clingy!gumi who really, really, really wants to just tug you in by the waist and snuggle into you like that! He can't though.. Is it ego? Or fear of getting teased? Either way, he'll wait for you to initiate, though you get so engrossed in conversation you often forget to.. It's okay though, he has a strategy...
He pouts, staring at you a few feet away, as you direct your attention at Nobara and Yuuji, what about him? He subtly steps closer, averting his gaze as he purposely accidentally brushes against your hand. Of course, you caught it anyway and held him, causing his brain to short-circuit. He holds on as if you'd ever let go anyway, letting out quiet hums as you giggle and try to yank your hand away just to wipe your palm.
"Our palms are sweaty Gumi just gimme a sec!!" Your attempts are futile.
"... Mnn." His way of saying he doesn't care nor mind. He needs to hold you, no matter how.
After all this time, he still melts at your touch, craving for more everytime..
clingy!gumi who just can't wait till you both get back to his/your dorm.. He really didn't mind as long as you were together. Jeez, do you really need so many pictures? Nobara was getting to you.. He swears you could've been cuddling by now since the outing ended half an hour ago. Yuuji, the lucky bastard he was, left on time, Megumi being stuck taking the pictures. He hates it but... You seem happy, no you are happy, and he'd do just about anything to keep it like that.
"..." He remained silent, just not the type to help you countdown as he took your pictures, suppressing a smile from how adorable you looked.
You posed for the picture with Nobara, unaware of his growing affection for you.
"Hehe, thanks Gumi!!" You beamed at the pictures.
"Whatever. Can we go now." He muttered, fighting the urge to pepper your face with kisses, clenching his fists to keep from caressing your soft cheeks.
"Last one!" You promised. You'd been saying that for the past 30 minutes.. He sighs in defeat.
clingy!gumi who cannot express in words just how happy he was when Nobara finally had to go. He was starting to think you were gonna spend the night at the mall. You bade your goodbyes and turned to him, slumping tiredly. He didn't like how you put on a facade everytime you were with others, but at the same time, he was incessantly proud to be the only one to witness your vulnerable moments. He gently cups your face.
"Let's go home, love."
You could only nod tiredly in response, your exhaustion overwhelming you in one large, suffocating wave. He leads you back to your dorm, knowing you preferred it compared to his own. He removes your makeup and cooks up a delicious dinner while you showered. He even fed you dinner, occasionally nudging you back awake.
"Nearly there, my love. Just a few more bites f'me yeah?"
"Last one, ahh..."
"That's my girl." He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your lips as he bridal style carried you back to your bed where you instantaneously draped yourself over your large bolster.
clingy!gumi who finally showers and climbs into bed next to you, shirtless and fresh from the shower. His arms snakes around your waist, burying his face in your hair and inhaling your scent. So incredibly intoxicating.. He lifts his head and gazes down at you, a mix of affection, love and admiration in his gaze.
"Mmn... I love you y/n, good night my love.."
He smiles softly as he looks down at you with one last tender stare, dropping his head to the crook of your neck, curling into you and resuming his big spooning duties. He drifts off to sleep thinking of you and ended up in a dream with you...
content warning: explicit sexual content with detailed smut scenes, slow-burn romance, heavy flirting, and soft emotional moments. includes college au setting, tutor/student dynamic, and light swearing.
you’re the perfectly organized tutor who never misses a deadline. satoru gojo is the brilliant but careless student who’s always late, always joking, and somehow still acing everything without trying. when you get assigned to help him with advanced macroeconomics, you expect frustration and wasted time. what you don’t expect is late-night study sessions filled with shared snacks, stupid jokes, and the slow realization that he’s starting to show up on time. not for the class, but for you. what begins as reluctant tutoring slowly turns into something warmer. rainy walks, whispered confessions, and the kind of tension that builds until the textbooks get pushed aside.
the campus library at night smelled like old paper, cheap coffee, and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights that never quite turned off. you sat at your usual table on the third floor, notes spread out in perfect rows, highlighter caps aligned like little soldiers. you were the type who loved color-coding everything, who showed up ten minutes early, who actually read the syllabus twice and made flashcards just in case.
gojo satoru was the opposite in every single way that mattered.
he showed up twenty-three minutes late the first session, sunglasses still perched on his nose even though it was pouring rain outside, white hair a chaotic mess like he had rolled straight out of bed and sprinted across half the campus. he dropped into the chair across from you with a dramatic sigh, long legs sprawling under the table until his knee bumped yours and stayed there for half a second too long, sending a tiny spark up your spine.
