A bet is classic. What could be more fun than targeting a sweet girl and making her fall in love with the reputable campus fuckboy? Surely he wouldn’t fall in love with you.
fratboy!gojo x f!reader
notes: I have seen sooooo many ideas and tiktoks about the trope of reader being a bet & it always hurts so good! wanted to try it out and ofc it had to be with fratboy gojo >:)))
warnings: angst obvi hehehe, drinking, cursing, reader is super sweet and a bet obvi, no comfort or happy ending (yet? who knows), mentions of vomiting but doesn’t, mentions of blood, reader is never someone’s first choice:(( ummmm, gojo is an asshole ofc
Credit to @uzmacchiato for the divider!!
Satoru knew he should've said no in the beginning, knew it wasn't worth it just to impress his friends- his stupid frat brothers who never took anything seriously. Never thought about the consequences of their actions.
Buuut the idea of the bet was just too good to turn down.
The effort, the build up, the dedication- it would all come together so perfectly, especially with you as the main star. With you being you, you were doomed from the start before the bet could even fully take shape.
Sweet little you. Shouldn't you have known better?
Going around, shamelessly wearing your heart on your sleeve, always spreading kindness on the darkest of days, looking and talking to people as if they genuinely mattered- and maybe to you, they actually did, even when they couldn't have cared less about returning the favor. Not that you ever expected anything in return.
And most importantly of it all? You were so understanding. Far too understanding for your own good. The debilitating type that had rooted itself early on as some sort of lousy defense mechanism and eventually morphed into something self destructive. Had you subconsciously constructing and molding subpar excuses to justify someone's behavior, especially when it was directed towards you.
Always being an overly empathetic thing, so willing to sacrifice and minimize your own feelings when it came to others, always softening their blow.
Were you desperate or something to get people to stay? So desperate that you had unintentionally turned yourself into a doormat that people could stomp all over?
Anybody could've told you that it was idiotic to try and see everyone at face value, to so naively believe the words people told you. But you could've argued the opposite.
It wasn't naivety. It was you, sweet and trusting you, determined to not let your past heartbreak change the way you viewed others, to not let it bias you, scare you, or haunt you. Despite having been constantly hurt, you refused to allow your past experiences make you question and doubt every. single. new. relationship.
Always trying to see the good in people.
It would have turned out great, perfectly actually. You had played your part with flying colors, just as expected, putting on the most spectacular, albeit unknown, performance. And Satoru? Well.
Things would have turned out great.
If he hadn't started falling in love with you.
But the show must go on.
“H-Hey, Satoru! Wait-wait a sec!” The words spilled from your lips in an unintentional desperate plea, the halls fully swarmed and packed with students squeezing past one another. Dozens of conversations mulled around you, voices mindlessly buzzing and bouncing off the walls as you paced towards the white haired man.
Satoru had been anything but clear as of recently, a new push pull dynamic he’d adopted that had you more confused and thrown off than ever. You thought you were going crazy.
One night he was taking you out, looking at you like you were his dream girl who hung the moon in his sky, and the next he was treating you like some clingy puppy that he had never even asked for in the first place. The hot and coldness of it all had given you whiplash trying to keep up with him.
But of course, of couuurrrse, you believed him when he said it was stress. That finals and exams had him so busy, but of course he liked you! He was just new at this whole communication thing and needed time but please Y/N, I like you so much please im trying.
You believed it all.
After all, why would you not? Especially when Satoru was Satoru and you were you.
Sure, you knew you could be a lot, knew you could have more than afforded to shut up every now and then and not chimed in with your over the top unnecessary eager commentary, but regardless, the point still stood. Satrou Gojo, one of the hottest most pined after frat boys on campus that everyone treated like a myth, like an untouchable legend, talked to you, was nice to you, even took you out and seemed happy to do so.
Maybe for once, the rumors could have been just rumors!
Plus, the last few times you remembered being taken out was high school, and they never showed you much interest past the first date once they learned they couldn't get in your pants. Gojo hadn't even tried!
“Sorry-excuse me,’cuse me, sorr- oops, my bad, imsosorry- Satoru!”
He'd been oddly silent the past few days, completely unresponsive to your texts. But with finals coming up, surely he must've been cramming and just far too busy to respond.
He hadn't sat next to you like usual in lecture, but he showed up late, so maybe he didn't want to bother you?
But he didn't wait for you after either, gone before you could even leave your seat. You couldn't deny how it stung, but always chalked it up to him being too busy or in a rush.
You could visibly see his shoulders tense from behind, the slight tilt of his head as it hung forward in what you could only assume was annoyance, a brief mental preparation to deal with you. A pang bloomed in your chest, unease pulsing through you.
He slowed down just enough for you to catch up, but didn't stop. Slightly out of breath, you fell into step next to him, cheeks flushing and heat creeping up your neck from his clear uneagerness to see or talk to you. You nervously swallowed. He could be intimidating when he wanted to be.
He didn't greet you, didn't look at you, just waited for you to speak.
You awkwardly cleared your throat to speak, a small and meek “hi,” being the only word to squeeze out.
“I’ve got class.” Short, quick, dismissive.
His blunt uninterested response sent doubt pummeling through you, the gifts in your pocket weighing heavier and heavier with the possibility of rejection more realistic than you initially thought.
He would draw you in, perfect words to butter you up and make you feel foolish for ever questioning him, and then he'd get like this. Not mean per se, but just so uninterested in you that you wondered if you had made it all up. You weren't dating (yet? So you were hoping) but he had kissed you on the most recent date. Didn't that mean something?
You'd been so ecstatic afterwards, but with no solid friends on campus, you had no one to tell or squeal to. You carried everything alone, both good and bad. Gojo knew that, the whole frat knew that. It's what made you the perfect choice.
“R-right, yeah! Um- can you stop just for a second- i wanted to-” and he loudly sighed, piercing blue eyes rolling into his head as he stopped to turn to you. He didn't say anything, just stared expectantly at you like you were completely wasting his time. His gaze on you was irritated.
The eye contact had you jittery. Not the usual nerves you'd get when you turned your head just to find him already looking at you, so anxious you’d somehow mess things up with the hottest guy ever, so desperate to be good enough for him. No. It was the on edge, antsy type that had you replaying every dumb thing you've ever said to him, the doubt pooling at the very bottom of your stomach that felt like a heavy black tar. It felt like a test you knew you’d fail when you had studied so hard to do good. You just wanted him to like you the way you liked him, and god, did you fucking like him.
Don't fuck this up, y/n, this is the best thing that has ever happened to you.
Nervously swallowing and cheeks blazing, you gave an uneasy awkward smile before rummaging through your tote bag and pocket, muttering a tiny but sincere “sorry,” when his foot started to impatiently tap against the floor.
A small pit formed in your stomach, feeling slightly mortified and very embarrassed. The feeling was similar to a child showing off their very mediocre work to an overly critical parent.
“Sorry,” you huffed a fake laugh, pulling out the small container from your bag and the keychain from your pocket.
“I-um, I made these for you, since you know, you said you loved cookies, uh on the date, they're um your favorite..” and your words trailed off as you held out the tin, slowly beginning to feel smaller and smaller as he kept his hands by his side, no show of trying to take it from you. A small sticky note on the top read, “Hope you like them! :D <3”
“Oh! A-and, hah, I saw this and, and I thought of you, especially since you said you really, um, really liked that show.” nothing. “J-Just as a um, thank you, for the other night. W-Was a lot, o-of fun.”
You held both hands out, praying he didn't see the slight tremble of your clammy hands holding the items as you stood there feeling like an idiot. The thumping of your heart picked up, eyes looking anywhere but at him, bowing your head just slightly so you wouldn't have to see him look so repulsed by you.
Had you somehow misread everything? Like actually? This entire interaction felt like some humiliation ritual.
“Um, if, if you want, o-of course, no.. no pressure,” You pathetically added, already trying to lessen his blow, already trying to minimize and justify his cold reaction towards you.
He let out a small snicker, hands finally coming up to grab the items from your unsteady hands. You hid the sigh of relief that you wanted to let out, so easy to please and already feeling happy again that he accepted your gifts, as if it was a nuisance for him to do so.
“Wow, thanks. You do too much,” he dully noted, a small closed lip smile gracing his pretty features before he turned on his feet to continue his trek to class.
The comment made you freeze, staring at the spot he stood in, a “thank you?” not even having the chance to leave your tongue. You didn't think he said it with mal intent, but the words ‘too much’ always seemed to find its way back to you.
“Oh wait!” Gojo's voice broke you from your thoughts, and you immediately turned to face him, eyes wide and excited like a dog hearing the word ‘walk.’ Maybe he'd talk to you some more, or want you to walk with him! Or maybe-
“Party this Friday night at the house. You should come by, all my friends will be there.” The words made you deflate. A party… at his frat house… the idea made your stomach twist with nerves. You knew no one, had no friends to go with, and you were absolutely horrified of embarrassing yourself around him- even more- than what you felt like you had already done.
“Oh! Um, haha, I don't think your friends like me- um- very much, haha,” you stated, hand coming up to push your fallen hair behind your ear, a small wince on your face as to not make it a big deal.
His friends, and Gojo at first too, had been relatively mean to you starting off, relentless teasing about your looks, your interests, hobbies, lack of knowledge you had despite trying so hard. You had been so caught off guard when he told you he liked you.
“Psh, they're just playing! See you at 10pm,” he yelled back, already walking away, arm coming up to carelessly wave. You sighed to yourself. You knew you would go. You really wanted to see gojo.
Friday night was a mess. A good mess at first, at least. Cars parked up and down the street, people packed in like sardines in and outside the house, music so loud all the neighboring dorms and frats could hear, and god did it reek like sweat and musk.
The two shots - okay maybe three - you took right before for liquid courage seemed to do the exact opposite as you maneuvered around a couple making out, small “excuse me’s” falling from your lips every second in a measly attempt to find gojo.
The small revealing outfit you had on, at least, seemed to match the vibe, relieved when you saw girls wearing far less. The only con was that your favorite knee high boots would most definitely get stepped on, but at least you were taller now as you searched for the stark white tufts of hair.
The house thrummed from the vibration of the speakers, bass so heavy your teeth rattled. It was dark, the only light illuminating the rooms were colorful shades of blues, purples, reds, and greens shining and flashing everywhere. The party felt like everything you weren't, but for a split second you were almost proud of yourself, going so far out of your comfort zone it felt like you were on a whole other planet. You imagined how fun these parties could be if you had any friends, and before you could let the thought get you down, you let your tipsy self imagine what it would be like to experience these with gojo by your side, excited that you were about to.
Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was packed. Unable to find Gojo had you seeking out another drink and the multitude of bottles of liquor that covered the surfaces were calling your name. You felt confident, wanting another drink to keep your courage and vibes up, grabbing a red solo cup and creating a concoction that would be far too strong, but you were here to let loose right? You were at a party!
Further encouraged and emboldened when a girl passing by stopped to compliment you, you smiled to yourself, feeling the tension roll off your back and a new found self-assurance bloom within you.
Bodies flowed and worked around you, not shoving into you or looking at you like you didn't belong, but moved in rhythm near you, like you had every right to be there and fit just fine. You relaxed into the music, earlier shots of vodka giving you a nice buzz that warmed your skin, made your cheeks tingle, and more importantly a soft happiness that weighed in your chest that comforted you like a safety blanket. Pouring the liquor into the cup with a mixer that admittedly was way too little, you knocked over a different cup, relieved there was barely any liquid that spilled over.
Quietly giggling to yourself, you spun to grab a roll of paper towels, quickly drying up the small mess you made, already sipping on your drink that made you wince in disgust. It was perfect. You hummed along to the music, hips swaying while lights blinded you, walking over to the metal garbage can to toss the wet material. Looking inside, you couldn't help but notice the tupperware that looked exactly like yours.
Furrowing your eyebrows, you leaned in a little closer, tiny fractures cutting into your heart as you realized it was yours, still packed to the brim with your cookies, sticky note still stuck to the top. Next to the cookies, the keychain you had bought him.
You froze, just a moment before scooting back, not wanting to get caught staring into the trashcan as you processed everything. There was a dull ache in your chest, energy immediately depleting and inklings of shame and embarrassment circulating through you. Your mind worked through the different possibilities, seeking out any excuse or reason as to why your items now lay forgotten in the trash.
You felt the build up of tears, blinking them back with a shaky breath as you chugged your mixture that was mainly liquor, a hopeless attempt at suppressing the sadness you felt. You shivered, turning your head to gag at the disgusting taste. Surely all the alcohol would calm your nerves.
Maybe one of the guys had done it? And not Gojo? You were positive this was all some sort of misunderstanding, no way he would just do that right? He told you he liked you- it wouldn't make any sense.
You began your trek around the sea of people, legs a little more unsteady now, eyes slightly glassy, contents of your stomach filled with a majority of alcohol and barely any food from your earlier nerves. All you wanted to do was find him, figure out an explanation that you were positive you'd be more than willing to accept, and spend the rest of the night by his side having a good time. The cookies weren't hard to bake and it's not like the keychain cost that much- it was fine, you were fine.
A little more intense this time, you made your way through the frat house, a sigh of relief when a glimpse of that notorious white fluffy hair came into view, a black backwards baseball cap sitting perfectly on his head. When your eyes finally landed on gojo, albeit still a little wobbly and throat tight, you couldn't help the smile that automatically formed on your face, hoping he'd feel the same. Why wouldn't he? He did invite you after all.
He was surrounded by his friends and then some, everyone dialed in on what he was saying. You anxiously stepped forward, waiting for the right time to get close to him and say hello. You wondered if he'd hug you and say ‘hi baby,’ like he sometimes did. The thought made your heart flutter inside its ribs like a bird in a cage.
Maybe he'd even compliment your outfit, or your hair and makeup. You eagerly bit your lip, too excited to be embarrassed at your spiraling thoughts of being somewhat wanted by him.
“Bro and then she gave me a fuck ass keychain, dude!!” he broke up his commentary with a laugh, a little too forced for it to be genuine, but a laugh nonetheless. “Said it reminded her of me, like, she just can't get any weirder bro. God and don't get me started on the cookies. She said it was her thanks for taking her out, but she doesnt know its all a bet to get into her pants- shes a fucking virgin for sureeee, threw that shit out as soon as i got back,” and he snickered and grinned like he had won the best prize. Like he had formed the best, most elaborate plan and you had played your part perfectly. You really, really had.
His friends, who you recognized as toji and maybe sukuna, chuckled, all chiming in with terms of agreement and encouragement, adding on all sorts of lies and theories about you, like maybe you were secretly a whore putting out, your innocent act a devious little facade. Geto, who had always been kind to you, was there too, perched against the side of a couch, not joining in, but silent and accepting.
You flinched, physically recoiling back when you heard them laugh about how you were too much, too pathetic to see right through anything at all, a fucking stupid girl for thinking someone like you could have a chance at him. Everything you had told yourself, every insecurity that had coursed through you, all confirmed. Others really did view you the way you saw yourself.
“Bro and when I kissed her, swear i almost gagged-”
You drowned his voice out, the music. There was a ringing in your ears that wasn't there before. Frozen in your spot, fingers beginning to shake, throat burning so badly you weren't sure if the alcohol you had downed was about to make a surprise appearance or not.
The bodies around you blurred as the pit in your stomach grew, humiliation washing over you as if you’d just been doused with a bucket full of ice water. You didn't run, couldn't, feet glued to the floor as you were forced to listen to the group of the hottest guys on campus who didn't even know you as a person, didn't take the time to learn you, ridicule you and make fun of you. You guessed it didn't matter, because Gojo had.
Each breath was labored and jagged, chest tightening and skin prickling with such an intense heat that you felt constricted in the already sparse clothes you wore. The way the fabric dug into you, a certain stitch that scratched you, the zipper that rubbed against your skin - it felt like you were suddenly aware of every unpleasant feeling in addition to the shattering of your heart.
You wanted to go home, wanted the floor to swallow you whole- felt so unbelievably silly standing there watching the guy you liked- fuck, the guy you had fallen in love with- paint you out to be some weird nasty creature who was undeserving of his attention. Sure, you had felt that way initially, but he had been so kind to you that you had been so blindsided, unknowingly setting yourself up to fall right back into your constant cycle of heartbreak and misery.
Built up tears finally broke the surface, some beginning to stream down your face and others just dropping from the sheer amount that had welled up. It wasn't until gojo turned his head, eyes landing directly on you and smile completely dropping that your legs became unstuck.
Your breath hitched, crackling sob breaking through as your saliva grew sticky. The extra drinks sure to make you vomit after this. You spun so fast you lost balance for a split second on your heels, immediately righting yourself and pushing through the sweaty bodies blocking you in. You didn't say sorry or excuse me, just pummeled through, desperate to get outside so that maybe you could finally breathe. You felt like a pig in makeup, and the thought made you cry harder. So beyond embarrassed, having dressed up and done your hair and makeup, mortified that everyone else thought you looked just as ugly and silly. You had to get out of here, the air was too thick and stuffy as the walls closed in on you.
Your name fell on deaf ears, sprinting out the front door and down the porch steps, surroundings a blur from not only how fast you were moving, but the alcohol that coursed through you. You knew the gifts were stupid, sure, but everything else? The kiss? He wanted to gag? All the times he called you pretty, beautiful, yes, it was more than plausible that it was a lie, but why did he say it all then? That's right, because you were supposedly just a fucking bet.
Who would willingly want to be with you?
Gojo called your name again, louder. You weren't the only one sick to your stomach. He cursed, heart dropping to his ass as the overwhelming suffocating feeling of guilt bloomed inside of his chest, heart quite literally constricting at how shitty, how fucking disgusting, he felt. It spread throughout him and he would've thought it was dramatic if it didn't feel like he could currently drop to his knees and heave. The entire situation was beyond fucked up, everything a misunderstanding and completely not at the same time.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” he repeated, hoarse and panicked as he immediately trailed after you, abruptly leaving the conversation mid sentence, not caring how he looked when all the guys stared at him in confusion. He lost sight of you for a moment but knew you'd only try to leave, escape the perfect hell he had just created for you.
Why the fuck did he do this? How the fuck was he gonna make this up to you, and why had he let himself get involved in this shitty idea anyway? He knew he should've called it off, he knew he had fallen for you.
Muttering insults as hands came out to grab at him, others trying to talk and some pulling him in for a dance. He didn't look, didn't care who they were, practically throwing and shoving their hands off him with only you in mind. He would explain everything to you, lay himself bare and expose the ugliness and insecurities that festered inside of him.
He had been projecting this entire time, exhausted from maintaining such an ugly facade of the frat fuckboy, desperately trying to fit in with everyone else that he stupidly agreed to the bet just to feel some type of belonging and companionship. All at the expense of you.
He didn't think, that was his issue. So caught up in this fake lifestyle that he knew the act wasn't just pretend anymore, his morals slipping by the day as he settled into this new once foreign character. They were all fucking assholes. All of them.
Fingers tightly clenching your almost dead phone, you bawled, frustration making you grit your teeth in additional annoyance when the sidewalk wouldn't stay straight. Accidentally stepping off the concrete, your heel caught on the edge, sending you falling onto all fours on the pavement, too drunk to care about the pain that shot up your wrists and knees. You let out a guttural infuriated noise, a mix between a squeal and growl, feeling so much more than just pissed and heartbroken. You furiously smashed your palm against the concrete as if it held the blame.
“Fuck, hey, shit, are you okay??”
Gojo's palm rested on your back and in the blink of an eye you stumbled up, whipping around to face him seething and disgusted as tears continued to stream down your cheeks.
“Don't fucking touch me,” you spat backing away from him as if he had physically struck you, and at this point you thought you would’ve almost preferred that over the gut wrenching feeling in your chest. There was a physical pain that tore throughout you, your heart feeling like sharp talons had ripped it out and stomped on it like an attempt at snuffing out a flame.
If you had it in you, you would’ve laughed at his expression, so devastated and hurt and torn as if he wasn't the one who caused all this, as if he wasn't the one who could've prevented everything. He had the audacity to stare at you like he was scared of losing you.
“Please, please y/n, i can explain, I am so sorry, please,” and it was as equally pathetic as it was infuriating. gojo pathetically begged, arms awkwardly reaching towards you as if you were the solution.
You paused, tongue loose and words slurred, staring at him bewildered as you threw your palms up. He wasn't who you thought he was. Or maybe he was exactly who everybody said he was and it was your fault for thinking otherwise.
“I thought you liked digimon??”
He swore, hands coming up to drag down his face. You saw. Saw your cookies and the keychain you bought him in the garbage.
“That wasn't me, I swear, please believe me, I swear- I-I got back from class, one of the guys saw and- and started laughing, they took it from me before I could even say anything. They tossed it, and I swear, please believe me, I was gonna grab it after, I-I love Digimon, I loved your gifts, please.”
He was breathless now, a fruitless panicked attempt at defending himself.
You scoffed. “Sure it wasn't too much?”
Gojo winced, hands curling. “I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it like that-” You cut him off, angrily sniffing and wiping your bloody gravel pricked hands against your black mini skirt. God you felt ridiculous.
“Yeah?? Which fucking part??” Your voice raised an octave, almost yelling but you didn't care as passerbyers turned their heads. You spewed the words, moving forward just to angrily shove at his chest, blood smearing his white shirt. Good, you wanted to stain his shit, wipe your blood all over it.
He took advantage of the proximity, quickly but lightly wrapping his large hands around your wrists to keep you close. You screeched, thrashing in his hold, weakly trying to hit him, shove him, and with his loose grip, he let you, your small fists pounding against his hard chest
“Im sorry, Im sorry, Im so fucking sorry, I like you- I like you so fucking much-”
A broken sob escaped you, a mix between a snarl and cry getting stuck in your throat.
“I didn't mean anything I said in there, I loved kissing you, you’re beautiful - fuck, you’re perfect, you’re so fucking perfect and- and you know me, the real me, I feel like I can be myself with you, please please please, im begging you, let me explain everything- from the start.” He was frantic, words rushing out so fast they blended into one. His eyes were glossy and rimmed red and you knew it wasn’t from whatever drugs he had done.
You stilled your hits, pausing in his hold. Rapid breaths mingling, chests quickly falling and rising, faded background music from the frat echoing into the night.
“Please.”
Gojo spoke it like a prayer, voiced with despair and a frenzied anguish that he knew deep down would do nothing. He would continue to beg, to plead with you, to reason, but deep down, he knew. Your chin dropped to your chest helplessly, a small hiccup squeezing itself out as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes felt swollen from how much you had cried, but you had plenty left.
You could feel gojo guide your palms to rest against his chest, a new set of bloody hand prints against the stark white, heart thumping like he'd just ran a marathon. You slammed your eyes shut, new sobs threatening to break loose, the feeling of wanting to curl up and die had never been more prominent.
“y/n, I'll do anything, please- please, I don't-” and his voice cracked, fingers tightening around your wrists. “I don't want to lose you- Im so, Im so sorry, baby.”
