SHAY★

⁺˚⋆｡°✩31✩°｡⋆˚⁺ 📸 shaytoru_

[veilist]

nsfw content mutual!gojo satoru keeps his promise by flying overseas and sending you to poundtown. part one + part two

two months… satoru’s been thinking about you for two whole months. each day felt like a time lag, and every week felt like a never ending simulation. it felt as if the earth decided to stop spinning ever since that day he witnessed you using his gift — the toy he’d replicated of his own dick.

the late-night live you streamed for your onlyfans was now a file downloaded on satoru’s phone — ever since then, he’s been finding himself constantly looking at the download. whether it was for the sole purpose of admiration, or desperation… that video never stopped circulating within satoru’s head. it was as if his mind had been corrupted with an extreme sense of want.

a ‘want’ so desired, the longing has lasted longer than sixty-one days. it’s basically became a routine: wake and hit the gym, shower and jerk of to the only nsfw downloaded on his files, eat breakfast, head to campus, head home, buy takeout, study and then doom-scroll on twitter and converse with you for the rest of his night.

and good habits, or not — satoru’s also found himself secretly getting off to the sound of your voice whenever you’d call him because for some reason, he just couldn’t discard the image of you stuffing your insides with his dildo.

the video was practically burned into his retinas, setting off an unjust trigger of frustration he’d been holding in. it was almost unbearable — he had to find some kind of way to reaching you just as he did in his dreams because the life of a cuck was never something he’d foreseen as his own reality.

satoru had to get out of japan, it was the only step that would make it possible to see you — and, the only possible way to subside his carnal craving for you. but the thing is, he needed an excuse. he needed a reason to be overseas because no matter how much he joked about giving you the real ‘thing’, and expressing how crazed you make him — that’s not enough reason to fly out, no matter how impulsive he may be.

he had to strategize it, make the reason why he’s in your hometown sound believable. he’d call it an overseas ‘collaboration’. the kind of travel that content creators do for networking purposes, expanding their growth and earning more profits — it was a perfect idea.

“hypothetically speaking… what if, and i mean what if.” satoru’s voice grows in pitch as you hear his excitement over the phone. “not again, toru. i’m tired of your ‘what if’ questions, let talk about something else.” you sigh.

satoru’s been buzzing in your ear for the past few hours about absolute nonsense. first it was about him traveling overseas for vacation, then it was about him “visiting friends” overseas — which never bothered to mention, and now here he was again.

“fine—” he pursued his lips, “last one. what iffffff.” he drags before pausing as you hum in response, but there’s an awkward beat of silence. “what iff?..” you repeat after him, before hearing him giggle like a little boy with a crush.

you raised an eyebrow, listening to satoru on the other side of the phone. the only times you’ve heard satoru giggle like a child was either because his favorite game has finally been released, or because he had something mischievous in mind.

“what if— and this is a hypothetical, okay? but what if i went overseas for a collab?” he utters out quickly, as you hear a grin creep onto his lips. “then i guess you’ll be overseas for a collab? i don’t know.” you respond slightly confused, unsure why’d he even tell you that.

“you’re no fun.” satoru huffs, and it’s safe to assume he was expecting more than just a slightly dismissive response. “i mean… why are you so intent on traveling outside the country?” you ask, “you’ve been mentioning traveling overseas every time we speak on the phone.” you’re talking while trying to figure out why satoru’s so fixated on traveling, before it it clicks to you.

“don’t tell me that collab has you losing months worth of sleep because you just can’t wait to go.” you roll your eyes with cringe, which earns an incoherent groan from satoru.

“you just wouldn’t get it.” his voice softens as he accepts quiet defeat. and it’s unfortunate really, it’s not like he could tell you that the collab would be with you without sounding like a desperate loser.

he sent you a molded figure of his dick two months ago — half jokingly, half hoping that there’s a chance that you’d use it. he honestly thought the odds were against him, until they weren’t. until that sole day he’d find himself seeing you as more than just a mutual friend, but an unfulfilled desire.

“get what, toru?” you let out a small laugh, mixed between amusement and disbelief. “get how you’re basically crushing on one of your mutuals.” you tease just enough to hit that sore spot that’s been slowly killing satoru.

“whaaat? y’ jealous?” he taunts, as if the ache within his chest is inexistent. “definitely not.” you scoff lightly.

“yeah, sureee.” he lets out a laugh. “i’m sure after using my replica, you feel a little territorial over me, no?” he adds, half a playful, half truth as he anticipated your response, but all you do is let out an inaudible laugh.

of course satoru was a menace, he always has been since the day you two became friends — but the one thing you could never get used to was his tactless behavior. either he was stupid, or just abnormally impulsive.

“nah, but i’d definitely get territorial if you’re giving out money to other women on their streams.” you jokingly tease back, but there’s truth hidden between your words before you’re hearing satoru’s laugh break your phone’s sound barrier.

“give me a personalized stream and i’ll have you set for life.” he says over the phone, as if he doesn’t have a downloaded file of you on his phone.

“you’re a college student, toru.” you deadpan your phone as if you’re on facetime. “i’ll indulge in my savings for you.” he replies, soft and stupidly, but only satoru knows there’s a hell of a lot more things he’d do for you.

“yeah, suree.” you drag sarcastically, “goodnight, toru before you make me lose the little brain cells i have left.” you wish him a good night, earning a laugh from him.

“sighhhhh!” satoru sighs the actual word out loud, “you always think i’m joking.” he says, and you can hear the pout in his voice. “but goodnight— i’ll see you tomorrow, love you.” he lets out a smooching sound before ending the call.

—

text from satoru: you home? sent at 7:38 PM

your phone buzzes on the couch’s armrest making you reach across the sofa to grab your phone.

you: no

you: did you bring me another one of your gifts ?? 🧍‍♀️

your fingers tap against screen of your phone, as you’re reaching to put it back down against the armrest before your phone is buzzing again.

text from satoru: WHY ARE YOU NOT AT HOMEE

text from satoru: I HAD A GIFT FOR YOU 😔😔, i was gonna tell you to open the door so you’d be surprised but NOOO you decided not to be home

the texts from satoru are coming in one after another, and you can’t help but giggle because in truth, you actually are home, but it’s not as if he could prove it.

you: 😭😭

you: it’s okay, just take the L tonight ☹️

text from satoru: this is more than a L

text from satoru: I JUST GOT SHOT FIFTY TIMES

text from satoru: BY YOU btw.

you laugh as you rise from the couch, kicking on your slippers before making your way to the front door as you unlock the door — swinging it open, before being met by a towering silhouette as you jolt in surprise.

“oh!” the lower voice exclaims.

“what the hell!?” you practically scream.

“s—surprise..!”

you raise your head to the familiar voice as your gazes meet. “satoru? oh my god?!” you let out the biggest exhale as your body fights off the adrenaline coursing through your body.

there’s no way that — that ‘gift’ satoru was spiraling about would actually be him in physical form. “are you supposed to be my gift?..” you ask shockingly, almost at a loss for words.

“… yes i— WAIT? i thought you weren’t home.” he shouts in realization, as he’s standing awkwardly at your front door. his soft blue eyes roaming all over your face, taking in every little feature as his eyes slowly make their way down before instantly flicking back up once he hears your voice.

“and i thought you were just traveling for your collab.” you purse your lips as the words taste a little bitter on your tongue, which makes satoru grin. “you’re poutin’ because i have a collab coming up?” he teases, before you’re taking a step back in your house and closing the door.

“wait, wait! i’m joking.” he hastily utters, subconsciously stopping the door with his hand before letting go as he scratches the back of his head with an awkward smile. “can i come in?”

—

satoru’s been roaming around every inch of your apartment like a curious puppy. “hmm, so this is your room?” he asks, peeking his head through the door frame.

“you can go in, you’ve seen my room a thousand times on face-time.” you insist as he trails behind you with his mouth parted like this is the most surreal experience ever.

you watch as satoru wanders around, and he’s touching everything within sight before halting at your streaming station. it’s quite a messy setup, the camera stands are fallen on the floor, your camera is tilted against the dresser while still being opened, and to make matters worse. the box you collect all of the toys gifted to you are all inside that box.

and given the curious nature satoru has he’d probably open it up without a thought. you make your across the room, towards the storage box grabbing to put it back in its proper place — your closet.

“what’s in it?” satoru questions, voice soft and inquisitive as he watches you open the closet. “uhh it’s nothing, i just use it to prop up my camera sometimes.” the lie slides off of your tongue, but you can also feel your throat getting uncomfortably dry as there’s a brief pause in satoru’s next words.

“hmm…” his eyes are practically drilling a hole into the back of your head. “i see! so you don’t use the camera stands sometimes, that’s actually smart.” he says lightly, forcing his gaze elsewhere. satoru can’t help, but fixate on how snug and thin your tank top is, or how loose and short your bottoms are.

he’s waited two months — sixty-one days and he’s finally gotten where he’s been yearning go, and there’s absolutely no way he’s going to ruin this moment. not even the bulge slowly growing inside his pants as he shakes his head to keep his thoughts more appropriate.

you finish hiding the box inside the closet, taking in a quiet inhale in attempt to calm your nerves. it was just a dumb storage box that was forgotten to be put away, but it wasn’t forgotten. no, it was satoru’s unexpected presence that made the simplest of things less casual than it should be. plus he’s practically seen your entire collection before, what’s the difference now?

you shut the regaining the composure that was lost as you look over your shoulder to see satoru already looking at you. “what are you looking at, toru.” you groaned, turning on your heels towards your bed before plopping down on the mattress.

“mind if i sit too?” he points to your bed, kicking off his shoes once you hum in response as the mattress dips beside you.

there’s nothing but silence… awkward silence. you honestly never expected things with satoru to ever be this awkward. the two of you were great friends, or great friends online that is. but maybe that weird tension between you both came from the fact that neither of you knew how to act around each other outside of a phone screen.

you steal a glance at satoru only to find him sprawled comfortably against your pillows as if he belonged there. one leg stretched across the mattress while the other bends loosely, his attention seemingly focused on his phone despite the occasional flick of his eyes toward you.

“so did you fly overseas just to stare at me in silence.” you quip with your cheek smushed into your pillow, which makes the corners of satoru mouth curl upwards. “yep, so i could look at the face all day.” he sits his phone down with a grin as you huff.

“seriously though.” you mumble into the fabric of your pillow, “what even is this collab?” you ask making satoru sigh, watching him slouch deeper into your pillow as his shirt rides up his abdomen, exposing the flex of his abs.

“just a collab somewhat outside my skill set.” he sighs, already dreading the conversation. “your skill set?” you repeat after him.

“yeah… rough, and mean.” he says, as if his entire twitter isn’t videos of him rag dolling a fleshlight and his fist. “that’s literally your middle name.” you let out a laugh while satoru lets out a whine.

“no it’s nott.” he sinks further into your pillows again, “there’s no reason to be nervous, toru— unless… you like her or something.” and there’s brief pause before satoru lets out a quiet laugh, though it sounds more nervous than anything.

“what if i did?” he asks.

“then it should be easier i’d assume.” you reply, watching the way satoru’s attention is fixated on your ceiling, “not really.” he replies back.

“why not?” you ask, completely oblivious to it all.

“becausee.. i don’t know.” he drags, throwing his body to the slide to face you as his eyes meet yours as your heart grows heavier.

he’s so close, just within a reach grasp and you can sense the change in satoru’s demeanor as he shifts closer towards you. his gaze flickers down for half a second before returning to your eyes, his lips parting like he’s debating whether or not to cross a line.

“can i ask you something.” he murmurs, as you nod. “sure.”

“want to help me practice?”

—

and maybe that’s how you found yourself straddling satoru. barricading either side of his waist with your thighs — rocking your hips into his, and grinding against the mound of his sweat pants.

“f— fuck…” satoru groans, his hands reach out to grab at your waist. the way you’re roll your hips, and slowly drag yourself against satoru’s bulge has him in a trance of him re-visioning the way you grind on all the silicone didlos you own.

the corners of his lips curl into a grin, “you gonna use me the way you use your toys?” he teases, as if you aren’t the one doing him a favor as his hands wrap around your waist, pressing you closer onto his lap as he pivots his hips up.

you let out a soft exhale which was heavier than expected as the damp fabric of your panties molded into the folds of your lips, making you feel every graze against your clit catching onto the hem of satoru’s sweatpants.

“why not.” your eyes flicker to satoru’s face as his eyes are already drawn upon yours. “i thought you needed my help…” you murmur, rolling your hips deeper against the outline of his sweats, earning a small grunt from satoru as you feel him twitch against you while inching your lips closers to his.

“you’re no different than my toys right now, right?” your breath fans against his parted lips, before pulling back as he lets out a chuckle in remembrance of exactly how crazed you make him feel. “damn, i almost forgot how mean you are to me.” satoru groans almost gutted in complete pleasure, you’d thought he’d already came.

you feel one of satoru’s thumbs tug against the hem of your shorts, indicating to take them off as you lift your hips up in response, feeling him tug them off before tossing them across the room while he’s working himself out of his sweatpants. and you can see exactly how long he’s been waiting for this very moment.

the raging bulge in his briefs are oozing pre-cum. satoru’s mind is absolutely broken, completely empty and thinking about none other than being inside you.

you can even see a little bead form on top of the cotton as satoru’s slender fingers rack down to grab a flesh full of your ass, pulling your lower half flush against him making you both moan to the blissful sensation of less cloth as your clit catches against the prominent vein of his cock.

“mmmh, shit…” he’s raising his hips to match the rhythm of his hands pressing you against him — attempting to fuck you through barricading fabric. “your clit is fuckin’ swollen— bet that’s how hard she gets grindin’ on other dicks, yeah?” satoru taunts, low and mean as he flashes a canine.

and you can feel every inch of his clothed dick dragging in-between your folds, over and over again. your chest is pressed against his, feeling your nipples harden against the material of your tank top from constantly rubbing against it.

your arms wrapped around his neck, letting him mouth words against the column of your throat as your vocal cords vibrate with a gentle laugh. “yeah she does, you jealous?” you mock, referencing a past conversation as satoru’s jaw tightens.

indeed he was, inevitably so. ever since the day he confirmed that personalized shipment overseas to your address — he was more than just jealous. and you can hear satoru grit his teeth before he’s flipping you over, back against the mattress.

the hem of your thin tank rising above your stomach, and the strap falling off your shoulder — feeling the soft strands of satoru’s silver hair brush against your forehead. your lips are parted, letting out a gasp to the sudden shock as you’re practically pinned beneath satoru as he leans over you.

he rises up, snaking his arms across the lower half of his torso before tugging his hoodie over his head, revealing each plane of his abs.

“‘m a little jealous.” he admits with a playful edge, though his actions are the complete opposite as he tosses his hoodie to the side before ducking down.

and your eyes follow his every movement, from the way his hands snake underneath your shirt before traveling down the sides of your waist to your hips.

you let out a small hitch, almost forgetting that this is just practice as his eyes focus on you — fixated on every little reaction he gets out of you. starting with the way your chest rises up and down and how whenever you both lock eyes, you immediately avert yours.

satoru chuckles amused, “do you want me to be jealous?” he murmurs, soft and intrigued before you’re muttering.

“stop going off script.” your lips purse, feeling your body run warm as the gravity of the situation finally dawns on you. satoru halts for half a second, his eyes scanning over you once more before pressing his lips against yours.

his tongue pushing against your teeth, ushering access to the inside of your mouth making you open your mouth as his tongue catches yours. exchanging saliva and making a mess as your feel once of his hands slide between your thigh and his other hand trailing up to cup your jaw, never breaking the kiss.

and there’s barely any time to breathe. not when his tongue is at the back of your throat, spit dripping down your chin as you’re moaning into his mouth from the pads of his fingers ducking into your panties as his fingers work to find your swollen clit.

satoru breaks the kiss, and there’s a little string of salvia connecting you two as you gasp for air.

“there is no script.” he breathes out hoarse, and there’s nothing holding him back now. his eyes flicker down to the hand buried inside your panties before tugging away the fabric, as he nudges your thighs further apart with his knees.

and he almost drools at the sight of your pussy on display. a moment just for him — the moment he’s waited for months on end as he pushes his hips against your bare cunt, grinding his clothed dick against your clit as you moan at the friction.

“there she is.” he groans, almost sounding frustrated by how affected he is. “been waiting fuckin’ months.” he lets your clit throb against his bulge as you shudder.

you throw one of your arms over your face, embarrassed by how much this is affecting you as well before satoru’s grabbing your wrist and pinning your hand to the side.

“c’mon, angel.” he coos, watching your teeth sink into your bottom lip. “don’t be shy, yeah? i know this pussy better than those toys do.” he lets out a quiet, almost guttural groan as if he’s remembering the countless clips he’s seen of you stuffing your pussy full.

his words travel straight to your core making your hole involuntarily twitch as you knit your eyebrows. “you talk too much.” you say quiet, and breathless before his other hand is taking your other hand and guiding it towards his pelvis, making you palm at his bulge through his briefs as he’s humping into your hand with a breathy laugh which quickly dissolves into a groan.

“feel it?” he grinds deeper into your hand, and you can feel the warmth of his stiff cock twitch against your palm as you nod. “that’s what you do to me.” he drags your hand near the band of his briefs as one of your fingers catch the hem of it, before he’s making you tug the band down freeing himself as his dick instantly springs out and slaps heavy against his lower abdomen with a groan.

“been hard the second you opened that door— almost gave me blue-balls.” he whines with a pout as his eyes drop down to the unfathomable size difference between his dick and that tiny hole he’s gonna stretch open.

and your mouth drops because there’s no way he’s going to fit inside of you. it looked physically impossible, satoru’s dick was even bigger than the molded replica he had made for you.

your throat runs dry, and you swallow hard as your fingers brush against satoru’s pelvis. “t—that’s too big…” you stammer out before pushing against his lower half as he’s swatting your hand away, before pulling you into him as his length slides in between your folds, gathering slicks as the head of his dick grazes against your clit making you both moan in unison.

“yeah?” he responds, voice shaky because there’s no disagreeing with that — not when he practically dwarfs you in every physical way possible. he watches the way his cock drags back and forth through your folds, slowly dragging down near your entrance before ghosting over it with a strained moan.

“toru…” your voice trembles a bit. you’re trying to mentally and physically prepare yourself for what’s to come as satoru uses his free hand to cup the back of your knee, pushing it towards your chest.

“yeah, baby?” he hums, rocking his hips closer against your entrance that’s squeezing around nothing. and all he earns is silence from your nervousness as he lets out a reassuring grin while unpinning your wrist with his other hand. “just relax f’me.” he drags his hips down, lining up flush against your entrance.

“m sure you’ve been stretchin’ yourself out on replicas for me this whole time.” he teases, his eyes locking onto yours. “look at me, pretty girl.” he tilts your chin gently towards him as he leans in.

“been wanting to see how pretty you look taking me for months.” he murmurs against your lips, before slowly rocking his hips into yours as the head of his cock slips past your entrance making you wince.

“crap…” satoru breathlessly chuckles, sounding a little delirious, his head dropping to your shoulder as he realigns himself with your entrance. “just one more time, angel.” he whispers, nudging his hips into yours as the tip of his dick finally sinks in.

“f- fuckk, fuck!” you choke into a whimper feeling yourself get split apart as the pressure slowly stretches you out. your hands find any kind of leverage as one of your hands claws into the back of satoru’s neck while the other digs into his bicep.

“mmmghh, you feel so—” satoru groans against your shoulder, hips stuttering for a second as if he can’t handle it — sinking deeper into you, until he’s pelvis flush against your bum as your back arches off the mattress.

his hands snake tight around your waist, engraving moon-shaped crescents into your skin his movements pause because this is the vision he’s replayed in his head a million times over.

the decision of taking his sweet time with you, and making passionate love until you’re saying ‘i love you’ —or fucking you raw until the sun comes up and you’re screaming his name.

the halt in his movement gives you time to better accommodate around his length. though the burn is still there, and your pussy feels indescribably full as the head of satoru’s cock nudge sweet against the sensitive spot inside of you.

a moan escapes from your throat, and your canines are sunken into your bottom lip. this is the moment satoru’s dreamed about, even fucked his palm to the thought of just how warm, and tight you’d feel wrapped around his dick. he lets out a low, strained groan beginning to rock his hips forward.

maybe he should be gentle with you, and watch you slowly fall apart on his dick — but that’s not the way you used his dick on stream.

satoru’s rhythm picks up, his thrusts getting meaner, and his strokes getting longer as he begins snapping his hips into you.

“shit— you’re taking me s’ good…” his lips part into a gasp as he watches the way your pussy swallows him whole with every thrust that has your body rocking up and down beneath him.

every roll of his hips causing your walls to involuntarily squeeze around him. “t— toru…” you whimper, thighs trembling within his hold as his cock drags in and out of your hole.

“mmm, that’s my name.” he hums, swallowing a moan. his eyes roaming every inch of your body before finding your face. your eyes are glossy, and your bottom lip is swollen from gnawing at it. “gonna let ‘toru fuck you the way he’s been dreamin’ about, yeah?” satoru lets out a shaky exhale.

his grip tightens around the back of your knees, as he’s shifting his position in a way that drops most of his weight onto you forcing your knees against your chest.

you choke at the sudden fullness, your eyes flicking down to see a small bump in your lower stomach. you couldn’t even talk, satoru was so deep inside of you in ways no toy could. one of your palms trail down to push against satoru’s lower abdomen, feeling the flex of his abs.

“see that?” satoru grins, pupils blown wide at the sight of him deep inside of you. his hand sliding over your stomach while pivoting his hips at an angle to hit deeper against that sweet spot that makes your toes curl.

“that little toy never reached this deep, did it?” he taunts, pressing his palm against the bulge in your stomach, making your breath hitch and your walls choking around his cock earning an escaped whimper fall from satoru’s lips.

his hips are basically moving on their own. snapping into yours as he practically pounds your pussy into the mattress. “fuckk— can’t stop.” he chokes, each thrusts sloppier than the last as you throw your head back moaning his name.

“yeah, yeah— thaat’s ittt.” he drags, as he slowly begins to lose himself. “mmhngh— keep milkin’ me just like that…”

the head of his cock is repeatedly pressing against that wet, spongy spot inside of you. “nngh, toruu!” you whine, each stroke makes your stomach feel weird and your core tighten in a way that makes your bladder swell as euphoric waves course through your veins.

you can feel satoru twitch inside of you, his hips stuttering with each thrusts. he’s ducking his head down, burying his face into the crook of your neck and panting against your skin.

the sound of bare skin slapping against each other, and the exchanges of whimpering and moaning bounce off the walls. “s-shit… hated watching those streams knowin’ it wasn’t me.” he grits, panting against your neck.

“should’ve been me.” his voice quakes, muttering into your skin, almost sounding frustrated by it as he drools against your neck. “i should’ve been the one making you feel this good, not some fuckin’ toy.” he moans into you, and his pelvis flush against yours.

his dick nuzzling sweet against your cervix. your breath catching in your throat with your mouth open, “fuck, fuckk— ‘m cummingg!” you shriek. your legs shaking in satoru hold, as your nails rack desperately against satoru’s back as your spine lifts off the mattress.

your body seizing at the orgasmic wave of pleasure shooting throughout your body as your vision flashes white. a plethora of broken whimpers spill past your lips, eyes shut tight — feeling every drag of satoru’s dick against your sensitive walls as he chases his high.

“‘m close.” he exhales, as your pussy strangles his dick, milking him with every thrust as he feels himself involuntarily spill inside of you. his hips are slamming into yours, thrust gut-deep before nuzzling his length as deep as possible into your pussy as his cock swells inside of you before pulling out.

instantly spurting cum onto your stomach as he grinds against your body as you’re both moaning, trying to catch your breaths.

you let out somewhat of a incoherent sigh as satoru collapses on top of you — sticky bodies flush against each other.

“so…” you sigh, snaking one of your hands against the back of satoru’s head, running your fingers through his soft locks as his arms wrapped around your torso.

“are you ready for your collab.” you ask, muscles feeling like jelly as you play in his hair. “yeah.” he hums absently, “i can go more rounds…” he breathlessly laughs.

“wanna use my camera, or yours?”

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[paleinkpress]

𑣲 mdni (18+), f!reader, fratjo x reader, frat boy au, fuckboy gojo, enemies to lovers (only if i make a pt.2 tbh)

credits for any images used at the bottom!

THIS IS A LONG ONE IM SO SORRY LOL

✦┆𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞┊𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

You hated parties. Honestly, you couldn't pin down exactly why maybe it was the drunk college kids, or maybe it was just the fact that you couldn't hear yourself think over the music but you knew one thing for sure: frat parties sucked.

You never really cared for the social scene at college. Even when Yuji would beg you to come out with him, you'd always find some excuse to stay in, claiming you had to study or sleep before an exam. Half the time, it was true, you were on a scholarship and couldn't afford to screw up but tonight, you couldn't use that. Yuji had texted you an hour ago, basically begging you to come to the Alpha Pi house as his birthday gift.

What kind of friend would you be if you actually said no to that?

You'd put in more effort than usual, too. You pulled on a halter top, a pair of shorts, and nylon tights, throwing on an old cardigan you actually liked and your favorite sneakers. You felt decent enough, until you actually got there.

The second you had to squeeze past a few hockey players blocking the open front door who were busy arguing about which girl had the biggest ass you immediately regretted coming out. The music was already too loud, and the two story house was so packed with strangers that you could barely move without bumping into someone.

Before you could even fish your phone out of your pocket to text Yuji, his voice cut through the noise, calling your name. Your head snapped toward the sound automatically, and immediately, your stomach dropped.

There was your best friend, standing next to the only person you wish you didn’t run into tonight. He was standing there like he owned the place which, considering he was the frat president, he basically did. Gojo Satoru. The white haired prick who had been your personal nemesis since you started studying here.

It wasn't just the fact that he was the only person who could actually give you a run for your money in class, it was everything else. The way he carried himself with this infuriating, untouchable confidence. The way every girl in the room seemed to be orbiting around him for a chance to get at him like he was some kind of god. To everyone else, he was the golden boy, the charming star student. To you? He was just a cocky asshole who knew exactly how pretty he was and used it to get away with everything.

You made a beeline for Yuji, pointedly ignoring the way Gojo's blue eyes tracked your movement as you crossed the room.

"Holy shit, Y/N! You actually showed up!" Yuji grinned as soon as you got close enough, pulling you into one of those bone crushing hugs that made your ears ring. He kept an arm draped over your shoulder as he let you go, moving next to you.

"I told you I'd come, didn't I?" you muttered, though you were already wishing you didn’t.

"Satoru, man, this is Y/N my best friend!" Yuji said, tilting his head toward the white haired guy. He took a casual swig from his red solo cup, clearly oblivious to the annoyance you were feeling.

You didn't bother with a polite smile. Instead, when you locked eyes with Gojo, your expression went flat. You didn't miss the way his gaze deliberately raked down your body lingering on your legs before snapping back up to your face. It wasn't a respectful glance; it was a slow stare that made your skin prickle with irritation.

"Ohhh. Y/N." He said your name like it was something he was tasting, dragging out the vowels in a way that felt deliberately provocative.

“Yeah, you got second highest scores recently,” Satoru remarked, his voice cutting through your annoyance with that infuriating confidence. He crossed his buff arms over his chest, grinning down at you like he was already savoring whatever reaction you were going to give him. “First being me, obviously.”

You didn’t give him one, not at first at least. You kept your jaw tight, and your mouth shut. When you didn't bite, he leaned in a tad bit closer, tilting his head like some innocent student asking a question.

“You know, I actually make an excellent tutor if you ever need help catching up,” he offered. The moment those words hit your ears, annoyance washed over your face.

A scoff escaped you before you could stop it. You finally tilted your head up to face him, arms locked across your chest as you narrowed your eyes. "I'd rather eat glass."

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a smirk that was downright predatory. He didn't seem offended; if anything, he seemed delighted. "Harsh," he drawled, letting out a low whistle that made something uncomfortable twist in your gut. "Have fun being stuck in second place for eternity then, princess."

You rolled your eyes so hard it actually hurt, but your pulse was hammering against your ribs. He knew exactly which buttons to push, and as much as you wished it didn’t work… it always did.

"C'mon man, leave her alone." Yuji intervened, smacking Satoru's shoulder hard enough to break the tension. Yuji straightened up, looking between the two of you with an exhausted expression. "Can you two please just pretend you don't want to murder each other for one night? For my birthday?" He pleaded, clasping his hands together in mock desperation.

You looked at Yuji, your sweet, caring best friend and then back at Satoru, who was still watching you with that infuriatingly knowing glint in his eyes. You let out a long, defeated sigh.

"Whatever. Fine." You held up your hands in mock surrender, taking a step back to put some much needed space between you two.

For the next hour and a half, you performed. It was exhausting. Everytime Yuji glanced over to make sure you two were playing nice, Satoru would shift just enough to brush up against you. Every now and then he would lean close to your ear, murmuring a mix of patronizing comments or to crudely comment on your appearance.

Thankfully, some blonde girl had dragged him off about thirty minutes ago, finally giving you the space to relax. Though, that relaxation only lasted about 15 minutes before you completely lost sight of Yuji. One minute he was doing shots with friends, and the next he had disappeared into the crowd.

You let out a huff of annoyance as you pushed through the ocean of people, sneakers sticking to the dirty wooden floor. When you finally managed to climb the stairs, you let out a breath of relief. Thankfully, upstairs seemed empty, minus the couple making out at the top of the stairs that you had to squeeze past.

Your head was beginning to throb from the bass vibrating through the floorboards. Desperate for five minutes of peace and a bathroom that didn't have a line forming you ducked into the first doorway you found.

You pushed it open gently, only to freeze mid step as you saw two people tangled in the sheets of the bed. "Sorry!" you hissed, slamming the door shut so fast you nearly caught your fingers.

The next room you opened was different. It was dark, oddly tidy, and lacked the dirtiness of the rest of the frat house. You slipped inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click before heading straight for the attached bathroom. After locking yourself in and flicking on the harsh fluorescent light, you leaned against the marble counter, staring at your reflection.

You stayed there for a moment, trying to steady yourself, when you heard the bedroom door shut. Muffled voices followed. A quiet groan escaped your lips and you were seconds away from leaving when you froze.

Your hand was already reaching for the knob, ready to bolt, when you heard it. That voice.

It was lower than usual, stripped of the performative arrogance he'd used on you all night. It was rough, gravelly, and dangerously intimate. There was no mistaking it, especially not after he had been talking in your ear half the night.

"Fuck, you look so good," Satoru rasped, followed by a sharp intake of breath that sounded almost pained. There was a soft creak of a mattress and then a giggle, causing you to freeze.

You held your breath, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

"Do you like this?" the girl asked, her voice breathless and needy as wet sounds met your ears. Your face flushed at the images that popped into your head and you slapped your hand over your mouth.

A low, dark chuckle vibrated through the wall, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. "Yeah, just like that," Satoru murmured, his tone dripping with something that sounded far too much like satisfaction.

You backed up from the door, face bright red with embarrassment as your hip hit the counter and your hand landed on the edge to steady yourself. As your skin met the cool marble, your palm hit something and knocked it to the floor, and you nearly died from the fear of potentially being labeled a pervert.

You held your breath as the room went quiet, eyes stuck to the door like it would burst open any minute. Their conversation started back up, muffled now by the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and then you heard the sound of a door shutting.

Standing there for what felt like forever, you waited for a few minutes before carefully opening the door and popping your head out of it. A breath of relief left your lips when you saw the empty bed and the shut door, finally stepping out of the bathroom.

But the moment your body started to relax, a chuckle startled you and you spun around. Satoru stood by the now closed bathroom door, eyeing you with a look you couldn’t quite figure out as you looked at him.

The silence between you two was deafening, filled only by the distant, muffled thud of the bass from downstairs. You couldn't stop the way your chest was heaving, your breathing uneven as you tried to play off your panic as mere annoyance.

"What?" you snapped, though your voice came out higher than you intended. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, desperate to create some kind of barrier between you and the way his eyes were raking over you.

Satoru didn't answer immediately. He just kept leaning there, one hand shoved into his pocket, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who had just been caught in the middle of... that. A slow, crooked smirk spread across his lips.

"Oh, I don't know," he drawled, taking a deliberate step forward. "Maybe I was waiting for my audience to come out."

Your blood turned to ice. "You- I wasnt-“ You tried to come up with something, but your mind was blank.

"Don't lie, princess. It doesn't suit you." His voice dropped, returning to that rough, intimate tone that had been vibrating through the bathroom wall only minutes ago. "Did you like the show?"

"Wasn’t much of a show," you countered through gritted teeth, though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. "I was in here first, Satoru."

The smirk didn't leave his face; if anything, it deepened, turning into something more daring as he took another step closer. "In my room?" he mused, his voice purring as he closed the distance until you could feel the heat radiating off him. "Funny. I don't remember giving you an invitation."

"I didn't ask for one," you snapped, but your back hit the bedroom door with a soft thud. "And I certainly didn't ask to hear whatever... that was."

Satoru leaned in, one hand coming up to rest on the doorframe right beside your head, caging you in. He was so close now that the tip of his nose nearly brushed yours. Up close, the evidence of what he'd been doing was impossible to ignore the way his pupils were blown wide, the flush across his cheekbones, the faint pink kisses that trailed from his jaw to his neck.

"What was 'that' exactly?" he whispered, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Be specific, princess. Since you're clearly such an expert on my business."

"You're insufferable," you breathed. Your heart was hammering so loudly against your ribs you were certain he could hear it. "Move. I need to find Yuji and get out of here."

Instead of moving, Satoru tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your mouth before dragging slowly, deliberately, back up to your eyes.

"Why the rush?" he asked, his thumb grazing the wood of the doorframe mere inches from your ear.

“We were supposed to be pretending to like each other tonight, remember? Yuji's orders,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. Before you could retort, he leaned in further, deliberately pressing the full length of his body against yours.

Your breath hitched painfully in your throat as you felt him. The solid heat of his chest, the hard plane of his thighs, and the undeniable pressure of his bulge grinding against your lower stomach. The contact was electric, sending a jolt through you that made your vision swim for half a second. Your head fell back against the wood of the doorframe with a soft thud, your eyes fixed on his.

“You’re so annoying,” you huffed out. Your hands were clenched into fists at your sides, your nails biting into your own palms as you fought every urge to reach out and touch him.

“I’m not going to be one of your conquests, Satoru,” you stated, your voice steadier than you felt. You hated him. God you hated him. You hated his smugness, his arrogance, the way he walked through the world like he owned every inch of it. But fuck, the way he was making you feel right now was intoxicating.

Satoru didn't flinch at your words. Instead, he smirked. He leaned down until his lips were hovering just an inch from your ear, his breath hot and deliberate.

"Conquest?" he repeated, the word coming out as a chuckle that vibrated against your skin. "That sounds like I'm trying too hard, princess."

He shifted again, a slow, torturous grind that made your knees nearly buckle. "Besides," he whispered, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "If I wanted to conquer you, I wouldn't be playing nice. I'd already have you screaming my name."

One of your hands found his chest immediately, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you gave him a soft shove to pull him away from your ear. The sudden absence of his heat nearly stung and goosebumps erupted along your neck at the cold air rushing into the space where he had just been. You let out a shaky, uneven breath that betrayed exactly how affected you were.

“You’re a pig,” you said in a hushed tone, but the insult lacked any real venom like your usual ones did. Your words died in the air as your gaze betrayed you, flickering down to his lips full, parted slightly, and still flushed from what you'd heard moments before.

What was it about Gojo Satoru? It was maddening. You wanted to push him away with everything you had, to walk out that door and never look back, and yet you wanted to pull him in until there was no space left between you two. You wanted to fight him, and you wanted to feel him all at once.

Satoru didn't retreat. Instead, he caught your wrist with one hand, not roughly, but with enough pressure to keep your hand pressed against his sternum.

"A pig?" he echoed, his smirk fading into something darker, more serious. His blue eyes locked onto yours, searching, almost daring you to look away. "Do you think I’m gross?"

He leaned in again, slower this time, giving you every possible second to retreat, to push him harder, to leave. But you remained there, trapped between the doorframe and the overwhelming gravity of him. All because you knew, deep down, that you wanted this. Wanted him.

"Because from where I'm standing," he murmured, his free hand sliding up from your wrist to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip with a softness that you didn’t know he had in him, "you don't look like you're disgusted at all."

Your heart hammered against your ribs, and for the first time since you met him, you didn’t argue back. The air around you was thick with tension, and when the dam finally broke, it wasn’t gentle.

Your hands traveled upwards, lacing through his white hair and yanking him down. You smashed your lips against his in a kiss that was full of nothing but hunger. It was messy, desperate and laced with all of the frustration and annoyance you’d carried for him.

Satoru let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a growl, his entire body tensing before he surged forward to meet your aggression. His tongue swept against your lips, forcing inside, tasting like a mix of mint and alcohol.

“Finally,” He breathed out, muttering the words against your lips. One of his hands slid from your jaw to the back of your head, fisting a handful of your hair to tilt your head back more. His free hand landed against the small of your back, pushing your body roughly against his.

You let him lead, let him guide your body in any way he wanted. When his hands left you momentarily, you nearly whined in annoyance before he hooked his arms beneath you, hauling you into the air. Your thighs wrapped around his waist, seeking friction as your back was pressed hard against the door with a thud. He grinded his pelvis against your heat, a broken moan escaping your lips before it was quickly muffled by his tongue.

He carried you away from the door, one hand possessively gripping your ass while the other gripped the skin on your hip so tight you were sure it was going to bruise. The kiss broke for one breathless second as he dropped you onto the bed. A startled yelp escaped you as you landed, arms propping you up as you leaned back slightly.

Before you could say anything, you were staring up at him. Satoru stood over you, silhouetted against the dim LEDs of his room. As he pulled his shirt over with both hands, your gaze was glued to him. Part of you wanted to look away, to mumble something about how annoying he was but you couldn’t manage to say anything as you admired him.

He watched your face as your eyes trailed from his biceps to the ridges of his abs and down to the pronounced v-line and white happy trail. He saw the way your eyes were wide, the way you pulled your kiss-swollen bottom lip between your teeth and the way you squeezed your thighs closer together. He loved the way you looked at him, like he was something worth worshipping. A smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth, lazy and annoyingly satisfied.

“Like what you see, Princess?” he asked, voice rough and low. His veiny hands went to his belt, fingers undoing the buckle at an agonizingly slow pace. He didn’t rush. He wanted to savor this, to remember the way you looked at him.

He took his time, forcing you to watch every movement, every inch of him. Your hands fisted the comforter behind you as you tilted your head up, eyes meeting his. “You’re so fucking annoying.” You breathed out.

It was supposed to be an insult, but as the words left your lips they sounded breathless and wrecked. “Am I?” he asked, his voice a low purr. He tossed his belt aside without breaking eye contact, the leather hitting the floor with a sound that made your stomach flip. A cocky, knowing grin spread across his lips as he looked down at you. "Tell me to stop, Y/N. Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop."

You opened your mouth to deny it, to find some spark of anger to push him away, but nothing came. The air in your lungs felt too thin and the feeling growing low in your belly was enough to keep you quiet.

Satoru climbed over you, his heavy weight settling between your thighs and pinning you to the bed. The heat of him was overwhelming, pressing through your clothes as he loomed above you. His hands moved with practiced ease, first finding the edges of your cardigan.

The soft fabric slipped off your shoulders in one smooth motion, pooling around your wrists and behind your back before he tossed the clothing away. His hands didn’t linger; they traveled from your shoulders to your hips, giving them a squeeze as he leaned down to find your lips.

Your thighs were bent backwards, pressing between you and him as he left a trail of wet kisses to your neck.

When he sat up to breathe, your chest tightened at the sight of him. One hand trailed from your side to your stomach, fingertips skimming your skin with a torturous slowness before he hooked them under the hem of your halter top. He lifted the fabric inch by inch, his gaze fixed on the swell of your chest. He paused there, licking his lips with a hunger that made your pulse spike, before yanking the shirt over your head in one fluid motion.

For a moment, he simply stopped. He sat still above you, blue eyes raking over you with the same intensity of a man who had just found something sacred. His palm traced the lace of your bra, a gentle caress that rivaled the predatory look in his eyes. His fingers traveled behind you, hooking beneath the clasp. With one practiced flick, he unclipped it. Your breathing became ragged as he helped you out of the flimsy lace, and you immediately bit your bottom lip. You turned your head away from him as hot embarrassment crept up your spine.

A large, warm hand suddenly found your cheeks, fingers squeezing tightly to force your gaze back to his. “Don’t look away,” he commanded, his voice dropping to a rough, gravelly register that sent shivers cascading down your spine. His free hand climbed higher, his palm cupping one breast while his thumb brushed over your nipple, teasing the sensitive peak. “You’re too pretty for me not to see your face when I take what I want.”

A low hum rumbled in his chest as his gaze dragged downward, landing on your shorts. His fingers fumbled with the button and the zipper, the metallic sound echoing in the quiet room like a countdown. You gasped, shifting your hips to help him slide the denim down your legs. He pulled off your sneakers seconds later.

As the shorts fell away, leaving you in nothing but your plain white panties and the thin black nylons over them, a wave of self consciousness crashed over you.

Fuck, If you’d known you’d be doing this you would’ve worn that cute lace set you own. His eyes darkened as they raked over the pale cotton against your skin, then moved to the dark fabric of the tights stretched over your thighs. He used one arm to pull your legs together and push your knees to your chest, giving him a full view of the wet cotton and nylon between your thighs.

His free hand rubbed the side of your thigh gently before running a finger over the damp patch of your heat. A whimper escaped your lips and his lips twisted into a smirk. “So much for hating me, huh?” He hummed, twisting the tights just enough to rip through them, causing you to gasp. “Shut up,” You mumbled, white knuckling the comforter.

His fingers didn't give you a moment's peace. He pressed against you, testing how slick you were, before his thumb began to grind slow, torturous circles against your clit through the damp fabric. Satoru watched your face, drinking in every twitch of your eyelids and every shuddering moan. The sounds you made were like fuel to him, egging him on until he reached down and hooked the sides of your panties, dragging them to one side to expose your glistening entrance.

The sight of you made his breathing grow ragged. He propped your legs straight up against his shoulders, his arm locking around your knees to hold you in place. A neediness washed over you, as he reached for his own pants. When he freed himself, you couldn't help but gasp at the sheer size of him long, veined, and already leaking pre cum and the way his bare thighs tensed as he settled into the bed.

He didn't ease in. He didn't give you time to adjust. Satoru leaned forward, his weight settling between your thighs as he pressed the swollen head of his cock against your entrance. "Look at me, princess," he growled, his hips giving a short, demanding thrust that tested your tightness. His tip was pressed inside you, inching forward. "I want to see your eyes when I fill you up."

Without waiting for an answer, he drove home. He sank into you in one smooth, relentless motion, stretching you to your absolute limit. Your hips bucked involuntarily as you felt yourself being split open, the fullness of him flooding your senses. A high, keening cry tore from your throat as your body fought to accommodate his girth, your walls clenching around him in desperate spasms.

Satoru let out a guttural sound half growl, half groan and stared down at you, watching as your face flushed and your lips parted. When you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, he pressed as far into you as he could.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He groaned, his head tilting back for a split second as your slick walls swallowed him whole. He stayed still for a heartbeat, his blue eyes locked onto yours. When he saw the haze of pleasure clouding your eyes, he began to move.

It wasn't a gentle rhythm. Satoru moved with a punishing, relentless pace. He pulled back until he was almost entirely out, teasing the sensitive entrance of your cunt before slamming back home with enough force to make the bed frame creak. Each thrust was deep, bottoming out against your cervix, sending waves of electricity crashing through your nerves.

"Satoru" you gasped, your fingers clawing at the sheets. The friction of his cock sliding against your swollen clit with every thrust was becoming too much. "Please" you begged.

"Please what?" he challenged, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He increased the speed, his hips working like a piston, driving into you with an increasing force. "Tell me what you want, Y/N. Say it."

"More," you whined, your breathing ragged as your climax began to build. "Fuck, I hate you!" You whimpered. A dark laugh rumbled in his chest at your words and he stopped moving, leaning over you until your knees were pressed against your chest. His hand gripped your face, forcing you to look at him. “You hate me? You hate this?” He asked in a hushed tone, face inches from yours as he slammed deep into you. Your eyes nearly rolled into your head as a moan left your lips, brain a mix of pleasure and blankness. “Mhm, I hate.. I hate you.” You babbled out the lie, knowing you felt anything but hate for him right now and knowing that he’d give you exactly what you wanted because of it. His hips pulled away, only for a second, as his grip on your face tightened until it hurt. Then, he thrusted into you again, your hips bucking up to meet him.

A string of curses left his lips as he shivered, pulsing inside of you, hand leaving your face with a soft tap. In a swift movement, he flipped you over. Before you could even gasp at the sudden change, he grabbed your hips, hauling them upward until you were on all fours, your spine arched and your ass thrust high.

"You're a shit liar, Y/N," he growled against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

Without warning, he slammed into you from behind. One rough, devastating thrust sent him fully inside you. He pressed your head deep into the mattress, pinning you down while he began a relentless, driving assault. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass filled the room with a wet, rhythmic sting that punctuated every thrust.

He leaned further over you, his weight crushing you into the mattress as both hands pressed against either side of your head. The pressure inside you became unbearable with each thrust, a coiled spring of heat that finally snapped. Your vision became white as you came, your body arching violently beneath him. A broken moan tore from your throat, drool escaping your parted lips as you lost all sense of where you ended and he began.

Satoru let out a groan at the feel of your cunt clamping around his cock. His pupils were blown wide as he drove into you one last time, a final thrust that buried him to the hilt. "Fuck " The curse was ripped from his lungs as he came, his body stiffening as he flooded you with heat. His hands slid down from your head to your hips, fingers digging bruises into your skin as he pinned you down, holding himself impossibly deep to make sure every single drop of his release sank into your core. Your walls seized around him in desperate, rhythmic spasms, milking him with every frantic flutter of your climax.

The silence that followed was deafening. As the overwhelming waves of pleasure went away, leaving you boneless and hypersensitive, the reality of what had just happened began to crash down on you. Your skin felt too hot, your thighs felt weak, and worse your brain was finally starting to function again.

You turned onto your back and stared at the ceiling, chest heaving. The feeling of the wetness between your legs and the humiliating sting of your own surrender was enough to make you upset.

You weren't upset because it was bad, God, it had been devastatingly good. You were just upset because you had let Satoru use you, probably how he used all the other girls on his roster. You had fallen for the performance, the dominance, the way he made you feel like the only thing in his world, knowing damn well he probably acted the same way to half the city.

Beside you, Satoru let out a long, satisfied exhale. He rolled onto his back, limbs sprawled across the sheets with the casual arrogance of a man who had just won a war. He looked utterly unbothered, his pale eyes half lidded as he watched you with that infuriatingly smug expression. It wasn’t until he said something, that you realized you were glaring at him.

"Don't look at me like that," he murmured, though you hadn't said a word. "You enjoyed every second of it."

"Fuck you," you snapped, though it came out more as a breathless wheeze than the insult you intended. You scrambled backward onto your knees, clutching the tangled sheets to your chest to cover your body, trying desperately to reclaim some shred of dignity. "Get out."

Satoru raised an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth curling upward. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," you said, your voice gaining strength even as your thighs squeezed together at the sight of his smile. You pointed toward the door with shaking fingers. "Get out of the room."

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat, making your stomach flip in a way that infuriated you. "That's my bed you're currently naked in, Y/N. It’s my room."

"I don't care! Out!" you demanded, your face flushing crimson. Reaching towards a pillow, ready to throw it at him.

Satoru stared at you for a long moment, his gaze raking over your flustered face, lingering on your swollen lips. For a second, you thought he might push it, that he might try to pull you back into him. Instead, he simply rolled out of bed with an amused grin on his lips.

"Fine, princess," he said, reaching for his scattered clothes with zero remorse. When he was dressed again, he paused at the doorway as he pulled it open. The booming sound of music poured inside and you watched as he pre-locked it. "But we both know you don’t hate me as much as you claim you do."

With a wink that made you want to throw a pillow at his head, he disappeared back out into the party, leaving you alone in his sheets, furious at him, furious at yourself, and terrified of how badly you already wanted him to come back.

art by thatsallitchief , dividers by @uzmacchiato , @pixopix

[megumishairfolicle]

hiii, i’m so happy people are enjoying my stories, i’m making more and right now i’m so proud of myself and appreciate all of you but this is a story about gojo @melomaniebabe

>> the question he never asked

satoru gojo x reader

angst, major character death, grief, found letter

---

you find the ring on a thursday.

not in a jewelry box. in the pocket of his old jacket — the black one with the mustard stain from that time he tried to cook. you were going through his things because that’s what you do now. keep, donate, keep, donate. sit on the floor. don’t move.

inside the box, folded around the ring, was a letter.

his handwriting.

---

he died on a tuesday. you know because the last text you sent him was “pick up milk.” he responded with twelve eggplant emojis and the words “i want cake.” then he didn’t come home.

shoko came instead. she didn’t have to say anything. you saw her face through the peephole and your body knew before your brain did.

you sank to the floor, back against the door, and she stood on the other side and waited.

you waited a long time.

---

you don’t open the letter for five days. it sits on the kitchen counter where he used to steal food off your plate, and every time you walk past your chest does something that isn’t quite pain because pain has a ceiling and this doesn’t.

on the fifth night, you pour a glass of the cheap wine he liked — because gojo satoru couldn’t tell the difference between a twelve-dollar bottle and a two-hundred-dollar one and refused to learn — and you sit down and you open it.

---

okay so.

if you’re reading this, either i finally proposed (in which case WHY are you reading this, go take a selfie, you’re beautiful) — or yeah.

i bought this ring six months ago. SIX MONTHS. do you know how hard it was to not tell you? i’m the strongest sorcerer alive and my hands were SHAKING.

here’s what i was going to do: take you to the bridge where we had our first date — the one where i knocked your phone in the river and you didn’t talk to me for three days. (50% the wind’s fault.) at sunset. because i know you think sunsets are cheesy and i wanted to see you roll your eyes at me one more time before i made you cry.

i didn’t think i was allowed to have this. the quiet mornings. the stupid fights about napkins. the way you fall asleep on my shoulder during movies and drool — yes you drool, i have evidence — and i just sit there. because if you’re asleep on my shoulder it means you feel safe. that’s all i ever wanted to be. not the strongest. just yours.

i had the wedding planned too. kind of. nanami would complain and cry and deny it. yuji would drop the rings. megumi’s speech would be two sentences and the best one of the night. i wanted suguru there. i know that can’t happen.

i just wanted to stand at the end of something and watch you walk toward me. because that’s what you’ve been doing since the day i met you — walking toward me. and i wanted to meet you halfway for once.

so if you’re reading this and i’m not there to ask — i’m asking now.

will you marry me?

it’s not the bridge. there’s no sunset. i’m not on one knee. but i’m asking. in handwriting you can barely read, in the pocket of a jacket with a mustard stain.

because even if i can’t be there — you were it. the whole answer. not the strongest. not the honored one. just satoru. shaking on a bridge at sunset, hoping you’d say yes.

say yes for me?

— your future husband (i’m claiming it. it’s mine. i called it.)

p.s. if you say no i will haunt you. i will flicker the lights every time you’re on a date with someone else. you’ve been warned.

p.p.s. i love you. i love you. i love you. three times because once isn’t enough and i’m gojo satoru and i do everything in excess.

---

you read it three times.

the first time, the words blur. the second time, you laugh — short and broken — at the haunting part, because of course he’d make you laugh while your heart was breaking.

the third time, you read it out loud. to the empty apartment. to the ring. to him, wherever the strongest goes when the strongest isn’t strong enough.

you put the ring on your own finger.

it fits, even perfect.

you hold your hand up to the kitchen light. it catches. blue, like the sky after rain.

“okay, satoru. yes.”

>> {very happy post btw}

[wryinter]

𓂃🪶 He's So Infuriating! 1 // pilot

Hes sooo annoying! satoru gojo, the tall white haired annoying prick. cute smile.. masculine, big.. huge ego!

art by @/thatsallitchief

rin's note: pilot ep so nothing super juicy, kinda boring, semi better towards the end.. 11.5k words, enjoy. <2

ep tags & warnings: slow burn, fratjo, football, injury, slight slight SLIGHT flirting, smut (not w reader), lots of texting, drinking, partying, blackout, vomit, college au. ft suguru, sukuna, shoko, nanami, utahime, choso, gojos roster.

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It was a brunch spot shoko dragged you to, called, “Met Her At A Bar.” you were solely there for a sweet plate of breakfast and quiet time to study for your midterm.

“It’ll be peaceful, I swear you’ll like it.” she swore to you.

the café wasn’t too far from campus but wasn’t unknown either. meaning, you were bound to see people from your university, nonetheless people you see often while moving between classes. you even caught a few familiar faces upon walking through the glass door.

ding ding! the bell chimes above the door, and a worker greets you with a shout from behind the counter, “welcome in!”

you check your phone and it's 2:30pm, right on time. walking in, you spot her accompanied by geto, who sits across from her. he looks up and notices you first, before shoko turns around inviting you with a welcoming smile.

"come sittt, I can't study without you," she whines sarcastically, leaning on the back of the chair.

you roll your eyes dramatically then sit in the cushioned chair next to her, setting down your bag on the side. "suguru, you decided to come."

he leans back in his chair, right hand covering his mouth as he yawns. “shoko begged me to come.”

“i asked if you wanted to come.”

“then proceeded to rush me, no?”

“you should’ve been awake.” she finalizes by sipping her coffee.

"do you want something to drink, I'll get you one." you offer geto, reaching into your bag for your wallet.

"no, don't worry. I had some already" he answers quickly.

your hand finally finds your wallet so you stand and walk over to the cashier. There's three people in line ahead of you, so you decide to take your time to look over the menu instead of quickly getting your regular.

deciding on a macchiato, it's finally your turn to order, so you do. then walk over to the pick up counter to wait for your drink. you pull out your phone from your back pocket and check your notifs; reminders, tiktok, twitter, a few from instagram.

a minute passes then you're approached from behind, "hey, never seen you here before."

at first the voice startles you but with a swift turn you now face.. a ridiculously tall, friendly smile, unique white hair a ruffled mess. you hold contact, nervously with his baby blue eyes.

"i'm not a regular, do i know you from somewhere?" you ask softly, adverting your gaze from his over to shoko and suguru; who are caught in their own conversation.

"yeah, we have forensic science together, you sit in the third row." he answers casually.

"you know exactly where i sit?" you look back up at him and he smiles playfully.

his eyes glide down your body then back up, "it's not hard to spot you."

the fuck is that suppose to mean. you slightly jerk your head back offended and furrow your brows.

he watches your expression, all amused and laughs, "I didn't mean it like that. you here by yourself?"

"uh, no I'm with some friends." you point towards them but the worker calls your name and order from behind you. turning around to grab it, you say thanks and take a small sip, perfect.

you turn once more towards the stranger you never got the name of, and it seems like his eyes haven't lingered off of you.

"um, I never got your name.."

"i'm gojo, gojo satoru." he takes his right hand out of his jacket pocket, bringing it forward to shake yours, "and you?"

bringing up your hand to meet his, you respond with yours. His phone vibrates in his pocket so you take this as a chance to say goodbye.

"might wanna get that, i'll see you around." you smile and wave bye, he does the same then quickly reaches towards his pocket to answer his noisy phone.

you start your walk back toward your table, shoko looks at you with a smile and raised brow, "gojo?" she mouths.

"what.. oh my gosh, no. please shut up." you groan and roll your eyes.

the rest of the time spent there went by quickly and suprisingly comfortably, you studied for approximately 40 mins before getting distracted on ig reels, and the rest of the time went to gossiping with shoko.

the cafe wasn't too packed or noisy, you'd definitely want to study there another time.

wednesday ends quickly, and thursday comes just as fast.

its 12:49am. youre on break after your first two morning classes, accompanied by shoko of course. the student lounge has a spacious range of sitting, you two sit in the furthest corner that obtains the comfiest chairs in the building. you sit with your laptop on thigh, and a pair of computer glasses.

working on your midterm analysis report and it's physically killing you. you start to feel the headache creep up as you read over the sentence you've been repeating in your head for the past 5 mins.

obviously your discomfort is a little loud and shoko looks up at you in worry but a little amused, "you okay?" she asks.

you let your head fall back behind your shoulder and close your laptop "no, this is due tomorrow at midnight and I can't focus." you lift your head back up to face her with a pout.

she scoffs at you and bookmarks her page and sets it on the round table in front of you two, "how come?"

"because it's due tomorrow at midnight." you grumble.

she stretches her arms overhead then says, "you have to stop stressing yourself out.. especially since we're clubbing saturday and you need to look good."

oh, you totally forgot you agreed to go out with her this weekend, you groan once more out of annoyance.

"hey, you'll be fineee. just turn it in by tonight." she grabs her phone from her armrest then continues, "you busy tomorrow?"

"yeah, finishing this paper."

"no, I mean do you have any plans for tomorrow."

"no but-"

she abruptly interrupts you, "perfect, we'll go to a party tomorrow night around 10!" she looks up towards you, trying to read your expression.

"shoko, no. I have so mu-"

You're cut off once again, "catch." she lightly tosses her phone at you but it almost flies over your head. you manage to catch it and look down, it's a gc between her, suguru, and gojo.

'gojoo' sent a story with a party flyer on it, "u guys coming?" 20 mins ago

suguroo.g replied 10mins ago with a "sure"

shoshoko replied "ok." 30secs ago.

you look up at her and she's smiling, a mischievous look on her face. "i'm not going-"

the phone vibrates in your hand interrupting you for the third time, gojoo sent a message.

"bring a friend, yeah?"

"what? did someone text me?" she stands up from her chair and quickly walks over to yours, hovering over the phone with you.

"oh em gee, he's talking about you."

"no, you have plenty of friends." you argue quickly.

"tell him to be more specific, ask him 'which?'."

you type quickly, not because you're interested in going.. or him.. it's normal curiosity.

"which?"

he replies with your name, then another message after:

"utahime too"

Shoko scoffs and grabs her phone from your hands, mumbling, "fucking whore." at the screen whilst typing.

"seeee, i told you." you say rolling your eyes playfully, "i study friday, and we go out saturday."

"nope you're coming with me."

"no."

"yes."

"no."

"please?" she begs, sliding her phone in her pocket then bringing her hands together in a praying motion.

you check the time on your phone and break is almost over, so you start putting your things back in your bag.

"only if you finish my assignment by tonight." you say placing your pencil case in the small pocket of your bag. you look up at shoko and shes squinting at you trying to see if you're lying, -in which you aren't.

"okay deal!" she grabs your laptop from your chair, "i'll need this."

you finish packing your bag and zip it up, reaching your hand out for your laptop, "just log into my account on yours."

"nuh uh, the process is too complicated, this is much easier." she says with a smile, "i'll bring it back to you after i get off work, okay?"

beaten by her reasoning, you drop your hand back down to your bag and slide it over your shoulders. "if you come to my dorm at 12 am, i'm not opening it."

she slides your laptop into her bag, then places her backpack over her shoulders. "pshhh, i'll be there at 11:30" She winks before turning to the exit, "see you later!"

the eight min walk to science hall was endurable, and you got there on time, sitting in your designated row. you reach down into your bag to pull out your notebook, pen, highlighter... and your laptop. that's obviously not there.

a small sigh escapes as you rub your temple trying to think of what you can do.

around you, the soft typing of keyboards starts, screens lighting up one by one as people pull up lecture slides. you flip open your notebook instead, trying to convince yourself it’s fine, you can manage.

the professor walks in, setting his things down, greeting the class as the projector flickers on. the same slides you're supposed to have open, appear on the screen.

well perfect, you can read from the board..

a few minutes go by, and you try to keep up... scribbling, highlighting, catching keywords here and there, but it’s disorganized. and his pace is too quick, you look around the class, searching faces to see if anyone looks kind enough to share a screen with you.

no one catches your eye except the white haired figure, he's wearing glasses today and completely focused on his notes.

ask for help or scribble for the next 40 minutes?

taking a deep sigh, you gather your things and weave carefully through the rows, trying not to bump anyone. 6th row, 8th seat is where he sits. now that you realize it, how did he notice you from up here?

"Hi"

he looks up at you with a smile, "Hey,"

you take the empty seat on his left without asking, worried the row behind you might be distracted by you being the only person standing in the room. you set your bag down and turn your chair to slightly to face his.

"so... I forgot to bring my laptop, and I was hoping you would share yours?" you whisper ask

he tilts his head to the side like a confused puppy, "you forgot it?"

"in a way, yeah" you answer half honestly, opening your notebook to the page you left off.

he slides his computer directly in the middle of you two. you look over to him with a smile and whisper a “thanks.”

he replies “anytime.”

class flows through as always, and ends.

you’re packing your things, getting ready to head back to your dorm for the day.

“hey..” he calls beside you, you look over at him and his things are already put away and his bag is slugged over one shoulder.

“are you busy friday?” he continues.

oh right, his party. “kind-of.. i’ll most likely be studying.” you answer.

he smiles but pauses to look over you, “studying?” he questions.

“yeah, what’s wrong with that?” you finish packing and stand up “shouldn’t you be studying too?” you fire back at him.

“nah I don’t need to, but if you need help im always here.” he pulls out his phone from his back pocket , “and if you get bored come to my party.”

"we'll see," you finally say, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

the rest of thursday passes in a blur of classes and stress. You spend your lunch period in the library, and by the time 8:30pm rolls around, you're back in your dorm room. fresh out of the shower with your hair twisted into a bun, and in your favorite pjs.

your phone glows in the darkness of your dorm room as you scroll mindlessly through Instagram, double-tapping posts from people you half care about.

then his account pops up in your recommendations, gojoo.

you stare at it for a moment... Then click!

54k followers. following 38 people. you scroll through his posts which consist of mainly thirst traps, each of them averaging 250k likes. him in football wear, candid shots that look somewhat professionally lit, gym pics, and so on.

his following list is exactly what you'd expect: celebrities, luxury brands, a few accounts you don't recognize. You see 5ukuna and click, but it's privated.

then you go back to click on his story, it's him in his bathroom mirror, towel wrapped around his lower waist, letting his v-line peak out and he's brushing his teeth. The pic cringes you out a little but it goes over your head, his body distracting you.. and for too long.

you look up next to his username, posted 8 hours ago.

your stomach drops.

he'll see that you viewed it. maybe not. he has a gross amount of followers. the embarassment crawls up your neck hot and unready, without thinking you leave his story and block him, he won't see that you viewed his story, right?

you lay your phone down at your chest and take a deep breath to regulate your nervs.

scrolling for another ten minutes, trying to distract yourself with reels and random content, but your brain keeps circling back to that stupid bathroom mirror and his stupidly perfect chiseled abs and the fact that you're going to see him in less than twenty-four hours.

theres an abrupt knock on your door, it's 9:20pm. you haul yourself out of bed, and open it to find shoko holding your laptop like a trophy.

"finished masterpiece," she announces, handing it over with a smile. "you're welcome by the way. I did a really good job on your citations."

you take it, slightly relieved. "you better not be joking."

"i proofread it twice." She leans against your doorframe. "you'll turn it in tomorrow and get an easy A."

"shoko, you're literally a lifesaver."

she waves you off, checking her phone. "I know I am." she looks back up at you. "okay, I gotta run. work was brutal and I need sleep."

"thanks again, and goodnight" you say giving her a sweet smile.

"You're welcome." She grins, already heading toward the stairs. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's gonna be fun."

You close the door behind her and set the laptop on your desk, genuine gratitude washing over you.

It's friday.

You got breakfast this morning with suguru at your local bakery and coffee spot, then parted ways and went on to your morning class.

Your first 2 classes go by smoothly, professors giving little work but plenty of lecturing and notes.

Shoko is out today so you don't get your classic gossip break with her. So instead you go to the library to read and study

You make it to forensic science with five minutes to spare, settling into your usual seat. the hall fills up gradually, laptops opening, the low hum of chatter before the professor takes the podium.

The lecture runs its normal course. Evidence analysis, case studies, procedures, notes, etc.

fifty-five minutes in, he wraps up the PowerPoint and sets down his marker. "Alright, before you all scatter, three quick announcements."

“first: your forensic analysis reports are due tonight at midnight. no exceptions, no extensions. submit them through the portal.”

“second announcement,” he continues. “Next week, we’re starting a group forensic investigation. you’ll work in groups of two to four people. I’ll send out the evidence packet and assignment guidelines by sunday. your final reports will be due by the end of the week, so make sure your groups are finalized by monday.”

"third and last,” he continues. “exam next thursday.”

A wave of groans and quiet complaints spreads throughout the room.

“i’d say it’s pretty straightforward if you’ve been keeping up with the lectures and lab procedures. If not, I suggest reviewing your notes and studying the latest material before then.”

he dismisses the class.

It's around five pm in the weight room, satoru squeezing the last bit of water out of his bottle before setting it back on the floor.

his name is yelled from behind him, by his teammate ryomen sukuna.

satoru walks over to the other side of the pull up, his fellow players pumping him up. when he reaches bar he's face to face with sukuna, a sleazy grin on his face.

"you wanted this!" sukuna reminds him. the man challenged sukuna, whoever taps out of their pull-up loses, simple.

They both reach up over their heads, grabbing a bar with each hand simultaneously, as coach toji explains ground rules, "If you lose structure you' lose!, if you let go you lose!" he shouts.

"ready?"

"up!"

both boys pull theirselves up, head over the bar. sukuna crosses his ankles around each other while satoru's torso and legs are straightened.

its four mins into this challenge and satorus neck is completely covered with sweat, his abs tremble under pressure. Whilst sukuna is also drenched in sweat both abs and neck, his long torso flexes denying defeat.

"my moneys on sukuna!" one of their teammates shout. a few seconds before satorus hand slips. his feat land on the mat under him, the room erupts in shouts and cheers.

"thought you could beat me?" sukuna grins walking towards him.

satoru scoffs wiping sweat from his forehead before pulling sukuna in a dap, "I'll get you soon."

coach blows his whistle to cut the chatter and noise, "Listen!"

"when it's time to compete, be ready to compete."

"no matter what the challenge, doesn't matter the time of day, what the weathers like, or how long its gonna take"

Coach continues with his speech and his players listen, all except gojo who's in his own head. Thinking about whether he can make this next game with his hamstring and ankle injury.

Fuck.

He hasn't told anyone about it, not even sukuna, the person you'd call his right hand man. if you know satoru gojo, you'd know how much he hates being benched and especially during peak season.

a chant starts. its gets louder and louder pulling satoru back, out of his head.

"Raven on 3, Raven on me, 1-2-3!"

ravens!

the rest of practice is filled with running paces, laps, drills, lifting, etc.

practice ends and satoru sits in an ice bath, eyes closed, trying to relax his mind and body. He lays there, a little too still for someone who is usually all motion and noise.

well thats before sukuna comes from around the corner, “You’ve been out of it today.” He leans against the nearest wall squeezing water from his gatorade bottle, his jersey is half way on showing his lower abs. His eyes flick down to the ice bath, then to Satoru’s face.

satoru groans not opening his eyes all the way but peeks a little to see who's interrupting him.

“have I?" he asks carelessly.

"coach had to pull you aside twice cuz you were dissociating or some shit, then you were limping on your routes" sukuna laughs.

satoru shifts slightly in the bath, some ice falling off his shoulders. "its been a long day." he replies.

"sure"

a pause settles between them, both knowing that there's something wrong but not quite sure why.

satoru opens his eyes fully to stare up at the ceiling tiles.

“I said it’s been a long day,” he repeats, a little sharper this time.

sukuna hums under his breath, not buying it. "ay, we're hosting tonight, put a smile on that face"

"what time again?" satoru asks

"eight-ish."

satoru groans shifting in the bath again, sitting up straight, "tell the pledges to set up."

"take a nap while you're in there, you look like shit." sukuna exits the wooden room.

he stands in the bath stretching his arms and neck, then steps out and walks towards his belongings, he grabs his towel first drying his hair then throwing it around his neck. his phone vibrates somewhere between the pile of clothes on the bench.

suguru

wya

we need more drinks

dont get the gross cheap shit again

he thumbs up the last message and sighs dragging the towel across his body to finish drying off, he puts on sweats and a hoodie. bending down to grab his duffel bag, a sharp pain suddenly shoots through his ankle.