“sorry,” he said, flashing that blinding grin that probably got him out of trouble his whole life. “lost track of time. again. there was this really interesting cloud.”
you didn’t look up from your planner, pen clicking once. “you’re satoru gojo. professor yaga assigned me as your tutor for advanced macroeconomics because your last three tutors apparently quit in tears. i’m the last resort.”
he tilted his head, blue eyes peeking over the rim of his shades with clear interest. something flickered there. recognition, maybe amusement. you had seen him before, rushing across the quad with that effortless lazy stride, earbuds blasting, laughing loud enough to turn heads while his dark-haired friend tried to drag him toward the business building. you had caught him looking at you more than once too, that quick, lingering glance when you passed each other on the narrow path, like he was trying to figure out why you always looked so put-together. neither of you had ever spoken. campus was big, but not big enough to completely ignore someone like him.
“last resort, huh?” he drawled, pulling out a notebook that looked like it had been used as a coaster for someone’s energy drink. “guess i’m stuck with the cute, serious one who probably has color-coded highlighters for every gdp component.”
you exhaled slowly through your nose, refusing to let him see the tiny flush on your cheeks. “two hours. chapter seven. fiscal policy multipliers. try to keep up, or at least pretend to.”
the first few sessions were pure torture dressed up as studying.
he was late every single time, each excuse more ridiculous than the last. “sorry, there was a cat stuck in a tree and i had to negotiate with it.” “sorry, my alarm clock filed for divorce and i had to mediate.” he doodled little infinity symbols, tiny stick-figure economists fighting with tiny swords, and random memes in the margins instead of taking actual notes. he would answer your questions with half-jokes and then casually drop the correct, perfectly reasoned answer like it cost him nothing at all. it drove you insane in the best and worst ways. you stayed up late making perfect summaries and color-coded practice problems. he coasted through and still somehow understood everything on the first try while barely trying.
one rainy evening he showed up carrying two cans of soda and a family-sized bag of chips, sliding the orange soda toward you like it was a peace offering from a rival nation.
“fuel for the lecture machine,” he said, grinning as he cracked his own open. the fizz echoed way too loudly in the quiet library. “you look like you’re plotting my slow academic death by spreadsheet. sugar might help your mood and stop you from murdering me with that glare.”
you stared at the can for a long moment. “i don’t eat or drink during study sessions. it’s distracting and messes with focus.”
“live dangerously for once,” he teased, already munching loudly. “i promise not to tell the syllabus police or your color-coded highlighters.”
you ended up eating half the chips anyway, trying and failing not to smile when he dramatically reenacted a supply shock using potato chip crumbs as fleeing consumers. he kept stealing glances at you while you explained is-lm curves for the third time, blue eyes softer than they had any right to be, like he was memorizing the way your lips moved when you got passionate about deadweight loss.
later that night, after he finally left forty minutes late with a casual wave and a “see you next time,” you packed up slowly. you caught yourself replaying the way his fingers tapped an invisible rhythm on the table when he was actually thinking hard, the tiny furrow between his brows when he focused for more than ten seconds. you shook it off quickly. he was just another brilliant slacker who would probably forget you existed the second finals were over and his grade was safe.
you didn’t know he was venting about you to geto the next afternoon in their shared apartment.
“she’s terrifying, suguru,” gojo groaned, sprawled dramatically on the couch, tossing a stress ball at the ceiling and catching it without looking. “color codes her notes like it’s a religious ritual. stares at me like i personally murdered the entire concept of gdp. but she’s… really good at explaining stuff. and she has this tiny, reluctant smile when i finally get something right even though she tries to hide it behind her planner. it’s distracting.”
geto raised an eyebrow while stirring his instant ramen on the stove. “so maybe stop being late every time and she’ll stop looking at you like you’re a walking disaster.”
“i’m not that bad,” gojo muttered, catching the ball again. “okay, i’m exactly that bad. but she’s different. most tutors just want me to pass so they can brag they helped the gojo satoru. she actually wants me to understand the material. it feels… weird. good weird.”
the shift crept in so quietly and slowly that you almost missed it at first.
by week three he showed up only fifteen minutes late. small victory, but you noticed. he even had a new notebook with actual notes from last session scribbled in his messy, slanted handwriting.