Your breath hitched, lips curling and fingers twisting into his shirt to bunch the fabric beneath your fingers. The agony and discomfort in your chest was painfully overwhelming, silently wishing you'd wake up from this nightmare, wishing you never heard him, trying to wrap your mind around how and why he would do this to you. You’d never understand, would never gain pleasure from hurting anyone, let alone, him.
“What did I ever do to you?”
The words came out small, so small and fractured and so confused, seeking an explanation or reason that could maybe get the two of you past this- that maybe you must've done something to deserve it and the two of you could come back from this, but you knew it was all for nothing. For no reason at all.
Gojo's eyes flashed with guilt, anger, and shame. He wanted to recoil, wanted to throw his head into his hands and sob, but he didn't want to let you go. He knew it would be the last time. Your gaze didn't meet his.
He swallowed, throat stinging and eyes burning. He regretted everything, internally begging to take it all back like some upper power would hear him and turn back time.
“Nothing, you didn't deserve this- you did- did nothing.” The words caught as his voice wavered and you wondered if he was crying. You refused to look at those eyes. His fucking blue perfect eyes that bore into you like you mattered- it was all lies- he had lied to you for months- almost an entire semester. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, attempting to stifle the wail you wanted to blubber out. It had been months.
Months of getting to know one another, of a build up, of a hope for something more. The silliest stupidest notion that for once someone found you valuable too and it wasn’t one sided.
A shallow gasp, an unintentional whimper, your shoulders shook as you wept.
“I wish I never met you, g-gojo. I would never-” a cry broke your words, tensing up as you angled your head down to hide your uncontrollable tears. He wanted to correct you and tell you to call him satoru or toru, but he stayed silent, let the sting burn. “Never hurt you like this.”
You shakily exhaled, not paying attention to his mindless small whimpers of “I know, I'm so sorry, I know, please.”
You gripped the fabric tighter, lifting your head to finally meet his eyes, hating how he was crying, how he genuinely looked heartbroken at hurting you, how you hated seeing him like this. His chin wobbled, breath coming out in unsteady pants and for once, he didn't look like the notorious frat boy who could conquer anything. He looked small, like a scared little boy.
Unsteady shaky hands lifted to gently cup your cheeks, gojo preparing himself for you to yank away from his touch like it burned. He sniffled when you didn’t, perfect lips shiny and slightly parted as he fully rested them against your soft skin.
“I never want to see you again.”
His composure shattered, immediately shaking his head murmuring “no’s”, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your skin and under your eyes as he repeated the same words over and over again. You pushed him back roughly with all your drunken force, which wasn't much, but enough to send him stumbling backwards to create distance.
He was alarmed, not at what you had done, but at watching you walk away, brain filling with nothing but no no no no no please, please stay, stay with me stay.
“Y/n, no please, baby, baby, y/n, please hear me out- please-” his voice was shredded, raw from drinking and yelling and begging, but he didn’t care. He’d beg and beg until he had no voice left, and when it was gone, he would find another way.
For a moment, you paused, and he thought that maybe, just maybe you would listen. But when you slowly turned to him, looking so fucking beautiful still as street lamps glistened in the reflection of your eyes, cheeks shiny and tinted pink from the tears that painted your cheeks, it all clicked. It was torturous.
“Fuck y/n, please, I-I love you. I’m so,” he swallowed to ease the scratchiness of his throat. It did nothing. “I’m so in love with you,” and he whispered the words, loud enough so you’d hear, but almost as if they weren’t meant for you, as if he was just talking to himself and unintentionally said the realization aloud.
He watched as a lone tear dropped down your cheek and it was cruel. He was cruel, you were cruel. Standing there so perfect and so beautiful while you broke his heart, and it was all his fault since he had done it first. The silence was thick as the two of you stood feet apart, wordlessly staring at each other, letting his words hang in the air. You opened your mouth and shut it, letting the process repeat as you mulled over the words in your head, wishing more than ever he hadn’t said them. Wishing more than ever you didn’t feel the same.
“I’d pick you, over and over again Satoru, every time, in a room full of people. Everyone would,” you huffed a fake laugh, blinking away your tears as you stared into his dumb perfect eyes. “I thought-” your lips quivered, chin wobbling at the humiliating admission. “I thought for once, someone had finally picked me.” The words slowly fell from your lips, laced with what one could only describe as pure heartbreak.
Gojo felt the final blow split his heart, not a clean cut, but a jagged uneven slash that cleaved it in two. He called your name, desperate and all, watching you spin on your heel and angrily walk away, your perfume hitting him as the wind blew.
He stepped forward- yelled your name again. But you didn't turn, didn't peek, didn't flinch as you sobbed, fingers constantly wiping your eyes to see where you were going as you drunkenly walked back to your apartment. Cried for yourself, mourned who you were becoming, who you were becoming with him. You had fallen in love with him too, of course you had. He was so easy to love.
' all the ways we say i love you '
wherein the men discover that being loved is not the same thing as appreciating it.
tw : established relationships, arguments, emotional neglect, taking their partner for granted, hurt/no comfort, the jjk men being profoundly stupid
part 2 part3
a/n : thoughts and prayers to the boys. they're gonna need them.
synopsis. satoru is a bonafide genius. he’s got the perfect transcript and ten-year plan to prove it. he knows how to keep his head down and avoid the chaos his twin thrives in. so when the unofficial frat princess sets her sights on him, he knows there’s a catch. he just doesn’t figure out what it is until he’s already fallen for her
pairing. nerd! satoru gojo x popular! fem! reader. ✶ contents. sfw! fluff. eventual angst. college + gojo twins au ⇢ fratjo’s called souta. takes place during junior year. brief mentions of ex bf! toji. loosely inspired by ‘how to lose a guy in ten days’ and very romcom-esque with a lot of drama. reader is very flawed and lowkey insufferable + the bet is hella dumb ˖ ࣪ . ࿐
day zero ✶ day one ✶ day two ✶ day three ✶ day four ✶ day five
day six ✶ day seven ✶ day eight ✶ day nine ✶ day ten ✶ weekend
+ more days to come
꒰ ✶ taglist , will not reopen after 200!! 165 / 200
sukuna sprawled out on your shared bed, two arms above his head, one across his stomach, and another lied idly on your thigh. his hair was messy, strands all over the place, and a few somehow shaped into bangs over his forehead. his stomach-mouth was open, softly snoring while showing off his large fangs.
and although he looked so comfortable, and the moonlight softly shone through the curtains of your quarters, you took a minute to leave. softly, you moved his large hand off your thigh, placing it close to where you slept instead.
after you’ve quietly retreated to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, sukuna almost immediately woke up from the loss of your touch.
he softly grumbled when he didn’t feel your body warmth, then he grabbed at what he wanted to be you, but instead met with sheets.
a huff escaped him, and he turned onto his side with a groan, half sitting up and using a hand to prop himself up.
“wife..” he called out, mumbling with his natural rough voice, a frown appearing on his face.
and almost as if you could sense how he already missed you dearly, not knowing how long you’d been gone, you slowly creaked the door open, walking in with a glass of water. as you sat it on the nightstand, your heart ached as sukuna blearily stared up at you with half-lidded eyes. he slowly blinked up at you like a cat, and his hair stuck up in many different directions.
some drool escaped the corner of his mouth, and you smiled. he probably didn’t even notice.
finally, you climbed into bed again, softly mumbling, “i know, i’m here,” with a smile as he already began reaching towards you to pull you closer.
your hand found his chest, and you rubbed comforting circles on his tattoos as you left a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. before you could pull away, he softly nudged your head with his, letting out a soft sigh as his hand found your back.
but you reached up, hand finding his hair as you play with it. he pushed his head into your hand, asking for more touch.
“you have bed head hair,” you whispered as his eyes nearly closed.
but he murmured, shaking his head with a pout, “i do not,” he let out a dramatic huff, glaring at you with all four eyes.
“whatever you say, honey,” you mumbled as you looked down at him, hand still running through his hair.
and within seconds, he’s asleep as quickly as he woke up. this time, he’s lulled to sleep by your touch. he’s right where he wants to be, falling asleep every night in the arms of his wife.
ib this art by sukunaglazer23 on twt he’s so adorable oml
imagine meeting frat!geto at a bar, only there to pick up your friend before she shacked up with some guy she wouldn't remember the name of just to end up with the number of the biggest playboy on campus. you heard the stories. the girls who woke up the morning after alone and went around whispering about the size of his cock (and his even bigger ego).
god, you hadn't even wanted to be there. you were supposed to be studying, meeting with a few of your other friends to focus on upcoming exams instead of dragging a drunk idiot away from even more wasted morons.
you weren't going to call him. seriously.
until your friend begged you to text him to see if he could set her up with frat!gojo. which somehow ended up with you being coaxed into a double date you didn't even want to go on, chalking up him agreeing just to be a wingman for his friend too.
imagine you really hadn't meant to start dating him either.
but after a few drinks in a desperate attempt to relax sitting across from two of the hottest men you'd ever met, you wound up in geto's bed like all the other women who came before you.
except - he was still there.
snoring softly, a muscled arm slung around your waist and holding you against him.
you tried to sneak up. squirming free and slipping from his heavy limbs, cringing as you padded barefoot over to last night's clothes and cursing your friend under your breath.
"gettin' hungry?" he yawned, and when you glanced back, he'd rolled onto his side, dark eyes lazily landing on your figure.
the rest was a whirlwind.
your other friends tried to warn you.
but geto kept you busy. asking you from everything to movies and to meals, holding your hand and making out in the backseat of his car, hungry kisses and lingering touches that stuck around until he labeled you his girlfriend first. letting you in on some joke you always felt like you were in the outside of, inviting you to come chill with his friends, proudly slinging an arm over your shoulder in public like he was showing you off.
it was always him. you never started it. never pushed for more.
but you were stupid enough to believe he meant the pretty words that left his mouth.
foolish enough to be surprised when gojo let it slip at some frat party you went to with your boyfriend that he was only with you because of a dumb bet. that gojo had given him twenty bucks to actually date a dork like you instead of sleeping around with all the hot women.
that was your worth. twenty fucking dollars.
you weren't in on the joke. you were the joke.
part two <3
a/n: one comment and nerd!kuna will make an appearance in this universe too + div is by @/llitssn i believe!
synopsis: a collection of odd accounts of the strange and unseen and everything in-between - backshots from bigfoot? ghosts giving head? sucking off the abominable snowman? you'll want to believe after this!
pairings: various jjk!men x f!reader
content: mdni, smut and fluff and angst, monsterfucking, unprotected piv sex, creampie, knotting, oral (m! + f! receiving), all around insanity, sci-fi and fantasy elements included, more individual tags can be found in each fic!
mini-series
snowed in...starring yeti!Gojo x scientist!Reader (completed)
true love waits...starring nerd!Gojo x ghost!Reader (completed)
made for you...starring scientist!Gojo + scientist!Geto (completed)
breaking news!...starring mothman!Geto x journalist!Reader
jur-ASS-ic starring dino!Kuna + investor!Gojo
butterfly effect starring various jjk!men
oneshots + drabbles
take a bite!...starring vampire!Geto x f!Reader
two's trouble...starring clone!Geto x f!Reader
three's company...starring clone!Geto x f!Reader
test subject one...starring clone!Nanami x coworker!Reader
breaking up...starring alien!Sukuna x heartbreaker!Reader
bite sized...starring lovesick!Gojo x fairy!Reader
sweet tooth...starring vampire!Gojo x f!Reader
second base...starring virgin!Gojo x mermaid!Reader
betrothed...starring fairy prince!Sukuna x f!Reader
full moon...starring werewolf!Nanami x gf!Reader
devoured...starring villain!Sukuna x isekai'd!Reader
lost and found...starring spider!Gojo x hiker!Reader
bitten...starring vampire hunter!Geto x ex-gf!Reader x vampire!Gojo
slimed!...starring slime!Gojo
the aliens are cumming...starring alien!Gojo
four dicks, one human...starring alien!Gojo + alien!Geto
sex.exe...starring sex robot!Geto
bloody valentine...starring vampire!Geto
honey, i shrank myself...starring scientist!Gojo + scientist!Geto
may you never forget me master list | nerdjo x f!reader
summary: he has everything he’s ever wanted and worked hard for, except for that one girl who he's shared the most classes with in college. he never actually tried to get to know you, but he did help you in ways you'd never know… one of them was getting professor gakuganji fired for embarrassing you in front of the entire class.
graduation day was supposed to be the day he finally confessed, only for you to not show up at all. what will he do when he sees you again 5 years later?
genre: unrequited love, smut, fluff, one-sided love, gojo’s lw crazy, very observant of reader in all there classes together, nerdjo has an existential crisis in between graduation and seeing reader again, set in the present but will have flashbacks, more to be added
one: lingering, like a ghost
two: the butterfly effect
three: from, satoru
four: friends?
Ko-fi link if you're feeling generous and wanted to show extra support ❤️
synopsis: someones dreams can also be anothers nightmare. that case is especially true for you as you suffer through y/n's whirlwind romance with your boss, satoru gojo.
content/warnings: crack, this is all crack, y/n is a completely different character from reader, there's some smuț but it's not very goon worthy, toxic work place, everyone needs help, #freereader, ft. ceo!sukuna
(read in order)
who pushed you?
push me (to the edge)
new boss, who dis?
yeah, kitten.
you’d lose
promise?
/forbiddenyaoi
#sukugo
friends?
it’s not that simple
thots n prayers
doberman
extras: side character reader asks
notes: i just realized i never made a master list for this
content: the notorious fuckboy suddenly stopped sleeping around and nobody knows why. its totally not because he’s been secretly running around with someone that’s almost a decade older and is embarrassed to be seen with him in public || MDNI, fem!reader, age gap (gojo’s 20-21 readers late 20s), smut, porn w/ plot, fuck buddies, secret relationship(?), gojo plays rugby 🫦, readers lw so embarrassed to be seen with him LMAO, date crashing, he also calls her drunk to tell her he misses her, he's an unhinged little shit
notes: hiiii im so sorry to the ones that asked to be tagged, ive been swamped with schoolwork and im exhausted 😭 11.9k words today, enjoy the read 🙂↕️❤️
Satoru has lived his life quite simply these past few months— just school, training, and games.
Everyone’s gotten on his case about it— mainly just questioning him, but there are moments like yesterday, when he got accused of going through a crisis of some sort over his sexuality. Or last month, when the entire frathouse got together in the living room and tried to have some intervention, thinking he had depression or some other shit.
He doesn't. He’s also not very worried about his sexuality.
It’s crazy because he really hasn’t changed that much. He just hasn’t brought anyone over. Or gone out on dates. Or made out with anyone at parties. Anything related to girls, he hasn’t taken much part in.
But that’s it! That’s all!
He still goes to parties, still has good grades, still goes to practice, and still wins games. He’s just as present— he’s just not fucking anybody, and now everyone thinks he’s dying because of it.
Assholes.
He’s fucked half the school, for all they knew, he could’ve just been giving his dick a break! He wasn’t— but he could be, and that wouldn’t be anybody else's business but his own. He’s a grown man, despite many individuals begging to differ.
Whatever, fuck them.
Funny thing about it all is nobody seems to have noticed that he’s out of the house at certain hours throughout the week. Consistently. So really, it’s on them for not trying hard enough to find answers to their invasive little questions.
Hm. Actually, no. On the off chance that they do ask what he’s up to on a night like tonight, he’ll just lie, say he’s at the gym or something. He’s not exactly allowed to tell, which is fine; he’s more than willing to keep a little secret.
That little secret was tucked away in a nice apartment that had a view of the entire city. A tranquil little place— except for when he’s around.
The bed’s steadily rocking underneath the uneven weight Satoru creates. Relentless smacking— skin to skin, hips to ass, the dirty little squelch that comes with it.
There’s a view, but it’s not the city.
“Arch that back some more— yeaahhh, just like that.”
He pounds into you, balls hitting heavy against your clit as he pulls you back to meet each thrust. Moans spill from your lips, taking every single inch he drills into you. The stretch is insane as he works his heavy cock in and out of you like it’s nothing.
If there’s one thing about him, it’s that he can fuck. He can go on for hours, put you in any position, have you begging and crying, dwindle you down to nothing but a babbling mess from how many orgasms he can work out of you.
He wears you out.
Yet still, at the end of every night—
“Kay’. We’re done here, you can leave now.”
You are so fucking mean.
The first time Satoru heard those words come out of your mouth, he was distraught. How dare you throw him out after the backshots he had given you?! He made you cum so hard you cried! Then you just throw him out of your apartment like some useless whore– like he was nothing but a fucking slut! He had more to offer than just his dick, he’ll have you know.
Now he’s a little less emotional and more…
“You sure? I could stay longer and help you with chores… or something.”
You look around your room, which is spotless aside from his t-shirt and jeans scattered on the floor. “Sure. Why don’t you start by picking up your clothes, putting them on, and then getting out?”
“Oh, come on. Seriously?” he throws his head back and groans rather childishly. “That’s a little rude, no?”
“So was the way you were talking to your little girlfriend on the phone earlier,” you hop off the bed and throw on a big t-shirt that said Modelo on it.
Satoru gets one final look at your ass as you do so and finds himself getting oddly jealous, wondering if the shirt was actually yours or if it belonged to an ex. He ends up telling himself it’s yours, ignoring that you’ve told him how much you hated beer in the past. Delusional? Perhaps, but he’d rather not hurt his own feelings right now.
“Carmen’s not my girlfriend,” he huffs out a laugh as he tries to explain, “I don’t even know why she called me. We haven’t fucked in months.”
He also tried to tell you that he hasn’t slept with anyone since he started sleeping with you, but you didn’t seem to care much about either. The entire time, you were just throwing his clothes at him while he absentmindedly got dressed. He continues to yap away once he’s up and fully dressed, so you grab him by the wrist and start walking towards the door.
“And you wouldn’t believe all the shit the guys have given me for turning girls down. One of them started calling me Celibate Satoru, can you believe that?”
“I sure can.” You open the door, walk around him, and start pushing him out.
“They don’t even know— assholes, they’d take it all back so fast if they saw you,” he huffs out a laugh, trying to cope with the fact that he’s not allowed to tell anybody about you two.
You laugh with him. “You better hope they don’t, ‘cause if they do–”
“You’ll bite my dick off– yeah, yeah. I know.” You never said you’d bite his dick off. Satoru turns around when he’s fully out of the door to reveal the dopey grin on his face. “So, same time next week?”
“Yup! Bye Gojo.”
He scoffs. “I thought I told you to call me Sa–”
He didn’t get to finish that sentence. You shut the door in his face.
Gojo was a nice guy… at least to you, he was. You’re sure a lot of others would say the complete opposite, judging by the way he snapped at the girl earlier for calling him and telling her to lose his number. You felt sorry for her and also felt thankful that you didn’t have to deal with a guy like him when you were 21.
You tried not to reflect too much, it’d just end with you being disappointed in yourself for even letting him into your apartment in the first place. It’s all for fun, but still, you should know better.
Satoru’s a piece of work. Comes from a family swimming in money and has never been told no in his life. He’s impulsive. Very hedonistic, very immature— some people grow out of it, but you have a feeling he’ll never change since he’s never had to work hard for anything in his life.
He is the last person you’d ever want to date, and for someone who usually dated older men— preferably men like his rich father— fucking a frat boy was just embarrassing on your part.
It’s too bad he’s genuinely one of the best fucks of your life— add in the dick piercing, the stamina that came with being a rugby player, and the fact that he spends every moment with you wanting to please you, and he was hard to get rid of.
You met Satoru at the gym. You’d think he’d go to the one at his university, but no, he just had to get a membership at the luxury gym that’s on the other side of town. The only reason why you chose to get a membership there, rather than the more affordable gym down the street, was so that you could avoid annoying ass kids.
Spoiler: It didn’t work.
He didn’t approach you right away. It started with a couple of stares here and there, all of which you pretended not to see since his attention was the last thing you wanted. You can admit that if he were a little older, you would’ve indulged, but it was clear he was a college student, given how he’s worn t-shirts and hoodies with his university’s name on them. Most professional settings wouldn’t allow piercings either— he’s covered in them. One on his nose, one on his eyebrow, multiple on his ears, and a tongue ring. Not to mention the one he surprised you with when he first came over.
Of course, pretending not to notice an attention whore like Satoru Gojo didn’t work, and you soon found out just how annoyingly persistent he can be.
He started going to the gym at the same time as you. It felt like the machines he used just got closer and closer to you with each visit, up until he boldly used the treadmill right next to you one day— you weren’t having that, by the way, and got off less than a minute later. You could be talking to a trainer or one of the staff members, and he’d shimmy his way into the conversation just to get you to look at him and say something, but his attempts were met with you excusing yourself.
It got to a point where he didn’t even care about what was said, he just wanted your attention, good or bad. When he finally did get it, it was neither. You were tired of him before he even opened his mouth.
Imagine this: the annoying little shit coincidentally goes into the sauna at the same time as you, even though you could’ve sworn you saw him walking out the door with his duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. How he managed to strip down into nothing but his slutty little rugby shorts in so little time? You have no clue. His knee was all scraped up though, so it was safe to assume that he fell during the process.
You gave him a curt smile and closed your eyes.
He still opened his mouth.
“Great sauna, isn’t it?”
Did he just deepen his voice? Christ.
The awkward and pathetic attempt at small talk never made you want to murder yourself more in that moment. You tried not to sound as annoyed as you were when you let out a sigh.
“It is,” you murmured back, closing your eyes again in hopes that would be the end of it.
It wasn’t.
“I love coming here— nice little escape from everything,” he blissfully said.
You couldn’t imagine what the hell that brat needed to escape from. If only you could say the same, you’ve spent more time dodging him than you have working out the past three weeks.
“Name's Satoru, by the way,” he flashed you a smile.
You’re not a heartless wretch, so you threw him a bone and told him your name, too. Which was a mistake, the one thing you’ve learned is to never feel sorry for Satoru, give him an inch and he’ll shamelessly take a mile. Minutes later, you’re internally groaning. You hated how smooth he was when asking if you wanted to grab drinks later that night. All the charm and charisma that oozed out of him would put any narcissist to shame.
“Did you seriously follow me into the sauna just to ask me out?”
He had to pause because that’s not what you were supposed to say, but he was too emotionally invested at that point to give up.
“Maybe,” he chirps, averting his gaze for a moment. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be weird, though.”
You smile as your eyes scan him from top to bottom, more so out of judgment than interest. “Stripping down into nothing but the male version of booty shorts isn’t weird?”
“Ugh— ok, yeah, fine— maybe it is a little weird,” he sighs, throwing a towel over his shoulders as an attempt to cover up. “Let's just.. Forget about that. Yeah?” You continue to just stare at him, and he clears his throat. “I’d still love to take you out sometime and get to know you a little better. Whatcha think? My treat.”
Age doesn’t matter, you’ll fold too once you see what he’s hiding under his “booty shorts”. Everyone does.
