nerdjo, who’d always be soso nervous about physical touch and kisses no matter how many times you peppered his face in them or cuddled together.
nerdjo, who loves the nights you stay over in his dorm because he got to watch admire you getting unready, sleep and wake up in the most adorable way. (in his eyes at least)
nerdjo, who gets super excited anytime you two go out together, feeling like a true boyfriend when he holds the door open for you or insists on paying the bill.
nerdjo, who shows you off in any way he can. wallpaper? you two in a photo booth. profile picture? you kissing his cheek. wallet? a picture of you in his digimon shirt.
nerdjo, who prays to whatever power rules over the universe that he’s doing this whole relationship at least decently right, too embarrassed to ask any of his friends for advice.
nerdjo, who absolutely dreads the week you get your period, overwhelmed whit what he should do, how he could help because god help him, he has no clue whatsoever.
nerdjo, who feels like the biggest idiot, beating himself up that he knew all those incredibly hard formulas but not what kind of pads his girl needs as he stands in the feminine hygiene aisle.
nerdjo, who literally read a whole book and watched a dozen videos on menstrual cycles that night.
nerdjo, who needs you smiling and happy at all times, making sure you had everything you possibly needed whenever you wanted.
nerdjo, who’s phone must be on dnd when studying, it’s really that serious, yet changed his settings so that ‘my lovely lady’ ‘s notifications were allowed.
nerdjo, who tries so hard to get it all right each time you two try something new and is all the more grateful for your reassurance the times it doesn’t go as planned.
nerdjo, who enjoys having little things of you around. the ribbon from your birthday present to him on his nightstand. your deodorant in his bathroom shelf. your panties under his pillow.
nerdjo, who cherishes everything about you. every single thing you do is sacred in his eyes, he quite literally feels like he’s in the presence of an angel.
nerdjo, who’s biggest nightmare is waking up without you by his side. without you in his life. but is reminded everyday that he doesn’t need to fear such a thing happening at all.
A little part of me thinks, yeah, yeah, Satosugu would leave you out because they're perfect soulmates. But hear me out.
I think they just love being around you. Having you with them all day long.
Especially on those lazy days off when the three of you end up tangled together in bed, drifting in and out of sleep with you wedged between them. Completely smooshed. Slowly getting warm and a little sweaty because, unfortunately for you, they're both literal space heaters.
It's probably already the middle of the day by the time you finally pry your eyes open. Your body aches in that dull, sleepy way from being pinned between them for hours. Your legs are sore, shoulders stiff, and you're pretty sure one of them has been halfway on top of you the entire morning.
So you carefully wiggle free.
You sit up with a quiet huff, rubbing your face while the room spins with leftover sleep. Honestly, it's a little annoying that they're just going to keep snoozing all day, but who are you to complain? They work hard. Missions, paperwork, saving the world and all that.
Still grumbling under your breath, you wander out to the living room and flop onto the couch.
You turn on a show, keeping the volume low. Just something to fill the quiet. Something to keep your brain company while the cool air of the room slowly settles against your warm skin.
The soft music and background chatter from the TV start to lull you again.
Your eyes are halfway closed when suddenly...
plop.
A tired groan follows, and then a familiar weight slumps against you.
White hair sticks out in every direction as Satoru buries his face into your stomach, rubbing his cheek there like a sleepy cat. His long arms lazily wrap around your waist before going slack as he settles, breathing evening out almost instantly.
Fine. Fine.
You suppose you can handle one.
Your hands move instinctively, fingers slipping into his messy hair to gently scratch at his scalp. He hums quietly at the touch, already drifting deeper into sleep.
Your eyelids start to droop again.
And then.
plop.
Another weight joins.
Suguru, apparently having shuffled his way out of the bedroom, slides onto the couch behind you both and gathers the two of you into his arms. One arm drapes over your side while the other settles across Satoru's shoulder, pulling the pile together.
At some point he even manages to toss a blanket over all three of you.
Now you're really starting to consider escaping again because seriously?
Really?
They're just going to cuddle you all day?
You shift a little, trying to wiggle free, but immediately Satoru makes a sleepy noise against your stomach.
There's a lazy little nom as he gently bites your belly through your shirt.
"Mmm… good mochi…" he mumbles in half-asleep nonsense.
Behind you, Suguru just hums softly, his voice low and drowsy.
"Don't move," he murmurs against your shoulder. "You're warm."
His arm tightens slightly around you.
"You're perfect right here."
And just like that, you're trapped again. Sandwiched between two half-asleep sorcerers who apparently have no plans to let you go anytime soon. Or enjoy their day off in any other way than sleeping.
So don't think for a second that they'd leave you out.
Because if anything, they love keeping you right there between them. The string that ties their souls together.
synopsis. the frat president is so much sweeter than you expected
contents. sfw! fluff + a smidge of angst. frat!jo x fem! reader. college au. satoru is sickeningly sweet. a little ooc maybe. cw. mentions of drinking + cheating ⇢ reader is freshly broken up with an unnamed ex. art creds: shesofyee on x ˖ ࣪ . ࿐
frat parties have never been your thing. you hate the sticky-sweet smell of cheap alcohol that clings to the air, to your clothes, to your skin. you hate the way the music makes your ears ring. you hate the way you have to shout to be heard. you only came to this party because your now-ex-boyfriend had asked you to, promising it would be different this time. it wasn’t.
the fight was a blur of muffled words in the middle of the sea of people dancing and laughing, completely oblivious to the world crashing down around you.
he didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed when you’d confronted him about his infidelity, he’d muttered something about it ‘not being a big deal’ and claimed you were overreacting — a casual dismissal of the time and effort you’d poured into him.
the cruelty of it all sent you stumbling through indifferent bodies until you found sanctuary in the quiet of the upstairs bathroom.
you’ve been crying for ten minutes straight. your makeup is a smudged, runny mess, and your face feels puffy and raw. you’re huddled on the closed toilet lid, knees drawn to your chest, head buried in your hands, when the doorknob rattles violently.
“go away,” you mumble to the door, the words muffled by your palms as you press your knuckles to your swollen eyes.
“c’mon dude, i gotta piss!” a voice slurs as the doorknob continues to shake, “you’ve been in there for-fucking-ever.”
“chill, there’s another one downstairs,” another voice cuts in, this one you recognize. it’s the frat president satoru gojo. you’ve seen him around campus, you’ve heard all the rumors. he’s exactly the kind of guy you avoid.
his words are followed by a disgruntled sigh and the sound of retreating footsteps.
you think you’re alone. you try to take a deep breath, a shuddering inhale that does little to calm the beating of your heart. you need to compose yourself enough to leave this disgusting bathroom and figure out how you’re getting back to your dorm. your ex is definitely not your ride anymore. your phone is dead, so no uber. and the thought of walking the mile and a half back to your dorm alone, in the dark, is terrifying.
your head snaps up as the lock clicks and the door swings open.
satoru is standing there, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders. he’s not wearing the obnoxious sunglasses you usually see perched on his nose, and his ridiculously blue eyes, the color of summer skies , are full of concern that seems so out of place on him.
