone and he grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
A pause. Then—“You’re unreal, you know that?” he murmurs. “I mean, I already knew, but—Jesus.”
You roll your eyes, lips twitching. “You’re just saying that ‘cause I made you come so hard you forgot your own name.”
“Sweetheart,” he says solemnly, “Don’t be mean.”
You laugh—tired, soft—and he smiles at the sound.
Then quieter: “You’re incredible.” He leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead.
You bury your face in his chest, heart warm and too full. “Stop being sweet,” you mumble.
“Never.” He grins.
You don’t say anything for a while. Just breathe—slow and steady—as his hand runs gently along your back, grounding you. The room’s quiet now, save for the soft hum of the city outside the window, and the faint rustle of sheets as you both settle into the aftermath. He shifts just enough to pull the blanket higher over the two of you, tucking you in without saying a word.
Your eyes are heavy, but you blink them open to look at him. He’s already watching you—messy hair, flushed cheeks, the ghost of a smile on his lips like he can’t quite believe you’re real.
“What?” you murmur, voice rough with sleep.
He shrugs a little, eyes soft. “Nothing. Just… you’re kinda perfect, y’know?”
You snort under your breath, too tired to fight it. “Don’t start.”
He chuckles, nose brushing your hair as he tucks you in closer. “I won’t. Promise.”
There’s a pause, just the two of you breathing in sync, his thumb stroking slow circles into your hip. “Stay here tonight,” he whispers.
“But ’Toru… we have class tomorrow.”
He groans dramatically into your skin. “Let’s bunk.”
You snort. “You say that every time.”
“Because it’s the right answer every time.” He lifts his head enough to look at you, hair sticking up in every direction, eyes still heavy-lidded but shamelessly clingy. “C’mon. It’s late. Just stay.”
You hesitate, even though you’re already leaning toward yes. He catches that and nudges his knee between yours, coaxing you closer.
“I’ll set an alarm,” he adds. “You can wear one of my shirts. I’ll even make you coffee in the morning.”
You huff a quiet laugh. “Are you trying to bribe me?”
He shrugs. “Didn’t think I had to.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re already settling in again, your cheek resting over his heartbeat. “Fine,” you murmur. “But if we oversleep, I’m blaming you.”
He hums, content. “That’s fair.”
So you stay like that—comfortable and a little too in love to care about anything. And with Satoru’s arms around you—his breath steady against your skin, his presence anchoring you—you drift off. No words needed. Just safe. Just held.
Perfect.
author's note. whoever started the nerdjo agenda, i owe you my firstborn child
please do not steal, modify, or translate my work.
2087
yousharknotpass
tangentwithtanner