You cross your arms and lean back on the wooden bench. “I’m sorry– how old are you again?”
“I’m graduating this year,” he proudly says, making your face drop in disbelief— he’s well aware that he’s too young for you, and he’s still trying?
“Right.” The judgment in your tone was loud and clear, continuing to look at him as if he were a harmless spider— there’s no fear or concern, just peeved at how it managed to find its way into your vicinity. “So you’re 21…” You tried pulling more information out of him, “since that’s the age you need to be to order a drink.”
“Soon,” he continues to tiptoe around the truth. “Everyone knows me, though. Nobody's gonna check my I.D.”
Besides, he has a fake. He’s had one since he was 16.
“Oh wow.”
You still didn’t sound very impressed, not that it stopped him. He somehow was able to go home with your number in his phone that day, mainly because he was starting to annoy you, and giving him your number was the easiest way to get him to stop— harmless spider, remember? He was probably more of a gnat at that point, though, but harmless nonetheless.
From that point going forward, you ignored him at the gym and his text messages. You could go on your phone and scroll for a minute before seeing a text sent from your end. Now that you think about it, you only texted him back once.
Unknown Number: i feel like im being edged rn 😔 what’s a man gotta do to get a text back??
You: typing…
You:
You: typing…
You: turn 21
Unknown Number: bet
You read that response and immediately regretted it.
He came back a month later, the day after his birthday, and you unfortunately gave in.
And by giving in, you met him halfway and asked if he wanted to come over. He was hot, but there was no way in hell you wanted to be seen in public with him. Being a man as easy as Satoru, he said yes and spent the entire night putting you in every single position he’s ever imagined having you in. You swear he hit every room on purpose— just bending you over every surface and folding you up in every position.
You’ve never had someone throw you around that much before. He fucked you like it was some god-given right. You were so far gone that you would’ve done anything he told you to; you’re just glad his only goal that night was to impress you.
And he did, hence why you are still letting him come over a couple of times a week. Maybe more, maybe less.
He’s tried to get you to come over to his place before, to which you refused for obvious reasons, and berated him enough to make him never ask you a question as insulting as that ever again.
He’s also tried to coordinate your gym visits in the past.
It was a month into whatever little arrangement you had— you say that because you’ve never made an agreement, aside from telling him to never talk to you, talk about you, or approach you in public.
It would come as a surprise to no one if he spent the whole day there just waiting for you to show up.
He didn’t even give you a chance to go into the locker and put your things away before attempting to walk up to you. You had just walked past the front desk— head down, phone up— and felt like there was something off, and what do you know? He was walking in a straight line towards you as if you hadn’t banned him from speaking to you in public.
Luckily, the women's locker room was directly to your left, so you turned and walked there as fast as your legs could take you. You were pissed, slamming your duffel bag down onto one of the benches to spend a minute or two pacing back and forth. There was no way in hell you were going home, so you pulled up with messages with him and sent him a text.
You: Do not fucking embarrass me.
You: Don’t even come near me.
S. Gojo: fine .
It wasn’t another 20 minutes until you finally stepped out of the locker room, mostly ready to spend the next 30 minutes working out. Usually, it’s 45 minutes to an hour, but you gave yourself some grace, even though you really should’ve been getting the most out of your membership with how pricey it was.
The first 20 minutes were fine— peaceful. You ended up letting your guard down as you fell under the assumption that Satoru left, given how he was nowhere to be found. Then, 2 minutes into using the stairmaster, someone got on the one right next to you, despite the entire row being empty.
He was met with a scowl. The only response he had for it was throwing his palms out and grimacing right back at you, as if to say, I’m not doing anything wrong.
Minutes later, he’s reaching over and grabbing your water bottle to take a sip from. Mind you, he already had one with him. It had more water in it than yours.
That was the moment you knew Satoru really wasn’t shit.
He casually gave it back with a smile, trying to act all cute and be funny, so you sent your water bottle flying at his big head.
“Ow!” he frowns, rubbing the side of his head, having absolutely no right to look as shocked as he did. “That hurt!”
“Suck it up,” you snapped at him in a hushed tone. “You’re lucky I didn’t lodge it down your throat and drown you.”
“Why would you do either?!” he threw his arms out.
“I don’t know— why would you reach over and drink from my water bottle when you have your own?!”
“Because I wanted water that had some of your backwash in it??” he says, as if it should’ve been obvious.
To this day, you still don’t know if he was trying to throw you off or if he was being serious.
“If I hear one more word come out of your mouth while I’m here, even if you’re 10 feet away and talking to someone else, I’m fucking blocking you.”
“. . .” You could see the panic in his eyes as his face dropped. “Okay— 10 feet away is fucking crazy—”
“Stop. Talking.”
He opens his mouth, quickly decides he’d rather not find out if you were bluffing or not, and closes it.
You hated being strict with people— you had no other choice but to be strict with Satoru. You could draw a line, explicitly tell him not to cross it and why, and he’d walk right up to it and tap his toe on the other side, just to see if you’d say anything.
With the way you talk about him and talk to him, it’d be easy to assume that you hated him— you complain about the shit he does, you yell at him often, you look at him at times and start to wonder if he was just a sign sent by god to finally get therapy. But you don’t dislike him, let alone hate him.
On the occasion that you don’t kick him out right after you two fuck, he’s really not that bad to be around. If circumstances were different, you wouldn’t mind being friends with him. He’s easy to talk to, easy to get along with when he’s not actively and purposely fucking around and finding out. You honestly enjoy talking to him here and there.
Truly.
Except for when he’s talking about anything frat-related. More often than not, it’s dumb and genuinely a waste of your time to listen to. Not to mention the fact that you don’t need any more reminders of who you’ve been welcoming into your home.
You were pushing thirty for Christ's sake. It'd be one thing if he were just a one-night stand, but he’s not. He raids your pantry when you’re not looking and, on multiple occasions, has purposely left his boxers behind as some sort of parting gift.
It’s gotten easier with time— the embarrassment that washes over you when he says something stupid, that is. Like whatever went down at some party he threw or some joke one of his “brothers” told him. It’s still a waste of your time, but you’ve grown to just let him talk about it rather than shut him down to avoid that pang of guilt you sometimes get when you’re around him.
There’s the disappointment and the embarrassment, and lately, there’s the odd form of pity you have for him. You’ve always known you were going to have to let Gojo down one day and cut things off completely, you’re not quite sure how he’d take it, though.
There was some hope that he’d get bored with you and move on to someone new, but that’s slowly diminishing. He’s volunteered to get tested for STDs weekly and sends you the results. He hasn’t slept with anyone else, either, which is shocking. You’ve gotten a glimpse of his phone and his messages, all of which were unopened texts from the girls he’s probably led on in the past— ignoring them all for a woman who does the same to him more than half the time.
Sometimes you wonder if he notices that, too. He has to. You say he’s stupid all the time, but he’s smarter than he lets on.
—
S. Gojo: how’s my pretty girl doing?? ((:
You: what do u want
S. Gojo: 😭damn not even a question mark?? I didn’t even ask u for anything 😔
You: i can tell when u want something. now what is it
S. Gojo: can i come over after practice today? pretty please
S. Gojo: it ends at 3 today
You: im not even home
S. Gojo: ik i have a key
You: you took my spare key?
You: give it back
S. Gojo: today? (:
You: im not even home by then. I don’t want u there, you’re gonna make a mess
S. Gojo: wtf? I never make a mess
You: what do you even wanna come over for
S. Gojo: i don’t wanna be home later
You: why
S. Gojo: there’s a few sorority girls coming over and they don’t like me
You: why
S. Gojo: it’s just bc of some bet during freshman years
S. Gojo: they’re not over it
You: pig
S. Gojo: i didn’t even tell you what it was!
You: please don’t
You: but ya, no. go to the library or something
S. Gojo: PLEEEEEAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEE
S. Gojo: FUCK i’ll have takeout ready for you when you get off work ffs
S. Gojo: have some compassion these bitches are gonna try to CHOP my DICK off PLEASE
You: maybe you never deserved one to begin with
S. Gojo: BRO???
You: kiddinggg
You: have some pad thai ready for me. I also expect the place to be vacuumed
S. Gojo: i got u
S. Gojo: i can do your laundry too if you want
You: stop trying to sniff my panties you fucking freak
S. Gojo: ):
You’re home at 5:15 on the dot, and you’re met with the lovely smell of all-purpose cleaner despite only telling Satoru to vacuum. So naturally, you’re in a good mood when you walk into the living room and hang your purse up in the hallway.
Satoru’s on the couch, turning to look at you and doing that stupid nod he does when he doesn’t feel like verbally greeting someone.
You slip out of your heels and walk up. “Did you clean the kitchen?”
“A little,” he hums, taking the opportunity to pretty much eye fuck you since you don’t pay much attention to him as you look into the kitchen.
“What do you want?” you ask suspiciously, turning to look at him lounging back on your couch, half-naked. He’s got nothing but a pair of socks and rugby shorts on, and you can’t help but take a look at his thighs. You don’t ask why his titties are out on display, though, knowing he’d make a comment about how hard he worked cleaning the place.
“Nothin’,” he shrugs, feigning innocence. The slight twitch of his lip right after gives him away, not that you give it much attention. “How was work?”
“Long,” you yawn. “Slow, too— felt like I was on my phone the entire time.”
He tilts his head, getting ready to fuck with you despite it not even being 5 minutes since you walked through the door. “Are you complaining about doing nothing at work today?”
“Uh, yeah,” you mimic his tone. “I hate looking at the clock all day.”
He huffs out a laugh. “I’m gonna remember this the next time you complain about work being too busy.”
You smile and hum. “Do that, and I’m shoving my socks down your throat.”
“Kinky.” You start to walk away, and Satoru takes the opportunity to reach over the couch, biting his lip as he strikes a palm over your ass. “What else are you tryna do to me?”
“Choke you,” you boredly say as you walk into your room, but end up smiling when you hear him laugh. You come out a couple of minutes later in a pair of shorts and a tank top. “Where’s the food?”
“The fridge,” he responds, seemingly distracted.
Only for him to grab your wrist right before you walk past behind him.
You whip your head around and click your tongue. “What?” you whine, eyes narrowing as you shoot him an irritated look.
“How hungry are you right now?” he asks, tongue in cheek as he keeps a firm grip on your wrists.
“Hungry enough.”
“Starving?” There’s an obnoxious glint in his eyes as he asks.
You scoff. “Does it fucking matter?”
“Mmmmmm, a little.” He blatantly checks you out as he hums, not struggling to hold on to your wrist at all. He leans over the couch to get a better look at your shorts, his other hand reaching forward to snap your shorts against your skin. “I like these.”
“Let me guess, you’d like them better on the floor.”
“Something like that— come here,” He stifles a laugh, pulling you closer until you're up against the couch. He snakes an arm around your waist to keep you from leaving, pressing kisses all over your chest. “Been waiting for you forever– give me a minute or two.”
“You expect me to believe it’ll just be a minute or two?” You smile, trying to keep your breath from hitching as he gets closer to your neck.
“Mhm. It’s a lie, though.” He places one last kiss against your collarbone, then pulls a hum out of you as he licks a slow, fat stripe up your neck. He tops it off with a couple of kisses along your jaw before nipping at your ear. “How about I work up that appetite a little, hm?”
Your lids grow heavy, each word growing breathier than the last with each kiss and touch. “My stomach’s gonna start hurting.”
“It’s fine,” he murmurs, running his big hand down your back to your ass, giving it a squeeze before his palm lands on it. “You won’t be thinking about it.”
He steps over the couch and starts nudging you towards your room, dick print against the fabric of his shorts on full display.
“No?”
“Nope,” the grin on his face grows, “I’ll keep you distracted.”
And distracted you were.
Whining as you trembled and clenched around his cock while he worked it into you. You’re at the edge of the bed— bent over for him, back in the craziest arch as he gives you the deepest strokes. The round metal studs under his tip add the right amount of pressure as it drags over your gummy spot.
He leans back, suppressing a laugh at the sight of your fucked out face and the creamy ring already starting to grow around his base. He’s barely done anything, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw drool stains right where your face is pressed up against. It’s always like this, your attitude just magically disappearing the moment he gets near your pussy. Doesn’t matter if it’s his dick, his fingers, his tongue— they’ve all made the miracle of getting you to say please happen.
“Shit,” he curses under his breath, just mesmerized at the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you. His attention only gets pulled away once he hears a soft, drawn-out moan leave your lips, his hands unconsciously moving up to your hips for him to knead. “You alright?”
“Mhm— go faster.” The demand sounds so sweet falling from your lips, how could he say no?
He rests a knee against the bed and leans over your body. Chest pressed up against your back, caging you in. You rest your head on his forearm, unknowingly letting him get a full view of the tears he’s about to give you. He picks up the pace, angling himself just right with each thrust, watching your eyebrows slightly pinch as your breathing picks up.
“Can’t believe you wanted to wait for this,” he starts to poke fun at you, and it somehow goes straight to your core. “The hell were you thinkin’, huh?”
“I don’t know,” you murmur.
“Were you thinking at all?”
“Shut up.” You get whinier with the change of pace. “Can you just– mmh yeah.”
“Yeah?” He grins as you lose your train of thought, rolling his hips nice and slow, working his tip right over that spot that has you curling your toes. “Like that?”
“Mhm,” you hum, fingers starting to dig into his bicep as the praises slowly fall from your mouth. “Feels so good.”
“I knoww– you’re droolin’ on my arm already,” he stifles a laugh as he mocks you, brushing some hair out of your face to grab your chin, turning your head toward him.
He leans down to kiss you, and it’s nothing short of messy. It's all tongue and wet smacks once he held you down and crashed his lips into yours, just rough and hungry. Greed is what comes to mind once you pull away— lips all swollen and covered in spit, out of breath, heat creeping up your neck.
It’s just selfish— who grabs people like that?
The hand on your jaw wraps around your neck, and you soon find yourself taking in a sharp breath as Satoru crashes his lips into yours again. His hips continue to rock into you, grinding every inch of himself up against your gummy walls, trying to knock the air out of you as he tries to take it for himself.
He bites your bottom lip, and you’re giggling as he slowly pulls back, dying out at your throat once he gets back to work. His shallow thrusts grow deep, making your eyes start to glaze over as the fat head of his cock hits and rubs against a spot you’re sure only he can reach.
“Ready?” he murmurs in your ear.
“What are you–”
He bites your bottom lip, then starts fucking you like you owed him your soul or something. He drills every single inch of his cock into you, the sharp sounds of his hips striking against your ass cutting through the air, nearly bringing you to tears from how overwhelming it all is.
“F-Fuck!” you choke out a whine, shoving your face down on the bed, unable to keep up with how fast he’s going. Your cunt stretches around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing around his length as he pounds you into the bed. Low groans slip through his lips as he sees a mess of slick and cream starting to coat his shaft.
He goes faster. The obscene wet slaps of him pounding your pussy and his heavy balls slapping against your clit grow louder, messier. You’re clawing at your sheets and holding back choked moans each time he slams his tip against your cervix. Your legs start to tremble, struggling to keep them open when each thrust pushes you forward with all the force behind them.
You start to feel something in your core begin to wrap up and coil, and you are not ready for it. You find yourself crawling forward, trying to close your thighs, all without even realizing it. Satoru lets out a laugh that fades into a low groan as your walls squeeze and tremble around him.
He teases you as he drags you back by your hips, his ragged voice dripping in amusement.
“You running from me, baby? Where’s this pussy goin’, huh?” He nudges your thighs back apart with his knee, pulling you back on his cock and holding you in place, hips flush against your ass as he lazily grinds into you.
“Yeah, c'mere— m’not done with you yet.” he rasps, picking up the pace back up again until a messy wet squelch can be heard between you as he pounds you out. He presses your back further down into an arch, fucking into you at a deeper angle. “Mmmm— there we go— just stay right there for me.”
“Sa— fuck— t-toru!” Your breath shatters as you gasp, pressure starting to build all over again.
You don’t see the way he smirks when you cry his name like that.
“I know— M’sorry, baby.”
He’s not. A hand slides up your spine to get a fistful of your hair, pulling you up against his chest in one swift go. His pace doesn’t falter as a strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him while his lips graze the shell of your ear.
“Look how good I’m fuckin’ you, though— looks like you’re about to start crying.” He smiles, feeling you squeeze around him as the messy squelch in between your legs becomes more pronounced.
“T-too much,” you sputter out.
“You should probably cum them,” he offers as if it were a simple solution. “If you want, I can work it out of ya.”
“F-fuck,” you inhale sharply. “Please.”
He lets out a low, pleased hum before he just starts slamming into you, making the bed shake as he starts to knock the absolute wind out of you. His free hand snakes down, slipping down in between your legs until the pads of his fingers find your clit. You tense as he presses on it firmly, breath faltering once he starts rubbing little circles.
His grip around your waist tightens as he keeps going, not minding your nails as they start scratching and digging into his arm. Soon you’re let out a sharp cry, trembling as you start gushing all over his cock.
And the way you pussy clamps down and just starts milking him has his thrust growing sloppy, fucking you both through it.
“Fuck— fuuck,” he lets out a breathy groan, doubling over and nearly squeezing you to death when he starts pumping you full of hot cum, flooding your sensitive walls. He breathes heavy, grinding against you, giving you every last drop. “Shit— that was so fuckin’ good— are you alright?”
You’re lying limp in his arms, nodding weakly, trying to catch your breath. “Uh-huh”
“You’re so shaky right now,” he heaves, gently letting you down on the bed. “I fucked you good this time.”
“Shut up,” you barely snap at him, “Go get me my food, I can’t fucking walk right now.”
“Fuck— I’m sorry. Don’t kick me out.”
“Get me my fucking food.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he nods, putting his boxers on and walking out of your room with a little smile on his face.
. . .
He’s leaning against the fridge as he lets his mind run off for a bit, aside from the microwave whirring in the background, it’s quiet— a rare occurrence for Satoru. He doesn’t snap back to reality until he hears footsteps coming up behind him.
He looks over his shoulder to see you back in the clothes he nearly ripped trying to get off you. And that you’re walking perfectly fine.
“Thought you couldn’t walk,” he points at you, gesturing his finger up and down.
“So did I,” you shrug, wrapping your fingers around the fridge handle and pulling it open to retrieve a white claw. You can physically feel Satoru staring at you, while something in your spirit is telling you that he’s waiting for you to offer him one.
You crack it open as you turn to look at him.
“Can I help you?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Initially, his eyes drift to the drink in your hand and look at it quite longingly. “That looks good.”
“It is good,” you say, then obnoxiously take a sip. “Pairs really well with noodles.”
“I’m sure.” His tones flat as he looks back at the drink.
You have no idea why he’s so set on waiting for you to offer him one, but you eventually do because you’d rather not get into some weird silent war with him. “Would you like one?”
“Yes, I would,” he says with a blissful sigh, reaching into the fridge to get one for himself.
The microwave beeps, you open it, and take the plate out yourself. “You know you can just grab one, right?”
The can cracks and he takes a sip, then nods. “I know, I just wanted you to offer me one.”
“Yeah, you made that pretty obvious,” you laugh and walk to the living room, and Satoru naturally follows. “Do you want some of my food, too?”
“No— appreciate you asking, though.”
“Sure,” you say, before muttering, “weirdo.”
He’s the first one to grab the remote and put something on, taking advantage of the fact that you haven’t pushed him out yet, like you do 60% percent of the time. The 40% is too random for him to be able to tell when it’ll happen next.
You weren’t planning on kicking him out too soon today, though, since he’s currently hiding from an entire group of women.
“Wait, so what did you do to get those girls to hate you?”
“Got dared to homie hop.” He casually shrugs, taking a sip from the can. “Over the course of one weekend.”
“What is wrong with you?” you ask with the utmost disappointment.
He points to himself. “In my defense, I was 18.”
“I guess.” You stifle a laugh before feeding yourself another fork full of food. “I’m surprised they still hate you that much.”
“Yeah, I got dared to do it again last year,” he finally mentions, just as casual as the last time.
You pause for a moment as you try to think of an answer. You never do. “Yeah, I think I’d hate you, too.”
He delusionally brushes you off. “You would’ve loved me. I’m a great friend.”
There's a contemplative look on your face as you tilt your head, thinking of all he’s revealed to you about himself, which is probably just a 3rd of all he’s done. “I’m sure you are.”
“I am,” he scoffs.
“Yeah— that’s what I said.” You laugh, wiping the side of your mouth off with a napkin before throwing it on the empty plate, getting up to put it away.
You're in the kitchen when Satoru raises his voice to say something to you.
“I am your friend, right?” he asks.
You close the dishwasher and walk back out into the living room, there’s a slight pout on his face as he walks for an answer.
“Yeah,” you let out an amused sigh. “You’re my special friend.”
“Yeah?” He sinks further back into the sofa, looking more pleased. “Special enough to talk to outside of here?”
“Fuck no,” you say with zero hesitation, wiping the smile off his face again. “You wouldn’t be special anymore. Is that what you want? You wanna be an average normie?”
There are two things in this world that Satoru would never want to be— average and poor.
He crosses his arms and scoffs. “You really know how to turn a situation around on other people, don’t you? That’s pretty evil, y’know that?”
You feign innocence, looking at him all concerned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever,” he rises from his seat, accepting your evil nature and his role as your special little slut. “Can we shower together?”
You give a bored look, knowing he’s gonna try to get you to scrub his back. “Fine.”
. . .
Tonight’s just like every other Friday night. The bass of the music bouncing off the walls, loud conversations happening in every direction. Most people are having a good time, while some are crying their eyes out over something that’ll seem minuscule a couple years from now. The only thing that’s changed is Satoru hasn’t, and most likely won't, bring a girl up to his room tonight.
For once, all of his attention is on playing his fifth round of beer pong.
The guys will still give him shit for the sudden change, but it was never a bad thing, just odd. They’ve given up on theories as to why after realizing Satoru really wasn’t going to cave and tell them this time around. Not even Suguru. He doesn’t need to ask, though, he knows Satoru is fucking someone. With how secretive he’s been though, he’s most likely sneaking around with someone that’ll get him in trouble if word gets out. Like the wife of one of his father's very affluent and important friends, perhaps? It was on brand for him.
It wasn’t that serious. Suguru will find out, eventually. He just hopes it doesn’t end badly for his friend that’s brought enough scandals for his family, being the problem child he’s always been. Hell, he’s being problematic right now, pulling Suguru out of his thoughts as some poor girl tugs on Satoru’s shirt.
Suguru has no idea what she said to him, but he steps in a little closer, pretending to focus on the game as he listens to whatever his friend has to say. Satoru barely looks at her and responds, not only rudely, but with quite possibly the most ridiculous words Suguru has ever heard come out of his mouth.
“Sorry, sweetheart– I like my women a little more grown.”
Mind you, they were in the same year.
She laughs, there’s still stars in her eyes as she looks at him. “Wait, what?”