“fuck” he hisses.

. . .

the library is almost packed, people finishing assignments due tonight or past due, some chatting away quietly with friends and other individuals reading.

you exhale through your nose, leaning back in your chair until it creaks slightly under you.

criminal psych notes spread out on the left, highlighted until the page barely looks like paper anymore. next to it is your constitutional law reading packet you haven’t started yet.

across the aisle, someone is fully asleep on top of their laptop. that might be you next if you keep stressing yourself out with this.

luckily your phone dings! loudly enough for it to echo through the halls, and wake you up as you hurriedly pick it up to cover the noise.

shoko

still at the library?

im almost off so be ready by the time im at your dorm

you

ughhh

give me like an hour

shoko

mkay

after what feels like forty mins you pack your things and exit the library, taking the fastest route towards your dorm. after the quickest shower, picking out your outfit, stuffing everything into your purse and getting into shokos car you arrive at the house.

as you two step out and walk through the front door, a stench of sweat, alcohol, and cologne hits you, scrunching your nose you half yell at shoko behind you, "it fucking reeks."

"let's go to the backyard, they should be there" she yells back.

you take her words and lead the way past the kitchen towards the slide door. the air is fresh and you finally feel like you can breathe.

someone yells your name and shokos, you turn to see who and its geto. he's sitting on a bench next to the fence away from the pool with sukuna, hime, choso who's lighting up, and gojo who has a girl wrapped around his arm.

you look back at shoko and she nods towards them, telling you c'mon. the house was insanely packed so you had to squeeze through groups, some men looking down at you with an ugly grin on their face.

you ignore them, quickly leading shoko as the two of you finally push past the crowd.

“jesus christ,” you mutter under your breath.

geto lifts his cup slightly in greeting. “look who finally decided to come, thought you would've bailed again"

“i tried to,” you answer honestly.

utahime jumps up from her seat and greets shoko with a hug, "hii shoko!"

"utahime!" she calls back, letting utahime hug her.

"i haven't seen you in forever, i miss you!"

"yeah yeah, we see each other almost every day."

shoko drops down onto the bench beside geto, stealing choso’s lighter, he lets out a tch. utahime gives you a little smile before slithering her way into the crowd.

as you chat away among shoko and geto, you notice the girl that was once with gojo is now gone and hes a few feet away talking with sukuna.

the music bumps louder, the bass growing and more people piling outside and drunkenly singing to the lyrics.

"imma go grab a drink" you say towards shoko and geto.

you turn and head back into the house, once again having to maneuver through cramped, drunk bodies. when you make it the the island theres red solo cups tipped over, some filled with unknown liquid and multiple on the floor.

you take one from the clean stack and choose the cleanest bottle to drink from, filling the cup you hear shouts (mainly men) greeting gojo from behind you.

gojo places his cup next to yours as a indicator to refill his cup. you turn to look at him not realizing how close he is.

"hey"

"hi" you smile kindly, and place down the glass bottle beside the rest.

"im surprised you came", he has some look in his eyes, looking you up and down.

"i wasn't planning to but shoko insisted" you lean your back against the counter, still facing him.

he laughs softly and asks, "wow, i thought i convinced you."

"as if"

"let me take you upstairs" he says softly

"what for?"

"ill make sure you enjoy your night."

you jerk your head back, confused. "what do you mean by that?" you know what he means, you just want to hear him say it.

"want me to show you?" he asks stepping closer, just enough for heat to rise between you and his cologne clouding your senses.

the audacity of a man.

you place your hand against his chest and push him back lightly. if he actually wanted to stay there you probably wouldn’t be able to move him an inch.

"not really" that plastic kind smile sets on your face, but has a sprinkle of annoyance because who tf is he feeling like.

satoru stares at you for a second, brows furrowed before laughing softly through his nose. he raises his hands up like he's at gunpoint, "woah woah, sorry didn't mean to overstep" that dangerous smile growing on his face.

you let out a small laugh, pulling your hand away from his chest.

“you're not that easy, huh?” he watches you take another sip from your cup, head tilted slightly, trying to figure you out instead of flirting with you.

weirdly enough, the look suits him better.

“I can be, you're just...” you look him up and down, "..cocky."

"ouch" he whines pressing his hand against his heart.

“so if i wasn’t cocky?”

“but you are.”

“hypothetically.”

you hum considering it, eyes trailing over the crowded kitchen before landing back on him. “then maybe your chances would’ve increased a little.”

“a little?” he repeats offended one brow lifted.

“see, you are cocky”

satoru laughs softly again, rubbing the back of his neck before leaning beside you against the counter.

his eyes flick toward you, as you sip from your drink again. it tastes sweet but feels like acid when it travels down your throat. wtf did you even pour?

a loud yell erupts from outside followed by sukuna shouting something that makes half the party cheer and laugh.

“gojoo!” someone calls from outside. “quit hidin' and take a shot!”

“lets have some fun?.” he smiles nodding towards outside.

"lead the way" you place your cup on the counter, understanding why so many were left behind.

the backyard is packed and louder now. music blasts through giant speakers, people crowding around the pool and scattered patio furniture. someone almost falls into the water while laughing hysterically.

the two of you walk back over to the table and theres more girls huddling near the group, sukuna entertaining two of them. the night ends with you getting black out drunk by cup pong, never have i ever, categories, and your favorite, truth or drink.

you can barely remember shoko driving you to campus and having to carry you to your dorm. as soon as you stripped and hit the bed you were out.

...

you wake up hung over, nauseous, and a banging headache. lifting yourself upright, to sit up, an uneasy feeling in your stomach starts to take toll, you know what it is.

you rush to the bathroom, the remnants from last night shooting violently into the toilet, the second round comes harder making your body shake uncomfortably.

the toilet flushes and u stand upright but your body feels so weak, so you wash your mouth and go back to bed. before you fall asleep, without thinking you grab your phone from your nightstand and text shoko, "help sick." then you're out.

a repetitive aggressive loud knock comes to your door making you spring out of your sleep, you sit up confused by whoever the fuck is beating on your door and that headache comes back 10x harder.

"im coming geez!" you yell back, you stand a little lightheaded and rub your eyes awake.

upon opening, its shoko and shes standing in the doorway with a plastic bag and a cigarette between her fingers.

"are you okay?" she asks somewhat concerned.

"yes.. why?" you question back letting her inside your dorm and closing the door behind her.

she sits on your bed near the window and sets her cig in her mouth so you open the window as she lights it and sit infront of her.

"you texted me help at 5am, and didn't answer any of my calls or texts" she opens up the plastic bag.

you rub your temple trying to piece together when you did that, but nothings connecting.

"m'sorrryy" you groan and lie on your back. "i was sick this morning- what time is it?" 5am? you were violently vomiting at five in the morning?

she pulls soup in a plastic container, labeled from a restaurant, coconut water, three different pills, and your favorite chocolate.

she checks her phone and says "its 12am"

but you cut her off with, "is all of that for me??" excitement forgetting the migraine thats forming.

"not if you aren't sick"

"oh my gosh sho i love you" you embrace her with a rough hug, she dosent hug back but pats you on the back. "okay i love you but not cigarettes, sorry" you say opening the water.

she laughs, "that's okay, i have to go anyway"

"what whyy"

"work" she shrugs walking towards your door, you're right behind her fixing your hair.

"but ill see you tonightt" she slides her shoes back on and opens your door.

"whats toni- oh my gosh i totally forgot" you sulk into the wall, "do i have to?"

"mhm, bye!" she waves walking down the dorm hall, you close and lock your down then slowly drop to the floor, hands covering your face.

when you stand and walk over to your bed you realize that you haven't checked your phone at all this morning, you grab it and place it on the charger.

you've been waiting for 10mins and it finally turns on, charged to 8%. you immediately check your notifications and the first one to catch your eyes is a message from ' satoru ☺️ '

you get home safe?

his message was sent at one am. besides that how did he get your number?? you never give your number out like that. the best a man can get out of you is your snapchat (which you rarely use).

you

wtf

why do i have you as a contact

you swipe out of messages and check ig, you're mentioned across multiple stories from people you follow and friend of friends, some of the stories being you shotgunning a drink, dancing, being tossed into the air for winning cup pong game against sukuna.

the main one that has you shocked is you tossing a drink into your exes face, naoya, slapping him, then being dragged away by shoko whilst yelling at him.

your mouth is agape, you don't remember any of this. you tell yourself, 'this is why i don't go out'.

gojo

you don't remember trading info?

you

not really

i dont give my number out so i was confused

gojo

alr

you can delete my number if you want

you

its fine

i have a way to ask you for help now

gojo

glad to be of service

you heart his message, then he sends another two:

gojo

ask me whenever you need it

i dont mind

you

thx

you set your phone down with a relieved sigh, rubbing your temple even though the headache is fading away, you reach over to open the soup shoko got you.

anddd your phone buzzes..

...

the stadium is deafening.

cheers crash into each other from every direction, the student section chanting the teams mascot after the last touchdown.

104-96

he barely hears any of it, his heartbeat and strain coming from his leg powering over the background noise.

his left leg throbs with every step, pissing him off more than the pain. he adjusts his gloves and rolls his shoulders trying to ignore it.

“set!”

satoru blitzes off as the rest of his team does, creating distance between him and the qb, sukuna. aa he gets further away he looks back and locks eyes with him.

sukuna throws the ball towards satoru, it hits his hands and he tucks it in his arm sprinting upfield. the crowd erupts behind him then a defender closes on his right.

he swerves left, trying to slip past him and gain a few more yards. the second he shifts his weight onto his left leg, pain stabbing his calf. he stumbles then gets tackled to the ground.

satoru grits his teeth and immediately pushes himself up, but his leg fully gives up on him and he falls back onto the grainy grass.

“fuck!”

the curse tears from his throat before he can stop it. a whistle shrieks from the ref as some of his teammates leave the field and others gather around him.

“gojo!” his assistant coach shouts from the sideline.

officials start to jog towards the scene and call for an injury timeout. Satoru yanks his helmet off and throws it into the grass beside him.

"seems like we have an injury from our star player, #7!, gojo satoru." an announcement from the commentator. One of the officials crouch beside him while the other reached for his arm.

“can you walk?”

“yeah i'm fine.”

neither of then are convinced. after another failed attempt at standing on his own, Satoru reluctantly allows the trainers to help him up. the stadium erupts in cheers and applause as he's escorted toward the sideline.

the second he crosses the sideline, his coach is waiting. concern written all over his face.

“what happened out there?”

“nothing.”

“gojo.”

“i rolled it.”

the trainer carefully removes his cleat, the swelling around his ankle looks horribly concerning.

“how long has this been hurting?” the trainer asks.

satoru groans as the woman lightly touches it, facing the other direction without answering.

“gojo.” coach toji says sternly.

“a few days."

the stadium suddenly explodes, satpru straightens immediately and tries to peak towards the field.

"lay back down please." the woman asks. he tries to look out towards the field, he should be there right now.

"do as she says gojo, you got yourself into this position" coach says then walks back towards the field.

“Interception!” is shouted from the stadium speakers.

satoru lays back down hands running through his hair furiously as the woman helps him with his foot. he thinks maybe if he told coach or a trainer sooner he would've been able to be on the field playing.

maybe if he’d told someone when the pull in his hamstring refused to go away. if he'd could let go his ego just for a moment, then there wouldn't be any consequences.

the 'what if' thoughts do nothing but make him angrier. rhe game continues just a few feet away, the distant roar of the crowd filtering through his head.

“try to relax,” the trainer says. she wraps his ankle with cloth and jots a few notes on a clipboard whilst humming quietly. The crowd erupts again and band music begins.

“and that’s the game,” the commentator’s voice echoes through the speakers. “the ravens fall short tonight, 108 to 96.”

what a nice way of saying they lost.

players begin filing off the field with their heads down, some frustrated, others looking completely drained. nobody looks happy.

“you should stay off it for now,” the trainer says, securing the last strip of tape around his ankle.

satoru lets out a humorless scoff and drags a hand down his face. “don’t think i have much of a choice.” all week they’d prepared for this game. hours of practice, film, meetings, conditioning. all of it leading up to tonight, and it's over.

the ride back was..

conversations come and go throughout the bus, quieter than usual. a few players argue over missed opportunities while others scroll through their phones or stare out the windows.

satoru claims a window seat near the back and spends most of the ride pretending to sleep, to keep his team from asking questions. unfortunately it doesn’t stop his ankle from throbbing.

by the time campus comes into view, the space fills with movement again. bags are pulled from beneath seats, groans and yawns. players stretching and complaining about how long the ride was. when the bus finally hisses to a stop, everyone is eager to get off.

satoru waits until most of them have already filed out before pushing himself to his feet. he grabs his duffel and limps toward the exit, the cool night air hitting him the second he steps outside.

"ouch," sukuna teases and falls into step beside him, duffel slung over one shoulder.

for a moment they walk in silence across campus, passing mostly empty pathways and dark academic buildings. the adrenaline from the game is long gone now, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and irritation.

"you break it?" sukuna nudges him

"its just a sprain.”

sukuna clicks his tongue as a form of telling satoru he's a dumb fuck for not saying anything sooner. they reach the parking lot a minute later, rows of cars sitting beneath the glow of streetlights.

they chat a little more before reaching their cars, sukuna flipping him off then entering his own vehicle and heading back to the frat.

satoru watches him leave for a second before turning toward his own, fishing his keys from his pocket. he decides to make his way to the pharmacy for pain relievers and whatever else might dull the ache.

by the time he pulls into the half empty parking lot, he’s managed to convince himself that the loss wasn’t entirely his fault.

the automatic doors slide open and he heads straight for the pain relief section, grabbing a bottle of ibuprofen without much thought. after a moment, he adds an ice pack too.

shoko would probably laugh at him if she found out he was trying to treat a football injury with nothing but painkillers and ice.

goods in hand, he turns down another aisle.

a familiar head of dark hair stands near the family planning section. she’s holding a bright pink box in her hand when her eyes meet his.

satoru almost bursts out laughing but cuts it off with her name, "utahime!" he waves hi.

she stares at him blankly, tightening her grip around the box.

his smile lingers anyway, “what? i’m saying hi.”

"hey satoru." she says plastic smile on her face.

he hums, glancing at her box labeled boldly PLAN B. “rough night?” he asks teasingly.

utahime shifts the box slightly in her hands, embarrassment starting to show on her face. “what are you doing here?” she asks.

satoru lifts his basket a little, “painkillers.”

she nods although she's particularly not interested. “you look tired,” she comments.

satoru smiles, "i am. it's almost midnight, just came back from a game."

"did you win?"

he yawns dramatically before answering, "nah down by 8"

she exhales through her nose, almost a laugh but not quite letting it happen. then her gaze flicks past him briefly, already moving on.

“ok well, i have to go check out,” she says. shifting her bag slightly, eyes flicking briefly to his leg again.

"same here, let me pay for you." he demands.

"you don't have-"

"it's fine." he ends the bargain.

they reach the cashier and place everything on the counter. satoru asks, "who are you here with anyway?"

“why do you care?”

"i don't, m'just curious" he pulls his wallet from his pocket and taps his card.

she exhales sharply through her nose, grabs her bag once the transaction finishes. "well sorry, it's none of your business."

they step outside together, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft hiss. satoru shoves his hand into his pockets, grabbing his key, painkillers rattling lightly in the bag he’s holding.

utahime gives her thanks and stops near the curb, a car pulls up infront of her, engine low, headlights cutting across the pavement.

the driver is sitting & smoking, smoke and window tint hiding his face.

he unlocks his door and slides into the driver’s seat, tossing the pharmacy bag onto the passenger side. the interior smells faintly like old air freshener.

he leans his head back against the seat for a moment.

when he finally collects himself, he pulls out of the lot slowly, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. he tells himself he’s going straight back to the frat house.

...

you're 2 drinks and 5 shots in. shoko is only slightly more sober than you, which is probably the only reason this is still a fun night out and not something else.

you're on the floor, swaying your body to the soft beat of the music. clueless and careless about your surroundings. shoko is not too far away from you, she sits at a table with a few other women you two met while being here.

the music feels like it's thumping inside of you, each beat vibrating through your feet and up to your shoulders. A couple of men tried to talk to you throughout the night, only two were cute so you gave them your insta but totally forgot to accept their follow requests.

you continue dancing, the floor getting more and more packed as the music gets louder and groovier. the heat start to rise and become unbearable and you suddenly need air.

without saying much, you slip away from the crowd and push through the front doors of the bar.

you make your way toward the curb, carefully lowering yourself onto the concrete. the city feels quieter, the music is still audible through the walls, but now it’s muffled beneath distant traffic and occasional laughter from people wandering between bars.

you tilt your head back toward the sky. the stars are barely visible. too much light and too many buildings. your thoughts begin to drift aimlessly; classes, family, exams, past assignments, etc. you would kill to go back to being a kid, maybe not reliving the same childhood.. but definitely being careless and clueless about adulthood.

the alcohol makes everything fuzzy but somehow makes those thoughts feel clearer.

“there you are.”

you don’t look over, "hi sho.”

“you disappeared.”

“it's so hot in there, i needed air.”

shoko drops down beside you on the curb with a sigh, “yeah?”

you hum before answering, placing your head between the palm of your hand, elbow on knee. "i also need water.”

“that’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night.” for a few minutes neither of you say much.

shoko lights a cigarette and stares across the street.

“hey are you hungry?” you suddenly ask.

“yeah kind of, what are you cra”

you gesture vaguely, "burger.”

shoko immediately starts laughing, “you’re drunk.”

“m'serious." you whine and she laughs again.

you groan and let your head fall onto her shoulder. a comfortable silence settles between you again.

shoko’s phone vibrates.

and again.

then a third time.

“jesus christ,” she mutters.

“who is it?”

“suguru.”

“is he drunk?”

“i don't think i've ever seen him drunk.”

she reads over her messages, taking another pull from her cig and blowing it into the air. you scoot a little closer to generate body heat while looking over her shoulder at the messages.

“what happened?” you ask not being able to read properly drunk.

“apparently gojo and sukuna are fighting.” she inhales her cig, texting back suguru.

you raise an eyebrow, “like fighting fighting?”

"no.. wait, maybe."

you sigh, knowing sukuna he probably would be beating the shit out of gojo but maybe since they're friends, it's just arguing.

like how you two were during high school.

"they're arguing over football.. apparently satoru got injured and they lost because of him." she summarizes suguru's texts.

"they're both idoits" you roll your eyes. she laughs and texts back quickly then pockets her phone turning her attention to you.

"hey, you ready to go?" she asks softly.

"yeah- what time is it?" you ask while she stands, and lends you a hand to stand up.

"barely one am!"

the drive to campus is quick. neither of you talks much, exhaustion finally catching up after hours of music, drinks, and dancing. by the time she pulls up outside your dorm, your eyes are already half closed.

“text me when you get upstairs.”

“yes mom.”

“goodnight.”

“night, shoko.”

you climb out of the car, adjusting your bag before making your way toward the dorm building. behind you, shoko waits until you disappear through the entrance before pulling away into the night.

morning arrives and you wake up fine, you follow your usual routine before realizing it's a day off today. that being said you decided to take a walk around the city. a little window shopping, coffee and sweet treat etc.

your phone vibrates in your back pocket, you pull it out and take a look, it's your dad so you hurriedly answer.

"hello?" you answer, looking around for a spot to sit and talk. there's a community park a few blocks away with open benches.

"hey babygirl!" he calls back cheerfully.

you giggle softly at his enthusiasm, you can picture the excitement on his face from just being able to hear your voice. it hasn't been years since you've called him but it has been a while, you miss it.

you continue walking on the sidewalk past the busy city and shops on either side of you. "hey pa, whats up?"

"soo!" he starts off, "how are ya, i miss your face so much."

you roll your eyes, "pshh i'ts only been a few months since i've last visited, i'm doing good pa"

"well that's great to hear, i thought a boy would've been drivin' you crazy about now!" he says exaggeratedly.

"oh no, no boys. you know gotta focus on my health and studies" you finally reach a bench and sit, the air is fresh, trees are swaying in the early morning breeze, peace.

"good good, cus' ya know last time.."

"pa-"

"that pink haired freak!"

you laugh, he's still holding a grudge after 4 years. "hey you have to let go of that grudge, holding it-"

"yeah yeah, i know i know"

"ya know he goes here right? i ran into him once or twice." you click your tongue, knowing this would set him off.

he lets out a long groan, "it's not too late to transfer right?"

"nope not transferring, i need shoko with me."

"how's it going there? are you getting enough sleep?"

you cross one leg over the other then answer, "yes pa. and you?"

"im good, but not geat because you don't visit anymore!" he whines

"ill visit this weekend okay!!" you finally cave into his guilt tripping.

theres a shuffling noise in the background, "great! that's all i needed to hear" his tone now engaged and excited, "we can have dinner and catch up."

"on one condition"

"yes darling?"

"talk to mom and get her to come."

another long groan comes from the phone line, "that woman!"

after the call ends you do a little more walking then head back to your dorm for the day.

monday night.

because it's a day off gojo has barely left his bed today, his day consisted of working out, shower, binge watch tv, now he's in his bed scrolling through his ig.

he blames his bedrotting on his injury.

as he's scrolling through ig someone responds to his story. the story being him showing his lip having a small slit in it then he flips the camera to frat living room being tossed and trashed. (from the fight with sukuna, yes it was very physical, suguru had to break it up.)

the person who texted him is a blonde chick from criminal psych, "do u have a crazy gf orr?😭"

it isn't her first time swiping up on his story, he's egoed her many times. when she first followed him after getting his ig in class, he didn't bother following her back.

he also fucked her a couple of times, who cares.

the notification catches his eye so he taps it and responds.

satoru

i wish

blonde chic

haha

i can't see you in a relationship

satoru

why

blonde chic

you just don't seem like a relationship guy

satoru

ok

blonde chic

hey for our criminal psych class do u have a partner?

satoru

what do i need a partner for

blonde chic

the group project

satoru

oh yeah

blonde chic

sooooooo?

u can be in my group ☺️

how could he totally forget about it, well... he thinks of who could be with and well, you! he swipes out of ig, leaving the girl on seen. clicks on imssgs, then your contact. which is your name followed by (shokos friend).

hey

question

he watches his screen waiting for your text bubbles to pop up. which takes five mins.

you

what

satoru

do you have a partner for the group project?

you

yes

he stares at his screen, this time in disbelief. theres no way you have a partner. okay- maybe, but.. fuck. he doesn't want to work with anyone else.

satoru

who

you

i think his name is steven

the guy that sits in the row behind me, and his friend next to him.

you don't know his name and he's your partner?? gojo sits up thinking of what to say next.

satoru

i need a partner

you

ok? find one?? wtf do u want me to do?

he sits in utter disbelief, he hasn't been rejected since.. forever. and especially not in this manner. he can't and won't handle rejection.

satoru

be my partner

you

no

satoru

why

you

bc i already have 2??😭

satoru

let them be together

and it can be us 2

you

why are u so desperate

satoru

bc i don't want to work with anyone else

youre my only option

you

ill agree only if you do most of the work

satoru

okay

you

break your word and i'll join another group

satoru

i won't

tuesday rolls in, normal day as ever, it's around 3pm and youre in your dorm studying for the test on thursday. or at least trying to. you should've finished the analysis yourself, you think to yourself.

you want to ask shoko for help again, but you don't want to be a burden plus she's probably working her internship at the hospital. you groan annoyingly loud out of frustration and tip your head back trying to think of a solution.

tutor? you can either get an online one or find one on campus. in person would be a greater option because its easier for you to focus. you stare at the list of campus tutoring services opened on your laptop, scrolling through the available times with a tired sigh.

your dorm room is quiet except for the faint sound of people moving through the hallway outside. you look back at your laptop and finally click schedule an appointment.

the earliest date is thursday 2:45pm. after the exam, you groan, immediately backing out of the page.

“of course,” you mumble to yourself.you check again, scrolling further down. tuesday, 5:30 p.m.

you select the appointment and wait for the confirmation email.

it only takes a few seconds before the notification appears on your screen. appointment confirmed. tuesday, 5:30 p.m. main library, study room 4. tutor: nanami kento.

the next few hours pass by painfully slow.

you attempt to study again, forcing yourself through the lecture slides and trying to memorize every term that could possibly show up on the exam. but after rereading the same page three times, you finally give up.

by 5:20, you grab your notebook, laptop, and the pile of papers scattered across your desk before heading out of your dorm.

the walk to the library is quiet. the campus is starting to settle down as the sun begins to set, students passing by with backpacks and coffee cups, some heading back to their dorms

you step into the library and make your way toward the back of the building, finding the study rooms tucked away from the main seating area.

study room 4.

you check the number twice before knocking softly.

“come in.”

you open the door.

sitting at the table is a man dressed far casually, tight black t-shirt, baggy blue jeans, and a coat hanging over his chair. his glasses rest on the bridge of his nose as he looks over a few papers in front of him. he looks up when you enter.

“you’re here for forensic science tutoring?”

you nod, stepping inside. “yeah. i have an exam on thursday and i’m struggling with some of the material.” you laugh soft, slightly embarrassed.

he smiles warmly, "that's alright, im here to help aren't i?"

his eyes briefly move toward the stack of notes in your arms, “you brought your notes?”

“all of them,” you admit.

nanami glances at the pile. “…that may be more than necessary.”

you let out another small laugh. “i figured bringing everything was better than bringing nothing.” you sit down in the chair on his left, closest to the door, and set your things on the table.

he goes through your notes one section at a time, crossing out unnecessary information and marking the concepts most likely to appear on the exam.

his method is super straightforward. no unnecessary explanations, no confusing terminology, and especially no making you feel stupid for asking questions.

“okay,” he says, tapping the page with his pen. “let’s test what you remember.”

you sit up straighter, “already?”

“yes.”

“oh, i thought we were just reviewing.”

“reviewing doesn’t help if you can’t apply it.”

you sigh quietly. “you sound like a professor.”

he points to the first question he wrote down, “a piece of evidence is collected at a crime scene. the chain of custody is broken during transportation. what happens?”

you pause to think.

“the evidence could be questioned because there’s no guarantee it wasn’t tampered with.”

“good.” he nods.

“a fingerprint is recovered from a glass at a crime scene. what’s the first thing an investigator should do before attempting to analyze it?”

“photograph it.” ez peezy.

"why?"

“because once you start processing the evidence, you could alter it. photographing it first preserves its original condition.”

he gives a small nod hums, "mhm."

“a bloodstain pattern at a crime scene can tell investigators exactly what happened. true or false?”

"...true?" you answer half confident.

he shames his head no, "not quite." reaching over, turning your notebook toward himself before sketching a few simple blood droplets across the page.

“bloodstain pattern analysis can help investigators determine things like the direction of travel, the angle of impact, or where an incident may have occurred.”

he looks up towards you and asks, “but does one piece of evidence tell the entire story?”

slightly embarrassed you got a simple question wrong you shake your head no, also answering, "no."

"and why's that?"

“because investigators have to compare it with everything else collected at the scene.”

he praises you again with a “good.”

few minutes pass as he leads you through a couple more questions before pausing as he writes the next batch. silence falls between you two before he decides to take the initiative to speak first, "you answered those correctly without looking at your notes."

"oh." you answer still feeling down, "i did.”

“meaning, you know the material.”

“or i just got lucky.”

“hm.” he looks up at you, while you stare down at your notes, thoughts scattering around, you let out a quiet sigh.

“i don’t know why i blank out whenever i study on my own.”

“maybe you’re trying to memorize instead of understand.”

he taps his pen on the paper as you fix your gaze onto him, asking, "are you diagnosing me now?"

"observing"

“there’s a difference?”

“a significant one.”

you smile despite your discouragement on yourself.

"let's finish, okay?" he turns his wrist towards himself to check the time on his watch, "about an hour left." you nod in agreement, he closes your notebook and slides it toward you.

"and no notes, ill tell you how you did after we finish."

you roll your eyes subconsciously which makes him laugh a little, "c'mon you can do it" a pause.. "ready?" he asks softly

"mhm" you answer, feeling a little bit better.

the rest of the session flies by.

nanami quizzes you on nearly every topic that could appear on the exam, occasionally stopping to explain a concept whenever you hesitate.

“that’s enough for today,” he says, clicking his pen to close.

"already?" you glance at the clock, surprised to see how much time had passed. you're not the type to lose track of time, but wow it flew by.

you gather your things, sliding your laptop into your backpack before standing. "thank you."

nanami gives a small nod.

you finish zipping up your backpack, lingering for a second longer. "nanami?"

he looks down at you. "yes?"

you fix one strap over your shoulder, motioning for you two to start walking out of the private room, out of the library. "i was wondering if you're busy tomorrow, so you can help me a little more..?"

he fixes his hair while walking alongside you, "i'm not sure, i'll have to check in with you after 2." a slight pause then he asks, "that fine?"

"oh yeah, ofcourse" you answer sweetly, "andd is it okay if i get your number?" you're outside of the library now and he pauses, turns towards you and furrows his brows. confused.

you laugh at his laugh face expression, "not like that, its just to reach you quicker. i have a exam on thursday and i really need the extra help."

he smiles and chuckles softly, shit maybe you did mean it like that look at how perfect he is. "i wasn't implying anything," he says.

"yeah it's fine," he finally answers, you pull your phone out of your back pocket, unlock it and hand it towards him. he types in his number and name, then hands it back.

"thanks" you say.

he steps away slowly towards his exit, "no problem, ill let you know if im free or not."

"mhm, bye and thanks again"

...

wednesday, 9:00am

“morning.” satoru drops into the seat beside suguru with far less enthusiasm than usual, letting his backpack hit the floor with a dull thud.

suguru glances over from the worksheet he’d been reading over, "mornin"

shoko slides into the other seat open seat next to suguru coffee in one hand. the professor walks in, setting a stack of papers on the podium.

conversation dies quickly within the room.

"good morning, everyone.”

a few half-awake greetings echo back. professor starts her lecture off slowly, gradually getting more complex. half an hour into class, shoko whispers to satoru.

“hey, how’s the ankle?”

satoru looks up from his notebook, “better.”

“better?”

“better.”

she narrows her eyes.

“it’s healed enough that i can walk without wanting limping.”

suguru lets out a laugh. shoko along with a snort.

"what about your sport?" suguru asks.

“coach still has me benched for another week.”

“only a week?” shoko asks.

“that’s what the trainers are saying. assuming i don’t do anything stupid.” satoru tries to play cool, like he doesn't mind being benched for a week.

by five in the afternoon, the football field is already alive. whistles echo across the turf, cleats dig into the grass, and the sound of shoulder pads colliding carries through the warm afternoon air.

“gojo.” he looks over to find coach waving him toward the athletic trainers.

“how’s your ankle?”

“doing just fine.”

coach eyes him for a moment before glancing down at the brace wrapped around his right ankle.

“trainer cleared you to jog yet?”

“light jogging.”

“cutting?”

“no.”

“contact?”

satoru sighs rubbing his neck, "definitely no.”

coach nods once, unsurprised. “then you’re not practicing today.”

satoru glances toward the field where the offense is lining up for drills. “i wasn’t planning on doing much. i could at least watch.”

“or,” coach counters, folding his arms, “you could spend that time letting your ankle heal.” satoru presses his lips together, fighting the urge to argue. he knows coach is right. “another week,” coach says, his tone softening just slightly. “keep doing rehab, ease into conditioning, then we’ll start getting you reps again.”

satoru nods, out of resignation. “yeah.”

coach gives his shoulder a firm pat. “good. now do yourself a favor and get out of here. you’ve got better things to do.”

with one last look toward the field, he turns away, the sounds of practice fading behind him as he heads towards stadium parking lot. for the first time in weeks, his afternoon is completely open.

satoru reaches his car and tosses his duffel bag into the backseat. then eases his way into the drivers seat. normally, he’d be heading home around eight, showering, grabbing food, then getting ready for whatever the night had planned.

his phone buzzes ontop of his lap, a message from a familiar name lights up his screen. 10mins ago

hii imy

wyd rn

he lets out a quiet laugh, leaning back against the seat. fully knowing where this'll lead.

satoru

just finished rehab

he starts his car and puts it into reverse, getting ready to pull out the lot and head back to the frat.

sounds boringgg

he shakes his head with a small grin.

satoru

come save me from boredom

he places his phone on his lap and finally pulls out of the lot, heading home.

she texts back:

be there in 30

satoru lounged in his upstairs room, shirtless with only his black boxer briefs and low-slung sweats clinging to his hips. the fabric dipped low to show the waistband of his underwear.

downstairs, suguru answered the knock at the front door. Long black hair framing her face, big doe eyes, freckles scattered across her face

she stood there in a simple sweater and tight flared leggings that hugged her curves, the outline of pink lace underwear faintly visible beneath the thin fabric. Suguru had seen her around before.

"satoru home?" she asked.

"yeah, upstairs," Suguru replied, stepping aside to let her in. He closed the door behind her and headed back to his own room without another word.

she climbed the stairs, found Satoru’s door, and knocked. the door swung open in a few seconds.

satoru stood there in the doorway, no shirt, sweats hanging low, slight bulge. his eyes raked over her, taking in the way the leggings clung to her shape.

"hey," he said, voice low. "come in."

she steps inside and immediately presses her lips to his, kissing him hard. he pulls away, "eager arent you?"

she looks towards him all dollike, wrapping her arms around his neck, going in for another kiss. "mhm" she moans into his lips.

satoru grabs her waist and lifts her up without breaking the kiss, kicking the door shut behind them.

he carries her over to his big bed and sits, settling her right on his lap. her thighs straddle him and she starts grinding down, rubbing her pussy against the growing bulge in his sweats. he groans low in his throat, "jus' like that baby." hands gripping her hips to guide her.

"fuck," he mutters, voice rough. she keeps grinding, feeling him harden fully beneath her. "you miss me satoru?" she asks kissing down his neck.

he laughs then feeds into her delusions with, "yeah, so much"

after a minute she slides off his lap and drops to her knees between his spread legs. she tugs his sweats and briefs down just enough to free him, then wraps her lips around the head.

satoru groans again, deeper this time, one hand resting on the back of her head.

"good girl," he says as she takes more of him into her mouth. she bobs her head, tongue working along the underside.

he lets her set the pace for a bit before his grip tightens in her hair, "let me lead." he demands.

she gurgles a rough, "mhm." he starts thrusting down into her throat, fucking her mouth with short, controlled strokes. she gags a little but he pushes deeper.

tears start to form at the bottom of her eyes and she looks up at satoru with puppy like eyes. "mhm, you can take it" he praises, voice rough.

when he gets close he pulls out of her mouth, slaps her pursed lips with his cock, then strokes himself fast. "open," he orders. she opens her mouth and he cums across her tongue, shooting into her throat. rubbing the excess messily across her lips like lipgloss.

...

it’s 7:30. you and nanami just finished your second study session, you actually feel ready for tomorrow’s exam. you’re both packing your materials back into your bags, sliding loose papers into folders and zipping up pencil cases.

you’d stay in the room a little longer to review for your exam but another group has it reserved at eight.

nanami slips his laptop into his bag before glancing at the clock on the wall.

“feeling better?”

you nod, adjusting the strap of your backpack. “a lot better, actually.”

"that's good."

“although i’m still a little nervous... i really hope i don't blank tomorrow."

he smiles at you, "you won't, you did way better than yesterday." he says it so comfortably that you almost believe him.

"wait, was i that bad yesterday?" you raise a brow

he laughs shortly, "i wasn't saying that but-" he pauses visibly seeing your confidence shrink. "you improved by a lot today. that's all that matters, okay?"

the two of you step out into the main room together, the library noticeably larger than when you arrived. a few students linger alone at upstairs tables, buried in textbooks while others are packed in groups.

you roll your eyes, not believing him at all this time. "yeah yeah, you're just saying that to be nice."

"I'm not i promise." his words are nice but his expressions make it seem like he's lying. you two hold contact for a second, then you speak up.

“i think i’m gonna stay for a little longer,” you say. “just to make sure i have everything down.”

nanami nods in understanding, "don't stress too much"

a small smile creeps onto your face, "ill try my hardest not too."

“and if you need any more help just text me, ill let you know when I'm free."

“thanks.” you hesitate for a second before adding, “you actually helped me. a lot.”

"m'glad to be of service," with one last nod, he turns and disappears down the hallway, leaving you standing outside the study room.

after watching him go for a moment, you make your way toward the staircase, deciding the second floor would be quieter this time of night

you climb the last few steps, scanning the rows of tables for an empty seat.

you make your way farther into the second floor, weaving between rows of bookshelves until you reach your usual spot tucked away in the corner. it isn’t much, just a small table... with 2 chairs, by the window.

you set your backpack on the floor, pull out your laptop and notebook, then plug in your charger before settling into the chair with a quiet sigh.

youre using good ol quizlet flashcards to study, and getting more than half correct.

footsteps come in clear as they head towards your spot. you look up and it's satoru. hair messy, glasses, hoodie with the hood on and sweats.

he takes the initiative to speak first. “hey.”

"hi."

“sorry to bother you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “every outlet i’ve found is either broken or already taken.” you notice his voice rougher than usual, maybe he's tired.

his gaze flicks toward the one beside your table. "mind if i take this seat for a bit?”

you blink, "uh.." you glance around the library there are other seats. just… none with a supposed working outlet.

you look back at him, “sure. all yours.”

“lifesaver.” he drops into the chair across from you, setting his backpack on the floor then pulling out his infamous macbook, "i owe you one."

...

evil a/n: cliffhanger hahahahahaha. like n subscribe pls. and comment down below.

[fireladylisa]

— the arrangement ∬ ֗ ₊

chapter two

ა ˙˖ summary → there’s no one you hate more than satoru gojo. he’s arrogant and entirely too full of himself. when you agree to be strictly enemies with benefits, gojo takes this as the perfect opportunity to finally make you his. ა ˙˖ content: 10.7k wc, accurate portrayal of fraternities so the boys are jerks srry, hazing, rough sex, mentions of blood, overstimulation, spanking, choking, desperate gojo, oral sex (both receive), jealous reader, mentions of terrible parents, some fluff, some angst

frat!jo 𝓍 fem!reader

chapter one chapter three

It was an undeniable fact that you were drunk on Gojo’s cock. 

In the weeks since you started this arrangement, you fucked almost every day. Your excuse was that you were simply researching for your project, running experiments and proving theories wrong and right. 

You were like two magnets that couldn’t resist each other despite your very different personalities and while you still couldn’t see yourself ever being anything other than possibly acquaintances, you would be lying if you said you didn’t warm up to him a smidge. 

At least when he was between your legs. 

“Satoru, haah, oh fuck!”

You cried as Gojo ate you like you were his last meal, his tongue lapping at your pussy in fast strokes, your back arching off your bed with his white locks gripped tight in your hands.

You hadn’t been able to keep your word and find someone more “digestable” to help satisfy your needs, you hadn’t really even tried when you had him fucking you into forgetting. Only Gojo was becoming more clingy, pestering you to go on a date with him and kissing you more than you cared to admit you enjoyed. 

And while you were able to tolerate him in small doses when you weren’t fucking, your stance still stood: you and fratboys didn’t mix, Gojo was hardly the exception and that only extended to sex. 

“Such a good girl.” he grumbles, plunging two fingers inside your hole while his tongue worked your clit in fast, relentless circles. You were already close, your walls fluttering around his fingers as he curled them, hitting that sweet spot inside of you.

“You t-talk too much.” 

Gojo laughs against your pussy, hot breath blowing on you and pushing you closer to the edge. You gasp when he sucks hard on your clit, electric shocks shooting from the tip of your fingers to the bottom of your toes, body moving up the bed when his hands grab onto your hips and pulls you back down, his face pressed against your heat as he starts sucking you faster and finger fucking you deeper. 

“I’m- oh god, fuck Toru, m’gonna-” Your nails are clawing at the sheets as your orgasm ripped through you, words dissolving into a broken moan as you came, your pussy clenching around his fingers, juices dripping down his chin.

Gojo didn’t stop. He kept licking you through the aftershock until you were a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him. Only then did he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and grinning at you.

Fuck him. Fuck his stupid, smug face. 

“Look at you.” He says while climbing over your body, still completely dressed in his football clothes, his face shining where he failed to wipe, your arousal mocking you for still sleeping with him a month later. “All glowing and satisfied, my perfect girl.” 

You panted, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you glared up at him, spreading your legs wider so he could fit between them. “I still h-hate you, asshole.”

Gojo knew you hated the nicknames he called you and yet he refused to stop. You even had to discipline him once when he called you “love”, going a few days without speaking to him though you’re still not sure if that hurt him more or you, what with your high sex drive.

“Mmm.” He presses his forehead to yours and quickly pecks your lips, his hard-on pressing against your thigh through his shorts. “Now it’s my turn.”

His mouth dropped to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave you yet another hickey you’d have to explain to your friends who were under the impression you weren’t seeing anyone since you dropped your last guy. 

You barely had time to process it before he was moving his head back up and kissing you again, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue. You sunk into it, arms wrapping around his neck and forgetting once again about your little no kissing rule. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your tits, pinching your nipples, before sliding down to grip your ass.

Gojo grinds his hard length into you and you moan into his mouth, your pussy clenching and begging for more. 

Just as he was about to take his shirt off, a knock came from the door and made you both freeze, your eyes widening in a panic. Fuck, if anyone knew Gojo was in here you’d never hear the end of it.

"Oi!" Shoko's voice echoed through the hallway and it sent your pulse racing. "Open up! I forgot my key again!"

“Closet, now.” You practically hiss, pushing him off of you so you can stand and dress yourself. You were bouncing around the room, jumping into your pajama shorts and shoving Gojo toward the closet, your heart in your ass because the last thing you needed was your friend finding out you had been screwing her friend that you claimed to hate.. 

Of course, being the insufferable man that he was, Gojo simply took it as a joke and tried to kiss you as you opened the door and pushed him into the closet full of yours and Shoko’s clothes. You pushed his face away with a nasty glare, your cheeks flushed and thighs sticky with your release and his spit. 

"You’re seriously gonna stuff me in a clos-"

You shoved him back and slammed the door in his face.

"Coming!" You quickly press down your shirt and smooth out your shorts and hair before moving to open the door for your roommate, praying she wouldn’t notice your messy hair and flushed cheeks and put two and two together. 

Most of all you hoped Gojo would keep his fucking mouth shut. Bringing him here had been a terrible idea but he was already on campus when you texted him and you were horny now and didn't want to drive back to his place. 

When you finally open the door, Shoko is standing on the other side with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows scrunched together. You smile awkwardly and pull the door further open so she can pass through. 

“Sorry. Left my keys in the psych building.” 

You clear your throat and smile, closing the door and following her further into the room while pretending like vomit wasn't rising in your throat and your heart wasn’t trying to escape your ribcage. 

"What were you doing anyways?" Shoko asks, pushing past you with suspicion written on her face. "I was standing out there for like three minutes."

"Sorry, I was.." You paused, willing your voice to not sound so high pitched, pulling your rising shirt down. "I was in the bathroom."

It’s obvious she doesn’t believe you with the way she’s looking at you, studying your face and looking you up and down and you want to die. How embarrassing would it be to get caught with Gojo of all people after complaining about his existence since freshman year? 

“Hm, you look flushed.” 

“Yeah, just.. uhm- I just was working out” 

Shoko rolls her eyes and starts to look around her side of the room, giving you a second to look at the closet and make sure Gojo didn't decide that he did in fact hate you after all and expose himself. 

The door was still closed. At this rate you would be the one to expose yourself by panicking over nothing. 

“Were you masturbating?”

Your friend's words have you snapping your head toward her, hair flying in your burning face. No Shoko, I wasn’t masturbating. My enemy just gave me a mind shattering orgasm on his tongue alone and would have done it again if you didn’t interrupt. Any more questions?

Is what you wanted to say, but instead you swallow your annoyance and stick with: ‘No, what makes you ask that?” 

"Your face is basically glowing, your hair's messed up, and you took forever to open the door." Shoko shrugged. "I'm just saying, if you were, there's nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone does it. I do it. It's healthy."

Then, for a reason you’d never understand, Gojo decided that now was the best time to laugh. It was low, barely audible but loud enough to make Shoko look toward it with scrunched eyebrows. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! You were going to kill that six foot idiot. What the fuck was he thinking? You were a shaky, sweating mess when your friend turned to look at you, her eyes burning holes through your face. 

“What was that?”

“What was what?” 

She gestures wildly with her arms and nods past you, obviously annoyed at your decision to play dumb. “The noise from the closet! Do you have someone over?” 

“I-” You swallow hard, fingers digging into your nails as you try to find a way out of this. 

You obviously weren’t going to tell her it was Gojo, but if you did tell her you were hiding someone then she’d never stop trying to figure out who it was. It would be a nightmare and you would have to be twenty times more careful with Gojo or cut off your arrangement before you were able to find a replacement. 

Either way, you were fucked.

“Yes.” You huff out, hoping she doesn’t push further and ask who it is but before she can respond, you’re speaking again in an attempt to distract her. "How was the library? Did you finish your paper?" 

Shoko stared at the closet for a few more seconds then decided it wasn't worth investigating. She, thankfully, had never really been a noisy girl and you were grateful that she was your roommate instead of Yuki who would have ripped the door open herself.

"Almost. I need another hour, but I forgot my charger and my laptop's at six percent."

When she finally left, you stomped your way to the closet and yanked it open. You were beyond seething, ears on fire from embarrassment and annoyed that you had to tell Shoko you were in fact seeing someone when you wanted this to be left in the dark.

Gojo was wedged between clothes and a shoe rack, his hair slightly disheveled, grinning like a fucking idiot. You wanted to kill him.

“That was close.” He grabs your hip and walks you backwards, trying to kiss at your neck but you’re having any of it, placing your hands at his chest and shoving. 

“What?” Gojo frowns at you and gives you his best puppy eyes but it only makes you want to hit him more. You cross your arms to stop yourself, head tilted back so you can look up at him.  

“It was ‘close’ because of you! I told you to be quiet and you couldn’t even do that. I should end this right here since you’re apparently a child.”

That wiped the smirk off his face and he was stepping closer, grabbing onto your arm to pull you forward and you let him this time. His hands find your waist again and rub circles on your exposed skin, your body shivering in response. 

“It won’t happen again, I promise.” He lets his fingers creep under your shirt, moving higher. “Now where were we?”

“Nowhere. We’re done.” 

“Oh come on. I’m literally in pain, don’t leave me with blue balls, princess.” He pulls you flush against his chest but you push back, ignoring every instinct telling you that one quickie wouldn’t hurt.

“No Gojo. I have to work in an hour. I need to shower, eat and get across campus, we’re done here. Go home and figure it out.” 

He pouts but you’ve seen enough, leaving him to figure it out as you move toward the bathroom and close the door behind you. You were still pissed at him but even more mad at yourself for still wanting him to fuck you after he almost blew your cover to Shoko. You didn’t really have work today but a cold shower and time to yourself was needed. 

“I’ll pay you double whatever your job would.” His voice comes from behind the door, clearly not ready to give up.

Your hand stopped above the shower knob, turning to face the door in disbelief. "What?"

"Your job, sweetheart. Whatever you'd make tonight, times it by two, or three, whatever you want. Just call out and let me stay a little longer."

"Are you serious right now?” You blink, a mix of frustration and amusement coursing through you. “I'm not a prostitute, Gojo."

He doesn’t respond for a minute and just when you think he’s gone, he opens his mouth again. "You're not. I'm just saying your time is worth something, and I'm offering to compensate you for it."

You actually laugh at that, leaning your head against the bathroom door and fighting the urge to scream. "That is literally what a prostitute is."

"Semantics, it's also what a consultant is."

You open the door, deadpanning the too tall frat president, and point to the front entrance.

"Get. Out."

Later that day Gojo was sitting at some shitty bar with his friends, trying to drown out his emotions that were determined to consume him whole. 

The same thought has been nagging him for the past two weeks. It wasn’t something he admitted to anyone outside of you, but he had been thinking of leaving his fraternity. Would his father be happy? Probably not. Did Gojo care? Not anymore. He hadn’t even intended on getting into a frat until his father told him he had already signed up on his first day. 

Now here he was, a senior, making his own money as an employee of his family business and desperately trying to find a way out of this without blowing up his life. He never wanted to be president but it was another thing that was expected of him so he did it with a forced smile and he never regretted anything more in his life.

Before you came along, Gojo could get any girl he wanted. He never had to work hard to get laid, never cared for relationships either until you humbled him in front of his frat brothers and he just knew he had to have you. 

He tried to win your favor over the next two years but when you weren’t avoiding him, you were reminding him just how much you hate frat boys and that he wasn’t your type. So imagine his surprise when you agreed to his proposal of enemies with benefits, though he truthfully had never hated you.

Gojo was trying to be better. Hosting less parties and letting Sukuna and the others take over more, drinking only once or twice a week, focusing more on school work to impress you and even wearing his glasses more and dressing in those nerdy clothes he knew you liked. 

People questioned his new sense of style, his friends grew concerned over his lack of involvement and Gojo grew more desperate with each rejection from you. He just needed one date to show you that he can be the guy you deserved, why couldn’t you see the effort he’d been putting in? 

While it was obvious you didn’t hate him like you used to, he still was miles away from becoming your friend let alone your boyfriend. Most people would have taken a hint by now, but Satoru Gojo was not most people. He only grew more motivated, determined to show you that he was worthy of being loved back.

“You look miserable."

Gojo looks up from his drink to find Suguru staring at him over the rim of his drink, his dark eyes searching for answers that he wasn’t willing to give. If Gojo told anyone about your relationship, he’d be violating your trust and he was sure he’d lose you forever. He wasn’t going to do that to satisfy his friend's curiosity. 

So he simply shrugs and takes another shot, trying to wipe the image of your smile from his head. 

“Fuck off.” Gojo picks up a new glass and tries to take a shot but Sukuna snatches it before he can and stretches his arm to keep it away, not at all bothered by the death glare his friend gave him. 

“He’s been a pussy since he caught feelings for someone he knows hates him.” He tosses it back.

What? You never said he couldn’t tell people he liked you. 

“Drink piss, you overgrown carebear. She doesn’t hate me.” While he knew it wasn’t completely the truth, he let himself live in his delusions. What was the saying? Fake it until you make it. He was simply manifesting your future together.

“Maybe I should shoot my shot, she’s nice enough to me.” 

Suguru’s words have Gojo instantly fuming, snapping his head in his friend's direction and wondering if his smug smile is how you view him when he’s teasing you. 

“The fuck? You’d actually do that?"

Suguru simply shrugs, unfazed. "Why not? If she’s into me, then you know she’s not into you and you can move on. If she’s not? Well, then it turns out we’re both losers." He took a slow sip, eyes never leaving Gojo’s face. "Might even be fun to see how desperate you get. How about a little friendly competition, huh Satoru?”

Gojo’s jaw clenched, biting his tongue to stop himself from something he’d regret. Something close to: Doubt she’d even look at you when she’s too busy bouncing on my dick.

The thought of Suguru, with his stupidly perfect smile and raven hair the girls loved, making a move on you made his stomach twist. He knew his friend could pull it off. Half the girls on campus already had a crush on him and you weren’t really his girlfriend, you could do whatever you wanted.

But Gojo was never one to back down, holding Suguru’s gaze and shrugging. He would just have to work harder, spend more time with you because there was no way in hell he was going to let anyone else, let alone his childhood friend, have you.

“Why did you join a frat anyways?” 

You asked Gojo, looking up from your laptop and across the table. Gojo was wearing his glasses again and you had to keep squeezing your thighs together. That’s not what you were here for. You both had decided to get in a quick study session before the first game of the season, where he'd be playing and you’d be cheering. 

It’s been some weeks since you started your arrangement and in that time, you’d been fucking almost everyday and spending most nights at his place under the guise that it was easier studying wise.

“Wasn’t by choice, princess.” His jaw clenched, hand squeezing around the pencil he had been holding, knuckles turning white from the force. 

You wanted to laugh at that but you had never seen Gojo show true anger before and figured now wasn’t the best time for that. You still weren’t going to let up though. 

“How is that not your choice?” You shift in your chair, ignoring the way his eyes are gazing into yours so softly, even though he was clearly annoyed at your question.

Gojo sighs, dropping the pencil and sitting back in the chair, letting it spin side to side as he stares at you with a titled head. “Generations of my male family members have attended Theta Phi, my dad kinda signed me up without my knowledge.” 

You frown, biting the inside of your cheek when his leg rises and he brushes his foot against the inside of your thigh. Your body buzzes with the way he laughs at your glare, reaching down to swap it away. 

“How can he even do that? Couldn’t you just.. I don't know, not go?” 

Gojo laughs again but it’s more bitter this time, rotten with parental issues you probably shouldn’t get into considering you had your own and discussing your personal lives wasn’t a part of your agreement.

“Now who sounds privileged?” 

You give him a straight face, foot lightly kicking at him and rolling your eyes when he grins.

“I’m being serious. My mom wanted me to do gymnastics on a professional level and I had no interest so I just didn’t do it. She eventually got over it.” You shrug.

Well your mom wasn’t completely over it but that wasn’t your business. You made your own discussions and what others felt about them was on them. You’d barely talked to her since you broke the news to her freshman year and your father had died when you were a child so you really only had your sister, with the occasional birthday or holiday text from your mom. 

“Not that easy in the Gojo dynasty.” He emphasizes the last word and you can tell by his sneer just how much he hates his family,

“I told him I wasn't doing it. Told him of my dream to become a physics professor and he laughed in my face and threatened to not pay my tuition if I didn’t join.” 

He pauses, closing his eyes for a few seconds before opening them again.

“My family is filthy rich but you don’t get anything for free. You have to prove that you're worthy of a college inheritance, a spot in the wills, and a position in the family business. My father told me if I didn’t join the frat then I’d only have a spot in the will after college. Didn’t want to graduate with loans so I played along.”

You blinked, the heart that most people claim you don’t have, suddenly aching for Gojo. You hadn’t considered that his family might be a bunch of money hoarding psychopaths but you guessed it made sense with their status. 

You never had to worry about your mother paying your tuition, she couldn’t afford it anyways. You survived off of a scholarship and your own income from jobs you worked since you were sixteen. The only thing you had to do was keep your grades up and not be reckless with your money. 

You were suddenly grateful to have grown up on the poorer side, because you couldn’t imagine having someone dangle money over your head. Let alone your own parents.

“Physics? Didn’t peg you as the type.” You lean forward and smile softly, elbows on the table with your hands folded in front of you.

He mimics you, eyes brightening and seeming grateful you were changing to topic.

“What? The glasses and secret nerdy clothes didn’t give me away?” His foot plays with yours and you let it, biting back a moan when you think about how his glasses fog up when he fucks you with them on, messy white hair falling in his face.

You had noticed the different physics books lying about his room but never really thought much about it. You couldn’t understand how a parent could treat their child like an investment and not an actual human. With his family money, Gojo could have been one of those students that chased their dreams instead of fortune and actually been happy.

While you still thought he was arrogant and still hated fratboys, this opened a new side of him to you. A side you could empathize with. 

“Seriously though Gojo, I'm sorry your family is so shit.”

He leans an elbow on the table, placing his chin in palm and giving you the dreamiest smile, lashes brushing together when he blinks slowly. “Aw, you feel bad for me, princess?”

“No.” Your cheeks burn and you sit back in your chair. Of course he’d ruin this, you were never being nice to him again! “Merely pointing out a fact.” 

He pouts and stands. “Well now I'm sad. How about you make me feel better?”

When he pulls you from your seat, you let him, heart racing because this would be the second time this week that Gojo has fucked in you in this very study room, libarians oblivious to the shenanigans the two horny college students were up to. 

He grabs your chin while you place your hands on his chest, steadying yourself as he pulls you close. When he leans down to kiss you, you turn your head but he goes straight for your neck. He’s sucking and biting, and you’re hardly trying to shove him off, enjoying the feeling of his lips on your heated skin. 

“We have to- mmm, we have to be quick Toru. You have a game and I have to cheer for it, remember?”

He spins you toward the table, pushing you forward and waiting for you to brace yourself. thump! thump! thump! Your heart is going a mile a minute as you dig your hands into the desk, biting your lip when he reaches forward and unbuttons your pants, slowly pulling them down to your feet. 

When he rises, you can feel his breath blowing on the back of your calves.. higher to your thighs.. Just beneath your ass and he’s leaving a kiss there, fingers coming up to rub your pussy through your panties. 

You suck in a sharp breath and he licks a long strip from your clit to your hole, not bothering to move the fabric. 

“Did you know,” He starts, pressing two fingers to your clit and rubbing, holding your leg tight to keep you still. “psychology says that the more you hate someone, the more you fixate on them and that it can turn into passion.”

You bite your lip, moving your hips back for more friction and growing annoyed when he holds you dead still, lightly tapping at your thigh as a warning. These were the only moments you’d ever bite your tongue, because while you loved to dom him, you loved for him to dominate you more. 

"Do you love me yet, sweetheart?"

“Fuck you, S-satoru.” 

He laughs, kissing your ass before standing up, the sound of him digging through his pockets and ripping open the condom sending chills through your body.

Gojo pushes his boxers down and slides the condom onto his cock with ease, holding onto your ass and taking a moment to breathe because the sight of you was almost too good to be true. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re so fucking soaked for me, you want me to fuck you now?” 

You push your hips against him, the warmth of his girthy cock rubbing against your ass. “Fucking obviously.”

"Ask nicely." He’s back to his teasing voice and you want to rip your hair out. It’s been a day since you had sex and you needed him desperately, even if you’d never tell him that.

"Gojo." You groan, fingers burning from how hard they dug into the wooden table.

"That's not nice." He leans over your back, grabbing your chin and turning you to face him. "Try again."

You grabbed his wrist and dug your nails in. "If you don't fuck me in the next thirty seconds, I'm going home."

Gojo laughs out a “That’s my girl.” and kisses you quickly before pulling back up. 

He moves your panties out of the way and pushes inside in one smooth motion. You gasp, spine arching when he pushes it down, pulling you further back onto his cock. He was thick, stretching you open so perfectly, your walls gripping around him possessively.  

Gojo sets a brutal pace from the start, his hips slamming against your ass with each thrust. The table creaked beneath you, and somewhere in the back of your mind you worried about someone hearing, but the thought was distant, drowned out by the pleasure building low in your belly.

You cover your mouth with your hand, biting down onto your palm when he wraps your hair in his fist and pulls your head back, scalp burning from the sting of it. 

“This is what you needed, isn’t it?” His voice was strained, losing some of its usual cocky smoothness as lost himself in your cunt. "Acting like you’re too good for me, but your pussy tells a different story.”

You hate him, you really fucking do. You wanted to snap back at him, to say something cruel, but he angled his hips just right and hit that spot inside you that made you see stars. All that came out was a moan, loud and shameless in the quiet library.

He slows his hips just a little, yanking your body up against his. You glare at him but he doesn’t care, just grabs your jaw and squeezes until you move your hand. 

“You want the entire library to know how well you take my cock?” He asks, peering down at you and you once again, find yourself drifting in his eyes, pulse skipping beats from the way he looks at you. 

You can’t speak so you just shake your head no, licking your bottom lip and pushing your hips back against him. He leans down and kisses you, sucking your tongue into his mouth and moving his hand to rub your clit. 

“Then shut the fuck up, princess.” 

Gojo doesn’t give you the opportunity to respond before he’s slamming his hips back into yours, cock rubbing against your gummy walls and sending you spiraling. You were so close, inner walls clenching around him, your whole body trembling with the effort of holding back, waiting for him.

“Fucking pussy squeezing the life out of me, shit, gonna cum already, princess.”

Gojo never slows his pace, your lower body bumping into the table with each brutal thrust, his hand on your clit rubbing harsh circles. Tears seep from your eyes and you don’t see it but they fall from his too and straight into your hair, his free arm wrapping around body and pulling you close.

He leans his head down to your neck, sniffing deep and inhaling in your scent, mind spinning from your pheromones and his eyes rolling back. He squeezes you tight, the sound of his erratic breathing in your ear, clouding your senses, driving you fucking insane.

You hated to admit it but you loved when he was clingly like this, taking up your space while he fucked and prasied you. You often think of how different things could have been if he wasn’t who he was. 

After one hard thrust, your knees buckled and you fell forward, Gojo going down with you. Your cheek laid against the cold surface, and Gojo hovered over you, his chest against your back, his mouth next to your ear.

“You drive me crazy, fuck, just let me make you mine already. Please, baby. Give me a chance.”

You wheeze out a laugh and he shifts his angle, hitting something that made your toes curl inside your sneakers, and the laugh turned into a whimper that you muffled against your own arm.

Gojo noticed, because of course he did. He adjusted, angling his hips to hit that spot again, and again, and again, each thrust a deliberate press that made your vision blur. 

He looked at you and grounded low in his throat. Your eyes were half-closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed. He was claiming you in body and soul and you didn’t even realize it yet. The only trick was your stubborn mind, getting you to see that you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you. 

"Say you want this. Say you want me." He kisses you and looks you in the eyes as he fucks you, his own pleading.

You squeeze your eyes shut up, biting into your fist to keep quiet as your orgasm crept up on you. 

He made a sound of annoyance and slammed into you, your teeth greeting, nails leaving marks on the table that would surely tell anyone else what happened here. The orgasm that had been building crashed into you without warning, rolling through you in waves that made your thighs shake and your breath come in short, ragged gasps. 

You bit down on your own tongue to keep quiet and tasted salt and blood.

Gojo’s rhythm faltered, his grip on your hip tightening as he fucked you through it. Slower now, deeper, grinding his hips against your ass on every downstroke. You were still clenching around him when his breathing changed and his forehead dropped to your shoulder.

"Close," he huffed.

"Then finish."

He thrust three more times, balls squeezing as he groaned with each stroke, and then he buried himself deep and held still. His legs strained and shook as he drained himself inside of you, and you felt the pulse of his cock through the condom, felt the way his whole body tensed and then released. 

His breath was hot and uneven against your shoulder. He stayed there for a long moment, his weight pressing you into the table, both of you breathing hard.

You let him stay like that for a minute, the heat of his chest pressed against your back and your eyes fluttering closed as you came back down to earth. Something had changed this time and you couldn’t tell what it was but you felt it deep in your soul and it scared the fuck out of you.

Just when you were about to tell him to get off, he started to slowly pull out. 

You felt the warmth immediately, the wet cum against your thigh. You turned your head, looking down between your bodies, and saw it. The condom had fucking ripped at the top!

"Gojo."

He stood up and looked at you, expression going from satisfied to panicked in about half a second.

"What’s wrong?"

You point to his cock, hair matching his and sticking to your sweaty face. "That’s what’s wrong."

"Shit." He grabbed the condom off his half hard cock and held it up. It was still mostly intact, but the seal had in fact broken at the base. "Shit, I’m sorry. How much got in you?"

“Just get something I can clean myself with.” You fight the urge to curse him out, knowing it wasn’t really his fault. You trusted that Gojo was only sleeping with you and you were on birth control so that wasn’t an issue. But what exactly was the problem? 

Gojo pulls his pants and boxers back, moving around the table to grab a box of tissue at one of the desks and handing you a few. He watched as you wiped between your thighs, cum leaking from your pussy and the sight has his cock twitching in his jeans. Something possessive and nasty at the thought of you leaking with his seed while Suguru tried to steal you from him. 

“I’m on the pill, remember? Relax.” You notice his strained face and wrongly assume it’s because he’s having a pregnancy scare. You had no fucking idea. 

When you’re both decent enough, Gojo stops you before you leave out, hand on your arm as he stares down at you. You raise a brow, eyes wandering and fighting back a smile at the sight of your strawberry lipstick on the side of his mouth. Hot.

"Suguru asked about you.” 

You give a confused smile, wondering what that had to do with you. You like Suguru, you weren’t close but still friends. Why would he be asking Gojo about you? The thought made your stomach ache.

“Did he?”

Gojo looks like he’s trying to keep his annoyance in check, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Mhm, I think he likes you. Said he’s gonna try to make a move on you.” 

Your frown this time, even more confused than before. Sure, you thought he was cute that one time during freshman year but you never really thought much about him outside of the very few times you hung out with the girls. 

“I don't date frat boys."

"Right. You just sleep with them."

You can hear the malice in his voice and now you’re annoyed, not wanting anything to do with whatever rivalry he and Suguru had going on. You snatch your arm away from him and deadpan him, a storm quietly building in your chest.

“I sleep with you.” You correct him. “A serious lapse of judgement, not a fucking pattern. I’m not interested in your friend.”

Gojo scuffs, taking a step back with hurt in his eyes. “A lapse of judgement? That’s what we’re calling this?” 

“That’s exactly what we’re calling this.” You say with more venom than you mean to, annoyed that he was accusing you of something you hadn’t even done nor had any plans to. 

“Keep lying to yourself, (name). I won’t be around to watch it.” 

He pushes past you and you’re left confused on what the fuck just happened.

A week goes by without you seeing each other. Gojo doesn’t call or text, so you don’t either. 

You pretend that the anonymous flowers placed outside of your door aren’t from him, that the late night deliveries of beef bowls or your favorite sweets weren’t placed there by a certain 6’3 white haired frat president. 

He was mad at you for something you didn’t do and while you told yourself you didn’t care, you hated the permanent knot in your stomach. You had grown used to spending most of your nights at his place, asleep in his bed and waking up to him with his arms wrapped around you. 

You told yourself that you hated it, hated him, but the truth was you weren’t sure what you felt anymore. 

You didn’t love Gojo but you had learned to tolerate his presence, even felt your ice cold heart melting a bit around him. You told yourself that this was simply sex, but you had unknowingly found yourself finding comfort in his presence. So having your new norm snatched away from you made you feel sick. 

So what did you do? You ignored him.

You go back to using your toys to get off, even if it does nothing but leave you sexually frustrated once again. You work on your project alone and send him copies of your research notes through google drive, but that’s as far as communication between you two went.

You had never in your life begged a man to speak to you, to take you back and you weren’t going to start now. Gojo was a frat boy at the end of the day, maybe it was for the best that you cut things off. 

It’s better this way. 

"You look like shit," Shoko says, leaning against the doorframe of your shared bathroom with a mascara wand in one hand.

"Thanks," you muttered, not looking up from the sink.

You didn’t want to go out, would rather stay home and get ahead of school work but your friends wouldn’t hear it. They told you that you were too depressed and it was making them depressed and when you tried to argue, they literally pulled up texts to show the difference in the way you texted a week ago vs now. 

You didn’t deny that you were a bit drier than usual but blamed it on school and cheer stress, what will all the games going on. 

They didn’t believe it, which is why you found yourself fixing your hair and makeup, and squeezing into a body tight red dress. Girls night out at the club, dress your sluttiest! Yuki had said. 

"I'm serious. Are you sick? Are you dying? Should I call someone?"

"I'm not dying, Shoko."

She sighs and looks over at you but you don’t face her. Can’t face her. "Then what's wrong with you?"

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You turned off the faucet and dried your hands on the towel, avoiding eye contact because Shoko had this creepy way of reading people, and right now you did not want to be fucking read.

You were going to get pissy drunk and forget that you ever agreed to that stupid arrangement in the first place. 

You meet Yuki and Utahime at the club around eight, annoyed that your boobs keep spilling out of your top and the way men that were definitely married with children keep looking at you. 

It was at that moment that you realized when Gojo had been leaving you covered in hickeys, no one ever batted an eye at you and now that most had faded, heads were starting to turn again. 

It made you hate him more for doing this to you. Making you so fucking stupid. 

The club was packed, some DJ from out of town was performing (he wouldn’t stop saying it), and the bass was already rattling in your chest before you even got to your reserved booth. Yuki ordered a round of shots as soon as you sat, and Utahime was already scanning the room for cute guys. You could feel Shoko looking but tried your best to ignore her, skin tight with an annoying wave of anxiety. 

You had the sudden urge to throw up and were thankful when Yuki arrived with drinks, immediately grabbing a shot glass and tossing it back. 

Utahime leaned across the table, her purple hair falling in her face as she looked at you with concerned eyes that pissed you off. Everyone was treating you like a baby when you were fine! 

“Okay seriously, what’s going on? You look like you’re experiencing your first heartbreak.” 

You blink, feigning innocence with a forced smile. “What do you mean?”

"You've been weird lately," Yuki added, not even trying to be subtle about it because she never gave a fuck. "Like, mopey and it’s concerning but annoying."

