cw ⭑.ᐟ NSFW, 18+ MDNI, college AU, angst & smut & eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, mean & bratty nerd gojo, unsafe motorcycle riding (WEAR PROPER SAFETY GEAR PLS), heavy pining (one sided), unrequited -> requited love, teasing & banter, a lot of "fuck you" "fuck you too" exchanges, POV switch, fingering, oral s*x (f & m rec.), unprotected piv s*x, more warnings released w/ each part
summary ⭑.ᐟ You're no stranger to competition with Gojo Satoru—a dork with an un-earned ego bigger even than his DnD figurine collection. So what the hell is he doing on a motorcycle? This can't be the same Gojo you've butted heads with for three years, because if it is... has he always looked like that under the giant glasses and stupid Digimon hoodies? How much—or how little do you actually know about this nerd?
series masterlist: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | | part 5 | bonus — playlist (yeah, i did a fucking playlist. listen to it hoes)
a/n ⭑.ᐟ its done and its a miniseries!! i genuinely can't believe i finished this but I did TᴗT sorry i made u all wait 500 years. part 1 is short bc it's the preview from...3 months ago(whoops) comment here to be tagged! <3 | art in the header by the insanely talented @/aliyartss on insta, dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/strangergraphics-archive <3
pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader
tags. 1k wc, biker boy x biker girl au, non-sorcerer au, crack, fluff, dirty jokes (?), satoru rides an s1k, biker!sukuna mentions, same au as my other fic. sparked by a random idea bcos why haven't we thought abt biker!gojo honestly? he would be so funny on tiktok if he was a biker boy lmao
You’ve all heard about Biker!Sukuna. That famous biker boy on biketok who has tattoos and rides a blacked out Yamaha R1.
But have you heard about Biker!Gojou?
Well… For starters, Satoru Gojou wasn’t a seasoned biker.
In fact, he was more of a poser than anything, but you’d never catch him admitting that. His prized BMW S1000RR, the crown jewel of superbikes, was more about image than skill. The sleek, aggressive lines of the machine, combined with the prestige of the BMW logo, were all he needed to keep up appearances on TikTok. And he learned that appearances were everything, especially when Sukuna, with his obnoxious face tattoos and natural charisma, hogged the limelight (especially from all the girls!) with every post, even with a girlfriend already in tow. The sheer audacity of that scum was enough to drive Satoru up the wall. Fine, he had to admit. He was jealous of Sukuna’s popularity and the fact that he snatched a cute booktok girlfriend as his backpack.
Suguru, his best friend and fellow biker, didn’t let him forget it either. As they stood by their bikes outside Barnes & Noble to spot booktok girls, Suguru glanced at Satoru’s liter bike and smirked.
“Pretentious motherfucker,” he muttered, slinging a leg over his Yamaha MT-10, the less flashy but undeniably badass naked bike. Unlike Gojou, Suguru didn’t care about clout. The MT-10 was all about raw power and agility, the kind of bike a real rider appreciated. “You only got that thing because it’s a BMW. You gonna actually ride it for real one of these days?”
“Shut up.” Satoru rolled his eyes, adjusting his white Alpinestars riding gloves while holding his phone up to go live on TikTok. Starting with a 1000cc as a beginner bike wasn’t a very wise choice, but still... “People love the S1K, you know that.”
And let me tell you about Satoru’s favorite time of the day (or night). It was whenever he would go live, and the comments would pour in as soon as his stream started. That was when he could lavish in his social media presence the most.
user19463: Bro, when are you gonna show us some actual riding content?
anon875biker: All that thirst trapping. Bet you don’t even take that thing out of the garage.
harleysRbetter: U punks R ruining the riding community!
Gojou grinned at the screen, winking at both his followers and haters. “Alright, boomers, calm down. I’ll post some riding content soon. Don’t cry too much before then, yeah?”
r1.skn: Sir, can you do wheelies?
Suguru found that comment hilarious, recognizing the username and knowing exactly who it belonged to—Sukuna. But Satoru’s competitive nature kicked in instantly while he continued to scroll through the comments. “Yeah, I can do wheelies. Ignore Sukuna, guys. Focus on me!”
msbikerluvr: Still looking for a backpack, Gojou? Lmao.
“About the backpack… you know, I’m just waiting for the right one. Applications are still open—” He was about to launch into another witty retort when a sound cut through the chatter of his stream—it was a deep, throaty rev that sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. Satoru’s head immediately whipped to the direction of the sound, just in time to see a flash of race blue zipping down the street.
There you were, riding a Yamaha R7, your black Dainese jacket hugging your curves as you leaned into the wind. The way you handled the bike, so smooth and confident, it was as if the motorcycle was an extension of you.
“Damn, she’s hot.” Without a second thought, Satoru ended the live stream abruptly, “Gotta go, guys. Someone just stole my heart,” and pocketed his phone.
“Did you seriously just—” Suguru started, but Satoru was already mounting his S1000RR.
“Catch you later, Suguru!” he called, gunning the engine without even looking at his best friend. Soon enough, the 1000cc bike roared to life when he shifted into first gear, and he sped off in pursuit of the blue R7.
He caught sight of you at the next red light, the signal holding you in place just long enough for him to catch up. Thank God there was no sign of a biker boyfriend around when he pulled up alongside you, visor down, adrenaline still kicking him alive. He tried to get your attention by revving his S1K, and you turned your head slightly, barely acknowledging him as you pulled your visor up and revealed the prettiest eyes Gojou had ever seen.
Satoru flipped up his visor too, then flashed his most charming grin. “Hey there,” he said, trying to keep his voice smooth and casual. Like it was a normal encounter. “You’re fast. I like that.”
You may have rolled your eyes, but he could tell you were smirking underneath the balaclava as you talked through the Cardo intercom linked to your AGV K1s. “And you’re obnoxious. I don’t like that.”
Oooh, she’s spicy. He laughed at the silly thought in his head, unbothered by your dismissal. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’m just trying to get to know the girl who stole my heart in the middle of a live stream.”
“Your heart, huh?” you teased, revving her engine just slightly. “Sounds like you’re more interested in what’s under my jacket.”
“Now that’s a baseless accusation,” he retorted, leaning in slightly. “I don’t do anything on the first night, you know. I usually wait until the second, after a nice dinner. I’m a gentleman like that.”
His remark made you snort, shaking your head at his boldness. “You’re a ridiculous guy.”
“But I’m also serious,” he added, his voice sincere despite the playful glint in his eyes. “Let me take you out, just dinner. No strings, no funny business—unless you’re into that kind of thing. I don’t mind that, either.”
Your laughter sounded like a sweet melody to his ears. “You’ve got guts, mister. I’ll give you that.” Has anyone told you how hot you looked while leaning into your bike? Damn. Satoru was distracted, checking you out for a moment until you spoke again, “Fine. One dinner. But don’t think you’re getting into my pants just because you ride a fancy bike.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he promised, grinning from ear to ear.
The light turned green, and without another word, you revved your engine and took off with Satoru right on your tail. The chase was on, but this time, it wasn’t just about the thrill of the ride.
For Satoru Gojou, it was about something far more exhilarating—winning the attention of the most intriguing biker girl he’d ever met.
And perhaps, the biker boyfriend and backpack girlfriend content he’d been hoping to post on Tiktok may slightly change into a different direction than he expected.
cw ⭑.ᐟ NSFW, 18+ MDNI, college AU, angst & smut & eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, mean & bratty nerd gojo, unsafe motorcycle riding (WEAR PROPER SAFETY GEAR PLS), heavy pining (one sided), unrequited -> requited love, teasing & banter, a lot of "fuck you" "fuck you too" exchanges, POV switch, fingering, oral s*x (f & m rec.), unprotected piv s*x, chapter content: angst and some smut, alcohol consumption, smoking, a lil street racing, name calling (they're both kinda mean), heavy make-out, groping, thigh riding(we <3 riding here)
summary ⭑.ᐟ You're no stranger to competition with Gojo Satoru—a dork with an un-earned ego bigger even than his DnD figurine collection. So what the hell is he doing on a motorcycle? This can't be the same Gojo you've butted heads with for three years, because if it is... has he always looked like that under the giant glasses and stupid Digimon hoodies? How much—or how little do you actually know about this nerd? part 2 w/c ⭑.ᐟ 13k (what'd i say??)
a/n ⭑.ᐟ everyone say ty to my wife @madamechrissy for helping my indecisive ass land on making this a series! mwah <3 buckle up lovelies! oh wait, no seatbelts on a motorcycle. hold on tight then! | art in the header by the talented @/aliyartss on insta, dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/strangergraphics-archive <3
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Two drinks in along with an hour of dancing with Nobara, and you’re feeling much better than you were when you stepped into this club.
The air is thick, heavy with carbon dioxide from the sweaty, writhing masses on the dance floor, weighed down further by music you can feel in your bones. Strobing coloured lights flash over you every so often and render you a little blinded when they hit your retinas.
But you guess that it might be kind of fun. You and Nobara are doing whatever passes for dancing in your minds, laughing at and with each other. Yuuta and Maki are off on their own somewhere and Yuuji is trying to hype up Megumi into dancing with him—more than the little head bob and sway he’s doing now.
As you’re chuckling at the sight of them, you stagger forward and crash into Nobara who luckily stabilizes herself enough to catch you too. You pull yourself off her and whirl around to snap at whatever asshole just body checked you from behind.
And just your luck? You meet wide blue eyes blinking back at you from over a broad shoulder.
“Oh, sorry, didn’t see—“
“Watch it,” You snap, cutting him off and he pulls his hands off the girl working on fusing herself to his chest to raise them defensively. “The next person might knee you in the balls for that.” You turn away, putting your attention back on Nobara.
“Huh!? I can’t hear you!” That nails on a chalkboard voice squawks right in your ear, setting you back several progressive steps and right back into simmering irritation.
“I said—“ You whirl around, ready to connect your kneecap somewhere soft and vulnerable that’ll put him on the filth of the dance floor, but you stop instead as you meet Gojo’s face. So close that you can see every pale eyelash that flutters as he looks you over again, shamelessly, lingering more than the last time.
“Mind if I cut in? Since I’m right here anyways.” He looks to Nobara as he asks and she frowns and goes to respond, but you cut in before she can get a word out.
“Yes, I do mind, very much in fact.” You snap your head back to Nobara, “I’m going outside for some air, I feel like I’m suffocating right now.” You say loud enough to get your point across to everyone.
She lifts her eyebrows and it says, ‘yeah, I bet’ Before you both turn to head in opposite directions.
The cool night air hits your overheated skin as you step out of the club, prickling goosebumps across your chest even though you’re anything but cold. Stars dot the sky above, it’s not quiet by any means but it still feels calm here, soothing the frayed ends of your very confused nerves.
You get about two minutes of peace before a bright and familiar laugh sets your skin buzzing and your eye twitching. You contemplate just taking off in a sprint until you’re out of range and walking back to the estate Yuuta is putting you all up in, but you’re not fast enough.
“Silver! What are you doing up here?” Gojo walks right up to you, Geto leans against the wall next to you, lighting up a cigarette.
“Sorry, I told him he didn’t have to come with.” Geto offers sympathetically, you shake your head as he holds the pack out to you.
“It’s fine. It’s a public street, anyone can be out here,” Your eyes narrow at Gojo, “even the riffraff.”
“Pfft, riffraff? What, are you accepting your fate as a seventy year old cat lady already?” He laughs and it sends your stomach flipping up into your throat and your hand itches like it wants to say hello to his face. Gojo grins and it’s all straight white teeth and bright blue eyes lidded under stupidly long white lashes. “Y’know, it’s been scientifically proven that smiling and saying positive things out loud can improve mood and one’s overall health, even if it’s disingenuous. You should try it, it might even help your grade too.”
“I’ll keep that in mind and make sure to mention it next time you throw a temper tantrum over another internship spot.” You make a point of smiling as sweetly as you possibly can when you’re in Gojo’s vicinity.
Geto sighs next to you like he just wanted to have a cigarette in peace. But peace is never an option when it comes to you and Gojo.
“I’m over it,” Gojo waves a hand, brushing you off. “But you’re clearly still stuck on the midterm. You shouldn’t take it so hard, everyone else got the same question wrong too—well,” He grins again. “Except for me that is.”
It stings. It always does when it’s this fresh. The hours spent studying, pouring time and effort and your life into preparing for yet another test just to have him beat you by one stupid fucking question. It wouldn’t bother you so much, sure you’re competitive, but it wouldn’t hurt if he wasn’t always such an asshole about it. Rubbing your nose in your own loss.
“Fuck you, Gojo.” You spit the words with a glare.
“How vulgar,” He tuts, “I thought you were better than that.”
“Thought wrong, guess you’re not as smart as you think you are.”
“You’re so bitter, you really need to loosen up a bit.” He smirks, casting a glance over his shoulder before setting his eyes back on you with a brow lifted. “Wanna go for a ride? It’ll take the edge off and I can show you what it’s like to finally win.”
You can’t hold in the barked laugh that bursts out at that. You’re expecting him to admit to the joke, but he just stands there. Silent with a pale brow up expectantly as he stares like he’s waiting for something, an answer? “You’re kidding, right?”
“I don’t joke about winning.”
“Yeah,” You start with a flat look, “It’s gonna be a hard no, I’d like to survive till graduation.”
“Oh come on,” He drawls, wandering over to where the sleek black bike is parked and throws a leg over, leaning back in the seat with one hand on the grip. “Live a little, Silver, we can even race someone and you can ride the coattails of my win, the usual stuff.”
The bike starts with a momentary roar, quieting down to a purring hum that you can feel even at a distance. You shiver a little but it’s not from the cool night air. The memory of that race earlier today comes flooding back, the adrenaline that filled those seconds seeps in, making your pulse hum in time with the engine. It’s all just so… confusing. Knowing it was Gojo under that helmet is fucking you up a little.
You hate him.
So why are you getting kind of excited at the idea of taking him up on the offer? Why are you even considering it?
“What makes you think I’d go anywhere with you, Gojo? Especially not when you’ve been drinking.” You cross your arms, trying to ignore the little voice urging you to do it.
“Nah, don’t worry, I’m stone cold sober.” He assures with a nod. “And because I know you want to know what it’s like,” He revs the bike a little. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like you did with your foot to the floor trying to keep up with me.”
He’s kind of right, but fuck him.
“So what happens when we crash? I like my dermis as it is—attached to the rest of my body, not smeared on the road.” His eyes flick down, dragging back up and over you as he hums.
Is he… checking you out?
You feel very aware of the kind of skimpy outfit you decided to wear out tonight as his eyes rove up your legs—bare up to the skirt that barely hits mid-thigh—and over the low cut top Nobara stuffed you into.
“We won’t crash, I’m pretty good at driving this thing.” He meets your eyes again with a smile that’s not the smug or cocky one he usually gives you, there’s something else there.
God damn it.
How could it be him? Does the universe really hate you that much?
How could your street racer, the biker boy of dreams you didn’t even know you had, be Gojo?
It feels like a prank, a cruel one. Or maybe a test, and you were already thinking about taking it, tempted to give in to an adrenaline junkie side that you had no idea even existed, not before him.
But you huff and give him grief because that’s what you and Gojo do. “You’re not going to stop until I say yes, huh? Why? Do you just want to scare the shit out of me?” He shrugs and you both stare silently for a few seconds.
Geto clears his throat next to you, “You can use my helmet... if you want.”
“Not helping.” You throw him a side eyed glare.
“See!” Gojo throws his hand out to Geto, beaming at you. “Totally safe. Just say yes, it’s so obvious that you want to.”
Fuck.
Are you really about to do this?
“Clearly my judgement is severely impaired right now.” You mutter, peeling off the wall to approach Gojo as he grins like the god damn cheshire cat.
Geto grabs his helmet for you and your stomach tightens as you watch Gojo slip his on, transforming into your faceless street racer right before your eyes once more. He flips the visor up and watches as you pull your hair back, tucking it behind your ears before tugging the helmet on.
You fiddle with the clasp a little, trying to clip it, head tilted back to expose your neck and give your hands more room. You flinch as warm fingers brush your jaw, taking the clasp out of your hands.
“Chill, I got it.” Gojo murmurs as his hands work, you let yours drop away and watch him as he secures the clasp, tightening the strap a little with head tilted and brow furrowed, a few pieces of snowy hair falling in his eyes.
You try to fight it, but as his thumb grazes your throat, right over your pulse point that’s humming away, you swallow hard.
“There we go,” He pulls back and slaps the top of the helmet, gripping it to shake your head a little and you jerk back out of his grasp. “All set, you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” You sigh, the sound muffled with the helmet covering your mouth.
“Hop on then, let’s go.” He twists to pat the space behind him. You eye it, then Gojo.
Against all better instincts, you lift and throw a leg over the back of his bike. The cool leather is like a shock as your ass meets the seat, holding your skirt down until you're sat. You grip the back of the seat, scooting and holding yourself back to keep distance between you and the ridiculously broad back right in your face.
Gojo turns, looking over his shoulder at you. “Hold on tight, I don’t go slow.” You can hear the smirk on his face and you roll your eyes.
You keep your hands on the back of the seat as he flicks the visor down and hefts the bike upright, flipping the kickstand up with his foot. Your toes lift off the ground and your balance falters, hands shooting out to steady yourself on the only thing in reach; Gojo’s back. Your feet search for purchase and find the rear pegs, settling there you regain some balance.
You can feel his laugh as you slide forward a little on the seat, chest pressed right up against him now. Closer to him right now than you’ve ever been in the three years you’ve known him, closer than you’ve ever wanted to get.
The purr of the bike as he walks it back goes right through you and it has to be fucking with your head because this all feels too good. The heat of his body against yours, feeling nothing but hard cut lines under your hands as you give in and wrap them around his waist.
Geto waves you both off. Gojo toes the shifter and nods to him, twisting the throttle a little and your knees squeeze around him, hands gripping the front of Gojo’s shirt as he shifts into gear, and peels off.
It’s all squealing tires and whipping wind and you realize that he was totally holding back when we raced. In a matter of blinks, you’re going faster than you think you ever have in your life and…
It feels amazing.
The adrenaline pumping through you now is greater even than when you raced him.
It feels almost natural, leaning a little with him as he takes corners, feeling him press his back into your chest as he brakes to make a sharp turn, leaning forward into him as he twists the throttle hard to get back up to breakneck speed on straight stretches.
Doing all of it with your mouth curved in a smile hidden by the front of Geto’s helmet as you look out at the scenery. The road he’s taken you both up to runs almost right next to the water. Winding and curved, only a couple of other cars are on the road with you, but he leaves them behind quickly.
You’re thinking it’s just going to be a ride like this, quiet and just the two of you aimlessly speeding along with the pretty view of a darkened—inky and almost black—ocean on your left. You’re admiring said view when Gojo slaps your thigh a few times, just above your knee and you startle and suck in a sharp breath at the sudden contact, turning your attention back to him as he points at something in the distance.
It’s a car. A little hard to tell what kind in the dark but it’s low and sleek and looks like it could probably go fast. You’re about to yell at him to ask ‘what about it?’ but he grips the handle again, downshifts, and cranks the throttle.
He catches up to the car quickly, coming up close on the bumper of maybe... a mustang? You're not sure, you've never really been into cars outside of their function and utilization in hypotheticals for momentum in Newtonian mechanics.
Your grip around Gojo tightens further as he swerves around to pull up next to the car and it dawns on you exactly what he’s doing.
He’s about to fucking race this guy.
The thought sends a jolt of lightning up your spine, making you shiver again. The night air is cool, but the drinks you’ve had tonight and Gojo’s body heat leeching through his shirt and right into you keeps you warm despite the wind tearing around you.
A silent conversation passes between Gojo and the guy driving the car, revving and nosing ahead of each other in a mechanical dick measuring contest. Through the open window you can see there’s a girl in the passenger seat of the car, leaning hard into the driver with his hand high up on her thigh.
You’re all too aware of how you and Gojo look right now, how you’re touching, chest pressed to his back and thighs around his hips. To the couple in the car, you probably look, well, the same as them.
It’s so confusing because it doesn’t disgust you like you expect it to. Like his hands on your neck, on your thigh should have. He’s an asshole, a nerd with an ego too big to fit inside his helmet or even his big fat stupid head.
When did he even start riding a bike? It’s so out of character for him—at least from what you know about him with all the annoying back and forth you two have been doing over the years.