“no sarcastic comment today?” he asked, lips twitching into a half-smile as he sat down and pushed the coffee he brought toward you. iced coffee with one sugar, exactly right.
you just raised an eyebrow, fighting your own smile. “keep this up and i might stop calling you hopeless behind your back when i rewrite your notes.”
that night the library was almost empty because of the heavy rain pounding against the tall windows. he asked to share your playlist, so you handed him one earbud without thinking. his shoulder brushed yours as you both leaned over the same textbook, warm and solid. he smelled like rain and mint gum and something warmer that made your stomach do a slow flip. neither of you moved away even when the song changed.
“you know,” he said quietly after a long comfortable silence, voice low so it wouldn’t carry, “i’ve seen you around campus a lot before this whole tutoring thing started. always walking fast with your bag perfectly organized, headphones on, looking like you have the entire day planned down to the minute. it’s kinda cute. makes me want to mess up your schedule just a little bit, see what happens.”
your pen froze mid-sentence. heat rushed up your neck and into your cheeks. you kept your eyes glued to the page. “i’ve seen you too. usually sprinting late somewhere with your hair even messier than it is now, laughing like the world is one big joke.”
he laughed softly, the sound warm and close in your shared earbud, curling somewhere deep in your chest. “guilty as charged. maybe i like the way you look when you’re trying not to laugh at my excuses.”
after that the little rituals started forming without either of you ever discussing them out loud.
you began leaving his favorite sour gummies on the table before he arrived, pretending it was just leftover from your own snack. he started showing up with your exact coffee order balanced carefully in one hand like it was no big deal, sometimes with a silly doodle on the cup sleeve. you never thanked him out loud. he never pointed it out. it just became part of the quiet rhythm between you.
conversations stretched longer and longer between practice problems and graph explanations. he told you how he hated that everything came so easy most of the time, how it made him lazy and careless because nothing ever felt worth the full effort. you admitted the heavy, quiet pressure you put on yourself every single day, the fear of falling behind even when you were already ahead of everyone else. he listened without jokes for once, blue eyes steady on yours across the table. his usual cocky mask cracked just enough to show someone who was tired of pretending nothing mattered to him.
one particularly stormy night the library closed early for maintenance. instead of splitting up at the doors, he offered to walk you back under his oversized umbrella. shoulders bumping in the narrow dry space, rain drumming loudly above you, the walk back to the dorms felt endless and far too short at the same time. he cracked a few dumb jokes to fill the silence, but mostly he just walked beside you, close enough that you could feel his warmth. he didn’t push for more. you didn’t either. the silence felt comfortable now, charged with all the tiny things neither of you were ready to say yet.
by week five he showed up exactly on time for the first time. you blinked in genuine surprise as he set his bag down quietly and pulled out his notebook without any fanfare.
“what, no dramatic entrance or cloud excuse today?” you asked, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.
he just grinned, bright and boyish. “figured i’d try surprising you for once. how am i doing?”
another session he made you laugh so hard you had to cover your mouth with both hands. the way he dramatically declared all-out war on the phillips curve like it had personally insulted his entire bloodline. the librarian shot you both a sharp glare from across the room, but gojo just winked at you and whispered, “worth it,” and you had to bite your lip hard to stay quiet. his eyes stayed on your face longer than necessary afterward, like he was collecting the sound of your laugh and storing it somewhere important.
the tension built in a thousand tiny, maddening almost-moments that left you replaying them alone in your dorm later.
his knee resting warm and steady against yours under the table for entire sessions and neither of you ever pulling away. the accidental brush of his fingers when he passed you a pen or pointed at a graph. the way he leaned in close to explain something, breath warm against your ear as he whispered a dumb joke only for you. you started noticing how his white hair fell into his eyes when he concentrated hard, how he chewed his lower lip when he was stuck on a problem but too stubborn to ask for help right away. you caught yourself thinking about him even outside tutoring hours, wondering if he was late to practice again, if he was eating properly, if he was lying awake thinking about you too.
he definitely was.
“i don’t know, suguru,” gojo said one evening, staring at the ceiling from his bed, voice quieter and more serious than usual. “she makes me want to actually try. not just scrape by with the minimum. i keep showing up on time because i don’t want her to look disappointed in me. that’s never happened before. it’s annoying. and kind of nice.”
geto smirked from across the room, flipping a page in his own textbook. “sounds like you’re in deep trouble, satoru. careful.”
gojo threw a pillow at him but didn’t argue. the smile on his face gave him away anyway.
one stormy thursday night the library closed early again because of flooding warnings. this time he suggested his apartment instead. geto conveniently “out studying all night at the library across campus.” you both knew it was a flimsy excuse, but the pouring rain made it easy to say yes without overthinking. the walk there felt heavier than usual, every step humming with quiet anticipation and weeks of built-up tension.
you sat on his bed with the macroeconomics textbooks spread between you like a fragile, paper-thin shield. the air in the room felt thicker, warmer, electric. he sat closer than he ever had in the library, knee pressed firmly to yours, fingers occasionally brushing yours when you pointed at something on the page or passed a highlighter.