He shortens it. “M’not interested.”
“Why?” she asks, eyes growing dull.
And Satoru, having already lost his patience, takes a step back and looks at her from head to toe, looking for another reason. It’s quite embarrassing— standing there and waiting for someone to figure out what they don’t like about you.
“Yeaah, no.” He takes another look at her. “You just don’t do it for me— sorry.”
You’d think it’d be fine since he didn’t point out any of her features, but being told you ‘don’t do it’ for someone that you’ve already fucked doesn’t feel very good, nor does realizing that he completely forgot that they have, multiple times. He’s gotten drunk and fucked a lot of people. Keyword: Drunk. He doesn’t remember most of the time, hence his initial confusion when she threw a drink in his face.
Unfazed, he wipes the remnants of her drink off his face, throwing her off in the process as he treats it like it’s a common occurrence and that he’s used to it (he’s very used to it).
“You just proved my fuckin’ point,” Satoru says, still unimpressed as he takes his shirt off and continues to casually wipe himself off. “Grow up.”
The comment makes her realize he was being dead serious with his original reason for rejecting her, even though he had zero problem with fucking her at the beginning of the year. “Oh fuck you, Gojo,” she ends up cursing at him as she storms off, furious and embarrassed.
“Yeah– not happening!” he laughs and yells back loud enough for her to hear.
Suguru just laughs because fucking called it. He totally was seeing someone older, and Satoru's response gave it away. Suguru doesn’t mention it, though. “You coulda been a little nicer, y’know?”
“Whatever,” he waves him off, knowing he could’ve been ruder, but chose not to. “I’ll probably never see her again after graduation, anyway.”
Suguru shrugs. “You never know.”
Satoru ruffles his hair with the semi-damp t-shirt in his hand, wondering why his friend decided to embrace his inner Gandhi when he’s just as bad as him. Satoru literally watched him tell a girl to stop crying after he cut things off with her, then added salt to the wound by giving her some speech about how she wouldn’t run after a snake and explain how being bitten made her feel. Suguru wasn’t technically wrong, but he did not have to say all that. With that being said, he wasn’t in the mood to listen to Suguru lecture him any more though, and lets the comment go.
“I’m gonna go wash the rest of this shit off,” he says, referring to the sheer pink stain on his hair.
Suguru pats his back a couple of times as he continues to laugh. “Have fun with that. Try not to run into her or friends.”
Satoru hoped not, that mini-meltdown was enough for him. He wasn’t stumbling or anything, but having to walk through crowds to get to his room made him realize he was drunker than he realized, not that it made him feel any remorse for the words he said. They did not warrant getting a drink thrown in his face.
The first thing he does when he gets to his room is kick out a couple making out on his bed, throwing a couple of insults and threats their way as they scurry out of his room. Then he walks into his bathroom to wash his hair off in the sink, which leads to him completely stripping down in frustration and hopping in the shower, in hopes that it’d sober him up a bit.
It doesn’t— it just makes him want to call it a night.
He dries himself off and throws on a pair of boxers and sweats before sitting down on his bed with his phone in hand. His thumb hovers over the call button as he stares at your contact. The room continues to spin as he wonders if you were even awake. It was pushing midnight.
After spending way too much time wondering if you’d answer, his thumb hits the screen. The phone rings once. Twice. Then a third time.
“What do you think you’re doing calling me this late?” you immediately grill him, your smooth and unhurried tone making you sound more amused than anything.
He smiles as he stifles a laugh. “I can’t call you and say what’s up now?”
“People don’t usually call someone at midnight to say what's up.”
“M’not like other people,” he chuckles, though you know deep down inside, he wouldn’t dare put himself in the same category as a regular person. There isn’t one mirror he’s walked by and hasn’t looked at— the way Satoru looks at his own reflection could send anyone into a crisis, wondering if their spouses really did love them as much as they claimed.
“Yeah, you’re real different,” you respond blandly, coming off as trying to knock him down a peg, when really you’re just trying to move on. “Anyways, what do you want?”
“You should let me come over,” he doesn’t hesitate to say, slurring his words slightly.
“No.”
He pulls his phone away from his ear and looks at it with his brows pinched together, all hurt from how you didn’t even bother thinking about it before giving him an answer.
“Why not?” he grumbles, finding himself more offended than usual. “I miss you.”
He’s reminded that you don’t actually hate him when you begin to laugh at how endearing he can be, even when he’s just complaining. “I saw you two days ago.”
“What can I say, baby?” he murmurs, the stupid grin on his face widening when he hears you click your tongue. “You make it hard not to with that tight little p—”
Are you drunk right now?” You cut him off, wiping the smile right off that little pervert's face.
“Maybe.”
He hears you let out a disgusted scoff on the other side of the phone. “Ew, no. I don’t wanna fuck you when you’re all drunk and sloppy.”
At first, he lets out this noise that can only be described as what a pout would sound like if you could hear it. “First of all, I’m not sloppy. Second, I wasn’t asking to fuck, just let me spend the night. It’s loud here— buncha’ hooligans running around.”
“So you can fuck with my sleep?”
“Baby, I would never fuck with your beauty sleep,” he swears. “I’m a beast— not a fuckin’ monster.”
“You are such a fucking loser.” You pinch your nosebridge as you sigh and mutter under your breath. “You’ll be fine. Just take another shot and put some earplugs in.”
“I don’t have any!”
“Headphones then,” you curtly say. “Anyways, I’m going to bed now—”
“No, wait—”
“Good night~”
Click.
Satoru’s left staring at the wall in disbelief, jaw all the way to the floor. Surely you could’ve offered him a couch— but you didn’t bother, and the thought adds to the betrayal that’s already exacerbated from all the shots he’s taken earlier. It doesn’t go away, it just simmers once he’s processed the fact that you basically told him that he could suffer and fucking die, for all you cared, before hanging up.
The music’s so loud that the walls are fucking shaking, there’s no point in noise cancelling headphones when he can feelhow loud it is. His eyes dart between his phone, his dresser, and the door before finally getting up with an irritated sigh.
“Fuck this.”
. . .
Instead of sleeping, like you said you would when hanging up on Satoru, you continued to watch what you put on the tv prior to answering your phone. Though with how late it was, your eyes inevitably grew heavier with each blink, and you found yourself beginning to doze off.
Until a knock on the door and the muffled sound of your name being called snaps you right back to reality.
“I swear to god if that’s—” you begin murmuring to yourself as you walk up to the door, cutting yourself off because no shit it’s Satoru. You can’t think of anybody else who would still come over despite being told no.
You swing the door open, annoyed that it doesn’t swing outwards, it would’ve been nice to hit him with it. He’s leaning against the entryway to stop himself from swaying in place, as carefree as ever.
“What are you doing here?!”
Immediately, he begins to beg. “You have got to let me sleep here— some nasty couple fucked on my bed and there’s a group of psychos hunting me down with pitchforks.”
He was not going back there, and if a little truth-twisting is what it takes to get you to let him, then so be it.
Your face twists in annoyance. “Hunt you down for what?!”
“For turning one of them down.” He throws his arms out, pretending to be outraged. “Threw a drink in my face and everything just because I wouldn’t fuck her! And now my bed smells like rotten fish—”
“Just get inside,” you snap at him, feeling an incoming headache starting to form from his theatrics.
“Thank you.”
Despite showering and brushing his teeth, you can still smell some of the alcohol radiating off of him as he walks past you. Irritated, you shut the door a little too harshly, missing the way the man flinched as he stood there and waited for you. You completely ignore him, walking to the coffee table and picking up the remote to turn the T.V off. You walk off to your room after, with Satoru following right behind you like a lost puppy.
The decorative pillows get plucked off the bed one by one. The only reason why he doesn’t ask if you need help with anything is that he is a little too scared to ask. You pull the duvet back and whip your head around to look at him.
“Get in,” you order, and he quickly walks around to the other side, pulling his shirt over his head and leaving his sweats on. “And do not wake me up tonight.”
“Kay’,” he says quietly, slipping the covers.
You follow, after killing the lights, sighing as you lay your head back and close your eyes. He awkwardly lies there at first, arms pulling the blanket up to his chest, staring at the ceiling. It’s not how he sleeps, and frankly, he is really fucking uncomfortable. He’s also scared to move right now.
But Satoru is Satoru, and at the very last minute, turns and snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. He slides a leg in between yours, and you open your mouth to protest, only to get cut off by his slightly nervous voice.
“Good night.”
. . .
Satoru wakes up twice.
Once at 6:00 am to a pounding headache. He got up to look for an over the counter painkiller. Luckily, he found some in the first cabinet he opened in your kitchen and downed more than he should’ve before getting back in bed, throwing an arm and a leg over you, and falling back asleep.
Then again, at 11:00 am, when he hears some shuffling around the room and realizes you are no longer next to him.
He opens one eye and mumbles, “Where are you going?”
You’re in a hurry as you put a pair of socks on. “To a pilates class.”
“Can I come?” he pops his head up and asks, struggling to open both eyes.
There’s an incredulous look on your face when you pause and look at him. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one, you look like a fucking mess right now.” He didn’t really need to hear that, he already figured it out since he feels like one right now. “Two, I don’t need you sitting alone in the corner, watching me for an hour straight.”
“That’s mean as fuck.”
“Not one lie was told,” you argue back, getting the last sock on and rising to your feet. “I’m not kicking you out just yet, so you can stay if you want.”
“Oh, I fuckin’ will.” It comes out as if kicking him out was never an option to begin with, earning himself a little side eye that he was too busy stretching his arms out to notice. You quickly let it go, figuring the hangover was doing a number on him. “Do you have food?”
“Yeah, just look around in the fridge.” You look at your watch, then throw your bag over your shoulder after realizing you’re just barely running on time. “I’ll be back in like an hour.”
“Kay’,” he yawns, lying back against the pillow and closing his eyes once you're out of view.
As much as his head hurts, he’s glad he’s suffering here and not at the house. It’s quiet, your bed’s comfy, time actually feels like it’s running slow for once. There are another 15 minutes of peace before it is ruined by the ring of his phone.
Before he reaches for it on the nightstand, he takes a few seconds to shove his face into the pillow and let out a slew of curses. He picks up the phone and answers, as if his head wasn’t pounding more than ever.
It’s Suguru, who’s not as concerned as he is confused. “Hey, so— you’re not home.”
“M’not,” Satoru mumbles.
Suguru gives him room to explain, but speaks again when he realizes Satoru’s not going to take any of it. “Where are you then?” Again, not concerned, just confused.
“At a friend’s,” Satoru vaguely says. Even in his current fucked up state, he still remembers that you don’t want him talking about you at all.
“...and this is the friend that you’re not fucking and avoiding everyone for, right?”
He lets out a laugh. “Exactly.”
At least Suguru’s smart and is able to read between the lines, meaning that was enough information for him. “Alright.” He laughs with him. “I’ll let you go then. Have fun with your friend.”
“I will.”
Right after he hangs up, he hears another notification go off that’s not from his phone. He hears the ping a couple more times and quickly realizes it’s your phone hiding under the sheets. You were in too much of a rush to realize you forgot to bring it with you.
Satoru’s not one to look through someone else’s phone. He never has, never cared to, never felt the need to. So fighting the urge not to was not only something new, but incredibly fucking difficult. It’s literally right in his hand. He even knows your passcode from the one time he watched you unlock it because his memory’s perfect.
One minute. He’ll just give himself one minute to take a peek.
. . .
It’s been several.
Putting it down, while he’s in the middle of scrolling through a particular conversation, feels impossible. Even when he knows he’s just ruining his own morning by looking at it, he continues to read and make mental notes.
His names Shiu. 37 years old. Moderately successful.
Boring as fuck.
He can tell when someone’s forcing themselves to keep a conversation alive, and can’t wrap his head around why you’d even bother when it’s over shit you have zero interest in. Shiu hasn’t even complimented you once. Nothing about you physically, not even the bare minimum of making a comment about how he enjoys talking to you, since it’s you carrying all of these dry, meaningless conversations.
It's like he just expects you to talk to him.
He continues to scroll, getting closer to the more recent messages, and Satoru finally sees something interesting. Not for you or Shiu, but for him. Reservations for your date next weekend. The first date.
And also your last.
. . .
Before you met him, Shiu wasn’t someone you’d ever imagined yourself being with. He’s calm, quiet, and more of a listener than he was a talker. Not much of a joker or a gossiper.
He was just stable. Rooted. Shiu is a man who couldn’t be moved.
He was a safe choice. A smart one. A mellow man with a successful career. Given your track record of failed relationships with men that you chose based on how exciting you found them, maybe it was time to be smarter.
Some may say it was settling, but you say it’s being practical and choosing what’s best for you.
After a few weeks of casual texting, you were finally having dinner with him tonight. You weren’t exactly excited, but you weren’t nervous either— maybe this is him rubbing off of you.
You’re not sure, honestly.
It feels like there’s something missing, and in its place is the weight of something that refuses to show itself to you, as if its sole purpose was to burden you with confusion.
You take one last look at yourself before you leave, smoothing your hand over the long, tight black dress you chose to wear. Flattering, not too revealing. The same for your shoes, just simple black kitten heels.
At the last minute, Satoru manages to squeeze his way into your mind as you randomly recall the last time you saw him, which was exactly a week ago. The only thing that was off was his supernatural ability to bounce back from a hangover in under an hour. He was fine by the time you got home— at least fine enough to follow you into the bathroom for some shower sex.
You haven’t heard from him since he went home that day. You should be relieved, you wanted him to get bored with you and pull away, yet here you are, wondering why you haven’t heard from him.
. . .
Shiu wasn’t a man who couldn’t be moved— that would require being passionate about something, and so far, he’s about as dry as a matchstick.
And maybe there is something that he’s passionate about, but you doubt it. It’s not necessarily a complaint, just a change in the way you saw him. Shame on you for building up a false idea of him in your head.
At least he’s still calm and quiet— you’re just hoping that all there is to him.
As for now, Shiu was like a constant stream of water that never changed in temperature. He was a place on earth where the weather never changed. A solid 70 degrees, every single day. Acceptable. Easy to digest. Nothing out of the ordinary is ever likely to happen with him.
He’s still a safe choice.
You’re not exactly sure how it’d be what’s best for you, though. You liked surprises— they turned an ordinary day into a day worth remembering— a life without them was just a forgotten past and pointless future.
You could be acting a little dramatic over it right now, but you are honestly sick and fucking tired of getting absolutely nowhere with all the guys you’ve dated and spoken to.
Which is why you push yourself to consider that Shiu could just be a little shy, it's only 15 minutes into your date after all. You remind yourself that opening up takes time, for reasons that make only you feel better.
You haven’t had a quarter life crisis yet, but learning that you’ve spent all this time swinging sledge hammers and wrecking balls at a safe that’s been empty from the start might finally take you there.
You take a sip of your wine and set it back down. “Do you know what you’re gonna order?”
He slowly shakes his head, humming indecisively. “Not yet.”
You wait for him to say something else, but to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t. “You mentioned it’s your 9th time coming here. Do you have any favorites that you reorder?”
He hums again. “Nah. The food here’s decent, but I haven’t had anything that’s stood out to me just yet.”
It’s not often people leave you speechless, especially on first dates, but here you are. Tight lipped, eye threatening to twitch.
“Wow— you’re 9th time here, and you still haven’t found a dish that left you satisfied at the end of the meal?”
You’re really hoping he backtracks and corrects you. Coming to a restaurant you don’t like that many times was one of the most ridiculous things you’ve ever heard.
“Not yet,” he smiles and shakes his head, as if wasting his time and money on a restaurant he didn’t like was just a silly little quirk of his. “Maybe today will be the day.”
Why the fuck would he take you here?
“Fingers crossed,” you force out a light laugh, feeling your patience start to fade. “So you’re just gonna keep coming here until you’ve gone through the entire menu?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he chuckles, not catching the slight irritation in your tone. “What can you do, you know?”
“I mean… you can always try new restaurants,” you suggest.
“Nah.” He waves a hand as if that's doing too much. “Easy to stay here. I already know what to expect.”
It took the amount of discipline a sergeant had to hold back on saying that this wasn’t the doctor's office or the fucking barber shop.
You can absolutely check other places out.
Does this guy not understand free will exists?
“Makes sense,” you lie, pushing out all the enthusiasm you’re able to put forward. “No point in fixing something if it’s not broken, you know?”
“Exactly,” he proudly nods.
“There you two are!”
…You were going to kill yourself if it’s who you think it is.
At first, you ignored the familiar voice and instead took an extra big sip of wine.
He hates being ignored though, so instead of pulling up a seat between you and your date as he had originally planned, he sits right next to Shiu and smiles at the way you instantly freeze.
You hate to admit how good he looked tonight. His hair’s styled for once, loosely brushed back with some expensive styling cream. You can’t help but notice how much sharper his eyes look with his hair out of his face. More rough and intimidating. He was in a white button up, tailored to perfection, rolled up at his elbows, leaving the top buttons of the shirt unbuttoned to show off the chain he always wore. Grey tweed trousers, also tailored to perfection.
“My bad— ran into some traffic on the way here.”
Satoru turns to Shiu, who’s even more confused than you, and holds his hand out for a handshake, giving him a veryformal introduction.
Afterwards, Satoru proceeds to pluck the menu out of your date's hand.
“Alright, Shiu, what are we getting tonight?”
Shiu is visibly appalled when he looks at you, but doesn’t say anything because he’s never had a stranger do that before. Especially when the stranger’s as eccentric as Satoru.
“I— I don’t know.” Your date stumbles on his words at first from the surprise of Satoru’s sudden appearance. “I didn’t get to finish looking through the menu.”
“Wait— really?”
Satoru looks at his watch and sees how you two have been here for nearly 20 minutes, and he still hasn’t picked something. He doesn’t wait for a response and hands the menu back since he already found what he liked, which sucks for you because now he can direct his attention elsewhere.
He leans back and nods at you, because you haven’t spoken at all yet.
“What’re you getting?” You catch the split second his entire expression darkens. He is fucking pissed.
“The cod and asparagus,” you murmur.
“That’s fucking disgusting,” he says through a smile, playing it off as a joke even though you both know it’s not. “Your palate sucks though, so I’m not surprised.”
“Yeah, no— it’s fucking awful,” you let out a laugh. “I need to start eating better— feels like I’ve been eating nothing but junk the past few months.”
His face drops, and just before he’s about to say something 10x ruder, Shiu cuts in.
“I’m sorry, I’m still confused,” he takes several steps back to about 5 minutes ago, “was there some sort of mix up here? I thought this was a date-date, not a dinner with… friends.” Shiu looks back at you, and you’re no help, you’re just glaring.
“A date?” Satoru huffs out a laugh, making the man look like an idiot for even thinking this was a date. “It’s been dinner this whole time. You’re the one who booked a reservation for four, our other friend couldn’t make it.”
Shiu's face twists in confusion. “What? No, no, no— I booked the reservation under two.”
“No, you didn’t. It was booked under four,” he sadly breaks it to him. “You can go ask the receptionist if you want, but I swear it’s four.”
Shiu gets up from his seat to go talk to the receptionist, because he knows he booked it for two— he’s not fucking crazy.
And it’s true, he’s not. Satoru’s the crazy one here.
He’s still gonna go home believing he is though, since the receptionist got paid to change the booking information and lie to him.
Satoru laughs just thinking about it, then downs the rest of Shiu’s wine, ready to gaslight him over that, too.
Finally, he looks back at you and feels a sick sense of satisfaction. You’re angry… baffled, in complete and utter disbelief— you’re looking at him like you’re two seconds away from jumping over the table and strangling him.
Though in the end, you gather yourself together as you finally ask: “What are you doing here, Satoru?”
“Why the fuck are you on a date with someone right now?” His tone clipped, it sounds like he’s about to throw a fit.
“I—“ you stop for a moment, reminding yourself not to yell. “Satoru, we’re not in a relationship.”
“Fine, then,” he decides to rephrase it, “why are you trying to replace me? And with him? Seriously?!”
“What’s wrong with him?!”
“He looks like a sleazy pornstar from the 80s!”
“Not everything is about looks—“
He laughs and cocks his head to the side. “Ok, what is it then? Is his dick bigger than mine?”
Your brows pinch together. Of course, he’s worried about that. “No— I haven’t even seen it yet.”
“Yet?!” his voice broke.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
You try to use a more stern tone to get him to relax, but you don’t think it’ll work. Satoru looks fucking devastated.
“What’s next, you're gonna have babies with him?”
Your jaw drops at his conclusion. “What? No! Do you not realize how dramatic you sound right now?”
“I’m being replaced by a man with fucking pornstache!” he points to himself and says.
“Excuse me?” You’re both interrupted by a timid waitress. “Um– the man that was here earlier just left.”
“I’m not surprised,” you mutter until your breath.
“Yeah…” she sighs, almost apologizing for it. “Were you guys ready to order?”
You glance back at Satoru, and he’s looking away with his arms crossed. “Could I just get the bill for the drinks?”
“Oh, no worries about that! It’s all been covered already by Mr. Gojo. You can just head out when you’re ready.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Of course! Have a good n–” she cuts herself off, knowing damn well you weren’t. “Take care.”
You would’ve laughed at how timid she was if you weren’t so irritated, and instead just nod and smile. You look back at the date crasher, contemplating whether you should thank him or not for trying to cover the bill, but hold off, knowing he probably only did it to assert even more dominance over your date than he already has.
“We’re leaving.” You rise up and grab your purse. Satoru doesn't even look at you, let alone move an inch, because he’s throwing a fucking tantrum, so you slam your hand on the table. “Get up.”
He gets up.
There’s a slight pout on Satoru’s face as he follows you out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. His hands are shoved in his pockets, dragging his feet.
“Where’s your car?” you ask.
“There,” he mumbled and nodded in its direction, then suddenly, you’re pinching his ear and yanking on it.
“Ow—”
“Walk,” you say through gritted teeth, pinching harder.
“Ow– fuck– I am,” he chokes out. “Ow, ow, ow.”
You continued to drag him through the parking lot, ignoring his pleas for you to let go.
“Suck it up,” you coldly respond. “You were asking for it when you crashed my date.”
“I’m sorry, I… ugh— I’m really not, he was lame as fuck, but still— your nails, ow.”
“Exactly, so get over it,” you continue to scold him. “Can’t believe you fucking did that.”
“Because you—”
“I don’t wanna hear it,” you cut him off, giving his ear one last tug, leaving him next to the driver's side door of his car. “Take me home. Now.”
the j in jujutsu corp stands for jeez why are we still working here...
【 A FIVE PART SERIES 】 . . . the hectic life of sleep-deprived employees, their shithole of a company, and you, the friendly new intern who wears the chanel spring 2026 two-piece to work. welcome to jujutsu corp, where your arrival finally brings color (and much needed gossip) to the office.
content: language, crude humor, crack fic, modern au, office au, female reader, intern!reader, reader is a nepo baby but everyone loves her bc she’s cool, reverse harem, everyone is an adult, the company stuff in this fic is not peer-reviewed
✶ MASTERLIST UNDER THE CUT !!