“shit, sorry,” he says, his voice much softer than it was a second ago. “the lock on this door is whack. if you twist it enough it clicks open. i just wanted to uhh. . . you okay?”
you just stare at him, tears still trickling down your face. “i’m fine,” you lie
he doesn’t buy it for a second. he steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, effectively blocking out the worst of the noise from the party below. he leans against the counter, giving you space.
“that was your boyfriend, right?” he asks, nodding vaguely toward the door. “. . . the guy you were yelling at earlier.”
“ex-boyfriend,” you correct, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, the skin coming away wet and smudged with black.
“ahh shit," he says sympathetically. “that sucks.”
“yeah,” you sigh, another sob wracking your body, “it really, really sucks.”
“don’t waste your tears on him,” he frowns, brows furrowing. “he’s not worth a single one, ‘kay?”
you look down at your hands, twisting a loose thread on your jeans until it threatens to snap. the small, repetitive motion is the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart again. “i don’t know what to do,” you admit, the words tumbling out in a rush, “we came together and my phone’s dead and i just. . . i can’t be here anymore.”
he’s silent for a moment and you brace yourself for the ‘sounds like a you problem’, the kind of dismissal you’d expect from someone like him. instead, he shifts, pushing off the counter to stand before you.
“fair enough,” he says. “first, we’re getting you out of this gross bathroom. then we’re getting you home.”
your head snaps up. “but—”
“no cuts, no buts, no coconuts,” he cuts in, and despite everything, a watery snicker escapes you. “i’ve got you. i’m not letting you walk home alone this late. i’ve been drinking, so i can’t drive, but i can walk with you. it’s not a problem.”
satoru gojo — the guy who’s rumored to have a different girl in his bed every weekend — is the last person you’d expect to show you even a hint of kindness. you’re not even sure if he knows your name.
“are you serious?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper
“dead serious,” he holds out a hand. for a beat, you just stare at his long fingers and neatly trimmed nails, then up at his face. he waits patiently until you finally place your hand in his.
he pulls you to your feet effortlessly. you sway a little, unsteady from the crying and the stuffy air of the bathroom, and his other hand comes up to steady you, hovering just above your elbow before dropping away,
a fresh wave of embarrassment washes over you as you catch sight of your reflection in the mirror over the sink. it’s worse than you thought. your face is blotchy and swollen, your eyes are rimmed red, and your mascara has created smudgy, black circles under your eyes that make you look like a raccoon. you groan, turning away from your reflection and pressing your face into your hands.
“i look awful,” you murmur into your palms, the words muffled. “i can’t have anyone see me like this.”
“‘s nothing a little damage control can’t fix,” satoru says, turning toward the sink and grabbing a few squares of toilet paper from the roll. he runs them under the faucet until they’re a damp clump. “it’s not the fancy skincare stuff you girls usually use,” he admits, holding up the damp wad of paper, “but it should work.”
he turns back to you, the wad of toilet paper balanced between his fingers. he takes a step closer, and you instinctively stiffen, your body tensing.
he moves slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. you don’t. his fingers gently cup your jaw to hold your head still. his touch is feather-light, his thumb rests softly on the curve of your cheekbone and it’s oddly comforting. your eyes flutter shut as he gently dabs at the mascara smudges under your eyes. he manages to wipe away the worst of the mess without being too rough
“there,” he hums softly, dropping the damp paper into the trash and letting his hand fall away. you immediately miss the warmth of it. “better?”
you open your eyes and risk a glance in the mirror. you still look like you’ve been crying, but you no longer look like a character from a tim burton movie.
“yeah,” you sigh, your voice barely audible. “better.”
“good,” a small, genuine smile finally graces his lips
“why are you being so nice to me?” you turn away from the mirror to look at him directly.
“i don’t like seeing pretty girls cry,”
the words hang in the air between you, “oh,” you murmur, because you can’t think of anything tangible to say.
he clears his throat, his easygoing smile sliding back into place. “c’mon, let’s get you out of here.” he holds out his hand again, and this time you don’t hesitate.
satoru keeps a firm hold on your hand as he leads you out of the bathroom and back into the party. he uses his broad shoulders to part the crowd, people seem to naturally move aside for him. you keep your head down, focusing on the scuffed linoleum floor
just as you’re nearing the hallway that leads to the front door, a figure detaches itself from a group lounging on a nearby couch and blocks your path. it’s suguru geto, satoru’s other half, the vice president to his president. equally as infamous around campus.
“there you are, satoru,” suguru says, his eyes flicking from satoru to you, and then down to your intertwined hands. “toji and sukuna are talking mad shit again. come play beer pong with us.”
satoru doesn't even break stride, he keeps pulling you gently along. “maybe when i get back.”
“get back from where exactly?” suguru raises a brow, he glances at you again, a look of genuine confusion crossing his features as he tries to place you, and comes up empty.
satoru finally stops, letting out an almost imperceptible sigh. he tilts his head in your direction. “walking her home.”
the shift in suguru’s expression is immediate. his lips part slightly, his eyes widening as the pieces fall into place. he opens his mouth to say something teasing that would make your face burn with embarrassment. but before he can get a single word out, satoru is already shaking his head. ‘don't.’
suguru’s mouth snaps shut. he narrows his amber eyes, looking between your tear-streaked face, your clasped hands, and the uncharacteristically serious look on his best friend’s face. a knowing grin spreads across his lips.
“right, right,” he laughs, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door with a sweep of his arm. “you two have fun.”
as satoru pulls you past him, you catch suguru muttering under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear over the loud music “about damn time, you idiot.”
you don’t understand the full weight of his words
you don’t know that satoru has pointed you out to suguru countless times before, wayyy back during orientation week when you were all freshmen trying to figure out where your classes were.
you don’t know that he calls you ‘the pretty girl with the sketchbook’ . you have no idea that for the past two years, satoru gojo has been nursing an unrequited crush on you — the girl who always seems to be in her own world, a world he desperately wants to be a part of.
all you know is that the campus player is currently leading you out into the cool night air, his hand warm and steady in yours. and for some reason, it feels right
you catch a glimpse of your ex laughing with his friends by the beer pong table, completely oblivious. he doesn’t even notice satoru pulling you through the doorway. it stings, but it’s duller now
cars are lined up haphazardly along the street outside the frat house. people are sitting on the hoods, vaping, their faces illuminated by the blue glow of their geek bars. a few call out to satoru as you pass, but he barely acknowledges them. one of his ex-flings is glaring at you from the porch, whispering to her friends as she stares at your interlocked hands.
“which way?” he asks, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. he seems to realize he’s still holding your hand and lets go of it suddenly, shoving his hands in his pockets. you rub your arm nervously
you point to the left side of the street. “that way. it’s like, a twenty-minute walk on a good day.”
“cool,” he says, falling into step beside you. you walk in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the distant thump of the party fading behind you and the scuff of your shoes on the pavement. his eyes are fixed on you while yours are locked on the cracks in the sidewalk,
“so, what did he do?” he pipes up, then immediately seems to regret it. “actually nevermind i probably shouldn’t be asking that right now—”
“he’s been cheating on me,” you sigh, “he gave me his phone so i could text my roommate and i had a gut feeling so i went through it and—” your breath hitches
“oh fuck don’t cry again,” satoru frowns
“sorry it’s just . . . ”
“don’t apologize either,” he says, “none of this is your fault.”