From the very first interaction, when he’d pointed out how close your score was even though you topped his, not even saying ‘hi’ before he got under your skin, you’ve felt nothing but burning, white hot hatred for him. Three years worth of it built up. You’re definitely still burning, but it’s something alive, hot and deep in your gut that makes your knees clench tighter that you’re feeling right now.
Gojo yanks you out of your churning thoughts, urging the bike faster and faster. The sound of both the car and his bike peaking to max RPM’s before shifting and somehow getting even faster. You can’t see the speedo, but you know it’d probably make your stomach flip to see as you approach a straight stretch, coming out of a turn that has you so close to the car as its tires squeal and fight for grip.
You come out of the turn and the back tire skids a little, fishtailing in a terrifying wobble that steals your breath and stops your heart, white-knuckling his shirt as Gojo fights it, throttling to push the bike through, and he does.
He opens the bike up again and tears ahead, faster than the car could ever hope to recover from the corner and taking the lead, only gaining more distance between the car as he pushes harder, faster.
There was never a finish line set for the race, but in unspoken street-racing rules, you assume Gojo has all but actually claimed gold here as you round another corner and the car disappears from sight, defeated and backing off.
Even over the wind and the bike, Gojo’s whooping laugh rings out loud and clear as he pumps a fist in the air, savouring his victory lap as he slows a little to a slightly less heart-pounding speed.
And you’re grinning. Laughing right along with him because that was exhilarating. It feels so good, the way your heart beats at your ribcage, thudding against his back with your senses so alight the air smells sharper, the dark waves that roll and lick at the shore seem alive.
Everything around you feels crisp and clear.
The feeling that spreads as Gojo slaps his hand on your thigh, gripping and leaving it there with his long fingers pressing into your soft flesh higher than before. Laughing victoriously still, like he’s claiming a prize.
You know the feeling. It’s not unfamiliar, but it’s foreign and confusing for it to be flooding in around Gojo.
Hands unclenching from his shirt, your fingers ease and splay out against his sternum, palms pressed to abs you had no idea he had.
You feel almost high and chalk it up to adrenaline from a near skid out and the endorphins of winning. Not the way he squeezes one more time and pulls his hand off so slowly, fingers dragging tortuously over your skin to replace on the grip after what feels like somehow way too long and not nearly enough time.
The touch is seared onto your thigh, the heat of his hand there burned into your skin and brain as you cruise on, looping back to head into town again. Head turned and resting the side of the helmet against Gojo’s spine as you look out at the quiet streets that blur past, it all feels so good and you let yourself just feel it. Knowing it’s fleeting.
He hates you just as much as you hate him—well, maybe you hate him just a little more—and that still stands of course, but maybe just for tonight you can allow yourself to feel something else.
For this ride, he can just be your nameless, faceless street racer instead of your mortal enemy. You deserve that, right?
You press hard into Gojo as he brakes, screeching to a near full stop and pulling the bike around to park in front of not the club as you’re expecting, but a small shop. Windows lit with colorful neon signs that cast bright colors on the sidewalk out front.
“What are you doing?” You ask, pulling away from him as he shuts the bike off. “We should probably get back to the club.”
“Just a quick pit stop, this place has really good ice-cream sandwiches.” He’s muffled a little with the helmet still on, twisting to look over his shoulder as he gestures to the shop. “They use monster cookies and like half a pint of whatever flavor you want.”
You’re stopping for… ice-cream? You make a face behind the cover of the blacked out visor. “Oh, um… okay.”
He leans the bike and hops off first, holding a hand out to help you off.
You stare at it.
It feels weird. Sure you’ve been smushed against his back with your arms around him for the last—you’re actually not sure how long you two have been out for, you realize—but that was out of pure necessity.
This is just… nice?
Gojo Satoru, being nice, to you?
You think it might be a trick, a prank to let you fall on your face should you actually lean on him at all. But, for some reason, you take the offering anyway. Taking his hand as you swing your leg over and slide down the side. You don’t fall, he doesn’t yank his hand away at just the right time, he just… helps you get off the bike.
He pulls his helmet off, shaking his head to make already messy platinum hair even fluffier, like one of those Persian cats after they’ve been blow-dried and you chuckle at the sight, getting a flat look back.
Pulling off Geto’s helmet, Gojo gets one look at you and howls, throwing his head back to laugh at you with zero hesitation, returning the favour.
You tuck the helmet under an arm and pat your head, feeling your own messy hair. Scowling at Gojo as you fix it a little with a finger comb.
Leaving both helmets on the seat of his bike, Gojo walks into the shop ahead of you. Holding the door for you to grab behind him—not like a gentleman, but also not letting it slam in your face as would be usual.
Tonight just feels weird. Nothing is going how you would imagine it to—hell, you never would have imagined getting on that bike in the first place, not while knowing who was driving it. But here you are, getting ice-cream with Gojo.
There are already a couple other people inside when you walk in, one on his phone at a table trying to focus on the screen and failing miserably—very clearly drunk—and a girl ordering at the counter.
“So, you’ve been here before?” You ask Gojo as you line up behind the girl.
“A few times, yeah.” He peers at the display case, humming and looking over the options as the girl ahead pays for her order. “For you, I’m gonna say… vanilla seems fitting, with oatmeal raisin cookies, also fitting.” He turns back to you, shit eating grin stretched wide across his face.
You ignore that and step up to the case to look in. “For you, cotton candy—predictably over the top—and… ah, sugar cookies, same reason.” You turn back to Gojo and he’s still just smiling down at you.
“Sounds like you just think I’m sweet.”
“Sounds like you think I’m classic and consistent.”
“To a fault, although,” He tilts his head a little, “Maybe not as boring as I thought.”
Usually, you’d snap something back at him, call him a loser or tell him to get back to moderating his Digimon reddit forum and quit thinking about you.
But you don’t.
Instead, you lift your chin a little, hands loosely clasped in front of you instead of crossed and guarded. “Yeah, I’ve been surprising even myself today.”
Now he looks surprised, blinking once as the grin slips a little like he wasn’t expecting that either.
“Yeah…” His jaw works, a muscle feathering for a moment like he’s holding something back and he clears his throat. “If you really feel like living it up tonight, you should try the salted caramel. There are crunchy caramel bits and a ripple in there too. Still on the boring side, but with a little bit of, mmm, something else.” Your lips part and he steps up to the counter.
These personality reads disguised as ice-cream flavours are weird. Is he kind of right, though? Maybe about you, but maybe about himself too. He’s being weirdly nice. Weirdly sweet.
What the fuck is going on?
Gojo gets strawberry cheesecake with—and you grin as he does, brimming with satisfaction at being spot on with your assumption—sugar cookies. Deciding to take Gojo’s advice, you get the salted caramel with classic chocolate chip cookies and he grins as you do, looking equally satisfied.
You go to pull some cash out of a pocket in your skirt, Gojo has his wallet out and taps a sleek dark card on the reader. You go to hand over a few bills for your order, but Gojo says something that makes your face screw up, mouth hanging indignantly.
“I got it.”
Okay… what the actual fuck is going on?
Taking you for a ride on his bike, touching you, stopping for ice-cream, paying for said ice-cream, being kind of nice to you all the while.
It’s all too much like stuff people do on dates and if you didn’t hate each other's guts, you’d say it kind of feels like that too.
But you do.
You hate him.
He hates you.
So it’s all just weird instead.
The woman working hands Gojo a dark purple box, beaming at him as she does and you eye Gojo as he takes it, returning her smile with one of his own. She’s giving him that look people do when they see something they like, eyes lit up and glued to his face like it’s the best part.
Your body is doing stupid shit as he turns to you, box in hand and tips his head to the door, some of his fluffed up platinum hair falling across his bright eyes, so weird to see unobscured by glasses. Smile almost as bright as the shade of cerulean in his irises. You turn away, from Gojo and from the weird feeling tightening across your chest, twisting in your stomach and making this shop too warm all of a sudden.
He follows you out, opening up the box and handing you your dessert. He leans on his bike and you lean against the wall outside the shop as you both take the first bite.
You really, really hate to admit it, but Gojo was right.
“This is—mmf—really good.” You mumble around cookie crumbs and the not too sweet ice-cream that coats your mouth with a slightly salty tinge that compliments the ribbon of thick and creamy caramel perfectly, those little crunchy bits offering something kind of nutty too.
“Mmm—I know right,” He nods, mouth full of his own sickly sweet concoction. “I knew you’d like that one.” You’re about to take another bite, but that makes you falter, hand halted just before the thick sandwich reaches your open mouth.
He’s munching away at his own dessert and his hand comes up like he’s about to adjust his glasses, but realizes they’re not there and he drops it back to hold the cookie. It’s something you’ve seen him do hundreds—god, probably thousands of times and it forces the last bit of the realization in through a crack opening.
You’ve known Gojo for three years, been around him for a lot with you both working towards the same degree in the same field, you’re in pretty much every class together, spent almost the entirety of your college life with him.
You do know him, maybe not well, but he clearly knows you too. Maybe not by choice but more by the forced proximity despite M.I.T. being a massive school.
But this is the first time you’re seeing him like this, a little softer around the edges.
“Y’know,” You start, lowering your hand from your mouth. “I think this is the longest we’ve ever gone without insulting each other.” His eyes find yours and he swallows the mouthful of cookie and ice-cream.
“Feels kinda weird, right?” You nod slowly and he chuckles. “I can say something about the midterm and you can call me an egotistical asshole or something, get back to the usual stuff if you want?”
“You don’t have to bring up the midterm, I’ll call you an egotistical asshole anytime.” He laughs at that.
“Of course, silly me.” You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling and you take a bite to force your mouth to do something else.
Gojo finishes first, that big fat mouth is good for more than just shit talking you guess, and you peel off the wall as you pop the last bit in your mouth, walking back to Gojo leaning on his bike. He stands and gives you a look that makes your stomach flip a little.
“Wanna try sitting up front?”
“You mean like… driving?” The ride was fun, but the thought of being the one in control of the sleek black rocket makes that flip in your stomach turn to full on somersaults and he laughs.
“No, no,” He wipes a fake tear. “No way I’m letting you drive,”
You scowl, “What’s so funny? Don’t think I can?”
“I never said that,” He lifts his hands, palms out and placating. “And it’s not while the bike is moving, just to sit.”
“Just to sit?” You echo and he nods. “What’s even the point of that?”
“It’s fun,” He shrugs, “and I can show you how to work it.” You feel heat flood into your cheeks at that, going wide eyed and he laughs. “Get your mind out of the gutter, the bike, I mean.”
“Tch, whatever.” Your eyes roll again, but you do step up and swing a leg over, taking the front seat. Up on tip toes, your hands splay on the tank for balance, expecting him to stand there and point out all the buttons and controls.
But he doesn’t.
Gojo takes the seat behind you, his weight sinking the bike’s suspension a bit. His hips pressed to your ass. Breath catching as he leans forward to look over your shoulder, his chest against your ramrod straight spine, your whole body going stiff as his closes around you.
A pale forearm, veins and muscle prominent under his skin, reaches around you to point things out on the bike in front of you. “Okay, the important stuff first, throttle, clutch, and—you’ll like this one—brake.” The teasing lilt to his voice makes you itch to turn and scowl over your shoulder, but he’s right there and if you do… it’d be too close.
“Alright, hands on the grips and feet on the pegs,” You do as he says, holding the grips tight and shifting your toes to rest on the pegs—thankful you opted for cute sneakers instead of heels for tonight, they’re coming in handy for more than just the dancing you’d planned. “Good, you’re a natural! Stay just like that.”
You swallow hard against something tight in your throat as heat spreads throughout your entire body, emanating from deep in your center. You don’t think he’s ever commended you, definitely not like this, not with his hard chest against you as he pushes the bike upright, both feet on the ground to balance.
“Okay, this switch here, flick it.” He points it out and you do so with your thumb, staying silent as he walks you through the steps of starting the bike and it roars to life. He shows you the shifter near your foot, how to work the clutch in tandem with it and the throttle and you try to follow along, but your head is a little scattered.
“Okay so… hold the clutch, shift to gear, ease off the clutch and onto the throttle, right?” You ask, going through the steps over again.
“Yeah, you’ve got it. But remember to steer too, no smashing into walls.” You scoff, turning to give him a look like ‘yeah, no shit.’ before you can think twice on it and come face to face with Gojo. The look wiped right off to instead stare wide eyed back at him.
“So,” He looks ahead of you, to the bike as his other arm comes around, hand brushing yours as he thumbs a button near the grip. “That’s the horn,” His hand drops, flicking a switch near the speedometer. “Lights are—“
“Why are you doing this?” You blurt, the words jumping up and out of your throat, forced out by your stomach twisting on itself with Gojo so close, pressed in and around you.
He looks at you again, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
His mouth opens, hesitating for a second and letting a sigh out as his eyes drop, feeling his breath fan over your lips as he does. “Just trying to be nice, I guess.”
Your jaw clenches, hands tightening on the grips. “But, why though?” His eyes flick back up to yours, brow low but not frowning, not smiling either.
“Felt like trying something new, doing something different. Is that allowed?” His voice is thin, words clipped like you’ve hit something and it’s irritated him. You almost want to ask what’s wrong, but you don’t.
“You’re so all over the place.”
A smirk quirks his mouth, smugness tugging his lips. “I think you just have a hard time keeping up with me.”
There it is.
“It’s impossible to keep up with inconsistency.” Your eyes narrow a little and his do too, but there’s a slight lift to them as well.
“It doesn’t even seem like you’re trying.”
You glare now, the usual irritation that simmers between you two rising to cut through whatever else you’re feeling having him so close. “Have you crashed this thing already? You’re talking like someone with head-trauma. Trying to do something impossible sounds pretty damn similar to the definition of insanity people love to misquote.”
He’s acting crazy right now, toeing waters that aren’t meant for you and Gojo. The familiarity of butting heads isn’t pleasant but it’s less heart pounding than whatever else is stirring—has been stirring since that race.
“Right back to insulting me, lasted all of five minutes with that one, nice.” He scoffs and you return it, whipping your head forward.
“It was like ten minutes, and it’s hardly an insult if it's true.”
“So if I’m ever nice, it has to be because of head-trauma?” He barks a laugh, loud and humourless in your ear. “How else am I supposed to take that if not as an insult? Last time I ever buy your ungrateful ass ice-cream, damn.”
“Ungrateful?” You echo, pitched and undignified and more like a squawk than a retort. “I never asked for that,” You scramble to get off the bike, needing space and to not be six inches away from his face when you look at him. You slide off, leg up and on the seat and your foot gets caught. Gojo goes to help you and you snap. “Don’t, I’ve got it.”
He backs off, hands up as you yank your foot off and stumble back. “Okay! God, don’t pop a blood vess—”
“I never asked for this, never asked for any of this actually.” You jab a finger at him, probably looking a little wild with wide eyes and helmet hair. “You dragged me out here and I have no idea why—“
“Oh stop, just admit it,” He cuts you off. The engine dies as he flips the kickstand out and leans the bike again. “You had fun.”
You blink, finger still aimed accusingly but curling in on itself as he stands. “What?”
“I know you’re not actually deaf,” You have to tilt your head to look up at his stupid smug face again as he stands with hands in his pockets barely two feet away, again. “Even though it does seem like it sometimes with how shit goes right through your skull like it’s empty or something.”
“Me?” You scoff, incredulous. “Your brain must be fried from all the hot air blowing up your fat head if you think I’ll admit that this was anything other than dangerous and idiotic. I was right, you are insane and not nearly as smart as you think you are if you decided to start riding a motorcycle.”
“Says the one who snatched that helmet from Suguru like it was the One Ring and hopped on my bike like you were dying to ride it.” Your nose scrunches, frowning as he bends, leaning just a little closer. “Admit it, when we raced—I was letting you keep up by the way, but I saw how you looked at me, you were totally dying to ride it. Which was it though? The bike, or me?” He smirks like he knows the choked noise of disgust that rips from your throat is feigned.
“You are such a fucking pig, I can’t believe I ever thought—” You cut yourself off with a forced huff, turning away from him. Again, does the universe just fucking hate you or something? And how could you have ever thought that Gojo would be anything but your mortal enemy.
“Thought what?” He prods, straightening a little as you take a few steps towards the wall with your fists balled at your sides, nails digging into your palms again.
“That you would ever be anything other than a disgusting, egotistical asshole.” You snap over your shoulder.
“Yeah, I can’t believe I ever thought you’d be anything other than a boring, stuck up bitch, but I guess I can be wrong sometimes.” He laughs and it’s devoid of anything resembling humor and you whirl around at that.
“Fuck you.” You spit out, glaring as he does the same right back.
“Yeah? Well fuck you too.”
Your whole body is tense, rigid again and burning hot as you glare at each other. Your eyes betray you, flitting over him for a split second, seeing his thick biceps flexed, broad shoulders hiked a little like he’s coiled up in anticipation for something.
You can feel it. The heated static charge that sits in the space between you. The ‘fuck you’ you exchanged hanging somewhere in there too. His icy blue eyes betray him just that same as yours, dragging over you for a moment as a muscle feathers in his jaw.
God, you fucking hate this guy.
So why does it feel like the moment after lightning strikes, when you’re waiting for the inevitable clap of thunder that follows? There’s no thunder with you and Gojo, there’s no lightning, there’s no storm that could ever bring such things.
He’s Gojo Satoru, your natural nemesis. Your faceless street racer doesn’t exist because it was Gojo the whole time and that will just never happen.
He might be ridiculously hot, but in no world would you ever—
Space disappears way too easily. Your hands grip the front of his shirt, feeling his toned chest as your fingers splay and ball the soft fabric up, yanking him. He grabs your waist with one hand, fingers digging hard into the curve there as his other tangles in your hair, tugging to tilt your head back as he pulls you flush against him.
Your spine curves with the position he’s forced you into and your mouth opens for a sharp gasp to escape at the sting of your hair being pulled not so much with pain, but with a sharp jolt of something hot that floods your body as his mouth crashes against yours.
It’s not nice and soft and romantic as first kisses often are, as they’re supposed to be. It’s heated, rough and hard, his lips bruising against yours and you push back against it, pulling at his shirt and pushing up to fight back.
That’s what it is. It’s a fight, just as you and Gojo do in every aspect of your lives. A clash for dominance that neither of you will ever give up without tearing each other apart for first.
He tugs your hair again and you groan into his mouth, around his tongue as it sweeps along yours, tasting strawberries and sugar and something else underlying that must just be Gojo as you meet each wet slide of his tongue.
It’s all teeth and tongue and noses bumping. Both panting with each break of your lips from his to gasp for the oxygen your racing blood demands, only getting more of his hot breath before being suffocated again.
Why does it feel so good? He tastes too good, his body feels too good against yours, under your hands. His own hungry and desperate and exploratory, gliding and squeezing up and down your side, drifting under your shirt to grip bare flesh. That feels way too good.
It’s like every insult you’ve ever hurled at each other is just fuel on flames licking at your heels, urging you further and it seems Gojo is feeling the same demanding heat.
He steps forward, forcing you to take one back. His mouth never leaves yours as he grips your hips with both hands, thumb digging into the bone hard enough to ache. Walking you backwards until he shoves you to hit the wall behind you and you break apart with a sharp gasp.
Your eyes fly open to find his lidded and dark with pupils wide, pieces of messy, silvery hair falling across them. Your hands splay out flat on his chest and shove, but the six-foot-something bastard barely budges, just leaning back a little to give you space as you both huff and pant for breath.
Your lips waver, you want to say something, ‘what the fuck?!’ maybe, or another ‘fuck you’ but nothing comes out except for the sound of gasping desperately for oxygen. His eyes searching your face, from your eyes, to your lips. Throat bobbing as he swallows, looking for something in your features.
Palms still flattened over the plane of his chest, his hips pressed to you and pinning you to the concrete wall, all of it still feeling too good for this to be Gojo.
Maybe you went through a dimensional rift when you raced and you’re in an alternate reality now, or something like back to the future. But there’s no past, present or future where you’d ever do this with the Gojo from your universe.
Maybe this is actually a body-snatcher alien that you’re grabbing the shirt of again to yank back down to you.
Feeling the shitty smile spreading on his face as you give in and kiss him again, arms up over his shoulders and threading your fingers into soft hair.