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✶ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 (can be read in any order)
( the ones marked with ✶ are written parts )
┊ our new intern wears chanel to work
┊ boss if you make her cry one more time our stock plummets ✶
┊ team building is why our company’s in shambles
┊ do ghosts work overtime?
┊ the security files (they almost got fired)
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✶ ݁ TAGLIST
the ones that filled up this form will automatically be tagged! you can also comment or send me an ask :)
series synopsis - in a world where soulmates were real, fate ties you to ryomen sukuna like some cruel and twisted joke. where people felt their soulmates in soft touches and quiet comfort, all you’ve ever known was phantom pain, sleepless nights, and a violent rage that didn’t belong to you. by the time you finally meet the man ruining your nervous system, the city already knew him as its most feared underground boxer. how would you survive? [mdni 18+]
chapters
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ prologue
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ one - coming soon
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ two - tbd
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ three - tbd
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ four - tbd
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ five - tbd
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ six - tbd
i haven’t decided if there’s going to be a taglist, i’ll let you know if there is one!
pick your player ft. chronically online loser!Gojo x nerdy!Reader
chronically online loser!Gojo who throws huge parties just to have a captive audience to discuss whatever latest interest he'd been obsessing over, although most girls only offered vague 'oh's and 'uh-huh's, eyes glazed over while they scanned their surroundings for someone who probably didn't still play digimon in their twenties
chronically online loser!Gojo who still ends up yapping about some tiktok he saw a couple hours ago when he does manage to get a girl back to his bed, some pretty model he'd been flirting with online for months, but he doubts she'll be back for more considering the way her mouth twitched down to a frown mid-thrust, pausing her rough bouncing on his cock to ask him to please be quiet for five seconds
chronically online loser!Gojo who refuses to listen to his best friend's advice, or well, anyone's advice to learn when to shut up, because why should he have to change for someone who should like him as is?
chronically online loser!Gojo who never believed in love at first sight until he sees you, knees folded to your chest in the corner of the couch at another party, playing some game on your phone like you were in your own home instead of his, probably dragged here by some friend who wanted you to get out more often
chronically online loser!Gojo who slinks over, kicking the guy out of the spot next to (an oblivious) you, your head not even turning to spare so much as a glance at him when he offers you a drink
chronically online loser!Gojo who only captures your attention when he asks what you're playing, watching a cute smile curl up on your face as you lean into him, a warm arm pressed against his own as you start to explain the lore behind your game, only stopping when someone came up to say hi to him as tonight's host
chronically online loser!Gojo who's so wrapped up in your words, he unknowingly sets a new record for the longest he's ever gone without speaking in a conversation before he shoos the interruption away, his attention superglued to the soft lines of your face and the nervous bite of your lip before asking you to keep going
chronically online loser!Gojo who brings you up to his bedroom just to pull out his card collection he kept in the bottom drawer of his dresser, fuzzy feelings stirring in his chest seeing you sprawled out in his sheets fully-dressed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you carefully flip through the pages
chronically online loser!Gojo who forgets about the party downstairs and spends half the night talking your ear off, stuck on the soft glimmer in your eyes when you actually listen to him
chronically online loser!Gojo who hangs onto every word you say, hoping to hear a yes next when he finally works up the courage to ask you on a date
one two three four five six | divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more !!
Crazy gf!reader changing bio to ‘single’ after Boyfriend!Sukuna doesn’t reply to a text immediately
The door slams open.
“What the fuck is your problem? I didn’t respond for one fucking hour, and suddenly we’re done?” he asks, irritated beyond hell. He drops his heavy duffel bag on the floor and comes to sit behind you on the sofa. You’re lying on your stomach on the carpet, painting your nails. You don’t reply. He rolls his eyes and nudges your thigh with his foot. “Don’t ignore me, you stupid, pain in my ass. Put ‘Sukuna’s girl’ back in your bio. Now.”
Innocently, you turn to look at him. A challenging brow is cocked up. “Or what?”
Sukuna’s eye twitches.
“Look, idiot, I would have texted back if I had my phone on me. You know I didn’t. I’ve got nothing to apologise for, so if that’s what you’re waiting for, you’ve got another thing coming. Now delete it, or I might start thinking we really are broken up, in which case I won’t be held accountable for the things I do.”
An eerie silence takes over. You put the nail polish down and sit up. Quietly, you mumble, “...so you hate me.”
With a blank stare, he watches you wrap your hands around your neck and squeeze hard. Gurgling sounds escape into the air as you writhe on the floor, moving like a drying-out fish. Sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose. “Quit it. I’m serious. You look constipated.”
“Shut…up,” you wheeze out. “I’m -hah- dy…ing.”
Impatiently, he pulls your hands away by the wrists, like you’re a misbehaving toddler who’s just picked up dog shit. “Enough.”
Realising the act isn’t working, you pause for a second, and he knows from that look in your eyes that you’re calculating your next step. Maybe you’ll try to make a run for the window again, or you’ll tackle him with your claws out, or maybe you’ll smash the TV up and pin it on him. It’s impossible to predict your next moves, even after how many years he’s been with you.
Naturally, you do none of the things he anticipated, and you simply resume strangling yourself.
Sukuna groans. “Fuck my fucking life. Was I a dictator in my past life or something? Christ.” Whilst you shamelessly discard any dignity you have, Sukuna picks up your phone and gets into your socials with ease. He changes your bio back, and replies with his own dick pics to the assholes who sent their micros, and calls it a day. “I’m hungry,” he suddenly says. “Wanna go to a drive-thru?”
As though nothing happened at all, you stop choking yourself out and shrug. “Yeah, actually. ‘was waiting for you to suggest it so I don’t look like a big back.”
A corner of his lips curve up. “I think that moment’s passed, sweetheart.”
“Ugh, I’d rather you call me a whore,” you reply, nose scrunched up.
Sukuna snorts. “Yeah, bet you do.”
is this even coherent? I think I'm out of practice
synopsis: the thing is, gojo satoru has no intention of marrying someone his clan elders pick for him. there’s a simple solution, of course! why get married to a stranger when you can whisk your best friend away to las vegas for a weekend and elope?
tags: fluff, smut (oral sex, fingering, riding, unprotected sex, one orgasm denial), mild angst, best friends to lovers, vegas wedding!au. idiots to idiots in love, profanity, alcohol consumption, discussions of arranged marriage, attempts at humour, crack taken seriously, mutual pining.
word count: 7.1k
a/n: the art in the header is by m00__ry on instagram & the fic title is from the 2008 movie of the same name. thank you to @saezzi for beta reading!
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS, ITEM #1 – ARSON.
For the record, none of this is your fault.
It’s all Satoru’s fault, and you’re pinning all of this solely on him because he gets on your nerves and he’s also a liar. A compulsive liar with no concept of shame or mortification or guilt, because the whole world revolves around his thick head and you, unfortunately, are no exception to this rule. It was a nasty trick, really, coercing you into going on vacation with him.
You should’ve known something was up when he specifically bought only two first-class tickets to Las Vegas and your flight was at midnight. He’d insisted the two of you sneak out of the Kyoto Jujutsu Tech compound where you’d stayed for the duration of his visit to the Gojo clan, and hadn’t bothered to inform Shoko or Utahime or Yaga.
And so, again, you reiterate firmly and resolutely: none of this is your fault.
Your predicament—standing in a parking lot behind a Denny’s at nine in the night with a small fire going in a trash can nearby—is entirely, absolutely, positively Gojo Satoru’s fault.
“I want a divorce,” you tell him.
“We’ve been married for forty-seven minutes.”
“Forty-seven minutes too long.”
“You’re burning our wedding certificate!” Satoru says. “How are we supposed to file for divorce if there’s no proof we even got married?”
“I’ll figure it out,” you say, poking at the certificate with a stick you found on the ground. The corner of it curls and blackens satisfyingly. “I’m very resourceful.”
“You’re committing a crime is what you’re doing,” he says.
“You committed a crime first.”
“Getting married isn’t a crime—”
“Fraud is.”
Satoru opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, at a loss for words. This is a rare and precious occurrence—Gojo Satoru, speechless! You would be savouring it more if you weren’t currently a married woman in a Denny’s parking lot in Las Vegas at eleven o’clock in the night.
Satoru had told you it was a vacation. He’d shown up at your room in the Kyoto compound at half-past ten with a bag tucked under his arm and said, simply, “Come on. We’re leaving.”
“Leaving where?” you’d asked.
“Somewhere that isn’t here,” was his cryptic reply.
You’d been in Kyoto for six days. Six days of watching Satoru navigate the Gojo clan and their elders with their careful smiles and careful words. Nearly a week of watching something tight and unhappy lodge itself behind Satoru’s eyes while he pretended, convincingly, that everything was fine. You knew he wasn’t; you’d watched him perfect his act for years, after all.
So, you went. You told yourself it was because you’d never been to Las Vegas. This, at least, is true.
You’d grabbed your bag and followed him out through a side entrance of the compound at nine forty-five, and you didn’t inform any of your friends or superiors. Because of this, your phone has been periodically buzzing in your pocket for the last several hours and you’ve been ignoring it, which is a problem that is also, for the record, Satoru’s fault.
The flight was actually wonderful. First-class seats entailed warm socks and warm food and a window seat, because Satoru had graciously sat by the aisle. When you were flying over the Pacific, he’d fallen asleep with his head tipped back and his sunglasses still on. He looked younger when he was sleeping, you’d thought. More like the version of him you’d met when you were both too young and foolish to understand what being a sorcerer actually meant.
After you landed, Satoru took you to a casino and then to a fancy place for lunch, and then to another two casinos—if he wasn’t careful, he’d turn into a gambling addict soon—and then he took you to a chapel on the Strip with fake flowers zip-tied to the pews and an officiant named Francis who had red hair and smelled like cigarettes and convenience store chewing gum.
Francis had cried a little during the vows, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. Satoru had found this enormously gratifying. You, however, had been in something of a dissociative state.
“It’s not fraud,” Satoru says now, in the parking lot, watching you cremate your marriage certificate. “We did actually get married. Francis witnessed it. There are photos.”
“There are photos?”
“Francis had a camera.”
“What?”
“I think it’s just something he keeps on him professionally.”
You stare at him. He has the grace to look slightly sheepish. His sunglasses are still on. His suit jacket is open, and his tie, which had been done up neatly for the ceremony (clearly he’d planned far enough ahead to wear a nice tie) is now loosened and slightly crooked. The cheap gold ring on his finger—wrong hand; he’d fumbled it in the moment and jammed it on before either of you could correct it—catches the light from the parking lot fluorescents.
“That’s it!” you say, snapping your fingers at him. “That’s our proof to file for divorce! Take me back to the wedding chapel, Satoru.”
“No way,” he says. “I’m taking you to dinner first. We need to commemorate our first night of being married.”
“We’re behind a Denny’s,” you point out.
“I know,” Satoru says. “Denny’s is a perfectly acceptable dining establishment, but I meant somewhere nice. There’s a steakhouse on the Strip that has a three-month waitlist.”
“Then we can’t go there.”
“I called ahead.”
You gape at him. “Three months ago?”
“No,” he says. “I called ahead on the plane. You were asleep.”
“I wasn’t asleep for that long—”
“Yeah, you were asleep for, like, four hours. You even snored a little.”
“I did not—that’s not the point! The point is, you planned this. You planned all of it, the chapel, the restaurant, the—” You gesture at the ring on his finger, the ring on yours, the dying fire in the trash can—“everything.”
“Not everything. I didn’t plan for you to burn our wedding certificate in a fit of rage.”
“That’s your fault by proximity.”
“That’s not a legal standard.”
“I’m making it one.”
Satoru smiles, quick and bright. You have a long and storied history of making Gojo Satoru laugh when he isn’t expecting to, and it used to feel like winning something. It still does, if you’re being honest.
“Come on,” Satoru says, nodding towards the street. “Dinner first, Francis later. We can get the photos after and then you can file for divorce. I won’t stop you.”
“You’d better not,” you say.
“I said I won’t.” He holds his hands up, the picture of innocence. “I’m a man of my word.”
“You’re really not.”
“I’m a man of some of my word,” he amends.
The steakhouse is situated on the upper floor of one of the larger casinos on the Strip, lined with dark wood and low, hushed lighting. You are seated by a window. The Strip sprawls below you in every direction, extravagant and relentless, all that light going nowhere at tremendous speed.
“Were you really that confident I’d say yes?” you ask once the menus have been set in front of you.
“I was… hopeful,” Satoru says. It’s not a word you can recall him ever applying to himself before, in all the years you’ve known him; it sounds odd. You pick up your own menu and look at it without reading it.
What you’ve learnt about Satoru and what most people tend to miss is that underneath all the grinning and grandstanding and carelessness, there is someone who wants things very badly and has learned not to show it. You’ve known this for years. You’ve watched him want things, and watched him bury it under layers of grandiosity until it’s almost invisible. Almost.
“The elders have been at it for two years,” he says finally, without looking up from the menu. “The meetings, the candidates. They’re all very suitable women from very respectable families. Good for the clan’s interests.”
“You never told me it’d been going on for that long.”
“Didn’t want to make it a thing.”
“Satoru—”
“It’s fine. It’s just—” He sets the menu down and looks out at the Strip, all that light below. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life performing for someone who sees me as a resource. I do enough of that already. I knew it was going to happen eventually and that they were going to stop asking and start insisting. So. Vegas.”
“Vegas,” you echo.
“You were the obvious answer,” he says matter-of-factly. “You already know what you’re getting into with me. You don’t have any illusions. You—you’re my best friend. There isn’t anyone I’d rather be stuck with.”
“Stuck with,” you repeat. “Incredibly romantic.”
“I said what I said.”
The waiter arrives and Satoru orders for the two of you. You look down at the ring on your finger and think about how it came from the little rotating display by the chapel door, five dollars American. It fits almost perfectly except for being on the wrong hand.
“Er. You fumbled the ring,” you say.
“I was nervous,” he says.
Gojo Satoru, nervous. Gojo Satoru, who treats most of human experience as something happening at a slight remove, who has never, to your knowledge, shown up to anything in his life uncertain of the outcome—nervous!
“Were you,” you say.
“Briefly,” Satoru says, with great dignity. “It passed.”
“Of course.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“Of course.”
The fountains in front of the Bellagio are in the middle of their routine, water arcing up in great pale columns against the dark. The light from them moves across the window in slow, repeating patterns. Satoru’s eyes catch the shifting light. You swallow hard.
“We’re not arguing about the divorce, by the way,” you tell him.
“We’ll see.”
“Satoru.”
“We’ll see,” he says again pleasantly. You’re going to say something else, something firm and unambiguous, but he’s already put his cutlery down and is walking out, and you’re already following.
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS, ITEM #2 – BREAKING AND ENTERING.
The supposed 24/7 active wedding chapel has a sign tacked onto the front door when you arrive later, which reads, Under maintenance. We apologise for the inconvenience!
“Fuck,” you groan.
“Language,” Satoru says. “Maintenance at midnight. Huh. That’s strange.”
“That’s what I’m focusing on right now, yes, thank you.”
You press your face briefly against the chapel door’s small window. The lights inside are off. Through the glass you can just make out the shape of the pews, the flowers zip-tied to their ends, and the little altar at the front where Francis had stood several hours ago and wept openly into his handkerchief. How are you supposed to get the photographs of your husband—you are using that word provisionally under extreme protest—looking at you like you’re the only fixed point in the room?
“He might live here,” Satoru says.
“Francis?”
“Some of these places have a back apartment for the officiant. We could knock.”
“We’re not knocking on a man’s door at midnight,” you say.
“It’s nearly one.”
“That makes it worse!” You step back from the door and look at the sign again. There’s a narrow alley running along the left side of the chapel, squeezed between the chapel building and the 24-hour tattoo parlour next door. You only notice it because Satoru’s already walking towards it. “What are you doing?”
“Recon,” Satoru says. “Just looking.”
He disappears around the corner. You stand on the pavement with your hands on your hips before deciding to follow him. The alley is cramped and smells stale. There’s a dumpster and a stack of plastic chairs leaning against the chapel wall. Satoru stands with his hands in his pockets, looking upward with his head tilted back.
“No,” you say.
“There’s a window.”
“I see that.”
“It’s open!”
It appears to be a casement window on the chapel’s ground floor, propped out at an angle, about eight feet off the ground and just wide enough for a person to fit through.
“That could be a bathroom window,” you say. “We’d be breaking and entering.”
“The window’s already open,” Satoru says. “Technically we’d just be entering. The photos Francis took are currently somewhere in that chapel developing in a back room, unattended.”
“If we get arrested,” you say, “I’m blaming you entirely.”
“Obviously.”
“I will give a statement to the police and it will contain your full name and a detailed account of everything that’s happened tonight, starting with the chapel and working backwards to Kyoto.”
“Sure. Boost or be boosted?” Satoru asks, turning to the chairs. “I’d say I’ll boost you, but I want it to be on record that I think you’d make a better lookout.”
“I’m not being a lookout.”
“You just said—”
“I’m coming with you.”
He pauses, glancing at you, his expression softening just a little bit. Warm and amused—gone before you can fix it in place.
“Obviously,” he says, smiling, and starts stacking chairs.
The window is, in fact, not a bathroom window. It opens into a small storage room at the back of the chapel, with folding tables against one wall, boxes of artificial flowers stacked against the other, and a mop in a bucket in the corner. Through a door on the far side, you can see the chapel proper. The dripping you can hear means the maintenance situation is a ceiling problem, probably towards the front.
“There’s a whole back operation,” Satoru says, impressed.
“We need to find the darkroom,” you whisper.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Because we’re trespassing.”
“Right, yes,” he says, lowering his voice. “The darkroom will need ventilation, so it’s probably towards the back.”
“How do you know anything about darkrooms?” you ask.
“I went through a photography phase in my second year of middle school. It was a whole thing.” He opens the storage room door and peers through into the chapel. “All clear.”
You follow him through. The chapel at night, empty and dim, is a different place entirely from what it was several hours ago. Smaller, somehow. Without Francis and the lights, it’s just a room with cheap flowers and worn carpet.
“Back room’s through here,” Satoru says softly; he’s already at the door behind the altar. You cross the chapel quickly, not looking at the pews or the aisle, not doing anything so foolish as standing in the dark and sentimentalising about a five-dollar ring and a laminated vow card.
The back room is small and smells sharply of chemicals—developer and fixer, mostly. There’s a red safelight along the wall that Francis has left running, bathing everything in a dim glow. A long workbench runs along one wall, and on it, clipped to a line strung above the bench, are your photographs.
Four of them, hanging in a row, damp and gleaming slightly under the monochromatic light. Even from across the room, you can make out the chapel and the altar. Neither of you says anything for a moment, until Satoru walks to the bench and stands in front of the photographs. You make your way and stand beside him.
The first one is mid-ceremony. You’re both facing Francis, and you can see Satoru in profile—head tilted, shoulders set. The second one is the ring exchange; you can see immediately why it’s blurry. You’d both been laughing, actually, you remember that now, because Satoru had fumbled the ring and said something under his breath, and you’d bitten down on a laugh and not entirely succeeded. Francis had captured exactly that, the two of you with your heads slightly bent towards each other.
In the third one, Francis had asked you to face each other for a photo, and while you’re looking at the camera, Satoru’s looking at you. You look—Francis had said surprised, and yes, there is that, but there’s also something else, something you would rather not name.
Satoru is looking at you the way he was looking at you in the chapel, the way he’s been looking at you in these odd unguarded moments all evening.
“We look like idiots,” Satoru says.
“Francis was right,” you say. “We both look surprised.”
“Were you?” he asks.
“Yes. Were you?”
“No,” he says, then adds quietly, “Maybe. About—about other things.”
In the fourth photograph, you are outside the chapel, looking at the ring on your hand, and Satoru is looking at you looking at the ring. Francis had captured the angle so cleanly that you can see Satoru’s full expression, soft in a way his face almost never is in front of other people, private. You realise you’re holding your breath.
“We should take them,” Satoru says.
“We can’t just take them,” you say. “They’re developing.”
“They look pretty developed to me.”
“Satoru, they’re damp—”
“They’ll dry.” He’s already carefully unclipping the first photograph from the line. “Francis has the negatives. He can print more.”
“You don’t know that Francis has the negatives, and besides, we’re stealing from him.”
“We’re borrowing from Francis.” Satoru holds the first photograph carefully by its edge and looks at it in the red light before setting it down on the workbench. “Hand me something to put these in. There should be a folder or an envelope on the bench somewhere.”
There’s a paper envelope at the end of the bench, brown and flat. You pick it up and hold it open. Satoru slides the photographs in one by one.
“We need to leave Francis a note,” you say, “and money. For the printing. For—everything.”
“How much do you think midnight darkroom theft runs these days?”
“What?”
“I’m asking genuinely.”
“A lot,” you say. “Leave a lot.”
You find a notepad on the workbench next to a jar of pens. Francis, you write. We’re sorry for the unauthorised visit. We needed the photos tonight, so please print yourself copies. Enclosed is payment for the developing, the breaking-in, the trouble, and your time. Thank you for everything. It was a beautiful ceremony.
You fold the note and put it on the workbench. Satoru takes his wallet out, removes a quantity of cash that makes your eyebrows go up, and weighs it down with the jar of pens.
You go back through the chapel and through the storage room and back out the window into the alley. Satoru drops down behind you and lands easily on the ground. The night air is warm, and the Strip is still brightly lit not thirty feet away. You hold the envelope against your chest. The photographs inside are still slightly damp.
“For the record,” you say, “this is also your fault.”
“The chapel was closed,” Satoru says reasonably. “I didn’t plan that part. Plus, we have the photos, so. Seems like it worked out.”
You look at him with his loosened tie and ruffled hair and think, He’s going to be completely insufferable about this for years. You are going to have to hear about the Vegas chapel break-in for the rest of your natural life and possibly longer.
“Come on,” you say. “You said the hotel’s three blocks away.”
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS, ITEM #3 – VANDALISM.
There is only one bed. It’s not, on its own, an unusual situation. You’ve shared sleeping arrangements with Satoru before—field missions and overnight calls that left two sorcerers and one room. You’d use a pillow wall, most of the time.
The difference is that you are currently married to him.
“You booked a room with one bed?” you ask.
“They may have assumed, given that I made the reservation under a recently married couple’s names, that we would want,” Satoru says, gesturing at the bed, “the one bed.”
The bed in question is enormous, dressed in white linen and piled with decorative pillows. There’s a bowl of strawberries on the bedside table. The whole room smells faintly of roses.
“Did you request the honeymoon setup?” you say.
“The woman on the phone seemed very enthusiastic about it.”
“That’s not an answer!” You look around the room, hands on your hips. “Well, there’s a couch. You can use that.”