“we were together for eight months,” you sigh, the admission feeling heavy in the cool night air. “i thought. . . i don’t know. i thought everything was good. i thought he loved me.”
“he’s an idiot,” satoru says, so matter-of-factly that it makes you believe him. “anyone who would cheat on you is either blind or just plain fucking stupid.”
“you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“nah i’m saying it ‘cause i mean it,” he shakes his head.
you don’t know what to say to that, so you just smile at him with your watery eyes and he swears he feels his knees buckle. even with puffy eyes and a quivering lip you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.
he musters up a smile and looks away, a faint blush creeping up his neck. you keep walking. the cool early spring air caresses your cheeks, carrying the smell of petrichor from a recent rain shower. you don’t notice him staring at you, or the way his gaze softens as he watches the streetlights cast your face in a fluorescent hue
you frown down at your phone. it’s completely dead and he wishes he’d offered to charge it for you in his room at the frat house so he could’ve spent more time with you. he wants to spend more time with you. he knows he may never get the opportunity again.
he’s grinning like the cheshire cat when your stomach lets out a loud growl and you look positively mortified.
“you hungry?” he asks, as if the answer isn’t obvious.
“a little,” you nod meekly, your stomach rumbling again in agreement. the crying and the vodka have made you feel hollow.
“me too,” he says. “there’s a konbini a couple minutes away, we can grab something to eat if you want.”
you end up stopping at the konbini. the store is a stark contrast to the cool darkness of the streets. you wander the aisles, your eyes landing on a shelf of instant ramen cups. nothing sounds better than a salty, savory meal
“ramen?” you ask, holding one up, “i get this brand a lot”
“you’ve got good taste” he says, grabbing one for himself. “i like this brand too”
you end up with a cup of spicy ramen, a strawberry milk, and a box of cookies n cream pocky. he grabs a bottle of water and pays for everything before you can even pull out your card, waving away your protests. he uses the hot water dispenser by the door to prepare your ramen, handing it to you with a pair of chopsticks, his fingers brush against yours.
you eat sitting on the curb outside the store, the steam warming your face. it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.
“i feel bad for dragging you away from the party,” you say between slurps. “i’m sure your girlfriend is wondering where you are.”
“nah, i don’t have one,” he shakes his head, taking a sip of his water. “not really my thing.” he regrets the words the second they fall from his lips.
“not your thing?” you raise a brow. “you’re notorious for having girlfriends.”
his eyes crinkle as he laughs, a genuine, bright sound. “i’ve never had one.”
you don’t seem convinced.
“i’ve had girl friends,” he says, “i don’t really do labels.”
stop. fucking. talking. he groans internally.
“someone’s got commitment issues.” you hum
for most people? yeah. the thought of a relationship with the girls he fools around with makes him break out in hives. but you? he would commit to you in a heartbeat. he’d do everything under the sun and then some if you asked him to.
a cold breeze picks up, rustling the plastic bag from the konbini, and you shiver.
“cold?” he asks, already shrugging out of his jacket before you can answer.
“no, i’m fine,” you lie, your teeth chattering slightly, betraying you.
he drapes his jacket—a black and crimson varsity jacket with the frat’s letters stitched on the chest—over your shoulders. it’s heavy and warm, and it smells like him, a clean, sharp mix of cologne and something sweet, like vanilla
“i don’t need it,” you protest, even as you snuggle deeper into it
“you do,” he says, his voice soft. “it’s cold out.”
you accept defeat, finishing your ramen with his crossing jacket around you.
the rest of the walk passes in comfortable silence. you don’t feel the need to fill it with small talk, and he doesn’t seem to either. it’s just the sound of your footsteps on the pavement and the hum of the city. his jacket is a heavy around your shoulders and you find yourself unconsciously pulling it tighter.
before you know it, you’re turning the corner onto your street. your dorm building is a few paces down, tired-looking brick walls and a flickering porch light that casts long, dancing shadows on the sidewalk.
“i didn’t know you lived in the dorms,” he says, looking up at the building. he shoves his hands in his pockets, his thin t-shirt clinging to his frame in the cool air.
“mm my family lives a couple hours away, it’s convenient,” you mumble, suddenly feeling shy.
you trudge up the concrete steps together, the silence stretching between you. you fish around in your pocket for your keys, your fingers fumbling with the cold metal. you finally manage to get the key in the lock and push the heavy door open.
“well,” you start, shrugging out of his jacket. “thanks. for everything. really.” you hold it out to him. “i appreciate you walking me home. and paying for my ramen and stuff”
he looks at the jacket in your outstretched hand, then back at you. he doesn’t take it.
“keep it,” he says. what he doesn’t say is that it looks better on you than it ever will on him, the way the crimson fabric brings out your eyes, the way you seem to swim in it, small and delicate.
“what? no, i can’t. it’s your crossing jacket.” you feel heat rise to your cheeks. “isn’t this like, a huge deal for you frat boys?”
“yeah well. . .” he says, a small smile playing on his lips. “i need a reason to see you again,” he says, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners.
you blink at him, completely taken aback. “oh. . right”
“yeah,” he says, rocking back on his heels. “get some sleep.” he gives you one last smile before turning and walking away. you watch him until he turns the corner, his silhouette disappearing into the night.
you stand there for a long moment, the cool air raising goosebumps on your arms, before you finally turn and head inside. you shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a second, letting out a long, slow breath.
you shrug the jacket off your shoulders, intending to just drop it on a chair, but as you do, something slips from the inner pocket and flutters to the floor. it’s a small, crumpled piece of paper.
you bend down to pick it up, it’s the receipt from the konbini. you’re about to crumple it up and toss it towards the trash can, but you see the faint blue lines of ink on the back. in messy, scrawling handwriting is a phone number. and underneath it, a short message:
keep the jacket!!! text me if you wanna hang out some time - satoru :p
you stare at the note, a soft smile spreading across your face, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. satoru gojo is so , so much sweeter than you expected.
synopsis; on a dreary night, a nameless band and singer relieves phainon of his homesickness. determined to find her once more, their worlds collide when phainon realizes: his favorite vocalist is his classmate (name).
genres/warnings; smau, college au, classmates to lovers, profanity, timestamps don’t matter, photographs are non-representative of reader, fem!reader.