“you’re actually trying now,” you said softly, heart beating loud in your ears as you traced a line on the graph in front of you. “like, really trying.”
he stayed quiet for a long moment, then spoke, voice low. “yeah. i don’t want to disappoint you anymore. not even a little.”
your breath caught hard. you looked up and met his eyes. those bright blue eyes were softer than you had ever seen them, no sunglasses, no cocky walls, no jokes to hide behind.
“why does it matter so much to you now?” you whispered, barely audible over the rain outside.
he shrugged one shoulder, but it was honest this time, raw. “because you see me. not the grades, not the reputation, not the easy genius act. just me. and you still stay and try. that’s new.”
the textbooks got pushed aside slowly, carefully, page by page, until there was nothing left between you but inches of charged air. his hand found yours on the blanket, thumb brushing over your knuckles in slow, deliberate circles, giving you every single chance to pull away if you wanted. you didn’t. the touch felt like both a question and an answer all at once.
“satoru…” your voice came out barely there, shaky with everything you had been holding back for weeks.
he leaned in first, agonizingly slow, giving you all the time in the world to stop him. you didn’t. his lips brushed yours. soft, hesitant, almost reverent, like he was afraid the moment you had both been circling for so long would shatter if he moved too fast. the kiss stayed gentle and slow for a long time, deepening gradually, tasting like the coffee he had brought earlier and the faint sweetness of shared gummies and weeks of quiet wanting. his fingers slid gently into your hair, tilting your head just right. you kissed him back, heart hammering against your ribs, and felt him sigh softly against your mouth like he had been waiting forever for permission.
you moved into his lap without overthinking it, straddling his thighs as the kiss grew warmer, hungrier, but still careful and unhurried, like both of you wanted to savor every second after all the slow build. his hands rested on your waist, thumbs tracing slow, soothing circles through your shirt, respectful even as you pressed closer and let out a tiny, involuntary sound.
“tell me if you want to stop,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough and strained with how much he was holding back for you.
“don’t stop,” you whispered, fingers curling into his shirt.
clothes came off slowly, every single piece deliberate and earned after all the weeks of almosts and maybes and stolen glances. he peeled your hoodie over your head, lips following the newly exposed skin down your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses and sucking lightly at the sensitive spot that made your breath hitch and your fingers tighten in his white hair. you tugged his shirt off in return, hands exploring the lean, toned lines of his chest and shoulders, tracing faint scars he never fully explained with gentle fingertips. every brush of skin against skin felt heavy with meaning, with all the things you had both been feeling but not saying.
he laid you back gently against the pillows, hovering over you like you were something precious he didn’t want to rush or break. his mouth mapped your body with patient reverence. collarbone, the soft curve of your breast, the sensitive dip of your stomach. when he finally reached between your legs, his fingers were gentle and teasing, learning you inch by careful inch. he watched your face the entire time, blue eyes dark and completely focused, memorizing every twitch of your hips, every soft whimper and gasp he managed to pull from your throat.
“so pretty,” he breathed, voice hoarse as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your thigh. “been thinking about you like this for so long… about making you feel good, about hearing you say my name.”
you pulled him back up by the shoulders, kissing him deeply and desperately as he slid one finger inside you, then two, curling them perfectly while his thumb circled your clit with that same slow, steady, maddening pressure. the pleasure built agonizingly slow, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly until it finally snapped with shocking intensity. you came with a quiet, broken sound, thighs trembling hard around his hand, his name slipping from your lips like a confession you couldn’t hold back anymore.
he kissed you through every wave of it, murmuring soft praises against your skin, then kissed you deeper, letting you catch your breath only to steal it again with his mouth. you reached down between your bodies, wrapping your hand around him, stroking slowly and carefully until he groaned low into your mouth, hips jerking forward into your touch.
when he finally pushed inside you it was careful and slow, inch by deliberate inch, both of you gasping at the stretch and the overwhelming closeness after so much waiting. he stilled once he was fully seated, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged and warm against your lips.