The moan that escapes is involuntary, ripped from your throat as he slots a leg in the heated space between yours and pulls your hips to him. Dragging you over the hard muscle of his thigh with nothing between your cunt—sensitive after sitting on that vibrating seat pressed up against Gojo—and the texture of his jeans but cotton panties already damp and sticking to you.
His smile widens at your noise and he rocks your hips as his leg lifts, pressing harder into the sticky heat between your legs, sparking electricity to make your clit throb. Made only worse feeling where he’s hard and heavy behind the closure of his jeans, the thick heat of his cock pressing into your hip. Moaning softly into your mouth as he pulls you closer and thrusts against you a little.
Something hot and needy floods in, deep in your core making you chase the friction. The insane amount of pleasure that sparks as your clit grinds on his thigh. As you feel the guy you fucking hate getting hard against you, for you.
You tug his hair and hisses, biting your lip, catching it between his teeth. Sharp and prominent canines sink in hard enough to make you gasp, feeling his smile around your caught lip.
“I hate you,” It comes out breathy and quiet on a whine, want cloaked behind hot and simmering hatred as you practically hump his leg. “So fucking much.”
“Yeah? You do this with all the guys you hate?” His tone is thick and condescending, but he’s breathless too with his own undeniable desire underlying it all. “If you hate me so much, tell me to stop.”
That doesn't happen. Your mouths crash together again, hard and spiteful and full of desperation you hate that you feel for him. Hate that you like this brand new fight for dominance you’re clashing against and grinding into him for.
Hate him.
Your tongue swirls with his and you arch up. He moans into your mouth with your tits pushing up to his sternum and your hip rubbing on his cock. Blunt nails dig into your hip as one hand drifts under the hem of your skirt and up to grip the cusp of your thigh—almost your ass—and you rock back into his hand for a moment.
Lost in this and falling deeper, chasing the heat and tension twisting through your gut with every slide of your lips against his, every touch and breathless sound. With your skirt riding up, pulled up by Gojo’s wandering hand squeezing your ass now, somehow your dazed and clouded mind knows you have to stop now before this goes any further with him, and with you in public like this.
Your palms flatten on his chest again and you shove, harder this time and he must not have been expecting it because he actually staggers back a step, leaving the space between your legs achingly empty.
“Fuck you, Gojo.” You pant out, glaring as you straighten and pull yourself off the wall, yanking your skirt down. His lips are glossy and dark pink from your kiss and he drags a hand through his hair, the rise and fall of his chest slowing as he catches his breath.
“Fuck you too,” His laugh is breathy and low, tinged with something beside the smug tone. “Kinda seems like it’s what you want.”
“Fuck off, don’t talk like you know me.” You scoff, brushing past Gojo to walk back to the bike and grab Geto’s helmet. “Just take me back, we’ve been gone for way too long.” You pull it on and fiddle with the clasp again, shaky fingers fumbling with the complicated fixture. “Fucking stupid—fuck, I hate this thing!” You drop your hands and take a deep, cooling breath with eyes shut tight.
“Hateful little thing, aren’t you?” Gojo asks, and your eyes open to him in front of you, too close again. “Need me to get it again?” He offers and you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. But you tilt your head back and Gojo takes the clip and fixes it closed for you, fingers brushing tortuously over your jaw again, down your throat in a way that feels purposeful.
Hate him, I hate him. It repeats in your head like a mantra over and over as he takes his hands away, going to pull his own helmet on again as he takes his seat on the bike, starting it up as you move to sit behind him.
You stifle a whimper as the vibration of the engine humming through the seat goes right into you, reigniting everything Gojo started when he pushed you into the wall. Putting your arms reluctantly around his waist as he walks the bike back, shifts, and takes off again.
The ride is brief and absolute torture. The shop wasn’t far from the club and it takes maybe five minutes to get back. But it’s five minutes of being pressed up against Gojo again with his bike purring reverberations exactly where you’re already overheated and stimulated.
You quite literally leap off the bike the moment he rolls to a stop beside the others, scrambling to get off before he’s even shut the thing off. Geto is standing out front again and you undo the clasp quickly as you walk towards him, luckily that part is easier than doing it up.
“You guys were gone for a while, how was the ride?” He asks, taking a drag off his cigarette. You say nothing as you yank his helmet off and shove it at his chest, jaw tight and your whole body stiff and hot as he takes it from you with an eyebrow raised, looking over your shoulder for a moment. But he doesn’t say anything else and you stomp back into the club, flashing a stamp on your wrist at the bouncer.
The bar is your first stop and you down a full glass of water in an attempt to cool yourself down from the inside out. It doesn’t work.
It’s something deep that’s keeping you burning and overheated, something unfulfilled that you know won’t die down and go away until it’s sated. But you’re not about to give it what it wants.
Your pussy does not have your best interest in mind.
“Oh my god! I was looking everywhere for you, where the fuck did you go?” Nobara grabs your shoulder and leans into your line of sight as you’re leaning on the bar, deep in contemplation over the life choices that have led you to this point.
“Oh, um…” You start, not looking her in the eye and swallow. You can’t tell her, you can’t tell anyone and you’re praying to whatever god will take mercy on you and listen that neither will Gojo. “I, uh, went for a walk, lost track of time.”
“You had everyone freaking out, send a text or something next time, jeez!” She thumps you over the head, not hard but enough to get the message across and you nod. You don’t really have it in you to fight back or argue that it wasn’t your fault, because what would you even say?
No, you’ll be taking this one to your grave.
“Let’s go, we’re gonna stay for a few more songs then we can dip!” She tugs your arm and you allow yourself to be dragged back to the dancefloor. No will to fight, and it’s not as if you could get any hotter than you already are right now anyways.
Hopefully you can just make it through the rest of the night without bumping into Gojo again, then flee to the safety of Yuuta’s mansion and stay there for the rest of the break.
The faint crashing of waves and a soft pool of golden light across the bed are the first things you hear and see as you stir awake. Stretching out and taking up the entirety of the massive king size mattress, a smile curls your lips as you silently thank Yuuta for his newfound family and for sharing the insane getaway with you all.
The sun is peeking, just getting started with its early rise as you do the same. Your internal clock has been reset to function around early classes so getting up with the sun is typical for you, that won’t change even on vacation you guess.
There’s a mild ache in your head, likely from the alcohol but it might be thanks to the amount of justification and mental gymnastics you’ve been doing since getting back to the club last night. Your body is certainly feeling the after effects of every stupid thing you did—your back is stiff, hip aching with a reminder.
But you’re safe from all of it now. Safely tucked away behind wrought iron gates and tall hedges and are free to hide here for the rest of break with your one obliged outing done and over with. Whatever Gojo is doing here, wherever he is, you won’t have to see him again until school starts up and there, you’ll be back to the usual dynamic.
There, he’ll be hidden away behind geeky glasses and oversized hoodies again with absolutely no motorcycles nearby to stir heated excitement.
Because that’s what it was. It was the bike.
You hum as you stand and shove the thin gauzy curtains aside, agreeing with yourself and the statement in your mind out loud to solidify it as you look out over the view of the quiet beach bathed in honeyed light.
Coffee. Sitting on that picture perfect beach with coffee as you watch the sunrise, now that might just be the perfect morning.
You shuffle barefoot along the cool hardwood floor towards the stairs down to the main floor. The house is quiet, everyone else is likely still passed out and yet to feel the effects of the rowdy night out. As you finish the steps down, the heated marble flooring seeps warmth into your feet with each step. Your cold bare feet grateful for the insane amount of modern tech this place has.
The air is cool against your bare arms and legs with just pajama shorts and an over-sized tee-shirt, but once you head outside and sit under the warm glow of a sunrise, you’ll warm up in no time. Maybe you’ll even get a little bit of a tan if you do this every day.
The thought makes you kind of giddy and you walk faster to the kitchen, the sound of your quickening footsteps slapping on stone echoes through the long, wide hallway.
The tour Yuuta had given you all was brief, only showing the things he and Maki had found when they had first arrived. You know where the kitchen, a living room with a TV that takes up almost an entire wall, a couple of bathrooms, and your room are. You’ll have to do some exploring at some point.
You round the corner to see the bright kitchen, the countless large windows that line the room, modern stainless appliances, pristine white cupboards and cabinets. The large island with a pale marble counter to match the rest and a breakfast bar with Gojo sitting in one of the tall chairs.
Wait, what?
Your eyes sweep right over him at first and you halt mid step into the kitchen as it registers in your sleepy one track mind. You do a literal double take and actually look at him sitting there with a mug in one hand and his phone in the other.
He hasn’t seen you yet, didn’t hear you walk into the kitchen with a pair of black headphones on and your mind churns, contemplating backing away and questioning what the hell he’s even doing here?
The realization dawns on you, hitting like a bucket of icy water as Yuuji’s words slam in like a truck.
Long lost cousin. Sharing the place with a long lost cousin.
“Fuck my life.” You mutter, still standing frozen and staring dumbly at the edge of the kitchen with your veins thrumming under your skin like they might burst out.
The universe does hate you. It’s an absolute fact now solidified by the platinum headed menace sipping coffee, screen reflected in black rimmed glasses and head nodding slightly to whatever music is playing through the headphones. The sleeves of a loose white tee-shirt with a cute Sanrio character plastered on the front rolled up a little, showing relaxed biceps and a peek of broad shoulders. His hand envelops the coffee cup so wholly as he lifts it to his lips, lips that had been pressed hard to yours not even twelve hours ago.
As he takes a sip, he looks up from his phone, eyes flickering in your direction and going wide and round as they find yours and he chokes on the sip of coffee.
You feel a twinge of satisfaction as he splutters, coughing into his arm. He drops his phone to the counter and sets the mug down, yanking off the headphones and taking a few ragged breaths.
“What the—why are you just standing there?” He manages to get out as the fit dies down. “Creep.”
You ignore all of it as you finally break from the spot to approach the coffee maker. “So you’re Yuuta’s long lost cousin? Fuck, that figures.” You start opening cupboards, searching for the mugs.
“Well actually, he’s kinda the ‘long lost’ one, I've been here the whole time.” Gojo huffs a laugh and stands, walking into the other side of the kitchen. “They’re over here.”
You turn to Gojo as he grabs a mug out from one of the far cupboards, his shirt rides up as he reaches for one on the upper shelf, showing pale skin and a curved line that disappears into the waistband of grey sweatpants slung low on his hips. A trail of wispy white hair leading down from his bellybutton, to where you can see the outline of his—
You look away quickly, heat rising up your neck to creep into your face like you can feel it all over again, feel the heat of his hands all over your body. Cut that out.
You go to take the mug from him as he approaches, but he walks right past you to the machine. “I’m capable of making a cup of coffee.” You say flatly, crossing your arms.
“Didn’t know where the mugs were, but you know where the spoons are? Where the sugar is?” He replies, amused as he grabs both from a drawer and another cupboard.
“I would’ve figured it out, there’s only so many—” Your face scrunches, confusion furrowing your brow. “Hold on, why do you know how I take my coffee?” Your eyes are scrutinizing as he puts a spoon of sugar in and just enough cream to lighten it to a dark caramel colour. Exactly how you take it.
“Lucky guess,” He hands you the mug, one corner of his mouth lifted. “Or maybe you’re so basic that you take your coffee how literally everyone else in the world does, makes it pretty easy to remember.”
A smirk tugs your mouth, “I take up so much space in your head that you remember my coffee order?” You hum and take a sip, and it’s perfect.
Gojo leans back on the counter next to you, a hand gripping the edge to brace. “Like a parasite that feeds on my synapses. Every time I learn something about you I can feel the connectors dying and I get a little dumber.” He flicks his own forehead and you laugh before you can catch it.
“You might be on Toji’s level by the end of break then.”
His head tilts a little, straightening against the counter. “Are you saying I’m gonna get to know you?”
Just like last night, the idea of it doesn’t totally revolt you. You open your mouth for something unusually genuine to come out, but it dies halfway up your throat as you think better on it.
This isn’t what you two do, you don’t want to get to know him and you don’t want him to know you. But the confusion, the whiplash of going from insulting each other to him buying you ice-cream, back to insulting each other just to crash together and into the best and definitely most confusing kiss you’ve ever had, feeling something so intense and foreign that is just not going away.
That feeling followed you last night, persisting through till morning and now it’s hanging over your head and curling up to set up permanent residence in your body. Relentless as you look up at Gojo with his hair still messy from sleep, dressed in pajamas and those glasses that take up damn near half his face.
No bike in sight, just the familiar nerdy guy who made you a perfect cup of coffee from memory alone.
You ignore the question, repeating the mantra in your head to stifle down something else whispering that his glasses are kind of cute. “Why are you even hanging out with those guys? Trying to fit in with the cool kids now?”
“I felt like doing some fun, dumb stuff and that’s their thing, so I invited them to come with Suguru and I.” He crosses his arms, fixing you with a lifted brow and a sly smirk. “Are you implying that I’m not cool too?”
You snort, “Yes.” Gojo’s face falls, you aren’t sure what he’d been expecting, a no?
“Like you can talk, that might be the one thing you beat me out at.” The smirk pulls the corner of his mouth again.
Your eyes narrow but your mouth is curved a little as you scoff. “Yeah right, being the biggest dork in existence is the one thing I’ll gladly admit that you beat me at.” You jerk your chin at him, “You have Hello Kitty on your shirt for fucks sake.”
“Cinnamoroll.” He corrects, and your eyes roll.
“Whatever, same shit. Doesn’t change you being a dork.”
“Yeah, but I’m like the cool, hot dork,” You scoff at that and he looks you over again, eyes flitting in a quick once over before meeting yours again and tilting his head. “And you’re… boring.”
There it is.
Your hand grips the mug so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t shatter. “Fuck you.” You bite it out with heat coiling throughout your body, boiling your blood and setting your skin on fire as he straightens off the counter.
Close, he’s too close again, so close you could just reach out and grab him, just like last night—not gonna happen.
“Fuck you too.” He says it with a smile, eyes lidded but intense and locked on yours like he’s remembering what happened after you’d thrown the same lines at each other last time.
But that’s not happening. That’ll never happen again. “Thanks for the coffee, too bad that parasite hasn’t eaten whatever makes you an insufferable asshole.” You say with a polite smile and turn to leave, ready to get as far away from this kitchen as possible.
“You’re welcome!” He chirps behind you and the noise grates on the frayed ends of your spent nerves.
How are you going to make it through a week of this? This house is massive, you can definitely avoid him if you try hard enough but this was supposed to be a break, from school and everything there.
But it’s just followed you here, and it’s worse than ever because even as you settle into one of the cushioned chairs on the porch, looking out over the perfect beach as the sun continues its journey, every sip from the mug in your hand is like swallowing liquid flame.
A hot, creamy, perfectly sweetened reminder of everything you’ve done.
Gojo Satoru, is inescapable.
This is hardly new information to you, but you’ve been avoiding him like the plague for two days, and just like the plague, he always finds you.
Laying out on the beach with Nobara and Maki, finally getting through a spicy book you picked up nearly six months ago? Gojo is running around with the other three stooges in a water gun fight, white tee-shirt sopping wet and transparent, clinging to every stupidly defined muscle. Making you re-read the same line five times before huffing that you need to go somewhere quieter and storming off.
Watching a movie with everyone in the living room? Gojo waltzes through and casually leans over the couch, way too close to you as he grabs a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap, spoils the plot twist, and leaves.
In the kitchen making breakfast in the peace and quiet before everyone else is up? Not with Gojo under the same roof. He’s strolling in, calling out a chipper “Goooood morning!” Reaching over you to grab a mug from the cupboard, muttering that what you’re making smells good. Stealing your god damn food right off your plate before you can smack his hand away. Muttering that it “tastes good too” before walking away, leaving you overheated and suddenly without an appetite.
Taking a walk around the property to explore? Gojo is hopping on his bike with Geto to head into town, calling out to you as you head for the front door, “Wanna go for another ride?!” Laughing as you flip him off over your shoulder and shut the door hard behind you. Jaw clenched so hard your teeth might shatter.
He’s a god damn torture specialist.
It all feels so purposeful and you’re on the verge of snapping. Your nerves are so frayed you’re convinced you’re going to actually punch him if he says another god damn word to you, even if it’s just hello.
The worst part? The way he looks at you as he does it. Like he knows the set to your jaw is in a confused and complex frustration and he’s feeding off of fuelling it.
No. Actually, the worst part was finding out that he’s in the room right next to yours.
Leaning against the railing, you’re drinking wine on the balcony just outside your room against your own better judgement. But you’re determined not to let your vacation be completely ruined by the menace next door, you’re going to enjoy the quiet starry night sky with the sound of waves lulling you into a false sense of security, even if it’s the last thing you do god damn it.
Your mind already fuzzy around the edges, like a vignette has been laid over to keep your focus narrowed on the bright, near full moon reflecting off the inky expanse of ocean.
No thoughts of school and the mountain of assignments and reading and immediate quizzing professors will inevitably be throwing you into the moment break is over to snap you back into reality. All those thoughts sit at the back of your brain to make room for appreciation for mild weather, great views, rosé and…
…The memory of being shoved up against a wall.
The dark rolling waves of the ocean below annoyingly remind you of the view from your tandem ride. The bright white moon reflecting off the ocean is silvery just like the annoyingly soft head of hair your fingers had tangled in. The warmth from the wine that emanates from deep in your body out through your limbs is all too similar to the fire that danced across your skin at every lingering touch, every bruising grip.
Oh yeah, he left you with a nice reminder of everything on your hip where he’d pressed his thumb in hard. You’re pretty sure the mark that bloomed and has been darkening to a light indigo was from when he actually pushed you into the wall, it certainly felt like it in the moment.
Apparently, you’re such a god damn masochist that you find yourself pressing your own fingers into the bruise without even thinking of it. Gasping a little at the ache as it floods your entire body with a heated tingle that leaves you feeling breathless and frustratingly empty.
The heated exchanges from the last few days are nothing new. But it feels like every ‘fuck off’ or ‘fuck you’ or ‘dear god, do you ever shut up?’ is different. The eye contact that lasts a little too long like fuel on a raging fire you’re throwing pitiful cups of water on in an attempt to douse, and when it doesn’t work, you turn around and stroll away like it’s definitely not a problem. Not yours at least.
You’re so lost in the thoughts that have overtaken your mind like a forest fire, singeing everything in its path, that you don’t notice Geto until he’s leaning over the railing right next to you.
“Jesus fuck!” You jump as he appears in your periphery, sloshing rosé over your hand as you startle. “Don’t sneak up like that, asshole. Look what you made me do.” You mutter, taking the mug into your other hand to flick the liquid off your fingers.
“Sorry,” He lights a cigarette and slips the rest of the pack into the pocket of his dark sweatpants. He gestures to the mug in your hand as you shake residual wine off the other. “You do know there are actual wine glasses here? Crystal ones too, fancy shit.”
“Yeah, I don't really feel like footing the bill if I break one. This seemed like the safer option.” You sigh at your own sticky fingers, shoulders dropping a little as you glance sidelong at Geto. “Where’s thing two?”
It’s not like you want him around, but it’s unusual to see one without the other.
Geto exhales through his nose, almost a laugh and a wisp of smoke curls. “We do some things separately, we’re not attached at the hip, you know.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“We fool a lot of people.”
You chuckle at that and take a sip of the significantly depleted wine in your mug. Another glance at Geto and you hold up your mug. “Wanna swap?”
He lifts a slim, dark brow. “I thought you didn’t smoke?”
You shrug, “You’re right, but spring break rules say fuck it, right?” He concedes and takes the mug, hands you the lit cigarette and you cheers the two.
“Fuck it.”
Geto takes a sip and watches as you take a drag. Bitter smoke fills your mouth and trickles into your lungs, burning and tickling at the same time. Your eyes water, nose stinging and you struggle to hold the coughing fit in that's threatening to tear out.
Geto sighs, “Just let it out, it'll be worse if you try to hold it.”
A cloud of smoke bursts out with the first choked cough. Your lungs feel like they're collapsing in on themselves as you hack and splutter. The taste of burnt tobacco coats your mouth, your throat, the lingering bitterness goes all the way down to your stomach that's currently threatening to turn itself inside out.
Geto pats a hand on your back as you lean over the railing on the verge of death. “I would’ve warned you not to hold it but I thought you knew.” He laughs a little, getting some amusement out of watching you suck sputtering, ragged breaths of fresh ocean air in finally.