It’s one of those small, decorative couches present in hotel rooms to fill a corner, hold throw pillows, and look tasteful in photographs, but not to sleep on.
“I’m not going to sleep on it, but noted,” Satoru says, striding towards the minibar, shrugging his jacket off and draping it over the back of the chair by the window. “Whiskey or gin?”
“Whiskey,” you say. “We can put a pillow wall down the middle.”
“We’re married,” he says, crossing the room with two small bottles. He sits down on the other side of the bed. “It seems a bit prudish.”
You take the whiskey from him and twist the cap off. Satoru has his own bottle balanced between both hands, still unopened, and he’s looking out the window at the city below. You’ve spent enough years watching him, but it doesn’t seem to change anything; the flutter in your heart remains the same, as does the contentment you feel in your chest.
“I want to see them again,” you announce.
Satoru looks at you. “The photos?”
You reach for the envelope on the nightstand and slide the pictures out carefully, holding them by the edges. They’re drying, stiffening slightly. You hold them in your lap and he leans in slightly.
“You should’ve warned me,” you say quietly.
“About which part?”
“All of it.” You tap the third photograph’s edge, gently. “This.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “If I’d warned you, you’d have said no.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you,” he says, not unkindly. “You’d have thought about it too long and decided it was too complicated, and then you’d have spent months being strange about it, and then we’d have gone back to normal, and—” He stops, turning the bottle in his hands. “…I didn’t want to go back to normal.”
“It’s still a bad idea,” you mumble.
“Probably,” he agrees. His hand shifts on the duvet between you, the tip of his little finger coming to rest against the back of yours. “Hasn’t stopped being true, though. Whatever it is. You know what I mean.”
You do. That’s the problem: you’ve always known what he means, even when he’s being deliberately oblique about it. You’ve known him too long and too well for any of it to not make sense anymore. Which means, you understand now, that you’ve also known you’re in love with him for longer than you thought.
You look at the fourth photograph—Satoru, standing outside the chapel, watching you look at the ring on your hand.
“You could’ve just said something,” you tell him. “At any point. Like a normal person.”
“I took you to Las Vegas and married you,” he says. “That’s me saying something directly.”
His hand turns over and covers yours, warm and assuaging, and whatever reservations you’d been carefully maintaining for years simply crumble.
You close the remaining distance. Satoru’s free hand comes up to your face before you’ve fully moved, which means he was thinking about it too—has been thinking about it, probably, for longer than tonight, longer than Vegas—and he’s kissing you.
He kisses you decisively. There’s a certainty to it that shouldn’t surprise you—this is Satoru, who does nothing halfway—but it does, a little. But what surprises you more is how easy it is. How it doesn’t feel like a change in anything so much as a long-overdue acknowledgement of something that’s been there all along.
When you pull back, his forehead drops to yours. His sunglasses are still pushed up on his head, and you reach up and take them off without asking. He lets you.
“Hi,” Satoru says.
“You’re still wearing your sunglasses indoors at midnight,” you chide.
“I said hi.”
“Hi,” you say.
He smiles; it reaches his eyes. “So,” he starts.
“Do not say ‘I told you so.’”
“I wasn’t going to. Probably.”
“Insufferable,” you say, and kiss him again, which is both a rebuke and a surrender but mostly just because you want to. He makes a sound against your mouth that might be a laugh, and his arms come around you properly this time.
The decorative pillows go first. There are seven of them, and they go in ones and twos without either of you paying much attention—one knocked off when his arm comes around you properly, two more when you shift closer, the rest sliding off the edge in a soft succession of thuds. One of the small whiskey bottles, empty now, rolls off the mattress and lands on the carpet. You don’t notice any of it; you’re somewhat preoccupied by Satoru taking your face in his hands and tilting it and kissing you until you forget what you were arguing about.
You suspect that he’s thought about this for a long time, the same way you have.
“You’re thinking,” Satoru says against your mouth.
“I’m not.”
“You are. I can tell. You get this little—” He pulls back just enough to look at you, and traces something between your brows with one finger. “Here.”
You stare at him. “I hate that you know that.”
“No, you don’t,” he says. He’s right, and you hate that too, so you tell him so by pulling him back down by the front of his shirt.
He lets you tug at him willingly—more than willingly, with an enthusiasm that sends you back against the pillows and makes you laugh, briefly, before his mouth finds your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, and the laugh turns into a gasp. His hands are at your waist, warm through the fabric.
His tie joins the pillows on the floor; you get the knot loose while he’s working on the matter of your buttons. His shirt is untucked and you run your hands on his waist, his ribs, the warm plane of his stomach. Satoru groans against the side of your neck, and you shiver. He tosses your shirt aside, too, and his eyes darken when his gaze lands on your chest. He takes his time with your nipples, rolling them around with his thumbs, before taking one of them in his mouth.
He moves lower, pressing kisses to the underside of your breasts, moving down to your navel. When he reaches the waistband of your jeans, he looks up, pupils blown wide and asks, “May I?”
“Yes, yes, please.” You nod frantically, helping him pull your jeans and panties off when he unbuttons it. You’re already wet and needy.
“You’re so beautiful,” Satoru says, gazing up at you before littering kisses on your inner thighs, so close to where you want him.
“Satoru, please,” you say. “I need you.”
He blows on your wet core, making you shiver. “Need me to what?”
“I need you to, hah, just—”
Satoru latches onto your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud. You moan, your hands flying to his hair and gripping the silver-white strands. He alternates between quick flicks and long, broad strokes, keeping your folds spread apart with two fingers while his other hand traces patterns along the underside of your thigh.
“Fuck, fuck—” You curse when his tongue moves in a circle right around your clenching hole. Satoru doesn’t stop. If anything, the sound of your voice breaking, the way you curse his name, only spurs him on. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you. He’s always known how to push your buttons. But this is different; this isn’t a playful tease during a mission.
He dives back in, his tongue flattening out to lap at you with broad, wet strokes that cover everything from your clit down to your opening. You arch your back, your hips lifting off the mattress instinctively, trying to press yourself harder against his mouth.
“Satoru… please, I’m—”
“You’re what?” he mumbles against your skin. He doesn’t wait for an answer, sliding two fingers deep inside you. You let out a strangled cry, your toes curling. His fingers are thick and warm, and he curls them, hooking them upward to find that sensitive spot that makes your vision blur. His thumb remains locked into your clit, rubbing circles on the engorged bud.
The sensation is overwhelming. It’s too much and yet not nearly enough. You can feel the tension building in your lower belly, a tight, simmering coil that winds tighter and tighter with every second.
“Right there,” you moan, your fingers knotting into his hair. “Right there, Satoru, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
Your breath comes out in short, jagged gasps, your chest heaving. Just as you are about to orgasm, Satoru stops. He doesn’t just slow down; he pulls his fingers out of you with a sudden, wet pop and removes his mouth from your heat entirely. You freeze, your eyes snapping open. “Satoru, what the hell—”
He’s hovering over you, braced on his elbows, his hair messy and falling over his forehead. A slow, smug smile spreads across his lips, though his breathing is just as heavy as yours.
“Not yet,” he whispers.
“I hate you,” you groan, your hips twitching involuntarily, searching for the friction he just stole from you. “I actually hate you so much.”
“Liars don’t get to come,” Satoru teases, though his hand reaches down to gently stroke the skin of your inner thigh.
He shifts, moving upward to kiss you. He tastes like you, and you moan into his mouth, before he pulls away just an inch, his gaze dropping to your drenched core. “I want to feel you,” he murmurs. “I want to feel how tight you are around me.”
Satoru slides backward, just enough to strip off his trousers and underwear in one hurried motion. His cock springs out, thick and flushed. Your mouth waters simply looking at it, while he pumps it once, twice, thumb circling the tip. He doesn’t lie back down. Instead, he sits up, leaning his back against the headboard of the enormous bed, his legs spread wide. He reaches out, grabbing your waist with those large, strong hands and pulling you forward until you are hovering over him.
“Ride me?” he asks.
The need for friction, for fullness, for him overrides any lingering frustration. You shift your weight, guiding his cock to your entrance. As you slowly lower yourself down, the feeling of his cock filling you, stretching you open, sends a fresh wave of pleasure through you. You let out a long, shuddering moan as you sink down completely, inch by inch, your pelvis flushing against his. Satoru lets out a choked sound, his head hitting the headboard with a thud, his eyes screwing shut.
“Fuck,” he moans. “You’re—you’re so tight. I can’t—”
“Shut up,” you whisper, though there’s no heat in it.
You begin to move, a slow, grinding rotation of your hips. You watch his face—the way his jaw clenches and his nostrils flare, the way he looks at you with warmth and wonder. You quicken your movements, bouncing on his cock. Satoru’s hands move from your waist to your hips, fingers digging into your skin, helping you ride him. He thrusts upwards, tilting his hips and dragging his cock against your walls.
“Look at me,” he groans. You look down, your eyes locking onto his. “I love you,” he says.
You feel the coil in your belly snap. Your orgasm washes over you as you clench around his cock, milking him. Satoru moans, his back arching off the bed as he thrusts upwards one last time. “I’m going to come,” he says. “Let me—”
You slide off his cock and he comes, his release spurting onto his stomach, a little bit on your thighs. You collapse against his chest. He wraps his arms around you tightly, pulling you into the crook of his neck.
For a long time, neither of you speaks. Eventually, Satoru shifts slightly, kissing the top of your head.
“So,” he whispers. “Shower?”
You lift your head slightly, looking at him with tired, happy eyes. “Already?” you say with faux innocence. “I thought you’d want to fuck me on that stupid couch first.”
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS, ITEM #4 – EMBEZZLEMENT.
Hopefully Satoru didn’t mind you swiping his credit card from his wallet while he was fast asleep, one arm thrown over his face while the other was stretched out beside him. You’d wriggled out of his grasp carefully, pressing a gentle, barely-there kiss to the tip of his nose, before digging through his jacket’s pockets for his wallet and pulling out his black card.
It’s for a good purpose, you console yourself, hurrying through the streets of Las Vegas with a jewellery shop’s location pulled up on your phone.
Las Vegas in the early morning is a different city entirely from the one that had swallowed you whole last night. It’s not quiet, exactly—it’s never quiet, you suspect—but it’s quieter, the frenetic energy of the Strip mellowed into something slower. The crowds have thinned, at least.
You walk with your hands in your pockets, Satoru’s black card tucked safely between two fingers. The morning air is warm and dry, and the sky above the glow of the Strip is beginning to lighten from black to the deep bruised blue that comes just before dawn.
The jewellery shop is three blocks from the hotel, according to your phone. It’s a small, well-lit place that stays open through the night, catering to those Las Vegas visitors who find themselves in need of jewellery at unusual hours, which you now understand is a larger demographic than you’d previously considered.
You walk and think about the rings. The ones currently on your fingers are not adequate. They’re soft metal, the gold already slightly scuffed from one night of existence, and they’ll tarnish in a week. You’d noticed this morning, while Satoru was still asleep: the way your rings sat a little loose, the way it had already lost some of its shine. It’s more of a placeholder than anything else.
The thought of replacing them had arrived while you’d lain in Satoru’s arms, listening to him breathe and looking at the ring.
You aren’t scared, though you’d expected to be. You’d expected to wake up this morning with the full weight of what’s happened landing on you like a dropped beam, and to spend the subsequent hours dealing with the considerable wreckage of your own panic. It seemed like a reasonable response to having been married to your best friend in Las Vegas by a crying man named Francis and then having the matter become rather more settled than a marriage certificate alone would suggest.
But when you’d woken up with Satoru’s arm around you and the photographs on the nightstand, what you’d felt was something almost irritatingly simple: you’d felt like yourself.
The jewellery shop is small and bright, jewellery arranged in lit display cases along the walls, a pudgy man behind the counter. He looks up when you come in, takes in the look of you—your clothes from last night, slightly slept-in, your hair not fully combed—and nods pleasantly.
“Morning,” he says. “What are you looking for?”
“Wedding rings,” you say. “Two of them, please. Something that’ll last for a long time.”
He nods again. “Do you know the other person’s size?”
You think about Satoru’s hands—the ring sliding onto his finger in the chapel, his hand covering yours on the duvet last night, the warmth of his arm around this morning. “I can estimate,” you say.
He shows you to a case along the left wall. The rings inside are simple, for the most part—plain bands in gold and silver and white gold, some with small details, most without. You find two plain bands in white gold, clean-lined and unornamented, substantial enough to last.
“These,” you tell the man behind the counter.
He nods. You produce Satoru’s black card and spend a figure that makes you wince slightly but not reconsider, because the point isn’t the cost and you’re sure Satoru will agree with you about this when he wakes up and finds both you and his credit card gone. You leave the ship with the rings in a small white box and stand on the pavement outside for a moment in the warming air.
You pull your phone out and type in the search bar, Chapel of Eternal Love, and punch in the number attached.
“Hello, Chapel of Eternal Love, Francis speaking—”
“Francis,” you say, smiling. “I have a favour to ask.”
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS, ITEM #5 – MARRIAGE.
Francis, it turns out, is delighted. He’d gone quiet for a moment when you explained what you were asking, and then said, Give me an hour, and hung up before you could confirm the details.
You make your way back to the hotel with your ring box in your pocket and the morning brightening steadily around you. The casino lobbies you pass are still going—slot machines, a scattering of determined gamblers, staff moving between stations—but the Strip itself is relatively peaceful, the night’s crowd entirely dissolved and the day’s not yet arrived. You have the pavement to yourself. It’s a strange and pleasant feeling, Las Vegas in the interstitial hour.
Satoru is awake when you get back, sitting up in bed with his hair in complete disarray and the duvet bunched around his waist. When you open the door he looks at you blankly.
“Morning,” you say.
“My credit card,” he says.
“Is fine.” You cross the room and hold it out. He takes it without looking at it, still watching you. “I needed it for a purchase.”
“What kind of purchase requires you to leave the hotel room at—” he glances at the clock on the nightstand—“six forty-seven in the morning?”
“The important kind.” You sit down on the edge of the bed and take the white box out of your pocket, setting it on the duvet between you.
Satoru picks the box up and opens it, and doesn’t say anything at all, which is the loudest thing Gojo Satoru can do. “You stole my credit card,” he says finally, “to buy us wedding rings.”
“I borrowed it,” you say. “To replace the ones we got from a spinning display rack for five dollars each.”
“I liked those rings.”
“They were tarnishing,” you say. “There’s more, by the way.”
You tell him about Francis. He looks surprised at first, and then warm, so utterly warm when he tugs you closer to him and kisses you again, and again, and once more for good measure. Satoru closes the ring box and holds it in both hands, the way he’d held the whiskey bottle last night before he’d covered your hand with his.
“I thought you wanted a divorce last night, and now you’ve stolen my credit card and called Francis.”
“Yep.”
He looks at you for a long moment. The morning light filters through the curtains and he looks extraordinarily, unfairly beautiful, even just woken up.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” Satoru sets the ring box on the nightstand, next to the photographs. “Okay.”
Francis has decorated the chapel when you arrive. You’re not entirely sure when he found the time—it’s been barely two hours since your phone call—but the maintenance issue has apparently been resolved, because the lights are on when you arrive. The door is unlocked; when you step inside you find that Francis has replaced the zip-tied artificial flowers on the pews with fresh ones, white and small. There are candles lit along the windowsills. The worn carpet, in the warm light, looks less worn somehow, or perhaps you’re simply disposed to see it differently today.
Francis himself is standing at the altar in a clean shirt, his red hair combed and his camera in his hands. “You came back,” he says.
“We came back,” you confirm.
Francis looks at the two of you—Satoru in a fresh shirt with his tie done up neatly again, you in the best thing you could assemble from your bag on short notice—and grins. “The rings, did you—”
You produce the white box.
“Right,” Francis says. “Right, yes. Let’s—shall we?”
Here is what you think about, standing at the altar of the Chapel of Eternal Love for the second time in less than twenty-four hours:
You think about the first time, yesterday, and how you’d stood here in something close to a dissociative state, your brain running through the situation at high speed. You think about the parking lot behind the Denny’s and the small fire in the trash can. You’d meant it when you said you wanted a divorce, though you realise now that you were frightened of what being married to your best friend entailed.
Satoru had let you burn it, too. He hadn’t argued because he’d known you’d come around. Not from arrogance, but because he knew you, the same way you knew him, all the way down to the things you didn’t say aloud.
You think about the darkroom, the four photographs drying on the line in the red light. Climbing back out through the chapel window into the warm Las Vegas night and holding the envelope against your chest, the photographs still damp inside it. You think about the rings in the spinning display by the door—you can still see them from where you’re standing, the little rack with the remaining rings. They were the beginning, it turns out.
You turn to look back at Satoru. He’s smiling at you.
Francis clears his throat gently. “Shall we begin?”
The vows are the same ones from the laminated card. Francis offers alternatives—he has a small binder with options—but Satoru shrugs, so you use the same ones. When Francis gets to the rings you open the white box yourself. You take Satoru’s ring out and hold it; he holds out his right hand out of habit before catching himself and switching to his left, and you both laugh helplessly. Francis gulps and pulls out his handkerchief. You put the ring on the correct hand this time.
Satoru takes yours from the box and looks up at you—there’s that expression, the one from the photographs, the one you have a name for now. He slides the ring onto the correct finger and holds your hand for a moment after.
Francis is fully crying now. He dabs at his eyes without embarrassment and beams at the two of you over his handkerchief with radiant approval.
“I’ve never had anyone come back,” he tells you. “In twelve years, you’re the first.”
“We forgot something the first time,” you say.
Francis tucks his handkerchief away and straightens up. Smiling, he announces, “You may now kiss,” and so you do.
a/n: the real mvp of this fic is francis who was also unironically my favourite person to write. thanks for reading!
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ⋮ Your long term boyfriend, Hayato made a disgusting post about you on Reddit. I mean, who even thinks that it’s a good idea to put your name on a Reddit username? Your Reddit obsessed best friend sent you the post and it was closure to his already shitty attitude to begin with. You didn’t give him the satisfaction of crying and yelling — You just packed and left for good (not before you changed the Netflix account password though, and Spotify). When your now ex-boyfriend went batshit crazy after your departure, your best friend suggested her older brother to look after you.
Except, all he’s good at (probably) is studying and his looks.
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ⋮ suggestive content (near a smut, no actual description of the action bcs i can't write good smut) . real world au . gojo and reader are in their late 20s . an implied gojo being a loser . fake dating . nerdjo is a pokemon nerd . cursing . mentions of sex but no actual sex bcs ur girl don't know how to write good smut (almost sex, idk y'all, it just flowed out and idk what i'm doing) . doesn't follow the jjk plot at all . SLOW UPDATES . tba .
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
OOO. CHAT, AM I THE ASSHOLE?
OO1. INTRODUCING, GOJO SATORU
OO2. GOJO SATORU SAYS "NO"
OO3. GOJO SATORU SAYS "YES"
OO4. HAYATO CRASHOUT
OO5. SUSPICIOUS PURCHASES
OO6. HAYATO'S GRAND ENTRANCE
OO7. DESSERT BAR SHENNANIGANS
OO8. MATCHING POKEMON KEYCHAINS
OO9. RAIN, RAIN GO AWAY? NO, SICK, SICK GO AWAY.
O1O. ONE BED, TWO PEOPLE?
O11. IT'S RAINING THUNDER
O12. NEW NUMBER, THIS IS SHE
O13. SO, YOU'RE (NAME)?
O14. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SATORU
O15. SATORU'S SPECIAL DAY
O16. SHE'S A KEEPER!
O17. KEPT ON DELIVERED
O18. UNINVITED APPEARANCE
O19. PERMISSION TO CONTINUE
O2O. PLUS ONE
O21. HOMA AND ISA
O22. THE "GIRLFRIEND" TITLE
O23. SORRY, I CAN'T COME EARLY!
O24. HANG "YOU TRAITOR" OVER
O25. A DAY OF SILENCE
O26. RAGEBAITER, RAGEBAITED
O27. JUMBLED FEELINGS (FILLER)
O28. AN ADULT HUMAN J#B
O29. TRUE LOVE
O3O. I THOUGHT WE LIKED EACH OTHER?
O31. IT'S A SIGN
O32. CHAT, AM I THE ACE-HOLE?
O33. HOW TO SHUT SOMEONE UP 101
O34. AS A STRANGER, I'D MIND MY OWN BUSINESS
O35. EW, GOJO SENSEI COOTIES
O36. EPILOGUE 1; DID YOU JUST THROW AN APPLE AT ME?
𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
gojo dealing with his students after they saw your messages during class ⸝⸝ you and nerdjo open a few pokemon card packs to prove the girlfriend luck ⸝⸝ you accidentally ruined the colors of your gender reveal cake ⸝⸝ TBA
ⓘ SUMMARY ，in all your life, people have condescend you, treating you as nothing but an obstacle in the way. so, why does one of the most popular fraternity member treating you as . . . well, you. however, your happiness doesn't last long when you realize that he's just indulging in his friends' laughter and admiration in an exchange for your already tarnished reputation.
ⓘ PAIRING ，frat! jo x fem! reader
──── ⓘ TAGS : 10.6k ，satoru's a dick but he changes in later part lolz, cursing, angst, fluff kinda at first (?), non curse au, doesn't follow the jjk plot, sukuna and suguru cameo, dickhead rich kids stuff, corny flirting from satoru, reader and satoru fights a lot (one sided), satoru's egotistical, mentions of bullying (sukuna bullying u he doesn't directly... no physical stuff), u slapped satoru in reflex in part 1, long oneshot (this is part 2), fratjo is the endgame based on polls, happy ending, gojo and sukuna fights (as in physically), mentions of blood (bcs they're fighting), sukuna accidentally hits u (not intentional), no smut so no worries · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · art by @/hanamisoo_ on ig!
Satoru has never felt so empty in his life. Back when his first girlfriend broke up with him— he'd feel this overwhelming sadness so bad that he stopped eating altogether. But, that was what . . . years ago? This was different than the relationship you had in middle school, where you declare your love right in front of them and all of a sudden, the two of you were in a "serious" relationship.
No. This is so much more than that. Satoru felt nauseous, he had tried walking up to your apartment, but your lights were off. And there were these . . . men, he assumed you called them to actually get rid of the paint on your walls. He has tried approaching your workplace, but your shift has changed, then your co-workers refused to tell him because it was confidential. He had tried waiting for you right outside your classroom, even if it meant leaving his at least half an hour earlier than the usual. He figured he could just study the materials alone, that's what always do. People tend to judge that he's stupid just because he parties — nope, he's one of the smartest in the fraternity, besides Suguru.
His alarm blared loudly on top of his coffee table, the label said, "end of (Name)'s shift". Ah, that's right, At this time of the day, he would go and pick you up so the two of you could spend some time together, eat some snacks by the side of the river, Satoru would bring you back home, kiss you goodnight, and wait until you're on your floor to get the green light that he should go home. But, it had changed. Even if he did go there now, you weren't there (even if you were, he guaranteed that you'd even want to see him at all).