You roll your eyes. They’re being dramatic as usual. Just because you hadn’t been fucked in seven days didn’t mean you were mopey. Sure, your pussy literally ached every day to be fucked but that you always took care of it, even if your sex drive only grew more and more. 

“I’m fine. I’m just tired from studying for midterms.” 

“Look.” Shoko cuts in, taking a shot and turning to face you better. She takes your hand in yours and you fight the urge to snatch it away. 

“I don’t know who that guy was, but it seemed like he really made you happy. Maybe reach out to him and try to fix things. I hate to see you down.” 

You scuff, lightly pulling your hand away and tasking another shot. “There is no other guy.”

“Really? So what about when I caught you hiding a guy in the closet like two weeks ago, that was a lie?”

Your face flushed at the memory but you swallow it and hide deep in your heart, veins jumping at the image of his face.

“Whoever he is,” Yuki continues. “you should have hot make up sex or whatever. You've been down since whatever happened, and life's too short to be miserable over a boy."

"Can you all just fuck off?” You snap, anger burning hot in your chest. “Seriously. I'm not down. I'm not miserable. There's no fucking guy."

None of the girls seem convinced but they drop the topic anyways and move onto how Yuki and Choso broke up. You take this time to collect yourself, blaming your outburst on not getting laid and not because you couldn’t stop thinking about the one person you “hated” most.

That’s when you looked up and saw him. Gojo walked in the front entrance like he owned it, Sukuna and Toji on his left and Suguru to his right. 

Your breath got stuck in your throat. He looked otherworldly, in a back shirt that clung tight to his chest and showed off his muscles that he usually kept hidden. His shades were covering his eyes, white hair tucked behind his ears and his jeans showed off that perfect thin waist you loved to hold onto whenever he fucked you missionary. 

Your heart dripped to your stomach when you got a closer look, because on Gojo's arm was a girl you didn’t recognize. 

She was pretty. Brunette, tall, wearing a bodycon dress that hugged every curve, and she was clinging to his bicep like it was a lifeline. Laughing at something he said, tilting her head in that flirty way that made you want to throw up right there.

But when you looked at Gojo, he looked miserable. His smile didn’t reach as high as you knew it could, his jaw was tight and his head kept turning to look elsewhere, as if he’d rather be anywhere but there. 

"Oh, great," Utahime muttered after following your line of sight. "The frat brigade."

They came over because that’s just your fucking luck. Sukuna spotted your booth first and steered the whole group in your direction, because Sukuna had zero boundaries and loved making people uncomfortable which is why you hated him maybe even more than you hated Gojo.

"Hey, ladies," Sukuna said with a grin that was all teeth, sitting next to Shoko. "Looking hot as fuck tonight."

"Looking like a felon, as always," Your roommate replied flatly, unamused.

Suguru laughed and slid into the booth next to Yuki. Toji grabbed a chair from a nearby table and flipped it around, straddling it. And Gojo..

Gojo sits directly across from you, the brunette settling beside him, still attached to his arm. You roll your eyes.

“Hey.” He says to no one in particular, even though you can see his eyes linger on yours through his shades and you feel your heart skipping literal beats. What the fuck was that about?

You look away, reaching for another drink and looking away, fingers trembling just slightly around the glass, eyes glancing at the dance floor. Fucking get it together.

You listen as Gojo introduces the girl, not caring to catch her name and just that she’s apparently a friend of a friend. You listen as everyone says hello, and give her a silent mode and strained smile. 

The conversation shifted naturally, Sukuna talking about the latest football game where they crushed the rival 4-1. You were there obviously, performed your cheer routine and pretended like Gojo wasn’t somewhere all hot and sweaty. It was a true test to your strength to not walk up to him that night.

"Gojo scored three of those goals," Suguru said, nodding to him. "Man of the match, again."

"Three goals," Toji repeated, stealing one of your shots and winking at you when you flip him off. "And he still looked like someone kicked his dog after the game."

The girl leaned into Gojo and whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was, it made him exhale through his nose, not quite a laugh but enough for your jealousy to creep to the surface. 

Something hot and ugly twisting in your chest. 

Fuck this! You weren't going to sit here act like some desperate whore when men literally beg at your feet for a chance to fuck you. Screw Gojo, there were plenty of fish in the sea and one was bound to match your freak.

You tossed back the shot that had been sitting in front of you, slammed the glass on the table hard enough to make everyone look at you, and stood up. You yanked down the hem of your dress and walked away without a word.

“Where are you going?” 

You heard Shoko yell after you but you ignored her, venom dripping from your pores with each step. It was time to remind yourself who you were, and that wasn’t some cock drunk slut who moped over a man she hated anyways. 

You pushed through the crowd until you reached the dance floor, where the music was loud enough to drown out your anger and started dancing 

Your hips moved in circles, arms raised above your head, eyes closed as the music flowed through you. The bass was like a second heartbeat and you let it take you somewhere else. To a place where you didn’t have to think about Gojo and his stupid fucking face or the fact that he shows up with a girl on his arm after not texting you for a week.

You felt a guy appear behind you, his hands on your waist as he started moving with you, pulling your back against his chest. You let him even though you felt nothing. No spark, no heat, literally nothing. Just unfamiliar hands on your body and the faint smell of cologne that wasn't the one you were used to.

You were doing it on purpose, you knew that. Dancing with a stranger because you wanted Gojo to see, for him to feel even a fraction of what you felt watching that girl cling to him. 

It took him about four minutes. You counted and smirked when he appeared in the crowd, leaning against a pole as he watched you with his glasses pushed up and malice in his eyes.

You lean into the guy more, letting his hands roam up your chest. Gojo smirks when he squeezes your boob, taking a sip of his drink and tilting his head. 

You're breathless, annoyed that he thinks this is a joke and grabs the man’s hand roughly, guiding it down your dress further and further, never breaking eye contact with the man you’re supposed to be forgetting about. 

When the stranger's hand is touching your bare thigh, Gojo breaks, passing his drink to someone and making his way through the crowd. 

 You hardly blink when a hand closes around your wrist and yanks away from the confused stranger with enough force that you stumble. Gojo keeps you upright even though his cheeks are clearly red from anger, glaring down at you like you insulted him.

“What the fuck are you doing? You some kind of whore now?” He leans down, voice tight and low against your ear. 

You yank your arm back and take a step back, chest heaving as you squared up to him. “How fucking dare you? You're not my boyfriend, Gojo. You don't get to drag me around like I'm your property."

He stared at you, those blue eyes sharp and frustrated. "You're right. I'm not your boyfriend. Because you won't let me be!"

You're quiet for a split second, nostrils flared and fists balled at your side, heat moving up your chest to your neck.

“Can we not do this here?”

He laughs, grabbing your arm and pulling you close again, towering over you and forcing you to tilt your head back to see him. 

“Why not? You were so brave a few seconds ago, let’s air our shit out right here. Don’t be embarrassed now, it’s beneath you.” 

"You have a new fuck buddy now," you say, crossing your arms and purposely pushing your boobs up. "So I don't see why any of this is your problem."

"She's not my fuck buddy. My friends set it up because they think I need to move on from you." He ran a hand through his white hair, messing it up. "Sukuna literally said I've been unbearable to live with since we stopped talking."

"Boo hoo." You lack any sympathy considering he’s the one that walked out on you. Fuck. Him.

"Will you stop being a bitch for five seconds?"

"Excuse me?"

He steps closer, evading your space to the point that you only smell him and his fuck ass cologne, nose greedily breathing it in. “You heard me.”

“You’re not my boyfriend because you’re not my type! Now fuck off and let me forget anything ever happened between us.” 

He laughed but it was hollow, lacking any true emotions. “But I’m your type when I’m inside of you.” 

Your face is a fucking furance, especially when you realize others are looking. Your mouth opens and closes, searching for some witty response but your mind draws a blink. This was humiliating. How did you go from a secret situationship to publicly yelling at each other because you were jealous of the other giving someone else attention? 

Your life was a fucking mess. 

“Fuck you Gojo.” 

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” He smirks and it’s hateful and lust, making your nipples harden underneath your bra.

Without thinking, you grab his shirt and pull his mouth against yours, kissing him hard enough that your teeth clack. It was angry and messy, and you bit his lower lip until he hissed, and his hands were on your hips and then your ass, pulling your chest flat against his. 

His tongue sweeps into your mouth as you moan and shamelessly grind against his leg, his hands guiding your hips back and forth. The music is blasting, your mind is on a different planet and you don’t notice the way your friends are looking from the booth in pure shock. 

When you gain some common sense and remember where you are, you pull away and look at Gojo with glassy eyes, relishing in the way his lips are red from your kisses. 

“Wanna fuck Toru?” 

When he nods yes, you're dragging him by his hand through the crowd and into the men's bathroom. 

There’s no words needed when the door closes, so you drop to your knees and start unblocking his belt and unzipping his pants. Gojo is clearly flustered, but helps you pull his pants and boxers down with shaking hands. 

He watches you with one hand braced on the wall and the other moving to grab your hair, lips parted as he breathed heavily. 

You stroke him a few times, thumb rubbing over the red tip and spreading the pre before taking him into your mouth without warning. Gojo curses under his breath, hips jerking forward, and you wrap one hand around the base while you work the rest with your tongue.

This was your first time going down on Gojo but no one would know with the way you easily take him, swallowing his cock until it’s down your throat.

You’re sloppy about it, letting salvia drip down your chin and onto your exposed chest, sucking his cock like a pornstar, your mouth making obscene wet noises. You suck hard, looking up at him through wet eyelashes and watching his face contort, jaw clenched and eyes dark. 

“Fuck,” He breathed, hands tightening in your hair and guiding you to suck faster. “Just like that.” 

You took him deeper, relaxing your throat and letting him control your movements. His hips start to move, slow thrust that make him hit the back of your throat and your eyes water. When you moan around he shudders and reaches a hand down to stroke your cheek.

"You're so good at this," he said, voice rough. "You're so good at pretending you don't want me, but look at you. My little cock obsessed slut."

You pull back just enough to run your tongue along the underside, from base to tip, and smirk when he makes a sound that’s almost a whimper. You take him back in, bobbing your head in a rhythm that matches the muffled bass from the club. 

“Haah, fuck!” You could feel him getting close, the way his thighs tensed, the way his breathing turned ragged.

"Wait, princess, fuck, I'm gonna-"

You don’t pull off. When he cums, you swallow all of it, throat working at his cock as he shoots hot ropes of thick cum into your mouth. His groan is wrecked, a raw sound torn from somewhere deep in his chest, and his fist slams against the wall as his knees threaten to buckle. You held him there, mouth sealed tight around him, until the last tremor faded and he was just a gasping, trembling mess. 

Then you let him slip free, wipe the spit and salt from your lips with the back of your hand, and tilt your face up to meet his stunned, glassy stare. If you knew how hot his moans were when getting his dick sucked, you would have done this sooner.

“Wanna get out here?” 

When you made it to Gojo’s place, you both wrestled each other’s clothes off and didn’t make it to his room before he was inside of you. He took you on the couch two times and once in the kitchen, bent over the sink as he fucked you hard and deep.

Now you were laid on your back on his bed, watching as he reached for another condom. Before you could stop yourself, you let your heart lead for once and called his name to stop him. 

“No condom this time.” 

He freezes, looking back down at the latex and back at you. “What?”

“Wanna feel you this time Toru, please?”

And he broke, tossing it and climbing back over your body and kissing from your tits back up to your face, stopping to lick inside of your mouth, his hard cock pressing against your entrance. He pauses, looking down at you with his white hair falling to the sides of his face, all sweaty from your previous sessions. 

“Say it again.” 

You smile and wrap your arms around his neck, pull him back down and nipping at his lip. “I want you Satoru, wanna feel you raw.”

He gives a shaky breath and without wasting any more time, pushes into you slowly, stopping every inch to savor your warmth around him. Feeling him bare inside of you made you gasp and claw at his shoulders, the new sensation of his pulsing cock making you feel lucid. 

He groaned against your neck, stilling once he was fully seated, letting you adjust to the new feeling as he fought the urge to bust a fat fucking nut.

"You feel so good," he said, voice cracking. "Fuck, you feel-"

"Move," you whisper, scratching down his back.

He started slowly, rolling his hips in deep, deliberate thrusts that hit every nerve ending you had. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he moaned your name against your collarbone.

This was different from every other time. Before, it had been fast and rough and detached on your end, two people using each other to blow off steam. This was something else entirely. He was looking at you, really looking at you, and there was so much emotion in his eyes that you felt tears prick at your own.

He licks them away, both hands reaching down to grab onto your ass so he can pound you harder.. faster, so fucking deep. He moves faster, and you meet him thrust for thrust, your bodies naturally finding a rhythm that has your heart lurching. 

The pressure built inside you and when that coil snapped and you came for the fourth time, you came hard, back arching off the bed, mouth open in a silent cry, clenching around him so tightly that he followed you over the edge with a groan that sounded like your name.

“Fuck-, I love you, sweetheart. Fucking love you so much.”

He buried himself deep, groaning loud and squeezing your ass hard enough to leave a print. His hips moved in circles as he emptied himself and you felt it, the warmth of him spilling into you, no barrier, nothing between you, and it was so intimate that you felt tears slip again. 

You let him hold you that night even though you don’t hold him back, mind stuck on the fact that Gojo loves you and now your relationship would never be the same. 

You woke up first that day and deeply regret it. 

The morning light was creeping in and your body was sore enough that you almost regretted riding him two more times after, letting him stuff you full until his balls were empty. Gojo was still asleep beside you, one arm thrown over his face, white hair a mess on the pillow. You slipped out of bed carefully, pulling on one of his oversized soccer jerseys that fell to your mid-thigh, and padded barefoot into the hallway.

You were snooping, just trying to use the bathroom when you noticed one of his draws were still open and a bunch of polaroids were spilling out. You told yourself you were just going to fix them so they wouldn’t get destroyed.

You pulled the draw open, heart lurching when the first one you saw was a photo of you. What the fuck..

It was from sophomore year, the one time you went bowling with your friends and had been forced to interact with Gojo. He had been taking photos but you never thought about it. It wasn’t creepy, just an off guard photo of you laughing at something and it made you sick. 

You started digging through the rest, ears burning when you found a few more of you off guard, some of you with the girls that he took. You looked so happy in all of them, Gojo’s photography style making it look like you were the center of his world. 

Your fingers trembled as you flipped through the polaroids, each one a moment you barely remembered. He'd seen you. Really seen you. And you spent two years hating him because he wore Greek letters on his chest and you built your whole personality around hating everything that stood for.

Your throat aches, eyes burn. You press your palm flat against the sink to steady yourself, knees weak and blood running cold.

When you grabbed a few photos and turned to confront him, Gojo was standing in the doorway. He was shirtless, sleep still in his eyes, and he looked from your face to the open drawer with an expression that could only be described as pure panic.

"How long?" You ask, holding up the photos. "Satoru, how long have you been taking pictures of me?"

❦ lisa's note: messy af tbh! one more part to go, lemme know what ya think :')

© art creds: gojouify

⤳ series tags 1: @timgiohlover1767 @liahcharms @kissprl @lunevarin @keiito066 @pinkpantherrrrss @lounastar @luvs-angel @luvbambiboo @scramblenigojo @nationalmegumidihhopper @5secondsofdorkss-blog @sadteam666 @alittlekurumi @lovebythuuu @rinnyho @user09815 @setia1256 @weirdothatwrites @kingjuliancypher @espresshoe012 @miwarumi @pinkpantherrrrss @ioveariaa @ibelieveintrafalgarlawsupremacy @asiitwas @iilovechoso123 @slovair @izumkay @megottheswaskikacooooke @introvertedfreakk @skeletaldynamolegion @nctwayv127dream @0soleilmist @bambi-lia @thecoolest4eva @yujiswifey @angelziez @valkyrieanqel @fzvcfjky @roroclarinett @billiondollarworth @coolprincessgirls-blog @mariaaliyha @secretsofchance @yeagerluvr @suguruuslut @wiserion @nemisimp @yochicoz

[6x-x9]

ಇ.word count: 5.5k ಇ.art by: @!narutoss.ramen on X

ಇ.pairing: Nerd!Satoru x Nerd!Reader

ಇ.content & warnings: ꒰non canon au ⋮⋮ crack! ⋮⋮ reader & satoru are heavily inexperienced ⋮⋮ Satoru being annoying otp ⋮⋮ bad sexting ⋮⋮ masturbation m & f ⋮⋮ reader humps a pillow ⋮⋮ oral. fem rec ⋮⋮ loss of virginity ⋮⋮ p in v ⋮⋮ multi-orgasms ⋮⋮ c-pied ⋮⋮ cum eating ⋮⋮ kissing꒱

It had been a week. One whole week since the two of you had officially, undeniably, ridiculously become a couple. Your boyfriend. You still were not entirely sure how that word had ended up belonging to Satoru Gojo.

Sometimes you would be doing something completely ordinary. Brushing your teeth. Standing in line at the grocery store. Trying to decide what to eat for dinner. And your brain would suddenly go. Oh. Satoru is your boyfriend. Then you would have to stand there for a moment. Staring blankly at whatever was in front of you while your face slowly heated.

It was stupid. You had had boyfriends before. Technically. Well— Maybe not. Okay. No. Not really. But Satoru was different. Satoru was the person who had somehow gone from a complete stranger you met at a Doraemon expo, to the man whose name sat permanently pinned at the top of your messages.

Your Satoru. Your boyfriend. And apparently, according to him you were his girlfriend. He had started using the word like he had been waiting his entire life for permission. "My girl." "My girlfriend." "Angel." "Pretty girl." "My favourite person."

The first time he called you my girl over text you stared at the message for a solid thirty seconds before throwing your phone onto your bed. Then you picked it right back up. Then you reread it. Then you buried your face in your pillow.

Satoru meanwhile had apparently been having an equally profound experience. Because somewhere between the movie theater and the following morning he realized something terrifying. He had a girlfriend. Satoru Gojo had a girlfriend. Not a temporary fling. Not someone he met at a party and forgot the next morning. Not a stranger whose number would eventually disappear somewhere in the endless scroll of his phone.

You.

You were the person he could text when he woke up. The person he could send stupid memes to. The person who actually laughed at his jokes. The person who would tolerate him rambling about something obscure for twenty minutes because you genuinely wanted to hear him talk. And perhaps most importantly you were the person who had seen him at his most embarrassingly enthusiastic and somehow still wanted him afterward.

That last part had been sitting in his head a lot. More than he would ever admit. Because the thing was. Satoru had never really thought he would have this. Not in the way he had always secretly wanted it. Someone who wanted to know him. Someone who wanted to stay. Someone who would curl against him and laugh until her stomach hurt because he said something stupid. Someone who would look at him like he was something precious.

It made him feel almost unbearably lucky. Which was annoying. Because Satoru Gojo did not like feeling unbearably anything. Except apparently unbearably lucky. And unbearably horny.

That was becoming a problem too. A very significant problem.

It had been a couple weeks since that wild night in the bathroom stall at the movies. Your first real date. The way his hands had found you there. Inside you. The heat and the rush and the desperate way you both clung to each other after. Confirming everything. He was your boyfriend now. You were his girl. Satoru Gojo was a lucky boy because he did not think he would ever have a girlfriend. Someone to spend time with. Someone to share his jokes with and hear your pretty laugh in return.

That night after he came to the realization that he actually had his hands on you. Inside you. It had all been so surreal. And now the two of you had been constantly talking over text. Even sexting. Yeah. Sexting.

The first time it happened started innocently enough. He had just gotten out of the shower.

You were lying in bed. Half watching something on your laptop when your phone buzzed. You picked it up. A message from Satoru.

toru 🩵

showered

A smiled appeared on your face immediately, a big one, as your fingers clicked his message open and began typing.

you 🩷

congratulations?

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Then—

toru 🩵

wow

toru 🩵

that's all i get

That made you giggle to yourself.

you 🩷

what do you want

His response took longer this time. Then your phone buzzed, a picture??? Why was he sending a picture right now, you took a sharp inhale.

And opened it. And immediately sat up. Satoru was standing in what looked like his dorm room, obviously. You've been there a couple of times to recognise the background. He was still wet. A towel hanging loosely around his neck. He wasn't smiling properly exactly. It was more of that lazy little half smirk he did when he knew precisely what he was doing. Your heart gave one stupid, traitorous little thump.

You stared. Then stared some more. Your nipples tightened under your shirt just from the sight of him like that. Fresh from the shower. Skin still warm and damp.

you 🩷

oh

His reply came instantly.

toru 🩵

oh?

You bit your lip, in anticipation

you 🩷

you look nice

toru 🩵

nice?

you 🩷

yes

toru 🩵

that's so romantic

You peered at your screen, then rolled your eyes.

you 🩷

shut up

toru 🩵

no no i'm listening

toru 🩵

tell me more about how nice i look

You could practically hear his voice. That amused teasing tone. Your pussy gave a slow warm throb as you typed.

you 🩷

your hair looks pretty

There was a pause. Longer this time. Then—

toru 🩵

pretty?

You sighed, then frowned.

you 🩷

yes

toru 🩵

you think i'm pretty?

Your cheeks warmed and there was heat pooling low in your belly now.

you 🩷

i didn't say that

toru 🩵

you literally did

you 🩷

i said your hair is pretty

toru 🩵

coward

You gasped... The audacity. No he did not.

you 🩷

excuse me?

toru 🩵

you heard me

You were smiling madly, not being able to help it anymore.

you 🩷

your hair is pretty

you 🩷

your face is pretty

you 🩷

happy now?

His answer took almost a full minute.

toru 🩵

very

Then another message.

toru 🩵

you should send me a picture too

You looked down at yourself. You were wearing an oversized shirt, it was nothing special. Nothing remotely seductive. Your hair was messy. You had not done anything to look pretty. But your body was already reacting. Skin tingling. Pussy getting slick just from talking to him.

you 🩷

i'm in bed

toru 🩵

i know

Your eyebrows lifted, a real psychic he is.

you 🩷

how?

toru 🩵

because you just told me

You laughed, and shook your head unbelievably.

you 🩷

idiot

toru 🩵

what are you wearing

Your smile faltered. Not because the question was shocking. It was just. Different. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Your nipples were hard now. Pressing against the soft fabric.

you 🩷

clothes

His response came immediately.

toru 🩵

wow

toru 🩵

incredibly specific

You pressed your lips together.

you 🩷

an oversized shirt

toru 🩵

whose?

You blinked.

you 🩷

mine

toru 🩵

boring 🙄

you 🩷

you're annoying

He didn't waste time sending the next message.

toru 🩵

take it off

Your stomach flipped, tf!? You stared at the words. A rush of shy heat flooded your face and between your legs.

you 🩷

...why?

The three dots appeared.

toru 🩵

curiosity

Another message.

toru 🩵

scientific research 😇

You laughed so suddenly you had to cover your mouth. Your clit throbbed and you wanted to touch it. You wanted his voice telling you to.

you 🩷

you're such a nerd

toru 🩵

says the girl who went to a fucking doraemon expo with me

you 🩷

i hate you

toru 🩵

no you don't

Your fingers went still. Because he was right. You did not. You really really didn't.

you 🩷

no

Then.

you 🩷

i don't

His response was almost immediate.

toru 🩵

yeah

toru 🩵

i know

You stared at the screen. And then your phone rang.

You nearly dropped it.

"Satoru?"

His voice came through warm and slightly amused.

"Hi."

"You called."

"I did."

"Why?"

"You were taking too long to answer."

You smiled despite yourself.

"To what?"

"Anything."

You rolled onto your stomach now.

"Satoru."

"Angel."

The nickname was softer over the phone. That was the problem. Everything sounded different when he said it aloud. You tucked your face into your pillow. Your pussy was wet now. Aching.

"What?"

"Are you still wearing the shirt?"

You made a tiny noise of disbelief.

"You're still on that?"

"I'm persistent."

"You're annoying." Yes he definitely was.

"You like me."

"I do." ... "fucker" - You muttered that under your breath.

The silence afterward was immediate. You could hear him breathe, it was soft and shallow, like he himself was trying hard to stay still. It made you close your eyes. You smiled.

"What's wrong?" Your voice came out a little shaky, you didn't mean for it to.

"Nothing." He said voice calm, almost assuring.

"You went quiet."

"I'm appreciating the fact that my girlfriend just admitted she likes me." Well that sounded a bit sarcastic.

"You already knew that." You retorted.

"I like hearing it."

Something in your chest softened. You turned onto your back. Your hand drifted down. Hovering shyly over your stomach.

"You're ridiculous." A small chuckle left your lips.

"Yeah."

His voice.. you can tell he was smiling. Then after a moment.

"Can I see you?"

Your heart jumped, you started to blink rapidly.

"uuuh r-right now?"

"Right now." He said straightforwardly.

"Satoru." You said, voice coming out an octave louder than necessary.

"What?"

"You've already seen me."

"I know."

"Today." You reminded.

"I know."

"Earlier." You re-affirmed.

"I know."

You could hear the grin in his voice.

"I want to see you right now, Angel."

That did something to you. Something so embarrassingly simple, had you smiling ear to ear at the ceiling. Your fingers slipped lower. Brushing over where your panties were soaked through.

"Okay." You sighed breathlessly.

There was a small pause. Then the call changed. The screen lit up, the emoticon to switch to video, you pressed it absentmindedly. And suddenly there he was. Satoru. His hair was still damp. His towel had fallen around his shoulders. He was lying back against his pillows, and his signature wire-rimmed glasses weren't on. He had one hand resting behind his head.

"Hi." He said playfully, his perfect teeth glaring at you.

You stared, eyes probably wide. He raised an eyebrow.

"Hi?"

"Yes. Hi." He tutted, then without giving you a second—

"You're staring."

"I'm not." You blinked your eyes off to the side.

"You are." He teased.

You groaned softly. "Your hair is still wet."

"That's what you noticed?" He huffed.

"Yes."

"Wow." Oh you didn't even notice the lack of his spectacles. That kinda broke his heart.

"Stop fishing for compliments." You said, eyes rolling.

"Tell me I'm pretty again."

You laughed, in disbelief.

"No."

"Please?" God... why did that sound so... ughhh.

"No." Your eyebrows pinched together.

"Angel."

Damn.

You covered your face. He laughed. Fuck. You loved his laugh. You loved how easy it was. How he never seemed embarrassed by it. Your fingers pressed lightly against your clit through the fabric.

"You're pretty." You muttered.

"What, what was that, hm?" Oh he was taunting you now.

"I said you're pretty." You said defeatedly.

"Louder."

"No."

"Come on."

"Satoru." That came out a little too whiny.

"Pretty please."

You groaned, again.

"You're pretty." You said honestly, voice loud enough for him.

He smiled and there it was. That look. The one that made you suddenly feel like you were the only person in the world.

"Thank you." That sounded so sweet, coming from him.

"You're welcome."

Then his eyes flicked downward.

"What are you wearing?"

You stared at him. He stared back. You narrowed your eyes. Your pussy clenched.

"You already know. Baka"

"I want to hear you say it."

"Ugh." You're weird."

"I'm your boyfriend."

"That doesn't explain anything."

"It explains everything."

You laughed again. Your fingers started moving in slow shy circles.

"An oversized shirt."

"Still?"

"Yes." Annoyance clear and present in your voice now.

"Nothing else?" He was prying.

You froze. Satoru's expression changed. Not dramatically. Just enough though. His smile softened into something more curious. His free hand shifted lower on screen.

"Angel?"

You swallowed. Your voice came out breathy. Shy but honest.

"You're being nosy."

"Very." At least he was self-aware.

"You can't see anything."

"I didn't ask to see anything."

"You're thinking about it." Oh he definitely was.

"Maybe." That confirmed it.

Your cheeks warmed. Your nipples were so hard they ached. Your pussy was soaking. You wanted to touch yourself properly. To him. To his voice.

"Oh." He said softly.

"What?"

"You're flustered."

"I'm not." You tried to deny, to play it somewhat cool.

"You are." This asshole.

"Stop looking at me."

"Never." omg.. why was he like this?!

You hid your face. But you kept your fingers moving. Slow and awkward. Horny and unsure, no you were sure, so sure actually.

"You're so annoying."

"You're cute."

That shut you up, and Satoru laughed quietly.

"See?" His voice teased.

"See what?"

"I can make you speechless."

"Don't get excited."

"Too late."

You rolled your eyes. But you were smiling. Most times the two of you stayed like that. Talking. Teasing. Learning. There was no rush. No script. Just two people who were still figuring out how to be together. Shy in so many ways even after that bathroom stall. Still exploring every new feeling.

Sometimes the conversation drifted toward things neither of you had the courage to say directly. Questions. Curiosity. Little admissions.

Satoru'd asked what you thought about him. You told him he was irritating. He asked what else. You said he was kind. He went quiet. You asked why. He said he was not used to people saying that. You told him he should get used to it. Then he smiled.

And suddenly you understood something. The flirting was easy. The teasing was easy. But underneath it there was something softer. Something neither of you knew quite how to handle yet. Something that made every new step feel bigger than it should.

But right now your fingers kept rubbing. Little whimpers slipping past your lips, trying to be quiet but he was picking up on every stray sound. He could tell and maybe that excited you.

"Angel. Are you... touching yourself?" His voice dropped. Unfiltered.. teasing and horny, you could hear it.

You bit your lip shyly. Fuck. You were caught.. But you nodded. You nodded anyway because you couldn't keep anything from him even if you wanted to.

"Yeah. A little." Your voice came out strained. There was no going back now.

"Fuck. Don't hide it." He breathed. "Let me see you. Please."

Your heart pounded. But you switched cameras. The screen showed where your t-shirt had ridden up your tummy, and your other hand clearly shoved into the waistband of your panties. His eyes darkened when he saw it.

"You're so pretty like this." He murmured. "You're ah- um touching yourself..?" He sounded so shy and wrecked, asking a dumb question, the answer was obvious enough at this point.

It still made you whimper. Fingers slipping lower under your panties. Sliding through your wet folds.

"Yes. Satoru." Affirmations was definitely his kink.

Your breathless purr of his name, made him groan.. he was coming undone quick. His camera flipped down, now too. His sweats and boxers shoved down mid thigh, cock out and visibly hard. Flushed and pretty. Long and leaking precum at the tip. His slender hand wrapped around it. Stroking slow. All for you to see and your eyes lingered, staring intently.

"Look at what you do to me." He said. Voice rough. "So hard for you angel."

You rubbed your clit faster. Watching him. The way his hand moved. The slick sounds. His moans of your name.

"Satoru..." You gasped. Fingers circling. Wet noises filling the call on both ends.

He stroked harder. Thumb spreading precum over the tip and down his length. "Fuck. Your sounds. S'messy Angel. Let me hear your pretty cunt."

You moaned. Shy but needy. Rubbing quicker, building fast. His hips bucked. Hand flying.

"Angel. M'gonna cum." He panted. Moaning your name loud, then in the next second thick white cum streaked across his chest. Over his fingers. So much. So pretty.

You followed. Messy on your fingers. Clenching and whimpering out his name, desperately.

He caught his breath. Eyes hungry. "Can i see.. Angel.. can I see your fingers? show them to me please.." Fuck... he was begging so nicely, it did something to you.

Shy but obediently you held them up. Shiny, your arousal thick and sappy stringed on your fingers, webbing in the light.

"Good girl... fuck. Put them in your mouth.. haa-ah taste yourself f'me Angel."

You slipped them into your mouth, with a moan, Sucking softly as he wiped his cum off his chest. Licking a bit from his fingers, in sync with you.

The two of you stayed on the call. Breathing softly together. Smiling shyly, left over horniness fading way now. Both connected and sated.

Eventually Satoru's eyes left your pretty face for a second and glanced at the clock in the little upper left corner on his phone.

"It's late." He said in realization.

"It is." You knew it was by now.

"You should sleep." Voice tender-soft.

"You first." You murmured back.

"I'm not tired."

"Neither am I." He sounded believable but you were sure.

"You are."

"I'm not." He was going to play this game, but you weren't gonna let him win this.

"You've yawned three times."

That made him grin, "You're counting?"

"Obviously."

He smiled.

"Stay on the phone, with me Angel." Voice low and lazy.

You blinked.

"While we sleep?"

"Yeah."

Your heart squeezed.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

With that he settled deeper into his pillows. You did the same and for a while neither of you said anything. You could hear his breathing. He could hear yours.

And eventually...quietly.

"Hey angel?"

"Yeah?" Your voice came out a little drowsy.

"I'm really glad you're my girlfriend."

You smiled into the darkness.

"Me too."

A pause. Then-

"Also."

"What?"

"Your shirt is still bothering me."

You burst out laughing.

"Satoru!"

He laughed too.

And somewhere between the teasing and the laughter the call stayed connected. The two of you fell asleep like that. Not knowing exactly where this was going. Not knowing how much you would learn about each other. Not knowing how many more firsts were waiting.

Just knowing that somehow. Against all odds. Satoru Gojo had a girlfriend. And you had a boyfriend. And he was lying in bed somewhere smiling at the sound of your sleepy breathing.

Thinking probably for the hundredth time that week. Holy shit. She's really mine.

And maybe just maybe you were thinking the same thing.

Because tomorrow he would text you again. He would send something ridiculous. You would pretend to be annoyed and he'd flirt. You would flirt back. And eventually one of you would say something that made the other flustered.

And you would keep discovering each other. Slowly, carefully, and with hunger. One little secret at a time.

This time you're at his dorm room on campus.

And it starts with a pillow.

Well— you, and a pillow, and a very stupid pair of thigh-high socks that Satoru swore would be the death of him when you slid into his dorm room wearing them and nothing else but one of his oversized hoodies and a shy little smirk.

He gawked.

You straddled his pillow without a word, right in the middle of his bed, and started grinding. Soft. Slow. Just for yourself. His jaw went slack. His hands froze mid-text. And you were so casual about it, like you didn’t even notice the way he was staring at you like you’d hung the moon with your pussy.

“Practicing,” you’d murmured, shrugging cutely.

“For what?” he asked, voice wrecked.

Your smile was pure trouble. “Riding.”

Satoru dropped his phone. Physically. Onto the floor.

You giggled. "I wanted to see if I could get off just humping something."

He made a sound like he'd been punched.

So now here you are— on your hands and knees, still wearing his hoodie and those sinful socks, pussy flushed and puffy from humping his favorite dorm pillow, hips twitching like you're almost there. You don't even realize you're whimpering until his hands slide around your hips, and he speaks, low and starving, right behind you.

“Angel…”

You look back over your shoulder.

Satoru is kneeling behind you, shirtless, eyes dark with hunger. He brushes your ass with his palm. Then slips his hand between your thighs and cups your pussy over the pillow. Soaked-sticky and messy.

“You’re so wet,” he groans. “You were gonna cum on a pillow and not even let me watch?”

“I was...testing” you pant, wearily.

He flips you like a doll.

Suddenly you’re flat on your back, head on the sheets, thighs trembling open and hoodie bunched around your waist. The pillow lies forgotten beside you, damp with slick. He looms over you, hair falling into his eyes, lips parted and pink.

“You wanna ride my face, Angel?” he asks, voice hoarse.

Your whole body shivers.

“…Can I?”

He laughs soft and stunned, worshipful almost, and leans down to kiss you like you’re the most delicious thing in the world.

“Fuck yes, you can. Sit on my face. Suffocate me. Make me drown in it.”

He lays back against the pillows, adjusting under you with arms out like a throne. His glasses are already tossed to the side, and he’s licking his lips like he can already taste you. You’re climbing over him, thighs shaking, when he grabs your hips and drags you up.

“Right here,” he whispers, eyes locked on your glistening cunt above him. “Right here, baby. Let me feel the weight of it.”

You lower slowly, knees braced, hands pressed into the wall behind his headboard. You hover above his mouth, panting and then, gently, you sank down.

His tongue meets your folds like he’s starving.

You wail.

Your pussy clenches instantly, overwhelmed by the first hot drag of his tongue from your entrance to your clit. Satoru groans, loud, grabs your thighs like he needs more, and pulls you down until you’re seated fully on his mouth.

“Satoru!” you cry out, rocking without meaning to.

His tongue slides in now, licking into your dripping pussy like he’s mapping it. He moans like it tastes like heaven, like it’s a privilege just to be under you. Your thighs squeeze around his head. Your hips roll. Your clit finds his nose. And you grind.

He’s letting you.

Letting you fuck his mouth like you need it to breathe.

“Don’t stop,” you whimper. “Don’t stop, I’m— Satoru, I’m gonna cum, I’m so close—”

He hums against your clit and the vibration breaks you.

You cum on his tongue with a scream, body jerking, hips grinding down in helpless little circles. He grabs your thighs, keeps you there, mouth open, licking, moaning, slurping like he doesn’t care that you’re sobbing above him.

You collapse forward, hips still twitching, body limp, cheek against his bare chest.

He gasps when you move off him, his face soaked, chin dripping with your slick.

“…You taste like candy,” he whispers, starry-eyed.

You’re panting, half-laughing. “That was insane.”

“I think I’m addicted to your pussy.”

You slap his chest, weakly.

He grins, wild and happy, then he murmurs, "You've got the prettiest pussy I've ever seen Angel, We need to do this again.. maybe ah-hundred times before we," His voice drops as he leans in and whispers into your ear teasingly, "fuck huh?"

Now you’ve been thinking about it all day.

All week, really.

Every time your thighs press together too tightly in class, every time you catch Satoru’s glazed-over stare sliding to your chest or how he bites his lip when you fidget in your seat—you think about riding him.

You’ve made out on his futon. You’ve touched. Explored. Cum multiple times on his fingers while crying into his neck. You’ve memorized the way he moans when you stroke him, how his cock twitches helplessly when you kiss the head and whisper how much you want to take it inside.

So now… it’s time.

You sit on his lap in his tiny, warm dorm room, legs bare, wearing nothing but one of his hoodies and knee socks, straddling him while his hands hover at your waist like he’s too scared to grip you. Your panties are already shoved to the side. His sweats are pushed down, and his cock's hard. Flushed, drooling against his belly, it twitches between your folds like it’s waiting for permission.

You’re both shaking.

“You don’t have to,” he whispers. “Not tonight. Only if you really want—”

“I need to,” you breathe.

You lean close, your nose brushing his, eyes wide and nervous but burning.

“I want to ride you, Satoru.”

He chokes on air.

“Oh my god.”

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, hot and slick from his own arousal, and you guide him up, between your slick folds, over your clit. You both shudder. You roll your hips, let him feel the mess he’s made of you. His eyes are already fluttering back.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers. “You’re gonna take me?”

You nod. “Just… let me go slow.”

You lift your hips, line him up with your tight little entrance, and take a deep breath.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

He holds your waist, his grip tightening.

The tip presses in.

And holy fuck.

You’re stretching already, your walls squeezing down on him like you’re trying to keep him inside before he’s even all the way in. Your jaw falls open. He moans so loud into your shoulder you nearly lose balance.

“Oh ...oh fuck angel—angel, you’re so tight—fuck, I can’t—”

You both gasp, frozen, as you sink down another inch. It’s like a punch to your stomach and your cunt at the same time—hot, overwhelming, raw and perfect. Your thighs tremble. Your nails dig into his shoulders.

“I can feel everything,” you sob. “You’re so big, Satoru, you’re splitting me open.”

He’s crying. A little. From how tight you are. From how warm. From the way your pussy clenches around him like you love him already and he hasn’t even bottomed out yet.

“Tell me when to stop,” he pants. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

“You’re not,” you gasp. “Don’t stop—don’t stop. I need you.”

You sink lower. Lower. Inch by inch, your walls stretch around him, pulsing with slick heat.

Then— you bottom out.

And it feels like your whole body is going to break open from the pressure, from how full you are.

You bury your face in his shoulder. “I’m full. I’m so fucking full, I can feel you in my stomach—”

His hips twitch and he sobs again.

“I’m inside,” he whispers. “You’re letting me in. You’re my first—”

You press your lips to his ear. “You’re my first, too.”

And then— you rock.

Gently. Testing how much you can move.

And his hands slam down on your hips like he can’t take it. His cock twitches inside you, and your walls clench around him in response.

You moan.

He moans louder.

Then you start riding him, slow and messy. Tight little bounces, up n down. Just enough to feel the stretch, the slide, the overwhelming wet heat of your cunt clinging to him like your body doesn’t want to let go. It’s all instinct and desperation. The sounds of skin against skin, of slick, needy friction echoing in the tiny dorm room.

Your thighs are shaking. His hands won’t stop gripping, guiding, worshiping.

“Fuck, angel— fuck, you’re riding me—”

You cry out. “You’re so deep— I-I can’t—I feel you in my chest—”

He bucks into you by accident and you scream, throwing your head back.

“Did I hurt you?!”

“N-no—again, do that again—”

He does. And you swear you go cross-eyed.

The rhythm is clumsy. Awkward. Your knees are slipping and his hips stutter, but you don’t care. You don’t care about perfect. You care about how he moans your name like a prayer. How your pussy makes that wet little schlk sound every time you take him down to the base.

“I’m gonna cum,” he gasps. “I’m gonna—fuck, I can’t hold it—”

You grab his cheeks, force his eyes to meet yours.

“Cum in me,” you whisper. “Please. Make a mess inside me.”

His cock throbs violently.

“Angel—fuck—I love you—”

He explodes.

It’s hot. You feel it fill you— pulse after desperate pulse. Sticky, thick, messy. It overflows instantly, leaking between your thighs and down his cock while you grind and cry out again, cumming right after him. You shake through it— sobbing, clenching, writhing in his lap like your body doesn’t know how to survive this much fullness.

You collapse against his chest.

His hands cradle you.

He’s panting. Moaning your name over and over.

“I’ve never felt anything so good,” he whispers.

You kiss him then, slow and shaky-sweet.

“Neither have I.”

And then you both fall backward onto the bed, tangled, ruined, still joined at the hips.

You stay that way for a long, long time.

You’re still straddling him.

Bare thighs trembling. Pussy aching. His cock softening slowly inside you, twitching with little aftershocks, buried deep in your cunt and leaking. You can feel it. His cum—so much of it— pooling hot and sticky inside your body. Seeping out in slow, obscene dribbles every time you shift or twitch.

It’s messy. You’re flushed and overwhelmed, shivering through the afterglow and clinging to his hoodie like a lifeline.

And Satoru Gojo is staring between your legs like he’s entranced.

You glance down. Follow his line of sight.

There’s a little stream of milky white trickling from where he’s still inside you, slipping down between your folds and soaking into the mess of his hoodie bunched beneath your ass. You clench involuntarily and more leaks out— sticky-warm and filthy.

Satoru groans.

“I can see it.” His voice is wrecked. “It’s—fuck, it’s dripping out of you. That’s my cum. Inside you.”

You moan softly, hips rocking like you’re chasing the stretch again.

His hands grip your waist.

“I wanna clean you up,” he whispers, breath hot against your cheek.

You blink, dazed. “I can just— get a towel, or—”

“No. Not like that.”

You look down. He’s already pulling out—slowly— and you both gasp as his softening cock slips free of your pussy, followed immediately by a thick, wet gush of cum that drips from your folds in slow, shiny strands.

Satoru watches it fall.

Then he drops to his knees.

Right between your thighs.

“Satoru— what are you—”

“I need to,” he says, voice low, eyes blown wide and desperate. “Please. Let me clean it with my mouth.”

You can’t even think. Not with the way he’s looking at you like you’re something divine, something sweet and holy and soaked in his mess. His hands part your trembling thighs and he moans at the sight of your sticky, cum-dripping pussy glistening in the soft dorm light.

“Angel,” he whispers, reverent. “You’re ruined. I made such a mess.”

You reach down, brush his hair back. “Then clean it up.”

He dives in.

His tongue slides through your folds— warm, flat, soaking up the slick with long, filthy licks. You scream, thighs snapping around his head, because you’re so sensitive, still throbbing from your orgasm, and now his tongue is licking up his own cum from your pussy like he’s starving.

You squirm. Whimper. Try to push him back. “S-Satoru—s'too much—!”

He groans into your cunt, arms wrapping around your hips, holding you down like he’s not letting go until you’re clean.

“Can taste you,” he pants between licks. “You and me, mixed together—fuck, it’s so sweet—”

You throw your head back, moaning like a girl gone dumb.

His mouth is everywhere— lapping up the mess he made, licking into your hole, nosing against your clit until you’re gasping through gritted teeth, thighs shaking violently.

You’ve never felt anything like it.

It’s so dirty. So loving.

So deeply, terrifyingly intimate.

“Satoru—please—”

“Cum again,” he begs. “One more. Let me taste it fresh.”

And you do.

You cum with a sob, hips jerking, pussy leaking fresh slick into his mouth. He groans, drinks it, licks until you’re sobbing and twitching and clinging to his hair like you don’t know who you are anymore.

When he finally pulls back, his is face wet, chin shining, cheeks pink and you’re spread wide, limp, flushed from your ears to your tits and totally wrecked.

He climbs over you, kisses your forehead, then your lips, slowly, letting you taste yourself, his cum, the sweat and breathlessness of your shared first time.

“You’re my favourite thing,” he whispers.

You start crying.

He cradles you, strokes your hair, tucks you against his chest and wraps a blanket over your trembling body.

“I want you again,” you whisper.

He kisses your hair.

“I’m yours now,” he says. “So anytime you want me… I’m yours.

[osaemu]

THANK U, PREVIOUS! – SATORU GOJO

summary. when your rockstar ex-boyfriend catches you fucking yourself to his photos, he reminds you that his dick is just as big as his ego.

cw. ex!rockstarbf!gojo x fem!reader. fingering (f. receiving), doggy style, implied missionary, masturbating, name-calling, hair pulling, picture-taking, light impact play, light dumbification.

word count. 4.6k.

author's note. first post in two years. wooow. anyways. i'm hella rusty so sorry in advance if it's obvious...also i only proofread the first half. but it's nice to be back ! hope you enjoy xox.

"why'd you break up with him? thought his dick was eight inches."

"eight and a half," you correct shoko automatically, staring at her phone dumbly as a video of your ex-boyfriend dragging a mic stand across a stage plays on repeat.

three months ago, you dumped satoru gojo, rockstar heartthrob and the dealer of the best sex you’d ever had. and maybe it’s because you always want what you can’t have, but fuck, has he looked good ever since. you can see the muscle definition of his arms through the black leather jacket, the ones that used to hold you down while he— nope.

you flip the phone over and set it down on the restaurant table with a soft clack, forcing away the thoughts of getting dicked down by your ex. "god, his ego was so big," you mutter, fighting to think about the reason you broke up instead of why you would’ve stayed.

"wasn't the only big thing, apparently," shoko mutters under her breath, and you give her a sullen look. "what? you're the one who said it. eight and a half," she says, mimicking your voice. her lips twitch with a smile as you groan and bury your face in your hands.

"i hate him," you mumble, voice muffled by your hands. it's not true. you just hate that you can't stop thinking about him. he's been blocked for three months since you dumped him, although that hasn't done anything for the hole in your heart...or in between your legs.

shoko raises her eyebrows back at you, fishing a cigarette out of her pocket and flicking a lighter once, twice before it catches. "sure you do. and i’m the prime minister of japan."

for a long second, the only sounds are the soft exhale of smoke from her lips and the idle, bustling sounds of the restaurant you’re sitting in. eventually, you peek at her from in between your fingers. "shoko, do you have any hot friends?"

"yeah. why?" when your eyes light up, she snorts and shakes her head, taking a drag from the lit cigarette. "oh, please. nobody wants to be the rebound after the 6'3 rockstar boyfriend. i wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy." she laughs when you groan and drop your face back in your hands. 

after a long second, you mumble, "6'3 and a half."

- 

when you get home, it's around midnight, and god, are you horny.

all that talk about your famous, rich, big ex-boyfriend has you pulling out your phone and opening up his instagram. it’s blocked, a souvenir of when you had more self-restraint. right now, though, you barely hesitate before unblocking him.

his page is littered with pictures and videos of him on tour, and it's like a feast for hungry eyes. him on his knees in a leather jacket, him practically moaning into a microphone, him holding a guitar above his head, and fuck, you can tell he knows he looks good. but no matter how big his dick is, it'll never get even close to the size of his ego.

you hate yourself for slipping one of your hands down and under your somehow-already-soaked panties, and you shudder at the feeling of your fingers over your clit. if he ever finds out how soaked you've gotten just from seeing a video of him dragging a mic stand across stage, he'd never let you hear the end of it. 

two of your fingers circle your clit, and you let out a half-suppressed moan as you feel a growing sensation of pleasure in your core. you slip a finger inside your pussy, trying to draw out any feeling you can, but all you can really think about is how much better it felt when gojo did it.

you remember his fingers like they’re your own (which, unfortunately, they are not)—long and slender, slightly calloused from years of playing the guitar. you’ve seen them knuckle-deep inside of your pussy, soaked and sticky from drawing out multiple orgasms out of you, and you’ve licked them clean more times than you can count.

a drawn-out, slightly exaggerated gasp leaves your lips as your own smaller fingers work over your clit, as if to compensate for your hands being a sorry substitute for gojo's. you watch as his fingers expertly strum a guitar on your phone screen, and fuck, you’ve never been more jealous of an instrument in your life. 

after minutes of manually forcing it out with aching, sticky fingers, your orgasm isn't satisfying in the slightest. none of them have been for the past three months. that's the bad part about ex-boyfriends like gojo. they spoil you stupid, making you feel like heaven on earth. and when they're gone, you can never really forget how good the high felt. why’d you break up with him again?

your head drops back onto your pillow as you let out a long exhale, eyes fluttering close and sore fingers stilling over your soaked entrance. after a second, you open an eye to the still-playing video of him on your phone.

oh, shit.

you scramble to unlike the video, which, somehow, had ended up liked, probably from your finger slipping while you were pathetically trying to cum to it. the red heart quickly disappears, and your heart rate increases (more than it did while you were fingering yourself, actually) as you pray he didn’t see the notification.

thirty seconds pass. he'd have to be a realllll loser to notice you liking and unliking the post in amidst his never-ending flood of notifications.

…but unfortunately for you, your ex is just as pathetic as you are. right as you start to relax, you get a notification from a contact named DO NOT ANSWER.

like what you see?

you can picture him smirking at his phone like the lowlife, good-for-nothing loser you know he is. he's probably pushing his dyed-white hair back (who dyes their hair white anyways?), since you remember it'd always get in the way of his eyes. god, he had eyes you'll never forget. ice-blue and, truthfully, a little terrifying, but the way they'd look at you while you rode him on a saturday night after a show will forever be tattooed in your heart.

you groan and click on the notification, staring at it with a mix of self-hatred and...gojo-hatred, i guess? his contact name stares back at you, a stark, bold warning set against the backdrop of your old messages with the only ex-boyfriend who could convince you to run it back, especially like this, with your fingers still on your soaked, needy entrance that’s practically aching for him inside of it.

two minutes pass with you just staring at his message. then, a second one appears.

don't be shy. i miss you too.

as if that wasn't bad enough, a third message comes soon after.

want me to come over?

since obviously you have dignity and self-control, you type out a reply you’d be proud of—no. go fuck yourself. don't text me ever again—but when you hit send, your text looks...well, a little different. gojo replies in a second.

that's what i thought. see you in 15. wear something cute for me, yeah?

-

you forgot how good he was at turning you on.

that's a lie. you didn't forget. in fact, it's all you've been thinking about since you told him you two were over. most 6'3 guys don't know how to handle all that, and think that just because they're big and tall, they're automatically good at sex (which, by the way, isn't true!), but, for lack of better wording, gojo knows his shit.

that's why you're currently getting fingered by him in your own bed, moaning his name like you weren't the one who dumped him. it's infuriating how good he is at this. two of his fingers are inside you, moving back and forth as his thumb rubs maddeningly slow circles over your clit.

and barely sixty seconds in, and you’re already ten times as loud and desperate than when it was your fingers.

"shitttt, oh, yeah, you feel so good," he groans, staring down at the way you clench around his fingers with every pump of them inside you. his pupils are blown wide, fixed on where he’s knuckle-deep inside your dripping pussy.

he groans again, unable to tear his eyes away. it feels good, so much better than whatever sorry substitute you've been trying to give yourself for the past three months. his fingers, calloused and rough, feel achingly familiar, and you have to fight to keep yourself from cumming barely a minute in. 

you swallow back what was about to be an embarassingly loud moan, and barely force yourself to talk in a somewhat-steady voice. "why do you sound like that?" you manage to get out. you're only talking to distract from the fact that you're pathetically close to squirting all over his six-inch fingers.

"fuck you mean, why do i sound like that? like what?" he responds, raising an eyebrow. his eyes briefly flit to meet yours. his tongue skates over his lips, wetting them slightly, before he bites his bottom lip and presses his thumb a little harder over your swollen clit.

"ngh, fuuuck— i dunno, like, raspy,” you barely manage to get out. “have you been smoking?" it's a stupid question. you know why his voice is raspy. it's not uncommon for his voice to be like this the night after a show, and you had always said it was hot back when you were still together.

gojo knows you know, too, and that you're just asking to give your mouth something to do besides moan his name. he widens his eyes at you patronizingly. "my job requires that i fuck up my throat every other night. i get paid to sound like this," he says, emphasizing his words by spreading his fingers inside of you, pushing and stretching your walls and forcing out a lewd moan from your lips. "why do you sound like that?"

you bite your lip in a failed attempt to stop yourself from gasping as his fingers prod even deeper inside of you. "like what?"

he snorts. "like a fuckin' pornstar. swear i used to have to work harder for this," he says, curling his fingers up inside of you and drawing out a loud, breathy moan from your lips. "jesus, have you not gotten laid since we broke up?"

silence.

when you don't answer, he grins like a kid in a candy store. "y'know, i was gonna call you a slut 'cause you're sooo wet sooo fast, but turns out, you're the opposite. someone's been missing her ex, hasn't she?"

you hate him. you hate his cocky smile, the one that's his trademark as a rockstar. you hate his stupid eyes, which are annoyingly easy to get lost in. you hate that he spoiled you so bad that nothing else can turn you on quite like he could. and god, you hate that you can't think of anything but him and his long, slender fingers stretching your gummy walls wiiiide open.

"don't be shy, angel. look at me." with his free hand, he tilts your chin towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes. he holds your gaze for a couple seconds, lips quirking up into a smile as he studies your face. "won't lie, i got around in the past couple months. lots of pretty girls..." he says casually, and he suddenly pulls his fingers out of your soaked pussy, leaving you clenching around nothing.

he lifts his hand to his lips, licking his fingers clean of your slick, and you almost moan out loud from the sight. his voice drops, a hint of authenticity bleeding through the ego. "...but, shit, baby. it's just not the same. think we know each other too well."

well, fuck. you can tell he's being serious, despite the lingering amusement in his eyes as he watches you stare. you don't answer immediately, unsure what to say to that. when it's clear he's not going to do anything until you respond, you exhale softly and mumble, "i guess."

"yeah, you can't relate, you fuckin' priest," he mutters, dipping his head and spitting a wad of saliva on your glistening pussy. he drags his index finger over your entrance, pushing his spit inside of you. when your breath hitches, his lips twitch with a smile. "how long were you planning to go without getting fucked, pretty girl? your whole life?"

you choke on a gasp as he pushes a finger back inside of you, mixing his saliva with your slick. "a-are you gonna actually fuck me or do i have to call someone else?" you ask, stuttering against your will. his fingers feel good, so good, but you feel like you’ll die if you don’t get his dick inside of you.

"oh, now she wants to call up her roster," gojo deadpans, curling the single finger he has inside of you upwards and grinning as he feels your dripping pussy practically suck him in. "who's next in line, sweetheart? is it that fossil i hate, toji fishy…whatever?"

"fushiguro," you correct automatically, and gojo rolls his eyes, not caring what his name is. all he cares is that it's not him. "and no," you confirm a second later. he nods approvingly, adding in another finger, as if to reward you for giving him the answer he wants to hear.

"good. wait, fuck, is it that pink-haired freak?" he groans, thinking of someone else. his two fingers inside of you pulse in and out of your wet, slick-soaked walls, flexing and pushing you apart as he interrogates you on a roster that doesn't exist. "the one with the tattoos. what's his name? suck-a-nut or something?"

you gawk at him, momentarily snapping out of the sex-crazed haze his fingers have induced from you. "are you serious?"

gojo mimicks your facial expression back at you, and pulls his fingers out with a soft pop. he lifts his fingers to your lips this time, coaxing your mouth open and letting you taste a mix of yourself and him. "if you're gonna fuck someone else, they better not be unemployed or have lame tattoos. now shut up and roll over."

- 

"relaaax. you're too pretty to be this fuckin' tense."

easier said than done. it's impossible for you to relax when he's pushing your face into the pillow with one hand and aligning his dick with your gushing pussy with the other. he teasingly drags his flushed, heavy tip over your wet entrance, cracking a smile when your breath audibly hitches.

your mouth drops open when he gets bored of teasing and actually pushes inside, and you remember exactly why it was so insanely hard to break up with him. you moan his name as he eases his way inside, slowly giving you inch after inch. it takes all of his willpower to not just force it all in at once, since you're all warm and sticky and so, so wet. but, for your sake, he’s determined to take his time.

"yeah, you like that, don't ya?" he grits out, biting back a low groan of his own at how you're stretched out underneath him. he has a view to die for, and he has to swallow to stop himself from drooling at the sight of all of you bent over for him, giving him the perfect view of your back, waist, and ass. he reaches over to the nightstand and fumbles with his phone for a second, opening the camera app and taking a photo from his eye-level.

you look back at him over your shoulder at the sound of the camera shutter. he cracks a lopsided smile down at you, taking another, this time with your face in it. "view's sooo nice from here, baby. had to take a pic."

he turns the phone so you can see what you look like to him. if you didn't know that was you, you could've sworn it was a screenshot of some porno.

your eyes are half-rolled back in your head, and your lips are parted slightly, glistening with the lingering traces of your slick and his saliva. from that angle, the arch in your back looks heavenly, and his camera's somehow captured all of that and the plush curve of your ass around his dick.

"pretty girl. i'm saving that for later," he says, giving the photo one last glance before shutting off his phone and tossing it back on the nightstand. "ah, shit, where were we?"

he suddenly moves his hips forward, and you moan reactively. "fuuuck, satoru," you whine, burying your face back in the pillow to muffle the embarrassing amount of high-pitched sounds that threaten to come out of your lips.

the feeling of him stretching you open is unreal. you're so full, and he's not even all the way inside. there's still a couple inches to go, and you're already a stuttering mess underneath him, mewling his name like it's the only word you know.

"jus' a little more, you got it," he groans, self-inflicted tension holding his limbs tight as he fights to not just shove himself in the rest of the way. you'd probably snap in half, and that's a lot less fun that what he has planned for you.

he pushes in the last one or two inches, now buried to the hilt inside of your sticky, gummy walls. "you feel s'good," he grits out, voice tight with restraint. "shiiiit. you good, angel?"

your face is still buried in the pillows, eyes shut as you fight to suppress the sweet, high-pitched gasps that every movement from him elicits. "y-yeah," you manage to get out, although it's more a moan than a word.

gojo laughs breathily and gives your ass a slap, just hard enough to sting. he gives the same spot a squeeze, massaging your skin before starting to move back and forward inside you, dragging his flushed length against your gummy walls.

fuck, he’s big. even though his lengthy fingers flexed you wide open before this, you still let out muffled, high-pitched whimpers against the white fabric of the pillow as he rocks back and forth, sliding in and out of your stretched-out pussy. you’re wet and so, so welcoming, fitting his length like a glove, all snug and perfect for him.

“so fuckin’ whiny,” gojo groans, hand moving to the back of your neck and sliding into your hair. he lifts your head a little, drawing your mouth away from the pillow. “don’t hide from me, baby. ‘s been three months, don’t torture me any longer.”

without the pillow to hide behind, your moans might as well come through a megaphone from how loud and how lewd they are. you haven’t been properly fucked in months, and now, you’re suddenly getting the best dick of your life. 

you bite your lip as he continues ramming into you from the back, making you wobble with every thrust. “ohhhmygod,” you moan out, biting your lip to try and suppress the embarrassingly loud whimpers that keep escaping your lips. it does nothing to quiet them down, though, especially as gojo shifts the angle to push into you even deeper. “feels s’good, right there,” you gasp deleriously, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

your lips are swollen from how hard you’ve bitten them, and as he continues stuffing you full and deep, you bounce back against him, letting your pussy do the thinking.

one gojo’s hands rests on your ass while the other one remains wrapped around your hair, preventing you from burying your face in the pillow. he gives it a tug, groaning your name like a prayer when it makes you moan. 

“fuuuuck, baby, taking it so well,” he grits out, and he shifts his grip on your hair and pushes your face down into the pillow as his thrusts start to become less controlled and more erratic. “‘s like you were made for me,” he says breathlessly, a half-laugh slipping out of his lips as he gets sloppier with his movements.

you hear him swallow, and although your face is currently stuffed into the pillow, you can imagine how he must look. cheeks all red and flushed, eyelashes fluttering, and his white hair’s probably slicked with sweat and sticking to his forehead. he lets out a sound that you swear is a whimper as he continues fucking you, but your lips are too occupied with making loud, high-pitched sounds of your own to point it out.

he can’t tear his eyes away from you, and the way you’re so willingly bent over and arched for him, as if you hadn’t been the one to tell him you two were over. “bet you missed this, yeah?” he says, a hint of the familiar cockiness you’ve grown to love and hate in his voice. your only reply is a lewd moan into the pillows, which he takes as a yes. “attagirl. that’s what i thought.”

the hand that’s been gripping your ass squeezes tighter as he fucks you harder and deeper, chasing the high that he remembers came from making you all dumb and pliant underneath him. you’re practically being plowed into the mattress, but you’re so inviting, legs spread wide open for him, that he can’t bring himself to care about anything but the wet hole in front of him.

you’re just as single-minded as he is, unable to form a single thought that isn’t just about him. the never-ending stream of gasps and moans from your swollen lips are like music to gojo’s ears, and as your eyes flutter shut and you fully give up any last claim you had to dignity, all you can wonder is god, how did you go without this for three whole months?

“p-please, just like that,” you whine, not caring that you’re stuttering in a way he’ll definitely make fun of you for later. you’re so stuffed full of him, core tightening as you feel a wave of pleasure coming your way in the form of the first satisfying orgasm you’ll have had in months. “‘m close, ngh—”

“yeah, baby?” he asks, feeling you tighten around him as your hands kittenishly grasp at the sheets. his dick slides back and forth against your slick walls as he fucks you into the mattress, making the springs squeal with every movement. “fuck, me too,” he groans, giving your ass another slap and watching it recoil as his thrusts become even sloppier than before.

“wait, shit, you still on the pill?” he asks, momentarily loosening his grip on your hair to let you turn your head. when you nod, his hand tightens again, and he pushes your face back into the pillow, a low groan slipping out of his lips as he continues rolling his hips again you, using your wet, sloppy mess of a pussy to chase his release.

when he pulls out an orgasm from you, it’s downright filthy. “ohhhmygod—” you moan, gasping for air and pushing back onto his length as he coaxes out your release.

the second the tension in your stomach snaps, your limbs stop working and you go limp beneath him, reduced to nothing but a pretty doll as your brain shutters off too. the stimulation has your brain going dumb, nothing in your skull but the waves of pleasure that he’s drawn out of you. even as he continues fucking you through your orgasm, moaning into the pillow, you can’t help think that you don’t care what he does, his dick’s too good to let go of again. 

you haven’t came that hard in three months, and it looks like he hasn’t either.

he whines your name when he cums inside of you just seconds later. it’s hot and floods your insides as his hips continue their jerky motions, burying his white, sticky release deep inside of you. high-pitched sounds that almost sound like whimpers slip out of his lips as his eyes roll into the back of his head, lost in the pleasure that is your pretty pussy.

eventually, he stops rutting against you, chest heaving as he just stays buried inside of you for a moment longer, feeling how your gummy walls clench around his still-hard dick. his breathing is noticeably shakier than normal, and for once in his life, it seems like he doesn’t have any words to say. 

after a long second of silence, where there isn’t any sounds except for your synchronized, heavy breaths, he speaks. “good girl. don’t think i coulda pulled out anyways,” he mumbles as he pulls out of your limp body and maneuvers you onto your back. 

his lips are curved into a cheeky, satisfied smile as he observes your face, drinking in your fluttering eyelashes and slightly-parted lips. he looks just as sex-crazed, ears bright red and lips wet with his own saliva. he pushes your knees apart, licking his lips as he hungrily stares down at his cum dripping out of your pussy.

“we’re doing that again.” his eyes flick from the wet, sticky entrance in between your thighs to your face. after a second, he leans down, eyes fluttering closed as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth and pushing against yours. he moans against your lips, and when he pulls away, a string of saliva connects your mouths. 

“n’ this time, i wanna see your face while i’m inside you.”

-

when he finally collapses on top of you, cheeks coated with a red blush and eyes half-lidded, your whole body’s sore beyond belief. somewhere, in the back of your mind, you wonder if you’ll have to call off from work tomorrow…or is it today? you have no idea how long you’ve been under him.

"ya know, you don't have to get off to my fuckin’ instagram feed," gojo says, rolling off of you and shooting you a lopsided grin. he pushes his sweat-slicked hair back from his forehead, chest heaving. "text me anytime. hell, just show up at my door. you're not the only one always thinking about their hot ex." 

you limply lift your hand and run your fingers over your collarbone, feeling the indents of a bite mark he had left on your skin, that’ll no doubt leave a dark bruise for you to hide. “m’kay,” is all you say in response, as you close your eyes exhaustedly. after a second, you mumble, “you staying the night?”

your eyes remain closed, but you can hear gojo shake his head. "nah. i got a show today," he says with a sigh, sitting up and groaning. “if i stay with you, i’ll probably miss it.”

“wouldn’t be the first time,” you mutter, and you swear you can hear the slightest laugh slip out of his lips as his weight lifts off the mattress. it’s true. back when you two were dating, incidents like this had definitely caused him to be late to a couple shows. he never seemed all that guilty about it, though.

there’s a soft rustle of fabric, presumably from gojo slipping back into his clothes as he starts to head out. “take care, angel,” is the last thing you hear from him before the door shuts and his footsteps fade away, and with it, your consciousness. 

-

later that night, your phone buzzes.

attachment: 1 photo thanks for the view, pretty. same time tomorrow?

[liakisses]

part 2 to fratjo can't find his hookup! ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ part 1 here

mdni ❀ smut ❀ fem!reader

wc 1138

a/n: smutty part 2 as promised 😋 watch out, suguru put you up to no good...

When you actually showed up at his door, Satoru was more shocked than he’d liked to admit.

Sure, you said that you would, but it wasn’t unheard of for a girl to lie about her intentions.

Especially to a very social frat boy such as himself.

So, when you greeted him all sweetly at the door, freshly showered and in an oversized shirt, he had a hard time keeping his surprise to himself.

Unfortunately, the surprise shifted to smugness and inflated his ego. How could it not, especially when a girl like you wanted to come back for seconds?

This time, he’d make sure you stayed the full night.

He’d coaxed you inside with some charming words, taking your bag off your shoulder and setting it down on the counter. He led you to his living room, asking if you’d like to watch a movie, and how could you say no?

Of course, you knew what he was up to.

What he didn’t know was that you too had your fair share of sleeping around and instantly figured out what he was trying to do.

You went along with it, giggling at his corny jokes and letting him pull you into his side during the movie.

To be fair, it wasn’t very difficult. He was so gorgeous that you’d let him do this anyways.

You let it happen, biting your lip when his hand drifted under the hem of your shorts and giggling breathlessly when he kissed you.

You let him fuck you on the couch, eager to please you and prove he was worth coming back to. He buried himself in between your breasts, letting you pull and tug at his hair as he listened to your pretty moans over the sound of the movie.

Sequentially, it wasn’t long before he got you back in his bed.

“S-Satoru,” you gasped, hands gripping onto his white sheets as the headboard kept banging into the wall.

He had you on all fours, fucking you from behind with both hands on your hips.

You had to give him credit where it was due. This was your third round and each one had you in a different position.

“Yeah, baby?” He panted, tone condescending and much cockier than last night. “Use your words.”

“Need more,” you whined, head tilted down.

“Ask nicely.”

You could hear the grin in his voice. Smug bastard.

“Please, it’s-ngh-so good,” you went along with it. “Need more, please.”