“Nope,” You wheeze. Geto takes his cigarette back, the filter a little squished from your pinched fingers death gripping it and replaces the devil stick with your wine again. The alcohol doesn't help exactly, but it's liquid and it eases the smoky residue coating your insides when you take a few small sips. “Thanks, and don't ever let me do that again.”
Geto laughs at that, taking an easy drag off the half finished smoke. “Satoru said the same thing the first time he tried one too.”
“Oh, please tell me he died at least as much as I did.”
“Worse. He puked.” You snort a laugh, vindicated. “Don't tell him I told you that.”
“I'm gonna shove his face in it the first chance I get.” Geto shoots you a side eyed look and you raise a defensive hand. “Kidding, his mortifying secret is safe with me.”
You’ve never had an issue with Geto, it was always more of his proximity to Gojo that made it difficult to get along, or even just be around him. You tend to try to get the fuck out of wherever Gojo is as fast as possible, which doesn’t leave much room for conversation with his dark haired counter part.
As you look back out at the water, the near full moon mirrored off the inky expanse and putting that reminder back in your head, you can’t help but ask. The wine might be lowering your guard a little too much.
“Was smoking part of the new, wannabe bad-ass thing he’s going for?”
You catch the slight smirk that pulls the corner of his mouth as he quips back quickly, “Why do you care?”
Shit.
Why do you care?
“I-I don’t. It’s just…” You drum your fingers on the mug, chewing your lip for a moment as you think. Why? “It all just seems out of character. That’s all. He’s not going through a quarter-life crisis, is he?” You chuckle a little and glance at Geto, expecting him to join in, but he doesn’t.
He takes a long drag, eyes on the glowing cherry and holds the breath, looking up to the stars. He looks almost pained, sad at the mention. When he lets the breath out, it's a sigh. And when he finally answers, it’s not what you’re expecting either.
“There’s a lot going on right now, he’s kind of… coping, in a way.” The smirk returns as he meets your eyes again. “But you should ask him yourself if you want to know, it’s not really my place to say anyways.”
“Well… I mean, I did, kind of. I asked him why you guys were hanging out with the meatheads.”
“And?”
“What do you think?” You deadpan. “He brushed it off, and then insulted me.”
Geto throws his head back and lets out a laugh, shoulders shaking a little. “Ah, yeah, that sounds about right.” He drags a hand down his face, exacerbation tinged with fondness. “For two of the smartest people at school, it’s uncanny how terrible you both are at proper communication.”
“I’m great at communication so don’t group me in with that asshole.” You snap back immediately and Geto gives you a questioning look. “What is that even supposed to mean?”
He raises both brows at you expectantly and realization hits a moment later with a furious flush that begins to creep up your neck.
You scowl. “Fucking big mouthed asshole.”
“You really expected that he wouldn’t tell me the moment you guys got back? That’s just naive.” You feel the sudden need to down the last of the wine in your mug, and you do. “I mean, come on, you know him. He can’t shut up on a normal day, he finally kissed the girl he’s been tripping over himself for for the last three years and you expect him not to explode? The poor guy was practically dying to tell me.”
“What?” Your head snaps to Geto fully. Maybe you just misheard, you’re pretty tipsy right now and the single drag of that cigarette definitely made your head a little fuzzy, even lighter than before.
Geto looks at you, sees the bewilderment and disbelief in your eyes and immediate regret floods his features.
“Oh fuck.” He mutters, turning fully to you. Incredulity twists your features and you take a gasping breath, readying to go off, but he cuts you off, waving his hands up in your face. “I thought you—fuck, you can’t tell him I—shit, ugh, just-just please for the love of god, talk to him.”
“What do you mean? Finally? What—I-I don’t, what does that—”
“No! Just-just, please, don’t tell Satoru I said anything, and talk to him yourself.” Geto runs a hand up through his dark hair, pushing his bangs up just for them to fall back down almost immediately.
As if on cue, the voice that sets your skin on fire and lights up every nerve ending on your body with a much more confused kind of simmering heat calls out from the room next to yours.
“Suguru! Hurry up, we’ve been paused for like an hour!”
“Eh, shut up you idiot!” Geto calls back over his shoulder, “It’s been like ten minutes, don’t get your panties all twisted!”
He gives you one last pleading look and you groan, pressing your forehead into your hand. “Do whatever you want to, but leave me out of it, please.”
“Fine,” You sigh, resigned at least for tonight to let the jarring topic go. “Go, your boyfriend is waiting.” You wave him off, peeling yourself off the balcony and Geto gives you a flat look but doesn’t say anything else. Just nods and walks off to the cracked door adjacent to yours, leaving you alone with the bomb he dropped.
It is a bomb.
Finally? Finally implies time, time spent wanting something before it happened.
That kiss was probably one of the most impulsive things you’ve ever done, second only to getting on that bike with Gojo in the first place.
You hate him.
And he… hates you, too?
For the first time in your life, you’re questioning that fact. Is it even a fact anymore? Facts are indisputable, cold and hard and not open to scrutiny or questioning.
But Geto dropped a bomb that’s forcing that tiny crack open. The one that you could feel splintering in front of that ice cream shop in the reality where you hate Gojo and he hates you and that's all there is to it.
Impulsivity doesn’t have rationale behind it. That's the point of it being impulsive, you don’t think, you just do. Was that kiss impulsive for Gojo?
Your brow furrows, lip catching between your teeth.
Was it impulsive for you?
It was weird, sure, but that night was… it was nice. Well, up until you exploded at each other, but hell, even then it wasn't bad. You kissed, had his body against yours, pawing at you like he was desperate to touch you. Had he thought about that before it happened?
Everything before that. The ride, eating ice cream together, laughing with each other, laughing at him, the version of him you're used to after he made you coffee that first morning.
Could you and Gojo ever be more than enemies?
He’s been terrible to you, feeding uncertainty and the idea that you’d never quite live up to a standard he’s set and insists on pushing you to keep up with. Laughing at you when you trip and fall behind.
Maybe he could never be nameless and faceless and just a hot stranger again, but you did get along with him knowing full well who was under that helmet. Jabbing and teasing each other without it being painful.
Is that possible? Could it be like that instead?
Geto is right, annoyingly so because this is definitely a conversation you’re not looking forward to. But you need to talk to Gojo.
Finally? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
a/n ⭑.ᐟ eeeek it's here!! >.< we're getting Gojo POV next part so get ready for that! let me know if you listen to that playlist and if there are any song recs! <3 (dw about those sad songs at the end heh.... O.O) taglist is open! comment here or on the masterlist to be added!
cw ⭑.ᐟ NSFW, 18+ MDNI, college AU, angst & smut & eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, mean & bratty nerd gojo, unsafe motorcycle riding (WEAR PROPER SAFETY GEAR PLS), heavy pining (one sided), unrequited -> requited love, teasing & banter, a lot of "fuck you" "fuck you too" exchanges, POV switch, fingering, oral s*x (f & m rec.), unprotected piv s*x. chapter content: angst and SMUT! m!masturbation, cumming untouched, manhandling, spitting, finger-sucking, pu$$ydrunk gojo (he's got it baddd), breeding kink (if you squint), pulling out (no creampie, these guys are in college), big feelings </3
summary ⭑.ᐟ You're no stranger to competition with Gojo Satoru—a dork with an un-earned ego bigger even than his DnD figurine collection. So what the hell is he doing on a motorcycle? This can't be the same Gojo you've butted heads with for three years, because if it is... has he always looked like that under the giant glasses and stupid Digimon hoodies? How much—or how little do you actually know about this nerd? part 4 w/c ⭑.ᐟ 8.4k
a/n ⭑.ᐟ more gojo pov!! been waiting for this one for a while!! >.< a little shorter but its jam packed so have fun! this series is part of @indiewritesxoxo's community event btw! so excited, everyone say ty indie <3 | art in the header by the talented @/aliyartss on insta <3
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Gojo Satoru doesn’t need a gun to shoot himself in the foot, he does that just fine with his big fat fucking mouth.
Why did you have to say that though? It's like you just know exactly what’ll put him on edge, what’ll make him jump into defensive habits.
Is that your fault? He’d like to say yes, but annoyingly… no. You don’t exactly help though.
The moment you both arrive back at the estate, you leap off the bike. Just like that first night at the club, strutting unevenly off without so much as a look over your shoulder. Leaving him to carry both Suguru’s and his helmets back.
This time though, Satoru catches up to you quickly, walking a few paces behind as you limp a little up to the front door. He doesn’t bother offering his help, you’d refuse before he got the full sentence out. He shuts the door behind him, kicking his shoes off in the entryway, watching you struggle a little with yours.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Yeah, me too. Night.” He tries to start but you cut him off, striding for the stairs the moment you manage to get your shoes off and he deflates like a sad, week-old party balloon.
Well shit. He can’t say he doesn’t deserve it, but it doesn’t make it suck any less.
He trudges straight to Suguru’s room, feet dragging, helmet and head in hand. Throwing the door open without knocking and flopping onto his bed next to the dark haired man giving him a look like ‘what the fuck are you doing here?’
“What happened?” Suguru sighs, setting his phone on the nightstand.
“I tried, I really did. It’s just never gonna work.” Satoru groans, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, pouting at the white expanse.
“Just,” Suguru sighs again, like it all should be obvious. “Be consistent with it, be patient and play nice for a while. Give her some time, she’s probably got whiplash from this week, not to mention from riding with you.”
“I don’t have time!” Satoru whines, “You know it’s different at school, and then with Gojo Tech it’s just… ugh.”
“That sounds like an excuse so you can be impatient and pushy.” Suguru counters and Satoru glares peripheral daggers at him. The slip up you’d made earlier present once more and at the front of his mind.
“Did you guys talk?” Suguru tenses and Satoru’s head snaps to the side, setting cold blue eyes on his best friend who looks a little like a deer in headlights.
“Yeah, for like, a minute.”
“What’d you talk about? Me?” Satoru sits up, pulling a leg under himself and facing Suguru fully, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here right now.
“She might’ve asked what was going on with you,” Suguru says slowly, like he’s tiptoeing a minefield and Satoru perks up a little. “We didn’t talk for long because someone was being impatient.”
Satoru breezes right past the accusatory look Suguru throws his way. “What’d you tell her?”
Suguru scoffs, “Dog with a fucking bone. I told her to ask you if she wanted to know, happy?”
“Yeah,” Satoru’s smile spreads slowly. “It was good, really good. Until it went to shit faster than I can do zero to sixty.”
“It’s impressive honestly, how easily you self sabotage.” Satoru opens his mouth to object, but Suguru cuts him off before he can start. “You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me. You know I'm right, Satoru.”
The pout returns, but no objection makes it out. Suguru is definitely not wrong.
But fucking things up himself and being in control of the cards as they fall is a lot less daunting than having to sit and watch as the wreckage happens.
Is it toxic? Maybe a little, but it’s not like you two have a healthy relationship in the first place.
“Smash Bros? Me and Kirby need to let some steam off.” He offers instead.
“Get the Switch, I’ll go find some chips.” Suguru gets up off the bed and heads for the door, Satoru following closely behind.
“Grab me a Sprite. Oh, and a bag of fuzzy peaches!” He calls, heading in the other direction towards his room, and Suguru waves over his shoulder. Mumbling something Satoru can’t hear, but knows is probably snippy.
In his own room, Satoru swaps the contacts out for his glasses, blinking the mild discomfort away in the mirror of his attached bathroom. Holding his own eyes there for a moment. He looks no different. He sees the same shades of blue as always in his irises, the same pale lashes frame them, matching the pieces of wispy hair falling across.
He feels different though, feels like he’s closer than ever to something he’s always wanted to find. Like he can finally see the end of Wallis Sands, but like a mirage it just keeps inching further away with every step closer. The resistance of deep sand making it impossible to catch up.
Whatever you’d been looking for in his face, you didn’t find it. And Satoru can’t either.
He leaves the bathroom and pauses as he unplugs the Switches base. Wrapping the cords around a hand, he looks out of the glass doors to see the moon hung low. Bright and waxing—or is that waning? He’s not sure, but he knows you’re probably right there with just the wall separating you two, staring out at it too.
So close, but it doesn't make a single difference.
Three hours later, Satoru is wide awake staring at the ceiling in his room.
It’s too hot. He kicks the blankets off.
It's too cold. He pulls them back up.
This side is uncomfortable. He rolls over.
He can’t stop thinking, and that? Well, he can’t do a damned thing about that.
He thinks about you a lot, more than he cares to admit. But there’s an itch, something that makes his limbs twitch like they want to leap up and his mind remind him you’re right next door, and then nag; why point that out? What can he do with that?
You don’t want to talk to him, you made that perfectly clear. But it doesn’t stop his brain from replaying how you’d looked at him right before it all blew up. Like you wanted him to say something else. Searching his face like you knew there was something there to find. Like you wanted to find whatever it was.
He wonders what you might be doing right now on the other side of the wall. If things had gone differently, what would you both be doing right now?
Oh. The thought makes fresh warmth bloom and Satoru takes a deep, cooling breath. He’s too hot again, and it’s not the blankets that are doing it this time.
Would you be together? Here, with him, in his room? Would you have kissed him like you did that first night, hard and bruising and desperate?
Would you have gone further than just grinding on his thigh, rubbing against his cock straining in his pants? Feeling the wet heat of your cunt through his jeans and your slick, ruined panties.
Satoru’s eyes flutter shut, lip catching in his teeth as his hand dips low to pull his boxers down, freeing his cock. It springs free of the elastic band and hits his abs, and Satoru sighs as he wraps a hand around the base. Twisting a little on the drag up.
“Fuck,” He whines, thumb pressing on and brushing over the slit, spreading pre-cum already leaking just at the thought of you. The thought of pushing you up against that wall again, pulling your panties to the side and sinking into your cunt. Feeling how you’d tighten around his cock.
“Ohh my—mnnh, god,” His head falls back, a low moan escaping as he pumps his hand faster. It’s been a fucking minute, and he can’t help it when your name slips out. Hips lifting like he’s not fucking his fist, but your sweet, soft pussy.
For once today, his mind is focused and on his side here. Feeding him the perfect sight of you, eyes lidded and a little flushed, pretty lips parted. Your body so ready for him, bare and legs spread wide.
His grip tightens on his cock, pre-cum slicking his fingers with every desperate glide up. His other hand fists the sheet, abs clenching hard, feeling pressure and a tingle that runs all the way to his toes. Bare chest rising and falling quicker and quicker, thighs tensed as his spine arches.
Fuck. He knows he’s pathetic for it, for whining out some broken version of your name as he twists and squeezes tighter around the head of his cock. Dripping onto his abs, balls drawn up tight, ecstasy prickling his skin to make a shudder wrack through his body.
About to fucking come just thinking of your sigh, your body pressed to his, your pretty smile pointed right at him. Hips stuttering up into his hand, seeing the face you’d make crying out his name with your head thrown back, contorted in pleasure as he stretches you out on his—
Three sharp knocks pierce through the haze around him and it’s like he jolts from a dream. Startled hand squeezing tight around his dick, hissing from the sensitivity.
What the fuck does he want?
Annoyed, Satoru sits up, hand sticky with pre-cum and a buzzing under his skin as he glares at the slightly blurry door. Up on a fucking cliff and breathing hard as he drags himself off the edge. Head fuzzy and almost dizzy as he tucks his still achingly hard dick back into his boxers. Snapping the waistband back into place and grabbing his glasses off the nightstand to slide on as he strides for the door. Snatching a shirt up off the floor to wipe his hand off, tossing it over the back of his desk chair.
Satoru throws the door open, about to go off on Suguru for bugging him at almost midnight, but the words die in his throat.
It’s you standing in his doorway instead, arms crossed and immediately ready to snap. “I don’t know what your problem is with me, but you… can’t just…” Your sentence trails off as your eyes lower from his face, going wide as you trail over his bare chest, down his abs, cartoonishly round as you look right at his dick. Still hard as fuck and almost twitching with you standing right there, staring at him.
Your head snaps back up quickly, and you look him in the eye before your brows pinch and you look away down the hall. “S-sorry! This was, uh—oh my god, this was dumb. I’m just—I’m-I’m gonna go,”
One foot goes back, and you take a comical step backwards, ready to jet the hell away from this half naked Satoru you definitely were not expecting.
His eyes glide over you just once, taking you in quickly but fully. Legs bare, wearing your little sleep shorts that cling to your thighs and hug your ass, a big graphic t-shirt; rumpled and white with a faded design for some national park out of state. Your hair messed a little like you’ve been tossing and turning too.
Maybe he’s thinking less with his brain right now, maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Still flushed from his ears down and breathing heavy, his spine tingling, mind fuzzy and full of you, Satoru reaches out before you step out of his grasp.
“Wait,” He catches your arm and you gasp a breath like it burns, but you don’t pull away. Eyes trained on his face like it’ll kill you to look anywhere else.
Do it. Do it do it do it, stop thinking about it for five seconds and just—
“I fucked up,” Satoru steps closer and your head tilts back to keep your eyes on his, the flush that had started to creep in now raging full force to tinge you pink, deeper across your cheeks and nose. “I don’t—I don’t want it to be like this anymore,”
You set a hard frown on him at that, still blushing your face off. “What the fuck does that even mean? You’re the one who keeps making it like this.” You hiss, and Satoru just kind of… snaps.
He yanks your arm, pulling you right up against him. A breath whooshes out as you collide, free hand planted firmly on his bare chest. Blinking furiously up at him with his cock against your stomach and sandwiched between you both, holding you in place with a wide hand on your waist.
“I don’t wanna fucking fight you right now,” He hears the pleading in his own voice and can’t muster the will to give a shit. Not when your lips widen further apart, your eyes drop to his, looking at his lips like maybe you want something else too.
This is it.
Your chin lifts, his head drops, and your mouth meets his. Not bruising and forceful like the last time, but just as desperate. Your hand slides over his chest, up into his hair to thread your fingers though and rake your nails lightly, sending a tingle down his spine.
His lips press yours open, and you meet his eager tongue. Cupping the back of your head, holding you close. Fingers graze his side, palm flattening over his hip, thumb tracing the dip of a ‘V’ line. He feels his glasses slide low, but he doesn’t have enough hands to push them back up.
You take a step forward, pushing him backwards into his room, still favoring your right foot. Satoru nips at your lip, breaking the kiss and sliding palms flat down your sides. His mouth drags down your jaw, over your throat as he bends slightly to put his hands under your thighs, and lifts up.
A quick yelp sounds out as your feet leave solid ground. Your legs circle his waist, heels digging into his lower back gently. Both hands on his shoulders, your head above his. “You like carrying me around, huh?” You smirk, but it comes out breathless.
“Yeah, is that a problem?” Satoru murmurs against your neck, kicking the door shut.
Your head drops, and Satoru tilts his back, glasses sliding back up to sit high. Lips brushing his as you speak the words into his mouth. “You’re such a show off.”
“I thought we said no fighting?”
“I never agreed to that.”
That smirk is wiped right off your face as your back hits the door, gasping a breath in surprise.
“I think it’s called an oral contract,” He lifts a pale brow, and your smile grows again.
“What’s the—ah,” Satoru drops you a little and your eyelashes flutter as you slide down his torso, his cock pressed between you both now. “Duration on that?”
His hips roll into you and drive forward, pushing you harder against the door. “How about… till morning, after the sunrise.”
You bite your lip to stifle a smile, but it doesn't work. “Sunset and sunrise? Aren’t you romantic.” He’s no better, grinning at those words as he pins you to the solid wood.
“So I’ve been told,” You put your mouth on his again, probably to shut him up. One hand in his hair and the other across his back, nails raking lightly. His hands glide up to your ass, gripping to drag you down along his length. Sparking friction that reignites what never really went out, not with you showing up to interrupt.
Holy shit. It’s happening. And Satoru was about to come right before you knocked on the door to ream him out.
He should answer the door in his underwear more often.
But he’s sensitive now, overly so. Even just grinding against you like this, your hands in his hair, making little muffled noises into his mouth as your lips slide together with little chu’s. His hands on your ass and squeezing, fingers digging into the soft fat. Thrusting against you, thinking about throwing you down on the bed and sliding into you from behind, watching how you stretch to take—
A moan slips out into your mouth and fuck if he isn’t close again.
