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[loveliedove]

fake dating satoru gojo - the beginning

you never thought love was something you were capable of obtaining.

sure, the thought of it seemed sweet and desirable but the moment you pictured yourself in that position, you were certain vomit was going to shoot out of your mouth.

the idea of someone being in love with you? it was an unfathomable concept no one could ever associate you with.

. . .

which is why it left everyone bewildered when you and satoru gojo ended up together.

junior year of college had a way of making everything feel louder than it needed to be. the campus was always rowdy. people were securing internships and planning out their futures. or, some were second guessing the path they were taking despite how far they already were in their post-secondary careers.

relationships bloomed and died in the span of a semester. everyone seemed to be falling in love, breaking up, or loudly claiming they were “focusing on themselves.”

you, however, had built a reputation.

aloof and detached. hell, someone had once claimed you were celibate.

it wasn’t intentional. you just didn’t see the point in entertaining crushes or soft smiles across lecture halls. vulnerability felt like peeling your skin off in public. so you didn’t do it.

until late one night on the third floor of the library, you were halfway through annotating a reading when someone drops into the chair across from you without asking.

you looked up and there he was, looking at you with a small smile.

satoru gojo.

you and him weren’t friends, just mutuals through shoko and utahime, who had known each other since high school.

you’d spoken before. in groups and at parties.

there was even that one time outside a lecture hall when gojo had been pestering utahime, trying and failing to steal her notes. she dodged him at the last second. he lost his balance. and somehow, he’d fallen straight on top of you.

you remembered the stunned look on his face for half a second before you shoved him off.

but now, you two were alone.

you raised a brow at him before looking back down at your book.

“can i help you?” you questioned while continuing to do what you did before he disturbed your peace.

there was a soft sound of fabric shifting as he leaned back in the chair across the table.

“wow,” he said teasingly. “not even a hello?”

you dragged your pen across the page, underlining a sentence before huffing out a sigh.

“what do you need gojo?”

he tapped his fingers against the table, watching you for a moment like he was deciding how serious to be.

“i need a favor.”

“no.”

a quiet laugh slipped out of him.

“you don’t even know what it is yet.”

“it involves you,” you said simply. “that’s enough information.”

“ouch,” he mused, putting a hand to his chest. “and here i thought we bonded when i dramatically sacrificed my dignity by falling on top of you.”

you finally glanced up at him.

“you tripped.”

“potato, potato.”

you looked back down at your book.

“if this is about notes, ask utahime.”

“wow. you really think i came all the way here just for notes?” he said, sounding almost offended.

you didn’t respond.

the silence stretched for a moment before he leaned forward slightly.

“i need you to pretend to date me.”

your pen stopped.

slowly, you looked up again, furrowing your brows.

he met your gaze easily, like he hadn’t just said something ridiculous.

“what,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief.

gojo rested his elbow on the table, propping his chin against his hand.

“my family has been… bothering me lately.”

that made you pause. you’d heard shoko and utahime mention his parents here and there, but never anything specific. just enough to suggest there was more to the story than what meets the eye.

“they want me in a relationship,” he continued. “apparently being twenty-one and single is a personal failure on my part.’”

“sounds tragic.”

“i know,” he sighed dramatically. “they’re convinced i’ll spend the rest of my life being charming and irresponsible.”

you stared at him.

“bold of them to assume that isn’t already happening.”

he grinned.

“see? this is why i like talking to you.”

“i didn’t say i agreed to it.”

“relax,” he said lightly. “i’m still pitching.”

he tapped a finger against the table.

“if i show up with a girlfriend, they’ll back off. stop trying to set me up with their friends’ daughters and random people at family dinners.”

you leaned back slightly in your chair.

“so you came to me?”

“you have a reputation.”

“i’m aware.”

“no one’s ever seen you with a man.”

“flattering,” you deadpanned.

“people would assume it’s real,” he said simply. “because you wouldn’t date someone unless you meant it.”

you closed your book with a quiet thud.

“and why would i agree to that?”

gojo tilted his head, studying you for a second.

“because you don’t care about the social circus around here,” he said. “which means you won’t get weird about it.”

“that’s not an incentive.”

“fair.”

you slung your pen down onto the table.