“Yeah? I’ll give it to you, baby,” he grunted, hand reaching up to pull your head back as he started pounding into you harder.

He picked up his speed, letting you hear the filthy sounds of skin against skin as he leaned down to leave hickies along the back of your neck.

You’d already left a trail down his neck and onto his chest, so you guessed it was only fair.

When his breathing grew more ragged and his thrusts became sloppy, you prepared yourself for the inevitable warmth that would either drip down your legs or splash onto your back.

“Fuck, so fucking good,” he said, grip on your hip getting tighter. “Fuck!”

He swore again, suddenly pulling out to spill himself onto your lower back.

You let him catch his breath, finally letting go to collapse on the bed next to you. He fell on his front, arm slung across your stomach.

“Was that good, baby?” He asked.

You hummed, never passing up an opportunity to humble an overly egotistical frat boy.

See, what you hadn’t told him yet was that Suguru did recognize you.

He had told you that Satoru had been whining about you all day and it was irritating Suguru and their brothers.

He encouraged you to hurt Satoru’s ego as much as you could.

“It was good and all…”

That got his attention. He turned to look at you, panic visible in his expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just… you didn’t make me come.”

“What?”

Satoru was sitting up now, heart sunken down into his chest.

You took in the panic in his eyes, trying not to smile as you told him the lie.

You'd faked orgasms before, but you'd never faked not having one.

“Are you serious?”

“It’s alright,” you shrugged. “It happens. I can–”

“No!” He yelled.

You blinked.

“It's fine, Satoru.”

“Absolutely not.”

You blinked again, and when you opened your eyes, Satoru had flipped you on top of him.

Your hands braced against his chest, he maneuvered you until you were fully straddling his hips.

“Satoru…”

“Ride my face.”

You couldn't help the disbelieving laugh that escaped your lips.

“What?"

“I’m serious. Let me eat you out.”

You’d be crazy to say no to that.

“Ask nicely,” you grinned, using his own words against him.

“Please,” he didn't hesitate to say as he leaned back.

You chuckled under your breath at his eagerness, still in disbelief, as you lifted yourself up to move closer to his face.

“Please,” he repeated, eyes looking up at you through his gorgeous white lashes.

“Since you asked so nicely,” you mocked, bending your knees to sink down over his mouth.

His hands immediately went up to grab your thighs, mouth latching onto your pussy eagerly.

You couldn't stop the gasp that left you when you felt the heat of his mouth, hands digging straight into his hair.

When you involuntarily rolled your hips, he actually moaned against you.

You took that as encouragement and let yourself rock your hips against his mouth, fully riding him as he flicks his tongue.

He lapped at your clit in quick licks, only going faster when he heard your soft moans. You cried out sharply when it bumped against his nose and he gripped your thighs harder.

He sucked on your clit as you clenched around nothing, only spurring you closer to the edge,

“Fuck, Satoru!” Your voice grew breathier and whinier as you felt yourself start to cum in his mouth.

He lets you ride it out, not slowing down until your grip on his hair relaxes.

Finally, you rolled yourself off his face and fell into the pillows.

“Was that better?” He asked hesitantly, and you felt a little bad.

“That was great,” you promised, rolling onto your side to get a better look at him.

Your face feels hot when you see your juices still clinging to his chin. Oops.

“So,” he cleared his throat hopefully. “You can stay the night if you want.”

“Sorry,” you shrugged apologetically and sat up. “I’ve got some stuff going on tomorrow.”

“Oh,” he tried to hide his disappointment. “Like what?”

You tried to hide your grin. Suguru had tasked you with more than hurting his ego.

“Well, I’ve actually got a date tomorrow.”

He sat up. “What?”

“Yeah, with Suguru.”

That fucker.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

@0soleilmist @blahblah9211202 @miaisboredpt2 @deerest-darling

[sleepykina]

𑣲 - Late night distraction

Frat parties always ended the same way.

Music still thumped through the walls. Empty cups littered the hallway. Someone yelled from downstairs about losing a shoe.

You slipped into Gojo’s room anyway.

The door clicked shut behind you.

“Finally,” came a familiar voice.

You turned.

Gojo stood in front of the mirror, hoodie hanging halfway off, the zipper forgotten somewhere around the middle of the fabric. Bare shoulders caught the warm light from the lamp on the nightstand. The hood rested over messy white hair, and a lazy grin spread across the face that somehow always looked unfairly good.

“You’ve been ignoring me all night.”

“I’ve been talking to people.”

“You’ve been talking to everyone except me.”

You folded your arms. “You survived.”

“Barely.”

The dramatic sigh earned nothing more than an eye roll.

Gojo stepped closer anyway.

“So…”

“So?”

“What do you think?”

“About?”

He gestured to himself with exaggerated confidence.

“The hoodie.”

You stared for a second.

“The hoodie.”

“Mhm.”

“You mean the hoodie that’s practically falling off?”

“Exactly that one.”

“…I think you forgot the rest of your shirt.”

A laugh escaped before he leaned down until your faces were only inches apart.

“I was wondering how long it’d take before you looked.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Oh?”

“You look like you lost a fight with your zipper.”

His grin widened instead of fading. “There it is.”

“What?”

“You noticed.”

“I have functioning eyes.”

“You noticed.”

“I noticed because you’re impossible not to notice.”

The words left before you could stop them.

Then that smug smile softened into something quieter.

“There you are,” he murmured.

“What?”

“You’ve been pretending all week that you don’t miss me.”

“I saw you yesterday.”

“Exactly. Tragic.”

You shoved lightly at his shoulder. He barely moved.

Instead, he caught your wrist—not tightly, just enough to stop you from escaping and leaned in until his forehead rested against yours.

“You know,” he said, voice lower now, “I spent the entire party waiting for you to come up here.”

“You could’ve come downstairs.”

“I could’ve.”

“But?”

“I like it better when you choose me.”

Your heart betrayed you with an embarrassingly quick beat.

“You’ve got a ridiculous amount of confidence.”

“You keep proving it’s justified.”

You laughed despite yourself. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“No?”

“No.”

Gojo tilted his head, silver eyes never leaving yours.

“Then why are you still standing this close?”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

“…Thought so.”

The victory lasted all of two seconds before you reached up, grabbed the edge of his hoodie, and pulled it back onto his shoulders.

“There.”

He blinked.

“You were going to catch a cold.”

For once, Gojo looked genuinely caught off guard.

Then he laughed—bright, warm, completely unguarded.

“You know,” he said, tugging the hood back over his hair with a grin, “most people would’ve flirted.”

“I just saved you from walking around half-dressed.”

“You absolutely flirted.”

“I absolutely didn’t.”

He slipped an arm around your waist anyway, smiling like he’d already won.

“If that’s what your version of not flirting looks like,” he whispered, “I can’t wait to see what happens when you finally admit you like me.”

You tried to argue. Instead, you smiled.

Gojo’s grin only grew wider. “Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s what I thought.”

© SleepyKina 2026. Do not steal, translate, feed my work into AI, or repost on any other platforms other than tumblr.

[observerdaisy]

Too Little, Too Late (ii)

Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: After the death of the Star Plasma Vessel, Satoru was never the same. The price of his rebirth was you. What happens when you meet again a decade later when he hires you for a job—older but none the wiser?

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: STANDALONE FIC. You don't have to read the first part.

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: Angst, Angst, and Angst. JJK s2 and manga spoilers. Friends to Lovers to Strangers. Exes reuniting. Working with an ex. Yearning tenfold. Mentions of blood, injuries, and illness. Happy ending. Long fic ahead! The real ending is optional for sanity’s sake.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 15.6k words

Part 1 ║ Part 2 ║ Part 3

You never meet the same person twice, not even in the same person.

The death of the Star Plasma Vessel took the sorcery world by storm. 

Riko Amanai was the person entrusted to Satoru and Suguru. Entrusting her person—her soul—to the two teen sorcerers only solidified the substantial importance of her role.

“Satoru.” A stabbing sensation pulsed in your lungs from the lack of air. 

His hair, an imitation of snow, concealed his eyes and consequently, the fragility of attempting to hold himself together within it. The threat of utterly fracturing was a fever he couldn’t shake off.

As soon as Satoru’s gaze beheld you, he heard a crack in his chest. His steps turned heavy as if he waded through thick mud knee-deep—his eyes kept steady on you. The relief he found in your countenance served to heighten the thumping threat because he knew his safe haven was near.

And he was yours.

The tears you couldn’t cry after seeing Haibara under a white sheet seared your eyes. 

Satoru lunged for you, arms wrapping around your waist in a growing tight embrace as you looped yours around his neck. Tears burned through denial and fell freely.

His forehead drops onto your shoulder, nose pressed against the pulse in your neck. 

Words weren’t able to carry the pain anymore. The tears were messengers of immeasurable grief and unspeakable love. 

The cold of the dampness on your shoulder tapped at your skin, reminding you to hold him tighter. Neither of you said anything but also spoke of everything.

You hated seeing Satoru like this.

The limitless sky you found in his eyes found boundaries, his cheeks have sunken, and his skin dulled from any life, grayer than the usual pinkish healthful glow he held to him.

You hated how the only signs that he was still alive were the nights he zipped awake. 

“..oru!”

“...Toru!” 

“Satoru!”

Satoru shot up in half a second. Shallow, rapid breaths were being yanked from his lungs; the cold beads of sweat ran down the sides of his face.

The room was too dark, shrouded by the night. His hands frantically search out of instinct and his eyes dart before landing on your worried expression—something familiar, his anchor.

Your hand was warm against the crushing grip of his fingers. He expects a wince but your face is steady. He calls for you in less than a whisper.

“I’m here.” The heat from your body thawed the coils in his muscles. 

You wrapped your free arm around his shoulders as you curled up to his side, “I’m here.” 

His head falls onto your shoulder. All of his waking senses craved for the company of intimacy.

“Breathe, baby. It’s okay.” Your whispers were the balm to his guarded soul. The hands that scraped gently along his scalp soothed the fading panic.

You sighed in relief once he stopped shaking. The tea you brewed sat lonely and forgotten on the bedside table.

“It’s just a dream, Toru.” 

The phantom weight of Riko Amanai’s body lingered on Satoru’s arms. The tantalizing scald of her blood painted his hands despite the cleanliness of his palms.

You knew what was running in his head when his arms clung to your waist with a desperate grip, nose pressed to the column of your neck.

“Stay. Just until I fall asleep.” His voice cracks at the end.

“Always, baby.” You murmur. He shifts his attention to the solace of your embrace; however, the nightmares outdo your comfort by a fraction. 

He could break countless times because you would always be there to hold the pieces of him together.

In the morning, Satoru had a mission located in Nagoya. His bag was packed with breakfast you made earlier when the sun was too shy to show; extra clothes for his 3-day stay at the mission site; and all travel necessities one could ever think of.

He gives you a kiss on the cheek before he exits the Jujutsu High grounds. The kiss was cold, a thread between the two of you.

The tea you made for yourself last night remained filled to the mug’s rim and drained into the sink.

“Damnit,” The tears burned into the borders of your eyes. The shake in your shoulders was inconsiderate of your will.

Quiet sniffles paired with deep wheezes filled the dark dorm room. 

A nightmare. The image of your friend, Haibara, was scorched into your mind, even if you didn’t want it to. The lack of a smile on his pale face, blood drained out of the fatal wound on his abdomen.

He blamed you. His usual jovial smile forgone as the words spill from his lips,

“It’s all my fault.” The tears furiously roll down your cheeks. One hand gripped onto the empty side of your bed, looking for something familiar.

Maybe if you had been there instead of choosing the easier route—a Grade 3 curse, you wouldn’t have to miss Haibara right now. If you had been stronger, you could’ve taken the mission yourself.

With the back of your hand, you pathetically wiped the endless tears. 

The shaky apologies blubbered from your throat, uselessly, “I’m sorry, Yu.” Your knees curled up to your aching chest.

Unconsciously, your blurry gaze turned to your right. The bed was empty beside you, except for your hand that gripped onto the sheet.

Right, Satoru was still busy in Nagoya. 

The Strongest. His plate must have been full—Being the strongest yet unable to save both Riko and Haibara. Calling him now, at this hour, would add another layer to his tall stack of problems.

So you don’t. 

Time passes in a blur of cold water, thin sheets, and wounds around the skin of your nails; before you knew it, the darkness in the room had been washed out by the morning light.

“The curse is classified to be a Grade 2 curse,” The assistant manager—Ijichi—informs you as he manoeuvres the vehicle you were in.

Nanami sat beside you, gaze trained to the whirring trees. There was a space between the two of you as you hugged each end of the passenger seats. 

The space between you two that used to be occupied was still reserved.

“Is that classification for certain?” Nanami’s voice is nothing but methodical. 

The words hang heavy in the air, not settling right—in fact, they nudged the wrong way as if an uncomfortable jab to the ribs.

Breaths were taut in Ijichi’s words as he affirmed, “Yes. It has been thoroughly verified.” 

Nanami’s frame remained stiff, rigid. 

You found yourself checking your flip phone intermittently even if there were no pinging chimes from notifications—and even more so when they did.

“How’s the mission?” Sent 3 hours ago.

The breaks in between Satoru’s messages to you were periods of restless waiting, a constant push-and-pull of wanting to do something but also not at all. 

Every time, you ended up on the torturous decision of waiting for his message that sometimes never came at all.

Too absorbed into scanning your empty inbox, you hadn’t realized the car had come to a stop until Nanami opened the door on your side of the car.

“We’re here.” He simply announces. His growing pale blonde hair swept to one side.

You quickly stuff the device into your pocket, the twin to the keychain on Satoru’s phone jangling. “Right. Sorry.” 

“How’s the mission?” Sent 9 hours ago.

As you stared at the glowing screen of the flip phone, you wondered if it was too much if you sent another message. It was well within your rights to worry about him, right?

Your fingers type out a message faster than you expected. Brief and just enough to show your concern—the last thing you wanted was to be an annoying girlfriend that only added to his problems. 

“Are you doing okay? I haven’t heard from you since yesterday afternoon.” Sent.

The reply came an hour later.

“Sorry sweets. Tired of chasing people for clues here. I have to extend my stay for another 2 days. I’ll make it up to you when I get back <3” 

If you weren’t brought down by the fact that he’d be away for longer than you expected, you could have pictured the sweetness of his voice in between the lines. 

“Stay safe. Love you, Toru.”

Cloaked by the shadows of the room, you folded the phone in half and set it down next to your pillow. 

The darkness only emphasized the cold. You didn’t want to sleep tonight. Despite the exhaustion that weighed on your bones, it wasn’t enough to counter the fear.

For what felt like the nth time for the past weeks, you couldn’t and didn’t.

It’ll be okay, you consoled yourself, because you’ll be back to normal soon.

This is normal.

“Satoru’s in Osaka?” You echoed in surprise.

Shoko nods, cigarette in between her fingers—the third one of the day, you noticed. It was barely noon.

“Yeah,” She sighs, a puff of white smoke curling into the wind. She leans onto the wall behind her, “He told me yesterday.” 

You nodded, unsure why your heart churned in your chest, “Then, what about his mission in Nagoya?” 

“That? He finished that days ago.” 

The ground felt unsteady, feet shifting against it. 

Why didn’t he—you didn’t let the thought finish. You shouldn’t demand from a man stripped of stability.

“The cases of curses are rising in the Kansai region afterall,” Shoko lifts her cigarette to her lips, “But I worry he’s burning himself too much.”

Her eyes slide to yours, dark eyebags—almost purple—sagging the skin under her lashes. The fatigue that ages her countenance tells you that she doesn’t have much of the capacity to look after others anymore.

“Take care of him, alright?” Shoko says.

You should take care of him—everyone knew he had it the hardest. He needed you now more than ever, if anything, this was when you should be the most selfless, to be there for everyone at the cost of yourself.

A smile that felt wrong appeared on your face.

“Of course.”

The lack of sleep slowly caught up to you—first, it was the headaches; then it was the endless weariness; then, the dull ache in your chest that never really went away.

Shoko and Nanami were less and less involved in your schedule as the days passed on—you weren't sure if it was them or you who had detached.

You didn’t have time to process it because Satoru was finally returning to Jujutsu High, to you.

Rounding the corner of the building, you noticed a pile of boxes by a door. 

“Nanami?” You called out, slowly approaching him, curious despite the thrum in your head.

He turns at your presence, eyes devoid of any life. He murmurs your name in acknowledgement before looking back at the boxes.

As you found your spot beside him, your feet suddenly sunk into the ground.

Haibara’s dorm. 

It was being cleared out. 

Your eyes darted to the boxes, flaps still open. Some boxes had his clothes—t-shirts he won at timed challenges for the most rice eaten in one sitting; some had small trinkets from his sister.

All were evidence that there had once been a boy called Haibara Yu.

And now, it was being cleared out like it was merely junk.

To be thrown out. To be forgotten.

You spent so much time in this room with Nanami and Yu that you practically memorized where things were.

The only thing that brought you back to reality was the stinging pain on your palms from digging your nails into them.

One day, this room will be occupied. And that student won't ever know who used to be there—who used to sprawl on that bed in snores, why the wooden desk was shattered on the edges and why there were three cup stains on the surface.

Your feet moved unconsciously, turning your heel and walking away without turning back.

Satoru newly climbed the stairs by the gates when your legs took you there. 

Your throat tightened. The persistent squeeze of your heart acutely present.

“Satoru.” Nevertheless, a tight smile stretched across your lips like you were trying to hold your face together.

“Sweetheart.” He smiles, though it never quite reaches his eyes.

The natural pull between the two of you led to a soft embrace. But the way your heart twisted made his hug feel alien.

“Let me put my bag in my room then we can have lunch, alright?” He muses, pressing a kiss to your temple that barely registers in your head.

You nodded, watching as he picked up his bag and walked away from you.

It is when he moves further into the premises and leaves you by the gates that you find yourself blinking to keep the tears at bay.

Satoru brings you to a comfortable diner, a little deserted but relaxing. 

You enter the small space a step behind him. Together, you sit at a booth across from each other.

The menu had words lined up top to bottom of the page—though you wouldn't know what they said because you weren't reading.

Your brain was too focused on holding onto that thread of composure.

The Jujutsu High students used to frequent this place. Yu and Geto used to come here too—before Geto started detaching himself and before Yu…

The booth was too cold. Too big.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” 

You whipped your chin up, locking eyes with Satoru over the menu. You hadn't realized the server was already there, awaiting your order.

You cleared your throat, “I-I’ll have what you're having, Satoru.” 

“Then, make it two.” He flashes his charming smile.

A tightness twisted in your chest. 

The server repeats the order once and she goes off to the kitchen, leaving you and Satoru.

You downed the glass of water in front of you in an attempt to swallow the burn in your throat.

“How was your mission in Nagoya?” A sad attempt to initiate conversation.

Luckily, Satoru didn't seem to notice it. He lazily sprawls all over the cushions across yours, “It was so-so. Managed to get it done quickly.”

Despite his cheery appearance, there was something off about him. Something hollow.

But you didn't comment on it, fingers fidgeting on the sleeve of your uniform.

“As expected of Gojo Satoru.” Was all you could say.

Before conversation could continue, chimes accompanied by vibrations sounded from Satoru’s pocket.

He fishes out his buzzing flip phone. Something flickers on his expression—you managed to notice.

“I’ll be back. It's Yaga.” He says, promptly standing up and answering the phone on the way to the door.

It was as if you were on autopilot, eyes staring into nothing. 

Thankfully, the food arrived quickly. Two bowls of rice with meat slid onto the table as you waited for Satoru. 

The jingle of the door announces his return. He scoots into the seat in front of you again, “This looks good! Just as I thought, nothing really beats Tokyo meat~” He muses.

“But then again, nothing beats the Miso in Nagoya—” He starts to ramble but they drift from one ear to the other.

Every now and then, you throw in a, 

“Is that so?”

“That's true.” 

“You're right.”

You slowly eat the food in front of you though it tasted like sandpaper in your mouth.

“I have another mission tonight.” Satoru suddenly says. It makes you look up from your meal.

“Where?” You ask.

“Nara. I'll be there for 3 days.” He answers. A whole 4 hours away.

“You just got back from Nagoya.” Osaka—a petty part of you wanted to say but opted not to.

His elbows are on the table, looking at you with something a little less than a wince, “I know. But it's Yaga’s orders. I'll wrap it up quickly so I can get back faster.”

Satoru, please say something to stop the pain that ate away in your heart. You wanted to plead.

But your plea comes in a subtle way.

“Be safe, alright? Don't burn yourself out.” 

He leaves that night again. You packed him fresh sets of clothes, snacks for his nightly travels, and a note.

“You don't owe anyone your life. I love you.”

If Satoru had the Six Eyes, you had something far greater. The ability to see the person hiding in his shell—the way he laughed a little too loud at lame jokes, the way he stared at nothing. 

Maybe this one little note could make his days easier. You knew what it was like to need someone.

Carefully, the bag was zipped up and handed to Satoru. Like usual, he gives you a goodbye kiss and a promise to return quicker than expected.

And like usual, the emptiness of your room ate away at you.

The weeks that passed were a big blur to you, running on a state of numbness.

The mundane routine cycled itself: You wake up with a heaviness in your eyes, you get ready for missions, you do the missions, then you wash and try to sleep. Eat in between if you remember.

The halls felt less welcoming with each day—colder, even. Somehow, there was less life on the campus or maybe it was just you who felt it.

You'd find the others occasionally cheering and chatting in the open field while you retreated to your room. 

Was it just you who felt the space?

“Damnit!” A particularly deep gash behind your thigh had you limping back to the company car. 

The Grade 3 Curse managed to dig its sharp claws into your leg after a sloppy attack with your cursed technique. The fight was messier than it should have been and longer than usual. 

How could you let a Grade 3 Curse even touch you like this?

The assistant manager that accompanied you on this mission exclaimed your name once she spotted your limping form. She quickly ran towards you, slinging your arm over her shoulder in a supportive stance.

“I'll call Shoko-san immediately.”

“No—no, no. Don't tell anyone. We'll go to a hospital.” You insisted with a hiss.

The searing pain that crawled up from your thigh almost made you reconsider but you couldn't risk Satoru knowing about this. 

You knew this would only break him even more. Naivety didn't hold you tightly enough to make you think you held no importance to Satoru.

“But—” The young assistant manager tried to resist.

“No. We're going to a hospital and no one hears about this.”

It takes a minute for her to decide, lips pursed into a thin line as her eyes search if you were truly serious. With a hesitant nod, she holds in her sigh and helps you into the car. 

She opens the trunk of the vehicle and returns with a thick blue towel. 

“Here. Put pressure until we get there.” She presses the cloth against your wound, prompting an audible wince from you at the contact. 

“And don't pass out! If you do, I'm taking you to Shoko-san immediately.” The poor assistant manager looked frightened out of her wits.

You nodded, holding the blue towel that began to collect your blood.

When you returned to Jujutsu High, there were stitches sewed into the meat of your thigh, thick gauze atop it, and a visible limp in your step.

Thankfully, you didn't run into anyone during your slow retreat to your room—a small reprieve from the endless hassles you seemed to face.

You flop down onto the bed, careful to lay on your side so as to not irritate the new addition on your body. Utterly defeated by today, you had no appetite or energy.

It has become a habit: before you knew it, your flip phone was already in your hand, browsing through your inbox.

Like what usually happens, there's nothing. The last message in the digital chat with Satoru was always yours.

With a sigh, you drop your phone onto the bed. The bright lights in the room burned through your closed eyelids—but you couldn't sleep without them anymore.

Tomorrow will be better.

Geto Suguru defected from Jujutsu High.

You couldn’t find Satoru when the official sentence had been released.

“In accordance to Article 9 of Jujutsu Regulations, he is subject to execution as a Curse User.”

An air of heaviness pulverized over the Jujutsu High premises. Searching high and low from morning to afternoon, you weren’t able to spot Satoru—not even a trace of him.

Your legs moved despite the punishing agony that shot up from your thigh. Eventually, you stayed with Shoko, offering your quiet presence without forcing conversation.

Geto Suguru, the mellow and composed senior that often strolled with his hands in his pocket, had killed 112 people? 

The numbness was replaced with shock, another disengaging feeling that hauled you away from the reality you were already losing touch with.

Satoru returns in the evening. 

The jokes and dented smirks that he made his armor was no rival to real vulnerability. He moved like a corpse possessed, arms that didn’t feel like his and legs that felt as if they’d buckle any moment.

He finds you waiting by the oak door of his room.

The way your eyes lit up in worry nearly sent his legs to succumb to the weight. You pushed yourself off the doorframe, “Satoru.”

His arms ached, as if dying to feel your warmth against him. You were already wearing your pajamas—long flowy pants and a shirt too big. Probably his.

“I got you your favo—”

“Not right now, sweetheart.”

You recoiled, stopping a few steps away from him.

Of course, he had just lost his best friend—the friend you knew that was attached to his hip the moment you met them. Where Satoru’s name was, Suguru’s was there.

The cautious expression on your face softened, your hands swung behind you. 

“If you want to talk about it, I’m ju—”

“Sweetheart, please. I need to be alone and you're not helping.”

There were storms ravaging in the blue of his eyes, turmoil in every pull and crash of the tide. His shoulders were awfully slack yet the tense shakes of his fingers told you everything you knew.

He was a man unraveling in front of you.

You shrunk in front of him, a nail slipping down on the skin of your fingertips too fast and too harsh behind you.

Suddenly, you were no more than a child under the scrutinizing gaze of your father. A lump formed in your throat, ready to jump at any moment.

What he gave you now was certainty—certainty in that he did not need you. If anything, your presence was one to tolerate. What he needed was quiet, you gave him loud; what he needed was a step back, you gave him the spotlight.

Perhaps it showed on your face; perhaps it didn’t. Satoru’s expression did not change.

Indifferent. 

“Good night, Satoru.” You murmured, exerting most of your force in keeping your voice steady.

He enters his dorm room and shuts it with a click. Not a slam. A gentle click.

“I love you.”

Maybe you would have preferred a slam, because then he’d have a reason not to hear the three words that left your lips.

When Satoru entered his room, it was spotless. Bedsheets changed, wafting the lavender scent of detergent, his blanket folded neatly on the bed, and his floor wiped clean.

The distinct scent of you ghosted under his nose.

His arms wanted to reach out for you, his chest wanted to burst with emotions right in front of you. But he couldn’t.

He wouldn’t because he didn’t want you to see him like this, like a thread coming undone from what used to be a solid front. Reliable was what he was supposed to be; not this broken state. 

His day was compressed into a mess of events he hardly remembered.

A weapon who failed again and again—in the name of protecting what he loved, he wasn’t there when it mattered.

The familiar darkness of your room felt like an embrace, a void that sucked you in without mercy.

Your feet expertly navigate the floor, stepping over takeout cartons and dodging unwashed uniforms. The shadows that haunted the four corners of your tiny room seemed to cave in more and more each day, determined to reach you.

The bed was a tempting deception. The sheets felt rough yet silky, dust collected at the folded lines of a bed that hadn’t been made in weeks.

Still, you sit in your messes.

The warmth on your calf had been bugging you. With the guidance of the moonlight from the crack in the curtains, you noticed the spreading wet patch on your pants. 

Peeling them down, the crimson shone like wine under a chandelier with the moon. The thin threads that held your separated skin together had severed, allowing the burgundy waterfalls to stream down your leg. 

The sigh that built up pressure in your lungs couldn’t escape. Instead, the tears rolled down your cheeks in hot rivers. 

With a blurry vision, you slowly reached for the gauze and pressed it against the gash. You wrapped bandages around your thigh, holding it in place, sucking in your teeth from the stings.

Should you tell Shoko? 

Then you remembered: the last time you saw Shoko, she barely spoke—the vestiges of her life clung to the remaining people in her life.

So no.

Maybe you’ll go to a hospital in the morning.

Satoru, from birth, was keenly aware of his potential—especially when the fact of it was shoved down his throat. His life was naught if not for the responsibility destined on his shoulders.

He was untouchable, a god who walked among the best.

He realized this. Yet he selfishly wanted to be with you. 

With RCT, he rose to the pinnacle of his capabilities. The obstacles that scarred him were nothing but fuel to his hungry soul. 

His undoing was not Riko, not Toji, not even Suguru. 

But you.

“Where is Shoko?” Satoru stormed into Yaga’s personal domain. The boy’s hurried footsteps echoed in the generous hall.

Uncharacteristically, Yaga was not sewing, merely staring at nothing with folded arms. 

The principal lifts his gaze to the panting white-haired sorcerer, “Shoko is heading to Kyoto at this very moment.” His voice is rough, but not unkind.

“What is it that you urgently require her—”

Satoru does not give another word before turning his heel and raging down the hall, seemingly disordered. 

The gears in Satoru’s head refuse to turn, because if they did, he’d realize the mistakes he failed to notice. He enters your room, knocking over cans and stepping on your laundry. 

“Baby,” His whispers cracked, far from reassuring. “I’m taking you to a hospital, okay?” 

His calloused fingertips ran along your cheeks briefly. Cold.

“Lean into me, sweetheart.” Satoru’s hand slipped under your knees, the other cradled your back. Maybe you would have felt the prick of his chilly skin had it not been for the burning fever.

Satoru’s eyes shook as he took in the warmth that coated his fingers, the dried blood smeared all over one leg, the burgundy stains on the used bandages and sheets.

Your head lolled on his shoulder, far too limp for his liking. Shallow, trembling gasps fanned his neck, too warm against the cool skin.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” His voice is strained as his legs move. 

The darkness of your room becomes irrelevant as he steps into the sunlit hall that seemed to mock him.

“You’ll be just fine,” His heart is in his ears.

The lack of a response sends his soul into a panic, “Talk to me, baby.” He begs.

He steals a glance at you for a moment, to check. Your skin was pale as if all your blood had been left behind in week-old sheets and curled strings of bandages.

He didn’t know how long you had been in this state. He didn’t check in on you until Nanami mentioned he hadn't seen you for a week. 

He should've.

“Baby,” He lightly shakes you, “Say something.”

Satoru’s eyes tremble in fear—in real fear.

“Y/N, please.”

Then he hears the one thing his heart lives for.

“...Toru.” There. Faint and quiet but there. 

“Yes, baby,” He affirms, shakily. The sleek black company car he had called earlier rapidly comes into view. “Keep those pretty eyes open for me.”

He looks down at you, “When you recover, you can tell me all about how big of an asshole I am, alright?”

Satoru sat beside your hospital bed, soaked in your blood. 

The machine rhythmically beeped, a sound that would forever haunt him.

The doctor said the deep wound on your thigh had gotten infected. Satoru didn’t even know you were injured until it was almost too late.

He didn’t even know where or how you got hurt. You didn’t tell hi—No, he never asked.

He bows his head low, arms braced on your hospital bed as his eyes shook with exhaustion. 

You cleaned his dorm room with that horrible injury for him? And he couldn’t even utter the three words back to you. The thoughts were recalcitrant behind his eyes, rumbling in a fierce guilt.

Fear and love were both foreign feelings to the Strongest. 

The image of you lying in a hospital bed, an accumulation of his small mistakes proved the existence of the two emotions.

He knew love was real when it terrified him.

A terrible ache dawdled on every inch of your body, particularly concentrated behind your thigh. The sting pulsed irregularly and at different hostilities—despite their ill will, it was enough to rouse you from a sluggish sleep.

Your eyes peeled open, heavy and swollen. 

“Sweetheart.” The voice brushed against your skin softly, familiar and tender.

You turn slightly, minding the ache in your lower half. A disfigured blob of white hair appears in your blurry vision.

But you knew, hazy or not.

“Satoru.” You called out, the word struggling.

“You’re awake.” He murmurs over the sound of beeping, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” You answer, you watch the skin folding in between his brows in real time.

He leans in closer, “Be honest, my love. None of that.”

The hesitation climbs up your throat but sincerity is quicker. 

“Like shit.”

A soft smile breaks across his face, “That’s my girl.” 

You manage a small chuckle. His hand is a comfort against yours—your hand is warm while the rest of your body is hollow and cold.

“You had me worried, sweetheart.” He admits, elbows on the bed. He drops his forehead against your intertwined hands.

His voice is throaty as he says, “I haven’t been scared like that before.” 

“Don’t do that again,” He murmurs, heart spilling before you, “I don’t think I can take it.”

With your other free hand, you placed it on the crown of his head. His blue eyes peak over where your fingers connect, locking with yours.

There was a deep vulnerability in them, a sincerity that only came from a man utterly hagridden. The cobalt in them torrid with desperation.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Toru.” You murmured, “Thought’ I could handle it by myself.”

He presses a kiss against your knuckles. 

He murmurs against the skin, “Tell me everything next time.”

“I want to know how your days go. Don’t care what it is, I want to know.” He confesses, “If you exorcise a special grade, I want to know how you did it. Even if you just stub your toe, I still want to know.”

“If you ever feel like you need me, I’ll be there for you.” He places a kiss on your fingers, then on your palm, then on your wrist. “In a heartbeat.”

The tears did not register in your head until you saw his expression softening impossibly. His eyes turn gentle and the smile on his lips is fond.

The snivels racked your body, weeks of holding it in flooding out in one expression of relief. The tears roll down your cheeks, chest rising and falling in hiccuping motions.

Satoru releases your joined hands before slowly climbing into the hospital bed. With difficulty due to his large frame, he squeezes into the space beside you.

Instinctively, you curl into him. One arm becomes your pillow while the other trails up and down your back in a soothing pattern.

“Satoru, this bed isn’t made for cuddling,” You laughed wetly, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

He presses a tender kiss on your forehead before grinning boyishly down at you.

“When has that stopped us?” He holds you even closer.

His nose is buried into your hair and he allows you to rub your tear-stained cheeks into his chest.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He whispers, “I’ve neglected you without realizing it.”

“I'm sorry for what I said that night. I was just overwhelmed. You help me in more ways than one.”

“I’ll do better. I’ll be better for you, sweetheart. I promise you.” He continues, a covenant resting in between his words.

You nod against his chest, sniffling. The warmth of his words mends the nagging affliction that found roots within you, replaced by something deeply like him—hope.

“I love you, Toru.” You tilted your head up, resting your chin on him.

He holds the back of your head like you’re delicate, worth more than life itself.

The wonder in his eyes are epistles of adoration, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

“More than anything.” He nuzzles his nose against yours, eliciting tired giggles from you.

The first week after being discharged from the hospital, things were back to the days before Riko Amanai. As promised, Satoru took up less missions. 

What used to be on hold were back running: Silly dates, random sneak-attacks and chases that ended in cuddles, and the sacred ritual of ice cream afternoon runs.

But there was something about Satoru that you couldn't quite reach. Time would heal all, you chose to believe.

The spark of flame burned passionately for days.

But like all flames, there came days where they flickered and dwindled.

“Sweetheart, they need me in Kanazawa. I’ll be back in two days.” He told you, guilt underlying the words. 

You turned to him from your spot beside him, ignoring the way your mood fell. You think this was too familiar.

Like a blind believer, you hoped.

“Satoru, you don’t need to feel guilty about going on missions.” You laughed lightly, an attempt to exorcise the ugly feeling in his words. 

“You’re too kind,” He kisses your temple, “I’ll finish it quickly and get back to you as soon as I can.”

Too familiar. You watched his back like a movie replaying—a part of you prepared for the fall, the sharp dagger to your gut.

Satoru had his eyes set on a world that did not limit itself to you, but to you, you looked at him like he was yours. Each day without him, a piece of you died, wasting away. 

While you were there for him, who was there for you? 

You knew dating him wasn’t without challenge—you knew that there were burdens far beyond your understanding. You thought you were ready to bear the load with him, that with him, nothing was impossible.

WIth each moment he spent away from you, there came a reminder. You were weak—Satoru would rather hide his problems because he knew you couldn’t take it; Satoru didn’t see you as reliable, he saw you as a liability.

You were another burden to him and like an idiot, you gave him obligations, more responsibilities past your station. You were weak, you were never dependable. It was for these same reasons that Haibara died.

Sleep escaped you more than you’d like to admit and your smiles were ironed out with each day you were left to be a victim of your mind. 

One 2-day mission extended into a 3-day one; 3-day missions turned into 5 days; and 5 days turned into 7. Before you knew it, Satoru was gone more than he was with you.

Suguru was still at large, forming some kind of cult you didn’t quite understand. It was obvious that the rising tensions in the Jujutsu society were because of him. Satoru carried the weight of the world.

Couples always proclaimed about the hard patch of a relationship, that period of constant push-and-pull. Perhaps, that’s the label this interval had.

A tug of war.

With your anniversary nearing, you cleared your schedule for the exciting date. 

All you needed was a reminder in the midst of mundane days. You always believed that you and Satoru could connect like nothing changed even after a spell of absence. 

Maybe it was desperation, maybe it was hope—you couldn’t tell. It’ll be better. You only needed a reminder to rekindle that flame.

“I’m heading to the restaurant, Toru! I’ll see you there.” The chime of the message being sent vibrated onto your fingers.

You smiled down at the screen, butterflies fluttered in wandering loops inside your stomach.

Donning a navy blue dress, the excess effort proudly displayed itself in your appearance: a new style of makeup, and hair done in the way that you’ve always wanted to try. A necklace hugged your neck, heavy with meaning.

A small way of making you feel like yourself again.

The restaurant was straight out of a romance movie. A classic luxury restaurant in the heart of Tokyo that made you smooth your dress intermittently. 

Satoru said he made a reservation and to dress nicely but you didn’t expect this.

With the help of the hospitable staff and without the help of your apparent shyness, the reserved table came into view. 

Amidst the hushed chatter and clinks of metal, a table for two sat, overlooking the cityscape of Tokyo. The wine glasses beautifully reflected the incandescent light of the candles on the table, a color of love—golden.

You sat down, cheeks aching from the smile you wore. You accompanied the ripened laughs and clinks of intimate toasts between lovers and families with an awkward gulp and wide, excited eyes.

The table cloth was nice to the feel as you ran your palms along it.

7:32 pm. He’ll be here soon.

“Good evening, miss. Would you like to order?” A kind server in a neat uniform approached you, a notebook and pen in hand.

You flashed a polite smile—far too youthful and vibrant—to the gracious server, “I-I’m waiting for someone. He’ll be here soon.”

The server nods with a smile and strolls to another table.

You checked your beat-up flipphone again. There’s a message from Satoru.

“Something came up with the mission, baby! I’m wrapping it up now <333 !” 

7:57 pm. There’s a stupid cheshire smile on your face.

The pair of lovers on the table beside yours get up to leave. Her purse is slung on his shoulder as they walk to the exit with smiles drowning in love.

You nibble on your lip, tapping your foot beneath the table. 

8:14 pm. Tokyo traffic is no joke afterall.

Your glass of water has been refilled four times and three different servers have approached you to take your order, you counted.

The keychain on your flip phone feels oddly taunting, your eyes burning holes into the white bunny.

8:33 pm. It’s been an hour.

You’ve been late hours after a fixed meetup time before. This was the exact same thing, only that you were the waiting party.

Your hands reach over to adjust the positions of the utensils on Satoru’s side for the nth time.

He’ll be here soon.

“Good evening, miss,” A server—from earlier, you recognize—nears you. He stands in front of your table with a remorseful expression, “I apologize for bothering you, miss. I would like to inform you that we have a restaurant policy that customers must order to prevent loitering and free up space for walk-in guests.”

You shot up in your seat, “O-Oh, is that so…” You quickly pick up the menu.

The numbers on the handheld board had the potential to drain your bank account dry—right after you recently paid for your mother’s trip abroad. 

You immediately point to the cheapest option, knowing exactly where it was on the page. “This, please.” It was a slice of cake though it barely looked like one. More like half a slice of cake. The server jots it down and nods, promptly retreating to fetch your order.

A deep sigh eased from your tense lungs. Your attention returns to the empty inbox of your device.

You reread his message for what felt like the millionth time.

9:05 pm. 

The cake tastes like shit. 

Too much of everything and lacking everything all at once.

Just as you thought, it was ostentatious with its gold leaves and dried chocolate lines on the plate. The ceramic took up more space than the cake did. 

At least it took your mind off Satoru, even if it were only a couple minutes.

The chatter of other guests have become quieter as the conversation reduced into romantic whispers that belonged only to their spheres. 

As you pushed a too-hard strawberry across the plate, you could hear the phantom voice of Satoru complaining about the cake.

9:49 pm. Your heart begged Satoru to prove you wrong.

Before the last table could leave, you decided to save what little of your dignity was left and exited the establishment. You gave a brief, quiet thanks—in a pathetic attempt to hold in your sadness—to the valet.

The servers’ and staff’s gazes were piercing hot against you, like stabs to the violent tears that threatened to burst. 

They must have seen you waiting all night at the table. They must have thought how pitiful you were, hoping for a man that never showed his face until the restaurant closed.

The place was already far above yourself. They already probably thought you didn't belong. 

Embarrassment lingered within you but it was no rival to the heavy hurt that roped your spine.

The cold that bit your skin as you walked down the streets of Tokyo was a slap to your face.

What a fool you were. 

“Satoru? Is the mission holding you up?” 8:21 pm.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you’re done!” 8:46 pm.

“You still coming, baby?” 9:01 pm.

“Their cake tastes bad.” 9:53 pm. 

“I’m going home.” 10:41 pm. 

Tears collect in the pockets of your lids but you stubbornly don’t let them fall. You hug yourself tighter.

Jujutsu High seemed like a hostile place to return to, because Satoru would be there.

A sudden wet, chilly droplet falls onto your hand. Then another on your nose, then more of its siblings on your head. The clicks of your heels on the pavement stopped as you held out your hand.

Passersby quickly clear the streets at the tease of rain. A woman rushes past you with her bag on her head. 

“Just great.” You cursed through an exasperated gasp—almost laugh—as the droplets rapidly increased in frequency. 

You hailed the nearest taxi before the rain could sour your dispirited soul.

The yellow vehicle drops you off at your childhood home. Luckily, your mom still keeps the key under the potted plant in the windowsill. 

The key turns and permits entrance into the house you grew up in. The lights were closed and the shadows that stretched along the walls were accompanied by the muffled splashes of rain outside.

Right, your mom was still abroad. Maybe you were glad for that much. 

Your chest tightened, teetering on the edge of breaking—but you don’t let it. A short intake of breath follows your trembling lip.

The space felt too small as if someone held your head down in a full well. Suffocated, you barely process the fact that you kicked your heels off and trudged into your room. 

Your phone had been blowing up since the taxi ride—though the chimes were pointless now.

The obsolete vanity in your room, you noticed, wasn’t thrown out.

The old stool complained as you sat down. The young woman who stared at you was unrecognizable. Tears collecting at the rims—and the natural pinkish joy in your cheeks was replaced by artificial powder.

Who was she?

The pressure in your lungs crushed your windpipe.

The door swings open, the sound of the heavy rainfall and Satoru’s heaves bleeding into the room.

The white-haired man spots your back, facing him, as you sit in front of your vanity. From his angle, he can’t see your reflection in the mirror, sending his heart to thump faster.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Satoru rushes in deep breaths, quickly stripping his coat and dropping it onto a nearby chair, “I didn’t mean—I shouldn’t have—”

“I have no excuses. I’m so sorry, sweets,” He rambles, trying to close the spot between the two of you.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. You only unclasp the necklace around your neck.

“I’m sorry, baby,” He breathes, “Are you mad?”

He steps beside you, finally seeing your unmoving expression. 

“If you’re mad, you can yell at me. You can even hit me! As much as you want.” He insists. If you didn’t move in time, Satoru might have grabbed your hand. 

You stood up, heading to your closet to change out of the suffocating navy blue dress. 

“Baby, please.” He pleads, hands landing on your shoulders.

You pause. The corners of your eyes burned and the tears you spent all evening stopping flooded down your cheeks.

“Hey, Hey, Hey—” Satoru murmurs, soft and ridden with guilt. Your legs beneath your knees grow weak and you slowly crouch onto the ground. 

Satoru quickly moves in front of you and drops down to your level, hands on your shoulders.

“Baby,” He tries to brush the tears away but you don’t let him, “Sweets, don’t cry.” He shushes in lulling tones.

Your throat burns with salty tears as you gasp and the broken feeling in your chest feels like glass puncturing your lungs. 

“Baby—”

“I’m so tired, Satoru,” Your voice breaks at the end, “I’m so so fucking tired.”

Satoru froze, brows stitched together in belated guilt. It’s as if it hurts him to watch you cry.

“I’m tired of waiting for a sign. I’m tired of waiting for you to come back only for you to go away the second you do.”

“I’m tired of pretending like tomorrow’s going to get better when time and time again, it doesn’t.”

Your words feel like poison on your tongue, cracking and painfully honest, “I’m tired of feeling so alone,” 

“You’re there, Nanami’s there, Shoko’s there, I’m surrounded by people all the time,” You sniffle, “But I don’t know why I still feel so alone.” Your voice shatters.

Satoru's face is scrunched in pity, the skin around his eyes turning red.

You lifted your gaze to him, cheeks glistening with tears, “I trusted you that we could pull through this, Satoru.”

“And now I’m beginning to think that was a mistake.” You hiccuped.

Your lover seems as if someone ripped his heart out from him. The maturity on his face crashes into pure emotion.

The tears kept falling, “I’m tired of waiting for your promises to come true.”

“I’m tired of being an afterthought. Being there for everyone without getting the same back. I’m tired of being your fool.”

“Give myself back to me, Satoru.” You cried hoarsely with your hands on your face, like you’ve lost something so dear.

Satoru’s hands ball into fists beside his thighs. His head looks down at you, hurt rooted deep in the cerulean blue as if he can’t believe he did this to you.

There was a brief pause, merely filled by your sniffles and cries.

“Do you regret this?” He whispers.

“I’m sorry, Satoru.” You say in broken words.

“Do you want to end this, Y/N?” He asks, as steady as he could be though his eyes betray him.

The lump in his throat bobs. “Do you want me to go?” He asks, voice cracking.

The pause stretches, seemingly infinite until slowly, you make small nods, shaky.

“Just go. Leave! Just leave.”

But what you really meant was Stay. Please stay. Choose to stay.

Your eyes fell to the ground, waiting for him to wrap his arms around you, to fight for you.

His hands linger on your shoulders, hesitant, before pulling away. He stands up and his shoes disappear from your line of sight. His footsteps echo and merge with the hiss of rain outside.

The door closes gently, too gently. The quietness floods in, settling deep and heavy with uncomfortable clarity.

Tears fall onto the back of your hands as your knees land onto the floor. The silence seemed to mock you. 

Your eyes dart to the door, blurry and desperate. “Toru?”

It’s closed shut, his coat is still on the chair. When the room falls too quiet and the four walls close in on you, you rose and ran for the door.

The street was dark with only streetlights flickering in the space. The rain on the ground splashes onto your legs, drenching your dress. Hair stuck to your face and the cold breeze from running nipped at your skin. 

You searched, turning left and right, breathless. The tears mixed with the rain as you ran. 

“Satoru!” The crash of the rain hid the calls of his name.

You wanted to tell him you took it all back. You would give him a chance if he stayed.

“Satoru!” You cried.

That you still loved him. 

But he was gone.

And you were alone, running in the midst of mourning the finality.

Shoko sat beside Satoru, his eyes trained on nothing.

“Y/N’s been declared AWOL.” Shoko murmurs, a forgotten cigarette rests in between her fingers. The bags under her eyes were heavier than usual.

Satoru’s gaze was unfocused, hands laced loosely as he rested his elbows on his knees.

Shoko continues, “You’re an idiot, Satoru.”

“I know.”

“The biggest one. The worst kind.”

“I know.”

Silence idles in sore resolution. The smoke fizzles from the cigarette, wafting towards Satoru. But the man doesn’t move.

Shoko sighs lightly. Her limbs move in languid motions as she stands.

Her eyes are focused on something far in the distance. “If you see her again, don’t even bother.” She says with one hand in her pocket.

The gravel crunches under Shoko’s weight, moving further from Satoru.

He doesn’t move. Not an inch.

His coat is still in your house. 

Satoru left when you told him to because he believed that he was the one hurting you. He caused you to cry and he was the one who neglected you promise after promise.

If giving you peace meant removing himself from your narrative, Satoru would gladly spend the rest of his life repenting with the punishment of your bruising memory.

You deserved someone who didn’t have his problems; someone who could fulfill promises, someone who didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders. He shouldn’t be selfish now, he can’t chase you after all the wrong he’s done to you.

As his final act of love, Satoru lets you go. 

Satoru met you when he wasn’t looking for love and lost you when he loved you the most.

11 years later.

The society of sorcerers remained at a steady, relative peace. The number of curses fluctuated across different seasons and new batches of sorcerers graduated and entered.

Peace was shattered when Sukuna’s vessel had been found.

“Gojo-sensei!”

“Sensei!”

Satoru grew from an immature teenager into a reliable teacher. The wild youth on his face had succumbed to the mature serenity he now carried.

“Gojo-sensei, have you ever been in love?” Yuji asks, the light of the TV flashing across his face. One of Yaga’s dolls, Tsukamoto, sleeps peacefully in the boy’s arms.

The movie plays a dramatic scene of a girl running to the love of her life, suspenseful music bouncing off the walls in the tiny basement.

Gojo sits beside Yuji, one long leg crossed over the other. The boy can’t tell if his teacher is thinking or reminiscing, the blindfold obscures much of his thoughts.

“Once.” The now 28 year old sorcerer answers in a lazy drawl.

Yuji’s face lights up. His chest turns to Gojo, curiosity swimming in his wide eyes. The movie becomes nothing but background music.

“Really?! Where is she now? Is she still i—”

Pow! Tsukamoto lands a harsh upper cut on Yuji’s jaw, sending the boy slacking against the couch. 

Gojo manages a small chuckle, “You have to focus if you don’t want Tsukamoto doing that again.”

Yuji grumbles a gruff “I got it.” while rubbing the growing soreness on his jaw. He turns back to the movie as Tsukamoto flops back onto his lap. 

Love? Gojo thought. There was only one person who came to mind.

“Seriously?!” Nobara exclaims, hands braced on the arms of the chair she was on. Megumi, as usual, doesn’t look surprised. 

Yuji nods fervently, “Gojo-sensei told me himself!”

“Well, we obviously have to find her!” Nobara trudges towards Yuji, a woman on a mission. She flops down onto the couch beside him. 

Whipping out her phone, she begins by searching through her teachers’ social media platforms—if there were any. Yuji peeks over her shoulder, watching and observing her quick fingers.

“Hey, Fushiguro, do you know anything?” Nobara asks, gaze trained on the screen of her phone.

Megumi answers in a flat tone, “Shoko-san definitely knows about it. From what I overheard, she was Nanami-san’s classmate.”

“Nanamin?!” Yuji exclaims, surprised.

“That makes it a whole lot easier!” Nobara tries to search up their names.

The 20-minute online investigation was, in fact, not easy. The trio forgot one crucial factor: none of their teachers had social media accounts because Jujutsu society was highly secretive.

Except for Gojo, of course, who didn't know what a threat was. He had every social media account he possibly could—sometimes, he'd even instruct them to like his new tiktoks. 

But even then, their teacher didn't follow anyone aside from his alt accounts. 

“Of course, you guys.” Megumi sighs, “Why did you think they’d post at all?”

“Don’t forget you were looking for it with us, Fushiguro!” Yuji countered as Megumi looked away.

Nobara shoves her phone into the pocket of her skirt. “Well then, all that’s left is to ask Shoko-san, huh?”

“Satoru’s first and only love?” Shoko echoes the question. The two of them nodded eagerly—Megumi was on the side, pretending like his ear wasn’t perked up.

Shoko hums as she ponders. Her deep brown locks had grown past her shoulders; the features of her face became sharper; and the tiredness of her eyes never went away after all these years.

The years gave something that nothing else could: the quiet expertise on her expression.

“Well, there’s definitely only one person.” She leans into her office chair. An opened pack of cigarettes rested on her desk.

Nobara and Yuji nodded, leaning in closer.

“If you want to look for her, don’t.” Shoko states, “She left Jujutsu High when we were second-years.” 

“For all we know, she’s probably dead.”

The smiles on the two excited students crashed to the floor, the sparkle in their eyes were blown out like candles. Megumi’s head turned to the door, arms crossed. 

“Dead?” Yuji echoed.

Nobara wouldn’t back down, “Could we at least know her name, Shoko-san?”

They didn’t miss the way a small, fond smile appeared on her face,

“Y/N.” Shoko answered.

“Find anything, Kugisaki?” Yuji asks with a mouthful of burger. 

The three young teens were in a comfortable diner, burgers and plastic drinks with straws decorated the table.

Nobara shakes her head, leaning into the red cushions of the booth. 

“Absolutely nothing.” She groans.

Megumi has crumbs near his mouth when he says, “You probably won’t find anything about her since she’s a sorcerer.”

“If what Shoko-san said was true, then we won’t find anything even if we ask around.”

Nobara pouts and Yuji looks down at his half-eaten burger. 

“Right.” Yuji sighs, “That’d be unfortunate.”

Nobara swipes her drink with unwavering determination, “Well, well, that’s just an if! What if we choose to believe the alternative that she’s actually alive!” 

Megumi groans while Yuji affirms her drive by nodding excitedly.

“What do you two plan on doing then?” Megumi sighs.

Nobara and Yuji turn to their spiky-haired friend, grins growing slowly in enthusiasm. 

“Absolutely nothing!” The two exclaim in unison.

Megumi slaps a hand over his eyes.

“Fushiguro!” Yuji yelled out, body unable to move in time. The Grade 2 Cursed Spirit barrelled towards Megumi; with the rate it’s going, it was going to land a sure hit.

Megumi turns, eyes widening at the sight of the Curse coiling in satisfaction after cornering him. He lifts his hands to summon Nue but the Curse’s reach was faster than his hands could connect.

Yuji nearly slips as he runs towards Megumi from across the room.

Shi—

Megumi closes his eyes, bracing for the impact. 

He pants and his heart thrums in his ears.

For a force that never came. 

In confusion and pants, the sorcerer cracks his eyes open to find the Curse stunned in front of him. Its flesh starts to swell in odd parts; the discolored skin stretching beyond its limitations before bursting in front of him.

Purple blood rains in the room, splattering all over Megumi and his wide eyes. 

What the hell?

“So dirty.” An unfamiliar voice says.

The remnants of the spirit began to dissipate into ash. Yuji stops at the voice, planting his heels firmly on the ground. He holds his tight fists up in a stance.

The two turn to the source of the voice. A figure stands in the crumbled doorway of the abandoned building.

A woman?

“Who are you?!” Yuji exclaims, threateningly. 

The woman was certainly beautiful—in her late 20s, Megumi thinks. In one hand, she held a sharp blade. Her hair frames the sides of her face that held nothing but calmness even in the face of two threats.

Unless… She didn’t think of them as threats. Megumi grits his teeth.

You raise your hands, “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“If I did intend to, I would have done so and started with him.” You flickered your eyes to the black-haired sorcerer on your right. 

As you beheld his appearance, the boy had open wounds on his body, bleeding from his side. It seemed there had been more curses than the one you just exorcised.

You stepped into the room. The pink-haired one raises his fists and the other has his hands ready to summon more of his shikigami.

“I wouldn’t have killed that curse if I wanted to hurt you,” You offered a gentle smile, “You two… you are from Jujutsu High, aren’t you?” 

Yuji’s brows furrowed further. His hands drop by a fraction. “How do you know that?”

“Itadori! Fushiguro!” Another voice, a girl’s, echoed from Yuji’s end of the concrete halls. Nobara appears and freezes just behind Yuji upon noticing you. 

The girl, with blood running down half of her face, draws a strong posture. She sported the familiar deep blue skirt and top.

“Man, they really didn’t change the uniforms one bit.” A mellow chuckle escapes you. Your arms fall to your sides.

You lean on one hip, “Say, how’s Nanami?” 

The three tense, defense stances strengthening. Yuji holds one leg behind the other while Megumi has both hands in front of him, ready to cast his shikigami, and Nobara grips her hammer in a firm fist.

“Nanamin?” Yuji says under his breath.

Something about your expression shifts after what Yuji muttered, Megumi notes. A calm change, a little softer.

“My name is Y/N. I was a Jujutsu High student like you.”

“You’ve become so mature, Shoko.” You smiled, taking a seat beside your old friend that had become a full-fledged doctor. 

Fushiguro, you’ve come to know his name, was on one of the beds you spent quite a bit of time on back in the day. Kugisaki was on the adjacent bed. 

“Do you still smoke?” You teased.

A reminiscent and fond smile stretches across her face as she crosses her arms, “Four a day.”

Her voice had become smoother—softer in the way that it was mature. 

“Some things never change, huh.” A gentle laugh escapes you. “That can’t be healthy for a doctor.”

The warmth in your chest was unmistakable when you were with Shoko, one of the dear friends that you found to miss deeply after you left.

“Trust me, I need it. It was hell after you left.” She utters, throwing one leg over the other.

“I can imagine.”

Her gaze slides to you, “And how are you? Where have you been this whole time?”

“I’m a freelancer now. Of course, no jobs that don’t sit right with me.” You answered, “Life’s been fine I guess.” 

“Why don’t you come back here?” She offers, ever so calm. 

A chuckle eases out of you, “To Jujutsu High? I think the reason’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.” The mellow smile on her face hasn’t disappeared.

Unsynched footfall echoes from the hallway that connected to the room you were in, growing closer with each second. 

The door swings open, revealing Itadori and a face you couldn’t forget even if you wanted to. Chin tilted high like he owned the room with his shoulders pushed back.

Gojo Satoru.

“Sa—Gojo.” You corrected yourself. 

A part of you that remained stuck in the past felt unraveled. 

“[Last Name].” He returned with that nostalgic teasing lilt, only deeper and older. 

The tension that ballooned in your lungs began to deflate slowly, allowing for a small, reminiscent smile to appear on your visage. 

“You’re still the same as ever.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” He asks with a smirk.

You leaned into your seat with a smile, “Still an idiot, I see.”

Itadori’s gaze bounces back and forth from Gojo and you. The gears in his head seemingly turned with each statement perfectly countered.

The boy definitely confirmed that you were the girl Gojo had once mentioned.

“Thank you for saving my student.” He starts, after shutting the door. 

The golden afternoon light filters into the room, curtains framing the sides of the window. The strong features Satoru grew into caught the light, bathing him in something familiar. 

The jaw you used to trace was sharper now, his skin on his cheeks tauter having lost that teenage baby fat. Instead of the circle glasses, he wore a black bandana across his eyes.

You settled into the chair in front of him. He plops down, lazily sprawling as he used to do.

“Shoko told me he’s Toji’s son.”

“He is.” Satoru admits. The bandana outlines the shape of his eyes.

Your heart that was conditioned to stay in place had suddenly learned how to beat again.

“How have you been?” You ask, your hands on the arms of the chair.

He is silent for a moment. You can’t quite read him from the item that concealed the eyes that used to pour out in shameless emotion. 

How does Satoru even begin?

He was convinced that he’d lost the one good thing in his life. How does he tell you of the nights he spent drowning in regret, whispering vows to your ghost—how he should have noticed every shake in your smile, the cups of tea that were never drank. 

He should have been more selfish—should’ve had more time with you and damned the missions he believed the world needed.

He should have chased you.

How does he tell you that for the past 11 years, he didn’t know where to go after you?

“Good.” 

You smiled, “I’m glad you’re happy.”

It killed him. To see your smile flooded in amber light, how the flecks in your eyes didn’t change over the years, reflecting how utterly foolish he was and still is. 

Your smile was a clear x-ray of a life he could’ve had if he chose to be with you.

The slight softening of his smile didn’t pass without getting noticed by you.

You start, “Goj—”

“Satoru.” He corrects you.

“Excuse me?”

“Please call me Satoru.” His voice is deep, throaty as if begging.

A pause falls between the two of you for a moment. A fond huff leaves your lips as you lift your gaze to him.

“Satoru.” You nodded.

That name was the subject of your tearful curses at 2am over the past 11 years. A name that you found yourself lamenting in moments where mourning a love so profound got too loud. 

“You’ve got a stupid blindfold.” 

“I guess.” 

“Your shit fashion taste hasn’t changed.” You commented with a small chuckle.

The pitches of your laugh were stabs to his chest. Satoru should have stayed with you. He should have pulled you in closer instead of leaving that night.

But instead of being honest, he slings an arm over the back of the cushioned chair, “What do you mean? My taste has always been great,”

You cock a brow, “So you say.”

The tension in your fingers relaxes, a macabre relief springing in the person you were now.

“You grew up well, Satoru.”

The Strongest’s throat bobs with much difficulty.

“I only came because Fushiguro looked like he was about to drop dead.” An explanation more for yourself than him. You rose from the velvet chair across the man.

Sweat beads at his palms, pulse racing in his throat.

“Bye, Satoru. It was… nice seeing you again.” You smiled, a bag swung over your shoulder as your footsteps abated towards the door.

Before the doorknob makes contact, a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you back. Followed by a scent too familiar and the shadow casting over you.

“I think we can be brutally honest with each other, Y/N.” He whispers, quietly. 

“I apologize for what I’m about to say,” His voice rings in your ears, “If you ever want to try again, I’ll be waiting here for you.”

“But if you don’t,” His words struggle to come out.

“Be happy. Please.” His breath fans the back of your neck, sending the hairs on your skin to stand. 

11 years had passed but you two were nothing more than stupid teenagers trying to navigate through messy feelings. More breaths leave you than enter your lungs, an undeniable red on the tips of your ears. 

You were supposed to hate him. You were still a fool.

You tear your wrist from his grasp, directing a glare in between sequences, “You’re still the same jerk all those years ago.” Sharp. Unforgiving.

He keeps his tingling hand to himself, electricity shooting up his arm as an unreadable smile appears on his face.

“I know.”

You detested how the sound of your name falling from his lips made your heart do leaps in your chest.

Without turning back, you exit the room and shut the door.

11 years had passed. Both of you were older.

But none the wiser.

A few days after your appearance, Shoko had called you for a mere favor; as old friends newly reunited, the feeling of longing for a friend was stronger than you realized.

And so, you returned to the seemingly adversarial facility.

Moreover as you adjusted to the modifications in the establishment, it was also a foreign sensation having to adjust your gaze upwards whenever Satoru’s voice greeted—he was tall before but even more so now. 

If there was one thing that didn’t change, it was the way he joked and annoyed you.

“Won’t you accompany me to Sendai, Y/N?” He asks like a child, trailing behind you with his hands in his pockets.

“No thanks.” Your eyes were trained forwards.

“Then how about to Shibuya?” Satoru continues, leaning in to take a peak at your expression every now and then.

A knot formed in between your brows, “Even if it were next door, I’m not joining you, Satoru.”

“I’ll pay for your Kikufuku mochi.” He tries.

“Who says I want mochi?” The groove in your brows deepens. Your hands lift to push a door open but Satoru beats you to it.

He grins at you, bending down to your eye level with a hand on the wood, “Everyone loves mochi.”

Your eyes linger on him in mock disdain, a second too long. Just brief enough that you caught the slight lopsidedness of his smile and for a glimpse of his younger version to flicker through your mind.

You rip your gaze from him as you enter, “You only say that because you want me to go with you.” 

The man follows behind you, “You’ve always been smart, Y/N.”

“I’m still not going, Satoru.”

His relentless attempts of stoking the innocent past did not fail to roast the coals in your blood. As you near Shoko’s office, your throat burns from virtually exclaiming at him while he provides a charming smile each time.

“Gojo-sensei is…” Nobara trails off to her two listening friends. The trio had been watching their teacher chase after you like a pup who didn’t know how to give up.

“Terrible at talking to women.” She concludes grimly.

Yuji nods in agreement while Megumi allows a deep, tired sigh to represent him.

Meet me at 10:00am.

A few days after that fateful encounter, life was back on track. It would return to normal, you surmised—Satoru would remain a teacher, surrounded by jovial students and colleagues who praised him, and you would stay doing unstable jobs without the presence of anyone else in your life.

Living what used to be your fears felt less daunting than you expected—because they didn’t invoke the feeling of standing on a cliffside. Instead, fear elicited a skill: the skill of detaching yourself.

Sadness, anger, joy, greed, pride were emotions you stowed away, vowed to lock in a vault in an attempt to remove that godforsaken illusion that drove people mad—love.

That didn’t stop the way your steps faltered at the sight of a lady’s white purse; the way your eyes made a double-take when a brand released a blue and white clothesline in their shop windows; or the way you stopped and stared at a gleaming crystalline pond under the summer heat of Tokyo’s parks.

You pushed open the doors to a café.

Swallowing the distractions down, you willed yourself to focus on the job at hand.

You needed this job. The money gained from the previous job was dwindling to its last few bills; if possible, you didn’t want to live on the savings you had put aside from it.

The aroma of brewing coffee beans greeted you, accompanied by the hushed chatter of other guests. The space was small enough that you could view the heads of customers from your spot at the entryway.

A guy wearing blue. You had to search for a guy wearing blue, the one who hired you.

“Y/N, right?” A voice called, merely a few paces away.

You turned to the source.

Your heart stopped like someone had stepped on it.

Because in the booth right beside you, Satoru was there.

The white-haired sorcerer wore a baby blue button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The glasses perched on his nose was low enough to reveal the cobalt behind that gazed at you.

No way. You hastily scanned the rest of the café, desperately searching for another person donning a blue shirt.

It can’t be Satoru. It must be a coincidence.

Blobs of brown and black-haired individuals were in your vision, a mess of neutral colors but not blue—never blue.

“If you’re looking for the one who hired you, you’ve already found him.”

You turned back to Satoru with a slit in between your brows, teeth crunching together.

The man, with a small teasing smile, lifts his phone where your text conversation flashed brightly on the screen.

“Meet me at 10:00am.” Written blindingly on the device with hostile clarity.

The hands on beside your thighs balled into tight fists, nails digging into your palms.

“You’re the worst, Satoru.” You hissed, taking a step back to leave the café.

“Wait-!” He exclaimed, promptly standing up.

His too-loud voice gathered the attention of the customers in the small establishment. The gentle chatter dimmed into murmuring silence. The red burned brightly on the tips of your ears, too many eyes suddenly focused on the two of you.

Satoru clears his throat, adjusting his stance to a more dignified one, “Hear me out. It’s a serious request.” His gaze never left yours, solid and unyielding despite the noise.

Your knuckles turned white. Something in his expression compelled you to stiffly march one foot in front of the other and slide into the seat across him.

The other guests returned to their own conversations and gradually, the background noise returned.

Stuffing the embarrassment down into the pits of your stomach, you found the courage to muster a glare towards the man in front of you.

He flashes a charming smile in return.

He grabs a menu and slides its twin towards you on the table. “What would you like? My treat.”

“Satoru.” You warned.

He doesn’t stop, his blue eyes roam the pages of the menu. From the corner of your eye, you noticed that images of sweets dominated the laminated board.

“Have you eaten? They have brunch options—salads, sandwiches, pasta. There are also sweets. If you plan to get the milkshake, I’d recommend the chocolate one, the strawberry flavor is way too artifici—”

“Satoru!” You warned him again, louder, slamming the menu onto the table. The cutlery and glass clatter at the force. 

The nearby guests turned to look at you, curiosity swimming in their eyes.

He lifts his gaze towards you, peering over the edge of the menu in his hands.

He doesn’t sigh, he doesn’t click his tongue. He sets down the menu back onto the table, “Two plates of pasta it is.”

You swear you almost got up and left if he hadn’t pointed at the sign stipulating the café’s policy: No loitering, must order.

You sat stiffly, wallowing in growing frustration as Satoru went to order at the counter. His tall figure, with muscles and shoulders emphasized by the fitted shirt, captured the sparkling eyes of ladies at other tables.

A heavy sigh came from you as you rested your cheek onto the palm of your propped up elbow.

Satoru returns with a circular buzzer in his hand.

“You hired me?” You began without a hint of friendliness.

He smiles, “Correct. I did.”

“To have lunch?”

“Yes.”

“You’re paying me 10 million yen to have lunch with you.”

“You’re smart, Y/N.”

“Forget it. Cancel the job.” You placed your palms onto the table, a little too loudly, and moved to the exit. “I don’t want to see you again ever.”

Before you could slide out of the booth, Satoru’s foot reaches out and blocks your path. Your eyes threw daggers at the man who was too calm. Curse his long legs!

“That’s not all.” He adds, eyes peeking above his dark glasses.

“Then get to it.” You warned.

Satoru leans towards you, “You know about Yuji, don’t you?”