He peels you off the door, takes a few long strides across the room, and tosses you down onto his bed. Standing over you, eyes gliding over your nipples pressed hard against the thin white fabric, the sliver of your stomach peeking, legs drawn together, thighs squeezed tight. Back up to your flushed face, lip caught in your teeth and your eyes on his dick.
“No pajamas in my bed.” Satoru kneels by your hip, index finger hooking into the waistband of your shorts, running his knuckle along the soft skin of your stomach.
“What are you supposed to be wearing then?” You question, lifting up on your elbows.
“Underwear, very different. And it looks like—ah yeah,” He tugs the band down a bit, and smirks. “You’re not wearing any.”
You try to glare, but your lips pressed into a smile betray it again. “I guess rules are rules, even if they are stupid and made up on the spot.” You shove your shorts down over your hips, and Satoru tugs them off your legs, tossing them over a shoulder without looking. Not taking his eyes off you as you pull your shirt up over your stomach, your sternum, your—
Holy shit.
Satoru swallows hard, jaw clenching as you throw your shirt to the floor, fucking naked in his bed. He’d been jerking off to the thought of this not even fifteen minutes ago. You’re prettier, far, far, prettier than anything he could’ve thought up though, and his eyes trace every curve. The swell of your breasts—chest rising and falling quickly now, the dip of your waist, the fullness of your hips. Every bit of you—
“Perfect,” He murmurs, hoping you don’t notice it slip out, puffing his cheeks to blow a breath out as he slides a palm over his cock. Impossibly hard and straining the tight material of his black boxers. Your eyes immediately drop to watch. “Can I touch you?” He asks, wrecked and not a single fuck left with you naked in his bed.
You nod quickly, and he drops to crawl to you, hovering his face over yours. “But, I have a rule too.” You stop him just before he can touch your thigh. Eyes flicking back up to your face, and you smirk. “I don’t let guys wearing underwear touch me.”
Satoru eyes your face for a moment, set in a cocky little smile, holding fast on your new little ‘rule’, and he chuckles quietly. “Touche,”
He stands again, eyes trained on your face as yours drop to his hands, thumbs hooking into the elastic of his boxers as he pushes them low. Slowly, loving watching how your eyes widen and that cocky look wipes right off as his cock springs free and hits his abs with a slap.
“Fuck,” You mutter under your breath, but Satoru hears it.
It’s not like he’s measured or anything, but he knows he’s hardly average. Watched enough porn to see that and got the right reaction out of the few people he’s actually fucked.
He drops them to the floor, and steps towards you. Your gaze jumps back up to his face as he crawls over you again, tossing his glasses onto his nightstand a little carelessly. “We good?”
“Very,” Your hands slip over his broad shoulders. He lays you back, lips hovering over yours, his palm splayed on the bed next to your head. Your legs fall open for him as he brushes his knuckles over your knee, sliding his palm up your inner thigh. Looking between your naked bodies, watching as his thumb glides up your slit.
Jesus fucking christ, yeah, stupidly wet. Your slick coats his thumb and you hum a moan, hips lifting a little. Chasing the feather-light circles his digit makes, another slipping up through your soaked folds.
The noises you make, the way your face contorts, his dick is twitching, aching to bury into the slick heat his middle finger is sliding into. Satoru puts his lips on yours again, pressing them open, tasting you as his tongue meets yours with a flick.
Pushing knuckle deep into you, swallowing the moan you spill into his mouth, feeling your walls flutter and grip the digit.
God, just fucking his finger into you is driving him crazy. He should’ve finished before he opened the door because there is no way he’ll last now. Definitely not long enough to make you come.
Satoru breaks the kiss, lips wet with spit, a string of it connects your glossy mouth to his. Another thick digit slides into you, and your head tilts back, hips lifting to meet his hand. “Ooh fuck,” Lips pushed out in a pout, brows drawn together as you grip his hair. Fingers tangled and tugging, the sting goes right down his spine with a tingle.
“Fuck yeah. That feel good, pretty?” He asks, dragging his lips over your jaw, down your neck. Tongue tracing where your pulse hums at your throat. Your hands buried in his hair, holding his head close as he rakes teeth lightly over the soft skin of your chest.
“Mhm, what is with you and—ah, nicknames?” Pumping two fingers steadily, hitting deep and curling up to hit a sweet little soft spot that makes you gasp out and tug his hair again. Groaning at the sting as he nips at your breast hard enough to probably leave a mark, but you don’t seem to mind.
“What? Don’t—ngh, like that one?” Satoru licks a stripe over the swell of your breast, flicking over your nipple, making you moan softly. “How about princess?” He latches onto your breast, sucking hard, swirling his tongue. You arch, pushing your chest into his face. He cups your other breast, squeezing and pinching the peak until your moan pitches almost into a squeal.
“How about—oh my-mnnh ah! God fuck…” You pant, trying to finish the sentence as Satoru, relentless, crooks his fingers deep and hollows his cheeks. “H-how about… my name?”
Satoru lets go with a wet pop! Lips slick with his spit, and your eyes meet his. “Gotta say mine then,”
A smirk toys one side of your pretty, glossy lips. Eyes lidded and full of want, cheeks flushed, staring him right down as he slides his mouth low over your stomach. “How about I call you princess?”
“Go right ahead,” Satoru lays out prone between your legs, two fingers still buried in your pretty cunt, eyeing it as he lets a drip of spit land on your clit. You jolt as it hits, wet with his saliva and your slick, he scissors his fingers and smears the bubbly mix under his thumb, pressing up on your clit. “I’ll make you come until you can’t talk though.”
“My god, do you ever stop talking sh—ah!” A sharp cry cuts you off as Satoru drags his tongue from your hole, trying to clench around the two digits stuffed inside, up to your clit. Twitching as the point of his tongue flicks over and over.
His lashes flutter, grinding into the mattress as he tastes you. Your soft moans pitch up as his tongue teases where he fucks his fingers into you. Your legs trying to close around his head, one held down in his grip and the other starting to tremble, pressed to the side of his head.
Pulling his fingers from your cunt, he brings them up to your face. “Open up.” You do, your already parted lips widen, and he swipes along your lower lip, then pushes into your mouth.
They press down on your tongue, and your lips close as you suck.
Maybe that was a bad idea. A great idea, of course, but feeling you suck your own syrupy arousal off his fingers, sweet slick hitting his tastebuds again as his mouth closes over your pussy. Groaning into you as he grinds his cock against the bed without thought.
You grip his forearm, the other hand tight in his hair, pulling him to you. Moaning around his fingers, squirming around as he holds your thigh in place.
It’s so much, all at once. From nothing, to gliding his tongue through your slicked folds, fingers in your eager mouth sucking him so fucking good, flicking your tongue along his index and middle. Rolling his hips to chase friction like a desperate fucking teenager. Ready to blow with his face buried in your pussy.
He’s not inexperienced exactly, but you’re a different story. He doesn’t just want this, not just sex, but everything that comes with it. And the idea of waking up with you tomorrow morning, bringing you that perfect cup of coffee, tangling in these sheets again. Your twinkling laugh, your teasing remarks because you always make sure to give it back to him. It all makes this part feel like a dream.
You whine at the loss as he takes his fingers from your mouth, pulling his face out of your pussy to suck your saliva from them. “You taste so good, princess.” Satoru moans, shoving your other thigh up with his now free hand. “Don’t you think?”
“Shut up,” You giggle, a little breathless, both hands in his hair again and pulling. His teeth graze your clit and you jerk, so sensitive he can’t help but do it again. Tongue hanging from his mouth, eyes locked on yours under snowy lashes. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
A pale brow lifts at you. Mouth full, huh?
Satoru holds your gaze, watching you gasp and moan out as his tongue points sharply, and teases your messy little hole. Shallow dips inside to make you whine. Lashes low, your eyes barely on his.
But your jaw drops and your eyes start to lose focus and he knows he’s got you when he buries his tongue deep inside, face pressed hard against you. Inhaling your sweet, heady scent, nose bumping your clit with every movement as he licks into you.
God, it’s so fucking hot how you grip his hair and grind on his face, pulling him to you without hesitation. Head thrown back, spine bowing off the bed as his tongue fucks your hole. It's desperate and sloppy, humming into you and slurping greedily until you're crying out, legs trembling under his hands.
“Fuck, Go-Gojo, I’m—”
“What happened to ‘princess’?” Satoru pulls back just enough to counter quickly, and you lift your head to glare. But it’s weak and you give up quick when he gets back to work.
“I’m gonna co-come… Satoru,”
Oh fuck. Your whine hits him hard, feeling you pulse and tremble. His name sounds so sweet when you say it like that, when you say it. His eyes go almost hazy, nothing in focus but the feeling of you under his hands, the taste of your sweet pussy in his mouth. Ready to fucking burst with the pressure, cock throbbing and twitching like crazy, but Satoru keeps going. Knowing you’re about to come and definitely not about to stop to collect himself.
He really would rather not right now, but if he comes on these sheets, so be it. That’s what spares are for and he’s certain that these won’t stay clean anyways.
A shudder wracks through your body, and Satoru grips you hard, fingers dimpling the plush of your thighs. “Mnnh—fuck, Sa-Satoruuu!” You cry his name out again and he’s sure the whole fucking house can hear it.
Does he particularly give a fuck right now? No.
He moans into you, barely hanging on as you buck and writhe and fuck yourself on his face. Soaking him, your slick arousal dripping down his chin, trickling his neck. Feeling almost drunk on lapping into your pulsing cunt as you make a mess of him.
You whine out, pulling his head up as you twitch hard, sensitive and overstimulated with his nose rubbing your clit and the sting of it zips down his spine. He rolls onto his back with a groan that starts deep in his chest.
He doesn’t even need to touch himself. Flipped over, he shudders, fisting the sheets as ecstasy buzzes under his skin again, spine bowing off the bed with his head thrown back. Pale lashes fluttering as his eyes roll back
“Ohhh my fuck—ngh!” The almost painful ache of too much pressure finally releases, and Satoru jolts violently with each kick of his cock as ropes of thick cum spurt. Hitting up his abs—almost to his chest, pooling on his stomach. A whimper slipping out as he sags into the bed, eyes sliding shut.
“Holy shit,” He hears you murmur, but you're a million miles away as he comes down off a fucking cloud. “I didn't realize you were…”
“About to cream the fucking sheets?” Satoru finishes for you, a weak little laugh slipping out. “Yeah.” He drags a hand up through his hair, breathing deep to steady himself.
He feels the mattress dip by his hip, weight shifting as you move, but it doesn't really register what's happening. Not until he feels something glide along a ridge of his abs do his eyes finally open. He meets yours almost instantly.
Pink tongue hanging out and licking a long stripe up to collect a ribbon of his cum. You hum at the taste, tossing a leg over to straddle his thighs. His brows pinch as your palms slip over his chest, and you dip your head low to lap another trail.
Satoru cups your face, thumb brushing over your flushed cheek. “Wanted to get a taste, hey princess?”
“Someone has to clean up your mess, Satoru.” You chide with a little smirk. Way too fucking sexy as you tease him, clean him up.
Just like that, he's wide the fuck awake again. Slipping that hand up into your hair, pulling the pieces falling into your face up into his fist. “Aren’t you sweet? Thanks, pretty.” You hum again, feeling the vibration of it in your mouth low on his abdomen as you trace the ridge and dip of a collarbone.
Cock twitching back to life with every glide, lapping every drop of his cum up. You wrap a hand around the base of his cock—ego swelling up seeing the gap where your fingertips can’t quite meet—and he sucks a sharp breath.
“Ah—f-fuck,” Hand tightening in your hair and you whine, eyes lidded and on his. “So-sorry—fuck ohh my—mnh,” Satoru moans as you flick the point of your tongue over his tip, teasing the slit beading pearly pre-cum to mix with cum he’s already spilled.
“You can pull my hair, if you want.” You murmur, spit slicked lips sliding down the length of his cock, dragging with your tongue to trace a pulsing vein along the underside. So hot, soft, just fucking perfect as your tongue swirls around his flushed, leaking tip.
“Yeah? You like it a little rough, don't you?” His voice is breathless, desperate again already, winding your hair around his fist. Pulling you up by the makeshift ponytail, eliciting a little cry as he tugs your hair harder this time.
“Mhm,” Brows upturned, lip caught in your teeth. Satoru sits up, pulling you into his lap. Mouth on yours, lips pressing open. The taste of your slick still in his mouth, his cum in yours, mixing together to make something addictive you both chase as you rock back and forth.
Both hands go to your waist, holding as you buck your hips back and lick into his mouth, tongue sliding with his, tracing his teeth. His nails dig into your skin and you moan into his mouth when his tip catches on your entrance.
Satoru bites your lip, lifting you a little, and flips you both. Putting you on your back again, hovering over you, a hand planted beside your head.
“I don’t hate you, never did. But you want me to fuck you like I do, right?” Satoru's lips graze yours, thighs locked around his hips, thumb pushing down on a rib as he grips your waist hard. “Can you handle that?”
“Try me,” You lift up and kiss him, palms slipping over his broad shoulders, nails digging in a little. Hissing at the sting, breaking from your mouth and sitting up abruptly. Your eyes go a little wide. “What—agh!” You yelp as he flips you again, putting you on your stomach.
“Oh I definitely will,” His palm slides up your spine, wrapping around the back of your neck and holding your face down. The other pulling your hips up, slotting a knee between yours to knock them apart. “You want it, pretty? Want me fuck your smart-ass stupid?”
Eyes flicking from you, hair a mess again and caught around your face, to your pussy. Holding the base of his cock, gliding the flushed tip through your slick folds, lining up to your hole. Your hips push back, squirming and trying to take him inside.
“Ah, answer me.” He pulls back and you whine a little. Like he's not dying to finally fuck you, stretch you out on his cock, mold you to fit him.
“Just—ugh fuck me, Satoru,” You pout a little and it wrecks him. His name on your lips, pleading, asking him to give you what he's been dying to.
He was resigned, thought he would run out of time before he figured out how to fix what had always been broken with you two.
But here you are, and it might sound crazy, but it’s everything he’s dreamt of and he never wants to let it go—let you go.
“Oh fuck,” He watches himself push into you, blunt head of his cock stretching your perfect little pussy. Your jaw drops, a throaty moan slipping out as he pushes past that initial resistance. “Fuck, that's tight,” Satoru huffs, “Think you can take it all, pretty?”
He's talking cocky, like he didn't just bust from eating you out, like he wouldn't come again right now with you squeezing the shit out of him, and just fill you up.
“Mhm! I wa-want it—ahh!” No hesitation in your voice, just a cracked whine as he holds you in place, gripping your neck and your hip hard enough to bruise as he snaps his pelvis, driving into you. Sinking deeper, eyes trained on your connection with a low moan.
“Fuck yeah you do, take it so good, pussy feels—mnh… so good,” Satoru moans, focus solely on you and your keens at his shallow half thrusts. So fucking grateful he came once because hes already losing it. Pumping faster into your slick walls. “How—hah, how have we never done this before?”
He knows exactly why, but he mumbles the question anyway and you huff, looking over your shoulder under low lashes. Giving him a weak little glare even as he fucks you from the back with your head pinned.
“Because you’re—ah, a f-fucking asshole,”
Yeah, there it is.
He is, isn’t he?
Satoru snaps his hips, smacking your ass as he bottoms out in one hard thrust. Forcing a choked cry from you, eyes squeezing shut. It almost punches the air from him, being fully seated and snug as you squeeze around him.
His chest presses to your back, pinning you down and driving his cock deeper, watching you gasp for air as he murmurs around your shoulder, nipping a little at the skin. “Thought we—hah, said no fighting?”
“Not fighting if it’s—ah f-fuck! Mnnh… true,” You’ve always got something to say, no matter the situation. Lips pushed out, whining and moaning as Satoru fills you, the slap of his pelvis smacking your ass ringing out. Latched onto your shoulder and fucking you hard, like he hates you, while you quip snarky little comebacks.
Just like it always is, but he’s buried in your slick, tight heat this time around. Making you gasp and stutter on your words instead of snap and spit them.
“Yeah, I'm a real asshole, huh? You like it though, don’t you princess?” Fuck, he could probably come again right here and now. Abs tight as he leans over you, angling his hips down to slam deeper. Hitting a spot that makes your eyes start to roll and your cunt grip tight, driving into it again and again. Your noises pitch up, muffled with your face pressed down hard.
The question goes unanswered, but he doesn’t need one. Satoru can see just how much you like it, feel how much you love this. Your spine curves, bowing harder under his grip with a sharp cry as he feels his cock grind deep, right against your cervix, and that says it all.
The first time you kissed it was bruising and mean, why would the first time you fuck be any different?
The hand on your hip slides around, dipping between your legs and you keen and grab his arm as the pad of his middle finger finds your clit. “Gonna come for me again, princess? Squeeze this cock and show me how much you like it?”
“F-fuck oh my goddd!” Your whine, nails digging into his forearm hard enough to make him hiss, your pussy clamping down and pulsing, it makes him jolt as that electricity zips up his spine again. “S-Sa-toru!”
It damn near makes his eyes roll, feeling you gush and convulse as he pushes you right over the edge. Toying your twitching clit, gritting his teeth as he fucks you through an orgasm that almost makes him come again. Crying a broken version of his name out to steal air from his lungs.
“That’s it, pretty—fuck,” Satoru pants, not daring to slow or stop, not with you falling apart. “Feels so good, right? S-so tight—shit,”
Fuck, even still, you are so tight. Strangling his dick, making it hard to think of anything but slamming as deep as possible and letting your sweet little cunt milk him until his balls are empty.
He’s never come inside someone, not raw. But he’s never fucked you before, and the little caveman part of his brain that stuck around through evolution is demanding he fill you up, fuck his cum back into you, watch it pour from your messy little hole. Do it all over again and again.
“F-fuck too much!” You whine, pushing at his arm, twitching hard and verging on overstimulated and he relents. Still stroking deep, but slowing a little. Breathing hard and trembling, coming down off your own cloud with sweat sticking hair to your face. So pretty it makes his chest tight with something warm.
You can’t still hate him, not after this. Right?
The hand gripping around your neck glides over your spine, tracing the curve and making you shiver. Both hands on your waist, Satoru somehow pulls out, and flips you onto your back. Startled by the sudden switch, a cute little yelp comes from you. Blinking up at him, your hands grip his shoulders to brace as you regain your bearings.
“Are you on anything?” God he sounds so fucking pathetic, desperate really.
Your brow furrows. “Like… birth control?” Satoru nods, eyes flicking from your face, to his cock lining up to push in, met with a little resistance again and swearing under his breath. Your jaw drops and you gasp at the stretch in a new position. “Wh-why, you wanna come in me?” You tease him, laughing breathlessly.
“Fuck you,” Satoru mumbles, shoving your thighs up to your chest, gripping the backs to push you down into the mattress. “Yes.”
You laugh again, and he cuts you off, bottoming out again with a harsh snap of his hips. Nails scratching at his shoulders, hard enough to leave marks no doubt and he smirks at the sharp cry you can’t hold in. “F-fuck you. No, I’m—ah! I’m not.”
Satoru swallows down disappointment he’s not sure why he feels, and puts focus on stroking deep, pulling out almost fully just to slam home and kiss your cervix again and again. Working up a sweat watching you squirm and struggle to take it.
The angle drives him fucking crazy, thighs squished against your tits, seeing your flushed, fucked out face as your eyes start to roll again. Tighter like this somehow, slick walls fluttering as he pounds you into the bed, ignoring the tension in his gut with your pussy gripping like you want him to fill you up anyways.
“Need you—oh shit—need you to come again, princess. Please fuck, please, I—ngh—I n-need it,” Satoru pleads, desperation in his voice pitching, almost catching in his throat. Driving into you with just as much desperation.
And shit, you must like hearing him beg. Clawing at his shoulders, raking down his arms, you shudder and tense up, eyes on the back of your own skull and jaw dropped in a silent cry as you come again.
“Ohh fuck yes!” He throws his head back, eyes shut tight as he fucks you through it. Cock twitching like crazy, barely holding it all in as pressure and heat become almost unbearable. He pants your name, the syllables sweet in his mouth and more addictive than sugar and he does it again just because he can. “That’s it—god you’re so good—feel so fucking good!” Volume control and hesitation vacated, leaving nothing but need for you behind.
“Ohh my—mnh, ohh Satoru!” You moan his name, clinging to his biceps, and it almost sends him right over.