⤷ masterlist || forward.
there is no easy way to describe the feeling in his heart tonight. crumbling the piece of paper in his hand, phainon looks up at the old bar sign, watching the flickering light flutter beneath the stars. something deep was weighing heavy on his soul—like the world was resting on his shoulders.
home felt far away. not just by distance, but spiritually: he was estranged.
there were things he missed on the surface. things he could easily recall off the top of his head. for example, he misses the overzealous nature of his pet dog, snowy. he also misses the smell of his mothers cooking, and the sound of his dad hammering wood. however, what weighed in his heart heaviest was the feeling of being a foreigner. after moving to college, settling into his new life at amphoreus university, he grew accustomed to his new way of living beside golden roads. he spent four years here, studying hard for a job he could only hope to get when he comes home in aedes elysiae.
in the short moments he came home, he sees himself as a mere traveler. he will no longer belong at amphoreus after four years. but he has strayed too far from aedes elysiae to consider himself a natural resident. he still has some pride left in his heart when he shows his friends his hometown. he’ll introduce them to his favorite spots that have slowly changed over the years. the prices will be higher than he remembers. the fields loved grew older and rougher—less tender than he remembers.
with graduation rolling around the corner, phainon knew he couldn’t stay here at amphoreus forever. one day, he will return to aedes elysiae. someday, he will feel like he belongs somewhere. but until that day comes, phainon will be stuck in limbo, holding his breath as he waits for the time he finally finds a place he calls home.
phainon pushes the double doors open, allowing the darkness of the venue to envelop him. the first thing he notices was the bassline–so deep and heartfelt, it was calling to him. drawing him closer to the empty tables, he finds his natural place by the seats. ocean-blue eyes look up at the stage and the sight leaves him in awe.
there was a young woman, fingers strumming across the strings on her pearly-white bass. her lips were barely grazing the silver microphone. so close to kissing the surface, she drags back and forth, toying with the god of music itself.
phainon has seen many great things in his life: from mydei falling into the water foundation at the mall, to cyrene’s acceptance into amphoreus university as a graduate student. nothing compared to this feeling of warmth this woman’s voice carried.
it was soft, almost as if cotton filled his ears. on this dreary night, her sound was like angels descending. in his mind, she was trapped on this earthly domain, singing her story for any passerby. her fingers danced across the fret board with ease, gliding across the surface as if it was her own body. phainon sees very clearly, the way her eyes search in the crowd, trying to find a weary soul to embrace with her song.
he knew a little bit about music. his father used to teach him the acoustic guitar as a child. phainon would have carried this dream to the end if he wasn’t so caught up with academics. the prospect of money blinded him to the enjoyment he could have savored. being here, in her presence, reminds of him the chance he could have had. it was far from negative. if anything, it was deeply nostalgic, like a story he is ready to tell his past self.
even amongst the loud, beating of the drums and the strumming of a guitar, phainon could make out the sound of her bass easily. it carried itself throughout the melody, piloting the other three into a gentle rhythm. the sight reminds him of dandelions on a breezy, spring day.
for once, phainon didn’t need to prove anything. he didn’t need to continue his long search for this imaginary place he called home. in this bar, on a random thursday night, he could lay down his woes by the door, and enter heaven itself.
however, the gates must close eventually—and he realizes it too late when the band finishes up their final song. they wave to the audience, smiling as they each pack their things. in phainon’s haze, he is unable to make out the letters spelling their name. he was too busy trying to stuff his melted heart into a jar to hear their name.
staring at the piece of paper in his hands, phainon finds determination in finding them again, and to hear the woman’s voice once more; hoping to soothe the weary in his soul that was yearning for a home.
gojo satoru is tall. freakishly tall. standing at six foot three, satoru towers over most people he encounters in his lifetime—one of them being you, the love of his life and his wife (you just don’t know it yet). gojo satoru knows he’s tall. he also knows that you like tall men. and of course, in usual gojo fashion, he uses that knowledge to his advantage.
have difficulty reaching a book in the library? no worries, he got you. one hand on your lower back, and the other arm stretching up to grab the book and also to flex his gorgeous muscles right by your face.
your mug missing from the teachers’ lounge? oh my, what evil person would place it on the highest shelf? do not fret, mister baby blue eyes is on the rescue! there are two ways satoru plays this: one, reaching it for you—blegh, boring. or he could lift you up the counter and let you reach for the mug yourself… with his hands on your waist, hmm.
the sky is the limit when it comes to satoru using his height to get you to fall in love with him.
one thing he really likes, though? when you complain about your neck hurting every time you talk to him. boots! what an ego boost! the first time you said that to him, he spent the night giggling and rolling in his bed.
he can lean down, speak to you with his legs spread apart like he’s about to do a split, you know—be accommodating and meet you halfway. but.. why would he do that? why would he do that when he can have you looking up at him with stars in your eyes (there weren't any) and tiny hearts flying out to him? (again, there weren’t any)
“can you please bend down? my neck is starting to cramp.”
“bend down? i didn’t know you liked that.” satoru giggles, like a little boy, and takes the chance to pinch your cheek. that earns him a swat and a glare from you. naturally, he grins in response.
“you’re so annoying.”
“i prefer the term affectionate.”
“bend down.”
he hums, cupping a hand to his ear. “i’m not hearing a please.” he knows he should stop. he’s pushing your buttons quite well, and you’re about to burst any minute now. that look in your eyes tells him that you’re two seconds away from violence.
but he also knows that he loves it when you’re annoyed. a frown apparent in your face, brows furrowed, glare so intense that his six eyes cower away in fear—what is going on? why are you grabbing his collar? are you… are you about to kiss him?! good lord, satoru has been praying for times like this but never did he expect for the day to come sooner.
his collar in your grasp, you pull. hard.
his brain, a thing capable of processing infinite information, goes perfectly blank. he stumbles forward on instinct, one hand catching the wall beside your head, knees bending so fast it’s humiliating. suddenly he’s eye level with you, close enough to feel your breath, close enough to count your lashes if he wanted.
you smile.
not often. not wide. but enough.
and he swoons. he’s wonderstruck, red in the face. you’re so close—all his senses are being overridden by you. you’re so, so close. a little nudge of his head can easily result in a well-awaited true love’s kiss. he’s doing it, he’s leaning in, his nose is touching yours, his lips less than an inch away—
“see?” you murmur. “that’s not hard to do.”
you pat his cheek twice and walk away.
he stays there for a full five seconds, bent over, staring at nothing.
then—
“suguru!” he shouts. “i think my wife just manhandled me!” he runs down the hall screaming, “she loves me! she loves me!”
suguru just sighs, feeling exasperated at the thought of reminding satoru that, no, you guys aren’t even dating yet.
Synopsis: Every January since you were little, you would dream about a field of snow, waking up cold. That was happening until you went back home one January – when that same dream would end differently, in which the snow melted and you would hear a voice. That same voice was the one you would hear from a fellow figure skater that you met in your home town; his name was Khaslana. Now you can't seem to avoid this man, whether you're online or outside and fans can't get enough of you two together.
A/N: naturally, the way ive characterised khaslana is very gentle, so i chose to not make him a little shit about [Name]'s tweets lol. I chose a sweeter approach, because he's been equally down bad <3 A bit shorter because I wanna save some stuff for the final chapters!