You settle back into the cushions, “Itadori?” Your brow raised.

“Yes, exactly. Itadori Yuji. But not just him.”

“I want all my students to become Grade 1 sorcerers,” He explains amidst the sounds of utensils and ceramics clinking.

“And you’re a graded sorcerer.” His hand unravels, gesturing to you flippantly. Piecing the puzzle together, his intentions seem to grow clearer.

“I want you to go on a mission with each of them. Just until you’ve witnessed all of them once. Then make a recommendation to Yaga.” He states.

You crossed your arms firmly, “You want a Jujutsu High exile to recommend your students?”

After withdrawing from Jujutsu High, you weren’t sure what Yaga or the other higher-ups thought of you. As far as you knew, they probably thought you were conspiring with Suguru due to the timing of it all.

“You’re a graded sorcerer, regardless. I don’t think it matters who the recommendation comes from.” He has that lazy drawl, as if he couldn’t care less.

“Why not Nanami? Why me?” Your glare grew deeper from confusion.

Satoru lets out something in between a whine and a groan, “Nanamin’s way too principled to accept my money like this. He said he’ll recognize them when he sees the talent blah blah blah.”

You sighed. Even if it were an excuse, it did seem like the sort of thing Nanami would do.

“10 million yen.” You echoed.

With one arm slung over the back of his seat, a growing smile stretched on his face, “10 million yen.”

The calculations ran in your head at a rapid pace. 10 million yen would be enough to cover your current, somewhat frugal, lifestyle for the next 5 years. If you took other jobs during that time, more money could be added to your savings.

Satoru’s smile softened at your thinking expression, a visage too similar to quiet adoration.

The buzzer vibrated on the table, cutting your thoughts short. Satoru swipes it off from the table before promptly standing up.

“I’ll get our orders,” He offers that familiar smile—only now older—that elicited a momentary churn in your stomach, “Think about it over pasta.”

Satoru strolls casually to the counter, paying the lovesick stares not an ounce of attention.

You stared at his back.

10 million yen was certainly a lot of money. Money that you needed.

While he was mid-slurp of a pasta noodle, you said, “We have a deal.”

The noodle slaps across his lips, painting the surrounding skin orange. His sparkling gaze found you too engrossed in the meal.

A smile full of sauce crossed his face.

“Then, I’ll let you know when the first mission starts.”

You nodded, turning your fork and watching the noodles curl around the metal.

“This pasta is terrible, Satoru.” Your nose crinkled.

He chuckles, “I’ll buy you a slice of ice cream cake to make up for it.”

“You really do know how to strike a deal.”

“I’ll also eat your leftovers if you can’t stomach it.”

“Now, you’re just being greedy.”

Satoru told you that he’d be texting you about the mission. What you didn’t expect was him letting you know on the day of and arriving on your front door five minutes after.

The chime of your doorbell bounced off the walls of your 1 bedroom apartment. You had just gotten his text, no way it was him, right? 

Clad in your mix-matched pajamas and unruly hair that you were flattening with your palms, the view of the door grew nearer as your soft slippers padded across the space.

The door swung open. You hadn’t expected to crane your neck up so early in the morning. 

Much less due to Gojo Satoru.

“Morning!” He beams, a too enchanting grin under his usual blindfold.

You squinted, a flicker of a frown downturning the corners of your mouth. The smile on his face only grows. 

With an elbow on the doorframe, he leans over you.

“I see you still get grumpy in the mornings.” He teases.

The frown on your visage deepens, an annoyed recess in between your brows. 

“That’s because you gave me such a short notice!” You barked.

He grins, “I’m sorry, Y/N,” But he doesn’t seem apologetic at all.

He pushes off the doorframe, “Can I come in?”

The door slams a few inches away from his nose. 

Your shoulders shake with seething anger, nostrils flaring. The booming noise of the doorslam still lingers in the small apartment.

“I’ll see you at the car downstairs!” His voice, annoyingly, is still loud and full through the panel.

After being rudely awakened by a rushed text and his grating presence at 7:30am, you were now in a sleek, black car—one of Jujutsu High’s company cars, you noted. 

Your shoulder was pressed against the passenger car door, Satoru was on the other end.

Despite the established nature of the mission, it didn’t help the brick lodged in your stomach at the rigid air in the car. 

Satoru’s presence only added fuel to the flame.

“Look, Y/N! It’s the restaurant we used to g—”

“How are your injuries, Fushiguro?” You turned to the black-haired student in between the two of you.

“I’m alright now.” The boy answers, notably frustrated by the loud, full voice of the man beside him. The persistent frown on Fushiguro’s countenance was an indication he’d rather crouch in the car’s trunk than sit between two ex-lovers.

“Man, I still remember they had the best crepes in town,” Satoru continues rambling, head thrown back onto the headrest with a smug smirk, “They always added a little bit more whipped cream. You liked the mixed berries, didn’t you, Y/N?”

“They closed down years ago, Satoru.” You sighed, leaning onto your fist that mounted onto the car’s windowsill. The blur of bold, forest green trees and the occasional buildings whizzed past.

“Oho, does that mean you visited them regularly?”

“No comment.” The thrum in your temple was starting to build into a headache.

“Does no comment mean yes?” Satoru prodded, “You said the same thing when I asked you to be a teacher at Jujutsu High.”

A groan rose deep from your soul while the two students turned to look at you. Yuji twisted from the front passenger seat, hazel eyes looking at you with a sparkle.

“You’re going to be a teacher, L/N-san?” Yuji asked—his voice was exactly like Satoru’s, complete and optimistic. The way his eyes light up reminds you of the stray dogs you fed during jobs.

You couldn’t suppress a fond smile, “No. I haven’t accepted Satoru’s offer yet.”

“Yet? That gives me hope, Y/N.” Satoru finally turns to you, the blindfold still concealing the eyes you haven’t seen properly—aside from the small peeks at the cafe. 

You haven’t seen them since that conclusive night.

Were they darker now? Were they the same complete crystalline blue that was made to reflect under the planet’s beam? It struck you that the two of you were no longer the teenagers that hollered in laughter at the back of Ijichi’s car.

His wild hair had been tamed into an undercut; the wideness of his shoulders carved by years of training. Likewise, you didn’t remain the same.

The quirk of your lips dropped and your eyes drifted back to the passing buildings in the window.

“Who knows?” You murmured.

Upon arriving on the mission grounds, a revelation came quickly: Satoru Gojo didn’t hold back on his training.

Because the aforementioned teacher was using multiple Grade 1 curses to impart whatever wisdom he was planning to the two students.

“Is this really okay?” You stood on a ledge inside the abandoned hospital beside Satoru, looking down at the two students' attempt to exorcise the gruelling Grade 1 curses.

His hands are shoved into his pockets, head tilted in their direction.

“It’ll be fine.” He answers in a sing-song manner.

Two Grade 1 curses and two students that were no more than Grade 2 sorcerers. This too felt familiar, reeling at the back of your mind—something you’ve forgotten.

A boy with Itadori’s sunny smiles, around the same grade as Itadori now. 

Right. Haibara.

Your classmate could have been standing here beside you two. While the world continued to turn, Yu remained stuck in the past. Forever. You slowly lowered yourself and sat on the edge of the precipice, feet dangling in the air.

The cursed tool you often brandished—a sword—became a pillar to rest your head on. 

How would Yu have looked grown-up?

Your chin rested on the butt of the sword, eyes sliding towards Satoru. 

Would Yu’s expression have the same quiet experience Satoru carried? Would he have grown taller like the sorcerer beside you? Perhaps, he’d also grow to love rice even more as the years go by. 

Haibara Yu, the boy regretfully frozen in time. The boy who was your dear friend, the brother-type who would fail at many things except when it came to stealing all your toothpaste.

Satoru turned at the sound of your unconscious chuckle.

“If you feel like it, go on and save them. I’ll be right behind you.” 

The wistful thoughts in your head faded at the cut of Satoru’s voice. You lifted your gaze up at him, “Isn’t this supposed to be training?” You asked.

He sets himself down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush for a moment.

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” Satoru muses with a deep, teasing lilt, “But by the looks of it, the curses will actually kill them.”

You manage a snort, cheek falling onto the butt of your sword as you gaze at him.

“You’re a terrible teacher, you know that?” Though the soft smile on your face offered otherwise.

Despite the black cloth wrapped around his eyes, even a blind man could tell he was looking at you. The corner of his mouth snags up into a smirk, “I’ve been told.”

“I’ve also been told I’m devastatingly handsome, have the strongest techniques there i—”

“And you’re also a blabbermouth.” You interrupt with a growing smile.

“Especially that.” 

An unconscious giggle left the smile on your face. Satoru’s shoulders fall ever so slightly, the smile on his face parting at the sound—an angelic tune that he had almost forgotten. 

He missed this. He missed having your giggly smiles beside him—especially when they were because of him. He missed the way your nose crinkled slightly, how the sound of your laughter triggered warmth to bloom in his chest unashamed. 

You were so beautiful to Satoru. 

Even more so now that you were older, now that he knew what he shouldn’t let go of ever again.

The smile on your face mellowed at the sight of his stunned frame. The heat quickly crawled into your cheeks and your pulse began to race in your neck.

No way you just laughed in front of him—because of him. 

“Sensei!” Itadori’s voice echoed through the booms of debris crumbling and the blasts of punches flying. Your attention flies to the two boys who were currently flipping and dodging supernatural attacks. 

A third Grade 1 curse had appeared just as one was about to be exorcised.

You stood up before the noise in your chest could formulate words. Satoru seems to snap out of what he was thinking, directing his gaze elsewhere. The tip of your sword ran along the concrete in a grating drag as you adjusted your grip.

The lump in your throat was difficult, “Right. They need us.”

Satoru nods without looking at you. The thick air between the two of you began to loom heavier—too uncharacteristic of the proud sorcerer beside you. 

You nodded awkwardly before leaping down onto the concrete plain Fushiguro and Itadori were in. The concrete curses as your heels make contact, cracking at the sheer force of the landing.

Fushiguro had wounds drawn along his arms, uniform tattered in numerous places. Itadori had long splits of skin along his chest. Neither injury was enough to impair the performance of the two.

But you were sure to hear from Shoko after. 

The clicks of Satoru’s footsteps echoed from behind you, calm and unhurried.

He stops beside you, just enough to catch a comforting earthy aroma and to send your pulse thrumming in your wrists. 

If he was awkward, he did well not to show it. He leans down to your side with a small smirk, “Show me what you’ve been doing for the past 11 years, sweetheart.”

The two Cursed Spirits were left to the two students while you and Satoru dealt with the third surprise.

You swung your blade through the air, sending the purple liquid on the metal splattering onto the cracked concrete. 

The spirit, a maggot-like figure that was twice the size of you, succumbed to the injuries and crumbled into a pile of ash in the ebbing purple blood running along the ground. 

“Looks like we still make a great team, huh?” Satoru boasts with a proud chuckle.

You nudge his side with the blunt end of your sword before sheathing it. The sorcerer feigns a yelp, exaggerating.

The two students were still fighting the cursed spirits—however, they were on the winning end with minimal injuries.

“Your students do deserve the recommenda—”

Tap. Satoru’s finger swipes along your cheek. You flinched at the cold sensation before catching the color on his finger—purple.

A dripping purple liquid from the puddle of the exorcised Grade 1 spirit.

“Satoru,” You seethed while the 28-year old sorcerer scurried off like a middle school girl.

“Childish idiot! Get back here!” You grumbled, running after the giant amidst the crumbling and distorted screams of curses behind you.

You scooped up a handful of the purple blood before chasing after him.

Satoru’s rich laughs echoed through the abandoned hospital.

Yuji pants, red scrapes decorated along his cheek as he stands victorious over the Cursed Spirit he had conquered.

“Where’s Gojo-sensei and Y/N-san?” The boy asks, strangely energetic after the fight.

Fushiguro pats down his tattered sleeve, likewise overcoming his own opponent, “Beats me.”

Striking at an opportune time, the two of you appear from a dark hallway. Satoru was covered in purple blood—the liquid about to disintegrate into ash—while your arm had an odd purple handprint. 

“Oh, are you two done?” Satoru chimes from the hallway, casually approaching the two students.

The boys shared the same awkward expression.

“I think we should be asking you that, sensei.”

Back at the Jujutsu High grounds, Gojo was the first one out of the company car, followed by Fushiguro and Yuji. 

As soon as you stepped out of the car, a bouquet of flowers bombarded your senses. The petals were shoved up against your nose, forcing you to take a slight step back. A powerful arrangement of your favorite colors, each flower competing in beauty.

Your eyes looked past the bundle and found Satoru behind them. You were about to reject it until you found the receipt of money transferred to your account underneath them.

Your fingers brush against his as you take the bouquet into your arms, “Thank you, Satoru.”

“The rest will follow after every mission with a new student.” He smiles.

You hug the flowers to your chest with something resembling reluctant loathing in your chest—like you want to resist, like you want to turn away.

“You don’t have to give flowers.” You murmured.

“I know. I don’t have to.” He says.

But I want to. 

He doesn’t even need to say the words for you to fill in the lines.

“I’m going home.” You quickly say, turning on your heel and dodging him.

The roads surrounding the Jujutsu High campus were sufficiently embedded into your implicit memory that you didn’t need a phone to return to your apartment. The bickering of the two boys were gradually drowned out by whirring engines from passing cars and the silence offered by the orange sky.

However, there was another set of footsteps in sync with yours.

“Satoru.” You fumed.

When you found your feet unwilling to move, he caught up with you, halting right beside yours.

“I’m going home.” You stated, volatile under your bleak words. 

He tilts his chin down, as if to look at you through the blindfold, “I know.”

The grip you had on the bouquet’s gathered stems tightened.

“Then why are you here?” 

“To walk you home.” He replied, casual like it was a given.

“You have no obligation to do so.”

The way the muscle that feathered in his jaw loosened and how his arms slackened into his pockets re-echoed his answer before he even said anything:

Because I want to.

That didn’t sit right with the rapid tremors in your chest, the breathlessness of your lungs. He doesn’t get to try again, he doesn’t get to make you his fool one more time.

The familiar feeling—the butterflies in your stomach you loathed with an agonizing fury—rushes you, only unsettling the unstable ground you stood upon. The indignant look in your eyes should have chased him away, he should turn around before the curses that began to dance on your tongue took form.

“Go away, Satoru.” You ripped your glare from him and followed the straight road painted in lonesome gold.

Satoru watched your figure draw further from him, his heels rooted into the ground.

He didn’t understand why he began to escort you home in the first place. The second he spotted your person walking home from the dropoff point, all he knew was he didn’t want you to walk alone. 

He couldn’t place a name to the magnetic urge, the pull that never failed to make him gravitate towards you.

That was why he found himself walking a step behind you, even as you warned him off.

Each tap of his shoes on the pavement was a jarring clangor to your ears. The resounding noises prodded open an old wound you desperately tried to stitch up.

11 years of trying to undo what he had done to you. 

Only for him to unravel you in a few moments.

“Satoru.” You bit out.

But his footsteps don’t relent. 

“Satoru. Please.” You croaked.

He stopped abruptly. 

Maybe if you pleaded, he’d stop. He’d stop doing all these things for you and send you off with what little of your dignity you had left.

Please. Satoru was always weak to that word if it came from you. 

You took the chance and vanished at the bend in the road.

The sigh that left his lungs was heavy, full of a chronic ache that broke him. He ran a hand through his white hair.

The last thing he wanted to do was scare you off when he finally got you in front of him.

You turned corners and took familiar shortcuts. The same vibrant posters from 11 years ago were strung along the bricks of the alleyway, only now torn and dull. Trees that used to be saplings had grown into towering beasts of green. 

If focusing on micro-details on the way home was enough to get rid of the ugly sensation in your chest, you’d have been cured completely. 

But it wasn’t. Instead of distracting you, the white and blue details only burned your eyes. 

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: Because of I've reached the block limit for this post. The rest + the ending will be posted on part 3.

First line is a quote from Mahmoud Darwish!

Main inspirations for this fic: Laufey's "Too little, too late" and Taylor Swift's "You are in Love" and "The Prophecy"

As always, interactions are welcomed and appreciated! <3

[eraserbread]

how you get the girl

⟡ pairing satoru gojo x suguru geto x afab!reader

⟡ synopsis tokyo japan, 1999: suguru lost you, satoru has to have you ⟡ it all started with a kiss — one drunk, stupid decision leading to the worst night of geto's life. only, he can’t afford bad nights when he promised his life to you, and he can't figure out how to let his best friend go.

⟡ tags 1990's set college-no curses!au, mxm relationship (kissing— lots of kissing/making out, cuddling, touching/suggestive), love triangle trope, heavy smoking/drinking/partying, crude language, angst, breakups, infidelity/cheating, non-explicit suggestive content, still nsfw

⟡ word count 14.2k

⟡ author's note this one is a 100% canon-compliant back/side story to my fic, virgin. you don't have to read one to understand the other, but if you're tapped into the lore, this is the web that connects them all. ⟡ i have sm fun with them every single time ☹️ characterizing my boys like this has been a lifeline, making it so i'm never ever bored with a storyline or group of characters. this one has so many parallels to virgin, as well as lots of love and care from me and @macbethinchains who always helps me make a fleeting idea the most important part in any story. we outlined this last winter, and it's just now seeing the light ⟡ andddd, enjoyyy ya'll omg... and definitely keep an eye peeled for more drama from them in this timeline. i may or may not have an album fic coming for them

gorgeous breathtaking stunning art by @tsuki--sora

You know better than to open the door past midnight. It's pouring rain outside your house, pattering like wet pellets over the thatched roof. It's been keeping you up — your head heavy over the research paper you've been trying to finish for a week and a half.

It's just… You know better. So, why are you here, pulling the door open to the midnight rainstorm, shivering when the cool August rush of air hits your loosely dressed figure?

On the other side, Suguru stands — arms crossed, shaking and hardly bearing the cold in his cut-sleeved wifebeater tank top. His loose, dark locks are soaked and weighing him down, giving his tall figure an air of helplessness and pure pity.

Like you've seen a ghost, you take a step back as he faces the light, tilting his head up to give you a sideways smile against his snake-bite piercings. You catch your breath, whispering into the rain-soaked night, "Are you insane?"

Suguru blinks, shaking his head as your voice touches him for the first time in nearly half a year. It's been about that long since he gave you up this time. "It's been a long six months…"

You stand silent, waiting for him to catch his fallen sentence and carry on. However, something always stops him when he peeks into your solemn, wide gaze. "Suguru, I—

"Before you tell me to leave." He cuts you off because he's terrified of rejection. No — he can only dole it out, and he does so insanely well. "I know… I know I should've called, but I was terrified about what you thought of me… I was so fucking afraid."

You step farther into the entrance, pulling the rickety door shut against your figure so you can hear his meekness a little more clearly amid the onslaught of precipitation. "You left me this time."

It's not a lie — you and Suguru are no strangers to this juvenile back-and-forth, on and off. Since your first grade, you two have been inseparable in a way that only codependency could explain. He was terrified to be without you, but hated holding you in the way you needed. Suguru needed to be with his friends three times a week without you, but you couldn't breathe when he pulled away. Nothing made sense.

Still, he tries, falling forward into a lean, his hand prepped on your dripping doorframe. "I-I know…" He tries to chuckle, but laughter is lost on him right now. He can barely see straight, needing to blink the water out of his eyes every time he blinks up at you. "But I can't stay away."

Back in your bedroom, Suguru's pulling off his shirt, his toned abdominals flexing as he sheds the clinging, wet fabric. He knows you have clothes here for him — you always did. Six months isn't a lifetime, and he knew you knew that he'd be back.

You hate how predictable you are, reaching into your closet for the neatly folded stash of cigarettes and vanilla musk-scented clothes. He's always had a home here, in your space and in your closet, demanding attention even when he slinks back into his being and pulls away. Still, you don't want to talk about it — not when the rain is hitting your bedroom window, rolling off the reflection of the soft, yellow lights.

"You can change, and we can talk about this later… when I don't have a paper due in eight hours." Your voice is just as steady as his is, your arm outstretched and shivering as you hold a new pair of clothes out for him. It's nothing special, just an oversized college tee he bought in his freshman year, but it's his, save for the occasions you wear it to sleep.

"What kind of evil-minded professor schedules an essay the first week of school?" Suguru notices how it smells like the ghost of you as he unravels the neat fold in his grip, smiling softly as you watch him pull it over his loose, shoulder-length hair. Even though he wants to stay, he reaches for an easy "Thank you."

"Did…" You hate this — hate how you're parading in circles around him, caught in the same mess you've been in for years. Still, something in your chest pushes and barrels to the front of your psyche. You stand, hands on your hips. staring up at the ornate ceiling with an anxious, tapping bare foot. The tension in the air is thick, but you two know each other so well that Suguru can see right through it. "Did Choso kick you out this time?"

"Why else would I come running back, hm?" He laughs again, caught against the cottony hum of his fabric, swallowing it down. When those dark, familiar rain-soaked lashes flutter against his eyelids as he looks back up at you, you can't help but melt. You two have always been the same. "No, I just let Naoya use my bed; they were partying all night."

"Partying on the Sunday before classes?" You step away from him, pushing the closet door shut, tracing your footsteps against the damp wood. Suguru watches, shoulders slumped, diminished in your presence.

"Mm," He shrugs, beady dark eyes staring into your soul as he reaches out for you. "I don't want to bother you, but I wanna talk." You absentmindedly step forward into his touch, rolling your eyes as he grabs you by the hips, walking you to the edge of the bed. His touches are unsure, yet strong and solid — not letting you move a muscle.

You don't pull away; you let him hold you by the waist, his biceps pressed against your hips, and his pitiful face buried in the base of your tummy. He burrows down there, marking your sleep clothes in the wetness from his damp hair like he's begging for forgiveness. In a way, he is, so you reach down and comb your fingers through his stringing locks, swaying with every uneasy exhale.

"S…Suguru…" You whisper after a few moments, running your fingers down his sticky, thin hairline. "Talk about what?"

"I…" He starts, burying his face into your pelvis, pushing your back into an uncomfortable bend because he's embarrassed. "I don't know why… I keep going back to him, baby. It's always been you."

You want to puke. No, you really want to walk away and leave him to eat the rejection he's so masterful at harnessing. Still, something stops you when his words, so pitiful, leave his smoked-out throat. "So, it's true."

"What? N-no, it's not!" It's like a realization — Suguru snapping back into action like his pitiful whines were just a beard. It's something you're used to — something you love, and something you don't want to lose, no matter how many times you go through this with him.

"You're so full of shit." You bite, pushing him off as best as you can, yet somehow always tangled in his grasp. "You're gonna cheat on me with your best friend, then lie about it?"

"I didn't cheat; we drunkenly kissed at a party." He drones, sitting up, but leaving his fingers in your waistband as if he owns you. Suguru looks like a kicked puppy, all splayed out and long-limbed on your bed as he begs you for a silent chance. "Baby, please. I only want you."

"You make that hard to believe." You bite back, pushing him away by the shoulders, shivering when the thunder punches outside your thin bedroom windows. "Suguru, not tonight."

"You're gonna send me back out into the rain?" He begs, jutting out his bottom lip as he stares up at you through the moonlight. "Into the storm? Please don't."

"I don't want to go through this with you again." You plead your case for once, swearing that the last time you two dealt with this on and off was the last. You're letting him get so close, but just when you go to peel it all back and welcome him in, all five breakups come flooding back to you.

All of them, tied back to him — Gojo Satoru.

The class clown, comedic relief, chess champion, and black belt. He's everywhere on campus — written in the halls of every niche extracurricular you didn't have time to nail out as he did. In every other team photo, his bright, smiling face would be front and center. Gojo is quite literally everything you're not.

He's beautiful, funny, and carefree. You're focused, dreary, and manic. Suguru changes you into a different person every year, but you've never come close to what they have. You've always been on the wayside. They went from roommates in their first year to sworn enemies. Then, Suguru met you, forgot about the pesky ghost from his childhood, and promised never to think about him again.

Something shifted last Spring in the rickety wooden bar seats at the campus dive. Gojo leaned in and kissed your boyfriend in front of every single one of your friends — the one night you refused to go out. Now you're here, hearing him out about all his sins and shortcomings. You keep telling yourself that, through it all, Suguru is a man. He's pulled in far too many directions, hearing his mother drone on and on in his ear every weekend when he calls, or dealing with your nagging when you swear he's not giving you enough of his time. You won't pity him, but you can at least pretend to understand him as he clings to your hips, begging you for a touch.

"You can sleep here, just let me finish this paper." You tap him twice on the shoulders, giving him a hint for when you gently push him away. "We can talk about this later."

Suguru can finally breathe, feeling like all his wallowing wasn't for naught. His shoulders relax, a little smile crossing his features as he peers up at you. "You know you'll always be my girl, right? The one I want to marry?"

"You've got a real fucked-up way of showing it." It feels like acid falling out of your mouth in profanities, but he's surely earned it at this point. You can never turn him away, and if you're not careful, it could be the death of you. Still, he settles back in your bed like he never left, kicking his damp feet out, cozying under the quilt throw that was your grandmother's.

You give him a passing glance as you slip back into your desk, exhausted eyes tightening under the close, dull glow of the reading light. Behind you, Suguru settles on your side of the bed, wet hair nuzzling into your silk pillowcases as he blinks, watching you gently. He studies the way you pick up your pen, resting your cheek in a closed fist as you ponder, then pick up your easy scribbling again. Suguru is endeared by how simple this moment is — thinking you feel softer than a boy his age could ever be.

The issue is, he could live in this silent comfort for the rest of his life and never want for anything else. He just always gets so close, but right as the claws are about to sink in, something always stops him. "Turn off the light."

 You crawl into bed on your knees right when the hour hits deep-morning. Suguru is asleep — has been for a few hours. His snores and mumbles filled the space of your pencil scratches, and it was a good distraction, save for the ten minutes he stole when he refused to let you go.

Suguru wakes up as soon as he feels you, his dark eyes cracking open as the mattress sinks and shifts. "D'you finish your e-s—ssay?" He mumbles, half alive.

"Yeah." You reply, slipping under the thin covers next to him. Suguru turns over, reaching up to push hair from his face. Face-to-face in bed, he stares, reaching for you with that same hand to cradle your cheek.

"I love you." He states. Like, he knows you know it.

"I love you, too." You reply just as simply, heart hammering so hard it feels like you truly don't believe it. He's so close, but you don't want to pull away. You want to feel his warm skin on yours — how his knee slots between your thighs under the blanket, forcing space for himself. "That's what's so scary," you continue as he leans in, nudging your neck with his nose, kissing your jawline like he wants something from you.

"Are you afraid of me?" It comes out chopped and between kisses. His hands are everywhere, trailing up your sides in a gentle sort of want that you can't ignore.

"Never." You reply, whispering into his lips, tucking hair behind his ear as he breathes into you. Suguru burrows himself into the space between your heart and shoulder, focusing on the sound of your heart beating as his hands slide under your shirt. "Mm, that tickles."

"I can tell you're still mad at me."

You sigh, rolling over on top of him. In a straddle, you reach over and turn on the bedside lamp, studying the pitiful look on his face as he glares up at you. Pressing open palms to his clothed chest, you speak some passion into him, "Suguru—

"I can't… tell what you are, but you're something." He's frustrated, brow furrowing as he grabs and digs at your thighs and ass, just marking his territory like you're his, as if he's reminding himself. "Do you hate me? Loathe me?"

"What? No." You reply, a hidden bite behind your tone. He grows about two sizes smaller under you, chest rising and falling slowly and shallowly as he focuses on not popping a boner if that's not what you want right now. It's harder than he thinks — he's obviously so in love with you, but confused above all. "I think you're a stupid, drunk idiot. I think you're actually really, really stupid."

"That sounds like you hate me," Suguru whispers, avoiding eye contact as you reach down and run your thumb over his warm cheek. "I wouldn't blame you if you did. I hate me, too. I told you: I don't know why I keep going back to him."

"Shut up." You decide for him, trailing that hand from his cheek to his mouth, where you press an open palm, effectively shutting him up. Under your touch, he blushes — hips bucking up as you grind down into his crotch, accidentally. "We're talking in circles, when I really don't want to talk at all."

"Are you still mine?" You know what kind of vague question that is — he's treading on thin ice, nudging the idea of dissolving the 'breakup' now that he's back under you, with flushed cheeks spreading under his stretched shirt collar.

"I don't really have a choice." You offer a sly smile that stretches over your lips as you lean down, cradle his cheek, and finally kiss him. "Do I?"

Against your lips, Suguru smiles back, shaking his head as you kiss over his teeth and lips, combing smooth hair behind his stretched ears. "No… Because you're the one I want to marry."

"Well, right now I just want to finish my paper."

"Don't worry, you're going to." He rushes out, hands sliding under your shirt, over your back before dragging it from your body. "We can get married young, as my parents did."

"Your parents hate each other." You reply, hands busy behind your back to unclasp your uncomfortable, digging bra. You let your fingers linger before they fall, gathering seductively around your hips. "They fake it; She's always complaining about him."

Suguru can't swallow down the obvious, so he bares his teeth in a cocky little smirk, hands sliding back over your back and thighs. You undress slowly for him like nothing ever happened — like you know what you have to do, and how he likes you to perform.

You peer at him, pinching his pointed chin between your fingers. Topless, you lean down to meet him in another kiss, grinding your hips down to remind him how serious you are about it — how you know how to please him as nobody else can.

"Still, they made a promise: for worse or for better." He all but moans in your mouth, erection popping up just for you — at the feeling of your eagerness reciprocated. "And I want you, forever and ever."

You want to laugh, to remind him that you know. You know he wants to marry you, and he makes it so loud and overwhelming when he's holding you as such. Your Suguru has a nasty habit of saying one thing and doing the complete opposite. Still, you won't say… his name. Not right now.

"Before you say anything—

He rushes as soon as you open your mouth, seemingly more interested in talking than being physical. You sigh, throwing your hands up as he continues, "I know it's me. Don't you think I hate myself enough as it is? I know I'm a mess, but… that doesn't have to make us weak."

"What are you even talking about? Really? Let's just… and we'll talk later."

"I'm saying…" Suguru shimmies his hips under you, clamping down on his bottom lip so hard that it starts reddening on impact. You know you make him nervous, and vice versa, but these conversations aren't exactly simple to shy away from, even when he's hard and aching under you. "If we can make this work, we can do anything. Seriously."

"Yeah, so you're right." You lean down to kiss him again, stealing his plump bottom lip between your own teeth. You pull it as you sit back, smiling and kissing over them again once you let it go. Suguru's hands have long since found their way under your sleep clothes — fondling the skin around your hips before he ventures lower. "The issue is you and your fucking friends."

"Yeah, well, I don't fuck my friends. Sometimes we kiss, but it's not personal."

"Oh, so you've kissed them multiple times, now?"

"Not like I kiss you." He cements his point against your lips for the final time, neck straining as he meets you in another passionate kiss — teeth hitting and spit melting together as he pries your mouth open on his slick tongue. You moan into his mouth, grinding down on his length as both your hands get lost in the side of his head, tangling in his pure black locks.

He continues, sitting up at a perfect right angle, knees cocked behind you as he takes the lead, gently guiding you to his side on the mattress. You sit back, breathless and starry-eyed from being kissed half to death, limp and ready for him to take the lead. "I don't touch my friends like I touch you."

Suguru repeats, slotting his leg between yours, closing his palm over your exposed chest so he can touch and massage your breasts like he's seeking comfort in a mother. His hand falls between your thighs, slipping in the front of your shorts where his fingertips linger, raking through the soft hair you keep for him.

"Want me to prove it?"

For the first time in a long time, Suguru feels like avoiding everyone. Including his best friend, who was helpfully posted up at the door of his dorm room, shining like sin as he rounded the corner.

It's mid-morning. Suguru smells like you — your taste on his lips, and your perfume lingering in the ghost of him. He's not trying to hide much, but when he sees Satoru waiting, he lifts his hoodie collar, conscious of hiding the dark red kiss you gave him this morning. The dorm floors are dark and slippery with the whisper of the rain that passed through last night, but Suguru's shoes aren't muddy. They're surprisingly clean as they slip to a stop in front of Satoru.

"I've been calling you all morning." Satoru offers him first, resting his thin shoulder over the jut of the door, shirt smudging the chalkmarks he and Choso spent the entire first hour on campus completing. He's nursing a tube of yogurt in his fingers, lips stained with the sweetness as he brings the plastic back to his lips, sucking more out while he waits for Suguru to reply.

Suguru blinks at him — low, like he suspects something. He eyes the patchy blue nail polish on his thick fingers, the way the lint from his wool beanie sticks to his sugar-coated fingers. It's endearing. Suguru rolls his eyes. "I just overslept."

Satoru watches him intently as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a single key. The way he shifts to reach into his pocket gives him the perfect little peek into that dark red mark he tried to cover, but neither of them says anything. The most pressing task was to get into the room and hopefully get some downtime to talk it through before their afternoon lectures.

"Did you even knock? Choso's probably in there." Suguru mentions in passing, shaking fingers slipping the metal key into the rickety lock, giving it two solid pulls before it opens. The weight of Satoru's silence is far heavier than his carefree words — it means he's struck silent, and that only really happens around Suguru.

"Figured you'd just be back. On time, like you promised."

Suguru creaks the door open, peering over his shoulder to push Satoru's worry down. He doesn't notice the two bodies on the bed, one hovering over the other — long and boyish, limbs everywhere, shadows menacing in the corner that pull away the second they see the light.

"It's about time you guys came back," Choso whispers, voice light and gentle against the tense atmosphere as Naoya stands up straight, hair ruffled and makeup freshly smudged. To him, he wasn't doing anything — he was helping the elusive art major fix his makeup. Now Choso owed him, but not at the cost of Satoru and Suguru's memory.

"H-he was just here because he forgot—

"I don't care, just leave." Suguru shoves into the messy room, picking up a discarded jacket from the entryway and tossing it into the overflowing dirty laundry. Satoru follows close by, cradling his bag on his shoulder, sucking the last bits of yogurt from its confines before licking his lips and crumpling it in his fist to throw away.

"We still have to get ready."

"Screw off, nerd."

"You can paint your faces in the fucking bathroom." Suguru regards them at the same time, shunning the pair, making them feel the way they feel about themselves — projecting. It's all they know; they just can't ever admit it.

Choso looks at his friend, long, full hair tousled and deliberately messy. Held up by clips and the mercy of gravity, he rubs the dark circles under his eyes, trying to slow down the running pace of his heart. Naoya looks right back, a sly sort of smile on his face that'll just… stay there. He'll choose to pick a fight with anyone, Choso being a favorite, but never with those two. It's not about power or money; it's about circumstance.

So, he stands up straight, raising his thin brows as he stares his dark-haired upperclassman down for just long enough to teeter on the edge of respect. "See you next time, Geto." Then, Naoya storms out with his bag and a head full of nonsense. Past the door, Naoya doesn't hold back; he shoulder-checks Suguru on the way, blaming it on close quarters, but making it feel like blatant disregard.

"He is so disrespectful," Suguru mutters, shoulder singing with the soft shove from the faux blonde. Then it comes —the lecturing: "Don't bring him around when we're here. I don't want him near my things." Then, it's the snarky, "Take that shit in the bathroom,"

"You two paint your nails in here all the time."

"Don't argue, just leave."

"O-okay." Choso scrambles, lips parted as he pants, nervous as fuck and feeling like the eyes of God are staring down at him. He and Suguru are close… enough — they're cordial enough to share a room and talk about stupid bullies or failing grades, but the leash Suguru keeps on him is short and nearly nonexistent. Whenever Suguru is in his room, Choso has to find somewhere else to be, and he never fights back; it's disrespectful.

Satoru steps out of the way as the elusive little goth kid shrugs his way out of the room, his shoulders held low. Just the presence of his beloved Suguru is enough to make a grown man cower — even one older and more established than him. It makes him smile.

"Sorry, you can do whatever, but I'm exhausted." Suguru mumbles once the door closes with a faint, steady click. Satoru steps forward, pursing his lips, reaching up to pull his shaggy beanie from his light hair. He watches his best friend climb into his shitty, creaking twin XL bed, knee first, hair clipped up and messy, as he collapses into the comfort.

He waits a minute, watching Suguru settle with his back to him, before he steps forward, words unsaid, sitting so heavily on his chest that it makes him nauseous. He wants to talk about the kiss they shared — wants to point out the hickey he didn't give him that's sitting like a trophy against his neck, but he doesn't. Satoru kicks off his beat-up slip-ons, unpopping the single button on his jeans as Suguru hums and writhes against the sheets, searching for comfort that's so hard to come by when he's not pressed up against someone.

Suguru is surprised Satoru waited until he rolled over, eyes heavy and pleading as he whispers, "Wanna cuddle?"

"That's gay," Satoru responds, moving at twice the speed to give his Suguru what he wants. He crawls into bed just like you did last night — knees first, before plopping down nearly on top of his closest friend. They shift and bustle about for a moment, trying to make the most of the space they don't have too much of.

"You're telling me that you're not?"

"I'm not," Satoru admits, nose-to-nose with Suguru, catching the whiff of your perfume on his bare neck when he gets close enough. "And I think you're in denial."

"I'm not."

"Nice hickey you got there." Satoru finally bites to dig his point into the ground, reaching to push some of Suguru's hair out of the way so he can get a better view of his invisible betrayal. It hurts, but Satoru knows the truth — he's only an outsider here. He stands on the sidelines and watches as Suguru bends his sense of self just to stay closer to you — to parade you around his family and friends so he can give the illusion that he has it all figured out. For as long as Satoru can remember, his best friend has been marriage-minded. His parents are strict… overwhelmingly so, calling him every week with the same script, asking about you, asking about grades, and not even sparing a breath for the eccentric friend who has stuck by his side on and off for well over ten years.

Satoru doesn't really exist in the grand scheme of things, but he's not sure he truly minds it. All he wants are private moments between him and his — cuddled up so close he can't tell where he ends, and where Suguru begins. If that can only exist in the shadows of a pretty girl, he'll take it. He knows what you give that he can't, but it doesn't make it any easier to swallow.

"You know how things have to be," Suguru replies simply, bare feet kissing and grinding against Satoru's under the covers. He doesn't make eye contact, letting his shadowed gaze instead focus on Satoru's pretty pink lips. He wants to kiss them — to whisper every single grievance and worry he has between them, just to get them off his chest. "You know, I love you more than I love her."

"Don't say that—

Suguru sighs, head heavy and guilty, as he tries to justify the feelings that weigh him down like cinder blocks. "It's true, but… It's different."

'It doesn't have to be anything… solid.' Suguru's voice is smooth over the line, getting crackled on the receiving end. You nod, leaning against your kitchen wall with your legs kicked out. Your roommates — friends by choice — are in the living room, throwing cards over the soft hum of the television. They're getting ready for a party you weren't invited to — that is, until Suguru called, whispering into the line that he was looking for you, in particular.

"What does that even mean?" You squint, peering down at your feet with furrowed brows as you try to zone out the background noise and thoughts of how you're missing this show, and the current hand of cards. "When everyone knows we're together?"

'Well, are we? It's been two days and I… I don't feel any better.' He pauses for a moment, clearing his throat around his smoker's rasp. 'I don't feel like we're… us.'

"You've been seeing him, though, haven't you? Because you haven't been seeing me, and we both know—

'That doesn't mean anything.' Suguru rushes, as if he's afraid of being scolded again. It's not why he called, and the one thing he hates more than anything is counterproductivity. 'I-We had s-sex, but it didn't make me feel better about… anything.' He whispers the word like it's profanity, letting it get lost in the telephone static.

You sit silently for a few passing seconds, tucking the phone against your shoulder, twirling the spiraled cord around your finger. Suguru has a way of making you feel small without really trying, too, you've come to notice. It makes it impossible to say no to him.

"Are you still seeing him?"

'S-Satoru? No.'

"Do you promise?"

'I promise. It's all you. I'm all yours.'

"Then… can I ask…" You stiffen up, shifting to your side so your voice points towards the kitchen, rather than to your friends in the other room. "Do you… Like men, too?"

Suguru reaches for your name, speaking it with such conviction into the line that you feel bad for even bringing it up. '…The kiss was a dare. I've known him my entire life.'

"O-oh."

'I like you. I want to marry you.' He repeats like he's begging for it — voice all pitchy and pathetic. All at once, he self-regulates. 'In every circumstance, I will wait for you. I'll choose you.'

You roll your eyes, glancing at the leather tips of your loafers as you rub your feet together anxiously. Of course, you want to say more, but you don't. You know what he is to you— something your own family saw as a gift.

'And I know it was me this time; it's why I'm begging you like this… again.'

You shut your eyes, nodding along to the vision of him from the other night, eyes so determined and sensual that they have haunted your dreams ever since. Instead of giving him an answer, you whisper, "Can we talk in person?"

'Are you going to Zen'in's party tonight? They invited you, yeah?'

"Actually, I wasn't planning on it. Shoko is going, of course."

'Go with her, baby.' He picks out the tone he knows you love, reaching for endearments rather than the grit of namesakes. 'It'll be all of us going, but we don't have to stay.'

"By all of us…"

'Satoru, yeah. It's fine — I'll tell him to fuck off.'

"N-no, I mean, I don't want him to think I hate him. We need to talk, so… yeah, I'll go for a bit."

'You wanna talk… all of us?'

"If that's what it takes to get through to you, yeah." It sounds softer than you intend, but it feels real. It feels like you're bearing it all to him — your heart an open, writhing orifice on your shoulder that only reacts to his sensibility. "He's your friend… I don't want to take you away from each other."

'Are you being serious? I'd expect you'd want to chew his head off the next time you see him.'

"I wanna do that, too." You smile, biting down on it so you don't force a serious situation sideways. Still, you and Suguru fall so easily into it that you can't even catch yourself when you fall. Not till you hear, over the telephone, your name being called by your friends in the front room. You straighten up, keeping the phone over your ear as your roommate comes shuffling into the kitchen — long, brunette hair tied up effortlessly with sticks.

She seems flushed, her cheeks tinted — hands on her hips. "Who the fuck… It's been over half an hour."

Breathless, silently, you mouth his name, holding the phone from your lips. "He just invited me to Toji's party."

"…are you going? I thought you said—

"I know what I said." You shut up and stand up straight when Suguru starts again on the other line.

 "Hey, sorry— Choso just got back in. Nosey fuck." Back in his dorm room, Suguru is watching Satoru peel his sweat-drenched compression shirt off his back, all breathless and red from his session, then his journey here. "Dear, let me call you back later… on your cell."

'O-okay, sure. I'll let you know about the party.'

Suguru sits on the edge of his bed, long-limbed and hunched over, peeling the cell phone from his ear and leaning over to place it back on the bedside receiver.

Satoru smiles when he turns back around, tongue crossing over his teeth as he stares his best friend down. "Who's on the phone?"

"Who do you think?" Suguru responds, grunting as he stands up, giving Satoru a low, exhausted look. He's asking for pity — to feel small at the moment, because he knows he can't reach for this part of himself when he's with you.

"Aw, do you want a hug?" Satoru's heart is beating out of his chest, but he's not nervous, just excited. "Big baby had to be a man for a second, huh?" He approaches his friend with arms held wide, ushering him forward so they can both marinate in his sweat.

So, Suguru withdraws, ducking his head and turning back to his bed. "Actually, forget it. You can shower at your place." He hates talking about it, or even coming to terms with the fact that he turns into a different person when he's around his friend like this. He can't help it.

"Come on, I said I'm joking." Satoru throws his hands up, letting them fall on his narrow hips as Suguru leans by the window, fist in his mouth, absolutely reeling with insecurity. He closes the space, knowing it's up to him. Always.

"Sugu…" Satoru drawls, slipping behind him and nudging his chin over Suguru's shoulder. "We don't have to tell anyone if you don't want to. This doesn't even have to be real, just promise you won't leave."

Suguru shivers when he feels the naked, damp skin press against his own. He peeks over his shoulder, eyebrows cocked as Satoru's arms wind around his thin waist. "I can't promise a single thing."

"I still don't care. Funny how that works." Satoru whispers, kissing Suguru's covered shoulder, then turning to breathe in his sweet, masculine scent, as if trying to mark him as inevitably his. "We had a deal, though, right? I come over, you suck me off?"

"You see, I'm struggling, and that's the first thing you ask me?"

"Actually, like the second or third thing I asked you. Not fair." Satoru reasons, standing up straight and letting his fingers fall to the waistband of his shorts. "Yes or no… quick, we have a party to get ready for."

Suguru stands up straight, rolls his eyes, and dodges eye contact as he nods shyly. "Y-yeah, just in the bathroom in case Choso comes back."

Satoru whines, grabbing Suguru by the shoulders and leading him deeper into the room. He's walking backward, sticking his soft bottom lip out in a pout as he tries to reel his friend in. "Lock the door. Tell that nerd to fuck off."

"Absolutely, not."

"I care about your knees. They get all red and sore when we do it in the shower."

"Then, get off." Suguru bites back, strong enough to keep himself above these tactics just long enough to stay sane. "Has to be in the shower."

Satoru stops, thin brows furrowed. He can tell something isn't so light in the air — not like it usually is. "Fine, I mean… We'll do it in the shower."

"Just don't wanna risk it, you know?" Suguru turns around as if he's okay, plastering on a phony grin as he shuffles out of Satoru's grip. He catches the other's hand in passing, but they don't hold. Suguru just walks to the closet, grabs his shower basket, and nods Satoru over. "I'll let you wear some of my clothes tonight. We don't have to rush."

"Ooh, darks and denim. Think I can pull it off?" Satoru swallows down the rejection like it's nothing — water off a duck's back. He drops his pants before entering the shower room, combing two hands through his hair as he steps out.

Suguru keeps his eyes up, turning on the light and waiting in the entryway. He laughs, "You could pull off a bean sack… pretty boy."

"Wait! Don't get naked without me."

Suguru rolls his eyes, biting his bottom lip hard so his smile doesn't peek through. "Hurry, before I lock the door on you."

Choso gives him time — it's not like he's so clueless.

He and Suguru had talked about the party this morning, throwing around ideas about who would attend. Both of them agreed to go, just not together. Choso would be with the hosts—the Zen'in's —and Suguru would be with… you. The only thing is: Choso didn't have a time block. He had no idea where Suguru was this Saturday evening.

He thinks about it, silently grateful that he told Naoya to wait outside. All he planned to do was grab his change of clothes and go back to their place. The family owns an entire property on campus, making them major power players in their kin's education. Money goes undetected — a few parties are allowed to go overlooked — perhaps a few tests glanced over, so everyone knows to keep them close, just not close enough to let them into your space.

He jogs up the stairs, breathless and jittery as he scales four floors in record time. Choso holds up his sweatpants by the waistband, cursing him and his friends for their stupid habit of borrowing clothes. He had no idea whose pants he was wearing, but he knew they didn't fit.

As he approaches the door, something invisible tells him to stay behind, but he knows better than to listen. He knows that his social reputation is leaning on this night, what he wears, and what he does. A full semester tucked behind Naoya's arm could mean he could graduate early and start working. He needs this.

So he rushes over the signs — the unlocked door, the kicked-off shoes that aren't Suguru's in the front — and shuffles in deeper. He can hear the water rush softly in the background, a nice ambiance as he moves to his side of the room.

At first, he doesn't catch the sounds. A few shuffles and whispers went over his head, lost against the shower spray. It's only when he hears a pure, blatant moan that he stops dead in his tracks, hands frozen in his wardrobe.

"Sugu… I'm close—

It's boyish and undeniable. Nobody around campus really calls him Suguru, except for one or two people. Choso is stuck — he doesn't know what to do. Helpless, he peeks behind his shoulder, eyes wide and bloodshot, pearling tears around the rim in humiliation when he hears: "The cum on your face looks like icing. Here, let me lick it off."

Choso winces like the lewd words are a knife in the heart, having to keep himself steady on the bed frame as they continue on, laughing.

"Stop, let me do it."

"Hurry. The water's getting cold, and we still haven't washed yet."

"Why would you even turn the water on?" Suguru argues, voice hoarse enough that he has to clear it.

The thought makes Choso shiver. Still, he walks forward — slowly, gauging the air around him. He's embarrassed — cheeks burning, but he has to see. He has to be sure to rest his own mind. So, he walks to the bathroom door and leans down, peeking in through the crack.

Choso sees exactly what he's expecting to see — Suguru rising from a kneel, reaching down to rub at his sore, red knees as Satoru reaches out for him, taking his friend by the chin and pulling him into a kiss. The pair is naked — wet skin stuck together as they make out for a moment, lips mushing against the rush of the water they're wasting. Choso thinks back to every time he's seen you with Suguru, and hates himself when he realizes that he's never seen him kiss you with such intensity. He's hardly seen you two hold hands in public, but Suguru talks about you as if you're the mother of his children.

"Mm… you taste like me," Satoru whispers between kisses, gently rubbing water-soaked hair from Suguru's face with a hand. "…doesn't taste sweet like icing."

Suguru doesn't respond; he just chuckles into his now, seemingly lover's, mouth.

"Let me get you back — help you wash up." Satoru's voice is choppy, drowned out by the shower spray as Choso ducks back against the wall. He squeezes his eyes shut, heart in his ass as he bears the worst possible news he'd ever have to hold. Choso can't believe he has to face you tonight with what he knows now. He can't believe he has to face him again, or Satoru.

All he really does know is that he had to get the fuck out of here. Suguru and Satoru don't even have to know he was here.

Turning around and heading for the front door, Choso runs out empty-handed, rushing to pull up his waistband as he hurries back down the stairs. There's nobody around — typical for this time of day, and Choso wonders if he misread one of Suguru's invisible rules. Luckily, he now knows never, ever to come back so early. He may as well just take a pillow with him every time he leaves and sleep at Naoya's bedside.

As he pushes the heavy metal door back onto the lawn, he shoves past Naoya. He's standing at the entrance, a cigarette between his lips as he waits. Choso can tell it's his second or third one — Naoya's lazy with how he reacts.

"The fuck is wrong with you?"

"I—uh,"

"Dude, where the hell are the clothes? You just wasted my time?" Naoya reaches up to steal his smoke from his slack jaw, arms held out towards Choso as if he's accusing him of something. "Did we not come here for clothes? A change of clothes? Huh, idiot?"

"Naoya— Geto was… in there…"

"It's his room, nerd."

"No… he was in there… with…" Choso looks over his shoulder like he's terrified of being sussed out. He takes Naoya by the shoulders, pulling him away from the door and onto the steps. In a hushed whisper, he trembles out, "W-with Gojo."

"Likely place for him to be…" Naoya gives him a look, eyes flicking from his beat-up skate shoes to his smudged, dark eyes. "Are you fucking crying? What were they doing, killing each other?"

Choso doesn't wanna say it. "Don't make me say it."

It takes him less than a second. Naoya has never been clueless, but he's always been receptive to these things. In that second, a slick, knowing smirk crosses over his face. He reaches up to hold his cigarette again, "They were fucking? No way…"

"No! Not like that! And… keep it down—

"What, they were touching each other?"

"No… like…" Choso's eyes flicked to Naoya's lips, and the fake blonde laughs, pulling away from his friend.

"Gross… who was on top?"

"G-Gojo..? I think?"

That makes Naoya laugh harder, a little skip behind his step as he runs down the walkway. The cigarette falls at his side — the wind combing through his hair as he tosses a gaze over his shoulder. "Come the fuck on. I'll let you wear my clothes again." Naoya calls, then turns back around, shaking his head as he whispers to himself:

"I know what you are, Geto Suguru."

It took you all evening to work yourself up for tonight. It wasn't the party — you frequented each one you were invited to; it was Gojo. It was the threat of facing your deepest humiliation behind the glow of shitty department-store mood lighting. It's one thing to deal with a cheating boyfriend and the insecurity that stems from it, but it's different when it's with the same gender.

You questioned everything as you got ready that night — maybe you were too submissive to his ways, and he needed something manlier… You could never be that. You'd never be able to be what he needs at that point.

Still, you do yourself up in dark makeup, hiding the red-rimmed exhaustion in your eyes that only comes with crying over and over again. It's not like you to act this emotionally, but it feels like something has shifted. Even your friends notice your cloudiness after you hang up the phone, slouching back against the wall like the nearly hour-long conversation with him didn't just drain your soul.

Facing him will surely be easier with a few drinks in your system, so you shimmy on your dark calf-length skirt and your bomber jacket in the middle of summer, ready to give your life away to the night.

The murky summer air hits like a whip as you scurry down the creaky wood steps. Your two roommates stand by the door, passing off a cigarette as they wait for you. Shoko looks like she always does — exhausted to the core, wearing her dark circles like a fashion statement, and decked out in leather.

Utahime's shoes are untied — scissor-cut jeans kissing the cuff of her striped socks. She kicks her feet out, deepening the lean on the door as you descend, already a flushed mess. She smiles over to her friend, then says, "Finally, we can go now."

"Do you wanna take the train?" You put on a passing smile just so they know you're all there.

"We'll walk, it's only twenty minutes." Shoko continues, blinking a single eye shut as the smoke in her lungs burns a bit too hot.

"In these shoes?"

It's second nature, slipping from your lips as you slowly approach them at the door. "Suguru can pick us up."

"We're taking the train." Shoko always seemed to have the final word, standing up straight as your cue to gather and go. "Cause we gotta stop for beer." She starts, already slipping another smoke between her lips after stomping out the old one.

Then, you rush to catch up to them, flick the lights off, and check your purse for the keys. The girls are down the front steps before you even pull the door shut, heels clicking on the damp pavement — echoing the sound of their voices against the slow bustle of the city.

Fresh after another summer rainstorm, the sidewalk reflects the neon glow of the night — the lights from the windows and the nearby skyscrapers peeking over the horizon of your humble, thatched rooftops. Dew drips trickle down windows, collecting in the soft hair on your neck as you jog to catch up to your friends.

"You're gonna trip on your laces," Shoko grunts as she passes, glancing over her shoulder while running through an unprotected crosswalk. You and Utahime, still side-by-side, wait as a car passes, then run to catch up to her, breathless.

"Could you please stop running through cars like that?" Utahime whispers, brows furrowed as the three of you round a corner to the next block.

"Let's just get vodka, it's faster."

"And grosser."

"Nothing is grosser than beer."

"Cry about it." Shoko deadpans, leading the two of you through the loosely packed sidewalk. Bodies brush like watercolor paint over your bomber, and you're already sweating. "Or, I mean… buy your own."

"Do you think both Gojo and Geto will be there?" Utahime, two steps to your left, leans over just out of Shoko's earshot.

"Unfortunately." You offer back, catching up to Shoko as a group of salarymen passes, their liquor-tinged breath ghosting over your skin—getting caught in the humidity. "I thought I was the one buying it in the first place."

"Are you offering?" She cuts her eyes at you — purple-lined, light eyes showing you more of yourself than you've ever been so comfortable seeing. "Yeah? Good girl — We can get vodka, then."

"Only if you agree to finish it before we get to the party."

"Which is the better chug? Beer or vodka?"

"Is that even a question?"

So, you three get a fifth of vodka, smiling like a couple of menaces as the old, sweet grandma behind the counter rang up and took your money with a sorry look on her face. You three must look like you're up to no good, because as you duck into a dripping alley surrounded by run-down apartment buildings, you draw stares. Especially as that top cracks and turns, falling to the ground as Shoko manhandles the drink.

"Ugh, I think I'm gonna be sick—

"Can you aim at the wall and not my shoes?" You whisper, psyching yourself up by jumping on the balls of your heels. Shoko takes that first slow swig like the poison is water, only grimacing once she withdraws, holding the bottle towards you.

"Hurry, it's already an hour past."

"Whatever." You reply, taking the bottle by the neck and shaking your head toward Utahime. "I'm not staying, Suguru just invited me so we could talk."

"You have to get shitfaced to talk to your own boyfriend?"

"Not my boyfriend." You reply, squeezing your eyes shut as you tilt your head and take one good swallow to the head — throat immediately screaming and guts twisting as it hits. "Ah, fuc—

"Not your boyfriend?" Shoko takes it back from you, leaning against the wet concrete with her feet kicked out. "After you spent nearly an hour on the phone with him? What were you talking about — what you're having for dinner?"

"No, actually. Who he's been fucking."

"What?!"

"Guys… Jin is asking where we are." Utahime mumbles, her scuffed rings clinking against the chunky metallic cell in her hands. She looks over her dark glasses, texting the tiny device feverishly. She looks up as Shoko hands over the bottle, a dull look on her face. "We're really so late… aren't we?"

"Who gives a fuck?"

"Then hurry up and drink." You reply, the sudden buzz of the liquor on your empty stomach willing you to dig in your plaid crossbody, heart racing for a cigarette.

"I can't face Zen'in without being sufficiently drunk."

"Okay, seriously. We have to catch this next train." Shoko has to baby her friend into taking her chug, then weakly hand it back to you as she gags and turns around. Her baby face is scrunched up — fist pressed to her lips as her body numbs with liquor.

"Fuck it, just bring it with you." Shoko decides once the bottle falls into your hands. You smile with the mischief of it all, leaning down to pull up your long skirt so you can run to the next train.

"Wanna race?"

"Again… Not in these shoes."

"Okay." Shoko takes the lead as you three head back out into the street, a kick behind your step as you rush southbound. You're trying to catch up to her, calling a timeout on the edge of the subway steps so you can take your shot.

"What happened to that smoke? You let it die?"

"I dropped it."

"Oh… No, he's calling me."

"Who?" You swing back around, bottle to your lips as Utahime flips her phone open and presses it to her ear.

"Wait, why?" She mumbles into the receiver, a hand pressed to her forehead like a stressed single mother who's just received bad news. "That's like twenty minutes outside of the city…"

"No way." You turn to Shoko, mouthing as she stops halfway down the steps. "They're changing it again."

"We'd have to take the Oedo line all the way to Nerima… ugh…"

"Or we could just have Suguru pick us up. He's heading that way, isn't he?"

Shoko looks at you like you're full of shit — painted lips pursed. "You're gonna screw us both with third-wheeling on a fifteen-minute drive with your boyfriend?"

"I told you, we're not together right now. He just… likes to see when I call on him for help."

Utahime holds the phone away from her face, staring at you like you just cursed her lineage. "And you two aren't together…"

"That doesn't mean he's not still my best friend."

"That's your guys' problem, you know? You break up and then stay in each other's face, so you end up fucking and getting back together." Shoko takes the last few steps back outside, then snatches the bottle from your hands. "Fine, call your not-boyfriend."

"But you owe us."

"Like it's the worst thing ever, come on…" You roll your eyes, digging in your crossbody for your cell. Crossing your arm over your chest as if you're shielding it from wrongdoing, you lean against the railing and dial his number.

The girls stay where they were, passing the liquor between each other as desperate bottle-shots turn into slowly nursing it down. They can't lie and say this wouldn't be more efficient on time and effort — letting the long drive lull the vodka through their system so they're loose and ready to be body-packed, surrounded by hot, hard music, bad circumstances, and cigarette smoke.

You click through your contacts, purposefully taking your time to find his nestled towards the bottom, far enough away for temptation to strike. Only this time, you roll over the contact and smash it, like you have any clue where you two stand.

What you told your friends wasn't a lie — in fact, it was one of those unspoken things Suguru had pushed on you since first grade. Your ego was bigger than your heart for him back then, but he just had to have you. Now, you find yourself reaching for his voice even when you know you can figure things out yourself, just eager to hear his praise. And of course, when you call, he answers immediately.

'Hey. Headed to the party?' His voice comes out wind-whipped and crackled, like he's already in the front seat of his beloved grey-washed Honda NSX, cruising down the street with all his windows open. Suguru's the type to lose himself in the road — at his easiest when he's in control of such a delicate piece of equipment, so there's a softness there. You smile.

You pace as a nervous habit, warding off their side-stares for a moment as you walk the length of the steps. "It's all the way at his uncle's place now? The big-shot animators?"

'I guess… Jin just told me, too. I was headed to Zen'in's.'

"Can… you come pick me up? I'm with the girls, and we were gonna take the train but I—

Suguru sits silently for a fleeting second before he speaks. You can hear the smile in his voice as he regards you, 'What station? I'm turning around right now.'

Biting down on a smile of your own, you look up to your friends and nod. "See you soon…"

'Bye-bye, baby.'

Before he hangs up, you start back towards your friends, laughing about something you weren't involved in. Instead of poking your head into their conversation, you rip it apart with an easy, "Sugu's on the way."

"Nice." Shoko hands you the bottle, eyes glazed in that telltale sign that can only mean mindlessness. "He's my favorite trusted adult… I concluded just now."

You giggle, hiding your smile behind the lipstick-stained rim as you tilt your head back to take another shot. Down to the last quarter of liquid courage, and the world already looks water-colored. "Sure. Till he's yelling in your face that 'this is the way things have to be'." You dip your tone lower to imitate your elusive partner, rolling your eyes at the mere thought of his stupid scolding.

Shoko laughs, "You poor, sheltered soul."

"The fuck does that mean?"

Suguru looks over at you from the driver's seat, dark hair whipping against the highway air. He hasn't really said anything since he picked you three up, patting Shoko on the shoulder and giving Utahime his sweetest smile as they slid into the four-door named after you. You haven't said a thing either, opting to keep the mystery and your wits about you as your friends pass the vodka over the seat.

You know he's judging you, but you two aren't 'together,' so he doesn't have a leg to stand on. Especially when you're the one who called on him, and he's the one who came running. He's been shamelessly peeking over at you for the five minutes since you've been in his air, waiting for you to make the first move, only to sigh and squint towards the road as your friends sweep you up in drunken laughter. He feels like an item on the side of you, not a human, and lets the soft creaking leather feel it as he tightens his grip.

"Dear—

"True, but the last time I saw him it ended with me almost punching him in the face." You're turned around over the passenger seat headrest, gawking and snickering with your friends as you think back on your past trainwrecks. Naoya was the subject of the conversation, now — someone you all know way too well for it to be healthy. Just like Choso, you four know to just… keep him around.

"You should've done it, maybe I'd sneak a lick in."

"He would beat you two the fuck up."

"Letta girl imagine,"

"Hey." Suguru tries again, peeking up at the rearview mirror at Shoko, who's looking right back at him. He turns to you, sitting up in his seat. "Can you actually sit in your seat?"

"Whatever." You roll your eyes, soft laughter dying down as you settle back down in your seat, only for him to hammer back into you:

"If an officer rode past and saw you like that, he'd arrest all of us."

"Get a grip."

"Boo, Geto, seriously."

"Sure." He responds, peeking over his shoulder as he makes a turn, pierced face turned up in angst—not quite anger. "I'll take it if it means keeping my license."

"Pussy—

"Sho— seriously?" You peek back at your friend, catching Suguru's eyes before they can focus back on the glow of his headlights on the road. Under your breath, you whisper. "Sorry,"

"Drunk idiots… I swear." He grumbles, leaning over to dial the radio up as the summer's-past chart-topping song begins to play. The familiar melody draws the girls together in the back, leaving you and him together in the front seats, stealing side glances every few seconds. You're drunk and want to kiss him — Suguru's sober, and far too sober to be dealing with you three. "No fuckin' respect…"

"Shh, it's okay." You whisper against the music, noticing the click of his jaw as he slowly works the wheel into a residential street, flicking his lights down. Head swimming already, you sit up and peer out of the window, eyes wide as you take in the urban hellscape of concrete and glass. It feels more residential here — not cheap or gimmicky like campus is, but tangible in a way only a slow life could hold. It's clearly not the right neighborhood for a college party, but you all can tell as Suguru approaches.

Bodies spill out onto the green lawn, bustling about, and out of the door that hasn't shut since everyone started arriving. It's a lone house on a corner, obviously built and owned by someone on a healthy salary. The traditional architecture screams Zen'in, and the party's volume screams popularity. In the back, Utahime sits up, reaching to roll down her window as Suguru slows to a stop.

"There are so many people."

"I'll drop you off here so I can park." Suguru decides, shifting the engine and taking his foot off the pedal. The interior lights jump on as Shoko and Utahime file out, giggling something under their breath that you don't pick up on through your daze. As you reach for the door handle to let yourself out, something stone-cold stops you.

"We're supposed to be talking, right?"

"N-now?" You stutter, furrowing your brows as you turn back towards him. Suguru reaches out to take your arm, making sure you know he doesn't want you to leave the leather sanctuary. "I wanna be with my friends."

"You said on the phone that we could talk."

"Sure, that was before I started drinking." You pull away from his grip, reaching to unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the car. Just as that click hits his ears, Suguru shifts the car back into drive, reaching to hold your thigh so he can drive away with his hand on the wheel. You've been successfully trapped. "Ugh— here we go… Let me out."

"You don't get to make promises you can't keep."

"And you don't get to make out with your best fucking friend in front of everyone we know! Do you know how embarrassing that was for me?!"

"I told you, it was a kiss! One stupid fucking kiss that I regret every goddamn day." Suguru's eyes are wide—blown with emotion and red around the edges — as his fists tighten once more. He's sitting up in his seat, high-strung and ready to snap all over you with one wrong move. "I thought we talked about this. I thought you were over it!"

"I can never be over it." You break, right there for him to see, like a shattered, drunk mirror. It comes in waves — first, it's ugly and loud, with tears flowing from your eyes like rivers. You turn to your side to bury your tears into your shoulder, trying to regain some control as you cry, "Do you know how fucking humiliated and insecure I feel now?"

"I know. And I told you, my love, I'm so sorry. So, so sorry."

"Yeah? Well, being sorry doesn't make me feel any better. It makes me feel like a fucking fool!" You're inconsolable, and it's humiliating, but you can't hide it. The alcohol brings it out of you like this — not shadowed over by your own ego and need to be close to him. When you're drunk, it feels like you're meant to be alone, and that doesn't fade even when you're right next to him; you want to go. "Let me out!"

"If you would just—

Suguru's doing a scarily good job at keeping his composure, save for the batshit manic girl to his side. He turns onto the side of the street, keeping his lights on as he stops the car and shifts the engine. You're already reaching for the handle to pull to your freedom, but of course, Suguru has the locks on. "Stop acting crazy, you said we'd talk."

"Let me out of this car, you're such an asshole."

"Baby—

"You're so fucking mean to me." You double down, pulling away from his touch when he reaches out again. In your state, he doesn't look like the boy you swore to yourself that you'd love through it all; he looks like a shiny pair of handcuffs, and you want out.

"I'm not mean, I'm just protective."

"Let me out!"

"Fine." Suguru finally gives in, shifting in his seat as he pulls the door lock. You're out before he can draw his next breath, sobbing and shaking as you fall out of the car and onto the street. "You need help, baby. Just say it, and I'll help you."

"I…" You growl, wiping the tears from your eyes with rough, angry hands. "Don't need your fucking help…"

"You're gonna regret this in the morning…!" Suguru doesn't expect you to actually run away; that's the issue. He has to stop, rolling down the driver's window to yell out of the car, "Don't you see how you escalate things? You're drunk."

But you're not listening. Not in this state. Not when self-preservation exists two buildings down the street.

"I just don't even wanna know you anymore. Go away."

It's getting increasingly harder to keep his voice down as you stumble down the street, crying silently into your hand. "You're gonna go in there and drink yourself to death! You think I don't know— hey!"

Running from the jaws of the beast just in time, the road looks a lot freer than a person right now. So, you leave Suguru in the dust, and he takes that for what it was. He doesn't want to go to the party now that you're like this, and he certainly couldn't face Satoru after what happened.

Suguru takes the high road, calling it quits once more in his head, sitting with it, then driving away in the opposite direction of home.

He'll find his way back eventually, but right now he can't be near you. Both of you are shameless and idiotic — clutching at a version of yourselves that will never quite exist. You'll never be easy-headed, and he'd never be decisive. Together, you're a mess, but a piece of him loves it so much that he finds himself chasing the pain.

"Damn…" Satoru mumbles, peeping out of the crowd towards the entrance. He's looking for a familiar head of dark hair, sticking out just a bit taller than everyone else's. It's been all night—three hours into the party —and now it's abnormal. He has to comment on it. "You haven't seen Suguru?"

"Tonight?" Naoya yells over the music, eyes beady and on the prowl, looking everywhere but at the person speaking to him. Dressed in darks — low-waisted sweats and a tank top that doesn't reach the waistband- he's the king of the party and on a mission. Still speaking towards his upperclassman, it's hard to tell when he sees Toji amongst the bodies, giving his cousin a slap on the shoulder as he pushes past in his muscle shirt. "Nah, I haven't!"