God damn, the shit you do to him.
Head dropped again, Satoru sees your pretty face mid-climax first, then his cock buried to the hilt in your spasming cunt, grinding against your cervix with a creamy, frothed up ring at the base, and his hips stutter.
“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” He whines and pulls out so fast you choke on a scream at the sudden loss. A shudder wracks through as he wraps a hand around his cock and glides up once, twice—
Tension releases, a wire snapping free to send lightning up his spine and down to his toes. A whimper escapes, hunching over as his cock kicks in hand and spurts, ropes of thick white striping your twitching cunt.
You keen at the sensation as he paints your pretty, still pulsing around nothing pussy with his cum. Leaning his weight on your thigh still shoved high, whining out with one last slide of his hand, cock sensitive and leaking more cum.
“Holy shit,” Satoru pants out, shoulders drooping as he eyes the sticky mess decorating your puffy folds and he can’t help but rub his cock through the mess. He hisses, a little sensitive and you whine—definitely sensitive, slapping weakly at his bicep until he relents with a chuckle. “Sorry,’
“No you’re not,” You huff, eyes shut and looking half dead. Flushed and fucked out and so fucking pretty it hurts. He leans over you, and your eyes flutter open as his lips brush yours.
“No, I’m not. I like this, y’know.” He murmurs, kissing you slow and soft and deep. You hum into his mouth, arms over his shoulders and wrists crossing around his neck. Cupping your face and tracing your warm cheekbone with his thumb.
Like is an understatement, but it'll have to do because he's not about to spill his guts. Maybe later, but not right now. Satoru wants to just bask in this, the sweaty afterglow of the last thing he was expecting after yet another crash landing.
Two hours and one shower later, you’re passed out on fresh sheets. Curled up into Satoru, a hand on his waist, his thigh between yours. Lips parted and breathing softly, hair still damp.
His hand on your hip, thumb tracing patterns on the skin, his other arm trapped under your pillow. Tired but fighting it just to watch you, peaceful in a way he's never seen on you before.
A twitch of the hand curled by your face and your nose scrunches, brows pinching for a moment. A smile tugs his mouth at all your cute little movements. You'd probably call him a creep if you caught him right now, but he can’t help it.
He steals one kiss, not on your lips, but your forehead. Cheesy, he knows, but again, he just can’t help it.
Kind of crazy how fast things can change, and when you least expect them to.
Soft golden light pools across his bed, and Satoru blinks awake to the sun already up and bright as hell.
Shit, he actually slept in.
His hand slides across the bed, and meets nothing but cool, empty sheets. Sitting up with a stretch, he looks around at the mess in his room. Clothes discarded in a pile on the floor, his helmet on the desk, but your pajama shorts and t-shirt are missing from the floor along with you and he frowns.
He's usually up before everyone else and had kind of hoped to wake you up with coffee and maybe another hour of rolling around, but you’re an early riser too.
He would've preferred you woke him up whenever you did, but maybe you got caught up downstairs with your friends. So he swings his legs over the side of the bed and gets to his feet.
Throwing on a pair of sweatpants and a random t-shirt, Satoru slips his glasses on and steps barefoot out into the hall. Stopping at the next door to knock softly a couple times, and get no answer. Downstairs then.
He heads down to the main floor, taking the steps two at a time and sees Yuuta alone in the kitchen bent over the stove. The smell of sweet batter and pancakes frying wafts through the air, stirring hunger in his empty stomach.
“Morning,” Satoru chirps and Yuuta startles, jumping a little with a squeak, head snapping over his shoulder with wide eyes.
“Oh! Good morning!” He turns fully, flashing a crooked smile Satoru’s way, a spatula in hand. Satoru peers out the glass doors to the back deck, but the cushioned chairs are all empty.
“Where is, uh, everyone?” He has to catch himself from just saying your name, walking around to the coffee machine to start making a cup. Grabbing sugar and some french vanilla creamer from the fridge.
Yuuta turns back to the stove, flipping a couple golden, slightly misshapen pancakes. “I think your friends are still sleeping, I haven't seen them yet but the other four left early this morning.”
Satoru freezes mid-step, “What?” He must have heard wrong, or misunderstood, and he turns to look at his dark haired cousin.
“Yeah,” Yuuta replies lightly, “They said they wanted to beat traffic and get an extra day to settle back in before classes start up again.”
The words make that thing in Satoru’s stomach flip violently, and he swallows hard to push it down. Staring incredulously, looking for any sign that Yuuta might be fucking with him in a prank set up by Suguru or maybe even you, but there's no evidence of it on his face.
“Oh,”
What the fuck? You… left?
He sets the mug in hand down on the counter beside the coffee maker, empty and resigned and walks out of the kitchen. Yuuta says something, but he cant hear it. He's racing up the stairs, two at a time again and he stumbles when he slips.
Stopping again in front of your door, his hand hovers over the knob for a moment before he throws it open, and feels his heart fucking sink in his chest as the empty room stares back at him.
All your stuff is gone, he only got a glimpse of it once but he remembers the few things you'd had out. There's no book on your nightstand, no bags, the bed is made and not slept in because you were in his instead.
You were, right? He didn't imagine all of that in some crazy fucking vivid wet dream?
Not a single trace of you is left, like you'd never even been there. Like he didn't spend a week with you right next door but still a thousand miles away. Finally breaching the distance just to have you slip away all over again.
Touching the edge of Wallis Sands, just to trip and fall on his face in the sand, look up, and find he was never even close to the end.
You didn't push him away, hands on his chest and shoving, but this feels worse than the direct rejection. So much fucking worse. He kissed your sleeping face, held you all night, and you still just… walked away.
His chest is tight, not enough space in his ribcage for his lungs to fill completely. This room is too small, and it just keeps shrinking.
His face burns, heat that claws up his neck to his cheeks and ears, fueled by embarrassment. It stings his eyes and his nose. Breathing hard and fast as he blinks quickly, lips pursed to keep them steady. Stupid, he feels so, so fucking stupid. Getting hopes up like an idiot that all the shit between you two could disappear with a good fuck and a night of cuddling.
Satoru shuts the door, jaw tight as he swallows down saliva that's soured and turned acrid in his mouth. Stiff as he walks back to his own room and grabs his phone, checking it for some stupid pathetic reason. Knowing you don't have his number and wouldn't have texted even if you did.
He drops the phone to the bed beside him. He rips his glasses off and does the same with them, and puts his face in his hands. Elbows on his knees, heels of his palms digging into his eyes hard enough to make them ache and stars burst across the black expanse.
Pathetic. That’s all he feels when his eyes burn and he swallows a hot lump in his throat. But he’s not about to fucking cry. What does he have to cry about? It’s not like you broke up, you weren’t even together. You just… didn’t stay.
His brain wracks for a reason, some explanation as to why you’d leave without so much as a stupid little note on the pillow like they do in movies. Is he really so naive to have thought that could’ve been it? The moment where things changed?
Thinking you'd stick around, thinking you understood him and maybe felt the same. Or at least wanted to try to change the way things are, stick around and give it a fair shot. Give him a fair shot.
But he was wrong, and now, you're gone.
a/n ⭑.ᐟ ahaa that sucks </3 poor satoru | dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/strangergraphics-archive <3
cw ⭑.ᐟ NSFW, 18+ MDNI, college AU, angst & smut & eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, mean & bratty nerd gojo, unsafe motorcycle riding (WEAR PROPER SAFETY GEAR PLS), heavy pining (one sided), unrequited -> requited love, teasing & banter, a lot of "fuck you" "fuck you too" exchanges, POV switch, fingering, oral s*x (f & m rec.), unprotected piv s*x. chapter content: angst and a lil fluff, flashback, heavy yearning (gojo's internal monologue is a lil horny so heads up), messy feelings, self-sabotage things, mild anxiety responses, mentions of gojo's family.
summary ⭑.ᐟ You're no stranger to competition with Gojo Satoru—a dork with an un-earned ego bigger even than his DnD figurine collection. So what the hell is he doing on a motorcycle? This can't be the same Gojo you've butted heads with for three years, because if it is... has he always looked like that under the giant glasses and stupid Digimon hoodies? How much—or how little do you actually know about this nerd? part 3 w/c ⭑.ᐟ 11k
a/n ⭑.ᐟ who ordered the yearner gojo pov with a side of 'bad at feelings'?!? | art in the header by the talented @/aliyartss on insta, dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/strangergraphics-archive <3
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Satoru — 1 week prior
For Gojo Satoru, the concept of cause and effect is all too familiar. He knows it well, butterfly wings and earthquakes in Japan, that kind of stuff.
Do stupid shit, suffer stupid consequences.
That, he is all too familiar with. Sometimes the fun of poking a bear or a rabid badger outweighs whatever consequences will come raining down on his head. So he craves unorthodox entertainment? Sue him.
And oh boy, the badger that snarls the loudest, that snaps the hardest, is always the most fun to piss off.
That badger just so happens to be you.
He didn’t really mean for it to happen at first, just noticed you had bumped him from his spot at the top of class one day and went huh. Well that was it, he had to meet you—officially at least, he’d seen you around and just thought; cute, in passing.
So, he did just that. Slid in your path after class with a smirk and something he thought was sarcastic and funny and might make you laugh, only to be quite surprised (maybe a little pleasantly) when you bristled immediately and snapped at him to leave you alone if all he had to spew was hot air.
That was it.
You’ve hated his guts ever since.
And Satoru? He couldn’t get you out of his head.
He loved the feud, it pushed him to work harder, to reach higher—higher than his family expected him to already. Knowing you’d be there to shove him off the ladder and take the top for yourself if he ever slacked or slipped.
But at some point—he’s not really sure exactly when, things shifted and Satoru felt something… weird. He pulled the trademark Gojo smirk on and went through the motions with you, but his chest was tight. He noticed more about you, how your lips pushed out in an unimpressed pout at him, how your hips swayed when you walked away.
How bright your smile was at someone who was not him. That one made his ribs clamp around his lungs. The feeling just kept going, getting worse when you’d smirk back and quip something fast and funny and witty and so you.
He finally talked to Suguru one day about it, mentioning you in passing, and got told he was ‘down bad’. Whatever the fuck that meant.
Suguru was not wrong, he definitely was—is.
But you hate him. Capital H on a fire of seething, burning distaste. Not that he really minds that either, watching you snap and try to grind him back into his place is something he almost looks forward to.
Because it would never be a friendly competition between you. And if he had to choose between bubbling, overflowing hatred, and apathetic, unfeeling nothing?
It wasn't even a question, you’ll be feuding in a nursing home with him.
But whatever it is between you two, a curse, a 100 year old bloodfeud you both are the sore victims of, whatever it is, it’s being pushed to the back burner of his mind.
Things are happening faster than he expected, than he was promised, and the time he has left interning at the renewable energy research facility is being ripped away prematurely.
His father has one health scare and now the tether of his responsibility, ever present and always tied tight around his wrist, slack but tugging every so often just to remind him of its presence, is being yanked taught.
His family is scared that he’ll be forced into the position before he’s had a chance to properly prepare for it if it happens again, and his father doesn’t make it. His mother is panicking as much as she can while retaining the composure of a porcelain doll, his father is practically doomsday prepping with how frantically he’s speeding up Satoru’s integration into the company whilst also pre-planning his own funeral.
He’s got until the end of the school year before Satoru is expected to fully step into his role at Gojo Tech Industries.
He’ll be expected to finish his degree, of course. But his free time? His internship? It’s being traded for boardrooms and briefings and mind numbing lunches discussing the only kinds of numbers that Satoru doesn’t get excited for; finances.
It’s not that he hates it. He doesn’t even dislike it, not really. He just… he thought he’d have more time.
This spring break is going to be one of the last times Satoru will be able to forget about responsibility and duty and just have fun before he’s shoved into a suit and planted at his fathers side to learn the rest of the ropes.
So naturally, he wants to do some dumb shit.
He always goes to Hampton for spring break so that was a given, but when he saw Toji and Sukuna screeching around on a couple of personal sized rockets, it wasn’t even a question. Motorcycles are the epitome of fun, dumb shit.
A bargain was struck. Spring break at a mansion in the Hamptons for the two jockstraps, and lessons for Satoru and Suguru, whom he dragged into his plan for spring break mayhem without the option of no.
Satoru may have dropped the bike, like, once. But aside from the one slip up where his feet didnt find ground before the bike started to lean, he’s discovered that he’s actually pretty fucking good at riding a motorcycle.
It’s not exactly a surprise that he is. Satoru has always been gifted at most things he tries, that’s just been for the most part academics instead of adrenaline chasing.
He picked it up quickly and with a couple of weekends of practice, was tearing around on the nimble Yamaha R9 with the other three. With the set up for a satisfying last week of full blown freedom complete, the last thing to do before following their stuff ahead of them in a car to the estate, was be sure he’d secured the top mark on the midterm for his quantum mechanics class.
The results posted were oh so sweet. A mere .02% is all that divides you and Satoru. He just knows that you’re somewhere not far away, fuming and cursing him out as you stare at the exact same results.
An internal war waged inside him as he sat through the last class you would share before the break started.
On one hand, the appeal of pushing your buttons and bickering until steam blew from your ears was really tempting. Going blow for blow with you made his blood pump, even when you said something that actually got under his skin, he still loved it. It’s what you two did best, what he did best.
On the other, he could take the opportunity and try to placate. Bury the hatchets in both your backs and have the first bit of change in his life with this new leaf be something he chose.
Maybe, just maybe, Satoru could try to be… nice?
The professor dismissed the class and Satoru grabbed his bag, already packed up. Tugged the bright blue hoodie with his favorite mecha plastered across the back away from his chest, and bumped his glasses up a little higher. A deep breath.
His heart skipped a couple beats, and resumed at a faster pace as you neared his row.
Nice. He could be nice, he’s nice all the time and to people he gives significantly less of a shit about.
The notion was dead in the water before it could even lift off because that nickname left his mouth before he thought twice about it. He said it just as you passed by him, walking up the stairs to the exit and he cringed immediately as your shoulders tensed, your hand once loose and open at your side balled up as you halted in your tracks.
He tried, okay?! He really tried at doing something different, but he was resigned at that very moment and you fell into the usual routine.
You snapped at him to piss off.
He smirked and offered you tutoring because it was easy, much easier than apologizing and being genuine and getting shot down.
You told him that you’d rather fail than ever take a piece of advice from an egotistical air head like him, turned on your heel, and left.
And that was it.
It would be a week before he’d see you again and even if he did try again, nothing would change. You were too deep into hating him, and he didn’t have the guts to try to change that. Perpetuating that was just easier, and a lot more fun than what the alternative might be. But he would enjoy the break and keep his mind off of school, off of everything awaiting him come the end of the year, and off of you.
Or so he thought.
Traffic is still a pain in the ass when you’re on a motorcycle, but significantly less so. Weaving through lanes and cutting up to the front is a perk and the trade off for being the one that gets splattered across the pavement in the case of an accident.
The late afternoon crawl of endless cars making their way up to the coast the Friday of spring break, is mind numbing. Satoru can’t wait until the highway opens up and he can feel wind tearing around him instead of the stifling heat radiating up from the asphalt.
He rolls up to a stop at another light and plants his feet out, straightening up to stretch his back and rolling his shoulder. Every muscle tightened with tension from going from hunched over a computer all day, to draped over his bike.
When his head turned to the car next to him, it’s like the world froze over.
He does a literal double take. Sitting in the driver seat, is you. And you’re staring right back at him with a look he’s never seen on your face before. Something in your eye as you looked him over.
He nods once. You nod back, with a smile.
The realization hits at that moment, the helmet. You don’t recognize him.
A thousand things run through Satoru's head at that very moment. He wants to lift the visor, but you’d immediately know it was him. Would that be a good thing? Would the look of interest on your face stay or would it morph into seething distaste?
Before he can think twice on it, he twists the throttle. His bike revs and flattens back out to a purr and he knows he made the right choice because he can see it on your face.
Excitement.
You cock your head, and he does it again.
He can’t help but laugh a little when you return the challenge. Biting your lip as your car revs and Satoru is so thankful for the helmet because he can feel how warm his face is with you giving him eyes. Like, full on lusty, lidded, practically bedroom come fuck me eyes.
Holy shit.
He had no idea you’d be into this kind of thing, but he yanks his thoughts out of the gutter they’re starting to swirl into and replaces both hands on the grips of his bike. One foot back on a peg and balancing on the other.
He needs to get his shit together because he’s about to race you.
Satoru considers letting you win. But he really likes showing off, and this is just what you two do, so he discards the idea after only a moment of thought.
He shifts into first and eases the clutch, the bike pulls a little and he steals one more look at you. You’re gripping the wheel with both hands, eyes trained ahead on the light, a smile that makes his heart kick hard at his ribs pulling your lips up.
Something he always has a hard time telling to shut up whispers in his head that you like this, like him like this. That little whisper of hope that just can’t be shut up.
But it dips and sinks a little because he isn’t Satoru to you right now, and that’s why you like him.
Things would always be like that with you, he’d accepted it a long time ago.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun. That’s all he wants to think about, not everything waiting for him at school when this week is over. Just fun and freedom. And maybe that look on your face.
The light turns.
Satoru cranks the throttle and dumps the clutch and thank god it catches because stalling out would probably be the second most embarrassing thing he’s ever done in front of you. His dick deciding it liked the way you corrected him mid-presentation in first year theoretical physics will always take the cake though.
He holds back for a bit, just to keep pace with you—or, to let you keep pace with him is more like it.
Shit, that grin on your face is infectious. He’s grateful once again for the full coverage helmet because he knows he looks stupid under it. You flash it his way, smiling at him.
He wags his fingers, returning your smile even though you can't see it, and takes off.
Maybe this spring break would be different, if the start was anything to go off of.
Satoru — present day
God damn it. Girls are so fucking confusing.
Satoru can break down relativity to its individual elements and run a class on distant simultaneity that even the meatheads he’s on this trip with would understand.
But whatever the fuck he feels when you pop up in his brain, when he catches a glimpse of you in his periphery and snaps his head to get the full view?
He may as well be a concussed jockstrap with how his brain starts malfunctioning, screaming at him to make you notice him, pay attention to him, doing stupid—and probably annoying—shit to make it happen.
Especially after that night, where you had your hands all over him, smiling at him, laughing with him, kissing him.
That night, the door to a third option in this dynamic with you opened, one he hadn’t really thought possible, and now can’t get out of his head. The one where you might actually like him. Satoru. Not the faceless guy on a bike you raced, but actually him.
But he’s been forced to face the reality that he has no idea what he’s doing here, and in more ways than one, he’s running out of time.
There’s only two days left that you all will be at the estate and there’s only three months left of relative freedom before he gets sucked in near full time at Gojo Tech Industries. If he’s going to be a man and make a god damn move, he has to do it while you’re both here.
And he has, lingering around a little longer than usual, a little closer than typical, and he can see it on your face. How much it affects you. How you look at him fully now, your eyes snagging and holding on him.
You feel something for Satoru, he knows it undeniably now.
But you shoved him away that night. Sure, maybe he got a little carried away and kind of grabbed your ass, but you were practically dryhumping his leg! It felt like a reasonable move considering the situation.
But no.
And you called him all over the place.
Now, he has no idea what to do. You were getting along, it was going so well. You fucking kissed him, and still pushed him away. Flat out rejected him. And as much as Satoru kind of hates to admit it, you’re right. He has an ego, and it got a little bruised that night.
He wants to try it again, being genuine and letting his guard down a bit. But every time he tries to talk to you, it just never comes out right. Teasing and taunting just come too easily, the back and forth between you is fun and he doesn’t want it to stop, but he wants something more than just that.
That third option where you’re still you and he’s still Satoru and you both still push each other's buttons, but you maybe kiss a little too. Maybe even more than that.
But no, you bolt from any room he enters, leaving no room for confusion about how you feel about him. He hasn’t even seen you once in the last 24 hours despite being in the room right next door. He knows he’s not your favorite person, but it still kind of sucks.
So maybe he’s moping a little right now.
The display on his Switch feeds him the brightly colored layout of Digimon World. Thumbing the toggle around idly to send his tamer running through the neon green fields with two nearly completely evolved monsters in tow.
The thick frames of his glasses slipped low from scrunching his nose, brow furrowed as Satoru mashed buttons with practiced precision to win the last battle. He makes it to the training facility and takes a moment to shove his glasses back up with a thumb and sip off a can of Sprite on the table next to his bed.