“god… you feel perfect,” he rasped, voice trembling slightly with the effort of staying still. “so good for me.”
the rhythm started achingly slow, deep, rolling thrusts that made your toes curl and your nails dig into his shoulders. only when you moaned his name did his hips snap harder, one hand gripping your thigh to pull you impossibly closer, the other braced beside your head. sweat slicked your skin where you touched. the room filled with soft, obscene sounds, skin meeting skin, wet and rhythmic, mixed with his low, broken groans and your breathless whimpers and moans.
he flipped you onto your stomach later in the night, pulling your hips up gently and sliding back in from behind, even deeper this way. his chest pressed flush to your back, lips at your ear whispering quiet praises and filthy little encouragements as he moved, one hand slipping between your legs again to rub your clit with that same patient rhythm.
“come for me again,” he murmured, voice strained right at the edge, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “want to feel you fall apart around me one more time.”
you did, clenching tight around him as the second orgasm crashed over you even harder, vision blurring at the edges. he followed only moments later, burying himself deep inside you with a choked, raw moan of your name, holding you close through every shuddering aftershock as if he never wanted to let go.
afterward you lay tangled together under the sheets, his arm draped warm and heavy over your waist, fingers tracing lazy, soothing patterns on your bare skin. he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, then another to your temple, then one more to the corner of your mouth, like he couldn’t stop touching you now that he was finally allowed to.
“still mad about all those ridiculously late arrivals and dumb excuses?” he asked, voice sleepy and fond and a little hoarse against the back of your neck.
you laughed quietly, turning in his arms to face him properly, noses almost brushing. “maybe a little. but i think i can forgive every single one of them now.”
he grinned, that familiar bright, cocky smile returning but softer around the edges now, eyes half-lidded and completely content as he looked at you. “good. because i plan on showing up on time for a very, very long time. maybe even early if you keep looking at me like that.”
outside the rain kept falling steadily against the window, relentless and soothing. inside, the macroeconomics textbooks stayed completely forgotten on the floor in a messy pile, and gojo satoru finally felt like he wasn’t just drifting through life anymore. he was right where he wanted to be. messy hair, bright blue eyes, ridiculous excuses and all, curled up next to you.
Definitely feel like Ino’s the kinda boyfriend you’ll text once in the morning with “hey” & he’ll respond instantly with like twenty texts of excitement, explaining how he’s been awake for the past 30 minutes waiting for you to wake up.
You’d reply casually to his every message and yet he’s just there clearly jumping for joy at the very prospect of you finally being awake. Ino’s definitely just a ball of sunshine in the morning after a few texts from you and he quickly makes your day before it even starts.
Usually the first thing he’s texting you is an exited, “Hey Beautiful” Except, probably in all caps & with a million and one emojis… and likely misspelling beautiful in every way imaginable so most of his texts following that are his attempt at correcting himself..!
Visual example of him on the other side of the screen as soon as the chime for your text goes off btw:
Synopsis: Years after Suguru left, you're still not able to get him off your mind. When he reappears years after his betrayal, the past collides with the present. Unexpected, in a way you didn't even dare to dream about.
Warnings: this isn't proofread 100%, the emotional rollercoaster you deserve, hurt to comfort big time, this is for all my geto girlies who deserve their happy ending
please please please make this go viral thank you
„He’s a threat for the whole population!”
“We need to kill that brat before he kills all non-sorcerers.”
“I can’t believe someone like him was able to do something like…that.”
“So much wasted potential. Why does a special grade sorcerer act this way?”
“I thought he’s a nice boy.”
“So, you’re not one of those nice guys I guess.”
The sun already hung so low in the sky that you were barely able to see his soft features, let alone the surprised look that crept over his face while hearing those words coming from your mouth.
“Are you talking about me or Satoru?”
You let out one of those cute chuckles he adored so much, the kind he heard in his head on repeat even when you were long gone. Gosh, he couldn’t get enough of this. Those lonely nights with only you and a cigarette by his side, the countless hours he spent trying to understand you while it was his mind that slowly but surely fell apart.
“Nope, I’m always talking about you, Suguru.”
“What am I if not a nice guy, then?”
Sure, Satoru Gojo was his one and only best friend, but you were something else entirely: An unspoken bond that lived in the spaces between words, in glances that lingered just a moment too long. You weren’t a lover, not in the conventional sense, but you weren’t just a friend either. You were a mirror to his soul, the keeper of truths he couldn't bear to speak aloud, and the only person who could hold the weight of his silence without it breaking you both.