“so i’ll ask again,” you said calmly. “what’s in it for me?”

his smile widened slightly, like he’d been waiting for that question.

“i’ll talk to nanami, help you get that research assistant position you’ve been eyeing,” he said. “and i’ll tutor you for advanced theory.”

you narrowed your eyes at him.

“you’ve been paying attention.”

“i’m observant.”

“you’re nosy.”

“…and shoko’s mentioned it before.”

you considered him for a moment.

dating fake dating him would be nothing more than a performance.

temporary with no strings attached.

no vulnerability.

you’d survive worse arrangements.

“three months,” you said finally. “public appearances when necessary. nothing excessive.”

gojo straightened slightly.

“three months,” he agreed.

“no crossing lines.”

“of course.”

“and when it ends, it ends.”

he made a sharp knife sound, “clean break.”

silence settled between you again.

then his mouth curved with quiet amusement.

“you know,” he added lightly, “most people would at least pretend to be flattered that i asked.”

you grabbed your bag and stood.

“most people would’ve said no.”

he stood as you did, slipping his hands into his pockets. “i beg to differ,” he murmured, leaning down so his voice brushed against your ear.

you walked past him toward the stairs.

“monday,” you called over your shoulder. “we start monday.”

behind you, gojo sat back into his chair and breathed out, watching you leave with a satisfied look that suggested this had gone exactly how he’d expected.

and at the time, it felt like a simple arrangement.

just a harmless performance.

after all, love was never something you believed you were capable of obtaining.

so there was no real risk.

a/n: part two ? 🥸

divider - @/cursed-carmine

[loveliedove]

academic validation from law student bf!higuruma

it was nights like this that made you want to jump off a cliff.

the clock glared 2:49AM at the bottom corner of your bright computer screen. your neuroanatomy textbook lay open in front of you, spine cracked and pages heavy with ink. you tiredly skimmed through the text, glancing back and forth from the book to the screen like you were trying to stitch the information directly into your brain.

the words wouldn’t stick.

the motor cortex. descending tracts. decussation at the pyramids.

it all felt slippery.

your desk lamp carved out a lonely circle of light in the dark bedroom. everything outside of it blurred into soft shadows. your dresser, the laundry basket you hadn’t folded, the faint outline of the bed behind you.

and him.

higuruma was asleep.

you could hear it in the steady rise and fall of his breathing. slow and even. peaceful in a way that almost irritated you. one arm was tucked under his pillow, the other draped lazily across the empty half of the mattress where you should have been.

second year law school had wrung him out lately. hours of reading that made your eyes ache just looking at the books stacked on his side of the room. case briefs, outlines, lectures that twisted into arguments and counterarguments until even his sharp mind needed rest.

but he slept when he needed to.

you didn’t.

you dragged your hand down your face and leaned closer to the page. your third year of neuroscience was supposed to feel empowering. one year closer to med school. one year closer to the thing you’d been working toward since first year labs made you fall in love with synapses and stained slides.

instead, it felt like standing at the edge of something vast and terrifying.

one bad semester. one GPA drop. one weak application. potentially failing boards.

you swallowed hard.

you reread the same paragraph for the fourth time.

nothing.

the mattress shifted softly behind you.

a quiet inhale. then, rough with sleep—

“…you’re still up.”

you closed your eyes briefly. “go back to sleep.”

there was a pause. fabric rustled. “love, what time is it?”

you glanced at your screen. “2:49.”

another pause.

“that’s not a real time.”

you almost smiled despite yourself. “it is.”

he exhaled slowly, like he was surfacing from somewhere deep. you heard him push himself up, the faint creak of the bed familiar in the silence.

you didn’t turn around. if you looked at him, you might fold.

“quiz?” he asked gently.

“mm.”

“on?”

“motor pathways. brainstem nuclei.” your voice sounded thin to your own ears.

he was quiet for a few seconds, and you could feel his gaze on you even without seeing it. higuruma always observed before he spoke. it was part of him, the careful processing, the way he gathered information like he was preparing for cross-examination.

“have you been at it all night?” he asked.

“no.”

another pause.