He thinks about continuing, pushing harder to get to the next stage and attempt that battle at bony drive again, but his monsters need rest and he should probably peel his eyes off the screen after almost two hours of lying with horrendous posture on his bed. So he stretches like a cat, putting the game on pause and tossing his switch onto the comforter beside him. Throwing his arms up with a satisfying pull to his spine that feels like it sets some vertebrae straight again.
He takes a peek out the double glass doors, the sun is about to go down, settling low on the horizon but not quite kissing the landscape yet. Just dipping low enough that the light shimmering off the ocean surface is warm like flickers of honey, not quite golden yet.
Strained azure eyes flick to the dark helmet sitting on the desk across from the bed Satoru is sat on the edge of. Why not? He only has so many days of this left.
Grey sweats are traded for dark jeans and an oversized baby blue hoodie with a little embroidered cinnamoroll stitched on the chest. Blinking excess contact solution clear as he leaves his bathroom, Satoru snatches up the helmet, shoves his key, phone and wallet into his pockets, and moves to throw his door open.
He almost runs right into you.
Standing at his door, hand up in a fist like you were about to knock or something. Eyes wide and mouth tight with a look like regret. How long have you been standing there for?
“Oh, uh, hey?” Satoru says, more like a question with a small step back, pulling out of the miniscule space you briefly shared in his doorway.
“Hi, I was, um,” You start, dropping your hand, eyes darting down to the helmet quickly. Silence grows more brittle, you look like you want to say something—you had to be standing there for a reason—but he opened the door before you were ready to get it out.
“Was there something you want—”
“Yeah, I think we should, um, talk.” You cut his slow questioning off, blurting out the words and shutting him up with something he was not prepared to hear coming from your mouth.
You want to talk to him?
Satoru doesn’t think you’ve ever uttered those words in the entire three years he’s known you. You’ve been treating him like a leper this entire trip, now you want to talk?
“Talk?” He echoes, and you nod, hands practically wringing in front of you. You look nervous and it’s making Satoru’s gut do a slow flip at what you could possibly be nervous to talk to him about. “O-okay, well I was just about to, uh,” He holds up the helmet in hand, trailing off and you visibly swallow. The motion of your throat prominent and noticeable.
“Right, right, it’s not important,” You wave a hand, shaking your head like you need to clear something. Taking a small step back, moving out of his way so he can leave. “Don’t worry about it then. I’m gonna go—”
You were right that night, trying to do the same thing over and over again and expecting different results is crazy. But he did get something different. That third option sits right there, but would you push him away again before it could happen? Maybe there’s just too much already between you for it to be possible.
Time slips away too fast, things he wishes he noticed, did a little differently, they steal more grains from the hourglass already counting down his last few weeks.
Rejection daunts, but nothing hangs over a person’s head quite like regret.
“You could come with? If you’re up for another ride?” He cuts you off before you can say you’re going to leave and then do it. Face cool and relaxed, his body tense to brace for whatever you might hurl at him.
Conflict wages across your features, scrunching your mouth at the corner, nose crinkled with eyes flicked down the hall towards your room. It feels brittle again, like there’s something to break there other than the silence.
He can still see the smile on your face, standing in front of that ice-cream shop. The laugh that rang out in the kitchen just a few days ago, the one he hasn’t heard since then, not around him.
“I, um… where are you going?” A little flutter like hope starts in his gut, hard to shove down and impossible to kill. It’s not a no, and Satoru shrugs a shoulder.
“I dunno, does there have to be a destination?”
Your eyes roll and your shoulders drop a little, tension easing from them. “Please, do not drop that cringey Emerson quote.”
Satoru bites back a chuckle and leans against the door frame, arms crossed and helmet still in hand. “It’s popular for a reason, he’s not wrong.”
“Whatever,” You mumble, “Doesn’t mean it’s not pretentious.”
“Kinda running out of time here,” Satoru says lightly, shifting back on track, a tension wire wrapping through his gut as he says it. “You coming or not?”
Your brows pinch and you chew your lip, uncertainty passing over your face again, that nerve winding in his stomach tightens.
Running out of time.
“No fuckin’ racing this time.” You snap, eyes narrowed at him, but there’s a faint quirk to the corner of your lips as you continue. “I’ll spam report your reddit account and get you banned.”
You can’t even actually say yes out loud to him, but that’s exactly what it is.
Satoru doesn’t even try to hold the shit eating grin back. “Have you been stalking me online or something?” You scoff and roll your eyes at him again. He’s surprised they haven’t gotten stuck in the back of your head with how much you love to do that at him.
He peels off the wooden frame, grabbing the handle to shut the door behind him, taking a long step right into your space. Your eyes go a little wider, lips parting for a moment before you press them shut. Like you’re thinking about it too.
“I’ll grab Suguru’s helmet,” Satoru bumps your arm with his as he turns to head down the hall. “Meet you outside.”
Back turned to you, he barely hears the mumbled, “Uh-huh,” Before you head off in the other direction. Probably to grab a sweater or something.
He doesn’t knock, just opens Suguru’s door quickly and slips inside. Suguru looks up from his phone, lips pursed and upturned eyes narrowed. “You could knock. The door is there for a—”
“Need your helmet, where is it?” Satoru cuts him off, moving into Suguru’s room to look around, eyes darting around, searching and a little frantic.
Suguru sits up on his bed, phone dropping onto the comforter beside him. “In the closet. Are you good?”
Satoru throws the doors to the closet open, snatching Suguru’s helmet up. “Yeah, yeah, I'm great. Just needed this,” He makes his way back to the door quickly, his target acquired and under his arm. Hand on the knob, he calls over his shoulder to Suguru. “Later, back in a bit!”
“Where are you guys going?” Suguru asks just as Satoru is about to yank the door open and he freezes. A slow, reluctant smile pulls at his lips as he glances at Suguru.
“I dunno, Wallis Sands, maybe. Sunset looks like it’ll be good.”
Suguru lets out a low laugh, “How romantic,”
Satoru winks at him, “You know it,” He gets a scoff and a raised brow in return.
“Try not to fuck it up this time.” Satoru’s face drops instantly.
“I did not—ugh, whatever, don’t wait up!” He waves Suguru off and the dark haired man laughs, shoulders shaking.
“Have fun, romeo!” Satoru saunters back out the door, tongue poked out and a cheeky wink thrown over his shoulder as he shuts it behind him.
He races down the hall, socks slipping on the hardwood as he catches the bannister to take the steps down four at a time. Feeling exactly how stupidly giddy his face looks right now and unable to do a damn thing to stop it.
He really needs to chill the fuck out, it’s not like its a first or anything, but it is different. You came to him this time, wanting to talk to him.
What changed? Something had to.
The giddiness falters a little as he jams his foot into a sneaker at the door. He can’t help the uncertainty that makes his ribs tighten around his lungs, trying to squeeze the air from him, making breath shallow and practically useless.
Thinking too hard isn’t usually something he struggles with. He just does most things without having to try. Having to fret and overanalyze and pick apart the little shifts in your posture, the part of your lips and all the spots your eyes linger on, it’s kind of a new thing for him.
Whatever is about to happen, he can’t pin that down. Can’t even imagine what the hell would have made you walk right up to his door and ask to talk, say yes to holding onto him for dear life again like you did that first night.
Oh, right.
Heat starts to rush up Satoru's neck, and suddenly his hoodie is way too hot. He almost forgot that inviting you out to come with him on another ride would mean your chest would be squished against his back, hands all over his body—even if it was out of necessity at the time, it still made it hard to think. Made that testosterone fueled caveman part of his brain scream at him to impress you and not fuck up the shot he was finally getting with you seeing him in a light where you might not hate him so wholly.
Satoru takes a cooling breath, shoes on and standing idle by the front door to collect his shit for a moment. Rolling his shoulders a few times, shaking his head out like it could clear the tangled mess of thoughts making his stomach do triple backflips.
He pulls on a cool half smile, and throws the door open. Walking out and around to the covered space near the garage, gravel crunching underfoot as he approaches, fishing around his pocket for the key.
And all of a sudden, his gut is doing olympic level gymnastics.
Under the soft, warm light of the sun lowering to its resting place, the glossy black tank of his Yamaha gleams. Parked along with the other three there, you sit on his bike. Balanced on one foot, the other up on the peg, both hands splayed on the tank and looking over the controls. Chewing your lip as your eyes dart around.
A long moment passes where you don’t notice him, and he doesn’t move. Just watching you looking it all over with curiosity, like you’re going through the checklist of steps he’d shown you.
Blood rushes quickly as the memory of being behind you, having his chest pressed to your back, breathing in and getting nothing but the scent of you. Tasting you, touching you, the heat and need of you grinding on his thigh, your hip rubbing up against his cock—
Jesus fucking christ, get it together.
Saliva in his mouth sours into something bitter and he can almost feel your hands on his chest, shoving him away all over again. He swallows and it rots in his stomach, curdling into something that makes his confidence falter.
When all of this was over and you were back at school, when he traded freedom and choice for his spot at Gojo Tech, would you ever look at him like that again? If this Satoru was the one you didn’t hate completely, what would happen when he disappeared for good?
Satoru shoves it down because there’s no point in thinking past what's right in front of him. Right now he can just pretend there’s nothing more than taking you out and having your arms wrapped around him, pretending it’s something you want, that you’d choose even though it’s him, and clears his throat.
Your head snaps up, and your eyes meet his. Your features soft as your eyes flit over him once, a gentle and almost imperceivable curve to your lips. But it’s there, and he returns it, hauling himself from the spot he’d been frozen in to approach you.
“Couldn’t wait for me?” Satoru cocks his head, pulling Suguru’s helmet out from under his arm and the small smile on your face shifts into a tight line. You look almost sheepish and quickly go to throw your leg over, but Satoru stops you. “Hold on, want me to show you again? How to start it up?”
“No,” You frown, brows pinching together as you settle back onto the seat, eyes searching his face for something. “I don’t forget shit so easily.”
That bitterness returns at those words. You’re talking about the bike, but he can’t help but think there’s more to it, like the three years of strife and hatred and vile shit you’ve thrown back and forth at each other.
But before it can sour further, you stick a hand out, palm up towards him. “I’ll show you, if you don’t believe me.” You say coolly, a lift to your chin and a defiant smirk toying the corner of your mouth and Satoru can feel his own face lift a little more.
“Safety first,” He holds out Suguru’s helmet and you take it, then pulls his keys out of a pocket in his jeans. You tuck your hair back behind your ears and he holds back the urge to reach out and catch a stray piece you missed, and tuck it back himself. Helmet on, just your eyes visible with the glossy black covering the rest of your face, you fiddle again with the clasp, muttering something he can’t quite hear.
“Want some help?” Satoru offers and you stare for a long moment, before dropping your hands and nodding, lifting your chin to expose the column of your throat. “Hold this,” He presses his helmet into your hands, and moves to take the clasp. Knuckles running over the smooth skin of your neck as he threads the strap through and secures it.
Your throat moves as you swallow, and let out a breath like a soft sigh. Eyes on his face, searching for something again.
Satoru grabs his helmet from you and trades it for his keys. “Start it up, but you’re not driving. Gravel’s pretty tricky.” You’d need somewhere flat, straight and wide open. No obstacles to run into or slide on when you start riding solo.
If you start, he catches himself.
“Fine by me,” You take a breath, like you’re collecting your thoughts before putting the key in the ignition and twisting to the on position. Both hands go to the grips, your foot on a peg and toe under the shifter as you hold the clutch in and flick the switch. Eyes flaring wide with excitement as the bike roars alive under your hand, no direction needed.
It suits you, the jittery look of pride, the smile that makes your eyes lift. It all suits you, actually. The arch to your spine with you leaned forward, hips tilted back. White and red M.I.T. hoodie riding up with you stretched out, a sliver of your waist peeking out. Jeans hugging your thighs spread wide over the seat, the curve of your ass—
You look right at him, pointing the smile he could see solely in your eyes, just like the one you wore before you’d known it was Satoru under the mirrored visor, directly at him.
“See? I got it.” A little muffled by the helmet, but the pride and almost condescension in your voice comes through clearly and Satoru laughs lightly as he pulls his own helmet on.
“Yeah, totally got it.” Surprise flickers in your eyes, like you weren’t expecting him to just agree. Like you were preparing to meet his cocky comeback with one of your own, surprised that you didn’t need it. “Alright, scoot back. We're losing light here, gotta go.”
“Demanding, sheesh.” You mutter, pulling away from the grips to inch yourself back. “I thought it was about the journey?”
“I thought you said Emerson was pretentious? Are you admitting he was right?” Satoru gasps, a little mocking inhale and you scoff. Eyes rolling as you settle onto the two-up seat, feet finding the pegs. “No way.”
“He is pretentious. But if there’s no destination, then isn’t the journey the only thing you have?”
“Aren’t you deep. You change your major to philosophy or something?” He teases, lifting a leg over to take the seat in front of you, careful not to hit you.
“Fuck no,” You snort, the idea absurd.
“Yeahhh, fuck that.” Satoru laughs again, twisting in the seat, looking over his shoulder. You return it, just a slight shake to your shoulders as you hold his eyes, hands at your sides to grip the seat. “Hold on tight, remember?”
“You’re the worst.” You mumble, but your arms snake forward slowly, sliding over his sides to wrap them around his waist. Hands overlapped and a palm flat on his sternum. He takes a breath, huffing the hot air out to hit the helmet and fan back up into his face. Feeling your whole body molding around him, thighs around his hips, chest against his back.
The bike hauls upright, and you squeeze tighter around Satoru. A lot less hesitant this time around, gripping onto him for dear life without a second thought.
He goes through the motions, getting the kickstand up, putting the bike in gear, letting it pull forward and crunch steadily over the gravel. Trying to ignore the little thing in his head whispering that this feels good, that he wants this.
The air is filled with gold. Tangerine and honey light surrounds, warm and rich and just kind of perfect. The gates to the estate already open, the quiet private street ahead bathed in soft, fluttering shadows from the budding maples that line the sidewalks shivering in a gentle breeze off the ocean behind.
The tires hit pavement again and almost like you just know, your grip tightens around a grinning Satoru as he peels out of the driveway, spinning the back tire a little and leaving a mark his mother will definitely frown at. He can’t hear it, but he feels your body shake a little against him, like a laugh you can’t suppress. Your hand bunching the front of his hoodie, plastered to his chest with the wind whipping around him.
It’s just the sound of the bike, the warmth and glow of the setting sun that surrounds you both, and the heat of you bleeding through both your hoodies to fill Satoru with a sparking feeling that tingles up his spine.
Satoru takes turn after memorized turn leading out of the quiet gated community, and makes it to the endless coastal road winding along the Atlantic. Ocean boulevard is surprisingly quiet, just a few cars ahead and Satoru shifts to third to cruise behind them at a distance. In no rush to get to a destination and have your arms off him.
The golden waves crash against rocky shores, rippling like liquid amber being sloshed, seafoam bubbling and dispersing quickly. The beach stretches on almost as far as the ocean itself.
You pull back just a little, your grip around his waist easing, likely staring out at the water just like you did the first time. Actually being able to see the full coast under the last stretches of daylight instead of the pale glow of the moon.
He’s in no rush to get to Wallis Sands. Parking and cutting the engine, the silence that comes only able to be filled by a conversation that makes his stomach want to flip up into his throat just thinking of.
If he could, Satoru would keep it just as it is right now. Leave everything that hangs over his head behind squealing tires and exhaust fumes and just pretend that this is his life. No burning, seething hatred, no three years of justified contempt, of not being able to get it right and having to just play it off like that’s what he was going for.
If he laid it all out on the table, seriously, and got it thrown back in his face?
Stop thinking. Satoru chides himself, huffing another breath to have the heat of it hit his face again. That’s what ruins it. He thinks too much, and it pulls sincerity back down his throat.
You came to him, said yes to this, surely you’d have just told him right then and there if it was something to crush the idea of anything like that kiss happening again.
Right?
He can handle what the alternative would be. He won’t fuck it up, won’t tease and joke and call you boring because it comes easier than calling you pretty and smart and nervewracking.
He’s had about four hundred chances to get it right, but this one feels different. You feel different, softer, leaning against him, arms wrapped around him not out of terrified necessity. Your heartbeat faint but perceivable against his spine, hoping to god you can’t feel how unsteady and erratic his is right above where your hands rest.
The light up ahead turns red and Satoru downshifts, slowing the bike gradually, leaning back slightly to push his spine into your chest, coming to a stop a few lengths behind the next car. Both feet hit the ground and he straightens fully, and hears you gasp sharply behind him. His head whips around to look over his shoulder at you, but your helmet faces out to the ocean.
You flip the visor up and smack his thigh a few times with the other hand, then point out to the water. “Look look look!” You exclaim, practically vibrating, eyes flicking back and forth between Satoru and the water. “I think those are those whales!”
He flips his own visor up and follows your finger out. Off in the distance, the curved backs of few huge greyish-blue whales break the surface. Bursting geysers of water erupt from the blowholes as they slowly come up for air, the massive tails breaking from the water as they dive back down.
One rolls to its side and a long spotted flipper waves up, and you fucking squeal. Satoru’s eyes immediately go to your face again, seeing yours scrunched up in excitement, one hand stilled on his thigh and squeezing, the other waving back to the whale.
“Oh wow, they’re so beautiful.” He barely hears it with the bike going under him and your helmet in the way, but he does, and can’t help but agree.
“Yeah, totally.”
What he can see of your face is cast in the light of a perfect golden hour, eyes glimmering at the sight of a pod of whales, the one that waved just for you. Pure amazement and joy on your face.
Yeah, that is pretty fucking beautiful.
Your eyes tear off the pod slipping back under the surface, and meet Satoru’s. Searching for something again. He wishes he could see your full face, see the rest of your expression hidden under the helmet but damn, it does look good on you.
His mouth opens to say something, he didn’t know you liked whales, but he guesses he doesn’t actually know a lot about you in the first place. But a horn blares and you both jump a little.
The light turned while you both were distracted, and the guy in his car with hands thrown up looks at Satoru like ‘what the fuck man?’ and he feels a twinge of embarrassment at being so lost just staring at you, and a flicker of irritation at the stranger behind him for interrupting.
“Oh shit, sorry!” You put both hands around Satoru’s waist again as he puts the bike in gear a little hastily, and takes off, holding tight and bracing against the momentum of Satoru peeling off the line. Warm, soft thighs squeezing either side of his hips, your body wrapping around his so perfectly. The smooth, cool side of your helmet rests against his spine, and his stomach does a dumb little flip.
He pushes the bike faster, focusing on the shift of gears and the wind whipping around him again as he gets back up to cruising speed. Trying to shove down the creeping nerves, and warm giddiness pulling at the corners of his mouth.
The grip of your hands ease again, but you don’t peel off him. No, you stay practically glued to Satoru the whole ride up the coast. Head turned to stare out at the shore, feeling his movements and leaning with him on turns.
It feels so natural and foreign at the same time.
Its not what you two do, but he wouldn’t mind if that changed.
But the how, the daunt of another shove, another rejection, another fuck up he has to brush off like it doesn’t sink his stomach like a stone. It makes him falter before he’s said a single word.
Stop, get out of your stupid fucking head, idiot. He kicks himself again, and oh—
Your hands drift low, slowly and seemingly absentminded, and settle on his hips. Right over the waistband of his jeans, fingers curling and flexing, small ministrations that work the hem of his sweater up, and you brush the bare skin of his abdomen.
He nearly chokes.
You freeze.
He can feel his face burning to solar levels, so fucking thankful for the nth time for the helmet covering. Mind spinning into a gutter of memories of you grinding on him, clawing at him like you needed his body closer than he already was. Moaning obscene sounds into his mouth, the perfectly sweet taste of chocolate and caramel and you as his tongue met yours for the very first time. Your hands all over him, going low just like—
You snatch your hands back up, replacing them on his sternum and he can feel it as you clear your throat.
Satoru takes a deep, steadying breath. Lungs filling to push out into your hands, wind whipping around him and adrenaline and something bold filling his veins to make him move before he can think too hard on it.
The hand on the clutch pulls off the grip, and drops to your leg. Fingers wrapping just above your knee and you tense up.
Fuck.