“You’re... complicated,” you finally replied, the word laced with warmth rather than judgment.
“You’re the kind of person who feels too much but hides it too well. The kind who would burn the world down if it meant saving the people you love. Not everyone understands that, but I do. Or at least I’m convinced I do.”
Suguru’s lips twitched into a faint smile, more melancholic than amused.
“Complicated, huh? That’s one way to put it.”
“And dangerous,” you added lightly, the hint of a smile in your voice.
“But not in the way they think. Not to me.”
His expression softened, the darkness in his eyes easing for just a moment as he stared at you.
“Not to you,” he echoed, as though testing the words on his tongue, letting them sink into the cracks of his fraying soul.
Till this day, that one last conversation both of you had on that lonely bench still haunts him. The way you looked at him back then, as if you’d already knew that you might never see him again, as if you just counted the hours until he goes berserk.
What are you thinking about him now?
Is he still on your mind?
Are you hating him the way Satoru does?
“You’re thinking about her again, don’t you?”
Fuck. He thought about you.
Again.
Suguru lets out a sharp exhale, the sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh, bitter enough to sting his own ears. How pathetic he has to look to the people surrounding him. When he walked down this path, he knew that he’ll have to do it without you, that he won’t be able to see you again. And yet…
Losing you seems to hurt more than anything else.
“Of course I am,” he admits to his assistant, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot.
“Not like I can help it. She’s everywhere, even when she’s not. It’s ridiculous.”
There it is again, your face ghosting through his mind. Other than Satoru and Shoko, you never really tried to find him. If you wanted to, you would, right? Maybe you’re too mad at him for all the things he’s done. Or maybe you already forgot about him.
“But it doesn’t matter, does it? She’s gone. Just like everything else.”
For a moment, he closes his eyes, trying to drown out the memories, the sound of your laugh, the way your voice softened when you said his name, the weight of your eyes on him as if you could see through all the lies he told himself. He’d burn every memory if he could, let them smolder in the same fire that consumed the rest of his life.
“Besides. She’d hate me now, just like everyone else. Maybe she was just waiting for me to turn into the monster she saw coming.”
“Stop stewing in these thoughts, that doesn’t matter anymore. We’re expecting another bunch of monkeys in half an hour.”
But even as she said it, the words tasted wrong. It shouldn’t matter that he can still feel the warmth of your gaze, your unwavering belief in him, and yet it cuts deeper than any accusation ever could. Suguru shakes his head while straightening his shoulders, eyes locked onto Manami in front of him in order to force you off his mind.
“Doesn’t matter,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, as though trying to convince himself.
“It’s too late for that now. So, where’s the monkeys?”
“Why did I know I’d find you here?”
His voice startles you, making you jump slightly. You turn to see none other than Satoru Gojo standing there, hands in his pockets, his white hair catching the fading sunlight. The sunglasses perched on his nose don’t quite hide the sharp edge in his expression he usually wears around you.
“Because I’m always here, I guess,” you reply softly, your tone as tired as the circles under your eyes appear.
“And I told you to stop a long time ago,” Satoru bites back, his voice bitter, cutting.
“The Suguru you knew… he’s gone.”
The weight of his words lands hard, though they’re not new. He’s said them before, with the same venom in his voice, every time you bring up Suguru or the past.
“I know. I’ve always known.”
“Then why do you keep punishing yourself? Dropping out of Jujutsu High when everyone needed you didn’t bring him back. Hiding out here doesn’t change anything, y’know?”
“It wasn’t about bringing him back, Satoru,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intend.
“It was about… letting him go. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” he challenges, stepping closer.
“I’ve spent years watching people destroy themselves over things they can’t fix. I know the look in your eyes - you miss him. You always have. But you didn’t even try to stop him when he turned his back on us.”
You flinch, his words hitting a nerve.
“Because it wasn’t my place. I wasn’t like you, Gojo. I wasn’t his best friend. I wasn’t strong enough to drag him back kicking and screaming or to stand in his way. All I could do was… let him live the way he decided to. I thought… maybe if I stayed behind, if I didn’t follow him, he’d understand that I believed in him, that I trust him and his actions, the path he chooses. That I’d be here if he ever wanted to come back.”
Satoru’s shoulders tense, his jaw tightening. He never understood. Until this day, he never wrapped his head around the fact that you didn’t try to stop his best friend back then. You, who had more power over Suguru than himself.