“have you been at it most of the night?”

you didn’t answer.

the bed shifted again. you felt the subtle change in air as he stood and padded across the room. he didn’t turn on any lights. just moved toward you in the dim glow of your desk lamp.

you felt him stop behind your chair.

for a moment, he didn’t say anything. his hand came to rest lightly on the back of your chair. warm. steady.

“hey,” he said quietly.

that word alone nearly undid you.

you blinked rapidly at the page. “i’m fine.”

“i know.”

it wasn’t agreement. it was acknowledgment.

“but you’re also exhausted.”

you pressed your lips together. “i can’t fall behind.”

his brows furrowed slightly. “you’re not behind.”

“you don’t know that.”

he stepped closer. you felt his fingers brush your shoulder, sliding down your arm until his hand covered yours where it rested on the textbook. his touch was gentle, never demanding.

“talk to me,” he murmured.

the words spilled out before you could stop them.

“if i mess up this semester, it tanks my GPA. if my GPA tanks, med schools won’t even look at me. everyone else in my program is smarter than me. they don’t need three hours to understand a single tract. they’re not sitting here at almost three in the morning feeling like their brain is leaking out of their ears.”

your voice cracked at the end. you hated that.

he didn’t flinch.

“you think i don’t sit up thinking the same thing?” he asked quietly.

you turned in your chair then, finally looking at him.

his hair was messy, glasses absent, eyes still heavy with sleep, but fully focused on you now.

“law school is built on comparison,” he continued. “every class, every grade curve. there’s always someone who sounds more articulate. more confident. someone who seems like they were born to argue in front of a judge.”

he leaned down slightly so you didn’t have to crane your neck.

“you know what that means?” he asked.

you shook your head faintly.

“it means we’re both in rooms full of brilliant people. that’s not evidence you don’t belong. it’s evidence you made it there.”

your chest tightened.

he slid your highlighter from your fingers and set it on the desk. then he gently closed your laptop halfway, not fully, just enough to dim the glare.

“you’re shaking,” he said softly.

you hadn’t noticed. but now that he said it, you could feel it. a faint tremor in your hands, in your ribs.

“that’s not how learning works,” he added. “that’s stress.”

you stared at the cover of your textbook. “i just… i want this so badly.”

“i know.”

he crouched slightly so he was eye level with you. his hands came up to cradle your face, thumbs resting just under your eyes.

“you are going to make it to medical school,” he said, calm and certain. not dramatic. not loud. just sure. “not because you torture yourself into it. but because you’re disciplined and curious and stubborn in the best way.”

a shaky laugh left you. “stubborn?”

“painfully.”

you sniffed.

he brushed his thumb under your eye where a tear had escaped without permission. “you don’t have to prove your worth at almost three in the morning”

silence stretched between you, soft and fragile.

“explain one thing to me,” he said after a moment. “just one. if you can teach it, you know it.”

you hesitated, then nodded weakly.

“okay,” you whispered. “the corticospinal tract originates in the motor cortex…”

he listened. really listened. nodding occasionally, asking small questions that weren’t challenging, just curious.

as you spoke, your voice steadied. the fog in your mind thinned. the pathways lined up again in a way that made sense.

when you finished, he tilted his head slightly. “so if there’s a lesion above the pyramidal decussation…”

“contralateral weakness,” you answered immediately.

a small smile touched his mouth. “and below?”

“ipsilateral.”

“sounds like you understand it.”

you blinked.

you did.

your shoulders sagged, but this time from relief instead of tension.

he stood and held his hand out to you.

“come to bed,” he said gently.

you looked at your desk. at the book. at the clock now blinking 2:57AM.

then you took his hand.

he turned off the lamp, and the room fell into soft darkness. when you slid under the blankets, the sheets were still warm from where he’d been lying.

he followed, pulling you against his chest. one arm wrapped around your waist, the other resting beneath your head. in a way it felt grounding.

“set an alarm,” you murmured.

“already did.”

of course he had.

his fingers traced slow circles along your forearm. slow and steady.

“you’re not behind,” he whispered into your hair. “you’re building something.”

you let your eyes close.

your mind still buzzed faintly with pathways and nuclei, but they no longer felt like threats. just information. manageable.

his breathing evened out again, warm against your temple.

you matched it.

and for the first time that night, the edge you’d been standing on didn’t feel so close.

divider - @/cursed-carmine