Satoru's not holding a drink; he doesn't drink, just kinda lingers about — hands in his pockets or the occasional smoke between his lips. Still, with his lack of substance use, he still fits in with the crowd, just happy making useless conversation with inebriated people. "That's weird, right? I should call him…"

"Can you do that… out there? You're kinda dogging our vibe." Naoya's surrounded by everyone Satoru knows — third and second grades, a few lost firsts, as well. Satoru can have a conversation with anyone he tries to talk to, but it's hard when he has something on his mind. He can't hide it.

He pulls away from his friends as soon as Choso and Jin return, two drinks in each hand. As he pushes through bodies, the cashmere on his loose sweater gets caught in the brush, pinning him. For a moment, he peeks around for you, knowing Suguru couldn't be far behind. If anything, you'd know where he was, but he doesn't even remember seeing you tonight. Satoru hasn't even seen your friends.

He finally makes it out of the house, talking up the first grader 'monitoring' the entrance — really, just high and on top of the world. Satoru asks if he's seen him or you, and everyone around looks at him like he's crazy. It feels like an out-of-body experience — like he's a monitoring spirit hovering over his head, controlling his movements with marionette strings. The lawn is just as packed as the inside, only thinning out towards the road, where the voices are quieter.

He's not expecting to find you — heart deadset on seeing Suguru out here chainsmoking with the regulars. But when he does see you, he knows it's fate waving its wand. In fact, he sees the back of Shoko's head first — that unmistakable back-length brunette hair that sticks her out from any dark-haired crowd. He smirks, sure as hell of himself all of a sudden.

"Shoko—hey!"

Satoru approaches your small group with a smile, breathless as he jogs up. It's only when he sees you — eyes wet with tears and inconsolable in your friend's arms- that he stops, face turning up in worry. "Wow… everything good?"

"Oh— hey, Gojo." Utahime regards him, hands on your shoulders as you do your best to shrug off the drunk tears and be nonchalant. It fails… miserably, because you look drunk. You look sad, and your energy is pouring through these writhing bodies like a curse. You can't escape it. Even around Satoru like this, you can't straighten up. In fact, you buckle at the mere sound of his voice.

Turning away from your friends, you cover your face with your palm and try to stifle back tears — all hunched and pitiful, uncaring of who would walk past and see. You can hear them chatting behind you, tones dipped a shade lower to match your melancholy energy. They won't say his name, but they say everything else.

"No, I haven't seen that dickhead."

"What… happened…?"

"The same old… You know…"

"And he left?"

"I guess."

A few seconds pass, backed by the softness of your sniffles as you feverishly wipe at your face. It feels like reverting to basics — learning to regulate your emotions and just say how you feel. "Yeah, he left…" You croak, turning over your shoulder to give them something.

You're okay — you're alive. And drunk as hell.

"Hey… Lady…" Satoru steps closer to you, pushing through your friends to reach your ear. Still, he doesn't touch; he just lingers close behind your ear, pulling attention when he says, "Is everything okay…?"

It's something in the genuine concern he shows you that your friends don't. The way his hand hovers open-palmed over your back without touching makes you look at him. He waits for you to nod before cracking a smile and turning back to the girls. "So, nobody knows where he went…? Great."

"Is Itadori in there? He was so goddamn worried about our location; now he's nowhere to be found."

"You know he just worries…" Satoru laughs it off, pretending like he didn't just see him two minutes ago with everyone else. Above it all, Satoru wants to talk to you — he can see that something has happened, and if anyone would know where he was, it'd be you. "Wait — you were just with him?"

"He just dropped me off down the road; he's probably gone by now—

"What happened? You know he's not here, right?"

"D'you think I'm stupid? He drove away." You pull away from him with a newfound coldness, under your breath, proclaiming that you need another drink. You don't really recognize anyone on the walkway at first glance; nobody looks like Suguru, and you're mentally checked out. "Hello? I need another drink."

"I don't know anything about that." Satoru laughs, crossing his arms for warmth as the night breeze starts to hit. He watches you snatch the bottle back from Shoko, pushing against them to walk deeper into the party. Satoru wants to crowd you and keep you close, but he can tell how you're feeling, and, frankly, he wants to stay away. He wants to find Suguru.

"Sorry… she's usually not so," Utahime stands on her toes as she watches you part the crowd and get caught up with someone you know. She wants to chase after and doctor every one of your movements, but she wants to stick by Shoko, where it's safe in her mindlessness. "She's usually a happy, party, dancey drunk."

"That's nice… Where exactly did she come from?" Satoru asks with a smile, just to keep them close and calm, if only to feed him the information that he needs. "She came from the left? Right?"

"Uh—

"T-the left! She just ran into us — super crazy."

"No, it was from the right. I remember… I saw his headlights."

Satoru takes the contradictory to the head, nodding feversihly as he weighs both of his options. In reality, he knows Suguru is okay; he just wants to know if he's finally… his.

He wants to know if you two have broken up and how easily he could take your place.

"Thanks, girls." He pats both of them on the shoulder, slouching his own like he's not up to no good as he heads down the path to the street. He could pull out his flip phone and actually call his friend, but Satoru thinks he knows where he is, and he trusts his gut more than he trusts new technology — he just wants to see if he's right.

So, he jogs down the street, footsteps getting lost in the laces that fell untied as he ran. He ignores it, risking his footing as he feels the invisible crunch of time over his shoulders. In reality, it's just his adrenaline racing. The thought of finally being able to exist without you in their life felt like such a far-fetched dream, even when you had broken up in the past. This time just feels different; Satoru feels lighter.

It takes him about ten minutes, slowing into a casual stride, to leave the neighborhood. He hasn't seen any sign of life save for the mangy street cats that skittered away at the sound of footsteps in the quiet, but that's not Suguru. He's on the lookout for the car that his best friend worked odd jobs and did favors to scrape up for — that he slaves over every Saturday to clean in and out, and dreadfully named after the girl he'd been seeing at the time. Satoru can ignore that; he can pretend that his name was shittily keyed into the leather interior instead of yours.

He almost gives up hope and pulls out his phone as he reaches the main roadway, where it splits into streets or into the bridge connecting it to the next ward, but he doesn't. He heads down the dark, dimly lit road until he sees a pair of idling headlights right on the cusp of the next ward, and knows by the pattern of the lights, it's nobody else but the one he needs.

Picking his jog back up as he approaches, Satoru slows down and peeks through the back windows, smiling when he sees that familiar dark head slouched over the wheel. Faintly, music plays from inside, lulling away any background noise that could disturb his contemplation. Satoru approaches the passenger, wrapping his knuckles across the window to pierce through the white noise.

Like he's been startled awake, Suguru sits up, eyes wide as he looks to his window, behind him, and finally to the passenger. Seeing how it's just his friend and not a rabid murderer, Suguru lets out a visible sigh, reaching over to manually crank the window down and unlock the door.

"How did I know you'd be over here? I just knew it."

"Hey," Suguru whispers, opening the door and pushing it out so Satoru can step inside. "Get out of the road before someone rolls over you."

"I know, I know." Satoru bites down on his smile, recognizing that his friend is feeling a bit less lifeless than he does. He slides into the car and settles in, slouching against the seat you once occupied and reaching to click the volume down by one or two levels.

The air inside the car is sad and thick with cigarettes, like he just chain-smoked with the windows up in an attempt on his life. Satoru wouldn't put it past him, but right now he needs fresh air, so he reaches to crank his window down all the way. "Holy shit, you were hotboxing yourself or what?"

"Something like that." Suguru's voice is wrecked — low and raspy, cracked around the edges as he settles back in his own seat. "What, you just walked down the street 'till you found me?"

"Shoko told me you went down here, and I trusted her over Utahime."

"She was right." Suguru laughs, if only for it to die out as soon as it hits. Kiss of Life croons over the speaker, drowned-out and almost mystical as they share fleeting, dark eye contact. Suguru doesn't want to admit how much more at ease he feels with Satoru by his side than with you — he just knows he doesn't have to choose his words. His friend loves him for his shortcomings and stupid temper.

Satoru brings his fist to his lips, biting down on the side of his thumb as he turns towards the perspirated windshield, going over how he should say what he truly needs to say.

"Did you see her?"

"So, what are we, now?"

They both speak at once — Suguru withdrawing almost immediately when he makes out exactly what Satoru just said. On impact, even in the darkness, he can see Satoru's face light up crimson-red.

"Y-yeah, I saw her…" Satoru mumbles after a moment, just to break the silence. He stares dead ahead, moving his fist from his mouth and flattening it into a palm over his eyes.

"What are we?" Suguru repeats like he's letting the words really sink in — asking himself the same question before he continues with the obvious, "We're friends."

Satoru keeps his eyes covered, heart racing as he thinks of what, or how to say exactly what he wants to say. Instead of repeating the obvious, Satoru shakes his head and mutters, "You are impossible to read."

"Did I—

Suguru thinks again, mind flooded with every single recent experience they had together. Sure, it could get intimate, but they've been… like this… since before school. There's never been any use for a label when they were each other's entire world throughout adolescence.

He settles on, "This is not what we need," peering longingly out of his window so he doesn't have to face Satoru head-on. It feels like he's on a roll today, just stomping over affection the second it's given to him. Only with you is he innocent — at least, in his eyes. "I have to have a wife and a family."

"And be repressed your entire life?" They've definitely talked about this before, in the heat of the moment. Only, it's never felt so real before. Satoru truly thought they had a chance this time around, and now he's watching it slip through his fingers like loose sand every time Suguru opens his mouth.

"I'm not… I don't feel repressed."

"I don't want to be your secret anymore, not if you're that deep in denial."

"I'm not in denial, you're just… forcing me to choose, and I can't."

"Why can't you? This is the rest of your life."

"That's why!" Suguru sits up in a frenzy, flicking the music up and reaching for the door locks. "You know what? Just get out."

On guard, Satoru sits up, too, shaking his head. "Don't do that—

"You two are going to…" Suguru starts, arm shaking as he reaches over him to push open his door and shove him out. "I'm going to go crazy dealing with you shits."

Satoru is on the defensive, holding his hands out as Suguru pushes him onto the street. He lets up after a few good shoves, then steps outside the car and slams the door shut. Before he storms off, finally angry in the way Suguru could only make him, he leans through the open window, just before he speeds off.

"Next time you're horny and alone, don't bother calling me!"

"Go fuck yourself," Suguru replies, stone-cold with his foot on the pedal. He doesn't look behind him or towards Satoru before he cuts the wheel, speeding off down the bridge without his lights on.

It's a split-second decision, and one he'd regret for the rest of his life. Satoru doesn't care — he's never felt like this before. He's angry and jittery, watching Suguru's lights flicker farther along the horizon and speed away. It feels like he's been belittled and betrayed, even though he knows Suguru will find his way back eventually. What makes him even madder is that he'd let him right back in.

Now, he understands why you two can't leave each other alone.

He could spend this time overthinking what just happened in that car, or he could live with it. He knows words were spoken that weren't meant, and he knows how Suguru gets when he's made to feel like he has to choose; it's just never been this bad before. He's angry, and that's the feeling that hits him first, then betrayal.

That nasty, lingering, dull feeling in his chest that hits when he really thinks about it is the one that makes him pull out his phone at midnight. Satoru turns back towards the party as he thumbs through his keypad, scrolling to your contact to draft the quickest message he's ever sent.

wanna have sex? not serious. y or n?

Your vision is blurry — mind detached from self, as you stare down at your phone. In the middle of chaos — bodies pressing and shoving you to their whims- you can't focus on anything. Tonight had been nothing, in the grand scheme of things. You can't remember where you were five minutes ago, but you remember that argument with Suguru. It's eating you alive, and you've spent the entire party drinking it down, bursting at the seams.

Naoya is in front of you, arms crossed over his chest, throwing his head back in a stupid laugh. Your friends aren't around, just the slightly familiar faces you've seen around campus. At first glance, you recognize Itadori and his dark-haired girlfriend, then Naoya and one of his brothers to your right. You want to call out to Shoko, or even see if Satoru is still close, but you're fucked up.

You blink, brows furrowing as you recognize the new message notification on the tiny screen. You flip it open as Naoya turns back towards you, picking up the thread of the conversation you were once deaf to two seconds ago.

He's drunk too, but steady, using it as fuel to let his lips say whatever they need to. "Who the fuck knows? They're both not here — probably sucking each other off upstairs."

"Huh?"

His brothers look at each other, jaws on the floor as the unwelcome vision hits. "Gojo and Geto? Oh shit—

Naoya stops again, hands falling to his gut as he laughs harder. You catch his mood over the rush of responding to the new notification, and you're suddenly interested in whatever comes out of his mouth, even though you usually don't give him the time of day. The drunkenness mixes with the weight of the night, sitting on your chest in a carefully brave way.

"Dude, I didn't tell you! Cho saw him blowing Gojo off this fucking morning. Ran out so fucking fast like a pussy." He's laughing like it's the funniest thing he's ever discovered, and not like it's the end of your world. You want to reach out and grab his shoulder — forcing him to speak the truth straight into your soul, but something of worth stops you just as your hand flies out.

From your phone, then to your underclassman, you glance back and forth. The alcohol sits in your stomach like a soupy brick, making you nauseated on the spot. You can't imagine it, not that you'd want to, and not after Suguru promised that the kiss was only a one-time thing.

Deep down, you always knew, of course, you knew, but it feels so… disgusting to hear it out loud for everyone to laugh at. It makes you wonder if you ever really knew them, and the extent of their relationship.

Then one of his friends piggybacks, eyes wide with every intention of making use of this shiny new rumor. "No way—

It doesn't hit you the way it would when you're sober — it makes you brave. You shake your head, pretending like everything isn't falling apart in real time as you squint at the message Satoru just sent you.

wanna have sex? not serious. y or n?

 And you reply with shaking thumbs,

 meet upstars. withh condom.

gojo/geto/all char taglist: @yourlocalgrandma @liasacountgothacked @pookalicious-hq @seanori @winkii @minasuniverse @honeypuffzz @thewonderlandgardener @erosxcupid @colortheoryrocks @thywiaa @lisabelhyhn @gravecyte @yesiimorada22 @sanemimyking @slut4gojo @ohmissdove @https-gassen @lisabelhyhn @p1a9u3 @hiraxh @antikillua @dadonprimma @dazed-lavender @zvzxci @satolune @joongshive @hunterthefish @atsushirolll @sueboo503 @clarkkentfavorite @wavetojulia @cowboyvsshop @verykittenwombat @restingoasis @starfalldragondreamer @00zerona @magicalpeenpoo @luvleixo @lovewitchss @riana4life @kalihrts @raashluvsff @mspinkpanties @raikantopini27 @palanggaaa @yarimarjane

[tophollands]

HANGING OUT TO DRY PT 2

fratboy!gojo x f!reader

notes: WOW WOW WOW! I've been out of town so im sooo sorry for taking so long to update and leaving u guys hanging! i was not expecting that much engagement AT ALL SO THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH! but im also super duper nervous bc im not crazy about this one :') so a little nervous it might not meet expectations</3. Also might have lied about a different ending- we shall see but i took so long with this i didn't want to make u guys wait any longer so sorry if it wasnt what you wanted! also hope you guys don't think reader is too big of a cry baby, she's just sad and in love:( 

warnings: angst and heartbreak, comfort, happy ending (eye roll jkjk), reader and gojo not taking care of them selves, self neglect for sure, cursing, mentions of throw up and alcohol, um um, reader and gojo basically just existing and hating life

Credit to @uzmacchiato for the divider!!

For weeks, the old but familiar cycle repeated. The dreaded feeling that you would never be able to shake off seemed to follow you wherever you went, no matter what path you followed in life, no matter who you met. 

You stayed cooped up in your apartment, finding a temporary solace in the four walls. They wouldn't speak, wouldn't judge you for wallowing in your emotions and crying yourself sick. 

The ache in your heart never seemed to subside. It was persistent, constantly reminding you of everything you tried so hard to forget.

You so badly wanted to prove to yourself that you were stronger than this, wanted to walk into class the following week with your head held high and pretend that you were just fine- even if it was just pretend.

But you couldn't. 

Everything felt so incredibly difficult and brutal. Time taunted you, moving in slow motion yet simultaneously in the blink of an eye, sunrises transitioning into sunsets while you spent your days in bed drained of energy and dreaming of cerulean blue eyes.

Body, mind and soul feeling as if they were weighed down with cinder blocks and you were drowning.

Your heart had been completely shattered, broken into a million fragments and the idea of healing felt akin to finding a needle in a hay sack. Hopeless. Futile. Impossible. A puzzle with too many missing pieces.

Your mind was the worst, the temporary comfort exactly that. No where felt safe, the four walls turning into nothing but a tool to only make you feel more suffocated. 

You could go anywhere to escape gojo, but you could never escape yourself.

Never escape the way you replayed the words he spoke to his friends, the way he looked at you, the way he cried, or the way he told you that he was in love with you.

Everytime you shut your eyes, his would find you.

You started skipping your classes after that, started skipping everything actually. Daily little walks to clear your mind, little coffee pick me ups, meals- it all ended. You were a shell of a person now, unable to put back together your own pieces.

No. Gojo had really taken a toll on you, really pushed you past a limit you didn't know existed.

And the worst part of it all was that you were still in love with him, still missed him and the way he'd distract you in class or grab your hand just to drag you somewhere while you playfully put up a fight. The way his stupid blue eyes seemed to light up at you just the way yours did at him. The way he made you feel.

And it was brutal, unnecessarily ruthless the way your mind plagued you when you thought of his lips and the night he kissed you. So cool, yet boyish and slightly clumsy as if gojo too was nervous, as if he truly didn't want to mess it up.

But each time your mind cursed you with a perfect little memory, it was shut down with the images from that night. 

You had stumbled home after, purely driven by your grief induced rage, vision blurred from the tears that were constantly filling your eyes and painting your cheeks. 

But arriving home to your lonely apartment was no better. Throwing up alone snotty, sweaty, and gross was absolutely horrible- and ignoring the messages and phone calls that bombarded your phone was nearly impossible. 

The alcohol settled further into your bones and your drunkenness multiplied but you didn't have the guts to block him just yet- torturing yourself further when you began to listen to the voicemails he left while you desperately clung to the sides of your toilet sobbing and hurling.

You ignored them of course, sloppily brushing your teeth and crawling on top of your sheets, drunkenly throwing off your clothes but not caring to wash the make up off your face or the gravel fully out of your palms. 

Then you proceeded to sob so hard you had to throw up again until finally you cried yourself to sleep. And when you woke up with swollen eyes, a scratchy throat and a pounding headache, praying with all your might that it was a nightmare, you realized it wasn't, your sober self having to go through the entire cycle again of processing what had happened, the heart break, the humiliation- everything. 

You were slow to block his number, tormenting yourself the few days after that night as you religiously watched his texts flood in, spamming you with apologies and this and that and the ways he would change and loved you and wanted you and it was masochistic and everything you never hoped for and why couldn't you tear your eyes away? Why did knowing what he had done to you make it no less harder to think about him?

Being vulnerable and desperate with a visceral want to be loved angered you far more than he ever could. 

And still, you let yourself think of him lovingly and kindly, and there, because god you would be a liar if you said you didn't miss him and everything he was, and the way he smelled and smiled and existed. 

And still, losing Satoru felt like the only light in your life had been snuffed out, and you didn't care if it was pathetic because it was so undeniably painful and true and ignoring that fact would be a lie through gritting teeth. 

You wanted to hate him. You knew you couldn't.

And amongst your tears of self loathing and hatred, you cursed the way you loved so loudly and deeply. The most twisted thing of it all.

With him blocked, your phone was dead silent. The quiet was loud. 

You weren't sure how long you stayed in bed after that. Always exhausted as soon as you woke up feeling void of life that the white haired boy had given you. merely reduced to an organism that could only breathe.

But with timing and the world so happily on your side, you were gifted with finals and exams during your period of heartbreak, the ultimate stake in your heart. Your grades had already plummeted from your lack of attendance and half assed assignments and despite spending the last few weeks wallowing in your self pity instead of studying, you knew the least you could do was at least show up to the final exams- even if he would be there. 

Rubbing your eyes with a sniffle, you forced your body to move, willing every deteriorated muscle to act. to put on clothes that weren't pajamas and to try and behave like a normal functioning being.

There was no motivation, but a small determination to take a step out of your apartment for the first time in who knows when. 

You'd walk to the library, distract yourself with studying- spend the remainder of the week drowning yourself in work to pass your finals just enough so that you'd still pass all your classes and when that was over, you’d let yourself suffocate in the thought of him all over again, but for now- you had to do this.

Throwing on a hoodie that was not his- why would he have given you so many t-shirts and hoodies if you were just a bet, was he just expecting to ask for them back after he pranked you?- you begrudgingly readied yourself to the bare minimum, yanking the door open to begin your dreaded walk.

Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, your eyes landed on a handful of envelopes that laid on your doormat- slightly dirtied and weathered and you wondered just how long they'd been sitting there.

You shakily exhaled, nerves bubbling in your throat as trembling fingers picked up a total of at least five envelopes, all bare save for your name simply written in the middle of each, all in different handwriting. You looked around, retreating back into your apartment to hastily rip them open, curiosity getting the better of you as you were unsure of what person (multiple people?) you knew who were writing you letters and leaving them at your door step.

You pulled out the first letter, concentration written on your face as you scanned it over, not reading the content yet but just staring in pure confusion and then- 

Your jaw felt slightly slack, eyes widening. You opened the next, and the next and the next, words unread but eyes falling on all the separate letters from Gojo and his friends and frat brothers. All written lengthy apologies from Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Fushiguro, a couple other names you didn't know but must have been involved with the bet.

Your fingers clutched the papers, catching certain paragraphs and biting your lip to once again hold tears back.

-didn't even know who you were and we did that to you. Guess thats why we felt like we could do it, as fucked up as that sounds. Gojo’s making us all write these apology letters to you and I hate saying sorry, but I am- we are all sorry. We’re just a bunch of assholes who thought it would be fun to fuck around with him and I guess you too, so yeah. Im sorry for being a part of it and hurting you, even if ive never talked to you. And wow that sounds really bad. Also, Gojo was telling the truth even though he lied at the party, another brother really did grab your gifts from him to throw it away, but tbh those cookies looked really good so I was gonna grab the container after anyways but asshole gojo got to it first. What type of cookies were those? Do you think-

You rolled your eyes automatically, hurriedly glancing away from sukuna’s letter to skim fushiguros.

-frat pres is so fucking annoying and gojos up there too. Sorry for hurting your feelings, we really did just want to fuck around and did think it was funny but damn I actually feel bad. So I'm sorry for that. It wasn't as funny as we thought. Think you could forgive his annoying ass and make some more cookies? Fucker grabbed the container before-

Then geto’s.

-Y/n I'm sorry that I was kind to your face and then let this happen behind your back. And not just let it happen but participated. You have always been a very nice girl and we took advantage of who you were for a laugh, and I swear to you that no one is laughing. You didn't deserve any of that and we don't deserve any of your kindness or forgiveness. I know I have no right to say, but Ive never seen Satoru like this and ive known him for years. I promise you that the bet was not his idea, that he shouldn't have gone along with it of course but none of us were thinking, we didn't know that you would be you-

You angrily huffed, tossing the letters onto your counter and refusing to read the rest of them and certainly not Gojos. Why did it matter if it wasn't his idea? Okay so what if he didn't throw your things out and was planning on getting them after, he still- you slammed your eyes shut, throat beginning to burn as tears welled up in your eyes.

He still did it, still said all that shit in front of everybody. Still lied to your face even when he was supposedly in love with you.

“Fuck you gojo,” you whispered to yourself, annoyingly wiping away the wetness in your eyes with the back of your palm. His letter remained unopened on the counter practically begging for you to read it and like every action did now, it took everything in you to leave it and walk out the door 

The trek to the library was uneventful, slow and quiet as you pushed forward with anger in your veins. Your face was concealed by your overly large hood and headphones, staring at the cracks in the sidewalk.

“Y/n.”

You froze on instinct, ice shooting through your veins as your body betrayed you, the entrance of the library laid just up ahead taunting and laughing.

Prickles of heat stabbed alongside your neck and the saliva in your mouth grew sticky and gelatinous, hard to swallow as you attempted to focus on breathing in through your nose, out through your mouth. 

“y/n,” the familiar tone that you had once loved, spoke the syllables of your name so softly, so light you hoped you had imagined it. So much emotion laced through and over and around the word that you never wanted to hear it again.

But that would be too easy on you, a too great display of mercy casted onto you by the universe.

You braced yourself, slowly turning and unintentionally, your mouth gaped, gaze landing on a very disheveled sick looking gojo who looked every bit like a heartbroken boy. You clearly weren't the only one skipping meals.

The words landed in an instant without thought, claws out, nails sharp.

 “Leave me alone,” you spat, making your break for the library but his hand caught your wrist in a gentle but firm hold, electricity shooting up your arm and you screamed to yourself to ignore it, that it wasn't what you thought.

“Please, please y/n, I know i don't deserve it but just give me a minute-”

“For what? Think you can get in my pants that quick and win your stupid bet? I don't want anything to do with you.” The words burned as you spewed the hate and spat venom, so unlike you and it only served to anger you more. You didn't feel any better being mean to him, didn't feel good or victorious watching the features on his pretty and now sunken in face contort into hurt. 

Fuck, it only hurt you more. Only made you want to take it back. Teeth tore into your bottom lip, eyes diverting anywhere but at him. But you didn't move. Let him grip you and hold your wrist, and you hated the familiarity and comfort that came with the touch. You were pitiful.

“How did you even know I'd be here?” the question flew from your lips before you could properly think about it, eyes focusing on the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

“I.. I didn't. You haven't been in lecture a-and I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable by showing up at y-yours.. I’ve just been,” Gojo glanced away for a brief second, pale skin flushing a pretty pink. “I’ve been waiting outside the library everyday in case… in case you'd come.” 

Your mouth opened, then shut, unable to find the words to respond to his unexpected statement you only thought could be a bluff. Another lie just to get you to forgive him. “For what, three weeks?”

He nodded, hesitant and shy, as if the fact might annoy you, looking anything but like the notorious campus fratboy and instead so childish. “Im so sorry y/n. Please, can we talk? Do you want coffee? I'm so sorry, I miss- I miss you so much, I feel like i c-cant function with out you and I meant it, I'm so in love with you-”

“Gojo.” You stopped him, fingers curling in on themselves to painfully dig into your palms, to try and ground yourself with anything but what could only be deceitful words.

His voice was breaking, hoarse and gravely as if he'd been crying too, rambling the words out like he knew you were about to leave him and he only had a few seconds to say what he needed to but he couldn't- there wasn't enough time to for him to tell you how sorry he was, not enough hours in this lifetime for him to prove how guilty he felt, or how desperately he begged to take it all back. He was a mess, and anybody could see. He knew it wasnt about him and his feelings, knew and deserved the pain he felt after what he did to you, but fuck he couldn't eat. Couldn't do much more than you.

He kept spamming your number with texts, hoping the green would turn to blue, kept ringing your number. Kept going to lecture in case there was a chance he might see you. But fuck if he didn't look and feel like shit. 

“Don't. say. that-”

“But it's true y/n, i love you, i cant stop thinking about you, I wish i could take it all back, It wasn't a bet anymore it was real- it was all real,” Gojo spoke voice shaking and adamant, the first sign of his old spark making a display.

If there was anything he was unyielding about, it was his attempt at making it known to you that his love for you was real. “Y-you don't need to love me back thats-thats okay, just know I love you. I love you-”

“Stop saying that!” You seethed, eyes watering as he kept repeating the phrase that made you feel physically ill, like you might just vomit if he spoke the lie again. It didn't matter. None of it mattered if he loved you and you loved him, it didn't matter anymore. You shook off his grip that you had forgotten was on you, abruptly turning to make your way inside as you kept your head down, praying your tears wouldn't fall just yet. 

“Did you get the letters?” He called out from behind you. 

You paused, refusing to turn, grinding your molars, feeling like shit and thinking of a final blow that could hurt him. You wanted him to hurt. You didn't want to hurt him. You wanted him to hurt. You didn't want to hurt him. Who was this person you were becoming? 

“Fuck your letters. It's basic empathy that you all feel bad. You'll never come close to understanding how I feel,” and in the reflection of the building's glass windows, you watched the way his shoulders slumped, the way his head dropped to his chest in defeat, ruffled white hair strewn all over the place.

For once, the bright boy looked exceptionally dull, clad in a now too big black hoodie and sweats, radiant blue eyes fizzed out into a soft blue, pale undereyes now decorated with large purple bags. 

You bit your tongue wanting nothing more than to tell him you didn't mean it, that you did- but not quite like that. Wanted to run your fingers through his hair and undercut, over his sharp and perfect features and accept his apology, get some food in him and make sure he got a proper night's rest. 

Your chin wobbled, lips trembling, mind deceiving you and urging you to just turn back and look at him. There was nothing you wanted more than to give in, every synapse firing telling you to just do it. 

you sped forward before your body could betray you once more, beelining it to the women's restroom where you could freely sob, heart breaking all over again as you hurt the boy you loved back. Knowing he deserved it did nothing to soothe you. You loved him too much.

Gojo respected your distance. For the time being at the library.

When you walked out hours later, sun long gone and campus streetlights projecting soft yellow glows as the quiet hum of the outdoors enveloped you, you felt somewhat successful. At least you had tried. 

You would have sped walked home, if not for the familiar head of hair that poked out from under a black hood. Gojo, on the bench, outside the library. 

You scoffed lightly to yourself, preparing to book it past him before he noticed it was you, but what didn't go unnoticed by him? He was always oddly infuriatingly attentive to everything, which would have been great if.. Well.

“W-wait, y/n! Are you- are you hungry, did you eat? You were in there for hours and-”

His voice was a catalyst to your anger. You spun to face him, ready to chew him out, patience long gone. Gojo, bothersome and persistent and maddening and beautiful, already walking towards you, already there. 

“Really Gojo? Haven't you done enough? Was lying to my face not enough that you have to keep following me around and messing with me? I don't- I don't care okay? I just want you to leave me alone, please. What don't you get? Your game is over, so please, stop doing this, the prize cannot be that good,” Your edge was sharp and frustrated, emotions bubbling over like a perfectly planned volcanic eruption as the words stumbled out of you. 

“Yes,” the words tore from him just as frustrated, just as hopeless, hands running through his white strands in an attempt to ground himself, to gather his thoughts. “Yes, the bet- the game whatever- it's all over- been over, and yes,” he pleaded, hands reaching out towards you but you quickly stepped back avoiding his touch, ignoring the hurt that flashed across his face. “Yes, I've done enough- but I can't, I won't stop telling you i love you, please believe me-”

Rage fizzed up inside of you, bringing your palms up to shove at his chest, just as you had done that night. It was infuriating, it was aggravating, being taunted by something- someone you wanted so bad yet couldn't have, by someone who was so close yet needed to be kept at arms length.

“Ugh! You don't love me Gojo!” You spoke over him, ignoring the persistent nod of his head as the words I do Im so in love you I do tumbled from his clearly overbitten red lips. “You don't- don't do what you did to someone you like, let alone love!” your voice broke, staring at him incredulously. “I liked you so much. Don't you get that?” The end of the sentence wasn't hastily spewed anymore, it was slow but urgent, a plea for him to understand the severity at which he hurt you.

“Y-you guys purposefully picked me, because- because you knew that i was a loner and had no friends o-or whatever, and still, you dragged me along, made me- made me fall in lo-” a choked noise cut you off and you whipped your head to the side to break eye contact, not wanting him to see the pain you were in, not wanting to be weak before him. It felt like a humiliation ritual all over again. 

You inhaled a deep breath, swallowing to ease the tightness of your throat, to blink back the wetness in your eyes. “Each day you saw me, you went back to your friends and knew what you were doing, while the entire time, I thought- I thought I was just lucky, that finally- maybe I deserved something good, t-that maybe I did deserve someone as good as you.”

Gojo stayed silent absorbing your words, street lights reflecting in the glossiness of his eyes. His chest rose and fell rapidly, jaw muscle twitching every second. For once, he didn't interrupt you, just listened to the damage he knew he had done. 

“And then I was so excited to see you- I didn't care if it was a party or if your friends were there I just- I just wanted to see you,” you sighed, briefly shutting your eyes to work up the courage to say what made you feel so sick, so unwanted. “And then there you were in front of everybody, b-because, again, you're someone! Everyone wants to be near you! And you just-” your breath hitched as you relived the scene, could physically feel your heart plummet all over again and the shudder that racked through your body as you pictured him standing there. 

Your shoulders dropped as you loudly exhaled, unable to say the words aloud that replayed in your head and kept you up at night. “Everybody wants to be around you, or talk to you, o-or be friends with you Gojo. You don't know what it's like to have never had that, and then to hear the guy you lo- the guy you like- speak so…” you groaned, hands momentarily covering your eyes and throwing your head back in embarrassment. “Like I'm just- just this thing, like I don't have actual feelings, I just,” you paused before finally meeting his eyes again, all wide and starry, glassy and beautiful with tears. “I just can't get it out of my head.”

Silence hung around the both of you as the two of you stood mere feet away, imperfect yet perfect reflections of the other. Both completely hurt and devastated, both torn and beaten down for the same reasons yet not at all. It would be easy to forgive and forget, so easy. Especially when he stood with all his glory looking so unwell and defeated but of course, so frustratingly perfect even at the worst times. Even when he was wrong and felt so right..

Your tongue ran along the back of your teeth, poking the inside of your cheek as you waited, unsure for what. 

“I am so sorry, y/n,” he whispered, a tear breaking tension and dropping down his cheek. 

You sniffled, nodded, staring.

“I know,” you whispered, and walked by him, stifling the sobs that threatened to burst out of you

When you woke the next morning, you were once again faced with the fact that you would not be spared from the clutches of gojo who was seemingly intent on making it very clear that getting over him would be the most difficult task. ever. 

There were dozens of flowers outside your door, a sign of gojo's unfortunate persistence and dedication. You cursed him, convincing yourself that you were bringing them inside for just a moment before you'd shove them in the trash. 

But they were spider lilys, your favorite and so hard to find. 

You racked your brain for how he knew, chalking it up to a lucky guess. but then your memory, ever so cruel, reminded you. Flashed you the thought of how you had once told him in an off handed random conversation months ago… 

and he had just… remembered? 

You rolled your eyes, willing the thought away, willing him out of your head and somewhere far far away, but your hands were already moving, already filling a vase- several vases with water. He didn't have to know you kept them. They were just flowers. Just your favorites. 

It didn't mean anything, and it certainly didn't mean you were any closer to forgiving him. 

Gojo didn't show at the library for the remainder of the week. Not that you noticed. Not that you cared. 

More goodies had mysteriously shown up on your doorstep, ranging from coffee with the words “I love you,” written in sharpie on the plastic or breakfast from your favorite diner (more apologies written on the bag that you refused to read) to the matcha dragon jellycat with a pink bow on the head, that you had absolutely no idea how he knew you'd been wanting- or how he was able to get his hands on it considering it'd been sold out for months. 

You kept it of course, not wanting to punish the stuffed animal for his actions, but your forgiveness would not be bought. You were surprised he at least had the composure and maturity to not bang on your door.

It was the last night before finals, and it was just your luck that it was pouring furiously as you stepped out of the library at two in the morning. You worriedly stood under the awning in almost pitch black darkness, the campus streetlights doing little to nothing to illuminate what would be a horrible walk back as you watched every single tree bend over backwards from the sheer amount of wind force.

You groaned, nervously chewing on your thumb nail as you racked your brain on what you could possibly do, so past exhausted and wanting nothing more than to call it quits and climb into your bed. 

“Hey.”

You gasped, eyebrows shooting up your forehead and whipping around to see what potential threat might be facing you, surprisingly visibly relaxing when your eyes landed on none other than gojo. Of course.

A hand raised to clutch the fabric over your heart, exhaling in relief when you realized you weren't about to get kidnapped.

“Holy shit you scared me,” you breathed, moreso to yourself than him, fear catching you off guard for a moment that you didn't immediately curse at him. You didn't say more, letting the thunder and pitter patter of the rain fill the heavy silence, didn't ask what he was doing there.

Gojo stood awkward, almost out of place. Hand in his pocket and other lightly gripping around the handle of an umbrella that went clearly unused by him. Damp strands of snow white hair stuck to his forehead and wet clothes clung to his body. He looked so pretty just standing under the awnings flickering lights, eyes somewhat unfocused but glued on you, and you had to force yourself to look away, could practically feel the blush creeping up your neck at how pretty he looked. 

It seemed as if your body would continue to betray you.

“Can I take you home?” He asked softly, cerulean eyes filled with a glimmer of hope shining at you.

“Nope. It's fine, I can wait. I'm sure it'll be done soon.” blunt and final. Gojo's heart raced at the lack of venom as if it was a sign. Sure you were uninterested, but you didn't immediately tell him to leave you alone. It meant absolutely nothing, yet to him it meant everything- meant light at the end of a tunnel, a stray getting a taste of food after having been starved. His heart raced in his chest, words catching in his throat. He could play it cool, not beg, not repeat himself over and over again like he'd been doing, just try to do enough yet not too much to just get you with him for a few minutes one more time.

“It's after 2 y/n, we've got our final tomorrow and it's pouring. I know you're tired, just let me take you home. Please.”

You rolled your eyes to yourself, exhaling and contemplating his words in your head, cursing every upper power for their unwillingness to toss you a bone. 

Do you suffer for the ten minute car ride and get home and go to sleep, or wait here for lord knows how long to just sprint home, maybe get caught in the rain anyways with all your papers and laptop in your bag in the pitch black- you groaned quietly. It was a no brainer.

“This means nothing. I'm serious, Gojo.”

The smallest of smiles creeped on his features, the corner of his lips turning up ever so slightly, and along with one of the prettiest grins you've ever seen came the embarrassingly increasing pounding of your broken heart. You regretted it as soon as he stepped closer, hating the way he made you fluster even after shattering your heart.

“Come on, I'm parked this way,” and right away his free hand reached for the strap of your bag, tugging it down your arm and slinging it over his shoulder, opening the umbrella and positioning it directly over your head before guiding you out into the rain. You opened your mouth in protest, but he was too fast, ultimately deciding to just keep your mouth shut to get it all over with. 

The two of you sped walked in the rain, dodging puddles to the best of your abilities and your heart ached painfully at what could have been. The moment was mocking, undeniably sweet. 

An unintentional squeal shot out of your mouth when a particular violent gush of wind suddenly sent the umbrella inside out, both of you getting momentarily soaked- or well, mainly just you. Gojo didn't fit under, choosing to just hold it over you and was already looking like he had jumped in a pool.

You couldn't hold back the bubble of laughter that rolled out of you watching gojo curse and spew apologies at you getting wet as he frantically tried to fix the umbrella. His curses turned into chuckles and as soon as it was fixed, the laughter died down into awkward silence, your cheeks burning and a new wave of sadness crashing as the two of you walked side by side. You knew this was a bad idea.

He opened the passenger side of his far too fancy car, a small murmured “thank you,” reluctantly falling past your lips as you watched him run to his side, blasting the heater once situated. For a beat, you both said nothing, sitting in the idling car while a tsunami stormed around you.

He cleared his throat. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good, that's good.” He spoke too fast, sounded too eager. The car stayed parked, Gojo flexing his fingers in his lap, adams apple bobbing as he nervously swallowed. Fuck was he neverous? He didn't want to fuck this up- okay well he was already so past that, he didn't want to fuck things up more, which surely by now would just be impossible. He's just missed you so, so much, still pathetically texting your number everyday incase he wasnt blocked anymore, racking his brain for any other way to show you he's sorry and means it, that he-

“Gojo.”

“Yes?” He's immediately swiveling his head towards you, thoughts interrupted, eyes wide and mouth gaped at what you might say. The yes sounds more like a plea than anything, a beg for you to talk. You spoke to him and it didn't sound like you were going to curse him, what is it what is it what is it??

“Take me home.”

His shoulders deflated, embarrassment creeping up his neck and hope now a mere fleeting thought. What was he thinking?

“Right! Um- yes sorry, of course, my bad,” He mentally cursed at how awkward he was acting and fuck if it didn't sting, but it was everything and more that he deserved.

No music, no talking, just the white noise of the rain and occasional clap of thunder, mixed in with the heat blasting from the vents. He parked outside your apartment building, mustering the courage to try and speak before you could escape. He had ten minutes to think, to scrounge up anything and suddenly his mind was entirely blank except for just you. Just you looking far too pretty exhausted and wet at two am, sitting in his car, right in front of him. Was this real? Was he imagining you?

You spoke first, already unbuckling your seatbelt, eyes staring straight through the windshield. “No more flowers. No more gifts. No more anything. This-” you motioned between yourself and gojo. “Whatever this is- was- no more. Done. Thank you for driving me home, but no more.”

The words burned as you forced them out, every thought in your mind telling you nononono. 

“T-theyre from uh, they're not just from me, from the guys too, I'm telling you y/n, I’m sorry- we are all really sorry,” Gojo whispered, entire body turned towards you in case he'd be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of your eyes. You were so close, yet so far away, and he had no one to blame but himself. 

“I don't care who they're from, that's-thats not the point, okay?” Your voice raised, tone laced with frustration and annoyance. How could you possibly get over him if he was just so damn persistent? Why did he have to try so fucking hard? “Just leave me alone-”

“I cant y/n, I cant. I- I tried, I've tried to respect your words and give you distance but I can't okay?” He knew he was being pathetic, but he just didn't have it in him to care anymore.

“I physically fucking hurt, and I know, It will never compare to how you feel- to what I did to you but fuck-”  his features were contorted into a pained look that you had never seen before, never wanted to see in the first place. 

You faced him, regret taking hold of every action and thought as you could practically feel the want to give in increase more and more. The look of distraught, the anguish, everything that should have never touched him completely coated him and you had to dig your fingers into your pants to keep from reaching out. You internally begged for him to stop, to just stop fucking speaking, to stop making you think and think and think. But when has Gojo ever stopped?? 

“I can't stop thinking about you, you're my first thought in the morning and last thought at n-night- I.. I cant function without you and I miss you so so much, just please- please you're all I think about and I mean it when i say it was real, it was all real- Fuck, it never and i mean it never felt like a joke or some bet, I knew I was fucked as soon as I started talking to you- I liked you and and I fucking love you- like theres, theres this physical constricting in my chest when I think about you, when I think about how much I love you and- and,” Gojos head dropped to his chest, voice cracking and fingers curling into the fabric near his chest as if he was experiencing that ache, spewing the words so hastily he could only pray he was making sense.

He inhaled a deep breath, some lousy attempt at collecting his thoughts, raising his head to find your eyes on him, wide and glossy, nostrils flaring from the intensity of your breathing. 

You were so beyond overwhelmed, unsure of what to do, what to say, if you should zone him out or listen, but it hurt and it hurt so much that you knew no amount of lying to yourself or to him would numb the agonizing ache in your chest.

“You don't have to love me. You don't have to forgive me, but please, just let me try. Ill spend the rest of my life making it up to you, but fuck Y/N, i have never felt this before. W-When I look at you- m-my brain just does this, this weird numbing thing like its just a buzz, l-like i cant think at all, I just- i just see you and,” he frustratingly ran his fingers through his wet strands, fingers pulling and tugging on the edge as anxiety and exasperation coursed through him.

“Fuck im just so in love you,” his voice broke, pitch uneven and scratchy.

A tear streaked down his pale skin, and you sharply inhaled to hide your own. You could try to be strong, try to deny what you felt for him and pretend like you didn't need him, but you weren't exempt from the ache in your heart at his admission, couldn't just let his words roll off you like they didn't mean anything, when they meant everything, couldn't ignore the way he loved you when you loved him.

The entire situation was so fucked, such a dumb fucking cliche.

“I-I know my letter wasn't enough, that an explanation or guilt won't fix anything, that gifts don't mean anything” you stayed silent, didn't tell him you hadn't actually read his letter yet, that you couldn't. “but-but I just- I just need you- need to try to fix what I fucked up. You're so, so perfect,” he whispered the last sentence to himself, gaze dropping.

He was the one who did all of this, but you wouldn't be the only one to suffer.

You shakily breathed, praying your voice didn't come out as broken and fragile as you were, that he wouldn't be able to see your tell. So many things you wanted to say, wanted to ask. You couldn't open that door, desperately wishing you could find closure in disclosure.

“Thanks for the ride, gojo.” a faint whisper, the only response you gifted him. You slammed open the door, grabbing your bag and running out into the rain towards your apartment building, thankful that it was so loud it hid your cries and wails. You didn't turn around, knowing you'd only go back at the sight of him falling apart, knowing the exact feeling of something that was so in reach completely and helplessly fall through your hands. It was torturous watching what used to be your ray of sunshine completely lose its spark and turn into something so hurt and defeated. Two sides of the same coin. What perfect reflections of each other. 

The class was quiet when you arrived bright and early the next morning, murmurs and whispers of questions floating around students silently panicking as they anticipated the material on the exam. Sleep was futile, mind filled with endless thoughts of gojo, and when you finally drifted off into the lull between consciousness and sleep, your dreams taunted you of him. Showed you small glimpses of a hand held in yours, messy white hair splayed on your lap, a pretty smile that made your mind go dumb. You didn't need to see his face to know it was him.

When you woke, eyes wet and sadness heavy in your chest, you couldn't have cared less about your exam, only wanting it to be over so you could resume rotting in your heartbreak. 

But of course, Gojo being Gojo through and through, you found a coffee placed at your usual spot in lecture, “good luck, you're going to ace this!” and a heart once again written sloppily in his handwriting. Huffing, you discreetly scanned the room, finding his ruffled locks on the opposite side alone, looking equally as shitty and unwell. You rolled your eyes to yourself, blocking him out and eager to get the exam over with.

You half expected Gojo to storm after you once the exam was over, dismissing the small part of you that almost wished he had. No you didn't.

Slamming open your apartment door and throwing off your bag, the action happened before you could even second guess, fingers whipping out your phone to quickly unblock his contact telling yourself it was just to look, just to get a small peak.

You'll just block it after again, just one quick look wouldn't hurt right?

Your jaw dropped, hundreds of texts flooding your phone as you watched every single one pop up one after another after another- approximately over four weeks worth and Jesus, he was really not lying when he told you still texted your number, still spammed it. 

Texts from that night, good morning texts, ‘i love you’s,’ ‘im sorry’s,’ a photo of your digimon keychain on his back pack and then of a digimon shirt and poster in his room with the caption “I love digimon so much I love your keychain”, your sticky note on his wall mirror, a photo of the empty cookies “so fucking good, let the guys have only one except for the fuck face that tossed em”, a photo of the exact frat member that tossed them with evident bruising on his face, “I didn't do it fushiguro and kuna did swear- they loved the cookies btw”, photos of flowers that reminded him of you, just more and more texts spilling his guts, telling you he loved you.

Holy shit. 

You gritted your teeth. You should have never unblocked him, mind filled with so many thoughts and nothing at once you weren't sure if you were processing anything. You definitely weren't breathing.

Fuck it.

Phone carelessly tossed somewhere, you moved to tear open his letter, harshly biting your lip in anticipation, eyes widening at the multiple pages he had written and two smaller pieces of rectangular paper falling out that you paid no mind to yet. 

You scanned the letter first, eyes rapidly going through each line only managing to digest certain sentences.

-so embarrassingly insecure that i never had any real friends, people that only used me for my family's status or wealth or just to get something out of me ever since i was kid. I didn't think anybody would actually want anything to do with me unless i had something to give-

-got to college and it was the same. Felt like no liked me for me. Always felt like i was left out of a joke or just didn't understand, thought i was weird and just had really bad social cues or something like that. Joined the frat for some brotherly “love” and it only got worse from there. I hated it, but i had something along the lines of friends for once and i had never had that before and wow this is really embarrassing-

-they were all assholes and at first i was just playing along. It was fun to feel like I fit in. it was never anything bad, never hurt anyone until you, never made any sorts of bets about anything, i swear. I'm only mentioning this because I know you'd never want anyone to go through this. You're so selfless, so kind-

-frat president came up with the idea of the bet and i gave in and i don't say that placing the blame on him or on anyone else. It's 100% all my fault and I never should have accepted it. When he brought it up, almost the entire frat was in the room and they all looked at me like if i didn't agree id be the loser i used to be. There's nothing I wouldn't give to take this back. To be looked at like a loser or nobody again if it meant I could have you back. I didn't think, didn't know who you were yet, which is not an excuse at all. It just made it easier to say yes when i didn't know-

-kuna and fushiguro didn't give a fuck. Are they assholes? Absolutely. But at least they are to everybody. Geto was against it all but we didn't care enough clearly to stop, we just kept playing along with the pres just because we could. Just because he could. Honestly don't even know what the prize was, I just accepted it that day. I didn't think about it.-

-he wanted to see if i could get you in bed with me, being the campus fuckboy and all. I know there's no reason for you to believe me at all, no reason to take my word for it. But I never would have gone that far. You think I'm lying and you have every right to, but I never. Never would have done that to you. Im a disgusting idiot, but not that evil-

-started to like you. Started to fall in love with you. Frat president was weirdly on our asses about it (yeah weird, fushiguros, kuna, and geto too?? Me i get, but i think he knew i was insecure and wanted to fit in, knew i had actually started to get along with those few guys and wanted to fuck me over even more having us all wrapped up in it, and dumbly enough i played along- we all did) and everytime i looked a little too happy or giddy or genuine after being with you he’d remind me of the bet. Remind me it wasn't real. I know, I am the biggest pussy ever. What kind of guy takes shit from someone like that? Who even cares?-

-dates were real. You were real. To me. I could nerd out with you and you'd laugh, join in with me even on the dumb things I liked that you didn't know existed. Just listen to me and watch me like I deserved your attention, like I deserved you and how good you were. And then I'd go back to the house and I was furious. Too pussy to officially end the bet to his face but knew I'd only keep going back to you. I never would've stopped once it was technically over because you werent some fuck ass bet to me, you were everything. I'd be so mad and accidentally end up taking it  out on you, being rude and indifferent so that maybe you would get fed up with me and end whatever we had going on. That you realized I was never worth your time or good enough for you, but you never did. You kept looking at me like I meant something, kept giving me more chances than I ever deserved. And I took advantage of all of it. I wanted you so bad.-

-realized i turned into one of those assholes i always hated. Had no one to humble or put me in my place anymore and I hated what I saw in the mirror. Used to shit on people like me then i turned into one of the most vile people ever-

-but fuck i couldn't stay away from you. Told myself I'd end things with you just so that in some twisted way I could protect you from me, from the people I hung around. Anything but actually change huh?-

-they felt pretty shitty too so made them all write apology letters to you. I promised I wouldn't read them so if they're ass then I am really sorry about that. Told them to use their big boy brains and that maybe I'd let them try one of your cookies. I really did get them back-

-worst thing I've ever done in my life. Watching you look at me like that in the hall way gutted me and i stood there like some fucking cocky asshole but all i could think about was how were too good for me. Too kind, too genuine. Literally the personification of sunshine. I felt sick, thought it i was cold enough you might tell me to fuck off but you didn't. You never did and i hate myself-

-a brother threw them in the trash when i got back from class, i swear, all the guys saw, i swear. Said i was looking a little too happy, a little too old to be excited over the coolest fucking digimon keychain ive ever seen in my life. I was gonna grab them as soon as he left but then prep for the party started and this and that and i was gonna wait until after the party. I didn't care if there was junk all over it, I was gonna grab the keychain and the cookies (still in the container okay so it was fine, I'm not that gross and they looked amazing) and end the bet with him.-

-didn't even realize how much time had gone by. Every moment was so real and genuine with you all i wanted was you-

-that fucking night. I invited you of course I did and naturally, was shitting bricks. Prettiest girl I'd ever laid my eyes on was coming to our party and I was so excited. Didn't think of the bet, just wanted you there, wanted to see you. Frat pres kept handing me drinks, passing me blunts, and i didn't say no. just kept drinking and smoking and was so fucked up. Got in front of them and he started riling me up, started shit talking the gifts you got me and how funny the idea was. Everybody looked at me and like the desperate loser I am, started spewing shit, started spewing hate. Just wanted to make everybody laugh just to feel fucking better about myself for a split second. Just to feel like i fit right in with them-

-saw you. Saw how beautiful and out of this world you looked even while you cried. I am a coward. I'm pathetic. I knew i was fucking it up, but the moment i saw you. Fuck. I would do anything to take it back. To tell him to fuck off that i didn't care. To be a man and tell him i loved you, fuck his bet or whatever. That all of this was real. I know it doesn't matter. I know I deserve to feel this when I know it's nothing in comparison to what I did to you. I know i will never understand-

-want nothing to do with me. I completely get it. I'm not saying this so you take pity on me, believe me, but I know how cowardly I am. Know how I'm anything but a man. That i did something disgusting and horrible to the girl I love, the girl I was falling in love with. I hate that this is what it took for me to snap out of it. Came in after you left and absolutely trashed the place, kicked everyone out (may or may not be getting kicked out the frat next sem but i don't care), grabbed your gifts from the trash. Made the guys write those letters a couple days later after I went off on my friends (they went off on me too, don't you worry), and then the pres stilllll had some shit to say. Guys felt so bad they uh gave him some love taps-

-don't expect you to ever forgive me. Don't expect you to ever fall in love with me back. Just need you to know how perfect you are. How your kindness kept me going on the darkest of days, how you were literally a breath of fresh air that made me think that maybe things would be okay. You never hesitated to be there and every morning I woke up happy knowing I'd get to see you. I will be sorry for the rest of my life. Every day I wish I could take it back. None of it was worth it. I only want you. I only love you-

-had the best thing that's ever happened to me right in front of me. It felt like I had it all when I was with you. The prettiest girl I'd ever seen with a heart of gold liked me. Didn't want anything from me. And in return I betrayed your trust. Lied to your face. Not only royally fucked myself over but ruined the best part of me. Hate that i will be the reason for all your insecurities-

-mentioned the aquarium night event that had been sold out for a few months that you said would be a dream to go to. I got you two tickets (not for me don't worry) for the end of the month once finals are over since you said you'd be here over winter break. When you go, if, check out the biggest tank in the back with the whale shark. I know you'll look beautiful. Are beautiful. I love you.

The letter was tightly clutched in between your fingers, knuckles white from the grip, tear drops splattered over the sloppy pencil marks, smudges all over from where gojo had continuously erased and rewritten, erased and rewritten. tiny hiccups fell from your mouth.

You hated him you hated him you hated him.

You loved him you loved him you loved him.

Your breath hitched, momentarily discarding the letter to inspect the two fallen tickets. A special one night event gala with inclusive drinks and food, behind the scenes tour where guests could even pet certain animals. Not only had the tickets been sold out for months, but they were way beyond out of your budget. 

With trembling lips and shaky hands, you sobbed. 

Gojo quite literally spat out his drink when three days later a notification popped up. From you. In the midst of scrambling to properly hold his phone, he somehow managed to fling it, frantically tripping over his own feet, knocking over his drink and sending his desk chair tumbling.

Hi. Can we talk

He wasn't blocked anymore?? You texted him? You wanted to talk??

He tried to focus, tried to think of a response that wasn't so desperate or needy. He failed to do both.

Hi yes of course. im free now. Or whenever you are free of course, just let me know!

Your bubble popped up, his heart spasmed in his chest, breath heavy as he awaited your response. 

It went away and his shoulders dropped. Then it popped up and he sat up. Gone.

He groaned, tossing the device and covering his face with his palms. He fucked up again.

An hour later, there was a knock on the door down stairs, then voices mingling. Then-

“Gojo! Your girl is here!” It was Kuna’s voice.

gojo furrowed his eyebrows. His.. girl?

He stumbled up, sprinting down the stairs so fast he jumped down the last four, heart lodged in his throat as he eagerly popped up next to sukuna, eyes widening once they landed on you.

You.

In all your glory clad and comfy and so fucking cute in a swetashirt that was far too big - fuck was that his?- hair slightly messy but purposeful, lip caught in between your teeth. He froze, jaw dropped, eyes stuck on you like he'd never seen a woman in his life. Like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time. His breath caught.

“Hi,” you spoke softly, cheeks warm and fingers fiddling with the hem of your- his hoodie.

He rubbed his eyes, unsure if he was dreaming or not. He thought of you so much that the idea that he was hallucinating you at this point was very plausible, that maybe you were a figment of his imagination-

Sukuna elbowed him, a grunt leaving gojos lips, murmuring “weirdo” before turning away. 

“H-Hi,” his voice cracked, clearing his throat before trying again. “I mean, Hey.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully. Playfully. 

She rolled her eyes at me playfully this time. She just-- she-

His mind was short circuiting. 

“This Friday is the aquarium night event. Pick me up at 8.”

And just like that you turned on your heel. Didn't wait for a response, an emotion, nothing. But he understood perfectly fine. This was his last shot.

He spun on his feet, unsure of whether or not he should run after you or if he just made you up. He yelled out to sukuna who only smirked.

“Was she real??”

Those three days passed agonizingly slowly, yet all too fast. Gojo anxiously stood outside your door, palms sweaty and hands tugging at the neck of his collar to breathe. The biggest bouquet of flowers at the store clutched in his grip with an unintentional deadly vice, his best tux ironed to obsessive perfection (admittedly the first time he's ever ironed, he didn't even own one, asking every guy in the frat until one of his brothers mom offered to lend him one).

He spoke out loud quietly to himself, hand hovering over the door in a closed fist working up the courage to knock. “You got this, don't fuck this up, don't fuck this up even more, don't-”

Right under his fist the door swung open, both yours and gojos eyes widening equally in surprise. His cheeks flushed, opening his mouth to speak but the words died down in his throat as his eyes scanned you over. Like a moth to a flame he couldn't stop looking, eyes leaving a wake of goosebumps on your flesh everywhere they traced. Your cheeks burned.

He wasnt breathing, wasnt blinking, wasnt thinking- mind doing that brrrr numbing noise when he would see you but fuck.

You were stunning. The prettiest fucking thing that had ever blessed his eyes. Standing before him, just as shy, just as taken aback. The floor length gown you opted a blessing and a curse, hugging you so perfectly that gojo concluded that it quite literally had to be made for you. You were taller in your heels, hair done perfectly, makeup gracing your features and only accentuating your natural beauty. Oh he was so royally, completely, entirely, fucked.

He was embarrassingly nervous to be standing before you, to stand by your side when you looked like that. Fuck you were so out of his league.

You cleared your throat and for the first time, he blinked, shaking his head to clear his thoughts- or more so lack of.

“You look… you look stunning,” he finally spoke, watching as your gaze dropped to the floor, the tiniest of smiles making his heart thump.

“Thank you. You look very nice too.”

He beamed, exhaling, reminding himself to breathe. He must've died. Must've died and he was at the gates of heaven and fuck he didn't care if he was about to get turned away, at least he got to see you standing right in front of him and hed be damned if he didn't treat it like the best gift he had ever gotten.

He snapped back into reality, far too enthusiastically thrusting out his arm holding the flowers.

“I-I got you flowers.” say something else you idiot. “The, the prettiest ones in the store f-for the prettiest girl.” oh my god not that. 

Gojo wanted to cringe, physically recoil at how fucking dumb he sounded.

You let out a small breathy laugh- he missed that sound so much- gently taking them from his grasp to put them in another vase, not paying attention to the way your fingers accidentally brushed against his, sending a jolt of electricity up his arms and through his body like a machine getting a much needed reboot. He was pathetic, so so pathetic and it was his greatest honor.

You came back, the pink red blush softly painted on your cheeks made him want to bite his fist and he wasnt sure if it was cuteness aggression or the fact you just looked so fucking edible.

“Ready.”

The two of you slowly strolled through the aquarium, arm laced through his while you admired the animals and he admired you. It was laughable how obvious he was, eyes unable to stray. Hundreds of couples flowed and ebbed around you, an overwhelming amount of waiters offering food and more food and champagne every thirty seconds. The tension was painful, you and gojo downing two flutes each as soon as entering the event. 

Small talk at first was difficult, Gojo rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment when he asked if he mentioned how beautiful you looked for the umpteenth time that night. You smiled, blushed, but the tiny inklings of doubt and fear circulated in your head, questioning if he really meant it this time.

You both lingered around tanks, drinking more and more flutes of champagne, becoming more and more relaxed as the night continued. Jokes started flowing easier, hearts forming in gojos eyes when you threw your head back to laugh when he accidentally knocked over an entire serving platter from a waiter's hand. 

This was the iconic fratboy?? Making a fool of himself?

He would've cringed, scowled at himself if it weren't for the way you looked, finally allowing your guard to loosen and the champagne to take hold, poking fun at him and asking if this was his first time out in public. He stupidly grinned, teeth and all, cheeks burning pink.

The night only got better from there. Gojo gleamed as a worker introduced you to penguins, whipping out his phone to take photos of you smiling and laughing. Then you were petting a sting ray- a photo of you quietly squeaking when you touched the slimy creature. Later on a photo of you gasping as you pet a dolphin, stars in your eyes and amazement unmasked. You with a sea otter “awwing,” you backing away from gators, you pointing at the big bellied sea lions, you-

“Thank you Gojo. For the tickets, I- I really don't know how you got them, and the price, I don't know what to say.” 

The tank was cold beneath your touch, finger feathers lightly tracing the glass that housed colorful jelly fish. The room was dark, save for the glow of the bright sea creatures that reflected in your eyes. You couldn't look away from them. Gojo couldn't look away from you.

The response was immediate, without a doubt. “Don't say thank you. I-..” he swallowed. He didn't know what else to say, knowing sorry would never be enough.

“Sukuna said he was sorry when I went by. Said what he did was pussy shit. When I agreed and said I didn't forgive him, he smirked and said good.” You stayed facing the tank, voice tight and blunt, but not unkind. Purely factual.

Gojo slumped, hands shoving into his pockets, preparing himself for you to end everything for once and for all. His saliva was thick, relaxed state leaving him and anxiousness creeping in. He stupidly hoped for something more, knowing he didn't deserve it from the start. But knowing never made handling the truth any easier.

Silence hung heavy in the air. 

Gojo cleared his throat, quiet and nervous. He chewed on his bottom lip, fingers playing with a loose thread in his pocket. “I know you're sick of me saying it. But i am so sorry y/n. I wish I could take it back, but I know I can't." He itched for another glass of champagne. “Im just,” gojo huffed an airy laugh that was more so a sigh of disbelief. “Just so thankful, that you- that you let me come with you tonight. A-and see you.”

A faint hum was your only response.

“C-can i show you something?” he whispered.

You turned, hair framing your face perfectly from where your hands had run through it throughout the night, eyes shiny but bright, and gojo could feel his heart stop, or maybe it was just beating so fast that there was no separation of a beat. “Okay.” 

Before he could overthink it and more than ready to accept the sting of rejection, he quickly but hesitantly brought his hand towards yours, lacing his large one in yours. Tears almost welled in his eyes when you didn't pull away. “Come on.”

“Holy shit,” the words came out unintentionally, eyes wide in awe and jaw slack once your eyes landed on the aquarium's new massive whale shark as it freely swam inside the gigantic tank, other fishes and creatures accompanying it in its rounds. 

Gojos palm was embarrassingly sweaty in yours and he felt unsteady on his legs as if he was standing on unsolid ground. Maybe this was stupid, so stupid and you'd hate it. He was starting to regret it.

A worker near the tank spoke into a mic, excited and grinning big. “-Our newest edition! Everybody meet y/n the whale shark!” 

You gasped in equal joy and shock, a genuine smile appearing on your face for what felt like, no it quite literally was, the first time in over a month. You spoke aloud, maybe to yourself, maybe to gojo.

“Hah! That is so funny that they named it that- what are the odds??” 

As soon as the words left your mouth, your eyebrows were already furrowing, body already turning to gojo who looked ghastly and sick on his feet, hand rubbing the back of his neck and skin flushed the brightest you'd ever seen it. He had mentioned wanting you to check it out in the letter, wanted to show you now, looked so nervous… why would he be so..?

“Gojo?” 

He didn't look at you, mouth straight and eyes forward. He hummed, but the pitch was too high, too anxious as if he was awaiting some sort of reaction. How would that even work…?

“Gojo…” His eyes scanned the room, fluttered left and right awkwardly, anywhere but you. Your heart stopped, hairs standing on the back of your neck, of your arms, mouth suddenly dry as if you hadn't been drinking the entire night.

“Gojo you didn't…” and he was facing you suddenly, eyes wild, tugging you closer and grabbing both of your hands to hold in his, thumbs swiping back and forth not to soothe you but an anxious tick to soothe himself. 

“Fuck, I know it was dumb wasnt it? God- I knew it was stupid, b-but I wasn't thinking, or I was, and I just thought, just thought-” You cut him off, pieces fully falling into place and jaw dropping in unadulterated shock.

“You named a whale shark after me???”

He let go of your hands to pace, fingers curling into tight fists. “Fuck I know, why would I do that? I thought maybe a star named after you would be cool? But-but I just- you know, y-you love the aquarium and I had been researching and saw they were rescuing a whale shark that didn't have a name yet- so i emailed and called and came in and donated, and- and, okay basically maybe begged, but hey, at least I get a plaque now right? Well you get a plaque, I put the donation in your name-”

Your jaw was on the floor, watching the most nonchalant notorious cool fratboy who was known for just that be anything but, frantically pace and throw his hands all over the place as he rambled on and on and on about how he named an entire whale shark after you.

You blinked hard, again and again, wondering when you'd wake up, wondering when gojo would snap his fingers in front of your face and tell you you were just day dreaming. You couldn't believe what you were hearing.

“You named a whale shark after me…”

At once he stopped, turning to you completely exasperated and arms finally falling by his side in defeat as if you'd hate the idea and chew him out for it, as if you could ever hate the idea. He named a fucking whale shark after you. 

“Yes.”

Immediately, like all things gojo seemed to be best at making you do, your eyes filled to the brim with tears. His hands found your cheeks, thumbs moving to swipe under your waterline as he panicked. “No, no, no, wait- don't cry, that bad huh? Fuck, it was supposed to make you happy-”

Your fingers tightly gripped his wrists, biting your lip to stifle and quiet your cries thankful the worker and surrounding couples had moved along. “I… I am, that does make me happy.” 

Like a weight that had been lifted from his chest for the first time in weeks, Gojo physically relaxed, shoulders slumping in relief. He gently pulled the two of you closer to the tank, eyes solely interested in you as if there wasn't a gigantic whale shark swimming right next to him, as if you were the only thing worth watching, as if he didn't want to blink in case he might miss something.

You sniffled, small laugh hiccuping out of you. “That is s-so silly..” he was nodding along with your words, palms resuming their once rightful place on your cheeks and now the only thing running through his mind was that if he was ever so lucky to be gifted another chance that he would never take it for granted ever again in his life, never take you for granted.

“I am so in love with you Y/n, you have no idea.” 

His mouth frowned at the slightest flash of sadness in your eyes, corners crinkling as more tears silently streamed down your cheeks. “Ill keep showing you I'm sorry for as long as you let me and god im fucking sorry. You are the best thing thats happened to me and i know none of its enough, none of it compares to how i hurt and destroyed your trust in me, b-but fuck I love you,” he spoke softly, yet urgent and severe and he hated the inkling of hope that sprinkled in his chest, the fear and pain that came along with thinking he might not be so hopeless after all. It only made it worse.

“I..” his heart seized in his chest as he waited for you to finish. “I don't forgive you gojo.” and he felt his heart crack, felt everything in him completely ache and throb and the tightness of his throat burned so painfully he wasn't sure if he'd be able to hold back the sob that threatened to leave him. He licked his lips, nodding his head to your response and dropping his hands, tears readying to leave his own. The worst of it all was understanding, was agreeing with your decision.

“Y-yeah, yeah-” It’s all he could whisper, all he could muster. But then a hand reached out for his own, fingers lacing through his once more. He wanted to yank it out, not out of spite, not to be rude, but he was on the cusp of shattering. Didn't want you to see him wail like a toddler in the aquarium, figured you weren't vengeful enough to want to watch it though you had every right to be. 

‘B-but... that doesnt mean that one day I wont…I just- I need time, but I think, maybe… I'd be willing to try…” you breathed, gaze flickering back to him, to the floor, to the whale shark he fucking named after you, back to bright blue eyes that looked at you as if you were the air he breathed, the oxygen in his lungs. 