God, how much he hates that disgusting truth until now.
“And look where that got you,” he mutters.
You look away, your hands gripping the edge of the bench for support.
“I never expected to see him again, Satoru. I didn’t think I’d matter enough to him for that.”
The silence between you stretches thin, brittle as glass.
“Do you think he hates me?” you ask, your voice barely audible.
“For staying behind? For not going after him?”
Gojo doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. You know he blames you, at least a little, for what happened. For not doing more. For leaving everything to him. For allowing Suguru to turn his back on Jujutsu High.
“Suguru hating you? Never. I bet he still thinks about you every damn day”, Satoru mutters under his breath before turning on his heels and leaving you standing in the rain.
Suguru, still thinking about you? You shake your head vehemently, not allowing that absurd thought into your brain. If he would miss you, he’d visit you, right? In all those years, he never lifted a finger in order to find you.
You were right there. In your small apartment, at jujutsu high.
Maybe he forgot about you after all.
“Me? Forgetting you? I’d never be able to do that, (y/n).”
Maybe some promises are meant to be broken.
-a few evenings later-
You’ve drank too much.
You always do when Shoko isn’t with you, when no one’s around to watch you. But even though you emptied a whole bottle of liqueur on your own, you still aren’t able to forget him. Fuck, his face is glued onto your mind like a second skin, never leaves you even though you drink enough to forget your own name.
Will it always feel like this? Will that ache ever go away?
“What are you thinking about, handsome?”
“Something I’ve lost some while ago”, you mumble, absently swirling your glittery cocktail around.
“That’s a bummer.”
You don’t even gift the random stranger next to you a look, the guy who smells like cheap cigarettes so vehemently that you feel like throwing up.
Maybe it’s time to call it a day.
“Yeah. Whatever.”
You spring back onto your feet, the alcohol vibrating through your veins. You were never much of a drinker back then, only shared a cigarette with Suguru from time to time. But this became your only way to numb the pain. At least for a few hours, at least for some time.
The cold air of the night hits your face like a wall. Even though it’s far past midnight, the city buzzes in street light, laughter and cries. And yet, all you’re able to think about is him again. His laugh, his voice, the way he used to look at you when he thought no one else was watching. Is it wrong to long for him? Is it disgusting that you couldn’t care less about the things he’s done those past years, about what he’d become?
You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they cling to you, stubborn and relentless. Why can’t you just stop? Stop longing for something that will never happen, stop running after a person who is long gone? Suguru won’t come back, you won’t just meet him on a random street-
The click of footsteps catches your attention. Heavy, yet elegant footsteps across the still busy street.
At first, you think it’s just another stranger wandering through the city’s darkened streets. But something about the rhythm - steady, purposeful - sets your nerves on edge. Something about this feels familiar.
You glance up, your heart skipping a beat as your gaze meets a pair of familiar dark brown eyes.
Suguru Geto.
The world around you blurs, the sounds of the city fading into silence. It’s him, unmistakably him. His hair is longer than you remember, strands sticking to his face from what looks like rain, or maybe it’s sweat. Blood splatters ruin his clothes and the sharp line of his jaw, painting a stark, gruesome picture paired with those cold orbs. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes… they’re searching, watching your every move.
You should run, or scream, or yell at him – at least something that shows him what he put you through.
Anything.
He’s the same man who left you, who walked away from everything, from you. He, who didn’t even tell you about his true feelings, who didn’t care about the consequences of his actions, who didn’t even ask you to join. All those miserable nights you imagined him sitting next to you on that bench, the bottles of alcohol you’ve drank just to forget his name. He needs to pay for it, needs to know what he did to you by leaving you behind.
But instead, your feet move of their own accord, closing the distance between you in an instant.
Before he can react, you throw your arms around him so, pulling him into a tight embrace.
Suguru freezes, his body stiff against yours. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, as if the sheer force of your presence has left him powerless. You bury your face against his chest, not caring about the blood, the grime, or the hurricane of questions swirling in your mind. All you care about is the fact that he’s here, alive, and solid beneath your touch. You can feel him – not only in your dreams, but for real.
Suguru is here.
He’s alive.
He’s right between your arms.
The scent of him - familiar, though tinged with something darker - fills your senses, dragging you back into a world you thought you’d never touch again. Tears sting your eyes, but you bite them back, unwilling to let them fall.
“Suguru,” you whisper, your voice trembling.