Can’t believe he would’ve been 27 years old today, taken too soon from us from this world. You will be in our hearts forever and always, Technoblade never dies! 🩷
narcolepsy = a condition characterised by an extreme tendency to fall asleep whenever in relaxing surroundings
likes, reblogs, comments are encouraged!!
a/n : hii guys!! weekly updates are starting, unfortunately next week may be a little delayed as i have a concert, my friends bday, my bday and a lot of other things!! please be patient
frat parties are basically just expensive naps in cute outfits for you
everyone else shows up to parties to drink, dance, or cause problems on purpose.
you?
you show up in your cutest miniskirt, glitter on your eyelids, hair perfect.... and then promptly fall asleep on frat boy sukuna shoulder the moment the bass drops.
frat boy sukuna is this terrifying, tatted, broad-shouldered frat demon leaning against the wall with a cup in hand…
and you’re just curled into him like he’s your personal pillow.
frat boy gojo, already was drunk.. “bro she came dressed like she was gonna party but shes literally unconscious on you??”
frat boy sukuna, petting your hair aggressively whilst side eyeing him “she IS partying thank you. now shut the hell up.”
the frat literally dont know you properly
like. at all.
they’ve “seen” you.
they’ve “met” you.
but speaking to you?
a conversation??
impossible.
frat boy toji once tried to introduce himself while you were sitting on the couch. you nodded politely… then immediately slumped sideways into the cushions and passed out.
he stared for a solid ten seconds before muttering, “is she alive or does this place need an exorcism again.”
frat boy nanami doesn’t even attempt anymore. he just nods at your sleeping body like “good afternoon.”
frat boy geto covers you with a blanket every time he walks by.
frat boy gojo has a photo album titled 'y/n doing absolutely nothing.'
you’ve been to this frat house hundreds of times. they know your sleep schedule better than your major.
accidental date naps..
frat boy sukuna plans dates.
and genuinely tries.
drives you out to a cute pier at sunset? you fall asleep five minutes into the ride.
movie night? you’re asleep before the opening credits.
picnic on the lawn? you fell asleep on the sandwich he made you.
frat boy sukuna used to get annoyed like, “c’mon woman,”
but now frat boy sukuna just tucks you under his hoodie, kisses your forehead, and finishes both meals because “waste of money my ass.”
sometimes you wake up halfway through a date and go,
“wasn’t I supposed to be doing something?”
and he just deadpans
“yeah. kissing me.”
trying to keep you awake is the funniest, saddest thing on earth
if you haven’t had a nap, you turn into a sleepy, blinking, barely coherent little creature.
frat boy sukuna can spot it instantly across campus...
the slow steps, the long blinks, the soft sway in place.
frat boy sukuna whispers, “oh hell nah,” under his breath and starts jogging to you.
you see frat boy sukuna, smile tiredly, open your arms…
and then plop.
you fall forward into his chest and knock out standing up..
he just catches you like muscle memory.
"bruh i need to get to the other side of the campus now"
waking you up = his personal boss battle
frat boy sukuna has tried EVERYTHING.
shaking you? doesn’t work.
calling your name? no reaction.
kissing your cheek? nothing but a little snore.
one time frat boy sukuna got desperate and said, “i’m breaking up with you.” and immediately regretted saying that except..
you didn’t even flinch.
he felt INSULTED.
frat boy gojo, chaotic angel, once set his military-level alarm next to your ear.. and well...
that thing could resurrect the dead.
you didn’t even twitch.
frat boy sukuna almost passed out from laughter and despair at the same time.
how you met.. and possibly being the most adorable crisis of his life
high school frat boy sukuna working part-time at a small café near his house was not on your bingo card..
but there he was, grumpy apron, hands always busy, pretending not to stare at you every time you walked in after school for your daily tiramisu.
frat boy sukuna thought you were cute in that soft, dreamy, out-of-his-league way.
but he was WORKING.
he tried to focus.
until closing time, when he noticed you still at your table… head down… completely still.
he froze.
oh my god.
was the cute girl DEAD?!
he poked your shoulder like it might explode.
nothing.
panic. full panic
frat boy sukuna was so getting fired and not having public holiday extra pay.
the manager came out, laughed, and whispered,
“she has narcolepsy..she explained it to me when she fell asleep like this"
sukuna stood there like .... narco what a what
googled it that night.
learned everything.
pretended it didn't concern him.
it concerned him a LOT.
the frat drags you both to some neon 80’s themed diner.
it’s loud, bright, full of music..
and you are fighting for your LIFE to stay awake.
you’re sitting in the red booth next to frat boy sukuna, eyes slowly drooping, head dipping forward.
everyone watches in real time as you lose the battle with sleep.
“bro she’s lagging slowly.” – frat boy gojo
“she’s at 1%.” – frat boy geto
“plug her in.” – frat boy toji
whilst frat boy nanami rolls his eyes
“all of you shut up.” – frat boy sukuna
you finally slump over into frat boy sukuna shoulder and he immediately throws his arm around you like it’s completely normal.
he feeds you fries while you’re basically unconscious.
frat boy sukuna is stupidly in love for sure
frat boy sukuna pretends he’s grumpy, but yet carries emergency blankets, snacks, and even a tiny travel pillow in his backpack now.
frat boy sukuna slows down his walking pace because you’re always sleep-stumbling.
frat boy sukuna checks your meds, your schedule, your comfort.
he even gives you his hoodies because “it’s softer. you sleep better in it.”
and every time someone asks how you two even work, frat boy sukuna just shrugs
“she sleeps. i watch. that’s basically love.”
pretends he’s annoyed, but actually melts every time you fall asleep on him.
frat boy sukuna always carries an emergency hoodie for you to nap in.
frat boy sukuna knows all your triggers, all your sleep tells, all the ways to wake you gently when necessary.
frat boy sukuna claims he doesn’t care, but the frat caught him reading a medical article about narcolepsy on his phone at 2am.
frat boy sukuna calls you “sleepy baby” when he’s teasing and “baby” when he’s genuinely worried.
jealous frat boy sukuna, except you slept through the ENTIRE misunderstanding
it starts because some guy in your lecture... let's call him harmless biology boy
he tries to wake you up after you fell asleep mid-class by gently tapping your shoulder.
you blink awake, mumble, “mm… thanks,” and promptly fall back asleep on his arm.
biology boy freezes like he just got chosen by a forest spirit.
someone sends frat boy sukuna a picture with "yo aint this ur girl?"
frat boy sukuna sees the snap of you sleeping on another man's limb like it's a premium memory foam pillow.
frat boy sukuna storms into the building looking like he’s about to commit third-degree educational homicide...
only to find you… STILL asleep on this poor dude, who is clearly rethinking every decision he’s ever made.
frat boy sukuna just stands over him like a shadow.
biology boy lifts his hands.
“sir… i didn’t… she just...."
“yeah. she does that,” frat boy sukuna sighs, scooping you up like a giant grumpy crane.
you wake up later, curled on his chest in his dorm, and go, “huh? weren’t we in class?”
frat boy sukuna just grunts and kisses your forehead because he cannot stay mad at the human embodiment of a warm blanket.
frat reacting the first time you stay awake for more than 2 hours
it’s a historic day in the house.
you come in for movie night.
you’re awake.
you sit on the couch.
you’re still awake.
30 minutes pass.
you’re STILL awake.
frat boy gojo is the first to notice...
“SUKUNA. WE’RE WITNESSING A MIRACLE.”
frat boy geto brings out his phone like a nature documentary narrator.
frat boy nanami knows that this moment wont last long with your energy levels.
frat boy toji deadass checks your pulse and forehead because his brain refuses to accept it.
even frat boy sukuna is staring at you suspiciously, like,
“…what’s wrong with you?”
you shrug, “i slept earlier,”
and the whole frat SCATTERS like pigeons.
the longer you stay awake, the more unstable they get.