He almost yanks his hand off, ready to play it like he was just getting your attention to point out the car ahead and dangle another race over your head. But you squeeze a little, and your palms slide low again. Hesitant and slow, your thumb hooks into the waistband of his jeans and oh—
Just like that, he’s half hard. Blood and heat rushing through with urgency as he blinks furiously. Huffing air that just hits him right back in the face like a slap as he tries to catch a breath. The hand on your thigh gripping tighter, that bold thing rushing through his bloodstream to make it slide just a little higher.
Is this how it would always be? Something undeniable and white hot when the possibility of conversation wasn’t present, just to lurch back into whatever qualifies for normal between you and Satoru the moment you have to actually talk.
No, it’s different. He tells himself as your hips shift closer on the rear seat, thighs spread wide and wrapped around him in a way that makes the idea of laying you out under him very present in his mind. Seeing how fucking pretty you look when you come. Or maybe you’d push him down, lay him out under you and take charge just how he knows you like to.
Whatever, it doesn’t matter how, he just wants this. Wants you wrapped around him, leaning on him, laughing with him. Wants to see that look of awe on your face again, wants to buy you ice-cream again—fuck, buy you anything you want. Wants to hear how you say his name, you’ve never done that. How would it sound spilling from your lips in a moan? Breathing hot air back into your mouth, murmuring filthy things to you, fucking you like he hates you and telling you the opposite. Feeling how hot and wet and tight—
Oh. Well, now he’s definitely hard—uncomfortably so with his dick pressed up against the zipper—and squeezing your leg hard enough it might bruise. Your own hand fisting his hoodie, the other still hooked into his jeans and—
Satoru somehow in his clouded mind, registers the area finally and nearly misses the turn into an empty lot. He yanks the hand off you and pushes back into your chest to brace for you as he brakes hard and slows just in time to pull off the road without skidding the tires. You grip him for dear life again and only loosen around him when the bike rolls to a stop.
“This place just catch your eye? Or were you a little distracted?” You tease with a laugh as Satoru cuts the engine, flipping out the kickstand with a toe and leaning the bike. Pulling back, peeling yourself off him, your hands sit on his waist.
“It’s pretty,” Satoru flips his visor up, twisting around to face you, flicking yours up to see your eyes. The edges crinkled with a smile he can’t see on your lips. “Don’t you think?”
A hum reverberates in your throat as your eyes move to scan the surrounding area, the beach that stretches on, the tide lapping at the soft sandy shore. “Yeah, pretty.” You look him in the eye again, his never having left your face. “I didn’t take you for a beach sunset kind of guy.”
“What kind of guy did you take me for then?” Satoru counters, ignoring some annoying voice tittering away that he might not like your answer to that. Your hands still on his waist as you hum thoughtfully.
“Ask me that question last week and the answer would’ve been, ‘the egotistical asshole type’, but now?” You hum again, head tilting a little and Satoru swallows something dry in his throat. “I’m… not so sure about that. I dunno though.” You add on, like you’re not quite ready to admit it as truth.
Satoru drops his hand to your knee again, lifting a brow at you. “Am I not an asshole anymore? Or did you just change your mind?” Your eyes fall and land on the point of contact, holding there for a moment like you’re trying to decide how you feel about it, before lifting to meet his again.
“I don’t know, are you still an asshole?” You shoot back and Satoru laughs quietly. Straight answers are clearly something you both have a hard time with despite both being blunt to a fault.
“Probably,” He tears his eyes off your face to look out at the shore for a moment, taking that hand off you to undo the clasp of his helmet. Pulling it up and off, shaking his hair out and casting another look over his shoulder at you. “Up for a walk?”
Eyes intense on his face, looking hard for something you just can’t seem to find. He wishes he knew what it was, what you’re looking for, what you want from him. Why you came to him yourself after almost a full week of avoiding him like a diseased outcast.
You reach up to undo your own strap, the absence of your hands on him is noticeable, and Satoru swings a leg over and stands beside the bike as you pull the helmet off. Just to do something other than stare at you like a fucking idiot.
He gets a look at your whole face, lips set in not a hard line, not a frown, not a smile either. Something he can’t quite decipher. Your hair is a little messy again, errant strands blowing into your face with the wind, so god damn pretty it’s not fair even with helmet hair. It makes him smile as he puts a hand out to help you get off the rear seat.
You return it, and quickly bite down on your lip to stifle as you shift the helmet to one hand and take his. Feeling your warm palm settle against his, closing his fingers around your smaller ones and letting you lean your weight on him as you hop off the back of the bike.
“I could go for a walk.” You say finally, taking your hand out of his.
Satoru plasters a smirk on his face, covering for the residual heat he can still feel, hoping you don’t glance down to see the hard on he’s definitely still sporting.
“I figured,” You both leave your helmets on the bike, and walk shoulder to shoulder towards the sloping hill leading down to the beach. “You pace the garden at the estate like you’re going stir crazy.”
“I do not pace,” You scoff, but it comes out more like a laugh, and Satoru casts a sideways glance your way, seeing a smile you’re clearly trying to stifle and failing to. “It’s just… I like plants and flowers. There isn’t much greenery aside from grass at school.” You mumble like it’s a secret, like you’re sharing something sacred, precious.
Satoru shoves one hand in his pocket as you both start down the hill. Your arms go out to balance as you skid a little on the soft, crumbling sand. He grabs your arm without even thinking twice on it, steadying you.
“Thanks,” You mumble again, not pulling out of his grip, but putting your own on his arm. Gently but firmly holding into his bicep as you take a few more careful steps down.
He almost quips back with something sarcastic and teasing about watching your step to cover how uncomfortably warm it is with you holding onto him. But instead he just mutters back, “No problem,”
The sand flattens out as you make it to the bottom of the hill, and you take your hands off each other.
You clear your throat, and it almost sounds nervous. “How, uh, how’d you do with the reading for Matthews’ class?”
Satoru scrunches his face, glancing at you out of the corner of his vision. “Uh, fine? What about you?” You nod, the motion a little too quick, looking dead ahead at the water. Fingers fumbling in the cuff of your hoodie.
“Yeah, same. Fine.”
“Cool.” Satoru shoves both hands in the pockets of his jeans. You’re skirting around something because this is not what you came out here to talk about.
“Did some—”
“Did you—” You both speak at the same time and both stop. God, why does it feel so fucking awkward? Satoru clears his throat. “Sorry, go ahead.”
“I, uh,” You clear your throat again, eyes darting from the sand sinking under your shoes with each step, to the water. A long pause stretches out and Satoru opens his mouth to fill it, but you lift your head and he shuts it quickly. Almost to the water, the waves crashing a constant lulling beat against the shore, you stop.
Satoru stops, turning a little to face you. Your face lit up with the warm glow of the sun on the last leg of its descent.
“Did something happen?”
“Huh?” Satoru says dumbly, brows pinched and mouth open to look just as dumb as he sounds.
Your hands fidget and fidget, but you don’t look away. Standing maybe a foot from him and searching his face again like his expression might give something away. “You’ve just been acting… different, something happened, right?”
He cocks his head a little, hands still tucked away in his pockets because he’d probably be fidgeting just like you if they weren’t. “Different how?”
Casting a glance over your shoulder towards his bike, you look back at Satoru again and lift both brows. “Well there’s that, and… y’know,” Your eyes drop, lip caught in your teeth, cheeks already warm with the cool breeze off the ocean nipping and getting warmer. “We kinda kissed? That’s definitely different, dipshit.”
Satoru blinks a few times. Lips parted and probably looking stupid again.
Oh shit, this is it. You’re asking him, giving him the perfect opportunity to come right out and say it. That he couldn’t stop fucking up from the moment he met you—that you fuck him up, but that this has been his way of trying. That he likes you—more than he cares to admit, that he’s liked you for years.
But even when he’d had you in his arms, mouth on his and pulling him to you like you needed him even closer, you still said you hated him. Shoved him away with a ‘fuck you’ and he’s not sure if he wants to know if it’ll happen again.
He clears his throat, “Oh,”
You suck your teeth, “Yeah.”
Would you slam the door in his face again?
Stop thinking.
“You wanna keep going?” He nods his head up towards where the beach stretches out, and curves up the coast. He needs to move, he can’t just stand here awkwardly while you stare at him fumbling over an explanation.
“Sure,” Nodding, you fall into stride beside him. Satoru slows his pace a little, letting you keep up. “So, what’s going on?” You prod again.
“What’s got you so interested all of a sudden?” He counters quickly.
You scoff like you were expecting push back, eyes probably rolling. “What does it matter? If you don’t want to talk about it then just say—”
“No!” He blurts, too quickly to be casual and your head snaps up. Wide eyes meeting his, surprise on your face at the fervour he couldn’t hold back. “Shit, that-that’s not what I meant.”
“Okay?” Your brows pinch and you stuff your hands in the pocket of your hoodie, hiding the fidgeting away.
Satoru sighs, looking out at the ocean. Trying to find the right way to say the right words. “I’ve always really loved it here. The beach looks like it goes forever.” A smile curls his lips up, watching the waves crash their steady rhythm onto the sand, never faltering in their push and pull. “I ran once, as far as I could just to see if I could make it to the end.”
“Did you?” Satoru glances at you again, your expression soft, questioning but not scrutinizing and his smile widens.
“Nah, I got distracted by a guy selling ice-cream not even half a mile in.” Your burst of immediate laughter rings out loud and clear over the sound of the ocean, and he can’t help but join you.
“You haven’t changed at all, huh?” You make out, still laughing. Looking right at him with that smile that beams. Brighter and even more beautiful than the sun setting and lighting you up.
“Not really,” He chuckles a few times and looks back out to the shore, his smile falling with the return of your question in his mind. “You’re right though, things are different.” It sits heavy on his shoulders, the weight he’s been ignoring this week. Everything waiting for him at home, the notion he can’t fully kick out of his head, the one that nags this is the version of him you don’t seem to hate as much, but he’s fleeting.
“I feel like I don't actually know you, like, at all, so I don’t know what ‘different’ means.” You say quietly, then scoff a laugh and add, “Aside from your dorky hobbies you don’t shut up about.”
“Riding a motorcycle isn’t dorky,” Satoru quips back, smirking. You shoot him a look, but your lips betray you, the corners tugging up.
“Yeah, my point exactly.”
“Right,” He huffs a breath, dragging a hand through his hair, tugging the ends like he could pull the thoughts out of his head and hand them to you instead of saying it all out loud. “It’s… family stuff. I’m supposed to start taking over the company after college but… the timeline got fucked up. It’s just happening a little faster than I thought.”
You chuckle a little and Satoru glances at you. “Figures that you’re a nepo baby, you act like it.”
“Fuck you,” He scoffs, hand dropping to his side again.
You waggle your brows at him, a toothy grin stretched on your face. “Fuck you too. It’s true,” You shrug, dropping the smile a little. “But what’s so bad about that? Do you not want to work with your family?”
“No, it’s not that. I just… I thought I'd have more time to live a little before it happened.”
“So you’re cramming it all in by, what? Riding a motorcycle around with the meatheads?” You snicker, “Interesting choice.”
“You don’t seem to mind it.” He points out, glancing your way again. He’s so close that he could reach out a few inches and your arms would brush. “But there’s stuff I thought I'd have the time to… fix. To change.”
You look right at him, lips parted a little. “Like what?”
Is this it? The part where he stops in his tracks, grabs your hand, and says you. That he wants to change the way it is with you, fix what's been broken from the very start?
“I never wanted it to be like—”
“Oh fuck!” You cry out, launching forwards with momentum. Hands catching in your pocket as you careen towards the sand and Satoru barely grabs your arm before you faceplant in it.
“What the—did you just trip on sand?” He asks incredulously as he helps you to your knees. You scoff and go to stand again, and wince as you put weight on your left ankle.
“I didn’t trip on sand, I tripped on that.” You throw an irritated hand out at a buried log, the end of it sticking up out of the sand perfectly to snag a foot on. “Ah shit,” You rub your sore leg, standing on one foot.
“Are you okay?” Satoru steadies you, still holding your arm and you nod, grabbing his shoulder.
“Mhm, I'll be fine. It just twisted a little I think.” His brows pinch as you set your foot down gingerly. You don’t look fine, wincing again as weight shifts, leaning hard on his shoulder. “Just give me a hand will ya?”
“Want me to carry you back?” Satoru says, kind of joking but he’d also do it in a heartbeat.
“Fuck off,” You scoff, hopping closer to him, sliding your arm up and over his shoulders. He chuckles and wraps an arm around your waist, holding you firmly against his side with a hand on your ribs. You mumble a, “Thanks,”
“You can change your mind anytime, I could deadlift you without breaking a sweat.” Satoru throws a smirk your way, ignoring the tingle up his spine, the heat flooding back in with you squeezed right up against him all over again.
“Yeah fuckin’ right.” You shoot back, taking a few slow, tentative steps back in the direction you came. Putting your weight on Satoru’s shoulders, and he holds you up.
“Don’t believe me? Let's try it, we’ll see who’s right.” He moves to slide an arm under your legs and you snap immediately.
“No! Fine, I believe you,” You huff, glaring at Satoru’s grinning face as he straightens up again. Feeling victorious, only a slight twinge of disappointment. But what could he expect from someone about as steadfast as himself?
You both make it back across the beach, walking slowly and watching the sun disappear behind the mountain range in the distance, warm colors exploding across the sky as it dips. The hill is a challenge though, and Satoru lifts both brows at you as you try to scramble up the side, nearly taking you both tumbling down on the first attempt.
“Fine.” You huff and admit defeat and Satoru scoops you up. Your arms around his neck, one of his under your knees, the other across your back. Pride in the form of a smirk on his face at being right as he carries you up the hill.
“Alright, you had your fun, put me down.” You demand as he crests the hill, but he ignores you. Striding across the gravel towards the bike leaning dutifully in wait.
He sets you down beside the sleek Yamaha, both hands steadying on your waist. Yours still over his shoulders.
Close. So close again. It would take nothing to just close this tiny distance. Your eyes wide, lips parted. His gaze drifts down quickly, he could just lean a little and—
“Do you hate me?” You breathe it out, a whispered question that he hears all too clearly with the distance from the ocean offering quiet to cut like a knife.
Hate you? Satoru could laugh if he wasn’t so taken aback.
His lips waver because it’s quite frankly, the total opposite. But he can’t exactly just come out and say that. Can he?
“Do you?” His hands are still on your waist, yours still over his shoulders. You search his face again, and he almost holds his breath with the anticipation of it.
“I don’t… I don’t know.” You finally admit. “But I asked you fi—”
“No,” Satoru cuts you off, the single syllable bursting from his lips before he can stop it. Before he can think too hard and come up with an excuse for saying anything but the truth. And your eyes go wider, like you weren’t expecting it, like it confused you. “I’ve never hated you, ever.”
“I don’t get it,” Your face goes almost pained, bunching his hoodie in your grip. “What did I ever do to you to make you act like it?”
Satoru groans quietly. Of course you’d think it was your fault, that you did something other than just exist and be smart and pretty and nervewracking in his orbit. Try to find some reasoning, some explanation for the feud you never started.
“Nothing. You didn’t do anything.”
“Then why?”
“I don’t know, it was fun at first but then... I just—I could never get it right.” He breaks his gaze away from yours, the confusion and hurt in your eyes like a weight he has to shift out from under before it crushes the air out of his lungs. “I’m an asshole, remember?”
“I’ve seen you not be an asshole so don’t act like that’s an excuse. It’s lazy and stupid, and you’re supposed to be smart, remember?” You huff a breath and drag a hand up your face, running it through your hair. “I can’t… do this anymore. I’m tired of this shitty competition because it feels like even when I do beat you, I'm still not winning. I'm just so tired of it.” You mumble, defeat and dejection hollowing your voice and it makes the air in his lungs sour.
No. His jaw goes tight, head snapping back around to face you. Fuck, he’d rather a feud than nothing. Rather you spit that you hate him and glare than silence without a look.
“Giving up that easy? You sit pretty comfortably in second place, don't you, silver?” It comes out all too easily, it’s what he does, what you both do. But fuck, it hurts him when you recoil like he’s just slapped you.
“Oh, fuck you, Gojo.” Your voice cracks as you snatch your hands off him and shove. Palms to his chest in a familiar push, eyes burning with familiar seething fire but your lip trembles a little and it makes his chest too tight for his lungs again. “God damn it, what the—why the fuck did I listen to Geto?” You mutter to yourself, but he catches it.
“What?”
Regret floods your face immediately. “Huh?”
“You talked to Suguru?” A fluttering panic unsettles in his stomach. About what?
“No—it-it was stupid, can we just go? I’m done here.” You turn to grab your helmet from off the bike and Satoru’s hands fall away. Regret claws and scrapes at his insides like an animal making a nest in his gut, there to stay for a long winter. And Suguru’s words settle in along with it.
Try not to fuck it up this time.
Isn’t that just fucking great.
Satoru slips his helmet back on, face set in disappointment he has nowhere to point but back at himself. Wanting to prod further, ask what you talked to Suguru about, when you even talked to him. But he’s not sure he wants to hear what you’ll say right now.
So he just helps a reluctant you onto the bike, and starts it up. Wanting to fucking throttle himself for still feeling heat flood and electricity tingle when you wrap your arms around him and rest your body against his back.
The ride back is colder, darker. The excitement and possibility from earlier sucked away.
So much for not fucking it up.
a/n ⭑.ᐟ oof that kinda sucks, huh? couldn't possibly get any worse than this though riiiight? we're getting more gojo pov with the next part too!! (coming very soon dw) comment here or on the masterlist to be tagged as usual! <3
That's what the fiery tingle left in your ribs is every time you see his stupid smug face. His stupidly blue eyes crinkled behind stupid nerdy glasses while he smiles and laughs all… stupidly.
Why are you even thinking about him? You hate him and his stupid face and that's that.
That's. That.
Maybe you’re stupid too because despite not having said a fucking word to each other in nearly a month, your stupid mind wanders to Gojo and his stupid face.
His stupid pretty eyes and his stupid soft hair. His stupid nerdy glasses that frame those stupid pretty eyes.
Ugh. Stupid.
It wasnt supposed to be like this. You were supposed to go back to school and resume annoyed indifference.
Gojo wasn’t supposed to be on your mind any more than he already was, it was bad enough before with him dug into the recesses of your brain like the sniveling worm he is.
Geez, maybe you’re the one with the parasite.
But now he’s front and center. A tingle in not just your brain, but your body too. Nearly two months and you can still feel how he touched you. Grabbed you. Nearly put you through the wall twice and dragged his mouth over every inch of you. The very same one to grind you into second place and make sure you knew you belonged there every god damned day.
But now it does neither.
“Party off campus on Friday, we’re going.” Nobara said firmly when you trudged through the door to your shared dorm and you didn’t object.
You let her scrutinize your face with eyeliner in hand until a mandala wheel would be jealous of the symmetry on your face. Let her toss clothes at you and spun to show off miniskirts and tube tops and dresses that if you moved wrong would probably become shirts.
Drank deep from cans of barely flavored vodka seltzers and giggled freely together when your head started to feel lighter.
When you walked into the house party arm in arm you felt bubbly and fun and ready to do one fucking thing no matter what.
Forget.
proof of life on this series hahhaaa (ᵕ—ᴗ—) I AM WORKING ON IT i just cant pump out 10k a night like I used to. patience young dick-riders, you shall ride again soon DW | div by @/cafekitsune ☆ series m.list ☆ main m.list
HI LOVELIESSSS ^⩊^ just want to remind everyone that I am indeed still working, writing, living and having (somewhat) of a social life all while FIVE MONTHS pregnant!! and yet!?! hahahahhaaim seeing comments abt the lack of updates on a certain series (my curse is ignition istg) even though i have been VERY up front abt my condition and how it affects my writing, and asking for some time and patience (which i think i am fucking entitled to!!). trust me when I say I am a PETTY BITCH and the more I see people bitching about the lack of updates, the longer it will take for that finale to come out (yes, that is a threat). I understand and, of course, am flattered that the series is so loved!! but trust, I wont hesitate to block if i see passive aggressive comments rn. i will not stand for slander or "iVe bEen waITiNg FoRevERRRR" ever, but esp not when im growing my child. get off my tits bc there is only room for one here.
K thats all!! still working on pt 5 of ignition for those who are waiting patiently like good girls! fuck around and my baby daddy will come for u (kuna or toru, u pick) (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) ‹𝟹