Satoru felt sick to the bone. It had been at least three days, and he already felt like a man starved. His lips felt dry, he hasn't replied to Suguru's messages ever since then, nor Sukuna's, nor any invites for a party. Hell, he hasn't even been showing up to basketball sessions, "Jesus Christ," he whispers under his breath, scrolling through your contact.
His messages said delivered, but the read receipt didn't even change. He remembered you saying that you couldn't understand the complexity of it — he knows you didn't understand how to block numbers, most of the time, you weren't even on your phone. Gosh, this is why he wanted to buy you a new phone, at least he would have been more relieved when he knows that you were alive to block him.
"What the fuck, what the fuck," he tugs on his hair, agitated.
The knock on his door was enough to send him flying out of the couch, where he had resided for the last three days, surrounded by the boxes, each filled with things he had bought you. They smelled like you, so he held on to the fact that there were remnants of you still near him. Suguru stood at the other side of the door, holding what seemed to be booze . . . Really?
"Didn't get this for you, don't even try to point it at me," Suguru immediately defended, even if no words were spoken, "Sukuna asks me to buy a bottle. I decided to drop by here for a bit to make sure you're alive since you aren't replying to any of us."
Satoru looked odd. Different from his usual kempt self, dressed in the white shirt that he didn't even change out of. The stench that came from his body from the lack of shower, dark circles began to form under his eyes as a reminded to get some slumber for his body, " . . . The hell do you want from me?" Satoru didn't expect his voice to come out as harsh as that, but he was already annoyed to beginwith.
Suguru sighs, "What are you? Seven? 'Bout to throw another tantrum?" Satoru knows that his friend was just being nice to look after him — but at this point, he doesn't even need reassurance. All he wanted was to meet you, get shit straight, and then win you back.
"Fuck off."
"I'm just here to check on you, that dick will kill me if I don't come with his booze. I'll try to drop by later," Satoru hopes he doesn't drop off, he really doesn't want to talk to anyone besides you right now.
Satoru stared at Suguru in a strange way. In a way that makes Suguru wave awkwardly as he walks away from the property — when Suguru is completely out of sight, Satoru finds himself walking back inside, immediately he goes back to his phone. Hoping that your name had popped in his stacks of notifications.
Andddd, you're not.
On the other hand, you had been taking more shifts and too busy exchanging schedules with your co-workers. You've heard of the ways Satoru approached the store, asking for you. Thankfully, your co-workers didn't decide to betray you by telling him. Without his help, you were barely passing by again — now that you have debt to him.
This is why I hate people buying me things, you knew that deep down Satoru never asked for these things to be returned in any kind of form. Still, you think that his actions were equivalent to him buying those things just because he wanted a new porsche from Sukuna. He did all that knowing that this was the first time you've been loved loudly, and frankly enough, it sucks.
You knew this was coming. It still hurt more than you anticipated anyways.
Your fingers drummed against the countertop, doing some mental calculations of how much you needed to return to Satoru. Every month wasn't much, you try to save up as much as possible, but stacking the calculations together turned up a lot. Just the thought of it made your head pound in confusion, how were you going to return this much in such a short period of time?
"Hah, so you changed shifts, huh?"
Your head instinctively looked up, your eyes connecting with Sukuna's blood colored ones. Narrowing your eyes slightly, you scanned his items, shoving them inside a bag. He took out a bill, "Keep the change."
Thank God he's not saying shit. Because truly, you couldn't decipher him at all — one second, he's bashing you verbally. The next second, he's shooting questions and leaving like nothing ever happened. Then again, there was a saying that goes: it isn't over until the fat lady sings.
Sukuna stood by the door, looking back, "You think he genuinely liked you?" he asked, a cocky smirk on his lips, "Think someone like Gojo would like someone like . . . you? That's just sad."
His words rang in the empty convenience store. You couldn't reply to him, because you knew in a way that he's right about it, "Guess what, sweetheart? He asked me to stop fucking with you just so he could prove himself that he's serious about you — ain't that just sad?" He cackled, waving his hand as he walks out into the night.
Everyday, you find more things about the supposed relationship. All revealed by their group of friends, whether it being online or reality. You found it embarrassing when you log in to your social media through the campus' PC, especially talking about how you seemed to be serious about this relationship while Satoru was just fucking you up for the funs and a new car. It was more humiliating than Sukuna calling you out for ruining his brand new car.
Satoru had came into your store the next two days after lunch, you weren't there. He knew that there were four workers, you included. He had tried coming your usual time, but you weren't there. Next, lunch shift, nope. He'd then paid a visit right at dinner time, and there you stood right behind the counter; your usual uniform. The only thing different was the look on your face, you seemed miserable.
But, just the sight of you made his heart flutter. After days of radio silence, he could finally speak again to you — his footsteps led him into the store before he could comprehend it, "(Name)?"
Your head snapped up. No, no, no, you chant softly. There's no fucking way that he's keeping tabs on your schedule now, right? He stepped up towards the counter with a giddy look on his face that almost baffles you, was he here to give you something that you owned?
"Can we talk?"
"I'm at work," you seethe out through gritted teeth, annoyance flaring inside you just at the sight of him. Because, how dare he still show up like nothing happened? Does he have any shame in himself or was he too fucking proud to admit the fact that he messed up?
"I . . . I'll wait. I can wait until your shift ends," he whispers softly.
"No, we can't talk," you gave an absolute answer that he surely would accept and go after right? "I won't talk to you because I want nothing else to do with you. If it's about my debt, I said I'll return it to you. I just need time to get it all together."
Satoru shook his head, "I don't fucking care. As far as I know, you're not in debt and I do all these because I fucking love you," he mutters out, that again. You sighed out at his words, was he seriously trying to woo you back?
"This again? What? You didn't get the car? Is there a time limit or something?"
"No, God. No! I know I fucked up, I should have told you about it, that's completely a mistake on my behalf," he pleads out, fingers digging into the edge of the counter, "I swear to God, what I did with you the past few months were serious. From the bottom of my heart, my feelings towards you . . . they're all real, and I can just prove it to you if you'd let me do it."
"No," your answer came out faster than he'd anticipated, the look on your face told him just enough. That you're completely done with him and whatever he wanted to do.
"I'll do anything, (Name)."
You squint slightly, " . . . Yeah? Like ask Sukuna if he could stop bothering me so that I could trust you faster? Won't work on me this time, Gojo. And can you stop bothering me during work hour? Thanks," it was hard to keep your mouth shut for the sake of this job — you didn't need him to make things harder than it already is for you.
Satoru stood there, his mouth parting before he shuts it again. How did you know about that? Was his initial question. It didn't take him long to click everything into a full puzzle. His heart hammered, slowly leaping into his throat, "What else did he say?" Satoru questions.
You cleared your throat, "Leave if you're not going to purchase—"
Right as you said that, his hand snatched a small packet of chips and a lollipop, tossing it onto the counter, "What else did he say?" his voice was seething. Not at you, but at Sukuna.
"I don't want to get involved."
"Too bad," he mumbled, taking out a bill, "keep the change."
His answer made you speechless. Not because you were offended at the fact he indirectly said that you were already involved in this (well, if you think about it, he was right). You were speechless at the fact that he looked like a vampire seeking for blood — no, he looked like he was about to start something that he wasn't supposed to. And somehow, it still scared you slightly.
Satoru walked down the street in another speed he didn't know he could do. The pack of chips were in his grasp so tight that it might pop, the lollipop was long forgotten, he remembered dropping it right on the third block after the convenience store. Dinner was just the right time for Sukuna to start another party; he said, apparently people could just eat during the party.
Satoru felt his shoulder brush against strangers along the road. Usually, a small apology would slip out of his lips — but today, he didn't say anything. Not even a look of apology. His fists were clenched so hard that he could feel his nails digging into his skin, it hurts, but he could care less.
The frat house stood not too far away from the campus. Sukuna's father built it just for him, just for his son. Nobody knew why the frat house was suddenly up and about. Sukuna sent out invitations and everyone suddenly knew about it, it was crazy. The craziest thing was that he'd put out a list of names that weren't allowed inside the frat house, people used to complain, but hey . . . money is everything.
The time wasn't even that late, it was barely past eight. But, the building was already lively, the dancefloor was filled with people. The sight of Satoru, after months inside the frat house during a party surprised everyone. Mainly, Suguru and Sukuna, who had been trying so hard to get him to come back.
"What's up, man?" Suguru had a small smile on his face.
To his surprise, Satoru brushed by him. Suguru reached his hand out, but stopped himself half-way when he realized that Satoru was making a beeline straight to where Sukuna was; surrounded by girls and guys. At first glance, Suguru would have thought that Satoru was going to ask for the car — or asking him for anything else. But, he would never — actually, nobody would ever. Ever. Expected Satoru to throw a hard punch to Sukuna's face.
Sukuna's face stayed right there, facing the side. After a few seconds, his tongue darted out to nudge the cut on his lip. Everyone dispersed immediately, most of them —of course— had their phones out to record. The music still boomed, and Satoru could hear a few people chanting out "fight, fight, fight!" like this was some underground entertainment.
"Care to explain why you just did that?" Sukuna's voice was void of anger, but everyone knew damn well that one of Sukuna's main emotion everyday was anger, no matter how relaxed he look.
"Fuck you!" Satoru spat out.
Sukuna seethes out. He tossed the can of beer aside, "The fuck is your problem?" He mutters out, taking a few steps towards where Satoru stood. The two stood eye to eye, staring into each other's eyes like cats waiting to pounce — the party had completely stopped. Even if the music was still booming, bass still heart hammering, all eyes were on Satoru and Sukuna.
"My problem is you spouting out shit to my woman when you know damn well—"
"Shit?" Sukuna raised a brow, "You said those words to me yourself. I have the exact same message, and you're going to turn this on me? I didn't say shit. I said what you said to me, not my fault that you decided to fall in love with her when all you're supposed to do is make her fall . . ."
Sukuna has that nasty smirk on his face, despite the busted lip. He wasn't even fazed, he's had worse before. A busted lip was like a papercut to him. Upon hearing his words, Satoru bit his lip in anger, "You know damn well that's not what I meant, I want her. I don't give a fuck if you sabotage my fucking diploma — you're not the only one who has money around here," Satoru muttered out, looking around, "fuck are you looking at?"
Sukuna spat out the blood he had licked towards the floor. The blotch dropped right by Satoru's shoe, "So, why are you coming after me?"
The nonchalant question was met with another fist to the face. Sukuna lets out a loud groan as he staggered back, holding his face. A big grin formed on his lips, his tongue darted out for the second time, scooping the blood off his lips.
Satoru parted his lips to speak — but, Sukuna had beat him to it. Throwing his own fist, his knuckles connected along Satoru's jawline. It wasn't strong. But, just enough to make Satoru step back in surprise. It ached, his jaw felt taught after the punch, like he had just gotten a baseball bat to the face, "You threw your hands on me first, dickhead."
The fight was expected. Satoru doesn't expect Sukuna to back down from a fight — like hell, of course he'd retaliate. It would be the end of the world if one day Sukuna doesn't bother getting his face punched. Even then, him returning the punch after the second hit was already "kind" enough. Maybe it is the end of the world.
"'Cause you fucking deserved that!" Satoru spat back.
Chaotic was one. It was haywire in the frat house. People screaming for the fight to continue, along the way, a beer can flew right onto Sukuna's head. But, he could care less about anyone other than winning right now, "Deserved that? For telling that bitch the truth? You brought this shit to yourself the second you decided to fall for her," Sukuna's knuckles rapped against Satoru's face a couple of times.
"Don't call her that," Satoru muttered, using his arm to cover his face from another blow, "think you have the right to fuck with who I decide to love just because she touched your car? I'm fucking sick of you and your bullshit."
"Poor people shouldn't be in here anyways."
Satoru spat out. Actually spat out to Sukuna's face, the slimy, saliva dribbling down his cheek. It baffled Sukuna, he used the hem of his shirt, pulling it up towards his face, "Should've known that this would've happened since the first time you ditched us for her," he loudly rumbled, lunging at Satoru.
"Should've gotten the hint then and fuck off," Satoru grunted.
Everyone loved fights. Especially when they got nothing to lose, right? See, here's the thing. Everyone has their phones up and about, recording like this was a WWE show and they were on first row. But, the second Sukuna grabbed an actual stool from the side, Suguru was ready to intervene and "try" to deescalate the situation. Even, his sweet words were no avail to Sukuna's violent brain.
This wasn't Sukuna's first rodeo at all. Sure, he has fights here and there, most of them ended one sided with Sukuna asking —threatening— them to shut their mouth after. This was the Gojo Satoru, someone who has equal money to him (only more responsible, sort of) and uses it for something he actually uses (most of the time).
"Hey, come on, man. You're spoiling the party—"
"Fuck. Off," Sukuna waved his hand at Suguru, a quiet warning to him sent through the action. Suguru sighed, backing away to follow where most partygoers were standing at.
One of the guys, whom had been watching, nervously laughed and tried to ask Sukuna to just let it be. Only to be met with an actual shoe to the face, and he was shut immediately. Some of the students had decided to go home and wanted no involvement — which if you ask, was the best option because this fight could turn into something worse if it wasn't stopped.
From punches to different materials used. The two were equally battered, yet, none refused to give up or stop. On one hand, Sukuna would feel a punch to his ego, and he he'd hate that to happen in front of what . . . 50 people? On the other hand, Satoru had refused to stop until his point was shoved up so deep into this dickhead's ass, he would shit it back out the next week.
"I hope you get expelled," Satoru muttered.
"Think I care about that?" Sukuna laughs, ready to ram the wooden stool to Satoru, "I don't give a fuck about my diploma, fucker."
Suguru ended up calling the cops and the party was over that second. Both Satoru and Sukuna were brought down to the station, forced to sit side by side with one cuff etched to their wrists, indirectly knotting them together. Satoru looked away in annoyance as the officer questioned them.
"He said something about your girlfriend and you got angry?"
Sukuna scoffed, "I didn't say shit about his girl. I said what he said about his girl to his girl and he got butthurt about it, that's not my fault at all," his voice was mocking — like he was trying to prove a point.
"Right. Pink hair, your parents paid bail, we're gonna let you off with a warning. If this happens again, you do know you'll be testified as adults, right?" The overworked officer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, "Just . . . get out of here."
The handcuffs were ripped off, Satoru wiped his wrist, "Can I pay my own bail?"
Satoru walked off with a warning. Which is best choice as of now, the night was rowdy — his body ached greatly, every inch of his face hurts like a little bitch. Sukuna's an athletic person, so it would be a surprise if his punches didn't hurt. Walking down the street in a daydream, he ends up right in front of the your door.
In the past, the receptionist had gotten used to him coming by everyday, that she doesn't bat an eyelash at him anymore. Hence, why he wasn't stopped. In consciousness, Satoru brought himself to where you reside, dried blood circling his nostrils, bruises etched to his skin in purple and black, scratches on his arm and where his skin shows. He looked absolutely terrible.
He had knocked on your door after staring into it. And now, he hoped that you'd been awake or home to open it for him.
"She's not home yet, comes home late because of her shift change. I got her spare key though, she said in case somethin' happened to her, don't know what that means. You're her man, right? I've seen you a couple of times here."
Satoru coaxes his head to look to the side, blinking, "Oh," he whispers out, "no, nah. I'm trying to get back to that status though — I'm just gonna wait out here . . . What time does she usually get back?"
The man puffed out a small ball of smoke from his lips, "Most of the time? Midnight. Sure you wanna wait out here?"
Satoru nods his head. He wasn't sure if you'd be comfortable with him using the key to get inside your apartment, this was your safe place, and he had learnt to respect that ever since you told him to a long time ago. The guy killed his cigarette, "Well, my door's this one if you need the key. Good luck though."
Satoru nods his head. He's seen him a couple of times, most of the times, he just kinda . . . hears him from your apartment (during nights, and it's unpleasant to say the least). Although he looked ragged and dull, you seem to put a lot of trust in him to be able to hand your key to him. So, Satoru was also going to respect that.
His back slid down the wall slowly, bringing his body into a sit. It wasn't comfortable, but it was better since his legs were killing him. Or maybe, it's because of that fucking stool Sukuna used to hit his shin. What a douchebag. Midnight isn't going to be long, he could just close his eyes and . . .
"The hell are you doing here?"
And it's midnight. The string of drool that formed a stream right on the corner of his lips disappeared the instant moment his sleeve flew up to catch them, "(Name), you're home."
The sudden jolt on his joints made his body ached even more. You insert the key and turned it, "I don't want to talk to you, so go home," yes, he expected that answer, and yes it still hurt him because he knew he brought it on himself, "whatever you want to say, I don't want to hear it anymore. And I made this clear, in case you can't comprehend it. I want nothing else to do with you, I don't want to get involved with you and your stupid friends, yeah?"
You turned the knob, pulling the door open. As you were about to step inside, his hand shot out, curling against your bicep. With a hopeless look, he pleads out, "I messed up. I know. I want to do this — please, I want to be serious. I'll do anything to make us right again."
He doesn't miss the tinge of disgust lacing on your face, his fingers unfurled at the sight, "Personal space, got it," he whispers softly, "I just want to make us right, (Name)."
Your face turned to him, "That's funny. Never remembered there being an "us" since we were never genuine anyways," his heart hammered at your words, "go home. And stop showing up here, you make me sick."
Satoru felt his heart spiritually break into two, his shoulders sagged. The pain in his body seemed to hurt even more at the rejection, he looks up slightly, "I'm hurt," he muttered, "can I at least have my girlfriend to—"
"Yeah, well, I don't see your girlfriend here. So?" You replied back, "I think you should seriously leave."
Satoru scrunched his face up, "I'll do whatever. Whatever. (Name). Just name it," he pleads softly, keeping himself rooted to where he had been standing. A part of him feared that if he gets any closer than this, he'd intrude your comfort.
You smirked, "Anything?"
Satoru felt a bit relieved that you were at least willing to listen. His head bobs slightly, "Yes, anything. Just name it, I'll do it."
A soft hum of amusement escaped you and you nod, "Alright, do me a favor then," you crossed your arms over your chest, "do me a favor and stop talking to me. Stop trying to make this work, because we know well that it won't. And stop making me look like a fool, you fooled me this time, alright — my fault, shouldn't have trusted you at all. So, do me a favor and fuck off and maybe I'll consider forgiving you."
"Let me make this work. I don't care how hard it gets, I want us to work. Give me a month, if you still haven't change your mind then. I'll leave you alone," you scoffed at his offer, like this was another bet, this time, one you actually know of. What is he? Seven? Did he think this was a movie or something? He looked like he was about to pass out waiting for you to answer him, "please say something . . ."
"No," you bluntly rejected, "you're treating this like it's some kind of game. If you are, it's not. At least this time you gave me a heads up about the bet."
"I don't care. I'll still do it."
"Good luck, best wishes."
He was not lying when he said that.
Satoru showed up every single day right as you were about to leave your apartment, standing right by the door of the building. He still remembered what classes you had, what time it was, and what time it ended — he wasn't tardy, the tardiest he's been was ten minutes late to his accustomed time. And you still had at least fifteen minutes left worth of class.
No, that was not all. Satoru sent you flowers, he sent you food because he knew well enough that you tend to skip meals. A pretty box shows up right on the front porch and you're not surprised that it's one of his luxurious tendencies to spoil you, even until now. You never wore anything though, it stayed tucked inside every single box.
"Hey," Satoru whispers, pushing himself off the wall when you emerge from the convenience store, dressed warmly, "can I bring you home?"
"Don't push your luck."
" . . . Touché. Can't I at least be a few steps away to make sure you get home safe?" He tried again, testing the waters carefully.
You ignored him, walking away. In his dictionary, if it's not a no, then it's a yes! He waited until you were a good few steps away before following your steps, his steps were usually much larger. But, today, he tries to keep it short and slow — just to make sure you are comfortable with the distance. He didn't want to ruin this.
Once you get inside the apartment complex, he breathes out a sigh of relief. It was hard. This is hard, but it was definitely harder without you. Satoru wanted you back more than anything, and he'd definitely burn the world if you told him to.
Sukuna had stopped messaging him. Suguru had checked on him a couple of times throughout the week. Shoko was the one who helped him with his wounds, she's a med student— and Satoru's personal med, kinda— who's aspiring to be an actual doctor, so Satoru took full advantage of that. She doesn't mind. "Experiment", she said.
"What should I do now?"
Shoko scoffed, "One, try not to kill yourself by fighting Sukuna. Two, get your girl back," she muttered out in annoyance, snatching a box of cigarette from the top right cabinet (which she saved solely just for those little cancer sticks), "and why are you hanging out my workplace again?"
"Because you're all I got now."
"So . . . like a backburner?"
Satoru shrugged, "No. Never said that," Shoko rolled her eyes, turning around to face the computer, "listen, the first time you started something with her with bad intentions, you lost. Just the fact that she's willing to let you do all this makes her kind of . . . cool. I'm going to be frank, but I do think you should leave the poor girl alone."
Satoru looks at his twined fingers, his knuckles were still a tad blue from the fight. The faint scratches had almost disappeared from the surface of his skin, "But, I don't want to lose her."
"Her or the feeling?"
It offended him that Shoko thought he was staying because you were (probably) one of the few who completely understood him while everyone thinks of him as just a pretty face with crazy money. That's sad on his part, "You'd seriously think that I'm doing this because she gives me the attention I want?"
Shoko shrugs, not bothering to turn her chair, "I don't know, that's why I'm asking you."
"Fuck. No, I'm doing this because I fucking want her."
"Even when everyone hates her?"
"Who gives a fuck about everyone? I love her."
Satoru could hear the faint chuckle from Shoko, "Good for you," her voice was smooth, no emotions lacing. For a second, it was just silence between them, then Shoko looks back, her chair rotating along, "get out of here then."
Satoru stood up, "Yeah. Right, right."
From the corner of her eyes, Shoko eyes his figure, sluggish as he walks out. His shoulder bumped into a pillar on the way out, making him stagger slightly. A small knowing smirk popped onto her lips as her eyes trails back to the dim screen of her computer.
Satoru stood right outside the campus. He had opted to skip his class today — apparently it was a "headache", he was not lying. He had to face Sukuna, and mind you, they were stuck in the same group work until the end of the semester. What could go worse than that? Just the thought of Sukuna made his head hurt.
You were supposed to come out in . . . approximately half an hour. He could just wait here.
Through the months. Satoru knew probably every single thing about you, starting from that big fall you had back when you were young. So bad that you had to get stitches, to the fact that you were struggling because of the debts your father left you. One thing he knows is that (Name) is never late — in fact, she's always early. You told him one time: "I'd rather wait than be late". And he's comes half an hour earlier after that to make sure that you weren't waiting.
Sometimes, he tells you to meet him somewhere at three, then he shows up at 14.30 because he knew you'd be there by 14.45. You caught up with his act and tried to show up earlier than him, it happened once and then never again.