90 minutes in and frat boy gojo is pacing.
“she’s still conscious. bro do we call someone??”
eventually, you lean on frat boy sukuna arm, still awake, and he looks so proud it’s embarrassing.
“good girl, keep them insane for me” he mutters.
you fall asleep 10 seconds later.
frat balance restored.
you tend to sleep talk but you rather have sleep-talking confessions about him
frat boy sukuna pretends he doesn’t care when you sleep-talk.
he cares A LOT.
one time you fell asleep on his bed while he was playing a game.
halfway through, you mumbled,
“mm… ‘kuna… love…”
frat boy sukuna froze, controller slipping from his hands.
looked back at you like you’d just recited poetry.
“what’d you say?”
you snored in response.
another time, curled in his hoodie, you whispered,
“love you… even when you’re scary…”
frat boy sukuna actually had to sit down on the floor for a second because it hit him so hard.
the next day he was extra gentle, opening doors, carrying you everywhere, glaring at anyone who breathed too close.
you asked raising a brow, “why are you being so… soft?”
he grumbled “shut up” and tucked you into a blanket more aggressively.
the first time you sleep on him by not accident.....
you ALWAYS fall asleep accidentally ... on his chest, on his arm, on the table, on the ground, on a textbook, everywhere.
so the day you walk into his room, sit next to frat boy sukuna, and intentionally curl up against him…
he short-circuits.
like full glitch.
frat boy sukuna stiffens for a second because he’s not used to you choosing sleep position deluxe edition on him without warning.
“what’s this about?” he mutters.
and you quietly say, “i wanted to nap with you this time.”
and then knock out immediately.
frat boy sukuna does not move for TWO HOURS because “if she chose me on purpose, i’m not friggin shifting an inch.”
frat boy gojo bursts in during that two hours and frat boy sukuna throws a shoe at him with sniper accuracy.
later, frat boy sukuna admits (in his own grumpy way),
“…it was nice.”
translation: he wants it to happen again and he's already hearing the wedding beels
one time you accidentally fall asleep to frat boy sukuna mid-confession
one day frat boy sukuna is holding your face gently, looking at you like he wants to say something big.
you’re blinking slow.
very slow.
a little to slow for liking...
dangerously slow.
“hey,” he whispers, thumb brushing your cheek,
“i… i think i—”
you fall asleep on frat boy sukuna palm.
frat boy sukuna has never known defeat so intimately.
frat boy sukuna just sighs, rests his forehead against yours, and murmurs,
“yeah. yeah. i love you too. whatever.”
more chaos, more softness, more frat stupidity, more you sleeping everywhere
“meet the parents” is easy they say except you fall asleep infrat boy sukuna mother’s arms
frat boy sukuna swears he’s not nervous.
he lies.
he’s pacing, fixing his shirt, muttering threats to inanimate objects like,
“she better not fall asleep during introductions or I’ll— actually no she will. damn it.”
you walk in to meet his mother and immediately she LOVES you.
and frat boy sukuna mom instantly swoops in like a reflex.
she catches you in her arms before you can even slump forward and holds you like you’re her own child.
you fall asleep on her instantly.
frat boy sukuna stands there, horrified.
“MA. what the hell.”
she smiles at him, rocking you gently.
“she’s precious. don’t raise your voice.”
“…what is happening right now?”
frat boy sukuna dad comes in, sees you asleep on his wife, nods respectfully and goes,
“she fits right in.”
sukuna’s heart does an embarrassing little flip.
fratboy sleepover chaos.. but the rule is “DON’T WAKE Y/N”
the frat decides to have a sleepover in the living room (for reasons no one remembers — probably frat boy gojo).
you’re there on frat boy sukuna lap, already 100% unconscious.
the boys agree on one universal rule:
if anyone wakes up y/n, they’re dead.
the house becomes a sacred silent zone.
frat boy toji drops a beer can? death stare from everyone.
frat boy gojo tries to tell a story too loudly and gets tackled mid-sentence by frat boy geto.
frat boy nanami is making sure nothing hits the floor
frat boy sukuna sits with you curled in HIS hoodie on HIS lap, arms around you like a territorial bear.
frat boy gojo whispers, “bro you’re holding her like she’s a ticking bomb.”
frat boy sukuna whispers back, “she IS. she explodes into tears when she wakes up abruptly so back off.”
“oh. fair.”
at one point someone sneezes and the whole house goes silent — all eyes on you.
you shift a little…
everyone holds their breath…
then you settle back into sleep.
the group collectively exhales like a SWAT team after defusing a bomb.
when you’re sleepier, you fall asleep in even dumber places.
frat boy sukuna finds you.. in weird areas not like you dont already do that already..
you're slumped over your laptop
you're asleep on your open notebook
you're asleep in the library stacks
you're asleep sitting straight up like an unplugged robot
once, asleep in a hallway corner like a sim that glitched
frat boy sukuna picks you up every single time, muttering,
“you’re gonna get bad back problems sleeping like this and blame it on me.”
frat boy sukuna starts making schedules FOR you!
nap times, study breaks, snack breaks, hydration reminders.. stuff he pretends is “for efficiency” but is actually because he’s worried sick.
frat boy sukuna quizzes you gently while you’re half-asleep against him.
frat boy sukuna carries you to his bed and forces you to nap when you’re too stubborn.
frat boy sukuna even gets frat boy nanami to help organise your study materials because he “trusts no one else except boring-ass frat boy nanami with her grades.”
the day you finally finish exams, you fall asleep in his arms before even celebrating.
he wraps you in his hoodie and whispers,
“good job, my sleepy baby.”
jealous YOU!
everyone always focuses on jealous frat boy sukuna…
but jealous YOU?
it’s adorable.
you don’t get angry.
you just… quietly malfunction.
if a girl tries to flirt with frat boy sukuna at a party, you don’t fight —
you simply fall asleep ON HIM like a little koala claiming her tree.
“omg sukuna, your tattoos are sooo—"
whist you climbs onto his lap like a koala and immediately sleeps
“…did she just—”
frat boy sukuna, would be proud for sure...
or if a girl touches frat boy sukuna?
you take his hand, hold it to your chest like a teddy bear, and doze off.
instant dominance.
passive but powerful.
one time a girl asked for frat boy sukuna number and before he could tell her off, you gently leaned your head against his shoulder and fell asleep holding onto his shirt.
he kissed the top of your head and said,
“yeah, no. I’m good.”
I am back from the dead, after doomscrolling and procrastinating on art projects— here it is! I'm getting more comfortable using this app so I can't wait to post more!
༘⋆📼˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ you have a huge crush on the campus’s golden boy gojo satoru and as a way to get closer to him you decide to become the basketball team’s mascot.
⋆˚࿔ part 1.
the first week is… a disaster.
you can barely see out of the costume, your legs wobble with every jump, and you’re sweating in places you didn’t know could sweat. you’re not fittest person for this task and hearing people snicker at your unintentionally silly mannerisms is quite embarrassing, yet somehow, it all fades when gojo notices you.
it starts small: a boyish laugh from across the gym as you trip over your oversized mascot feet, a wink when you accidentally bump into the benches or hit your big head against something.