Finally, he moves. His arms lift hesitantly, then wrap around you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear any given minute, his grip firm and desperate. His head dips slightly, and for a moment, you think you feel him trembling too.
“What are you doing?”
His voice is rough, low, almost broken.
“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice muffled against his chest.
“I just… I missed you.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes scanning your face as if trying to memorize every detail.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, his tone a mixture of regret and warning.
“Neither should you,” you counter, your gaze unwavering.
Suguru’s lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He lifts a hand, his fingers brushing against your cheek as though testing if you’re real.
“You should hate me.”
“Maybe I should,” you reply, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.
God, you’re so furious at him. Mad because he ran away, mad because he left you standing in the rain.
Mad because this is actually the first time Suguru Geto hugged you.
“But I don’t. I guess I could never hate you.”
His expression falters, the mask he’s worn for so long cracking just enough to reveal the man beneath. The one you knew, the one you loved in a way you never fully understood. And for the first time since leaving everything behind, he feels that small ray of sunshine taking in his heart again.
“You don’t know what I’ve done, what I’ve become. I was so sure you’ll hate me like everyone else.”
“I know enough. And I don’t care. You’re still Suguru Geto, aren’t you?”
He exhales sharply, the sound almost like a laugh, though there’s no humor in it. You, not caring about the fact that he ended countless lives out of his own fulfilment? You, a jujutsu sorcerer who always protected those monkeys?
“You’re too good for this,” he bites back, shaking his head.
“Too good for me.”
“Don’t decide that for me,” you snap, surprising even yourself with your suddenly so sharp tone.
“You don’t get to make that choice. You already did when you left without saying goodbye”
The silence between you stretches, heavy with unspoken words. You’re right and he knows it.
But… Was it really a possibility to take you with him back then? Was there a tiny chance that you…would have joined him?
Slowly, he leans his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as though seeking comfort in your presence. No, he doesn’t want to think this through. Not right now. Not when he feels your heart pound against his body, not when you’re this close to him for the very first time.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper.
“I told myself it was better that way.”
“And yet you’re here,” you point out softly.
“And yet I’m here,” he echoes, his lips curving into a faint, bitter smile.
For a moment, it’s just the two of you. No blood, no curses, no jujutsu, no past or future. Just the weight of the present, fragile and fleeting. And for now, that’s enough.
For now, simply holding the man you thought you’ve lost forever on a random street is more than enough to make you feel whole again.
~~Where Gojo finally meets your puppy that you've been gushing over, you both use the little guy as an excuse to flirt~~
"HA! I'm in awe! He's obsessed with you!” Satoru shouted, laughing at how excited and happy your puppy was to see you. Jumping, pleading for you to pick him up and cover him with kisses and hugs. You decide to sit down in an effort to placate the little guy.
Satoru kneeled down to be next to both of you, petting your puppy&: stomach furiously to the little guy’s delight.
“At least we have that in common, don’t we little guy?” he said to your puppy in a babied voice. Satoru gave you a light satisfied smirk after doing so, knowing the effect his words had on you.
“he seems to really like you too!” You said as he jumped all over him now, desperate to climb onto his lap. Once he did, your puppy stood up, clinging to Satoru's chest as he looked up lovingly, licking his chin. “Im jealous”
“of him or me?” He smirked. You gave him an annoyed look and you both laughed. “I guess dogs really are like their owners then, huh?”
You lightly smacked his shoulder, rolling your eyes with a scoff before leaning back. “Yeah yeah whatever.”
Awwww” he leaned in, still petting your puppy in his lap. As your dog looked up to try and lick Satoru once again in gratitude, he found himself being ignored as Satoru leaned in to talk to you.
He whispered against your ear, sending a pleasant chill down your spine. “You liiiiiiike me”. He leaned closer to put his arm around you when suddenly now your dog was trying to cut between you two, using his paws to try and draw your attention away from each other. Complete with grunts and even a bark, it was comical how desperately your dog was trying to make Satoru stop embracing you, earning a loud laugh from both of you.
“Awwwww, are you jealous little guy? You’re scared I’m going to take your mommy away?”
You pick him up your dog and put him on top of your lap, scratching his head and making baby noises towards him, healing a bit of his wounded ego as he snuggled closer. Satoru reached out to pet him but you backed away.
“This is a mother child moment, excuse you. You already upset him.” You joked.
“Ehhh he needs to get used to it. He’s not the only one who loves you!” He says scratching your dogs neck, saying it to him. “Don’t be greedy.”