So, the fact that you were late right now made his stomach churn in worry. The first minute passed and Satoru was walking beyond the gates, eyes roaming around the ground. His eyes skimmed through every single person he passed by in case you had decided to wear yet another disguise (yes, it has happened. And no, it did not work). His heart hammered so loud his eardrums were practically about to burst, what if someone had locked you up again and he couldn't contact you? What if Sukuna was messing with you and you couldn't call him?
Satoru knew that dick. If Sukuna couldn't do anything to him, he'd target the next thing (or person) that means a lot to Satoru — you. And it's not a myth, it has happened.
His brain wasn't helping. All the 'what ifs' whispering softly like a taunt made him shudder. Swiftly weaving past different people who had just ran out of class, he peeked inside the class. Your class. No signs of you anywhere, his eyes darted to a guy and his arm shot out, "Where's (Name)?"
The boy looked confused. Furrowing his brows, his glasses slowly slipping down, "Who's (Nam—"
"(Eye color) eyes. (Hairstyle). Around (Height). Super fucking pretty. Brings a (Favorite Color) bag with her," the boy's face contorted into realization and he pointed to the right, "was anyone with her?"
"Didn't look at their faces. But, there were a couple."
"You're sure they went that way?"
"Positive. I might fail history, but my memory is—" yada, yada, yada.
"Thanks."
The boy waved, fixing his glasses as Satoru was rushing towards the direction. There were a couple? Satoru wasn't one to jump to conclusions, but this time he was 100% sure it has to be Sukuna. And if he's wrong, he swore to himself that he'll dance right in the middle of the cafeteria butt naked.
Turning around the corner, he was already out of breath. The campus was humid, and the weather did not help. His thin clothes were still too hot for him — and if it didn't break the etiquette, he'd already been half-naked from the moment he came in here. The right wing of the campus building wasn't too crowded, only a couple of labs were there. Satoru had hung out long enough with Sukuna to know that he'd bring anyone here to mess with them.
He checks the empty labs first. But, he couldn't find you. One lab he went to was an undergoing class — it was a shame that he'd been called out by the professor for barging into class and had to issue a public apology right then and there. But, he had no time to feel shame right now, not when his fear was overbearing.
Climbing up to the third floor, where it's mostly deserted. He halted at the sight of Suguru leaning on the wall. His head turned, meeting Satoru's, " . . . Hey," was all he said.
"Where?"
"Where who—"
"Don't fuck with me," Satoru muttered, "where's (Name)?"
Suguru sighed, pointing his thumb towards the door by his side, "Not stopping you."
"Why aren't you stopping them?"
"You know I can't."
"You're prioritizing your free flow money from that dick over human decency?" Satoru muttered, pushing him away, their shoulders brushed against each other roughly, "fuck you."
"My apologies that I don't have as much money as you to retaliate against that dick," Suguru replied back.
Satoru kicked the door open. There you stood, back pressed against the wall on the back, Sukuna was lounging by the table, legs propped up on the surface, a bandage on his forehead. The two guys, Satoru assumed were the ones seen by your classmate were sitting on a table in front of you, holding their phones up.
You stood there, a blank look on your face. No, nothing had happened. All honesty, you didn't even know why the two guys decided to bring you here — Sukuna hasn't said anything to you since you came here . . . which was around 15 minutes ago. All the seconds were used with you standing there, bored.
However, in Satoru's eyes. They were patronizing you. Sukuna, especially. The worry in his veins disappeared into anger, you watch him march up to Sukuna. Surely, you'd expect something more civil about this, like a conversation. Not, a punch to the face.
"You fucking bitch," Satoru spat out, "can't win against me so you go for someone I love, huh? Fucking prick."
It wasn't even a one-sided fight. Like I said, Sukuna tends to fight back most of the time (besides his parents). So, it was a surprise to see the two actually break into a full brawl, tables scraped against the floor — chairs strewn here and there. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your whole nervous system just had to stop now, no squeamish, no panic, nothing. You froze there, getting pushed back a couple of times by the guys who by now . . . were recording with big smiles on their faces.
Suguru stared at them from the corner. Shutting the door quietly, something about good universities having soundproof classes was a bit odd, no? You watch him lean his back on the door, hands shoved inside his pants like this was the most normal thing he's seen in his life.
You've seen a lot of things in life. People arguing in the streets, homeless people wielding actual pocket knifes, drunk people fighting, but these were sober adults. You sank your teeth down on your lips, watching their fists hit each other — your heart was at your throat, what to do now? The scraped tables had form a messy arena between the two, you were just thankful they weren't throwing tables and chairs.
"You— fucking dick!" Sukuna threw a chair.
Oh.
"Satoru—" your voice was meek. It was never this meek, you couldn't understand. Was it the fact that you fear something could happen to you, or Satoru?
Of course, he doesn't hear you. None of them did. You were pushed back slightly when Sukuna and Satoru suddenly moved — like they were in a cat fight. As he went by, you tried to grab him, or Sukuna. Or anyone, really, "Satoru—"
You'd expect them not to hear you. But, the sharp pain on your face said otherwise. Maybe, grabbing Sukuna wasn't the best choice, especially while he was fighting. The whole room seemed to stop and watch for a bit as you staggered back, the familiar metallic taste lingered on your tongue longer than you'd expect.
"What the fuck did you just—" Satoru pushed Sukuna aside, the guy being his least concern now that you had gotten a punch straight to the face.
In all honesty, the pain didn't even settle until Satoru cupped your face. A sharp hiss escaped your lips, and Satoru doesn't miss the tinges of red tinting your tongue, "Fuck."
Okay. Change of plans. He can handle Sukuna later, the cut on your tongue looked painful — Shoko was the first person in his mind. He pulled you out of the messy lab, even with bruises and bleeding wounds littering his face, his first thought was to get your wound taken care of firsthand before he goes back to find that dick.
Shoko was sitting in the infirmary, typing away on her computer like always. The sight of you made her brows raised, "What happened?"
"That dick punched her in the face. I'm going to fucking kill him."
The last time you'd seen him get this angry was from a video of a dog getting abandoned. You stayed quiet, the constant caress of pain on your tongue just made your ability to speak, this wasn't the first time you've been to the infirmary, you know this girl. First time, a minor cut and you asked for a small bandage. The second time, period cramps, you asked to rest here for a bit. The third time, you had a headache, that was . . . three days ago.
Shoko nods her head at you in acknowledgement, all while she snapped the latex medical gloves on, cocking her head to the bed as if a silent request for you to sit down. Satoru was the one who sat you down like a kid, "The campus gave you a strike for getting arrested after that fight in the frat house, surely you'd like to hold back a bit on the punches, no?" Shoko asked, examining your wound.
She hands you a small plastic cup, "Blood's pulling, I'm gonna need you to spit it out if it gets too much."
The whole process of cleaning it was the ABSOLUTE worst. You'd rather have your toe kiss a table, seriously. Satoru never moved from his spot, the entire half an hour. His wounds looked much worse, yet he could actually care less about it.
When you were done, the pain lingered. It was horrible, you'd like to take your tongue off, if that was even possible. Shoko looks at Satoru, "You, sit."
Satoru sat next to you. For the second time around, Shoko cleaned after his wounds. The old bruises on his knuckles now maddening again, "Jesus, hey. Careful with that stuff, it hurts," he flinched when the ointment seeped cotton touched his busted lip, "you sure her wound's fine? I think it needed stitches."
"You're questioning a future doctor."
"Yes, ma'am."
Shoko was a bit rougher with him, because she knew he doesn't mind at all. Satoru didn't mind — he's had so much worse than this, like that time he unknowingly broke his pelvis during a trip to the skatepark, and he thought he had a deadly illness. It was surprising that the doctor told him he was able to suppress that much pain for a while.
"Right. Done, get out of the infirmary if you're going to make out," Shoko snapped the latex gloves off, tossing it into the bin, "also, try not to eat acidic food, spicy food, and overly salty food. Won't make it worse, but you'll be in pain."
You nod at her, "Thanks," even speaking hurts.
Satoru walks you out. A tint of guilt flashed over his face, "I'm so fucking sorry, (Name). I didn't expect that dick to punch you—"
"It was an accident," you mumbled, trying not to move your tongue too much, but it was impossible.
"I don't care. I shouldn't have fought him like that — not when you're around, that is . . ."
You look at him, "She said you fought him in the frat house. Curious, is that before you showed up at my house like you had just been beaten up?" Satoru sheepishly scratched his head, guilty.
" . . . Why?"
"He was saying stuff . . . I know what he said was true, I know starting things with you with an intention of getting something from him was bad, and I still did it. I just want you to know that whatever that is," he looks into your eyes deeply, "I admit it's my fault. I know you're probably tired of hearing me say that I want you back, but it's true. No strings attached. All real, from the bottom of my heart. I am deeply in love with you."
You skimmed over his expression. Trying to see a crease of fake tucked beneath it, but he just seemed genuine . . . and it scares you.
"And I want you to know," he said too quickly, as if trying to make you stay, "that I'm not just saying this so you could forgive me. I'm saying this because I want you to know that I am serious about loving you. You don't have to forgive me now, or ever. Don't feel bad about telling me to fuck off when you get tired, yeah?"
"I don't care about the things you buy me. I never used them," Satoru blinked at the bluntness of your statement.
"Oh?"
"I'll return them back."
"No. I'm not going to accept them."
"Then, I'm selling it."
"Be my guest, it's technically yours. So, you're free to do whatever you want with it," a sly smile formed on his lips like he had just won the argument, "and your point of telling me this, is?"
"Is that I don't want you to flaunt your money to make me forgive you. I'm not forgiving you now, I still hate you. You think that your money solves everything, and it pisses me off. It's like saying that you could buy my trust back," you tell him, "and frankly, I find that very offensive. And my tongue hurts, aaand I have work."
"I'll bring you—"
"No. You know what you'll bring?" He waits for you, "to bring yourself home and think about what you did."
Satoru pursed his lips, but he nodded anyways, "Yes, ma'am."
Satoru stopped with the luxurious items completely. Basically, you telling him that was you telling him you preferred actions over words, right? Right?
He stands right out the door, even in the heavy rain. It was past your curfew (you set it up), holding the messy flowers curved out of fuzzy wires, he had set his eyes on the pink colored fuzzy wires while he walked by a art store. In his defense, he thought a couple of hours were enough to make 12 sticks of it. It took him five hours, and he had lost track of time.
The flowers weren't the best looking. They looked messy and clunky, just like him right now. But, he thought it was the best thing ever. His shoulders were soaking, and the hood of his jacket. Satoru had protected the flowers to prevent the fuzziness from depleting, and he was pretty damn proud of it.
When the door opened, he shoves the flowers into your hand, "Flowers. Your favorite, it's messy, I know. My first time," he proudly states, grinning from ear to ear, "I hope you like it. I'm sorry I didn't walk you home today, I lost track of time while making these."
You look at the flowers. It shouldn't smell good, these wires smelled tangy, like they had been stored away, "Did you spray perfume?"
He nods, "Oh, yeah. So, it's like real ones."
"It's masculine."
" . . . In a good way, right?"
You nod. The action doesn't faze you, the feeling of distrust still there — he went all this way to give you this, "Okay. Thank you," you mumbled out, your voice drowned by the rain slightly. Satoru nods his head, ready to go, but you stopped him, "you should stay until the rain eases."
Satoru doesn't think much of it. You were being nice, he knows it. You weren't an easy nut to crack, and he respects you for that. Satoru watches you retreat into the kitchen, laying the flowers onto the counter, "Have a seat. I'll get you water."
Satoru shook his head, "No, no. It's okay, I'm fine. I drank tons before coming here."
You nod, "Okay."
The distance between the two of you were big enough to make him nervous. You were sitting like he had the plague, "So, how was work today?"
"Good."
"You ate?"
"Yeah."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"What did you eat?"
You inhaled softly, "Beef ramen."
Satoru hums, "From our usual spot?" And you nodded in a rush, hoping he'd leave it as just that, "Funny how I passed by and then there was a temporarily closed standee there. Were you eating somewhere else?"
"Yeah."
"Stop killing the conversation," you huffed, looking away as he said that, "can we have a little conversation at least until the rain dies?"
Satoru would like to consider himself a lucky man. One time, in a carnival, he threw the last ball into a basket of his friend as a joke and actually won the grand prize. Or that moment when he found . . . a house worth of cash he forgot he saved up in the deepest pits of his closet? Oh, or that one time he answered a pop quiz based on his guts and actually scored highest out of everyone?
But, today just seemed like luck had given out on him. Just as the question leaves his lips, the rain died no longer than minutes later. You smirked, standing up to pretend to look out of the window, "Rain's easing, you can leave now."
Seriously? He grimaced, pushing himself up to take a look himself. You were indeed right, the rain was no longer harsh — in fact, it looked like it didn't even rain at all! He blew out a sigh, "Well, I'm gonna head out. Lock the doors, have a good night, (Name)."
You eye him from where you stood. His back faced you as he slipped his shoes on clumsily, before then, he'd look back with a smile on his face, "Sweet dreams."
The door shuts with a click, but you still stood there. Your head coaxed to face the flowers sitting on the counter — before all of this happened, you remember telling Satoru about your mixed feelings towards flowers. You love them, but at the same time, it was a shame that they die too quickly no matter how hard you try to preserve them.
He'd stop in a couple more weeks. Until then, you'd just have to give him the cold shoulders. Right?
Of course, yet again, wrong. Satoru's efforts grew bigger throughout the weeks. He shows up earlier than ever, he remembers even the slightest changes, recognized the patterns of your feelings. And fuck, he even remembered to track your period — you'd expect everything else, but never a period basket sent to you every week, right on time. Sometimes a day early, sometimes a day late.
Half of the year passed by quick, entering your second semester; you felt great! This should throw him off his usual routine, you could take advantage of this! A few weeks into the new semester, Satoru struggled to catch up with your schedule. He constantly finds himself running after you, asking people about you. And just by the first month, he had already arranged and adjusted his schedules to yours.
Funny thing, he had stopped taking classes with Sukuna. He had a couple with Suguru, they didn't stop talking. Though, Satoru was a bit upset at the fact that his own best friend hadn't tried to protect you. Suguru did send a short text of apology and the two spoke again like nothing happened.
"Can you not start with this again?" You mutter, stomping past him.
Satoru had a light blue shirt on with a long white colored sleeves, jogging after you, "Start what?"
You had paid half the "debt" you proclaimed to have. Satoru accepted it, but he kept it in a box with a little "(Name)'s Investment" writing with a little messy heart. He walks by your side, whistling a random tune. For half a year, nobody had messed with you, nor did they try to mess with you because Satoru made it clear that whoever the fuck does it would mess with him too.
"This whole stalking—"
"Ouch," he grimaced, clutching his chest, "you know? I had a dream the other day. We were on a trip to Maldives, and we stayed in one of those huts in the beach? It was a lot of fun."
"Your point of telling me that?"
"Is that I want to bring you there one day."
You scoffed, "No, thank you."
Satoru's smile doesn't falter, rejection was his all day meal plan for the past six months. It still made him ache sometimes, but he understood where it's coming from. And fuck, if he were to be in your position, maybe he had cut all communications off — you were way too kind, he doesn't even know whether he should be thankful or angry at that.
He continued walking alongside you quietly. Oh, you had resigned from your old place in the convenience store because the boss had assigned his son as the new boss. And . . . to put it short, he was shit at his job. Your paycheck comes later and later every month, Satoru prompted that you should leave while you have the chance to. You weren't planning to take his advice into consideration, but when you lay on your bed at night, you keep thinking of the money you needed and when the paycheck gets held back. No money. No money means death.
Satoru had found a hiring convenience store closer to your apartment and sent the message to you. You were hired on the spot, thanks to those many years of working. Hey, they even complimented you about your loyalty to every place you've worked in. Which, if you think about it was pretty sad.
Since your apartment was closer, you drew a line on him stopping coming to pick you up. However, he came by every single time anyways, stating how it could be dangerous for you to walk home alone despite the distance. You argued back, but it was futile, it was like arguing against a brick wall.
The convenience store you worked in right now had a couple of seats outside, and Satoru spent the hours waiting for you sitting there. Most of the times, he'd purchase a couple of instant food and eat them outside, he'd give you some, claiming he bought too much; but you knew he was just saying that for the sake of not receiving rejection. You accepted the food nonetheless, because . . . need you say much more? It's food.
Your co-workers took notice of the white haired, handsome, blue eyed boy always waiting for you. Most of them were as young as you were, so it's no surprise if they grew a crush on him — sometimes, they'd tell you to give them his number. But, you thought it was none of your business and told them to go ask themselves.
They were about to draw a line, thinking the two of your were dating.
"Him? No, we're not dating. I hate him."
And so begin the flirting of your co-worker towards him. Even to the point of changing shifts with another co-worker to be with you — no, not you. For Satoru, of course. You find her asking you if she could send over the tray for him, you gave the work to her. Satoru noticed the fluttering touches, he'd retract his fingers back with a small smile, "Thanks," he replies all the time, trying to make sense of it all.
He'd decline the girl when she asked for his number twice, and she hasn't asked again. Satoru wasn't stupid, he knew she was flirting with him. Then again, he could care less about her — in his eyes, it's just you. His eyes would travel towards your figure, leaning on the cashier, idle.
"Can you give this to (Name)?" He points at the grilled turkey sandwich and the tuna mayo onigiri, "Tell her to eat, from Satoru."
Your co-worker was confused, but she nodded anyways. She walks in, sliding the food towards you, "I think he likes you," she whispers slyly, it was great that she took no offense and knew her boundaries, "you should definitely try going out with him. He's a fucking beauty."
You rolled your eyes, "Been there, done that."
" . . . So, he's your ex?"
"I think?" Does the bet make him a mock ex or a real ex? You sighed but paid no more mind to eat, ripping the packaging open, "Want some?"
Satoru bit into the tempura, watching you eat with a full heart. At least you let him buy food this time around — usually, he'd find you giving it away to your co-workers. Well, still happening but you were eating most of it and that was enough for him.
In all honesty, he never got bored. He made sure to always have his data on and refilled every single month, played games and charged power banks he didn't even know he had in the first place. By the time your shift ends, he was still fresh and a happy guy, "So, your co-worker's been asking for my number."
"And?"
"You're not jealous?"
"No. Should I?"
"If I were you, I would," Satoru shrugs.
"I told her we weren't dating, she's free to do whatever she wants," you yawned. Satoru raised a questioning brow, "what? Am I wrong? We're not dating."
"Yet."
"Correction: never dating."
Satoru grinned, "I don't like that, but I'm sure we'll be able to change it. Meanwhile, can't we just be friends—"
"I'm not going to be friends with someone I'm uncomfortable with."
Okay. That made him stop, "I'm . . . making you uncomfortable?"
You grumbled, "Well, no. You make me angry, that's the same thing."
"Uncomfortable. Adjective. Causing a feeling or feeling unease or awkward. For example, Satoru feels uncomfortable when (Name)'s not with him," he defined. Not this again, "yes, this again. And yes, you spoke out loud. Anger, noun. Strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility. Example, (Name) could barely restrain her anger at Satoru."
"Shut it."
"Yes, ma'am," he giggled.
Everyday, he spent his time defining your words. Like he always does, that's how you grew to like him anyways . . . which was bad, because you knew you shouldn't be getting close to him again. But, why? Every fucking time he gives you that stupid smile of his, or the way you look forward to his word defining like a walking dictionary, or the way he tries his best to now be more mindful of his money and do something more . . . traditional just for you. Shit, that should be the bare minimum, right? Even you had never received the bare minimum before him, it sucks. He was giving you a lot of your firsts and it scares you.
What if this was another juke of his? What if his feelings were never real? What if he's just using you again?
"Satoru."
"Mhm?" He hums, looking at you.
"Is this some kind of bet again? Like, what are you aiming for?" You questioned him, halting your steps. The street lights flickered like broken flashes, the shadow on his face made you fear that the impending feeling gnawing inside you and screaming that he's playing with you was true, "And if there is seriously something you're aiming for, you should tell me now. Because, God, help me. I'm getting my hopes high again, and I need you to be honest with me now that you're fucking with me and destroy this hope again so I can go on—"
Satoru's smile faltered the more you spoke. Noticing the way your pace slowly picked up, and the way your eyelids flutter faster; a sign of nervousness he picked up, "Sweetheart, calm down. Deep breaths, then I'll speak, yeah?"
You inhaled deeply, slowing your breaths, " . . . Okay."
"Alright. You're okay?" You nod, "What makes you think I'm doing this because I want something? I've stopped hanging out with those dicks because I wanted you. Not to make you believe in me. That's one. Two, what else do I have to ask for when all I wanted was you? Three, if me saying I love you isn't enough, I'll get on my knees and be—"
"Okay, you're . . . odd. You're just scaring me now."
Satoru broke into a laugh, "Because I said I'll get on my knees and beg?"
You nod, "You don't do that."
He shrugs, "For you, I would."
Your fists were clenched so hard, you could barely feel the sting from your nails anymore. Teeth grit so tightly that you felt your jaw ache, "And if I gave you another chance?"
Satoru swallowed the lump in his throat, tracing a big 'X' across where his heart laid, "I cross my heart, that if I ever do wrong, you can leave me and I won't run after you," Satoru thinks you deserved better, then again, he hates the thought of someone else being with you — so, he's going to be better for you.
" . . . Why?"
"Why what? Why I said that?" He smirked, "'Cause I'm a big learner. I don't do the same stuff twice."
"I don't understand."
"Means. You're stuck with me forever now," he muttered, his hand pressed against your cheek, "and that doesn't sound too bad now, does it?" He chuckles, leaning in.
You didn't answer.
"Do I have the permission or . . ?"
In the first place, you thought that you had made it clear that you were allowing yourself to be courted by him, no strings attached this time. When that question pops from his lips, you couldn't help but to give him a mock smile, "And if I said no?"
"You're so annoying," he murmured before his lips were on yours. It wasn't the first time the two of you were lip locked, but the feeling bursts in your heart like this was the first time. It wasn't the kind where he was physically ravaging you — the kiss was slow, and sweet. Satoru channeled his relieve into the kiss, you could feel it. It didn't last long, he pulled back, eyes glossy, "I missed you so much, I'm going to fucking cry."
"You're such a nerd."
"So, what?" He captured your nose in between his teeth gently, "You like me either ways."
"Don't push your luck."
Satoru pulls back with a smile, "I'm going to ask you officially again, (Name). I know I wasn't the best boyfriend, or the best person to you. And I'm truly sorry for what I did to you. I swear on my life, that I'm asking you . . . again," he smiles to himself, "to be my girlfriend. No strings attached this time. Only my true feelings. And I hope you say yes because it'll make me the best man in the world."
"You say that like we're getting married."
"Practice makes perfect," he winked, "so . . ." his voice trails off, waiting for your answer that'll possibly — no, it will rekindle your relationship back. He just needed to hear it from you.
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