“you okay, buddy?” he calls, grinning like the sun just decided to sit in the bleachers.
you feel your heart skip a beat and nod frantically, cheeks burning in the costume, trying to maintain some shred of dignity while internally screaming because he is the prettiest person ever.
later, when he leans his elbow on the top of your mascot head(which he easily reaches with his height by the way) as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, you freeze in the most stupid way possible, heart pounding, and hear his lazy, teasing drawl, “didn’t think you’d be this soft, wolfie.” (apparently, it’s a wolf mascot) you make some garbled, embarrassed noise and he laughs. the first time he does it, you spend the rest of the day trying to convince yourself it didn’t happen. the second time, you secretly hope it does happen again.
as the season progresses, you start seeing him during breaks more often. he finds reasons to walk past you, sometimes with a basketball under his arm, sometimes just to lean against the wall beside the mascot tunnel, casually commenting on the game, the crowd, your “incredible energy.” which is, of course, sarcastic since you’re basically dying under it.
there’s a routine that develops, this silly little dance of proximity: he’ll come over during timeout and crouch beside you, whispering, “hey, save some high-fives for the other fans, yeah?” and you nod, heart thumping so loudly you’re sure the entire gym can hear it. he teases you relentlessly — sometimes he and his teammates stage mock “playfights” with you, swatting at the oversized mascot paws, nudging you around corners. you protest, but mostly you giggle, because there’s no real danger and he always laughs, that ridiculous, charming laugh that somehow manages to make your knees go weak even when you’re sweating through your costume.
he notices little things, too, that make your crush spiral further out of control.
one day, after a particularly close game, he stops beside you with a towel, leaning over to wipe the imaginary sweat from the top of your mascot head without hesitation.
“man, i imagine it’s like a sauna in there,” he says, and you make some muffled sound that probably counts as a squeak. he cocks his head, eyes glinting with amusement.
“yeah, that’s you, wolfie, working hard for the team.” he smirks, and you can feel the warmth from his elbow pressing against the top of your head again.
these small, deliberate touches — brushing your arm when handing you a water bottle(that you drink turned away from him because the prospect of him seeing you all sweaty is scary) or him tapping the mascot head with his fingers when teasing you — they feel like fireworks in slow motion. he’s never rude, never mean, just effortlessly sweet and every encounter makes your chest ache a little more because. . . maybe he’s just nice like that to everyone.
it’s during one of the mid-season games that you actually manage to speak back to him without turning into a puddle of nerves. you’re huffing through the mascot head after sprinting across the court for some ridiculous halftime routine, and he’s leaning casually against the bleachers, arms crossed, watching you like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
he grins and calls out, “hey, you! why are you doing this to yourself? what kind of person voluntarily runs around in that thing?”
you manage a muffled, “i… i thought it’d be… fun? and… to support the team?” your voice sounds strangled in the head, but he hears it perfectly since his attention is fully on you and you melt at the realisation.
he tilts his head, one eyebrow raised, a lazy smirk on his face. “fun, huh? really? because you look like you’re about to collapse.”
you laugh nervously, pressing your hands to the sides of the head, heart hammering. “i… i like the team,” you squeak and then your courage flares just a little. “and… i like supporting you.”
the silence is brief but heavy. he leans forward, voice softening but still teasing. “supporting me? that’s… good to know. i like it.” he pauses and you swear your heart audibly skips a beat. “also… i like your voice.”
your head tilts in confusion. “…my voice?”
“yeah,” he says, grinning wider. “it’s cute. i bet you’re probably cute under there too.”
he winks and the air around you feels like it’s vibrating with warmth and his endless energy. you choke on air, trying to remember how to act human and his smirk just grows, ridiculous and perfect.
there are also moments where he surprises you with genuine curiosity.
during a break one day, he asks, “hey, what’s it like in there? do you see the game okay?” and you stumble over some incoherent answer, but he leans closer, listening like it’s really that important. you realize you’re talking to him, really talking, through a stupid wolf costume, and he’s fully engaged, smiling, leaning in close enough that you feel his warmth through the thick padding.
with every interaction, you see him noticing more — your height through the suit, your hands, your laugh and your quirks that you never want anyone to see. and the crush, which was already ridiculous, deepens, becomes this gnawing, yearning ache that you can’t ignore.
weeks pass and as you grow to like gojo to an impossibly level, the interactions become almost ritualized.
gojo and his teammates love to “challenge” you to silly things during warm-ups: can you dance faster than me? can you dodge our fake attacks? can you throw popcorn at us without falling over? and somehow, through all this chaos, you start to learn his rhythm, his humor, the way he teases without hurting anyone. once, he even crouched behind you during a timeout and whispered, “don’t let anyone see, but you’re my favorite person here,” and the costume head muffled your scream of embarrassment. he just laughed and patted the top of the head, like it was the most normal thing in the world to make you melt under a fluffy disguise.
you notice the way he looks for you during breaks, scanning the court until he spots the mascot, and that small flicker of recognition in his eyes sends your heart into orbit. he’s playful, ridiculously confident and every time he rests an arm on your shoulder or nudges you during a playfight, it’s like he’s leaving little breadcrumbs of intimacy for you to follow.
you start to anticipate it, secretly savouring the touches, the glances, the way he smiles at you when he thinks no one is watching. of course, it’s kind of all distorted because you have this annoying suit on, but sometimes, when you think about taking off the mascot head to see his reaction, a part of you fears losing the magic of the teasing, the hiddenness that lets him be soft and funny in a way he might not if he knew exactly how flustered you are.
you sweat and stumble in the costume, he teases and flirts with the most effortless charm, and your heart grows heavier with every laugh and carelessly whispered comment. you learn the cadence of his humor, the curve of his smile, the subtle way he leans in when he’s interested.
he leans against you and talks to you and asks you about yourself and gets berated by his coach for wasting so much time talking to you. you long to hear his voice clearly every time, long to have him open himself even more to you, yet you are now trapped under this stupid fur and his curiosity about you hasn’t tipped over the edge of wondering what you look like under the suit. it bothers you but you don’t wanna lose anything you have.
and your interactions get progressively bolder, though still wrapped in the safe, ridiculous veil of the costume. sometimes he leans close enough to murmur jokes that only you hear, other times he nudges your mascot paws as if testing boundaries, all while keeping that teasing, affectionate grin. the season passes in a blur of games, dancing around each other, swift touches, whispered compliments and heart-thudding glances, building this unspoken tension between the two of you — a secret bubble of warmth, humour and maybe something more, all hidden beneath the fluff of the suit.
and you can’t help but wonder, what will happen when the game season will be over and there will be no need for a furry jumping around the court?