A tear dropped down his cheek and he felt his body restart. Felt every function in his body like a car being hot wired and suddenly he was working all over again, electricity shooting through every single muscle, tendon, organ. 

A squeal left your lips, strong arms suddenly wrapped fully around your middle as you were snatched up and spun around, hands braced against his shoulder as broken fits of laughter flew out of you. 

He was in disbelief, he was in awe, he was dreaming, he was everything you weren't and you were everything he wasn't and he was excited, so hopeful, peppering your cheeks and face with kisses as if he just won the lottery- no, no this was better, this was so much better.

“Satoru, stop!” but you were giggling, you were giggling and gently pushing him back, but at the first syllable of his name that you hadn't said in so long, he just couldn't find it in himself to physically peel himself away. You were everything and more and satoru gojo was the greediest  man alive. 

You could hear the smile on his face. The intensity at which he spoke, the genuineness in his words and actions.

“Fuck- I love you I love you I love you, you wont regret this, youre gonna be my wife and ill make it up to you every single day from now on, thank you thank you-” the words slightly muffled as he continued planting delicate kisses over your face. 

You wouldn't kiss him just yet, despite wanting nothing more than to feel his soft ones against yours.

Baby steps.

You laughed, shy but not fearful, eyebrows shooting up your forehead at his admission and eagerness. “Lets start with one day at a time, yeah?”

Gojo finally pulled back, palms finding their now rightful place on your warmed cheeks, tucking the fallen hair behind your ears. He bit his lip, grinning so wide his face hurt. 

“Yeah. Yeah I think I can do that.”

tags: @raveszn @suf0kate @auradiddler @applvfish @trep65 @luna0006 @vavavavavaavvaboom @socharmedxoxo @erinc1235-blog @younghideoutberserker @amjusthereforthesmut @userless818 @suki-1278 @alebrasil0101 @sabztov @yvres @maicellarwater @looha @momoxmimixmomox @bzziestbee @vinsushi @satorusblue @minadiary07 @waterfal-ling @militarychu @pawwwginaaa @gonergirll @kitkat-gojo @noone1233nobody @dreamingoftomorrow @labbratz @ainauf @swoozleee @thatobsessedreader @titi37295 @drfrankiestien @cyberakane @agendercrisisx @pigeondex @sadlysoulx @satoruslovey @elifgomez0 @maliakealoha @ckilhj @whatsernamekei @yamaesque @flyingcat96 @yuverea @decadentdelusionlover @xxoamsoxx @perfectnecromancerknight @lovelyknox @teaspecifically @tharunnihaa @illustriousmonstervampire @thelonewolfdreamer @paula-bratu @yjwwzxcv @norsaval @suguruscumswallower @rodyhareadiiii @itzz-ellyy @lovickyi @vogelaqwry @cutenaeabab @sparklycalicocritter @sweetdeathicrave @4evahevah @3mm-z @megumisthirdog @adorearin @lilymarshmello65 @shadycandyexpert-blog @sugaringsnoopy @mapleeereads @mrs-xia @ariesbbysblog @gonergirll @mangourhearts @fancybooknook @terralupa @shesafreakygurl @wcke6 @jaydennicole @emoedgylord @lajosen @michexoxo @florisque @dud3wh4t @16bruises @laceyvnilla @chir4ki @bengalbunny @tharunnihaa @kpopmultistans @fettuccini-alfredo @aeri101

[gojosconsort]

︵ ೀ mdni. satoru finds your secret sketchbook full of him and in a haste to explain yourself, he offers to be the nude model for your assignment ( artist!reader x sports!satoru / college au / wc 5.8 k ) ︵ ೀ series. part one / part two

you've been doing really well, actually. two whole days of successfully avoiding him—not that you're avoiding him, obviously, that would be childish, you've just been taking very specific routes across campus that happen to not cross paths with anywhere he usually is. completely different thing.

so of course, the one time you let your guard down, the one morning you actually allow yourself to sit in the cafeteria like a normal person with your coffee and your sketchbook open to a completely innocent, satoru-free page, you feel the chair across from you scrape back.

you look up.

he drops his tray down and folds himself into the seat like he owns it, which, to be fair, he kind of acts like he owns every seat he sits in. he's in his practice clothes, hair pushed back, looking annoyingly good and unbothered for someone who absolutely should be at least a little embarrassed about that night.

"hey," he says, like it's nothing. like it's any other monday morning and you definitely didn't spend the entire weekend hunched over your desk shading every line of his naked body onto paper, painstakingly getting the light right across his shoulders, his stomach, his cock—

"cool if i sit here?"

"you're already sitting," you say.

"true." he picks up his fork, glancing down at your sketchbook. "how'd the drawing turn out."

"it turned out good," you say, wrapping both hands around your coffee cup. "handed it in this morning actually."

"yeah? what did he say?"

"she," you correct automatically. "professor lee. and she—" you pause, because this is the part you've been equal parts dreading and wanting to tell someone since it happened an hour ago, "she really liked it. said the proportions were the best in the class. said it looked like i actually knew my subject."

satoru grins at that. "obviously."

"don't let it go to your head."

"too late." he steals a piece of fruit off the edge of your tray without asking, which is so aggressively normal and familiar that some of the tension in your shoulders loosens without you meaning it to. "so she liked it. that's good. you were stressed about it."

"and then," you say, because apparently you are going to tell him the whole thing whether you planned to or not, "she asked me who the model was."

satoru raises an eyebrow.

"and i said a friend. and she looked at it for a second and then she was like—" you cover your face briefly, "—'is this gojo satoru? from the athletics team? i've seen him play.'"

satoru puts his fork down. "your professor knows who i am."

"apparently she goes to the home games."

he leans back in his chair with the most insufferably delighted expression you have ever seen on another human being. "so your professor has seen me play and my dick."

"she hasn't seen your—it's a drawing."

"of my dick."

"of your—it's art. it's an anatomy study."

"still my dick though."

"satoru, oh my god, keep your voice down." you glance around the cafeteria, mortified. "it's fine art. there's a difference."

"what's her name."

"no."

"i just want to introduce myself properly. we've already been through something together, it feels rude not to—"

"you are not tracking down my professor."

"i could come to class."

"absolutely not."

"i'm serious, i could be a guest model." he's fully grinning now, leaning forward on his elbows like this is the best idea he's ever had. "your whole class would benefit. very educational."

"you are not coming to my anatomy class."

"why not? i'm clearly qualified. i have references." he nods toward your bag, where your sketchbook is poking out. "got a whole portfolio of evidence right there."

"those are my sketches, not your references."

"same thing." he steals another piece of fruit off your tray, completely unbothered. "so she gave you a good grade at least? after everything i sacrificed for your education?"

"i don't know yet. she has to grade them all first."

"god," he mutters, "why do they always take so long with that."

it's not really a question, so you don't answer it. you just watch him pop another grape into his mouth, and then he's quiet, and then you're both quiet, and that's worse, actually, because silence means your brain immediately fills it with everything you've been successfully not thinking about since friday—

his dorm room, the towel, the chair, then the way he had touched himself, his hand wrapping around his cock, stroking slow at first then faster, the wet sounds. the way he had looked at you and said that he likes you to watch, like he wanted you to see every stroke, every twitch, every drop of precum—

"you're turning red," he says.

you look up. he's watching you over the rim of his water bottle, completely calm, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"i'm not."

"you are." he sets the bottle down. "what are you thinking about."

"nothing."

"uh huh." the corner of his mouth pulls up, just slightly. "nothing that happened friday, or."

"i actually have to go," you say, already reaching for your bag, sketchbook shoved in first, coffee cup grabbed second.

"we should probably talk about friday," he says, easy as anything, like he's suggesting you discuss the weather.

your bag nearly slides off the table. "i'm good, actually."

"you're good."

"yeah." you stand up, pulling your coat off the back of the chair. "totally fine. nothing to talk about."

"i feel like there's a little something to talk about."

"nope." you're already backing away from the table. "i have class."

"you have forty minutes until—"

"lots of things to do before class. very busy. full schedule." you point vaguely in a direction, any direction. "i'll see you around." you turn around before he can see how red your face has gone, already speed-walking toward the exit your coat not even properly on yet.

"we're gonna have to talk about it eventually," he calls after you, loud enough that two people at the next table look up.

you pretend very hard that you didn't hear that.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

it's thursday afternoon when professor lee hands back the assignments, moving through the rows with a small stack of papers tucked under her arm. you're barely breathing by the time she stops at yours. she sets it down in front of you, face up.

A, circled in red pen. and underneath it, in her small, neat handwriting:

best in class. exceptional sensitivity to form and proportion. the familiarity with the subject is evident. it elevates the entire piece.

you stare at it for a second too long.

"i mean it," professor lee says, pausing at your station instead of moving on, which she doesn't usually do. "this is genuinely impressive work. the best figure study i've seen from this class in a few semesters."

"thank you," you manage, still a little stunned.

she tilts her head, glancing at the drawing one more time. "your model—a friend, you said?"

"yeah. just a friend."

"he's clearly very comfortable in his own skin." she says it so matter-of-factly, so professionally, that you almost don't register it. "do you think he'd ever be willing to come in? to pose for the whole class? we're always looking for new models and frankly, he has exactly the kind of build we look for."

you blink at her. "i'm sorry?"

"as a paid model, of course. it's a standard arrangement." she's already moving on to the next student, completely unbreezy about the bombshell she's just dropped. "just think about it. ask him if he's interested."

you sit there for a full minute after she moves away, staring at your a, thinking about how on earth you're supposed to look gojo satoru in the eye and ask him if he wants to get naked in front of your entire class.

you'd survived the sketchbook discovery. you'd survived the dorm room. you'd survived the hallway, and the door, and the sounds, and the cafeteria where you'd basically sprinted away from him like your shoes were on fire.

you had, very carefully and deliberately, been in the process of letting things go back to normal between you. or as close to normal as they could reasonably get given everything.

and now this.

asking him once had been mortifying enough. asking him to do it again, in front of twenty other people, with proper studio lighting and your entire class staring at him—all of him—for three hours straight... you'd rather fail the semester.

you decide, firmly and with great conviction, that you are not going to ask him.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

professor lee catches you on the way out of class the following tuesday.

"did you speak to your model?"

"i—not yet," you say, which is technically true. "i've been meaning to."

"no rush," she says, in a tone that suggests there is a little bit of rush. "i'm planning the spring model schedule and i'd love to lock it in. he'd be compensated well."

"right. yeah. i'll ask him."

you do not ask him.

by friday she stops you again on your way in, before class has even started, a scheduling sheet in her hand and a hopeful look on her face that makes your stomach sink straight to the floor.

"i don't want to keep pestering you," she says, in the way that people say things when they are absolutely going to keep pestering you. "but i showed his study to a colleague of mine and she was equally impressed. if he's open to it, we'd love to have him for at least two sessions."

"two sessions," you repeat faintly.

"the pay is quite good for a few hours of work." she smiles, warm and completely oblivious to the internal crisis happening right in front of her. "and i have to say—your work this semester has been good, but that piece was on a completely different level. there's something that happens when you draw someone you actually know. the confidence in your work, the attention to detail." she tilts her head, like she's genuinely thinking it through. "i think having him as a recurring subject could do a lot for your portfolio. potentially best of semester material, if you keep working at that level."

you stare at her. "best of semester."

"it's early to say," she adds, already heading toward the front of the room. "but i'd be lying if i said i wasn't thinking about it. just something to consider when you talk to him."

she says it so casually, like she hasn't just dangled your entire artistic future in front of you like a carrot on a stick and walked away.

"yeah," you hear yourself say, like someone else has taken over your mouth entirely. "yeah, i'll ask him." you walk to your seat, drop your bag, and sit down.

fine. you're going to have to ask him. however embarrassing, however awkward, however many new levels of humiliation this opens up between you—you are going to have to look gojo satoru in the eye and ask him to come and be naked in front of your entire class.

you pull out your sketchbook and stare blankly at a fresh page.

the things you do for a good grade.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

you find him coming out of the locker room just as training wraps up, which in hindsight you should have timed better. you'd figured you'd catch him on his way out, fully dressed, easy and normal, a quick conversation and then you'd be gone before either of you had time to be weird about it.

instead he pushes through the door with a towel around his waist and another one hanging around his neck that he's using to roughly dry his hair, still dripping, chest still damp, looking entirely too good.

my god, why—why is this a thing now? you went years without ever seeing this man like this. years. it wasn't even hard, it just didn't happen, and you were fine, you were completely fine. and then something changed like three weeks ago and now it's just—towels. constantly.

like the universe looked at your life and went, you know what this needs? more of him, wet, with very few layers on. thank you. very helpful. really appreciate that.

he spots you immediately, eyebrows lifting in surprise. "hey. what are you doing here?"

"i needed to talk to you about something." your eyes have already gone somewhere safe, like the floor, the wall, the water fountain twenty feet down the hall. "sorry, i didn't realize you'd still be—i can wait outside."

"why?" he pulls the towel off his neck, draping it over his shoulder, looking genuinely confused by your reaction. "you've already seen me naked."

"that was different."

"how."

"it just—it was for class, it was a whole—it was a different context, satoru."

"you literally drew my body for weeks without me knowing and now you can't look at me in a hallway." he tilts his head, amused. "make it make sense."

"it makes complete sense and you know it," you mutter, still not fully looking at him. "can you just—put a shirt on or something."

"i just got out of the shower."

"i'm aware."

"my shirt's in my bag."

"then get it out of your bag, satoru."

he laughs, but makes no move toward his bag whatsoever. just stands there, like he's genuinely enjoying watching you try to hold this conversation with the water fountain. "okay. what did you want to talk about."

you take a deep breath, eyes still fixed somewhere over his shoulder. "i need to ask you something and i need you to not make it weird."

"when do i ever make things weird."

"satoru."

"fine. ask."

"my professor asked me—" you stop, start again. "she really liked the drawing. like, a lot. best in class, apparently."

"obviously." he leans against the wall, arms crossing over his bare chest, completely unbothered. "and?"

"and she wants to know if you'd be willing to come in." you say it fast, the way you rip off a bandaid. "to pose. for the whole class. like, as a proper model. she'd pay you."

he stares at you for a second. "the whole class," he repeats.

"yeah."

"like, all of them. sitting there drawing me."

"that's—yes. that's what a class model is."

"naked."

"that's what a figure model is, yes."

he's quiet for a beat, which is somehow more nerve-wracking than if he'd immediately said something. then he tilts his head, studying you with that unreadable look he gets sometimes. "and you'd be there."

"i mean—it's my class, so yes, i'd—"

"so you'd be drawing me again."

"along with twenty other people, yes."

"hm." he looks almost entertained now, pushing off the wall. "and you ask this because—"

"professor lee said it could be best of semester for me," you mutter, hating how small it sounds out loud. "my portfolio. if i keep drawing you, apparently my work is on a different level and—"

"so you need me."

you close your eyes briefly. "yes. fine. i need you."

he's quiet for a second. "okay," he says finally.

you blink. "okay?"

"yeah." he shrugs, like it's nothing at all. "i'll do it."

"just like that?"

"just like that." he reaches back for the towel around his shoulder, giving his hair one last rough pass with it. "but i want something in return."

"what kind of something."

"a drawing."

"a drawing," you repeat slowly, waiting for the rest of it.

"yeah." he says it completely simply, like that's the whole sentence, like that explains anything at all.

"what kind of drawing."

"i'll let you know when the time comes." he's already turning back toward the locker room, clearly very pleased with the level of vagueness he's just gave you.

"satoru." you take a step after him. "what does that mean, you'll let me know when the time comes. you have to give me more than that."

"it's a drawing. you're an artist. not exactly a hardship." he glances back over his shoulder, smirking. "unless you're worried about what i'm going to ask for."

"i'm not worried."

"you look a little worried."

"i look normal. tell me what the drawing is."

"later." he pushes the locker room door open with one hand, completely unbothered, like he hasn't just left you standing in a hallway with the world's most open-ended agreement hanging over your head. "talk to your professor. set up the dates."

"satoru—"

the door swings shut behind him. you stand there for a second, staring at it.

what did you just agree to.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

the following days are, frankly, not great for your mental health.

it starts small—a passing thought while you're brushing your teeth sunday morning, a quick what did he mean by that before you shake it off and move on. fine. totally manageable.

by monday it's less manageable. you're sitting in your color theory lecture staring at a slide about complementary palettes but your brain is persistently thinking about it in the background like an app you forgot to close. a drawing. what kind of drawing. why wouldn't he just say what kind of drawing.

tuesday you're in the studio working on a still life and your roommate asks you three times why you keep stopping to stare at nothing and you say you're just thinking about composition which is technically not a lie.

wednesday is when it gets genuinely bad. you're lying on your bed at midnight, sketchbook resting on your stomach, pencil tapping against the page, going through the options in your head.

a portrait, maybe. something normal. that would be fine, that would be completely fine, you could do a portrait no problem. except satoru doesn't do anything without a reason and he definitely wouldn't have been that mysterious about a portrait. which brings you back to the other option sitting at the back of your mind that you keep trying to evict.

a nude.

another one. something he could actually keep this time, something personal, not a class assignment. a drawing he could—your brain unhelpfully supplies the image of him showing it to some girl, grinning, look what my friend drew me, isn't that insane—

you groan and pull your pillow over your face.

that's what it is, isn't it. he wants a proper one. something finished and framed and entirely too detailed that he can use as the world's most unhinged conversation starter with whoever he's currently interested in.

he'd basically said it himself, that night in his dorm. the most insane nude i could ever send to a girl, he'd said, grinning like the thought genuinely delighted him.

you'd laughed at the time. you're not laughing now.

or maybe this time he wants you to actually draw him pleasuring himself or something, his hand wrapped around that thick length, stroking himself the way he had that night while he looked at you and told you to stay and watch.

you wonder how that would go, would he stare at you the whole time, eyes dark and locked on yours while his hand moves on his cock? would he moan loudly, the low rough sounds filling the room the way they had that night? would he have to go a few rounds if you are not fast enough to finish the drawing the first time, his cock getting hard again and again while you try to capture every detail? does he take long to finish, or would he come quick and hard with you watching every twitch and every drop?

you would not survive this.

at least professor lee was happy when you told her. she'd practically lit up, already pulling out her scheduling sheet before you'd even finished the sentence, penciling satoru in for two sessions with the kind of excitement she usually reserved for particularly good student work. she'd called him a find, which was such a professor way to describe gojo satoru that you'd almost laughed.

it was the only good part of the whole week.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

the morning of the first session you get to the studio early, which you tell yourself is because you want a good spot near the window for the light and absolutely not because you need five minutes alone in the room before everyone else arrives to mentally prepare yourself.

your classmates filter in one by one, morning chatter filling the studio and the usual scrape of easels being adjusted and pencils being uncapped. normal. fine. you set up your station, clipped a fresh sheet to your board, told yourself this was just another class.

and then maya, who sits two easels down from you, glances at the model release sheet professor lee has left on the front table and does a very audible double take.

"wait." she picks it up, turning to the room. "is our model today gojo satoru?"

the energy in the room shifts immediately.

"the gojo satoru?" someone says from the back. "from the athletics team?"

"oh my god, i've seen him at the games." this from jess, who is already setting up her pencils. "he's like, genuinely unreal looking. i saw him at the spring championship and i thought i was going to pass out."

"same, he's so tall—"

"and his shoulders—"

"i heard he's like, built like actually insanely well—"

you are staring very hard at your blank page, pencil gripped too tight in your hand, willing yourself not to react to a single word of this.

"wonder what he looks like underneath all that," maya says, in that way that makes three people laugh and makes you want to fold yourself directly into your easel and never come out.

"i mean, we're about to find out," jess says.

"lucky us."

"lucky us is right."

you make a very small, very quiet noise into your sketchbook that no one hears, which is good, because you don't fully have a way to explain it.

professor lee chooses this moment to walk in, satoru a half step behind her, and the room goes just slightly electric in the way it does when someone walks in and everyone clocks them at once. he's in his regular clothes still—sweatpants and a loose shirt—looking completely unbothered by the sudden weight of twenty pairs of eyes, because of course he does, he's satoru, he was probably born unbothered.

his eyes find you immediately across the room. he grins. you look back at your paper.

"good morning everyone," professor lee says, setting her bag down. "as you can see, we have a new model joining us for the next two sessions. this is satoru. please make him feel welcome and remember our studio etiquette—professional environment, focused work."

"hi satoru," the class choruses, with significantly more warmth than you've ever heard directed at a model before, and a few of them are already giggling before they even finish saying it.

"hey," he says easily, lifting a hand, and you can hear the smile in it without even looking.

"oh he's even better up close," someone whispers, not quietly enough.

you close your eyes briefly.

i drew him, you think. i spent a friday night in his dorm room watching him stand there like that and i drew every single line of him and then worked on it for two days and i got an A and none of you will ever know that and i am going to take it to my grave.

so, there's nothing to worry about. you've already seen him naked, you remind yourself, very firmly, like a person who is totally fine. this is nothing new. this is just—a repeat viewing, basically. a familiar subject in a professional context. you have already seen everything there is to see, you have already drawn it, you are already ahead of everyone else in this room by approximately one very eventful friday night.

there is absolutely nothing to be worried about.

you are not going to survive this class.

professor lee gestures toward the changing area. "satoru, whenever you're ready."

"sure." he glances across the room one more time, finds you again, and there's something in his expression that's almost like he's checking in, just briefly, before he disappears behind the curtain.

you pick up your pencil.

you are so not going to survive this class.

and then the curtain moves, and satoru steps out. the room goes completely quiet.

not the polite, professional quiet of a figure drawing class but the stunned, collective, nobody-planned-to-stop-breathing quiet of twenty people registering something all at once and not quite having a response ready for it.

you keep your eyes on your sketchbook for exactly four seconds before you look up, because you're only human.

he's standing at the edge of the platform professor lee uses for her models, completely at ease, even though he's standing in front of a room full of art students in absolutely nothing at all. one hand resting loosely at his side, weight shifted onto one leg, like he's just waiting for someone to tell him where to stand.

"okay," maya breathes, from two easels down, in a tone that isn't really meant for anyone in particular.

someone's pencil rolls off their easel and hits the floor. nobody moves to pick it up.

professor lee, bless her, clears her throat. "alright. let's start with a few short gesture poses, two minutes each, before we move into the longer study. satoru, if you could—"

"yeah, wherever you need me." he steps up onto the platform, and the light from the studio windows catches him in a way that makes the whole thing feel almost unreasonably unfair, like the universe is just showing off now.

"oh my god," jess whispers, so quietly it barely counts as a sound.

you look back down at your paper.

you've seen this before, you remind yourself. you've seen all of this. you are calm. you are professional. you are an artist in a figure drawing class doing exactly what artists in figure drawing classes do. and he is not standing there enjoying every second of the effect he's having on this room, and you are not nervous about it.

you chance one more glance up at him.

he's already looking directly at you, the smallest smirk sitting at the corner of his mouth, like he knows exactly what every single person in this room is currently experiencing and finds it very funny.

you look back down so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

the two minute gestures blur into longer poses, and the room settles into the kind of quiet that only really happens when everyone is actually invested in what they're drawing. except the investment in this particular class feels distinctly less academic than usual.

maya keeps exhaling these small, controlled breaths like she's actively regulating herself. someone in the back row has been erasing and redrawing the same line for the last ten minutes, which has nothing to do with the line being wrong and everything to do with needing an excuse to keep looking. jess fanned herself with her reference sheet at one point, caught professor lee's eye, and stopped.

and then there's the girl to your left. hana, who is usually one of the most technically precise people in the class, ruler-straight lines and perfect proportions. you glance over at her sketchbook once, casually, the way you sometimes do to check where everyone else is in the drawing.

she is on her fourth detailed study of satoru's... manhood.

fourth.

you look back at your own paper immediately, pressing your lips together very hard. professional environment, professor lee had said. focused work. you add a careful shadow along satoru's shoulder and say nothing.

the class continues, pose after pose, and the light shifts slightly as the morning progresses. you almost forget that satoru gojo, your longest friend, is standing right in front of you, naked. it's easier than friday night, somehow, with twenty other people in the room and professor lee moving quietly between easels. more structured. safer. except—

you look up to check the angle of his jaw for the third time and find him already looking at you yet again. you glance back down. look up again a minute later to check the line of his shoulder. still looking at you.

not at the room, not at the middle distance the way models usually do when they're holding a pose. at you, specifically. you drop your gaze back to your sketchbook. look up again two minutes later. still you.

you try, very subtly, to gesture with your eyes. a small, deliberate flick to the left, toward the window, toward literally anywhere else in the room that isn't directly at you. he blinks. stays exactly where he is, gaze not moving an inch.

you try again. a tiny tilt of your head. look somewhere else, you are sending him every possible telepathic signal you have, you are burning through your entire reserve of nonverbal communication, look at the wall, look at the window, look at maya, look at literally anything—

he almost smiles. doesn't move his eyes.

you widen yours slightly, a last desperate attempt.

he raises one eyebrow, barely perceptible, like he's asking what exactly you think you're doing.

"satoru." professor lee's voice cuts through the room, not looking up from the student drawing she's currently reviewing. "eyes forward please."

the class doesn't look up. you look down.

and from across the room, so quietly that you're almost sure you imagined it, you hear him exhale something that sounds very much like a laugh.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

you take longer than necessary packing up your things. unclipping your sheet from the easel slowly, sliding your pencils back into their case one by one, straightening the edge of your sketchbook even though it doesn't need straightening. around you the rest of the class files out, and they are not quiet about it.

"his shoulders," someone says, not even bothering to lower their voice, and a round of giggles breaks out near the door.

"did you see his—" jess starts.

"yes," two people say at once.

"does anyone have his number?" someone asks, completely serious, and the giggles tip over into full laughter that echoes down the hallway and slowly fades.

you stare very hard at your pencil case.

from behind the curtain comes the soft sounds of satoru getting dressed, and professor lee is tidying the platform, humming quietly to herself. then she pauses, glancing toward the curtain.

"satoru, i just want to say—you were wonderful today. very natural in front of the class. some models take weeks to settle into it."

"thanks." his voice comes through easy and relaxed. "wasn't so bad."

"the students responded really well. you have a real presence. it translates onto the page beautifully."

"good to know i'm useful for something other than sports."

professor lee laughs, soft and genuine, in a way you've genuinely never heard from her in a full semester. you hear her gather her things shortly after, the click of her bag, the soft tap of her shoes crossing the studio floor.

"see you both next week," she says warmly on her way out, and then she's gone, door swinging shut behind her, and the studio is suddenly very quiet.

you're still standing at your easel pretending to organize your pencils when the curtain shifts and satoru steps out, fully dressed, hair slightly disheveled from pulling his shirt on. he's looking down at his phone with an expression you can't quite read from here.

"hey," you say.

"hey." he holds his phone up, turning it slightly so you can see the screen without fully crossing the room. there's a new contact open. a name you recognize. "i think your professor just gave me her number."

"she did not."

"slipped it under the curtain on a little piece of paper." he sounds genuinely amazed, somewhere between flattered and delighted. "like an old school note. actual handwriting and everything."

"satoru, she's our professor—"

"she's your professor." he tucks his phone away, grinning now, fully pleased with himself. "i'm just the model."

"you cannot date our professor."

"why not? she's smart, she has good taste—" he gestures loosely at himself, "—clearly. i think we have a real connection."

"oh my god." you finally give up on pretending to organize your pencils, turning to face him fully. "i am not having this conversation."

"you're the one who brought me here. this is on you."

"i did not bring you here so you could get my professor's number—"

"technically you did though." he leans back against the nearest easel, arms crossing, way too comfortable with all of this. "you asked me to come. i came. connections were made. can't control chemistry."

"satoru—"

"relax." the grin shifts into something softer. he tilts his head, watching you with that quiet look again. "i'm messing with you."

"i know you're messing with me."

"do you? because you went pretty red pretty fast for someone who knew."

you open your mouth. close it.

he uncrosses his arms, pushing off the easel, and there's something different in the way he moves now, slower, more deliberate, like he's not in a hurry anymore. he closes the distance between you by one step, then another, until he's close enough that you have to tilt your head up slightly to look at him properly.

"don't worry. i'm not gonna call her." his hand comes up and he tucks a loose strand of hair back from your face, fingers barely grazing your cheek, the touch so brief and light you almost convince yourself it didn't happen. "there's already someone i like."

the studio goes very quiet.

you should say something. you are a person with a working mouth and a functional brain and you should say something.

"you don't want to ask who?" he says, and there's the ghost of a smile there, but it's softer than usual. less like he's winning something and more like he's nervous and trying not to show it.

you look up at him. "...who?"

he looks at you for a long second. his hand hasn't moved far, still hovering near your cheek, close enough that you can feel the warmth of it. and then he leans in, slow enough that you could step back if you wanted to, close enough that you can feel him before you can hear him, his lips just barely brushing the shell of your ear when he speaks.

"you," he says, quiet, just for you. "obviously."

he stays there for a moment, close, warm, not moving away yet. you're pretty sure you've forgotten how breathing works.

and then satoru backs up, easy and unhurried, like he didn't just say that, like the last thirty seconds didn't happen at all. he picks up his bag from the floor, slings it over his shoulder, and glances back at you on his way to the door. "see you next session," he says, and the smile is back.

the door clicks shut behind him.

you stand there in the empty studio for a very long moment.

"next session," you repeat, to no one.

note: please do not ask for updates or comment "next part?" or something like that. if there is an update, i will post it. ppl who continue to demand updates will be blocked.

i appreciate your comments and love hearing your thoughts on the story, but demands for updates make me anxious. have a good day everyone ♡

[gojosconsort]

︵ ೀ mdni. satoru finds your secret sketchbook full of him and in a haste to explain yourself, he offers to be the nude model for your assignment ( artist!reader x sports!satoru / college au / wc 5.7 k ) ︵ ೀ series. part one / part two

satoru finds your sketchbook on the library table, left behind in the rush to make it to class on time. he almost doesn't open it—almost. but his name catches his eye, written in pencil at the corner of a page peeking out, and curiosity wins.

the first few pages are normal. simple shapes, little notes about elbows and shoulders, the kind of boring practice sketches he has seen you do countless times. he almost closes it, kind of bored. but he keeps flipping, and then he stops.

it's him. there's no mistaking it.

his jaw, drawn in a few quick lines. the way his head tilts when he's only half listening to someone talk. his eyes are on the next page, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair the way it sometimes is. you got the little crease at the corner of his eye right, the one that shows up right before he laughs.

he turns the page again. his hands this time. three different versions, like you couldn't decide which one you liked best. then his shoulders. the curve of his neck. a quick sketch of him stretching after practice, his shirt riding up a little at his side.

he keeps flipping. faster now. and then there's a full body drawing. him, shirtless, soft shading along his stomach and chest. his hipbones. the dip of his waist. it's not messy or rushed. it's careful. like you spent real time thinking about where the light would hit him and where the shadows would fall.

satoru sits down on the edge of the table, the sketchbook open in his lap, and stares at it for a second too long. he's not sure what he's feeling. he's used to people looking at him. he's not used to being looked at like this—slow, careful, like every detail actually mattered to the person drawing it.

he's so caught up in it that he doesn't even hear you walking up until you're right next to him, out of breath and a little panicked.

"satoru, have you seen my—"

you stop talking. your eyes drop to his hands, to the sketchbook open on his knees, to the exact page he's on—the shirtless one—and your face goes white for a second before turning bright red.

"oh my god."

he looks up at you, a grin already pulling at his mouth. "you draw me?"

"give it back." you reach for it, but he just lifts it out of your reach, way too entertained by this.

"wait, wait, wait." he flips back a page, holding it up. "are these abs? i don't think i actually have abs like this."

"satoru—"

"i mean, kind of," he says, grinning even wider, "but you really went all in here. there's shading. you gave me a six pack i don't fully have."

you try to grab it again. he holds it just out of reach again, smiling down at you.

"you drew my hands three times. why does a hand need three tries."

"because hands are hard, okay? that's not weird, hands are literally one of the hardest things to draw, ask anyone—"

"never said it was weird." he finally lowers the sketchbook, though he doesn't hand it back yet. he just looks at you for a second—your face completely red, your arms crossed tight like you're trying to disappear. "it's flattering."

you groan and cover your face with both hands. "it's for class. i'm not being weird about it."

"didn't say that either." his smile softens a little, more curious now than teasing. "but seriously. why me?"

you peek at him through your fingers, like maybe if you don't fully participate in this conversation it'll just end on its own. "we started a new unit," you mumble. "figure drawing. like, anatomy, proportions, the whole body. they bring in models for class and it's just—it's so awkward, satoru. you're sitting there for three hours trying to draw a person you've never even talked to."

"so you draw me instead."

"my professor said it's easier when you draw someone you actually know," you say quickly, like talking fast will make this less embarrassing. "like, it helps to already be familiar with the person. and you're a sports major, you're literally built like the examples in our textbook, so i thought... i don't know. it made sense."

"so you thought, 'oh wait. i've got a pretty handsome friend. i'll draw him.'"

"i did not think about it like that."

"you basically did."

but he's not really laughing at you. there's something kind of warm in the way he's looking at you now, the sketchbook still resting on his knee like he's in no rush to give it back. "you know," he says, his voice a little quieter now, "you could've just asked me."

"i didn't want to make it weird."

he raises an eyebrow. "weirder than it already is?"

you groan and bury your face in your hands again. "stop it."

he chuckles, finally closing the sketchbook but still not handing it back, just holding it loosely against his chest like he's claimed it now. "so what's the assignment actually for? like what's due."

you hesitate. this is the part you really didn't want to get into. "it's, um. it's a full figure study. like, a finished piece, not just sketches."

"okay. so like what you already drew?"

"kind of. except—" you stop, feeling your face heat up all over again.

"except what?"

you sigh, giving up on hiding it. "it has to be a nude study. that's the whole point of the unit. like, the body without clothes, the way the muscles and proportions actually work without fabric getting in the way."

his eyebrows go up, surprised, but he doesn't say anything teasing this time, just listens.

"and everyone else in class already has their reference done," you continue, the words spilling out faster now that you've started. "they've all been going to the model sessions for weeks. i missed like three of them and now i'm behind. i don't have anything to actually work from, and it's due monday, and i don't know what i'm gonna do."

he's quiet for a second, turning the sketchbook over in his hands like he's thinking. then he shrugs, easy, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "so draw me."

you blink at him. "what?"

"draw me," he says again, like he's repeating himself for someone a little slow. "for the assignment."

"satoru, i don't think you understand what i just said—"

"i understood it fine." he leans back against the table, arms crossed now, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "you need a body to draw. i have a body. solves your problem."

"that's not— you don't have to do that."

"you didn't ask. i offered."

"satoru."

"what? you already drew me shirtless without even asking," he points out, smirking. "feels like i should at least get a say in it this time."

your mouth opens and then closes again, no actual argument coming to mind.

"so," he says, holding the sketchbook out to you now, finally, "when do you want me."

you stare at him for a long moment, waiting for the joke to land, for him to laugh and say he's kidding. it doesn't come. he just watches you, sketchbook held out between you, patient in a way that's almost worse than if he were still teasing.

"you're serious," you finally say.

"dead serious." he wiggles the sketchbook a little, like he's reminding you it's still there, still yours to take. "i mean, unless you don't want it to be me. i get it if that's weird."

"it's not that i don't want it to be you," you say quickly, before you can think better of it, and then immediately wish you could take the sentence back the second you hear how it sounds out loud.

his grin widens. "oh?"

"shut up. you know what i mean." you finally take the sketchbook from him, hugging it to your chest like it might protect you from the rest of this conversation. "i just don't want you to feel like you have to. it's a big ask."

"could just say thank you, you know." he checks his phone, then looks back up at you. "okay, so. when's good. you said it's due monday?"

your stomach does something complicated at the thought of this actually happening, of him actually meaning it. "i mean—if you're really down, friday night could work. gives me the whole weekend after to finish the piece."

"friday night works. come by my dorm, like, eight?" he says it so casually, like he's inviting you over for a movie and not offering to sit there while you draw every inch of him. "more privacy than the studio anyway. don't gotta worry about randos walking in."

"right." your voice comes out a little higher than you mean it to. "yeah. that makes sense."

"bring your stuff. pencils, whatever you need." he's already turning to go, slinging his bag over one shoulder, looking far too unbothered for someone who just volunteered for this. then he glances back at you, smirk creeping in again ""and hey—make sure you get the good angles. i have a reputation to maintain."

"i make no promises."

he laughs at that, walking backward a few steps before finally turning around fully and heading off down the hall, leaving you standing there with your sketchbook clutched to your chest and friday suddenly feeling very, very far away and not far away at all.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

you knock on his door right at eight, sketchbook tucked under your arm. when the door swings open, you almost forget how to speak entirely.

he's standing there in nothing but a towel slung low around his hips, hair still damp and pushed back messily from the shower, a few stray drops sliding down the side of his neck. he looks completely unbothered by it, leaning one arm against the doorframe like he just answered the door for a pizza delivery and not for you.

"hey," he says, grinning at the way your eyes immediately snap up to his face. "you're early. or i'm late. one of those."

"you said eight," you manage, voice coming out a little strangled.

"yeah, and it's eight." he steps back to let you in, completely at ease, while you do your absolute best not to stare at the water still tracking down his collarbone. "wanted to shower first. figured you'd want clean reference material, not sweaty me."

"right. that's—considerate." your face is heating up fast, and you hate how obvious it probably is.

he notices, of course he notices, smirk pulling wider as he shuts the door behind you. "you're already red and i haven't even dropped the towel yet."

"i'm not red."

"you're very red." he says it gently, almost fond, like he's enjoying this a little too much. "relax. you're gonna see me naked in like, five minutes anyway. no point getting shy now."

"that's—that doesn't make it less weird, satoru, that makes it more—" you cut yourself off, setting your bag down on his desk a little too forcefully, mostly to give your hands something to do that isn't fidgeting.

he just laughs, clearly enjoying every second of your suffering. "you're the one who's been secretly sketching me for who knows how long without even telling me. i'm just catching up to the project at this point."

you need something to say, anything, because the silence stretching between you feels too loud, too charged, like it's just waiting for you to do something stupid like keep staring at him. "so, um." you clear your throat, eyes darting anywhere that isn't directly at the towel. "how was practice?"

he glances at you over his shoulder, clearly clocking the fact that you're filling dead air for the sake of filling it, but he humors you anyway, padding over to the little kitchenette tucked in the corner of his dorm. "long. coach had us running rounds for like two hours straight. my legs are gonna hate me tomorrow."

"sounds rough."

"it was fine." he pulls a shaker bottle down from a shelf, dumping in a scoop of protein powder with one hand while the other holds the towel in place at his hip. "you get used to it after a while. body adjusts."

"right. makes sense." you nod way too many times for someone agreeing with such a simple statement, perching yourself on the edge of his desk chair, flipping your sketchbook open.

he adds water, screws the lid on, and shakes it, the muscles in his forearm shifting in a way you absolutely do not need to notice right now and notice anyway. then he tips his head back and drinks, and you watch—you can't help it, your eyes just go there on their own—the long line of his throat moving as he swallows, a bead of water from his still-damp hair sliding down the side of his neck and disappearing somewhere past his collarbone.

you realize you're staring a full two seconds too late.

"you're staring," he says, lowering the bottle, that slow grin spreading across his face like he's been waiting for an excuse to call it out.

"what?" your voice comes out a little too fast.

"you heard me." he sets the shaker down on the counter, leaning back against it. "staring. at me. just now."

"i wasn't staring," you say, way too quickly, your face heating up all over again as you fumble to look anywhere else—the ceiling, the floor, the stack of textbooks on his desk, anywhere that isn't him.

"you were so staring." he pushes off the counter, walking closer with that unhurried way he moves, like he has all the time in the world and fully intends to use it to torture you. "it's fine. i get it. i'm a lot to take in."

"oh my god."

"i'm just messing with you." he laughs. "relax. you look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine."

"uh huh." he doesn't push it further. he turns and heads toward the open space near his window, where the evening light is still soft and golden enough. he glances back at you over his shoulder. "okay. so how do you want me. like, pose-wise."

"oh—right." you fumble for your sketchbook, flipping it open to a blank page, grateful for something to focus on besides the fact that he's still only in a towel. "um. standing's probably easiest to start. maybe just—natural. however you'd normally stand."

"natural how. like this?" he straightens up, shoulders back, doing this exaggerated, stiff superhero pose that's clearly meant to make you laugh.

it works. a small laugh escapes you despite everything. "no, not like that. just—relaxed. like you're not thinking about it."

"hard to not think about it when you're staring at me with a pencil." but he loosens up anyway, settling his weight onto one leg, one hand coming up to rest at the back of his neck. "this work?"

your pencil is already moving before you fully register deciding to start. "yeah. that's—that's good. don't move."

"wasn't planning to." his voice has dropped a little, quieter now, watching you work. "you gonna tell me when the towel needs to come off, or am i supposed to guess."

your pencil stutters against the page. "right. um. whenever you're ready, i guess. it's—it's for the assignment, so."

"so professional," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's fighting back a grin. "okay. you ready?"

"yeah." you swallow, gripping your pencil a little too tight. "ready."

he reaches up and tugs the knot of the towel loose, and it drops to the floor without any of the fanfare your racing heart seems to think the moment deserves. he doesn't flinch, doesn't make a big show of it—just steps back into the same easy stance from before, one hand resting at the back of his neck, weight settled onto one leg, completely at home in his own skin in a way that makes your nerves feel almost silly by comparison.

you keep your eyes on the page for a long moment before you let yourself actually look, telling yourself it's just reference, just anatomy, just the same thing you'd be doing with any model in class.

but it doesn't feel like just anatomy. it feels like every line of him is something you've already know from the sketches you didn't think anyone would see, except now the soft pencil shading has nothing on the real thing—the actual shape of his shoulders, the dip of muscle along his stomach, the lean lines of him standing there like an italian renaissance sculpture.

and god, he's better than you imagined. better than he looked in your head late at night when you couldn't sleep, which—not that you dream about him, obviously, that would be ridiculous, that's not a thing that happens—but if you did, hypothetically, this would still somehow be better than that.

it's almost unfair, really. the way his body looks like it was carved out of stone, like michelangelo himself spent way too long getting the proportions exactly right—shoulders broad and strong, the muscle down his arms, the curve where his waist narrows into his hips.

it's the kind of body you'd expect to see behind glass in a museum somewhere, with a little plaque underneath, except this version breathes and makes dumb jokes.

you let your eyes trace lower, the way you would with any reference, you tell yourself, purely for the sake of the assignment. his cock rests heavy between his thighs, thick and full, and bigger than you thought it would be (not that you'd ever thought about his dick, obviously, that's not a thing you do.)

the head shows a soft flush where it brushes against his leg, and the fair hair trails down from his navel and gathers in pale curls at the base. the sharp v of his hips frames it all in clean lines that make your fingers itch to draw every shadow and curve.

"you still with me?" he says, a little amused, like he's clocked exactly how long you've been staring without actually drawing anything.

"yeah—sorry, yeah." you blink, snapping your eyes back up to his face, pencil finally moving again.

"should i have, like, shaved or something?"

your face goes instantly red all over again. "what? no—it's fine. you're fine. it's not—that's not a thing you need to worry about."

"figured i'd ask." he shrugs. "usually i shave when i've got a girl coming over, but i was running late today, so."

"oh my god." you cover your face with one hand, pencil still somehow managing to keep moving against the page with the other. "i did not need to know that."

"only wanted to clear the air."

you peek at him through your fingers, deciding two can play this game. "so what you're telling me is you haven't had anyone over in a while, huh?"

a short surprised laugh, like he wasn't expecting you to fight back. "wow. okay. didn't think you had it in you. but—i mean, i have someone over now."

"to draw you. that's different."

"you're still seeing my dick or whatever."

"that's not the same thing and you know it."

"feels pretty similar from where i'm standing."

"so, the other girls sit across the room admiring you for twenty minutes with a sketchbook before anything happens? is that what you're telling me?"

"oh, so you're admiring me."

"that's not what i—i meant artistically."

"sure you did."

"i hate you."

"just so you know—they're not usually sitting across the room admiring me for twenty minutes. they're usually under me about thirty seconds after they walk through the door."

"oh my god, satoru."

after another ten minutes or so, your pencil finally slows, then stops altogether, hovering over the last few finishing strokes before you sit back to actually look at what you've got. it's good. better than good—the proportions feel right in a way they never quite did with the strangers from class, like having an actual person in front of you instead of just a body made all the difference.

"okay," you say, clearing your throat. "i think i've got what i need. you can relax."

"oh thank god." he drops the pose immediately, shoulders slumping, rolling his neck out with an exaggerated groan like he's been holding some kind of intense athletic stance this whole time and not just standing there looking effortlessly good. "puhhh. finally. you have no idea how hard it is to stand still that long."

"you literally do athletic training for two hours a day."

"that's different, that's moving. this was just—" he shakes out his arms, grabbing the towel off the floor and wrapping it back around his waist, "—standing there being stared at. way more exhausting than it sounds."

"you're so dramatic."

"i'm a very dedicated model, is what i am." he flops down onto the edge of his bed, finally looking properly relaxed for the first time all evening, then immediately perks back up, craning his neck toward your sketchbook. "okay, lemme see it."

you instinctively pull the book a little closer to your chest. "it's not done done. it's just the reference sketch."

"i don't care, i wanna see." he's already getting up, padding over. "c'mon. i posed for, like, twenty minutes straight. i've earned a peek."

"fine. but you can't make fun of it." you hold the sketchbook out, a little reluctant, watching his face carefully as he leans over to look.

he goes quiet for a second, which is rare enough on its own that you almost want to comment on it. his eyes move slowly over the page, taking in the lines of his own shoulders, the careful shading along his stomach, his easy stance you'd worked so hard to get right.

"huh," he says finally.

"what? is it bad?"

"no, it's—" he tilts his head. "it's really good, actually. like, you made me look good good. not just accurate good."

"that's literally just what you look like."

"i don't know, i feel like you're being generous with the shoulders." but he's smiling now, something a little softer underneath the teasing, still looking at the drawing instead of you. "you're actually talented. like, properly. i wasn't expecting it to be this good."

"you say that like you thought i was bad."

"i didn't know what to expect! you draw secret abs sketches of your friends, forgive me for having questions about your technical skill." but he says it gently, nudging your shoulder with his again, and when he finally looks up at you there's something warm in his expression that wasn't quite there before, something that makes your stomach flip a little. "seriously, though. this is really good. you should be proud of it."

"thanks," you say, feeling a little warm under the actual sincerity of it, fumbling slightly for something to do with your hands besides just standing there basking in gojo satoru's approval like it means something. "i mean, it's still rough. i've gotta clean it up before monday."

"still." he's still looking at it, then glances up at you with a grin starting to spread. "can i take a picture of it?"

"what? why?"

"i don't know, for personal use." he's already reaching for his phone on the nightstand. "this might genuinely be the most insane nude i could ever send to a girl. like, nobody's topping that."

"satoru, oh my god, no." you yank the sketchbook back against your chest, half laughing despite yourself. "you are not sending this to anyone."

"think about it though. any other guy sends a regular picture, basic, boring, zero creativity behind it. i send this and i'm instantly the most romantic man alive." he's grinning, clearly enjoying how flustered you've gotten all over again. "it's basically a love letter. you put thought into this."

"it's an anatomy assignment."

"a very thoughtful anatomy assignment." he reaches for the sketchbook again, more playful than serious about actually taking it. "c'mon, one picture. i won't even send it to anyone. probably."

you let him, mostly because you know arguing further is a losing battle, and he snaps a quick picture before setting his phone back down, looking entirely too pleased with himself about the whole thing.

"okay," he says, dropping back down onto the edge of the bed. "anything else you need from me? more poses, weird angles, you want me to flex my biceps?"

"no, it's fine." you start gathering your things. "i think i stressed you out enough for one night."

"you didn't stress me out." he watches you for a second, head tilted, clearly not buying the way you said that. "spill it."

"what?"

"you've got a face. the 'i want to say something but i'm not gonna' face." he leans back on his hands. "what is it."

you hesitate, fingers tightening slightly around your pencil case. "i mean—maybe we could do one more pose? like, a different angle or something. just so i actually have options when i sit down to finish it properly. i don't wanna hand in the first thing i drew if there's something better i could've gotten."

he blinks, then grins, already pushing himself back up off the bed. "yeah. sure. why not." he rolls his shoulders out, stepping back toward the open space by the window. "you're the artist. tell me where you want me this time."

he settles into the chair this time, leaning back with his head tipped against the top of it, one leg stretched out, the whole thing far more relaxed than the standing pose from before. one hand comes to rest loosely in his lap, fingers resting near his cock without much thought behind it.

"oh, this is way better. way less work than standing there like a statue." he glances down at where his hand landed, a flicker of realization crossing his face, and he laughs a little, shifting like he's about to move it. "oh—sorry, that's just habit. didn't even think about where i put my hand."

"no, it's—" you hesitate, voice catching, face going hot all over again. "it's, um—it's fine. really. genuinely fine. do whatever's, uh—whatever's comfortable for you. i'm not—this isn't a big deal."

he looks at you for a second, like he's checking you actually mean it, then shrugs, settling back into exactly the same position, hand staying right where it was. "okay. if you're sure. i'll stay like this, then."

your pencil is already moving, eyes flicking between him and the page. it takes you a few minutes to notice that he's stopped looking out at nothing and started watching you instead, head tilted slightly against the back of the chair.

"what?"

"nothing." but he doesn't stop watching you. there's something almost soft about the way he's looking at you now, the corner of his mouth pulled into a small smile, like he's caught himself thinking something he wasn't planning on. "you get this face when you're drawing. all scrunched up and serious."

"i do not."

"you so do. little furrow right here." he reaches up, tapping a finger lightly between his own eyebrows to demonstrate, careful not to actually shift out of the pose. "it's kind of cute."

your pencil stutters against the page. "don't move," you mutter, mostly to give yourself something to say that isn't reacting to that.

"i'm not moving."

he settles back again, and keeps watching you. his cock twitches once under his hand where it rests in his lap. he feels the slow thickening start before he can stop it. oh fuck. the words stay stuck in his throat but they echo in his head as he presses his fingers down a little harder. he tries to hold the growing length discreetly against his thigh but it is no use. another twitch makes the head nudge up against his palm.

your pencil pauses on the page. you see it. the subtle flex of his fingers. the unmistakable twitch that makes his cock strain despite the way he tries to keep it down. heat spreads low in your stomach and between your legs so fast it leaves you dizzy.

"sorry about that," he mutters. the flush on his neck deepens and his hand stays pressed over the twitching length like he can will it back down. but it twitches again anyway. slow and heavy and impossible to ignore. "long day, i guess. lot on my mind."

you swallow. "it's fine."

"i don't know, i normally kind of—wind down at night. on my own. you know. guess my body didn't get the memo that tonight's schedule looked a little different."

"oh! uh—i can go," you blurt out, already half reaching for your bag, face burning. "like, seriously, if you need a few minutes or—whatever, i don't want to make this weirder than it already is—"

"no, no, you don't have to go." he sits up a little. "it'll pass. it's fine. i'm fine."

"are you sure? because i really don't mind waiting outside, or coming back tomorrow, or—"

"i'm sure." he gives you a small, almost sheepish smile, the most genuinely embarrassed you think you've ever seen him. "just finish your drawing. i swear i'm not gonna combust."

"okay." you sink back down slowly, still not entirely convinced, sketchbook settling back into your lap. "if you're sure."

"i'm sure." he resettles into the chair, head tipping back again, doing his best to look casual about it even though his ears are still a little red. "c'mon. let's just—finish this. pretend it's a normal tuesday."

"it's friday."

"pretend it's a normal friday, then. work with me here."

you pick your pencil back up, trying to focus on the page instead of the very obvious tension radiating off him from across the room. for a minute or two it almost works, both of you pretending pretty hard that everything's fine.

the quiet stretches between you. you try to keep drawing but your focus slips every time he shifts in the chair. his hand presses down harder in his lap. he is trying to push his cock fully flat against his thigh now. his breathing turns heavy and uneven like he cannot quite catch it. you hear every inhale, every slow exhale. he is getting so worked up just from sitting there while you look at him. his cock under his palm thickens and twitches against his fingers no matter how he tries to hold it still.

then his fingers move slower. deliberate. he touches himself a little. just the barest drag of his thumb along the side like he is checking how hard he is getting. it twitches again under the touch. bigger this time. he presses down quick to try and calm it but it does not help. his breath catches on a low sound he does not quite manage to swallow.

your pencil stops moving. heat floods through you so fast your face burns.

"okay," he says, dragging a hand down his face. "okay, i think i actually need a few minutes this time."

"oh god, yes, okay." you're already on your feet, sketchbook nearly sliding off your lap in your rush. "i'll just—i'll wait outside, or—"

"you can stay." he says it quickly, almost too quickly, like it surprises even him. "i mean—if you want. it won't take long."

"satoru."

"what? i'm just saying, you don't have to leave the building over this."

"i'm not waiting in here while you—"

he does not look away from you as his hand slides back down between his legs. he is already painfully hard. his cock stands thick and flushed in his palm, the head dark and wet at the tip. he wraps his fingers around the length and strokes once slow and tight like he has been holding back for too long.

"i think i like it when you watch," he almost moans.

"i'm gonna—" you don't even finish the sentence, just grab your bag and bolt for the door, nearly tripping over your own backpack strap on the way. "air. i need air. i'll be right back."

"wait! you don't have to run—"

but the door already slams shut behind you, and you stand in the hallway for a solid ten seconds just catching your breath, face burning, heart absolutely pounding, before you let yourself slide down against the wall and bury your face in your hands.

you stay quiet. your breathing slows but your heart does not. then you hear it, muffled through the door. the low rough sound of his voice. a groan, and the wet sound of skin moving on skin. another sound comes through, sharper this time, and a low fuck.

you press your thighs together where you sit on the floor. the noises do not stop. they get a little louder like he has stopped holding back now that you are gone. you can picture it perfectly, his hand moving fast on his thick cock. another groan filters through the door and your body reacts hard, heat flooding between your legs.

you sit there against the wall, staring blankly at the hallway carpet while your brain refuses to move away from his door and not listen to his moans and groans anymore.

how. how are you supposed to look him in the eye after this. how are you supposed to sit across from him in the dining hall next week, or wave at him across campus, or exist in the same general vicinity as gojo satoru ever again without your whole face just instantly catching fire.

you bury your face deeper into your hands, groaning quietly to yourself. it was one thing when it was just sketches. it was even survivable when he found the sketchbook, mortifying as that had been. but this. this is a whole new tier of humiliation you didn't know existed until tonight.

you're going to have to transfer schools. change your name. move to another country, probably. there's no version of monday where you walk into the dining hall and he's there and you don't immediately die on the spot.

somewhere behind the door, things have gone quiet.

you really, really don't want to think about what that means.

next chapter ->

note: please do not ask for updates or comment "next part?" or something like that. if there is an update, i will post it. ppl who continue to demand updates will be blocked.

i appreciate your comments and love hearing your thoughts on the story, but demands for updates make me anxious. have a good day everyone ♡

[fayelero]

fratjo sees shy/nerd reader talking to another guy (who is also a nerd) and gets jealous bc he thinks that would be more of readers type 👀

ouuu shiii yeahhh here ya go babe ;)

frat!gojo jealous of a nerdy guy ?

The bass thumped through the sprawling frat house like a second heartbeat, vibrating up through the sticky wooden floors and into your bones. Red Solo cups littered every surface, the air thick with the mingled scents of cheap beer, sweat, and too-sweet perfume. Lights flashed in erratic patterns from a makeshift DJ booth in the living room, casting everything in shifting hues of neon blue and purple. You’d never been entirely comfortable in places like this—loud, chaotic, overflowing with people who seemed to thrive on the noise—but tonight was different. Tonight, you were here because of him.

Gojo Satoru.

The undisputed king of the fraternity scene on campus. Six-foot-five of pure, infuriating charisma wrapped in a lean, athletic frame that moved like he owned every room he entered. Snow-white hair that somehow stayed perfectly tousled no matter how many hands had run through it, those piercing blue eyes that could pin you in place with a single glance, and a smirk that promised trouble and delivered it in spades. He was everything you weren’t: loud, confident, the center of every story, every party, every scandal. You were the quiet literature major who preferred oversized hoodies and the corner seat in the back of lecture halls. Opposites in every way.

Yet here you were, tangled in whatever this thing between you was. A flirtation that had stretched over weeks—stolen kisses in the shadows of campus libraries, late-night texts that turned filthy without warning, his arm slung possessively around your waist at smaller gatherings while he whispered filthy promises against your ear. Not quite dating. Definitely more than friends. A situationship that left your stomach in knots and your thighs pressed together at the mere thought of him.

You’d been glued to his side for the first hour of the party, his large hand resting low on your back, fingers occasionally dipping just beneath the hem of your short black dress to brush against bare skin. He’d laughed too loud at his brothers’ jokes, pulled you onto his lap on a worn couch, and kissed you deep enough that your head spun. But the room had grown stifling, your throat dry from the heat and the one drink you’d already finished.

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you’d murmured against his jaw, lips brushing the sharp line there. He’d hummed, nipped at your earlobe, and let you slip away with a playful swat to your ass that made your cheeks burn.

Now, cup in hand, you lingered near the kitchen island, scanning the crowd. That’s when you spotted him—Kenji, a guy from your Intro to Classics seminar. He was standing awkwardly by the wall, nursing what looked like a warm soda, shoulders hunched in a faded graphic tee and jeans that had seen better days. Thick glasses, messy brown hair, the kind of quiet, bookish energy that felt familiar. Safe. He looked painfully out of place, just like you often felt.

You hesitated only a second before approaching. “Hey, Kenji. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He blinked up at you, surprised, then offered a shy smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, uh… my roommate dragged me. Said I needed to ‘socialize.’ I feel like I’m intruding on an alien ritual or something.” He laughed softly, self-deprecating, pushing his glasses up his nose. “These parties aren’t really my scene. I keep waiting for someone to realize I don’t belong and kick me out.”

You laughed too, the sound gentle and warm in the chaos around you. It felt easy talking to him. No pressure, no overwhelming presence trying to consume you whole. “I get that. I’m kind of the same. My… friend brought me.” You didn’t elaborate on Gojo. It felt too complicated, too raw to label here.

Kenji nodded, relaxing a fraction. “You seem to handle it better than me. At least you’re talking to people. I’ve been standing here debating whether to pretend I’m waiting for someone or just leave quietly.”

The conversation flowed naturally after that—light, comfortable. You teased him gently about his latest essay on Homer that the professor had raved about, and he lit up, gesturing animatedly with his free hand. You found yourself smiling more than you had in the loud press of bodies earlier, leaning a little closer to hear him over the music. He wasn’t trying to impress you or devour you with his eyes. He was just… nice.

You didn’t notice the shift in the air at first. The way the crowd seemed to part slightly, the subtle drop in temperature despite the heat.

Then a presence materialized behind Kenji—tall, imposing, radiating something sharp and electric.

Gojo Satoru.

His white hair caught the flashing lights like a beacon. Those brilliant blue eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were narrowed into dangerous slits. His jaw was set, the easy smirk gone, replaced by a cold, predatory line. He wore a loose black button-up, sleeves rolled up to expose toned forearms, the top few buttons undone to reveal the sharp collarbones you’d kissed just hours ago. But there was nothing playful in his stance now. He loomed, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other flexing at his side as if restraining the urge to grab something.

Kenji faltered mid-sentence, sensing the shadow at his back. He turned slightly, eyes widening behind his glasses as he took in Gojo’s full height and the unmistakable aura of barely leashed intensity.

“The fuck is this?” Gojo’s voice cut through the noise, low and edged with venom. He didn’t even look at you at first, gaze locked on the smaller man like he was an insect that had dared crawl too close. “You lost or something, four-eyes? This ain’t the chess club meet-up.”

Kenji stiffened, mouth opening and closing. “I-I was just talking to—”

“To her?” Gojo stepped closer, crowding Kenji’s space without touching him. His height advantage was ridiculous; he towered, forcing the other guy to crane his neck. “Didn’t realize shy little bookworms were crashing frat parties now. What, you think chatting about dead poets is gonna get you somewhere?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Heat flooded your face—part embarrassment, part anger. “Gojo, what the fuck?” The words burst out sharper than you intended, your shy demeanor cracking under the sudden tension. You set your cup down hard enough that liquid sloshed over the rim. “He’s just a friend from class. We were talking. Why are you being such an asshole?”

Gojo’s eyes finally snapped to you. For a split second, something raw flickered there—jealousy, hot and ugly, mixed with that possessive hunger that always made your knees weak. He masked it quickly, but not before you caught it. His lips curled into a mocking smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Asshole? C’mon, princess. I’m just looking out for you. Guys like this…” He jerked his chin at Kenji, who was now pale and backing up a step. “They play the nice, awkward card. Bet he’s real good at listening to your poetry rants, huh? Real compatible type.”

Kenji swallowed hard, glancing between you two. “Look, man, I didn’t mean anything by it. She just came over—”

“Did I ask you to speak?” Gojo’s tone dropped, dangerously calm. He didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t need to. The sheer presence of him, the way his broad shoulders filled the space, the icy glare that promised consequences if pushed further—it was intimidation wrapped in velvet threat. His hand came up, not touching Kenji, but close enough that the guy flinched. “Run along, nerd. Go find your Dungeons & Dragons buddies. This conversation’s over.”

The poor guy looked mortified, mumbling a quick “Sorry” in your direction before practically fleeing toward the crowd. You watched him go, chest tight with secondhand humiliation.

You whirled on Gojo the second Kenji disappeared. “What is wrong with you?” Your voice trembled, but not from fear—from the whirlwind of emotions crashing through you. Anger, confusion, and something hotter, deeper, that always stirred when Gojo turned his full attention on you. “He was alone and awkward, just like I get sometimes. I was being nice. You didn’t have to terrorize him like that!”

Gojo’s hand shot out, long fingers wrapping around your wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to pull you flush against his chest. The party noise faded into a dull roar around you as he backed you toward the quieter edge of the kitchen, away from prying eyes. His body was warm, solid, radiating that familiar mix of expensive cologne and pure masculine heat. Up close, you could see the faint flush on his cheeks, the way his pupils were blown wide beneath those striking eyes.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” His voice was a low growl against your ear, breath hot on your skin. One arm snaked around your waist, pinning you to him while the other tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “That guy? He’s exactly the type you should be with. Quiet. Smart. Won’t drag you into this bullshit frat chaos. Won’t keep you up till 3 AM because I can’t keep my hands off you. He’d be… safe. Comfortable. More like you.”

His words hit like a punch, laced with bitterness he was clearly trying to hide. Gojo Satoru—untouchable, cocky, the guy who laughed off everything—sounded almost vulnerable for a split second. Jealousy burned bright in his eyes, the kind that made his grip tighten, his body press harder against yours until you felt every ridge of muscle, the growing hardness against your stomach.

“But you’re mine,” he continued, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. His lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, possessive and searing. “Even if we’re doing this weird dance where I pretend I’m not obsessed with you. You don’t get to laugh with some loser who looks at you like you’re the answer to his sad little fantasies. Not when I’ve had my tongue between your legs and my name on your lips.”

Your breath hitched, thighs clenching instinctively at the memory. The shy girl in you wanted to shrink away from the intensity, but the part of you that craved him—the raw, overwhelming force of Gojo—won out. You shoved at his chest half-heartedly, glaring up at him. “You’re jealous. That’s what this is. You think I’d rather be with him because he’s ‘my type’? Newsflash, Satoru—you’re the one I keep coming back to. Even when you act like a possessive asshole.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. He dipped his head, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss that stole the air from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle; it was claiming. Teeth nipping at your lower lip, tongue sweeping in to dominate, one hand sliding down to grip your ass and pull you impossibly closer. The party raged on around you, but in this stolen corner, it was just heat and friction and the taste of beer and mint on his tongue.

When he pulled back, both of you breathing hard, his forehead rested against yours. “Yeah. I’m jealous as fuck,” he admitted, the words raw and intense, like they cost him something. “Seeing you smile at him like that… made me want to throw him through a wall. You’re too good for this scene, too good for me half the time. But I’m not letting you go. Not tonight. Not ever if I have my way.”

His hand slipped under the hem of your dress again, fingers tracing teasing patterns on your inner thigh, dangerously high. “Come upstairs with me,” he murmured, voice thick with want. “Let me remind you why you put up with my shit. Why you’re wet for me even when I’m being a dick.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. The shy hesitation warred with the ache building low in your belly. You glanced around— no one was paying attention in the chaos—but the risk, the intensity of his stare, the way his body caged you so perfectly… it was intoxicating.

“Fine,” you whispered, fingers curling into his shirt. “But you owe that guy an apology later. And me? You’re going to make this up very thoroughly.”

Gojo’s grin returned, sharp and wicked, the familiar cocky mask sliding back into place even as jealousy still simmered beneath. “Deal, princess. I’ll start by getting on my knees.”

[levitonin]

Summer heat

[tonycries]

Hips Don't Lie - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru: he’s the best striker the Japanese national team has. The strongest, the sharpest, the fastest—and the hottest. With a 66% accuracy rate and a goal headed straight for your heart. You: a reporter for the FIFA World Cup, and the greatest at goalkeeping Gojo’s flirtations. You just can’t stand him- or so you say… You—1. Gojo—0.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!sports reporter!reader, football pIayer!Gojo, FIFA World Cup AU, Football AU, enemies-to-Iovers, sorta, he has a BIG crush on you, yearner!Gojo, fIirting, banter, bets, first date, paparazzi, fan cIubs, pússydrúnk!Gojo, MUNCH!Gojo, oraI (f + m), 69, bets in BED, fíngering, spítting, p taIking, sIight p sIapping, bj’s, cIit bíting, goals, races, bIack cards, tongue f, doggy, wearing his jersey, manhandIing, making it fit, stopping you from running, he’s FÉRAL, cervíx smooches, counting, he BREAKS, babbIing, sIight overstím, making him whímper, making him cry, getting together, happy ending aww, PDA, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 13.9k

A/N. In honor of the FIFA World Cup heheheh I just had to-

“—Geto—a beautiful pass to Gojo. The one and only Gojo.” Booming. If there was one word that could describe the FIFA World Cup then it would be simply that: booming. Everything from the bacchanal cheers; the resounding noise of the football coming into contact with flesh; and excitement mixed with fear that was an amorphous neighbor next to where one sat.

Speaking of seats; everyone was on the edge of theirs.

They watched as Gojo Satoru stopped the football using his chest. Alternating it to a dribble—he’s quickly bypassing some of the opposing team’s defenders- and it doesn’t take long before Gojo’s coming face-to-face with the goal.

“—the famous Gojo technique, Limitless, because of the sheer unlimited speed and strength. It’s a play unable to be recreated by another, with a 100% scoring…” Gojo takes a deep breath. He points. He kicks.

And he misses.

And in-between the commentary and the chaos, Gojo’s eyes can’t help but meet yours pitchside. Amongst the cameras and the anchors-

—you were laughing.

At him.

“And it seems the world-famous Gojo Satoru has missed! He missed! Oh—what a blow for the Japanese team—hey Mech, can we get a close-up of who he was pointing at before missing the goal?”

As requested; the wedding replays the moments before Gojo’s missed goal: his look of determination, his deep breath, his arm raising for mere split-seconds to point…straight at you. And then it’s cutting to you outright laughing at the missed goal.

Fucking laughing.

Gojo himself pauses to watch the unfortunate sequences of events from below. 

“Aaaaand that’s half-time, folks!”

He immediately feels a wave of adrenaline strike him - nearly knocking him over at the force. The molten lead sensation floods every corner and crevice of him, and it makes his fingers tremble, it makes an unexplainable heat rise to his cheeks. Where the hell was this energy when he needed to score that last goal?

Gojo’s eyes remain fixated on you like two frozen-over lakes- made only brighter, not warm, in the face of the Sun.

As you’re finding yourself at the edge of those lakes, you wind down that laugh of yours- that stupid, gorgeous laugh of yours. It makes his heart ripple. And then with a soft smile upon your lips, you’re mouthing an apology. Instead of backing from those stone-cold lakes, daring to dip a toe in. Mocking, surely.

Fuck.

Gojo feels his clenched fists unfurl.