—
the last game of the season feels wrong from the moment you put on the mascot costume.
everything about it feels too final — the way the gym is louder tonight, packed with people; the way the lights feel brighter. you’re standing behind with the giant head under your arm, staring at the court as the crowd fills in, noise swelling like a heartbeat. your heartbeat. there’s a dull ache under your ribs, something heavy and breathless. you’ve been trying not to think about it all week, but you can’t stop thinking now: this is it. after tonight, i won’t have a reason to be near him anymore.
the season that held all the moments you’ve come to cherish is about to end. and when it does? you’re just… nobody again. you swallow hard, adjusting the oversized paws. you feel stupid being emotional about it, but god, it hurts in a way you’re not ready to name.
he finds you before the game even starts.
gojo jogs over from warm-ups, hair pushed back with a sweatband, jersey clinging to him in the most distracting way imaginable. he beams when he sees you, like you’re the highlight of his night and you want to think that he’s been searching for you, just you, in the whole crowd. it’s a dangerous thought.
“wolfie!” he calls out, dramatically, with way too much warmth in his voice. “one last dance, huh?”
you pretend to salute, because you can’t speak right now, not with your throat full of emotion.
he leans his elbow on your head again and leans down, murmuring softer this time, “hey… don’t look so down. you okay in there?”
you nod, vigorously. he squints, reading you too easily. “hmm. i’ll be paying attention.”
you wave him off quickly, but your hands tremble a little. he tilts his head, studying you with an almost worried fondness, like he knows something’s wrong and he cares. god, that makes it worse.
the game starts. the gym roars. lights flash. sneakers squeak on the polished floor. everything moves fast and loud and bright, but your chest feels tight. you cheer, you dance, you wave your paws — all your usual routines — but everything feels like goodbye. every cheer feels heavier. every silly dance routine feels like you’re performing through a lump in your throat. you try to hype the crowd, wave the giant mascot paws, run around like usual, but inside you’re terrified.
what if this is the last time he even acknowledges me? what if once the mascot’s gone… i disappear too?
and every time gojo passes you on the court, he taps your paw or sends you a grin. at halftime, he jogs over — sweat-damp hair, bright smile, eyes searching instinctively for your costume. he spots you immediately and grins like he always does, that grin that makes your heart ache. he bumps your shoulder with his.
“hey,” he says softly. “you better be cheering for me extra hard tonight.”
you nod a little too fast, too jerky. he laughs a little, uncertain.
“okay, okay, don’t overheat on me,” he murmurs, and pats the top of your head. you turn away before he can see how your shoulders sag.
the second half is agony. he’s amazing on the court — fast, sharp, glowing with adrenaline. the crowd chants his name again and again, and every time they do, your chest tightens.
because he’s brilliant. everyone knows it. everyone sees him.
the game ends(they win, naturally) and the gym explodes with cheers. the players celebrate, hugging, shouting, slapping hands. you jump around like you’re supposed to, heart a mess in your chest.
but you can’t do it for long.
you can’t handle him walking up to you after the game, because afterward, when you take the mascot off, he’ll never look at you the same way again.
so you run.
as soon as the crowd floods the court, you bolt into the back hallway behind the bleachers, heart pounding, lungs tight, desperate to escape before he can see you. before he can unsee you. you don’t want to see his face when he realizes you’re just… you. not a cute mystery. not someone interesting enough to tease and seek out. you don’t look back.
you duck into an empty equipment room near the locker rooms, ripping the mascot head off with shaky hands, gasping for air. your hair is plastered to your forehead, your cheeks burning. you feel horrible; small and stupid for caring this much. how could you be so dumb? thinking this was something when it was really nothing and gojo was just being nice, and he probably would have been nice to anyone under the idiotic wolf suit.
you press your back to the wall, closing your eyes, trying to calm down—
“hey!”
you turn just as he reaches the doorway. he stops dead when he sees you holding the head in your hands, your face flushed, hair sticking to your temples. gojo stands, still in his jersey, a towel slung around his neck, chest rising and falling from the chase. sweat glints on his collarbone. he looks like he just ran a marathon.
his mouth falls slightly open.
your eyes fly open in horror.
you panic, lifting the mascot head like a shield. “no— don’t look at me!”
he stops in front of you, eyes widening and then immediately oftening. “why not?” he asks, voice so gentle you want to escape.
“i’m— i look— awful,” you stutter. “i’m sweaty and red and gross and— i didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“but it’s you,” he says quietly.
you swallow. “i— i didn’t want you to see me at all.”
his brow furrows, hurt flashing across his face. “why?”
you look down, clutching the stupid furry head like a shield. “because the season’s over. and when i’m not the mascot anymore, you won’t… you won’t care. or talk to me. i didn’t want to see that happen.”
he stares at you like you’ve said the most insane thing he’s ever heard. there’s a moment of silence. his expression shifts — confusion, realization, then something heartbreakingly tender.
he walks right up to you, gently takes the mascot head from your shaking hands and sets it aside.
“look at me.”
you do, reluctantly so. you still try to fix and smooth away your hair, but gojo is quick to usher your hands away. “can i…” he hesitates, rare for him. “can i see your face properly?”
you nod, trembling.
he reaches up, brushing your hair out of your eyes with surprisingly gentle fingers. every touch is soft, hesitant, sweet and so different from his loud, confident courtside self. he looks at you like you’re somehow more dazzling than the whole stadium.
then he whispers, “yeah. yeah, you’re even cuter than i imagined.”
your breath catches. “gojo—”
“satoru,” he corrects quietly, eyes flicking to your lips. “call me satoru.”
your heart stutters. “satoru.”
his smile turns soft and crooked, like you just handed him something precious. it’s one of his prettiest smiles, the one you’ve reserved a special place in your mind, and having it directed at you is breathtaking.
he leans in close, close enough that you feel his breath on your cheek, and murmurs, “can i…?”
you barely nod before he presses the smallest, sweetest kiss to the corner of your mouth. it’s so unlike anything you’ve ever imagined your first kiss from a boy being, but it’s the best thing. you feel like you’re gonna pass out but gojo’s presence is enough to remind you that this is real and this is him and he is kissing you. it’s soft and warm, like a gentle promise or a hesitant question.
you gasp, eyes wide, and he laughs quietly against your skin as he thumbs at it.
your throat tightens when your brain reminds you of another thing. “but the season— it’s over.”
“yeah.” he smiles, this gentle, lopsided thing that makes your knees weak. “but i’m not done with you. not even close.”
you blink up at him, trembling on the inside.
“…really?”
he laughs, soft and breathless, and brushes a strand of your hair back. you’re briefly reminded of how gross you must be looking, but satoru looks at you so happily you forget all about it.
“you think i’m letting you go now? after seeing how pretty you are? no way.”
your heart floods with something warm and terrifying and overwhelmingly good. you laugh a shaky little sound and he catches it like it’s precious.
“c’mon,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “let me take you out. without the costume, preferably.”
you finally smile, allowing yourself to relax. “okay.”
his grin widens into something bright, relieved and just a little bit smug.
“don’t run from me again, okay?”
he presses a quick kiss on your lips.
“i chase really fast.”
i decided to tag people who left cute comments under the first part hehe(but do ignore this if you’re not interested, i’m not forcing anyone to reas!!): @vaniique @sereneaede @freyavesta @sorilyae @sweetieelilii @webshooterrr9 @cupidslie @makiette @satorugooner @mulfic @ssetsuka @untouchablegojo
work belongs to @KIRALOGY — please refrain from copying or plagiarising.