And his irritation.

He doesn’t suppose that you’re feeling guilty in the slightest - but what sort of world-famous sports reporter would you be if you got caught laughing at the star player? 

And Gojo Satoru is the star player—mind you. He’s just…having an off day? It’s exactly 45 minutes and 22 seconds into the quarter finals of perhaps the biggest football tournament in Gojo’s life: the FIFA World Cup. Japan has been facing off against an opponent they’d already been told would be a tough match to beat, with the odds stacked 79% against them- it just surprised Gojo that that 21% included him, too.

After all, he’s motherfuckin’ Gojo Satoru (don’t quote that).

With his signature white hair- and his ‘twinkling’ blue eyes- and that dimple at the corner of his smile. See that dimple? That dimple’s insured for ¥2,000,000.

But it wasn’t just fanfare and his dashing good looks. There’s no football without Gojo Satoru, and there’s no Gojo Satoru without football.

Ever since he was a young kid, the game just seemed to…call for him. 

Just starting out as some stupid sports channel he’d put on in order to avoid having to do his chores; then he’d started watching. Then he started paying attention. Then he started remembering their names and collecting his pocket money to buy some markers and a red, red t-shirt. He still remembers sprawling the t-shirt out on the floors of his cramped living room, and scrawling on Akers 10. Gojo Satoru was raised by Michelle Akers, Alessandro Del Piero, Roberto Baggio, Homare Sawa, and Jay-Jay Okocha as much as he was by his parents.

And then he’d started playing. 

He’d begged and begged his parents to get him a football for Christmas- even going to do extra chores around the house to butter them up.

And once they caved - making him promise not to play inside - Gojo had stumbled out to the playground faster than his legs could keep up. Although he remembers thinking that he’d make them- he’d make them keep up.

He admits he wasn’t instantly amazing - just slightly above average, if anything. But kids on the playground used to think he was the coolest thing.

Wanting to become a professional footballer? Every kid wanted to become a professional footballer at that age. So he’d gather the teams, he’d assign their roles, he’d play with them until the streetlights turned on and the crickets started chirping - except the only difference between Gojo and the rest…was that he wouldn’t go home. Refused to.

Not until his parents had to come down and physically drag him back home.

Until then, Gojo would kick and kick that damn ball as long as he had to to become good enough. Until his feet had to fuse with that damn ball, if it had to.

In middle school they adored him just as much.

The best football player and he’s got dimples to boot? 

He won’t lie - Gojo understands why he was called out for a confession at least thrice a week throughout the entirety of middle school. His grade, lower grades, and even some in the grade above. Manga club captains and school presidents- and some friends of friends not even going to this school. Some of his friends. Most…who’ve never even talked to him. 

And he doesn’t regret not letting any of that ‘sweet Spring love’ that his father always talked about blossom. He just wished his middle school-self had a bit more tact when rejecting girl after boy after girl.

Although he admits that the attention was nice- and those onigiri they brought him after practice was a sweet touch. But Gojo could never quite understand—what did they see in him?

He was hot, yes. He was talented. He was smart. He was funny- yes. But he just wasn’t…like the heroes that he looked up to. Not yet.

Gojo Satoru could never quite understand how he could love another as much as he loved football.

Sometimes when the confessions and the onigiri got a little too much, he’d go to the school rooftop and kick his ball around until the bell rang. Sometimes he’d simply sit and stare off into the distance—what was love? If we should love another as we love ourselves, then perhaps one doesn’t need it? Who said love had to be a person, not a dream?

Around this time, Gojo applied for the local junior football club.

He smoked them all- hah!

Then high school rolled around and here people started giving him looks - still dreaming of becoming a professional footballer? Wasn’t that child’s play?

Popularity was measured, at least for most guys, by how many girls you’d banged or whether or not you’d actually tasted beer. He himself wasn’t one to subscribe to such notions - but the status quo meant that people started…distancing themselves from him.

Reaching for him- if only to point at him like a party trick. Maybe throw a volleyball at him during gym classes, or puncture his football.

They actually did puncture his football.

He beat that boy until his knuckles bled - Gojo had gotten a temporary suspension, of course. He didn’t argue with the punishment. He thinks they went so lenient on him because it was his first offense.

But when he came back, it was even worse. There goes that freak still obsessed with football- isn’t he just going to get his dreams crushed? Isn’t he going to wake up? Grow up? He didn’t need them. He didn’t need a single fucking one of them.

Gojo threw himself into playing football more than ever around these years; until every bone in his body seemed to ache, and he always tasted metal from how hard he’d grit his teeth. He imagined their sneering, snickering faces at the end of the goal and kicked and kicked and kicked that fucking ball. And it was also around this time that he’d gotten the offer.

The offer.

He was glad to leave it all behind.

He was the youngest player in Japan to get a national team offer - oh, he remembers how nervous he’d been then, walking, wondering whether they’d look at him like they all do - and the second-youngest in the world to join an international club. He was an express - and damn expensive - pick for Real Madrid, and the only Japanese player to make a first-team appearance. He was the youngest player to win a major tournament at the UEFA European Championship. He was the youngest Japanese football captain leading them into the FIFA World Cup- and the only one to lead them into the quarterfinals. Not to mention his rabid fan club and his four-time title as the world’s prettiest striker!

But fuck, man. 

All that…for this.

Today, Gojo Satoru was having an off time. And he’s blaming it on you—was that necessarily fair? 

Hm…not likely. But nothing matters when he’s in the zone and he’s supposed to keep his eyes on the football- but they keep somehow drifting to you.

Fuck again.

This was on him, he knows. He knows. And yet-

And without a single word to any of his teammates or Coach Yaga…he’s marching straight over to you. Behind him, he hears Yaga’s choked-up call of his name and his teammates’ confusion. 

The cameras follow him with every step he takes- of course they do, he’s Gojo fucking Satoru. In the distance he can practically hear the tension tighten, as the commentators mention something about him, as the big screen zooms in on his steadfast path, as you’re turning around to see him nearing and your eyes widen.

For a mere split-second - before your hand tightens ‘round your mic, and you’re immediately holding it towards him at the ready.

“And here we have the star player-” It amuses Gojo how your lip tightens around that little phrase you just have to say when referring to him. “-Gojo Satoru’s…best friend in the distance—can the camera capture Geto Suguru during his pre-match stretches?”

The. Fucking. Audacity.

Gojo’s mouth drops as the camera hastens to focus on that damned Geto next to Coach Yaga behind him. He isn’t even the one that came up with those stretches! He stole them from Gojo-

Pointedly—he coughs into his fist.

And then you’re turning towards him with a faux-shocked expression on your face. Lashes fluttering. Those glossed lips of yours dropped into the perfect ‘oh’.

Gojo gets the urge to mimic the exact same expression - and just his luck, the camera’s turning to him at that very moment. There’s a small smirk at the edge of your lips as you’re bringing the mic up to your lips.

This wasn’t his first match interview with you.

Not in the very least. 

Gojo was the greatest in his field, and you were (admittedly) the greatest in yours. So it was inevitable that the two of you would meet- match after match, interview after interview, you’d fired your questions away at him.

And sure…there were the usual ones he already scripted for. But you’d quickly climbed up the ranks for asking on-the-spot questions specific to each player, to pick their brains - and in Gojo’s case, to make him squirm.

You asked him about his elementary school nickname as ‘The Strongest’ (which he later adopted as his actual field name so hah- jokes on you!), and his affinity for sneaking sweets into his strict athlete’s diet (Yaga lectured him after that one…jokes on him), and his utterly barren love life.

For someone so flirtatious, one must wonder why he’s never seen out and about with anyone. Maybe he’s simply football-sexual?

That particular interview had racked up quite a few (…million) views across various social medias as Gojo had turned red and stuttered - the first time someone had managed to get the chatterbox to pause - s-something about well, if you really want you can date him-

But he digresses. The point is that Gojo has had interviews with you before - so this should be a piece of cake. Really. Actually…Gojo’s first ever professional interview was almost with you- but that’s a story for another time.

“—and we’re live at the FIFA World Cup Quarterfinals with Gojo Satoru, Captain of the Japanese team.” You’re plastering that camera-ready smile of yours; though honestly he finds your priggish one more- “It’s your first time at the FIFA as a team captain. How are we feeling today, Gojo-san?”

His heart leaps a little at the honorific. “G-good. Good.” And then at the little raise of your brows - did Gojo Satoru just fucking stutter? Again? - he’s instantly shaking his head free of…whatever. Splashing on his own irresistible smile- dimple? Check. “Oh- y’know me, sweetheart. I’m always good~”

“Is that so?” You ask. “I’m glad to hear that. Because it seems like we’re going to need all the confidence we can get, Gojo-san. Tell me—what changes might the defense have to see in the next half if we’re going to beat the opponent’s two-point lead?”

“Well, I can’t share every secret here now, can I~?” Gojo chuckles. “But just know that we’re going to make good use of Geto in the next half- I know Coach Yaga has some good plans for him.”

You nod. “Speaking of- how is Geto Su-”

“We’re talking about me.” Gojo whines. And he’s sure that this part of the interview is going to get clipped to hell and back—but it doesn’t matter when you’re smiling…like that. When you’re throwing your head back and gesturing at that Japanese jersey of yours- number 4?

Geto Suguru.

“My apologies, I do tend to be favorable towards defenders.” You hum. “But I see you’re rather defensive yourself today, Gojo-san. What changes might the strikers have to see for this next half-”

“Nothing.”

That makes you pause. Your smile falters, though you manage to salvage it. “Erm- my apologies, I didn’t seem to hear you over the crowd. Did you say nothing?”

“I did.” And for how priggish you might act - you’d never amount to his sheer levels. His haughty hair flip that sends a few fan club members fainting in the front row, “Absolutely nothing. I’m perfect.”

“Oh-”

“I’m Gojo Satoru, don’t you know? Neeeeext question~”

“Yes I…I am aware.” You mutter under your breath. “Unfortunately.”

“What did you just-”

“But whilst we absolutely erm- adore your confidence, Gojo-san, one really does start to wonder with the two point lead…” You have a fire in your eyes - for how much you might be exasperated by him, it was undoubtable that you needed this win, too. “And I have only one more question for you: will we win?”

He pauses at that.

Just a split-second.

It’s a fleeting moment, yet it seems to hold the world. You’re not letting your gaze waver from his, and he’s not letting his gaze waver from yours. That fire in your eyes? It’s spreading across his own cheeks and then down his neck, across every inch of his body and coiling around his heart. And who’d have thought…that the great Gojo Satoru was flammable?

Gojo shoots a quick look down at himself to make sure that he’s not actually- before then wrapping his hand around the mic handle. He doesn’t exactly take it from you - just keeps his fingers resting on top of yours, and you’re not letting go either..“Nah, I’d win.”

Someone’s breath hitches- either yours or his.

He’s leaning in - down -so close that his lips are nearly grazing the grille. 

Gojo keeps his summer lake-blue eyes directly on you as he speaks—“And if I do…how about I get to take you out on a date?”

“You what-” Around you, cheers are erupting. And you’re wondering just what might have been shown on the big screen, only to realize that it was…the two of you. Glamorously displayed for millions of people to see.

You wonder if he can hear your heart race.

You wonder why he wasn’t paying attention to the thousands of people nearby that were chanting ‘say yes, say yes, say yes-’

“So, Miss Reporter?” Gojo cocks his head, a smile upon his lips. “What’ll it be?”

You’re biting down on the inside of your cheek- and it’s only too late that you’re realizing it’s to keep yourself from mirroring that world-famous smile. “Yes.” Your heart leaps.

And you’re sure that Gojo heard you- you’re sure of it. But he’s taking the mic completely now, and turning it upon yourself—“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said…” Something akin to…adrenaline? Something akin to…excitement? You didn’t know what name to put on it, but it’s making it difficult to keep your voice exactly steady. “-yes.” Thank goodness it was just a one-word answer.

Gojo smiles wide.

And as the commentators recite the entire interaction in various languages, Gojo’s hearing a call of his name from the coaches’ bench. Realizing that he’d nearly spent the entire break with you- he’s throwing a dazzling smile your way - and several flying kisses at the fans - before making a break for it. 

Reaching Coach Yaga, Gojo’s ducking his head and listening to every word the older goalkeeper has to say. There’s a fierce look of concentration on his face—

“You’re staring~” Shoko, from behind the camera, croons. “He really is even better-looking in person, huh?” She’d long since known about the little tension between you and Gojo Satoru- not any kind of good tension, that is. You’d just somehow gotten on his nerves as much as he got on yours.

And you shake your head free of any suggestions that Shoko might put in it. “I wasn’t staring-”

“Mhm.”

“I was just imagining the look on his face after he loses that bet.”

Shoko smirks. “That’s if he loses that bet.”

“Well…”

And then you’re glancing at him once more. Gojo was now jogging in place and doing a few warm-ups before the second half of the quarterfinals started.

Because for all that talk- Gojo Satoru wasn’t going to win that easily, was he?

Was he?

.

.

.

“It’s incredible—Japan has won! The Japanese team has really won!” The commentator’s voice booms across the stadium, making it shake with sheer excitement. It was contagious. The taste of victory was often sweet. “Gojo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals—!”

2-3 to Japan.

All the way from 0.

And you knew the scores - you watched the game unfurl before your very eyes. And yet - surrounded by it all - you stand stunned.

From your right, you’re feeling Shoko euphorically shake you. Her camera equipment nearly slips out of her hands before she’s back at it and recording close-ups of the players’ tearful reactions. 

Most of them had surrounded Gojo and were crushing themselves together in an embrace. They’re pushed so far together that you could only make out a flash of white hair and an uproarious distinct laugh. The microphone damn-near slips out of your hands.

“I repeat, folks—Gojooooooooooooo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals for the first time in history! It’s a momentous occasion for the underdogs- Gojo Satoru and his Unlimited hat-trick, everybody.”

They’re replaying those historic moments on the big screen: when Gojo dribbled past four players to strike his first goal of the match, just two minutes into the second half of the game; when Gojo upset the game by drawing the score 2-2 with a goal from the 18-yard box, a goal that went around the fucking goalkeeper; when Gojo finished with a flourish with a head-butted goal just over the goalkeeper’s shoulder, at the 89th minute.

At that last goal, he’d pointed right at you- a hatrick. A hatrick.

“Who’s gonna win?” He’d mouthed, as his teammates were drawn to him in embrace like magnets flying across the field.

You’d simply rolled your eyes.

It was a match for the books - and for generations of footballers just like him to watch and rewatch and watch. And maybe…just maybe they’d buy their own blue t-shirts and scribble down: Gojo 66. Around you, reporters were already chattering about Japan’s succession into the semi-finals—could these underdogs actually have a shot?

Japan had risen from an impending bitter defeat- and that very same Gojo 66 was breaking free from his teammates and flouncing across the field. And the MVP - surely - beamed as he lapped up the attention; running across the pitchside and blowing sappy kisses to his fainting fan club. He’s getting thrown a water bottle- and wastes no time before tearing it open and letting the cool water run on top of his head. Water making his jersey stick to him even more so.

Long legs slightly shaking from fatigue. Blue eyes brighter than ever. If there was one word to describe him, then it would be- dazzling. His skin glistened with sweat, and small droplets of water like diamonds - his jersey was practically glued to him—a part of him, in every single possible manner. Celebration seemed to cling to Gojo just as tight as that jersey did.

And Gojo then catches sight of you watching him- and runs. Runs. 

To you.

And stops right before you.

“So…” He pants out, and makes sure to flash a quick smile at the rolling cameras. “-about that date…?”

You sigh.

But you can’t help yourself- you chuckle.

“Fine.”

“Fuck yeahhhh—!” And then Gojo’s darting back onto the field in celebration - his team engulfs him once more, and before you know it he’s being thrown into the air. Cameras shift between his ecstatic celebration, and your more muted watching, because honestly…you had no idea what to say. What to do.

You just bagged yourself a date with Gojo fucking Satoru - and you hadn’t even thought you’d be able to tolerate him just about an hour and a half ago. 

But that earnestness in his eyes…

You wonder if-

Nope. And then you’re watching Gojo threaten to take his jersey off and throw it somewhere into the crowd - you’re sighing and wondering just how you’re going to get through this. When a mic happens to be shoved into your line of vision—and you’re just about to take it and get ready for your post-match interviews, when-

“Ah ah-” Shoko tuts, amusement lacing her tone. “The interviewer holds the mic. The interviewee answers the question on how it feels to be the future girlfriend of the MVP of the match? Japan’s pride and unofficial prettyboy?”

“Terrible.” You state, extremely seriously. “In fact, I’m considering breaking up with him this very second.” Well…partially seriously.

Shoko faux-gasps. “After a hatrick like that? Why?”

You’re waving breezily. “I’ve always been more of a Geto or Modrić fan myself. Strikers aren’t my thing.”

“Well they’re about to be your thing because you’ve got a date with one-” Shoko checks her watch. “-in just a few hours.”

It’s sinking in. And although you don’t regret saying yes- “Fuck, the fan clubs are gonna kill me.”

Shoko nods. “I won’t disagree with that. I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”

“Shoko- darling- sweetheart- you’re supposed to disagree to make me feel better.” 

She shrugs. “You’re a reporter- give ‘em hell. Whack them with your mic or something.” She’s then finally handing you the mic—and you’re smoothing out your suit with a sigh. “But until then- try not to kill Gojo Satoru. We need him for the semi-finals.”

“No promises.”

And as Shoko and the rest of your team start counting down until you’re On Air again, you’re stealing a fleeting look behind at Gojo Satoru. It seems he hadn’t tired of the fan service yet- and now actually had taken off his jersey and thrown it at the fan clubs- was that a brawl up there in the stands?!

He catches your eye and sends you a flirtatious wink.

And a flying kiss.

You mean to swat it away- but then you’re rolling.

.

.

.

“Shoko- what does one wear to a date with a football star?”

“I don’t know, ask the Akinator.” 

“Shoko, that’s…actually I should have done that.” It seems that all around you was defeat: having the team you were rooting for win the quarterfinals for the FIFA World Cup, scoring a date with the MVP of the match, getting a promotion and a bump in your paycheck all because of it? All in all, you were having a terrible day. 

And not to mention- you hadn’t even begun to check your social media—according to the way that Shoko had painted it: the football side of the Internet had crashed into your little circle of the Internet, and then it’d been set on flames and trampled with cleats five times over. And that’s not even beginning to dive into Gojo’s stan Twitter…the horror…

The edits. The speculation. The articles. The fanfiction- out of curiosity, you’d searched a few up.

And you’d have to say…that they were very…descriptive. @tonycriesaboutfootball you were looking at her.

All in all- it’s safe to say that your little agreement had caused a little break in the Internet.

And here you were: cooped-up in your humble hotel room for the match. On the phone was Shoko <3 your biggest help since after the match and right now- gathering your thoughts…and your look…and yourself. After putting her on video call—the two of you worked together to sort through your suitcase and find something half-decent for some fancy schmancy date.

In the end, you’d decided on a chic outfit you’d actually planned to wear when reporting the FIFA World Cup Finals.

And nevermind how much you protested and lamented and complained about how expensive shopping for another dress is going to be, Shoko had simply replied- “Just get your millionaire athlete boyfriend to buy one. Take his black card, duh?”

Ah…

And right now you were simply putting in the final touches- slouched over your hotel vanity. 

She disappears from the screen for a minute and comes back wielding her chunky laptop. “About 21% of people think this is a PR stunt…18% think you two won’t actually go on the date…and 44% think that this is true love and both of you can bear their children. They also may or may not be camped outside the restaurant.”

You take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Hell yeah…“And the other 2%?”

“Ah- well they’re out for blood.” Shoko casually closes her laptop. “Ready?”

You shudder. “As I’ll ever be. Do I look okay?”

“You look good enough to eat- now go.”

Someone from what you assume to be Gojo’s team had actually approached you after the match - something about exchanging numbers, and then letting you know the details about the date. And around 5PM that evening, you’d just been getting off of a final few interviews from another match- when they’d texted you.

He’d texted you.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): guess whooOOoooooOooOOO~? (⌒▽⌒)☆

You: ?

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): hehehe you have three guesses. clue no. 1: i’m hot asf. clue no. 2: i’m even hotter wwwww. 

You: I’m blocking you.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): waitヽ(O_O )ﾉ

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): wait nooooooooooo 

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): don’t block me ( ◣∀◢)ψ

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): i was jokinggggggggg

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): it’s satoruuuuu ☀(▀U ▀-͠)

You: Ah, of course. 

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) added to your contacts.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) changed to (Foot)ballz.

You: Hello, Satoru-san.

(Foot)ballz: hehe

(Foot)ballz: no need to be so formal with me when we’re going on a date~ (͡o‿O͡)

(Foot)ballz: i’ll come pick you up at your hotel so just lmk where you’re staying!!

You: You just want to find out which hotel I’m at, you perv…

(Foot)ballz: I’VE BEEN CAUGHT (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)

Ultimately you ended up sending your location to the ridiculous man - however you’d expected Gojo Satoru to text like…it certainly wasn’t this. But you found yourself tolerating it, for the most part.

You suppose.

And once you’re done spritzing on some of your favorite perfume, your phone lights up with a new message.

(Foot)ballz: here ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝

With a small huff of laughter, you’re grabbing your things and heading out.

The car parked outside was anything but inconspicuous. 

And you don’t exactly know what led you to think that in the first place—because when has Gojo Satoru ever wished to fly under the radar? 

What was sprawled across the hotel porte-cochère was a gleaming red feline of a vehicle; that type you’d see on the covers of car magazines, or parked outside stadiums with fans surrounding it. Many, many fans. It had all those sorts of curvatures and indents that made it built for speed just like the athletes that owned these types - spoiler wagging behind it, bumper pawing forward, iridescent tyre rims catching the light and showing off. Even stopped outside the hotel, it purred as though impatient to get back on the prowl once again.

From the driver’s seat, Gojo Satoru is opening the door and standing tall- and your breath catches in your throat. 

Gojo had cleaned up nicely. He was dressed in a form-fitting suit—such a dark blue that it was nearly black. The velvety fabric draped around his trim waist, flaring ever-so-slightly where his broad shoulders were- it made him look so much more handsome than was fair. His long legs were covered in the same fabric, and at the ends peeked out shoes so polished they were almost painful to look at- you wonder how long he spent on that…

That usually-messy hair of his had pushed backwards, and on his face were semi-opaque round sunglasses. On his face was a smile.

Where a celebrity often wished to blend in, Gojo stood his six-and-a-something feet high above the rest.

In seconds, Gojo’s reaching inside the car and pulling out a massive bouquet of red roses. Thus he crosses the short distance between you both in two strides, and gently hands them to you- you take it with bated breath. “This is…”

“I know I know-” Gojo cocks his head with a smug smile. “I’ve outdone myself.”

And without further ado, he’s tipping the valet well - the elderly man catches your eye, and you’re shrugging at him helplessly - and helping you inside the car. “You look gorgeous, by the way- although, of course you always do and this isn’t just me saying-”

“Gojo.” You smile. “Shut up and get in.”

He wastes no more time.

“D’you like the car?” Gojo asks as he buckles up, “It’s a Ferrari F80. I was thinking of buying this here as a little congratulatory present for myself- you’re the first one in here besides myself.”

“Seriously?” You ask. And he holds your gaze earnestly. “This is amazing.”

His smile flashes as he sets his hand on the wheel. “Then buckle up, sweetheart. We’re gonna be the hottest couple in town.”

“Not a coup- oh.” He speeds away.

.

.

.

“GOJO- GOJO—LOOK HERE—! GOJO IS THAT YOUR PARTNER?”

“GOJO HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THE HISTORIC WIN TONIGHT—DID HAVING YOUR GIRLFRIEND THERE HELP?”

“GOJO HOW DO YOU MAINTAIN THE TITLE OF PRETTIEST STRIKER FOUR YEARS IN A ROW?”

That…last one Gojo actually stopped to give a thorough answer.

And as for the rest, he’d given those paparazzi a coy smile and a wink before diving into the restaurant with you. The maître d’ quickly helped you get escorted to your private table.

The restaurant was…fancy. Right. That was one way to put it.

Another way to put it would’ve been: it was the type of restaurant that you honestly would’ve talked shit about with Shoko, then spent the next hour scrolling through its pictures. Then you’d catch a glimpse of a menu…and have immediately turned your phone off. Because in no conceivable world would you attend a restaurant of that high a price, for portion sizes no bigger than the meat rations you’d given yourself during your impoverished intern days.

And yet, here you were.

Gojo Satoru seemed to fit right in amongst the decor- the abstract artwork on the walls that looked like phalluses, the lights on the walls that also looked like phalluses, and the bowl of oranges upon every table - like a piece of the furniture himself. You don’t doubt that such a place was as casual as walking into a fast-food restaurant for him—but for you…let’s just say that whilst sports reporting jobs may pay high - especially for someone of your ranking - it wasn’t phallus-restaurant level quite just yet. 

“So uh…what did you say the name of this place was, again?” You ask Gojo after he’d ordered…whatever he was having. You’d gone with the same primarily because you didn’t want to butcher the pronunciations of the menu.

“Hm?” Gojo delicately folds his napkin. “Big D’s, why?”

You’re biting back a laugh, “No reason.”

He sends you a look. “And um…how was your day?”

“What are we, an old married couple?” Though there was something strangely…jarring about having the world-famous football player - the very same one you’ve rolled your eyes at or been forced to interview about a million times over - speak about something so…mundane with you. What else could you have expected? Maybe to talk stats, maybe updates on his fan club—maybe what ranking he’s surpassed now. You sigh. “But if you must know, the usual- oh, although I did get to interview Gakuganji for the first time in a while today—so that was fun.”

“Gakuganji Yoshinobu?” Gojo’s interest clearly piques. “Oh, he’s a legend. Did you know that since retirements he’s taken up-”

“Electric guitar.” You nod eagerly. “And he’s damn good at it, too.”

“I was thinking that after my retirement I should take up writing or something.”

“You seem like the type to never retire.”

And so the conversation…had strangely enough flowed- not something you would have expected from the haughty football player, but it was a pleasure nonetheless. And it had been about two hours into the conversation - currently on the topic of whether sharks were misunderstood - when the two of you looked down at your empty plates—and servers that seemed to be flitting about literally every table…but yours.

“Do you think they forgot about us?” You whisper to Gojo.

“Maybe they were so stunned by my devilish good looks that-”

“Okay.” And with a semi-fond smile upon your face, you’re standing up in your seat. Gojo’s mirthful expression drops—but before panic can start setting in, you’re gesturing for him to stand up as well. So you weren’t going to leave him in the phallus restaurant…you surprised even yourself with that. “C’mon- I know this great place downtown that sells the largest pizza you’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, please.” Tipping the servers, you two darted out of Big D’s through the back entrance where no paparazzi roamed. And into a night that was wild and untamed, you snuck into the darkness between stars and created light of your own—you copped a few good slices of pizza, greasy and not half-bad for the price, before walking down shadowed alleys where no one could find you. Almost no one. A few pictures snapped here and there- surely it couldn’t do much harm?

Oh, who were you kidding.

You could see the headlines forming already - had this been anyone else, you’d have been the one writing it. But tonight…“Everyone’s going to think we’re dating after tonight.”

“I know.” Gojo had replied, half of his profile illuminated by the neon shop signs. The two of you were walking around the less-nicer parts of town, or so one would say…how strange it is that where things are discarded and dilapidated, the lights shine the brightest and the moon seems to sing softly tonight. “But strangely enough- I don’t mind.”

“Getting dating rumors?”

“Getting dating rumors with you, I mean.” Gojo’s saying- before he coughs into his fist and attempts to amend. “Although, of course, you’d be lucky to get dating rumors with the Gojo Satoru~”

“You mean the Gojo Satoru who’s never gotten a dating rumor in his life?” You scoff. “Y’know before tonight they were calling you No-game Gojo?”

Gojo’s gasp is so loud that it startles passerbys.

In order to soothe him, you’re forced to buy this grown athlete ice cream. He asks for three scoops with extra sprinkles, and the two of you walk together - close but not touching - down by a nearby waterfront—the river around the massive city and pulled it into a tight embrace. You yourself felt the strange coil of something at the pit of your stomach.

“Did you really mean it?”

Gojo, who’d been eying your own ice cream cone, startles. “Hngh?”

Sighing…you hand him your final bite. “Did you really mean the thing about not minding dating rumors with me?”

“I did. Why?”

“No…just thinking that if I had to get dating rumors with anyone- at least you’re not the worst option.”

“Awwww-”

You smirk. “Although, Geto would have been-”

“Let me have this moment—”

His pinky finger grazes yours as you two walk.

.

.

.

The door slams behind you.

And following right behind it, Gojo’s doing the same to you.

He has his hands clutched at your waist, and his mouth down your neck - leaving hot, slimy strings of spit wherever he’s pepperin’ the most filthiest kisses. You’re moaning as you let yourself get engulfed in Gojo Satoru’s wave of need—molten desperation shooting through your veins.

There’s something wet forming at the in-betweens of your pretty legs- and it seems as though Gojo almost has a sixth sense. Because he wastes no time before sliding a hand down your front and cupping your throbbing pussy through your dress. “Mmm-” He grunts off against the side of your ear. The hot breath sends goosebumps skittering down your exposed skin. “And who are you this wet for, sweetheart~?”

“Mmm, dunno.” You bat your lashes up at him. “Probably the best player on the team.”

A priggish smile toys at Gojo’s lips, and he’s leaning ever-closer to you. “And just who might that be?”

You’re pulling Gojo down as though this was a secret just between the two of you - and the man eagerly reciprocates closing the distance between you. You’re basked in his likely maddeningly expensive cologne as he leans in—“Geto Suguru, of course.”

And Gojo’s letting out just the softest surprised gasp—

He leans backwards with slightly-parted lips, and you’re getting the feeling that no one’s ever said anything like that to him before. Gojo’s eyes sweep down where your pretty body is pressed up against him- and before you know it, he’s crashing his lips onto yours. “Mmm—” He’s lappin’ at your moans- and the edge of your bottom lip. There’s a squeaky noise that’s being let out as Gojo tastes the lipgloss slathered on your maw. “Cherry.” He notes.

You’re stringing your fingers into his pure-white hair.

With the pad of his thumb, Gojo wipes off the remnants of glossy make-up on his mouth. “You taste sweeter than you are, y’know that?”

And with your fingers twisting into his hair so that he moans- you’re dragging him right back to you. “And you’re better when you shut up.”

Eventually, you’re backing him into your bed.

The hotel room wasn’t all that spacious, and it’s only a few hasty strides before you’re preparing to push him onto the mattress—

But Gojo’s reflexes are too quick. And he’s flipping the two of you around so that it’s your back that’s coming into contact with the springy bedcoils, falling onto the cloud-like bed with the MVP of the match. Mr. Hotshot Gojo Satoru himself.

Gojo smirks as he hovers above you. “Wanna hear a magic trick? I know exactly what you’re thinking about, pretty girl~” He husks.

And you’re letting out a gasp as his lips come kissing down your neck once more. You can’t help it - you’re arching into him already. “And what’s that?”

“Me.” 

As he chuckles, you’re rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“Oh?” Gojo raises one of his white brows- like a challenge. If there was anything he was weak to—then it was a challenge. And maybe you, but…you didn’t need to know that just yet. “Then let me be clearer…you were thinking about me—” As he speaks, his dominant hands are exploring your body - starting at the right side of your tits, and massaging for a few moments before switching to the other one. “-running these trained hands everywhere on your body like this, weren’t you?”

Your heart leaps to your throat- and down there. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

He chuckles. “And then you must’ve thought about my fingers- I did have a little stint as a goalkeeper—” Through your fabric, he’s pinching your left nipple and you moan. “-did you know that?”

“I did.” You admit. Your reporting habits left you investigating every single nook and cranny of these footballers’ careers and lives.

“And then maybe these spectacular abs- I have them insured, did you know that?” The urge to roll your eyes is immense—but you’re more focused on the way that the world-class player was shuffling his body purposefully down yours, letting the button-up underneath his suit push against your core- you’re feeling his abs. As though he could read your mind, Gojo flashes you a devilish smile and keeps going down- “Or these arms.” Down. “Or these thick thighs. Heh.” Dooooown.

All the way until he’s between those tremblin’ legs of yours. At least his face was.

“But most of all…how about this glorious face?” Gojo shoots you his camera-ready smile inches away from your clothed cunt—pearly-white teeth and dimple to boot. “And I know m’fucking pretty- but I get the strange feeling that I’d look even prettier between your legs.”

And just as he’s about to lean in-

You’re sitting up and putting a hand on his shoulder. Stopping him.

Gojo looks up at you with a face full of concern. 

But you’re merely shaking your head. “You’d be hard-pressed to think that I’d let you get all the bragging rights.” You scoff. “Get up. Let me sit on your face.”

His blue, blue eyes gleam in delight. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

“Shut up and get over here.”

And you’re sure that Gojo murmurs something about ‘making him shut up’ (you’d be more surprised if he didn’t) and yet within seconds you suddenly have his 6’4 toned frame stretched-out beneath you.

With your knees making the mattress upon either side of his head dip, straddling him, you’ve straddled the two of you into an oh-so-perfect 69 position - but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Looking underneath you, you notice that the white-haired man has hunger consuming every inch of him, with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth slightly-ajar, licking his lips as he fucking chases your clothed cunt—

“But just ooooone thing.” You’re placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back down- Gojo lets out a cracked whimper. He stares up at your clothed cunt like the gates of heaven above.

“Yes, my demanding girl~? More demands? Isn’t having the great Gojo Satoru underneath you and begging for your pussy enough?”

“Hmm, nope.” You pop the ‘p’. Without wasting more time, you’re fumbling with Gojo’s outrageous dress pants until they’re managed off. What’s revealed to you first is his v-line that stands out—moving with every one of his impatient bucks; then his bulging boxers; then looooong smooth legs, toned from so many years of training. And then you’re almost done. “How about a bet that whoever makes the other cum first gets a reward?”

“A reward?” You’re not turning to look at him- but you don’t need to to know that Gojo’s eyes were probably shining by now. “What kind of reward?”

“Hmmmm, how about…” You suggest. “The winner gets to decide the position for se-”

“I’m in.”

And that’s all that’s being said before Gojo reaches up n’ pushes your dress up. He titters as he takes in the way your pussy was oh-so-wet being outlined against your underwear—that already-thin fabric hugging to your pretty lips n’ soaking wet for him already.

“What’s that about not being so wet?” Gojo hums. He makes the loudest noise as he leans in and presses a great big smooch right on top of your sopping lips. You’re keening out sweetly on top of him- he didn’t even know you could sound that sweet-

“You said that out loud.” You’re grumbling behind at him. “Don’t tell me you’re pussydrunk already, hotshot?”

“Awwww—” Gojo’s spankin’ that swollen exterior of your cunt. “You think I’m hot?”

And now about that damn evening dress obscuring his view- ah, he knows…

Soon enough, you’re hearing a rip-rip-riiiiip—! that makes your blood grow cold. The sensation of cool air biting into your skin is registering in your brain - and then only the realization that Gojo had just fucking ripped your best dress- “Now, I know that isn’t what I think it is.”

“Ah…” He grunts distractedly. Before reaching down to his dress pants and pulling out something dark, sleek, and cash-cold. “Buy yourself whatever you need usin’ this, sweetheart.”

Gojo reaches forwards and stuffs his black card between your pretty drivelling lips. And then he’s divin’ nose-deep between your legs and eating you out with the panties on—letting his looooong luscious tongue zigzag across your slit and accumulate every wad. Once he’s done stealing every drop of slick leaking out of you, Gojo wastes no time before slippin’ aside your panties using his tongue, then making your inner lining feel eeeeeevery coarse tastebud of his taking over you.

It’s just so much.

You’re arching your back and letting out a prolonged moan - or at least you’re attempting to. But what’s really coming out instead are a few muffled sounds as the black card holds firm between your lips.

Your eyes widen.

How could you let yourself be swayed by Gojo Satoru’s black card, of all things…?!

Spitting the black card out, you throw a glare at Gojo. “D-don’t think you’ve won the bet just because you’ve gotten a headstart.”

“Oh?” Gojo coos. “I think I’ve won the bet regardless by how much you’re stutterin’ and whining like a slut on my tongue.” He’s spitting every syllable out against your pussy- literally. He’s drizzling a splash of saliva that he’s using a hand to smack- to smear across every inch of your sodden lips.

You let out a sudden whine, and he laughs.

“Was I wrong~? Mmm- shell me. Who’s the bwest—?” Muffled by his burning-hot kisses.

And you won’t let yourself be bestest just like that, would you? Especially not when he sounds so silly already drunk on your pussy?

In sultry seconds, you’re spittin’ out his damn black card and dragging Gojo’s boxers down. By how much he’d been showing through his bulge…you’d already assumed that he’d be massive.

But Gojo was…really massive.

Mentally you’re counting about eight or nine inches- seriously. And each of those inches were fat and throbbing, the girth of a Coke can and the length of something you’re sure would leave you unable to walk. At least for a week.

As though somehow sensing what you were thinking; Gojo’s thickened tip pulses. Grows even pinker.

“Cock got yer tongue?” He giggles wetly. “Why’re you stupefied, huh? Looks like m’gonna win~”

From the top of his shaft, he’s ooooozing out a constant source of precum—and you’re leanin’ in to sweetly kiss away the syrup that clings to his tip. Just the softest kittenish kiss- but it’s enough to make the football player yelp from underneath you.

His toes curl. His hips buck up without him even seeming to realize - and Gojo lets out an echo of your name - like a prayer - as his fat tip sticks inside your mouth. “O-ohhhh, now you’re playing dirty, sweetheart.”

“M’just doing the same thing you’re- mmm, doing.” You answer- purposefully keeping your mouth on Gojo so that the vibrations shoot up his veins.

“Tch- yeah.” Gojo admits. “But s’only fun when you’re the one getting all drunk on my tongue-” And just because he’s babbling away doesn’t mean that he’s stopping his ministrations for a single second - he’s lavishing and lavishing the tight rim of your hole with his tongue. Licking. Lingering. Letting the top of it hook inside and stretchin’ you out just a little bit more. “Why can’t I be the one to have all the fun—?”

“Do you always have to win?”

“Yes.”

As ridiculous as that sentence sounded, it doesn’t surprise you that it came out of Gojo’s mouth.

The very same mouth that’s becoming more n’ more feverish on your cunt - as some form of revenge, you suppose. Gojo’s grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek and using it to drag you deeper into his mouth.

His jaw unhinges. His nose pushes against your skin. 

He’s sucking onto every tender spot of your pussy- eventually resting his pinkish lips on your hole and shoving his tastebuds in so deep. “Tch- this is my fuckin’ win—and this should be my pussy, girl.” Deeper. “C’mon. C’mon. Forget sucking my cock- just fuck back in t’me, sweetheart.”

“F-forget? Sneaky…you just wanna win.”

You can feel him smile against your cunt. “Awww, you know me so well—”

“So selfish, Satoru.” You huff. 

“Ohhhh.” And he’s shivering- wracking with something primal all the way head-to-toe. “Call me that again~”

“Satoru.” You’re plopping your mouth over his puckered, pretty head- he was just so cutely needy.

It wasn’t something that you’d expected over the hotshot player. Even though Gojo Satoru might not look like it upon first impression—his cock was so sensitive, so very honest with you that it almost gave you secondhand embarrassment to see. The moment you’re putting your mouth on him n’ starting to suck, he’s spurting out the sweetest honeyed wads of precum here n’ there. The moment you’re leaving him- Gojo throbs even angrily bigger and shuffles his hips to chase your warm mouth.

One of your hands reaches down to squeeze at his balls - so plump and perfectly-shaped. It was annoying that everything about him seemed to be handcrafted by the heavens themselves.

And you’re massaging his most sensitive spots using the mountain of your palm, grinding him against your hand every time your mouth sucks on him. You’re repeating this sequence a few more times. 

But he’s not holding back either - Gojo’s now started using the side of your waist as a handlebar, almost.

And he’s grabbing you hard- dragging you onto his awaiting mouth even harder.

“Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart- sweetheart.” He repeats like a broken record player. All whilst his tongue was open and ready—he hones it at the tip, sharpening, so that it can probe even deeper. Slithering it inside again and agaaaaaain until you’re soaking all down his face. “Mmm- again, sweetheart.” Gojo whispers, feeling the mess start to trickle down his chin. “C’mon- Satoru needs to hear you say his name when you cum.”

“Satoruuuuu—oh.” You’re gasping. “But you’re not winning before I do-”

 He’s immediately reaching for your throat with a vicious thrust of his hips.

You’re relaxing that muscle there so that he can delve deeper into your velvety cavern- the tresses of his veins scrapin’ against the roof of your mouth. Breathing through your nose as you have to win this. You fucking have to. It’s the competitiveness that’s getting to the both of you—and you’re moving in a fucking frenzy.

A stalemate.

Every zap of electricity, both of you reciprocate it twofold.

With your thighs wrapped around his head, with Gojo’s cock shoved down your throat. And the two of you move in synchronous tandem - you with the rapid bobs of your head, slobberin’ all down his plump inches—and him eatin’ away like a ravenous fucking wolf between your legs. The both of you were starved. 

But you have to realize…that a draw just isn’t enough for Gojo Satoru.

Because Gojo Satoru was a competitive motherfucker.

And without warning; he swipes three slick-buttered fingers ‘round the orifice of your cunt. ‘Round and ‘round a few times. Before he’s then letting them sliiiiiiiip in—he replaces his tongue with those long fingers of his that just manage to stretch you out so right.

You’re removing yourself from Gojo’s cock with a lecherous pop! Just to gasp n’ moan away as Gojo opens you up using his fingers.

“How about it now?” Gojo coos. He elongates his words- and something about it just makes your limbs twitch—as he’s probin’ inside in loooooong yearning thrusts with his seemingly never-ending digits. Again and again. “How about you say- ngh- ‘Satoru you’re the best~’ and maybe I’ll go easy on you when I win?”

Gojo mocks your voice by pitching it about a zillion octaves higher and making himself sound ridiculously flirty.

You scoff, embarrassment sizzling across your skin. “You fuckin’ wish.”

“Now, that’s not very nice~”

And he wasn’t going to play easy. He reaches his fingers back- then slams! them down all the way till the knuckles. The curvaceous tops of his digits were slightly thicker than the rest of him—so he’s able to drive apart your sticky walls n’ stick himself into every hidden spot and crevice. 

He was filling you up sooooooo good - “Oh p-please…” Tears drizzle down your cheeks. “That feels so good-”

“That’s not what I wanted you to say…” Gojo had amusement laced into his every syllable. “C’mon- tell your Satoru that he’s the best.”

“S-Satoru—” No—you can’t give up so easily. And lazily…you’re instead slobberin’ down his thick, vein-covered shaft instead. You can’t even take him in by now, because you were too afraid a sudden graze of Gojo’s fingers along your tender spots would leave you scramblin’ for air.

Speaking of tender spots…

“Y’know I’m real close to the goal.” Gojo trundles. Those long lashes of his flap, as though innocently. “Real close. I could just…” 

“O-ohhhh, fuck-” All three of those fingers are slippin’ around your g-spot - you get the impression that he was missing it on purpose, and it made you nervous over just what he might have planned next. Fuck he was massaging the softest areas of your cunt’s channel. “You’re bluffing.”

“By how much wetter you’re getting…” He smirks. “-I think the fuck not. C’mooooon the world’s strongest striker is eatin’ your pussy out, and you can’t even be nice?”

“N-no-”

“I sure can be.” The area of Gojo’s knuckles were practically gluuuued like adhesive to your cunt’s folds. His other hand lifts off of your hips- starting to knead your swollen nub—you’re starting to see stars as Gojo toys with your clit. “But only if you admit m’the best. C’mon, tell me I’m the best- tell me…and I miiiiiight just go a little easier on you.”

“S-Satoru…” It’s inevitable - between the constant probing, the suckling ‘round wherever he could reach, the targeting of your clit - that you’re about to reach your high. It’s simmering right underneath your skin. “Oh no-”

“Oh yes.” Gojo’s eyes glimmer with delight. “Close, huh? And what do you have to say—?”

“Satoru—” You knew that you’d have to do this if you wanted a satisfactory orgasm- Gojo would’ve gladly left you high and dry just to prove a point. “Y-you’re the best…”

The words feel sickeningly sweet leaving your tongue.

But just as soon as they’re rollin’ off- Gojo probes deeply into your g-spot. Hitting that exact area of nerves dead-on. And your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave - it’s burning hot and feels more blissful than anything you’ve ever felt before. Anything.

You hate to admit it, but you’re seeing stars as you cum on Gojo’s tongue.

And he has the audacity to giggle- giggle, pussydrunkenly. “Mmm, you think I’m the best, sweetheart?”

“Yeah…” You breathe. “When you shut up.”

Immediately, you’re pushing back into Gojo’s mouth - shutting him up. His mouth drops open for you on instinct. His cock’s floooooding silver, satiny spurts of precum at the mere act of being used—your walls fluttering around his tongue. Sucking him up. 

Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “G-goal…”

Your jaw drops.

His fingers are tunnelin’ straight to your g-spot during every peak of your high - those twinges of extra pleasure that he’s managing to prolong using his fingers, his mouth, his other set of digits kneading your pulsing clit. And what’s driving you even further past that tipping point is the way that Gojo whispers ‘goal, goal, goal, goal’ every time he strikes your g-spot.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

There’s no use trying to make him cum soon afterwards—you’re too drunk on your pleasure, and Gojo’s attempting to squeeze his thighs together to keep himself from cumming. Once your clit’s properly massaged, he uses that hand to squeeze his thickened hilt and prevent anymore beads of pearly-white from leaking.

Fucking unfair. 

By the time you’ve ridden through your high - you’re well and fully wrung out. Struggling to catch your breath. Struggling to stop your limbs from shaking- sensitively.

He’s left you oh-so-sensitive.

Gojo Satoru hadn’t even had to fucking try to overstimulate you—he’s just that good with his fingers. He’s just so flexible with his tongue. He’s just so-

“Is this some sort of subliminal? Why are you whispering those to my cunt?” You ask him. And it’s with a final squelch! - and Gojo whispering for a goal once his fingers detach from your g-spot - that you’re managing to untangle yourself from his ravenous mouth.

Though it wasn’t for a lack of trying from his part—Gojo chases after your drippin’ wet pussy like a bee chasing his beehive. Were you the Queen or were you the honey? He’s having a hard time deciding, as Gojo finally sits up on the bed- dazedly.

“Woah-” Now sitting opposite him, you steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay there, Satoru?”

His cock twitches. For both your dignities, you pretend you don’t see that. 

“You’re fucking asking me if I’m okay—?”

Using that same helping hand you’d lent him- Gojo flips your positions around so that now your back’s facing the creaky hotel headboard. And then you’re both shuffling down the mattress, so that you’re being bent into-

“A mating press.” Gojo grins. His eyes twinkle with something so…dark. “Since I won our little bet, I choose the mating press- oh, and that’s not all.”

To your astoundment, Gojo suddenly stands up and flounces off the bed. He scans for something on the floor- “Give the great Gojo Satoru one second.” And then saunters up to your open suitcases of clothes as though they were his—it doesn’t take long for Gojo to find what he’d been looking for. 

And you’re feeling embarrassment curdled with something akin to an unfamiliar shyness start to rise in your chest. Because in Gojo Satoru’s hands…was his own jersey.

“You had Geto’s jersey.” He smirks. “I knew you must’ve had mine in there somewhere, too.”

“Someone should teach you not to go through others’ things.” You huff, crossing your arms.

“Oh, my apologies.” Gojo says, sounding utterly unapologetic. “How about I make it up to you? Arms up, baby.”

And, well, a bet is a bet.

You’re raising your arms and letting Gojo take off the rest of your clothes. Before you know it, the Gojo 66 jersey on you—one you’d never even admitted to Shoko that you’d bought. In your defense, it was a buy-one-get-one-free deal that they’d been doing for the FIFA World Cup- but you doubt that Gojo would be open to hearing about your transaction history right now.

Not when he’s admiring the look of his name - his last name - emblazoned against your back. The look of his team’s colors rising and falling with every deep breath.

Your hardened nipples looked so pretty against the athletic fabric that he can’t help but reach out and pinch—

“Change of plans.” Gojo grunts- breathless, as if he hadn’t planned to say this. “We’re doing it doggy style so I can look at my name across your back while I hit it from behind.”

You grumble but you’re changing positions anyway. “Ever heard of the story of Narcissus, Satoru?”

“Are you the river because you’re so wet, or…?”

“No, don’t worry- that dried me up enough.”

He temporarily shoves a knee between your legs. “Lies.” Smirking.

You’re on all fours now. And Gojo shrugs off whatever else is left of his garments- and his rock-hard abs press into your back from behind, practically gluuuued skin-to-skin. A line of goosebumps shoot up your spine at the sudden feeling of him pressing into you—and Gojo takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss up your back.

All the way sloppily to your shoulders.

Your neck.

“Mmmm—and this is my win, isn’t it?” He rasps against your skin- there’s a…slightly crazed tone in Gojo’s voice that you’d never heard before. You shiver. You nod. “Mhm- then this is going to be how a winner fucks, sweetheart.”

In the time that you’d been distracted by Gojo’s incredible body, his ruby-reddened cock had slipped between your legs. There, Gojo had been keeping his length cushioned by your pretty, pretty legs.

Only now was he lettin’ his drivelling tip sliiiiiiide down your slit- giving you an experimental stretch along your first rim. “And yer wearing my name, aren’t you~?” It makes him fucking blush - out of everything…this is what breaks him - to see Gojo 66 and the blue jersey against your skin. You can’t help but nod again. “Then you’re doing to- fucking- take it- like a winner, sweetheart.”

Between each word, Gojo pauses to give a thorough slashing of his thickened cock.

He’s not even fitting in all the way at first- just the globular tip.

Just that decadent girth; where his shaft had flared out massively - all blushing red and plastered in precum - and then honing out into a perfect point to just dive right into you. Gojo’s length also had a slight curve reaching towards the top of your cunt—and he was built oh-so-perfectly to itch at your sweetest spots inside.

Not that you were going to admit it, of course.

“Cock got your-”

“You already used that line, Satoru.” You’re grumbling- though it’s a proper task to keep your voice steady in front of him. To pretend you’re not as affected as you really are.

And Gojo notices. Of course, Gojo Satoru notices. “Y’know…you might not be honest.” He titters in your ear. And then he’s shovellin’ in a few more thick inches—you’re feeling the near-spherical end of his shaft slip inside without too much resistance. You just wanted him so badly. “But this pretty cunt sure is. And what do you think she has to say about me?”

“I-I don’t need to—”

“She’s saying…”

Gojo trails off. Though not without reason.

Almost that very instant, he’s un-velcroing his chiselled abs from your back. A soft whimper leaves your lips as you’re startin’ to miss him already. Already.

But Gojo’s merely pattin’ at your utterly stuffed pussy. You only had a few inches of him pushed inside and throbbing inside you, but your cunt still struggles to take him. “Needy girl. Be patient for a fuckin’ minute- sheesh.”

And then he’s tugging at your jersey.

You’re looking up in confusion.

Then he’s pulling at your jersey—

And only too-late are you realizing that Gojo has that hem of your - his - football jersey bunched up. Using just a single one of his hands, he’s twistin’ his fingers around the velveteen fabric and trapping you right along with it—then he’s dragging you- just by the hold he has on your jersey. He falls back on his haunches.

And he’s taking you right along with him.

Now you’ve got your arms lifted off the bed- in a praying position…except Gojo’s fat cock was drilling into you from behind. With your ass cheeks against his pap-pap-papping hips, with his thick meaty thighs kneading into yours.

His hips are pushing and pushing and pushing—wielding his cock into yours so deeply, so furiously, that it’s as if the man’s entire body has been set alight. 

Raw desire runs through his veins instead of blood- and Gojo’s letting out such an animalistic growl- “S’my fuckin’ name on you…”

His mouth waters- waters at the mere notion.

Shit, what an effect you had on him. Maybe all that adrenaline during interviews was…

Gojo’s never felt so utterly drunk than he was in this very moment—pussydrunk. Like the most intense of alcoholics chase their vise, he’s chasin’ the back of your gooey cunt. Every thrust manages to scrape his pumping veins against that snug channel of yours, every thrust manages to push him a little deeper than he already was. What a wonder he’s managed to fit in the first place.

You were just so fucking tight and heavenly that it’s as though you were sucking Gojo’s sanity - and soul - right out of him.

“My fucking name.” He repeats. Breathless. Gojo thwacks! his extremely tight balls against the front slit of your cunt. More beads of syrupy slick end up leaking out of you—n’ they’re pouring down Gojo’s vast shaft. “My fucking number on you.”

“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re clawing for a lifeline: anything. Your only hope is to bend your arms behind your head- and start clawin’ at Gojo’s own sweaty scalp instead. 

As he rams in again and again and again—your poor ass cheeks were stinging.

Gojo’s almost all the way bottomed-out now. It makes your back arch, and your throat bubble over with moans instead of answers. “Fuck-”

The audacity that he has…no one but Gojo Satoru could have. He’s mocking your moans- “Satoru, fuck~” Before rolling those azure eyes of his and emptyin’ every inch of himself into the back of your pussy. “Yeah, yeah- fucking you is exactly what I’m—oh.”

Oh, was right.

It was exactly right.

Because just then Gojo finally - finally - bottoms out. He’s gotten all of his inches happily trapped between your gorgeous legs.

And it’s not just that.

Just then Gojo’s breath hitches.

Just then Gojo thinks he can’t breathe- his entire upper half collapses on top of yours—and you’re being pushed back into a regular, sloppy doggy position. Gojo’s letting shivers run amok across his skin, Gojo’s letting his handsome features twist into something of pure euphoria as he bottoms out- how can it feel this good?

This fucking good?

And in the time it’d taken the self-proclaimed world’s best striker to shatter on your pussy- you’d gathered yourself up.

At least to the point where you can look at Gojo over your shoulder and smirk. “Pussy got your tongue, Satoru?”

He frowns. “Har har—very fun- fuck, don’t squeeze me like that.” Gojo’s eyes flutter shut- on the edges of his lashes, you think you’re seeing tears. “I th-think I might cum.”

“Just that from a winner?” You’re tutting. “I thought you were the strongest, Satoru.”

“I-I am-”

“Then wouldn’t the strongest also have incredible stamina?” You’re looking at him—Gojo’s peripherals are glazed-over with a thick layer of lust. His hair was a mess. His lips were kiss-bitten. There’s a sort of unleashed hunger within him that makes you wish for him to ravage you…You pout. “And here I was hoping we could go- all night.”

He shivers at the words - cock pulsating deep inside you.

But you’re not done just yet. “But ah…I suppose if you can’t, then maybe Get-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - not even your thought - before Gojo’s hips are pinning yours down. His upper half is cushioned against you. His bodyweight fully keeps you delightfully trapped- as Gojo’s starting to fuck you like an animal. 

He pushes you into the mattress.

He fucks you into the mattress.

His thrusts deeeeeep and loooooong—all the way from the slick-embellished top of his shaft, and then down, down, down until you’re feeling your cunt struggling around his incredibly thick base. The scruff of Gojo’s white pubic hair pushed n’ pulled against your pussylips-

Grinding.

And before you could even register the different sensation, Gojo already has one of his hands looped underneath you. The calloused tips of his fingers are instantly finding your clit, like magnets find one another, and he’s teasin’ that sweet nub. Again and again—tuggin’. “I c-can’t believe…” Gojo chokes out eventually.

“What was that?” You’re asking with a pointed clench of your sopping wet lips. 

And the man above you instantly shudders. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, girl.” He somewhat snaps- but rather than irritation it’s simply pure need in his words. Gojo pinches your clit. “It doesn’t matter h-hoooooow many times you clench- or just hooooow pussydrunk you’re getting me…”

You’re keening as he swabs your g-spot several times.

“But I- won’t- forget- whose- jersey- is on- you—” Gojo says between thrusts.

Every one of his movements was getting more n’ more erratic by the second- sweat drenched every part of him, and a curtain of his white hair obscured those laser-blue eyes. Locked in on his target: you.

Gojo’s touch is searing as he’s pinching your clit once again—“But just in case this pussy does- heh, get too rowdy…how about you remind me?” Your eyes are jerking open at his words. What does he…“Because it feels fucking gooood wearing the winner’s jersey as he fucks you, huh? Huh?”

Your lips quiver. Pressure was building at the pit of your stomach. “Y-yes…”

“Oh yeah? What does it say, then?” The team captain whispers. He’s using his dexterous fingers to twist your too-sensitive nub, and you’re whimpering.

“Fuck-”

“I already told you before- oh. M’already fucking you.” Gojo’s mirthful grin spreads across his face. He had that pussydrunken look about him as his hips accelerated. Even more. “But that’s not the- hah, question. What number is it?”

“S-six six…” You’re letting out in a defeated gust of air.

“Mmmm, good girl.” Maybe because you’re being such a good girl - Gojo takes the time to lazily and lethargically draaaaaaag his vein-covered cock wherever he felt like you were the most delicate. His zig-zagging patterns were getting outlined deep, deep inside you—and you’re shivering as he inches close to your g-spot. “And what name?”

He can’t stop himself from nudgin’ himself just a little closer and puuuushing down hard and thoroughly on that nerve-covered spot. “O-ohhhhh, fuck, there-”

Gojo’s face contorts - his brows furrow, his jaw drops. “Tell me the fucking name, sweetheart~”

“Gojo Satoru.” Barely even audible.

He leans in with an exaggerated smirk. “What was thaaaat?”

“Gojo Satoru- fuck.”

“And how many goals did I score today, Miss Reporter?”

You’re clawing at the pillows by now. “Th-three—!”

“Oh yeah?” Gojo hums. “M’gonna double it tonight.”

You don’t need to wait too long to find out exactly what Gojo meant- because in mere split-seconds, he’s reeling his hips baaaaack and snappin’ them. Once from the very blushin’ tip-top and down to the hilt. “Goal.” He whispers as he grazes past your g-spot - activating the white-hot pleasure from your cunt to your brain - and striking his target of your cervix. “H-heh.”

“Yellow card for being such a dick.” You whisper.

“Oh, but you love a winner’s dick.” He counters. And it’s barely three seconds later that you’re feeling another forcefield of carnal vibrations that set your teeth on edge—“Oh- and goal.”

Saliva puddles on the pillow in front of you. The hotel headboard has your nail marks on it- dammit.

Gojo repeats- faster this time. “Goal- oh, look at that…a hatrick.” His voice is on the verge of shattering- “Can we make that double hatricks?”

“O-oh my god, Satoru-”

“It’s captain.”

And then he’s pumping out those final few thrusts—hands a blur upon your throbbin’ clit, hips a blur between your legs. That jersey bearing Gojo’s name was drenched in sweat and stuck to you like a second skin- “Goal.” It’s radiating the heat that your body was giving off. “Goal.”

It’s displaying that number and that name so proudly. So fucking proudly.

And for that last and final score of his—Gojo’s bending down until he’s able to press his mouth against the area between where your shoulderblades should be. He kisses that spot. He licks his name on your skin. “Goal.”

And it’s inevitable that you’re crashing into your high as one.

Gojo holds you closely as incredible bursts of pleasure make your cunt convulse- you’re practically keeping him glued to your walls. It just felt too good to let him go, even if it was just to fuck you through your high. And it’s by pushing past that little resistance that Gojo’s managing to probe his rounded tip into you- to press those invisible buttons of yours that prolong your high.

More and more and more. This was an orgasm even better than your last one- and you hadn’t even known that’d be possible (not to boost Gojo’s ego).

Counting underneath his breath, he times the exact moment of your euphoria peaking—and then he’s bangin’ his rock-hard tip right on time. Bruising the back of your pussy.

White-hot pleasure was sizzlin’ just beneath your skin every time he did—and you felt as though your heart was beating too fast for you to keep up with. It’s a pounding drum in your ears, your chest…and your pussy.

Wrapped so vehemently ‘round Gojo’s own twitching cock.

He was pumping out wad after wad of looooong white cum that sticks to the inner lining of your pussy. Groaning. Grinding. Pleasure was tingling at the tips of his fingers, and all around him- soon enough you’re feeling a few tears of bliss splatter down your back. “You’re…” You just barely manage to breathe.

Gojo humps your behind like an animal- just shaking at the sheer force of his high. Gojo hums as he collects the droplets on the tip of his cock, and starts fucking it into your deepest depths- inside. Inside and inside.

It was just so warm and gummy inside you. Spreading. Seeping. 

Overspilling.

There wasn’t to be a single ounce wasted.

Gojo’s fingers alternate between rolling over your clit n’ helping push the excess amount of cum frothing around your entrance back inside. Some of it was currently forming a ring around his hilt, and he’s swiping it away using his thumb—popping it inside his mouth. “N-not bad for a guy you hate, huh~?”

Your eyes are shooting open. “Hate?” You frown. “I’ve never hated you, Satoru.”

And that makes the smile slip off his face. “Huh? But I always thought…you always asked me those probing questions and-”

“Satoru, that’s because I’m interested in you…as a player. Of course.” You’re admitting somewhat shyly. The two of you were past your orgasms by this point, and Gojo had taken to spooning you from behind whilst his cock was still inside. “I thought you hated me-”

“Me?” Gojo gapes. “When have I ever hated you? I flirt with you all the fucking time-”

“You flirt with everyone.” You huff. “But it’s just…that time after you’d gotten your offer for the national team. I don’t know if you remember, but it was my first interview then and-”

“Of course I remember.” He interjects.

Something warms in your chest. “But then- why didn’t you show up?”

“Pardon?”

“You promised you’d do your first interview with me- and I promised you’d be the first athlete I interviewed.” There’s a sadness in your tone - not overwhelming, just missing what might have been. “I waited and waited for you, but you never showed up.”

“You waited for me?” Gojo gasps.

“Yeah? I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the field-”

“I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the media room.”

You stare at Gojo. Gojo stares right back.

You sort of want to laugh- no wait, you’re laughing.

And he’s following right after. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

“Mhmmm, but first how about you pull out, Satoru?”

“Aw, man.”

“And then next I’ll let you put the black card in my mouth while you fuck me.”

“Fuck yeah.”

.

.

.

Eight years ago.

“Are you new here?”

Gojo startles.

The Japan Football Association (JFA) had a meeting room…as Gojo Satoru supposes that all football headquarters do.

He wouldn’t know.

But outside was the waiting room. 

He also wouldn’t know whether other places had such purgatories- but then again, he digresses.

It was a hallway with two rows of chairs pushed against either side of it—gleaming plastic chairs that sat emptily - and strangely ominously - before photographs of some of the JFA’s most famous recruits. Gojo felt a strange sense of pride and fear soar up in him as the only chair occupied—perhaps mirror images of all the great players that had sat in them years prior.

Well, as the second chair occupied.

So focused on reciting his name, his age, and his position to himself - things that should come as naturally to him as breathing, now strangely so foreign in this stuffy waiting room - he hadn’t noticed you until you actually spoke to him. Which…you must forgive him.

Everything tends to slip Gojo Satoru’s mind when he thinks of football: people, places, eating and sleeping. 

And yet…with your soft call- he turns to you. There’s an instantaneous and mad urge for Gojo to flash his best, most flirtatious smile that’d gotten him voted as Most Handsome Boy for every year of elementary school and middle school. And yet, the memories of high school come rushing to him unbidden—and Gojo’s suddenly tampering it down.

Expressionless. “Yes?”

“Don’t do that.” You huff. You looked about his age- and by the uniform you were wearing, it didn’t seem that you were another recruit. He wonders what you were doing in such a place. “That smile of yours is so pretty- did you know that you have a dimple?”

“I…” Gojo watches as you point at the edge of your left lip. He reaches a hand up to feel for that very spot, softly smiling—just for the experiment. “Oh- I suppose I do.”

You shrug. “Win ‘em over with that smile, I tell you. You’re Gojo Satoru—the youngest recruit for the team, aren’t you?”

He feels his heartbeat pick up. “I don’t know…I hope so.”

“Tch- don’t be silly.” And it shocked Gojo just how casually you’d waved away his uncertainties - as though they were mere annoyances, like easy-to-catch mosquitoes, and not blood-thirst buzzards. “The interview’s basically a formality. The entire building’s talking about you. Gojo Satoru: the youngest recruit in Japanese football history, the football prodigy from a small town in Hokkaido, the new generation of Japanese football.”

The more you spoke, the more Gojo’s eyes widened. The more he held his breath.

“You’re like the Luffy of football right now, man.” You smile. “Have some more confidence- you’re Gojo Satoru.”

At the time, he hadn’t known how to respond to that. So he’d simply asked—“And are you…”

“Not a player.” Turning to the chair on your other side, you pulled out a notebook and a pen, an audio recorder, and a camera. “I’m an intern for the sports reporting department- it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do when I was young.” And he watched in something he’d later come to recognize as awe as you stared at the photographs of players in much the same way he did. “All those photographs? All those articles? It’s because of reporters—and if I can’t play on the field, maybe I can write the field’s stories, y’know?”

You sigh. 

And he simply keeps on staring like a buffoon.

“Everything that happens on that field is a tale to be told.” And as Gojo’s awkward silence stretches, your smile turns sheepish. “Or- something like that…I don’t know it’s just-”

“Don’t do that.” He interrupts. This time, there’s a faint smile on his lips—and you could see the dimples. “Be confident, erm…”

You share your name.

He repeats it like a winning scorecard, a legendary play, maybe a last-minute unexpected goal. Extremely unexpected.

And from inside the meeting room, there’s a call of his name. Gojo’s jerking up to his lanky feet and looking at you- you shoot him two thumbs up. He nods.

He turns.

And he’s just about to enter through those doors that could very well change his life—

But, Gojo Satoru turns back.

He looks at you and flashes you that too-handsome smile. The first sight of it seems to shock you. “How about if- when I get back you can be the reporter to get the first-ever exclusive interview with the Gojo Satoru~?”

You blink. “I’d like that.” Surprise melting from your expression and letting you smile. “I’d really, really like that—oh, shit, I should get my good camera for the photos- good luck—!”

And with your cheerful tone echoing down the hallway, Gojo huffs out a chuckle. He’s almost at the meeting room door when he realizes that he hadn’t exactly gotten a time and place for this interview - and who knows how long this meeting will last - but when he’s looking back you’re already disappeared. 

Ah, that’s fine. He supposes.

He’ll find you anyway.

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru’s first-ever professional interview was alongside Coach Yaga with some veteran reporter he now can’t remember the name of.

Your first-ever professional interview as a sports reporter was with the long-retired striker, Gakuganji, who’d taken time out of his busy electric guitar shredding schedule.

The two of you shouldn’t have drifted apart.

But then again, the two of you shouldn’t have found each other either. We are all parallel lines of the same football field; untouching and unceasing—not unless there’s bound to be a—goal

Gojo Satoru was face-to-face with the goal.

He takes a deep breath.

He points.

He kicks.

He scores.

There’s a second of silence before anything happens - like the brief yet somehow deafening pause before a rocket takes off. And just as loudly—the cheers of fans, Japanese and non-Japanese supporters alike, erupt raucously until the very frame of the stadium seems to rattle itself. They were crying. They were jumping. They were cheering themselves hoarse, because—

“Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! For the first time in history, Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! Gojo Satoru has done it again—!” 

1-2 to Japan.

To say that the match had been close would be the understatement of the century; but you suppose you’ll write all about it in some exclusive article. Later.

Right now, your gaze was fixated on the flashes of white n’ blue barely discernible through the explosion of confetti. As what seemed like hundreds of members of the audience break through the bars and run to the embracing team, there’s only one that’s untangling himself free from the embrace and running straight—to you.

You’re in Gojo’s strong, sweaty arms before you even know what’s happening.

“And is that Gojo—?! Our MVP Gojo is breaking free from his team- running to the lovely lady, eh? All because of that bet. And here we have more celebrations from—”

His face pushed into the crook of your neck, and his chest hammering against yours- “We did it.” Gojo pants - and you’re vaguely aware of Shoko zooming in on the scene with a cackle. “We did it, sweetheart.”

You’re pulling back slightly from him and smiling. “I always knew you could.”

He kisses you and he’s never meant anything more.

A/N. WHERE’S MY GOJOOOOOOOO?? Anyways ugh I’d been SOBBING during Modrić’s final match.

Plagiarism not authorized.